Sharing Wealth, Power : Haiti: How the 2 Elites Take Turns

It is upon the terraces of Haiti’s luxury hotels, in the lovely suburban homes of the rich and in the offices of government officials that a visitor begins to comprehend how this country works, how the regime of President-for-Life Jean-Claude Duvalier maintains its control over the poorest nation of this hemisphere.

A leading Haitian politician offered this preliminary lesson over dinner one evening:

“What you must understand, first of all, is that government here is just a game, played by a very small few, always the same people rotating in and out of office. I call them the elite and the counterelite. And the only thing that matters to them is to remain in power or regain it, either for the sake of power alone, or to enrich themselves.”

Urbane and Pleasant

An urbane, pleasant man, educated at one of the best American universities, his tone was casual and matter-of-fact, only slightly wry.

“And it’s like musical chairs because Duvalier’s smart. When the elites become too powerful, he reshuffles the players, brings in the counterelite. Here, only the most skillful ministers last as long as three years.”

The conversation turned out to be an exercise in prescience. Two weeks later, this same Haitian--out of office during the dinner discussion--was once again back in power, suddenly elevated to a high-level government position as a result of an overnight Cabinet shake-up in which Duvalier fired three ministers. (As usual, there was no public explanation for the upheaval, only a brief announcement on state radio.)

And so, in a subsequent scene rich in irony, he sat behind a big, gleaming office desk, a huge portrait of Duvalier and his wife hanging on the wall behind him, his eyes brimming with amusement as he solemnly delivered the standard party line:

“President-for-Life Duvalier is very concerned about the establishment of democracy and liberalization in Haiti, of course, as he has said many times before . . . so, he is taking all the proper measures; that is why he has decided now to appoint some people with a very clear view of what this country needs to establish a democratic state. . . . “

(He lasted two months that time, before Duvalier decided to rearrange his players once again.)

Duvalier’s dictatorship is based on the simple formula of keeping the Haitian business and ruling elites happy, the United States appeased and the masses docile.

In Haiti the business and governing elites are, by tradition, two distinctly separate cliques. Between them, they control the nation’s wealth and power, and share a single, abiding desire to keep it that way. It is, therefore, in their own best interests to keep Jean-Claude Duvalier firmly in place.

And they bluntly say so.

A typical young businessman from one of the country’s oldest, most influential families provided the private sector’s point of view:

“This is a system based strictly on nepotism, so I can get an $80,000 bank loan, just riding on my contacts . . . and the bottom line is, all I want to do is make money, and there’s a lot of money to be made here, the sky’s the limit.”

So long as he plays ball with Jean-Claude.

‘A Piece of the Pie’

“You want a piece of the pie, you play along, it’s that simple,” he shrugged. “And you sure as hell don’t criticize The Man, because the government’s got all the power, they monopolize the resources and, most important, they can just get rid of you. It’s not a life-or-death situation, but there are a thousand ways they can block you, if they want to. Every minister, porter, petty official is a demagogue here. Some young sucker can screw you up.

“So, sure, I’m a Duvalierist. I take a plane whenever I want, do whatever I want. . . . I’m a part of this system, my whole family is. I understand what’s going on and why. “

Apart from their common bond of self-interest, educated, affluent Haitians also share a seemingly universal condescension toward what they invariably call “the mentality of the Haitian masses.”

” . . . Almost nobody in government seriously cares about all the poverty here,” said a veteran member of the Duvalier regime. “To most (officials), it’s perfectly legitimate that a minister should have six cars, or a $3-million villa in Europe. But they believe the masses have been starving since (independence in) 1804 and that they’re used to it--that they like it, even. I’ve heard ministers say, ‘Why build housing (for the poor)? They like sleeping on dirt floors.’ ”

Throwing Out Money

” . . . Duvalier and his wife drive through the streets on holidays, throwing gourdes (20 cents) out the windows to the people,” said a Haitian academic, in a matter-of-fact assessment of his countrymen.

“To a foreigner, that might be a nauseating show of largesse, but Duvalier knows Haitians, he knows they’re not going to be insulted, only grateful at what the Big Man did for them today,” he continued with a small, dry smile.

“It’s ingrained, through centuries. . . . It goes back to Africa, the tribalism, the chief runs the show; then, the slave mentality, you don’t argue with the master--you’re grateful if he doesn’t beat you, maybe even gives you a little present. . . . “

Like Duvalier, other members of the Haitian elite reflect that same sense of noblesse oblige--whenever the plight of the poor is brought to their attention.

For instance, one elegant old lady of 75, well-connected to the palace, recalls how, a few years ago, she noticed that villagers near her beach house were forced to walk several miles for water. And so she decided to provide them with their own well.

‘It Was Our Duty’

In a small but revealing example of the way things are accomplished here, she casually recalls telling her son “ . . . that it was our duty, because we are the elite of this country, to help lift up the poor. . . . So he called Michele (First Lady Michele Duvalier) and asked her for the pipes, and of course she sent them out, and we put in the fountain for them.”

Invariably, members of the Haitian elite regard American visitors--who are usually shocked at the sight of so much human misery--as naive, sheltered, out of touch with the realities of life in the Third World.

“What you don’t understand is, people here are content,” one wealthy young Haitian, educated in Los Angeles, explained patiently. “They’re not into American materialism, they’re into spiritualism and superstition. Voodoo. All these missionaries are wasting their time. Most Haitians would still rather go to the village witch doctor than to a hospital if they’re sick. They’re into zombies and curses and all that stuff; they couldn’t care less about voting. Besides,” he added laconically, “they haven’t moved up in history in 200 years, so why now?”

Even privately, the poorest Haitians seldom seem to question anything the government does, or doesn’t do. Perhaps from fear, just as often from ignorance.

One woman standing in line for food at Mother Teresa’s mission in Port-au-Prince burst into sobs of gratitude, for instance, when asked about the president-for-life. “He is good, he gives us this food,” she said, smiling through her tears, while a nun dished rice and beans into her bowl.

As a visitor quickly learns, however, it isn’t always easy to tell what actually lies beyond the polite, smiling, submissive Haitian facade.

Inside a downtown bar one evening, for example, a Haitian construction worker, perhaps 30, sat quietly nursing a cheap rum, then, with a furtive glance over his shoulder, unexpectedly leaned forward, his voice a low, angry hiss, and said exactly what was on his mind:

“People here may be dirty and hungry, but they are not crazy, they know what they need! Can you imagine, you wake up in the morning, you have a wife and children and you’re hungry and you don’t have one damned penny? But, every dog in the street here wears the gun, the people cannot fight.”

Party Without Guests

But, in perhaps the single most revealing measure of what ordinary Haitians really think, when the government stages a public party, nobody comes.

Sept. 22, for example, is officially a great day in Haiti, the anniversary of Francois (Papa Doc) Duvalier’s rise to power in the bloody, chaotic year of 1957. This year, the government celebrated in the intersection of the street where Duvalier, father of the current president, had lived, in a modest frame house, until he moved into the palace.

Hundreds of banners with pictures of all the Duvaliers had been attached in a colorful flutter to the telephone wires overhead. Several “community action” groups in different, brightly matched uniforms had been bused in from outlying areas, all waving placards with such messages as “Vive Jean-Claude, Vive Michele B. Duvalier.”

Eliminating any doubt that this was intended to be a public rally, a display of Haitian fervor, the government had even brought in two popular local bands, complete with an elaborate amplification system loud enough to draw Haitians from blocks away. They alternated between popular, lively Caribbean music and a series of songs written especially for this occasion, containing such hand-clapping, foot-stamping lyrics as these:

“Go ahead! Go ahead, Jean-Claude! We’re with you, Jean-Claude, God is with you, Jean-Claude! Go ahead! Go ahead, Jean-Claude!”

Special Police Present

But, beyond the immediate intersection where chairs had been set up for the dignitaries, beyond the tight crowd of bused-in participants--intermixed with a substantial showing of armed bodyguards, local police and an entire unit of Tontons Macoutes (Duvalier’s special police)--the streets were dramatically, starkly empty.

Every politician of consequence in Haiti was there, including Duvalier’s entire Cabinet. But they celebrated Papa Doc’s liberation by themselves. Even Haitians who lived no more than a block away stayed home, behind closed doors.

The speeches, from at least 15 different government and civic leaders, lasted three hours. They were all about the same: jubilant tributes to the House of Duvalier.

Even Duvalier’s ministers looked utterly bored as the oratory droned on. Later they all hurried down the street to the home of Marie Carmel Lafontant, deputy mayor of the city, for a well-deserved drink.

Although the climate might seem ripe, so far there isn’t even a ragtag little band of Communists in Haiti, nor even any lone, charismatic figure in the hillsides, exhorting the poor to rise up.

‘No Communists Here’

“Of course there are no Communists here,” snorted a wealthy Haitian shopkeeper, disgusted at the naivete of foreigners, forever missing the obvious, “because Duvalier has the United States government propping him up, the Israelis supply him with the weapons, and he probably has the best security force in this hemisphere. He’s got 10,000 men under arms, six security forces, the largest in the Caribbean, except Cuba and the Dominican Republic.”

Duvalier’s foreign minister, Jean-Robert Estime, 41, searching his memory, couldn’t recall even a minor Communist threat since “around 1970, when some guerrillas--Communists from Cuba--attempted to invade . . . and we destroyed them. We don’t take chances with Communists here, we are extremely severe. . . . “

The largest continuing aggravation Duvalier faces today, in fact, is a handful of outspoken Catholic priests, preaching human dignity to the people. They have become an increasing irritant, ever since the Pope visited Haiti two years ago and publicly humiliated Duvalier by sermonizing against injustice, poverty and greed.

Haiti does have its would-be liberators, however--three or four vocal political activists, longtime fixtures in the Haitian scene, who periodically attempt to organize political parties and publish independent newspapers. Everyone knows who they are and where they live, but no cab driver will pick them up for fear of government reprisals.

Cycle of Jail, Freedom

Educated, middle-aged men, none preach a Marxist line, they don’t even call for the overthrow of Duvalier--only for universal suffrage and presidential elections. In a word, democracy. Which is enough. The cycle has become a national routine: They last until Duvalier decides they’re becoming too brazen, then they’re rounded up, jailed, temporarily exiled or placed under house arrest. Then, when they are eventually freed, they tenaciously start all over again.

Hubert de Ronceray, a former sociology professor, lately seems to be getting under Duvalier’s skin the most, predicting that Haiti is on the verge of revolution. He has been arrested three times since September, once for allegedly possessing “subversive material,” twice for trying to hold political rallies without a government permit.

“There they were, a bunch of people in a church, chanting De Ronceray’s name. He argued that it wasn’t an organized rally, just a spontaneous outpouring of supporters,” said a high-level Haitian official, half-amused, half-exasperated and typically candid in private. “And that’s absurd, of course, because everybody knows there’s no such thing as a spontaneous anti-Duvalier rally in Haiti.”

In Haitian politics, as in business, power seems to be largely a family affair, passed on from one generation to another in ritual nepotism. Duvalier’s current minister of foreign affairs and his former interior minister, for instance, are half brothers whose father, Dumarsais Estime, was president of Haiti--elected in 1946, overthrown by coup in 1950.

Whatever their personal agendas, several of Duvalier’s Cabinet ministers are well-educated, impressive figures, primarily men in their 40s--typified by the scholarly, thoughtful Estime--who can offer eloquent justifications for Haiti’s status as a police state dictatorship with a yawning economic chasm.

Appealing for world sympathy, they invariably stress Haiti’s isolated, lonely history after independence--brave but illiterate slaves left to their own devices for decades by a colonial world, cold and callously inattentive. And, they field criticisms of Haiti’s dictatorship by pointing out that the United States itself did not achieve full democracy--i.e., equal rights for minorities and women--until almost two centuries after independence.

” . . . Throughout the 19th Century, you had democracy only for men, for rich, white people. . . . Your last civil rights bills were only 20 years ago,” says Estime. “So, by your own example, democracy comes slowly, when the population has reached a certain degree of economic development and maturity, which is not the case now in Haiti. . . . To impose Western-style democracy on Haiti now would lead to anarchy.”

Best and Brightest

At the second tier of power in the nation’s ministries, waiting to ascend, is a group of young Haitians who might have been cut from the same mold: Mostly in their 30s, articulate, ambitious, generally from long-established political families and educated at the best American and European universities, they are Haiti’s best and brightest.

Some, like Estime’s chief of staff, Max Antoine, 30, are skillful diplomats who seem genuinely committed to winning greater U.S. understanding for the betterment of Haiti. Others, however, are militantly anti-American.

They want American aid, they need it, at the same time they openly curse the hand that feeds. They are so angered by what they see as U.S. condescension and hypocrisy that they sometimes end up defending their own slums as better than America’s because, as Daniel Supplice snapped, “At least ours don’t have racism, crime and drugs in them!”

Supplice, 34, a top official for the Social Affairs Ministry, conducted an air-conditioned tour of one of the few public housing projects under way in the city’s slums. Around 600 small, dismal cinder-block units, none had toilets or running water--and it infuriated Supplice to be asked why.

“Americans are familiar with water, but two-thirds of the world isn’t,” he lectured. “We have a cultural problem here as much as a financial one. We have to teach these people how to use water. They leave taps running; you put in a toilet, they’ll throw rocks in it.”

Reward of Instant Wealth

Meantime, in Haiti, instant wealth apparently remains the automatic reward for those who help Jean-Claude Duvalier stay in power and police his country.

Despite the seemingly endless attempts of outraged world lending agencies to somehow bring Haiti’s legendary governmental corruption under control, it still goes on, only mildly hampered, according not only to foreigners but to a few candid Haitian officials themselves.

“Corruption is a way of life here; it’s absolutely essential. Even if Duvalier wanted to stop it, he couldn’t, because it’s what keeps him in power,” said a Haitian politician.

Over the years, Duvalier has been almost continuously involved in one skirmish after another over Haiti’s periodic, yawning bookkeeping discrepancies--some of them almost laughably blatant. Trying to sort out Haitian banking practices has frustrated and amazed some of the best financial minds in the world.

Once, for instance, $20 million simply vanished from the central bank; despite howls of protest from both the United States and West Germany, only around $14 million of it was ever tracked down.

Duvalier’s Personal Wealth

During another forced inspection of Haitian ledgers, it was discovered that huge loans had been made to a handful of millionaires--without any repayment schedule; in addition, Haiti’s millionaires were only paying around 6% in taxes. Until recently, banking was so muddied in Haiti that there was no clear distinction between the palace account and the government’s--and, in fact, the origins and extent of Duvalier’s personal wealth remain a source of mystery and widespread gossip.

One Haitian official actually laughed out loud, heartily amused, when asked what the presidential salary was. “Last time I even saw anything like that on paper was years ago,” he said, still chuckling. “And I believe it was around $2,000 a year.”

Doggedly, the International Monetary Fund struck again last year, imposing a strict new series of tax and banking reforms on the government.

“Now, we hope that we’ve at least made it very difficult, if not impossible, for the Duvaliers to write personal checks on our money ($31 million),” sighed a weary, wry World Bank official. “But it still goes on, of course, everybody knows it.”

“The saddest part of it is that there’s no hope of a middle class ever developing here,” said an American investor who has lived here 30 years. “The millionaires pay off the big boys at the top and sail right through customs. But the little guy can’t afford it. Say he’s trying to start a small bakery and imports some stoves, he’s got to walk his stuff through every step of the way . . . with a dozen petty officials waiting, with their hand out, at every turn. . . . He’s hassled, blocked . . . until finally he just gives up.”

In the final analysis, Duvalier’s most important source of support, nowadays at least, may be the United States government.

The course has been shaky, to be sure.

Haiti’s relations with the United States were totally severed for a decade, after President John F. Kennedy finally exploded at Papa Doc’s bloody excesses and cut off aid entirely in 1963. But, to Duvalier’s credit, he managed to restore relations with Washington in 1973.

Then, along came Jimmy Carter in 1977 to nag Duvalier incessantly for four long years about democracy and human rights abuses.

The night Ronald Reagan was elected, members of both the Haitian governing and business elites celebrated all over the city. For now, in the White House, both sectors have at last found a friend. The Reagan Administration’s official position is that the situation in Haiti may be bad, but it could be worse, i.e., Communist. Besides that, as Reagan has said, “although human rights abuses continue,” Duvalier’s regime is “taking positive steps” in the right direction.

Tangible Progress Required

The U.S. Congress, however, spurred on by the Black Caucus, remains less convinced, and, despite Reagan’s opposition, began insisting two years ago that, as a condition of foreign aid ($54 million this year), Duvalier must demonstrate tangible progress annually in the direction of democracy and increased human rights.

And so, each year, Duvalier makes some dramatic flourish toward “democratization and liberalization” to appease Congress.

This year, he staged a national referendum in July, ostensibly to establish a formal structure for organizing political parties--while, at the same time, reaffirming his position as president-for-life, plus his right to name his own successor.

When a Catholic radio station criticized the exercise as just another democratic sham, Duvalier, in a fit of pique, cut off its telephones and electricity for three weeks and exiled the radio director to Miami, where he remains.

Meantime, what resulted, as foreign reporters looked on, was apparently an electoral farce of almost comic proportions. Not only was there no secret ballot, hundreds of people were openly transported by government busloads from one polling place to the next. “I’ve voted eight times today, and I’m not through yet,” one woman told an American journalist.

Only 449 Opposed

Compounding the absurdity, the government solemnly announced that an overwhelming 2.2 million Haitians had voted, all in favor of Duvalier, with just 449 opposed.

Even Reagan’s man in Haiti, U.S. Ambassador Clayton E. McManaway Jr., was obliged to officially observe, “It was a disappointing step backwards.”

Privately, the Haitian business community was less circumspect.

“Jesus Christ, it’s like the gang that couldn’t shoot straight,” moaned a Haitian industrialist. “They want to look good, but they’re too stupid to even put curtains around the ballot boxes. And I’ll always wonder how the hell they decided on 449.”

In this country, businessmen live in a permanent state of private anxiety over Duvalier’s erratic ways. He hires a public relations firm one week, exiles three priests the next. As one wry industrialist put it, “I pray every day they won’t commit some new blunder, some outrageous human rights abuse to trouble the business waters.”

And, indeed, the Haitian business waters have never been so good, which accounts for all the happy millionaires now backing Jean-Claude. To give Duvalier his due, the nation’s political environment is at least passably stable for the first time in memory--and so, hundreds of foreign companies are flocking to Haiti, thrilled to exploit the $3-a-day labor pool, among the world’s cheapest (despite the fact that consumer prices are equivalent to those in the United States). As further enticement, Duvalier offers tax holidays of up to 20 years.

300 U.S. Industries

So far, around 300 U.S. industries have set up shop in Haiti, providing an estimated 60,000 jobs. Largely assembly-line operations, they range from electronics firms to the makers of Sesame Street dolls and sporting goods companies. Ninety percent of the world’s baseballs--including those used in the major leagues--are made here.

“You see, trickle-down is working here, already, just as in the United States,” crows a delighted Claude Levy, head of the Haitian American Industrial Assn. Duvalier may have opened the doors, but, to businessmen here, as at home, it is Ronald Reagan who is the real hero of the hour.

Thanks to Reaganomics, U.S. aid to Haiti is now divided almost evenly between the government and the private sector--and, unlike so many Haitian business leaders, Levy even expresses concern for the “poor wretched masses.” His own organization received a $750,000 grant to build low-cost housing for factory workers, and, Levy brags, trying not to sneer, “ours put the government units to shame, ours have toilets and running water.”

1,200 Elbows Flapping

Meantime, it is one of the more indelible sights of Haiti to visit the Rawlings Sporting Goods plant, where 600 women, all in blue-and-white checkered uniforms, sit at their machines, 1,200 elbows flapping in and out in steady, furious unison all day long, like a blur of insects about to take flight, as they stitch the baseballs used in every major league game. Each woman is required to produce at least two dozen baseballs a day to earn her $3. (For those quick enough to produce three dozen, it’s $3.60.)

And, off duty, they were afraid, every one, to discuss either their work or their wages, because, as one worn woman said, shrugging vaguely in the direction of the factory, “Maybe they wouldn’t like it.”

“Three dollars isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing,” said Rawlings’ plant manager, Sylvio Briccoult, a gracious, soft-spoken Haitian. “And they’re grateful to get it. Our turnover is almost zero. I have to turn away hundreds of applicants every week.”

There is no more fitting way to end a day in Haiti than on the terrace of the Oloffson hotel, a grand old gingerbread concoction near the center of Port-au-Prince, which was the setting for “The Comedians,” Graham Greene’s 1966 novel about the horrors of Papa Doc and the Tontons Macoutes.

Both the novel and the subsequent movie, starring Richard Burton, were banned in Haiti, and, in an interesting footnote, Haiti actually sued and won a nominal libel award of one franc in a French court in 1970. Also, as Haitian officials like to point out, Burton was actually so enchanted personally with Haiti that, not long before he died, he even hobnobbed occasionally with Jean-Claude at palace parties. (“A great man is capable of forgiveness,” smiled Max Antoine of the Foreign Ministry.)

But, most surreal of all, one of Greene’s characters, “Petit Pierre” is still there, still sitting on the hotel terrace almost every night, holding court with just about every prominent Haitian or tourist who passes through--and, most remarkable of all, saying precisely what he thinks about Duvalier to anyone who cares to listen.

Thin, Elegant, Eloquent

His name is Aubelin Jolicoeur, and he is, at 60, thin, elegant and eloquent, charmingly affected with his walking stick, ascot and habit of kissing the ladies’ hands. He calls everyone “darling,” owns a small art gallery and writes an occasional column for a local independent newspaper.

“Duvalier is stupid! Stupid! The entire country is going over the cliff, yet he does not do anything!” he raged on a typical evening. “All these beautiful people are dying of starvation and sickness, it is heartbreaking. Why should people be on their knees, with no work, no hygiene? But here . . . everyone cares only for themselves. Government officials care only for new cars, big houses, their mistresses. They have no pity for the poor people. Nothing is properly run, the country is run by the absurd--can you imagine they talk about democracy when we’ve got a president-for-life?”

His outrage is genuine and only builds on itself. Half a dozen fascinated tourists look on, Haitian waiters only smile.

‘Do Something for People’

“I tell them, if they must steal, then give their mistresses not three houses but only one, try to do something for the people, too! Education is the most important thing, the government must build schools before giving the Tontons Macoutes more guns!”

Jolicoeur has a kind word for only one figure in the Haitian government today. Michele Duvalier. He is impressed that she established a personal foundation to build hospitals and schools.

“She is beautiful, she is smart, and I think she is committed honestly to what she is doing, she is setting a model. . . . And even if she could do ten times more, a journey of 10,000 miles starts with one step.”

Most Haitians theorize that Jolicoeur survives his own mouth simply because, after 35 years, he has become a Haitian institution, with friends throughout the world.

“The government is afraid to touch him because they figure it would attract more foreign press than a wholesale bloodbath,” said a longtime American resident of Haiti. “Besides that, Jolicoeur’s extremely popular with the people, and who knows--that just might be the spark that finally sets them off.”