Culture

To restore Haiti, reforest its denuded hills

Columbus found Haiti a place of lush plants. Exploitation destroyed that, and the population. Now, there's a chance to help the people and the environment by putting Haitians to work restoring the natural heritage.

To restore Haiti, reforest its denuded hills
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Ashli Blow

Columbus found Haiti a place of lush plants. Exploitation destroyed that, and the population. Now, there's a chance to help the people and the environment by putting Haitians to work restoring the natural heritage.

The world has mounted a determined effort to relieve the immense human suffering in Haiti.  It is a remarkable outpouring of compassion that includes grassroots efforts to solicit donations on handheld devices, giant military transport planes loaded with food and water, and the quiet heroism of thousands of non-governmental relief workers, and it now seems well on its way toward meeting the immediate needs. As that monumental task is accomplished, and the attention of the world'ꀙs media shifts elsewhere, the challenge of creating a decent future for the people of Haiti will likely remain, because normal life in Haiti was unacceptably perilous even before the earthquake.

If there is to be any real hope for Haiti, a long-term and multi-faceted recovery effort must be mounted on a scale the world has rarely achieved.  Fortunately, former President Clinton and many others are already looking ahead to that task, drawing up plans to rebuild the nation's homes, government buildings, ports, and roads.  A group of us in Seattle and beyond, many from Federal Way-based World Vision, have suggested that the plan for rebuilding Haiti should also include a major campaign to put Haitians to work restoring the "natural capital" of their country — the once-verdant forests and clean rivers that were destroyed long ago, but ought to be restored as a birthright for future generations and a cornerstone of the nation'ꀙs future prosperity.

Long before the Jan. 12 earthquake leveled Haiti's capital, the devastation of its natural resources could be seen from outer space. Call up satellite images of Haiti on the internet and you will be shocked at the stark contrast between the barren hills of Haiti and the green mountainsides just across the border in the Dominican Republic. That deforestation is both a cruel legacy of Haiti's colonial past and a major factor in the poverty of her people today. It is a legacy that must be reversed to improve the future prospects of this fragile nation.

Modern Haiti's barren mountains could not be more different than the landscape first seen by European explorers.  Writing in his diary on Dec. 13, 1492, Christopher Columbus described his first view of Haiti with these words:

"All the trees were green and full of fruit and the plants tall and covered with flowers.  The roads were broad and good.  The climate was like April in Castile; the nightingale and other birds sang as they do in Spain during the month, and it was the most pleasant place in the world."

The idyllic landscape Columbus describes did not fare well in the centuries that followed, nor did its stewards, a half-million Arawak natives whose ancestors had lived on the island for nearly 5,000 years.  As Jared Diamond records this history in his book Collapse, the Spanish quickly enslaved the Arawaks and forced them to mine for gold, and then to clear the land for sugar plantations.  Within three decades of Columbus's voyage, disease, maltreatment and outright massacres had all but eliminated the native population.  As a result, the Spanish began importing slaves from Africa to keep their mines and plantations in operation.

Spain's attention eventually shifted to its more lucrative colonies in the Americas, leaving the French to fill the vacuum left in the western part of Hispaniola. The French accelerated the slave trade and cleared ever larger swaths of forest for plantations, shipping the timber off to France in the hulls of the same ships that had brought the slaves from Africa.

These practices were, to say it mildly, profoundly unsustainable, both for those enslaved and for the environment.  In 1850, the Haitian slaves overthrew their masters, but by the time the Haitian people had freed themselves from colonial rule, much of their "natural capital" had been destroyed.  What little remained of the nation's forests then has largely been lost since — cut down by the poor, who make up the overwhelming majority of the nation's populace, and who are almost entirely dependent on charcoal as a source of fuel for heating and cooking.

Today only 1% of Haiti's forests remain (compared to 28% of the Dominican Republic's forests).  In Diamond's words: "The consequences of all that deforestation include loss of timber and other forest building materials, soil erosion, loss of soil fertility, sediment loads in the rivers, loss of watershed protection and hence of potential hydroelectric power, and decreased rainfall.

These deficits in natural capital are reflected in the stark realities of Haiti's persistent economic deprivation: It is not only the poorest nation outside Africa (where many nations suffer from the same environmental deficits), it is a nation of subsistence farmers with ever more depleted soil; a country of 10 million people who must often choose between unsafe drinking water or water bottled by corporations and sold at prices they cannot afford.  It is a nation built of cinder blocks because it no longer had any timber.

If there is anything fortuitous for the Haitian people in the timing of the earthquake, it may be that it comes at the time when people are beginning to understand that the natural capital of any nation has value to all of humankind.  It is conceivable that this new understanding could be converted into a form of aid for Haiti that would not only help the nation get on its feet, but have lasting value for all humankind — the restoration of Haiti'ꀙs forests.

Indeed, several forces are converging that could make this vision a reality:

Ashli Blow

By Ashli Blow

Ashli Blow is a Seattle-based freelance writer who talks with people — in places from urban watersheds to remote wildernesses — about the environment around them. She’s been working in journal