A dear friend—well-meaning yet so profoundly detached from Haiti’s enduring wounds—asked me recently if I might leverage my connections for her church’s missionary project. In that suspended moment over the phone, a silent exasperation stirred within me—a private roll of the eyes that would have been impossible to hide had she been present. Her heart, undoubtedly tender and compassionate, bore the weight of a naive presumption: that Haiti exists in a state of perpetual need, a country waiting to be rescued by benevolent outsiders.
I explained, gently but firmly, that although my ties to Haiti run deep, many of us—those who have weathered generations of exploitation—are deeply skeptical of foreign intervention. Who, I wondered, could claim the right to determine how Haiti should be aided when such decisions are made in the comfort of American privilege? The wounds of our nation were not inflicted by the masses but by a select few who have hollowed out our resources and spirit. Haiti must, in its own time and on its own terms, reclaim its future without the heavy hand of institutions like the IMF, USAID, or the World Bank.
The disdain I harbor for outsider aid extends beyond Haiti’s borders. It mirrors the revulsion I feel when I encounter the spectacle of academic non-profits in the United States—organizations that parade their benevolence while perpetuating dependency. I cringe each time an online announcement proclaims that yet another grant from the Ford Foundation has filled a tin-cup for a Haitian nonprofit. It is as if another clanging tin-cup is offered to the world—a paltry gesture that underscores our persistent reliance on the generosity of strangers. How revolting it is to watch a cycle where genuine need is met with hollow largesse!
I ask myself: why do Haitians with means—of whom I know are many—not band together to fund and sustain institutions that truly serve our community? Why must we continue to lean on the empty promises of outsiders? Even more, there is an irony in the way such charity is delivered; behind the public display of generosity, there is often a contemptuous silence—a disdain for the very people whose lives are reduced to a statistic, a ledger entry for someone else’s quota of benevolence. Haitian nonprofits should be the creation and the endeavor of Haitians alone. No more handouts, no more token aid. If we cannot support our own institutions, then perhaps those organizations should not exist at all.
In the quiet spaces of reflection, I remain convinced that true liberation comes not from the charity of outsiders but from the fierce, unyielding resolve of a people determined to forge their own path.
