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The Haitian Revolution
For the vast majority of workers on the far-flung plantations under the tropical sun of the
Americas, the revolutionary situation presented an opportunity to change fundamentally their
personal world, and maybe the world of others equally unfortunate. Nowhere was the contrast
sharper than in the productive and extremely valuable French Caribbean colony of Saint Domingue
between 1789 and 1804. The hundreds of thousands of African slaves and tens of thousands of
legally defined free coloreds found the hallowed wisdom and experiential "lessons" of Bryan
Edwards to be a despicably inconvenient barrier to their quest for individual and collective liberty.
Their sentiments were motivated not only by a difference of geography and culture but also by a
difference of race and condition.
Within fifteen turbulent years, a colony of coerced and exploited slaves successfully liberated
themselves and radically and permanently transformed things. It was a unique case in the history of
the Americas: a thorough revolution that resulted in a complete metamorphosis in the social,
political, intellectual, and economic life of the colony. Socially, the lowest order of the
society—slaves—became equal, free, and independent citizens. Politically, the new citizens created
the second independent state in the Americas, the first independent non-European state to be
carved out of the European universal empires anywhere. The Haitian model of state formation
drove xenophobic fear into the hearts of all whites from Boston to Buenos Aires and shattered their
complacency about the unquestioned superiority of their own political models. To Simón Bolívar,
himself of partial African ancestry, it was the Euro-American model of revolution that was to be
avoided by the Spanish-American states seeking their independence after 1810, and he suggested
the best way was to free all slaves. Intellectually, the ex-colonists gave themselves a new
name—Haitians—and defined all Haitians as "black," thereby giving a psychological blow to the
emerging intellectual traditions of an increasingly racist Europe and North America that saw a
hierarchical world eternally dominated by types representative of their own somatic images. In
Haiti, all citizens were legally equal, regardless of color, race, or condition. Equally important, the
example of Haiti convincingly refuted the ridiculous notion that still endures among some social
scientists at the end of the twentieth century that slavery produced "social death" among slaves and
persons of African descent. And in the economic sphere, the Haitians dramatically transformed
their conventional tropical plantation agriculture, especially in the north, from a structure dominated
by large estates (latifundia) into a society of minifundist, or small-scale, marginal self-sufficient
producers, who reoriented away from export dependency toward an internal marketing system
supplemented by a minor export sector. These changes, however, were not accomplished
without extremely painful dislocations and severe long-term repercussions for both the state and the
society.
If the origins of the revolution in Saint Domingue lie in the broader changes of the Atlantic world
during the eighteenth century, the immediate precipitants must be found in the French Revolution.
The symbiotic relationship between the two were extremely strong and will be discussed later, but
both resulted from the construction of a newly integrated Atlantic community in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries.
The broader movements of empire building in the Atlantic world produced the dynamic catalyst
for change that fomented political independence in the United States between 1776 and 1783.
Even before that, ideas of the Enlightenment had agitated the political structures on both sides of the
Atlantic, overtly challenging the traditional mercantilist notions of imperial administration and
appropriating and legitimating the unorthodox free trading of previously defined interlopers and
smugglers. The Enlightenment proposed a rational basis for reorganizing state, society, and nation.
The leading thinkers promoted and popularized new ideas of individual and collective liberty, of
political rights, and of class equality—and even, to a certain extent, of social democracy—that
eventually included some unconventional thoughts about slavery. But their concepts of the state
remained rooted in the traditional western European social experience, which did not accommodate
itself easily to the current reality of the tropical American world, as Peggy Liss shows in her
insightful study Atlantic Empires.
Questions about the moral, religious, and economic justifications for slavery and the slave
society formed part of this range of innovative ideas. Eventually, these questions led to changes in
jurisprudence, such as the reluctantly delivered judgment by British Chief Justice Lord William
Mansfield in 1772 that the owner of the slave James Somerset could not return him to the West
Indies, implying that, by being brought to England, Somerset had indeed become a free man. In
1778, the courts of Scotland declared that slavery was illegal in that part of the realm. Together
with the Mansfield ruling in England, this meant that slavery could not be considered legal in the
British Isles. These legal rulings encouraged the formation of associations and groups designed to
promote amelioration in the condition of slaves, or even the eventual abolition of the slave trade and
slavery.
Even before the declaration of political independence on the part of the British North American
colonies, slavery was under attack by a number of religious and political leaders from, for example,
the Quakers and Evangelicals, such as William Wilberforce (1759–1833), Thomas Clarkson
(1760–1846), and Granville Sharp (1735–1813). Antislavery movements flourished both in the
metropolis and in the colonies. In 1787, Abbé Grégoire (1750–1831), Abbé Raynal
(1713–1796), the marquis de Lafayette (1757–1834), and others formed an antislavery committee
in France called the Société des Amis des Noirs, which took up the issue in the recently convened
Estates General in 1789 and later pushed for broadening the basis of citizenship in the National
Assembly. Their benevolent proposals, however, were overtaken by events.
The intellectual changes throughout the region cannot be separated from changes in the
Caribbean. During the eighteenth century, the Caribbean plantation slave societies reached their
apogee. British and French (mostly) absentee sugar producers made headlines in their respective
imperial capitals, drawing the attention of political economists and moral philosophers. The most
influential voice among the latter was probably Adam Smith (1723–1790), whose Wealth of
Nations appeared in the auspicious year of 1776. Basing his arguments on the comparative costs of
production, Smith insisted that, "from the experience of all ages and nations, I believe, that the work
done by free men comes cheaper in the end than that performed by slaves." Slavery, Smith
further stated, was both uneconomical and irrational not only because the plantation system was a
wasteful use of land but also because slaves cost more to maintain than free laborers.
The plantation system had, by the middle of the eighteenth century, created some strange
communities of production throughout the Caribbean—highly artificial constructs involving labor
inputs from Africa and managerial direction from Europe producing largely imported staples for an
overseas market. These were the plantation communities producing sugar, coffee, cotton, and
tobacco.26 Elsewhere, I have referred to this unintended consequence of the sugar revolutions as
the development of exploitation societies—a tiered system of interlocking castes and classes all
determined by the necessities, structure, and rhythm of the plantations.
French Saint Domingue prided itself, with considerable justification, on being the richest colony
in the world. According to David Geggus, Saint Domingue in the 1780s accounted for "some 40
percent of France's foreign trade, its 7,000 or so plantations were absorbing by the 1790s also
10–15 percent of United States exports and had important commercial links with the British and
Spanish West Indies as well. On the coastal plains of this colony little larger than Wales was grown
about two-fifths of the world's sugar, while from its mountainous interior came over half the world's
coffee." The population was structured like a typical slave plantation exploitation society in
tropical America. Approximately 25,000 white colonists, whom we might call psychological
transients, dominated the social pyramid, which included an intermediate subordinate stratum of
approximately the same number of free, miscegenated persons referred to throughout the French
Caribbean colonies as gens de couleur, and a depressed, denigrated, servile, and exploited
majority of some 500,000 workers from Africa or of African descent. These demographic
proportions would have been familiar to Jamaica, Barbados, or Cuba during the acme of their slave
plantation regimes. The centripetal cohesive force remained the plantations of sugar, coffee,
cotton, and indigo and the subsidiary activities associated with them. The plantations, therefore,
joined the local society and the local economy with a human umbilical cord—the transatlantic slave
trade—that attached the colony to Africa. Economic viability depended on the continuous
replenishing of the labor force by importing African slaves. Nevertheless, the system was both
sophisticated and complex, with commercial marketing operations that extended to several
continents.
If whites, free colored, and slaves formed the three distinct castes in the French Caribbean
colony, these caste divisions overshadowed a complex system of class and corresponding internal
class antagonisms, across all sectors of the society. Among the whites, the class antagonism was
between the successful so-called grands blancs, with their associated hirelings—plantation
overseers, artisans, and supervisors—and the so-called petits blancs—small merchants'
representatives, small proprietors, and various types of hangers-on. The antagonism was palpable.
At the same time, all whites shared varying degrees of fear and mistrust of the intermediate group of
gens de couleur, but especially the economically upwardly mobile representatives of wealth,
education, and polished French culture.33 For their own part, the free non-whites had seen their
political and social abilities increasingly circumscribed during the two or so decades before the
outbreak of revolution. Their wealth and education certainly placed them socially above the petits
blancs. Yet theirs was also an internally divided group, with a division based as much on skin color
as on genealogy. As for the slaves, all were distinguished—if that is the proper terminology—by
their legal condition as the lifetime property of their masters, and were occasionally subject to
extraordinary degrees of daily control and coercion. Within the slave sector, status divisions derived
from a bewildering number of factors applied in an equally bewildering number of ways: skills,
gender, occupation, location (urban or rural, household or field), relationship to production, or
simply the arbitrary whim of the master.
The slave society was an extremely explosive society, although the tensions could be, and were,
carefully and constantly negotiated between and across the various castes. While the common
fact of owning slaves might have produced some mutual interest across caste lines, that occurrence
was not frequent enough or strong enough to establish a manifest class solidarity. White and free
colored slaveowners were often insensitive to the basic humanity and civil rights of the slaves, but
they were forced nevertheless to negotiate continuously the way in which they operated with their
slaves in order to prevent the collapse of their world. Nor did similar race and color facilitate an
affinity between free non-whites and slaves. Slaves never accepted their legal condemnation, but
perpetual military resistance to the system of plantation slavery was inherent neither to Saint
Domingue in particular nor to the Caribbean in general. So when and where the system broke
down resulted more from a combination of circumstances than from the inherent revolutionary
disposition of the individual artificial commercial construct.
Without the outbreak of the French Revolution, it is unlikely that the system in Saint Domingue
would have broken down in 1789. And while Haiti precipitated the collapse of the system
regionally, it seems fair to say that a system such as the Caribbean slave system bore within itself
the seeds of its own destruction and therefore could not last indefinitely. As David Geggus points
out,
More than twenty [slave revolts] occurred in the years 1789–1832, most of them in the Greater
Caribbean. Coeval with the heyday of the abolitionist movement in Europe and chiefly associated
with Creole slaves, the phenomenon emerged well before the French abolition of slavery or the
Saint-Domingue uprising, even before the declaration of the Rights of Man. A few comparable
examples occurred earlier in the century, but the series in question began with an attempted
rebellion in Martinique in August 1789. Slaves claimed that the government in Europe had
abolished slavery but that local slaveowners were preventing the island governor from
implementing the new law. The pattern would be repeated again and again across the region for
the next forty years and would culminate in the three large-scale insurrections in Barbados, 1816,
Demerara, 1823, and Jamaica, 1831. Together with the Saint-Domingue insurrection of 1791, these
were the biggest slave rebellions in the history of the Americas.
In the case of Saint Domingue—as later in the cases of Cuba and Puerto Rico—abolition came
from an economically weakened and politically isolated metropolis.
The local bases of the society and the organization of political power could not have been more
different in France and its overseas colonies. In France in 1789, the political estates had a long
tradition, and the social hierarchy was closely related to genealogy and antiquity. In Saint
Domingue, the political system was relatively new, and the hierarchy was determined arbitrarily by
race and the occupational relationship to the plantation. Yet the novelty of the colonial situation did
not produce a separate and particular language to describe its reality, and the limitations of a
common language (that of the metropolis) created a pathetic confusion with tragic consequences for
metropolis and colony.
The basic divisions of French society derived from socioeconomic class distinctions. The
popular slogans generated by the revolution—Liberty, Equality, Fraternity and the Rights of
Man—did not express sentiments equally applicable in both metropolis and colony. What is
more, the Estates General, and later the National Assembly, simply could not understand how the
French could be divided by a common language. And yet they hopelessly were.
The confusion sprung from two foundations. In the first place, the reports of grievances (cahiers
de doléances) of the colonies represented overwhelmingly not the views of a cross-section of the
population but merely those of wealthy plantation owners and merchants, especially the absentee
residents in France. Moreover, as the French were to find out eventually, the colony was quite
complex geographically. The wealthy, expatriate planters of the Plain du Nord were a distinct
numerical minority. The interests and preoccupations of the middling sorts of West Province and
South Province were vastly different. In the second place, each segment of the free population
accepted the slogans of the revolution to win acceptance in France, but they then particularized and
emphasized only such portions as applied to their individual causes. The grands blancs saw the
Rights of Man as the rights and privileges of bourgeois man, much as the framers of North
American independence in Philadelphia in 1776. Moreover, grands blancs saw liberty not as a
private affair but rather as greater colonial autonomy, especially in economic matters. They also
hoped that the metropolis would authorize more free trade, thereby weakening the restrictive effects
of the mercantilist commerce exclusif with the mother country. Petits blancs wanted equality, that
is, active citizenship for all white persons, not just the wealthy property owners, and less
bureaucratic control over the colonies. But they stressed a fraternity based on a whiteness of skin
color that they equated with being genuinely French. Gens de couleur also wanted equality and
fraternity, but they based their claim on an equality of all free regardless of skin color, since they
fulfilled all other qualifications for active citizenship. Slaves were not part of the initial discussion and
sloganeering, but from their subsequent actions they clearly supported liberty. It was not the liberty
of the whites, however. Theirs was a personal freedom that undermined their relationship to their
masters and the plantation, and jeopardized the wealth of a considerable number of those who
were already free.
In both France and its Caribbean colonies, the course of the revolution took strangely parallel
paths. The revolution truly began in both with the calling of the Estates General to Versailles in the
fateful year of 1789. Immediately, conflict over form and representation developed, although it
affected metropolis and colonies in different ways. In the metropolis, the Estates General, despite
not having met for 175 years, had an ancient history and tradition, albeit almost forgotten. The
various overseas colonists who assumed they were or aspired to be Frenchmen and to participate
in the deliberations and the unfolding course of events did not really share that history and that
tradition. In many ways, they were new men created by a new type of society—the plantation slave
society. Their experience was quite distinct from that of the planters and slaveowners in the British
Caribbean. In Jamaica, Edward Long was an influential and wealthy member of British society as
well as an established Jamaican planter. Bryan Edwards was a long-serving member of the Jamaica
Legislature and after 1796 a legitimate member of the British Parliament, representing
simultaneously a metropolitan constituency and overseas colonial interests.
At first, things seemed to be going well for the French colonial representatives, as the Estates
General declared itself a National Assembly in 1789 and the National Assembly proclaimed France
to be a republic in August 1792. In France, as James Billington puts it, "the subsequent history of
armed rebellion reveals a seemingly irresistible drive toward a strong, central executive.
Robespierre's twelve-man Committee of Public Safety (1793–94), gave way to a five-man
Directorate (1795–99), to a three-man Consulate, to the designation of Napoleon as First Consul
in 1799, and finally to Napoleon's coronation as emperor in 1804." In the colonies, the same
movement is discernible with a major difference—at least in Saint Domingue. The consolidation of
power during the period of armed rebellion gravitated toward non-whites and ended up in the
hands of slaves and ex-slaves or their descendants.
With the colonial situation far too confusing for the metropolitan legislators to resolve easily, the
armed revolt in the colonies started with an attempted coup by the grands blancs in the north who
resented the petits blancs–controlled Colonial Assembly of St. Marc (in West Province) writing a
constitution for the entire colony in 1790. Both white groups armed their slaves and prepared for
war in the name of the revolution. When, however, the National Assembly passed the May
Decree enfranchising propertied mulattos, they temporarily forgot their class differences and forged
an uneasy alliance to forestall the revolutionary threat of racial equality. The determined desire of
the free non-whites to make a stand for their rights—also arming their slaves for war—made the
impending civil war an inevitable racial war.
The precedent set by the superordinate free groups was not lost on the slaves, who comprised
the overwhelming majority of the population. If they could fight in separate causes for the
antagonistic free sectors of the population, they could fight on their own behalf. And so they did.
Violence, first employed by the whites, became the common currency of political change. Finally, in
August 1791, after fighting for nearly two years on one or another side of free persons who claimed
they were fighting for liberty, the slaves of the Plain du Nord applied their fighting to their own
cause. And once they had started, they refused to settle for anything less than full freedom for
themselves. When it became clear that their emancipation could not be sustained within the colonial
political system, they created an independent state in 1804 to secure it. It was the logical extension
of the collective slave revolt that began in 1791.
But before that could happen, Saint Domingue experienced a period of chaos between 1792
and 1802. At one time, as many as six warring factions were in the field simultaneously: slaves, free
persons of color, petits blancs, grands blancs, and invading Spanish and English troops, as well as
the French vainly trying to restore order and control. Alliances were made and dissolved in
opportunistic succession. As the killing increased, power slowly gravitated to the overwhelming
majority of the population—the former slaves no longer willing to continue their servility. After
1793, under the control of Pierre-Dominique Toussaint Louverture, ex-slave and ex-slaveowner,
the tide of war turned inexorably, assuring the victory of the concept of liberty held by the slaves.44
It was duly, if temporarily, ratified by the National Assembly. But that was neither the end of the
fighting nor the end of slavery.
Why did the revolution follow such a unique course in Saint Domingue and eventually culminate
in the abolition of slavery? Carolyn Fick presents a plausible explanation:
It can be argued therefore that the abolition of slavery in Saint Domingue resulted from a
combination of mutually reinforcing factors that fell into place at a particular historical juncture.
No single factor or even combination of factors—including the beginning of the French
Revolution with its catalytic ideology of equality and liberty, the colonial revolt of the planters
and the free coloreds, the context of imperial warfare, and the obtrusive role of a revolutionary
abolitionist as civil commissioner—warranted the termination of slavery in Saint Domingue in the
absence of independent, militarily organized slave rebellion . . .
From the vantage point of revolutionary France the abolition of slavery seems almost to have
been a by-product of the revolution and hardly an issue of pressing concerns to the nation. It was
Sonthonax who initiated the abolition of slavery in Saint Domingue, not the Convention. In fact,
France only learned that slavery had been abolished in Saint Domingue when the colony's three
deputies, Dufay, Mills, and Jean-Baptiste Mars Bellay (respectively a white, a mulatto, and a
former free black), arrived in France in January, 1794 to take their seats and asked on February 3
that the Convention officially abolish slavery throughout the colonies . . .
The crucial link then, between the metropolitan revolution and the black revolution in Saint
Domingue seems to reside in the conjunctural and complementary elements of a self-determined,
massive slave rebellion, on the one hand, and the presence in the colony of a practical abolitionist in
the person of Sonthonax, on the other.
Such "conjunctural and complementary elements" did not appear elsewhere in the Americas—not
even in the neighboring French colonies of Martinique and Guadeloupe.
The reality of a semi-politically free Saint-Domingue with a free black population ran counter to
the grandiose dreams of Napoleon to reestablish a viable French-American empire. It also created
what Anthony Maingot has called a "terrified consciousness" among the rest of the slave masters in
the Americas. Driven by his desire to restore slavery and disregarding the local population and its
leaders, Napoleon sent his brother-in-law General Charles Victor Emmanuel Leclerc with about
10,000 of the finest French troops in 1802 to accomplish his aim. It was a disastrously futile effort.
Napoleon ultimately lost the colony, his brother-in-law, and most of the 44,000 troops eventually
sent out to conduct the savage and bitter campaign of reconquest. Although Touissant was
treacherously spirited away to exile and premature death in France, the independence of Haiti was
declared by his former lieutenant, now the new governor general, Jean-Jacques Dessalines, on
January 1, 1804. Haiti, the Caribbean, and the Americas would never be the same as before the
slave uprising of 1791.
The impact of the Haitian Revolution was both immediate and widespread. The antislavery fighting
immediately spawned unrest throughout the region, especially in communities of Maroons in
Jamaica, and among slaves in St. Kitts. It sent a wave of immigrants flooding outward to the
neighboring islands, and to the United States and Europe. It revitalized agricultural production in
Cuba and Puerto Rico. As Alfred Hunt has shown, Haitian emigrants also profoundly affected
American language, religion, politics, culture, cuisine, architecture, medicine, and the conflict over
slavery, especially in Louisiana. Most of all, the revolution deeply affected the psychology of the
whites throughout the Atlantic world. The Haitian Revolution undoubtedly accentuated the
sensitivity to race, color, and status across the Caribbean.
Among the political and economic elites of the neighboring Caribbean states, the example of a
black independent state as a viable alternative to the Maroon complicated their domestic relations.
The predominantly non-white lower orders of society might have admired the achievement in Haiti,
but they were conscious that it could not be easily duplicated. "Haiti represented the living proof of
the consequences of not just black freedom," wrote Maingot, "but, indeed, black rule. It was the
latter which was feared; therefore, the former had to be curtailed if not totally prohibited." The
favorable coincidence of time, place, and circumstances that produced a Haiti failed to materialize
again. For the rest of white America, the cry of "Remember Haiti" proved an effective way to
restrain exuberant local desires for political liberty, especially in slave societies. Indeed, the long
delay in achieving Cuban political independence can largely be attributed to astute Spanish
metropolitan use of the "terrified consciousness" of the Cuban Creoles to a scenario like that in
Saint Domingue between 1789 and 1804. Nevertheless, after 1804, it would be difficult for the
local political and economic elites to continue the complacent status quo of the mid-eighteenth
century. Haiti cast an inevitable shadow over all slave societies. Antislavery movements grew
stronger and bolder, especially in Great Britain, and the colonial slaves themselves became
increasingly more restless. Most important, in the Caribbean, whites lost the confidence that they
had before 1789 to maintain the slave system indefinitely. In 1808, the British abolished their
transatlantic slave trade, and they dismantled the slave system between 1834 and 1838. During that
time, free non-whites (and Jews) were given political equality with whites in many colonies. The
French abolished their slave trade in 1818, although their slave system, reconstituted by 1803 in
Martinique and Guadeloupe, limped on until 1848. Both British and French imperial slave
systems—as well as the Dutch and the Danish—were dismantled administratively. The same could
be said for the mainland Spanish-American states and Brazil. In the United States, slavery ended
abruptly in a disastrous civil war. Spain abolished slavery in Puerto Rico (where it was not
important) in 1873. The Cuban case, where slavery was extremely important, proved far more
difficult and also resulted in a long, destructive civil war before emancipation was finally
accomplished in 1886. By then, it was not the Haitian Revolution but Haiti itself that evoked
negative reactions among its neighbors.
By FRANKLIN W. KNIGHT
The victory of the slaves in 1793 was, ironically, a victory for colonialism and the revolution in
France. The leftward drift of the revolution and the implacable zeal of its colonial administrators,
especially the Jacobin commissioner Léger Félicité Sonthonax, to eradicate all traces of
counterrevolution and royalism—which he identified with the whites—in Saint Domingue facilitated
the ultimate victory of the blacks over the whites. Sonthonax's role, however, does not detract
from the brilliant military leadership and political astuteness provided by Toussaint Louverture. In
1797, he became governor general of the colony and in the next four years expelled all invading
forces (including the French) and gave it a remarkably modern and democratic constitution. He also
suppressed (but failed to eradicate) the revolt of the free coloreds led by André Rigaud and
Alexander Pétion in the south, captured the neighboring Spanish colony of Santo Domingo, and
freed its small number of slaves. Saint Domingue was a new society with a new political structure.
As a reward, Toussaint Louverture made himself governor general for life, much to the displeasure
of Napoleon Bonaparte.