by Juda Engelmayer

Driving through the ruined streets all we saw was poverty

We decided not to give the food to any local agency, but to go directly to the people

he airport was practically deserted. There was no customs office, and no immigration officer to stamp our passports. Only broken glass, broken walls and broken light fixtures. The United States military controlled the landing field, which made us feel safe as we were leaving the plane.

Outside the airport, every building looked like a shanty, every street was torn up by massive potholes. There were no taxis. The van I was in was beat up, uncomfortable and stank of exhaust fumes. It was one of the better vehicles on the road.

Driving through the ruined streets all we saw was poverty. Tremendous numbers of people milling about, with children playing all around the adults. The palm trees and beautiful mountainsides could not obscure the fact that every home was riddled with holes, the marks of old and recent violence. Nor could the fresh flowers growing throughout the country hide the smell of garbage strewn everywhere, or the sight of sickly dogs rummaging in the heaps. The weather was hot, but this was no Caribbean Paradise. Welcome to Haiti.

The damage and despair and filth did not just happen overnight in Haiti.

The brightest spot, the cleanest and whitest spot, was right in the center of Port-au-Prince; The president's palace. The trees looked sturdy, the grass was nicely mowed and the building genuinely beautiful.

But right outside the palace gates there were broken cars, burned-out hotels, closed shops and massive hopelessness. It was hard to see that and believe that anyone has been looking out for these people for any amount of time.

We decided not to give the food we brought with us to any local agency, but to go directly to the people. It was not hard to find thousands upon thousands of people running and waiting and some even pushing to grab some potatoes, beans and chocolate. The moment the trucks began rumbling down the streets, loaded with 50 lb. bags of potatoes, and boxes of macaroni, oatmeal and grains, people were following them. By the time the head of GPI said his prayer atop one of the trucks, thousands of people anxiously waited for the distribution to begin.

It got a little dangerous, some fights broke out, but there were no injuries and almost everyone who had come down was given something.

A small child approached me, his shirt pulled out in front of him forming a sack and holding potatoes and cans, and asked if I would pay him a dollar for each potato.

We met with the Prime Minister, Yvon Neptune. When we asked him what were his priorities for the people of Haiti, his immediate response was, "Food. My people need food." The strain in his voice was obvious.

All the media in Haiti were trying to tell a story, with a rebel, a president on the run, and daily bloodshed and turmoil. But the president and his administration had abandoned the people of Haiti long ago, and our own government never truly cared how the people were fairing.

We've learned from Middle East coverage that sound bites and violence make the story, while reality rarely gets an audience. Here too, the everyday pain Haitians have faced for countless years was never interesting enough for our media.

I met a man the American government and media painted as a monster, rebel leader Guy Philippe. He came to our hotel on our first day, wearing black military garb and surrounded by dozens of men in camouflage fatigues, carrying rifles. The very next day he came wearing a blue polo shirt and jeans, with one man by his side, who carried only a small handgun in his pocket.

Philippe is a passionate man who cries when he talks about what he is doing. He is immensely popular on the streets, and is clearly no monster, just a man who was pushed too far.

Philippe pointed to the terrible conditions throughout the country, and asked if any of us believed that this was all just the result of a two-week revolt against the president.

To prove his commitment to peace and a better life, Philippe announced that he was disarming and called on his supporters to disarm. On the last day we were there, he and his men helped us distribute the remaining food and supplies to a very orderly crowd of thousands. They cheered him, they chanted Philippe for president, and prayed.

Juda Engelmayer is board member of Seward Park Housing Corporation