Tande’m non souple is an evocative lamentation that highlights the suffering and resilience of the Haitian people in the face of neglect and global indifference. The poet confronts the pain of the people with the moral failure of leaders who should do something to help but appear undisturbed by the situation. Yet, in spite of this grim reality, the poet ends with a note of hope, highlighting the indomitable spirit of Haitians who still dare to dream of a brighter tomorrow.

TANDE'M NON SOUPLE

To the strident cry of agony of a people repeated a thousand times by the wailing of its kneeling sons
To the various signs of distress sent out for far too long, day and night
No sympathetic ear willing to listen
No intelligence sharp enough to grasp the severity of an evil that reaches right down to the gut
No heart tender enough to sympathize with this ineffable pain
No friendly hand to rescue us, sustaining our gaze towards infinite blessedness
No neighbouring shoulder to bolster the haggard, staggering, dying wounded one
No watchful, empathetic eye to help us mourn our deceased
No muscles of solidarity to help bury the eternal casualties of this macabre story.

In full view of the West, self-proclaimed champion of human rights
In the living rooms of the good people of so-called civilized societies
On the lost page of the newspaper that comes with the coffee of white-tie bureaucrats
On the de-socializing and defraternizing social networks
Haiti is no longer an exotic product; it’s no longer that
It’s tiring, it’s disgusting, it’s repugnant, it’s infuriating, it’s disturbing and it’s becoming invisible.
Questions are certainly raised from time to time
But that’s just to avoid the answers that make the 3 p.m. coffee bitter
One wants to move on to something else right away.

At the reception villa, it’s contempt, iniquity, indolence, or worse, it’s the shamelessness, the brazenness
It’s the height of ugliness, visible in faces, gestures and postures
It’s the struggle for power that's nothing but parody, gesticulation and illusion
It’s the unbridled race to plunder what’s left of the coffers
They are the very last finishing blows to the hopes of an entire people.
These are unnatural alliances to the detriment of the interests of the valiant and peaceful majority
This is a mixture of cynicism, incompetence and blindness
It’s the sordid agreement, the ruthless ‘griyen dan’ to maintain a ‘status’ that is no longer ‘quo’.
It’s the little arrangements between cunning people to while away time, drinking this imported whisky, perhaps too exquisite for palates still rebellious and too accustomed to bakara.

In the meantime, a whole people, a beautiful people, is languishing and dying
Of a violent, brutal, infamous, premature and unburied death
A people who deserve better than their morally repugnant leaders and elites
A people forgotten, outraged and betrayed by their sons, friends and neighbours
A people misunderstood, misperceived, unseen and unloved
A people tired, exhausted, at the end of their strength, and whose prayer is nothing but howling and moaning
A people disfigured, crucified, chopped up, decapitated, butchered, cowardly shot and thrown to the slaughter
But a people who, in the depths of their graves, dare to reject death as a common fate and fatal destination
For, it is a people whose Liberator has not yet pronounced the final verdict, despite the tasteless quibbles of the constant inquisitors.

Fr Jean Denis SAINT-FÉLIX, SJ
Sunday, 17 November 2024