SHADA cuts eighty six thousand jobs with a single decision

In 1944 the Haitian rubber project cut its workforce from more than ninety thousand people to four thousand. Jeanne Sylvain, who had predicted the collapse in her letters two months earlier, lost her own job within three months. So did tens of thousands of peasant farmers, a great many of whom had already been moved off land they had worked, on the understanding that the scheme would pay them better than the land had. Whatever economic gains the project had produced went with it, and a half built recovery ended with more Haitians out of work than had been out of work before it started. Elie Lescot had staked his standing at home and in Washington on SHADA. Its failure, and the clumsy way the failure was managed, sharpened the case against him and shortened the road to the upheaval of 1946. Roughly eighty six thousand households lost their income by administrative decision, from a venture that had been sold as prosperity.

French territories south of the Sahara had been decisive for Charles de Gaulle during the war. They supplied soldiers, and they supplied the land and air routes across the continent that made a Free French war effort possible at all. African nationalists knew what that was worth. At Brazzaville in 1944 de Gaulle was obliged to promise political reform once the fighting ended, a package of concessions that African military and economic contributions had forced and that also acknowledged how much France would need its colonies to rebuild. The promise was aimed at keeping the empire steady and intact. Meanwhile inflation, broken trade routes and low export prices piled onto hardship left over from the 1930s. African workers had discovered their own leverage and were using strikes and new trade unions to real effect, above all in the mining zones. The British answered with film, radio, newspapers and pamphlets, which required presenting the colonial state as good and its enemies as evil. An empire that had demanded obedience now had to ask, and a request can be refused.

Kenscoff is a commune of about a hundred square miles in the mountains south west of Port-au-Prince, with roughly fifteen thousand inhabitants in the 1950s. Its main settlement is the bourg, called the buk in peasant speech, a word traced to mbuka, meaning village in the Kikongo of the Lower Congo, where a large part of the ancestors of the settlers came from. A motor road from Port-au-Prince opened in 1932, putting the bourg forty five minutes from the capital by car. In 1934 it was made the administrative centre of a commune. Because the summer temperature there sits between fifty two and seventy nine degrees, families from the capital began taking houses. Visitors saw crowded hotels, cars, villas and gardens and called it a small town. The peasant owners had sold only the strips along the road. From the first rains in the middle of September the holidaymakers left, and for the next nine months they were gone.

In 1938 the anthropologist Jose Imbelloni proposed that the native people of the West Indies formed a distinct race, which he called Amazonid, and traced their biological descent from the Amazon basin, north through the Orinoco valley, and out along the island chain. The route is roughly right. Archaeology has since confirmed that direction of settlement, with pottery, languages and crops moving up the Antilles from the South American mainland. The racial classification is the part that has gone. Imbelloni belonged to a school that sorted humanity into fixed biological types with measurable skulls and firm edges, and running that machinery over the Caribbean produced a category nobody uses now. I keep it on a Haitian timeline for what it shows about the period. In 1938 a sound migration history and a false science of race arrived in the same sentence, and a reader had no easy way to take the one without the other.