An opinion on diaspora organization, dignity, and the cost of Haiti’s diplomatic silence

Opinion | Diaspora & Sovereignty | The Haitian Pulse Editorial Team | January 6, 2026

This is an opinion, not an investigation. It is not informed by private conversations or inside knowledge, but by years of observing a recurring pattern in Haitian history: when the state retreats, the people improvise. When representation disappears, Haitians build substitutes. When silence becomes dangerous, organization becomes survival.

It is within this context that initiatives like Little Haiti Global must be examined—not emotionally, not defensively, but honestly.

For far too long, Haitians abroad have lived with a painful truth: when something goes wrong, there is rarely a Haitian institution ready to speak with authority on their behalf. Deportations happen. Narratives harden. Crises erupt. And the Haitian response is often fragmented, delayed, or absent. This absence does more than harm individuals; it erodes collective dignity.

“A people without representation will eventually accept being represented by others.”

Seen through that lens, the instinct behind structured diaspora initiatives makes sense. Organization offers protection. Visibility offers leverage. Community offers dignity. When Haitians build systems abroad, it is proof that we are not incapable—it is proof that we have been unsupported.

But here is where the uncomfortable conversation begins.

When Haitians invest their most structured thinking, their most coordinated planning, and their most ambitious institution-building outside of Haiti, we must ask what future we are quietly accepting for the country itself. At what point does survival abroad become an unspoken admission that national restoration has been postponed indefinitely?

This is not a judgment. It is a warning.

“There is a difference between temporary refuge and permanent strategy.”

The danger is not that Haitians leave. Migration has always been part of our story. The danger is that leaving becomes the best organized option, while rebuilding remains rhetorical. When relocation becomes systematic, it risks reframing Haiti not as a nation to strengthen, but as a place to manage from afar.

That shift matters.

Because once dignity is institutionalized outside the homeland, the homeland risks being reduced to memory, sentiment, or symbolism—rather than strategy.

Another question must also be raised: who speaks for Haitians when the state is weak? Community-led diplomacy can be powerful, but without clear accountability and alignment with Haiti’s long-term sovereignty, it risks becoming a parallel authority. The line between representation and replacement is thin, and history shows it is easy to cross without intent.

In the case of Little Haiti Global, the organization publicly lists Michael Roegge as its Chief Executive Officer (CEO) and Brand Ambassador, responsible for leading the initiative’s strategy and global outreach. Beyond what is presented on the organization’s own website, information about his professional background was not independently verified through widely available public professional directories at the time of writing. This observation is not a judgment, but a reminder of why transparency and clarity matter when initiatives position themselves as representatives of a people.

“Filling a vacuum is not the same as owning the future.”

This does not mean initiatives like Little Haiti Global are misguided or malicious. On the contrary, they reflect intelligence, urgency, and organizational capacity. They highlight what Haitians can build when they decide not to wait. But they also expose a deeper problem: a nation whose people are forced to invent external systems because internal ones have collapsed.

And that is not a victory—it is an indictment.

As one examines the public messaging and promotional materials associated with this initiative, a clear impression emerges: the structure appears designed not simply to support Haitians abroad temporarily, but to systematically relocate and root Haitian communities in countries other than Haiti. This reflects long-term planning, institutional coordination, and a vision of permanence.

In effect, the model being presented is one of intentional diaspora construction—the deliberate creation of “Little Haitis” across the globe. Comparisons have been made to communities such as Little Italy or Chinatown. But those communities did not emerge from centralized strategies or organized relocation efforts. They formed organically, over generations, shaped by time, labor, exclusion, and gradual settlement.

What we are witnessing here is fundamentally different.

“There is a difference between organic settlement and engineered permanence.”

Little Italy and Chinatown were not built through the systematic redirection of national resources away from their homelands. They were not substitutes for state failure. In contrast, a deliberately structured global relocation strategy raises a more difficult question: when leadership, capital, coordination, and long-term planning are invested elsewhere, what remains invested in Haiti itself?

This is where concern becomes unavoidable.

Haiti is not a nation with excess capacity to export its best organizational energy indefinitely. It is a country struggling to recover from institutional collapse, insecurity, and economic paralysis. When large-scale initiatives prioritize permanence outside the country, they risk reinforcing the idea that Haiti’s future lies elsewhere.

A nation cannot recover if its recovery strategy is outsourced.

The issue is not movement. It is direction.

A diaspora can serve as a bridge back to national renewal—or it can quietly become an alternative to it. The difference lies in whether global organization is aimed at leverage and pressure, or at settlement and replacement.

“A diaspora should be a force multiplier for a nation—not its quiet substitute.”

This is why decentralization matters. True decentralization does not mean dispersing people without alignment. It means empowering communities where they are, launching micro-projects, strengthening local capacity, and coordinating action—while keeping Haiti at the center of the long-term vision. It is the difference between building parallel worlds and building aligned ones.

Haiti does not need to be rescued. It needs to be re-organized.

The current moment—marked by renewed global attention, World Cup momentum, and heightened diaspora engagement—demands clarity. If Haitians are capable of designing structured communities abroad, negotiating with governments, and coordinating resources across borders, then Haitians are capable of applying that same discipline to rebuilding institutions at home.

“The future will not be decided by where Haitians live, but by how Haitians align.”

This opinion is not a rejection of diaspora initiatives. It is a call to interrogate their implications. To ask hard questions before comfort becomes permanence. To ensure that in solving today’s vulnerability, we do not quietly surrender tomorrow’s sovereignty.

The Haitian Pulse exists to surface these conversations—not to divide, but to clarify. Not to accuse, but to challenge. Haitian progress will require bold ideas, honest debate, and the courage to examine even our most well-intentioned solutions.

The Haitian Pulse believes that global Haitian organization must always point back toward national dignity, collective leverage, and long-term restoration. Anything less risks turning adaptation into destiny.