Justice for Rooldine Lindor

Jistis pou Roudline  Lindor

There are some words that are impossible for this Haitian native to say in English.

Gen de pawòl ki enposib pou mwen, yon ayisyèn natif natal, di an anglè.

Gen de zafè ki pase sou tè sa a ki difisil pou moun ki gen konsyans konprann.

There are some things that happen on this earth that are difficult to comprehend.  

Gen de moun ki pa merite yo rele yo ‘moun’; plis yo avanse lan sosyete, plis yo fè pa an aryè tankou vye bèt raje.

There are people who do not deserve to be called human. The more they advance as a society, the more rearward steps they take, like beasts in the wild.

Moun sivilize pa aji tankou lyon sovaj. Moun ki gen konsyans sipoze respekte lavi lòt. Menm si lòt moun nan se etranje li ye lan peyi w; menmsi nasyonalite lòt la se yon peyi ke w konnen nan fon kè w ou pa gen dwa janm ni sipòte ni renmen.

Civilized people do not act like savages. People with a conscience respect the life of others, even when those ‘others’ are strangers in your lands; even when the ‘others’ are of a country you know in your hearts you will never tolerate.

Douz Jiyè, lan dominikani, de bèt anraje efase lavi yon etidyan 20 an, Rooldine Lindor—yon ti moun inosan. Toupatou pawòl la pale.

July 12th, in the Dominican Republic, two enraged beasts erased the life of a 20 year-old student, Roudline Lindor—an innocent child, really. The news spread like a powerful flood–a category five hurricane, drowning our faith in mankind.

Zak sa a frape nou fò. Krim sa a afekte tout fi tout gason tout kote. Nou mande gras pou fanmi Rooldine. Nou mande jistis pou lavi ke bèt sovaj yo pran.

News of this monstrous crime hit us hard. People everywhere have been struck by this act of unmitigated violence. We pray that Rooldine’s family finds comfort. . . We demand justice for the girl’s abbreviated life.

San ayisyen dwe sispann koule gout pa gout lan dominikani.

Haitian blood must stop spilling in the Dominican Republic.

Vyolans de bandi yo fè kont Rooldine Lindor tèlman sovaj, moun toupatou oblije kanpe sou ran pou yo rele: Roudline se pitit nou tout li ye; se sè nou tout. Se fanmi nou tout.

The violence inflicted on Rooldine was so incomprehensible that people everywhere now stand in line to make their voices heard.  The girl was our daughter. She was our sister. She was family.

Nou mete vwa-n ansanm pou nou rele sa se twòp.

We put our voices together to say Enough.

Li lè pou krim kont ayisyen sispann lan dominikani. Nou mande jistis pou fanm ak gason ayisyen k ap viv lan tout peyi etranje.

The time is now for crime against Haitians in the Dominican Republic to stop. We demand justice for Haitian women and men who live in foreign countries.  

Lè w tande yon bèt devore yon lòt lan raje, nou pa di krik—sa se abitid bèt sovaj. Men lan moman nou ye la sou tè sa a. . . pou yon ti moun pa ka ale lekòl san li pa oblije gen senkant zye deyè tèt li, ka a grav pou lemond antye.

When we hear that a beast devours another in the wild, we don’t speak—that is the habit of animals. In these moments we live today. . .for a child not to be able to go to school without having fifty eyes behind her head. . .the situation is grave for us all.

Pou fanmi Rooldine Lindor, nou ofri kondoleyans ak tout kè nou. Pou lavi pitit fi dayiti sa a, nou mande jistis.

To Rooldine’s family, we offer our deepest condolence. For this girlchild of Ayiti, we demand justice.

 

 

Opal Palmer Adisa Celebrates Haiti/Ayiti

Opal Palmer Adisa, Ph.D — Editor of The Caribbean Writer

Diverse and multi-genre, Opal Palmer Adisa, is an exceptional talent, nurtured on cane-sap and the oceanic breeze of Jamaica.

The Editor of The Caribbean Writer, Adisa writes both poetry and prose; she is a photographer, professor, educator and cultural activist, as well. Adisa has lectured and read her work throughout the United States, South Africa, Ghana, Nigeria, Germany, England and Prague, and has performed in Italy and Bosnia.

An award-winning poet and prose writer Adisa has fourteen titles to her credit, including the novel, It Begins With Tears (1997), that Rick Ayers proclaimed as one of the most motivational works for young adults. She has been a resident artist in internationally acclaimed residencies such as El Gounda (Egypt), Sacatar Institute (Brazil) and Tryon Center, (North Carolina) and Headlines Center for the Arts (California, USA). Opal Palmer Adisa’s work has been reviewed by Ishmael Reed, Al Young, and Alice Walker (Color Purple), who described her work as “solid, visceral, important stories written with integrity and love.”

Some of her published works are: Caribbean Erotic, anthology (co-edited with Donna Aza Weir-Soley), 201o.  

What A Woman Ispoetry and paintings (with Egyptian painter Shayma Kamel) 2010.

I Name Me Name (poetry collection), Peepal Tree Press, 2008.

Until Judgment Comes (short story collection), 2007.

Eros Muse (poetry and essays), Africa World Press, 2006.

The Caribbean Writer‘s 25th Anniversary bi-lingual issue focuses on Haiti.  It includes writers such as Edwidge Danticat, Mirlande Jean-Gilles, Ibi Anu Zoboi, Evelyne Trouillot, Marilène Phipps-Kettlewell, Michelle Y. Remy, Wilna Julmiste, and many others.

InnerView

 

 

Yanick Etienne: When Angels Sing

Yanick Etienne (Haiti Celebrity Photo)

A favorite song is like a soul mate: there can be only one. At any given moment, someone somewhere is crying out, “This is MY song!” 15,000 people could be making the same declaration at exactly the exact same time, but what does that matter?

All you know is that you heard the song once (or a thousand times), and there was a surge of something that felt a whole lot like entitlement. Ownership. You could have written the lyrics and the musical arrangement yourself.

Perhaps you were completely conscious of your surroundings at the time you fell for the song. Perhaps it is now a distant dot of some long-time-ago night when that song coincided with a dramatic moment. No matter. It happened.

You now own the rights to this song. You sing it in the shower, at the checkout line, any time you wish. You hum it unconsciously. You sing it when you’re happy and when tears start to pop out of your eyes. It’s your personal theme song.

You become protective of the song’s particular musical arrangement. If another artist hints at a remake, you’re offended. You feel infringed upon. The version you fell in love with must not be desecrated. You share your devotion with your e-friends. For proof, you even post a video of yourself singing your song with a wooden spoon for a microphone. And then you “Like! Like! Like!” it your darn self.

——

Long before ‘friend’ became a verb, I met a gem of a girl from Ireland who introduced me to a few of her favorite musicians: Bob Marley, U-2, B.B., David Bowie, Roxy Music.

Roxy Music?

Strange name for a man, I thought; but it turned out the singer’s name was (and still is) Bryan Ferry.

My Irish friend played her songs. There was a forbidden-fruit feel to the moment. These singers were not exactly angels. My traditional Haitian parents would not have approved of me going around the house singing “I shot the Sheriff. . .” or “. . .Your kisses drive me delirious. . .” or even Roxy Music’s ever so subtle little song: Avalon.

Bryan Ferry’s vocals are insistent, provocative, mysterious, breathy–the kind of voice that can get a girl into a whole lot of trouble. The lyrics barely hint at seduction, nothing blatant. It’s just a simple, harmless description of a romantic incident. The listener is the one adding the meaning and insinuations and whatever else he/she wants to add. The song is as innocent as loves songs can be.

When the party’s over

I’m so tired

Then I see you coming

Out of nowhere

Much Communication

In a motion

Without conversation 

or a notion. . .

Bryan pauses here. The melody has to breathe. 8 counts later, he starts again. “When the samba takes you out of nowhere. And your destination. . .You don’t know it. . .” 

His breath trembles as he sings. You can feel the longing. You start to add meaning of your own. Yes. Ooh. You can’t deny what the song is doing to you. Until he reaches the bridge. The unforgettable bridge comes and the world stands still.

Yanick Etienne appears out of nowhere. The spotlights focus on her. She will take over now. Thank you, Bryan. Yanick doesn’t mean to steal the show, but everyone in the house will stop whatever they’re doing. They don’t want to miss this experience.

Yanik Etienne sways a little, taking in the music until her part comes. She stands under the blinding light, seemingly alone.

“Avalon.  Avalon. Avalon. . .”  she begins in an entreating voice“Avalon.” 

You tell yourself that since no human being’s voice can be so powerful, Yanick must have back up; and these backup singers–hundreds of them–must be hiding backstage somewhere.  Maybe those backup singers were like angels hovering above the stage, assisting Yanick through her song, making her sound like a legion of angels.

I recall the room becoming still. Time stopped. This was going to be my song—the one I would never forget. Luckily, there was no loss involved. No emotional trauma. No soap-opera goodbyes—just two girls listening to forbidden-fruit songs, which by today’s standards are like Gregorian chants.

There have been other favorite songs since I heard Yanick Etienne—songs that my parents forbade to hear simply because I was born female. Now, I can declare that I love those songs, too.

I like Tabou Combo, Bessie Smith, Charles Aznavour, Marta Jean-Claude, Celia “Azukar” Cruz, Manno Charlemagne, Jon Lucien, Emeline Michel; Beethoven, B. Obas singing “Ou fout dous; ou gou, ou bon, epi ou bòn ankò!” I like Nina Simone, Michael Jackson, Mahalia Jackson, Boukan Ginen, Ram, Coco Breeze, Grace Jones, Tiga, Pauline Jean, and Katia D. Ulysse;-)  I Like, Like, Like many singers. But whenever I heard Yanick Etienne’s voice in Avalon, something inside always  shouts: “That is MY Song!”

Yanick sang but a few words in the song, but critics worldwide agree hers is rare talent and a gift to every listener. Yanick is still holding those notes. The girl is amazing, and getting more fierce everyday. If you don’t believe in angels, listen Yanick Etienne’s voice just once.  And then you will.

Rumor has it that Ms. Etienne’s new single will drop soon. Get ready for an exciting experience. I can’t wait.

 

 

Michèle Voltaire Marcelin: Life Always Triumphs

Michèle Voltaire Marcelin is a writer, poet, performer, and visual artist who has lived in Haiti, Chile and the United States.

Her first novel, La Désenchantée, was published in 2006. Since then, she has published its Spanish translation, La Desencantada, as well as two other books of poetry and prose: Lost and Found, and Amours et Bagatelles– which was recently translated to Spanish and which she presented this February at the International Book Fair of Havana, Cuba.

Michele’s work is also included in two poetry anthologies published in France :Terre de Femmes (Editions Bruno Doucey) and Cahier Haiti by Revue d’Art, Littérature et Musique.

Maya Angelou declared her poems “stunning” in an interview on OprahRadio:

Haitian Poet Michele Voltaire Marcelin – Audio – Oprah.com

www.oprah.com

http://www.oprah.com/oprahradio/Haitian-Poet-Michele-Voltaire-Marcelin-Audio

Author Edwidge Danticat wrote: “The seventy-four poems in Michèle Voltaire Marcelin’s “Lost and Found” are as sensual as they are lyrical, as tender as they are incandescent. Make sure you are sitting down, or better yet lying down, with your beloved and a glass of wine, as you read them. Your heart — and your love life — will never be the same.”

Michèle recently read her poetry at the International Miami Book Fair along side Paul Farmer, Salman Rushdie, and Edwidge Danticat. She’s been featured as one of the poets of the NewsHour on PBS and interviewed by CNN Español.

She has performed her poetry solo and with jazz bands at the Brooklyn Museum , the MoCADA, La MaMa theatre, Cornelia Street Cafe, the United Nations, the Segal Theatre, and most recently at UCLA with Jonathan Demme, Maggie Steber, Mark Denner in Haiti Stories.

She has shared the stage with artistic luminaries Emeline Michel, Manno Charlemagne, Buyu Ambroise, Beethova Obas, Jessica St.Vil of KanuDance. Her artwork has been exhibited at the MoCADA, the African-American Museum of L.I., The Cork Gallery at Lincoln Center and the Mupanah in Haiti.

This Port-au-Prince born artist writes in 3 languages and currently lives and teaches in New York.