More Than the Headlines

On Haiti, literature and memory

Lately, Haiti has been in the news. Like many people who see beyond the headlines because I know and love people who may easily be associated with the tragedy, I consider what else Haiti and Haitians mean. Years ago, in the summer of 2010, I was sitting in Port-au-Prince, in the working-class neighborhood of Delma 33, reading CLR James, The Black Jacobins. I read the text with an insatiable craving in a semi-derelict building that was heavily surrounded by survivors of the devastating January 2010 earthquake that struck the capital city. Like many people who were disheartened by the death and destruction of hundreds of thousands of people, I wanted to do something to help. When I arrived in Port-au-Prince, I was confronted with the limits of humanitarianism my growing anger for disparities between Haitians living in tent communities in the valley, and aid workers living in villas on the mountaintop. With heaps of time on my hands and very few places to go, I often found myself reading. More than anything, I wanted to understand the Haitian revolution on the very soil where a successful Black uprising happened. So I turned to a Black Marxist with a special take on Haiti’s history.

Cyril Lionel Robert (CLR) James was born in Trinidad in 1901. At the time, his place of birth was a British colony. Fifteen hundred kilometers apart, the lives of Haitians and Trinidadiands were vastly different, even if they shared a common bond of being predominantly Black islands in the Caribbean. The main thing that set them apart was that Haitians ruled themselves, while Trinidadians were subjected to rule and representation by a European monarchy. James, who was most likely a descendant of enslaved people who were stolen from African kin, purchased by Europeans, forcibly transported to an island, subjected to chattel labor on a plantation, and eventually “liberated” (but not compensated) by the British Empire for their suffering was not only curious about the other island, he thought it could be a model for generating proletarian movements. Haiti, as he wrote, had a different history, where the enslaved, the gen de coulers, merchants, and white plantation owners were vying for power and redefining who could be a thinking political subject. As James notes, Haiti was an anomaly then and now.

What drew me to James was not his biography but how he understood it. He wrote about the Communist International, debated other Marxists such as Leon Trotsky, wrote literature, and even played cricket. What set him apart from other Black intellectuals of his time is that he did not merely want to assimilate into this empire; he considered how historical narrative impacted how the beneficiaries could be held accountable for their crimes. He once wrote:

When history is written as it ought to be, it is the moderation and long patience of the masses at which men will wonder, not their ferocity. The cruelties of property and privilege are always more ferocious than the revenge of poverty and oppression.

To my knowledge, British secondary students are not assigned C.L.R. James’ The Black Jacobins—or any of his texts—for their A Levels. James is not part of the British canon because his work might force the nation to address and make amends to the African-descended people whose ancestors were enslaved in the Caribbean. For more on British and Caribbean history and its reception, I highly recommend reading the work of Christienna Fryar. She also has a Substack newsletter.

Nevertheless, I am grateful to James for writing this history not only for its moral clarity but also because it counteracted the dehumanization that I witnessed countless Haitians experiencing in Delma 33 when I was living there. Rather than being celebrated for expanding modern understandings of what it means to be human and entitled to rights, they were humiliated for their ancestors’ bravery. Even with that tenacity of spirit, there is also another side to Haitians that James did not fully capture. Like any other group with flesh and bone, Haitians dream and tell their own stories. As the daughter of Haitians, I have spent a lifetime learning and reading literature and poetry by Haitians, thus garnering an entirely different view.

Edwidge Danticat’s Breathe, Eyes, Memory is the first novel I read by a Haitian writer, and it was assigned to me in high school. This most resonated with me of the novels even though I did not immigrate from Haiti.  I saw in Sophie Caco, the protagonist, the internal battle that a gifted and taciturn girl had in reckoning with her shame. The sense that she could not fit in in Haiti or the US, but that somehow coming home to the village of Croix-des-Rosets might be a way for her to establish some serenity in her life.

Danticat is part of a longer legacy of Haitian literatis. Another novel written by a Haitian author is Jacques Stephen Alexis General Sun, My Brother. I read the text accidentally while in college because of my quest to read more leftist literature. At the time, I was living in an anarchist-bent housing co-operative with hippies who barely showered and bicycle nerds who thought that anyone who drove a car was a literal devil. We were all on some spectrum, finding ways to live out our politics. So, coming across Alexis, a Haitian communist novelist, poet, and activist, I felt like I was born in the wrong decade and living amongst the unfitting people, a cast of characters who proposed a vote to determine if it was ethical to purchase tofu or prosciutto. But I digress; General Sun, My Brother is a story about plantation labor post enslavement, Haitian migration on the island of Hispaniola, and a peasant strike. This is a story of the Haitian peasant class trying to find dignity, and Alexis accomplishes this with magical realism and Marxist aphorisms.

Other Haitian authors have inspired me. Their novels mostly show Haitians' complexities, history, and politics. The novels focusing on Haiti's recent history highlight the dictatorships and the country's relationship with the Dominican Republic. What I love about these books and these people is that they activate their imagination beyond the headlines and consider just how Haitians and their descendants are genuinely and fully human.

What I’ve Been Up To

I’m still raising a child and figuring out how to do so in the least oppressive and traumatic way. Part of this entails following his lead, figuring out how he communicates, and reading about parenting. One handy text is The Whole-Brain Child. Of course, I will be far from perfect, and there is a world much larger than the home that will have a broader impression of how my son will be in the world. And yet, I’m taught that these first months will significantly impact him.

Speaking of which, I am a semi-working parent. I keep pitching essays that keep getting rejected. I am reading books that have no direct relationship to my “beat,” which includes health, reproductive rights, epidemics, and art. But the relevant thing, which takes up more time, is the publicity work for my forthcoming book, A History of the World in Six Plagues, which comes out on 11 March 2025. Although it may seem far away, the critical work is done now to ensure that it is successful. Pre-orders help and also get the word out. The publicity news about this A History of the World in Six Plagues…forthcoming.

What I’ve Been Reading

I recently read “Minimum Payment Due,” a short story by Saïd Sayafiezadeh in The New Yorker, discussing the protagonist’s debt and a cult. The author cuts through the virtues and flaws of modern America’s debt problem, with a bit of wit about class descension and cult recruitment. Sayafiezadeh’s story is cleverly curated and a fun read for anyone who has reflected on how to “improve” themselves.

What I’m Listening To

Because parenting has taken up a bit of my life, I have succumbed to the curatorial expertise of music enthusiasts. As such, I’ve been listening to NTS Radio.

Closing Thoughts

Thank you all for reading and engaging with this newsletter. I will continue to read and reflect on the world's wonders, even when it is easy to doom stroll. At the same time, I finally gave in and migrated to Blue Sky, where you can follow me.

As always, thank you for reading,

Edna Bonhomme