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echoes of the collapse: in the heart of the shithole

  • March 27, 2024
  • 11
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October 14, 1993: assassination of Guy Malary. Minister of Justice in the Aristide-Malval government, he was riddled with bullets as he went to his office.

Saturday March 23, 2024. While the crackles of automatic weapons from armed gangs resonated, around 10 p.m., the roar of two foreign military helicopters crisscrossed the sky over Turgeau. Everything suggests that these are special flights to repatriate people who have the right skin color, the right passport or possibly also those who have the right diplomatic connections. And their direction towards the courtyard of the French Embassy at the Champ de Mars leaves no room for doubt. There is no hope here.

Those who, like us, poor confines of the shithole, in order not to have the tickets for these winning mistrals, reserved for expatriates or maroons with dual or triple nationality, are obliged to take refuge under the rubble of this collapse while waiting for the final horror. The night was long, so much in our entrenchment, we struggled to sleep. The proximity of the bursts of weapons raised fears of an imminent assault on our neighborhood….targeted for a long time.

Lately, the night dissipated, giving way to an uneasy calm. Quickly broken by the way. Because in the Angelus of Sunday March 24, the crackling of automatic weapons preceded the crowing of roosters. These poor animals have been silent around us for a long time, to let the bullets open up to daylight. Perhaps better than some men, they have learned to live at the pace of stray bullets by unlearning how to climb trees to avoid being disemboweled and serving as an early meal to the shithole’s hungry. All praise for contextual learning. But what a metamorphosis of nature consistent with the metamorphosis of society! Because before that of animals, many lavalas roosters have regained their original nature as guinea fowl. Moreover, even the parish chime which invited the faithful to Sunday mass no longer resounds in the Angelus on Sunday mornings. Evil tongues say that the priest would be afraid of thereby inviting the terrible to come and repeat the drama of the years of the coup d’état. When the attachés, future armed arms of the GNB movement of 2004, had taken over the Sacré-Cœur church in Turgeau to extract Antoine Izméry, and later Guy Malary, to execute them in the middle of the street. This image takes me back to Balzac’s brief, but subtle short story: The atheist’s mass.

The symbols of imposture are everywhere. You just need to know how to spot them and connect them to have the pattern of the future. Intelligence is nothing else…and yet, it is sorely lacking in the shithole, because in this place only those who are ennobled by foreigners, and especially white people, have media value.

When the attachés, future armed arms of the GNB movement of 2004, had invaded the Sacré-Cœur church in Turgeau to extract Antoine Izméry

The day begins to dawn. And in the chiaroscuro of our entrenchment camp, in the distance, columns of thick black smoke rose into the sky which was barely glowing. The first news was that the gangs would have set fire to the court in the southern section of Port-au-Prince.

It is clear that it is the country’s archives and court files that are being targeted. Let those who can understand follow the trajectory of our thought. Very crazy whoever thinks that this is an insane work! It is the revolution of Pote Boure which is accomplished. Stochastic minds, like us, who have the fault of connecting everything to find an intelligible reason, remember that it was in 2012 that this operation to destroy archives began at the immigration and emigration office. It was the time of the choreography of shithole failures, bringing to life the diplomatic paradox by which all the state institutions of the country, in the person of their worthy representatives, depositaries of national sovereignty, had come together to listen to the injunctions of a foreign diplomat, in the person of Kenett Merten, certifying for the Republic that the president of the country was indeed Haitian. At the time, it was necessary to erase before this theatrical paradox the traces of those who traveled with foreign passports and who occupied the highest offices of the country, in defiance of the constitution and the laws. But what are the laws worth in the face of the power of foreign interests, when we have to reconfigure the system? Evil tongues say that the banking system has already achieved its great reset, its great reconfiguration…since the famous breakdown of 2023 during which it was impossible to make certain transactions from one bank to another. It was just after the international sanctions…

Impostures, double dealing, it’s all there! This is the paradoxical system! Do we still need proof to assume that the ecosystem of a shithole is an archeology blurred with paradoxes? Do we still have to be arrogant to dare to doubt the value of those who shine in success in this place?

And this is where the relevance of the anthropological variable of cultural insignificance that the axiomatic of indigence mobilizes to explain Haitian wandering takes on its meaning: you have a whole bunch of people with the most prestigious diplomas and titles academic in this country, yet the institutions of this same country are secularly failing, furthermore they are reinforced by strategies defined by international civil servants who in the vast majority of cases only have a personal development certificate and no contextual skills. The worst is that it is national experts, graduates of major foreign universities who carry out these plans to ensure their survival. Because for the most part, they are incapable of contextualizing their knowledge to model a solution in congruence with the problems of their country. They recite the breviaries of good governance without knowing that to govern, you must first acquire intelligence about the data of the issues, and that the ecosystem of a country is the greatest attractor of intelligence. You see how they flourish paradoxes in a shithole.

Dusk will fall so that the evening Angelus closes the day. The weapons have already started to crackle again. Let’s make the chance that we can finally find peace in the night to sleep……temporarily or eternally.

See you soon.

Erno Renoncourt

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Erno Renoncourt