Haiti’s Government Is in Ruins, Too, but Struggles to Exhume Itself
By SIMON ROMERO and MARC LACEY NY TIMES
PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti — It did not take very long for Edwin Paraison, a member of Haiti’s cabinet, to take stock of his losses and deliver a thorough assessment of what remained of his government ministry.
“This is it,” he said, pointing to the laptop computer he was carrying. “My offices are gone.”
The Haitian state seemed close to ruin on almost every level on Friday. President René Préval’s palace had been crushed. Tourism Minister Patrick Delatour’s mother and father were both killed in this week’s earthquake. Civil servants who were lucky enough to survive the earthquake were now picking up the pieces of their own lives. Those who even thought of going to work often had no ministry building to work from.
“Not one ministry is operational today,” said Mr. Paraison, the minister for Haitians living abroad. “Five of our ministries have had their headquarters destroyed completely.”
Haiti has long been known for its political tumult, for its coups d’état, years of authoritarian dictatorship and looting of the national treasury for personal gain.
But recently, the country was on a comparatively stable path. President Préval was elected and re-elected, and has made no move to hold onto power when his final term comes up after elections this September.
Now the nation’s leaders are facing a set of challenges that would stymie any government, even the richest and most stable ones. Millions need food and water, but only thousands have begun receiving it, according to the United Nations, fueling a frustration that is slowly building in the streets.
Then there is the bigger question lurking in the background: What will it take to rebuild this rattled country once the immediate crisis has passed, and is the government up to the task?
“It is a completely depressing sight,” said Marco Maceo, one of the volunteers delivering emergency medical supplies from the Dominican Republic, Haiti’s neighbor on the island of Hispaniola, describing his shock upon seeing Haiti’s presidential palace in ruins. “The dome has collapsed, and the president is gone.”
At the nondescript police building near the airport that has been converted into Mr. Préval’s de facto headquarters, the disarray was clear. Luxury S.U.V.’s were parked at the entrance, which was guarded by members of an elite police unit that seemed, with a glance and a shrug, to let anyone with a heartbeat inside.
Ministers in the lobby of the building compared notes, trying to figure out the extent of the destruction of recent days. Some lamented that Digicel, the private telecommunications company offering BlackBerry service in Haiti, had not yet restored its network, keeping senior officials from communicating with a semblance of efficiency.
Before the disaster, the country’s politicians were known for their distance from the people. Leaders wore expensive suits, flying first class to Miami and driving around in luxury S.U.V.’s. There was a stiff formality among them, in their use of French, their bearing, their sheltered lives in the hills overlooking the slums.
And even with the increasing stability under Mr. Préval, the country’s dozens of political parties remained as raucous as ever, turning Parliament into a form of political theater. A series of prime ministers, named by the president, had been sacked by the legislature in what most observers considered an excessive exercise of its power.
But if there is a benefit in the neglect that the Haitian people have experienced for so many years, it is that they are far more resilient than most. Although protesting is a national custom, so is surviving on little. That national ethos, the Haitians’ ability to scrounge to find enough to fight their hunger pangs, is being tested in full by the current crisis.
The state was scrambling to exhume itself Friday. Within what remained of the presidential palace, a security officer said the situation was dire. “Two of our colleagues are still stuck in the rubble, and we are desperately trying to find them,” the officer said.
It takes a die-hard optimist to see the bright side amid such despair. In Mr. Préval’s government, that person would be Mr. Delatour, the tourism minister, who had a difficult job even before the earthquake struck: attracting visitors to Haiti, despite its reputation for poverty.
In the last few days, however, he has endured the unthinkable: the death of his parents, the hospitalization of three grandchildren and the virtual destruction of the home where he lives.
Yet in an interview here, Mr. Delatour said he found ample hope in the fact that there had been relatively few reports of post-earthquake looting and violence.
“How many countries could have their population in the streets and still avoid strife through self-policing?” he asked.
Ever the optimist, Mr. Delatour went further in his explanation of why he thought the earthquake might give Haiti a chance to rebuild itself in a more sustainable way.
“This is bad today, but one must remember that we have the historical memory of slavery here,” he said. “What can be worse than that?”
By SIMON ROMERO and MARC LACEY NY TIMES
PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti — It did not take very long for Edwin Paraison, a member of Haiti’s cabinet, to take stock of his losses and deliver a thorough assessment of what remained of his government ministry.
“This is it,” he said, pointing to the laptop computer he was carrying. “My offices are gone.”
The Haitian state seemed close to ruin on almost every level on Friday. President René Préval’s palace had been crushed. Tourism Minister Patrick Delatour’s mother and father were both killed in this week’s earthquake. Civil servants who were lucky enough to survive the earthquake were now picking up the pieces of their own lives. Those who even thought of going to work often had no ministry building to work from.
“Not one ministry is operational today,” said Mr. Paraison, the minister for Haitians living abroad. “Five of our ministries have had their headquarters destroyed completely.”
Haiti has long been known for its political tumult, for its coups d’état, years of authoritarian dictatorship and looting of the national treasury for personal gain.
But recently, the country was on a comparatively stable path. President Préval was elected and re-elected, and has made no move to hold onto power when his final term comes up after elections this September.
Now the nation’s leaders are facing a set of challenges that would stymie any government, even the richest and most stable ones. Millions need food and water, but only thousands have begun receiving it, according to the United Nations, fueling a frustration that is slowly building in the streets.
Then there is the bigger question lurking in the background: What will it take to rebuild this rattled country once the immediate crisis has passed, and is the government up to the task?
“It is a completely depressing sight,” said Marco Maceo, one of the volunteers delivering emergency medical supplies from the Dominican Republic, Haiti’s neighbor on the island of Hispaniola, describing his shock upon seeing Haiti’s presidential palace in ruins. “The dome has collapsed, and the president is gone.”
At the nondescript police building near the airport that has been converted into Mr. Préval’s de facto headquarters, the disarray was clear. Luxury S.U.V.’s were parked at the entrance, which was guarded by members of an elite police unit that seemed, with a glance and a shrug, to let anyone with a heartbeat inside.
Ministers in the lobby of the building compared notes, trying to figure out the extent of the destruction of recent days. Some lamented that Digicel, the private telecommunications company offering BlackBerry service in Haiti, had not yet restored its network, keeping senior officials from communicating with a semblance of efficiency.
Before the disaster, the country’s politicians were known for their distance from the people. Leaders wore expensive suits, flying first class to Miami and driving around in luxury S.U.V.’s. There was a stiff formality among them, in their use of French, their bearing, their sheltered lives in the hills overlooking the slums.
And even with the increasing stability under Mr. Préval, the country’s dozens of political parties remained as raucous as ever, turning Parliament into a form of political theater. A series of prime ministers, named by the president, had been sacked by the legislature in what most observers considered an excessive exercise of its power.
But if there is a benefit in the neglect that the Haitian people have experienced for so many years, it is that they are far more resilient than most. Although protesting is a national custom, so is surviving on little. That national ethos, the Haitians’ ability to scrounge to find enough to fight their hunger pangs, is being tested in full by the current crisis.
The state was scrambling to exhume itself Friday. Within what remained of the presidential palace, a security officer said the situation was dire. “Two of our colleagues are still stuck in the rubble, and we are desperately trying to find them,” the officer said.
It takes a die-hard optimist to see the bright side amid such despair. In Mr. Préval’s government, that person would be Mr. Delatour, the tourism minister, who had a difficult job even before the earthquake struck: attracting visitors to Haiti, despite its reputation for poverty.
In the last few days, however, he has endured the unthinkable: the death of his parents, the hospitalization of three grandchildren and the virtual destruction of the home where he lives.
Yet in an interview here, Mr. Delatour said he found ample hope in the fact that there had been relatively few reports of post-earthquake looting and violence.
“How many countries could have their population in the streets and still avoid strife through self-policing?” he asked.
Ever the optimist, Mr. Delatour went further in his explanation of why he thought the earthquake might give Haiti a chance to rebuild itself in a more sustainable way.
“This is bad today, but one must remember that we have the historical memory of slavery here,” he said. “What can be worse than that?”
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