Brush with Haiti (18 page)

Today the school is truly a school, a three-story concrete structure with a growing faculty that serves more than 700 students. The day I was able to visit was a quiet one and school was not in session. As a result, I was able to sit and converse with three amazing and inspiring educators, Pierre and two members of the teaching staff, in an empty classroom. Caribbean waves lapped the shore across the road. The large window openings allowed for a warm, refreshing breeze and I wondered again how it could possibly be January.

Pierre and his colleagues took time to detail the workings of the school. The size of the student population required staggered starting times: 7:00 a.m. for 6th-9th grades, 8:00 a.m. for 1st-5th grades, and 8:30 a.m. for preschool. Mid-morning marked recreation time and a meal of mixed grain. Attendance was generally good, they reported, with students traveling anywhere from a few minutes to nearly two hours from home. Student fees ran 200
gourdes
per year for 1st-5th grades. This was the equivalent of 4 or 5 dollars and they could not always pay, meaning teachers did not always get paid. Still, teachers continued to teach, likely due to their dedication to student learning, but also through Pierre's inspiration. He had undying faith that the school would succeed.

At the conclusion of 6th and 9th grades, students were required to take rigorous national exams, and the school boasted a 90 percent pass rate. But administering the exams posed its own set of problems. Technology and teaching materials were hard to come by. That is why I was especially grateful and honored that Pierre parted with a textbook, which he gave to me as a gift. Having it in my hands was not something I took lightly.

Being able to spend
some time with a textbook allowed me to more carefully compare and contrast it with those used in U.S. classrooms. The similarities were striking, but so, too, were the differences. Some of what set this one apart was not so much what makes it uniquely Haitian, but what makes it clearly not of the U.S.

What was given to me was a 9th year social sciences text, authored by Carltz Docteur, Professor of Social Sciences, whose degree was earned at L'Lecole Normal Superieure. It was entitled
Quelques Grandes Etapes, Dans L'Evolution de L'Humanite
and it contained significant history of the world from the 18th through the 20th centuries. The subject matter was not presented in linear, chronological order. Rather, it explored various themes within the social sciences and detailed historical developments and players through examples. The physical quality was not great, reflecting the lack of resources in the country. It used only the most basic paper and ink printing processes, and the type formatting was not very polished. It resembled what, in the U.S., might be published as a workbook - or "consumable" as they are known in the field - in decades past. But the content was substantive and impressive, as well as impressionistic.

It is impossible for survey textbooks to delve into subjects with adequate depth. That is not their nature. But this one gave quick glimpses of an approach to history distinct from what was seen in the United States. First, the cover design included a map of Haiti and portraits of the following admired leaders: Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Charles de Gaulle, Winston Churchill, Toussaint L'Ouverture, and Che Guevara. The introductory chapter on "Human Societies" grounded the modern world in the history of independence from England, as well as from Spain, Portugal and France, noting that colonial abuses were best articulated by Thomas Jefferson and Thomas Paine. The Monroe Doctrine earned a prominent place, as did a map illustrating "North American Domination in Latin America."

A brief timeline ofthe "World since 1960" included only the following: Decolonization of Africa (1945-1975), Cuban Crisis (October 1962), Be ginning of Detente (1963), First Oil Shock (1961-1973), Rise of Islam (1976), Communist Victories in Indochina (1975), Khomeini Ascension to Power in Iran (1979), Falklands War [Malvinas] (1982). The Cold War was given approximately two paragraphs. The decolonization of Africa was given approximately four and a half pages. The section on Caribbean abolition history includes the following timeline: Saint Domingue [Haiti] (1793), Santo Domingo (1822), British Colonies of the West Indies [eastern islands and Jamaica, Trinidad, Honduras, and British Guyana] (1833-1838), French Colonies [Guadeloupe, Martinique, French portion of St. Martin and French Guyana] (1848); Dutch Colonies [Curacao, Bonaire, Aruba, Saba, Saint-Eustache, Dutch portion of St. Martin, and Dutch Guyana] (1863), Puerto Rico (1873), and Cuba (1886). The section on Caribbean independence included the following timeline: Haiti (1804), Dominican Republic (1844), Cuba (1898), Jamaica (1962), Barbados (1966), Grenada (1974), Dominica (1978), St. Vincent and the Grenadines (1979), St. Lucia (1979), Antigua (1981), and St. Kitts and Nevis (1983).

Within the section devoted to Antillean society, Haiti played a prominent role, with attention devoted to French colonialism, slave revolts, enfranchisement, constitutional processes, agrarian regimes, and international relations, or lack thereof. The section on Haitian society re-emphasized revolutionary ideals of independence and stages of development in early nationhood. It also defined more clearly the concepts of the state, the nation, the nation-state, and nationalism. This chapter's glossary contained such entries as autocrat, conservatism, despotism, liberalism, political liberty, oligarchy, pluralism, and separation of powers. Following the chapters more conventionally formatted to address history was one examining global economic disparity and the conditions of the Third World. Topics addressed included agricultural land development, famine, malnutrition, literacy, birth rates, and environmental protection.

The author noted two primary economic systems in the world - capitalism and socialism - and in straightforward terms went on to describe each. He used concepts such as modes of production, work and capital, the law of supply and demand, productivity and efficiency research, and economic planning. In the last chapters, current conditions in the Caribbean and then Haiti were examined in this context, while emphasizing the roles that global capitalism, neo-colonialism, and more powerful countries had played. From a U.S. perspective, the work may seem biased, but a closer examination of curriculum and textbooks used in the U.S. demonstrate comparable biases. Yes, Haiti's are Haitian-centric. In looking at histories of the world written in different countries we can also see that those of the U.S. are U.S.-centric.

I did not plan to meet with a textbook publisher in Haiti, but fortunate circumstances permitted it to happen. After completing work in Jeremie we returned to Port-au-Prince (my suitcase was waiting for me at the airport) and learned there was a new publisher of textbooks living in Petionville. A friend of Renate knew of him, and he graciously agreed to meet with me. We followed the directions given to us and found ourselves entering the world of Haiti's elite. A very long driveway led up a hill to his home; the gated property protected by an armed security guard. His home was spectacular and we met on the marble-tiled patio where we were served tea and cookies. Perfectly manicured blooming vines and hanging baskets surrounded us. His pet dogs joined us. He was the perfect host.

His company was called Editions Zemes, and he showed me some of his work. There was no need for Renate to assist in interpreting; his English was perfect. He told me he produced educational materials in a wide range of subjects but knew I was interested in the social sciences. Simply prototypes at this point but soon to be available in schools, the books were beautiful in contrast to what I had seen. The quality of materials, writing, illustrations, and photograph reproductions were comparable to those of the latest textbooks in the United States. Some years before, I had served on a parent advisory committee for textbook selection for my children's school and visited a social studies textbook exposition where publishers and sales representatives put forth their best new work. I told him his materials were just as good. He was very pleased. But I wondered who in Haiti could afford them.

We began to talk more specifically about content, and how history is taught in the schools. Again, this was an exhilarating exchange. We spoke to centrism and patriotism and truth, and the value of including Caribbean history in the world's story. I told him of recent efforts to recognize Haiti's role as an essential component in teaching the Revolutionary Era. He nodded with enthusiasm and grinned.

"It is so true!" he agreed.

"I want to do my best to include it," I assured him. Ideas of education were integral to that story, as well. Historically, Haitian educators were torn between infusing a sense of culture and philosophical thought parallel to curriculum found in French models or adopting the English model of "useful" learning. The elite of Haiti were educated the French way and at higher levels their children sent to study abroad. Before the Revolution, Haiti was considered primarily a slave colony and the idea of educating slaves posed a myriad of concerns. What purpose would it serve to educate anyone who was destined for a life of manual labor? The investment required seemed hardly worth considering. The cost of constructing schools and paying teachers' salaries would not have been prohibitive in this most profitable of France's colonies; however, financial investment in the education of others' children sparked debates everywhere in the modern world at the time of the Enlightenment. In the case of manual laborers it hardly seemed a good investment, especially if it meant introducing them to ideas of liberty and human rights so much a part of Enlightenment philosophy.

The Revolutionary Era saw a transformation in the philosophy of education. Discussions of John Locke's concept of the
tabula rasa
described in his
An Essay Concerning Human Understanding
were making their way into sophisticated circles. He argued that parents and teachers should take greater care to recognize how much children were shaped by experience, giving them both greater power and responsibility in purposefully creating the kinds of adults future societies would want to see. Thomas Jefferson's vision, though incomplete with regard to those of African descent, embraced the idea of the perfectibility of man, acknowledging that education could play a greater role in recognizing the potential among more of the population. It would ultimately serve not only the individual well, but also society at large. Again, the main purpose of Haitian slaves was to provide manual labor, and that took little education. The French considered this new Anglo-influenced approach as too utilitarian but as Haiti entered a new era of independence educating for the future was embraced. Through the centuries, curriculum and textbooks have reflected both.

I came away with many things that day, not the least of which was a better understanding of the class system in Haiti. While much of the upper class turns away to the needs of the population's majority, he did not. He could have remained closed off in his mansion, living very well without working. Instead, he chose to risk starting a publishing company to improve the education of the country's youth.

I also learned from speaking to him, as well at the educators in the Grand'Anse, just how strong their commitment to social studies education was. This is what I suspected, but interacting with them help to reinforce it. Too often, people from the outside view Haitians as pitiable and living in abject circumstances. While it is true that Haitians have met with more than their fair share of challenges, far too many underestimate their capacity to envision a better future and take matters into their own hands if given the means to do so.

Each morning and evening
at Hospice St. Joseph we stood to sing the meal prayer. Picking up a tune has never come easy for me and the words were in Creole, but I did my best.
"Mesi, Papa
. . ."

Our Haitian hosts were gracious, but their knowing grins suggested a bit of pleasure in watching us butcher something so common to them, also in seeing Americans reminded to be grateful for the food we were about to eat. Simple as that. How many ofus were taught at a very young age to say grace and have long since lost the habit? The Hospice meals were always perfect - perfectly prepared, perfectly presented, perfectly healthy. At the start of each day it brought us to a place of mindfulness and thoughtful preparation for what we might encounter that day. In the streets of Port-au-Prince, that might be anything. At the end of each day the meal prayer and nourishment reinforced an appreciation for our blessings. In teaching us the meal prayer there was no formal instruction, only its word printed on a wall plaque. As with many singing rituals there was merely an expectation that one join in. So we did.

On the nights when I was the sole guest at Hospice, there was just myself and one host, at least in material form.

There seemed to be a greater power there, as well, or the spirit of the religious life I was introduced to as a child. I realized that my faith in something non-material had not totally disappeared. The table of dark, heavy wood, in a dimly lit room of green walls with crosses and other religious images watching over me was reminiscent of my grandmother's dining room. Hers was graced with a large, heavy table covered in plastic lace, statues of Our Lady of the Snows and the Sacred Heart ofJesus, and a 12 by 28 or so replica of DaVinci's "Last Supper" on the wall. On decorative stands and dressers there were holy cards, novena calculations, and books on the lives of the saints. Long after she died I came to understand the challenges she had faced in raising ten children with no steady income from my grandfather, and it made more sense why she might spend so much time praying for miracles. Similar images adorned the dining room in Port-au-Prince. How could I not feel the presence of God or see a glimpse of a culture so reliant on praying for miracles?

Behind my place at the table hung a figure worked in metal. During one meal with others present it was quite the topic of conversation. Was it an angel? Was it not an angel? The artistic representation of this figure was striking. Long, flowing dress, trees, birds and other symbols of nature, and wild, wild hair. The hair was in braids, or dreadlocks, or snakes. Whatever they were, they gave her something special.