RIP Bloncourt

Image Courtesy: Île en Île.

Gérald Bloncourt, one of the youth leaders who played a pivotal role in the 1946 revolution in Haiti, passed away last month. Bloncourt altered the course of Haitian political history, alongside Rene Depestre, Jacques Alexis, and many other left-wing students and youth eager for a change in Haiti after World War II. Through a youth journal, La Ruche, and their activism, demonstrations and protests eventually led to autocratic Lescot's fall from the presidency. However, much has been written about January 1946 and the role of Bloncourt at that convergence of radicalism, democratic fervor, the birth of an official Haitian labor movement and political upheaval. Bloncourt deserves additional attention for contributing to the Haitian arts movement as well as photographing the lives and struggles of immigrant communities in France during his long exile from Haiti. 

As someone interested in radicalism, labor, and social movements in Haiti, Bloncourt and his collaborators at La Ruche are a treasure trove of information, context, and details on how Haitian youths coming of age during and after the US Occupation came to Marxism and social movements. Issues of La Ruche are available online at the University of Florida Digital Collections, and the short-lived journal contained a variety of viewpoints on the questions of labor, class, and socialism in a Haitian context. Chenet, Alexis, Menard, Depestre, plus Bloncourt and many others contributed essays on surrealism, the question of inter-class alliances, US imperialism, the color question (showing the influence of Roumain and Christian Beaulieu, particularly the latter's essay in Le Nouvelliste on the Leyburn thesis), Marxism's applicability in an underdeveloped country like Haiti, and the relationship between religion and fascism. 

Bloncourt was clearly a product of this milieu of early radical thought in Haiti, both echoing and predating other Marxist currents in 20th century Haitian politics like Roumain's 1930s party or the subsequent parties, the renewed PCH and the Parti Socialiste Populaire, or PSP. In fact, Bloncourt was surprisingly tied to the second PCH associated with Felix Dorleans Juste, and not the PSP, which suggests the extent to which youth radicals in Haiti at the time were politically divided and differed in their interpretation of Marxism, political activity, and labor movements. Now, with only Depestre and Chenet, the remaining survivors of the Cinq Glorieuses, it behooves us to study in detail the revolutionary moments in Haiti when socialist and democratic change was possible. Bloncourt's generation helped ensure the the middle-class and segments of the working-class had a voice in Haiti. It's up to us to complete the vision.

Note: This post was originally written in November 2018. 

Railroads in the Dominican Republic

Railroads and projected lines in the DR, 1925

Since the Dominican Republic shares an island with Haiti, a quick overview into the history of trains in the eastern portion of the island may be useful to shed light on some commonalities and possibly important deviations in the development of both nations. Unfortunately, with only the use of two books, it is difficult to tell the story in great detail or perhaps address larger themes, but the main purpose of the post is really a comparative look at Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Georges Michel's text includes a useful chapter on the Dominican Republic's railroads, suggesting such a framework may be useful to see the interconnected underdevelopment of the island. Michiel Baud's focuses on the railroads of the Cibao, offering context on their construction and their relation to social and economic change in the region.

The story of the railroads of the Dominican Republic is intimately linked with views of modernization, expansion of the export economy, and the Cibao's agricultural potention and expansion. According to Baud, the population of the province was only 90,000 in 1875, but a few decades later it was over 200,000. The Dominican Republic of the 19th century, much like Haiti, lacked reliable and comprehensive roads. In order to reduce costs of transport of tobacco and, later on, cacao and coffee, local elites and the Dominican state endeavored to construct railroads through concessions to European and North American capitalists (they lacked sufficient capital to launch these projects on their own).

These concessions had dangerous consequences, particularly with regards to the role of the San Domingo Improvement Co. and the completion of the line connecting Santiago, Moca, and Puerto Plata. Much like the MacDonald Contract in Haiti, the railway ensured growing dependence on the US. The railways of both nations also share a parallel in their lack of a line connecting their capitals with the major cities in their northern provinces, Cap-Haitien and Santiago. The further centralization in Port-au-Prince and Santo Domingo, plus the concentration of US capital in the sugar industries in the DR and the Cul-de-Sac and Leogane plains in the West province of Haiti, weakened the regional economy and autonomy of the Cibao and the Nord of Haiti.

Much like the case of Haiti, the Cibao did eventually develop railroads in the late 19th century and early 20th century, connecting Santiago to Puerto Plata (Ferrocarril Central Dominicana) and La Vega to Sanchez, in the Samana peninsula. Despite numerous financial and construction problems along the way, the trains did have an impact on the burgeoning economy of the Cibao and the movement of people and goods. Like Haiti, the railroads of the Cibao played a role in the expansion of tropical commodities for the global market, although the case of northern Haiti was a less extensive railroad network servicing banana, sisal, bois de campêche, and coffee transport. Haiti was less impacted by immigration and the penetration of foreign capital, thus by the 1940s, only having 297 kilometers of railroads versus 1,247 kilometers of common-carrier and industrial use tracks in the Dominican Republic. Haiti had more kilometers of common-carrier lines, however, but it was less extensive across the country.

According to P.E. Bloom, the DR's industrial lines were mainly servicing the sugar industry in the south and east of the nation, but these were nearly all privately operated before nationalization of the sugar industry. About 815 km of the industrial railroads were owned by American capital, which speaks to the degree of American penetration of the Dominican sugar industry in the early decades of the 20th century. Bloom, like Georges Michel, also indicated the decline of passenger service in the Cibao's two railroads by the 1930s, with the Cibao lines eventually being dismantled by Trujillo and transferred to the sugar plantations in the south and the east. In the Haitian case, we have common-carrier lines like the PCS purchased by HASCO and used solely for the transfer of cane in 1932, plus a series of problems for the national train company after nationalization and a decline in services, quality, and investment.

By the 1930s and 1940s, the railways of Haiti and DR were definitely not the most commonly used form of transit, and mostly served to illustrate the dependent nature of the island on US capital with a bleak future. However, today the DR still retains some of the industrial lines, plus a Metro system in Santo Domingo. Haiti, needless to say, still lacks adequate roads and there are no functioning railroads in the country. Perhaps building one to connect Santiago to Santo Domingo would be useful for congested roads, or, if there was political will, connecting Port-au-Prince and Santo Domingo, but the latter seems particularly unlikely.

Michel's work indicates that the 1874 treaty between Haiti and the Dominican Republic included a planned railroad between the two capitals, but neither country's railways ever properly reached the border. The PCS line ended at Manneville, by Lake Azuey, but the Dominican Republic's concession in 1913 for a line to the Haitian border connecting Neiba, Barahona, and the Haitian frontier (going around Lake Enriquillo) never materialized. Thus, the main connection between Haitian and Dominican railroads was probably the significant numbers of Haitian laborers working on the the Dominican sugar plantations whose labor cut the cane transported by 1032 kilometers of private railroads. However, the number of parallels between the two nations and their incorporation into the American-dominated Caribbean of the 20th century, in addition to their impact on labor, migration, and economic relations reveal a mutual dependence if the island is viewed through the lens of a single, fragmented economic system.

Works Consulted

Baud, Michiel. Historia De Un Sueño: Los Ferrocarriles Públicos En La República Dominicana, 1880-1930. Santo Domingo, República Dominicana: Fundación Cultural Dominicana, 1993.

Hoetink, H. The Dominican People, 1850-1900: Notes for a Historical Sociology. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982.

Long, W. Rodney. Railways of Central America and the West Indies. Washington: Government printing Office, 1925.

Michel, Georges. Les chemins de fer de l'île d'Haïti. Jamaica, N.Y.: Haitiana Publications, 1989.

Promenades dans les campagnes d'Haiti

Candelon Rigaud

Candelon Rigaud's Promenades dans les campagnes d'Haiti, published in 1928, is an invaluable survey of the Cul de Sac plain and its varied communities, plantations, and inhabitants. Rigaud, who directed the book toward foreign audiences, presumably to attract foreign investment in agricultural and agro-industrial enterprise in the region, provides an excellent overview of the Cul de Sac plain's agricultural potential, as well as marking the impact of the Haitian American Sugar Company (HASCO). As one of the areas of Haiti formerly occupied by sugar plantations in the colonial period, the plain's colonial plantations have, for the most part, been parceled out or worked through sharecropping arrangements, like the demwatye system. 

However, as noted by various scholars,  the plain witnessed an attempt by the Haitian state and various landholders to redevelop the long-gone sugar industry in the second half of the 19th century. As part of a return to the land, some planters decided to invest in sugar mills, new transportation (the PCS railway system was built, in part, to transport cane and other goods from the plain to Port-au-Prince) and crops, such as tobacco. Perhaps due to the region's proximity to the national capital, and the tendency among various Haitian governments to grant estates and farm land to generals and soldiers, the Cul de Sac plain appears to have presented greater resistance to the growth of an independent peasantry than other parts of Haiti, but 3/4 of the plain was uncultivated in the early 1900s. According to various foreign accounts, such as Richard Hill's journey through the region in the 1830s, or Aubin's 1910 account, Haitian sharecroppers and rural workers sometimes formed their own labor cooperatives or used cooperative labor practices like the konbit to harvest cane and other crops for landowners and themselves.

Rigaud's text outlines this tentative attempts at capitalist plantations on various habitations, including Chateaublond, which was owned by Jacques Roumain's grandfather, Tancrède Auguste. But even before attempts to revive sugar production in the late 19th century, sugarcane was continuously cultivated for several distilleries. Rigaud methodically takes the reader on a journey throughout the entire plain, describing the history of each former plantation, its inhabitants, the owners, and production. It becomes increasingly clear that due to a combination of Haitian state interest, private capital, and limited foreign investment (mainly German, for the PCS railway), the Cul de Sac witnessed a burgeoning but small-scale revival of sugar, although not enough to significantly shape the export economy. The US Occupation, and with it, HASCO, however, accelerated the process by overtaking small-scale sugar producers and even entering the spirits market through its own distillery. Auguste's Chateaublond, which possessed one of theg significant usines in the area, for example, was forced to terminate production once HASCO and its monopoly (plus ties to US capital) took over. 

Promenades breaks down the process through which HASCO purchased and leased land that previously belonged to various Haitians in the Cul de Sac plain, introduced scientific cultivation, improved irrigation and, in most cases, ceased using the demwatye system to produce an adequate amount of cane for its vast mill near Port-au-Prince. It would appear there was even a degree of internal migration within Haiti, with workers coming to labor on lands owned or leased by HASCO from as far away as Jacmel. Interestingly, most laborers were contracted through recruiters, and many Haitian landowners were forced into the position of supplying cane for HASCO, becoming akin to the colonos of the Caribbean sugar industry as in places like Cuba. The Haitian national bourgeoisie were coerced into a comprador class, piggybacking on US capitalist companies. 

As for the "peasants" and shifting social relations within the plain, transformations already noted by Aubin in the early 1900s appear amplified by the 1920s. HASCO, through leasing land and direct ownership, controlled over 6000 carreaux in land, most of it not worked through the local sharecropping system. Internal stratification within the peasantry intensified, in the Cul de Sac as well as the Leogane plain, as elucidated in Richman's Migration and Vodou. HASCO and US sisal companies increased the number of wage laborers in the plain, yet Rigaud concludes his text by calling attention to efforts to eradicate the demwatye system. The caco wars, opposition to the US Occupation, and other fears of the impact of dispossession and emigration on the Haitian peasant illustrate the degree of uncertainty which characterized the time. Furthermore, the HASCO strikes in 1919 and thereafter, mark a shift where rural workers, the so-called rural proletariat, appear in the annals of the Haitian labor movement. 

Unfortunately, Rigaud, due to his class position and vested interest in further development of the plain, seems to endorse HASCO and its alleged beneficial impact on the Cul de Sac, but his firsthand account remains indispensable for any future project exploring the history of the company. It's impact on the region was tremendous, and surely was a culmination of a process of earlier attempts at capitalist agriculture in Haiti, as outlined by historian Michel Hector for the period 1860-1915. Perhaps, as suggested by Richman, shifts in the nature of Vodou, its hierarchic elements, and the rise of elaborate ceremonies, reflects this growing inequality and insecurity of the time. Future posts shall examine in more detail these elements, particularly in tracking the evolution of the Cul de Sac plain after the 1920s.

West Indians in Haiti: Anglophone Caribbean Immigration

Joseph Robert Love, a prominent Bahamian residing in Port-au-Prince during the 1880s. Initially working with James Theodore Holly, Love involved himself in Haitian political affairs and spoke for West Indians in Haiti.

Although the West Indian presence in Haiti began with runaway slaves fleeing to free Haitian soil before emancipation, emigration in the British West Indies took on new dimensions after 1838. Prior to Panama, Cuba, the Dominican Republic and Central America becoming popular destinations for intra-Caribbean migrants of the West Indies, Haiti was a common choice, particularly among Jamaicans. Fraser estimates the total number of West Indians in Haiti during the 19th century at 3000, although many of these people came and went throughout the period. Another source, based on Protestant estimates of the British subjects residing in the Black Republic in the 1870s, and cited in Griffith's dissertation on Methodism in Haiti, puts the number at 2000 Jamaicans in Port-au-Prince and 800 Bahamians in Cap-Haitien and Port-de-Paix. These West Indian migrants often formed families with Haitians, played a pivotal role in the early Protestant conversion of the native population, and filled a niche in the Haitian urban economy as merchants, artisans, mechanics, tailors, shoemakers, and cabinetmakers. Thus, even though the number of British West Indians in Haiti was quickly eclipsed by the numbers migrating for work opportunities in other parts of the circum-Caribbean, their conspicuous presence in the various port towns of Haiti reveal another dimension of intra-regional migration. Through Protestantism, they left a cultural impact on Haiti, while taking with them notions of black autonomy, the Haitian Revolution, and, in some cases, political organizing experience.

Advertisement for a garage that employed Jamaican mechanic Ernest Burkett for several years. Arnold Braun would later sell the business to a Haitian, and Burkett worked as the chief mechanic.

Perhaps the best source of information on the legacy of British West Indian subjects in Haitian history is Philippe Jean-Francois's contribution to Cap-Haitien: Excursions dans le temps, based largely on oral histories provided by his own family and others in Cap-Haitien who remember the koko presence in the historic city. The grandson of an immigrant tailor from Turks & Caicos, Jean-Francois relied on his mother and other descendants of migrants to account for their coming to northern Haiti, the economic and social dynamics of their presence in Cap-Haitien, and relations with the local population. Additional sources on the history of the Bahamas also point to merchants in Inagua establishing trade networks with Port-de-Paix and Okap. Haitian ships from Tortuga and the north exchanged agricultural produce, handicraft, and rum for currency and manufactured goods. The arrangement worked well for the southern Bahamas, which had easier access to northern Haitian ports than Nassau, perhaps well into the 20th century. Due to this trade network, some Bahamian families already had Haitian ancestry or resided in Cap-Haitien. Jean-Francois's account provides additional details on some of these Bahamians and Turks & Caicos migrants, many of whom worked in the trades. One of the earliest West Indian migrants in Cap-Haitien, James Cartright, arrived in 1870, while others arrived in subsequent decades, such as the Moss family or Jean-Francois's grandfather. An additional wave of West Indians also arrived to work in Haiti during the US Occupation, when their English and skilled trades were in demand. For example, a Jamaican, Alan Miller, worked for the electric company in Cap-Haitien. Other Jamaicans worked for HASCO, Plantation Dauphin, or some of the new industries that grew during the US Occupation. Some Jamaicans appear to have come as English teachers, like Miss Burke, who stayed in Port-au-Prince to manage an orphanage. Others worked as mechanics for the National Railroad Company, particularly on the Gonaives-Verrettes line and the Port-au-Prince-St. Marc line.



In 1893, James Moses is listed as an artisan in the Carenage area of Cap-Haitien, known for its Anglophone Caribbean character in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

Jean-Francois's essay indicates a degree of assimilation for West Indian immigrants, or at least for those in northern Haiti. Many retained their Anglican or other Protestant faith, as well as a tightly-knit network of families who supported each other for funerals and other community causes. However, their culinary tastes quickly adapted to the Haitian palate, and many married locals, as the case of Jean-Francois demonstrates. Perhaps they maintained informal benevolent societies, and their Protestant faith may have distanced them from local Haitian artisans, such as Coeurs-Unis, which leaned more heavily towards the Catholic Church. According to Fraser, two examples of benevolent associations established by a West Indian in Haiti failed as the founder absconded with the funds, but it is likely others existed through church networks or based on regional origins. Through their religious connections and social networks, they likely practiced some form of mutual aid. Others, perhaps tailors and similar master artisans, probably took on locals as apprentices, which may have diminished the social distance between West Indians and Haitians. Unfortunately, Jean-Francois does not examine that question,  but Péan's masterful trilogy on the hstory of Cap-Haitien describes the system of apprenticeship.

Nonetheless, descendants of many of these West Indian migrants appear in later newspaper accounts, such as a Nelie Cartright as Carnival Queen in Cap-Haitien. The Brights, Lightbourns, Bakers, Rokers, etc. have left an impact on various aspects of social life in Cap-Haitien. Indeed, according to Jean-Francois, their presence in the northern metropolis was strong enough to define Carenage as their quarter, where English and the various West Indian Creoles were overheard. Some of these West Indian artisans who arrived in the late 19th century probably took on Haitian apprentices, and may have appealed to some Capois families who recalled Henri Christophe's preference for the English language and promotion of industry. Of course, unregulated numbers of such West Indians could also be a cause for alarm, as Reveil revealed in an 1892 article on the hawkers and artisans of the West Indies in Cap-Haitien. The same article refers to similar conspicuous Antillean activity in other Haitian cities of the era. 

1892 article on the state of two habitations near Cap-Haitien. Vaudreuil, managed by the Etienne brothers, used more than 80 laborers from the Antilles on the estate. It is likely that these workers were from the Anglophone Caribbean. 

Interestingly, a few attempts at large-scale agriculture and concessions for exports also involved West Indian laborers. Fraser refers to the Maunders concession, which for a Tortuga agricultural venture in the early 1870s employed a  West Indian labor force. The project floundered, but some of these workers may have stayed in Tortuga and northern Haiti, perhaps joining other Caribbean immigrants in the 1870s. The Vaudreuil habitation, near Cap-Haitien, is also described as employing over 80 Antillean workers in 1892. In light of past attempts at using British West Indian laborers and Cap-Haitien's ties with Bahamian networks, it is very likely that these 80 or more workers were from the Anglophone Caribbean or British West Indies. Regrettably for the state of northern agriculture, the association of the Etienne brothers that successfully managed Vaudreuil fell apart in a few years. Perhaps these Antilleans joined their counterparts in Carenage? Or they may have moved on to better work prospects in the Dominican Republic, which by this time was experiencing immigration of cocolos to work in the burgeoning sugar industry. Regardless of the outcome, the vast majority of West Indian migrants in Haiti were not rural laborers or farmers. Most were concentrated in the urban areas, where they developed defined quarters and, eventually, assimilated into their host society through intermarriage and length of residence. Indeed, popular neighborhoods of Port-au-Prince also developed West Indian or perhaps African-American quarters, such as bourg anglais in Port-au-Prince. Smith describes the West Indians of Port-au-Prince as residing in areas like Port-au-Prince's Bel-Air, where they likely carried on social intercourse with the Haitian urban poor and laboring classes.

Miss Burke, a Jamaican who came to Haiti in the 1920s to teach English. She also ran an orphanage.

Many likely worked side by side with local artisans in Port-au-Prince's Bel-Air or Morne à Tuf. In Port-au-Prince, West Indians, especially Jamaicans, were known as drivers. Those not engaged in manual labor or artisan professions, however, included prominent merchants, such as the Crosswell or Cole families, who interfered in political conflicts in the 1880s. The 20th century brought Oswald Brandt, a Jamaican of German extraction who became the wealthiest man in Haiti. Some Jamaicans came as pastors of Protestant churches or for missionary work, such as the Jamaican Baptist Missionary society's work in Jacmel, Saint-Marc, and Cap-Haitien. Nosirhel Lherisson's Baptist schools and proselytizing in the Jacmel area was partly funded and supported by Jamaican Baptists. Indeed, Lherisson's proselytizing was likely the most successful of Protestant missions in the late 19th century and early 20th centuries, claiming around 2000 local converts. Jamaican residents in Jacmel were certainly present to aid in such efforts and to lead congregations comprised of fellow West Indians. In terms of total conversions, these Jamaican missions were not altogether successful, but Jamaican Baptists missions may have played a role in the Protestant faith of Jean Price-Mars, born in Grande-Riviere du Nord to a Protestant father in a region visited by these Baptist missionaries. Consequently, the early legacy of Protestant missions led by West Indians introduced new ideas and social relations in different parts of Haiti, probably spreading notions of the  Protestant work ethic, gender relations, and comportment in provincial Haiti. These West Indians may have also carried with them notions of respectability and black nationalist-informed perspectives on Christian faith. Perhaps they shaped the early examples of the types of Protestant Haitian peasants described by Bastien during the 1930s and 1940s.

Nossirhel Lhérisson, a Haitian convert to the Baptist Church, enjoyed support from Jamaican Baptists to proselytize across the Jacmel area. Source: Jacmel: sa contribution à l'Histoire d'Haïti

Some prominent West Indian migrants included Joseph Robert Love, a Bahamian who eventually settled in Jamaica. His experience in Haiti shaped his political ideology and eventually caused his departure. Nonetheless, he petitioned the British government on behalf of West Indians residing in Haiti, many of whom were blamed by Salomon for the 1883 attempted revolt. Love later lectured on Haitian history in Jamaica, and his newspaper shaped a young Marcus Garvey. Perhaps unsurprisingly, West Indians were not represented well by British consuls. Their Haitian-born children were denied the right of British citizenship, an episode described in Griffith's work on the Methodists in Haiti. This indicates a sizable number of West Indian descendants raised in Haiti, probably the very same people who would express an interest in Garveyism during the US Occupation. Thus, Garveyism in Haiti returned to its roots through Love's legacy. Theodora Holly, the daughter of a famous  African-American Episcopal Bishop in Haiti, appears to be the most engaged Haitian to involve herself with the UNIA (Elie Garcia was also involved), but the Episcopalians and other Protestants of Haiti, which included many West Indians and their progeny, would have been the followers of the UNIA through their Negro World newspaper. During the US Occupation, other West Indians residing in Cap-Haitien and Port-de-Paix may have followed news of Garvey, too. For instance, a bar run by Marcy Myers, a Bahamian in Port-de-Paix, served American servicemen and other Bahamian traders, stevedores, and deckhands. These networks may have solidified a small base for Garveyism.

Hurst, whose mother was a descendant of African-American immigrants, was AME Bishop in Haiti. His father was, if not of African-American origins, West Indian. The AME Church in Hispaniola, first brought by African-American immigrants in the 1820s, grew in the late 19th and early 20th centuries through West Indian immigration.

Nearing the end of the US Occupation and the proceeding decades, the Jamaican colonie is referenced several times in Port-au-Prince's newspapers. In 1931, Le Matin expressed concern over Jamaicans leaving Cuba for Haiti. This is likely the context in which the Daily Gleaner published articles about Jamaican immigration as a matter of concern to Haitian authorities, alluding to Haitian attempts to limit Jamaican immigration in Haiti. Unlike Cuba and the Dominican Republic, however, Haitian attempts to block Jamaican immigration were not racial, but due to a fear of their impact on the poor already struggling in Port-au-Prince. Other Jamaicans who came in the 1930s and 1940s were not so unfortunate. For example, Jocelyn McCalla led the effort to launch friendly soccer tournaments between Haitian and Jamaican teams. McCalla also hosted several Jamaican visitors in Port-au-Prince. Ernest Burkett, a Jamaican chief mechanic at the West Indies Garage, appears in the press. Burkett had been in Haiti since the 1920s or 1930s, when the business was owned by Arnold Braun. Braun later sold it to a Haitian, who directed it in partnership with Burkett. Other Jamaicans appeared in the press in terms of high-profile visitors to Haiti, travels back and forth between the two islands, or, in one case, a Jamaican employee of Plantation Dauphin defending the Black Republic from bad press in the Daily Gleaner. The Duvalierist era probably led many in the Jamaican community of Port-au-Prince to leave, either for North America or Jamaica. Burkett himself was expelled for some time by Francois Duvalier, and others of West Indian descent likely found better opportunities abroad. Like Hubert Bright of Cap-Haitien, who worked as an interpreter in Anglophone Canada, more remunerative opportunities in Canada or the US acted as pull factors for emigration.

George Angus, one of the Jamaican Baptists active in the St. Marc area. He married a Haitian.

Perhaps due to racial consanguinity and their ultimately small numbers (possibly no greater than 3000 across a century), the Anglophone West Indian presence does not seem to have sparked the ire of Haitians. A few references to their predominance in some of the trades likely reflected Haitian frustrations over the foreign dominance of nearly every aspect of the economy by the end of the 19th century. References to attempts to limit their numbers in 1931 (around the same time Haitian frustrations over the Chinese presence manifest) illustrate some tension, but that was likely in relation to the Depression. Other than these few instances of anger or anxiety about local labor, perhaps also associated with the West Indians working for the US Occupation, they appear to be a welcome population who have assimilated into Haitian society. Of course, the occupational niches filled by West Indians in Haiti were less attractive in the years after the Occupation, and since so few were engaged in rural labor, the West Indian presence in Haiti was only a fraction of the plethora who labored in Central America or Cuba. Nevertheless, the history of Anglophone Caribbean immigration in Haiti impacted the spread of Protestantism, urban tradesmen, and black nationalist sentiment for both Haiti and the Caribbean.

Syndicat des Ouvriers Cordonniers (1903)

Attempting to track down information on the alleged first Haitian labor union is a trying enterprise. Unfortunately, the Syndicat des Ouvriers Cordonniers Haïtiens, which was founded on the 24th of March in 1903, does not appear in Le Nouvelliste. The main source used by Georges Fortuné, Michel Hector, and Edner Brutus for the union's existence is a report from Lamartine Cayemitte, at the first national congress of labor in Haiti in 1949. Cayemitte, a member of the organized shoemaker association, presumably described this early labor union from oral tradition, as passed down by the members of the union or the next generations of shoemakers. Based on Cayemitte, we know the union was founded at the shoe manufacturing workshop of a Dessources Poveda, and likely included 46 workers at the atelier. Discussing the union in the context of free syndicalism, Cayemitte appears to have blamed the government for interfering and putting an end to this first labor union plus subsequent attempts to organize shoemakers under Ernest Camille. Of course, it is not exactly a surprise shoemakers emerged as the first organized labor group in Haiti, since they had a penchant for being artisan intellectuals tied to radicalism in Europe and Latin America.

Unfortunately, a complete identification of Dessources Poveda has not been successful, although one source does mention a cordonnerie established by a Poveda of Cuban origins. Another Poveda of Cuban origins, Simon Poveda Ferrer, also appears in Port-au-Prince as part of a local affiliate of the Cuerpo de Consejo in the 1890s. Thus, it does appear that a cordonnerie owned by someone with the name Poveda did indeed exist in Port-au-Prince, and by 1903, it was large enough to employ at least 46 shoemakers. As indicated by Gaillard and others, the impact of Cuban immigrants on local industry and professions was significant, especially since they took on local apprentices and brought with them ideas associated with the Cuban labor movement of the era, as the appearance of worker associations in the late 19th century likely reflects. The further expansion of cordonneries like Tannerie Continentale, which employed even more shoemakers (plus tanners), were usually owned by foreigners and likely created the conditions where shoemakers were able to find solidarity through their loss of autonomy as the large-scale enterprises limited their opportunities to establish themselves as independent workers. Perhaps this is why, like cigarmakers in Cuba, shoemakers took early on to labor unions, as they saw their independent status as producers increasingly usurped by large workshops. And like the workers at Tannerie Continentale, the dissolution of the union occurred as the shoemakers walked out of the enterprise over an issue of salaries for a member of the union.

Cayemitte also identified the members of the first committee of the union. Unfortunately, their names have not yet been found in my digging through some of the newspapers of the era, but their functions as presidents, treasurers, and secretaries suggests some members were literate and the union had a degree of organization or bureaucracy.  Perhaps this reflects the impact of mutual aid society structures and associations of the 1890s, or even the structure of labor unions and artisan associations as they appeared in the Dominican Republic or Jamaica at this time. Unfortunately, the union does not appear to have left any records, and their two deeds which should have garnered attention from the local press, a strike in 1905 and the sending of 500 dollars to the victims of an epidemic or catastrophe in Jamaica, do not appear in the pages of Le Nouvelliste (although it is possible other Port-au-Prince newspapers mentioned it). Indeed, the only mention of a Haitian labor organization and Jamaica in the pages of the newspaper refer to 10 gourdes sent by a worker association after the 1907 earthquake in Kingston. However, 500 dollars versus 10 gourdes clearly indicates a sizable difference in the revenue-raising capacities of the former syndicat and the latter association ouvrière. That the union could raise such a sum indicates it must have had some degree of organization and size.

It is probable that this short-lived experiment in Haitian syndicalism was not quite a labor union as we know it. Perhaps it was akin to the early artisan unions in Jamaica, which, according to Richard Hart, had members who emigrated to Haiti and elsewhere. Perhaps these Jamaican carpenters, tailors, shoemakers, etc. also brought some of their own interests to Haiti, hoping to protect the reputation of their skilled profession and regulate pay and apprenticeship. It may also be useful to look at the development of gremios and early labor organizations in the Dominican Republic, which included a Liga de Artesanos y Obreros that appeared in 1899. The organization conducted meetings in Santo Domingo and issued a challenge to capitalist classes that suggests a more heightened degree of class consciousness than perhaps anything in Jamaica or Haiti at the time.

According to Roberto Cassá, the Liga's manifesto was signed by workers from Spain and Puerto Rico, which might explain why the ephemeral league denounced capitalism and embraced a libertarian socialist view. Although there is no evidence that the Liga or Jose Dolores Alfonseca, the thinker who was associated with it, had any contact with Haiti, it may be possible that the Syndicat of shoemakers heard of or encountered news of the Dominican organization. Indeed, as urban workers with some degree of literacy, plus probably contact with foreign workers from Jamaica and Cuba, it is possible to speculate a possible degree of transnational flows of information. Indeed, during the US Occupation of the island, workers in Haiti and the DR apparently expressed an interest in the affairs of the other, looking to their mutual best interest, so perhaps there were ties before 1915/1916? This could of course be a function of the physical movement of workers themselves, but it is within the realm of possibility that news involving unions and mutual aid organizations in the Dominican part of the island reached Haiti.

If any of the above is useful at all, perhaps one can surmise that the first labor union in Haiti probably combined elements of a mutual aid organization with a labor union. It successfully organized shoemakers at the enterprise (although its unclear if every cordonnier was part of the union or only 46 out of an unknown number were unionized), survived for a number of years, and presumably brought some degree of security to the affiliated shoemakers. It was probably too ephemeral to have developed its own center and maybe lacked the patronage or association with a prominent middle-class professional or member of the elite to protect from the political pressures of Nord Alexis's presidency. If the voices of the workers at Tannerie Continentale provide any indication, the workers presumably saw themselves as the creators of wealth whose labor was necessary for the function of the workshop. Of course, one cannot say these workers were advancing any sort of socialist perspective, like the aforementioned Liga in the Dominican Republic, perhaps the syndicat was part of a larger wave of mutualist organizations, a wave of further associations of various sorts across different social classes, and changes in Port-au-Prince's urban landscape. Unfortunately, without any written sources from the union or about it, it's difficult to say to say much, but it probably reflects the convergence of mutualist and syndicalist organization in the Caribbean at the time. The context of Haitian nationalism would also be significant in terms of the Centennial of Haitian independence, in addition to the reformism of Firmin's supporters and possible ideological overlap with the Coeurs-Unis in Cap-Haiti.

Bibliography

Cassá, Roberto. 1990. Movimiento obrero y lucha socialista en la República Dominicana : (desde los orígenes hasta 1960). Santo Domingo: Fundación Cultural Dominicana.

Congrès national du travail. 1958. Actes du premier Congrès national du travail, 1er mai 1949. [Port-au-Prince?]: Impr. de l'état.

Cross, Malcolm, and Gad J. Heuman (editors). 1992. Labour in the Caribbean: from emancipation to independence. Basingstoke: Macmillan.

Fèquiére, Fleury. 1906. L'éducation haitienne. Port-au-Prince: Impr. de l'Abeille. 

Gaillard, Roger. 1984. La république exterminatrice ; P. 1. Une modernisatiion manquée: (1880-1896). Port-au-Prince: Autor.

Hector, Michel. 1989. Syndicalisme et socialisme en Haïti: 1932-1970. Port-au-Prince, Haïti: Impr. H. Deschamps.

Hobsbawm, E. J., and Joan Wallach Scott. "Political Shoemakers." Past & Present, no. 89 (1980): 86-114.

Association Ouvrière

Michel Hector's chronology of Haitian labor history includes a reference to a mutualist association founded in July 1894, Association Ouvrière, in Port-au-Prince. Details about this early worker association in Haiti are scarce, but I uncovered the following.

Founded in July 1894, the short-lived organization included a bureau of M Laforest (Maximilian?), president, Stanislaus Madour (cabinetmaker whose work was displayed at the 1893 fair in Chicago), vice-president, P. Errié, secretary, I. Vieux (Isnardin), adjoining secretary. L'echo d'Haiti newspaper (associated with Etienne Mathon) reported on the foundation of the Association Ouvrière in July and August 1894.

 

Joseph Jérémie, writer, politician, and intellectual, was also tied to early attempts at worker organization and education in Port-au-Prince in the 1890s. He was involved with Association Ouvrière and, according to Maurice Ethéart (in Revue de la Ligue de la jeunesse haïtienne), he was a pivotal figure in the origin of Association Ouvrière.
 

Maurice Ethéart references Joseph Jérémie for evidence of the Association Ouvrière attracting nearly 200 workers (not defined, but presumably artisans and skilled workers in Port-au-Prince) to the organization's meetings. This indicates something of the appeal of the mutualist society to the workers of Port-au-Prince of the 1890s. Coeurs-Unis des Artisans, a society founded in 1870, cannot be brought into discussion of an earlier history of worker associations due to the limited knowledge available at the moment to the author, although it presumably reflects a previous interest in mutual aid and labor among Haitian artisans in Cap-Haitien.

 

However, the large numbers of people drawn to the organization's meetings and fears of socialism and anarchism, led to its eventual demise. Ethéart alludes to fears of this sort, plus L'Echo d'Haiti likewise alludes to Capoix Belton's exaggerated fears of socialism and anarchism as a threat to the social order ,which Association Ouvrière supposedly represented, despite its mutualist aims and goals.
 

Although certainly not radical, the rise of mutual aid societies among workers in Port-au-Prince by the 1890s indicates a certain incipient class consciousness, as well as the beginning of a search for common interests and social solidarity between different artisans and workers in the capital. One can likely assume most of the workers attracted to such an organization were tailors, shoemakers, barbers, printers, government functionaries, and other skilled and probably educated workers in Port-au-Prince of the era (and, one supposes, not the numerous laborers of the West Indian migrant population or other foreign skilled workers in the Republic at this time).

 

Although members of the Haitian political class and press supported the mutualist organization, one cannot help but wonder if it reflects self-movement of skilled workers in Port-au-Prince of the time. For instance, Michel Hector's chronology references a 1891 strike among coiffeurs in the city. Perhaps this, plus the founding of a night school in 1892 (associated, again, with Joseph Jérémie), reflect a burgeoning interest in mutual aid societies, craft associations, and common identification among skilled workers in late 19th century Port-au-Prince. If Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic are any indication, Haiti certainly would not have been alone if gremios, night schools, and worker associations begin to proliferate near the end of the 19th century in urban areas of Cuba, PR, and the DR.

 

Possible influence of Freemasonry and socialist or anarchist ideology is something that may also explain how and why Haitian intellectuals and workers may have supported some of these mutualist ventures. For example, much has been made of the impact of Cuban immigration on skilled trades in Haiti (especially tailors and shoemakers), and perhaps Cubans and other foreigners in Haiti may have assisted in the spread of socialist, union, and radical ideology beyond mutual aid societies among the Haitians they took on as apprentices or employees and colleagues in period between 1868-1898. More work must be done to explore this possibility, but Cubans were definitely an important influence on Haitian artisans of the late 19th early and early 20th century, if Fleury Fèquiére can be trusted. Certainly, Haitian intellectuals and politicians were aware of debates in France and elsewhere around Europe on capitalism, socialism, labor, and syndicalism, which may also have shaped the larger discourse among artisans in urban areas who interacted with the upper classes in Masonic lodges or other institutions.

However, given the important role of upper-class patrons and organizers within Association Ouvrière, and their own belief on the role of education in inculcating proper moral values and appreciation of labor's importance, they may also have limited the scope of the organization by opposing it against trade unions and class consciousness. Jérémie and other like-minded intellectuals also saw the danger of a large unemployed urban population without labor and other distractions, and may have supported workers organizations of a mutualist type as reformism without advocating for unions or self-emancipation of laboring masses.

 

Until further sources and newspapers of the era are consulted, one cannot say with any certainty what Association Ouvrière represented in Haitian labor history or its larger significance. Yet, it certainly speaks to a burgeoning embryonic proletariat and its gradual political assertion of itself in the affairs of Port-au-Prince. It also speaks to the limits of mutual aid societies and the focus on moral uplift of the toilers without class struggle. However, if events of Haiti were comparable to corresponding trends in Cuba, Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic, Haiti's economic structure limited the potential growth of radical and militant labor formation among the nascent working-class. If the works of Angel Quintero-Rivera, Joan Casanovas, Martinez-Vergne, Cassá and Kirwin Shaffer are any indication, events in Haiti probably resembled to a smaller degree trends among artisans and proletarianization in the region. Moreover, Haiti had, already by the 1860s, experienced the role of popular classes in political transition, and reformist elites could support mutual aid societies, night schools, and worker clubs to redirect the weak urban pre-proletariat from action against the upper-class. 

Cœurs-Unis des Artisans

Auguste, member of a prominent Cap-Haitien family, participated in the activities of Cœurs-Unis des Artisans while reporting on their activities in a local newspaper. By the 1890s, when he joined, government employees and other non-artisans were involved.

One of the most difficult aspects of tracing the early moments in Haitian labor history is reconstructing the origins of the Cœurs-Unis des Artisans. Mentioned by Michel Hector as an association founded in 1870, it grew and by the 1890s, expanded further to include artisans, intellectuals, and workers. Unfortunately, Hector's Syndicalisme et socialisme en Haïti: 1932-1970 does not examine the organization in detail. But, as an association of artisans founded in 1870, it would appear to resemble similar developments in Latin America and the Caribbean where artisans were also coming together in mutual aid societies or organizations. Other secondary sources that allude to Cœurs-Unis des Artisans include Laurent Dubois's Haiti: The Aftershocks of History,  Marc Péan's tomes on Cap-Haitien history, Luc-Joseph Pierre's Haïti: les origines du chaos and a chapter by Alex Bastien in Max Manigat's Cap-Haïtien : excursions dans le temps: au fil de nos souvenirs. Most of the secondary sources heavily rely on Marc Péan, who appears to be the sole historian to look in the archives and read some of the writings of Jules Auguste and other members of the association in Le Réveil, an important newspaper of the 1890s. 

Nonetheless, as the earliest known labor association (outside the rural world of Haiti and various forms of "peasant" associations), Cœurs-Unis merits further inquiry. Described by Luc-Joseph Pierre as a coterie of Freemasons who held meetings, processions, and banquets, which could not expand into a real movement during the zenith of firminisme, the association appears to be much more (Pierre 112). First of all, Cœurs-Unis was not a Masonic lodge, although several members were members of lodges, according to Alex Bastien (Bastien 27). Further, Bastien presents compelling evidence for Cœurs-Unis functioning as a mutual aid society and community institution. Its space served as a center for a chapel devoted to the Lady of Immaculate Conception, drawing worshipers and prayers from all social classes (Bastien 20). Moreover, Cœurs-Unis persisted well into the 20th century, and some of its later leadership (Jean Marquez Valbrun, an administrator of the association) lived long enough to impact Bastien and future generations. One of the usual functions of the group's local was a funeral salon, suggesting members saw it primarily as a mutual aid society for supporting similar artisans and laborers in the city (Bastien 27). 

Moreover, a plaque celebrating the centennial of the organization in 1970 describes its goal as "secours mutuels," indicating how the group's self-definition expressed mutualist aims (Bastien 26). However, Bastien's analysis of the group and its role in Cap-Haitien labor history is based on a much later incarnation of the organization. If one is searching for it's 19th century roots and ideology, only Péan becomes useful. Indeed, the three pivotal figures mentioned by Bastien were Etienne Leonce Bariento, Jean Marquez Valbrun, and Paul Emile Laguerre, none of whom appear in Péan's series on Cap-Haitien. However, their occupations give some sense of the reformist, progressive, and artisan base of the organization: Bariento was a lawyer, Laguerre a cabinetmaker (Bastien 18). Bastien also cites a book by Valbrun, which praised the labor solidarity of Cœurs-Unis des Artisans, presumably a value of the earlier moments in its foundation (Bastien 24). Sadly, Bastien does not cite any definitive proof of the organization involving itself in any labor conflicts, but he alludes to other possible mutualist acts of the organization.

In terms of the earlier development of Cœurs-Unis des Artisans, Péan's L'échec du firminisme comes closest to providing a full portrait. According to him, the organization was founded in 1870, after the civil wars of the Salnave years, to promote fraternity among Haitian artisans. Also useful, Mathurin's Assistance sociale en Haïti, 1804-1972 claims a committee of 20, presided over by Joseph Sourroir, founded the association. This implies that Haitian shoemakers, tailors, etc. were already involved in the political affairs of the country, supporting one faction or another. However, Péan suggests that it was only in the 1880s when the organization became institutionalized through its monthly meetings, processions, banquets, and events (Péan 102). Péan additionally describes the conditions of industry and trades in the city of the late 19th century, but most learned a trade through an apprenticeship with a master artisan, including some who ran workshops of their own and were also members of Cœurs-Unis des Artisans, such as master-masons Godard Phaeton and Alcime Balthazar (Péan 103). Elsewhere, Péan names other members: William Dugue, Ocean Mompoint, Belotte, laywers like Jean Chrysostome Arteaud, the judge Cassius Daniel, intellectuals like Jules Auguste, and other artisans, such as Etienne Almajor. Péan claims most of the city's artisans were tied to Cœurs-Unis, but does not cite numbers or to what extent master artisans dominated the organization. 

Intriguingly, this mutualist organization survived for several decades, while the the Association Ouvriere in Port-au-Prince formed in July 1894 was short-lived. Even though Cœurs-Unis was suppressed during the failure of firminisme, since its members supported Firmin's message of reform, progress, and rational organization of finance and labor, somehow the organization continued to exist and exert a large influence on part of Cap-Haitien society. Perhaps the organization's longevity was due to the limited nature of industrialization in Cap-Haitien, where, despite the growth of a few small-scale industries employing between a dozen and 50 persons, the degree to which guild-like production faced challenges were limited (L'illusion héroïque: 25 ans de vie capoise, 1890-1915 describes in great detail changes in industry and the ideology of progress among would-be industrialists of the city) .

Thus, the organization did not seek to pursue unions or militant labor actions beyond mutualist concerns, since artisans and individual craft production faced fewer challenges there than in Port-au-Prince? Or perhaps the distance from the capital and the history of autonomy made it easier for artisans and workers to maintain a certain degree of independence in Cap-Haitien than in Port-au-Prince? Did the impact of Firminisme show an early example of labor and progressive politics coming together in Haiti for a social program? Why did the Coeurs-Unis not spread to the countryside? Were its members who received formal education or frequented the literary salons of the middle and upper classes sharing the same presumptions about the peasantry as the elite? To what extent did trade unions, class consciousness, or socialist ideology permeate the organization? The answer to these questions requires tackling the primary sources to move beyond conjecture.

Puerto Ricans in Haiti: 1870-1934

Betances, friend of Firmin, fierce defender of Haiti, and almost certainly the source of the 1870s movement of Puerto Ricans to Haiti. Residing in Jacmel between 1870 and 1872, Betances saw Haiti and Caribbean unity as central for the liberation of Cuba and Puerto Rico. His brother and nephew, Adolfo and Felipe Betances, also settled in Jacmel. Basora, a fellow revolutionary in the Comite Revolutionacio de Puerto Rico, also lived in Haiti during this time.

Although a significantly smaller presence in Haiti than Cubans, the Puerto Rican residents of Haiti during the 19th and early 20th centuries provide another dimension of intra-Caribbean migration. The Dominican Republic was, as one would suspect, a more popular destination for Puerto Rican emigrants, with over 3000 residing there by the 1930s. Geography, language, and opportunity made the eastern neighbor the recipient of larger streams of Puerto Rican migrants. References to their colonia in various towns connected to the burgeoning Dominican sugar industry allude to their organizations, dances, and friendly relations with Dominican residents. For Haiti, however, the significantly smaller Puerto Rican presence was connected to the Cuban Wars of Independence. Later, small numbers of Puerto Ricans remained or settled in Haiti to launch businesses or work for American companies during the US Occupation. According to Renda's Taking Haiti, one Puerto Rican, Pedro del Valle, even served in the Marines during that period.

Ramón Frade, illustrious Puerto Rican painter, lived in Port-au-Prince for some years.

The story begins with Ramon Emeterio Betances, renowned father of Puerto Rican independence and supporter of various campaigns to liberate Cuba and Puerto Rico. He was central in the early Puerto Rican presence in Haiti. Living in Jacmel from 1870 to 1872, Betances, his brother, Adolfo, and Dr. Francisco Basora, were part of this early wave. Betances and Basora were tied to the attempts to support struggles in Cuba and Puerto Rico with aid from Santo Domingo and Haiti. Masonic connections appear to have opened doors for Betances, who lectured at least once in a Port-au-Prince lodge. While in Haiti, Betances came to a greater appreciation for the Haitian Revolution, particularly Toussaint Louverture and Alexandre Petion. Unlike Hostos, who settled in Santo Domingo and usually excluded Haiti from his vision of a Caribbean Federation, Betances saw in the example of Haiti, especially Petion, republican and abolitionist virtue. Addressing Cuban and Puerto Rican nationalists in Haiti, New York, and elsewhere, Betances unequivocally embraced Haiti's revolutionary legacy as a model for republican statecraft, even praising Petion's land reforms. 

Marriage notice from Le Matin mentioning 2 families of Puerto Rican origin. Blas Vieras and Guillermo Gonzalez were associated with Club Betances in Port-au-Prince during the 1890s.

Besides Betances, his family, and Basora in Jacmel, there almost certainly were small numbers of Puerto Ricans among the Spanish-speaking artisans in Haiti. Some of the shoemakers arriving in Port-au-Prince during and after the Ten Years War appear to be of Puerto Rican origin. Unfortunately, most sources comment on the predominantly Cuban character of this migration, making it difficult to say with precision what proportion of this migration consisted of Puerto Ricans. Geography, or perhaps, familial origins in Saint Domingue, might have made Haiti more attractive for Cuban refugees and exiles than for Puerto Ricans. Of course, the failure of armed uprisings in Puerto Rico also made the numbers of refugees or exiles from that island far smaller than their Cuban counterparts. Nonetheless, there was a small contingent of Puerto Ricans in Haiti during this time, with some perhaps passing through Port-au-Prince or Jacmel. 

1908 Le Matin notice of the arrival in Port-au-Prince of Fernando Fuertes. This name was also listed in the membership of Club Betances. Surprisingly, some of members of the club were still in Haiti after 1898.

Moreover, Betance's temporary home, Jacmel, was one of Haiti's busiest ports in the later decades of the 19th century, receiving international visitors, merchants, and shipping line service. Under Petion, Latin American liberator Simon Bolivar also found refuge there. After Betances left Haiti in 1872, his brother and Basora remained, with the former reportedly running a hotel in Jacmel, according to a Caribbean commercial directory. Indeed, Felipe Betances, his nephew, who studied medicine, also appeared in Benito Sylvain's Haitian/Pan-African journal as part of the Haitian community in Paris.  Philippe would return to Haiti and his descendants were also Haitian, suggesting strong attachments to Haiti that persisted after 1898. Betances himself contributed a short story to La Fraternite, which, like his other writings pertinent to Haiti, reveal continued links to Haitian intellectuals in France. This included refutations of racist publications about Haiti as well as mingling with Haitians such as Firmin and Latin Americans in the French capital. 

Chapellerie La Borinquen, appearing in Le Nouvelliste in 1908. Emile Cuebas, or Emilio Cuevas, may be the father of Lolita Cuevas, a singer who performed Haitian folkloric songs and other material. She also presented Haiti in a positive light in Puerto Rico. 

By 1895, Puerto Ricans residing in Haiti become easier to track. The final thrust of the Cuban Independence War appears to have fueled efforts among the Puerto Rican section of the Partido Revolucionario Cubano to aid the war efforts. Although dispersed, the Puerto Rican section raised funds from members and, in at least Port-au-Prince, formed Club Betances. Antonio Mattei Lluberas, who reported on his efforts in Haiti during the 1890s, attested to the small size of the Puerto Rican community. Indeed, for Port-au-Prince, he puts their number at under 30. Such a small number, many of them lacking capital, must have included the larger Cuban colonie and sympathetic Haitians to raise funds and participate in club activities. Intriguingly, many of the names associated with Club Betances appear in Haitian newspapers well into the 20th century. These include the following:  Guillermo Gonzalez, Fernando Fuertes, Blas Vieras, and  Francisco Desuse. If most of these men were Puerto Rican, their presence in Port-au-Prince after 1898 indicates a small but settled community of artisans, distillateurs, and businessmen. Perhaps they married into local families or with other elements of the capital's foreign population, such as Blas Viera's daughter's union with a Vital.

Antonio Mattei Lluberas, an active member of the Puerto Rican Section of the Partido Revolucionario Cubano, was in Haiti during the late 1890s to raise funds for the Cuban cause. His brief reports indicated a tiny Puerto Rican colony in the Haitian capital, about 30 people, and some of the activities of the Club Betances. According to Mattei Lluberas, the Puerto Rican residents in Port-au-Prince lacked capital, and were much smaller than the Cuban colony.

From 1900 to 1934, allusions to Puerto Ricans living or working in Haiti continue. During the US Occupation, some came to work for US companies. HASCO, for instance, employed at least one Puerto Rican in the 1920s. Haitian sources, quoted by Michel Hector, refer to Puerto Rican and West Indian migrants taking the best positions in new industries established during this era, particularly automobiles. US plantations and the railroad companies also employed some foreign workers, which may have included Puerto Ricans in middle-status positions or in some mechanical capacity. At least three Puerto Ricans chose Port-au-Prince for founding chapelleries, an effort connecting Jose Blanch (consul for Haiti in Mayaguez), Emile Cuebas (Emilio Cuevas), and Jose San Millan. Cuebas even called his business La Borinquen, making clear the ties to his homeland. These small-scale shops and establishments, like that of Jose Blanch, probably employed young women and may have introduced ideas or practices from Puerto Rico. Unquestionably, Puerto Rican workers in new industries during the 20th century likely interacted with Haitian workers, perhaps transferring some skills in mechanics or automobile garages. Some of partial Puerto Rican heritage also enter the historical record, such as Jean Wagoner.

Albizu Campos visited Haiti in  September 1927, meeting with Joseph Jolibois fils and other anti-occupation activists.

Needless to say, these entrepreneurs and skilled workers were a tiny community, but left a legacy of cultural contact and exchange between the two Antillean peoples. Emile Cuebas was probably the father of Lolita Cuevas, a singer raised in Haiti who promoted Haitian folkloric music. According to press coverage of her in Port-au-Prince newspapers, she also represented Haiti favorably in Puerto Rico. Such a connection may have been a cultural component of Puerto Rican-Haitian relations during the 1920s and 1930s. The political connection, best expressed through solidarity beween Haitian and Puerto Rican nationalists opposed to US imperialism, is another. For instance, Haitian media allusions to visits of Albizu Campos make clear a certain interest in the fate of Puerto Rico. Albizu Campos also sympathized with forces opposed to the US Occupation, including Haiti in his political vision of Latin America. Perhaps Albizu Campos's inheritance of expansive notions of "Latin" civilization and meeting with Joseph Jolibois fils, who also undertook a journey across Latin America, shaped the connection between labor and cultural autonomy for both leaders. Even though anti-black prejudice continued in Puerto Rico, often quite explicit in cases such as Pedreira, a certain degree of overlapping interests, a past in Betances and Firmin, Jolibois and Albizu Campos, suggests Haiti's centrality for Caribbean consciousness.