Manifeste du Parti d'Entente Populaire

The Parti d'Entente Populaire's Manifeste is a precious document for understanding how Alexis and other Haitian intellectuals viewed Marxism and the struggle of national liberation and development. While undoubtedly a Marxist and believing that the "New Independence" of Haiti must center the working classes, Alexis was a pragmatist who saw the extreme backwardness of the Haitian economy and the weakness of its working-class as major impediments to any type of socialist revolution. Instead, inter-class alliances uniting the peasantry (the vast majority of the population in the mid-20th century), the unemployed and poor urban masses, the tiny working-class, middle-class elements (despite being, on average, the most conservative, some of them and the middle-class intellectuals should be included in a united national front), and the bourgeoisie nationale should be the goal. With this broad coalition, Alexis and the PEP believed that the semi-feudal and imperialist conditions in which Haiti had languished for 150 years could finally be overturned. Already by this period, Haiti's conditions were dire and the writing was on the wall on the lack of any viable economic or social future. Consequently, the workers, peasants, progressive-minded Haitians and members of the bourgeoisie eager to industrialize Haiti or safely invest their capital in the country must cooperate to create a democratic, liberal state. 

Naturally, the PEP's program for this future state included active state intervention in the economy and a number of protections for workers, landless peasants, a plan for economic development that welcomed the national bourgeoisie and sought to limit the negative impact of US imperialism. But before any type of socialist revolution could take place, a bourgeoisie nationale must be included in a progressive coalition to overturn "feudalism" and imperialism. This reading of Haitian political history and the solution to the problems of Haiti led to a generally positive view of the Liberals of the 19th century and the champions of civil government and liberal reforms, including Edmond Paul and Firmin as intellectuals who correctly identified some of the solutions for Haiti. However, since the bourgeois and petit-bourgeois progressives in the 1840s, 1870s, and other moments ultimately sided with the "feudal" landowners, military generals, and imperialist forces at other moments when the semi-feudal, imperialist conditions of Haiti were threatened, the PEP promoted inter-class solidarity for a united front while placing less emphasis on their Marxist influences or believe in the next stage or mode. Through education, collaboration, and protecting Haitian commerce and industry, the PEP would win over progressives of the bourgeoisie whose long-term interests meant an end to the feudal conditions of Haiti. 

Of course, one wonders why conditions in the 1950s and 1960s would be any different from past experiences where Haiti's bourgeoisie chose to side with the retrograde "feudal" forces. Seeing their long-term class interests requires rational thought and a willingness to forego immediate profits while also risking everything in moments of unrest, arson or looting. Duvalierism itself also represented something new that, though obviously based on the "ancient Haitian tradition" of governance and corruption, was more extreme and authoritarian (arguably not so obvious in 1959). One assumes Alexis saw this, and perhaps was increasingly drawn to the Cuban model and Castro for their successes in seizing government and instituting a number of reforms and protections for the poor. Indeed, Mao and the Chinese Revolution were clearly another source of influence on how Alexis's political ideology and programs may have changed had he lived longer or the PEP was able to take power. And looking at Haiti today, with its apocalyptic conditions and nonviable economic, social and political conditions, one can see that no inter-class coalition that united the national bourgeoisie, workers, peasants, and the middle classes was able to institute a state with durable liberal governance. Although the political system did open up to include those from the lower classes and middle class, Haiti has been beset by various crises, foreign interventions, and now, a complete hollowing out of the state. One wonders how horrified Alexis would be today if he had lived to see what became of our island, and perhaps how far from fruition even some of the basic ideas in the PEP's program are.

Thoughts on the Nago (Yoruba) in Haiti

 

We have been revisiting the few sources on the Nago, or "Yoruba" captives in Saint Domingue. Runaway ads or notices in the colonial newspaper have severe limitations as sources, but they nonetheless provide some details about Africans of Yoruba extraction in the colony. For instance, Adidon, mentioned in the runaway ad above, appears to have a Yoruba name. Adidon could be the Yoruba term for sweatmeats and confectionery. 

Another interesting example from the corpus of runaway slave ads in Saint-Domingue is the case of the Bambara above who spoke Nago. Considering the distance between Yorubaland and the "Bambara" lands of Upper Guinea, one assumes this unnamed "Bambara" captive learned the "Nago" tongue in Saint Domingue. 

Also intriguing is the case of a Nago runaway in 1783 named Sola, also called Ambroise. Sola is likely the Yoruba name Ṣọlá. Although it has long been known that the Nago were from Yoruba-speaking backgrounds, it is still fascinating to see examples of names from that language among Africans in Saint Domingue.

We similarly found the case of a Nago runaway from 1777, Aboky, intriguing. The name Aboky could actually be related to the Hausa word, aboki, meaning friend. If so, one wonders if Aboky actually was Hausa or from the lands north of the Yoruba-speaking peoples. It also appears that most Hausa captives trafficked to Saint Domingue in the 18th century arrived via Slave Coast ports and likely passed through Oyo and other Yoruba-speaking communities before reaching the coast. Perhaps not unrelated, modern Nigerians in the south sometimes use the word aboki in a derogatory fashion when referring to northerners.

Yet another ambiguous case of a "Nago" is the Nago-Taqua, Hector. Taqua appears to have been one of the terms used for Nupe peoples in Saint-Domingue. Was Hector of mixed ethnicity, both Nupe and Yoruba? Or was he a Nupe person who had spent time in Yorubaland before being sold on the coast to Europeans?

Yet another runaway ad alluding to a Nago with what sounds like an African name is the case of Labidan. No obvious Yoruba name comes to mind with Labidan. In fact, there was a kingdom called Labidan on the Gold Coast, an area French slave traders sometimes extended to the Slave Coast.

Our final case of one of the interesting African maroons who was said to speak Nago despite hailing from another "nation" is Medor. Supposedly Ibo, he appears to have been owned by a Rossignol of the Gonaives area. Did he learn Nago in Saint Domingue?

Last, but certainly not least, visiting ANOM's digitized parish registries for Saint-Domingue reminded us of Julien Raimond. His African grandmother, who died in 1761, was of the Nago nation. It is somewhat unclear if her name was actually Marie or Catherine (or perhaps Marie Catherine?), but she married Raimond's grandfather, Francois Begasse, in 1706. To what extent, if any, she shaped the upbringing of her grandchildren is unknown, but her status and the growing wealth of her family in Bainet and Aquin may have made her one of the wealthiest African-born women in this part of Saint Domingue.

Toussaint Louverture and the 1801 Constitution

Toussaint Louverture and the 1801 Constitution

Claude Moise's Le projet national de Toussaint Louverture et la Constitution de 1801 is rather short yet raises some important questions. Since Toussaint Louverture, by the time he promulgated the 1801 Constitution, was the most powerful person on the island of Hispaniola and therefore needed a constitution to legitimize and protect the administrative structure he headed, one can see the seeds of future Haitian governments in the text and the practice of government. In addition, Toussaint must have seen the importance of establishing a clear government structure for Saint-Domingue as largely autonomous but still attached to the metropole. Such an attachment was likely believed to be necessary given the possible threat of maritime powers such as England, Spain, or the US, not to mention other cultural and economic ties to France that likely weighed in consideration. For Moise, what Toussaint envisioned was comparable to the free state association of Puerto Rico with the United States, although it is possible that if his regime had endured, independence may have become more attractive. 

Unfortunately, Toussaint Louverture's Constitution symbolized the failure to reconcile irreconcilable conflicts of interest. Former slaves who believed liberty and freedom entailed more individual liberties and control of their labor unsurprisingly butted heads with the government and planters (both the colons and the nouveaux libres elites who gained control of estates). The attempts to limit smallholder proprietorship of land and to regulate the movement of ex-slaves through the militarized administrative structure of the administration undoubtedly fueled discontent and continual marronage (vagabondage). Indeed, according to Moise, this is what led to the rebellion associated with Toussaint Louverture's nephew, Moise. Although the author suggests that Moise himself was not directly involved in orchestrating the revolt, his sympathetic words and inaction in suppressing it warranted his punishment by Toussaint Louverture. However, this impasse imperiled the longevity of the type of state envisioned by Toussaint and maintained by his successors in independent Haiti. 

Despite these fundamental contradictions of the social order of the Louverturian regime, independent Haiti endeavored to follow it. Of course, without the whites or colons as an integral part of the imagined Haitian nation. Nonetheless, Henri Christophe's government may be the best indication of what Louverture's vision of Saint Domingue would have looked like had it survived. The survival of large estates, the use of the military to police rural laborers, and the commitment to antislavery, educational reforms, and attempts to inculcate values approved of by the government in the masses certainly resemble the goals of the Louverturian regime. However, would Toussaint have taken the step to declare himself a king in a future Saint Domingue or Haiti had the autonomous relationship with France become more of a burden or threat?

Marxism as the Only Possible Guide to the Haitian Revolution

Le marxisme, seul guide possible de la révolution haïtienne by Jacques Stéphen Alexis is a fascinating essay defending Marxism and dialectical materialism as the foundation for the future revolution in Haiti. As part of the Parti d'Entente Populaire, Alexis fought for a national revolution that was democratic, anti-feudal, anti-imperialist, and included allies among the bourgeoisie nationale who saw that Haiti's semi-feudal conditions and the negative impact of imperialism hurt their interests. In response to critics of Marxism or those who questioned its utility as a framework for revolution, however, Alexis's essay articulates a view of Marxism and dialectical materialism that "completed" philosophy by overturning Hegelian idealism. In other words, Marxist theory and praxis were the best foundation for eventually reaching a future in which exploitation will cease. Others, who focused on the writings of a young Marx (before the maturation of Marxism) or sought answers in other schools of thought were missing the mark, according to Alexis. 

Naturally, Alexis's essay offers an outlook on how the PEP viewed itself and its ideology in the context of Haitian political parties. While certainly dogmatic and emphatic on the superiority of Marxism for a theory of society and framework for all sciences (included ethnology, which Alexis viewed as sterile in its Haitian context and guilty of a mystification of blackness), Alexis's views here also correlate well with his literary productions. For instance, his insistence on viewing Haitian culture as the fusion of Amerindian, African, and European traits can be found in his other writings. Furthermore, he also called for formal arts ad literature in Haiti be meet and engage with popular folklore and storytelling, something Alexis endeavored to do in his own short story collection,  Romancero aux étoiles. Alexis clearly sought to model what he believed was the best path forward for Haitian arts and literature through an active engagement with folklore, Vodou, and rural Haiti, even as he believed a Marxist application to the study of such phenomena will culminate in the liquidation of aspects of Vodou and superstition. But by embracing those contradictions or apparent contradictions in the making of Haitian identity and culture, something new will emerge out of Marxist engagement and study. Thus, the alienation experienced by colonized and racialized peoples like Haitians, or the contradictions and ambivalence of Haitian Creole and French, the color question, Roman Catholicism and Vodou, and Haiti's complex cultural heritage will, eventually, be unveiled through Marxist analysis and revolution.

While Alexis is a far more mature thinker here than in his youthful writings in La Ruche, one cannot help but feel that much of this is outmoded. The idea that Marxist revolution and technological improvements would eventually displace or end veneration of, say, aquatic spirits in Haitian Vodou, seems incredibly unlikely due to the survival of religion in the Soviet bloc. Likewise, one cannot help but wonder how the PEP would succeed in ushering a truly democratic revolution with the aid of the bourgeoisie nationale under the guidance of the proletariat. If segments of the Haitian bourgeoisie were unable to align with the piquets in the 19th century, how would Marxist-influenced revolutionaries make it happen when the power of the bourgeoisie nationale would have to rely on heavy exploitation of the workers to a significant degree before becoming competitive with the comprador bourgeoisie or international capital? In other words, wouldn't the Haitian bourgeoisie, already being weaker and under threat from the international capitalist system, and undermined by the comprador class and nearly 2 centuries of Haitian political economy in the interests of foreign or semi-foreign capital, have to rely on certain conditions of exploitation of the working class to reach a point where their capital could be invested in industrialization? One supposes Alexis knew this, and thus insisted that the working-class would have to exert significant control of this first step in the Haitian Revolution, to protect workers' rights and labor laws. We assume this is partly why Alexis praised Mao and the Chinese Revolution as a revolution of oppressed nations which sought to align all pro-nationalist forces and even inculcate upper classes or bourgeois allies with the belief that they should work alongside the peasantry and working classes.

Un campesino Dominicano

 

The following is an entertaining décima by Juan Antonio Alix (posted at  https://poesiadominicana.jmarcano.com/). Essentially a list of words in Haitian Creole with their Spanish equivalents, the poem is interesting from a linguistic perspective. It's also intriguing to see the manner in which Haitian Creole is written by Hispanophones. Indeed, the Dominican Spanish term for our djon-djon is apparently casabe de bruja...Even if the campesino expresses bewilderment at the Creole language, he is able to communicate enough to sell andullos. 

Un campesino dominicano

que estuvo en Haití vendiendo unos andullos y

a su regreso tuvo una entrevista muy curiosa

con el que suscribe.

(A dos amigos puertoplateños)

Del campo un dominicano 

que pasó a vender andullos, 

en dos borriquitos suyos 

a no sé qué pueblo haitiano, 

así me contó: ¡critiano 

ni Dio comprende esa gente! 

Caicule que laguaidiente 

allá le dicen tafiá, 

a lo jalitao llengá 

y penchó ai pan caliente.

Los frijole colorao 

puá rus lo llaman allá, 

a la brujería guangá 

y a lo sombrero chapao. 

Malfiní é guaraguao 

lo guandule puá congó 

Bonyé le dicen a Dio, 

a lo brujo lugarú 

y a lo jefe dei judú 

le dicen papá Bocó.

Lo memo la macarela,

la titulan macrilló

lo molondrone gombó

y difé a la candela.

A la paila o casuela

le dicen allá shodié;

a lo sapato sulié,

puesón ai peje o pecao

y en siendo el arró graniao

le dicen durí grené.

Yo andube toitico Haití

y no encontré un condenao

que dijera bacalao

sino todo la murí.

Al arró llaman durí,

a la cebolla loñón,

a lo cochino cochón.

Lo fideo vermichel

a la sal le dicen sel

y creviche ai camarón.

En siendo peje salao

le dicen puesón salé

como banan bucané

llaman ai plátano asao.

Pero siendo sancochao

le dicen banan bullí,

a la ñica saloprí

a lo sajice pimán,

lo mamone cachimán

y a lo niño anfán pití.

Al agua le dicen gló,

ai queso llaman fromalle,

una rí e juna calle

y finí que se acabó;

allí nadie dice fó

como nosotro jaquí,

cuando viene a la narí

ei bajo de aigún parrá!

el haitiano dice allá:

«¡A la peté qui santi!»

Un sancocho, e ebullón

ñon eguille es una aguja

como ei casabe de bruja

ello lo llaman llonllón.

A lo caibone charbon,

ai quitasoi, paresol,

guanábana, corosol,

ñon chandel e juna vela;

y a la maidita viruela

le dicen pití verol.

Al aceite llaman huil,

aguacate sabocá,

y a la piña ananá

como porcanel, cajuil;

allá perejil, persil,

el melao allí siró,

lo mameye, abricó,

la yuca llaman mañoc,

a lo gallo viejo coc,

y ai sapo llaman grapó.

Lo que aquí llaman letrina

por allá e cae brulé,

como si dijera uté

la casa quemada en ruina,

donde allí la chamuchina

o gente de poca nota,

entra allí y se ñengota

en un brulé o aposento,

y se despacha al momento

dejando allí su pelota.

Conque saque uté la cuenta

siño Juan Antoño Elí,

y dígame si en Haití

cuaiquiera no se revienta;

en eso de compra y benta

yo le pueo asegurai,

que si no sabe coitai

de esa gente ei lenguaraje,

ni la toitilla dei biaje

uté no la pue sacai.

Jata otro día, con su licencia.

Haitian Santo Domingo

A recent read of Andrew Walker's Strains of Unity: Emancipation, Property, and the Post-Revolutionary State in Haitian Santo Domingo, 1822-1844 was a fascinating look at the period of administrative unification under Haiti. Pushing back against some of the older tenets in the narrative of Haitian domination and invasions of the eastern half of Hispaniola, Walker's study focuses on notarial records and other archival sources which illustrate how easterners navigated Haitian law, sometimes using it in ways to further their own interests. Walker also emphasizes how this complex process of unification enshrined the "free soil" policy of the future Dominican Republic and shaped antislavery as foundational.

This begins with the interest in unification expressed by residents of center-island towns and those with interests in the livestock trade. Since the trade in livestock had been important since colonial times, and unification was seen as one way of promoting it by ending border tariffs, there was local interest in joining Haiti. Furthermore, the ephemeral independent state did not end slavery, likely fueling an interest by enslaved people (perhaps 1/5 of the population of the east)and free people of color in becoming Haitians. Once unification took place in 1822, Walker continues to use notarial records for proof of sale of livestock and horses between Haitians from the west (often soldiers or military officers stationed in the east) and easterners. This profitable trade apparently involved women from the west and other groups who engaged in this trade. 

Walker also addresses the issue of land expropriations, reforms, and the Code Rural. In the east, the Haitian state targeted holdings of ecclesiastical and municipal bodies and authorities, whilst also taking property held by absentee landholders who left the island after unification. However, residents of these lands who built bohios or properties on it were allowed to maintain ownership of their homes. Notarial records and other finds from Dominican and Haitian archives do suggest a land grab of sorts favoring upper level Haitian and eastern military leaders and civil administrators, too. But, the Code Rural in the east was apparently as unsuccessful there as it was in the west. Furthermore, the partition of land grants continued, too. This meant that many who were given large estates by the government chose to sell it in smaller parts. Enforcement of the Code Rural's anti-vagrancy laws was also a local affair, and was even utilized by peasants with fractional rights to communal lands who sought to protect their own rights to the land against unfair co-owners or squatters. Indeed, to Walker, terrenos comuneros survived Haitian unification as land rights by holders of shares in communal lands justified their ownership based on Haitian and liberal laws of private property.

Perhaps the most interesting chapter in the dissertation, however, was sadly limited by the source material. Since maritime maroons from Puerto Rico fled to eastern Hispaniola to escape slavery during this time (although some were doing this prior to Haitian unification), one sees a fascinating development of Haitian free soil applied evenly throughout the eastern part of the island. Anti-slavery and Haitian commitment to free soil was maintained in the east, even by former slaveholders. Unfortunately, not enough detail is unveiled by the sources on these 'maritime maroons' from Puerto Rico and other Caribbean islands. Nonetheless, their presence in the east illustrates how Haitian free soil concepts defined Haitian territory and later influenced Dominican anti-slavery in 1844 and beyond. 

By highlighting aspects of collaboration, shared ideology and governing practices, and the commitment to racial equality and antislavery, a different interpretation of the experience of Haitian unification (or domination) is unveiled here. This should be followed up by additional studies on language, culture, African American immigration, and conflict during the unification. Some of the historical figures from this period, like Pablo Ali (Paul Alix) deserve further study for their own complex relations to Saint Domingue/Haiti. 

On the Taino (Playing with AI)

The Taino peoples, indigenous to the Greater Antilles, have long been described as extinct, a vanished people swept away by colonization, disease, and slavery in the early 1500s. Yet, as the blog Dream Variants emphasizes, the legacies of Taino life are deeply embedded in Caribbean culture. From farming practices to language, and from mythology to modern identity politics, the Taino remain central to understanding Caribbean history and culture.

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Persistence Beyond Extinction

Colonial records and later scholarship often portrayed the Taino as disappearing by the mid-1500s. However, as Dream Variants points out, archival evidence shows that thousands of “Indios” continued to live in Hispaniola into the mid-16th century, forming hidden communities and blending into broader colonial society (Dream Variants 2023a). This survival complicates the “extinction” narrative and explains why cultural and even genetic traces of the Taino endure in modern Caribbean populations.

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Agrarian and Genetic Echoes

The persistence of Taino culture is especially visible in agrarian systems. For instance, cassava mound cultivation, a key feature of Taino subsistence, remains part of rural farming practice in parts of the Dominican Republic, Haiti, and Puerto Rico. As Dream Variants suggests, these techniques were not just practical but cultural inheritances, reflecting deep continuity with indigenous lifeways (Dream Variants 2020a). Genetic research adds further nuance: many Caribbeans today retain small but measurable traces of indigenous ancestry, confirming that survival was both cultural and biological.

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Myth, Ritual, and Expressions of Identity

Taino mythology has also left deep marks on Caribbean cultural identity. The Dream Variants blog highlights parallels between Taino myths—such as those of creation, twins, and deluge—and broader South American and Mesoamerican traditions, suggesting shared roots across Indigenous America (Dream Variants 2023b). In the present, neo-Taino movements use ritual, performance, and symbolic art to reclaim these myths and reassert indigeneity. These cultural revivals transform Taino legacies into acts of identity and resistance in postcolonial societies.

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Language and Social Structure

Taino words remain embedded in Caribbean Spanish and English: hurricane, canoe, hammock, guava, and barbecue are just a few examples. More importantly, terms like nitaino—originally describing a social rank—continue to offer insight into pre-Columbian social structures (Dream Variants 2024). Scholars and cultural activists alike emphasize that the Taino had complex social hierarchies and artistic traditions, challenging early colonial depictions of them as “simple” or “childlike” peoples.

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Conclusion

The Taino cultural legacy in the Caribbean is not confined to archaeology or museums—it is alive in farming practices, foodways, language, mythology, and cultural identity. The Dream Variants blog reminds us that while colonial violence attempted to erase the Taino, their legacies persist across time, shaping how Caribbeans understand themselves and their histories. To see the Caribbean fully is to recognize the persistence of the Taino in both memory and daily life.

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Bibliography

Dream Variants. 2020a. Brief Thoughts on Taino DNA and Cultural Continuity. October 2020. https://thedreamvariation.blogspot.com/2020/10/brief-thoughts-on-taino-dna-and.html

Dream Variants. 2023a. Taino Legacy in Hispaniola. April 2023. https://thedreamvariation.blogspot.com/2023/04/taino-legacy-in-hispaniola.html

Dream Variants. 2023b. Art, Mythology, Taino and Central America. October 2023. https://thedreamvariation.blogspot.com/2023/10/art-mythology-taino-and-central-america.html

Dream Variants. 2024. Notes on Taino Social Terms and Structures. 2024. https://thedreamvariation.blogspot.com/2024