By Mark Schuller
Mark Schuller is Assistant Professor of Anthropology and NGO Leadership and Development at Northern Illinois University and affiliate at the Faculté d’Ethnologie, l’Université d’État d’Haïti. He is the author of “Killing with Kindness: Haiti, International Aid, and NGOs” and co-editor of three volumes, including “Tectonic Shifts: Haiti Since the Earthquake”. He is co-director/co-producer of documentary “Poto Mitan: Haitian Women, Pillars of the Global Economy”.
This piece first ran in the Haitian Times on January 12, 2014 (http://www.haitiantimes.com/too-sweet-too-bitter-three-lives-taken-in-haiti-camp-fire-day-before-quake-anniversary/).
January 12 marked four years since the earthquake that left Port-au-Prince, and its surrounding areas, in shambles.
Aside from the construction of stands around Champs-de-Mars, noticeably absent the National Palace, from which pastors proclaim the gospel over loudspeakers, there is little sign of today’s significance. Unlike the first anniversary — indeed, first six months, of the earthquake, there is little organized fanfare.
On the surface, things are calm. Port-au-Prince appears to be in security. Kidnapping stats are way down from the end of the year. Prime Minister Laurent Lamothe presented a list of accomplishments four years on, which include the construction of 5,000 houses. The protests that engulfed the streets almost daily in November and early December, including thousands recently for an increase in Haiti’s minimum wage to 500 gourdes a day (about $11.35 or $1.42 per hour), have dissipated for the holiday season.
But like many people who have commented on the taste of Prestige, Haiti’s national beer that recently won its second world beer cup title, since it was purchased by Heineken, it is too sweet.
Yet this sweetness comes at a price. Yes, the price of beer, along with daily necessities, has gone up. But there is also a price for the apparent sweetness of the city. Persistent rumors credit deals made with elements who would otherwise create disorder for the climate of security.
For some, the realities four years on are only too bitter.
On the piste — a former airstrip which is now a main thoroughfare dividing one of Haiti’s only remaining relocation camps from scattered successful social housing projects –- a half a block from Route de l’Aéroport, is a camp, Pèp Pwogresis (progressive people, also known as Delogè) where about 108 families lived. Like many still remaining the camp is carefully hidden, in this case by a ten-foot brick wall. The owner of the space, about the size of a squat football field (80 yards by about 40 yards), is the business that abuts it, Imprimerie des Antilles.
Between 9:30 and 10:00 yesterday morning, a fire started in the camp, at the corner that sits next to the printer.
Within 20-25 minutes, the police and the firefighters arrived. By about 11:00, the fire overtook the entire camp, destroying every single dwelling. The fire was hot enough to burn completely through people’s beds — only the springs remained. Car batteries, used to power inverters, were also destroyed.
Soft drink bottles melted. Chards of ceramic plates charred next to warped silverware. A pile of blackened tubers and plantains sat feet from a chicken carcass. The owner of the dwelling (who declined to give her name) had just come back from Port-de-Paix that morning with the foodstuffs.
Nothing was salvageable. Sheets of tin ripped and covered in soot were scattered on top of the few concrete blocks that delimited individual families’ houses.
Camp committee president Ruth Calixte confirmed that three people died, including two children. Three-year-old Sabine Leon’s bones stuck out of the charred remains of her house. Louinor Nizaire, an adult, also died on the way to the hospital. He was asthmatic. Around 30 people were transferred to the hospital. Calixte explained that two hospitals, Bernard Mevs (private hospital in Cité Soleil) and OFATMA (a public institution), refused entry of the injured.
Several people in Red Cross uniforms were walking around the camp, accompanied by people identified with the Ministry of Public Health and Civil Protection. By about 2:00 pm, the fire was completely put out, the fire fighters boarding their truck. Two Canadian MINUSTAH police officers entered the camp at this point.
While it is possible that they were waiting for the smoke to clear, there were no officials that could offer assistance to the 108 families who saw all their belongings burn beyond salvaging between 1:00 and 2:20, when I left the camp. Calixte confirmed that no one came by. She was still looking for somewhere to sleep for the night.
By the time I spoke with Calixte at 6:00 pm, a child and four parents were still unaccounted for.
The police and fire fighters with whom I spoke with couldn’t identify the source of the fire; however, a rumor circulated that the official cause of the fire according to the mayor’s office was an electrical wire burning. Given the heat and the rapidity of the fire — and the fact that it spread throughout the entire camp — there was a strong possibility of arson.
According to Calixte, International Organization for Migration (IOM) did a census in the camp in late November, simply to update people’s IDP cards (identification for Inter-nally Displaced Person). No word was given to residents about relocation assistance; a plan that had successfully closed many of Port-au-Prince’s camps centers paying landlords up to $500 to rent to IDPs. While there were no specific threats, Calixte said that there has constant pressure to leave the camp.
The steadily ticking down of internally displaced persons (IDPs), as officially counted by the International Organization for Migration’s Displace-ment Tracking Matrix is often hailed as the singular measure of progress for the Haiti relief effort.
The official count suddenly dropped to 172,000 in a report published on October 22. The latest report counts 147,000 IDPs, a tenth of the population as of July 2010. Notably, the large settlement area known as Kanaran(Canaan) was taken out because the Haitian government no longer considered it a camp. Population estimates for Kanaran vary between 70,000 and 140,000.
This official slight-of-hand is particularly insidious considering that Kanaran — which is a complex place with its own contradictions and realities — is a place where many IDPs go following the closure of their camp. In research conducted in the summer of 2012, 41 per cent of Kanaran residents used to live in a camp. Of former camp residents, 63 per cent reported leaving because of forced eviction, and 27 per cent because of bad conditions.
This was before the bulk of the managed relocation program, modeled after the “16/6” plan. The Faculty of Ethnology’s Development Sciences Department Chair, sociologist Ilionor Louis, reports that many IDPs found themselves at Kanaran even with the rental assistance program, because they couldn’t afford to make payments, or the landlord kicked them out. Shantytowns are creeping up the steep mountainsides of Mòn Lopital on the south edge of Port-au-Prince.
The construction of 5,000 homes (the New York Times reported a grand total of 7,515) pales in comparison to the 105,000 houses completely destroyed and 188,282 houses collapsed or badly damaged.
Since they no longer officially exist, residents who are kicked out of Kanaran have no legal recourse, like the approximately 250 families living in Vilaj Mozayik, a camp that relocated together to Kanaran. On December 9, they were again from their homes, by armed bandits and police.
A large march was scheduled yesterday to advocate for housing rights. Word is that other larger, more politically motivated, protests will resume in the week.
No protest can bring Sabine Leon back to life, nor give back the 108 families of the “progressive people” camp their baby pictures, their tarps, their clothes, their homes, and their sense of security.
If this bitter reality is hard to swallow, it is nonetheless an important reminder of the precariousness of the situation.
