Wairimu Muriithi
The narrative of the Haitian Revolution has (re-)emerged in spaces of discourse — there have been countless concerted efforts to introduce and re-introduce it, especially in academia. C.L.R James’ The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution (1938), a history of the twelve-year revolution, then, serves to be an extremely useful, albeit extremely detailed, text for the purposes of these conversations. Placing the revolution in the context of the French Revolution, James also paid particular attention to the rise (and consequent fall) of slave-born Toussaint L’Ouverture, who led the revolt for almost its entire duration. Careful though James is to point out that Toussaint did not make the revolution, it is difficult to discern from the text that he is and was not held almost solely responsible for what was the first ‘successful’ Negro slave insurrection in history. In this essay, I would like to point to the ways in which James drew attention to the importance of communication, both on an individual, personal level, and on state governmental levels, to the revolution.
Toussaint was without a doubt the political
and military genius that James pains him to be, but he was obviously not
without fault. James frequently points
to two major flaws: vacillation and secrecy, more so in the years leading up to
the war for independence against Napoleonic France. When writing the San
Domingo Constitution in 1801, he formed an assembly of six men – notably, none of
these men were Black – that functioned as little more than a group of
figureheads, for the document was “Toussaint L’Overture from the first line to
the last, and in it he enshrined his principles
of government” (James 1938: 263, emphasis mine). He went so far as printing it
out, which was akin to etching it in stone at a time when the costs of printing
were prohibitive, and at a time when
“he had the censorship of all printed matter” (James 1938: 264).
Although James repeatedly refers to
Toussaint’s despotism, he makes the curious observation that the revolutionary
leader’s weakness was “not a moral weakness. It was a specific error, a total
miscalculation of the constituent events” (James 1938: 291). Yet it cannot be
possible to separate Toussaint’s strategic decisions from his personal
politics; in this case, his decision to ratify a Constitution with little to no
contribution, for instance, speaks to his reluctance to communicate with the
masses and with his army. This can be further traced to his opinion of the
Black people of San Domingo: even though he had no doubt they could be equal
to, or even superior to the white coloniser, he did not trust them to reach
[his] desired level of development—be it education, agriculture, political
administration and all other aspects tied to economics—just yet. James never
states it outright, but he does make it evident that Toussaint held the Black
people of San Domingo in very low regard, socially and intellectually. Indeed,
James concedes that “the policy he persisted in reduced the masses to a state
of stupor” (1938: 286), and that “to bewilder the masses is to strike the
deadliest of all blows at the revolution” (1938: 287).
It is thus this perception he had of
his own people, and his vacillation, that had his army and the masses confused
when Napoleon finally sent an expedition to the island to return it to its
former glory—a glory that was almost solely dependent on the bodies of Black
slaves. So invested he was in the prosperity of San Domingo, and rightly so,
that James’ writing suggests that his priorities wavered between Black
liberation and the protection of resources and property. Certainly, he never
had any intention to make any agreement or concession that would condemn his
people back to the life of slavery, but his ability to compartmentalise quite
possibly made him think little of the psyche of the Black people of San
Domingo, who still worked for white colonists after the abolition of slavery,
albeit with payment.
Needless to say, Toussaint’s secret
desire for political autonomy from France without
actual independence did indeed bewilder the masses, and consequently (but
not solely) led to his downfall and the decimation of the island after the war
for independence. James writes that even the men closest to him—his brother
Paul L’Ouverture, Dessalines, Moïse, Sontonax, Vincent and
Christophe—eventually reached a point of frustration with or cluelessness about
his decisions and his intentions, which caused severe fragmentation within the
armed forces of San Domingo and inevitably, amongst the masses, who often
looked to their long-time local leaders for guidance, even though they knew of
Toussaint and his magnificent power.
Communication is obviously one of
the most powerful tools of any political event, particularly a war, and Toussaint’s politics—perhaps even his ego—
made him abysmal at it. It is, however, worthwhile to think about transnational
communication throughout the twelve years, especially that between France and
San Domingo, and the role it played, however seemingly insignificant, in the
revolution. I was especially interested, therefore, in the communicative authority
and power of a decree.
The text’s bibliography states that
“it is impossible to understand the San Domingo revolution unless it is studied
in close relationship with the revolution in France” (James 1938: 383). This is
certainly true, and dense with detail as James’ book is, especially regarding
administrative politics, it is necessary to understand both the events and the
meeting room and documented machinations that were meant to determine the
trajectory of both France and San Domingo, later Haiti.
The San Domingo revolts started the year it was decreed in French
parliament that free Mulattoes—necessarily the children of free parents—were
granted the right to vote. Although public knowledge in France, the decree
never officially arrived in San Domingo, even though it left France. It was
hardly a secret, for Governor Blanchelande wrote to France—three to four months
after it had been ratified—“detailing the violet reception of the May decree by
the planters” (James 1938: 79). Yet in the first half of 1792, the French
government, after numerous back and forth arguments, granted the same rights as
those of the whites to all Mulattos
(April 4th 1792), many of whom were fighting with the white
colonists in San Domingo. About the Black slaves, not a word was said. This
silence was as informative as if it had been shouted from the rooftops and
James correctly opines, “the slaves, ignorant of politics, had been right not
to wait on these eloquent phrase-makers” (1938: 116). Indeed, although still a
French colony, and heavily influenced by the beginning of the French
Revolution, San Domingo often went about its political and economic affairs
without much trans-Atlantic consultation. This explains why, even though it
took several months for this decree to reach San Domingo—it was signed into law
in April but only arrived in September—Sontonax found that the ‘Mulatto
question’ had been solved, and the whites and Mulattos in most of San Domingo
had begun to assimilate and get along, and they readily accepted the decree.
Yet on August 10th , 1792, while Sontonax was still on
his way to deliver this very decree, the French masses stormed the Tuileries
palace, imprisoned the royal family and put a new Parliament in place. This
news only arrived in San Domingo in October, and caused an immediate fracturing
in an already weakened society. Sonthonax, with the support of the Mulattoes
due to his commitment to the April 4th decree, defeated the
royalists on the island and banished them. This was an event created by
communication crossovers and what would be considered delays today; in the
space of a few months, Mulattoes were granted rights by two separate but
co-dependent regimes, they found themselves in favour with the whites, and then
at war with them. This inevitably took a heavy toll on Toussaint’s armies and
the slave population of San Domingo, about whom nothing was said, but
everything was heard.
Another similar sequence of events, built on a decree, took place
the following year. In August 1793, Sonthonax, a right-wing Jacobin, declared
the abolition of slavery in San Domingo in a bid to win Toussaint and his army
back to France’s side, for they had deflected to the Spaniards. Toussaint,
probably in his usual undemocratic style, made the decision not to join the
French. James does not make it clear whether Sonthonax’s decision made its way
to France, or even if it left San Domingo, yet on February 4th,
1794, France abolished slavery in all its colonies, and declared all
inhabitants citizens regardless of colour—certainly, this was a decree that had
been in the works long before Sonthonax’s own. Immediately, Toussaint turned
his forces around and joined France’s side; although this may have been a
surprising about-turn, it was an early sign of the high esteem Toussaint held
the French government in, and perhaps even that of his later betrayal of
Sonthonax, a trusted ally.
Again, this decree only arrived in San Domingo in May, three
months after it was news in France. Morally, it hardly mattered because the
abolition of slavery was the very point of the revolution, and even in those
three months the insurrections continued. However, there is security in
official documentation and ratification, and it is in this security that
Toussaint placed his faith until the day he died. About this, James makes what
I think is the most astute observation: “Toussaint was still thinking in terms
of the decree of February 4th, 1794. The black revolution had passed
him by” (1938: 321).
Toussaint’s apparent middle ground—determination to remain a
colony, but with political autonomy—ultimately brought about his destruction,
and he died before he could see Haitian independence, opposed as he might have
been to it. James’ books recognises two important matters: firstly, it is one
of the first and most significant attempt to defy Western silence and canon by
insisting on telling the story of the Haitian revolution. Secondly, despite his
obvious reverence of the brilliant revolutionary, he ‘deromanticises’ an
overarching deification of Toussaint by repeatedly and deliberately bringing up
his conviction that France would not re-introduce slavery to the colony,
despite all evidence to the contrary. James addresses the confusion that
Toussaint’s simultaneous brilliance and despotic silence that ultimately
brought about Haiti’s independence and its destruction. Throughout, he weaves
the narrative of European imperialism, such that he arrives, perhaps
inadvertently, the condition of the postcolony that Mbembe so often talks
about.
Finally: in the appendix, it is noted, “the small size of the
islands made communication between the rural areas and the urban quick and
easy” (1938: 392). There is no doubt this is true, and James’ text clearly
narrates how quickly news moved across the island, just as it tells how long it
took for news to travel between the colony and the colonial power. It is
important to recall that three months or more was not necessarily too long a
time for a decree to cross the ocean, and it is equally important to think
about what this would mean for revolt today. In the 1930s, James recognised that
the fight against white supremacy and imperialism was not over; over eighty
years later, this rings true. Yet as Black people across the round use the
Haitian Revolution and subsequent revolutions as a backdrop and a source of
inspiration, there are phenomena that happened then that couldn’t happen now,
despite them happening against an almost-identical system of white hegemony.
Revolution today depends heavily on the rapid dissemination of
information—three months of oblivion were both beneficial and useless to the
revolution. Three months of oblivion in today’s global political climate, that
speaks the empty rhetoric of peaceful coexistence and meritocracy in capital,
is impossible for most, and a matter of life or death for all oppressed people.
The importance of social media in revolution today perhaps plays that which
decrees played in the Haitian Revolution, and I cannot help but wonder what
James would write about revolution and global communications in the 21st
Century.
Works cited:
James,
C.L.R., The Black Jacobins (1938).
