As we all know pretty well, Haiti has a serious image problem.
It seems like every time Haiti makes headlines, it’s for a negative reason, whether it’s political unrest or devastation from a natural disaster. And these stories are never complete without photos of chaos in the streets and the not-so-subtle implication that despite the world’s best efforts, Haiti just can’t get it together.
In Port-au-Prince, the capital city and hub of most political activity, news photographers have a field day illustrating this idea with one unfortunate constant of urban life: the piles and piles of rotting garbage, or fatra, that line the streets.
To American eyes, it’s incredible that the hordes of people who spend their days out on the roadsides doing komès (operating small commercial booths) seem not even to notice the crumpled paper and plastic wrappers that lie festering in the sun all around them.
Many street vendors in Port-au-Prince spend their days surrounded by piles of fatra. Photo: Jim Poag
The capital’s trash problem is an ecological nightmare. It also signals that some of the country’s most basic public services are unreliable, if they exist at all. But the problem isn’t fully explained by a lack of waste management services.
The presence of trash on city streets has long been used by the urban poor as a form of mute protest against the government. The appearance of public spaces and roads is one of the few things they can control. So when the government makes an unpopular decision, the destruction of roads and the piling up of trash are some of the trademark responses.
It’s a phenomenon that’s been portrayed as a self-perpetuating cycle: frustrated protesters destroy roads and trash the streets, making it more difficult for the government to attract foreign investment and tourists, perpetuating the nation’s poverty, which leads to more frustrated protests.
But what this depiction doesn’t take into account is that in Haiti, protest via destruction actually works.
Protest, or manifestasyon, is one of the only dependable tools that everyday Haitians have to effect political change. And they don’t hesitate to use it.
Take the most recent upheaval, for example. On July 6 when the Haitian government announced a drastic hike in the price of fuel, people took to the streets in a manifestasyon that shut down the entire nation. Eight days later, then-Prime Minister Jack Lafontant resigned. And importantly, the fuel price hike was suspended.
Jack Lafontant isn’t the first PM to be ousted by popular protest. Before him, Prime Ministers Laurent Lamothe (2014) and Jacques Edouard Alexis (2008) resigned after protests regarding corruption, lack of transparency, and food prices.
There’s a long history of manifestasyon leading to political and personnel change. Think about the riots, prompted by allegations of fraud, that followed the October 2015 election of Michel Martelly’s successor Jovenel Moïse. Through their efforts, the people were successful in persuading the government to cancel the results and redo the election.
Everyday Haitians enact political change by the only means available to them. Photo: Jim Poag
Perhaps constantly resorting to violent protest is crude, but it causes change in a way a more “respectable” method, such as a petition, never could. It is the average Haitian’s way of saying to the government, “You can’t ignore me, listen to what I have to say.”
In that respect, it’s pretty cool that in a nation with such a huge divide between the rich and poor, the poor have a proven method for making their voices heard.
But at what cost? Is rejecting an unfair policy or corrupt leader worth the long-term destruction of infrastructure and pollution of the environment? Ultimately, that will be up to Haitians themselves to decide. What’s important for us to realize is that manifestasyon is not destruction for destruction’s sake.
Written by Megan Pearson and Carlo Diy on July 25, 2018