A tanker sails away unpaid and the country works out what that means

Gonaives rose again at the end of November 1985, after riot troops shot three schoolchildren dead. The crowds carried signs reading down with misery and long live the army. Leopards restored an uneasy order, and the president ordered Radio Soleil off the air, which changed little, since the news travelled by mouth. In December Michele Duvalier chartered a Concorde and flew to Paris with friends to do her Christmas shopping, spending 1.7 million dollars on furs and jewellery. The treasury was then unable to pay for a tanker of petroleum lying at Port-au-Prince. The captain weighed anchor and left with the cargo, and as the taptaps stopped and the generators died Haitians worked out that the family had drained the country in the literal sense as well as the other one. Archbishop Ligonde, the first lady's uncle, used his Christmas sermon to say yes to liberty and justice and no to lies and servitude. In January the houngan Max Beauvoir told the president, who had finally consulted the spirits, that they had wanted him gone for nearly a year.

Haiti's 1987 constitution recognises freedom of religion, and Fleurant reads it as recognising Vodou as the national religion of the Haitian people. The status remains ambivalent all the same, because many attempts have been made to uproot the practice, and although the purges have generally failed they leave doubt hanging over its worth. The school system, which favours a cosmopolitan approach, has still not put the mythology on any syllabus. For the last thirty years, he writes, people have practised openly. The expatriate community, called the Tenth Department because the national territory is divided into nine, numbers over a million Haitians and includes many advocates of the religion, among them the writer Franketienne and the musicians of Boukman Eksperyans, Boukan Ginen, RAM and the Fugees. A religion with no centre, no dogma and no head office turns out to travel well.

Light assembly manufacturing grew fast in Haiti from the middle of the 1960s to the beginning of the 1990s and was for that whole stretch the one part of the economy that worked. In 1990 it employed 46,000 people spread across some 250 firms. The workforce was mainly women, and each employee supported about three or four other people, mostly in the capital. The industry ran on imported raw materials, sold into the American market, and made toys, electronics and textiles on the strength of Haiti's one comparative advantage, low wages. Its share of total export value rose from under five percent in the mid 1960s to over two thirds by the mid 1980s. After the military coup against Jean-Bertrand Aristide in 1991, international sanctions sent energy costs up, removed spare parts and inputs from the market, and took the customers away. By the beginning of 1995 no more than 5000 workers were left in the sector.

The Haitian writer Sanba Gregory Sanon, known as Azouke, was among the worshippers attacked during a crusade against the religion in 1986, in which a number of people were killed. He wrote about the building afterwards. Spirits had come to that small run down house from the four corners of the country, and inside it the members wrote poetry, composed songs, learned to dance and argued politics. They lost one of their brothers, a man Sanon calls very dear to the struggle, and from that day they decided to move the house elsewhere. The spirits, he says, visited them wherever they went. Anti-Vodou crusades ran from the colonial period into contemporary times without a long enough break for anyone to grow up without seeing one. Abandoned temples stand in the Artibonite valley, and they are as much a record of Haitian religious history as the ones still in use.