Pelerin 89

Pelerin has moved.

2007-07-17T15:52:00.000-04:00

Dear Friends,

Pelerin89 has a new home. You can continue reading either at pelerin89.com or http://ferentz.typepad.com/pelerin89/. Please update your feeds and bookmarks accordingly.

Thank you.

Supposedly this is a better documentary

2007-06-28T10:21:00.000-04:00

options options options

Aristide and the Endless Revolution

Well GHOSTS OF CITE SOLEIL is playing in NY

2007-06-28T10:06:00.000-04:00

The times and ticket info can be found here

Easy Going Evening

2007-06-11T11:31:00.000-04:00

‑“EASY GOIN’ EVENING”

My mom cooks like Stevie Wonder makes music. Her recipes channel the spirits of our ancestors just as his notes bring the bouillon of Black sound and expression to the listener’s table. “Easy Goin’ Evening” is his rendering of the subtle spiritual sounds that serve as the backbone of so much of Black music and culture. It’s his homage to the great-great-grandmothers and -fathers who sang when they couldn’t speak, who played instruments so that their hands could feel the silk of sound after enduring so much contact with the pointed teeth of labor.

Composing something as touching as “Easy Goin’ Evening,” or as epic as Songs in the Key of Life, requires an overwhelming sensitivity to what moves people. We can all respond to sound, but it’s through the processes of seasoning and basting that sound turns into music. How artists cook their sound goes a long way toward getting us to take it in, find it delectable, or want to share it with someone else. For me, long before I knew what that bit of magic called “Mom’s cooking” was, or before I figured out what music was, I knew that it had the ability to make people happy when done up right.

I spent the first five years of my life in Pétion-Ville, Haiti, before coming to New York in 1981. My dad’s four teenage sisters and my paternal grandparents used to watch over me. My aunts would often choose me as the lucky chap with whom they could practice their imagined dances with the boys who battled for their attention after school. They would take me out onto the front porch of my grandparents’ house and hold me in their arms or place me on the top step. They pirouetted and spun as I played the role of Jean-Pierre, Jacques, or whoever else they decided was their suitor. My most common response would be to clap enthusiastically to the beat of the sounds coming from my grandparents’ little transistor radio. And when my aunts bypassed the radio in favor of their own voices, my response became even more animated. As an audience consisting of my grandparents and a few other family members looked on, I hopped up and down on that top step, teetering, on the verge of falling off and potentially sacrificing a tooth to the tooth fairy. Those moments seemed so exciting. I hoped they would never end.

But in the winter of 1981, those experiences did indeed come to an end. It was a few weeks after the day I had spotted a scary-looking white woman walking up the hill to my grandparents’ house. I’ll never forget my aunts and grandparents’ response when I reached the top of the hill and warned them that there was a white woman (a ghost!) wearing big brown sunglasses in our midst. They started laughing. And then my grandmother asked: “How does she look?”

“She looks white,” I responded, sending them barreling over in laughter. I’ve yet to live that response down because “white” is the last word that anyone would ever use to describe my mom’s deep brown skin. However, at five years old, having never seen this woman before, having been blinded by the sunglasses she wore, I should have been forgiven for thinking this woman might be one of the ghosts who chased after me in my nightmares.

The scary-looking lady was not a ghost, but she was coming after me, and a few weeks after she arrived I boarded a plane to return to the United States with her. The laughter that accompanied the woman’s arrival had passed, replaced by the tears of people who had spent the past five years taking care of me. I carried a heart full of those tears all the way to New York.

When my mom and I got to Kennedy airport, a tall, thin, brown man was waiting for us. I vaguely recalled seeing him in the pictures she had brought with her to Haiti. When he crouched down and spread his wings open, she gave me a slight nudge on the shoulder to suggest that it was okay to go greet him. Before I could take one step, I was swept up in his arms and being spun around. I felt a kiss on my cheek, but I was so dizzied by the sight of all the people milling and scurrying about the airport that I couldn’t settle into the affection enveloping me. As I began to unleash some of the tears I had stored away, I felt the thin giant’s five o’clock shadow grazing my skin as he bounced me up and down and sang a diddy. I stopped crying, trying to make out what he was singing, but before I could understand any of the words, he had already stopped. His lips were now locked with my mom’s.

My stomach and mind were spinning as I continued taking in the scene. I was confused and scared because I didn’t really understand who this brown eagle was and the sounds and faces floating around me were totally incomprehensible.

We soon arrived at our apartment in New York, the place I was to call home. The only sounds I can remember from that moment were the last remnants of my crying pleas to be returned back to “Papa,” my grandfather. My noise was enveloped by a cold, wintry silence that someone born and reared in tropical Haiti had yet to encounter. There were no aunts scurrying about exchanging stories about boys. There was no yard where people could convene to swap stories as they roasted corn or sweet potatoes. There were no animals, chickens in particular, milling about on the periphery. It was just me, my mom, and my dad amidst a gaggle of closed doors.

They lived in a one-and-a-half-bedroom apartment that had a vestibule to the side that was to serve as my room. The vestibule had its own door, a little closet, and a bed with a few toys scattered on top—including a stuffed dog that I would go on to call “doggie” just like every dog we ever had in Haiti.

This being the first time my parents were putting their son to bed—surrounding him with all these riches, in the home they had been working for the past five years to put together—I’m sure they weren’t prepared for my response. I was scared by the combination of darkness, solitude, and silence that took over my imagination as soon as my mom and dad kissed me and closed the door (something which I’m sure they had learned to do from the television shows they were fond of watching). So I wailed like an elephant that had just been speared.

My dad immediately came back into the room and tried to comfort me. I remember him sitting on the side of the bed and rubbing my stomach as he told me that everything was going to be alright. He had this smile on his face that indicated that he was laughing not only at me, but at himself and my mom for their naïveté. It was his way of wiping away the tears. When I appeared to have calmed down, he got up and, this time, left the door open but again turned off the light.

Before he could make it back to his room, I was already crying again and screaming for “Papa.” Thinking that I was calling for him, Dad came back into the room, but I just kept on screaming. He tried reassuring me that he was there, but my father didn’t get it. He wasn’t my “Papa.” And the more he tried to make me believe that he was, the more I cried.

He took me out into the living room and turned on the lights. First he went to the stove to start warming up some milk. Unaware that it was too hot to drink right away, I took a sip and burned my tongue. Dad thought this was funny and laughed at me as he tried to console me to keep me from crying. After the milk had cooled down, I took a gulp again, but a leathery film had settled on top of the milk, and that made my stomach turn. My fear was quickly being compounded by an upset stomach.

Leaving the table, Dad strolled from the kitchen area to the living room and crouched down in front of the shiny gray contraption nestled in the corner of the living room between the worn navy blue sofa and matching recliner. As he sat in front of the shiny contraption, he stroked the fuzz brimming across his chin. I tried my best from where I was sitting in the kitchen to figure out exactly what he was doing, what this contraption he was surveying was.

After a few moments of crouching, he seemed to have found what he was looking for and removed this object from the bowels of the contraption. It was a big flat square, about the size of his abdomen. He looked it over, spinning it top over bottom in his hands to get a look at its underside. It must have met with his approval because he stood up and pulled out a shiny black disc that glistened like caviar shells and proceeded to blow on it. Reaching down ever slightly, he flicked a button on the machine, drawing a sound out of the two brown columns that sat beside it—boof. Carefully, he lifted the hood of the contraption and placed the disc underneath a silver branch that had a point at the end. Then he reached his arm down, touching the front of the apparatus again, and gradually the twin columns began emitting more familiar sounds.

The silence in the room was vanquished by a series of trumpet blasts and a sinewy series of bass guitar chords. The musician whose voice was being broadcast through the columns welcomed everyone to the party and told them that tonight was going to be great. A special plea was made to the men to take their woman and advance to the dance floor with her before someone else did. Upon hearing this, Dad chuckled and began to limber his body to the pulse of the sounds.

His body wasn’t the only thing beginning to loosen up; little by little, I felt myself being transported back home on the wings of this konpa, the musical form developed in Haiti that incorporates elements of other Caribbean sounds, including merengue, salsa, and zouk. This bit of konpa was like sweetbread, and my stomach and soul took to the treat. For the first time since I’d arrived, this place felt a little like home.

My mother must have recognized the sounds as well because she was drawn out of her room. She smiled as she brushed the slumber out of her eyes. When she realized that she had my attention, she sashayed over to my dad and told me to watch because I would have to do this with my wife one day. My dad’s long arms made their way across my mother’s back as they danced around the room in perfect time with the song. I watched and gradually began to smile. During one of their turns, my mom caught a glimpse of me smiling and she motioned for my dad to look at me. A few more turns and she sashayed over to me, her hands well out in front of her, so that they would reach me long before she did. She pulled me away from the table and the three of us danced together, my mom on my left side holding my left arm, and my dad doing the same on my right. I remember staring up and looking at these grown-ups and watching them being reborn as my parents, for the first time feeling as if we were family.

The combination of laughter and music sealed my relationship with my folks that night. I wish I could give you the name of the exact artist and song my dad played that evening, but I can only relate the feelings my heart and mind imbibed. What matters most is that the sounds that filled the room made my parents happy, and I let myself get swept up in their glee. To this day, Haitian artists such as Tabou Combo, Ska-Shah, System Band, and Coupé Cloué hold a special place in my heart, much the same way that artists and bands like Earth, Wind & Fire, the O’Jays, the Whispers, and Curtis Mayfield have a strong hold on the imaginations of my peers born and bred in the United States. Many of my peers would eventually be able to go back to these artists by finding echoes of their voices in hip-hop samples, whereas my relationship with konpa—like my relationship with my parents—would grow blurry the more “American” I became.

I’m glad I haven’t lost the sense of wonder that swept over me the first time I saw my dad turn on his stereo. Even as I grew older, I still continued to be amazed when he went to turn on the stereo; he appeared to drift off to an enchanted island as he closed his eyes, drew his lips into a smile, put his right hand over his belly, his left one suspended in the air, and started to dance. After doing a few turns across the living room, he would either go into the kitchen and regale my mom with a story about Haiti or call a friend to talk about the days when they were young studs roaming the streets of Pétion-Ville.

Nothing ever seemed to bother my dad. He was often silent, seemingly introspective, sitting in the living room with his long legs extending far beyond the front of the couch, and his pants unbuckled to liberate the paunch that was becoming too much for his trousers to contain.

Regardless of whether I was studying in the next room or even asleep, he would still play his music loud—often inciting the neighbors to complain. It was loud enough for him and my mom to hear it in their room on the other side of the apartment with the door closed. Back then I never gave a second thought to what might be going on in their room during these retreats because, well, I didn’t have a second thought to give. Since my brother was born a year after I came to the States, I eventually realized they were dancing indeed. Horizontally.

Years later, when my parents had long stopped retreating to their room to “listen to music,” my dad would still sometimes turn the music up and go to his room, but he would simply fall asleep, leaving it to my mother to turn off the stereo when she was ready.

Since she was always doing one form of housework or another, having the radio on was a soothing accompaniment for her. The radio generally stayed on for most of the day, and if I needed to have some quiet in order to concentrate, I would have to turn off the stereo myself.

The first time I turned off the stereo I was about seven years old. I made sure to lower the volume knob, and returning the record that had been on the turntable back into its sleeve, I felt powerful, as if I had undergone a rite of passage. That first time, as my dad floated off into slumber and my mom hummed-sang a tune in the bathroom as she washed her uniforms for the upcoming week, I felt as if I had taken another step toward becoming a man.

The other sound I came to love soon after my move was my mother’s voice. Whether she was washing dishes or scrubbing one of her uniforms, once she recognized a tune on the stereo, she sang along. Sometimes she sang a song word for word, but more often there was a bit of singing interspersed with long stretches of humming. And there were times where she just made up her own words.

Her singing was undoubtedly the best type of music in the house. Whenever she sang, it felt as if we were all being given a reprieve from whatever ills were afflicting us. Her feathery alto had the strength to drive any talk of bills, work, or other disenchanting topics out of the house. Unlike the blaring sounds and machismo posture of heavy metal and rap music, or the übertailored images of Black boy bands that I eventually imported into the house, my mom’s singing voice held no traces of aggression or cosmetic enhancement. Her voice was pure in the sense that it never called attention to itself; no one ever asked my mom to sing, but she somehow found her way to singing. It was another form of expression for her, a way to convey feelings, memories, and ideas that needed a medium other than regular conversation or speech. Indeed there was often sorrow in her spirit sounds, but aggression? Never. Her singing seemed to be telling me that the male artists I was bringing into the house might be able to teach me how to dance or walk, but she alone could teach me how to fly.

Her voice could carry my father to Haiti and transform him into the young man she thought so fondly of, perpetually reintroducing him to the young woman he had fallen so deeply in love with.

My mom also had the ability to transport me to hysteria whenever she tried belting out the latest Lionel Richie or Michael Jackson song. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard a woman with a deep Kreyol accent singing “Beat It.” Sometimes I would run in from a baseball game in the parking lot to use the bathroom or get a bite to eat and would find Mom in the bathroom, washing her uniforms in the sink, her knees slightly bent, head down and moving side to side trying to keep time with the hands that were dutifully engaged in their labor. As she washed, she shimmied from side to side singing “Beat it, beat it . . . tatoodoo, too, doodooo, toooot . . . Meb bop, pop pop pop, pop . . . Beat it! Beat it!” For her, the beat and the lyrics were one. Not a word of it made sense to anyone else, but it was worth seeing the joy her singing brought to her face.

Mom mashed up “Beat It” like it was a garlic clove in the bowl of her mortar. However, for a song like “Easy Goin’ Evening,” she was bound to be gentler. When this song came on she’d hum it as Stevie wrote it. If she was particularly moved or troubled by the never-still waters of Black womanhood, she’d conjure up poignant Kreyol lyrics to go along with the song. During these moments Mom sounded like a Haitian Mahalia Jackson appealing for “Jesus Christ to kenbe mwen [Jesus Christ hold me].” Often such appeals were offered as she baked chicken, fried plantains, cooked red beans and rice, and kept her eyes on the gravy in a kitchen that seemed on the verge of melting under the weight of all this activity in the July heat, all the while keeping her eye on the clock to make sure that she had enough time to get ready for “work.” Easy going evenings were as rare for Mom as the musical acumen needed to compose a song such as “Easy Goin’ Evening” and the rest of the Songs in the Key of Life.

On “Easy Goin’ Evening,” Stevie honors the legacy of all mothers with four minutes of subtle elegance, just like my mom honored her own mother’s life by wearing at least one article of black clothing—even wearing a black t-shirt underneath her nurse’s uniform—for seven years after her mother passed away. It was her way of paying her dearest respects to the woman who had brought her into the world. After seven years, her sartorial elegy complete, she started wearing bright colors again: orange linen skirts, red shoes when she and my dad went dancing, and her pink robe, which replaced the black one that had become a morning staple. Mom’s seven years of wearing black is like the verse-less “Easy Goin’ Evening” because both reveal an affinity for tradition and their power lies in what is not said.

The Trailer and Website for Ghosts of Cite Soleil

2007-06-11T10:11:00.000-04:00

http://www.ghostsofcitesoleil.com/

It follows two gang leaders who took over a slum in Haiti right before Aristide's 2004 forced exit.

so the night almost ended in failure

2007-06-01T11:23:00.000-04:00

Photos from Marc Baptiste's Nudes Book Party By Richard Louissaint

I entered my apartment a little after midnight anxious to import the photos i took at the overwhelming and huge gallery opening/book party for Marc Baptiste's latest nude tabletop book; for which i was unimpressed at first glance, as i compared it to his first book which was an important achievement (Beautiful), but looking at the photos, blown up, in the gallery where the event was held, i saw the skill and simplicity of the shots.

But as i connected my card reader, something happened and my mounted flash card disappeared from the screen. This sent me on a 3-hour ordeal to try to reclaim the lost pictures, through google searches for recovery programs on the mac, and getting the program i found to see the card (which i still can't re-format), to finally spending an hour extracting the "lost" photos.

For those who don't know Marc Baptiste is Haitian, accent and all, and one of the top fashion/celebrity photographers in the business, and his crew consists of other talented Haitians including twin designers Ron & Ron. At the conclusion of the party i thought about all the people who were 10, 15 years my senior who were once where i was trying to make things happen, including Baptiste. then later, on the train i turned to Ferentz (the owner of this blog) and said we are the next generation of artist and it's dope that through marriage and kids that Baptiste has a tight knit crew of peers. Of course he replied in his typical fashion downplaying his role as an artist.

more pictures from the party

Listening Party & Discussion @ Saje Lounge

2007-05-25T19:41:00.000-04:00

Pelerin89 contributor Ferentz Lafargue will be hosting a listening party and discussion of his book Songs in the Key of My Life at Saje Lounge in Brooklyn New York.

See below for more details.

The Jacmel Music Festival

2007-05-23T09:26:00.000-04:00

Being late seems to be my issue when it comes to news that is outside of pop culture's radar. The Marley brothers, as well as Les Nubians and several prominent Haitian bands will be performing in Haiti from May 25 to the 27th.

According to their website:

"The mission of Festival Mizik Jakmel is to reconnect Haiti with the outside world through music.
By providing enrichment and education through a high quality music event we will empower the Haitian people, stimulate the local economy, encourage global dialogue, educate, entertain and provide an amazing experience to all our audience. This event will promote a positive global perception of Haiti thus aid in it’s economic development through sustainable initiatives."

http://www.jacmelmusicfestival.com/

it was all a facade?/ Wyclef Documentary

2007-05-07T16:10:00.000-04:00

i have confession, weeks ago i had begun writing my first entry on this here blog, but than i all but halted. Perhaps it was because i was in transition in my real life (new apartment, new job, etc.) or may be because i wasn't so sure, that in all honesty, that what was commenting on fit Pelerin. But here I am again, swimming through my thoughts, attempting to decide what is what.

the main author of this blog is bent on a mission now to move a movement -- environmental issues facing Haiti, an island i have never been to; but somewhere in me i feel a connection, a connection that could all be a facade once i step foot on it soil.

It's ironic that my main blog is called The Haitian Eclectic, but my mentions of all things Haitian come in spurts and stutters (i may be using those words incorrectly). Call it living and growing up in America under a very Haitian family that pushes for a sort of severing of ties from a home that the elders have left behind for many good reasons (political, economic, violence).

I have received a lot of smart remarks over the years from my parents and other native Haitians, for my growing interest in my heritage. Reactions that have slowly changed into a sort of respect such as the Haitian man i met at a pharmacy in Bedstuy who laughed in a "a young-Haitian-man-is-trying-to-speak-in-our-language-and-I-am-happy-that-he-is" way when i asked if he was Haitian in my terribly bad Kreyol. I knew that he was genuinely glad for my acknowledgment and rebutted my apology pertaining to my bad Kreyol. And as my lady and I walked out of there he asked if she was Haitian as well, slightly disappointed that she wasn't, but not, I think for any negative reason, but because perhaps he doesn't get to meet people my age going out of their way to "communicate."

But until next time, O revwa.

---------
Someone brought up something about a Wyclef Documentary, which peaked my interestand promptly disappeared into my subconscious until today.

Yéle (or Cry) Haiti (scroll down to find the article in the link), follows Wyclef Jean as he travels through Haiti, fulfilling his role as "ambassador."

related link: Yéle Haiti - Wyclef's non-profit organization

Staceyann Chin

2007-05-07T06:38:00.000-04:00

A night with Staceyann Chin at the LGBT Center.

*COCKTAIL HOUR BETWEEN 6PM AND 7PM, PERFORMANCE STARTS AT 7PM*

Monday, May 7th, 2007
The LGBT Center
208 West 13th Street
6pm-7pm Cocktails
7pm Performance

$10

Immigrant Voices presents poet and activist Staceyann Chin

Immigrant Voices is a new series at the center: a chance to hear LGBT women from around the world read their work, and investigate the impact that specific immigrant cultures have had on the LGBT community. Staceyann Chin, poet, author, and immigrant, will discuss how being an immigrant as well as identifying as LGBT has affected their writing process.

A Tale of Two Cities

2007-05-06T08:37:00.000-04:00

The recent story about the Haitian migrants found dead at sea reminded me of the dichotomous relationship between my home-ville of New York City and my natif-ville Port au Prince. In New York, the islands are the place we go back home to with our bags loaded down by sundry goods. We fly back to the islands renumerating cans of tomato paste, jars of oil, as a host of other fresh from Costco bulk items in containers that the inferma terra of the islands can not digest (i.e. recycle).

In Port au Prince, islands are places where people escape to in hopes of finding work, better living, and maybe if their lucky, a passageway to the United States.

This all makes me wonder, aren't we all somewhat dead at sea, marooned in Mee-ah-mee, Boo-kleen, BO-stonh and Ca-Na-Da and killing one dream so that we can solace in another.

Pelerin89

20 Haitian Migrants Die at Sea; 58 Missing

2007-05-05T21:31:00.000-04:00

20 Haitian Migrants Die at Sea; 58 Missing
By Manuel Roig-Franzia
Washington Post Foreign Service
Saturday, May 5, 2007; Page A12

MEXICO CITY, May 4 -- At least 20 Haitian migrants died and 58 were missing Friday after an overloaded sailboat capsized off the Turks and Caicos Islands.

A U.S. Coast Guard cutter, accompanied by a helicopter and a C-130 plane, searched for survivors of the tragedy, which occurred during a dramatic upswing in illegal migration from the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. The Coast Guard said 704 Haitians were rescued at sea in April, nearly as many as were taken into custody in all of last year, when 769 rescues were recorded.

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The 30-foot sailboat that capsized Friday was being towed to shore by a Turks and Caicos police boat when it flipped, tossing passengers into the sea, the Coast Guard said. The Associated Press reported that Turks and Caicos officials denied the sailboat was being towed when it capsized shortly after 4 a.m. a mile south of Providenciales island in the Atlantic Ocean.

Some of the recovered bodies were missing limbs, apparently from shark attacks. At least 63 passengers were rescued.

Coast Guard spokesman Dana Warr said that the sailboat, believed to be carrying 150 people, was dangerously overloaded and that there was no indication the police towboat was responsible for the incident.

"It would be difficult to assume responsibility on their part with 150 people on a boat that size," Warr said. "I don't think anybody on those boats is safe. There are no safety parameters by the Haitian government."

In a similar incident in March, the Coast Guard suspended a search for 49 Haitians whose homemade boat caught fire and sank en route from Cap-Haitien, a city on Haiti's northern coast, to the Turks and Caicos Islands. Only two passengers survived.

Haitians are typically sent back to their country after being taken into U.S. custody at sea or on land. The policy has been vigorously protested by Haitian activists who say their fellow citizens should be afforded the same treatment as Cubans, who are generally granted asylum if they reach U.S. soil under the "wet foot, dry foot" policy implemented during the Clinton administration.

Symposium on the Haitian Constitution

2007-04-16T08:45:00.002-04:00

Symposium on the Haitian Constitution
Florida International University
Saturday April 28, 2007

African-New World Studies (AWNS) of Florida International University (FIU) and teh Academi Nationale Diplomatique et Consulaire (ANDC) in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, are hosting a symposium on the Reform of the Haitian Constitution at FIU's University Park Campus, College of Law (Rafael Diaz-Balart Hall) on Saturday, April 28, 2007, 8:30Am - 5:00 PM. This event is free and open to the public.

The Government of Haiti (GOH) recently launched a national dialogue aimed at identifying and correcting the flaws of the 1987 constitution, which, in spite of the turmoil of the past 20 years, remains teh fundamental political chart of Haiti. Toward this endeavor, and in order to be as inclusive as possible, GOH, in concert with various partners, has expressed support for this organization of various colloquia across Haiti and the Diaspora. The symposium at FIU is the first of the series of international conferences and symposia that will explore the "most pressing" aspects of teh Haitian constitution that need reform, as well as teh most efficacious ways in which the change(s) should be made. The one-day conference will provide a forum for the Haitian Diaspora and scholars of Haiti in South Florida to partake in teh dialogue on Haiti's constitutional reform.

Conference participants include, Gerard Gourgue, interim president of the Port-au-Prince Bar and former Haitian ambassador to UNESCO; Jean Chavannes Jeune, leader of the party Union; Eric Jean-Jacques; president the Haitian Chamber of Deputies; Georges Michel, writer, journalist and former constituent; Chantel Hudicourt-Ewald, lawyer and former constituent, Myrtho Bonhomme, president of the Academie National Diplomatique et Consulaire.

Honorable Jacques Edouard Alexis, Prime Minister of Haiti, will be the keynote speaker at the conference.

Dr. Jean-Germaine Gros, Spring 2007 visiting research fellow at ANWS and associate professor of political science and public policy administration at the University of Missouri-St. Louis (UMSL), and ambassador Myrtho Bonhomme, president of ANDC, will co-chair the conference. For further information, please call 305 919-5521 or contact africana@fiu.edu or mstew@fiu.edu. For general campus information, call 305. 348.2000.

The symposium is sponsored by the following units at Florida International University: African-New World Studies, Caribbean Bar Students Association, Latin American and Caribbean Center, and College of Law. Additional support is provided by the Haiti Research Group at the University of Miami.

Pelerin Speaks with Al Gore

2007-03-27T21:30:00.000-04:00

Taking my cue from fellow Haitian blogger Alice B, who capitalized on an opportunity to meet Ted Turner last year, I did not hesitate when the opportunity to sit down with former Vice President Al Gore arose during his recent visit to Washington DC to testify in front of congress. As reporters from DC area stations and other prominent northeast officials waited their turn to meet with Mr. Gore, I took full advantage of the 30minutes allotted and turned it into a 2hr conversation.

We began with some easy chatter as Mr. Gore gave me some tips on my recent campaign for President of the Caribbean. He was very adamant about reminding me about the importance of winning Haiti, a solemn reminder about his inability to carry his home state of Tennessee during his own Presidential campaign in 2000. Mr. Gore offered some tips about withstanding the latest bout of mudslinging by my opponents, who have been implying in the media that I attended a primary school in Haiti where the pupils were instructed in the principles of Vodou. While I did attend primary courses in Haiti until the age of five, they were not a “Hoodoo academy” as one tabloid recently suggested. Our conversation appeared teetering on the brink of a finale as we assayed this topic, surely most unfortunate turn of events if this were the case because I hoped to engage Mr. Gore on where the Caribbean fit into his global warming agenda. Since we share a hemisphere with the United States, this nation’s reliance on oil and other inefficient energy sources that are damaging the environment are surely having an impact on the air/flora and fauna of the Caribbean as well. The region has already been hampered by unfair trade provisions that make it harder for farmers to make a living, a harsh reality that only makes one wonder how Caribbean farmers will survive in a climate system that vacillates between flood inducing torrential downpours and droughts.

Of course one cannot smoothly jump from talking about Voodoo academies to Caribbean environmental issues without an apt segue. In an attempt at conjuring up a subject that was sure to draw my host’s interests and hopefully abscond with a few more minutes of his time, I leaned into him and said, “Isn’t it ironic that seven years ago you were lampooned by the news-and-media for saying that you invented? However, now every politician and corporate giant has taken credit for some web innovation. Think about it, everyone credits Howard Dean with bringing blogging into politics, when it was in fact the other way around, politics brought Howard Dean into blogging.”

Mr. Gore turned red and I thought that I surely had touched a nerve. A vein cascaded across his forehead like a bolt of lightning and his hands appeared on the verge of crushing each other as he squeezed one into the other.

“Brother Pelerin,” he said, leaning forward toward me as if he were about to share an intimate secret, “I don’t get credit for a lot of things. And that’s the first and most important lesson you better learn about politics.”

I was struck by this momentary departure from the calm borderline glib persona that Mr. Gore has crafted since that Presidential bid. Not knowing where to proceed from this venture in our conversation, I just let fly, “you know Mr. Gore, speaking of not getting credited, no one ever credits Haitians for inventing blogging.”

Yes, we get tons of credit as the first Free Black Republic in the west, but no one ever speaks about how “blogging is a computerized version of a Haitian vernacular pastime of the same name.”

Most of you probably have the same incredulous face that Mr. Gore had during our conversation, but seriously, go into any Carrefour in Cap Haitien, Jacmel or Port au Prince (you could also add Boston, Miami or New York) and ask a Haitian person how long have Haitians been blogging, and they’ll definitely say, “for centuries.” Similar to this web 2.0 phenomenon of reporting, the Haitian form of blogging is a story-telling tradition that sometimes includes news updates, but often times consists of humorous tales and gossip that you’d find on a site such as Dallaspenn.com.

Mr. Gore found this topic somewhat captivating and prodded me to continue. Realizing that it was clear that I had him on the hook, I proceeded on with this tale before luring him into an inconvenient truth about the environmental crisis in the United States and that is that Caribbean nations have been bearing the withstanding the worst of the damage caused by this nation’s faulty environmental planning. Soccer moms in Orange County and Aunties in Kingston are wrestling with very similar, but with very dissimilar means of garnering support and attention to their plights.

As we concluded our meeting and shook hands, I asked Mr. Gore that once I am elected President of the Caribbean will he come tour our island-states and be as adamant in sharing the wealth that has afforded him the opportunity to carry out this mission with activists on our islands. Then I asked him to promise me even if I am not elected President he will still make this trip.

Pelerin89

Words Not Whispering:A History of the Expression of Caribbean Women Who Love

2007-03-22T14:20:00.001-04:00

Please note the following event, and feel free to attend if you happen to be
in/near New York City:

The Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies (CLAGS) of the City University of New
York Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and "Queer" Colloquium Series
Presents:

"Words, Not Whispering: A History of the Expression of Caribbean Women Who Love
Women"

Presented by Natasha Tinsley, assistant professor in the English Department at
the University of Minnesota; with respondent Yolanda Martinez-San Miguel,
associate professor of Romance Languages at the University of Pennsylvania.

This paper will be an expansion of Professor Tinsley's idea of three periods of
expression by Caribbean women who love women: 1) the submerged words of the
Middle Passage and slavery; 2) the whispered words of the late nineteenth/early
twentieth century; and 3) the woman-centered publications of the late
twentieth/early twenty-first century. Her interest lies in bringing together
both history of different relationship/community formations and their literary
(and other) expression.

Thursday, March 22, 2007 -- 7:00 PM
Room C201, City University of New York Graduate Center
365 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10016
212-817-1955
clags@gc.cuny.edu
www.clags.org

WOMEN of POWER:A Symposium of Afro-Latina Organizers, Leaders, & Activists

2007-03-22T13:49:00.000-04:00

The Institute for Research on the African Diaspora in the Americas and in the Caribbean (IRADAC)

and

The Global Studies Collective

Present:

WOMEN of POWER:

A Symposium of Afro-Latina Organizers, Leaders, & Activists

Thursday, March 22, 2007

6:30 pm – 9:00 pm

Skylight Room - 9th Floor

Moderated by:

Marta Moreno Vega, Ph.D.

The CUNY Graduate Center

365 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10016

Admission is FREE
For more information call:
212-817-2076

Turquoisean Dialectic

2007-03-04T21:29:00.000-05:00

As my democratice American collegaue Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton campaigned for the Black vote in Selma Alabama this weekend, it dawned upon me that it was encumbent upon me to explicitly identify the colored vote that I am courted in my quest to become President of the Caribbean.

Therefore, let it be known that my first and foremost priority as the President of the Caribbean is the Turquoise vote. The Turquoise has gone under-represented in Caribbean politics for way too long. As tourizeration and enviromental mismanagement has bred all forms of decay in Turqoisean communities, the Turquoise vots has become increasingly disenfranchised.

The Turquoise vote lies at the epicenter of Caribbean politics and one can make a strong case that without the Turquoise there would be no Caribbean.

Seriously, no one has ever basked nostalgically about the brown waters of a post-flood island, of the waste-infested seas of Caribbean countries that have become the offshore landfills of their north American counterparts or hotel chains. The Turquoise is an esssential component of Caribbean identity and one that must be retained if theis region is to stay alive and continue being relevant and attractive.

I admire my red, black, white, and brown brothers and sisters, but in 2007 Pelerin 89 is staking his campaigh hopes on the Turquoisean.

Brooklyn Council Elections

2007-02-25T20:24:00.000-05:00

Alice B has been covering Dr. Mathieu Eugene's campaign for the city council seat in Brooklyn's 40th district. Dr. Eugene won the run-off election this past Tuesday, but as Alice B reports, the official confirmation has been put off until he moves into his district.

Once I realized that I was running out of time to cover Dr. Eugene's election, I was all set to let it pass and limit my musings to a congratulatory nod. However, now that this address schism has manifested, I can't help but laugh at the irony. Here I am a Haitian man running for President of the Caribbean from my Brooklyn abode, but it's the Haitian man running for a city council seat who ends up in the address scandal.

The lesson here mes amis is that you can't make this stuff up.

Pelerin 89

Haitian Vagina Monologues

2007-02-24T16:49:00.000-05:00

Alice B from kiskeyAcity originally posted about this event on her blog. On March 17th Dwa Fanm is hosting a production of the Vagina Monologues at the Brooklyn Museum. Here's a link to their website where you can buy tickets for the performance. I have also posted a copy of the flyer that appeared on kiskeyAcity

Pelerin for President: Setting An Agenda

2007-01-26T09:28:00.000-05:00

Greetings to all my Caribbeanists and I want to wish everyone a blessed Carnival season. The picture on the left was taken of me in Port au Prince prior to Karnaval in 1981. Twenty-six years later I'm still walking around with my little satchel, which I guess it goes to show the more things change the more they stay the same.

It has been a hectic two weeks since I announced candidacy for President of the Caribbean. That post left this blog teeming with comments, which led to my computer crashing. Unfortunately I was only able to salvage two of these millions of comments, and they are listed below the previous post.

Many of the emails were from readers asking how could I run for President of the Caribbean if I were no longer living in the Caribbean? As I said to these queries, Brooklyn is the epicenter of the Caribbean. Enclaves of migrants from every island are only a short train-or-bus ride away. If I were to try initiating this much direct contact with my constituents by any other means of travel, I would drain the public finance funds with which you have so earnestly entrusted me. I refuse to take the lead of my United States Presidential counterparts and run a campaign financed by big businesses while claiming to represent the people. This is a Presidential race that I am involved in and not a NASCAR race, therefore corporate sponsorship does not have the same allure.

My Metrocard Campaign Tour is an integral part of my Caribbean agenda. Noticing the rising tide of car traffic on our islands and the effect that this is having on commerce, traveling to work and further inciting wealth disparities, I plan to charter a committee to develop a public transportation system in the caribbean. The goals of the committee will be several-fold: (1) make bike transportation more palatable by creating measures to ensure cyclist safety, (2) provide a tax-incentive for companies to provide group transportation for employees, and (3) this is the most ambitious of all, create a Federal Tap-Tap Commission, which will nationalize our beloved Caribbean Taxis. The goal of this last measure will be to increase the ability of these drivers to service citizens and in return give them better health and personal security support so that they can better do their jobs.

The next two Agenda items are in direct response to the two rescued comments. I have included commenter Georgia's appeal to include the America's Site Feed on this blog and non-blogger members can now post comments.

The other concern brought up in these comments is the issue of "balkanization," and I could not agree with this commenter more. If by "balkanization" she means "colderation" as in worries about environmental and ecological damage that will make the Caribbean cold like the Balkans, I recognize that this is a serious problem for our islands. Along with "balkanization" and "colderation," I would also like to add "flooderation," "wastration" and "tourismserviceration" as primary environmental concerns.

Continued logging in Caribbean mountainsides increases the risk of major flooding in our countries. The initial signs of this are evident in our streets whenever there are large rainstorms, but if something is not done, the risks will only heighten. While it remains to be seen whether the global warming trends in other parts of the world will lead to "balkanization" or "colderation" on our islands, it is important to monitor whether our countries continue reporting milder springs and summers as they did this past year. "Wastration" is tied to "tourismserviceration" but is not part and parcel of our region's reliance on tourism. Tourists cart in a lot of waste, but dispensing of theirs is only problematic because we do not have a sensible plan of discarding of our own waste. If we want to retain our loveliness, then we must address this issue before it leads to any serious public health outbursts. To that end, I will not only have a cabinet level officer in environment manageration, I will make it clear that whoever I select as my vice-presidential candidate will be an expert in this area. Please, no race-horse breeders need to apply to my presidential cabinet, I will not be asleep at the wheel like G. W. Bush.

It will be the top priority of my vice president to set forth an environmental manageration agenda that will enable the Caribbean to thrive in the 21st century. Nothing less will be accepted and this will be the litmus test for whether you will want to choose my VP as the President of the Caribbean after me.

Til next time,

Pelerin89

Pelerin for President

2007-01-17T15:23:00.000-05:00

United States senator Barack Obama’s recent announcement that he has developed a “exploratory committee” to investigate his chances at a presidential campaign was another major step in what has already proving to be an audacious political career. Obama’s announcement coupled with the recent elevation of singer Wyclef Jean to honorary-international Ambassador for Haiti has prompted me to reconsider my own political aspirations.

In light of these recent announcements, and after careful deliberation with family, friends and advisors, as well as, reading the litany of inspirational comments I receive everyday from the readers of this blog, I am honored to announce that I have decided to run for President of the Caribbean.

You are probably reading this and saying that there is no such office as President of the Caribbean. If not, you are undoubtedly googling said office. Let me spare you the hassle, there is not currently a President of the Caribbean and it is for this very reason that I must pursue this title.

The hundreds of islands making up the Caribbean have survived for far too long without an elected official to oversee the administration of this vast and vital region of the world.

Think about it, we have Caribbean Literature, Caribbean cuisine, and Caribbean cruises, but no Caribbean President. Imagine how confused many tourists must be when they are trying to make up their minds on whether to visit the Caribbean and for the life of them they cannot name the President of the Caribbean. This lack of a Presidential identity undoubtedly instills a sense of uneasiness in many politically conscious would be travelers who when trying to decide whether to visit the Caribbean look up its president in order to discern his political leanings or the political-climate in the country as a whole.

Most importantly, imagine the plight of all the little boys and girls growing up in the Caribbean who grow up listening about the antics of British Prime-Minister Tony Blair, French President Jacques Chirac or US President George Bush, but who are left without their own Caribbean President.

Well today is the day that I tell all the little Barringtons, Marie-Lourdes and Yesenias throughout the Caribbean that they will soon have a President in whom they can trust.

I cannot be President without my fellow Caribbeanists, so I ask that you please continue sharing your thoughts with me on what will make the Caribbean a better place to live and raise your families.

As we prepare to make history together, and we are doing this together, because I do not simply want to become the first President of the Caribbean, but I want you to want me to become your first Caribbean President, I will need your financial help. Please make your campaign contributions via this link.

Thank you,

This message was sponsored by the Pelerin89 for Caribbean President Election Exploratory Committtee.

Wyclef Named Haitian Ambassador

2007-01-04T08:52:00.000-05:00

It was bound to happen; Wyclef Jean has been named by Haitian President Rene Preval as a roving Ambassador. Jean's job will be to help promote a positive image of the country abroad.

Here's the BBC article on the announcement:

Wyclef becomes Haiti 'ambassador'

Wyclef Jean travelled to Haiti last month to give a free concert

Rap star Wyclef Jean has been made a roving ambassador for Haiti to improve its image abroad.

He was appointed to the role by Haitian President Rene Preval as "our best asset to promote the country's image around the world".

Jean was born in Haiti but moved with his family to Brooklyn, New York, when he was nine years old.

He already runs his own foundation, Yele Haiti, to aid what is the poorest country in the Americas.

"We wish we could have several Wyclefs because the country could have gained so much," Foreign Affairs Minister Renald Clerisme told Reuters.

Mr Preval has been joined by Jean on a three-day visit to the island of Jamaica.

Jean, 34, gained fame as a member of the hip hop trio The Fugees, who won Grammys in 1996 for their album The Score and single Killing Me Softly.

This year he has been nominated for a best pop collaboration Grammy for his performance with Shakira on the hit Hips Don't Lie.

Haiti's government credits Jean with successfully lobbying the US Congress for a "passage of a trade" bill expected to help create textile manufacturing jobs in Haiti.

Haitian Kidnappings Part Deux

2007-01-02T22:25:00.000-05:00

On December 27th The Miami Herald provided another account of the upsurge in kidnappings afflicting Haiti at the moment. Herald reporter Jacqueline Charles's article reiterates the mounting concern that children have become the primary targets of the kidnappers on the island. This development is particularly alarming as school's are gradually re-opening after the holidays. By January 8th all schools in Haiti should have returned from winter recess, but it remains to be seen whether families will feel safe sending their children back to school admidst this harrowing climate.

Charles's article interrogates the idea that these kidnappings are an attempt at destabilizing Rene Preval's government. The synchronization required to conduct this spate of child abductions is one of the reasons that some believe that these kidnappings are a deliberate effort at undermining any possibility for stability in the country.

It remains to be seen exactly how calculated these kidnappings really are. To the outside observer they still ring like copycat crimes, a perverted approach to acquiring quick cash for many. Indeed these crimes do undermine Haiti's political stability, but no more than the poverty and limited economic opportunities for young people that has arguably allowed kidnapping to fester as a viable money-making option.

Whatever the cause, nothing can relieve families like that of the recently murdered Natacha Farah Kerbie Dessources, the central figure in Charles's article, of the pain and suffering that they are enduring. Dessources, a 20 year old student who was murdered in spite of the fact that her family paid the kidnapper's ransom, reveals the unpredictability of these kidnappings. Many Haitians have always reserved a modicum of hope of saving their loved ones if they paid the ransom, but Dessources's murder provides evidence that this unspoken agreement is not as tenable as it at first seemed. Her mother's pain also iterates that while for the country and politicians these kidnappings may be a black eye, for family members of these kidnapping victims these random acts of violence are gruesomely painful reminders of what has yet to be settled.

The Nightshift Chronicler

Michele Montas Named Spokeswoman for Ban Ki-moon

2007-01-02T21:48:00.000-05:00

The New York Times reported today Ban Ki-moon, the United Nation's newly elected Secretary General replacing Kofi Annan has hired Haitian Journalist Michele Montas as his spokeswoman. Montas who has prior experience working in the UN, serving as the spokeswoman for the President of the General Assembly, is better known for her active role as a journalist and radio broadcaster in Haiti. Working alongside her husband, fellow Haitian journalist Jean Dominique who was assassinated in April 2000, Montas was one of the most strident dissident voices in Haiti during the 1980s and 90s.

Montas was also one of the producers of Jonathan Demme's documentary, The Agronomist, which depicted the life of Jean Dominique and his career at Radio Haiti-Inter, the radio station that he founded.

In addition working as a journalist, Montas has been a human rights activist and consistent international lecturer on Haiti.

Haitian Teachers Union Denounces Kidnappings

2006-12-28T11:22:00.000-05:00

The recent denouncement of the surge of kidnappings in plaguing Haiti by its largest teacher's union is another indication that this phenomena has gotten out of control. The union is calling on the government to become more proactive in stemming the tide of this pandemic, which is threatening to further encumber the lives of school children who have seen their education arrested countless times during other recent periods of national unrest. It appears as if the kidnappers who in the past have been brazen enough to seize a peanut vendor for a thirty-dollar ransom are now preying on school children.

Other countries in South America, notably Brazil and Venezuela have had similar safety concerns surrounding kidnapping, but what distinguishes Haiti's problem is that since the country, and its metropolitan area (Port-au-Prince and Petion Ville) are much smaller than its counterparts, it is harder for the average citizen to feel secure in their ability to evade the kidnappers. This trend also impairs the likelihood of travel to the island by those visiting in the diaspora, who themselves feel insecure about evading the kidnappers, because unlike in the past where steering clear of politics was enough to guarantee one a modicum of protection, the prevailing sentiment in the country is that everyone is at risk.

There is hope however, because as the article relays, the students and union leaders are beginning to tackle this issue, and make the government realize that macho-posturing will not be enough to make it go away. Hopefully through their agitation the teachers and students will be able to bring about a sea-change in this disturbing national security situation facing Haiti.

The Nightshift Chronicler

Additional reporting by Alice Eddie Backer of kiskeyAcity who tracked the article on Global Voices.