Cap-Haitien: Fragile Refuge, Trembling Memory!

To Ralph Thomassaint for his last cry, and to all Haitians, especially those living in Cap-Haitien at this moment.

To Professor Hervé St Preux, a specialist in risks and disasters, who, despite himself, lives outside the country.

To Denise Poulard, PhD candidate in Public Policy, with whom my discussions around statehood and state building never end.

The fragility of Cap-Haitien remains an open wound in Haiti's history. As early as January 2018, attention had been drawn to this city by Hervé St Preux, a member of the Institute of Public Policies, who warned against the threat of an imminent earthquake. A well had run dry at a time when it should have been supplied with water, a sign that tectonic plates were moving. Experts concluded that the danger was real, but this alert, as often happens, was lost in the clamor of national emergencies. It seemed as if no real awareness was forming, as if Cap-Haitien, a city of light and memory, had to face its vulnerability alone.

History, however, reminds us how long this city was perceived as a refuge. After independence, many families from Port-au-Prince, fleeing political struggles, fires, and the chronic instability of the capital, came to settle there. Cap-Haitien then offered a more solid urban structure, recognized educational and religious institutions, and a vibrant cultural life (Madiou, 1847/1848). But this haven was brutally shaken on May 7, 1842, when an earthquake devastated the city and its surroundings. In a few seconds, thousands of lives were lost, prestigious buildings annihilated, and the illusion of security swept away. This catastrophe not only destroyed a prosperous city but also the hope of reconstruction for so many families who had sought refuge there (Dubois, 2004).

Since then, Cap-Haitien has carried this telluric memory, blending grandeur and fragility. The 1842 catastrophe still resonates, not only in historical accounts but also in the collective consciousness of its inhabitants. As Schuller (2016) writes, every disaster in Haiti is also a repetition of ancient traumas, where structural vulnerability is compounded by institutional neglect.

Today, warning signs persist: seismic movements, scientific studies, calls from researchers. But the city, once a refuge and place of rebirth for Port-au-Prince residents, remains without a true prevention policy. In this tragic paradox, Haiti reveals a constant: its cities, alternately havens and tombs, concentrate both the hope of stability and the certainty of vulnerability. Thus, under the clear sky of the North, Cap-Haitien remains suspended between memory and threat, like a fragile star shining on the edge of night.

How long, however, will we let this star fade for lack of action? Authorities have a duty to act, not after the catastrophe, but before it occurs, so that the history of Cap-Haitien is no longer written in pain and oblivion.