Rich or poor, the girls of Port-au-Prince do the same three things

Working girls in Port-au-Prince had a job, some schooling and a share of the housework at home, which left almost nothing over. Comhaire-Sylvain asked what they did with the little that remained. They talked with their friends, they danced and they played games, which is what the daughters of the middle class and the elite did with a far larger allowance of free time. Rich or poor, she wrote, the young girls of Port-au-Prince are highly social. The finding cut against the way the city described itself. Class in Haiti was held to run all the way down, separating income, schooling, language, manners and the shape of a childhood. Put the question narrowly enough and the separation disappears. Given an hour, girls on both sides of it did the same three things, and the difference between them lay entirely in how many such hours they were given.

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.

Lorimer Denis and Francois Duvalier published their findings on racial determinism in Les Griots in 1939. Their argument was that the political history of Haiti could be understood only through a scientific analysis of racial characteristics, which meant that the country's coups, constitutions and civil wars were expressions of biology. Two groups were held to be at work: the black majority carrying the African inheritance, and the light skinned elite descended in part from Europeans. Everything since 1804 was read as friction between them. The word scientific is doing heavy lifting there. Denis and Duvalier were borrowing the apparatus of European racial anthropology, the same apparatus that had been used for a century to explain why Haiti should never have existed, and turning it to the advantage of the majority. It handed a small circle of writers a complete theory of the nation and a rule for deciding who belonged inside it.

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.