Cannibal Armee

Haiti is shaped like the claw of a lobster about to snap on its prey. Two long peninsulas stretch out toward Cuba and a great Bay lies between them. To the right is the jagged border that divides the island of Hispaneola into Haiti on the West, and the Dominican Republic on the East. It is a lovely place, or was, when there was topsoil and vegetation.

Haiti threw off the yoke of Napoleon two hundred years ago. A nation of slaves rose against their masters and slaughtered them. The violence was so profound that it caused echoes in the slaveholding Southern States, and hardened the system in America to ensure that nothing of the sort would happen in North America.

There is still some beauty in Haiti, if you know where to look. It is pleasant in the hills above Port Au Prince. That is where the Diplomats and the media people live in these islands. There are two hotels of note. The media seems to prefer the Montana Hotel, but I enjoy the quiet elegance of the Villa Creole when I am in town. There are TVs in all the rooms, and telephones which the Junta used to monitor and a quiet whitewashed bar. Outside there is a marvelous swimming pool and tennis courts. One of my favorite things was an early morning croissant and chicory coffee by the sparkling water of the pool, listening to the cocks crow.

The natural world is pleasant here on the hill, and makes one forget the awful misery of the district of Cite Soliel 1200 feet below.

The slums of Port au Prince have all the elements of a holy vision. There are people who are angelic in their beauty, handsome stoics of immense personal dignity. There are also real demons there: twisted, machete-weilding ones. And the damned, of course, zombie-like from fear on what passes for streets.

The hotel claims it is only ten minutes from the airport, but I would recommend taking it slow so you don’t break an axle on the potholes. It is a challenge driving there, since there is no regular system of distribution for gasoline, or parts or repairs.

Haiti needs help, again. I heard about it in the elevator going up to the eleventh floor in suburban Washington, DC. I was riding with two dark men who spoke excitedly in what I realized was mellifluous Creole, the French-based patois of the island. I heard the word “Lavalas.” The word means “landslide” in Creole, and I realized they were speaking of President Aristide’s political party. They were animated about the rebels in Cap Haitian, and what was likely to happen next. Aristide is talking about a blood bath.

I got off the elevator and realized I had just received the best intelligence briefing in town. As I sat in an endless meeting in an airless room, I thought back to 1995, when my mission was to support the restoration of the Landslide party and sat by the pool at the Villa Creole.

Perhaps you have lost track of local events since the 82nd Airborne departed and we left the restored democratic government to its own devices. I’ll be brief. Rebels have occupied most of the hinterland and are threatening to march on the capital. A gang describing itself as the Cannibal Armee is the larest faction in this iteration of the Haitian Passion Play. The Haitians like their imagery. It goes back to the war against the French, and the brutality has continued with extraordinaty fury ever since.

Cannibal Armee founder Amiot Metayer was a former Arisitide loyalist who was arrested on charges of arson. He apparently soured on the President, accusing him of colluding with the people who run the baseball stitching plants and the safety glove manufacturers, the last businesses left in the country. He broke out of the notorious Gonaive Prison last August and was murdered in September. There have been several additional murders. The Cite Soleil has been in turmoil ever since.

Secretary Powell is talking to the rebels, trying to get them to calm down. The Cannibals have proposed a variety of options, including a provisional government, a three member junta and finally what it called a Government of National Consensus. There has even been talk of an election.

But that is where I came into the story almost ten years ago. There are many issues unresolved since independence. I’m retired now, but if the friends of Lavalas invite me back again to support their democracy, I am definitely staying at the Villa Creole.

Assuming the Cannibals let me.

Copyright 2004 Vic Socotra