A Catalyst.
Not a Savior.
Born in Les Cayes, Haiti. Educated in Haiti, Montréal, New York, and New Jersey. Five years with Médecins Sans Frontières — South Sudan, Kenya, Chad, Guinea, Philippines — building medical infrastructure where almost nothing remained.
BS in Diplomacy & International Relations, Seton Hall University. Master of Public Administration, Rutgers University. Father of two. Construction professional. Born Haitian. Built for this moment.
I am not presenting myself as the one who has all the answers. I am presenting myself as the catalyst — the trained, experienced, morally grounded public servant ready to assemble Haiti's best minds in service of a nation that has waited long enough.
The plan is the argument. Read it, question it, ask me to defend it.
A Foundation.
Not a Rescue.
All my life, I have held my identity, my citizenship, and my cultural heritage as priceless inheritances that could never be traded. All my life, I have carried the memories of my childhood as proof of my loving relationship with Haiti. And all my life, I have watched my own government devalue everything they represented.
No government is perfect. But I expected some measure of care, dignity, and respect for the ancestors who made us the proud people we are, and for us, their descendants. What we were given instead was self-interest masquerading as leadership, favors traded in the dark, and a government with no institutional backbone.
Governments do more than write laws. Over time, they shape what a nation comes to accept as normal. When a nation learns to accept dysfunction from the top, it eventually repeats it at every level. To some in our culture, children are made to serve and remain silent. Our children live on the visible edge of what we have all trained ourselves not to see: a whole country of children gone invisible to us. The hungry child in the street. The boy no school will take. The girl no one is looking for. We walk past them the way we walk past a single tree in a forest, never really seeing it.
I saw one of them, once. After the earthquake,I traveled to Haiti, and while in traffic near the airport, a child caught my eye through the window of the car I was in and kept staring. I reached for my pocket. I was carrying hundreds of dollars. The driver reached over and stopped my hand. Don't, he said. If the others see, they will chase the car down the street.
So I did nothing. And the cruelty of that moment was not mine, it belonged to a country that could turn a full pocket and a willing hand into a danger. These children do not disappear. They grow. They wait. And a nation that will not see its children while they are hungry will be made to see them later, on its own terms, or on theirs.
That is why this plan is long, specific, and demanding. Nations are not rescued by good intentions; they are built by institutions strong enough to outlive the people who create them. I am not here to rescue Haiti. I am here to help Haitians build the country they have always deserved — a country where government stands on a firm foundation, where opportunity reaches every community, and where no Haitian child ever again grows up invisible.