Peace as an operation of silencing Haitian perspectives

A paz como operação de silenciamento de perspectivas haitianas

Abstract:

Haiti has experienced a series of United Nations interventions, most notably the United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH), which operated from 2004 to 2017. This article examines the diverse perspectives surrounding MINUSTAH, highlighting the support it received from UN agencies and contrasting it with the resistance from social movements opposing what they perceive as foreign domination. I intend to argue here that the Haitian Revolution is a powerful discursive framework that shapes Haitian resistance against international interventions and provides a historical and future-oriented narrative that empowers Haitians to challenge foreign control. The UN’s bureaucratic mechanisms, which aim to stabilize Haiti through peace operations, stand in sharp contrast to the activists’ perspectives on overthrowing an oppressive system linked to colonialism and neoliberalism. While the UN seeks stabilization, Haitian social movements draw on the legacy of the Revolution to advocate radical change, sovereignty, and development beyond institutional channels. This analysis reveals a broader critique of Western notions of freedom, democracy, and development, advocating a more inclusive and emancipatory future for Haiti.

Keywords:
Haiti; United Nations; MINUSTAH; International Cooperation; Haitian Revolution

Resumo:

O Haiti passou por uma série de intervenções das Nações Unidas, com destaque para a Missão das Nações Unidas para a Estabilização no Haiti (MINUSTAH), entre 2004 e 2017. Este artigo examina as diversas perspectivas em torno da Missão, destacando o apoio que recebeu de agências da ONU e de ONGs e contrastando-o com a resistência de movimentos sociais haitianos que se opõem ao que consideram ser mais uma dominação estrangeira. Pretendo argumentar aqui que a Revolução Haitiana é uma poderosa estrutura discursiva que molda a resistência popular contra intervenções internacionais e fornece uma narrativa histórica e orientada para o futuro que capacita os haitianos a desafiar o controle estrangeiro. Os mecanismos burocráticos da ONU, que visam estabilizar o Haiti por meio de operações de paz, contrastam fortemente com as perspectivas dos ativistas sobre a derrubada de um sistema opressivo ligado ao colonialismo e ao neoliberalismo. Enquanto a ONU busca estabilização, os movimentos sociais recorrem ao legado da Revolução para defender mudanças radicais, soberania e desenvolvimento para além dos meios institucionais. Esta análise revela uma crítica mais ampla às noções ocidentais de liberdade, democracia e desenvolvimento, propondo um futuro mais inclusivo e emancipatório para o país.

Palavras-chave:
Haiti; Nações Unidas; MINUSTAH; cooperação internacional; Revolução Haitiana

Introduction

Over the past century, Haiti has repeatedly faced international interventions under the banner of peace. Claiming that Haiti’s internal instability represents a threat¹ to international security, the United Nations (UN) has carried out peace operations in the country and established an administrative landscape to ensure what it considered to be the proper functioning of democratic institutions, based on Western institutionally established criteria. The United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH), which began in 2004, was the most recent militarized peace operation. Throughout its thirteen-year presence, the UN produced hundreds of official documents on planning, monitoring, and evaluation. Concurrently, various sectors of Haitian society published other documents expressing frustration with foreign interference and highlighting the arbitrary nature of the UN mission.

As C. L. R. James (1989) pointed out, since the Revolution, Haitian perspectives have presented divergent tactical and strategic positions, leading to internal conflicts and disputes. Reflecting this aspect of Haitian society, different social classes expressed diverse opinions about the international apparatus that occupied the country. Support for the Mission came primarily from NGOs and UN agencies, staffed by both foreign and Haitian employees who were part of an educated upper class holding significant decision-making influence in Haiti. Conversely, social movements opposed to MINUSTAH were organized as resistance to foreign oppression. Both sectors professed a commitment to Haiti’s emancipation and development, although they mobilized different methods to achieve these goals.

Beyond simply reflecting hierarchical and politically unequal perspectives, the diverse narratives - from the UN, NGOs, and Haitians - shed light on divergent representations of Haitian time and space, permeated by the idea of an imminent rupture. Koselleck (2004) calls the past perceived as more than memory “space of experience” and the future conceived as more than hope a “horizon of expectations.” The author deals with these scales of time and space to move away from the positivist notion of progress, offering alternative means to compose History.

In Haiti, while conducting the fieldwork, I found a recurring allusion to the nation’s origin narrative - the Haitian Revolution (1791-1804). I argue that the Revolution, both as a historical rupture and an enduring symbolic resource, plays a central role in shaping national identity and political mobilization. Narratives of resistance, sovereignty, and emancipation remain deeply embedded in Haitian political culture and are frequently reactivated in moments of crisis, which helps to maintain a coherence between past experience and future expectations.

The historical discourse configures what Harry West (2009) calls the “language of power” that remains stable over time and provides a framework of intelligibility to events as they unfold. In the case of Mozambique, the author argues that the language of power is embedded in the discourse of uwavi (witchcraft), which over time has helped to make sense of elements both of socialist and neoliberal reforms in the country. In Haiti, vodou also operates as a structuring element in Haitian society, as many authors have demonstrated (Métraux 1995; Dalmaso 2009; Ramsey 2011; Bulamah 2013). As Haitian activist David Oxygène² told me in 2019: “Vodou has always been a weapon to defend us against enemies, against imperialism.”

Both vodou and Haitian nationalism have long functioned as vectors of resistance, inseparable from the political struggles of the period. Vodou was repeatedly criminalized - under French colonial rule, during the US occupation (1915-1934), and at various moments by the Haitian state - precisely because its ritual networks enabled collective action beyond State control (Ramsey 2011). Price-Mars (1919) framed the elite’s rejection of vodou as a form of alienation from popular cultural resources. Yet nationalism has also been mobilized from contradictory positions: the Duvalier regime (1957-1986) drew on noiriste ideology and vodou symbolism for legitimacy while sustaining a violent dictatorship (Bulamah 2024). As a result, vodou’s political validity remains fluid, operating both as a resource for resistance and a tool of power.

This article does not center on vodou; instead, it examines the historical discursive genre anchored in the Haitian Revolution as the primary language of power mobilized by the movements under study, while recognizing that it operates in articulation with, rather than in place of, deeper religious and nationalist substrates. I argue that the Haitian Revolution offers a framework of intelligibility for recent history and, simultaneously, operates as a model and vector for future events. Furthermore, I aim to highlight how the UN’s bureaucratic machine employs silencing mechanisms to demobilize and delegitimize the movements that call for another great rupture, keeping them in the realm of the unthinkable.

Stepping into Haitian terrain

I arrived in Port-au-Prince for the first time on October 17, 2018, a national holiday in Haiti that marks the anniversary of the death of Jean-Jacques Dessalines, a key leader of the Haitian independence revolution who is widely celebrated across the country. On that day, the capital’s streets were closed not only due to the celebrations but also due to large protests against the suspected government corruption. As I left the airport on a motorcycle, I could see the aftermath of the protests. Cement blocks and numerous stones were scattered across the asphalt; garbage and barricades made of burning tires obstructed the way, forcing the rider to zigzag to avoid the obstacles.

Upon arriving at my accommodation, I started talking to a neighbor about the protest. She eagerly showed me photos and videos she had received from friends on her cell phone. I soon realized that the initial scene before me could easily fit the description of a violent Haiti, as portrayed in the official documents that I had read about so far. However, it was actually more closely related to a mode of political expression inspired by a specific narrative of resistance and revolution, which would be my focus from that point forward.

At that time, a year had passed since the official conclusion of MINUSTAH. Another neighbor, Nixon Boumba,³ mentioned that the country was undergoing a political crisis neither prevented nor resolved by the operation. He then promised to send me documents from social movements contesting the official results released by the UN. As he spoke of the negative legacies of the Mission, I asked what role the international community should play. He replied, “None!”, adding that “Haiti indeed has its internal conflicts, I know, but Haiti can resolve everything on its own. We were the first nation to carry out a slave revolution and achieve our independence; we know how to handle things on our own.”

The same disbelief among foreign elites highlighted by James (1989) regarding the slave revolt in Saint-Domingue can still be observed when we turn our attention to the so-called international cooperation and constant surveillance imposed on the country. Although the Revolution indeed occurred and is now recognized, the international community still seems to distrust Haitian people’s capacity for self-management and emancipation. However, Haitians are well aware and proud of their historical achievements. These achievements persist to this day, as Braum (2019) explains, while discussing the adherence to disarmament and reintegration programs in Bel Air, which, although introduced under MINUSTAH, were appropriated by local bases (baz) in such a way that, “in the voices of their members, it was they, not the UN, who promoted the pacification of the neighborhood” (Braum 2019, my translation).

The idea that “Haiti can handle itself” has led to two contrasting views of Haitian protests. On the one hand, they are seen as signs of social disorder and as an international threat. On the other hand, they are perceived as a legitimate form of political expression, aligned with the ideals of the Haitian Revolution, frequently echoed in social movements’ narratives. When I returned to Haiti in May 2019, I witnessed another wave of protests, this time triggered by the publication of the PetroCaribe accounts audit, which provided evidence of corruption in the program’s financial funds.

The street movements mobilized forms of expression that had nothing to do with disorder, contrary to the common judgment of foreign experts and the international press. If there was any instability, it preceded the protests, and the demonstrators also demanded the re-establishment of order, but not as desired by international organizations. Rather than treating these narratives as transparent representations of reality, I analyze them as situated political discourses that mobilize history as a resource for contemporary struggles. This is the subject I turn to in the next section.

Revolution - past and future in the Haitian present

To address the legacies of MINUSTAH from a Haitian perspective, I first analyzed dozens of documents sent by Boumba that included criticisms about the Mission’s presence in the country. My limited knowledge of Creole initially hindered my ability to read all the material fluently, but I managed to identify three major themes in the complaints related to the Mission: 1. The cholera epidemic that spread throughout the country after the Mission’s arrival; 2. The excessive use of violence in certain incursions in Cité Soleil and Bel Air; 3. Sexual abuse committed by soldiers. In addition to written documents, I also consulted audiovisual material in the form of a journalistic documentary.

The written documents varied in format, including pieces for local newspapers, pamphlets, manifestos, interviews with social movement leaders, and letters addressed to international political leaders such as Lula and Dilma, as well as to the Argentine parliament and the UN Security Council. Most of the documents were manifestos or public notes written in Haitian Creole. However, some were in English, Spanish, and French. Many of them began by recalling and praising Haiti’s history, using the Haitian Revolution as a starting point to call for popular mobilization. Others expressed dissatisfaction with the recent context, highlighting major issues such as the country’s extreme poverty, political corruption, the cholera epidemic, troop violence, and cases of sexual abuses and exploitation by peacekeepers. Following these concerns, the documents presented their demands, such as mobilization against MINUSTAH, the removal of foreign occupation, compensation for cholera victims, and the prosecution of soldiers involved in the reported abuses. Finally, the documents included slogans like “Long live the Haitian People,” “Long live national sovereignty,” “Long live the Revolution, down with the Occupation,” “Down with MINUSTAH,” and “Down with All Black and White colonizers”, all written in bold capital letters and centered on the page, in a larger font than the rest of the text and with many exclamation marks. (Figure 1 & Figure 2)

Figure 1
Document in the Tribune Libre del Caribe. Source: author’s archive.

It is interesting to compare the circulation of letters, calls to action, and manifestos in Haiti against MINUSTAH with the mobilization of social movements in Mozambique against the ProSavana Project, proposed by a partnership between Brazil, Japan, and the Mozambican government (Perin 2022). In Mozambique, these documents were produced to gather information about the ProSavana project, aiming for greater “transparency” (in the project’s own terms) and seeking to ensure that its implementation respected the farming practices of peasants in the Nacala Corridor. In contrast, Haitian movements articulated their intentions more radically. Their documents did not conform to institutional logic and aesthetics; rather, they deliberately rejected these models and demanded the troops’ complete withdrawal. In Mozambique, critical movements managed to incorporate some modifications to the initial concept of that program. However, there were irreconcilable differences between subsistence models and the agribusiness export model, putting the ProSavana project’s purpose in dispute. Utilizing institutional mechanisms, social movements in Mozambique succeeded in suspending ProSavana in 2016, demanding greater transparency and horizontal decision-making processes that would primarily impact the residents’ lives.

In Haiti, social movements’ political demands were not limited to documents but were also prominently performed through various artistic forms, as explored by Kivland (2012) in Bel Air. The author shows how graffiti and the lyrics of carnival and Rara (a Haitian popular festival) expressed the population’s dissatisfaction with MINUSTAH. She terms this as “vernacular sovereignty,” describing the practice whereby marginalized populations - excluded from formal political deliberation - extend their collective voice into wider political life through everyday and artistic forms of expression, such as graffiti, slangs, and songs.

Activist materials differed markedly from UN documents not only in content but also in form. While UN reports followed standardized formats, technical language, and visual uniformity, activist documents displayed heterogeneous layouts: bold typography, capitalized slogans, exclamation marks, and fragmented structures, thus extending Kivland’s concept. In contexts of excessive international governance (where the proliferation of foreign intervening actors paradoxically produces a perceived absence of the State), vernacular sovereignty becomes a key vehicle for people to articulate visions of rightful political order and assert claims about who legitimately speaks on their behalf. These types of statements, which operate largely outside institutional channels, shape part of a historical discursive genre mobilized by social movements as part of broader political struggles calling for rupture and transformation.

Manifestos, collective messages, and letters addressed to executive leaders thus announced the position of Haitian social movements against foreign forces and international cooperation. As suggested by Riles (2006), documents are not neutral carriers of information but social and aesthetic artifacts that organize knowledge and authority. In this sense, the visual and textual features of these materials are integral to their political force.

The year 2014 marked the Mission’s 10th anniversary; on that occasion, letters were sent to the UN and foreign governments requesting that it not be renewed. The pieces denounced that, ten years after its deployment, the country was still not stabilized. On the contrary, it faced increased violence, drug trafficking, institutional crisis, and a cholera epidemic with over 700,000 infections and 9,000 deaths. In one of the letters addressed to the UN, the Mission was referred to as “a process of recolonization”; this same letter called for solidarity from the Latin American and Caribbean governments (responsible for the majority of MINUSTAH’s contingent) to withdraw the troops.⁴ They concluded by calling for the liberation of the Haitian people from this new form of domination, stating that “Haiti needs, above all, freedom and independence so that its popular forces can build Haitian democracy and distribute the wealth of their country.”⁵

Through these documents, I mapped social movements and contacted Didier Dominique and David Oxygène, two leaders with long political trajectories in Port-au-Prince and the coordinators of Organization Batay Ouvriye⁶ and the Mouvement de Liberté d’Égalité des Haïtiens pour la Fraternité (MOLEGHAF),⁷ respectively. Batay Ouvriye is a workers’ organization active since the 1990s, bringing together factory unions, workers’ committees, and labor associations with a strong base among the urban working class. MOLEGHAF is a popular movement based in Port-au-Prince that has been particularly visible in demonstrations, articulating resistance against foreign intervention and political elites aligned with international capital. Both organizations appeared recurrently in the materials I analyzed and were central to the mobilizations I observed during my fieldwork, which, along with their accessibility, justified their selection as key interlocutors. Rather than treating their perspectives as representative of Haitian society as a whole, I approach them as situated political discourses that mobilize history as a resource for contemporary struggles - an analytical choice that is itself central to the argument developed here.

Social movements’ narratives resonate with what Cedric Robinson (2021) characterized as the “Black radical tradition,” presenting a version of the country’s history in line with a critical historiography (Trouillot 2005) that underscores the political impact of the narratives, which I aim to highlight here. By outlining the Istwa⁸ of Haiti as they conveyed it to me, I intend to show how the narrative crafted by the militants’ voices is crucial for informing and situating their actions according to their political positions. Additionally, locating these points of view is essential as it helps to decentralize the idea of a singular Haitian perspective and exposes the disparities among social classes in Haiti.

Thomaz (2005) analyzed Haitian elites’ perception of the country’s poverty, revealing that they propose a civilization project that is markedly different from the one envisioned by the working classes. According to Thomaz, the elites embodied the “mission” to promote Western culture as the only way to ensure individual liberties and overcome colonial heritage. This perspective stands in contrast to the views presented by the activists I interviewed. For them, Western culture has perpetually kept Haiti in a state of exploitation and continues to do so by forging alliances with new elites, aggravating internal divisions, and maintaining the country’s colonial condition.

Both activists began their considerations with historical elements, particularly concerning the Haitian Revolution. Despite having a pre-structured list of topics, I hardly needed to use it, as they guided our dialogue towards what they considered important for my research, often saying, “this is what you need to write.” I first spoke to Didier, who offered a historical overview of the country’s economic and social development, highlighting the persistent presence of repressive forces throughout Haiti’s history. His narrative highlighted how the repressive apparatus has always been under external control, ensuring that Haiti remained in the service of major imperialist powers. He asserted that MINUSTAH was no different in this regard. David, with whom I spoke next, stated that the Mission arrived in Haiti “to wage war against a social class: the poor.” He observed that UN forces were in the country to suppress any attempts at popular uprisings against exploitation and misery. For both activists, it was evident that the UN aligns with one side of the class war, protecting elite interests.

Their analysis aligns with Eric Williams’s (1942) account of Haiti and the Caribbean’s role in the international arena. Williams pointed out how slavery was maintained (and later abolished) in British colonies due to essentially economic factors. According to his analysis, profits from the transatlantic slave trade generated the initial capital accumulation that funded the Industrial Revolution in England. Although Williams focused more on infrastructure than superstructure, he did not disregard the role of independence struggles, particularly the Haitian Revolution, as he is influenced by his mentor C. L. R. James. Williams referred to the Black people’s coalition who led major uprisings for liberation in the Caribbean as the “slave party.”

Didier pointed out that the Haitian Revolution is rightly named because it disrupted the prevailing capital accumulation logic and the political order based on the trade of Black labor. However, the victory came at a high cost. After numerous battles, the country was devastated, and there was no productive capital. New dominant classes emerged and began to replicate the exploitative logic they recognized as a successful model from metropoles. Consequently, many workers fled to the mountains, developing a small-scale mode of production. The dominant class, striving to consolidate its power, resorted to importing basic goods and exporting the little they could produce. Additionally, according to Didier, there was an international effort to concentrate sugar production in the Dominican Republic, to which Haitian peasants were displaced, causing significant imbalances in the country’s internal labor force.

David Oxygène remarked that even after its independence, Haiti endured successive international occupations. The first of these occurred in 1915, when the United States occupied Haiti for 19 years. On this occasion, the American soldiers not only invaded Haiti but also seized the country’s gold reserves from the Haitian Central Bank. It’s interesting to note what happened in February 2019, when American mercenaries also attempted to withdraw PetroCaribe funds from the Haitian Central Bank but were intercepted in time by the Haitian National Police. These events seem to update Marx’s (2006) theory that history first occurs as tragedy, and then as farce.

Didier pointed out how Haiti transitioned to a neoliberal order. During a period of internal instability in the 1950s, François Duvalier launched a campaign based on nationalist and revolutionary notions. As Bulamah (2024) argued, the elites also articulated such elements to gain power. Consequently, François Duvalier, known as Papa Doc, was elected by popular vote in 1957. However, contrary to his promises to the people, Duvalier strengthened ties with the United States to block the influence of communist forces from Cuba. Simultaneously, he established a loyal militia, the Tonton Macoute, which violently suppressed any opposition, and his government quickly became a dictatorship. After Papa Doc’s death, his son Jean Claude Duvalier, known as Baby Doc, assumed the presidency and started what he called an economic revolution, which effectively integrated Haiti into the international neoliberal order by maintaining cheap labor to produce export goods at supposedly competitive prices.

Didier presented a critical perspective on this history, highlighting how Haiti entered the modern international market by offering cheap labor as a strategic advantage for foreign investment. Cedric Robinson’s concept of the “Black radical tradition” incorporates the racial dimension into the Marxist theory of class struggle, challenging the progressive character of capitalism and the bourgeoisie. Drawing on W. E. B. Du Bois, C. L. R. James, and Richard Wright, Robinson extends the analysis of capitalism and class struggle beyond the European context envisioned by Marx and Engels. Didier’s and David’s analyses align with this perspective, showing that Haiti’s labor force remains shaped by racism as a technology of power and that the modern capitalist system still relies on the super-exploitation of a large Black labor force.

Extreme poverty and the State’s inability to provide basic services created an environment for a popular insurrection supported by the memory of the Revolution, when Haitians freed themselves from colonial oppression. To prevent a potential uprising of the masses, Didier argued that the repressive forces needed the support of foreign capital, as they were the only allies of the newly formed Haitian bourgeoisie.

As Bulamah (2024) illustrates, the line between resignation and revolt is thin. Despite the extreme violence of the Tonton Macoute, Papa Doc’s militia, there was a significant popular uprising in the late 1980s that revived the spirit of the Revolution as a break from an oppressive system, ending the long dictatorship in Haiti. This was known as the 1986 Revolisyon, in Creole. In David’s narrative, the 1987 Constitution celebrated the democratic pact and marked the beginning of a new political model.

The establishment of the 1987 Constitution represented a moment of consolidation of the political expectations of Haitians, who envisioned a nation based on popular sovereignty. Mamyrah Prosper (2015) argues that a constitution is a discursive product that does not necessarily reflect the needs and realities of the population it intends to govern but rather presents an idealized vision of what the nation-state could be. Prosper contends that the promulgation of new constitutions in Latin America and the Caribbean in the late 1980s meant the spread of a form of governance specific to the modern Western state, accompanied by mechanisms that support a specific model of economic development: neoliberalism. In Haiti’s case, the 1987 Constitution signaled the country’s capacity to modernize and develop, simultaneously guaranteeing sovereignty and social equity.

Jean-Bertrand Aristide was the first president elected after the new constitutional pact in 1990. He was a former priest associated with liberation theology who had strong connections with grassroots organizations. Didier recounts that Aristide faced a coup in the first year of his tenure, due to the progressive measures he attempted to implement. Aristide’s removal occurred a day after his epic speech, in September 1991, where he mobilized nationalist elements such as the flag, the Creole language, and the Revolution to promote the unity of the masses against the bourgeoisie and to call upon Haitian people to defend the newly established democracy in the country. The Revolution, as argued here, emerges as a constitutive part of Haitian political grammar, constantly invoked either to disrupt or uphold the current regime. However, elements of the president’s speech were interpreted as a call to violence.

(...) if you find someone who does not belong where they are, do not hesitate to give them what they deserve. With your tools in hand, with your Constitution in hand! Do not hesitate to give them what they deserve. (...) Alone we are weak, together we are strong. Together! Together! We are the flood!⁹

The removal of Aristide sparked numerous popular demonstrations, which were considered signs of internal instability and led to the establishment of a mission led by the United States, France, and Canada. In David’s narrative, this was the second foreign occupation of the country. In 1994, Aristide returned to Haiti to finish his term and even managed to have his candidate, René Préval, elected president in the following elections.¹⁰ Although the elections were conducted according to democratic standards, including free and direct voting, and were recognized as legitimate by international bodies, the absence of a national army (which Aristide dissolved in his first year of government) became a justification to keep the UN forces in the country. The goal of this presence was ostensibly to maintain stability and prevent significant popular uprisings that could potentially destabilize the new regime.

In 2000, Aristide won another election. However, corruption allegations fueled by the opposition weakened his government, and, in February 2004, another coup forced him to sign a resignation and leave the country. David explains that the opposition consisted of a bourgeois elite unhappy with Aristide’s popular measures. Once again, a rupture - articulated by different sectors of Haitian society - was seen as a solution to a political and institutional crisis. The extreme polarization between his allies and his opponents created an environment perceived as unstable by the international community, leading to the establishment of MINUSTAH months later.

Didier asserts that, just as the bourgeois elite called upon international capital to perpetuate their economic dominance, they also invited external repression forces to ensure their political control. This historical narrative emphasizes how class struggle in Haiti also mobilized international allies. He explains that, lacking the capacity to govern with mass support, the Haitian elite class surrendered economically, politically, militarily, and ideologically to foreigners to keep their dominance. David considers MINUSTAH as the third foreign occupation of Haiti. He recalls that, according to the 1987 Constitution, the country’s sovereignty should be guaranteed, and foreign armed soldiers should not enter the territory. Thus, both Didier and David pointed out that the UN itself violated the principle of sovereignty by deploying its troops on Haitian terrain.

It’s interesting to note the argumentative path my interlocutors took to situate MINUSTAH in their narratives. By evoking the historical events that shaped Haitian society through cycles of ruptures and new pacts, they present a perspective based on class struggle. In these cycles, elements of the bourgeoisie, international capital, and foreign domination always emerge. In this sense, the “past of the experience” of Haitians is updated, and new elements are framed within this same explanatory framework. The activists considered MINUSTAH as an occupying force that aligns with the bourgeoisie and capital in a manner that does not align with their “horizon of expectations.”

By spelling out the meaning of each letter in the French acronym MINUSTAH - Mission des Nations Unies pour la Stabilisation en Haïti - David highlighted the term “stabilization”, explaining that this is not an action noun, since it does not promote significant changes. It is highly significant to understand that, for him, stabilizing meant “changing the social structures that cause suffering among the population, such as poverty, hunger, and thirst.” However, during the 13-year occupation, very little (or almost nothing) improved. According to the militants’ narrative, in terms of class struggle, MINUSTAH represented the stabilization of an order that favored a dominant far-right political class, increased workers’ misery, enriched the local bourgeoisie, and perpetrated massacres in the poorest neighborhoods, especially those that were important bases of support for Aristide, who denounced the coup and demanded his return.

After defining stabilization, David moved on to a goal expressed in MINUSTAH’s Mandate: the development of Haiti. He began by stating that development is a matter related to the “mind and memory of the people,” emphasizing that, without these, a country cannot have a coherent project. While Cedric Robinson (2021) discussed the “structures of the mind” to establish a metaphysical sovereignty over materialism within Black radical tradition, David’s speech intertwined the material dimension with the realm of ideas. The Haitian activist continued, saying that development depends on “understanding the other, understanding the system, and also understanding your enemies.” Summarizing, he asked me to note that, in order to develop a country, one must change these three major areas, which he grouped into pairs: 1. Economic and Social, 2. Political and Justice; 3. Ideological and Cultural.

Within this narrative structure, David recounted the initial attempt to develop the country’s economy. This effort began to take shape with PetroCaribe, a cooperation agreement between Venezuela and Haiti. The agreement aimed to supply oil and energy at subsidized prices, with rates much lower than those of other markets. It is important to pay attention to the way he spoke about this agreement. His explanation once again highlights how recent events are interpreted in light of a historical narrative, with the Revolution appearing as part of the grammar that underpins this discursive genre.

David then recounted the history of Simón Bolívar and the way he relied on the military support of Alexandre Pétion, who organized and provided an army of Haitian soldiers to fight for Venezuela’s independence. In return, Pétion supposedly asked Bolívar to abolish slavery throughout the conquered territory. Thus, Venezuela has a historical debt with Haiti, which actively participated in the former’s emancipation. When David evokes memory as a tool for development, he once again sheds light on the past of experience that gives intelligibility to present events and informs future actions. David considered President Hugo Chávez a great statesman and an ally in the struggle of popular classes. He said Chavez recognized the importance of history, and the agreement was part of a cooperation among Caribbean countries against North American domination.

According to David, when the agreement began in 2006, Préval’s government was “doing politics with something that should be economic.” He pointed out that, when one politicizes what should be economic, it is possible to promote structural changes in the social field. According to him, however, the United States did not want Venezuela to help Haiti. In the following elections, the USA supported Michel Martelly, who squandered the agreement’s funds and did nothing for the benefit of the country. Following Martelly, they also helped elect Jovenel Moïse in another fraudulent election, with the connivance of the Organization of American States (OAS) and the UN.

David recounted that the movement opposing the president began with the question “Kot kòb Petrocarib a?” [Where is the PetroCaribe money?] during the protests I attended in October 2018. Following an audit report published in February 2019 that confirmed the president’s ties to corruption, the question was answered, and the program was temporarily suspended.¹¹ In total, it is estimated that Martelly and Moïse embezzled approximately $3.8 billion, with little to none of it allocated to the promised infrastructure projects.¹² At that time, people in the streets demanded the resignation of then-President Jovenel Moïse.¹³

Didier explained that the post-MINUSTAH situation was one of complete lack of governance, which contrasts with a landscape filled with institutions aimed at ensuring good governance and democracy in the country. Even the dominant sectors were dissatisfied with Moïse’s administration, fueling the diverse movements that took to the streets. However, David warned that sectors of the bourgeoisie were also involved in the protests, supposedly together with the people. For David, if people want to change their lives, they cannot mingle with the bourgeoisie. According to him, “this ultimately undermines the working class and the popular masses, as the victory will once again be appropriated by dominant classes.”

David’s objection to elite involvement in protests draws significant historical parallels. James (1989) illustrated how L’Ouverture’s efforts to form alliances with the French elite ultimately led to his downfall. Dessalines, who carried on the Revolution, becomes a focal point in David’s argument during our conversation. He emphasizes the pressing need for a complete and decisive rupture with the bourgeoisie. Once again, a great rupture appears as the only possible political solution to resolve a crisis of institutional political representation. The political language mobilized by militants involves promoting large demonstrations to express their rejection of the current order. David presents himself as a Trotskyist militant, and his statements point to a “state of permanent revolution” - something that has yet to be actualized and depends on not repeating past mistakes.

Didier and David presented a systemic and localized perspective alongside the working classes, demystifying the success narratives of the Mission. For them, MINUSTAH’s few accomplishments, such as cleaning canals, garbage collection, and road repairs, although important, did not introduce structural changes to the country. On the contrary, by being complicit with the corruption of the bourgeoisie, the peace operation is framed as yet another oppressive force for Haitians. They believe that this extraordinarily polarized moment can only be resolved “with a concrete political organization to overthrow the system.” According to the narrative structure they presented to me, moments like this, of great tension, hold significant revolutionary potential. Therefore, it is not surprising that it causes so much fear among international leaders who continue to work to prevent Haiti’s influence over the entire Caribbean region, as they have done since the Revolution.

It is interesting to note that everything the international community and UN documents construe as chaos, near-collapse, and deterioration is seen by Haitians as an opportunity for a revolution. Thus, more than simply narrating Haiti’s recent history, the structuring of the statements by social movement leaders sheds light on how historical narratives, especially related to the Haitian Revolution, are important elements for updating social movements’ political actions. Recent events were therefore viewed through the lens of this overarching narrative, embodying a distinctive political essence that permeates public discourse and shapes a language of power within the framework of historical discourse.

Sitting in a small alley in Fort National, David Oxygène emphasized that “Haiti is not a poor country, but a country that foreign nations put in this situation since its wealth was stolen.” David’s statement aligns with Walter Rodney’s (2012) analyses on the drastic legacy of colonization in the Caribbean. Both point out that the progress of metropoles depended solely on the exploitation and expropriation of wealth from the colonies and on slave labor. Despite the change in the economic regime, the structures of domination continue to undermine the development of so-called peripheries. Rodney argues that development is only possible if a country achieves self-sufficiency so that the economy can also guarantee social progress.

For David, developing a country means changing the institutions of power - those belonging to the bourgeoisie, imperialist States, and their financial institutions like the IMF and the World Bank. Only a revolutionary alliance between the working class, peasants, and the popular masses will cause “scientific victory,” as he told me. “It is necessary to form an anti-imperialist, anti-occupation, anti-domination, anti-misery, anti-bourgeoisie united popular front; this is the solution,” he concluded.

The protests I witnessed in Port-au-Prince, as well as numerous others that followed and which I monitored through social media and messages from Haitian friends, consistently reveal a growing discontent with international cooperation. According to the protesters, the supposed cooperation imposes a neoliberal agenda that fails to address the structural changes needed in the country. Additionally, they denounce the United Nations system for criminalizing the population’s acts of resistance, while being complicit in the abuses of the Haitian National Police, whose professionalization was one of the objectives of MINUSTAH.

Always inspired by the struggles of the nation’s founders and bearing their names on flags and slogans - such as “We are children of Dessalines,” “Long live L’Ouverture,” and “Long live Petion” - social movements do not back down in the face of repression. The most recent protests, like those before them, demand new elections, as the president does not represent the people’s interests. Protesters also demand the right to elect a new president through voting. Contrary to what reports from international organizations and the press assert, therefore, Haiti’s democracy is not fragile. It is intentionally weakened by external forces that continue to interfere in the country’s affairs.

The large demonstrations in the streets and the letters circulated in the media are an expression of appreciation for the Democratic Rule of Law. Just as in the past, when Haitians demanded the complete realization of the concepts of freedom, equality, and fraternity, today they also demand the fulfillment of democracy in its full sense: governance by the Haitian people. The international community, however, continues to underestimate this capacity, relegating it to the realm of the unthinkable by refusing to legitimize Haitian forms of politics that fall outside institutional terms and methods.

New forms of silencing

An ethnographic analysis of MINUSTAH documents reveals how Haiti was technically conceived as a space for intervention, with an emphasis on terms that denote instability, such as “political unrest,” “economic collapse,” “social upheaval,” “violence,” and “infrastructure breakdown.” Adi Ophir (2010) refers to the process of producing a terrain where catastrophe is imminent as “discursive catastrophization,” which demands intervention to prevent it. This discourse fosters a type of governance that employs bureaucratic language to transform all events into measurable and comparable facts.

The discursive construction of catastrophe as Haiti’s permanent status exceeds UN documents, shaping international media coverage and cooperation practices. Based on ethnography conducted after the January 2010 earthquake, Thomaz (2011) shows how assumptions of chaos and imminent violence paralyzed humanitarian response: aid workers stayed at the airport awaiting “security,” while local populations organized without external support. Racism, he argues, operates as a cognitive structure that makes Haitian self-organization “unthinkable,” echoing Trouillot’s (2005) analysis of the production of silence about Haiti. Bersani (2020), examining community responses in Grand’Anse, highlights how local solidarity networks were crucial for the survival of over 200,000 displaced people, contradicting official narratives of collapse and dependency. gTogether with this study’s findings on MINUSTAH, these works point to a consistent pattern: discursive catastrophization not only misrepresents Haiti but also produces material effects by justifying interventions that ignore local capacities and delegitimizing non-institutional forms of politics.

The following analysis of UN officials’ perspectives draws on interviews conducted at the United Nations Headquarters in New York between October 2019 and January 2020, as part of a research mission that complemented fieldwork in Haiti. Access to the UN was facilitated by institutional contacts established during my doctoral research, and the interviews were conducted with staff directly involved in the management and evaluation of MINUSTAH. Contrary to my Haitian interlocutors - whose real names I use with their authorization, given that personal names are deeply embedded in social relations - I identify UN interlocutors only by their initials (B. and A.). This choice is intended not only to preserve their privacy but also to reflect their position as institutional actors whose roles are defined by bureaucratic functions rather than individual trajectories. The fieldwork in the UN headquarters made it possible to contrast, from within the bureaucratic apparatus, the perspectives articulated by Haitian activists from outside - and it is precisely in this contrast that the silencing mechanisms discussed in this article became more legible.

International cooperators’ interventions involved clear timelines, the allocation of financial and human resources, and bureaucratic methods that required result reports for evaluation and future planning. This process culminates in what I term elsewhere “Statecrafted landscape,” characterized by the deliberate and strategic creation of institutional structures and governance mechanisms. The concept is meant to capture the cumulative effect of this institutional engineering - the deliberate creation of legislative, judicial, and executive structures that reshape both the country’s physical infrastructure and socio-political order according to a specific model of the State. What Statecrafted landscape conceals is precisely what this article aims to make visible: the forms of politics, organization, and historical knowledge that exist outside its frame, which it systematically renders unthinkable.

In this landscape - populated by foreigners - Haitians are primarily seen as beneficiaries of actions intended to improve the terrain and depicted as in need of protection from imminent threats in a hostile environment, as described by the assessments. Along with the creation of an institutional apparatus, Haitians gained their own budget item, labeled national staff. At the UN headquarters in New York, B. explained the role of Haitians in the Mission. She mentioned that, while there was concern about the Mission’s impartiality and neutrality, the participation of local representatives was considered important and necessary to facilitate communication between the Mission, Haitian civil society, and government members. However, they did not participate in team meetings, which were reserved for heads of units. The role of the country team (which could include Haitians or not) was to prepare their heads for the meeting with as much data and analysis as possible. This illustrates that the relationship between the institutional world and the terrain is constructed through the circulation of documents, which bureaucrats use to see the world and then try to shape it in accordance with their principles, concepts, and institutions.

Merry (2016) calls the reliance on foreign technicians from wealthy countries “expertise inertia.” These experts, often trained in political science, economics, and statistics, tend to overlook local knowledge, which leads to the replication of indicators based on international standards, termed “data inertia.” These concepts highlight the difficulty of influencing the production of indicators and of knowledge from outside this system. The significant presence of foreigners in key decision-making roles within the Mission sparked resistance among the Haitian population, a sentiment recognized by technicians. However, they emphasized the institution’s commitment to listening to the population throughout the stabilization process. One of them also mentioned that a significant part of the Mission’s efforts was focused on capacity building, training Haitians in institutional language to enable them to participate more actively in the processes.

If Haitians do not participate in the planning, they are not involved in the evaluation either. I inquired about the importance of public opinion, particularly regarding criticisms of the Mission’s outcomes. Both technicians acknowledged that the UN’s poor reputation in the country was widely recognized. However, they pointed out that some reports suggested people generally felt safer after MINUSTAH, despite a perceived loss of national sovereignty. They remarked that similar sentiments were also observed in other nations hosting foreign forces.

Technician A. stated that she was aware of the main criticisms from the Haitian social movement. However, since the complaints had not been addressed through appropriate channels, they were not officially recognized. This means that there is a legitimacy problem with Haitian discourses in the face of the bureaucratic machine. Depending on how Haitians present their demands, they are not considered legitimate. Thus, social movements taking to the streets, letters addressed to the international community, numerous petitions, press reports - all of these would not be considered valid if they were not presented via a specific institutional door, which, incidentally, is very difficult for any civilian to access, even for those most familiar with bureaucratic procedures.

Even if they are mobilized through the correct door, this does not guarantee that the demands will be met. Legal organizations such as the Bureau des Avocats Internationaux (BAI) and the Institute for Justice & Democracy in Haiti (IJDH) have helped address various complaints, including troop violence, sexual abuse perpetrated by soldiers, and the UN’s responsibility for the cholera epidemic in the country.¹⁴ These organizations have filed complaints not only with the UN, but also with various international bodies. However, they have not been successful in obtaining the reparations they were seeking.

This analysis shows how interventions by international bodies have established new forms of silencing local political expressions. The bureaucratic frameworks and institutional procedures prioritize external expertise and international standards, often at the expense of local voices and knowledge. Despite efforts to include Haitians in certain roles, the dominant narrative and decision-making processes remain controlled by foreign entities, perpetuating a cycle of marginalization. This situation reflects a broader pattern in which interventions aimed at stabilization and development often end up reinforcing existing power imbalances and limiting meaningful local empowerment.

Conclusion

The analysis of MINUSTAH documents revealed representations of the terrain that presented Haiti as a fragile society with internal conflicts, always on the verge of collapse. Trouillot (1990) argues that behind the idea of Haitian exceptionalism lies an intellectual and political agenda that must be noted not because the country is not exceptional and unique but because this historical singularity is used as a shield to conceal the negative effects of Western powers in Haiti, such as those of Christianity, capitalism, and whiteness (Trouillot 1990: 7). Rather than concealing the past, this idea shapes the present and also obliterates the future, according to the agenda of international cooperation, as I have argued here.

The author also points out that, in the process of producing history, it is necessary to conceive “formulas to repress the unthinkable and bring it back into the realm of acceptable discourse” (Trouillot 2005: 124). The ethnography of MINUSTAH reveals that the peace operation also employs long-standing strategies to treat everything that seems inconceivable as a threat, prompting the UN to intervene with its civil and military apparatus to establish control mechanisms and political systems recognized as legitimate by the international community. The idea of a radical break with the system through revolution is diametrically opposed to the peace operation’s goal of stabilization. While bureaucracy defines the context in terms of lack, mismanagement, and chaos, Haitians interpret the very same conditions as an opportunity to overthrow the system. From the standpoint of technical cooperation, such conditions call for institutional interventions aimed at restoring order. Activists, however, argue that stabilizing this situation is not desirable. Instead, they point to a continuity between colonial domination and the contemporary capitalist and neoliberal system that produces poverty and undermines sovereignty. They envision solutions beyond the institutional arrangements of what I have called the “Statecrafted landscape,” as their strategies for social transformation do not operate through bureaucratic channels.

The idea of revolution, understood as a discursive genre, serves as a narrative framework that connects past experiences with future aspirations within Haitian social movements. These movements are inspired by the historical significance of the Haitian Revolution, viewing it not as a singular event but as a continuum. Its legacy informs current actions and shapes future trajectories, operating as a model for challenging entrenched power dynamics and potentially dismantling colonial power structures.

In this sense, it is also worth revisiting Sahlins (1981), who shows that present events are interpreted according to a mythic structure. In other words, myth is the articulating element that gives meaning to narratives. According to the author, structure and history are therefore directly implicated in what he calls “mythopraxis.” The “structure” refers to the material and symbolic conditions of existence, which, once recognized, give rise to responses grounded in a mythic narrative that informs action in relation to unfolding events. Haitian activists presented an interpretation of historical events in terms of exploitation, oppression, class struggle, and resistance, common elements that previously fueled the Revolution and led to the overthrow of an oppressive system. As people perceive these elements reappearing in the form of new oppressions, such as external interventions and current neoliberal agendas, their response will be informed by that familiar and successful structure: the need for radical rupture. This way, the idea of the Revolution is updated, emphasizing the agency of the Haitian people in managing their development and sovereignty “on their own.”

The mobilizations in Port-au-Prince expressed unique forms of politics located outside the institutional field. These forms resonate with the manifesto “Légitime Défense” by Caribbean surrealist Étienne Léro, who states: “We are against all the corpses: administrative, governmental, parliamentary, industrial, commercial, and all others” (Léro 1932, quoted in Rosemont and Kelley 2009). In this sense, and toward a similar end, these movements continuously develop multiple forms of resistance, ranging from artistic expression to large-scale street demonstrations and confrontations.

The case of Haiti is not an exception within the universe of UN peace operations; rather, its historical depth and political density render the contradictions of the liberal peace model particularly visible. Since its failures in Bosnia, Rwanda, and Somalia in the 1990s, the UN has progressively expanded its operational doctrine, moving from traditional peacekeeping toward multidimensional missions that integrate military, civilian, and humanitarian components under a unified mandate (Santiago 2022). MINUSTAH emerged from this paradigm as a stabilization mission grounded on the assumption that state fragility, rather than structural inequality or political agency, is the root cause of instability. What the Haitian case reveals is not an anomaly in this model, but its internal logic taken to an extreme: a country whose revolutionary history is systematically recast as a liability and whose popular politics are structurally excluded from the institutional frameworks designed to “stabilize” it. The tensions between the Mission’s headquarters and the field, as technician A.’s account suggests, are not incidental but constitutive. The bureaucratic distance between decision-making and the terrain is precisely what enables the silencing mechanisms described here to operate without being recognized as such.

There is a huge mismatch between the narratives produced by UN technicians and those articulated by Haitian activists about the country’s past, present, and imagined future. The historical analysis goes beyond the obvious contrast between these perspectives and highlights Haitian criticism of Western notions such as freedom, democracy, and development, which are pursued as ultimate goals by the UN apparatus. This analytical positioning is particularly important, given the historical tendency of international actors to delegitimize Haitian political agency. By bringing up this criticism, I shed light on past experiences that point toward a more creative, inclusive, and emancipatory horizon of expectations regarding possible models of nation in the early 21st century.

Acknowledgement

The study on which this article is based was conducted between 2018 and 2021. The ethnographic data were taken from my PhD Dissertation “As forças de paz ou a paz à força: etnografia de uma missão de paz da ONU no Haiti” (Santiago 2022). The research was conducted with financing from the São Paulo Research Foundation - FAPESP (Processes: 2017/03654-2 and 2018/17038-4). I would like to thank Catarina Morawska for the guidance provided during this work. I would also like to thank the two anonymous reviewers from Vibrant for their helpful remarks and Rafael Abreu for the English review.

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• 1
  Concepts derived from fieldwork are presented in italics in order to highlight their situated and emic character, whereas concepts drawn from the literature are indicated with quotation marks to signal their theoretical framing.
• 2
  I use real names for Haitian interlocutors with their authorization, as personal names are deeply embedded in social relations and carry specific meanings in Haitian contexts. In contrast, institutional actors are anonymized, as their roles are defined by bureaucratic functions rather than individual trajectories.
• 3
  Nixon Boumba is a Haitian human rights activist and member of the Haiti Mining Justice Collective. He works with mining-affected communities to promote awareness of their rights, while advocating broadly for economic, cultural, and marginalized groups’ rights amid Haiti’s low-wage, development-driven climate. He also engages with issues around gender and sexuality in humanitarian aid contexts.
• 4
  The letter is signed by Jubilé Sud/Amériques, Jubilè Sud Brésil, the Alternative Politics Institute for the Southern Cone (PACS — RJ/Brazil), Diálogo 2000 — Jubilee South Argentina, the Argentine Solidarity Committee for the withdrawal of Haitian troops, Adolfo Pérez Esquivel (winner of the Nobel Peace Prize), Nora Cortiñas and Mirta Baravalle, founders of the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo movement and the Argentine Peace and Justice Service.
• 5
  Source: Lettre de rejet de la prorogation du mandat de la MINUSTAH à Haïti (2014).
• 6
  Batay Ouvryie brings together unions and associations of workers across the country to improve working conditions and defend workers. The organization raises workers’ awareness through posters, newsletters and radio press releases. It also organizes pickets at the entrance to factories or government buildings to make their complaints and demands heard. Batay Ouvryie also carries out grassroots work with young people through three main actions: concrete struggles, knowledge development and instructive leisure, where young people can learn the first notions of computing, electricity, cooking and baking.
• 7
  David Oxygene introduced himself as a Trotskyist militant, a member of the Haitian section of the Fourth International and coordinator of the Mouvement de Libertè d’Ègalitè des Haitiens pour la Fraternitè (MOLEGHAF), made up of students, workers and residents of poor neighborhoods, which proposes a “radical change in the unhealthy things that prevent Haitians from progressing” in David’s words.
• 8
  In Creole, istwa means history in the academic sense, the official narrative of the facts of the past, and stories told by anyone. For more on the use of this term, see Schuller (2009, 2012).
• 9
  Braum (2014: 372) provides a full transcript of this historic speech, which is available at: www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQt8tFZxFA8 . Accessed on: June 20, 2020.
• 10
  Préval had been Aristide’s Prime Minister and was elected for the first time in 1995. In 2006, he ran again in the first election following the establishment of MINUSTAH. Once again, he was elected with great support, especially from Bel Air’s grassroots, Aristide’s political stronghold.
• 11
  The audit was prepared by Haiti’s Supreme Court of Administrative Affairs. Available at: https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5b9f2b7c3917ee4972f3f2d0/t/5c53bdabeef1a194097d4a44/1548991930156/PETROCARIBE++31+JANV.+19.pdf. Accessed on: August 28, 2019.
• 12
  Didier mentions that the very political and economic crisis in which Venezuela found itself and the fact that Jovenel Moïse publicly recognized Juan Guaidó as the legitimate president of Venezuela in January 2019 also contributed to this situation.
• 13
  Jovenel Moïse’s mandate expired on February 7, 2021. However, he used various unconstitutional devices to remain in power. The former president closed Parliament - made up of the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate - had his main opponents arrested and ruled by decree from January 2020. He also intended to hold a referendum to vote on changes to the 1987 Constitution. The changes proposed the dissolution of the Senate, the end of the post of Prime Minister, the possibility of running for re-election, and the classification of terrorist acts that would allow social movements to be criminalized. The opposition denounced an ongoing coup in the country and demonstrations took to the streets even in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic. Jovenel Moïse was murdered in his home on the night of July 7, 2021 by a group of American and Colombian mercenaries. His wife was also shot, but survived. Investigations into the motives for the crime are still ongoing (http://patrialatina.com.br/a-estranha-ou-talvez-nao-tanto-participacao-de-mercenarios-estrangeirosno-assassinato-do-presidente-do-haiti/; Accessed on July 17, 2022).
• 14
  For further reading, see: Lee and Bartels (2020), Müller and Steinke (2018), and Piarroux (2019).
• Data Availability Statement
  This article is based on my doctoral research, which is available in full as an open-access dissertation in the UFSCar institutional repository (https://repositorio.ufscar.br/items/b28964f3-4f55-4fe8-8c04-0afd5c3b0fc0). A revised version in French has been published as Les forces de paix ou la paix de force: Ethnographie d’une mission de paix de l’ONU en Haïti by C3 Éditions in 2025 and is available through international booksellers.

Edited by

• Editors
  Laura Moutinho (https://orcid.org/0000-0001-6479-2711)
  Gisele Fonseca Chagas (https://orcid.org/0000-0003-3798-8721)
  Vinicius Kauê Ferreira (https://orcid.org/0000-0001-9925-3304)
  Vinícius Venancio (https://orcid.org/0000-0003-3245-1204)

Data availability

This article is based on my doctoral research, which is available in full as an open-access dissertation in the UFSCar institutional repository (https://repositorio.ufscar.br/items/b28964f3-4f55-4fe8-8c04-0afd5c3b0fc0). A revised version in French has been published as Les forces de paix ou la paix de force: Ethnographie d’une mission de paix de l’ONU en Haïti by C3 Éditions in 2025 and is available through international booksellers.

Publication Dates

• Publication in this collection
  10 Aug 2026
• Date of issue
  2026

History

• Received
  22 Dec 2024
• Accepted
  05 May 2026