Of pride, nationalism and materialism

GONAIVES, Haiti -- Almost each morning at 8 o'clock, after they have been in school for an hour, the more than 1,000 students at Holy Family gather in the concrete yard.

They line up for morning prayer, read by two students through a megaphone. Then the students turn, stand at attention and robustly sing the Haitian national anthem as the flag is raised near the church. It is a sight almost paramilitary in its precision. Students, dressed in their uniforms, police each other into forming neat lines and showing respect.

Later in the day, I talked with a couple of students about their country. I simply asked how they felt about it: One woman said, "I would die for my country."

I was asked what I thought about the United States. I said that I, too, loved my country, though as I get older, I am less nationalistic than I was even 10 years ago. I said, after September 11, I had a profound regret that I never had served in the U.S. military; in the last hour, I had declined a Navy ROTC college scholarship coming out of high school. "My country has done much good, and I am grateful for the many opportunities I have had," I said. "But I think we can do more good and less harm because we have been so wildly blessed."

There's nothing like being out of the United States for a while to make an American examine the culture at home. I have a very difficult time reconciling how much I have as a white male American, well-educated and well-employed, when so many in my own country and the rest of the world have far less -- and, to be honest, the ones I see suffering the most do not have my skin color. As a Christian captivated by the Catholic teaching of social justice, I can't help but know I will be judged for what I have done with the many gifts I have received.

I know I was caught up on the treadmill of material possessions, some of it not by my choosing.

Beginning what I hope is just the second half of my life as a divorced father of three, I want to do a better job of showing my children that material wealth for the sake of itself is a ruse. It does not bring happiness or peace. Less truly is more. I think of the bumper sticker I see sometimes, but not frequently, in Cincinnati: "Live simply so others simply may live." Never have those words made so much sense to me than the past week.

I do not know how an American can not consider that our domination of the planet's natural resources does not affect the rest of the world. Why can we not see ourself more of a world citizen and less as the world's policeman? Is the everyday Iraqi citizen better off now than three years ago? I don't know.

I am spending my nights in a guest house adjacent to a school and my day's in the Trou Sable slum of Gonaives. I am sleeping tonight in the house -- one without electricity or plumbing -- with one of the slum families that befriended me. Their only condition was I have to be inside before dark, so they can lock their gate, and I can not leave before dawn.

As I look around, there is much natural beauty in the country. The rugged, tan-and-brown mountains that ring Gonaives contrast sharply with the blue sky. The sun sets slowly behind the mountains each night. Driving north from Port-au-Prince last week, I saw to my west the sky blend into the water in a single shade of pale blue, interrupted only by a sweep of white clouds.

There is a wealthy class in Haiti, but it is very small. A recent statistic I saw said that one percent of Haiti's population controls at least 50 percent of the nation's wealth.

My mind is darting from thought to thought, and I realize they seem disconnected.

Johnny is the father of six -- two of his eight children died as babies -- in one of the three families I have gotten to know well in the past eight days. Two of his children live in the countryside with his mother and help her farm. Johnny is a bricklayer, a mason by trade, a professional, literate, educated man who built his own three-room house. Yet he struggles each day to acquire enough food to provide his family with one meal. Four of his children and adult sister live with Johnny and his wife.

"The hardest thing is when one of the children says they are hungry," he said.

He also said, when asked about being a Haitian, "The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer."

I am living in the moment here. I think only about my children. What will I take with me from Haiti this time? Will my behavior change? I probably should not be thinking aloud in electronic print.

The normal cries of children sound more anguished here. I have seen no toys in the three homes I have been invited into -- though there are 10, five and four children living in those houses.

I can't help but internalize Johnny's words: I complain about so many things. I am hyper-competitive on the job.

I compare my attitude to the kindness I have witnessed and experienced among the poorest Haitians. One man, fortunate, he said, to have a well on his property, lets his neighbors come and go with as much water as they wish. His name his Fritz, and I will be his guest tonight.

Johnny said friends will lend him a few Haitian dollars (the exchange rate is about $7 Haitian for $1 U.S.), so he can buy some rice and cooking oil.

Very few people, even in the slum, have asked me for anything. Most have befriended me and polite greetings and smiles. Every now and then, a child or elderly person will say, "Blanc, you are my friend, I am hungry." Three times women have offered me their infants to take as I walk past. "Blanc, I have a baby for you."

For the most part, in a country where a series of governments have largely abandoned their people -- there are no public schools, for example; religious organizations, mostly the Catholic Church, fund education -- there is a great sense or order where there might only seem chaos. Even the poorest of the poor have great pride in their public appearance. Men wears shirts with collars and khaki pants -- with a belt, always a belt -- and leather shoes. There are few sneakers and jeans; 99 percent of the women would not be seen outside of their home in slacks or shorts. Skirts are the cultural norm.

There is change in the air, and it centers on the young, I have been told. National pride is discussed on the radio. Many young Haitians I have talked with say they are determined to attend college and become professionals -- doctors, nurses, teachers, engineers. Women are gaining more rights in Haitian society. For generations, women have largely served men, they say. Some older Haitian people have said, quietly, so as not to discourage the young, that they had great hopes, too, many years ago.

I greatly respect the people I have come to know here. My mind is filled with words and images. Perhaps my days are too consuming and full to be writing live without an editor.

-- Mark Curnutte