Death and the King's Horseman

"Life is honour. It ends when honour ends."

Wole Soyinka's Death and the King's Horseman is one of the most intriguing examples of postcolonial literature I have encountered. Inspired by a historical event that took place in 1946, the short play examines the consequences of colonial intervention during a suicide demanded by custom in Oyo. Open to multiple interpretations based on gender (it is mostly women who uphold traditions in the text), generational conflict, postcolonial thought, duty, 'tradition' vs. modernity, or tragedy (as well as death, or the cycle of life), the play is much more than a simple dichotomy of West versus tradition.

Certainly, this tragedy is an indictment of colonialism in its entirety and the white man's hubris going so far as to disrupt the natural order. Yet it is by no means a rejection of all of the West, as Olunde's powerful character shows. The cycle of life and death, for posterity's sake, by no means condemns all aspects of British civilization, but proffers a coexistence cut short by colonial intervention in the ritual suicide. Olunde's character, educated in England and studying medicine, the new generation of Nigerians who carry the best of the West and local traditions, is ultimately made to the pay the final cost and Nigeria loses the potential of such courageous figures. 

Furthermore, the play throws into question categories such as 'civilized' or 'modern' because 'modernity' in Europe, as Olunde explains, is the contemporary savagery of World War II and the mass suicide of soldiers. If the ritual suicide of the deceased Yoruba alafin's horseman to accompany him into the other world is barbaric, what does that say about 'modern' Europe, as Olunde poses the questions to Pilkings's wife, Jane? And what of the excess and decadence of holding a ball for the Prince of England when Britain is at war? While the Europeans desecrate the ancestral spirits and culture of death in Oyo (the use of egungun masks for the masked ball at the European club foreshadows Picklings's dishonor of the community by disrupting the suicide and arrested Elesin), they are in the midst of a global conflict where millions of Europeans died. 

Where Soyinka further complicates things is in how the dishonor wrought by the colonial state's intervention to prevent the suicide is the wavering commitment of Elesin himself to carry out the act, suggestive of an internal conflict within Yoruba culture and society regarding its cultural values and traditions as somehow static or evolving over time. The very notion of tradition itself is undermined by the play's powerful conclusion, and, as the 'mother' of the market, Iyajola, explains, the world of the Yoruba remains cast into the void. 

This play is well-worth the time for a serious literary endeavor into colonialism in an African context. While undoubtedly critical of British cultural imperialism, arrogance, or brutality, the play does much more than construct some impenetrable wall between the West and Africa, which would be too simplistic or reductionist of a viewpoint. Instead, Soyinka welcomes the reader to contemplate the very notion of value judgments of civilizations as 'civilized' or barbaric. In addition, the play is steeped in the Yoruba worldview and cultural world, revealing its sophistication and lyrical beauty of the riddles and oral traditions. Possibly the take away of such a complex play is that the worldview of Yoruba culture is equally developed and contradictory like that of British civilization, or any other human society on the face of the globe. 

Monsieur Toussaint: A Play

"Only Toussaint Abreda can defeat Toussaint L'Ouverture."

Edouard Glissant's Monsieur Toussaint, translated by the author himself and J. Michael Dash, is an interesting theatrical take on the Haitian Revolution. While at times a little hard to follow, the play juxtaposes the dead spirits of numerous historical actors in Saint Domingue conversing with Toussaint Louveture as he awaits death in Fort de Joux with Toussaint's memories of important moments in the Haitian Revolution. While clearly literature and not an accurate retelling of the actual history of the Haitian Revolution, the work captures many of the complexities of the postcolonial state, such as relations between the state and the masses. 

Toussaint Louverture, in Glissant's play, is modeled on the perspectives of Cesaire and CLR James, as a tragic hero who distanced himself from the masses but, following the lead of the former, sacrifices himself willingly so a united, free Haiti will emerge. This perspective on Toussaint, something new to me, also leads to a favorable depiction of Dessalines as the necessary leader who will consolidate and complete the mission of Toussaint, while Christophe only has a few lines. Like other plays treating the subject of the Haitian Revolution, the attempts to maintain the plantation system and the belief in 'order and prosperity' favored by Toussaint is shown as incompatibile with the goals of the masses, or the dead shadows who accompany the dying Toussaint in exile. Mackandal, Vodou (Toussaint as a Legba and Ogou figure, Dessalines also as Ogou), Macaya (spelled differently in this text), Moyse, and even Dessalines are shown as representing the masses, albeit through a fictionalized and rather short play such as this. 

The ultimate tragedy, therefore, lies in Toussaint necessarily sacrificing himself to pave the way for unity, to lead to conditions in which blacks and mulattoes could work together to defeat Leclerc and Rochambeau. In addition, battles are prominent in the text, but often hinted at, and its interesting how Christophe is largely silenced, Petion makes no appearance, and the conflict between Toussaint and Rigaud is presented as having been entirely orchestrated by the settler royalists, favoring a return to slavery. Toussaint Abreda, the slave Toussaint, caught up in the French modes of civilization and governance, ultimately undoes Toussaint Louverture, making the play very analytical in how once being a privileged slave and free person, Toussaint Louverture was restricted by the norms of 'order and prosperity' antithetical to the radical need for independence.

Moreover, Glissant makes things even more fascinating by including Delgrès, the commandant who led his forces into a mass suicide at Matouba rathern than submit to French forces restoring slavery. This, as well as the Dokos (Macaya and the African-born revolutionaries of the Haitian Revolution, the Maroons) makes the play clearly pan-Africanist and Pan-Caribbean, with the mission for black independence and emancipation tied to liberation of Africa. In the author's own words, the prophetic vision of Toussaint Louverture's leadership and sacrifice is connected with wider anti-colonial movements. 

Emperor of Haiti

Martel: Where is their power now to make the gods smile upon this troubled island?

Langston Hughes's Emperor of Haiti, included in Black Heroes: 7 Plays, edited by Errol Hill, is an interesting read. It seems to follow much of Hughes's thought about Haitian social relations, particularly the color question. The mulattoes in the play are all conniving, color-struck, look to France for civilization, and ultimately plot the coup that leads to the assassination of the Black Emperor. In addition, Toussaint Louverture and the other leaders of the Haitian Revolution are omitted from the text, with the only significant mention of Toussaint appearing in the second act, when Popo and Martel wish for his leadership again (thereby making Toussaint into a noble hero, kidnapped and brought to France). 

Dessalines, on the other hand, is a tragic hero cursed by his hubris and warrior mentality. Unfit to rule, blinded by European standards of civilization, Dessalines, not unlike the mulattoes (Claire, his consort, Vuval, his aide, and Stenio), turns his back on 'voodoo' and the drums (which are shown in Act One as highly important for the slave revolution) and places himself above the peasantry. Nonetheless, Dessalines is portrayed here as not hating mulattoes at all, unlike some of Walcott's plays which suggest otherwise. Thus, there is a more nuanced aspect of this play, despite Hughes engaging in satirical and critical description (via the narrator) of the grotesque, lavish banquet in the palace, etc. Moreover, the inclusion of the market women and fisherman, as well as the 'ragamuffins' in the third act, provide a voice to the lower classes, absent in the play since the first act, which reaffirms the life of the Haitian majority, depicted as hard-working, engaged, religious, and free. Inherent to this is the respect for 'voodoo' and its persistent drums (which echo in the hills multiple times in the play), which begin the slave revolt in 1791 and reminds us of the peasantry after Dessalines assumes power. 

Thus, the play is consistent with the themes of Popo and Fifina, as well as other writings by the author pertaining to Haiti. Like Walcott's Haitian Trilogy, there is a sense of tragedy embedded in the tale of Haiti's early leaders, with an established pattern of political conflict among the elites for power. Indeed, the true heroine of the novel would be Azelia, the wife of Dessalines under slavery, who becomes the historical Marie Sainte Dédée Bazile by protecting the corpse of Dessalines and affirming the path of love and solidarity, something lost by Dessalines during his ambitious rise. The mulatto schemer, Stenio, seems like an obvious attack on President Vincent of Haiti during the time, and the sympathy the play exudes in describing the 'everyday people' of Haiti is breathtaking. Certainly for a play originally written in the 1930s, (and subsequently revised numerous times by Hughes, including as an opera with African-American composer William Grant Still) in the wake of US Occupation of Haiti, that did not demonize Vodou or the Haitian peasantry, is revolutionary.

Favorite Quotes

Dessalines: Everyone wants to dress like me―and I'm the emperor.

Dessalines: I'm the glory of Haiti!

Melon Vendor: Looks like we'll never be done fighting here in Haiti.

The Tragedy of King Christophe

"There's the situation: Christophe and Pétion , two great fighting cocks, two calojies, as they say in the islands."

Aimé Césaire's The Tragedy of King Christophe,  translated by Ralph Manheim, is a dense play for its 96 pages. Clearly taking from Shakespeare to write a tragedy inspired by the historical Henri Christophe of Haiti, the play also reflects Aimé Césaire's leftist sympathies and Négritude writtings. For instance, Africans appear in the play multiple times and there are Diasporic calls for black pride and unity, the symbolism of Haiti as a way for all 'black girls to never feel ashamed of their skin,' to paraphrase Vastey. The author also toys with history (for example, Christophe knows how to read in this play) but manages to still adhere to the facts on the literary and political achievements of Christophe's state (the humorous play by Juste Chanlatte about rum as the national beverage clearly adheres to developing the Haitian nation, a national poetry or literary identity) while creating a nuanced portrait of the Haitian leader. 

Unlike some of Walcott's Haitian Trilogy, Césaire successfully creates a nuanced vision of Christophe, Vastey, and numerous historical actors in his retelling of Christophe's fall. Moreover, the play begins after the assassination of Dessalines, thereby removing Dessalines and Toussaint Louverture from the play entirely, and solely focusing on Christophe (with only brief scenes for Pétion and his republic in the South, also described as lacking true democracy in a powerful scene with the Senate in Port-au-Prince). Moreover, both Césaire and Walcott clearly use the metaphor of the citadel and the symbolism of the Haitian earth itself when describing the rise and fall of Christophe, with Walcott's Haitian Earth  coming closest to matching the diversity of social classes and interests of the peasants versus elites that Cesaire encapsulates so brilliantly. 

The peasants want to take the earth as a wife as their recompense for driving the whites to the sea during the Haitian Revolution, they want to nurture and love the earth whereas Christophe only sees dust, nothing permanent to erect a strong, proud people, thereby driving his need to complete the citadel as a symbolic and physical defense. This ties in with the author's main assertion that, despite Christophe becoming tyrannical, placing himself above religion, and pushing the laborers too hard, he wanted to build a strong, stone foundation for Haiti, for the black race, to help Haiti become a powerful state like those of the West. Thus, noble in his vision and long-term plans, Christophe ultimately alienates the lower class by refusing to place their worldview and vision for Haiti with that of his own, comparing peasant farming to anarchy. Therein lies the ultimate tragedy, the inability of Christophe to synthesize his vision of Haiti with those of the ex-slaves who made it possible, to combine European tradition with that of the local (despite a few references to Vodou by Christophe himself, it is only associated with the peasantry and Hugonin, who later reveals himself to be Baron Samedi, lwa associated with death).

As a reader, I particularly enjoyed the author's familiarity with Haitian culture and religion, incorporating Baron Samedi into the story as a source of humor and spirituality (with consistent critiques of Christophe through song and proverb). Hugonin, appointed as Minister of Public Morality, certainly speaks to the sense of humor that is pervasive in this tragedy, but also a rejection of Christianity as Christophe has Archbishop Brelle murdered and places himself above the Virgin Mary, thereby placing himself above God. In the same manner, even Hugonin's character changes to conform to Christophe's model and expectations of his court (which, in some hilarious scenes, is clearly satirical of monarchies and the fact that Europe would only send a Master of Ceremonies instead of technicians to help build a new Haiti). 

In addition, Vodou themes are important for the peasantry, who cling to the land as a source of life and decry the harsh working conditions (although, one must mention Christophe's principles, since he has Bazin punished for working the peasants like slaves, showing nuance). Even Madame Christophe seems to align with the peasantry in her vision of a proper monarchy, which provides shade like the mombin tree in the savannah and allows others to grow, not a fig tree that drains the life out of nearby vegetation (this is a central conflict in many African historical kingdoms, such as the Kongo, where scholars like John K. Thornton have explained how royal power worked in that society along a continuum between absolute monarchy and democratic or decentralized authority). For his principles and tough rule, the African page in the play's concluding scene compares Christophe to Shango, the Yoruba orisha associated with thunder (relevant to the section of the play indicating how unrealistic Christophe is, forcing the laborers to continue working on the citadel during a thunderstorm), showing how Christophe was perhaps too much like thunder and lacked the levity of Baron Samedi or Eshu to show the people through the crossroads of national identity. In this regard, the fact that this play functions on so many levels reveals how it surpasses most of Walcott's Haitian Trilogy which is, at times, too harsh, or pessimistic. 

Overall, a short but ideologically dense work exploring history, the symbol of Haiti, African Diasporic ceremonies, and how power and the vision of a hero can isolate one from the masses the hero claims to protect. Christophe veers too far to the side of Shango, and certain 'forms' (again, paraphrasing Vastey) of rule along European models, which, combined with the various political intrigues of his court, the lack of support from Europe, and the central contradiction of his style of leadership with the rural masses he aims to build, provide a root for, Christohe's utter complexity as a full-fleshed out human being shines throughout this work. 

Favorite Quotes

Christophe: "Freedom, yes, but not an easy freedom. Which means that they need a State. Yes, my philosophjer friend, something that will enable this transplanted people to strike roots, to burgeon and flower, to fling the fruits and perfumes of its flowering into the face of the world, something which, to speak plainly, will oblige our people, by force if need be, to be born to itself, to surpass itself."

Christophe: Poor Africa! Poor Haiti, I mean. Anyway, it's the same thing. There: tribes, languages, rivers, castes, the jungle, village against village. Here: blacks, mulattoes, quadroons, witchdoctors and heaven knows what else, clans, castes, shades of color, distrust and competition, cock fights, docgs, fighting over bones, flea fights! (Roaring) Dust! Dust! All dust. No stone. Dust! Shit and dust!

Chanlatte: 

Oh sweet reeds ripening in the yellow plain!

Far off I hear a hundred presses sigh

Crushing the nectar fromt he knotted cane

Transformed to sugar, it glitters to the eye

Or trickling golden from the spigot hole

It bubbles up and overflows the bowl.

Second Peasant: But here's what I've been saying to myself: when we threw the whites into ht sea, it was to have this land for ourselves, not to slave for other people, even if they're as black as we are, but to have the land for ourselves like a wife.

Christophe: My court is a theatre of shadows.

Chanlatte:

Ye haughty foe of our triumphant rights

Abjure your errors and renounce your plans.

What can avail the poison of your helpless

Fury against the rock that bears this isle?

Vainly the winds rile up against King Neptune

One glance from him and all the oceans smile.

Voodoo Macbeth

Watch the last four minutes of Orson Welles's adaptation of Shakespeare's Macbeth, set in a fictionalized Caribbean world that is clearly Haiti. Featuring an all-black cast, the project was tied to the WPA Theatre Project during the Great Depression. The play features verse for dialogue, much like the original, and is only different in that it features a Caribbean setting and 'Voodoo' instead of European notions of witchcraft. For those curious about scripts and photographs from the play's production, check out this site.

The Haitian Earth

"But you and I, we is Haiti, Yette."

Of Walcott's Haitian Trilogy, The Haitian Earth is my favorite. While Henri Christophe was the strongest and Drums and Colour the weakest, The Haitian Earth features characters who are not from the revolutionary leaders. This play, first performed in Saint Lucia, emphasizes the peasantry and lower-classes of the Haitian Revolution. The play also incorporates numerous instances of Creole as dialogue, abounds in references to the earth as the heart of the nation, symbolizing the role of the peasantry as the true inheritors of Haiti, and uses a peasant woman as the Chorus. 

References to Haiti's cracked earth, dry earth, and tyrannical rule from Dessalines and Christophe  (who uproot the soil, crush the peasantry) make Pompey and Yette the protagonists of the story, representing the union of black and mulatto (Dessalines is depicted as anti-white and anti-mulatto, similar to the previous plays in the trilogy). Pompey, an ex-slave, works the earth, nurtures it like the Haitian peasantry, while Yette, a mulatto women and former mistress and prostitute in Le Cap, grows to love the Haitian earth and embrace her life with Pompey. Later, she plays an even more important role as the victim of rape by Dessalines and murdered by Christophe for practicing her chienbois spell (something akin to a 'voodoo doll' in this instance), which speaks to a subtle feminist ethos considering how the earth is feminized in the text. 

Nevertheless, despite praising the peasantry (perhaps as homage to Saint Lucia's peasantry), the text does fall in the trap of condemning Haiti to an endless night of political oppression after Toussaint. Much like the other plays in the trilogy, Dessalines (compared to a boar) and Christophe are presented as nothing more than tyrants, Haiti subjected to exploitation and greed, but the plays also fail to explore how European greed and colonialism continued to shape Haiti after 1804. 

It seems as if Haiti, after subjected to a racial 'bloodbath' wherein mulattoes and whites are killed, is trapped in a cycle. Of course, as a work of literature, the play is not about historical accuracy, but the play does read as excessively unfair to Dessalines and Christophe while expressing Haiti's Revolution as tragedy rather than triumph. In some ways, it is quite similar to Carpentier's approach to the Haitian Revolution, yet written to celebrate the rural underclass in a distinctly Afro-Caribbean style, full of the language, music, beliefs and egalitarianism. 

Quotes

Toussaint: The soil itself

Is bleeding, and I can't stop it.

Toussaint: I am remembering civilisation. All those glorious white marbles in your museums, all your Gothic arches, your embroidered books. What do they mean to a slave whose back is flayed so raw that, like a book, you can read the spine?

Pompey: Fold up your hopes to show them to your children. 

Because after him, now come

The angry kings.

God help us men.

Drums and Colours: An Epic Drama

Caribbean poet and playwright's Drums and Colours is an epic encompassing the history of the Caribbean from the days of Columbus to the promises of emancipation and union. Penned for the ephemeral West Indies Federation in 1958, the play emphasizes interracial harmony, anti-colonialism, and peace rather than vengeance. Read in this light, one can understand why some scholars treat Drums and Colours as one of a "conservative" response to the Haitian Revolution, which is one of the more important aspects of the play's plot. 

The Haitian Revolution, like other aspects of Caribbean history, is portrayed as a response to European greed and violence, but is portrayed as excessive or racially exclusive by other West Indians in a later segment of the play, set in Jamaica. Thus, the Haitian Revolution, for bringing about the abolition of slavery, is central to the history of the Caribbean as seen by Walcott, but not inclusive of the multicultural peoples of the region. Furthermore, post-1804 Haiti is represented, as in Walcott's Henri Christophe, as corrupted by greed and violence as Dessalines and Christophe sell Toussaint to Leclerc to seize power for themselves.

In this light, some of the problems of Haiti are seen as part of a pattern in Caribbean history where colonial violence, genocide, and greed work against interracial unity (symbolized by the multiracial Maroon band in Jamaica, the lofty words of George William Gordon, and a multiracial Carnival group in Trinidad) from the earliest days of European conquest, imperial rivalries, and slave resistance. Instances of cross-racial solidarity appear throughout the play, such as the case of a Jew and a slave en route to Hispaniola, and this clearly appeals to a political goal of the West Indies Federation, as well as consolidating the nation. 

Of course, this play also transcends the purposes of political 'propaganda' for its universal contemplation of the meaning of power. Is power only wrought by military means or violence? Is it possible to attain peace? What are the dangers of 'democratic despotism' that Leclerc warns us of during the Haitian Revolution scene? Is a nation better off with a 'strong man' dictator, or with the Enlightenment principles of liberalism? Furthermore, the role of religion in upholding or resisting oppression is a consistent theme given how religion was used to exploit and combat colonial repression, depending on the time and place. These important questions were just as pertinent to the West Indies as anywhere else in the world. 

Henri Christophe: A Chronicle in Seven Scenes

"The cycle will never end. Blood grows where blood is uprooted..."

Derek Walcott's Henri Christophe: A Chronicle in Seven Scenes is an enjoyable tragedy that tells the fall of Henri Christophe's kingdom in northern Haiti. While not historically accurate (Boyer does not appear at all, and the author places most of the blame for the assassination of Dessalines on Christophe), the play uses verse and Shakespearean tragedy to explain the 'ruin' of Haiti at the beginning of independence. 

Greed, ambition, love of self, or whatever else you may call it, brings upon the inevitable end of Dessalines and Christophe as both declare themselves king and place themselves above their subjects. Vastey also appears in the text as a scheming figure who plots for Christophe, and the massacres of the remaining whites in Haiti by Dessalines is also presented as a horrible bloodbath of excessive vengeance. Indeed, Walcott subtly critiques the notion of racial divisions in the multicultural Caribbean, yet the characters in the play are never able to transcend color divisions, even in the grave (a particularly powerful scene near the play's conclusion includes a discussion of this between Vastey and Christophe). 

Thus, greed, ambition, and the conflict for suzerainty over the nation, and the failure to reverse the decay wrought by 13 years of war after the fall of the 'noble' Toussaint Louverture trap Haiti in a cycle of political conflict as generals plot intrigue. In truth, the author romanticizes Louverture as someone who would never declare himself king, and dies gracefully in the Jura Mountains, thereby leaving Haiti bereft of a leader who would allegedly espouse democratic principles and interracial harmony (again, Walcott uses history to suit the ethos of his time, Caribbean decolonisation in the 20th century). Furthermore, religion is presented in an interesting way in this text, as Christophe rejects Christianity and Vodou while Brelle, his archbishop, dies by Christophe's hand. 

Favorite Quotes

"Christophe loves Haiti, like himself, cruelly.

But like a well-intentioned physician, he bleeds

It too much."

"In death, Henri, the bone is anonymous;

Complexions only grin above the skeleton;

Under the grass the dust is an anthology of creeds and skins."

My Favorite Line from Julius Caesar

 

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus; and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. (1.2.135)

Though I have yet to read this masterpiece, I do love the above. It's an uplifting message of self-empowerment through recognition that the ultimate control of one's fate lies in one's own hands, not in the stars or with God(s).