Sean Penn visited Cuban camp in Haiti

[Mika]

Sean Penn visited Cuban camp in Haiti
http://www.cubaheadlines.com/2010/04/18/21207/sean_penn_visited_cuban_camp_haiti.html

The US actor Sean Penn visited last week the camp of the Martha Machado Artistic Brigade, in Port-au-Prince, where the Cubans perform for the victims of the Haitian capital, devastated in the earthquake of last January 12.

The plastic artist Alexis Leyva Machado (Kcho), who heads the brigade made up by painters, circus artists, musicians and humorists commented to Cubadebate that Sean Penn said he felt admiration for the solidarity of Cuba towards the people of Haiti, and he also expressed his desire to work projects together with the Cuban brigade members.

Sean Penn, one of the few Hollywood actors that have become directly involved in the movement of the Caribbean country, reached Port-au-Prince a week after the earthquake and has only left the island in few occasions for meetings in the United States that are related to reconstruction and for the Oscar ceremony.

The 49-years old actor, who has declared that his intention is to remain in Haiti as much time as he can, has formed an association in this island, the Jenkins-Penn Haiti Relief Organization, that is in charge of supplying provisions to a camp in which are sheltered a little more than 45 000 people. There, Penn works together with other volunteers that provide the Haitians with medicines, water filters and food.

The actor visited Cuba at the end of October 2009 and together with Kcho and his brigade members he toured the Isle of Youth a municipality around 150 kilometers from Havana, that was one of the more affected places by hurricanes Gustav and Ike in 2008.

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[Mika]

1. Yes, that Sean Penn is helping in Haiti

Yes, that Sean Penn is helping in Haiti
http://www.thestar.com/news/world/article/797159--porter-yes-that-sean-penn-is-helping-in-haiti

ORAIL, HAITI–It was a big day for Haiti's newest neighbourhood.

While women rocked babies under an open-sided tent, waiting for a doctor, and boy scouts set up their green pup tents, a line of beige armoured vehicles snaked up the dusty road, startling some donkeys. That was the first sign.

Then a convoy of Land Rovers with tinted windows roared up, and out stepped the country's president, Rene Preval, the head of the UN mission in Haiti, and Sean Penn.

Yes, that Sean Penn, from Hollywood.

Not that anyone knows who he is here. It was the president they swarmed, one man rushing from a tent to scream, "I am holding the president's hand," to the local camera crews.

The cameras set, an impromptu news conference ensued.

Edmond Mulet, the head of the UN in the country, called the new neighbourhood "an example for the rest of the world."

Pulling off his baseball hat, Penn said it was a sign of "something that could be real hope in Haiti."

Only Preval was muted. "You have to be patient," he said. "It's not that easy to create good conditions right away." Then, like the Messiah, he set off for a tour, surrounded by dozens of fawning followers.

So what does hope look like in Haiti today, three months after the devastating earthquake that killed as many as 300,000 and left some 1.2 million homeless?

Well, from the distance, it looks like a bomb-testing site in New Mexico – row upon row of white domed tents set on barren ground, not a tree in sight.

This is Corail, Haiti's first large planned community for refugees left homeless by the earthquake. It's about 30 minutes north of Port-au-Prince, past where mounds of rubble give way to countryside.

So far, more than 1,600 people live here, with another 3,400 to arrive shortly – all from the city's biggest encampment inside the former Petionville Golf Club, managed by Penn's non-profit J/P Haitian Relief Organization. Aha. That's the connection.

Most people I talked to said it was a big improvement from the club, where for the past three months they've lived cheek-by-jowl under tarps, watching their few remaining belongings sink in the mud when it rains. Their one complaint?

The blistering, unfettered sun. "I'm going to pass out," said Fabienne Simeon, 23, sitting outside her family's new tent, beads of sweat slipping down her neck. "There are no trees."

The plans for the camp are big: elementary schools starting next week under tarps, community gardens and kitchens, three health centres. In a few months, wood and corrugated metal homes will replace the tents.

The looming problems are big, too. Over the past week, new tarp-covered shanties have popped up on all sides, filled with local people looking for services. There are no plans for a secondary school – leaving teenagers with no option but to find a rare bus into town. And although the international aid organizations are drafting plans to hire locals to work for food, there won't be enough jobs – leaving people with no way to feed themselves.

But the problems are nothing compared to being smothered by a wave of waterlogged tents rushing down a former fairway, Penn said.

"This is an emergency relocation," he said, flicking his cigarette and doddling alone behind the melee. "It's just one step at a time."

I was interviewing a family that had set up a little shop at the entrance of their tent a couple of hours later when he reappeared. He needed help – a translator.

Since Preval's entourage had left, door after door of air-conditioned cars slamming, Penn had been wandering the camp alone, looking for things needing fixing. He looks like someone who's been backpacking around India for a year; T-shirt, khakis, greasy hair with a bad red dye job, deep facial lines. "I'm a melody guy, not lyrics," he said, meaning he's not into talking to people, just looking. He's spent the last three months living just above the throbbing golf course settlement, wading into brawls over supplies, pointing out problems. He knows how to run a refugee camp.

He took us over to point out a tarp attaching two tents. "This is not safe," he said, pausing for a translation. "If a fire starts in one tent, it could spread to the other."

A young man sitting on stereo speakers looked up quizzically. "I would suggest he keep his tent separate," Penn said, blue eyes peering down over his Ray-Bans.

Penn said he wants to hire a Creole teacher at his camp. He's staying put for the long run here in Haiti. No movies in the works, he said. This is his new life.

It must be odd for him to see a mob of adoring fans approach and none stop before him, I said. What does it feel like?

"Liberty," he said.

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