Essay On Earthquake In Haiti

Essay On Earthquake In Haiti-2
The main downtown street, Jean-Jacques Dessalines (called Grande Rue by Haitians), is almost demolished, although the daily frenzy that takes place there has returned.A large Haitian flag flies half-staff at the National Palace, which has fallen in on itself like a tired wedding cake.We are with you in spirit and support you with our prayers.

The main downtown street, Jean-Jacques Dessalines (called Grande Rue by Haitians), is almost demolished, although the daily frenzy that takes place there has returned.A large Haitian flag flies half-staff at the National Palace, which has fallen in on itself like a tired wedding cake.We are with you in spirit and support you with our prayers.

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Real productive structures can arise which build an economy long buried in ruins.

Unfortunately island people here and elsewhere serve,perform and smile for the visitors hoping for tips looking smart in their culturally correct costumes.

Like many oppressed people across the planet, it is their culture which is their resistance. But to say that Haitian culture was a sham prior to the earthquake, deprives Haitians of their identity at precisely the moment in time when it should be valued and recognized.

These images are so powerful because of the life they show amidst the destruction.

The impoverished people perform in colorful garb hoping for a meal or work of any kind.

Yes it is pretty and should be ‘preserved’ say the visitors reminding them of how lucky they are in their hotels and their secluded and protected villas.Streets and neighborhoods around the city are piles of rubble except for a few gingerbread houses — old wooden houses from the French era — that stand proudly erect while everything around them has fallen. It is the glue that holds a nation together when all else fails.Other cities and villages across the land, some small, some larger, have also suffered. But now that, too, may be lost, in the well-intentioned rebuilding efforts by the international community.I read of the strength and resilence of these people, but is there a limit for which a people can become bent and pounded on from every turn of their existence?For how can a people rise from the ashes as the phoenix, if there are no ashes; only mounds and mounds of concrete, steel struts jutting from the mounds and mounds of the tortured buildings and homes and lives and souls of the poorest of the poor.Devastated by the loss of its people and its places, Haiti stands on the precipice of losing something more precious — as audacious as that sounds amid all this death — because it is transcendent. In Haiti, culture is something ephemeral that floats just above the fray of daily life. If the world is going to rebuild Haiti, Haitians must have a say. 19: On Assignment: “Silence and Submission.” Ron Haviv of the VII agency has been to Haiti at least 15 times. In 2009, Peter Pereira photographed a school near Carrefour, Haiti. His pictures are now being used to benefit victims.In it is embedded an identity with ancestors who must be served; a history marked by unimaginable violence and a resounding victory over slavery; a character that might seem eccentric elsewhere but works very well here; a tradition of incredible art and music and story-telling and even voodoo which — despite the claims of missionaries — is perhaps the single most important aspect of life for peasants and slum dwellers. And not just the bourgeoisie, who would most likely want to see Port-au-Prince become a modern city without character. They are rebuilding their homes and getting on with their lives, getting back to business in the markets and on the roads. Damon Winter is constantly being asked that question by the people of Haiti. On arrival last week, he felt something new: the “overwhelming power of silence and submission.” Tuesday, Jan. With the 4,000 inmates all gone — they escaped or died during the quake — Damon Winter was able to portray the inside of the Civil Prison of Port-au-Prince, a view few people have ever had. Maggie, I have seen the death and destruction in so many photos coming out of Haiti these past days–has it only been 10?So here I am, trying to photograph the news, the destruction, the far-too-slow rescue efforts of the international community. But where is the sustenance that goes beyond a meager handout of biscuits and little plastic bags of water? In the streets, in camps that fill every park and empty space, newly homeless people talk about the buildings that collapsed: the National Palace, the Ministry of Finance, the Ministry of Justice, the Ministry of Taxation — all of which housed a culture of kleptocracy and corruption that has held Haiti back from becoming what it deserves to be. They cannot afford to wait for foreigners who can’t get organized quickly enough. Images of 20th-century Haiti from the archives of the National Geographic Society and The New York Times speak to the country’s beauty and its seemingly unending misery. Powerless to answer, having seen only one food line in five days, he wonders the same thing himself. –but in yours I see something more: I see the proud, enduring character of these people.Maybe the fates decided the corruption had to be felled, even if the people suffered, so that Haiti could move ahead. And so, when I am out looking for what all the other photographers and journalists are looking for, I also look for those quiet, surprising moments that describe a people and culture, that thing that gets them from one day to the next. The photojournalist Maggie Steber has covered Haiti for more than 20 years. Among Damon Winter’s first impressions after his arrival in Port-au-Prince was the sound of singing and praying through the night, punctuated by screams during tremors. In your words I hear their voices and their determination to begin again if they must, but not to give up or give in to the despair that they must feel.In Haiti there is a saying: “petit pays, grand peuple” — small country, grand people. I have been looking for your byline in every photo the NY Times has posted because I knew that these are people you’ve known and loved for years and years. I know your heart is broken but it is out of that brokenness that our best work comes.My heart aches for the mothers who’ve lost children, for the children who’ve lost mothers, for the sons who, too young to be a father, have lost theirs and must now help hold together what is left of family, for the old men and women who’ve lived a full life, must watch their children and grandchildren suffer unbearable pain, hunger and with no home except for scrounged carboard and pieces of tin that had been the roof over their heads, for the young married couples with their dreams before them, now shaken to the very core of their beings by the earth that has before sustained them, for the government who now only governs rubble and the non-life of her citizens, for the teachers whose classrooms lie somewhere hidden under tons of debrie, for the children whose education has ceased for now and above all for the loss of time eaten by horror and displacement.


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