It has been difficult in Haiti. Decomposing bodies still buried beneath the rubble and the stench that comes with that; survivors searching for bodies of their next of kin; the hungry and destitute turning to looting and violence; relief agencies in sixes and sevens; the army and police doing their best to control and calm down a desolate and desperate populace.
Meantime there has been no shortage of writers and thinkers describing Haiti people as the quintessential damnes de la terre and Haiti itself as hell on earth. One writer has even suggested that given its tragic political and natural history, Haiti should be scrapped as a country. The headline was something like “scrap the country, save the people” or something to that effect. I am not quite sure how you scrap a country. Put it up for sale to the world’s billionaires — one of them would love an island all to themselves, wouldn’t they? Will The UN put up adverts for countries of the world to adopt people from Haiti? Ship them all to the US of A? Preposterous ideas, if you ask me. I think we should all take our cue from the people of Haiti themselves. The people of Haiti have been hit hard this time around. But nothing I have heard or seen indicates that they are not about to roll over and be buried, either by history or the quake.
But these negative and depressing images do not even begin to capture the real stories of raw grit, human survival and human solidarity; stories of people doggedly contesting the attempt of death and hopelessness to take them and theirs completely over. Indeed, my faith in humanity has been revived by survivors and people from dozens of nations around the world now in Haiti — media people, relief and disaster workers, police, soldiers — through their selfless and heroic deeds and efforts on the ground. I have read and watched dozens of beautiful stories since the quake. The generous humanitarian interventions of the USA — civilian and military — have truly humbled me. I now withdraw my earlier criticism of the words of the US foreign secretary, Hillary Clinton, for describing the tragedy as “biblical” in proportion. (It is probably American English but ordinarily “biblical” does not mean “tragic” as if the bible is supposed to be a compendium of tragedies). I now have reason to believe that Clinton actually has a personal sense of compassion for Haiti, way above her stately duties.
Several stories of survival and human compassion for one another from Haiti have touched me. Ten days after the quake, an 84-year-old woman was found alive beneath the rubble of what used to be a Catholic church. There is the heartrending raw footage — courtesy of CNN — of a CNN reporter rescuing a boy beaten up by looters. These stories of humans struggling together for the sustenance of life — glimpses of which we are witnessing in Haiti — gives me hope that one day countries of the world will combine and use their resources not for war but for humanitarian interventions and peace building.
Then there is the story of one Monley Elize. Eight days after the earthquake, having already found and buried the bodies of his brother and sister in law, Gary Elize (Monley’s uncle) went looking for the body of his brother’s only son — five-year-old Monley. What he was looking for was the body, but he found the boy “dirt-caked, dehydrated, emaciated” (as one report put it) but still alive. Gary Elize is himself a young and unemployed man of 24. He has no clue as to how he will raise his miracle nephew. But now he has even more reason to live.
But what is it that kept the 84-year-old woman alive for 10 days amid the suffocating darkness of rubble? What is it that kept Monley alive for eight days? Both must have believed they would be found. Both must have believed there was a way out. At some point and at some level, when dying would have required no special effort from them other than surrender, both must have “chosen” to stay alive. There must have been a great battle of wills inside their bodies, inside their psyches and inside their souls — the battle of the will to live and the will to die. Did the old woman think of the grandchildren to whom she narrated stories every evening? Were there a son and a daughter she wished to bless before she died? Or was it sheer stubborn refusal to die anonymous, unseen and unrecognised? And what of Monley? Why did this five-year-old not just curl up and die, like so many others — adult and children — had done? What vision kept him alive? Maybe it was his dreams of becoming an engineer, pilot, singer or president when he grows up. Maybe he was just waiting for an opportunity to go and rescue his father who apparently died on his birthday.
We may never know what kept young Monley and the old woman alive for eight and 10 days respectively — buried as they were beneath the rubble, without food and water. But we do know of their tremendous will to live. In my view the 84-year-old symbolises the historical endurance and pride of Haiti despite all the misfortunes. Young Monley Elize symbolises the hope for a future that will rise out of natural and historical rubble. But a lot must change in Haiti if Monley is to have a future. A lot must change in the world if children like Monley will have a real opportunity to be, to do and to have.
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