Haiti

By Jill Smolowe

Perhaps the best that can be said of Haiti these days is that the worst has not come to pass. The country has not lapsed into civil war. The Tonton Macoutes, President-for-Life Jean-Claude Duvalier's brutal secret police, have not resurfaced, contrary to widespread rumors that they were regrouping in the Dominican Republic. The shaky rule of the National Council of Government continues under the uninspired leadership of Lieut. General Henri Namphy, but the oft-predicted coup has not materialized. One year after Duvalier and his family fled to exile in France, Haiti continues to limp toward democracy.

On the first anniversary of the Duvaliers' departure, Haitians stayed off the streets, a pointed gesture of frustration that contrasted starkly with the exuberant dancing of a year ago. Today, the mood is a potentially explosive mix of bitterness, disappointment and rage. "It is worse now because we were expecting so much," says Sylvester Severe, 31, a farmer. "Now we have even less." Indeed, almost half of Haiti's 3 million-strong labor force remains unemployed. Most Haitians still earn around $380 a year, and more than eight out of ten people remain illiterate. In short, Haiti shows no sign of shaking off its sad burden of being the most impoverished nation in the hemisphere. "The social situation has worsened," warns Leslie Manigat, a Haitian political scientist and presidential hopeful. "The poor are getting poorer."

Still, there has been some progress toward instilling a spirit of democracy after 28 years of Duvalier dictatorships. Haitian airwaves crackle day and night with radio programs that invite Haitians to speak their minds. In the legislature, once a rubber stamp for the Duvaliers, spirited debates rage. Sixty assemblymen are currently arguing over the details of a new constitution that they promise will be tyrant-proof and will be put to a popular vote next month. Moreover, political parties have proliferated, with more than 70 now vying for popular attention.

But each step forward seems to be offset by disappointing setbacks. Since Duvalier fled and the dreaded Tonton Macoutes disbanded, large pockets of the Haitian countryside have degenerated into lawlessness. Contraband flowing into the country has fueled a rash of burglaries, arson attacks and murders. After all of Haiti's ports were reopened last fall, illegal rice from Miami hit the market, undercutting local farmers. Inevitably a battle erupted between farmers and profiteering smugglers that has yet to quiet. "Smuggling is unfortunately the No. 1 growth industry in Haiti," says a Western diplomat. "Crime is not far behind." Last week the government called upon the public to cooperate with security forces to fight "acts of banditry and terrorism."

While the Port-au-Prince government is preoccupied with law-and-order, the ^ populace is more disturbed by the slow pace of justice. Although two Duvalier cronies, including Luc Desyr, the former Tonton Macoutes chief, have been packed off to prison, scores of others have been allowed to slip out of the country. Says Manigat: "The government is perceived as weak and slow in the de-Duvalierization of the country."

Official attempts to retrieve the hundreds of millions of dollars spirited out of the country by the Duvaliers have a long way to go. Last week Justice Minister Francois St. Fleur announced that Haiti will sue in France to recoup $120 million from the Duvaliers. Sources close to the investigation estimate that Duvalier and his cronies actually took three times as much.

There is little on the horizon that offers Haitians much hope of change. In a field crowded with presidential aspirants, no figure has come close to seizing the country's imagination, as Corazon Aquino did in the Philippines. For now, Haiti can be expected to hobble along until the presidential elections scheduled for November. If all goes according to plan, the new President will be installed by the second anniversary of Duvalier's ouster. Perhaps by then Haitians will have something to celebrate.

With reporting by Bernard Diederich/Port-au-Prince