Haiti is a land of dreams (some might say nightmares), so I wasn’t entirely surprised to hear that the Kompa singer I’d watched dropping his pants onstage years ago at the World Creole Music Festival in Dominica, was running for president back in 2011. Given our recent election experience-rallies of soca fete proportions and styling—and the fact that actors (including porn stars), sportsmen and women, beauty queens and other public performers have segued successfully from entertainment to politics, “Sweet Micky’s” candidacy seemed no more incongruous than calypsonian Winston “Gypsy” Peters serving time as T&T’s Minister of Culture.
But a head of state, in this case a tèt kale or baldhead, stands head and shoulders above any minister and presidential candidates are prone to stumble, fall, or even disappear en route to the pinnacle of power. Michel Martelly’s successful election on March 20, 2011 remained an intriguing mystery for me until the recent launch of the T&T Film Festival, which featured the documentary Sweet Micky for President, produced by Pras Michel, former member of the hugely popular but now defunct Haitian-American hip hop group the Fugees. Apart from the showbiz connection (Pras met Micky during a 1997 tour of Haiti) Pras’ role as a major campaign fundraiser for Barack Obama contextualised his motivation for supporting Martelly and producing the film, the first documentary feature from (white) American director Ben Patterson.
The concept of filming a political campaign, even in such a sensationalised and essentialised setting as Haiti, seems initially unalluring. Yet the combination of born-to-be leading man Sweet Micky/Michel Martelly, Pras’ naïve but unwavering optimism, the insertion of his fellow Fugee Wyclef Jean, Patterson’s stunning cinematography and music video pace, result in an exuberantly entertaining, informative feature, excellent for its insights into pre and post earthquake Haiti, its people, environment, politics and history.
The benefit of Patterson’s outsider eye is immediately evident in the stunning aerial footage (the shot of La Citadelle La Ferrière rearing above the sea surf is priceless) which follows the introductory sequence of historical footage. Images from the 1915-34 American Occupation, the Duvalier era and Aristide’s landslide 1990 election all help sketch in Haiti’s troubled and murderous past. Aerial footage of earthquake devastated Port-au-Prince jolts the audience into more recent history and the beginning of the campaign narrative, with Pras (who seems entirely unafflicted with political correctness) declaring: “ Haiti is stuck in the Ice Age.
We need to catch up with the rest of the world.”
Aware that to the outside world the prospect of a presidential candidate, better known for his risqué onstage antics (mini skirts, bras, diapers, mooning)—which admittedly feature in Vodou and popular culture—and his rebellious anti-authoritarian persona rather than his total lack of political experience, might seem ludicrous, Pras makes the distinction between Sweet Micky the artist and Michel Martelly the person.
He also emphasises that Martelly, even as an entertainer had been critical of Rene Préval’s largely ineffectual presidency
When estranged former band mate Wyclef Jean enters the presidential race, the movie changes gear, pumping with the adrenalin rush we’d associate with music videos rather than political reportage.
But what purists might dismiss as crass underscores the centrality of music in Haiti’s everyday reality, including its politics, as song lyrics often function in the same way that those of social commentary calypso do in T&T, especially for a population that still remains largely illiterate. In the ensuing battle of celebrities, Martelly is positioned as “President of Kompa” – Haiti’s longstanding dance music, with the electorate as his audience.
Reality intrudes however, when Martelly only places third in the flawed first round election but is swiftly supplanted by super-hero mode with more walk-on celebrity cameos from Bill Clinton and Sean Penn, seen lobbying for OAS intervention, to ensure the next round of the election is properly regulated. The spontaneous populist street revolt in response to the perceived corruption of the first round vote, alerts the audience to the reality that Martelly, much like Aristide before him, has become “a man of the people for the people”, a symbol of hope and real change (echoes of Obama), in the murky impasse of Haitian politics.
The super-hero/underdog trope further develops when Wyclef, deemed ineligible to run, is persuaded to back Martelly, now in a face off with career politician Mirlande Manigat, representative of the mulatto elite which despises its lapsed and uneducated “black sheep”. With battle lines drawn and memories of the years of corruption and stasis very much in mind, it’s hard to take Pras’ unsought for advice to Martelly “This is not a concert, it’s a political rally.” It’s to Pras’ credit that footage of him threatening that the country will be burnt down should Martelly be defeated, is included – a touch which captures both his political naivety and his unquestionable commitment.
Now in the galloping mode which characterises Haitian kanaval songs, the deus ex machina of Aristide’s return fuels the impending denouement, climaxing with Wyclef’s election night reunion with Pras onstage at the final rally, and his solo performance of Ready or Not. While the euphoria which greets Martelly’s win has not translated into any perceptible shift in Haiti’s political culture, still mired in the labyrinth of corruption and vested interest, Sweet Micky for President succeeds on different levels in focusing audience attention on the complexities rather than the stereotypes of Haiti and also on the phenomenon of celebrity and superstar engagement in some of the more benign aspects of globalisation.