Humanitarian Work under Gang Control in Haiti
By Christine McNeill
The truck pulled away through a throng of unknown faces. Faces of people who happened to live on the wrong side of an invisible line, recalled Pete Staffelbach. He could do nothing for them in that moment other than make a promise to himself that he would come back. A longtime aid worker in Haiti, Staffelbach finished his story with a weary half-smile. “Haiti wasn’t always like this,” he said.
The Port-au-Prince of today, under almost 80 percent gang control according to the UN, is unrecognizable from its recent past. Civilians uninvolved in the violence face the greatest burden. Staffelbach’s first years working on the island were filled with highs and lows, but his life marched along in predictable ways. Today, that is no longer the case.
Little Footprints, Big Steps, Old Guns
When Staffelbach first moved to Haiti in 2013, the island continued to recover from a 2010 earthquake which killed 300,000 people. At the time, he lived in the southern commune of Les Cayes teaching English and supporting the organization Little Footprints Big Steps (LFBS), which seeks to reunite families that have been separated by the island’s broken orphanage system. The NGO’s resources were limited, and its mission large, caring for dozens of children. Founded by a pair of young volunteers in 2011, LFBS lacked the international recognition and support of larger organizations.
Staffelbach became what he calls “a support for the support,” which in many ways he has carried through to today in his work in Haiti. “I saw that [the work] was overwhelming the founder, so I viewed my role as not being overwhelmed, just trying to be pragmatic,” he explained with a dry laugh. In practice, this meant everything from hauling coal down a mountain to filing a police report after the LFBS safehouse was robbed at gunpoint. At the time, the robbery was Staffelbach’s only personal experience with gun violence on the island. While weapons were always present, a “dirty shotgun is not the same thing as an automatic rifle,” he said.
After the robbery, Staffelbach reported the perpetrators to the police. When he told the police that he knew the whereabouts of the suspects, they called for the UN troops, threw Staffelbach in the car, and brought him to the scene of the arrest. He described riding back to the precinct in a UN open-air truck and watching his students wave at him from the streets. “It’s hard,” he said, “because if you send guys to jail in Haiti, they could be in there for years before they get a trial. But they pulled a gun out around a bunch of kids.” At the time, the local community essentially dictated the length of the suspects’ stay – they would pay their bail once they had “made a point,” Staffelbach said. He recalls seeing one of the robbers a year later in town; they shared a moment of unspoken acknowledgement, and walked away.
Ten Years On, a Port-au-Prince Divided and Armed
In recent years, however, Haiti has witnessed an influx in automatic weapons and in 2019, the departure of UN troops. When Staffelbach returned to Haiti in 2022, he moved outside the country’s capital, where violence pervaded the everyday. Mundane activities and movements became dangerous. Staffelbach began working for Father Rick Frechette, an American Catholic priest and medical doctor on the island, known for opening and running some of the country’s best hospitals. Lesser known, however, is Father Rick’s role in mediating gang violence.
“He had everyone’s number,” said Staffelbach, explaining that the gang members trusted Father Rick more than UN or NGO staff. One night, Father Rick received word from Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) that many individuals had been shot over the weekend in gang-controlled territory. He spoke with the infamous gang leader Jimmy Chérizier, better known as “Barbecue,” and received a promise of safe passage to retrieve the wounded in exchange for medical supplies. Staffelbach and staff from MSF piled into a large truck carrying the supplies and crept along the road until they reached a line of rocks indicating the edge of gang territory. Slowly, onlookers emerged from the edges of the road. They watched. Barbecue had told Father Rick and the team to wait for someone to come and get them – if they crossed the line, their vehicle would be shot.
They waited. Eventually, a figure emerged to lead them into the territory, dressed in tactical gear, an assault rifle slung over his shoulder. He spoke with Staffelbach and the staff, smoking a cigarette as they waited for a second escort. “Father Rick told me that we needed to be composed, we needed to act like nothing bothered us,” said Staffelbach. On the drive, one of the MSF staff whispered a quiet prayer and kissed the cross hung around his neck. Staffelbach held his calm. Eventually, the team was waved forward. When they arrived at their final destination, people poured out of the surrounding houses and swarmed the truck, pressing on Staffelbach and the MSF staff from all sides. Eventually, gang members emerged through the crowd carrying the wounded, loading them onto the truck. The MSF staff quickly moved to situate all the injured, mostly young men. As soon as everyone was secure in the truck, the team packed up.
“We peeled out, took off at full speed trying to get out as fast as possible,” said Staffelbach. As the car sped away from the territory, Staffelbach noticed that the injured man next to him was not moving, his leg flung limply over Pete’s. He gulped. “It was the first time I had experienced that, moving the dead,” he said. When they arrived back at the MSF compound, staff rushed to treat the wounded. The man resting on Pete left the truck in a body bag.
Staffelbach’s Next Trip
“I don’t know what the future for Haiti looks like,” he said. But Satffelbach has not given up hope. He is studying to become a physician’s assistant so that when he returns, he can work directly with those suffering the worst in the conflict. “I want to be able to do more,” he said.