Haiti History

With their flags rippling and Springfield rifles held high, 330 Marines and sailors splashed through the tepid surf near Port-au-Prince on a mission to save Haiti from the Haitians. It was 1915, and the country's ruler had been dismembered by a mob in a burst of anarchy that President Woodrow Wilson considered a threat to America's sea lanes and investors. Wilson declared the turmoil "a public nuisance on our doorstep," and called for a swift restoration of order.

Ulrick Mentor left his desk at the Haitian tax office a few minutes early on a Tuesday evening three weeks ago for an appointment. The decision saved his life. Since then, the civil engineer has been back to the federal building daily, leading a team of colleagues, working under armed guard, as they struggle to retrieve the bureaucratic foundation of Haitian society from the rubble of the four-story structure. "We have documents in here that go all the way back to our independence -- 200 years," said Mentor, chief engineer of the government tax office.

It can't march, its uniforms don't match, its band doesn't play in tune, its leaders are at each other's throats and its commander is so splay-footed he appears to walk in three directions at once. But if the Haitian army doesn't seem very military, it can steal, terrorize--and above all it can kill.

ON JAN. 1, 1804, the victorious Gen. Jean-Jacques Dessalines proclaimed Haiti's independence. As he did so, he called upon his countrymen to avenge their slaughtered dead by destroying the French citizens who remained on the island. He warned his followers that failure would cost them, for when it was their turn to descend into their tombs, their bones would be rejected by the unappeased spirits of their ancestors.

Throughout Port-au-Prince, Haitians were trying, for the first time in 30 years, to dig out of their own filth. From their wretched, unsanitary hovels, they came at twilight, pouring into the streets by the thousands. Most carried homemade brooms and rakes, others used their bare hands to assault the mountains of human refuse that had risen about them for so many decades, largely unnoticed and insignificant, until now.

Ulrick Mentor left his desk at the Haitian tax office a few minutes early on a Tuesday evening three weeks ago for an appointment. The decision saved his life. Since then, the civil engineer has been back to the federal building daily, leading a team of colleagues, working under armed guard, as they struggle to retrieve the bureaucratic foundation of Haitian society from the rubble of the four-story structure. "We have documents in here that go all the way back to our independence -- 200 years," said Mentor, chief engineer of the government tax office.

History can be tricky for a novelist or poet. Its constraints crowd the free imagination. Its tempos impose beats that throw off the writer's syncopation. Its enforced appointments fill up a calendar that asks to be left open for intuitive date-switches. Above all, its iron-track narrative discourages venturing cross-country. "This was" deflates "this might be." Of course there are splendid historical novels (though fewer poems).

ON JAN. 1, 1804, the victorious Gen. Jean-Jacques Dessalines proclaimed Haiti's independence. As he did so, he called upon his countrymen to avenge their slaughtered dead by destroying the French citizens who remained on the island. He warned his followers that failure would cost them, for when it was their turn to descend into their tombs, their bones would be rejected by the unappeased spirits of their ancestors.

The brother of slain Justice Minister Guy Malary trembled as he stood in the pulpit of Sacre Coeur Church on Friday, his hands raised before a solemn audience that included some of exiled President Jean-Bertrand Aristide's most high-profile supporters. "Is it justice," he cried, "when they kill our people and then they are allowed to leave the country? "Is that justice?" he asked, referring to the lucrative, U.S.-sponsored departure of Haiti's military dictators.

Jennifer Merin's detailed survey of Haitian art (Nov. 17) is a splendid guide to artists and galleries in Haiti. The author has done her homework about Haiti's art history, and she writes knowledgeably about specific artists and prices of their work. For those readers not able to travel to Haiti, my Spirit of Haiti Gallery opened Nov. 1 at 1583 Spinnaker Drive, Ventura Harbor Village, Ventura. The gallery offers many of the artists cited by Merin. LAURA PECK Ventura

History can be tricky for a novelist or poet. Its constraints crowd the free imagination. Its tempos impose beats that throw off the writer's syncopation. Its enforced appointments fill up a calendar that asks to be left open for intuitive date-switches. Above all, its iron-track narrative discourages venturing cross-country. "This was" deflates "this might be." Of course there are splendid historical novels (though fewer poems).

The brother of slain Justice Minister Guy Malary trembled as he stood in the pulpit of Sacre Coeur Church on Friday, his hands raised before a solemn audience that included some of exiled President Jean-Bertrand Aristide's most high-profile supporters. "Is it justice," he cried, "when they kill our people and then they are allowed to leave the country? "Is that justice?" he asked, referring to the lucrative, U.S.-sponsored departure of Haiti's military dictators.

With their flags rippling and Springfield rifles held high, 330 Marines and sailors splashed through the tepid surf near Port-au-Prince on a mission to save Haiti from the Haitians. It was 1915, and the country's ruler had been dismembered by a mob in a burst of anarchy that President Woodrow Wilson considered a threat to America's sea lanes and investors. Wilson declared the turmoil "a public nuisance on our doorstep," and called for a swift restoration of order.

It can't march, its uniforms don't match, its band doesn't play in tune, its leaders are at each other's throats and its commander is so splay-footed he appears to walk in three directions at once. But if the Haitian army doesn't seem very military, it can steal, terrorize--and above all it can kill.

Throughout Port-au-Prince, Haitians were trying, for the first time in 30 years, to dig out of their own filth. From their wretched, unsanitary hovels, they came at twilight, pouring into the streets by the thousands. Most carried homemade brooms and rakes, others used their bare hands to assault the mountains of human refuse that had risen about them for so many decades, largely unnoticed and insignificant, until now.

Haitian lawmakers and ousted President Jean-Bertrand Aristide reached a deal late Sunday to restore democracy in the Caribbean nation and return Aristide to power, Organization of American States sources said. The agreement calls for Aristide's reinstatement and for the general who headed the revolt to remain in his post, they said. "It's all here," the sources quoted an exultant Aristide as saying as he waved a copy of the agreement.

Haiti's new national police force has been instructed to dismantle the gangs in the notorious Cite Soleil slum outside the capital before Sunday's presidential election, according to a senior government official. "If we don't do it this week, we will probably face serious problems in Cite Soleil on election day," said presidential chief of staff Leslie Voltaire.