To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure email@example.com
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
Small wars, or guerrilla wars, had an enormous impact in the age of Napoleon. Fought by peasants with access to land and resources, guerrilla wars in Haiti and Spain, in particular, reshaped the world in ways as profound as any of the major regular campaigns. They bled and demoralized the French and set the stage for the emergence of new nations in the Americas. This essay examines the two successful guerrilla wars in Haiti and Spain and compares them to two failed guerrilla wars in Calabria and the Tyrol in order to identify the key factors determining success or failure by guerrilla forces. Among the keys to success were: the geo-strategic importance of the theater of war; mobilizing ideologies; the presence of imperial troops for a long period of time with all of the resulting violence that implies; the reliance of imperial troops on requisitions in the countryside; the presence of strong allies; the impact of disease; and, above all, the presence of socio-economic conditions that both motivated peasants to take up arms to defend their families, land, and resources against long odds and that supplied peasants with the wherewithal to survive the French counterinsurgency.
In 1801-1802 Napoleon dispatched the largest colonial venture of his reign to Haiti. His goal was to remove the famous revolutionary Toussaint Louverture from office and, possibly, restore slavery. But within two years, the remnants of Bonaparte’s once-proud army were evacuated in defeated, and Haiti declared its independence.
Until the 1980s, Catholic elements in Haitian culture tended to be interpreted exclusively in connection to the forced conversion of the enslaved population under French rule. This changed following John Thornton's groundbreaking research into the development of Christianity in early modern Africa—Kongo in particular—and the awareness that a significant number of enslaved Africans already identified as Christian before their arrival in Saint-Domingue. This article's goal is to go beyond Thornton's research by showing that we can acquire a better understanding of Catholic elements in Haitian culture if we start our analysis in late medieval Iberia. To illustrate this, the article focuses on one of Haiti's most enigmatic cultural traditions, known as Chariopié, Lwalwadi, or, most commonly, Rara. Although this performance has received abundant scholarly interest, questions relating to the origin of its Catholic elements have remained largely unanswered. This is regrettable considering that Rara parades follow the liturgical calendar of Lent and intensify in frequency during Holy Week. Moreover, a key element of Rara consists of the destruction of an effigy of Judas Iscariot, in accordance with the Biblical account of the Easter story. Using a comparative analysis, this article presents a number of remarkable parallels between Rara and late medieval Iberian Lent traditions. To explain these parallels, it claims that enslaved Africans who were familiar with Iberian practices prior to their arrival in the Caribbean established, by their own initiative, a network of mutual aid and burial societies modeled on Afro-Iberian Catholic brotherhoods.
Afro-Latin American newspapers included extensive coverage of Black populations in other countries. Articles on Black populations and race relations in Latin America, the United States, and Europe and Africa are examples of “practices of diaspora,” international communication and engagement among Black peoples that grew out of, and helped to forge, feelings of connectedness and racial solidarity. The Black press also reported on, or offered commentary on, more formal political movements promoting Black internationalism, such as Garveyism. Black papers in Argentina and Uruguay reported regularly on their northern neighbor, Brazil. Cuban papers included Puerto Rican and Dominican writers and discussions of Haiti. Throughout Latin America, writers and intellectuals of all races watched with mixed horror and fascination the workings of racial segregation and anti-Blackness in the United States. Diasporic ties were further thickened by travel, migration, and personal connections and friendships among African American and Afro-Latin American writers and intellectuals.
This chapter examines the role of competition in Rara celebrations in Haiti. Rara, a Lenten religious festival that features marching bands and Vodou rituals, has a complex relationship with competition, which is unpacked in this chapter. As is argued, by investigating conflict and cooperation as dimensions of competition, it is possible to understand how Haitians navigate the complex social terrain of Rara using both confrontational and collaborative techniques.
More than a Massacre is a history of race, citizenship, statelessness, and genocide from the perspective of ethnic Haitians in Dominican border provinces. Sabine F. Cadeau traces a successively worsening campaign of explicitly racialized anti-Haitian repression that began in 1919 under the American Occupiers, accelerated in 1930 with the rise of Trujillo, and culminated in 1937 with the slaughter of an estimated twenty thousand civilians. Relatively unknown by contrast with contemporary events in Europe, the Haitian-Dominican experience has yet to feature in the broader literature on genocide and statelessness in the twentieth century. Bringing to light the massacre from the perspective of the ethnic Haitian victims themselves, Cadeau combines official documents with oral sources to demonstrate how ethnic Haitians interpreted their changing legal status at the border, as well as their interpretation of the massacre and its aftermath, including the ongoing killing and land conflict along the post-massacre border.
What effect did the special entitlements offered Cubans by eleven Presidents have on actual Cuban immigration? Rates of immigration from Cuba and Haiti, and the Dominican Republic, another Caribbean country of roughly the same population, are compared. The chapter also addresses “lessons learned” about over half a century of US inequitable treatment of immigrants, about how “path-dependent” privileging may be, about use and abuse of Presidential discretionary power to favor certain immigrants and disfavor others, and about how and why immigration and immigrant-related policies and practices may persist long after justified by their initial rationale. “Lessons learned” also include explanations about how and why a country as powerful as the United States has been limited in its control over immigration. The Cuban government, with far less resources, as well as ordinary Cubans, in the United States and Cuba, have also shaped US policies.
The Haitian Revolution (1789–1804) in Saint-Domingue (later Haiti) and the African Protestant movement in the early United States coincided to produce a collective of protest literature by Black authors against the unequal treatment and inhumane bondage of Black people. Black Atlantic revolutionary literature offers a countervailing narrative to a historiography of the Haitian Revolution based on analysis from contemporary literary works by white writers. This repertoire of Black literature presents the history of expanding political and social freedoms across the Atlantic world. Black writers constructed disparate revolutionary views of freedom. In Saint-Domingue, Toussaint Louverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines pursued different policies, and Julien Raimond advocated predominantly for enfranchisement of gens du couleur, free persons with African and European parentage. African American clergy Lemuel Haynes, Absalom Jones, and Richard Allen looked to Christian Republicanism to end slavery, while Freemason leader Prince Hall embraced revolutionary violence as legitimate to secure Black liberation. The geopolitical triumphs of the Haitian Revolution inspired transitions in Black Atlantic literature toward resistance writing throughout the nineteenth century. The revolutionary-era collective established a literary foundation upon which later Haitian and Black American authors published works heralding the birth of an independent Black republic in the Caribbean.
This chapter chronicles military incursions on behalf of humanity into Somalia, Haiti, and the Balkans twice to feed the starving, restore democracy, and rescue populations from annihilation. These altruistic missions, known as “military operations other than war,” or MOOTW (pronounced as “moot-wah”) were viewed skeptically by the traditionally minded Pentagon brass. They regarded MOOTW as a diversion from real soldiering. But troops died in them. George H. W. Bush committed US forces, under United Nations auspices, to Somalia so as to distribute food to the starving Somalis in their volatile and violent land. This humanitarian mission led to a bloody skirmish in Mogadishu during William J. Clinton’s presidency that politically humiliated America. Also in 1993, a military junta in Haiti ousted the democratically elected Jean-Bertrand Aristide. When desperate Haitians landed on American beaches, Clinton tried sanctions to restore Aristide. Then he militarily invaded the Caribbean nation to put defrocked Catholic priest back in power. Sobered by the “Mog” firefight, Clinton refused to help halt the bloodbath in Rwanda. He could not avoid the raging war in the Balkans to rescue Bosnian Muslims from Serbia in the worst conflict since World War II. In 1995, Washington corralled Britain, France, and other NATO members into bombing the Serbs and then occupying Bosnia to preserve the peace. Next, the tiny Muslim-dominated province of Kosovo erupted against its Serb overlords. A three-month sustained bombing campaign compelled Serbia to surrender.
This chapter focuses on the relationality been enslavement, punishment, and convict mobility in the French, Spanish and British empires in the Caribbean, into the 1870s, arguing for an interconnected approach to punitive European geopolitics. Following the Haitian Revolution and the closure of Spanish colonies to enslaved convicts from other polities, British judicial process used penal transportation to the distant colonies of New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land. During the 1830s, however, they were closed off following the development of anti-transportation sentiments. At this time, Britain’s West Indian colonies had for some years been interested in the establishment of a penal colony in the Caribbean region. Anti-transportation ideas reignited these debates, and British Guiana and Trinidad each established remote, inland penal settlements, but only for locally convicted felons. The chapter notes that in discussions about the abolition of the slave trade at the turn of the nineteenth century, pro-slavery campaigners justified it through the comparison of judicial enslavement and penal transportation. This provides important background for understanding the use of the language of enslavement more generally as a rhetorical device in broader debates about the abolition of transportation and its aftermath in the Caribbean.
The tropes of bondage that pervade Emily Dickinson’s lyric poems were significant to contemporary American accounts of the lyric and its relation to individual liberty. Dickinson is often held up as the paradigmatic lyric poet: reclusive, but unbounded in her imagination; pure voice, speaking on the other side of the door. Dickinson herself returns endlessly to tropes of the prison, chains and bonds. At times she even expresses a sadistic delight in imagining the torture of others. The chapter argues that, given the convulsions of her time and her family’s direct political engagements with the Kansas-Nebraska Act, the Fugitive Slave Act and the Civil War, it is surprising that slavery is almost entirely absent from Dickinson’s poetry. The chapter reflects on the tropes of incarceration or bondage in Dickinson’s poetics, to consider what the missing slave means for the model of lyric that she has come to represent.
No powerful legal imagining accompanied the colonial ventures of the French old regime, with exploitation of New World resources initiated and controlled by state officials. But operations were badly resourced and conducted by private adventurers and representatives of noble families interested in influence back home. Profits from colonial expansion were to be shared between Paris and powerful interests in the French maritime provinces. Although the Atlantic settlements were legally imagined as overseas parts of the realm, governed by the customs of Paris, in practice, metropolitan control remained weak. Profits from the most lucrative colony, Saint-Domingue, were received from chattel slavery legally organised under the Code noir (1685). Few French lawyers or intellectuals discussed slavery; the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen (1789) remained silent about it. The slave revolution of 1791 was largely autonomous, eventually pushing the National Assembly to issue an emancipation decree. After the failure of Napoleon’s effort to recapture the island, Haiti declared independence in 1804. But the first decolonised state remained an international pariah.
Haiti had a singular importance in the life of Frederick Douglass. Like countless other African Americans, Douglass upheld the Haitian Revolution as an unprecedented blow for human rights. He appreciated the symbolism of Haiti, a self-identified Black nation-state. As an abolitionist, Douglass used his platform to call on the United States to grant diplomatic recognition to Haiti and opine on the proposed mass emigration of African Americans from the United States to Haiti. He, after declining an opportunity to visit Haiti at the outset of the Civil War, eventually went there as a U.S. diplomat from 1889 to 1891. In Port-au-Prince, Douglass played a key role in a diplomatic conflict between the United States and Haiti. His experience in Haiti would not only lead to his appointment as one of Haiti’s representatives at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair but also have a significant impact on his political thought.
When people living in poverty are asked to describe their living conditions, mental health issues quickly come to mind (grief, sadness, anger, fear, bitterness, frustration, discontent, anxiety, and emotional damage consisting of low mood and depression, fatigue, hypersensitivity, sleep difficulties and physical pain). Although the association between poverty and mental health have been widely demonstrated in the literature, care must be taken to avoid the psychiatrization of poverty. However, how can healthcare be provided to people living in poverty when basic needs are not met? This article explores the global challenge of providing mental health services in impoverished populations, using the example of the poorest country in America: Haiti. It examines the availability of services offered through the Mental Health Centre at Morne Pelé, and the necessity for innovative and comprehensive approaches to provide culturally appropriate care that meets the real needs of populations. It highlights effective measures that policy makers should implement to develop an efficient mental healthcare system based on the lessons of the Mental Health Centre at Morne Pelé.
There is a growing literature in support of the effectiveness of task-shared mental health interventions in resource-limited settings globally. However, despite evidence that effect sizes are greater in research studies than actual care, the literature is sparse on the impact of such interventions as delivered in routine care. In this paper, we examine the clinical outcomes of routine depression care in a task-shared mental health system established in rural Haiti by the international health care organization Partners In Health, in collaboration with the Haitian Ministry of Health, following the 2010 earthquake.
For patients seeking depression care betw|een January 2016 and December 2019, we conducted mixed-effects longitudinal regression to quantify the effect of depression visit dose on symptoms, incorporating interaction effects to examine the relationship between baseline severity and dose.
306 patients attended 2052 visits. Each visit was associated with an average reduction of 1.11 in depression score (range 0–39), controlling for sex, age, and days in treatment (95% CI −1.478 to −0.91; p < 0.001). Patients with more severe symptoms experienced greater improvement as a function of visits (p = 0.04). Psychotherapy was provided less frequently and medication more often than expected for patients with moderate symptoms.
Our findings support the potential positive impact of scaling up routine mental health services in low- and middle-income countries, despite greater than expected variability in service provision, as well as the importance of understanding potential barriers and facilitators to care as they occur in resource-limited settings.
“Shadows of Haiti” examines echoes of the Haitian Revolution in three texts from the extended Caribbean: Victor Séjour’s “Le Mulâtre,”, Gertrudis Gómez de Avellaneda’s Sab, and Charles Chesnutt’s Paul Marchand F.M.C. After an overview of world-systems theory and an introduction to the historical context in which each of these texts is situated, this chapter compares the ways in which the potentially violent revolt of a mixed-race heterosexual male protagonist is neutered or silenced by the conventions of sentiment. Haunting all three texts is the dark shadow of the violent revolt in Saint-Domingue, enmeshed with the consequences of deadly family secrets related to race and violence. In “Le Mulâtre” and Sab, the male protagonist dies. In Paul Marchand F.M.C, however, the hero survives but is silenced and forced into exile in France.
This chapter examines the publication of “Theresa” in Freedom’s Journal, a short story about women’s wartime heroism into the broader history of the Haitian Revolution. “Theresa” paints an image of mixed-race womanhood that was not insignificant for both this American venue and for a larger transatlantic context. Like the anonymously written British epistolary novel, The Woman of Colour, A Tale (1808), “Theresa” shows mixed-race women who are aligned with Black racial uplift rather than white assimilation. Moreover, both of these texts present images of mixed-race heroines who differ significantly from those of the “tragic mulatta” genre that would gain popularity during the antebellum period. Instead, “Theresa” frames its mixed-race heroines as models not only of racial solidarity but also of radical abolitionist action. In this, “Theresa” anticipates postbellum mixed-race heroines, through foregoing mixed-race women’s heterosexual union with Black men with their political action alongside them. The chapter offers an analysis of early nineteenth-century texts such as Laura Sansay’s Secret History; or, the Horrors of St. Domingo (1808) and Zelica the Creole (1820), which make the safety of white women the priority of their mixed-race characters.
In the wake of the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act, free African Americans felt they had as much to lose as fugitive slaves. Many felt that they would never be recognized as citizens and that they would never be granted legal equality or social acceptance in the predominantly white United States. This chapter shows that, against this backdrop, free-soil havens abroad resonated more than ever as potent symbols of liberty, equality, uplift, and independence. They offered a stark contrast to the United States’ ongoing commitment to slavery at its very highest levels. Building on decades of practice, American anti-slavery advocates in the 1850s leveraged the practical and symbolic value of international free-soil havens to bolster the fight of freedom and equality at home and abroad. From national anti-slavery conventions to burgeoning black nationalist political thought, this chapter shows that free-soil spaces became dominant focal points of escape, resistance, and collective action until the outbreak of civil war in 1861.
While always hostile to white demands that they expatriate, free black northerners considered emigrating on their own terms, as an affirmation of their dual identity as black and American. Even as stalwart integrationists such as Frederick Douglass criticized his peers for betraying their enslaved kin, emigrationists such as Martin Delany, Mary Ann Shadd, and James Theodore Holly debated the true purpose of black exodus, as well as the most desirable destination, concurring only in their dislike for the ACS and Liberia. Where to go? Canada, for its proximity to the United States? The Niger Valley, for its connection to their African ancestry? Or Haiti, the one black-run state in the Western Hemisphere, and a bastion of black militancy? As emigrationists duly divided, exploring and settling distant lands, they were shocked to realize just how American, even “Anglo-Saxon” their assumptions really were – and how much they had to call on much-resented white assistance. And so, like white colonizationists, they entered the 1860s praying that some more powerful entity would assume the onerous task of fostering African American emigration.
Chapter 13 summarises how the blood trade, and especially the sale of plasma, obtained from ‘donors’ who repeatedly attended specialised ‘plasmapheresis centres’, played a substantial role in the worldwide dissemination of HIV and also in the amplification of HIV shortly after it arrived in Haiti. In Port-au-Prince, a for-profit plasmapheresis centre, owned by a Miami investor and a Haitian minister, attracted several thousand poor men and women who sold their plasma week after week for a few dollars in 1971–2, just a few years after the virus arrived in Haiti. HIV spread extremely quickly in other plasmapheresis centres, especially in China, where quarter of a million people were infected with HIV. Other victims included haemophiliacs from many countries who were contaminated when treated with a coagulation factor concentrate whose preparation required the pooling of plasma from thousands of donors in many countries, procured through ‘plasma brokers’.