Dominicans in Haiti

The coat of arms for Baron de Thabares, or Jose Campos Tavares, who served in the court of Henri Christophe. A formerly enslaved person from Spanish Santo Domingo, Tavares initially fought against Haiti before pledging loyalty to Dessalines and Henri Christophe. Examples such as Tavares illustrate how Haiti could appeal to people of African descent in the eastern part of the island. The royal almanacs of Christophe's kingdom also mention additional members of the military and court with the Thabares surname, suggesting relatives of Jose Campos Tavares were additional persons with roots in Spanish Santo Domingo.

Certainly one of the most important elements in the history of the foreign presence in Haiti, Dominicans can be somewhat difficult to track. Sharing an island and lacking an effective border until the 1930s, contact between the peoples of both sides of the island can be traced to the colonial period. Trade, particularly of cattle from eastern Hispaniola, was an important export to Haiti since the colonial period. Many on the frontier also depended on access to markets in Port-au-Prince or Haiti for imported goods. Of course, runaway slaves from Saint Domingue fled across the border. Last, but certainly not least, over 20 years of political unification also led to contacts, families, and economic ties across the frontier. Of course, quantifying the number of Dominicans in Haiti during the 19th century is difficult (although some estimate about 15,000 Dominicans currently reside in Haiti, perhaps higher), but the higher population of Haiti and demographic pressure on the land favored greater Haitian migration into the DR than the other way around. Nonetheless, the bicultural frontier included many 'Dominicans' who lived in Haitian territory, married Haitians, and, in some cases, served in the Haitian military. Thorald Burnham also found Dominicans to be the most common foreign-born spouses in the Port-au-Prince marriage records for 1850-1871, which is suggestive of the larger than expected presence of them in Haitian society. One can easily imagine perhaps a few thousand Dominicans living and working in Haiti during the 19th century, with many more making occasional visits or business trips to either the border or markets in Port-au-Prince and Cap-Haitien. 

Xavier Amiama, pintor de la noche en Haiti. Amiama was a  Dominican painter who moved to Port-au-Prince in 1935. A friend of Petion Savain and other Haitian painters, Amiama participated with the Centre d'Art. His paintings capture much of popular culture in Port-au-Prince.

Since Haiti abolished slavery and caste restrictions in Santo Domingo during the periods of unification, Haiti likely appealed to many Dominicans of African descent in ways white elites did not appreciate. Thus, a 'Dominican', Jose Campos Tavarez, enlisted in the Haitian army and served Dessalines and Christophe. Indeed, Campos Thabares became a baron in the court of Henri Christophe. His relatives also served Christophe as additional men who in Christophe's military share the Thabares name. Decades later, other Dominicans remained loyal to Haiti after initially fightinf for separation in the 1840s. At least some Afro-Dominicans may have seen Haitian unification as a period of social advancement through military service and their own personal autonomy. Some of them also came from Saint Domingue or had origins there through colonial maroon settlements or battalions aligned with Spain during the Haitian Revolution. Pablo Ali, for instance, was from Saint Domingue (Haiti), but later sided with Dominican separatists in 1844. In short, Haiti signified many things to residents of eastern Hispaniola, and could have attracted more than a few to remain loyal as the commitment of Dominican elites to independence and racial equality were uncertain.

Dominican president Juan Isidro Jimenes spent much of his formative years in Haiti. His father, who also served as president of the Dominican Republic, was a political exile who died in Port-au-Prince. After returning to the Dominican Republic, Juan Isidro launched Casa Jimenes, a transnational firm exporting timber and other products from Haiti and the Dominican Republic. His life serves as an example of the close commercial links between the northern regions of Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Cap-Haitien, Montecristi and Puerto Plata were closely linked through active coastal trade. 

Besides Haiti's appeal to Afro-Dominicans and the economic interests of some residents of the Cibao region, the movement of Haitians into l'Est led to the establishment of local families with ties to both sides of Hispaniola. Some of these families later relocated or returned to Haiti after the 1844 separation, but connections led to occasional visiting, travels, and trade long after. Many of the political officials and generals of Christophe were sent to administer the East after Boyer succeeded in reunifying the entire island, and some married locals or left behind descendants. Unsurprisingly, many families in the North of Haiti retained ties to branches in Puerto Plata or Santiago. These include Ricourt, Beliard, Heureaux, Charrier, and other families. Many Europeans and Caribbean foreign merchants in Hispaniola during the period of unification (1822-1844) and after also established a presence in both countries. The Deetjen of Holland, for instance, were present in Cap-Haitien and Puerto Plata, with members who served in various capacities Haiti or the Dominican Republic. Descendants of African American immigrants in Samana were also connected to other African American communities or Protestant sects in Haiti. According to Aubin, Corsicans in the Dominican Republic were also active in Cap-Haitien, presumably building upon their economic and social bonds with their compatriots to establish businesses or engage in commerce. Last, but certainly not least, Caribbean-born merchants in Santo Domingo left after the 1844 separation, moving to Port-au-Prince and Jacmel, but retained ties to their relatives who decided to remain (an example of Jacmel-Santo Domingo connections can be traced in this genealogical essay).  

Ricardo Limardo Ricourt, a prominent resident of Puerto Plata in the 19th century, was born in Cap-Haitien. His parents were of Haitian and Venezuelan origins. His Haitian mother was likely related to the Ricourt family of Cap-Haitien, which may explain his birth in the historic city. Examples of Dominicans with familial ties to Haiti and travels back and forth across the border abound.

During the Dominican War of Restoration in the 1860s, several Dominicans used Haiti as a base of operations and site of refuge. Hundreds, if not more, found refuge in the neighboring republic, where Geffrard offered clandestine support. Dominicans in Cap-Haitien contributed to an increase in exports from Cap-Haitien, possibly through the use of Haitian ports for Dominican goods carried across the border. Close economic ties linking Cap-Haitien to Montecristi and Puerto Plata predated this era, but likely grew in the future decades as business ties of Haitian and Dominicans in Haiti's north were strengthened. Dominican political exiles had already found refuge in Haiti in the 1850s (former president Manuel Jimenes died in Port-au-Prince), but the War of Restoration, as a more established war of national liberation, brought a new dimension to Haitian-Dominican relations. Familial ties, as well as shared interest in preserving the independence of the island, redefined Haitian-Dominican relations based on solidarity (at least for some), and may have shaped subsequent antillanismo politics through Betances, Gregorio Luperon, Firmin, and other Caribbean intellectuals. They saw the future of the Greater Antilles best secured through a federation. And, like the Dominicans before them, Cubans and Puerto Ricans in Haiti after 1868 found support against Spain.  In fact, Dominicans in Haiti may have been a bridge of sorts between Haitians and Spanish-speakers from Cuba and Puerto Rico. Some of the Dominicans on the frontier who lived in Port-au-Prince, such as the wife of Gregorio de Noba, who was raised in the Haitian capital, would have been part of the small Spanish-speaking population in Haitian cities who could have acted as intermediaries between other Latin Americans and Haitians. 

Dr. Francisco Henriquez y Carvajal lived in Cap-Haitien for five years during the 1890s, eventually returning to the Dominican Republic after the assassination of Lilis. While in Haiti, he practiced medicine and maintained ties with Dominicans. 

Moving into the 20th century, the Dominican presence in Haiti continued but gradually shifted with the onset of US imperialism. The US, for instance, gradually transformed the bicultural borderlands, which was later finalized by the 1937 massacres of Haitians under Trujillo. Given the rising economic centralization of the Dominican Republic, fewer residents on the frontier would have needed to rely on access to Haitian markets for foreign imports. Moreover, the nature of Haitian immigration in the DR transformed as Haitian canecutters were needed in the east and south rather than the frontier. The rise of the Trujillo regime similarly transformed the regional power networks of caudillos who, in the past, had easy access to Haiti as a site of operations to launch revolts against national governments in Santo Domingo. Dominican political exiles continued to come to Haiti during the Trujillo regime, including leftists escaping political repression. Two of them, in fact, were involved with an attempt to organize HASCO workers, Benjamin Peguero La Paix (a Dominican "Negro") and Morales, a printer. Prior to the presence of Dominican communists, labor organizations from the east were also active in Port-au-Prince during the 1920s, perhaps suggesting some degree of transnational labor solidarity during the US Occupation. Peguero La Paix had been active among labor organizing in Santo Domingo before ending up in Haiti, and his surname itself may suggest Haitian origins (some Haitian artisans were active in Dominican towns since the 19th century).

Haitian novelist Jacques-Stephen Alexis was the son of a prominent Haitian writer and a mother of Dominican origin, Lydia Nuñez. According to Eric Sarner, Alexis's mother's landowning family came to Haiti in the middle of the 19th century. Perhaps due to his Dominican background, Alexis was sympathetic to the plight of Dominican and Cuban prostitutes in Port-au-Prince (as well as the prospects for solidarity between the oppressed in Haiti and the DR). Indeed, it may have shaped the pan-Caribbean ethos of novel, L'espace d'un cillement, in which many characters have blended Caribbean backgrounds.

Furthermore, if the testimony of older Dominicans is worth anything, some Dominicans saw Haiti as more cosmopolitan and economically vibrant (until the 1930s, perhaps). Dominican prostitutes working in Port-au-Prince, a presence developed in the early decades of the 20th century, seems to have expand during the US Occupation. These women may have influenced popular music by introducing their American and Haitian clients to Dominican-style merengue. Haitians returning from the Dominican Republic also imbibed these musical influences, but Dominican sex workers, musicians, artists, and others participated. Dominican painter Xavier Amiama, who arrived in Port-au-Prince in the 1930s, also demonstrates the cultural interest some Dominicans held in Haiti's culture. Amiama, who collaborated with Haitian indigenist painters of the Centre d'Art, often depicted the nightlife of the Haitian capital and Vodou scenes, perhaps suggesting the need for a more nuanced perspective on Dominican conceptions of their western neighbor. A number of political, aesthetic, and familial links may explain the continued presence of Dominicans in Haiti from this era onward. In short, things are more complicated than just a cockfight.

Bibliography

Aubin, Eugène. En Haiti; planteurs d'autrefois, nègres d'aujourd'hui; 32 phototypies et 2 cartes En couleur hors texte. Paris: A. Colin, 1910.

Averill, Gage. "Haitian Dance Bands, 1915-1970: Class, Race, and Authenticity." Latin American Music Review / Revista De Música Latinoamericana 10, no. 2 (1989): 203-35. doi:10.2307/779951.

Burnham, Thorald. Immigration and Marriage in the Making of Post-Independence Haiti, York University, 2006.

Camarena, Germán. Historia de la ciudad de Puerto Plata. Santo Domingo: Corripio, 2003.

Cheesman, Clive. The armorial of Haiti: symbols of nobility in the reign of Henry Chistophe. London: College of Arms, 2007.

Eller, Anne. We Dream Together: Dominican Independence, Haiti, and the Fight for Caribbean Freedom. Durham: Duke University Press, 2016.

Fumagalli, Maria Cristina. On the Edge: Writing the Border between Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2015.

Herrera R., Rafael Darío. Montecristi entre campeches y bananos. Santo Domingo: Academia Dominicana de la Historia, 2006.

Johnson, Sara E. The Fear of French Negroes: Transcolonial Collaboration in the Revolutionary Americas. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012.

Lundius, Jan, and Mats Lundahl. Peasants and Religion: A Socioeconomic Study of Dios Olivorio and the Palma Sola Movement in the Dominican Republic. London ; New York: Routledge, 2000.

Matibag, Eugenio. Haitian-Dominican Counterpoint: Nation, State, and Race On Hispaniola. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003.

Péan, Marc. L'illusion héroïque: 25 ans de vie capoise, 1890-1915. Port-au-Prince: Imprimerie Henri Deschamps, 1977.

Turits, Richard Lee. "A World Destroyed, A Nation Imposed: The 1937 Haitian Massacre in the Dominican Republic." Hispanic American Historical Review 82, no. 3 (2002): 589-635.

My Bones and My Flute

Mittelholzer's My Bone and My Flute is a well-written horror story that successfully transfers the reader back to Guyana in the 1930s. The narrator, Milton, bears an uncanny resemblance to Mittelholzer himself, and despite the dark themes and frightening suspense, there are moments when one cannot help but giggle because of the self-deprecating or absurd and self-referential references either made by Milton himself or some of the other characters. As for the horror genre within Caribbean literature, Mittelholzer is the main one who comes to mind for me, although Mayra Montero and a certain novel by the Marcelin brothers from Haiti also employ similar motifs and culturally or historically specific reference points for their mysteries. Mittelholzer did a better job with the genre than the Haitian brothers because his story is solidly within the confines of horror and does not take itself too seriously while The Beast of the Haitian Hills was all over the place. Both stories, to their credit, contain much of social import and reflect upon the rural-urban divides within both Guyana and Haiti (not to mention class and color) with some suggested morals for the reader. Much like Haiti, the slave revolutions of the past, really history in general, is never forgotten. 

A Morning at the Office

Edgar Mittelholzer's social realist novel set in a Port of Spain office in a Trinidad on the cusp of social change offers some useful insights on Trinidadian society and the author's own views on race, class, gender, sexuality, identity, and the human condition. Incorporating himself into A Morning at the Office and "telescopic objectivity," Mittelholzer's novel uses an inventive narrative framework to tie the racially diverse employees of the company into broader trends in Trinidadian society, not to mention objects that trigger memories and futures for the characters while reaffirming the objectification of individuals by their racial, gender, sexual, and class positions. Furthermore, Mittelholzer positions himself in opposition to some of the burgeoning forms of "faddist" nationalism that was evolving in Trinidad and the rest of the British West Indies at the time. Instead of valorizing Caribbean folklore or traditions from the plantation and African past, Arthur, a character presumably representing Mittelholzer as much as Mortimer Barnett, argues for an essentially Western orientation of the West Indian, a sentiment often expressed in his With a Carib Eye. 

But the real emphasis in A Morning at the Office concerns the multiple layers of social stratification in Trinidad and its "caste-like" system of subjugation. Of course, the order so adeptly described and satirized here (not to mention in the works of V.S. Naipaul or the tragicomic moments in Shiva Naipaul's work) is in flux because of growing anti-colonial sentiment, the labor movement, and black and Indian social mobility, but it is seen through the eyes of Portuguese, Spanish, English, black working-class, coloured middle-classes and gendered perspectives in the office of a company that is tied to larger themes of economics and labor in late colonial Trinidad. Each character broadly represents their social groups and the various nuances of the racial categories thrust upon them. And each character is haunted by something they cannot, for reasons of respectability, status, or happiness, attain. Each character likewise must confront their own class and racial biases in the office, with the top positions always given to whites while mixed-race members of the professional and political strata continue to look down on Indians and blacks who in turn have their own nuances (such as the wealthy creolized family of Miss Bisnauth versus the poor Jagabir who is never allowed to forget his origins on the sugar cane estates). 

For Horace Xavier, the poor black office boy hopelessly in love with the mixed-race Miss Hinckson from a respectable and influential family, his ambitious plans for the future, intelligence, and large-scale changes in Trinidadian society in the 1940s and 1950s will only propel him while the others must make sense of their different predicaments that block the road to happiness. For some, it is a question of interracial romance or forbidden love that is unacceptable to their families or society. In the case of others, it is thwarted hopes of success in writing, children, social climbing, or, as in the case of some English living in Trinidad, returning to Europe due to racism against the local population or a feeling of disdain and disgust at how white skin rewards mediocrity in a colonial context. Mittelholzer, with great humor and compassion, explores the minds of each of these characters during a few hours at the office and as much as the racialized class system appears rigid, the assertion of Horace, the career steps of Jagabir, or the promise of West Indian literature as exemplified in Barnett foreshadow the changes in Trinidadian social relations to come.

The Dragon Can't Dance

"But, for all his apparent casualness, he had read Marx and grounded on Fanon and Malcolm X and he was on the outskirts of what called itself a Socialist Movement, involving professionals and fellows from the University of the West Indies."

Earl Lovelace’s The Dragon Can’t Dance, is widely considered one of the best novels to come out of not only Trinidad but the Caribbean. Indeed, it is a well-written, poetic novel about self-liberation from the colonial psyche set in the fictional slum of Calvary Hill in Port-of-Spain, Trinidad. Lovelace explores the impact of the colonial psyche and discovering one’s identity through multiple characters, such as the protagonist, Aldrick, Pariag, a man of Indian descent who leaves the countryside for Port-of-Spain, Philo, a calypso singer, and many others. Lovelace also uses Trinidadian dialect for dialogue combined with a standard English prose imbued with lyrical genius. Thus, the novel has some similar themes with Toni Morrison’s Tar Baby, specifically regarding how people of African descent respond to the extreme rationalism and regimented, authoritarian social orders and labor systems associated with plantation slavery and the industrial West. 

Aldrick, the novel’s protagonist, initially saw the way of life of the people of the slums as the best response: avoiding the strict, western hegemonic rationality and devoting one’s life to idleness and living day to day. Son, in Morrison’s Tar Baby, has the same initial response as Aldrick, the dragon masquerader in Carnival, but through his relationship with Jadine, who wholly absorbs the Eurocentric mould, eventually is forced to make a decision altering his life forever. Likewise, Aldrick eventually realizes the errors of his past ways after partaking in hijacking and kidnapping of a police jeep and 2 officers, in a vain attempt to lift the consciousness of the people of Trinidad, demanding freedom, liberty, democracy. He acknowledges that driving around in a car, asking for freedom and respect will never end slavery or neocolonialism; in order to liberate the masses, people in Calvary Hill and other slums of Port-of-Spain must rise up by acting like free, human beings. The false dichotomy of selling oneself for the so-called free, but troubled existence of idleness or giving into the Eurocentric approach to life, represented by Guy in the novel, will not bring liberation. Indeed, Lovelace also cleverly but not so subtly critiques Afrocentric, black nationalist, Afro-wearing blacks, socialists, and other self-proclaimed radicals who do nothing to seize their humanity.

Lovelace has a unique style and literary voice. I recommend this novel although it may be hard for those unaccustomed to Trinidadian culture, especially regarding food, language, and cultural elements pertaining to Carnival, calypso, and the multiracial character of Trinidad. This is seen in the novel through the mulatto, Cleothilda, and Pariag, the Indo-Trinidadian who wants to befriend Afro-Trinidadian Creoles in Calvary Hill but the ethnic differences continue to divide. Overall, this is a fascinating read that deserves multiple readings to truly comprehend the metaphor of Carnival for Trinidad’s persistent colonized mentality and the African-derived traditions influencing the masquerade and Carnival celebration. Moreover, with the focus on characters of lower socio-economic status, Lovelace depicts the lumpenproletariat as saviors of themselves, with the only avenue to liberation coming from themselves alone. 

The Wine of Astonishment

"And we really blind not to see that to these people we is just a joke that come in fashion once every five years when they come with pen and paper and take our names, promising to bring down the moon and the stars, feting us on rum and roti so we could ride their car on election morning and mark a X next to their name."

Earl Lovelace's The Wine of Astonishment is an interesting read for those who gravitate toward Caribbean literature. Employing the Trinidadian vernacular English through Eva, the peasant woman who narrates the tale, Lovelace tells the story of the tribulations Spiritual Baptists face in Bonasse as they struggle to express themselves and their religion in a colonial context. World War II, the negative social impact of the Yankees, the colonial government's discriminatory outlawing of the Spiritual Baptist church, urbanization, class, and the betrayal of the black political leadership are just some of the obstacles to freedom of religion and asserting the humanity of Trinidadians of African descent. 

Because of its postcolonial themes and assertion of a communal basis for black advancement in a Trinidadian context, the novel is quite similar to the only other novel by Lovelace I have read, The Dragon Can't Dance. Both use local traditions and themes (Carnival, stickfighting, Afro-Christian Spiritual Baptist traditions)  and an unmistakable solidarity with the lower classes for social advancement. In this novel, the push for the colonial government to ensure freedom of worship for the Spiritual Baptists is inseparable from their dignity, pride, and African roots, just as Carnival and stickfighting also represent the black creole culture of Trinidad. Through these traditions, which survive rural to urban migration and (Western) education, one can arguably see the survival of these cultural forms and the assertion of human dignity by the people of Bonasse after all their trials and tribulations. 

That is why the novel's conclusion is so powerful. The Spiritual Baptists celebrate their freedom to worship but the Spirit does not descend. Instead, on the way to an election event for Ivan Morton, the politician who has betrayed Bonasse by trying to live as a white man for years, they find the Spirit in a steelband performance. The Spirit of this syncretistic Afro-Trinidadian church is found in the culture of the everyday people, in their celebration of themselves as uniquely Trinidadian for empowerment. This allows the novel to transcend any superficial attempt to limit it solely to religious expression. The novel is a defense of the peasantry of Trinidad, of stickfighting and the African-derived warrior. This realization among Eva's community, this acknowledgement of their own pride, power, and ability to defend themselves, despite failing to do so against the self-sacrifice of stickfighting hero Bolo, is what will allow their community to become more than the earth, to reach for the skies and reveal their agency. 

For anyone searching for a difficult but short read on Trinidad, The Wine of Astonishment is an excellent literary feat. One will finish this novel with a much greater appreciation of Trinidad's cultural heritage, as well as the pervasive landscape that defines the community. While Indo-Trinidadians are largely absent(The Dragon Can't Dance is more inclusive), the historical context in which labor organizing, social change, migration to Port of Spain, and the burgeoning anti-colonial movement are key themes which increases the relevance of the novel to the broader Caribbean or Africa. Trinidad, with its black creole traditions that evolve as in the case of stickfighting or the Spirtual Baptists, is highly suggestive of the optimism that characterizes both The Wine of Astonishment and The Dragon Can't Dance. 

Nan Fon Bwa

Perhaps the best recording of "Nan Fon Bwa" I have encountered so far. Coulanges uses a highly rhythmic approach that excels with this composition. Who needs drums if you can provide rhythm and melody on the guitar?

Irene

Eddy Prophète performing an old Haitian mereng with a very jazzy touch. The lilting feel of the original is retained while Prophète brings his more sophisticated jazz palette to the tune. Original recording can be heard here, which has the benefit of a rhythm section. The ease to which this can be translated into jazz may illustrate the common origin of Haitian and African American music. Of course, Prophète was shaped by jazz-influenced popular music of the 1950s, which may explain his ease at interpreting Haitian material in a jazz vein. 

A Brighter Sun

"He used to say that all this business about colour and nationality was balls, that as long as a man was happy that was all that mattered."

Selvon's first novel, A Brighter Sun, \tells the story of Tiger, the protagonist in Turn Again Tiger, the entertaining sequel which continues his story. Married off to Urmilla at age 16, Tiger struggles to understand manhood, or, better yet, adulthood and his place in an expanding world. Going to Port of Spain for the first time, becoming a father, working with the Americans on the Churchill-Roosevelt Road, learning to read, and gaining a deeper, nuanced understanding of knowledge, politics, and race, Tiger's vision of himself and his role as a man brightens as the sun. Of course, aspects of Trinidadian adult masculinity are certainly disturbing, such as Tiger and Joe beating their wives, but the community of Barataria and the various "characters" who populate Tiger's world illustrate nuance along race, class, gender, or political affiliations. 

Selvon, as mentioned elsewhere on this blog, is an expert at humor, the highlight of this novel being Sookdeo, the old Indian village drunk, selling his half-blind donkey that does not "look" well to another man. The vernacular dialogue also shines through this novel, which contains more than enough local colors, sites, and characterization of the countryside, village, and town. Joe Martin, Tiger's best friend in Turn Again Tiger, as well as Tall Boy, the Chinese shopkeeper, have their own backstories, too. Joe's origins in the barrackyards of George Street, for instance, or Rita and Urmilla's friendship which transcends the creole/coolie divide, remind one of Minty Alley by C.L.R. James. Like James, Selvon knows and empathizes deeply with the popular classes of Trinidad during the war, a time of tremendous change as Yankee bases hired local labor at higher wages than the sugar estates and government positions (rum and coca cola!). 

For any and everyone interested in Selvon or Trinidad & Tobago, A Brighter Sun is more than a worthwhile introduction. Although many events happen and Tiger's still unsure what exactly makes a man, the jokes aside will keep the reader enthralled by this rapidly changing world. Indeed, Tiger's growing interest in politics and the class and racial divisions, hint at greater change to come with keen attention to the facade of populist local officials in the legislative council who, despite their appeals to racial kinship, offer nothing but broken promises. Somewhat reminiscent of Naipaul's Suffrage of Elvira or the colonial politician in The Wine of Astonishment by Lovelace.

The Lonely Londoners

"Wherever in London that it have Working Class, there you will find a lot of spades."

Samuel Selvon's short novel, The Lonely Londoners, expertly captures the Caribbean migrant experience in London. Chronicling the experiences of a group, consisting mostly of men, through a series of interconnected vignettes. The uprooting experience of migration, particularly as a stigmatized racial group, leads to numerous powerful, distressing stories of the cruel and inhospitable environment the early waves of West Indians faced in London. 

Despite being British subjects and serving in the War for Britain, racism in housing, labor, sex, and the Othering experience these West Indians face provide insurmountable obstacles that provoke deep reflection in the aptly named Moses, one of the leaders of the West Indian men in London for being there longer than most others. Due to his experience, Moses guides later arrivals, and the community of West Indians grows and emulates aspects of its past while being forever changed. 

Aspects of their West Indian societies remain (colorism, the lively market women tradition, calypso music), particularly their nostalgia for their homeland, but gradually the migrants accustom themselves to the bitter winter, fog, daily racism, and false promises of streets paved with gold. Like the best immigrant literature, the disillusionment or disappointment of the migrant experience is the overarching theme, exemplified by Moses's troubling indecisiveness about returning to Trinidad. 

The novel's key themes are undoubtedly universal, particularly in the alienation and social divisions that inhibit communities. The class system, for example, is powerfully invoked to place poor West Indians in a social context in which class identities are seemingly accepted by all. Gender, romance, and love are similarly deformed by the city, which turns to cheap thrills, prostitution, and sexual depravities as the only intimacy. Marriage is not seen as viable by these early Caribbean migrants, because marriage with white women leads to problems with racism from the spouse's family, and racism against mixed-race children. And like poor whites, when not able to find work, Afro-Caribbean migrants' only option was to try to get on welfare and barely subsist until they can find low-paying work below their qualifications.

Selvon's use of symbolism and inventive language (drawing on his Trinidadian vernacular English, of course) is also noteworthy, from the symbolic use of seagulls and pigeons to mirror the migrant experience of these black West Indians, to the chapter consisting of a single sentence lacking any and all punctuation. Selvon's brush with more experimental prose, clever combination of dialect and Standard English, and local slang add humor, context, and realism to a work of fiction. One can see how this novel influenced later multicultural writers from London, such as Zadie Smith, who also writes about Jamaican and West Indian communities in London, interracial families, etc. 

I must also add that this novel reminded me of two other novels, one by Tayeb Salih from Sudan (Season of a Migration to the North) and Gisèle Pineau, a French writer with parents from Guadeloupe. The former's novel features a character who spent several years in London, experiencing the same racism as Selvon's West Indians and African character (Cap) from whites who only see blacks as sexualized primitives, who are continually dehumanized. 

In the latter's work, Exile According to Julia, I see some similarities between the old Jamaican woman, Tanty, in The Lonely Londoners, and Julia, the grandmother in Pineau's novel. Both are older Caribbean woman living in European metropolitan cities who are described in rather humorous ways, which is suggestive of some of the parallels between Caribbean communities in different European countries as they struggle to grow accustomed to the climate, form families, assimilate, and survive.

Turn Again Tiger

Standing on the hill gave him a feeling of power. He hated the cane. Cane had been the destiny of his father, and his father's father. Cane had brought them all from the banks of the Ganges as indentured laborers to toil in the burning sun. And even when those days were over, most of them stayed shackled to the estates."

Samuel Selvon's Turn Again Tiger is an enjoyable work with great humor, continuing the tale of Tiger, a creolized Trinidadian of Indian descent. Tiger, comfortable in Barataria, agrees to help his father run a new sugarcane estate in the valley, in a small, forgotten corner of Trinidad called Five Rivers. Given false information on the job, Tiger agrees to help his father and moves to this new village, trying to figure out how to be a man along the way. 

According to Naipaul's review of the novel, Turn Again Tiger appears to be a sequel to an earlier work by Selvon, which probably explains his origins in the canefields, his relationship with Sookdeo, the man who taught him how to read, as well as Tiger's fraught relationship with the estate (and by extension, white people, the race all Trinidadians see as God). In his review of the novel, Naipaul seemingly characterizes the novel as a typical or formulaic "Race, Sex, and Caribbean" anti-colonial text, which has some veracity. 

While the central white character to the novel, Doreen, who inspires so much of Tiger's internal turmoil and frustration, is not given the complexity or depth of other characters in this novel (the entire village becomes a character, except the white overseer, Robinson, who, as a symbol of the plantation and colonialism does not mingle with the masses but controls from behind the scenes), one could ask why should the two white characters be centered in a narrative about a multiracial, poor community? Or, on another note of importance, why does this novel include powerful collective women's voices, but reaffirms patriarchal cultural norms and power relations in Five Rivers?

In another way, this novel could be compared in intriguing ways to Mr. Naipaul's Guerrillas or The Mimic Men, which all feature interracial relationships between West Indian men and white women. In Selvon's narrative, the white female body becomes, in a way strangely reminiscent of Jimmy Ahmed's sexual conquests or the fascinating character in Salih's illustrious novel, a way in which the colonized male subject reverts the established order. Naipaul, unlike Selvon, however, includes these white women characters' inner desires and political contradictions in the aforementioned novels. Strangely, much like Ralph Singh or Jimmy Ahmed, Tiger seems to share similar sexual frustrations related to the colonized West Indian, but Naipaul was more dismissive of this aspect of Selvon's novel.

An Island Is A World

“Foster looked about him, a strange emotion in his heart. He was one of them, and yet he couldn’t feel the way they did, nor share in the kinship they knew. They were going back home. They had a home. It was far away, but they hadn’t forgotten. When they had come to Trinidad they kept some of India hidden in their hearts. They had tried to live in Trinidad as they had lived in India, with their own customs and religion, shutting out the influences of the west. They had built their temples and taught their children the language of the motherland. They had something to return to, they had a country.”

Selvon's second novel, An Island is a World, actually helps explain his first and third novels, particularly his time in London as an influence on The Lonely Londoners. Ramchand's excellent introduction to the novel explains how autobiographical this novel is, so Selvon's relationship with his brother, his service in World War II, and experiences with West Indians in the "Mother Country" shed light on Selvon's personal experiences influencing his fiction. Telling the story of Foster and his brother, Rufus, the novel moves back and forth between the connected families and shifts in setting from Trinidad to London and America, while expressing a certain malaise, as Naipaul said, about the state of the West Indies in the 1950s, colonialism, and the Federation. Per usual, one respects and adores the interracial friendships and relationships, and a deep identification with the island of Trinidad in Selvon's work. Much like Selvon, Foster, though descending from indentured Indians, identifies with Trinidad and its Creole multiracial makeup, and along the way this process of Foster (Selvon) to make sense out of life, experiencing racial prejudice in England, and find a way to make it through the monotony or routine of life in London and Trinidad. 

Foster, Rufus, Father and Foster's best friend, Andrews, share similar views on Trinidadian society, the political and social problems, the seemingly inevitable dissolution of Federation, and the rather low status accorded to the West Indies by visiting sailors or seamen from the US and England. Much like Adrian in I Hear Thunder, despite Selvon's undeniable expression of faith in Trinidad as a nation capable of encompassing all of its inhabitants, one can sense the author's lingering fears about the political corruption or lack of meaning in life beyond pleasure, although there is some optimism in this work. In this constant shifting of identity and gradual acceptance of the island as a full world, Selvon also brings to mind fiction by the Naipaul brothers. Indeed, Fireflies came to mind more than once given both novel's tragicomedy aspects, depiction of Trinidad, dysfunctional relationships, and the struggle over its "smallness" or alleged insignificance. Like the Naipaul brothers, Selvon excels writing, with a keen eye for humor, intricate family or personal ties in apparently dysfunctional families, an excellent example from this novel being Johnny's constant state of drunken stupor but finding solace in his grandson, despite attempts to hide his feelings for the child. 

In comparison to other Selvon novels, this one is a little lacking in the level of humor one comes to expect. Moreover, there are clunky sentences or missing pronouns here and there, though the combination of Trinidadian vernacular, occasional moments of comedic relief from rather depressing scenarios in which the characters find themselves, and excessive philosophizing on religion and being prove interesting for those who care to delve deeper into Trinidadian history, politics, or colonialism. Furthermore, as an early Selvon novel and part of the flourishing postwar Anglophone Caribbean literature, the novel was prescient on the failure of Federation and a careful nationalist text with a beaming example of the colonial politician, Andrews. 

Pressure

Worth watching just for its portrait of 1970s Black Britain and the screenplay co-written by Sam Selvon, Pressure sort of a sequel in spirit to The Lonely Londoners. Instead of the immigrant experience of Tony's parents (who would be the equivalent of the characters in Selvon's famous novel), the film tells the story of the generation of West Indians born in Britain, as they struggle with identity, Black Power, racial discrimination in all sectors of life, and the generation struggle and divide between them and their parents. As one would expect with Selvon, there are some humorous moments and allusions to interracial sex between black men and white women, a theme in some of Selvon's novels. 

Digging Up the Mountains: Stories By Neil Bissoondath

"He saw the earth, as from space, streams of people in continuous motion, circling the sphere in search of the next stop which, they always knew, would prove temporary in the end."

Neil Bissoondath's short story collection, Digging Up the Mountains, features the praise of his uncle, V.S. Naipaul, and Bissoondath, like Shiva Naipaul, is trapped in that wider shadow. Unlike them, Bissoondath, who choses Canada over Britain, has some commonalities with Ladoo and Selvon, but combined with a similar worldview of his uncles on colonialism and independence. Many of the short stories featured in this collection are quite short and appear to be character sketches or material with light humor, but none come close to the satirical masterpieces of his uncle's short fiction. And, excluding the detailed portrait of a confined Japanese woman, the best tales here feature Trinidad and Trinidadians in Toronto, perhaps because it's the world the young Bissoondath knew so well at the time. A touch of authenticity in the dialogue and vernacular of some of the Trinidadian characters goes so well, and he almost reaches the lofty heights of Vidia and Shiva in terms of Trinidadian social satire and post-colonial traumas. I will have to read his future Caribbean-inspired novels. 

Stories Recommended

1. "Dancing": Narrated by a lower-class black Trinidadian women, one gets a feel for the Trinidadian vernacular that I have come to love in Selvon and early Naipaul. Rich and perhaps politically incorrect take on West Indian migrants in Toronto, but makes for hilarious reading. One may find a kernel of truth in this tale, but, unfortunately, being who he is, Bissoondath seems to mock the very idea of racism or prejudice against Caribbean people in Canada. 

2. "Digging Up the Mountains": Trinidadian setting, political commentary, somewhat typical yet intriguing dark tale of the 'Global South.'

3. "The Revolutionary": Hilarious portrait of  West Indian radical. I am quite sure I strongly disagree with Bissoondath on politics and multiculturalism, but sometimes he nails it. This piece is one example. Reminiscent of Naipaul's "Guerrillas" and some of Shiva Naipaul's commentary on the colonial left.

4. "The Cage": Narrated by a Japanese woman bound by freedom and tradition. Surprisingly comes off as a fully fleshed character, and somewhat reminiscent of V.S. Naipaul's "One Out of Many," but with more plausible female characters. 

5. "Insecurity": Amusing tale on the worried self-made rich Indo-Trinidadian who finds out that financial security and flight to the north isn't quite what you think.

Los Cocolos

Another interesting video on West Indian migration to the Dominican Republic.

Yesterdays

"All the young scholars in Karan Settlement were doomed. The sugarcane estates were monsters; they were in the habit of yawning and swallowing the young men; those who were lucky enough to get away from the estates were trapped into a career of rum drinking and fighting."

Harold Sonny Ladoo's humorous novella, Yesterdays, tells the story of a frustrated young man, Poonwa, and his desire to establish a Hindu Mission to Canada to get back at the Canadian Mission School (and colonialism generally speaking) for his years of physical abuse and torment. The son of unlettered Indian cane cutters, who, after 30 years, have a house in Karan Settlement, Poonwa, his family, and the village community are, as Ladoo's focus on excreta and depravity illustrates, full of shit. The Hindu priest, Pandit Puru, takes advantage of the community's religious faith for profit, everyone is cheating on everyone else, and, despite a general anti-gay atmosphere, a very fluid sexuality in which many men "bull" the village queer, Sook. 

The reader really does sympathize with Poonwa and his grandiose schemes for vengeance against the white colonizers for their abuse of the Indians and Negroes of this fictionalized Trinidad, yet it becomes very clear that he cannot read Hindi, has no realistic plan for actually building a Hindu school in Canada, and is driven by hatred, fueled by nightmares of his abusive Canadian schoolteacher and her white Jesus. On the other hand, the future of rum drinking and nothingness is a prevalent fear, one driving his mother, Basdai, to push her husband, Choonilal, to mortgage the house to fund Poonwa's lofty Mission. 

For those eager to read an amusing account of a village community in 1955, Ladoo's Yesterdays is quite worthwhile, yet a little underwhelming for those who expected to read about Poonwa's Canada failures. At the end of the day, it's probably unnecessary to include that, and we should enjoy the topsy-turvy world of 1950s Carib Island and its complex class, colonial, and religious tensions. For those reasons, Ladoo's novella is an extremely amusing read with a humanizing portrait of a society where everyone is lying, cheating, screwing, and exploiting each other. The Hindu priest, Choonilal, the daily intercessions of the Hindu gods through dreams, and last, but certainly not least, a disturbing emphasis on defecation or transgressive sexual acts will keep you laughing throughout.

No Pain Like This Body

Harold Sonny Ladoo's No Pain Like This Body quite different from Yesterdays. Although both novels share a raw, earthy, and unsentimental portrait of the lives of Indian peasants on a fictionalized Trinidad, local dialect for the dialogue of the uneducated, poor characters, and a bleak future, No Pain Like This Body features children as central to the plot, especially in their worldview, one in which jumbies, jables, lougawou, God, and death can be flexible to meet their shifting fears, hopes, and comprehension. Furthermore, the plot is not as straightforward, and the early chapters are dedicated to describing the experience of Rama, Panday, Sunaree, Balraj and their Ma after the abusive father beats his children and chases them into the rain on a tempestuous night on Carib Island. So, Ladoo's book is a slice of life in these downtrodden characters with some dark humor at the wake for Rama, yet one in which there's no escape from the black, heartless sky. Incredibly dark read but worthwhile for a different approach by an Indo-Trinidadian writer on their community.

The wake chapter actually brought to mind Roumain's magnum opus, believe it or not. Yet, I have never encountered any peasant family or community in other Caribbean literatures in which despair is so perfectly captured by the locale, family, village, and writing. Sure, urban settings in some other Caribbean writings have come close, but nothing quite like this. The other writer who came to mind is Arundhati Roy, particularly Rahel and Estha in The God of Small Things. One wonders if Roy ever read Ladoo. Perhaps she took an interest in the Indian diaspora of the Caribbean while writing her excellent novel?

Haiti in the 1950s

This above video, directed by Leonard Forest in 1957, not 1953, depicts numerous aspects of Haitian social, economic, and cultural life worthy of our attention. It also depicts how the Haitian government and economic elites in Haiti wanted their country to be represented in Canada. For instance, the film touches upon Canadian involvement in mining, Haiti's coffee and sisal exports there, Francophone ties with Quebec, and Haiti's tourist sector. Believe it or not, at the time, Haiti was one of the tourist hotspots in the Caribbean, and the film promotes it through video footage of nightclubs, mention of new hotels, and Haiti's cultural displays (mostly music). A French version was also released, Bonjou' soleil which features Jean Price-Mars. 

Unsurprisingly, then, the film focuses on folklore, dance, and music while also promoting an image of Haitian industrial development, dams, economic diversification, and tourism. Intriguingly, although presenting Haiti as Francophone in some respects, it also acknowledges the Creole-speaking majority and literary developments in the language, particularly a segment of a scene from a play of Morisseau-Leroy. The folkloric dancers must have been from some of the formally trained troupes in Port-au-Prince, but, sadly, none are identified. However, for those who have read subsequent studies of the period, this short-lived belle époque of Haitian culture and economy was built on glass, and crashed spectacularly with the fall of Magloire and the rise of Duvalier. The cultural nationalism plus modernization favored by the likes of Price-Mars and others failed.

Hero of Hispaniola: America's Fist Black Diplomat, Ebenezer D. Bassett

Christopher Teal's biography of Ebenezer D. Bassett, a prominent African-American who became the US's first black diplomat, is an interesting case study to examine in light of US-Haiti relations. Although the author is not a historian and the text is lacking in Haitian historical analysis, Teal uses Bassett's career in Haiti to show how African-Americans participated in US foreign relations in ways that both supported and undermined US imperialism. 

Representing the US in Haiti during some politically turbulent years in Haitian history, Basset helped avert a military disaster in Hispaniola multiple times. During the civil war under President Salnave, Bassett helped provide asylum and curb violence, as well as encouraging humane and liberal governance under Saget, who succeeded Salnave. In the early 1870s, when Grant pushed for US annexation of the Dominican Republic, Bassett again helped prevent war with Haiti as President Saget's Haitian forces joined Dominican nationalists (such as Gregorio Luperon) in resisting Dominican president Baez, who wanted annexation. Bassett pushed for peace, went out of his way to maintain consul professionalism and rule of law, socialized and formed relationships with all Haitian presidents, defended Haitian sovereignty, endeavored to avoid gunboat diplomacy, and helped shape US and Haitian history.

Due to Bassett's belief in providing asylum, Boisrond Canal survived the butcherous campaigns of Michel Domingue's presidency, and Bassett later served the Haitian government in New York, where he fought through the US legal system against US citizens selling arms and profiting from Haiti's vicious cycle of coups. Bassett also opposed US attempts to bully Haiti into leasing the Mole St. Nicolas as a naval base and denied racist rumors of cannibalism in the 'Black Republic.

HASCO

A clip from a video about Hasco, the Haitian American Sugar Company. By this time, it must have been owned by Fritz Mevs, and the video looks like it was filmed in the 1980s. Clearly, it was produced by the company itself or paid for by HASCO, since it is nothing but positive. If anyone has the complete video, it should be shared online. 

Samana Americans

This short video is a useful introduction to the Samana Americans of the Dominican Republic. It's interesting as an example of how some older Samana Americans recall their origins. One can detect the influence of Dominican nationalism, assimilation, and schooling has shaped the history of their community in Hispaniola. For example, the older woman who speaks English refers to problems with Haitians as part of the reason many African Americans left the island, partly due to religious differences. She explicitly alludes to Roman Catholicism as one of the problems, despite most Dominicans of the era also being nominal Catholics. Indeed, unlike previous generations, these Dominicans lack the condescending attitude of their settler forebears, who saw Dominicans as lazy and had limited cultural contact with them. After hearing the two elderly Samana Americans speak, I am more inclined to believe the success of the Samana settlers may have had more to due with the isolated nature of their settlement. This allowed them a degree of community autonomy that may have been lacking in Haiti, which had a greater population density that probably impeded the forms of communal autonomy the Protestant African Americans desired. The fact that most also received land and did not have to sharecrop or sell their labor on estates probably helped. The successful African American emigration to Haiti proper, however, was urban. Their descendants were able to retain some degree of separate identity, but the urban experience likely weakened any isolationist community attempts.

La Solidarité

A prominent political figure of Port-au-Prince in the early decades of the 20th century, Constantin Mayard was also a founding member of a long-lasting mutual aid society, La Solidarité. Formed sometime after his pronouncement at a Masonic lodge, De la solidarité; conférence prononcée à la Loge [de] la Vérité, le 9 juin 1918, this organizations appears to have outlasted other mutual aid societies in Port-au-Prince. For example, Georges Jacob's mutualist organization created in 1917, which presumably drew from artisans and laborers associated with the Maison Centrale, does not appear to have lasted very long. Mayard's project, however, was drawn on the principles of social solidarity he promoted in the 1918 brochure. According to Le Matin, Mayard disseminated the following opinions: solidarity as the essence of any organization, it was formed through worker associations, a nation, or humanity as a whole, Haitians were a race within themselves, neither Africa or France, and blaming the failure of Haiti on the entirety of the population, not the elites. 

The mutualist ideology promoted here sounds something like the promotion of the "spirit of association" spoken of by Justin Bouzon in 1892, as well as the inter-class collaboration of Odette Roy Fombrun's konbitisme. Needless to say, the US Occupation of Haiti at the time likely created some degree of solidarity or camaraderie between urban artisans and workers and the upper classes, although historians such as Michel Hector point out the limited nature of Occupation-era labor parties, unions, or confederations as actual labor power. From what can be gleamed from newspapers such as Le Matin and Le Nouvelliste, Solidarité was eventually presided over by a president, Bosq, and Lelio Joseph, who were probably lawyers or similar like-minded reformist professionals eager to bridge the social divide in Haiti and strengthen social solidarity at a time when US Marines ruled Haiti. Their meetings were held at the lodge of the Grand Orient d'Haiti in the 1920s, suggesting some base in Freemasonry or at least overlapping members, like the Coeurs-Unis des Artisans of Cap-Haitien. Notices for their meetings in the major Port-au-Prince papers indicate the general topics of of conversation revolved around general savings fund, interests, and correspondence, at least according to one 1930 notice. Presumably, funds used by the organization went to pay for illness, funerals, healthcare, and other predicaments. 

By the 1920s, Solidarité was involved in celebrating the growth of Haitian national industry, and promoting labor interests. One article from 1924 contains the words of a meeting in honor of Pantaleon Guilbaud, who launched a major cigarette company which employed over 100 workers. Celebrated as an example of a Haitian who, through industriousness, skill, and intelligence, launched a major Haitian-owned enterprise, he was seen as a role model for artisans and workers since he started his career as a mechanic. Other notices for meetings of Solidarité also indicate topics such as the experience of bakers as well as urging members to attend Mass on the feast of St. Joseph, since the special mass was said in honor of workers. So, presumably the organization brought together various types of artisans and laborers, while also uniting some lawyers, middle-class professionals, and politicians together in an inter-class organization that lasted for most of the US Occupation (if not longer). 

Although politically not an ostensibly radical organization like the Communist party which emerged in the 1930s, or even anti-imperialist like Jolibois fils and his circle, the longevity of La Solidarité, the fact that it was recognized as a public utility in 1925, and its success in bringing together various strata of Port-au-Prince society suggest an importance for mutual aid societies and urbanization. Of course, various forms of mutual aid existed in the countryside, but their evolution in Haitian towns captures elements of social formation quite well. Perhaps a further exploration into the lives, activities, and social impact of these mutual aid societies on Port-au-Prince and other towns during the US Occupation could shed light on the anti-Occupation forces and the eventual rupture in the nationalist movement?

African American Emigration to Haiti

James Theodore Holly's son, Arthur, opened a clinic. Arthur Holly also contributed to the Ethnological Movement and esoterica.

Although perhaps more than 15,000 African Americans lived in Haiti for at least some time across the 19th century, little has been said of those who chose to stay in the Caribbean republic. A plethora of historians have studied the causes and context of the two major waves of black emigration to Haiti, but few have said much of any detail on the descendants of those who decided to permanently reside there. Scholars disagree on how many stayed, and since there is a wide disagreement on the total numbers who came in the 1820s (estimates run from 6,000 to 13,000), one must make an educated guess on the total numbers of black Americans who were either long-term residents or naturalized Haitians. Of course, tropical disease, climate, and many eventually leaving Haiti significantly reduced the black American population. Besides neighborhoods like Bourg Anglais in Port-au-Prince and Protestant churches in various Haitian towns, African Americans appear to have blended into the general population after a few generations. Unlike the Samana Americans in the Dominican Republic, descendants of the same black emigrants of the 1820s, black settlers in Haiti proper seem to have left fewer distinctive traces. 

Bishop John Hurst of the AME Church was born in Haiti. He was a descendant of African American immigrants. Like some other Haitians of African American descent (Hezekiah Grice's son, Francis, for example), he was educated in the US and died there. The AME's growth in Haiti and the Dominican Republic often relied on locals of African American heritage or West Indian migrants.

After attempting to track down individual African-Americans who emigrated, and consulting a variety of secondary and primary sources, it is possible that a few thousand chose to stay in the Black Republic. One can reach this estimate based on a fraction of the 6,000-13,000 emigrants remaining in Haiti from the 1820s onward. Some scholars have suggested that many or even most of these migrants stayed (or could not afford to pay for passage back to the US) while others propose a lower proportion remaining. However, a lower estimate is safer until more evidence is unearthed. It is difficult to imagine  even a third of the estimated numbers of African American emigrants of the 1820s staying in Haiti. Their numbers would have created a more lasting impact in Haitian towns, since most sources indicate that's where they eventually chose to settle. Later, of the 2000+ who came in between 1859 and the end of the US Civil War, perhaps a few hundred remained. This can be guessed from a source cited by Dixon that located over 200 African-American from the Geffrard-supported emigration program still in Haiti by 1864-1865. Since some of the 450 Louisiana Creoles who came to Haiti around the same time may have decided to remain, it is possible that over 200 African Americans became Haitians. This means that at least several hundred or a thousand stayed. They would have either assimilated into the larger population or joined West Indians and older African-Americans in the Protestant communities of urban Haiti. In addition to the organized emigration of African-Americans and Louisiana Creoles of Color, continuous individual or small-scale movements occurred throughout the century.

Part of a message by Pierre-Aristide Desdunes of New Orleans about Vodou and visting his cousin's property in Haiti. The Desdunes of New Orleans maintained contact with their relatives in Haiti, including a Haitian senator. Emile Desdunes and Pierre-Aristide's father returned to Haiti multiple times, with the former sent to Haiti for his education. Emile Desdunes later became a colonel in the Haitian military and an agent for Louisiana Creole emigration to Haiti in the 1850s. Another Desdunes was also prominent among Louisiana Creoles of color: Rodolphe Desdunes , who was part of the Comité des Citoyens.

Estimates from the size of the Protestant denominations, which also included West Indians or whites from Europe, would indicate that by the 1830s, Port-au-Prince may have had well over 100 or more African American residents. Jacmel, Cap-Haitien, Saint Marc, Les Cayes, and other Haitian towns almost certainly had their own communities, often based around early Protestant churches and denominations. This probably boosts the total number, and if one counts African Americans in Samana and other parts of eastern Hispaniola, one can easily imagine at least several hundred African American residents  or long-term sojourners in Haiti by the 1830s. Most were probably the emigrants who came through Boyer's supported plan. Individual African-Americans or smaller groups who came continuously also contributed to the black American population of the island, such as John Bell Hepburn, who emigrated to Haiti in the 1830s. Thorald Burnham and Julie Winch are among the few scholars to highlight the continuous nature of African American emigration to Haiti since abolitionists, free blacks, and emancipated slaves came singly or in smaller groups to Haitian free soil until the the end of the US Civil War. Some, perhaps sailors, educated free blacks, and those of Saint-Dominguan origin, may have returned to Haiti between 1804-1820. Silvain Simonise, for instance, was born in South Carolina and after his completing his education in France, decided Haiti was a better home than the US. Loring Dewey's correspondence also refers to the presence of free blacks from the US in Haiti prior to the Boyer emigration project. In some cases, African Americans came to Haiti after Emancipation.

Alonzo Holly, son of James Theodore Holly. He studied in Europe and the US, but spoke on Haiti's behalf during the Occupation to UNIA audiences. All of Holly's children have left a mark in Haitian medicine, religion, or intellectual thought.

Another complication of tracking African Americans in 19th century Haiti is the question of Louisiana Creoles. Creoles of color retained links with relatives in Haiti, and, according to Duplantier, perhaps 450 emigrated there between 1859 and the end of the US Civil War. Examples of Creoles of color traveling to Haiti include Pierre-Aristide Desdunes, who recounted visiting his Haitian cousins. Another Desdunes, Emile, was educated in Haiti and chose Haitian citizenship. Emile Desdune was the initial agent for Louisiana Creole emigration to Haiti under Emperor Soulouque. Other Creoles, such as Joseph Colastin Rousseau, also chose Haiti as their homeland, and remained cognizant of their ancestral and cultural ties with Haitians. These groups, unlike free blacks from the antebellum US, were Francophone and predominantly Catholic, which made it even easier for them to assimilate into Haitian society. The fairer-skinned among them may have excelled as colorism possibly assisted in their assimilation. Moreover, their presence in Haiti was a topic of interest in Port-au-Prince newspapers, highlighting familial ties between prominent Haitians and Louisiana Creoles. Nevertheless, arriving at an accurate estimate of the numbers who chose to stay in Haiti is difficult, and may require a comparison with Creole emigration to Mexico during the same period.

Prince Saunders was one of the most prominent African-Americans who came to Haiti in the early 19th century. An educator initially associated with Henri Christophe, he stayed in Haiti to serve the government until his death in 1839.

Since we are assuming that at least several hundred African Americans chose to become Haitians, predominantly in urban areas, one can begin to tackle the question of their influence and legacy in Haiti. Through the AME, Baptist, Episcopalian, and Wesleyan Methodist churches, African American influence in Haiti probably surpassed their actual numbers. The AME Church, an independent African American Protestant denomination, included prominent members among the African American settlers. John Allen, Bishop Richard Allen's son, chose to emigrate, where his skills in printing were valued. Although Allen eventually returned to the US, the African Methodist Episcopal church sent clergy to cater to the spiritual needs of the emigrants in Haiti. Other African American Protestant settlers likewise influenced Haiti's spiritual terrain by introducing camp ground meetings and bible study sessions at their homes in Morne-à-Tuf. Indeed, African-American Protestants built perhaps the earliest chapel in Haiti in the 1830s, which Corvington claimed could hold up to 200 people. Corvington also mentions small schools established by African Americans in the area, which may have contributed to the retention of the English language and Protestant faiths among descendants of the settlers. Some of the names associated with black American families in that time were remembered by Joseph Jérémie in his memoir: Jackson, Jacsin, Cook, Day, Jones, Horton.

Septima Clark, an African American educator and activist, had a mother and uncle who lived in Haiti. Her mother lived there for less than 8 years, but her relatives may have stayed in Haiti longer. Her mother's brother worked for a cigar factory there as a sampler before eventually returning to the US.

African American Protestants were also active in other parts of Haiti besides the capital. Jean Price-Mars's father, for instance, converted to the Baptist faith because African Americans were active in forming early churches in Dondon, Cap-Haitien, and Grande Riviere du Nord. Indeed, according to Jacques C. Antoine's study of Price-Mars, it was an African American, Samuel Waring, who came to Haiti to enter the coffee trade, who established the Baptist church in Price-Mars's hometown. Thomas Paul, another important black Baptist in Haiti, was active in the 1820s. For the Wesleyan Methodists, who were established in Haiti quite early and included some prominent local families (Pressoir, Bauduy, and Louis-Joseph Janvier's grandfather), African Americans were also present. Indeed, a Pressoir married an African American, suggestive of close ties between Haitian converts and African American immigrants. The growth of their denomination in the later decades of the 19th century partly relied on locals of African American descent, such as Alexandre Jackson and Joseph Hogarth, for native clergy, educators, and preachers. Similarly, the Episcopalians under James Theodore Holly recruited two native-born Haitians who were probably of African American origin: Pierre Jones and Charles Benedict, who were educated in the US and contributed to Haiti as educators, school inspectors, and reverends of the Episcopalians. Theodora Holly also worked in education, suggesting a close link between African American Protestants and intellectual (moral?) elevation of Haiti. 

Theodora Holly, daughter of James Theodore Holly, spent time in the US contributed to the African American press articles about her Haitian homeland. She was active in the UNIA and connected African American and Haitian women through the International Council of Women of the Darker Races of the World.

For some of the African American emigrants, particularly James Theodore Holly, black America had to contribute to the moral elevation of Haiti through antebellum notions of Anglo-Saxon civilization's superiority. Protestantism was perceived as superior to Catholicism and Vodou, and African Americans could be agents for the salvation of Haiti as the black nationality. Of course, many Haitian intellectuals also saw in Haiti the rehabilitation of the black race or shared the civilizationist discourse of African American black nationalists. However, most Haitian intellectuals were either nominally Catholic or avoided overt references to religion (unless denigrating Vodou and African 'atavism'). Thus, African American Protestants contributed to a distinct form of black nationalist thought in Haiti through their religiously-informed worldview. Haitian Protestants, like Louis Joseph Janvier, came to share their preference for Protestantism over Catholicism, but never relinquished the idea of Haiti as part of the "Latin" world. Nevertheless, the African American and West Indian Protestant presence acted as a bridge between African American and Haitian thought by the rise of Garveyism, further cementing Haiti's role as a symbolic central node of black intellectual thought, despite the small numbers of actual UNIA adherents in Haiti. It also facilitated Haitian-African American cultural contact and exchange, perhaps making things easier for Haitians of Protestant extraction, such as Price-Mars, to visit Tuskegee and find inspiration in racial uplift, Booker T. Washington and African American leadership.

Article from Le Progrès on Louisiana Creoles and African American immigrants in Haiti. Haiti under Geffrard introduced some urban amenities while also experiencing a brief economic boom from the rise of cotton prices during the US Civil War. African American immigrants were believed to be best suited to drastically improve Haiti's cotton industry in the Artibonite region.

Beyond the religious impact, which, unsurprisingly, influenced intellectual and political thought, African Americans in Haiti also left behind a presence in the trades, crafts, and urban laboring masses. According to a source cited by Nicholls, African Americans contributed to an improvement in the quality of Haitian trades and artisan occupations. Thus, even if the vast majority of African American immigrants, who were were northern free blacks, abandoned agricultural pursuits, their intended purpose in Haiti, many left behind a positive legacy in urban Haiti. An apprentice of James Forten, for instance, was a prominent sailmaker in Cap-Haitien mentioned by Benjamin Hunt. Louisiana Creoles of color were associated with trades in New Orleans, and those who stayed in Haiti likely contributed to the improvement of standards. Many found work in other sectors, such as Edouard Osmont of New Orleans, who ran a restaurant in 1860s Port-au-Prince. Robert Wainwright, according to Corvington, enjoyed a favorable reputation as a cabinetmaker for bourgeois families in Port-au-Prince. Black artisans would have interacted with their Haitian counterparts in Bel Air or Morne-a-Tuf, perhaps sharing skills or marrying locals who could have expanded business and clientele networks. If the black immigrants were fair-skinned, it would not be surprising if local Haitians saw them favorably and marriage between the two groups could have assisted in the upward social mobility of the petit-bourgeois. Freemasonry probably contributed to their assimilation, too, as many free blacks and Haitians were members of lodges. James Theodore Holly himself was a member, and performed funerary rites for Freemasons of different religious backgrounds.

This article from Le Progrès alludes to the familial ties between Creoles and Haitians.

Among tailors, shoemakers, and bakers, Benjamin Hunt identified African Americans or Creoles as running the best establishments in Port-au-Prince ca. 1860. These African American artisans in the lucrative trades, like the later Cuban immigrants, therefore improved local standards and may have introduced new forms of fraternal organization and mutual aid associations. They also played a pivotal role in the urban transformation of Port-au-Prince as new restaurants, neighborhoods, and early attempts at modernization required forms of labor that the local population either could not meet or perform. Of course, Haitian towns by the 1820s had local artisans and popular quarters such as Bel Air. But African American and Louisiana Creoles could find success as more reputable artisans or by filling in niches for new services. For instance, most of the Louisiana Creole emigrants were masons, bricklayers, builders, carpenters, tailors, or shoemakers, which meant they could have provided a number of services for the bourgeois residents of Haitian cities. Some may have also used their background as mechanics for repairing mills or other machinery associated with sugar production and distilleries. Like the Cubans or West Indian immigrants, some African Americans could do quite well in Haiti. Indeed, John Hepburn, who became a prominent commerçant, ran the finest hotel and magasin in 1860s Port-au-Prince, located near Place Geffrard. He is credited by Corvington for introducing ice cream and may have been the wealthiest African American in 19th century Haiti. Born to a white father and enslaved mother, Hepburn, like his brother, Moses, who stayed in northern Virginia, inherited some of his father's wealth, which, combined with his knowledge of English, facilitated his rise as a trader with connections to British or North American firms. African American medical professionals, artists, and similar educated professionals could also thrive in Haiti.

Reverend Pierre E. Jones was one of the native clergymen trained by James Theodore Holly. He was educated in Philadelphia with another native Haitian. Based on his surname, it is likely that Jones was a descendant of African Americans, perhaps the very same Jones who were part of the African American Protestant community in Morne-a-Tuf.

African Americans were also engaged in a variety of occupations among the "proto-proletariat" of Port-au-Prince and other towns. Many found work as servants for English or Anglophone residents and companies. McKenzie, whose Notes on Haiti are invaluable for information on Haiti during the Boyer years, alluded to his African-American servants. McKenzie and other foreign sources alluded to the ubiquitous presence of African-Americans in Port-au-Prince. Hunt identified them among the rag-pickers in Port-au-Prince, or the day laborers. Burnham's analysis of marriage records found many employed as washerwomen, ropemakers, shoemakers, or leatherworkers. Among the day laborers and urban poor of them, some were described as indolent, like Haitian natives. This probably reflects the class bias of Haitian elites and class or racial biases of white foreigners' accounts, who saw in the Haitian poor alleged racial characters of tropical laziness and vagrancy. However, even by the late 19th century, Port-au-Prince and Cap-Haitien were developing poor quarters where much of the population struggled to find work or lived a meager life. Some black immigrants from the US entered this category, and, consequently, become harder to track. Through their Protestant networks and benevolent societies, one may surmise that such immigrants and their descendants have shaped 19th century working-class culture.

Michel Mauleart Monton Michel Mauleart Monton was born in New Orleans to a Haitian father. He was raised in Haiti and became an immortal figure by composing the music for Oswald Durand's Choucoune. Monton's life is a great example of continued links between Louisiana Creoles and Haiti. 

In terms of agriculture, the Louisiana Creoles probably did not invest much in land. Yet other sources identify them as bringing machinery to Haiti for agricultural production. Some may have retained familial ties to landowning families, like the Desdunes. Such connections may have enabled Creoles access to large estates where they could have experimented with revivals of sugar production or cotton and tobacco. Some African Americans also pooled their resources together and achieved moderate success. Fanning, for instance, came across an article from a Quaker publication about 8 black immigrant families near Port-au-Prince who collectively owned land and sold produce at the Port-au-Prince market. Their frugality and cooperative farm may have made them more successful than other African American farmers who worked as sharecroppers on Haitian estates or small-scale farmers who had to deal with peasant neighbors stealing their crops and animals. Given their unfamiliarity with agriculture and urban backgrounds, it is not surprising that most moved to cities. The example of James Theodore Holly's initial colony at Drouillard demonstrated quite clearly the toll of tropical disease on African Americans, too. In the early 1820s emigration wave, African Americans were also blamed for introducing smallpox, which devastated Haitians and the immigrants. 

Advertisement for John Allen, a prominent African-American who came to Haiti in the 1820s and stayed longer than most. His hope for free produce movement and manufacturing in Haiti came to a bust, which may have prompted his eventual return to the US.

Despite not knowing exactly how many African Americans permanently settled in Haiti across the 19th century, it was likely at least 1000. Rural migration appears to have largely failed, but many African-Americans stayed in the various cities and towns. Families who descend from these migrants include the Hogarth, Jones, Holly, Wainwright, Jackson, Hurst, Simonise, Day, Horton, Gordon, Cook and many others. While they occupy a prominent place in the history of Protestantism in Haiti, many were active links between Black America and Haiti well into the 20th century. The legacy of James Theodore Holly and his Haitian-born or raised children best exemplify this trend. Through their activism and intellectual engagement with Black America, they're the best example of Haiti-African American transnational links. Arthur Holly even became a major figure in the Ethnological movement, part of a shift among Haitian intellectuals with regards to Vodou and Haiti's African heritage. Their Protestant congregations pushed the Haitian state toward greater religious liberty, and many members became active in various trades. Unfortunately, African Americans in Haiti were not able to benefit from a government like that of Henri Christophe, which could have pushed for stronger industrialization through textile production, education, agrarian reform, and shipping. Just imagine if African Americans like Forten and other prosperous free blacks would have been able to support Haitian industry and reforms to industrialize and make Haiti less dependent on the Western powers? Sadly, by the time large-scale black American migration to Haiti developed, Boyer and subsequent Haitian governments were ensuring such an alternative would be impossible.

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