In the days after Haiti’s earthquake, several observers have expressed hope that the disaster could, ultimately, be a game-changer for the country. Robert Maguire, head of the Haiti program at Trinity University in Washington, D.C., has noted, “There’s a potential silver-lining in a deep, dark cloud.” And New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof wrote, “Far more than most other impoverished countries — particularly those in Africa — Haiti could plausibly turn itself around.” Port-au-Prince could be rebuilt with solid construction, replacing the slums destroyed by the earthquake. The capital’s population could then be reduced to humane levels, and people could live in the conditions to which former President Jean-Bertrand Aristide aspired: “poverty with dignity, instead of misery.”
I have also heard friends and commentators suggest that this terrible moment might finally and belatedly galvanize both the international community and the Haitian political elite to promote sustainable and humane development—despite all the obstacles. Robert Fatton, one of the most prominent Haitian intellectuals and the Julia A. Cooper Professor of Government and Foreign Affairs at the University of Virginia, commented, “Could it lead to a very new way that Haitians look at each other, talk to each other, treat each other,” and at the same time rebuild their nation? “I can’t think of a better moment than this moment.”
Oh, if it were only so! I fear that such statements reflect wishful thinking (to be fair, Fatton is not making a prediction). Haiti’s political class has been polarized too long to expect any immediate, fundamental shift in its outlook. And the symptoms of the country’s distorted politics are far-reaching. For example, the Haitian government still does not pay for free, universal public schooling. Only about 20 percent of children can attend public primary schools, while families with meager resources scrimp to send their children to private ones. Yet the rich can send their children to state medical and law schools for free.
Still, against this backdrop, Haiti had been making progress until last week. It was a long, slow move, akin to an aircraft carrier changing direction, but the trend was real.
The key factor was the presence of the UN Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH). After beginning its work in 2004, MINUSTAH immediately encountered an interim government dedicated to marginalizing the party of the exiled Aristide. At the same time, the mission was confronted with the sudden and unexpected emergence of urban gangs from the worst slums in Port-au-Prince. But eventually, MINUSTAH learned how to attack and arrest the gangs, and also how to minimize civilian casualties by relying on better-trained forces. By 2007, the urban gangs were largely demobilized and their leaders apprehended.
There were also signs in recent years of an improving formal economy—and, more importantly, political stability. Since the end of the twenty-nine-year Duvalier dictatorship in 1986, Haiti’s progress toward democracy had been interrupted some two dozen times in what Robert Fatton has called “the unending transition.” Each time, the country had to start over with plans for a new election. But the four years since René Préval was elected president in 2006, though marked by food riots and other dissent, had been the longest period of quasi-democratic stability in Haiti’s history.
Most importantly, President René Préval, who was elected in the 2006 elections supervised by MINUSTAH, has calmly respected the rule of law—both by observing the complicated Gaullist, semi-presidential constitution, with both separate heads of state and government, and in containing volatile and violent elements, both allies and enemies. His presidency has produced, to be sure, turbulent executive-legislative moments. But despite these tribulations, the trajectory of governance and stability is upward. Préval is scheduled to finish out his term early next year and hand over power, hopefully based on credible elections, currently scheduled for later this year.