by Paul Farmer
Seven weeks later, he was released without charges.
In the tradition of Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr., he did not stop speaking out against the human rights violations and other injustices against the poor. Fr. Gerry has told me he cannot separate his faith from politics. His example for how to live his life is Jesus. Jesus was not silent about injustice or the oppression of the poor. For Fr. Gerry, speaking out from the pulpit and through the media about the need for change, for the respect of human rights, for the release of political prisoners, for food, water, education, health care, and economic opportunities for all Haitians, not just the wealthy, is a critical part of his ministry.
He was arrested again in July 2005, just a few days after we expanded the food program to four days a week. This time, even though he was again listed as an Amnesty International Prisoner of Conscience and thousands of letters, faxes, and e-mails were sent on his behalf, he remained in prison for over six months.
It was only after Dr. Paul Farmer of Partners In Health diagnosed Fr. Gerry with leukemia and life-threatening pneumonia that he was given a medical reprieve. He was released from prison on January 29, 2006, to receive treatment in Miami. A few days later, René Préval was democratically elected as Haiti’s president. He had served as president from 1996 to 2001 and was the favorite of the poor majority, who had hope that his election would put an end to the violence and repression.
Progress has been slow. Members of the St. Clare’s community have told me that it is difficult for Haiti’s democracy to fully flourish with UN forces still there, many of the same officials appointed during the coup regime still in place, and most of the political prisoners still behind bars. Although the country is more stable politically, the same deep divisions and power struggles remain.
I visited Fr. Gerry in Miami shortly after his release from prison. Even though he had been through months in a cell, had just had surgery, and was about to go through chemotherapy, he had that same indomitable faith, energy, and hope. And thankfully, after seven months of chemotherapy, the leukemia was, and continues to be, gone.
Although he longs to be back in Haiti full-time, Fr. Gerry is still living in South Florida, regaining his strength. He travels to Port-au-Prince regularly and hopes to return permanently soon. Being physically separated from St. Clare’s has not kept Fr. Gerry from being involved in the lives of his parishioners and the community. His passion and vision for the St. Clare’s neighborhood and all of Haiti continue to inspire those who know him. He is in daily contact with the leaders of the food and education programs and has helped guide them into strong, self-sufficient operations that are not dependent on his presence. The programs have grown to be integral parts of the community and are run with the integrity, faith, courage, and commitment to serve those in greatest need.
Today, the food program is needed more than ever. A sharp rise in food prices across the globe has sent Haiti into an even deeper hunger crisis. The price of rice worldwide nearly doubled from February through April 2008. As in many countries throughout Asia and the Americas, rice is the primary staple of Haiti. With over half the Haitian population earning less than $1 a day and 78 percent earning less than $2 a day, this increase has made it impossible for most people in Haiti to feed their families. It now costs nearly $1 for one small can of rice. Reports have appeared in the media of families eating “mud cookies”—dirt, mixed with salt and vegetable shortening and baked in the sun—because they don’t have the money for food. Food price protests and riots have taken place in several countries around the world, including Haiti. The world is finally taking notice of the suffering, and I pray that this will help bring about positive change.
The main reasons cited for the dramatic global increase in the price of rice, wheat, corn, and other staples are rising fuel costs, a push to create biofuels from cereal crops, weather problems, and an increased demand in China and India. Haiti is especially vulnerable to these price increases because it is dependent on imported food staples.
Haiti is the third-largest importer of rice from the U.S.— 240,000 metric tons per year. Until the 1980s, Haiti was self-sufficient in rice production. But in 1986, a multimillion-dollar loan from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) required that tariff protections for Haitian rice and other agricultural products as well as some industries be reduced, opening Haiti’s markets up to competition from the outside. Rice from the U.S. began pouring into Haiti. Since it is heavily subsidized by the U.S. government and therefore cheaper than Haitian rice, within a few years most Haitian rice farmers went out of business. Now, with the price of U.S. rice rising and very little domestic rice being produced in Haiti, millions of people throughout Haiti are starving.
In March 2006 we increased the food program to five days a week and have been able to sustain that level ever since. An average of a thousand people are fed each day. Some walk 5 miles from Cité Soleil. Thirty members of St. Clare’s Church prepare and serve the meals every Monday through Friday. Children are fed first. A long line of young adults, parents, and the elderly wait near the rectory gate to see if there will be any food left over for them. The cooks try to be sure there always is, but lately, with more children then ever coming to the program, some days there isn’t anything left for the adults.
With the dramatic increase in the cost of food, I wonder sometimes whether we’ll be able to provide the funding needed to keep it all going. The cost per meal has increased significantly. It has gone from 50 cents to 70 cents per meal and continues to rise. I try to calm myself by remembering the Sunday we ran out of food and how I learned to keep the focus on love—celebrating what we can do, and not lamenting what we can’t. I try to focus on the fact that a thousand people a day, five days a week, receive some relief from their hunger, even though millions of Haitians are suffering and providing these meals does not address the root causes of their poverty. I remind myself that visiting doctors have told me they don’t see the signs of malnutrition among the majority of children who eat regularly at the rectory, and that Fr. Gerry believes the meals have helped the community remain peaceful during the volatile years since the coup d’état. The food program, he says, remains “an islet in the middle of the ocean ... A place where people are loved, respected, and fed every week. Hope is kept alive in the midst of troubled days.”
Regardless of the obstacles—the coup d’état, the hurricanes, the flood that wiped out a year’s worth of construction on St. Jude’s Chapel, beatings, prison, leukemia, and the current hunger crisis—Fr. Gerry’s belief in the importance and power of small steps remains a guiding force for everyone in the neighborhood and for me, too. Every morning when I sit down at my desk, I look at the sign I have taped to my computer monitor— “Piti piti na rive,” Little by little we will arrive—and I feel inspired to continue this work.
My Haitian colleagues continue to be my greatest teachers. Whenever I visit Haiti, Manmi Dèt’s open arms welcome me “home.” I treasure every minute with her and make sure we sit next to each other at Mass. She’ll be 80 years old this year, but she still walks up the hill to St. Clare’s when she can, greeting everyone along the way. She and the fifteen ladies in the front left pews continue to pray and sing and hold the space for love, hope, and possibilities with their extraordinary faith.
Manmi Dèt and Nennenn have passed on the responsibilities of the food program to another group of incredible women from St. Clare’s. Today, Nennenn is pouring her heart into the construction of a small medical clinic called Clinique St. Michel—a new St. Clare’s outreach project funded through the efforts of a physician assistant in Philadelphia—that just opened its doors. Nennenn’s daughter, Romi, who recently graduated from medical school in Cuba, is the clinic’s doctor. Members of St. Clare’s Church have been trained as health agents and are doing health education and advocacy work throughout the Tiplas Kazo community. Manmi Dèt and Nennenn plan to serve meals to the patients at the clinic, so we might be working together again soon.
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nbsp; Over the years, slowly, gradually, organically, one meal at a time, one student at a time, one summer at a time, we’ve grown. I treasure the intimacy of this work—serving as the link between the women, men, and children who send donations to the What If? Foundation and the members of St. Clare’s who run the programs day in and day out. It’s a special partnership with a simple structure—direct and effective. This is truly love in action.
One of my greatest personal challenges remains living in balance. I struggle with wanting to do more so we can expand and more children and adults can be served. The need is urgent and the work involved in running the What If? Foundation continues to grow. Yet, part of me craves a slower pace with more time for my family (I’ve remarried! and Luke is now a teenager), for writing, and for contemplation. I remain the volunteer president and director of the Foundation and still run my health and wellness business part-time, so my days often feel overscheduled and overwhelming. At times, I feel close to burnout, trying to juggle it all. I know I need to find a way to couple the urgency of the situation with the ability to sustain my energy over time—a common challenge for many people.
I often think about the Sunday night when Nennenn led me to the pool in my muumuu and the time she taught me to dance. “Dancing is good for you, Margo,” she whispered. Her days included both the commitment to the food program and laughter under the stars. She is able to sweat in the heat of cooking and then shake loose with dancing. She always has time to pray. I’ve realized that filling every free moment with work, even for a life-and-death cause, is not healthy for me or sustainable, so I now have an assistant in my office. A first step.
I have a picture of Nennenn and Manmi Dèt on my computer screen saver, their arms around each other, smiling, with a twinkle in their eyes. It feels like they’re watching over me, encouraging me to find and hold the balance between work and play, action and stillness. When I look at them, I often think of the fruit salad and the love and time they put into it, and I’m gently reminded how I want to live my life.
Fr. Gerry’s courage and commitment also remind me of how I want to live. Recently he shared with me an experience he had while in the Haitian National Penitentiary. There was an old man who lived across the street from the prison. Fr. Gerry could see him through the window. The old man was thin and weak. Since St. Clare’s parishioners brought food to Fr. Gerry almost every day, he had more than he needed. He and the old man developed a signal. At 6:00 every evening, Fr. Gerry would shine his flashlight at the door of the man’s home. One flash meant bring a small pot. Three meant bring a huge pot. The old man came every evening. Fr. Gerry arranged with the guards to let him in so he could receive whatever food Fr. Gerry was able to offer. Nearly every evening while Fr. Gerry was in prison, the old man, his wife, and children from the neighborhood had food to eat.
Time and again, Fr. Gerry and the members of St. Clare’s have shown me there is always the opportunity to act and make a difference. There is always hope. Little by little!
Post-Earthquake Update
SEPTEMBER 2010
Men Anpil Chay Pa Lou
L avarice’s voice was filled with energy and hope. It was the start of a new decade—January 1, 2010. “Happy New Year, Margo! This year we celebrate the tenth anniversary of the programs in Tiplas Kazo.” I listened to his message with a smile. “Everyone on the food and education team is committed and will continue to work hard for the children. We are making progress, piti piti. We send our love to you and the What If? Foundation.” I saved these words and listened again several times. They captured the determination and heart of our Haitian partners. 2009 had been a difficult year. 2010 would surely be better.
In January 2009, our beloved Fr. Gerry developed a lung disorder. His breathing deteriorated over several months, and the doctors couldn’t figure out why. He tried an oxygen tank, but his condition worsened. On May 27, 2009, he died in a Miami hospital and was buried in Cavaillon, Haiti, the village where he was born. I was able to visit him on my way back from Port-au-Prince a few days before he passed. He was hooked up to a ventilator and unconscious, but I still whispered an update in his ear, sharing the latest news about the food and education programs he loved so much. When I said good-bye, I knew it was for the last time.
Over the nine years we worked together, there had been many times I was afraid Fr. Gerry would die. But he always survived. Through the coup d’état in 2004, his two political imprisonments, and cancer, Fr. Gerry seemed invincible. None of us were prepared for this loss. His death devastated millions of Haitians, especially in the St. Clare’s community and in Miami’s “Little Haiti” neighborhood, where Fr. Gerry worked for many years on behalf of Haitian immigrants. Across the United States and around the world, friends and admirers remembered this tireless advocate for the poor, and grieved.
I went to his funeral at the Notre Dame d’Haiti Catholic Center on the northeast side of Miami. The streets and courtyard were packed with thousands of members of the South Florida Haitian community mourning the loss of one of their greatest leaders. The church building could hold just a fraction of those who came that morning, so chairs were arranged on the lawn outside, and loudspeakers were set up to broadcast the service. I came with Fr. Gerry’s sister Francine and other members of his family, and we were allowed to enter the church through a side door. As we wove through the hallway, I lost my grip on Francine’s hand and she disappeared from sight. Pushed along with the crowd, I eventually found myself in the center aisle of the sanctuary. It was standing room only. I was dripping with sweat from the heat and humidity, unable to move either forward or backward.
After the opening prayer, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. An elderly Haitian woman in a floral dress invited me to sit with her. Her kind brown eyes assured me there was space in the pew. The young man next to her nodded and helped pull me into their row. Somehow my hips squeezed between theirs. Bonded by our sweat and love for Fr. Gerry, we sang, prayed, and cried together during the two-hour service. My mind flashed back to my first visit to St. Clare’s when Fr. Gerry led the congregation so passionately in the St. Jude prayer and the lady next to me drew out the letters “S.O.S.” That day had changed my life forever.
Now, nine and a half years later, I was sitting in a similar church, warmly welcomed again by a Haitian community I did not know.
But Fr. Gerry wasn’t leading the service. His smile, powerful voice, and inspirational message would never radiate from the pulpit again. My heart ached with aloneness. I worried. How would the work we created together continue without him? But the thought of this question brought a smile to my face, and I imagined Fr. Gerry’s response—a hearty laugh and a knowing look that all would be well. A Creole saying that I had found particularly comforting came to mind. Men anpil chay pa lou. Many hands make the load lighter.
Despite this devastating loss, the St. Clare’s community did indeed pull together, determined to keep the food and education programs going strong and Fr. Gerry’s vision of transformation alive. Before he died, Fr. Gerry had asked Lavarice Gaudin, a close friend and associate, to oversee the programs in his absence. In the months following Fr. Gerry’s passing, the seventh annual summer camp took place as scheduled and transitioned in the fall into an after-school program. Nearly 200 children were enrolled with scholarships for the 2009–2010 school year, up to 1,500 meals were now being served out of the rectory kitchen each weekday, and there was great excitement over a small community garden that had produced its first tomatoes and eggplants. All of these programs were funded by the What If? Foundation, which, thanks to its loyal and generous donors, was holding steady through a difficult U.S. economy. When Lavarice’s New Year’s voicemail arrived, we were all hoping for a quiet year, one that would allow everyone to take a deep breath and absorb the many changes as we continued to strengthen the programs, one small step at a time.
But on January 12, a catastrophic earthquake, the first in Haiti’s history, took the lives of nearly 300,000 peopl
e. The city of Port-au-Prince was virtually destroyed. Concrete-block homes crumbled. Hotels and office buildings crashed to the ground. The National Cathedral collapsed. The Presidential Palace tipped on its side. Almost two million people were left homeless.
When all three phones in my office rang at once, I knew something terrible must have happened. My body trembled when I heard the news, knowing that the fragile homes in Port-au-Prince couldn’t possibly withstand a 7.0 earthquake. My fears were confirmed with each television report. I tried to get through to the St. Clare’s neighborhood, but with phone lines and the Internet down, it took two long days before we received any word.
Finally, Lavarice called, exhausted and relieved. He had returned to Miami a couple of weeks earlier and, after hundreds of tries, got through by phone to St. Clare’s. The rectory building was still standing and the entire forty-member food and education team had survived. So had all the children who had been at the food program and after-school program that day. The St. Clare’s Church was also standing, as were most of the homes in the community, although a school a few blocks away had collapsed, and it was feared that children were inside.
The next day, I received a message from Manmi Dèt’s niece reporting that everyone in the Dépestre family was alive. Their homes were cracked but didn’t fall in the earthquake. They were living in their yard with sixty neighbors, sharing food salvaged from their homes and rationing water from a water tank. Miraculously, the Tiplas Kazo neighborhood did not suffer the same level of destruction as other parts of Port-au-Prince.
Traumatized by the earthquake and afraid or unable to go back into their homes, families filled every open space—yards, fields, roadside walkways. Some huddled under sheets tied together to form tents. Others pieced together scraps of cardboard to shield themselves from the blazing sun. They shared any food and water they were able to take from their homes, and it quickly ran out, including all the reserves at the rectory. The aching cries of mourning were heard throughout the neighborhood—at all hours of the day and night—as were prayers and singing, as people drew on their faith to help them survive.