OceanofPDF.

com
FEAR OF A BLACK REPUBLIC

OceanofPDF.com
 BLACK INTERNATIONALISM

Edited by Keisha N. Blain and Quito Swan

This series grapples with the international dimensions of the Black freedom
struggle and the diverse ways people of African descent articulated global
visions of freedom and forged transnational collaborations.

A list of books in this series appears at the end of this book.

OceanofPDF.com
 FEAR OF A BLACK REPUBLIC
Haiti and the Birth of Black Internationalism in the
United States

LESLIE M. ALEXANDER

OceanofPDF.com
© 2023 by the Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois
All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Alexander, Leslie M., author.
Title: Fear of a Black republic: Haiti and the birth of Black internationalism in the United States /
Leslie M. Alexander.
Other titles: Haiti and the birth of Black internationalism in the United States
Description: Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, [2023] | Series: Black internationalism |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2022018671 (print) | LCCN 2022018672 (ebook) | ISBN 9780252044816
(hardback) | ISBN 9780252086908 (paperback) | ISBN 9780252053863 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Black nationalism—United States— History—19th century. | African Americans—
Political activity—History—19th century. | Haiti—History—Revolution, 1791–1804— Influence. |
African Americans—Relations with Haitians. | United States—Relations—Haiti. | Haiti—
Relations—United States. | United States—Race relations—History—19th century. | Haiti—
Emigration and immigration—History— 19th century. | United States—Emigration and
immigration—History—19th century. | Haiti— Politics and government—1804-
Classification: LCC E185.18.A43 2023 (print) | LCC E185.18 (ebook) | DDC 320.54/6097309034—
dc23/ eng/20220525
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022018671
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022018672

OceanofPDF.com
Dedicated to my mother,
Sandra M. Alexander,
who literally danced with me through
every chapter of this book.

OceanofPDF.com
 CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1 A United and Valiant People: Black Visions of Haiti at the Dawn of the Nineteenth Century

2 Ruin Stares Everybody in the Face: The Era of the Indemnity

3 Haiti Must Be Acknowledged: The Fight for Haitian Recognition Begins

4 The Voices of the People Will Be Heard: Haiti Comes to Washington

5 Let Us Leave This Buckra Land for Haiti: The Limits of Black Utopia
6 I Will Sink or Swim with My Race: Black Internationalism in the Era of Soulouque

7 A Long-Cherished Desire: Haitian Emigration during the U.S. Civil War Era

8 Too Soon to Rejoice?: The Battle for Haitian Recognition in the U.S. Civil War Era
Epilogue: We Have Not Yet Forgiven Haiti for Being Black

Notes

Selected Bibliography

Index

OceanofPDF.com
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are so many people to thank. So many people who helped me on this
journey, and without whom this book would not be possible. When I reflect
on all the people who have touched my life, those who have brought
laughter, joy, and political insight, I am humbled and grateful.
First, last, and always, I give thanks to the Creator and the ancestors,
through whom all things are possible.
My deepest love and gratitude go to my family, who have always
supported and encouraged me in every moment of my life. My mother,
Sandy Alexander, instilled me with a passion for reading and learning at a
very early age. She is still the first person to read drafts of my work, and
she is also the one who brings laughter into my home each day. She never
tires of listening to me share my work, and she happily celebrates every
success I experience. I will never have adequate words to express how
grateful I am to experience her love and to be her daughter. I love her
absolutely infinity.
My father, John Alexander, departed this earthly realm more than
twenty-five years ago, but he is still with me every moment. He is the one
who taught me to be a dreamer, and to always strive toward the creation of
a better, more just and harmonious society. His vision and his memory
sustain me in the most difficult times.
My sister, Michelle Alexander, is best known in the outside world for
her passionate commitment to ending mass incarceration. Her brilliant
scholarship and her tireless dedication have truly changed the world. But it
is her love and sisterhood that have most profoundly shaped and
transformed my life. I could not have wished for—or imagined—a better,
more playful, or more loving sister. She is still the one who makes me laugh
until my sides ache, and I love her more than words can say.
 My “niblings,” Nicole Stewart, Jono Stewart, and Cori Stewart, are my
reason for being. They light up my life with laughter and joy every single
day, and I would be satisfied to be nothing more than their “Tee Tee.” I am
so lucky to have their love and to be able to share mine with them. And
then, of course, there is Riley Alexander, who brings unconditional love
into my life every moment.
My brother-in-law, Carter Stewart, and his parents, Isabel and the late
Donald Stewart, have always supported me and my work, for which I am
deeply grateful. I especially thank them for the use of Windsor Cottage,
their family home in Nantucket. Chapters 3 and 4 would not have been
possible without their generosity.
Deep thanks to Curtis Austin, who always believed in this project, and
in me, even when I did not. And to my cousins, Gail Maize, Chrisoula
Drivas, and Nicole Drivas, for their love and support.
My political and intellectual life was most profoundly shaped by the
time I spent at the Africana Studies and Research Center at Cornell
University during my graduate career. Margaret Washington, my
dissertation advisor, is the first person who taught me how to conduct
historical research and how to approach history with love, care, and
diligence. I first met Margaret when I was only a sophomore in college—a
young woman who had never imagined herself as a scholar or a historian. I
was selected to be her summer research assistant just when she was
embarking upon what would become her definitive and award-winning
research on Sojourner Truth. Her passion for research and African
American history was infectious. We spent hours combing through
Cornell’s massive Antislavery Collection, and we followed the abolitionist
trail throughout upstate New York, visiting many archives along the way.
Our journeys were always coupled with thoughtful conversations that
helped me discover my own voice as a budding scholar, and our experience
during that summer blossomed into an academic relationship and personal
friendship that has spanned decades. Through her example, I became what
she often calls a “demon researcher”— a passionate scholar driven by the
exhilarating chase of living history. By far, the most memorable experience
that summer was a field trip we took to the ruins of abolitionist Gerrit
Smith’s house in Peterboro, New York. Together, we dug through the rubble
and, as we walked through the remains of his former home, we collected
shards of pottery and other remnants, while discussing the courageous
people who had walked through that same space more than 100 years
before. That trip taught me that history was alive—living, breathing, and
everywhere around me. I still have those pieces of pottery we found. They
sit on one of the many bookshelves in my office, and they are probably
unremarkable to the people who pass through my office each day. But every
time I see them, I smile to myself because I know what they represent.
Much more than sentimental memorabilia, they are the embodiment of the
power of research and mentorship. Margaret Washington is a passionately
committed researcher and scholar, and the proudest achievement in my
academic career was to earn a PhD under her watchful eye. I not only
emerged a better historian, I also became a better person. Today, I am
honored to have her as both a mentor and a cherished friend.
During my time at the Africana Center, I was also blessed to meet and
work with James Turner, one of the founders of the discipline of Africana
Studies. I first encountered him on a sunny afternoon shortly after I arrived
in Ithaca. I can still picture the scene in my mind’s eye. I was a new, eager
PhD student, just arrived at Cornell from California—a fish out of water in
too many ways. I lingered awkwardly in the hallway outside his office at
the Africana Center in hopes of meeting him. Moments later, he emerged,
greeted me with a warm smile, and welcomed me into the Africana family.
In that instant, my life was permanently and indelibly altered. Over the next
several years, James Turner became a central figure in my life—he was
simultaneously a mentor, comrade, and even a father after my own passed
away. Although I was already a budding activist-scholar when I first came
to the Africana Center, under his visionary guidance my intellectual and
political worldview grew exponentially. He introduced me to the history of
the global Black freedom struggle, the power of Black Nationalism, and the
centrality of radicalism in the Black liberation movement. He also taught
me to find my own political voice, and to use it to “speak truth to power.”
And he reminded me, incessantly, that even in times of apparent defeat,
there is always victory in the struggle itself. To this day, I carry with me the
feeling of “home” that he created for students and scholars of Africa and the
African diaspora, and I often draw upon his words of wisdom to sustain me.
My years as an undergraduate at Stanford University and as a graduate
student at Cornell University afforded me the opportunity to study and learn
under some of the greatest minds in Africana Studies. In addition to
Margaret Washington and James Turner, I was profoundly influenced by a
host of thinkers including Clayborne Carson, Sylvia Wynter, John Henrik
Clarke, Jacqueline Melton-Scott, Micere Mugo, Abdul Nanji, Robert Harris
Jr., and the late Don Ohadike.
Over the years, I have also come to appreciate how much I learn from
my peers. I am especially grateful to my comrades from undergraduate and
graduate school, who I studied with, agitated with, and learned from: Eric
Kofi Acree, Baye Adofo, Jared Ball, Chris Bischof, Rosa Clemente, Rhea
Combs, Jonel Daphnis, Frances Henderson-Louis, Erica Fuller, Jonathan
Fenderson, Nicole Guidotti-Hernandez, Moon-Ho Jung, Candace Katungi,
Susie Lee, Joaquin Morante, Elissa Palmer, Elizabeth Pryor, Shamiso
Rowley, Gabriela Sandoval, Michelle Scott, and Jennifer Wilks.
Much of my early career as a professor was spent at “The” Ohio State
University, where I cultivated friendships that have profoundly shaped my
work and my life. While there is not sufficient room to mention everyone, I
want to give special thanks to: Amna Akbar, Kevin Boyle, Dawn Chisebe,
Mat Coleman, Chigo Ekeke, Jelani Favors, Lilia Fernandez, Liseli
Fitzpatrick, Justice Harley, Pranav Jani, Hasan Kwame Jeffries, David
Crawford Jones, Treva Lindsey, Debra Moddelmog, Marcus Nevius, Wendy
Smooth, Mytheli Sreenivas, Maurice Stevens, Terrell Strayhorn, Noel Voltz,
Derrick White, Shannon Winnubst, and Judy Wu. I give special honor to
my dear friend, the late Cheria Dial, who I miss more than I can convey in
words …
I would also like to thank numerous academics at OSU who cultivated
and believed in my leadership skills, most especially Gordon Gee, Javaune
Adams Gaston, Wayne Carlson, Tim Gerber, and Joseph Alutto.
This book, quite literally, would not have been possible without friends
who supported me and this project every step of the way. I give very special
thanks to the Association for the Study of the Worldwide African Diaspora
(ASWAD) for creating an academic community—a family—of political
thinkers, activists, and scholars who are passionately committed to the
African diaspora. I am especially grateful to Kim Butler and Rosanne
Adderley, my ASWAD writing sisters, who encouraged me throughout this
process. They supported me through challenging times, inspired me to keep
writing, and convinced me that this book needed to be written. They also
simply brought laughter and friendship into my life. Without them, I could
not have completed this project. For that, and for so much more, I will
adore them forever.
I also want to thank my comrades in history and in life, Carol Anderson,
Walter Rucker, and Jason Young, for their friendship, for making me laugh,
and for always encouraging my work.
Most of all, I thank ASWAD’s founding director, Michael Gomez. He
brought the ASWAD community into being, he steadfastly cultivated it, and
he unconditionally supported me while I was the organization’s leader. He
is also a brilliant scholar, unfailingly loyal mentor, and treasured friend. I
also want to thank the late Sterling Stuckey, who inspired my scholarship in
myriad ways and whose presence is deeply missed.
Appreciation and thanks also go to my community of scholar-friends,
who sustain me with their brilliant intellect and their friendship: Jermaine
Archer, Davarian Baldwin, Stefan Bradley, Brandon Byrd, Yomaira
Figueroa-Vásquez, Gabrielle Foreman, Sara Johnson, Sonya Maria
Johnson, Celucien Joseph, Jessica Millward, Amrita Chakrabarti Myers,
Maurice Jackson, J.T. Roane, Russell Rickford, Quito Swan, Antonio Tillis,
and Robert Trent Vinson. Very special thanks to Gerald Horne and Michael
O. West, who read early versions of my work and provided me with
extremely valuable feedback.
For this project, in particular, I want to thank the community of Haitian
Studies scholars whose dedicated research made this book possible. Some
of these folks I have met, others I have not. But their work profoundly
shaped mine, and I will always be grateful: Marlene Daut, Laurent Dubois,
Julia Gaffield, Sara Johnson, Celucien Joseph, Grégory Pierrot, Jean Eddy
Saint Paul, and Chelsea Stieber.
I also want to express warm appreciation for the extraordinary
community of scholars who I had the pleasure of working alongside during
my fellowship at the Society for the Humanities at Cornell University
during the 2021–2022 academic year. This dynamic, hilarious, and brilliant
collective of thinkers inspired me with their profound scholarship, and filled
my life with laughter. Gratitude goes especially to our director, Paul
Fleming, his extraordinary staff, including Tyler Lurie-Spicer, and the entire
cast of fellows, but most especially: Begüm Adalet, Juan Manuel Aldape
Muñoz, Yomaira Figueroa-Vásquez, Eman Ghanayem, Seema Golestaneh,
Eunjung Kim, Afifa Ltifi, Bamba Ndiafye, Fatima Quraishi, Kaya Tally-
Schumacher, Noah Tamarkin, Irina Troconis, Mathura Umachandran, and
María Edurne Zuazu.
In closing, I give special thanks to the organizations and individuals
who have supported this book along the way. First, a warm and heartfelt
thank you to Dawn Durante. She was the first editor to really understand
and believe in this project, and she made me believe that this book was
worth writing. I’m also endlessly grateful to the Ford Foundation for
repeatedly funding my research. I am incredibly proud to be a Ford Fellow
and I am deeply honored that the Foundation values my work. Very special
thanks to my dear friend and comrade, Pranav Jani, who gave me access to
vital research material when I needed it most. Chapter 7 would not have
been possible without his generosity. I especially want to thank the series
editors, Keisha Blain and Quito Swan, for believing in this project and
helping me bring it into fruition. Thank you, also, to the Oregon Humanities
Center for its financial support and to Miles Wilkinson and Olivia Wing for
their invaluable research support. Sincere thanks to the staff at the National
Archives and the Nantucket Historical Association, as well as Frances
Karttunen for their committed assistance. And, of course, thank you to the
editors and staff at the University of Illinois Press for supporting and
promoting this project.

OceanofPDF.com
FEAR OF A BLACK REPUBLIC
Figure 1. Map of Haiti
Source: UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), 2013. Wikimedia
Commons.

OceanofPDF.com
 INTRODUCTION

Nearly fifteen thousand Haitians crossed the Rio Grande in September

2021, desperately seeking asylum in the United States.1 Toting small
children and lugging their remaining belongings, they had traveled for
months or even years. Painstakingly making their way through numerous
South American countries, often suffering unspeakable cruelties, they came
in hopes of finding refuge in the United States.2 Despite the nation’s
centuries-old slogan, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free,” the U.S. government responded to the aspiring
migrants with extreme violence, eventually enacting the largest mass
expulsion of asylum seekers in modern American history.3 “Border Patrol
agents on horseback descended on the crowd,” one journalist reported,
“swinging their reins like whips, charging at people carrying bags of food,
shouting at them to go back to Mexico, and pushing them into the swift
waters of the Rio Grande.”4 Others were herded into a squalid, makeshift
camp under a bridge in Del Rio, Texas, and locked inside, held under
constant surveillance by armed guards while police helicopters circled
overhead. Within one week, thousands of Haitians had been rounded up and
forcibly returned to Haiti.5
As images depicting the crisis went viral, horrified observers drew
haunting comparisons to slavery. One photograph, in particular, showed a
white border patrol agent on horseback appearing to whip a Haitian man
with reins, an image that felt eerily reminiscent of nineteenth-century slave
patrols hunting down enslaved people seeking freedom.6 Castigating the
government’s actions, U.S. Congresswoman Maxine Waters angrily
declared, “What we witnessed takes us back hundreds of years. What we
witnessed was worse than what we witnessed in slavery.” She concluded
with a firm insistence that the “madness” must stop.7 Equally infuriated,
human rights lawyer Nicole Phillips effectively summed up the situation,
simply stating, “This is anti-Black racism … Period.”8
Comparisons to slavery and the white supremacy that undergirded it
were not mere hyperbole. After all, this unprecedented expulsion uniquely
targeted Haitians and is without parallel in the twenty-first century.9
Moreover, the tragic human rights violations that occurred were not only
due to the U.S. government’s failed immigration system or its misguided
foreign policies.10 They were a blatant demonstration of an ongoing war that
the United States has waged against Haiti since its founding. Although
more than two centuries have passed since Haitian independence, Haiti
remains the most persecuted and demonized nation on earth. History tells us
why. In order to understand the enduring fear and hatred that shapes the
U.S. government’s contemporary conduct toward Haiti, one must grapple
with a much older story—a tale that stretches back to a time when nothing
seemed more terrifying to white people around the world than the rise of a
sovereign Black nation.
Fear of a Black Republic illuminates that story and examines the
devastating backlash that Haiti endured for centuries, as frightened, angry
whites across the globe lashed out against the courageous Black people who
eradicated slavery and established a free, autonomous Black nation.
Determined to maintain colonial rule, and to fortify slavery and white
supremacy, white people throughout the Americas conspired to destroy
Haiti, crush its independence, and ensure that a sovereign Black nation
could never thrive. Yet at the core of this book is an equally important but
less familiar story: one that chronicles how Haiti’s triumphant ascendance
created a beacon of hope for free and enslaved Black people throughout the
African diaspora, especially those fighting for freedom in the United States.
Cognizant of Haiti’s centrality to the global struggle for Black liberation,
free and enslaved Black people in the United States waged an unyielding
battle throughout the early nineteenth century to defend Haiti and its
sovereignty. In so doing, they gave birth to a new Black internationalist
consciousness—one that not only demanded an end to slavery, but also
insisted on full freedom, equality, and sovereignty for Black people
throughout the African diaspora.
To fully understand this dichotomy—the divide between those who
despised Haiti and those who cherished it—one must first understand
Haiti’s creation as the Americas’ first autonomous Black nation, and the
series of events that sparked furious white rage and inspired an unrelenting
fear of a sovereign Black republic. In August 1791, enslaved men and
women in Saint-Domingue, France’s most profitable colony, unleashed a
rebellion. Gathering nightly over several days in the northern region,
enslaved people plotted an insurrection—a revolutionary war that they
intended to fight “to the death” in order to claim their freedom.11 The initial
uprising began on August 21, when Dutty Boukman and Cécile Fatiman,
highly respected spiritual leaders, assembled hundreds of enslaved people
in the woods at Bois Caïman (Bwa Kayiman) and led them in a religious
ceremony, calling upon their gods to guide them, sealing their revolutionary
pact with oaths and ritual sacrifices, and urging their people to “listen to the
voice of liberty that speaks in the hearts of all of us.” Later that night, men
and women began seizing their freedom.12
Spreading “like a torrent” over the next two days, nearly two thousand
rebels marched from plantation to plantation, armed with machetes, burning
and destroying workhouses, and killing their oppressors. Within a week,
nearly ten thousand more enslaved people had joined the revolt, and it
seemed unstoppable. “We were attacked by a horde of assassins,” one
plantation manager later wrote, “and could offer only meager resistance.”
By the end of September, more than one thousand plantations had been
burned and hundreds of white people lay dead. Eventually expanding to an
estimated eighty thousand rebels, the revolt erupted into the Haitian
Revolution—the largest, bloodiest, and most successful rebellion of
enslaved people in history.13
White slaveholders across the Americas recoiled in shock and horror.14
In the United States, President George Washington and the other “founding
fathers” openly panicked, nervously speculating about whether the spirit of
rebellion would be infectious enough to afflict their fledgling nation.
Charles Pinckney, the governor of South Carolina, wrote to President
Washington predicting that similar uprisings would soon spread to the
southern United States and devastate the economy. “I am afraid,” Pinckney
warned, that if the insurrection is “not checked in time it is a flame which
will extend to all the neighboring islands, & may eventually prove not a
very pleasing or agreeable example to the Southern States … [and be]
particularly unpleasant to us who live in Countries where Slaves abound.”15
By the end of 1791, Washington succumbed to the growing panic.
“Lamentable! to see such a spirit of revolt among the Blacks,” he
exclaimed, “Where it will stop, is difficult to say.”16 Thomas Jefferson also
fretted about the “formidable insurrection” in Saint-Domingue, as did
Alexander Hamilton, who regretfully acknowledged “the calamitous event”
taking place just a short distance away.17
Their fears were not entirely unfounded, since the Black freedom that
white Americans feared most eventually came to fruition. For this is not
only a story about revolt, or even revolution. It is a story about the
sovereign Black nation that rose, like a phoenix, from the ashes of
revolution. On November 29, 1803, Jean-Jacques Dessalines, leader of the
rebel army in Saint-Domingue, announced military victory over France and
issued a proclamation declaring their liberation from colonial rule.18 “We
have proclaimed our rights;” he asserted, “we swear to never yield them to
any power on earth: the frightful veil of prejudice is torn to pieces and is so
forever. Woe be to whomsoever would dare again to put together its bloody
tatters.”19 Inherent in Dessalines’s declaration was both a promise and
threat. He vowed not only to expand the notion of liberty and natural rights
to people of African descent, but also to defend their rights with deadly
force.
Weeks later, on January 1, 1804, Dessalines publicly unveiled L’Acte de
l’Indépendance (The Act of Independence) and simultaneously pronounced
the establishment of a free and sovereign Haiti. In a speech delivered in the
northern port city of Gonaïves, Dessalines called upon his people to commit
themselves to liberty at any cost, and to either “live independent or die.”
“Let us swear before the whole universe, to posterity, to ourselves,” the
declaration urged, “to renounce France forever, and to die rather than live
under its dominion. To fight until our last breath for the independence of
our country … and to prefer death to anything that will try to place you
back in chains. Swear, finally, to pursue forever the traitors and enemies of
your independence.” More than thirty-five generals signed the Act of
Independence, thereby renouncing European rule and pledging to fight until
death for their freedom and sovereignty.20
Figure 2. Jean Jacques Dessalines
Source: S. Rouzier, Dictionnaire géographique et administratif universel d’Haïti ou guide général en
Haïti. Printed by: Aug A Heraux, Port-au-Prince, 1892. Wikimedia Commons.

The Haitian Act of Independence forever altered the meanings and

conceptions of liberty in the Atlantic World.21 After all, Haiti became the
first and only country in the Americas where enslaved Africans threw off
their shackles, fought for their freedom, defeated European powers,
established their own nation, and swore to defend their freedom and
independence until their “last breath.” In so doing, they accomplished what
scholar Michel-Rolph Trouillot described as the “unthinkable.”22 Radically
upending the basic premise of white supremacy upon which slavery rested,
they asserted Black people’s fundamental human right to liberty and self-
governance. The Haitian Act of Independence thus transformed global
conceptions of freedom and challenged existing assumptions about who
possessed human rights and who did not.
And yet, accomplishing the “unthinkable” came at a heavy price. Haiti’s
triumph represented the physical manifestation of white people’s deepest
fear—the terrifying possibility that Black freedom and sovereignty might
contagiously spread across the globe, devour white society, and subsume
the entire planet. This omnipresent fear drove whites to hunt, kill, persecute,
imprison, enslave, and demonize Black people, even when they wanted
nothing more than their human right to liberty. Particularly for the major
slaveholding nations—France, England, and the United States—the mere
idea of Haiti, an independent Black country governed by former slaves,
seemed not only repugnant but threatening. After all, it revealed slavery’s
fragility and, ultimately, slavery served as the political and economic
foundation of their societies. If Haiti could have a successful slave
rebellion, couldn’t the same thing happen elsewhere? Perhaps in their very
midst? Even more, Haiti challenged white supremacy, a central component
of slavery. Following independence, Haiti’s existence demonstrated that
Black people could create their own sovereign nation, free of slavery and
white authority. Unable to reconcile the “unthinkable” reality of Haitian
independence, the slaveholding nations vilified Haiti and, in the decades
that followed, utilized every power and strategy at their disposal to crush
the fledgling republic.
White people’s fear of a Black republic—and the concomitant panic that
Black freedom and power would dominate the world—has caused Haiti to
suffer an unrelenting torrent of abuse, hostility, subjugation, and outright
exploitation. As one newspaper editor stated, quite plainly, “the Haytiens
are guilty of black skins … they have shown their right to a place among
the nations by achieving their independence … but they are black, that will
doom them to our neglect forever.”23 Although those words were written
more than 150 years ago, the sentiment still rings true in the twenty-first
century. As the brutal expulsion of Haitians from the United States in
September 2021 painfully illustrates, even today the U.S. government’s
treatment of Haiti is dominated by white supremacy and an irresistible
desire to destroy Haiti’s symbolic significance as the first nation in the
Americas founded by formerly enslaved people. Haiti’s mere existence as a
nation that was born from “a revolution which overthrew the masterdom of
the white race” remains deeply offensive to white political leaders and
ordinary citizens across the globe.24
But Haiti’s story is not only one of victimization; it is also a story of
hope, determination, and solidarity. The Haitian Act of Independence had
powerful resonance in enslaved and free Black communities across the
Atlantic World, particularly since Haiti epitomized the indomitable spirit of
a people who refused to submit to slavery and oppression and who resolved
to “fight until their last breath” to defend their sovereignty.25 Therefore,
Fear of a Black Republic’s primary purpose is to demonstrate how Haiti
inspired freedom struggles throughout the African diaspora, especially in
the United States, where Black activists championed Haitian sovereignty
throughout the nineteenth century and used Haiti as a model for their own
liberation movements.
Until recently, Haiti’s significance to the global Black freedom struggle
has been largely dismissed. As Michael O. West and William G. Martin
noted, “the pan-African narrative has been most unkind to the Haitian
Revolution,” as scholars and activists alike have consistently overlooked
Haiti and its victorious revolution. This silence has relegated the Haitian
Revolution to “the status of a nonevent,” thereby rendering it insignificant
to the broader story of the pan-African liberation struggle.26 But I maintain,
as West and Martin do, that the Haitian Revolution was (and is) central to
the global Black freedom struggle. The Haitian Revolution and the
subsequent formation of sovereign Haiti provided a model for Black
liberation that awakened Black freedom seekers across the Atlantic World
and inspired the birth of Black internationalism.
Understanding Black internationalism’s genesis is especially important
now, because over the last thirty years, the study of Black internationalism
has become an expanding subfield within African American and African
Diaspora Studies. At this moment in the field’s development, it is crucial
for us to clearly define Black internationalism and explore its origins and
deeper meanings. This study employs West and Martin’s definition of Black
internationalism as an ideology rooted in a consciousness of—and a
commitment to—the global Black struggle for freedom. As they explained,
Black internationalism ought to be understood as a deliberate, intentional
struggle for Black liberation “unbroken in space and time” and forged
“across man-made and natural boundaries.” In the nineteenth century, Black
internationalism “was defined by the emergence of a common black identity
rooted in the struggle against slavery … and actual struggles against white
world supremacy.”27 Black internationalism, then, requires an awareness of
a unified global Black identity and a self-conscious struggle against racist
oppression and white supremacy across national borders.
While global Black consciousness is an essential component of Black
internationalism; it is not sufficient on its own. After all, Black
transnational consciousness began to take shape long before the Haitian
Revolution. It had its roots in the horrors of the Trans-Atlantic trade in
humans, as enslaved people watched their family members, shipmates, and
friends cast across the Americas, doomed to toil in foreign lands under the
cruel and unforgiving lash. Following the American Revolution, Black
international consciousness expanded in the newly formed United States, as
thousands fled, seeking freedom in Sierre Leone, Nova Scotia, and Great
Britain, or suffering re-enslavement in Jamaica, Barbados, the Bahamas, or
elsewhere in the Caribbean.28 Retaining a deep connection to their loved
ones throughout the diaspora, the Black people who remained in the United
States fostered a common sense of identity and community with enslaved
and free populations across the Atlantic World and expressed a powerful
desire for racial solidarity that transcended national boundaries. Drawing
upon their shared African heritage, Black leaders actively cultivated an
abiding hope that the “descendants of Africa” across the globe would one
day emerge from bondage, and they envisioned a glorious destiny—a day
when “Ethiopia shall stretch forth her hands; when the sun of liberty shall
beam resplendent on the whole African race.”29 In other words, they prayed
not only for their own liberation, but for the liberation of every member of
their transnational community.30
But Black internationalism requires more; it demands action, because
the desire for freedom and the actual struggle for freedom are not the same
thing. As West and Martin remind us, struggle is Black internationalism’s
“single defining feature.” Active resistance is the key to understanding and
defining Black internationalism, which is why the Haitian Revolution and
the formation of independent Haiti represent the origins of Black
internationalism. Without question, the Haitian Revolution provided a
meaningful example of Black struggle and inspired Black people
throughout the Americas. It stoked the fires of freedom, and during that era
the flames of insurrection burned brightly across the Atlantic World.
Martinique, Curaçao, Jamaica, Grenada, Spanish Louisiana, the United
States, and many other slaveholding nations succumbed to fire, as enslaved
people demanded their freedom.31 But Haiti’s significance did not end with
rebellion, or even revolution. Its true significance lay in its creation as a
sovereign Black nation.
Black sovereignty lies at the heart of this book because Haitian
independence shaped Black political consciousness during the nineteenth
century in ways that nothing else could. Haiti’s rise as a sovereign Black
nation inspired Black activists to expand their struggle for Black liberation
across the ocean and it ultimately birthed Black internationalism in the
United States. Once Haiti issued its Act of Independence, Black activists
became determined to fight not only for their own freedom, but for Haiti’s
freedom and autonomy as well. Haiti became particularly vital to the U.S.
Black freedom struggle in the antebellum era because, as historian Kellie
Carter Jackson notes, Haiti embodied both Black revolution and Black
victory. For Black activists in the United States, sovereign Haiti represented
the “impossible made possible” and it convinced them that even enslaved
people—those who possessed the “least access to power”—could create
“radical change in society.”32
It is important to acknowledge that Haiti’s status as the first Black
sovereign nation remains contested. Esteemed Haitian Studies scholar Jean
Casimir, for example, has argued against the formulation of Haiti as the
“first black republic.” Casimir, quite rightly, insists that such an
interpretation oversimplifies the complexities of color, class, and ethnicity
that defined life in Saint-Domingue and later Haiti. But he is also correct
when he writes that Haiti was a free Black nation in the minds of “oligarchs
and foreigners.”33 And, in this case, perception matters. For Black activists
in the United States, Haiti was Black—a free, autonomous, sovereign Black
nation whose independence must be defended at all costs. This is not to say
that U.S. Black activists were always right. Over time, they learned that
Haiti’s internal politics were deeply complex and fraught with challenges.
But nothing stopped them from believing in its potential or fighting to
protect Haiti’s right to exist as a free, sovereign Black nation. To illustrate
this point, this book explores how Black activists in the United States
embraced a common identity with the Haitian people and forged a united
struggle by adopting Haiti’s battle for freedom and defending Haitian
sovereignty against its omnipresent white enemies.
Fear of a Black Republic has benefited considerably from scholars such
as Carol Anderson, Brenda Gayle Plummer, Millery Polyné, Quito Swan,
and Keisha Blain, who established the field of Black internationalism and
made powerful contributions to the historiography by revealing Black
activists’ roles in shaping U.S. foreign policy. Brandon Byrd’s book, The
Black Republic: African Americans, Haiti, and the Rise of Radical Black
Internationalism, offers an especially important intervention by exploring
Black leaders’ views of Haiti in the post–Civil War era.34 However, almost
without exception, existing studies focus on the late nineteenth or twentieth
century, hampering our ability to understand the rise, development, and
expansion of Black internationalism from its inception.
Likewise, while numerous scholars have examined U.S. foreign policy
in the nineteenth century, few offer any meaningful insight about Black
people’s views or activism regarding U.S. foreign affairs.35 Whenever Black
activists, such as David Walker, William Wells Brown, John Stewart Rock,
and James Theodore Holly, appear in such studies, these luminary figures
play secondary or tertiary roles in a broader examination of how white
people perceived Haiti and the Haitian Revolution.36 And Black women
activists in the nineteenth century are scarcely mentioned at all. Even
renowned scholar-activist Rayford Logan, who deserves significant
accolades for his groundbreaking study, Diplomatic Relations of the United
States with Haiti, 1776–1891, neglected to explore Black leaders’ efforts to
influence U.S. foreign policy.37
Three scholarly contributions offer an important corrective to this
historiographic oversight. Julius S. Scott’s The Common Wind: Afro-
American Currents in the Age of the Haitian Revolution, distributed for
decades in dissertation form, is a beautiful, richly crafted study that
chronicles the movement and circulation of people, ideas, and Black
revolutionary thought across the Americas during the era of the Haitian
Revolution.38 Focusing more specifically on the United States, Maurice
Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon’s edited collection, African Americans and
the Haitian Revolution: Selected Essays and Historical Documents, made a
profound contribution in 2010, offering the first glimpse into how U.S.
Black activists viewed and interacted with Haiti and the Haitian Revolution
in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.39 Most recently, Gerald
Horne’s masterful study, Confronting Black Jacobins: The U.S., the Haitian
Revolution and the Origins of the Dominican Republic, reveals Black
responses to the Haitian Revolution and Haitian independence in the early
period, particularly the widespread rebellions that found inspiration in
Haiti’s example.40 Even so, as these studies focus primarily on the Haitian
Revolution, we must delve more deeply into how post-revolution Haitian
politics, especially Haitian sovereignty, shaped Black political
consciousness during the early nineteenth century. This book seeks to do
just that.
In many ways, Fear of a Black Republic is part of the “Haitian Turn”
that scholar Celucien Joseph described as a growing awareness among
scholars about Haiti’s significance to broader discussions about the global
Black struggle for freedom, justice, and social equality. It is also a response
to his plea for more studies that examine the “contributions of revolutionary
Haiti to Black internationalism and freedom movements in North America,
Latin America, and continental Africa.”41 Scholar Ronald Angelo Johnson
echoed this appeal in 2018 when he issued a call for “more monograph-
length studies on the shared history of the early Haitian and American
republics.” Johnson specifically argued for more research focusing on “the
hopes of African Americans and the bilateral connections between Atlantic
Black peoples.”42 In solidarity with and in response to these pleas, Fear of a
Black Republic seeks to understand how Black leaders in the United States
understood, interpreted, and articulated Haitian history, the Haitian
Revolution, and Haitian independence during the early nineteenth century.
It also chronicles U.S. Black activists’ hopes and dreams for Haiti, even in
the face of enormous obstacles.
Fear of a Black Republic owes a debt of gratitude to the extraordinary
community of Haitian Studies scholars whose dedicated and exceptional
research has enriched our understanding of Haitian history, literary
production, and intellectual thought, and has urged us to think meaningfully
about the centrality of Haiti’s experience to both global history and
contemporary society. Here, I am thinking especially about the work of
Marlene L. Daut, Laurent Dubois, Sara Johnson, Grégory Pierrot, Celucien
Joseph, Chelsea Stieber, and Julia Gaffield.43 Marlene Daut and Sara
Johnson, in particular, have inspired me to think carefully about the deeper
meaning of international political and intellectual interactions among Black
activists in the nineteenth century. Daut’s call for a “transnational African
American studies” that explores diasporic activism during the nineteenth
century has profoundly shaped my own work.44 Similarly, Johnson’s book,
The Fear of Free Negroes: Transcolonial Collaboration in the
Revolutionary Americas, urged me to consider how newspapers and other
printed sources can demonstrate the “interconnectedness of black people in
the extended Americas.”45
Yet despite the inspiring studies that preceded it, Fear of a Black
Republic faces the infuriating challenge that all studies of early U.S.
diplomatic history face. How and where do we find women’s voices? This
question haunted, plagued, and stymied every aspect of this book. After all,
throughout most of the nineteenth century, there was an explicit ban against
women’s engagement with political matters, which silenced women’s public
voices in powerful, myriad ways. Even the most progressive leaders in the
antebellum era actively prevented and dissuaded women’s participation in
politics, finance, and foreign policy. And many of the most committed
abolitionists routinely insisted that women should never become political
actors, since activism eroded their femininity. As one Black male activist
complained in 1826, “When women meddle with matters to which they
should always be strangers, they expose themselves to the risk of being
forgotten as women.”46 But, of course, women still struggled for inclusion,
cleverly finding spaces to articulate their views and exercise their rights.
After scouring newspapers, archives, personal letters, diaries, and speeches,
I uncovered numerous references to Black women’s visions of Haiti. The
results of my efforts are seen in every chapter, and I only wish I could offer
more.
Even so, Fear of a Black Republic still dramatically expands our
understanding about the birth and maturation of Black internationalism in
the United States. In challenging historians and lay readers to consider the
origins of Black internationalism, this book broadens the scope of
transnational Black activism and demonstrates how nineteenth-century
Black political consciousness influenced movements during the twentieth
and twenty-first centuries. Organized chronologically, this book begins in
1804 with Haiti’s inspiring victory over white colonial rule and charts how
Black activists in the United States promoted Haitian sovereignty until
1862, when the United States begrudgingly consented to formally
acknowledge Haiti’s political existence. By way of conclusion, it also
provides an overview of Haiti’s struggle for global justice from 1862 to the
present.
Chapter one explores the critical twenty-year period between the
Haitian Act of Independence in 1804 and France’s avaricious plot in 1825
to wrest reparations from the fledgling Black nation. Immediately following
Haiti’s birth, Black people excitedly hailed the revolution’s success and
anticipated that independent Haiti would silence all those who claimed that
Black people were not fit for freedom and self-rule. Most white people,
however, watched in horror as formerly enslaved people brazenly claimed
their freedom and sovereignty. Determined to punish the Haitians’ bravado
and to destroy Haiti’s potential, the world’s slaveholding nations
commenced a negative propaganda campaign and imposed diplomatic and
economic embargoes that undermined the burgeoning nation. Black leaders
in the United States responded to these brutal attacks in various ways. A
few bravely seized the power of the press, drawing insightful parallels
between the Haitians’ fight for freedom and the battle that white Americans
waged in 1776 for their own independence. Others sparked armed
uprisings, as Black rebels across the United States from Philadelphia, to
South Carolina, to Louisiana drew upon Haiti’s example to inspire their
own battle against slavery. Still others sought to build and fortify Haiti,
eventually launching an emigration movement, in hopes that it would
become a home for the entire Black race. As Black activists soon
discovered, however, racism proved a formidable enemy as Frenchmen and
white Americans alike resolved to torpedo and decimate the blossoming
Black nation.
Chapter two provides a detailed analysis of the explosive period
between 1825 and 1829, as France and the United States dramatically
increased their efforts to destroy Haitian sovereignty. Twenty years after
gaining its independence, Haiti remained a political target as France
desperately sought to recover its losses in money, power, and enslaved
human property. In 1825, the French government employed gunboat
diplomacy and demanded reparations. In exchange, they agreed to
acknowledge Haiti’s independence. Faced with the imminent threat of war,
President Jean-Pierre Boyer conceded to the terms of this agreement, later
known simply as “the indemnity.” While the indemnity sent the Black
republic into a deep and insurmountable financial tailspin, it also caused
shockwaves in the United States as political leaders questioned whether to
continue their own non-recognition policy. Unsurprisingly, reflecting its
commitment to slavery, the U.S. government stubbornly refused to
recognize Haitian sovereignty. Meanwhile, Black activists resumed their
public support for Haiti, steadfastly promoting Haitian sovereignty and
adamantly defending Jean-Pierre Boyer even after he instituted taxation and
labor policies that plunged the country into financial ruin and led to
widespread outrage among Haitians. By 1829, when the Haitian emigration
movement began to unravel, Black leaders still defended Haiti’s right to
sovereignty, desperately hoping that the Black republic would eventually
serve as a global model for Black liberation.
Chapter three chronicles the tumultuous decade between 1829 and
1839, as Black leaders in the United States struggled to forge a new
relationship with Haiti. In the wake of the indemnity, the decline of the
Haitian emigration movement, and President Boyer’s failed policies, Black
activists floundered, unsure how to respond. Should they abandon the Black
republic, try to resuscitate the emigration movement, or simply remain
silent and watch events unfold? As the 1830s progressed, Black activists,
including Samuel Cornish and Maria Stewart, gradually revitalized their
campaign to recognize Haitian sovereignty, denouncing the immorality of
the U.S.’s blatantly racist non-recognition policy and brazenly championing
Haiti’s right to full freedom and global recognition. By 1837, the movement
gained strength among both Black and white abolitionists and Haiti
eventually became a cause célèbre in the anti-slavery community. But what
strategy would they use to fight for Haitian recognition, and how would the
U.S. government respond?
To answer that difficult question, chapter four focuses on the seven-year
period between 1837 and 1844 to reveal how the battle for Haitian
recognition finally came to Washington, DC. In an effort to raise public
consciousness about Haiti’s right to full sovereignty, Black abolitionists
formed a powerful coalition with their white allies. Together they wrote
impassioned editorials and delivered rousing speeches about Haiti’s history
and its potential. They also implemented a far-reaching petitioning
campaign on behalf of Haitian recognition, designed to bring the U.S.
Congress to its knees. Effectively eluding the gag rules, which sought to
silence congressional debates over slavery, petitions in favor of Haitian
independence poured into Washington, DC, forcing congressional leaders to
grapple with explosive issues such as slavery, race, amalgamation, and
insurrection. Ultimately, Black activists encountered defeat in Congress, but
they never abandoned their deeply held belief that Haiti could serve as a
model for Black liberation, and that Black people across the diaspora would
eventually follow in Haiti’s footsteps and gain their freedom.
Chapter five examines the complex era between 1838 and 1848 as
Black activists reassessed their strategy. Disgusted by U.S. policy at home
and abroad, some leaders, such as newspaper editors Samuel Cornish and
Charles B. Ray, rejuvenated the Haitian emigration movement, urging their
brothers and sisters to cast their fate with the Black republic. Others,
including abolitionists James McCune Smith and Charles Lenox Remond,
shifted the conversation entirely, focusing not on emigration or Haitian
recognition, but on the symbol of Haiti’s triumph over slavery as an
inspiration for a U.S.-based fight for freedom. Enslaved people in many
parts of the South also clung to the latter strategy, singing songs of freedom
and identifying Haiti as their promised land. Despite Black people’s hopes
and aspirations, however, the Haitian government began crumbling under
the pressure of the indemnity and financial mismanagement. As 1843
dawned, the Haitian people rose up against Boyer’s oppressive policies and
ousted his regime. Black activists in the United States nervously watched,
wondering what the coup d’état would mean, not only for Haiti, but for
their own revolutionary movement. Between 1844 and 1847, considerable
political turmoil plagued Haiti as one short-lived presidency followed
another, casting doubt throughout the Atlantic World about whether Haiti
would survive and if Black people possessed the capacity for self-
governance. Worse, in the aftermath of the Dominican Republic’s
successful bid for independence, the United States government even
considered conquering Haiti and re-imposing slavery. Finally, in 1847, the
Haitian Senate appointed a new president, Faustin Soulouque; however, it
was not clear whether he would usher in a new, glorious era or lead the
Black republic into disaster.
 Chapter six explores the period between 1848 and 1859, a decade that
arguably presented the most difficult challenges for Black activists in the
United States as they desperately battled a vicious white supremacist
campaign against the Haitian government. Shortly after Faustin Soulouque
commenced his presidency, white politicians across the Atlantic World
brutally castigated him, arguing that Soulouque was too ignorant and too
violent to ever be considered a respectable leader. Underlying these attacks,
an even more insidious accusation lurked, surreptitiously rendering all
Black people unfit for self-governance. Such condemnations worsened after
1849, when Soulouque abandoned the Haitian republic and transformed
Haiti into an empire, naming himself Emperor Faustin I. In the 1850s,
Faustin I became increasingly autocratic and militaristic in his rule. Keenly
aware that the United States and other European nations secretly plotted to
use the Dominican Republic as a launchpad to invade Haiti and reimpose
slavery, he led endless campaigns against his eastern neighbors. In the
process, he exhausted Haiti’s resources and presided over a losing battle
that sacrificed and endangered thousands of Haitian soldiers and civilians.
Even so, Black leaders in the United States, particularly esteemed
abolitionists Frederick Douglass and Martin Delany, astutely recognized
Faustin I’s fears about foreign occupation. They rallied around him, openly
defending his leadership and even pressuring the U.S. government to
formally extend diplomatic recognition.
Chapter seven examines a topic that has been largely unexplored until
now: the resurgence of the Haitian emigration movement in the 1850s and
early 1860s. In so doing, this chapter exposes crucial fault lines in the U.S.
Black leadership’s political philosophies during the U.S. Civil War era. By
the late 1850s, faced with destructive legislative and judicial acts such as
the Fugitive Slave Act and the Supreme Court’s Dred Scott ruling, many
Black activists had grown despondent about conditions in the United States.
Naturally, some cast their minds back to Haiti, dreaming of a day when it
would become the Black nation that they desperately imagined it could be.
Their hopes gained strength after 1859, when General Fabre Geffrard
ousted Emperor Faustin I and reestablished a republic. On the heels of
revolution, Black leaders, such as James Theodore Holly, revitalized the
Haitian emigration movement, hoping to manifest their pan-African mission
and mold Haiti into a sovereign Black republic that would empower and
liberate all Black people. But ideological fissures quickly deepened, as
Black leaders found themselves unable to reach a unified consensus on the
emigration question. Instead, they succumbed to ugly, rancorous arguments,
revealing a profound divide among Black activists about whether Black
people could ever gain equality and citizenship in the United States.
Ultimately, the acrimony proved moot. By 1863, Haitian emigration efforts
dissipated, leaving Black leaders to wonder again what their relationship to
Haiti ought to be.
Chapter eight focuses specifically on the era between 1859 and 1863 to
highlight the final resolution to the ongoing campaign for Haitian
recognition. By 1859, more than fifty-five years after Haiti declared its
independence, the United States still refused to acknowledge the Black
republic’s sovereignty. By then, nearly every other nation in the world had
established formal diplomatic relations with Haiti, but not the United States.
Repeatedly conceding to slaveholders’ demands, the U.S. government
deemed Haiti a political pariah. But the movement for formal recognition
gained strength after 1861, when most of the slaveholding states seceded
from the Union and formed the Confederacy. Absent the South’s powerful
voting bloc, Senate Bill no. 184 officially recognizing Haiti finally gained
an audience in the U.S. Congress. As chapter eight reveals, however, the
bill’s journey proved to be neither simple nor sweet. Instead, the outcome
proved the tenacity of racism and greed rampant in American society, as
Black activists sadly pondered whether their dreams for Haiti would ever be
fully realized.
The epilogue offers reflections on the contemporary moment.
Ultimately, a history of the U.S. government’s conduct toward Haiti could
not legitimately end in 1863; it must provide an honest rendering of the
U.S.’s racist, avaricious, and imperialistic legacy in Haiti during the
twentieth century and beyond. To understand Haiti’s journey from its birth
as a shining Black sovereign nation to its current condition as the “poorest
country in the western hemisphere,” one must reckon with the U.S.
government’s role in that process. As the epilogue proves, white people’s
fear of a Black republic did not end in 1863. Or 1963. It did not even end
after Haiti celebrated its bicentennial in 2004. Instead, to this day, Haiti still
suffers the stigma of being the first sovereign Black country in the
Americas—a nation of people who possessed the courage and
determination to break their chains, throw off the shackles of slavery,
demand their liberty, and declare their equality and sovereignty to the
world. For their bravery, Haitians continue to be celebrated by
revolutionary Black people across the diaspora and demonized by whites
who still harbor an unrelenting fear of a sovereign Black republic.

OceanofPDF.com
 1

A UNITED AND VALIANT PEOPLE

Black Visions of Haiti at the Dawn of the Nineteenth Century

In May 1804, just months after the declaration of Haitian independence, an

anonymous Black writer, known only as “An Injured Man of Color,”
penned an impassioned defense of Haitian sovereignty. His article appeared
in a complicated historical moment, a time when white people across the
Atlantic World, gripped with anger and fear, questioned Haiti’s legitimacy
and openly disparaged Jean-Jacques Dessalines’s audacious leadership.
Unflinchingly staring down his enemies, the Injured Man delivered an
eloquent justification for Haitian independence, boldly insisting that
Haitians—and all Black people—possessed the same right to liberty as
white Americans.1 Weeks later, in an open letter to Dessalines, he bolstered
his position, asserting that Black people had an inherent right to freedom
and that Haiti had a fundamental right to sovereignty. He further declared
that any efforts to undermine Haitian independence or deny Haitians’
liberties would end in utter failure. After all, Haitians were “a united and
valiant people” that could overcome any obstacle. As long as Black people
remained unified, the Injured Man concluded, they would always triumph
over their enemies.2
The Injured Man’s writings provide keen insight into Black political
consciousness in the United States in the early nineteenth century. U.S.
Black activists clearly understood Haiti’s symbolic significance as the only
country in the world where courageous rebels had successfully conquered
slavery and established a free, sovereign Black nation. They also
recognized that they had a common destiny with Haitians. Despite the
ocean that separated them, they knew that their shared Blackness
inextricably linked their fates, and they would rise or fall together.
Therefore, enslaved and free Black people in the United States grappled
with pain, disappointment, and frustration whenever Haiti struggled with
internal political conflicts or racist attacks. But they also embraced Haiti as
a model for the global Black freedom struggle in various ways; some
enthusiastically celebrated Haiti’s liberation from colonial rule in street
demonstrations and newspaper articles, others considered migrating to the
Black nation, and still others emulated Haiti’s use of violent resistance.
These strategies, which developed in the early nineteenth century—
vindication, advocacy, emigration, and rebellion—formed the foundation of
international Black political activism in the decades that followed.
This chapter examines Black activists’ visions for Haiti in the formative
years between the declaration of Haitian independence in 1804, and 1825,
when France forced Haiti into a costly financial agreement in order to
secure the embattled nation’s full independence. It focuses specifically on
these two decades in an effort to chronicle Black people’s earliest feelings
about post-independence Haiti, and to explore why they eventually came to
view the island nation as their “cradle of hope.”3 Through a careful
examination of newspapers, personal correspondence, court records, and
public speeches, this chapter reconstructs the birth of Black political
thought regarding Haiti and delves deeply into Black activists’ ideas about
Haitian sovereignty as they sought to create an alternative vision of freedom
in the Americas.

***

The opening months of 1804 were fraught with political turmoil. In

January Jean-Jacques Dessalines issued an Act of Independence, and
declared Haiti as the first sovereign Black nation in the Americas. Weeks
later, as astonished whites were still slowly absorbing the news, Dessalines
sent a fresh round of shockwaves across the Atlantic World. All remaining
white colonists must immediately leave the island, he declared, those who
refused would be killed.4 For Dessalines, this mandate was an act of
corrective justice, a critical component of his strategy to “maintain
antislavery, anticolonial independence at all costs.”5 Convinced that
lingering French residents endangered the welfare of the new nation and its
emancipated citizens, he believed that Haitians must use all necessary
means to “exterminate” their oppressors.6
 Perhaps doubting his conviction, some French colonists stubbornly
remained, and Dessalines quickly delivered on his promise. Over the next
few months, Haitian soldiers killed many who chose not to heed his
warning—a massacre that became known as “the horrors of St. Domingo.”7
In truth, as scholar Marlene Daut has demonstrated, Dessalines’s campaign
only resulted in the deaths of a few hundred soldiers and colonists. But
word spread rapidly throughout the Atlantic World that Dessalines and the
Haitian army had unleashed a murderous rampage, torturing and
slaughtering thousands of innocent whites. In an effort to divert attention
from centuries of brutal, deadly enslavement in Saint-Domingue, whites
cast Black Haitians as the perpetrators, rather than the victims, of extreme
racial violence—a stereotype that has persisted for centuries.8

Figure 3. Dessalines Massacre

Source: M. Dubroca, Juan López Cancelada, Francisco Moscardo Yedra, Vida de J.J. Dessalines,
gefe de los negros de Santo Domingo; con notas muy circunstanciadas sobre el origen, carácter y
atrocidades de los principales gefes de aquellos rebeldes desde el principio de la insurreccion en
1791. En la officina de D. Mariano de Zúñiga y Ontiveros: México, 1806. Wikimedia Commons.
 Midway through the attacks, Dessalines tried to set the record straight,
issuing a formal arrêté to justify his actions, silence his detractors, and
expose “the true motives” that drove his government to enact such extreme
measures. As he explained, French colonists had “contributed either by
their guilty writings or by their sanguinary accusations to the drowning,
suffocating, assassinating, hanging, and shooting of more than sixty
thousand of our Brethren” during the revolution. Therefore, they “ought to
be classed with assassins, and delivered up to the sword of justice.” He
emphasized that all guilty parties would be punished because “nothing shall
ever turn our vengeance from those murderers, who have bathed themselves
with pleasure in the blood of the innocent children of Hayti.”9
Despite his rationale, gruesome stories about Dessalines’s attacks
poured into the United States, and newspaper reports immediately began
condemning him. On May 15, 1804, the New York Gazette printed a story
from a U.S. ship captain, Captain Hodge, who had just returned from Port-
au-Prince. Alarmed about the alleged violence enacted against the French,
and the inability of American merchants to freely conduct business in Haiti,
Hodge anxiously wrote, “[T]he French people at the Cape are in the most
distressing situation … the whites are daily missing, supposed to be secretly
murdered, and their property immediately confiscated and sold at auction.”
Worse, he asserted that Haitians were determined to abuse white people and
reduce them to slavery. “No age or sex is spared from the outrage and
inhumanity of the blacks,” he claimed, “Men, women and children are held
in the most abject slavery, and daily expire from hardship and fatigue.”
Hodge further maintained that the ports were largely inaccessible and
unsafe for merchants. “Americans who arrive at the Cape,” he worriedly
explained, were “subjected to much hazard and inconvenience” due to the
“ignorance and jealousy of the blacks.”10
Like Hodge, many white Americans nervously monitored Haiti’s
commercial activity since, for decades prior, U.S. merchants had enjoyed a
rather profitable trade relationship with Saint-Domingue. The colony
exported desirable cash crops, such as sugar, coffee, and cotton, and it
relied upon the Americans and the English to import much-needed
manufactured goods.11 But what would happen now that Saint-Domingue
had become a free Black nation? Captain Hodge and many other American
merchants predicted disaster. According to Hodge, Dessalines and his main
general, Henry Christophe, had no authority or control over the country,
which threatened the U.S.’s economic standing. “The arrêtés and
proclamations of Dessalines and Christophe are mere flummery,” Hodge
complained, “and seldom or never put in execution.”12
Within days, an “Injured Man of Color” delivered a powerful rebuttal.13
It is the first known published commentary from a Black person in the
United States following Haiti’s declaration of independence. And yet,
essentially nothing is known about the Injured Man, which raises a series of
compelling questions: Who was he and why did he feel so passionately
compelled to defend Haiti? Was the Injured Man a person of Haitian
descent, and why did he describe himself as “injured”? Although the
answers to these questions remain mysteries, upon closer examination it is
clear that, at a minimum, the Injured Man viewed himself and the entire
Black race as politically injured, wounded by the cruel and inhumane
systems that kept millions in bondage and denied human rights even to
legally free Black people. In response, he positioned himself as an early
vindicationist, who sought to defend the Black race, champion their
fundamental right to freedom and justice, and provide an accurate account
of Haiti’s historical and political dynamics.14
His resulting plea for Haiti utilized a shrewd rhetorical strategy, one that
future generations of Black activists routinely employed. Appealing to the
revolutionary spirit that persisted in white America following their own
successful revolution, the Injured Man drew a compelling parallel between
the battle for U.S. independence from England and the Haitian struggle
against French rule. Conjuring up patriotic images of the Americans’
jubilant victory against British tyranny, he asked his readers: “When you
fought for your independence, when you resisted the arm of Britain, and
gained the cause for which you struggled, were you not elated with your
success? Were you not proud of your victory? Did not your souls spurn at
the man who dared to call you rebels and traitors?” He also asked white
Americans to reflect on the similarities between their desire for liberty and
the Haitians’ efforts to obtain their own freedom: “Is not the cause for
which the Haytians fought the same in principle with yours? If your cause
was just and honorable, was not theirs the same?” Similarly, he encouraged
his readers to consider the matter from the Haitians’ perspective and to put
aside their fears and anxieties, particularly since Haitians wanted nothing
more than to claim their humanity. “It is evident,” he wrote, “that the
Haytians have nothing in view but to be acknowledged and treated as men,
and as people. Those who oppose them are guided by avarice, and the love
of oppressing their fellow creatures.”15
Drawing upon the U.S. rebels’ rallying cry of “Liberty or Death,” the
Injured Man further highlighted the core contradiction between slavery and
a human being’s fundamental right to liberty. After all, he pointed out, the
Americans might have felt enslaved by British rule, but the Haitians had
been actual slaves. “Torn from their families and friends; dragged from
their native country; transported to a distant clime; sentenced to linger out a
miserable life under the lash,” enslaved Africans in Saint-Domingue had
been “doomed to fatten with their blood a soil from which they reap no
advantage.” For this reason, the Injured Man concluded, the Haitians had
“even stronger stimulants to urge them on to independence.” Now, Haitians
had finally “tasted the sweets of liberty” and could never “be reduced again
to a state of slavery.”16
To those who criticized Dessalines’s policy of removal and
extermination, the Injured Man maintained that the Haitian government’s
response was perfectly rational given the fear that the French would try to
re-impose slavery. Decrying French enslavers and their notorious
“inhumanity and thirst for blood,” the Injured Man openly endorsed
Dessalines’s campaigns, arguing that since the French were particularly
guilty of brutality and violence, the Haitians should justifiably protect
themselves from future attacks. “The cruelties of the agents and officers of
France is well known to the world,” he reminded his readers, “Name the
country into which they have been able to enter … where their footsteps
have not been marked with blood; where terror has not been their
forerunner, and desolation, misery, and death their perpetual attendant.”17
Ultimately, the Injured Man’s concerns about French colonists’ efforts to
reconquer the island proved to be legitimate, given that, as one historian
noted, the French had “neither gone away or given up.”18
In the closing section, the Injured Man directed his comments to
Haitians living in the United States after being forcibly relocated during the
revolution and urged them to return home. Here, he echoed Dessalines, who
had pledged two months earlier to repatriate anyone who wished to return
to Haiti.19 Haiti could undoubtedly fulfill its destiny, the Injured Man
maintained, if its exiled children would come home and advance the
nation’s mission. “Reflect on the precarious situation of your countrymen,”
he urged, “embrace the offer of your Chiefs … to return to your home;
reflect that your future destiny is concerned, and the safety of your friends,
race and color, is at hazard; accept the opportunity … to reclaim your rights
and maintain your country’s cause.” He also pleaded with them to
demonstrate their patriotism and bravery, and to fight to the death to protect
their freedom and Haiti’s independence. Affirming again the rallying cry of
revolution that reverberated across the Atlantic World, he concluded, “Let
this be the motto on your helmet and on your shield—JUSTICE,
RELIGION, and LIBERTY OR DEATH.”20
Three weeks later, the Injured Man reaffirmed his commitment to Black
freedom, Haitian independence, and the right to self-defense, when another
New York City newspaper published a supplement to his original article.
Intended as an open letter to Jean-Jacques Dessalines, the Injured Man
praised Dessalines’ leadership and his role in delivering Haiti from the
hands of its “cruel oppressors.” More significantly, the Injured Man warned
Dessalines against forming alliances with foreign nations and counseled
him to use all necessary means to protect Haiti from future invasions. “In
our present situation,” he reflected, “let us not trust any foreign governance
to guard our rights and liberties. Let us continue in our determination … to
maintain our independence with our last breath … Liberty is an inherent
and inalienable right of man.” The Injured Man also pledged his faith in
Dessalines’s abilities to defend their freedom, “secure our liberties and
independence,” and to use his keen judgment to navigate the perilous
circumstances that his country faced.21
Notably, in this particular section, the Injured Man ceased using the
terms “you” and “your” and instead used “we,” “us,” and “our.” This
stylistic shift is particularly apparent in the passage above, in which he
states: “Let us continue in our determination … to maintain our
independence with our last breath.” This language may shed some light on
his identity, since it could suggest that the Injured Man was a person of
Haitian descent. It seems especially likely, since he repeatedly referred to
Haitians as his “countrymen” in his previous article.22 However, it is also
possible that the wording simply indicated his strong sense of racial
solidarity with Haitians and his commitment to their common cause.
 Regardless, the Injured Man’s closing words to Dessalines emphasized
the importance of unity and solidarity. “It is my unfeigned wish and
confident expectation,” he proclaimed, “that you will prove to your enemies
and to the world, that an attempt to subvert your independence, and enslave
your fellow citizens, will terminate in the disgrace and the ruin of your
adversaries—and that a united and valiant people … are an unconquerable
bulwark against an empire of treachery, violence, and unrelenting
ambition.”23 In a moving testament to human rights, and the spirit of those
who were willing to fight to defend their freedom, the Injured Man of Color
not only affirmed Haiti’s right to independence but also issued a radical call
for Black liberation throughout the diaspora.
Coincidentally, on the same day that the Injured Man’s message to
Dessalines appeared in the Spectator, another newspaper, the Connecticut
Herald, published a proclamation that Dessalines had issued weeks prior.
Aptly titled “Liberty or Death,” Dessalines emphatically defended his
decision to eradicate all remaining French colonists in Haiti. A clear
rebuttal to the criticism that emanated from white people around the world,
Dessalines reveled in the defeat of slavery and in the punishment of those
who had perpetuated the enslavement of millions. Employing a clever
rhetorical strategy, the opening sentence of his proclamation highlighted a
series of horrifying abuses that had been enacted against innocent victims:
“CRIMES, the most attrocious [sic] … and would cause nature to shudder,
have been perpetrated.”24 The victims he referenced, however, were not the
French colonists that white people across the Atlantic World mourned. For
Dessalines, the real victims who deserved retribution were the generations
of enslaved Africans who had suffered unspeakable brutality at the hands of
their vicious enslavers. Framing himself as the liberator of his people,
Dessalines rejoiced in his triumph. “At length the hour of vengeance has
arrived,” he exclaimed, “and the implacable enemies of the rights of man
have suffered the punishment due to their crimes … Yes, I have saved my
country. I have avenged America.” Clearly, Dessalines took solace in his
belief that he was on the side of justice. Smugly dismissing the opinions
that “contemporary and future generations will pronounce upon my
conduct,” he confidently concluded, “I have performed my duty; I enjoy my
own approbation; for me that is sufficient.”25
 Dessalines’s most impassioned messages focused on the destruction of
slavery. He celebrated those who had the courage to fight for their freedom
and prophesized an end to slavery around the world. “[Y]our hands,
righteously armed,” he exclaimed, “have brought the axe upon the ancient
tree of slavery … Like an overflowing mighty torrent that tears down all
opposition, your vengeful fury has carried away everything in its impetuous
course. Thus perish all tyrants … all oppressors of mankind!” He also drew
attention to other countries where slavery still persisted, particularly French
colonies such as Guadeloupe and Martinique, and called upon his enslaved
brothers and sisters to rise up and fight for their freedom. “Unfortunate
people of Martinique,” he wrote, “could I but fly to your assistance and
break your fetters … Perhaps a spark from the same fire which inflames us,
will alight into your bosoms: perhaps … suddenly awakening from your
lethargy, with arms in your hands, you will reclaim your sacred and
imprescriptable [sic] rights.”26
Although historians continue to debate Dessalines’s actual commitment
to inciting rebellion elsewhere in the Caribbean, the threat alone delivered a
powerful symbolic blow in the battle for liberty.27 In a terrifying warning
against those foreign nations who might seek to re-impose control over the
newly independent nation, Dessalines taunted his enemies: “Let that nation
come who may be mad and daring enough to attack me, I wait for them
with firmness and a steady eye.” Promising deadly reprisals against his
enemies, he concluded, “woe to those who may approach too near … It
would be better for them that the sea receive them into its profound abyss,
than to be devoured by the anger of the children of Hayti. ‘War and Death
to Tyrants!’ this is my motto; ‘Liberty! Independence!’ this is our rallying
cry.”28 For Dessalines, then, “liberty or death” was a literal pledge—a
fervent vow he made to himself and his people that they would never be
enslaved or conquered again, and that they would fight to the death to
protect their freedom. For his enemies, his words provided a chilling
reminder that Dessalines would not hesitate to strike against anyone who
threatened their liberty.
It is impossible to ascertain how many Black people in the United States
read Dessalines’s and the Injured Man’s messages, or if they shared the
leaders’ sentiments. What we do know, however, is that hundreds of Black
men in Philadelphia apparently admired the Haitians’ bravery, courage, and
willingness to take up arms to defend the cause of freedom. Less than one
month after Dessalines and the Injured Man published their articles, as
many as two hundred Black Philadelphians took to the streets in the form of
a rebellion.29 The editor of the Columbian Centinel newspaper described
their actions as being “a la mode de Hayti,” implying that the group
endorsed using violent means to claim their right to liberty and equality.
They chose July 4th, U.S. Independence Day, as the moment to express
their discontent, likely in a purposeful effort to expose the contradiction
between Black enslavement and American freedom. Throughout the
nineteenth century, Black activists protested July 4th in cities across the
North, sometimes in an uprising, other times parading through the streets on
July 5th, which they claimed as a Black Independence Day. Their goal, of
course, was to highlight the contradiction between the celebration of
freedom and liberty while slavery persisted throughout the Americas.30
On this particular occasion, protestors “created some alarm” in
Philadelphia, boldly marching through town and attacking local residents.31
On the first night, July 4th, at about “half past eight,” an unspecified
number of Black men “formed themselves into a company, and appointed a
captain, lieutenant, and ensign.” Shortly after 9:00 p.m., the group allegedly
targeted a white man, and robbed him, before proceeding, military style,
through the streets, threatening to kill several more white people, including
an unnamed man and woman, as well as a “Mr. Kane and his family.”
Shortly thereafter, they attacked another white man with a brickbat, and
then entered a house on Small Street and assaulted two additional people.
By then, the group had reached about one hundred and roamed the streets
with “clubs and swords.” The following night, a group assembled again, at
about 10:00 p.m., this time numbering as many as two hundred. According
to one account, the armed men “committed similar, if not greater excesses
—damning the whites and saying they will shew [sic] them St. Domingo!”32
In subsequent days, the group gathered multiple times, assembling “several
nights successively,” injuring numerous people and threatening to murder
others, until the “ringleaders” were finally apprehended.33
As historian James Alexander Dun noted, “evoking ‘St. Domingo’ was
shorthand for resistance, one that embraced violence as a principled step
against slavery.”34 Even so, the group’s ultimate goals remain unclear. What
did they actually mean when they threatened to “shew the whites “St.
Domingo”? Were they simply continuing the tradition of demonstrating
against the hypocrisy of American “freedom” in the midst of slavery? Or
was it something more? Were they reflecting the Injured Man’s point that
Black people should have the same right as American patriots to use
violence to secure their freedom? Were they mimicking and celebrating
Dessalines’s bold behavior by threating whites with violence? Or were they
truly acting “a la mode de Hayti” and seeking to inspire an actual
revolution?
Although the historical record fails to provide satisfying answers to
those questions, there may be a small clue about the rebels’ motivations
buried in the language of one newspaper report. Notably, there are two
distinct accounts of what the rebels allegedly shouted on the second night.
According to the Spectator, they “damned the whites” and said they would
“shew them St. Domingo!” but the Columbian Centinel reported a more
nuanced version. In that account, the protestors promised to “shew the
whites ‘St. Domingo play.’”35 The addition of the word “play” is significant
for a few reasons. First, it suggests that the phrase may have been translated
from, or been influenced by, French speakers. While the phrasing “shew the
whites St. Domingo play” does not make much sense in English, the
expression “jeux de St. Domingo” would have had rich meaning among
French speakers in the early nineteenth century. As a colloquial expression,
“jeux de St. Domingo” essentially meant that the rebels intended to protest
“St. Domingo style,” or the way they do in St. Domingo. Even more, the
phrase carried the implication of a public spectacle—or public display of
fighting—one that was reflected in their bold demonstration in the streets.36
If, in fact, French speakers coined the phrase, it suggests that at least
some of the rebels may have been Saint-Domingue refugees who wanted to
declare their solidarity with Haiti. While there is no evidence that Benjamin
Lewis and Simon Fox, the two ringleaders taken into custody, spoke
French, other rebels may have. As such, it is entirely possible that at least
some of the rebels were from Saint-Domingue and hoped to spark the fires
of rebellion not just in Haiti, but also in the United States. What we know
for sure is that white Philadelphians took the threat seriously. The following
year, when Black Philadelphians tried to gather on July 4th near
Independence Hall, an angry white mob “drove them from the square with a
torrent of curses.”37 Ultimately, the Philadelphia rebellion of 1804
demonstrates that at least some Black people in the United States celebrated
and honored the Haitian Revolution—and independent Haiti—and used it
as a model for their own local liberation struggles.
After the dramatic events in 1804, a strange silence fell over the free
Black community in the northern United States. For more than a decade,
between 1804 and 1816, there is only one public mention of northern Black
people’s political perspectives regarding Haiti and Haitian independence: a
toast given at a gathering in Boston in 1810, during which Black celebrants
offered a prayer for “our African brethren in St. Domingo and elsewhere.”38
Not even the impassioned, eloquent speeches that Black activists delivered
between 1808 and 1815 celebrating the abolition of the slave trade offered a
single reference to Haiti.39
This relative silence is particularly surprising given that a series of
important events occurred during the decade between 1805 and 1815 that
likely captured the Black community’s attention. In 1805, the Haitian
government formally enacted its constitution, which circulated widely
throughout the Atlantic World. Several stipulations would have been
enthusiastically hailed among Black people in the United States, including
the permanent abolition of slavery, the formation of Haiti as a “free state,
sovereign and independent of any other power in the universe,” and a ban
preventing white men from acquiring property in Haiti or from bearing the
title “master or proprietor.”40 Then, in 1806, the U.S. Congress ferociously
debated whether to outlaw the lucrative trade between the United States and
Haiti, and ultimately decided in favor of an economic embargo.41
Racism clearly fueled support for the ban, as demonstrated by a
pamphlet that circulated in Philadelphia and appeared in newspapers across
the country. It celebrated the recent prohibition against commercial
interactions between Haiti and the United States on the grounds that “a nest
of depraved and ferocious monsters” occupied Haiti, who, “if left to
themselves, will be the scourge of the American seas.” Even worse, it
opposed the very notion of Haitian sovereignty, arguing that there was a
fundamental “evil to be dreaded in Haytian independence.” According to
the author, Americans should not support any commerce or any activity that
endorsed Haiti’s existence because “measures which have a tendency to
make Hayti a free and independent state … help towards the creation of a
strong hold of pirates, robbers and black buccaneers.” Blatantly demonizing
the Haitian people, the pamphlet railed against the “deviant slaves” who
possessed nothing more than “gloom, ferocity, and hellish malignity in their
bosoms.” Haiti, the author concluded, had become the “most infamous and
abandoned state of degenerate civilization [we] ever saw, with the active
and unrelenting barbarity of the most savage rudeness.”42
Obviously aware that racism motivated the ban, Haitian authorities
issued an appeal to U.S. merchants in 1809 urging them to resume trade
with Haiti. In one circular sent to U.S. newspapers, Henry Christophe,
northern Haiti’s new leader, complained of the “falsities” that had been
disseminated about Haiti and admonished businessmen to defy the ban.
“Merchants of the United States,” he wrote, “I have always had at heart to
protect your commerce, & your fellow citizens who trade with Hayti!”
Pleading with U.S. merchants to trust him, Christophe assured them, “My
dispositions are immutable—they will never change … come to ports
subject to my authority, and you will judge for yourselves of the truth of
which I declare.”43 Ultimately, due to the embargo’s negative financial
impact in the United States, trade between Haiti and U.S. merchants
resumed in 1810. Even so, the U.S. government still refused to formally
acknowledge Haiti’s existence or to extend diplomatic recognition.44
Throughout these dramatic events, free Black activists in the United
States remained silent. Given the significant political and economic stakes
in this period, and the openly racist attacks against Haiti that fueled support
for the embargo, it seems odd that Black activists offered no remarks on the
economic ban or diplomatic non-recognition for so long.45 Certainly, this
silence is vexing to historians, but it also raises questions about why Black
activists refrained from public commentary. Perhaps the mainstream U.S.
press played a role. The first Black newspaper in the United States,
Freedom’s Journal, did not appear until 1827, which meant that northern
Black communities had no reliable access to print media for more than two
decades after Haitian independence. Although the Commercial Advertiser
and the Spectator agreed to publish the Injured Man’s letters, that
arrangement may have been an anomaly. Ultimately, white newspaper
editors maintained the power to determine what to print, and it is possible
that editors became less willing to publish Black people’s writings,
especially if they expressed radical messages.
 Yet, while white censorship seems like a reasonable explanation, it
becomes less convincing under scrutiny. It does not appear that white
newspaper editors felt particularly compelled to stifle Black activists on this
matter. There is, for example, no public record of negative responses to the
Injured Man’s articles; to the contrary, the sole printed response actually
praised his writings and his defense of Haiti.46 Moreover, other activists,
including a few prominent white leaders, defended Dessalines and Haitian
independence during this era and were acclaimed for their statements. As
historian James Alexander Dun noted, numerous “British and Federalist
voices found principle behind the ‘massacres’ that took place in the spring
of 1804,” arguing that the strategy of war mandated such action, and that
French violence against Black people had warranted such a response.47
Therefore, while it is conceivable that white newspaper editors may
have been censoring Black activists, the more likely explanation is that
Black people were intentionally censoring themselves. By 1805, Haiti’s
internal problems dramatically escalated as Dessalines faced mounting
criticism, both internally and abroad, not only for his use of violence
against the French but also because he implemented controversial labor
regulations. Of course, Dessalines’s policies were largely driven by foreign
embargoes. As Haiti faced economic isolation and military threats,
Dessalines scrambled to salvage the nation’s economy, desperately turning
to forced labor and the plantation system in order to bolster the economy,
finance the military, and stave off foreign invasion.48 Quite understandably,
however, many Haitians deeply resented Dessalines’s economic strategies,
and they protested against extreme labor conditions, particularly ones that
conjured up memories of slavery, including violent punishment and
mandatory surrender of their wages to the government.49 They especially
detested Dessalines’s paramilitary labor enforcement strategies, which led
to “the arrest of thousands of men, women and children” in 1805.50 As one
U.S. newspaper reported: “The black inhabitants [of Haiti] are much
dissatisfied with their emperor and their government, and oftentimes
complain of his tyranny, although death is the consequence.”51 In another
article, a critic attacked Dessalines more poetically:

The humane sable Chief...

Who rears a throne on poor Domingo’s wrecks,
 Proclaiming FREEDOM to his brother blacks,
By fastening yokes about their necks,
And tying burdens on their backs!52

One white visitor to Haiti simply lamented, “This is a sad country, with
no laws but what are made to suit the moment.”53 And yet, it is important to
recognize that Dessalines coped with nearly impossible political and
financial conditions during his reign, and foreign newspapers had a decided
investment in chronicling his alleged failures. Therefore, as with many
Haitian leaders who followed him, Dessalines’s reputation became mired in
foreign misrepresentation, as observers ignored the challenges he faced
from the western world.
Regardless, in October 1806, General Alexandre Pétion and other
disillusioned members of Dessalines’s administration led a coup d’état that
resulted in Dessalines’s death.54 As historian Chelsea Stieber noted, the
insurgents, primarily from the southern region, framed their uprising as a
“campaign against tyranny” and sought to achieve “true revolution” and
“true liberty” through their actions.55 General Henry Christophe also
reveled in Dessalines’s demise in a formal announcement: “Tyranny has
abated with the destruction of the tyrant! Liberty is born again.” He further
asserted that the army would await the formation of a constitution that
would bind every citizen together in a “social compact” and ensure equal
rights for all.56
Despite the celebrations, Alexandre Pétion and Henry Christophe soon
clashed over the country’s future.57 While Pétion favored the formation of a
democratic republic, Christophe preferred monarchical rule. Unable to
reconcile their differences, a brief civil war ensued, resulting in a
compromise that split the nation in two. Christophe claimed dominion in
the North, and later crowned himself the King of Haiti, while Pétion ruled
the southern republic of Haiti.58 Therefore, beginning in 1806, Haiti became
hopelessly divided, and U.S. Black activists struggled over where to place
their allegiance.
To make matters worse, the conflict between Christophe and Pétion
received extensive coverage in U.S. newspapers.59 U.S. Black leaders likely
found the media attention particularly upsetting, since it reinforced racist
stereotypes that Black people could not effectively govern themselves. One
article, written in 1810, for example, claimed that Christophe and Pétion’s
discord proved that Haiti would continue to suffer until “it shall again be
cultivated under the intelligence and perseverance of whites.”60 In the face
of such complex and unsavory political squabbles, Black activists in the
United States may have elected to remain silent rather than enter the fray
and potentially tarnish the cause of Haitian independence.
Whatever the reasons for the decade-long silence in northern Black
communities, enslaved Black people in the southern United States actively
embraced their own strategy: rebellion. Drawing inspiration from Haiti’s
triumph over slavery, enslaved Louisianans waged a battle for freedom in
1811. Certainly, the Haitian Revolution had motivated revolts in the United
States before. Most notably, in 1800, enslaved Virginians emulated the
Haitians’ bravery, when Gabriel, an enslaved blacksmith, hatched an
insurrectionary plan that reportedly grew to several hundred conspirators.61
As Virginia Governor, later President, James Monroe complained, the
Haitian Revolution had “excite[d] some sensation among our Slaves,”
causing Gabriel’s plot to become “unquestionably the most serious and
formidable conspiracy we have ever known of the kind.”62 And yet, the
uprising in 1811 was the first large-scale rebellion in the United States that
occurred after Haiti became a sovereign nation—a fact that proved
significant since Haiti’s independence served as a specific source of
inspiration for this quest for liberation.
Later known as the German Coast Revolt, Louisiana’s 1811 uprising
was the largest, although not the bloodiest, slave rebellion in United States
history. With estimates ranging up to 500 rebels, the uprising lasted for two
days, between January 8th and January 10th, along the banks of the
Mississippi River, spanning St. John the Baptist, St. Charles, and Jefferson
Parishes, just outside New Orleans. Armed primarily with hand tools, the
rebels marched for twenty miles, burning plantation houses, sugarhouses,
and crops along the way. Flaunting their African heritage, they sang, beat
drums, and proudly flew battle flags as they paraded toward freedom,
chanting “On to Orleans!”63
This revolt profoundly disturbed white U.S. residents, especially since
Louisiana had only become U.S. territory several years earlier. In spring
1803, France sold the Louisiana territory, totaling 530 million acres, to the
U.S. government for $15 million in a desperate effort to recoup the financial
losses they suffered during the Haitian Revolution. The transfer of land,
later known as the Louisiana Purchase, became official in December 1803,
just weeks before Haitian independence. Only two months later, the
governor of the Orleans Territory, William C. Claiborne, nervously reported
his fears that Louisiana could become “another Santo Domingo.”64
He was right. Unleashed almost exactly eight years after Haiti’s
declaration of independence, the Haitian Revolution and independent Haiti
provided a powerful example for the rebels from the revolt’s inception.
Many of the insurgents had been brought to Louisiana by their masters
fleeing from Saint-Domingue amid the Haitian Revolution and were
therefore well aware of Haiti’s success. Carrying with them the spirit of the
Haitian Revolution, they sought to emulate the Haitians’ bravery and their
victory. According to one scholar, the rebels, dazzled by Haitian
independence, may have intended to flee to Haiti following the revolt.65
Others have suggested that they plotted to create a Black republic along the
Mississippi River modeled on the image of a free and sovereign Haiti.66
Regardless, Haiti’s influence on the rebellion was clear. Even whites
acknowledged that the specter of Haiti haunted the revolt, describing it as a
“miniature representation of the horrors of St. Domingo.”67
In the end, however, the German Coast uprising concluded with an
agonizing backlash, as local militias descended in a battle of bloody
retribution. By the end of January, the severed heads of more than 100
rebels lined the levee from New Orleans to the outlying plantations in a
terrifying warning not to repeat this audacious attempt for freedom.68 Even
so, while the planters’ terroristic acts squelched the 1811 revolt, Haiti
remained a powerful symbol of freedom in both enslaved and free
communities across the United States.
Following the German Coast rebellion, five years passed before
northern Black leaders publicly discussed Haiti again. But when they did,
they joined their enslaved brothers and sisters in embracing Haiti’s image as
a free, sovereign Black nation that they hoped to emulate. In 1816, free
Black activists began envisioning Haiti as a Black utopia, a potential
homeland for Black people where they could find true freedom and
equality. The eventual birth of the Haitian emigration movement was
largely due to Prince Saunders, a Black activist who ushered in a new phase
of Black political thought regarding Haitian independence.69 Building upon
the Injured Man, who encouraged Haitian nationals to regenerate their own
nation, Saunders broadened the vision to include Black people elsewhere in
the African diaspora.70 Specifically, he hoped to inspire Black people in the
United States to migrate to Haiti and participate in the project of Black
nation building. In Saunders’s view, revitalizing Haiti was a pan-African
project—one that required Black people across the diaspora to lend their
energy and labor. His vision resonated with many Black people in the
United States who desired to escape the legacy of slavery, experience full
freedom, and join a Black nation in the Americas. Thus, a full-scale
emigration movement to Haiti emerged in the 1820s, rejuvenating the free
Black leadership’s commitment to Haitian sovereignty.71
Prince Saunders’s interest in emigration began in 1815, shortly after
establishing a friendship with Paul Cuffe, an activist in Massachusetts who
promoted repatriation to West Africa. Cuffe possessed considerable talent
as a sailor and navigator, and in 1808, following the ban against the
international slave trade, he sought to develop a political and economic
relationship with Sierra Leone, a West African nation that had become a
resettlement site for African peoples. The War of 1812 temporarily placed
Cuffe’s emigration plans on hold, during which time Prince Saunders and
Cuffe became close associates and Saunders was converted to the
emigrationist cause.72 In 1815, after the war ceased, Cuffe and Saunders
began recruiting skilled Black migrants to settle in Sierra Leone and even to
develop a commercial exchange between free Black people in the United
States and continental Africans.73
Despite their shared commitment to African emigration, Cuffe and
Saunders began to turn their attention to Haiti.74 In 1815, Saunders traveled
to London with another Black Boston activist, Baptist minister Thomas
Paul, where he met famed British abolitionist William Wilberforce.
Saunders made quite an impression on Wilberforce, who eventually
encouraged him to travel to Haiti in order to help establish schools there.75
Early in 1816, Saunders traveled to Haiti for the first time. During his visit,
he endeared himself to the Haitian people, including government officials,
because he dispensed life-saving smallpox vaccinations throughout his
travels.76 He particularly charmed Henry Christophe, the King of northern
Haiti, who summoned Saunders to Sans Souci Palace and received him “in
high stile [sic] and with great cordiality.”77
 Christophe appointed Saunders as the Minister of Education, and
immediately thereafter, Saunders and four Haitian professors from the
Royal College of Haiti traveled to London to confer with educational
leaders.78 Upon his return to Haiti, Saunders established numerous schools,
recruited teachers, and worked to enhance Haiti’s educational system.79 By
late 1816, Prince Saunders’s mentor, Paul Cuffe, also became increasingly
involved in Haitian emigration, actively urging his associates across the
northern United States, including prominent Black Philadelphian James
Forten, to consider Haiti as a potential relocation site. But, within months,
Cuffe began to suffer from an extended illness, leaving Saunders to
determine future strategies for the Haitian emigration movement.80
Saunders ultimately elected to commence a propaganda campaign,
designed to discredit negative perceptions about Haiti and the political
divide between Henry Christophe and Alexandre Pétion. The result was the
Haytian Papers, published first in London in 1816, and then in Boston two
years later, which focused primarily on Haiti’s northern region, the
Kingdom of Haiti, ruled by Christophe. A lengthy volume, the Haytian
Papers offered detailed information on the kingdom’s political structure, its
“enlightened systems of policy,” and the government’s “liberal
principles.”81 Saunders took extra care to emphasize the kingdom’s “definite
independence” and the “happiness of the Haytian People” under
Christophe’s leadership.
The Haytian Papers was clearly a defensive document, one that
painfully demonstrated Saunders’s awareness of Haiti’s omnipresent
detractors. Carefully constructing an alternative image, Saunders sought to
prove Black people’s intelligence and capacity for self-government. He
painstakingly depicted Christophe as a brilliant and capable leader with the
ability to cultivate a powerful Black nation and he meticulously presented
Haiti as a morally upstanding and industrious community of citizens. He
even espoused an early form of pan-Africanism, highlighting the
interconnectedness between Black people in the United States and Haiti
based on their shared African heritage. Echoing the Injured Man’s message
from a decade earlier, Saunders declared that since “African blood flows in
our veins,” all Black people are “brethren” who should unite together to
create a new society.82
 Yet, despite his appeals to unity, Saunders refused to collaborate with
Alexandre Pétion, Christophe’s rival in the South. Although Pétion actively
encouraged Black migration to Haiti, Saunders snubbed him and instead
focused his attention on Christophe.83 Saunders’s disdain may have
stemmed from an incident in 1814 when Pétion met with French officials
and offered to pay “damages” to former French plantation owners in
exchange for unqualified Haitian sovereignty—a move that Christophe
angrily denounced.84 This explanation seems most logical, since Saunders
accused Pétion of renouncing independence and “bartering away the rights
of the people.” He also ruthlessly portrayed Pétion in disparaging terms,
describing him as a “criminal,” “hypocrite,” “traitor,” and perhaps most
offensive, as a “slave and instrument” of the French. He even attacked
Pétion in explicitly gendered terms, mocking him for allegedly dressing in
women’s clothes to escape capture during a battle with Christophe’s army.85
But while Saunders remained deeply loyal to Christophe, the feelings
were not mutual. In painfully ironic twist, Saunders quickly lost his idol’s
endorsement following the Haytian Papers’s publication. Although the
Haytian Papers was essentially a praise-song in celebration of Christophe,
Saunders’s decision to publish it without permission enraged Christophe,
causing Saunders to quickly fall into disfavor. Saunders’s fall from grace
rapidly intensified after reports circulated that Saunders had put on
presumptuous airs while representing Christophe in London. According to
several sources, Saunders intentionally tricked London’s elite into thinking
he was an African prince. “[S]tyling himself a royal diplomat from an
exotic kingdom,” Saunders immediately became “the darling of London
society, even meeting England’s sovereign.” According to one report,
Saunders appeared “exquisitely attired and with an air of dignified
sophistication,” and presented a card “on which he had omitted the
designation ‘Mr.’ before the Prince in his name.” Naturally, “his
‘pronounced African Features’ easily completed the hoax that a ‘genuine’
African prince had graced the drawing rooms of London ladies.” Given
Saunders’s conduct, Christophe dismissed him as his royal adviser and
Saunders returned to the United States under a cloud of disgrace.86
Even so, Saunders continued to promote Haitian emigration without
Christophe’s official sanction. Armed with the Haytian Papers, his printed
evidence of Haiti’s success, he set out on a speaking tour in Black
communities, traveling to New York, Boston, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and
throughout the North, advocating for Haitian emigration.87 His efforts met
with mixed success.88 On the positive side, Haitian emigration societies
began appearing in many cities, such as Baltimore, Boston, and New York.
The Philadelphians, however, proved less enthusiastic. Black
Philadelphians did not oppose emigration in principle; in fact, they had
previously supported emigration to West Africa as early as 1812. Yet, many
Black leaders had become wary of emigration because the American
Colonization Society, an avowedly racist, pro-slavery organization, had
begun exercising more control over the colonization movement. As a result,
the majority of Black Philadelphia’s leadership questioned the prudence of
emigration and were reluctant to consider Haiti.89 Prince Saunders,
however, remained determined to convince them otherwise.90
Fortunately for Saunders, other activists shared his strivings for pan-
African solidarity. Although his friend and ally, Paul Cuffe, died in
September 1817, many Black leaders remained enamored with Haiti,
including venerated Black abolitionist James Forten.91 As historian Julie
Winch noted, Haitian independence “delighted” Forten, since he ardently
believed that Haiti’s achievements were “bound up with those of ‘Africans’
elsewhere in the diaspora.”92 In 1817, Forten predicted that Haiti “would
become a great nation” and used it as a model for what Black people could
ultimately achieve, declaring that Haiti proved Black people would “not
always be detained in their present bondage.”93 After all, as one of his
correspondents noted, Forten viewed the “great men of Hayti” as the
“deliverers and avengers of his race.”94 Thus, for Saunders, Forten, and
other Black activists across the United States, Haiti began to represent their
hopes for freedom and their dreams for a liberated, united Black community
in the Americas.
Given their hopes for unity and racial solidarity, Saunders and other
sympathetic Black leaders were likely disappointed by unfolding events in
Haiti in spring 1818. In March, Alexandre Pétion died, prompting renewed
conflict between the northern and southern regions. Shortly before his
death, Pétion selected his successor—Jean-Pierre Boyer, an influential
general who had fought with Dessalines, Christophe, and Pétion during the
Haitian Revolution.95 On March 30, 1818, Boyer became “President for
Life” of the Republic of Haiti, fueling tensions with King Henry Christophe
in the North. Even so, Prince Saunders remained hopeful for reconciliation
and believed that U.S. abolitionists could help remedy the rift.
Much like the Injured Man of Color more than a decade earlier,
Saunders recognized the interconnected destiny between Haiti’s success and
the Black freedom struggle across the Americas. Therefore, in December
1818, when Saunders delivered the keynote address at an abolitionist
gathering in Philadelphia, he issued a call to action—one that
acknowledged Haiti’s troubled circumstances and urged abolitionists to heal
the wounds that divided the fledgling country. “The present spirit of rivalry
which exists between the two chiefs” he explained, was not
“insurmountable,” it simply required “the philanthropic interposition and
mediation of those who have the welfare of the African race at heart.” Ever
hopeful about Haiti’s political destiny, Saunders charged his audience with
the responsibility to resolve the political conflict and to lend their support to
build the struggling Black nation. In particular, he called upon them to
“originate a plan, which shall … place that whole country upon the basis of
unanimity and perpetual peace.”96
In his conclusion, Saunders bemoaned Haiti’s broader political
challenge; namely, the unwillingness of western nations to extend
diplomatic courtesies and recognize the Black nation’s sovereignty, which
created deleterious effects on Haiti’s political and economic standing.
Quoting Sir Joseph Banks, a famous British scientist and abolitionist,
Saunders expressed frustration “that the governments of white men have
hitherto conceived it imprudent to acknowledge that of their fellow men of
Hayti.” Even so, Saunders still concluded on a positive note, offering an
inspirational message about Haiti’s bright future: “Perseverance … [will] in
due time conquer all difficulties, and bring together the Black and white
varieties of mankind under the ties of mutual and reciprocal equality and
brotherhood, which the bountiful Creator of all things has provided.”97
Despite Saunders’s optimism, however, only a small trickle of migrants
departed for Haiti over the next two years, and it appeared that the
movement had hit a standstill.98
While Prince Saunders struggled to garner support for emigration in the
North, the movement for rebellion gained strength in the South. As with the
German Coast uprising more than a decade earlier, Haiti provided
inspiration for enslaved and free Black freedom seekers as they plotted their
own conspiracy to undermine slavery. Much like Louisiana, South Carolina
had become a safe haven for many white refugees who fled Saint-
Domingue during the Haitian Revolution, bringing radicalized and angry
enslaved people with them who willingly and enthusiastically spread the
spirit of insurrection.99 As early as 1818, free Black abolitionist Denmark
Vesey reportedly began colluding with several other rebels to destroy
slavery in the United States and find freedom in Haiti. Although at least one
historian cast doubt on the authenticity of an actual conspiracy, other
scholars have convincingly demonstrated the legitimacy of a plot.100 Most
significant for this study, the court testimony demonstrates the powerful
influence of the Haitian Revolution and Haitian sovereignty on Black
political consciousness.
Known for much of his life as Telemaque, Denmark Vesey’s birthplace
is unclear; historians have placed it variously in Africa, Bermuda, and St.
Thomas. However, as a young child, he labored in Saint-Domingue for
about a year between 1781 and 1782 before Captain Joseph Vesey brought
him to Charleston, South Carolina. Apparently, his short time in Saint-
Domingue left an impression upon him, because as a young man he
followed the news of the Haitian Revolution closely. As his friend, Jack
Purcell, later testified, Telemaque craved news about the rebellion in Haiti
and the fight against slavery.101 As Purcell explained, Telemaque always
read “the passages in the newspapers that related to St. Domingo, and
apparently every pamphlet he could lay his hands on, that had any
connection with slavery.”102
In 1799, Telemaque won $1,500 in a lottery and used the money to
purchase his freedom. Renaming himself Denmark Vesey, he redoubled his
commitment to destroy slavery. Although he briefly considered migrating to
Liberia, he ultimately concluded that he must remain in the United States
and fight to eradicate slavery.103 Developing a revolutionary vision, Vesey
began plotting a massive armed strike against slavery in South Carolina,
designed to bring his people to freedom. Between 1818 and 1822, Vesey
recruited supporters throughout the region and by spring 1822, Vesey made
the conspiracy his full-time occupation.104 His co-conspirator, Monday Gell,
later noted that in March, Vesey quit his regular job and “employed himself
exclusively in enlisting men” for the rebellion. In the end, of course,
Denmark Vesey’s conspiracy suffered a betrayal. In June 1822, two
enslaved people reported the plot to their owners, and by July, white
authorities rounded up suspected conspirators, placed them on trial and
delivered cruel punishments, brutally executing thirty-five conspirators and
remanding forty-two others into bondage in Cuba.105
And yet, the testimony in the rebels’ court trials proved deeply
revealing, powerfully illustrating the crucial symbolic role that the
successful Haitian Revolution played in Vesey’s strategy. Throughout the
recruitment and planning phase, Vesey used Haiti as the ideal model of
unity, solidarity, and courage that Black people in the United States must
emulate. As co-conspirator Rolla Bennett testified, “Denmark told us, it was
high time we had our liberty, and he could shew us how we might obtain it.
He said, we must unite together as the St. Domingo people did, never to
betray one another; and to die before we would tell upon one another.”
Jesse, an enslaved man who later confessed to the conspiracy, likewise
stated that Vesey delivered powerful speeches, arguing that Black people
“were fully able to conquer the whites, if we were only unanimous and
courageous, as the St. Domingo people were.” Vesey’s followers
particularly admired Haitians for their ferocity of spirit. Lead conspirator
Monday Gell, for example, bragged that Haitian President Jean-Pierre
Boyer could “whip ten white men himself” and praised the Haitian people
for possessing the courage to “fight the white people.” Similarly, Vesey
encouraged his supporters to be ruthless in their attack, much like the rebels
in Haiti. As Jesse explained, “Denmark Vesey said, he thought it was for
our safety not to spare one white skin alive, for this was the plan they
pursued in St. Domingo.”106
Haiti’s post-revolutionary image—as a powerful, sovereign Black
nation— also figured prominently in Vesey’s plot, particularly regarding
military strategy. Vesey and his closest allies, including Monday Gell and
Rolla Bennett, repeatedly told potential rebels that they should take up arms
for their freedom, assuring them that Haitian leaders would send military
support once the uprising commenced. One witness testified that Vesey held
a large gathering in which he claimed that the Haitian people stood ready to
lend their aid: “At the meeting it was said that … St. Domingo and Africa
would come over and cut up the white people if we only made the motion
first.”107 Moreover, Vesey reportedly spoke to groups of Black people all
along the Santee River, telling them that “the Haitian government would
surely send a Black army to aid North American slaves if only they would
revolt; or as an alternative, all U.S. Black rebels could flee either to Haiti or
Africa after killing their white masters and looting the city of
Charleston.”108
Independent Haiti also played a critical role in Vesey’s long-term plan.
Once the uprising succeeded, Vesey maintained, Haiti would serve as a
refuge for the rebels and provide the safe, comforting, protective home that
only a free, sovereign Black nation could guarantee. As one conspirator,
Jesse, stated, Vesey’s ultimate goal was to flee to Haiti and gain freedom.
Once the rebels reached Charleston, they would raid the arsenal to obtain
weapons, seize funds from the banks, and then gain control of the harbor
and sail for Haiti where they could find freedom. “[A]s soon as they had got
all the money out of the Banks, and the goods out of the stores on board,”
Jesse explained, “they intended to sail for Saint Domingo, for [Vesey] had a
promise that they would receive and protect them.”109 Co-conspirator Rolla
Bennett echoed this idea, testifying that, “Some of the company asked, if
they were to stay in Charleston; [Vesey] said no, as soon as they could get
the money from the Banks and the goods from the stores, they should hoist
sail for Saint Domingo, for he expected some armed vessels would meet
them to conduct and protect them.”110
Clearly, Vesey’s followers believed that the Haitian government would
support their efforts, and there is even evidence to suggest that Vesey and
Monday Gell tried to cultivate a relationship with the Haitian government.
In spring 1822, Gell allegedly wrote a letter to Haitian leaders in which he
highlighted the horrors of slavery in the United States, and pleaded with the
Haitian government to assist in the fight against slavery. “Monday was
writing a letter to St. Domingo,” one witness claimed, “the letter was about
the sufferings of the blacks, and to know if the people of St. Domingo
would help them if they made an effort to free themselves.” Although Gell
never admitted to writing such a letter, he did testify that Denmark Vesey
wrote to Haitian President Jean-Pierre Boyer twice. According to Gell,
Vesey sought to establish communication with the Haitian government and
asked for Gell’s assistance in that mission. “Vesey said he would endeavor
to open a correspondence with Port-au-Prince, in St. Domingo,” Gell
explained, “to ascertain whether the inhabitants there would assist us. He
said he would send letters there and I advised him to do so, if he could.” A
short time later, Vesey apparently brought letters to Gell and asked him to
deliver them to ships in the Charleston harbor bound for Haiti. At Vesey’s
orders, Gell gave the letters to a Black cook aboard a ship headed for Port-
au-Prince who promised to bring them to Boyer.111
Ultimately, the historical record is silent on the fate of those letters. Did
they ever actually arrive in Haiti? If so, did Boyer or anyone in the Haitian
government receive them or reply? We will likely never know. What we do
know, however, is that although traitors obviously foiled Vesey’s plans
before an actual revolt occurred, the Haitian Revolution and the subsequent
establishment of a free and sovereign Haiti deeply inspired Vesey and his
supporters, and they desperately clung to their hope for freedom until their
very last breaths.
They were not alone. While enslaved and free Black southerners used
Haiti’s example to inspire rebellion, the Haitian emigration movement
finally blossomed in the North during the early 1820s.112 In the years
surrounding Vesey’s conspiracy, a series of important developments
inspired many Black northerners to fashion Haiti into a republic that would
bring respect to the Black race and defy the opponents of freedom and
equality. In July 1820, President Jean-Pierre Boyer, who continued his reign
in southern Haiti, published a heartfelt message to the U.S. Black
community in the Niles’ Register newspaper. Issuing a call for pan-African
solidarity, he shared his desire to offer a new home for the downtrodden and
oppressed in the United States. “Our solemn oath is to live free and
independent,” he affirmed, “Our wise constitution which insures a free
country to Africans and their descendants … has destined Hayti for a land
of promise, a secret asylum, where our unfortunate brethren will, in the end,
see their wounds healed by the balm of equality and their tears wiped away
by the protecting hand of liberty.”113 Despite his poetic appeal, Boyer did
not receive an immediate response from U.S. Black activists.
In fact, when Prince Saunders traveled to Haiti one month later, he did
not initially forge a relationship with Boyer; instead, he sought to heal his
relationship with Henry Christophe. According to Saunders, Boyer “did
nothing for me, although I made him fully acquainted with the objects I had
in view,” and therefore Saunders elected to regain Christophe’s support for
the emigration movement.114 In early October, after waiting nearly six
weeks, Saunders finally gained an audience with Christophe and the two
men repaired their long-standing rift.115 Perhaps most significantly,
Saunders and Christophe signed a “treaty,” in which Christophe pledged to
donate a ship and $25,000 to bolster the emigration movement.116
However, a cataclysmic event derailed Saunders’s mission. Just days
after Saunders reconciled with Christophe, a revolt broke out and Boyer’s
army marched northward to claim control over Christophe’s territory.
Terrified, and abandoned by his guards, Christophe committed suicide in his
palace on October 9, 1820.117 Soon thereafter, Boyer issued a statement,
openly reveling in Christophe’s death, much as he had celebrated Jean-
Jacques Dessalines’s demise. “The tyrant is no more,” he gleefully
proclaimed, “he has done himself justice … [he] terminated his days … by
a pistol shot, at the news of the defection of what he called his military
household, which … had declared against his despotism.”118 Three days
later, Boyer delivered a more positive, inspiring message, focusing on
Haiti’s future as a unified nation: “Haytians! The time of discord and
division is passed. The day of re-union and concord, the most happy in my
life, is arrived.”119
Regardless, the outcome devastated Prince Saunders. Caught in the
attack against Christophe, Saunders barely escaped with his life. Although
he managed to scramble aboard a ship departing for the United States,
Haitian officials seized the boat and took Saunders into custody.120 During
his detainment, despite his personal distaste for Boyer, Saunders requested a
meeting with him and even sought his support for the emigration project.
Unfortunately, Boyer, who obviously still harbored resentment against his
former rival, refused to work with Saunders. Boyer stated that he would
have “nothing to do with the affairs of those who were in the service of
Christophe” and sent Saunders back to Philadelphia. Perhaps smarting from
the harsh rebuke, Saunders later described Boyer as “possessed of very little
ability to govern.”121
Still, Boyer’s presidency marked an important turning point in the
emigration movement’s expansion because while his relationship with U.S.
Black activists had a rather inauspicious beginning, that dynamic soon
changed. In February 1822, Boyer extended his influence across the
mountains to the eastern side of the island and gained control over all of
Hispaniola.122 Abolishing the monarchy in the North, and significantly
increasing Haiti’s territory, Boyer resolved to build Haiti into a premier
republic and believed that his success depended on his ability to attract
young, talented, educated Black people to the island.123 Wisely, he
implemented two effective strategies; he articulated a political philosophy
that resonated with U.S. Black leaders, and he created a proposal that
addressed their most fundamental needs.
Boyer soon enjoyed widespread popularity among U.S. Black activists,
largely based on the fact that he espoused strong pan-African ideals. He
lamented the harsh and humiliating conditions that his brothers and sisters
experienced in the United States, and he emphasized that all people of
African descent would find brotherhood, equality, and citizenship in Haiti.
As Boyer explained, he had a natural “sympathy” for those of “African
blood” and he yearned to give them refuge in Haiti. With an open heart and
open arms, Boyer anticipated the moment when he could welcome Black
people in Haiti, the “land of true liberty.” He also agreed to pay part of their
travel expenses, provide fertile land, tools, schooling and, most importantly,
full citizenship: “Those who come, being children of Africa, shall be
Haytiens as soon as they put their feet upon the soil of Hayti.”124 Boyer’s
words sounded like music to the ears of most free Black northerners, who
desperately sought an asylum for their people. Thus, by 1823, Prince
Saunders reported that thousands of free Blacks “anxiously” awaited the
opportunity to move to Haiti.125
Throughout this period, Saunders publicly promoted Haitian emigration,
but privately he railed against President Boyer. In a letter to British
abolitionist Thomas Clarkson in May 1823, Saunders shared his fears
regarding conditions in Haiti. While expressing his passionate hope for the
establishment of a “regular and well-balanced government,” he warned that
Haiti had gone into decline since Boyer assumed office. He complained, in
particular, about the “alarming torrent of licentiousness and disorder which
pervades the greatest portion of every class in society” under Boyer’s
leadership. More specifically, he questioned Boyer’s intentions, stating that
he, “had never performed one act which was in the least advantageous to
the country, [instead] everything that was done seemed to tend its ruin.”126
Saunders was not entirely wrong in his assessment. Boyer exercised
absolute authority over his country and its citizens in a misguided attempt
to maintain a stable country. He enforced a constitution that granted an
inordinate amount of power to himself, while simultaneously limiting the
power of congressional representatives. As one visitor to Haiti wrote, Boyer
was a “veritable dictator,” who corrupted Haiti’s social and political life by
“keeping the population trapped in poverty and ignorance.”127 Indeed,
throughout his reign, Boyer intentionally withheld universal education and
repressed political opposition while his people languished in poverty. As
historian Laurent Dubois noted, Boyer famously “declared that ‘to sow
education is to sow revolution.’”128 Despite these deeply troubling
developments, Saunders maintained hope in the Haitian people’s
“redeeming spirit” and remained committed to his vision for Haiti’s
destiny.129 Convinced that Haitians would rise again and hold their leaders
accountable, Saunders clung to his dreams. In fact, one year later, Saunders
returned to Haiti, reconciled with Boyer, and remained in Haiti until his
death in 1839.130
Perhaps reflecting Saunders’s belief in Haiti’s “redeeming spirit,” many
Black people in the United States experienced this historical moment as a
time of tremendous hope. As the newly reborn Haitian republic appeared to
thrive, the emigration movement surged. In 1823, Jeremiah Gloucester, a
Black abolitionist and Presbyterian minister in Philadelphia, delivered an
address commemorating the abolition of the slave trade in which he
poetically and passionately regaled his audience with reminiscences of the
Haitians’ triumphant victory over slavery. For Gloucester, Haiti served as
the quintessential example of bravery and success, since its “sons and
daughters” had effectively broken the chains of slavery. Even more, he
noted, they had claimed their freedom and established a sovereign nation.
The Haitians, to their everlasting glory, “proclaimed the imprescribable
[sic] rights of man, sealing the covenant made with liberty, by their blood
… liberty which they have been the invincible defenders of, has found an
asylum in the bosom of a regularly organized independent government.”
For this, he prophesized, Haiti would be enshrined in history.131
Enamored with Haiti’s inspiring image, free Black activists across the
United States boldly began pursuing a future in the Black republic. On July
3, 1824, just one day before the United States celebrated the anniversary of
its independence, Reverend Thomas Paul, leader of the First African Baptist
Church in Boston, published an open letter in the Columbian Centinel
newspaper, praising Haitian sovereignty, celebrating President Boyer, and
encouraging U.S. Blacks to migrate to Haiti. Paul had previously visited
Haiti twice; he enjoyed six months in Haiti in 1815 with Prince Saunders
and returned in 1823 to meet with President Boyer. Favorably impressed,
Paul depicted Haiti as “the best and most suitable place of residence which
Providence has hitherto offered to emancipated people of colour.”
Specifically, he noted the country’s agricultural and economic opportunities
and its vast natural resources. Particularly taken with Haiti’s landscape,
Paul enthusiastically described the “flocks and herds” of animals, and the
marketplaces that overflowed with food and supplies, including turtles
“weighing 80 or 90 lbs” that could be purchased for only $2. He also
highlighted the growth of education and skilled trades and observed that
Haiti offered lively “commercial enterprise” and a “free and well regulated
government.” Similarly, he enthusiastically depicted Haitians as people who
were “determined to live free or die gloriously in the defense of freedom.”
As a result, Paul “cheerfully” endorsed Haitian emigration, because he
believed it provided an ideal home for U.S. Blacks who desperately sought
“an asylum for the enjoyment of liberty” and the “common rights and
liberties of mankind.”132
Not surprisingly, then, thousands of free Black people from cities across
the northern United States flooded into Haiti over the course of the early
1820s, particularly after the arrival of Jonathas Granville, a representative
of Boyer’s government who was dispatched to spread the news of Boyer’s
inducement plan.133 Black Baltimoreans, at a community meeting in July
1824, voted to “use all honourable means to procure a speedy and effectual
emigration of the free people of colour.” Leading Black Philadelphians,
who had previously expressed hesitation about Haitian emigration, also
formed a Haitian Emigration Society and one month later, on August 23,
the first ship set sail from Philadelphia with thirty families. Within months,
nineteen more ships followed.134 Full of hope for the future, the migrants
sang an enthusiastic song as they left their house of bondage, convinced that
in Haiti they would find freedom, equality, and an escape from the racism
and drudgery that defined their lives in the United States:

Brothers, let us leave

For Port-au-Prince in Hayti
There we’ll be receive
Grand as La Fayet-te.
 No more tote the hod,
Nor with nail and stickee,
Nasty, dirty rag
Out of gutter pickee.135

Black New Yorkers, equally besotted with Boyer and Granville, soon joined
the fervor, as hundreds of migrants departed New York City for Haiti in
August 1824.136 Even free Black leaders in Richmond, Virginia responded
warmly to the blossoming republic of Haiti, and passed a resolution
expressing thanks and gratitude to President Boyer for providing an
“asylum” where Black people could find true liberty.137
In early 1825, Philadelphia’s Haitian Emigration Society circulated a
pamphlet urging free Black people to create a new home in Haiti.
Composed of Philadelphia’s most influential Black leaders, including
Reverend Richard Allen, James Forten, and Reverend Jeremiah Gloucester,
the society emphasized that Haiti was the “only spot” on earth where Black
people could gain their equal rights. “We are your brethren in colour and
degradation,” the pamphlet declared, “and it gives us a peculiar delight to
assist a brother to leave a country, where it is but too certain the coloured
man can never enjoy his rights.”138 In publishing this missive, the society
boldly asserted that the United States would never be hospitable to the
Black race, nor would it ever be a country where Black people could gain
full and equal citizenship.
Meanwhile, initial reports from migrants seemed positive and
encouraging. Everyone appeared “fully contented with their present
situation” and they eagerly anticipated “their future prospects.”139 John
Summerset, a Black migrant from Philadelphia, wrote excitedly about the
moment they first arrived in their new home. “When we landed,” he happily
noted, “the inhabitants, generally, received us more like brothers than
strangers, their houses were opened to accommodate us, and everything
possible to make us happy and content, was done.” Therefore, he
concluded, “no African of candid and industrious habits can deny this being
the happy land of African liberty.”140 Another report revealed that Haitian
Secretary General Joseph Balthazar Inginac greeted new arrivals with
excitement and a statement of pan-African solidarity. “[B]ecause the
common blood of GREAT AFRICA makes unbreakable ties,” Inginac
declared, “all blacks are brothers regardless of language and religious
distinctions.”141 Additional letters spoke of Haiti in the “highest terms,” and
praised its agricultural potential, particularly the “quality of the soil and its
capability to yield coffee, sugar, indigo, corn, potatoes, bananas,
tobacco”and more.142 Migrants also expressed their general pleasure “with
the country and with the friendly manner in which they had been received
by the government and people of the island.”143 They even maintained that
Haiti was “incomparably superior” to Africa, and encouraged other
potential migrants to settle in Haiti where they could “rise to a scale of
equality in rights and privileges.”144
By the opening months of 1825, then, support for Haitian emigration
and independence had swelled in northern Black communities.145 Based in
part on the emigration movement’s success, and also due to the Haitian
government’s pan-Africanist appeals, Haiti’s political destiny figured
prominently in the minds of Black people in the United States, and they
remained hopeful about Haiti’s future. In the months that followed,
however, Black activists in the United States experienced a rude awakening.
As the following chapter reveals, the year 1825 marked a significant turning
point in Haitian history and in the movement for Black liberation in the
Americas with devastating consequences for Haitians and their supporters
across the diaspora. Nevertheless, Black activists in the United States
became even more determined to defend Haiti and Haitian sovereignty with
all their might.

OceanofPDF.com
 2

RUIN STARES EVERYBODY IN THE

FACE
The Era of the Indemnity

On July 3, 1825, a French ship sailed into Port-au-Prince’s bustling harbor.

This was no ordinary trading vessel; it was a warship, carrying the Baron de
Mackau, an official representative of Charles X, King of France. Mackau
brought with him a “royal ordinance,” demanding financial reparations for
losses that France sustained after Haiti and its citizens gained their freedom
from slavery and colonial rule. In exchange, France promised to
acknowledge Haitian independence and extend formal diplomatic
recognition. Anchored nearby, just beyond the reach of Haitian gunfire, two
more French warships stood ready, and an additional squadron of twelve
ships, containing nearly five hundred cannons, sped toward Haiti on a
mission to blockade the island.1 In a menacing display of gunboat
diplomacy, Charles X threatened to halt all maritime trade unless Haiti
“‘submitted itself, without any conditions, to the supremacy of France.’”2
After four days of secret negotiations, Haitian President Jean-Pierre Boyer,
faced with an ominous military threat, conceded to King Charles X’s
unscrupulous demand for reparations. The agreement, later known simply
as “the indemnity,” required the Haitian government to pay France 150
million gold francs in annual installments in order to secure Haiti’s freedom
and sovereignty. Initially, Boyer intentionally obscured the indemnity’s
avaricious terms, likely fearing reprisals from his citizens.3 Therefore, he
only announced France’s formal recognition, which prompted celebrations
throughout the Americas as abolitionists and supporters of Haitian
sovereignty reveled in the supposed victory of complete independence and
diplomatic recognition.4 Not surprisingly, however, as reality began to sink
in, the political climate shifted.
In the United States, French recognition caused widespread panic and
debate, as many white Americans questioned whether the United States
would soon follow France’s example and extend diplomatic courtesies to
Haiti. Northern merchants desperately hoped for formal recognition, since
such an acknowledgment would dramatically improve trade relations.
Southern slaveholders, however, adamantly opposed such a proposition,
since they feared that recognizing the Black republic would threaten and
destabilize the fragile system of slavery. Ultimately, after fierce political
clashes, the U.S. government yielded to the slaveholding South and
stubbornly refused to recognize Haitian sovereignty.
Even so, enthusiasm about Haiti persisted, especially in Black
communities. Immediately following French recognition, Black activists in
the United States celebrated Haiti’s success and prophesized a glorious
future for their beloved Black nation. In speeches, newspaper articles, and
personal letters, they unequivocally endorsed Haitian independence and
expressed their hopes for Haiti’s destiny. However, as the months and years
passed, and the indemnity’s stipulations came to light, it became
increasingly clear that Boyer’s decision would cost Haiti dearly—
economically and politically—which sounded the death knell for the
Haitian emigration movement and caused U.S. Black leaders to reassess
their views about Haiti’s potential. As one visitor to Haiti lamented, “Ruin
stares every body [sic] in the face … Should this policy of the government
be continued, we shall have to leave the Island.”5 Even so, U.S. Black
activists refused to disparage Haiti or President Boyer publicly, choosing
instead to nurse their disappointment privately. Assuming a calculated,
strategic stance, they struck a compromise; they quietly and powerfully
withdrew their support for the emigration movement, while simultaneously
continuing to champion Haiti and its potential.
This chapter explores the era of the indemnity to reveal a complex
series of interrelated issues: how and why the Haitian government acceded
to the indemnity, the crisis that French recognition caused in the United
States, and how Black activists in the United States responded to conditions
in Haiti during this crucial moment between 1825, when President Boyer
signed the indemnity, and 1829, when U.S. Black activists strategically
shifted away from the Haitian emigration movement and reconsidered their
relationship to the embattled Black republic.

***

By 1825, Haiti had been a free and independent nation for more than
two decades. Yet for the French, the notion of Haitian sovereignty was a
bitter pill they had not yet swallowed. Outraged by their defeat at the hands
of their former slaves, some Frenchmen secretly plotted revenge against the
Haitians, while others sought financial restitution for the loss of their land
and human property. Similarly, French authorities refused to acknowledge
Haiti’s independence and viewed it primarily as a “wayward colony.” In
fact, since 1804, the French government had made multiple attempts to
bring Haiti back under its control. In 1814, for example, French officials
approached both Alexandre Pétion and Henry Christophe in an effort to
convince them to accept the re-imposition of French rule. Although Pétion
and Christophe both opposed French authority, the two leaders had radically
different responses. Pétion issued a counteroffer—one that, as historian
Laurent Dubois accurately attested, “would come to haunt Haiti for a long
time.” In exchange for formal recognition of Haitian independence, Pétion
suggested that the Haitian government could pay “damages” to former
French plantation owners.6
Not entirely convinced of such an arrangement, French representatives
next approached Henry Christophe. Summarily rejecting the overtures,
Christophe furiously avowed that he would never “become a party to any
treaty, or any condition, that shall compromise the honor, the liberty, or the
independence of the Haitian people” and ordered the execution of a French
official. As he firmly concluded, “we will rather bury ourselves beneath the
ruins of our country than suffer the smallest infringement of our political
rights.” Due in large part to Christophe’s enraged reply, Pétion later
withdrew his offer and the French departed in frustration.7 Even so, Pétion’s
original idea eventually laid the foundation for the devastating agreement
that was enacted a decade later.
After more than twenty years of aggravation, King Charles X concluded
that France needed to permanently resolve its relationship with Haiti. Based
on the previous negotiations with Alexandre Pétion, Charles X decided to
demand an indemnity—a monetary payment that compensated France for
the loss of its former colony.8 Following an assessment of Haiti’s lands and
physical assets, including the 500,000 formerly enslaved citizens, the
declared value amounted to 150 million gold francs, which in contemporary
terms would equate to an estimated twenty billion dollars.9 When Baron de
Mackau disembarked and met with Haitian leaders, he presented the royal
ordinance that demanded payment in annual installments. In exchange, the
French government agreed to acknowledge “the full and entire
Independence” of Haiti, which they strategically (and disrespectfully)
referred to as “the French part of the Island of St. Domingo.”10 While this
primary stipulation requiring 150 million gold francs has been widely
discussed and criticized, only a few scholars, including historian Julia
Gaffield, have analyzed the ordinance’s other provision, which awarded
France “most favored nation” status and carried significant financial
consequences.11 France was only required to pay “half the amount of import
and export duties paid by other nations”—an arrangement that substantially
compromised Haiti’s trade profit.12
On July 8, 1825, after days of deliberation, President Jean-Pierre Boyer
agreed to the avaricious terms. But why? This is a critical question since,
after news spread, U.S. newspapers openly admitted that the indemnity was
excessive, unfair, and unrealistic. The Alexandria Gazette noted, for
example, that since Haiti had already earned its freedom and independence
during the revolution, they should not be required to pay at all. The article
also complained about the “exaggerated sums” that France extracted,
arguing that the cost exceeded what the Haitians could reasonably afford.
The stipulations, the author insisted, “seem to us to carry their own
refutation with them … millions of dollars! For the recognition of what was
established; and the admission of free commercial intercourse, seems to us
an amount much beyond the capacity of the Haytiens to make good.”13
Even U.S. officials noted that the financial requirements were “very
problematical” and expressed doubt that Haiti could ever fulfill the terms.14
Boyer’s decision becomes even more curious when one considers that
the Haitian government had previously disavowed the significance of
formal diplomatic recognition. As scholar Marlene Daut demonstrated,
most Haitians dismissed the alleged “non-recognition” by France, the
United States, and other western nations, since, to a large degree, non-
recognition was a “fable”—a myth that ignored the flourishing trade
between Haiti and the United States, Great Britain, and France. The thriving
commercial relationships, Daut convincingly argues, served as a tacit
acknowledgment of Haiti’s independence and rendered formal diplomatic
recognition less significant.15 As a result, in October 1824, President
Boyer’s representative, Jonathas Granville, remarked, “If our government is
not acknowledged, it is because we prefer to remain as we are.” After all,
the Haitian economy continued to thrive regardless of recognition. “We are
not recognized by any body,” he mocked his readers, “and yet we are
recognized by the whole world. If our independence were publicly
acknowledged by France, we might buy and sell to the amount of some
millions more; but we should not be the more independent.”16 In the
following month, Boyer, himself, issued a statement that similarly rejected
France’s overtures and reinforced his commitment to Haitian sovereignty:
“The Republic is free; she is for ever [sic] independent; since we are
determined to bury ourselves under her ruins rather than submit to a foreign
yoke.”17

Figure 4. Jean-Pierre Boyer

Source: Printed by: Langlumé. Published by: Librairie Moderne. Wikimedia Commons.

Since the Haitian government had previously expressed opposition,

then, why did President Boyer submit to the indemnity in July 1825? After
days of careful reflection, Boyer apparently concluded that the agreement
was preferable to incessant warfare. Faced with a squadron of French
warships, and Charles X’s unwillingness to compromise, Boyer caved under
pressure, shackling Haiti to a massive debt and significantly reducing the
nation’s potential income by agreeing to half-duties on all French trade.
Although Haiti officially purchased its freedom and diplomatic recognition,
the indemnity became an insurmountable burden from which Haitians have
never been able to fully recover.
Admittedly, in the years that followed, France reduced the official debt
to sixty million francs but to meet the payments, the Haitian government
borrowed heavily from French banks under usurious terms.18 The “crushing
debt load” from interest payments, historian Laurent Dubois explained,
created a devastating cycle of debt: “By 1898, fully half of Haiti’s
government budget went to paying France and the French banks. By 1914,
that proportion climbed to 80 percent.”19 Equally troubling was the
psychological toll that the indemnity wrought. As Haitian scholar Jean
Casimir reflected, the indemnity forced Haiti to accept “all the premises of
colonialism,” including “the legitimacy of slavery itself.”20
Given the indemnity’s ruinous consequences, President Boyer initially
concealed the details. As Laurent Dubois revealed, “When the French
squadron … sailed into the harbor of Port-au-Prince, Boyer did not mention
that it had been poised to blockade the island, he simply announced that he
had secured French recognition of Haitian independence.”21 On July 11,
Boyer delivered an enthusiastic address to the Haitian people, celebrating
Haitian sovereignty and French recognition, but mentioned not a word
about the financial terms. “Haytians!” he exclaimed, “The French flag in
coming to salute this land of liberty, consecrates at the same time the
legitimacy of your emancipation … [and] recognizes the full and entire
independence of your government.” He also praised the soldiers who had
fought to defend Haitian freedom and assured his citizens that commerce
and agriculture would thrive under the new agreement. Most of all, he
guaranteed that his people would forever remain free and independent.22 As
a result, several weeks passed before anyone in Haiti realized that their
freedom came with a painfully high price tag that ultimately bankrupted the
nation.
Initially unaware of the indemnity’s financial terms, enthusiastic
supporters commenced celebrations throughout Haiti and across the
Americas. According to one report, “great rejoicings,” “illuminations,” and
“other exhibitions of joy” flourished in Port-au-Prince for ten days.23 A
letter from Haiti, which appeared in multiple newspapers, gleefully
described the scene: “Every countenance bespeaks happiness, and all is
merriment and gaiety.”24 In early August, a North Carolina newspaper also
reported animated celebrations throughout Haiti. “When the ‘joyful news’
was publicly announced,” the article declared, “there was no end to
rejoicings—fête succeeded fête—all was festivity, and the acclamations of
the populace were unbounded.”25
Similar celebrations occurred in Black communities in the United
States, as activists delighted in the vision of a free and fully autonomous
Black republic. Baltimore’s Black community, apparently thrilled about the
news, held two distinct celebrations honoring Haitian recognition. On
August 15, 1825, Black abolitionist William J. Watkins Sr. delivered an
emotional address, articulating the profound joy circulating in his
community. “[O]ur feelings upon this occasion are unutterable,” he
exclaimed, “The joy which swells in our bosom is incommunicable.” For
Watkins, Haitian recognition signaled a hopeful future for the entire Black
race. “Of all that has hitherto been done in favour of the descendants of
Africa,” he reflected, “I recollect nothing so fraught with momentous
importance—so pregnant with interest to millions yet unborn—as the recent
acknowledgment of Haytien Independence.” In his view, Haitian
recognition not only prophesized the eventual abolition of slavery, it also
served as a powerful demonstration of Black humanity and equality. The
sovereign Haitian republic, Watkins argued, provided irrefutable proof that
Black people were “never designed by their Creator to sustain an inferiority,
or even a mediocrity, in the chain of beings; but that they are as capable of
intellectual improvements as the Europeans, or people of any other nation
upon the face of the earth.” Haiti, Watkins concluded, embodied the biblical
prophecy that “Ethiopia shall stretch forth her hands” unto God, and the
oppressed shall be delivered from bondage.26
Two days later, in a meeting held at a private home, Baltimore’s Black
leaders met again to celebrate Haitian sovereignty. No less than ten toasts
were given honoring Haitian recognition, including one that prayed that
Haiti would “repose under the guardian wing of Liberty” and that its
government would be “indissoluble as her mountains.” Others, obviously
still unaware of Boyer’s tragic decision, celebrated Boyer’s strong,
admirable leadership, describing him as a loyal “Father to his people” and
praising him for being a “star of light” to the Black race. They also
repeatedly thanked him for providing an “asylum” to Black people across
the globe. But a few acknowledged Haiti’s challenges in the global arena.
One specifically lamented the cruelty that white people displayed toward
Haiti and hoped that formal acknowledgment might signal the coming of a
better day in which freedom and liberty would spread throughout the land.
“Though surrounding nations look with scorn upon the Tree of Liberty,”
one participant exclaimed, “Heaven protects it, and its branches are
gloriously spreading, to overshadow the land.” As his comments indicated,
many Black people in the United States yearned for Haiti’s success,
celebrated its commitment to liberty, and hoped that it would serve as a
symbol of the Black race’s potential for self-governance.27
Celebrants in Boston echoed these sentiments. Within days, Black
activists there held a grand parade through the streets to the African
Meeting House, where Reverend Thomas Paul delivered a speech
celebrating France’s recognition of Haitian independence. Although the
complete text did not survive, Paul’s oration reportedly lauded President
Boyer’s accomplishments and offered reflections on the “past and present
state of Haiti.” He also expressed hope about French recognition, and
“described with energy the probable consequences which would result from
the auspicious events that led to the day’s celebration.” Following Reverend
Paul’s speech, the group paraded back to the African School House, where
they hosted a grand dinner. During the evening’s festivities, participants
offered up salutes and “demonstrations of joy” to “Independent Hayti,” as
well as President Boyer, the Haitian government, the Haitian army, and
even Charles X for his willingness to “acknowledge the independence of
the 1st American Republic of black men.”28
Like the Baltimore celebration, a close examination of their toasts
provides keen insight into the ideas circulating within the Black community
immediately following French recognition. Domingo Williams, president of
the Boston African Society, still enamored with Jean-Pierre Boyer, honored
Boyer as “the illustrious head of an independent Republic.” Williams also
expressed hope that Boyer’s leadership would inspire endorsement from the
U.S. government: “May the wisdom of [Boyer’s] counsels, the skill and
equity of his government, and sublime virtues of his private life, secure to
him the splendid popularity of Washington, and transmit his name with
equal lustre to the most distant ages as the father of his country.” Darby
Vassal, the organization’s second vice president, viewed Haitian
independence as a beacon of hope and freedom, articulating a powerful
vision of Haiti’s sovereignty as a “glorious harbinger of the time when the
color of a man shall no longer be a pretext for depriving him of his liberty.”
Still another African Society member, John Leonard, prayed for unity and
strength among Haiti’s leaders, imploring the “chiefs of the republic of
Hayti” to be in “unison with Boyer, and be succeeded by the general good
of the sons of Africa.”29
Two anonymous speakers also conveyed powerful sentiments
celebrating Haitian sovereignty. The first praised “The Tree of Liberty and
Independence— It was planted on the mountains of Hayti by Toussaint,
nurtured by Pétion, it buds and blossoms under the care of the illustrious
Boyer, and may its growth aspire to the summit of the Andes.” The second
speaker imparted a hopeful message to those toiling in bondage in the
slaveholding states in the United States: “May the sound of the
independence of Hayti strike home to their hearts, as the gospel does to a
sinner.” Perhaps the most clever and amusing toast came from William
Brown, who dedicated his tribute to “The Government and Army of Hayti—
One has proved by black and white, that it knows how to maintain
Freedom, Equality, and Independence. The other that they can always beat
their enemies black and blue.” While some activists delivered heartfelt
impassioned pleas, and others resorted to humor and merriment, all Black
leaders clearly shared a common hope that the western nations would
finally honor Haitian sovereignty and that Haiti could serve as a model for
Black freedom across the Americas.30
Yet the joyful celebrations surrounding the indemnity’s ratification
belied its insidious nature and ignored the political storm brewing in the
United States, as many white Americans resuscitated troubling questions
about the deeper political and economic consequences of French
recognition. As discussed in chapter one, U.S. merchants had enjoyed a
very profitable trade relationship with Haiti for decades. Yet, despite their
thriving commercial interaction, the U.S. government never recognized
Haiti’s existence as an independent republic. In other words, while the
United States had no compunction about financially exploiting its
relationship with Haiti, officially extending diplomatic courtesies to the
Black republic was another matter entirely.
Until 1825, the U.S. government could easily justify its non-recognition
policy on the grounds that France refused to recognize Haitian
independence. From a purely diplomatic standpoint, it would be a poor
strategic decision for the United States to acknowledge Haiti if the French
did not. But what would happen now that France recognized its former
colony as a free Black nation? Since France agreed to acknowledge Haiti,
would the United States be compelled to do the same? As one editorial
remarked, “It will be a question open to discussion, whether it is the policy
of the United States to acknowledge the Independence of Hayti, now that
France has removed the prominent obstacle to such recognition.”31
U.S. governmental officials wondered the same thing, and therefore had
monitored the situation from the beginning. On July 4, 1825, just one day
after Baron de Mackau arrived in Haiti, Andrew Armstrong, the U.S.
commercial agent in Cap Haitian, drafted a somewhat anxious letter to
Secretary of State Henry Clay, reporting the French warships’ arrival. Even
though he admitted that the ships had arrived “under a flag of truce,”
Armstrong also indicated that “the motives of their visit is [sic] not yet
known,” and he worriedly prayed that France came with a “friendly nature.”
Armstrong further recommended that if the French agreed to recognize
independence, the United States should immediately formalize its own
treaty with Haiti. It would “be advisable for the benefit of our commerce,”
he argued, “to be among the first to form a commercial treaty with this
people; they having [sic] always expressed a great willingness on the
subject.”32 About one week later, Armstrong wrote again; this time,
confirming that the French had recognized Haitian independence and urging
the U.S. government to do the same. According to Armstrong, President
Boyer, himself, had asked for such an arrangement and he hoped that the
United States “would not be backward in forming a treaty of amity and
commerce with them.” The following week Armstrong wrote for a third
time, detailing the indemnity’s terms and pleading with Henry Clay to
“court a good understanding” with Haiti given the “unrivaled” commerce
between Haiti and the United States.33 Despite Armstrong’s entreaties,
however, the U.S. government staunchly opposed a potential treaty with
Haiti.
 Meanwhile, speculation and anxiety persisted in the United States.
Southerners particularly fretted about the ramifications, nervously
wondering, “What course will the United States pursue under present
circumstances? Will she follow in the wake of France, and admit Hayti to
equal rank, or will she still hold herself aloof?”34 One North Carolina
newspaper expressed fear about Haiti as “the first Empire of blacks that has
succeeded in establishing a regular government” because now, the paper
anxiously reflected, “by the authentic act of ‘sacred treaty,’ [Haiti] is
recognized as free, sovereign, and independent!”35 Another observer wrote
even more pointedly about the fears associated with acknowledging Haitian
sovereignty, particularly the consequences for slave-holding territories.
Worried that Haitian recognition would threaten slavery in the United States
and perhaps even inspire slave revolts, the author resentfully reported on
Haiti’s potential role in disrupting the slave trade, angrily writing,
“Hitherto, the Haytien flag has not been recognized anywhere. Now
Haytien ships of war may peradventure cruize [sic] in company with French
squadrons for the suppression of the slave trade!” Worse, the article
fearfully pondered slavery’s fate as Haiti continued to thrive. “What is to
become of this black empire,” the author railed, “when once it shall rank as
an equal among other nations; and how the same race that is sovereign at
Hayti shall within gun-shot of it, almost, continue to be treated as beasts of
the field, are points of deep and fearful speculation.”36
Rampant fear also proliferated the North, as many whites openly
questioned the wisdom of formal recognition. One New Hampshire paper
agonized over the consequences, asking, “The acknowledged independence
of Hayti by France will be immediately followed by that of Great Britain
and other powers. What ought the United States to do? If a minister were
now to arrive from that republic, could we refuse to receive him?”37
Another paper stated the problem much more frankly, arguing that even
northern politicians who claimed to be “the friends of liberty” repudiated
Black ambassadors and political officials: “And as to dining with a black
ambassador at Washington, it is questionable whether the friends of liberty
and etiquette in the north would not be equally fastidious as the south on
this point.”38 Similarly, a correspondent to the Niles Register newspaper
asked whether white people’s fears and prejudices could ever be “quieted.”
In response to his own question, the answer was a decided no: “We think
not. The time has not yet come for a surrender of our feelings about color,
nor is it fitting at any time, that the public safety should be endangered.”39
For many white Americans, then, France’s decision to formally recognize
Haiti’s sovereignty raised the terrifying specter of rebellion and the
potential disruption of slavery. It even raised doubt about the power and
strength of white supremacy—would U.S. diplomats actually be forced to
entertain Black ambassadors? As such, panic spread rapidly across the
United States as white observers fearfully pondered whether the United
States would follow France’s example.
Despite widespread apprehension, the U.S. government faced growing
pressure to emulate France and extend diplomatic courtesies to Haiti. At
first glance, the support for Haitian recognition seems surprising, especially
given the United States’ firm commitment to slavery and white supremacy.
Yet, maritime trade sustained the U.S. economy, especially in the North,
and many Americans believed that financial interests demanded stabilizing
and strengthening their relationship with Haiti since it remained one of the
United States’ most important trade partners.40 As early as 1822, numerous
U.S. newspapers acknowledged Haiti’s centrality to the United States’
economy, noting, for example, that Haiti “stands fifth in importance and
value, as to Imports … [and] in regard to Domestic Exports, Hayti stands in
the sixth rank.”41 Another article, printed in 1825, noted that the United
States had a more lucrative trade relationship with Haiti than it had with
Russia, Prussia, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Spain, Portugal, Italy and
Malta combined.42 Thus, as one observer wrote, “The United States have
[sic] an important interest in the commerce of Hayti, and we think our
government cannot long resist the double motive of interest and duty to
acknowledge the independence of the Haytien nation.”43
Moreover, Haitian recognition had a complex history stemming back to
the early 1820s, when Haitian leaders increasingly insisted that Haiti should
receive the same global recognition as the United States. After all, they
reasoned, their claim to political autonomy was equally valid since it was
likewise based on “the will of the people.” Even more, as historian Julia
Gaffield noted, Haiti had made every imaginable effort to prove its
legitimacy. Haiti had tried “force against force; defense against attack;
proclamation of independence against the vain and illusory pretentions of
transatlantic sovereignty; establishment of a republican government;
formation of a liberal constitution; legal codes tailored to the country;
consolidation of religion,” but nothing had worked. Haiti still did not
“appear in the classification of the civilized and independent states of the
world.”44 The inequitable treatment came to a head in 1822, when Boyer
made overtures to the U.S. government asking for formal recognition.
In July 1822, Boyer’s Secretary General Joseph Balthazar Inginac sent
an official request to U.S. Secretary of State John Quincy Adams,
emphasizing that shared commercial interests and a common revolutionary
spirit fostered a natural sisterhood between the two nations. Referencing, in
particular, the U.S. battle against British rule, Inginac noted that the
American people should have special compassion for the Haitians’ desire to
be free and could not refuse Haitians “the justice that is due them.”
Unsurprisingly, U.S. President James Monroe declared that the request
should be ignored, and as scholar Michael O. West revealed, Adams quickly
followed Monroe’s orders, making a disturbing notation in the margins of
Boyer’s letter: “Not to be answered.”45 Monroe’s position may have been
driven, in part, by Denmark Vesey’s recent conspiracy to overthrow slavery
in South Carolina. After all, one informant told John Quincy Adams that the
“contagion of rebellious principles” in Haiti had inspired Vesey’s planned
insurrection, noting the “constant correspondence” between activists in
South Carolina and Haitians.46 As such, Monroe later admitted that he
snubbed Boyer’s overtures, writing, “The gov’t of St. Domingo has
demanded its recognition & complains that a formal application for it has
not been answered.”47
Although President Monroe attempted to sidestep the issue, by
December 1823 he apparently felt compelled to clarify his position on U.S.
sovereignty vs. Haitian sovereignty. Determined to stem the tide of
European imperialism in the Americas, and limit warfare throughout the
region, he approved a document that later became known as the Monroe
Doctrine. A voluminous declaration, the Doctrine’s central passages
asserted two key principles: the sanctity of American sovereignty and the
U.S. government’s opposition to any European incursions against
independent American nations. European intervention would henceforth be
viewed as “dangerous to our peace and safety” and as the “manifestation of
an unfriendly disposition toward the United States.”48
 A quick glance at the Monroe Doctrine might suggest good news for
Haiti. After all, the U.S. government seemed to be demonstrating support
for all American governments that had “declared their independence and
maintained it.” As Haiti had successfully remained independent for nearly
two decades, one could assume that the Haitians were protected by the
Monroe Doctrine. However, a closer look at the document’s language
reveals that the Monroe Doctrine was drafted with a “keen weather eye on
Haiti” because its author, John Quincy Adams, carefully avoided a full
endorsement of Haitian sovereignty. First, Adams painstakingly noted that
the United States would not interfere with European power in colonies that
already existed under European authority. This, alone, raised important
questions about Haiti since France still claimed dominion over the former
Saint-Domingue. More significantly, the Doctrine also indicated that they
would only defend the sovereignty of American nations “whose
independence we have, on great consideration and on just principles,
acknowledged.” In other words, since the U.S. government did not formally
acknowledge Haitian independence, the Monroe Doctrine excluded Haiti,
and the United States would not oppose any European efforts to reclaim the
island. As historian Rayford Logan concluded, “The complete rebuff by
President Monroe revealed that Haiti was not only an anomaly among the
nations of the earth but an outcast.”49
Perhaps for this reason, the Haitian government later recanted its efforts
to gain U.S. recognition. As noted earlier, in 1824, Boyer and his
representatives scoffed at foreign recognition, insisting that formal
acknowledgment was unnecessary.50 And yet, a year later, U.S. government
officials were still pondering whether to formally recognize Haiti. In April
1825, just a few months before Baron de Mackau landed in Port-au-Prince
demanding reparations, Henry Clay, the new U.S. Secretary of State,
appealed to recently elected President John Quincy Adams to reconsider the
non-recognition policy. Likely driven by economic concerns, Clay spoke to
the entire presidential cabinet, arguing that “the independence of the
Haytian government must shortly be recognized.” But Adams patently
rejected Clay’s suggestion, steadfastly refusing to extend diplomatic
courtesies to the United States’ Black neighbors.51
Despite the U.S. government’s obstinate stance, northern merchants
expressed considerable concerns about persisting with a non-recognition
policy, particularly after France and Haiti agreed to the indemnity. In
August 1825, northern newspapers unleashed a media blitz designed to
garner support for U.S. acknowledgment of Haitian independence.52 As one
newspaper admitted, “Our trade with Hayti has been of more value to us
than the joint trade with many nations—and our interest demands what
justice requires us to do.”53 Similarly, the Edwardsville Spectator concluded
that U.S. recognition would benefit the economy immeasurably, since U.S.
merchants could trade there “almost without competition.”54 An article in
the Ariel likewise insisted that recognition would strengthen the U.S.
economy because it would normalize and regulate trade relations between
the two countries: “Commercially considered, however, the recognition of
Haytien independence, by France, will prove advantageous to the U.S. It
removes many difficulties, and will do much towards facilitating a regular
trade between the Haytiens and ourselves.”55 Yet another editorial argued
strongly in favor of U.S. recognition due to non-recognition’s potential
negative ramifications on commercial relations: “Should such recognition
be withheld, we think it questionable whether Hayti would not pursue some
measures of resentment prejudicial to our commercial interests.”56 Quite
surprisingly, even one southern newspaper offered its begrudging consent to
the notion of Haitian recognition. The Richmond Enquirer noted, with
hesitation, that although such action would be “anomalous” in world
history, the U.S. government might have to concede the diplomatic battle
and recognize Haiti.57
Andrew Armstrong, the U.S. commercial agent in Haiti, also shared this
view. In June 1826, he wrote to Secretary of State Henry Clay, pleading
again for the United States to change its policies for economic reasons. As
he explained, “our commerce will be (if not totally lost) at least placed in a
very precarious situation; as we will be the only nation concerned in that
trade that has not a regular representation near the government.” Referring
in veiled terms to the racist objections to Haitian recognition, he continued,
“I am fully aware of the difficulties this subject presents, but unfortunately
that will not be taken into consideration by these people.”58 In other words,
Armstrong insisted, the Haitians would not be satisfied with the United
States’ denial of their independence and the U.S. economy would suffer if
the government did not alter its stance. Indeed, as late as 1828, U.S.
commercial agents begged the U.S. government to reconsider. In July of
that year, Samuel Israel, an agent stationed in Cap Haitian, pleaded with
Henry Clay to recognize Haiti in order to place the United States on “equal
footing” with their trade competitors. As he reminded Clay, the United
States only needed to “acknowledge their Independence” and that would
“satisfy the Government of Hayti, and place our Agents upon equal footing
with other nations.”59
Perhaps aware of the racial “difficulties” that Armstrong referenced,
advocates for formal recognition attempted to allay fears about its potential
impact on slavery’s strength and stability. In August 1826, numerous
newspapers printed articles asserting that Haiti did not necessarily pose a
threat to southern slave society.60 Apparently ignoring the German Coast
uprising, as well as Gabriel Prosser’s and Denmark Vesey’s conspiracies, all
of which drew inspiration from the Haitian Revolution, the Connecticut
Gazette maintained that since Haitian independence had not caused slave
rebellions in the U.S. South up to that point, there was no reason to assume
that the region would suddenly erupt into violence. As the author explained,
Haiti’s distance from the United States prevented it from producing
“disturbances among our slave population.” After all, he concluded, despite
Haitian independence, “no such evil consequences as are apprehended have
hitherto taken place” in the United States.61 Other papers even suggested
that diplomatic recognition might improve race relations in the United
States, since Haiti’s success would likely encourage Black people to
migrate from the United States, thereby alleviating existing racial
tensions.62
As support for Haitian recognition mounted, a shocking debate erupted
in Congress challenging the United States’ non-recognition policy. In 1826,
the Committee on Foreign Relations proposed sending representatives to
the Congress of American Nations—a conference of independent American
countries to be held in Panama. While this seemed to be a rather routine
proposal, many politicians believed it presented a potentially explosive
diplomatic situation, since Haiti might also be represented there. Although
Haiti’s presence was nothing more than a rumor at that point, the mere
mention of Haiti sent southern congressional leaders into a furious tirade
against the Haitian republic. Senator Robert Y. Hayne of South Carolina
argued vehemently against recognizing Haiti, stating, “We never can
acknowledge her independence. Other states will do as they please—but let
us take the high ground, that these questions belong to a class, which the
peace and safety of a large portion of our Union forbids us to even
discuss.”63 Likewise, during debates in the House of Representatives, James
Hamilton, also of South Carolina, lodged his complaint on the grounds that
U.S. participation implicitly recognized Haitian independence and therefore
violated several southern state laws and the principle of states’ rights.
“Haytien independence is not to be tolerated in any form,” he bellowed,
“this recognition would be fatal to our repose … and produce a concussion
which must either end in the annihilation of these States, or the destruction
of the power of the General Government.”64
Yet while Hayne and Hamilton spoke about race and rebellion in veiled
terms, other congressmen tackled these subjects more directly. Senator John
Berrien of Georgia provocatively asked his colleagues, “Can the people of
the South permit the intercourse which would result from establishing
relations of any sort with Haiti? Is the emancipated slave, his hands yet
reeking in the blood of his murdered master, to be admitted into their ports,
to spread the doctrines of insurrection, and to strengthen and invigorate
them, by exhibiting in his own person an example of successful revolt?”
Similarly, Senator Thomas Hart Benton of Missouri affirmed the United
States’ commercial relationship with Haiti but argued strongly against
extending diplomatic recognition because it would be an implicit
endorsement of slave rebellion and Black equality. After all, U.S. policy
toward Haiti had been “fixed” for many years. “We trade with her,” he
explained, “but no diplomatic relations have been established between
us.”65
For Benton, recognition was unimaginable because southerners would
not allow it. The South, he argued, “will not permit the fruits of a successful
negro insurrection.” Specifically, Benton railed, southerners would forbid
“black Consuls and Ambassadors to establish themselves in our cities, and
to parade through our country … It will not permit the fact to be seen, and
told, that for the murder of their masters and mistresses, they are to find
friends among the white People of these United States.” Based on the
objections of their southern colleagues, the Senate resolved that it was “not
expedient” for the United States to send representatives to the Congress of
American Nations.66 Ultimately, then, the U.S. government succumbed to
southern politicians and slaveholders’ desires and denied diplomatic
courtesies to the Black republic; thereby successfully buttressing slavery
and white supremacy, and simultaneously undermining U.S. maritime trade
interests. Even so, Haitian sovereignty plagued U.S. politicians for several
more decades. The conflict in 1826 was only the first in a series of political
battles over Haitian independence that bedeviled efforts to find compromise
between pro-slavery and anti-slavery forces as the United States slowly
marched toward civil war.
As political tensions over Haitian recognition intensified, Black leaders
in the United States resolved to defend and protect Haitian independence at
any cost. Painfully aware of Haiti’s importance in the global battle against
slavery, they reinvigorated efforts to gain full diplomatic recognition for the
Black republic. As a result, in the years immediately following the
indemnity, Black activists, such as John B. Russwurm and Samuel Cornish,
publicly pledged their commitment to Haiti and Haitian sovereignty in
hopes of gaining freedom and equality not only for Haitians but for all
Black people across the diaspora. Following in the footsteps of their
predecessors, including The Injured Man of Color and Prince Saunders, a
new generation of leaders stepped forth and answered the call to action.
In 1826, John Russwurm, a newly minted activist and one of the first
Black men to graduate from college in the United States, delivered an
oration at his commencement ceremony at Bowdoin College.67 As he stood
before the assembled crowd, he delivered, in a “full and manly tone of
voice,” a manifesto entitled, “The Conditions and Prospects of Hayti.”68
Russwurm’s interest in Haiti likely surprised no one, since he had known
and interacted with Prince Saunders and other prominent supporters of
Haitian emigration for many years. As noted in chapter one, Saunders
staunchly advocated for Haitian sovereignty and Haitian emigration
beginning in 1816 and worked extensively in Boston and throughout the
northern United States to raise public consciousness about the Haitian
cause. In 1821, when Russwurm relocated to Boston to teach at the African
school, he became closely acquainted with Prince Saunders, Reverend
Thomas Paul, David Walker, and a host of other influential abolitionists
who had been inspired by the Haitian struggle for freedom. As Russwurm’s
biographer, historian Winston James, noted, “Boston’s greatest and most
enduring impact upon the young teacher was almost certainly Russwurm’s
interest in the fate, heroic history, and symbolism of Haiti and its leaders.”69
 Under Saunders’s mentorship, Russwurm became consumed with
Haiti’s success and the quest for global Black liberation. As a result, his
commencement address not only chronicled slavery’s horrors, it also
championed the Haitians’ triumphant victory over oppression. Echoing
Jean-Jacques Dessalines and the Injured Man of Color, Russwurm depicted
the violence and abuse Haitians had endured under the French with
disturbing, graphic imagery. They had been “hunted with bloodhounds,” he
angrily proclaimed, “threatened with an Auto-da-fé,” and their “relations
and friends have been hung on gibbets before their eyes.”70 In response, the
Haitians renounced “meekness” and rose up in arms. After all, he asked,
why should they “exercise kindness towards such mortal enemies?” All
humans, Russwurm explained, inherently wanted to be free, and Black
people were no different. Therefore, he warned his listeners, any attempts to
deny one’s liberties will ultimately be “fruitless.”71

Figure 5. John Russwurm

Source: Irvine Garland Penn, The Afro-American Press and Its Editors, Willey & Company: 1891.
Wikimedia Commons.

Turning to more hopeful themes, Russwurm prophesized Black people’s

eventual rise from slavery’s degradation, offering Toussaint Louverture,
Jean-Jacques Dessalines, and Henry Christophe as evidence that Black
people possessed a powerful capacity for self-governance and could create
powerful, praiseworthy civilizations. Haiti, he claimed, already
demonstrated signs of greatness, noting its “superior” constitution and its
“free and well regulated government.” The Black republic, he concluded,
had “laid the foundation of an Empire that will rank among the nations of
the earth” and he predicted that Haiti’s determination to “live free or die
gloriously” would result in the proliferation of wealth, intelligence, and
civilization. In closing, Russwurm affirmed his commitment to the Haitian
emigration movement, and announced his intention to leave the United
States and settle in Haiti to help build this glorious Black nation.72
As it turned out, fate had another plan and Russwurm ultimately
advanced the Haitian cause in a very different way. Just months after
graduating from Bowdoin, Russwurm became an editor for Freedom’s
Journal, the first Black newspaper in the United States, along with another
Black activist, Samuel Cornish. As both men shared a commitment to
Haiti’s success, Freedom’s Journal regularly offered features detailing the
Haitian Revolution and exalting the new republic’s strengths.73 The paper
even had a local agent in Port-au-Prince, W. R. Gardiner, who served as a
correspondent and distributed Freedom’s Journal throughout the island.
Thus, from the paper’s inception, Russwurm, Cornish, and their team of
correspondents sought to shape (and reshape) popular thought about Haiti
and Haitian sovereignty among Black activists and their white allies.
Positive depictions of Haiti were especially important to Russwurm and
Cornish, because as a sovereign Black nation, Haiti “underscored a pan-
African sensibility that was key to antebellum African Americans’ sense of
their role in national and world history.”74
In Freedom’s Journal’s first issue, published on March 16, 1827,
Russwurm and Cornish announced their intention to discuss a variety of
topics that they considered vital to the Black experience, including “the
establishment of Hayti after years of sanguinary warfare, its subsequent
progress in all the arts of civilization; and the advancement of liberal ideas
in South America.” In another article in that same issue, the editors
celebrated and honored the Haitian battle for sovereignty and its pledge to
remain free. Reveling in the Haitian victory, they wrote, “The Haytiens, in
declaring their independence, and their determination to maintain it, have
done so in the face of the universe … never were all parties more united and
determined to support their hard-earned liberty.”75 They concluded with a
pledge to provide accurate news about Haiti, especially since “relations
between Hayti and this country are becoming daily more interesting,” and
they urged their readers to cease their criticisms about Haiti and its people:
“We caution the dissatisfied and envious in this country … to desist from
their unmanly attacks on a brave and hospitable people.”76
Over the next two years, nearly every issue of Freedom’s Journal
contained some news or information about Haiti, most of which expressed
pride in Haitian history, enthusiasm about Haitian independence, and hope
for Haiti’s current and future prospects. After all, Russwurm and Cornish
knew that as the only Black nation in the Americas, Haiti shouldered the
burden of proving Black people’s capacity for civilization and self-
government. Throughout spring and summer 1827, they reported positively
about Haiti’s political and economic conditions, noting widespread
tranquility and a lively and successful commercial trade. In May, they
recounted recent correspondence from a migrant living in Port-au-Prince: “I
am happy to say all is well with us … No danger of internal discord. Every
day rivets and cements our union; and we may proudly exclaim to the
civilized world ‘Go and do so likewise.’” In August, they reprinted
Reverend Nathaniel Paul’s speech in Albany, New York, during which he
honored the “the Isle of Hayti” as a haven where Haitians successfully
subdued “the power of tyranny,” and where “the captive must be liberated,
the oppressed go free, and slavery must revert back to its original chaos of
darkness, and be forever annihilated from the earth.”77
They also published a series of articles designed to educate their readers
about Haitian history, especially the Haitian Revolution, Toussaint
Louverture, and Haiti’s current state of affairs. In Freedom’s Journal’s
fourth issue, Russwurm and Cornish shared an article celebrating the
Haitian Revolution and its success in asserting African people’s humanity.
Prior to the Haitian Revolution, they argued, no white person ever imagined
that the spirit of liberty that sparked revolutions across the Atlantic world
could settle in the hearts of Africans, but Haitians had proven them wrong:
“The man who could think it possible that the degraded African slave
would take up arms in defence [sic] of his birthright and spend his heart’s
blood for its possession, would have been regarded as a madman, and his
reflections branded as the dreams of a visionary.” Mocking the naysayers
and detractors, Russwurm and Cornish honored the Haitian Revolution,
which had “called forth [the Haitians’] hidden powers,” inspiring thousands
to rise up and fight for their freedom. They arose, “young and old—bond
and free, eager to expose their lives and property in defence of what to
every man should be dearer than life itself … Thus perished the French
army, and so perish every attempt against the liberties of a people.” Even
more, Russwurm and Cornish celebrated the creation of a free and
sovereign nation governed by Black people—a testament, in their minds, to
the potential for the Black race across the globe: “We have seen the
establishment of an independent nation by men of our own colour; the
world has seen it; and its success and durability are now placed beyond
doubt.”78
Despite their enthusiasm, Freedom’s Journal’s editors lamented that
racism had caused too many people, particularly in the western nations, to
view the Haitian struggle for freedom in very different terms from the
American and French Revolutions. Like the Injured Man of Color before
them, they noted, with disappointment, that the Haitian Revolution “was
looked upon with horror by men in all parts of the world” because it was
considered “so unnatural a crime, that slaves should rise against their
masters.” Worse, even those who claimed to be lovers of liberty still
“frequently prayed” for the Haitian rebels’ downfall and destruction while
celebrating the victory of revolutionary movements elsewhere in the world.
As they sadly concluded, the American Revolution had been “hailed with
enthusiasm by the wise and the good,” but the Haitian Revolution had been
roundly castigated. “No one wished [Haiti] well,” they wrote with regret,
“no fervent prayer was put up for its success— none bid it ‘God speed.’”79
Russwurm and Cornish fervently hoped that white Americans would
one day celebrate the liberty of Africans with the same zeal with which they
celebrated their own. In an effort to raise awareness about Haitians and their
struggle for freedom, Freedom’s Journal published a series on Toussaint
Louver-ture’s life, which appeared in three installments during May 1827.
Likely written by Cornish, since he served as the senior editor, the first
entry highlighted important lessons from the Haitian Revolution, especially
the intelligence, bravery, and passion that the rebels demonstrated
throughout the conflict. The Haitian Revolution, the article asserted,
revealed Black people’s true capacity and proved that “with the same
advantages of liberty, independence and education, as their white brethren
of Europe and America, the [Black] race would not be found deficient in
hearts pregnant with heroic energies, and hands capable of wielding the
sword of war, or swaying the rod of empire.”80
The next issue focused on Louverture’s moral character and the
widespread popularity he enjoyed among his constituents. Praising his
commitment to civility and religion, the article concluded that, under
Louverture, “the duties of morality and religion were strictly enforced, and
the decencies of civilized life sedulously studied.” Education and social
interactions also thrived under his leadership, as “His public levees were
conducted with the utmost decorum, and his private parties might vie with
the best regulated societies of Paris.” Yet the author was most interested in
Haiti’s financial success under Louverture’s rule. He successfully restored
“the public finances with wonderful address,” the article noted, by creating
a system of “co-proprietorship, by which the cultivators received a certain
portion of the produce, and the rest was appropriated to the public revenue.”
Under this system, Haitians were “induced to return cheerfully to the
labours of the field” and “cultivation was extended with such rapidity that
every day made its progress perceptible. All appeared to be happy, and
regarded Toussaint as their guardian angel. In making a tour of the island,
he was hailed by the negroes with universal joy.” Certainly, this depiction
overly romanticized Louverture and his policies, as did the final episode in
the series, which bemoaned Louverture’s eventual demise at the hands of
the French.81 Even so, Black communities across the United States likely
reveled in such stories about Louverture and other Black revolutionary
leaders, especially as they sought heroes they could emulate in their own
battle for freedom and independence.
Alongside the publications on Toussaint Louverture, Freedom’s Journal
printed another series on Haitian history that ran sporadically between April
and October 1827. The author, known only as “Africanus,” wrote six
articles highlighting the battle for Haitian independence and the current
state of affairs in the burgeoning republic. In the first installment, Africanus
chronicled Haiti’s early history, particularly the devastating arrival of
Columbus, and later the Spanish conquistadors. The next few articles
provided a brief overview of the Haitian Revolution and Jean-Jacques
Dessalines’s Declaration of Independence. Echoing similar sentiments as
John Russwurm’s commencement address, Africanus argued that freedom
cannot be long denied, and that revolution is inevitable when one’s liberty is
denied. “It is in vain to stem the current,” he wrote, “degraded man will rise
in his native majesty, and claim his rights.” Although enemies may “delay
the evils of insurrections and revolutions,” he explained, “like the eruptions
of Vesuvius, they will burst forth more awfully amid the horrors of
midnight: and wo to every hand within the reach of its lava, wherever
Slavery is tolerated!”82
The last two articles promoted Haiti’s political and economic successes,
remarking upon Boyer’s “energetic” leadership and the positive
developments that had taken place in the country’s political structure and
educational system. Crediting Boyer with Haiti’s advancement, Africanus
praised the country’s peace and tranquility. “[I]n no quarter of the globe,”
he bragged, “are crimes less frequent … Facts thus far, all tend to prove that
the present ruler of Hayti [Boyer] is a man of considerable intellect and
great energy. Under his administration, Hayti has nothing to fear from
internal or external foes.” Africanus also described Haiti as a place where
education is “almost at every man’s door,” and asserted that despite
stereotypes circulating in the western nations, Haiti had successfully
produced a new generation of leaders and scholars. Although most people
expect to find “nothing but ignorance” in Haiti, he wrote, instead “we find
men skilled in the different arts and sciences, who would be an honour to
any country.”83
Africanus’s final entry provided a general description of Haiti’s climate,
geography, and population, which likely resonated among Black readers
considering emigration. Hailing Haiti’s economy, especially its recent
developments in agriculture and trade, Africanus regaled readers with
images of Haiti’s rich and fertile soil ripe for potential farmers. “In Hayti,”
he promised, “the necessaries of life are abundant and cheap; and so fertile
and productive is the soil, that a Haytien farmer is not under the necessity of
labouring more than one half the time usually devoted to agriculture in New
England.” He also described the “herds of cattle, and droves of swine [that]
run wild in the mountainous districts, and millions of coffee trees annually
bear, without a hand to gather their nutritive berries.” No wonder, he
concluded, that Haiti “has been compared to the garden of Eden.”84
Africanus also noted Haiti’s booming foreign trade, especially since
France’s formal recognition. Haiti’s commercial strength could “equal and
even surpass its former prosperity,” he predicted, especially since “the
Haytien flag has already been displayed in the harbours of Europe and
America.” In conclusion, Africanus celebrated Black self-governance,
gloating about Haiti’s brilliant success: “The republic of Hayti exhibits a
spectacle hitherto unseen in these modern and degenerate days: it is now
demonstrated that the descendants of Africa are capable of self-
government.” And, like Russwurm, Africanus warned the enemies of
freedom about the limits of slavery and oppression. “I trust also,” he
concluded, “that the lesson inculcated by the Haytiens, will be a warning
where man is held in bondage and degradation by his fellow … the chain
has a certain length, which should they undertake to stretch, may snap—and
bring death to the oppressor, and liberty to the captive.”85
By autumn 1827, Samuel Cornish and John Russwurm had dedicated
countless pages to promoting Haiti, the Haitian Revolution, Haitian
sovereignty, and even Jean-Pierre Boyer himself. After Samuel Cornish
resigned from Freedom’s Journal in September 1827, Russwurm, as the
sole editor, maintained the journal’s commitment to the Haitian cause, and
even gave voice to some radical notions about the potential role for women
in the Black liberation movement.86 A few months later, Russwurm
commenced a new series featuring the Haitian Revolution. This time, a
fictional account entitled “Theresa—A Haytien Tale,” which depicted a
woman—Theresa—as the true heroine of the revolution.87
This representation of a revolutionary, politically minded woman
signaled a dramatic shift during this period, since many Black communities
in both the United States and Haiti harbored deeply conservative notions
about the role for women in political matters, and typically argued that
politics, economics, and revolution were strictly men’s domain. As Jonathas
Granville, Boyer’s representative, remarked in 1826, “When women
meddle with matters to which they should always be strangers, they expose
themselves to the risk of being forgotten as women.”88 Freedom’s Journal
routinely echoed such notions, urging women to observe the proper rules of
morality and decorum. As one article remarked in August 1827, women
must “pay decent respect to the rules of propriety,” while another article
months earlier chastised women for not “holding their tongues.”89 Given the
general hostility to women’s presence in political discourse, then, it is
remarkable that Russwurm elected to include this story in his paper.
 Appearing in installments in January and February 1828, “Theresa—A
Haytien Tale” delighted readers with a gripping story featuring three female
characters—Madame Paulina, a widow, and her two daughters, Amanda
and Theresa—who fled their home in the midst of the Haitian Revolution,
alone and without male protection.90 After a series of terrifying encounters
with French troops, the youngest daughter, Theresa, manages to elude
capture and reach Toussaint Louverture to whom she reveals the French
troops’ location. In response, Louverture lauds her with “all the distinctions
due her exalted virtue.”91 In the end, Theresa emerges as the true heroine of
the revolution because, due to the information she provided, Louverture’s
army is able to successfully defeat the French after a protracted and bloody
battle: “The war trumpet now sounded the terrible blast for the engagement,
and the Revolutionists like lions, rushed on to the fight with a simultaneous
cry of ‘Freedom or Death!’ … to obtain their rights of which they long have
been unjustly deprived.”92
Despite much scholarly speculation, the author of “Theresa—A Haytien
Tale” remains unknown. The only hint to the author’s identity is the “S”
that appeared at the end of each article, which has led to wide-ranging
debate about potential authorship. Literary historian Frances Smith Foster
suggests that Prince Saunders may have been the author—a plausible
proposition since Saunders had long been a champion of Haiti and Haitian
emigration.93 Historian Dickson Bruce Jr. posited Black abolitionist James
McCune Smith as a potential author—a much less likely prospect, since
Smith was not yet fifteen years old when the series appeared.94 More
recently, scholar Marlene Daut has wisely encouraged us to consider the
possibility that a woman authored the series. In a brilliant reflection
entitled, “‘Theresa’ to the Rescue,” Daut analyzes the writings of Black
female authors during the era—including Maria Stewart and Sarah Forten—
to demonstrate that we should not hastily conclude that the author was
necessarily a man.95 Regardless of the author’s identity, “Theresa—A
Haytien Tale” was a significant and radical contribution to the Black
leadership’s growing efforts to champion the cause of Haitian freedom and
sovereignty.
Although the year 1828 opened with much literary and political
promise, as the year progressed, fewer and fewer Black activists could
ignore the Black republic’s growing internal crisis. Horror-stricken, they
watched as the country they loved drowned in a disastrous, insurmountable
economic monsoon. Outraged about the indemnity, and disappointed with
Haiti’s increasingly troubled conditions, U.S. Black activists struggled to
determine what their relationship to Haiti would be. Could Haiti still be a
shining example of Black freedom and self-governance? Should they still
champion the cause of Haitian recognition? Could the Haitian Revolution
and independent Haiti even be considered a success? And could they
continue to celebrate their heroes— Toussaint Louverture and President
Jean-Pierre Boyer? As the 1820s drew to a close, the answers to these
questions became increasingly unclear as Black leaders in the United States
faced the painful truth about the indemnity and its repercussions.
Shortly after the indemnity’s terms became public, President Boyer
began developing strategies to offset the cost of their annual payment to
France. Much like Jean-Jacques Dessalines before him, Boyer struggled to
find solutions to the economic problems that western nations created in
Haiti. Among other controversial programs, Boyer instituted rather extreme
taxation plans, a decision that caused severe economic distress and political
upheaval. By autumn 1825, Haitians had already begun expressing
considerable frustration about the indemnity and the financial disaster it
created.96 Severe “discontent existed throughout all Hayti in consequence of
the terms of the treaty negotiated with France,” one report indicated, and
“the dissatisfaction is said to have testified itself in various ways,”
including a rumored revolt.97 In January 1826, Boyer attempted to celebrate
the anniversary of Haitian independence with considerable “solemnity and
pomp,” and he delivered a resounding address in which he echoed his
predecessors’ impassioned affirmations of Haitian sovereignty at any cost.
“Let us swear in the face of Heaven,” he exclaimed, “and before the
Universe, to maintain and defend, even to extinction, Liberty and National
Independence; and to die rather than cease to be free and independent.”98 In
response, however, the Haitian people appeared largely unimpressed. In the
wake of the indemnity, his appeal rang hollow, and there was growing
unrest in the streets as it became painfully clear that the indemnity would
never be “rendered acceptable to the Haytien people,” despite Boyer’s best
efforts.99
By summer 1826, Haitians had been shackled with an oppressive
taxation system, and the economy went into severe decline. According to
one report, heavy taxes “overwhelmed” people, while commerce remained
scarce and “exceedingly dull.” As the article concluded, “The impolitic and
unjust measures of the Haytien Government have reduced that people to a
state of poverty and misery unknown in that Island since the revolution.”100
As a result, the rumblings of dissatisfaction reverberated across the country.
“[T]he power of President Boyer is on the wane,” one newspaper declared,
“and the government itself threatened with dissolution, on account of the
mal-administration and of the payment of the sums due to France.”101 By
late summer, considerable panic gripped the nation due to rumors of an
uprising in response to the taxation system and the extreme financial burden
it created. Speculation mounted that Boyer’s presidency was no longer
“tenable,” and he might resign to prevent retaliation.102
In December, rumor became reality. Uprisings broke out in Cap
Haytien, and Boyer scrambled to dispatch troops to put down the
rebellions.103 Multiple rebels, including two army generals, rose up in arms,
declaring that they would “never again serve under this pusillanimous and
corrupted administration.” Shortly thereafter, officials arrested them as
traitors and sentenced them to death.104 Several other Haitian military
officers, who masterminded the uprisings and attempted to assassinate
Boyer, also faced the firing squad in August 1827.105 Describing the rebels
as both virtuous and brave, one newspaper editorial reported their sheer
determination and swaggering strength, reverently describing the
“condemned” who arrived at the execution site calmly “smoking their
cigars” with “as much sang froid, as if they were spectators and not actors
in the dismal scene.”106
Troubled conditions reigned throughout the following year, finally
forcing U.S. Black activists such as John Russwurm to acknowledge Haiti’s
painful reality. Initially, Russwurm tried to defend Boyer, refusing to hold
him accountable for his problematic policies or the resultant economic
crisis. Instead, Russwurm reported on Haitian rebels in disparaging terms,
describing the “evil designs of the conspirators,” and the “futility of their
machinations.” Russwurm also reprinted, in its entirety, a speech that Boyer
delivered in which he argued that the rebels were “enemies of peace and
public tranquillity, [sic] influenced by ambition and avarice.” Boyer also
pledged to protect the country against future uprisings and called upon
citizens and soldiers to defend Haiti and “to sustain, in the opinion of the
world, the immortal glory which you have acquired.”107
Even so, opposition to Boyer’s leadership continued to mount. In late
1827, and throughout 1828, more rebellions and assassination attempts
shook the island nation. In December 1827, in response to the “taxes levied
by the government of Hayti,” a revolt broke out in Port-au-Prince resulting
in the arrest of numerous Haitian soldiers.108 Months later, the Haitian
government tried and convicted eighteen conspirators for their role in this
uprising, five of whom were sentenced to death by firing squad.109 In April
1828, another attempted insurrection occurred, and once again John
Russwurm blamed the rebels, who he described as “evil disposed persons”
determined to “disturb the tranquility of the community.” He particularly
denigrated them for their traitorous actions since, as he explained, everyone
loyal to the Black race should know that “our political existence depends
upon our union.” Russwurm gleefully reported that the uprising was
immediately suppressed, and “with the greatest pleasure we announce to the
public that order and tranquility have been perfectly restored.”110
Despite Russwurm’s supportive propaganda, however, everyone else
knew that order and tranquility would not remain. In May 1828, Samuel
Israel, the U.S. commercial agent in Cap Haitian, wrote a panicky letter to
Henry Clay, urging the government to send military protection for U.S.
merchants in Haiti. The Haitians were adamantly opposed to Boyer’s
taxation policies, he anxiously reported, and therefore “considerable
agitation” consumed the nation and would likely result in a “general
Revolution.” Israel recommended that the U.S. government should
immediately send an “armed vessel” to Port-au-Prince in order to defend
the United States’ commercial interests.111
By summer 1828, even John Russwurm had to admit that conditions in
Haiti had rapidly deteriorated due to the indemnity and the resulting
taxation system. In July, Russwurm reprinted a letter from a recent visitor to
Haiti that delivered “a gloomy picture of the affairs of that island, both
political and commercial,” and placed blame squarely on President Boyer.
Due to Boyer’s regulations, the author grumbled, “Ruin stares every body
[sic] in the face, and it would be impossible for any one [sic] to do business
… Should this policy of the government be continued, we shall have to
leave the Island.”112 Haiti’s descent into financial disaster deeply
disappointed Black activists in the United States, particularly since Boyer’s
decision to pay 150 million francs to secure Haitian independence seemed
to negate the armed struggle against slavery. Therefore, Black leaders began
reassessing their relationship to the besieged Black republic and gradually
withdrew their support for Haitian emigration.
Although the emigration movement had commenced with promise and
enthusiasm, the venture soon showed signs of weakness and decay. Even
before the indemnity, transplanted Black migrants found themselves
confronting major problems. Culturally distinct from their Haitian brethren
in a number of important ways, they particularly struggled with language
barriers and religious differences. As early as the summer of 1825, there
was widespread frustration among the migrants, and many considered
returning to the United States.113 One correspondent, who called himself
“L’Ami Des Noirs” (The Friend of the Blacks), reported that many of the
migrants “have found their situation so uncomfortable that they have
desired to return.” Unfortunately, however, many disillusioned migrants
found themselves stranded in Haiti until they repaid the money that the
Haitian government provided for their initial journey.114 In response, some
activists, such as Black abolitionist Peter Williams Jr., traveled to Haiti and
negotiated the release of their “disappointed, distressed, and dissatisfied
brethren.”115 In fact, according to one report, President Boyer signed two
hundred passports in a single day for people who wanted to return to the
United States.116 The reverse migration became so common that, in May
1825, Haitian Secretary General Joseph Balthazar Inginac announced that
the Haitian government would no longer subsidize the cost of bringing free
Black people to the island. Arguing that nearly one-third of the original
settlers had returned, and accusing Black Americans of defrauding the
Haitian government, Inginac declared that funds could no longer be used to
promote emigration from the United States.117
Two months later, Boyer agreed to the indemnity, and although the
emigration movement was clearly crumbling prior to the avaricious
agreement, the situation dramatically worsened thereafter. As one
newspaper report noted, Haiti’s financial standing quickly plummeted after
the indemnity and “continued to decline.” As evidence, the article revealed
that the country’s “revenue in 1826 was $433,857 and the expenditure,
$887,778.”118 The resulting financial crisis and the slow process of land
distribution quickly frustrated Black migrants, and many suspected that
they had been duped.119
By 1827, migrants grew increasingly panic-stricken about Haiti’s
economic plight. In one letter, a recent arrival reported that he was trying
desperately to get his family out of Haiti but had not yet been able to raise
the funds. “I try hard to get [my family] a passage,” he wrote, “cannot do it
yet, but will soon as ever I can, and send them back. Times very hard here,
worse than ever was known. The people are starving in some parts … Our
people are getting out as fast as they can.”120 Migrants further complained
that “that the proprietors of the lands for whom they had laboured, for two
years and a half, had entirely disappointed them; that they had received but
from six to ten dollars each, as a compensation for their labour during the
above time; and said they had rather be slaves in North Carolina, than to
remain there under the treatment they had received since their arrival.” By
early 1829, one observer concluded that Black people should not continue
to pursue emigration to Haiti. “From my short acquaintance with the
Haytiens,” he wrote, “and my observing their dispositions towards our
American Blacks amongst them, I am not disposed to encourage any free
people of colour to go from the United States to settle in Hayti.”121
Not surprisingly, then, John Russwurm soon revealed that endorsement
of Haitian emigration had practically disappeared due to “unfavourable
reports of those who have returned.”122 While this was devastating news for
Black activists in the United States, the news from the Haitian government
proved even worse. In a painful and stunning reversal of its previous
appeals for pan-African solidarity, the Haitian government announced that it
would no longer unconditionally welcome migrants from the United States
into their country. Instead, migrants must declare their presence in Haiti or
face considerable fines. “Those arriving,” the edict announced, “must make
a declaration of their arrival before a justice of the peace stating their
intention either to sojourn in the country, or merely to pass through it; and
also what profession they intend to exercise.”123 In direct opposition to
Boyer’s previous declaration that “Those who come, being children of
Africa, shall be Haytiens as soon as they put their feet upon the soil of
Hayti,” the Haitian government began shutting its doors against its brothers
and sisters in the United States.124
 The Haitian government’s decision proved that everyone—including
U.S. politicians, mainstream newspapers, and even some Black activists—
blamed the migrants, not the indemnity, for the failed emigration project.125
As one article complained, U.S. Black migrants went to Haiti “under the
impression that they were going to a land ‘flowing with milk and honey,’
and that they were to live in the most sumptuous manner, without labour or
any exertions on their part to acquire it.” It soon became clear, the author
argued, that they were mistaken: “They have found out that a living, even in
St. Domingo, must be earned by manual labor.”126 Benjamin Hughes, the
minister of Philadelphia’s First African Presbyterian Church who migrated
to Haiti in 1824, also maintained that many Black migrants had overly
romantic notions about what they would encounter upon their arrival in
Haiti. They expected the government to provide for all of their needs,
Hughes complained, and they were unwilling and ill prepared to perform
agricultural labor.127
In fairness, U.S. Black migrants did contribute mightily to the
movement’s collapse. Reverend Hughes was not entirely wrong when he
admitted that many migrants viewed Haiti through rose-colored glasses
prior to arriving in the country. Nor was he incorrect in acknowledging that
most migrants were ill prepared for the conditions they would encounter in
Haiti.128 Yet, while Black migrants bore the blame for the emigration
movement’s decline, it is clear they were not the only cause. Instead, in the
years that followed, it became increasingly apparent that the true culprit in
the demise of the emigration movement, and more specifically in the
deterioration in the relations between U.S. Black leaders and the Haitian
government, was the indemnity and the financial catastrophe it wrought. As
one Freedom’s Journal article lamented, the indemnity shattered the Black
leadership’s image of Haiti as a powerful, sovereign, Black nation that had
successfully crushed its colonial master. Instead, it had been reduced to a
republic that “seems to hold its independence by a somewhat doubtful
tenure.”129
Therefore, when John Russwurm fled the United States in 1829, seeking
refuge from racism and hoping for a brighter future, he no longer
considered Haiti as a potential destination. Despite his announcement in
1826 that he would be relocating to Haiti, just three years later, Russwurm
selected Liberia as the “desirable spot” to build a new life. His last formal
appeal for Haitian emigration appeared in May 1828, when he published a
call for migrants, especially those interested in agriculture, to bring their
skills to Hayti.130 Thereafter, although he did not discourage others from
migrating to Haiti, Russwurm no longer encouraged it.
Even so, there is a powerful and compelling lesson in this story.
Considering the outrage over the indemnity, and the dissolution of the
emigration movement, Black people in the United States easily could have
turned their backs on Haiti entirely. They also could have used the pages of
Freedom’s Journal to openly castigate the Black republic and its leaders,
particularly President Boyer and Secretary General Inginac for their roles in
destroying the vision of Haitian sovereignty and for terminating the
emigration project. But they did not. While they admitted the emigration
movement’s shortcomings, they carefully withheld open criticism of Haiti
or its destiny. They also avoided any disparaging comments about the
Haitian leadership or the potential for Black self-governance. In fact, a
small, but steady, trickle of migrants even continued to cast their lot with
the Haitians over the next few decades. While white Americans lambasted
the Haitians, the Haitian government, and even individual leaders for
creating a disastrous situation that caused “ruin” to stare everybody in the
face, U.S. Black activists chose a different, much more strategic
approach.131 Clearly, they withdrew their formal endorsements for Haitian
emigration, but they publicly continued to defend Haiti, or chose to remain
quiet, and only referred to Haiti’s problems in veiled terms.
Throughout 1828, John Russwurm and a few other loyal Black
supporters utterly refused to abandon hope about Haiti’s future potential. In
July, Russwurm published an angry editorial, denouncing Haiti’s enemies
and the U.S. government’s non-recognition policy. “Hayti,” he wrote,
“whether acknowledged or not by the United States, is a sovereign and
independent state” even “in the sight of God,” and therefore it should be
treated equal to any other nation.132 Months later, Russwurm recounted a
celebration in Boston held in honor of Prince Abdul Rahman, during which
attendees made a special toast exalting Haitian independence. Rahman, a
West African nobleman who had been captured and sold into bondage, had
gained his freedom after his true identity as African nobility had been
verified. He soon became a symbol of the abolitionist movement and was
celebrated throughout the northern United States before he finally returned
to his homeland.133 Following a grand procession through the streets,
enthusiastic Bostonians honored Rahman with a sumptuous dinner followed
by toasts, including one from Oliver Nash, which honored Haiti as the
“cradle of hope” for Black activists across the diaspora. “The Island of
Hayti,” he proclaimed “[is] the only country on earth where the man of
color walks in all the plentitude of his rights. She may well be termed the
cradle of hope to future generations.”134
As late as December 1828, Russwurm continued to promote Haitian
sovereignty and Haiti’s political destiny. When rumors circulated that the
Haitian government had ceded the eastern portion of the island to Spain,
Freedom’s Journal angrily denounced the gossip and reasserted the vision
of Haitian sovereignty. Affirming Haiti’s current political conditions as
“uncommonly peaceable,” he boldly declared, “The Republic is
indivisible.” The Haitians, he bragged, had “poured out their best blood in
defence of their soil” and would never again submit to the yoke of a foreign
government. Even in the face of the indemnity, then, Russwurm refused to
relinquish his vision of Haitian sovereignty. He clung to his hope that Haiti
would eventually fulfill its destiny, and “take her rank among the nations of
the earth, respected and honoured for the talents, industry, and bravery of
her children.” Ever hopeful, Russwurm concluded that the Haitians had
much to be proud of. After all, they could “look back on the past with great
satisfaction; they have fought the good fight of Liberty, and conquered: and
all that is required of them, is, to … look forward to what man, even the
descendant of Africa, may be, when blessed with Liberty and Equality and
their concomitants.”135
At the bitter end, in 1829, when the emigration movement had been
utterly abandoned, Russwurm still refused to disparage Haiti or President
Boyer. Although Russwurm ultimately chose to migrate to Liberia instead
of Haiti, he refused to portray Haiti or its government negatively. In
explaining his decision to embrace Liberian emigration, he simply stated,
“In preferring Liberia, we wish not to deprive any of the right of choice
between it and Hayti; as it is not our object to say naught against Hayti or
the able ruler at its head.” Although he briefly acknowledged the growing
“objections” to the Haitian emigration movement, he chose not to elaborate
further. Even as he finally faced the indemnity’s painful aftermath—Haiti’s
financial devastation and the emigration movement’s demise—Russwurm
refused to speak ill of the Black republic or its leadership.136
With the power of hindsight, some might argue that Russwurm and
other Black activists were naive, dishonest, or perhaps even foolish. In
reality, however, they were simply unwilling to relinquish their commitment
to Haiti’s glorious destiny or their hope for Black liberation across the
diaspora. Convinced that the fate of the Black race hinged on Haiti’s
success, they remained loyal to their goal of persuading the U.S.
government to recognize Haitian sovereignty, and they persisted in their
belief that one day the Black republic would make all their dreams come
true.

OceanofPDF.com
 3

HAITI MUST BE ACKNOWLEDGED

The Fight for Haitian Recognition Begins

In early November 1838, Samuel Cornish, editor of The Colored American

newspaper, issued a blistering critique of the United States government.
Keenly aware that slaveholders dictated the United States’ decision to deny
diplomatic recognition to Haiti, Cornish unleashed his frustration, angrily
denouncing the power that racism and slavery wielded over U.S. foreign
policy. “There is no apology to justify, or even extenuate our meanness and
guilt, in refusing the recognition of Haiti,” he railed, “Are the American
people so weak and wicked, as to imagine they can counteract the economy
of God, and trample on colored men forever and everywhere?” Outraged
that slavery’s reach extended across the ocean to condemn Haiti—the only
sovereign Black republic in the Americas—Cornish resolved to bring the
United States to its knees and extract justice. “Haiti must be
acknowledged,” Cornish insisted, “If it is important that we should have
amicable relations and interchange national courtesies with any nation, it is
so in regard to Haiti, a country that has won its freedom and independence
and established them against the world.”1
The path to Cornish’s courageous stance was not an easy one. Instead, it
was forged slowly and carefully over a decade, as Black activists struggled
to cultivate a new political agenda. Amid the indemnity’s disastrous
aftermath, U.S. Black leaders in the 1830s faced a significant dilemma.
Despite their high hopes prior to 1825, Haitian President Jean-Pierre
Boyer’s decision to acquiesce to the indemnity triggered widespread
problems in the fledgling Black nation. As discussed in chapter two, it
created severe financial consequences for the Haitian people and caused the
country’s infrastructure to crumble. It also prompted the emigration
movement’s painful disintegration. Although many Black northerners had
been deeply inspired by the vision of migrating to Haiti and building a
sovereign Black republic, the emigration movement in the late 1820s
precipitously declined as Haitian leaders withdrew their financial and
ideological support. Worse, Black migrants suffered the blame for
emigration’s demise, leaving many activists extremely disappointed. By the
end of the decade, Boyer’s presidency rapidly devolved, casting doubt
across the Atlantic World about Black people’s capacity for self-
governance.
In the 1830s, then, U.S. Black activists reluctantly reconsidered their
relationship to Haiti. In the opening years of the new decade, Haiti’s
internal troubles caused Black leaders to flounder a bit, as they struggled to
forge a new path forward. Esteemed activists, including David Walker,
Samuel Cornish, Maria Stewart, and Peter Williams Jr. carefully crafted
their public speeches, painstakingly tiptoeing around Haiti’s obvious
difficulties and resolutely pledging their faith in its future. Desperately
clinging to their dying dreams, they even wondered whether Haitian
emigration could still be viable. In fact, even though the Haitian
government terminated the inducement plan years before, Black activists in
the United States still endorsed and debated migration in the early 1830s.
By the latter part of the decade, however, northern Black activists
finally found their footing. Navigating through troubled political waters,
they eventually charted an entirely new course. Temporarily abandoning
their emigrationist visions, they focused, instead, on Haiti’s political
destiny. Unwilling to relinquish their hope for Haiti’s success as a sovereign
Black nation, they commenced an unwavering campaign for U.S.
acknowledgment of Haitian sovereignty. Insistent on obtaining full
diplomatic recognition, Black activists such as Maria Stewart and Samuel
Cornish demanded that the U.S. government concede the reality of Haitian
sovereignty once and for all. In so doing, they made a powerful transition in
their strategy. No longer did their internationalist thought focus only on
advocacy and emigration; instead, they began to explore activism in foreign
policy, pressuring the U.S. government to hear their voices and change its
conduct toward the Black republic. This chapter explores the troubled era
between 1829 and 1839, as Black activists slowly recovered from their
previous disappointments and developed a new transnational movement in
an effort to demonstrate their unceasing support for Haitian sovereignty.
 ***

By the close of the 1820s, an ominous cloud of confusion and despair

hung over Black activists’ consciousness, tragically altering their opinions
about Haiti. In the first two decades following Haitian independence, Black
leaders in the United States had demonstrated devout loyalty to Haiti and its
government. But, as chapter two revealed, the late 1820s proved to be a
particularly challenging era. By the end of the decade, the emigration
movement had been deemed a failure, Jean-Pierre Boyer’s tenuous
presidency teetered on the brink of disaster, and most importantly, the
indemnity devastated Haiti economically and politically. At the turn of the
decade, then, Black activists struggled to define their relationship with
Haiti. In the absence of a formal emigration movement, and faced with
mounting problems in the Haitian government, Haiti’s public image
suffered mightily.
Throughout 1829, criticism rained down on Boyer. Observers across the
Atlantic World lambasted him for conceding to the indemnity and
questioned his financial and political choices thereafter. Newspapers in the
United States were particularly critical, skewing perceptions about Haiti
among white and Black readers alike. The media, of course, rarely admitted
that France had pledged severe military consequences if Boyer did not
acquiesce to the indemnity. Instead, Boyer was framed as solely responsible
for the debacle. In January 1829, for example, an editorial in the Daily
National Journal placed blame squarely on Boyer, arguing that he had put
Haiti in an impossible situation because the island nation could never
successfully pay off its debts to France. Clearly frustrated, the editor
described the “unhappy dilemma into which Boyer has thrown his country,
without any safe means of extricating himself.” Another excerpt, borrowed
from the North American Review, described Haiti and its government in
desperate conditions, groaning under the oppressive “weight of an
overwhelming debt … with an empty treasury, and destitute of ways and
means for supplying it.” The article also complained about severe
agricultural mismanagement, describing the land as “neglected, or at least
but very partially tilled.” Economic and political life there was so grim, the
editorial concluded, that the nation held little chance of remedying the
problem or improving its status.2 United States officials affirmed this
popular sentiment. In early 1830, Joshua Webb, a U.S. commercial agent
stationed in the Haitian port of Aux Cayes, noted that trade with Haiti had
declined “a great portion” due to “the state of general indigence into which
the people of this country have of late so rapidly fallen.”3 Thus, as one
newspaper concluded, it appeared that Haiti might quickly dissolve into
“irrevocable insignificance, poverty, and disorder.”4
Undoubtedly, U.S. newspapers and commercial agents harbored their
own biases about Haiti’s conditions, but many Haitians were equally
outraged with Boyer for his failed leadership. In fact, rage simmered just
below the surface, periodically bursting forth in the form of an uprising. In
spring 1831, U.S. and Jamaican newspapers reported an attempted coup
among Haitian soldiers, indicating ubiquitous dissatisfaction with Boyer
and Haiti’s severe financial problems. According to local reports, Boyer
“received intelligence that a revolution had been attempted by the troops in
garrison at Aux Cayes,” and he scrambled to “quell the rebels.” Onlookers
across the Americas understood quite clearly that such revolts occurred in
direct response to extreme poverty throughout the island. Port-au-Prince,
one newspaper article reminisced, had once been the “most flourishing City
in the Western hemisphere,” but now it was “almost desolate,” as
widespread “poverty and misery” defined the country’s “ruinous condition.”
As such, the account concluded, “the general feeling was, that Boyer had
presided quite long enough over the destinies of the Haytien people.”5
As concern about future uprisings lingered, President Boyer’s military
power grew increasingly repressive. As one visitor to Port-au-Prince
reported, “we have been in hourly anticipation of revolution.” In an effort to
subdue opposition, the Haitian government considered expelling all
foreigners, causing U.S. merchants to worry that Haiti’s commerce might
grind to a halt. One correspondent anxiously fretted, “The expulsion of
foreigners would prove a death blow at once to all commerce hither, and
this country, always posterior, must naturally fall back into barbarism.”
Ultimately, however, Haitian officials did not issue such a decree,
apparently due to intervention from “wise heads” who understood “their
country’s good too well to hazard such proceedings.”6 Even so, the coup
attempt and the government’s frenzied response revealed the country’s
fragile and tenuous nature.
 Worse, by summer 1831, tensions grew between Haiti and France,
sparking new concern that Haiti could lose formal recognition from its
former colonizer. Early in June, President Boyer suddenly rejected the
indemnity’s terms and refused to send further payments to France.
According to one report, a “rupture” had developed between the two
nations, raising questions across the Atlantic World about whether warfare
and disrupted commerce might ensue. As one observer nervously reflected,
“What the result will be, cannot yet be determined.”7 Samuel Israel, the
U.S. commercial agent in Cap Haitian, seemed particularly panic stricken
about the growing diplomatic crisis. In early June, he anxiously wrote about
France’s expanding military presence in Haiti, describing the arrival of a
ship carrying a “negotiator” who brought an ultimatum from the French
government insisting that Haiti must comply with the indemnity. He further
noted that since the Haitian government had previously rejected those
terms, a military conflict seemed imminent. He nervously concluded that
France would likely “send a blockading squadron here … [and] compel the
Haytiens to come to terms.” Even worse, he predicted impending internal
warfare in opposition to Boyer’s leadership. Since Boyer remained “very
unpopular,” he reported, Haitians feared a civil war, “in which case the lives
& interests of the Americans as well as all foreigners would be
jeopardized.” In closing, he strongly encouraged the U.S. government to
send a “small Naval force” to Haiti in an effort to protect U.S. commercial
interests there.8
Boyer’s sudden and surprising repudiation of the indemnity likely
reflected his growing desire to regain esteem among his people. One U.S.
commercial agent certainly thought so, noting that, “The first treaty made
with France by this Government has been of late, unpopular, and the steps
now taken by the Government is perhaps to satisfy the people.”9 By July
1831, Boyer publicly attempted to rally support for his new hardline
position against the indemnity. Reprinted in newspapers across the northern
United States, Boyer issued a statement articulating his change of heart.
Since the indemnity’s stipulations ultimately displeased the Haitian people,
Boyer concluded, it could not be endured any longer. “The act containing
this acknowledgement [sic] was at first rejected by us,” he explained,
“because … there were in it some strange stipulations, and we could not
conceal our repugnance to them.” He further asserted that the indemnity
was antithetical to the Haitian people’s welfare, and by rejecting its terms
he was fulfilling his duty to his country. Since the indemnity could not be
“ratified without compromising” Haiti’s best interest, he explained, “I have
then only done what the honor of my country required … and that is the
consideration which will always govern my acts.”10
In an effort to win his citizens’ hearts and minds, Boyer called upon the
Haitian people to take up arms and defend their independence. Conjuring
up images of their triumphant victory in the Haitian Revolution, he
declared, “Your patriotism and your courageous determination will
command the esteem of the world, and the admiration of posterity … To
maintain peace, we must always be prepared to defend that which is most
dear to us, liberty and national independence.”11 A few months later, an
anonymous Haitian writer shared similar views in William Lloyd Garrison’s
anti-slavery newspaper, The Liberator. In an open letter, the unknown
author asserted Haiti’s right to sovereignty and assured Americans that the
military tensions were temporary. “The Republic of Hayti will always
maintain the rank it holds among nations,” the author vowed, “Our civil
dissensions are but momentary—the mere creatures of a day.” The letter
also boldly taunted Haiti’s enemies, reminding them that Haiti had won its
freedom before, and it would do so again if necessary. “As to foreign
invasion,” the author exclaimed, “we say, ‘let it come!’ … If the people of
Hayti are animated and governed by sentiments like these—we trust that
every French or foreign force, that lands offensively on its shores, will be
gathered to the mouldering bones of the invading armies which have
perished there already.”12
Fearful that increased military tensions might, indeed, be forthcoming,
the U.S. Secretary of the Navy sent ships to Haiti to ensure peace, and more
importantly, to protect U.S. financial interests.13 Ultimately, a military
conflict did not ensue, since France and Haiti agreed to use diplomatic
means to resolve their disagreements. France still insisted on payment of
150 million gold francs but agreed to pay full trade duties in Haitian ports.14
However, the culmination of Haiti’s problems—financial instability,
attempted coups, and tensions with France—confirmed that the Black
republic remained in a severe crisis, causing Black activists in the United
States to wonder what their relationship to Haiti ought to be.
 Prior to 1829, John Russwurm, editor of Freedom’s Journal, had been a
powerful voice in favor of Haiti and Haitian sovereignty. However, as
previously discussed, Russwurm migrated to Liberia in early 1829.
Disappointed with Haiti’s political turmoil, and the persistence of slavery
and racism in the United States, he fled the United States and sought a
better life in Africa. Russwurm’s absence created a significant void
regarding Haitian affairs, leaving the activists who remained, including
David Walker, Samuel Cornish, Peter Williams Jr., and Maria Stewart, with
an unfortunate conundrum. Despite Haiti’s obvious problems, they had to
find a way, as John Russwurm had, to champion Haiti and convince the
world that formerly enslaved people could effectively govern themselves.
Theirs was not an easy task, and their public speeches and writings in the
early 1830s demonstrate the complexity of their challenge. Although
northern Black leaders presented a range of opinions about the history of
the Haitian Revolution, the emigration movement, and Haiti’s potential
destiny during this era, they remained steadfast in their pride for Haiti’s
glorious past and their passionate hope that the struggling Black nation
would find a new path forward.
In 1829, Black abolitionist David Walker joined the international
political fray. Walker, a well-known firebrand, had already delivered
numerous impassioned speeches against slavery and in favor of Black
citizenship. As one of John Russwurm’s former political allies, Walker had
also raised money to create Freedom’s Journal and operated as one of the
paper’s Boston agents. An avid follower of political affairs, he obviously
knew about Haiti—both its history and its challenges. Thus, in 1829, when
Walker released his famous Appeal to the Colored Citizens of the World, he
strategically presented the best image of Haiti he could muster.
In the wake of the indemnity, and Haiti’s subsequent problems, Walker
carefully avoided topics that might cast aspersions upon the embattled
Black nation. Notably, Haiti is only mentioned by name four times in the
entire Appeal, suggesting that Walker strategically crafted his comments
about Haiti’s current political and economic affairs. Cognizant of their
omnipresent enemies, he warned Haitians to “[keep] a strict look out for
tyrants, for if they get the least chance to injure [Haiti], they will avail
themselves of it.” Even more telling was Walker’s poignant comment about
Haiti’s internal strife. In a veiled reference to the political discord plaguing
the island nation, he cleverly concluded, “I hope that [Haiti] may keep
peace within her borders and be united.”15
Refusing to linger on Haiti’s current affairs, Walker focused on the
country’s triumphant past. As scholar Grégory Pierrot noted, Walker
emphasized Haiti’s example because he believed that Black people in the
United States could “learn from Haitian political successes and failures and
do better.”16 Using the image of the successful Haitian Revolution as a dual
warning, Walker reminded his Black readers about the importance of unity
and threatened proslavery whites about the power of slave rebellion. For his
“brethren,” Walker offered Haiti’s early history as a powerful object lesson.
Dredging up “the divisions and consequent suffering” that Haitians endured
prior to the revolution, he urged Black people to remain united: “Read the
history particularly of Hayti, and see how they were butchered by the
whites, and do you take warning.” Next, he honored the Haitians who
bravely fought for their freedom and independence and warned the enemies
of Black freedom that a painful fate awaited anyone who sought to deprive
them of their freedom. “The whites want slaves,” he proclaimed, “and want
us for their slaves, but some of them will curse the day they ever saw us …
Hayti, the glory of the blacks and terror of tyrants, is enough to convince
the most avaricious and stupid of wretches.” Ultimately, Walker concluded,
Haiti would forever be hailed as a nation that courageously defeated slavery
and would never “yield to the combined forces of the whole world.”17
Walker’s only other mention of Haiti came in a surprising form—an
open endorsement of Haitian emigration. Widely known as a staunch anti-
colonizationist, Walker strongly believed that Black people should remain
in the United States and fight for their rights. In his view, they should never
allow slaveholders to drive them from their homes; after all, he argued,
“America is more our country, than it is the whites—we have enriched it
with our blood and tears.” Even so, Walker maintained that any Black
person who wanted to flee the United States and seek their fortune
elsewhere, should go to Haiti. As he concluded, “If any of us see fit to go
away … go to our brethren, the Haytians, who, according to their word, are
bound to protect and comfort us.” His position on Haitian emigration
seemed particularly astonishing since, by the time that the Appeal was
published, the Haitian emigration project had mostly disintegrated. But
despite everything that had transpired, in Walker’s eyes, the Haitians were
still his “brethren,” and Haiti was still a glorious nation composed of people
who would never relinquish their sovereignty.18
Soon thereafter, Samuel Cornish echoed David Walker’s sentiments.
Cornish’s endorsement was similarly significant since, like Walker, Cornish
had previously opposed emigration; instead, dismissing it as a passing
phase. In fact, when John Russwurm departed for Liberia, Cornish
expressed shock at his former colleague’s “sudden change” of heart,
concluding that “I can only dispose of it, by classing it with the novelties of
the day.” Moreover, he believed that a Black mass migration was neither
wise nor beneficial. “[A]s it respects the three millions that are now in the
United States,” he wrote, “and the eight millions that in twenty or twenty-
five years, will be in this country, we think [emigration] is no wise
calculated, to meet their wants or ameliorate their condition.”19 However,
Cornish soon experienced his own change of heart.
In late 1829, Cornish resuscitated his journalistic career with a new
publication, The Rights of All. Like most Black newspapers of the era, The
Rights of All was a short-lived endeavor, lasting less than a year. Even so,
during its brief run, Cornish regularly updated his readers about Haitian
affairs and even periodically endorsed Haitian migration. Perhaps
influenced by David Walker, who served as the paper’s Boston distributor,
Cornish encouraged Haitian emigration for those who insisted upon leaving
the United States. “There is no country in the world,” he affirmed, “which
presents such inducement to the colored population of the United States as
the ‘Republic of Hayti’ … To emigrants of industrious and economical
habits, there is every chance for obtaining wealth and influence.”20
Figure 6. Samuel Cornish
Source: Francis Kearney, 1825. Wikimedia Commons.

Beyond emigration, Cornish also closely monitored Haiti’s political

conditions, ever hopeful for good news. With a local agent, William
Bowler, stationed in Port-au-Prince, Cornish received regular updates about
Haitian affairs. In autumn 1829, he excitedly reported that France and Haiti
had finally resolved their conflicts and reached a new agreement “on the
principles of perfect reciprocity.” Optimistic that the arrangement would
finally allow Haiti to silence its enemies and assume an equal position in
the global diplomatic arena, Cornish affirmed that Haiti “now has every
chance to exalt herself to an equal standing with the first nations in the
world—If her policy be good, which we doubt not, her prosperity and
greatness are sure.” Perhaps most surprising was his open support for Jean-
Pierre Boyer, arguing that he should be considered the equal of other world
leaders such as the U.S. president, Andrew Jackson. Referring to Boyer as
“the Executive of the Republic of Hayti,” Cornish wrote, “We boldly assert,
and without fear of contradiction, that the talent of the Executive of the
Republic of Hayti would in no wise suffer in comparison with the talent of
the Executive of the United States.”21
 Given the obvious opposition to Boyer’s leadership in Haiti and abroad,
Cornish’s support seems rather surprising. Like Russwurm and Walker
before him, Cornish likely wanted to protect Haiti’s public reputation and
perhaps he believed that Boyer’s bold stand against the French prophesized
brighter days ahead. Even so, Cornish could not resist including a passing
comment about the indemnity’s problematic financial burden. After all,
despite France and Haiti’s new agreement, the most oppressive portion of
the indemnity’s economic obligation remained firmly in place, as did Haiti’s
monetary crisis. Thus, Cornish noted, Haiti would still have to borrow from
foreign governments to meet its financial agreement. “The government of
Hayti will now have to fulfil [sic] its obligations by a loan,” he lamented,
“and it would appear that the intention is to make powerful efforts to
comply with its engagements.” Despite this reality, Cornish doubled down
on his vision for Haitian sovereignty and chastised the U.S. government for
refusing to acknowledge Haitian independence. Considering Haiti’s “rise
and progress,” which remained “unparalleled by that of any modern
nation,” Cornish angrily lambasted the “little minded prejudice which
reigns in the hearts and characterizes the conduct of the American people.”
In conclusion, he issued a powerful call for Americans to relinquish their
racism and atone for their sins against Haiti and its people: “Everlasting
shame and blushing rest upon my nation and countrymen until they
acknowledge and repent.”22
While Black leaders during this era stopped short of formally
petitioning the U.S. government for Haitian recognition, they continued
their support for emigration, albeit in a somewhat qualified fashion. Even
though the Haitian government had clearly ended its formal emigration
program, activists such as Peter Williams Jr. and James Barbadoes still
endorsed migration to Haiti on a limited basis. During a speech delivered on
July 5, 1830, Peter Williams Jr. maintained that Black people fleeing
oppression in the United States should consider Haiti as a potential safe
haven. In the wake of a devastating pogrom in Cincinnati, Ohio in August
1829, which caused thousands of Black residents to flee their homes,
Williams became increasingly convinced that the United States was a
hostile environment for Black people, and they must consider alternative
options. As he sadly reflected, free Black people needed to establish a
refuge from persecution in case their “homes are made so uncomfortable
that we cannot continue in them, or … we are driven from them.”
Therefore, although Williams articulated a clear preference for Canada, he
still acknowledged that Haiti offered a potential “asylum” for Black people
fleeing persecution. For Williams, even amid Haiti’s obvious crises, it still
offered a more appropriate home for the Black race than the United States.23
Other Black leaders echoed Williams’s limited endorsement of Haitian
emigration in the early 1830s. During a meeting held in 1831, for example,
prominent abolitionist James Barbadoes and his fellow Bostonians reached
a similar conclusion. While upholding their general opposition to
colonization, they still acknowledged that oppressive conditions in the
United States might drive Black people to flee the country. For those
unwilling to endure the endless onslaught of northern racism, Barbadoes
and his compatriots recommended Haiti and Canada as the two countries
most likely to promote Black racial advancement. As they concluded in
their formal report, if any Black person felt “exasperated in consequence of
abuse from their white countrymen,” and insisted on leaving the United
States, “we think it desirable to recommend them to Haiti or Upper Canada,
where they will find the laws equal.”24 As Peter Williams Jr., James
Barbadoes, and their Boston friends demonstrated, the relationship between
the U.S. Black community and the Haitian emigration movement remained
extremely complex at the turn of the 1830s. While they desperately clung to
the hope that Haiti could still serve as an “asylum” for those seeking
freedom and equality, they also knew that Haiti’s internal problems could
not easily be solved.
Unsurprisingly, then, the early 1830s became a watershed moment for
the emigration movement. Many of its stalwart proponents, such as John
Russwurm, left the United States during this era, creating a vacuum in the
leadership. Others, including Peter Williams Jr. and Samuel Cornish, began
to vacillate on the issue. But it is important to note that waning enthusiasm
was not solely about emigration to Haiti. By the early 1830s, Black activists
not only questioned Haitian emigration, they also began to reject
emigration as a broader principle. Faced with the growing influence of the
American Colonization Society, an organization that advocated for the
forced relocation of free Black people to Africa, many Black activists
abandoned their support for emigration, even voluntary migration, and
asserted their rights as Americans.25
 As a result, in 1830, northern Black leaders decided to gather in a
convention and determine, once and for all, their position on emigration and
colonization. Would they flee the United States in hopes of finding freedom
and equality elsewhere? Or would they remain and fight for their rights at
home? If they decided to leave, where should they cast their fate? Africa?
Canada? Or perhaps Haiti? Their fateful decision to collectively resolve
these burning questions gave rise to the Colored Convention Movement—a
series of gatherings that convened sporadically between 1830 and 1864 in
which Black activists debated the most salient political issues of their times.
First, however, they had to decide whether they would remain in the United
States or leave.
Emigration presented a painful and thorny question for many Black
northerners in the antebellum era, as they wondered whether their people
could ever truly gain freedom and citizenship in the only home most of
them had ever known. After all, the poignant words of Richard Allen,
founder of the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) church, still rang in the
hearts and minds of many: “We have tilled the ground and made fortunes
for thousands … This land which we have watered with our tears and our
blood, is now our mother country and we are well satisfied to stay where
wisdom abounds, and the gospel is free.”26 However, as demonstrated by
Peter Williams Jr.’s speech, by 1830, other Black activists became
convinced that the United States might always be hostile to their presence.
Ironically, their growing plight conjured up John Russwurm’s words from
his departing editorial. “We are considered a distinct people,” he lamented,
“in the midst of millions around us and … at the end of a thousand years,
we should be exactly in our present situation: a proscribed race, however
unjustly—a degraded people, deprived of all the rights of freemen.”
Prejudices, Russwurm concluded, “are not of our creating, and they are not
in our power to remove.”27 Torn between these battling sentiments—their
hopes for U.S. citizenship and the reality of U.S. racism—northern Black
leaders struggled to determine the best path forward.
Committed to resolving the troublesome emigration question, northern
Black leaders assembled in Philadelphia on September 20, 1830.
Unfortunately, New York activists elected to boycott the meeting, as they
accused the Philadelphia-based leaders of hijacking the agenda and the
venue.28 Yet, despite their absence, the convention delegates reinforced
many of the views that New Yorker Peter Williams Jr. had expressed during
his July 5th speech. Fearful about growing racial hostility in the United
States, leaders felt compelled, as Williams had suggested, to pass a
resolution in support of emigration. But, quite noticeably, they endorsed
Canada, not Haiti, as their safe haven.
Canada, the delegates maintained, would be more receptive to Black
migrants due to the language, climate, and availability of land.29 The
following year, when the Colored Convention met again, attendees (this
time including the New Yorkers) reaffirmed their commitment to the
Canadian plan. Again, they spoke not a word about Haiti.30 Revealingly, as
they pondered potential homes for their beleaguered brethren across the
northern United States who sought relief from the United States’ racial
terrorism, no one mentioned Haiti. Instead, in an unspoken referendum on
Haiti’s plight, they focused their attention on Canada.
It was not until 1832, during the convention movement’s third
gathering, that Haiti finally earned a brief mention in their discussion.
Unfortunately, however, the passing reference to the Black republic was not
a positive one. By 1832, Black activists had become increasingly concerned
about public perception. Agonizing about the American Colonization
Society’s rising influence, and its plans for forced removal, Black leaders
worried that an endorsement of emigration could undermine their attempts
to attain American citizenship. In a dramatic reversal of their previous
position, they passed a resolution unilaterally opposing emigration on the
grounds that the American public might assume they had “relinquished”
their claim to U.S. citizenship. They argued that emigration had a
deleterious effect on the abolitionist movement, robbing the United States
of its free Black population and thereby “weaken[ing] the situation of those
who are left behind.” Worse, they specifically denounced Haitian
emigration as a movement that could only “distract and divide the whole
colored family.”31
This shocking outcome devastated Haitian emigration’s supporters. Not
only did convention delegates oppose emigration in general, they renounced
their affiliations with Haitian emigration entirely. Although the Colored
Conventions met three more times during the 1830s, delegates did not
mention Haiti for the remainder of the decade. Even at the 1834 convention,
when they voted to admit Evan Williams—a guest from Port-au-Prince—as
an honorary delegate, they still offered no formal discussion about Haiti’s
condition.32 Instead, as the convention attendees abandoned emigration,
they also abandoned any discussion of Haiti—its plight or its potential.
Anti-emigration sentiment soon spread in local Black communities
across the north and west. In Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, for example, Black
activists held a public meeting in 1831 in which they voiced their
opposition to the American Colonization Society and argued specifically
against Haitian emigration. Participants, led by Black abolitionist J. B.
Vashon, passed a resolution unequivocally opposing emigration to any
location outside the United States, including Haiti: “We, as citizens of these
United States … do mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes,
and our sacred honor, not to … emigrate to Hayti. Here we were born—here
will we live by the help of the Almighty— and here we will die.”33
Similarly, in the following year, an anonymous writer known only as “A
Colored Citizen of Brooklyn,” expressed his opposition to Haitian
emigration due to poor conditions. Reflecting on the failed movement
earlier in the 1820s, he wrote, “About six thousands [sic] of us went to
Hayti, assisted by that philanthropic people; but we found that a settlement
there did not suit our extensive population.” Thus, by the early 1830s, only
a few lingering supporters still considered Haiti as a viable destination. In
1832, Baltimore activist Hezekiah Grice along with sixty-five other
Baltimoreans departed for Haiti in disgust, after the Colored Convention
abandoned the emigrationist impulse.34 But they represented a rare breed, as
increasing numbers of Black people turned their backs on emigration and
elected to fight for their rights in the United States. In fact, as Black leaders
increasingly elected to remain in their adopted country to fight for abolition
and citizenship, public sentiment opposing Haitian emigration grew in the
Black community, until Haiti was scarcely mentioned at all.
What, then, would the U.S. Black community’s relationship to Haiti be?
Would their interest in Haitian affairs die alongside the emigration
movement, or would their passion for Haiti remain alive in another form? In
the early 1830s, no one knew. Once the emigration question temporarily
evaporated, only a few brief flickers of enthusiasm for Haiti remained. Yet,
the flickers were apparently enough to keep the fire alive. In July 1831,
seventy Black activists in Cincinnati, Ohio held a lavish celebration to
honor the abolitionist movement. While the festivities followed the typical
format—a powerful oration pleading for liberty to be extended to the
enslaved, followed by a “sumptuous” dinner—the concluding toasts offered
critical insight about Black popular political thought. Alongside salutes
honoring “the spirit of freedom” and famed abolitionists such as Richard
Allen and William Lloyd Garrison, the participants cheered “The
Administration of Jean Pierre Boyer.” They also raised a glass in Boyer’s
honor when one attendee proclaimed, “Let the world boast of her Alfreds,
her Fredericks, and her Washingtons—ours shall be the boast of a
BOYER.” Despite all the conflict and trouble that had transpired, Black
Cincinnatians still admired Jean-Pierre Boyer and believed that Haiti could
“convince the world” that Black people are “fit to govern as well as to be
governed.”35
The following month, on August 6, 1831, a powerful endorsement of
Haitian independence appeared in The Liberator newspaper. Apparently
authored by a Haitian, the letter provided a “spirited” celebration of Haitian
freedom and sovereignty and issued a stern “rebuke” to Haiti’s enemies.
Written as an open letter to William Lloyd Garrison, the author asked
Garrison to “oblige a Haytian” by including the correspondence for
circulation in The Liberator. Apparently thrilled, Garrison quipped, “In a
contest as well with pens as swords, the citizens of Hayti will never turn
their backs.” Taking up the Haitian cause, the anonymous author, identified
only as H.C.P, opened with a harsh rebuttal against anyone who questioned
Haiti’s independence. Haitians, he argued, had forged “a nation; and they
are determined to defend their hard-earned country and preserve that
freedom and glory which have been handed to them by their forefathers.”36
H.C.P. also cleverly reminded U.S. citizens that they won their own
freedom from England only with assistance from France and Saint-
Domingue. But Haitians won their liberty the hard way. Since no western
nation would assist the struggle for Black freedom, Haiti remained the only
nation of modern times, that “gained its independence without foreign
help.” After all, he asked, “what nation could they have leagued with?
None. Every powerful nation that could afford help, held the Africans as
slaves; therefore they would have been scorned at.” As a result, the Haitians
fought on alone; “they formed no alliances, contracted no loans, employed
no foreign generals to lead their armies on to victory, sent no ambassadors
abroad to beg for acknowledgments of their independence,” and finally
declared their own freedom and sovereignty. Even then, they did not escape
persecution and ridicule. Instead, they “buffeted the intrigues and plots
which were laid to ensnare them to the final overthrow of their government,
until 1825, when Charles X was obliged to acknowledge to the world their
Independence as a Nation.”37
But, H.C.P. did not limit his views on Black freedom to Haiti. In a fiery
outburst, he predicted a massive slave rebellion in the United States—one
that would eventually bring freedom to all. Quite ironically, he asserted that
the United States had nothing to fear from Haiti, since their true enemy
already lay within—the enslaved people of the South who would eventually
rise up and demand justice. “Your southern confederacy will not be
molested by the Haytians,” he scoffed, “for you have myriads of slaves
now, who will one day or other show to the world the iniquitous traffic in
which you have been engaged. Then will your land of liberty quake, and
then you may want your neighbors to raise a true fabric of freedom to all
men.” In closing, H.C.P. powerfully echoed Jean-Jacques Dessalines’s
original pledge from 1804 that Haitians would never again be enslaved or
submit to a foreign power: “Nature declares that old St. Domingo (Hayti) is
never to be conquered again by any nation; for the inhabitants are
determined to live free or die.”38
H.C.P. was clearly not alone, since his sentiments about Haitian
independence and Black freedom reverberated in both enslaved and free
Black communities across the United States. Less than two weeks after his
article appeared, H.C.P.’s prediction came to fruition: the bloodiest slave
rebellion in U.S. history erupted in Southampton County, Virginia—one
that reportedly drew inspiration from the Haitian Revolution. On August
21, 1831, exactly forty years—to the day—after the revolt at Bois Caïman
that sparked the Haitian Revolution, an enslaved man named Nat led an
uprising of his own. Convinced that slavery violated God’s law, and that
God selected him to lead his people to freedom, Nat and his followers,
which included numerous free Black people, attacked plantations and killed
some sixty white slaveholders throughout Southampton County.39 The
rebellion, of course, suffered an agonizing conclusion. The local militia,
joined by troops from the United States Navy anchored nearby, murdered at
least a hundred Black rebels in an effort to suppress the uprising.40 Nat,
himself, remained at large for six weeks, but was eventually captured, hung,
skinned, and brutally dismembered.41
Even so, as scholars Grégory Pierrot and Gerald Horne have noted, the
“specter of Haiti” haunted the Southampton revolt, and rebels likely drew
upon Haiti for inspiration.42 Admittedly, Nat himself never mentioned or
acknowledged any connection to Haiti in his confession; however, other
characters surrounding the rebellion apparently did. According to one
source, Nat (much like Denmark Vesey before him) used Haiti’s successful
revolution as a model for his own revolt, telling potential accomplices about
“the happy effects which had attended the united efforts of their brethren in
St. Domingo.” He also assured them that “a similar effort on their part,
could not fail to produce a similar effect, and not only restore them to
liberty but would produce them wealth and ease!” The image of Haitian
sovereignty, in particular, seems to have played a significant role in Nat’s
recruitment efforts, since he reportedly pledged that if enslaved people in
Virginia courageously embraced rebellion, they would be able to “imitate”
their Haitian “brethren” and “establish a government of their own.”43
In fairness, historians have questioned the legitimacy of this testimony,
since it appeared in a rather inflammatory document written by a white man
in the immediate aftermath of the rebellion, even before Nat had been
captured. And yet, given the extraordinary influence of the Haitian
Revolution on other uprisings during this era, we must at least consider the
possibility that Haiti also influenced the Southampton revolt. After all, as
historian Matthew Clavin reminds us, just weeks after the rebellion
concluded, a letter from a man known only as “Nero” was delivered to the
post office in Southampton County—the heart of the rebellion—and then
forwarded on to Virginia Governor James Floyd.44
Nero’s letter claimed that a powerful, dynamic leader had emerged
within the Black community and roused a legion of enslaved people who
were “taking lessons from the venerable survivors of the Haytian
Revolution” and were prepared to fight for their freedom. These potential
rebels were armed and ready, Nero warned, and they knew “how to use the
knife, bludgeon, and the torch with effect.” Driven by “revenge” and the
desire to “avenge the wrongs and abuses the Slaves have received in the
United States,” Nero pledged to spare no lives in his quest for freedom and
equality. Nero also promised that Haiti would provide a safe refuge—an
“asylum”—to those who were willing to take up arms.45 Clearly, unlike the
Southampton rebellion, Nero’s threat never fully materialized. And yet, his
words stand as powerful evidence that enslaved and free Black people drew
upon Haiti’s example to fuel their battles for freedom.
In fact, concurrent with Nero’s letter, Maria Stewart, a Boston
abolitionist and close associate of David Walker, wrote an article in The
Liberator newspaper, honoring the Haitian struggle for freedom and its
ongoing quest for full sovereignty. In many ways, Maria Stewart was a lone
wolf. Remarkable conservatism persisted even in the abolitionist movement
during this era, and as an outspoken woman, Stewart routinely suffered
persecution for speaking on political matters. Moreover, much like her
recently deceased friend, David Walker, Maria Stewart delivered fiery
speeches calling upon her people to rise up and fight for their freedom. In
this case, she was one of the few remaining free Black activists willing to
champion Haiti’s cause.
In October 1831, Stewart published an article entitled, “Religion and the
Pure Principles of Morality, the Sure Foundation on Which We Must
Build.” Nothing in the title suggested that she intended to write about the
Haitian struggle for freedom, but it was clearly on her mind. For Stewart,
the “pure principles of morality” dictated, among other things, that the
United States should deal kindly and fairly with its neighbors, including the
Black republic of Haiti. Explicitly frustrated with the U.S. government’s
refusal to recognize Haitian independence, she lambasted white racists who
denied Haiti’s sovereignty and even predicted that Haiti’s enemies would
suffer the wrath of God:

O, ye great men of America, ye rich and powerful ones … You

have acknowledged all the nations of the earth, except Hayti …
You may kill, tyrannize, and oppress as much as you choose,
until our cry shall come up before the throne of God; for I am
firmly persuaded, that he will not suffer you to quell the proud,
fearless, and undaunted spirits of the Africans forever; for in his
own time, he is able to plead our cause against you, and to pour
out upon you the ten plagues of Egypt.
Much like David Walker and H.C.P. before her, she warned the enemies of
freedom that there would be a price to pay if they continued to deny justice
to the Black race: “Our souls are fired with the same love of liberty and
independence with which your souls are fired … it is the blood of our
fathers, and the tears of our brethren that have enriched your soils. AND
WE CLAIM OUR RIGHTS.” In a poignant tribute to her dear friend and
comrade, David Walker, she concluded, “We will tell you that we are not
afraid of them that kill the body … Though Walker sleeps, yet he lives, and
his name shall be had in everlasting remembrance.”46
Six months later, on April 28, 1832, Maria Stewart renewed her
passionate commitment to Haiti when she appeared before the Afric-
American Female Intelligence Society of Boston and delivered an appeal
for Black people to embrace God’s plan and gain their full rights as human
beings. For Stewart, the fight for Black liberation had to be an international
one, and therefore references to Haiti appeared throughout her speech. Like
David Walker before her, Stewart lamented Black people’s oppressed
condition not just in the United States, but around the globe, writing, “We
this day are considered as one of the most degraded races upon the face of
the earth.” But in seeking inspiration for the battle against injustice, she
turned to Haiti. Issuing a call to action, Stewart argued that Haiti offered a
compelling model for success. “It is useless for us any longer to sit with our
hands folded, reproaching the whites,” she exclaimed, “Look at … the
Haytians, though they have not been acknowledged as a nation, yet their
firmness of character and independence of spirit have been greatly admired,
and highly applauded.” In this clever reflection, Stewart achieved a dual
purpose; she not only celebrated Haitian bravery, she also admonished the
United States for its refusal to acknowledge Haitian sovereignty.47
Sadly, this speech was one of Stewart’s last. Less than a year later,
powerful men threatened by her success drove Stewart out of the
abolitionist movement and she retired from the public eye. With her
departure, one of Haitian sovereignty’s most powerful supporters was
effectively silenced. Indeed, following Maria Stewart’s exit, a disturbing
silence settled over the Black leadership regarding Haiti. For about five
years, between 1832 and 1837, there is no indication that Black activists
spoke publicly about Haiti or argued in favor of recognizing its
independence. Certainly, there was no mention of Haitian emigration.
Instead, as they struggled to forge a new relationship with Haiti, they
elected to say nothing at all.
Beginning in 1837, however, a powerful new movement emerged as
Black leaders reasserted their commitment to Haitian sovereignty. In so
doing, they resuscitated a powerful global struggle against slavery and
commenced a new phase of the movement for the worldwide recognition of
Haitian independence. Unlike previous eras, their conversations about Haiti
did not focus solely, or even primarily, on emigration. Instead, they forged
an alternative strategy, one that courageously injected Black people’s voices
into discussions about U.S. foreign policy. Indeed, 1837 marked a
significant turning point when Black leaders, drawing upon Maria Stewart’s
example, asserted their role in international affairs and publicly pressured
the U.S. government to extend formal diplomatic recognition to Haiti.
The first rumblings of this new campaign emerged in spring 1837, when
Samuel Cornish printed a series of articles in support of Haiti and Haitian
independence in The Colored American newspaper.48 By then, Cornish had
garnered significant journalistic experience, having previously served as the
editor of Freedom’s Journal and The Rights of All. In the first several
months of this new paper’s life, Cornish served as the primary editor and
worked alongside Philip Alexander Bell, a respected Black abolitionist who
had served as a delegate to the 1832 Colored Convention. Bell operated as
the paper’s main proprietor and focused his energies on raising funds,
attracting new readers, and promoting the paper’s success.49 Throughout
The Colored American’s life, Haiti was featured prominently in its pages,
receiving more attention than any other Caribbean nation.50
In March 1837, Cornish published a bold endorsement of Haitian
sovereignty, in which he celebrated Haiti’s courageous stand against slavery
and its victorious declaration of independence. Seeking to establish Haiti’s
legitimacy as a sovereign nation, Cornish praised Haiti’s “many moral and
political institutions,” and lauded the Haitian people for their commitment
to “promoting the cause of humanity throughout the world.” He also
reminded his readers that, unlike the United States, France and other
western nations recognized Haiti as a free and equal nation. “The noble
minded Haytians,” he wrote, “having met all the conditions of, and
achieved their own independence,—stand forth on solid basis, in all the
glory of an INDEPENDENT NATION, and are acknowledged as such, by
the leading Courts of Europe.” He even commended Jean-Pierre Boyer and
the Haitian government, arguing that Haiti’s leaders rivaled any political
leader in Europe or the United States in strength and character. “We here
state it as a fact of which we have abundant testimony,” he declared, “that
the court circle in Port au Prince, in intelligence and refinement, is equal to
most of the Courts of Europe, and in refinement, not a whit behind our
own.”51
Two months later, in May 1837, Cornish took his campaign a step
further; this time, openly criticizing the U.S. government for denying Haiti
formal diplomatic recognition. He argued, in particular, that the United
States’ position was completely unjustified since Haiti had been
independent for more than thirty years. “We cannot but notice the
unaccountable policy of our Government, towards Hayti.” he wrote, “a
Republic of more than thirty years standing, which has maintained its
independence, without invasion or insurrection.” He further noted that the
Haitians had created a democratic republic, based on many of the same
principles that the United States had embraced in the founding of their own
country, and yet the United States stubbornly persisted with their non-
recognition policy. “[Haiti’s] Constitution and laws, are modeled after our
own,” he pointed out, “yet we have, at one Session after another, of our
National Legislature, taxed our wits, for excuses not to acknowledge Hayti;
until they having removed them all, we stand forth in the eyes of the world,
without an apology for withholding this act of justice, from a neighbouring
nation.” The United States’ blatant hypocrisy particularly vexed Cornish
since the United States profited considerably from its trade relationship
with Haiti and yet they still ignored the reality of Haiti’s independence. The
United States, Cornish complained, had the audacity to deny recognition to
a country “with which we hold a commercial intercourse annually,
amounting to several millions, and greater than most other foreign
powers.”52
In June, Cornish wrote again, this time specifically promoting the
Haitian Revolution and its bloody uprising against slavery. He especially
championed the enslaved people who courageously “rose up and
instantaneously ceased to be property, and were invested with the rights of
men.” In a powerful indictment of passive resistance to slavery, Cornish
argued that the Haitian Revolution had “produced the most blessed effects”
and insisted that Haiti would have thrived if not for the indemnity. The “old
aristocratic French planters,” he complained, had demanded that France
send an army “to deprive the Blacks of the freedom which they had used so
well.” If not for foreign meddling, Cornish believed, Haiti could have
reached its potential.53
The following month, Cornish launched another critique against the
U.S. government and its patently racist policies. Quoting an unnamed
“foreign visitor,” Cornish noted that Haitians had proven for forty years that
“black men can govern themselves,” especially since they maintained “all
the relations of civil society among themselves and with other states”
despite the fact that they remained shackled to “a large indemnity to France
for their independence.” Cornish also expressed frustration that racism and
slaveholders’ desires drove U.S. policy, angrily noting, “In most other
countries we have ministers, or at least consuls, to watch over the interests
of our merchants; but to send a minister or consul to St. Domingo, would be
so revolting to the feelings of our Southern brethren, that they would
probably threaten to dissolve the Union.” As a result, Cornish urged U.S.
politicians to reconsider their position. “Shame to this sister Republic!” he
exclaimed, “we refuse to recognise [sic] her independence, or to establish
commercial or diplomatic relations with her government. And when her
respectable citizens visit our shores, they are treated in such a manner, that
they seldom repeat their visits.”54
Clearly, Cornish articulated a fairly radical perspective in 1837 but, by
this period, he was not alone. Just a few months later, Lewis Woodson, a
Black abolitionist in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, also unleashed his rage about
U.S. foreign policy, especially its cruel “conduct towards Haiti.” In
particular, he criticized the U.S. government’s “hostility” toward Black
communities at home and abroad and complained about persistent efforts to
“thwart and cripple them.” Insightfully linking the Haitian struggle to his
own, Woodson knew that the U.S. government’s attitude toward Haiti
reflected their larger views about the Black (and colored) population more
broadly. Whatever the United States was willing to do to Haiti, they would
also do to Black people within their own borders. Armed with this
information, then, Black activists became increasingly convinced that they
must fight not only for themselves but also for Haiti.55
 Throughout 1838, Samuel Cornish, in his role as the editor of The
Colored American, boldly stood at the forefront of the Haitian recognition
movement and printed numerous articles promoting Haiti and Haitian
sovereignty. In March, for example, he published a letter from Robert
Douglass Jr., an artist, teacher, and abolitionist from Philadelphia, who had
traveled to Haiti to explore its political and social conditions.56 Douglass
commented, in particular, on the events held on January 1, 1838, to honor
the anniversary of Haitian independence. Enamored with the glorious
display, Douglass enthusiastically described the scene, complete with
musical bands, ornamental decorations, and splendidly dressed
governmental leaders and military officers. Following the president’s
address, the bands “struck up Marseilles Hymn of Liberty; and the artillery
thundered in unison with the voices of a free people, celebrating the
emancipation they had themselves achieved.” As he joyfully concluded,
“What I have seen to-day I shall not forget … the sight of what these people
have arisen to, from the most abject servitude, caused in my bosom a
feeling of exultation which I could not repress.”57
Two weeks later, Cornish began a new series celebrating Haiti, this time
citing a letter from a “Southern planter” who had recently traveled
throughout Haiti. While Cornish acknowledged that the author’s racist
language reflected his prejudices as a slaveowner, he still insisted that the
letter contained some fundamental truths. Most importantly, Cornish
argued, the author unequivocally demonstrated that Haiti stood on a basis of
true equality with other world nations, including the United States. Even a
slaveholder, Cornish noted, depicted Haiti “as being in a prosperous
condition.” After all, the author had admitted that “In moral character, and
in mental attainments, [Haiti] is not a whit behind what her sister Republic,
the United States was, at the same age.”58
Cornish’s assessment was correct. The “Southern gentleman” wrote
about Haiti in glowing terms—highlighting its beautiful environment,
thriving agricultural production, orderly government, and positive social
relations. He noted, in particular, Haiti’s increasing success in building its
infrastructure, including commerce and agricultural development, as well as
the creation of schools, roads, and other institutions. He therefore concluded
that the government was moving swiftly toward its goals, and prophesized
that the country would soon develop all of its “natural power and wealth.”
He even shamefully admitted that he was extremely well treated despite the
fact that he was a slaveholder from a blatantly racist country. As a white
person, and a “stranger” from a foreign land, he had anticipated that
Haitians would resent him, but “I must confess,” he wrote, “that I felt
humbled and ashamed at the undeserved respect and deference with which
I, as a white man, was every where [sic] treated and received.” The
Southern planter even enjoyed a private meeting with President Boyer, who
he depicted as a “very intelligent and sensible man … of great integrity and
patriotism.”59 For Cornish, then, there could be no more compelling
evidence about Haiti’s prosperity and potential destiny than to hear praise
about the Black republic come directly from a slaveholder’s mouth.
Despite the obvious hope emanating from Black activists such as
Samuel Cornish and Robert Douglass Jr., Haiti’s actual conditions belied
their dreams. In 1837, renewed signs of unrest emerged throughout the
country as longstanding tensions bubbled to the surface. Frustration boiled
among many Haitians, stemming from President Boyer’s policies,
especially the Code Rural, which strictly policed Haitian people’s activities
and employment.60 The thirty-page document, containing hundreds of
provisions, included a rule requiring that, “All the citizens, being bound to
give their aid towards supporting the state, either by their services or their
industry … shall be bound to cultivate the earth,” unless they already served
the government in some other capacity. It further mandated that Haitians
living in the countryside “shall not be at liberty to quit the country, in order
to reside in cities or towns without the authorization of the Justice of the
Peace.”61 As historian Chelsea Stieber noted, the code “rendered rural
inhabitants (cultivateurs) second-class citizens, tying them to the land as
forced agricultural laborers.”62 To make matters worse, Boyer established a
local constabulary and rural police force, responsible for enforcing work
routines and authorizing living conditions.63 According to one report, the
stipulations rendered “the condition of the free blacks of Hayti very little
different from, if not actually worse, than the condition of the slaves in any
part of the United States.”64 After all, those who resisted the code were, as
scholar Jean Casimir reflected, left only with two choices: “poverty and
perpetual submission or a fugitive life as an outlaw.”65
Not surprisingly, then, in spring 1837, an uprising rocked the city of
Cap Haitian, led by members of Boyer’s military.66 In the United States, The
Liberator newspaper reprinted a statement from President Boyer, who
wrote in frustration about the violence that had broken out “in the midst of
the most perfect security.” Perhaps in an effort to gloss over the growing
hostility toward his presidency, Boyer indicated that the rebellion had been
put down with minimal effort and was accompanied by cries of “Vivi la
Republique. Vivi le President d’Hayti.” Even more, he urged his people to
“be confident in the wisdom and energy of the government” and to be
assured that the “peace which you have acquired at so great sacrifices, shall
not perish, Long live Liberty! Long live the republic!”67
But the Haitian people were not so easily fooled. Despite Boyer’s
bravado, public opinion mounted against him and other members of his
administration. In the following year, another insurrection occurred, this
time in the form of an assassination attempt against Haitian Secretary
General Joseph Balthazar Inginac, the mastermind behind the Code Rural’s
creation and implementation. President Boyer, outraged and devastated by
the news, furiously wrote, “An atrocious crime, a crime unknown in the
political annals of Hayti, has within a few days grieved my heart, and
excited the indignation of good citizens.” Unlike his previous statement,
which offered positive, uplifting promises about liberty and peace, Boyer’s
statement in 1838 acknowledged that the attempt on Inginac’s life was “the
prelude to a conspiracy which tended to the overthrow of the Republic.”
Enraged, Boyer swore vengeance and promised that the iron fist of the law
would be brought down upon “the authors of this execrable machination.”68
By late 1838, even though Boyer and Inginac remained alive and in power,
Boyer’s words reflected the ominous, deeply troubling conditions that
plagued the struggling Black republic.
Despite Haiti’s obvious problems, Samuel Cornish continued his
campaign to gain full diplomatic recognition. In August 1838, he tackled
U.S. foreign policy head on. Using, again, the unique and clever strategy of
harnessing slaveholders’ support, Cornish shared a lengthy letter from C.
Kingsley, another plantation owner, who shockingly advocated for U.S.
recognition of Haitian independence. As Cornish noted, “It has been the
policy with slaveholders hitherto, rather, to let our commerce suffer, than to
treat the Haytiens with that respect which a sovereign and independent
people may justly claim [but] Mr. Kingsley takes the right view of this
matter.” Kingsley did, indeed, report favorably on conditions in Haiti,
noting that the government “stands on a very respectable footing,” and that
the Black republic could become of “great commercial importance” if only
afforded an opportunity. He also compared U.S. policy to other western
nations and suggested that to protect the economy, the United States should
cultivate a “friendly commercial intercourse with Hayti.” The editor of The
Christian Statesman apparently agreed, concluding that C. Kingsley “talks
like a man of sense.” After all, he explained, Haiti’s proximity to the United
States demanded a reassessment of U.S. policy: “Slaveholders cannot cut its
moorings and send [Haiti] to the South Seas, neither can they check its
population and rising commercial importance. Free it will be, and
formidable too. Better every way, especially for the South, that it be
friendly, than hostile.”69
As these articles indicated, criticism about U.S. policy persisted not
only in abolitionist circles, but also among mainstream white Americans
who objected to the non-recognition policy’s financial consequences. In
October 1838, The Colored American reprinted an article from the New
York Daily Express in which a furious reader criticized the nonsensical
contradiction between U.S. policy and its commercial interests. He
complained, in particular, about the excessive tariffs placed on U.S. ships in
Haiti due to the government’s stubborn non-recognition stance. Outraged
that racism caused this financial disaster, he angrily wrote, “The reason [for
the tariffs] is because the United States and Hayti have no commercial
treaty—no consuls or commercial agents with each other. If it be asked why
we have not? I answer because the Haytians are BLACK.” In an effort to
underscore the absurdity of the situation, the author quantified the financial
cost of the U.S. government’s policy: “In order that you and your readers
may have some idea of what this country loses by its refusal to
acknowledge the independence of Hayti, I state that … we lose annually
about half a million of dollars. Verily the article of dignity is very costive to
this nation.”70
The angry correspondent was not alone in his outrage. Throughout the
1830s, U.S. government commercial agents stationed in Haiti raised
concerns about the ramifications of the United States’ non-recognition
policy, especially the 10 percent tax levied against U.S. merchant ships
entering and exiting Haitian ports.71 In March 1830, merchants from
Boston, New York, and Baltimore pleaded with U.S. Secretary of State
(later President) Martin Van Buren to reconsider its relationship to Haiti,
and appoint a representative “with sufficient authority” to protect their
financial interests.72 Five years later, William Miles, the U.S. commercial
agent stationed in Aux Cayes, also complained to recently appointed U.S.
Secretary of State John Forsyth about the tariff, explaining that the
“discriminating duty charged solely on the American flag” was “exacted
ostensibly because no commercial arrangement exists” between the United
States and Haiti. In other words, the U.S. government’s refusal to officially
recognize Haitian independence created severe consequences for the U.S.
economy. As Miles lamented, the “additional duty” levied against American
merchants existed only because “the U.S. government omits to recognize
Haiti as an actual government.”73 Such concerns persisted in the following
years, as Miles fretted over the financial consequences of U.S. non-
recognition. In May 1838, for example, he expressed frustration, again,
about the “special prejudice” against the United States that existed in Haiti
“on account of non-recognition.” By the end of the month, Miles resigned
in disgust.74
Ralph Higginbotham, the new appointee, immediately began reporting
similar problems. In his case, he could not even begin his formal duties
because the Haitian government, specifically President Boyer and Secretary
General Inginac, refused to extend official recognition to him without
acknowledgment from the U.S. Congress. Benjamin Viall, the commercial
agent in Cap Haitian, described similar obstacles, complaining that the
Haitian government felt “obliged to allow no recognition of the agents sent
to this Island by the United States, so long as they refused to comply with
the accustomed etiquette of other nations.”75 Higginbotham, in a lengthy
letter to Forsyth, argued that the United States must alter its policies toward
Haiti if the United States hoped to maintain its trade activities there. “It is
now my duty,” he explained, “to point out the advantages to our
Commercial Interest that would be gained by a compliance with the wishes
of the Haitian Government.” Noting, in particular, that the 10 percent duties
would be removed, he also appealed to southern economic interests, arguing
that “our cotton goods might then be shipped here so as successfully to
compete with those from Great Britain, and in a short time we might fairly
count on having almost the entire supply.”76
 Quite cleverly, Higginbotham also tried to ease Secretary Forsyth’s
potential fears by assuring him that U.S. recognition would not threaten or
compromise the strength of slavery in the U.S. South. In fact, he argued,
formal recognition could strengthen slavery because it would bolster trade
and increase demand for cotton. He even maintained that Haitian
recognition could quell slave revolts by providing a home for rebellious
Africans. Disgruntled enslaved people could be exiled to Haiti, he
maintained, “where they would be gladly received and where in such an
extensive and magnificent country, there would be room for them all.”77
In a troubling illustration of the old adage that “politics make strange
bedfellows,” Ralph Higginbotham and Black activists actually shared a
common commitment to Haitian recognition. Although they clearly held
opposing views about slavery, and obviously had radically different dreams
for Haiti, quite ironically, they all desired formal recognition. Therefore, in
early November 1838, Samuel Cornish stepped from behind the veil of
slaveholders and other newspaper editors to reiterate his own views. In a
blazing editorial, Cornish argued that the government’s illogical non-
recognition policy stood in stark conflict with U.S. financial interests.
“There is no honorable reason why the United States should not
acknowledge the independence of Haiti,” he railed, “nor is there reason or
policy in depriving our enterprising merchants, of all advantages of a fair
and equal commercial competition.” After all, he emphasized, the United
States had recognized the independence of even “the feeblest revolting
people” so why, he asked, “should a people so numerous and so competent
to self-government, as the citizens of Haiti have proved themselves, be
denied this act of national courtesy, at our hands”?78
Hopeful that U.S. politicians might feel ashamed of their global
reputation, Cornish also argued that the United States’ position was small
minded and “unwise.” He noted, with disgust, that the rest of the civilized
world scoffed at them and viewed them as “conceited.” “The enlightened
world laughs at us,” he lamented, “we are throwing everything in our
power, in the way of a sister Republic, and one too, the sable complexion of
her citizens notwithstanding, which will yet occupy an eminence among the
civilized nations, not a whit below that occupied by our less righteous, but
more conceited country.” In closing, Cornish affirmed that Haiti was a
nation on the rise, composed of “enlightened, refined, enterprising colored
people.” Therefore, he maintained, the United States “should not trifle with
such a government.” If the United States persisted, Cornish warned, the
Haitians could (and should) cut off all relations with the United States
entirely. “If our country refuse [sic] to acknowledge their independence and
establish honorable commercial relations upon terms of perfect reciprocity,”
he boldly affirmed, “we hope the Haitians will submit to no other measures
of commercial intercourse.”79
Throwing down a political gauntlet, Cornish challenged the U.S.
government either to abandon its racist policies or lose its lucrative
commercial relationship with Haiti. Even more significantly, Cornish
commenced a powerful campaign against the U.S. government—one that
boldly inserted Black voices into the national conversation about slavery,
race, and foreign policy, and demanded justice for the Black republic. But
what would happen once the battle for Haitian recognition finally came to
Washington, DC?

OceanofPDF.com
 4

THE VOICES OF THE PEOPLE WILL

BE HEARD
Haiti Comes to Washington

In December 1838, Black abolitionist Philip Alexander Bell penned a

rousing editorial in The Colored American newspaper about the growing
movement for Haitian recognition. At that specific moment, he had many
reasons to feel hopeful. For more than a year, Black activists such as
Samuel Cornish had been building a strong case, effectively arguing that the
United States government should extend diplomatic recognition to Haiti.
They had also rallied their white abolitionist friends and commenced a
powerful petitioning campaign, insisting that the United States should
formally recognize Haitian sovereignty. White abolitionists across the
northern and western states enthusiastically joined the movement, and by
1840, hundreds of petitions containing over 30,000 signatures endorsing
Haitian recognition arrived in Washington, DC, seeking an audience in
Congress. Much to southern slaveholders’ chagrin, between 1837 and 1844,
many of these petitions actually reached the congressional floor demanding
consideration. Convinced that these appeals would sway the hearts and
minds of U.S. congressmen, Philip Alexander Bell enthusiastically declared
that the Haiti petitions “will flow into Congress, and the voices of the
people will be heard.”1
As Bell soon discovered, however, southern slaveholders, often referred
to as “The Slave Power,” would not be so easily defeated. To the contrary,
proslavery forces in Congress battled vehemently against Haitian
recognition, convinced that any acknowledgment of Haiti tacitly endorsed
slave rebellion and therefore plunged a knife into the heart of the
slaveholding South. Therefore, despite impassioned debates that consumed
congressional leaders in the early months of 1839, the Haitian recognition
campaign came to a painful and decisive conclusion. Cleverly evading
discussions about Haitian independence, southern congressmen and their
northern allies simply tabled the petitions or sent them to committee where
they promptly evaporated. Thus, by 1844, just seven years after it began,
the Haitian petition movement vanished into oblivion.
This chapter chronicles the circuitous and disappointing story of how
the Haitian recognition movement came to Washington. Specifically, it
examines how and when Haitian sovereignty became a powerful force in
the abolitionist movement and how a biracial anti-slavery coalition waged
an inspiring battle for Haitian recognition. Recognizing the disturbing
connection between the slaveholding South’s political grip on Washington
and the refusal of the U.S. Congress to recognize Haiti, abolitionists across
the North became increasingly convinced to fight for Haiti’s diplomatic
standing. Despite the powerful opposition, and Haiti’s internal problems,
Black activists such as Samuel Cornish, Charles B. Ray, Philip Alexander
Bell, Sarah Parker Remond, James McCune Smith, and Charles Lenox
Remond stood alongside their white supporters, including William Lloyd
Garrison, Lydia Maria Child, and Wendell Phillips, and launched a far-
reaching movement. Harnessing the voices of men and women across the
nation, they amassed petitions appealing to the U.S. Congress to change its
racist, economically disastrous policies. All the while, Samuel Cornish used
The Colored American newspaper to raise the public’s awareness and
demand justice for Haiti. Yet this chapter also explores the movement’s
painful conclusion. In the end, “The Slave Power” destroyed the Haitian
recognition campaign, causing abolitionists to suffer utter defeat in the halls
of Congress and leaving Black activists frantically grasping for hope,
determination, and a new strategy.

***

In 1837, Black activists initiated a campaign to force the U.S. Congress

to extend formal diplomatic recognition and acknowledge Haitian
sovereignty. To achieve their goal, they resorted to a well-worn strategy that
had served the Black population well since the colonial era; namely,
petitioning. The practice of Black petitioning stemmed back to the colonial
and revolutionary periods when enslaved people, particularly in the North,
pleaded with state legislatures to abolish slavery. Such efforts proved
especially effective during the American Revolution, as enslaved people
exposed the contradiction between revolutionary ideals—liberty, justice,
equality, and brotherhood—and the reality of slavery’s rapid expansion. By
1804, largely due to this strategy, all the northern states had passed abolition
acts. Given their past effectiveness, it seemed natural to assume that
petitions might once again achieve their goals. By 1831, abolitionists across
the country, both Black and white, began bombarding the U.S. Congress
with petitions. Initially, these appeals did not broach the subject of Haiti,
but instead focused on abolishing slavery in all its forms. Activists routinely
petitioned Congress on a range of issues from direct demands for immediate
abolition, to specific requests such as opposition to the annexation of Texas
as a slaveholding state. By 1836, then, Congress was “overflowing with
unresolved motions and appeals on [slavery], and wallowing in unanswered
petitions, stacked on its tables in various stages of parliamentary undress.”2
To stymie the abolitionist movement, proslavery forces in Congress
rallied their forces and launched a counterattack, passing the Pinckney
Resolutions in May 1836. Named for their author, Henry Pinckney of South
Carolina, the resolution automatically tabled all anti-slavery petitions,
thereby preventing them from being read or heard on the congressional
floor.3 Collectively, these resolutions became known as “gag” rules, since
they effectively “gagged,” or silenced, the petitioners. Although most
northern representatives opposed the gag rules, southern representatives
garnered enough support to make them congressional policy.4
Ironically, the gag rules had the reverse effect on the abolitionist
struggle. Rather than suppress the flow of petitions into Congress, outraged
activists instead redoubled their efforts and flooded Washington, DC with a
torrent of petitions. As one historian concluded, “Angered by what they
perceived as a bald abrogation of their constitutional rights, abolitionists
denounced Pinckney as ‘foolish and infatuated’ to suppose that his report
would induce them to cease agitating the slavery issue.” Instead, anti-
slavery activists pledged that the rule would inspire them to deeper action
and serve as a “‘a firebrand in our hands to light anew the flame of human
sympathy and public indignation.’”5 By the mid-1830s, then, abolitionists
regularly and effectively used petitions to advance the anti-slavery cause.
 So how and when did mainstream white abolitionists specifically take
up the cause of Haiti and turn Haitian recognition into a focus of their
petitioning campaign? The roots of the connection between Haitian
independence and the mainstream U.S. abolitionist movement stem back as
far as 1829, when William Lloyd Garrison, founder of the American Anti-
Slavery Society (AASS), celebrated the Haitian Revolution’s triumphant
victory over slavery. In a speech delivered in Boston on the Fourth of July,
Garrison closed his comments with a harsh warning, predicting that a
revolution similar to Haiti’s would befall the United States if they did not
abolish slavery. “[B]lood will flow like water,” he exclaimed, “the blood of
guilty men, and of innocent women and children. Then will be heard
lamentation and weeping, such as will blot out the remembrance of the
horrors of St. Domingo. The terrible judgments of an incensed god will
complete the catastrophe of republican America.”6
Two years later, shortly after establishing The Liberator newspaper,
Garrison echoed Samuel Cornish’s call for the United States to extend
formal diplomatic recognition. Like his Black allies before him, Garrison
praised Haiti’s success in obtaining and sustaining its independence, despite
its omnipresent enemies. “If there be a republic worthy of universal
admiration,” he wrote, “it is the republic of Hayti.” After all, Haiti not only
gained its freedom against all odds, it also boldly faced the “colossal power
of France … [and] the prejudices, the contempt, the calumny, the
imprecations of a hostile world.” He further celebrated Haiti’s post-
independence successes, and even heaped praise upon besieged Haitian
President Jean-Pierre Boyer. Lauding the Haitian government’s “stability
and wisdom,” Garrison argued that Haiti brought “order out of confusion;
she has lived down the slanders, and frustrated the malicious hopes of her
enemies; she has soared from the dust to the clouds; she has outdone the
best efforts of any people in ancient or modern times.” And for Boyer,
Garrison had nothing but reverence: “For magnanimity of soul, for dignity
of character, for promptitude of action, for humility of mind, for mildness of
sway, for sagaciousness, wisdom and virtue, who is his superior?” In
closing, Garrison lamented the U.S. government’s non-recognition policy,
publicly shaming the United States for its hypocritical and discriminatory
practices. As he concluded, “It is a reproach to this country, that the
independence of Hayti has never been acknowledged by Congress. Such
conduct is as pitiful as it is unjust.”7
During the same era, the struggle for Haitian recognition gained other
white abolitionist supporters, including James Birney, the editor of The
Genius of Universal Emancipation, as well as David Child, a Boston lawyer
and stalwart member of the AASS. In August 1833, Child delivered a
searing critique of U.S. policy toward Haiti, arguing that although the U.S.
government had positioned itself “sternly against [Haiti’s] independent and
equal rank among the nations of the earth … Hayti still lives and flourishes;
and has now a better ordered society, in spite of the base efforts of Europe
and these States to madden and destroy her.” Likewise, John Kenrick, the
president of the New England Anti-Slavery Society, eventually became
known as an “ardent friend of the Republic of Hayti” and corresponded
regularly with Jean-Pierre Boyer in the mid-1830s. By 1834, white
abolitionists in the United States and England spoke regularly about Haiti,
including British abolitionist, George Thompson, who embarked on a
speaking tour across the United States delivering speeches entitled “On the
History, Present State, and Future Prospects of Hayti.”8
White abolitionists felt especially concerned about the relationship
between the U.S. government’s denial of Haitian independence and the
potential expansion of slavery. In May 1837, for example, William Lloyd
Garrison protested a kidnapping case in which slaveholders pursued their
“human property” all the way to Haiti, and in violation of Haitian law,
captured the self-emancipated man and returned him to bondage in the
United States. This incident deeply troubled Garrison, since the man,
Jerome Taylor, had sought refuge in Haiti to “escape from the fetters of
slavery and recover the precious gift of liberty.” Moreover, given Haiti’s
status as a free and sovereign nation, U.S. citizens should not have been
allowed to enter the country, seize a person, and return him to bondage.
“This outrage should be made known to the public,” Garrison angrily wrote,
“it should be proclaimed to the whole world. A most atrocious and revolting
act was committed … an assault upon liberty, a violation of the constitution
of the republic of Hayti, an open infringement of the laws of the country.”
For Garrison, this violation of international law was particularly galling,
since, in his view, it could only happen to Haiti—a Black nation
unrecognized by the United States.9
 Haitians shared Garrison’s outrage. Citing the Haitian Constitution,
Haitian observers noted that slavery in Haiti had been “forever abolished,”
and therefore it should remain a land of freedom. One Port-au-Prince paper
echoed Garrison’s argument that such a violation could only happen in
Haiti: “It is indeed on the soil of Hayti—on this soil so sacred to liberty,
that a man has been violently kidnapped, in 1837, by a handful of white
Americans.” After all, since the United States refused to recognize Haitian
independence, American slaveholders could operate in flagrant violation of
international law. “Would [they] have committed such an atrocity in the
United States, in France, or in England?” one Haitian asked, “No. Why then
should [they] do it here? Are we less free than the English or the French, or
is our territory indeed more subject to be violated by an armed force than
that of England or France?” Sadly, he concluded that no one respected
Haitian sovereignty, even after “such efforts, energy, courage, and
bloodshed to be free and independent! What security shall we Haytians
have, if such an action remains unpunished?”10
Not surprisingly, then, by summer 1837, the AASS passed a resolution
in support of the “Recognition of Haytian Independence.” Employing a
well-established economic argument, AASS representatives argued that
U.S. non-recognition violated national policy because it served
slaveholders’ interests at the expense of U.S. commercial trade. “The
refusal of the government of the United States to recognize the government
of Hayti,” they wrote, “betrays a subserviency [sic] of our national policy,
to the will of slaveholders, which is highly disgraceful to our national
character.” As a result, they concluded that AASS members, “as citizens of
a free country,” must petition Congress “to recognize the national
independence of Hayti and place our relations with it on the same footing of
equality and courtesy as with other nations.”11
Female abolitionists also enthusiastically embraced the Haitian cause.
Although women in the antebellum era did not possess citizenship or
political rights, activist women, both white and Black, asserted their right to
petition and regularly used it to express their opposition to slavery.12 Anti-
slavery women first took up the Haitian cause in June 1837, when the
Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society issued a special call to the “women of
New England” to sign and circulate the petitions in favor of Haitian
independence. Signed by the organization’s president, Mary Parker, and the
secretary, Maria Weston Chapman, the appeal declared that the United
States had been “dishonored before all the nations, by her inconsistency and
shameless violation of faith, in refusing for 30 years, to acknowledge the
independence of Hayti.” Therefore, they urged their sisters across the North
to stand forth and take action.13
In the following month, leading AASS member, Lydia Maria Child,
shared her frustrations about U.S. non-recognition with The Colored
American newspaper, complaining that slaveholders unfairly dictated U.S.
foreign policy. She also blamed northern racism, arguing that prejudice
alone prevented northern politicians from endorsing Haitian sovereignty.
“[Haiti] is fast increasing in wealth, intelligence, and refinement,” Child
reflected, “Her commerce is valuable to us and might become much more
so. But our northern representatives have never even made an effort to have
her independence acknowledged, because a colored ambassador would be
so disagreeable to our prejudices.”14
Clearly, then, by the middle of 1837, most white abolitionists had joined
their Black comrades in the struggle for Haitian sovereignty. William Lloyd
Garrison, for example, delivered another speech castigating the U.S.
government for its non-recognition policy in June. “The republic of Hayti
has maintained its independence upwards of thirty years,” he declared,
“which has been duly acknowledged by France, the mother country. But,
though we have recognized the independence of the South American
republics,—the independence of Greece,—the independence of Texas,—we
have scorned even to entertain for a moment’s consideration the proposition
for acknowledging the independence of Hayti.” He found these conditions
particularly appalling, given the United States’ “lucrative” commercial
relations with Haiti. The United States’ stance was not logical, he
concluded, because racism and slavery served as the sole reasons for their
misguided policies: “The cause of this glaring injustice is to be found in the
color of the inhabitants of Hayti, which is not agreeable to our notions of
genuine republicanism and equal rights.”15
Support for Haitian recognition grew rapidly in the abolitionist
community. Throughout the remainder of 1837, and well into 1838, pro-
Haiti petitions circulated widely in progressive communities across the
North.16 The Haitian cause also received a boost in spring 1838, when
France and Haiti reached a new diplomatic agreement, narrowly avoiding a
military conflict. According to the terms, France agreed to recognize Haiti’s
unqualified independence, and although Haiti was still required to pay a
financial penalty, the amount was reduced to 60 million francs.17 Bolstered
by the news of Haiti’s increased political stability, the AASS and its local
affiliates confirmed their commitment to Haitian independence and urged
its members to redouble their efforts.
Likely inspired by the presence of leading Black abolitionists and
supporters of Haitian sovereignty, such as Samuel Cornish, Charles B. Ray,
James McCune Smith, Charles Lenox Remond, and Robert Purvis, the
AASS annual meeting in 1838 resolved to expand their petitioning
campaign to include Haiti. As they concluded, “In view of these
developments of the struggle which is going on so victoriously for truth
against oppression—the committee recommends … perseverance in
PETITIONING, adding … one for the recognition of Haytian
Independence.” On the local level, the Vermont Anti-Slavery Society
likewise pledged its support for Haitian sovereignty, insisting that “the
refusal of our government to acknowledge [Haiti’s] independence … is as
unjust and disgraceful as it is impolitic, and can only be accounted for by
the controlling influence of negro slavery.”18
While white abolitionists increasingly championed Haitian sovereignty,
Black activists likewise continued their own campaign. As 1838 drew to a
close, Samuel Cornish became increasingly agitated about Haitian
recognition. In a fiery editorial, he expressed his outrage about the United
States’ non-recognition policy and the racism that spawned it. For Cornish,
the denial of diplomatic courtesies represented a moral violation, and as an
ordained Presbyterian minister, he was not afraid to bring down God’s
judgment on America’s conduct. “Haiti must be acknowledged, and an
honorable consular relation established,” he passionately wrote, “He who
closes his eyes, hardens his heart, and raises his hands, against the manifest
movements of Jehovah, in all these glorious measures, for the elevation of
the deeply injured and long oppressed colored man, will only exhibit the
consummation of weakness and despotism.” He also viewed non-
recognition as a political violation, and he called upon Americans to join
the campaign and petition Congress for full recognition. “Every patriotic
and philanthropic citizen should petition Congress for the recognition of
Haitien Independence,” he proclaimed, “If it is important that we should
have amicable relations and interchange national courtesies with any nation,
it is so in regard to Haiti, a country that has won its freedom and
independence and established them against the world.”19
Even so, Cornish still resorted to the popular economic argument that
many before him had used. Noting that Haiti was “a country of immense
commercial resources—a country striving to rise from the savagism of
slavery and desolated fields,” Cornish insisted that Haiti should be afforded
the same rights as any other nation. He also pointed to the statistical
evidence of the United States’ trade with Haiti, which proved Haiti’s
financial importance as the sole country that “consumes and pays for more
of our domestic products than either Russia, Prussia, Sweden, Norway,
Denmark, Belgium, Portugal, Italy, Sicily, Turkey, China, Texas, Columbia,
Peru, Buenos Ayres, [sic] or Africa.” Based on this overwhelming evidence,
Cornish concluded that no logical justification remained for denying
Haitian sovereignty, and he scoffed at the notion that race should be a
factor. There must be some “stronger reasons for not acknowledging
Haitian independence than that the people were once slaves and gained their
nationality and independence in the same way that our own fathers did,” he
observed, “This is too plain a point for argument … Give them a chance.”20
On December 29, 1838, The Colored American published its final issue
for that year. Samuel Cornish, reportedly amid travel, turned responsibility
for that week’s issue over to Philip Alexander Bell, the paper’s owner. Bell,
apparently feeling somewhat nostalgic, wrote a poetic and philosophical
editorial celebrating the end of the year and sharing his hope that the
coming new year might usher in a better era for diplomatic relations with
Haiti. As he pondered “the advancing shadow of coming events,” he
optimistically predicted that “the ensuing year will be one of interest to our
cause,” and he had faith that petitions “for the recognition of Hayti will
cover the tables from all parts of the Union.” He also issued one final call
for all Americans to sign the petitions in hopes that justice would reign in
the following year. As he concluded, “The merchant, the manufacturer, as
well as the friend of Liberty, all demand that the United States should as an
act of justice, recognize Hayti, and place her on an equal footing with other
nations.”21
While Bell, and perhaps others, had high hopes and lofty goals at the
end of 1838, their optimism may have been unwarranted. Given the U.S.
government’s stubborn attachment to its non-recognition policy, Congress
seemed unlikely to change its position. Even so, Bell desperately hoped that
the abolitionist movement’s determination could win the battle for Haitian
recognition. After all, Bell correctly ascertained that petitions in favor of
Haitian recognition were swirling throughout the North, gaining thousands
of signatures, and descending upon the U.S. Congress.
The first petitions in favor of Haitian recognition began circulating in
1837. In fact, Congress accepted two Haiti petitions in that year: one from
Newport, New Hampshire, and one from Albany, New York.22 Soon
thereafter, the trickle of petitions turned into a deluge, and by 1844, the
United States Congress received and recorded over 360 petitions in favor of
Haitian independence.23 How many more they received and never
processed, we will never know. What do we know, however, is that
thousands of Americans—white and Black—bombarded Congress with
demands for Haitian recognition. In less than seven years, over 30,000
signatures had adorned petitions in favor of Haitian recognition. While a
few petitions came from slaveholding states, such as Maryland and
Virginia, most came from the progressive northern and western strongholds,
Massachusetts, Vermont, New York, Ohio, New Hampshire, and Maine.
Most signatories were regular folks—foot soldiers of the anti-slavery
movement—but the petitions also included a veritable “who’s who” of
leading Black and white activists of the era. Petitions from Boston boasted
the names of famous Black abolitionists such as Frederick Douglass,
Charles Lenox Remond, Sarah Parker Remond, and William Cooper Nell,
alongside their white allies, William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips,
Caroline Weston, David Lee Childs, Ellis Gray Loring, Elizur Wright Jr.,
and A. A. Phelps. William Cooper Nell was apparently so enthusiastic that
he signed three separate petitions in favor of Haitian recognition, all sent in
the same month. Similarly, in a petition sent from New York City,
acclaimed Black activists, including Samuel Cornish, Charles B. Ray,
David Ruggles, Thomas L. Jennings, Theodore S. Wright, Lewis Putnam,
and Thomas Van Renselaer, appeared along with famed white abolitionists,
John Jay, Lewis Tappan, and James Birney.24 By 1840, then, Haitian
independence had clearly become a cause célèbre in the abolitionist
community, as those petitions joined the flood of anti-slavery appeals
pouring into Washington, DC. However, the enemies of freedom also rallied
their forces, determined to silence the voices in favor of Haiti and abolition.
Given slavery’s divisive nature in the United States in the 1830s and
given the growing volume of anti-slavery petitions reaching Congress,
proslavery congressmen became increasingly committed to blocking any
discussion of slavery in Congress. Earlier efforts, particularly the Pinckney
Resolutions, had been somewhat successful in achieving their goals.
However, as those resolutions were temporary policy, instead of permanent
rule, proslavery forces redoubled their efforts. On December 11, 1838,
Charles G. Atherton, a Democratic congressman from New Hampshire,
presented a new rule for consideration. Eventually known as the Atherton
gag rule, it was specifically designed to prevent anti-slavery documents
from being heard on the congressional floor.25 The most salient stipulation
in the proposed rule contained two main components. First, it asserted that
the question of slavery did not fall into the U.S. Congress’s jurisdiction and
therefore Congress had no authority to abolish it. All congressional efforts
to abolish slavery, it declared, “are in violation of the constitution,
destructive of the fundamental principles on which the Union of these
States rests, and beyond the jurisdiction of Congress.” More significant for
the Haitian recognition movement was the stipulation demanding that all
petitions relating to slavery must automatically be tabled: “Every petition,
memorial, resolution, proposition, or paper, touching or relating in any way
or to any extent whatever to slavery … shall, on the presentation thereof,
without any further action thereon, be laid on the table without being
debated, printed, or referred.”26
Anxious to protect the institution of slavery from destruction, southern
representatives rapidly pushed the legislation through the Congress, and it
became congressional rule just one day later, on December 12, 1838.
Enslavers were, in fact, so desperate to uphold slavery that, in the midst of
the debate, a Maryland slaveholder, mounted on a horse with a whip in his
hand, brought more than thirty enslaved men and women to the Capitol,
shackled them together, and marched them past the Capitol building.27 In a
symbolic demonstration of slavery’s power in America, the U.S. Congress
conceded to the slaveholders’ authority and silenced all discussion about
slavery in Congress.
 Or did they? Outraged by this congressional decision, abolitionists
across the country ramped up their efforts. They not only continued sending
hundreds of petitions opposing slavery and supporting Haiti, they also
submitted petitions opposing the Atherton gag and asserting their First
Amendment right to free speech. Moreover, anti-slavery congressional
leaders persisted in presenting such petitions to Congress. Thus, in the end,
slavery remained firmly on the congressional agenda, as did the cause of
Haitian recognition.
In late December 1838, Philip Alexander Bell, who for one week had
stepped into the role of editor for The Colored American, vehemently
argued against the Atherton gag, and all the attempted rules that sought to
silence opposition to slavery. Gag rules, he maintained, denied the
constitutional right to free speech, and turned Congress into a slaveholder’s
domain. “[T]he Congressional Halls of the Republic,” he complained, “are
made the arena for the gladiatorial exploits of the ‘champions of
oppression’s battle’ to defend their peculiar institutions, and to prove that
might makes right.” Bell still hoped, however, that the abolitionist
movement could emerge triumphant and restore the rights of free citizens.
In a nod toward Charles Atherton, the northerner who supported the cause
of slavery by introducing the gag rule, Bell concluded, “In spite of the
suppressing resolutions of the N. Hampshire traitor Atherton, petitions will
flow into Congress, and the voices of the people will be heard.28
Bell’s prediction was correct. Petitions flowed like water into
Washington, DC, stymying politicians who struggled to identify an
appropriate response. The Haiti petitions posed a particular challenge for
Congress since they did not explicitly address the institution of slavery and
were therefore not necessarily subject to the Atherton gag’s ban. In many
ways, the pro-Haiti petitions became the perfect end-around strategy.
Everyone knew that the U.S. Congress’s non-recognition policy existed to
uphold slavery and to comply with slaveholders’ wishes. After all, Haiti had
been established as the result of a successful slave rebellion, and its
existence openly mocked slavery and its supporters. Therefore, the
movement to recognize Haiti was also a movement to undermine slavery
and to assert universal Black equality. Even so, the Haiti petitions
mentioned nothing about slavery. Duplicating the AASS’s language, most
petitions simply implored the United States to “cultivate a good
understanding with all the established governments of the world” and asked
Congress to “recognize in the usual form and manner, and to enter into the
customary international relations with the Republic of Haiti.” No mention
of slavery. No mention of race. Only a reference to Haiti as a country
“founded on republican principles.” Therefore, abolitionists could
effectively argue that the Haiti petitions were not explicitly anti-slavery and
should therefore be heard in Congress.29
Southern politicians saw right through this clever ruse and responded
angrily to the Haitian recognition movement’s strategic maneuvers. Hugh
Swinton Legaré of South Carolina, for example, argued that such petitions
were equal to declarations of war on the South: “They are treason. Yes, sir, I
pronounce the authors of such things traitors—traitors not to their country
only, but to the whole human race.”30 Even so, such rantings did not stop
the flow of petitions, nor did it stop them from being heard on the floor of
Congress. In fact, just one week after the passage of the Atherton gag, the
first petitions demanding Haitian recognition were introduced into
Congress.
On December 17, 1838, two congressmen submitted petitions in favor
of Haitian recognition for congressional consideration. Only five petitions
appeared in the record in 1838, though more soon arrived. Initially, it
appeared the first petition might be received rather smoothly. George
Grennell Jr., a Whig congressman from Massachusetts, introduced a
petition from North-field, Massachusetts, pleading for Congress to establish
diplomatic relations with Haiti. It was immediately referred to the
Committee on Foreign Affairs for consideration, which, at first glance,
seemed like a victory for the abolitionists. However, Henry Alexander
Wise, a stalwart congressman from Virginia, quickly raised an objection,
arguing that the petition was “a subject of wholesale amalgamation”
because it called for “incorporating a black Republic with a white one.”
Debate rapidly erupted, causing the issue to be tabled. However, anti-
slavery forces had barely started. John Reed Jr., another Whig from
Massachusetts, presented a petition from Nantucket, Massachusetts,
prompting another outcry from Henry Wise.31
The Nantucket petition proved to be a particularly compelling one.
Containing 139 signatures, it was composed of a powerful biracial coalition
of activists and businessmen with strong concerns in the maritime trade.
Among the signatories, for example, were several members of the Coffin
family, descended from some of Nantucket’s first white settlers. A famous
whaling family, most male Coffins in the 1830s still participated in the
difficult but profitable whaling industry. Similarly, the Macy family, also
among the first white settlers on Nantucket, likewise engaged in maritime
trade, and several of their family members were featured prominently on
the petition. In fact, one of the signatories was Andrew Macy, older brother
of Rowland Hussey (R.H.) Macy, who eventually founded the Macy’s
department store chain. Other prominent whaling families, including the
Folgers and the Starbucks, also appeared on the petition.32
Notably, the appeal also included prominent Black leaders, well known
in Massachusetts and beyond for their success in the maritime trade.33
Absalom Boston, the first Black whaler in the United States, was a
noticeable signer, particularly given his role in the whaling industry and the
abolitionist movement. A founding trustee of Nantucket’s African Baptist
Society and the African Meeting House, Boston served as the first captain
of a whaling ship manned entirely by a Black crew. His friend and fellow
whaler, Edward Pompey, also signed the petition. Pompey not only served
as the secretary of the Nantucket Colored Anti-Slavery Society, he also
operated as the Nantucket subscription agent for William Lloyd Garrison’s
newspaper, The Liberator.34 Thus, when the Nantucket petition reached
Congress, it carried all the qualities of the movement—its abolitionist
commitment, its biracial solidarity, its commercial interests, and the
determination of powerful Black leaders who wanted to ensure its success.
Perhaps for those reasons, Henry Wise steadfastly insisted that
Nantucket’s petition should not be heard in Congress or assigned to a
committee for consideration. Equally committed was Congressman and
former President John Quincy Adams, who argued in favor of receiving the
petitions. At first glance, Adams seems an unusual candidate for this role.
As discussed in chapter two, during his reign as Secretary of State, Adams
had carefully drafted the Monroe Doctrine to exclude Haiti from U.S.
protection against foreign invasion. Later, as president, Adams had patently
refused to extend diplomatic relations to Haiti. And yet, by 1838, Adams
had finally abandoned his earlier views. Throughout the gag rule debates,
Adams had opposed any abridgment of the right of petition, arguing that the
gag rules were a direct violation of the First Amendment right “to petition
the Government for a redress of grievances.”35 He also had apparently
become a champion of Haitian sovereignty.
When Nantucket’s petition reached the floor, Adams addressed the
House of Representatives “at length,” expounding on the “expediency of an
early recognition of the Republic of Hayti.”36 The Liberator’s editor,
William Lloyd Garrison, reported extensively on Adams’s speech, including
all the juicy details that the congressional record omitted. Although Adams
certainly emphasized Haiti’s importance to U.S. economic interests, and the
fact that other European nations had already recognized Haiti, Garrison
focused mostly on Adams’s attacks against the slaveholding South and its
immoral conduct under slavery. Garrison seemed particularly amused with
Adams’s response to Wise’s assertion that establishing trade relations with
Haiti would be tantamount to “amalgamation.” Adams reportedly retorted,
“I say to my friend from Virginia, that if he has no other reason against the
reception of this memorial than that it proposes amalgamation, I hope the
House will say, that that is no reason at all.” After all, Adams taunted Wise,
one only needed to look at the residents of Virginia for proof that
southerners did believe in racial amalgamation. “Is there not enough
amalgamation in [Wise’s] own State?” Adams sneered, “Let him go and
look at the color of a part of the people of Virginia, and, indeed, of all the
southern States, and then come here, if he can, and object to
amalgamation!” There, on the U.S. congressional floor, in the midst of a
debate about Haitian recognition, Adams publicly admitted that Black
women suffered rampant sexual abuse under slavery, resulting in the
creation of identifiably mixed-race offspring.37
Horrified, the Speaker of the House immediately tried to call Adams to
order on the grounds that he had “depart[ed] from the subject of the
debate.” Adams, however, persisted with his argument, insisting that a
discussion of amalgamation was directly relevant to the conversation. After
the chair relented, Adams took his argument a step farther, creating a
compelling conundrum for the southern congressional representatives.
Since Wise had argued against extending formal recognition to Haiti on the
grounds that it would link Black and white nations in a commercial
relationship, Adams challenged him by presenting the long history of U.S.
merchants buying and selling humans from Africa. “How much intercourse
is there even here, in this country, with the Black sovereign and
independent Governments of Africa?” Adams queried, “How many slaves
are every year imported, directly or indirectly? Whenever these are brought
away, there is a commercial intercourse with the sovereign States of
Africa.”38
Perhaps in solidarity with Henry Wise and his slaveholding friends, the
chair again tried to silence John Quincy Adams, but to no avail. Adams
insisted that his line of argument was relevant and further argued that the
U.S. policy toward African nations stood in stark contrast to their policy
toward Haiti. “Does the gentleman wish us to say, we will have no
intercourse with a free republic of blacks, but we will have intercourse with
black States, where slavery is permitted?” he asked, “Commercial
intercourse with a land of slavery, is right and proper, but with a land of
freemen! no, no; it amounts to amalgamation.” Based on the U.S.
government’s hypocritical stance, Adams concluded that he had a right—
and a responsibility—to present all the petitions in favor of Haiti that had
been entrusted to him.39
Somewhat chastened, the chair allowed Adams to continue, and he did
so undaunted. Adams highlighted other arguments in favor of Haitian
recognition, including the fact that France and Great Britain had extended
diplomatic recognition while the United States stubbornly rebuffed Haiti.
As he put it, “among the states of the civilized world, we, I believe, stand
alone in refusing to do so.” He also warned his fellow congressmen that
many more petitions in favor of Haitian recognition were en route, and that
this issue would not die easily. Therefore, he maintained, the House of
Representatives should take immediate action and silence the conflict: “I
hope the House will put an end to the everlasting agitation which gentlemen
say must arise on all questions of this sort, by the recognition of Hayti.”
Most significantly, he argued that Haitian sovereignty was a reality that
could not be denied, and therefore, in the eyes of the rest of the world, the
United States appeared like a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.
“Why should you refuse?” Adams asked. “You cannot put Hayti down. You
cannot prevent her from being an independent republic. The consequence
will be, that you will stand in the community of nations alone, with a surly,
sulky refusal to acknowledge a republic as free and independent as
yourselves.”40
 Unfortunately for Adams, however, Henry Wise virulently objected,
contending that the petitions on Haiti were “part and parcel of abolition.”41
Even worse, he launched an angry rant, arguing that the United States could
never acknowledge Haiti—a country founded on a slave rebellion. Such
action, he maintained, could not, and should not, be rewarded. “In
deference to the vital interests of the South,” he explained, “these petitions
ought not to be received at this time … As long as we were a slaveholding
people, we were bound to withhold any recognition of this insurrectionary
government.” More specifically, Wise contended that Haiti presented a
unique situation due to its history—one that deemed them unworthy of
diplomatic recognition. “We stand in a different relation to Hayti from any
other government,” Wise stated, “The Haytians, assisted by England,
butchered their masters. They are the only instance in which a community
of slaves has become independent, and it cannot be expected of us to aid
and encourage them.” Doing so, he concluded, would be tantamount to
recognizing “an insurrectionary republic on our Southern coast.”
Continuing his tirade, Wise even went so far as to deny the widespread
existence of racial amalgamation in the South. In response to John Quincy
Adams’s critique, Wise stated, “I will reply, no; there is no amalgamation in
Virginia. Her laws, her morals, her policy, and her people, all forbid, abhor,
detest it. They will war against it here.”42
While his denial was patently absurd, Wise’s allegations against Haiti
and its abolitionist supporters were much more pointed and powerful.
Again, he registered his objections based on the Haitian republic’s origins.
U.S. citizens should not be asked to “recognize the insurrectionists who
rose on their French masters,” he insisted, especially since those same
rebels now governed Haiti. “A large portion of those now in power in this
black republic are slaves, who cut their masters’ throats,” he angrily
declared, “And will any gentleman tell me now that slaves … ought to be
recognized by this government?” In his mind, former slaves should not be
acknowledged and rewarded for their behavior. After all, Haitians’ hands
were stained with “their masters’ blood” and therefore should not be told,
“‘You shall be recognized as freemen; we wish to establish international
relations with you.’” Ultimately, he insisted, southern politicians would
never agree to such terms. “We are bound to repudiate all requests of such a
kind,” he exclaimed, “We are bound to do so by the compact of our
confederation.” In closing, he warned that abolitionists and freedom fighters
were marching against the nation, and that Congress must take action to
prevent it: “The incendiary march is advancing farther and farther: I would
arrest it by arresting all such petitions before they reach that table.”43
In fairness, Henry Wise was right; an “incendiary march” was, in fact,
advancing on Washington. When the House of Representatives reconvened
the next day, members finally voted to refer Nantucket’s petition to the
Committee on Foreign Affairs.44 After all, since the petition did not directly
reference slavery, congressmen could not legitimately use the Atherton gag
to silence it and were compelled to at least refer it to committee for
consideration. This seemed to be a significant victory for Black abolitionists
and their white supporters. Despite political wrangling by southern
congressmen, a petition endorsing Haitian recognition had made it onto the
floor of Congress. And the petitions had only begun.
To gain control over the deluge of petitions flooding into Congress,
proslavery representatives tried different strategies to avoid additional
discussion about Haiti. First, they tried tabling the petitions under the rules
of the Atherton gag. But John Quincy Adams ignored them and continued
to introduce more petitions. Next, they tried to refer all the petitions to the
Committee on Foreign Affairs, in hopes that they would get permanently
lost in committee. However, Adams objected again on the grounds that
referring petitions to committee was a clever attempt to prevent fair
consideration. As Adams explained, their strategy was “a novel pretension”
designed to circumvent the political process. The committee, he
complained, was not “obliged to consider, report, or even look into petitions
and resolutions of State Legislature, nor to account to the House why they
refused to perform the duty intrusted [sic] to them.” Therefore, he
concluded, it was another device to abridge and suppress the right of
petition.45
Adams did not win that particular battle, which, in retrospect, marked a
turning point in the petitions’ fate. Even so, when the House reconvened in
January 1839, the issue of Haitian recognition persisted. Over the course of
1839, there were 164 petitions introduced into the record containing nearly
6,000 signatures. During the first session of the new year, Leverett
Saltonstall, a Whig representative from Massachusetts, perhaps anticipating
opposition, delivered a lengthy speech in favor of Haitian recognition,
questioning why Haiti should not be recognized, especially since, “The
people of Hayti were a free, independent, civilized, Christian community.”
Moreover, he argued, the issue of race should not matter, since Haiti had
been a thriving independent state for decades: “Whether the population
were black or white, why should we inquire? Hayti was an independent
State, and had been so for forty years … As to any disgrace from a
recognition of their independence, it was all imaginary.”46
A few days later, congressmen presented more petitions in favor of
Haitian recognition. Adopting an especially shrewd strategy, anti-slavery
representatives selected two particular petitions for consideration, both of
which came from the slaveholding South. The Colored American
newspaper gleefully celebrated this accomplishment, highlighting that the
petitions originated in Maryland and Virginia, which were strongholds of
the U.S. slaveholding territory.47 Although these petitions contained a
relatively small number of signatories (the Maryland petition had ninety
signatures and the Virginia petition had just under eighty), they held
significant weight because they came from slaveholding states. Moreover,
the documents contained a particularly powerful message. Unlike the AASS
petitions, which came preprinted with approved language, these
handwritten petitions articulated a unique set of specific reasons why Haiti
ought to be recognized.48
First, the petitioners presented a financial argument. Like Samuel
Cornish and many others before them, they argued that Haiti should be
recognized because of its financial importance to the U.S. economy. “There
are many weighty reasons why the Republic of Hayti should be placed in
political and improved commercial relations with the Government of the
United States,” they insisted, since “the interest of this United States in this
trade exceeds that of any other country and greatly needs the fostering care
and protection of Government.” Next, expressing a viewpoint more
consistent with southern sentiment at the time, the petitioners suggested that
Haitian recognition might have a positive effect on race relations by
encouraging the departure of the free Black population. Reflecting upon the
emigration movement a decade earlier, they noted that since thousands of
Black people had previously fled the United States, a similar pattern might
emerge if political interactions improved between the countries: “Should
friendly political and commercial relations be established between [Haiti]
and our Government, it is believed that many free persons of color from
these United States would seek a settlement on its soil.”49
Interestingly, however, the remainder of their argument echoed the
abolitionists, drawing compelling parallels between the Haitian republic and
the United States. Like the Americans’ battle against British rule, for
example, the Haitians had also fought a long, hard battle for freedom. Even
more, the Black republic had adopted many of the same political principles
that the United States allegedly endorsed, including the fundamental right to
freedom and self-rule. For these reasons, the petitioners insisted, Haiti
deserved to be acknowledged: “It should not be forgotten that the
institutions and laws of that Republic are modeled somewhat after our own,
and that success is of vital importance to those for whom they have been
established and to the general cause of humanity.” They also pleaded for the
United States to acknowledge Haitian independence because it would serve
to encourage “a people just rising from degradation to respectability before
the world, and in every respect, and to a great degree, serve the cause of
human freedom, virtue, and happiness.”50
Despite the Maryland and Virginia petitions’ impassioned arguments,
they met the same fate as the others. Along with petitions from Maine and
Vermont, they were quickly and quietly referred to committee.51 They were
not the only ones. By the end of 1839, of the 164 petitions that had been
presented in favor of Haitian recognition, 65 petitions were tabled without
being fully reviewed and another 99 appeals were sent to the Committee on
Foreign Relations. Ultimately, their specific fate did not matter much. Just
as John Quincy Adams had claimed, there was not much difference between
being tabled or being sent to committee, since the Foreign Relations
Committee never took any action. After all, the committee’s chair was none
other than Francis Wilkinson Pickens, a wealthy South Carolina plantation
owner who held more than 275 people in bondage, and later led the charge
for South Carolina to secede from the United States in 1860.52 Given
slavery’s hold over the Foreign Relations Committee, and the U.S.
government more generally, the petitions languished and eventually
disappeared.
Meanwhile, as proslavery congressmen scrambled to contain the Haiti
petitions, Black activists used The Colored American to fight their case in
the court of public opinion. Beginning in January 1839, highly respected
Black abolitionist Dr. James McCune Smith joined Samuel Cornish at the
helm of The Colored American’s editorial desk. Smith had recently returned
from Scotland, where he obtained a medical degree, and became the first
Black licensed physician in the United States. In addition to starting his
own medical practice, Smith immediately embraced the abolitionist cause
and joined The Colored American’s staff. Although the editors closely
followed the congressional debates, they elected to start the new year with a
bit of humor, poking fun at the political shenanigans. They took special
delight in sharing one satirical petition that had been submitted to Congress
as a biting piece of sarcasm.
The memorial opened by acknowledging that “sundry evil-minded and
ignorant persons” had petitioned Congress for the recognition of Haiti, “a
black republic.” If recognition should occur, the petition continued, a black
ambassador would be appointed to a “seat of Government, to the great
scandal of slaveholders, and the eternal disgrace of the Anglo-Saxon
blood.” These developments presented a particular problem for President
Martin Van Buren, the petition asserted, because Van Buren was “a
Northern man with Southern principles,” who would not associate in social
settings with a Black ambassador. In a scathing critique of racial
amalgamation, the petitioners concluded that Congress should pass a law
“prohibiting any foreign nation from sending to our own, any man who is
not a full-blooded Anglo Saxon man, and can trace his lineage back to
Japhet, without any taint, mixture, stain, or blemish from the accursed race
of Ham, from whom the inhabitants of Africa are descended.” They further
recommended that Congress should enact a law “prohibiting anyone from
holding any civil or military office in the United States, who shall have the
least mixture of African blood in his veins.” They even urged the creation
of a standing committee of the House, to be named “‘The Committee on
Color,’ or the ‘The Whitewashing Committee,’” which would be
responsible for researching the lineage and “pedigree” of every member of
Congress, “especially in the slaveholding states,” to ensure that no one
possessing even a trace of African blood would hold public office.
Whenever “any taint of African blood be discovered,” they mockingly
declared, “such member shall instantly be expelled from office, and his
place filled with a pure Anglo Saxon American.” In conclusion, they
claimed that the “notoriously false assertion contained in the Declaration of
Independence, viz: that ‘all men are created free and equal,’ be erased from
that document, and burnt by the hands of the common hangman.”53
This caustic spoof carried a two-fold message. First, it raised the
hypocritical contradiction between the U.S. government’s claim that “all
men are created equal” and their racist refusal to recognize Haiti. Moreover,
it resuscitated the previous debate about “amalgamation,” and openly
implied that many more “white” southerners possessed African blood than
they were willing to admit. Not surprisingly, southern congressmen
exploded in rage. George Coke Dromgoole, a Virginia congressman, angrily
opposed the petition on the grounds that it was an “evident ridicule of the
House.”54 John Quincy Adams, however, argued that it was not “in the least
disrespectful” and urged the petition’s inclusion. Representatives finally
voted on the matter, but, unsurprisingly, it failed by an overwhelming
margin, 24 yeas to 117 nays.55
While The Colored American’s editors clearly found some humor in the
debates over Haitian recognition, their serious commitment did not waver.
Early in 1839, Samuel Cornish and James McCune Smith appealed to
readers to promote Haitian independence and to cajole northern politicians
into taking up the cause. While Cornish and Smith admitted that the
Haitians themselves probably did not care much about U.S. recognition,
they still insisted that the issue was vital to the cause of humanity. As they
explained, “Whilst our acknowledgment of her independence is a matter of
little moment to Hayti, it is one of great importance to ourselves, for our
interest and gratitude are deeply concerned in this matter.” As such, they
offered two primary reasons for Haitian recognition’s importance. Echoing
prior financial arguments, they highlighted the U.S.’s hypocrisy. How could
the United States justify strong trade relations, while simultaneously
denying diplomatic recognition? Since the Haitian government imposed
taxes on all commercial interactions with countries that refused to
acknowledge them, the U.S. position began to border on the absurd. “It is
our interest to acknowledge Haitian independence,” Cornish and Smith
argued, “because … we actually pay one hundred and one thousand dollars
per annum, rather than acknowledge her to be—what she is without our
acknowledgment—an independent power.”56
Appealing specifically to northern interests, Cornish and Smith posed a
compelling and fundamental question: who was paying the financial burden
for the South’s refusal to recognize Haiti? “Who pays this money?” they
asked. “The North,” they answered with frustration, “for our exports to
Hayti consist of flour, beef, butter, lard, bacon, etc., all of them the products
of northern industry. And the freemen of the north, must they pay this tax,
because the south is afraid of the example of Hayti?” Northern politicians,
they concluded, must be compelled to recognize Haiti’s autonomy or
become victims of the Slave Power: “It is our interest to acknowledge
Haytian independence … if our northern representatives refuse to
acknowledge Haytian independence, they will in these matters … [be]
submissive to the very whims of their southern task masters.”57
Beyond the commonly employed financial argument, Cornish and
Smith also used a new strategy to highlight the contradictions in United
States’ policy. The government, they argued, was obligated to honor Haitian
independence because the United States had won its own independence
during the War of 1812 only due to the participation of soldiers from Saint-
Domingue. “[T] here is another and strong reason why we should be
foremost in recognizing Haytian independence,” they insisted, “a reason
which Hayti is too proud to urge, we too republican to remember.”
Although everyone feigned ignorance of the truth, during the Battle of New
Orleans, nearly one-seventh of the troops “WERE VOLUNTEERS FROM
ST. DOMINGO! And these men, in Gen. Jackson’s own words
—‘manifested great bravery’ in the action.”58 Thus, Cornish and Smith
argued, the United States owed a debt to the Haitian people for their
independence, and they should demonstrate their “gratitude” by at least
acknowledging their sister republic’s independence.
A few weeks later, Cornish and Smith issued another impassioned
appeal for Haitian recognition; this time, making an even more
controversial argument. Echoing the “Injured Man of Color” from decades
earlier, Cornish and Smith argued, in the midst of slavery, that Black people
possessed the same right to fight for their freedom and liberty as whites.
After criticizing southern slaveholders and mainstream newspaper editors
for their ignorance regarding Haitian history, they insisted that enslaved
people had every justifiable reason to rise and claim their liberty. Moreover,
they asserted that the United States’ position against insurrection was
hypocritical since the United States itself had been founded through
insurrection. The United States, they wrote, “though itself obtained
individuality by insurrection, refuses, through its southern mouth-pieces, to
extend the hand of common civility to their sable brethren, for the very
excellent reason that they achieved their freedom in the same way.—
Admirable logicians!”59
Lastly, as they had in previous articles, Cornish and Smith lambasted
northern politicians for kowtowing to racism and southern slaveholders.
White Americans, they argued, had found Haiti guilty of only one crime,
“‘We find our fellows guilty of a skin not colored like our own.’” This fact
became particularly apparent when one considered the other territories that
the U.S. government recognized, even though they had been founded
through revolution. “We have recognized Texas, and the present
government of France, and the South American republics and Mexico,”
they concluded, “but we refuse to recognize Hayti, because our negro
breeders are unwilling that we should do so.” In the following month,
Cornish and Smith resumed their attack against U.S. hypocrisy, noting that
Great Britain had appointed an agent to “conclude a commercial treaty with
Hayti,” so why not the United States?60
And yet, everyone knew the answer to their rhetorical question. Haiti
could not be permitted to receive diplomatic recognition simply because it
was a Black republic. And as Cornish and Smith had admitted, this
sentiment was not limited to South. Virulent objections to formally
acknowledging Haiti also remained rampant in the North, largely due to the
social equality it implied. In 1839, a political cartoon blanketed New York
City, dismissing Haitian recognition as a scheme to “punish southern
Democrats,” and ridiculing the notion that a Black ambassador might one
day appear in Washington, D.C. As Figure 7 indicates, the cartoon imagined
a future in which the petitions had succeeded, Haiti had been officially
recognized, and President Van Buren was forced to meet with a Haitian
diplomat. Asserting inherent Black inferiority, the image depicted the
Haitian representative as a strange sub-human creature with a tail, and used
derisive language to parody Black linguistic and naming practices, creating
a character, “the Marquis De Quashipompo,” who spoke a bastardized
version of Black vernacular English, and greeted the president with the
following declaration: “I ab de honor to present de compliments ob de
President ob Hayti, and congratulations on de cause ob Bobalition goin
ahead in de Nited States.” For this northern satirist, even the mere notions
of Haitian recognition and Black equality were too absurd to seriously
consider.

Figure 7. “Presentation.” Political Cartoon of Haitian Ambassador

Source: Printed and published by H.R. Robinson: New York, 1839. Library of Congress.

Despite such mean-spirited opposition, abolitionists in the United States

continued their campaign for Haitian recognition throughout the early
1840s. Although their petitions in 1838 and 1839 had largely been ignored
or sent to committee (where they were likewise ignored) abolitionists
persisted in their self-appointed mission. In fact, despite Congress’s best
efforts, the flow of petitions into Washington, D.C. continued unabated in
the following year. In 1840, another 280 petitions in favor of Haitian
recognition, containing nearly 24,000 signatures, arrived in Washington.
This time, however, even fewer received a formal hearing. Only six
petitions reached the congressional floor, four of which were tabled and the
other two referred to committee.
Outraged, leading abolitionists unleashed their fury. William Lloyd
Garrison, for example, angrily lambasted Congress for ignoring their
petitions and persisting with their non-recognition policy: “Why does our
government still refuse to recognise [sic] Hayti as a nation, when our
commercial interests so imperiously require it? Why is it that the petitions
of our free citizens of the United States cannot be read before their
representatives, if they relate to the obnoxious topic of slavery?” Troubled
by the dangerous plot that led to these circumstances, Garrison concluded
that the Slave Power dictated such policies: “These things are not
accidental, they are the inevitable consequences of a predominating and
constant influence. Time would fail were we to attempt to recapitulate, even
in the briefest manner, the instances in which the slaveholding power has
ruled the councils of the National and State governments.”61 Similarly,
Gamaliel Bailey, editor of the anti-slavery newspaper The Philanthropist,
angrily accused the Slave Power of “usurp[ing] power over the diplomacy
of the nation … by refusing, for no adequate reason, to recognize the
sovereignty of Hayti.”62
Yet, while Garrison and his allies resolved to crush the Slave Power and
win recognition for Haiti, their strategy gradually lost its efficacy. In 1841,
Congress only reviewed twelve Haiti petitions, two of which were tabled
and the other ten sent to the Judiciary Committee, where they promptly
vanished.63 Sending the petitions to the Judiciary Committee was another
effective strategic choice, since John Berrien, a powerful slaveholder from
Georgia, had recently been appointed as the new committee chair. Berrien,
it will be remembered, vehemently opposed Haitian recognition in 1826,
arguing that the United States could never establish “relations of any sort
with Haiti.”64 Unsurprisingly, then, under his leadership, the Judiciary
Committee buried the petitions, and they were never discussed in Congress
again.
Frustrated by the tepid results, abolitionists across the north and west
renewed their efforts. Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society members, such
as Ellis Loring, recommitted themselves to obtaining Haitian recognition.
Loring argued that despite “scoffing statements … continually made, to
prove that Hayti has been on the decline,” in reality “the Haytiens have
done themselves honor.” Therefore, he concluded, Haiti must receive
diplomatic justice.65 And on the national level, the AASS resolved to
change its strategy. Rather than submit simple petitions pleading for Haitian
recognition, they decided to draft a lengthy document outlining their
reasoning. They presented their rationale in seven key points, the first six of
which focused on U.S. financial interests. They noted, for example, the
heavy tariffs imposed on U.S. merchants in Haiti due to the United States’
non-recognition policy. They also highlighted the active, profitable trade
between the United States and Haiti, and the extraordinary profits that could
be made throughout the nation if Congress would simply alter its policy.
Anyone who had read U.S. newspapers during the previous ten years would
have found these arguments familiar, and perhaps even overused. Yet the
seventh and final argument introduced a perspective that had seldom been
publicly addressed in Congress—the immorality of racism. As the petition
concluded, Haitian sovereignty must be recognized “because it is wrong to
make a difference in color a reason for a departure from the … recognition
of the national independence of the Republic of Haiti.” Thus, on October
15, 1841, The Liberator revealed the new petitions and called for everyone
across the nation to join the fight.66
As in previous years, women abolitionists played a central role in
circulating the petitions. Although unable to vote themselves, and therefore
not considered full citizens, women still distributed, signed, and submitted
the petitions with enthusiasm. In 1840, for example, women comprised
nearly half of the petitions’ signatories. As the political cartoon below
demonstrates, white male observers openly mocked women’s political
commitment, and even launched insulting claims that white women’s
activism was driven by nothing more than a desire to “marry black
Husbands.” In the image below, the artist imagines a scene in which John
Quincy Adams (derisively named “Johnny Q”) introduces white female
petitioners in Massachusetts to a fictitious Haitian ambassador while hordes
of other Black male suitors eagerly wait in the background.
Figure 8. Political Cartoon Johnny Q
Source: Published by J. Childs: New York, 1839. Library Company of Philadelphia.

Yet, despite this vulgar criticism, female abolitionists remained

undaunted in their mission. Maria Weston Chapman, for example, wrote an
article for The Liberator, in which she specifically urged women to
participate in the campaign. “We earnestly urge upon all the anti-slavery
women of the State, the importance of procuring signatures to these forms.”
She especially encouraged them to seize every available opportunity to
promote the petitions. “In every public place,” she insisted, “let the
petitions be laid down; and in neighborhoods where only personal
explanation and effort will avail, let them be carried from door to door.” In
a poignant closing, she appealed to her women readers as mothers, pleading
with them to take these petitions as seriously as they would if their own
children were enslaved. “Do with these forms,” she implored them, “as you
would do were your own children numbered among the two and a half
millions in slavery.” Similarly, the Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society
called upon their sisters to support Haiti since “it is wrong to make a
difference in color a reason for treating a whole nation with indignity.”67
And yet, white hostility toward Haiti and Black equality continued to
simmer, eventually boiling over in 1842. On August 1, Black
Philadelphians held a grand parade through the city streets, celebrating the
eighth anniversary of the abolition of slavery in the British Caribbean. On
the surface, it appeared that the event had no direct connection to the battle
for Haitian recognition, but the correlation soon became painfully apparent.
As the procession progressed, white protestors, apparently enraged by the
notion of Black emancipation, violently attacked the marchers. Although
the conflict began as a small scuffle, it rapidly expanded into a racial
pogrom as rumors spread about the banners that the Black participants
carried. Angry white rioters claimed that one banner was emblazoned with
the phrase “Liberty or Death” and an image that “exhibited the
conflagration of a town in St. Domingo, during the massacre of the whites
by their slaves.” In truth, the banner, which was later examined by the
police and the mayor, only had the word “Liberty” along with the
representation of an “emancipated slave” with “broken chains at his feet.” It
also included an image of a “rising sun and a sinking ship,” designed to
represent “the dawn of freedom and the wreck of tyranny.”68
But as the false story circulated that Black people were openly flaunting
Haitian independence, white rage exploded. Infuriated whites battered
Black people’s homes throughout the Black neighborhood on Lombard
Street and physically attacked Black people in the streets. According to one
report, “thousands and thousands” of irate rioters unleashed their fury on
Black people and their property: “Windows were beaten in, doors knocked
to pieces, and other injuries committed.” A few Black Philadelphians tried
to defend their community, but most fled the city, crowding “ferry boats
during the latter part of the day, seeking safety on the other side of the
Delaware.”69 As day turned to night, the riot became even more aggressive
as the mob set a building used for abolitionist gatherings ablaze and the
colored Presbyterian church succumbed to flames. In the days and weeks
that followed, city police finally suppressed the rioters and Philadelphia’s
Black community slowly and painstakingly rebuilt their lives.70 Even so, the
horrific events of August 1, 1842, reminded Black people in the United
States that white people’s fear of Black equality—and Black sovereignty—
could erupt at any moment.
Despite the extreme antipathy that existed among many whites toward
Haitian sovereignty and Black freedom, abolitionists persisted with the
Haitian recognition campaign, albeit with shrinking resolve.71 Most
petitions after 1840 have been lost to history, and therefore we cannot know
with certainty how many were submitted or who signed them. Nor can we
adequately assess the petitioning campaign’s success in the abolitionist
community. We do know, however, that a paltry number of Haiti petitions
reached the congressional floor. Frankly, what began as a powerful
movement for freedom became a predictable and farcical charade: John
Quincy Adams would present a petition, a southern congressman would
object, and then the petition would be sent to committee never to be heard
from again. As the National Anti-Slavery Standard newspaper reported at
the end of 1841, although petitions remained “a perpetual thorn in the side
of the slaveholder,” they simply disappeared in committee and “when one is
pronounced inadmissable, [sic] the old veteran, Adams, is ever ready with
his response, “So, then, the voice of the North is not allowed to be heard in
this house.”72
Although the congressional process had become an awkward and
embarrassing sham, the AASS and the Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society
faithfully advocated for Haitian recognition and dutifully circulated new
petitions. But in 1842, only ten petitions came before Congress; nine went
to the Committee on Foreign Affairs, where they languished, and
congressmen flatly rejected another.73 Worse, in 1843, Congress considered
only four petitions; two dismissed, and two sent to committee.74 In 1844,
the last two Haiti petitions came before Congress and were quickly
dismissed.75 After that, there is no record of any additional petitions in favor
of Haitian recognition appearing on the congressional floor. Ironically,
although Congress rescinded the gag rules on December 3, 1844, such
action did nothing to revive the movement.76 Instead, The Liberator
lamented, “Cart-loads of petitions have been, from time to time, sent to
Congress, for the recognition of the independence of Hayti; but their prayer
has not yet been granted.”77
Given the lack of detailed information about the Haiti petitions during
this period, very little is known about how Black activists perceived the
ongoing petition movement between 1841 and 1844. This problem is
exacerbated by the fact that, at the end of 1841, The Colored American
newspaper collapsed, leaving a void regarding the Black community’s
perspective. However, a few pieces of evidence provide insight into their
views. For example, although The Colored American lasted through
December 1841, only one article during that entire year referenced Haitian
recognition, and it implied that the battle for Haitian recognition in the
United States had been lost. “It will be a long time before this nation will
[recognize Haiti’s independence],” editor Charles B. Ray reflected, “not at
least, until slavery among us shall have been branded by popular opinion.”78
Although the congressional campaign clearly appeared to be failing, a
group of Black activists from Ohio, including celebrated abolitionist John
Mercer Langston, visited John Quincy Adams in 1843 and thanked him for
his “untiring efforts in favor of the acknowledgement of Haitian
independence.” Adams’s commitment prompted them to honor him as a
“true American citizen, the supporter of equal rights and privileges, and the
friend of mankind.”79 Even so, by the middle of the 1840s, Black people’s
hope in the petitioning campaign had almost entirely evaporated. It is
significant to note, for example, that the Colored Conventions, which
reconvened in 1843, 1847, and 1848, made no mention of Haiti or the fight
for Haitian recognition, except for a passing reference to Toussaint
Louverture in Henry Highland Garnet’s famous “Address to the Slaves” in
1843.80 The only insight we have, then, is the one lone Haiti petition that
survived.
Ironically, a petition from Nantucket, Massachusetts initiated the
Haitian recognition petition campaign, and another petition from Nantucket
was the only surviving petition after 1840. Reflecting larger trends in the
movement, the number of Nantucket supporters had ebbed and flowed over
the years. Their first petition, in 1838, contained 139 male signatures, and
no women. In 1840, however, at the height of the movement, Nantucket
sent two petitions containing 590 signatures: one with a staggering 442
signatures entirely from women, and another with 148 male signatures. In
1843, however, as the movement began to dwindle, their last petition
contained only 104 male and female signatures combined. Even so, the
petition still reflected a biracial and gender inclusive coalition, composed of
prominent members of the Coffin, Macy, and Folger families as well as
wealthy Black whaling tycoon, Absalom Boston, and his close associate,
Edward Pompey.
If the last Nantucket petition was indicative of broader patterns, then
clearly, by 1843, a biracial coalition of supporters remained, but the heart of
the movement had been crushed in defeat. In the end, Philip Alexander
Bell’s rallying cry that the petitions would come and be heard was only
partially true; petitions did flow into Congress, but slaveholders’ voices
silenced their sound and their fury.

OceanofPDF.com
 5

LET US LEAVE THIS BUCKRA LAND

FOR HAITI
The Limits of Black Utopia

Between 1824 and 1860, an evocative and beguiling tune floated along the
United States’ eastern seaboard, infectiously inspiring enslaved and free
Black people alike. As the song drifted through various communities, the
lyrics embodied the true spirit of African improvisation, dynamically
shifting and morphing to fit the singers’ moods and inner longings. Even so,
a common theme remained: “Let us leave this buckra land for Hayti,” the
song commenced, “there we’ll be received as grand as Lafayettee.”1
Directly referencing the Marquis de Lafayette, a Frenchman hailed in the
United States as a hero of the American and French Revolutions, the song
imagined the coming of a brighter day—a time when Black people could
escape the land of slavery, make a beautiful new home in Haiti, and be
celebrated as heroes.2 The lyrics romantically envisioned Haiti as a Black
utopia—a land of milk and honey—where Black people could not only find
freedom, but also enjoy decadent luxury, free of the menial, demeaning
tasks that defined their lives as slaves.
Yet despite the beauty, inspiration, and even humor that defined this
song, the visions of Haiti that danced in the minds of free and enslaved
Black people in the United States often existed in stark contrast to the
painful realities that the besieged Black republic faced in the mid-
nineteenth century. Shackled to an oppressive foreign debt, stymied by
misguided economic policies, and targeted as a site for U.S. imperialism,
Haiti did not, and could not, live up to the imagined Black utopia that Black
people in the United States longed for. This chapter explores the period
between 1838 and 1848 to reveal the radical divide between the U.S. Black
community’s hopes and dreams, and the troubled political strife with which
Haiti grappled during the same era. It also explores the obstacles Haiti faced
in its quest for global recognition and the unfailing, if overly romantic,
image of Haiti that Black people in United States clung to against all odds.

***

In the late 1830s, as the battle for Haitian recognition raged throughout
the halls of the United States Congress, Black activists persisted with their
own political agenda. Powerfully inspired by their vision of a free and
sovereign Haiti, free and enslaved Black people in the United States
passionately embraced Haiti as a beacon of hope for the global Black
freedom struggle. Yet Haiti did not represent the same thing to everyone.
Some, such as Samuel Cornish and Charles B. Ray, still promoted
emigration and envisioned the Black republic as a potential homeland for
the U.S. Black community. Others, including James McCune Smith and
Charles Lenox Remond, embraced Haiti’s potential to vindicate the Black
race, focusing, in particular, on Haiti’s triumphant history to inspire the
battle against slavery. Still others, particularly those in the enslaved
community, simply held tightly to the image they lifted up in song—a
dream of Haiti as a Black utopia where they might one day live in the lap of
luxury, free from the horrors of bondage. Regardless, Black activists in the
United States shared a common goal. Dedicated to the cause of Black
freedom, they pinned all their hopes on Haiti.
In 1838, after a brief hiatus, Black activists in the United States
resuscitated the Haitian emigration movement. Once again, Samuel
Cornish, editor of The Colored American newspaper, positioned himself at
the heart of the debate. Cleverly blending vindication and emigration,
Cornish and his supporters strategically emphasized Haiti’s strengths and
discredited any negative notions about conditions in the Black republic. In
March of that year, Cornish printed a lengthy article about the legal
requirements for Haitian emigration. Hoping to silence lingering concerns
about potential barriers to emigration, he highlighted the recent laws that
made it easier for foreigners of African descent to own property in Haiti and
quickly gain full citizenship. “The descendants of African emigrants may
locate themselves within the Republic, any where [sic] they may judge most
suitable to their interest,” he assured his readers, “and may hold real
property when, after one year’s residence in Haiti, they become citizens of
the Republic.”3
Two weeks later, Cornish expanded his endorsement, printing a letter
from William Jinnings, a Black abolitionist from Philadelphia, who had
traveled to Haiti to explore the possibility of migrating there. Jinnings raved
about the agricultural and financial opportunities in Haiti, describing
independent farmers who successfully cultivated rice, sugar, corn, beans,
peas, potatoes, plantains, and oranges. Anyone willing to commit time and
energy, he asserted, could become wealthy in Haiti. “People of industry,
who follow agricultural pursuits, are rich and independent,” he cheerfully
reported. Jinnings also noted the recent agreement that Haiti had reached
with France, celebrating the occasion as the “full and entire recognition of
the independence of Haiti.” Given its revitalized political and economic
conditions, he concluded, Haiti had a bright future, and its commerce would
continue to dramatically improve.4
In June, Samuel Cornish printed a similar letter from Black abolitionist
Robert Douglass Jr., who had conducted a tour of Haiti with an eye toward
emigration. Douglass, who had become Cornish’s regular correspondent,
descended from a prominent activist family in Philadelphia. Yet despite his
family’s relative privilege, Douglass fled the United States in 1838 in
search of a homeland more welcoming to Black equality. While in Haiti, he
regaled his readers with delightful descriptions of Haiti’s beauty, especially
the mountains, valleys, and various flora and fauna that produced the most
“exquisite perfumes.” Like Jinnings, he also emphasized Haiti’s impressive
agricultural enterprises, including the cultivation of sugar, coffee, cocoa,
oranges, bananas, and mangoes. Leogane, a bustling city on the coast, about
twenty miles west of Port-au-Prince, particularly enthralled him with its
enchanting vistas and buildings. In one of his more revealing passages, he
wistfully reflected, “I am now conscious that Columbus did not exaggerate
when he pronounced this island the ‘garden of Paradise.’”5 Like Cornish
and Jinnings, then, Douglass sought to identify and debunk any persistent
doubts that his readers might possess about Haiti as a potential home.
Even so, debate about the emigration movement’s viability persisted. In
July 1838, Peter Vogelsang, a stalwart Black activist from New York City,
wrote to The Colored American newspaper raising concerns about renewed
emigrationist sentiment. Despite his personal support for Haitian
emigration, Cornish (perhaps begrudgingly) published Vogelsang’s letter in
its entirety. Vogelsang adamantly opposed Haitian emigration due to the
significant religious and linguistic differences between U.S. Blacks and
Haitians. Insistent that Black migrants to Haiti would encounter “a people
whose manners and customs are the antipodes of our own,” he asserted that
Black activists should instead fight to “procure an equal share of political
privileges” in the United States. Just weeks later, likely as a rebuttal to
Vogelsang, Cornish printed an article from J. G. Hardy, a recent migrant,
expressing high hopes for Haiti. Like William Jinnings before him, Hardy
argued that new policies would revive Haiti’s commerce and that a “spirit of
improvement and progress” would revitalize the entire country.6 Thus, by
late 1838, Samuel Cornish and his allies were steadily breathing new life
into the Haitian emigration movement.
In 1839, however, a dramatic shift occurred in The Colored American
newspaper’s leadership. Since its founding, Samuel Cornish had served as
its editor and Philip Alexander Bell as the proprietor. Soon thereafter,
Charles B. Ray joined the team as a correspondent, and in 1838, he became
co-owner with Bell. Then, starting in January 1839, Dr. James McCune
Smith began working as an editor alongside Cornish and served in that
capacity for the first several months of 1839. However, at end of June, Bell,
Cornish, and Smith abruptly left the paper. The reasons for their departure
are unknown, but Charles Ray assumed responsibility for the entire paper,
becoming the sole proprietor and editor in one fell swoop.7
Although under new leadership, The Colored American remained an
influential voice in the Haitian emigration movement. In his new role as
owner and editor, Ray dedicated increasing time and energy to promoting
Haitian emigration. In the third week of his editorship, Ray printed an
article entitled “A Mistake Corrected,” in which he sought to debunk
popular assumptions about Black people’s views regarding emigration.
Black people did not, according to Ray, unilaterally oppose emigration. In
fact, despite their extreme objection to the American Colonization Society
and forced removal, Ray insisted that Black people remained deeply
interested in voluntary migration. While he denounced compulsory
emigration as “wicked,” Ray believed that the door of voluntary emigration
should remain open, especially to places where Black people could elevate
themselves, including Haiti. After all, he argued, Black people should
consider every opportunity, “every chance of enterprize [sic]—every door
of emigration, where we can, individually, better our condition and build up
our character.”8
Perhaps anticipating rebuttals from anti-emigrationists in the Black
community, Ray specifically refuted the notion that emigration could
damage the abolitionist movement. Emigration, Ray insisted, would not
“injure” the cause, “encourage the colonizationists,” or “ruin the slave.”
Instead, abolition could actually be aided by emigration, since it proved that
Black people could live free and thrive: “Let us but make for ourselves a
character among white men, in the Canadas, in the B. West Indies, or in
Hayti.—Its reflective influence will be irresistibly felt in this slavery-
ridden, prejudiced-cursed country, and all the interests of bond and free will
be promoted by it.”9 While it is unclear how Black people across the United
States received this message, Ray steadfastly persisted with his appeal.
Less than two months later, he issued a similar message; he
acknowledged the importance of fighting for equality in the United States,
but also promoted voluntary emigration as a reasonable alternative. In Ray’s
view, emigration presented a viable option for people seeking to improve
their conditions and obtain full equality. Haiti and Trinidad, he argued,
provided the best opportunities, since the badge of race and slavery would
not prevent their advancement. “The islands of Hayti, and Trinidad are open
to us,” he urged, “there are no distinctive persecuting laws [to] present
insurmountable barriers to our advancement; nor does the monster prejudice
arise like an evil genius to thwart us in our career of usefulness and virtue.”
Perhaps for this reason, Ray included another celebratory article the
following week, describing the jubilant arrival in Haiti of 101 free Black
people from the United States. Quoting a local correspondent, he reported
their “lively demonstrations of joy, on reaching that land of liberty” and the
warm welcome they received from the “joyous community amongst whom
they come to reside.”10
By the close of the year, Ray stated his feelings much more plainly,
arguing that while he opposed the American Colonization Society, he still
endorsed migration to countries such as Jamaica and Haiti, where Black
people were creating their own independent nations. In an article entitled
“Emigration vs. Colonization,” Ray clarified his opinion, stating, “while we
wage unceasing, uncompromising war against Colonization as it is
understood among us, and promulgated by the great Africo-American
Colonization Society, we are not so hostile to voluntary emigration.” More
specifically, he employed an early form of pan-African thought, arguing
that emigration “strengthens the bonds which unite distant communities,”
and builds unity among “members of the same family.” In Ray’s view,
emigration had the power to inspire a lasting “union of sentiment and
feeling” among people of African descent, and he believed that “emigration
would improve the condition of those who go and establish a character for
our whole people abroad.” Haiti particularly impressed him as a place
where Black people could “find constant employment and good wages.”11
Although Ray strongly advocated for emigration, the movement floundered
and struggled to gain momentum in the late 1830s, likely due to ongoing
fears in the Black community about the American Colonization Society’s
growing influence.
Meanwhile, Black activists continued to champion Haiti and its
independence in other ways. Embracing Haiti’s bold fight for freedom as a
model for the Black liberation struggle, Thomas Paul Jr. delivered an
address at Dartmouth College in January 1841. Young Thomas Paul Jr. was
an excellent choice for this role, since his father, Thomas Paul Sr., had not
only been a well-respected abolitionist and minister in Boston, he had also
advocated for Haitian emigration in previous years. As mentioned in
chapter one, Thomas Paul Sr. was a close associate of Prince Saunders and
had spent several months in Haiti in 1815 and again in 1823. While there,
he developed a relationship with Jean-Pierre Boyer and actively promoted
Haitian emigration upon his return to the United States.12 Although he died
in 1831, his son had apparently taken up the fight a decade later. One of
only a few Black students at Dartmouth College, Thomas Paul Jr. delivered
an inspiring speech reminiscent of Jean-Jacques Dessalines’s call for
“liberty or death.” As he exclaimed, “The voices of our revolutionary
fathers, who fought long and hard for the freedom of their country, are
heard repeating the same words that startled their armies of yore, ‘Give us
liberty, or give us death.’” Using the Haitian people’s courage as a model
for resistance, he further warned slaveholders about the fate that would
befall them if they refused to abolish slavery: “The free Haytien’s voice is
heard above the roar of the Atlantic, telling us, if we would avoid the
horrors of a servile war, we must let the oppressed go free.”13
One week later, Dr. James McCune Smith, Black abolitionist and
former coeditor of The Colored American, likewise delivered an
impassioned celebration of the Haitian Revolution.14 In Smith’s view, the
Haitian Revolution ought to be honored as a truly unique historical event—
the only true revolution of its kind. Even though it had occurred during a
“revolutionary age” in which many nations, such as the United States and
France, pledged to champion the spirit of freedom, Smith believed that only
Haiti’s revolution had been truly successful. Haiti was the sole country, he
reminded his audience, where rebels managed to establish an egalitarian
society, eradicating both slavery and the oppressive system of caste that had
denied civil rights even to legally free Black people.15 Despite unspeakable
horrors at the hands of French soldiers who unleashed brutal retaliation, the
rebels emerged victorious and established “an independent State, in which
ALL MEN, without regard to complexion or creed, possessed EQUAL
RIGHTS.” In so doing, Haiti proved that Black people, “even with the
worst odds against them” were “capable of achieving liberty, and of self-
government.”16
Smith’s image of Haiti was, perhaps, overly romantic. True, Haiti had
outlawed slavery and granted equal rights to all men. But it had not yet
forged a fully egalitarian society. Certainly, rebels during the Haitian
Revolution might have hoped to create such a nation, but the financial
burden of the indemnity denied such dreams. Therefore, Haitians who
suffered the indemnity’s consequences, particularly Jean-Pierre Boyer’s
oppressive taxation and agricultural policies, would likely have questioned
the picture of Haitian affairs that Smith painted for his listeners. But Smith,
either unaware or unwilling to face Haiti’s complex reality, insisted that the
Black republic offered the only authentic triumph of revolutionary
principles. Amid a disappointing battle for Haitian recognition and a
struggling emigration movement, he drew strength and inspiration from the
revolution that had won freedom for the enslaved and created a sovereign
Black nation.
Other Black leaders during this era, including Ulysses B. Vidal, Robert
Douglass Jr., and Charles Lenox Remond, also delivered orations about
Haitian history and independence. However, only snippets of their speeches
or brief descriptions of the events survived. Douglass, for example, gave a
speech in April 1841 on Haiti’s “discovery, history, condition, and the
manners and character of the people.” But details are unknown beyond a
short description of its main topics. The lecture “conveyed much interesting
information, and was agreeably illustrated with portraits of distinguished
Haytiens, sketches of Haytien costumes, scenery, &c.” The paper
highlighted Douglass’s portraits, which came “from the pencil of the
lecturer himself, whose skill as an artist is highly creditable to his talents.”17
Similarly, Ulysses B. Vidal delivered an address for the Ladies Literary
Society on the topic of the “Discovery and Early History of Hayti” in
December 1841, but no text or description of the speech remains.18
A bit more is known about Charles Lenox Remond’s oration delivered
in that same year. In November 1841, Remond traveled to Scotland to meet
with abolitionist leaders from throughout the region. At a meeting of the
Glasgow Emancipation Society, he lauded Haiti as an inspiring example of
the global fight for freedom. Haiti’s history, he argued, “should encourage,
stimulate, invigorate, and urge onward and upward all friends to this high,
and just, and holy enterprise.” Likewise, he hoped that Haiti’s victorious
history would instill enslaved people with hope for their own eventual
liberation. Haiti could, he maintained, inspire enslaved people to “hope on
and hope ever.” Notably, during this gathering, Remond befriended Haitian
leader Baron Jean-Baptiste Symphor Linstant, who became a consistent
liaison to the U.S. abolitionist movement in the years that followed.19
In fact, in 1842, Linstant published a powerful essay in The Liberator
newspaper defending Haiti’s character against its omnipresent enemies.
Urging his audience to consider Haiti’s status as a young nation, still
evolving into a more perfect country, he cautioned his readers to be less
harsh with their criticism. After all, he reminded them, “it is not yet a
quarter of a century that Haiti has enjoyed the blessings of peace. Foreign
war, civil war, by turns, have agitated her land,” which prevented Haiti from
enjoying freedom and prosperity. More specifically, he pointed to the
endless onslaught of invasions and attacks that Haiti had faced from
conquering nations. How, he asked, could Haiti advance when it was
constantly defending its existence? “The hand that holds the sword in
defence [sic] of Liberty,” he wisely reflected, “cannot at the same time erect
temples and build palaces.” Therefore, given “the bloody revolutions that
our country has experienced,” Haiti should be allowed to pause and “take a
breath in, before commencing the task, in itself so difficult, of peaceful
social regeneration.” True, he admitted, Haiti had “losses to repair” and it is
“easy to criticise; but in the place of those whom you blame, you, perhaps,
would have done worse.” Ultimately, he castigated those who denied Haiti’s
sovereignty and withheld their acknowledgment. After all, he noted,
countries who believed in freedom and justice should be seeking to aid
Haiti, not to deny or destroy it: “Why, then, are you more severe towards
us, than towards your own ancestors? Haiti is a young republic, yet how
greatly is she superior to many of her neighbors! … Be just, then! Nor
demand of us too much—you who have so much to learn.”20
As James McCune Smith, Charles Lenox Remond, and Baron Linstant
demonstrated, Black activists across the Atlantic World passionately
articulated their hopes and dreams for Haiti throughout the 1830s and
1840s. Yet while free and literate Black people signed and circulated
petitions, wrote impassioned articles, and delivered heartfelt speeches, we
are left to wonder what enslaved Black people in the United States thought
about Haiti during this era. As Charles Lenox Remond’s speech indicated,
activists often offered Haiti as a symbol of hope to the enslaved, but what
did enslaved people actually think about Haiti and its struggle for
independence? Since no large-scale slave revolts emerged during this era,
the historical record is largely silent on this issue, but two newspaper
articles in the 1840s provide us with a small window into their political
thought.
In 1841, white abolitionist Lydia Maria Child wrote a gut-wrenching
account in the National Anti-Slavery Standard newspaper, depicting an
enslaved woman in Virginia and the relentless sexual harassment she
received from her master. Perhaps one of the first examples of a woman
providing a detailed narrative about sexual abuse during slavery, this story
is important for that reason alone. However, quite surprisingly, buried
within this story is a compelling depiction of a song that enslaved people in
Virginia sang about Haiti.21
According to the story, during a journey to Virginia, U.S. President
Martin Van Buren stopped at a fine hotel in Sulphur Springs. To properly
honor the president, the hotel owner created a lavish dinner and held a
grand ball. Enslaved people, of course, provided labor and entertainment,
including the requirement to sing and dance for the president and his
“mulatto” servant, Charles Ingram. As one enslaved person described the
scene, “‘Van Buren came in to see us dance. He shook hands with us all
round, and told us to be obedient to our masters, and they would be good to
us; that the Bible said we ought to obey our masters.’” Perhaps in response
to this condescending treatment, the enslaved people sang and danced to a
song of their own choosing. In this case, they selected a song about Haiti
and the freedom it offered:

Come, broders, let us leave

Dis buckra land for Hayti—
An’ der we be receive
As gran as Lafayettee.
Der we make a mighty show,
As grannus as you see—
I shall be all the go,
An’ you like Governor Shootsy.
No more the barrow wheel,
An’ that’s a mighty jerkus;
No more we ‘bliged to steal,
An’ then be sent to work-hus.
An’ dance us in a hall,
Hold a half a million—
There we dance the great big jig.
The white man call cotillion.
Lead your partners out—
Forward two and backee,
Wheel and turn about,
And then go home in hackey.22

As the lyrics indicate, the song began with the inspiring invitation to
leave “buckra land” for Haiti. “Buckra,” of course, was a pejorative term
used during that era to describe white people. The opening section, then,
expressed a desire to flee the white man’s country and go to Haiti where
they could find freedom and prosperity. As the song noted, Black people
could find refuge in Haiti and be received as grand as Lafayette—a
reference to Marquis de Lafayette, a French aristocrat who fought in the
American Revolution and was celebrated throughout the United States as a
revolutionary hero in the 1830s. The song also anticipated a beautiful life in
Haiti—an idyllic land where Black people no longer had to perform menial
tasks, such as pushing a wheelbarrow or being sent to the workhouse, nor
would they be reduced to stealing for their survival. Likely in a particular
critique of the compulsory dancing forced upon them, the song closed by
imagining a time when Black people would no longer have to dance for
white people’s entertainment.23
A few references in the song were less clear. What exactly did the
singers mean when they said, “I shall be all the go, and you like Governor
Shootsy”? Possibly common expressions at the time, which would have
been well understood to the listeners then, their meaning has been lost over
time. Even so, the song’s deeper meaning stood the test of time. Clearly, in
1841, enslaved people still viewed Haiti as a symbol of freedom and as a
promised land where they could escape the bonds of slavery and live as free
people.
What is perhaps most compelling about this song is its similarity to a
song that free Black migrants sang when they departed for Haiti in 1824. As
discussed in chapter one, emigrants from Philadelphia joyfully sang the
following song when they fled the United States seeking freedom in the
Black republic:

Brothers, let us leave

For Port-au-Prince in Hayti
There we’ll be receive
Grand as La Fayet-te.

No more tote the hod,

Nor with nail and stickee,
Nasty, dirty rag
Out of gutter pickee.24

Despite slight wording changes, the first stanza expressed the same
enthusiasm about leaving the United States for Haiti and being celebrated as
Lafayette had been. The second stanza, however, described a different set of
frustrations with their conditions in the United States. While the 1841
version depicted specific resentments about slavery, the original 1824
version focused on the tedious tasks with which free and enslaved northern
Blacks in the urban milieu contended. Rather than the wheelbarrow and the
workhouse, the Philadelphians sought to escape picking garbage out of the
gutter and toting “the hod.” A hod, commonly used in the urban North, was
a tray or a trough balanced on a wooden pole used for carrying items
through the streets. While each Black community articulated their own
specific resentments, the core message remained the same—Haiti offered a
potential paradise, an escape from the drudgery of oppression in the United
States and the possibility of true freedom.
Given what we now know about the spread of music and folktales
throughout enslaved southern communities during this era, it may come as
no surprise that this particular song evolved and expanded in later years. In
1845, a contributor to The Liberator newspaper offered yet a third version
of the same song. According to the article, this “sublime Ethiopian melody”
expressed the Black community’s “enthusiasm” about Haiti in this fashion:

Brudder, let us leave

Buckra land for Hayti,
Dere we be receive
Grand as Lafayetty;
Make a mighty show
When we land from steam-ship,
You be like Munroe,
I like Louis Phillippe:
After dinner dere,
Smoke de best Habanner,
While our darters fair
Play on de pianner.25

Yet again, this version shared the same opening section, but the latter part
used distinct references. By 1845, the song described how distinguished
Black migrants would appear when they disembarked in Haiti from a
steamship, looking as fancy as Louis Philippe, the King of France. It also
predicted that in Haiti they would smoke the finest Havana cigars, and their
beautiful daughters would have the luxury of playing the piano rather than
living as the slaves of white people.
This tune eventually circulated in white abolitionist communities. It
apparently resonated with Lydia Maria Child for more than a decade,
because in 1853, she recreated the 1841 version in her play, The Stars and
Stripes: A Melodrama, which appeared in the National Anti-Slavery
Standard. Admittedly, she rewrote the lyrics in a somewhat offensive
attempt at Black vernacular English, concluding the song with “The slaves
exclaim, Dat’s fustest rate! [They jump about, laughing and singing].” Even
so, the song’s original liberatory, hopeful sentiments remained the same.26
As late as 1859, enslaved people in the Georgia Sea Islands sang yet
another version of this song. Reportedly, enslaved people on the Butler
Plantation offered this interpretation:

Oh, bruders, let us leave

Dis buckra land for Hayti,
Dah we be receive
Grand as Lafayetty.
Make a mighty show When we land from steamship,
You’ll be like Monro,
Me like Lewis Philip.

O dat equal sod,

Who not want to go-y,
Dah we feel no rod
Dah we hab no foe-y

Dah we lib so fine,

Dah hab coach and horsey,
Ebbry day we dine,
We hab tree, four coursey.

No more our son cry sweep,

No more he play de lackey,
No more our daughters weep,
‘Kase dey call dem blacky.
 No more dey servants be,
No more dey scrub and cook-y,
But ebbry day we’ll see
Dem read de novel book-y

Dah we sure to make

Our daughter de fine lady,
Dat dey husbands take
‘Bove de common grady;
And perhaps our son
He rise in glory splendour,
Be like Washington,
His country’s brave defender.27

Here again, the opening stanzas are borrowed from the 1841 version, but
the specific grievances and aspirations were unique. For enslaved people in
the Georgia Sea Islands, they hoped for a brighter day when their sons
would no longer have to be a white man’s lackey, and their daughters would
find their Blackness beautiful. They also looked forward to the time when
women could escape scrubbing and cooking, and perhaps even learn to
read. And they even imagined a moment when their sons would
courageously rise in defense of the Black republic and be hailed as heroes
of Haitian independence.
The white observer who recorded the lyrics wrote dismissively and
disparagingly of the words and the performers. For him, Black strivings for
freedom and equality seemed hilarious and ridiculous. “This delightful
song,” he wrote, “was composed … at the time of one of the Haytian
revolutions, when the negroes, imagining that they would have no more
work to do … took the most absurd airs, and went about calling themselves
by all the different distinguished names they had ever heard.”28 Yet, such
attitudes clearly did not silence those who hoped for liberation, equality,
and citizenship. Despite the specific nature of each song’s aspiration, the
unifying theme in all versions of this song honored Haiti as a Black utopia,
where Black people could find freedom, equality, and even luxury. Most of
all, they could escape “buckra land”—the country that held them in
bondage and subjected them to the horrors of slavery. Ultimately, then,
across the South, Haiti remained a symbol of freedom and hope among the
enslaved up to the very eve of the Civil War.
Unfortunately, the song soon took root among racist whites, causing it
to be manipulated and eventually transformed into a spoof of Black people
and their aspirations for freedom. In the early 1830s, George Washington
Dixon, a white man who gained fame as a blackface minstrel, adapted a
version of the song for a minstrel show at the Park Theater in New York
City. Dixon later named the song “Ching a Ring Chaw,” which became a
popular minstrel song throughout the nineteenth century. He also
bastardized the references to Haiti (referring to it as “Heitee”), incorporated
stereotypical Black vernacular, and created an absurd, offensive ending to
the song, “Chinger ringer, sing ching chuw, Ho, ah, ding kum darkee. 29
Despite white people’s attempts to ridicule Black people’s strivings and
hopes for freedom, however, enslaved and free Black people remained
undaunted. Instead, they lifted their voices in song, pouring out all their
deepest desires for Haiti and for themselves.
Yet, while enslaved people in the United States clung desperately to
their vision of Haiti as a Black utopia, harsh realities in the Black republic
belied everyone’s hopes. Throughout the 1840s, in a painfully predictable
scenario, conditions in Haiti continued to decline. In May 1842, a
devastating earthquake shook the island, destroying the northern port city of
Cap Haitian.30 Located along an active fault line, Haiti suffered from regular
tremors, but the quake in 1842 was particularly strong.31 As the National
Anti-Slavery Standard reported, it was the worst since 1770, when a 7.5
quake struck, killing hundreds. “Cape Haytien,” the paper sadly noted, “is
said to be entirely destroyed. The population, of fifteen thousand souls,
nearly all perished; crushed among the ruins, blown up with the powder
magazine, or drowned in the sea.”32 Although those numbers were slightly
inflated—historian Chelsea Stieber places the death toll at around 6,000—
the losses were still crushing.33 Port-au-Prince escaped largely unscathed,
but destruction reigned in other parts of the country, including Gonaïves,
and the Haitian people struggled to recover and rebuild.
Worse, governmental instability persisted, as opposition to President
Jean-Pierre Boyer and his regime mounted. In the earthquake’s immediate
aftermath, Boyer did nothing, offering no military or financial aid.34 Soon
thereafter, frustrated with Boyer’s undemocratic and autocratic leadership,
the Haitian people, particularly in the South, began to rise.35 Dissension
actually arose as early as 1838, with an assassination attempt against Joseph
Balthazar Inginac, Boyer’s Secretary General. Long hated for his policies,
particularly for creating the oppressive Code Rural, Inginac stood out as an
obvious enemy for many Haitians. Not surprisingly, then, in May 1838,
while visiting Secretary General Inginac in Haiti, U.S. Black abolitionist
Robert Douglass Jr. observed an attempt on Inginac’s life. After a knock at
the door, Douglass reported, Inginac faced a gunman on his front step and
received a pistol shot in the neck.36 Although Inginac survived the
assassination threat, political tensions continued to smolder and in 1839,
another conflict exploded.
According to one report, a skirmish erupted between Boyer and the
Haitian House of Representatives regarding the formation and constitution
of the Senate. Boyer apparently imposed a “tyrannical” decision to
“unconstitutionally and violently [put] into the Senate his own creatures.”
In other words, Boyer attempted to subvert the political process and stack
the Senate with his own supporters. When members of the House objected,
Boyer enlisted the military, “abused the National Guard, reamed over the
whole town like a mad man, and placed a force at the door of the House of
Representatives forbidding the entrance of such as would not yield to him.”
Ultimately, Boyer won. The House “yielded” to his demands and banished
several members of the opposition. Assassination attempts were also made
against “two of the members that had been so unconstitutionally
expelled.”37
Quite significantly, although this report appeared in The Colored
American, Charles Ray refused to cast aspersions on Haiti or its leaders;
instead, he cleverly took the middle ground. He described the rumors, but
simultaneously cast doubt upon them and ultimately defended Boyer’s
character. Upon delivering the news to his readers, he openly questioned the
story’s veracity: “The above rumor … is of a very doubtful nature. We shall
suspend our opinion until we have better authority.” Unwilling to accept
this report as fact, Ray insisted that Boyer’s respectable character rendered
such accusations inherently false: “Our principle [sic] reason for doubting is
the known character of President Boyer, for sagacity and prudence. If true,
he must be really a ‘mad man,’ for we are well assured that in his sane mind
he would never attempt such conduct.” After all, Ray concluded, Boyer’s
“patriotism is too pure and his love of country too ardent to admit of his
ever jeopardizing his reputation by such tyranny.”38 Ultimately, Charles Ray
chose to stand by Jean-Pierre Boyer and place his trust in him. Like his
predecessors, especially John Russwurm, Ray remained loyal to Boyer until
the bitter end. What Ray did not know, however, is that Boyer’s days as
president were numbered.
Although Charles Ray did not, or perhaps could not, admit that the
Haitian government faced imminent collapse, his white abolitionist allies
gradually began to recognize Boyer’s significant shortcomings. In 1841, an
article appeared in The Liberator, lambasting Boyer and his presidency.
“Hayti has one curse,” the author wrote, “and that is not freedom, but
tyranny. Her President for life is a despot under a less ominous name.”
More specifically, the author complained that the entire government seemed
“indifferent or hostile” to the Haitian people, and the military ruled the
country with an iron fist.39 The following year, the National Anti-Slavery
Standard admitted that Boyer only retained his power through military
force, and that most Haitians fiercely opposed his leadership. As such, the
paper described President Boyer as a “despotic” ruler “who cares only for
himself.” The editors carefully noted, however, that Boyer’s faults and
failures were his own, and not indicative of a failure of Black self-
governance more generally. “Haitiens, as a people, [are not] incapable of
self-dominion,” they concluded, “There is no denying the fact, however,
that they are without an efficient government. The blame rests, in our
opinion, upon the President and those in authority under him; for he is
despotic, and therefore accountable.”40
Clearly, many Haitians agreed that Boyer needed to be held
accountable, because in January 1843, an insurrection broke out with the
goal of removing Boyer and his supporters from power.41 As the news
reached U.S. abolitionist newspapers in March, anti-slavery activists
struggled to process what had transpired.42 Since most abolitionists in the
United States, Black and white, had backed Boyer’s government, initially
they did not know how to respond. However, by the late spring, the
National Anti-Slavery Standard seemed to be lending its support to the
rebels, reporting that “the revolutionists … refrain from pillage, avoid
shedding blood as much as possible, simply aiming at a change in the
government more conducive to the liberty and improvement of the people.
It is said that the wishes of the people of Port au Prince are with them.”
Moreover, quoting a correspondent in Port-au-Prince, the paper noted, “‘We
must, however, give credit to the insurgents, who have conducted the
revolution, thus far, with little or no bloodshed … if the change of
government be effected as it has been commenced, the Haytien people will
be justly advanced in the consideration of the world at large.’”43 The
Liberator reprinted the same letter, after which William Lloyd Garrison
concluded, “The general opinion was, that Boyer had no chance of
successful resistance. The mass of the people are against him, and attribute
most of the evils which they suffer to the severity of his government.”44
In February 1843, Boyer absconded from Haiti, taking with him “large
sums of money” and a “large amount of property.”45 As one newspaper
reported, “President Boyer has fled to Jamaica, taking with him about three
millions of treasure.” Boyer, however, was not the only one who fell from
power. Joseph Balthazar Inginac, Secretary General and commander of the
military, was also targeted for his role in creating and implementing the
Code Rural and other oppressive policies. Inginac “narrowly escaped being
taken prisoner in his own camp,” and worse, when he tried to seek refuge
with Boyer, he was turned away and summarily dismissed: “On his arrival
at Port au Prince, [Inginac] was refused admission to the presence of Boyer,
who sent him word, you have let the cake get burnt, and we must now eat it
ourselves.”46
Upon formally abdicating his presidency, Boyer selected slightly more
appropriate language. In his official resignation, he cloaked himself in the
memory of his predecessor, Alexandre Pétion, arguing that he always had
kept Haiti’s best interests at heart. “Twenty-five years have elapsed,” he
reflected, “since I was called upon to fill the post of president, then made
vacant by the death of Pétion, the founder of the republic.” Despite
numerous challenges, Boyer claimed that he had “endeavored” to manage
the government “with a strict attention to an economical management of its
finances.” However, “recent events, which I do not desire to characterize,
have brought upon me calamities which I did not foresee, nor am prepared
for.” Therefore, he elected to surrender the presidency. “In this emergency,”
he wrote, “I deem it due to my dignity and honor, to make a personal
abrogation of the powers with which I have been clothed.” In conclusion,
he still celebrated Haiti’s independence and admitted that perhaps his
removal would help advance the nation: “I have lived to see the
independence of the nation acknowledged, and its territory united; and now,
in voluntarily ostracising [sic] myself, I give another proof of my desire to
remove all cause of discontent and division.”47 In the end, Boyer also
reconciled with Inginac. Retreating to Jamaica with his family, Inginac, and
a few other trusted advisors, Jean-Pierre Boyer’s twenty-five-year
presidency came to an end.48
The historical record is silent about the U.S. Black community’s
response to Boyer’s ousting. Black activists had backed Boyer throughout
his presidency, yet he had obviously become an increasingly exploitative,
corrupt leader. Charles Ray supported Boyer at least until 1841, but
unfortunately, The Colored American printed its last issue on December 25,
1841, more than a year before the coup, and therefore no evidence has been
uncovered that could reveal the U.S. Black leadership’s views on the fall of
Boyer’s regime.
However, their white abolitionist allies openly endorsed the Black
republic’s new leader. In the aftermath of Boyer’s departure, a new
government took shape under General Charles Rivière-Hérard, head of the
rebel forces. According to the National Anti-Slavery Standard, many
Haitians hailed Hérard and his comrades as heroes who successfully
restored hope across Haiti: “General Hérard made his triumphal entry into
Port au Prince on the 21st of March, at the head of the revolutionary army
… The whole population of the city gave itself up, the account says, to the
most intoxicating joy, and the troops were welcomed as brothers.” In a
subsequent article, the paper further maintained that Hérard’s new
government demonstrated Haiti’s “right to be acknowledged as a free and
independent republic” because they did not resort to revenge; instead, they
embraced their mission to chart a new course for Haiti’s future. “In this
instance,” the author concluded, “they have behaved with almost
unexampled clemency, and shown a disposition to abstain from every act of
revenge. They are clearly in the right, and therefore, should receive the
congratulations of the friends of freedom, throughout the world.”49
Despite U.S. abolitionists’ enthusiastic hope, conflict and division still
dominated Haiti’s political landscape. On February 27, 1844, barely one
year after Hérard’s presidency commenced, the eastern side of the island
seceded from Haiti and declared its independence.50 Hérard forcefully
retaliated, leading an army of over 30,000 troops across the mountains to
reimpose Haitian authority. However, he repeatedly failed to regain control
over the former Santo Domingo, and the independent nation of the
Dominican Republic (D.R.) was born.51 Equally troubling for Hérard, he
faced a percolating rebellion in southern Haiti. On April 4, 1844, a coalition
of agricultural laborers in southern Haiti, known as piquets, revolted against
the government.52 As the National Anti-Slavery Standard explained, the
insurgents sought to destroy military authority and to “establish a civil
government, such as was promised, after Boyer was expelled.”53 U.S.
commercial agent G.F. Usher agreed, nervously writing, “It appears that
almost the whole of this island is in a state of Revolution.”54 In early May,
Jean-Jacques Acaau and his piquet followers successfully forced Hérard
into exile in Jamaica. In his place, Philippe Guerrier, an eighty-seven-year-
old former soldier in the Haitian Revolution, assumed the presidency.55
Throughout this era, Black and white abolitionists in the United States
anxiously monitored conditions in Haiti, and by July 1844, newspapers
reported that peace had returned to the island. The Liberator, for example,
noted that Haiti “is perfectly tranquil once more.” The paper also wrote
positively about President Guerrier, describing him as an “influential man”
who appeared to “act with energy” despite his advanced age. Most
importantly, the article highlighted the intelligence and talent within the
President’s Cabinet and expressed hope that the new government would
bring Haiti “into a more healthy state.”56 Similarly, the New York Journal of
Commerce predicted “the gratifying assurance of the gradual re-
establishment of order and tranquility in every part of the island.”57
Despite the positive reports flooding into the United States, the attacks
on Haiti’s public image persisted. Given the extensive political turmoil in
Haiti, many white Americans believed that formerly enslaved Black people
could not govern themselves and were perhaps even unworthy of freedom.
As the editors of the National Anti-Slavery Standard sadly concluded,
“Some speculators upon human character infer that the African race are
incapable of self-government, because the population of Hayti are now in a
state of anarchy. And being incapable of self-government, say they, the
Africans are unfit for freedom.”58 In response, several leaders in the Haitian
government called upon the U.S. abolitionist community to redouble their
support for Haiti and Haitian independence.
 In an open letter to The Liberator, several Haitian leaders, including
Charles Theodore Cupidon, President of the Haitian Senate, and Baron
Linstant, a stalwart correspondent with several U.S. abolitionists, pleaded
with their U.S. abolitionist friends to demonstrate their solidarity with Haiti.
The recent upheavals, they argued, were “common to all nations just
emerging from infancy” and should not “alarm the friends of our cause.”
After all, they noted, in the years since the revolution, Haiti had made
important political and economic advancements: “Haiti has advanced;
slowly, it is true, but the observing eye of the statesman and philosopher is
able to trace the progress she has made in the way of civilization.” Aware of
their “great mission to humanity,” Haitian leaders pledged themselves to
“the work of regeneration for the African family.” They highlighted, in
particular, the country’s renewed commitment to education, Haiti’s
flourishing agricultural enterprises, and its thriving commercial trade.59
In a personal note to William Lloyd Garrison, Charles Cupidon also
warned against false reports about Haiti. As he lamented, “The enemies of
our republic take pleasure in injuring us in the eyes of the civilized world,
and in filling their journals with atrocious calumnies, and infamous
falsehoods.” Cupidon also asserted Haiti’s strength and unity, even insisting
that the Black republic could still provide a home for “industrious, moral”
Black people who wanted to help build the nation. “The Haitians are
united,” he asserted, “and so will remain. Their mission on earth is not yet
accomplished.” As a result, he urged Garrison to promote emigration in the
Black community throughout the United States: “if you know of any
planters who wish to liberate their slaves, or free people of color who wish
to come hither, I beg you to be so good as to give them my address.”60 As
Haiti struggled, then, their leaders turned to the U.S. Black population,
hopeful that they would come to Haiti to rebuild a powerful Black nation.
Yet while Haitian leaders tried to convince their allies (and even their
enemies) that Haiti still could be a strong, formidable nation, their hope
quickly dissolved into sorrow. On April 15, 1845, just days before Cupidon
and Linstant’s letters reached William Lloyd Garrison, President Philippe
Guerrier died.61 Abolitionists in Haiti and the United States deeply mourned
his loss. The National Anti-Slavery Standard published a lengthy heartfelt
tribute, detailing Guerrier’s life as a soldier in the revolution, a wise,
honorable statesman, and a “saviour of his country.” As the editors
concluded, “It is not in the narrow limits of a journal possible to express the
irreparable loss that the Republic of Haiti has suffered in the death of its
President, PHILIP GUERRIER.” Placing him in history alongside other
“founders of the Republic,” they predicted that Guerrier would forever be
“consecrated by the grateful love of the Haitians, and the admiration of the
world.”62
Adding insult to injury, in the aftermath of Guerrier’s death, white
American newspapers resumed their criticism, arguing that Haiti’s failures
served as evidence that Black people could not govern themselves.
According to one anonymous observer, the troubled Haitian government
offered irrefutable proof of Black inferiority: “The life of the wilderness
always suits the blacks, but civilization and its laws chafe and revolt their
natures … Civil war has almost constantly thinned their mixed population
… Each one seeks to govern. President, emperor, king, all try to ape wisely
constituted communities: but ambition and brutality oppose their
progress.”63 One correspondent to the National Era even claimed that rapid
emancipation explained Haiti’s internal problems. As the author concluded,
“Hayti began her republic all of a sudden—turned out legions of imbruted
slaves to act upon the principle of self-government, before they were
prepared for such a work.”64
Haiti’s enemies received even more fodder for their campaign against
Black self-governance in the summer of 1845 as tensions flared again
between Haiti and the D.R., proving the Haitian government’s inability to
unite the island. On June 17, 1845, the Dominicans, only one year after
winning their independence from Haiti, launched a military strike in
retaliation for Haitian border raids. Jean-Louis Pierrot, the newly installed
Haitian President, quickly mobilized his army and counterattacked on July
22nd, driving the invaders back across the mountains. Pierrot, a career
general in the Haitian military who had fought valiantly in the Haitian
Revolution, had been appointed as Guerrier’s replacement just a few
months earlier. Determined to bring the Dominicans back under Haitian
rule, Pierrot led a military campaign against them.65 Even so, the D.R.
maintained its independence, which convinced many white observers in the
United States that Haiti was politically weak, militarily disorganized, and
perhaps even vulnerable to invasion.66 Thus, U.S. politicians turned their
gaze toward Haiti and began to hatch a plan to assert control over the
struggling Black republic.
In November 1845, The Liberator printed an article entitled
“Slaveholding Designs on Hayti.” The article expressed a growing fear that
southern politicians felt emboldened to conquer Haiti and reimpose slavery,
given Haiti’s internal problems and the pending addition of Texas as a slave
state. The author seemed particularly concerned that the recent conflict
between Haiti and the D.R. could serve as a clever ruse to justify the
invasion and occupation of Haiti. “Stimulated by their success in the seizure
of Texas,” the article declared, “the Southern slaveholding banditti seem to
have turned their eyes to Hayti, with the intention, if possible, to dismember
the Spanish portion of it by intrigue and revolution, and then annex it to this
country, as the first step toward the final conquest of Hayti, for slaveholding
purposes!”67
The author also reprinted an article from the Washington Union
newspaper, which served as newly elected U.S. President James Polk’s
political mouthpiece. U.S. interest in Haiti grew daily, the paper revealed,
particularly in light of the tensions between Haiti and the Dominican
Republic. The conflict between those nations “is important to us;” the
article asserted, “for upon its result, depends the destiny of this rich, but
neglected island, so susceptible of improvement, and so productive of
various valuable articles, including coffee, cotton, rich minerals, &c. &c.”
Even worse, the paper indicated that Haiti had gone into severe decline
since Black people had begun to govern it and hoped for the day when the
island no longer existed under their control. “We are all aware,” the author
wrote, “of the deterioration to which [Haiti] sunk, when, in consequence of
the insurrection in St. Domingo, it fell under the ruthless sway of the
ignorant and barbarous black race.” If the Dominicans could maintain their
independence, the author predicted, if they could remain “safe from the
ferocious assaults of the Haytiens, they would gradually extend their
possessions, and carry on a valuable trade with the people of the United
States.”68 While some observers might have accused The Liberator of being
paranoid, within weeks their fears and assumptions proved correct.
In February 1845, shortly before U.S. President John Tyler relinquished
the presidency to James Polk, the Dominican Republic sent a “special
envoy” to Washington, DC, in hopes of gaining U.S. support for their
independence. President Tyler and U.S. Secretary of State John Calhoun
reportedly “jumped at the chance to destabilize the island and terminate
black rule in Haiti.” There is even evidence to suggest that the U.S.
government supplied the D.R. with arms and military support to fuel their
battle against Haiti. Virginia Senator Robert Hunter later reported that
Calhoun “used the secret service fund to supply arms to [the Dominican
Republic] and enabled them to repel their more barbarous invaders.” As
Hunter explained, if the United States successfully acquired the D.R., it
would “soon & necessarily lead to the conquest of Hayti. And all the mass
of the population, perfectly destitute of property, & ignorant, & virtually
slaves to government, would be improved in condition by being reduced to
their former condition of individual slavery to their white masters.”69 In
addition to the purported military support, Tyler sent John B. Hogan, a
friend of the Tyler administration, to investigate how the D.R. might be
used to undermine and destroy independent Black governance in Haiti; a
policy that continued under President Polk’s regime.70
In summer 1845, President Polk’s administration surreptitiously met
with John Hogan shortly after his return from the Dominican Republic. In
his official report, Hogan shared his perception of the Dominicans’
demeanor toward the United States in comparison to the Haitian people’s
attitudes toward whites: “[The Dominicans] are peaceable, quiet,
submissive creatures, entirely unassuming and obedient, they yield
obedience to their white rulers & they have the utmost veneration & respect
for their white masters.” He happily concluded, “our Southern States are
safe.”71 Former President Tyler responded enthusiastically to the news and
offered his continued hope that the Haitian government would be
overthrown. “The experiment which blacks have made of governing
themselves,” Tyler concluded, “has resulted in bloodshed, anarchy, and the
most fertile island in the world is almost converted into a waste.”72 Given
Hogan’s assessment, and Tyler’s endorsement, the Polk administration
patiently awaited the D.R.’s victory and Haiti’s demise.
By late 1845, their efforts became public, prompting an angry reaction
from the abolitionist community. Since no Black newspaper existed
between 1841 and 1848, the white anti-slavery newspapers took up the
cause. The National Anti-Slavery Standard, for example, castigated the U.S.
government for conspiring with political leaders in the D.R. to eliminate
Black rule in Haiti. “A project is afoot,” one article claimed, “amongst the
Spanish population of that Island, or the white inhabitants, for the purpose
of reducing the Blacks to obedience, and some proposition for aid has been
made to the United States Government.” The author, likely the paper’s
editor, Sydney Howard Gay, specifically attacked John Hogan for
compiling a report designed to remove Black people from Haiti’s
leadership: “Mr. Hogan … has presented a long and elaborate report on the
condition of the black Government in Haiti … which will be a curious
expose of the condition of Haiti, of the inferiority of the colored race, and
their positive incapacity for self-government.”73 The Liberator also accused
Hogan of intentionally leading a mission to Haiti in order to subjugate the
Black republic and reestablish “slavery on its soil.” There can be no doubt,
the paper asserted, that “the southern slaveholding banditti are conspiring
for the dismemberment of the Haitian republic in the first instance, and its
subsequent absorption by this Country for slaveholding purposes! They are
aiming to re-establish slavery in Hayti as they have done in Texas.”74
Similarly, a correspondent to the Pennsylvania Freeman criticized the
plot to gain control over Haiti as nothing more than a racist, imperialist
scheme: “Hayti, that hated black republic, so long an eyesore to the
slaveholders … is a dangerous neighbor to our southern States. It must be
re-subjugated; the attempt of Napoleon must be re-tried, and the white man
again put in possession of the island, if not of its colored inhabitants.”75
Another anonymous correspondent to the National Anti-Slavery Standard,
known only as B.C.C., echoed William Lloyd Garrison, arguing that John
Hogan’s trip to Hispaniola was solely intended to “prove that blacks are not
competent to maintain their rights, even in their own country, if indeed they
are supposed to have any rights anywhere.” After all, B.C.C. maintained, if
the visit was designed to improve commercial relations with the island, then
why not simply extend diplomatic relations to Haiti? “The interest of the
country” he noted, “has been thus sacrificed to gratify the refined notions of
our Southern brethren.” As the author concluded, the United States,
beholden to its “peculiar institution,” allowed their commercial interests to
become “subservient” to the slaveholding South’s power and authority.76
Even mainstream U.S. newspapers openly discussed the U.S.
government’s plan to aid the Dominican Republic’s victory over Haiti and
then annex the entire island in order to reimpose slavery and white rule. The
New York Herald, for example, gleefully prophesized that President Polk
would persist with Calhoun’s plan and successfully expand slavery to the
entire island of Hispaniola: “We have no doubt [that] Mr. Polk will perform
his duty to his country—to his age—to his destiny—and to the great
principles of republican progress … The war between San Domingo and
Hayti is rapidly coming to an end, and it is highly probable that the black
and bloody republic will be overcome by the white and more civilized races
of the other.” In a chilling celebration of U.S. imperialism, the article
concluded with an assertion of U.S. domination over Haiti as a simple
demonstration of divine Manifest Destiny. The United States, the author
argued, “favored by God and nature, is surely marching … to accomplish
that great destiny which is allotted to her to fulfill … the union and
incorporation, in one great and mighty republic … the whole of the
continent of North America, with the islands thereunto naturally
belonging.”77 Clearly, by early 1846, it appeared that the U.S. government
planned to seize Haiti, remove Black people from the leadership, and
reimpose slavery. However, as in previous years, Haiti’s friends and allies
rallied the troops and resolved to defend Haiti’s freedom.
In the early months of 1846, Black activists in the United States and
Haiti waged a public campaign to vindicate Haiti’s image as a free and
sovereign state. In late January, The Liberator printed a letter from Black
abolitionist John Hogarth, Esquire, who had migrated to Haiti years earlier,
where he became a successful merchant in Port-au-Prince and an officer in
the Haitian government. In an open letter, Hogarth unleashed a harsh
critique of U.S. foreign policy. Questioning why the United States
considered extending formal diplomatic recognition to the Dominican
Republic but insisted on withholding it from Haiti, Hogarth asked, “Why
should the American government have persisted some forty years in
refusing to acknowledge and treat as an independent people, a nation
composed of the whole island of Hayti?” In response to his own question,
he replied, “When the Americans, as a people, speak of liberty, right,
religion and justice, if the African race is concerned, these words are mere
sound, for they mean to throw all possible obstacles in the way of that
portion of the human family, to hinder them from rising to an equality of
situation with the rest of mankind.” In Hogarth’s view, U.S. policy was
driven by nothing more than a perverse, racist desire to watch Haiti collapse
in failure and return to shackles. Perhaps in response to his call for support,
the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society voted to send a small delegation—
Black abolitionist Charles Lenox Remond and white abolitionist David L.
Child—to investigate conditions in Haiti.78
Less than two months later, J. F. Dorvelas Dorval, an official in the
Haitian government, drafted an impassioned speech in defense of Haiti and
sent it to William Lloyd Garrison for publication. In it, he acknowledged
the heavy burden that Haiti carried—the responsibility for proving African
people’s worthiness for freedom and their capacity for self-governance to
the entire world. Haiti, he argued, must fully cast off “the ignominious yoke
of slavery and … demonstrate to the world that the children of Africa are
worthy of liberty.” He also bemoaned Haiti’s internal political divisions but
dismissed them as the “inevitable consequence of revolution,” and pledged
that Haiti could rise from the horrors of war to regain its former glory.
Perhaps as a rebuttal to the U.S. government’s veiled efforts to reimpose
slavery, Dorval celebrated the defeat of “the hydra of slavery” and promised
that its “hideous head is here forever beaten down.” He envisioned the
coming of a brighter day and called upon Haitians and their allies to unite
against the enemies of freedom: “The storms have fled—horizon begins to
clear—and it is now, that our liberty and independence are assured …
Haitians! let us unite! From north and south— from east to west—through
our whole fair land … awaken within us those powerful and patriotic
memories, which ought to live eternally in our hearts, and fire them with the
single word of ‘father-land.’”79
By summer 1846, Black abolitionist Frederick Douglass entered the
political fray, criticizing U.S. policy toward Haiti in an open letter to
William Lloyd Garrison. Douglass lamented the U.S. government’s conduct
toward Haiti, especially since it reflected the slaveholders’ powerful grip on
foreign affairs. “[T]he preservation, propagation and perpetuation of
slavery,” he wrote, “is the vital and animating spirit of the American
Government. Even Hayti, the black Republic, is Not to be spared.”
Douglass also prayed that white Americans would come to their senses and
“repent and purify themselves from this foul crime.” He further urged the
U.S. government to “break the galling fetters, and restore the long lost
rights to the sable bondmen in their midst.” If they did, perhaps the western
world would cease mocking the United States, and the nation could assume
a central role in global politics. Other countries, he predicted, “would
encircle her name with a wreath of imperishable glory. Her light would
indeed break forth as the morning—its brilliant beams would flash across
the Atlantic, and illuminate the Eastern world.”80
In the end, of course, the United States did not alter its attitude toward
the Black republic, nor did it agree to extend diplomatic recognition. Even
so, although the D.R. remained independent, the Haitian government did
not collapse nor did the U.S. government attempt to invade the Black
republic and reimpose slavery. President Polk apparently did not have the
strength or determination to fully execute John Calhoun’s plan, and
therefore the discussion of annexation simply vanished. As the National
Anti-Slavery Standard remarked, “It was fully expected that Mr. Polk would
make some development of this plan in his Annual Message; and his silence
on the subject seems to imply that the pear is not yet ripe, or at least that the
people of the United States are not yet thought ready to pluck it.”81 Thus, by
the middle of the 1840s, the panic about annexation—at least regarding
Haiti—subsided, and it appeared that peace could return to the Black
republic.
Unfortunately, however, such hopes proved too premature. In fact, by
spring 1846, another insurrection had already commenced. On March 1st,
an uprising began in opposition to President Pierrot and his efforts to
reimpose Haitian authority in the Dominican Republic. Apparently weary
of the ongoing conflict with their eastern neighbors, members of the Haitian
military refused to accept further orders from Pierrot and prevailed upon
Jean-Baptiste Riché to become President of Haiti. As one correspondent to
the National Anti-Slavery Standard explained, “The principal cause of
Pierrot’s unpopularity in the West [is] his … obstinately persisting, contrary
to the wishes of the army, in preparing an expedition against the
Dominicans, for which he was constantly drawing large sums from Port-au-
Prince and elsewhere.”82 Similarly, G.F. Usher, the U.S. commercial agent,
noted that “the political affairs of this island are in a most miserable
condition of discord, disaffection, and jealousy.”83 Faced with opposition
from his own military, President Pierrot “surrendered up his authority to his
successor, Riché, at the Cape, on the 29th March.”84
Much like Guerrier before him, Jean-Baptiste Riché had fought in the
Haitian Revolution and later served as a military general under Jean-Pierre
Boyer and each subsequent president. As such, many Haitians revered him
and longed to see him restore unity and peace in the country. Baron
Linstant, for example, wrote to the National Anti-Slavery Standard shortly
after Riché’s ascent to power and joyously shared his hopes for a new era in
Haiti. “The citizens,” he claimed, “who had long been sighing for a change
of Government in favor of this veteran of Liberty … hailed this nomination
with enthusiasm; and in an instant the great hall of the national palace rung
with the cry— ‘Vive le President Riché!’ … and the whole city was filled
with rejoicing.” He further maintained that the “multitudes of the citizens”
viewed Riché “as the salvation of the Republic” and believed that he would
bring order and calm to the besieged country. As Linstant concluded: “We
begin, at length, to breathe again.”85 But this period of peace and hope was
short-lived. Riché’s reign proved largely ineffective, and after less than one
year in office, he died.86
On March 1, 1847, the Haitian Senate elected Faustin Élie Soulouque, a
general in the Haitian military, as Riché’s replacement. A few Haitian
observers questioned Soulouque’s appointment, especially given his
reputation as being “a stupid fellow” and somewhat “mediocre.” Some
historians have likewise depicted Soulouque as an ignorant, barbaric
political puppet.87 However, as historian Chelsea Stieber has noted, such
characterizations are neither accurate nor fair.88 After all, in 1847, the initial
reports sent to the United States seemed quite positive. One month after
Soulouque’s election, a correspondent to the Journal of Commerce
described Soulouque as “well esteemed, of good character, and
distinguished for his courage.” Similarly, the National Era celebrated the
fact that Haiti no longer suffered from “internal dissensions” and happily
exclaimed, “Now, there is peace.”89 By the summer, the National Anti-
Slavery Standard joined the chorus of supporters, noting that Haiti thrived
under Soulouque’s leadership: “Under the administration of President
Soulouque the country continues to prosper … Happily the people
appreciate his beneficent action, and eagerly avail themselves of the
facilities afforded them.”90
By early 1848, some U.S. Black activists began endorsing Soulouque’s
government, and a few apparently considered migrating to Haiti. In January
1848, the National Anti-Slavery Standard reported that George Boyer
Vashon, son of renowned Black abolitionist J. B. Vashon, had gone to Haiti
to begin a new life. George Boyer Vashon’s decision reflected a dramatic
shift in political consciousness since, as discussed in chapter three, his
father had denounced Haitian emigration more than fifteen years earlier.91
Frustrated with the racist laws that prevented him from practicing law in the
United States, George Vashon resolved to go to Haiti, where he possessed
“the liberty of following an honest vocation.” In keeping with the
melodious song that opened this chapter, Vashon fled “buckra land” and
hoped to be received “as grand as Lafeyettee.” As the National Anti-Slavery
Standard reported, the outcome was apparently in line with Vashon’s hopes.
Shortly after arriving in Haiti, Vashon had “already received the
appointment of Secretary of the Republic, at a very comfortable salary.”92
By the late 1840s, it appeared that Haiti had escaped a terrible fate and
had started on the road to recovery. The United States’ attempt to subjugate
Haiti had failed miserably, and a new president (who seemed to have the
Haitian people’s endorsement) had assumed leadership of the Black
republic. As such, many U.S. Black activists, such as George Vashon,
maintained their virulent, desperate hope that Haiti could still be their Black
utopia. Unfortunately, however, the celebration, yet again, commenced
prematurely. As the following years revealed, Faustin Soulouque’s
presidency rapidly became mired in foreign meddling as the United States
government’s policies toward Haiti became increasingly corrupt. Even so,
despite years of failure and disappointment, Black activists in the United
States refused to relinquish their hope in Haiti or their commitment to
protecting its sovereignty.

OceanofPDF.com
 6

I WILL SINK OR SWIM WITH MY

RACE
Black Internationalism in the Era of Soulouque

On March 5, 1858, Black activist and physician Dr. John Stewart Rock
delivered an emotional oration at Faneuil Hall in Boston. Determined to
combat the endless onslaught of negative, anti-Black propaganda
circulating in the United States, Rock’s speech had a singular purpose. He
sought to prove, once and for all, that Black people were a strong,
courageous race, willing to fight for their freedom. For evidence, he turned
to Haiti. In Rock’s view, Haiti epitomized Black people’s bravery, valor,
and the ultimate triumph over slavery. “The black man is not a coward,” he
declared, “the history of the bloody struggles for freedom in Hayti in which
the blacks whipped the French and the English, and gained their
independence … will be a lasting refutation of the malicious aspersions of
our enemies.”1 Yet Rock’s most powerful and poignant affirmation came at
the conclusion of his address, when he pledged his undying commitment to
Haiti and to his race, insisting that no matter how hard white people worked
to vilify Haiti, he would never abandon his people. “White men may
despise, ridicule, slander and abuse us,” he proclaimed, “they may seek, as
they always have done, to divide us, and make us feel degraded; but no man
shall cause me to turn my back upon my race. With it I will sink or swim.”2
Rock’s speech came at a crucial moment, at the end of a painful and
exhausting decade in which the American press and the U.S. government
had incessantly disparaged Haiti in a blatant and despicable campaign to
rob the Black nation of its sovereignty. Beginning in 1848, soon after
Faustin Soulouque commenced his presidency, U.S. newspapers
disseminated images of his alleged brutality, ignorance, and ineptitude as
confirmation that Black people could not govern themselves. Meanwhile,
the U.S. government surreptitiously plotted to assert political and economic
control over Haiti. Conditions worsened after 1849, when Soulouque
abandoned democratic republicanism and embraced monarchical rule,
transforming Haiti into an empire and himself into Emperor Faustin I.
Ridiculed across the Atlantic World for his arrogance, and later for his use
of violence at home and abroad, Faustin I became embodied proof of the
widespread belief that Haiti would be better off under white control.
Therefore, during much of the 1850s, U.S. politicians and slaveholders
routinely threatened to invade Haiti, reimpose white rule, and reinstitute
slavery.
In response, a new generation of Black leaders in the United States took
up the campaign for U.S. recognition of Haitian sovereignty. Painfully
aware of Haiti’s omnipresent enemies, activists such as Frederick Douglass,
Martin Delany, William J. Wilson, William Wells Brown, and John Mercer
Langston persistently championed Haitian independence. Throughout the
1850s, they fought passionately to defend Haiti’s public image, repeatedly
issuing fiery defenses of Haiti, Soulouque, and Black self-governance.
Apparently, like John Stewart Rock, they decided that they would “sink or
swim” with Soulouque. By the mid-1850s, they advocated again for Haitian
recognition, hopeful that formal acknowledgment from the United States
would stave off foreign occupation. In pledging their unceasing loyalty to
Haiti and Soulouque, however, Black activists naively, and sometimes even
willfully, ignored the real problems brewing in the Black nation they
desperately loved, and upon which all their hopes rested.

***

By the close of the 1840s, the battle for Haitian sovereignty had reached
a critical crossroads in the United States. The founding generation of Black
activists who birthed the Haitian recognition movement had largely
disappeared from the diplomatic scene in the United States. John
Russwurm, of course, had long since migrated to Liberia, David Walker had
died nearly twenty years earlier, and Maria Stewart, solely due to her
gender, had been cruelly driven out of the public eye. Most significantly, in
1846, Samuel Cornish, previously Haiti’s most committed champion, turned
his attention away from foreign affairs and became deeply involved in the
American Missionary Association, an organization primarily focused on
education and Christian evangelism. Similarly, following the collapse of
The Colored American, Charles B. Ray turned away from international
politics and focused his efforts on U.S. abolition. Haiti’s internal political
struggles compounded these difficulties. After years of upheaval, an
untested and politically questionable Faustin Soulouque emerged as Haiti’s
new president. Even so, the struggle among Black activists in the United
States to gain full recognition for Haitian sovereignty remained alive and
well. Absent the most powerful voices that had previously spoken on behalf
of Haitian sovereignty, new leaders emerged in the late 1840s and early
1850s determined to carry on the fight.
In early 1848, Frederick Douglass, famed abolitionist and author,
stepped authoritatively into the role of Haitian advocate alongside Martin
Delany, who was widely known as an outspoken abolitionist and
emigrationist. The North Star, a newspaper that Douglass and Delany edited
together for nearly two years, became a crucial outlet for their views on
Haitian sovereignty. Founded in December 1847, The North Star’s earliest
issues contained regular news and insights about Haiti’s economic and
political life, with both Douglass and Delany offering consistent updates
and opinions about Haiti’s triumphs and progress.3 Perhaps aware that
Haiti’s public image had been damaged and bruised after years of internal
conflict, Douglass resolved to highlight aspects of Haiti’s history that
demonstrated Black people’s capacity for self-governance. In February
1848, for example, Douglass penned a lengthy homage to Toussaint
Louverture as a true “revolutionary leader” whose bravery and wisdom
were a testament to his race. The following month, Douglass rejoiced in the
announcement that Haiti had just marked the forty-fifth anniversary of its
independence with “great pomp” and celebration.4
Figure 9. Faustin Soulouque
Source: S. Rouzier, Dictionnaire géographique et administratif universel d’Haïti ou guide général en
Haïti. Printed by Aug A Heraux, Port-au-Prince, 1892. Wikimedia Commons.

Martin Delany, who often wrote editorials and letters during his travels,
expressed equal enthusiasm about Haiti, emphasizing the republic’s
potential under Faustin Soulouque. In March 1848, Delany raved about
Haiti’s flourishing and “prosperous” economy. He also commented
positively about Soulouque’s ability to govern, concluding that the
president was “very popular” among the Haitian people and that under
Soulouque’s command, all the various departments of the government
existed together in perfect harmony.5 In fact, Delany’s excitement about
Soulouque was so emphatic, that he named one of his sons, born in 1859,
Faustin Soulouque Delany.6 The North Star also published articles from
regular correspondents, including “Harold,” a recent emigrant to Haiti who
settled near Port-au-Prince. Although little is known about Harold, he wrote
regularly to Frederick Douglass highlighting Soulouque’s leadership and his
apparent esteem among the Haitian people. In October 1848, for example,
he offered an animated depiction of Soulouque’s recent appearance in the
Haitian capital, which was reportedly “hailed with every manifestation of
public rejoicing.”7
Yet not all of The North Star’s publications focused on Haiti’s
successes; they also expressed ongoing frustration about white Americans’
negative views of the Black republic, a reputation they described as patently
unfair. For Douglass and Delany, white people’s hatred of Haiti seemed
most apparent when compared to the West African country of Liberia, the
world’s newest independent Black nation. Originally founded in 1822,
Liberia had troubling origins as a colony of the American Colonization
Society, a U.S.-based organization hellbent on forcibly removing Black
people from the United States. After struggling under U.S. rule for twenty-
five years, the Black settlers in Liberia finally declared their independence
in 1847, but the United States refused to diplomatically acknowledge them.
Horrified by the notion of a Black republic anywhere in the world, the U.S.
government snubbed both Haiti and Liberia. Yet, while western nations
treated Liberia and Haiti as political outcasts, Douglass and Delany
shrewdly recognized that many white Americans gave Liberia preferential
treatment over Haiti, the original Black republic.
In February 1848, Delany unleashed his frustration in an open letter,
arguing that white Americans “lauded” Liberia “to the skies as evidence of
the capacity of the colored man for self-government,” but they still
demonized Haiti for its mere existence despite nearly fifty years of
independence. “The proud little Republic of Hayti,” Delany wrote, has
“fully demonstrated” the capacity for Black self-governance, “yet our quasi
philanthropists are so far-sighted, that this fact is too near and apparent to
come within the reach of their vision.” A few months later, Douglass
expressed similar outrage, insisting that U.S. newspapers demonstrated an
obvious bias against Haiti in favor of Liberia: “While American papers give
column after column of praise to the two or three thousand republic of
Liberia,” Douglass railed, “they seldom speak in any other language than
that of disparagement of this Republic of a million at our doors.” By that
summer, an infuriated Douglass scoffed at William Brady, the mayor of
New York City, for referring to Liberia as a “Sister Republic,” while “the
Republic of Haiti, but a few days’ sail from our shores, is never thought
of.”8
Perhaps due to the U.S. popular media’s negative campaign against
Haiti, Douglass and Delany resolved to rescue Haiti’s reputation and
provide more accurate information about its political and economic
conditions. As Douglass observed in April 1848, Americans, Black and
white, remained disturbingly “ignorant” about Haiti, a fact that he found
particularly alarming given Haiti’s geographic proximity and economic
importance. Although troubled by the “insulting treatment” that the world
consistently “meted out” to Haiti, he still hoped that Haiti’s commitment to
freedom could provide an important model for the United States. After all,
Douglass noted, the United States as a “slavery-cursed Republic” had much
to learn from Haiti.9
During 1848 and 1849, Douglass and Delany harnessed the power of
the press, relying heavily on their Haitian correspondent, Harold, for
reliable information about Haiti’s current conditions. Building upon the
tradition of previous Black newspaper editors, Douglass and Delany used
The North Star as a tool to consistently promote Haiti. In spring 1848, just a
few months after the paper’s founding, they created a special series entitled
“Haytian Correspondence,” which included lively, entertaining, and
sometimes deeply emotional letters from Harold about Haiti’s social,
political, and economic affairs. For Douglass, Harold’s role was vitally
important, since the U.S. government and slaveholders repeatedly conspired
against Haiti and plotted to ruin the Black republic’s success. “Nothing is
more annoying to American pride,” Douglass reflected, “than the existence
on our very borders, of this noble Republic of colored men … That the
slave-holders of this country have a design to subvert this truly brave
Republic, is notorious.” Therefore, Harold’s contribution was essential; it
exposed Haiti’s enemies, and their “sinister” activities, and provided
“invaluable service to the cause of human freedom in that country, America
and throughout the world.”10
Harold performed his duty beautifully. In regular letters to Douglass and
Delany, he sang Haiti’s praises, inspiring his readers with tales of its beauty,
potential, and strength. In his first entry, he chronicled the “rapture” he felt
upon his arrival in Haiti; a place he described as being akin to a Black
utopia. “Unpolluted by the foul stain of slavery” and bustling with
“flourishing commerce,” Haiti offered a place where Black people could
rise to heights of freedom and equality unimaginable in the United States.
He reveled in Haiti’s apparent freedom, and delighted in finally reaching a
nation where everyone, even the soldiers, all bore Black skin and were
mercifully free of “insult and degradation.” For Harold, Haiti not only
instilled him with extraordinary pride, it also infused him with the peaceful
recognition that he was no longer in the United States, a place irrevocably
tarnished with the horrors of slavery and injustice.11
 Admittedly, Harold’s views of Haiti were often excessively romantic,
but they also demonstrated the powerful appeal of Haiti’s symbolic
significance. As the months went on, he sent letters bursting with
descriptions of an idyllic nation where Black people had triumphed over
slavery. For him, the entire island—every mountain, valley, and peak—
reminded him of the Haitians’ bold stand against slavery’s evils. “Every
glistening hill-top,” he wrote, “every shaded glen, has witnessed the wrongs
of the bondman, and his successful struggle with the oppressor.” Harold’s
starry-eyed musings went beyond Haiti’s past; he also imbued his readers
with faith in Haiti’s current political conditions and a strong belief in Haiti’s
future. Haiti boasted a “liberal Constitution,” he wrote in June 1848, as well
as a leader who possessed the confidence of his people and a powerful
political destiny that ranked it among the best “free enlightened, prosperous
republics” in the world. As he confidently concluded, all of Haiti’s hopes
and dreams could soon be “fully realized.”12 As it turned out, however, as
tempting as Harold’s visions of Haiti seemed, they did not reflect reality. A
radical divide existed between the Haiti that U.S. Black people hoped for
and the one they encountered in reality. Even so, activists such as Martin
Delany, Frederick Douglass, and Harold placed extraordinary faith in
President Faustin Soulouque and disregarded the problems mounting in
Soulouque’s regime.
Late in 1847, intense political conflict emerged in Haiti as various
segments of the population questioned Soulouque’s policies and leadership
abilities. Less than one year into his presidency, both the country’s
peasantry and its elite widely detested the new leader. Rural Haitians,
particularly those who had been involved in the piquet uprisings a few years
earlier, had hoped that they would gain more political power and influence
during Soulouque’s reign. Likewise, Haitian elites originally selected
Soulouque as the new leader in part because they believed they could
manipulate and control him.13 As it turned out, Soulouque was no one’s
puppet. To the contrary, as his citizens challenged his authority, Soulouque
responded with military force. In April 1848, Soulouque carried out a series
of attacks against his opponents in Port-au-Prince and in the southern
countryside.14 In the following month, “more than seven hundred southern
Haitians fled as Soulouque meted out his reprisal against the southern
insurgents.”15
 In truth, as historian Chelsea Stieber reminds us, Soulouque’s efforts to
squelch uprisings in his territory shared much in common with other
attempts to quell revolutions of the era, particularly those that swept across
Europe during that same year.16 And yet, white observers in the United
States reveled in the racist trope of Soulouque as a Black madman, and
perpetrated gruesome stories of the violence being enacted against Haitian
citizens. Mockingly referring to Haiti as a “model republic,” U.S.
newspapers placed a spotlight on the atrocities ravaging the country.
Hopeful that the Black republic would dissolve in utter failure, the New
York Herald maintained that only “foreign influence” could restore order to
Haiti.17 The Natchez Courier concurred, stating, “Under the dominion of the
negro and mulatto, this lovely island has been all but ruined.”18 “Never,” a
correspondent to the National Intelligencer newspaper concluded, “have
public matters and the safety of the inhabitants of this place appeared in so
desperate a condition.”19
Panic stricken U.S. commercial agents stationed in Haiti also frantically
wrote to the U.S. Secretary of State, James Buchanan, with dire reports
about a “war of color” that had erupted in Port-au-Prince.20 J. C. Luther,
Port-au-Prince’s commercial agent, described the scene in explicitly racist
terms that privileged the mixed-race elite. According to Luther, a “deadly
revenge” had been brewing “in the hearts of the Blacks against the more
enlightened and enterprising mulatto population since the days of
Dessalines,” which suddenly “burst forth in open violence” and resulted in
the deaths of more than two thousand people across the island.21 Likewise,
John Wilson, the commercial agent in Cap Haitian, reported on the
“unconstitutional and arbitrary acts of the President” that resulted in the
open “persecution of the colored people.”22 Although Luther, Wilson, and
another agent, D. C. Clark, all prevailed upon James Buchanan to send U.S.
military protection, he apparently ignored their request.23
As hysteria swept across the United States, Black activists in the United
States tirelessly defended Haiti. Committed to the nation’s success, and
cognizant of the racism that drove the campaign against Haiti and its
leaders, Frederick Douglass and his allies vociferously backed Soulouque.
The North Star, for example, published more letters from Harold, their
Haitian correspondent, who argued that the reports of Soulouque’s use of
extreme force were false and overblown. Railing against U.S. newspapers
for spreading “misrepresentations,” he happily reported that although a
brief altercation had occurred between Soulouque’s police force and a few
Haitian citizens, it resolved quickly and “since then, everything has been
quiet here.” To bolster his position, Harold also shared, at length,
Soulouque’s statement in defense of his actions. Haiti had been in the midst
of tremendous growth, industry, and prosperity, Soulouque maintained,
when “a perverse minority” began plotting to “overthrow our institutions
and decimate our families.” Soulouque further claimed that divine
providence (not military force) quickly ended the “fratricidal struggle,” and
he pledged that Haiti would henceforth reign in peace. “A new era arises for
the Republic,” he proclaimed, “the country, freed from the various obstacles
and heterogeneous elements which hindered its onward march, is now
entering upon a prosperous career.” Placing his faith in Soulouque, Harold
assured his readers that the worst had passed and that “a new and glorious
era” had begun in Haiti.24
Frederick Douglass apparently agreed. In late August 1848, just two
weeks after Harold’s letter appeared in The North Star, Douglass rallied to
Soulouque’s defense and castigated the growing movement to discredit the
Black republic. U.S. newspapers had been constantly “misled” regarding
Haiti, Douglass argued, and he accused southern papers, in particular, for
disseminating “foul slanders.” Several months later, Douglass renewed his
allegations of “abominable slander” when he denounced northern
newspapers for “devour[ing] every lie” about Haiti and about Black people
more generally. He grew especially incensed about inflammatory headlines
in U.S. newspapers, which seemed to take joy in describing the
“massacres,” “bloody revolutions,” and “mulattoes murdered” in Haiti. As
Douglass angrily concluded, the American impulse to demonize Haiti was
deep, profound, and powerful, and it resulted in a disgusting feast of lies.
“Oh! it is irresistible!” Douglass wrote, for people to “luxuriate and grow
fat on garbage.”25
Douglass’s comrade, Martin Delany, also joined the crusade to rescue
Soulouque and Haiti from condemnation in the court of public opinion.
Like Harold, Delany characterized stories about Haiti’s internal problems as
inaccurate and overblown. For evidence, he turned to a new source, a recent
migrant from Haiti to the United States, who indicated that the foreign press
had utterly misrepresented Haiti’s actual conditions. The migrant, known
only as Monsieur Dupee, angrily rebutted the mischaracterizations of his
mother country, and “repudiated, with contempt and scorn, the imputation
upon the Haitian Republic, as charged by the miserable corrupts of the
American press.” Although Dupee admitted he did not personally support
Soulouque, he still excused Soulouque’s behavior, emphasizing that most
countries experienced internal conflict. Cleverly, he specifically noted that
the violence in Haiti did not rival the rampant racial violence plaguing the
United States. After all, Dupee pointed out, far fewer people had been killed
in Haiti during Soulouque’s regime than in Cincinnati, Ohio, where
hundreds of Black people had lost their lives in an anti-Black race riot
several years earlier. Thus, Delany and Dupee felt justified in concluding
that “Haiti … is an excellent country.”26
By late 1848, Douglass and his compatriots forged a united defense.
Following Harold’s example, Douglass published Soulouque’s own words
to discredit those who opposed him. In an extensive statement, Soulouque
denounced the “criminal faction” that sought to undermine peace and
tranquility in Haiti and defended his right to “suppress” violent uprisings
against the government. He also highlighted Haiti’s strengths, especially its
agricultural production and flourishing trade, and pleaded with his people to
usher in a new era of peace. As Soulouque concluded, “only under the
shadow of peace” could he serve the people, defend the Constitution, and
protect the nation’s independence.27 There was much to honor and celebrate
in Soulouque’s appeal. His pride in Haiti’s independence, his belief in its
destiny, and his determination to defend Haitian sovereignty with extreme
force likely appealed to many Black activists in the United States. It is not
surprising, then, that Soulouque’s bold stance inspired some Black leaders
not only to defend Haiti, but also to insist, once again, that the United States
extend formal recognition.
In early 1849, an article reprinted in The North Star denounced the
government’s non-recognition decree, and blamed “violent slaveholders”
for the United States’ nonsensical policies. Specifically, it disparaged the
U.S. government for “stubbornly” refusing to recognize Haiti and
lambasted politicians for “severely” injuring the nation’s commercial
interests. “This is really too contemptible for a Government that has any
pretensions to common intelligence,” the article concluded, “It is paying
rather too much to gratify the colorphobia of a few fanatics.”28 Another
article highlighted, as previous Black leaders had, a core contradiction in
the U.S. government’s stance. Reveling in their own battle for
independence, U.S. politicians simultaneously repudiated Haiti, a “sister
republic,” that had similarly gained its freedom. How could the United
States champion freedom and justice in its own struggle for sovereignty, but
patently refuse to celebrate those sentiments among their Haitian brothers
and sisters? This frustrating contradiction remained painfully unresolved.
As the editorial concluded, “though Haiti sundered the chains which bound
her … America refused and still refuses to recognize her as a sister
Republic.”29 In August 1849, fellow abolitionist Samuel Ringgold Ward
joined the public campaign for Haitian recognition, condemning the U.S.
government for its misguided, forty-five-year-old non-recognition policy.
Building on his predecessors’ appeals, Ward indignantly blamed southern
slaveholders and the persistence of American racism for the U.S.
government’s absurd stance toward Haiti. In an enraged editorial, Ward
blasted U.S. politicians in both the North and the South for adopting the
peculiar “custom” of refusing to acknowledge Haitian independence simply
because it was a Black republic. Such an acknowledgment, he noted, would
“offend negro haters in Washington” by admitting Black diplomats into the
United States’ highest social and political circles. Racism, he grumbled,
compelled the U.S. government to deny “the independence of Hayti, a
Republic half a century old.” The policy especially enraged Ward since
Haiti had done more to “prove its capacity” for self-governance than the
United States.30
A few weeks later, Frederick Douglass also opposed the U.S.
government’s anti-Haitian mandates. By then, Douglass had become The
North Star’s sole editor, but he continued to advocate for Haiti, consistently
authoring editorials designed to emphasize the Black nation’s political
strength.31 In August, he unveiled his own views on Haitian sovereignty,
depicting the U.S. government’s policies as a global embarrassment.
Comparing the United States to England, which had established diplomatic
and commercial treaties with both Liberia and Haiti, Douglass vented his
frustration with the U.S. government’s blatant racism. Like Samuel
Ringgold Ward, Douglass argued that most U.S. politicians refused to
extend diplomatic recognition simply because they feared Black social and
political power. Even the most dignified American leaders, Douglass
asserted, worried that “they might be outdone in intelligence, refinement,
and in real manliness of character, by a Black Haytien ambassador.” As a
result, Douglass noted, a humiliating “stigma” had been “affixed to the
American name” as other nations condemned the United States for its
absurd and illogical policies. “It is a burning disgrace to this sham-
republican, professedly equality-loving nation,” he wrote, “that to this day,
there never has been any acknowledged emissary from Hayti received at
Washington, nor any recognition whatever of the existence of such a State.”
In so doing, Douglass declared an ideological war against the federal
government for the “meanness” and “insolence of tyranny” that compelled
the United States to “abstain from acknowledging the neighbor republic of
Haiti, where slaves have become freemen, and established an independent
nation.”32 However, his commitment to Soulouque would soon be put to the
test.
Several months later, Faustin Soulouque’s regime took a radical turn.
Abandoning Haiti’s legacy as a free, democratic republic, Soulouque
wrapped himself in an emperor’s cloak and, in the blink of an eye,
transformed Haiti from a republic to an empire. In August 1849, the
legislative council suddenly and dramatically reestablished Haiti’s
monarchy, raising questions across the Atlantic World about the long-term
consequences.33 While most U.S. newspapers depicted Soulouque’s
conversion into Emperor Faustin I as a “ridiculous” and embarrassing
“farce,” Black activists in the United States rallied behind his new role.34
Harold, The North Star’s stalwart correspondent, wrote about the new
Haitian empire in celebratory terms, describing the “palms of triumph …
waving before all the doors” in Port-au-Prince in honor of the new emperor.
“The drums beat, the trumpets sounded, the cannons roared, the people
shouted,” he excitedly wrote, “and Haiti became an Empire!” Although he
acknowledged that the change had occurred rapidly, Harold believed that
Soulouque had been crowned by “the grace of God and ‘the Sovereignty of
the People’” and should therefore be lauded by all of Haiti’s supporters. He
also admitted that some “true friends of Haiti” might regret the republic’s
demise (and the subsequent rise of an empire in its place), but he insisted
that it might be in Haiti’s best interest for the country to be ruled with
supreme strength and force. “[I]t certainly is a sad thing to see a republic
sink into an empire … [but] it may be necessary for the eventual well-being
of this country, that she be ruled with a strong hand and a rod of iron.”35
Despite Harold’s loyal and impassioned defense, most white observers
in the United States remained unconvinced. Beginning in late 1849, many
U.S. papers described Soulouque’s decision in derogatory terms and
accused him of “going too far.”36 Numerous articles mocked the notion of a
Black monarchy, with one derisively commenting that a Black court “must
make a comical appearance.”37 The Natchez Courier, in particular, ridiculed
Soulouque for creating an absurd “spectacle” as he assumed the crown,
while the New York Tribune scoffed at Soulouque for enjoying “show and
parade.”38 Worse, white observers raised the issue that Black activists feared
most; they used Emperor Faustin I as evidence that Black people were not
capable of self-governance. The New York Daily Morning News, for
example, printed a series of articles describing Soulouque’s rise to power as
simply another episode in an endless train of “terrible convulsions” in
Haitian politics. Citing the long string of failed presidencies before him, the
articles poked fun at the notion of Black self-rule and mocked Soulouque
for spending too much money on clothes and other finery. Although the
Haitian economy chafed under persistent financial strain, one article
asserted, “his Majesty the Emperor” still insisted on buying a “costume”
that cost 30,000 francs and allegedly ordered another suit priced at 100,000
francs.39 In another article, the New York Express described Faustin I as a
“barbarian” and a “living reproach to royalty and humanity.” The article
even explicitly stated that Faustin I’s actions unquestionably demonstrated
Black people’s incapacity for self-government.40
Outraged, and perhaps threatened, by these brazen attacks, Douglass
passionately defended Soulouque without hesitation. Debunking the myths
about the new emperor’s ostentatious displays, Douglass noted that
Soulouque was no different from European monarchs who also enjoyed
lavish demonstrations of their power. “Now, what is there in all this peculiar
to a black sovereign?” Douglass asked, “What evidence is there in it of an
especial love of show? Does it indicate any greater love of parade than the
same etiquette would do, in the case of a white sovereign?” After all,
Douglass concluded, European leaders routinely engaged in such pomp and
circumstance, and no one ever questioned their behavior. “Those who
would make such conduct appear ridiculous,” Douglass argued, “might find
illustrations, on a more magnificent scale, in every European State.”41
Months later, Douglass became emboldened, as he gloated over
Soulouque’s rise to the status of emperor. Soulouque’s enemies had
apparently assumed he was nothing more than a puppet or a “tool,” but they
were gravely mistaken. Emperor Faustin I, Douglass gleefully asserted, was
“a master, not a servant.”42
Perhaps most importantly, however, Douglass defended the very notion
of Haiti as an empire. To assert the legitimacy of Black self-governance,
Douglass strategically shifted blame away from Haiti onto the United
States. The U.S. government, Douglass asserted, held ultimate
responsibility for Haiti’s political problems and for Soulouque’s decision to
replace the Haitian republic with a monarchy. After all, Faustin only turned
to despotism because the United States and other nations refused to
acknowledge Haitian independence. “What has our Government done in the
Case of Haiti?” he angrily wrote, “It has scouted, with the most provoking
contempt, any act, looking to welcome the Black Republic into the
sisterhood of nations.” In response, Douglass maintained, Haiti had no
choice except to abandon democracy and embrace imperialism. Faced with
racism and exclusion, Haitians had lost hope. “[A]t length,” Douglass
lamented, “that Republic, disgusted with the very name of Republicanism,
abandoned all show of it; and put on the robes of Imperialism, finding as
she has found, far more justice, honor, and magnanimity among European
despots, than she has been able to find among American Democrats.”43 In
this clever reflection, Douglass successfully diverted attention from Haiti’s
internal problems onto the failure of U.S. foreign policy.
Douglass’s courageous advocacy proved crucial during this era, as
Black abolitionists grew increasingly concerned about the U.S.
government’s intentions. In their view, mockery of Haiti only served the
U.S. government’s deeper mission to present the Black nation as weak and
disorderly in order to justify invading and occupying it. As Douglass noted
in spring 1850, a disturbing coalition between private citizens, politicians,
and the press conspired to undermine Haiti’s public image in an effort to
discredit its independence: “Our American press and American people,
slaveholders and slave traders and all, are particularly anxious to make
Haiti appear before the world as feeble, indolent and falling to decay.”
Douglass seemed particularly frustrated by such depictions, given Haiti’s
flourishing commercial enterprises, especially the growing market in coffee
and logwood, and its profitable trade relations with the United States.44 As it
turned out, Douglass had not become irrationally paranoid. Building on
previous schemes, U.S. officials were, in fact, secretly plotting to assert
control over Haiti and perhaps even reinstitute slavery.
By late 1850, many white Americans called for U.S. intervention in
Haiti, arguing that the U.S. government must restore order. One observer,
for example, suggested that Faustin I “must be taught that individual
caprice and tyranny are not ‘higher laws’ than the laws of nations.”45 Worse,
U.S. newspapers blatantly acknowledged various plots being hatched, all
designed to undermine Haitian sovereignty and bolster slavery across the
Americas.46 As New York Tribune editor Horace Greeley noted, “the
champions of Slavery are hard at work, and have been for years, to
perpetuate the discord in Hayti, and with it the weakness of her people.” As
a result, he argued, “secret emissaries” from the U.S. government were
“fomenting strife and defeating reconciliation” between Haiti and the
Dominican Republic in order to justify U.S. invasion. Even more, southern
slaveholders eagerly enacted “schemes for the conquest and subjugation of
Hayti” in order to expand slavery’s reach across the ocean. For this reason,
Greeley asserted, the U.S. government refused to recognize Haiti, even
before it became a monarchy. “Even when she was a Republic,” Greeley
railed, “no word of cheer was addressed to her by our Government. Even
her independence has never been formally acknowledged by the United
States, though a fact as undoubted as sunshine … From the date of her
independence to this day, we have treated Hayti unworthily, unjustly.”47
Efforts to reimpose slavery in Haiti persisted in 1851. In May, one
correspondent to the Richmond Republican newspaper openly bragged
about the mission to bring Haiti back under white, slaveholding authority.
Haiti, the author argued, had no hope of survival until white people could
“reclaim St. Domingo” from the Black people who “degrade and destroy
it.” Haiti must be governed by white people, the writer maintained, who
will “make it again the garden of the earth.” The article also prophesized
the coming of a new day when Haiti “will be invaded, brought under white
government, and made a civilized and prosperous island.”48 Such views
were not isolated or insignificant. Throughout 1851, Horace Greeley
repeatedly sounded the alarm bell about slaveholders’ plans for Haiti.
Expressing deep concern about the U.S. government’s “interventions” in
Haiti, he openly advocated for formal recognition of Haitian sovereignty.
Chronicling the long history of U.S. non-recognition, he echoed Black
activists’ assertions that racism and slavery drove U.S. policy toward Haiti,
and he further accused the U.S. government of “stirring up dissensions” and
fomenting political conflict. By keeping Haiti in a “state of social
backwardness,” Greeley argued, the U.S. government could justify
annexing Haiti and imposing authority over the Black nation, perhaps even
for the purpose of reestablishing slavery.49
Black activists and their white supporters were right. The U.S.
government’s efforts in Haiti were, in fact, part of a larger imperialistic
movement to extend U.S. authority—and slavery—throughout the
Americas. During this same era, the U.S. government also plotted to oust
Spanish authority from Cuba and annex it. Such efforts stemmed back to
1823, when Secretary of State John Quincy Adams wrote a letter to Hugh
Nelson, the U.S. minister to Spain, predicting U.S. annexation of Cuba
within half a century.50 Although no immediate action was taken, Adams’s
prophecy nearly came to fruition in the mid-1840s. Both Presidents James
Polk and Franklin Pierce offered to purchase Cuba from Spain, and when
those efforts failed, covert activity emerged. In 1848, Narciso López, a
Venezuelan-born general who owned land in Cuba, sought to ensure the
continuation of slavery with the assistance of the United States. In his view,
if Cuba became a U.S. territory, its fate as a slaveholding nation would be
sealed. Backed by U.S. southern investors, López attempted multiple
invasions of Cuba between 1849 and 1851. His final mission ultimately
failed, and the Spanish government executed López and his team during
their last expedition in August 1851.51
Although initial efforts to seize Cuba failed, activists in the United
States were well-aware of their government’s efforts to strengthen and
expand slavery by spreading its reach beyond U.S. borders, particularly into
Haiti. They also knew that as a sovereign Black nation, Haiti remained a
special target. Therefore, just before López’s last attempt to capture Cuba,
white abolitionists joined Frederick Douglass and other Black leaders in the
movement to expose the dastardly scheme against Haiti. The editors of The
National Era, a prominent anti-slavery newspaper, published editorials
criticizing “the designs of slavery upon Hayti.” Echoing Douglass, they
lambasted the campaign “to impress the American People with the opinion
that [Haitians] are a barbarous horde, incapable of civilization … and that it
will in time become necessary for some foreign power to interpose to save
them from themselves.” They especially worried about the U.S.
government’s intentions and warned readers that politicians were conspiring
to subjugate Haiti, annex it to the United States, and reinstitute slavery.52
Facing an open attack on Haiti’s sovereignty, Black activists
resuscitated the crusade for Haitian recognition. Assuming the mantle that
Samuel Cornish previously donned, Frederick Douglass became the
recognition movement’s primary spokesperson. In March 1852, he reprinted
a lengthy article articulating the reasons why the United States must
acknowledge Haitian independence. Like the movement in the 1830s, the
argument strategically focused on the financial benefits that recognition
could bring to the United States. Haiti, the article argued, “is the richest and
most productive tract of country in the world, of its size,” and yet the
United States persisted with its troubling policy. The U.S. government’s
position seemed particularly galling when considered alongside the United
States’ profitable commerce with Haiti. Trade with Haiti constantly
increased, the article noted, and it far exceeded most other foreign nations.
Even so, while “every civilized commercial nation in the world” recognized
Haiti, the United States still stubbornly refused to follow suit, causing
American merchants to lose “millions of dollars” on an annual basis.
Annoyingly, the sole reason this policy persisted, the article argued, was
because U.S. politicians could not tolerate the notion of a “colored man”
serving as a diplomatic representative to the United States. Due to this
“illiberal and unmanly prejudice,” the author maintained, “our government
has hitherto refused to recognize [Haitian] sovereignty or the existence of
the Haytian nation.”53 A few months later, Douglass echoed this notion
again, simply asking: when will Haiti’s importance “become visible to the
government of the United States?”54
Douglass and his anti-slavery friends were not alone in raising such
questions. In July 1852, a group of white Boston merchants, frustrated by
the financial toll of non-recognition, petitioned Congress to recognize
Haiti.55 Framing their argument strictly in economic terms, their petition
insisted that the United States must regularize and formalize its trade
relationship with Haiti through official recognition. Painstakingly
documenting the volume, tonnage, and financial value of U.S. trade with
Haiti, the petitioners emphasized that U.S. agricultural, shipping, and
manufacturing interests would be best met by simply acknowledging what
everyone else in the world already knew—that Haiti existed as a free and
independent nation. After all, they noted, Haiti had not only gained its
independence decades before, it had maintained its independence for nearly
fifty years despite white Americans’ “hostile feelings.”56
The petition arrived in Congress on July 12, 1852, to the great joy of
Black and white abolitionists alike.57 Even so, many activists doubted
whether the petition could actually succeed. In August, William Allen, one
of Frederick Douglass’s correspondents, wrote to Douglass about the
Boston merchants’ petition, expressing significant reservations about its
fate. “The spirit of caste,” Allen argued, was far too powerful in America
for the petition to be successful because allowing Black ambassadors in
Washington would “strike a blow far too terrible” against the “foundations
of American Slavery.” Instead, he predicted, Haitian recognition efforts
would dissolve in failure. “Hayti will have to trudge along,” he wrote, “as
hitherto, unrecognized by this mighty republic.” Douglass apparently
agreed, since he also reprinted an article from the New York Independent,
which (much like William Allen) claimed that racism would prevent the
petition’s success. After all, the author explained, Haitian recognition would
inevitably be met with “threats of secession” since southern politicians
would rather “see all our commerce with Hayti annihilated than permit a
Haytien consul to reside in any of our ports.”58
Similarly, The Liberator published a series of articles about the
merchants’ petition, nervously hoping for the best but expecting the worst.
In late July, editor William Lloyd Garrison sadly predicted the petition’s
failure since “the Slave Power rules this country.” The National Era also
expected its demise given the slaveholders’ authority in the U.S.
government. “The recognition of Hayti has been asked again and again,”
they complained, “and it has been refused as often, not because the
Abolitionists prayed for it, but because it was asked for at all. It is the
prayer itself, and not the petitioners, that the South objects to.” The New
York Evangelist similarly assumed that the Haitian petition would be
denied, and racism would ultimately triumph, simply because American
society was not yet ready for change. “Will the petition of the Boston
merchants prevail?” they asked, “We doubt it; the Haytiens are guilty of
black skins—They are good customers; they have shown their right to a
place among the nations by achieving their independence; they are
recognized by everybody else—but they are black, that will doom them to
our neglect forever.”59 The New York Evangelist was right. Although a
group of New York merchants joined the Boston petitioners, both appeals
met the same fate that befell the abolitionist appeals more than a decade
earlier. Fearful congressmen referred the petitions to the Committee on
Foreign Affairs—chaired by Virginia slaveholder Thomas H. Bayly—never
to be heard from again.60
The Haitian recognition movement’s second round of congressional
failures generated widespread fear among Black activists and their white
allies. Although they had obviously predicted Congress’s snub, abolitionists
worried about the broader repercussions. After all, as one newspaper
fretted, slaveholding southerners, also known as “the Slave Power,”
imagined a very different destiny for Haiti, one in which “annexations and
conquests” would eradicate Haitian sovereignty and return the country to
slavery. Therefore, the U.S. government’s refusal to recognize Haiti did not
simply represent a diplomatic decision; it revealed a strategic plot designed
to undermine Haiti’s very existence as a free, independent Black nation.61
As the 1850s progressed, Haiti’s political situation grew more dire. The
U.S. government stealthily sought to exert control over Haiti in hopes of
reimposing slavery, and Faustin I’s regime took a dramatic turn for the
worse. In the early 1850s, Faustin I waged incessant military campaigns
against the Dominican Republic (D.R.), which had gained its independence
from Haiti in 1844. Initially, he merely continued the efforts of his
predecessors, such as Charles Rivière-Hérard, who sought to bring the D.R.
back under Haitian rule in order to protect and defend the island from
foreign invaders.62 As a result, some Haitians may have appreciated Faustin
I’s determination to defend their liberty and independence at all costs.63 At
least at first. But he pushed his crusade to the limits, especially after he was
formally coronated in 1852. Year after year, he poured excessive financial
and human resources into an unwinnable war against the Dominican
Republic. These regrettable decisions eventually wreaked havoc in Haiti
socially and economically. Even so, no one could convince him to alter his
course. But why?
 Contrary to popular perception, Faustin I’s obsession with imposing
control over the D.R. did not signify imperialistic greed or an egotistical
urge to expand his authority. As historian Chelsea Stieber reminds us,
Faustin I was not “a bloodthirsty tyrant.”64 Instead, a powerful fear of
foreign invasion motivated his actions. After all, France, England, and the
United States repeatedly demonstrated their desire to recapture Haiti and
exploit its human and natural resources. The U.S. government, in particular,
not only obstinately refused to acknowledge Haitian independence, it also
clearly fostered imperialistic intentions toward Haiti. And the emperor
knew it. In his view, an independent Dominican Republic meant exposing
Haiti’s eastern border, leaving it vulnerable to incursion from western
nations and he simply wanted to “deny use of any part of Hispaniola to
foreign powers.”65 As historian Rayford Logan reflected, “If [Faustin I] left
the Dominican Republic alone, some white power would probably take
possession of it. To Haitian statesmen, the return of white rule there meant a
restoration of slavery, and a threat to the independence of Haiti.”66 For
Faustin I, then, it became essential to conquer the D.R. in order to “guard
his people against enslavement, or attempts by whites, at their
subjugation.”67 Justifiably worried that the United States, Great Britain, or
France might use the D.R. as a launchpad for their mission to conquer Haiti,
Faustin I endlessly fought against the specter of foreign control and the
looming fear that slavery would be reestablished.68
Although Faustin I’s fears may have been entirely rational, his
determination to defend Haiti’s sovereignty ultimately became detrimental
to his people and his nation.69 Relentlessly pursuing his goal of returning
the Dominican Republic to Haitian authority, Faustin I ultimately ruined the
nation financially, decimated the military, and destroyed any lingering
appeal he had among the Haitian citizenry.70 His continuous military
assaults had an especially deleterious effect on the Haitian economy, a
reality that caused significant consternation throughout Haiti. According to
one report, extreme “misery and desolation” caused increasing
dissatisfaction with Faustin I’s leadership across the country. Months later,
another account indicated that opposition to his rule had grown so
significantly, that he likely “feared for his safety.”71 Ironically, in a
desperate bid to protect and defend his country, Faustin I did the exact
opposite; he destroyed the economy, killed thousands, and ruined Haiti’s
international reputation. But what choice did he have? Faced with the threat
of imperial invasion, he felt compelled to commit every resource to
defending Haitian independence.
Paradoxically, Faustin I’s strategy created the precise situation he most
desperately sought to avoid. As Haiti’s weakened condition became more
apparent, U.S. officials increasingly believed that the Black nation was ripe
for manipulation and domination.72 Joining in a dangerous coalition with
England and France, U.S. President Millard Fillmore actively sought to
exploit the conflict between Haiti and the Dominican Republic in order to
bring Haiti under U.S. control.73 In 1851, the U.S. government pressured
Haiti to cease its military campaigns against the D.R. and recognize
Dominican independence, threatening to “blockade and bombard Port-au-
Prince” if Faustin I failed to comply with its demands.74 Fillmore, of course,
had no real commitment to Dominican independence; he simply wanted to
use the D.R.’s geographical position to gain “a foothold in Hayti” for the
purpose of reimposing slavery and “operating against the black race
there.”75 By 1853, the U.S. government’s ruse became glaringly apparent.
Even U.S. commercial agents in Haiti insisted that military activity against
the D.R. had become “remarkably inactive,” and that the Haitian
government posed no real threat to the Dominicans, but even then, the U.S.
government still persisted in its efforts to use the conflict as justification for
U.S. intervention in Haiti.76
The U.S. government’s maneuvers in Haiti were, yet again, part of a
larger plot to extend its control over slavery throughout the Americas. In
1854, U.S. diplomats met in Ostend, Belgium to renew their scheme to
conquer Cuba and expand U.S. slavery into that territory. Their plan, later
known as the Ostend Manifesto, proposed to purchase Cuba from Spain for
over $100 million. If Spain refused, the memo asserted, the United States
would be entirely justified in seizing the island. Harnessing the specter of
Black rebellion and, even more terrifying, another Black nation “almost in
sight of our shores,” U.S. government officials pledged that they would not
allow Cuba to become “Africanized,” nor would they permit it to become
“a second St. Domingo.” After all, another Haiti would bring “horrors to the
white race, and suffer the flames to extend to our neighboring shores,
seriously to endanger or actually to consume the fair fabric of our Union.”77
Although the document was intended to remain secret, it was leaked to the
public and became a source of intense political conflict, ultimately causing
the U.S. government to temporarily halt their expansionist plot.78
At least in Cuba. But by late 1854, the U.S. government set its sights on
Haiti again, causing abolitionists to grow increasingly concerned about
Haiti’s fate. The National Anti-Slavery Standard, for example, worriedly
reported on the “latest plans of the Slave Power to extend its area, by
getting a foot-hold in the island of Hayti, with a view to the subjugation of
the race that now possesses it.” Similarly, a U.S. missionary in Haiti wrote
with anguish about the U.S. government’s refusal to recognize Haitian
independence and prophesized a terrifying fate: “And so a white colony is
soon to be planted in San Domingo, by ‘manifest destiny,’ will be annexed
to the United States, and so the Haytians … must be attacked both by sea
and land, and subjugated to a foreign yoke.”79
While the U.S. government and American slaveholders greedily licked
their lips in anticipation of feeding upon Haiti’s agricultural and human
resources, Black activists in the United States redoubled their efforts to
defend Haitian sovereignty. In January 1853, a correspondent to Frederick
Douglass’s newspaper, known only as “J.T.,” lambasted the U.S.
government for its plot to “get Hayti” and gain control over its “fine ports,
climate, and soil.” Particularly outraged by the Fillmore administration’s
hypocrisy, J.T. argued that the U.S. government had violated the Monroe
Doctrine’s basic precepts and should therefore be held accountable for its
actions. “[T]his Government in its action with regard to [Haiti],” he
protested, “had sacrificed every American right and violated the Monroe
doctrine and every principle of manhood and honor.” Frederick Douglass
apparently agreed, since by the end of January he reprinted an article from
The National Era that angrily attacked the U.S. government’s intervention
in Haiti’s affairs. “Again and again, we call the attention of the People to
the cause of this gross inconsistency,” the author railed, “Hayti is a black
empire, the offspring of a revolution which overthrew the masterdom [sic]
of the white race—therefore obnoxious to the Slave Power.” Further
asserting that slaveholders and proslavery politicians adjudged Haiti’s mere
existence as offensive and objectionable, the article continued: “This is the
reason why the principle of Non-Intervention, so clamorously insisted upon
… is to be disregarded in her case.”80
 Over the next several months, delegates to the state and national
Colored Conventions joined the fight. The Ohio State Convention of
Colored Freemen, for example, openly declared their opposition to the U.S.
government’s conduct toward Haiti in January 1853. Led by famed
abolitionist John Mercer Langston, the convention’s business committee
angrily wrote: “The action of our Government in … hastening to help
slavery by sending Agents to Hayti to browbeat the Haytien Emperor, is all
of a piece with the other slaveholding inconsistencies of our very republican
and christian [sic] nation.”81 Soon thereafter, perhaps in solidarity with their
Ohio brethren, the National Colored Convention approved J. W. C.
Pennington’s report, which likewise denounced the U.S. government’s
refusal to acknowledge Haitian independence. Pennington, of course, had
previously developed a relationship with Haitian leader Baron Jean-Baptiste
Symphor Linstant, who had also befriended various other U.S. abolitionists
in the early 1840s.82 Continuing his concern for Haiti nearly a decade later,
Pennington’s report asked, “Why does not the American government
recognize the Independence of the government of Hayti, whose trade is
only surpassed in value by two other nations, with whom we are connected
in commerce?”83
Yet perhaps the most outraged, and poetic, observer of Haiti’s condition
was William J. Wilson, a Black abolitionist and schoolteacher who
regularly wrote to Frederick Douglass’s newspaper under the pseudonym,
“Ethiop.” As early as 1852, Wilson pleaded with Douglass to share more
honest reporting about Haiti—and the U.S. government’s attacks against it
—in order to enlighten the Black community and inspire them to take
action. As Wilson insisted, “The black public demand light and should have
it. Your paper, my dear Douglass, should, and must be the great medium”
through which Black activists could learn about Haiti and “champion its
cause.”84 Perhaps dissatisfied with Douglass’s response, Wilson took the
task upon himself, drafting a fascinating and lyrical parable about the
complex, troubling relations between the United States, England, France,
and Haiti.
In Wilson’s view, the three white, western nations behaved like hungry,
snarling predators, seeking to feed upon Haiti. “Let me present it to your
readers,” he wrote, “England, France, United States, Hayti—Tiger, Hyena,
Wolf, Lion. The first three conspire to subdue and destroy the latter, for his
own benefit; though each eats the other up in the event.” Maddeningly,
while white nations pillaged Haiti, they still had the audacity to try to
control and contain its power. “Having feasted and fatted on flesh,” Wilson
continued, “having piled each his lair with the bones of the slain; each his
mouth, still reeking with the warm blood of his victims, they jointly repair
to the Lion’s Den, and inform him that he must not, in any manner, disturb
the nests of vipers, vermin, and unclean beasts sequestered in the back part
of his den.” And yet, Wilson still promised a triumphant destiny for Haiti,
one in which the Black nation would rise up and destroy its enemies: “This
Lion, once ignorant, docile, young, weak—now vigorous, fierce, rampart—
rouses up, and with one fell, swoop crushes Tiger, Hyena, Wolf, vipers,
vermin—all—all to earth.” For those who doubted Haiti’s eventual victory,
he provided a beautiful closing scene: “Now look on this picture! Behold!
now, a powerful Black Empire!!... A Black Empire, the most splendid the
world ever saw. You don’t see it, you say. Wait awhile and you shall
though.”85
While writers such as William Wilson (“Ethiop”) lyrically expressed
their discontent, others argued Haiti’s case in direct, political terms. In
1855, in an article entitled “The Federal Government vs. The Free Colored
People,” an author known as “Ohio” argued that the U.S. government’s
policy toward Haiti could only be explained by clear and simple racism.
“The Negro-hating disposition of the General Government is also seen in its
ungenerous, dishonorable and despicable conduct toward Liberia and
Haiti,” the article insisted. The writer counseled that the United States could
“ill afford” such a position given Haiti’s financial importance to the United
States. Even so, “Ohio” angrily noted that “the United States Government
has steadily and persistently refused to acknowledge their independence and
bid them an honorable welcome to the family of nations.” Similarly, white
anti-slavery activist and U.S. Senator Charles Sumner spoke with
frustration about the “Slave Oligarchy,” which insisted upon denying
Haitian independence. Borrowing language from his abolitionist friends
from nearly a decade earlier, Sumner blasted “The Slave Oligarchy,” which
“with the meanness, as well as the insolence of tyranny” had compelled
“the National Government to abstain from acknowledging the neighbor
republic of Haiti, where slaves have become freemen and established an
independent nation.”86
 Esteemed activist Martin Delany also expressed his outrage, arguing
that Haiti could never succumb to U.S. rule. After all, Delany asserted,
Emperor Faustin I found the mere idea insulting, and U.S. political leaders
had proved themselves utterly incompetent. U.S. officials had been “driven
away dejected and despised,” and the U.S. government was now “covered
in disgrace.” For Delany, this was a significant victory, because he declared
that he would rather see Haiti “sunk beneath the swelling waves of the
Caribbean Sea forever” than to see it fall under U.S. control.87 Other Black
activists apparently agreed, and they drew upon Haiti’s inspiring history to
stimulate hope in the future.
In 1854, William Wells Brown penned a lecture entitled “St. Domingo:
Its Revolutions and Its Patriots,” which he delivered three times; once in
London and twice in Philadelphia.88 Eventually distributed as a thirty-five-
page pamphlet, his oration dramatically chronicled Haiti’s history—from its
earliest days as a home to the indigenous Caribs, through the introduction of
slavery, culminating with the bold, courageous Haitian revolution and the
subsequent establishment of independent Haiti. Although historians might
quibble with some of Brown’s facts, his speech nevertheless offered a
beautiful praise-song in honor of Haiti’s glorious past and its powerful
potential future. Not surprisingly, Brown’s romantic reflections on the
Revolution painted an enviable picture of the Haitian victory over French
rule. When the French departed from Haiti, Brown wrote, “they saw the
tops of the mountains lighted up;—it was not a blaze kindled for war, but
for freedom. Every heart beat for liberty, and every voice shouted for joy.
From the ocean to the mountains, and from town to town, the cry was
Freedom! Freedom!”89 As this reflection indicated, the Haitian Revolution,
in Brown’s mind, was not “a singular, contained event,” it was “one part of
a larger, unfinished struggle for black liberation.”90
Unlike most of his contemporaries, William Wells Brown clearly saw a
central role for women in the Black liberation struggle. He spoke, at length,
about a revolutionary leader, Vida, who apparently served as a powerful
force in the maroon communities. Vida, a “native of Africa,” seemed to
possess otherworldly powers, since she managed to catch a horse “with her
hands” and break it to her will. More importantly, Vida and her followers
“defeated a battalion of the French … and made war on the whites wherever
they found them.” Drawing a sharp contrast between Black women’s
bravery and the white women who often urged on the slaveholders, Brown
noted, “While white women were cheering on the French, who had
imported blood-hounds as their auxiliaries, the black women were using all
their powers of persuasion to rouse the blacks to the combat.”91 Reveling in
Haiti’s revolutionary spirit, Brown believed that its impulse would
eventually find its way to the United States.
In fact, his concluding remarks delivered a bone-chilling promise that
enslaved people in the United States would one day embrace Haiti’s
example and bring the South to its knees. Quoting Haitian leaders Jean-
Jacques Dessalines, Henry Christophe, and Augustin Clervaux, Brown
emphasized that any enslaved person who took up arms to gain their
freedom would be viewed as innocent in the eyes of God: “Nothing will be
too dear to be sacrificed; nothing impossible to be executed … Should we
be obliged to shed rivers of blood; should we, to preserve our freedom, be
compelled to set on fire seven-eighths of the globe, we shall be pronounced
innocent before the tribunal of Providence.” He also threatened that the
enslaved population in the United States would soon emulate Haiti and take
action themselves. Brown gleefully wrote, “a Toussaint, a Christophe …
and a Dessalines, may some day appear in the Southern States of this
Union.” No doubt they already existed, he insisted, “That their souls are
thirsting for liberty, all will admit.”92
Employing a similar strategy to many of his predecessors, Brown also
reminded his audience of the connection between the Haitians’ battle for
liberty and the quest for independence that U.S. patriots waged decades
before. He even highlighted the central role that Black soldiers played in the
U.S. Revolution, emphasizing that Black people could fight with equal
passion for their own freedom. “The spirit that caused the blacks to take up
arms, and to shed their blood in the American revolutionary war,” he
warned, “is still amongst the slaves of the south; and, if we are not
mistaken, the day is not far distant when the revolution of St. Domingo will
be reenacted in South Carolina and Louisiana.”93 In strangely beautiful,
haunting imagery, Brown concluded that when enslaved Black people in the
United States finally took up arms, the spirit of divine justice would be on
their side: “The exasperated genius of Africa [will] rise from the depths of
the ocean, and show its threatening form; and war against the tyrants would
be the rallying cry. The indignation of the slaves of the south would kindle a
fire so hot that it would melt their chains, drop by drop, until not a single
link would remain.” For Brown, the destruction of slavery in the United
States would be the true revolution that would finally pay appropriate
tribute to the spirit of 1776 and restore the United States to a position of
pride in the global arena: “The revolution that was commenced in 1776
would then be finished … and our government would no longer be the
scorn and contempt of the friends of freedom in other lands, but would
really be the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave.”94
Despite Brown’s best efforts to recast Haiti as a model for Black
liberation, some in the Black leadership had grown somewhat despondent.
Ohio activist John Gaines, for example, painfully recounted the racism that
prevented Haiti from thriving. Writing to Frederick Douglass in early 1854,
Gaines expressed his disappointment about the U.S. government’s conduct
toward Haiti, sadly resigning himself to the enduring power of racism.95
Although he celebrated Haiti as a nation “where the experiment of [Black]
self Government [sic] has been fully and fairly tried,” he recoiled in
frustration from the racist backlash that Haiti experienced. Although Haiti
had enjoyed much success, Gaines could not help but ask, “What benefit is
this to us? Has it abated one jot of prejudice?” Resentfully, he admitted that
the answer was no. Instead, he concluded that a Black nation could never
“induce the haughty Saxon to respect us … And to hope for such in our
present dejected, scattered and objected condition, seems like hoping
against fate.” After all, he concluded, “The prejudice manifested towards
the colored people in this country is not the creature of a day, or a year, but
of centuries, and is interwoven in the whole frame work [sic] of society.”96
By late 1854, William Wells Brown had also become completely
exasperated with U.S. policy toward Haiti. In October, after a tour through
Europe, Brown returned to Philadelphia, where a crowd of abolitionists
packed a church to its “utmost capacity” to hear Brown’s reflections. In a
powerful call to action, Brown warned that the United States had cast an
imperialistic eye on Haiti and that lovers of freedom must be prepared to
take up arms. “The eye of viper is now on Hayti,” Brown lamented, “that
government of people who had shown themselves such worthy recipients of
liberty.” If the United States managed to gain a foothold there, all hope
rested on Faustin I, who Brown prayed would “put a stop to it.” Should it
become necessary, Brown pledged, activists in the United States must not
only offer prayers and sympathy, they also must commit military support
and “let our arms speak for the Haytians.”97
While Brown attempted to rally the troops, a more poignant and
depressing reflection came from renowned Black abolitionist Charles
Lenox Remond. A stalwart supporter of Haitian sovereignty in the 1830s,
Remond had committed himself to Haiti’s success, and like J. W. C.
Pennington, had befriended Haitian leader Baron Linstant in the 1840s.98 By
1854, however, Remond had apparently lost hope. In a speech delivered in
Syracuse, New York, Remond sadly reflected, “The little republic of Haiti
is to be blotted out. I regret it. I had hoped that some spot would remain
where the colored man could stand safe, and property in man was not
acknowledged. When it is blotted out, there will no such place exist.”99
In fairness, Gaines and Remond were likely responding to a simple,
painful reality. By the middle of the 1850s, Emperor Faustin I’s
embarrassing military failures prompted waves of doubt among activists
across the Atlantic World. He had, of course, launched a series of invasions
against the Dominican Republic over the years, but his third attempt in
1855–1856 proved to be the most humiliating. After multiple defeats, and
heavy loss of human life, the emperor and his demoralized army returned to
Haiti under a cloud of shame.100 His citizens soon became enraged by his
endless military campaigns, since they caused significant economic
hardship. Although the coffee crop stood ready to be harvested, Faustin I
forced nearly all men into the military, leaving “none but women left to do
the work, and the people are no means satisfied with the actions of the
Emperor.”101 After the failed mission in 1856, Haitians reached their limit.
According to The National Era newspaper, “so great was the feeling against
[Faustin I] that it was the general opinion of the inhabitants of Port-au-
Prince that he … would be shot by his own people.” One U.S. commercial
agent agreed, anxiously informing the U.S. Secretary of State that “great
fears were at one time entertained that the garrison and people of this City
would make common cause and revolt against the Emperor.”102
Although a successful coup did not occur at that time, conditions
worsened the following year, when Haiti suffered a poor coffee crop,
causing a severe economic depression that lasted through 1858. Even so,
Faustin I still fostered hopes of reconquering the Dominican Republic. As
the U.S. commercial agent in Port-au-Prince wrote in exasperation, “the
conquest of San Domingo is still [the Emperor’s] great object and the recent
failure has not caused him to renounce the same forever.”103 Thus, as the
1850s drew to a close, disapproval rained down on Faustin I from all
quarters.
Not surprisingly, Haiti’s enemies smugly reveled in Faustin I’s failures
and enthusiastically advocated for the return of white power in the Black
nation. In 1858, William Ruffin, Virginia slaveholder and proslavery
advocate, wrote angrily in his journal about the need for white rule in Haiti.
“These glorious portions of the earth,” Ruffin maintained, “cannot always
remain as they are under negro population & power … nothing but evil
consequences can result from any extensive arrangements with the Haytian
power, whether by war or peaceful negotiation.” Ruffin continued, arguing
that if the South seceded from the Union, the southern confederacy could
(and should) “extend our power, & our race, as masters, over Hayti.” Such a
solution would be ideal in Ruffin’s view, since it would result in the
immediate reestablishment of slavery. “There would be no difficulty in
determining what to do with the subjugated blacks,” he concluded, “all of
the destitute, who are in fact now slaves to their rulers, might be made
slaves to individuals.”104 Likewise, in early 1859, the editor of the Savannah
Republican newspaper lamented Haiti’s existence as a sovereign Black
nation. “It is a shame,” he wrote, “that one of the largest, richest, and
loveliest of all the Indies, lying almost in a stone’s throw of our shore,
should be abandoned … to the desecration of an idle and degraded negro
population.” Arguing that the only positive outcome for Haiti would be a
return to white control, he insisted that the U.S. government should pursue
the “reconquest” of Haiti.105
Black leaders at home and abroad quickly responded, publicly
defending Haiti and its emperor. As early as December 1856, stalwart
Haitian leader Dorvelas Dorval wrote an open letter to The Liberator in a
desperate attempt to explain Faustin I’s actions and to retain U.S.
abolitionists’ endorsement of the struggling Black nation. While he
expressed regret about Faustin I’s military campaigns, he pleaded with U.S.
activists to forgive his errors. “The unfortunate events which have stained
the body of my beautiful country,” Dorval wrote, “ought in nowise to be a
stumbling-block to the success of our cause.” After all, Dorval pointed out,
Haiti was not the first or the last country to make critical mistakes: “Every
people has had its errors, according to its degree of civilization; and history
is the witness of it.” Thus, Dorval confidently assured his readers that order
had been reestablished in Haiti and that its economy would soon stabilize.106
Perhaps encouraged by Dorval’s words, U.S. abolitionists continued to
advocate for global acknowledgment of Haitian sovereignty. In early 1858,
an article in the National Anti-Slavery Standard angrily denounced the U.S.
government for its criticism of Haiti, especially since the United States
refused to recognize Haiti as a free nation: “The United States should be
ashamed to make any complaints … so long as they refuse to recognise
[sic] the independence of Hayti and to place her on an equal footing with
other governments.” After all, the paper reminded its readers, other world
leaders acknowledged Haiti while the United States stubbornly refused:
“England, France, and indeed all the European governments, treat Hayti
precisely as they treat any other nation, while this country, under the rule of
the meanest Oligarchy in the world, has always refused to extend to her the
civilities due to an independent power.”107
U.S. Black leaders agreed, and likewise continued their campaign for
Haitian recognition. In August 1857, Black abolitionist John Stewart Rock
argued that Haiti offered an “eminently successful” example of Black self-
governance and that it would continue to prosper in the areas of business,
science, and commerce. The following spring, Rock appeared at a gathering
in Boston, Massachusetts, to celebrate the eighty-seventh anniversary of the
Boston Massacre, and particularly the bravery and heroism of Crispus
Attucks, a mixed-race Black man who had been the first casualty of the
American Revolution. Although not an obvious occasion to speak about
Haiti, Rock seized the opportunity to promote Haiti as a model for Black
self-governance, arguing that Haiti provided proof positive that Black
people would always fight for their freedom and defeat their enemies. After
all, he argued, Haiti’s army successfully drove out the French “and they
have never dared to show their faces, except with hat in hand.” Ultimately,
he echoed William Wells Brown, insisting that Black people in the United
States, like their Haitian brothers and sisters, would one day gain their
freedom and prove the capacity of the Black race. More importantly, as the
opening of this chapter revealed, Rock insisted that no matter what negative
propaganda white people used to slander Haiti, he could never abandon his
people. Instead, he would “sink or swim” with his race.108
 This sentiment also inspired Black abolitionist John Mercer Langston,
even as Faustin I’s government teetered on the brink of disaster. In late
1858, Langston delivered a powerful and lengthy address celebrating the
Haitian Revolution and its bold commitment to liberty. Like John Rock
before him, Langston honored the Haitians for their determination to “throw
off their yoke and gain their manhood, and assert and maintain their rights.”
Although he did not elaborate on Faustin I or his leadership, Langston
asserted that Haiti represented “a glorious bow of promise, spanning the
moral heavens.” He also affirmed that Haiti’s success prophesized a “good
time coming to the American anti-slavery movement.”109 Despite the
disastrous conditions in Haiti during the late 1850s, Langston, Rock, and
their comrades had resolved that their commitment to Haiti would remain
unshakable. Dismissing all negative representations of Haiti as mere
propaganda, and sometimes ignorant about the complex racial and class
divisions that plagued the Black nation, Black leaders in the United States
resolved, perhaps more than ever, to “sink or swim” with Haiti and its
doomed emperor.
In January 1859, Frederick Douglass printed a sorrowful article in his
paper, lamenting the lies and misrepresentations that circulated across the
Atlantic World about Haiti’s political instability. “One of the gloomiest and
saddest circumstances of the condition of Emancipation in this country,” the
article began, “is the utter untruthfulness of men in all matters where the
point in any way affects the question of slavery. They appear not to feel
bound to treat the colored man with fairness and justice.” Endless
misinformation about Haiti swirled throughout the United States,
supposedly confirming theories of Black inferiority and causing Douglass
endless frustration. “When all is peace in Hayti, our papers tell us that that
island is in the midst of revolution, anarchy and bloodshed,” the article
complained, and urged white Americans to treat Black people with
“common fairness and common honesty.”110
Douglass was certainly right. And yet he and Haitian advocates across
the United States soon discovered that not every story about revolution in
Haiti was false. An actual coup against Emperor Faustin I had already
commenced, radically upending the monarchy and restoring hope in Haiti’s
destiny.
OceanofPDF.com
 7

A LONG-CHERISHED DESIRE
Haitian Emigration during the U.S. Civil War Era

In April 1861, Frederick Douglass shocked his readers with a stunning

editorial. In a heartfelt testimonial, he announced his plans to leave the
United States and set sail for Haiti. The Black republic, he believed, held
potential as a new home—not only for himself, but for the entire Black
race. For years prior, Douglass had consistently denounced emigration,
insisting that Black people must remain in the United States to fight against
slavery and gain their full citizenship rights. So, this declaration, which
appeared in his newspaper in May, likely shook his readers to their core.
But by the end of the 1850s, Douglass had grown increasingly despondent
about the U.S. government’s steadfast commitment to slavery and
oppression. Abandoning all hope that the United States could ever live up to
its principles of “liberty and justice for all,” Douglass embraced the Black
republic and considered casting his lot with his Haitian brothers and sisters.1
Douglass’s impending journey to Haiti represented a “dream, fondly
indulged, a desire, long cherished, and a purpose, long meditated”—the
culmination of his treasured hope that he might one day stand on “the
shores of la Republique del’Hayti.” For Douglass, Haiti epitomized an ideal
sovereign Black republic, and in early April 1861, he anxiously awaited his
departure, convinced that Haiti might fulfill his deepest wishes for freedom,
liberty, and equality. However, within weeks, Douglass dramatically
reversed his position, declaring that he would remain in the United States to
aid the fight against slavery. Hopeful that the Civil War might bring a
definitive end to slavery, Douglass resolved to “serve the cause of freedom
and humanity” in the United States.2 Although he did not denounce
emigration entirely, he publicly abandoned his long-cherished desires for
the Black republic and refocused his energies on saving the soul of
America.
As Douglass’s circuitous relationship with Haitian emigration
demonstrated, activists in the U.S. Civil War era battled over the proper
long-term strategy to ensure Black freedom. In the process, they engaged in
nasty—sometimes deeply personal—arguments about their future in the
United States and their relationship to Haiti. Should they fight for freedom
in the United States, they wondered, or should they flee their land of
bondage and go to Haiti to build the newly resurrected Black republic?
Increasingly pessimistic about conditions in the United States, Black people
wavered in the wake of the passage of the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act and the
1857 Dred Scott Supreme Court decision. Such legislation made a mockery
of Black freedom and U.S. citizenship, prompting a few dedicated leaders
in the late 1850s and early 1860s to revive the emigration movement, ever
hopeful to assist Haiti in becoming the strong Black nation of their dreams.
Starting in the early 1850s, therefore, the Haitian emigration movement
witnessed a powerful resurgence, resuscitating lingering questions about
Haiti’s destiny as a Black homeland.
Their hopes appeared to be well founded in 1859, after Fabre Geffrard
assumed power in Haiti, replacing Faustin I’s monarchy with a republic. For
a few years thereafter, Haitian emigration held sway over the Black
leadership’s consciousness. But unlike the movement in the 1820s, this
second wave became mired in contentious debate as Black activists
quarreled over emigration’s legitimacy. Some, such as famed abolitionists
James Theodore Holly, William Wells Brown, and William J. Watkins,
agitated for Haitian emigration, arguing that it provided the only true path
to racial advancement. Others, including George Downing, James McCune
Smith, and Mary Ann Shadd Cary, denounced the movement, insisting it
would end in utter disaster. And still others, such as Frederick Douglass,
tried to forge a middle ground, endorsing emigration for some, but
strategically discouraging a full-scale migration. This chapter explores the
tumultuous years between 1858 and 1863 as Black activists painstakingly
reassessed their relationship to the Black republic.

***
 In late December 1858, Haitian General Fabre Geffrard arrived in
Gonaïves with a small but dedicated army, intent on declaring an end to
Emperor Faustin I’s regime and reinstating the Haitian republic. Faced with
Geffrard’s advancing forces, the emperor’s troops rapidly retreated and
joined the unfolding revolution.3 A “spirit of revolt” spread across Haiti,
Frederick Douglass’s newspaper reported, which enjoyed considerable
adulation among the citizenry.4 Geffrard’s choice of location for his
bloodless coup would not have been lost on the Haitian people; after all,
Jean-Jacques Dessalines had declared Haitian independence in Gonaïves
nearly fifty-five years earlier. But this was not the only factor that endeared
Geffrard to his people. Weary of incessant military campaigns against the
Dominican Republic, and the subsequent deleterious effects on the nation’s
economy, many Haitians fostered widespread hatred toward Faustin I’s
regime and universally celebrated his expulsion, convinced that Haiti had
been “too long the seat of a government as ridiculous as it was despotic.”5
As Haitians “rapturously received” Geffrard as their new president,
Black activists in the United States did too.6 Although advocates such as
Frederick Douglass and John Stewart Rock had steadfastly supported
Emperor Faustin I during his reign, they also held high hopes for a new era
under Geffrard. In February 1859, Douglass’s newspaper spoke of
Geffrard’s coup in glowing terms, particularly the “prevailing enthusiasm”
among the Haitian people who greeted the new government with
“unbounded applause.”7 Similarly, Black abolitionist William Craft
delivered a speech in 1860, expressing “high admiration” for Haiti and
proclaiming Geffrard as “one of the noblest men living, whether among
blacks or whites.” Craft further shared his ongoing faith that the Haitian
people would support racial advancement across the globe, and would “ever
be ready, as they always had been, to express their sympathy with every
movement which had a tendency to advance the progress of mankind, and
particularly of [the Black] race.”8 This closing sentence proved prophetic,
for soon after Geffrard assumed control, Black people in the United States
once again turned their attention to Haiti not only as a model republic, but
also as a potential home. For increasing numbers of Black activists,
emigration represented the best path to full liberation.
During this era, and even before, the Haitian emigration movement
witnessed a significant rebirth, one which, unfortunately, scholars have
largely ignored and misunderstood. Historians have traditionally argued that
migration from the United States to Haiti existed in two distinct phases: one
in the 1820s in connection with President Jean-Pierre Boyer’s initiatives,
and another in the late 1850s under Fabre Geffrard’s presidency. As the
story goes, the second wave of emigration began with Geffrard’s rise to
power and came to a dramatic conclusion once the U.S. Civil War
commenced.9 The reality, however, is much more complicated. As we have
seen, emigrationist sentiment unquestionably fell out of favor among the
Black leadership during the 1830s and 1840s, partly due to Haiti’s political
struggles and partly due to growing desires among Black activists to fight
slavery and obtain citizenship in the United States.10 Even so, the Haitian
emigration movement never disappeared entirely. As indicated by George
Boyer Vashon and Frederick Douglass’s correspondent, “Harold,” who fled
to Haiti in the 1840s, Black activists in the United States quietly, but
steadily, abandoned “buckra land” for Haiti over the course of the
nineteenth century.11 Moreover, the “second wave” of migration in the
1850s began much earlier and ended much later than historians have
typically acknowledged, spanning an entire decade between 1853 and 1863.
The emigration movement’s renaissance actually began during Emperor
Faustin I’s reign, when Black activist James Theodore Holly resuscitated
political debate about Haitian emigration during a convention held in
Amherstburg, Canada in 1853. For Holly, Haiti was a “sacred” place.
Created through “revolution against tyrannical oppression,” Haiti remained
free, sovereign, and Black, having maintained its independence in the face
of overwhelming obstacles. For these reasons, Holly believed that every
Black person across the diaspora should feel a personal “duty to sustain”
Haiti and to fight “against the intervention of any or all” foreign powers that
might seek to deny Haitian sovereignty. Large-scale emigration, Holly
urged, would achieve these goals, and dramatically promote the cause of
Black liberation across the globe.12
Holly promoted Haitian emigration again the following year, when
activist and former North Star newspaper editor Martin Delany hosted a
National Emigration Convention in Cleveland, Ohio. By then, Delany had
embraced African emigration. Although he had previously campaigned for
recognition of Haitian sovereignty, Delany increasingly believed that
Africa, specifically Liberia, was a more appropriate destination for the
Black race.13 Even so, the Convention’s National Board of Commissioners
agreed to investigate conditions in Haiti and they imbued Holly with the
power to travel there and determine the feasibility of a large-scale
migration.14
In 1855, Holly arrived in Haiti and met with Faustin I. Holly presented
the emperor with a detailed plan for emigration, including requests for land,
citizenship, religious freedom, exemption from military service, and a series
of other financial inducements. But Faustin I remained reluctant to adopt
the terms, and instead provided a vague, noncommittal statement, simply
acknowledging that the Haitian government would always be receptive to
Black migrants. Despite the emperor’s unenthusiastic response, Holly
continued to champion the virtues of Haitian emigration upon his return to
the United States.15

Figure 10. James Theodore Holly

Source: Currier & Ives: A Catalogue Raisonné. Compiled by Gale Research. Detroit: Gale Research,
c1983. Library of Congress. Wikimedia Commons.

In 1857, Holly published a pamphlet, “A Vindication of the Capacity of

the Negro Race for Self-Government and Civilized Progress,” which sought
to defend Haiti (and Black people more generally) against their omnipresent
enemies. For four centuries, Holly argued, “vile aspersions and foul
calumnies” had been heaped upon Black people to justify their enslavement
and oppression, but Haiti had proved everyone wrong. Standing forth as a
strong, sovereign nation, Haiti’s resilience inflamed “the latent embers of
self-respect” that flickered in the hearts of all Black people and inspired
them to embrace their destiny as free and independent people. Echoing his
message from a few years prior, Holly issued a call for pan-Africanism,
reminding Black people across the Americas that they had a responsibility
to protect and defend the beleaguered Black nation. If they did, he
predicted, Haiti’s glory would one day spread across the globe and “redeem
and regenerate” the entire Black race.16
The following year, Holly traveled extensively throughout the northern
United States promoting the emigrationist cause and finally garnered
Emperor Faustin I’s attention. Apparently reconsidering his earlier tepid
response, Faustin I sent two representatives, Colonel Paul Emile Desdunes
and Monsieur Montfort, to the United States to encourage Black emigration
from various locations, particularly New Orleans. According to Faustin I,
white Americans harbored “a growing disrelish” for free Black people and
he wanted to provide a safe refuge for those fleeing persecution.17 Although
Faustin I was removed from office soon thereafter, a small migration did
begin during his regime; a pattern that grew dramatically in the following
years.
Immediately on the heels of Geffrard’s coup d’état, the Haitian
government actively sought Black migrants from the United States.
Mimicking his predecessor, Jean-Pierre Boyer, Fabre Geffrard unveiled an
inducement plan in spring 1859 that was nearly identical to the program
Boyer proposed more than thirty years prior. In an official “Call for
Emigration,” Geffrard offered financial incentives, including free
transportation and lodging, as well as religious freedom, education, and
exemption from military service. Geffrard also replicated Boyer’s pan-
African appeal, arguing that since “African blood” united Black and colored
people across the Americas, they should come to Haiti to assist “in restoring
the glory of the Republic.” Perhaps most poignantly, he explained that he
wanted to provide a home for all “members of the African race,” where
they could find refuge from persecution and enjoy all their “civil and
political rights.”18 He also prophesized that Haiti would “regain her ancient
splendor” through the “regenerating work” of Black people across the
diaspora. Not surprisingly, then, by the end of April 1859, James Theodore
Holly reported that several thousand Black people in the United States were
preparing to depart for Haiti.19
Despite growing enthusiasm in Black communities across the United
States, widespread ideological conflict over the emigration question
persisted. For some, the debate centered on location. Samuel Ringgold
Ward, for example, endorsed emigration in theory, but believed that Canada
offered more possibility than Haiti. In spring 1854, Ward, who served as the
editor for a Canadian abolitionist newspaper, the Provincial Freeman,
published a blazing, somewhat malicious, critique of Haitian emigration.
He attacked Haiti’s image as a Black republic, questioning whether it could
ever truly be a free nation founded on pan-African solidarity. Haitians,
Ward claimed, were just as likely to exploit Black migrants as white people.
After all, he wrote, “Colored men are as merciless as other men, when
possessed of the same amount of pride, conceit and wickedness, and as
much, if not more ignorance. They make just as bad masters as the worst of
the whites, in their best moods, and infinitely worse in their worst.” By
contrast, he argued, Black people could find better conditions and
everything that a “reasonable person” could ask for in Canada. Why, then,
would Black people go to Haiti? he asked. “Do you court yellow fever and
laziness, haughty employers, and contemptible black prejudice? If you do,
go in peace.”20 This was a shocking change of heart for Ward, who just five
years earlier had written a heartfelt defense of Haitian sovereignty.21 And
yet the political climate in the early 1850s had changed everything.
While Ward and his compatriots bickered over location, other Black
activists, such as Frederick Douglass, simply opposed emigration on
principle. Douglass’s anti-emigrationist sentiments, of course, stemmed
back for more than a decade. In 1850, for example, Douglass penned an
editorial denouncing the mere notion of emigration. Although he openly
acknowledged that Black people were “despised” in the United States, he
still believed that legally free Black people should not “selfishly” flee to
Haiti to find their own freedom while their brethren labored in bondage. It
was “far more noble,” he wrote, for Black activists to remain in the United
States and fight against “the adverse winds of prejudice, and Slavery” rather
than “selfishly to quit the country with a view to bettering their own
condition.” Perhaps echoing his fellow abolitionist John Stewart Rock, who
memorably declared that he would “sink or swim” with his race, Douglass
concluded that he would never abandon the United States “while three
million of our countrymen are in chains. We are resolved to fall or flourish
with them.”22
As the Haitian emigration movement gained steam, Douglass renewed
his objections, arguing against those who “are all in a ferment again about
emigration from the U.S. to a better country.” Angrily railing against
emigration, he resorted to anti-Haitian diatribes that he would have strongly
denounced in previous years. Haiti was too culturally distinct from the
United States, he maintained, and too prone to political unrest to be a good
home for Black migrants. More importantly, he asserted, Black people did
not have to flee the United States to find freedom and equality. Such a
perspective, in Douglass’s view, felt worse than any “ever uttered by the
strongest negro-hater in the land and tends to feed and keep alive the very
evil from which our friends propose to escape.” Instead, Douglass believed
that personal transformation, not emigration, offered the key to racial
advancement. “Above all,” he reminded his readers, “let it never be
forgotten, that the elements of true welfare depend less upon the
government we live under, or the people we live among, than upon
ourselves.” Black people did not need to abandon the United States to uplift
the race, he insisted, they only needed to reform their own consciousness:
“The conditions of our elevation are within our breasts … the emigration
which we … most of all need, is an emigration from ignorance to
intelligence, from idleness to industry, and from never-ceasing change to a
manly stability.”23
To many of his Black readers, Douglass’s closing words must have felt
surprisingly harsh and critical. Openly admonishing Black people to alter
their own behavior, he implied that racism could somehow be attributed to
Black people’s own shortcomings. Perhaps for this reason, Douglass’s
objections did not immediately halt the movement; in fact, the Haitian
emigration movement flourished as an equally determined and eloquent
activist used another Black newspaper, the Anglo-African Magazine, to
articulate his vision for uplifting the Black race and rejuvenating the Black
republic.
Beginning in summer 1859, James Theodore Holly, who had recently
been ordained as a priest in the Protestant Episcopal Church, created a
seven-part series, entitled Thoughts on Hayti, in which he advocated for a
full-scale migration of Black people from the United States to the Black
republic. Aware of the formidable opposition to emigration in some sectors
of the Black community, Reverend Holly carefully and methodically crafted
his argument, gradually attracting his readers in stages. Quite noticeably,
the first and second installments made no mention of emigration; instead,
he emphasized Haiti’s symbolic and tangible importance to the global Black
freedom struggle and the challenges that the besieged Black nation had
faced. For Holly, Haiti’s historical struggle against slavery served as a
model for Black people’s eventual triumph over oppression, and he believed
that Haitian sovereignty offered the key to Black liberation throughout the
African diaspora. Castigating white colonizers who unceasingly sought to
reimpose authority over Haiti, Holly angrily noted that Haitians had never
been able to fully experience their liberty because they were constantly
under siege from foreign powers. “Powerful and enlightened nations,”
Holly complained, had failed to welcome Haiti into the “family of nations”
and had therefore stymied Haiti’s advancement.24
But white western nations were not the only ones to blame. Over the
next few issues, Holly painstakingly articulated Black people’s past
mistakes that he believed had sabotaged emigration’s potential to uplift the
race. Criticizing the emigration movement in the 1820s, he maintained that
its failure could primarily be attributed to the migrants’ problematic
mindset. They had been stymied by the “palsying effect of slavery,” and
therefore did not go to Haiti with a spirit of “noble daring and heroic self-
sacrifice.” Instead, they had been arrogant, presumptuous, and had refused
to engage in serious agricultural labor, which obviously served as the
mainstay of the Haitian economy. They even arrived with the absurd
expectation that they would be given high positions in the government.
With “daring impudence,” he wrote, they demanded that President Jean-
Pierre Boyer invest them with “positions of power and emolument.”
Embarrassed by his predecessors’ missteps, he asked, “What could be more
preposterous than the deplorable phantasy that the American negro is fitted
to be the political ruler of the self-emancipated freemen of Hayti?”
Eventually, Holly noted, most early Black migrants finally realized the error
of their ways and returned to the United States under a cloud of shame.
“They discovered, to their mortification,” Holly reflected, “that the
Haytians possessed more of the true spirit of liberty, independence, and all
the other elements of national rule and political sovereignty than such
narrow and conceited minds as theirs could even comprehend.” Thus, Holly
mockingly concluded, “these chagrined and disappointed emigrants hung
their heads in very shame and skulked away from those shores in abject
disgrace.”25
Despite past failures, Holly still believed that emigration could be the
best strategy for Black liberation. A race of people could only be respected
in the world, he insisted, if they had a strong, free, sovereign nation
representing them. Therefore, regenerating Haiti would not only prove
beneficial to the Haitian people but would eventually liberate all African
people. It would decisively silence notions of Black inferiority, and
ultimately be powerful enough not only to “uproot American slavery, but
also to overthrow African slavery and the slave-trade throughout the
world.”26 With this logic, he placed all his hopes on Haiti and the Black
migrants who would fortify it, as he remained fully convinced that the
Haitian republic could, and would, serve as the linchpin for the global
Black freedom struggle.
Holly’s vision tempted many activists during this era, attracting several
additional spokesmen. One supporter, white journalist and abolitionist
James Redpath, seemed a rather unlikely candidate on the surface. But
Redpath, a recent migrant from Scotland, had embraced the anti-slavery
cause, and during the 1850s, had become increasingly interested in Haitian
affairs. His attraction to Haiti was nurtured by various mentors, including
white abolitionist Wendell Phillips, who spoke regularly about the Haitian
Revolution and his former employer, New York Tribune editor Horace
Greeley, who had advocated for Haitian sovereignty in previous decades.
Equally influential was white abolitionist John Brown, who befriended
Redpath in the late 1850s. A longtime supporter of Haiti, Brown drew upon
the Haitian Revolution as motivation for his own struggle against slavery
and discussed it with Redpath at length.27
Duly inspired, Redpath visited Haiti in January 1859 to research and
investigate its governmental structure. He traveled throughout the country
for two months, during which time he witnessed the collapse of Faustin I’s
regime and the rise of Fabre Geffrard’s government. Impressed with Haiti’s
potential and the country’s new leader, Redpath enthusiastically embraced
Haitian emigration. In his view, such an arrangement could be mutually
beneficial; Black people in the United States could escape slavery and
racism, and Haiti could profit from the arrival of skilled, educated workers
committed to the difficult work of nation-building.28
Redpath soon arrived in the United States with the goal of sparking an
emigration movement. To his surprise, the Haitian emigration movement
had already commenced, but he still found ways to advance the cause.29 In
1860, he convinced Haitian President Fabre Geffrard to provide financial
support to promote emigration. Geffrard gave a $20,000 grant to open a
Haytian Bureau of Emigration in Boston and sent an unnamed
governmental representative to the southern United States to recruit
migrants.30 Although slaveholders disrupted recruitment efforts in Alabama,
the movement enjoyed much more success in Louisiana. In late 1860, the
New Orleans Picayune reported that migration from Louisiana to Haiti had
grown so significantly that a special steamer began making regular trips
ferrying migrants.31
Haitian emigration likewise became increasingly popular in the North,
particularly after leading Black activists offered their endorsement. In
October 1860, famed abolitionist Henry Highland Garnet met James
Redpath, who encouraged his interest in Haiti. Garnet had been converted
to the cause of emigration many years before and had spent much of the
previous decade exploring possibilities in Jamaica and West Africa. But,
beginning in late 1860, Garnet began promoting Haitian emigration,
working with Redpath to organize a series of lectures advocating for
emigration. By year’s end, Garnet officially joined the Haitian Emigration
Bureau.32 Soon thereafter, William J. Watkins Jr., H. Ford Douglass, and
James Theodore Holly also enlisted with the Bureau and, together, they
worked diligently to promote the Haitian republic and the vision of
emigration.33
Within a year, the Haitian Emigration Bureau’s efforts proved highly
successful. Not only did Black people begin migrating to Haiti under the
Bureau’s auspices, but many activists also developed their own initiatives.
For example, Joseph Bustill, a teacher and abolitionist in Pennsylvania,
recruited potential emigrants on his own, forming an organization called the
“Geffrard Industrial Regiment.” Similarly, James Duffin began recruiting
migrants across New York state, some of whom migrated to Haiti and
joined a Black settlement in Saint-Marc, an ocean side village northwest of
Port-au-Prince.34 Thus, by late 1860, it appeared that the Haitian emigration
movement had blossomed into a powerful, compelling campaign that had
won the hearts of leading Black activists. Even so, no recruit proved more
surprising and significant than the activist who joined the movement in
1861: Frederick Douglass.
Throughout the 1850s, Frederick Douglass had established himself as a
staunch anti-emigrationist, using “pen and voice against all emigration,”
because he believed that free Blacks should remain in the United States to
wage the battle against slavery.35 However, by the close of the decade,
Douglass began to reconsider his position. Despondent about numerous
political setbacks, particularly the Fugitive Slave Act and the Dred Scott
decision, which affirmed that the United States government did not view
Black people as social or political equals, he arrived at the painful
conclusion that he might need to consider opportunities elsewhere and he
quickly set his gaze upon the Black republic.36 In 1860, Douglass began
reporting on Black migrants departing from the United States for Haiti,
noting, for example, that over two thousand Black people had safely arrived
in Haiti and all reports indicated they were “highly pleased with the
island.”37 Such descriptions initially appeared innocuous, but that soon
changed.
In January 1861, Douglass became a public advocate for Haitian
emigration, albeit a somewhat reluctant one. Clearly still harboring
reservations about emigration as a political strategy, Douglass initially
expressed a desire to remain “precisely where I am, in the land of my
birth.” Even so, the political environment in the 1850s forced him to
concede that, “Slavery, vengeance and settled hate” stood as constant
dangers to the Black community, perpetually threatening “to hold them as a
servile and degraded caste in the freest of the free States.” Increasingly
fearful that Black people could never gain full equality in the United States,
he mournfully reflected, “Every negro is looked upon as a hindrance to the
peace and harmony of the free and slave States, and as long as that harmony
is thought desirable by the free States, they will hate and persecute the
colored people.” The United States offered no compelling reason to remain,
he concluded, since “the inducements offered to the colored man to remain
here are few, feeble and very uncertain.”38 Perhaps for the first time in his
political career, Douglass lost hope. Given the depressing racial climate in
the United States, Douglass resolved that at least some Black people stood
to gain by emigrating to Haiti.
Once Douglass finally agreed to embrace emigration, the Black republic
consumed his imagination. If compelled to leave the United States, he
explained, he wanted to go where he could continue his work on behalf of
the race. For Douglass, that place was Haiti. Arguing specifically against
migration to Africa, he insisted that Haiti offered the best option due to its
proximity and its legacy of resistance. “If we go anywhere,” he wrote, “let
us go to Hayti … where we are still within hearing distance of the wails of
our brothers and sisters in bonds. Let us not go to Africa, where those who
hate and enslave us want us to go; but let us go to Hayti, where our
oppressors do not want us to go, and where our influence and example can
still be of service.” Haiti’s struggle against slavery deeply impressed
Douglass, as did President Geffrard’s leadership in restoring the Haitian
republic: “Hayti, under the Presidency of a wise and patriotic statesman, is
entering upon a new career of improvement and prosperity … A glorious
era has evidently dawned upon Hayti.” Ultimately, then, Douglass finally
offered a formal endorsement. “We can raise no objection to the present
movement towards Hayti,” he admitted, “We can no longer throw our little
influence against a measure which may prove highly advantageous to many
families, and of much service to the Haytian Republic.”39
In the same issue of his newspaper, Douglass doubled down on his
official sanction by printing the Haitian Emigration Bureau’s lengthy “Call
for Emigration.” Boasting the names of prominent abolitionists, such as
James Theodore Holly and Henry Highland Garnet, the article spoke openly
about the racial oppression that plagued Black people in the United States:
“Men of our race dispersed in the United States! Your fate, your social
position, instead of ameliorating, daily becomes worse—The chains of
those who are slaves are riveted; and prejudice, more implacable, perhaps,
than servitude, pursues and crushes down the free.” It also encouraged
Black people in the United States to embrace Haiti’s “fraternal spirit” and to
seek comfort in Haiti’s welcoming arms. “Come, then, to us!” the call
exclaimed, “the doors of Hayti are open to you.” Moreover, it openly
acknowledged Haiti’s previous political turmoil and assured Black readers
in the United States that Haiti’s troubled past had come to an end. “By a
happy coincidence,” the article proclaimed, “Hayti has risen from the long
debasement in which a tyrannical government had held her; liberty is
restored there.”40
In the months that followed, Douglass sought to assuage any lingering
concerns among his faithful readers about potential pitfalls in the Haitian
emigration plan. In March 1861, he printed two more articles: one assuring
his readers that Haitians practiced religious tolerance and migrants could
freely worship there, and another emphasizing Haiti’s strong position in the
global trade network. In a separate editorial, Douglass also maintained that
while he did not endorse “indiscriminate” emigration, he believed that
emigration to Haiti could benefit many Black people in the United States,
and he pledged his support to those who chose it for themselves. He even
promised to visit migrants to monitor their progress: “We shall rejoice in the
success attending our people who shall seek homes in Hayti, and if ever
able to do so, we are resolved to visit them and see how they get along in
their new homes.”41
Perhaps to Douglass’s surprise, his chance to visit Haiti materialized
much sooner than he imagined. In April 1861, James Redpath invited
Douglass to travel with James Theodore Holly to investigate conditions in
Haiti. Douglass enthusiastically accepted, and even planned to take his
daughter on the exploratory mission: “We propose to act in view of the
settled fact that many [Black Americans] are already resolved to look for
homes beyond the boundaries of the United States, and that most of their
minds are turned towards Haiti.” Writing excitedly in Douglass’ Monthly
about his impending plans, he romantically reflected on his dream come
true: “A dream, fondly indulged, a desire, long cherished, and a purpose,
long meditated, are now quite likely to be realized. At this writing, we are
on the eve of starting for a visit of a few weeks to Hayti; and before the
announcement can reach all our readers and friends, especially those in
Great Britain, we shall probably be well on our ocean-way to the shores of
la Republique del’ Hayti.”42
Douglass anxiously anticipated the moment he could stand on Haiti’s
shores, in the same places where the revolution had taken place. In
anticipation, he painted beautiful, idealistic images for his readers. “In
making this announcement,” he wrote, “we do not wish … to conceal the
fact that we are much elated by the prospect of standing once upon the soil
of San Domingo, the theatre of many stirring events and heroic
achievements, the work of a people, bone of our bone, and flesh of our
flesh.” He also reminded his audience about Haiti’s glorious, triumphant
victory over slavery and over all those who sought to destroy its
sovereignty. Lambasting the United States’ “crafty machinations” designed
to “crush” Haiti, Douglass gloated about Haiti’s ability to maintain its
independence against all odds. Defying all “disparagements from the
United States,” and defeating all efforts to “shut her out of the fraternity of
nations,” Douglass wrote, “Hayti has during more than sixty years,
maintained a free and independent system of government and no hostile
power has been able to bend the proud necks of her people to a foreign yoke
… She stands forth among the nations of the earth richly deserving respect
and admiration.”43
While Douglass gradually converted to Haitian emigration, the
movement continued to grow. James Theodore Holly, for example,
successfully recruited migrants in Philadelphia, New Jersey, and New
Haven, before permanently settling in Haiti himself.44 Similarly, the
National Anti-Slavery Standard reported that numerous ships regularly
departed for Haiti, containing migrants from South Carolina, New York,
Boston, Connecticut, and Rhode Island. The paper also described the
migrants’ joyful arrival in Haiti and the warm reception they received upon
landing. In one case, about sixty migrants received a warm welcome from
leading officials, including President Geffrard, who promised that they
would always “have the protection of the government” and could settle
wherever in the country they preferred. Thus, the article concluded, the
migrants had happily found everything in Haiti “very satisfactory.”45 Yet
despite the laudatory sentiments emanating from many corners of the
abolitionist movement, numerous detractors remained.
Insistent that committed abolitionists should not simply abandon their
people in the South who still languished in bondage, many leaders in the
Black community believed that the battle must continue in the United States
until victory was achieved. Abolitionist George Downing, for example,
denounced emigration on the grounds that it could “create in the minds of
the colored people the impression that they cannot be anything in this
country.” Similarly, veteran activist Dr. James McCune Smith claimed that
emigrationists were essentially race traitors. In an open letter, he wrote,
“Your duty to our people is to tell them to aim higher. In advising them to
go to Hayti, you direct them to sink lower.” A similar emigration plan had
failed in the 1820s, he reminded his readers, and therefore Black Americans
should not again be unceremoniously “dumped on the shores of Hayti.”
Instead, they should persist with the freedom struggle in the United States.
“[O]ur people want to stay,” he argued, “and will stay, at home; we are in
for the fight, and will fight it out here.”46
Foreshadowing a method that anti-emigrationists routinely employed in
later years, Smith also openly disparaged individual people who endorsed
Haitian migration. In a passionate plea, Smith begged Henry Highland
Garnet to renounce his work for the Haitian Emigration Bureau. Accusing
Garnet of abandoning the struggle for Black equality in the United States,
Smith cited a pledge they made to each other as young boys that they would
unceasingly agitate until the battle for freedom and justice had been won.
“Shake yourself free from these migrating phantasms,” Smith pleaded, “and
join us with your might and main. You belong to us, and we want your
whole soul.” Smith’s attack on Frederick Douglass was even more personal
and biting. Mocking Douglass in the Weekly Anglo-African newspaper, he
sarcastically stated, “Frederick Douglass’s eyes appear dazzled with the
mahogany splendor of the Boston [Haytian Emigration] ‘bureau.’”47
While activists such as Downing and Smith opposed all emigration,
others continued to argue over location. Favoring West Africa as the ideal
site, Martin Delany wrote to James Theodore Holly in January 1861
outlining his reasons for withdrawing his support for Haitian emigration.
Emphasizing their common African ancestry, and the importance of
reconnecting with their motherland, he wrote, “My duty and destiny are in
Africa, the great and glorious (even with its defects) land of your and my
ancestry. I cannot, I will not, desert her for all else in this world.” Delany
also objected to the development and composition of the Haitian project. In
his view, it seemed “too precipitous—not sufficiently matured,” and he
accused Holly of being too hasty in his actions.48
More pointedly, Delany expressed his concern about James Redpath’s
presence in the movement. Arguing that white people should have no role
in the emigrationist cause, he insisted that no white person, including
Redpath, was “competent to judge and decide upon the destiny of the
colored people or the fitness of any place for the bettering of their
condition.” Instead, Black people needed to embrace self-determination: “if
we … have not yet reached the point of competency to judge and decide for
ourselves, what, when, and where is best for us to do or go, but must have
white men to act for us, then indeed are we wholly unfit to fill the places
they claim for us, and should be under white masters.”49 Holly responded
quickly and decisively, insisting that the Haitian government, not Redpath,
governed the emigration plans. As he cleverly quipped, “Redpath … is not
the head of this movement … He is the white servant, Geffrard the black
master.”50 Yet while this back-and-forth between leading lights of the
freedom struggle likely put a damper on some people’s desire to emigrate,
the events of April 1861 proved even more momentous.
In a powerful stroke of fate, southern rebels fired on Fort Sumter on
April 12, 1861, and the Civil War commenced. The war prompted Frederick
Douglass and many other prominent Black leaders to gradually relinquish
their emigration dreams and refocus attention on the United States, in hopes
that slavery could be vanquished and the battle for citizenship might
eventually succeed. Less than one month after Frederick Douglass printed
his enthusiastic editorial romantically prophesizing his arrival in Haiti, he
had a radical change of heart. In a brief footnote, Douglass added a sad
conclusion, explaining that he had elected to “forego” his trip to Hayti.
Citing the “tremendous revolution” that had suddenly transformed Black
people’s “possible future” in the United States, he explained his decision to
remain in the United States and to “serve the cause of freedom and
humanity in any way that shall be open to us during the struggle now going
on between the slave power and the government.” Abandoning his “long
cherished” desires for Haiti, he concluded, “this is no time for us to leave
the country.”51
In many ways, this phase of Frederick Douglass’s story is a familiar one
because it fits the mold that most scholars have presented; Black leaders
who initially endorsed Haitian emigration immediately became consumed
with the possible demise of slavery following the outbreak of the Civil War,
and quickly shifted their attention back to the domestic scene. This
argument, which seems quite logical, is not entirely accurate. On the
contrary, the movement away from emigration was not as immediate or
clear cut as one might imagine. For more than a year following the attack at
Fort Sumter, Black emigrationists continued to recruit potential migrants
and many free Black people continued to explore Haitian emigration’s
potential.
In March 1861, just before the U.S. Civil War began, James Redpath
purchased The Weekly Anglo-African newspaper and selected devout Black
emigrationist George Lawrence Jr. as editor.52 Two months later, Redpath
renamed the paper The Pine and Palm and used it entirely as a propaganda
tool for the Haitian emigration movement.53 Periodically flaunting images
of Haitian leaders, such as President Fabre Geffrard, on the paper’s front
page, The Pine and Palm dedicated nearly every issue to championing the
Haitian republic, and promoting the advantages of emigration, utilizing a
variety of strategies.54
In some cases, Redpath and Lawrence emphasized emigration’s
popularity in endless columns chronicling the vast numbers of Black people
who intended to make Haiti their home. In May 1861, for example, they
reported that thousands of Black Californians were flocking to meetings
across their state, declaring their desire to migrate. According to one
correspondent in Sacramento, “about ten thousand people” were ready to
depart for Haiti.55 Over the next few weeks, they printed letters from James
Theodore Holly, who celebrated the emergence of emigration clubs in
Maryland, Virginia, Washington, DC, and Brooklyn, New York, and
provided long lists of people who planned to migrate. Letters also poured in
from Ohio, Michigan, Delaware, New York, and Pennsylvania, describing
enthusiastic potential migrants who were eagerly preparing to cast their lot
with the Black republic. As one letter insisted, “Haytien fever” had taken
root.56 Even while the war ramped up, Black people continued to flee the
United States, apparently unconvinced that true freedom would ever come
within the boundaries of their nation.
Meanwhile, The Pine and Palm deluged their readers with passionate,
romantic letters from recent migrants, expressing joy about all the beauty
and possibility they had found in Haiti. John R. Roberts, for example,
writing from Saint-Marc, raved about the glorious reception they received
upon their arrival, including a personal introduction to President Geffrard
and a tour through the palace. For Roberts, there was no comparison
between Haiti and the horrors he left behind in the United States. Reflecting
on his new life in Haiti, he concluded, “I like it so well as to say I shall
make it my home here, and not in the United States. I have taken the oath of
allegiance to this country, and now am a Haytian citizen … This is the
country for the colored man. Those who wish to stay in the States, and
‘fight it out,’ let them do so at their own cost.”57
Other migrants agreed. Between August and November 1861, dozens of
recent arrivals praised their new lives and expressed profound hope for the
Black republic’s future. Joseph E. Williams, originally from Indiana, wrote
of the “sublime scenery” and “lofty mountains” that characterized the
Haitian landscape, urging his brothers and sisters in the United States to
join “the common cause of building up this great Republic.” Mocking the
United States’ deep-seated racism, other letters praised Haiti as the true
“land of the free” and Black people’s only real “home,” insisting that Haiti
was the only place in the world where Black people could rise to full
equality. In vivid detail, letter after letter described the welcoming people,
the tolerable climate, the physical beauty, and the economic opportunity
that Haiti offered. One emigrant even described Haiti as “God’s earthly
paradise, a perfect garden of Eden.”58
Haiti, they explained, was the only place they had ever felt their true
and full humanity. William H. Crawford, who had recently migrated from
Philadelphia, wrote, “I must say I never felt that I was a man until now. I
felt myself oppressed and a minor in the States, but now I am a Haytian
citizen, and am recognized as a man.” Prince Loveridge, an abolitionist
based in Brooklyn, New York, longed to experience that same feeling. Just
one day after shots were fired at Fort Sumter, he wrote to James Redpath
asking him to send an agent to speak to the local Black community about
the benefits of Haitian emigration, and specifically about the “good that
might accrue from emigration to a land where they can be MEN.” For
Loveridge, there was no hope for Black people to gain freedom in the
United States. “Here in prejudiced America,” he wrote, “we can never be
men.” Therefore, he pleaded with Redpath to send someone who could
show his people “the way to Hayti.”59
Such sentiments did not change as the Civil War progressed. By
summer 1861, Black activists were still agitating for Haitian emigration,
explicitly arguing that the outbreak of war had no relevance to the Black
freedom struggle. Since northern white politicians had no interest in using
the war as an opportunity to end slavery, they insisted that Black people
could do more to advance the race by going to Haiti rather than by
remaining in the United States. In late June, L. S. Langley from Vermont
wrote to The Pine and Palm expressing his disappointment with President
Abraham Lincoln’s unwillingness to “conduct the war on the basis of slave
emancipation.” What was the point in staying in the United States, he
wondered, where Black people could only shine white people’s shoes or
serve a pro-slavery government? Instead, Langley urged, they should go to
Haiti, where they could “do more to destroy slavery than by remaining here
to black boots, shave the face, or by tendering their services to the
Government, all of which are one and indivisible.” He also issued a call for
pan-African solidarity, declaring that he had always felt himself to be a
Haitian at heart but was now “more than ever, a Haytian—in fact, I feel
myself to be a patriot of that country.” In closing, he shared his plans to
gather industrious people from around the state and depart for Haiti, where
he could “fortify the bulwark of liberty.”60
One month later, Dennis Powell, from upstate New York, asked what
strategy Black people should employ regarding the war, especially given
ongoing racial hostility in the United States. “Shall we remain in this
country,” he asked, “where we are despised, yes hated?” For Powell, this
was a fundamental question that all Black people should ask themselves,
especially since it did not appear that even a Union victory in the Civil War
would ameliorate racism. “Some think,” he reflected, “that this war will
accomplish the long-looked for result, when the fetters shall fall from the
slave. This may be; but will it change our condition? … I answer, No!”
Convinced that prejudice remained “too deeply rooted in the minds of white
men” in the United States, Powell urged his people to consider what Haiti—
a place he described as “freedom’s land”—might offer. Celebrating
Geffrard’s inducement plan, Powell reflected: “President Geffrard has
looked across the trackless ocean of the deep, and seen our forlorn
condition. He has stretched forth his hand, and bids us come. Shall we not
go?” Determined to respond “wisely,” Powell announced that he would be
setting sail for Haiti the following month, along with three hundred other
migrants.61
Luminaries in the abolitionist struggle also continued the campaign for
Haitian emigration. William Wells Brown and William J. Watkins Jr. toured
extensively throughout the northern United States and southern Canada,
urging Black people to consider making a new life in the Black republic.
Just weeks after the Civil War commenced, Brown delivered a powerful
address in Boston, chronicling Haiti’s history and encouraging people to
emigrate. Emphasizing the “great inducements” under President Geffrard’s
plan, Brown successfully convinced the crowd to form an emigration
association and plan a mass migration. Brown then traveled across New
York state on a lecture tour promoting Haitian emigration, giving eighteen
speeches in just three weeks.62 In June, he also published an incendiary
article castigating those who opposed emigration for being shortsighted and
closed-minded. Like L.S. Langley, Brown warned that Black people in the
United States would never become more than “a race of cooks, waiters,
barbers, whitewashers, bootblacks, and chimney sweeps.” And, he queried,
how much influence could “such a class” have on society? For Brown, the
only hope for proving the “genius and capabilities” of the Black race would
be to emigrate and “build up a powerful and influential government” in
Haiti.63
Two months later, he reiterated his position at another public meeting
held in Boston, arguing not only in favor of emigration and but also for the
defense of Haitian sovereignty. Black people in the United States should
possess a special interest in the Black republic, Brown insisted, since Haiti
“justly belonged to the sons and daughters of Africa.” The Haitians had
courageously thrown off “the chain of slavery” and established an
independent nation, and for this they were “hated by all slaveholding and
oppressive nations.” To demonstrate their commitment to freedom
everywhere, he contended, Black people across the diaspora should seek to
uplift and defend Haiti, rather than demonizing those who embraced Haitian
emigration. After all, the Haitian government had demonstrated a firm
commitment to U.S. Black people, and when such effort is “inaugurated,
and taken up by people here, we ought to do them justice.”64 In the months
that followed, his messages became bolder and more controversial.
In August 1861, Brown delivered a lengthy address, in Troy, New York,
regaling his audience with the history of the Haitian Revolution and the
Black republic’s current conditions. Placing his confidence in President
Geffrard, “the ablest statesman of whom the Queen of the Antilles can boast
since she achieved her independence,” he urged his people to pledge their
time, energy, and their very lives to the Haitian project. Citing Haiti’s
climate, geography, and agricultural enterprises, he assured them that no
other place in the world could better reward their efforts. For Brown,
casting off the shackles of slavery was only the first step—once obtaining
freedom, Black people must also instill themselves with a “spirit of
enterprise, adventure, and self-respect.” The sooner Black people become
willing to embrace their destiny, he concluded, “the better it will be for
ourselves, our children, and humanity.” In December, he stated his position
much more plainly, declaring that to advance the race, Black people must
go to Haiti and build “the Negro Republic.”65
William J. Watkins Jr., abolitionist and associate editor of Frederick
Douglass’ Paper soon joined Brown’s campaign. Descended from a family
of activists, William J. Watkins’s father, William J. Watkins Sr., had
championed Haitian sovereignty as early as 1825.66 Taking up his father’s
mantle, Watkins Jr. became increasingly enamored with the Black republic.
In summer 1861, he traveled to Haiti to investigate conditions further.
While there, he wrote letters to his friends and comrades back in the United
States, painting an idyllic picture of Haitian life. Reveling in the “land of
the free,” Watkins countered negative images of Haiti with his assurances
that Haiti would soon “far excel all other countries.” Like L.S. Langley and
Dennis Powell before him, Watkins drew the painful contrast between the
freedoms that Black people could express in Haiti by comparison to their
downtrodden condition in the United States. In Haiti, he boasted, “you may
have your freedom, free to speak, to act for yourself, free as the air you
breathe; and what more can a man ask, whose rights have always been
curtailed, who has been bound by chains of servitude, trampled upon,
degraded, whipped, scoffed at since his birth … What more than Liberty
can he desire?” Rather pointedly, he strongly criticized the recent Dred
Scott decision in the U.S. Supreme Court, which had concluded that Black
people had no rights that whites were “bound to respect.” In a clever
reversal, he noted that in Haiti, “white men have no rights which black men
are bound to respect,” and therefore it was truly “the black man’s home.”
Conjuring up visions of the Haitian Revolution, he also assured his readers
that Haiti would always remain a free, sovereign Black nation. The
Haitians, he reminded them, had fought for their independence and
“resolved to maintain the same, or die in the attempt.” Therefore, he urged
his people to come to Haiti—“the Land of the Free.”67
 Over the next several months, William Wells Brown and William J.
Watkins Jr. dutifully traipsed across Canada and the northern United States,
spreading the gospel of Haitian emigration. While Brown focused his
energies on Canada, Watkins set off for cities throughout Michigan and
Ohio, including Detroit, Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Toledo. In October,
following a devastating string of Confederate victories in the Civil War,
Watkins reported that eager Ohioans in Sandusky, Oberlin, and Cleveland
were all preparing to migrate. Similar enthusiasm existed in Kalamazoo and
Detroit, Michigan, Watkins noted—a notion later confirmed by a local
resident who declared, “The Haytian fever is high, and I think you will get
as many as you can accommodate.”68
By year’s end, Haitian emigration leader-turned-migrant Reverend
James Theodore Holly reported on conditions in his fledging colony in
Drouillard, near Port-au-Prince. While he admitted that a deadly fever had
taken a toll on his settlement, he also celebrated new life in Haiti, including
the birth of his son, Joseph Geffrard Holly, named for the Haitian president.
Quite surprisingly, however, he also viciously turned on his critics, angrily
blasting the “cowardly” Black people who remained in the United States
rather than becoming courageous enough to live free in Haiti. “I am
ashamed,” he wrote, of the Black people who are too afraid to live and die
as “independent, self-respecting freemen, in pursuit of the noblest aims of
humanity.” Drowning in fear, he lamented, Black people stayed in the belly
of the beast, the land of their enslavement, and succumbed to “their masters,
the dominant white race.”69
Holly even compared fearful Black people to dogs, insisting that Black
people misguidedly loved the United States just “like a spaniel dog, no
matter how much abused by his master, yet he loves him unto death.” His
embarrassment about the weak and spineless Black people who clung to the
land of their oppression ran so deep that Holly ultimately lamented: “The
colored race in the United States should not be mentioned in the same
century in which the deeds of their Haytian superiors are named … such is
the immeasurable distance between the spirit that actuates these two
different branches of the same race.” Even so, Holly believed there could
still be hope for redemption, urging U.S. Blacks to embrace their divine
destiny and come to Haiti, where they could “redeem their individual
characters and be received as one with their heroic Haytian brethren, so as
to be worthy to ‘walk in white with the coming King of kings and Lord of
lords.’”70
Despite Holly’s harsh criticism, Black people across the United States
must have shared his inspiring vision, hopeful that true freedom and
equality might be within their grasp if only they possessed the courage to
try. But while most stories about emigration focus on men—with only
passing references to women and children—we are left to wonder what
motivated women to consider such a risky proposition. Clearly, women
supported Haitian emigration, even if they rarely did so in public. Maria
Hamilton, for example, a recent migrant to Port-au-Prince, sent an open
letter back to the United States, urging more Black people to join the
movement and come to Haiti, where they would find a warm reception. “It
is a great mistake,” she wrote, “to suppose that the people of Hayti are
against the people of the United States emigrating to Hayti. On the contrary,
they are glad for them to come, and hope they will continue to come.”71 But
what inspired Maria Hamilton to go, and what challenges might she have
endured along the way that went unmentioned?
While the historical record provides few insights about Black women’s
political views regarding Haitian emigration during this era, Miss Paulyon,
a young woman who delivered an impassioned speech in 1861, provides us
a brief insight into why at least some women may have been willing to sail
for the Black republic.72 Sometime in 1854, a sixteen-year-old enslaved girl
fled from bondage in Alabama. Out of concern for the safety of those who
assisted her, she shared nothing of how she escaped. We don’t even know
her first name. We only know that with some assistance she found her way
to the North, “suffering hunger, thirst, and cold.” Over the next seven years,
the girl, who named herself Miss Paulyon, adjusted to life as a self-
emancipated woman. She “learned needle-work, geography, arithmetic,
grammar, painting … all through her own exertions.” She also became a
poet and a singer-songwriter, writing and performing a series of moving
tunes, including one entitled, “The Slave’s Farewell.”73 On the surface,
then, Paulyon appeared to be a success story—a former slave who found
freedom, education, and opportunity in the North. And yet she apparently
felt very differently about her life in the northern United States.
On September 2, 1861, Miss Paulyon attended a meeting at the Zion
Baptist Church in New York City. When she rose during the meeting and
shared the tale of her life in slavery, her horrifying saga elicited “many
tears” from her listeners, particularly from the “female portion of the
audience.” But her message was not limited to slavery. Decrying the
persistent racism that plagued the entire United States, she castigated white
Americans for teaching their children to be prejudiced and for creating an
inescapable “caste” system that trapped Black people at the bottom of
society. Her message was so moving that she was “frequently interrupted
with shouts of applause.” One participant later reflected that they had
“never heard anything equal to it.” Yet, for Miss Paulyon, the speech was
her swansong as she gracefully exited the United States. Like John
Russwurm decades before her, Miss Paulyon could no longer endure the
omnipresent racism and discrimination that characterized life in the United
States. Instead, she announced that she was leaving for Haiti within two
days.74 We know nothing of her fate. Did she find what she hoped for in
Haiti? We only know that she desperately believed that life in Haiti would
be preferable to the unequal freedom she endured in the United States.
Many others apparently agreed, and by the end of 1861, approximately
2,000 migrants had departed for Haiti from various regions throughout the
United States.75 The lure of Haitian emigration remained so seductive that
even Frederick Douglass vacillated on the topic throughout 1861 and 1862.
In fact, Douglass remained so enamored with Haitian emigration that he
regularly published circulars advertising the movement in his newspaper.76
He also wrote multiple articles promoting Haiti and its government. In June
1861, he gave a special tribute to a group of migrants destined for Haiti and
urged the U.S. government to support their efforts. “It would be desirable,”
he wrote, “if the United States Government, in view of the important
commercial relations already subsisting between Hayti and the United
States, should look favorably on this movement, and [its] beneficial
results.” In another article that same month, he emphasized Haiti’s ongoing
importance to the global Black freedom struggle: “Hayti is a country which
must ever remain, from the struggles and achievements of its people, dear
to every colored man in America. We feel that she belongs not only to
Haytians, but to us, and that our fortunes are in some measure connected
with hers.”77
Such sentiments are confusing and difficult to reconcile with Douglass’s
decision not to pursue emigration himself. So how can we better understand
Douglass’s relationship to the Haitian emigration movement? Ultimately,
Douglass struck a complicated and murky middle ground, one that has been
largely misunderstood. Most historians writing on the topic have
traditionally focused on one line in an article that Douglass wrote in July
1861, in which he declared: “I am not an Emigrationist.”78 His position,
however, was much more nuanced, and requires an analysis of that
comment in its broader context. In reality, Douglass vociferously supported
Haiti, and even after the outbreak of the Civil War, he continued to believe
emigration was appropriate for a certain portion of the Black community.
His only opposition was to a full-scale exodus of Black people from the
United States. As Douglass explained, two growing shifts in emigrationist
ideology deeply unnerved him. In his view, a “generous outburst of humane
feeling” had served as the early impetus for the emigration movement, but
as it expanded, he feared it had “become ethnological, philosophical,
political and commercial.” In other words, he worried that emigration no
longer concerned itself with people’s needs; instead, it focused more on
politics and profit. Even more, Douglass complained, supporters had started
to present emigration as “the grand solution of the destiny of the colored
people of America,” rather than considering that racial advancement could
still be possible in the United States.79
Once the Civil War began, Douglass no longer believed that emigration
offered a solution for the entire Black race. Instead, he felt emigration
would primarily be appropriate for former slaves who could put their
agricultural skills to work on behalf of themselves and the Haitian nation,
rather than to the benefit of slaveholders. “Fugitive slaves from the more
Southern States,” he wrote in July 1861, “who know all about raising
cotton, rice, sugar and tobacco, would find in Hayti a much more desirable
home and country than in Canada, New York, or Massachusetts.” But while
emigration might be a solution for a select few, Douglass argued, it should
not be the ultimate plan for everyone.80
Douglass’s objections to a mass Black exodus from the United States
stemmed from his firmly held belief that Blacks and whites could one day
live in perfect equality. Perhaps inspired by the hope the Civil War offered,
he pledged himself to the possibility of “Human Brotherhood” and “the
union of mankind.” He believed, in particular, “in bringing the ends of the
earth together, not in widening the distance between; in worldwide co-
operation, not in barren and fruitless isolation.” Desperately clinging to that
notion, Douglass persisted in the fight to obtain full freedom and equal
rights for Black people in the United States. “Until I give up the belief in
the essential identity of human nature, and human destiny,” he poignantly
reflected, “and shall adopt the belief that color is more than manhood …
that men were created to hate and destroy each other, and not to love, bless
and improve each other, I shall continue to hope.”81
Refusing to relinquish his vision for racial harmony, Douglass
maintained that the Haitian emigration movement’s true problem centered
on its core philosophy—its insistence that, as L.S. Langley and William J.
Watkins argued, Black people could never gain true freedom in the United
States. In particular, he worried that the movement spun false tales and
spread the dangerous doctrine that “the prejudice of the whites is invincible,
and that the cause of human freedom and equality is hopeless for the black
man in this country.” Ultimately, Douglass could not support mass
migration because he believed it empowered rather than diminished white
racism. “I object to these schemes of emigration,” he asserted, “because
they uniformly assume … that prejudice against color is invincible.” Based
on these concerns, Douglass ultimately wrote, “This attitude of the Haytian
Emigration movement compels me to say, I am not an Emigrationist.” Yet it
is important to note that he objected to a specific “attitude” with the
movement, not emigration in its entirety.82
Ultimately, then, while Douglass clearly opposed full-scale migration
from the United States, he remained in solidarity with Haiti and Haitian
sovereignty. “I hold up both hands for Hayti,” he wrote in July 1861,
“grateful for her humanity, rejoice in her prosperity, point to her example
with pride and hope, and would smite down any band that would fling a
shadow upon the pathway of her glory.” Analyzing his views more deeply
leads to a clearer understanding of why Douglass simultaneously opposed
certain political strains within the Haitian emigration movement, but
continued to publish advertisements for Haitian emigration in every issue of
his paper between August 1861 and November 1862. It also helps to
explain why Geffrard’s call for emigration consumed pages of each issue in
the closing months of 1861, long after the Civil War commenced.83
Clearly, then, throughout 1861 and 1862, many Black activists
continued to champion Haitian emigration. Even Frederick Douglass,
whose endorsement had grown tepid, still encouraged select segments of
the Black community to consider migration. Precisely for this reason, in the
months following the outbreak of war, Haitian emigration’s opponents
became more determined than ever to discredit the movement. The political
stakes dramatically increased during the Civil War, as many Black activists
desperately hoped that the war would bring a definitive end to slavery and
usher in a new era of freedom and equality. Therefore, they viewed any
continuing discussion of emigration as especially detrimental to their cause,
and they fought to destroy all lingering support for the movement.
On May 13, 1861, almost exactly one month after the Civil War
commenced, Black activists in Boston, including famed abolitionists
George Downing and J. Sella Martin, held a meeting to draft resolutions
opposing Haitian emigration. Arguing that the cause of freedom
necessitated Black people’s presence in the United States to wage the battle
against slavery, they strongly rejected the Haitian project, concluding, “we
firmly, flatly, uncompromisingly oppose, condemn, and denounce as unfair
and unjust as unwise and as unchristian, the fleeing, colonizing efforts
urged by James Redpath.”84 Quite significantly, however, the Bostonians
still refused to denigrate Haiti or its leadership. Perhaps recognizing Haiti’s
importance to the global Black freedom struggle, they expressed their
“profound regard for President Geffrard, as an intelligent, patriotic
statesman” and praised his government for its commitment to advancing the
Black race.85 Strategically positioning themselves, they denounced
emigration, but steadfastly praised Haiti as a sovereign nation.
Other activists did not show Haiti similar mercy. As opposition to
Haitian emigration reached a fever pitch, the attacks against Haiti and its
supporters became increasingly personal and cruel. In summer 1861, Black
abolitionist Robert Hamilton resuscitated The Weekly Anglo-African
newspaper and used it as an effective weapon against the Haitian
emigration movement. On the front page of The Weekly Anglo-African’s
August 17 issue, Hamilton published a lengthy letter from A. P. Smith, who
blasted the Haitian emigration scheme as a financial disaster. Questioning
the legitimacy of Geffrard’s inducement plan, he accused the Haitian
government of trapping U.S. migrants into forms of debt peonage. He also
criticized conditions in Haiti, especially regarding climate and agricultural
opportunities. Sarcastically, he wondered how Haiti could truly be a
“terrestrial Paradise,” given the sweltering heat during much of the year.
Worse, he depicted proponents of emigration as preachers of despair who
sought to “scare” Black people out of the United States, and he accused The
Pine and Palm’s editors of implementing a “gag law” to prevent dissenting
opinions in their newspaper. Haiti, he concluded, was appropriate only for
those who want their government to “spoon-feed them.” For Smith, true
courage could be seen only in those who were willing to fight for justice
and equality in their birthplace. Ultimately, like Frederick Douglass, Smith
believed that the battle against U.S. racism could still be won. “Slavery is
not immortal,” he reflected, and “wrong is not invincible.”86
Like A.P. Smith, other opponents of Haitian emigration focused heavily
on the social, political, economic, and even environmental conditions that
made Haiti an undesirable destination for U.S. Blacks. In a rare reflection
on the complexity of Haitian race relations, The Weekly Anglo-African
reprinted an editorial describing tensions between Black and mixed-race
Haitians. Black Haitians, the article warned, had been conspiring to
“overthrow what they call the ‘Mulatto Government,’” to unleash a caste
war. Although the author admitted that President Geffrard was considered
“nearly black,” the “mulatto element” still possessed considerable
governmental authority, creating significant resentment among the masses
of Black people. “The caste feeling of the blacks of Hayti,” the article
warned, “is stronger against the mulatto than even the pure white, and it has
been evident for some time that an attempt at overthrow of the Government
would take place at an early day.”87 In republishing this article, editor
Robert Hamilton not only sought to raise fears about Haiti’s potential
political instability, but also implied that light-skinned or mixed-race Black
migrants would be unwelcome, or even unsafe, in Haiti.
J.W. Duffin, a recent arrival in Haiti, also raised questions about Haiti’s
suitability for U.S. Black settlers when he wrote to Robert Hamilton
describing his community’s struggles in their new home near Saint-Marc.
While describing Haiti as a “delightful country,” and continuing to “hope
for the best,” Duffin admitted that coming to the Black republic may have
been a mistake. His wife had fallen gravely ill, working conditions were
extremely challenging, and he complained about the other migrants who he
believed were “second rate colored men.” He also fretted about rampant
immorality and crime in Haiti. “The moral desolation that reigns here is
enough to make the christian’s heart ache,” he lamented, “Crime of every
kind stalks abroad at noon day and no one seems to care for any of these
things.”88
By early 1862, others joined Duffin’s chorus of complaints. Martin
Delany, who had previously promoted Haitian sovereignty, still praised
Haiti’s commitment to Black self-governance, but insisted that potential
migrants were being misled regarding Haiti’s true potential. The Black
republic, Delany warned, could never become “one of the national powers
of the earth.” Citing its small size, its limited resources, and its vulnerability
to foreign invasion, he maintained that Haiti would eventually be reduced to
a state of “miserable political dependence.” After all, he sadly reflected,
“the ruling powers of Europe [are] determinedly opposed to the self-
government of the black races,” and would always seek to reduce Haiti to
“abject slavery” and “subordinate relations.” Stephen Allen Benson, the
president of Liberia, agreed, claiming that while he wished the Haitians
well, Haiti would never become a successful nation as long as racism
persisted. “It does not require any extraordinary penetration of mental
acumen,” he wrote, “to see that the prospect of permanently establishing a
colored nationality (African) in the western hemisphere is very gloomy.”
Like Delany, Benson believed that white people would never allow Black
people to thrive in the Americas or “maintain a permanent nationality in
that hemisphere.”89
While Delany and Benson based their arguments on thoughtful, astute
reasoning, others did not. As criticism against Haitian emigration mounted,
the attacks became increasingly personal and biting, taking aim at
emigration leaders, such as James Theodore Holly, for bringing migrants to
Haiti, where death was “making havoc” in the settlements. Reports even
suggested that Holly himself had fallen victim to fever, and that his wife
had gone insane soon after arriving in Haiti. Of course, such stories were
false, and Holly later publicly refuted them. However, letters and articles
continued to tell dire tales about life in the Haitian settlements.90 One
editorial, entitled “Hospitable Graves in Hayti!,” told of “frightful
mortality” rates among migrants and snidely concluded, “it does seem a
queer way to build up ‘colored nationalities’ by enriching a soil already the
richest in the world.” Worse, when Holly suggested that sick and dying
colonists had simply refused to follow medical advice, the editor unleashed
a scathing rebuttal, depicting Holly as a man who, “with Haytian gold
jingling in his pockets, coolly turns round and calls his dead victims
fools.”91 Several months later, Holly faced reprisals again when John
Sanchez, a former resident in Holly’s Haitian colony, joined the attacks,
arguing that Holly disregarded human life in favor of financial gain. “I do
not agree with [Holly’s] doctrine,” Sanchez wrote, “that we should be
willing to sacrifice 400 out of every 1200 persons going to Hayti; neither do
I wish them to die there that the soil may be enriched for the growth of
cotton.”92
William Wells Brown, John B. Smith, and Henry Highland Garnet also
faced numerous accusations from observers who claimed that they were
spinning false tales about Black people’s potential in the United States in
order to profit from Haitian emigration.93 During one meeting in New
Haven, Connecticut, participants concluded that “all commissioners or
agents of Haitian emigration shall hereafter be treated as, and rightly
considered to be, the real enemies of the colored people in this country,
having for their object only speculation and not the interest of the colored
people at heart.” One unnamed Black man further claimed that The Pine
and Palm newspaper had been “prostituted to the advocacy of a scheme
which had already proved more disastrous to the colored people than
anything in their history except slavery itself.” And in Paterson, New
Jersey, an activist, known only as A.P.S., leveled painful indictments
against emigration leaders, comparing Black emigration agents to slave
traders. “More than once,” he wrote, “I have seen people, who were
unacquainted with the full extent of human depravity, shocked to the soul
when learning that the black sells black to the slave trader on the coast of
Africa; but horrid as this may appear, similar acts are daily perpetrated
under our eyes by the hired agents of Jas. Redpath.” Chronicling a variety
of ills in Haiti—particularly low wages and high cost of living—the author
asked, “how in the name of common sense … do people expect to benefit
by emigration?” They could not, A.P.S. concluded, and therefore the only
solution to stop the “diabolical proposition” would be to eliminate James
Redpath altogether. “Let blood be spilled,” the author exclaimed, “and let
the first to pay for his infamous crimes be Jas. Redpath, the heartless trader
in our people’s woes.”94
 Despite the fury and ferocity in these attacks, no one could launch a
fiery tirade against Haitian emigration better than Black activist Mary Ann
Shadd Cary.95 A stalwart champion of Canadian emigration, Cary deeply
resented the Haitian movement’s growing influence, and she led a tireless
campaign against it. In October 1861, she participated in a raucous public
meeting in Chatham, Canada, where she submitted numerous resolutions
opposing Haitian emigration, including one that condemned Haitian
emigration as a “disastrous” scheme, and another that excoriated emigration
agents for their “nefarious work.” For more than six months, she sent
numerous letters to The Weekly Anglo-African, angrily railing against
Haitian emigration. In two particularly outraged letters, she labeled Black
proponents of Haitian emigration as “colored Judases” and humiliated
James Theodore Holly for the deaths in his colony. Yet Cary’s most stinging
rebuke came when, like A.P.S in New Jersey, she drew a chilling
comparison between Haitian emigration and the slave trade. Emigration
agents, she warned, round up Black people and “ship them off with as much
ceremony as do practised slave traders on the coast of Guinea.”96
Cary’s campaign against Haiti continued through the end of the year. In
November, The Weekly Anglo-African dedicated nearly an entire page of
one issue to a letter from Cary in which she sought to reveal the
“falsehoods” circulating about Haitian emigration. Citing death rates and
restrictive political regulations in Haiti, she asserted that the Black republic
could never be a happy home for the Black race. She also accused William
J. Watkins Jr. and William Wells Brown of kowtowing to James Redpath in
exchange for financial gain. “When colored men attempt to play servile to
white men,” she warned, “they do not seem to know when or where to stop
… and the Haytian scheme is no exception.” She continued her attack on
Watkins the following month, after he traveled to Canada to deliver a
speech in favor of emigration. Openly deriding him, Cary described
Watkins as one of “those maggots in the Haytian carcass, that wiggle away
to … fatten on the fugitives.” After all, she claimed, Watkins, Brown, and
others received high annual salaries to “send fugitives where they know that
pestilential fevers, licentiousness, drunkenness, heathenism, and
superstition abound.”97
While Cary was perhaps the most vociferous opponent of Haitian
emigration, she was certainly not alone. By spring 1862, a new California-
based Black newspaper, The Pacific Appeal, joined the political debate,
routinely printing articles denouncing Haitian emigration. In June, the first
such article appeared, written by an author known only as “McC,” which
might justly be attributed to abolitionist and staunch anti-emigrationist Dr.
James McCune Smith. The Pacific Appeal’s editor, Philip Alexander Bell,
had a well-established relationship with Smith, stemming back nearly
twenty-five years, when they worked together in New York City.98 Since the
two men knew each other well, it is possible that they continued to
correspond, even after Bell migrated to California and began work on a new
publication. Regardless, the article’s author shared James McCune Smith’s
objections to the Haitian emigration movement. In an open letter to Bell,
the author wrote, “Mr. Editor: What are we going to do with the negroes?
Shall we transport them to Liberia or Hayti? … This question, tried by the
lights of history, experience and common sense, requires not great sagacity
or statesmanship in our rulers to solve.” The solution, the author claimed,
should not be emigration; rather, they should obtain equal rights in the
United States. After all, the article, concluded, the United States simply
needed to “Give the emancipated colored man a fair show.”99
Less than two months later, another open letter to The Pacific Appeal’s
editor appeared, this time from Willis R. Revels in Indiana. The brother of
Hiram Revels, who would later represent Mississippi as the first Black man
to serve in the United States Senate, Willis Revels was a well-respected
doctor in Indianapolis, where he steadfastly supported the abolitionist
movement. In an article aptly titled “Eight Reasons for Opposing
Emigration to Haiti,” Revels opened with the same question as
“McC”—“What must be done with the Colored people in this country?” He
also reached similar conclusions; Black people must stay in the United
States and fight for their rights. Revels likewise echoed Frederick Douglass,
stating that while he did not universally oppose emigration, he had several
specific concerns about the movement to Haiti. He agreed, for example, that
emigration aroused prejudice and that a mass migration did not seem
advisable under the current circumstances. He even shared Douglass’s hope
that conditions in the United States would improve, since the Civil War led
him to “confidently expect great good to the colored people of the United
States.” Revels also echoed Martin Delany’s outrage that a white man
(James Redpath) played a central role in the movement. Such an
arrangement, Revels argued, “panders to the vile spirit of negro hate” by
assigning an elevated position to a white man, and “menial” positions to
Blacks.100
Yet while Revels reiterated many of his compatriots’ views, he also
articulated his own concerns. He believed, for example, that the emigration
movement created division and debate among Black people at a time when
they should be united. Conflict over the emigration question, he asserted,
created “discord among the colored people of the United States” by
“unsettling their minds,” “arraying” people against each other, and raising
questions about their destiny in the United States. More significantly, he
harbored deep reservations about Haiti’s internal conditions. He worried, in
particular, about religious and linguistic differences between Haitians and
U.S. Blacks, the character of the government, the “enervating climate,” and
the limited territory. Lastly, he broached a topic that Black people in the
United States rarely acknowledged, and that only one article in The Weekly
Anglo-African had previously mentioned—the racial hierarchy in Haiti that
still privileged mixed-race people over Blacks, causing significant prejudice
and racial division in the country. As a result, Revels concluded, Black
people must resist the Haitian emigration movement and its “specious
inducements.”101
Given the onslaught of negative propaganda, it is unsurprising that
enthusiasm for emigration gradually began to wane. In December 1861, and
throughout the following spring, letters back to the United States shared
more disheartening stories about poor conditions, flawed land distribution
programs, and conflict between Black settlers and Haitians—especially
linguistic and religious differences—which caused tremendous concern
among the Black leadership. According to numerous sources, “emigration
fever” was dying down across the United States, and most Haitian migrants
wanted to return. In the months that followed, The Weekly Anglo-African
bombarded its readers with endless stories of disillusioned potential
migrants, disappointed colonists, and disgruntled return migrants.
Moreover, in April 1862, anti-emigrationists had begun to travel around
Ohio, speaking about horrific conditions in Haiti and discouraging
migration. Among them was Joseph E. Williams, who had promoted
Haitian emigration less than six months earlier. Recently returned from
Haiti, Williams felt utterly disillusioned and was “lecturing against the
mischievous enterprise.”102
Even more telling, however, was the flood of reverse migration, not
only among recent migrants, but among seasoned Haitian migrants as well.
The Weekly Anglo-African printed numerous articles chronicling waves of
returnees who expressed frustration and disappointment about their
experiences. One ship arriving from Saint-Marc landed in New York City in
December 1861, carrying return migrants who told a “tale of suffering and
death among our people in that island … enough to bring tears to the eyes
of the most indifferent.” Charging the Haitian government and the
emigration agents with “neglect of duty” and “brutality” toward the
migrants, the article urged Black people in the United States to “assist our
brethren in getting away from that land of sufferings and death.”103 Three
months later, another shipload of return migrants arrived in New York City,
including one man who described Haitian emigration as “utter folly.”
Shockingly, the ship also brought Hezekiah Grice, a well-known activist
who had migrated to Haiti nearly thirty years prior, after the Colored
Conventions elected to oppose Haitian emigration. No explanation was
offered for his return.
In one particularly painful story, a Black Californian, J. P. Williams,
migrated to Port-au-Prince only to suffer extreme illness, the loss of his
wife from fever, and undesirable living conditions. He especially noted the
high numbers of people who ended up cutting sugarcane for pitifully low
wages and ultimately died from overwork and exposure. Most
disappointing, perhaps, was the realization that many Haitians felt
unenthusiastic about emigration, and opposed the presence of U.S. Black
migrants in their country. Given the circumstances, he sadly concluded that
Haiti was “not the place for the colored American to emigrate to” and
dejectedly returned to the United States.104
The Haitian emigration movement’s second wave slowly came to an
unfortunate and unceremonious conclusion throughout the latter half of
1862. In May, James Redpath reported that his recruitment efforts in the
spring had been a “total failure.”105 Soon thereafter, the Haitian Emigration
Bureau and The Pine and Palm newspaper dissolved after Redpath’s very
public departure from the organization. Citing “a difference of views with
the Haytian authorities,” Redpath abandoned the movement, leaving the
Bureau floundering.106 Similarly, Joseph Bustill’s Geffrard Industrial
Regiment disbanded after receiving “gloomy reports” about conditions in
Haiti. Faced with a growing reverse migration back to the United States,
most of Bustill’s potential migrants became uneasy and eventually
withdrew from the plans.107 The final attempt to create a Black settlement
on Ile A’Vache, an island off Haiti’s southwestern coast, also ended in utter
failure in 1863. Therefore, the enthusiasm for emigration waned and almost
entirely disappeared.108
Or did it? Although the formal emigration movement certainly went
into severe decline, and the U.S. Black leadership embraced the fight
against slavery at home, some activists may still have secretly nurtured their
own desires to build a life in the Black republic. It appears that even
Frederick Douglass may have clandestinely succumbed to temptation.
Although he publicly distanced himself from the movement, privately he
continued to consider it. As late as October 1862, his daughter, Rosetta,
asked her father in a personal letter whether he still planned to visit Haiti.
Admittedly, she concluded that he likely would not since James Redpath’s
efforts with the Haitian Emigration Bureau had failed. “I see Redpath has
resigned,” she wrote, “and the Pine and Palm has fallen. Is there any
prospect of your going to Hayti? I do not see how you can go now.”109
However, the fact that she believed her father might still travel to Haiti,
more than a year after he announced he would not, suggests that there may
have been a divide between his public proclamations and his private
dreams.
This suspicion is further confirmed by a letter from Douglass’s friend
and correspondent, Ernest Roumaine, who served as the Colonel Aid-de-
Camp to President Geffrard. In November 1862, Roumaine urged Douglass
to visit Haiti as his guest—an offer that Roumaine had apparently made
before. “Should you be decided to visit our Island,” Roumaine wrote, “I am
happy to renew the offer which I had the pleasure to make to you of a
passage on board the steamer with the assurances of a most hearty welcome
to that beautiful and only country where the sons of Africa enjoy fully all
their rights and privileges.” Suggesting that Roumaine anticipated a positive
reply, he signed the letter with the following heartfelt message, “Expecting
the pleasure of your company home.”110 In the end, of course, Douglass
again declined the opportunity to fulfill his long-cherished desire to see the
Black republic.
But, as Douglass’s dilemma indicated, the Black community during the
Civil War era never stopped thinking of Haiti. As their long-cherished
desires faded into a distant memory, they turned again to foreign policy and
wondered whether the United States would ever extend full diplomatic
recognition to the Black republic.

OceanofPDF.com
 8

TOO SOON TO REJOICE?

The Battle for Haitian Recognition in the U.S. Civil War Era

On June 2, 1862, Senate Bill No. 184 reached the United States House of
Representatives. Nearly sixty years after Haitian independence, the U.S.
Congress had finally consented to consider a proposal to officially extend
diplomatic recognition to Haiti and Liberia. Most Black activists had
assumed such a day would never come. After passing the Senate several
weeks earlier, a bill to formally acknowledge the first Black republic in the
Americas as a sovereign nation faced its final hurdle. If successful, the bill
would require the U.S. government to recognize Haiti’s autonomy and to
potentially receive a Black ambassador in Washington. Given the decades-
long battle for Haitian recognition, this should have been a time for
rejoicing in the Black community, but instead, the mood seemed
surprisingly solemn and quiet. Although Black newspapers printed brief
announcements about the bill, no impassioned editorials, speeches,
pamphlets, or acclamations accompanied it. Only silence ensued. Anxiously
holding their breath in anticipation of the impending congressional conflict,
Black activists likely knew a storm was brewing.
By summer 1862, most slaveholding states had already seceded from
the Union. Even so, strong anti-Black sentiment still persisted in Congress
among Democrats, Unionists, and Republicans alike. Naturally, Black
leaders doubted whether U.S. politicians would ever approve a bill
demanding the recognition of two sovereign Black nations. Such fears were
justified. Once Senate Bill No. 184 reached the House floor, a lengthy and
virulent debate commenced, dripping with venomous racism and capitalistic
greed, revealing the U.S. government’s deep and resilient attachment to
slavery and white supremacy. Samuel Cox, a Democratic representative
from Ohio, reminded his colleagues that “this Government is a Government
of white men … the men who made it never intended, by anything they did,
to place the black race upon equality with the white.”1 In early June, then,
while Haiti’s fate hung in the balance, Black activists in the United States
must have wondered whether they should cling to their deeply treasured
dreams for Haiti, or if their dreams would explode.
This chapter explores the tumultuous years between 1859 and 1863 as
the U.S. government pondered whether to finally acknowledge Haitian
sovereignty, almost six decades after the Black republic gained its
independence. At the heart of this debate, a deeper, more insidious question
simmered just under the surface: would the United States ever live up to its
principles of “freedom and justice for all”? Esteemed Black abolitionist
Robert Purvis certainly thought so. When he appeared before the American
Anti-Slavery Society’s annual meeting in May 1863, he joyfully proclaimed
that, “The good time which has so long been coming is at hand. I feel it, I
see it in the air.” Inspired by the recently enacted Emancipation
Proclamation, Purvis steadfastly believed that a new day dawned for Black
people in the United States and across the diaspora. Yet, other astute
observers nervously predicted that they had not yet emerged triumphant. “It
is too soon to begin to rejoice” they anxiously murmured, “don’t halloo till
you are out of the woods; don’t be too sure of the future—wait and see.”2
So, who was right? Was it too soon to rejoice?

***

In early 1859, United States officials commenced an acrimonious debate

over the government’s relationship to Haiti. Almost immediately after Fabre
Geffrard seized control in Haiti and restored the republic, U.S. commercial
agents resumed efforts to convince U.S. political leaders to reconsider their
outdated and absurd non-recognition policy. In February, the commercial
agent in Cap Haitian excitedly wrote to Secretary of State Lewis Cass,
reporting that Geffrard’s revolution had been “entirely successful” and that
Emperor Faustin I had abdicated his throne. Happily, the letter concluded,
“Hayti is now again a Republic.”3 The following month, Joseph Lewis, the
commercial agent stationed in Port-au-Prince, also wrote to Cass, pleading
with him to extend formal recognition. Now that the emperor had been
ousted and a new republic had been established, President Geffrard,
himself, had “expressed a wish that the United States would yet recognise
[sic] the government of Hayti.”4 As in years past, these letters went largely
ignored among U.S. government leaders, but the political climate slowly
began to shift two years later, shortly after the Civil War began.
In September 1861, the United States’ new commercial agent in Port-
au-Prince, Seth Webb, wrote to William Seward, the recently appointed
Secretary of State, complaining about his position in Haiti. The U.S.
government’s refusal to acknowledge Haiti, Webb grumbled, placed him in
a difficult and embarrassing situation. “Every other great power of the
world except our own is thus represented,” he reminded Seward, which
placed the United States’ financial interests in jeopardy. Webb sternly
rebuked the U.S. government’s policy, arguing that their refusal to have
official representation in Haiti “is altogether disastrous to the interests of
our commerce, & almost destroys the political influence of our government
& its commercial agents.” The United States, Webb insisted, must enact “a
prompt and cordial recognition of Haytian nationality.” Concluding his
letter with a chilling illustration of his true economic motivations, Webb
argued that formal recognition “would enable us to hold this island in the
hollow of our hand.”5
A few months later, Webb wrote to Seward again, describing Haiti’s
potential as a cotton-growing nation. Likely hoping to compete with the
Confederacy, cotton cultivation seemed particularly appealing to the Union
government in late 1861, and Haiti appeared to offer a compelling
opportunity. According to Webb, cotton grew “luxuriantly” in Haiti,
especially sea-island cotton, known to be exceptionally long and thick,
much better than the “coarse” version grown in the United States. The
recent influx of Black migrants from the United States was another asset,
since their skill and expertise in cotton cultivation could revive the Haitian
economy and turn Haiti into a “great cotton growing country.” Ultimately,
Webb imagined, Haitian cotton would eventually fulfill “the whole demand
of England,” and perhaps even displace southern cotton.6
Perhaps worried that his argument had not been sufficiently convincing,
Webb wrote to Seward for a third time on December 12, 1861, this time
employing obvious scare tactics. Other European powers, he warned, were
swarming into Haiti and attempting to “drive American trade from the
Island, & to destroy our influence among the Haytian people.” He also
emphasized growing frustration in the Haitian government about the United
States’ non-recognition policy. The Haitian people, Webb argued, had
hoped that Geffrard’s government would bring an end to the “coldness and
neglect” that the United States demonstrated toward Haiti, but U.S. policy
had not changed. The Haitians, Webb reported, “feel & do not hesitate to
express a bitter disappointment that nothing has yet been done.” As such,
Webb asked, once again, for Secretary Seward to reconsider the
government’s stance: “I beg leave to repeat to the department my conviction
that our government ought to lose no time in acknowledging the
independence of Hayti.”7
Although U.S. commercial agents had made many similar appeals for
more than thirty years, and been utterly dismissed, the Civil War era
ushered in a new political opportunity. Just days before Seth Webb wrote
his final appeal, President Abraham Lincoln delivered an address to the
Union, calling upon Congress to consider formal recognition for both Haiti
and Liberia. Adopting Webb’s reasoning, Lincoln argued that important
commercial advantages might be secured by favorable treaties with the
Black republics. “If any good reason exists why we should persevere longer
in withholding our recognition of the independence and sovereignty of
Hayti and Liberia,” Lincoln reluctantly admitted, “I am unable to discern
it.” Apparently unwilling to make a unilateral decision on his own,
however, Lincoln punted the issue to Congress, stating that he could not
bring himself to “inaugurate a novel policy” toward the two Black nations
“without the approbation of Congress.”8
Not surprisingly, Black abolitionists and their white allies followed the
situation closely, with nearly all of the leading Black and anti-slavery
newspapers printing Lincoln’s message in its entirety, and offering
supportive remarks.9 Even so, Lincoln did not find universal approval
among Black activists. Robert Hamilton, The Weekly Anglo-African’s editor,
penned a lengthy article, openly mocking Lincoln’s obvious discomfort
with Haiti and Liberia. President Lincoln, Hamilton reflected, had
“squirmed wretchedly” when forced to consider admitting “two negro states
into the family of nations,” much like the awkward moment when “a white
American not entirely free from [racism’s] influence is placed in a position
in which he is obliged to introduce a black as a man, a gentleman, or a
brother.” Imagine the scene, Hamilton mused, when Lincoln and Secretary
of State Seward had to introduce a Black diplomat in Washington!
Gleefully anticipating that day, Hamilton disparaged the U.S. government
for dragging its feet for so long. After all, Haiti had been independent for
decades and there should be “nothing new or novel in the fact of its
recognition by one of the great powers of the earth.”10
While Robert Hamilton publicly shamed Lincoln and the U.S.
government for their blatant racism, other Black activists likely wondered
what the outcome might be.11 Would the proposal meet the same fate as the
petitions in the 1830s and 1850s, or would Congress finally acknowledge
Haiti as a sovereign Black republic? At least one observer in Haiti was not
optimistic. Writing to Frederick Douglass from Port-au-Prince in February
1862, the unknown author expressed profound pleasure that “the
recognition of Haiti and Liberia is strongly agitated in the papers,” but
harbored significant skepticism about the movement’s success. After all,
racism still dominated the United States, and American politicians had not
even “proclaimed liberty” in the nation’s capitol. How, then, could anyone
expect that they would acknowledge a “former slave country” or receive a
Black diplomat in Washington? Offering a rather gloomy prediction, the
author concluded: “My conviction is that your ‘Union’ must be blotted out
before its sin be redeemed.”12 Such concerns were perfectly legitimate,
given that white anxieties about Black diplomats in Washington had
plagued the Haitian recognition movement since the 1820s.
Even so, Black activists tried to remain hopeful, despite decades of
disappointment. Isaac N. Cary, an abolitionist based in Canada, wrote
enthusiastically about the possibility of Haitian recognition in December
1861. Haiti, he believed, had always been “highly worthy of an independent
position in the family of nations,” and it inspired him to know that “Haytian
Liberty” might finally be acknowledged. Predicting a promising future for
the Black republic, he eagerly anticipated the moment when Haiti would be
given “that dignified position which has been long and so unjustly withheld
from her.” The editors of The Pine and Palm newspaper agreed, reveling in
the vision of Haitian recognition, but also lamenting that the United States
had delayed action for so long. “If slavery had not ruled the nation,” the
editors noted, “there would have been a recognition years ago.” To illustrate
this point, they reprinted an article from the Charlestown Advertiser, which
railed against proslavery politicians for their long-standing refusal to
acknowledge Haiti. Proslavery “aristocrats” and their “northern
sympathizers” were to blame, the article insisted, because they knew that
once the United States admitted that Black people were “capable of
rational, independent self-government,” it would “pave the way for general
emancipation.”13 As their reflections indicated, Black activists obviously
knew that the specter of slavery haunted the congressional deliberations, but
the most ardent supporters watched with interest, praying for a positive
outcome.
On April 22, 1862, the congressional debate over Haitian recognition
finally began when Senator Charles Sumner appeared on the Senate floor to
introduce Senate Bill No. 184. A stalwart anti-slavery activist, Sumner had
previously advocated for Haitian recognition and therefore seemed a wise
choice for this responsibility. But as Chair of the Committee on Foreign
Relations, he faced an enormous challenge. He had to convince his
colleagues (including representatives from the slaveholding states that had
remained loyal to the Union) to approve this bill, authorizing the president
of the United States to “appoint diplomatic representatives to the republics
of Hayti and Liberia, respectively.” Strategically hoping to force U.S.
recognition of two Black republics, Sumner packaged the appeals for Haiti
and Liberia together and asked for the bill to be heard in the Senate on the
following day.14 But on April 23, when Senate Bill No. 184 finally received
consideration, a firestorm of controversy emerged.
Perhaps hoping to avoid a deluge of opposition, Senator Sumner
adopted a rather clever strategy. As a known abolitionist, which had already
drawn his colleagues’ ire, Sumner elected not to argue for Haitian and
Liberian recognition using anti-slavery arguments.15 Instead, he framed his
case strictly on foreign policy and U.S. economic interests. Sumner opened
his statement by condemning the U.S. government’s actions toward Haiti
and Liberia and arguing that the United States’ economy and its
international reputation had been damaged as a result of their non-
recognition policies. In denying Haiti and Liberia, Sumner asserted, “our
national character has suffered,” especially since all other western nations
had recognized Haiti decades prior. “It is time,” Sumner flatly stated, “to
put an end to this anomalous state of things.”16
Regarding Haiti, in particular, Sumner emphasized the country’s
strengths and its economic importance to the United States. “Hayti is one of
the most beautiful and important islands in the world,” Sumner observed,
“possessing remarkable advantages in size, situation, climate, soil,
productions, and mineral wealth.” During this period, when agriculture and
budding industries formed the basis of world trade, and determined a
country’s financial solvency, Sumner astutely noted that Haiti possessed an
endless supply of natural resources, including mahogany, logwood, coffee,
cocoa, sugar, indigo, cotton, gold, silver, platinum, and iron, all of which
could substantially enrich U.S. merchants. In addition, drawing upon the
well-worn strategy that stemmed back to the petitioning campaign in the
1830s, he argued that Haiti remained one of the United States’ most
important trade partners, surpassing most other nations including Russia,
Turkey, Portugal, and Japan. In fact, the Haitian trade even rivaled China’s,
which undoubtedly held sway over U.S. international commerce.17
Considering such financial data, the plan to recognize Haiti became
“irresistible,” Sumner insisted, especially since formal recognition promised
to bolster trade between the nations. Quoting John Wilson, the U.S.
commercial agent in Cap Haitian in 1854, Sumner declared, “‘By a
recognition of the independence of Hayti, our commerce would be likely to
advance still more. Our citizens trading there would enjoy more privileges,
besides standing on a better footing.’” Even more, Sumner warned, U.S.
merchants in Haiti would suffer unless the policy changed, since non-
recognition placed them at the mercy of incessant “annoyances” and
“embarrassments” that prevented their financial success. Only formal
recognition—“an act of justice too long deferred”—could substantially
benefit the U.S. economy.18
Other observers agreed, including the editors of the Evening Post and
the National Anti-Slavery Standard, who affirmed the economic rationale
for recognition. A few months earlier, they had published articles arguing
that Haitian recognition could significantly enhance U.S. commercial
interests. “It may be of value to us,” they wrote, “that this republic should
be among our friends,” especially since, with “a little care and attention,”
the United States could “double or quadruple the value of our trade with
those people.” Placing blame squarely on “Southern aristocrats” who
“persistently refused to recognize and establish commercial relations with
Hayti,” they pleaded with congressional leaders to right this terrible
wrong.19 Yet, despite the secession of most slaveholding states from the
Union, proslavery sentiment still lingered in the halls of Congress, and
therefore, despite the compelling economic reasoning, strong opposition to
Haitian and Liberian recognition persisted.
The day after Sumner presented his case in the Senate, his enemies had
their say. By April 1862, Democrats or Unionists still comprised nearly 30
percent of the Senate and they adamantly opposed any legislation that
appeared to endorse the abolitionist cause. Unionists, a political party
comprised of southerners who remained loyal to the Union following
secession, proved to be especially resistant to Haitian recognition. When the
debate on Senate Bill No. 184 began on April 24, Senator Garrett Davis, a
Unionist from Kentucky, rose in opposition. Like Sumner, Davis employed
a shrewd strategy. He did not oppose the bill in its entirety; instead, he
recommended an amendment empowering U.S. commercial agents and
consuls to protect U.S. economic interests in Haiti and Liberia without
bestowing full diplomatic recognition on the Black republics. He argued
that it made more sense to appoint a “consul general,” who could “negotiate
treaties of amity, friendship, and commerce” with Haiti and Liberia, but
who could not serve as an actual diplomatic official. In other words, Davis
sought to avoid formal diplomatic recognition while still supporting U.S.
commerce.20
For most proslavery leaders, Haiti was still a political “bogeyman” that
needed to be eliminated at all costs, so while Sumner tried to sidestep any
direct references to race or slavery, Davis tackled the issue head on.21
Angrily denouncing the bill as nothing more than an abolitionist scheme,
Davis complained that he had grown “weary, sick, disgusted, despondent
with the introduction of the subject of slaves and slavery into the Chamber.”
In this case, Sumner’s bill was nothing more than another attempt to “assail
the institution of slavery in the slave States everywhere, and to push that
assault to final success.” Most offensive to Davis was the bill’s effort to
promote racial equality. Formal recognition, in his view, served as a tacit
acknowledgment that Haiti, Liberia, and the United States existed on equal
ground. While he recognized Haiti’s importance in commerce, he still
opposed sending ambassadors there, since “it would establish,
diplomatically, terms of mutual and equal reciprocity between the two
countries and us.” Such an arrangement could not be permitted, Davis
insisted, since it allowed Black representatives from these republics to
appear in Washington and interact with the president and other politicians
as social and political equals. “If a full-blooded negro were sent in that
capacity from either of those countries,” he exclaimed, “by the laws of
nations he could demand that he be received precisely on the same terms of
equality with the white representatives from the Powers of the earth
composed of white people.”22
To illustrate his point, Senator Davis lampooned former Haitian
emperor Faustin Soulouque and his representatives when they appeared in
the French court. Painting an absurd image of inappropriate social strivings,
Davis declared: “Well, a great big negro fellow, dressed out with his silver
or gold lace clothes in the most fantastic and gaudy style, presented himself
in the court of Louis Napoleon … I want no such exhibition as that in our
capital and in our Government.” Appallingly, Davis then reduced
Soulouque’s representative to the status of a slave on an auction block when
he described the response from Mr. Mason, a U.S. official who apparently
witnessed the scene. When asked what he thought about the Haitian
ambassador’s appearance, “Mr. Mason turned round and said, ‘I think,
clothes and all, he is worth $1,000.’” Although Davis’ story drew
considerable laughter from the assembled congressmen across party lines,
Charles Sumner delivered a strong rebuttal.23
Indignantly dismissing Davis’s remarks, Sumner argued that the focus
should remain on U.S. economic and political interests, not race or slavery.
“In presenting this measure,” he calmly stated, “I make no appeal on
account of an oppressed race. I urge it simply as an act for our own good.”
To support his position, he quoted Seth Webb’s letter to the U.S. Secretary
of State on December 12, 1861, which had explained the economic crisis
quite clearly. “Our commercial and navigation interests are very large in
Hayti,” Webb wrote, “and they are suffering from the present state of
things.” Non-recognition had a deleterious effect on the U.S. economy
because “it threatens the most serious consequences to the permanency and
stability of our commerce with Hayti, and unless something is done to
check it, we shall probably be substantially driven from the island.”
Cleverly avoiding the explosive questions of race and slavery, Sumner
maintained that for economic reasons alone the Senate should expeditiously
approve the bill and normalize trade with Haiti.24
 Following Sumner’s strategic defense, the senators voted on Davis’s
proposed amendment, which denied full diplomatic rights for Haiti and
Liberia. Reflecting the Democrats and Unionists’ waning influence in
Congress, the measure failed overwhelmingly by a vote of 8 yeas to 30
nays. But before the original bill approving formal recognition for Haiti and
Liberia could be voted upon, Senator Willard Saulsbury Sr., a Democrat
from Delaware, launched one last racist attack against it. Acknowledging
that he knew the bill’s success was imminent, he still insisted upon
proclaiming his opposition to Black representatives appearing in Congress,
especially on the basis of equality. “If this bill should pass both Houses of
Congress and become a law,” he regretfully stated, “I predict that in twelve
months some negro will walk upon the floor of the Senate of the United
States … If that is agreeable to the taste and feeling of the people of this
country it is not to mine; and I only say that I will not be responsible for any
such act.” In many ways, however, his statement served as the proslavery
senators’ last gasp. After he took his seat, Senate Bill No. 184, formally
recognizing the Black republics, passed with 32 yeas and only 7 nays.
Unsurprisingly, all of the dissenting votes came from Democrats and
Unionists.25
The Senate victory seemed almost unimaginable. After nearly sixty
years of protest, petitions, and public appeals, at least one branch of
Congress deemed Haiti worthy of diplomatic recognition. And yet, oddly,
Black activists remained strangely silent. California’s Black newspaper, The
Pacific Appeal printed a brief note praising Sumner and acknowledging the
bill’s success, but otherwise, Black leaders stayed unusually quiet.26 Likely,
the congressional debate dampened their spirits. Charles Sumner’s strategy
in the Senate, although powerful and effective, had lasting, damaging
consequences. His choice to justify Haitian recognition on the grounds of
economic interests allowed U.S. politicians to ignore the deeper issues of
slavery, race, and social justice. True, his scheme may have turned the vote
in his favor, but his decision eventually returned to haunt Haiti in insidious
ways. In the meantime, however, the bill still had to be considered in the
House of Representatives, where Unionists or Democrats constituted over
30 percent of those voting.
On June 2, 1862, about six weeks after the bill for Haitian and Liberian
recognition gained Senate approval, the issue made its way to the House of
Representatives. From the beginning, vociferous opposition to the bill
threatened its viability. When Representative Daniel Gooch, a Republican
from Massachusetts and a member of the Foreign Affairs Committee,
brought the bill for consideration, he encountered immediate objections
from Samuel Cox, an Ohio Democrat, who sought to block the bill from
even being considered. Although Cox’s efforts failed, the attack reflected
the rather inauspicious reception that awaited it in the House.27
When finally allowed to present the bill, Congressman Gooch’s opening
remarks described the U.S. government’s legacy of injustice toward Haiti,
and he appealed to his colleagues to reverse the long-standing offense. The
United States, Gooch maintained, should have extended recognition long
ago, especially since Haiti had been the second republic in the Americas to
declare its independence and to prove that all people have the right to self-
governance. Chastising his country for its stubborn refusal to do so, Gooch
argued that “every consideration of justice and right, policy and interest, has
been on the side of their recognition.” Placing blame squarely on the
southern states, he noted that the seceding states held sole responsibility for
this foreign relations debacle and condemned them for their role in
destroying the U.S. government’s reputation in the global political arena. In
his view, the South had “almost silenced the voice of our Government
among the Powers of the world.”28 Mimicking Charles Sumner’s
performance in the Senate, Gooch also offered substantial financial
justification for recognition and cited extensive statistics regarding the
volume of trade between the United States and Haiti. He even quoted the
same letter from Seth Webb, insisting that the U.S. government must
recognize Haiti to ensure protection of U.S. commercial interests.
But while Gooch denounced slavery, racism still slithered into his
speech as he quickly affirmed white American superiority and U.S.
capitalist interests. Like many U.S. commercial agents before him, Gooch
imagined Haiti as a nation of inferior Black people, whose labor could be
exploited for U.S. gain. If the Confederate rebellion proved successful,
Gooch suggested, the Union could cultivate their own cotton in Haiti using
recent Black migrants’ labor. There were “already about fifteen hundred
emigrants in and near St. Marc,” he noted, settled near “the great cotton
field of the Artibonite,” which was “said to be ‘one vast, natural cotton
field.’” As such, Haiti held extraordinary potential to make U.S. investors
extremely wealthy: “‘It is into this great reservoir of wealth, this farmer’s
paradise, that new streams of vigor, capital, and enterprise are about to be
poured.’”29 Gooch’s appeal unequivocally proved that even the advocates
for Haitian recognition were driven by a desire to capitalize upon Haiti’s
natural resources and perhaps even profit off the labor of the formerly
enslaved.
Closing with a practical approach, Gooch argued that given Haiti’s
proximity, and the fact that every other civilized nation on earth had
recognized Haiti, the United States must finally join the global community.
“The geographical position of Hayti,” Gooch noted, “is such that our
Government cannot, without disregarding its own interest, be indifferent to
the future of that island … In recognizing the independence of these two
republics, and establishing diplomatic relations with them, we do but follow
the example of other nations.” After all, U.S. political and economic
interests would undoubtedly suffer if the policy persisted, especially since
other western nations substantially profited from their improved relations
with Haiti. As Gooch ominously warned, “At this very time, England,
France, and Spain are cooperating to secure to themselves all possible
advantages in Hayti, and … ‘acting in unison whenever they can to cripple
the power and interest of the United States in Hayti.’” Therefore, he
resolved that “justice, commercial interest, the example of other
Governments, and the wishes of the people of our own, all demand that we
recognize the independence of Hayti and Liberia, and … place them in the
same footing as other independent nations.”30 With those sentiments, he
concluded his remarks and the House opened for debate. Unfortunately for
the champions of Haitian sovereignty, however, their enemies anxiously
waited to launch their counterattack.
Immediately after Gooch relinquished the House floor, representative
Samuel Cox, the Ohio Democrat, rose in opposition. Utilizing the same
strategy that Garrett Davis had attempted in the Senate, Cox tried to
circumvent formal recognition by proposing an amendment allowing
“consuls” to represent the United States in Haiti, instead of formal
ambassadors. In arguing his position, Cox unleashed a vicious, racist attack
on Haiti and on the very notion of Black self-governance. In a lengthy and
mean-spirited rant, Cox chronicled the long history of political instability
and internal turmoil that had plagued Haiti since independence, arguing that
Haiti had proven unable to govern itself. “As far as relates to the history of
Hayti,” he sneered, “the very events by which it is marked … since
emancipation in 1793, show the inferior state of its civilization, and
especially of its present negro rulers.”31 Cox, of course, failed to mention
that foreign powers had persistently attempted to destabilize Haiti. He also
neglected to acknowledge that the indemnity made it nearly impossible to
simultaneously maintain peace and adequately service the nation’s debt.
Instead, he placed blame squarely on the shoulders of Haiti’s embattled
leaders.
Cox then turned his attention to Gooch’s rationale. Haitian recognition,
in Cox’s view, had nothing to do with commercial interests, nor could
Sumner’s statistics about U.S. commerce with Haiti be trusted. Instead, Cox
insisted that the bill operated as nothing more than an abolitionist ruse,
designed to uplift and promote Black republics. The real purpose of the bill,
Cox insisted, “is not so much to increase the commercial relations of the
United States … as to give a sort of dignity and equality to these republics,
because they are black republics. It is, therefore, literally a black
Republican measure, and that is all there is in it.” After all, he maintained,
if commercial interests had been the real concern, then his amendment
should provide a satisfactory solution, especially since consul generals
possessed the authority to “make treaties [that] will answer every
commercial interest.”32
In response, Gooch made a significant political blunder. Essentially
admitting that economic interests were not the sole motivation, he simply
replied: “My proposition is to put Hayti upon the same footing with other
independent nations.” For the proslavery Democrats and Unionists, Gooch’s
retort elicited a boisterous and vitriolic response. The debate over Haitian
recognition rapidly devolved into a lengthy conflict over Black social
equality. Outraged by the notion of Black republics existing on “equal
footing” with other nations, Cox unleashed a fiery tirade about the dangers
of allowing Black diplomatic representatives to appear in Washington on an
equal basis. When asked what specific objections he had to Black
representatives, he angrily replied that the United States would, and should,
always be a nation governed by whites. “I have been taught,” he declared,
“that these Commonwealths and this Union were meant for white men; that
this Government is a Government of white men; that the men who made it
never intended, by anything they did, to place the black race upon an
equality with the white.”33
Continuing his infuriated rant, Cox argued that Haiti provided
irrefutable proof of Black inferiority and the inability of Black people to
govern themselves. Haiti is poorly managed, he argued, their army is “in
rags,” and there is “great corruption” in all departments of the government.
Barreling toward his conclusion, Cox thundered: “During this trial of
seventy years the blacks have proven that they are not fit for government,
nor competent for independence … To admit such a nation on a [sic]
equality with this free and enlightened Republic, is as much of a caricature
on international comity as the admission of a Port Royal contraband to a
seat in Congress.” Apparently, many of his congressional colleagues
agreed, because when Samuel Fessenden, a Republican representative from
Maine, bravely declared his willingness to “receive black ministers from
Hayti,” a round of boisterous laughter ensued.34
The following day, June 3, 1862, debate on the bill resumed with
Representative William Kelley, a Republican from Pennsylvania, seizing
control over the debate. As a founder of the Republican Party, and Abraham
Lincoln’s close associate, Kelley wielded significant political authority in
the House. Although an ardent abolitionist, Kelley followed Charles
Sumner’s example and carefully steered the conversation away from race.
In an effort to avoid the errors in the previous day’s debate, he argued that
Haitian and Liberian recognition had nothing to do with slavery, it only
pertained to foreign affairs and diplomatic relations. Accusing his
Democratic colleagues of foisting “the negro question upon the House and
country,” Kelley claimed that the bill was strictly designed to “increase our
foreign commerce and protect it against discriminating regulations, duties,
and taxes.” Moreover, Kelley argued that Cox’s insistence that the bill
constituted a secret plan to “promote and produce negro equality at the
expense of the white man” only served as an elaborate scheme to “inflame
the ignorant and prejudiced against the Administration, its friends, and
policy.” Therefore, the House should focus on the real issue at hand,
namely, the economic benefits that the United States could acquire by
adopting the recognition bill. “Pass this bill,” he urged, “secure to our
commerce equal chances in [Haiti’s] ports, and the swelling tide of
agricultural emigration to Hayti from our own shores will make her the
munificent patron of our manufacturers and mechanics.”35
Other Republican representatives also attempted to divert the
conversation away from race. Although unable to appear in person, Thomas
Eliot of Massachusetts regaled his colleagues with a lengthy written
description of Haiti’s natural resources and its glorious defense of liberty.
Using the well-worn strategy of drawing parallels between the American
Revolution and the Haitian Revolution, he praised the Haitians for their
bravery and their ability to retain their freedom against all odds. “During
the last half century,” he wrote, “these people have maintained their
independence and have governed themselves. They achieved an
independence more ample than we fought for in 1776, and without foreign
aid. We contended for political freedom. They had first to secure their civil
rights as men.” He also echoed his compatriots’ appeals for the bill’s
economic benefits and criticized the U.S. government for its unwillingness
to recognize Haiti, even after every other civilized nation had done so.36
Similarly, his ally, Benjamin Franklin Thomas, also from Massachusetts,
introduced another economic appeal, cleverly arguing that the Civil War
might inspire a migration of Black people from the United States to Haiti,
thereby serving the United States’ financial interests. “Our relations with
the States of Liberia and Hayti,” he explained, “may soon assume new
importance … as the natural, inevitable result of this war, the number of
free persons of color in this country will be greatly increased … The doors
of [Liberia and Haiti] are open to receive them. Our sympathy, our aid, our
protection, ought to go with them, and intimate political and commercial
relations will be essential for those ends.”37
Despite their strenuous efforts, the bill’s opponents could not be easily
deterred. For hours, in a debate that spanned nearly an entire day, Democrat
and Unionist representatives battled to assert their claim that Congress
should bypass diplomatic recognition and simply appoint a consul general.
In so doing, they unleashed a nasty conflict over the legitimacy of Black
social equality. John J. Crittenden, for example, the Unionist from
Kentucky, blatantly opposed the bill on the grounds that the white race was
“a superior race among the races of the earth” and he wanted “to see that
pride maintained.” The debate became so toxic and infectious that even the
advocates of Haitian recognition eventually affirmed white supremacy.
Representative Daniel Gooch ultimately declared that white people were, in
fact, inherently superior to “all other races of men.” Even so, he still
insisted that Haitian recognition seemed appropriate and just. After all,
Gooch argued, if white superiority is predicated on a refusal to
acknowledge Haiti, “we had better abandon the claim. The superiority of a
race of men is never shown by their unwillingness to accord to other races
an equality of rights.”38
In the end, of course, Daniel Gooch and his allies emerged victorious,
but a dark cloud hung over their apparent success. On the surface, the
proceedings concluded seamlessly. Samuel Cox’s efforts to replace formal
diplomatic recognition with consul generals failed overwhelmingly by a
vote of 40 yeas and 82 nays. Immediately thereafter, a congressman read
Senate Bill No. 184 into the record, called for the vote, and watched it
easily pass with 86 yeas over 37 nays. Two days later, the bill became law.39
The United States had finally recognized Haiti and Liberia, the two Black
republics. But no one could ignore the deliberation’s seedy underbelly. The
sizable number of dissenting votes, all of which came from Democrats and
Unionists, demonstrated that even after the Confederate secession, virulent
proslavery sentiment persisted in Congress. Even more, the foul stench of
racism that had infected every aspect of the debate still permeated the
nation’s consciousness, and no one could fully ignore the naked economic
opportunism that defined the bill’s eventual success.
Unsurprisingly, then, even after decades of Black activism in favor of
Haitian recognition, Black leaders met their apparent victory with eerie
silence. When Senate Bill No. 184 finally became law, it met with little
fanfare in the Black community. In a brief note, The Pacific Appeal
acknowledged the victory and praised local California representatives for
supporting the bill.40 Likewise, Douglass’ Monthly offered a passing
announcement about Liberian and Haitian recognition, declaring that justice
had finally been done. Strangely, given Douglass’s previous attachment to
Haiti, the notice primarily focused on Liberia, while Haiti barely earned a
mention.41 There is only one other recorded event in which Black activists
publicly acknowledged the bill’s passage—a resolution endorsed during a
community gathering in Philadelphia in which Black leaders honored
Senate Bill No. 184 as an affirmation of Black equality and self-
governance. “The recognition of Haytian and Liberian independence by the
American government,” they declared, “is a practical illustration of the fact
that the negro is capable of self-government,” and they commended the bill
as “generous, humane, and magnanimous.”42 Beyond this passing remark,
however, more than a year passed before the larger Black community
celebrated Haitian recognition at all.
What can account for this peculiar silence? Perhaps, as discussed in
chapter seven, Black activists had become too consumed with debates over
emigration to reflect upon the momentous development that had just
occurred in Congress. More likely, however, Black activists secretly
believed what Frederick Douglass had written during the previous year; that
the U.S. government’s policies toward Haiti were driven solely by their
economic interests, not by a moral compulsion to honor the world’s two
Black republics. As Douglass explained, white people always view Black
people with “dollars in their eyes.” Therefore, when they cast their eyes on
Haiti, they did not see a magnificent, shining Black republic, they only saw
“Twenty hundred millions of dollars invested in the bodies and souls of the
negro race—a mountain of gold … [which served as] a perpetual temptation
to do injustice to the colored race.” “No people,” Douglass reflected, “have
been compelled to meet and live down a prejudice so stubborn and so
hatefully unjust.” For this reason, Douglass maintained, Haiti had been
perpetually shut out of the “fraternity of nations.”43
Even after Haitian recognition, many found it impossible to trust the
government’s motives. In the final analysis, the bill’s approval in Congress
clearly did not reflect a moral victory, or a triumph over slavery, the North’s
economic interests simply prevailed over the South’s. For when northern
merchants thought of Haiti, visions of cotton fields danced in their heads.
Despite the Black leadership’s tepid response, their white allies reveled
in the news. William Lloyd Garrison penned a powerful editorial on the
Fourth of July, affirming that the congressional decision had definitively
conferred the rights of citizenship on Black people. In a daring reference to
the 1857 Dred Scott decision, which had declared that Black people had no
rights which “the white man was bound to respect,” Garrison wrote: “The
bitterest pill that the Border State slave-masters have had to swallow this
session, has been the recognition of the independence of the nationality of
Hayti … It means that this Government henceforth recognizes Blacks as
citizens, capable, of a National life; not as chattels who have no rights
which white men are bound to respect.”44 Black activists, however, did not
appear to share Garrison’s hope, since no one uttered a word about Haitian
recognition until spring 1863, months after the passage of the Emancipation
Proclamation.
The Black leadership’s enthusiasm finally peaked in March 1863—
nearly two years after U.S. recognition—when the first Black Haitian
ambassadors came to Washington, DC. Both Frederick Douglass’ Monthly
and The Pacific Appeal wrote excitedly and enthusiastically about the
Haitian diplomats’ arrival, clearly feeling a bit smug about the notion of
Black governmental representatives appearing in the United States on equal
status with their white peers. The Pacific Appeal’s new editor, Peter
Anderson, praised the Haitian government for sending two Black men,
Colonel Ernest Roumaine and Monsieur D. Bruno, to represent Haiti rather
than succumbing to pressure and sending a white man to appear in
Congress. Roumaine and Bruno, were, Anderson bragged, “both colored
and embrace every opportunity to make known their sympathy for the race.
All honor to the Haytian Government, which thus remained true to its
distinctive feature—a negro nation.”45
Likewise, Frederick Douglass, who had been Roumaine’s longtime
correspondent, reveled in the image of Roumaine arriving in Washington
and receiving his official credentials. Heralding it as a momentous event,
Douglass knew that such an occasion would have been impossible just a
few years earlier. In previous years, he noted, “the idea of recognizing the
Independence of Haiti, and holding Diplomatic relations with her, had only
to be suggested to call forth a storm of opposition from Congress.” Even
more, the mere thought of “a colored minister, from a colored Republic was
not to be entertained by our leading Statesmen.” Reflecting on the Haitian
recognition campaign in the 1830s, he reminded his readers that those
congressmen had “scouted the petitions offered by Mr. Adams asking for
recognition, and denounced the venerable Statesmen who offered them.” At
that time, Douglass reflected, “The introduction of a colored diplomatist at
the Capital would be a direct insult to slavery, and an open invitation to an
Insurrection of the slaves.” Joining Peter Anderson in hailing Haitian
recognition, he praised the Haitian government for its “well chosen”
representatives.46
 Frederick Douglass clearly viewed Haitian recognition as a political
victory for the global Black freedom struggle, gleefully noting that it gave
him “unusual satisfaction” to see the Black republic receive its due
acknowledgment. For him, the decision demonstrated “an unmistakable
sign of the doom of caste and dawn of higher civilization.” However, it
appears that Douglass may have also seen Haitian recognition as an
opportunity for himself. Even when it was nothing more than a remote
possibility, Douglass had apparently started campaigning among his Haitian
associates for a possible appointment as the U.S. diplomatic representative
to Haiti. Evidently hopeful that Haitian recognition might occur during the
Lincoln presidency, Douglass spoke to at least one Haitian correspondent
about his hopes for a diplomatic appointment. Much later, Douglass’s friend
replied, expressing doubt that recognition would ever happen, but
enthusiastically endorsing the notion of Douglass as the representative to
Haiti. “I never forget what you mentioned to me while in the States,” he
reminisced, “about the possibility of [Haitian recognition] being done under
this administration and you being sent as a plenipotentiary. Nothing in the
world would be more satisfying to us.”47 Ironically, Douglass did eventually
become the U.S. diplomatic representative to Haiti, although not until
nearly thirty years later.48
In the meantime, while Douglass reveled in Haiti’s success, other Black
leaders joined the enthusiastic swell, likely due to the Emancipation
Proclamation and the potential Union victory in the Civil War. Appearing
before the thirtieth annual meeting of the American Anti-Slavery Society in
May 1863, abolitionist Robert Purvis joyfully asserted, “The good time
which has so long been coming is at hand. I feel it, I see it in the air, I read
it in the signs of the times; I see it in the acts of Congress, in the abolition of
slavery in the District of Columbia [and] … in the acknowledgment of the
black republics of Hayti and Liberia.”49 Thoroughly convinced that the day
of Jubilee was imminent, Purvis could not be dissuaded. “I cannot be
mistaken,” he claimed, “My instincts are unerring.” Frederick Douglass
shared the same sentiment, happily asserting that the acknowledgment of
Haitian independence equated an endorsement for Black citizenship. “The
independence of Hayti is recognized,” he exclaimed during a speech in
Philadelphia, “Citizenship is no longer denied as under this government.”50
 Similarly, in August 1863, the delegates to the Ohio State Colored
Convention pledged their everlasting loyalty to the United States for its
efforts to destroy slavery in the Confederacy and for its willingness to
acknowledge the two Black republics. “[W]e stand as ever on the side of
the Government,” they wrote, “and pledge to it ‘our lives, our property, and
our sacred honor,’ in its … determination to … welcome Hayti and Liberia
to the great family of nations.”51 As late as 1865, Black activists still
celebrated Haitian recognition, as evidenced by a resolution passed by the
North Carolina State Colored Convention in October 1865: “[W]e hail …
the recognition of the independence of Hayti and the Republic of Liberia …
with joy and thanksgiving, as turning a bright page in our history, &c.”52
But despite the emotional wave of support, a few astute observers
remained deeply skeptical. Even Robert Purvis had to admit that there was a
clandestine chorus of voices that often went unacknowledged: people in the
Black community who whispered behind closed doors, nervously
speculating, “It is too soon to begin to rejoice; don’t halloo till you are out
of the woods; don’t be too sure of the future—wait and see.”53 Keenly
aware of racism’s unrelenting influence, many Black activists secretly
wondered whether the celebrations had been premature.
In 1864, delegates to the National Colored Convention publicly raised
such questions, largely in response to persistent proslavery sentiment in
Congress. Although they praised Congress’ decision to recognize Haiti and
Liberia, they also lamented the enduring power of slavery and racism. In
their formal address to the American people, they wrote: “While joyfully
recognizing the vast advances made by our people … we cannot conceal
from ourselves, and would not conceal from you, the fact that there are
powerful influences, constantly operating, intended and calculated to defeat
our just hopes [and] prolong the existence of the source of all our ills.” The
delegates specifically expressed frustration that prejudice continued to
“strengthen the slave power” and “establish the selfish idea that this is
exclusively a white man’s country.” They also worried about the ongoing
movement to “break up all diplomatic relations with Hayti and Liberia” in
an elaborate scheme to expand slavery. While they poignantly expressed a
desire to be hopeful, they conceded that their true feelings were much more
pessimistic. “In surveying our possible future,” they concluded, “you will
not blame us if we manifest anxiety.” After all, the cause of Black freedom
perpetually suffered from “the injudicious concessions and weaknesses of
our friends” and the “machinations and power of our enemies.”54 These
reflections reveal that even after Haitian recognition and as the North sat
poised to win the Civil War, a few brave Black activists refused to stop and
celebrate, for they knew that another battle waited just around the corner.
And they were right. As the next generation soon discovered, it was too
soon to rejoice, and too soon to “halloo,” because Haiti and its Black
supporters were definitely not out of the woods. Instead, as the following
years proved, they were trapped in the woods surrounded by foxes and
wolves that lurked just out of view.

OceanofPDF.com
 EPILOGUE
We Have Not Yet Forgiven Haiti for Being
Black

More than three decades after the United States Congress finally extended
formal diplomatic recognition to Haiti, Frederick Douglass delivered an
impassioned address about Haiti’s international status at the 1893 Chicago
World’s Fair.1 His decision to focus on Haiti was both purposeful and
strategic. Two years earlier, Douglass had resigned his position as the U.S.
ambassador to Haiti, hopeful that his decision would inspire the U.S.
government to alter its imperialistic stance toward the Black republic. But it
did not. Deeply enraged about the United States’ conduct domestically and
abroad, Douglass resolved to expose the government’s deep-seated racism
and shine a spotlight on the injustices that Haiti still endured.2
The reason for the “coolness” that the United States exhibited toward
Haiti, Douglass explained, was quite simple to understand: “Haiti is black,
and we have not yet forgiven Haiti for being black.” Due solely to Haiti’s
Blackness, he insisted, the U.S. government refused to treat Haiti as its
equal and U.S. politicians felt justified in exploiting Haiti’s citizens, land,
and natural resources. Long “after Haiti had shaken off the fetters of
bondage, and long after her freedom and independence had been recognized
by all other civilized nations,” Douglass concluded, “we continued to refuse
to acknowledge the fact and treated her as outside the sisterhood of
nations.”3
Douglass’s words reverberate across more than a century, and sadly ring
as true now as they did more than a hundred years ago. The ugly, infuriating
truth is that the omnipresent fear of a Black republic that dominated U.S.
foreign policy and most white Americans’ attitudes toward Haiti in the
nineteenth century not only persisted into the twentieth century, it lives on
today—even in the contemporary moment. The United States and other
white western nations still have not forgiven Haiti for being Black—an
unapologetically Black sovereign nation determined to be free at any cost.
Therefore, this book must end on a solemn note, asking readers to reckon
with why, even in the twenty-first century, Haiti remains the most
demonized, persecuted nation on earth.
Lingering fears of the Black republic were painfully revealed
immediately after January 12, 2010, when a catastrophic earthquake struck
the island, devastating large portions of the country and killing an estimated
300,000 people. The following day, as hundreds of thousands of the dead
and dying lay beneath the rubble and remains of their homes and
communities, U.S. televangelist Pat Robertson stated that the earthquake
occurred because Haiti and its people are cursed. The curse, he claimed,
was the result of a centuries old deal that the Haitian people made with the
devil to secure their freedom from slavery and French colonial rule. “[The
Haitians] got together,” Robertson claimed, “and swore a pact to the devil.
They said, ‘We will serve you if you will get us free from the French.’ True
story. And so, the devil said, ‘OK, it’s a deal’ … Ever since, they have been
cursed by one thing after the other.”4 At the same time, the U.S. media
kicked into overdrive, incessantly repeating the mantra: “Haiti is the poorest
country in the western hemisphere” until it began to sound more like a
chant of accusation rather than a statement of fact.
In the weeks that followed, numerous white American observers chimed
in on Haiti’s plight, mindlessly perpetuating the notion that Haiti is a
country composed of poverty-stricken, uneducated people under the control
of incompetent leaders. Some even promoted the notion that Haiti and its
people are somehow pathologically corrupt, doomed, and “cursed,” due in
part to their cultural and religious practices. These pundits laid particular
blame on the religion of Vodou, typically erroneously referred to as
“voodoo.” New York Times columnist David Brooks, for example, argued
that Haiti’s poverty can largely be explained by “voodoo’s” influence,
which he described as a “progress-resistant cultural influence.”5 Wall Street
Journal contributor Lawrence Harrison issued an even more devastating
critique, maintaining that Vodou is a religion “without ethical content” that
has undermined Haiti’s social, cultural, and economic viability.6
Others resuscitated ancient, deeply racist stereotypes. Just two weeks
after the earthquake, a blog posting appeared, in which Paul Shirley, a
former NBA basketball player and ESPN commentator, proudly declared
that he had not (and would not) donate a single penny to Haitian relief
because, as he put it, why should he give money to people “who got
themselves in such a predicament in the first place?” He further argued that
Haiti’s lack of economic resources and infrastructure—and the failure of the
Haitian government to adequately respond—indicated that Haitians could
not be trusted to care for themselves.7 In other words, he conjured up the
old nineteenth-century argument that Black people are inherently unable to
govern themselves.
Meanwhile, none of the pundits and commentators seemed willing to
explore the deeper question of why Haiti became a poverty-stricken nation
in the first place. While the media quickly launched accusations about
Haiti’s poverty, they remained eerily silent about the cause of the poverty.
No one attempted to explain how Haiti went from being the “Pearl of the
Antilles,” and the New World’s most profitable colony in the eighteenth
century, to the most despised, hated, and oppressed nation in the world in
the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Instead, scholars and media pundits
alike argued that a range of ills specific to the Black nation—from the
prevalence of “voodoo” to a fundamental “pathology” among the Haitian
people—explained Haiti’s current plight.
The media, of course, got it wrong. Hopefully, by now, it is obvious that
Haiti’s current circumstances are not the result of a pact with the devil. Or
“voodoo.” Or a fundamental inability of Black people to govern ourselves.
The truth is far more insidious.
From Haiti’s birth as a sovereign Black nation in 1804, the United
States and other western European nations used their economic and
diplomatic strength to intimidate, undermine, and impoverish the island
nation often referred to as “The Black Republic.” This sinister campaign
began in 1804, continued through the twentieth century, and persists to this
day. This is the story that the mainstream media sought to ignore in 2010,
and given the problematic history of U.S. intervention in Haiti, only a few
brave souls have been willing to tell the simple truth. “There is nothing
mystical in Haiti’s pain, no inescapable curse that haunts the land,” New
York Times contributor Mark Danner wrote shortly after the earthquake,
“From independence and before, Haiti’s harms have been caused by men,
not demons.”8
 Haiti’s harms have indeed been caused by men—greedy, powerful men
whose fear of a Black republic drove them to isolate, undermine, and
dominate Haiti in the nineteenth century and to seize, occupy, and exploit
Haiti in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. In the first 100 years of
Haitian history, foreign powers punished Haiti’s bravado and its audacity to
establish a free, sovereign, Black nation, diplomatically ostracizing Haiti
and even periodically attempting to recolonize it and reimpose slavery.
Countries like the United States simultaneously capitalized on Haiti’s
natural resources, often gaining substantial profit from an increasingly
unequal trade relationship. The indemnity, of course, had the most
devastating impact, effectively destroying Haiti’s attempts to establish and
stabilize itself in the aftermath of revolution and economic embargoes. In
the modern era, Haiti has become a target for conquest, occupation, and
control by western nations, particularly the United States. Gaining U.S.
diplomatic recognition, which had once seemed beneficial, ultimately
exposed Haiti to foreign manipulation and intervention. Just as avaricious
Americans had hoped in 1861, formal recognition eventually enabled the
United States to hold Haiti “in the hollow of our hand.”9
Less than a decade after the United States acknowledged Haitian
sovereignty, U.S. politicians and businessmen set their imperialistic eyes
upon the Black nation. Shackled to an ever-expanding national debt, Haiti
proved to be especially vulnerable to foreign incursion. Beginning in the
late 1860s, and extending into the 1870s, the United States tried, again, to
annex the island, in hopes of exploiting Haiti’s resources. This possibility
felt particularly appealing to American capitalists, since slavery had
recently been abolished within the borders of the United States.10 Although
efforts at formal annexation failed, the U.S. government’s imperialistic
crusades dramatically expanded in the early twentieth century, finally
achieving what the U.S. government had been attempting for decades. U.S.
politicians and business leaders ultimately attained the “dreams that had
harbored in Washington for years,” as the United States gradually replaced
France as the world’s leading exploiter of Haiti and its resources.11 Between
1870 and 1913, for example, the United States “increased its share of the
Haitian market from 30 to about 60 percent.”12 Worse, although Haiti finally
paid off the indemnity to France in 1893, the payments depleted the nation’s
funds, and the Haitian government soon began borrowing from foreign
banks again, recreating cycles of international debt. This time, however,
Haiti primarily borrowed from U.S. financial institutions.
But U.S. imperialist ventures in Haiti had only just begun. As it turned
out, during most of the twentieth century, “it’s been the Americans, not the
French, who repeatedly reshaped the political landscape” in Haiti.13 In
1914, following the outbreak of World War I, the U.S. government became
increasingly obsessed with Haiti and used the burgeoning global conflict to
justify intervention, eventually seizing control over Haiti politically and
economically. Arguing that Germany presented a significant threat to peace
and safety in the region, President Woodrow Wilson resurrected the nearly
one-hundred-year-old Monroe Doctrine to justify sending military troops to
invade the Black republic. Haiti suffered from chronic “instability,” U.S.
political leaders asserted, and therefore the United States must act to
prevent Germany’s incursion into sovereign American territory.14
In the end, however, it was the United States, not Germany, that posed
the biggest threat to Haitian sovereignty. After all, “fears of German
expansion in the region” were highly “exaggerated,” while the U.S.
government steadily enacted its decades-old plot to wrest control over Haiti.
Fueled by racism and economic greed, the U.S. government commenced a
brutal military occupation and installed a political structure in Haiti that was
“compatible with American economic interests and friendly to foreign
investments.”15 The U.S. government occupied and ruled Haiti by force for
nearly two decades, from 1915 to 1934. For Haitians, it was an era that
witnessed “the restoration of virtual slavery, Marine Corps massacres and
terror, the dismantling of the constitutional system, and the takeover of
Haiti by US corporations.”16
The U.S. military used extreme violence to suppress Haitians who, quite
understandably, opposed foreign occupation. Littleton W. T. Waller, a
colonel from Virginia, led the invasion, and, as a U.S. southerner, he
believed the best policy would be to treat the Haitians like “real niggers.”
After all, he asserted, “There are some very fine looking, well educated
polished men here but they are real nigs beneath the surface.” Confidently
assuring his superiors that he could effectively assert U.S. authority in Haiti,
Waller concluded, “I know the nigger, and how to handle him.”17 In the
northern mountainous region, Haitian freedom fighters, known as cacos,
fought valiantly against U.S. soldiers, but were brutally repressed. As
author and activist Edwidge Danticat reminds us, U.S. marines kicked
around “a man’s decapitated head in an effort to frighten the rebels” and
wore blackface “to blend in and hide from view.” They also tortured and
killed Charlemagne Péralte, a leader of the cacos rebellion, then mutilated
his body and nailed it to a door, “where it was left to rot in the sun for
days.”18 The Marines were merciless in their pursuit of Haitian rebels, and
in one skirmish, alone, they killed over 2,000 Haitian protestors. The final
death toll among Haitian civilians is unknown but ranges as high as
50,000.19 The U.S. government used brute force to maintain its rule over
civilians too, demanding the formation of a police force, the gendarmerie,
whose primary purposes included “policing and controlling the Haitian
people,” and preventing political independence.20
During its nineteen-year occupation, the U.S. government also rewrote
Haiti’s constitution, controlled the nation’s customs, collected taxes, forced
chain gangs to construct roads, and operated most governmental
institutions, all of which benefited the United States.21 Most significantly,
the U.S. government seized control over Haiti’s finances and turned Haiti
into a perpetual debtor nation. In December 1914, just before the formal
military invasion, U.S. marines launched what historian Laurent Dubois
described as an “international armed robbery,” brazenly stealing $500,000
from the Banque National d’Haïti with the justification that the funds
“might be required to cover Haiti’s debts to U.S. bankers.” This crime went
entirely unpunished.22 Eight years later, the United States extended its
economic authority by requiring Haiti to accept a debt consolidation loan to
pay off its remaining international debt. In so doing, Haiti exchanged one
master for another. It now had a new creditor—the U.S. government and
U.S. banks (most notably Citibank) that made a small fortune off the loan
arrangement.23
As the U.S. government and financial institutions profited from outright
theft, U.S. corporations feasted on Haiti’s natural resources. During the
occupation, U.S. companies were allocated 266,000 acres of Haitian land,
which they used to establish “plantations of rubber, bananas, sugar, sisal,
mahogany, and other tropical produce.” In that process, an estimated 50,000
Haitians were removed from their land.24 Although military troops finally
withdrew from Haiti in 1934, the U.S. government ruthlessly retained fiscal
control over the country until 1947, when Haiti finally paid off its loan to
the United States. To do so, however, Haiti depleted its gold reserves,
leaving the country bereft of resources and ripe for future economic
exploitation. By the middle of the 1950s, therefore, Haiti had begun
borrowing from foreign banks again, and “Haiti’s external debt was at its
highest in history.”25 Moreover, the withdrawal of the U.S. military did not
end U.S. influence. Instead, as Noam Chomsky observed, “The occupation
left Haiti a U.S. dependency.”26
As the Cold War commenced, the U.S. government continued its
interference in Haiti with devastating consequences. From 1957 to 1986,
the United States repeatedly endorsed and propped up the Duvalier regime,
which ruled the nation with an iron fist. Throughout that era, Haitians
suffered under dictators François “Papa Doc” and Jean-Claude “Baby Doc”
Duvalier, a father and son team that openly murdered their political
opponents and stole millions of dollars from the Haitian treasury.
The Duvalier regime began in 1957, when Haitians elected populist
leader François “Papa Doc” Duvalier to the presidency. After staving off a
coup d’état, his administration grew increasingly violent and despotic. In
1964, Papa Doc declared himself “president for life” and imposed a brutal
dictatorship. Unsurprisingly, the U.S. government ignored Duvalier’s
violence, corruption, and human rights violations—and even provided
formal training to the Tonton Macoute, his brutal paramilitary force.
Ostensibly, the Duvaliers enjoyed the United States’ backing because of
their staunch “anti-communism,” but in reality, U.S. policy continued to be
driven by the economic opportunities Haiti offered American businesses.
Thus, for three decades, spanning seven presidential administrations from
Dwight Eisenhower to Ronald Reagan, the U.S. government harnessed the
terrifying specter of communism to justify its patronage toward the
Duvalier government. Although it appeared for a brief moment that
President John F. Kennedy might reverse U.S. policy toward Haiti, that
dream did not come to fruition; instead, conditions worsened considerably
in the following years.27
In 1971, Papa Doc Duvalier died, and his son, Jean-Claude, “Baby
Doc,” assumed power with the U.S. government’s endorsement. Many
American politicians and business owners saw Baby Doc’s regime as a
renewed opportunity to financially exploit the island. Given its proximity to
the United States, American financial investors convinced Baby Doc to
reduce Haiti’s focus on agriculture and shift the economy toward
manufacturing and export. However, Haitians suffered immeasurably from
this plan. Agricultural production dropped precipitously, forcing the nation
into a dependent and vulnerable economic position in the global market.
Meanwhile, Baby Doc continued his wave of terrorism. Under his authority,
the Tonton Macoute’s death squads murdered as many as 60,000 opponents
of his regime, while Baby Doc stole millions of dollars from the Haitian
people and accumulated hundreds of millions of dollars in national debt.28
Finally, in 1986, faced with growing opposition among the Haitian people,
Baby Doc fled Haiti. But his financial debts created impossible conditions
for the Haitian people, a pattern that continued well into the twenty-first
century.
Over the last forty years, Haiti’s reputation as a country marred by
corruption, poverty, incompetence, and ignorance has only intensified. As
has the United States’ thirst for power and profit at Haiti’s expense. During
the 1980s, as U.S. policies drove Haiti’s economy into a devastating
downward spiral, Haitians began fleeing their country in a desperate bid for
survival. Foreshadowing problematic cycles of economic crisis, migration,
and deportation, the U.S. government, under Ronald Reagan, imposed a
punitive crackdown on Haitian asylum seekers. Although the United States
had caused the economic crisis, the U.S. government would not allow
Haitians to escape it. Most who sought refuge in the United States were
captured at sea and returned to Haiti, others were remanded to a detention
center in Dade County, Florida. Reagan’s deputy attorney general, Rudy
Giuliani, knew that this policy would “create an appearance of
‘concentration camps’ filled largely by blacks,” but Reagan persisted with
the plan. As did Reagan’s successor, George H. W. Bush, who increasingly
used Haitians as “guinea pigs for new get-tough immigration enforcement
measures.” Flouting existing rules that allowed asylum seekers to receive a
fair hearing, the Bush administration stopped migrants at sea and forcibly
returned them without due process. Bush further intensified the anti-Haitian
policies, by detaining “tens of thousands of Haitians at the U.S. military’s
base in Guantánamo Bay.”29
In 1990, halfway through Bush’s term, some observers might have
regained some hope, when Haitians held free, peaceful, democratic
elections resulting in Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s short-lived first presidency.
But soon thereafter, the U.S. government continued meddling in Haitian
affairs and wreaking havoc in the Black nation.30 Conditions became
particularly challenging during President William “Bill” Clinton’s
administration. Both Bill and Hillary Clinton have waxed poetic about their
love for Haiti, often romantically reminiscing about their time there as
newlyweds in 1975. But the Clintons’ relationship with Haiti has been
neither loving nor romantic.
According to Ricardo Seitenfus, Brazilian law professor, and
representative to the Organization of American Nations, the Clintons’
interaction with Haiti was problematic from the outset. Their initial visit to
Haiti was not the innocent honeymoon vacation they like to suggest. It was
also neither “cultural nor humanitarian.” Instead, the Clintons first came to
Haiti at the invitation of their friend David Edwards, a high-ranking
Citibank executive, who hoped to garner their financial interest in Haiti.31
Citibank (then known as the National City Bank of New York) had
“completely absorbed” the National Bank of Haiti in 1922, which meant
that the U.S.-based corporation issued Haiti’s paper money and operated as
the central bank for the Haitian treasury.32 With friends well positioned to
earn substantial profits in Haiti, Bill Clinton engaged in some highly
questionable behavior after he became president. As journalist Jonathan
Katz noted, Clinton “mixed personal relationships, business, and
unaccountable power in ways that, if never exactly criminal, arouse the kind
of suspicion that erodes public trust.”33
Hopeful to exploit economic opportunity in Haiti, Clinton backed a
“structural adjustment” program that was intended to “turn Haiti into a
Caribbean Taiwan,” by “refocusing its resources away from farming toward
more lucrative sectors like export manufacturing.” Eventually known as the
“American Plan,” the strategy was an utter fiasco for Haitians. As funds
were redirected away from agriculture, subsidized food from the United
States flooded into Haiti, devastating small local farms. Hundreds of
thousands of rural workers “were driven off their farms and into the cities
and shantytowns, mostly in Port-au-Prince, where they competed for jobs at
American-owned assembly plants, earning less than $2 a day.”34 When
Aristide attempted to raise the minimum wage to just under $3 per day, the
U.S. government, particularly the U.S. Agency for International
Development, balked.35
 Since Aristide seemed to be prioritizing Haitian lives over U.S. profit, it
should come as no surprise that members of the Haitian military, with
assistance from the United States Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), staged
a coup in September 1991, and ousted the democratically elected Aristide.36
Perhaps to divert attention from U.S. culpability, Clinton quickly imposed
an economic embargo against the new regime as alleged punishment for the
military coup. Then, three years later, Clinton again intervened, gaining a
United Nations sanction to use U.S. military troops to re-install Aristide as
Haiti’s leader.37
While some observers might have hailed Clinton’s actions as a heroic
victory for democracy, it appears that he was motivated more by profit than
by principles. Under the guise of resuscitating the Haitian economy, the
U.S. government quickly forced President Aristide to drop foreign tariffs
and implement “market-oriented reform policies” in Haiti.38 By then,
Aristide had learned that “if he wanted the help of the powerful, he would
have to play by their rules.”39 The result, of course, was tremendous profit
for U.S. businesses and absolute devastation for Haitians. Rice growers
suffered the most, and the nation became even more dependent on food
imported from the United States.40 Moreover, when Haitians, some on the
verge of starvation, sought refuge in the United States, Clinton pursued the
same strategy as his predecessors. He banned Haitians from entering,
choosing instead to jail them at Guantánamo Bay prison.41
While campaigning for the presidency, Clinton had pledged to
immediately terminate George H. W. Bush’s practice of rejecting Haitian
refugees, describing the policy as “cruel” and “immoral.” But soon after his
election, he quickly reversed his position, declaring that the strategy would
continue. “Those who leave Haiti by boat for the United States,” his official
statement declared, “will be intercepted and returned to Haiti by the U.S.
Coast Guard.”42 Clinton kept his second promise. During his administration,
the U.S. government turned away 37,000 Haitian asylum seekers, in most
cases using Coast Guard ships to intercept refugees and transport them to
Guantánamo Bay.43 At one point, Guantánamo held more than 12,000
Haitians, as the U.S. government tried to assess whether they were actually
“bona fide” refugees who deserved asylum.44
Conditions in the makeshift prisons were horrific. According to one
report, imprisoned Haitians “slept in rudimentary barracks with garbage
bags taped over the windows. They ate inedible food, at times spoiled, even
infested with maggots. The medical care was, at best, ineffective and, at
worst, abusive, with medical treatment performed without informed
consent.” Another source described the “leaky barracks with poor sanitation
surrounded by razor wire and guard towers.” Yolande Jean, who was held at
Guantánamo for nearly a year, later described her conditions: “Wherever
they put you, you were meant to stay right there; there was no place to
move. The latrines were brimming over. There was never any cool water to
drink, to wet our lips … Rats crawled over us at night … When we saw
these things, we thought, it’s not possible, it can’t go on like this. We’re
humans, just like everyone else.”45 Another woman held captive there wrote
home to her family that she had lost all hope. “I have lost in the struggle for
life,” she sadly reflected, “There is nothing left for me.”46 The environment
at Guantánamo became such a humanitarian crisis that a New York federal
judge finally ordered Attorney General Janet Reno to release the captive
Haitians because Clinton’s policy was “outrageous, callous, and
reprehensible,” and it reflected the sort of “indefinite detention usually
reserved for spies and murderers.”47
Years later, Bill Clinton issued an apology for his role in destroying
Haiti’s economy. “We made this devil’s bargain,” he said, “and it wasn’t the
right thing to do. It was a mistake that I was a party to. I did that. I have to
live every day with the consequences.”48 But his apology meant little; after
all, the damage had already been done. And the Haitian people—not Bill
Clinton—had to live with the consequences. The last Haitian refugees still
languished at Guantánamo as late as 1995.49 Clinton never fully
acknowledged their suffering or his culpability in it.
Meanwhile, in Haiti, the political instability that the United States
wrought continued to plague people’s lives. Aristide left the presidency in
1996 but was reelected in 2001. During his second term, Aristide sought
justice for the harms that foreign powers had done to Haiti, pressuring
France to pay nearly $22 billion in restitution for damage that the 1825
indemnity had caused the Haitian economy for more than a century.50 He
also “blocked U.S. backed neoliberal economic reforms” and doubled the
minimum wage, which was a triumph for Haitians, but a threat to U.S.
profits.51 Likely in retaliation, the U.S. government, under George W. Bush,
intruded again. In 2004, just after the bicentennial of Haitian independence,
Aristide was forcibly and mysteriously removed from political office; an
action Aristide claimed that Bush’s administration orchestrated. Aristide
spent the next seven years in exile in South Africa and did not return to
Haiti until 2011, shortly after the earthquake.52
The United States’ troubling relationship with Haiti continued during
President Barack Obama’s administration, when Hillary Clinton served as
the Secretary of State. Even when the United States was governed by a
Black president, the U.S. government’s abusive policies toward the Black
republic remained firmly in place—a glaring, painful reminder that “black
faces in high places” do not always result in justice. During Obama’s
presidency, with Hillary Clinton by his side, the U.S. government’s
problematic policies not only persisted, but took on new life due to
Clinton’s evolving diplomatic schemes.
During Hillary Clinton’s reign as Secretary of State, her view for U.S.
foreign policy employed a strategy that she dubbed “economic statecraft,”
which was based on her belief that the United States should not “simply
respond to security threats but should actively bolster both the U.S.
economy and global influence through diplomacy, trade and economic
development abroad.”53 Embracing her husband’s strategy of “smart
power,” Hillary Clinton sought to use diplomacy and development to
further U.S. political and economic interests. For Secretary Clinton, then,
Haiti became a central component of her vision—“a laboratory” where she
could prove that effective foreign policies could not only neutralize threats,
but also generate “money and power for the U.S.”54
In the months leading up to the catastrophic earthquake in 2010, Hillary
Clinton had been painstakingly implementing her plan for Haiti. By this
time, U.S. corporations were already benefiting substantially from Haiti’s
crumbling economy and its spiraling national debt. During that same year,
Haiti was forced to send 90 percent of its foreign reserves to financial
institutions in Washington, DC, in an effort to pay down its debt.55 But
Secretary Clinton apparently believed that there was still more money to be
made in Haiti. In an effort to encourage foreign investment, for example,
she pressured Haitian president René Préval to forcibly suppress Haiti’s
minimum wage. Although a legislative proposal had recommended raising
the minimum wage for factory workers from about $2 per day to
approximately $5 per day, Clinton strongly discouraged that policy, on the
grounds that U.S. corporations, particularly clothing companies such as
Levi-Strauss, Fruit of the Loom, and Hanes, might not earn sufficient profit.
In reality, of course, the proposed increase would have made little tangible
difference for U.S. corporations like Hanes, a company that amassed $4.3
billion in sales in 2009. But it would have meant a substantial increase in
quality of life for Haitian workers, who instead languished in poverty after
the U.S. State Department, led by Clinton, convinced Préval to limit the
minimum wage to about $3 per day.56
As Hillary Clinton steadily worked to advance her economic agenda in
Haiti, disaster struck. On January 12, 2010, a cataclysmic earthquake
rocked Haiti, causing unimaginable death and destruction throughout the
country. The Obama administration immediately took action. Within days,
President Obama pledged $100 million in aid and issued a powerful
statement of solidarity with the Haitian people. “To the people of Haiti,” he
declared, “we say clearly, and with conviction, you will not be forsaken;
you will not be forgotten. In this, your hour of greatest need, America
stands with you. The world stands with you. We know that you are a strong
and resilient people. You have endured a history of slavery and struggle, of
natural disaster and recovery. And through it all, your spirit has been
unbroken and your faith has been unwavering. So today, you must know
that help is arriving—much, much more help is on the way.”57 All told, the
U.S. government contributed more than $700 million, and more than half of
U.S. households contributed to the relief effort.58
But now, more than ten years later, Haiti has still not recovered from the
earthquake. So … what happened to the money?? First, let’s consider what
didn’t happen. It didn’t go to the Haitian people. Years after the earthquake,
an estimated 400,000 people still “lived under tarps” in crude, provisional
camps, while nearly 90 percent of the funds raised after the earthquake went
to non-Haitian organizations, including U.S. corporations, non-government
organizations, and private international contractors.59 Many private
organizations, like the Clinton Foundation, which received funds,
horrifically bungled recovery efforts, creating “a quagmire of indecision
and delay.”60 But most of the money was funneled into the Pentagon. “A
whopping $465 million of the relief money went through the Pentagon,”
one report revealed, “which spent it on deployment of U.S. troops … many
of whom never set foot on Haitian soil.” Even the United Nations admits
that only 9 percent of the aid went to the Haitian government and an
embarrassing 0.6 percent to Haitian organizations.61
The Obama administration also severely mishandled the Haitian health
crisis following the earthquake. After United Nations (UN) peacekeepers
arrived in Haiti in October 2010, they infected Haiti’s most important river
with cholera, causing the first cholera outbreak in the country in over a
century. Nearly 800,000 Haitians became infected, and over 10,000 lost
their lives. But those who caused the outbreak, including the UN and the
Obama administration, initially tried to conceal their role and then waited
years to acknowledge their responsibility.62 It was not until December 2016
that the UN admitted its guilt and issued an apology, pledging $400 million
in aid. Today, Haitians are still waiting for the funds to arrive.63
Meanwhile, the U.S. government, under President Barack Obama and
Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, continued to manipulate Haiti in order to
advance U.S. interests. Understandably, Haiti’s political structure suffered
in the quake’s aftermath. President René Préval crumbled under the
pressure, reportedly “falling into a state of shock from which he never fully
recovered.”64 Hillary Clinton immediately flew to Haiti and urged Préval to
step aside to make way for a U.S.-backed candidate, Michel Martelly.65 A
popular Haitian singer and politician, Martelly replaced Préval as president
in May 2011 and within months, he established an advisory board,
composed largely of foreign politicians, corporate executives, and bankers,
including former U.S. president Bill Clinton, which Martelly hoped would
make Haiti “a more business friendly place and attract foreign
investment.”66 The Clintons became so deeply involved in Martelly’s
presidency that Bill Clinton “was selected to serve as Haiti’s special envoy
for the UN, and his chief of staff was initially selected to serve as Martelly’s
prime minister.” This appeared to be a victory for U.S. corporations. At his
inauguration, Martelly “pledged his country would at last be ‘open for
business,’” while “Bill Clinton applauded from a few feet away.”67
But instead, the Clinton Foundation, working in collaboration with the
U.S. State Department, created yet another embarrassing debacle. In 2011,
the Foundation created a deal—subsidized by the U.S. government—to
build a $300 million factory complex in Haiti along the northern coastline.
The factory, dubbed the Caracol Industrial Park, was intended to be a 600-
acre garment factory that would produce clothes for U.S. corporations such
as Old Navy, Walmart, and Target, and it was funded “through U.S. tax
money via USAID, as well as the Washington-based Inter-American
Development Bank.”68 In 2012, Hillary Clinton formally unveiled Caracol,
claiming that it “would lead Haiti toward economic independence.”69 Her
husband likewise insisted that “100,000 jobs would be created ‘in short
order.’” But—at most—the Caracol Industrial Park created only 8,000 jobs,
and three years after its creation it employed less than 6,000 people.70
Caracol now sits abandoned.71
As the Caracol Industrial Park slowly wasted away, Martelly’s
presidency rapidly devolved under a flood of accusations of political
corruption, and in 2015, protestors throughout Haiti demanded his
resignation. Although Martelly temporarily remained in office, within
months Haiti prepared for another election. Term limits prevented Martelly
from running again, but he actively pushed another candidate, Jovenel
Moïse, another politician that the United States hoped would be
sympathetic to U.S. financial interests. Leading up to the election, the
Obama administration spent $33 million in Haiti in hopes of swinging the
outcome in favor of Moïse. Following “overwhelming evidence of massive
vote fraud,” the U.S. government’s maneuverings proved successful.72
Haitians, who had previously celebrated the election of the first Black
president in the United States, felt profoundly betrayed by Obama’s obvious
meddling in Haitian politics. Tens of thousands of furious Haitian protestors
took to the streets, chanting “Down with Obama” and carrying “Obama
Terrorist” banners, expressing their outrage about “American complicity in
the Haitian government’s blatant effort to rig the presidential election.”73
But Obama persisted in his betrayal. Like the four presidents before
him, Obama increased deportations of Haitians from the United States
starting in September 2016. Claiming that Haiti had “improved sufficiently”
following the earthquake, the U.S. government announced that the U.S.
Department of Homeland Security and U.S. Immigration and Customs
Enforcement (I.C.E.) would be removing “Haitian nationals on a more
regular basis.”74 Denying further protection on humanitarian grounds,
Haitians were suddenly “being jailed and fast-tracked for a return to the
island.” As President Obama reached the end of his second term in office,
nearly 5,000 Haitian migrants had been detained by I.C.E., and immigration
facilities had become “so overrun” that migrants had been “moved to
criminal jails, in violation of international norms.”75
Unsurprisingly, relations between Haiti and the United States did not
improve once the United States’ forty-fifth president seized control of the
White House. Disappointed with Obama and the Clintons, nearly one-fifth
of Haitian voters in Florida cast their ballots for Donald Trump in 2016,
especially since Trump actively wooed Haitian voters with empty
promises.76 Very soon, however, they recognized their error. Trump quickly
accelerated deportations, cutting off the Temporary Protected Status (TPS)
program that had allowed nearly 60,000 Haitians to remain in the United
States. Those who did not comply were forcibly removed.77
Lisa Sherman-Nikolaus, policy director of the Tennessee Immigrant and
Refugee Rights Coalition, wrote about Trump’s inhumane policy toward
Haitians in 2017, emphasizing that the “cruel and reckless termination of
TPS shows the lengths the Trump administration is willing to go to uproot
and deport immigrant families.” The TPS, she noted, had been “a lifesaving
program that’s provided Haitians who are unable to return home the
opportunity to work hard and build their lives here.” Pleading with the
Congressional Foreign Relations Committee to alter the policy, Sherman-
Nikolaus maintained that forcibly returning “50,000 people under these
conditions is dangerous and potentially destabilizing,” and she called upon
national leaders “to quickly restore protections and mitigate the devastation
of this decision.”78
Trump, however, continued his flippant, callous practices. In 2018, in
one of his typical angry tirades, Trump simply dismissed Haiti as a
“shithole” country and asked, “Why do we need more Haitians? Take them
out.”79 Meanwhile, he actively manipulated Haiti’s domestic and
international politics. In 2019, for example, Trump pressured Haitian
President Jovenel Moïse to promote foreign agribusiness and to sever ties
with Venezuela in exchange for financial support.80 Such actions caused
further financial damage to the Haitian economy; according to the
International Monetary Fund (IMF), Haiti owed nearly $4 billion to foreign
creditors in the year 2020, most of which were U.S. financial institutions.81
Given Moïse’s complicity in advancing U.S. governmental interests, both
Trump and his successor, Joseph Biden, allowed Moïse to remain in office
long after his term had legally expired.82 On July 7, 2021, however, Moïse
was assassinated under mysterious circumstances, and at the time of this
writing, his death is still being investigated.83
Which brings us to where this book began: the tragic, infuriating events
in September 2021, when mounted U.S. border patrol agents abused
Haitians seeking asylum, and the U.S. government, under Joseph Biden,
unleashed the most stringent mass deportation in modern American history.
In truth, Frederick Douglass warned of such events during his speech at the
World’s Fair in 1893. “In every other country on the globe,” he noted, “a
citizen of Haiti is sure of civil treatment … In every other nation his
manhood is recognized and respected … He is not repulsed, excluded or
insulted because of his color ... Vastly different is the case with him when
he ventures within the border of the United States.”84
Thankfully, in 2021, when faced with the reality of the government’s
horrific human violations, many Americans spoke out in opposition. The
most notable disapproval came from an unexpected source—a member of
Biden’s administration. Daniel Foote, the U.S. special envoy to Haiti,
resigned in disgust following the government’s deployment of crude,
heartless expulsion. “I will not be associated with the United States’
inhumane, counterproductive decision to deport thousands of Haitian
refugees and illegal immigrants to Haiti,” he wrote, especially given the
government’s broader policy toward Haiti. “Our policy approach to Haiti
remains deeply flawed,” he admitted, expressing further frustration that his
“policy recommendations have been ignored and dismissed, when not
edited to project a narrative different from my own.” He also warned that
unless the U.S. government alters its course, “surging migration to our
borders will only grow.”85
And yet, despite Foote’s powerful opposition, at the time of this writing,
Biden’s administration is not altering its practices. Instead, they are
resuscitating well-worn strategies, as Biden prepares to reopen the detention
center at Guantánamo Bay to house asylum-seeking migrants, even though
the center had previously been closed due to inhumane conditions.
Meanwhile, the Department of Homeland Security has taken another 5,000
Haitians seeking refuge into custody. Congresswoman Alexandra Ocasio-
Cortez described Biden’s plans as “utterly shameful.”86
Like Daniel Foote and Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez, most people of
conscience likely cringe in horror when we learn about the U.S.
government’s racist, imperialist activities in Haiti. What we are less willing
to acknowledge is our own culpability. As journalist and author Jonathan
M. Katz painfully reminded us, the system isn’t designed only for the
Clintons or the Trumps; “it’s for us.” While we might feel tempted to sit
back in our chairs, silently judging Hillary Clinton for suppressing wages in
Haiti and causing widespread poverty in the nation, or blasting Trump for
his overt racism, or castigating Obama and Biden for their deportation
policies, we must ask ourselves a fundamental question: what role do all
Americans play in perpetuating abusive policies toward Haiti? Although
Bill Clinton refused to do so, we must hold ourselves accountable. “The
low wages that the U.S. embassy helped suppress,” Katz explains, “are the
reason we can enjoy a steady stream of $9 Mossimo camisoles and $12.99
six-packs of Hanes T-shirts. Even U.S. military uniform parts get made in
Haitian sweatshops.” United States citizens also have an insatiable desire
for cheaper smartphones and other consumer goods, and our demands
create humanitarian abuses across the globe. “To get the things we want,”
Katz warns us, “the United States has been in the business of overturning
elections and toppling governments for more than a century.”87
So, we must do the hard work of repair. Beginning with an honest
acknowledgment about the truth of Haiti’s long and painful journey. In its
first 100 years, Haitians “found themselves in a world entirely hostile to the
idea of self-governing blacks.”88 As historian Laurent Dubois and Brazilian
official Ricardo Seitenfus reflected, “‘Haiti’s original sin, in the
international theatre, was its liberation … Haitians committed the
unacceptable in 1804.’ The world ‘didn’t know how to deal with Haiti’ and
time and time again simply turned to force and coercion.”89 In retaliation for
its commitment to freedom and sovereignty, Haiti suffered unprovoked
punishment, financial theft, and widespread abuse from the global political
community. During its second 100 years and beyond, U.S. politicians and
corporate leaders have occupied, controlled, manipulated, and exploited
Haiti, enacting a series of abusive policies and strategies solely because
Haiti is a Black nation. Such practices cannot change until we have a honest
reckoning with the role that the United States has played in undermining
Haitian sovereignty.
Black activists in the United States must also renew the pledge that our
ancestors made in the nineteenth century: that we will “sink or swim” with
our race.90 As those brave visionaries—men and women such as The
Injured Man of Color, Denmark Vesey, Samuel Cornish, Maria Stewart,
Charles B. Ray, James Theodore Holly, Miss Paulyon, and the enslaved
people who fought for their freedom—tried to teach us, our fate hinges on
the destiny of our people throughout the diaspora, and we will “fall or
flourish together.”91 Chuck D, the political rap artist whose lyrics inspired
this book’s title, already knows this truth. Following the earthquake in
2010, he lyrically reminded us that Haiti is a special “bit of earth” whose
destiny belongs to Black people throughout the world. And it is up to us to
“help redevelop the land” and promote Haitian self-determination.92
Self-determination is the most important component. After centuries of
corruption and external interference, the Haitian people must be allowed to
democratically govern themselves, free of foreign meddling. Daniel Foote
saw this truth very clearly, insisting Haitians must have “the opportunity to
chart their own course, without international puppeteering and favored
candidates.” “I do not believe Haiti can enjoy stability,” he emphasized,
“until her citizens have the dignity of truly choosing their own leaders fairly
and acceptably.” Foote felt particularly outraged by the “hubris” that made
the United States “believe we should pick the winner—again … This cycle
of international political interventions in Haiti has consistently produced
catastrophic results. More negative impacts to Haiti will have calamitous
consequences not only in Haiti, but in the U.S. and our neighbors in the
hemisphere.”93
Miraculously, despite all efforts to decimate and exploit Haiti, the
people are still fighting for their freedom and sovereignty. As Haitian
author and activist Évelyne Trouillot brilliantly reflected, they battle “in the
streets throughout the country, refusing to abandon the struggle that began
long ago.”94 Trouillot is right. Even now, in early 2022, Haitian protestors
have taken to the streets, demanding a fair and livable wage for factory
workers. 95 As Trouillot explains, “Haitians are fighting for another type of
government, a State that will listen to their needs, a government that will
not use public money for individual interests.” Haitian children, she
emphasized, “need to eat properly, they need to go to school like other
children; they need to live in decent housing. Haitian parents need to be
able to take proper care of their families, to educate themselves, to work
and live normal lives without fear, without needing to flee their country.”96
 And yet, such a vision is not possible until all the world’s nations
collectively decide to stop fearing the ascendance of a truly sovereign Black
republic. Haiti’s ultimate destiny, then, rests on the fundamental challenge
that Frederick Douglass presented in 1893: will the United States and other
western nations ever forgive Haiti for being Black?

OceanofPDF.com
NOTES
Introduction

1. “U.S. Begins Flying Haitian Migrants Home from Texas in Mass Expulsion,” NPR, September
19, 2021.
2. Uriel J. García, “‘We Suffered a Lot to Get Here’: A Haitian Migrant’s Harrowing Journey to
the Texas-Mexico Border,” The Texas Tribune, October 1, 2021.
3. David Lehman, editor, The Oxford Book of American Poetry (New York: Oxford University
Press, 2006), 184.
4. Ryan Deveraux, “In Targeting Haitians, Biden May Execute the Largest Mass Expulsion of
Asylum-Seekers in Recent History,” The Intercept, September 21, 2021.
5. Alexandra Villarreal, “‘Sleeping in the Dust’: Migrants Face Harsh Conditions in Del Rio as
5,000 Remain,” The Guardian, September 24, 2021.
6. Bernd Debusmann Jr., “Grim Echoes of History in Images of Haitians at United States-Mexico
Border,” BBC News, September 23, 2021.
7. John Bowden, “Maxine Waters Says Treatment of Haitians at Texas Border is Worse Than
Slavery,” Independent, September 23, 2021.
8. Deveraux, “In Targeting Haitians.”
9. Deveraux, “In Targeting Haitians.”
10. Kirk Semple, “U.S. to Step Up Deportations of Haitians Amid Surge at Border,” New York
Times, September 22, 2016.
11. Quoted in Laurent Dubois, Avengers of the New World: The Story of the Haitian Revolution
(Cambridge and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004), 94.
12. Dubois, Avengers of the New World, 100.
13. Dubois, Avengers of the New World, 94–95, 99–100, 113; Leslie Alexander and Michelle
Alexander, “Fear” in The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story, ed. Nikole Hannah-Jones (New York:
One World, 2021), 106.
14. Franklin W. Knight, “The Haitian Revolution and the Notion of Human Rights,” The Journal
of The Historical Society 5, no. 3 (2005): 409.
15. Charles Pinckney to George Washington, September 20, 1791,
founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/05–08–02–0379.
16. George Washington to John Vaughan, December 27, 1791, founders.archives.
gov/documents/Washington/05–09–02–0212; Gerald Horne, “The Haitian Revolution and the Central
Question of African American History,” Journal of African American History 100, no. 1 (2015): 26.
17. Thomas Jefferson to David Humphreys, November 29, 1791,
founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01–22–02–0316; Alexander Hamilton to Jean Baptiste de
Ternant, September 21, 1791, founders.archives.gov/documents/Ham-ilton/01–09–02–0181;
Alexander and Alexander, “Fear,” 106.
18. Julia Gaffield, ed, The Haitian Declaration of Independence: Creation, Context, and Legacy
(Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 2016), 5. For an earlier discussion of Dessalines’
role in creating the Declaration of Independence, see, Deborah Jenson, “Dessalines’s American
Proclamations of Haitian Independence,” The Journal of Haitian Studies 15, no. 1 (2009).
19. The Times (London), February 6, 1804. A portion of this quote also appears in Gaffield, The
Haitian Declaration of Independence, 5.
20. Gaffield, The Haitian Declaration of Independence, 240–241; 245–246. Julia Gaffield notes
that while Dessalines delivered an opening speech in Kreyòl, one of his secretaries, Louis Félix
Boisrond-Tonnerre, read the act of independence aloud because Dessalines had not become well-
versed in speaking French. Ibid, 11–12.
 21. Gaffield, The Haitian Declaration of Independence, 5, 9.
22. Michel-Rolph Trouillot, Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (New York:
Beacon Press, 1995), 82. For Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s argument about the Haitian Revolution as an
“unthinkable” event, see, Trouillot, Silencing the Past, 70–107.
23. Reprinted in The Liberator, August 6, 1852.
24. Frederick Douglass Paper, January 21, 1853.
25. Gaffield, The Haitian Declaration of Independence, 245–246.
26. Michael O. West, William G. Martin, and Fanon Che Wilkins, editors, From Toussaint to
Tupac: The Black International since the Age of Revolution (Chapel Hill: The University of North
Carolina Press, 2009), 87.
27. West et al, editors, From Toussaint to Tupac, 1, 84.
28. For more on the dispersal of Black people following the American Revolution, see: Sylvia
Frey, Water from the Rock: Black Resistance in a Revolutionary Age (Princeton, New Jersey:
Princeton University Press, 1991); Cassandra Pybus, Epic Journeys of Freedom: Runaway Slaves of
the American Revolution and Their Global Quest for Liberty (New York: Beacon Press, 2006); Maya
Jasanoff, Liberty’s Exiles: The Loss of America and the Remaking of the British Empire (New York:
Harpers Collins, Inc., 2011).
29. Peter Williams, Jr., An Oration on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, Delivered in the African
Church in the City of New York, January 1,1808 (New York: Samuel Wood, Printer, 1808), 24.
30. Leslie M. Alexander, “Black Utopia: Haiti and Black Transnational Consciousness in the Early
Nineteenth Century,” William and Mary Quarterly 78, no. 2 (2021): 215–222.
31. For more on rebellions in the Atlantic World following the Haitian Revolution, see: Gerald
Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins: The United States, The Haitian Revolution, and the Origins of
the Dominican Republic (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2015).
32. Kellie Carter Jackson, Force and Freedom: Black Abolitionists and the Politics of Violence
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020), 5.
33. Jean Casimir, The Haitians: A Decolonial History (Chapel Hill: The University of North
Carolina Press, 2020), 349–350.
34. Brenda Gayle Plummer, Haiti and the Great Powers, 1902–1915 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana
State University Press, 1988); Brenda Gayle Plummer, Haiti and the United States: The
Psychological Moment (Athens and London: University of Georgia Press, 1992); Brenda Gayle
Plummer, Rising Wind: Black Americans and U. S. Foreign Affairs, 1935–1960 (Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press, 1996); Carol Anderson, Eyes Off the Prize: The United Nations
and the African-American Struggle for Human Rights, 1944–1955 (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2003); Quito Swan, Black Power in Bermuda: The Struggle for Decolonization
(New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), Carol Anderson, Bourgeois Radicals: The NAACP and the
Struggle for Colonial Liberation, 1941–1960 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014);
Millery Polyné, From Douglass to Duvalier: U.S. African Americans, Haiti, and Pan-Americanism,
1870–1964 (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2010); Keisha Blain, Set the World on Fire:
Black Nationalist Women and the Global Struggle for Freedom (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 2018); Brandon Byrd, The Black Republic: African Americans and the Fate of
Haiti (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020); Quito Swan, Pauulu’s Diaspora: Black
Internationalism and Environmental Justice (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2021).
35. Alfred N. Hunt, Haiti’s Influence on Antebellum America: Slumbering Volcano in the
Caribbean (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988); Tim Matthewson, A Proslavery
Foreign Policy: Haitian-American Relations during the Early Republic (Westport, CT: Praeger
Publishers, 2003); Gordon Brown, Toussaint’s Clause: The Founding Fathers and the Haitian
Revolution (Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2005); Jose Saint-Louis, The Haitian
Revolution in the Shaping of American Democracy (Coral Springs, FL: Llumina Press, 2008); Jeremy
Popkin, You Are All Free: The Haitian Revolution and the Abolition of Slavery (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2010); Ashli White, Encountering Revolution: Haiti and the Making of
the Early Republic (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010); James Alexander Dun,
Dangerous Neighbors: Making the Haitian Revolution in Early America (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 2016).
36. Hunt, Haiti’s Influence on Antebellum America, 98–100; 153–161.
37. Rayford W. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 1776–1891
(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1941).
38. Julius S. Scott, The Common Wind: Afro-American Currents in the Age of the Haitian
Revolution (London and New York: Verso Books, 2018).
39. Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon, eds., African Americans and the Haitian Revolution:
Selected Essays and Historical Documents (Routledge: London and New York, 2010).
40. Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins.
41. Celucien Joseph, “‘The Haitian Turn:’ An Appraisal of Recent Literary and Historiographical
Works on the Haitian Revolution,” The Journal of Pan African Studies 5, no. 6 (September 2012):
37, 51.
42. Ronald Angelo Johnson, “Haiti’s connection to early America: Beyond the Revolution,”
History Compass 16, no. 4 (2018): 1, 3.
43. Dubois, Avengers of the New World; Laurent Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History (New
York: Picador, 2012); Marlene L. Daut, “The ‘Alpha and Omega’ of Haitian Literature: Baron de
Vastey and the U.S. Audience of Haitian Political Writing,” Comparative Literature 62, no. 1 (2012);
Sara Johnson, The Fear of French Negroes: Transcolonial Collaboration in the Revolutionary
Americas (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2012); Marlene L. Daut,
“Before Harlem: The Franco-Haitian Grammar of Transnational African American Writing,” J19:
The Journal of Nineteenth-Century Americanists 3, no. 2, (2015): 385–392; Marlene L. Daut, Tropics
of Haiti: Race and the Literary History of the Haitian Revolution in the Atlantic World, 1789–1865
(Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2015); Julia Gaffield, Haitian Connections: Recognition
After Revolution in the Atlantic World (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2015);
Gaffield, The Haitian Declaration of Independence; Grégory Pierrot, The Black Avenger in Atlantic
Culture (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2019); Julia Gaffield, “The Racialization of
International Law after the Haitian Revolution: The Holy See and National Sovereignty,” American
Historical Review 125, no. 3 (June 2020): 841–868; Chelsea Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War: Post-
Independence Writing, Civil War, and the Making of the Republic, 1804–1954 (New York: New York
University Press, 2020).
44. Daut, “Before Harlem,” 390.
45. Johnson, The Fear of French Negroes, 160.
46. Alexandria Gazette, February 27, 1826.
Chapter 1. A United and Valiant People

1. Commercial Advertiser, May 25, 1804. A brief mention of this article also appears in: James
Alexander Dun, Dangerous Neighbors: Making the Haitian Revolution in Early America
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016), 217–218.
2. Spectator, June 12, 1804.
3. Freedom’s Journal, October 24, 1828.
4. Julia Gaffield, Haitian Connections: Recognition After Revolution in the Atlantic World (Chapel
Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2015), 84.
5. Chelsea Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War: Post-Independence Writing, Civil War, and the Making of
the Republic, 1804–1954 (New York: New York University Press, 2020), 29.
6. Quoted in Jeremy Popkin, “Jean-Jacques Dessalines, Norbert Thoret, and the Violent Aftermath
of the Haitian Declaration of Independence” in The Haitian Declaration of Independence: Creation,
Context and Legacy, ed. Julia Gaffield (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2016), 122. For
more on the 1804 massacres, see: Ada Ferrer, Freedom’s Mirror: Cuba and Haiti in the Age of
Revolution (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 194–195; Robin Blackburn, The
American Crucible: Slavery, Emancipation, and Human Rights (London: Verso, 2011); and Philippe
Girard, “Caribbean Genocide: Racial War in Haiti, 1802–1804,” Patterns of Prejudice 39, no. 2
(2005): 138–161.
7. Mary Hassal (Leonora Sansay), Secret History, or, The Horrors of St. Domingo, in a series of
letters, Written by a Lady at Cape François, to Colonel Burr, Late Vice-President of the United
States, Principally During the Command of General Rochambeau (Philadelphia: Bradford and
Innskeep, 1807).
8. Marlene L. Daut, “All the Devils Are Here: How the visual history of the Haitian Revolution
misrepresents Black suffering and death,” October 14, 2020, https://www.
laphamsquarterly.org/roundtable/all-devils-are-here.
9. Philadelphia Gazette, April 30, 1804; The Port Folio, April 1810.
10. New York Gazette, May 15, 1804.
11. For more on the United States’ trade relationship with Haiti during this era, see: Gaffield,
Haitian Connections, 124–152.
12. New York Gazette, May 15, 1804.
13. For more analysis of the Injured Man’s writings, see: Leslie M. Alexander, “‘A United and
Valiant People’: Black Visions of Haiti at the Dawn of the Nineteenth Century,” in eds. Brandon R.
Byrd, Leslie M. Alexander, and Russell Rickford, Ideas in Unexpected Places: Reimagining Black
Intellectual History (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 2022).
14. Commercial Advertiser, May 25, 1804.
15. Commercial Advertiser, May 25, 1804.
16. Commercial Advertiser, May 25, 1804.
17. Commercial Advertiser, May 25, 1804.
18. Gordon Brown, Toussaint’s Clause: The Founding Fathers and the Haitian Revolution
(Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2005), 230.
19. Aurora General Advertiser, March 29, 1804; Christian Observer, June 1804; Dun, Dangerous
Neighbors, 214.
20. Commercial Advertiser, May 25, 1804. Emphasis is his.
21. Spectator, June 12, 1804.
22. Commercial Advertiser, May 25, 1804.
23. Spectator, June 12, 1804.
 24. Connecticut Herald, June 12, 1804; The Port Folio, April 1810; Ferrer, Freedom’s Mirror, 195.
25. Connecticut Herald, June 12, 1804; The Port Folio, April 1810.
26. Connecticut Herald, June 12, 1804.
27. For more discussion about whether Dessalines intended to spark rebellion in other Caribbean
nations, see: Ferrer, Freedom’s Mirror, 189–235; Ashli White, Encountering Revolution: Haiti and
the Making of the Early Republic (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010); Phillipe
Girard, “Did Dessalines Plan to Export the Haitian Revolution?” in The Haitian Declaration of
Independence, 136–157.
28. Connecticut Herald, June 12, 1804; Balance and Columbian Repository, June 19, 1804.
29. Columbian Centinel, July 18, 1804; Windham Herald, Gazette (Portland, Maine) August 6,
1804.
30. Sterling Stuckey, Slave Culture: Nationalist Theory and the Foundations of Black America
(New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987); Paul A. Gilje, The Road to Mobocracy:
Popular Disorder in New York City, 1763–1834 (Chapel Hill and London: The University of North
Carolina Press, 1987); Mitch Kachun, Festivals of Freedom: Memory and Meaning in African
American Emancipation Celebrations, 1808–1915 (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press,
2003); and Leslie M. Alexander, African or American?: Black Identity and Political Activism in New
York City, 1784–1861 (Champaign: The University of Illinois Press, 2008).
31. Columbian Centinel, July 18, 1804.
32. Spectator, July 14, 1804; Utica Patriot, July 23, 1804. Portions of this story also appear in
Dun, Dangerous Neighbors, 237.
33. Columbian Centinel, July 18, 1804. The ringleaders were taken into custody but later released
with no criminal charges. Gary Nash, “Reverberations of Haiti in the American North: Black Saint
Dominguans in Philadelphia” Pennsylvania History: A Journal of Mid-Atlantic Studies, Vol. 65,
Explorations in Early American Culture (1998), 73.
34. Dun, Dangerous Neighbors, 237.
35. Columbian Centinel, July 18, 1804.
36. Dictionnaire de l’Académie Françoise [1798]. Revu, corrigé et augumenté par l’académie elle-
même. Cinquième edition. A Paris, Chez J. J. Smits et Ce., Imp.-Lib., rue de Tournon, N°. 1133,
Faubourg Germain.
37. Gary Nash, Forging Freedom: The Formation of Philadelphia’s Black Community, 1720–1840
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), 177.
38. David Waldstreicher, In the Midst of Perpetual Fetes: The Making of American Nationalism,
1776–1820 (OIEAHC and University of North Carolina Press, 1997), 331; Mitch Kachun,
“Antebellum African Americans, Public Commemoration, and the Haitian Revolution: A Problem of
Mythmaking” in African Americans and the Haitian Revolution: Selected Essays and Historical
Documents, eds. Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon (New York: Routledge, 2009), 94.
39. Absalom Jones, A Thanksgiving Sermon Preached January 1,1808, in St. Thomas’s, or the
African Episcopal Church, Philadelphia: On Account of the Abolition of the African Slave Trade, On
That Day, By the Congress of the United States (Philadelphia: Fry and Kammener, Printers, 1808);
Jedidah Morse, A Discourse Delivered at the African Meeting House in Boston, July 14, 1808, in
Grateful Celebration of the Abolition of the African Slave Trade, By the Governments of the United
States, Great Britain, and Denmark (Boston: Lincoln and Edmands, 1808); Peter Williams Jr., An
Oration on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, Delivered in the African Church in the City of New York,
January 1, 1808 (New York: Samuel Wood, Printer, 1808); William Hamilton, An Address to the
African Society for Mutual Relief, Delivered in the Universalist Church, January 2,1809 (New York,
1809); Joseph Sidney, An Oration Commemorative of the Abolition of the Slave Trade in the United
States, delivered before the Wilberforce Philanthropic Association in the city of New-York, on the
Second of January, 1809 (New York: J. Seymour, 1809); Henry Sipkins, An Oration on the Abolition
of the Slave Trade, Delivered in the African Church, in the City of New York, January 2,1809 (New
York: J.C. Totten, Printer, 1809); William Miller, A Sermon on the Abolition of the Slave Trade;
Delivered in the African Church, New York, on the First of January, 1810 (New York: John C. Totten,
1810); Adam Carman, An Oration Delivered at the Fourth Anniversary of the Abolition of the Slave
Trade, in the Methodist Episcopal Church in Second Street, New York. January 1, 1811 (New York:
John C. Totten, 1811); Russell Parrott, An Oration on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, Delivered on
the First of January 1812 at the African Church of St. Thomas (Philadelphia: James Maxwell, 1812);
George Lawrence, Oration on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, Delivered on the first day of January,
1813, in the African Methodist Episcopal Church (New York: Hardcastle and Van Pelt, 1813); Joseph
Sidney, An Oration Commemorative of the Abolition of the Slave Trade; Delivered in the African
Asbury Church in the City of New York, on the First of January, 1814 (New York: J.S. Putney, 1814);
William Hamilton, An oration, on the abolition of the slave trade: delivered in the Episcopal Asbury
African Church, in Elizabeth-St., New-York, January 1,1815 (New York: African Society, 1815);
Russell Parrott, An Address on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, Delivered Before the Different
African Benevolent Societies on the 1st of January, 1816 (Philadelphia: T.S. Manning, 1816).
Previous scholars suggested that Black Philadelphians held a celebration honoring Haiti in 1808, but
the primary sources reveal that the gathering only commemorated the abolition of the slave trade and
contained no explicit mention of Haiti or the Haitian Revolution. Sherri Cummings, “Echoes of
Freedom: The Saint Domingue Revolution and its Effect on the African American Community in
Philadelphia,” Library Company of Philadelphia, June 2014; Simon P. Newman, Parades and the
Politics of the Street: Festive Culture in the Early American Republic (Philadelphia, University of
Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 160.
40. Evening Post, July 15, 1805.
41. U.S. Congress, Annals of Congress, House of Representatives, 9th Congress, 1st Session, p.
510–516; New York Journal, July 5, 1809. See also: Rayford W. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of
the United States with Haiti, 1776–1891 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1941),
177–178; Gaffield, Haitian Connections, 138–152; Julia Gaffield, “‘Outrages on the Law of
Nations:’ American Merchants and Diplomacy after the Haitian Declaration of Independence” in The
Haitian Declaration of Independence, 167; Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 50.
42. Telegraphe and Daily Advertiser, November 21, 1806. For another example of racist
propaganda, see: Weekly Eastern Argus, February 7, 1806.
43. The Observer, July 30, 1809.
44. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 182; Gaffield, The Haitian
Declaration of Independence, 167.
45. The embargo had a devastating impact on the United States economy. American exports
“dwindled, from $6.7 million in 1806, to $5.8 million in 1807, and to $1.5 million in 1808.” Dun,
Dangerous Neighbors, 231.
46. One article stated that the Injured Man made “every gentleman who treats the degraded race
with similar injustice, and inhumanity blush for his conduct.” New York Daily Advertiser, May 26,
1804
47. Dun, Dangerous Neighbors, 215–216. For one example of an article defending Dessalines, see:
Christian Observer, June 1804.
48. Johnhenry Gonzalez, Maroon Nation: A History of Revolutionary Haiti (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 2019), 85.
49. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 48–54.
50. Dun, Dangerous Neighbors, 226; Gonzalez, Maroon Nation, 91, 109, 122.
 51. Republican Gazette and General Advertiser, October 24, 1806. Reprinted in Mississippi
Herald and Natchez Gazette, November 25, 1806.
52. The Port Folio, August 17, 1805.
53. Pennsylvania Correspondent and Farmers’ Advertiser, July 2, 1805
54. Brown, Toussaint’s Clause, 283–284. For some coverage of Dessalines’s assassination in the
American newspapers, see: Otsego Herald, December 4, 1806; Connecticut Herald, December 9,
1806; Newport Mercury, December 13, 1806; Weekly Messenger, December 18, 1806; Gazette of
Maine Hancock Advertiser, December 18, 1806; Portsmouth Oracle, December 20, 1806.
55. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 48. Emphasis is hers.
56. Repertory, December 12, 1806; Rutland Herald, December 27, 1806.
57. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 183.
58. Newburyport Herald, June 9, 1807; Brown, Toussaint’s Clause, 283–284; Stieber, Haiti’s
Paper War, 58, 71–72.
59. For examples of newspaper coverage regarding the conflict between Christophe and Pétion,
see: Suffolk Gazette, February 223, 1807; Ostego Herald, March 19, 1807; Gazette of Maine, March
12, 1807; Democratic Press, March 27, 1807; Connecticut Journal, April 16, 1807; Mississippi
Herald and Natchez Gazette, June 10, 1807; Fredonian, June 13, 1807; Berkshire Reporter, July 11,
1807; Observer, July 30, 1807; Spooner’s Vermont Journal, October 26, 1807; Reporter, March 25,
1809; Commercial Advertiser, June 26, 1809; Windham Herald, August 17, 1809; Hagerstown
Gazette, April 24, 1810; Repertory, October 16, 1810; Sun, October 20, 1810; Vermont Centinel,
October 26, 1810; Norfolk Gazette and Publick Ledger, November 16, 1810; Hagerstown Gazette,
January 22, 1811; Charleston Courier, January 17, 1811; Balance, May 7, 1811; Commonwealth,
September 9, 1811; Federal Republican, December 23, 1811; Philadelphia Gazette, April 25, 1812;
Public Advertiser, June 13, 1812; Plattsburgh Republican, September 11, 1812; American and
Commercial Daily Advertiser, February 18, 1814; Washington City Gazette, June 29, 1814; Christian
Observer, September 1814; Hallowell Gazette, June 7, 1815; Federal Republican, October 20, 1815;
Alexandria Gazette, October 21,1815; Rutland Herald, November 8, 1815; Alexandria Gazette,
February 23, 1816; Daily National Intelligencer, October 12, 1816; Country Courier, October 14,
1816; National Register, October 12, 1816; National Register, May 30, 1818; Weekly Register,
August 2, 1818; Albany Gazette, August 11, 1818.
60. Sun, October 20, 1810.
61. Douglas R. Egerton, “Gabriel’s Conspiracy and the Election of 1800,” Journal of Southern
History 56, no. 2 (May 1990): 196–197, Walter C. Rucker, The River Flows On: Black Resistance,
Culture, and Identity Formation in Early America (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press,
2006), 140.
62. James Monroe to General Matthews, March 17, 1802; Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon,
“Fever and Fret: The Haitian Revolution and African American Re sponses” in African Americans
and the Haitian Revolution, 13; James Monroe to Thomas Jefferson, letter, September 15, 1800,
https://founders.archives.gov/documents/ Jefferson/01–32–02–0094, accessed April 22, 2020.
63. Junius Rodriguez, “Rebellion on the River Road: The Ideology and Influence of Louisiana’s
German Coast Slave Insurrection of 1811,” in Antislavery Violence: Sectional, Racial, and Cultural
Conflict in Antebellum America, eds. John R. McKivigan and Stanley Harrold (Knoxville: University
of Tennessee Press, 1999), 69–70; Robert L. Paquette, “A Horde of Brigands?: The Great Louisiana
Slave Revolt of 1811 Reconsidered” Historical Reflections/Réflexions Historiques 35, no. 1 (Spring
2009): 85.
64. Edward Baptist, The Half Has Never Been Told: Slavery and the Making of American
Capitalism (New York: Basic Books, 2019), 47–48, 52.
65. Paquette, “A Horde of Brigands?” 85, 91.
 66. Daniel Rasmussen, American Uprising: The Untold Story of America’s Largest Slave Revolt
(New York: Harper Perennial, 2011), 102.
67. Quoted in Brian Gabrial, “From Haiti to Nat Turner: Racial Panic Discourse during the
Nineteenth Century Partisan Press Era,” American Journalism 30, no. 3: 347.
68. Rodriguez, “Rebellion on the River Road,” 76–77; Walter Johnson, River of Dark Dreams:
Slavery and Empire in the Cotton Kingdom (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013), 22.
69. For more on Saunders’s life, see: Arthur O. White, “Prince Saunders: An Instance of Social
Mobility Among Antebellum New England Blacks” Journal of Negro History 60, no. 4 (October
1975).
70. Alexandre Pétion also issued an appeal for repatriation to the “natives of Hayti residing in
foreign countries” in March 1807. Republican Watchtower May 19, 1807; Fredonian June 13, 1807;
Monitor September 6, 1808.
71. For more on the emigration movement of the 1820s, see: Sara Fanning, Caribbean Crossing:
African Americans and the Haitian Emigration Movement (New York: New York University Press,
2015).
72. Journal of Paul Cuffe, May 14, 1812; Paul Cuffe to the President, Senate and House of
Representatives of the United States of America, June 1813, Paul Cuffe Papers; Peter Williams Jr. to
Paul Cuffe, August 2, 1816, Paul Cuffe Papers; Peter Williams Jr., Discourse Delivered on the Death
of Capt. Paul Cuffee, Before the New York African Institution, in the African Methodist Episcopal
Zion Church, October 21, 1817 (New York: B. Young and Company, 1817), 6; Freedom’s Journal,
March 16, 1827, March 23, 1827, and April 13, 1827; Sheldon H. Harris, Paul Cuffe: Black America
and the African Return (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1972), 80–81, 154–155; Robert Johnson Jr.,
Returning Home: A Century of African-American Repatriation (Trenton, New Jersey: Africa World
Press, Inc, 2005), 26–28; Alexander, African or American? 36–39.
73. Paul Cuffe to Peter Williams Jr., 14 June 1816; Peter Williams Jr. to Paul Cuffe, 22 March
1817; Freelove Slocum to Paul Cuffe, 9 December 1816; Paul Cuffe to Peter Williams Jr., 30 August
1816, Paul Cuffe Papers; Harris, Paul Cuffe, 64, 187; Jackson and Bacon, “Fever and Fret,” 15;
Alexander, African or American? 38–39.
74. Paul Cuffe to Peter Williams Jr., December 1, 1816, Paul Cuffe Papers; Alexander, African or
American, 40.
75. White, “Prince Saunders,” 527–528.
76. Boston Recorder, July 10; 1816; National Register, July 13, 1816; Dedham Gazette, July 19,
1816; Weekly Recorder, July 31, 1816; Gerald Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins: The United
States, The Haitian Revolution, and the Origins of the Dominican Republic (New York: Monthly
Review Press, 2015), 139–140.
77. Alexandria Gazette, May 31, 1816; Burlington Gazette, June 21,1816. Newspaper reports
indicated that Prince Saunders personally inoculated Christophe’s children.
78. Lancaster Journal, October 21, 1816.
79. Columbian Gazette, September 9, 1817. See also: White, “Prince Saunders,” 529; James Oliver
Horton and Lois E. Horton, In Hope of Liberty: Culture, Community and Protest Among Northern
Free Blacks, 1700–1860 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 193; Leslie M. Alexander, “A
Land of Promise: Emigration and Pennsylvania’s Black Elite in the Era of the Haitian Revolution” in
The Civil War in Pennsylvania: The African American Experience (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: Senator
John Heinz History Center, 2013), 99.
80. Paul Cuffe to Peter Williams Jr., December 1, 1816, Paul Cuffe to Samuel J. Mills, January 6,
1817; Paul Cuffe to James Forten, January 23, 1817, Paul Cuffe Papers; Alexander, African or
American? 39.
 81. Prince Saunders, Haytian Papers (Boston: Parmenter and Norton for Bingham, 1818), iii, 5–6;
Julie Winch, A Gentleman of Color: The Life of James Forten (New York: Oxford University Press,
2002), 211; Alexander, “A Land of Promise,” 100–101. A portion of this quote also appears in Alfred
N. Hunt, Haiti’s Influence on Antebellum America: Slumbering Volcano in the Caribbean (Baton
Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988), 161. The original edition of the Haytian Papers was
published in London in 1816: By Authority, Haytian Papers: A Collection of the Very Interesting
Proclamations, and other Official Documents; Together With Some Account of the Rise, Progress,
and Present State of the Kingdom of Hayti. With a Preface by Prince Saunders, Esq. (London: W.
Reed, Law Booksellers, 1816).
82. Saunders, Haytian Papers, iii-iv, 222.
83. Sara C. Fanning, “The Roots of Early Black Nationalism: Northern African Americans’
Invocations of Haiti in the Early Nineteenth Century” Slavery & Abolition, 28: 67–68; Leslie M.
Alexander, “The Black Republic: The Influence of the Haitian Revolution on Black Political
Consciousness, 1816–1862,” in African Americans and the Haitian Revolution, 59.
84. Laurent Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History (New York: Picador, 2012), 98.
85. Saunders, Haytian Papers, 75; 89; 96; 113; 193–197; National Register, July 13, 1816.
86. White, “Prince Saunders,” 530; Alexander, “A Land of Promise,” 100.
87. Sara C. Fanning, “The Roots of Early Black Nationalism: Northern African Americans’
Invocations of Haiti in the Early Nineteenth Century” in African Americans and the Haitian
Revolution, 47.
88. Earl Leslie Griggs and Clifford H. Prator, eds., Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson: A
Correspondence (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1952), 227–228; Horton, In Hope of
Liberty, 192; Winch, A Gentleman of Color, 212.
89. Julie Winch, Philadelphia’s Black Elite: Activism, Accommodation, and the Struggle for
Autonomy, 1787–1848 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1993), 29–48.
90. Alexander, “The Black Republic,” 59–60; Alexander, A Land of Promise, 101.
91. Peter Williams Jr., Discourse Delivered on the Death of Capt. Paul Cuffee, Before the New
York African Institution, in the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church, October 21, 1817 (New
York: B. Young and Company, 1817), 6.
92. Winch, A Gentleman of Color, 135.
93. Isaac Brown, Memoirs of the Reverend Robert Finley, D.D., Late Pastor of the Presbyterian
Congregation of Basking Ridge, New Jersey (New Brunswick, 1819), 101; Winch, A Gentleman of
Color, 135.
94. Winch, A Gentleman of Color, 135; Julie Winch, “Onward, Onward, Is Indeed the Watchword:
James Forten’s Reflections on Revolution and Liberty” in Prophets of Protest: Reconsidering the
History of American Abolitionism, eds. Timothy Patrick McCarthy and John Stauffer (New York: The
New Press, 2006), 85–86.
95. Alexandria Gazette, May 4, 1818; Cohen’s Lottery Gazette and Register, May 8, 1818.
96. Prince Saunders, A Memoir Presented to The American Convention For Promoting the
Abolition of Slavery, and Improving the Condition of the African Race (Philadelphia: Printed by
Dennis Heartt, 1818), 8, 12–13, 15.
97. Saunders, A Memoir, 19.
98. Floyd J. Miller, The Search for A Black Nationality: Black Emigration and Colonization,
1787–1863 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1975), 75; Winch, A Gentleman of Color, 213.
99. David Robertson, Denmark Vesey: The Buried History of America’s Largest Slave Rebellion
and the Man Who Led It (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2000), 53; Douglas Egerton, He Shall Go Out
Free: The Lives of Denmark Vesey (New York: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2004), 45.
 100. James O’Neil Spady, “Power and Confession: On the Credibility of the Earliest Reports of the
Denmark Vesey Slave Conspiracy” William and Mary Quarterly 68, no. 2 (2011): 287–304. For more
on the debate over the veracity of the Vesey conspiracy, see: Michael P. Johnson, “Denmark Vesey
and His Co-Conspirators” The William and Mary Quarterly 58, No. 4 (October 2001): 915–976.
101. Egerton, He Shall Go Out Free, 16, 44.
102. Douglas Egerton and Robert Paquette, eds., The Denmark Vesey Affair: A Documentary
History (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2017), 214. Also quoted in: Matthew J. Clavin,
Toussaint Louverture and the American Civil War: The Promise and Peril of a Second Haitian
Revolution (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), 33.
103. Egerton and Paquette, The Denmark Vesey Affair, xx.
104. Robertson, Denmark Vesey, 52.
105. Egerton and Paquette, The Denmark Vesey Affair, xxi, 191.
106. Egerton and Paquette, The Denmark Vesey Affair, 167, 178, 220, 236–237; Clavin, Toussaint
Louverture and the American Civil War, 33.
107. Egerton and Paquette, The Denmark Vesey Affair, 76, 162–163, 166, 216.
108. Robertson, Denmark Vesey, 52.
109. Egerton and Paquette, The Denmark Vesey Affair, 179.
110. Egerton and Paquette, The Denmark Vesey Affair, 167; Egerton, He Shall Go Out Free, 136,
148.
111. Egerton and Paquette, The Denmark Vesey Affair, 84, 191, 237.
112. Grégory Pierrot, The Black Avenger in Atlantic Culture (Athens: University of Georgia Press,
2019), 137.
113. Niles’ Weekly Register, July 1, 1820: 326; Leon D. Pamphile, Haitians and African
Americans: A Heritage of Tragedy and Hope (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2008), 40.
114. Griggs and Prator, Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson, 227.
115. White, “Prince Saunders,” 532–534; Alexander, “A Land of Promise,” 101.
116. Griggs and Prator, Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson, 227.
117. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 114.
118. Berks and Schuykill Journal, November 25, 1820.
119. Albany Gazette, November 28, 1820.
120. White, “Prince Saunders,” 532–534; Alexander, “A Land of Promise,” 107; Griggs and
Prator, Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson, 227.
121. Griggs and Prator, Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson, 227; White, “Prince Saunders,”
533–534.
122. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 129.
123. Miller, The Search for A Black Nationality, 77–78; Chris Dixon, African America and Haiti:
Emigration and Black Nationalism in the Nineteenth Century (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood
Press, 2000), 35; Alexander, African or American? 40–41; Alexander, “The Black Republic,” 60–61;
Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 131.
124. Loring Daniel Dewey, Correspondence Relative to the Emigration to Hayti of the Free People
of Colour in the United States. Together with the Instructions to the Agent Sent Out by President
Boyer (New York: Mahlon Day, 1824), 18, 7; Alexander, African or American, 40–41. The Prince
Hall Masonic lodge in New York City even named their lodge after Jean-Pierre Boyer.
125. Griggs and Prator, Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson, 249; Miller, The Search for A
Black Nationality, 75; Alexander, “A Land of Hope,” 108.
126. Griggs and Prator, Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson, 248–249.
127. Victor Schoelcher, Colonies étrangères et Haïti: Résultats de l’emancipation anglaise, vol. 2
(Paris: Pagnerre, 1843), 180–181.
 128. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 94–95.
129. Griggs and Prator, Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson, 248–251.
130. Hartford Courant, June 10, 1839.
131. Jeremiah Gloucester, An Oration, Delivered on January 1,1823 in Bethel Church: On the
Abolition of the Slave Trade (Philadelphia: John Young, 1823), 10.
132. Columbian Centinel, July 3, 1824. For more on Thomas Paul in Haiti, see: Pamphile,
Haitians and African Americans, 38.
133. Debate persists regarding how many people migrated to Haiti in the 1820s. Some estimates
range as high as 13,000, but most historians agree that between 7,000–8,000 Black migrants
relocated to Haiti during this era. For more on Granville, see: Dewey, Correspondence Relative to the
Emigration to Hayti, 18, 7; Miller, The Search for A Black Nationality, 77; Dixon, African America
and Haiti, 40–44; Alexander, African or American? 40–41; Fanning, “The Roots of Early Black
Nationalism,” 49.
134. Haytien Emigration Society, Information for the Free People of Color, 3; Miller, The Search
for A Black Nationality, 78–79; Pamphile, Haitians and African Americans, 44.
135. Benjamin Hunt, Remarks on Hayti as a place of settlement for Afric-Americans; and on the
Mulatto as a race for the Tropics (Philadelphia: T. B. Pugh, 1860), 12.
136. Dewey, Correspondence Relative to the Emigration to Hayti, 8, 9–10, 30; Haytian Emigration
Society, Address of the Board of Managers of the Haytian Emigration Society of Coloured People, to
the emigrants intending to sail to the island of Hayti, in the brig De Witt Clinton (New York: Mahlon
Day, 1824), 3, 7; John Edward Baur, “Mulatto Machiavelli, Jean Pierre Boyer, and the Haiti of His
Day,” Journal of Negro History 32, no. 3 (July 1947), 325; Miller, The Search for A Black
Nationality, 77; Dixon, African America and Haiti, 36; Alexander, African or American, 41–43.
Emphasis is theirs.
137. Daily National Intelligencer, July 24, 1824.
138. Haytien Emigration Society, Information for the Free People of Color Who Are Inclined to
Emigrate to Hayti (Philadelphia: J.H. Cunningham, 1825), 4.
139. National Advocate, February 9, 1825.
140. Pamphile, Haitians and African Americans, 45–46.
141. Miller, The Search for A Black Nationality, 80. Emphasis is theirs. Alexander, “A Land of
Hope,” 108–109.
142. Fredonian, March 2, 1825.
143. North Star, May 10, 1825.
144. Fredonian, March 2, 1825.
145. Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins, 148–149.
Chapter 2. Ruin Stares Everybody in the Face

1. Rayford W. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 1776–1891
(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1941), 220.
2. Alexandria Gazette, July 30, 1825; Laurent Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History (New
York: Picador, 2012), 99.
3. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 101.
4. Eastern Argus, July 29, 1825; Raleigh Register and North Carolina State Gazette, August 5,
1825; Hampshire Gazette, August 24, 1825.
5. Freedom’s Journal, July 11, 1828.
6. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 78–79; 98. The French government attempted to
reimpose rule in both 1814 and 1816. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 78–84.
7. Vergniaud Leconte, Henri Christophe dans l’historie d’Haiti, (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1931),
382; Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 186.
8. National Gazette, July 28, 1825; Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 98.
9. Jean Eddy Saint Paul, “Understanding Haiti Through the Power of the Social Forces in
Interaction,” Georgetown Journal of International Affairs, June 15, 2021.
10. Alexandria Gazette, September 17, 1825.
11. Julia Gaffield, “The Racialization of International Law after the Haitian Revolution: The Holy
See and National Sovereignty. American Historical Review 125, no. 3 (June 2020): 848.
12. Newport Mercury, August 20, 1825; Ariel, August 29, 1825.
13. Alexandria Gazette, July 30, 1825.
14. Andrew Armstrong to Henry Clay, October 5, 1825, Despatches from United States Consuls in
Cap Haitian, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records Service, General Services Administration.
Washington: 1958.
15. Marlene Daut, “The ‘Alpha and Omega’ of Haitian Literature: Baron de Vastey and the U.S.
Audience of Haitian Political Writing” Comparative Literature 62, no. 1 (2012): 58.
16. Boston Recorder, October 16, 1824.
17. Baltimore Patriot, November 4, 1824.
18. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 232.
19. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 7–8.
20. Jean Casimir, The Haitians: A Decolonial History (Chapel Hill: The University of North
Carolina Press, 2020), 185.
21. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 101.
22. Statesman and Gazette, August 24, 1825.
23. Eastern Argus, July 29, 1825.
24. Hampshire Gazette, August 24, 1825.
25. Raleigh Register and North Carolina State Gazette, August 5, 1825.
26. Genius of Universal Emancipation, August 1825.
27. Genius of Universal Emancipation, August 1825.
28. Columbian Centinel, August 31, 1825. Also reprinted in Salem Gazette, September 2, 1825,
and Pensacola Gazette and West Florida Advertiser, October 1, 1825.
29. Columbian Centinel, August 31, 1825.
30. Columbian Centinel, August 31, 1825. Emphasis is theirs.
31. Dutchess Observer, August 10, 1825.
32. Andrew Armstrong to Henry Clay, July 4, 1825, Despatches from United States Consuls in
Cap Haitian.
 33. Andrew Armstrong to Henry Clay, July 10, 1825, and July 21, 1825, Despatches from United
States Consuls in Cap Haitian.
34. Raleigh Register and North Carolina State Gazette, August 5, 1825; Maryland Gazette and
State Register, August 11, 1825.
35. Raleigh Register and North Carolina State Gazette, August 5, 1825.
36. Alexandria Gazette, July 30, 1825.
37. New Hampshire Patriot and State Gazette, August 8, 1825.
38. Dutchess Observer, August 10, 1825.
39. Niles Register, September 27, 1853. Also quoted in: Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the
United States with Haiti, 200.
40. Essex Register, August 1, 1825.
41. Spectator, March 22, 1822. Emphasis is theirs.
42. New Hampshire Patriot and State Gazette, August 8, 1825; Connecticut Gazette, August 17,
1825. For more commentary on Haiti’s economic significance, see: Rhode Island American, October
21, 1825; Portsmouth Journal of Literature and Politics, February 3, 1827.
43. New Hampshire Patriot and State Gazette, August 16, 1825.
44. Quoted in Gaffield, “The Racialization of International Law after the Haitian Revolution,” 841.
45. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 198; Michael O. West,
William G. Martin, and Fanon Che Wilkins, eds., From Toussaint to Tupac: The Black International
since the Age of Revolution (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2009), 86.
46. Joel Poinsett to John Quincy Adams, Friday, February 28, 1823, in The Denmark Vesey Affair:
A Documentary History, eds. Douglas Egerton and Robert Paquette (Gainesville: University Press of
Florida, 2017), 641.
47. James Monroe to Thomas Jefferson, June 30, 1823, The Writings of James Monroe, ed.
Stanislaus Murray Hamilton (New York and London: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1902), volume VI, pp.
317; Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 204–205.
48. Dexter Perkins, The Monroe Doctrine, 1823–1826 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1927), 3; 14–28.
49. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 188, 202–205; 209.
50. Boston Recorder, October 16, 1824; Baltimore Patriot, November 4, 1824.
51. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 216.
52. Gazette, August 2, 1825; Village Register, August 4, 1825; Ohio Monitor, August 27, 1825;
Pensacola Gazette, August 27, 1825.
53. New Hampshire Patriot and State Gazette, August 8, 1825.
54. Edwardsville Spectator, September 24, 1825.
55. Ariel, August 29, 1825.
56. Connecticut Gazette, August 10, 1825.
57. Richmond Enquirer, August 2, 1825.
58. Andrew Armstrong to Henry Clay, June 6, 1826, Despatches from United States Consuls in
Cap Haitian. Emphasis is his.
59. Samuel Israel to Henry Clay, July 11, 1828, Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap
Haitian.
60. Columbian Centinel, August 10, 1825; Independent Chronicle & Boston Patriot, August 10,
1825.
61. Connecticut Gazette, August 10, 1825.
62. Edwardsville Spectator, September 24, 1825; Freedom’s Journal, July 13, 1827.
63. U.S. Congress, Register of Debates, Senate, 19th Congress, 1st Session, 166; Logan, The
Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 225–226; Don E. Fehrenbacher, and Ward M.
McAfee, ed., The Slaveholding Republic: An Account of the United States Government’s Relations to
Slavery (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 114–116.
64. U.S. Congress, Register of Debates, House of Representatives, 19th Congress, 1st Session,
2150.
65. U.S. Congress, Register of Debates, Senate, 19th Congress, 1st Session, 291; 330.
66. U.S. Congress, Register of Debates, Senate, 19th Congress, 1st Session, 291; 343.
67. Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon, “Fever and Fret: The Haitian Revolution and African
American Responses” in African Americans and the Haitian Revolution: Selected Essays and
Historical Documents, eds. Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon (New York: Routledge, 2009),
16.
68. Commercial Advertiser, September 20, 1826.
69. Sandra Sandiford Young, “John Brown Russwurm’s Dilemma: Citizenship or Emigration?” in
Prophets of Protest: Reconsidering the History of American Abolitionism, Timothy Patrick McCarthy
and John Stauffer, eds., (New York and London: The New Press, 2006), 96; Winston James, The
Struggles of John Brown Russwurm: The Life and Writings of a Pan-Africanist Pioneer, 1799–1851
(New York: New York University Press, 2010), 11.
70. Auto-da-fé refers to the public punishment and torture the Spanish employed during the
inquisition. More commonly, it specifically describes the practice of burning heretics and criminals at
the stake.
71. Reprinted in The Journal of Negro History, Vol. 54, No. 4 (October 1969), 395–396.
72. Reprinted in The Journal of Negro History, Vol. 54, No. 4 (October 1969), 395–396. Also
quoted in: Matthew J. Clavin, Toussaint Louverture and the American Civil War: The Promise and
Peril of a Second Haitian Revolution (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), 20.
73. Jackson and Bacon, “Fever and Fret,” 16.
74. Jacqueline Bacon, “‘A Revolution Unexampled in the History of Man’: The Haitian
Revolution in Freedom’s Journal, 1827–1829” in African Americans and the Haitian Revolution, 81–
82.
75. Freedom’s Journal, March 16, 1827; Bacon, “A Revolution Unexampled in the History of
Man,” 85.
76. Freedom’s Journal, March 16, 1827.
77. Freedom’s Journal, March 23, 1827, May 4, 1827, July 13, 1827, August 10, 1827, September
21, 1827.
78. Freedom’s Journal, April 6, 1827.
79. Freedom’s Journal, April 6, 1827.
80. Freedom’s Journal, May 4, 1827.
81. Freedom’s Journal, May 4, 1827, May 18, 1827.
82. Freedom’s Journal, April 20, 1827, April 27, 1827, May 4, 1827, June 15, 1827.
83. Freedom’s Journal, June 29, 1827.
84. Freedom’s Journal, October 12, 1827.
85. Freedom’s Journal, October 12, 1827.
86. For more on Cornish’s departure from Freedom’s Journal, see: James, The Struggles of John
Brown Russwurm, 31–43.
87. Freedom’s Journal, January 18, 1828; January 25, 1828; February 8, 1828; February 15, 1828.
88. Alexandria Gazette, February 27, 1826.
89. Freedom’s Journal, April 20, 1827; May 11, 1827; June 22, 1827; August 17, 1827; July 18,
1828.
90. Bacon, “A Revolution Unexampled in the History of Man,” 86.
91. Freedom’s Journal, January 18, 1828, January 25, 1828, February 8, 1828, February 15, 1828.
 92. Freedom’s Journal, February 15, 1828.
93. Frances Smith Foster, “Forgotten Manuscripts: How Do You Solve a Problem Like Theresa”
African American Review 40, no. 4 (2006), 636; Marlene L. Daut, Tropics of Haiti: Race and the
Literary History of the Haitian Revolution in the Atlantic World, 1789–1865 (Liverpool: Liverpool
University Press, 2015), 290.
94. Dickson Bruce Jr., The Origins of African American Literature, 1680–1865 (Charlottesville,
University Press of Virginia, 2001), 172–173; Daut, Tropics of Haiti, 290.
95. Daut, Tropics of Haiti, 291–296.
96. American Watchman, September 23, 1825; Connecticut Herald, September 27, 1825;
Fredonian, September 28, 1825.
97. National Gazette, November 19, 1825; Norwich Courier, December 28, 1825.
98. Rhode Island Republican, March 2, 1826.
99. Alexandria Gazette, April 4, 1826.
100. Georgian, July 6, 1826.
101. Fredonian, August 23, 1826.
102. Providence Patriot, August 30, 1826. For other reports on discontent, see: Jamaica Journal,
November 19, 1826; Baltimore Gazette and Daily Advertiser, December 26, 1826.
103. Alexandria Gazette, December 15, 1826; Connecticut Herald, December 19, 1826.
104. Gazette, December 19, 1826; Georgian, December 28, 1826.
105. Commercial Advertiser, July 31, 1827; New York Daily Advertiser, August 3, 1827;
Spectator, August 10, 1827.
106. American Advocate, August 18, 1827.
107. Freedom’s Journal, August 3, 1827.
108. Connecticut Journal, January 1, 1828.
109. Connecticut Journal, June 10, 1828; Freedom’s Journal, June 13, 1828.
110. Freedom’s Journal, April 11, 1828.
111. Samuel Israel to Henry Clay, May 5, 1828, Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap
Haitian.
112. Freedom’s Journal, July 11, 1828.This article was also reprinted in mainstream U.S.
newspapers: Literary Cadet and Rhode Island Statesman, July 16, 1828; Fredonian, July 23, 1828.
Also quoted in: Young, “John Brown Russwurm’s Dilemma,” 107.
113. Middlesex Gazette, June 15, 1825; Winyaw Intelligencer, June 18, 1825; Leslie M. Alexander,
African or American?: Black Identity and Political Activism in New York City, 1784–1861 (Urbana
and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2008), 43.
114. Evening Post, March 7, 1826.
115. Weekly Anglo-African, January 12, 1861.
116. Ohio Monitor, June 11, 1825.
117. Hillsborough Recorder, July 27, 1825; Alexander, African or American, 43.
118. United States Telegraph, November 4, 1829.
119. Alexander, African or American, 43.
120. Fredonian, July 9,1828; Hampton Journal and Advertiser, July 16, 1828.
121. African Repository and Colonial Journal, Vol. 5 (April 1829); Raleigh Register, February 20,
1829.
122. Freedom’s Journal, February 14, 1829; Robert Johnson Jr., Returning Home: A Century of
African-American Repatriation (Trenton, New Jersey: Africa World Press, Inc, 2005), 175; Leslie M.
Alexander, “The Black Republic: The Influence of the Haitian Revolution on Black Political
Consciousness, 1816–1862,” in African Americans and the Haitian Revolution: Selected Essays and
Historical Documents, 64.
 123. Freedom’s Journal, October 31, 1828.
124. Loring Daniel Dewey, Correspondence Relative to the Emigration to Hayti of the Free People
of Colour in the United States. Together with the Instructions to the Agent Sent Out by President
Boyer (New York: Mahlon Day, 1824), 18, 7; Alexander, African or American, 40–41.
125. For examples, see: National Advocate, February 9, 1825; Ohio Monitor, April 30, 1825;
Georgian, May 28, 1825; Commercial Advertiser, June 2, 1825; Ohio Monitor, June 11, 1825; North
Star, July 5, 1825; Salem Gazette, January 17, 1826.
126. Ohio Monitor, June 11, 1825.
127. United States Gazette, April 18, 1825; Julie Winch, A Gentleman of Color: The Life of James
Forten (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 57; James Oliver Horton and Lois E. Horton, In
Hope of Liberty: Culture, Community and Protest Among Northern Free Blacks, 1700–1860 (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 194; Alexander, “The Black Republic,” 63.
128. United States Gazette, April 18, 1825.
129. Freedom’s Journal, July 13, 1827.
130. Freedom’s Journal, February 14, 1829, May 23, 1828. Emphasis is his.
131. Freedom’s Journal, July 11, 1828.
132. Freedom’s Journal, July 4, 1828.
133. Allan Austin, African Muslims in Antebellum America (New York: Routledge, 1997);
Sylviane Diouf, Servants of Allah: African Muslims Enslaved in the Americas (New York and
London: New York University Press, 1998); Mitch Kachun, “Antebellum African Americans, Public
Commemoration, and the Haitian Revolution: A Problem of Mythmaking” in African Americans and
the Haitian Revolution, 95.
134. Freedom’s Journal, October 24, 1828.
135. Freedom’s Journal, December 12, 1828.
136. Freedom’s Journal, February 14, 1829.
Chapter 3. Haiti Must Be Acknowledged

1. The Colored American, November 10, 1838. Emphasis is his.

2. Daily National Journal, January 10, 1829.
3. Joshua Webb to Martin Van Buren, January 25, 1830, Despatches from United States Consuls in
Aux Cayes, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records Service, General Services Administration.
Washington: 1958.
4. Daily National Journal, January 10, 1829.
5. US Telegraph, April 18, 1831; Genius of Universal Emancipation, April 22, 1831. Taken from
the Jamaica Courant.
6. US Telegraph, May 26, 1831.
7. Daily National Journal, July 2, 1831.
8. Samuel Israel to the Department of State, June 10, 1831, Despatches from United States consuls
in Cap Haitien, 1797–1906. National Archives and Records Service, General Services
Administration. Washington: 1958.
9. F.M. Dimond to Martin Van Buren June 11, 1831, Despatches from United States consuls in Cap
Haitien.
10. New York Spectator, July 5, 1831.
11. New York Spectator, July 5, 1831.
12. The Liberator, September 3, 1831.
13. New York Spectator, July 19, 1831, and December 16, 1831.
14. Rayford W. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 1776–1891
(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1941), 232.
15. David Walker, Walker’s Appeal in Four Articles; Together with a Preamble, To the Coloured
Citizens of the World, but in Particular, and Very Expressly, to Those of the United States of America.
Written in Boston, State of Massachusetts, September 28, 1829 (Boston: Published by David Walker,
1829), 24.
16. Grégory Pierrot, The Black Avenger in Atlantic Culture (Athens: University of Georgia Press,
2019), 138. Emphasis is his.
17. Walker, Walker’s Appeal, 23–24; Alfred N. Hunt, Haiti’s Influence on Antebellum America:
Slumbering Volcano in the Caribbean (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988), 148;
Pierrot, The Black Avenger in Atlantic Culture, 138.
18. Walker, Walker’s Appeal, 73; 62–63.
19. The Rights of All, May 29, 1829.
20. The Rights of All, October 9, 1829.
21. The Rights of All, October 9, 1829.
22. The Rights of All, October 9, 1829.
23. Peter Williams Jr., A Discourse Delivered in St. Philip’s Church, for the Benefit of the Coloured
Community of Wilberforce, in Upper Canada, on the Fourth of July, 1830. New York: Printed by G.
F. Bunce, 1830 in Early Negro Writing, ed. Dorothy Porter (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971), 300.
24. The Liberator, March 12, 1831.
25. For more about the Black leadership’s rejection of emigration and colonization, see Leslie M.
Alexander, African or American?: Black Identity and Political Activism in New York City, 1784–1861
(Urbana: The University of Illinois Press, 2008), 76–82.
26. Freedom’s Journal, November 2, 1827.
27. Freedom’s Journal, March 14, 1829.
 28. The Colored American, October 7, 1837; Anglo African Magazine, October 1859. For more on
the origins of the Colored Convention movement, see: Alexander, African or American?, 76–80.
29. Constitution of the American Society of Free Persons of Colour, for Improving Their Condition
in the United States, for Purchasing Lands, and for the Establishment of a Settlement in Upper
Canada, also the Proceedings of the Convention, with their Address to the Free Persons of Colour in
the United States (Philadelphia: J.W. Allen, 1831), 5, 10–11.
30. Minutes and Proceedings of the First Annual Convention of the People of Colour, held by
adjournments in the city of Philadelphia, from the sixth to the eleventh of June, inclusive, 1831
(Philadelphia: Published by Order of the Committee of Arrangements, 1831), 12, 4, 15. Emphasis is
theirs.
31. Minutes and Proceedings of the Second Annual Convention for the Improvement of the People
of Colour in these United States, Held by Adjournments, in the City of Philadelphia, from the 4th to
the 13th of June, inclusive, 1832 (Philadelphia: Published by Order of the Convention, 1832), 8, 10,
17.
32. Minutes and Proceedings of the Third Annual Convention for the Improvement of the Free
People of Colour in the United States, Held by Adjournments, in the city of Philadelphia, from the
3rd to the 13th of June, inclusive, 1833 (New York: Published by Order of the Convention, 1833),
22–23, 31; Minutes of the Fourth Annual Convention for the Improvement of the Free People of
Colour, in the United States; held by adjournments in the Asbury Church, New York, from the 2nd to
the 12th of June, inclusive, 1834 (New York: Published by Order of the Convention, 1834), 13.
33. The Liberator, September 17, 1831.
34. The Liberator, January 7, 1832.
35. The Liberator, July 30, 1831.
36. The Liberator, August 6, 1831.
37. The Liberator, August 6, 1831.
38. The Liberator, August 6, 1831.
39. Thomas R. Gray, “The Confessions of Nat Turner, the Leader of the Late Insurrection in
Southampton, VA” (Baltimore: Thomas R. Gray, 1831); Patrick H. Breen, The Land Shall Be
Deluged in Blood: A New History of the Nat Turner Revolt (New York: Oxford University Press,
2015), 98; Vanessa M. Holden, Surviving Southampton: African American Women and Resistance in
Nat Turner’s Community (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2021), 3–6.
40. Herbert Aptheker, American Negro Slave Revolts (New York, NY: International Publishers,
1943), 300.
41. Gray, “The Confessions of Nat Turner.”
42. Gerald Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins: The United States, The Haitian Revolution, and the
Origins of the Dominican Republic (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2015), 154; Pierrot, The
Black Avenger, 1.
43. Samuel Warner, “Authentic and Impartial Narrative of the Tragical Scene which was witnessed
in Southampton County (Virginia) on Monday the 22nd of August last.” Gilder Lehrman Collection
#: GLC04548; Matthew J. Clavin, Toussaint Louverture and the American Civil War: The Promise
and Peril of a Second Haitian Revolution (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), 15.
44. Clavin, Toussaint Louverture and the American Civil War, 15–16.
45. Ira Berlin, “After Nat Turner: A Letter from the North,” The Journal of Negro History 55, no.
2 (April 1970): 146–150.
46. Maria Stewart, “Religion and the Pure Principles of Morality, The Sure Foundation On Which
We Must Build,” in Spiritual Narratives, Sue E. Houchins, ed., (Oxford and New York: Oxford
University Press, 1998), 19–20. Also quoted in: Marlene L. Daut, “Before Harlem: The Franco-
Haitian Grammar of Transnational African American Writing,” J19: The Journal of Nineteenth-
Century Americanists 3, no. 2 (Fall 2015): 388.
47. The Liberator, April 28, 1832. Also quoted in: Daut, “Before Harlem,” 388.
48. Initially founded as The Weekly Advocate in January 1837, Samuel Cornish renamed it The
Colored American two months later and it appeared on a weekly basis until 1841. For more on the
founding of The Colored American, see: Irvine G. Penn, The Afro-American Press and its Editors
(New York: The Arno Press and The New York Times, 1891), 32–35.
49. Penn, The Afro-American Press, 32–33.
50. Sara Johnson, The Fear of French Negroes: Transcolonial Collaboration in the Revolutionary
Americas (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2012), 175.
51. The Colored American, March 11, 1837. Emphasis is his.
52. The Colored American, March 18, 1837.
53. The Colored American, June 3, 1837.
54. The Colored American, July 1, 1837.
55. The Colored American, February 17, 1838; C. Peter Ripley and Michael F. Hembree, eds., The
Black Abolitionist Papers (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1992), volume III,
257.
56. Robert Douglass Jr. (no relation to esteemed activist Frederick Douglass) was born to Robert
Douglass and Grace Bustill Douglass, both prominent abolitionists in Philadelphia. His sister, Sarah
Mapps Douglass, also became a renowned abolitionist, artist, and public lecturer. Julie Winch, A
Gentleman of Color: The Life of James Forten (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 116.
57. The Colored American, March 3, 1838.
58. The Colored American, March 15, 1838.
59. The Colored American, March 15, 1838.
60. Johnhenry Gonzalez, Maroon Nation: A History of Revolutionary Haiti (New Haven and
London: Yale University Press, 2019), 190–191; Jean Casimir, The Haitians: A Decolonial History
(Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2020),171.
61. George H. Evans, The Rural Code Of Haiti, Literally Translated From A Publication By The
Government Press; Together With Letters From That Country, Concerning Its Present Condition, By
A Southern Planter (Granville, Middletown, New Jersey, 1837), 3–4.
62. Chelsea Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War: Post-Independence Writing, Civil War, and the Making of
the Republic, 1804–1954 (New York: New York University Press, 2020), 132.
63. Evans, The Rural Code Of Haiti, 3–4.
64. The Liberator, November 15, 1834.
65. Casimir, The Haitians, 175.
66. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 139.
67. The Liberator, March 11, 1837. Emphasis is theirs.
68. The Liberator, June 1, 1838; The Colored American, June 16, 1838. Emphasis is his.
69. The Colored American, August 11, 1838.
70. The Colored American, October 20, 1838. Emphasis is his.
71. F. M Dimond to Martin Van Buren, January 18, 1830, Samuel Israel to Martin Van Buren,
January 14, 1831, Samuel Israel to Louis McLane, January 29, 1834, Despatches from United States
consuls in Cap Haitien; Thomas Philbrook to John Forsyth, July 8, 1837, Despatches from United
States consuls in Port-au-Prince, 1835–1906. National Archives and Records Service, General
Services Administration. Washington: 1958.
72. March 7, 1830, Despatches from United States consuls in Cap Haitien.
73. William Miles to John Forsyth, December 9, 1835, Despatches from United States consuls in
Aux Cayes. Emphasis is his.
 74. William Southwell to John Forsyth, July 10, 1836, William Miles to John Forsyth, May 24,
1838, William Miles to John Forsyth, May 25, 1838, William Miles to John Forsyth, May 29, 1838,
Despatches from United States consuls in Aux Cayes.
75. Benjamin Viall to John Forsyth, July 14, 1838, Despatches from United States consuls in Cap
Haitien.
76. Ralph Higginbotham to John Forsyth, September 21, 1838, Despatches from United States
consuls in Aux Cayes. Emphasis is his. Portions of this letter were reprinted in The Colored
American, November 3, 1838, and The Liberator, November 9, 1838.
77. Ralph Higginbotham to John Forsyth, September 21, 1838, Despatches from United States
consuls in Aux Cayes. Emphasis is his.
78. The Colored American, November 3, 1838.
79. The Colored American, November 3, 1838.
Chapter 4. The Voices of the People Will Be Heard

1. The Colored American, December 29, 1838. Emphasis is his.

2. William Lee Miller, Arguing About Slavery: John Quincy Adams and the Great Battle in the
United States Congress (New York: Vintage Books, 1995), 204.
3. Susan Zaeske, Signatures of Citizenship: Petitioning, Antislavery, & Women’s Political Identity
(Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 2003), 71.
4. Miller, Arguing About Slavery, 134–149. Since the original gag was a resolution, not a standing
House Rule, it had to be renewed every session, but the pro-gag forces enjoyed repeated success in
renewing the gag and increasing its power each time.
5. The Liberator, June 4, 1836; Zaeske, Signatures of Citizenship, 73.
6. New Hampshire Statesman, August 15, 1829.
7. The Liberator, August 6, 1831. Emphasis is his.
8. The Liberator, July 28, 1832, June 8, 1833, August 3, 1833, January 11, 1834, November 29,
1834, December 6, 1834, December 13, 1834, and December 20, 1834.
9. The Liberator, May 5, 1837.
10. Reprinted in The Liberator, May 5, 1837.
11. The Colored American, June 10, 1837.
12. Zaeske, Signatures of Citizenship, 3–4; 50–59.
13. The Liberator, June 16, 1837.
14. The Colored American, July 1, 1837.
15. The Liberator, July 7, 1837. Speech delivered in June but not printed until early July.
16. The Liberator, May 18, 1838; The Colored American, June 16, 1838; The Liberator, June 15,
1838.
17. The Liberator, April 20, 1838; Rayford W. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United
States with Haiti, 1776–1891 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1941), 232.
18. The Liberator, May 18, 1838, and June 15, 1838.
19. The Colored American, November 10, 1838.
20. The Colored American, November 10, 1838.
21. The Colored American, December 29, 1838.
22. Committee on Foreign Affairs, HR25A-G6.7, 25th Congress, Recognition of Haiti, National
Archives, Washington, D.C.
23. The National Archives and the Library of Congress currently hold 368 petitions received
between 1837 and 1843.
24. Committee on Foreign Affairs, HR26A-G6.2, 26th Congress, Recognition of Haiti, National
Archives, Washington, D.C.
25. Miller, Arguing About Slavery, 341–345.
26. “A Brief Account of the Passage of the ‘Atherton Gag’,” New York Public Library Digital
Collections. Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, Manuscripts, Archives and Rare
Books Division, The New York Public Library, Accessed October 10, 2019.
http://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/c58556f0-8a30-0133-482a-00505686a51c
27. “A Brief Account of the Passage of the ‘Atherton Gag.’”
28. The Colored American, December 29, 1838. Emphasis is his.
29. Committee on Foreign Affairs, HR26A-G6.2, 26th Congress.
30. Mary S. Legaré, ed., Writings of Hugh Swinton Legaré (Charleston, SC: Burges and James,
1846), 322, 327; Don E. Fehrenbacher, and Ward M. McAfee, eds., The Slaveholding Republic: An
Account of the United States Government’s Relations to Slavery (New York: Oxford University Press,
2002), 117.
31. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 25th Cong., 3rd
sess., December 17, 1838, p. 39.
32. Committee on Foreign Affairs, HR25A-G6.7, 25th Congress.
33. Other known Black signers include Franklin Pompey, Benjah Boston, and Absalom Boston’s
son, Henry Boston.
34. Skip Finley, “Freedom and Whaling on Nantucket,” Sea History 172, (Autumn 2020): 18–20.
35. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 25th Cong., 3rd
sess., December 17, 1838, p. 39.
36. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 25th Cong., 3rd
sess., December 17, 1838, p. 39.
37. The Liberator, December 28, 1838.
38. The Liberator, December 28, 1838.
39. The Liberator, December 28, 1838.
40. The Liberator, December 28, 1838.
41. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 25th Cong., 3rd
sess., December 17, 1838, p. 39; The Liberator, January 4, 1839.
42. The Liberator, January 4, 1839.
43. The Liberator, January 4, 1839.
44. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 25th Cong., 3rd
sess., December 17, 1838, p. 44–45.
45. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 25th Cong., 3rd
sess., December 22, 1838, p. 53, 59.
46. The Liberator, January 4, 1839.
47. The Colored American, January 19, 1839.
48. Memorial of Joseph Smith and others of Frederick and Carroll County Maryland, relative to
the recognition of Hayti, January 7, 1839. Committee on Foreign Affairs, HR26A-G6.2, 26th
Congress, Recognition of Haiti, National Archives, Washington, D.C.
49. Memorial of Joseph Smith and others of Frederick and Carroll County Maryland.
50. Memorial of Joseph Smith and others of Frederick and Carroll County Maryland.
51. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 25th Cong., 3rd
sess., January 7, 1839, p. 98–99.
52. David Detzer, Allegiance: Fort Sumter, Charleston, and the Beginning of the Civil War (New
York: Harcourt, Inc, 2001), 94–95.
53. The Colored American, January 19, 1839.
54. The Liberator, January 18, 1839; The Colored American, January 19, 1839.
55. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 25th Cong., 3rd
sess., January 7, 1839, p. 99.
56. The Colored American, February 2, 1839.
57. The Colored American, February 2, 1839.
58. The Colored American, February 2, 1839. Emphasis is theirs.
59. The Colored American, February 23, 1839.
60. The Colored American, February 23, 1839, and March 9, 1839.
61. The Liberator, June 26, 1840; National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 2, 1840.
62. National Anti-Slavery Standard, December 3, 1840.
63. National Anti-Slavery Standard, February 18, 1841.
64. U.S. Congress, Register of Debates, Senate, 19th Congress, 1st Session, 291.
 65. National Anti-Slavery Standard, September 2, 1841.
66. The Liberator, October 15, 1841.
67. The Liberator, October 15, 1841, and October 29, 1841.
68. Philadelphia Gazette, August 2, 1842; Philadelphia Ledger, August 3, 1842; The Liberator,
August 12, 1842.
69. Philadelphia Gazette, August 2, 1842; The Liberator, August 12, 1842.
70. Philadelphia North American, August 2, 1842; The Liberator, August 12, 1842.
71. The Liberator, December 24, 1841; National Anti-Slavery Standard, February 29, and March
7, 1844.
72. National Anti-Slavery Standard, December 30, 1841.
73. The Liberator, December 23, 1842; The Liberator, July 21, 1843; The Liberator, September
29, 1843; National Anti-Slavery Standard, August 10, 1843. For more on the petitions see: U.S.
Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 27th Cong., 2nd sess.,
January 21, 1842, p. 252; U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United
States, 27th Cong., 2nd sess., January 24, 1842, p. 272; U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of
Representatives of the United States, 27th Cong., 2nd sess., March 30, 1842, p. 633; U.S. Congress,
Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 27th Cong., 2nd sess., April 4, 1842, p.
661.
74. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 27th Cong., 3rd
sess., January 30, 1843, p. 275; U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United
States, 28th Cong., 1st sess., December 26, 1843, pp. 1190.
75. U.S. Congress, Journal of the House of Representatives of the United States, 28th Cong., 1st
sess., February 6, 1844, p. 353.
76. For more on the decision to rescind the gag rules, see: Miller, Arguing About Slavery, 472–487.
77. The Liberator, November 14, 1845.
78. The Colored American, January 23, 1841.
79. The Liberator, December 8, 1843.
80. Minutes of the National Convention of Colored Citizens: Held at Buffalo, on the 15th, 16th,
17th, 18th and 19th of August, 1843. For the Purpose of Considering Their Moral and Political
Condition as American Citizens (New York: Piercy and Reed, Printers, 1843); Report of the
Proceedings of the Colored National Convention, held at Cleveland, Ohio, on Wednesday, September
6,1848 (Rochester: Printed by John Dick at the North Star Office, 1848). For Garnet’s speech see:
https://coloredconventions.org/garnet -address-1843/full-address/
Chapter 5. Let Us Leave This Buckra Land for Haiti

1. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 22, 1841.

2. For more on the Marquis de Lafayette, see: Mike Duncan, Hero of Two Worlds: The Marquis de
Lafayette in the Age of Revolution (New York: Public Affairs, 2021).
3. The Colored American, March 29, 1838.
4. The Colored American, April 12, 1838.
5. The Colored American, June 16, 1838.
6. The Colored American, July 14, 1838, and August 25, 1838.
7. The Colored American, July 7, 1838.
8. The Colored American, July 27, 1839.
9. The Colored American, July 27, 1839. Emphasis is his.
10. The Colored American, September 14, 1839, and September 28, 1839. Emphasis is his.
11. The Colored American, November 16, 1839.
12. See chapter one.
13. The Liberator, February 19, 1841.
14. Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon, “Fever and Fret: The Haitian Revolution and African
American Responses” in African Americans and the Haitian Revolution: Selected Essays and
Historical Documents, eds. Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon (New York: Routledge, 2009),
17.
15. The Colored American, August 7, 1841.
16. The Colored American, September 25, 1841, October 9, 1841, and October 16, 1841. Emphasis
is his.
17. National Anti-Slavery Standard, May 6, 1841.
18. The Colored American, December 25, 1841.
19. The Liberator, December 17, 1841. Linstant appeared at the World’s Anti-Slavery convention
in 1843 in London, where he befriended Black abolitionist J. W. C. Pennington. The Liberator, June
6, 1845.
20. The Liberator, August 26, 1842.
21. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 22, 1841.
22. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 22, 1841.
23. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 22, 1841.
24. Benjamin Hunt, Remarks on Hayti as a Place of Settlement for Afric-Americans; and on the
Mulatto as a Race for the Tropics (Philadelphia: T. B. Pugh, 1860), 12. See also, chapter one.
25. The Liberator, July 11, 1845.
26. National Anti-Slavery Standard, January 23 and 30, 1853.
27. Frances Butler Leigh, Ten Years on a Georgia Plantation Since the War (London: Richard
Bentley and Son, 1883), 228–229. https://docsouth.unc.edu/fpn/leigh/leigh.html, accessed November
16, 2019. A portion of this song also appears in: Anne C. Bailey, The Weeping Time: Memory and the
Largest Slave Auction in American History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 7.
28. Leigh, Ten Years on a Georgia Plantation, 228–229.
29. J. Alfredo Novello, The Musical World (London: J. Alfredo Novello, 1858), 502.
30. The Liberator, June 3, 1842; National Anti-Slavery Standard, June 16, 1842; The Liberator,
June 24, 1842; The Liberator, June 17, 1842; The Liberator, July 15, 1842.
31. Jonathan M. Katz, The Big Truck That Went By: How the World Came to Save Haiti and Left
Behind a Disaster (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2014), 37.
32. National Anti-Slavery Standard, June 2, 1842.
 33. Chelsea Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War: Post-Independence Writing, Civil War, and the Making of
the Republic, 1804–1954 (New York: New York University Press, 2020), 154.
34. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 154.
35. Mimi Sheller, “The Army of Sufferers: Peasant Democracy in the Early Republic Of Haiti,”
New West Indian Guide/ Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 74, no: 1/2 (2000): 38; Stieber, Haiti’s Paper
War, 155.
36. The Colored American, June 16, 1838.
37. The Colored American, November 23, 1839.
38. The Colored American, November 23, 1839.
39. The Liberator, January 15, 1841.
40. National Anti-Slavery Standard, June 16, 1842; National Anti-Slavery Standard, August 18,
1842.
41. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 155.
42. National Anti-Slavery Standard, March 23, 1843; The Liberator, March 24, 1843.
43. National Anti-Slavery Standard, March 30, 1843.
44. The Liberator, March 31, 1843.
45. The Liberator, March 31, 1843.
46. National Anti-Slavery Standard, April 27, 1843.
47. National Anti-Slavery Standard, April 27, 1843. Emphasis is his.
48. G.F. Usher to Daniel Webster, April 27, 1843. Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap
Haitian, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records Service, General Services Administration.
Washington: 1958.
49. National Anti-Slavery Standard, May 4, 1843, and May 11, 1843.
50. Anne Eller, We Dream Together: Dominican Independence, Haiti, and the Fight for Caribbean
Freedom (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2016), 27; Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 156.
51. G.F. Usher to Abel Upshur, March 16, 1844 and G.F. Usher to John Calhoun, May 4, 1844.
Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap Haitian; Sheller, “Army of Sufferers,” 47.
52. The Liberator, April 5, 1844; Sheller, “Army of Sufferers,” 48–50; Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War,
156.
53. National Anti-Slavery Standard, May 9, 1844.
54. G.F. Usher to John Calhoun, May 4, 1844. Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap
Haitian.
55. National Anti-Slavery Standard, May 9, 1844; The Liberator, May 17, 1844; The Liberator,
May 31, 1844.
56. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 4, 1844. See also: The Liberator, July 5, 1844 and The
Liberator, July 19, 1844.
57. Reported in The Liberator, July 19, 1844.
58. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 11, 1844.
59. The Liberator, April 25, 1845.
60. The Liberator, April 25, 1845.
61. The Liberator, May 16, 1845; Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 157.
62. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 10, 1845. Emphasis is theirs.
63. The Liberator, July 11, 1845.
64. The National Era, February 11, 1847.
65. G.F. Usher to James Buchanan, July 31, 1845. Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap
Haitian; Jacques Nicolas Léger, Haiti: Her History and Her Detractors (New York: The Neale
Publishing Company, 1907), 197–98.
 66. National Anti-Slavery Standard, October 2, 1845; National Anti-Slavery Standard, October 9,
1845; National Anti-Slavery Standard, October 16, 1845; National Anti-Slavery Standard, December
4, 1845.
67. The Liberator, November 21, 1845.
68. The Liberator, November 21, 1845.
69. William Scarborough, ed., The Diary of Edmund Ruffin Toward Independence, October 1856-
April 1861 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1972), volume 1: 149–150; Edward
Crapol, John Tyler, the Accidental President (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press,
2006), 82–84.
70. Provincial Freeman, June 10, 1854; Rayford W. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the
United States with Haiti, 1776–1891 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1941), 238–
239; Crapol, John Tyler, 82–84; Matthew Karp, This Vast Southern Empire: Slaveholders at the Helm
of American Foreign Policy (Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 2016), 81.
71. John Hogan to John C. Calhoun, September 22, 1845 in Clyde N. Wilson and Shirley Bright
Cook, eds, The Papers of John C. Calhoun, Volume XXII, 1845–1846, 160–161 and November 10,
1846, in Wilson and Cook, eds, Papers of John C. Calhoun, Volume XXIII, 1846, 546–547; Gerald
Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins: The United States, The Haitian Revolution, and the Origins of
the Dominican Republic (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2015), 198–199.
72. J. Franklin Jameson, ed., Calhoun Correspondence. Annual Report of the American Historical
Association for the Year 1899 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1900), volume 2:
1058; Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 239; Crapol, John Tyler, 84.
73. National Anti-Slavery Standard, November 20, 1845.
74. The Liberator, December 5, 1845, and January 9, 1846.
75. Quoted in The Liberator, January 16, 1846.
76. National Anti-Slavery Standard, January 15, 1846.
77. Quoted in The Liberator, January 9, 1846. Emphasis is theirs.
78. The Liberator, January 23, 1846, and February 6, 1846.
79. The Liberator, March 13, 1846.
80. The Liberator, June 26, 1846.
81. National Anti-Slavery Standard, March 12, 1846.
82. National Anti-Slavery Standard, April 2, 1846.
83. G.F. Usher to James Buchanan, March 6, 1846. Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap
Haitian.
84. The Liberator, April 24, 1846.
85. National Anti-Slavery Standard, June 25, 1846.
86. The Liberator, April 30, 1847.
87. John Bauer, “Faustin Soulouque, Emperor of Haiti, His Character and His Reign,” The
Americas 6, no. 2 (October 1949): 131.
88. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 162–200.
89. The National Era, April 8, 1847.
90. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 8, 1847.
91. See chapter three.
92. National Anti-Slavery Standard, January 13, 1848.
Chapter 6. I Will Sink or Swim with My Race

1. National Anti-Slavery Standard, March 20, 1858. A portion of this quote also appears in Alfred
N. Hunt, Haiti’s Influence on Antebellum America: Slumbering Volcano in the Caribbean (Baton
Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988), 159.
2. National Anti-Slavery Standard, March 20, 1858.
3. Robert S. Levine, Martin Delany, Frederick Douglass, and the Politics of Representative
Identity (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1997), 20.
4. The North Star, February 18, 1848, and March 3, 1848.
5. The North Star, March 3, 1848.
6. Delany also named one of his sons Toussaint Louverture Delany and another Alexander Dumas
Delany. Matthew J. Clavin, Toussaint Louverture and the American Civil War: The Promise and Peril
of a Second Haitian Revolution (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), 139; Douglas
R. Egerton, The Wars of Reconstruction: The Brief, Violent History of America’s Most Progressive
Era (New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2014), 24–25.
7. The North Star, October 27, 1848.
8. The North Star, February 4, 1848, April 21, 1848, and August 21, 1848.
9. The North Star, April 21, 1848.
10. The North Star, April 21, 1848.
11. The North Star, April 21, 1848.
12. The North Star, June 9, 1848.
13. Jacques Nicolas Léger, Haiti: Son Histoire et Ses Détracteurs (New York and Washington: The
Neale Publishing House, 1907), 197–198; Murdo J. MacLeod, “The Soulouque Regime in Haiti,
1847–1859: A Reevaluation,” Caribbean Studies 10, no. 3: 38–39.
14. Ohio Observer, May 31, 1848.
15. Chelsea Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War: Post-Independence Writing, Civil War, and the Making of
the Republic, 1804–1954 (New York: New York University Press, 2020), 160.
16. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 159.
17. New York Herald, June 4, 1848.
18. Natchez Courier, May 25, 1849.
19. National Intelligencer, May 8, 1848.
20. J.C. Luther to James Buchanan, May 6, 1848, and D.C. Clark to James Buchanan, May 27,
1848. Despatches from United States Consuls in Port-au-Prince, 1797–1869. National Archives and
Records Service, General Services Administration. Washington: 1958; John Wilson to James
Buchanan, April 28, 1848. Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap Haitian, 1797–1869.
National Archives and Records Service, General Services Administration. Washington: 1958.
21. J.C. Luther to James Buchanan, May 6, 1848. Despatches from United States Consuls in Port-
au-Prince.
22. John Wilson to James Buchanan, April 28, 1848. Despatches from United States Consuls in
Cap Haitian.
23. J.C. Luther to James Buchanan, May 6, 1848, and D.C. Clark to James Buchanan, May 27,
1848. Despatches from United States Consuls in Port-au-Prince.
24. The North Star, August 4, 1848.
25. The North Star, August 21, 1848, and November 3, 1848.
26. The North Star, October 6, 1848.
27. The North Star, December 8, 1848.
28. The National Era, December 14, 1848; The North Star, January 5, 1849.
 29. The North Star, January 5, 1849.
30. Impartial Citizen, August 15, 1849.
31. Delany last appeared as co-editor of The North Star on June 29, 1849. Thereafter, Douglass is
listed as the sole editor and proprietor.
32. The North Star, August 31, 1849, and October 5, 1849.
33. National Anti-Slavery Standard, September 27, 1849; The National Era, October 4, 1849; John
Wilson to James Buchanan, January and February 1849. Despatches from United States Consuls in
Cap Haitian; Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 161.
34. North American, September 20, 1849; National Intelligencer, September 21, 1849.
35. The North Star, September 28, 1849.
36. Weekly Herald, September 22, 1849.
37. Bangor Daily Whig and Courier, September 28, 1849. See also, Vermont Chronicle, October 3,
1849; Hinds County Gazette, October 3, 1849; Ohio Observer, October 10, 1849; North American,
October 31, 1849; Weekly Herald, November 3, 1849.
38. Natchez Courier, October 2, 1849; New York Tribune, April 1850.
39. Daily Morning News, January 29, 1850.
40. Daily Morning News, October 30, 1850. Reprinted from the New York Express.
41. The North Star, April 26, 1850. Emphasis is his.
42. The North Star, June 13, 1850. Originally printed in Journal Des Débats.
43. The North Star, June 13, 1850.
44. The North Star, April 26, 1850.
45. Daily Morning News, October 30, 1850. Reprinted from the New York Express.
46. New York Tribune, December 26, 1850; The National Era, January 2, 1851; The National Era,
April 3, 1851; The National Era, June 19, 1851.
47. New York Tribune, December 26, 1850.
48. Quoted in The National Era, May 22, 1851. Emphasis is theirs.
49. New York Tribune, May 21, 1851.
50. Chauncey Ford Worthington, ed., Writings of John Quincy Adams (New York: Macmillan
Company, 1917), volume VII, 373.
51. Grégory Pierrot, The Black Avenger in Atlantic Culture (Athens: University of Georgia Press,
2019), 149.
52. The National Era, June 19, 1851.
53. Frederick Douglass Paper, March 11, 1852; The Liberator, April 2, 1852.
54. Frederick Douglass Paper, June 3, 1852.
55. North American and United States Gazette, July 20, 1852.
56. National Anti-Slavery Standard, July 22, 1852; The Liberator, July 30, 1852.
57. The National Era, July 15, 1852.
58. Frederick Douglass Paper, August 6, 1852, and August 13, 1852.
59. National Anti-Slavery Standard, August 5, 1852; Reprinted in The Liberator, August 6, 1852,
and August 13, 1852.
60. U.S. Congress, Journal of the Senate of the United States, 32nd Cong., 1st sess., July 20, 1852,
p. 539.
61. Frederick Douglass Paper, August 6, 1852, quoted from the New York Independent.
62. Mimi Sheller, “The Army of Sufferers: Peasant Democracy in the Early Republic Of Haiti”
New West Indian Guide/Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 74, no: 1/2 (2000): 47.
63. MacLeod, The Soulouque Regime, 43.
64. Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War, 166.
65. MacLeod, The Soulouque Regime, 46.
 66. Rayford W. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 1776–1891
(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1941), 237–238; MacLeod, The Soulouque Regime,
46.
67. New York Tribune, September 3, 1851.
68. MacLeod, The Soulouque Regime, 39.
69. MacLeod, The Soulouque Regime, 46.
70. National Anti-Slavery Standard, January 11, 1849; George Usher to John Clayton, December
10, 1849. Despatches from United States Consuls in Port-au-Prince.
71. George Usher to John Clayton, September 20, 1850, and George Usher to Daniel Webster,
November 20, 1851. Despatches from United States Consuls in Port-au-Prince.
72. Logan, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 238.
73. The Liberator, December 31, 1852.
74. New York Tribune, June 6, 1851.
75. The National Era, January 6, 1853; Provincial Freeman, June 10, 1854.
76. George Usher to Edward Everett, January 10, 1853, and February 10, 1853. Despatches from
United States Consuls in Port-au-Prince; National Anti-Slavery Standard, September 16, 1854.
77. Levine, Martin Delany, Frederick Douglass, 201–202.
78. Charles Henry Brown, Agents of Manifest Destiny: The Lives and Times of the Filibusters
(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1980), 141.
79. National Anti-Slavery Standard, September 23, 1854.
80. Frederick Douglass Paper, January 14, 1853, and January 21, 1853.
81. Official proceedings of the Ohio State Convention of Colored Freemen: Held in Columbus,
January 19th-21st, 1853 (Cleveland: Printed by W.H. Day, 1853), 5.
82. National Anti-Slavery Standard, August 7, 1845.
83. Proceedings of the Colored National Convention, Held in Rochester, July 6th, 7th, and 8th,
1853 (Rochester: Printed at the office of Frederick Douglass’ Paper, 1853), 55.
84. Frederick Douglass Paper, December 31, 1852. Emphasis is his.
85. Frederick Douglass Paper, February 18, 1853. Emphasis is his.
86. Frederick Douglass Paper, March 16, 1855, and November 23, 1855.
87. Provincial Freeman, October 13, 1855.
88. Provincial Freeman, January 20, 1854, and January 20, 1855; Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline
Bacon, “Fever and Fret: The Haitian Revolution and African American Responses” in African
Americans and the Haitian Revolution: Selected Essays and Historical Documents, Maurice Jackson
and Jacqueline Bacon, eds. (New York: Routledge, 2009), 17.
89. William Wells Brown, St. Domingo: Its Revolutions and its Patriots: A Lecture Delivered
Before the Metropolitan Athenaem, London, May 16, and at St. Thomas’ Church, Philadelphia,
December 20,1854 (Boston: Bela Marsh, 1855), 31.
90. Ben Fagan, “Reclaiming Revolution: William Wells Brown’s Irreducible Haitian Heroes”
Comparative American Studies: An International Journal, Volume 5: 369.
91. Brown, St. Domingo: Its Revolutions and its Patriots, 28, 29.
92. Brown, St. Domingo: Its Revolutions and its Patriots, 31–32.
93. Brown, St. Domingo: Its Revolutions and its Patriots, 32. Also quoted in Hunt, Haiti’s
Influence on Antebellum America, 100, 156; Gerald Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins: The United
States, The Haitian Revolution, and the Origins of the Dominican Republic (New York: Monthly
Review Press, 2015), 220.
94. Brown, St. Domingo: Its Revolutions and its Patriots, 38.
95. The author of this article may be the same activist who successfully sued the state of Ohio to
extend public education to Black youth. For John I. Gaines’ efforts to obtain public education for
Black youth in Ohio, see: John Brough Shotwell, A History of the Schools of Cincinnati (Cincinnati:
The School Life Company, 1902), 455–459.
96. Frederick Douglass Paper, January 27, 1854.
97. Provincial Freeman, November 11, 1854.
98. National Anti-Slavery Standard, August 7, 1845.
99. Frederick Douglass Paper, October 13, 1854.
100. Joseph M. Lewis to William Marcy, December 22, 1855. Despatches from United States
Consuls in Port-au-Prince; National Anti-Slavery Standard, March 1, 1856; Provincial Freeman,
March 15, 1856; MacLeod, The Soulouque Regime, 46; Anne Eller, We Dream Together: Dominican
Independence, Haiti, and the Fight for Caribbean Freedom (Durham and London: Duke University
Press, 2016), 52.
101. Joseph M. Lewis to William Marcy, December 5, 1855. Despatches from United States
Consuls in Port-au-Prince.
102. The National Era, January 24, 1856; National Anti-Slavery Standard, January 26, 1856;
Joseph M. Lewis to William Marcy, March 1, 1856. Despatches from United States Consuls in Port-
au-Prince.
103. Joseph M. Lewis to William Marcy, February 25, 1857. Despatches from United States
Consuls in Port-au-Prince.
104. William Scarborough, ed., The Diary of Edmund Ruffin Toward Independence, October 1856-
April 1861 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1972), volume 1: 179.
105. Quoted in The National Era, March 17, 1859.
106. The Liberator, December 12, 1856.
107. National Anti-Slavery Standard, January 30, 1858.
108. National Anti-Slavery Standard, August 8, 1857, and March 20, 1858.
109. John Mercer Langston, Freedom and Citizenship. Selected Lectures and Addresses of Hon.
John Mercer Langston. With an Introductory Sketch by Rev. J. E. Rankin. Washington: R. H. Darby,
1883, 52, 57–58.
110. Douglass’ Monthly, January 1859.
Chapter 7. A Long-Cherished Desire

1. Douglass’ Monthly, May 1861.

2. Douglass’ Monthly, May 1861. Emphasis is his.
3. G. Eustis Hubbard to Lewis Cass, January 8, 1859. Despatches from United States Consuls in
Cap Haitian, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records Service, General Services Administration.
(Washington: 1958); Chelsea Stieber, Haiti’s Paper War: Post-Independence Writing, Civil War, and
the Making of the Republic, 1804–1954 (New York: New York University Press, 2020), 201.
4. Frederick Douglass Monthly, February 1859.
5. G. Eustis Hubbard to Lewis Cass, January 8, 1859. Despatches from United States Consuls in
Cap Haitian; Gerald Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins: The United States, The Haitian Revolution,
and the Origins of the Dominican Republic (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2015), 237.
6. The National Era, January 27, 1859.
7. Frederick Douglass Monthly, February 1859.
8. National Anti-Slavery Standard, August 18, 1860.
9. Floyd J. Miller, The Search for A Black Nationality: Black Emigration and Colonization, 1787–
1863 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1975); Rhoda Golden Freeman, The Free Negro in New
York City in the Era Before the Civil War (New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1994); and Leslie M.
Alexander, African or American?: Black Identity and Political Activism in New York City, 1784–1861
(Champaign and Urbana: The University of Illinois Press, 2008).
10. For more on this political shift, see: Alexander, African or American, 68–75.
11. George B. Vashon served as a professor at two colleges in Port-au-Prince, and was said to be
“in high favor” with Emperor Faustin I. But “urgent business” required him to return to the United
States in 1850. Five years later, he ran an unsuccessful campaign for Attorney General with the
Liberty Party. Daily Scioto Gazette, November 8, 1850; Provincial Freeman, October 13, 1855.
12. Minutes and Proceedings of the General Convention, for the Improvement of the Colored
Inhabitants of Canada, Held by Adjournments in Amherstburgh, C.W. June 16th and 17th, 1853
(Windsor, C.W.: Bibb and Holly, 1853), 2–3, 15.
13. Grégory Pierrot, The Black Avenger in Atlantic Culture (Athens: University of Georgia Press,
2019), 145–146.
14. C. Peter Ripley and Michael F. Hembree, eds., The Black Abolitionist Papers. (Chapel Hill:
The University of North Carolina Press, 1992), vol. 5, 302; Miller, The Search for Black Nationality,
114, 161–2; Chris Dixon, African America and Haiti: Emigration and Black Nationalism in the
Nineteenth Century (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 2000), 90–94, 96. For more on
Holly’s early life, see: Dixon, African America and Haiti, 67–69.
15. Dixon, African America and Haiti, 103–105.
16. James Theodore Holly, A Vindication of the Capacity of the Negro Race for Self-Government,
and Civilized Progress, as Demonstrated by Historical Events of the Haytian Revolution and the
Subsequent Acts of That People Since Their National Independence (New Haven: W.H. Stanley,
printer, 1857), 6, 45.
17. The Liberator, September 17, 1858; The National Era, September 9, 1858; National Anti-
Slavery Standard, September 25, 1858.
18. Daily National Intelligencer, July 2, 1859; New York Times, July 23, 1859; New York Times,
September 21, 1859.
19. The National Era, April 14, 1859, and July 7, 1859.
20. Provincial Freeman, April 15, 1854.
21. Impartial Citizen, August 15, 1849.
 22. The North Star, June 13, 1850.
23. Douglass’ Monthly, May 1859.
24. Anglo-African Magazine, June 1859, and July 1859.
25. Anglo-African Magazine, October 1859.
26. Anglo-African Magazine, January 1860.
27. John McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand: James Redpath and the Making of Nineteenth Century
America (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2008), x, 61.
28. McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand, 46–47, 62.
29. Dixon, African America and Haiti, 132–134.
30. Alfred N. Hunt, Haiti’s Influence on Antebellum America: Slumbering Volcano in the
Caribbean (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988), 177; James Horton and Lois
Horton, In Hope of Liberty: Culture, Community and Protest Among Northern Free Blacks, 1700–
1860 (Oxford University Press: New York and Oxford, 1997), 262; McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand,
67–68; Kellie Carter Jackson, Force and Freedom: Black Abolitionists and the Politics of Violence
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020), 151.
31. National Anti-Slavery Standard, October 20, 1860; The Liberator, November 2, 1860.
32. Alexander, African or American, 146–152; Anna Mae Duane, Educated for Freedom: The
Incredible Story of Two Fugitive Schoolboys Who Grew Up to Change a Nation (New York: New
York University Press, 2020), 155–156.
33. Anglo-African Magazine, November 1859; Miller, The Search For A Black Nationality, 108–
109, 234–238; Dixon, African America and Haiti, 148–149.
34. Ripley and Hembree, Black Abolitionist Papers, vol. 4, 333–4; 400–401.
35. Frederick Douglass Monthly, January 1861.
36. Frederick Douglass Monthly, June 1859; The National Era, July 7, 1859.
37. Frederick Douglass Monthly, April 1860.
38. Douglass’ Monthly, January 1861.
39. Douglass’ Monthly, January 1861.
40. Douglass’ Monthly, January 1861.
41. Douglass’ Monthly, March 1861.
42. Douglass’ Monthly, May 1861.
43. Douglass’ Monthly, May 1861.
44. Dixon, African America and Haiti, 148.
45. National Anti-Slavery Standard, March 9, 1861.
46. Weekly Anglo-African, January 5, 1861, and January 12, 1861; Alexander, African or
American, 150–151.
47. Weekly Anglo-African, January 12, 1861.
48. Robert S. Levine, ed., Martin R. Delany: A Documentary Reader (Chapel Hill: The University
of North Carolina Press, 2003), 365–366.
49. Chatham Tri-Weekly Planet, January 21, 1861; Levine, Martin R. Delany: A Documentary
Reader, 365–366.
50. Weekly Anglo-African, March 16, 1861.
51. Douglass’ Monthly, July 1861.
52. Weekly Anglo-African, April 27, 1861.
53. The Pine and Palm, May 25, 1861, McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand, 69.
54. The Pine and Palm, May 25, 1861, June 2, 1861, June 8, 1861, June 15, 1861, July 6, 1861,
July 13, 1861, August 3, 1861, August 10, 1861, August 17, 1861, August 31, 1861, September 7,
1861, September 14, 1861, September 21, 1861, October 5, 1861, October 26, 1861, November 3,
1861, November 9, 1861, November 16, 1861, November 23, 1861, December 14, 1861, December
21, 1861, December 28, 1861.
55. The Pine and Palm, May 25, 1861.
56. The Pine and Palm, June 8, 1861, August 3, 1861, November 16, 1861, and December 28,
1861.
57. The Pine and Palm, May 25, 1861.
58. The Pine and Palm, August 3, 1861, August 10, 1861, August 17, 1861, August 31, 1861,
November 9, 1861.
59. The Pine and Palm, June 8, 1861, September 14, 1861, and October 5, 1861. Emphasis is his.
60. The Pine and Palm, June 15, 1861.
61. The Pine and Palm, July 13, 1861.
62. The Pine and Palm, May 25, 1861.
63. The Pine and Palm, June 2, 1861.
64. The Liberator, August 9, 1861; The Pine and Palm, August 17, 1861.
65. The Pine and Palm, August 9, 1861, August 31, 1861, December 14, 1861.
66. Genius of Universal Emancipation, August 1825. See also chapter two.
67. The Pine and Palm, August 10, 1861.
68. The Pine and Palm, September 21, 1861, October 26, 1861, November 9, 1861, November 23,
1861.
69. The Pine and Palm, December 21, 1861.
70. The Pine and Palm, December 21, 1861.
71. The Pine and Palm, December 21, 1861.
72. Weekly Anglo-African, September 7, 1861; Jackson, Force and Freedom, 155.
73. Weekly Anglo-African, September 7, 1861.
74. Weekly Anglo-African, September 7, 1861.
75. McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand, 80–81.
76. Douglass’ Monthly, May 1861, June 1861, July 1861, August 1861.
77. Douglass’ Monthly, June 1861.
78. Douglass’ Monthly, July 1861; Miller, The Search for Black Nationality, 244; William Seraile,
“Afro-American Emigration to Haiti during the American Civil War,” The Americas 35 (October
1978): 191.
79. Douglass’ Monthly, July 1861.
80. Douglass’ Monthly, July 1861.
81. Douglass’ Monthly, July 1861.
82. Douglass’ Monthly, July 1861.
83. Douglass’ Monthly, July 1861, August 1861, September 1861, October 1861, November 1861,
December 1861, January 1862, February 1862, March 1862, April 1862, May 1862, June 1862, July
1862, August 1862, September 1862, October 1862, November 1862.
84. The Liberator, 17 May 1861; Seraile, “Afro-American Emigration to Haiti,” 189.
85. The Liberator, May 17, 1861.
86. The Weekly Anglo African, August 17, 1861.
87. The Weekly Anglo African, August 31, 1861.
88. The Weekly Anglo African, February 22, 1862.
89. The Weekly Anglo African, November 30, 1861, February 1, 1862.
90. The Weekly Anglo African, August 31, 1861; The Pine and Palm, December 21, 1861.
91. The Weekly Anglo African, October 5, 1861. Emphasis is theirs.
92. The Weekly Anglo African, March 1, 1862.
 93. The Weekly Anglo African, September 14, 1861; The Weekly Anglo African, December 7, 1861;
McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand, 71.
94. The Weekly Anglo African, December 21, 1861, January 25, 1862, and February 15, 1862.
95. Pierrot, The Black Avenger, 145.
96. The Weekly Anglo African, October 19, 1861, October 26, 1861.
97. The Weekly Anglo African, November 9, 1861, and December 14, 1861.
98. John J. Zuille, Historical Sketch of the New York African Society for Mutual Relief (New York:
n.p., 1892).
99. The Pacific Appeal, June 28, 1862.
100. The Pacific Appeal, August 30, 1862.
101. The Pacific Appeal, August 30, 1862.
102. The Weekly Anglo African, December 7, 1861, December 14, 1861, December 21, 1861, April
12, 1862.
103. The Weekly Anglo African, December 14, 1861, and April 26, 1862.
104. The Pacific Appeal, June 7, 1862.
105. McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand, 81.
106. The Liberator, October 3, 1862; National Anti-Slavery Standard, October 11, 1862; Hunt,
Haiti’s Influence on Antebellum America, 181; McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand, 80.
107. The Weekly Anglo African, April 19, 1862, April 26, 1862; Leslie M. Alexander, “The Black
Republic: The Influence of the Haitian Revolution on Black Political Consciousness, 1816–1862,” in
African Americans and the Haitian Revolution: Selected Essays and Historical Documents, eds.
Maurice Jackson and Jacqueline Bacon (New York: Routledge, 2009), 76.
108. Dixon, African America and Haiti, 206; Alexander, “The Black Republic,” 76.
109. Rosetta Douglass to Frederick Douglass, October 9, 1862. Library of Congress, Manuscript
Division, The Frederick Douglass Papers at the Library of Congress. 1862. Manuscript/Mixed
Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mfd.03013/
110. Ernest Roumaine to Frederick Douglass, November 15, 1862. Library of Congress,
Manuscript Division, The Frederick Douglass Papers at the Library of Congress. 1862.
Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mfd.03013/
Chapter 8. Too Soon to Rejoice?

1. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2502.
2. National Anti-Slavery Standard, May 16, 1863.
3. G. Eustis Hubbard to Lewis Cass, February 5, 1859. Despatches from United States Consuls in
Cap Haitian, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records Service, General Services Administration.
Washington: 1958.
4. Joseph M. Lewis to Lewis Cass, March 2, 1859, Despatches from United States Consuls in Port-
au-Prince, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records Service, General Services Administration.
Washington: 1958.
5. Seth Webb Jr. to William Seward, September 4, 1861, Despatches from United States Consuls in
Port-au-Prince.
6. Seth Webb Jr. to William Seward, November 22, 1861, Despatches from United States Consuls
in Port-au-Prince.
7. Seth Webb Jr. to William Seward, December 12, 1861, Despatches from United States Consuls
in Port-au-Prince.
8. Frederick Douglass Monthly, December 1861.
9. Frederick Douglass Monthly, December 1861; The Liberator, December 6, 1861; National Anti-
Slavery Standard, December 7, 1861; The Pine and Palm, December 14, 1861; The Weekly Anglo-
African, December 28, 1861.
10. The Weekly Anglo-African, December 7, 1861.
11. National Anti-Slavery Standard, February 15, 1862.
12. Unknown author, letter from Port-au-Prince, February 20, 1862. Library of Congress,
Manuscript Division, The Frederick Douglass Papers at the Library of Congress. 1862.
Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mfd.03013/
13. The Pine and Palm, December 14, 1861.
14. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., February 27, 1862, p. 1755.
15. In an infamous incident, South Carolina congressman Preston Brooks beat Charles Sumner
nearly to death with a cane on the Senate floor in May 1856, after Sumner delivered a rousing anti-
slavery speech denouncing “The Slave Power.” David Herbert Donald, Charles Sumner and the
Coming of the Civil War (Naperville, IL: Sourcebooks, Inc., 2009), 4.
16. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., April 23, 1862, p. 1773.
17. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., April 23, 1862, p. 1774.
18. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., April 23, 1862, p. 1774–1775.
19. Evening Post, February 9, 1862; National Anti-Slavery Standard, February 15, 1862.
20. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., April 24, 1862, p. 1806.
21. Grégory Pierrot, The Black Avenger in Atlantic Culture (Athens: University of Georgia Press,
2019), 152.
22. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., April 24, 1862, p. 1806.
23. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., April 24, 1862, p. 1806.
24. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., April 24, 1862, p. 1814.
25. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., April 24, 1862, p. 1815.
26. The Pacific Appeal, May 3, 1862.
27. S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2498. The vote to
allow consideration of the bill passed with 62 ayes and 30 noes.
28. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2499.
29. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2500.
 30. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2500.
31. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2501.
32. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2501.
33. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2503
34. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 2, 1862, p. 2504–2505.
35. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 3, 1862, p. 2527.
36. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 4, 1862, p. 2532; U.S.
Congress, Appendix to the Congressional Globe, June 3, 1862, p. 253.
37. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 3, 1862, p. 2533.
38. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 3, 1862, p. 2534, 2536–2537.
39. U.S. Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 4, 1862, p. 2538; U.S.
Congress, Congressional Globe, 37th Cong., 2nd sess., June 6, 1862, p. 2596.
40. The Pacific Appeal, June 7, 1862, and June 14, 1862.
41. Douglass’ Monthly, July 1862.
42. The Pacific Appeal, August 23, 1862.
43. Douglass’ Monthly, May 1861.
44. The Liberator, July 4, 1862.
45. The Pacific Appeal, March 28, 1863.
46. Frederick Douglass Monthly, March 1863.
47. Unknown author, letter from Port-au-Prince, February 20, 1862. Library of Congress,
Manuscript Division, The Frederick Douglass Papers at the Library of Congress. 1862.
Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mfd.03013/
48. Millery Polyné, From Douglass to Duvalier: U.S. African Americans, Haiti, and Pan-
Americanism, 1870–1964 (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2010), 44.
49. National Anti-Slavery Standard, May 16, 1863.
50. The Liberator, July 24, 1863.
51. The Pacific Appeal, October 17, 1863.
52. National Anti-Slavery Standard, October 14, 1865; The Liberator, October 20, 1865; The
Christian Recorder, October 28, 1865.
53. National Anti-Slavery Standard, May 16, 1863.
54. Proceedings of the National Convention of Colored Men; held in the City of Syracuse, N.Y.;
October 4, 5, 6, and 7,1864; with the Bill of Wrongs and Rights; and the Address to the American
People, (Boston: J.S. Rock and Geo. L. Ruffin, 1864), 34; 47.
Epilogue

1. Frederick Douglass, Lecture on Haiti: The Haitian Pavilion Dedication Ceremonies Delivered at
the World’s Fair, in Jackson Park, Chicago, January 2nd, 1893 (Chicago, Illinois: Violet Agents
Supply Company, 1893).
2. Frederick Douglass, Irvine Penn, Ida B. Wells, “The Reason Why the Colored American Is Not
in the World’s Columbian Exposition,” Frederick Douglass Papers, The Library of Congress.
3. Douglass, Lecture on Haiti, 9. As the only Black nation permitted to participate in the Chicago
World’s Fair, Haiti’s exhibit, quite ironically, sat in a section of the Fair named “White City.”
4. “Pat Robertson Blames Haitian Devil Pact for Earthquake,” National Public Radio, January 13,
2010; Elizabeth McAlister, “From Slave Revolt to a Blood Pact with Satan: The Evangelical
Rewriting of Haitian History,” Studies in Religion 41, no. 2: 188.
5. David Brooks, “The Underlying Tragedy,” New York Times, January 14, 2010.
6. Lawrence Harrison, “Haiti and the Voodoo Curse,” Wall Street Journal, February 5, 2010.
7. The article first appeared on the website flipcollective.com but was later removed.
8. Mark Danner, “To Heal Haiti, Look to History, Not Nature,” New York Times, January 21, 2010.
9. Seth Webb Jr. to William Seward, September 4, 1861. Despatches from United States Consuls in
Port-au-Prince, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records Service, General Services
Administration. Washington: 1958.
10. Millery Polyné, From Douglass to Duvalier: U.S. African Americans, Haiti, and Pan-
Americanism, 1870–1964 (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2010), 34–43; Gerald Horne,
Confronting Black Jacobins: The United States, the Haitian Revolution, and the Origins of the
Dominican Republic (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2015), 285, 288–315; Brandon Byrd, The
Black Republic: African Americans and the Fate of Haiti (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 2020), 30, 44–49.
11. Horne, Confronting Black Jacobins, 285.
12. Quoted in Paul Farmer, The Uses of Haiti (New York: Common Courage Press, 2005), 85.
13. Jonathan M. Katz, “The King and Queen of Haiti,” Politico Magazine, May 4, 2015.
14. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 91.
15. Laurent Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History (New York: Picador, 2012), 212, 244.
16. Noam Chomsky, Rethinking Camelot: JFK, the Vietnam War, and U.S. Political Culture
(Boston: South End Press, 1993), 19; Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 94.
17. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 98–99.
18. Edwidge Danticat, “The Long Legacy of Occupation in Haiti,” The New Yorker, July 28, 2015.
19. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 97–98; Danticat, “The Long Legacy of Occupation.” For more on
the U.S. occupation of Haiti, see: Mary Renda, Taking Haiti: Military Occupation and the Culture of
U.S. Imperialism, 1915–1940 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001).
20. Willie Mack, “Haiti and U.S. Policing,” Black Perspectives, September 3, 2021; Farmer, The
Uses of Haiti, 92–93.
21. Polyné, From Douglass to Duvalier, 99; Jonathan M. Katz, The Big Truck That Went By: How
the World Came to Save Haiti and Left Behind a Disaster (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2014), 40.
22. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 205; Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 89.
23. Peter James Hudson, “The National City Bank of New York and Haiti, 1909–1922,” Radical
History Review, no. 115 (Winter 2013): 106.
24. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 94–95.
25. Polyné, From Douglass to Duvalier, 126, 138–139.
26. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 19.
 27. Polyné, From Douglass to Duvalier, 196–205; Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 325–
327, 335–342.
28. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 328–333, 350–351; Katz, The Big Truck That Went
By, 44–45.
29. Deveraux, “In Targeting Haitians.”
30. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 354–359.
31. Ricardo Seitenfus, “Hillary Clinton and Electoral Coup in Haiti,” Common Dreams, April 11,
2016.
32. Hudson, “The National City Bank,” 106; Seitenfus, “Hillary Clinton and Electoral Coup in
Haiti.”
33. Jonathan M. Katz, “The Clintons Didn’t Screw Up Haiti Alone. You Helped,” Slate, September
22, 2016.
34. Janet Reitman, “Beyond Relief: How the World Failed Haiti,” Rolling Stone, August 4, 2011.
35. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 172.
36. Jean Eddy Saint Paul, “Assassinations and invasions: How the U.S. and France shaped Haiti’s
long history of political turmoil,” The Conversation, August 27, 2021.
37. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 363; Katz, “The King and Queen of Haiti.
38. Saint Paul, “Assassinations and Invasions.”
39. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 212.
40. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 41; Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 363; Katz, The Big
Truck That Went By, 47.
41. Lynne Duke, “U.S. Ordered to Free HIV-Infected Haitians,” Washington Post, June 9, 1993;
Marc A. Thiessen, “The Clinton solution for refugees: Guantanamo,” Washington Post, November
23, 2015; Nathan J. Robinson, “What the Clintons Did to Haiti,” Current Affairs: A Magazine of
Politics and Culture, November 2, 2016.
42. Nathan J. Robinson, “Haiti’s Clinton Problem,” Jacobin Magazine, October 22, 2016.
43. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 206; Thiessen, “The Clinton solution.”
44. Thiessen, “The Clinton solution.”
45. Quoted in: Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 264.
46. Robinson, “Haiti’s Clinton Problem”; Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 277–279.
47. Duke, “U.S. Ordered to Free HIV-Infected Haitians”; Thiessen, “The Clinton solution”;
Robinson, “What the Clintons Did to Haiti.”
48. Reitman, “Beyond Relief.”
49. Bob Herbert, “In America: Guantanamo’s Kids,” New York Times, May 10, 1995.
50. Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 364–365.
51. Mack, “Haiti and U.S. Policing,” September 3, 2021.
52. Polyné, From Douglass to Duvalier, 1–2; Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 364–365.
53. Katz, “The King and Queen of Haiti,” May 4, 2015.
54. Reitman, “Beyond Relief”; Katz, “The Clintons Didn’t Screw Up Haiti Alone.”
55. https://www.imf.org/external/np/country/2010/012710.htm; https://www.
statista.com/statistics/531604/national-debt-of-haiti/
56. “Did the State Department help suppress the minimum wage in Haiti?” Haiti Now, April 21,
2016; Robinson, “What the Clintons Did to Haiti”; Katz, “The Clintons Didn’t Screw Up Haiti
Alone”; Katz, The Big Truck That Went By, 144.
57. https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov/haitiearthquake
58. Charley Keyes, “Obama pledges to continue Haiti aid, says situation ‘remains dire,’” CNN,
March 10, 2010.
59. Katz, The Big Truck That Went By, 2.
 60. Robinson, “What the Clintons Did to Haiti.”
61. Katz, “The King and Queen of Haiti”; Michael Sainato, “New Emails Reveal Obama, Clintons
Led Cover Up of Cholera Outbreak in Haiti,” Observer, March 31, 2017.
62. Jonathan M. Katz, “U.N. Admits Role in Cholera Epidemic in Haiti,” New York Times, August
17, 2016.
63. “Haiti is still waiting on promised UN help for cholera epidemic,” Boston Globe, March 27,
2017.
64. Frances Robles and Jonathan M. Katz, “René Préval, President of Haiti in 2010 Quake, Dies at
74,” New York Times, March 3, 2017.
65. Mamyrah Dougé-Prosper, “An Island in the Chain,” North American Congress on Latin
America—Report on the Americas 53, no. 1: 35.
66. “Haiti pres, Clinton form board to court investors,” Yahoo Finance, September 9, 2011.
67. Katz, “The King and Queen of Haiti”; Katz, “The Clintons Didn’t Screw Up Haiti Alone.”
68. Katz, “The Clintons Didn’t Screw Up Haiti Alone.”
69. Jacob Kushner, “Haiti and the failed promise of US aid,” The Guardian, October 11, 2019.
70. Jude Sheerin, “What really happened with the Clintons in Haiti?” BBC News, November 2,
2016.
71. Kushner, “Haiti and the failed promise of US aid.”
72. James North, “Can Haiti’s Corrupt President Hold On to Power?” The Nation, October 29,
2015. See also: Mamyrah Dougé-Prosper and Mark Schuller, “End of Empire?: A View From Haiti,”
North American Congress on Latin America—Report on the Americas 53, no. 1: 1–2.
73. James North, “Why Haitians Are Chanting ‘Down With Obama,’” The Nation, January 27,
2016.
74. Department of Homeland Security, “Statement by Secretary Johnson Concerning His Directive
to Resume Regular Removals to Haiti,” September 22, 2016.
75. Tim Elfrink, “Haitians Plead With Obama for Last-Minute Reprieve as Deportations
Skyrocket,” Miami New Times, December 14, 2016.
76. Katz, “The Clintons Didn’t Screw Up Haiti Alone.”
77. Tim Padgett, “Trump And Haitians: He Said He’d Be Their Champ. Many Now Feel Like
Chumps,” WLRN, October 26, 2020; Miriam Jordan, “Trump Administration Ends Temporary
Protection for Haitians,” New York Times, Nov. 20, 2017; Adam Geller, “Trump move to cut off
temporary status for Haitians heads to trial,” PBS, January 9, 2019; Peniel Ibe and Kathryn Johnson,
“Trump has ended Temporary Protected Status for hundreds of thousands of immigrants,” American
Friends Service Committee, June 30, 2020.
78. Jacob Weinberg, “TIRRC Condemns Termination of TPS, Calls on Congress to Act,”
Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition, November 21, 2017.
https://www.tnimmigrant.org/trumpputs50000haitiansdeportion
79. Josh Dawsey, “Trump derides protections for immigrants from ‘shithole’ countries,” The
Washington Post, January 12, 2018.
80. Dougé-Prosper and Schuller, “End of Empire?” 2.
81. https://www.imf.org/external/np/country/2010/012710.htm; https://www.
statista.com/statistics/531604/national-debt-of-haiti/
82. Nathalie Cerin, “Here’s Why Folks are Saying Jovenel Moïse’s Term is Over,” Woy Magazine,
February 11, 2021; Évelyne Trouillot, “History Should Not Move Backwards,” Woy Magazine,
February 26, 2021.
83. Evens Sanon and Dánica Coto, “Haiti in upheaval: President Moïse assassinated at home,” AP
News, July 7, 2021; Catherine Porter, Michael Crowley, and Constant Méheut, “Haiti’s President
Assassinated in Nighttime Raid, Shaking a Fragile Nation,” New York Times, July 7, 2021; Anatoly
Kurmanaev, “Haitians Investigating President’s Death Under Threat, Go Into Hiding,” New York
Times, August 3, 2021.
84. Douglass, Lecture on Haiti, 10.
85. “Resignation letter from U.S. special envoy for Haiti, Daniel Foote.”
86. Jacob Soboroff and Ken Dilanian, “DHS seeks contractor to run migrant detention facility at
Gitmo, guards who speak Haitian Creole,” NBC News, September 22, 2021; Julian Borger, “US
envoy to Haiti resigns over ‘inhumane’ decision to deport migrants,” The Guardian, September 23,
2021.
87. Katz, “The Clintons Didn’t Screw Up Haiti Alone.”
88. Farmer, The Uses of Haiti, 72.
89. Quoted in: Dubois, Haiti: The Aftershocks of History, 368.
90. The North Star, June 13, 1850.
91. National Anti-Slavery Standard, March 20, 1858.
92. Chuck D, “This Bit of Earth,” recorded 1989, Don’t Rhyme for the Sake of Riddlin, Enemy
Records, 2010.
93. “Resignation letter from U.S. special envoy for Haiti, Daniel Foote.”
94. Trouillot, “History Should Not Move Backwards.”
95. Evens Sanon and Joseph Odelyn, “Factory workers in Haiti go on strike, demand higher
wages,” AP News, February 10, 2022.
96. Trouillot, “History Should Not Move Backwards.”

OceanofPDF.com
 SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Black/Anti-Slavery Newspapers
Anglo-African Magazine
Colored American
Douglass’ Monthly
Frederick Douglass Monthly
Freedom’s Journal
Genius of Universal Emancipation
Liberator
National Era
North Star
Pacific Appeal
Pine and Palm
The Rights of All
Weekly Anglo-African

Government Documents
Committee on Foreign Affairs, HR25A-G6.7, 25th Congress
Committee on Foreign Affairs, HR26A-G6.2, 26th Congress
Despatches from United States Consuls in Aux Cayes, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records
Service, General Services Administration. Washington: 1958.
Despatches from United States Consuls in Cap Haitian, 1797–1869. National Archives and Records
Service, General Services Administration. Washington: 1958.
Despatches from United States Consuls in Port-au-Prince, 1797–1869. National Archives and
Records Service, General Services Administration. Washington: 1958.
Primary Sources
Brown, William Wells. St. Domingo: Its Revolutions and its Patriots: A Lecture Delivered Before the
Metropolitan Athenaem, London, May 16, and at St. Thomas’ Church, Philadelphia, December
20,1854. Boston: Bela Marsh, 1855.
Douglass, Frederick. Lecture on Haiti: The Haitian Pavilion Dedication Ceremonies Delivered at the
World’s Fair, in Jackson Park, Chicago, January 2nd 1893. Chicago, Illinois: Violet Agents
Supply Company, 1893.
Haytian Emigration Society, Address of the Board of Managers of the Haytian Emigration Society of
Coloured People, to the emigrants intending to sail to the island of Hayti, in the brig De Witt
Clinton. New York: Mahlon Day, 1824.
Haytien Emigration Society, Information for the Free People of Color Who Are Inclined to Emigrate
to Hayti. Philadelphia: J.H. Cunningham, 1825.
Holly, James Theodore. A vindication of the capacity of the negro race for self-government, and
civilized progress, as demonstrated by historical events of the Haytian revolution and the
subsequent acts of that people since their national independence. New Haven: W.H. Stanley,
printer, 1857.
Saunders, Prince. Haytian Papers. Boston: Parmenter and Norton for Bingham, 1818.
Walker, David. Walker’s Appeal in Four Articles; Together with a Preamble, to the Coloured Citizens
of the World, but in Particular, and Very Expressly, to Those of the United States of America.
Written in Boston, State of Massachusetts, September 28, 1829. Boston: Published by David
Walker, 1829.
Secondary Sources
Alexander, Leslie M. African or American?: Black Identity and Political Activism in New York City,
1784–1861. Champaign and Urbana: The University of Illinois Press, 2008.
Brown, Gordon. Toussaint’s Clause: The Founding Fathers and the Haitian Revolution. Jackson:
University of Mississippi Press, 2005.
Byrd, Brandon. The Black Republic: African Americans and the Fate of Haiti. Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020.
Casimir, Jean. The Haitians: A Decolonial History. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina
Press, 2020.
Clavin, Matthew J. Toussaint Louverture and the American Civil War: The Promise and Peril of a
Second Haitian Revolution. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010.
Danner, Mark. “To Heal Haiti, Look to History, Not Nature.” New York Times, 21 January 2010.
Danticat, Edwidge. “The Long Legacy of Occupation in Haiti.” The New Yorker, 28 July 2015.
Daut, Marlene L. “All the Devils Are Here: How the visual history of the Haitian Revolution
misrepresents Black suffering and death.” Laphams Quarterly, 14 October 2020.
https://www.laphamsquarterly.org/roundtable/all-devils-are-here
Daut, Marlene L. “The ‘Alpha and Omega’ of Haitian Literature: Baron de Vastey and the U.S.
Audience of Haitian Political Writing.” Comparative Literature 62, no. 1, 2012.
Daut, Marlene L. Baron De Vastey and the Origins of Black Atlantic Humanism. New York: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2017.
Daut, Marlene L. “Before Harlem: The Franco-Haitian Grammar of Transnational African American
Writing.” J19: The Journal of Nineteenth-Century Americanists 3, no. 2 (Fall 2015): 385–392.
Daut, Marlene L. Tropics of Haiti: Race and the Literary History of the Haitian Revolution in the
Atlantic World, 1789–1865. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2015.
Dubois, Laurent. Avengers of the New World: The Story of the Haitian Revolution. Cambridge,
Massachusetts: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004.
Dubois, Laurent. Haiti: The Aftershocks of History. New York: Picador, 2012.
Dun, James Alexander. Dangerous Neighbors: Making the Haitian Revolution in Early America.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016.
Eller, Anne. We Dream Together: Dominican Independence, Haiti, and the Fight for Caribbean
Freedom. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2016.
Ferrer, Ada. Freedom’s Mirror: Cuba and Haiti in the Age of Revolution. New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2014.
Gaffield, Julia. Haitian Connections: Recognition After Revolution in the Atlantic World. Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2015.
Gaffield, Julia, ed. The Haitian Declaration of Independence: Creation, Context, and Legacy.
Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 2016.
Gaffield, Julia. “The Racialization of International Law after the Haitian Revolution: The Holy See
and National Sovereignty.” American Historical Review 125, no. 3 (June 2020): 841–868.
Geggus, David Patrick. Haitian Revolutionary Studies. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana
University Press, 2002.
Geggus, David Patrick, ed. The Impact of the Haitian Revolution in the Atlantic World. Columbia:
University of South Carolina Press, 2001.
Gonzalez, Johnhenry. Maroon Nation: A History of Revolutionary Haiti. New Haven and London:
Yale University Press, 2019.
Griggs, Earl Leslie and Clifford H. Prator, eds. Henry Christophe and Thomas Clarkson: A
Correspondence. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1952.
Hoffman, Léon-François. Faustin Soulouque D’Haiti dans l’histoire et la littérature. Paris:
L’Harmattan, 2007.
Horne, Gerald. Confronting Black Jacobins: The United States, The Haitian Revolution, and the
Origins of the Dominican Republic. New York: Monthly Review Press, 2015.
Horne, Gerald. “The Haitian Revolution and the Central Question of African American History.”
Journal of African American History 100, no. 1 (2015): 26–58.
Hunt, Alfred N. Haiti’s Influence on Antebellum America: Slumbering Volcano in the Caribbean.
Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988.
Jackson, Kellie Carter. Force and Freedom: Black Abolitionists and the Politics of Violence.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020.
Jackson, Maurice and Jacqueline Bacon, eds. African Americans and the Haitian Revolution:
Selected Essays and Historical Documents. New York: Routledge, 2009.
James, C. L. R. The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution. New
York: Vintage Books, 1989.
Johnson, Ronald Angelo. Diplomacy in Black and White: John Adams, Toussaint Louverture, and
Their Atlantic World Alliance. Athens: The University of Georgia Press, 2014.
Johnson, Sara. The Fear of French Negroes: Transcolonial Collaboration in the Revolutionary
Americas. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2012.
Johnson, Walter. River of Dark Dreams: Slavery and Empire in the Cotton Kingdom.Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 2013.
Joseph, Celucien. “‘The Haitian Turn:’ An Appraisal of Recent Literary and Historiographical Works
on the Haitian Revolution.” The Journal of Pan African Studies 5, no. 6 (September 2012): 37–55.
Karp, Matthew. This Vast Southern Empire: Slaveholders at the Helm of American Foreign Policy.
Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 2016.
Katz, Jonathan M. The Big Truck That Went By: How the World Came to Save Haiti and Left Behind
a Disaster. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2014.
Knight, Franklin W. “The Haitian Revolution and the Notion of Human Rights.” The Journal of The
Historical Society 3 (Fall 2005): 391–416.
Logan, Rayford W. The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with Haiti, 1776–1891. Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1941.
Matthewson, Tim. A Proslavery Foreign Policy: Haitian-American Relations during the Early
Republic. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 2003.
Pierrot, Grégory. The Black Avenger in Atlantic Culture. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2019.
Plummer, Brenda Gayle. Haiti and the Great Powers, 1902–1915. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State
University Press, 1988.
Plummer, Brenda Gayle. Haiti and the United States: The Psychological Moment. Athens and
London: University of Georgia Press, 1992.
Plummer, Brenda Gayle. Rising Wind: Black Americans and U. S. Foreign Affairs, 1935–1960.
Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996.
Polyné, Millery. From Douglass to Duvalier: U.S. African Americans, Haiti, and Pan-Americanism,
1870–1964. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2010.
Popkin, Jeremy. You Are All Free: The Haitian Revolution and the Abolition of Slavery. New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2010.
Scott, Julius S. The Common Wind: Afro-American Currents in the Age of the Haitian Revolution.
London and New York: Verso Books, 2018.
Stieber, Chelsea. Haiti’s Paper War: Post-Independence Writing, Civil War, and the Making of the
Republic, 1804–1954. New York: New York University Press, 2020.
Trouillot, Évelyne. “History Should Not Move Backwards.” Woy Magazine, 26 February 2021.
Trouillot, Michel-Rolph. Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History. New York:
Beacon Press, 1995.
West, Michael O., William G. Martin, and Fanon Che Wilkins, eds. From Toussaint to Tupac: The
Black International since the Age of Revolution. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina
Press, 2009.
White, Ashli. Encountering Revolution: Haiti and the Making of the Early Republic. Baltimore:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010.

OceanofPDF.com
INDEX
AASS. See American Anti-Slavery Society
abolition acts, 107
abolitionist movement, 28, 33, 63, 90; conservatism, 94; criticism of U.S. policies, 101, 115, 154,
178; and emigration, 90, 136; endorsement of Haiti, 13–14, 36–37, 185; and Haitian politics, 147,
149–50; and Haitian recognition, 48, 52, 106, 108, 111–14, 127; petitioning, 107, 116–17, 130;
U.S. legislation and, 227–28, 232; women’s role in, 11, 95, 109–10, 128–29, 182. See also Black
abolitionist movement
Acaau, Jean-Jacques, 150
Act of Independence. See Haitian Act of Independence
Adams, John Quincy, Monroe Doctrine and, 58–59; Haiti petitions and, 117–24, 128–29, 131–32
Africa, 5, 37, 39, 45–46, 83; emigration to, 191, 199, 202; forced relocation to, 88; as trade partner,
112; and transatlantic slave trade, 118; and U.S. racism, 123–24. See also African diaspora;
Africans; pan-Africanism; West Africa
Afric-American Female Intelligence Society of Boston, 95
African Baptist Society (Nantucket), 117
African diaspora, 2, 13, 22, 33, 36; Black liberation and, 24, 46, 62, 76–77, 195; duty to Haiti from,
191, 193, 206, 257; Haiti’s recognition and, 222; Haiti’s significance to, 6–7, 10, 16, 36
African heritage, 31, 34–36
African Meeting House, 53–54, 117
African Methodist Episcopal (AME) church, 89
Africans, 67–68, 92; and freedom, 150, 156; Haiti as place for, 103, 151, 206, 220; liberation of, 196
African School House, 54, 63
Africanus (author), 67–69
agriculture, 75, 99, 135, 195, 226; developments in, 68; subsidized food from U.S., 247–49; under
President Boyer, 52
aid, 39; to the Dominican Republic, 155; foreign, 233; to formerly enslaved, 234; to Haiti, 140, 146,
252–53; for insurrection, 119; for protection, 154; to the state, 100
Allen, Richard, 45, 89, 91
Allen, William, 175
amalgamation, 13, 116, 118–19, 123–24
AME. See African Methodist Episcopal church
American Anti-Slavery Society (AASS), 108, 110–11, 115; petitions, 120–24, 127–29, 130–32
American Colonization Society, 35, 88, 90, 136–38, 163. See also colonization movement
American Missionary Association, 162
American Plan, 249
American Revolution, 7, 66, 142, 183; parallels with Haitian Revolution, 233
Anderson, Peter, 236–37
An Injured Man of Color, 17, 21–26, 29, 62–63; appeal for Haitian recognition, 66, 125; as visionary,
32–34, 257
annexation, 107, 152–57, 172–76, 178–79, 244
anti-Blackness, 2, 221, 241–42; propaganda, 160; race riot, 129–30, 168
anti-colonization, 35–36, 85, 87–91
anti-emigration, 14, 35–36, 73–76, 89–91, 201–2, 212–19; Frederick Douglass and, 188–89, 193–95,
197–200, 211–212; speaking tours, 218
anti-slavery, 18, 147, 196; Haitian recognition and, 106–7, 114, 175, 225–26; movement, 113, 128–
29, 187; political battles, 62, 115–16, 121, 181
Aristide, Jean-Bertrand, 248–51
Armstrong, Andrew, 55–56, 60
asylum, 87–88; Haiti as, 40, 42–45, 53, 94; twenty-first century seekers of, 1, 248, 249–50, 255–56
Atherton, Charles G., 114–15
Atherton gag rule, 114–16, 120
Atlantic World, the 5–8, 10; activists and, 140, 184; communication with, 27; criticism from, 79–80,
161; Haiti and, 8, 79, 81, 170, 187; revolution and, 23, 65; white reactions from, 14, 17–19, 24
Attucks, Crispus, 186
Aux Cayes, 80–81, 102
Bailey, Gamaliel, 127
Banque National d’Haïti, 246
Barbadoes, James, 87–88
Battle of New Orleans, 125
Bayly, Thomas H., 176
Bell, Philip Alexander, 96, 105, 106, 136; editorial on Haiti, 112–13; and gag rule, 115; open letter
to, 217
Bennett, Rolla, 38–39
Benson, Stephen Allen, 214
Benton, Thomas Hart, 61–62
Berrien, John, 61, 128
Biden, Joseph, 255–56
Birney, James, 108, 114
Black abolitionist movement, 13, 37, 70, 91; appeals from, 185–86; and emigration, 43, 90, 201, 206,
217; petitioning, 105; response to Haitian recognition, 52; and U.S. policies, 172, 174, 178;
women leaders of, 94–95. See also abolitionist movement
Black ambassadors. See Black diplomats
Black diplomats, 56, 224–25, 228, 236; white fears of, 123, 126. See also Washington, DC
blackface, 145, 245
Black Independence Day, 25, 89
Black internationalism, 9–10; genesis of, 6–8, 11
Black liberation, 2, 7, 46, 95, 145; call for, 24; diaspora and, 24, 63, 77, 191, 195; emigration and,
190, 196; Haiti as global model, 6, 12–13, 63, 138–39, 183; original sin, 257; in Saint-Domingue,
4; struggle for, 8, 18, 182; in the United States, 27, 31; women and, 69, 182. See also Black
internationalism
Black political consciousness, 8, 10–11, 17, 37
Black sovereignty, 8, 11; as contagion, 5; defense of, 2, 6, 17; diplomatic recognition of, 12–13, 15,
28, 57; and emigration to Haiti, 33; political consciousness and, 10; stigma and, 16; vision of
freedom and, 18; twenty-first century, 258. See also diplomatic recognition
Black transnationalism, 7, 10–11, 79
Black utopia, 32, 133–34, 145, 159, 165
blockade, 47, 52, 178
Bois Caïman (Bwa Kayiman), 3, 93
bondage, 7, 21, 44, 109, 122, 209; abolitionists and, 189, 194; delivery from, 53–54, 194; Haiti as
symbol of freedom from, 36, 69, 145, 242; horrors of, 134; as punishment, 38; sold into, 76. See
also enslavement; slavery
Border Patrol (U.S.), 1, 255
Boston, Absalom, 117, 132
Boston African Society, 54
Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society, 110, 129, 131. See also abolitionist movement
Boukman, Dutty, 3
Bowler, William, 86
Boyer, Jean-Pierre, 36, 43, 86, 99, 150; abdication, 148–49; communication with U.S. Black
community, 40; criticism of, 80–82; as despot, 147; and emigration, 44–45, 76–77, 138; foreign
relations, 102; formal recognition and, 55, 58–59; as hero, 38, 70; and the indemnity, 12, 47–48,
50–52, 74; political rivalry, 41; praise for, 91, 96; regulations of, 71, 73; uprisings against, 72,
100–101, 146–47; U.S. activists and, 42, 54, 68–69, 72, 108–9
Brooks, David, 242
Brown, John, 196
Brown, William Wells, 9, 54, 161; capacity of Black race, 186; criticism toward, 216; on emigration,
189, 215; public addresses, 181, 205–7; role for women and, 182; spirit of revolution, 183–84
Bruno, D., 236
Buchanan, James, 166–67
Bush, George H. W., 248–50
Bush, George W., 251
Bustill, Joseph, 197
Butler Plantation (Georgia Sea Islands, U.S.), 144
cacos (freedom fighters), 245–46
Calhoun, John, 153
Call for Emigration, 193, 199, 212
Canada, 87–89, 193–94, 206–7; as site of abolitionist meetings, 211, 216, 225
Cap Haitian, 102; destruction of, 145; as information hub for the United States, 60, 72, 81, 222, 226;
site of U.S. commercial interests, 55; uprisings, 71, 100
Cap Haytien. See Cap Haitian
Caracol Industrial Park, 253–54
Cary, Isaac N., 225
Cary, Mary Ann Shadd, 189, 216
Cass, Lewis, 222
celebration, 30, 91, 98–99, 238; for abolition of slavery in Caribbean, 129–30; for formal recognition
by France, 48, 52–53, 55
Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 249
Chapman, Maria Weston, 110, 129
Charles X (France), 47, 49, 54, 92
Chicago World’s Fair, 241, 255
Child, David, 108–9, 156
Child, Lydia Maria, 106, 110, 141, 143
cholera, 253
Christophe, Henry, 21, 33, 35, 182; appeal to U.S. merchants, 28; political discord, 31, 34, 36;
relationship with France, 49; suicide, 41; as symbol of self-governance, 64; vision for Haiti, 30
Chuck D, 257
Citibank (National City Bank of New York), 246, 248
citizenship, 15, 90, 110; as dream, 89, 145; in Haiti, 42, 134–35, 145, 236, 238; inability to obtain,
45; relinquishment of, 90; in the United States, 84, 91, 188–89, 191, 202; and women, 110
civil war (Haiti), 30, 82, 140, 152
Civil War, U.S., 14, 191, 202–3, 239; as end to slavery, 189, 217, 237; Haiti as symbol of freedom,
145, 220; and migration, 205–6, 208, 210–12, 234; as political opportunity, 224
Claiborne, William C., 32
Clark, D. C., 167
Clarkson, Thomas, 42
class, 8, 42, 61, 100, 166, 187. See also Code Rural
Clay, Henry, 55–56, 59–60, 72
Clervaux, Augustin, 182
Clinton, Hillary, 248, 251, 252–53, 256
Clinton, William “Bill,” 248, 250–51, 253, 256
Clinton Foundation, 252–53
Code Rural, 99–100, 146, 148
Coffin family (Nantucket, U.S.), 116
Cold War, 246–47
colonialism, 52
colonial rule, 2, 4, 11, 52, 242; Haiti’s liberation from, 18; indemnity and, 47, 52, 75
colonists, 18–20, 22, 24, 215, 218
colonization movement, 35, 195. See also American Colonization Society
Colored Convention Movement, 88–91, 96, 132, 179–80, 238
commerce. See trade
commercial agents, 60, 81, 101–2, 166, 222–24, 227
Committee on Foreign Affairs (U.S.), 116, 120, 131, 176
Committee on Foreign Relations (U.S.), 61, 122, 225, 255
compromise, 30, 48, 49, 51, 62
Confederacy (U.S.), 15, 92, 185, 223, 238
Congress of American Nations, 61–62
conspiracy, 58, 60; by enslaved, 31, 37–38, 40; in Haiti, 100
conspirators, 31, 38, 72
constabulary, 100. See also police force
Cornish, Samuel, 87, 101, 105, 124, 174; and American Independence, 125; and American
Missionary Association, 162; critique of U.S. government, 78, 97–98, 103–4, 126; on emigration,
85–88, 134–35; on Haitian Revolution, 66, 69; petitioning, 106, 111, 114, 121; public speeches,
79, 83; publishing, 64–65, 99, 123, 136; support of Haitian sovereignty, 12–13, 62, 96, 101, 112
corrective justice, 18
corruption, 159, 232, 247, 254, 257
cotton, 20, 103, 153, 215; inability to grow in Canada, 211; U.S. interests in Haiti, 223, 226, 230, 236
coup d’état, 13, 30, 149, 185; as concern to merchants, 81; Duvalier regime and, 247; Geffrard’s
bloodless, 190, 193; U.S.backed, 249
Cox, Samuel, 222, 230–32
Craft, William, 190
Crawford, William H., 204
Crittenden, John J., 234
Cuba, 38; U.S. annexation of, 173–74, 178
Cuffe, Paul, 33–34, 36
culpability, 249, 250, 256
Cupidon, Theodore, 150–51
Davis, Garrett, 227–28, 231
Delany, Martin, 14, 161, 168; as advocate for Haiti, 162–65; criticism of the United States, 181; on
emigration, 191, 202, 214
deportation, 248, 254–55, 256. See also U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement
Desdunes, Paul Emile, 193
Dessalines, Jean-Jacques, 4, 17, 23, 36, 70; and Act of Independence, 18, 190; defense of, 29; and
French colonists, 20–21, 24; and rebellion, 25, 182; on repatriation, 22; as role model, 64; white
criticism of, 30
diplomatic recognition, 14, 29, 59, 241, 244; and Black activists, 79, 105–6; as Black republic, 126,
169, 220; to Dominican Republic, 155, 157; economic interests and, 55–57, 110, 174–75, 226–27,
235; as fable, 51; formal, 96–97, 101, 221–22, 229, 234; by France, 47–48, 119, 135; and race
relations, 61; and slaveholder support, 101; U.S. refusal to extend, 28, 62, 78, 124; and white
abolitionists, 108. See also Black sovereignty; Haitian recognition movement; Senate Bill No. 184;
Washington, DC
Dixon, George Washington, 145
Dominican Republic (D.R.), 153, 157; diplomatic recognition, 155; Haitian military campaigns
against, 152, 176–77, 184–85, 190; plots by the United States, 14, 154, 172, 178; secession from
Haiti, 149, 153. See also San Domingo; Santo Domingo
Dorval, J. F. Dorvelas, 156, 185–86
Douglass, Frederick, 14, 168, 180, 225, 258; address at Chicago World’s Fair, 241–42, 255; on the
Civil War (U.S.), 202, 211–12; correspondents to, 225; criticism of U.S. policy, 156, 169–70; on
emigration, 188–89, 194, 197–99, 210, 219; frustration with U.S. press, 164–65, 167, 187; on
Haiti’s history, 163; on Haiti’s image, 172; on Haiti’s independence, 161–62; petitioning, 113;
support of Haitian leadership, 171, 190; support of Haitian recognition, 236–38; on U.S.
imperialism, 174–75, 179, 235; visit to Haiti, 200, 220
Douglass, Robert, Jr., 98–99, 135, 139, 146
Douglass, Rosetta, 200, 219–20
Downing, George, 189, 200–202, 212
D.R. See Dominican Republic
Dred Scott v. Sanford, 14, 189, 198, 207, 236
Dromgoole, George Coke, 124
Duffin, J.W., 197, 214
Dupee, Monsieur, 168
Duvalier, François “Papa Doc,” 246, 247
Duvalier, Jean-Claude “Baby Doc,” 247
earthquake, 145–46, 242–43, 251–54, 257
economic embargo, 11, 28–29, 244, 249
economic exploitation, 246. See also natural resources
economic statecraft. See U.S. foreign policy
economy, 102–3, 128, 226; and agriculture, 195, 223; under Boyer, 71; under Dessalines, 29; under
Dorval, 186; of God, 79; Haitian, 51, 68, 163, 171, 249; Haitian military assaults and, 177, 190;
Haiti’s importance to U.S., 3, 57, 59–60, 101, 121; manufacturing, 247–48; U.S. destruction of
Haiti’s, 250–51, 255; and U.S. refusal to recognize Haiti, 102, 226–27, 229
education, 43–44, 67–68, 99, 209, 258; American missionaries and, 162; and Black youth, 290n95;
Haiti’s commitment to, 151; as incentive for emigration, 193
Edwards, David, 248
Eisenhower, Dwight, 247
Eliot, Thomas, 233
emancipation, 18, 52, 152, 187, 231; and Abraham Lincoln, 205; celebration of, 98; as proof of Black
capacity, 225; violence by whites and, 130
Emancipation Proclamation (U.S.), 222, 236–37
emigrant clubs, 203–4
emigration, 12–15, 194, 217; abandonment of, 77, 79–80; birth of, 32–35; Black leadership and, 88–
91, 136, 191, 197–98; compulsory, 136; as escape from legacy of slavery, 33, 40, 43; formal, 219;
from the United States to Haiti, 122, 134, 209; Haitian support of, 41; the indemnity and, 48, 73–
76, 139; and migrant mindset, 195; opposition to, 91, 210–13, 217, 218; propaganda for, 203;
reaction to U.S. legislation, 189–90; as strategy for liberation, 64, 196–97; women and, 208. See
also Haitian emigration movement; migration
emigration movement. See emigration, Haitian emigration movement
England, 5, 119, 178, 223; abolitionists in, 109; diplomatic ties with Haiti, 169, 186, 231;
imperialism, 177, 180; U.S. independence from, 21, 92. See also Great Britain
enslavement. See slavery
Ethiop. See Wilson, William J.
Fatiman, Cécile, 3
Faustin I: and Dominican Republic, 185; on emigration, 191–92, 193; military failures, 184. See also
Soulouque, Faustin Elie
Fessenden, Samuel, 233
Fillmore, Millard, 178
financial crisis, 74. See also indemnity; taxation
First African Baptist Church (Boston), 43
First African Presbyterian Church (Philadelphia), 75
First Amendment (U.S. Constitution), 115
Floyd, James, 93
Foote, Daniel, 256
foreign debt, 134. See also indemnity
foreign invasion, 83, 244–45. See also foreign occupation
foreign investment, 251–52
foreign manipulation, 244. See also U.S. foreign policy
foreign occupation, 245–46. See also military
formal recognition. See diplomatic recognition; Washington, DC
Forsyth, John, 102–3
Forten, James, 34, 36, 45
Forten, Sarah, 70
Fort Sumter, 202–3
Fourth of July, 108. See also July 4th
Fox, Simon, 27
France, 3, 244
Frederick Douglass Monthly, 236
freedom: Haiti as symbol of, 142, 188; songs of, 13, 44–45, 133, 141–44
Freedom’s Journal, 29, 64–70, 75–77, 83–84
French Revolution, 66
Fruit of the Loom, 252
Fugitive Slave Act, 1850 (U.S.), 14, 198
Gabriel’s conspiracy, 31, 60
gag rule, 13. See also Atherton gag rule; Pinckney Resolution Gaines, John, 183
Gardiner, W. R., 64
Garnet, Henry Highland, 132, 197, 199, 201, 215
Garrison, William Lloyd, 82, 91, 106, 108–10, 113, 117–18, 137, 148, 151, 154, 156, 175, 236
Geffrard, Fabre, 15, 193, 197, 203, 220; bloodless coup, 189–91; desire for United States recognition
and, 222–23; Haitian emigration and, 197, 199, 201–8, 212–13
Geffrard Industrial Regiment, 197, 219
Gell, Monday, 38–40
gendarmerie, 246
German Coast Revolt, 31–32, 37
Giuliani, Rudy, 248
Glasgow Emancipation Society (Scotland), 139
Gloucester, Jeremiah, 43
Gooch, Daniel, 230–32, 234
Granville, Jonathas, 44–45, 51, 69
Great Britain, 7, 21, 200; and Dominican Republic, 177; formal recognition of Haiti by, 56, 119;
international trade, 51, 103, 126. See also England
Greeley, Horace, 172–73, 196
Grennell, George, Jr., 116
Grice, Hezekiah, 91, 219
Guadeloupe, 24
Guantánamo Bay prison, 249–50
Guerrier, Philippe, 150–51, 157
gunboat diplomacy, 12, 47
Haiti, 1; as Black homeland, 135, 188, 190; as empire, 170–72; ignorance of, 164; instability of, 152;
move to discredit, 167, 243; as political “bogeyman,” 227; praise for, 204; public image, 163, 168;
as sacred place, 191; sovereignty, 257; subjugation of, 159; as symbol, 145, 160, 195; United
States interference with, 153, 245. See also Black press; Haitian emigration movement; Hayti;
Saint-Domingue; St. Domingo; U.S. press
Haitian Act of Independence, 2, 4–6, 11, 18, 206n20; and Black freedom struggle, 8, 32, 96; in the
Black press, 67; response to, 21
Haitian Constitution, 109
Haitian Emigration Bureau, 197, 201–2, 219
Haitian emigration movement, 32–37, 43–46, 48, 63–64, 68, 73–83, 87, 134–37, 190–91, 211;
Colored Convention Movement and, 88–91; criticism of, 214–17; David Walker and, 85;
opponents of, 212–13; Prince Saunders and, 33–37, 40–43. See also anti-emigration; emigration
Haitian Emigration Society, 44–45
Haitian history, 10, 46, 65, 67, 244; ignorance of, 125; orations on, 139
Haitian House of Representatives, 146
Haitian recognition, 12–15, 47–50; movement for, 53–62, 68–70, 76–77, 79, 97–135, 155–57, 161–
63, 168–70, 173–76, 221–39, 244
Haitian republic, 14, 48, 61, 197, 203; as beacon of hope, 43; and freedom, 196; mischaracterizations
of, 168; in parallel with United States, 122; reinstatement of, 190, 199; replaced by monarchy, 171;
as symbol of Black humanity, 53; and U.S. enslavers, 154
Haitian Revolution, 3, 36, 139; abolitionists and, 196, 206; in the Black press, 64–66, 67, 84, 97;
celebrations of, 138; fictional accounts of, 69; history of, 181; as image of patriotism, 82; as model
for liberation struggles, 27, 31–32, 38, 40, 60, 93; origins of Black internationalism, 8; and pan-
Africanism, 6; perceptions of, 9–10; as symbol for sovereignty, 207, 233; as unfinished struggle
for freedom, 182; U.S. Black activists and, 70, 83, 187; veterans of, 150, 152, 157; white refugees,
37
Haitian Senate, 14, 150, 158
Hamilton, Alexander, 3
Hamilton, James, 61
Hamilton, Maria, 208–9
Hamilton, Robert, 213–14, 224
Hanes, 252
Hardy, J. G., 136
Harold (Haitian correspondent), 163–65, 167–68, 170, 191
Harrison, Lawrence, 242–43
Hayne, Robert Y., 61
Hayti. See Haiti; Saint-Domingue; St. Domingo
Haytian Papers, 34
heroism, 67, 69
Higginbotham, Ralph, 102–3
Hispaniola, 42, 154–55, 177
Hogan, John B., 153–54
Hogarth, John, 155–56
Holly, James Theodore, 9, 202, 208; and Black liberation, 196; in the Black press, 199; criticism of,
214–15, 216; and emigration clubs, 203; and emigration to Haiti, 15, 189, 191–93, 195, 197;
legacy of, 257; visit to Haiti, 200
“horrors of St. Domingo, the,” 19–20, 32, 108
Hughes, Benjamin, 75
humanitarian abuses, 256–57
human rights, 2, 5, 21, 24; violations, 247
Hunter, Robert, 153
hypocrisy, 26, 97, 124–26, 169, 179
hysteria, 167

immigration enforcement, 248. See also deportation; U.S. foreign policy

imperialism, 154, 170, 184, 244; toward Haiti, 177, 241; United States, 244, 256
imports, 20, 57, 249
indemnity (the agreement), 12, 52, 84, 97–98; Black activists’ commitment to Haiti after, 62, 70, 77;
Boyer’s concession to, 51, 74, 79; Boyer’s rejection of, 82; as burden, 139; and economic
devastation, 73, 80, 244; and failed emigration project, 75; French demands, 82; outrage over, 71,
76; pressure of, 13; restitution for, 251; terms of, 47–49; U.S. reaction to, 50, 59, 232. See also
colonial rule; financial crisis; reparations
Inginac, Joseph Balthazar, 45, 58, 101; assassination attempt against, 100, 146; diplomacy, 102; and
emigration policy, 73, 76; fall from power, 148–49
Ingram, Charles, 141
insurrection, 3, 8, 13, 100, 150; doctrine of, 61; and Haiti, 72, 100, 147, 153, 157; recognition and,
62, 97; reprisals against, 166; spirit of, 37; and the United States, 58, 125, 237
Inter-American Development Bank, 253
international debt, 244, 246, 255
international law, 109
International Monetary Fund (IMF), 255
intervention, 58, 81, 244–45, 257–58; resistance to, 191; U.S., 172, 178–79, 243
invasion, 23, 172–73; of Cuba, 174; of the Dominican Republic, 177–78; foreign, 29, 83, 117, 214,
245; justification for, 152
Israel, Samuel, 60, 72–73, 81

Jackson, Andrew, 86
Jamaica, 7, 8, 137, 148–50, 197
Jay, John, 114
Jean, Yolande, 250
Jennings, Thomas L., 114
Jesse (enslaved man), 38–39
“jeux de St. Domingo,” 27
Jinnings, William, 135–36
Judiciary Committee (U.S.), 127–28
July 4th, 25–26, 27
July 5th. See Black Independence Day
justice, 10–11, 21, 95, 201, 235; Boyer on, 41; corrective, 18, 251; Dessalines on, 24; divine, 183; for
the enslaved, 92, 107, 156, 187, 213; due to Haitians, 58, 104, 106; international, 140, 172; and
recognition of Haiti, 78, 97, 113, 128, 227; social, 229; sword of, 20; and U.S. hypocrisy, 169, 188,
222, 230
Kelley, William, 233
Kennedy, John F., 247
Kenrick, John, 109
kidnapping, 109
King of Haiti. See Christophe, Henry
Kingsley, C., 101

labor, 12, 29–30, 33; agricultural, 195; of the formerly enslaved, 231; manual, 75; migrant, 230
L’Acte de l’Indépendance. See Haitian Act of Independence
Lafayette, Marquis de, 133, 142
land distribution, 74, 218
Langley, L. S., 205–7, 211
Langston, John Mercer, 131, 161, 179, 187
language barrier, 73
Lawrence, George, Jr., 203
legal codes, 57
Legaré, Hugh Swinton, 116
Leonard, John, 54
Levi-Strauss, 252
Lewis, Benjamin, 27
Lewis, Joseph, 222
liberal constitution, 57, 165
liberation. See Black liberation
Liberia, 161, 181, 214, 235; as alternative to Haiti for emigration, 75, 77, 83, 85, 191; and Denmark
Vesey, 38; in debates on emigration, 217; diplomatic recognition of, 169, 221, 224–26, 228–29,
231; origins as American colony, 163–64; and U.S. Civil War, 234, 237–38; U.S. economic
interests in, 227
liberty, 17, 107, 187–88; as fundamental right, 21; war in defense of, 140
Lincoln, Abraham, 224, 237
Linstant, Jean-Baptiste Sumphor, 139–40, 150, 158, 180, 184
loans, 87, 92, 246. See also international debt
L3pez, Narciso, 173–74
Loring, Ellis Gray, 113, 128
Louisiana Purchase, 31–32
Louverture, Toussaint, 65–66, 70; in fiction, 69; as guardian angel, 67; legacy of, 132, 182, 287n6; as
symbol of Black power, 64, 163
Loveridge, Prince, 204
Luther, J. C., 166–67
Mackau, Baron de, 47, 49, 55, 59
Macy, Andrew, 117
Macy, Rowland Hussey (R.H.), 117
Macy family (Nantucket, U.S.), 116, 132
Maine, United States, 113, 122, 233
Manifest Destiny, 155, 179
manufacturing, 20, 175, 247–49
maritime trade. See trade
Martelly, Michel, 253–54
Martin, J. Sella, 212
Martinique, 8, 24–25
Maryland, United States, 113–14, 121–22, 203
masculinity, 63, 169, 195, 205
Massachusetts, United States, 33, 186, 211; abolitionists, 128–29; anti-slavery, 156; petitioning, 113,
116–17, 121, 132
Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, 128, 156
massacres, 19, 29, 167, 245. See also “horrors of St. Domingo, the”
migrants, 1, 33, 45, 73–76, 136, 192–94, 196, 210, 248, 254–56; songs of freedom and, 44–45, 142.
See also anti-emigration; emigration; Haitian emigration
migration, 33, 73, 79, 256; endorsement of, 199, 210; full-scale, 189, 206; recruitment, 197, 203;
reverse, 218–19. See also emigration; Haitian Emigration Bureau; migrants
Miles, William, 102
military: Haitian, 71, 100, 146, 249; uniforms, 256; U.S. forces, 72–73, 245–46, 252
minimum wage, 249, 251–52, 258
minstrelsy, 145
missionaries, 179. See also American Missionary Association
mixed-race, 118, 166, 186, 213–14, 218
Moïse, Jovenel, 254–55
monarchy, 30, 161, 170–71, 173; fall of, 42, 189. See also imperialism
Monroe, James, 31, 58–59
Monroe Doctrine, 58–59, 117, 179, 245
mortality, 215
Nantucket, United States, 116–17, 132
Nantucket Colored Anti-Slavery Society, 117
Nash, Oliver, 76
National Bank of Haiti, 248
national debt, 244, 247, 251. See also international debt
National Emigration Convention, 191
natural disasters, 252. See also earthquake
natural resources, 44, 68, 179; and diplomatic recognition, 226, 231, 233; exploitation of, 177, 241,
244, 246. See also agriculture
Nell, William Cooper, 113
Nelson, Hugh, 173
Nero, 93–94
New England Anti-Slavery Society, 109. See also American Anti-Slavery Society
New Orleans, United States, 31–32, 125, 193, 197
non-recognition policy, 12, 29, 113; abolitionists and, 127, 169; consequences of, 102; criticism of,
61, 76, 108, 125, 168; Northern merchants and, 59, 222; tariffs and, 128, of the United States, 55,
78, 97, 103, 111; to uphold slavery, 115. See also diplomatic recognition; hypocrisy; U.S. foreign
policy
North Carolina State Colored Convention, 238

Obama, Barack, 251–52, 256; Haitian protestors and, 254; mishandling of Haitian health crisis, 253
Ocasio-Cortez, Alexandra, 256
Ohio State Convention of Colored Freemen, 179, 238
opposition, 107, 127, 236, 256; abolitionists, 121; to Black representatives, 229; under Boyer’s
leadership, 72, 74, 81–82, 86, 146; to colonization, 88, 90; under Duvalier, 247; to emigration,
195, 210, 213; to European incursions, 58; under Faustin I, 177; to the indemnity, 51; under
Pierrot, 157; political, 43, 226–27; to slavery, 110, 115; to U.S. policies on Haiti, 106, 179, 230–31
oppression, 6–7, 68, 111, 192; fleeing, 87; Haitian victory over, 63, 195; tyrannical, 191; in the
United States, 143, 189, 199, 208
Ostend Manifesto, 178
pan-Africanism, 34, 36, 42, 45–46; in the Black press, 64, 137; and civil rights, 193; in defense of
Haiti, 192; and Haitian Revolution, 6–7. See also Blackness
patriotism, 23, 82, 99, 147
Paul, Nathaniel, 65
Paul, Thomas, Jr., 138
Paul, Thomas, Sr., 33, 43–44, 53, 63, 138
Paulyon, Miss, 209–10, 257
Pennington, J. W. C., 180, 184
Pentagon, 252–53
Péralte, Charlemagne, 245–46
Pétion, Alexandre, 30
petitioning, 87, 105–6, 111; disposition of in U.S. Congress, 119–21, 127, 130–31; from U.S.
abolitionists, 113–14, 116, 176; using abolition argument, 122; using financial argument, 121, 175;
women abolitionists and, 128–29. See also U.S. Congress; Washington, DC
Phelps, A. A., 113
Phillips, Wendell, 106, 113, 196,
Pickens, Francis Wilkinson, 122
Pierce, Franklin, 173
Pierrot, Jean-Louis, 152, 157
Pinckney, Henry, 3, 107
Pinckney Resolutions, 107, 114. See also gag rule piquets (laborers), 150. See also insurrection;
revolts
police force, 100, 167, 246. See also constabulary
political philosophy, 14, 42
political rights, 49, 110, 193
political stability, 111
Polk, James, 152–53, 154–55, 157, 173
Pompey, Edward, 117, 132
poverty, 43, 71, 247–48, 256; as cause of revolts, 81, 100; origin of, 243, 252; as result of sin, 242.
See also indemnity; taxation; theft
Powell, Dennis, 205, 207
prejudice, 57, 87, 183, 204; emigration and, 217; in Haiti, 194, 218; as monster, 137; and non-
recognition of Haiti, 102, 110, 175; in the United States, 87, 199, 205, 211, 235, 238
Préval, René, 252–53
pro-slavery, 35, 62, 106, 205, 235. See also Slave Power, the
prosperity, 68, 86, 99, 140, 212; Haiti as land of, 142, 167, 199
Prosser, Gabriel, 60
protest, 25–27, 130, 229, 246; twenty-first century, 254, 258
Protestant Episcopal Church, 195
Purcell, Jack, 38
Purvis, Robert, 111, 222, 237–38
Putnam, Louis, 114
racial hierarchy, 218
racial solidarity, 7, 23, 36. See also pan-Africanism
racism, 99, 195, 235; as barrier to success, 214; as constant danger, 198; directed at Soulouque, 166;
directed at the Haitian Revolution, immorality of, 66, 128; invasion and, 245; power of, 183;
toward Black diplomats, 232; toward mixed-race migrants, 213; twenty-first century, 256; U.S.
non-recognition and, 13, 111, 169, 224–25. See also white supremacy
Rahman, Abdul (prince), 76
Ray, Charles B., 13, 131, 149, 257; as advocate for Haiti, 146–47; petitioning, 106, 111, 114;
publishing, 134, 136; and U.S. abolition, 162; voluntary migration, 136–38
Reagan, Ronald, 247–48
rebellion, 3, 31, 73, 93–94; Confederate (U.S.), 230; foundation for Black internationalism, 18; Haiti,
8, 150; incitement of, 25; laborers, 246; and political debate, 61; as reason for non-recognition, 57,
115, 106; slave, 5, 37, 62, 84, 92, 115, 119; suppression of, 100; travel, 200; in the United States,
27, 32, 38, 93–94
recognition. See diplomatic recognition; Haitian recognition movement
Redpath, James, 196, 202–3, 216; as antislavery advocate, 196; criticism for, 212, 215, 217; and
emigration, 197, 204–5, 219
Reed, John, Jr., 116
refugees. See asylum seekers religion, 23, 58, 67, 112, 156. See also Christianity; Vodou
Remond, Charles Lenox: as delegate to Haiti from Anti-Slavery Society, 156; on Haitian sovereignty,
184; Haiti as symbol for freedom, 13, 134, 139–40; petitioning, 106, 111, 113, 140
Remond, Sarah Parker, 106, 113
Reno, Janet, 250
reparations, 11–12, 47, 59. See also Indemnity
resistance, 3, 7, 148; Haiti as model for, 138; legacy of, 199; passive, 97; St. Domingo as shorthand
for, 26; violent, 18, 26
Revels, Willis, 217–18
revolts, 31, 56, 81, 103, 140. See also rebellion; uprisings
Riché, Jean-Baptiste, 157–58
riots, 130, 168. See also violence; white supremacy
Riviˆre-Hérard, Charles, 149; and Dominican Republic, 176
Robertson, Pat, 242
Rock, John Stewart, 9, 160–61, 186–87, 194; support of Faustin I, 190
Roumaine, Ernest, 220, 236
Ruffin, William, 185
Ruggles, David, 114
Russwurm, John B., 86, 89, 161; as agent of Haitian emigration, 68–69, 74, 88; on Haiti’s economic
reality, 73; on Haiti’s success, 62–66, 76–77, 147; in Liberia, 75, 83, 86; uprising in Haiti, 72
Saint-Domingue, 2–4, 8, 59, 92; and enslaved Africans, 22; military assistance from, 125; rebellion
and, 26–27, 32, 37; as refuge, 39; U.S. trade with, 20. See also Haiti; St. Domingo
Saint-Marc (Haiti), 197, 204, 214, 218, 230
Saltonstall, Leverett, 121
Sanchez, John, 215
Sans Souci Palace, 33
Santo Domingo, 19, 32, 149. See also Dominican Republic; San Domingo
Saunders, Prince, 43, 62, 70, 138; criticism of U.S. policies toward Haiti, 37; Haitian emigration
movement, 32–37, 41–44; on Haitian sovereignty, 63; loyalty to Christophe, 35; and pan-African
solidarity, 36; pro-Haiti propaganda, 34; travel to Haiti, 41, 44
secession, 149, 175, 227, 235
self-governance, 14, 65, 68, 70; attacks against, 231; criticism of, 151; and insur rection, 150; and
leadership, 147; and Liberia, 164; and monarchy, 171. See also Black press
Senate Bill No. 184, 15, 221; Black community and, 235; debate in U.S. House of Representatives
on, 231–35; debate in U.S. Senate on, 222, 225–29. See also diplomatic recognition
Seward, William, 223–24
sexual abuse, 118, 141. See also women
Sherman-Nikolaus, Lisa, 255
Shirley, Paul, 243
Sierra Leone, 7, 33
Slave Oligarchy, 181. See also Slave Power, the
Slave Power, the (U.S.), 105–6, 125–26; and control of U.S. Congress, 127, 203; racism and, 238;
reimposition of slavery in Haiti, 155, 173, 175–76, 179
slave revolts, 56. See also Turner, Nat; Vesey, Denmark
slavery, 13, 192; demise of in the United States, 203; expansion of, 107, 174; global struggle against,
96; Haiti’s defeat of, 5, 200; horrors of, 145; non-recognition of Haiti and, 111, 225; political
thought of enslaved, 140–41; as rhetorical tool, 207; U.S. policy and, 118, 236. See also racism
Smith, A. P., 213
Smith, James McCune, 13, 70, 106, 134, 140; Haiti and vindication of Black race, 134; on Haitian
Revolution, 138–39; on Haitian sovereignty, 111, 123–24; opposition to emigration, 189, 201–2,
216–17; petitioning, 106; publishing, 123, 136; on U.S. hypocrisy, 125–26
Smith, John B., 215
songs of freedom. See freedom
Soulouque, Faustin ™lie, 14–15, 162; activist’s faith in, 165, 167; Haitian elites and, 166; Haiti’s
potential under, 163; perceptions of, 158, 161, 168; ridicule of, 228; transformation of Haiti to
empire, 170–71. See also Faustin I
South Africa, 251
Southampton County rebellion, 93–94. See also Turner, Nat
sovereignty. See Black sovereignty; diplomatic recognition
Spain, 57, 77, 173, 178, 231
St. Domingo, 26–27, 32, 130; Black admiration for, 38–40; conflict with Dominican Republic, 153;
and Cuba, 178; independence from France, 50; as model for revolt, 93, 183; Monroe Doctrine and,
58; sovereignty, 92; and U.S. foreign policy, 98, 173; U.S. migrants and, 75; as volunteer soldiers
in American Revolution, 125. See also Haiti; Hayti; “jeux de St. Domingo”; Saint-Domingue
stereotypes, 31, 68, 243
Stewart, Maria, 12, 70, 79, 83; on Haitian sovereignty, 94–96
Summerset, John, 45
Sumner, Charles, 181, 225–29
Tappan, Lewis, 114
tariffs, 101–2, 128, 249
taxation, 12, 71–73, 102, 139. See also Boyer, Jean-Pierre; economic distress
Taylor, Jerome, 109
Telemaque. See Vesey, Denmark
Temporary Protected Status (TPS), 255
Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition, 255
terrorism, 32, 89
Texas, 1, 112; annexation, 107; independence, 111, 126; as slave state, 152, 154
theft, 246–47, 257
Thomas, Benjamin Franklin, 234
Thompson, George, 109
Tonton Macoute, 247
trade, 7, 28, 50–51, 65, 168; Black equality and, 62; with Dominican Republic, 153; duties, 83;
foreign, 68; formal recognition and, 48, 110, 118, 124, 175; increase in, 174; international, 57, 68,
199, 226; maritime, 47, 62, 116–17; slave, 27, 43, 56, 196, 216; unequal, 244; with United States,
20, 28, 55–60, 97, 112, 226; value of, 227; volume of, 230. See also economic embargo; U.S.
merchants
Trans-Atlantic slave trade, 7, 22, 118. See also trade
Tree of Liberty, 53–54
Trinidad, 137
Trouillot, Evelyne, 258
Trump, Donald, 254–55
Turner, Nat, 93. See also Southampton County rebellion
Tyler, John, 153–54
Unionists (United States), 221, 227, 229–30, 232–34
United Nations (UN), 252–53
uprisings, 3, 25, 81, 157, 166–68; against slavery, 97; against tyranny, 30; armed, 11–12; in Cap
Haitian, 71–72, 100; economic, 70; influence of Haitian Revolution on, 93; in the United States,
31–32, 39, 60, 93
U.S. Agency for International Development(USAID), 249, 253
USAID. See U.S. Agency for International Development
U.S. Congress, 13, 28, 102; brute force against Haiti, 246; debates about Haiti, 118; pro-slavery
sentiment, 238; threats against Haiti, 161. See also diplomatic recognition; military; petitions;
racism; Washington, DC
U.S. corporations, 246, 249, 250–52, 253
U.S. Department of Homeland Security, 254, 256
U.S. foreign policy, 9, 78, 96, 101; failures of, 172, 226, 242; Haitian critique of, 97, 155; hostility
toward Black communities and, 98; imperialism, 173; racism of, 78, 233–34; slaveholders and,
110; twentieth-century, 245, 248; twenty-first century, 251, 254–55. See also Washington, DC
Usher, G.F., 150, 157
U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (I.C.E.), 254
U.S. independence, 21, 25
U.S. merchants, 20, 28, 55, 59, 174–76; military protection for, 72; recognition of Haiti and, 226–27;
tariffs and, 128; trade history with Haiti, 118; uprisings and, 81
U.S. press, 29, 31, 56; biases of, 164, 167; criticism of Jean-Pierre Boyer, 80; and recognition of
Haitian independence, 59–60, 186; and reconquest of Haiti, 185. See also Black press
U.S. Secretary of the Navy, 83
U.S. State Department, 252–53

Van Buren, Martin, 102, 123, 126, 141

Van Renselaer, Thomas, 114
Vashon, George Boyer, 158–59
Vashon, J. B., 90, 158–59
Vassal, Darby, 54
Vermont Anti-Slavery Society, 111
Vesey, Denmark (Telemaque), 37–40, 93, 257
Vesey, Joseph, 37
Viall, Benjamin, 102
Vidal, Ulysses B., 139
vindication, 18, 21, 134, 192. See also An Injured Man of Color
violence, 61, 130; military, 245; political, 146; St. Domingo as shorthand for, 26; stereotypes of, 20;
toward migrants, 1; under Boyer, 100; under Duvalier, 247; under Faustin I, 161, 166, 168; under
the French, 22, 29, 63
Virginia, United States, 120; emigration clubs, 203; the enslaved in, 141; petitioning, 113, 121–22;
rebellion in, 93; response to Haiti, 45
Vodou, 242–43
Vogelsang, Peter, 135–36
Walker, David, 9, 63, 79, 83–86, 94–95
Waller, Littleton W. T., 245
Ward, Samuel Ringgold, 169, 193–94
War of 1812, 33, 125
Washington, DC, 13, 56, 153, 251; Black ambassadors and, 175, 221, 225, 236; Haitian recognition
and, 104, 126–27, 170; migrant clubs in, 203; petitions sent to, 107, 114–15, 120; racism in, 169,
228, 232; slaveholder’s political influence and, 62, 106
Washington, George, 3, 54, 91, 144
Watkins, William J., Jr., 197, 206–8, 211, 216
Watkins, William J., Sr., 52–53, 189; and emigration, 206–7
Webb, Joshua, 80, 223–24, 229–30
Webb, Seth, 223–24
West Africa, 76, 202; compared to Haiti, 163; emigration, 33, 197; repatriation to, 33
white rage, 2, 130
white supremacy, 2, 5–7, 14, 241; directed at Haiti, 241; doubts about power of, 57; as perceived by
Black activists, 160; and political interference in Haiti, 154, 245; towards Black emancipation,
130; in United States government, 62, 222, 232–34. See also racism; violence
Wilberforce, William, 33
Williams, Domingo, 54
Williams, Evan, 90
Williams, Joseph E., 204, 218
Williams, J. P., 219
Williams, Peter, Jr., 73, 79, 83, 87–89
Wilson, John, 166–67, 226
Wilson, William J. (Ethiop), 161, 180–81
Wilson, Woodrow, 245
Wise, Henry Alexander, 116–20
women, 2, 108, 184; abolitionists, 128–29; arrest of, 30; Black activists, 9, 257; in Black liberation
movement, 69, 182; and emigration, 208–9; enslaved, 20, 114, 118, 145; petitioning, 106, 110,
132, 182; and politics, 11. See also abolitionist movement
Woodson, Lewis, 98
World War I, 245
Wright, Elizur, Jr., 113
Wright, Theodore S., 114

Zion Baptist Church (New York City), 209

OceanofPDF.com
LESLIE M. ALEXANDER is the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Professor of History at Rutgers University. She is the
author of African or American? Black Identity and
Political Activism in New York City, 1784–1861 and
coeditor of Ideas in Unexpected Places: Reimagining
Black Intellectual History.

OceanofPDF.com
BLACK INTERNATIONALISM
To Turn the Whole World Over: Black Women and Internationalism Edited by Keisha N. Blain and
Tiffany M. Gill
Mobilizing Black Germany: Afro-German Women and the Making of a Transnational Movement
Tiffany N. Florvil
Fear of a Black Republic: Haiti and the Birth of Black Internationalism in the United States Leslie M.
Alexander

OceanofPDF.com
The University of Illinois Press
is a founding member of the
Association of University Presses.
_________________________
University of Illinois Press
1325 South Oak Street
Champaign, IL 61820-6903
www.press.uillinois.edu

OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com