Both Oars In When It Rains, It’s Politics

Jun 25, 2010

Until recently, we didn’t talk much about the weather in Haiti because we generally only have one kind: sunny and blue. During the two annual rainy seasons, it often rains. But, what is there to discuss—it’s the rainy season. The only time weather would make it into conversation was when a hurricane or heavy tropical storm was brewing, and then only if it were headed our way. That was until the tent-cities.

Now, each time the sky billows with clouds, we begin frowning and wondering if enough rain will fall to dislodge the tents and shanty houses occupied by tens of thousands of people living precariously in ad hoc intra-urban, micro villages dotting the hilly landscape of greater Port au Prince. [One of these make-shift micro-villages is home to 50,000 people living on a slope sufficiently steep enough to make even a veteran climber pause for a breath when walking form bottom to top. When it rains, water pours down the slopes, taking wanted things and bringing unwanted things with it.]

As the sky goes dark, we wonder if the people, driven by the rain, will break out of their complacency and head into the streets, replacing the missing thunder of tropical storms with their own angry cries. We wonder if the rains will put an end to patience on all sides. Will the government snap, or the people first? Who will tell the other they must go?

Rain is now political. And, like all things political, it has become a daily topic. 

Rain discussions have intensified this week because a tropical storm system, as of yet lacking sufficient force to merit a name, is sending lots of wind and spats of rain our way. As I write, my desk papers are tossed about by wet wind gusting through my window. I settle them quickly and return to work. The weather outside is not so easily tamed. 

These odd rains are on top of the normal rainy season precipitation which falls each evening at this time of year, and they steal the chance for any daytime drying. Subsequently, the mud persists like snow in the dead of winter up north. Name or no name, this storm is very unwelcome as it makes nerves even more taught and submerges the tent cities in deeper muck.

One might wonder, “Why do people stay in the muddy camps?” There are many reasons. For one, it is better than having nowhere at all. The once camps, now shanty towns, are also conveniently located to transportation, work and commerce. They offer social services, some of which come right to your doorstep. The rent is free. And, frankly, the only thing better would be a home and a piece of land of their own—and that is a long way coming for the masses.

I think a lot about the aforementioned golden solution: a house and a plot of land for the homeless. Even a dreamer knows this would require a systematic improvement in the cadastre and a lot of investment. But, it would create a valuable asset for the individual and the State. It would be worth it and it would certainly be a better use of international funds than building temporary housing. It would certainly take the politics out of the rain. 

We cannot control the weather, but we can change the circumstances of the people. We can focus the resources, charitable and profit driven, to break the dam on land ownership for the poor. This will not come through land reform and eminent domain, rather through a workable model of mortgage based housing. We know how people end up out of the rain for good—they buy homes with loans amortized over ten to fifteen years.  

This much needed solution is not the work of relief workers even well- intentioned missionaries; it will take bankers and statesmen. Haiti needs a new wave of specialists. Dollars will be needed as well; a quarter billion in loan guarantees could easily provide housing for 150,000 homeless.  Maybe this is an opportunity for a few visionary bankers and experienced statesmen from the U.S. to do a bit of penance for recent sins by volunteering to put together a workable system for retail mortgages and clear land titling in Haiti.