There’s a certain rhythm that floats through Port-au-Prince on warm summer nights—a vibrant, infectious pulse that seems to bounce off the walls, slip under the doors, and bring whole neighborhoods onto their feet. That’s Compas (sometimes spelled Kompa), Haiti’s signature sound. Haiti’s most beloved musical export; it’s the kind of music that makes you want to dance, no matter what type of day you’ve had.

This year, Compas gained the sort of international spotlight most genres only dream about: UNESCO officially recognized it as Intangible Cultural Heritage. In plain language, that means Compas isn’t just Haiti’s pride and joy—it belongs to the entire world, a piece of living, breathing history that deserves to be protected and celebrated.

For the uninitiated, Compas was born in the 1950s, when a young saxophonist named Nemours Jean-Baptiste began weaving together native Haitian rhythms with influences from abroad: a touch of jazz here, a hint of meringue there, smooth horns and velvet vocals sliding over a relentlessly catchy beat. The result? Music that feels both fresh and nostalgic—a sound that insists you put down your worries and move.

But you can’t talk about Compas without talking about what it’s meant for Haiti. In a country that’s all too familiar with political turmoil, natural disasters, and economic hardship, Compas has been a lifeline. It brings people together in celebration and in struggle, in street festivals that last all night and family parties where kids learn the steps right alongside their grandparents. It’s a bridge across generations and classes, a rare common denominator in a complicated national story.

UNESCO’s nod means a great deal—it’s proof, stamped in international ink, that Haiti’s cultural gifts matter. They don’t just matter in the Caribbean. They matter in Paris, in New York, in Kinshasa, in every corner of the diaspora where Compas plays late into the night.

Recognition does more than make Haitians proud; it helps keep Compas alive. With this designation comes a global commitment to support the musicians, dancers, instrument-makers, and teachers who safeguard this tradition. It means more opportunities for Compas to be appreciated abroad and new generations at home to discover just how much joy—and history—is packed into those swinging, syncopated beats.

So next time you hear Compas playing, whether it’s at a block party in Brooklyn or a beach bar in Jacmel, don’t just listen. Think of what’s being carried in every note: a legacy of resistance, celebration, creativity, and survival. All things considered, it’s about time the whole world started dancing along.

So, what do you all think about that, Compas fans? Let’s hear your take!