Haiti Page 9
Several writers unabashedly dreamed of genocide. An aristocrat who had served as an officer in Saint-Domingue during the revolution said that the only solution would be to take over Haiti and exterminate all males over six years old who lived there. A former colonist responded that this would not go far enough: it would also be necessary to kill all the women, since they could “whisper into the souls of their children the same spirit of revolt” that had animated the men. Haitians had to be completely erased from history in order to protect white supremacy and the colonial order. It was simply intolerable that “three hundred thousand Africans” had “stolen from thirty million Frenchmen the most beautiful and useful of their possessions.”47
Other exiled planters, however, were a bit more strategic in their thinking. They granted that there was no going back to the old order. The revolution had forever destroyed the “kind of magic” that had “made it so that three or four whites could sleep in complete security, with their doors open, on a property on which there were four or five hundred blacks.” All the Haitians now knew how easy it was to “ruin and slaughter” the whites, and they weren’t going to forget it. There was, however, an example of possible compromise: the relative peace of Louverture’s regime, when white planters had conceded political power to a black leader and consented to new labor structures while holding on to their property. When Napoleon attacked Louverture, some former colonists argued bitterly, he had destroyed a system that might ultimately have worked for the benefit of the planters and the French empire. (Napoleon himself had in fact concluded the same thing, admitting on his deathbed that targeting Louverture had been one of the great mistakes of his career.) Perhaps, some former planters imagined, a deal could be worked out with Haiti’s new elites: the “mulatto” class of the island could serve in Louverture’s place, as allies and intermediaries for rebuilding the plantation order. Together, the former planters and the “mulatto” elites could develop a new form of colonial rule in Haiti, possibly making it into a French protectorate.48
This notion got a more serious hearing in government circles than talk of military conquest. Most in the French military had little desire to go through a replay of the Leclerc expedition. They remembered all too well how Haiti had swallowed up tens of thousands of Napoleon’s best troops. Clarkson, who visited France on Christophe’s behalf, reported back that anyone in French government circles who proposed reconquering Saint-Domingue by force “would be considered to be mad.” “Ridicule has generally accompanied the mention of any expedition to Hayti,” Clarkson noted. Indeed, “as hopeless and disastrous as the Expedition of Leclerc” had become a byword in the military to describe something considered a particularly bad plan.49
French officials did believe, however, that the threat of force could be used as a bargaining tool to extract concessions from Haiti’s leaders. In 1814, the French minister of the colonies, Pierre-Victor Malouet—a onetime governor of the colony of Saint-Domingue—sent envoys to Haiti to begin negotiations with Pétion and Christophe. The delegation began by proposing to Pétion that he place Haiti back under the control of France. He categorically refused the return of any form of French sovereignty, but he made his own counteroffer to the French, one that would come to haunt Haiti for a long time. What if the Haitian state paid an indemnity to France, Pétion asked, which they could use to pay damages to former French planters? Having won its independence through revolt, Haiti could effectively now buy recognition of that independence once and for all.50
Perhaps, in making this proposal, Pétion was remembering how slaves had sometimes bought liberty from their masters. It is also possible that he genuinely had some sympathy for the plight of planters who had lost property in Saint-Domingue: after all, though he had participated in the final defeat of the French, Pétion had also initially served as part of the Leclerc expedition. An indemnity was an elegant way of solving the problem of political recognition: the country would remain free and independent, but those who had been victims of its revolution would receive some form of compensation. Once recognized, Haiti would have a much clearer political and diplomatic status, as well as an easier time exporting its products. Pétion probably considered that, on balance, Haiti would benefit from the deal.
When Agostino Franco de Medina, another of the French envoys, came to meet with Christophe, however, he got a rather different response. Christophe had Medina arrested and searched, uncovering a set of private instructions from Malouet. The king found these so shocking, in both tone and content, that he ordered Medina executed. To justify the act, he published the papers that Medina had carried—a move that effectively embarrassed not only the French but also Pétion for having been willing to deal with them. As Medina’s documents made clear, Malouet envisioned bringing not only colonialism back to Haiti, but also slavery, or something close to it.51
In his instructions to Medina, Malouet never referred to Haiti, instead calling the territory Saint-Domingue and acting as if it were still part of the French kingdom. The French king, Malouet declared, was determined to make the “insurgents of Saint-Domingue” accept his sovereignty over their land. But while the king was ready to use force if necessary, he was also prepared to grant “concessions and advantages” to those who “promptly” offered him the “obeisance” he was owed. His envoys were told to seek out leaders who were “educated and enlightened,” notably Pétion, and come to an agreement with them. Such leaders, Malouet predicted, would understand the fundamental truth: there would be no “tranquility and prosperity” in Haiti unless the “mass of blacks” were “returned to and maintained in the state of slavery, or at least a kind of submission similar to that which they were in before the troubles.” The envoys were given some leeway in determining precisely how to assure this “submission” of the laboring population; but their goal, the instructions made clear, was to get as close to the “old colonial order of things” as possible.52
The documents which Christophe found on Medina blustered that the French king would never be cowed by the “exaggerated pretentions” of Haiti’s leaders and would “make the full extent of his power felt if his favors are refused.” Given that French armies had in fact been decisively defeated by Haitian troops, the tone was both bullying and a little deluded, which may be why Malouet labored to make the threat sound serious. There was “no doubt,” he wrote, “that if the King of France wanted to send all his forces bearing down on a group of rebel subjects who make up barely one hundredth of the people of his kingdom, who have neither within them or among them the great military, moral, or material resources that Europe has, who will receive no support from outside,” he could “reduce them, even if that means exterminating them.” Haitians undoubtedly heard echoes here of the rhetoric of Leclerc and Rochambeau. Back in 1804, in justifying his killings of French planters, Dessalines had argued that the French would always consider themselves to be lords and masters of the country. Malouet’s instructions confirmed such suspicions.53
Malouet’s vision for the future of Haiti built on the idea—common in many accounts of the Haitian Revolution at the time—that if only the French government had made concessions to the free people of color when they demanded equal rights in the early 1790s, the colony would have been able to avoid, or at least contain, the insurrection of the slaves. Malouet wanted a replay, and this time France would get it right. Once they took back control of their former territory, the French government would offer a small number of leaders—including Pétion, whose skin color was almost white—“complete assimilation” with whites, along with honors and money. Somewhat darker-skinned people would receive nearly the same political rights, just with “a few exceptions” that would place them a bit “below” the whites. And so on down the ladder: the darker the skin, the fewer the rights. The majority of the population—not only “the blacks who are working on plantations” but also “those who have escaped this condition”—would be “attached to the soil and returned to their former masters.” And, just fo
r good measure, the island was to be “purged” of all those rebellious blacks who were too dangerous to place on the plantations, for fear they would lead new insurrections. Finally, the new order would severely restrict the possibilities for emancipation, so as to avoid the creation of a new class of free people.54
Christophe had, in the previous years, created an entire state and aristocracy based on racial equality. Malouet, seeking to curry favor with Christophe’s enemies to the south, proposed instead a reconstructed, even perfected, colonial order based on an intricate racial hierarchy. Christophe’s arrest and execution of Medina exposed the plan, and the French king was forced to disavow Malouet’s instructions, claiming that his minister had overstepped his bounds and that the documents didn’t in fact express the vision of the French government. The first round of negotiations thus ended in a kind of victory for Haiti: from then on, the French no longer proposed any kind of return to the former colonial system. But they didn’t give up trying to assert some form of control.
In 1816, the French sent new envoys to Haiti to reopen negotiations. The plan was to co-opt a portion of the Haitian leadership by offering them military positions and honors in the French army: the envoys arrived with twelve Crosses of the Legion of Honor and ten of the Order of Saint-Louis. In return for such titles, Haitian rulers were asked to place their country under the protection of France. Pétion, having been shamed by Christophe’s actions the first time around, refused strongly, and publicly. In a printed proclamation “to the people and the army” of Haiti, he declared that there was no Haitian whose “soul is tepid enough” to accept anything but complete recognition of independence. Nature, he noted, had made Haitians “equal to other men,” and if the French tried to take back the country, they would find only “ashes mingled with blood, iron, and an avenging climate.” Christophe, for his part, refused even to receive this second set of envoys, so the negotiations once again went nowhere.55
Clarkson was disappointed that neither France nor England was acknowledging Haitian independence, and he eventually even suggested that Christophe should adopt Pétion’s idea and pay an indemnity to France in return for recognition—though only if the amount were “reasonable and moderate” and could be paid “without any great sacrifice.” Christophe found the idea of paying an indemnity to France unthinkable, but he did ask the English abolitionist to lobby the former colonial power on Haiti’s behalf. Clarkson should begin, Christophe said, by trying to make the French government appreciate the history from Haiti’s point of view. “The Haitian people, after shedding rivers of their finest blood, set themselves up sixteen years ago as a sovereign state, free and independent. Exercising its natural rights, the nation proclaimed its Independence before all men by its solemn Declaration of the 1st of January, 1804.” The country based its claim to independence on the very “natural rights” which the French had enshrined in their own revolution. The old colonial order was “overthrown, destroyed from top to bottom”—it would not be resurrected. “A new and enlightened generation is replacing the former population; ideas, morals, customs, and even the habits of the people have undergone a total change … The last vestiges of that odious system have disappeared from the soil of Haiti.” All that remained to complete this just and beneficial transformation was for France and other countries to formally acknowledge the irreversible facts.56
Through Clarkson, Christophe urged France to act with “justice and humanity” and to officially recognize what was clear to “every reasonable observer”: the colonial power had made independence “inevitable” through its brutality, and now this independence could “in no possible way be destroyed.” France’s refusal to accept Haiti’s autonomy had caused “astonishment, grief and regret.” But the king of France could fix matters by offering immediate recognition. In return, Haiti would grant France trade privileges, giving it preferential access to markets and lower tariffs than other countries, though Christophe preemptively specified that he would not offer to France any kind of “exclusive right.”57
As for the question of an indemnity, the document given to Clarkson burst with disbelief at the idea that France might ask Haiti to pay in return for political recognition. What, after all, were the colonists seeking to be reimbursed for? The most valuable aspect of their property had been their slaves: the people who were now free citizens of Haiti. “Is it possible that they wish to be recompensed for the loss of our persons? Is it conceivable that Haitians who have escaped torture and massacre at the hands of these men, Haitians who have conquered their own country by the force of their arms and at the cost of their blood, that these same free Haitians should now purchase their property and persons once again with money paid to their former oppressors?” As Christophe put it, “the ex-colonists are our natural and implacable enemies; they tortured us while it was in their power to do so, and they never cease to seek an opportunity to renew their torture.” No true Haitian could consider paying an indemnity to them. “It is not possible; it is not for one moment to be considered. Free men could never accept such a condition without covering themselves with infamy!”58
It was a powerful statement, and a potent brief against the French approach to Haiti. But it was also, as Clarkson soon found out, impossible to deliver the message. As the abolitionist later explained to Christophe, he found himself caught up in a rather absurd dilemma. If he presented the French cabinet with Christophe’s letter that named Clarkson as an official envoy for the Kingdom of Haiti, then, in the act of receiving the letter, the cabinet “would be acknowledging the Independence of Hayti at the very outset.” The French government could not, it seems, even begin discussions about a treaty with “your Majesty as King of Hayti, because if the King of France were to allow your present title at [the] opening of the negotiation, he would be to all intents and purposes acknowledging your Independence.” The envoys sent by France to Christophe and Pétion had skirted this issue by always using the name “Saint-Domingue,” refusing to officially admit Haiti’s existence in any of their documents. But now, negotiation seemed impossible, and Clarkson rapidly realized he was at a dead end.59
Frustrated, Clarkson wrote to Christophe that there seemed to be only two options. Christophe could acknowledge the French king as his “nominal sovereign” and secure “very favorable terms” for a trade treaty, or he could insist on an acknowledgment of independence—in which case, Clarkson noted prophetically, the French would “make you pay very dearly for it.” It was, Clarkson suggested, perhaps better to wait. But Christophe was running out of time.60
* * *
In 1818, lightning struck the Citadel. The massive ammunition depot in the fort caught fire and exploded, destroying much of the building and killing many soldiers, along with Christophe’s brother-in-law. It must have seemed a particularly potent omen. Christophe had poured his energy and that of his subjects into erecting the massive structure. But those who worked on it resented the cost and coercion involved, and many were clearly wondering what these projects were really worth. For a time, many of Christophe’s subjects had found value in his regime: they were, we can imagine, impressed by and proud of his palaces, and reassured by the fortifications built to prevent the return of the French. But the kingdom stood on relatively weak political foundations. A number of Christophe’s nobles had found their own ambitions frustrated, and were displeased by his tight control. Furthermore, the king’s ambitious projects all depended on the willingness of his subjects to carry out plantation labor that supported the state. Nearly a decade into the experiment, many of the workers had grown tired of the inequalities and excesses of the system. In the end, it took only a stroke to bring it down.61
Attending mass in the town of Limonade in August 1820, Christophe suddenly fell ill. Though he was immediately attended by Dr. Stewart—the Scotsman who held the chair of medicine Christophe had set up in Le Cap—the stroke left him partly debilitated. Christophe’s weakness emboldened members of his regime who were increasingly unhappy with hi
s rule, and within a few months, several officers organized a conspiracy. Soldiers in Le Cap rallied in the streets, chanting: “Long live liberty! Long live independence! Down with the tyrant! Down with Christophe!” They quickly gained converts, and Christophe soon faced an insurrection among his troops. When he sent envoys to try to negotiate with the leaders of the rebellion, they responded that the people “had broken the chains of slavery” and “would no longer have a king.” As more and more soldiers joined the revolt, even Christophe’s bodyguards turned against him. Surrounded, Christophe shot himself in the heart. His wife and daughters carried his body up the long road to the Citadel and buried him in the center of the fort.62
The women in Christophe’s immediate family were allowed to leave the country. They went to Britain, where they stayed with Clarkson for several months. “A more delightful family never entered a person’s house,” the abolitionist wrote. “Their dispositions are so amiable, their tempers under such complete subjugation, and their minds so enlightened, that it is a pleasure to live with such people.” But Christophe’s son Jacques-Victor-Henry was not so lucky: now sixteen, he was bayoneted to death by the rebels, along with the Baron de Vastey and several other members of the aristocracy of the kingdom of the north. Having lost his first son to the French, Christophe now lost another—the one he had named his heir—to his own subjects.63
Pétion had died two years before, in 1818, and had been succeeded by a longtime supporter, Jean-Pierre Boyer. After Christophe’s death, Boyer’s troops quickly took control of the north of Haiti, ending the schism in the country. The soldiers (together with some of Christophe’s own former subjects) looted the Sans-Souci palace, though its walls and gardens would remain intact until 1842, when an earthquake brought down much of the building. The Citadel stands proudly to this day, watching over the plain. But what else was left behind by Christophe’s regime? His efforts to impress outsiders with the grandeur of his regime bore some fruit, for he gained many admirers abroad. But the institutions he created—not only his royalty, but also his schools and universities—largely disappeared with him. Prince Saunders lamented in a letter to Thomas Clarkson that the schools and academies had been destroyed by the “unprincipled barbarians” who had overthrown Christophe. Wilberforce pleaded with Boyer to maintain the education system, but except for Dr. Stewart’s medical school, the new ruler did not do so.64