A year of staggering violence in Haiti ended in the most brutal fashion. Over the course of five days in December, in a slum near the capital, Port-au-Prince, 207 people were killed by gangsters. The ringleader accused his mostly elderly victims of practicing voodoo and causing the death of his child. Bodies were dismembered and burned. Gangs, who control nearly 90% of Port-au-Prince, killed some 5,600 Haitians in 2024. The new year has brought no respite; around 60,000 people fled their homes in the past month amid growing violence. The city is on the brink of complete collapse.
Across the border in Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic, things could not be more different. Cafés and restaurants in the old colonial district teem with customers as jazz music fills the air. A two-hour drive away lies Punta Cana, a coastal enclave of luxurious beach resorts littered with cocktail-sipping holidaymakers. Some 11m tourists visited the Dominican Republic in 2024, more than any other Caribbean country and, within Latin America, second only to Mexico.
According to any measure Hispaniola, the Caribbean island shared by Haiti and the Dominican Republic, is two different planets in one. People in the Dominican Republic are 11 times richer than those across the border (see chart). A host of other measures—from unemployment to health care to education—illustrate the chasm between the two countries. Economists and analysts long viewed these differences as a grim natural experiment. How can two countries on the same island and under one climate diverge so starkly?
Up until the 1960s both countries faced similar levels of poverty. But ask just about any Haitian and they will point to the turn of the 18th century as the source of their curse. The cost of pursuing the modern world’s first successful slave revolt against France crippled the country financially. France refused to accept independence until 1825, after Haiti agreed to pay a huge indemnity financed by extortionate loans from French banks. From then until 1957 an average of 19% of Haiti’s annual revenue was spent on its international debt, the New York Times found.
But a bad start cannot explain today’s gulf. Spanish rule over the island’s Dominican half similarly stymied its economic growth. Haiti went on to occupy its neighbour for 22 years until Dominican independence in 1844, sparking decades of violence between the countries. Some 20,000 Haitians were killed in the 1937 “Parsley” massacre on the Dominican border, so-called because Dominican soldiers tried to identify Haitians by how they pronounced the word for that herb. Fervent animosity persists today.
Another theory prominent among historians blames deforestation. They say the lush forests on the eastern half of the island blessed with healthy rainfall helped the Dominican Republican thrive. The west, on the other hand, was stripped bare of trees, burdened by overpopulation and less rain. This, they argue, hampered Haitian growth. But research casts doubt on that, too. One IMF paper found comparable amounts of arable land and rainfall over the years on both sides of the island.
A far more convincing explanation lies in governance. Both countries were run by vicious dictators who murdered their opponents and plundered state coffers—but the Dominican Republic was luckier with its tyrant. Rafael Trujillo encouraged investment in public infrastructure and agriculture up until his murder in a CIA-inspired coup in 1961. The sham democracy that followed, bankrolled by the United States, upped the budget-busting spending on roads, bridges and canals. That foundation helped a market-based economy emerge in the 1980s. A “marked divergence” occurs as the Dominican Republic rid itself of Trujillo, says Ernesto Sagás of Colorado State University.
A sliding doors moment?
It was at around the same time that Haiti fell under the Duvaliers’ thumb. “Papa Doc” and “Baby Doc” Duvalier were a father-son dictatorial dynasty that ruled from 1957 to 1986. They showed more interest in thievery than governing. Papa Doc strangled business, driven by his distrust of the mulatto economic elite. Baby Doc, partial to flashy cars and champagne, pilfered state assets when most Haitians lacked basic infrastructure. He ordered the dismantling of large chunks of Haiti’s only railway line and sold it for scrap.
When democracy returned in 1987, there was little left to build on. An enfeebled state and chronic economic instability fuelled repeated coups: Jean-Bertrand Aristide, the country’s first democratically elected president, was twice deposed by army thugs, in 1991 and 2004. Political turbulence aside, the country is especially prone to natural disasters. An earthquake in 2010 devastated Haiti, killing perhaps 200,000 people. Further hurricanes and storms periodically batter the island, which is ill-equipped to deal with either catastrophes or their aftermath.
Security sharply deteriorated after the murder of Jovenel Moïse, then the president, in 2021. There are no elected officials in Haiti. A Transitional Presidential Council—created to organise elections and re-establish order—is mired in corruption allegations. A UN-backed security force of around 1,000 mainly Kenyan police officers, deployed since June, is failing to make a mark. Gangs control swathes of the country. Economic activity has plummeted. Few dare go outside after dark. The World Bank reckons that the economy contracted for a sixth consecutive year in 2024. The UN estimates that half the population can barely feed themselves.
The Dominican economy, by contrast, is booming. Living standards are rising faster than anywhere else in Latin America. Tourism and remittances account for nearly a third of GDP. At Las Americas Industrial Park, a free-trade zone outside Santo Domingo, manufacturers churn out everything from lingerie to pacemakers.
Stable politics underpins this growth. Last year President Luis Abinader won re-election with 57% of the vote. Power alternates between a handful of parties: all share a commitment to market-friendly policies lubricated by grubby clientelism.
That rankles with some Dominicans. But when asked about Haiti, Dominicans are loth to complain about their lot. “It’s a civil war over there—they are killing each other,” says a young police cadet outside the national Pantheon. “We worry about the violence coming here.” Some 500,000 Haitians live in the Dominican Republic. Many provide vital labour for farms. The Dominican government has long embraced Haiti-bashing. Last year it deported 276,000 Haitians, many of Haitian descent born in the Dominican Republic.
Marco Rubio, the US secretary of state, wants to tackle the Haiti crisis as a priority. The country’s first elections since 2016 are officially slated for November. But many doubt they will even take place. And if they do, they are unlikely to usher in the change needed to narrow the gap with its prosperous island neighbour. ■
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