The Cacicazgo of Guahaba?

  

Aubourg's map showing the placement of a village in Guahaba at the site of Lacorne.

Although often overlooked in colonial accounts, Guahaba was a major Taíno cacicazgo in northwestern Hispaniola, whose political importance and population size have been underestimated due to Spanish violence, depopulation, and incomplete documentation. Known as the land from which Hatuey fled to Cuba to escape Spanish invasion, Guahaba was located in northwestern Haiti. The exact boundaries of the district and its political organization before Spanish conquest is difficult to discern. Tejera, drawing on Las Casas and the Spanish chroniclers, described Guahaba as 18 leagues from Cuba (271). Guahaba itself was said to be in a valley with a river called Hami flowing in it (205). Bernardo Vega, also drawing on similar sources and Peter Martyr d'Anghiera, saw Guahaba as likely located between Gros Morne and Borgne, possibly also the area of Guanacano in the map of Morales (30). Moreover, the region Las Casas referred to as Araguey, a valley and river, was where the Spanish founded the town of Lares de Guahaba (37). Like Vega, Valmé also saw Guahaba as being centered in the valley of Trois Rivieres (178). Keegan likewise focused on Trois Rivieres as the probable location near Port-de-Paix of a very large Taino settlement seen by Columbus's men in the First Voyage (58). While scholars disagree on the exact details, it is clear that Guahaba was in Haiti's northwest, and perhaps with its largest settlement near Gros Morne or Port de Paix. Who was its paramount cacique is unclear, although Hatuey is a likely contender since he was able to lead a large following to Cuba.  

Arranz Márquez's table for the caciques of Lares de Guahava (Guahaba).

Unfortunately, looking at the 1514 repartimiento records sheds little additional light on Guahaba. The area had the smallest Indian population, only 487, but this was likely the result of 3 factors: the exodus to Cuba led by Hatuey, population loss incurred during the "pacification" of the area ordered by Ovando and probably the forced relocation of indigenous peoples to distant locations where mining was conducted or more profitable.  Of the 10 caciques with followers assigned to encomenderos at Lares de Guahaba, some still had indigenous names: Bayacaguera, Mayagumaca, Mota, Miquero. But the one with the largest number of followers, Gaspar Mejias, could have been from the old Guahaba elite or possibly one whose ascent was tied to the changes introduced by the encomienda system (Arranz Marquez 571). Judging by the small indigenous population assigned to encomenderos, one can only safely speculate that the Spanish conquest, encomienda system, disease, and flight to Cuba significantly lowered its population by c. 1514.

The Morales map of Hispaniola showing the northwest.

Even the excellent map of Morales, a great source for understanding, to some extent, the indigenous geography of our island, is of limited utility for Guahaba. Some places in northwestern Haiti are listed by their Spanish names, although some of the rivers and bodies of water retain indigenous toponyms. For example, Guanacano, south of Lares de Guahaba.The river "Hany" also appears on the map, flowing near Lares de Guahaba. Other places listed are too hard to read clearly, but the place at Haiti's northwestern tip appears to read Yahaba. Is this Guahaba? This region is certainly closer to Cuba than where Lares de Guahaba was founded, perhaps closer to the 18 leagues from Cuba mentioned previously. If so, the name must have been applied to a much larger area, extending to the east to Marien, the cacicazgo of Guacanagari. Yet the location of Lares de Guahaba and its proximity to rivers means this area could have been the population center of Guahaba in precolonial times. 

A dog figure found at the site excavated by Barker, possibly a capital of Guahaba (Olsen, On the Trail of the Arawaks). Olsen likens the figure to the dog cemi, Opiyel-Guarobiran.

If one looks to archaeology, only one settlement that was likely in Guahaba has been closely studied. Located on the old Lacorne habitation in Haiti, this site was known as early as 1947. In fact, Michel Aubourg, author of Haiti prehistorique, wrote that this was the site of 1000 huts described by Columbus when he first visited Haiti (54). This site was located 3 km from Trois Rivieres, south of the Tortuga Channel, and bordered on the east by Trois Rivieres. To its south lay the Lacorne habitation (27). Aubourg also believed it was a fishing village or settlement. Fred Olsen, in On the Trail of the Arawaks summarized the research of Paul Barker at the site. Many female figures were found there (Cadet site), and he believed it was the settlement of 1000 houses mentioned by Columbus. Some perhaps implausible figures are also suggested: 5-15,000 residents (114). Again, Columbus's problematic figures came from someone who did not see the settlement in question. Further, it was in his interest to portray the New World as agriculturally rich and full of people to justify the expenses. Still, it does appear that the Cadet site surveyed by Barker was large. Valmé, presumably drawing from Barker's work, described the site as including 240 houses (181). If this is accurate, this was definitely a very large settlement, possibly one of the largest in the Antilles. 

A narcotic grinder in the form of a frog from Guahaba (Olsen, On the Trail of the Arawaks).

As for the Spanish chroniclers and Columbus, they too are not detailed for Guahaba. Columbus, whose journal described northwestern Haiti, mentioned a group of Spaniards he sent to a large village in a valley 4.5 leagues southeast of the coast. This village, allegedly possessing over 1000 houses, was identified by the editor of the Markham edition and translation as modern Gros Morne (108). The people of this village also had hair over their shoulders and a river ran through the center of the valley. This does sound like modern Gros Morne, but further inland than the site at Cadet mentioned by Barker, which raises a number of questions. If the larger populated center was further inland, this would likely have been closer to where the Spanish later founded Lares de Guahaba. Columbus's son, whose The Life of the Admiral is also available in translation, described the same settlement. According to his biography, Columbus sent 9 men to this large inland village about 4 leagues from the coast, where they saw a village of more than 1000 huts in a valley (76). The details match those of Columbus's account, although now it is a little closer to the coast. 

Votive offering figure in the shape of a turtle's head from the Cadet site in Guahaba (Olsen, On the Trail of the Arawaks).

Besides Columbus and his son, the only other sources are the standard cronista accounts of the pacification of the island after Ovando's destruction of Xaragua. Rodrigo Mexia Trillo was sent north of Xaragua where he presumably clashed with Hatuey and other caciques in northern Haiti, ultimately defeating them and establishing Lares de Guahaba. Hatuey fled to Cuba and later resisted that island's conquest when Diego Velazquez arrived in 1511. According to Las Casas, about 50 years earlier Haitians had migrated to Cuba. Oliver has suggested this connection between eastern Cuba and Haiti can be seen in Taino complexes at Pueblo Viejo, Baní, Maisí, and Bayamo (161). It is thus more likely that migrations and cultural influence between peoples of Cuba and Haiti extended much further back in time. This contact must have facilitated the ability of Hatuey to establish himself in Maisí with his followers from Haiti. But besides passing references to Guahaba or Guahava in the campaign of Rodrigo Mexia Trillo and mention of Hatuey's flight to Cuba, little else is known.

Dog-shaped amulets in conch found by Barker in Haiti (On the Trail of the Arawaks).

Of course, one could not end the tale of Guahaba without following up on Hatuey's political career in Cuba. Established in Maisí, the heroic struggle of Hatuey was repeated by Las Casas. Las Casas, who may have deviated from historical truth to assign to Hatuey a special areito in which the god of the Christians was condemned (gold) and his epic refusal to become a Christian before his execution, is the best known source on this. However, whether or not this areito occurred or if Hatuey truly refused to go to heaven because Christians would be there, is not the point. Hatuey's resistance, which only lasted about 3 months in a guerrilla-styled conflict according to Mira Caballos, failed. But in a letter possibly from 1509 (or closer to 1511), Hatuey was described as "señoreaba la media Cuba" (330). To what extent this was hyperbole is also unclear, but Hatuey may have risen to a position of much greater authority than Maisi, easternmost Cuba. Indeed, his authority may have been more than that of a war-chief as speculated by Loven (504). This could have been reinforced by longstanding ties between eastern Cuba and Haiti with earlier alliances between caciques of the two islands that are not recorded in the Spanish sources. This may have made Hatuey an attractive figure for Cubans to support, particularly if he was a higher-ranking cacique in Guahaba before his flight from Haiti.

The monument to Hatuey in Baracoa, Cuba (Wikipedia)

Lamentably, his leadership did not coalesce into a larger anti-Spanish front. Yet despite his death by 1512, Hatuey's anti-Spanish movement was carried on by Caguax, who had served under him. Ultimately, the fate of Hatuey's followers is revealed only by 1514, in a letter by Velazquez. In his letter, he alluded to the Indians of "Yacahuey" or "Yahatuey" working for the Spaniards on estancias  near the Toha river. Some were even "free Christians" tied to the church of San Salvador. Indians still living in the region in the second half of the 16th century possibly include descendants of Hatuey's people. Lopez de Velasco mentioned "indios" living in Baracoa, Santiago, and Baracoa in the 1570s. To what extent Hatuey was remembered or the links to Guahaba is unanswerable, though Hatuey later became a symbol of Cuban nationalism and anti-colonial struggle.

In conclusion, Guahaba remains yet important chiefdom in the indigenous past of Haiti. The early sources that describe northwestern Haiti are often vague or difficult to correlate with the limited archaeological evidence. It is possible that Hatuey, the legendary cacique from Guahaba, was a paramount chief of the area before fleeing to Cuba. One of the largest known settlements in Haiti was also likely in the territory of Guahaba, though it is impossible to say this was the capital of the province. Similarly hard to answer is the relationship of Guahaba to Marien, its eastern neighbor. If Spanish sources describing Guacanagari as a paramount chief are accurate, Guahaba may have fallen under Marien's sphere of influence. Nonetheless, a very large settlement within Guahaba, possibly a fishing settlement, suggests it was a densely populated area. Guahaba's location in northwestern Haiti also made it ideal for exchange with Cuba and the Bahamas. This factor likely explains why Hatuey was able to lead followers to Cuba and find support from indigenous people there. In the future, archaeologists should revisit the Manigat and Cadet sites studied by Barker. Additional surveys in northwestern Haiti may reveal other sizable settlements in this part of the island.

Bibliography

Aubourg, Michel. Haiti prehistorique : mémoire sur les cultures precolombiennes, Ciboney et Taino. Port-au-Prince: Editions Panorama, 1966.

Arranz Márquez, Luis. Repartimientos y encomiendas en la isla Española: El Repartimiento de Albuquerque de 1514. Madrid: Ediciones Fundación García Arévalo, 1991.

Columbus, Christopher, and Clement Robert Markham. The Journal of Christopher Columbus: (during His First Voyage, 1492-93), and Documents Relating to the Voyages of John Cabot and Gaspar Corte Real. New York: B. Franklin, 1970.

Deagan, Kathleen A. En Bas Saline: A Taíno Town Before and After Columbus. Gainesville, FL: University of Florida Press, 2023.

Keegan, William F., and Florida Museum of Natural History. Taíno Indian Myth and Practice: The Arrival of the Stranger King. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2007.

Mira Caballos, Esteban. El indio antillano: repartimiento, encomienda y esclavitud (1492-1542). 1. ed. Sevilla: Múñoz Moya Editor, 1997.

Oliver, José R. 2009. Caciques and Cemí Idols : The Web Spun by Taíno Rulers between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press.

Olsen, Fred. On the Trail of the Arawaks. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1974.

Tejera, Emiliano, Emilio Tejera, and Pedro Henríquez Ureña. Palabras Indígenas De La Isla De Santo Domingo. Ciudad Trujillo: Editora del Caribe, 1951.

Valmé, Gilbert R. Atabey, Yacayequey, Caney, 6000 Ans D'aménagement Territorial Préhispanique Sur L'île D'Ayiti: Haïti/République Dominicaine : Une Approche Holistique Du Patrimoine Zux Antilles : Les Paysages Culturels. Pompano Beach, Florida: Educa Vision, 2012.

Vega, Bernardo. Los Cacicazgos de la Hispaniola. 3. ed. Santo Domingo: Fundación Cultural Dominicana, 1990.

René Depestre: A Life in Movement

Arnold Antonin's René Depestre: On ne rate pas une vie éternelle is a fascinating documentary. Perhaps one of his better projects, this one benefits from extensive interview footage with Depestre himself. A compelling speaker and one who has experienced much of the major movements of the post-WWII years, Depestre explains his life and work in the context of literature, politics and exile. Since is nearly 100 years old, each chapter of Depestre's long life receives section of the story, beginning with his Jacmelian childhood. Depestre's adventures in Europe, both in France and behind the Iron Curtain, plus his travels in Latin America and the "Global South" demonstrate his place and contributions to Communist, anti-colonial, and literary movements.

While the film could have benefited from including more interviews with people who know Depestre in Cuba, Haiti and Europe, especially those who could have added another perspective on Depestre's Cuban period, Antonin's documentary includes the testimony and interviews with Haitians like Suzy Castor, Michel Hector, and Pierre Buteau to furnish more historical context or additional perspectives. Antonin seamlessly fuses Depestre's poetry with the film, too, giving the viewer several opportunities to appreciate Depestre's literary work or maybe encounter poems they may not be familiar with. Nonetheless, to better corroborate some of Depestre's claims about, for instance, the Padilla Affair, or to dig deeper into his polemic with Alexis and the intricacies of the Haitian Left's internal conflicts, this documentary would have required interviewing far more people (many of whom are, alas, probably deceased). Without this additional context and other perspectives, we are relying almost entirely on Depestre himself, whose political and personal biases may have occluded or omitted aspects of his political career or activities.

In spite of these problems, it is excellent to hear Depestre's story "straight from the horse's mouth." The struggles of his seamstress mother, his youthful political activities with La Ruche, or the incredibly tense interview with Francois Duvalier are engaging episodes of his life. To think he could have been "domesticated" by the Duvalier regime with an offer of a diplomatic post is frightening, yet illustrates how shrewd and cunning Duvalier was. The unsavory experiences in today's Czech Republic were another early indication of political danger for Depestre whilst Cuba, perhaps the most interesting chapter, is seen as a disappointment after the Padilla Affair. Depestre, however, saw something worthwhile and beautiful in the Cuban Revolution and the way it brought together so many intellectuals, writers, and activists. His quip about Fidel and Che being like Don Quixote was also quite amusing, and perhaps tragically accurate. A biography of Depestre is simply a must. 

Early Spanish Caribbean Society

Although we are mainly interested in the past of the indigenous populations of the Greater Antilles and their legacy, Altman's Life and Society in the Early Spanish Caribbean: The Greater Antilles, 1493–1550 is an interesting read on early Caribbean colonial society. True, due to the sources it is more detailed for the white or European population rather than the Africans and Indians who outnumbered them. But, the colonial society was not a replica of the Iberian peninsula. It was also profoundly shaped by the indigenous cultures, labor, and knowledge. Thus, in covering those pivotal first 50 years or so of Spanish conquest and colonization, Altman urges us to rethink many of our assumptions. For instance, the Spanish Caribbean did experience a decline in gold production and it obviously lost much of its population (decimation of indigenous communities plus Spanish migration to the mainland colonies of New Spain or Peru). However, sugarcane, hatos, the development of new towns, and large rural populations led to more stable colonial economies. Moreover, indigenous populations did not completely disappear. 

As suggested by other scholars, acculturation and evangelization of local Indian populations appears to have been rather weak for the first half of the 16th century. For example, areitos and other traditions and customs persisted well into the colonial era. Local Indian customs and traditions were even adopted by others, such as the botanical and pharmacological knowledge of the Taino. It is possible Taino fishing practices and knowledge were also adopted by others in the society. The influx of Indian and African slaves also left a demographic impact that shaped colonial society dynamics in profound ways. Indians from other parts of the circum-Caribbean region and Africans led to the consolidation of chattel slavery in the New World while establishing consistent foci of resistance through maroon communities and rebellions. Furthermore, much of the socioracial order established throughout Latin America was first implemented or developed in Hispaniola and the other Antillean colonies. Even though each island was different, with perhaps Jamaica not receiving as much attention as the rest, the general conclusion seems to be that the Latin American political and economic order was first developed in the Caribbean. And the Caribbean remained central to Spanish empire and expansion long after the conquest of central Mexico and Peru. 

What was most interesting to us is also the utility of this study for understanding this colonial world through the biographical segments or sections. Certain villainous or fascinating characters emerged out of the unique conditions of conquest. Through timing, luck, personal connections, participation in conquest or pacification, and service as a royal official, a number of people enriched themselves or even experienced a degree of upward mobility. Some, as in the case of Isabel de Maraver, daughter of a converso named Juan Guillén, experienced poverty, loss, and accommodation in a new, nominally Spanish society. Our interest in Juan Guillén was originally genealogical, as the research of Burset Flores suggests one of his daughters ended up in Puerto Rico as the wife of a Pedro de Espinosa. Through Eufrasia, there must be a huge number of Puerto Ricans who are descendants of Juan Guillén, not to mention descendants in the Dominican Republic from his descendants in Hispaniola. 

If Burset Flores was indeed correct in identifying the parents of Eufrasia Maraver, then she was a sister of the impoverished widow Isabel de Malaver described in the sixth chapter of Altman's book. Why did Eufrasia not do anything to assist her aged father, Juan, and other relatives living in an impoverished, mixed-race household in Hispaniola (one that included black female slaves, mestizas, and an old Indian female servant)? It seems that the family came too late to Hispaniola, missing out on the 1514 Repartimiento. However, Eufrasia married well with Pedro de Espinosa, even if he was the same man who fought with a son-in-law of Ponce de Leon. Considering the close proximity between the two colonies and the fact that many of settlers in Puerto Rico came from Hispaniola, one is a little surprised that Eufrasia and her husband appear to have done nothing to assist their less fortunate relatives. 

Sued Badillo on the Theme of the Indigenous

Jalil Sued Badillo's essay, "The Theme of the Indigenous in the National Projects of the Hispanic Caribbean", published in Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and History in Non-Western Settings should be required reading for anyone and everyone interested in Taino revivalism, Puerto Rican cultural identity, the rise of the mixed-race Creole culture of the peasantry by the 17th century, and nationalism in the Spanish Caribbean setting. Sued Badillo makes a convincing case for the survival, persistence and cultural reproduction of indigenous Puerto Rican and Caribbean peoples well after the mid-1500s. But, over time, this social and cultural reproduction became something new that people of European and African origin also participated in, leading to the distinct Creole identities of Puerto Rico, Cuba, and the Dominican Republic. This, in turn, became a central theme for the construction of national identities, as the peasantry best represented the continuity with the indigenous past and the ""national" character. As illustrated in Sued Badillo's article, 19th century Puerto Rican nationalists called the jibaros of Borinquen the children of Agueybana.

For our interests, Sued Badillo's documentation of "Indian" communities after the middle of the 16th century was most important. It was not solely in Cuba, where "Indian" pueblos and barrios existed long after 1600. For instance, on Hispaniola, he mentions the "Indian" pueblo of Boya, an attempt by Hispaniola encomienda "Indians" to form another town, and the prominence of "Indians" and "mestizos" in western Hispaniola, where smuggling and contraband with other Europeans was common, leading to some mestizos and "mulatos" becoming wealthy. Indeed, this probably explains why Samuel de Champlain, writing in 1599, mentions "Indians" in Hispaniola who trade with the French. These "Indians" and mestizos who continued to trade with Europeans and develop their own contraband economy were also part of the creation of a new creole identity on Hispaniola as "Indians" and mestizos were joined by people of African descent that resisted the colonial government in Santo Domingo. One can see the rustic "monteros" of the 19th and 20th century Dominican Republic emerging from these forebears.

Moreover, something similar occurred in colonial Puerto Rico just as colonial officials were proclaiming the disappearance of "Indians" and mestizos. Some did so, as pointed out by Sued Badillo, to mask the fact that they continued to purchase and exploit enslaved "Indians" from other lands long after the New Laws of 1542. Such an honor appears to apply to the governor of Puerto Rico in the 1560s. Sued Badillo points out the persistence of "Indian" and mestizo communities such as the Quebrada de Dona Catalina, near San Juan. Other "Indians" and mestizos were scattered and pushed onto marginal lands and shifted into the piedmont overlooking the coastal area. These communities, joined by people of European and African origin, gradually increased in population, engaged in subsistence agriculture and commercial exchange for local and foreign markets, and continued to influence colonial society. 

Sued Badillo's analysis of the "Indians" of Mona is likewise enlightening, for it points to indigenous survival on an island which engaged in smuggling, food production (cassava) for other Spanish colonies, and their eventual relocation to the hills of San German and nearby regions sometime before 1685. Unfortunately, Sued Badillo does not explain or speculate on what happened to the "Indian" pueblo of Cibuco, but we are of the opinion that Mona "Indians" and the former residents of the 16th century Cibuco settlement must have both ended up in the region that would eventually be named La Indiera. Perhaps the reappearance of "Indians" on censuses in the late 18th century in the San German area is related to descendants of Cibuco, Mona, and "Indian" or mestizo laborers and convicts transported to Puerto Rico from Venezuela and Mexico in the late 1600s and 1700s, but the censuses do not provide adequate information to ascertain this. An alternative and equally speculative theory could be related to land control and access, as mestizos" and people who may have had distant "Indian" ancestry in western Puerto Rico tried to defend their property or local autonomy in the late 18th century and early 19th century. 

Overall, Sued Badillo's persuasive article demonstrates not only "Indian" survival" in the Spanish Caribbean, but significant "Indian" contributions to the rise of the "mestizo" creole culture. He does not seek to romanticize it, as it was not egalitarian and suffered from some of the same racial hierarchies and problems inherent to its colonial setting. Nor does Sued Badillo seek to exaggerate the population of "Indians" or mistakenly equate jibaros with "Indians" as some Taino revivalists argue. But the indigenous population and its racially mixed-progeny provided much of the basic structure of the nascent creole identity, even as officials denied the existence of "Indians" and even "mestizos" disappear. This perspective was adopted by historians who failed to see how the social and economic conditions of the Spanish Caribbean in the late 1500s and early 1600s favored "Indians" and mestizos through contraband trade, migration away from colonial towns, and a degree of autonomy that allowed for population growth. As for the fate of "mestizos" in the region, Schwartz's article suggests it is very likely that many mestizos became whites (or perhaps even "blancos de la tierra), while others were lumped into the "pardo" category in a process seen for much of Puerto Rico by Abbad y Lasierra in the 18th century. More works remains to be done on this process, as well as the experiences of "Indians" in La Indiera during the late 18th century. 

Works Cited

Castanha, Tony. The Myth of Indigenous Caribbean Extinction: Continuity and Reclamation in Borikén (Puerto Rico). New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011.

Peter R. Schmidt and Thomas C. Patterson --, et al. Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology in Non-Western Settings. Santa Fe, N.M. : Seattle: School of American Research Press ; Distributed by the University of Washington Press, 1995.

Schwartz, Stuart B. “Spaniards, ‘Pardos’, and the Missing Mestizos: Identities and Racial Categories in the Early Hispanic Caribbean.” NWIG: New West Indian Guide / Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 71, no. 1/2 (1997): 5–19.

Lady of Havana

Although perhaps not the strongest example of early 'Latin' jazz, Thelma Terry's "Lady of Havana" does feature some attempt to incorporate "rhumba" influences in a jazz piece. 

St. Louis Blues/El Manisero

The Orquest Hermanos Castro jazz band, which would persist as a group until 1960, also recorded one of the earliest forms of "Latin" jazz. They managed to almost seamlessly fuse "St. Louis Blues" with "El Manisero," although still not quite as successfully as efforts of the 1940s. Nevertheless, this 1931 recording may be a good indication of how early Cuban jazz bands sounded. Leonardo Acosta's history of Cuban jazz indicates that many of the groups formed in the 1920s imitated the "society" music of Paul Whiteman and other white jazz groups. This is definitely true, but the 1930s ushered in some interesting developments in Cuban jazz. 

Noche Cubana

Came across this beautiful song through Leonardo Acosta's history of jazz in Cuba. It appears to be one of the standards of the 'feeling' movement in Cuban music. While not strictly jazz, Acosta explains in detail how many proponents of it were influenced by jazz, African-American musicians, etc.

La Patti Negra

Pablo Valenzuela's danzon orchestra quotes part of the theme from "Under the Bamboo Tree," a popular American tune composed by Bob Cole and J. Rosamund Johnson. Some interesting arguments have been made about the relationship between Cuban danzon and early jazz. Because danzon was recorded before jazz, it is interesting to note that Cuban bands were clearly familiar with US music. 

Monkey Hunting

Cristina Garcia's lovely Monkey Hunting tells the story of a Chinese family divided between Cuba and China, the US and Vietnam, in a way no academic text ever could capture. Garcia's fictional account of Chen Pan's family across multiple generations provides a humanising portrait to the rather dry historical accounts of Chinese indentured labor. Intriguingly, Garcia's tale extends this family saga into one of multiple diasporas, connecting Vietnam, rural China, Shanghai, New York, and Havana (as well as Africa, through Chen Pan's Afro-Cuban wife, Lucrecia, and the role of Afro-Cuban spirituality and music). Home and family are, as seen through the contours of this complex family's trials and tribulations, fluid and encompassing in ways that are both illuminating and moving. Chen Pan and his descendants are never free from his shadow, and neither is he ever a distant figure in the lives of his progeny. 

Impressively, Garcia manages to fuse Chinese folklore, literary references, and religion into the Afro-Cuban spiritual worldview quite well, attesting to the importance of Chinese immigrants in Cuban history, culture, and family bloodlines. The political and racial questions are never absent, whether dealing with the 1912 race war in Cuba, discrimination against people of color in New York and troops serving in Vietnam, or the role of the state and politics in sowing division. As one may suspect from Garcia's politics, she is no fan of Castro, and even more critical of Mao and the Cultural Revolution (the life of Cheng Fang, imprisoned for alleged capitalist values), albeit avoiding the capitalism versus communism debates for a more humanistic approach on the ways in which modernity and tradition enclose our worlds.

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. 

The Chinese of the Dominican Republic

Since the story of the Chinese in Haiti is intimately linked to transnational networks of Chinese families and businesses across the US, Cuba, and Haiti, a brief look at the story of the Chinese in the Dominican Republic is enlightening. While the Chinese presence in the DR dates to the 1860s, coming from Cuba, the growth of Chinese businesses in various towns across the nation seems to be more of an early 20th century phenomenon. Instead of descending from contracted laborers, akin to mid-19th century Cuba, these migrants appear more akin to the later migration patterns into the Americas to establish restaurants, laundries, and similar shops. Like the Chinese in Haiti, they were also linked to the Cuban Chinese community. 

Various articles from Listin Diario indicate that by the 1920s and 1930s, their numbers and economic clout was significant enough to warrant visits from Chinese representatives in Havana. Moreover, they established formal clubs, associations, and were often mentioned in the Dominican press for donating to various causes, such as erecting a statue of Trujillo in 1935. Like the case of Haiti, it is difficult to estimate the total numbers of the population in the Dominican Republic, but one article suggested approximately 500 in 1936. With transnational ties to Cuba and formal organizations, including a centralized association based in Santo Domingo, the Chinese colony were sufficiently organized and prosperous to demand attention from the Dominican government as well as Cuban-based Chinese officialdom.

Consequently, what is discussed here is a tiny ethnic minority with a presence in various towns, including San Pedro de Macoris, Puerto Plata, Santo Domingo, La Romana, La Vega, and other areas. If the Chinese population by the 1950s or early 1960s was slightly over 1000, their population did double from 1930s estimates, but remained miniscule compared to Cuba. While not great, this is certainly higher than estimates of around 200 for Haiti by the 1960s. Moreover, unlike the case of Haiti, where articles criticizing the Chinese presence can be found in Le Matin, Le Nouvelliste, and Le Temps, the Dominican press seems to be full of praise for la colonia china. 

They established restaurants, laundries, groceries, organized to celebrate Chinese holidays or visits from their minister based in Havana, and, in some cases, formed families through unions with Dominican women. Unlike Port-au-Prince papers, Santo Domingo's Listin Diario did not attack the Chinese on racial grounds (indeed, they often referred to the wisdom and antiquity of Chinese civilization and their laborious enterprises) or accuse them of taking over petite industrie that should have remained in Dominican hands. Perhaps this may be due to Dominican preference for non-black immigrants or the class biases of contributors to Dominican newspapers, as they were less likely to be pushed out of a market. Furthermore, since the majority of the Dominican population lived in rural areas and likely saw few if any Chinese unless traveling to towns, the Santo Domingo press took the liberty of speaking for them.

Moreover, the rise of Trujillo and anti-Communist support for the Chinese nationalists may have shaped elite discourse on their presence. Increasingly anti-Haitian official discourse did not target the Chinese communities, and they likely benefited from political stability of the Trujillo regime and the degree to which industrialization reshaped the Dominican economy. In 1931, immigration restrictions on Chinese nationals were dropped, further attesting to the willingness of the Dominican government to develop relations with China. Unfortunately, it is possible that records of the formal Chinese organizations of the 1930s onward may be lost. Surely, such records and a thorough examination of the Dominican press, government reports, and testimonies would shed light on the relationship of this community and the Trujillo regime. If the Syrian-Lebanese community provides any indication, they likely supported the Trujillo regime.

As for Haiti, it is undoubtedly the case that some of the Chinese families in the Dominican Republic were also operating in Haiti. This indicates that the economic presence of the Chinese in Haiti, conspicuous by the 1910s if not 1920s, was likely occurring through families that established branches in the Dominican Republic or had mutual relations in the US and Cuba. For instance, the Wah family in Haiti, operating businesses in both Port-au-Prince and Cap-Haitien, are probably related to the Joa of the Dominican Republic. Indeed, a Josan Joa appears in Dominican newspapers in the 1920s, who could very well be the father of famous Haitian painter Bernard Wah, Wosan Wah. Without access to oral histories, it is difficult to say with certainty, but it does suggest that many Dominican Chinese were related by blood or marriage to those on the other side of the border. Another name that appears frequently among this community is Fung, who are likely related to the Fong in Haiti. Additional surnames in the Dominican Republic during the 1920s and 1930s include Lee, Chong, Chang, Woo, San, and Jos. Norman Lee was prominent as the head of the Fraternidad China, which appears to have coexisted with the Centro Chino in Santo Domingo. 

As for why the Chinese in Haiti, to the writer's knowledge, never established formal community organizations or a casino, perhaps their smaller numbers made informal associations sufficient for supporting their colonia. Perhaps their smaller size also explains why the Chinese colonie in Port-au-Prince did not raise funds for community projects, or public charity, which distinguishes them from the Club Commercial Syrien. In addition, there remains a chance that the Chinese in Haitian cities, such as Cap-Haitien, Port-au-Prince, and Les Cayes, retained links with the formal organizations among their counterparts in the Dominican Republic. In a sense, perhaps this relationship mirrored the uneven incorporation of both Haiti and the DR into the world system, with the former as partly peripheral to the latter.

La colonie cubaine: 1870-1915

1876 article from Spectateur on Cuba, urging a degree of caution due to the question of race and the US intervention, yet hopeful for Cuban independence.

Although the movement of Haitians to and from Cuba over the course of the American Sugar Kingdom in the Hispanic Caribbean is a well-known story, the 19th century movement of Cubans to Haiti is, though numerically smaller, an important story in the path to Cuban independence. This process was also accompanied by an acceleration of US power in the Caribbean region, as the Spanish-American-Cuban War brought Cuba and Puerto Rico directly into the US imperial orbit. However, before Cuban independence, the circum-Caribbean region played a key role as refuge and center for resources for the Cuban independence movement. Specifically, as a result of the Ten Years War (1868-1878), many Cubans fled abroad to escape repression, pursue business opportunities in tobacco (Key West comes to mind), and plan for eventual Cuban victory over Spanish forces. Haiti received many of these Cubans during this period, and as a movement weakening European colonialism and slavery in the region, enjoyed support. In order to grasp the scale of Cuban migrations during these turbulent decades, note how one scholar cited an estimate for 1500 Cubans residing in Jamaica for the year 1872.  Cubans based in Jamaica also interacted with Haitian exiles in Kingston, an important site for Haitian exile political activity described in great detail by Matthew Smith. 

1893 advertisement for Jean Rodriguez's barbershop, mentioning that he cut the hair of the Haitian president. Rodriguez was likely of Cuban origin.

The Cuban question became the focus of new pan-Antillean anti-colonial politics, consciousness, and debate as Cuban, Haitian, Puerto Rican, and Dominican intellectuals reconsidered their mutual ties and the necessity of a common front against colonialism. Betances, Marti, Maceo, Firmin, and Gregorio Luperon became the intellectual forebears of pan-Caribbean politics, proposing in various forms an Antillean federation to counter US and European imperialism in the region. The struggle for Cuban independence, and Haitian support for it, albeit often officially neutral, represent the development of this shift in Haitian conceptions of the Caribbean space. Moreover, the actual movement of Cubans in Haitian urban areas during these last 3 decades of the 19th century presented a transformation in the trades and novel attempts in the tobacco industry. Thus, Haiti's participation in the Cuban wars for independence also represented economic and social changes as hundreds, if not thousands, of Cubans moved to Haitian shores. This, in turn, likely shaped the nature of social struggle, the evolution of artisan associations in Haiti, and a discourse of national industry in which both Haitian and Cuban intellectuals sought to define their nationhood in the interest of the laboring classes.

1896 advertisement for a respected Cuban shoemaker in Port-au-Prince, Augustin Garcia.

According to Matthew Casey, who is one of the few to write about Cubans living in Haiti during the 19th century, Cubans were, by the 1890s, the most numerous nationality in Port-au-Prince after resident Germans and French. Their arrival in significant numbers is intimately tied to the Ten Years' War, and many of these Cubans, according to Zacair, were of African descent. It is understandable why Afro-Cubans would have, perhaps, preferred Haiti over Jamaica or the Dominican Republic as their homes, due to the proximity of Haiti and its history of slave revolution. It may even be that some of these Afro-Cubans, if from Oriente, possessed familial ties to Saint Domingue. Furthermore, their presence was felt in other principal towns, such as Jacmel and Cap-Haitien. Even smaller towns attracted Cubans, as Aubin found a Cuban shoemaker living in Petite-Riviere in the early 1900s. Cuban artisans in Haiti from 1870-1900 likely practiced their trades, especially those of barber, shoemaker, and tailor in all the major provincial towns.

A letter from a Cuban based in Gonaives, attesting to Haitian sympathy for the cause of Cuba Libre. From January 1897, to a Paris-based Cuban newspaper.

Indeed, according to some, they reinvigorated Haitian artisan professions by taking local apprentices. For example, Fequiere, writing in 1906, praises Cubans for perfecting the trades. In a history of Bel-Air, an area of the capital inhabited by workers and artisans, the author alluded to all the best tailors or shoemakers having been trained or shaped by Cuban expertise. Fortunately, historian Roger Gaillard names some of these influential Cuban shoemakers, whose work was held in high regard: Rufino Duarte, Augustin Garcia, Jean Laurin, Felice Shuey. These and other Cubans not only repaired shoes, but produced them, thereby weakening dependence on imports from abroad. Cubans additionally worked in a number of other professions, and were clearly held in high regard by Haitian journalists, educators, and intellectuals for their hard labor, willingness to train locals, and ability to exemplify respectable labor. The Cuban colony in Haiti was still favorably viewed in 1903, when an article in the 14 February issue of Le Devoir praised them for their contribution to Haitian artisan trades, even mentioning their marriages to local Haitians. Their comportment contrasted them with Europeans, or, even worse, the growing Syrian presence. Fequiere also praised Cubans for abiding Haitian laws and not intervening in political affairs, unlike resident Europeans and Levantines. 

1895 article from L'Echo d'Haiti expressing Haitian solidarity with Cuban independence fighters and refusing to expel their Cuban supporters from Haiti.

Cubans were also courted in Haiti for their technical skills and experience in the tobacco industry. Unlike, say, the Dominican Republic, where Cuban immigrants found a place in the burgeoning sugar industry in the last few decades of the 19th century, Haiti did not offer such favorable conditions for aspiring planters. However, during the same period, Cubans were involved in a number of attempts at launching tobacco farming on a large-scale, as well as cigar production. For instance, in 1876, a group of around 100 Cubans arrived in Port-au-Prince, eager to settle and establish a tobacco industry. However, due to a concurrent diplomatic row with Spain involving the Ten Years War, a Cuban and a Spanish national, the Haitian government decided against allowing them refuge. Charles Vorbe saw this as a missed opportunity for Haiti to develop a tobacco industry. Cubans were also involved in a later attempt to cultivate tobacco on a large scale, this time on the Dumornay estate of Charles Fatton. Unfortunately, a fire led to the dissolution of the plantation, and the Cuban workers left for Jamaica. 

Two Cuban mechanics offering their services in Port-au-Prince in 1870.

By the beginning of the 20th century, Cubans were almost certainly involved in a more durable tobacco company, based at Diquini, STL. Launched by Germans and Americans, STL endeavored to use scientific methods to grow tobacco on a vast scale, employing over a hundred people on its farmland and fabrique. Aubin identifies the workers as Jamaicans, but US Minister Powell's consular report mentioned Cuban cigarmakers producing over a thousand per day, about half for the domestic market. Of course, Haiti's tobacco industry never expanded to match that of Cuba or the Dominican Republic. Yet, the significance of Cuban labor in the attempts to develop one indicate the significance of Cuban migrants. They were sought for improving production and to launch another industry, further tying Haiti into global commodity chains and diversifying exports. Cuba was undoubtedly the school for Haitians such as the mechanically-inclined Pantaleon Guilbaud, who also launched his first cigarette fabrique in the 1910s, after living in Cuba. Guilbaud later becamed a celebrated industrialist in the 1920s and 1930s, producing cigarettes with a modern factory. For additional information about this industrialist whose success in the tobacco sector, Candelon Rigaud and Antoine Bervin's  Pantal à Paris provide more detail. Without precedent in tobacco from Cubans or experience in Cuba first-hand, it is hard to imagine Guilbaud succeeding.

1870 Notice for the visit of Francisco de Paula Bravo, a Cuban, to Haiti to promote solidarity with  during the Ten Years War.

Now that it has been established that the Cuban presence in Haiti influenced artisans, urban labor, the small tobacco industry, and shaped Haitian relations with Spain, their larger significance in a moment of regional change can be ascertained. By improving the trades in Haiti, Cubans improved production standards and shaped consumer demand. They almost certainly, as hinted by Roger Gaillard, influenced how their apprentices and Haitian peers saw themselves and the class question, too. For example, the rising participation of  Coeurs-Unis des Artisans in Cap-Haitien by the end of the 19th century might also be partly related to the diffusion of ideas from Cuban artisans. Moreover, the Cuban tobacco sector of the 19th century often included the most militant workers organized into associations and unions, the cigarmakers. While few of these established themselves in Haiti, their influence might have lingered with the nascent tobacco sector laborers in Haiti. Robert J. Alexander's history of Cuban Labor Movement also refers to walkouts and strikes among shoemakers, tailors, drivers, and others during the 1870s, when some of these very same artisans were moving to Haiti. Undoubtedly, the militancy, work stoppages, and early attempts at unionization by Haitian shoemakers could also have something to do with the influence of Cuban teachers, although many of the master artisans would have been petit-bourgeois owners of workshops employing others. In short, the Cuban presence  shaped the course the development of class consciousness, as the appearance of a pamphlet in 1890 probably reflects.

Dr. Ulpiano Dellunde, a Cuban based in Cap-Haitien, friend of Marti, and Haiti delegate of the PRC.

The Cuban colony, over the course of the late 19th century, also tightened bonds between Haiti and the Cuban struggle. Cuban patriots had visited Haiti since 1870, and would continue to do so. Maceo, Marti, Betances, and other prominent proponents of Cuban and Puerto Rican sovereignty spent time or lived there, formed associations to assist the liberation struggle, and came to regard the place as central to the story of Caribbean autonomy. Even as Cubans continued to struggle over the racial question and fear of another Haiti, their presence there forged ties that did not dissolve after independence. The mutual respect grounded in the revolutionary past of Haiti, its utility as a base of operations for insurgents, and the centrality of Hispaniola within the Antillean space made it so. 

Thomas Trenard, a Cuban tailor, promoted his business in various Port-au-Prince newspapers for several years, such as this 1888 newspaper.

Thus, Cubans residents continued to advertise their businesses in Port-au-Prince newspapers after 1898. Cuban and Haitian trade connected the two islands as Haitian emigration to Cuba expanded exponentially under the aegis of US empire. The return of Haitian migrants from their Cuban sojourn exerted new influences on music, taste, sensibility, and politics. And it goes without saying that the Cuban medical missions after the Revolution have been life-saving for countless Haitian citizens. Today, Cubans come to Haiti for shopping, and are still well-liked by the Haitian people. These bonds were forged by the experience of anti-colonial movements of the late 19th century, in which the Cuban colonie of Haiti played a pivotal role. In spite of this anti-colonial heritage, the two were bound by a new form of domination that reversed migration ways with the rise of US empire.

Masters of the Dew

“Nevertheless, the fete went on. The peasants forgot their troubles. Dancing and drinking anesthetized them-- swept away their shipwrecked souls to drown in those regions of unreality and danger where the fierce forces of the African gods lay in wait.”

Jacques Roumain’s Masters of the Dew, translated into English by Langston Hughes and Mercer Cook, remains one of the most important works in Haitian and Caribbean literature. Roumain, member of Haiti’s elite (his grandfather, Tancrede Auguste, was president of Haiti), also founded the Communist party, which explains the strong Marxist tones of the novel. Roumain studied abroad in Europe and traveled, thus the international context of Masters centers on a character that was part of the Haitian immigrant braceros communities, who labored on often American-owned plantations in Cuba.  An understanding of Cuban and Haitian history is required to fully comprehend the background of Manuel, the protagonist. In the first few decades of the 20th century, American investors and landholders, alongside their white Cuban allies, imported thousands of black workers from Haiti and the British West Indies for cheap labor, and because of the poor economic conditions of these other Caribbean islands, hundreds of thousands came. Manuel spends several years cutting cane in Cuba, where he and his other braceros gain a worker, or proletariat consciousness and use it or for a huelga, or strike. Unlike the peasants of Haiti, who continued to face extreme exploitation, political exclusion and few opportunities for wage labor, the Haitian and other black workers in Cuba used their labor power collectively to demand higher wages and rights. The novel focuses on Manuel endeavoring to bring this revolutionary, Marxist-influenced notion of worker/peasant consciousness to the people of his village of Fonds Rouge in Haiti. Along the way, he encounters resistance from the religious traditions and a feud between two main families, and he must end the drought that has driven the village to starvation and deeper poverty. Roumain, though obviously not from Haiti’s peasant society, nonetheless uses peasant cultural and religious practices in the novel, such as the coumbite tradition of collective labor among villagers to work on agricultural projects for the entire village. For Manuel, the only way to save agriculture in the village and end poverty is to overcome the feud and form a permanent coumbite that will gradually incorporate more peasants to take back political power.

Now, I enjoyed reading this novel, but the obvious Communist features limited the character development by reducing some to allegories, such as the rural policeman Hilarion. Hilarion, Florentine the storeowner, the police lieutenant, and the magistrate represent the predatory Haitian state that sells goods to Haitian peasants at high prices, loans money and supplies at usurious rates, and attempts to limit peasant political activity to ultimately expropriate their lands. This portrayal of the Haitian state is largely true, but Hilarion and the other ‘villains’ have very little characterization. I believe this is partly due to the tendency in Marxist literature to reduce human beings to allegories, thereby ignoring the real complexities one finds among all humans. Furthermore, Roumain’s portrayal of Catholicism and Haitian Vodou is problematic for many reasons. One must agree that, as Manuel tells the peasants of Fonds Rouge, the people cannot resign their fates and sacrifice animals to the loas or Christ and put their faith in prayer, but must work collectively in the material world to better their condition. Manuel, though still a believer in Vodou and its cultural and religious relevance to the peasant community, represents a thoroughly secular political movement among villagers, which is problematic for multiple reasons. First, it ignores the potential power of Vodou to actually improve lives, especially through medicine and its importance for building ties between families and villages across Haiti. Second, Roumain sees Vodou (and Catholicism for that matter) as distractions that, though relevant for cultural reasons, essentially divide people from focusing on the present world around them and leads to putting one’s faith in God(s) instead of taking agency. 

If one has a better understanding of Vodou, one would realize that the belief system is based on the present existence and lived history of the people, and fundamentally fosters communal relations by encouraging collective responses to the vicissitudes of modern life. Vodou, a religion of collective goodwill, is essential for building worker consciousness among peasants because it’s a hybrid fusion of various religious and cultural traditions that brings people together. In Roumain’s defense, however, his critique of religion is not as strong as I describe it, it merely subordinates Vodou to class and economics, instead of focusing on how all the aforementioned conditions are challenged by Vodou. Vodou, however, can and has been abused in Haiti, as the case of the houngan Dormeus who overcharges the peasants for his services. The ultimate strength of Vodou lies in its cultural hybridity, which avoids the hegemony of instrumental reason by emphasizing human collective goodwill rather than categorizing and ranking individuals that occurs consequentially in the super rationalist Western epistemological and Marxist traditions that perpetuate binary thinking. Any social theory that ignores the unique and organic conditions of resistance of the people is bound to fail, and only reproduces Western domination. In the novel, however, Manuel ultimately succeeds by not working against the local religious and cultural beliefs of his community. Though he brings in outside ideas, how the coumbite forms to irrigate the farmlands of the entire village is essentially Vodou, or even the best form of Christianity. Personal sacrifice, as the cost of human life, forces the village to recognize the futility of the feud, work together. Thus, religions play a vital role in the process of resisting the oppressive state by encouraging a compromise between personal avarice and the society’s well being. I must restate that Roumain does not overtly attempt to negate this point, but does tend to overlook it.

The novel interestingly follows the peasant novel tradition of Haitian literature, which is dominated by mulatto writers since most Haitian peasants were illiterate in the 1930s and 1940s. Due to the overwhelming numbers of non-peasant, non-black writers attempting to portray Haitian rural life, one must wonder how accurate or realistic these novels are. Roumain, an ethnologist, Communist, and nationalist influenced by Jean Price-Mars, provides an accurate depiction of peasant life because of the addition of Creole expressions and the communal practices of the people, such as the coumbite. Unfortunately, Roumain overemphasizes his Communist ideology as the tool for Haitian liberation and economic growth, and some of his characters lacked depth, such as the police officer Hilarion and the peasant resistant to Manuel’s plans of change, Gervilen. Moreover, I find aspects of the novel’s conclusion very clichéd and predictable, especially Manuel’s grieving lover being pregnant as the peasants succeeded in irrigating their fields. 

In spite of these previously mentioned flaws, Masters does provide a powerful counter to the status quo of Haitian society and espouses a different Marxism, focusing on agricultural labor rather than Marx’s industrial economy. Roumain, as part of the international black literary and political world, had contacts with important figures like Langston Hughes and others of African descent. Indeed, Frantz Fanon’s Les Damnes de la Terre derives its title from a work by Roumain, thereby illustrating his importance in Pan-Africanist, anti-colonial and socialist movements. Manuel also demonstrates the transnational radical consciousness of the Black Atlantic during this period, since his experiences in Cuba with Haitian braceros and other Caribbean laborers including forming multi-ethnic and multi-national collectives to battle white capitalist control of the sugar plantation industry for higher wages. Historically, the fall of the sugar industry led to massive deportations of Caribbean laborers, and racialized notions of civilization led to many Cubans demanding the deportation in order to save jobs for Cubans, even though few Cubans, white or black, desired to work on exploitative plantations. Regardless, nationalities of the Black Atlantic are always crossing porous borders and forming a counterculture of modernity, to use Paul Gilroy’s terminology. This novel provides additional evidence of that, and transcends its literary limits as a Marxist novel.