Bessie Smith's A Good Man Is Hard To Find

Although I have always associated this classic blues song with a New Orleans singer who sang it in Louisiana Creole, Queen Bessie always knew how to belt the blues with her powerful voice. To hear her perform live must have been quite the treat. 

Met Larouzé

Fanfan's Met Larouzé, a Creole comics adaptation of Jacques Roumain's famous novel is a worthwhile read. In addition to translating Roumain's already linguistically intriguing novel into Creole, Fanfan also visualizes the story of Manuel and Fond Rouge in a compelling way. The depiction of the habitants of the region, suffering from a long drought and general misery, is detailed, showing to an almost painful degree the travails the Haitian population of the era thought. The comic is also very faithful to the original novel, perhaps embellishing or providing additional context here or there that might have been missing from the novel (such as the setting being near Crois des Bouquets). The Creole vocabulary used throughout also may change the meaning of some moments in the plot. For instance, Manuel being called chef of the syndicat (sindicat) instead of the konbit might be a hint towards the resurgence of labor in Haiti near the end of Jean-Claude Duvalier's regime. 

Unfortunately, since the comic does not use the standardized orthography for Haitian Creole I am most familiar with, there are a number of words I struggled to translate or find English or French equivalents for, but that's mostly my problem for not being a fluent speaker. Moreover, backgrounds for the panels are usually not depicted or very detailed, highlighting the centrality of the people themselves and their role in changing their fortune and environment. Of course, when Manuel shows Annaise the source of the water, the Eden-like setting comes to life vividly, without color. Otherwise, we get mostly pastoral and rural scenes, domestic scenes, or meetings at Larivoua's house. Again, the people of Fond Rouge are centered, especially Manuel's mother, Delira.

Delira, it would seem, experiences the most personal and psychological growth. Through her son's sacrifice and her own seizing of destiny, she rejects fatalistic notions of religion (Catholicism and Vodou), and becomes a heroic figure in her own right. Whereas the novel, if I remember correctly, featured a less determined, free-willed Delira, this comic book highlights her role. Once more, I cannot help but wonder if this possible change is due to the political climate of the early 1980s and Bon Nouvel's socially conscious, and culturally affirming journal. The Haitian community here, torn apart by a family feud and poverty, must come together and adapt their traditions to save themselves, which must have been relevant to audiences growing sick of Baby Doc.

It would be useful to compare this to the few other Haitian comics produced in the 1980s by Lorquet, whose comics were original stories with socially relevant commentary on Haitian migrant workers, boatpeople, AIDS, and other issues of the day. Of course, it would also be worthwhile to compare Fanfan's work with the short-lived Haitian comics journal of the 1940s, Zobopes, if it can be located. One wonders why Haitian Creole comics failed to take off? And what to make of the Haitian graphic novel as a literary form that can adopt and adapt masterpieces of the Haitian canon? And the impact of the comics of the late 19th century? The continued use of proverbs, as well as social satire or comedy can be found. Indeed, the use of some of the same proverbs and critique of rapacious elites, corrupt officials, and the 'color question' can be found in both Le Zinglin and Met Larouzé.

The World of Marcus Garvey: Race and Class in Modern Society

After reading Adolph Reed's essay on Stein's work last week, I decided to pick up her Marcus Garvey book, The World of Marcus Garvey: Race and Class in Modern Society. Since it is usually worthwhile to explore studies of Garvey or other black historical figures which are not works of hagiography, Stein's book grabbed my attention. She applies a class analysis of Garvey and the UNIA (Universal Negro Improvement Association) to elucidate its growth, meteoric rise, and fall, taking the reader along the way across the US, the West Indies, and Africa. According to Stein, Garvey's petty bourgeois origins and initial base inherited bourgeois notions of black nationalism and Pan-Africanism from the 19th century. Thus, according to Stein, differences between the UNIA and other black organizations such as the NAACP or elite African associations in British West Africa, were rather slight and all eschewed mass-based tactics (that is, until conditions in the 1930s favored them). 

During an economic boom and period of expanding economic opportunities for blacks in the US in industrial workplaces, as well as the growth of black-owned businesses, many saw the UNIA's message of racial enterprise and the Black Star Line as the future steps for the race's development of Africa and liberation. Stein outlines the rise and fall of the BSL through incompetence, poor planning, and economic conditions in the shipping industry of the 1920s, which indicates that Garveyism was already falling apart independently of sabotage from the US government. Her chapter on Liberia similarly argues that the UNIA's failures to establish settlements in the only independent West African state were due to Americo-Liberian elite opposition. Furthermore, given the lack of capital and resources possessed by the UNIA, it's unlikely their impact on Liberian development would have been great. 

However, the most important question of the book, the role of class and historical materialist history, can be misleading. She painstakingly demonstrates that Garveyism in the US and the Caribbean never really embraced working-class politics, but sometimes one cannot help but feel that Stein did not let the black working-class peoples of the US or the West Indies speak for themselves. Of course, due to the paucity of sources for much of the black working-class at this time, one can applaud how Stein finds the few sources she can. Furthermore, she is likely correct that as working conditions and prospects declined for the black working-class, especially with the Great Depression and the decimation of black businesses and employment, fewer would retain interest in the UNIA as it was largely irrelevant to their quotidian material needs. 

Moreover, as fans of Adolph Reed will know, most of these racial leaders were self-proclaimed and often condescendingly presumed to speak for or represent black constituencies which did not actually exist. For Garvey, despite being a mass movement for a time, the Parent Body in New York squabbled with the locals (not to mention internal dissension among the Parent Body) and did not necessarily have a strong say on how locals conducted themselves. Stein uses for examples of this the UNIA locals in Cleveland, Cincinnati, Detroit, and Gary. So, considering the UNIA's intellectual debt to 19th century black nationalist thought, within the context of urbanization and immigration, perhaps it's best scene as a transitional movement that endeavored to graft elite/bourgeois vision with a mass base, which it would lose due to the spectacular mismanagement of the BSL and other ventures of racial enterprise. 

But as a transitional type of organization, and with its charismatic leader whose transcontinental reach influenced subsequent Pan-Africanists and anti-colonial activists, the UNIA does appear significant for shaping subsequent black working-class views of nationalism in the years after his death. Sometimes, I cannot help but think leftists refuse to acknowledge how the black working-class, like others, could support and endorse some of the elite or petite bourgeois notions of progress and uplift without identifying class conflict as a major factor. This does not mean there were no tensions, or that class consciousness excludes racial or color consciousness. Some of the key figures in the annals of Harlem radicalism who appear in the book, such as Hubert Harrison, or members of the African Blood Brotherhood, combined a class-consciousness with racial and Pan-Africanist politics or sympathies. 

There Is No Greater Love

Somehow I have never heard this early Miles interpretation of one of my favorite jazz standards, "There Is No Greater Love." Smooth and restrained, Miles captures the mood of this standard better than most jazz musicians. However, I am also moved by Red Garland's piano solo (or whoever the pianist is). He interjects the blues, adding an air of melancholy, which brings to mind Dinah Washington and other singers who always knew how to add that irresistible blues touch to ballads and torch songs.

Philomé Obin

Philomé Obin may very well be my favorite Haitian painter. Highly regarded and association with the Centre d'Art, Obin lead a Cap-Haitien branch. Several of his relatives continued in their own fashion his style, often depicting aspects of Haitian history, the Nord's regional identity and historical moments, of scenes of life in Cap-Haitien and its environs. Obin's style resonates with me in terms of its depiction of the human form as well as its thematic content. Obin, whose life encompassed Haiti's tumultuous period leading up to the US Occupation, creates visual evidence of Cap-Haitien's elites, popular culture, and Haitian social concerns without emphasis on Vodou themes or folklore. 

From the bits and pieces I've been able to piece together of his life, he was from a Protestant background, a Mason, received some limited degree of art education, and had produced paintings for Masonic lodges in Cap-Haitien before Dewitt Peters and the Centre d'Art in Port-au-Prince was created. Rodman and Lerebours, of course, cover Obin's work and legacy, with the latter emphasizing Obin's middle-class status (or background) and past drawing lessons. 

For me, however, one of the highlights of Obin's work is the break it gives one from constant allusions to Vodou as the "soul" or major theme of Haitian painting. History emerges as a constant theme in Obin's work, especially the importance of the Nord in the Haitian Revolution as well as the caco resistance during the US Occupation. Obin's work is a visual testament to several decades in Haitian history and life, educating both local and foreign audiences in the change and continuity of Haitian identity. While one sometimes senses a degree of nostalgia in Obin, one cannot avoid seeing some optimism in his work as well as a careful attention to social relations in Haiti. Obin's style and legacy is well-deserved, although some of his relatives and Cap-Haitien artists could not quite capture his highly stylized use of line and partial realism to depict human faces. 

Gilbert Tonner

Although Le Zinglin was not the first comedic journal to appear in Haitian history (Le Cancanier and Oswald Durand's Les Bigailles predated it by a few decades), the short-lived journal (1890-91) included Henri Chauvet, who would make history through Le Nouvelliste. What struck me, however, was the ample use of illustrations in Le Zinglin, mostly comic strips satirizing local news, social mores, gender roles, and, although never directly, the state. The journal's cartoonist, Gilbert Tonner (a pseudonym, according to Jean Desquiron), produced most of the comics, usually written in French or French and Haitian Creole. 

Considering the low literacy rate in the city during the 1890s, presumably the journal was mostly addressed to upper-class and educated middle-class readers, and the use of Creole in the comics is usually restricted to characters from the lower classes (who are also depicted with darker skin, it would seem). Nevertheless, the journal also published a play by Henri Chauvet which extensively used Creole, and, as the name of the paper would suggest, local themes occupy an important role.

For these reasons alone, Le Zinglin is an interesting paper in the history of Haitian journals. Amply illustrated, use of Creole, it also appears to have been the first satirical journal to use cartoons. Considering the intended audience for the journal, some of the writers and readers must have traveled to France and absorbed influences from Western comics and caricatures. Indeed, the negative portrayals of Haiti in Cham's caricatures must have been known, 

Although the quality of the papers when digitized by the Center for Research Libraries has blurred or damaged some of the cartoons, I think Gilbert Tonner's style improved over time, particularly in its depiction of the human form. His cartoons also depict road scenes, pathways to Petionville or other areas of Port-au-Prince, and animals, restaurants, domestic scenes, or ships. He, like most 19th century cartoonists, places dialogue below the panels or at the bottom of the image, while relying on physical humor or absurd satire to convey comedic effect. For example, the lack of ice in Port-au-Prince heat fuels more than a few of the strips.

Unfortunately, I am not yet able to identify Gilbert Tonner. And no other newspapers, with the expection of Haiti illustrée, during this time used several pictures. So, I am unable to identify any other 19th century Haitian cartoons. However, by at least the 1930s, comics appear in Le Nouvelliste and caricatures almost certainly did not disappear complete from Haitian newspapers. Tonner's mixture of French and Creole might have been unique, however, and in some cases, quoted proverbs or hinted at a critique of dominant social relations. 

In the future, I hope to explore the history of comics and cartooning in Haiti and elsewhere in the Caribbean. In between Gilbert Tonner (or is it Toner?) and Zobope, a comics journal from the 1940s launched by Georges Remponneau and other artists (including Bloncourt, according to an article from Conjonction), what else transpired in the development of the comic strip in this Caribbean republic?