The first Africans came to America in August, so obviously, it's our entire history - in so far as the celebration or acknowledgement was. It has to do with [Jonathan Jackson], George Jackson and prisons. I believe in a time when the United States has more people in prison than any other industrialized nation, the prediction that if the current rate of incarceration stays the way it is now, one in three men will be incarcerated or on parole in 2020, which is not very far. I think it is contingent on us to look at that - the re-enslavement of African Americans continuing. I think this benefit for Haiti is important, because of what Haiti represents - a nearby island that had a successful slave rebellion, it has always suffered from intrusions from America from as far back as the 1800s, so I think joining together the national and international struggles is important. It is important for African Americans to look at themselves locally, nationally and internationally - to see ourselves in the world. Black August 2003 offers an opportunity to do that.
Why would [Frederick Douglass], a former slave, newspaper publisher, author and United States Minister and Consul General of Haiti, so admire Haiti, its leaders during the Revolution and its contributions to the world? And why was Douglass, despite his realistic assessment of the nation, so very hopeful about Haiti's future?
African American Research Center, Library, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign
Notes:
160 p., Chronicles the history of slavery in Haiti through a recitation of the brutality of the colonisers and the often mundane and trivial ways in which they attempted to dehumanize Haitians. It seeks to illustrate how Haitians' 300-year journey to freedom was illuminated by the African philosophy of Ubuntu, a world view that embodies human solidarity, respect, dignity, justice, liberty, and love. In this philosophy, Africans found an unmatched strength to resist slavery.
Maintains that the period between 1750 and 1850 represented an age of interrelated revolutions, and events in Haiti constitute an integral part of the history of the Atlantic world
The French called the Island St. Domingue, and began importing thousands of African slaves to clear much of the land and build plantations. By the late 1700s, there were over half a million African slaves in St. Domingue, and dose to 40,000 whites, as well as almost as many "mulattos." (The word "mulatto" derives from the Spanish term meaning a young mule.) They were the "free people of color," the result of white men taking many slave women. [Adam Hochchild] goes on to tell us how very rich France became through its plantocracy on St. Domingue alone: "The colony's eight thousand plantations accounted for more than one third of France's foreign trade, and its own foreign trade equaled that of the newly born United States." White planters and merchants on the island lived a life of luxury unrivaled in "the New World." Hochchild tells us that on that fateful August night "a large group of slaves representing many plantations met under the night sky in a remote spot called Alligator Woods..." and these are the words reportedly shouted to the throng by a revolt leader: '"Throw away the image of the god of the whites who thirsts for our tears, and listen to the voice of liberty which speaks in the hearts of all of us."
First, the two armies all but destroyed the French plantocracy on the island then they defeated a Spanish force and huge English and French armies. In Adam Hochchild's book Bury the Chains, we learn that then-U. S. President George Washington and then-Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson, both slave owners, sent "a thousand muskets, other military supplies, and eventually some $400,000" of U. S. aid to quell the revolt now known as "the Haitian Revolution." Randall Robinson reveals more in his book, An Unbroken Agony: "Some . . . had been brought to Haiti [St. Domingue] from other Caribbean slave colonies men like the storied Boukman from Jamaica and the legendary Makandal from Trinidad, and the great general, Henri Christophe, who was born in Grenada." Blacks who escaped plantations in the United States also joined L'Ouverture's armies. Robinson reports that L'Ouverture had been the intellectual, "the African humanist, the military strategist, the administrator and, not insignificantly, the conciliator." Robinson also writes that [Jean-Jacques Dessalines] "had been, first and last, the hard-nosed soldier who believed that an enemy as manifestly unsalvageable as the French had to be, wherever possible, obliterated."
According to historical records and stories passed down by the griots in Haiti, Christophe was born around October 6, 1767 in Grenada and brought to Haiti (then Saint Domingue) as a slave.
Dessalines became a lieutenant in Papillon's army and followed him to Santo Domingo, where at first he enlisted to serve Spain's military forces against the French then he joined the "real" slave rebellion that was inspired by Dutty Boukman, a voodoo priest, and led by Toussaint.
Yes, we owe Haiti. Unfortunately, we have shown little appreciation. My generation has witnessed Haiti in a multi-decades long downward spiral. There have been the dirty Papa Doc regime; the dirty Baby Doc regime; the dirty Aristide regime and dirty everyone else who supposedly had the trust of the people. The United States has sent troops there on various occasions but it was not to strengthened or liberate the people. Preference should be given to Haitian owned businesses in this rebuilding. Partnerships with Haitian and African Americans should be allowed. The money generated from these contracts should stay in Haiti and be taxed by the Haitian government. All, I mean ALL jobs, should be offered first to Haitians with the first right of refusal. It is noble for the world to come to the aid of Haiti but there must be a strategy that will empower the people of Haiti during and afterwards. For the first time in history, we have a chance to make Haiti independent, self sustaining and free.
227 p., Considers the often-silenced, tangible traces that the Haitian Revolution and radical anti-slavery have left in the greater Caribbean as they emerge in contemporary cultural productions. The author looks at national trends in the Dominican Republic, Cuba and Jamaica in order to formulate an understanding of the uses of gendered images of slavery and blackness in modern nation-building campaigns. Critically assesses what is left out of these narratives and how these gaps serve specific purposes. Argues for the centrality of the Caribbean in any true understanding of the history of modernity and the contemporary nation-state by investigating the after-shocks of the Haitian Revolution and of radical anti-slavery.
