Guantanamo becomes American and the Mole stays on the list

In 1903 the United States took Guantanamo Bay in eastern Cuba as the anchorage for the Caribbean fleet it was then assembling. The acquisition was supposed to settle the question of where American warships would coal and shelter in these waters. It did not. Officers who used the place found fault with it, and their complaints kept alive an older American appetite for the Mole Saint-Nicolas, the deep harbour on the northwestern tip of Haiti that commands the Windward Passage. Washington had already gone after the Mole once, in 1891, when Frederick Douglass was minister in Port-au-Prince and the Hyppolite government declined to hand it over. Nicholls records how long the interest persisted because it explains what came afterwards. A base was wanted, a satisfactory one had not been obtained, and Haiti held the best site in the region. Twelve years after Guantanamo the marines landed at Port-au-Prince and stayed nineteen years.

On 1 January 1904 Haiti marked a hundred years since Dessalines proclaimed independence at Gonaives. Political violence and civil strife ran alongside the ceremonies and made them awkward. In the same year Washington announced the Roosevelt Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine, claiming a right to send troops into any state in the region that failed to keep order or pay its debts. The claim was aimed at the hemisphere in general, and Haiti, with a treasury in trouble and a government that changed hands by force, fitted the description as well as anywhere. The national football team was also founded in 1904, a small piece of institution building in a year when the older institutions were coming apart. So here is the balance at a hundred years. The country had survived the French indemnity, a long run of coups, foreign invasion attempts, earthquakes and a diplomatic quarantine imposed because it was governed by black men. It had not prospered. The next hundred years would open with American marines.

On 29 January 1904 Robert Stein, a translator at the United States Geological Survey in Washington and a former Arctic explorer, wrote privately to the novelist Thomas Nelson Page. He set out a plan to remove the nine million black citizens of the United States to Nigeria. Britain would rename the colony Hopeland, crown a Tuskegee graduate as emperor with a gold throne and a cabinet of ministers, and keep every actual power with an English resident, the arrangement already used in the feudatory states of India. Men of mixed descent would supervise the fields and white engineers would supervise them. County by county it would be made illegal for black residents to own property, trade or take work, their land bought at full value and an indemnity paid, so that nobody had to be forced aboard a ship. Stein wrote that the scheme could not be published and asked Page to show it to British diplomats in the city. He had held the idea for fifteen years. Page's papers record no reply.

At the start of the twentieth century Haiti had 594 public schools, a figure that had shrunk to 465 by 1913. The private system moved the same way, from 82 schools in 1905 to 53 ten years later. The numbers meant little in practice, because the state of politics made it impossible to allocate money to schooling at all. By the time the American occupation began the public system was near total ruin, the literacy rate for the country stood well below ten percent, and in the countryside almost everyone was illiterate. A 1931 survey of rural schools found rooms with hardly a bench, possibly no blackboard, certainly no maps, and a teacher who was illiterate and could not perform the four arithmetical operations. The census of 1950 put illiteracy at around ninety percent among Haitians over fifteen, ninety three percent in rural districts, and ninety seven to ninety eight percent in some of them.