I’ve never stepped foot in Haiti, but keeping its story alive is on me | Opinion  

BROOKLYN — The Haiti I know does not come from the media or even textbooks. It comes from childhood stories, blurry photographs and the way my parents spoke about it with both love and respect.

As a Haitian American, I have grown up connected to a land I have never stepped foot in, a place which plays a significant role in shaping my identity. While Haiti feels close at times, there are moments where it seems unreachable, like grabbing for an object through a pane of glass. 

Growing up, I have heard about the antics of my dad as a young boy in the countryside of Jérémie, bargains my mom struck with street vendors, homes holding more people than seem probable, and the chaotic life of family friends in Port-au-Prince. 

These are the stories that I remember — the tiny details my parents would casually slip into conversation as if they were ordinary scenes that, to me, were the most fascinating tales I’d ever heard. 

Take my father, who apparently toured around the globe alongside a handbell choir of visually impaired children in the late 1970s. Having performed in Haiti, Canada, the U.S. and Germany, they even went so far as to produce an album. He came to the U.S. in 1987 to study viola, gaining acceptance into prestigious conservatories such as the Manhattan School of Music and Julliard. 

When my siblings and I heard this story as teenagers, we were dumbfounded. We had known that our dad was a musician, but we hadn’t known the extent of his accomplishments or the remarkable life he had lived before we were born. My parents simply shook their heads in amusement.

“Eske mwen pat janm di ou sa?” Clearly not. 

Now, while the Haiti of my heart is rich in culture and in life, I cannot ignore the picture of it painted by western media. We have all heard Haiti being referred to as ‘the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere’ or the ironic ‘shithole country.’

Haiti’s story isn’t over yet

Over the last century, the country that was once hailed as the Pearl of the Antilles, has been disparaged and stripped of its complexity until it is reduced to little more than a collection of poorly wrought misconceptions and undue labels.

One moment in one of my college lectures, called ‘Latin Americans in the U.S.,’ stuck with me in particular. In discussing countries pre-U.S. occupation, we were asked to list what we thought of when we hear: ‘Haiti.’ My classmates’ shouted responses went exactly as you would expect. 

‘Poverty.’

‘Gang violence.’

‘Corruption.’

‘Instability.’

I felt a mixture of both annoyance and resignation. What is funny is that there was no malice behind their words. My peers were simply parroting what they had heard in the past. 

‘Could I really blame them though,’ I thought afterwards. What could be done to make them understand that they were furthering a harmful narrative, one that has been fed to them since childhood? Our educational system has had a hand in this, after all. Even back in high school, I remember, Haiti was only mentioned in passing, like a footnote to the grander stories of so-called first-world countries. 

Keeping Haiti’s light on up to us

In recent months, I have found myself watching as Haiti came under the limelight, especially beneath the current administration. Apparently, we Haitians come from an uncivilized country, are overrunning the U.S. and, to top it all off, we eat pets. I found myself going from ‘They’re not talking about Haiti enough’ to ‘They’re talking about us too much.’ Where was the Haiti that I grew up on and why was it that nobody seemed to see it?

While participating in Ayiti in the City, a yearly program at the Haitian Studies Institute at Brooklyn College (which I highly recommend), I had the honor of joining The Haitian Times as they covered the 2026 World Cup. I got to see up close how much our community was teeming with excitement and pride at returning to the tournament after 52 years. 

I also saw many non-Haitian creators and foreigners talk about Haiti. When they looked at Haiti on the field, they saw a culturally rich, resilient and tenacious people that beat the odds. A group that represented their country to the best of their ability. 

It inspired me to hear them echo what I’ve suspected all along: the spirit and beauty of Haiti is still there — you just have to be willing to see. My parents’ homeland is so much more than negative headlines and warped narratives. 

Right after Haiti’s last match, somber news struck again with the headlines revolving around the loss of Temporary Protected Status protections for Haitians in the U.S. It was a blow, especially after the happiness we found through the World Cup. Still, I have no doubt that Haitians will do the same as their ancestors did when faced with adversity: persevere.

Whether it’s through diaspora, on a soccer field or in the news, the Haiti of my upbringing can never be diminished. Not as long as we are around to tell its story. 

Ayiti ap kontinye viv gras a nou. 

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