It was rough to be Haitian in America in the eighties.
Being black and foreign in America came with some obvious challenges. But Haitians in particular had heavy obstacles/barriers to overcome.
The West has a long history of maligning the world’s first Black republic. Haitian culture is portrayed as primitive, demonic, and wicked. It is not surprising, then, that Haitians faced a particularly pernicious form of discrimination during the initial waves of immigration. Miami and New York were two hubs for Haitian immigration that included large Latin, Caribbean, and Black populations. Unfortunately, despite this diverse environment, Haitians remained outcasts. Many people looked down on Haitians, often repeating the same stereotypes of mainstream society.
At the time, the CDC blamed Haitians for the HIV epidemic. The CDC included Haitians as part of the four H’s, four populations that they deemed to be medical carriers for the virus. This allowed private entities to discriminate against Haitians under the guise of public health. Haitians were evicted from their homes, barred from certain businesses, and refused employment based solely on their ethnic identity.
Most of the new immigrants, called boat people, came from very traditional, agrarian backgrounds. Suddenly, these families found themselves in rough, inner-city environments where they stood out like a sore thumb. This made them easy targets for street brutality. The most extreme example of this was the phenomenon of “Haitian Fridays” in some South Florida neighborhoods, where delinquents would go around jumping Haitians for sport. What began as school bullying expanded into a reign of terror.
In this hostile environment, many Haitians hid or outright abandoned their heritage. However, not everyone would do the same. One day, a group of youth decided that enough was enough. In the neighborhood of Little Haiti, a group of adolescents created a collective that would change the trajectory of the entire diaspora. On that day, Zoe Pound was born.
The name is an extended acronym that encapsulates the group’s values: Zone Of Existence, Power OF United Negroes in Divinity. Zo means “bone” in Kreyol; the group wanted to show they were hard as bones. The group began by fighting back against their tormentors and expanded into a criminal organization. Instead of “Haitian Fridays”, the gang held weekly pride demonstrations, driving around en mass blasting Haitian music and waving the Haitian flag. The Zoes quickly became one of the most powerful and dangerous criminal organizations in Florida and have since expanded throughout the country.
Say what you will about them, but the Zoes wore their heritage as a badge of honor and silenced those who had something negative to say about it. And like all countercultural movements, it quickly built up steam. Soon, being Haitian became cool. Now, nearly three decades later, Zoe has become a term of endearment for Haitian youth throughout the diaspora.
The story of the Zoe Pound is a coming-of-age story of an immigrant diaspora in the United States. The rise of the Zoe Pound helped to usher in a new era for the Haitian Diaspora: an era of pride, celebration, and flair.
Today, many things have remained unchanged. Haiti continues to be a troubled nation. The recent wave of gang warfare and political instability has placed parts of the nation in effective lockdown for over a year now. Given these dire circumstances, there has been a mass exodus from the island. People are fleeing, doing what they can to save themselves and their loved ones from the violence. As the US welcomes Ukrainian refugees with open arms, it has deported more Haitians this past year than in the last two decades combined. Haitians in the Dominican Republic and the Bahamas continue to be mistreated. It is a very troubling time to be Haitian.
Yet, at the same time, diasporic communities in the United States and elsewhere are beginning to find their ground. According to the CATO institute, Haitians who’ve lived in the US for 3 years or more “actually had a higher rate of employment than the population on average.” People of “Haitian descent” are also employed at higher rates than their peers: their employment rate, 80%, is 21 percentage points higher than other US-born citizens and 16 points higher than other non-Haitian immigrants. Second-generation Haitians are more educated than the average American. 54% of Haitian Americans hold a college degree, compared to only 42% of Americans as a whole. “When given the chance and proper legal institutions,” the study notes, Haitians “turn around their economic fortunes.”
I’ve witnessed this upward mobility firsthand. All around me, I see Haitians creeping into the middle class. As the Haitian diaspora grows more numerous and successful, there is also a reimagining of what it means to be Haitian. Much of the most viral Haitian content is being made outside of Haiti. Drox y Yani, one of the hottest new age Kompa groups, is from Miami.
The mass exodus from Haiti and the rise of the Haitian diaspora have many implications, ranging from economic to political. But specifically, what does this mean for Haitian culture?
Long gone are the days were Haitians hide their heritage for fear of reprisal. The sons and daughters of Haitians now wave the Haitian flag with pride, sometimes with more enthusiasm than their parents. As black people in America, we take a lot of pride in the Haitian Revolution and our ancestor’s storied victory over slavery and white supremacy. There is an emerging crop of acclaimed Haitian American icons from artists like Edwidge Danticat to entertainers like Jason Derulo and Jessie Woo. These figures are generally intertwined with contemporary American culture. Nonetheless, they wave the Haitian flag with gusto. Not too long ago, an entertainer like Success Jr would have been written off as not a “real” Haitian. Now, they have become a cultural touchstone for the Haitian diaspora.
This renewed interest and appreciation of Haiti is refreshing and much needed. But it also highlights a schism between native Haitians and the wider diaspora. There is a clear schism in values, lifestyle, and identity between Haitians from the island and those from the diaspora.
My parents would never refer to themselves as “Zoes” nor do they identify with any of the names I’ve listed in this article. Haiti to them is growing up playing soccer with all the village kids, running from house to house without a care in the world. Haiti is scrambling to handle an emergency without the privilege of Triple AAA, 911, or medical insurance. Haiti is sitting around every evening for krik-krak and storytelling with the village elders. Haitian culture is a lifestyle that those of us who grew up in America simply can only experience as outsiders.
Some accuse the diaspora of capitalizing on a superficial view of being Haitian, without genuine care, understanding, or regard for the culture they claim to represent.
These critics do have a point.
For many, Haitian history starts and ends with the Haitian Revolution. We know very little about Haiti’s most important thinkers, artists, influencers, or historical figures. How many of us second-generation Haitians will take the time to understand Haiti’s current political crisis?
Haiti, like any nation, is complex and multifaceted. Reducing it to Soup Joumoo and griot does not do it any justice. So many philanthropic efforts in Haiti have fallen flat on their face because the organizers did not take the time to learn about the needs and nuances of the Haitian people. If we hope to change Haiti for the better, we have to take the time to understand it first.
For many Haitian-Americans, it can be hard to reconnect to one’s roots.
Being a small nation, there aren’t many resources out there to learn about Haiti. Many aspects of the culture are undervalued and understudied. There are no Haitian TV shows on Netflix. A Haitian podcast will not pop up in your recommended listens on AppleMusic. Most representations of Haiti in America come from charity groups, missionaries, or news media rather than from Haitians themselves. This leaves us with a very narrow look into our own culture.
The culture can seem very mysterious and insular to those who aren’t in the know. Sometimes, resources are inaccessible. Reconnecting can be a lot of work that many aren’t ready to put in.
In our personal lives, there are many hurdles we have to jump over. Traveling to Haiti amid all the insecurity seems like a stressful and frightening experience, especially when Haitians actively tell us to stay away. Often, a hostile relationship between the diaspora and native Haitians can make it difficult to mesh.
Many of our parents downplayed their heritage to spare us from the discrimination they faced. Some of us were not taught the language of our parents. Many of our parents rarely talk to us about their experiences in Haiti or their upbringings. It is one thing to be teased by classmates or to see poor portrayals in the media. It is another to get over the constant negative propaganda from relatives, for whom Haiti is hell on earth. Instead of teaching us about Haiti, many Haitians do everything in their power to scare you into never visiting the island. We grow up hearing peyi a pa bon and ayisyen pa bon every day.
All these things make it difficult to develop an authentic connection to the island.
As young black people growing up in America, we look to idols in media who look like us and try to emulate them. Sometimes, this comes at the expense of holding on to the culture of your parents. As we try to succeed in school, the workplace, and the world, there is huge pressure to assimilate to get ahead.
I will be honest. It took me a long time to become proud of my heritage. Growing up, I only heard bad things about Haiti. I didn’t speak Creole, so I felt disconnected from many of my relatives. At school, I was teased for being “too Haitian.” At home, though I loved my parents, I resented their traditional, domineering parenting style. Outside of the delicious food, being Haitian felt more like a disadvantage than something to take pride in.
Reconnecting to my roots meant learning to love parts of myself that I never appreciated. I tapped into the people in my life and did a lot of my research. The more that I learn about Haiti, the better I can understand the people in my life, those who came before me, and myself. It has been an incredibly rewarding and grounding journey. I am happy to have embarked.
Cultures change over time, and I believe that is a good thing. I am lucky to live in a time where we can learn and experience things from all around the world. My philosophy is to be open-minded, eat the meat, and spit out the bones. That mentality has made me the well-rounded person I am today.
However, something is empowering about educating yourself about your culture and background. My ancestry goes far beyond a short paragraph in a high-school history textbook. I think about my children and future generations. I want them to stay connected to their heritage. I want them to know who their ancestors were and take pride in them. I do not want my family’s history to be erased.
Frankly, as a diaspora, it is on us to uplift our culture. For our sake, Haiti’s sake, and our children’s sake.
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