An Open Letter from a Haitian to the People of Venezuela Following the June 26 Earthquakes

By Louino Robillard – Jun 27, 2026

Dear brothers and sisters of Venezuela,

I write to you from Haiti with a heavy heart.

I am not writing as an observer. I am writing as a Haitian who knows what it feels like to wake up one morning and find that nothing will ever be the same again. I belong to the generation that still carries the scars of January 12, 2010. That is why every image I see from Venezuela—every family searching for loved ones, every person digging through rubble, every neighbor rushing to help another—brings me back to a pain I have never forgotten.

The Haitian people have not forgotten.

Even though Haiti is still struggling today under political instability, armed violence, economic hardship, food insecurity, and many other crises, we could not remain silent in the face of your suffering. A people who know what pain feels like cannot pretend not to see the pain of another.

We may not have much to offer today.

But we do possess something no one can take from us: our experience, our solidarity, and the lessons we have learned through our own suffering.

That is what I wish to share with you.

We have not forgotten the historic bond between Haiti and Venezuela. We have not forgotten the solidarity the Venezuelan people showed us after our earthquake. That generosity will always remain in our hearts.

Pain needs no translation.

We know what it means to lose in seconds what took a lifetime to build.

But I also know something else.

I know the Venezuelan people.

I know you are a people of dignity, courage, and resilience. What gives me hope today is not only the work of emergency responders. It is ordinary citizens. I see neighbors helping neighbors. I see people sharing what little they have. I see a nation refusing to abandon one another.

Please, do not lose that spirit.

As a Haitian, allow me to share one of the greatest lessons we learned after January 12, 2010.

The entire world mobilized to help Haiti. We will always be grateful to every country, every organization, and every individual who stood beside us. Countless lives were saved because of that solidarity.

But our experience also taught us another truth.

Aid alone is not enough.

Many organizations came to Haiti with compassion, expertise, and sincere intentions. Their contributions deserve lasting gratitude.

Yet there were also difficult lessons.

Some actors arrived with their own agendas.

Some did not spend enough time listening to local communities.

Some failed to work closely with local authorities and organizations that already understood the realities on the ground.

Projects were sometimes designed for communities without communities truly participating in the decisions.

When funding ended, many left.

The communities remained.

Over time, many people began referring to Haiti as the “Republic of NGOs.”

Not because every NGO failed, nor because every organization had bad intentions. That would be unfair. Many did extraordinary work.

But our experience shows that when an already fragile state is not strengthened, when communities are not leading their own recovery, when coordination is weak, and when corruption and impunity continue, even the greatest international solidarity cannot fully achieve what a nation hopes for.

More than fourteen years later, Haiti is still struggling to rebuild itself.

That is why I feel a responsibility to tell you this.

Many hands will reach out to help you.

Many people will come with genuine goodwill.

Others may come with different interests.

Many promises will be made.

Many resources will be announced.

Receive the world’s solidarity with gratitude.

But never surrender the direction of your country’s future.

Hold your government accountable.

Strengthen your local authorities.

Place communities at the center of every decision.

Never allow external assistance to replace community leadership.

Never allow funding to replace citizen participation.

Because when community solidarity weakens, when citizens stop trusting one another, and when local institutions are not strengthened, the void that remains can take generations to fill.

In Haiti, we call this spirit Konbit.

In Venezuela, that same spirit lives through Cayapa—the tradition of communities coming together to solve problems collectively and to carry burdens that no one person could carry alone.

Do not let Cayapa disappear.

Protect it.

Nurture it.

Pass it on to your children.

Because a nation’s future is not determined by how much aid it receives.

It is determined by its people’s ability to remain united.

To take responsibility.

To rebuild together.

Through the Gwoup Konbit Social Movement, this is the work we continue every day in Haiti: rebuilding solidarity, trust, and civic responsibility because we believe they are the strongest foundations for lasting recovery.

I do not share these reflections to frighten you.

I share them because I would never wish another nation to repeat mistakes that continue to cost us dearly.

My hope is that years from now, when the world speaks about Venezuela’s recovery, it will say:

“They welcomed the world’s solidarity, but the Venezuelan people led their own reconstruction. They never lost their Cayapa. They never lost their dignity. They never lost their unity.”

Today is a dark moment.

But no night lasts forever.

One day children will laugh again.

Schools will reopen.

The streets will be full of life again.

But your greatest victory will not be measured by the number of buildings rebuilt.

It will be measured by your ability to remain one people.

Homes may fall.

Bridges may collapse.

Roads may break.

But do not let this tragedy break your Cayapa.

Because when a people protect their solidarity, they have already begun rebuilding their future.