hello beloveds! the Murmurations column continues even though YES! Magazine had to sunset. Movement Generation is still curating for this year, and we will both house the column and share all over social to help people access these exciting pieces. today’s offering is from beloved Leah Penniman:
The Haitian Revolution Continues – Lessons for Today
A Black August Murmurations Reflection by Leah Penniman of Soul Fire Farm
Leah Penniman is a Haitian-heritage farmer,, and founding Co-ED of Farm Operations at Soul Fire Farm in Grafton, New York, an Afro-Indigenous farm that works toward food and land justice. She serves as a member of clergy in the African tradition religions of Vodun and Ifa. Her books, Farming While Black and Black Earth Wisdom, are love songs for the land and her people. More at www.soulfirefarm.org.
Black rumbling clouds provided cover for the insurgents as they converged in the forested grove at Bwa Kayiman on August 14, 1791. Heavy rain drops and lightning were welcomed as good omens by the two-hundred enslaved people who entrusted their officiants, Hougan Dutty Boukman and Mambo Cecile Fatiman, to call the African and Taino spirits to their aid. The time for revolution was imminent.
The Africans in Saint-Domingue had suffered at the hands of the most brutal enslavers in the hemisphere, forced to toil in scorching disease-ridden cane fields, and when they did not meet quotas – buried alive, crushed in mortars, crucified on planks, castrated, forced to eat excrement, boiled in cane syrup, and sent down the mountainside in barrels studded with spikes. As the rain washed the sweat in rivulets down their bodies, Boukman intoned, “God who has made the sun that shines upon us, that rises from the sea, that makes the storm to roar, and governs the thunders . . . you have seen what the whites have done . . . give strength to our arms and courage to our hearts. Sustain us . . . Harken until Liberty!” Fatima sacrificed a black pig to the deity Ezili Danto, spiritual mother of Haiti and protector of the rebels. Together, the congregation swore a blood oath to free the land and free themselves, at any cost.
Within the next ten days, the maroon army of Dahomey took hold of the Northern Province. By 1792, the rebels controlled nearly a third of Saint-Domingue (Haiti). By 1804, after 12 years of uprising, they declared complete victory as the only rebellion of the enslaved to result in the founding of a nation both free from slavery and free from rule by their former captors.
The Haitian revolution inspired insurgencies across the colonized world for which Western nations have punished Haiti to this day.
This Black August we commemorate Bwa Kayiman and reflect on the lessons that this catalytic Vodou ceremony has for changemakers today. Professor Pierre Michel Chery proposed the “Prensip Bwa Kayiman,” a set of proverbs, written in Haitian Kreyól, elucidating the values of Bwa Kayiman, which will be explored in this essay.
Sa nou pa konnen pi gran pase nou. What we do not know is greater than us. For a small band of hungry, sparsely-resourced rebels to take on the military might of France, Spain, and England in a bid for their freedom required a deep faith in the Divine mystère. They called on God, Ezili Danto, all of the sacred loa, their ancestors, and the power of the forest that hid them to “direct our hands and give us help.”
What if we, in this moment of acute repression, acknowledged that we can’t win freedom on our own – that we need the strength of our ancestors and the Divine to make a way out of no way?
Dèyè mòn gen mòn; There are more mountains behind mountains. The steep, forested slopes provided refuge for maroon communities who escaped the plantation, forming autonomous societies and rebel armies. Vodou priest François Mackandal, born in Guinea and enslaved in Limbé, unified the maroon bands and established a network of secret organizations among the plantation enslaved, uniting over 6000 rebels and leading to the rebellion of 1751-1758. The Mackandal insurgency was a precursor and training ground for the revolution.
In what ways are we investing in land-based autonomous zones, beyond the gaze and control of Empire, where we can train, organize, strategize, and heal? How are we engaging the cradled protection of mountains and forests to incubate our movements?
Chak moun gen fason pa li pou li lapriyè. Respekte fason chak moun lapriyè… Everyone has their own way to pray. Respect how everyone prays. In Haitian Vodou, there is always enough room on the shrine for your deity and enough room in the ceremony for your praise songs. The freedom-fighters were Kongo, Yoruba, Fon, Angola, Dahomey, Nago, Igbo, Bizango, and Taino and they combined the strength of all of their deities to unite in one syncretized religion. Vodou implicitly rejected the Africans’ status as “slaves” and asserted the basic humanity and dignity of each person.
In what ways are we celebrating the beliefs, cultures, and faiths of those in our community, even when we differ? How are we building a wide tent that embraces diversity in our coalitions? Do we see every one of us as fully human and worthy of dignity?
Tank n ap aprann, se tank n ap konnen kòman pou nou respekte ekilib lavi a. The more we learn, the more we will understand how to respect life’s balance. The Haitian revolutionaries understood that their dehumanization and enslavement was contrary to the natural order of the universe and an upset to the metaphysical balance of life. They expected the deities, manifested in nature, to come to their aid. And they did, in the form of mosquitos carrying yellow fever. Over 12,000 British troops that invaded Haiti in 1794 succumbed to the dreaded “black vomit” according to Sir John Fortescue, with more dying from disease than combat. British soldiers began to riot when they found out they were being sent to the West Indies, well knowing it was effectively a death sentence. The French attempt to retake the island in 1802 ended in defeat after General Charles Leclerc and 50,000 of his troops perished to “Yellow Jack.” By 1804, one account estimates that the disease had killed 80 to 85% of French forces.
To face the most powerful army in the world at the time, Toussaint L’Ouverture established bases in the mountains with fewer mosquitos and used herbal medicines to protect fighters from the disease. Some believed that their fallen heroes, like Mackandal, reincarnated as mosquitos to aid their resistance. Of course, the resistance lost many lives to yellow fever as well, only partially mitigated by their deft use of the highlands. Nature out of balance brings trouble to all beings.
Whether we see the world through an empirical scientific lens or a spiritual lens (or both) can we admit that the wildfires, floods, hurricanes, droughts, pest outbreaks, and heat waves are messengers of a world out of balance? Can we imagine that restoring balance in our human communities will have ripple effects in the natural world? Can we see the echoes and parallels in the way we treat our human kin and our beyond human-kin?
Tout moun gen plas yo anba syèl ble a. Everyone has their place under the blue sky. Rooted in the force of Bwa Kayiman, the Haitian revolution embraced the leadership of women and trans people. Cécile Fatiman performed the inaugural Vodou ceremony of the Haitian revolution, one among many mambos (female priestess) who used their spiritual leadership to radicalize the enslaved and facilitate the liberation movement. Romaine-la-Prophétesse, a trans woman and prophetess, led an uprising of thousands of captives and came to govern two main cities in southern Haiti, Léogâne and Jacmel. Dédée Bazile was a maternal mystic of the revolution, ensuring the dignified burial of soldiers, and representing the “madness” of love for the land Ayiti. Women participated at all levels of the rebel army, consistent with West African traditions training women for combat. Notably, Marie-Jeanne Lamartinière led the famous Battle of Crête-à-Pierrot. Women and trans rebels also served as nurses, spies, and intelligence agents.
In what ways do we make space for the leadership of trans people in our movements? Women? Disabled folks? Queer comrades? Do we recognize that everyone has a place in the long march to freedom and find aligned and important roles for them?
Si gen pou youn gen pou de. If there is enough for one, there is enough for two. Haitians did not stop at freeing themselves. They offered citizenship to any enslaved or oppressed person that arrived at Haiti’s shores as mandated by Dessaline’s constitution. Haiti’s early presidents, Dessalines, Christophe, Petion, and Boyer all had programs encouraging Black captives from the USA, Martinique, and Guadelupe to resettle, guaranteeing their freedom. Notably, President Alexandre Petion protected escaped Jamaicans from re-enslavement after they fled their plantation and landed in the southern city of Jérémie.
On multiple occasions, Haiti’s leaders offered asylum to revolutionaries globally. One of the more notable examples of this included Haiti’s involvement with Gran Colombia, where Dessalines and Petion both offered aid, ammunition, and asylum to Francisco de Miranda and Simón Bolívar, who later credited Haiti for the liberation of his country. Mexican nationalists, Francisco Javier Mina and José Joaquín de Herrera took asylum in Les Cayes and were welcomed by Petion during Mexico’s War of Independence. The Greeks later received support from President Boyer during their fight against the Ottomans.
What would it look like to actualize the adage that “no one is free until all of us are free”? How can we build global and intersectional solidarity into our liberation strategies from the inception?
Nan pwen anyen nan lavi a ki pa gen règleman. Se règleman ki bay lavi a ekilib. There is nothing in life without a law. Law gives life balance. Haiti’s first constitution abolished slavery for all time across its lands. It also established public schools and honored agriculture as “the first, most noble, and most useful of all the arts.” The constitution eliminated distinctions based on the color gradient, declaring all Haitians to be Black, including Indigenous people, mixed race people, and naturalized Germans and Polanders. It forbade the former enslavers from owning property or gaining citizenship. Saint-Domingue was renamed Haiti/Ayiti after the Indigenous Taino name for the island.
Translating community values into policy and self-governance demands a level of clarity and rigor that can be tedious and intimidating. Are there ways that our movements lean into ambiguity as avoidance? In what areas of our work could codified rules and norms bring greater balance and alignment? What policies are we willing to take a stand for at the societal level?
Tout moun se moun. Pa gen moun pase moun. All people are human. No person is better than another. In 1802, Napoleon dispatched around 5,200 Polish soldiers to fight alongside the French in Haiti. There were 500 or so Poles who so admired their opponents that they switched sides and joined the Haitians. The Poles saw kinship in the Haitians, believing they were fighting for the same ideals of freedom and independence. Haiti’s first head of state Jean-Jacques Dessalines called Polish people “the White Negroes of Europe”, which was then regarded a great honor, as it meant brotherhood between Poles and Haitians. After Haiti gained its independence, the Poles acquired Haitian citizenship for their loyalty and support in overthrowing the French colonialists, and were called “black” by the Haitian constitution.
Are we open to allies and supporters joining us from overlooked corners of our community? Can we honor the commonalities we have in our values with others, even when geography and circumstance are distinct? How do we honor and share gratitude with those who help us get free?
Pa fè san inosan koule; do not shed the blood of innocents. This is possibly the most difficult Baw Kayiman proverb to address, because the Haitian revolution was notoriously brutal and the blood of civilians – including children – was shed throughout. Our role is neither to condemn nor glorify their tactics, but to recognize this values-based aspiration of restraint, and ask, “What were the causes and conditions that made this bloodshed nearly inevitable?” I dream of a world where bloodless civil resistance offers the only suite of tactics necessary for liberation and justice. We are on our way. Studies comparing nonviolent and violent resistance campaigns from 1900 to 2006 show that nonviolent campaigns succeeded about 53% of the time, while violent campaigns succeeded only 26% of the time, and further that nonviolent campaigns led to more stable democracies. The interconnectedness and visibility of global struggles, coupled with emergence of global definitions and shared values around basic human rights, are key ingredients in making civil resistance a viable liberatory tool. We can simultaneously glean inspiration from the noble aspects of the Haitian revolution, acknowledge its limitations, and aspire to the foundational principle of protecting the innocent.
How does abolitionary praxis challenge us to imagine a world where all beings are “innocent?” What examples can we point to of fierce accountability that does not rely on violence?
Malè yon eritye ki bliye esklav fè Bwa Kayiman pou moun k ap sèvi Bondye pa lote moun nan mitan bèt. Shame on the heir who forgets that slaves made Bwa Kayiman so that people who are serving God may never again be put in packs among animals. Due to the abysmal mortality rate for those toiling in the plantations of Saint-Domingue, two-thirds of the enslaved were not born into slavery but rather imported from Africa. This meant they could still taste their recent freedom and speak the tongues of their motherlands. They knew they were not meant to be slaves and were ready to engage in unprecedented mass non-cooperation to free themselves. These courageous ancestors ask that we never forget their feat, and that we honor them by preventing anyone from ever being enslaved again.
Today, approximately 50 million people are enslaved worldwide, including incarcerated laborers in the USA. How are we taking a stand to end slavery? We are beseeched to never forget. How are we teaching the legacy of Bwa Kayiman to our children so its lessons do not perish?
This Black August we ask that you retell and remember Bwa Kayiman. Imagine its stormy summer raindrops kissing your face and the intonations of Mambo Fatima stirring you as you swear your own oath of liberation. These ancestors are not gone – they are with us when we protect our neighbors from ICE, when we flood the streets for Palestinian freedom, when we tend the soil to feed communities under food apartheid, when we stand up for Black lives in the face of mass incarceration and police violence, and when we practice our beautiful African ancestral rituals. May the ASE these ancestors passed down to us fortify us with wisdom, courage, and victory.
read more of the Murmurations column here.