The White King of La Gonave: The True Story of the Sergeant of Marines Who Was Crowned King on a Voodoo Island

Faustin Wirkus's The White King of La Gonave: The True Story of the Sergeant of Marines Who Was Crowned King on a Voodoo Island, begins with an introduction by William Seabrook, probably to add a touch of authenticity. Clearly written to appeal to US audiences with a taste for the primitive and sensationalized tales of 'Voodoo' or African atavism, Faustin Wirkus's narrative (ghost written by someone with more formal education than him) is a self-serving account of the US Occupation and his white savior complex. Although the author does not consider himself a racist, he consistently refers to Haitians as children, refers to Haitian villages as African and archaic, and describes La Gonave (which had about 12 thousand inhabitants during his 'reign') as Edenic, African-like, and mysterious. Playing on white imperialist fantasies of the era and racist notions of Africa and Afro-descended people, Wirkus's text surprisingly avoids some of the sensationalistic accounts of 'Voodoo' that other whites ensured an entrance into US popular culture (except for one occasion, where the author hints at possible cannibalism or human sacrifice). 

For those looking for a historical account of the US Occupation of Haiti (1915-1934), however, the book is full of detail pertaining to the 1915 landing of US troops, caco resistance in the countryside, Batraville's failed attempt to seize Port-au-Prince, and the conditions of the Haitian peasantry. While critical of the Haitian government and US Marines for endeavoring to prohibit 'Voodoo' (which is contradictory, considering how Faustin Wirkus actually breaks up a large Vodou ceremony on the mainland) and for not learning as much as they can about the peasantry to aid them, Wirkus describes the caco bands as terrorizing the countryside instead of seeing them solely as a response to US Occupation. Wirkus desribes in great detail campaigns near St. Marc, Perodin, Petite-Riviere and other inland areas near the Artibonite valley where caco bands were hunted and killed by US Marines and their local gendarmes, trained by the US white officers.  He also visits and spends time in Port-au-Prince, Arcahaie, and Carzal (presumably Cazale, the village where many descendants of Polish reside). He also makes it quite clear he didn't care for the Haitian elite or 'aristocracy' in Port-au-Prince, preferring to spend time with the 'native' peasants and rural population. 

When the text finally covers his time in La Gonave (nearly halfway through), he is placed in charge of the island by the US Commissioner and sees to some important changes. This is where the text is most interesting, since La Gonave's population is described by US Marines (who never ventured into the interior of the island) as being savage, isolated, and unknown. Instead, La Gonave is clearly connected to mainland Haiti. According to Wirkus's understanding, the land is owned by the government in Port-au-Prince, sublet to wealthy Haitians in the mainland, and then worked by tenant farmers, who were often cheated by the tax collectors and other officials of the state. In order to resist this, the peasants of La Gonave, for at least 3 or 4 generations, formed cooperative labor societies, Congo societies, to combine their resources and labor for more agricultural productivity. While only about half of La Gonave's population participated in these labor societies and cooperative groups (according to Wirkus's 'census'), those who were not part of the Congo societies were often barely eking out an existence or took advantage of other peasants through collaboration with corrupt government officials. 

Thus, La Gonave's population were clearly incorporated into the exploitative Haitian political system, but local notions of poer and rule were conducted through cooperative Congo associations in which women were the ultimate authority, appointed as queens. Wirkus describes in great detail the top queen, Ti Menmenne, a squat black woman with dignity and authority. Wirkus, while overstepping his power as a military leader, uses his relationship with top officials in the US Occupation to remove from power corrupt officials, appoint local leaders, and improve infrastructure on the island with a new wharf, a new home for himself in Anse-a-Galets (the main village where officials lived), landing stirps for Marine airplaines, and new seed for the Haitian peasants. For all these reasons, he became popular and beloved by the black 'children,' coronated as their 'king,' which solely referred to his prestige and services for the Congo societies on the island. While they sometimes incorporated Vodou into their rituals, the Congo societies appear to me as being permanent combite societies, something Wirkus surprisingly supported as a step to improving agricultural productivity and natives' happiness. 

Of course, Wirkus claims his successes and coronation as 'king' by the Congo societies on La Gonave led to him being replaced after President Borno visited La Gonave, upset to see him as 'king' of a Haitian territory. Besides praising his rule on La Gonave as benefitting the population, he also describes the 'children' of Haiti as viewing him as wonder worker (because he built a chimney for his home when stationed in Perodin). On the subject of Marine relations with local women, he is quick to avoid mentioning rape or sexual liasons, but was attracted to two women, one a black woman near Perodin and Marie, the 'white-skinned' descendant of Poles from 'Carzal,' who he loses to a Syrian (after the blue shoes he buys for her are taken by the Syrian). On describing local conceptions of skin color, he claims 'pure' blacks of the countryside looked down on mulattoes for being mongrels while describing the light-skinned peasants of 'Carzal' as only marrying other light-skinned people. 

In addition, he does not criticize polygamy in the countryside, nor does he disrespect Vodou ceremonies and local ritual (although, he certainly admits to laughing at how absurd some peasant customs were to him, or suspicions that some Vodou priests and bocor were frauds). Indeed, he even participates in some rituals and seems to respect 'Voodooism' and its syncretic nature as part of the culture and needs of the peasantry (such as the ceremony for Agwe and Erzulie). In that regard, Faustin Wirkus, Faustin II (reincarnated Soulouque, according to islanders in La Gonave) seems to have some respect for Vodou that transcends the usual American garbage and racist notions, yet he also accused Borno or officials in his cabinet of practicing Voodoo. Ultimately, this is an enlightening read on an important era of Haitian history, although sugar-coated and imperialistic. Travel narratives such as these nonetheless provide an important perspective on the US Occupation's impact on the countryside, which certainly was not as positive as this account describes it. Indeed, the writer white-washes his exploitation and abuse of Haitian laborers, and one is probably right to be skeptical of his arrogance and self-praise.