Almost 10 years have passed and Jean-Bertrand Aristide has failed to improve the lot of the Haitian people who trusted him so completely in 1994. A political crisis stemming from the flawed elections of 2000 has spurred bloody rebellion and Aristide finds himself in the Central African Republic, deposed for the second time. Aristide claims that the US forced him out, violating Haiti's fragile constitution. The circumstances of his exile are indeed murky and demand independent investigation. TV pundits seem fond of quoting an old Haitian proverb: '[t]he Constitution is made of paper; the bayonet is made of steel.' As I pursue the reports I recall my experience in Haiti during the events of 1994.

Waiting for the Americans

September 10, 1994

A Dutch colleague, Ton V., calls to see if I am available for a gig in Haiti. Yes, I say, without asking any questions. I've recently returned from the first free elections in South Africa. After the exhilaration of that tumultuous event I found out that my mother was seriously ill in neighboring Zimbabwe. A brief visit home confirmed what my siblings had begun to suspect, Parkinson's disease and possibly Alzheimer's. I'm not good at this stuff. I have to keep myself busy.

September 15, 1994

1030 hours. JFK. Meet up with Tim C. the cinematographer, before boarding. A florid, stubby chap; he sports a rose-colored buttoned-down shirt and a languid smile—a New Yorker disguised as a Californian. Together we root out Stephan S. in the boarding area. He's our German director, probably in his late thirties, a lean man with Michael Rennie cheekbones. He's friendly but distracted, seems concerned about our visa entry at the Haitian-Dominican border. Our brief is to cover the United States' invasion of Haiti for a German TV Company, to produce a daily story for satellite transmission to Europe, and also to shoot and edit material for a 24-minute documentary. Over the next seven days I'm to be field sound recordist and video editor.

1745 hours. Hotel Santa Domingo. At supper Stephan, Tim and I plan getting to the Haitian-Dominican border tomorrow. Stephan has a contact to get us there. Two Haitian travel agencies have been meeting journalists and TV crews at the border and bussing them to Port-au-Prince. We discuss the Haiti situation and Bill Clinton's decision to disregard Congress and stop the terrible Human Rights violations that take place in Haiti daily. Stephan believes that Clinton's motives (like those of Bush before him) have more to do with stopping the illegal outpouring of 'Boat People' into the U.S. I share his skepticism. Looking at the U.S. record of involvement in Third World countries it's apparent that any protestations of 'the pursuit of Democracy' are suspect.

Later, in Stephan's hotel room, we watch the news on Television. President Clinton makes firm his promise to invade Haiti. He doesn't say when. We guess at Saturday and hope we'll be in time.

Before the Clinton speech is over, Stephan receives a visitor. It's the contact: Max. He's Swiss, a charming entrepreneur, and full of advice, some chilling: '…if you hit someone in Haiti in your vehicle — on no account stop — you will be killed. There are always old tires lying around,' he radiates smiling mischief, 'gasoline, you know.' He's referring to 'Père Lebrun', 'the necklace,' (a popular chastisement in South Africa too). A car tire is filled with gasoline, wedged around the victim's neck then set alight. The three of us listen quietly. We are obviously nervous, which encourages Max. He has the look of a satyr, bristling dark eyebrows and a silver goatee. 'Watch out for crowd situations, keep your eye on your exits. It can get dangerous. The Haitians are not like the Dominicans. They can suddenly turn on you.'

In 1804 Haiti became the first independent black republic. It would have been the first independent black democracy if Western governments had not refused Haitian imports. Thomas Jefferson, then U.S. President, was fundamentally opposed to the idea of blacks running their own country. He called Louverture, one of the Haitian leaders, a cannibal. Despite exploiting the successful revolt to pressure France into selling Louisiana (the Louisiana purchase), Jefferson successfully persuaded the American Congress to end Haitian imports, yet American merchants would still be allowed to export to Haiti. Nevertheless, the new republic was to remain without a foreign master until the U.S marines occupied it from 1915 to 1934.

The Dominican Republic in the east and Haiti in the west share the island of Hispaniola. Haiti, 'shaped like the two roots of a molar,' (I'm not sure who said it but it is a perfect description) covers a third of the Island, an area of ten thousand, seven hundred and fourteen miles. It 's people number seven million, most impoverished, and most-about 70 percent-subsistence farmers in the countryside.

Max was in Port-au-Prince, the capital of Haiti, for many years, working for an international aid organization. Now he has settled in Santa Domingo with his wife and three children. His accent is odd. German, with an odd 'island' lilt to it. 'You'll find unbelievable racism in Haitian society,' says Max. 'The mulatto élite, whose members are almost white, refers to itself as 'Negro', one stratum down and a couple of shades darker is 'Negro-Negro.' The very black skinned who constitute the poor masses are called 'Negro-Negro-Negro'. Of course the mulatto élite are hand in glove with the junta—these privileged few do nothing for the poor.' 'Naturally, the U.S. traditionally supports the wealthy mulatto élite. You understand? The alliance is mutually and economically beneficial.' His anger is barely concealed behind the ever-present smile. Max, seeing we are uncomfortable, spends the rest of the evening, giving advice on how to bribe the petty officials we are about to encounter along the way.