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Click on the photos to the right for news and updates from People in Need Partnership staff
Return to main PINP updates page
How to respond to immense need, longing?
How do you respond to immense need, when you know that the life of a person depends on relatively easy decisions that you can make? Do you just smile and walk on by, pushing them out of your mind? Or do you take the time to listen to their story, and decide to place them within the circle of your own reality?
People in Need Partnership works in places where that kind of need is omni-present, and wit the ability to actually respond, but there is always a danger of forgetfulness, and a challenge to continually remember the reasons that we care.
Yesterday, as I and Allison and Marcel were walking through the desolate neighborhood where our partners in Cite Soleil live, a girl stopped us and asked if she could say something. She explained that she had found another girl on the streets, who escaped from her home when a family member tried to rape her, and that the girl had no place to live, and that temporarily she had invited her to stay at her place. Even in this devastated community, the street girl was much worse off than the others. No family, no food, no home, and no social services (such as education) of any kind - and yet she presented a calm, gentle, sensitive smile. Then and there, we decided to interview her and create a Profile, and find a partner for her somewhere in the world - a person who will be fortunate enough (though they may not realize it) to touch the heart and lift the future of this girl. (See the raw footage of an introductory video clip here).
The humility of these people is profound. There is no (or little) begging. But occasionally a person will explain their situation. Further down the lane, a mother pointed to her daughter, Younise, and explained that unless we found a partner for her she would have to give her to a family as a restavek (child slave). Another girl, Jules Loudia, was standing to the side. She has been waiting for a partner for many months.
We could have walked right past, and in one case we did have to. A woman explained that her husband had been hit by a tap-tap, and she was not able to take care of her nine children. I could not think of a way our partnership system could plug into this dilemma.
Being in Cite Soleil (especially the devastated neighborhood of Fekier, where our Cite Soleil partners live) is overwhelming. The small buildings are made of sheet metal pieced together with bottle caps (to prevent the nails from pushing through). The ground is dirt, still wet from the recent monsoon. There are no trees, and nothing green. There are no stores, offices, facilities - only the troop of children following along, and the mothers standing next to the flimsy structures. The devastation of the place, the tremendous need - and the love and longing - is too much to comprehend all at once.
The beauty holds its own, and is as powerful as the multiple failures which have produced so many unmet needs. We know that there is a way to address this suffering, without turning to large social institutions (such as government). We want to show that the method behind People in Need Partnership can engage that power - that secret, hidden power that peers out from neglect, if only we have eyes to see.
May 15, 2010
How do you respond to immense need, when you know that the life of a person depends on relatively easy decisions that you can make? Do you just smile and walk on by, pushing them out of your mind? Or do you take the time to listen to their story, and decide to place them within the circle of your own reality?
People in Need Partnership works in places where that kind of need is omni-present, and wit the ability to actually respond, but there is always a danger of forgetfulness, and a challenge to continually remember the reasons that we care.
Yesterday, as I and Allison and Marcel were walking through the desolate neighborhood where our partners in Cite Soleil live, a girl stopped us and asked if she could say something. She explained that she had found another girl on the streets, who escaped from her home when a family member tried to rape her, and that the girl had no place to live, and that temporarily she had invited her to stay at her place. Even in this devastated community, the street girl was much worse off than the others. No family, no food, no home, and no social services (such as education) of any kind - and yet she presented a calm, gentle, sensitive smile. Then and there, we decided to interview her and create a Profile, and find a partner for her somewhere in the world - a person who will be fortunate enough (though they may not realize it) to touch the heart and lift the future of this girl. (See the raw footage of an introductory video clip here).
The humility of these people is profound. There is no (or little) begging. But occasionally a person will explain their situation. Further down the lane, a mother pointed to her daughter, Younise, and explained that unless we found a partner for her she would have to give her to a family as a restavek (child slave). Another girl, Jules Loudia, was standing to the side. She has been waiting for a partner for many months.
We could have walked right past, and in one case we did have to. A woman explained that her husband had been hit by a tap-tap, and she was not able to take care of her nine children. I could not think of a way our partnership system could plug into this dilemma.
Being in Cite Soleil (especially the devastated neighborhood of Fekier, where our Cite Soleil partners live) is overwhelming. The small buildings are made of sheet metal pieced together with bottle caps (to prevent the nails from pushing through). The ground is dirt, still wet from the recent monsoon. There are no trees, and nothing green. There are no stores, offices, facilities - only the troop of children following along, and the mothers standing next to the flimsy structures. The devastation of the place, the tremendous need - and the love and longing - is too much to comprehend all at once.
The beauty holds its own, and is as powerful as the multiple failures which have produced so many unmet needs. We know that there is a way to address this suffering, without turning to large social institutions (such as government). We want to show that the method behind People in Need Partnership can engage that power - that secret, hidden power that peers out from neglect, if only we have eyes to see.
May 15, 2010
Outside and inside
March 4, 2010
There are only two countries in the world that have not capitulated to the seduction of the global status quo – the hope for abundance, the superiority of technology, the pursuit of happiness. Those countries are Cuba and Haiti, neighbors of each other and of the United States. Each has paid a heavy price for their autonomy.
Everyone that has a mind of their own pays a price. The more sensitive you are, the more aware and even intelligent, the more trouble you will have surviving and becoming successful. Those who are more blunt have an easier time.
That is the subtext of what is happening in Haiti now. They have an uncorrupted and almost prehistoric gentleness, humility, and community. They cannot make the compromises necessary to get the external rewards that most of us insist on. And so they suffer.
I benefit tremendously from being invited into that Haitian reality, and from having real Haitian friends. It gives me the knowledge that the personal qualities I value can exist on a large scale. I hope that our abroad partners recognize the importance and value of being a partner with someone that has a soft, open heart.
Being hard, ambitious, and successful is not as advantageous as it seems. Eventually the truth that is at the heart reveals itself. Life becomes dull, lifeless. And being soft and gentle is not as disadvantageous as it seems. Life grows from inside, and spreads its wings. The world is polarized, but the choice is not either/or. We can bring together our broken halves: the North and the South, the outer and the inner. That is what our partnerships are all about.
March 4, 2010
There are only two countries in the world that have not capitulated to the seduction of the global status quo – the hope for abundance, the superiority of technology, the pursuit of happiness. Those countries are Cuba and Haiti, neighbors of each other and of the United States. Each has paid a heavy price for their autonomy.
Everyone that has a mind of their own pays a price. The more sensitive you are, the more aware and even intelligent, the more trouble you will have surviving and becoming successful. Those who are more blunt have an easier time.
That is the subtext of what is happening in Haiti now. They have an uncorrupted and almost prehistoric gentleness, humility, and community. They cannot make the compromises necessary to get the external rewards that most of us insist on. And so they suffer.
I benefit tremendously from being invited into that Haitian reality, and from having real Haitian friends. It gives me the knowledge that the personal qualities I value can exist on a large scale. I hope that our abroad partners recognize the importance and value of being a partner with someone that has a soft, open heart.
Being hard, ambitious, and successful is not as advantageous as it seems. Eventually the truth that is at the heart reveals itself. Life becomes dull, lifeless. And being soft and gentle is not as disadvantageous as it seems. Life grows from inside, and spreads its wings. The world is polarized, but the choice is not either/or. We can bring together our broken halves: the North and the South, the outer and the inner. That is what our partnerships are all about.
Suffering, humility, and Haiti
Feb 18, 2010
I first went to Haiti three years ago on a 'reality tour' with Beyond Borders (beyondborders.net), and it was then that I awakened to the inner meaning and soulfulness of Haiti. Beyond Borders focuses most of its attention on classes and trips for mutual understanding, rather than on development projects. On our trip we spent a lot of time exploring the history of racism that has oppressed Haiti, and which also keeps the oppressing countries in a state of vapid ignorance.
For our stay in a remote village I was lucky to be assigned the Interfaith Minister and Vodou priest Djaloki as my guide, and I stayed with him in a dirt hut (we were supposed to sleep in the same bed, but I opted to move to the floor). Djaloki has also been initiated as a member of an indigenous Canadian tribe, which has an oral history of a time in pre-history when the entire world was connected by spiritual centers. Every twenty-four years a group would built a vast raft holding hundreds of people and set off from Canada on a round-the-world trip, stopping at key spots along the way. After twelve years all would meet together in Haiti.
Though not easily swayed, I was able to see a kind of truth in these stories. It seemed clear that Haiti DOES express a spiritual reality unlike anything I have ever seen. For example, the smiles of Haitians are often different than what we see in the U.S. Here, no matter how genuine the person, there is always a certain amount of fear, resistance, and separateness. In Haiti, the heart connection is still fully alive. It doesn't matter if you speak the same language. There is humility which comes from suffering, of course, but it is humility nonetheless. Here we are too tempted by abundance, and separated by the many things that we have or have access to, and the roots of our very existence are broken apart.
Late at night we stayed up and drank the wonderful Haitian hot chocolate, made with locally grown cacao, cinnamon, and anise. Djaloki spoke of what he predicted was a catastrophe likely to happen in Port-au-Prince within a few years. He claimed that because of the way the slums of Port-au-Prince were built haphazardly along ravines, hundreds of thousands of people would die during a natural disaster, probably beginning with floods. I asked him, 'If you are so sure about this, how can you possibly be so calm?' Djaloki responded, 'There is nothing we can do about it. The roots of the problem are too deep for this to be solved in time. We must do what we can for more awareness and more love."
Now, after the earthquake, the suffering and humility both are greater even than before, and, as Djaloki suggests in the following blog post, so is the opportunity for joining together at the deepest possible level.
-- Geoff
“What we see and what we hear from main stream media is shaped by all kinds of overt and covert agendas. Even what looks obvious and what seems sensible is often designed to manipulate our consciousness at various levels. I invite you to question everything you are told, even what you are led to think apparently by yourself, and this includes this very message. The urgent and acute need for help in Ayiti and the global response of solidarity it is producing are not exempt from manipulation and deception.
"This is a golden opportunity to sharpen our heart intelligence and to tap into the global readiness for genuine respect, dignity, sustainability, interconnectedness, relationships and love, which the Ayitian people are currently expressing on behalf of humanity as a whole. We will access this collective knowing from the depths of our individual heart-mind-spirit (not from mainstream media) by nurturing our heart powered processes of thought, speech and action through prayer, meditation, self investigation and healing, humility, support and service to others, pure intention and recognizing our genuine intuition from our mental addictive habits.
"When we learn to listen to our global heart through the vibrations of our “individual” heart, we evolve to a higher individual and collective frequency and consciousness. Then we understand the utmost sacredness of the hundreds of thousands of deaths and the extreme pain and suffering of millions through sudden massive tragedies such as the recent one in Ayiti, or others that will come, until we absorb the lessons and the wisdom they are teaching us.”
Wisdom Circle, http://wisdomcircles.wordpress.com/
Feb 18, 2010
I first went to Haiti three years ago on a 'reality tour' with Beyond Borders (beyondborders.net), and it was then that I awakened to the inner meaning and soulfulness of Haiti. Beyond Borders focuses most of its attention on classes and trips for mutual understanding, rather than on development projects. On our trip we spent a lot of time exploring the history of racism that has oppressed Haiti, and which also keeps the oppressing countries in a state of vapid ignorance.
For our stay in a remote village I was lucky to be assigned the Interfaith Minister and Vodou priest Djaloki as my guide, and I stayed with him in a dirt hut (we were supposed to sleep in the same bed, but I opted to move to the floor). Djaloki has also been initiated as a member of an indigenous Canadian tribe, which has an oral history of a time in pre-history when the entire world was connected by spiritual centers. Every twenty-four years a group would built a vast raft holding hundreds of people and set off from Canada on a round-the-world trip, stopping at key spots along the way. After twelve years all would meet together in Haiti.
Though not easily swayed, I was able to see a kind of truth in these stories. It seemed clear that Haiti DOES express a spiritual reality unlike anything I have ever seen. For example, the smiles of Haitians are often different than what we see in the U.S. Here, no matter how genuine the person, there is always a certain amount of fear, resistance, and separateness. In Haiti, the heart connection is still fully alive. It doesn't matter if you speak the same language. There is humility which comes from suffering, of course, but it is humility nonetheless. Here we are too tempted by abundance, and separated by the many things that we have or have access to, and the roots of our very existence are broken apart.
Late at night we stayed up and drank the wonderful Haitian hot chocolate, made with locally grown cacao, cinnamon, and anise. Djaloki spoke of what he predicted was a catastrophe likely to happen in Port-au-Prince within a few years. He claimed that because of the way the slums of Port-au-Prince were built haphazardly along ravines, hundreds of thousands of people would die during a natural disaster, probably beginning with floods. I asked him, 'If you are so sure about this, how can you possibly be so calm?' Djaloki responded, 'There is nothing we can do about it. The roots of the problem are too deep for this to be solved in time. We must do what we can for more awareness and more love."
Now, after the earthquake, the suffering and humility both are greater even than before, and, as Djaloki suggests in the following blog post, so is the opportunity for joining together at the deepest possible level.
-- Geoff
“What we see and what we hear from main stream media is shaped by all kinds of overt and covert agendas. Even what looks obvious and what seems sensible is often designed to manipulate our consciousness at various levels. I invite you to question everything you are told, even what you are led to think apparently by yourself, and this includes this very message. The urgent and acute need for help in Ayiti and the global response of solidarity it is producing are not exempt from manipulation and deception.
"This is a golden opportunity to sharpen our heart intelligence and to tap into the global readiness for genuine respect, dignity, sustainability, interconnectedness, relationships and love, which the Ayitian people are currently expressing on behalf of humanity as a whole. We will access this collective knowing from the depths of our individual heart-mind-spirit (not from mainstream media) by nurturing our heart powered processes of thought, speech and action through prayer, meditation, self investigation and healing, humility, support and service to others, pure intention and recognizing our genuine intuition from our mental addictive habits.
"When we learn to listen to our global heart through the vibrations of our “individual” heart, we evolve to a higher individual and collective frequency and consciousness. Then we understand the utmost sacredness of the hundreds of thousands of deaths and the extreme pain and suffering of millions through sudden massive tragedies such as the recent one in Ayiti, or others that will come, until we absorb the lessons and the wisdom they are teaching us.”
Wisdom Circle, http://wisdomcircles.wordpress.com/
I'll be adding video clips of typical street scenes after the earthquake in Port-au-Prince. Part of the reality that's hard to grasp is its omni-presence. Every few buildings is another pile of rubble, and every so often is another encampment, with tens to thousands of people....
St. Joseph's Home for Boys
Febuary 13, 2010
St. Joseph’s Home for Boys was wonderful. With bunks to sleep in, seven floors of living space, meeting and meditation space, nooks and crannies, and a lifetime collection of Haiti artwork – as well as a remarkable orphanage for about 25 children, many of whom painted and gave dance performances around Haiti and the world – it was a gathering point of travelers, volunteers, missionaries and adventures in Haiti, and there was always a person with a mission and an adventure to meet. After the days experiences we met each night at dinner, and talked over a wonderful home-cooked meal (including the garlic tomatoes served at every meal, ostensibly to ward off mosquitoes).
The center of this magical space was Michael, the original creator, constant presence and guiding light of the orphanage.
I returned home to St. Joseph’s shortly after the earthquake. The road leading from the intersection of Delmas 91 was blocked. A large building had collapsed just there, and was filled with bodies, now producing a very strong stench. A sign asking for help (made by a neighborhood committee) was spread across the street. I picked my way through the rubble, as my eyes awaited the inevitable.
From a distance I saw that the top several floors of the building had collapsed. The bottom two floors, where the living quarters were located, withstood the quake.
Michael was sitting in the courtyard, peeling a tangerine. “Only one person was killed, a seminarian trapped on the fifth floor. It’s okay – we can’t smell him. His wife has already gone back home to the US, but he is still there.”
He smiled in his gentle, easygoing way. I mentioned that he seemed awfully calm, considering the circumstances. “I’ve been here for twenty-five years,” Michael said. “I’ve learned the Haitian way. And we will rebuild.”
Michael generously loaned several bunk beds to PINP, which we can use in the extra rooms of our new building for guests and travelers.
The magic of St. Joseph’s Home for Boys is gone, for the time being. But the power of the Haitian spirit is alive.
(Photo of Michael and Dancers from sueanddean.blogspot.com)
Febuary 13, 2010
St. Joseph’s Home for Boys was wonderful. With bunks to sleep in, seven floors of living space, meeting and meditation space, nooks and crannies, and a lifetime collection of Haiti artwork – as well as a remarkable orphanage for about 25 children, many of whom painted and gave dance performances around Haiti and the world – it was a gathering point of travelers, volunteers, missionaries and adventures in Haiti, and there was always a person with a mission and an adventure to meet. After the days experiences we met each night at dinner, and talked over a wonderful home-cooked meal (including the garlic tomatoes served at every meal, ostensibly to ward off mosquitoes).
The center of this magical space was Michael, the original creator, constant presence and guiding light of the orphanage.
I returned home to St. Joseph’s shortly after the earthquake. The road leading from the intersection of Delmas 91 was blocked. A large building had collapsed just there, and was filled with bodies, now producing a very strong stench. A sign asking for help (made by a neighborhood committee) was spread across the street. I picked my way through the rubble, as my eyes awaited the inevitable.
From a distance I saw that the top several floors of the building had collapsed. The bottom two floors, where the living quarters were located, withstood the quake.
Michael was sitting in the courtyard, peeling a tangerine. “Only one person was killed, a seminarian trapped on the fifth floor. It’s okay – we can’t smell him. His wife has already gone back home to the US, but he is still there.”
He smiled in his gentle, easygoing way. I mentioned that he seemed awfully calm, considering the circumstances. “I’ve been here for twenty-five years,” Michael said. “I’ve learned the Haitian way. And we will rebuild.”
Michael generously loaned several bunk beds to PINP, which we can use in the extra rooms of our new building for guests and travelers.
The magic of St. Joseph’s Home for Boys is gone, for the time being. But the power of the Haitian spirit is alive.
(Photo of Michael and Dancers from sueanddean.blogspot.com)
Road to St. Joseph's Home for Boys
Ruins of Notre Dame Catholic Cathedral
What does it mean to have one foot in this world, and one in the next?
Now partly in this world, but mostly in another, this couple lays trapped in the exit of the of the Notre Dame Catholic Cathedral. (Built in 1912, this Port-au-Prince landmark was one of the first cathedrals in the world to be built from reinforced concrete.)
I’m back in the U.S. (now in Portland, Oregon), but heading to Alaska in a few days, now more than halfway recovered from a series of illnesses I contracted during my three weeks in Haiti (malaria, stomach problems, and a tooth abscess). During this period I have intentionally stopped the constant stream of thinking, which is my normal way of approaching the world. The reason is that I did not want to prejudge what I saw, and therefore to trivialize it. The enormity is beyond words.
But I’m pretty sure that as I begin to reflect again, I will draw power from the importance of what I saw.
Strangely, the stench of the dead and decaying bodies didn’t disturb me too much. Unlike many others, I didn't bother to put on my face mask, except when the smells were particularly strong (though I did have my first nightmare a couple of nights ago). Seeing the collapsed buildings quickly became the new reality.
It is remarkable how quickly we adapt. Much too quickly. We adapt to the way things are, even though that is far from the beauty that was can imagine. One of my main goals has been to refuse to adapt – to cradle and cultivate the flame of awareness that I always knew and always knew was possible.
There is a difference between adapting and knowing what to do. Whether we are in Port-au-Prince, or in the cities of the North, we are held by the inertia and the status quo.
What do you do when you, like hundreds of thousands of others, are living outside, under a sheet or a tarp, with no work, little food and water, the danger of epidemic, in the midst of your destroyed country? And what do you do when you, like hundreds of millions of others, are trapped by culture and bureaucracy, not able to express the beauty that you long for?
I slept for two weeks under the stars at Myriam’s compound. (Myriam is the only PINP staff member whose home was not destroyed by the earthquake, and she invited several families from her neighborhood to stay outside with her – no one is ready to move back inside yet.) All had spread themselves out around the ancient Vodou tree in the center of the yard, and slept under the sheets that they had strung up. Before sleep, an extraordinary, magical sound arose: the sound of everyone singing and praying together. It was an opening to another world.
Whatever our response to the earthquake that destroyed a country, it must take account of the inner richness of the people, which also in subtle ways is responsible for their outer poverty.
What does it mean to have one foot in this world, and one in the next?
Now partly in this world, but mostly in another, this couple lays trapped in the exit of the of the Notre Dame Catholic Cathedral. (Built in 1912, this Port-au-Prince landmark was one of the first cathedrals in the world to be built from reinforced concrete.)
I’m back in the U.S. (now in Portland, Oregon), but heading to Alaska in a few days, now more than halfway recovered from a series of illnesses I contracted during my three weeks in Haiti (malaria, stomach problems, and a tooth abscess). During this period I have intentionally stopped the constant stream of thinking, which is my normal way of approaching the world. The reason is that I did not want to prejudge what I saw, and therefore to trivialize it. The enormity is beyond words.
But I’m pretty sure that as I begin to reflect again, I will draw power from the importance of what I saw.
Strangely, the stench of the dead and decaying bodies didn’t disturb me too much. Unlike many others, I didn't bother to put on my face mask, except when the smells were particularly strong (though I did have my first nightmare a couple of nights ago). Seeing the collapsed buildings quickly became the new reality.
It is remarkable how quickly we adapt. Much too quickly. We adapt to the way things are, even though that is far from the beauty that was can imagine. One of my main goals has been to refuse to adapt – to cradle and cultivate the flame of awareness that I always knew and always knew was possible.
There is a difference between adapting and knowing what to do. Whether we are in Port-au-Prince, or in the cities of the North, we are held by the inertia and the status quo.
What do you do when you, like hundreds of thousands of others, are living outside, under a sheet or a tarp, with no work, little food and water, the danger of epidemic, in the midst of your destroyed country? And what do you do when you, like hundreds of millions of others, are trapped by culture and bureaucracy, not able to express the beauty that you long for?
I slept for two weeks under the stars at Myriam’s compound. (Myriam is the only PINP staff member whose home was not destroyed by the earthquake, and she invited several families from her neighborhood to stay outside with her – no one is ready to move back inside yet.) All had spread themselves out around the ancient Vodou tree in the center of the yard, and slept under the sheets that they had strung up. Before sleep, an extraordinary, magical sound arose: the sound of everyone singing and praying together. It was an opening to another world.
Whatever our response to the earthquake that destroyed a country, it must take account of the inner richness of the people, which also in subtle ways is responsible for their outer poverty.
February 4, 2010
This may be my last day in Haiti on this trip. I'm going to the U.S. controlled Port-au-Prince international airport in the morning to see if I can get a flight. When I was there a couple of weeks ago I was greeted by a U.S. State Department employee who greeted me in a friendly way and invited me in for a flight (of course I declined). Failing that, I'll have to take another bus trip to Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic, an all day affair. I'm dreading that possibility, because I've taken that trip three times already (the last two trip to purchase food for distribution), and on the last trip I became quite sick. I think that it was a relapse of the malaria that I occasionally get, caused by simply too much stress on my body. Anyway, the last two days I've been sick and unable to eat or drink much. Right now I feel a lot better. But I am very tired, physically and otherwise.
I had expected to reflect and write a lot about my experiences here after the catastrophe, but instead I've been mostly overwhelmed by the experience, as well the work we've had to do, and that may be for the best. I'll have plenty of time to try to make sense of this upon my return, and of course I'll be posting those reflections here. I say 'make sense,' because I'm a person who believes in meaning: ultimate and everywhere, underneath and inside, and what we have to do is focus there. If we do so well enough - with penetrating awareness, humility, courage - we will find the response. Is such a response possible in this situation? I'm not saying now, but I believe that I must, and so I will.
This may be my last day in Haiti on this trip. I'm going to the U.S. controlled Port-au-Prince international airport in the morning to see if I can get a flight. When I was there a couple of weeks ago I was greeted by a U.S. State Department employee who greeted me in a friendly way and invited me in for a flight (of course I declined). Failing that, I'll have to take another bus trip to Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic, an all day affair. I'm dreading that possibility, because I've taken that trip three times already (the last two trip to purchase food for distribution), and on the last trip I became quite sick. I think that it was a relapse of the malaria that I occasionally get, caused by simply too much stress on my body. Anyway, the last two days I've been sick and unable to eat or drink much. Right now I feel a lot better. But I am very tired, physically and otherwise.
I had expected to reflect and write a lot about my experiences here after the catastrophe, but instead I've been mostly overwhelmed by the experience, as well the work we've had to do, and that may be for the best. I'll have plenty of time to try to make sense of this upon my return, and of course I'll be posting those reflections here. I say 'make sense,' because I'm a person who believes in meaning: ultimate and everywhere, underneath and inside, and what we have to do is focus there. If we do so well enough - with penetrating awareness, humility, courage - we will find the response. Is such a response possible in this situation? I'm not saying now, but I believe that I must, and so I will.
January 25, 2010
“Ahhh Geoff…. Haiti is destroyed.” Those are the words Cajuste, our Director in Haiti, greeted me with as I arrived in Port-au-Prince last week after crossing over by bus from the Dominican Republic. Since then, there has been little time to make sense in my mind of what has happened. But from the beginning I believed that there a meaning in this: a lesson for humanity, a challenge about how to live and about shaping culture.
In my view the meaning is this: lack of sensitivity. And the challenge is this: to develop a profound sensitivity to the ramifications of our own life and those who we are connected with.
I myself worry about my own insensitivity. Even before I arrived in Haiti I felt somewhat numb to the crisis. My own friends here were suffering – I didn’t even know if they were alive – and yet I was able to go on with my life as before.
(I’ll be writing about insensitivity and how I think we can change that, via PINP and in many other ways, in future entries.)
I was already used to the devastation in Haiti slums like Cite Soleil, with families living in makeshift shelters, with little food, water and other necessities. But I had never seen loss of life at a massive scale, never seen dead bodies or seen rotting corpses.
As we drove down the arterial Delmas road, I saw the collapsed buildings for the first time. At intersections there were homemade signs asking for help for people in that area. Side roads were entirely occupied by families sleeping under tarps. We arrived at our office, when the entire first floor was missing, and the other floors (our was the third floor) were precariously hanging there more or less intact. And I slept on the grounds of the building along with the other refugees.
Since then, I’ve traveled around the city, on tap-taps (communal taxis and mini-buses), as we’ve tried to reestablish our office, and create a food aid program. I’ve spoken with many people who lost their homes, work, and have very little food and water (even now, two weeks after the earthquake, aid has barely begun to trickle throughout the city, and has not reached most places at all). In many ways it all seems like Cite Soleil, the slum where half our partners live. Now all of Port-au-Prince is Cite Soleil. (a massive refugee camp, with hundreds of tarp cities, large and small.)
The main difference is death: more than 100,000 dead. How do people cope with that?
Two responses to death
In spite of its reputation, Haiti is remarkably peaceful, gentle, kind. (True, there are bandits at night, but they are mostly looking for food; and there has been a scourge of kidnapping, yet that was mostly created by foreign interference.) I think this is part of an ethic that insists on sharing, presence, spirituality, community, and refuses to participate in virulent materialism. They have made this choice though it means being ostracized from the global economic system, and are accustomed to extreme poverty.
People have warned us not to distribute food without a secure system. But I’ve found so far a remarkable gentleness among every person I’ve seen – at every tarp city, even the largest – and even in the face of death. Yet I’ve noticed two distinct responses to the death of family members.
The first is exemplified by Edward, a man I spoke with yesterday who is a former teacher of one of our staff members. He introduced himself, shook my hand and asked me how I was. When I asked him the same question, he said that his wife and two children had died. And when I asked him about, he said simply, "I can't grieve.” He explained that now he just wants to help, translating for journalists, or anything necessary. He has relatives in the US who are asking him to come there, but all his focus now is on being of service.
Boni’s attitude is different. He’s a friend of Cajuste and someone who had previously struck me as being self-effacing and uncompetitive. His wife and only child also died in a collapsed building. He is overwhelmed with misery, his mind is dark, his eyes are bleak. He can only say how terrible it is.
A similar attitude was expressed by a man I met in front of the Canadian embassy. He had lost his parents and wife. He asked me if there was any help available for a person who had lost everything. I had to explain that, no, there is no help. Overall, we inhabit a culture in which each is for his own. That glint of brutality underlies civil behavior.
Different responses – yet each is responding with gentleness and humility.
The effects – physical, psychological, spiritual – on Haiti will be permanent. How we will respond, here and everywhere, of course, is up to us. For the time being, most of us are in a state of shock. It is crucial that we don’t let the shock lapse into yet more insensitivity. It is a call to sensitivity: greater and greater awareness of our interconnections, open and hidden, and the origin of our own being: what makes us alive.
“Ahhh Geoff…. Haiti is destroyed.” Those are the words Cajuste, our Director in Haiti, greeted me with as I arrived in Port-au-Prince last week after crossing over by bus from the Dominican Republic. Since then, there has been little time to make sense in my mind of what has happened. But from the beginning I believed that there
In my view the meaning is this: lack of sensitivity. And the challenge is this: to develop a profound sensitivity to the ramifications of our own life and those who we are connected with.
I myself worry about my own insensitivity. Even before I arrived in Haiti I felt somewhat numb to the crisis. My own friends here were suffering – I didn’t even know if they were alive – and yet I was able to go on with my life as before.
(I’ll be writing about insensitivity and how I think we can change that, via PINP and in many other ways, in future entries.)
I was already used to the devastation in Haiti slums like Cite Soleil, with families living in makeshift shelters, with little food, water and other necessities. But I had never seen loss of life at a massive scale, never seen dead bodies or seen rotting corpses.
As we drove down the arterial Delmas road, I saw the collapsed buildings for the first time. At intersections there were homemade signs asking for help for people in that area. Side roads were entirely occupied by families sleeping under tarps. We arrived at our office, when the entire first floor was missing, and the other floors (our was the third floor) were precariously hanging there more or less intact. And I slept on the grounds of the building along with the other refugees.
Since then, I’ve traveled around the city, on tap-taps (communal taxis and mini-buses), as we’ve tried to reestablish our office, and create a food aid program. I’ve spoken with many people who lost their homes, work, and have very little food and water (even now, two weeks after the earthquake, aid has barely begun to trickle throughout the city, and has not reached most places at all). In many ways it all seems like Cite Soleil, the slum where half our partners live. Now all of Port-au-Prince is Cite Soleil. (a massive refugee camp, with hundreds of tarp cities, large and small.)
The main difference is death: more than 100,000 dead. How do people cope with that?
Two responses to death
In spite of its reputation, Haiti is remarkably peaceful, gentle, kind. (True, there are bandits at night, but they are mostly looking for food; and there has been a scourge of kidnapping, yet that was mostly created by foreign interference.) I think this is part of an ethic that insists on sharing, presence, spirituality, community, and refuses to participate in virulent materialism. They have made this choice though it means being ostracized from the global economic system, and are accustomed to extreme poverty.
People have warned us not to distribute food without a secure system. But I’ve found so far a remarkable gentleness among every person I’ve seen – at every tarp city, even the largest – and even in the face of death. Yet I’ve noticed two distinct responses to the death of family members.
The first is exemplified by Edward, a man I spoke with yesterday who is a former teacher of one of our staff members. He introduced himself, shook my hand and asked me how I was. When I asked him the same question, he said that his wife and two children had died. And when I asked him about
Boni’s attitude is different. He’s a friend of Cajuste and someone who had previously struck me as being self-effacing and uncompetitive. His wife and only child also died in a collapsed building. He is overwhelmed with misery, his mind is dark, his eyes are bleak. He can only say how terrible it is.
A similar attitude was expressed by a man I met in front of the Canadian embassy. He had lost his parents and wife. He asked me if there was any help available for a person who had lost everything. I had to explain that, no, there is no help. Overall, we inhabit a culture in which each is for his own. That glint of brutality underlies civil behavior.
Different responses – yet each is responding with gentleness and humility.
The effects – physical, psychological, spiritual – on Haiti will be permanent. How we will respond, here and everywhere, of course, is up to us. For the time being, most of us are in a state of shock. It is crucial that we don’t let the shock lapse into yet more insensitivity. It is a call to sensitivity: greater and greater awareness of our interconnections, open and hidden, and the origin of our own being: what makes us alive.
Direct help possibility
This site presents requests for help from people in dire need. PINP is willing to coordinate help directly for these people from those who would like to cover the full cost, including hiring a person on a contract for the specific task. PINP staff cannot do the work ourselves, but we can hire someone capable of doing so and provide proof of delivery and success.
This kind of direct person-to-person aid has not been possible before. If you're interested, explore the site and let us know what you'd like to do.
I'm in a hotel in Santo Dominica, the capital of the Dominican Republic. I spent most of the evening here talking with a group of relief workers from AMDA (from Japan and Canada). (The leader's name is Mithia.) Originally we were thinking about traveling together to Port-au-Prince, but it turns out that they can't leave till Monday, and that they will be going not to PAP but to the nearby town of St. Marc. But we made a good connection, and it turns out that they might be able to organize a relief delivery of food and water, as well as medicine, if I can show that our partners require this and if I can provide security. That makes me feel much more comfortable about our ability to respond.
I also met another Haitian who I'll be traveling with early tomorrow, along with several of his partners. It seems that he might be able to help me get all the way to Delmas 75, where are office is (was). The portion from just outside of PAP into town is by far the most dangerous, and I will need help, so I am grateful for that possibility.
Today I bought extra supplies, and I know have more than 150 pounds of food and medicine, as well as an axe, shovel, and more.
I was worried to hear that our partners are converging on our collapsed office complex, because it is place that they believe they can go for help. I wonder if I can meet my responsibility. But I know that it is my responsibility, and I embrace that.
On the other hand, I feel, perhaps strangely, that my most important task on this entire trip is to see, to see deeply - into the roots of the suffering, trauma, and disaster - and to have one redeeming, powerful insight into its meaning for humanity, something that I can take to PINP and the world.
I hope to use this blog as a place to share the process of arriving at that insight (whatever it is). I might be without internet access starting tomorrow, but I will upload my reflections (I always do that best in my journal, anyway) when I am able.
I also met another Haitian who I'll be traveling with early tomorrow, along with several of his partners. It seems that he might be able to help me get all the way to Delmas 75, where are office is (was). The portion from just outside of PAP into town is by far the most dangerous, and I will need help, so I am grateful for that possibility.
Today I bought extra supplies, and I know have more than 150 pounds of food and medicine, as well as an axe, shovel, and more.
I was worried to hear that our partners are converging on our collapsed office complex, because it is place that they believe they can go for help. I wonder if I can meet my responsibility. But I know that it is my responsibility, and I embrace that.
On the other hand, I feel, perhaps strangely, that my most important task on this entire trip is to see, to see deeply - into the roots of the suffering, trauma, and disaster - and to have one redeeming, powerful insight into its meaning for humanity, something that I can take to PINP and the world.
I hope to use this blog as a place to share the process of arriving at that insight (whatever it is). I might be without internet access starting tomorrow, but I will upload my reflections (I always do that best in my journal, anyway) when I am able.
I'm traveling to Haiti, leaving Friday, January 15 for the Dominican Republic, and then trying to find a way to cross into Haiti and Port-au-Prince, where our office, staff and partners are located. Still at this time we have heard no news at all from any of them. For me, this blog is a place to keep track of my personal experiences and reflections during the trip. Updates about People in Need Partnership, and our work and partnerships, will be posted on the main PINP blog. I probably won't be able to post to this blog at first, but eventually I'll upload my notes.
I am carrying a satellite phone. Please don't call me on it, as it will be expensive to use for that, but if you like you can text me at no cost, either to send or receive texts. Here are instructions for doing so:
It is free to receive texts on the satellite phone. Here are the instructions for that:
Go tohttp://messaging.iridium.com
Or:
Set your email editor to plain text format. Email address: .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)
You may send a max of 160 characters.
I am carrying a satellite phone. Please don't call me on it, as it will be expensive to use for that, but if you like you can text me at no cost, either to send or receive texts. Here are instructions for doing so:
It is free to receive texts on the satellite phone. Here are the instructions for that:
Go tohttp://messaging.iridium.com
Or:
Set your email editor to plain text format. Email address: .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)
You may send a max of 160 characters.
Thanks for your concern about my travels. I know that you are thinking about my safety, but I don't think you understand the reasons I am going, and I don't think it's at all fair to claim that my efforts will be futile. Here is my view:
-- Our eighty members are waiting for news from their partners. Many of them will want to help more if they know the situation of their partners and how they can help. The sooner we are able to do this, the sooner help can be given. This could save lives and provide other crucial aid.
-- I am traveling with enough money to provide help immediately. Some of this money was donated by our partners within the last two days.
-- Our staff needs my direct help. I have the salary that is due to them.
-- If our offices and staff are okay, they will need my guidance in reestablishing our program.
-- I am in contact with a firefighter (John Gordon) trying to meet me in Santo Domingo or Port-au-Prince, who can be of practical help to us and our partners.
-- The integrity of People in Need Partnership, with its distinctive approach and benefits, is at stake. It is also an opportunity for PINP to prove itself and expand.
Aside from all those practical reasons, there are several personal reasons that I want to go to Haiti now. People in Need Partnership is based on the idea that what is primary in development work should be understanding and care. We claim that the partnerships are real, that the human bonds transcend self-interest and are strong enough to galvanize us to action. I need to prove that this is the case. In some ways the PINP staff and partners are like family, which means that I want to help them even when it hurts.
This is also an opportunity to see how my ideas perform in the most difficult situations. And it is part of my personal development and will surely play a role in the many other idealistic projects I am very close to starting. It is also a chance to think about, write about, and share my experiences and insights from my special perspective.
Love,
Geoff
On my first trip to Cite Fequier - the particularly poignant neighborhood of Cite Soleil, in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, with houses made of pieces of corrugated metal put together with bottle caps, and where almost 50% of our Haitian partners are living - the first house I entered was full of smiling children. I took a photo of them and later did a large oil portrait of one of them. On a subsequent trip to the neighborhood I asked about the girl. The staff of Action Cite Soleil pointed her out to me, sitting in one of their classrooms. "How is she able to go to school?" I asked. "We knew you were going to interview her for People in Need Partnership, and we decided to give her a free place in school until she is able to find a partner," Joel responded. The commitment of Action Cite Soleil to the abandoned children of Cite Soleil, their recognition of the importance of People in Need Partnership, and our work together in Cite Soleil, is remarkable.
The girl's name is Wilna Joissant. Here's a photo of her in front of her home, and my painting of her. If you have a friend or acquaintance who might be ready to form a partnership with PINP, consider telling them about her: Wilna is still waiting for her own partner.
-- Geoff
The girl's name is Wilna Joissant. Here's a photo of her in front of her home, and my painting of her. If you have a friend or acquaintance who might be ready to form a partnership with PINP, consider telling them about her: Wilna is still waiting for her own partner.
-- Geoff
Ideas from Geoff
Founder, PINP
Founder, PINP
News from Allison
Assistant Director
Last entry: May 17, 2010
Assistant Director
Last entry: May 17, 2010
News from Jennifer
Head Coordinating Director
Last entry: Mar 20, 2010
Head Coordinating Director
Last entry: Mar 20, 2010
