Purpose

by Wyclef Jean

  “If I create a sign for peace, will you respect it?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Clef, we will.”

  I made a sign that was like a peace sign but all my own. I threw my hands up in the air. “Stop the violence. Peace. Don’t put up a gun.”

  The word spread throughout Cité Soleil and the other gang leaders; they came to us, and I was the middleman and I brought them together. Within a few days all parties agreed to let Yéle truck in some rice and water. I am happy to say that lives were saved.

  I flew American Airlines back to the States at the end of that trip, and a man I’d never met before came up to me on the plane.

  “You don’t know me, but I want to tell you how lucky you are.”

  “What do you mean, brother?” I said.

  “I know where you just were and I know what you did. There were three assassination attempts on your life, but they were all stopped. You are lucky to be alive.”

  I thought he was making it up—until he gave me names and days. He knew exactly when I was with Labayne and Haitian 2Pac and he knew exactly where we held the meeting. He mentioned a guy who had come in waving a gun, acting crazy.

  “He was supposed to kill you,” this man said. “One of the smaller gangs wanted you dead. You said something to him that made him change his mind, though. What did you say to him?”

  “I just told him to come and sit with us at the table and help us figure out how we could get the people fed.”

  I’ve walked into rooms that charged since then, and I’ve done what I did that day and so many days like it when fear has threatened to stop me from my intended mission. At those times I do what my father taught me to do when I felt spirits present: I recite Psalm 23 (maybe not out loud, but always in my mind). I keep saying “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” And the Lord has seen me through.

  THE DAY I DECIDED to run for the office of the president of Haiti I thought of a moment my dad and I had shared many years before, when I was still a boy. It’s a hazy memory, but I was chasing him and he fell down and I asked him, “Dad, are you okay?”

  “Yes. Listen to me,” he said. “I’m fine. Thank you for helping me up. But don’t do this for everyone you consider to be your family.”

  “Why not, Dad?”

  “You must do whatever you can for your fellow Haitians, son, but don’t ever make the critical mistake of trusting them.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  I didn’t understand exactly what he meant then, but I sure as hell know now. He was trying to tell me to keep my countrymen in my heart, and to aid them as much as I could, but to do so from a distance, no matter how much I might want to go in. I’d need three eyes to work inside Haiti and not be taken advantage of. I’ve never forgotten those words, because I’ve had to learn that lesson a few times over. I regret none of it, because my mistakes have made me a better man.

  In my family we always said that we’d never let politics divide us, and that is how I approached things when I decided to run for president, particularly because my uncle Raymond Joseph was running for the same office. He had been the ambassador to the UN for Haiti for a few years, and through him I learned so much about the government and what the country really needed. Uncle Raymond was my entry point into aiding Haiti, and how I got my feet wet with Yéle. He was always supportive of me; in fact he was the one who told my mother—his sister—that she should let me move out into my other uncle’s house to pursue my music. He understood me from the start, even though we didn’t spend a lot of time together during my youth.

  After the earthquake, when Yéle became a tangible force in Haiti, I met my uncle and told him all about the youth movement we were organizing down there and how all of the kids we were reaching were crying out for change. We had a program called Fas-A-Fas, which means “face-to-face” and was meant to motivate the youth to become politically aware and vote in the next election. They wanted education and jobs and a future—and my movement was at the center of it. At the time, my uncle knew he was going to run for president and told me all about his campaign. That thought hadn’t crossed my mind; all I cared about was motivating the youth to become part of the political process and rebuilding the nation. I wanted them to take charge of their world, because it is theirs to inherit.

  The first thing I did was step down from the board of Yéle so that there would be no conflict of interest. I also gave up my title as ambassador-at-large, which the former administration had given me in recognition of my fund-raising on the country’s behalf internationally. I hadn’t told my uncle about this when I entered my name in the race. I also neglected to tell Michel Martelly, the man who eventually won. He has been my friend for twenty years; he is the one I wrote about in the song “Sweet Mickey” on The Carnival. I should have told both of them. I don’t know why I was secretive; I just decided to fly down and enter my name in the ballot. I was inspired, thinking about my brother and I growing up in our village and how much I’d achieved and how I’d like nothing more than to give back by serving. I felt like I was running for the office of president of the world, it meant so much to me. I knew my uncle and Michel would find out anyway, and I didn’t want them or anyone else trying to convince me not to run.

  I was foolish to think that this wouldn’t be a problem. Both of them got pissed off, so the media blitz that came turned into a face-off between me, my uncle, and my friend of twenty years. The slogan of my Fas-A-Fas movement, “face-to-face,” came true alright. It became very strange between my uncle and me. I would get e-mails from him saying things like, “We’re on the same team, so I’m going to do this interview and make sure that people understand that politics will not divide our family. You must make sure you do the same.” Meanwhile, he didn’t realize how tuned in I was. I’d listen to his interviews and hear him take little stabs at me when they’d ask about running against his nephew. Mostly he didn’t seem to be taking my campaign seriously and talked about it as if it were just some crazy thing Wyclef the rapper was doing.

  The truth was that I came into the race so strong that every other candidate was scared. I had tremendous support from the youth, and everybody knew that there was a good chance that I would win. So I’m not surprised that they found a way to get me out of the race. I got taken out on a technicality having to do with my residency, since I hadn’t lived in the country for five consecutive years. If we had decided to fight it, we could have won, because I have maintained a residence there. The law states that you don’t have to live there so long as you maintain a residence and consistently come back to Haiti. If I had been in the country and had my presence known more than I had over the past few years, I probably would have been allowed to run for president.

  I was driving back from Port-au-Prince to the village where I grew up when I heard the sad news on the radio. They were announcing the final slate of candidates and those who had been rejected. My name came up last.

  “Jean, Wyclef: rejected.”

  I felt like my whole world came down.

  I had to adapt and decide what was best for the country. I had a populist movement behind me, a majority that would follow me if I said, “We’re going to fight this.” That wasn’t going to help anything. Haiti has been divided for so long that I didn’t want to see whatever unity I had brought become a force for more division. That’s not what I started Yéle to do.

  The next morning I made my announcement.

  “There are laws in this country and that is what we all must respect,” I said. “So I ask that everyone who supports me to be nonviolent over this decision and vote for the remaining candidate you think will be best.”

  In the end they removed my uncle from the race as well. I suppose they figured anyone from our family would be trouble. They probably figured that if the uncle won, the nephew wouldn’t be far behind and soon there would be one family ruling the nation again.

  Michel was harmless—just a popular singer—so he stayed in. I’m sure the powers that be never thought
he’d win. And Jude Célestin was another candidate who wouldn’t disturb the status quo if elected. I didn’t support any candidate in the first round of elections, and Michel won by 51 percent. The natural thing for me would have been to support Michel, my friend and fellow musician, and just go rock out with him, but I didn’t want to do that. It was not because I don’t support him as a man or as a politician, but because I’ve realized that politics is not music. I needed to sit back and watch my friend and truly believe in what he stood for philosophically before I threw in my support. We’re cool as friends, but politically I was still waiting to see what happened.

  He won the first round but when it came to the second round of elections I went to see him. I have known Michel since I was twenty-one; I first met him at the Cameo Nightclub in Miami when the Fugees were on one of their nonstop tours, but still pretty much nobodies. He pulled up in a white Mercedes with a big smile on his face in his bald head and apparently he went up to the bouncer and said, “I hear that there is a group here tonight called the Fugees and they’re Haitian. Where are they?” They let him into our dressing room, because Michel is charming like that and he just walked up to me and asked me my name. We got to talking outside the club and when he saw me staring at his car he tossed me the keys.

  “Take it for a ride, Wyclef.”

  “For real?”

  I had never even been in a car that nice before.

  I don’t think he regrets it, but he still talks about how long I went cruising around South Beach in his ride. Man, I was having the time of my life! I never forgot that: he wanted fellow Haitian musicians like me to know that I could have those things, too, if I put in the work. He had never heard our music before; he came down strictly because he heard we were Haitian. He was inspirational to me, and in all the years I’ve known him since, he’s always been about the Haitian people. So in the end I threw him my support and asked all of my followers to do the same. If he could inspire the country the way he inspired me that night, he would be a great leader and bring about positive change.

  Michel walked into a real nightmare for any leader. Being the president of Haiti is not a glamorous job. It’s probably the worst job you could have in modern politics. It’s more of a sacrifice than an occupation. The country is in pieces in every way and all eyes are on him to rebuild and inspire. His first one hundred days were devoted entirely to education, which I think was a wise move. Michel has reinstated my ambassadorship so I’ve been doing all I can to help out, working on programs that are sustainable, that will hopefully become permanent, centering on vocational training. Haiti needs to train the youth to rebuild, giving them the tools to support their families and move the nation forward. It must start with moving rubble and building houses before we tackle the larger infrastructure. I’m also focused on tourism, and helping to create a market for the world to come and enjoy all of the natural beauty in Haiti. I have my work cut out for me there. It’s going to take years for people to feel safe coming down again.

  CONCLUSION

  Looking back at your life is an odd thing to do, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to do it at just forty-two years of age. But when I look at where I’m from and where I am, at how far I’ve traveled and at what I’ve achieved with no head start whatsoever, I realize that my story is something special after all. It’s something I hope will inspire others like me to make the most of themselves, because anything is possible if you have faith in yourself and a higher power. I want Haitian kids to see me living in my mansion, knowing I was born in a hut just like theirs.

  When I look back at my life I ask myself what I would have changed, and the answer is that I wouldn’t have changed a thing. There are millions of kids who begin their life the way I did, but I am the one who made it, so it is my duty to be their leader. But what kind of role model am I? What kind of role model could I ever be? I am human and I am a man like any other. I am not perfect, but I try to be the best that I can. I have made many mistakes and I have learned my lessons. I am lucky to have my wife and my family and I will honor them as I will my homeland of Haiti for the rest of my days.

  I hope that my stories have done what I intended them to do; I hope they have inspired others like me to dream greater and to try harder, and that they have enabled everyone who has read them to connect with themselves in a deeper way. Reflection has helped me to understand my life, my journey, and what it is to be me. Now you’ve met the kid who became the man. Now you understand that I’ve always done my best to live my life the way I saw fit: as if every day were the last, as if every move I made meant everything. Now you know that I’ve lived my life as I have since my first breath and as I will to my last—with purpose.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my brothers, sisters, and cousins, and the one brother, my guardian angel, who took me in after the earthquake in Haiti destroyed us all. You helped me find my musical side once more. He may be an angel, he may be a man. Either way, you blessed me. You brought me back into the science of music, my brother, my blood—Sedek!

  To all of my managers past and present, thank you for working for me. Thank you to all of the agents that made my career and this book possible. We wouldn’t be here without you. To my true friends, who I can count on one hand, I thank you: Seth Kanegis, Jerry Wonda, Brad Horowitz, and those who know they are true friends—you know who you are. Also Melky Jean, Rose Jean, Samuel Jean, the Yéle Haiti team, the Thebaud family, the Martelly family, the Mignon family, the Pierre family, Harry Belafonte for his wisdom, Quincy Jones for inspiring me to be a better musician, Bill Roedy and his family, Cara Lewis, and Clive Davis, who was a tremendous inspiration to me. I’ll never forget that he took the time to come to my dad’s funeral. Thank you to Chris Swartz and Ruffhouse Records for signing the Fugees and to David Sonnenberg for sticking with me from the beginning. Thank you also to Jimmy Iovine for believing in my skills as a producer and giving me a shot.

  To the people in my homeland of Haiti: I live and breathe and sleep for you. All of you—every single one—are my inspiration. I will never stop working on your behalf.

  To all the Fugees fans around the world, and of course to the three of us, Lauryn, Pras, and me—the mighty Fugees; I wish everyone One Love. We did it. They can never take that away from us.

  To all the Wyclef fans, One Love. To everyone around the world, One Love. To everyone reading these words, One Love. One Love. One Love.

  Wyclef Jean

  May 2012

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  WYCLEF JEAN is a multiplatinum Haitian musician and former member of the hip-hop trio the Fugees, as well as an actor and producer. Throughout his career, as a member of the Fugees, a collaborator with other musicians, and a solo artist, he has sold more than fifty million albums. He has worked with such artists as Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Carlos Santana, Eric Clapton, Paul Simon, T.I., Mary J. Blige, and Destiny’s Child.

  ANTHONY BOZZA is the bestselling author of numerous books, including memoirs of Slash, Tommy Lee, and Tracy Morgan. He lives in New York City.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins artists.

  PHOTO INSERT

  Family portrait from Haiti sent to Reverend Gesner Jean in Brooklyn, New York. Picture taken in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. From left to right: Jean-Guillame Innocent (cousin), Yolande Jean (mother), Samuel Jean (brother), Elianna Duthil (standing, grandmother), and Wyclef.

  Clef’s first birthday: Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

  Port-au-Prince, Haiti. From left to right, back row: Paulette (cousin), Idalie Bonny (grandmother). Front row: Samuel Jean, Wyclef.

  Reverend Jean writes a letter home to his wife and kids in Haiti: Brooklyn, New York.

  Reverend Jean (left) with his siblings Marie Rose Theophile (center) and Fresnel Innocent (right): Brooklyn, New York.

  Proud parents at the airport to pick up their sons: Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

  Wyclef’s mother (left), with Philomene Duplessi
s, the aunt who raised him in Haiti: East Orange, New Jersey.

  Wyclef (left) and Samuel Jean, newly arrived in America, wearing outfits made by Reverend Jean: Brooklyn, New York.

  Wyclef Jean, in an elementary-school picture: Brooklyn, New York.

  Clef (right) enjoying Christmas toys with his cousin George Theophile (left): Brooklyn, New York.

  Sunday breakfast: East Orange, New Jersey. From left to right: Farel G. “Sedeck” Jean (brother), Samuel Jean, Melky Jean (sister), Wyclef, Yolande Jean, Reverend Gesner Jean (father).

  Family portrait after church: Newark, New Jersey. From left to right: Wyclef, Samuel Jean, Sedeck Jean, Melky Jean, Yolande Jean, Reverend Gesner Jean.

  Wyclef and Sam, proudly showing their middle-school diplomas: East Orange, New Jersey.

  Middle-school graduation, Our Lady Help of Christians: East Orange, New Jersey. Left to right: Wyclef, Reverend Gesner Jean, Samuel Jean.

  Church portrait, Wollaston, Church of the Nazarene: Quincy, Massachusetts. Left to right, back row: Wyclef Jean, Melky Jean, Sedeck Jean, Samuel Jean. Seated: Reverend Gesner Jean, Rose Jean (sister), Yolande Jean.

  Clef singing at a wedding: Newark, New Jersey. Left to right: Joel Servilus, Wyclef, Jerry “Wonda” Duplessis, Khalil, and Jackson Servilus (obscured) on drums.