Two years ago, I was able to go to the Haitian National museum in Port au Prince.  Jules offered the opportunity as we waited for a team to arrive later in the day. He accompanied my son and I and we stepped into a building that was filled with a history that had mostly been hidden from my American education. This was a history and birth of a nation that emerged from bloody violence. There were displays of slave plantations and stories with horrid details of torturous accounts by those who lived the nightmare of the sugar plantations. There were stories of Sunday afternoon visitations where privileged slave owners could witness the torture of men and women that are too graphic to repeat in this context. As I turned the corner, in the center of the room was a giant anchor that had been recovered from Columbus’ famed Santa Maria. In my own schooling, I learned of Columbus’ celebrated “discovery of the Americas”, but the deadly lasting impact on the natives and the consequential misuses from colonizing powers never quite made it into my history class. 

My first visit to Haiti over 35 years ago was not very informed either. Much of my early understanding of Haiti came from sources which misrepresented this nation. It introduced me to a history of Haiti, which after emerging from its bloody revolution, quickly found its brutal African slaves dedicating the island to Satan who still has a choking hand on this nation through the practice of Voodoo. Even today, some prominent evangelicals considered the 2010 earthquake a judgment from God for Haitians making a pact with the devil. And yet, when I landed in Haiti and drove through the capital, I saw the signage referring to God (Bondye or Dieu) and Jesus (Jezi) on storefronts and vehicles. And I met many dedicated Christians with an incredible faith that has been an inspiration to me over the years. 

Perhaps a helpful perspective on Haiti would be to look at her history from a non-colonizing lens. The Black Jacobins by C.L.R James is the classic text for this viewpoint. His book offers tremendous insight into the history of Haiti and its impact on the American republic. This book describes that, as a former slave colony, Haiti represented the anti-colony resistance. The resulting revolution gave birth to the post-colonial republic.  As a republic of former slaves, however, the recently independent United States did not see this newly free nation as an ally, but as a threat, especially to the impact on its lucrative slave economy.  This is probably the reason that no American president recognized Haiti until Abraham Lincoln. 

We have all recently been thrown into upheaval, with the impact of a worldwide pandemic as well as the social unrest due to inequities and the exposure of injustice in our own country. Taking time to consider the long history of terror, disruption, and struggle encountered by our brothers and sisters in Haiti could lend us the courage to face our own challenges of today. As the Haitian proverb goes, ‘there are mountains beyond mountains’. The dignity and strength of our Haitian brothers and sisters has come through perseverance and overcoming mountains of terror, food shortages, and political unrest. They have journeyed for centuries, placing their trust in the God who knows every sparrow that falls and every mother who loses a child to illness.  

Contemplating our historical participation with Haiti opens us to grief…a good grief.  We are invited to consider ways we have been complicit in perpetuating economic and spiritual oppressions. Doing so invites us to a Biblical notion of grief. But we should not resist this sort of grief. In 2 Corinthians 7:10 the apostle Paul tells us, “For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret.” (ESV) This is the sort of grief that recognizes the suffering that has occurred throughout history. It is the grief that invites us to weep with those who weep and listen for the lament of the oppressed. It is the sort of grief that leads towards healing. 

During these days of uncertainty and social unrest, let the song of lament that emerges from Haitian history shape in us a solidarity with those who suffer. And may it lead us towards hope that bursts from repentance.