Map of Haiti on the wall at the Haitian Consulate, NYC, Photos: Francisco Collazo
You can feel and think so much in the span of a single week.
As the editor of MatadorChange–the Matador blog focused on social change, environmental awareness, and community building–I felt compelled to organize Matador’s response to the earthquake in Haiti. What follows below are hastily scribbled notes written on receipts, in a rain-soaked notebook, and on the back of my grocery list during one of the most intense weeks I’ve ever experienced.
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1. Francisco is serving dinner when we hear about the earthquake in Haiti. The idea to use Twitter to mobilize a relief effort comes immediately.
2. I cared about the Sichuan earthquake. I cared about the Aceh tsunami. But there’s something about Haiti being in the Caribbean–closer to home, a place where I’ve spent a lot of time, a place I know well–that makes the disaster seem more concrete, less abstract, and more urgent.
3. We are in a waiting room at the Consulate. “My family is sleeping in their car because the house is falling down,” says a young woman–22 maybe?– whose hair is combed carefully into place, whose clothes are pressed. “Your big beautiful house?” the Consul says, his voice rising into the question.
The Consul
They are cousins. Hers is not a horror story within this palimpsest of disaster, but it’s terrible enough. Everyone’s suffering is individual, and, to that extent, is relative.
4. “A lady is crying in the hall,” Francisco whispers to me. “She just learned that she lost someone.”
5. “Logistics” is a word I’ll avoid using for a long time.
6. What’s more haphazard: disaster or disaster response?
7. I think of 9/11, of Katrina, of the pervasive sense of powerlessness so many people feel. What I want to do is help people feel they can contribute meaningfully.
8. The vultures are circling at the consulate. The fat man has medicine to send, but “Somebody’s gotta pay for it.” The other economic hit men, talking about bulldozers and helicopters, rub their hands together and talk about the “return on investment,” about “long-term gains.” One looks at me and sighs, “Bureaucracy is such a pain.” Does he expect me to empathize with him?
9. In a way, though, I do. Empathize with him, I mean. I want to say: “Fuck red tape. People are dying.”
10. I wish I could draw what this process looks like. It would look chaotic but ordered. For some reason, I get the sense it would be easier to explain and understand that way.
11. I’ve become so dependent on Twitter, I find myself writing #Haiti with a hash tag no matter where I’m writing.
12. The Consul says he is hungry. He says it as if he’s not in the middle of coordinating a response to a disaster. I’m not sure what to make of his seeming calm.
13. I take a nap with Francisco and Mariel. We sleep close together, as if disaster might touch us while we’re not awake. I dream of falling down a long, narrow flight of stairs. When I look up the symbolism of this dream, there are mixed messages: one, a fear of failure. The other, an object of envy. I don’t know what to make of this, but it leaves me unsettled.
14. More than 1,500 emails. I have sent more than 500 replies and my gmail is blocked. I set up a secondary account. It fills up quickly. So many people want to help. I am awed by this, am grateful. And slightly overwhelmed.
15. I’ve “met” some phenomenal people: Rene, in Chicago, who’s in contact with an organization that may take some of our volunteers. Daniel in Miami, who’s working on press. Jess and Carlos here in New York, handling our volunteer list and picking up donations, respectively. Jackie in Boston, who’s focused on collecting donations for babies and kids. Andrea in central Florida, who has tons of water (literally) ready to ship. And Matador members- Gabriela, Cathey, Allen, to name just a few– all pitching in in different ways. I think, as I always do in extraordinary situations, what could we do together beyond disaster?
16. Three days into this, and I’ve forgotten what I was doing before the quake. Francisco says I should take a shower. I’ve been sitting in front of the computer or on the phone for 13 hours today.
Vigil in a Haitian neighborhood in Brooklyn
17. Coordinating well-meaning people gets complicated. From the outside, it’s hard to see how much work it takes to put together something as simple as getting donations to a warehouse. Everyone wants an answer now. Answering now is not possible.
18. When it’s night, I don’t sleep well. My last thought is of the Bresma kids, sleeping in a yard. Under other circumstances, there might be something adventurous about that. Under these circumstances, it’s terrifying.
19. And that’s why I say to Francisco before we fall asleep one night–which night?– “I just can’t imagine. I’m torn up over it.” I can’t even say “the babies,” our 3.5 month old daughter sleeping soundly between us. “You’ve got to stop,” he says, reaching over and touching my hair. He means to stop thinking about it. It. The babies.
20. We have mobilized thousands of people to take tangible action. It’s exhilirating. It’s complicated.
21. It’s been two weeks and two days since the quake. I was waiting to end this with some hopeful note. So far, I’m not sure what that would be.
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14 Comments... join the discussion!
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Thanks, Julie, for sharing your perspective. I think so many people have felt like their hands are tied, but you have had that front-row ticket. I know it would be so hard for me to put in the amount of energy you have and to get blocked in different ways by different people.
Sometimes, I think about how many lives in general red tape (along with the money behind it) has cost over the years, the towns, the countries. I can understand how order is necessary in a way, but it seems so often to just cause more disorder. And pain. And death.
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I’m one of those people who would love so much to go down and help. I have no money to get myself down there and right now I have no job (until April)… so I’m sitting in Ohio w/ nothing to do and I am strong – wishing w/ all my might I could use what I do have to go and help rebuild, dig people out of rubble, smile at people……. anything that might help.
Reading this, it’s nice to know I am not alone in wanting to help. Sometimes seems like all people want to do is throw money at a problem. When sometimes, it takes more than just money.
By the way, do you know of any organizations that are sending people who have time to help???
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Kirsten-
Thanks for your comment. Matador is actually working with partner organizations on the ground in Haiti, including Partners in Health, and you can fill out an online volunteer form here:
https://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?hl=en&formkey=dFF0bEhXNGE2SnZsWjBDbldxZE5kOFE6MA
At present, they’re prioritizing medically trained volunteers, but other opportunities are likely to open up in the coming weeks and months, and we’ll keep providing updates here.
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Thanks so much for taking us along on this heart-wrenching journey. Can’t even put into words how much you and all your efforts are sincerely appreciated.
What an emotionally draining two weeks!
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It will continue to be an uphill battle. Thank you for all your hard work.
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Julie, we’ve spoken, and I empathize. I haven’t had to deal with this level of stress, in fact any thing anywhere near it, but I get it.
On a more happy note, the Haiti Volunteer Project has offered to take us to Haiti with them over our dates. It will cost about 500 per volunteer, plus the ticket to Haiti, but I think it’s worth it, and do-able.
One thing, thank you for responding. Even that little response was just another piece of encouragement to me. I was going to send you an email saying thank you, but I want people to know how much I appreciate what you are doing.
Also, David, thank you for taking the chance you did on my email to you, and forwarding it to Julie.
I’ll keep you updated on what our plans exactly are.
Julie, this is little consolation for all the time and effort you have put into this, but know that somewhere, someone has benefited from it. That’s what is important in this sort of effort, that you know that you are helping people, even if you feel like you’re not.
With kind regards and immense appreciation,
Jared from Iowa↵ -
Jared-
Thanks for taking the time to share these kind words; I really appreciate them.
I happened to finish writing this up after listening to the news this morning, which was pretty depressing, what with worries about the human trafficking of orphaned kids, etc., so I ended this piece on a not so hopeful note.
But the truth is that I feel a great sense of hope and possibility, and particularly because of people like you.
Please keep us posted about your work; we’d love to feature your stories here.
Peace,
Julie↵ -
So meaningful to get this inside look, Julie. Thank you.
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Thanks for these notes Julie and bringing us, in an intimate way, along the journey the last few weeks. The raw emotion in your words made me tear up.
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Wow. Julie. I can’t express how you’ve touched me with your incredible compassion and love. Thanks for this.The recovery efforts after a massive disaster like this require passion and a lot of dedicated work. Thank you for all you’ve done. If I can help, please let me know.
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Amazing…a great insight on your thoughts and daily activities.
“5. “Logistics” is a word I’ll avoid using for a long time. ” – I think I completely understand and agree with you on this point -_- enough is enough.
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Incredibly powerful writing. I can completely relate to a lot of your feelings. Being in Miami, in Little Haiti, hearing all the people around me eager to hear from relatives, and being present when they finally get the dire news. Seeing them work through their tears, gathering up supplies and personnel and and feeling that momentary hope when you see it finally head out. But all the while I’m standing there still feeling like it’s not enough, like it’s never enough, like even in the worst of circumstances governments, and interests, and self-obsession trump our desire to reach out in solidarity.
Yet, I am humbled. Humbled by people like you, who offer glimpses of humanity, and remind me that I can be doing even more. Thank you for all your hard (and often frustrating) work.
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Thank you Gabriela- I feel so humbled by you and your work, too, and I was so happy to meet you recently.
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