During the last week I’ve been in Port au Prince, taking part in the activities that were launched as a commemoration and a demand for the end of child slavery, or the restavèk system, here in Haiti. The date, November 17, was deliberately chosen for the first annual celebration last year, as it is the day before the last historical battle (the Bataille de Vertières) in the fight for Haitian independence which occurred on November 18 in 1803.
In much of the discourse of the week’s activities, parallels were drawn between the slavery that Haiti rejected leading up to 1804 and the slavery that exists today. How can the first country to have denounced slavery and claimed its freedom be the same one that continues to keep its children in chains? Yet, the very use of the word slavery is controversial when referring to what children are suffering today. The word evokes images and collective memories too painful to bear, leading some to argue against calling what children are living slavery. Others refuse to soften the truth by using any other term (domestic servitude, for example), arguing that at least in colonial slavery, slaves were granted value by virtue of their being purchased. As commodities, they had worth for their owners and minimal protections as “investments”. Children today, however, are not bought, are granted no value, and if they become sick or die, are simply replaced.
The debate over the worse of two horrors was minimal, though the importance of the parallels was not lost as members of the Aba Sistèm Restavèk (Down with the Restavèk System) network of grassroots organizations worked for weeks prior to these events, pouring their time and resources into their realization. [It’s important to know that most of the individuals who work for the member organizations are not paid for what they do; most of these truly grassroots organizations have little or no means to pay staff, and when I say they have been pouring their resources, I mean their time, souls, and sweat.] Gathering and mobilizing as a network without meeting space, without resources, and with a brand new board that is learning slowly and somewhat painfully how to govern itself were not simple tasks.
And yet, when 1,500 children took to the streets on Saturday, November 17, chanting their demands and their hope, Edikasyon, Gratis! (Free Education!), and, Yon Ayiti san timoun restavèk, POSIB (A Haiti without restavèk children: POSSIBLE!), it was truly breathtaking.
The march route passed in front of several of the government ministries, stopping directly in front of the National Palace, where the children demanded Prezidan Preval, pran responsibilite w! (President Préval, do your job!).
Immediately prior to the march, an ecumenical church service was held, with the entire St. Trinity Cathedral FULL of children. 
Guerda Lexima Constant, the coordinator of Limyè Lavi’s Campaign to End Child Servitude, took the podium to offer closing words, asking the children on behalf of all adults in Haiti, for their forgiveness for what adults have done to them. Guerda shared that she understands that they are suffering, that they have rights and demands, and she assured them that there are adults who are trying to make a difference. 
On November 16, the day before the national celebration, a round table panel of important players in this revolution drew a crowd of at least 150 people and many radio and newspaper journalists. 
During the round table, both Jean-Robert Cadet and Hélia Lajeunesse told heartbreaking, horrific, and inspiring personal accounts of their experiences as restavèk children. Through their words they both challenged and inspired…asking us to face and respond to the horror that children are living daily, and demonstrating their truly unbelievable resilience and strength in their fight not only to survive but to continue to challenge the system and demand its transformation. In the question/answer that followed, participants asked challenging questions of the panel, regarding what strategic plan of action has been developed, whether the representative of the justice system really believes he is doing a good job, and of Jean-Robert and Hélia, how they managed to find the inner strength to survive. A concluding comment by one audience member, however, asked all of us to examine our own homes and families to see whether we ourselves are perpetuating slavery.
I felt a pause, a sort of a sinking, in the crowd. Despite the good efforts of the people in the room I suspect, as that audience member did, that there were many people who have a child in their homes performing the lion’s share of the work, and if not being abused outright, definitely being treated differently than the children of the family. A sobering thought--the practice of child slavery is extremely pervasive, overwhelmingly so.
And so the activities concluded, but the work is far from complete. During the week I spent immersed in this work for transformation, for radical change, there were moments when I felt wholly discouraged. Why aren’t more people aware, why isn’t the whole world outraged that such atrocities can occur? Why are so many people so comfortably sitting, complacently ignorant? Why doesn’t every single person feel the pain of this in their very blood and bones….we are ONE…why don’t we feel that?
I’m angry and I don’t know what to do with that anger sometimes. Soft words and gentle nudges don’t change the world. But I don’t find it within me to speak violently either.
When I allow myself a moment to really see what I’m seeing, it’s clear that the kind of transformation that this world needs is not about piecing together the right interventions….it’s not a concrete puzzle. My scientist mind wants to design interventions and piece together the components, psychological, economic, educational, that will put this whole back together again. And yet, children are enslaved in Haiti because we as a whole are sick, truly ill in our collective spirit. Horrific things are happening all over the world today, because we don't get it yet. Work is necessary, concrete interventions are a part of the change we want to see. But until we transform ourselves we cannot change the world outside of us. How can it be possible that sitting in stillness is my greatest (only?) hope for the world?
