Whenever these young women take the field, for ninety minutes, the Grenadières allow the Haitian people to dream.

This article originally appeared on Africa Is a Country on April 8, 2024. This story was produced with support from the Round Earth Media program of the International Women’s Media Foundation in partnership with Woy Magazine. 

According to Haitian sports journalist Bertinie Cherizard, “Haiti is one of the bastions of women’s football in the Caribbean.” Les Grenadières—named for an armed unit of the Haitian indigenous army—have attracted significant attention for being what FIFA has called Haiti’s golden generation of women footballers, making their impact known year after year in the face of overwhelming local obstacles. In 2023, the national senior women’s football team competed in the women’s World Cup for the first time—appearing with one of the youngest teams in average age, with only four players older than 25 and six teenagers on the squad—but were unable to make it out of the group stages. Les Grenadières appeared on the international stage again in February 2024 for the CONCACAF Women’s Gold Cup preliminaries, competing for the final qualifying slot of the tournament against Puerto Rico. 

The recent attention is certainly a boon, but this newfound visibility did not happen in a vacuum—it is the result of a hard-fought journey spanning over 50 years. In 1971, Parc Sainte Thérèse, located in Pétion-Ville, a suburb of Port-au-Prince about eight kilometers away from the heart of the city, began hosting young women’s football games with girls from nearby neighborhoods. That December, the Amazones, Haiti’s premier women’s football club, was founded. Other clubs quickly came to fruition—AS Tigresses, Excelsior from la Plaine, and Gladiatrice were founded by early 1972. By the second tournament at Parc Sainte Thérèse in October 1972, 10 women’s football teams had signed up. The sport quickly expanded past the Port-au-Prince area—with teams like Aurore de Brach and Anacaona in Léogâne, Star des Gonaïves, Les Irondelles des Cayes, Les Jongleuses du Cap-Haitien, and Surprise de Jacmel—and the clubs all had loyal fans that drew large crowds.

In October 1973, the Haitian Football Federation (FHF) officially recognized women’s football, giving the teams access to the country’s national stadium, Stade Sylvio Cator. This pivotal change allowed Haitians to easily walk to the women’s games, eliminating prohibitive transportation costs for Port-au-Prince’s working-class fans who would have to commute to Parc Sainte Thérèse. Over the years, more resources became available to women’s football, like Camp Nou, a residential facility for young players offering traditional schooling in addition to sports training, referred to by most people as “the ranch.”

Fifty years later, the women’s national team is the darling of the country. “Today, the excitement has been taken to a new dimension. More money has been invested into the women’s football scene, there is more visibility, and the technology is more advanced. We have some veritable stars on the team,” said Cherizard. Among these star players is national team captain Nérilia Mondésir—aptly nicknamed “Nérigol” for her scoring capability—who started in AS Tigresses and now plays for France’s Ligue 1 team Montpellier HSC. There is also Melchie Dumornay, a.k.a. Corventina—Haiti’s star midfielder who “is going to be one of the best players in the world,” according to the Stade des Reims head coach—and Batcheba Louis, the Most Beautiful Goal winner of France’s top women’s football division in the 2021–2022 season. “These ladies have been producing great results from the time they were participating in U20 and U17 tournaments,” Cherizard further explained. “The recent World Cup qualification has attracted the attention of eyes outside of Haiti to our team, but in Haiti, we have been tapped in for a long time.”

Kerly Théus, the brilliant goalkeeper of the Haitian national team and FC Miami City, has undoubtedly become a darling of the Haitian people since the 2023 World Cup. Born on January 7, 1999, in Canapé-Vert, Pétion-Ville, Théus got her start playing in her neighborhood like the rest of her teammates; her career as a goalkeeper began with the Aigle Brillante team in Port-au-Prince on a day when there was no other available goalkeeper. “My sister yelled at me to go play goalie. I didn’t want to do it; I wanted to play,” Théus recalled. “There is this notion that you stick the players who aren’t very good to guard the goal, so nobody wanted to play that position.” 

Théus admits she was not a very good goalkeeper in her early days on the ranch. She recalls a game where her team was losing 3-1: “They put me in the game, and we ended up losing five to three. There wasn’t even that much time left on the clock,” she laughed. “But I believe in hard work. Cristiano [Ronaldo] is my favorite player. He also believes in hard work. That’s why he’s earned several Ballons d’Or. That is also my goal.” Her discipline would pay off: during the three matches played by the Grenadières in the World Cup, she was an essential element. While polls predicted Haiti would face overwhelming defeat against England, Théus prevented a massacre by making an impressive 10 saves and keeping the score to a 1-0 loss.

In February, qualifying senior national women’s football teams of the Confederation of North, Central America, and Caribbean Association Football (CONCACAF) competed in the inaugural Women’s Gold Cup. After the team successfully landed in second place in a qualifying group that included Costa Rica and Saint Kitts and Nevis, they were bested in their February 17 matchup with Puerto Rico. Haiti conceded a goal via a penalty in the 41st minute of the game; the Grenadiéres’ impressive offensive efforts could not tie the match by halftime. Mondésir failed to take advantage of a penalty in the 75th minute, and the team ultimately lost 1-0. Despite the talent of the Haitian players and the high-level professional clubs to which they now belong, the women’s team once again were not able to make it out of the qualifying rounds.

Théus blamed the loss on a lack of connection. “There were many new players, many of our usual players were not there, and we had new staff,” she explained. “We couldn’t find the balance. It all comes down to connection. When you see us on the field, it’s as if each person is doing their own thing.” This is in no small part due to years of lacking much of the necessary infrastructure that is viewed as vital to establishing a successful team on the world stage. While Haiti’s fans may have been disappointed, the team still left its mark: one of the top scorers of the Road to CONCACAF qualifying games was Melchie Dumornay (who also plays for football club Olympique Lyonnais), tying with El Salvador’s Brenda Cerén with eight goals each. 

In 2020, two journalists published an article in The Guardian exposing interference, corruption, and crimes within the Haitian Football Federation. The president of the FHF, Yves Jean-Bart, was accused of sexually abusing underage female players for several years at the ranch. The allegations included harassment, threats, blackmail, and psychological pressure. Jean-Bart was ultimately removed from his position as a result and banned from holding a position at the federation by FIFA, but in 2023 Jean-Bart appealed before the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) and won. The investigative journalists and opposing organizations argue that the victims were threatened into silence. Despite CAS’s ruling, the federation continues to be led by a normalization committee. 

Haiti’s women’s team made great strides to recover and continue to play at the highest level despite the impact of the damning allegations. But as they rebuilt, the team was also forced to confront their country’s troubles. According to a UN report, 80% of Port-au-Prince is controlled by armed gangs. The catastrophe of insecurity that Haiti has been facing over the last few years has been a significant roadblock for the group and caused the ranch to shut down. The majority of social activities have been suspended, and Stade Sylvio Cator, located at the center of several armed groups’ strongholds, has been pillaged, burned, and left inoperative, with the FHF unable to organize friendly matches. 

Through the political upheaval, the women of the Haitian national team have preferred to avoid speaking about politics in the press or on social media. Members of the Haitian men’s national selection are much more candid on social media and have faced criticism for making insensitive comments. The Grenadières are more cautious with their images, letting their impact as political symbols of pride be their main contribution to the discourse. 

The sustained instability has significantly affected the team’s cohesion, preventing the players from developing synchronicity among themselves. Friendly matches are a critical practice to building compatibility as a team, and since 2020, the Grenadières have played together outside official matches only four times in as many years. In addition to their limited playing experience as a team, the insecurity in the capital prevented the national teams from organizing matches at home, forcing athletes to play in the neighboring Dominican Republic. These games occurred amid a hostile diplomatic dispute between the two countries over the construction of a canal by Haitian farmers on the Massacre River, which runs between Haiti and the DR. These extenuating circumstances would easily decimate any team, making the Grenadières’ accomplishments—from qualifications to scoring records—all the more impressive, all by a group of talented women who continue to persevere despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

Over the last several decades, the Haitian people have faced a series of increasingly tragic crises, and Haiti’s sports teams have not been spared. A corrupt federation, violent misogyny, a de facto government that has allowed all major institutions to crumble—the Haitian women’s football team has had to confront unimaginable odds in their desire to represent their country. Despite this, they have managed to create something special—and although they could not make it past the group stage, history will remember Les Grenadières as forces to be reckoned with. “Everything I’m doing right now is something I dreamed of,” Théus told us. Through all of these obstacles, the Grenadières continue to fight. And whenever these young women take the field, for ninety minutes, the Grenadières allow the Haitian people to dream.

This post was originally written in Kreyòl.

The need for advice, fun, closeness, a shoulder to lean on, etc. are not needs specific to one gender. However, capitalist and patriarchal social constructs have created a gender divide for basic needs rendering the concept of bad friends and friendships arbitrary. 

WILSON THIERSAINT

For several weeks praises have been pouring in for Zafèm’s very first album “LAS”.  In the midst of all of this, Reginald Cangé and Dener Céide have produced a thorough work, raising the bar in terms of sonic experience, vocal delivery, creative themes, and the variety of subjects broached in their compositions. The project has also allowed Konpa Dirèk enthusiasts to rediscover elements of a Konpa tradition that has marked several generations of Haitians.

The critiquing of a work can take many forms: appreciation, consideration, consumption, remarks, or comparison, all the way to redaction of the work or parts of it. Therefore, the critique has as an objective the rendering of all the works' qualities. And it is in this process that its limits, contradictions, and its incoherences appear. This happened with Tayc's last album "Chambre 96" and the song "Quand tu dors" because it can be interpreted as a song that excuses conjugal violence. 

Since its release, the "LAS" album has stirred a lot of conversation. The public has been waiting for this release with great anticipation – receiving  it with open arms. The buzz and anticipation surrounding the album was amplified by Ticket Magazine’s bitter categorization of the group as “The disappointment of the year” – as part of the popular Haitian magazine’s annual end of the year round up back in 2021. Therefore, the release of this album is set in a space and time where the discourse surrounding the band’s work (or lack thereof) has been loud since well before the album even existed. It is within this context that Mathania Charles’ petition asking for the withdrawal of “Zanmi Femme” is set. 

Here it is important to note that while critique and boycotts might appear to be the same, they do not share the same objective. 

Zafèm’s album “LAS” is a jewel, a quality artistic and literary work. However, certain themes present in the album can open it to criticism, and the characters created are often rooted in common stereotypes making them easily identifiable social archetypes. Notably, the reality depicted in the song “Zanmi Femme” (Female Friends) on the “LAS” album relies on a discriminatory depiction of a social minority – a minority not in quality or quantity, but rather in social representation.

The songs starts off with the lyrics “bèl fanm ti sèvèl" (beautiful woman small brain) followed by “zanmi fanm konn mete w dozado ak mouche marye w” (female friends can turn you against your husband) to “tèt kole fanm ak fanm gen gwo danje ladan l” (women working together can be very dangerous). It’s clear that the reality being denounced in this song is friendship, but more specifically, friendship amongst women.

A friendship can involve two or more people, but only they can decide how to navigate it, whether to maintain it or to end it, however they please. Friendships are based on people’s likes and quirks. And since likes and quirks are the result of various perceptions and representations that permeate society, friendships are a social construct. But the tendency to classify friendships based on gender, race or class comes from a hyperbolic way of thinking that is gendered and racialized. And it is these structures that determine what will come out of these relationships. In this way, the classifying of female friendships as a problem in their relationships amongst themselves, or as a threat to relationships one or many of them may have with a man goes against the principle that all humans are equal. This kind of thinking belittles the solidarity women have built among themselves as a historically victimized group, but it also circles back to a misogynistic philosophy that could lead to physical or emotional violence towards a woman if, as the song says  “female friendships can be very dangerous.”

The construction and spreading of such a philosophy is the same system that pathologizes friendships among women, in a society which, as stated in Gaelle Bien-Aimé’s “Kwonik Yon Dayiva S2E4”, does not favor or understand female solidarity.  These attitudes underline a misogynistic logic, which seeks to limit the freedom to build an autonomous reality for one’s mind and body. We must always be in pursuit of a mindset that does not reproduce misogynistic logic and does not pose a threat to the emancipation of the oppressed. An oppression that is capitalist, and therefore imperialist, all thanks to white supremacy and the patriarchy.

Conversely, in another tune on the same album, Reginald Cangé sings “Fanm ak gason gen menm bezwen, egal ego” (women and men have the same needs, they are equal). The need for advice, fun, closeness, a shoulder to lean on etc. are not needs specific to one gender. However, capitalist and patriarchal social constructs have created a gender divide for basic needs. Therefore, the concept of bad friends and friendships becomes arbitrary. People in general can be bad friends, it is not female friendships that are inherently dangerous. As it stands, it is female friendships that are depicted negatively in Haitian cultural productions, and female friends are responsible for creating toxicity (through gossip) in romantic relationships. 

The songs in the Haitian musical canon that reflect this are many. From Move zanmi, Méridionale de Montréal ; Zanmi Femme, Méridionale des Cayes, to Zafèm’s cover of the same tune. There are other productions representing these attitudes such as Marcelo Nilecram Tripotay, where he plays the role of the gossiper, or BélO’s Deblozay. The latter speaks of the friend of a man named Laurent who caused his wife to leave him after gossiping about him, and yet the danger of male friendships was not the conclusion in this story. As Gaelle Bien-Aimé says, “why can men be “bro’s” and “partners” but a friendship between women carries such negativity in the song?”

This idea that a woman’s friends can lead her to make decisions that could potentially ruin her relationship infantilizes her and belittles the choices she makes. Not to mention comments like “you have to stay strong by him” or tactics to stop women from “wearing the pants” in the relationship, open the door to physical or emotional violence. These are the kinds of empty slogans being left to the interpretation of each and every consumer playing the song. 

The petitioners ask that the track be removed from the album. I don't know if they should remove it. But it would not be the first time music is removed from an album. In 2022, Beyonce withdrew a title from the "Renaissance" album due to accusations of plagiarism. Indeed, Zafèm could issue a note to rectify the fact that the music was more intended to pay homage to the old Meridionale des Cayes majesty than to reinforce a structural logic that promotes the hatred, limitations and infantilization imposed on women in the patriarchal capitalist society. This will honor the public, the artists, the country and women. It is otherwise a beautiful album.

This article originally appeared on Christian Science Monitor on February 1, 2023. This story was produced with support from the Round Earth Media program of the International Women’s Media Foundation in partnership with Woy Magazine. 

On a sunny afternoon, some 60 people gather in the small courtyard of Yanvalou Café, the unofficial home of Haiti’s theater scene. It’s the opening of the 19th annual Quatre Chemins (Four Paths) theater festival, but the fact that there’s a full house was never a given.

For the past three years, Port-au-Prince, Haiti’s capital, has been overrun by criminal gangs. They’ve increasingly terrorized citizens, carrying out kidnappings, sexual assaults, and armed robberies, and blocking freedom of movement since the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse in July 2021. Many citizens have fled their homes in recent months, seeking safety elsewhere – in some cases camping out in public parks because their neighborhoods have become so dangerous.

“This city is scary these days,” says Évens Dossous, an educator who came to see the reading of “Port-au-Prince et sa Douce Nuit (Port-au-Prince and Its Sweet Night),” a new play by award-winning Haitian playwright Gaëlle Bien-Aimé. Before leaving home this afternoon, “I asked myself, ‘Is it really worth traveling? Will I be kidnapped?’”

Art, and specifically theater, have a rich history of political resistance in Haiti. Although the unprecedented climate of insecurity has more to do with a vacuum of leadership – there have been no elections since 2016 – than with the overt oppression and censorship that citizens faced under dictatorships in the past, the crowd at Yanvalou today is a reminder that theater remains an act of defiance.

“You know, life can’t just be about insecurity,” says Mr. Dossous.

Theatergoers talk after an event at the Yanvalou Café in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The Quatre Chemins theater festival brings audiences together with Haitian playwrights, actors, and dance companies for readings, staged productions, and street performances.

“A living art” amid violence

Colorful murals of well-known artists and thinkers cover the cement walls at Yanvalou, including singer Nina Simone, Haitian dancer Viviane Gauthier, and national anthropologist Jean Price-Mars. The audience at the opening in November makes its way from the courtyard into the restaurant, where chairs are set up facing two lecterns.

The reading focuses on the lives of two young people, madly in love, in a home in Pacot, a wooded, formerly upscale neighborhood in the heart of Port-au-Prince. It underscores many real-life challenges, like the fragile state of the capital and the difficulty of leaving the house to get food, travel, or go to school or work. But it also dives into bigger questions, such as how to love – oneself and others – when a city is collapsing around you.

“Theater helps me ask questions about my life,” says Ms. Bien-Aimé, the playwright, who was the second Haitian in a row to win the prestigious RFI Theatre prize, awarded to emerging Francophone artists. Theater “is a living art,” she says.

Since the assassination of President Moïse, armed gangs have taken control of some 70% of the capital. From blockading a fuel terminal last September that immobilized transportation and industry nationally to controlling key neighborhoods, gangs here have generated disorder and hunger, and heightened the political crisis. Some 20,000 Haitians are facing starvation, according to the United Nations, the vast majority of whom are located in the capital.

The insecurity, which includes using sexual violence as a weapon, has led to widespread displacement. Kidnappings increased by nearly 45% in Port-au-Prince in the second quarter of 2022, according to the National Network for the Defense of Human Rights, a Haitian nongovernmental organization. Many believe the gangs are protected by police, politicians, and business elite.

Audience members react to the farcical play “Kalibofobo.”

“The state has agreed to retreat so that armed groups can control the society,” says Sabine Lamour, a Haitian sociologist at the State University of Haiti, citing research by Haiti’s leading human rights organization, the National Human Rights Defense Network.

By early October last year, the Haitian government, led by acting President Ariel Henry, officially requested foreign military intervention to tackle security challenges. Despite the chaos here, many reject the idea. Human rights abuses and the introduction of cholera by foreigners working with the U.N.’s stabilization mission in 2010 have left a lasting, negative impression of international meddling. The United States this week charged four men with involvement in Mr. Moïse’s assassination, a reflection of Haiti’s troubled justice system.

Micaëlle Charles, the actor reading the lead role of Zily in today’s play, says a lot has changed in Haitian theater over the past three years. She and the entire team putting on today’s show take security precautions she never considered before, such as sleeping over at the rehearsal space. “This helps me to hold on, despite the problems in the country or any other problems life might throw my way,” she says of her passion for the craft.

“It is unfortunate that artists and cultural organizers have to think about security this much,” says Éliezer Guérismé, artistic director of En Lisant_,_ another performing arts festival. Over the past few years, festivals have started functioning under new, self-imposed rules, such as only holding events during the day, so that spectators can return home while the sun is still up. “This means we can’t do [stage] lighting, but we gain in security, and this allows our public to trust us more,” says Mr. Guérismé.

Actor Kav-Alye Pierre, playing a prison guard, is defeated in “Dechouke Lanfè sou Latè (Unleash Hell on Earth),” presented by Cie Hors-temps (Out of Time Company). The performance was part of the Quatre Chemins theater festival in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, which took place Nov. 21 to Dec. 3.

Culture as resistance?

Using theater for social or political commentary isn’t unique to Haiti, but it has a long tradition here. Theater is “a weapon of mass awareness that gives the spectator the means to free themselves,” wrote Félix Morisseau-Leroy in 1955. He was one of the nation’s first writers to create plays in Haitian Creole. Under the Duvalier regime, a father-son dictatorship that ruled Haiti for three decades starting in 1957, Mr. Morisseau-Leroy and others were targeted and exiled for their social commentary and what was perceived as anti-government messages in plays and literature.

The Duvalier reign was characterized by violence and the suppression of free expression. One of Mr. Morisseau-Leroy’s most prominent works was his Haitian Creole translation of the Greek tragedy “Antigone,” a play about a tyrant who meets his demise because of his excessive pride. It was an act of resistance for its message – and its use of the language of the masses. 

“To become aware of what one is, of one’s situation in the world, of one’s role in society, is to get rid of the illusions that power of all kinds imposes on us,” Joubert Satyre, an expert on Haitian theater, told The Christian Science Monitor late last year.

Even today, theater in Haiti plays an important role in social and political struggles, he said.

“It is this liberating and critical side of the theater that has made it, and that still makes it, suspect in the eyes of autocrats.” 

Onlookers take in the street performance of “Inchallah," part of the 19th annual Quatre Chemins theater festival in Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

Actors Rolando Etienne (left) and Chelson Ermoza perform “Kalibofobo” by Frankétienne during the Quatre Chemins theater festival. The play is about a Haitian politician in the early 21st century whose buffoonery knows no limits.

Not that the government is paying much attention to the arts in recent years, says Ms. Bien-Aimé. She’s firmly engaged in a “theater of protest,” she says, but isn’t sure her artwork frightens the government as much as her outright activism. In the summer of 2018, a massive anti-corruption movement emerged seeking accountability for the government’s squandering of an estimated $3 billion. Haitians filled the streets for months, but the assassination of President Moïse and the rapid rise in gang violence brought this key period of public dissent to a halt.

“Today, the state doesn’t even go to the theater,” she says.

But plenty of Haitians do, including other artists and students hoping to make art their lifework. Despite the enthusiasm at today’s show, violence and crime have contributed to the dwindling of live theater. To be sure, a government in chaos is part of the problem: Investment in all sectors from infrastructure to education is insufficient. That, unfortunately, translates to theaters shuttering and Haitians previously interested in pursuing the craft choosing other careers, says Mr. Guérismé.

“The question of funding has always been a thorny problem but is now exacerbated by political and social instability,” he says. His team is trying to come up with creative plans to self-finance its festival.

Actors perform “Inchallah,” choreographed by Daphné Menard. Their movements show the daily struggle of Haitians in the face of violence.

A lot depends on Haitians’ historic love for theater weathering this challenging moment.

Stephanie Jean, an NGO worker in her late 30s, rode 20 minutes on the back of a motorcycle to attend the Quatre Chemins festival. It was her first real outing since a close relative was kidnapped in August. She was in knots over whether to attend.

“Culture is one of the strongest ways we resist,” she says. “In such a politically and economically fraught context, art is how we remind ourselves and the world that we are alive,” Ms. Jean says.

“I come here to feel alive.”

This story was produced with support from the Round Earth Media program of the International Women’s Media Foundation in partnership with Woy Magazine. Melodie Cerin contributed reporting from Port-au-Prince; Nathalie Cerin translated French to English.

Feature photo credit: Victoria Onélien/Special to The Christian Science Monitor

The Fight For Haiti takes a deep dive into why the “international community” supports the corrupt politicians and business persons who stole the PetroCaribe money and the dream of millions. 

Etant Dupain

Etant Dupain's last documentary, Madan Sara, started off with a blog post he wrote and published right here on WoyMagazine.com. Since then, we have had the pleasure of seeing the idea come to life, celebrating the stories of these women, and shedding light on their desperate need for support and resources. Etant Dupain has now announced that he plans to release a new documentary. We had a chance to talk with him and find out what's in the pipeline for him and his team.

Etant Dupain and Madam Clotilde of the Madan Sara documentary

We fell in love with the beautiful women in the Madan Sara film. How are Madam Clotilde and Madam Monique doing since the release of the film? 

Madam Clotide and Madam Monique are doing ok. They’re well physically, but not morally. Their businesses have been crumbling because of the current political crisis in Haiti. Madan Sara is one of the groups affected the most by the systemic insecurity installed in the country by gangs with political ties. I made sure to stay in touch with them and some of their kids because we need to keep screening the film in Haiti and I would like for them to participate. One of the most successful screenings we had at the Université Quisqueya (UNIQ), was organized by Monique’s son who’s a student there. I am still planning on working with them to resume public screenings of Madan Sara as soon as we can. 

You’ve recently announced your new film The Fight For Haiti. The title makes me think of the women in the Madan Sara film and their struggle to make ends meet in the midst of political and economic violence. What is the connecting thread between Madan Sara and your upcoming documentary?

With The Fight For Haiti, I am hoping to add some context to the current crisis in Haiti. Haiti makes headlines for many things, but not for the fight for the soul of the country. I deeply believe the fight against corruption and impunity in Haiti is a fight for the soul of the country. This is not a simple fight. This is a fight where citizens are confronting a corrupt elite with no real international support or solidarity, while the corrupt elite has the full support of the so-called international community. 

Corruption is a major problem in Haiti.  It is unbelievable to watch how certain countries react to the anti-corruption movement. The Fight For Haiti takes a deep dive into why the “international community” supports the corrupt politicians and business persons who stole the PetroCaribe money and the dream of millions. 

I feel lucky to be able to tell our own story and show the world what’s really going on, instead of making headlines after major man-made disasters or natural ones. 

The common thread of your work is how it highlights the urgency for political action. What do you hope this next film will accomplish? 

The future of the anti-corruption and impunity movement hangs in the balance. Haitian politicians and the business elite with the total backing of the CORE group successfully dismantled the movement. With massacres, intimidation, and putting the whole country under siege and making it impossible to protest.

I hope to show the world the incredible sacrifice Haitians are making to fight for a better Haiti. I am hoping this film will give the movement some well-needed oxygen as Haiti is at a standstill. Millions of Haitians demand accountability and I don’t see a way forward without some form of accountability in the Petrocaribe scandal. A Petrocaribe trial can be a new beginning for Haiti.

I think the diaspora can play a bigger role in the fight against corruption and impunity, and I fully intend to use the film to mobilize more people in the diaspora to join the fight. 

What are some of the lessons you’ve learned while making your last film that you are bringing into this new project?

The first lesson I learned is to be patient.  It took me nearly five years to make Madan Sara. I want to take my time and tell this story well. For Madan Sara, no officials talked to me. I am facing the same situation, even worse with The Fight For Haiti. But my team and I will tell the story anyway. 

I learned how one story can impact major changes, both structurally and personally. I talked to the head of the Haitian Central Bank (BRH), Jean Badin Dubois, who told me his mom was a Madan Sara. We talked about Madan Sara and the lack of access to credit.  According to him, until recently most microfinance institutions in Haiti weren’t regulated. They gave out loans and set their own interest rates and ripped off people like the Madan Sara. BRH recently changed that and is currently implementing regulations to make sure microfinance institutions in Haiti follow all the rules and respect the interest rates set by the Central Bank. If well implemented this can be very useful for thousands of Madan Sara who rely on very expensive loans. 

On a personal level, I received countless emails and messages from Haitians all over the world talking about their parents. Some admitted they never knew about the Madan Sara as described in the film. For many, Madan Sara was a bad thing and some folks realized their parents were Madan Sara after watching the film. I am happy with the feedback and we’re just getting started as most people in Haiti haven’t had a chance to watch “Madan Sara”. 

Who are you collaborating with for this next project?

I am working with the same “Madan Sara” team.  Ou pa fè chanjman nan yon ekip k ap genyen. 

I am the Creator, Director, and Executive Producer on this project, but this project is here because of a great collaboration with matenmidiswa production, led by Haitian-Canadian artist, Manuel Mathieu. Wesley Lainé is one of our Co-Executive Producers and Lunise Cerin is our Editor. We have a great team and we have more people working with us. We won’t be able to name all of the names because of safety issues, especially for folks who reside in Haiti. 

The trailer will be out on August 14, the same date Gilbert Mirambeau Jr. posted the first #KotKòbPetroCaribeA tweet back in 2018. 

My team and I are hoping the trailer will add to the debate about the need for accountability.

“Our cultural artifacts serve as a testimony of our identity as a people. It is imperative that we save and conserve our cultural heritage because it drives us to hope and anchors us in who we are. If we don’t preserve our cultural artifacts, we will lose bits of who we are. Each generation will pass, and there will not be any link from one generation to the next.”

- Erntz Jeudy

Sitting down with the lead art conservator, Erntz Jeudy, at University Quisqueya’s Cultural Conservation Center (Centre de Conservation de Bien Culturels, CCC) was an eye-opening experience. Art conservation is seldom discussed in our day-to-day life, though its role is pivotal in preserving our history and identity. Jeudy, a slim astute gentleman enthusiastically shared about his work as an art conservator–a rare trade within the creative space in Haiti–  the history of Haiti’s leading cultural conservation center, and what motivates him to continue this work in such a tough environment.

January 12th, 2010 is the day all Haitians will never forget. The disastrous earthquake of 2010 not only took with it so many of our loved ones, but also damaged thousands of archives, collections of artworks, and artifacts that have shaped our cultural heritage for centuries. These artifacts do not simply document our people's history but reflect our values of dignity, freedom, self-reliance, community, faith, and creativity.

The Cultural Conservation Center  (CCC) was initially set up as part of a bigger project the Haiti Cultural Recovery Project by the Smithsonian Institution (SI) in partnership with the Haitian government in an effort to preserve the many cultural artifacts heavily damaged after the events of January 12th. Within the first few years, the Smithsonian and its partners saved and treated over 30,000 paintings, sculptures, artifacts, rare books, murals, and archival artifacts and trained over 100 Haitians in basic art conservation work.  Initially housed downtown Port-au- Prince in a former U.N. building by the summer of June 2015, a permanent conservation center was inaugurated at University Quisqueya.  This was made possible by the generous support of University Quisqueya, the Smithsonian, USAID, and the Stiller Foundation.

Following the inauguration of the center at the university in 2015, the center was led by Franck Louissaint. Frank Louissaint, an acclaimed artist, and teacher, was one of the first generations of artists in Haiti to specialize in art conservation. After his passing in 2021, Mr. Erntz Jeudy, a faithful mentee and student of Franck Louissaint went on to follow in his footsteps. The CCC team of art conservators is four people strong and currently includes Mr. Erntz Jeudy, Mr. Richard Ruthger, Mr. Marc Gérard Estimé, and Mr. Godson Antoine.

Mr. Jeudy went on to explain his ongoing love and commitment to this work.

"My life wouldn’t have real meaning if I did not contribute to preserving our culture, our identity... I love what I do because I love myself. I love myself because I love my origins. Loving my origins means that I love my country. To say I love my country means I love my story, our history, and our identity. For this work to have meaning, for me, it is because of these testimonies, these artifacts. I will also pass on, but these will remain. This work is not only for this generation but for generations to come.”

Mr. Jeudy continues to work on various pieces across the country, restoring artifacts dating over 200 years, such as the restoration of the Palais Sans Souci painting by Numa Desroches from 1818. The process undertaken for each artifact is a delicate one, often spanning months of focused attention dependent on its level of deterioration. Each piece shares its own story and requires varying degrees of intervention. Jeudy’s team focuses on preserving the original work.

Many steps are employed in the restoring process, and this can include cleaning, repairing, and, oftentimes, removing old restoration attempts. This was the case with the life-sized painting titled Ascension that came from the Cathedral of Cap Haitian. This masterpiece had undergone restoration in the past, disfiguring the original work and altering the piece’s integrity. Mr. Jeudy explained that as a conservator, you often must wear many hats and work with great detail. Their intention is to improve the condition of the work by stabilizing physical problems and addressing any surface disfigurement arising from deterioration or damage.

Recurring natural disasters, persistent socio-economic instability, and ongoing political instability force Haitians to survive in very difficult circumstances. Prioritizing our basic needs, we often forget just how important cultural expression throughout our history has been to our survival. The reality is that, throughout the hardships that we have lived through, we never forget our culture in times of uncertainty. Instead, we take refuge in it. We pray harder, sing louder and hold on tighter to each other. Art serves as a mechanism to preserve our identity and cultural expression.

The CCC is designed as a space for exchange, training, research, exhibition, and discussion of ideas on the place and role of culture in economic development.  Today, the center is doing the work of commissioning pieces from all over the country and is currently working to extract art damaged by the August 2021 earthquake in the southern departments of Haiti.

If you are interested in learning more about their work please visit https://uniq.edu.ht/ccc/presentation/

Photos by Cassendy Lafond

Lapèsòn: poems, songs, and creole tales is arguably Syto Cavé’s poetic magnum opus, covering the entire scope of his inspirations: from politics to folklore, the Haitian social fabric, and love. Produced in 1994, the body of work alludes to sacred songs, traditional folktales, and dramatic techniques in modern Haitian theater. The tracks can be read and listened to both as individual texts and as a unified narrative. Some tracks follow directly one another, like linear chapters of a novel, some resonate with another after multiple tracks have ended. The writing style varies greatly: from conventional narrative techniques to surrealist and language poetry. 

There are 6 eponymous tracks (Lapèsòn) on the album. The first Lapèsòn title tracks (track 1-2) are an instrumental, and a poem that introduces the story and theme. It is not until track 8 of the project that we hear the song most popularly associated with the title Lapèsòn: 

Peyi a sonb, nanpwen limyè.

Solèy kouche depi 4trè.

Kote m prale, kote m rete?

Nan tout lavil m ape chèche l.

Lapèsòn, o! Babay, babay(X2)

Men malè mwen pran koulè

Yon vye chen sou lapli.

Vwazinay ba l kout pye,

li jape gwo lannwit.

Lapèsòn, o! Babay, babay, babay(X2)

Mwen desann sou Pòtay,

M ateri Bisantnè,

M ajenou bò lanmè,

Mwen rele :"Agwe kote w?"

Lapèsòn o! Babay, babay, babay(X2)

Lapèsòn means "so-and-so", someone that we cannot or will not name. We hear a lost soul searching for someone that is gone. The words “So-and-so” play heavily into the unnamed nature of the subject, and behind the sadness, there is a slightly ironic tone in the goodbyes. This irony creates a suspension of our ability to confer a definite meaning to the sentiments that are expressed. That ambiguity allows transitions with the other tracks that are about lost worlds (notably a lost Haïti and a lost Haitianness), and the loss of freedom under political oppression. Most of the texts are written during exile or during the 1980s, the last years of Jean-Claude Duvalier’s dictatorship; the temporality of the texts takes shape around this atmosphere of political hardship. Track 12 - our fourth Lapèsòn title - is heard like an additional stanza, modifying and completing track 8:

Papiyon nwa yo pran lari,

Vil la andèy, pral gen lapli,

Van ap soufle, lanmè move,

gad jan bato mwen chavire.

Lapèsòn o! Babay, babay, babay(X2).

Moun yo pa menm, tan a chanje,

Malè pandye sou tout do kay.

Fanal timoun yo pran dife,

Kè m ap rache, kè m ap fè m mal.

Lapèsòn o! Babay, babay, babay(X2).

The political undertones are even stronger here, and it is difficult to imagine that Cavé did not realize this as he was writing the poem. Cavé explains in an interview that he wrote the poem for a woman who left New York to go to Brazil. As such, the song has been systematically interpreted as political. The “goodbyes” (babay) have been chanted during a number of important social movements in Haiti in the last fifteen years. The mechanisms that allow us to go from intimate to political are built inside the texts.

Peyi Pa m se Lannwit (track 5) starts with a very traditional piano jazz ballad, and with the same love story, but it turns into the quest for a friend who might understand the poet’s grief ; the piano then changes rhythm, with hard staccatos, a more martial mood, as the poet’s call for help ; then the song transforms - with no transition - into a hymn of thanks and gratefulness to the spirits, the loas and nature ; the poet then alternatively sings for Èzili the goddess of love, that he says he met on Haitian Flag Day (May18th), along with praises to Dessalines, the divinized founding father of the Haitian Independence. The poet then encourages an unnamed person (maybe a woman, or himself, or Èzuli/Dessalines…), telling him/her: “your head is full of flags/ and you’re dancing about/the way you grind [your hips] belongs to you/it’s not the government’s business.” If this was not Haïti and the Caribbean, one could be surprised to see resistance to the State associated with dancing. But this is Haïti, and singing and dancing can be at the same time hedonistic or intimate expression of self and collective resistance. Different musical atmospheres and different discourses and themes merge into each other, until we feel it absolutely natural that Haïti, the elusive lover, Dessalines and Erzulie can all be sung at the same time.

The relationship with music shapes both the text itself and the process of it taking root in the cultural imagination. Its success and its meaning cannot be separated from the fact that the text is lived, known, and memorized as melody. In an interview, Cavé, and Valcourt who composed the melody explain in detail its origin story:

- Syto: The song is a love story. I was living with a woman back then, and she was leaving for Brazil. When she left I composed the song. I felt a great absence, a great hole, a void. This is why the song has a Brazilian feel to it.

- Boulo Valcourt: Syto and I are always composing music together. Most of the time he writes the lyrics for me. But this time, he came with a song and asked me for chords. So I had to find a way to give it color because it was too flat. When he came with it [hums a melody], [plays it flatly], [plays it with more ornamentation]. So I gave it shape. That's what the song needed. Syto came up with something very beautiful, but it lacked the shape that I put.

- Syto: The song became larger than what it was. It became a song-woman, a song-city, a song-country. [...] It took on a strong political meaning. So much so that, just before the Duvalier dictatorship ended, we were playing it at the Batofou bar - and you know the regime was fragile at that time - so people thought we were saying goodbye to the regime that was crumbling. Certainly, all of that might be in the song. But I'm telling you where it came from, at first it was a love story, the story of a break-up, and everything turned upside down. It started one way, and then it took its own path.

- Boulo: [...] Syto was really describing reality. He made people understand, "The country is dark, there is no light. Goodbye" and all that. You could not say such things outright, and Syto made it slip through. Whether it was people in the government or the opposition, everybody had to accept the song. Inside of them, there was that knowledge of what the song was saying.

The only thing that is clear is the dynamic and collaborative nature of the process. The true song is the one that is listened to, in the moment. The final product takes shape and can embrace many meanings, leaving the public to decide where they will go. Lapèsòn cannot exist if it is not also sung and played, interpreted by the author, the listener, and so-and-so. 

At its core, Lapèsòn is a tale of love, friendship, and of spirits, human and divine spirits, colorful spirits, raging with emotions. It is also the tale of dying worlds, surviving worlds, and eternal worlds. These tales are in the text, in the music, in Cavé’s voice, and in the stories behind the work of art. The album is more than its origin story, and more even than its rich reception story and memorized collective reinterpretation. There are more stories, more people, and voices in powerful narratives than what can be efficiently used by a public at a moment in time. Nevertheless, at the center of Lapèsòn, there is an unnamed woman, while so many things are named— streets, people, gods, a whole island, and its history—one thing remains unsaid. No music without silence.