March 18th blog

Three weeks have passed since I took notes for my last blog entry, so I won’t try to pretend I remember what happened day by day. I will write more by topic instead.

The topic on my mind today is Haiti’s social culture, or what I’ve seen of it. I’m afraid this won’t be a very positive post – I’m past the “honeymoon phase,” and perhaps this post will be more like me venting my frustrations than anything else. Part of my aggravation comes from talking with a few people recently about American aid. They all ask: “Where did the money go? We’re no better off than we were.” I say that first of all, a lot of money did make it to Haiti, and it was spent on very important things. Clearing away rubble takes money. Building roads takes money. Providing tents, water, food, toilets and basic amenities to millions of refugees takes money. Building the infrastructure for MINUSTAH and other aid organizations takes money. International aid staff need to be paid, and providing a secure environment for them raises expenses.
I’m not saying the money poured into the country has always been used in the best ways, or that special interests don’t have their say with Congress about which NGOs receive funds and how they are used. According to a documentary on aid in Haiti I saw on PBS a few months ago, 93% of USAID money ended up going right back to Americans, through American NGOs and the like. Don’t quote me on that figure, I don’t know its sources. I will save the discussion on international aid for another post and get back to Haiti’s social culture. There is a lot I’ve seen that is wrong with some parts of Haiti’s social culture (or at least Carcasse’s) that I believe impedes development in the long run. They say world peace begins at home. If that’s true, I can think of a lot of reasons Haiti hasn’t achieved its full potential which have nothing to do with lack or misuse of international aid.

For example, I found out that violence towards children was commonly accepted soon after I arrived in Carcasse. Just the other day I was at the rectory and heard a child sobbing and screaming outside. I stepped out of the gate to see a 10-or-so year old boy walking down the road, weighed down by large bottles of water in each hand. A man (I assume his father) was walking behind him with a stick, whacking the boy in the back with it occasionally, as someone would do with a mule. Other than the stick, the father wasn’t carrying anything. He didn’t seem to mind that the child was obviously very tired and sobbing with pain.
Another time, I was at the school teaching an English class with the principal sitting in. A woman started beating her 5-or-so year old child with a stick right outside my classroom, and of course it was impossible to continue my lesson as all the students and the principal were captivated by this scene. After a while the principal non-chalantly said to the mother “That’s enough, ma’am.” She went on for a few minutes and finally stopped, dragging the little boy home. The fact that I was fuming seemed to be amusing to the principal, and the children laughed when he made a joke in Creole about how angry I was.
As if toddlers weren’t young enough, I was walking back from the school a few days ago and saw a mother hitting and yelling at her 1-year old with a banana leaf (or some similar leaf) bigger than the baby itself in the middle of the street, as the neighbors lazily went around their business. The child was crawling around crying out occasionally, and looking somewhat bewildered (to my eyes). I had to wonder what the mother thought she was accomplishing, what lesson she was trying to impart, by hitting a baby who was probably barely aware of her surroundings.
It seems these violent ways have trickled down to the children themselves. As I walked past a bunch of kids playing marbles the other day, I couldn’t help notice that as one child got angry at another for taking his marbles, he picked up a stone to throw at him. I didn’t see the actual throwing, as we quickly walked out of sight. Although I haven’t seen this in person, I’ve also heard that domestic violence occurs.
Someone told me recently that a man had been beaten to a pulp by the police in a neighboring town – thankfully Father Verdieu intervened and drove the man to the nearby hospital.
It’s hard to gauge how big a problem violence and corporal punishments are in this town – occasionally I’ll hear one of the neighboring children screaming, or a dog yelping in pain repeatedly, but I can’t be sure of the reasons behind these events.

Violence isn’t just reserved for humans. It really bothers me how people here throw stones at dogs just to get them out of the way, as if it were some kind of game. It wouldn’t surprise me if dogs’ ribs, already protruding from near-starvation, weren’t broken occasionally by those stones. As I’m one of the few who treats the dogs kindly, they immediately latch on to me, always sitting by my feet, starved not just for food but also for affection. Most people of Carcasse are scared of dogs, and are surprised when they see me petting the Doberman. Some may think I’m being too sentimental, but it just seems so basic to me that if you treat a person or an animal with kindness, it will respond with kindness.

Even for non-cuddly animals, why hurt or kill when there is no need? Every time some people in this household see a frog, they catch it and kill it, smashing it on the ground and throwing stones at it. Why this gratuitous violence? Is it part of their culture, as some claim it is, or is it a symptom of extreme poverty and misery?

From what I’ve written so far it may seem like violence permeates the town. Not at all - It’s just that witnessing these events, even if rarely, ruins my day and my mood, and I’m unable to write about the fun and interesting aspects of Carcasse. Finally I decided to write about what was on my mind.

Although at first Carcasse seemed like a quaint little town where everyone greets you with a welcoming smile, I’ve figured out since that many unpleasant things lurk beneath the surface. I’m not shocked that this would happen in a very poor remote village, but I am disgusted nonetheless and depressed at my inability to intervene. My reasons for not physically intervening are first of all, for my own security, at the time of the beating and later on, and second of all, because it wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. The parent would probably give the child a second beating to make up for the first botched one.

I was able to change things for the better in one situation, however. The first time I witnessed one of these physical punishments was at choir practice. The choir director is one of the seminarians here, and is one of the most positive people I’ve met. He’s always up for a good laugh and takes the time to chat with every person he meets. He kisses the babies, hugs the grandmothers, and proudly presents just about everyone we meet as his dear friend. Coming from a wealthy family, I’ve seen him give generously to people in need. He’s also very talented in music, a fact that all the Americans noticed as he played his guitar (self-taught) and improvised different voices for his men’s choir at the beach. On top of his teaching duties, he was given the responsibility of preparing the music for the “Fete Patronale” (Patron Saint’s feast day) on March 19th, including directing the choir. I had heard previously that his teaching methods were too harsh as he used corporal punishments, but I hadn’t really understood what was meant by that. This man was so popular, who wouldn’t want him as a teacher? So it was a surprise to me when, ten minutes into the first choir practice, he took off his belt and whipped a girl’s hand with it just for singing off-key. The girl had complied with his orders to show him her palms without a flinch, a slight smile on her face, and acted as if it was no big deal – a show of bravery, to be sure, as I’m sure that belt must have painfully stung her skin. I was shocked and angry, but decided not to say anything just yet. I told myself that just 50 years ago this was still common in the US – and my parents’ generation turned out fine, so who was I to judge? But ten minutes later, the same thing happened. Except this time, the girl refused – incidentally it was a girl he had introduced me to earlier in the day as a very dear friend who had come to him for help, as she had been temporarily kicked out of school for failing to pay school fees for many months. As they argued over it, I decided that enough was enough. Even if I couldn’t do anything about the punishments, I certainly didn’t need to be a part of this choir. Back in the US, going to the CUA Town and Gown choir was the most relaxing and enjoyable part of my week. It was a time to appreciate the beauty of voices in harmony, both musically and socially. Attending choir here, however, would be more like the opposite – watching kids getting whipped every 10 minutes (for something they can’t even control!) is not my idea of fun. I stood up and calmly announced that I was leaving, and that I didn’t have to put up with the way things were run here. The choir director immediately stopped haranguing the girl and started to explain to me that this hand-whipping was necessary to get them to sing well, and it was a part of Haitian culture that maybe I didn’t understand very well. I told him he could do what he wanted, but I certainly didn’t want to be a part of it. As I made to walk out, he asked if I would stay if he stopped whipping their hands. After making him promise never again to use any form of physical punishment, I agreed to stay. As the practice continued, I could see he was itching to get his belt out every time someone made a mistake, and it was very frustrating for him not to be able to take out his anger on the choir members. He pleaded with me a few times to let him punish them, saying that they needed discipline and would never learn this way. Obviously I said no. He never punished them while I was there, although he did threaten to beat them in creole occasionally, when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. And thus was I roped into the choir, not wanting to leave for fear he would start beating them again. It was an enjoyable experience overall, as this seminarian, despite his desire to use corporal punishments, always knew how to make us laugh. It just took up far too much of my time, 2 or 3 hours every night that I could have spent writing the blog, as we were rushed to learn at least 18 songs (by heart, no one reads music) for the mass of St. Joseph’s feast day, which took place today. In the end, he and the other choir members were very grateful to me for leading the altos and sharing my experiences from former choirs I had belonged to. They even wanted me to lead the choir during the “Fete Patronale” mass, as the seminarian would be busy at the altar, but I refused for various reasons.
Unfortunately, I found out that he resorted to whipping the choir members again during my stay in Port-au-Prince, just a few days before the mass. Although he denied it, it just goes to show how hard it is to change one’s violent habits. Ironically, the choir did improve while I was gone. I would say this is firstly due to pressure from the upcoming performance, and secondly due to the fact that the day before I left I insisted that all the altos stay together on one side, so that we could hear each other rather than being spread across the back, 7 altos against 15 or so sopranos. He and others probably thank the belt for this sudden improvement (a guess made from snippets of conversation I’ve overheard).
Anyhow – these are a few examples of violence that I’ve seen. There are many wonderful things about Carcasse, and as I said, even the people who use violent forms of punishments can be good people otherwise. As the choir director explains: “I was beaten as a child and it did me a lot of good. It taught me discipline and it’s made me the man I am today” (not verbatim, but close). He may have the best intentions and honestly believe that he is helping children by whipping their hands with a belt, but I for one am not convinced any form of physical punishment is necessary or helpful.

Unfortunately, I’m afraid some teachers use physical punishments as well. When I asked the principal what they did to punish the students here, he told me that they stand against the wall, and get whacked with a stick. He said this was a necessary step, because if the students should fail their exams due to lack of discipline (by stick), the parents would beat them up even more for wasting their money. So in his mind, he is using violence to prevent even greater violence.

I’ve had a long talk with Father Verdieu about all this, and he’s told me that of course he does not like such things, but that he can’t be there to supervise every teacher for every lesson. He’s also told them that they must give out homework regularly and exams at least once a month, but from what I’ve seen, the French writing teacher and I are the only ones who give out homework, and they only give out semester exams.
As I can see, Father Verdieu does his best, but he is only one man with far too many responsibilities in trying to run an entire town. He works with the school inspector, who passes by occasionally, and he’s had meetings with the students, together and individually, to ask about the quality of the teaching and their methods.
He is aware that some teachers may not be the best – because they give out physical punishments or for other reasons - but firing them would leave the children with no education, as it is extremely hard to find anyone willing to come teach in a small remote town like Carcasse. Most teachers are not from Carcasse, and some even commute from a larger town for each class. He’s told me that he’s been looking for other teachers for quite some time. I can believe this, as St. Mary’s has told me that he had been asking them for an English teacher for two years. Not only an English teacher – but someone who could help him run the school properly.
It is hard to blame him, as he is stuck between a rock and a hard wall – either he keeps the teachers, even with the occasional physical punishment, or he deprives the children of an education and the chance of a better future.

At the end of the talk, we agreed to have a teacher’s meeting to discuss all these things. I suggested the use of anonymous surveys the children can fill out regarding individual teachers’ performance and methods. The problem is that printing anything out here is difficult and costly. The priest does have an individual printer for special cases, but paper and ink are hard to come by (and expensive – an ink cartridge is over $60). The closest town with copy facilities is Anse D’ainault, a 45-minute drive away. As always, nothing is easy in Carcasse. I’ll report on that teachers’ meeting once it takes place.

At the start of this post I said I would discuss some parts of Haiti’s social culture and how they affect development in my mind, but I ended up mainly talking about corporal punishments. However, I believe this practice creates much larger problems, for individuals and for society as a whole. I’ll talk about why in another post.