Clement Barbot is shot dead after months underground

Clement Barbot organised the tonton macoutes, ran Haiti during the weeks when Francois Duvalier lay unconscious after a heart attack in 1959, and gave power back when the president recovered. In Duvalier's arithmetic that was the offence, because it proved Barbot was capable of holding it. He was arrested in 1960 and kept at Fort Dimanche for sixteen months. On his release he went underground and spent months building an armed network inside the country, killing militiamen and soldiers from ambush and taunting the president directly. In July 1963 he was cornered and killed in a gun battle with the militia. His death ended the most serious internal challenge Duvalier ever faced, and it had been serious precisely because it came from inside the machine. Barbot knew the militia's people, its methods and its weak points, having designed them. Nobody after him had that advantage. What came later arrived from Miami, from Santo Domingo and from New York.

A revised edition of James's history appeared with footnotes, a new appendix and six fresh paragraphs opening the chapter on the war of independence, containing what one critic calls his most concentrated meditation on Toussaint's tragedy. Hogsbjerg links the revision to James's sense that decolonisation had changed what the story meant, since writing about independence around 1960 was a different matter from writing about it in 1936. The reading James settled on is that Toussaint's error came from the very qualities that made him, and that his failure was a failure of enlightenment rather than of darkness. Dessalines could see the situation clearly and simply because the ties binding him to French civilisation were the slenderest. James then helped a fellow Trinidadian adapt the history into a new play with the same title.

In West Africa constitutional change had been shifting power toward African representatives. In Kenya the British treated white settlers as the territory's future and designed multiracial councils that guaranteed those settlers a majority. Rural violence began in the late 1940s and by the early 1950s included the killing of prosperous Kikuyu as well as white farmers. The fighters were mostly Kikuyu, with Embu and Meru among them, bound to each other by oaths, drawn from squatters pushed off land and from the urban poor, and operating in the forests and hills of southern-central Kenya. In 1952 Britain declared a state of emergency, arrested the leadership of the Kenya African Union including Jomo Kenyatta, and brought in the army. Villages were targeted and indiscriminate sweeps put thousands of Kikuyu into detention camps. The brutality drove more young men into the forest, while Kikuyu loyalists were armed as a home guard. The revolt was suppressed by 1956 and never built a base beyond the Kikuyu, and the world read it through British reporting as tribal savagery. By the middle of the decade officials were questioning whether the settlers belonged at the centre of Kenyan politics.

The Trinidadian economist Lloyd Best, who lived from 1934 to 2007, opened one of his central essays by taking stock. Since 1962, he wrote, the region had been shown two pictures of its future, and neither had survived contact with the world. One turned out to be an illusion. The other became a nightmare. Those who put forward the first told the islands to make what they ate. The essay is titled on independence and responsibility, with self knowledge treated as an imperative rather than a luxury. The date is chosen deliberately: 1962 is the year Jamaica and Trinidad and Tobago became independent states and the year the West Indies Federation collapsed. Best is describing the position of a Caribbean intellectual who has to work out what to do when both available scripts for the future have already been tried and have already failed. Haiti had been in that position since 1804.