25743: Haiti: College in a Country That Struggles to Survive (fwd)

[Bob Corbett <corbetre@webster.edu>]

From: Max Blanchet <MaxBlanchet@worldnet.att.net>

 The Chronicle of Higher Education
 http://chronicle.com
 Section: International
 Volume 51, Issue 46, Page A26

 College in a Country That Struggles to Survive

 Haiti's main university faces poverty, violence, and a long line of
students
 eager to attend

 By MARION LLOYD
Port-au-Prince, Haiti

 Wilson Jean Jr.'s eyes flash with excitement as he describes the heady
months
 when he and other student leaders orchestrated the downfall of Haiti's
former
 president, Jean-Bertrand Aristide.

 They led giant marches through the capital against Mr. Aristide, whose
 perceived meddling in university affairs triggered two years of
antigovernment
 protests. They braved police gunfire and tear gas. And they poured into the
streets in celebration after Mr. Aristide fled into exile in February 2004.

 But a year later, that euphoria has been replaced by something more
familiar:
 the struggle for mere survival.

 "Ask me how I eat every day," says Mr. Jean, a 26-year-old sociology major
at
 the State University of Haiti. Like many of the more than 10,000 students
at
 the country's main institution of higher education, he comes from a family
 where just getting enough to eat is a daily battle. His parents -- both of
whom
 are illiterate -- make a few dollars a day selling scrap metal on the
street.
 So Mr. Jean was forced to drop out of school for several years to help
support
 his younger siblings. He has no money for books and can barely afford
 photocopies, the main source of reading material for most students.

 But he is not complaining. "You have to learn from the poverty and misery
to
 see how you'll fight against it," he says.

 Meanwhile, life in the classroom goes on, with broken equipment, poorly
paid
 teachers, and a curriculum that seems lifted out of 1950s France.

 With an annual per capita income of just $425, Haiti is by far the poorest
 nation in the Western Hemisphere. More than two-thirds of adults lack
steady
 employment. Life expectancy is 49 years. Half of this Caribbean country's
eight
 million people are illiterate.

 For many poor Haitians, the State University, which is free, represents
their
 one shot at a better life. A college degree is a prerequisite for
government
 jobs, usually the only professional positions available to poor Haitians.
 College graduates also have a better chance of getting visas to work or
study in
 the United States and Canada. As a result, competition for seats at the
State
 University is fierce. Nearly 10,000 students vied for 2,000 new places last
 year, according to the university's rector, Pierre Marie Paquiot. (The
 university, whose different departments are scattered on campuses around
the capital and in several other cities, is so disorganized that
administrators gave widely varying enrollment figures; estimates of total
enrollment ranged from 10,000 to 15,000 students.)

 "It's a huge privilege to be able to study in Haiti," says Rachelle Elien,
 26, a communications major, as she hangs out with friends in the
trash-strewn
 courtyard of the university's humanities campus.

 The campus, in the heart of the capital, has the look of an untended
 farmyard. Chickens roam freely under groves of banana trees. The
"cafeteria," a dusty patch of ground under a plastic tarp, offers plates of
rice and beans for 70
 cents to those who can afford them.

 But the campus is an oasis compared with the city outside, where vendors
 spill into the traffic-choked streets, mountains of rotting garbage block
 intersections, and armed street gangs terrorize residents.

 Ousting Mr. Aristide

 The campus is also a bastion of political activism. It was here that
students
 devised creative ways to topple Mr. Aristide, such as staging mock funerals
 for the president.

 More than a decade after sweeping to power with a landslide victory in
1990,
 Mr. Aristide remains Haiti's most divisive figure. Now in exile in South
 Africa, he is reportedly plotting to return. His supporters, mostly
uneducated slum residents, see him as a champion of the poor, while his
detractors, largely
middle-class Haitians and intellectuals, view him as a corrupt autocrat who
 used populist rhetoric to disguise his thirst for power.

 Many students felt betrayed by Mr. Aristide, a former Roman Catholic
priest,
 whose election was supposed to mark a new era of democracy after decades of
 dictatorship and who had vowed to take radical steps to fight poverty.

 Critics say Mr. Aristide squandered that historic opportunity by becoming
 mired in power struggles. A military coup forced him to spend most of his
first
 term in exile. He was later barred by the Constitution from seeking
re-election
 until 2000, when he returned to power in elections tarred by allegations of
 fraud and with a much smaller base of support.

 Rather than build social programs, Mr. Aristide moved to silence his
critics,
 particularly the students, who responded by throwing themselves into the
 antigovernment movement with particular zeal.

 In return, they became the target of Mr. Aristide's supporters, who saw the
 students as elitist troublemakers. On December 5, 2003, an armed mob
shouting
 "Aristide for king" raided the humanities campus, wounding several dozen
 students and ransacking the main administration building, according to
witnesses.  When Mr. Paquiot, the rector, tried to intervene on the
students' behalf, thugs broke his kneecaps with iron bars.

 'December Massacre'

 Today the so-called December massacre is memorialized in the graffiti that
 cover the faculty building's crumbling concrete walls and in the bullet
holes in
 the gate, which students have circled in blood-red paint.

 "Aristide wanted to control everything in the country, and he was
controlling
 almost everything except the State University of Haiti," says Mr. Paquiot,
a
 soft-spoken mathematician who opposed the Aristide government. "He had to
 control the poor people, and also the people who can think."

 The simmering tensions between Mr. Aristide and the students erupted in
July
 2002, when the federal education minister, Marie Carmel Paul-Austin, sacked
 Mr. Paquiot. Arguing that the rector's four-year term had expired, she
appointed
 a replacement who was more sympathetic to Mr. Aristide.

 But students responded with huge protests at what they saw as an invasion
of
 the university's autonomy, prompting the interim rector to resign five
months
 later. The university council held elections in 2003, when Mr. Paquiot was
 overwhelmingly chosen for another term.

 By then, however, the antigovernment protests had spread nationwide,
 eventually triggering an armed rebellion against Mr. Aristide.

 "In any poor country, the state university is very important," says Mr.
 Paquiot, sitting in his shabby, heavily guarded office here. "It gives the
country
 most of its professionals, 90 percent of its doctors, engineers, lawyers,
 deputies, congressmen, and presidents, the people who are the leaders in
this
 country."

 The State University plays a particularly important role in Haiti, given
the
 dearth of options for higher education. The first private universities
opened
 their doors in the late 1980s. But most students cannot afford to pay the
 $1,500 annual tuition at the University of Notre Dame and Quiskeya
University, the premier private institutions.

 In fact, for most Haitians, just coming up with money for books and
supplies
 is a major challenge.

 Julien Sainvil, another sociology major at the State University,
demonstrates
 how he plans to fulfill the week's homework assignments by pouring out the
 contents of his red vinyl backpack. They include: a history textbook
borrowed
 from a friend; another textbook that he bought for $2 on the street, from
money
 he makes tutoring young children; and a tattered notebook, which he shares
 with his cousin. (Mr. Sainvil writes in the last of the notebook's three
 sections.)

 "There is no economic planning for students," Mr. Sainvil says. "They just
 take it day by day."

 The same might be said for the university itself. Its annual budget of
 $7.4-million is barely enough to cover salaries for its 800 professors, of
whom just 60 are full time, according to Mr. Paquiot. The little money for
equipment
 and maintenance comes from donations, such as a $200,000 grant in October
from the Taiwanese government.

 Most of the international aid agencies in Haiti are more concerned with
 combating hunger and violence than with supporting higher education. So
 administrators must work even harder to convince potential donors that
their money will go to good use. Mr. Paquiot plans to use the grant from
Taiwan to buy computers and to outfit a science laboratory that will be
shared among departments. But he acknowledges that he needs millions of
dollars more to equip the other labs and buy library books for each of the
university's 11 faculties.

 He also hopes to expand the graduate programs. Currently, there are about
100
 master's-degree students, who are pursuing degrees in population studies,
 development, and computer science. The university offers no Ph.D. programs,
but does have a medical school, whose students receive valuable clinical
practice treating the many health problems of local residents.

 "It's not a real university," says Jean Claude Bajeux, a prominent
political
 analyst who has a Ph.D. in romance literature from Princeton University.
 "There are no libraries or labs. The concept of a university professor
doesn't even exist here. It's like a side job."

 With the few full-time professors earning a meager $1,000 a month, the
 university has trouble finding instructors at all, particularly in areas
like
 medicine and science. Most of the country's graduates have left the country
for
 Canada and the United States, where they earn more than 10 times as much.
The
 brain drain is particularly acute at the medical school. Of the 70 students
who
 finish their internships each year, 60 leave the country, according to
 administrators.

 "Most people who study here want to leave, because there is no future for
 young people in Haiti," says Richard Gaston, a sixth-year student, as he
tends to
 patients at a government eye clinic. "People go to medical school so they
 will have a chance to leave. That's why they apply."

 Students on the Front Lines

 Ironically, the acute shortage of doctors in Haiti is part of the reason
why
 its medical-school graduates are so well regarded in the United States and
 Canada. During their final year of school, the students are thrust onto the
front
 lines of the chaotic University Hospital, where they treat everything from
 gunshot wounds to AIDS. They also see diseases that have largely
disappeared
 from the developed world, such as leprosy and lymphatic filariasis, a
gruesome
 sickness that causes elephantiasis of the limbs and genitals.

 As the country's main public medical center, the hospital is technically
 free. But patients are expected to buy all necessary supplies, such as
suture
 material and bandages. Those who cannot pay for the supplies will not
receive
 treatment. The eye clinic, one of the best-equipped areas of the hospital,
lacks
 gloves, antibiotics, even disinfectant. So Mr. Gaston brings his own
supplies,
 as well as maintaining a stock of sample antibiotics from pharmaceutical
 companies to give poor patients. But those efforts are often insufficient.

 "Every day I see patients I can't help," he says. He glances uneasily at a
 young woman with a grotesquely swollen face who is lying on a concrete
bench
 outside the eye clinic. She moans softly, as blood gushes freely from her
nose.
 "I can't say, Go somewhere else, because there is nowhere else to go," he
says.
 "The person will just stay there until either they get the antibiotic or
die."

 Mr. Gaston gives the example of a 13-year-old boy with kidney failure.
Since
 the hospital's sole dialysis machine was broken, the boy waited three days
for
 treatment. He died one hour before the machine was finally fixed.

 The shortage of money also shows in the facilities at the Faculty of
Medicine
 and Pharmacy. "Just look at this place. It's depressing," says Fritz de la
 Fuente, the faculty's assistant dean. He walks down a hallway with peeling
 yellow paint, past a chemistry lab with 1960s microscopes, many of which
are
 missing parts. The equipment was donated by the U.S. government in 1970.

 Other academics fault what they view as the university's outdated
curriculum.

 "Here, education is just about copying examples from abroad," says Ary
Regis,
 dean of students at the Humanities Faculty. "It's almost impossible to
apply
 what they learn here." He notes that most professors assign textbooks on
 sociology or history imported from other countries -- primarily France and
Canada -- rather than incorporating material from Haiti itself.

 Queuing Up for a Ticket Out

 Despite such concerns, the university has no shortage of applicants, who
view
 a college education as their only escape from poverty. Most will be
 disappointed. While the number of high-school graduates has grown from
about 15,000 in  the 1980s to 40,000 last year, the university's enrollment
has risen by only a few thousand, says Guy Serge Pompilus, a prominent
Haitian mathematician at the university who has worked with the World Bank
on education reform.

 Even taking into account the private universities, the total number of
 available spots for first-year students last year was about 4,000, he says.
Of the
 36,000 high-school graduates who failed to gain admission to a college or
 university last year, a few thousand traveled abroad to study. Most end up
at the
 Autonomous University of Santo Domingo, in the neighboring Dominican
Republic, where the cost of living is even lower than in Port-au-Prince. But
many others have no choice but to keep applying in Haiti.

 "You have something building up," Mr. Pompilus says of the growing
 frustration. "And it's going to burst if we don't do something about it."

 Reform Attempts

 The problem has its roots in a failed education reform effort of the late
 1970s. Bowing to international pressure, the country's former dictator,
 Jean-Claude Duvalier, embarked on a program designed to make education more
accessible to the impoverished masses. Previously, the only Haitians to
attend high school or college were the children of professionals who had
studied in France. But with the population explosion of the 1960s and 1970s,
a growing number of Haitians moved to the cities to find work. And for the
first time, they began sending their children to school.

 Mr. Duvalier appointed Joseph Bernard, a Haitian who had worked with Unesco
 in Africa, to head up his reform project. At first, the signs were
promising.
 The government passed a law in 1979 that made Creole the main language of
 instruction at the primary level, rather than French, the country's other
official
 language, which is spoken fluently by only 10 percent of the population. A
 year later, Haiti's parliament passed the Education Reform Law, which,
among
 other things, sought to create a new education system that would serve the
goal of development.

 But neither law was ever fully enforced. Nor did the government provide
funds
 to help expand the public education system, says Guy Alexandre, an academic
 and former diplomat who was involved in the reform project. Instead, he
says,
 Mr. Duvalier worked to sabotage the program, which he saw as a threat to
his
 power.

 Since then, there have been no genuine efforts at education reform in
Haiti.

 In the face of so many obstacles, many Haitians stubbornly hang on to hope.
 "The crisis is an opportunity for higher education in Haiti," says Mr.
 Pompilus, the mathematician. He is optimistic that at least some of Haiti's
two
 million exiles will decide to return home following Mr. Aristide's
departure. "All
 it takes are a few thousand professionals, and we can start training people
 here," he says.

 Mr. Pompilus, who spent nine years as a technical adviser to the World Bank
 in Chad and Niger, argues that there are many retired Haitians living in
Africa
 who would relish the opportunity to come home. "Can we reverse this trend?"
 he says. "Yes, we can."

 Others say the university itself should play a more active role in
promoting
 development, by training its students to work on the problems of developing
 nations. And while students still often see a college degree as a ticket
out of
 Haiti, that may be changing in the wake of the protest movement, with many
 students -- like Mr. Jean, whose activism helped bring about Mr. Aristide's
 downfall -- saying they hope to stay and help rebuild the country.

 "As a poor university, it should be the catalyst for the transformation of
 society," says Mr. Jean. He tugs on his khaki beret, excited at the
thought.
 Even against such odds, he believes change is possible.

 He has seen it happen before.
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------


 See also: Haitian students back on the streets - Charles Arthur, 10 June
2005
 http://haitisupport.gn.apc.org/whats_new_index.html

 ______________

 Forwarded as a service of the Haiti Support Group - solidarity with the
 Haitian people's struggle for human rights, participatory democracy and
equitable  development - since 1992.

 www.haitisupport.gn.apc.org