Brush with Haiti (28 page)

Our drive through the city was frustrating for him. Traffic was horrendous. He wore dark, pressed pants and a short-sleeved dress shirt. It was warm and sweat shone on his forehead. He tried to be a gracious conversationalist and told me of his college experiences in Montreal. His command of English and worldly sensibilities set him apart and he told me how many educated professionals ofhis age had left the country at that time, never to return. But he said he recognized how Haiti was suffering severe brain drain and felt a duty to come home after college and apply the business skills he learned to help the economy. His was a food packaging business devoted primarily to freezing fish and fruit. We pulled up to the loading dock area and he jumped out.

"I will be just a minute," he promised. I took my calendar from my purse and looked at the days ahead. There was much to do before I returned to my classes on Monday. I looked up to see him talking with a group of impeccably uniformed workers who stood with respect in his presence. He listened and gave direction making it clear that he was a man who got things done. When he returned to the car he seemed relieved of only one of many duties.

"I want to thank you again for picking me up at the airport. I know this is a busy day for you," I told him.

"Oh, it is no problem, really," he assured me. "But I'm afraid the hotel room is not ready yet. Would you mind accompanying me on a few more errands?"

"No, not at all," I said. Hotel space had become gravely scarce since the earthquake. Many rooms had been destroyed, and those remaining were continuously filled with relief workers. Owners were able to charge incredibly excessive fees, and I knew I was fortunate that they were able to find me a room at all.

As we drove further, the streets became more congested. Jean took to listening to a talk radio station and stopped conversing. At first I thought he had work on his mind, but he was obviously captivated by the discussion. Immersed in French and Creole for more than a week, I was able to make out that the subject was politics. Even if I weren't able to, chances were good that the subject was politics. As is the case with Spanish and even reading in Italian and Portuguese, I can decode academic vocabulary comparatively easily. Ideas of democracy, representation, history, revolution, and so on are communicated with Latin-based words found across the Romance languages, as well as in English. Though I could not understand the details of what was being aired, I could tell this was an intellectual exchange of ideas that could affect the future ofJean's homeland.

He apologized for becoming engrossed in the program.

"It's no problem. It sounds interesting," I said.

"There are a lot of Haitians with a lot of ideas," he said. "I wish they could move faster in fixing these problems." He pointed to piles of rubble. "Look at all of these trucks! There were already traffic problems before they shipped in these trucks!" There were dump trucks filled with rubble all around us.

"It seems they've been able to clear the roads," I said.

"Yes, I am thankful for that. But they just keep moving the debris from one place to another. I don't know if they are making any progress." I knew how poor the conditions were before the earthquake and tried to imagine how bad things were in the days following.

"There is so much work to do."

"There are more people living here now than before the earthquake. They keep coming in and living on the streets with the hope of working for some cash being handed out by the relief workers. Look at these people! There is no place for them to live!" There were hundreds of people just within our view, who had set up blankets and mini-enterprises. "We would all be better off if there were something for them to do outside of the capital."

"That is what we are hoping in helping to develop the university in Dekade," I noted. "I know it's a long way off, but there is so much potential there."

"Yes, the potential for fruit production is amazing. Did you see the women carrying fruit to market in baskets each morning?"

"Yes, it was impressive."

"But there is so much waste. They can't possibly sell it all and it goes bad in a couple days."

"But look at all the people in Port-au-Prince. They need fruit," I said as if suddenly a business expert.

"Yes, the banana boats come in from Jeremie, but even then much of it spoils. I have talked with some people about building a packaging facility there, so the fish and fruit can be frozen on site."

"That would be wonderful!" I said, imagining the possibilities.

"But it can't be done without getting permission from the government." He shook his head. "And how fast do you think that would happen?"

The gridlock lightened up for just a moment, and we began to move. His eyes stared ahead. I saw in him a man of talent and accomplishment who felt paralyzed.

"Is the traffic always this bad?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "But at least the roads are clear. The earthquake left them piled high with bricks and concrete. I climbed and walked for hours, until the sun went down, looking for my family."

"They were ok?"

"Yes," he said softly. Finding them safe must have been a relief, but the pain of that day stayed with him.

We continued to the hotel in silence, passing collapsed buildings, thousands of tents, and many individuals trying to piece together their lives the best they could.

I continued my research
about Haiti after returning home, but was not sure where to focus. Though the country's long and intricate history made the options endless, so much had changed as a result of the earthquake.

From time to time I ask my students to analyze a current event in a 3-4 page paper. I expect them to pay attention to what has been going on in the world during the semester, choose a particular issue, pull together four or five news articles from different sources, and write an analytical essay examining various perspectives, placing it into some sort of historical context. By the end of a history course it is my hope that they can understand a bit better how history has shaped the contemporary world. On a more philosophical level, I hope they can see how past, present and future are linked in one continuous thread. And I hope they can look at events appearing in the news today and more effectively determine which of them will one day be understood as historically significant.

The number of "news" sources to which they have access is astronomically greater than that of generations past, though the vast majority of what they are exposed to is genuinely irrelevant. This goes beyond celebrity news and reaches into what they are being told is science, serious political discourse, and so on. As is the case with many students in the U.S. ours are not required to take a course in information or media literacy which might better cultivate the skills needed to sift through what is being thrust upon them and decide what is true and not and what might have long term and far reaching effects. So I give them some places to start and hope they can find their way through a maze of world news sources and discover something they can deem historically relevant.

What is often the case with world news - and this was even more true before the advent of the internet - is that when we do get a story it is often due to some immediate calamity, usually a natural disaster. While I urge students to seek information regarding ongoing issues - for example human trafficking, child labor, or international trade agreements - I can bet that if there is a natural disaster during the semester up to a third of the students in the class will insist on writing about it. To prevent any dismissal of natural disasters in a way that might seem heartless, I merely suggest that if they do choose a devastating earthquake, hurricane, etc. as the subject of their paper, they need to be able to explain the potential historical significance of the event. Students are generally not equipped to do this, but I encourage them to take a leap. Natural disasters are not yet covered in much depth in history textbooks. There are ways, however, to consider their historical impact where social, economic, and political consequences are clear.

I kept this in mind when weighing possible research topics for myself, but it was difficult and my work came in fits and starts. As a historian who tried to resist presentism, I wanted to ignore the earthquake. My initial investigation had been in curriculum and education and part of me wanted to continue with that. Professionally, I could justify it based on my work with the Commission for Higher Education and in curriculum development endeavors on campus. But to take on a project so directly related to my interviews and observations ofJanuary 2010 was too painful.

In my discipline I felt an obligation to think historically, and various aspects of Haiti's 19
^th
and early 20
^th
century educational system interested me. I was fascinated by philosophies of learning surrounding the struggle for independence and attempts at transforming schools to meet the needs of the new republic. I also considered exploring what happened to schools during and after U.S. occupation. When I sat down with the sources, an abundance of information came to me effortlessly. But there were still moments in which I felt overwhelmed, almost strangled when it came to putting my ideas on paper. This had never happened to me before. The weight of the country and its problems were affecting me personally, and I felt powerless to contribute anything of value through my work.

At the same time, I found myself writing freely on the side in what one might call journaling. It seemed an extension ofwhat I had begun alone in my room in Haiti in the days before the earthquake. At first I resisted, finding no worth in it aside from personal catharsis. But then I let it happen. I thought at the very least it would help get it out of my system so I could get down to business. Friends and family continued to ask me questions about my experiences, but casual conversation seemed insufficient for providing answers. When I looked into their eyes and around at our setting - the dinner table, my office hallway, or the grocery store - it was difficult to explain. I found myself responding to them on paper. And eventually I was able to go back to the academic sources.

The history of agricultural education kept my attention for some time. It provided a unique viewpoint as Haiti always had been primarily an agricultural society. Examining the intentions of education there, with land development and food production serving as a backdrop, helped to make sense of how schools developed in the way that they did. There were sufficient materials on either the history of education or the history of agriculture, including both primary and secondary sources. But no one had yet interwoven the two stories. That is the work of the historian, and that is why history is always new. The more I let the idea percolate, the more excited I became.

When friends and colleagues asked what I was working on, I enthusiastically told them the history of agricultural education in Haiti. They generally looked back at me with less enthusiasm. This is not uncommon for the historian, as we are often immersed in projects others find unimportant or uninteresting. Our own enthusiasm and interest are what matters most and are usually enough to keep us going and see books and articles through to completion. But in this case people seemed to expect something different from me.

"I thought you would be writing about the earthquake," one friend commented.

"No, it's too recent," I replied. "I'm a historian. We need to wait at least twenty or thirty years to have any insight. We need to be removed from the event." Then I realized that perhaps I was trying to avoid something by losing myself in a project that had nothing to do with what I had experienced. What I should have been doing was facing it.

When I took an honest look
at my past strengths in research I knew they lay in various aspects of population policy. Much of it related to birth control history and I looked into the Haitian story just enough to see whether something there spurred some interest. This lead could take me in a direction that paralleled my early work on religion and birth control. But it did not address the earthquake directly in any way, and that is the path I knew I needed to take.

Immediately following the earthquake, one of former President Bush's advisors was asked how it could be possible that so many had died. He replied that too many people lived in Port-au-Prince to a large degree due to women's unwillingness to use birth control. This came through an interview within hours of the event, as I remember watching it at my parents' house just after I had left the airport. For him to make such a sweeping judgment, and so smugly and quickly, made my skin crawl. But when it came time to engage in substantive research, I did not want to give that position any kind of credence, even by attempting to disprove it.

Other research I had done focused on migration, but the most accessible information related to Haiti appeared to center on Haitians leaving the country. That was not the story I wanted to tell, at least for now. I wanted to write something about the Haitians who had stayed in Haiti. When I looked a little closer, I came across materials discussing migration from the countryside to Port-au-Prince. Some of it had come from my initial look at agricultural education that had drawn students to the capital. But that was just part of it. I put it out of my mind for a while and took care of my daily responsibilities.

Numbly is how I approached the work, and numbly is how I was expected to remain in the work. Perhaps that is what took me so long to complete something from it. Because I could not. Digging into the research dredged up something, and I was going places for which I was not yet ready. It seemed the very idea of putting research to the test in an area so tangible, so close, had scared me.

I had become comfortable with the benefit historians have in the detachment that stems from observing and analyzing people, places, and things that existed long ago and far away. As valuable as the investigations might be, on a personal level there is a safety space. It is work very suitable for someone too sensitive for the here and now and for interactions with people alive. It allows for explanations of why things are the way things are and for an intimacy solely with humans who have left the planet. For those who can do both - live life among dust-laden documents and then chit chat with friends over tea or wine - it can be the perfect life. But there are times when things get intertwined, when one life is more difficult to leave behind at the end of the day. In the middle of research, one's mind can stay connected to the subject during all waking hours, giving the appearance of absent-mindedness or aloofness. While some academics seem to prefer this state because it relieves them of mundane tasks or normal relationships, for most it is not a choice. The call to history cannot be helped. And the detachment that research brings is just part of the work. However, detachment should not be mistaken for numbness. Nor vice versa.