The Foreign Service Journal, November 2003

N O V E M B E R 2 0 0 3 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 47 n March 18, 2003, a dispute broke out somewhere between a car wash and a businessman’s residence in the Haitian capital of Port-au-Prince — just 90 minutes away from Miami by air. This sort of thing happens a dozen times a day in Haiti, where nerves are frayed from hunger, joblessness, an imploded local currency, and arbitrary killings to make clear where the lines of authority lie. On this particular occasion, Jean- Jacques Durand took a single bullet in the aorta. The attending physician said the shooting was “the work of a specialist.” In a city small enough for everyone to know everyone else, the killer, familiar with his quarry, dumped the body at the front gate of the deceased’s house up the hill toward formerly upscale Petionville. Not a major event in the grand scheme of things in unfortunate Haiti, but a shattering moment in the life of the 40-some- thing widow, Marie-Jeanne Durand, and her five children. Marie-Jeanne works at an office overlooking the Rond- Pont Harry Truman, where since 1983 she has viewed the broiling inner city in its feverish mercantile activities and moments of anguish. From their privileged windows on the third floor of the building, she and her colleagues have seen naked thieves pursued by maddened crowds, cornered like hunted beasts and kicked to death for stealing a single mango or sliver of bread. The rage of the crowds is understandable: the Haitian police not only fail to protect the desperately tiny five-mangos-a-day small merchants; they even compound the problem themselves by lifting a mango or two with impunity from time to time, with no higher authority to rein them in. Vigilante justice has become the only justice available. Marie-Jeanne has served as Virgil to a succession of Dantes (her bosses), explaining the actions of paid activist crowds marching against foreign interests in the streets below, from over the Rond-Point Harry Truman: “Celui-là, on va le tuer,” she would say with stoic detachment, “You see, they are going to kill the one in the white T-shirt.” Transfixed by such scenes financed by the ruling party, her Haitian colleagues would say, “This is too upsetting, I can’t bear to watch.” Their eyes meanwhile stayed fixed on the scene as they gathered by the windows which gave the best vantage point for observation. In the spring of 2000, they viewed together a homicidal attack by 800 activists who stoned the headquarters of a tiny opposition party, catty-corner from her office over the Rond-Point, the day after the flawed parliamentary elections of May 21. A video, anonymously deposited at the office door, showed victim Jean-Michel Holofen of the RCP (Rassemblement des Citoyens Patriotes) Party, seated and dazed, covered with his own blood, feeling for the back of his head to see if it was still there. The video did not fit into the plans or editorial schemes of U.S. television networks; perhaps the scene was too grisly even for reality TV. A Lucky Guess Each of the employees of Marie-Jeanne’s office has a nickname. Marie-Jeanne’s is “La Clairvoyante,” because she usually sees through the hazy events of the day and under- stands the ramifications and implications of events large and small. She seems able to address with sang-froid every zany situation that arises, as politicians in flight, journalists threatened with extinction, self-styled prophets, street Dan Whitman is an FSO at the Board of Examiners in the Human Resources Bureau. He joined USIA in 1985, serv- ing in Copenhagen, Madrid and Pretoria. He was public affairs officer in Port-au-Prince from 1999 to 2001. Author’s Note: This is a true story. Only the Durands’ names are fictional. B Y D ANIEL F. W HITMAN T HE V IEW FROM THE R OND -P OINT H ARRY T RUMAN I T WAS JUST ONE OF MANY MURDERS ON AN ORDINARY DAY , BUT THE KILLING OF J EAN -J ACQUES D URAND ENCAPSULATES WHAT H AITIANS HAVE LOST . O