The warring mobs took over several neighborhoods around Port-au-Prince weeks ago, going door to door, raping women and girls, murdering the men, beheading many of the adults and then forcing the newly orphaned children into their ranks.
A woman, Kenide Charles, took cover with her 4-month-old baby under a bed, waiting for the fighting to subside. It never happened and she fled, crossing the gang checkpoints with her son raised above her head, like a human white flag.
This week marks a year since Haitian President Jovenel Moïse was assassinated at his home in one of the capital’s wealthiest neighborhoods, as dozens of cops stepped aside to let the killers through. Many Haitians had no love for the highly unpopular president, but thought his assassination would mark the country’s new low and believed they could climb back up.
Instead, the picture remains grim with an apparent state of lawlessness occurring in parts of the country.
mr. Moïse was murdered in a large-scale plot that ensnared ex-Colombian soldiers, informants for the US Drug Enforcement Administration, and US citizens. A prime suspect in the murder is expected to stand trial in Florida. The international community pledged to help solve the president’s assassination and prevent the crime from adding to a mountain of impunity that has plagued Haiti for centuries.
But the many questions surrounding Mr. Moïse remain unanswered, contributing to a fractured central government and increasing multi-gang dominance.
The violence that recently shook Ms. Charles’ impoverished neighborhood for nearly two weeks in May is a sign of how cruel life is for many Haitians.
“I see no future in Haiti for my children,” said Mrs. Charles, 37. “Even to feed them is a struggle.” Her eldest daughter, Charnide, 9, sat nervously next to her mother, her shoulder-length braids adorned with lavender colored beads.
When Mrs. Charles could finally return to her neighborhood on the outskirts of Haiti’s capital, the entire block where her house once stood had burned to the ground. The corpses of at least 91 victims littered the streets or in their homes, while the attack left behind at least 158 orphans, many of whom were subsequently recruited by gangs, according to the National Human Rights Defense Network, a Port-au-Prince-based rights monitor.
Understand the Assassination of the President of Haiti
President Jovenel Moïse was killed in an attack on his private home on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince on July 7, 2021.
Like many Haitians, Ms. Charles worries that if Mr. Moïse can’t get real justice, what chance does she have of living a life with dignity in a country with one of the highest rates of inequality in the world?
“I live in a country where the president was assassinated,” said Mrs. Charles. “If something like that could happen to a president with all that security, what about me in my house? And if I walk down the street? And my children?”
Two investigations into Mr. Moise’s murder, one by the Haitian government and another by the United States, have resulted in several arrests.
In Haiti, imprisoned suspects in the murder have not been tried, including 18 ex-Colombian soldiers whom many consider pawns in the plot. Judges and clerks in the case have been threatened and told to alter witness statements.
And a prime suspect in the murder — Haitian Prime Minister Ariel Henry — fired government officials who called him in for questioning in the case. Phone records show that Mr Henry has spoken to the man accused of masterminding the murder, Joseph Felix Badio, a former Justice Department official. in the days leading up to and hours after Mr. Moise. The Prime Minister has denied doing anything and Mr Badio remains free. †
A separate US government-led investigation also failed to provide answers, instead raising suspicions of a link between the killers and US intelligence agencies, including the CIA. A prime suspect in the case, Mario Palacios, a former Colombian soldier, was extradited to Florida in January on trial.
The Justice Department stunned observers when it asked the Miami court hearing Mr Palacios’ case to appoint a “classified information security officer” to prevent the suspect’s testimony from being made public because he has a secret link to U.S. intelligence services.
The Drug Enforcement Administration has declined to answer questions about several Haitian suspects in the case who served as the agency’s informants. In May, the Senate Judiciary Committee reprimanded the DEA for failing to respond to questions about her conduct in Haiti.
Justice has also been elusive for the 18 Colombian ex-soldiers imprisoned in Haiti. They have complained of torture by the Haitian police, lack of food and access to showers or bathrooms. The judge in their case has changed five times and the Colombians have not met a lawyer 12 months after their imprisonment.
The Haitian justice minister has not responded to multiple requests for comment.
“Even a judge has not heard them, they have not even been charged,” said Diana Arbelaez, the wife of one of the accused former soldiers.
“There is no evidence because if they had it they would have been charged,” she added.
Ms. Arbelaez said she and other women send food parcels to their husbands in prison with bags to defecate because they are rarely allowed to use latrines and have to defecate on the floor of their cells.
Sandra Bonilla, whose husband is also one of the 18 Colombian inmates, traveled to Haiti late last year to see her husband and said she saw signs of torture, including festering wounds and missing teeth.
The Colombian government argues that since the alleged crimes involving the former soldiers took place in Haiti, they should be tried there, rather than in Colombia.
Colombian Vice President Marta Lucia Ramirez said in an interview that the government was eager for the accused to appear in court, blaming Haiti’s faltering justice system for leaving the men in limbo. She plans to visit the men in prison.
In Haiti, the violence haunting Haitians hit the country’s largest court last month, when a gang took over the courthouse and set files on fire. A month later, the gang is still occupying the court.
For Mrs. Charles, her family’s only windfall was that she had sent her three older children out of the neighborhood just days before the May 1 attack. Their schools were closed for all of April due to violence and she worried their boredom would make them easy prey for the gangs.
The violence that swept through Mrs. Charles’ neighborhood was part of a wave that consumed much of Port-au-Prince in April and May, according to the United Nations, and displaced 16,000 people as internal refugees. The organization added that gang violence forced 1,700 schools in and around the capital to close, forcing about 500,000 children to leave their classrooms. Some schools have been targeted by gangs looking to kidnap students for ransom.
“Extreme violence, including beheadings, the chopping and burning of bodies, and the killing of minors accused of being informants for a rival gang has been reported,” the United Nations said in May.
“Sexual violence, including gang rape of children as young as 10 years old, is also used by armed gang members to terrorize and punish people living in areas controlled by rival gangs,” the UN added.
Many aid organizations say they have had trouble implementing their programs because of the violence, or because gangs demand bribes to work in their territories. If they can enter neighborhoods, they see children struggling.
“When the children’s schools are closed, they have nothing to do and the parents have to work, what happens?” said Judes Jonathas, senior program manager for Mercy Corps in Haiti, one of the largest aid organizations. active in the country. “It’s a huge danger. They’re huge magnets for the gangs.”
Just a few weeks after Mr. Moise, a powerful earthquake shook the country, killing more than 2,000 people.
“There are multiple crises in Haiti,” said Mr Jonathas. “Can you imagine a child growing up in Haiti today, what options will they have in the future? What kind of people will they be?”
Andre Paultre contributed from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, and Genevieve Glatsky and Sofia Villamil contributed from Bogotá, Colombia.
