Author: Lee Rainboth

The Haitian proverb says "Don't throw rocks at a green mango." I'm a green mango. I'm constantly learning, discovering, and developing as a human being in this big messed up world. I'm no expert on anything but in this blog i will share my opinions based on my experience currently living and working in Haiti. I am an artist, writer, musician, and human being. I am a green mango. Don't throw a rock at me yet. *The views and opinions expressed in this blog are those of an individual and in no way represent the position of any organization or group that the individual may work for or be involved with.

Announcing New Podcast: The White Man’s Guide to Ruining Haiti

To All of My Dear Green Mango Blog Readers,

I have an exciting new way for you to get all of the best commentary from me on the nonsense of white people playing games with the country of Haiti and its people. I have started a new podcast titled, “The White Man’s Guide to Ruining Haiti”. It is essentially The Green Mango Blog, but in podcast form. So if you have enjoyed reading my blog over the years, I guarantee that you will enjoy this new podcast. I will be telling stories from my own personal experiences in Haiti that I’ve never shared before, but I will also be discussing current issues facing Haiti including politics, religion, art, and so much more. Through it all I’ll be taking an honest look at what the consequences of white audacity in the country’s affairs is and has been over the years. Be warned: I will absolutely be calling out actions and behaviors that I see to be harmful by foreigners who like to muck things up with their good intentions. This is a conversation to discuss what better ways of engagement there might be for us white folks in a place like Haiti, and what hopeful paths forward might exist for us to continue to support our Haitian brothers and sisters in their continued fight for full liberation. But I also hope that it can just be a fun space to celebrate all of the joy and freedom that can be found when one makes a genuine attempt to more deeply understand Haiti and dive into the richness that Haitian life has to offer.

All of that and more on “The White Man’s Guide to Ruining Haiti”! And don’t worry, it won’t be just me yammering on about my own opinions, but I plan to bring others into the conversation as well and welcome other guests onto the show who have their own unique experiences and stories from Haiti to share and learn from. (Don’t expect that in the first few episodes while I still am figuring out how to navigate this new platform for myself, but in the near future, I will have some great guests.)

So, if all of this sounds good to you, go listen to Episode 1: Group Showers in So-Called Slums, now on Spotify and Anchor. It will also be available on Apple podcasts soon, but that one just takes a little longer to publish. I will make sure to announce it when it’s up on Apple through my social media, so make sure that you’re following me on Instagram, Twitter, and elsewhere to get the latest updates. Then follow, like, rate, review, subscribe, share, and tell all of your friends! Do all the things that people do with podcasts to help me get the word out and get more listeners drawn into the conversation. Then, if you like what you hear, and have any comments, please get in touch and send me a message with your thoughts. I’d love to hear from you and know what you think.

Thank you all who have been loyal readers of this blog ever since I made that first post about the fashion crimes of mission teams in Haiti! I hope you’ll join me on this new journey as well.

Love and Good Vibes to You All,


Was It All Worth It?

IMG_9092I don’t believe much in wasting time analyzing the past, because we can’t change it. I’m much more of a live-in-the-present kind of guy. We make the decisions we make, accept the consequences, and move on. But after 13 years of devoting my entire life to a single place and a specific vision, a little bit of looking in the rear-view mirror is inevitable.

Though when I think of my life in Haiti, I resist the notion of considering it as something that is behind me, but rather as something that is still very much part of my present. This is why it is difficult for me to draw any sort of grand conclusions about my overall time in Haiti. It is not something that will ever remain isolated in time but will continue to reverberate and define every future moment that I live in so many profound and very real ways. I may not be physically living in my house on the hilltop in Mizak anymore, but that doesn’t mean that the living of life in Haiti doesn’t continue for me on different levels. I don’t define my life based on the place that I go to work or the address of my house but my life is defined through the relationships that I have with other people. And the place where my relationships remain the strongest and most meaningful is still Haiti and probably will be for a long time if not forever. So in that way, through those relationships, my life is still being lived very much in Haiti.

Yet we as humans like to think of time in a linear fashion and experience space and geography with only five senses and in only three dimensions, so we look back to gain perspective on where we are and where we’re headed. In this sense, thinking back on my time in Haiti, it’s hard not to question whether it was just a 13 year detour in life or if it was an integral part of my path leading to where I am now and where I hope to be in the future. I have to ask because the decision to go to Haiti originally was intended to be little more than a detour, a temporary divergence that was never meant to be part of a longer term plan. Even as the original six months turned into a year and then two and then five and eventually thirteen, my decision to stay was never the result of any long-term plan but rather just responding to life as it came at me day by day, being that live-in-the-present kind of guy that I am. This is evidenced by the fact that I kept trying to leave Haiti over and over again as I wrote about in my previous post.

During those 13 years, when I would tell people about the life that I lived, I would often get responses such as “Sounds pretty perfect.” “You must really be living The Dream”. And in many ways, life in Haiti was ideal. I lived in a location overflowing with natural beauty, surrounded by mountains, beaches, and waterfalls. I was deeply involved in a culture that is vibrant and full of life and unlike any other on Earth. I was part of a resilient and exciting community whose members love and support each other in remarkable ways. I got to do work that was tremendously fulfilling on creative, social, and personal levels. I was inspired every day and got to do things very much on my own terms.

Of course, life in Haiti wasn’t perfect. All of those wonderful things also came with living in a place that has to contend on a daily basis with poverty, corruption, insecurity, and the international stigmas that come from being “that country”. But those are things that I learned to navigate, I like to think, with a sense of grace and understanding. The one downside that always lingered in the background of living in Haiti, but that I never really addressed consciously, was the fact that, in order to live that life, I was putting my life in the US on hold for however long it may be. I moved to Haiti, essentially, right out of college, and I knew that the day would come that I would have to return to the US and carry on with a life that I had prepared for but never really followed through with because of my decision to move to Haiti.

Haiti blessed me with many things, but one thing that it didn’t really bless me with was career advancement. And career advancement, to Americans, is paramount. Some people decide to take a gap year out of college, but I took a gap 13 years. It’s easy to get back on track if you take one year off, or even two, but after 13 it’s hard not to wonder if getting back on the track is even possible. At what point does the track cease to exist at all?

It could be said that Haiti was my grad school because I learned more through my experience in Haiti than I ever could have in years of grad school. And within the context of Haiti, my career definitely advanced in a very positive way. I mean, I’ve got two separate entries on my resume that read “executive director” and that’s more than most people my age can say. That professional experience, however, doesn’t necessarily translate, at least not in a climb-the-ladder sort of way, to marketable skills for careers back here in the US because it’s so specific. Also, it’s assumed (in large part rightfully so) that I was able to gain those positions mostly because of my privilege and access. So most people look at my resume and read my work experience as little more than “white guy in Haiti”. And I don’t really blame them. I’m fortunate now to have found a place that was willing to look past that and see how my skills and experience really were transferable to the position that they were looking to fill. 

Even beyond the professional progress, there were a lot of other things that I had to put on hold in order to live in Haiti, a social life, for example. I invested a lot of time and energy into building a magical and life-affirming social life in Haiti that I treasured throughout my time there, and still do. But when I decided to move back to the States, I couldn’t pack that social life up in a suitcase with me and carry it to South Dakota. No matter where I move, I will never be able to recreate that again. The magic of Haiti makes some things possible that aren’t possible anywhere else.

No one ever said starting over would be easy, and I always knew that that’s what I would one day have to do, start over. I spent 13 years building up relationships, a reputation, and a trajectory that I’m now leaving in limbo while I start over again somewhere else. That experience has informed me and made me into a better person in more ways that I can articulate, yet when it comes to the everyday logistics of living as an American in the United States, I’m having to essentially start from scratch. I know this is an experience that any expat goes through when the time comes for them to return “home” but I don’t think it’s narrow-minded of me to feel like it might be different for me. As any other expat who knew how I lived in Haiti could tell you, I lived more like a Haitian than most. I assimilated to the culture more than most. I maneuvered through the ins and outs of the country differently than most do. So the process of moving back will also hit me differently than it does others.

So, looking back, I have to ask if it was all worth it. The starting over, the making up for lost time, the re-adaptation of a culture, the reconstruction of relationships and social awareness, is it worth everything that I got to live and embrace and know during the 13 years? It’s a question that is natural to ask but not one that is necessary to answer, because no matter what the answer might be it doesn’t change anything. We can’t change the past, only create the future. One thing that I know is that I wouldn’t trade those 13 years for anything. Even the extremely difficult, traumatizing, stressful, and infuriating parts. I can’t change what is past but I can be grateful for it. And I am so, so grateful for every moment that I was allowed to live in Haiti. And I will continue welcome with gratitude every future moment that Haiti continues to give my life whether my feet are upon its soil or not. Its spirit remains in my bones and much of my life remains in its mountains. I hope to live in a way that makes every moment worth it whether they are lived in Haiti, South Dakota, or wherever my path leads next.

I’ve Spent 13 Years Trying to Leave Haiti

IMG_0662I’ve tried to leave Haiti many times.

When I moved here in 2007 it was supposed to be for 6 months. I came down, did my white-man-artist-volunteer-thing, and sincerely thought that would be it. I would move on to something else and cherish the time as a pleasant memory. Maybe visit again someday.

After my original 6 months, I left. I had other plans, other jobs lined up, and other travels scheduled, which shortly after returning from Haiti, ended up falling through. Then the opportunity was presented to return to Haiti a couple of months later, with a small group of other volunteers to the same organization. It was just going to be a couple of weeks to check in on the projects that I had been involved in previously and help these other volunteers get acquainted with things.

It was this second very short trip that cemented my relationship with the country long-term. I didn’t know how or for how long, but I knew that I was coming back to stay. That led to my first 3-year relationship with an organization that provided me the basis for calling this community of Mizak, Haiti, home.

At the end of that 3 years, I tried to leave again. I had looked very seriously into grad schools and was planning to apply and go that route. Then, a conversation with a group of my Haitian peers changed all that. I was looking at grad schools and these friends of mine, young Haitian men who were my same age but arguably far smarter and talented than me, were stuck in an educational system that was designed for them to fail. As I was researching which Masters program I wanted to attend, they were just trying to cross the obstacles set before them to make it through the early stages of high school. We all knew that the system was broken but these guys had ideas of how to remove those barriers to make things easier for other young people who were and would be in the same position as them. So, of course, I stayed to help them make that happen.

A little more than a month had gone by after that conversation when the earthquake hit on January 12, 2010.

After the earthquake, I didn’t try to leave. After the earthquake, I was more stubbornly committed to stay than ever before. But after the earthquake, everyone else tried to get me to leave. Very well-intentioned friends, family, and even strangers tried to convince me that there was no reason for me to stay after the earthquake. They thought it would be better for my own health and safety if I left. They were worried about me, and my privilege offered me a very easy way out at that moment if I wanted to take it. But I didn’t take it. On one hand I knew that the only thing that was going to keep me sane at that time was staying near everyone else who had experienced what I had just experienced and understood the trauma that we all were trying to survive. On the other hand, I had just embarked on this new endeavor of building the new organization with my Haitian peers for local young adults and I wanted to see that through. (Both hands were telling me to stay.)

So I stayed. And I’m glad I did. I worked towards recovering personally as our community worked to recover together. We built the organization and began programs in education and the arts that have carried through to this day. But about three years later, again, I tried to leave, again. I had decided that the most important way that I could help our young organization grow was by moving to the States full time to focus on the administration of the organization from there where I would have better access to the resources that we would need to continue to support the work we were doing.

This time when I left, I was so sure that it was for real that my community even threw multiple “good-bye Lee” parties. We carefully planned for the transition with my staff, I told all of my friends farewell, and then I “moved” to Savannah, Georgia. I was 100% sure that that was where I was meant to be and I was going to start a life there while building the Stateside structure for our organization. I was wrong. After several messy months of trying to make it work but not succeeding, dealing with bouts of PTSD and depression, sleeping on the floors of my friends’ apartments, all while trying to also get a book published, it had become clear that I had made the wrong decision. I moved back to Haiti and returned to managing the organization from there. Doing so may have saved my life in that moment.

Over the next couple of years I transitioned out of the executive director role in the organization and to a more advisory role staying on the board of directors while the local staff took over the daily operations of the work. At that point, without the same level of responsibility, I could have left again. But there were still a lot of reasons for me to stay in the community. During that time I had been involved in the foundations of a couple of other small local organizations whose work I really enjoyed being a part of. I also saw this time as an opportunity to return to focus more energy back into my studio practice as a professional artist myself. To do that I had to stay in the place that inspired me the most in the creation of my art.

So I did that for a while. And it was fun. I was able to support the organizations that I loved without them consuming my every moment with administrative tasks. And I was also able to do what I love most in the place on Earth that I had come to love most. This period of time in Haiti was truly one of my favorites, representing some very happy memories for me. Unfortunately that lifestyle wasn’t sustainable for long because it wasn’t making any income for me. So, in 2016, I sent out a few resumes looking for employment with arts organizations in the States, just to see what would happen. I didn’t want to leave Haiti, but I also wanted to make some money.

I got a very quick response from one of the potential employers and within a few weeks I was in the States interviewing for a job in South Dakota, which they offered to me on the spot. When I sent out the resumes, I certainly wasn’t expecting that kind of response, and definitely not that soon, if at all. So the offer took me by surprise and left me having to make a difficult decision. Was I really ready to leave Haiti now that I had the perfect opportunity to do so?

It may not seem like that difficult of a decision. After all, why would I apply for jobs in the States if I wasn’t ready to move to the States? But during that time I had also taken in a foster son in Haiti. He was a boy that was very important to me and at the moment of the job offer, I was all he had. Like I said, though, I wasn’t expecting a job offer so soon, so I thought that I would have more time to make other arrangements for the care of that boy. So when it came down to it, I ended up turning down the job in order to return to Haiti and fulfill my responsibility to my foster son.

God has a wicked sense of humor, though. Less than a week after returning to Haiti, we had gotten in contact with an aunt of the boy who was willing to care for him and he moved out of my home to live with his extended family. I was glad that we had found a solution for him, but at the same time I was kicking myself that I didn’t accept the job.

Y’all. I almost moved to South Dakota. South Dakota. I mean, I know it’s really beautiful there, but it’s also really cold, really remote, really conservative, and really white. Can you even imagine?

But it also soon became clear that God had some other plans. Not long after turning down the South Dakota job and relocating my foster son, I had a group of artists on my doorstep recruiting me to become their new director at the arts center in Jacmel. This was the dream. This was exactly the type of thing that I had always wanted to be a part of ever since moving to Haiti years before. The arts center was in a really difficult place, though, and I knew that if I accepted what they were asking me to do that it would be a very heavy load to carry filled with tremendous challenges. I could have easily said “no” and gone back to the States to get a job or go to grad school or move on with life however I chose to. I was free to do whatever I wanted at that point. But I love a challenge. So after some time really considering if I wanted to hitch my horse to this buggy (that’s the saying, isn’t it?) I began as their new director at the arts center.

Even as I began that journey, though, I knew that it wasn’t meant to be forever. The goal was always to help them get through the challenging period that they were facing and help them build a sustainable structure where they could maintain operations on their own without a white guy in charge. Now, another 3 years later, we’ve made it to that point, and it’s clear that it’s time for me to move on to something different as well.

This time I really am leaving Haiti. Not because any circumstances of life are forcing me to, but simply because it’s the right time. After thirteen years of trying to leave this country, always at the wrong times, this is the right time.

I watched the series finale of The Good Place last week and in it all of the main characters have to decide when is the right time for them to leave The Good Place and walk through the door where they will be at eternal peace. The first character to make this decision is Jason, and he describes the feeling as the air inside of his lungs and the air outside of his lungs feeling the same. That’s how it is with my decision to leave Haiti. In many ways, Haiti has been my Good Place for the last 13 years. It hasn’t always been perfect but it has definitely been good. And now I’m ready to walk through the door and welcome whatever lies beyond it. (Of course in the show, when they walk through the door they turn into stardust and their eternal energies are redistributed back into the universe. I’m just moving back to the United States.) The point is, there’s a sense of peace about the decision. It’s not something that’s forced but something that I’m welcoming as the inevitable direction that I’ve been headed in for a while now.

I’m not leaving because of security concerns or any unease with the political climate of the country. I’ve learned to navigate those over the years and never feel safer than when I’m at my home in Mizak. I’m not leaving because of any issues with the organizations that I work with. I will continue to support them all in a variety of ways and for the arts center in particular, I will continue to coordinate their international programs. You need to buy some Haitian art? You can still get in touch with me. Those of you who follow me will see that my social media probably will still look very similar. I’m not leaving because of any personal reasons. My friendships and relationships within my community here remain strong and I will keep them alive from wherever I am. I’m not leaving Haiti because of Haiti and I’m not leaving Haiti because of me. I’m just leaving Haiti because it’s time.

So next week I will be moving to … wait for it… South Dakota. What can I say? Something’s been drawing me there for some reason. I’m gonna go find out what it is. I’ve accepted a job with the Crazy Horse Memorial Foundation as their Cultural Programs Manager. I will be working with indigenous artists from all over the world to coordinate artist residencies, art festivals, guest speaker events and more. It’s an exciting opportunity that I’m ready to throw myself into. The door has opened and I’m walking through it.

I’m forever grateful for what Haiti has been for me the last 13 years. This place will remain a big part of my life. So it’s very possible that I will continue to show up here on the Green Mango Blog or on Medium or elsewhere with writings and news and such. And as mentioned, I will continue to be active on social media sharing the good work of and searching for support for the organizations that have come to mean so much to me. So stay tuned.

For now, thank you for being part of the journey. For those who read this, I wish you all the best on wherever your journey may be leading you. Kenbe la.

A Perfect Day in a Complicated Paradise


The following post was originally published on Medium. I have started publishing my writing on Medium more rather than here on my personal blog. So for any of my followers that would like to keep up to date with my latest writings, please follow me on Medium. I have published a few new articles there lately on topics like compassion and white ownership in Haiti. So check them out and follow me there. There may still be occasions where something that I write will be more appropriate for The Green Mango than for Medium, but it’s important for me to use my writing in ways that allow me to get compensated these days in order to continue creating, and Medium offers that. So please stay engaged with my writing there in the future. Here is my latest post:


I recently tried out an online therapy service and one of the first assignments that my therapist gave me was to describe my perfect dream day for her. I spent the next few days leading up to our subsequent session meditating on this idea and imagining what my ideal day would look like if I could design it without restrictions. Although I thought of a few elements that would be included, I struggled to come up with a cohesive description of a day that truly felt perfect. Then, on the day before my next scheduled session, without any sort of planning for it to be so, my perfect dream day happened to me.

I had two friends visiting from out of town staying at my place for the week and I wanted to provide them with a fun day while showing them the best of what my community had to offer. So I gathered some other local friends, including my roommates, and a total group of eight of us headed out on motorcycles that day for an adventure, all agreeing to allow the day to unfold as it would. We made our first stop at a store along the way to pick up the essentials for an adventure such as this: rum, Coke, and energy drink. With refreshments for the day in hand, we continued on to our first destination, the local waterfall which is a popular locale for both area residents and tourists to swim in the mesmerizing blue lagoons and dive from the cliffs into the pools below. It’s a place with mystical powers and it provided us with the perfect escape for the day as we enjoyed the waters, the company, and the drinks. We had the place all to ourselves that day and it seemed as if the abundant pleasure that the pools offer was reserved just for us.

After hours spent surrendering to the magic of the waterfalls, we weren’t ready to return home yet, so we stopped by the house of some other friends, artist colleagues of mine from the art center that I work for, and brought them along on the next leg of our journey. I wanted my visiting friends to experience the beaches that our area is also known for, but the big public beach that I and my local friends would usually go to wasn’t accessible that day, so my artist friends led us all to a different beach that I had never been to before. It was a stunning, secluded stretch of beach covered in round stones worn smooth by the waves, so isolated that there was no direct path for the motorcycles to reach so we had to arrive by foot. When we arrived, we found a red and orange striped hammock hung between two almond trees and wooden benches installed in the shade. There was a huge cliff towering over the back of the beach, blocking the sun as it began to set in the late afternoon, and large boulders emerging from the water breaking the waves as they crashed to the shores. For the rest of the evening we enjoyed private, undisturbed use of this piece of paradise as well. The beach looked out across the bay with the city on the other side stretching out before us as we looked on from what seemed like a completely different world. The serenity that surrounded us existed in stark contrast to what we knew was going on just beyond the mountains around that city.

That city that spans the shoreline on the bay is Jacmel, Haiti, where I have called home for the last 12 years, having moved here from Iowa in 2007. On that very day as I and my crew of friends were blissfully roaming around the countryside, just to the north, in the capitol of Port-au-Prince, the streets were consumed with riots as the population protested a complex string of political injustices that had made life in the country more expensive and challenging than ever before. The same day that we allowed the waterfalls of Bassin Bleu and the waves of the Caribbean to wash away all of our worries, the headlines in the international media read: HAITI IN DISARRAY AS VIOLENT PROTESTS PARALYZE THE POPULATION WITH FEAR. Images of streets aflame with burning tires and crowds of people clashing with law enforcement splashed across the news homepages. We, of course, weren’t oblivious to this. It had been going on for several days at that point. In fact, my two American visitors experienced the unrest first-hand as they arrived in the country earlier that week and were stuck in the capitol as the roads were shut down. When we finally were able to travel the road to my home outside of Jacmel, we encountered a very tense situation where our vehicle was pelted with some large rocks by some very angry protesters. Even in our peaceful hamlet of Jacmel that week, the riots shut down public life in almost every way. The reason that we couldn’t make it to our usual beach that day was because there were multiple roadblocks set up on the way there making it unreachable. Just as we were searching for ways to get to the beach, most other foreign nationals in Haiti were seeking for ways to evacuate the country all together, some launching GoFundMe campaigns for tens of thousands of dollars to pay for helicopters to escape the perceived danger. We were very aware of the chaos around us, yet on that day, we consciously, and somewhat defiantly, chose to seek out pleasure where we could.

In my experience, this exemplifies the attitude with which Haitians approach every day of living in their country. Haiti is a country that is, outside of its borders, ubiquitously defined by its deficits. When described in international media it is always “earthquake ravaged, hurricane battered, poorest country in the Western Hemisphere … Haiti”. When news of political protests comes out of the country, the narrative becomes even more problematic and negative focusing on corruption, violence, and instability. This particular string of protests in February sent Haiti back up into the maximum category 4 travel warning from the U.S. State Department, ranking it alongside Afghanistan, Iraq, and Somalia in terms of danger for travel, painting a picture of the country that doesn’t at all reflect the reality on the ground. While Haitians view their country as an underrated island oasis that happens to be unfairly burdened by a long list of societal challenges, powers beyond their control are categorizing them with war zones and terrorist hotbeds, defining them based on their absolute worst moments and largest problems.

Yet, if you ask a Haitian to describe Haiti to you, one thing that you will frequently hear is, “Ayiti se yon peyi plezi!” “Haiti is a country of pleasure!” Yes, they will certainly tell you about how difficult life is and recite that long list of challenges that they face everyday, but they will also, inevitably, make sure that the definition of their country includes all of the pleasure that it offers. Haitians understand their country as a complex one with layers to its identity. Unfortunately, the way that it is typically portrayed to the rest of the world seldom allows space for such nuance. Haiti is a country that can be many different things depending on where you choose to look. If you choose to look only through the lens of the international news cameras, you will see Haiti as violent, corrupt, and dangerous. If you choose to look through the lens of the tourism brochures and travel websites, you’ll see it as overflowing with natural beauty, vibrant cultural celebrations, and colorful artistic traditions. Or you might choose to look through the lens of the NGOs marketing that would show you a country that is suffering from poverty, disease, and hunger. Although all of these depictions may contain part of the truth of Haiti, none of them show the whole picture. The whole picture can’t be seen from the outside unless we put down all of these lenses that limit what we see and start to try to see the country through the eyes of the Haitians who live the country’s truth everyday. They are the ones who are able to see that Haiti is a country that truly does contain multitudes. It’s time that we, the world, begin to allow it the luxury of being defined by those multitudes rather than the narratives that fit particular agendas.

It is this very complexity that makes Haitians value their pleasure as a society so dearly. In the face of the world telling you that your country is a poor, violent garbage dump, reveling in the pleasure of life that your country offers so freely can feel like a revolutionary act. And if anyone on this planet can turn the simple act of having fun with friends into a revolution, it’s Haitians, whose revolutionary spirit runs deep in the blood of every citizen and influences every aspect of their lives.

For myself, this is what made that day of mine so perfect. It was filled with almost cliché examples of pleasure: waterfalls, beaches, sunshine, good friends, cheap liquor, and lots of laughter. Almost anyone could look at those things and say it sounds like the recipe for a good day. It was experiencing these things, though, against a backdrop of such chaos and purported danger that made it absolutely unforgettable, what I would tell my therapist the next morning was a true dream day. When everyone else is suggesting running away from the situation, escaping on an emergency flight, maybe a helicopter, we said, “No, thanks.” Instead we stood in the face of it all and chose to literally dive in deeper to the pleasures waiting for those that are willing to see them in this complicated little country of Haiti.

Yes, There Might be Violence in the Streets. You Should Still Travel to Haiti

Haiti is a country that can be many things depending on where you choose to look. You can look only where the news cameras look and you can see isolated groups of people rioting in the streets, protesting injustices that they’ve lived and felt. The images of flames rising high above the pavement and the sounds of rocks being hurled and landing on rusty tin roofs as the crowds scatter. These images can all be scary. That picture of what Haiti is, is indeed a true one. It’s one that the cameras wouldn’t be able to capture if it didn’t truly happen. I’m not here to tell you that the streets never pose any risks in this country. But that picture presented is a very limited one.

Another picture of Haiti is the one that tourism brochures choose to present. It’s one of pristine white sand beaches populated with towering coconut trees. It’s one of cascading waterfalls spilling through lush, forested valleys. It’s a picture of bustling local markets filled with colorful tropical fruits of all varieties and bright patterned fabrics adorning the vendors’ tables and their heads. It’s one of costumed dancers celebrating traditional festivals and creative artists producing all sorts of one-of-kind works that you won’t find anywhere else on the globe. All of that is also a picture of Haiti that is true, and worth consuming. But it remains a picture of Haiti that you are not likely to see unless you choose to look at it.


Both of these can be true. Both of these are true, as are many others. There’s the picture of Haiti that comes out of the ever-so-frequent natural disasters, whether it’s an earthquake, a hurricane, or a flood, one of damage and devastation. There’s the picture that the NGO’s use to produce pity and raise funds, one of poverty, disease, and suffering. There’s the picture of the successful results of local grassroots organizing in communities throughout the country of children being educated, trees being planted, water being filtered, and businesses being started. There’s the picture that shows the rich and inspiring history of the country, the spirit of which continues to run through the veins of every Haitian, a spirit which can be seen providing meaning and substance to every single other picture of the country that one might choose to see.

These are all true pictures of Haiti. Sometimes it may be hard for some people to believe that all of these truths can exist in one small island country such as this, but that, my friends, is actually the best argument why you should actually travel to this country. Because it is complicated and it is full of contradictions. That means that it is also full of discovery and full of life for one to experience in new and unexpected ways. If you travel to Haiti and you only experience one of any of those pictures that I mentioned, then you are not actually experiencing Haiti. You are experiencing propaganda, whether positive or negative, you are not experiencing the fullness, the depth.

IMG_0838As someone who works in the arts sector, I can confidently say that if you come to Haiti and leave only understanding that Haiti houses some of the world’s most talented and creative artists, then you’re completely missing what Haiti is. I hope that you do see the breadth and the beauty of the art here, but it’s pointless if you don’t understand the painful and difficult realities of life in Haiti that is often the source of those artists’ expression. You can’t celebrate the work of an artist who paints out of political protest, but then not defend that artist’s neighbor when they take to the streets to burn tires or throw rocks in the same spirit. And you can’t refute those two different responses without also understanding the historical, educational, economic, and social systems that have been built to leave both of them to feel like they have no other options. You also have to realize that the artist that you praise today might be the protestor throwing rocks in the street tomorrow and they might have justified reasons for doing so.

In places where peaceful protest has a history of getting positive results, peaceful protest continues to be elevated as the more righteous form of public political action. But in a place like Haiti where the only thing that has ever historically gotten results is violent revolution, you have to leave space for contemporary protest to take a different shape in that context. When you hear about “violence” in Haiti you also have to educate yourself on what that really means and what the true context of the violence is. What the news usually means when they say there is violence in Haitian streets is that there are large crowds of people protesting something. For the most part those protests are usually peaceful despite the fires that they set and the rocks that they throw to get the attention of the people in power. Very seldom is the violence ever targeted, and if it is targeted, it is very unlikely that it will be targeted at you as someone visiting the country (unless you are somehow responsible for all of the political and social ills that the people are suffering).

This is not to diminish the trauma that does occur when violence is targeted at foreigners. I personally have multiple friends who have been robbed at gunpoint on multiple occasions in this country, and I wouldn’t wish that situation on anyone. Yet, all of those friends still visit this country even after those experiences. Why? Because they understood the contexts surrounding their experiences and knew that those experiences did not define Haiti but just represented one limited part of its identity as a country. I’ve lived in Haiti for 12 years now (I know, 12!) and I’ve never been the target of any violence and even in the situations where I’ve gotten caught up in protests in the streets, I’ve never felt unsafe. Those protests that they like to show on the news under the headlines about “violence erupting in Haiti,” I’ve seen them up close and personal, felt the heat from the burning tires on my skin, had to negotiate directly with the lead protesters to get around roadblocks, yet I’ve never felt like I was actually in danger.

Although accurate statistics on crime in Haiti are hard to nail down, some sources put the levels of violent crime in the country much lower than other Caribbean locations considered popular tourist destinations, including Jamaica, Costa Rica, and our island neighbor of Dominican Republic. But that’s not how it’s ever reported. In those other countries more frequent smaller, targeted instances of violence occur, but Haiti always has to be the drama queen of the Caribbean and make a big show of it when they do decide to stir things up, so it makes the news more and is reported with a much more exaggerated sense of danger. It paints an inaccurate picture, even if it comes from a grain of truth.

So come and discover the truth for yourself. Discover the truth, then discover the truths behind the truth and all of the other truths around that truth. Peel back the layers of this wild, wonderful, weird, complicated, colorful, cultured country. When you come, leave a little flexibility in your agenda for the unexpected. Expect some disruptions, some delays, some disasters, and maybe even a little bit of danger. But also expect that no matter what happens you’re going to come away from it all with eyes opened to new truths about what you thought this country was, and because of it you will probably also discover new truths about who you are as well. I can’t guarantee what you will or won’t see or experience when you do get to Haiti. I can guarantee that Haiti will change you. So come and let it.

Thank you for reading the Green Mango Blog. If you appreciate what you read, please consider making a donation to help the Green Mango’s continued writing and community work. Make a donation here. Thank You.

What to Say When Words Can’t Heal the Wounds

There was a time when big news would happen and my initial reaction would be to go to blog and write about my thoughts on the news or to share my opinion on the latest trending topic. It was the best way for me to express myself and once in a while those posts would get some substantial traction so I felt like my words carried some value. But lately my faith in the value of blogging has waned as I’ve tried to turn to more direct responses to what’s going on around me. Now when news breaks, my default is not to write a blog post but to reach out to friends of mine or even strangers who are directly impacted by the news and offer my personal support. Rather than logging on I’ve been checking in and trying to be more intentional with my personal relationships. I had, in fact, grown comfortable with the idea that maybe I would never blog on the Green Mango again and allow that chapter of my life to organically close while I searched for more effective ways to use my voice. Then I had a friend of mine earlier this week tell me that they had always looked forward to my posts as one of the few things keeping them sane in life. And that encouraged me to get back on here. So here I am.

I want to be honest, however, of how I’ve grown since I first started this blog. It’s been over 6 years since I first published my list of Mission Team Fashion Mistakes as my introduction to the world as The Green Mango. That first post was written with the intention of being a light-hearted poke at something that I thought way too many people took far too seriously. I shouldn’t have been surprised when the responses to that first post proved just how excessively serious people took such an issue. My response to their response was to then poke even greater fun at issues that they took even more seriously with my subsequent posts. Early on in the days of this blog I was accused of “waging a war against mission teams” and I wrote some things that offended some readers enough that I ended up losing some friends and donors over it all. But in the process, I also gained some friends and donors who discovered me through the blog and shared similar perspectives on the topics that I found important. Ultimately, though, it was about creating some accountability and engaging in debate over topics that too often escape interrogation because they get put in the category of “good work” and “helping people”.

Although it was never my intention, maybe I was waging a war because I was truly annoyed and frustrated by a lot of the things that I saw foreigners doing in Haiti and the ways that they justified those things in the name of the same God that I followed. And in my venting of those frustrations, I may have energized the frustrations of others and ended up creating more division than solutions. Through the years of exploring how I might continue to use this platform I’ve tried to adjust my approach to remedy that. And through that journey, I’ve changed, but also the world around me has changed. The Haiti that inspired me to start writing 6 years ago is not the same Haiti that I write in today. Although things remain complicated here in Haiti, the country is not flooded by swarms of mission teams anymore and the poisonous alphabet soup of NGO’s vying for power and influence has greatly diminished over the years. So, either I won the war that I was waging, or, more likely, the war just migrated to different places where the same misguided ethnocentric, racist, and classist views of the world could wreak havoc on different issues with their “good intentions”. Using those good intentions to screw with Haiti has become less sexy over the years and instead the calamitous interventions of well meaning people focuses its energy closer to home.

The original intention of the Green Mango Blog, however, has always been to be honest about the places where I as an individual and we as people have some ripening to do. Sometimes that means dragging what is rotten out into the sun and shining a light on it. Other times it means simply remaining connected to the branch that you have sprung from and allowing yourself to be fed and to grow. Then only when you’re ready can you feed others. That’s why the blog is named the Green Mango. The Haitian proverb says “You never throw a rock a green mango.” I’ll admit to having used this blog to throw rocks of my own. But I continue to grow; I continue to ripen; I continue to evolve and learn.

So, for my own sake but also for the sake of those of you who depend on this blog for a bit of sanity in an insane world, I will also continue to write. I can’t guarantee what direction the writing may take from here. I’ll admit that when I look at what’s going on in the world, I often find myself at a loss for comment. The issues that get me riled up these days and make me want to fire off an angry blog are mostly happening back in the US. Yet my duty to the work that I am committed to here in Haiti keeps my energy focused on practical means to continue making a difference here where I am currently planted.  When news does break these days, the first question that I try to ask myself is always how can I be a healer in any situation. Seldom when I ask myself that question do I find the answer to be, “write a blog.” The wounds of this world are so deep sometimes that they can’t be healed by words alone. Justice, Love, Dignity, Compassion, and Forgiveness are difficult to send across the internet. Usually it takes an honest but uncomfortable conversation with someone you love and trust. Sometimes it does take protests, and righteous anger, and voting. But when it does call for writing, and I feel like my voice can add something constructive to the communal dialogue, I will continue to post here, hopefully with more frequency that I have been in the past year or so.

In order to do that, though, I would love to hear from you, my readers, as to what topics you would like me to write on. Give me some ideas. I’ll be posting some more topical posts soon. I promise at least one more this week. And, if you truly do appreciate what I write on The Green Mango and would like to encourage me to keep at it, then please click on the Donate button just over there on the right side of your screen and send me some love that way. I will keep writing if it seems like people really do find value in what I write, but one of the main factors in me writing less lately has been the fact that blogging don’t pay the bills and I gotta focus my energy on activities that are gonna sustain me financially. I’ve been too broke this past year to use my time blogging. That’s just the truth.

Thanks for being here. Thanks for reading. I appreciate you and your presence more than you know.

Art Really Does Save Lives

I would usually be the last person to ever claim that anything that I do in Haiti actually saves lives. I would also be the first person to roll my eyes when some other non-Haitian would claim something so dramatic. Whether it may be technically true or not, the white savior narrative is so problematic in this country that it doesn’t need any extra fuel to bolster it. So I usually try to avoid such hyperbolic and cliché proclamations. An experience that I’ve gone through this past week, however, has revealed to me the life-or-death gravity of certain situations that really do need discussed. And so I want to talk about it here, not because I am saving lives, but because you who are reading this, can save lives, and you can do so by buying art and by supporting the work of Haitian artists. You may read that and think that now I really am being dramatic. I mean we’re not curing cancer or feeding starving children, we’re creating art. How is that saving lives? Well, I’ll explain. But before I do, please know that it has been very difficult for me this week as I process my feelings on this to know how best to share these stories while also protecting the privacy and dignity of the artists and my community here that trust me. So I’m going to try to do so in a way that illuminates the seriousness of the issue while not betraying that trust that they’ve given me.

I’ve been serving as the executive director of the Jacmel Arts Center now for a little over a year, and many of the artists here I’ve known for years before that. But being the executive director here entails much more than just the administration of a calendar full of arts programming for over 100 member artists. I also often end up serving as a therapist, a mentor, and a chief cheerleader for those artists. For many of them, this family of artists that they have here is the greatest system of support that they have in their lives, so when life gets challenging they look to us as a family for the strength to make it through.

At least once a month I have had an artist in my office telling me about how they are seriously considering suicide as an escape from the difficulties that they’re facing. In those moments, I have to try my best to make sure that they know that they are loved and they are valued as part of our family. I try to help them realize the tools that they have available to them to help them process their feelings and express the stress and depression that they feel trapped in. But sometimes that’s not enough. On one occasion I ended up having to call the girlfriend of one of the artists to tell her how worried I was about him and warn her about the dark place that he was in, knowing that she was his only other source of support.

This week, though, we came far too dangerously close to actually losing one of our artists to the darkness as he attempted to take his own life.  Fortunately he didn’t succeed, thanks to, in large part, two other artists from our center that were with him at the time and were able to save him and get him to the hospital. He was able to recover and seems to be on a more positive path now, but if it wasn’t for the support of our family of artists that we have built for each other here at the center, things could have turned out much different. This artist was in my office earlier that day, having that conversation with me that has become all too familiar, telling me that he didn’t see a way out. I talked to him but also made sure that he wasn’t going home alone.

Here’s the thing, being an artist is hard. It’s hard in any place and any cultural circumstance. Those of us who were born into the unavoidable current that pulls us into a life of the arts never choose this life because of its ease, we simply allow the current to pull us to where we need to be. Many people who’ve never felt the gravity of that vocational call to be an artist might look at us and simply say, “If things are so tough, then why not get a real job?” And sure, in some places it is possible for an artist who is not professionally or financially successful to get a part-time job to help make ends meet while they pursue their art. In other places, like Haiti, however, that is not an option. If you’ve discovered your natural allocation to be an artist, then you feel like it would be a spit in the face of the God inside of you to deny it. The Art that is within you needs to be created no matter what. And when, despite all odds, you find a way to create that art, you create it not for yourself but because society itself depends on the existence of that art.

Being an artist is hard, but it is necessary. No place knows this better than Jacmel. Known as the arts capitol of the country, its very identity depends on the arts and the artists who create the art. Without them, Jacmel would cease to be Jacmel. This country, itself, needs these artists now in this moment in history more than ever as it is them who can transform the narrative about their culture and share a more positive and true story than the one that is being shared through the media and from the houses of power abroad. It is these artists who are responsible for the identity of the city and the public perception of their country. This culture needs them, and yet they still struggle to survive on a daily basis and still find it impossible on many days to find any hope. They still find themselves in my office trying to brainstorm alternatives to suicide. It is one of the great paradoxes of art that while living the life of an artist can lead into really dark places where the darkness threatens to consume you entirely, it is also only the art itself that has the power to draw you out of that place and save you.

Creating the art is a process of creating life. But also selling the art is an essential part of providing for life and can either be the most encouraging or the most discouraging part of being an artist. That’s why it’s also important to buy art well. When you buy a painting, paying the artist a fair price for their work also saves lives because as artists we paint our very being into each work of art that we create. Those works of art are reflections of ourselves and they define our own value as human beings. If you buy a painting but pay much less than what it’s worth you are not only diminishing the value of the painting but the value of the human being that made it. This is why I sometimes get a bit feisty with people who try to negotiate lower prices on paintings at our center. I know that the artist would accept less because they are desperate, but I often refuse to accept less on their behalf because I know who truly pays the price in the end when they receive the message that their work, and by extension, their life, is not worth what they thought. Once your painting is on your wall you never see the long-term effects of paying less for it. You might feel like you got a great deal, but you have no idea how much that bargain cost the artist who had to give up so much for your deal. Haitians already receive plenty of messages trying to cheapen their worth as humans. Paying them fairly for their art that they have invested their time, money, and soul into, really does save lives.

This is why what we do at the Jacmel Arts Center is so important and why by supporting what we do here is actually saving lives. These artists need the network of support that they have here in order to survive and honestly, they need that network to be stronger. I don’t ever want to get a call again from the hospital, or God forbid, the morgue, saying that one of my artists is there because they thought dying would be better for them than living. That’s why I’m writing this, because before I ever receive that call, I want everyone to truly understand how severe the situation is. I want people to realize this every time that I try to sell a painting or ask for donations. I am not writing it to exploit their pain for the sake of donations or sales, but to simply provide you a context for the greater impact that those donations and sales make. You may think that there are more important things to use your money for. After all, cancer needs cured and starving kids need fed. But investing in the arts also saves lives.

I may not be the best therapist in the world because feelings aren’t really my thing and dealing with people’s personal problems isn’t really my idea of a good time. What I can do, however, is sell their art and continue to build an inclusive and positive environment for them to feel valued and supported as artists and as human beings. That is what we’re trying to do at the Jacmel Arts Center, and that is why every time you buy a work of art from us or make a donation to support what we do, you are saving lives. Art saves lives. Be a part of it.

Jacmel Arts Center Website

Jacmel Arts Center Facebook Page

Best of Books and Podcasts 2017

I didn’t get the time to write my full review posts of my top books and podcasts from 2017, but I still wanted to share my recommendations from the year anyway.

Best Books

1. The Nix by Nathan Hill

2. They Can’t Kill Us All by Wesley Lowery

3. Hunger by Roxane Gay

4. Exit West by Moshin Hamid

5. Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders

6. Swing Time by Zadie Smith

7. We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo

8. The Red Car by Marcy Dermansky

9. Pond by Claire Louise-Bennet

10. Days Without End by Sebastian Barry


Best Podcasts

1. 1A

2. S Town

3. It’s Been A Minute with Sam Sanders

4. On Being

5. Pod Save the People

6. Larry Wilmore Black on the Air

7. Here Be Monsters

8. A Piece of Work with Abbi Jacobson

9. Levar Burton Reads

10. Missing Richard Simmons

11. Unhappy Hour with Matt Bellassai

12. The Ran Down with Robin Theade


Resignation Speech Template for Politician Accused of Sexual Abuse

This week we’ve seen more politicians resign from their jobs in a single week then since the Civil War (when states were seceding) . This all due to their nasty habits of treating women like garbage. I was glad to hear that Al Franken was resigning but was disappointed in his speech, thinking that he really could have used the opportunity to make a much stronger statement and contributed to pushing the issue forward in a bolder way. He didn’t. It was a weak moment that proved we can do better than Al Franken anyway. So, since there’s guaranteed to be more of these resignations coming as soon as other names hit the papers, I thought I’d go ahead and provide a suggested template for any politician to use when making their announcement.

Good Morning to all of my fellow colleagues here in the [Senate, House, wherever].

I’ve asked for the opportunity to speak here today because as we all know, over the last couple of months our society has seen a new wave of accounts becoming public from brave women and men testifying to the acts of sexual harassment and assault that men in powerful positions have committed against them. These accounts have implicated many who serve in our government, including myself. To those women how have come forth with their stories of how my behavior towards them in the past has left them feeling uncomfortable and even violated, I would like to simply say, I’m sorry. Period. I. Am. Sorry. I am sorry for what I did. And to all women, I am sorry that we have sustained a structure in our society that continues to protect men in power at whatever costs and disregard the dignity of women at all levels. I am sorry that we have allowed a toxic culture of masculinity guide us to a place where women cannot feel safe in the work place or even be in many public spaces without the fear of harassment. I am sorry that it has taken so long for you to feel heard.

But we hear you now.

Today I am doing what I think is right and announcing that within the coming weeks I will be resigning from my position as [Senator, Congressman, President, etc]. Serving within this institution for the last [number] years has truly been the greatest honor of my life. However, at this time, it is clear that my continued presence here would only serve to further sustain that structure that too often leaves men without consequences for their actions and leaves the victims of their actions silenced. I refuse to send that message to the many victims around this country who are waiting for justice for the acts perpetrated against them. We can do better as a country and we must do better, America. That is why I will be stepping down.

As I do though, I would like to call upon my other colleagues who are facing allegations of their own to muster up a bit of integrity and do what they know to be the right thing as well. In this moment we cannot play politics. We must seize the momentum of this movement to create environments in our workplaces and public life where all women and men feel safe and respected. In particular I call upon Judge Roy Moore to drop out of the senate race in Alabama and acknowledge the credibility of his accusers. You, sir, have no place in leadership if you have left teenage girls questioning their worth and hurting emotionally. Similarly, I call upon President Donald Trump to immediately cease discrediting his own accusers and stop lying about the many times that he has admitted in the past to finding joy in the sexual assault of women. It’s true that the American people knew this about you and yet still voted in great enough numbers that you were able to be elected by the Electoral College to the presidency. But I would ask that you would cooperate with a full investigation into the at least 16 accusations of sexual harassment and assault against you and agree to take appropriate steps as a consequence of their findings. And if those investigations find President Trump guilty of sexual crimes, and he does not do the right thing by resigning himself, then I call upon members of Congress to do what they know to be right by pursuing impeachment. And if, by chance, the investigation did indeed find that all of those accusers were lying as President Trump claims they are, then at least we would know that we did the right thing in taking them seriously enough to investigate. It’s never a waste of time or resources to take such claims seriously, especially when we are talking about the one position within our society that should be held to the highest of standards, the presidency.

We claim to be a country based on liberty, but as long as powerful men continue to think that they have a right to touch a woman however they want, or to force a woman to kiss them, or to expect any kind of sexual interaction with a woman, then we are betraying our promise to Liberty for those women and for our country. Now is the time to make the change! We are on the precipice of creating a real transformation in our society regarding this issue. It’s time to stand up for accountability, integrity, and respect for women and all people in the workplace and throughout society. If we don’t start by cleaning up our own home here in government, then we can never expect change to follow in other sectors. In fact, many other sectors have already taken the lead on this and we are the ones lagging behind in our response because we value power over integrity. For far too long we have been the ones standing in the way of such a breakthrough. We have been the ones silencing the victims, justifying our actions, and paying settlements to try to make it all go away. The voices of this movement have made it clear that they are not going away and they will not be kept silent!

Today I encourage all of you who are still holding on to your story to speak out! You will be heard and supported. I echo what Senator Al Franken said, I may be giving up my seat here in the [Senate, House, etc] but I am not giving up my voice. To all of my fellow men who are serving in government, and in leadership positions across sectors, I would like to simply say, quit being perverts. Taking advantage of women and those under your leadership doesn’t make you stronger. It doesn’t make you funnier or sexier. It doesn’t make you better. It makes you pathetic and sad and disgusting. So just stop. And for the many Americans out there who are witnessing this movement right now and wondering what they can do, as well as to those who are speaking their truths through their accounts, I encourage you to run for office. I have a feeling there will be some more vacancies opening up. For too long power has been concentrated in the hands of too few and too many rich white men like myself keep thinking that it’s somehow owed to us. We need your voices in the halls of power to guide this country to a brighter future. A future where all of our sons and daughters understand what consent is and what respect truly means. A future where a woman knows her rights and isn’t afraid to stand up for them. A future where #MeToo can become a response to incredible accomplishments and noble pursuits rather than traumatic encounters. Where more and more women can say, “I am going to become a Senator, a Congresswoman, the President,” and throngs of other women can respond back, “Me Too!” Where even one female hotel employee can sit down on the bus next to a female restaurant employee and say, “I feel safe at work.” and the other can respond, “Me Too.” Where a woman can stand up and say, “I am powerful. I am in control of my own body and my own choices. I am worthy. And I am free.” And every other woman in this country can confidently respond back, “Me Too!”

To close today, I want to thank women like Tarana Burke who started the Me Too movement and others like Alyssa Milano and Ashley Judd who used their celebrity to bring the movement to a much wider audience. And to all of the women out there, of which there are far too many to name, who have used their voice to add to the chorus, yes even those who spoke out against me. My career as a [Senator, Congressman, etc] may be ending but this experience has forced me to interrogate my own actions in a way that I know will make me a better man in the end. I want to thank all of my colleagues here in the [Senate, House, Supreme Court, etc] who have worked alongside me for these [number] years. Serving alongside you has been a privilege. I want to thank the great people of the state of [your state] for electing me and giving me the opportunity to serve them. I hope for the most part that I have made you proud. And I want to thank my family [wife, kids, etc.] for standing by me through it all. Finally, I want to thank the leadership for allowing me the time to speak today. Thank you.

Let’s Chill Out Over TPS

In case you haven’t heard, this past Monday, November 20th, the Trump administration announced that it would be ending the Temporary Protected Status program that has allowed nearly 60,000 Haitians to remain in the United States since they came here after the earthquake of 2010 to escape the devastation that was overwhelming their homeland at the time. These Haitian refugees have now been given 18 months to make preparations to return to Haiti before risking deportation.

Now ever since the announcement was made, my newsfeeds have blown up with posts about how cruel this decision is, how terrible it will be for these Haitians that have to return, and how it further proves that Trump is a racist tyrant hell bent on destroying the lives of people of color and immigrants. Most of these angry posts condemning the decision are coming from my fellow non-Haitians who live or work in Haiti and Haitian diaspora who haven’t lived in Haiti for years. It is not what I’m hearing from my Haitian friends when they comment on the news. So here I am, to offer my voice to say, “People, let’s chill out over TPS!”

The “T” in TPS stands for temporary. So for starters, anyone who thought that these Haitians would just get to stay in the USA forever don’t understand how language works. It’s been 8 years since the earthquake and they have been given another 18 month grace period. They were never promised citizenship and they were never promised indefinite amnesty. This announcement should confirm absolutely all expectations that anyone should have had about this program from the beginning.

But that’s just the most obvious reason why we should chill out. Here’s my bigger issue with freaking out about this as some sort of injustice: Haiti is not that horrible of a place, sending them back there is not a death sentence. It’s actually a pretty great place, and these people should be proud to return. Every time that we share our disgust in the administration’s decision to send these Haitians literally “back to where they came from” we are perpetuating the misleading stereotypes of the country being nothing but a miserable, impoverished, dangerous, crime-ridden, hopeless portal into Hell itself. It’s not! When we do that we make the same mistake that my Grandma Dorothy always used to make, confusing “Haiti” for “Hades”.

Some of us work very hard to try to market this country as a place where tourists should want to come, where businesses should want to invest, and where artists and innovators create a culture worth wanting to experience. How on earth do we ever expect outsiders to want to visit if we are going to say that making Haitians themselves come here is some sort of cruel and unusual punishment? For the sake of the 9 million other Haitians that are already here and have been here all through the last 8 years and before that, we have to stop acting like these 60,000 will never be able to survive living like the other 9 million of them again. We have to stop acting like living like those 9 million is the worst thing that could ever happen to those 60,000, like now that they’ve tasted the good life in the US they should never be expected to have to live like the rest of us poor unfortunate souls back in Haiti ever again.

Those 9 million lived through the same exact tragedy as those 60,000 and they stayed and they survived. Yes, it’s true that some 300,000 did not survive, and every day we still mourn them, but 9 million did survive and continued to persevere and work to rebuild their country while 60,000 escaped and got to live a different life in the US for 8 years. Millions of those who stayed watched their own homes crumble to the ground, some of them even being trapped by them, losing limbs and suffering extreme injuries, having their friends and family die under the rubble, and they didn’t have the chance to make it out afterwords. Instead they lingered in the horror of it all. So it shouldn’t be surprising that there’s not much sympathy for those who did make it out and now have to return. Boo hoo.


In Jacmel after the earthquake, January, 2010

The Haiti of today is not the Haiti of after the earthquake. I know that there are reports of Haiti being the second least livable place on earth, after only Yemen. Yes, the effects of poverty and injustice and a lack of development still make life extremely difficult for many people in Haiti and still take a devastating toll on many families. But the Haiti that these 60,000 people left behind is not the Haiti that they’ll be returning to. There are plenty of homes for sale and for rent. My newsfeeds are also full of announcements about available properties. If they don’t want to buy or rent, 18 months is plenty of time to build a comfortable home and it’s not that expensive. If I can do it on my starving artist income, anyone who’s been working for the last 8 years in the US should be able to do it. In addition, infrastructure has improved. Roads and bridges have been built, new businesses have been established, security has increased, and there has been a lot of investment in education in the country. Are things perfect? No. They’ll still be returning to a place that is at a much less developed state than what they’ll be leaving behind in New York, Boston, Miami, or wherever they are. If they get sick they’ll still be hard pressed to find a hospital with a working medical staff. If they want consistent electricity they’ll have to invest in solar energy (outrageous!) But they’ll be able to find a home, probably be able to find some work, and it’ll take some adjustment, but they’ll learn how to live in Haiti again.

But what about the children!!!!??!?!? (I hear you screaming at your computer screen.) They’ll be tearing families apart! Again, chill out. Haiti’s a great place to raise kids. Bring them along. They’ll be fine. If they were born in the States, traveling for them will already be easy enough, but again, they’ve got 18 months to start figuring out the legal processes that they’ll need to go through. They all knew full well when they decided to have a child while on “temporary protected status” that eventually this would happen. So it shouldn’t be a surprise.

Of all of the things going on in our world to be outraged at, this should not be one of them. Like I said, none of my Haitian friends are posting about this on their newsfeeds, because it’s not a surprise to them nor is it an injustice worth making noise about. They’re ready to welcome those 60,000 back into their country. You know what my Haitian friends are posting about that no one else is? Slavery in Libya. That’s what they’re outraged over. Their West African brothers and sisters who are trying to escape legitimately life-threatening circumstances in their homes are now being sold as slaves in Libya before they make it to freedom. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then you probably don’t have enough Haitian Facebook friends. That’s what they’re currently outraged over. Check out the CNN report on it if you haven’t yet.

When it comes to a bunch of people who’ve lived the majority of their lives in Haiti being told that now they have to live some more of their lives in Haiti, that’s not really worth being outraged over. A bunch of people being given a year and a half to plan the rest of their lives in a beautiful Caribbean island nation with a vibrant culture is not a tragedy. It’s simply the end result of a program that was always intended to be temporary. The quicker that we accept that reality, the quicker we can get back to working together with these 60,000 that will be returning to build a future for the country that everyone can be proud to be a part of. So let’s chill out.