January 12, 2010 – January 12, 2026: Nothing Has Changed. And Perhaps That Is the Most Unbearable Part.
ago, the earth shook. And with it, our fragile certainty of existing as a nation. On January 12, 2010, Haiti did not just collapse under the rubble. It revealed itself, naked, brutal, unvarnished.
By La Rédaction · Port-au-Prince
· 3 min read · Updated 24 April 2026
Translated from French — AI-assisted and reviewed by the editorial team. The French version is authoritative. Read the original · About our translation policy
Sixteen years ago, the earth shook. And with it, our fragile certainty of existing as a nation.
On January 12, 2010, Haiti did not just collapse under the rubble. It revealed itself, naked, brutal, unvarnished. Our brothers and sisters died in their homes, in the streets, in the dust, wherever chance had placed them that day. They did not die solely from an earthquake. They died from an absent state, a city without rules, a country built for too long on what was already not normal.
And since then?
We have piled up the years like hollow speeches.
Four presidencies. Ten Prime Ministers. Ephemeral governments, recycled promises, staged emotions. In the end: nothing. Nothing has been rebuilt on new foundations.
We rebuilt on the ruins, without ever questioning the ruin itself. We repainted the facade of the collapse, believing we could ward off the memory of the earthquake through oblivion. Every February 7, at this specific Carrefour or elsewhere, the same song begins again. The same gestures. The same mistakes. The country is carved up like a ceremonial cake. Ministries, general directorates, and public institutions are distributed like political spoils. Not to govern, but to settle alliances, pay loyalties, prepare for the next betrayal. And when everything fails, we pull out our favorite excuse: the foreigner! As if it were the foreigner preventing us from building hospitals. As if it were the foreigner prohibiting decent roads. As if it were the foreigner denying the people work, a simple meal, a modest but stable future. The Haitian people do not ask for miracles. They ask for a small taste of dignity and honest work. Nothing more.
Nothing extraordinary. What is most painful is not just the failure. It is the conscious repetition of failure. It is this dizzying impression that deep down, we know what should be done, but we choose not to do it.
Out of fear.
Out of calculation.
Out of mediocrity.
Out of surrender. And to think that some of us know. Know what this country could become.
Know what could be done with its human resources, its youth, its intelligence scattered across the world. Know that Haiti is not condemned to fate, but to its own refusal to face itself. January 12, 2010.
January 12, 2026. Sixteen years already, my grandmother Soirine, Manman ki fè m, maren n batize m, would have said 'Nad marinad'! The earth stopped shaking a long time ago. But the State, it has never begun to stand on its own. The real earthquake is no longer geological.
It is moral.
Institutional.
Political. And as long as we continue to confuse sharing power with sharing the country, as long as we use collective suffering as a backdrop for our petty strategies, as long as we prefer to accuse rather than build, January 12 will never pass. It will remain there. Suspended in time. Like a cruel reminder that Haiti's greatest tragedy is not what happened to it, but what it stubbornly refuses to become. Yves Lafortune
Fort Lauderdale
Four presidencies. Ten Prime Ministers. Ephemeral governments, recycled promises, staged emotions. In the end: nothing. Nothing has been rebuilt on new foundations.
We rebuilt on the ruins, without ever questioning the ruin itself. We repainted the facade of the collapse, believing we could ward off the memory of the earthquake through oblivion. Every February 7, at this specific Carrefour or elsewhere, the same song begins again. The same gestures. The same mistakes. The country is carved up like a ceremonial cake. Ministries, general directorates, and public institutions are distributed like political spoils. Not to govern, but to settle alliances, pay loyalties, prepare for the next betrayal. And when everything fails, we pull out our favorite excuse: the foreigner! As if it were the foreigner preventing us from building hospitals. As if it were the foreigner prohibiting decent roads. As if it were the foreigner denying the people work, a simple meal, a modest but stable future. The Haitian people do not ask for miracles. They ask for a small taste of dignity and honest work. Nothing more.
Nothing extraordinary. What is most painful is not just the failure. It is the conscious repetition of failure. It is this dizzying impression that deep down, we know what should be done, but we choose not to do it.
Out of fear.
Out of calculation.
Out of mediocrity.
Out of surrender. And to think that some of us know. Know what this country could become.
Know what could be done with its human resources, its youth, its intelligence scattered across the world. Know that Haiti is not condemned to fate, but to its own refusal to face itself. January 12, 2010.
January 12, 2026. Sixteen years already, my grandmother Soirine, Manman ki fè m, maren n batize m, would have said 'Nad marinad'! The earth stopped shaking a long time ago. But the State, it has never begun to stand on its own. The real earthquake is no longer geological.
It is moral.
Institutional.
Political. And as long as we continue to confuse sharing power with sharing the country, as long as we use collective suffering as a backdrop for our petty strategies, as long as we prefer to accuse rather than build, January 12 will never pass. It will remain there. Suspended in time. Like a cruel reminder that Haiti's greatest tragedy is not what happened to it, but what it stubbornly refuses to become. Yves Lafortune
Fort Lauderdale
