Sunday, June 14, 2015

Haitian Intellectuals and the U.S. Occupation of Haiti: An Interview with Patrick Bellegarde-Smith

Haitian Intellectuals and the U.S. Occupation of Haiti: An Interview with Patrick Bellegarde-Smith

In the sixth part of my series on the centennial of the U.S. occupation of Haiti, I interview Patrick Bellegarde-Smith. Dr. Bellegarde-Smith is a Professor Emeritus of Africology at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. He has written dozens of articles, book chapters, and books that have been translated into English, Spanish, Portuguese, and French. Those works include In The Shadows of Power: Dantes Bellegarde in Haitian Social Thought and Haiti: The Breached Citadel, and Fragments of Bone: Neo-African Religions in the New World.

 Bellegarde-Smith is also the recipient of a number of professional awards including the Medaille Jean Price-Mars from Universite d’Etat d’Haiti the Lifetime Achievement Award for Scholarship from the Haitian Studies Association. He is President of the latter organization and the Associate Editor of its journal, the Journal of Haitian Studies. Dr. Bellegarde-Smith also serves as the President of the Congress of Santa Barbara (KOSANBA)
 Our interview focuses on Haitian intellectuals during the period of the U.S. occupation. Topics addressed include the social thought of Dantès Bellegarde (1877-1966), a leading Haitian diplomat and the grandfather of Dr. Bellegarde-Smith.

Dr. Patrick Bellegarde-Smith, Professor Emeritus at the UWM
Dr. Patrick Bellegarde-Smith, Professor Emeritus of Africology at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee

Byrd: Let’s start by discussing someone you have written extensively about: your grandfather, Dantès Bellegarde. Who was he? What should readers know about his upbringing? His personality? His career?
Bellegarde-Smith: His great-great grandfather on his mother’s side whose life was saved by [Emperor Jean-Jacques] Dessalines himself became essentially the Minister of Justice under [President] Jean Pierre Boyer. That’s one thing. The great-great grandfather was also said to be the founder of Haitian Freemasonry.
On his father’s side, you are talking about people who fought during the Revolution. You are talking about a man who becomes duke of the second empire under [Emperor Faustin] Soulouque and becomes one of the henchmen of Soulouque. And that also amassed a great deal of money. A great deal of property and the family lost all of it because the family became quite destitute.
On the mother’s side, you are talking about French and mulattoes and on the father’s side you are talking about black. And that would be the black elite in terms of all this. But they lost the fortune. And so when my grandfather was born, out of wedlock, his mother, whom I remember quite well, born in 1857 died in 1952. She was totally white looking. Long hair all the way down to her buttocks and she only spoke Kreyòl. She was uneducated. Did not read or write. Non-literate. So my grandfather started life being Kreyòlophone. He learned French when he went to school.
In a very real sense, this juxtaposes him to Jean Price-Mars who was his friend and they went to school together. [Bellegarde] was saved, and I use the word advisedly, by his skin color. He was able to climb the social ladder in Haiti partly because of his color and he became widely popular abroad, which really helped matters. Once you’re recognized abroad therefore you must be an important person while Price-Mars was destined to play the role that he did even though he was probably more highly born than my grandfather. That was solid middle-class at that point, in terms of Jean Price-Mars. It’s no surprise that he becomes the founding father of what becomes Négritude. Certainly the founding father of Haitian indigénisme and a cultural opposition to the American occupation.
My grandfather was very ambivalent because of course he is seen as the leader of the pro-French forces in Haitian social thought. And he describes Haiti in many of his works as French speaking and Catholic. And Haiti is neither French-speaking nor Catholic . . . [Today] French has lost a great deal of ground in Haiti. I don’t think it can be recovered at all.
Byrd: In the schools, too?
Bellegarde-Smith: The schools such as they are today. It depends on which schools you go to. Once upon a time the public schools were decent. They were quite good. My grandfather went to public schools. So did Jean Price-Mars and they others. They learned French. They learned classical French. Now you have the private schools that are good.
Dantès even though he warned against the U.S. occupation as far back as 1907, that “the U.S. is too close and God is too far,” he served the occupation. He was a cabinet member during the first part of the U.S. occupation. So this is where I see the ambivalence. A portion of the Haitian elite were essentially for it. They were not saying it necessarily publicly. Sténio Vincent, President Vincent, said so publicly. But it was one way to speed up the civilization process. They were concerned that French would lose ground . . . Of course, as you know, the light-skinned elite was re-establishing power in Haiti and kept power until [President Dumarsais] Estimé in the 1940s.
Dantès Bellegarde, early 1900s
Dantès Bellegarde, early 1900s

Byrd: Can we go back to that point about the civilizing process. How exactly did Bellegarde picture it?
Bellegarde-Smith: Well, he thought that Haiti could not remain independent unless it stayed essentially in the cultural orbit of France. And he saw Haiti as being an intellectual province of France. It’s interesting if you see the way his family lived, he and his seven children in Port-au-Prince, you would be transported to southern France in terms of the way the house was set-up, in terms of what they ate, in terms of what they talked about. As he got older, after he got to be about 80, the only time he would leave his house was to go to a funeral which was quite often and also go downtown once a week to pick up French conservative newspapers that were reserved for him, that came into Port-au-Prince once a week. So I was raised reading those newspapers after he was done with them. We’re talking about Le Monde. We’re talking about Le Figaro Littéraire, which is one of the right-wing publications in France and that kind of thing. But he was certain and he said it over and over again that a Dahomeyen island in the middle of the Americas would not survive because see what happened to Africa. Dahomey did not survive colonization. Why should Haiti imitate, take on that process itself?
I have one of Price-Mars’s books, La Vocation de l’Elite, where my grandfather read it, that was part of his library, he had about 10,000 books in his library, and when he was intrigued by a passage he would take his thumb and with his nail mark it. So you have markings all over the page and sometimes he wrote notes in the margin. And when Price-Mars accused the Haitian elite including my grandfather, who was his friend, of cultural bovarism, as in Madame Bovary, he said “but I’m a mulatto, what do you want me to do? (laughs)” “Not a negro, I’m a mulatto.” A “leave me alone” kind of thing. But at the end of his life when he was dying and my aunt said that he was delirious and not to believe what he said, he kept repeating over and over again “but I’m black, but I’m black, but I’m black.” He kept saying that he was black, something that he did not say publicly earlier.
He was minister of education and agriculture in the first cabinet installed by the Americans. And when for instance the U.S. wanted to impose a loan to the Haitian government and the Haitian government said absolutely not, we are not going to borrow money, the Americans stopped payments of the salaries of all the public persons including my grandfather. And the Haitian cabinet caved in because he said he had seven babies at home and they were very young and he had to feed his kids. So they accepted that onerous loan from the U.S. government. At first they resisted.
His opposition to the occupation occurred internationally while he was a government official. That was starting with the League of Nations in Geneva and also as a member of the Pan-African Congresses especially the one in 1921 in Paris, the second reunion of that particular congress where everybody was attacked by the French government and especially by the American government. [He] developed a very close friendship at that time with [W.E.B.] Du Bois and with this very young whippersnapper Rayford W. Logan (laughs).
At the League of Nations when he [Bellegarde] assailed the United States, making everybody uncomfortable, he was essentially fired. The American government forced his resignation. He was recalled back to Haiti. He had attacked the United States while trying to forge a grand alliance between all the Latin countries. Of course, Haiti, he saw it as a Latin country . . . he wanted a grand alliance of all Latin American countries even though Latin America did not come to the rescue of Haiti. They were more likely to protest the invasion of the Dominican Republic but not of Haiti.
Byrd: I’m interested in this development, the emergence of Bellegarde’s public opposition to the occupation. By the 1920s, Du Bois and his peers are staunchly against the occupation. Is that burgeoning collaboration influencing Bellegarde?
Bellegarde-Smith: There was a sturdy friendship between Du Bois and my grandfather and James Weldon Johnson and also Walter White. Growing up there was a picture of Walter White in my grandfather’s library in Port-au-Prince to the point that I thought he was family. Since he was always there, on the mantle.
The NAACP, and I have found papers in my grandfather’s library going through these things, where there was a great deal of support given by the NAACP advising the Haitian government as to how to quicken the exit of the Americans out of Haiti. The NAACP was highly respected in governmental circles in Haiti. They were taking advice from the NAACP as to how to handle the U.S. government and that was not pleasing to the American government, of course. And I remember, for instance, in 1931 when my grandfather was sent as the ambassador to Washington, D.C.
He was recalled after making a horrible speech attacking the U.S. at the Pan-American Union (now the Organization of American States) where he called the U.S. all kinds of names in French and Cordell Hull, who was Secretary of State, was smiling and applauding not understanding a word of what was being said.
Also there was anger on the part of the American government because my grandfather had established some very strong connections with the African American bourgeoisie. People like Raymond Pace Alexander, the judge out of Philadelphia . . . and other luminaries in the African American world. People from the Gold Coast on 16th Street in Washington, D.C., what it was called in those days.
That irritated because supposedly Haitian ambassadors had not entertained the African American population up to that point from what was said. I don’t believe that that was necessarily true. But there was close friendships developed at that point.
My grandfather stopped his dealings with Du Bois when he became a communist. He had no interest in that. My grandfather was a rabid anti-communist. He was essentially a positivist.
When my grandfather died the first person to come to the house was Price-Mars himself . . . they remained friends despite public spats (laughs).

Jean Price-Mars, 1956
Jean Price-Mars, 1956

Byrd: Could you elaborate on Price-Mars and the changes that were occurring within the Haitian intellectual community during the occupation?
Bellegarde-Smith: Price-Mars was an outsider in many ways. Highly-educated. A physician. A medical doctor. Coming from a Protestant family. So outsider, outsider, outsider. From the provinces. Outsider again. Dark-skinned. That kind of thing. So it was almost foretold that he could possibly lead folks into new ways of thinking about the Haitian culture. At the very same time, he was quite flattered when a French senator referred to Haiti as an advanced lighthouse of “Latinity” in the Americas. And he was very flattered by that. He liked the fact that Haiti was an advanced beacon of “Latinity” in the Americas. And he was a positivist. Auguste Comte was one of his heroes and that kind of thing. And Herbert Spencer and these folks.
Yes, he was radical in many of his ideas. Not so much so in terms of politics, actually . . . but he obviously talked about the obvious. Haiti is not exactly, we are not, colored Frenchman.
Byrd: It sounds like there was always this distinction made between the United States and, say, France. I’m sure they [Haitian intellectuals] were very cognizant of American racial politics . . .
Bellegarde-Smith: It’s interesting. The Haitians would not consider the French as being racist. Not that they were not. But somehow it did not occur to Haitian intellectuals because they were well-treated in Paris. Then again they were distinguished people to start with. In the very same way that James Baldwin and the others and Josephine Baker and all these African Americans who at some point were in exile in Paris were treated beautifully. And so France had that aura about it.
The first black generals of European armies were French generals. From Toussaint Louverture to Alexandre Dumas and the other people. And so France was seen as civilized. It’s interesting. In the early ‘60s when I was thinking of coming to the U.S. to continue my education, my mother was against it. The first thing was, “you have to go to France.” Because it is civilized. So she was against the U.S. She said “maybe Canada.” And I said, “what about the U.S?” She said “maybe Boston. That’s the only civilized place in the U.S.” No other place is civilized . . . When I finally said that I am going to the U.S., she made me swear that I would never go below the Mason-Dixon line. And I said, “why?” And she said, “because you are just like me. The first time a white person looks at you funny, you are going to kill him” (laughs).
The U.S. was seen as uncivilized. Certainly the U.S. was seen in Haiti as wanting to institute sort of a Booker T. Washington field to Haitian education which the Haitian elite revolted against.
Now my grandfather was in charge of the Ministry of Education for a very long time and this is one ministry that the U.S. paid very little attention to. They forgot all about it. So he was able to institute a number of reforms which, by the way, gave rise to a large number of people who would rise to become middle-class in Haiti, which a generation later were able to revolt and change the complexion of Haitian politics, pun intended. But the U.S. cannot be given credit for that. In terms of the schools that were created at the time. Now people want to claim that the U.S. reformed Haitian education. They may have reformed the road system to get the Marines from one point to another but I don’t think they reformed the education system and that sort of sticks in my craw because my grandfather had something to do with it.
Byrd: Your scholarship covers such an impressive scope but two of your works are of particular importance to this series and in thinking about Haitian intellectuals, the occupation, and imperialism in general. I was hoping you could talk about the titles—the meaning behind—The Breached Citadel and In the Shadow of Powers. What, if any, message about Haitian intellectual history do they convey?
Bellegarde-Smith: It’s interesting. I had to fight with my publisher in Canada because of the translation of the title. He wanted to do In the Shadow of Powers as A L’ombre des Pouvoirs. I said, “No!” My grandfather was in power in those days. He was not in the shadow of power. He was the power in Haiti. Power means puissance not pouvoir. Puissance meaning the United States, France, England, Germany. So in the shadow of these world powers, that’s what was meant by that particular title. I insisted on putting Haiti in the context of Latin American intellectual development, in terms of what was happening in places like Mexico and Argentina and especially France and England, which was quite powerful in the minds of Haitian intellectuals. Something that was not done. Even in early Haitian history they talk about Haiti as if it did not belong to the rest of the world, as if it were not an important colony of France therefore subject to all those international influences in the nineteenth century and the seventeenth century. So they looked at it in isolation. And people are still looking at Haiti in isolation. It’s resilient. It’s different. It cannot be contrasted with Nicaragua or Bolivia because it is black and there’s always going back to this thing: people see color and they don’t see much else.
And by the way, Haitian intellectuals were very much concerned about U.S. power. Obviously from the very beginning it was an imperialistic force. It was a successor of Rome. And one of the reasons so many intellectuals went with France is because economically and militarily it was not going to re-colonize Haiti. If you were to choose between imperialism, choose France. Because it’s more “benign.”
By Breached Citadel, I was thinking in terms of culture, that an autonomous culture if it wants to maintain its integrity and be self-sustaining controls and chooses how it is going to integrate various elements from the outside. It has that choice.

Source:  African American Intellectual History Society

Sunday, June 7, 2015

Marc-Arthur Pierre-Louis Reviews "Haiti Unbound: A Spiralist Challenge to the Postcolonial Canon"

Haiti Unbound: A Spiralist Challenge to the PostcolonialCanon. By Kaiama L. Glover. Liverpool : Liverpool University Press, 2010. ISBN 9781846314995. 244 pp.

                                                         Reviewed by Marc-Arthur Pierre-Louis

Haiti is a country that is marked by rebellion, a refusal to conform to the status quo and has been made to pay a costly price, willingly or not. This forms a motif that has been repeated and transposed throughout the country's history. In itself that can be easily construed as a spiral. But the spiral that concerns Kaiama L. Glover in Haiti unbound is of a different nature and is primarily a literary movement that began in 1965 in Port-au-Prince having for fountainhead Frankétienne. It is true that the movement will echo the spasms of a society that seems to be forever in a dystopic state but the author is mainly interested in how the Spiralists wrestle with the phenomenon. The corpus with which she chose to study the movement is composed of selected works by Frankétienne and two other Spiralists : Jean-Claude Fignolé and René Philoctète aiming their prose fiction in congruence to an opaquely defined theoretical framework. These Spiralists envisioned the spiral, in Glover's words, as an open-ended and dynamic world operating on “multiple levels, incarnating a precise artistic attitude while evoking essential phenomena at work in every aspect of the natural world...  The Spiralists are concerned with their insular experience as well as that of a wider world but Glover readily notes on the onset that they too had to pay the price of their, as it were, rebellion, by being virtually isolated from the francophone world in which they operated and continue to operate. Frankétienne is the most popular of the three and it has been argued that his spiralist work is the one with any relative significance while the work of Fignolé and Philoctète has been afforded little attention by the  scholars. Her aim is thus to fill this gaping void in the “assessment of postcolonial aesthetics  by bringing to the surface the “spiral-based aesthetics” in the works of the Spiralists and by putting  them in dialogue with intellectuals and regional writers such as Fanon, Chamoiseau, Césaire, Glissant and a host of others. Her goal, by doing so, is to show how they link to and even greatly enrich “contemporary models of literature  and theory in postcolonial Caribbean.

In examining the treatment these authors received from the community of Caribbean French-speaking writers, critics and scholars, one is hard pressed to think of a banishment of sorts. Glover speaks of a silence which sheds light “on the whole literary culture of the French-speaking Caribbean and Haiti's place within it.” Given the stringent requirements the Spiralists' texts place on the reader it relatively easy to say, while keeping a straight face, that they have chosen themselves to be at arm's length with their readership and have decided that reading them would not be a casual exercise. Glover quotes Frankétienne who prescribes a serious engagement to the readers in the form of “creative readings,” “arranging with relative ambiguity the diverse structural elements of the work.” The reader is thus responsible for the destiny of what has been written. In that sense Frankétienne is playing right in the sandbox of postmodernism but the price for the readings may be prohibitive. Nevertheless Glover views their geographical isolation as an impetus to develop an “original and subversive approach at literature” unlike the literary productions of the Caribbean heavily impacted by the demands of the Euro-North American culture industry.

Glover uses six works from the three authors for her corpus. Three from Frankétienne: Mur à Crever(1968), Ultravocal(1972), and Les affres d'un défi(1979); two from Fignolé: Les possédés de la pleine lune(1987) et Aube tranquille(1990); one from Philoctète: Le peuple des terres mêlées(1989). The stories that they tell are not glamorous. There are no heroes who ride in to save the day. These are stories of violence, abuse, murder, suffocation, screaming both literally and figuratively where the subalterns are caught up in a whirlwind, a funnel cloud that spirals from bad to worse. These are stories where the villain reigns supreme and runs unchecked while exacting untold evil. The protagonists are non-heroes, ethically ambivalent, physically and psychically fractured characters. 
The book is divided into four parts as Glover forcefully argues for the inclusion of the Spiralists in the postcolonial canon. 

In part I where she introduces her methodology and takes the lay of the land, she is very suspicious of the  treatment afforded to the Spiralists in the light of the recognition that other French-speaking Caribbean writers receive from the Metropole. Here the word Metropole provides an elucidation of the puzzle. Although these [metropolitan] authors sometimes will take a tough stance against France it seems that they are perceived as insiders and are treated as such and paradoxically enjoy the insider's benefits. They conform to the script and provide the tools by which their texts can be interpreted, making life definitely easier on the theorists, scholars, and readers. The Spiralists , on the contrary, are ex-centrists, they are not-Paris. This has its consequences. They wanted to play the game on their own terms. They remained in their opacity, frustrating both readers and scholars. In general this encourages a certain dismissive boldness from their Antillean counterparts. Bernadette Cailler will go as far chastising the whole of Haitian literature as “dead-ended in its insularity – without a productive presence in the postcolonial world” and the Spiralists, are naturally included in the batch. [Hats must be tipped to Cailler's amazing statement]

Part II zooms into the shifty characters in the spirals. This is the most accessible part of the book as it dives into summaries of the stories the Spiralists bring to bear. In Glover's own words her concerns in this part is to deal with how the Spiralists provide a response to the question of writing the postcolonial record. It will not be a pretty picture but a shattered one, marred by violence.

In Mur à crever Raynand resorts to lying to maintain the appearance of belonging to the middle class in order to impress the father of his girlfriend and comes away disgusted by the experience. He will be forced to leave Haiti to live illegally in the Bahamas but then will be caught and deported back to Haiti with throngs of other Haitians, some of whom will throw themselves into the seas preferring to be eaten by the sharks rather than returning to Haiti. Body parts will litter the ocean surface. One is spiraled in time to transpose the images of slaves committing suicide rather than going to St Domingue. Raynand will be thrown in jail where he will lose his life. In Ultravocal Mac Abre is a cosmic evil man with unlimited powers to inflict pain unto his fellow men. His giant penis is a weapon of mass destruction spewing urine with a high concentration of a defoliating agent. He also incarnates the “most diabolical Third-World dictators” pawns of the super powers. In Les affres d'un défi Frankétienne tackles the phenomenon of zombification in the community of Bois Neuf where a houngan terrorizes the population by killing  people and making them zombies who lose the ability to think and act as normal human beings but are subjected to his will. He has them slaving for him as their sole occupation. The zombie can become a normal human being by eating salt and in fact the ones under the helm of the houngan in Boif Neuf will be freed by Clodonis, himself a zombie who was given salt by the houngan's daughter his lover. The zombies will thus become warriors. The spiral will spin further in Rita who, though not physically a zombie, is mentally one, a restavèk enslaved to Gédéon, her master.

In Fignolé's Les possédés de la pleine lune, Agénor, a one-eyed cyclops-like human being is dead in the coastal town of Les Abricots, after killing a one-eyed savale fish that itself became a human being. The wake for Agénor was also the wake for the unknown human being. In fact Agénor and the savale were archenemies locked into a perennial battle every full moon. Agénor was supposed to have become a one-eyed man because during his youth he fought with the fish which hit him in the head causing his eyes to melt and become one in the middle of his forehead. Now his life pursuit was to kill the fish and avenge his deformities and gain the esteem of the town. However his wife Saintilma always suspected him to have an affair with Violetta, a silky-voiced young woman who is the fish's lover, mother and child during his full moon escapades. Saintmilia developed a fierce hatred toward Violetta. Then Les possédés will spiral again in several other strange characters and will close with the person of Louiortesse a schizophrenic former suitor of Saintmilia who was severely beaten and disfigured by Agénor and lived in exile in Jérémie. As Glover correctly assesses, the individuals in the spiral are shifty. Louiortesse is viewed as a zombie who glides over the swamp at night, is even viewed as a seven-headed monster, hears voices that tell him what to do, and may have actually dreamt up all the events in Les possédés. More shifting occurs in Aube tranquille that could be considered a sequel to Les possédés. Saintmilia will appear again in a battle of her own against sister Therese, a nun who lives in Les Abricots and who in a previous life was supposed to be a slave owner who was the murderous mistress of Saintmilia's great-great-great-great grandmother. Saintmilia relives that period and holds sister Therèse responsible for a crime that her great-great-great-great grandmother committed more than a century ago. This dynamic continues in the joust between the two women and lesbian relationships will come to the surface between sister Therese, and sister Hyacinthe at the convent and a supposedly black Senegalese flight attendant who looks like sister Therese. Saintmilia and sister Therese move in and out of the reminiscence of their previous lives and continue to challenge each other. The whole sequence gives the impression of a dream where things are fluid and one quickly travels vast distances, and events seem unbounded by time.      

Philoctète's Le peuple des terres mêlées recalls the terrible events of the massacre of Haitians in the Dominican Republic by dictator Rafael Trujillo in the town of Elias Pinas. There also, Adèle, a young Haitian woman and her Dominican husband Pedro will lose their lives. The shibboleth devised by Trujillo worked perfectly as Haitians who could not pronounce the word perejil (parsley) properly were mercilessly decimated by Trujillo's chief executioner Don Augustin. There again body parts will litter the landscape. Things are gruesome and the perspective is bleak for Haitians. Adèle lost her head but one is not sure if the loss is physical or simply mental, if she is really dead or if her death is simply metaphorical. Regardless, however, the sheer violence of the massacre can certainly do both to an individual and the post traumatic syndrome someone as frail as Adèle is to bound exhibit after witnessing such terrible events is the least to be expected.

Analogies to and comparisons with works by Hugo, Stephen Alexis, Glissant, put the Spiralists in serious conversations with their counterparts and show that while the spiral is other, there is common ground with their productions.  She ends this part by noting that the Spiralists have [constantly] “refused the conventions of transparent subjectivity” and don't woo their readership with “passive voyeurism” demanding much more to deal with the impenetrability of the subjects presented. She sees similarities with the aesthetic of the “New Novel and other postmodern literary philosophies...

She begins Part III Space-Time of the of the Spiral with this very pointed question: “How might non-indigenous, post-slavery, and communities such as those described by the Spiralists possibly hope to take possession of the island landscape and to escape the tragic history to which this landscape has borne witness?” This question is several centuries old. In their treatment of time and space in the Caribbean postcolonial record, the Spiralists have chosen to “reflect the sustained ambivalence of the zombie,” making consistent use of Vodou aesthetics, juxtaposing the incongruous, and  avoiding “hierarchical categorizations.” The landscape they present is that of the island, albeit there was a brief stint in the Bahamas. They are certainly aware of the world surrounding them. Frankétienne will even make reference to the Vietnam war and in Mur à crever Raynand will complain about the elites sending their offspring away. How then he decides to leave for the Bahamas is a mystery. The narratives present time and space in a single frame, collapsing past, present and future. This is the dream-like effect alluded to in a previous paragraph. In Mur à crever Raynand walks and walks aimlessly to the point of exhaustion and this represents the “limitations and failures of his existence” as well as the “immediate and social realities of Haiti and the broader extra-insular phenomena   class hierarchy, arbitrary violence absence of governmental accountabilitythat impacts  the people of the contemporary Americas.” She then appeals to Michel de Certeau for an interpretive framework for Raynand's walks which can be viewed as a “lack of a place...” in a city that becomes “an immense experience of lacking a place...”  Both Raynand and his brother die as a result of their wanderings outside of the country attempting find a place they can call their own and this is the experience of the Haitians scattered in the four corners of the world seeking a place they call their own. Ever since 1492 people have been trying to escape a land [even though they will later declare their undying love for it.]

In part IV she deals with stylistic concerns, tackling the “how” of the Spiralists narratives. These narratives are more focused on showing than on telling. For example of Aube tranquille she says this: “... while Aube tranquille similarly calls for the reader's active engagement in order to make some sort of “sense”of the story being told, it melds the phenomenon of orality with post/modern narrative techniques to produce a demanding and hybrid work of historical fiction.  She calls on to Michael Dash as she seeks to define Frankétienne's approach at the Spiral which is a form of writing that  rejects “didacticism, prescribitiveness and the convention of realism... a movement of infinite possibility which is another manifestation of the Césairean ideal.” Frankétienne introduces schizophonia which, according to Yves Chemla, is an attitude or position of the artist who arrives by degrees, or in a stepwise motion to the realization that the sounds he produces “are the only ones capable of evoking the chaos and the pollution that affects the world (as well as language itself) by means of neologisms, lexical inventions, rhymes, and echoes, alliterations and encounters between sounds and images.  She thinks that Frankétienne's schizophonia intersects with Glissant's notion of forced or counter poetics as described in Le Discours Antillais.

Language as a vehicle of expression for communication with the subalterns is a concern of hers. For example Frankétienne has chosen to write Dezafi in Creole to show the ability of that language to capture complex and abstract ideas. This would seem to place Frankétienne in a quandary. The text is so complex that it is not accessible to the perfectly literate, let alone the illiterate. But Frankétienne is genuinely concerned, and the problem of disenfranchisement with regards to literacy and literature is ever present in Les affres d'un défi where the dearth of an expressive vehicle for subaltern discourse is dealt with from a variety of vantage points.  

Glover says that Frankétienne invites the reader to be possessed by the text. In her view this possession is mediated through Vodou aesthetic. She appeals to Alessandra Benedicty's analysis  of the appropriation of Vodou art while the latter takes to task those who attempt to interpret it through postmodernism or via European dismissive lenses. Meaning, she infers, “is produced in and through a  metaphorical possession – an opening and letting go in the presence of the art object.”  She further writes, “where there are vêvê – drawn/written signs – there is the possibility of possession, there is instability of identity and receptivity to a disembodied spirit/meaning invoked non-specifically and residing in a given being/text/word.

She ends her text by reminding us that the Spiralists' text summons the vigilance of scholars to guard against fixating the canon of the French-speaking Caribbean. The fact that these Spiralists are underrepresented serves as a reminder not to settle on de facto canons in the Caribbean space meant to be dynamic.


Professor Nick Nesbitt said that Glover's work is a “tour-de-force, brimming with insight on every page.” He is not far from the truth. One has to admit that she did a nice piece of work. The research was copious and indeed she kept her promise to put the Spiralists in dialogue with their Caribbean counterparts and a host of others. The Spiralists are a tough read, especially Frankétienne. In my youth I attempted Ultravocal and experienced firsthand the frustration Glover alludes to. So it would be an oversimplification if her work were to provide a mere dilution ready for mass consumption. Her aim was to deliver handles to scholars with which to grab hold of the texts and interact with them. Handles did she deliver! She was very creative and thorough in her analysis. Philoctète unfortunately will not enjoy this attention since he is no longer with us. The other two Spiralists should relish this superb opening toward them even if it has been made from an anglophone perspective. It will have ripple effects on the francophone world. Professor Glover has captured well the dynamics of zombification and the restavèk phenomena, both vehicles of exploitation pointing back to slavery days. Both amount to an insatiable appetite to enjoy others toils and painful labors for free. Given how widespread are in Haiti  the concept of zombification on the one hand and the actual praxis of the restavèk on the other hand, this shines the light on a serious problem that Haitian society must continue to grapple with.

A reference to Frankétienne's Creole theatrical output and especially his famed play Pèlen Tèt(1978) would have nicely and definitively resolved the apparent quandary in which Dezafi has placed him. Indeed the Spiralist himself considers one of his greatest satisfactions as an author the fact that he was one day accosted by a “madan sara” (a woman of usually low education who sells in the open air market) and asked when he would grace them with another play. This unmistakably points to the fact that the author succeeded in his attempt to level set with the masses. Li ateri (he landed) would be appropriate Haitian euphemism.  

Haitian mythology is dynamic and is pretty much a work in progress. It is not thousands of years removed as the Greeks' and the Romans' are. After all we're dealing with a society that, in 2015, attributed the death of more than a dozen people electrocuted when a float hit a high power line during the annual carnival festivities to the presence of a stand erected by the cemetery of Port-au-Prince representing Baron Samedi (the god of death and of the cemetery). This theory was advocated by several politicians and so called intellectuals. It is not enough to say that the Spiralists leverage Vodou aesthetics or even appeal to other scholars who approach it from a purely theoretical standpoint, as merely a cultural practice. It is quite useful to understand the Spiralists commitment to the worldview. Are they approaching it as spectators who are merely exploiting the potential it has for good without necessarily being a devotee? Or do they believe in the power of the gods as practitioners do? When I go the Valley of a Thousand Hills in the Durban area in South Africa and sit in a stadium-shaped hut and enjoy a Zulu dance, including the acting out of the oracles of  a sorcerer telling a young man whether he should take a young woman as one of his wives, I am taken by the beauty of the practices but there is so much more that I don't know about them. Am I in the presence of just actors putting on a show for tourists for a few bucks or do they still hold to these practices as a way of life? In connection to Haitian mythology it would be interesting to know when exactly Erzulie Dantor, for example, became the protector deity of lesbians given that scholars (Alfred Metraux, Milo Rigaud, Laënnec Hurbon, Leslie Desmangles) who have provided nomenclatures of Vodou deities early on are silent on this function of hers. Search engines will readily surface this information but where it originates and since when it has been incorporated into Haitian mythology would have been in important marker.

It would have been also an important marker to stress how the Spiralists deal with the issue of fear, precisely this aspect of it: how it is distributed in the interactions of the subalterns with each other. This fear seems to be inherent to the whole system and constitutes a centripetal force in itself. Speaking of it, Laënnec Hurbon had this to say: “It is doubtless, we must acknowledge that this enslaving fear has a preponderant place in the life of the voodooist. We are indeed in front of a de-structured society and so much so that every individual must ensure a maximum of protection in his life. But the religious aspect of Voodoo does not disappear thereby. The character of the voodooistic ceremonies and even of the cult of the dead suffice already to convince us of the permanent presence of strictly religious attitudes in voodooistic practices.” (Laënnec Hurbon, Dieu dans le Vaudou Haïtien, p165). A non trivial answer would have also been to what extent this fear has morphed into the ranks of theorists and scholars. As Glover points out, the Spiralists make some heavy demands on their readership. One of the demands is to be possessed by the text, a possession akin to Vodou possession, a letting go. Theorists and scholars do not always want to be in an altered state of consciousness when it comes to the use of their intellectual faculties and may not readily or eagerly get on with a program that compels them to relinquish control. What role this has played in keeping spiralism out of scholarship circles is unknown and would make for an important study.

Haiti Unbound is not bounded by the evaluative commentaries in the above paragraphs. If something is bounded it is this review, by the cramped space to explore even in a highly concentrated fashion the ground that Glover has covered in this brilliant work. One of the most powerful aspects of this study are the strong assertions she makes with respect to the fact that Haiti has been maligned politically, economically and, at least, in the case of spiralism. This is not a Haitian crying foul here but an external but booming voice intimating that something is scarily wrong.  While one cannot assert that her text is an easy read she was dealing with complex texts the multiple openings she has provided are superb paths that will lead into the crux of the Spiral prose fiction.

Marc-Arthur Pierre-Louis, June 2015