Haiti: All That Talent, Wit, Magic Under a Nightmare State of Siege : Terror: Citizens live amid fear and murder while the president returns triumphal from travel to a “traditional ally” in Taiwan.

On Jan. 20, after a day of mysterious fires and killings, the government of Lt. Gen. Prosper Avril declared Haiti to be in a state of siege; the president suspended the constitution and arrested or expelled a long list of democratic opposition leaders.

Last week, even blase Haitians were stunned by the pace of degeneration, including the murder of a popular journalist, assassination of a colonel and--separately--of his wife and a household servant. Probably the most bizarre incident was the smearing of human feces on the walls and doors of a number of political headquarters.

The regime offers the usual explanations: to preserve order, safeguard the democratic process. Official bulletin: “The Government asks the population to remain vigilant, keep calm and lucid.”

There is an off-and-on curfew. People are subdued and terrified. A Haitian human-rights worker who has already done prison time stayed with me one night because “they” had come looking for him at home. He smiled when I told him he looked pale. “Another thing we learn from Caucasians,” he said.

Just when Gen. Manuel A. Noriega crept into the Vatican safehouse to seek asylum, Avril, the current Maximum Military Democratic Leader of Haiti, flew to Taiwan to seek money. While Noriega got a few days of rock ‘n’ roll from U.S. Army loudspeakers, Avril may have gotten as much as $20 million--or at least the promise of same.

Avril had taken the precaution of carrying potential usurpers with him, a more adroit survivor than the mumbly Gen. Henri Namphy or the blabbermouth Leslie Manigat, who once told me, “Democracy is a bay-bee, you must not strangle a bay-bee.” They were two previous stars in four years of Haiti-after-Duvalier maximum leader confusion.

Haiti is broke, at bottom. The local rumor mill, telejiol , said Avril went to talk about drugs and fun--in Taiwan?--plus money. At the airport a gala atmosphere surrounded his return, as if an armed soccer team had come back triumphant from a big match, although the final score was not revealed.

While he was gone--neither Duvalier, Papa Doc Francois nor Baby Doc Jean-Claude, ever dared leave the country--people said Avril must have been sure of his power. The government newspaper l’Union spoke of “an unprecedented era of cooperation between two national entities.” To celebrate this new Taiwan-Haiti axis, the keys to the city were presented while “the image of the Haitian Leader conquered all Taipei . . . . Three-hundred students spontaneously waved Haitian flags, crying, ‘Vive Haiti! Vive Avril!’ ”

Then the l’Union added a comment to quell any dissidents in its audience, calling them “stinking opportunists with incoherent bitter words.” During Duvalier days, the opposition was not given even this much notice.

Avril goes his own way. A U.S. law firm, trying to track down the Duvalier loot--as much as $800 million--recently resigned, siting no cooperation from Avril. Since he was close to Baby Doc, he may have personal reasons. There have been no prosecutions of Tontons Macoutes--the government-sponsored thugs and torturers--after a few brief show trials.

Ti-malice , the local spirit of a little malice, is divided between those who think the Avril regime is almost entirely corrupt and those who believe it is absolutely corrupt. Elections are scheduled for October; Avril insists they will proceed.

The Presidential Guard is the only effective official armed force. The scattering of former troops from other units has meant an increase in crime; soldiers took their weapons home and searched for other sources of income. They no longer have to answer to officers; they can pillage for their own accounts.

Still, the United States did make a one-shot 1989 contribution of $10 million dollars in food aid. Avril courteously expressed gratitude by snatching some Colombians who were carrying cocaine. Then, because the United States may not have thought that enough, six Haitians were arrested in the town of Jeremie. With the Panama route in disarray, Haiti is a tempting conduit for increased cocaine operations; back in the days of the docs, drug cartel pioneers began using Haitian ports and airstrips.

A U.S. official told me, “Gen. Avril is very interested in drug interdiction. And you know he has a law degree, too.”

It sounded like an old story. Two years ago, I watched the election campaign of 1988. The army was pushing Leslie Manigat, trying to entice renewed U.S. aid. Even then it was clear that the Duvalier legacy had not been uprooted. Tontons Macoutes still roamed and killed; citizens still suffered and died; mortality as usual.

Then president-select Manigat showed signs of uppityness. He was chased by his keeper, Gen. Namphy. Then, in his turn, Namphy fled to a Santo Domingo hotel, occupying what has come to be known here as the Haitian ex-president’s suite.

Col. Avril--soon to name himself general--came in, a clever former strong-arm for Baby Doc. People thought he might be smart enough to clean house for the Americans. In recent years foreign charity provided up to 70% of the national income. But use of Haiti as a drug route, plus random violence and murderous elections indicated a need for more remedy than a smile and a law degree to bring back the armoire of international aid.

Avril seems to have taken one Alexis de Tocqueville message to heart: “The most dangerous time for a bad government is when it starts to reform itself.” Avril chooses not to run that risk. He seems to be pushing, not sliding, backward past the indolent, insolent thievery of Baby Doc toward the brutal times of Papa Doc, guardian of the cemetery.

Then why not let the island sink? Because no story of Haiti is balanced without reporting on the magic and talent of its people. For years, a little group of fanatic castaways has gazed out in admiration from the terrace of the Grand Hotel Oloffson, a construction of gingerbread, lace and spaghetti that seems to ride immortal on the backs of its termites. In the old days, various scalawags, runaways, remittance folks and real artists found their way here to admire Haitian ways and Haitian wit.

Oppression and AIDS ended the beachcombing paradise period. On this trip I found a new group of artists and merchants using Haitian craft and low wages for fun and profit. Haiti makes salad bowls and forks, plaques, authentic souvenirs marked “Jamaica” or “St. Bart” to be sold in bazaars throughout the Caribbean. Apprentice sculptors do napkin rings for the Virgin Islands. An enterprising young American from Florida supports her free spirit by importing straw, weaving, voodoo equipment and sculpture for hotel shops in Miami and Tampa. A German drives Haitian wares across the border into Santo Domingo. “Is it sold as Dominican?” I asked.

“It does not say ‘Haiti,’ my friend.”

Haiti, the high place, the magic nightmare land of fear and play, still has something--things playful, things serious--to give the world. In Martinique, much of the music I heard was Haitian in origin, satirizing power and pretense, celebrating freedom, love and the gods.

Upon Avril’s return from Taipei, Taiwan and Haiti were already being described as “traditional allies.”