Most of Haiti is locked out of its own courts by language

Two centuries after independence the Heinls describe a Haiti split along a line drawn in the colony. Ninety percent of the population is black. Ten percent is mulatre or jaune. Haitian writers of the period called the split a virus in the republic, and it produced two worlds that touch every day and never merge. Language holds the line in place. Eighty-five percent of the country speaks only Kreyol, a working fusion of African and European speech, while the state conducts its affairs in French. That arrangement shuts most Haitians out of their own ministries, their own courts and their own official record. It also works as a shield. A language outsiders cannot follow keeps foreign ears at the edge of the conversation, which is one reason the society has been so hard for visitors to read. Race, literacy and money track each other closely enough that any one of the three predicts the other two. Most of the political crises on this timeline run along that seam.

The Haitian army removed Jean-Bertrand Aristide from the presidency at the end of September 1991 and the boats began leaving. The United States would not send the people it stopped straight home as it had before, and it would not bring them ashore in Florida either, so the Coast Guard cutters became sea based jails while diplomats hunted for a third country willing to host the screening. By late November close to two thousand Haitians were crammed on the decks, some of the ships on patrol, others tied up at the naval base at Guantanamo Bay alongside an amphibious landing ship also being used to hold people. No third country agreed. On 17 November the cutter Confidence left Guantanamo with more than two hundred Haitians who had been screened out, and the next afternoon it put them on the docks at Port-au-Prince. Lawyers for the Haitian Refugee Center went to a federal judge in Miami that same day and obtained an order halting further returns.

Much of the armed conflict in Africa since 1990 has been a contest between armed entrepreneurs over minerals, people and territory. Richard Reid sets that pattern in a long history whose roots run well behind the immediate postcolonial decades. The Rwandan genocide of 1994 killed some 800,000 Tutsi and moderate Hutu and then spilled west, as Ugandan and Rwandan forces helped remove Mobutu from power and afterwards fell out with each other, leaving eastern Congo a permanent war zone of shifting identities. Somalia collapsed entirely, and the American led relief operation there ended in disaster. In Sierra Leone and Liberia the state gave way to leaders of ragged youth militias who exchanged precious minerals for weapons. Sudan signed a peace accord in 2005 while Khartoum backed killing in Darfur that many called genocidal. Sierra Leone and Liberia began to recover, and Liberia elected the first woman head of state on the continent in 2006. The United Nations has spent more on African wars since Rwanda. The continent has been awash in cheap weapons since the Cold War ended.

Jean-Bertrand Aristide landed at midday on 15 October 1994 with two aircraft full of dignitaries behind him. Almost no Haitian saw him touch the ground. The airport was sealed and helicopters carried him straight to the National Palace, where a crowd had been waiting since dawn for a look at Titid. He spoke from behind a sheet of bulletproof plastic, quoted Martin Luther King, said the dream of democracy had become real, and asked that every weapon fall silent. Then he shook hands with General Jean-Claude Duperval and inspected an honour guard. The building he had come back to was picked clean of its telephones, its air conditioners, its light fittings and its toilet bowls. He carried pledges of close to a billion dollars over five years, none of it available for three to six months, while the government cost about fifteen million dollars a month to run. Something like two hundred thousand small weapons stayed in macoute hands. Smarck Michel became prime minister and Leslie Delatour took the central bank.