HAITI IS A SLIDING LAND: DISPLACEMENT, COMMUNITY, AND HUMANITARIANISM IN POST-EARTHQUAKE PORT-AU-PRINCE Laura Rose Wagner A dissertation submitted to the faculty at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Anthropology Department at the University of North Carolina. Chapel Hill 2014 Approved by: Peter Redfield Laurent Dubois Charles Price Michele Rivkin-Fish Merrill Singer Karla Slocum © 2014 Laura Rose Wagner ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ii ABSTRACT Laura Wagner: Haiti is a Sliding Land: Displacement, Community, and Humanitarianism in Post-Earthquake Port-au-Prince (Under the direction of Peter Redfield) A Haitian proverb suggests that the country has long been a sliding land, a site of uncertainty and chronic catastrophe. On January 12, 2010, Haiti collapsed suddenly into sudden, telegenic disaster when a devastating earthquake hit its capital, Port-au-Prince, killing hundreds of thousands of people and destroying much of the city. The disaster both gave rise to an unprecedented urban displacement crisis, and engendered the promise of humanitarian and reconstruction aid and a flow of moral sentiment. Yet the earthquake and its aftermath were but the most striking manifestations of centuries-long patterns of vulnerability, life under an aid economy, and displacement. Even before the earthquake, Haiti was infamously known as the "republic of NGOs", while the history of slavery, uprooting, revolution, internal migration, and exile shaped Haitian people’s conceptions of home and community. Despite – and because of – Haiti’s long history of foreign intervention and the initial appeal to “save Haiti” in the wake of the 2010 earthquake, the post-disaster humanitarian effort has been regarded by Haitians, non-Haitian aid workers, and the media alike as an unequivocal failure. This work examines the lived experiences of Haitian people (including aid beneficiaries and those who did not receive aid) and expatriate aid providers alike to provide a nuanced, personal, behind-the-scenes perspective on a well-known, highly publicized disaster in a long- misrepresented and sensationalized land. It also presents an analysis of the structural limitations and personal obligations experienced by Haitian and non-Haitian actors operating within a complicated aid economy. This work is ultimately about everyday responses to and ways of speaking about exceptional conditions. Amid suffering, loss, and sudden and chronic disaster, everyday life endures in Haiti, however unrepresented by the media and aid organizations. Haitian people depend on everyday practices, ordinary acts of cooperation, compassion and community, and humor to survive, cope with, and comment on everything from the initial moment of disaster to long-term displacement, loss and grief, the structures, limits, and failures of international aid, and death itself. iv To Melise Rivien, a strong woman who had faith And to Claudine St. Fleur, for the past and the future. Tèz sa a dedye a Melise Rivien, yon fanm djanm ki te gen lafwa Epi a Claudine St. Fleur, pou tout sa k pase ak tout sa ki pral rive. v Ayiti se tè glise. Haiti is a sliding land. -- Haitian proverb vi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Yon sèl dwèt pa manje kalalou. A single finger cannot eat okra. In honor of all the moun jeremi whose stories and experiences shape so much of this narrative, and all the tonmtonm with okra sauce that we ate together, that is the proverb that should start us off. One of the few things as slippery as okra sauce is a dissertation that tries to cover so much time and so many things, and there is no way on this earth I could have done it without the support, knowledge, expertise, and energy of so many people, in so many roles, in so many places. First I must profoundly thank countless friends, storytellers, and ordinary acquaintances in Haiti who shared their lives, their time, their experiences, and their expertise with me – who showed, time and time again, the meaning of community ties. M pa tap la si li pat pou kouraj ak vayans Prenel Michel ak John Ornélus te genyen 12 javye. Mèsi paske nou pat lage m; mèsi pou lavi m. Claudine St. Fleur, mwen pa ka menm eksprime tout sa ou ye pou mwen, men mwen kwè ou gentan konnen deja. Istwa sa a pa tap egziste si li pat pou ou ak fanmi w. Mwen remesye w enfiniman, epi mwen renmen w anpil. Pou tout manm Kojepens yo – sitou Claudine, Wesline Ciceron, Bazelet St. Louis, Élie Dupalis, Nancy Petit-Frère – talan ak enèji nou an se yon gwo sous enspirasyon pou mwen. Mèsi pou tout pasyans nou te pran avè m. Besita ak Bencille Jeune te vin tankou fanmi m – mèsi. Kéthia Édouard se yon bon timoun. Se nou menm ki fè ti apatman mwen tounen yon kay tout bon vrè. Mwen remesye tout moun nan lakou a – sitou David ak Jocelin, Gwo bo ak gwo remèsiman a makomè m Damilove Gorguette ak fiyèl mwen Alissa Nazaire. Mwen remesye tout moun Dejèm yo pou tout tonmtonm nan; kominote sa a vii tèlman akeyan. Joëlle Coupaud gave me a place to stay when I was afraid to sleep under roofs and picking fights. Herns Marcelin and all the folks at INURED made my first experiences in Haiti possible and facilitated my entry into Cité Soleil. INURED’s Félix St. Fleur, who died too young, was so patient and kind as I learned Creole. My years in Port-au-Prince would not have been complete without coffee every morning at sunrise on the galerie of Maryse Jean-Jacques, listening to the radio, talking about politics and watching my cat chase anoles up the almond tree. Kathie Klarreich told me to get off my butt and get to work – I thank her for tough love and second chances. Jean Casimir never let me give up on my research and showed me what true grace and diplomacy look like; Venante Thermogène is simply one of the best people out there. Josiane Hudicourt-Barnes is the kind of manman poul who gives you a needed peck with her beak when necessary – thank you, Josiane, for your friendship and support, and for being okay with my borrowing your uncle Max’s desk for a while. If my work in any way does justice to that generation of Haitian intellectuals and fighters, I’ll consider it a success. I am one of many researchers and writers to rely upon Jacques Bartoli and his lakou – thank you for all of it, Ti Jak, but particularly for bringing the past to life. Stateside, incalculable thanks to Martha, Bradley, and Adah King (and often Rosemary), who unquestioningly took me into their home and family for three months after the earthquake, who showed, as much as anyone else, the vast possibility of household and of fictive kinship. Thank you for the roof over my head, for the games of Settlers of Cataan, for the ice cream. Their acceptance and support made what should have been one of the hardest moments in my life into one of the sweetest. Rachana Rao Umashankar and Dragana, Michael, and Jana Lassiter all welcomed me into their homes as well, and gave me the space to figure out next steps. Mónica, viii Raúl, and Lázaro López were the first people to show up at the hospital, and I am grateful for their years of friendship. Thank you to the entire Department of Anthropology at UNC for their support during that time. Particular thanks to Caela O’Connell, ever practical, ever effective, ever full of common sense, for making sure I had clothes to wear. I am ludicrously lucky; I could not have had a more supportive dissertation committee. With humor, ease and truth, Charles Price has always reminded me to keep my feet on the ground and to make sure my work remains engaged and useful. Laurent Dubois is generous with the spotlight – to him I owe not only this dissertation, but also my first forays into public scholarship and ultimately into published fiction. It is a privilege to be in dialogue with someone who knows so much about Haiti and whose mind works so quickly. Karla Slocum taught me to contextualize my research in the larger history of race and kinship in the Caribbean, and is a model of calmness, professionalism, clear thinking, and resolve. It has been an honor to have Merrill Singer on this committee; it is wonderful to have as a mentor and a friend someone who is so committed to keeping anthropology beholden to social justice and public engagement. Michele Rivkin-Fish has shaped and refined my thinking about health and justice, and has always encouraged my writing in all its forms. Her generosity and enthusiasm – as well as her deep sensitivity for the human – have contributed greatly to this work. Finally, no graduate student could have a better adviser than Peter Redfield – an insightful, inspired scholar, an unconventional thinker, a gorgeous writer, and a kind person. Peter has shown me how to take my work seriously without taking myself too seriously, to embrace my literary sensibilities, to accept and know that it is possible to be many things at once, and to laugh at God. Thank you for your guidance, your humor, and your patience. In addition to their intellectual contributions to this work, I must also thank them all for their encouragement and care (and more than a few ix meals) in the strange months directly after the earthquake, when I found myself suddenly back in North Carolina and adrift. Beyond my committee, I have been so lucky to have intellectual and personal support by other faculty, at my own university and beyond.