Introduction To Haiti, 1950s

[Music] If you love tales of the sea, you probably have read many times of the Windwood Passage. You traverse its salty expanse when you sail around the southeast end of Cuba, largest island of the West Indies. Should you go straight out from that southeast end of Cuba, as Columbus did on the 6th of December, 1492, and breast the intervening 50 mi of foaming, rushing blue water with its flying fish and screaming seabirds, you will come next to the second largest island of the romantic archipelago, an island holy in the tropics. It is a cluster of steep mountain tops arising from broad bases on the ocean floor to make a heavily broken patch of terrairma about the size of our own rugged state of Maine. From the water level though the mountains are not very high. Even the tallest is under 9,000 ft. When Columbus saw this particular island he called it espanola the Spanish. But the million or so Arawak Indians who were there before him already had a name for it. They called it, land of mountains. The name still varies, for today it comprises no less than two of the republics of the Western Hemisphere. The Dominican Republic occupies perhaps twothirds of the area. What appears here is Porto France, capital city of the other, the Republic of it, on the western third of the island. An excellent harbor encourages shipping and Portolance has the additional advantage of being on an important air route between North and South America. In Columbus's day, the Indians thought that he came out of the sky in ships that really were great birds. The Spaniards were amused. But today, strangers from afar actually do descend on it from the sky. Portolance is its capital in all respects, not only in transportation or in trade. The imposing twin towered Notradam Cathedral there is the spiritual center for most of the citizens. The impressive National Palace where the president lives represents political authority. And here the National School of Medicine is a convenient symbol of higher education in a country where the population is approximately 275 persons to the square mile. That is a density greater than is recorded for any other republic in the Americas. The local marketplace at Porto France shows a much greater density, but it is merely the gathering spot of small tradesmen who deal principally in perishable food stuffs for metropolitan consumption. One finds here in rich valuability that a special variation of French which is called Crayol. The people speak French but over 90% of the population is of African origin. It is one of the few independent negro nations in the world. No point in lingering over the marketplace now, though it's lunchtime and practically everybody is stopping for a snack and a snooze. It is not especially hot. A breeze almost always blows in from the sea to keep the temperature at an average of 75° to 85° summer and winter. While the teeming marketplace slows down into its noonday quiet, we are given an opportunity to look into some of the other parts of the town. Dwellings are not pretentious. Structures of more than one story are uncommon, but each is its owner's castle. It is the house of a free man. In that concept, let us overlook the rude construction, the lack of facilities that we have come to regard as our everyday conveniences. For these people have something infinitely more precious than material wealth. In a world that is battling the last stand of despatism, these citizens of it, like us, are blessed with liberty. It's memories of her upward struggle show most clearly in her popular celebrations. The signs are varied and interesting. They show clearly with but one exception. Where could an Anglo-Saxon maple have come from? Your guess is as good as any. But these men with high ceremonial headdresses, how reminiscent they are of processional figures in days of the Spanish conquest. Here are children waiting to join the celebration. Perpeting to be those Indian aboriges who greeted Columbus. Unhappy people. They were conquered, enslaved, and worked to their last ounce of energy. Those Indians died completely off in 25 years. They died mainly because they had known freedom and could not live without it. Whole centuries were to pass before it would really no freedom again. In 1517, negro slaves were brought from Africa to repopulate the island. The French took over in 1697, constantly adding more slaves to increase the yield of their large plantations, and by such slave labor, making it extremely rich in trade. These grotesque figures are memories of that century of the plantations. Through the tangle of these survivals comes to the powerful racial origin in Africa, the chief factor in the mysterious, smoldering, shuttery voodoo of it. Thus the IT obey the eternal human impulse to remember and to drive home to themselves over and over again the outstanding lessons in their turbulent history. Modern things such as automobiles and jazzy saxophones joining in further to confuse the bewildered tourists. It was the second nation of the new world to establish an independent government. January 1, 18004, when this was done, marked not only a birth of independence, but an emancipation from slavery. The greater part of the republic is situated on two large peninsulas, and that gives a relatively small country an extraordinarily long coastline. It has no less than 14 seap ports. Among these is the city second in importance, Caiten. Columbus built a fortress here. But tourists come to Capiten less for Columbus than to visit the nearby village of Milo and the mountain that towers above it. For Capen was the seat of government in the tumultuous days of Alri Kristoff and his palace which he called Salusi at the village of Milo was where he entertained his court years. Kristoff was one of the black leaders who arose with Tusan Luveture, freeing their fellow slaves and driving out the French who had ruled them for more than a century. On the trail above the ruins of South Susi, the tourists make their 2 and 1/2 to 3 hours climb to the 2,600 ft level where a far more magnificent pile attests the glory that was Kristoff's. He was a monarch then, self-crowned king of it. There is the place, the century old citadel, La Ferier. Kristoff built it as a last stronghold should he ever need one. Actually, when he died in 1820, it was by his own hand, stone walls and high inaccessibility of no avail. He feared his enemies, and with reason. Back of each of the 365 windows in his citadel was a cannon aimed at intruders who never came. Yet if Kristoff had vast faults, he had grand of virtues. As an administrator, he did much to raise his people. He established schools, built roads, encouraged agriculture. The citadel failed his purpose, no doubt, but it serves another that he did not anticipate. It is a solemn reminder to tourists who clamor thoughtlessly over the moss covered ramparts that all North America owes a lasting debt to it. It stands for the great change at the opening of the 19th century in Europe's attitude toward the new world, the end of her fond dreams of American conquest. The train of disasters that Kristoff and his fellows caused the French, persuaded Napoleon that the price of Western Empire was too great. he suddenly decided to sell out the United States making the Louisiana purchase from him for $15 million. So perhaps to those who use more than their eyes in looking at it, there's neither stick nor stone nor living thing in all the republic which does not somehow symbolize the spirit of our own liberty. Our proud history might be far less than it is if Kristoff and his fellows had never lived or had prized their freedom less. [Music]