One call from Haiti to a California radio station covering the coup aftermath came like so many others: on a shaky cell phone, with a connection that crackled and faded in and out, but which carried a clear message. This time it was the mayor of Milo, hiding from a group of armed former military men and convicted death squad leaders.
"We are swimming in blood everywhere. The oppression is atrocious," said Jean Charles Moise, who advocates for the return of Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide. Moise's district of 50,000 persons counts many being targeted now by gunmen of the National Liberation and Reconstruction Front.
Noel Vincent, a literacy teacher, is using cell phones to report from Cap Haitian to family in Florida. "I am so afraid I may never see you again," he told relatives as a reporter was allowed to listen in. "You must tell everyone what is happening here and in the Central Plateau... The death squads are reforming and they are coming for all who support democracy."
A battered and dirty cell phone is Andralese Lafortune's most prized possession. The 49-year-old high school teacher from Gonaives is in hiding too.
"During the last coup, we didn't have any way to reach the outside world," Lafortune recalls. "For three years we suffered under a repressive regime, while many were killed and tortured. But we had no voice then. We were muzzled."
Now Lafortune's daily challenge is finding electricity to charge her scarred blue and gray Nokia flip phone. With it she calls relatives in other parts of Haiti and abroad. One of them put her in touch with American journalists.
Many are dying violently at the hands of anti-Aristide forces, Lafortune says. She "cries," she says, when her cell phone battery dies because "then I am alone. Anything could happen to me and no one would know."
One U.S. attorney, Brian Concannon, receives reports from Haiti to his office in Miami by cell phone. He says one caller told him two witnesses who testified in a case against death squad members in which he was assisting have had their homes burned down.
Read more at Pacific News
"We are swimming in blood everywhere. The oppression is atrocious," said Jean Charles Moise, who advocates for the return of Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide. Moise's district of 50,000 persons counts many being targeted now by gunmen of the National Liberation and Reconstruction Front.
Noel Vincent, a literacy teacher, is using cell phones to report from Cap Haitian to family in Florida. "I am so afraid I may never see you again," he told relatives as a reporter was allowed to listen in. "You must tell everyone what is happening here and in the Central Plateau... The death squads are reforming and they are coming for all who support democracy."
A battered and dirty cell phone is Andralese Lafortune's most prized possession. The 49-year-old high school teacher from Gonaives is in hiding too.
"During the last coup, we didn't have any way to reach the outside world," Lafortune recalls. "For three years we suffered under a repressive regime, while many were killed and tortured. But we had no voice then. We were muzzled."
Now Lafortune's daily challenge is finding electricity to charge her scarred blue and gray Nokia flip phone. With it she calls relatives in other parts of Haiti and abroad. One of them put her in touch with American journalists.
Many are dying violently at the hands of anti-Aristide forces, Lafortune says. She "cries," she says, when her cell phone battery dies because "then I am alone. Anything could happen to me and no one would know."
One U.S. attorney, Brian Concannon, receives reports from Haiti to his office in Miami by cell phone. He says one caller told him two witnesses who testified in a case against death squad members in which he was assisting have had their homes burned down.
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