This past week, Boston’s Haitian community celebrated Haitian Heritage Month with flag-raisings at Boston City Hall and parades down Blue Hill Avenue. But what Greater Boston’s vast Haitian diaspora honored is more than a flag or a country of origin. It’s a history of Black liberation that has inspired nations across the world to fight for their freedoms.
We sat down with two trailblazers who helped write the blueprint for Haitian civic leadership in Boston: former Massachusetts State Representative Marie St. Fleur and Boston At-Large City Councilor Ruthzee Louijeune.
Together, they reflect on pride, resistance, and what it means to carry Haiti’s legacy of liberation into the work of building a more just city and country.
What it means to celebrate Haitian Heritage Month right now, when the Haitian community, particularly here in the United States, faces so much uncertainty.
RL: I am so fortunate to be in this position as an at-large city councilor, now in my fifth year, to celebrate Haitian Heritage Month. It is an honor to be the first Haitian American elected in Boston city government.
It has always been heavy. Haiti has been in a constant state of crisis that has only worsened over my time in office. It’s always been difficult to find moments to celebrate when there are kidnappings, disappearances—people can’t do normal things like run their businesses, go to school, or just get food right now in Haiti.
And then on top of that, we have a president who is constantly insulting and assaulting the Haitian community, with the comments in Springfield, Ohio, with the comments during his first administration, and now with Temporary Protected Status under threat.
I do feel like Haitians have Ph.D.s in what it means to hold joy and sorrow at the same time. We have that sort of injected into our DNA. And so I continue with that tradition of holding space for us to celebrate. We have Haiti in the World Cup—no one would have thought we could have done that. We have to make space for both.
MSF: I think it’s important that we celebrate it. Haitian Heritage Month is Black history—it’s part of our Black history experience. From a historical perspective, Black people across the diaspora, particularly in this part of the hemisphere, share a history of enslavement. The individuals who were enslaved on the island of Saint-Domingue—which became Hispaniola, then Haiti—were among the few who established the first independent Black republic in 1804. That act of defiance rang against the grain for the colonies, particularly the British, American, and Spanish, who were colonizing Africans across the Western Hemisphere.
We continue to be defined by that legacy of revolution, and we continue to be in a constant state of revolution because we have never been able to fully remove the structural challenges that have impeded the development of the island. So why is it important to celebrate in this moment? Because in 1803 and 1804, we threw off the shackles of enslavement—and in doing so, we helped many across the diaspora gain their freedom as well.
What they want people to know about the Haitian community.
RL: Haitians are such hard workers. If you’ve ever had a loved one—a grandparent, a parent—receive in-home care or hospice care, it’s likely they were attended to by someone of Haitian descent. Haitians are just trying to do what every other family is trying to do. They want the best for their kids. They want to live in safe neighborhoods. They want a good quality of life.
So much of Haiti’s economy is actually dependent on remittances—people sending money back to the island. At least a third of Haiti’s GDP right now comes from those remittances, and as conditions worsen, that percentage only grows.
Haitian kids grow up knowing three things: church, school, and home. They care deeply about faith, family, and excellence. That’s what I was raised in, and that’s what I know about so many Haitian families here.
MSF: The Haitian community is as diverse as any other community, and we have to start understanding and embracing that. We are not a monolithic group. There is a vibrant Black civic, political, academic, and cultural life within the Haitian community, and there is class diversity as well.
Who is the real Haitian community? It is people who are indigenous to that island. It is people who came here very young and have been embedded in the American experience. It is second- and third-generation people born here in the United States. And it is a group of people who celebrate the fact that they are Black, who have a particular cultural and linguistic experience and are very proud of that.
We have shaped the culture of Massachusetts. We are in academia—across every higher education institution, you will find significant numbers of professors and staff of Haitian descent. We are deeply embedded in the medical and healthcare systems—from running medical institutions to providing care in nursing homes and wards across this state. We are entrepreneurs. We are in technology, construction, security, law, finance, transportation logistics. If you find Black folks, you’ll find us.
And what’s common across all that diversity is our pride in being Black people. No matter the generation or the class, there is a pride in understanding that we do not allow others to define who we are. Too many people have tried. We have trouble on that island, but that doesn’t mean you get to define who we are.
On their pride in Haiti’s history of Black liberation.
RL: Haiti is at the root of so much—not only Black liberation, when we inspired the enslaved people in this country to fight for their own freedom, winning independence in 1804—but also the liberation story of so many other countries.
Last year, I walked in the Greek parade and held a banner that read, “Thank you, Haiti.” Haiti was the first country to recognize Greece’s desire to liberate itself from the Ottoman Empire—the first to send moral support and military support. They sent over a hundred men to help Greece. Unfortunately, they died at sea, but Greece recognizes Haiti’s importance in their own liberation story.
If you’re talking about Puerto Rican liberation, many of those independence leaders studied in Haiti. If you look at countries like Colombia and others across Latin America, their flags pay tribute to Haiti and the inspiration it provided for their own marches toward freedom.
Even here, if you go down to Savannah, Georgia, there is a statue honoring the free Haitians who came to the United States during the Revolutionary War to help in our own quest for freedom. There’s just so much of that history. Last week, we raised the Polish flag for Polish Constitution Day, and someone was telling me about the relationship between Haiti and Poland. Haiti is woven into the stories of so many countries, and that brings me a lot of pride.
MSF: I think what’s really important is that we understand Haiti is more than a country—it’s a symbol. It’s more than the people. It’s what it represents. Haiti is a foundational chapter in the history of Black freedom in the Western Hemisphere. When I think about Black freedom fighters, that foundation starts with the enslaved people who fought for freedom on that island.
Haitian independence also inspired abolitionists, intellectuals, and freedom movements around the world. If you go back and look at Black churches and newspapers in the 1800s, references to Haiti are replete in that literature. In an America that was establishing a democracy structured on race, there was a deep fear that Haiti’s example would threaten the institution of slavery, which they depended on to build the infrastructure of the American economy. The United States did not officially recognize Haiti until 1862, during the Civil War. So, for me, this is Black history, because there is deep alignment and synergy between what was happening under enslavement in the United States and this small group of Black people who decided they wanted to be free.
On how important it is to find common cause across cultures in this 250th anniversary of America.
RL: I think it’s incredibly important. So much breakdown happens when we stop talking to each other—when people are left to find their own “facts.” What are the real facts about our liberation 250 years ago? The good and the bad. We talk about Crispus Attucks as the first to die. We talk about the American Revolution as a great liberation story—and we also have to talk about who was left out of that story.
We have to be people who are comfortable with the truth—promoting it when it makes us feel good and when it challenges us to reckon with things. I hope the 250th anniversary gives us the opportunity to do more of that. History allows us to be truth-tellers, and if we learn from that truth, hopefully it isn’t repeated.
MSF: I am genuinely concerned about our democracy overall. But I think this moment makes it even more critical. What concerns me most is divide and conquer—that because we don’t understand our history, the roots of our history, we can be separated. We don’t see the link between the structural racism that exists in the United States and the colonial structural racism that existed on the islands. That is why we have to talk about the history. We have to elevate how much more we share than what divides us. And for us to have real impact in Massachusetts or anywhere else in this country, we have to embrace the diversity that exists within the Black community today.
I am concerned that I have not seen the leadership rise to encourage that kind of bridge-building across the Black diaspora—to help us understand that we have more in common than we have that divides us, and that our collective liberation depends on each other.
That’s what I hope this month does. Not just that Haitians celebrate Haiti, but that there’s a pan-African view of this—an understanding that it was our collective revolution that allowed for our freedom, and that that thirst for freedom continues to shape how we shift the structures of racism that exist right here in the United States.
On what it means to have Boston’s Haitian community behind them.
RL: It’s the Haitian community that raised me. One of the things I’m most excited about in this role is getting to bridge the older and younger generations and create as much harmony as possible. There’s so much talent, so much potential, so many ideas—and so much diversity even within the Haitian community, from class diversity to lived experience. I feel genuinely lucky to learn from this community, to be a part of it, and now to help lead it.
I’m really grateful that when I was 16, I got to intern in [Marie St. Fleur’s] office and see firsthand what zealous advocacy looks like—what it looks like to use your voice to move the needle on the issues that matter. I’m always clear that while I’m the first Haitian elected in the Boston city government, I stand on the shoulders of Marie St. Fleur and Linda Dorcena Forry, who were elected at the state level and continue to do incredible work on behalf of the community. The community is so strong and so growing in its power—I’m glad I get to bear witness and help it come to life.
MSF: I’m actually delighted. One of the things I learned from watching others is that the passing of the baton is critical. For me, the question is: how do we make sure we support the next generation? There are ways of leading. You can always be the one up front, but you can also lead from behind—supporting the others who are taking that baton and moving us to the next place. Part of that is recognizing that it’s okay for things to be done differently, and that we have to support those who’ve picked it up in the best way we can.
After me came Linda Dorcena Forry, and after Linda came Ruthzee. And now, if you look across the state—in Brockton, Randolph, Methuen—we have representation across Massachusetts, and that is a point of pride and strength. You create the space for other people. And you have to be secure enough in your leadership to understand that making room for somebody else doesn’t diminish who you are.
I’ll tell you: when you make decisions in elected office, there are two ways to think about it. We have that general responsibility to the folks who elect us, but we have an overarching responsibility to this community that we are part of by virtue of being Black—and particularly as women—to continue chipping at the infrastructure that keeps us from getting to the table in an equitable way.