Those who have spoken critically of Jean get a backlash from fanatics defending their candidate. Supporters point to his goodwill, public dedication, and obvious affection for his homeland.
With all the focus on Jean, less is being said of Martelly, who is as well known in Haiti and, equally if not more important, is accepted in some elite circles—an alliance usually necessary to ascend to the presidency. Moreover, Martelly is a less-questionable resident of Haiti who may not have to creatively circumvent Article 135 of the Constitution, which requires that presidential candidates reside in the country for five years.
Last Tuesday, the front page of Haiti’s Le Nouvelliste had a cartoon depicting the upcoming presidential elections, which they have appropriately dubbed “electionaval 2010” [meaning combined election and carnival]. President Préval stands to the left beneath a sign that reads “Welcome to the CEP” (Permanent Electoral Counsel), directing the upcoming procession. First in line is Jean on top of his truck, the Haitian flag by his side, with two members of his posse. Holding a mike, he boasts “we are the world” in English, then in Creole. The side of the truck is emblazoned with the orange-and-black Yele Haiti logo and the words “here’s Wyclef” in Creole. Immediately following him is the kompa king crooner Martelly in a sports car with his posse. His caption reads, “Those who don’t know Micky, here’s Micky.” Steps behind stands a peeved Jacques-Édouard Alexis, the former prime minister, asserting “I was here first,” in Creole, then, in French, “Leading a country is a serious matter.” Next to him is former first lady and candidate Madame Mirlande Manigat, who says, “I didn’t know that there would be a carnival.”
Madam, I must say, neither did we.
Meanwhile, there are other signs of civic engagement. Haiti Aid Watchdog is laboriously working with partners to organize a series of debates between civil society and the candidates. Their theme, “Nap vote pou yon pwogram! Pa pou yon moun!” (We’re voting for a program, not a person).
15
If I Were President … Haiti’s Diasporic Draft (Part I)
August 27, 2010 / Huffington Post @ 10:28 a.m.
On January 18, when hip-hop singer Wyclef Jean held the press conference in New York City upon his return from the earthquake-devastated Port-au-Prince, he addressed the first of the two legal obstacles that threatened to bar him from participation in Haiti’s presidential elections.
After a heart-wrenching recount of his role in early rescue efforts and defense of accusations against his foundation, Yele Haiti, Jean held up his Haitian passport along with his registered alien card as cameras flashed. Those of us in the know read this moment as forecasting his eventual bid for the presidency.
In presenting proof of his Haitian citizenship, Jean publicly lessened the threat of Article 13 of the 1987 Constitution of Haiti, which states that one loses one’s Haitian nationality upon being naturalized as a citizen of another nation (and therefore is unable to seek the republic’s highest office).
Article 135, which requires habitual residency for five consecutive years, would become another matter for the presidential hopeful.
On Friday night, the electoral council disqualified Jean along with fourteen others—including his uncle Raymond Joseph (ambassador to the United States)—from the presidential race. Jean initially accepted this ruling, urging his supporters to stay calm and keep the faith, only to rescind his acceptance days later. As of Sunday night, Jean vowed to appeal the electoral council’s decision.
It’s certainly not the first time that diaspora Haitians have sought the presidency and challenged the electoral council, only to be stopped by Articles 13 and/or 135. In 2005, during the elections that legitimized the displacement of then president Aristide, two diaspora candidates, Samir Mourra and Dumarsais Simeus, sought the presidency. In a ping-pong match, Simeus and Mourra appealed and challenged the CEP’s ruling and found themselves on and off the ballot—that is, until they were eventually disqualified by a panel appointed by Haiti’s interim government.
Like Jean, Mourra and Simeus were wealthy businessmen who represented the interests of the elite and the international community. Unlike Jean, however, both were without popular support. They were also foreign nationals who had forfeited their Haitian citizenship.
To be sure, his nationality aside, Jean—a U.S. resident whom President Préval had named ambassador-at-large in 2007—has claimed that the residency requirement should not apply to him, given this post. If one were to follow that logic, there still remains a two-year discrepancy that must be accounted for. There is also the bigger ongoing issue of constitutional amendment.
It’s doubtful anything will happen with Jean’s appeal, since CEP decisions are usually final. Still, the discussion surrounding his candidacy has actually reopened an ongoing and unresolved debate concerning the diaspora’s role in Haiti and Haitian affairs.
Upon announcing his candidacy earlier this month, Jean stated he sought the presidency because he was being drafted into service.
Indeed, many of us who left Haiti behind for one reason or another have felt the call and responded to this diasporic draft in different ways since January 12. Some have chosen to be in the thick of it by moving back to Haiti to use their resources and skills. Others have stayed abroad to work behind the scenes, or on the fringes making periodic trips back. Not all of us have political aspirations. A lot of us are motivated by one thing: systemic changes in Haiti.
16
Staging Haiti’s Upcoming Selection
November 24, 2010 (not published)
It would be nothing short of criminal to hold elections now, a Haitian university professor said to me. He uttered those prophetic words in March, two months after the quake. His primary concern was the fact that amid the devastation and rubble, a credible election was virtually impossible.
We were at UMass Boston, participating in the “Haitians Building Haiti: Towards Transparent and Accountable Development” working conference sponsored by Boston-based foundations trying to engage in dialogue to “envision and define a new paradigm for the rebuilding of Haiti.” We discussed the fact that most of those who had been displaced by Goudougoudou, as the quake has been affectionately dubbed, lost their national identification cards. Moreover, the collapse of government’s already weak infrastructure and devastation of so many parts of the country would severely impact participation.
As advocates, activists, scholars, concerned citizens, and development experts of all kinds regarding Haiti, Haitian politics, and the all-too-problematic historical role of the United States and the international community in Haitian affairs, we all knew that regardless of the impracticalities on the ground and the sheer inhumanity of this purported democratic effort, there would be an election of some sort. Indeed, there was simply too much hanging in the balance. Days after our meeting, the UN convened on Haiti, and we learned what would be at stake: to be exact!
The fact that Lavalas, the most popular party, has been left out of the electoral process again seems of little concern to those who claim to want to build Haiti back better. Democracy be damned! It’s never been about numbers anyway. The European Union (EU), the Organization of American States (OAS), and the Caribbean Community (CARICOM)—the institutions that matter in Washington (only when the timing is right)—are backstage ready to play along as official observers. There is only one aim: declare a winner. But not just any winner will do!
When I was in Haiti months ago, before the official CEP list was even made public, rumor