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Haitian expats seek a sense of place in homeland


As the Haitian diaspora returns to Haiti to help rebuild their country they must find their place as others view them with skepticism.

BY TRENTON DANIEL

TDANIEL@MIAMIHERALD.COM

PORT-AU-PRINCE -- When Alexandra Azor moved to her native Haiti weeks after the Jan. 12 earthquake, she wanted to help and volunteered to aid doctors and other medical professionals by fetching medicine and working as an interpreter.
Along the way, the Hollywood healthcare consultant struggled with a more personal matter: trying to move out an estimated 500 quake survivors who camped in her parents' shopping plaza after the quake.
After persuasion didn't work, she confronted City Hall about evicting the squatters. But local officials called her insolent, she said, or otherwise ignored her. ``I was very frustrated. I felt powerless,'' said Azor, 37. ``I didn't feel that I was being heard.''
Azor is among the group of Haitian expats who have heeded calls to return home and lend their expertise to help the battered nation recover -- only to encounter conflicted feelings, theirs and Haitians', about their place in Haitian society.
Returning home to help has become a recurrent theme for Haitians living abroad since the quake. An estimated one million to two million Haitians, from educators to executives, live in the United States, Canada and Europe.
But those on the ground have encountered a harsh reality: Helping out is not always easy.
`TOUGH TERRAIN'
While the $2 billion the Haitian diaspora wires home each year is welcome, some Haitians have long viewed those who live abroad as exiles who split when times get tough and then return as finger-pointing know-it-alls.
That tension -- certainly not unique to Haiti -- is also evident as members of the diaspora fight for acceptance in political and social circles. These returnees also find their patience tested because of sporadic political woes, fuel shortages and a high cost of living that rivals cities such as Miami.
``It's a tough terrain to navigate,'' said Fabienne Doucet, a New York University education professor and co-founder of HaitiCorps International, a nonprofit that seeks to place members of the diaspora in volunteer positions in the quake-ravaged country.
In the weeks after the quake, Caroline Sada left her Miami apartment to return to Haiti after a hiatus of several years. A close friend reminded her `` `you haven't been here in six years -- you don't know much about what's going on,' '' said Sada, 36.
Sada, who was born in New York but moved to Haiti at age 2, left in 2004 because of political unrest that later culminated in the overthrow of President Jean-Bertrand Aristide. Last year, she thought seriously about returning because security had improved in the capital, but it took the quake to bring her back.
Now she runs a newly opened cafe, helps a group of children in Cité Soleil and has steeled herself to a work environment rife with red tape.
``In the United States, everything is black and white,'' said Sada, the former sales manager for a cosmetic company. ``Here you have to go through different channels to get things done. You have to go see this person and that person.''
Jef Romain knows the bureaucracy well and the grind associated with it.
The co-owner of several gas stations and a water purifying plant, Romain moved back to Haiti in 1998 after 11 years away. He had left to attend Baruch College in New York and then worked as an accountant in Orlando.
``When you come home, it's not as easy as you thought,'' Romain said as he paused to answer a phone call from friends inquiring about where to find gas during another fuel shortage.
``You find yourself racing, running for basic needs, running after gas, fixing the water pump, fixing the generator, finding mechanics,'' said Romain, his cellphone still buzzing.
Another thing he found upon his return: fellow Haitians calling him blan -- Creole for foreigner -- even though he was born in Haiti and said he is a descendant of one of Haiti's founding fathers. It wasn't until two or three years after his return that Haitians stopped seeing him as diaspora, he said.
Still, he remains diaspora on paper. He keeps a U.S. passport, which, he said, simplifies international travel.
Romain is a firm advocate for dual citizenship -- a legal status that would give him greater control over property ownership and voting rights. Expatriates -- known informally as the ``11th department'' because Haiti has 10 provinces -- also champion dual citizenship because they think the $2 billion they wire each year should entitle them to a say, though the group has long struggled to speak with one voice.
LEGAL ISSUES
Their remittances keep children in school, meals on the table and communities afloat.
``Legally, I can't have `Jef Romain's Gas Station,' '' Romain said outside the fueling station he runs with a partner. Dual citizenship ``would definitely encourage the diaspora to come back.''
A constitutional amendment to allow dual citizenship has dogged political debates for years, pushed largely by the diaspora. And members of the group had hoped President René Préval would tackle the issue before he leaves office. But now they will have to wait until a new parliament is seated before a vote can be taken.
The apparent rebuff of the diaspora became all too clear in the 2006 presidential election when Haitian authorities blocked the candidacy of Texas millionaire Dumarsais Siméus, saying the constitution bars a U.S. citizen from holding dual citizenship. Many viewed the decision as a snub aimed at Haitian expats.
Again, a few months ago, when a group of Haitian expats called for a seat with voting power in the Interim Haiti Recovery Commission, which is tasked with reconstruction, relief and development efforts, the Haitian government turned down the request. Instead, the expat seat is nonvoting. Most of the remaining 18 voting seats belong to international donors who have pledged $100 million or more to the reconstruction effort.
Still, the Haitian government has its share of politicians who have spent significant time abroad. Among them are Préval and Prime Minister Jean-Max Bellerive, who has called upon Haitians overseas to return and help rebuild. But they didn't relinquish their Haitian passports.
Before she returned to Haiti, Azor lived a middle-class life in South Florida. Like Romain, she left her country after high school to attend college and later collected a pair of master's degrees. She spent Christmas each year with her parents at their home in Delmas and longed to live in Haiti.
``Gradually, I began to figure out I was going to have more years in the United States than in Haiti,'' Azor said.
When she returned, she pursued her volunteer work and at the same time tried to get the squatters to leave her parents' shopping center after a couple of months of allowing them to stay. Despite repeated meetings with government officials and others, police didn't show up at the center and order the squatters to leave until mid-April.
BUSINESSES OPENING
Now that they're gone, businesses are starting to reopen in the vacated space. Azor recently secured a job as a healthcare manager with Catholic Relief Services after fielding several offers.
Socially, Azor is not sure where she'll fit in, If Haitians see her as blan, Azor notes, then the blan in Haiti are likely to view her as ``Haitian.''
``Here, I could leave at any given time but this is where I need to be,'' Azor said. ``If I left, then who replaces me? There are many people who could replace me from the international community, but I also bring my Haitian upbringing. I bring a Haitian connection.''


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