There are historical realities that should invite us to a certain caution when it comes to envisioning the future of a people. The history of foreign interventions in Haiti is one of them. From the American occupation of 1915 to 1934 to the various international missions that have succeeded one another on our territory, one question remains: to what extent have these interventions truly contributed to the construction of a Haitian state capable of responding to the aspirations of its population? It would be difficult to answer this question without considering the political, economic, and symbolic consequences of these experiences on our national sovereignty.
That said, the enthusiasm that Nayib Bukele currently generates among some Haitians deserves scrutiny. This Salvadoran president, close to Donald Trump and an advocate of a particularly repressive security policy, is presented by some as the one who could finally put an end to the proliferation of armed gangs in Haiti. But can we seriously think that a crisis as deep as the one plaguing our society would find its resolution in the intervention of a foreign leader, no matter how determined he may be?
Especially since Bukele's prison policy, through the paid agreements concluded with the United States, raises another question, that of the economic interests that may develop around imprisonment. The prison, instead of being merely an instrument of penal sanction, also becomes, in certain circumstances, an object of economic transaction. It is not a question of claiming that such a deal already exists with Haiti, but rather to recall that security policies are never entirely independent of the power dynamics and interests that run through them.
Consequently, to consider Bukele as a providential savior, without questioning the historical and political contradictions of such a perspective, would be, to quote Luné Roc Pierre Louis, to "dance on a volcano to better sink into the depths of abyssal aporia." This image reflects, in my opinion, the paradox of a society that, in trying to escape from a crisis, risks engaging in new forms of dependency.
In reality, the fundamental problem lies elsewhere. The proliferation of armed gangs in Haiti cannot be understood as an exclusively criminal phenomenon. It is also the manifestation of a much deeper crisis, that of a state whose institutions struggle to perform their most basic functions, an economy unable to provide sufficient prospects for its youth, and a political system whose contradictions contribute to sustaining the very conditions of this violence.
Undoubtedly, the arrest of a few gang leaders could yield immediate results. But then what? What will happen to the young people growing up in neighborhoods abandoned by public authorities? What prospects will we offer to those for whom belonging to an armed group sometimes appears as the only possibility for social and economic existence? And above all, how can we prevent the reconstitution of these groups if the conditions that favor their emergence remain unchanged? These, it seems to me, are the fundamental questions that a policy genuinely concerned with the future of Haiti should seek to answer.
The appeal to Bukele as a providential figure reflects, in my opinion, something deeper than a simple preference for authoritarian security policy. It testifies to the despair of a population that, having been abandoned by its own institutions, ends up seeking salvation elsewhere. But this despair must not be confused with the incapacity of the Haitian people to take their destiny into their own hands. It rather reveals the extent of a historical, political, and social crisis that has progressively reduced the possibilities for collective action.
Ultimately, it is in no way about denying the necessity of combating armed gangs, nor to downplay the daily suffering of their victims. It is simply a matter of understanding that a society does not sustainably free itself from violence by only targeting those who perpetrate it, without questioning the conditions that allow this violence to reproduce. In continually seeking our salvation elsewhere, we risk making our despair the very foundation of new forms of dependency.
