The Hidden Cost of “Access” in Haiti

In Haiti, the cost of daily life isn’t just economic. It’s cognitive. Decisions are shaped not only by what people can afford, but by what they must tolerate. Behind the surface of corruption, delays, and informal payments lies a deeper pattern: a form of racketeering embedded in our everyday reality, supported by mental shortcuts, social pressure, and flawed reasoning.

Racketeering, often associated with organized crime, takes many forms in Haiti. It’s not always about violent extortion. It can be quiet, routine, and systemic. A “raketè” might not be a gangster, but a clerk who blocks your papers unless paid, a local figure who charges for road access, or a self-appointed gatekeeper of services that should be public. In these moments, what you’re really paying for is access and what you’re losing is dignity.

What makes this system dangerous is how normal it feels. According to the 2021 Organized Crime Index, racketeering and protection extortion in Haiti are among the most serious obstacles to doing business. Small businesses often shut down under the weight of constant “informal taxes.” The Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime notes that extortion is central to how local actors “govern” territory and markets in Haiti. This is not a side issue; it’s how many systems function.

This idea echoes a powerful insight shared by Marc Alain Boucicault during an episode of the Facteur D’Impact Podcast, where he discussed how Haiti functions under a rentier economy. In such economies, power is not gained by producing or innovating, but by controlling access to scarce resources. Boucicault noted that in Haiti, even in informal spaces, this rentier mindset shows up when people position themselves as gatekeepers to things that should be accessible to all: security, paperwork, transportation, or public services.

In my MBA critical thinking course, I became passionate about how our thinking works. This is actually my second article. I began to see how our brains sometimes protect broken systems. One concept that stood out is System 1 thinking, the fast, automatic, emotional way we make decisions. When someone is asked for a small bribe, they often pay immediately to avoid trouble or to have things fast. They don’t stop to question it. This isn’t just fear, it’s mental autopilot.

The system is reinforced by status quo bias (“se konsa sa mache”, that’s how it works) and the appeal to tradition (“li te toujou fèt konsa”, it’s always been done that way). These ways of thinking tell us it’s better not to challenge the system. And groupthink makes it worse: when everyone adapts in silence, speaking up becomes risky. We rationalize the injustice. Some people justify the practice by saying, “at least they’re trying to survive,” while victims often say, “I just want to get through my day.”

This is a clear case of moral disengagement, a psychological process where people justify unethical behavior by blaming others, minimizing harm, or shifting responsibility. In Haiti, rent-seeking is often defended with phrases like, “everyone does it,” or “I need to survive too.” This mindset allows harmful systems to continue while numbing us to their consequences.

This is where critical thinking matters. Not because it gives us quick answers, but because it teaches us to pause. To notice. To ask: Why is this normal? Who benefits? What are we allowing by staying silent?

Haiti’s informal economy is vast, representing about 91% of the workforce and generating an estimated 60% of GDP, but it is currently under severe strain due to gang violence, which restricts mobility and access to markets. Women dominate this sector, often working as Madan Saras, market women who buy and resell goods; yet they lack social protections, are excluded from financial systems, and face significant risks, including violence and extortion. The very people who keep local economies moving are those most exposed to informal power and daily racketeering.

Haiti doesn’t lack laws; it lacks enforcement, accountability, and systems that outlive individual actors. Transparency International ranks Haiti 168th out of 180 for corruption, and the World Justice Project places it near the bottom for rule of law. With 86% of the workforce in the informal sector and 60% of GDP generated informally, racketeering becomes less a crime and more a condition of survival. But survival shouldn’t depend on paying for what is already ours.

What Change looks like; in our Thinking and our Systems:

Changing this starts in our minds, and continues in how we rebuild systems.

First, the mindset shift:

Then, the structural change:

That’s how we begin to break the cycle, one thought at a time. In a country where informal power blocks access to public goods, clear thinking becomes a form of resistance. And resistance begins not in the streets, but in the mind.

This is also why I believe technology can help.

Technology gives us tools to make things easier, more open, and fair for everyone. When we use digital systems the right way, they can reduce the need for people to act as gatekeepers. For example, we can use tech to put services online, track how things are done, and help more people get access to money and support. This takes away the chance for abuse and helps build trust.

And in Haiti, trust is where rebuilding must begin.