A writer calls colour the governing spirit of the new regime

Pierre Frederique, writing in 1902, held that the colour question was the animating spirit of the government of Nord Alexis. He was a contemporary and a participant, which gives the judgement its weight. Haitian politics in this period is often narrated as a run of coups without content, generals replacing generals for reasons of appetite. Frederique's claim is that the contests turned on a consistent axis: whether power belonged to the black officer class of the provinces or to the largely mulatto commercial and professional families of the capital, and that every faction understood this whatever its manifestos said. David Nicholls builds a large argument out of witnesses like him, following colour through Haitian political thought from independence forward. The date is the part worth noticing. This was said openly in 1902 by a Haitian writing for Haitians, decades before foreign scholars discovered the subject and long before it became a thing the country's official histories preferred to leave alone.

A set of ordinary statutes was turned against Vodou healers in New Orleans in the decades around 1900. From 1909 federal mail fraud law was invoked against practitioners who did business by post, and conviction carried a penitentiary sentence. The Louisiana Board of Health prosecuted people for practising medicine without a licence under the Medical Practice Act of 1894, and a revision in 1929 set a fine of fifty to a hundred dollars or ten to ninety days in the parish prison. The city passed its own statutes against fortune telling and obtaining money under false pretences in 1897, in 1916 and again in 1924. This ran in parallel with the American occupation of Haiti from 1915 to 1934 and the persecution of Vodou leaders there. Stories circulated in the United States about bloodthirsty rites and human sacrifice, told to justify the occupation, supplied the reasoning for the prosecutions in Louisiana.

African objections to colonial rule in the early twentieth century travelled through channels that were not political in form. Carving is one. By the 1930s African artists were producing work that mocked Europeans and the administration they ran, and taking supposedly European styles into African hands was itself a claim about who owned the form. Newspapers are another. The earliest African papers appeared in South Africa in the 1900s, an African press followed in West Africa, and by the years between the wars those papers were the main forum for anti colonial argument. Literacy limited who could read them directly, and villages worked around that by gathering while one person who could read went through the paper aloud. The educated men who wrote for these papers understood how the colonial economy was arranged and resented their exclusion from it. Before the early 1940s few of them asked for independence. They asked for a place inside the system. Colonial schooling had produced its own critics, and the war produced the rest.

The earthquake that hit Kingston in January 1907 was the worst seismic disaster in the northern Caribbean since Cap-Haitien in 1842. Two thirds of the city went down. Brick buildings put up to replace wooden ones after the fire of 1882 collapsed on the people inside them. Survivors walking the streets afterwards greeted each other by asking whether the other was alive. Fire followed and took what the shaking had left. Hundreds of the dead were buried in the May Pen cemetery under numbers pinned to rough crosses. The Myrtle Bank Hotel, full for the winter tourist season, was partly destroyed. The injured were carried to overcrowded hospitals on drays, there was looting, and the racecourse at the upper end of the city filled with tents where rich and poor camped for months. Many Jamaicans left the island. Haitian exiles in Kingston lost their businesses, among them Callisthenes Fouchard, whose Hotel Royale was wrecked.