There are so many things I’ve meant to do before leaving, but I’ve been really wrapped up in what’s going on (and how I’m feeling) about the trip that I’m about to take to Haiti.
The US Embassy closed on Wednesday, the US government banned its officials from travel to Haiti on Friday, the Prime Minister was forced to step down on Saturday, and missionaries are fleeing. Haitians are starving, Haitians are dying. These things have all been pretty much true both times I’ve gone before. I just never headed there at the precise moment people were headed out, you know?
At the same time, I live in this city, I enjoy the privilege of this country. I believe with all my being that every bit of it is built on the suffering of millions. I don’t think that I therefore cannot enjoy it. I think, “Hell, I would wish what I have for everyone I know: plenty of healthy tasty food, people who love me and whom I love, peace and security to explore my being, a space to dance. Rain, sunshine, and an abundance of greenery.” It’s okay to revel in it and to be in the now. But the truth I experience here doesn’t negate the truth I know that exists there. I believe I need to act on what I know. I need to help others. I need to maintain connections, keep commitments.
The people I work with in Haiti assure me things should be fine for me. I belive them. I believe that my white skin and their loving care will keep me as safe as anyone can be. I’ve had to ask myself seriously, though, if what I have to offer is really worth the risk. I’m not bringing anyone skills. I’m not a doctor or a farmer, I’m not even a reporter type, trying to find the truth and tell everyone so they’ll fix it.
I’m not afraid, much, about what might happen to me. I’m afraid of something happening that would make a hole in the lives of the people who care about me. I’m afraid they would never forgive me for making a worthless sacrifice. I don’t mean that I’m worthless, only that 100-some pounds of food, a little technology, and bringing hope I can’t live up is just so completely not enough.
I want to write some poetic manifesto, something that makes sense of what I feel, and why I’m going, but I just don’t know how. There’s an Alice Walker poem, A Few Sirens, that expresses some of it for me, though. 🙂
Long story short: I’m a little freaked out about the situation I’m flying into. I’m pretty sure that things are going to be just fine. I know that as long as Rea feels like it’s worthwhile for me to be there and is up to the hassle of getting me to and from the airport, I need to go.