Fernando Robles, Pepenador del siglo XXI/ 21st Century Scavenger (Acrylic and oil on canvas: 200 x 150 cm, 2004)
“Education/ is the inoculation/ of the
incomprehensible/ to the (idiot) innocent/ by
the incompetent”.
—Nicanor Parra, Artefactos, 1972
“An elective course on Haiti was recently offered at the university that I attend. It was the first course on Haiti I had ever taken—or come across—in all my years in academia. I am baffled by the fact that I have only now been confronted with Haiti as a place to be studied and examined in my graduate years, and only by chance, as the Haitian Revolution is an event that is central to any historical or literary study of the Caribbean, Latin America and North America, all of which have been my academic concentrations. Without proper knowledge of the events of the Haitian Revolution, or of Haitian history in general, I do not believe that one can fully grasp literature written in and about the Americas during that period. That one can study in an academic department such as Spanish and Portuguese and never have a direct encounter with Haiti is evidence of the failure of increasingly specialized intellectual departmentalization. The rigid departmental structures that define one study or another, and the geographically and linguistically limited composition of these studies, make it possible to develop a very narrow view of world history as much as it guarantees the development of specialists on subjects that are of broad interest, or that guarantee a job due to their highly specific nature.
In Departments of Spanish and Portuguese, the languages, and the places where they are spoken, define the literature that is considered pertinent to the field. Although it must be said that the idea of a field has become broader and more comparative in the postmodern university –as one can imagine a Department of Spanish and Portuguese covers a very wide geographical and cultural area–there are still boundaries not readily, or easily crossed. The case of Haiti is a prime example of this situation, as it does not seem to have a niche within the most common academic departments in the Humanities and Social Sciences. Clearly, Haiti does not fit linguistically with a study of “Spanish and Portuguese,” but its geography, its history, its racial profile, its culture, and its revolution have everything to do with many important events in Caribbean and Latin American history as well as the history of the United States. Haiti, its revolution, its literature and its culture, haunt any study in “Spanish and Portuguese,” “American Studies,” “African American Studies,” or “American History,” and most other fields in the Humanities and Social Sciences that focus on the Western world. As a topic, it floats in and out of view, often disappearing completely without a trace, but always reappearing as a precursor to the slave rebellions in the North American South, as the unspoken location of black Voodoo magic, as the inspiration for so-called magical realism in literature, and as an example of the hypocrisy of the Enlightenment.
The lack of historical writing, studies and courses on Haiti can be attributed to many political, economic and cultural factors. To simply say that deep-rooted undercurrents of racism and revisionist historical trends in the Western academy are the main reasons for this lack is an oversimplification of a much larger and older problem. The underlying factors mentioned above are complicated by the corporate university system, which is geared toward a highly specialized intellectual environment that allows areas of study, such as Haiti, to be lost in departments of Comparative Literature, lost in-between departments, and mostly lost because there are no jobs that call for a knowledge of this country and its revolution. Economically, knowledge of Haiti is not viable, and it serves as an example of many other forgotten, or ignored places. Specialization in the languages, culture and history of Haiti are not strategic in political terms either, not in the same way that Spanish has been in the past. There is no need for university-trained imperial cultural ambassadors specialized in Haitian culture because there is no practical interest in this place as a colony or ally.
The following paper will concentrate on a reading of The Black Jacobins with the following questions in mind; How is it possible to ignore the Haitian Revolution, an event central to any study of the Caribbean, Latin America, North America, and Revolutions in general? Why would it be a topic ignored and overlooked?”
The paragraphs above compose the introduction to one of many papers I have written as a graduate student, although this particular paper marks a moment in which I decided to break from the standardized paper writing format and actually engage in personal questions that pertained to my position as a student, and more importantly, as an intellectual. I step in at this point in order to offer commentary on the outcome of this specific paper writing experience. What follows in the body of the above essay is not as important as the beginning, as it was in this introduction where I most clearly offered my reflections on the institution in which I found myself and the conditions under which I was working. In the class for which the paper was written, I was faced with texts, such as The Black Jacobins, which questioned my historical understanding and my foundation as a “Latinamericanist.” At the time of writing, I had been looking over my department’s canonical reading lists as well, and had become aware of the lack Caribbean texts, and, of course, the absence of anything Haitian, from these lists of major “Spanish and Portuguese” texts. I decided that I couldn’t simply, and honestly, write about a book such as The Black Jacobins, and an event like the Haitian Revolution, without mentioning their absence from my academic training. The most honest approach would be to question the departmental structures that define intellectual boundaries linguistically and geographically, even though, as I became well aware, these constructed boundaries create gaping holes in historical and cultural understanding. I did not, after perusing the most recent literature on the field, feel compelled to summarize and bibliographize in the usually acceptable formats. I did not concern myself with certain books because they were considered to be indispensable, or texts written by friends or colleagues of the professor, or by star professors and proclaimed geniuses of the field, as this would have been the usual pre-formatted collage that I decided to evade. Instead, I wished to engage with my personal reading experience.
I completed the paper as honestly as possible and received it back shortly after. I looked to the last page where I expected to find some sort of in-depth commentary, suggestions, or at least a generalized reaction, but instead found a one-page handwritten complaint, no interesting observations, no constructive criticism. Beginning with the length:
“A long paper—perhaps more a reflection of and on your encounter with Haiti and its history than a research paper. The more personal approach is not inappropriate, given the ex-centric nature of our Haiti class. But it’s a pity that it came somewhat at the expense of solid research and structure.”
This “ex-centric class,” with very few students, was no more a justification for my personal approach as it was a symptom of institutional failure and evidence of the fact that Spanish language instruction machines, graduate students in Departments of Spanish and Portuguese, are encouraged to stay within the centralized vision of the Spanish speaking world in their doctoral studies, perhaps branching out to Portuguese texts as an afterthought, and to any other linguistic or geographical region, no matter the historical and cultural connections, as disconnected and disengaged acts of intellectual tourism.
My professor’s initial comment was followed by an expression of surprise about the fact that I hadn’t cited several important books on the topic, this is literally underlined in the last words of the complaint: “it’s a shame you didn’t do it.” This shameful absence of textuality, coupled with my lack of precision, which was highlighted by many short reminders throughout the essay to “be more precise,” spelled out my failure as a scholarly writer.
I did not expect much more, I actually got more than I expected. Direct proof of the pseudoscientific separation of “academic” and “creative” writing, “solid research” from “reflection.” This differentiation is a dangerous turn in the Humanities as it promotes the standard critical mediocrity kept alive by constant reiteration, recitation, and regurgitation of jargon in formats that leave all real critique aside. It is an expression of the fear of individual thought and self-reflection, perhaps what my professor called a “personal approach,” that makes academic writing sterile in every sense of the word. When one hears, “it should read like a scholarly essay,” does this word scholarly imply a bibliography? Are scholars simply bibliographers? Is scholarly freedom only expressed through the addition of a sentence here and there to an already exhausted conversation? Perhaps.
I attempted to avoid a bibliographic approach in my essay. In the conclusion, I wrote about the importance of vigilant historical education and active literary comparison in order to properly attack current situations that leave intellectuals tongue-tied, such as the War on Terror or intellectual censorship. Departmentalization, field studies, concentrations are words that mark and advertise closed-mindedness, blindness, an absence of historical sense, a lack of history in general. The façade of intellectual openness and the wide range of scholarly options in academia in some way conceals its active role in the spread of historical amnesia, which is kept alive for many reasons by the full spectrum of bureaucratic and educational institutions. This is something I grew up with and grew used to. In many ways a lack of historical consciousness marks my identity as an American. My reflective and personal essay on Haiti was an expression of my desire to counter the fear and ignorance built into the educational system. In conclusion, I wrote the following, the semblance of my own thoughts and intentions for writing the essay in the first place:
“Through the writing of this paper I realize that my initial questions need to be refined as studies are in fact being done on the Haitian Revolution, and classes are being taught here and there. My questions have become not why and how has Haiti been ignored, but more importantly why must it not be, what is it about this place and its revolution that make it essential to understanding the history of the Americas, of revolutions, of literature? Haiti is an example of an extended and extensive crisis of racism and colonialism. Being aware of Haitian history is important not only because it sheds light on events often ignored, or because it draws attention to Africa and Africans as important factors in world history, a fact often disregarded, or because it serves as a key piece in the puzzle to understanding slavery and Western Democratic Revolutions in general, but also because insights into Haitian history, such as those in The Black Jacobins, translate to contemporary situations and incite a necessary reflection on these situations. Throughout the paper I have suggested that Haitian history is fundamental to the understanding of American history and a history of the West in general, in part as the revelation of the darker side of colonialism and imperialistic power. The question of why one should study Haiti today can be answered by the fact that the struggle in Haiti has not ended. It is the poorest country in the Western hemisphere. It continues to directly suffer the consequences of colonization. What makes texts such as The Black Jacobins and studies of Haiti and the Haitian Revolution even more relevant today is that they serve as examples of the corruption of power inherent in empires. France’s desire for riches and gold, for all that Saint Domingue had to offer, can be paralleled to the current invasion of Iraq, where the most sought-after substance in the world, oil, is abundant. Oil today, like sugar cane yesterday. At this present time, the American empire has fully entered into an imperialistic phase marked by war, invasion and unchecked power. If any lessons are to be learned from the revolutions of the past, the study of the Haitian Revolution can shed much light on the complexity of revolutionary and territorial struggle when races and cultures clash. Toward the end of the Haitian Revolution, General Leclerc, the commander in chief of the French army wrote the following words to Napoleon in France as his army lay defeated, his men sick and dying: “We have in Europe a false idea of the country in which we fight and the men whom we fight against.” While the US is on a crusade to control key locations in the Middle East, there is no doubt that the message of freedom and the imposition of democracy is underpinned by a blinding belief in the superiority of Western ways and traditions. The words of Leclerc above warn against this dangerous tendency to rely on beliefs of racial and cultural superiority to decide what measures should be taken with others. These words also carry over to the present day and speak to the lack of information and knowledge that American citizens have about who we are fighting against and why. This ignorance goes beyond Iraq, as it can be said that Americans do not only have false ideas about who we are fighting, but rather we do not even know when and how we are fighting at all (the often forgotten War in Afghanistan, or the continuing War on Drugs in Colombia and other South American nations, to just give a few examples of this ignorance). The Haitian Revolution is only one of the many ignored or misplaced historical events, which bring to light recurring problematic themes that can be seen in current political and spiritual struggles, such as the War on Terror. Haiti, with its turbulent history of dictators and political unrest is a primary place to study the direct effects of varied forms of imperialism. In light of current events, the importance of the study of Haiti goes well beyond the need to expand our knowledge of its Revolution.”
The essay ended there. I decided to meet with my professor not because I wished to work toward a better grade, but because I was concerned about the comments made regarding my choices; specifically, that my writing a reflective essay was deemed to be acceptable in this case, implying that in other contexts it would not be. I explained to my professor that writing about my personal encounter with the material was the only honest option. I could not fit this encounter into a format and style that accounted for other people’s words. I did not feel that this would be appropriate, as I would be subscribing to a dubious structure that encourages ignorance and hypocrisy. It was a simple exercise, a final paper which I used as an opportunity to exercise and flex my writing muscles, explore my various reflexive modes and methods, instead of learning to seamlessly integrate and imitate other writers, carrying on with the circular scholarly tradition of never venturing out of the model and mold, the MLA citations, the Chicago Manual of Style, the expectations of what a term paper, or any writing should be.
My professor explained that my paper lacked “the edge” that was expected in graduate level papers. I could have attained this ‘edge’ if I would have done solid research and practiced proper academic writing techniques. What is this edge? It is the perpetuation of certain structures of writing, reading and thinking, which are kept in place so that the current university system can survive and thrive. My professor’s final suggestion was the following: “If you want to write reflectively perhaps you should consider a creative writing program.” Creative writing programs: programs to harness and format creativity. It seemed even creativity had no place in a department of Spanish and Portuguese in the mind of this typical professor, except within the boundaries of programmatic creative writing certifications. One who attempts to think, write or read for him or herself causes academics to be on edge, as this challenges the method and purpose of higher education as inoculation against intellectual freedom and creativity.