Five ships shell the National Palace and hit nothing

In April 1970 Francois Duvalier smelled a plot, arrested widely, retired more officers and refilled his stock of hostages. He missed Colonel Octave Cayard, a Black officer who had propped up the regime for years and who commanded the coast guard. On the morning of 24 April, Cayard sailed all five of his ships out of Bizoton, took position off the capital and opened fire on the National Palace. The shells missed. The city panicked. The other half of the plan, a rising inside the army timed to the naval gunfire, never came, because militiamen stood behind every gun crew with loaded weapons. Soldiers dragged one of the old 105mm pieces to the waterfront and answered with aim no better than the navy's. Duvalier had spent thirteen years setting each armed body against the others so that none could move alone. On this morning the arrangement worked exactly as designed.

In the 1970s a man named Turenne Deville was held by the United States Immigration and Naturalization Service, which decided to send him back to Haiti. On hearing it he hanged himself in his prison cell. What happened to him is one instance of a government telling a person where he may and may not be. The French and American authorities routinely expel people classed as aliens whose school age children hold citizenship by birth. Deville's death sits beside the wager made by the thousands of Haitians who put out for Florida in small boats, betting against the sharks, the waves and the Coast Guard on the reckoning that the odds at sea were the better ones. Deportation is normally discussed as an administrative act with a file number and a form. For the person named on the form it works as a sentence, and Deville treated it as one.

Britain had spent years worrying that its Central African territories would go the way of South Africa, with a white settler minority dug in for good. Harold Macmillan told the South African parliament that a wind of change was blowing across the continent. Between 1963 and 1964 the Central African Federation came apart. British intervention did much of the work and so did African opposition, which Hastings Banda in Nyasaland and Kenneth Kaunda in Northern Rhodesia had built. Those two territories emerged as Malawi and Zambia. Southern Rhodesia refused. Ian Smith and the Rhodesia Front declared independence on their own authority in 1965, and United Nations sanctions at first helped the economy, since Portuguese Angola and Mozambique and South Africa were willing trading partners. From the early 1970s ZANU built a guerrilla war out of bases across the Mozambican border with FRELIMO support. Falling employment and worsening conditions on the reserves filled its ranks. By 1980 the settlers were beaten in the field, Smith accepted majority rule, and Robert Mugabe took power in a country renamed Zimbabwe.

The Caribbean Community was launched in 1973. Writing in 1997, Best asks whether the intellectual climate of the preceding years set limits on what the new body would attempt and achieve, in Georgetown, in St George's, in Kingston and almost everywhere else. His charge is that it gave primacy to relations between governments rather than between the peoples and islands of the region, and that it framed how those governments dealt with Cuba. He connects that to the near collapse of any working idea of sovereignty, regional or territorial. By 1994 the working slogan coming quietly out of Port of Spain was NAFTA at any price. Shridath Ramphal had by then invented the Association of Caribbean States as an invitation to the twelve English speaking members to widen their relations, on the theory that a Spanish speaking pond would teach them to swim. Best doubted they would swim, and asked whether the region had decided instead to drown.