The reopening of a police substation in Port-au-Prince after two years of gang control marks the first tangible sign that Haitian authorities, backed by international forces, can reclaim territory—but with 90% of the capital still under gang rule and economic rebuilding stalled, the recovery remains dangerously fragile.
The Battle for Carrefour Aéroport: A Turning Point?
On February 7, 2026, Haitian authorities reclaimed a patch of asphalt in Port-au-Prince that represented more than just territory—it was a direct challenge to the rule of Viv Ansanm, the powerful gang federation that has held the city hostage since early 2024. The reopening of the Carrefour Aéroport police substation, torched two years earlier, sent a deliberate signal: the central government, with the muscle of a U.N.-backed mission, is beginning to fight back.
Gang violence erupted in Port-au-Prince in March 2024 when Viv Ansanm members attacked government strongholds, shut down the capital’s main airport, and drove Prime Minister Ariel Henry from power. For nearly two years, Carrefour Aéroport—a once-thriving commercial crossroads—was reduced to a ghost district dotted with charred buildings and demolished homes. The sustained December offensive by Haitian police, bolstered by private security contractors and Kenyan officers, broke the grip of gangs on this single square kilometer, but the challenge now is to sustain that control against an enemy that still dominates 90% of the capital.
The Human Cost: Lives Rebuilt Among Ruins
As daytime sunshine pierced the rubble-strewn block, 32-year-old Antoinette Desulmon set up her fruit stand—mangoes, oranges, tomatoes—under the watch of armoured police patrols. Her voice was steady, her words precise: “Fear is with me every second.”
Desulmon’s partner vanished without trace in 2024, swallowed by the same wave of violence that drove 1.4 million people from their homes. Her children now live with a cousin in a makeshift shelter. She uses the same market stall she did before the gangs arrived, but her mind remains in the crisis. Even with police visible, the peace feels temporary. No playgrounds have reopened. No schools. No rebuilding grants for the dozens of torched homes.
In the hour between rush and noon, Mario Volcy, 44, pointed to the first public buses he had seen in two years threading the intersection. His tap-tap van, painted with the phrase “God is my guide”, was back on the road carrying passengers. Yet his income has plunged. Gas prices are out of reach. He wants prosecutions for the men who burned his neighbourhood and displaced his family. But most of all, he wants the main southern highway open again—where the gangs still levy illegal tolls—so he can sell charcoal that keeps the capital warm and fed.
Why This Corner Matters: The Logistics of Survival
Carrefour Aéroport was never a symbol; it was the pump that moved fuel through the city. Before the 2024 attacks, the intersection connected the southern coast to the city’s informal markets. Vegetable wholesalers, coal transporters, and families heading south to visit the countryside all passed here. When gangs seized the area, they severed Haiti’s internal supply lines. Fuel shortages accelerated. Food prices climbed by more than 40% in many districts. The reopening has allowed small-scale transporters like Volcy to distribute goods again, but the supply chain will only fully function once the southern highway is under state control—something that remains months away.
The December counter-offensive was led by Haitian police and a private security company, but the backbone of the operation was the Kenyan-led police contingent deployed under a U.N. mandate. That mandate is dissolving in April due to funding shortfalls. A new gang-suppression force, financed by the U.S. and Panama, is scheduled to arrive, but it will start from scratch. Meanwhile, Viv Ansanm units remain deeply embedded in neighbouring districts, able to pour fighters back to retake any ground they lose.
The Strategic Calculation: What Comes Next?
Romain Le Cour from the Haiti Observatory at the Global Initiative against Transnational Organizational Crime said the retaking of Carrefour Aéroport “is probably the very first tangible message the authorities have sent that says ‘yes, we can take back territory.’” He notes that similar operations against armed groups in Nord-Kivu in eastern Congo and Medellín in Colombia required prolonged stabilisation phases to prevent rapid recapture.
The key question remains unresolved: what is the state doing with apprehended gang members? Is there a plan for ex-combatants—reintegration or prosecution? And what is the roll-out for rescuing displaced families? At the moment, no transitional housing program exists. No vocational re-training. No microcredit for the stalls that once fed tens of thousands. Without a sequenced plan to re-populate the space, rebels pay money or intimidate their way back, pushing government forces into reactive circles of street-by-street clearance.
The Cautious Rebirth of Normality
Despite the dangers, the market is returning. Jacques Ader, the police commissioner, declared that “life is timidly returning to normal.” On the pavement, Jean-Remy Laveau, a 35-year-old moto-taxi driver, noted the taxi queues reforming along the curb. “Small businesses are recovering,” he said. “I’ll be able to feed my kids.” Local restaurants have quietly reopened kitchen doors, selling bouillon à la porte to empty side-streets. Transport syndicates have resumed collecting dues. The rhythm of informal commerce—petty, stubborn, ungovernable—is the one force that gangs have failed to fully suppress.
Yet the rhythm is shaky. A generation of children is growing up in tin shacks with no schooling. No psychological support. The U.N. Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs noted in a January report that over 1.4 million Haitians now live as internally displaced, the largest concentration in the Western Hemisphere. Venture farther from the substation and the side alleys hold burnt-out homes still labelled with gang scribbles. The smell of ash and rotting debris lingers.
Seasonal Uncertainty: Can Spring Holding Last?
As March begins, the city braces for possible new offensives. Port-au-Prince’s rainy season starts in April; it will turn rag-tag rebel hideouts into mud torrents, complicating plans for further advance. The landing of the new gang-suppression force is pencilled for exactly this month. Allerdings, the intervening weeks have already shown that rebel cells are probing police lines daily.
Armed groups have suffered defeats in narrow tactical contexts, yet they own the night economy, and they control the long-distance tap-tap crews who are the lifeblood of Haiti’s informal merchant class. Unless the state swiftly extends security and economic restoration to other key nodes, any tranquillity at Carrefour Aéroport will remain island-like—a faint beacon in city-wide darkness.
The Silent Compulsion to Stay
An hour after our interview, Antoinette Desulmon had to cut the interview short—she had to rush to a UN mobile-health clinic to pick up medicine for her cousin’s feverish baby. As she folded the fruit stand, a police van rolled by blasting its siren. A patrolman waved from the back. She smiled weakly. “Our eyes see hope; our hearts hold pain,” she said. And with that she bent to lock her empty market tray—until the next dawn’s fragile transaction.
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