Reflections on Haiti

Abstract

Haiti remains the most significant site of historical freedom struggles in the Western Hemisphere. It is the location not only of the greatest slave rebellion in the Americas, but also of the only historical declaration of democracy untainted by racism. For many of us, Haiti has always served as an important marker of anti-imperialist solidarity. To be an active supporter of justice and democracy in the global arena has involved standing in solidarity with the Haitian people. As long as I have been politically conscious, I have felt a strong kinship with the Haitian people and their struggles against state repression. But precisely because of the US-supported reign of François “Papa Doc” Duvalier—and later his son —and the unleashing of the feared Tonton Macoutes on progressive individuals and movements, those of us who participated in international solidarity efforts with the Haitian resistance were effectively barred from visiting the country. Therefore, when I was invitedme to participate in the 2016 conference of the Caribbean Studies Association in Haiti, I welcomed this opportunity not only to be able to appreciate the scholarly, cultural, and activist contributions of the many participants in the conference, but also to fulfill a very old dream of touching the ground where Black people proclaimed the possibility of life after slavery, of freedom and democracy untarnished by racism. I will never forget that the most welcoming person I met during my very first trip to Paris, at the age of 18, was a young Haitian man, who, like myself, was hanging out in the cafés on Boulevard St. Michel. He did not seem to be particularly bothered by my halting French, which I very much needed to improve since I had recently made the decision to major in French literature. I remain thankful to him not only for helping me with my spoken French but also for alerting me by his very presence in Paris that I could not in good conscience study French literature in isolation from an awareness of the devastation produced in Africa, Asia, the Caribbean, and the Pacific Islands by the French colonial empire. This encounter helped me to realize that in order to create framework encouraging a deeper understanding of writers I loved like Flaubert, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Zola, Proust, and Aragon, I would have to read Senghor, Cesaire, and—at the height of the Algerian Revolution—Frantz Fanon. It was in the context of seeking out Black francophone literature that I encountered the work of the Haitian writer Jacques Roumain and as soon as I began to readGouveneurs de la Rosée, I understood that the reverberations of my decision to study French Literature were much more far-reaching than I had realized at the time. I remember being fascinated by the beauty of Roumain’s language and imagery: “Nous ne savons pas encore que nous sommes une force, une seule force: tous les habitants, tous les nègres des plaines et des mornes réunis” (We do not yet know that we are a powerful force, a united force: all of the people, all the Black people of the plains and the hills united). In representing the