A concern that I can no longer keep to myself
"Dreams of a sabotaged youth." This was to be the title of a book I never dared to finish. Not for lack of inspiration, but because each page awakened in me a deep anger, a persistent bitterness towards this society in which I was born, grew up, and where, today, I sometimes feel imprisoned. How can one write calmly about the future when the present itself slips away from us? How can one speak of hope to a generation that learns more to survive than to live?
This evening, a worry has taken hold of me. And rather than let it die in silence, I have chosen to bring it to everyone’s attention. I think back to that expression we used to learn in our civics textbooks: "living together." We were taught to respect others, to be tolerant, to be in solidarity, and the necessity of sharing a common space despite our differences. We were young, but these lessons were already preparing us to become responsible citizens. Years later, what tragic irony! "Viv Ansanm" now also refers to a coalition of armed groups whose practices precisely embody the opposite of the values we were taught in school.
Some discourses almost want to present these men as modern-day Robin Hoods, claiming to defend the forgotten ones of society. Yet, when we observe the consequences of their actions, it is precisely the most vulnerable populations that pay the price.
Behind this violence also lie questions that our society deserves answers to. Who finances these networks? What interests do they serve? What complicities allow them to prosper? And why do so many citizens feel that responsibilities are never fully established? Who am I to endorse impunity or to accept without question the decisions of those in power? I am simply a citizen who refuses to consider the unacceptable as a fatality. Because beyond the deaths, the kidnappings, the burned houses, and the lost territories, another tragedy is brewing. Quieter, less visible, but perhaps just as devastating.
According to the International Organization for Migration, nearly 1.5 million people were displaced across Haiti in September 2026. Behind this figure are uprooted families, abandoned memories, and entire lives to rebuild. But these statistics do not tell the whole story. They say nothing of those neighborhoods losing their soul, of those children growing up without landmarks, of those ambitions abandoned even before being realized. And one question constantly comes back to me: what will remain of our society in ten or twenty years if we continue to lose, day after day, the very foundations of our collective life?
Here are ten consequences that, in my opinion, deserve our attention starting today.
1. We risk becoming strangers in our own cities
A city is not just its buildings, its roads, or its businesses. It has a soul, a history, and a memory. I think of those neighborhoods where we grew up, the streets where we learned to walk, the fields where we played, the public squares, the monuments, and those old neighbors who sometimes knew several generations of the same family. I also think of those small businesses where we were recognized even before we placed an order, of those childhood friends we would meet without an appointment, of those habits that gave each neighborhood its identity. Today, families abandon these places without knowing if they will ever be able to return. Houses are destroyed, businesses close, streets become inaccessible, and entire communities disperse. We are not just losing geographical spaces. We are losing fragments of our history.
In a few years, some children may only know the name of their hometown through their parents' stories. And when the time comes to rebuild, it will not be enough to raise the walls. We will also need to regain that collective memory that violence will have profoundly weakened. We risk becoming strangers in the cities that witnessed our birth.
2. The uprooting of populations will disrupt our territories
Insecurity forces families to leave their neighborhoods, their activities, and sometimes everything they possess. Some find refuge in already fragile municipalities. Others are welcomed by relatives who must share limited resources. This situation gradually alters the organization of our territory. Host cities experience added pressure on housing, schools, health services, and job opportunities. Displaced populations must learn to live in an environment they did not choose.
I also worry for our countryside. Who will take care of our lands when insecurity prevents farmers from cultivating or transporting their harvests? What will become of families that relied on agriculture if their activities can no longer sustain them? According to the World Bank, Haitian agriculture recorded a decline of 4.8% during the 2025 fiscal year. The security crisis exacerbates an already struggling sector. It is not a matter of viewing the customs of displaced populations as a threat. Regional diversity is a wealth. The problem lies in forced displacements, lack of preparation, and the absence of means to support the communities affected. In the long term, we risk disorganizing our territories, weakening our agricultural production, and making it even more difficult to achieve cohesion between different regions of the country.
3. Friendliness could give way to mistrust
Once, in many neighborhoods, neighbors knew each other. One could ask for a favor, share a meal, entrust a child to someone trustworthy, or simply spend a few minutes chatting in front of a house. These gestures seemed ordinary. Yet, they represented a real social wealth.
Today, fear transforms our behaviors. We hesitate to welcome a stranger, to offer assistance, to speak freely, or even to trust our neighbor. Everyone learns to protect themselves, sometimes retreating into themselves. I fear this mistrust may settle permanently into our relationships. That we may reach a point where each citizen looks at the other with suspicion, where solidarity becomes a risk, and where indifference seems more prudent than mutual aid.
Inequalities could also accentuate this fracture. Those with financial means may sometimes move to better-protected areas, while the most vulnerable remain exposed. A society, however, does not hold together solely because of its institutions. It also relies on the invisible trust that allows its members to live together. When everyone becomes a potential threat in the eyes of another, it is society itself that begins to unravel.
4. The cost of living could further entrap us in poverty
Insecurity has a considerable economic cost. When a road is blocked, goods move slowly. When a merchant has to multiply expenses to transport their products, these costs can be passed on to consumers. When businesses close, jobs disappear. The consequences are felt even in the most basic family expenditures.
The World Bank indicates that the Haitian economy contracted by 2.7% in 2025, marking a seventh consecutive year of decline. The average inflation reached 28.3% that same year. These difficulties are not solely explained by gangs. They also result from long-standing structural problems, but violence contributes to exacerbating them. Behind these figures are parents cutting meals, students dropping out, and families for whom buying medicine becomes a sacrifice. How can we encourage a young person to start a business when their investment can disappear overnight? How can we convince a merchant to expand their activities if they cannot guarantee the safety of their employees? We are not only at risk of becoming poorer. We risk gradually losing the means to escape this poverty.
5. Education could lose its role as protection and social mobility
This is probably one of the consequences that worries me the most. What becomes of a child growing up in a neighborhood where weapons are more visible than books? Where schools regularly close? Where public authority figures seem absent, while armed men impose their own rules? Who does this child want to resemble?
According to UNICEF, more than 1,600 schools were reported closed during the 2024-2025 school year, depriving over 240,000 students of learning. But beyond lost classes, it is the entire construction of landmarks that is threatened. How do you explain to a child the importance of effort, honesty, and respect for the law when they see armed individuals exercising authority de facto, sometimes with complete impunity? How do you make them believe that education is a path to success when so many graduates struggle to find jobs? We must measure the gravity of this contradiction. It does not mean that children exposed to violence will become criminals. They are primarily the victims. But deprived of education, security, and prospects, they become more vulnerable to exploitation and recruitment by criminal networks. A nation that allows weapons to replace teachers jeopardizes its future long before realizing it.
6. We may end up finding violence normal
There was a time when the announcement of a kidnapping, a shooting, or an attack on a neighborhood provoked deep emotion. Today, these events occupy such a frequent place in our daily lives that we may become accustomed to them. A displaced family, a burned house, a new victim. We read the news, express our sadness, then go on with our day. I do not condemn this reaction. I know everyone is trying to preserve their balance in a situation that has become exhausting. But this adaptation carries a danger. By living in fear, we may gradually lose the ability to feel outraged. What should have remained unacceptable may end up seeming ordinary to us. Violence risks then influencing our language, our behaviors, and even our perception of success or authority.
I particularly dread the day when our children will no longer be surprised to hear gunfire, but will instead wonder how they could spend an entire day without violence. What conception of life will we have passed on to them? The day when the suffering of others no longer calls us to action, we will have lost much more than our security: an essential part of our humanity.
7. The authority of the state and trust in institutions will continue to weaken
What is the use of a state if a citizen cannot move freely, access certain public services, or count on effective protection? This question deserves to be asked. In territories where armed groups impose their rules, populations may be forced to live under a parallel authority. Individuals decide who can pass, who must pay, who can engage in an activity or leave a neighborhood. Meanwhile, citizens sometimes feel that the institutions meant to defend them are absent or overwhelmed. It is not enough to denounce the gangs. We must also question institutional failures, criminal financing circuits, and the responsibilities of those who could have contributed to preventing this situation. Any potential complicities must be the subject of rigorous investigations, without baseless accusations, but without complacency either. For when the population loses trust in the police, the judiciary, and public authorities, they eventually doubt the very capacity of the state to fulfill its mission. And this loss of trust can outlast the restoration of security. A country where force replaces the law cannot build lasting justice or true democracy.
8. The exodus of skills could undermine our ambitions
How many young people still dream of building their whole life in Haiti? I am not only talking about those who wish to study or work abroad. I also think of those who envisioned starting a business, creating jobs, becoming teachers, doctors, engineers, or artists in their own country. Today, for many, the primary goal has become finding a way to leave. I do not blame them. Everyone has the right to seek security and better living conditions. But this situation should concern us collectively. A country that continuously loses its skills deprives itself of many people capable of contributing to its reconstruction. And there is an even less visible loss: that of abandoned dreams. Young people who stop pursuing initiatives, students who interrupt their education, artists who give up their projects, and professionals who no longer believe in the possibility of progress. We are not only losing inhabitants. We are losing ideas, talents, initiatives, and opportunities. The true tragedy of a sabotaged youth is not just that they leave their country. It is that they ultimately cease to believe they can accomplish anything there.
9. Families may carry the scars of this crisis for multiple generations
When we talk about the victims of insecurity, we naturally think of those who are killed, injured, kidnapped, or displaced. But there are other victims whose sufferings are less visible. I think of that child who saw their house burn, of that mother who no longer knows where her son is, of that family forced to flee, leaving behind everything they owned. I also think of those who live every day with the fear of losing a loved one. These experiences can leave deep wounds.
Repeated violence can affect mental health, family relationships, learning capacity, and how individuals perceive the world. Without appropriate support, some traumas risk prolonging and influencing future generations. When we talk about reconstruction, we must therefore think of people as much as infrastructures. Rebuilding a school is essential. But we must also help children regain the trust necessary to learn there. Rebuilding a neighborhood is vital. But we must also enable families to live there again without being constantly haunted by their memories. We do not only pass on houses, lands, and traditions to our children. We also risk transmitting fears that we never had the means to heal.
10. We risk getting trapped in a vicious, hard-to-break cycle
All these consequences come together in a particularly concerning mechanism. Insecurity weakens the economy. Economic weakening reduces job prospects. The lack of opportunities increases certain social vulnerabilities. These vulnerabilities can then be exploited by criminal organizations looking to recruit or expand their influence. Meanwhile, schools struggle to operate, families move, businesses close, and trust in institutions weakens. We thus enter a vicious cycle from which it will become increasingly difficult to escape if no lasting solution is provided. What worries me is not just the current situation. It is the risk of seeing this crisis become the legacy of an entire generation.
In ten years, we may still be trying to repair the consequences of decisions that should have been made today. We may have restored some roads, some neighborhoods, and some buildings. But how many young people will have lost their best years? How many families will have been permanently dispersed? How many businesses will have never come to fruition? Reconstruction will be possible, but its human and social cost will increase as we allow the situation to prolong. It would be dangerous to believe that time alone will eventually resolve this problem. The greatest risk would be to devote so much effort to surviving today that we no longer have the means to prepare for tomorrow. And tomorrow, what will be left of us? We often talk about lost territories, victims, forced displacements, and impassable roads. But do we question enough what this crisis silently destroys in our identity, our culture, our values, and our ambitions?
One day, I hope, the guns will fall silent. But will we find our neighborhoods as we knew them? Our childhood friends? Our old neighbors? Our public squares? Our schools? That ordinary freedom to go out without fearing we may never return? And above all, what will we answer to the children who ask us what we did while their future was being built amid the ruins?
I do not claim to have all the solutions. I simply refuse to believe that our only responsibility is to note the damage, to be outraged for a few hours, and then to resume the course of our resignation. We must worry today about what our silence, our indifference, and the inaction of those responsible could cost us tomorrow. Because the reconstruction of Haiti will never be limited to reclaiming territories. We will also need to reconquer trust, restore values, heal wounds, and give an entire generation the right to dream. A society does not always disappear abruptly. It can slowly unravel through the loss of its landmarks, its memory, and its ambitions.
"Dreams of a sabotaged youth" was to be the title of a book I never finished. Today, I fear this book is writing itself through our lives, our silences, and our disillusionments. Yet I refuse to believe that this story is already written to its last page. It is still up to us to change the ending. For the greatest tragedy would not just be having lost years of our youth, but discovering tomorrow that we have let the very reasons for hope disappear.
