The Meet and Greet
Chapter 7
Francois Armand was his name and my contact in Haiti. We’d met at the bar of the Le Trois Tables restaurant in Petionville, the moderately wealthy suburb in the hills that looked down on Port-au-Prince, geographically and otherwise. It was the sanctuary for the diplomatic corps, expat businessmen and others who could afford to live there in relative luxury. It was also a breath of fresh air.
There was no need for secret handshakes or code words or any other spy-craft rigmarole. The Monte Cristo cigar he held, with its band still in place, said it all. He was a mulatto, a product of miscegenation as some might suggest. A woman with his skin coloration would be referred to as a high yellow a hundred or so years ago. Mulattos were a common sight in Haiti given the intermingling of bloodlines between the European slave owners and slaves and later within the general population. As to me, I’d stick out like a sore, white thumb in downtown Port-au-Prince.
“Welcome to Haiti my friend! My name’s Francois, but my friends call me Frank since I hold both Haitian and United States citizenship thanks to my parents. I decided to stay in Haiti to help my countrymen with their miseries, although sometimes I feel like Sisyphus trying to roll the bolder up the hill only to have it roll back again,” he laughed. “But I still do my best and sleep well at night. My nominal job is an advisor to the U.S. Agency for International Development,” offering an exaggerated wink when he said it.
***
So, there was a spook in the woodpile, so to speak. I’d suspected as much when Jersey handed me his name. Regardless, I thought he’d make an excellent guide and partner. His knowledge of the local scene and fluency in French, English and Creole would likely serve us well in the investigation. And his facility in those languages trumped my iffy American in spades.
He was likely a contract employee, but perhaps a direct-hire case officer with the CIA. I didn’t bother to ask. It was much too early to become that intimate. I’d learn later when he was ready to tell me. However, my pedigree was an open book. So I delivered my brief spiel. There were no prying ears sitting close by so we were free to speak.
“I’m Richard Avery, Dick to my family and friends. No jokes please. I’ve heard them all before.”
He laughed, but I didn’t see anything funny. I then ordered drinks; a Zombie for him and a Cuba Libre for me. I still could be a Pollyannaish optimist. I knew I’d be picking up the tab so I ordered a second one before I finished the first. He did the same. It seemed we were both two-fisted drinkers.
“My charge from the big suits in the State Department is to figure out exactly what the Cubans are doing to us and put a stop to it tuit de suit.”
That was about the extent of my French. And that was pretty much the extent of my understanding of what was going on here as well. A little bit of knowledge was a dangerous thing as the old saying goes. If true, I was in big trouble already.
“Frank, that’s where you come into this murky picture as my guide, confidante and partner to counter the Cuban operation targeting the embassy’s local staff.”
“Dick, you have much to learn about my country and how its recent history has neatly played into the hands of the Cubans. The background will give context to what’s happening and why it’s so damn effective. It’s actually a devious, brilliant scheme. The Cuban intelligence operatives did their homework by using the powers of voodoo against us to further its goal of disrupting diplomatic relations.”
“Let’s grab a table and order dinner because this is going to take awhile to explain and I’m famished.” Famished must be another frou-frou French word for hungry, I thought. Jersey wasn’t going to be pleased with the numbers on my expense voucher. Then again, he was dyslexic so maybe I was safe.
The smoke from his cigar and my Marlboro wafted through the air. Smoking was allowed and I appreciated the laissiez-faire attitude of the restaurant. That was French for who gives a shit. At least that’s what I believed and I was grateful to the owner.
“The recent history of my country has been fraught with dictators, repression and the most deplorable human rights abuses imaginable. Papa Doc Duvalier was the president of our nation and, during his regime, a reign of terror existed that is almost indescribable. 30 years of his rule ran this country into the ground through intimidation and violence by his paramilitary force, the Tonton Macutes. Bribery, extortion and corruption at all levels of his government were the order of the day. It was all about money and power and nothing else. To that end, it was a matter of keeping the populace in line and profiting from their misery. Anyone threatening or challenging Papa Doc‘s authority would simply disappear, never to be seen again, at least alive. During his dictatorship, an estimated 50,000 of our people died by his hands, although no one knows the actual number so it may be much higher.”
Our New York strip steaks arrived with sides of au gratin potatoes and tossed green salads. No surprise, a dollop of French dressing topped the salads. Both Frank and I thought the steaks were superb and found out later that a purveyor in New York flew in the meats for the restaurant. I ordered another Cuba Libre, but Frank passed. Thank God I didn’t have to drive and was being comped by good ole Uncle Sam.
Frank continued his monolog.
“The Tonton Macoutes reported directly to Papa Doc and later to his son Baby Doc. They were a force unto themselves with the freedom to do as they wished. The Haitians nicknamed the goon squad after the Creole translation of a myth, about an uncle who steals and punishes unruly children by snaring them in a bag and carrying them off to be eaten later. Nice fable, huh!”
“Consequently, these torturers, kidnapers and extortionists were feared not only by children, but also by the country’s general population, as well as by opposition members and businessmen unwilling to make enforced pay-offs to the authorities. The militia consisted mostly of illiterate fanatics who were converted into ruthless zombie-like gunmen. Their uniform manner of dress, with the straw hats, blue shirts, dark glasses and machetes, remain indelibly etched in the minds of millions of my people to this day. The visceral fear, the terrible memories instilled into the psyches of the Haitians, still resonate throughout our society. And they are real, palatable ones for those who suffered through those years of repression and terror.”
“So where does voodoo come into play in this docudrama of terror?” Frank rhetorically asked.
Thank God, it was only a rhetorical question since I didn’t know the answer.
“A key feature of the Macoutes terrorizing was that some of its most important members were voodoo leaders, the belief system currently practiced by roughly half of our country’s population. The religious affiliation gave them a sense of supernatural authority in the eyes of the public, allowing them to perform horrific acts without any consequence from the Haitian authorities or general populace. What this means is that the Macoutes were part of a conscious strategy to intertwine the spiritual forces with nationalism. Their twin goal was to foster unquestionable loyalty to Duvalier while instilling fear in his opponents. From their methods to their choice of clothes, voodoo always played an important role in their actions.”
“However, despite the religious nature of voodoo, the facts, as well as the numbers, speak for themselves. These merciless killers murdered thousands of Haitians and many more were forced to flee their homes. Consequently, Haiti suffered a crippling brain drain that robbed our small country of many of its most educated citizens.”
“The militia created a sense of fear through continuous threats against the public as well as frequent public executions. The Macoutes often stoned and burned people alive, regularly following such rites their bodies were hung in the street as a warning to the population at large. The grisly acts were very effective in keeping the people in line. And that was the sole intent of the gruesome charade.”
“The Macoutes no longer exist except in the memories of the people. We now have other repressors to deal with. Crime, poverty, sickness and corruption are the main ones, along with Mother Nature’s occasional cruel tricks.”
Frank finished his story along with his coffee. It was time to call it a night. He thanked me for dinner and drinks and we arranged to next meet at my hotel to finish the briefing. There was much more to tell. We also had to come up with a plan of action, something to counter the Cuban’s mischief. Before leaving, he mentioned something else. It was both ironic and sad.
“Dick, Haiti was the first nation in the Caribbean to break the chains of colonialism and free its people from slavery. Liberty, equality and fraternity is the official motto of both France and Haiti. We still have to live up to those ideals and I hope to play some minor role in making those things a reality.”
“Bonsoir! .”