Living in Lost Territories: The Risk of Constant Danger

Behind the images of violence often relayed by the media lies a more complex reality, made of ingenuity, fear, but also resilience. A daily life without the State, between resourcefulness and the law of the strongest. PORT-AU-PRINCE.— In several areas of the country, the “lost territories,” these neighborhoods or localities escaping the control of the Haitian State, have become true pockets of marginalization where inhabitants develop their own strategies to survive, protect themselves, and imagine a future for their children. In neighborhoods like Martissant, Cité Soleil, Bel-Air, Canaan, or in the remote areas of Bas-Artibonite, the population lives a daily life characterized by abandonment. Public services no longer respond, giving way to the informal economy, mutual aid, but also fear. “We live like forgotten people. The State only comes here when there are elections or disasters,” confides Mackenson Zetrenne, a resident of Nan Marekaj, a suburb of Butte Boyer in Clercine in the commune of Tabarre. Without running water, accessible medical care, and with barely functional schools, families must show resourcefulness. Street vending, bartering, or aid from diasporas are the only sources of subsistence. A Parallel, Wild, and Recourceless Justice Faced with the absence of judicial and police authorities, a form of local regulation emerges. Sometimes structured around religious leaders or citizen committees, it is most often dictated by the armed groups that control these territories. “When two neighbors have a problem, it’s the gang leader who decides. And if you don’t accept his decision, it’s punishment,” explains a mother in Canaan, whispering, who prefers to remain anonymous. This form of wild “justice” maintains an arbitrary climate of fear and collective violence. Mistrust dominates, and unresolved conflicts accumulate in already fractured communities, according to an analysis by Dorline Cajuste, head of an association for people with disabilities in Butte Boyer. “We are witnessing an informalization of law. This creates a parallel legitimacy that undermines the very foundations of the Republic,” argues Cajuste, highlighting the dehumanizing practices of armed men’s justice methods in the lost territories. Growing Up Under Threat: A Psychological Impact on Children For children, these territories are traps. Closed schools, absent teachers, constant threats of violence: growing up becomes a perilous adventure. “My 9-year-old son refuses to return to school because of stray bullets falling into his establishment. He is constantly afraid,” says Me Dor, a truck driver in Croix-des-Missions. Some children end up enrolled in gangs, voluntarily or under threat. Others take refuge in churches, sports, or small-scale humanitarian programs. “These are children exposed to continuous trauma. Without support, we run the increasing risk of a broken generation,” warns Jhemson Noel, a social worker, head of an orphanage in Delmas. What Possible Horizons? The recovery of these territories requires a firm commitment from the State, but also strong support for local initiatives. Disarmament, public reinvestment, and support for schools and community structures must be at the heart of any strategy. “We cannot reconquer these territories solely with armored vehicles and police. We must restore trust, and also rebuild good people to serve as models,” insisted Noel, indicating that it will also be necessary to “provide services, listen to people.” Despite adversity, signs of hope persist: religious figures continue to preach messages of peace, youth groups set up artistic workshops, schoolchildren still go to school, small businesses are still opening; in short, life is not entirely bleak. Haiti’s lost territories are not dead zones. They are abandoned spaces, forgotten by the state, where millions of people face daily neglect and exclusion amidst constant danger. Restoring their place in the national project is not only a moral duty but a vital necessity for the country’s stability. Jean Mapou