Haiti (3 of 3)

 Dignity

The strongest takeaway from Haiti is the dignity of the people. Scarcity, overpopulation, congestion, unemployment, omnipresence of garbage...yet, the people carry themselves in regal dignity. Emblematic: the erect, stately women who effortlessly carry large objects on their heads. That image is suggestive of the Haitian spirit: poverty is not heavy enough to crush the spirit.

Particularly striking: the manner of dress. In Church (which is always filled with people) everyone is pretty,  proper, refined. Unfailingly clean, modest, attractive with a touch of elegance.

Schooling

Everywhere there are school children: groomed, clean and proper in their school uniforms. For a Catholic, it feels like you have fallen into a Parochial School Universe. Education is super-venerated. Before sunrise, adolescents gather under overhead lights to repeat and memorize. Success in school is viewed as the only path out of poverty. This hope is unrealistic as hardly 1% will finish school and find employment. 

This cult of schooling would be critiqued by radicals like Paolo Freire or Ivan Illich as illusory, supportive of the status quo, and repressive of initiatives for change. In this the learner is devalued, inhibited in agency, and attains status only by replicating the "knowledge bank" and values structure of an oppressive, alienating culture. But one must ask: In the actual circumstances of Haiti, would such a pedagogy of liberation bring peace and prosperity? Or might it arouse discontent, frustration, mimetic jealousy and resentment?

Trust and Serenity

At the heart of Haitian culture one detects a childlike, pious resignation. The operative virtue: Patience. There is a serenity that flows from "accepting what we cannot change."

Such passivity is offensive to us "blancs"..."whites" which is to say American, Europeans. Whether one is an entrepreneurial, perhaps prosperity-gospel, capitalist or a leftwing social activist, the assumption is that our affluence, material well being and destiny is under our own control. This illusion is ridiculous in the face of the stark poverty here. Broadly, the ability to "change the things we can" is severely limited. But not absolutely. So there is a deep wisdom in a serene resignation, realism, religious gratitude for the very gift of life, and hope in the afterlife. Yes, Mr. Marx, opium of the people.

  Heaven

Heaven feels very close in Haiti. Worldly pleasures and distractions are scarce. Everywhere there is hunger, frustration, suffering. And people, people, people. Beautiful, serene, dignified people. BTW, the suicide rate in  Haiti was reported as virtually zero. For most, there is no hope for improvement and achievement. 

But there is always heaven! This is the Primal Catholic Fact:  every anemic infant and suffering patient (again that word patience) is created by God out of his infinite love for an Eternity of Joy! This is the Gospel of Jesus Christ: "Blessed are the poor." It is the source of the serenity of millions of impoverished people on a bare, dry island. It is, for us complacent, comfortable "blancs," the source of joy if we open our heart to God's Kingdom in our midst.

Haiti (2 of 3)

 The Missionaries of Charity Haven in Hinche defies description. Four sisters and many assistants attend to 150 sick, malnourished, orphaned children and adults. The stark human deprivation is offset by an overall atmosphere of peace and dignity. Every room has a large picture of Mother Teresa (whose presence is pronounced) along with classic Catholic icons of the Sacred Heart, Madonna with Child, Pope, Holy Family and Jesus of Mercy. Stark and simple, the place is immaculate and free of odor, surprisingly so given the incontinence of perhaps half of the residents, including infants. 

The children and infants clamor to be held. Six or seven gather around you, gazing with wonder, touching hair and glasses. Infants screaming in their cribs become quiet and serene when they are lifted and held. You are able to hold two at a time as they are light and give each 5 to 10 minutes but you wish you could hold them all, all day. Haitian women circle around quietly, cleaning, changing diapers, feeding the little ones. The sister in charge, a Brazilian who speaks good English, radiates a supernatural peace and confidence. 

In the women's section we join a group sitting quietly in a corridor. They are frail and sick. They do respond, however, to our rendition of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," raising their hands to sing the chorus of "Glory, Glory Hallelujah!"

In the men's dorm I find men laying in beds, neat and clean, some without limbs or crippled in various ways. Overcoming my shyness, I extend a hand and say "God bless you." Some call me "Pere" (father) and point to their area of sickness or pain. I find myself laying hands, praying for healing, and signing their foreheads with the cross. Some respond with buoyant smiles and laughter; some with a sober but appreciative nod of the head. 

Finally, we pray in the chapel before the Blessed Sacrament. It too is simple, bare, stark: a large picture of Mary to the right, a relic of Mother Teresa on a table to the left. The aroma of Christ...serenity, faith, hope...pervades an atmosphere that would otherwise be startlingly, horrendously deprived. 

Haiti (1 of 3)

On Feb. 27, 2010 I arrived in Haiti, after the catastrophic earthquake there, accompanying my nephew David who was bringing help to an orphanage where he had worked. Yesterday I found a journal I had kept and here share excerpts.

The initial encounter with Haiti is a shock to the senses. Even before the plane lands, one is struck by the terrain: barren, treeless, dusty, rocky, dotted with small shacks of rusting tin. Baggage claim entails pushing through a crowd to a small window in chaos and inefficiency. Material scarcity all around; but most of all the people!

Ah, the people! The beautiful people! Especially the children! This is an uplift for the spirit and a consolation to the distressed senses. How can there be so many beautiful faces? Jet black, smooth skin; bright, shining teeth; deep-set eyes that gaze with attention, interest, curiosity, a serenity suggestive of innocence, resignation and a readiness for affection. We are surrounded by perhaps 50 children watching us intently, as if a spacecraft had landed in an elementary school playground. Each face is striking: one as beautiful as the next. Where am I? In a desert of scarcity? Or a paradise of loveliness? This is not the world, the earth I know! It is a hell of human want and suffering...and a heaven of childlike innocence and faith.

Saturday morning mass in the cathedral is enlivened by sweet, harmonious song. More than a taste of heaven. I find myself thinking constantly of heaven: so sparse here are earthly hopes and possibilities that the soul looks fervently beyond, to the afterlife, that is not so far away. 

The mass in Haiti is essentially the same mass anywhere: Word announced, songs, petitions, the Eucharistic sacrifice and communion. The priest is impressive: handsome, confident, joyful. The 200 children, most under 10 years of age, are composed and attentive. Very few receive communion; it seems most have not yet been prepared for first communion. A tone of reverence and peace predominates. The language is French but the music has an African beat. Haitians love to sing, especially in Church. They do so with joy, buoyancy, and rhythm. Extreme scarcity, lack of jobs and opportunity, meagre chances for improvement...and what do they do? They sing!

At the orphanage, the remarkable founder, Jean Louis, shows us around with a warm and respectful hospitality. It is very humbling. Around 200 children play around the dusty, rocky compound; but the overall peacefulness and quiet is striking. The chaplain, Xaverian Brother Michael McCarthy describes the place as a haven for otherwise destitute children. He worries that there is no follow-up or path forward for older children as they leave this still-young orphanage: no jobs, no economy, no opportunities. But there is still heaven, I keep thinking.

Students of all ages are passionately motivated to study and learn. At 4 AM one hears sounds of rote memorization by a group of students gathered under a solitary street lamp. Their belief is that education is the one path to a better life. But the truth is that 1 % of them will graduate college; and for this select group there are no jobs. Again, I think, at least there is heaven!

As guest instructor in morning English class of 35 students, I am stunned by their focus, attentiveness and respect. It is with all their strength and all their soul and all their heart that they desire to learn English. We read the Gospel in English and their questions are profoundly spiritual and theological: What does it mean to "see the speck in the other's eye?" How do we give pearls to swine? Do the righteous get to heaven? Does God forgive all sins, even sexual sins by one who knows what the Bible teaches? What is the Resurrection like? I find myself teaching basic Catechism truths with certainty and joy. 

A student states that God's forgiveness of sin requires our firm purpose of amendment. I heartily agree and say that in our weakness we need to call upon God's mercy to truly repent. Then I fall on my knees dramatically, squint my face, and fervently, slowly plead "Help me O God. I want to be good. But I need your help." They laugh with delight. 

More memories from Haiti to follow in subsequent blog posts.