Market women withhold their compliance and the occupation feels it

Under the American occupation the market women of Haiti went back to the roads and the market squares, and by going they refused the control the occupation claimed over their labour, their movement and their choices. Their claim on the nation ran through their knowledge of its ground and its prices, and that knowledge could not be requisitioned. Their traffic unsettled every layer of occupation bureaucracy and upset the arrangements Haitian officials and American officers were trying to hold together. The historian Yveline Alexis has shown women meeting interrogation with silence and pretended ignorance while officers threatened to kill them. The answer was more paperwork and more watching, with radio and aircraft turned on ordinary conversation between Haitians. The occupation had been built on the assumption that Haitian compliance came free. Women priced it. The drag they created slowed the machine as effectively as the caco columns in the hills, and it fed the campaigns at home and abroad that eventually made nineteen years of occupation impossible to continue.

Back from Haiti, Addie Hunton reported that important people were paying attention and that her quiet propaganda on Haiti's behalf might come to something. Quiet is the wrong word for what she then did. Inside the same year she spoke about Haiti to the California state convention of the National Association of Colored Women, to the National Federation of Colored Women's Clubs, to the NAACP convention in Chicago, and to the National Association of Colored Women again at Oakland. The following year she carried the subject to the Pan-African Conference in New York. Malbranche-Sylvain and Hudicourt were working the same circuit from the other end, through the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, so that what happened to a woman in Port-au-Prince could be described in a hall in California within months. The speed of the reporting did nothing to slow the occupation. While Hunton toured, Haitian girls went on being harmed by the men garrisoned in their towns, and the list of their names went on getting longer.

On 10 March 1922 the old battleship North Dakota carried General John Russell down the Gulf of La Gonave toward Port-au-Prince. He had smelled the city once before, as a midshipman in 1893, and had written in his journal that it was the filthiest place he had ever set eyes on and that he hoped never to return. He went ashore the next morning as American high commissioner, met by the magistrat communal, an honour guard of gendarmes, the palace band and a crowd well practised at cheering new rulers of Haiti. His first directive settled the shape of the next eight years. All correspondence between treaty officials and the Haitian government, Washington or each other would pass through his office, and no statement of policy, draft law or budget line could issue without his approval. The Haitian president, his ministers and the Conseil d'Etat kept the ceremony. Russell kept the valve. He compared the arrangement openly to Lord Cromer's Egypt, one foreign race governing a second in order to rule a third.

The Héraux constitution took a year of paperwork between Port-au-Prince and Washington. Franklin Roosevelt later claimed to have written it. It was mostly the work of Ferdinand L. Mayer, the American chargé, and officials of the State Department. With no National Assembly left to ratify anything, the occupation used a device Haiti had never seen, a national plebiscite, held on 12 June 1918. Colonel John Russell, commanding the brigade, admitted that his forces were openly in favour and that any Haitian who knew enough to vote knew how the soldiers had voted. The elite stayed home. The count came back 98,225 in favour and 768 against. Russell thought every government employee had voted at least once, and noted that some voters believed they were choosing a president while one believed he was voting for a Pope. The trap sat in Title VIII, the transitory provisions, which let the president govern through his Council of State until he chose to call elections, in whatever even numbered year he liked. Dartiguenave never chose one.