Her remedy for missed schooling is a library open at the weekend

The lives of Port-au-Prince girls diverged on one point, and that point was schooling. A girl who attended regularly and a girl who lost weeks to work were being handed different futures, and the gap widened every term. Comhaire-Sylvain proposed a remedy within reach of the organisation she was writing for. The Ligue Feminine d'Action Sociale should open a library at the weekend, so that a girl who had missed days to a household job could pick up some of the material on the one day she was free. The proposal is modest and it is practical. It leaves untouched the arrangement that put a child in somebody else's kitchen for ninety eight hours a week. It works around that arrangement, treating the lost schooling as a gap to be filled rather than as a consequence with a cause and a beneficiary.

At Les Cayes on 18 December 1938 Stenio Vincent told an audience that Haitians would no longer choose their presidents by plebiscite, that the mentality of the people was too arrested for democracy, and that the elite lived in their own country as tourists. He praised the forced agricultural labour Toussaint Louverture had imposed and recommended it for the twentieth century. Ferdinand Mayer, the American minister, reported to Washington that the tone of the speech was Hitlerian. Haiti spent almost the whole of Vincent's rule under a constitutional state of siege. The press was controlled, mail was opened, public assembly was forbidden, and the fund for the secret police grew five times over. Mayer wrote in 1940 that seven years after the marines left, the administration was as venal as any on earth. The succession was settled abroad. Elie Lescot, the Haitian minister in Washington, sat on Trujillo's payroll and had been telling the State Department since 1938 that he differed with his president. When the American legation withheld its blessing in March 1941, Vincent discovered he was ill. Fifty six of the fifty eight scraps of paper in the urns carried Lescot's name.

In October 1939 Les Griots ran a series under the title Considerations on our historical origins. The articles built out what its writers called the black legend, in which the light skinned elite of Haiti appears as a group whose loyalties lie abroad and whose presence in the country amounts to a kind of occupation. On that reading, the mulatto families who had held the presidency, the ministries and the trading houses were foreign in their tastes, foreign in their schooling and foreign in their interests, and the history of Haiti since independence was a history of their betrayals. The account had material behind it. Colour and property had lined up in Haiti for a century and a half, and those families had spent the American occupation doing business with the occupier. Turning that record into an inherited trait converted a political grievance into a permanent one.

SHADA removed peasants from their land by force. Houses were pulled down and fruit trees decades old were cut at the base. By 1943 the company had cleared 47,177 acres. At its greatest extent it held over 100,000 hectares of Haitian ground, which is close to the reach of the plantation system the revolution had destroyed nearly a hundred and forty years earlier. Rubber now stood where cane had stood. The land was worked for export under foreign direction, the people on it drew wages for labouring on fields they had owned, and the logic was the one their ancestors had fought a thirteen year war to break. What had changed was the empire giving the orders and the crop it wanted. Depletion ran through the soil first and then through the people living on it, since a family stripped of its trees and its plot has nothing left to draw down except itself.