Haitia: Riotous Living

So I settle into my bed shortly before 10 (yah, I know, but after working all day in the hot sun, and with two rums, 10 would have been too late). The whir of the generator goes silent at 10, leaving me to experience one of my roommate's snoring which is totally indescribable and incredibly loud. Lying there and around 10:30 or so, hear some rising sounds of voices in the tent camp. Sound angry, with rising decibel level and what sounded like anger even though I don't know any Creole. Continues for a while, then several “pops” and I'm thinking “gunshots?” Louder and louder voices, a sense of a gathering crowd in the tent camp. Around midnight, Michael, our on site coordinator who is one of the Bishop's sons, comes down the hall and asks us all to leave our rooms and go to a “safe(r)” room somewhere else on the same floor. So we do.

About this time, the sound of rocks being thrown in the camp. With an occasional ping as they hit the walls of our building. “Just misses” I think—they're not throwing at us, just bad throws. About 12:30, Michael comes into our room and apologizes and says we will need to stay there for the night and sleep on cots they will bring us. And stay quiet, and stay away from windows overlooking the camp. “It's a gang fight between Block 8 and Block 10.”

Growing noise, sense of a crowd getting larger, beginning to chant something. More stones, and rocks, and an occasional “pop.” About 2 our leader talks to the Bishop who reports he has called the American Embassy to report that 19 Americans are in his compound and there is a “disturbance” in the camp. We don't feel consoled by this news.

Meanwhile, one of our team members is taking many photos—of us, of the camp, of the disturbance, each with a flash going off announcing our presence on the 2nd floor. We urge her to stop, and she does.

Police have been called, arrive, and take matters into their control. Which involves arresting Michael (we see him spread-eagled on the courtyard, then handcuffed and marched away, along with all of the security guards who are guarding our compound.) This does not strike us as good news.

Things become quieter...for a little while. Then, the crowd begins to reassemble, and the rocks resume, this time clearly aimed at our building and the iron gate that separates us from them. Our security officers have left—they were taken away by the police---as have the police. We see some of the camp members climb over the while and bang at the gate, then come into the courtyard below and try to get into the room below us where construction materials are stored. One remaining security member is with us. He drops a concrete block, attempting to hit one of the people trying to break in. Misses. The police are called, they return, and around 4:30, calm is restored. The sun is rising, the camp becomes quiet, I actually fall asleep for an hour for the first time that night. The rums have worn off, the camp order has been restored, and a mini-riot has been put down.

Strangely enough, for reasons I do not know, I never felt afraid. Others did, and any reasonable person might have. But I didn't.

In the morning, after breakfast, Johnny (another of the Bishop's sons) comes to brief us. Turns out the tensions in the camp have been rising significantly. There is a law in Haiti that anyone who allows someone to be on their property for more than a year is then responsible for them—and if they evict them, they can do so only if they make suitable arrangements for them. With the 1 year anniversary of the earthquake, residents of the camp have been informed that some will need to leave, and some have. But to what? They can't go to another tent camp, they have no means of support, they have no way of securing alternative housing even if it existed. So their fear, anxiety and frustration is evident, and directed at Grace—their landlords and the property owner. And we are residents of the Grace compound—collateral damage, I think, would be the term if something happened to us inadvertently.

The question became what our next step would be for us—stay? Leave? Move? An open discussion followed, options examined and considered. A couple of us (me included) felt okay about staying at Grace for the rest of the week. Many more wanted to stay and continue working, but only if we could move to another place to live. And a few simply wanted to leave for home immediately. It quickly became clear the only real option for the group was to locate another place to live—like the Auberge de Quebec, our new best friend. And so it was decided—most of us would go to the work site, 4 of us would leave for home, and Fuller would make arrangements for us to live elsewhere, perhaps the Auberge if it was available.

And it was—at least, sufficient rooms that we could make it work. So we returned from work, settled into our new digs (warm water, ceiling fan, some rooms with A/C, a swimming pool we could now use, and a bar) and reflected on our 18 hours from the last time we sat here.

I remember a decision I made at Millsaps, as we prepared for Y2K. Our security director asked me “do I protect people or property?” I looked puzzled. He said “when everything breaks down, people will surge toward the campus. Do I shoot them and protect the college's property?” I said “don't shoot, Wayne. People come first.”
In the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, the Bishop faced a similar choice. He had open property, and people desperately needed a safe place to camp. He chose people over property. And continued to do so, knowing the 1-year deadline would be approaching. And as it arrived, he is trying to retrieve his property—needed to continue the work he was doing for his people. Now he is forced to choose between people—those encamped, and those who would be served by his initial vision.

He is tending a powder keg. One that can go off at the slightest spark. As it did Tuesday night, when one security guard (Big Baby, who met us at the airport) got into a dispute with another security guard, pulled his pistol and shot him in the arm. And the keg was lit, and an explosion followed. We emerged safe. Others less so—several camp members were wounded, some had their tents intentionally destroyed, and revenge against the shooter is promised.

Meanwhile, I sit by a pool, looking out at a beautiful sea, write this using my netbook and wi-fi to send it to you. And return to my screwing on the roof.