Condemned to Cooperate

One of several breakout sessions of cooperative leaders during an Open Space meeting at Hotel Montanna, Port-au-Prince, Haiti 2013

It was 9:30 a.m. on Thursday, September 26, 2013. About sixty of us were seated in a circle in a conference room at the Hotel Montana complex in Port-au-Prince. It was one of the conference rooms built after the main hotel was destroyed in Haiti’s 2010 earthquake. Most were Haitian men, though a number of women were present as well.

The setting carried its own symbolism. Long associated with power and exclusivity, the Hotel Montana was now hosting a gathering designed to be open, participatory, and shared.

I had carefully prepared the room following Open Space practice. Large sheets of paper were posted on the walls, handwritten in Haitian Creole. They held the simple, demanding principles that guide this kind of work:

Whoever comes are the right people.
Whenever it starts is the right time.
Whatever happens is the only thing that could have happened.
When it’s over, it’s over.

Nearby were reminders of the Law of Two Feet, also known as the Law of Mobility, along with the phrase Passion bound by Responsibility. I had drawn, by hand, the image Open Space facilitators use to illustrate it: a butterfly and a bumblebee. Both move freely, guided by energy and purpose, neither obligated to remain where learning or contribution has ceased.

The circle itself was intentional. No podium. No hierarchy. No expert at the front of the room. Just people seated together, carrying experience, frustration, hope, and responsibility. Leaders of cooperatives from across Haiti had gathered to speak openly about their work and to learn from one another.

When it was time to begin, I handed the microphone to Saint Fort Dadaille, the representative of the Haitian government agency responsible for cooperatives. Poised and elderly, dressed in a suit, he walked into the center of the circle, looked slowly around the room, and paused.

“We are grateful that you have all come from around the country for this important gathering,” he began, speaking in Haitian Creole.

He explained that the day would be spent discussing the progress and challenges facing cooperatives in Haiti. Participants would propose topics themselves. Small groups would form. Notes would be taken and shared as part of a participatory evaluation.

Then he paused again.

“I want to begin with words that have been my mantra for decades,” he said. “We are condemned to cooperate.”

Nou kondane pou kowòpere.

He let the phrase hang in the air.

“With Haiti’s many challenges,” he continued, “we do not have a choice. If we wish to advance ourselves, we cannot work in isolation.”

He spoke of Haiti’s geography. Its history of brutality and exclusion. Environmental degradation, discrimination, and the barriers created by language and law. And then he returned to his central point.

“With all of this,” he said, “we do not have a choice.”

“We are condemned to cooperate.”

This was one of hundreds of Open Space meetings I facilitated over several decades in Haiti. As the day unfolded, participants proposed topics they felt mattered most, self-organized into small groups, and reported back with clarity and conviction.

As I write these words now, Haiti’s situation has grown increasingly precarious. The country faces a convergence of internal and external threats, and the future is deeply uncertain.

Yet while Haiti’s circumstances are unique, I have come to believe they also reflect something broader.

Haiti is not only a nation in crisis.
It is a mirror.

It reflects a world facing environmental collapse, political fragmentation, widening inequality, and a growing inability—or unwillingness—to cooperate across difference. Humanity, too, stands at a crossroads.

The statement is serious, even sobering.

And yet, if Haiti has taught me anything, it is this: collective work is often accompanied by joy. By laughter. By relationship.

Cooperation is not only a burden we must carry. It can also be a way of being human together.

Still, the truth remains as clear now as it was that day in Port-au-Prince.

We do not have a choice.
We are condemned to cooperate.

And that is why our moment is now.

Be Useful

An Invitation to a Larger WHY

A barn-raising in Lancaster County

A reflection on how the simple idea of “being useful” has influenced my life, my work in Haiti, and a growing invitation to serve in new ways

There’s a simple phrase that has stayed with me for decades, long before I ever saw it on the cover of a book:

Be useful.

When Arnold Schwarzenegger chose those words as the title of his latest book, and I heard him describe what he meant by them, it immediately resonated. Not because the idea was new to me, but because it echoed something I had been learning my whole life—that real fulfillment and success don’t come from self-absorption or personal optimization, but from moving beyond self-interest toward contribution and service.

I first encountered Arnold long before I understood any of that.

I was twelve years old when I started lifting weights and buying muscle magazines. My father encouraged it, but never pushed it. He helped me buy a weight set from Reading Barbell, contributing to the money I had saved. He also encouraged me to play sports, which became a meaningful part of my life for many years.

My father’s own upbringing shaped his perspective. Raised in Lancaster County by parents influenced by the Mennonite tradition, sports were viewed by his father as a form of entertainment—and therefore not something to pursue. 

My dad went against the grain and played football in high school anyway, even though his father never came to the games.

While my father departed from that upbringing in many ways, some values remained firmly intact: hard work around the house, gardening, maintaining a small farm, building things, digging, putting up fences. I don’t remember him ever joining a gym. Physical labor wasn’t something to outsource if you were able to do it yourself. It was the most practical way to stay strong.

That ethic stayed with me.

I’ve only joined a fitness club a couple of times in my life, and each time was short-lived. Not out of opposition, but preference. I’ve usually opted for long-distance running (before my knees wouldn’t tolerate it), as well as calisthenics and some weights at home. I strive to embrace hard work when it comes to house maintenance and lawn/property work. Cleaning, I’ve discovered, is an excellent way to burn calories. Even today, my wife Merline and I do our own cleaning at our Airbnb as well as our home. As my kids will tell you, I take particular satisfaction in hand cleaning our ceramic tile floors. It’s my form of yoga.

Over the years, I’ve also been shaped by people who embodied usefulness in far deeper ways.

I recall once asking Dr. Rodrigue Mortel, a distinguished Haitian-American physician whom we deeply loved and admired, whether he had ever played golf. He looked at me as if the question itself missed the point.

“I don’t have time for that,” he said.

Dr. Mortel, a member of the prestigious Horatio Alger Association, devoted his life not only to medicine but also to creating educational opportunities in Haiti. His legacy wasn’t leisure. It was impact—an impact his wife and daughters continue today with creativity and determination.

For the past thirty-five years, I’ve experienced profound meaning and fulfillment devoting my life to the mission of helping Haitians change Haiti through education. It has been a privilege to support Merline and the all-women leadership team at the Children’s Academy & Learning Center as they carry out demanding, courageous, and deeply fruitful work. The progress being made by the children, staff, and families—even amid unimaginable hardship—continues to humble me, as does the generous and faithful support of our donors.

Nine years ago, Merline and I moved back to the United States after I was robbed violently and nearly killed. Over time, and especially as the world has felt increasingly fragile, something began stirring in me. Not a desire to abandon my commitment to Haiti, but a sense that I was being invited to grow my WHY—to be useful in additional ways.

That stirring has led to a season of listening, searching, and gaining clarity about how I might serve beyond, and in conjunction with, my role as Co-Director of Haiti Partners. This website, johnengle.com, reflects that unfolding.

It’s not a declaration of arrival. It’s an invitation.

An invitation to reflect on purpose, legacy, and what it means to live—and eventually die—well. An invitation to explore how our lives can be oriented less around accumulation and more around contribution.

If any part of this resonates with you, I invite you to browse the site. And if it feels right, you’re welcome to book an exploratory conversation with me.

After all, we’re all still learning what it means to be useful.

P.S. In honor of Arnold’s reminder to be useful, I’m writing this with a cigar in hand. Even some Amish in Lancaster County enjoy tobacco. Discipline and enjoyment, it turns out, don’t have to be enemies. That said, no alcohol for me tonight—I’m participating in Dry January.