A dear friend sent me a few songs via iTunes, one of which struck
me particularly. As I searched the artist and read about the song on her
website, I was fascinated by the impetus behind it – it was written as a prayer
to God, that He wrap His arms around the world and protect the little ones who
are trapped in the horrible web of human slavery. Be it to the sex trade, to
poverty, to ignorance, to abuse, to greed, to history, to the silly 8-track
tapes full of lies which often find their way back into our conscience, we are
all impacted by slavery of some kind. I have no intent of belittling the true,
disgusting and very real issue of humans trapped in slavery to other humans –
it is a part of the culture here in Haiti, the children who are sold or given
into a life of forced service of every imaginable kind. But at the same time,
the daily battle I know that I fight against the lies implanted in my mind by
my own history, the fear of becoming numb to the desperate voices and scenes
that pass my ears and eyes, the truth of that statement that those ignorant of
their own history are doomed to repeat it – all of these are forms of slavery
as well.
Haiti is a broken country. Haiti has been broken by years of regimes
and foreign occupation which have, sadly, had similar endings. Then add a
devastating earthquake and a cholera epidemic to the mix, and you have the
makings of a terribly depressing story. But what never makes the headlines,
especially two years after the disastrous events which brought images and
stories to the forefront of the media and the world’s stage, is the freedom and
the joy that is present in this culture, the happiness and redemption and
healing that are happening. Scandal and horror stories sell; positive, quiet and
gradual change not so much. Do a Google-search on Haiti and you will encounter
images of riots, the earthquake and its aftermath, the garbage-flooded waters
of Cite Soleil, the unrest of a desperate people. What you will not see are the
photos and stories of new small businesses, the beginnings of sanitation
projects, the grants given for agricultural education, the shrieks of joy and
laughter of the children who receive their report cards and are thrilled to
know they are admitted to the next year of classes at school. You will not see
pictures of a brand-new home, just finished for the youngest members of the
Angels of Light program, painted with bright colors and with massive space to
run and play, a full beautiful kitchen and large bedrooms to accommodate up to
10 children. You will not learn of the fully-functioning hospital in the midst
of the poorest neighborhood in the Western hemisphere, with a clinic and staff
to treat the victims of cholera and poverty. You will not hear the determined
cries of the newborns at the maternity unit in the best pediatric hospital in
the country, nor will you witness the amazing transformation that occurs in the
lives of the severely malnourished children who are served by the nutrition
program. The abandoned children who know love through the dedication and daily
visits of short-term visitors and long-term volunteers – these children will
not be the next headline. But their smiles and uplifted arms as they take hold
of the generous hearts which parade them around the hospital their determined
steps damning the physical adversity which has threatened to stifle their
opportunity, have a lasting impact on the few privileged people who take the
time to meet them, changing the world and shattering stereotypes through the
simplest encounters.
My heart is saddened by the ignorant comments and questions posed by
those who, after a few days’ sojourn, believe they understand the people of
this country and claim to fully know the feelings and emotions of a Haitian who
has lived a life facing obstacles beyond an American’s imagination. Those who
choose to visit other cultures while tightly gripping their own egos and
insecurities, trying to justify ignorance or disdain by using stories of
statistics and joining the “poverty tourism” bandwagon, with self-serving
motives and intent to feign heroism while telling tales of chaos and posting
exploitative images of a broken people – they are slaves. I have been humbled
over and over again by the children who break my heart with the full impact of their
hugs, who stand proudly in their kindergarten graduation caps and gowns, who fill
the hollows of their metal dormitories with their yells of excitement at the
arrival of new friends, who can be perfectly contented for a few minutes doing
mathematics drills by adding and subtracting rocks, who use the stubs of
pencils until they are absolutely decimated, who treasure the gift of a used
matchbox car and score soccer goals using oversized Legos.
It is easy to observe the slavery that exists here, a people enslaved
to years of repeated history, who are forced into a culture of dependency which
has been promoted by organizations offering short-term solutions to long-term
problems, who are trapped in economic poverty and living day-to-day, if God
wills that tomorrow should come. It is easy to get caught up in the appearance
and blatant effects of brokenness which are immediately observable. The challenge
is to see past the presumed slavery of hearts and minds, and to work alongside
the untiring citizens who refuse to be bonded by the captivity of material and
educational poverty, to meet the earnest gaze of the children who smile
infectiously and excitedly reach across the divide to touch your hands. They
rise to meet each morning with its brutal heat and blanketing dust, and they
march against the tide of the last two hundred years. They stand in solidarity
with their friends, sharing the few resources they have. They sacrifice long
hours searching for employment and selling wares on the street, so that their
children can have a chance to break the cycle of history. They cherish each
other and work at a slower pace, which can be frustrating to us, the American
business-minded and frantic ones, but they are in a way more free than we are.
They live life in the present, passionately and vibrantly. They treasure
conversation and crave dignity. When asked, “How are you?,” their common
response is, “I am very well, with God.” They face their tomorrows with a faith
and resolve that puts mine to shame.
From babies hidden in the shadows
to the cities shining bright
There are captives weeping far
from sight
For every doorway there’s a story
and some are holding back the
cries
but there is One who hears us in
the night
- Christy Nockels
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