Perennial Haitian exodus widens

Writing about Haiti as a failed state has become commonplace. Every few months a coup, an assassination, a political massacre shocks the sensibilities of news desks and editors and - for a nanosecond - Haiti makes the front page with rote descriptions of violence, poverty, and death. Then it drifts to the back page and out of consciousness.

Since the fall of the Duvalier family dictatorship in 1986, the pendulum has swung from bright moments of genuine hope to the dark despair of insecurity and instability. But today it appears to have stopped swinging. In spite of the 7,600 UN peacekeepers stationed there, more than 800 people (including 40 policemen) have died in street violence in the past year - 200 in June alone. And kidnappings for ransom - of men, women, and children, rich and poor alike - have become an almost daily event.

Because of the insecurity, once again an exodus is under way. This time it's not just the sad stream of boat people that spikes at moments of peak political or economic stress, nor is it the class of bourgeoisie that has always had the financial means to live abroad. It's the heart and soul of Haiti, the solid citizens who represent the last surviving foundations of civil stability who, despite past national traumas, vowed to stick it out in their homeland but are now packing their bags for the first time. It's the lower middle class (laborers) and the solid middle class (shopkeepers and entrepreneurs) - the people who had a genuine economic stake in Haiti's future. After years of being knocked down by the fall of one government and rising up to the promises of the next, these patriotic and loyal Haitians can no longer find a reason to be optimistic about that stake. These are the people jamming outgoing flights of airlines that fly in nearly empty to Port-au-Prince.

The most personal example I can offer is my Haitian husband, leader of one of Haiti's most popular street bands. For seven years he's shuttled back and forth from our home in Port-au-Prince to our home in Miami; but for the past two months, since narrowly escaping death after being sought by armed gunmen of a rival band who claimed he should have been more politically vocal, he's been shuttling back and forth across our living room, wondering if he can ever return to his old life, or play music with his band again.

Then there's my Haitian mechanic friend who recently went into debt to send his wife and three children to the US. He lives just south of the National Palace, an area known for bustling street activity and blaring music from buses. For the last four months he's not had a single client come to his garage, and the street remains eerily silent because of the rash of recent kidnappings.

A local street vendor of fried food I used to buy from was abducted this summer and then released for a ransom of $100 - the equivalent of several month's of income for her. But an elementary-school-age child of friends of mine was kidnapped and only returned home after his middle-class family scraped together every last dime they had and could borrow to pay the $30,000 ransom. They also had to hand over their new SUV.

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