By Jake Johnston
Research Associate, Center for Economic and Policy Research
It’s been nearly a decade since Haitians last went to the polls to elect a president. Even then, barely one in five participated. In a country with a majority of the population under 25 years of age, this means that, for most Haitians, voting for one’s leaders is a privilege never before experienced.
Haiti’s transition, precipitated by the assassination of Jovenel Moïse in July 2021, is ongoing. For the better part of four years, progress toward elections has remained elusive. But that all appeared to change this fall.
“The Haitians need to come to an election and elect a president,” the US Charge d’Affaires, Henry Wooster said in September. Security and other challenges must not be a “red herring for taking action,” he continued. Speaking directly to Haiti’s de facto authorities, he warned: “In other words, you can’t stay in those jobs for life.”
The reaction, in a country where the political class remains more responsive to Washington than the population in Haiti, was swift. Two months later, a new electoral law has been established and a vote scheduled for next August. But does this present Haitians with a path out of the multiple, overlaid crises affecting the country? More than half the country is facing food insecurity, the economy is about to wrap up its seventh consecutive year of negative growth, and insecurity continues to dominate daily life.
In 2023, when asked if they had trust in the electoral process, fewer than one in four Haitians responded yes. It is hard to imagine that number is higher today. Though few would be sorry to see the much-loathed leaders atop the transition fall, a vote is not a path out of the current crisis.
The quick response to Wooster’s threats was not so much about elections. It was about a date much closer on the horizon: February 7, 2026. That is when the mandate of the nine-member presidential council — which was put in place with a strong push from the Biden administration, CARICOM, UN, and the OAS 18 months ago — formally ends. For months, debate has raged over what should come next. The political class is auditioning, not with the ten-plus million citizens of Haiti, but with the foreign diplomats and multilateral entities they see as key to their own survival.
And if there was any doubt about who would ultimately decide, it was put to rest in mid-November. Amid an effort from some on the transitional presidential council to, once again, replace the prime minister, the US embassy stepped into the fight.
“If you and your family value your relationship with the United States, I urge you in the strongest terms to desist from initiatives to oust the PM and to instead publish the electoral decree … This is not the time to test U.S. resolve,” Wooster texted Fritz Jean, one of the councilors. Days later, Jean’s US visa was revoked and the State Department publicly accused him, without providing evidence, of supporting armed gangs. The effort to replace the PM was stopped — at least for now. The next week, the electoral decree was published.
The “plan” is coming into focus, and it is a familiar one: stability at all costs, no matter how rotten the foundation. To enforce this notion of stability and allow for elections, the US has been quick to assure that more security support is on the way.
In September, the UN Security Council approved a Gang Suppression Force (GSF). Authorized for up to 5,500 soldiers, it is currently little more than a rebranding of the Kenyan-led Multinational Support Mission (MSS) that the UN authorized in 2024. No new troops have arrived and, while this new mission will have some level of UN support, operationalizing any of it is expected to take the better part of a year.
The main difference then, for the 1,000 or so mostly Kenyan police on the ground in Haiti is that the rules of engagement have changed. The GSF, as its name suggests, is intended to be more “muscular,” by which its architects mean lethal. The newly drafted Concept of Operations outlines a mission with a simple goal: kill the bandits.
But while few have taken note, that has been the de facto authorities’ strategy for some time. So far this year, police forces have been responsible for well over half of the 4,500-plus killings in Haiti. Hundreds of civilians have been caught in the crossfire as police battle armed groups that exert influence over much of Port-au-Prince and have traumatized a nation. Drone attacks, led by a secretive police unit operating with Blackwater CEO Erik Prince’s private mercenaries, are also racking up civilian casualties and drawing growing condemnation.
The outspoken leaders of Haiti’s armed groups, however, only seem to continue to accumulate more power, political influence, and heavy weaponry. While some areas of the capital have seen tension ease, violence in the provinces is expanding by the day. Armed groups still control all the major arteries of the nation. More people are displaced today than at the height of the post-earthquake recovery.
The US has expressed its goal in Haiti as saving the state from imminent collapse, thereby avoiding mass migration or the further entrenchment of transnational criminal organizations. But while precious oxygen is consumed by raging debates over electoral timelines, transitional governance structures, and how quickly foreign soldiers can arrive, nobody has stopped to ask a basic question: is the current state worth saving?
The root of the tension that has paralyzed the country for much of the last decade is not a fight between violent gangs and the state. Simplistic narratives of good versus evil miss the mark. Rather, it is a fight over putting the train back on the tracks to save a rump state in the name of stability or to lay new tracks to create the foundations for a more representative state to rise from the ashes. It is not elections nor a foreign military force that will resolve this fundamental tension. In fact, history shows those two responses are more likely to consolidate the status quo.
The Haitian people need an opportunity to vote freely. They need to feel safe and secure in their communities. But what is missing is a plan to bring it all together, to begin restoring faith in a state that long ago lost the trust of the population; a plan to achieve peace, which is not just the absence of violence, but the presence of opportunity. What is missing is a vision that can inspire the population and bring the nation together around a common path forward.
A peace process can fill that gap. Such an endeavor does not mean legitimizing armed actors, condoning violence, or accepting impunity; rather, what it should mean is treating the situation holistically while centering the population and in particular victims of both state and non-state violence. A foreign military force and low-turnout elections are tracks Haiti has been down many times before. A peace process offers a chance at laying new ones. But first, what Haiti needs are political leaders responsive to the needs of the people and not simply to foreign embassies.
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