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Florida Haitians Gain Political Clout |
Miami, Florida, August 2001: McGregor Pierre's juice and sandwich shop is small, but his dreams are big.
Since moving to the United States from Haiti 19 years ago, Pierre was a photographer, a bus dispatcher and an accountant before opening "Jus Tropical" in Little Haiti almost two years ago.
The shop's seven seats fit comfortably in an area about the size of a kitchen in a small suburban home. Mementos of Haiti hang from the ceiling - a stick for herding cattle; a fishnet; coconuts; a Haitian flag. In the refrigerator are Pierre's versions of lemon, orange, guava, melon and mango drinks that are traditional in his homeland.
"I want to have franchises," Pierre said. "I'm working on that now."
Pierre, 33, is part of a growing middle class among South Florida's 150,000 Haitians, a community that has been growing quickly since the 1970s. Many came to escape political turmoil; others to get away from the Western Hemisphere's poorest country.
While much of South Florida's Haitian community remains poor, working multiple jobs to make ends meet, others are taking the first steps up the economic ladder.
"The Haitians are very entrepreneurial people and they have the reputation of being the hardest working people in the Caribbean," said Anthony Bryan, a University of Miami professor of international relations who is originally from Trinidad.
That growing prosperity among South Florida's Haitians is also turning into political power. In November, North Miami Democrat Philip Brutus became the first Haitian-American ever elected to the Florida Legislature when he won a state House seat. In 1999, the village of El Portal, just north of Miami, became the first U.S. community to have a Haitian majority on its governing body.
Haitian leaders are also good at political organizing, Bryan said, pointing to the power the community holds in Boston and New York City, where Haitians have been living in large numbers for almost 50 years.
"You are starting to see that happen here," Bryan said.
But some like social workers Leonie Hermantin, the executive director of the Haitian American Foundation, and Marckly Joseph, who works for a Miami job bank, worry that many in the Haitian community are being left behind, both economically and socially.
Sure, some government agencies are now providing brochures and forms in Creole and police departments are hiring Creole-speaking officers, but not enough is being done to provide health care to poor Haitians or help the large segment of illiterate adults to learn to read, they say.
"These needs are not being met," Hermantin said. "We have housing issues. We have child-care issues - these people are having to work two or three jobs to get by. Who is taking care of the kids? Our family structure is suffering when these kids are forced to fend for themselves."
Joseph said Miami-Dade County social services are set up to help people who speak English and Spanish, not Creole. In an office of 50, he said, he is the only one who speaks that language.
Without more help, he said, a Haitian underclass will develop in South Florida.
"In 10 years, I'm afraid, there will be a lot of Haitians in the justice system if nothing is done," he said.
But not if Josette Baron Paris can help it. The principal of Morningside Elementary School in Little Haiti said she is optimistic and worried when she looks at her 740 students, most of whom are Haitian.
Paris - whose family left Haiti for New York 42 years ago - is optimistic when she realizes that many of the families who were in the community when she arrived seven years ago have left for more prosperous neighborhoods in western Miami-Dade or Broward counties. There is also a high level of respect for education among Haitians, she said.
"Many of them didn't get an education in Haiti, so they want that for their children," she said. "I tell the children 'One day I am going to get old and I am going to need doctors. I might need an architect. I will need other professionals. That needs to be you.'"
But she also sees teens who were once her students standing on street corners at midday. She always stops to talk to them.
"Why are you here? Why aren't you in school?" she tells them. "If you have something you want to talk about, come see me."
Back at Pierre's shop, he is busy serving a steady lunch crowd. One day, maybe his 5-year-old son, Ismael, will be able to take over a sandwich and juice empire. Pierre believes that if he works hard enough, it could happen.
"This is a free country where everyone can make it," he said. "Opportunity is what this country is all about."
(Florida Today)