She had solid insights: “Rescue efforts are focused on getting American citizens out first. If you are white, you are automatically U.S. citizen. Those with money make their way to the Dominican Republic to escape. Relief is not going in needed places. Most are being ignored. Efforts that work are grassroots level response that gets to communities.” And so on.
What was evident to us when she was done is that she is still in shock and is severely traumatized. Another Haitian faculty member in the audience broke into tears as soon as she began to speak. Those of us with especially deep connections to Haiti (including myself—I was born there and had been on a research trip a month prior) also showed signs of fracture.
In the immediate aftermath of the quake, I wrote the following: “Words are especially difficult to come by in a state of numbness. My response to the outpouring of calls and e-mails from concerned friends has become something of a mantra. No, still no news yet. We have not been able to make contact with anyone. To stay sane, I have resigned myself to accepting that my immediate family will not come out of this without loss. And even if we did, the lives of the already departed and sheer magnitude of the devastation are enough to keep me catatonic.”
A week later, I penned that it was “still difficult to absorb the images. Though I have now heard from family members, I experience symptoms of trauma, mainly dissociation—my mind seeks sporadic distances from my body, as this is simply too much for my psyche to bear. Unlike those glued to their screens, I turned off the television. I have that luxury. Yet I keep thinking of those who cannot. If, with over sixteen hundred miles between us, this is my reaction, then what must it be like for people who are in the thick of it in Haiti?”
Isolated in Middletown, Connecticut, and desperate for any information, I turned on the major news outlets the morning after the earthquake. One of the first reporters on the scene (a white female whose identity is truly insignificant here) was clearly overwhelmed by what she saw on the ground. She commented on the indifference of those roaming the streets, many of them still covered in dust. Her explanation for their distressed and expressionless state was that perhaps it is because they are so used to hardship that they are nonresponsive.
This observation—an additional blow to the psyche—discursively reinforced the routine dehumanization of Haitians. As subjects of research and representation, Haitians have often been portrayed as fractures, as fragments—bodies without minds, heads without bodies, or roving spirits. These disembodied beings or visceral fanatics have always been in need of an intermediary. They hardly ever spoke for themselves. In the academy, they are represented by the social scientist. And on January 12 after the quake, enter the uninformed, socioculturally limited journalist.
In media coverage of the quake and its aftermath, some nuances of the dehumanization narrative have emerged that are particularly dangerous, especially given their implications. In these, Haitians are either subhuman or superhuman. The subhumanity stems from the dominant idea in popular imagination that Haitians are irrational-devil-worshipping-progress-resistant-uneducated-accursed-black-natives overpopulating this godforsaken land. The superhuman characteristic is usually framed in terms of our resilience. The miraculous discoveries of those found still alive deep in the rubble nine to ten days after being trapped there are framed in such terms. No ordinary human being could withstand so much, but for some reason, those Haitians can. There is an underlying subtext here about race. For Haitians are blackness in its worst form, because, simply put, the enfant terrible of the Americas who defied all European odds had to become its bête noire.
Some hours after the Hope for Haiti fund-raiser held on Friday, January 22 (which I could not bear to watch), Anderson Cooper was on the air speaking with a British reporter who was perturbed by the fact that people were not crying. The reporter then told a story of a woman who survived the quake but lost family members, including a young child. The reporter was surprised that this woman was forcing her way onto a bus to get out of Port-au-Prince. When he asked her what she had done with the recovered body of her child, she said “Jete.” His interpretation was that she threw him out. The only word he understood was jete (throw, fling, hurl). There was no mention of the prepositions that came before or words that came after. “Why don’t you Haitians cry?” the reporter asked those he encountered, stunned. Cooper tried to spark a conversation about trauma and mentioned the word “shock.” That angle did not gain any traction.
Yet another rhetorical blow to the psyche.
As I have written elsewhere, the body—a reservoir of discursive, physiological, psychological, and social memories—functions as an archive. Deposits were made on January 12 just before 5 p.m. that will have impacts for years to come. Those who have experienced this moment at home or abroad will need to be tended to, psychologically nurtured and supported, because we have been fractured differently in so many brutal ways.
An Update of Sorts
Two days ago, my nineteen-year-old cousin who lives on Route de Frères, which as of the writing has seen no relief efforts because of security concerns, cited the rapper Nas on his first Facebook post since the quake, which read:
Heart of a king, blood of a slave!!!!!
Thu at 7:11 p.m. A· Comment A· Like
His friends responded:
thank god ur ok ma dude … stay up and stay in contact
Thu at 7:55 p.m.
Blessed be the Lord!
Thu at 8:27 p.m.
great to see you again. take care and keep in touch!!!!
Thu at 10:33 p.m.
Really glad 2 know u r still standing brave heart never get away in vain!!! Peace & luv bro !! keep praying
Yesterday at 2:15 a.m.
still standing as this famous slave, we’re gonna do it again “BWA KAIMAN”
Yesterday at 4:22 p.m.
5
Haiti’s Future A Requiem for the Dying
February 4, 2010 / Huffington Post @ 12:19 p.m.
The earthquake’s devastation in Haiti is no longer front-page news. Most cameras shifted their lenses when the morbid and grueling work began—massive discard of the dead and what to do with the displaced living. As bulldozers clear rubble intermingled with bodies and other remains, top officials meet in global cities to decide Haiti’s fate. Private organizations and companies are positioning themselves for the expected economic windfall, recruiting foreign workers and organizing conferences in the diaspora on how best to rebuild the fractured republic.
Post-quake Haiti is up for grabs, and the key players remain the same.
As nameless, undocumented, uncounted bodies are dumped in mass graves, President René Préval and his government refuse to address this or any other substantive issue. Haitians at home and abroad wonder who is truly running the country. Although this silence may smack of barbarity, it is in fact a structural one that has historical roots and dangerous implications for Haiti’s future.
Haitian officials are not alone in this disregard for the dead and the living. Initial rescue efforts prioritized citizenship and privilege. The valuable foreigners were saved first. Rescue teams ignored overpopulated slums coded as “red zones” or high-security-risk areas. Young children labeled “orphans” were whisked off to foreign lands. Disputed overpayment for those treated in the United States suspended medical airlifts and endangered lives. The United Nations approach to managing the desperate and hungry who lined up for food was to teargas them into submission. People are dying not because of the earthquake but because