In an article published here on September 17, the subject of Haitian identity was addressed. The question on the agenda was: What qualifies someone as Haitian? The author argued that no Haitian is more Haitian than another, regardless of the length of their indigenous pedigree, the color of their skin, the place of birth, or the language spoken. The difference among nationals lies not in these factors, but in the depth of their patriotic feeling. The measurement of this noble sentiment is the subject of the present article.
Many of those who remain in Haiti are convinced, perhaps rightly so, that their presence attests to "their loyalty to the homeland and shows that their soul simply recognizes it," to paraphrase the reckless words of a public opinion director residing in Haiti. Local residents have many ideas about those who live abroad, suspecting they are out of place. For example, they assume that those who leave do so in search of material comfort and find it at the cost of great humiliations. Some locals believe that "as free men and women, their dignity is non-negotiable, and it is better to die standing at home, on their land, than to live bent under the scornful gaze of others," to quote the same influencer.
Clearly, the previous perspectives lack nuance and have troubling implications. In the minds of many local residents, the Haitian diaspora forms a monolithic block. Nothing could be more inaccurate.
Some members of the diaspora are officially or unofficially exiled in foreign lands. They are there against their will and drink from the cup of bitterness daily. This sense of distress was already present in the song Haiti, written by Géo Koger, composed by Vincent Scotto in 1932 and immortalized by Joséphine Baker in 1934.
“Ah! Who will return my country
Haiti
It is you my only paradise
Haiti
Ah! God reminds me
Your beautiful forests
Your vast horizons
Far from your shores
The most beautiful cage
Is but a prison
Far away, far away under other skies
I lived happy days
But everything is over
Alone in my exile today
I sing, my heart sad
Yes! My desire my cry of love
Is to return to you one day
Haiti!!!”
Even when material obstacles are lifted, the return from exile is never easy to contemplate. Ask Dany Laferrière, author of The Enigma of the Return, a book published in 2009.
Forced or voluntary exiles have had to brave the weight of time to regain their country of origin. They have attempted the impossible to reintegrate into the local dynamic. However, like a failed graft, they were rejected with a bang and returned empty-handed or traumatized. Often, the readjustment has clashed with the petty interests of locals or the fears of individuals well-established in the routine of mediocrity and determined to block the path for avant-gardists and progressives, especially if the latter appear too ambitious or arrogant.
Some have risked their lives and freedom to seek refuge or asylum abroad, away from the threats weighing on their lives, their survival, or that of their families. Defense is a sacred right. For those, relatively speaking, it was that or death, to quote the title of the bestselling novel by Canado-Haitian Thélyson Orélien.
Many have relocated abroad after years of asylum. For them, the habit has become second nature. They no longer see themselves in Haiti, not out of spite, but by the force of circumstances. As Lionel Benjamin sings, “rasin gentan pouse.”
Many have been displaced under other skies because they have no more emotional and material ties in their homeland. For them, the country is depopulated, their belongings looted or vandalized. They have nowhere to return and lay their heads. Their host country constitutes their second or first homeland.
Others go elsewhere and stay there to fulfill a very human aspiration, namely personal growth. Haiti is clearly not yet equipped to contain and nurture their art, profession, talent, expertise, or genius.
Regardless of the categorization of the displaced, leaving does not mean losing interest in the fate of Haiti, nor disassociating from it, nor being indifferent to it. “Kòd lonbrik moun yo toujou mare ak lakay.” The opposite would be the exception that proves the rule.
It is unwise for local residents to cloak themselves in glory and gratuitously discredit the patriotism of members of the diaspora who are already in turmoil. To be truthful, let’s first say that the former are not freer than the latter. Consumer society enslaves populations everywhere, especially those in capitalist regimes. Furthermore, if the former remain in Haiti, it is often because they have no choice. No more, no less. Hats off to the few who have the choice and have chosen to challenge adversity.
Under no circumstances can locals claim to be the most patriotic and the most loyal to the homeland. Sometimes their language implies that those who left are renegades who have betrayed the cause; which would be presumptuous and unjust of them. As with the aforementioned opinion director and the majority of locals, the souls of many expatriates recognize themselves in their country and owe it a carnal loyalty. They have left Haiti, but Haiti has not left them and continues to inhabit them.
Some local residents, perhaps inadvertently, insult the diaspora by insinuating that their members buckle and compromise their dignity. However, most of these people are appreciated and respected in their communities, either for their work ethic or for their excellence at tasks, among other reasons. Expatriates consider the malicious insults hurled at their communities by disturbed and constipated xenophobes as psychological projections.
Other local residents err in suggesting that Haitian expatriates live the good life comfortably. Many among them claim that the quality of life was much better in Haiti. Nostalgia eats them alive. Nothing surprising, as one is nowhere better than at home. “Lakay se lakay.” This is evidenced by the poignant refrains from Haiti, the hit song composed in 1974 by Arsène Apollon for the group Skah-Shah.
“This morning
I open my eyes
There’s a pain sitting on my heart
I remember my country
Haiti, my dear
I have to go take a cab to work
Two streams of tears flow from my eyes
Oh God, give me courage
People from home think I am happy
When I don’t write, they criticize me
Without knowing
It’s my heart breaking in New York
The sun doesn’t rise...”
Moreover, those who are living it easy “lòt bò dlo” generally get there not through humiliations, but through enormous risks and sacrifices. A bit of respect is in order here. The same regard is due to some local residents who manage to carve out a place in the sun among the affluent.
These days, the patriotism of a Haitian cannot be measured simply by their presence on Haitian soil, as many stateless people also reside in the country. In reality, some can only function if they are on the ground. There are just as many traitors to the nation in the diaspora. But their treachery is not necessarily linked to their absence from Haiti.
Haiti needs everything and everyone. A sincere patriot can effectively invest, contribute, and make a difference regardless of their place of residence. It’s all a matter of civic consciousness and a sense of belonging.
Still, the importance of stays in the homeland must not be minimized. Keeping in touch with the homeland can grow interest and strengthen attachment.
Members of the diaspora, there is no discredit in leaving. Many of you are already making a significant difference through the volume of your money transfers, through your participation in forums discussing Haiti, and through other less visible means. No one is qualified to judge the intensity and sincerity of your patriotism. Do not let yourselves be intimidated by the endemic insecurity in the Republic of Port-au-Prince. The country, with its opportunities for tourism and business, remains open, at least in the North and the South.
Members of the diaspora, do not let yourselves be ensnared by the habit of distance, but “often return to your alma mater,” as the alumni hymn says. You have received much from Haiti. Take the time and find ways to give back. It will be justice.
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