Let's not forget Haiti

There is a place in the world where seemingly opposing dynamics converge: extreme violence pervading the streets and a long history of achieving freedom; idyllic beaches and streets covered in piles of garbage; the impossibility for most citizens to walk the streets and the need to do so to survive.

It is Haiti, an island the size of Lombardy, a two-hour flight from Florida in the United States. Haiti is one of the most serious humanitarian crises of our time. The state no longer exists: institutions have collapsed, poverty is rampant. Since 2021, when then-President Moise was killed, politics has been in the hands of a transition committee tasked with leading the country toward new elections. They were supposed to be held this November, but have instead been postponed.

The territory, especially that of the capital, Port-au-Prince, is in the hands of armed gangs. When they arrive in a new neighborhood, they shoot, set fire to buildings, and take control. The gangs emerged years ago as the secret army of the Duvaliers, dictators who alternated in power for twenty years from 1957. They were used to eliminate political opponents and maintained this role for the following decades. Until they themselves became the power.
Today, they are composed of very young men, recruited primarily from the slums.

And then there is the poverty. Haiti is the poorest country in the entire Western Hemisphere.
One in four people lives in extreme poverty, one in ten is internally displaced. That is, they were forced to leave their homes and now live in extremely precarious conditions. Former offices or schools have become informal camps made of wooden poles, fabrics, and makeshift tents. For women, the situation is even more dramatic: their bodies become a battlefield, and even sexual violence is used as a weapon. "Last night, the gangs imposed a curfew," says Falou, a teacher from Port-au-Prince. "Then they started shooting in the streets. They have three little girls.
They'll demand a very high ransom; the families won't be able to pay. We're all very sad."

Not even natural phenomena have ever spared the island: the most tragic event was the 2010 earthquake.
200,000 people died. The island was the scene of a wave of international solidarity that brought $13 billion to the territory, a record sum that, however, was not fully used to benefit the Haitian people. Between corruption, money returned to donor countries in the form of payments for services and infrastructure, and cathedrals in the desert, Haitians were left with crumbs.

Thus, the view of the island is primarily one of pity. Yet, looking back in time, Haiti reveals its own very personal story that overturns this perspective. The island was the first black republic in history: the first state, that is, where some slaves rebelled against the French colonizers, eventually expelling them. In one of her best-known novels, Haitian writer Yanick Lahens puts these words into the mouth of her protagonist (The Color of Dawn): "I woke up before dawn and opened the door to the darkness of the night. I also knelt down and prayed to God. One cannot help but pray to God on this island where the Devil always has the better game and can rub his hands in joy." Literature and art—these are two other great treasures of the Haitian people: "We must also start from this heritage," Lahens has said in more than one interview.

What can be done for Haiti? First, don't turn away. Stay informed, be curious. Second, support from outside those who fight every day to improve the country. "True change for Haiti can only come from within" is one of the most common phrases when discussing the country's future. But that doesn't exonerate the rest of the world: Haiti desperately needs our perspective, too.

Chiara Vitali
Focus
NP January 2026