“Being Poloné in Haiti”

“Being Poloné in Haiti”

“Being Poloné in Haiti”

Origins, Survivals, Development, and Narrative Production of the Polish Presence in Haiti

Sebastian Rypson

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti”

“Being Poloné in Haiti”

Origins, Survivals, Development, and Narrative Production of the Polish Presence in Haiti

Sebastian Rypson

Doctoral Thesis
Student Number: 9619135
University of Amsterdam
Cultural Anthropology
Supervisor: Chris de Beet
Second: Mattijs van de Port
1 October 2007

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti”

“This is a footnote in history, and a history of footnotes...”

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti”

I dedicate this collection of narratives to Cazale and all moun

Kazal; mil fwa mèsi, ak tout kè’m

I would like to thank all those who have waited so long beg forgiveness of all those who have suffered for it,
and thus, all those who have made this thesis possible; I thank you all from the bottom of heart. Without the
following people I would not have seen this day; Babi, Chris de Beet, Gèri Benoît, Sylvain Benoît, ‘Tonton’ Brunvil,
Nahuel Blaton, Bruno Chojak, Joris van Diemen, Jean-Jules Emile, Sergo Étienne, Andlène Garçon, Sébastien Goy,
Marta Gnyp, The Staff at IFE, Leszek Kolankiewicz, Jadwiga ‘Baba’ Michalak, Wanda Michalak, ‘Tonton’ Milot,
‘Big’ John Moïse, Mayumi Nakazaki, The Staff at The Oloffson, Zbigniew Osiński, Mesye Parèt, Arie Plas, Piotr
Rypson, Paul Schaüblin, Jonas Zwitserlood . . . and a kiss for the three beautiful and much photographed princesses;
Estanya, Lovedine, and ‘Ti’ Vièrgeline . . . Monday 01:39 1 October 2007, Amsterdam

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti”

Table of Contents

Introduction 8
Motivation 12
Setting 14
Central Problems and Questions 16
Research Methods 18
Theoretical Approaches 19
Relevance 22

Origins 25
St. Domingue/Haiti 25
Bois Caïman 27
Napoleon and Leclerc 29
Background of the Polish Legions 29
Jablonowski 31
The Polish 3rd Half-Brigade/French 113th of the Line arrive at the Cap 32
The 2nd Battalion, the St. Marc Massacre, and the Polonais Noirs 33
The 3rd Battalion of the 3rd/113th Demibrigade of the Line 37
Rochambeau and Dessalines 38
The 2nd/114th Demi-brigade of the Line 39
Surrender 43
Independence 44
Emperor Dessalines and the Haitian Constitution 45
Aftermath 48

Survivals and Retentions 52

Polishness and Colour 53
Polishness in Vodou, Ezili Dantò of Częstochowa 57
Any Kowalski’s in Haiti? 63
Dancing and Music 67
Christmas Lanterns 68
Sayings and Proverbs 69
Architecture 70
(Post-)Colonial Inscriptions 72
Other Manifestations of Polish Presence in Haiti 74
Conclusion 78

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti”

Events, Memory, Narrative and Historical Production 82

Faustin Wirkus and the White King of La Gonâve 86

‘Papa Doc’ Duvalier and the Massacre of 1969 89

Mr. Blokowski, Detopski, and Grotowski visit Cazale 94
Jerzy Grotowski 100
Pope John Paul II visit to Haiti 102
Cazale’s Representative at the Top 109

Polishness & Dévlopman 113

Conclusion 122

References 129

Appendix: Internet Forums 139

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti”

Table of Illustrations

Fig. 1 - Satellite photo of Haiti 7

Fig. 2 - Satellite photo of Cazale 7
Fig. 3 - Cazale lying in the basin of the River Brethelle, as seen from Beilac 14
Fig. 4 - A favourite past-time of rural Haitian men; the cockfight, or gaguerre (or gagè) in Cazale 24
Fig. 5 - Cérémonie du Bois Caïman by Louverture Poisson 27
Fig. 6 & 7 - Polish Legionnaire 31
Fig. 8 - Polish Legionnaires on San Domingo by January Suchodolski 31
Fig. 9 - Massacre at St. Marc as depicted in "Ashes" by Andrzej Wajda 34
Fig. 10 - Jean Jacques Dessalines 39
Fig. 11 - Haitian Flag 39
Fig. 12 - Battle on San Domingo by January Suchodolski 43
Fig. 13 - The variations in racial phenotype of Cazaliens is striking; Cazaliens in KaDet and KaBelno,
both are habitations of greater Cazale 54
Fig. 14 - Variations in phenotype occurs frequently within families; Lovedine, Vièrgeline, Estanya 56
Fig. 15 – Vièrgeline 56
Fig. 16 - Our Lady of Częstochowa 61
Fig. 17 - Lithograph of Mater Salvatoris 61
Fig. 18 - The Black Virgin of Częstochowa on a Haitian backdrop, 1983 61
Fig. 19 – Erzulie Danthor by Camy Rocher 61
Fig. 20 - Purported headstone of "Zal"; mythical first Polish settler of Cazale; Cazale cemetery 64
Fig. 21 - Descendant sitting on his ancestors’ grave; the ‘Belnots’ 64
Fig. 22 - Haitian fanal or Christmas lantern 69
Fig. 23 - 'Polish-style' houses in KaBelno, Cazale 71
Fig. 24 - Fond Blanc; purported site of first Polish settlement 73
Fig. 25 - Poloné mother and her children in Fond Blanc 73
Fig. 26 - 'La Polonaise'; sign of part time disco/club/bar in Cazale 75
Fig. 27 - Vèvè, drawn symbol to invoke Ezili Dantò 80
Fig. 28 - The White King of La Gonave by Faustin Wirkus 87
Fig. 29 - Polish rewriting of The White King of La Gonave; Biały Król Gonawy by Jan Kilarski 87
Fig. 30 - Présence Polonaise en Haïti; published during the Pope's visit,
showing the Pope and Dessalines side by side 108
Fig. 31 - Geri Benoit interviewing an old Cazalien for documentary ‘Sang Melee’ 113
Fig. 32 - IFE sign 113
Fig. 33 - Poloné children at the home of Andlène Garçon; teacher and leading GCDC member 121
Fig. 34 - The local school; Lycee Jérémie Eliazer, partially funded by the GCDC 121
Fig. 35 - Poloné children in Cazale 128

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti”

Fig. 1 - Satellite photo of Haiti

Fig. 2 - Satellite photo of Cazale

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

Introduction

In 1802 and 1803 around five and a half thousand Polish Legionnaires embarked from the Italian port
of Livorno, bound for the French colony of Saint-Domingue in the Caribbean. They were sent as part
of an expeditionary force by the First Consul Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821) to quell the slave
revolt that had the richest colony of France in its grip. These Legionnaires, two demi-brigades,
volunteered to fight under Bonaparte in his imperialistic campaigns. They had aligned themselves with
Bonaparte assuming that he would deliver upon his promise to restore freedom to Poland and
Lithuania which were then under a three-fold occupation by the regional powers of Prussia, Russia and
the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
The Polish Legions was a curious institution in itself. Formed abroad after the third and final
partition of Poland (24 October 1795), it acted as a foreign legion and a welcome addition to
Napoleon’s troops, at that point waging war with the other European powers.
So what were these Poles doing, sweating under the sweltering sun of the Caribbean? The
conflict that brought the Poles to Saint-Domingue started in 1791 when the plantation owners in the
colony refused to accept the decreed abolition of slavery. First the mulattos and then the slaves
rebelled under the illusion that the revolutionary government in Paris would come to their aid. But
Saint-Domingue was too precious to lose and the French liberals were apathetic. When Napoleon
came to power he sent an enormous pacification army to quell the rebellious blacks and mulattos.
It was a cruel war, full of burning, looting, rape, murder and mass atrocities on both sides.
Some have described it as one of the first major colonial wars between two implacable enemies, where
genocide was the final, and perhaps only possible, outcome. This great army, in which the Polish
Legionnaires were initially fighting under their own colours, uniforms and officers, was doomed from
the start. The Poles, badly equipped, wearing uniforms which were totally unsuitable to the climate,
badly treated by the French, with their antiquated military honour and home-sick, so far from their
occupied motherland, were decimated by drowning, yellow fever, and the superior guerrilla tactics of
the rebellious former slaves.
On 1 January 1804, despite the arrival of further contingents of foreign ‘volunteers’, Toussaint
Louverture’s successor, the rebel general Jean-Jacques Dessalines, succeeded in proclaiming the
world’s first black republic: Haiti.
What happened to those Poles, so far away from their cherished homeland, who had jumped at
the possibility to volunteer in the Legions with the ultimate goal of liberating their country from
foreign domination and oppression?
This question is central to the present study. Their fate, that is, those that died, were interned
by the English or survived and were able to make it back to Europe, has been laboriously untangled in

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

the seminal works published by Jan Pachoński, the foremost authority on the history of the Polish
Legions. Through his diligent and painstaking archival research we can arrive at an approximation of
the number of Polish participants in the campaign in Saint-Domingue. Of the two Polish demi-
brigades, the Danube Legion (dunajska) and the Cisvistulian Legion (nadwiślanska), some 5280
soldiers participated in the St. Domingue campaign. Among them were some 200 officers, 111 of
whom were able to return to European shores. The soldiers and non-commissioned men fared less well,
only some 200 ever saw the possibility of attaching themselves to their officers and returning to
Europe. Of the remaining soldiers, some 4000 died from drowning, yellow fever, combat or in
captivity on the rotting pontoons the English kept on the Jamaican coast. The English enlisted 500
Legionnaires in their 60th foreign regiment, 200 emigrated to Cuba or the United States, and some 400
Polish Legionnaires finally stayed in St. Domingue, either by defecting to the former slave
revolutionaries, marrying local women, or being taken prisoner. At the end of the war in 1804, which
saw the birth of the Haitian nation, these forgotten survivors, by the magnanimous and generous
gesture of Dessalines, were able to make use of article 13 of the 1805 Haitian Constitution. They were
naturalised as Haitian citizens and enjoyed all the benefits of Haitian citizenship. These Legionnaires
and especially their descendants, form the subject of this thesis.
What were their reasons for staying in Haiti? Firstly, the French did not provide ransom
money to buy their freedom, so in all probability many of them were not able to make the trip back to
Europe. Secondly, these patriotic Poles had little to lose. Napoleon was far away, they had been
fighting a war which was not their own, they were trying to suppress a population whose ideals were
to be free and liberated from foreign tyranny, very close in fact to the ideals that had driven them
towards joining the Polish Legions; all they had to look forward to was a life of servitude under some
Polish, Russian, Austrian or German landowner or incarceration in a British prison.
It seems that these Polish freedom fighters merged into Haitian society and vanished into the
mists and myths of Haitian history. Forgotten in Europe, the story of the ex-Legionnaires was
apparently doomed to die with them and their descendants. Clearly this is not the case. My own
interest in the tragic events of the 1802-1803 campaign was aroused by casual remarks made by
Haitians whom I had met during my first trip to Haiti about my being Polish : “Oh-oh, se poloné ou
ye? Se bon moun yo ye” (“Oh really, you’re a Pole? They’re good people, they are”). Back in
Amsterdam, furiously scanning the Net, I came across two books which would be helpful for my
preparation. Lost White Tribes (Orizio 2000), the first book, is a well-written and creatively
documented description of the author’s search for largely forgotten, secluded communities of
descendants of former colonists in former colonies. Ricardo Orizio, an Italian journalist, visited Cazale
in 1996. In the context of finding ‘lost white tribes’ around the world in former colonies, he went to
Cazale to find the long-lost Polish one. The journalistic streak is evident in Orizio, as he deftly weaves
a story which swiftly, efficiently takes the reader from humour to sorrow, from upbeat potential to
melancholic nostalgia. There are few concrete references, no sources mentioned, yet it was the most

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

up-to-date information and ‘proof’ of the existence of a Polish community. I doubt if he was there
longer than a couple of days but his conversations with some of the inhabitants along with some
impressive archival material, in the form of letters of Legionnaires to their families or comrades as
well as military dispatches, interspersed with professional effectiveness within the text, was
immensely hopeful for me.
The second book, Poland’s Caribbean Tragedy (1985) by Jan Pachoński and Reuel K. Wilson,
was of a totally different order. It is a meticulous study of the turn of events in those last three years of
the military campaign. It describes the ambiguous and unfortunate situation of the Poles as well as the
fate of certain key-characters that figured in this colonial nightmare. It is an invaluable source that
recounts numbers, statistics and events with military precision (it is, after all, a historical account of a
military campaign).
However, these two publications aren’t the first revival of interest in this most curious history.
At the time of the campaign and the years directly following it, there were furious debates on the
conduct of the war in Saint-Domingue in the newspapers in France, the United States, Saint-Domingue
itself, and in all three of the occupied areas of partitioned Poland (especially in the Prussian
administered zone of Wielkopolska/Preussen-Posen and Gdańsk/Danzig). Later publications of
memoirs followed by those few Polish Legions officers who made it safely back to partition Poland.
Both the manuscripts and the newspapers seemed to seriously dwell on two matters. The first was
Polish disillusionment with Napoleon and suspicion of his sentiments towards the Polish cause. The
second; the hot debate on the question whether the Poles were actively defecting to the rebellious
blacks of Dessalines. This view was mainly expounded by the French. The Poles, on the other hand,
saw their conduct as exemplary, in spite of their strong reservations as to the conduct and even the
cause of this war; the loyalty of these committed soldiers was repaid with bad treatment, infamous
bad-mouthing, and non-payment for the great sacrifice that they had to suffer. Not to mention the
virtual annihilation of their Polish Legions, the proud young soldiers, cultivated so hopefully, who
were supposed to be the vanguard of the liberation of Poland and Lithuania from foreign yoke. These
memoirs were complimented by a continuous stream of Polish historians and buffs who, as Poland
was still occupied during the whole of the nineteenth century, were obsessed by foreign treachery vis-
à-vis Poland. Stanisław Schnűr-Pepłowski, with his Jeszcze Polska nie zginela. Dzieje Legionow
Polskich, 1796-1806. [Still is Poland not lost. History of the Polish Legions, 1796-1806], was a
notable example.
Later, around the 1920s, during the short-lived period of populist dictatorship and national
reconstruction, several noted historians turned their attention to the newly accessible national archives,
greatly added to by recent arrivals of archives such as the Rappersville Collection from Switzerland
and Sankt Petersburg Collection from Revolutionary Russia. These were: Szymon Askenazy
(Napoleon a Polska, III, [Napoleon and Poland] 1918), Artur Oppman (ed. Na San Domingo, [On San
Domingo] 1917) and A.M. Skałkowski (Polacy na San Domingo, [Poles on San Domingo] 1921)

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

among others.
Many of these authors based themselves on and referred to copies of a manuscript written by
two St. Domingue veterans; Kazimierz Lux and Bazyli Wierzbicki. The tangle of threads that make up
the story of its authorship is aptly described in Pachoński and Wilson’s Poland’s Caribbean Tragedy.
Suffice to say, that there are a great many inaccuracies which pervade through the manuscript, adding
to the general confusion of all the little threads of human behaviour that make up this story of Euro-
Afro-Caribbean cross-pollination.
From the 1950s to the 1980s a few Polish journalists and historians made the arduous journey
to the village of Cazale as well as other purported Polish communities. These journalists include
Budrewicz, Zakrzewski, Łepkowski, historian Pachoński, his American collaborator Wilson, and the
historian Corbett. All of them have written and published accounts of their trip but only Pachoński &
Wilson, Łepkowski, Madiou, Ardouin and Corbett have written anything (all of which are historical
works) that seems reasonably trustworthy, that is, academic objects which I could have possibly tested,
verified, or disqualified.
This trickle of information was responsible for heightened interest among the general public in
Poland at the time. One such revival came in 1974 with a soccer match between Poland and Haiti for
the world cup. The game invoked a renewed interest in the history of the Polish Legions in Haiti, as
well as those unfortunates who were forgotten and were obliged to stay.
Yet these revivals came and went as all revivals do in the modern world; first they generated
immediate mass interest only to subside and nestle into the comfortable sub-consciousness of
communal knowledge and public amnesia.
At last we come to the great Jan Pachoński who passed away in 1985, just as his American
collaboration was being published. He is widely accepted as the prime authority on the history of the
Legions. He is primarily responsible for the collection, compilation, and analysis of all the sources and
works before him that makes up the body of work that deals with this fluke of history.
There are other threads to this story. Staying true to the quirky character of this history, they
are also rather unbelievable.
A sergeant of the US marines, for example, sparked a first revival in the United States around
the 1930s. Faustin Wirkus, born of Polish parents, went to Haiti as part of the American Occupation
(1915-1934), and visited Cazale repeatedly during his tour of duty. After a three-year stint as king of
the island of La Gonâve, he was forced to return to the US where he published his memoirs; The White
King of La Gonave (1931).
Jerzy Grotowski (1933-1999) was a famous Polish dramatist who ventured to Haiti in 1980 to
search for Haitian vodou houngans (voodoo priests) and use them in his plays. He brought at least one
Poloné-Ayisyen, a man named Amon Frémon, ‘back’ to Poland and worked with him, together with
Haitian legendary artist group, Saint-Soleil, for eight or nine months. On the eve of Jaruzelski’s state
of emergency they were sent back to Haiti.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

One day in March 1983, two Catholic priests made their way up the steep road to Cazale.
They instructed the peasants to prepare themselves and be ready, wearing their traditional ‘Polish’
clothes, when they came for them again to bring them to a great celebration. The completely mystified
peasants changed into their best Sunday clothes and waited. A week later the two priests loaded
between ten and fifty Poloné-Ayisyens –those with the fairest skin- into a truck and unloaded the
hungry and tired peasants on the international airport of Port-au-Prince. Amidst thousands of Haitians
waving Haitian and Vatican flags, they stood there with Polish white and red flags and awaited the
Pope. Having kissed the ground twice, Karol Wojtyła walked over to the Poloné-Ayisyens where they
were given the opportunity to shake his hand. He delivered a speech and he seems to have promised
the Poloné-Ayisyens, on the grounds that being Poles both sides had the obligation to help each other,
some financial aid. It was in this context that several Haitian priests published a pamphlet with some
six pages of photographs on the Polish presence in Haiti.

Motivation

In the summer of 2001 I travelled to Haiti hoping to find something about the origins of the
relationship between Vodou and music. Earlier I had become interested in the relationship between
Voodoo –or Hoodoo in New Orleanian terminology- and music in New Orleans. Lack of funds
prompted me to do an orientation trip to Haiti – the source of Vodou in the New World - with the
additional advantage of two Vodou festivals taking place during the short period I was there. The sight
of a solitary white boy travelling around Haiti triggered the expected questions one usually gets when
sticking out like a sore thumb. Mentioning that I was Polish and interested in the history of Haiti
usually resulted in dumbfounded expressions of disbelief or rather, incomprehension. A couple of
times though, whilst speaking to more educated Haitians, I noticed surprising reactions of a
sympathetic nature, sometimes even an ‘Ah wi, Poloné yo, yo bon moun’. After a couple of instances
of this I took another glance at the ‘population & people’ section of my Lonely Planet. Surprised I read
the following:

In the small town of Cazales, north of Cabaret, one can find the anomaly of black-skinned,
blue-eyed people who sing and dance to traditional Polish folk music. These are descendants
of a Polish regiment from Napoleon’s army who were so sickened by the war against the
slaves in Haiti that they deserted in 1802, establishing a small community in the countryside.
The people of Cazales performed Polish folk dances to welcome Pope John Paul II on his visit
to Haiti in 1983. (Gordon 1999:331)

Unfortunately, due to lack of time, money and possibly even courage –an outburst of political violence
pinned me to my hotel for two consecutive days- I was unable to make the trip to Cazale. Back in

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

Amsterdam though, I found the afore-mentioned books dealing in some capacity or other with this
subject. They were, as mentioned above, Poland’s Caribbean Tragedy and Lost White Tribes, the latter
of which I bought and read immediately. Orizio devotes one chapter to these Haitians of Polish
descent: ‘Papa Doc’s Poles’. Orizio is a journalist and although in some cases he utilises archival
material (which hints to at least some research) to great effect, his story is much suited to serve
journalistic taste and style. Among other subjects that truly interested me, he briefly goes into the
possible origin of the name of the village, speculating that Zal might have been the surname or
nickname of the first Polish settler there. The Polish word żal signifies regret and, in the context of
Polish culture in general, it is combined with regret and longing; the longing to return to one’s
homeland.1 I mention this because it is the exact moment that I decided to devote all my energy and
concentration to the descendants of those long forgotten Legionnaires. The question of whether żal
was a nickname or actually means longing will be further discussed in the chapter ‘Survivals and
Retentions’. Suffice to say, I feel rather foolish now, remembering my somewhat patriotic sentiment,
yet it was also that initial sentiment that propelled me towards a more systematic approach. I started
delving into any material I could find on the subject, sifting through Warsaw University archives and
thereby greatly increasing the body of literature that might have aided me in my study. Having said
this it would be misleading to state that I had a lot of relevant literature on the subject. I have already
briefly summed up the nature of most of my literature, thus my aim was to fill up the academic void
with respect to the existence of individuals claiming Polish descent, ancestry or identity.
My interest in history has been a constant one, especially that history which has a connection
with Polish or Central and Eastern European history. The broad scale of narratives: journalistic-
sensationalistic, local-mythological (oral), and academic (mostly military strategic), has heightened
my awareness of the different sorts of histories that exist side by side. The three types above suggest a
complicated tangle of relationships between them, sometimes diverging, sometimes overlapping and
intersecting; yet always influencing each other.
My own personal history as Polish born, yet brought up in New Zealand, the Cook Islands,
and the Netherlands should not be overlooked. It may give insight into the question of subjectivity
versus objectivity that will certainly arise in the present study. My interest in the above perhaps
reflects (partly) subconscious questions as to my own identity. I mean, how Polish could I really be? I
can hardly be called a great carrier and reservoir of Polish culture. I certainly wish to avoid presenting
the reader with a student in extreme inner turmoil resulting from some grossly exaggerated identity
crisis. My only point being that reflecting on my own drive to do this research could provide me with
angles that I had not thought of before –one example being the role of men in the reproduction of
culture. Ultimately, it is the quirky nature of this fluke of history that draws me to delve deeper into the
intricacies of this historical narrative.

1
The word żal is immortalised in an old Góral (Polish mountain people) folk song; urging the home-sick Góral
to come back to his mountain region (the Hal); Góralu czy nie żal…

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

Setting

The republic of Haiti spans of 27,750 square kilometres. It takes up about a third of the island of
Hispaniola, to the East of Cuba, the other two thirds comprising the Dominican Republic. There are
around and about 7,000,000 inhabitants of which 95% are of ‘pure’ African origin, the other 5%
include whites, mulattos and ‘Syrians’.2 Haitians of Polish decent thus also constitute part of that 5%.
Importantly, 90% of all Haitians are monolingual in Kreyol. Thus it was imperative for me to learn
that language in order to communicate aptly with locals. According to historical sources no more than
400 to 500 Polish Legionnaires settled in Haiti. Although most had been concentrated in several
villages throughout Haiti, including St. Jean du Sud, Fond des Blancs, La Baleine, and Port Salut in
the Southern peninsula, the place where I did most of my fieldwork was named Cazale, the most well-
known Poloné community.

Fig. 3 - Cazale lying in the basin of the River Brethelle, as seen from Beilac

It takes about half an hour to an hour to get to Cazale from Cabaret by four wheel drive, depending on
the season. Although only some thirteen kilometres, the road to Cazale is in such disrepair that,
besides claiming several lives every year, it takes an inordinate amount of time to get to this Poloné
village. The upside of this snail-paced travelling is that one can observe Haitian rural life, as it

2
All immigrants from the Levant are generically referred to as ‘Syriens’.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

proceeds at much the same pace. The road –appropriately named the Kaka-bal-3 loosely follows the
Brethelle River upstream, towards the foothills where Cazale lies. Cazale proper begins as one crosses
the Pont-Sofie Bridge. Following the river closely now, one is immediately struck by the stark
contrast between the barren hills, denuded of the forests that must have once covered them completely,
and the lush palm groves, mango trees, and small banana plantations amongst which Cazale’s houses
are nestled. In general, lush tropical vegetation follows the river and settlements, starting from Cazale,
proceeding through Fond Blanc to the habitations of Dangoulard (Dangoula) and Enard (Ena) deep in
the mountains.4 The ‘centre’ of town is where the tap-taps stop at the edge of the river, across which is
the oldest section, KaBelno. Here, several Madam Saras sell their morning coffee, bisket, and soda
pop.
Cazale and the area around it, is much like any other Haitian rural community, rather poor,
overwhelmingly agricultural, scant evidence of state presence, a Tuesday market, and a plethora of
different denominations that have made rapid headway into the pluralism of Haitian spiritual and
religious life. It is in fact a very typical and ordinary village in West Haiti, as the administrative region
in which it lies is called. A very ordinary town with a rather unordinary and curious history of Polish
turncoat Legionnaires, marrying Haitian and African women, and settling in this particular valley and
basin of the River Brethelle (otherwise known as Béthel). What is so intriguing about Cazale is that
the village hardly differs from any other village of its size straddling a river. The only outstanding
qualities of this town are the very evident traces of European lighter skin, eyes, and hair, and the fact
that the people from Cazale especially, and in Fond Blanc to a lesser degree, seem to be very certain of
their Polish ancestry. 5 This is expressed in several limited ways, stories and gestures, but
fundamentally based on logic of: ‘Look at us, of course we are Polish’, often followed by: ‘in fact
there’s someone from Cazale that looks exactly like you’. Cazale is a village of about 5000-6000 souls,
poor, but not poverty-stricken by Haitian standards. Actually, as in nearly all facets of Haitian reality,
there is considerable confusion as to what exactly comprises the town of Cazale. To understand
Cazale’s geographic, as well as its administrative location, one has to understand Haiti’s subdivisions.
There are 9 departments (départements), 41 districts and 135 towns, each divided in communal
sections or extended villages. One such section communale is Cazale, one of four in the administrative
zone of Cabaret, which was declared a town in 1934. Cazale is one of the eleven habitations of the
section communale, and although the Cazaliens would hate to admit it, it is actually called the section
communale de Fond Blanc. At the time of research, the people of Cazale were at great pains not only

3
Kaka-bal is an alternative to CabaCal (road from Cabaret to Cazale); note that the word kaka (shit) is present
in the alternative.
4
Dangoula and Ena form the border of Section Communale de Fond Blanc, bordering on the Saut d’Eau region;
Haiti’s primary Vodou pilgrimage centre.
5
Other habitations that I visited which constitute the Section Communale de Fond Blanc and harbour tell-tale
traces of Polish descent are; Germain, Beilac, Dangoula, Ena, and Desables.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

to change the communal section to the name of Cazale, but also to upgrade its status to that of a town
with its own zone administrative.
There are several churches of which the Catholic one has the most prestigious geographical
position (on the shoulder of a hill overlooking the habitation of Cazale). Still, the other denominations
(mostly missionary protestant, Anglican, Church of God, Jehova’s witness, Pentecostal as well as three
or four Vodou temples (péristyles-vodou) together make up a slight majority in town. There is an office
of the Juge de Paix, a government-run elementary and secondary school – of which most Cazaliens
say that it is not very good - as well as an electricity plant, run on gasoline. At the time of my research
it was not running whatsoever, due to lack of communal will or possibility to pay for the gasoline
needed to run the plant. Housing in Cazale consists of a hodgepodge of wooden kay-pay, small brick
houses built in the last thirty years, new brick and concrete houses (built mostly by the more affluent -
though not necessarily more tasteful- of the town), new concrete church monstrosities, as well as the
aforementioned “Polish-style” houses. The town starts at the bridge (pont-sofie) and follows the
winding road until it reaches the tap-tap-stop on the bank of the river Brethelle, where the bridge over
to the other side of Cazale (KaBelno) used to stand until it was washed away during recent
overflowing of the river. This then was the setting of my fieldwork.

Central Problems and Questions

In preparing for my fieldwork in Haiti I had little material to go on. Sure, I had amassed a great body
of photocopies which in one capacity or other dealt with the subject at hand. But these were rather
curious items, excerpts from memoirs and history books, journalistic descriptions of the 1960s and 70s.
Hence my initial operationalisation of the questions, sub-questions, and problems that I expected to
come across was necessarily one with a wide range in which to delve. Obviously, during my fieldwork
(this was from April to July 2003) and engaging with my respondents, many questions and realities
that I had and carried with me with trepidation, fell into place as to the possibility of answering them
or even dealing with them.
I formulated my central problem in the following manner: “What is still to be found/remains
of the so-called Polish Presence in Haiti?” By “Polish Presence” I mean; those individuals or
collectives who claim Polish descent, in one way or another, as part of their individual or collective
consciousness, and which is expressed in one way or another. In the off-chance that no people claimed
Polish descent or Polish-derived identification, I would focus on those people that are externally
categorised (yet internally do not define themselves as such) as an ethnic group or a social category of
people by other Haitians, as well as those Haitians who do the categorising. Soon after I arrived in
Haiti I found that there was at least one community (the one in Cazale), where people claimed Polish
descent. What interested me was on which level they identify with Polishness or, put differently, in

18
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

what way does their identification with Polishness manifest itself. I distinguished three different, yet
interrelated, areas of cultural praxis. 1. Material Culture (religious, farming, ceremonial, ritual or
household articles or paraphernalia, also musical instruments, religious icons, visual representations,
architecture, and such) originating from the Polish soldiers or their purported descendants. Also, that
which is internally defined as being of Polish or Euro- (Afro-) American manufacture. 2. Ceremonies,
rituals (religious or secular, birth, death, marriage, conflict, agricultural, etc.), customs, folklore, food,
dances and music which are internally or externally defined as being of Polish (or their descendants’)
origin. 3. Oral traditions: myths, folk-tales, commentaries, oral histories, individual or collective
memories and histories, proverbs, classifications, definitions and categorisations, all dealing with the
presence of Poles and/or their descendants in Haiti. Because my subject is historical, I also focussed
on historical publications, written documents, pamphlets, newspaper accounts, constitutional articles
etc. within and outside of Haiti dealing with the presence of Polish descendants. I also tried to find
manifestations of Polishness in what I call ‘(post-)colonial inscriptions’; those names of places, events
and geographical features that refer, somehow, to the Polish Legions and their participation in the
Haitian war of Independence.
Although not yet classified as such, I ‘so-called’ the ‘Polish Presence’ because I etically
categorised the Polish Legionnaires and their descendants who have retained a certain measure of
distinctiveness, and those Poles who came after the first wave of Polish settlers, under the generic term
of “Polish Presence in Haiti”. This broad term encompasses human and non-human, material and
immaterial culture.6 I realise that I often use ‘Polishness’ and that the term is rather tenuous; what
constitutes ‘Polishness’? Because I depart from the assumption that ‘Polishness’ in itself, and
Polishness in Haiti in particular, constitutes a whole debate on its own, I limit myself to defining
‘Polishness in Haiti’ as that which is considered ‘Polish’ by Haitians from within the Poloné-Ayisyen
community, as well as by Haitians outside of that community. Knowing now that there are remains of
Polishness in Haiti as well as how they are manifested (that is – based on what?), the question arises;
why are there remains of Polishness in Haiti? Why do Haitians and foreigners, Poles and non-Poles,
Haitians of Polish descent and Haitians of non-Polish descent, keep the narrative of Polish
Legionnaires and their descendants in Haiti alive?

6
During my stay in Haiti, there was enough evidence that there was indeed an “external categorisation and
definition of Haitians of Polish descent.” Foreign publications are very clear on this; furthermore, many Haitians
were quite adamant about the existence of such a group of people in Haiti.

19
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

Research Methods

It seemed logical to carefully research all literature pertaining to the Polish participation in the St.
Domingue campaign as well as the little that has been written on the subject of their descendants; in
libraries on this side of the Atlantic (Amsterdam, Warszawa, Kraków) as well as in Haiti and the US
(Library of Congress). To augment this I planned to use participant observation as well as interviews,
using them, in the case of Haitian Polonés, as commentaries on the myths, histories and stories
gathered among Western and Polish sources on the one hand, and Haitian historians on the other. With
regard as to how I came in contact with my informants, I used the so-called snowball method, using
my key-informant as starting point and progressing through to the people who were referred to or, as
was often the case, the people who came by of their own volition as they wished to say something on
the matter. My key-informant and gatekeeper was Géri Benoît, former First Lady of Haiti. I had met
her some ten days after I arrived in Haiti and we immediately developed a close relationship based on
shared interests and personal friendship. Born to Cazalien parents, she has written a master’s thesis on
Cazale’s developmental issues. Her hospitality and support for my own research were overwhelming.
In Cazale, I was allowed to stay with her father, Sylvain Benoît, an affable and hospitable man who
was instrumental in teaching me Kreyol. Géri Benoît also introduced me to Jean-Jules Emile,
responsible for my general well-being, translation, and incorporation into the Cazalien community.
Through Jean-Jules, I met Andlène Garçon, teacher at the local school in Cazale, who patiently
answered all my awkwardly formulated questions. Pastè Justin, taken in by Cazalien families as a boy,
was widely considered an authority on Cazale’s history; he was instrumental in providing a local
version of Cazale’s history. Two of Géri Benoît’s uncles, tonton Milot and tonton Brunvil, adopted me
and made me feel as if I was family, as was often stressed. I quickly became close friends with Sergo
Etienne, Benoît’s chauffeur, and he was central to a comprehensive understanding of Haiti’s society, as
well as another of my tutors in Kreyol. However, Géri Benoît was instrumental in providing access to
all these individuals and others, without her support I doubt if I would have been able to do my
research in such a relatively easy, informative, and enjoyable fashion. The Poloné-Ayisyens were not
the only informants I interviewed; in order to unravel the Grotowski-connection with Haiti I came into
contact with several Polish Grotologists7 or people who had worked with Grotowski. My interviews
with Poloné-Ayisyens started with questions based on the operationalisation of my central problem and
sub-questions, translated into Kreyol by my minder and friend, Jena-Jules Emile. Later I had mastered
Kreyol enough to go to interviews on my own and subsequently I also redirected my questions
according to the relevance for each informant. I turned to literature such as the Monographie de
Cazale (2002) for my statistics concerning Cazale and the area around it. As for the statistics

7
Grotologistis [Pol.: Grotolog], dramatologists specialised in the life and work of Jerzy Grotowski.

20
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

concerning the Polish Legionnaires during the St. Domingue campaign, I turned to Poland’s
Caribbean Tragedy and Pachoński’s Polacy na Antylach i Morzu Karaibskim [Poles on the Antilles
and the Caribbean Sea] (1979). For the most part however, my research can be squarely fitted into the
qualitative domain, both interviews as well as research on literature, with a strong concentration on
text analysis.

Theoretical Approaches

As should be apparent from the above, a speculative approach and an historical perspective lie at the
basis of my research. It is therefore unsurprising that I found the works of Mintz and Price extremely
helpful. In An Anthropological Approach to the Afro-American Past: A Caribbean Perspective (1976)
the authors present a general anthropological approach to Afro-American culture and history. Their
approach, as is mine, is “. . . speculative and the characteristics of our “baseline” are often generalized
from scanty data” (1976:1). Their understandings and assumptions on the subject of continuities and
retentions of cultural materials among Afro-Americans seemed to be highly applicable to the way the
‘Polish’ cultural institutions might have developed in Haiti during their 200 year history. For example,
they argue that “…no group, no matter how well equipped or how free to choose, can transfer its way
of life and the accompanying beliefs and values intact, from one locale to another” (1976:1).
They elaborate upon this when discussing perceived continuities, so-called ‘africanisms’,
which were identified by earlier Afro-Americanists (Herskovits and Frazier) as existing in the
Americas. For Mintz & Price, formal continuities and perceived similarities between the Old World
and the New should be viewed sceptically. Careful historical research of these said continuities
reduces the number of convincing cases greatly yet hints at new levels of continuity, at the syntactic,
aesthetic and cosmological levels. The formal similarities then, are not evidence of static retentions or
survivals but are rather products of independent development and innovations, within historically
related and overlapping sets of broad aesthetic ideas.
This is an approach I will give much consideration to in developing perspectives within my
present study. Their discussions of Afro-American culture could, as I saw it, fruitfully be applied to my
study of what I think, is a Euro-Afro-American culture. The following excerpt clearly denotes the
relationship between ethnography, history, and speculation. I urge the reader to exchange ‘Afro-
American’ for ‘Euro-Afro-Caribbean’.

We have been suggesting that a firm grounding in what is known as the past of Afro-
American peoples can enhance our understanding of their present, much as the study of the
present provides clues that can be carried fruitfully into archival research. Some additional
emphasis on the uses of the past is called for, certainly not to the exclusion of ethnography,
but as a corollary, particularly in the case of Afro-American cultures. Given the tension-ridden

21
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

initial situations in which enslaved Africans found themselves, we believe that one promising
strategy –though by no means the only one- for plotting the rise of Afro-American cultures
would be to focus on the beginnings, from which we can work forward, rather than simply to
extrapolate backward on the basis of perceived similarities with Old World cultures.
(Mintz & Price 1976:32)

Mintz and Price therefore used both documentary materials and speculation to try to understand the
basic conditions under which the migrations of enslaved Africans occurred. I planned to use oral
history as a supplement to these approaches as Price himself has done in later books, most notably
First-Time (1983), The Convict and the Colonel (1986), and Alabi’s World (1990).
So what speculations did I make, based on the scanty documentary material that I had been
able to get my hands on? I knew that the Polish Legions were a military outfit that was, at least
formally, based on voluntary choice. This entailed strong patriotism on behalf of those who joined the
Legions, as well as a strong egalitarian bent as the Legionnaires had strong republican sympathies. So,
if these volunteer Legionnaires were patriotic concerning their nationality, it seemed likely that they
must’ve gone to some pains to preserve their Polishness, whatever that might have meant. Continuities
might be sought in forms of land-tenure, food and taste, spatial organisation of their humble abodes,
folk-medicine, festivities (mainly religious, prevalent in 18th century rural Poland), etiquette, familial
relations and customs, leisurely games, hair-, moustache- and beard styles, etc. As they were soldiers, I
embarked on delving into the military customs of 18th century Legionnaire culture. I was thinking here
of weaponry, morals on military honour, military dances and music.
Hence, I set upon reading about several possible areas in which Polish culture could have been
continued or retained, bearing in mind that these would have almost certainly have been subject to
modification, adaptation, hybridisation and syncretism, so that I might at least identify ‘Polish-
looking’ aspects of culture. In the process of so doing I would try to ascertain whether this is indeed
perceived as Polish by my informants. This approach thus had significant influence upon my
methodology. In addition to participant observation, my aim was also to get commentary on questions
as to the Polishness of an aspect of their daily praxis. It would be interesting to see what aspects of
culture, that is, “complex repertoires which people experience, use, learn and ‘do’ in their daily lives,
within which they construct an ongoing sense of themselves and an understanding of their fellows”
(Jenkins 1997:14), they would present as Polish and which aspects of Polish continuity –as I identify
them- they did not attach special significance to.
There is of course another problem that I had to address. What category of people was I
dealing with here? Following the Barthian model (Barth 1969) and further elaborations by Jenkins
(1997) I had to address the question of whether the Poloné-Ayisyens identify themselves in terms of
‘us’ and ‘them’. This is central to the question as to which terms they employ in the process of social
organisation; what do they call themselves, nominally speaking? In dealing with this problem I was to

22
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

study the processes and practices whereby ethnicity is socially constructed, that is to say, by which
categories of ascription and identification do the actors distinguish themselves from ‘Others’ (Jenkins
1997:17-19). Thus ethnic identity is seen as an aspect of social organisation. I hoped to identify the
imagined, though not imaginary, boundaries which are presented, produced, and reproduced by the
actors as being of significance in their conceptions of themselves and others. I also wanted to critically
investigate the basis of identification and the ideology that springs forth from that basis. Possible self-
identifications might be kinship, communality, regionality, co-residence, ethnicity, nationality or ‘race’
(1997:85). This could give me insight as into how ‘strongly’ ethnic identity is seen as an important
organisational aspect in their self-definition.
Because of the limited data that I had access to at the time, I was fully aware of the possibility
that the Poloné-Ayisyens might not exist as a socially defined group at all. Although the data I did have
did point to the existence of such a group, no independent ethnographic material was known to me that
stated beyond doubt that they did indeed exist. Hence, I devised a plan B, the logical sequel to my first
sub question: ‘Are there any individuals in Haiti who claim Polish ancestry, if so, based on what, and
how this is expressed?’ Thus the subsequent question was: “If not? What stories circulate within and
outside of Haiti about the existence of Poloné-Ayisyens?”
The Barthian model was insightful here. Ethnic groups, according to Barth, are not simply
defined internally, they are also externally defined and socially categorised. This is important because
both these mutually interdependent yet theoretically distinct social processes -- internal and external
definition – are of importance in the production of what we know as identity.
In the context of my pending fieldwork, this realisation was useful for it left an entire avenue
open within which I could inquire into the sources of the myth (in the unlikely event that the Polonés
did not exist) of the Haitian Poles. Practically speaking, my focus would shift from the Polonés to
those Haitians who were able to tell me something about the Poles that settled in Haiti. This could
range from recounting what happened in the Haitian Revolution and the Polish role in that war to
where the purported Poles are reported to reside. Once in the region I would go to both the villages
which were said to be Polish as well as to the villages of the villagers who said so. In this way I would
be chasing a myth, the myth of the Poloné-Ayisyens in Haiti. I try to track down, find, and interview
Haitians who in some way contributed to the myth of the said Poles in Haiti. In sum, I would try to
delve into the role the Polish myth/history plays in the corpus of stories and oral traditions Haitians
employ to give meaning and significance to the story of the Haitian Poles.
In addition, I would try to find anything tangible about these Poles. By tangible I mean
something which is clearly ‘there’: political pamphlets which, in some way, deal with the Polish
Presence, local Haitian historical publications about the Poles, census reports, registers. Also, (post-)
colonial inscriptions: place names, crossroads, mountains, et cetera which could somehow give me
avenues to further inquire about them among the local populace.

23
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

As my fieldwork progressed, I found that stories about the Polish Presence in Haiti were
becoming ever more central to my thesis. Being fully historical in nature, Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s
Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (1995) was immensely helpful in putting the
Poloné-Ayisyen narrative in a theoretically historical context. In the production of history, Trouillot
sees “. . . power [a]s constitutive of the story” (1995:28). Silencing the Past mainly deals with “. . . the
many ways in which the production of historical narratives involves the uneven contribution of
competing groups and individuals who have unequal access to the means for such production”
(Trouillot 1995: xix). However, “. . . what makes some narratives rather than others powerful enough
to pass as accepted history if not historicity itself? If history is merely the story told by those who won,
how did they win in the first place? And why don’t all winners tell the same story?” (1995:6). Perhaps
I am not so much concerned with Trouillot’s focus on power and silences in this particular historical
production. It is rather the flip-side of the coin that I am interested in. I will focus on what Trouillot
calls the mentions (the utterances) of the various historical narratives of the past two hundred years.
For the Poloné-Ayisyens and their Polish progenitors never really had the power to produce their own
historical narrative outside of their own specific localised community. Indeed, although they were
winners in a certain sense – they backed the winning horse as it were-, their lack of written artefacts,
their inability to take control of the archives of their own history, has rendered them incapable of
reproducing their own history to the outside world, especially the historical guild. Because of this lack
of power, it seems the historical guild (the historians, researchers, journalists – Haitian as well as
foreign) have taken the Polonés’ story out of their own hands. In the case of the Poloné-Ayisyen
historical narrative, I believe that several events have had a profound effect on how the Poloné-
Ayisyens and their history have been seen and interpreted. Thus, following Trouillot again, I will
concentrate on “. . . determining not what history is –a hopeless goal if phrased in essentialist terms-
but how history works. For what history is changes with time and place or, better said, history reveals
itself only through the production of specific narratives. . .” (Trouillot 1995:25).
In a vein closely connected to Trouillot’s understanding of narrative production, Cohen (1989)
has attempted to overcome the rigidity of thinking with which ‘oral tradition’ has often been
approached. I found an analogy in his paper explaining the fluid, unceremonious, everyday manner in
which knowledge of the past in Busoga society is organised, with the off-hand way in which the
Cazaliens express their history.

Relevance

One may wonder who is actually dying of suspense, waiting for a story about some freakish anomaly
in the colonial history of the Caribbean? My use of various discussions and treatments of Afro-
American history of culture, leads me to believe that I could inject some new blood into perspectives

24
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

on the development of culture among identifiable social groups throughout Caribbean slave societies.
Let me explicate with an example here: Mintz and Price, when dealing with the question of specific
continuities of culture retained by specific ethnic groups –for example the Dahomeys (Fon) in Haiti
(1976:8) - show great scepticism towards the hypothesis of direct continuity between the Old and the
New World.
The Polish-Caribbean case seems to be, paradoxically, a useful one for inquiry into the
question of cultural continuity. The settling Poles, whether they were free or slaves –the sources I have
looked into so far are very ambiguous about this issue- were at least a highly visible group of men.
Furthermore, they seem to have been in much the same situation as newly arrived African ethnic
categories –except for the lack of Polish women; they recruited these from the local Afro-Caribbean
population- insofar as they too did not have the means or the power to consolidate their position as a
ruling class.
The most relevant concept for any New World culture, but especially for those in the Afro-
American culture, is hybridisation with at its core a great deal of improvisational creativity. My current
research might well fit into these discussions. In my view the Polish Caribbean case could be a
welcome complement to theories dealing with syncretism, hybridisation, creolisation and other such
forms of melange in the Caribbean context. Not only would this case (with, instead of a African, an
Euro-Afro- Caribbean creolisation in the New World) be an insightful case and a healthy complication
of contemporary predominant representations of Caribbean culture, but also one which clearly needs
documentation, of whatever nature, to clear the clouds and mists concerning the so-called Polish
Presence in the Caribbean. This brings me back to my motivation. There are two main reasons for this
thesis; on the one hand I am intrigued by this story, its fascinating twists and turns through the course
of Euro-Caribbean history, on the other, I am compelled to document what little is known about it,
however marginal it might seem. Perhaps I do this out of gratitude for the kindness that was bestowed
upon me by the Cazalien community. More importantly, I believe that it is necessary to document and
present the historical narrative of a group of people who have, for so long, not had the opportunity to
do so themselves.

In this thesis I concentrate on several facets of the historical production process. I start by focussing on
the narratives that have been presented as facts by the historical guild, the academics, the historians,
the written artefacts that count as history in the academic sense. This will be dealt with in the chapter
‘Origins’. It deals with those first few years starting from the first landing of a Polish Legionnaire on
St. Domingue soil; metaphorically speaking: the seed which was planted in Haitian soil and which has
made possible the development of the Poloné-Ayisyen story. Each subsequent turn of events represents
a growth of a branch, a pruning of the tree, each flower or fruit represents a defining moment in the
development of the Poloné-Ayisyen story. I follow by concentrating on those cultural manifestations in
Haiti which have somehow been categorised as being Polish-derived; Poloné-Ayisyen. The chapter

25
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Introduction”

‘Survivals and Retentions’ deals with these cultural manifestations, and analyses them regarding
accuracy and relevance, both internally; for the Poloné-Ayisyens, as well as externally; for foreign
observers, especially historians and journalists.
In the ‘Events, Memory, Narrative and Historical Production’ chapter, I deal with several
specific events that in my view have had a major effect on the discourse about the Poloné-Ayisyens.
They are also, I believe, some of the defining moments in which the Poloné-Ayisyen story has
evolved. These events do not include the events at the inception of the Poloné-Ayisyen historical
narrative; the events that take place during the Haitian Revolution are dealt with in the ‘Origins’
chapter. Next, in the ‘Polishness and Dévlopman’ chapter, I deal with how the two most important
facets of the Poloné-Ayisyen existence intricately interweave to form one narrative; indeed, a narrative
about themselves: their inherited identity and development. This chapter serves as a counterpoint to
the suggestion that the historical inheritance of the Poloné-Ayisyens is the most important subject in
their daily praxis. Finally, in the conclusion I summarise what I have been able to glean from my
fieldwork and research.

Fig. 42 - A favourite past-time of rural Haitian men; the cockfight, or gaguerre (or gagè) in Cazale

26
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

Origins

The following is an attempt at an historical narrative which tries to explain the presence of Poloné-
Ayisyens in Haiti. But how does one decide where such a narrative commences? To cite Trouillot;
“[w]e may assume for purposes of description that the life history of an individual starts with birth.
But when does the life of a collectivity start? At what point do we set the beginning of the past to be
retrieved?” (1995:16). In order to contextualise the presence of Polish descendants in Haiti, one must
explain the circumstances under which some five and a half thousand Polish Legionnaires first set foot
on the conflict-ridden soil of St. Domingue. And in order to understand those circumstances one must
understand the immediate conditions in which both the colony of St. Domingue and the Polish
territories found themselves at the end of the 18th century.
The following historical context begins with a necessarily concise generalised overview of the
French colony of Saint-Domingue and the events leading to the only successful slave revolt ever to
result in the birth of an independent nation. It proceeds with the context surrounding the Haitian
Revolution (1791-1804) and describes its principle actors. From there I will describe the pre-
conditions which made possible the participation of the Polish Legions in the Saint-Domingue
campaign and their subsequent transformation, after the Haitian victory over the French, into the
‘Black Poles of Haiti’. An important aspect for the Polish descendants on Haiti is the existence of the
Haitian Constitution, granting the remaining Poles on the island Haitian citizenship. This chapter
strictly deals with the origins of the Poloné community in Haiti; thus the narrative ends with the death
of Dessalines in (1806), benefactor of the marooned Polish Legionnaires in the independent country of
Haiti after 1804. Important events which have had bearing on the Poloné-Ayisyen community after the
death of Dessalines, such as the entrenchment of colour as a social fixture of Haitian social reality; the
American Occupation (1915-1934) and the crowning of King Faustin Wirkus on the island of La
Gonâve; the Massacre of 1969 in Cazale, the best known community of Poloné-Ayisyens in Haiti; the
visit of legendary Polish dramatist Jerzy Grotowski (1980-81); and the visit of Pope John Paul II
(1983) will all be dealt with in the chapter: ‘Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production’.

St. Domingue/Haiti

To the east of Cuba lies the island of Hispaniola, divided into the Dominican Republic and Haiti. The
original inhabitants of this vast island were the Taíno Amerindians. They called this large island
simply ‘Hayti,’ or ‘mountainous country’. When Columbus weighed the anchor of the Santa María at
what is now Môle St. Nicolas on 5 December 1492, he christened the island Ysla Espagnola. On
Christmas Eve of the same year the Santa María drove aground at what is now called Limonade, 10

27
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

kilometres east of Cap-Haïtien. The local Taíno caciques8 helped salvage the wreckage and Columbus
built a fort on the beach out of its timbers. The first colony in the New World was born. The Taíno’s
help was repaid with smallpox and slavery and the annihilation of the whole indigenous population in
what can only be considered total genocide fifty years later. The tone had been set; the island was to
be a land built on the backs of slaves and their blood. Although King Ferdinand of Spain granted a
royal licence for the first official shipment of African slaves in 1510, Africans were already present on
the island before 1503, and the first cases of ‘marronage’ of Africans had already been recorded.9
By 1659, the French had already forced their way firmly into the north-western part of the
10
island. They established the capital at Le Cap and French Saint-Domingue speedily developed into a
full-blown cash-crop slave-plantation society, producing sugar, cocoa, coffee, indigo and cotton. The
slave-trade intensified with the founding of the Compagnie des Indes Occidentales in 1664. Prompted
by the expansion of plantation-economy, a staggeringly high mortality-rate, and to a lesser degree,
marronage, the importation of slave labour increased in leaps and bounds. By 1791, the slave
population totalled at least 500,000. 11 To accommodate regularisation of the growing number of
slaves, Louis XIV issued the Edit Touchant la Police des Isles de l’Amérique Française in 1685, better
known as the ‘Code Noir.’ This document accorded limited human rights to the slaves and established
restrictions, limitations, responsibilities, and sanctions for both masters and slaves. 12 Importantly,
freedom from slavery was made possible by the process of affranchissement, whereby the masters
could liberate a slave, who would then become an affranchi, enjoying “. . . the same rights, privileges
and immunities of persons born free” (Heinl 1996:25).
As Saint-Domingue developed into what became known as the ‘pearl of the Antilles’, the
chasm between the different social strata of the colony was widening as well. By the third quarter of
the 18th century the situation was the following: the black majority was living in abject poverty and
unendurable humiliation. An ever more economically powerful and self-conscious affranchi-class was
being politically and socially marginalised. A conservative planter’s class was scared witless to lose
their privileged position to the ‘degenerate mûlatres’. Finally, a class of petit-blancs, poor and
uneducated, had the superiority of their skin challenged by a successful class of darker-skinned men
and women.
Meanwhile, back in the French motherland, as Louis XVI was convening the États Généraux
on 1 May 1789, a sharp polemic erupted between the newly-founded Société des Amis des Noirs,

8
Caciques were the traditional tribal chiefs of the indigenous Taino in pre-Columbian Hayti.
9
Resistance through flight into the mountainous interior. In Spanish Santo Domingo, Marrons were the cattle
herds that had escaped and roamed freely on the island.
10
Permanently delineating their territory (27,844 km2 to Spain’s 50,000 km2) at the Treaty of Aranjuez (1777).
11
Madiou (1987 [1848]) estimates the number at 700,000.
12
Although sexual relations between Europeans and Africans were forbidden, the steady rise of lighter-coloured
children born from European fathers and African mothers further enlarged the affranchi class. As this class grew,
it steadily acquired more economic clout. These free hommes de couleur were repeatedly denied the rights
accorded them by the code noir. This would prove to be the catalyst of what would later become known as the
Haitian Revolution.

28
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

agitating to reclaim the rights of the mûlatres on the one hand, and the Société Correspondante des
Colons Français, intent on preserving the status quo. By October of 1789, Louis XVI was forced to
give royal endorsement to the ‘Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen’. The first article,
claiming that “All men are born and live free and equal in their rights,” was a serious blow to the
aspirations of the St. Domingue planters. Suspecting that the Assemblée might eventually vote for
emancipation of the mûlatres, the French colons of St. Domingue organised their own Colonial
Assembly. Unrest between the blancs and the mûlatres intensified in the colony, exploding when
Vincent Ogé, one of the most influential hommes de couleur, rallied the mûlatres in the North and was
immediately declared a rebel. Deciding not to raise the slaves of the North (an anathema to most slave-
holding mûlatres), Ogé found himself at the head of an inferior force up against the colonial National
Guard. He was captured; his limbs and ribs were broken at the wheel, and Ogé slowly died an
excruciating death.
While the mûlatres and the blancs were battling over socio-political space, the more than half
a million slaves, many freshly imported and thus born free, watched from the sidelines. Although slave
uprisings were well-known in St. Domingue13, few contemporaries could conceive of African slaves
organising a general uprising. For this underestimation or, as Trouillot nicely puts it; the “. . .
contention that enslaved Africans and their descendants could not envision freedom –let alone
formulate strategies for gaining and securing such freedom- was based not so much on empirical
evidence as on ontology, an implicit organization of the world and its inhabitants. . .” (1995:73), the
colons later paid a heavy price.

Bois Caïman

Fig. 5 - Cérémonie du Bois Caïman by Louverture Poisson

13
The first recorded slave uprising against the Spanish was in 1522.

29
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

The blancs were effectively destroying any hope of blanc-mûlatre reconciliation and alliance against
an ever more menacing black population. In the meantime, a slave-overseer named Boukman,
originally from Jamaica, was secretly organizing nocturnal meetings throughout 1791, with
representatives from all the surrounding plantations in the remote wood of Bois Caïman in the North.
That summer of 1791, many future leaders of the slave revolution were present at the conspirational
gatherings, such as Jeannot, Jean François Papillon, Biassou and possibly even Toussaint Bréda, later
to become the invincible revolutionary leader Toussaint Louverture. The last meeting on 14 August
1791 at Bois Caïman had all the trappings of a Vodou ritual.14 The celebrants drank the sticky warm
blood of the sacrificed animals and pledged to drive all the blancs into the sea. The prophetic meeting
was quickly dispersed by a raging thunderstorm. Eight days later, an all-encompassing general
uprising broke out. On 22 August, just after nightfall, the beat of the drums changed into the staccato
rhythm of the Petwo rite. The slaves from the plantations of the North rose up, murdered their masters
and torched the vicinity of the Plaine du Nord. In the years that followed the fighting continued
erratically, with atrocities as well as negotiations between all sides; noir leaders against Frenchmen in
the North; mûlatres and noirs fighting blancs as well as each other in the East; slave-holding mûlatres
and royalist blancs fighting petits-blancs canaille in the West; and royalists and Jacobins fighting each
other throughout the divided colony.
Throughout this confusing helter-skelter of bloodshed, one Toussaint Bréda, better known
now as Toussaint Louverture, was making himself indispensable to the French with his military
genius, thrusting back the recently encroaching English and Spanish.15 Toussaint was so successful in
his military strategy that by 1801 he had both the French and the Spanish side of Hispaniola under his
control. Toussaint envisioned Saint-Domingue as a special colony within the French empire, where
slavery would be abolished, and saw himself as its dictator for life. The piqued Napoleon decided to
end this outrage and ordered Toussaint to be arrested. On 6 June 1802, Toussaint Louverture was
deceitfully arrested as he came to discuss administrative issues after being summoned by the French
military command. He was whisked off to France and locked up in Fort Joux in the Jura Mountains
where he died on 7 April 1803 from torture, hypothermia, or poisoning. Ironically, he would have
been the only one who could have kept the colony for France.

14
In the role of houngan and mambo, Boukman and Marilèn sacrificed the native Haitian black pig in honour of
Papa Legba, Ogou Feray, and Ezili Dantò (recently arrived in the developing Vodou pantheon in the vengeful
Petwo rite – later represented by the Black Madonna of Częstochowa).
15
Born a slave around 1745, Toussaint started out as herdsman and then coachman on a plantation in the
Northern Plain. When he joined the uprising, he served as doctor and literate negotiator, and was quickly able to
manoeuvre into a dominant position within the insurgent army. Courting Royalist Spain in Spanish Santo
Domingo, he became a full colonel in the Spanish army, with a full-fledged fighting force of some 4000 well-
trained soldiers, training such important military leaders such as Jean Jacques Dessalines, his bloody successor
and ultimate victor of the Haitian Revolution.

30
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

Napoleon and Leclerc

On 9 November 1799 Napoleon Bonaparte became First Consul of France. As inconsistent as the
Directory was towards the status of St. Domingue and towards its warring inhabitants, so clear was
Bonaparte’s vision of the troubled colony’s future. Bonaparte would have none of the liberational
rhetoric of the French16 and Black Jacobins.17 He did not waste much time recruiting troops for the
relatively lucrative colonial service, and put his brother-in-law, General Leclerc, in command of the
colonial military campaign.18 From Genoa, Livorno in Italy, Amiens, and Marseille in France and
Cadiz in Spain, about 14 000 troops were hastily put on brigs and frigates and sailed towards what was
now becoming known as the island of death. Amongst the French troops, Napoleon opted to send
many foreign troops as well, among them; Polish Legionnaires.

Background of the Polish Legions

In 1802 and 1803, some 5500 Polish Legionnaires embarked from the Italian ports of Livorno and
Genoa, bound for the French colony of Saint-Domingue in the Caribbean. However, why were these
foreign troops sent to colonial war on the other side of the Atlantic in the first place? This question
brings us back to the pre-conditions, which would later set the stage for what is undoubtedly the most
successful uprising of slaves against their masters in the annals of recorded human history. The
circumstances surrounding the Polish soldiers, fighting under their own colours for Napoleon
Bonaparte, against blacks and mulattos who were fighting for their own freedom in a French colony
far away, were needless to say, complicated; an analysis of the context would seem necessary.
The formerly powerful Polish-Lithuanian nobles’ Republic was in political decline by the
early 18th century. Internally divided by a feuding, and self-indulgent, squabbling nobility, it was
easily influenced by its three powerful neighbours. By 1772, these neighbours, Prussia to the West,
Tsarist Russia to the East and the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy to the South, had the economic,
political, and military clout to successfully annex large portions of the Polish-Lithuanian monarchy in
what was to be known as the first of three partitions of the Polish-Lithuanian Rzeczpospolita. Although
broad constitutional reforms were proposed and ratified by the Polish-Lithuanian Parliament in the
Constitution of 3 May in 1791, the Constitution was a dead letter before it could be properly
implemented. In 1793, the Czarina invaded Poland’s Eastern frontier and annexed large portions of its

16
Convened at the States General 1789, the Jacobin Club advocated liberty and patriotism among France’s
citizens. Later, after the death of Mirabeau, the Jacobins were held responsible for the Reign of Terror.
17
Unbeknownst to him, the rhetoric of liberation had already progressed to a fait accompli on its own terms and
with its own dynamic, never to return to the pre-revolutionary slave state it once was.
18
Leclerc was married to the beautiful, voluptuous, and scandalous Pauline Bonaparte; Napoleon’s sister.

31
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

Eastern Territories. 19 On the western front, King Frederick-Wilhelm III occupied Wielkopolska.
Despairing of a last and final partition of the country, the Polish national hero, Tadeusz Kościuszko,
unleashed a great uprising sweeping the country from Kraków to Wilno.20 It was a spectacular last
gasp of breath for the country, which, because of its promise of a progressive and egalitarian republic,
appealed to the nobility, the townsmen, and the peasants alike. It failed, however, and 1795 saw the
final partition of Poland-Lithuania; the country was wiped off the face of Europe for the next 123
years.
During the partition period many conspiratory movements were born, while Polish exiles
lobbied for political and military support from the revolutionary government of France. Thus, General
Jan Henryk Dąbrowski (1755-1818), supported by Napoleon Bonaparte, signed an agreement with the
pro-French Republic of Lombardy that provided for the formation of the first “Polish Legions”.
Formed abroad, they were under the tutelage of famed Polish revolutionaries.21 They acted as a foreign
legion, with their own commanders, uniforms, and flags, and were a welcome addition to Napoleon’s
troops, who at that point were waging war with in other European countries.
By May 1797, Dąbrowski had two legions of three battalions each, plus an artillery battalion,
and two years later he added a cavalry regiment. Although heavy losses were sustained in the many
battles in which the Polish Legions participated,22 volunteers kept streaming in to fill the ranks.23 By
1801 however, Bonaparte, having already signed an accord with Prussia, was seeking normalised
relations with Russia and Austria. At the treaty of Lunéville (1801), the ‘Polish Question’ was not
even brought up at the conference table; the Polish Legions had become a source of embarrassment in
this period of fragile peace. As a concession to his recent adversaries, Bonaparte transformed the two
Legions into three demi-brigades (thus not carrying the insulting name of Polish Legions anymore)
and transferred these to Italian payroll. The former Vistulian Legion under Dąbrowski was transferred
to the Republic of Lombardy (later to become the Italian Republic), whereas the former Danubian
Legion under General Karol Kniaziewicz was put on the payroll of the tyrannical Kingdom of Etruria.
The soldiers of the former Danubian Legion resented this especially for they were under the strong
influence of radical Republican and Jacobin Tadeusz Kościuszko, and many of its officers, including
General Kniaziewicz, resigned their commissions and advocated the dissolution of the Polish Legions.
Dąbrowski however, opted to keep fighting for the French, assuming that Napoleon’s unbridled
ambition would inevitably lead to war with Poland’s partitioners. Colonial service seemed to be a way
out of the stalemate of seriously deteriorated Franco-Polish relations. For the Polish officers, it would
be a way to replenish their depleted resources due to the irregular and lower wages of their Italian

19
Belarus, Ukraine, Volhynia, and Podolia.
20
Now Vilnius, capital of Lithuania.
21
Such as Tadeusz Kościuszko, Henryk Dąbrowski, Karol Kniaziewicz, and Józef Wybicki (writer of the
Polish national anthem).
22
Such as at Civita Castellana and Gaeta in 1798, the river Trebbia in 1799, and Hohenlinden in 1800.
23
Between 1797 and 1807, thirty-five thousand troops served in the Legions.

32
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

hosts. It should be mentioned that many if not most of the non-commissioned soldiers and foot
soldiers had little idea where to and what for they were exactly being sent. Bonaparte on the other
hand, could make good use of the highly trained Legionnaires in Saint-Domingue, where rebellious
blacks and mulattos were threatening this most precious of all French overseas possessions. Besides,
the strongly republican, revolutionary, and Jacobin Danubian Legionnaires and their slightly more
temperate compatriots from the former Vistulian Legion were an uncomfortable force to be reckoned
with for the ever more autocratic First Consul.

Fig. 6 - Polish Legionnaire Fig. 7 - Polish Legionnaire Fig. 8 - Polish Legionnaires on San Domingo by January Suchodolski

Jabłonowski

The first Pole to set foot on St. Domingue soil however, was General Władysław Jabłonowski (1769-
1802). He came during the August Uprising of 1802, just before the two main bodies of Polish troops
arrived on the island. Władysław Jabłonowski was a curious officer of the Polish Legions. His Polish
‘father’ was Prince Konstanty Jabłonowski, of excellent family and precious little means who was an
officer in the Polish army and later an inspector at the Royal Mint in Warsaw. His mother was
Princess Marie Delaire from England, related to the Stuarts. When little Władysław was born in
Gdańsk in 1769 there was some consternation in the Jabłonowski mansion. Władysław was decidedly
darker than either his mother or father. He was, in fact, a mulatto. Undoubtedly, one of his mother’s
black footmen during her trip through France, nine months previous to her son‘s birth, held the key to
solving the mystery of his conception. Nevertheless, Jabłonowski senior brought Władysław up as his
own blood and sent him to the Brienne military academy in France at the age of fourteen. There, at the
academy, Jabłonowski was schooled alongside many of France’s future leading soldiers amongst who
was Napoleon Bonaparte. Jabłonowski had troubled relations with Bonaparte because of the former’s
skin-colour and the latter’s racial prejudice. After graduating, Jabłonowski served in the Royal
Allemand Regiment where he was accorded the rank of lieutenant. In 1794 Jabłonowski, who had lost
his commission with the Allemands, joined the partisans of General Kościuszko and fought with great
distinction in the Uprising that now bears the General’s name. As Warsaw fell under the pressure of

33
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

General Paskievich’s siege, Jabłonowski fled to the Ukraine where he was active in the Polish
underground and sought support from both France and Turkey to launch a Polish counterattack. Not
long afterwards, the Polish Legions were formed in the Pro-French Lombardy Republic and
Jabłonowski speedily joined Napoleon in his campaign against Austro-Hungary. He fought with great
distinction under both Polish and French colours and, after the treaty of Amiens (1801), he replaced
General Kniaziewicz of the Danube Legion with the latter’s resignation prompted by his suspicion of
Napoleon’s despotic leanings. After Jabłonowski protested the unendurable conditions of his soldiers,
the Danube Legion was promptly reorganised and renamed the 3rd Polish Demi-brigade, while he was
discharged and found himself in the unenviable position of figuring out how to mend his financial
situation. This he did by enlisting into colonial service to serve in either Louisiana or St. Domingue.
He was granted permission and left for Cap Français with his common-law wife, Anne Penot, where
he arrived on 15 August 1802 and conferred with Leclerc. He was sent to the Artibonite region to
relieve the strategic port town of St. Marc from the attacks of Charles Belair, one of the first generals
to join the renewed slave uprising. On 26 August, he arrived at St. Marc and a day later, he moved
against the rebels. Two Generals of Division, the French Quantin who took over command of St.
Marc, and the black Dessalines, who took over command of military operations, supplanted his
authority as General of Brigade several days later however. The uprooted Jabłonowski was sent to
Jérémie by way of Port-au-Prince around 17 September 1802. Not two weeks later General Władysław
Jabłonowski died in the arms of his wife of Yellow Fever in Jérémie on 29 September 1802 where he
was buried. His compatriots from the 3rd Polish Half-brigade had arrived three weeks prior to his
death, on 2 September, without having seen their former comrade in arms. Curiously, many Polish
historians think that Jabłonowski actually led the demi-brigade into St. Domingue. Reflecting this
belief is Mickiewicz’ immortalisation of him in the Polish romantic classic Pan Tadeusz;

...Jabłonowski where the sweet canes grow

And woods with vernal fragrance ever blow,
Has with the Legion of the Danube come
To crush the Negroes and still sighs for home.
(Mickiewicz 1997 [1834])

The Polish 3rd Half-Brigade/French 113th of the Line arrive at the Cap

The first wave of Polish Legionnaires, comprising some 2550 Legionnaires of the Polish 3rd Demi-
brigade of the Line, embarked from the port of Livorno on 17 May 1802. At Cádiz, the French
Commander Bernard requested the Polish 3rd be renamed the French 113th Demi-brigade of the Line,
which was granted on 4 September 1802. The 3rd Polish/113th French, now comprising some 2270

34
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

Legionnaires, emaciated, cramped, badly armed, unpaid and thus quite demoralised, finally reached
their destination at Cap Français on 2 September 1802.
On 4 September the demi-brigade was officially renamed the French 113th of the Line.24 On
arrival at Le Cap the 3rd/113th was divided into three operational units (1st battalion, 2nd battalion, and
3rd battalion) which in turn were further subdivided into companies. The first battalion to debark in
Cap Français was led by Captain Wodziński on 2 September 1802. Wodziński hardly had time to
enjoy the decadence of this hastily rebuilt Creole city, for his battalion was immediately joined to the
Left Northern Division under General Jean Boudet, operating to the southeast of the city. Among the
units which comprised this Division were two colonial brigades still ‘loyal’ to the French, that of the
mûlatres Clervaux and Pétion. Two companies (2nd and 5th) followed Clervaux in fighting around
Dondon, south of the capital, and immediately suffered casualties. “The 4th company under Captain F.
Grotowski (who was only twenty-five years old) fared better. It was assigned to convoy supplies to a
French detachment that Scylla and his Congos had surrounded at Marmelade (west of Dondon)”
(Pachoński & Wilson 1985:88). Captain Grotowski interestingly serves as a link to later events
surrounding the Poloné-Ayisyen community. We will return to this connection later in the chapter
‘Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production’.
The war’s character defined the movements and actions of the European troops, which mainly
comprised the losing and retaking of strategic positions and marching “. . . back and forth over hostile
territory which they had no hope of permanently occupying” (Pachoński & Wilson 1985:89). In the
battles around Le Cap many of the companies of the 1st battalion suffered heavy casualties, including
its commander Lieutenant Wodziński. By October of 1802 only half of the original 1st battalion was
still alive, though barely, as three-quarters of them were convalescing in hospital. By November, the
battalion had lost roughly another half to three-quarters of its soldiers and by September of the
following year only some twenty Legionnaires remained alive.

The 2nd Battalion, the St. Marc Massacre, and the Polonais Noirs

The 2nd battalion of the 3rd/113th Demi-brigade of the Line, some 775 men strong, commanded by
Wojciech Bolesta, landed at Môle St.-Nicholas on 4 September 1802. ‘Le Môle’ is a strategic trading-
town with a harbour and lies at the western extremity of the North-West, just to the east of the eastern
tip of Cuba, at that time in the hands of the French. One company of grenadiers under the command of
Captain Dziurbas stayed at Le Môle, while the other seven companies joined General Dessalines’
mixed division in his march to the south, towards Gonaïves and further on to St. Marc, both important
towns on the western coast of St. Domingue. At St. Marc, the entire Polish battalion was ferried off to
Port Républicain (formerly Port-au-Prince, the name had been altered in compliance with the new
24
This was rather superfluous however, as the documents did not reach St. Domingue until November, by that
time the vast majority of Polish soldiers had already perished.

35
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

revolutionary identity of motherland France) at the end of September. Typically, two companies were
sent back the following day. It should be noted that among the Legionnaires was a one Piotr Bazyli
Wierzbicki, one of the two authors of a manuscript about the St. Domingue campaign, that has been
central to any study about the Polish participation in that war. Moreover, Wierzbicki may possibly
have been the ranking Polish officer on the scene that day (Pachoński & Wilson 1985:101-108). The
following description of a massacre, in itself fairly typical of the way the French conducted the war,
occurred in St. Marc, and I believe it to be seminally important to the loss of the captured Poles in
Haitian custody, as well as Dessalines’ sympathy for the Poles.

Fig. 9 - Massacre at St. Marc as depicted in "Popioły" by Andrzej Wajda

What really happened will perhaps never be known, yet by gleaning what little we know from several
authors we can present a rough outline of the circumstances surrounding the massacre of some four
hundred black regular colonial troops on that fateful day in October 1802.
By a sweeping manoeuvre from Le Môle to St. Marc, Dessalines was able to claim the
complete restoration of French control over the whole western region. After delivering the remaining
companies of the 2nd Battalion to General Rochambeau in Port Républicain, Dessalines retreated close
to Verrettes, some fifty kilometres to the east of St. Marc. Two or three weeks later, somewhere in the
last ten days of October, the two companies which were left in St. Marc (some 115 to 130 men) were
involved in the massacre of an unarmed battalion of four hundred blacks (Captain Desiré’s 12th
Colonial Demi-brigade). Meanwhile, Dessalines is thought to have defected and joined Christophe and
Pétion with the majority of his colonial troops between 17 and 23 October 1802. Captain Desiré was
unable or unwilling to join Dessalines and possibly might have informed his commanding officer,
Repussard, stationed at Verrettes, of Dessalines’ plans, and of the pro-Dessalinian inclinations of his
troops. Retreating from Verrettes to St. Marc, Captain Desiré’s 12th Colonial Demi-brigade was put
under the command of General-of-Brigade Fressinet. After conferring with his immediate superior
General Quantin, Fressinet decided to muster the black demi-brigade on the Place d’Armes, and have
them present themselves without their weapons. Walking in front of the troops, Fressinet delivered a
harangue to the effect of declaring them traitors to France, lifted his sabre and gave the command to
bayonet the blacks to the last man. The versions as to the Polish participation in the massacre diverge
considerably here. According to Lux & Wierzbicki’s manuscript, the Legionnaires complied, no

36
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

questions asked. The authors even seem to show some understanding for Fressinet’s decision, saying
that there was no alternative to murdering the unarmed soldiers, as it was impossible for the Poles to
guard such a large group of prisoners (Lux & Wierzbicki in Pachoński & Wilson 1985:102). Two
eminent 19th century Haitian historians adhere to a different view however. According to Thomas
Madiou, General Quantin ordered the muster of the black troops on the Place d’Armes. Quantin
proceeded to order the black troops to lay down their arms, which they refused. Thereupon, he
delivered his harangue of the black “. . . tigers that they had been nourishing in their midst,” and
ordered the European soldiers to open fire. Madiou, in a footnote, takes “the opportunity to observe
that the Polish troops had fought with little enthusiasm against the indigenous forces since attempts
had been made to re-establish slavery. They proudly declared that only military duty could induce
them to burn their gunpowder against freedom. . .” (Madiou in Pachoński & Wilson 1985:105).
Beaubrun Ardouin goes even further. The Haitian historian explicitly links the massacre, Dessalines’
final desertion, and the Poles’ behaviour, when he states;

Les 4e, 7e et 8e coloniales furent ainsi réorganisées ; la 14e demi-brigade créée (1), ainsi
qu’un corps spécial, devenu plus tard la 20e demi-brigade, qui fut nommé les polonais, parce
qu’il entra dans sa formation beaucoup de vrais africains qui parlaient le language créole le
plus grossier, et par allusion aux Polonais venus avec l’armée française, don’t les indigènes ne
pouvaient comprendre le langage : idée bizarre qui caractérise bien l’esprit de Dessalines,
mais qui fut cause en grande partie que les Polonais restés dans le pays furent préservés du
massacre de 1804 et reconnus Haïtiens. Il avait un autre motif : tout récemment, dans
l’assassinat des soldats de la 12e, à Saint Marc, les Polonais avaient montré une répugnance
louable à exécuter les ordres barbares du général Quentin. Créer un corps de polonais noirs,
c’était donc, de la part de Dessalines, un témoignage d’estime et de bienveillance donné aux
infortunés enfans de la Vistule.
(Ardouin 1854: V; 318-319)

The significance of Ardouin’s excerpt can not be underestimated. Ardouin indirectly implies that the
St. Marc massacre might well have been the defining moment for Polish-Haitian relations. He links
the murder of the 12th’s soldiers at St. Marc, the Poles’ praiseworthy repugnance against carrying out
General Quantin’s barbarous orders, and by creating his own corps of ‘black Poles’, Dessalines
showed respect and favour to the ‘. . . unhappy children of the Vistula [Wisła]’. Interestingly,
according to Ardouin, the Polonais Noirs would have been largely made up of African-born soldiers,
thus their languages would have been just as incomprehensible as Polish. Inversely, their Kreyol
would have been as bad as that of the Poles. Ardouin, a mûlatre whose opinion of Dessalines was
rather poor, sees Dessalines’ bizarre analogy as characteristic of the man. However, Ardouin suggests
that it is precisely because of this bizarre analogy that the Poles were saved from the general massacre
of whites in 1804 at the independence of Haiti.

37
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

Two 19th century Polish historians follow their Haitian counterparts. Stanisław Schnür-
Pepłowski (1899) and Gustaw Meinert (1886) assert that the Poles refused to carry out the murderous
order on moral grounds. Several contemporary Haitian historians make the same claim, though this we
cannot corroborate with solid documentation. Stefan Żeromski (1864-1925), a Polish writer from the
beginning of the 20th century, undoubtedly used Lux & Wierzbicki’s handwritten manuscript for his
treatment of the St. Marc massacre in his classic Popioły ([Ashes] 1904). Żeromski uses the event to
illustrate that the once proud and honourable Polish Legions, instituted to free the Polish lands from
tyrannical forces, had degraded into a brutal force itself, a mere instrument of imperial greed and
brutality. Sixty-some years later, the celebrated filmmaker Andrzej Wajda, rekindled the polemic
debate by his dramatisation of Żeromski’s novel. Professor Tadeusz Łepkowski, a Marxist historian
and social scientist who has written up a history of Haiti, opined that Lux & Wierzbicki’s version
should be considered authoritative, as no other first-hand documentation has ever resurfaced
suggesting the contrary. In the Polish weekly Polityka however, Jan Gerhard put forward the idea that
Lux and Wierzbicki might have knowingly altered the truth in order to save the Polish military code of
honour, always following a direct command (Gerhard in Pachoński & Wilson 1985:105). We know
that General Małachowski, a veteran of the San Domingo campaign, after his return from the island,
strongly objected to any implication of Polish dereliction of duty. Pachoński & Wilson moreover, have
found no mention of any major incident concerning Polish reluctance to comply with Fressinet’s
order. However, because of Lux & Wierzbicki’s many inconsistencies in dating and placing persons
on the scene, the numerical disadvantage of the Poles vis-à-vis the 12th Colonial Demi-Brigade, the
presence of the French 68th Demi-brigade on the scene, as well as the instances of Polish defection to
the insurgents, and the favour Dessalines later bestowed upon them, they propose the ‘moderate’ view.
This view follows Vergniaud-Leconte’s theory in his H. Christophe dans l’histoire d’Haiti (1932) in
proposing that ‘“some of the Poles marked time, while the others complied with the order –so that the
French were obliged to finish the execution”’ (Vergniaud-Leconte in Pachoński & Wilson 1985:107).
It seems clear that something in the Poles’ behaviour must have convinced Dessalines of the Poles’
sympathy towards the Haitians’ cause, which led Dessalines to defend the Poles in their hour of need.
Another indication of this is found in Madiou’s and Ardouin’s mention of the Poles’ reservation to the
French repugnant conduct of the campaign. Both historians mention this in conjunction with their
treatment of the St. Marc massacre.
In a letter to General Quantin (the very officer who led the massacre according to both
Ardouin and Madiou) on the 24th of October –a full day after the French command definitively
realised Dessalines’ defection, Dessalines states that “. . . although he feels himself to be French, he
feels betrayed by the French government. By massacring and seeking to enslave so many of his
people, it has violated those very principles of freedom and equality that it pretends to espouse. ( . . . )
I warn you that I have in my possession many European soldiers who are concerned, loyal, and
tormented because they are men who, like me, have taken up arms for their own liberty, and they are

38
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

considered my friends” (RP 1238 in Pachoński and Wilson: 103). This allusion to the European troops
leads one to believe that these are not French but rather German, Swiss or Polish troops, especially the
latter, since both Dessalines and his advisor Boisrond-Tonnerre single out the Poles for preferential
treatment.
Immediately after his defection, Dessalines leads a campaign from his headquarters in
Verrettes on Gonaïves, which he takes on 25 October. From there he proceeds to lay siege to Saint
Marc.
Whatever might have happened on that fateful day will probably be shrouded in mystery
forever, yet it seems that Haitian-Polish relations underwent something of a change for the better;
Polishness started becoming a factor of importance for the Poles’ survival.

The 3rd Battalion of the 3rd/113th Demibrigade of the Line

The 3rd Battalion of the 3rd/113th Half-brigade arrived at Borgne, to the west of Cap Français between
Le Cap and Port-de-Paix, on 3 September 1802. They were put at the disposal of General Brunet,
commander of the Right Northern Division, operating west of Le Cap. The 57-year old Lieutenant
Franciszek Grabski was the battalion commander, aided by Wierzbicki, one of the two authors of the
History of the Polish Legions. Unfortunately for the Poles, their relationship with the Flemish
commander Navarrez was far from cordial and the Poles were quickly dispersed among isolated
outposts, thus speeding up the disintegration of the 3rd Battalion.25
An incident surrounding General Christophe’s defection merits special mention, for it involves
a group of Legionnaires whose fate we can only speculatively surmise. Roughly the same time of
Dessalines’ defection, around 17 or 18 October, the noir Christophe decided to join what was now a
full-scale military and ideological revolution. On that particular night, Christophe snuck out of his
headquarters, and silently made his way towards one of the more isolated outposts surrounding Port-
de-Paix, still under French control. As chance would have it, around thirty Legionnaires of the 7th
Company, under the command of Lieutenant Pretwicz, were staffing the outpost. The General, fully
dressed in his French uniform, commanded the Legionnaires to leave their posts and accompany him
to meet with General Dessalines, also still widely thought to be loyal to the French. They proceeded
silently, muffling their guns, outside the perimeter of French control. Presently, the scout of the
Legionnaire advance party ran back reporting that he had spotted armed blacks up ahead. Christophe

25
Military actions in the north-western quarter involving Legionnaires from the 3rd Battalion were conducted at
the beginning of October but, because of mass desertions by the colonial units in a move concerted by the
defecting Pétion and Christophe, many casualties, both Polish and French, were sustained. The 3rd Battalion
then, as were the other two battalions, seemed destined for virtual annihilation. In addition, some tactical
mistakes on the part of the French High Command (i.e. dispersing the already thinly stretched troops into
isolated columns) did not make matters better; rendering the initial military action orchestrated by Brunet,
Thouvenot, Navarrez, and Grabski a fiasco.

39
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

assured them that it was Dessalines and his men awaiting him, and duly took out a white handkerchief,
boldly waving it whilst walking forward to meet the reception party. The party of armed blacks, led by
a naked man wearing a string of epaulettes around his neck, ecstatically received the General, kissing
his hands and cheering “Vive le général Christophe!” Having disarmed the Poles at gunpoint, they
wanted to kill them but were stopped by Christophe. Christophe had left behind his beloved orchestra
and intended to trade it for the captured Legionnaires. The black general allowed Pretwicz to choose a
Legionnaire to bring the message to General Leclerc who was then at Le Cap, where the orchestra was
held up. The message was duly delivered but, as Leclerc evidently valued the orchestra over the
Legionnaires, the deal was off. Poor Pretwicz was thereupon executed. Captain Jakub Filip
Kierzkowski, a participant of the St. Domingue campaign, writes that the Legionnaires were never
seen again (Kierzkowski 1831:78-85). Pachoński & Wilson however, suspect that the remaining
Legionnaires were recruited into Dessalines’ garde d’honneur; his private bodyguard. They even
speculate that either Pretwicz’s group or the St. Marc massacre participants may have been given the
land around Cazale; the most well-known area of Polish settlement (Pachoński & Wilson 1985:310-
311).

Rochambeau and Dessalines

The plagued Leclerc, after eight months of leading a campaign of military setbacks and mass
desertions, finally succumbed to the yellow fever which had taken so many of his soldiers. His
successor was the ruthless, greedy, and capricious racist, General Viscount Donatien Maria Joseph de
Vineur Rochambeau. Initially regarded by the colons as the right man to restore white hegemony, his
unscrupulous antics, self-enrichment, and mass murders, earned him undying hatred from both sides of
the colour-line. The Polish Legionnaires, having fought beside him in Italy, first thought that he might
improve their loss. His unabashed brutality, however, quickly diminished the respect they accorded
him. Ultimately, his reign of terror was to be just as disastrous for the Poles as it was for the thousands
of noirs and mûlatres who would fall victim to his rapacious blood-thirst.
Rochambeau had some initial successes in fighting the revolutionaries as he managed to
restore French control over part of the North and re-established communications along the North-
western coast and La Tortue.26 General Brunet was in command of Port-au-Prince, while the South
was under the more independent leadership of the black General Laplume, a dashing, energetic, and
able French loyalist. In order to counter this newly re-established French energy, the leaders of the
uprising convened a council of war, on 14 January 1803, on the palm-fringed beach at Arcahaie.
Instead of the numerous bands, groups, and divisions of insurgents battling the organised French
divisions on their own, a more unified response was called for, one that would lead to victory over the

26
The former buccaneers’ and pirates’ stronghold, where now the military hospital was housed.

40
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

whites, and establish a nation of noirs and mûlatres. General Pétion, a mûlatre, nominated the highly
effective noir Dessalines as commander-in-chief. Four days later, on 18 May, the indigenous generals
and chieftains chose Dessalines as the strongest and most effective leader, with Christophe as his
chief-of-staff. On this last day of the “Congress of Arcahaie” Dessalines seized the French Tricouleur
and ripped out the white middle section. Later, Mme. Dessalines’ goddaughter, Catherine Flon,
stitched together the red (symbolising the mûlatres) and the blue (for the noirs), thus giving birth to
what was to be the Haitian Flag.

Fig. 10 - Jean Jacques Dessalines Fig. 11 - Haitian Flag

By virtue of the unified command of the insurgents, Dessalines could now concentrate his mobile
infantry with extreme swiftness to any given battleground in ‘French’ St. Domingue. The war had
finally become a war between two implacable rivals; the Negrophobe Rochambeau against the equally
hate-inspired Dessalines. Dessalines however, did have several advantages over Rochambeau. His
overpoweringly charismatic persona as well as a single unifying vision, inspired blind devotion among
his soldiers, whereas Rochambeau’s troops generally suffered low morale. His army was indigenous,
thus well adjusted to the climate, and less susceptible to the Yellow Fever. By contrast, Rochambeau’s
soldiers mostly came from mainland Europe, many died from Yellow Fever in the first weeks and
months after disembarkation on the island. Both England (which was again at war with France) and
the United States, (out of financial motives) were supplying arms to the black insurgency. The French,
on the other hand, had to contend with active English opposition on the seas. The pitiful state of the
French army being what it was, Bonaparte would send another twelve thousand troops as a last
attempt to bring the colony under French control. Dessalines would use the opportunity to intensify the
indigenous war effort to try to drive the French off the island.

The 2nd/114th Demi-brigade of the Line

The second group of Legionnaires to be sent off to fight the insurgents in Saint-Domingue embarked
in five ships from the port of Genoa on 27 January 1803, stragglers leaving two weeks later, and some
even later from the port of Toulouse. These men, around 2450 soldiers all told, were from the 2nd
Polish Regiment (Demi-brigade) stationed in Italy, a strongly republican, anti-Bonapartist formation

41
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

of the Polish Legions. They left for Saint-Domingue surrounded by considerable scandal and tensions
fomenting between the Polish officers and their French superiors, and within the Polish officer corps
itself. Many back in Europe now knew or at least suspected the untenability of a French military
success against the rebels, and commander Grabiński of the 1st Polish Regiment successfully defended
the best demi-brigade the Polish Legions still had, from sure annihilation in the colony. The 2nd Demi-
brigade (later to become the 114th French Demi-brigade of the Line) however, still tainted by the
discovery of a secret anti-Bonapartist Masonic Lodge, was suspect enough to be gladly sent in the last
of the three great waves of expeditions from 1801-1803.27 Departing on 27 January 1803, it was to be
part of the relief expedition of twelve thousand men sent in 1803; all five ships arrived at Cap Français
at the end of March 1803.
Illustrating the popular mood of the soldiers and officer-corps of the 2nd Demi-brigade28 are
several letters and correspondences between its officers. Amilkar Kosiński, deputy-inspector of the
Polish Legions stationed in Italy writing to his friend, the soldier-poet Cyprian Godebski in February
1803, described Aksamitowski’s actions in the following way: “He has joyously accepted a surely
permanent separation from his native realm. The hope of base gain has overcome the cowardice that
neither patriotism nor love of glory can dispel.”29 In the same letter, Kosiński’s feelings are especially
evocative and doubtlessly shared by many of the Polish Legionnaires when he says; “Slaves to the
necessity of duress, they [the 2nd Half-brigade being sent to St. Domingue] go to guard the prisons
where the greedy, degenerate European tortures the unhappy Negro.”30 Captain Fądzielski, from the
same spared 1st Polish Demi-brigade, shares Kosiński’s assessment of the sending of the 2nd Demi-
brigade in particular, and the campaign in St. Domingue in general: “Our [the 1st Half-brigade] good
luck, is another’s [the 2nd Half-brigade’s] misfortune.” He seconds Kosiński in expressing his
opposition “to leave the Fatherland behind, perhaps forever, in order to travel to empty countries and
fight the Negroes for their own sugar” (Pachoński & Wilson 1985:140).
Rochambeau awaited the Legionnaires eagerly as they were to play a major role in the
pacification of the recently ignited South. The remnants of the 3rd/113th Demi-brigade were
incorporated into the newly arrived 2nd/114th Demi-brigade at Port Républicain (Port-au-Prince).
Traditionally more peaceful and the base of many of the colony’s mûlatre population, the South
Department’s coloured population erupted with fury after learning of the brutal murder of Les Cayes’
gendarmerie coloured members on suspicion of sympathising with the insurgents. Rebel mûlatre
leaders such as Cangé, Laurent Ferrou, and Geffrard joined forces, attacked plantations and small
towns, driving the white populace to the coastal towns and forts. West of Les Cayes, the Torbeck Plain

27
The so-called “Aurora-affair”, a scandal involving several Legionnaires who had joined a secret Masonic
Lodge led by the Neapolitan brigadier-commander H. M. Aurora.
28
The 2nd Polish Demi-brigade was renamed the 114th French Brigade of the Line on 16 December 1802.
29
Aksamitowski’s unpopularity was due to his role in the ‘Aurora’ affair, Aksamitowski sniffed out the affair
and his treachery vis-à-vis his compatriots was greatly resented.
30
Kosiński to Reille, Milan, Feb. 5, AG C, fol. 26; A. Kosiński we Włoszech 1795-1803. Zbiór materiałów do
historii Legionów Polskich we Włoszech. In Pachoński & Wilson 1985:139

42
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

held their stronghold from whence they could continuously threaten the towns of Les Cayes, Jérémie,
Tiburon, St. Louis du Sud, and Aquin. The plan, intended for April and May, devised by General
Brunet and forwarded to General Laplume, consisted of synchronising four columns from four
different directions which were to converge on the Torbeck Plain and destroy the insurgent force under
Geffrard. Three of the columns had a main core of Polish Legionnaires; battalions led by
Małachowski, Jasiński, and Zawadzki, and were accompanied by National Guardsmen. The idea had
some merit, for Laurent Ferrou held the Torbeck Plain with the strongest indigenous army in the South
If executed according to plan, he would have to split his forces up, weakening them considerably.
Unfortunately for the French and the Poles, the synchronisation was a disaster. In sum, the operation
was unsuccessful because of communication problems between the French and Poles, and the effects
of Yellow Fever, which took away many of the newly arrived Poles in a matter of weeks.
Throughout 1803, the insurgents consistently turned up the heat on the French seaside
enclaves in the South. One by one, the isolated positions, often manned by small Polish detachments,
were overrun or given up. By October, even the important strategic port of Jacmel was evacuated by
another loyalist mûlatre, Pageot. Meanwhile, the commander of the 2nd Battalion, Ignacy Jasiński,
came to a tragic end; by his own hand. Having occupied Cap Dame Marie, close to Jérémie, Jasiński
found himself with two companies of his own 2nd Battalion, surrounded by well-ensconced insurgents.
By orders of General Sarrazin, seeing no way in which to maintain control, the area was to be
evacuated and relinquished to the insurgency. Jasiński, seeing that he was to be sacrificed and his
position to be untenable, wrote a letter to General Fressinet, accusing Napoleon and the French of
thanklessness. In the letter, he says; “. . . Seeing myself surrounded by more than 3,000 Negroes, I see
no prospect of holding out with such a small detachment, and rather than fall into the hands of this
savage people fighting for their own freedom, I am taking my own life – Jasiński, commander of the
2nd Battalion, 114th Half-brigade” (Pachoński & Wilson 1985:190). He then cocked a pistol, put it to
his head, and blew his brains out. It seems that some of his men might have escaped the insurgent
attack, by “mingling with the local population” (1985:190). At about this time, several small
detachments of Poles from isolated outposts in the South, seeing themselves threatened yet betting on
preferential treatment from their adversaries, deserted to the insurgent army. The sympathy among the
revolutionaries for the hapless Poles was beginning to play an important role.
Elsewhere, the colony was coming under increasing pressure from the unified and ever more
effective indigenous revolutionaries. Jérémie, lying on the north side of the southern tip, was in a
particularly precarious situation. Its commander, General Fressinet, (the same who had given the order
to massacre the colonial battalion at St. Marc) after ascertaining the untenability of the enclave and
desertions in the National Guard (mostly mûlatre) and Polish ranks, decided to flee the port. In the
early hours of 3 August, he embarked with the bulk of his soldiers, sacrificing forty French and at least

43
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

one hundred and forty Polish soldiers in the process.31 The next day, General Ferrou entered the town,
executed the French soldiers, but graciously offered the Poles his protection. Lux & Wierzbicki report
that Ferrou would meet the Poles and converse with them: “At every meeting, he eloquently
commiserated with our misfortunes, saying that in return for risking certain death, our loyalty had
been rewarded by French ingratitude” (Lux & Wierzbicki, Historia, III, 1577 in Pachoński & Wilson
1985:211). When the Poles were shown the remains of the forty French soldiers, Ferrou’s adjutant
remarked: “Thus we castigate the perfidious invader, but we can distinguish the innocent who have,
against their will, been made to serve an unworthy cause” (Pachoński & Wilson 1985:211). It seems
that Ferrou, perhaps on explicit orders from Dessalines, tried to recruit the Poles to join the insurgent
army. Despite this pressure, Ferrou made good on his promise to release the Legionnaires on the very
first opportunity to present itself. The first batch of some twenty enlisted men, as well as two officers,
was allowed to set sail for Cuba the next month. However, it seems certain that by spring the
following year, somewhere between 120 and 380 Poles were still in Haiti. In March 1804, Dessalines
was in Jérémie to lead the bloody massacre of the remaining whites of that town. The British ferried
off some 120-150 Legionnaires to Jamaica in April of that year on the British frigate, Tartar, by a
certain Captain Perkins.
Corbet confirms the considerable pressure that Dessalines was putting on the Poles to join his
army with a letter to Nugent dated 29 February 1804: “I hold in due recollection what Your
Excellency directed me to do respecting the Polish Troops still in that quarter, as far as might be
practicable, but which I found could not be accomplished. Their leaving the island is prohibited and
every means are used to induce them to enlist in his [Dessalines’] army” (1985:213). Finally, Thomas
Madiou writes that when Dessalines was in Jérémie in March 1804, he explicitly ordered that in
contrast to the other whites in the ex-colony, the Poles were to be accepted as Haitian citizens. “He
even wished that they should become Haitian citizens. Boisrond-Tonnèrre told him that these were
brave people whom despotism had armed against liberty, that they had always resisted tyranny in their
own country” (Madiou 1987 [1848]: III, 115-116, my translation).
All the evidence suggests that many of the captured Poles were not harmed in contrast to the
French prisoners of war. It seems undeniable that after captivity, Poles were recruited into Dessalines’
army. It seems furthermore very likely that incidental cases of desertions among the Polish rank-and-
file were not uncommon, though not exceeding the marginal figure of 150-400 Legionnaires in total.
The French military pacification campaign now swiftly degraded into a bloody fiasco. During
the siege of Les Cayes, mûlatre ‘Indépendent’ Nicholas Geffrard made overtures to a sick
Małachowski (cured by the herbal potions of a local black woman) to join the insurgents. According to
Małachowski’s memoirs, the mûlatre leader wrote him a letter where “. . . he spoke as a free Black to

31
Correspondences from at least three Legionnaires, Kobylański, Blumer, and Romański, indicate that the
number was 400 Legionnaires, and not 140 (Pachoński & Wilson 1985:208-211).

44
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

a free People (Polish) . . . commiserating with the Poles’ role as victims, knowing their history well”
(Pachoński & Wilson 1985:217).
On 18 November 1803, the famous battle at Vertières began. During the eleven hours that the
battle was waged, Dessalines suffered some 1,200 dead and 2,000 wounded, whereas the French and
Poles suffered only some 130 dead and 200 wounded. Dessalines however, had an almost unlimited
supply of fresh recruits, not counting his 18,000-man strong army. The French, some 2,000 strong –
barely strong enough to fight, had no replacements to fall back on.

Fig. 12 - Battle on San Domingo by January Suchodolski

Surrender

Rochambeau was finally ready to surrender. Initially, he tried to negotiate with the British,
surrendering Le Cap for a safe passage to France for his garrison and himself, with all their property.
The English however drove a hard bargain; they demanded complete and unconditional surrender.
Rochambeau, perhaps fearing for the wealth he had amassed on the colony, decided to initiate
negotiations with Dessalines. He asked for a ten-day’s truce in which he would evacuate the garrison
and release all the town’s prisoners. He stipulated that the sick and wounded that could not travel were
to be given humane treatment. Dessalines agreed to this and received the twenty-four hostages
(including a Polish Legion officer) as part of the agreement. Rochambeau waited for the perfect
opportunity to break through the English blockade during a storm. That opportunity never came;
Rochambeau was forced to enter into negotiations with the British. The famous Captain Bligh (of the
‘H.M.S. Bounty’) bargained hard with the French, insisting on complete surrender as prisoners of war.
Having met his match with Dessalines, on 30 November 1804, he was trumped a second time by Bligh
and his direct commander, Commodore Loring. They did not keep to the agreement, confiscating all

45
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

properties, interring all prisoners, without possibility of parole. The French and Polish officers,
enlisted men, and non-coms were shipped off to Jamaica, where a long incarceration awaited them.
A day earlier, Dessalines’ victorious army, having occupied Fort Dauphin, declared their
independence in the now renamed Fort Liberté.

Independence

The Haitian War of Liberation and National Independence had finally come to a bloody end. In
general, the cost of the war was excessively high, by modern standards and especially by the standards
of two-hundred years ago. The war effort had cost a tremendous amount, both materially as well as,
and especially, in terms of human lives. A case could be made that the Haitian War of Independence
and the French campaign to thwart that independence might be one of the first instances of modern
colonial warfare in which genocide was carried out by both sides and was, in fact, the final outcome.32
In other ways, the war was unique as well. It was probably the first war won by an indigenous black
and mulatto army over one of the strongest armies and empires in the world. It was the first
independent state to be born from a slave uprising and only the second independent country in the
Americas, after the USA. It was also the first independent black republic. In fact, it might have been
the first time in recorded history that the (skin) colour noir, or black, took on an ideologically relevant
tone, a tone that was positive in its implications.
Enormous problems besieged the fledgling state of Haiti. What the Congress of Arcahaie had
achieved; mûlatres and noirs uniting to defeat the common enemy, Independence could not. As long
as military reality dictated unitarian necessity under the ferocious noir General Dessalines, the jaunes,
gens de couleur, and mûlatres could temporarily forget Dessalines’ persecution of them in the South.
As soon as victory was achieved however, the old colour divide, suspicion, and animosity between
jaune and noir reared its head in all its ferociousness. The suspicion on both sides of the colour line
was crippling as well as well-founded. The noirs suspected the mûlatres of conniving to reintroduce
slavery; at the very least, they suspected the latter of trying to pull all power towards them. The
mûlatres on the other hand, suspected the noirs of deep hatred towards them for their lighter colour, as
well as resentment over the past keeping of slaves by the mûlatres. Another way of seeing it could be
as a cultural divide. Whereas the mûlatres looked to France for their cultural normative nourishment,
the noirs were reinventing Africa in the Americas. Their Gods had vanquished the mighty French
army; their belief had delivered them from slavery into freedom.
Dessalines tried to address this national dichotomy by the only means he knew, suppression.
In December 1803, Gonaïves again became the headquarters of the indigenous forces; now they were
victors. Dessalines had invited all the most important generals to be present at the drafting of the
32
At certain times during the French campaign, the French High Command seriously believed that the only way
to restore French authority on the island was to murder every man and boy above the age of twelve.

46
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

declaration of independence of Haiti. After a first draft was rejected by Dessalines, Boisrond-
Tonnerre, in a drunken rush, blurted out the famous words: “This doesn’t say what we really feel. For
our declaration of independence we should have the skin of a blanc for parchment, his skull for
inkwell, his blood for ink, and a bayonet for pen!” (Heinl & Heinl 1996:120). With twenty-four hours
to go until 1 January, Boisrond-Tonnerre set out to write a declaration that would capture the
appropriate mood of victory and freedom. At seven o’clock the next morning, at the Place d’Armes,
later to be known as Place de la Patrie, the declaration was read out during the ceremony that was to
officially inaugurate independence. As Gonaïves was bathed by the morning sunlight, Dessalines,
surrounded by his picked honour guard (which included a Polish detachment) and the new flags of the
country thundered in his battlefield voice to the congregated citizens of the new country. In the Kreyol
of the people, he spoke of the French crimes and of the need to live free or die. At a nod from him,
Boisrond-Tonnerre continued in French, forever cursing France and vowing to live free from foreign
yoke, “Swear now, with clasped hands, to live free and independent and to accept death in preference
to the yoke”, he commanded the people on the square. Boisrond brandished a second document on
which thirty-four of the most important and powerful generals had signed, renouncing France,
declaring the country independent, and naming the country Haïti, an original Taíno name before the
Spaniards had wiped them out. “Long live independence!” roared Dessalines as the cannons boomed
and the crowd ecstatically joined. Haiti was born.
Although Dessalines promised Rochambeau that he would spare the remaining whites,
Dessalines was implacable, only French doctors and priests, English and Americans were to be spared.
For three months the slaughter of whites continued until only a handful of whites remained alive in the
country. The afore-mentioned doctors and priests, a few American and English merchants, a small
colony of Germans near Bombardopolis who had settled the area in the second half of the 18th century
and who had not participated in the struggle, and the remnants of Dąbrowski’s Polish Legions, no
more than four-hundred who had survived the campaign. Both Madiou and Ardouin explicitly point
out Dessalines’ sympathy for the Poles as the reason for their survival (Ardouin 1854: V, 318-319,
Madiou 1987 [1848]: III, 164).

Emperor Dessalines and the Haitian Constitution

Having massacred the French in Haiti, Dessalines turned his attention to ensuring that the French
could never return to reoccupy their lost colony. He embarked upon an ambitious plan to fortify the
country. He built a series of forts aimed to repel any French invasion. He, as Toussaint before him,
was indefatigable in his tour of the country. Then, on 8 October 1804, Dessalines entered Le Cap
where his loyal general, Christophe, awaited him. Seeking to outdo his foe, seven weeks before
Napoleon’s coronation at Notre Dame, Dessalines was crowned as Jacques I, Emperor of Haiti.

47
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

Dessalines busied himself with the document necessary to any state, the constitution. Even
while he was campaigning in Santo Domingo, Boisrond-Tonnerre and Juste Chanlatte, Dessalines’
ferocious ideologues, had drafted a constitution and were circulating it throughout the hierarchy of
generals and political leaders. Anxious to oblige the emperor, the generals quickly supported the
document before Dessalines came back and on 20 May 1805, Dessalines formally ratified the first
Haitian Constitution.
Among the more important articles in the Constitution were two freedoms; freedom from
slavery and that of religion, stipulated in articles 2 and 51 respectively. Other than that, the
constitution was quite despotic. Besides, Dessalines was declared Emperor Jean Jacques I of Haiti.
The Emperor had power over legislation, punishment, life, death, war, peace, and his own succession.
Act 12 of the ‘General Dispositions’ nationalised all land formerly belonging to the French. This was
important for it preceded Dessalines’ intentioned revolutionary land reform, and it alienated him from
many of the former affranchis and new black elite. Three very significant articles, 12, 13, and 14, were
equally revolutionary concerning the question of race and colour, a question central to the present
study.

Article 12 -- Aucun blanc, quelle que soit sa nation, ne mettra le pied sur ce territoire, à titre
de maître ou de propriétaire et ne pourra à l'avenir y acquérir aucune propriété.
Article 13 -- L'article précédent ne pourra produire aucun effet tant à l'égard des femmes
blanches qui se sont naturalisées Haïtiennes par le gouvernement qu'à l'égard des enfants nés
ou à naître d'elles. Sont compris dans les dispositions du présent article, les Allemands et
Polonais naturalisés par le gouvernement.
Article 14 -- Toute acception de couleur parmi les enfants d'une seule et même famille, don't
chef de l'Etat est le père, devra nécessairement cesser, les Haïtiens ne seront désormais connus
que sous la dénomination génériques de noirs.

A significant point to our present study is of course the stipulation that no white man may ever be a
proprietor or master in Haiti. Second was the exception of those of German and Polish descent from
article 12. Both Madiou and Ardouin pointed out that although American and English merchants,
white women who did not shun the beds of darker men, Germans who had founded a small colony in
the second half of the 18th century, and Polish Legionnaires were spared from the general slaughter
almost certainly orchestrated by Dessalines himself; it were the Poles who commanded Dessalines’
greatest sympathy for reasons we can only speculate about. Third point was Dessalines’ answer to the
solidifying divisive reality between jaunes and noirs. In order to counter the reignited mistrust
between the former allies of convenience, Dessalines replied by negating racial and phenotypical
difference, and decreeing only one generic type of Haitian, the Noir. It was a bold, if not revolutionary
decree; for the first time in history ‘Noir’ had become a positive ideological epidermic affiliation.

48
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

Presumably, this is also the first time either Poles or Germans were also known as ‘Black’, except
perhaps Poland’s first victim in St. Domingue, General Władysław Franciszek Jabłonowski.
Unfortunately, Dessalines’ heavy-handed approach to such a complex problem was unsuccessful, even
detrimental. Instead of eliminating the colour line, he inadvertently underscored the divide. By
choosing one side of the colour bar as the generic name for all Haitians, he implicitly put nearly all
mûlatres, clairs, jaunes, griffes, or former affranchis on the defensive. His treatment of the remaining
Poles, though, remained magnanimous. In 1805, 160 Legionnaires chose to return to their motherland.
Dessalines engaged Captain Perkins and his vessel, Tartar, to take them to Jamaica. Governor Nugent
of Jamaica, however, intended the Legionnaires to enlist in the British Colonial Troops. When these
demurred, Nugent sent them back to Haiti with the advice that Dessalines should deport them.
Dessalines replied that “. . . he could not treat his naturalized subjects so peremptorily. He ended by
hiring an American vessel, the Ontario, to take them to New York. By the end of the year they had
reached Gdańsk. . .” (Pachoński & Wilson 1985:312).
Foment was seeping through the echelons of this brave new society. The peasants, free at last
from the white slavers’ tyranny, were starting to feel the weight of their new ‘freedom’.33 Soldiers
went unpaid, barefoot, and badly equipped. However, the army officers were of more concern. Many
generals, such as Pétion, Férou, and Geffrard, started to balk at the new order. Their grievances –
political, regional, and colour-based – led to intrigues, conspiracies and other activities that
undermined the unity of the nation. It was not long before the disaffected and disgruntled South
exploded into open rebellion.
Seeing his empire increasingly under pressure from these centrifugal forces, Dessalines
reacted in his typical manner. In 1806, twelve Polish ex-Legionnaires working at the arsenal at
Marchand were executed on charges of trying to escape to Santo Domingo to join up with the French
outpost stationed under Ferrand.
When word reached Dessalines at Marchand of the southern insurgency, Dessalines mobilised
his most loyal and best-equipped Demi-brigade, (the 4th) and sped south to meet the insurgents. On 17
October, his advance guard reached the bridge at Pont Rouge, close to Port-au-Prince, where Pétion
and Gérin met them, and quickly convinced them to defect and join them. The southern forces now lay
in wait and prepared to ambush the emperor and his entourage. Emperor Jean Jacques I Dessalines
neared the bridge within a few metres when he found out that he had been betrayed. In fury, he lashed
out at the assembled officers with his cocomacacque, no one dared to fire the first shot until a young

33
Dessalines, having seen the success of Toussaint’s system of agricultural labour, reinstituted the system of
fermage on his peasants. It entailed a system where the labourer was bound to the land, much the same as under
the French plantation system, with the distinction that the peasant was allowed to keep one fourth of the proceeds
from his labour, as well as a day of rest and a day to till his own garden. Instead of the hated slavers’ bullwhip,
came the use of the liane and cocomacacque, instruments to control and discipline the cultivators by army
officers assigned to the nationalised plantations, fomenting resentment within the largest segment of Haiti’s
society.

49
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

soldier shot down the imperial horse from under him. He was pinned to the ground by the dying
animal and, at that moment, the spell of his authority was broken. Generals who had been loyal to him
slashed at him with their sabres and emptied their loaded pistols into him. Even Mentor Laurent, that
Martinique-born intriguer, who had been loyal to him until the last minute, turned coat and slashed at
him with his sabre. In vain did young mûlatre officer Charlotin Marcadieux try to shield his emperor’s
body, his head was blown away by musket shots. Dessalines’ cadaver, dismembered, naked, and
mutilated, was dragged through the streets of Port-au-Prince where the populace spat on what had
been not two years before, the avenger of the Americas. It was night time before a single soul had
mercy on the faceless corpse; a madwoman named Defilée carried it away to the cemetery, anointed it,
gave it sepulture, and buried it. Next to him, the body of his last loyal subject was buried, the body of
Charlotin Marcadieux (Heinl & Heinl 1996:133). The avenger of the New World and benefactor of the
Poles was no more.

Aftermath

Dessalines’ assassination had a profound effect on the national consciousness concerning guilt and the
question of colour, as well as the question of succession. For the next fifty years, any mention of this
patricidal murder was omitted from all official speeches and public ceremonies. As Lyonel Paquin
makes abundantly clear, the assassination weighed heavily on the conscience of both noirs and
mûlatres, but especially on the conscience of the lighter-skinned Haitians. To this day, the noirs have
utilised the murder as an emotional, constant, implicit accusation, a form of historical blackmail.
“After all,” Paquin states rhetorically, “being accused of murdering the George Washington of your
country is not a frivolous accusation” (Paquin 1983:29). Interestingly, it is not exactly true that
mûlatres were the sole perpetrators of the crime. Although many historians -and in their wake, many
Haitian noirs- have blamed the mûlatres for the murder of the ‘Father of the Nation’, many noir
generals, proprietors, and landowners alike conspired against Dessalines, and were ultimately
accomplices to his murder. Nonetheless, “the crime was committed on Pétion territory and Pétion’s
class stood to benefit most from the crime, the Mulatto, burdened by that complex of guilt, has always
kept a very low and meek profile about the tragedy” (Paquin 1983:29-30).
As to the Polish presence in that country, the century was nearly entirely devoid of mentions
about the Poloné-Ayisyens. This is striking, because the next century would mention them more
frequently despite the fact that the descendants of said Polonés in the 19th century would have been
‘more Polish’ than those of the 20th century. The last Polish ex-Legionnaire that I found mentioned

50
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

was Simon or more probably, Szymon, native of Grodno and faithful servant of General Jérôme
34
Maximilien Borgella, buried in his family sepulchre in 1817.

Informé de la bravoure qu’avaient montré Borgella aux Karatas, de sa sollicitude pour les
blessés, Brunet lui adressa publiquement les éloges les plus chaleureux. Il reçut des Polonais
un autre témoignage de leur bien estime: ils demandèrent qu’il fût mis ûà leur tête, ce qu’il
refusa, car il éprouvait le plus vif regret d’avoir été obligé de combattre contre ses anciens
camarades d’armes.*

*: En 1821, un Français, venu en Haïti pur u fonder une pharmacie, apporta à Borgella une
lettre de recommandation du général Brunet, qui lui renouvelait la haute estime qu’il avait
conçue pour lui en 1803 : il lui disait qu’il n’était pa étonné que Borgella fût parvenu à
occuper un rang distingué dans l’armée haïtienne.
Un de ces braves Polonais, qui devinrent Haïtiens en 1804, s’attacha au service de Borgella, à
qui il portait les sentiments d’un ami dévoué : il se nommait Simon, natif de Grodno. En vain
Borgella lui offrit des moyens pur se rendre en Europe; il ne voulu jamais le quitter. Entouré
de soins sur ses vieux jours, Simon, mourut en mars 1817, sur l’habitation de Borgella, qui
honora ce fidèle serviteur en lui donnant la sépulture dans l’enclos réservé ou reposaient de
son épouse.
En avril 1819, pendant la campagne qui mit fin à l’insurrection de Goman dans la Grande-
Anse, je fus témoin de la gratitude exprimée à Borgella par un Haïtien qu’il avait sauvé dans
l’affaire des Karatas. Cette homme était parmi les blessés, et fût emporté avec les Polonais qui
l’étaient aussi.…
(Ardouin 1854:491-492)

After that date, no Pole or their descendants would be mentioned for at least another 120 years. Yet it
is inconceivable that the 19th century did not have its effect on the community. Yet it stands to reason
that the Poloné-Ayisyens must have been relatively isolated and rather inconspicuous, possibly well
aware of their exotic antecedents in a homogenous –noir- environment.
It is quite possible however, that Haiti’s colour/class polarisation might have induced many
children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of Polish Legionnaires to remain in their isolated
communities in the mountains to avoid being singled out for colour-based repercussions. Another
reason for the total silence about them may have been their peasant-status. It has often been said that
the Haitian peasant, up to the present day, has been largely apolitical. They are rather left alone to
work their small plots of land in isolated self-subsistence. The only time that they are inflamed to
revolt and make their voices heard is when they are manipulated by local leaders, then their passions
34
General Jérôme Maximilien Borgella (1773-1844) born in Les Cayes, was a disgruntled mûlatre general and
perpetual rival of Alexandre Pétion. Graciously allowed to return to the South of Haiti to fight the Goman
insurgents, he seceded and declared himself president of the Council of the Department of the South. Ardouin
devotes special attention to this troublesome aristocratic mûlatre.

51
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

run wild and they continue to fight until they are put down with force. This might be true to some
extent, yet it still does not explain the silence that shrouded the existence of a community that two
hundred years after their forebears settled the country still have a distinct identity of being at least
different to most other Haitians. The German community, was quite successful in developing a
German Society (Deutsches Verein) and a German school for “the descendants of Germans established
in Haiti” (Heinl 1996:337). Of course, Germany’s mere existence as a state, an imperial and
expansionist power, and its consequent infiltration into Haitian economy (railroads, ice-plants, and
banks) and politics (financial support of many successive revolutions, especially the Leconte and
Simon revolutions) was helpful in creating a German identity that influenced Haitian culture beyond
its own members. Poland did not have these things, it did not exist as a state, therefore expansion,
imperialism, and consequent mercantile, financial, and political influence and infiltration were non-
existent. Put differently, the Poloné-Ayisyens had no mother country to identify themselves with, for
no mother-country existed, therefore, a strong Polish influence in Haitian culture or politics was
marginal. That, in combination with their peasant existence and their possible wariness for too much
exposure, is a probable explanation for their non-existence as a community in any kind of literature
from Haiti throughout the nineteenth century, excepting of course the voluminous masterpieces of
Ardouin and Madiou.

This chapter provides an overview of the provisions and circumstances for the existence of a Polish
presence in Haiti. It starts with the colonisation of St. Domingue and the socio-political state of the
colony preceding the Haitian Revolution. It sketches the situation in which the Polish Legions were
able to develop as an army without a country and their subsequent incorporation into the pacification
army sent to St. Domingue to quell a slave uprising. It describes the way in which the St. Domingue
campaign degraded into a military fiasco for the Franco-Polish troops. Although, with the information
available, it is not possible to explain directly why Dessalines saved the Poles from his own instigated
massacre of the whites in 1804 (especially in light of the extermination of most of the other whites as
well as his own hatred of whites), this chapter describes the unique circumstances in which the Poles
found themselves and suggests several reasons for Dessalines’ sympathy for the Poles. The St. Marc
massacre seems to have been a watershed event which changes the Poles’ fate dramatically, ultimately
resulting in the formation of a demi-brigade directly linked to his erstwhile foes; the Polonais Noirs.
At Haitian Independence, because of this sympathy, the Poles were naturalised as Haitian citizens and
given all the rights, duties, and benefits accompanying their new status as Haitians. Looking back, the
formation of the Polonais Noirs demi-brigade seems prophetic as Dessalines designates the entire
Haitian population, whatever their colour, with the generic name: Noir.
The chapter ends with Dessalines’ assassination and its effect on Haitian society, specifically
on the unique colour divisions which have had a major effect on Haitian society to this day. The Poles
and their descendants have a unique position within this colour divide as they are often of lighter

52
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Origins”

epidermic pigmentation than the rest of rural Haitians. In this way, the Poloné-Ayisyens are in fact the
very embodiment of the old Haitian adagio (coined during Acaau’s uprising in 1848 with his armée
souffrante -); “Nèg rich se milat, milat pòv se nèg” [The rich black is a mulatto, the poor mulatto is a
black] (Trouillot in Gregory & Sanjek [eds.] 1994:155).

53
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retention s”

Survivals and Retentions

This chapter will deal with those few instances of Haitian culture where Polish influence has or might
have manifested itself. Included are often-cited aspects by various authors who deal with the Poloné-
Ayisyen subject such as; surnames, architecture, and Christmas lanterns, as well as other aspects which
I believe have very probable Polish influences, such as; recent given names, the Vodou spirit Ezili
Dantò, and certain turns of phrase. This chapter was difficult to write because of the impossibility in
connecting the various aspects. Yet it is necessary insofar as to address these frequently noted and
cited “continuations” or “survivals” of Polishness in present-day Haiti.
By survivals or retentions of Polishness in Haiti I do not mean the survival of elements of pure
Polish culture which have somehow survived two hundred years of isolation in Haiti. Following Mintz
& Price, I agree that “. . . no group, no matter how well-equipped or how free to choose, can transfer
its way of life and the accompanying beliefs and values intact, from one locale to another” (Mintz &
Price 1976:1). All cultural units and accompanying traits that are taken along with cultural carriers are
bound to change over time, depending on the conditions in which they are transferred, and the
conditions of the host setting. This is especially the case in Haiti where its modern history, often
characterised by force and violence, has dictated and demanded vigorous changes from all newly
arrived cultural carriers, whether they be groups or merely individuals. This is also true for the Polish
Legionnaires newly arrived on Saint-Domingue. Hailing from such a different culture and climate, left
in a foreign country -where virtually the whole white population had fled or had been slaughtered-,
without hope of ever regaining their motherland; the only means of survival would have been to
quietly settle in the mountainous interior, marry, and blend in as best as possible. Not exemplary
conditions in which a thriving Polish culture would have developed or have been preserved. In this
context, “survivals and retentions” assume a new meaning. Simply put, by Polish survivals and
retentions in Haiti, I mean only those few instances within Haitian culture where one may discern
Polish influence, however diluted, however small, and definitely syncretised with Haitian cultural
elements.
This chapter will focus, point by point, on the few discernable Polish manifestations in Haitian
cultural praxis. In this chapter, I describe the Polish influence in Haiti that I have been able to
discover, and so, hope to provide a few windows through which researchers better equipped may
further their investigations as to the precise nature of Polishness in Haiti.

54
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Polishness and Colour

I include the question of colour in the ‘Survivals and Retentions’ chapter not because they are
survivals in the Mintz and Price sense but because colour is such an important aspect of Poloné
identity. Not that it constitutes such an important issue for the Poloné-Ayisyens from their own
perspective but rather, because their often lighter colour has bestowed such an impact on the Poloné
community from outside Cazale, from the side of other Haitians. I will explain this point below. 35
Most people who claimed Polish ancestry did so with great conviction but with very little
sentimentality. In their day to day struggle to make ends meet, most Haitians have the time, the means,
nor the energy to pursue their historical antecedents. It is only in very specific situations that they will
attach any importance to their Poloné origin, e.g. when a Pole comes to visit Cazale. Interestingly, in
Haiti’s contemporary, highly racialised social reality, where the main division is between mulattos and
blacks, the Polonés have a rather curious status. Polonés are generally neither poorer nor richer than
other rural Haitians. Whereas the members of Haiti’s import-export elite are largely, but not
exclusively, lighter-skinned and known as ‘Milats’ (Mulatto), the great majority of Haitians are poor
and are generally alluded to as ‘Nègs’ (Negroes). Consequently, the Polonés who, with their varying
degrees of skin tone, do not attach great importance to colour are put into the category of ‘Nègs.’
Another descriptive, phenotypical term which is attached to them is ‘moun wouj,’ or ‘red people,’
which refers to their exceptional colouration in the eyes of most black Haitians; generically alluded to
as having a “red” skin tone.
It would seem that the people of Cazale themselves do not attach much importance to colour
as the spectrum of phenotype is so varied within their own community. One can come across very
dark-skinned individuals with the bluest piercing eyes, light-skinned with such dark-brown eyes as to
be called black. People with tapering chins, curly hair, blond, or tufts of blond hair but very negroid
features, dark-skinned but with European features.36
Generally, when speaking to people in Cazale, most of them would express a connection to
Polishness through tying the researcher by family-categorisation to themselves by virtue of my being
in Cazale, and themselves being from Cazale, a town which everybody knows is Polish. Thus the
primary internal categorisation used was a local one, based on geography instead of ethnicity. The
village itself was seen as sufficient proof of Polish descent. Not that all inhabitants identified
themselves as being Poloné. That would be grossly overstating it. Over the years there has been a
steady migration of rural Haitians from the surrounding mountains (moun mòn yo) to Cazale, further

35
In fact, I had the distinct impression that many Poloné saw colour as a simplifying travesty of their identity.
36
This kaleidoscopic variation has I think prevented much racialisation amongst each other.

55
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

diluting – if you will - the unique phenotypical character of Cazale’s Polonés.37 At least one informant
(I will not mention the name so as to avoid tensions within the community) had strong reservations
about the ‘recent’ arrivals, in the vein of: “there goes the neighbourhood.” This informant did not trust
the mountain people, thought they were backward, lazy, undisciplined and lacked a sense of
community. This was, however, not based on colour. The issue was whether a family was long-
established in the community, or had arrived within the last 30 or 40 years. The informant trusted
members of long-established families more because of the multitude of relations and relationships that
tied them to the community of Cazale. They were obviously also the families, which could make
strong claims to their Polish descent, as their families had been in the region since before anyone could
remember. As nearly all the families were and are related to each other closely, all can make an equal
claim to Polish ancestry if they want, whatever their racial phenotype.
It seems that, quite naturally and instinctively, the Cazaliens have understood that one’s looks
(which as we know is predetermined in our DNA through the genes we inherit through our parents and
further down from all our ancestors) can turn out at random. A very dark-skinned couple may have a
very light-skinned baby for example, or vice versa. Thus racialisation is surprisingly sporadic as far as
I was able to tell, and its insignificance was repeatedly propagated and attested to by most inhabitants,
of all shades and shapes, to me.

Fig. 13 - The variations in racial phenotype of Cazaliens is striking; Cazaliens in KaDet and KaBelno, both are habitations of greater Cazale

Unfortunately, however, colour-sensitivities and racialisation do infiltrate into Cazale from the outside
of the community. The Cazaliens themselves may not have attached much importance to colour within
their community; Haiti at large is an entirely different story. Colour is still an extremely explosive
matter and one which repeatedly flares up in the perpetual conflict between rich and poor, milat or
clair and nèg. Less serious instances of external categorisation also exist. Although by no means all
Haitians are aware of the Polish participation in their War of Independence, many are aware of the

37
Cazale’s facilities, however rudimentary, are still the subject of envy for people from the more isolated
communities in the hills, valleys and mountains accessible only by donkey trails.

56
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

existence of light-coloured individuals as well as incidental lighter-coloured communities within the

rural interior of the country. This awareness is coupled with an understanding that it is an unusual
phenomenon as the countryside is commonly seen as the bastion of Afro-Haitian culture and practice.
It is thus not surprising that a light-skinned of clear peasant stock is often greeted or accosted by the
term ‘blan’ (which in Haitian Kreyol, as well as signifying ‘white’, also means ‘foreigner’). Outside of
Cazale, especially in Cabaret or Port-au-Prince for example, Cazaliens have often told me that they are
regularly called ‘blan’ or, ‘grimo’, ‘grimelle’ or ‘wouj’ in the streets. This last description alludes to
their ‘red’ (‘wouj’) skin colour. In fact, in the surrounding communities of Cazale, the Polonés are
commonly called ‘moun wouj’. Pachoński & Wilson mistakenly allude to these ‘moun wouj’ in their
otherwise praiseworthy study; Poland’s Caribbean Tragedy, in this manner; “A clan of light-skinned
people once lived on a ridge beyond the shallow river that borders the town. Puzzlingly, today’s
residents say that they have never seen this “moun rouge” (literally “red people”” or mulattoes)”
(1985:313-314). I am convinced that the “moun rouge” to whom Pachoński & Wilson allude, are in
fact the Cazaliens themselves or the people from Fond Blanc, up river, deeper into the mountains.
Internal categorisation occurs in Cazale in the most subtle fashion. Although most Cazaliens
employ the common informal way of describing a male as ‘nèg’, (‘black’ or ‘negro’, but in this
instance ‘fellow’ or ‘guy’) as is common throughout Haiti, many alternatively use ‘blan’, designating
‘foreigner’ as much as it does the colour white itself. When I discovered this tid-bit of surprising
information, most Cazaliens were unaware of the unique titillating aspect of this linguistic deviation.
Therefore, I do not believe that this should be treated as a conscious effort of internal categorisation.
This is not a conscious effort to draw a line between the members of the Poloné community and those
of other communities; on many occasions I heard a man from Cabaret be called ‘blan’ for example.38
As much as Négritude and Noirisme had influence in Haiti, especially since the Noiristes
found their champion-president in the figure of Dumarsais Estimé in the 40s and 50s of the 20th
century, the light-skinned, aquiline-nosed, light-eyed aesthetic is, in many circles, dominant and
desirable. It is not surprising therefore that Cazale’s women and girls were and are perceived as being
of exceptional beauty. Instead of being a matter of pride, however, Cazale’s population has often
suffered from it, in the form of kidnappings and rapes. Cazale’s females form an immensely attractive
opportunity for a black man on his way up on the Haitian socio-economic ladder. He might have
trouble finding a suitable wife in the capital as many mulatto families might look down on his modest
social origins and evident black skin colour. In Cazale, as well as several areas in the South of Haiti,
he may find a healthy, impoverished, young, attractive, humble, but most importantly light-skinned, -
eyed or -haired bride to ensure a better and easier future for his children, who will be of a more
Europeanised phenotype.

38
However, if this is a unique manner of address in Haiti it would point to an incorporation of an external
categorisation into the internal daily linguistic praxis of this community.

57
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

During the massacre of 1969 not only an appalling number of women and girls were raped,
but also - lending Benoît’s phrasing - many were forcibly disappeared (Benoît 2003:8).39 In addition,
many Cazaliens believe that it is precisely because of their colouration that they were targeted by
Duvalier’s Macoutes. In discussing the economic and developmental marginalisation of Cazale, a
subject which commands the utmost importance and attention within the community, Cazaliens
inevitably link the Massacre of 1969 and the belief that Duvalier and his Tonton Macoutes were
jealous, envious or opposed to their lighter skin-colour. In the eyes of most Cazaliens I interviewed,
their slightly more European character, although not considered a curse, again, was more of a burden
than something positive. They saw it as the primary reason for their community’s developmental and
economic marginalisation.40
While it is true that both Duvalier and his murderous henchmen applied a racialised demagogy
and rhetoric, often criticising their lighter-skinned compatriots for not being authentic Haitians, the
evidence does not point to racism as the reason for the 1969 Massacre, but to an uprising of the
Communist PUCH party in Cazale. However, this chapter does not discuss the reasons behind
Duvalier’s order to raze Cazale to the ground (See chapter ‘Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical
Production’). What is important here is that the Cazaliens themselves turn to their own colouration in
order to explain, and rationalise the traumatic events that befell them during the spring of 1969, as
41
well as the current feeling of economic marginalisation as a direct product of the 1969 Massacre.

Fig. 14 - Variations in phenotype occur frequently within families Figuur 15 - Viergeline

39
An informant who will remain nameless told me once in hushed tones that not only had there been an unusual
amount of births nine months after the 1969 Massacre but also many women and girls were kidnapped and taken
off to Cabaret to serve as new-found wives for the army officers and high-ranking Tonton Macoutes.
40
See chapter ‘Polishness and Dévlopman’.
41
Duvalier’s order to raze Cazale to the ground makes Orizio’s decision to call his chapter on the Poloné-
Ayisyens; Papa Doc’s Poles, as one of very bad taste indeed.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Polishness in Vodou, Ezili Dantò of Częstochowa

When Pope John Paul II visited Port-au-Prince in 1983, the Haitian Roman-Catholic clergy eagerly
awaited the arrival of the head of their faith and the return to formal relations between their country
and the Vatican. They remembered his ethnic background and quickly researched ‘Poloné’
communities such as Cazale and published a pamphlet (La Présence Polonaise en Haiti), which they
thought might establish a special connection between this political and spiritual heavyweight and their
own country. Painters were charged with reproducing the icon of ‘Our Lady of Częstochowa’ known
to be John Paul’s favourite icon, in a Haitian setting and a small commemoration card was
commissioned, celebrating the 600th anniversary of La Vièj Nwa, (The Black Virgin) depicting the
Black Madonna of Częstochowa on a backdrop of tropical plants and fruits. As for the masses, on 9
March they surged through the capital to throng the avenue of the Pope’s passage. It is estimated that
some 200,000 people had gathered in Port-au-Prince to see the Pope. Those that had television sets
opened up their houses and invited their neighbours to cloister around their televisions to follow the
visit and ensuing speech. The same priests who put together the pamphlet especially for the Pope’s
visit also selected some dozen Cazaliens with the bluest eyes and blondest hair to greet their
‘compatriot’.
The visit did not go as planned for the Duvaliers. John Paul delivered a speech with
uncustomary harshness, telling the Duvalier regime that things had to change (‘bagay fok changé!’).
He also reminded his audience of the special ties Haiti had with his own country, saying that the
Polish descendants had; “Among other things, (. . .) constructed small chapels with reproduced images
of the Virgin of Częstochowa of Poland” (John Paul II 9 March 1983). It is that Polish icon of a black
Madonna and child on which I would like to focus our attention.
The Virgin of Częstochowa holds a special and venerable place in Poland, both historically
and spiritually. The icon is the most venerated religious symbol in the country and is intimately tied to
notions of nation, religion, history, and identity. Two characteristics of this Byzantine style icon render
the painting a special singularity. One is the skin pigmentation, a coppery-brown colour that led
worshippers to call the Virgin “The Black Madonna of Częstochowa”. The other characteristic is the
presence of two clearly visible vertical scars on her right cheek; although she carries seven scars all
told, not all of them visible due to extensive restoration throughout the centuries. She is donned in a
sky-blue robe covered in fleur-de-lys. Although depicted as a hodegetria (One Who Shows the Way)
clearly pointing to Eastern Orthodoxy, the icon’s age has been the subject of heated debate and
polemic up to this day.
According to popular legend, the image was painted by St. Luke the Evangelist on three cedar
wood planks taken from the table on which Mary took her meals. The painting is rumoured to have

59
 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

travelled via Constantinople to the city of Belc in the Polish/Ukranian principality of Ruthenia.
Increasing Tatar incursions, one resulting in the piercing of the Virgin’s throat by a Tatar arrow, led to
its transfer further west, finding its final destination on an ancient pagan hill (Jasna Góra) near the
town of Częstochowa. The white-robed Pauline fathers were invited to take charge over the sacred
icon and gradually a monastery and a fortress were built in order to protect the icon and give it a home
befitting such sacrality. The legend continues with the looting of the monastery in 1430 by Hussite
robbers who stripped the icon of all its ornaments. They intended to cart the icon away but their horses
refused to budge. Exasperated, one of the marauders flung the painting on the ground, broke its
wooden base, and slashed the painting, after which the unfortunate robber dropped to the ground and
writhed in pain until expiration. The attack resulted in seven scars, which, despite meticulous
reconstruction, have remained to this day and lend the icon a particular and readily recognisable
appearance. Although the icon had by then already acquired a measure of renown and veneration
attributed to a series of purported miracles, it was during the Swedish Deluge of 1655 that the Black
Madonna permanently locked itself into the collective Polish heart. Despite a month-long siege on the
monastery by some three thousand Swedish troops, a handful of monks, soldiers, and nobles defeated
the Swedes and so turned the tide of the all but lost war. As homage to the miracle of Jasna Góra, King
Jan Kazimierz ‘crowned’ the Virgin as hereditary Queen and Protector of Poland on 1 April 1656.
From that time on, representations of the Virgin on banners and miniature paintings were taken along
by soldiers and nobles on military campaign. The tradition of carrying the Black Madonna of
Częstochowa in the left breast pocket, close to the heart, of military jackets became a wide practice
after the introduction of the lithograph technique. The technique itself was invented in 1798, just four
years prior to the Polish Legions’ initial participation in the Saint-Domingue campaign, so it is
possible that many Poles in the Legions might have had the lithograph itself when campaigning in
Saint-Domingue. However, Terry Rey writes in a footnote in Our Lady of Class Struggle that this

. . . Marian icon may have entered the Haitian religious field at an earlier date than the
introduction of the lithographs, as the Polish presence in Haiti dates to the colonial era. Some
of Napoleon’s Polish inscriptions deserted in Saint-Domingue and fought for the rebels, so it
is possible that Czestochowa’s banner actually flew above the slaves in their struggle for
liberty, which is perhaps the origin of the belief that her scars were gotten in the revolution.
The icon’s circulation, however, was probably very limited prior to the proliferation of the
lithographs about 100 years later. (Rey 1999:235-6, note 68)

Clearly, Rey considers the widespread introduction of the lithographs as about one hundred years later
than the invention of the technique itself, a plausible assumption. Yet Rey does speculate that the
Black Madonna of Częstochowa might indeed have already circulated among the revolutionary slaves
of Saint-Domingue because of the Polish presence and participation on the side of the slaves, albeit on

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

a limited scale. What is even more interesting is that Rey’s footnote already hints at the permeation of
the icon into Haitian popular spiritual culture and mythology. This brings us to the following question;
how does the Polish representation of the Madonna and Child fit inside Haitian spiritual cosmology?
Besides being a representation of the Virgin Mary and Child, an image which in itself is
widely revered in this largely Roman-Catholic country, this holiest icon of the Polish Marian cult
plays yet another role in the life of Haitian spiritual cosmology. She is the counterpart, representation,
and embodiment of the Vodou goddess Ezili Dantò and her more vengeful apparition Ezili Zye-Wouj
(Erzulie the red-eyed). In order to understand this rather surprising relationship with the Polish Mater
Salvatoris and her Vodou counterpart whose vengeful apparition is sometimes called a ‘djab’ (devil)
or ‘baka’ (evil spirit), one has to understand some basic principles of Haiti’s foremost religion.
Slave-trading Saint-Domingue had a policy of dispersing members of specific tribes over
various plantations so as to insure that no feelings of affiliation could be cultivated between the slaves
(Fouchard 1981 [1972], Pachoński & Wilson 1985, Heinl 1996). Although forcibly converted to
Roman-Catholicism, the plantation-owners’ disinterest in the spiritual well-being of their slaves
afforded the slaves the possibility to piece together and rework their ancient African religious beliefs
as best they could under cover of the benign smiles of the Christian Saints. Such a plurality of tribes
and influences had to leave their mark and thus different groups of gods and spirits belong to different
rites or nanchons (lit. nations).
Vodouisants do believe in one almighty God, Granmèt-la. However, this entity is so far-
removed from humanity and its day-to-day struggles, as to be inaccessible to most. Thus ordinary
mortals communicate with the gods and spirits (lwas) who are more approachable to them. Vodou
ceremonies led by priests (houngan (m) or mambo (f)) are the primary medium through which they
may be approached. Liturgical singing, dancing, specific drum patterns, specific symbols, offerings of
foods and other products, as well as the drawing of the geometrical vèvès attract the individual lwas.
At any given ceremony dedicated to a specific lwa, the entity may decide to possess a person, usually
a hounsi (an initiated dancer and singer). This is the greatest honour a spirit may bestow on a celebrant
and the most experiential way the faithful may commune with the spirits. As the divine spirit ‘rides the
horse’ (possesses the initiated), the ceremonial participants can identify which lwa they are dealing
with through the mannerisms of speech and movement of the possessed. The participants may then ask
questions and take advice from the lwa.
Many gods have several incarnations and most have a corresponding Roman Catholic Saint
who represents them. One must not make the mistake of syncretising the saint and the spirit however.
One is not the other, rather the saint is a representation of the spirit and they exist in symbiosis
together. As Leslie Desmangles explains in “The Faces of the Gods: Vodou and Roman Catholicism in
Haiti”:

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Although these lithographs, used by the church in the past primarily for the purposes of
religious instruction, ostensibly represent the Virgin Mary in her various roles as these are
depicted in the New Testament, in Catholic hagiology, and in Catholic oral tradition, they are
nevertheless interpreted by Vodouisants as representations of the various personae of Ezili. In
this way the Mater Salvatoris becomes Ezili Danto, the Virgen de los dolores corresponds to
Metres Ezili, and the Maria Dolorosa del Monte Calvario corresponds to Ezili Freda, another
of her many personae (but this is purely an outsider’s perception, for Vodouisants associate
these lithographs with the Virgin, not under her Latin or her Spanish names, but solely under
Vodou names). (Desmangles 1992:138-140)

Most often, details in the icons or lithographs of the saints denote which lwa the Saint represents. St.
Patrick represents the snake-god Damballah for example, lord of wisdom and fertility – by virtue of
the snakes at his feet. Ezili Fréda, belongs to the Rada – rite or nanchon, is the goddess of love,
beauty, sensuality and eroticism and her counterpart is the Virgin Mary (Mater Dolorosa de Monte
Calvario). Other nanchons of spirits include the Ibo (Dahomean), the Wangol (primarily Angolan),
and the Ghede (spirits of the dead). The Dan Petwo is a rite forged on the anvil of independence
struggle and is overwhelmingly Haitian Creole in origin (as opposed to largely African). This Creole
nanchon is a rather more aggressive rite; replete with high charged energy and staccato drum patterns,
yet not necessarily evil as it may protect its followers in times of trouble. It is a rite often associated
with rebellion and revolution. It is believed that the struggle for Independence was inaugured during a
Petwo ceremony, the one at Bois Caïman in 1789.
It is to this rite Ezili Dantò belongs. She is dark-skinned, proud, haughty, and beautiful even,
but she doesn’t go about flaunting it. On her right cheek she carries three vertical scars believed to
have been received during the war of independence. Her vèvè is a heart symbol with a crossroad
through it and a dagger stuck into the side. Her favourite offerings are Barbancourt rum, strong
cigarettes, fried pork and the indigenous but nearly extinct black pig. Her symbols include a bowl of
blood, a dagger, black dolls, a blue pakèt kongo (a repository for spirits) and her offering bottle is
sequined, with the blue and red or pink colours surrounding a chromolithograph of Our Lady of
Częstochowa.
Although Our Lady of Częstochowa is not the only chromolithograph to represent Ezili Dantò,
she is the most widely used and accepted Roman-Catholic counterpart of Ezili Dantò. There are
several distinguishing details on the icon, which renders the Polish icon such an effective visual
representation of her Vodou counterpart. First of all, she is preferred for her colour. This gives her a
logical preference over other Madonnas, linking her more closely with the overwhelming majority of
Haitians of African ancestry. Likewise, the two scars on her face represent visual proof and offer a
strong stimulant to corresponding Haitian oral traditions. In Mama Lola: A vodou priestess in
Brooklyn, McCarthy-Brown researches a Vodou priestess in New York whose most important lwa was

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Ezili Dantò. In this revealing study, McCarthy-Brown describes many interesting aspects of the Dantò
persona, including how a Vodou priestess deals with this goddess is in a practical sense. The following
passage describes in a short and succinct manner the most important aspects of this specific lwa.

The chromolithograph Haitians most often use to represent Ezili Dantò is a particular
manifestation of Mater Salvatoris: a Polish black Virgin known as Our Lady of
Czestochowa. On her right cheek are two parallel scars. (Many Haitians, perhaps projecting
from an African ancestral memory, refer to Danto’s twa mak [three scars].) Her head is
draped with a gold-edged blue veil. In her arms she holds the Christ child. In this image,
Haitians identify her child as a girl [named Annais]. The child is the most important
iconographic detail, for Ezili Dantò is above all else the mother, the one who bears children.
(McCarthy-Brown 1991:228)

Fig. 16 – Our Lady of Częstochowa Fig. 17 - Lithograph of Mater Salvatoris

Fig. 18 - The Black Virgin of Częstochowa on a Haitian backdrop, 1983 Fig. 19 - Erzulie Danthor by Camy Rocher

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Given Ezili Dantò’s important role in the Haitian Revolution, the scars represent the wounds she
sustained during this brutal war.42 An important detail, which sets aside the Częstochowa Madonna as
being in fact Ezili Dantò, is the baby Jesus on her left arm. Vodouisants do not identify the child as
Jesus nor as ostensibly male, rather, they see him as Ezili Dantò’s daughter, Annaïs.43 The child is an
important iconographic detail as Ezili Dantò is above all the mother. Ezili Dantò is the patron goddess
of all single mothers toiling all day to feed their children, and she is extremely defensive of her
children, which include those who invoke her or have been initiated into her cult. She does
occasionally wed her initiates in mystical marriage. She does so with both men and women, and
therefore is also the patron spirit of lesbians, although she is more often invoked in matters of
childbirth and fertility, by virtue of her role as the quintessential mother. It is important to do her
bidding when she so wishes for she can seriously hurt or sicken a person if her demands are not met.
As mentioned above, her character as omnipotent mother can also turn into indiscriminate rage and
fury, giving rise to her alter ego, Ezili Zye-Wouj. It is said that Ezili Zye-Wouj possessed the prostitutes
who encouraged the slave revolutionaries to fight the French. When she does ‘mount her horse,’ the
possessed is haughty, arrogant, mumbles, and stiffly treads the ground, clenching her fists and flashing
her eyes in intimidating fury. When she possesses someone at a ceremony she mumbles unintelligible
monosyllables, for it is believed that the victorious Haitian soldiers cut out her tongue on
independence not trusting her with their secrets. In McCarthy-Brown’s “Mama Lola: A vodou
priestess in Brooklyn” (1991), the vodou priestess Mama Lola says the following:

Ezili Dantò fought fiercely beside her "children" in the Haitian slave revolution. In Maggie's
words: "That lady is from Africa, and during the time we had slave back home in Haiti, during
the eighteen-hundred . . . or the seventeen-hundred . . . she was the one that help my country
to fight with the white people. She helped them to win that war." She was wounded, Haitians
say, and they point to the scars on Our Lady of Czestochowa’s right cheek as evidence. But
those are not the only scars Dantò bears. Again, in Maggie's words: "In that war, she was
going to talk, to tell something, and then they go over and cut out her tongue because they
don't want her to talk." It seems that Dantò was rendered speechless by her own people,
people fighting on the same side, people who could not trust her to guard their secrets. When
Ezili Dantò possesses someone these days, she cannot speak. The only sound the spirit can
utter is a uniform "dey-dey-dey". (McCarthy-Brown 1991:229)

42
Another version in Haitian spiritual mythology which accounts for her wounds points to her traditional rivalry
with Ezili Fréda, who is said to have scratched her face in a bout of jealousy.
43
Some also point to the relationship between Annaïs, (with the clear etymological connection between her
name and the pineapple fruit (ananas) and the crown which the Black Madonna wears upon her head (following
her ‘coronation’ by King Jan Kazimierz in 1656) which resembles somewhat the leaves of the pineapple.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Although this is pure speculation on my part, the violent silencing of Ezili Dantò could reflect the
ambiguous origins of Ezili Dantò/The Częstochowa Madonna. For although Ezili Dantò was ‘created’
on the anvil of the Haitian Revolution at the ceremony of Bois Caïman, the spirit was syncretised with
an imported Polish image brought along by the Legionnaires who initially came to quell the slave
rebellion. That some of them may have switched sides for whatever reason, even a moral one, would
not have definitively absolved them from all suspicions. Besides, the linguistic impediment which
afflicted Ezili Dantò after the separation of her tongue from her mouth might well be a reflection of
the Polish Legionnaires who stayed behind as Haitian citizens yet were still speaking their devilishly
tongue-twisting language. For “dey-dey-dey” is not the only sound that is associated with Ezili Dantò.
As McCarthy-Brown indicates; “Alourdes and Maggie claim that the Ezili who says "dey-dey-dey"
comes from Jean Rabel [Alourdes's ancestral village in Haiti] and that she belongs to their family.
Other Ezili Dantòs make a sound that Alourdes describes as a repeated "kuh" or a sound produced,
ironically, by sucking the tongue up against the roof of the mouth, a kind of "thwap"” (McCarthy-
Brown 1991:229). It is quite possible that these sounds, which require a certain measure of logopedic
acrobatics, could be reflections of the sounds that the Polish ex-Legionnaires made fighting alongside
their black brothers-in-arms under the banner of their sacred Black Madonna of Częstochowa.

Any Kowalski’s in Haiti?

As to other ways that the Polonés of Cazale express their Polish ancestry, surnames are frequently
mentioned. First of all by the Polonés themselves as well as several authors who have written, usually
quite tersely, about the Polish-Haitian subject. In the first few days of my fieldwork in Cazale, when
the only logical question I could come up with was “are the people here Polish descendants?” (“Eske
moun isit-la se moun desandan poloné?”), many villagers replied that the surname “Belneau,” which
is carried by many of Cazale’s inhabitants, was originally “Belnoski”. Other frequently used examples
are the surnames “Fleurisca,” “Dorlusca,” “Cherisca,” “Tréluska,” and “Agamisto” or “Agamisthor”,
presumably because these names do not sound very Haitian to most Haitians, thus they are assumed to
be Polish. Many in Cazale believe that the name “Cazale” is in fact an abbreviation of “Kay Zal” (the
house of Zal), Zal purportedly being the first Polish settler to come to the region. As seductively
titillating as this story might have been at the time, it turned out unfortunately not to be the case, as the
name “Cazale” existed in the region before the war of independence. On page 932 of the exhaustive
description of the Saint-Domingue colony finished on the eve of the revolution, the meticulous
Moreau de Saint-Méry proves beyond doubt that the name “Cazale” existed at least sixty some years
before the arrival of the first Polish settler in the region;

C’est au canton des Platons, que forme une des subdivisions du canton du Boucassin, qu’est
ce terrain, composé dans l’origine de trois concessions ; l’une, de 112 carreaux, faite en 1738

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

à MM. Fleureau frères ; une, de 96 carreaux, faite en 1740 à Cazal ; et la troisième, de 66

carreaux, en 1743, à M. de Launay Mahé. Cazal était devenu acquereur des deux autres titres,
les heritiers de sa veuve ont vendu la totalité des 274 carreaux, le Janvier 1768, à M. Maignan,
syndic des interesses à l’eau de la rivière du Boucassin, pour 40 mille livres.
(Moreau de Saint-Méry 1955 [1797]: XXXI 932)

Fig. 20 - Purported headstone of "Zal"; mythical Fig. 21 – Descendant sitting on his ancestors’ grave; the ‘Belnots’
first Polish settler of Cazale; Cazale cemetery

Returning to the existing ‘Polish’ surnames, many authors writing about this issue are conclusively
convinced that the names mentioned above must indeed be of Polish origin. In Bonjour Blanc Ian
Thomson (1992) cites a chef de section in Cazale who tells him; “My great-great-grandfather’s name
was . . . Karpinski!” (Thomson 1992:51). St. Juste and Clérismé reproduce the popular Cazalien oral
historical contention about “Belno/Belnoski/y” mentioned above in their pamphlet Présence Polonaise
en Haiti (1983) in the following; “. . . , we came to believe that the Polish names had been
transformed or the Poles living in the countryside adopted Haitian names for better integration. For
example Belno of Cazale, comes from Belnosky” (St. Juste and Clérismé 1983:46, my translation). It is
hard to disagree with these authors, as the villagers are completely convinced of the veracity of their
own oral history, of which the surnames as well as the origin of Cazale are two important parts.
Whether this is actually so, is difficult to ascertain, as no mentions of Belnoski appear in the confusing
land-rights notary. I found plenty of references to “Belneau”, “Belnot”, and “Belneaux” acquiring and
selling plots (carreaux)44 of land, dating back to the beginning of the 20th century and the end of the
19th century, however no mentions of “Belnosky”, “Belnowski”, or “Belnoski”. Of course, if one were
to take the Cazalien oral version as the definitive and most likely one, one would leave it at that, and
assume that the villagers are citing from their pool of communal knowledge. At the time that the

44
One carreaux –units of land used in Haiti- comprise approximately one hectare and thirty are of land.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

villagers actually carried these Polish names, (e.g. directly after the independence of Haiti) land rights
and titles would not have been developed to such an extent as to be written down in a comprehensive
fashion.45
Continuing with the existing surnames mentioned above, there is the inescapable fact that they
clearly do possess the Polish- or Slavic sounding “sk”-suffix. Since there are hardly any references in
Haitian historiography to imply any other Slavic but Polish settlement in Haiti, I am compelled to
unequivocally accept the Cazalien belief that they are indeed, as well as some of their surnames, at
least in part, of Polish ancestry and origin. What is quite puzzling, however, is that the root of these
surnames (“Fleuri/y”, “Dorlus”, “Cheri/y”, “Trélus”) are unmistakably Franco-Haitian in sounding. In
fact, these surname-roots are actually carried by other Cazaliens as surnames in their own right.
Perhaps this is what happened to “Belnosky” at an earlier untraceable date. Another interesting point is
the fact that the surnames mentioned above have a distinct feminine inflection. In Polish, the suffix “–
ska” is affixed to the root-morpheme of a surname when the individual in question is female. If male,
the suffix is “-ski”, as in Belnowski, ironically the only surname that is untraceable in Haitian land-
records. This is puzzling, since the Polish settlers in Haiti are generally thought to be solely male,
whereas their female spouses could only have been either African- or Haitian-born.46
In my first days and weeks of my fieldwork, after I had done the obligatory interview for the
day, I would go walking with my friend Jean-Jules, throughout the surrounding countryside, searching
for local cemeteries, hoping to find a Polish name. Many who got to know me later would jestingly
say; “Ah Mon Blan Poloné, ou’ap travèse zòn nan nèt! Chèche ansèt ou yo nan cimetye-a!” (“Ah, my
Polish foreigner, you’re criss-crossing the whole region! Looking for your ancestors in the cemetery!”).
Jean-Jules used to tell them this and it was fine by me for it seemed to justify my being there, as well
as reassuring the locals, reassuring Jean Jules, and reassuring myself I suppose as it was the one thing
which I could physically ‘do’.
Bolstered by the reports by Ian Thomson who mentioned finding tombs bearing “. . . names
which were certainly Polish: Kobylanski, Wilczek, Tarsza . . .” (Thomson 1992:52); Riccardo Orizio,
who found the “. . . graveyard with all Polish names on the headstones . . .” (Orizio 2000:140); and
Rulx Léon, who mentions; ″Ceux qui survécurent dans le pays devinrent haïtiens et nous valurent la
conservation de prénoms tels que Lovinski, Meleski, Poniatowski et même Lorinska″ (Léon 1945:138),
I would spend hours searching for those elusive names. The only names I was able to find however,
were the surnames, discussed in greater detail above, with the tell-tale “-sk” sounds at the end of the
names. Also, the families of Alexis, Agamist(h)o(r), Augustin, Aurélien, Beke, Belfort, Béliazaire,

45
It is possible however, that Belno might just be a Haitian rendition of Wilno (the Polish name by which the
current capital of Lithuania, Vilnius, was then –two hundred years ago- widely known), from which undoubtedly
at least some of the Legionnaires would have come from. This is, I admit, entirely speculative on my part.
However, given the existence of surnames such as “Fleurisca”, “Dorlusca”, “Cherisca”, and “Tréluska”, I don’t
quite see why a name such as “Belnosky” could not have survived the tides of history.
46
I am inclined to assume that this must be the result of the unpredictable ways in which the vagaries of history
transforms words, names, and events, however, it is puzzling nonetheless.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Belneau, Benoît, Blanc, Charlestin, Chérestal, Destiné, Dolvi(e), Dorcelian, Dorvil, D(r)ou(i)llard,
Eliazai(e)re, Emile, Frémon, Garçon, Guerier, Honoré, Ma(r)celus, Monnéus, Pierre-Louis, St.
Germain, Valmont, Joseph (not very surprising, as Joseph is maybe the most common surname in
Haiti) and others were in abundance, often going back to the first and second decade of the 19th
century, at the very time the first Polish ex-Legionnaires are assumed to have settled the area. This at
least, was an indication of the foremost families that had made up the village directly after the
independence of Haiti. I have no explanation for my failure to find the actual Polish names, for I toiled
long and diligently and was intent on finding them. I will state expressly that I do not doubt the reports
above; I take the authors at their word, for what reason is there for them to fabricate such details. My
only, rather weak, defence, is a combination of bad luck at not finding them and the possible
destructive effect of the many seasonal torrential rains and overflowing rivers which sweep the
country regularly, possibly taking the elusive tombstones with them to be lost forever.
On a different occasion, I was directed to the local cemetery of Cazale, to find the tombstone
of “Zal”, the mythical founding father of the town (this was before I was directed to the passage of
Moreau de Saint-Méry which I mention above). It was not to be, after searching with Jean-Jules for
hours, we finally unearthed, between the creepers and vines of the old overgrown cemetery, a
formidable old tombstone, totally illegible.
Interestingly, in one of the best recent studies on the praxis of Vodou, Mama Lola: A vodou
priestess in Brooklyn, by McCarthy-Brown (1991), the anthropologist’s main informant’s full name is
Alourdes Macena Margaux Kowalski; this, by virtue of her first marriage to a certain Antoine
Kowalski. As McCarthy-Brown mentions in a footnote; “Polish names are not uncommon in Haiti.
They can be traced to the sizeable Polish legion . . . Once in Saint Domingue, many Poles sided with
the rebels and eventually received protection from rebel leaders” (McCarthy-Brown 1991:238). The
irony of it is, is that “Kowalski”, like “Smith” in England, is commonly seen as the most common
name in Poland. It is the name to which most Poles would refer to if looking for Poles or their
descendants in foreign countries, hence the somewhat crude title of this subchapter. Ironically, the
Kowalski above is the only Kowalski I have heard in all my time in Haiti and afterwards during my
research on the Polish-Haitian subject.
An interesting recent practice, a tradition that is in the process of invention, is the naming of
children with the Polish-sounding suffix ‘–ski’ on the end of their first given names. The result is
intriguing. For example, one may find children bearing names such as Belneauski Destiné, Johnski
Agamisthor, Woodchenosky Eliazer, or Jamski Dorcelian.47

47
I presume that the few Poles who trickle into the region provide enough input in terms of their surnames, that
some Cazaliens adopt the only easily recognisable aspect of those names, the “-ski” suffix. As none of the
children who carry these manifestations of a burgeoning ‘repolonisation’ are older than thirteen, fourteen, I
assume that it must be the greater frequency of contact with Polish visitors who have been coming after Baby
Doc’s downfall and the subsequent military dictatorship, which has given rise to this inventing tradition.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Dancing and Music

Dancing and music are often two traditions, which prove to have longevity in the realm of cultural
praxis. It is unsurprising therefore that both Poloné-Ayisyens as outside authors mention dance and
music as being derivative of old Polish folk-dances, syncretised with Haitian rhythms. There is a local
dance from Cazale called the “Kokoda,” which is supposed to be a mixture of traditional Polish
military dance and Haitian drumming. In Présence Polonaise en Haiti, the two priest writers note that;

A travers les danses et les chansons nous avons retrouvé le folklore polonais. A Port-Salut, à
Anse-Addrik, à Débouchette, à Desjardins, à La Vallée de Jacmel, on retrouve à peu près les
mêmes danses avec des noms différents : polka, éliansé, menuet, croiser-le-huit en avant-
quatre, contre-danse. (. . . ) A Cazale, cette même danse est connue sous le nom de Kokoda.
Les Téléspectateurs de la Télévision Nationale ont eu l’occasion de voir cette danse
typiquemont européenne. (. . . ) Les instruments utilisés . . . sont . . .: tambour, tambourin,
bendjo, tiatia et parfois le violon. (St. Juste and Clérismé 1983:45)

Somewhat less expansively, Orizio also mentions a dance; “All that remains is a dance they call the
polka . . .” (2000:141-2). Even The Lonely Planet (the Haiti section written by Leah Gordon, an
authoritative journalist on Haiti) under the ‘Population & People’ chapter, mentions a dance; “In the
small town of Cazales, north of Cabaret, one can find the anomaly of black-skinned, blue-eyed people
who sing and dance to traditional Polish folk music. . . . The people of Cazales performed Polish folk
dances to welcome Pope John Paul II on his visit to Haiti in 1983” (Gordon, Lonely Planet 2000:111).
Charles Najman, an ethnomusicologist, put out a compact disc in 2000, in which several songs
from both Fond-des-Blancs in the South as well as Cazale are recorded. In the leaflet accompanying
the compact disc, Najman states; “Nowadays, in the villages of Fond-des-Blancs and Cazales, one can
still come across blue-eyed black people dancing the Kokoda, a kind of negro mazurka. Haiti,
continuously reinventing its memory in a great syncretic movement, has even integrated whites in its
infernal round” (Najman Fond-des-Nègres / Fond-des-Blancs (CD) 1997).
During the time I resided in Cazale, not once did I have the occasion to witness this famous
Polish-Haitian dance. As was explained to me by several villagers and informants, the dance was now
hardly ever danced except at special festivities, in particular, on 29 September at the Festival of St.
Michael the Archangel. I have had the opportunity to see video-recordings of the dance; I have to
concede that I am no ethnomusicologist. What is puzzling to me however, is the often-cited name of
“polka” as the traditional dance from Poland, and therefore ‘proof’ of the Polish Presence. Although
the analogy is understandable, as far as I am able to judge, the polka is of Czech/Austro-Hungarian
origin and did not become associated with ethnic Poles until the dance’s popularity was reinvigorated

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

in the U.S. sometime during the 20th century. Najman, being more informed in musicology, will have
rectified the mistake made by other authors, and has called it a mazurka; however I was not able to
verify that the dance does indeed hail from the mazurka. As for myself, I was indeed told about the
Kokoda but never about the Polka by the Cazaliens themselves.48

Christmas Lanterns

A tradition, which may be observed at Christmas, is the practice of making “fanals” or

“fanaux” by boys, which are displayed and sold along the road between Port-au-Prince and
Pétionville and Kenscoff. These fanals are paper, cardboard, and papier-mâché structures,
which are lit up from the inside by candles or tea-lights, becoming, in effect Christmas
lanterns. What is interesting and pertinent to the present study, is that these lanterns are
inspired by specific Port-au-Prince architectural monuments and typical post-colonial Port-au-
Prince gingerbread houses. It is especially this practice of architectural modelling which has
an uncanny resemblance to the Polish tradition of making “szopki Krakowskie” or Cracovian
crèches at Christmas time. Both traditions hail from the creation of Nativity scenes, thought to
have originated with St. Francis in 14th century Italy. What makes both these traditions unique
and thus, related to each other, is the fact that the creators of the lanterns in both countries
have departed from the traditionally religious character of Nativity scenes presented at
Christmas, surely the most Christian of periods. Both have taken typical architecture and
architectural monuments as their source of inspiration, and in both countries it is the young
boys who perpetuate the tradition, although in Kraków, the tradition originates from the
masons and bricklayers who sought to garner additional income at Christmas time. There is,
however, a problem with this theory. Most Cracovian historians place the fruition of the
“szopki Krakowskie”-tradition proper in the first half of the 19th century. As we know, all the
Legionnaires arrived in Saint-Domingue in 1802 and 1803. As with the lithographs of the
Black Madonna, it is possible that some of the Legionnaires might have just been able to pick
up the tradition and transport it to Haiti at the time of the Cracovian tradition’s emergence,
which may have been much earlier than the 19th century. However, we must view the
relatedness of both traditions sceptically as there is no direct evidence to support this thesis.

48
The only addition I can make myself, albeit extremely speculatively, is that “Kokoda” seems to have the same
root-morpheme as “kogut”, the Polish word for “cock”. The video of the dance I saw showed a dance where the
dancer tucked his hands under his armpits and hopped around. I am extremely aware of the speculative
tenuousness of this analogy but I feel I should mention it as it might perhaps be a window through which
someone better equipped might make a more impressive suggestion.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Fig. 22 - Haitian fanal or Christmas lantern

Sayings & Proverbs

One proverb, which is still used in Haiti, is “Chajé kou lapoloy” (“Charge like Poland”). It is a variant
on the more widely used “Chajé kou Legba” (“Charge like Legba”). 49 “Chajé kou lapoloy” is
mentioned in St. Juste & Clérismé’s pamphlet as being yet more proof of the Polish presence and
persistence of Polish culture in contemporary Haiti (St. Juste & Clérismé 1983:46).
When I came up with the term and presented it to one of my informants, Andlène Garçon, she
had to laugh and said that every single Polish visitor to Cazale had asked her the same question. It was
she who explained to me the Legba-variant of the same proverb. Nonetheless, because of the central
position that La Présence has in Polish-Haitian research (and perhaps rightly so, in spite of its
deficiencies, it is the only study of its kind to be done as far as I know), the proverb has been cited by
Orizio, Pachoński and Wilson, a dictionary by Morgan Freeman, and a Kreyol dictionary, also
available online, by lexicologist Emmanuel Védrine;

CHAJE cha-je .v. Charger. 'Chaje' kon Lapolòy (exp.). Cette expression qu’il faut traduire par
«chargé comme la Pologne» (excessivement chargé) et qui est l’équivalent du créole «chaje
kou Legba» est souvent employé par nos écoliers, candidats au baccalauréats: «Mwen gen bon
bèt sou mwen. Mwen ‘chaje’ kon Lapolòy». On la trouve aussi sur les livres de maintes gens
qui, sous le coup de colère, s’apprêtent à dire à quelqu’un son fait: «Mwen pral pou li; mwen
‘chaje’ kon Lapoloy». Elle réfère à l’histoire de notre pays. A Saint-Domingue, il y avait dans
l’armée expéditionnaire de Bonnaparte 4.787 soldats polonais, envoyés de la colonie pour
guerroyer contre les Noirs, sous le commandement du general Jan Henryk Babrowski. Au

49
Papa Legba is one of the most important lwa in the Vodou pantheon; he is, above all, the master of the
spiritual crossroads, through which all deities and deceased humans must pass in order to get to the ‘other side’.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

lieu de combattre l’armée indigène, ceux de la 3ème brigade notamment se rangèrent à ses
côtés, à la grande stupefaction des Français. Après l’indépendance, Dessalines, pour
récompenser ces Polonais, leur octoya la qualité de citoyens haïtiens. On les trouva à Cazale,
à Salut, à St Jean du Sud, Fond des Blancs, la Vallée de Jacmel, etc. descendants de ces
guerriers se rencontrent encore dans ces localités – Le nombre imposant de Polonais dans
l’expédition, et surtout leurs armes perfectionnées donnèrent lieu à cette expression: ‘chaje’
kou Lapolòy. Quiconque voudrait en savoir plus peut consulter «Présence polonaise en Haïti»
de Laurore et de Frère Enel Clérismé, ou «La participation étrangère à l’expédition de Saint-
Domingue» (par Marcel et Claude Bonaparte Auguest)…
(Védrine 2005 [1995])

Védrine clearly simplifies the Polish defection to the Haitian army during the Haitian Revolution. He
also leans heavily on Présence polonaise en Haïti.
I came upon a second proverb in Orizio’s book Lost White Tribes; ‘Map fe Craco’. He had it
from Pastor Turnbull’s mini-museum, which I also visited during my fieldwork and, sure enough,
there it was displayed amongst the Christmas lanterns. Interestingly, both Orizio and Turnbull claim
that it means “good workmanship”. Literally translated, it means; “I do as in Cracow”. Later, when I
had mastered Kreyol a little better, I was puzzled. For ‘M’ap fè Craco’, translates literally into ‘I make
(a) Kraków’; a notion which immediately got me thinking about the abovementioned connection of
fanals and Kraków. Unfortunately, no one has been able to give me the definitive answer. Indeed,
except for Turnbull and Orizio, no one I’ve spoken to has heard of the proverb at all.

Architecture

Housing in Cazale consists of wooden kay-pay (clay, wood, and wattle houses), small brick houses,
new brick and concrete houses, concrete churches, as well as two ‘Polish-style’ houses. These two
houses are the only ones that are of an appreciable old age. Although difficult to get a definitive
answer on how old the structures really are, as many of the Cazaliens I asked about this subject gave
me just as many answers, ranging from thirty to one hundred and fifty years old, I would venture them
to be somewhere between eighty and a hundred years old. The reason why there are so few examples
of these ‘Polish-style’ houses is first of all because the 1969 Massacre also included the razing to the
ground of most of the village. Secondly, due to the eroding character of the tropics, old structures have
a short lifespan and the inhabitants tend to tear down the older decrepit structures and utilise the
salvageable materials to build new ones; historical sentimentality clearly loses from the practicality of
having a roof over one’s head. Both houses lie in what appears to be the oldest part of town, the area
known as Belno or KaBelno (The house of Belno), referring to one of the oldest families in Cazale,
and thus to the family’s original house or compound. The two houses stand out in architectural style -

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

that much is clear - despite the fact that I am neither an architect nor an architectural historian. The
houses have two stories and a small attic. In front, they have spacious verandas surrounded by a small-
columned balcony. Above all, they have little windows poking out the side of the slanting roofs, not
common in the area surrounding Cazale.50 It is to these little windows (fenèt yo) that many of my
informants, including Gèri Benoît, attached great importance, often implying that they must be Polish
in design. As I mentioned above, my lack of architectural knowledge severely limits my ability to
judge whether this is so. Orizio is of the opinion however, that “[t]he oldest are brick-built and in a
strange style more Tyrolean than Caribbean, with upper storeys and little balconies” (Orizio
2000:139). I would agree with Orizio were it not for a side-trip I made to Arcahaie, a regional centre
on the west coast of Haiti. There, I found similar style houses, with slanting roofs and windows poking
out the side. I would conclude therefore that although it is entirely possible that it were Polish
Legionnaires who might have been the designers of this specific style, it is extremely difficult, if not
impossible; to verify the Polish origins of said architecture.

Fig. 23 - 'Polish-style' houses in KaBelno, Cazale

50
Even though I doubt that these houses are two hundred years old, it is conceivable that they could have been
built according to an original design belonging to the first inhabitants.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

(Post)-Colonial Inscriptions

By (post)-colonial inscriptions I mean the survival of any place names in Haiti which are named so
because of their relationship to the Polish Legionnaires. However, I have found only several
geographical names that could possibly be considered as names referring to the time of Polish
settlement, and all of them are easily explainable as being of French or Haitian origin. I was unsure
whether to include this subchapter because of the extreme speculative nature it. However, I have
decided to include it as it is important to at least try to prove or discredit often mentioned stories
pertaining to the Polish ‘survival’ of these names.

Cazale

The origins of the name Cazale still play an important role for the Cazaliens as a reflection of their
Polish heritage in Haiti. Many firmly believe that the name ‘Cazale’ is a synthesis between the Kreyol
word ‘Kay’, and the name of the first Polish settler in the area, ‘Zal’. I was told this story many times
over and was truly disappointed that Moreau de St. Méry proves beyond all reasonable doubt that the
name existed before the Polish Legionnaires ever had a chance to settle the region. Nonetheless, I am a
firm believer in the innate worth of oral history and myth; the story must have come from somewhere.
So, although Moreau de St. Méry’s description proves that Cazale did not originate with Mr Zal, I will
not discredit the existence of either a Mr Zal or the existence of a first Polish settler out of hand.

Fond Blanc

When I asked several informants in Fond Blanc and Cazale as to the origin of the name Fond Blanc,
without exception they answered that it reflected the lighter soil that was to be found in the area.
‘Fond’ means ‘hollow’, ‘down’, or ‘deep down’ (much the same as the French word), and ‘Blanc’ is
the French and the Kreyol word for ‘white’. Yet in Kreyol, ‘Blan’ also means foreigner, so it might
also have been a reference to the white settlers that settled there. Importantly, Fond Blanc is the first
location where the Polish Legionnaires decided (or were granted permission by Dessalines) to settle.
This is testified to by both the inhabitants of Cazale as of Fond Blanc.51 It is therefore impossible at
this point to totally reject the idea that the ‘Blanc’ in the ‘Fond’ has nothing to do with the ‘blans’ who
settled this remote village.

51
This is important because it could mean that Cazale has never actually heard a word of Polish. It is entirely
possible that only their descendants moved to Cazale.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Fig. 24 - Fond Blanc; purported site of first Polish settlement Fig. 25 - Poloné mother and her children in Fond Blanc

Fond-des-Blancs

In the Southern town of Fond-des-Blancs (not to be confused with the Fond Blanc above), the
reference seems even more apt, as the nearby twin-town is called Fonds-des-Nègres. Interestingly, it is
widely said that Polish former Legionnaires also settled in and near Fond-des-Blancs, and this is
reflected, as it is in Cazale, by the same general lighter phenotype of its people. Fonds-des-Nègres’
inhabitants on the other hand, have a much darker complexion than that of their neighbours. The
question which immediately arises is whether it can be pure coincidence that two widely accepted
locations of Polish settlement share such similar names; moreover, names in which the word ‘Blanc’ is
the most important signifier.

Kenscoff

This is the last instance of a possible Polish (post-)colonial inscription. The town of Kenscoff, the
alpine abode to which the more affluent inhabitants from Port-au-Prince and later from Pétionville
have fled, has a rather uncommon sounding name. Surfing on the internet I found this interesting

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

explanation as to the origin of this name; “Le nom Kenscoff viendrait, selon Sémexan Rouzier, d’un
aventurier polonais braconnier, répondant au nom de Kerenskoff. Il aurait hanté la région, tant si
bien que l’armée dut le poursuivre et le mettre hors d’état de nuire durant la guerre de
l’Indépendance.”52
If this is true, this would be a solid piece of evidence for a contemporary Haitian inscription
which derives directly from a Pole, presumably a Polish Legionnaire. However, searching through the
seminal work on the Marrons of Saint-Domingue by Jean Fouchard, (1981 [1972]) I found the
following footnote; “In February 1796 Williamson dispatched the chevalier Kerenscoff to the
Governor of Cuba for the purpose of acquiring “two hundred hunting dogs for the use in wiping out
the negro maroons who were infesting certain areas in the south of Saint-Domingue”” (Fouchard
1981:176 [1972]).
This squarely places the chevalier Kerenscoff at least six years prior to the deployment of the
first wave of Polish Legionnaires to Saint-Domingue. Although it certainly is possible, even likely,
that Poles were employed in the French army on their own account, I am inclined to think that the
good chevalier might have been of Russian rather than Polish extraction.

Other Manifestations of Polish Presence in Haiti

Ils ont Tué le Vieux Blanc

There are other ways in which the Polish Presence in Haiti has infiltrated Haitian cultural life. Most
notable among these is the fictional Ils ont Tué le Vieux Blanc by Roger Dorsinville (1988). This novel
recounts the dramatic history of Michel Lodinski, a descendant of those Poles who settled the village
of Cazale. In November 1987 he is assassinated with a voting register in his hand in the Reulle
Valliant. It is a tragic description of the death of an old man, assassinated for only what his
compatriots want, bread for the people and liberty for all. Having studied in Russia and Poland, not
haning found any of his long-lost Polish cousins, Lodinski returns to his native Cazale. Dorsinville
writes about Cazale and its Polish ancestors;

Et quant à cette castration si peu commune, ce refus de transgresser une frontière déterminée
par une exigence morale, par un « Non » formulé pour soi comme final, peut-être faudrait-il
mettre en cause dans la lignée de Cazale ces hommes qui, un jour, avaient refusé de faire un
pas de plus, un coup de feu de plus au service de ceux qui les avaient conviés de loin au
massacre de nègres de la liberté. Des blancs qui s’étaient ainsi signalés « impossibles », à
l’Europe, impossibles, pour l’Europe. Refoulés à Jamaïque par le gouverneur blanc quand ils

52
http://www.alliance-haiti.com/societe/ville/kenscoff.htm, accessed 7 June, 2005

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

avaient abordé là en quête d’une occasion de retour vers leur mère-patrie. A ces traitres, on
n’offrait pas les ponts ou les cales d’un navire : « salauds de batards négrifiés, retournez chez
les nègres que vous avez choisis. » L’histoire noble des peuples blancs a un nom sans appel
pour ceux qui épousent les colonies : Renégats ! Les renégats avaient donc pris le chemin du
retour, acculés à la nécessité de se convertir à la patrie nègre et à ses paysans. (. . . ) Les
Cazaliens, privés de parole politique, avaient été assignés à la terre, et ce ne pouvait être
hasard. Pas plus que ce ne fut hasard que leur histoire ne dut être jamais écrite, leurs
staitstiques jamais tenues, leur descandance jamais repérée, un nom au ski perçant deci delà
comme bout d’aile d’une légende dédorée. Il n’y avait jamais eu des députés de Cazale pour
parler de la tradition de Cazale, pas d’écoles de Cazale pour enseigner un civisme Cazalien. (.
. . ) Et puis un blanc – Polonais – était passé par là, attiré par l’histoire, at au vu de ses yeux
bleu-vert avaient décidé de l’émmener.
(Dorsinville 1988:59-61)

Dorsinville exemplifies here an empathy that many Haitians (mostly educated) have towards Poles; an
understanding that these blancs were the only whites to act on their moral disgust with slaughtering a
people fighting for their own freedom. He also refers to the incident involving the granted wish of the
Poles to return to their motherland via Jamaica. The Jamaican governor sent them back to Haiti with
his recommendation to assassinate them, whereupon Dessalines magnanimously decided to pay the
return trip of these 120 Poles from his own pocket. Dorsinville also describes the lack of power the
Cazaliens have over their own historical representation. Their history has never been written, their
statistics have never been kept, the Cazaliens have never had a political voice.

La Polonaise

Fig. 26 - 'La Polonaise'; sign of part time disco/club/bar in Cazale

In Cazale, there is one part-time club/disco, which opens up for special occasions. This simple
structure, surrounded by mobile palm leaf-woven removable walls, is called La Polonaise. La

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Polonaise has an intriguing sign, on which is painted the portrait of a fictional Poloné woman,
appropriately coloured with light skin and semi-strait hair (cheveu glisé), usually associated
with Cazaliennes. The markings are partly Masonic, testifying to the spiritual orientations of
the painter, now unknown.

Internet

Although, strictly speaking, the following examples of internet are not manifestations of Polishness in
Haiti, they are manifestations of consciousness about the Polish participation in Haitian history. When
one googles ‘Poland Haiti’, one is quickly directed to the site of the Odrowaz-Sypniewski family
where one finds a webpage devoted to the history of the Polish Legions in St. Domingue and their
descendants in Haiti today. The site leans heavily, if not entirely, on Orizio’s and Pachoński &
Wilson’s publications.53
Bob Corbett devotes several web pages to a review of Pachoński & Wilson (1985), including
his notes whilst reading the study. His mailing list is a lively electronic debate centre which includes a
mailing list in which various web surfers contribute their tid-bits of knowledge. One contributor
writes, for example;

One thing that was still fresh in their minds was the visit of Pope Jean Paul II and how he had
sent for several of them to come and visit with him when he was in Port-au-Prince. Many of
the people in the village as we were driving through had very light skin, and a lot of the older
women had very thick white hair - what the French call 'lisse' - sleek. 54

Another contributor adds to the discussion list that;

The Vergin of C., the patron of Poland is also black-skinned, just as one find other black or
brown-skinned Vergins in Cuba (Caridad del Cobre) and Brazil (Aparecida) and Mexico (de
Guadaloupe), all patron saints. The Church made an effort to satisfy the "natives" they had
conquered, by giving in on issues of female divinity/deity and "recognized" that their
conquered subjects were not white. The Ezilis are water goddesses from the Fon people in
West Africa. The Polish vergin, furthermore, exhibits these "elas," of identifying marks, the
apanage of ethnic markings in that part of Africa. The number is "three" on each cheek.

53
http://www.angelfire.com/mi4/polcrt/PolesinHaitiA.html, accessed 3 August, 2004
54
http://209.85.135.104/search?q=cache:yFCnpkzIbosJ:www.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti-
archive/msg02855.html+Cazale+Haiti&hl=nl&ct=clnk&cd=1, accessed 29 September, 2006

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

Indeed, the Polish mercenaries that requested permission to remain in Haiti after
independence may be the ones who introduced the lithograph to the country.55

Another mailing list I came across is even more interesting in terms of the construction of historical
narrative. It admirably shows how knowledge is disseminated, not only on the internet but also a
narrative in general.
When a Polish-Russian Jew is intrigued by this history he asks “. . . I have to admit that prior
to my exposure to Haitian literature, art and music I knew very little about Haiti except for one
historical item (taught in history classes in my native Poland) involving Polish soldiers sent to Haiti by
Napoleon to quell the revolution.” Another contributor to the same forum replies;

I know for fact that, of the Polish soldiers sent by Napoleon, many of them defected to the
cause of the Haitian Revolution in 1804. And they were given lands by Dessalines and other
high-ranked officers in the Haitian army as a reward for their involvements. They were
located in the region of "Kazale" (sorry for the mis-spelling) very near of Cabaret. Since then
there are children descent of these former Polish settlers and the local Haitians that still live
there. I do not have the references off hand to refer you to. But I think you can find many
historians that will account of the veracity of these historical facts.

Another contributor adds;

The little that I know, the Polish troops sent by Napoleon to Haiti joined forces with the
Haitian army in the defeat of Napoleon's forces. In so doing the polish people forged
themselves a special place in the heart of Haitians; although this might not be common
knowledge to the city people nowadays. Also because of this fact, the polish people were
spared by Bookman and Dessalines when all white people were killed during the famous
"Koupe tet Boule kay". There are also many descendants of these polish soldiers still living in
Haiti. The Potensky family is one, and there are many more peasants of polish descent, but I
forgot the name of the community.

Another contributor adds a new vein to this discussion, making a crucial mistake in the process;

You are right about the Pope John Paul II's visit to Casale. He went to meet the Polish
community there. Casale is near Cabaret (formerly Duvalierville). I heard that Casale is
culture rich community. I have not visited yet, since the list is talking about it, I am going to
visit in August.

55
http://64.233.183.104/search?q=cache:6xR1KZ1jtDAJ:www.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti-
archive/msg02866.html+ezili+danto+polish&hl=nl&gl=nl&ct=clnk&cd=1, accessed 29 September, 2006

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He is rectified by yet another contributor;

I'm surprised to hear that the Pope went to Casale. I'm pretty sure he didn't. He was only in
Haiti for 10 hours on March 9, 1983. I see no mention of such a visit in my records. I can't lay
my hand, for the moment, on that day's Haitian newspapers to prove it definitively, but this is
the first time I've heard of it, and I was following things very closely. He would also barely
have had time to get there and back.

The discussion goes on, perhaps contributing little to standardised academic knowledge but
transforming into public (electronic) discourse, available to all who are interested in this historical
footnote and who have access to the internet medium. As with oral histories or urban legends, the
discourse is dynamic. In a sense, like Wikipedia, the information disseminated through this form of
discussion is self regulatory and self-cleansing. Perhaps not as effective as Wikipedia, which attracts
history buffs and the like, but it contributes to an ever-increasing body of communal knowledge.

Conclusion

Concluding such a plethora of various subjects within this chapter is imaginably difficult. I am
impelled to enumerate the various subjects discussed and glean from them, at the risk of repeating
myself, a sum of the instances wherein Polish culture has manifested itself in Haitian cultural praxis.
Reflecting on the themes discussed; colour, Vodou, given- and surnames, Christmas lanterns,
architecture, and inscriptions; we can see that it is colour which is the primary categorisation (at least
externally) which pertains in a meaningful way to the Poloné-Ayisyen community. Yet colour or, more
specifically, perceived racial phenotype is an extremely subtle and touchy human characteristic. We
see for example that the Poloné-Ayisyens themselves attach much less importance to their own colour -
probably by virtue of the kaleidoscopic spectrum of phenotypes with which they live daily- than
Haitians outside of the Poloné-Ayisyen community do. Moreover, and this is very important, their
lighter colour does not in itself distinguish them from other Haitians. Although according to most
estimates 95% of Haiti’s population is of pure African descent, the remaining five percent of lighter-
skinned individuals are by no means solely the result of Polish progenitors. Haiti’s ‘Syriens’-class has
its roots in the Levant, many of whom are actually Lebanese and Greek by descent. More importantly,
most of Haiti’s lighter-skinned (‘clair’) inhabitants are in fact part of the milat, or mulatto-class. Their
history is beyond the scope of the present study; suffice to say that their history extends to the very
first offspring of French plantation-owners and their slave-mistresses. Moreover, being a fixture since
the very beginning of Saint-Domingue’s plantation society, many would agree that the division in
Haitian society along the lines of milat-nèg, or mulatto-negro/black, has been a defining trait in

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Haitian history, a division that has defined the very fabric of Haitian social reality. Other ‘white’
nationalities contributing to the mélange of Haiti’s ethnic makeup include Swiss, Belgians, Spanish,
Dominicans, Americans and Germans, the latter having established settler-colonies in several
communities, the most quoted being the one at Bombarde. Doubtlessly the list goes on.
Thus, when we hear or read the frequently used rationale that it is obvious that this or that
Poloné community is clearly of Polish descent, we should take this claim with much caution. For fair
skin, blue eyes, blond hair, tapering chins, high foreheads and aquiline noses are not the sole
prerogative of Poles or Slavs. Often, ‘high cheekbones’ are mentioned in connection with the Polish
origin of Poloné-Ayisyens, but I assure the reader that many Poles have neither high cheekbones,
blond hair, nor blue eyes (I present myself as case in point). Moreover, the Slavic descent of many
Poles is rather debatable, the homogeneity of the nation’s ethnicity being even more questionable than
the homogeneity of its culture, itself subject to sharp polemic. I rather doubt that the homogeneity of
Poles two hundred years ago was greater than it is now; indeed, I have ample reason to believe that it
was not so, quite the opposite. The Polish-Lithuanian Kingdom or, as some call it, the gentry’s
Republic, was a multi-ethnic country based on the rights of the gentry rather than ethnicity. By the late
18th century, when the final partitions of Poland-Lithuania had finally obliterated the very existence of
said former country, the Polish Legions formed by Dąbrowski under Napoleon’s tutelage would have
been eager to accept any patriot, adventurer, social misfit, or criminal to present himself for duty.
Thus, although Pachoński and Wilson have identified Eastern Galicia – then under Austro-Hungarian
partition – as the main region from whence the Legionnaires hailed – our supposed progenitors of the
Poloné Ayisyens, the Legionnaires, both foot soldiers and officers, commissioned and non-coms, could
have come from any part of the formerly Polish-Lithuanian lands. Our Legionnaire could therefore
have been a Warsaw burgher, a Cracovian chaplain, an impoverished noble from Mazovia, Mazuria or
Lithuania. Landed gentry from Podolia or Pokucia in the Ukraine or even a peasant from Black
Ruthenia, now Byelorussia. He could be a Polonised Lithuanian, a Germanised Pomeranian or Balt, a
Dutch, German or Scottish burgher from Gdańsk (Danzig) or Elbląg (Elbing), a Lithuanian or
Ukrainian magnate or a member of small gentry from any corner of any period within the former
Kingdom. He could be a Ukrainian Orthodox Cossack, a Galician Uniate peasant, a Lithuanian
Muslim Tartar, an Ormian (Armenian) Orthodox merchant, a Jew from Lwów (Lviv), a Roman
Catholic from Mazovia or a Protestant from Silesia. His mother tongue could be Polish, German,
Kashubian, Góralski (Highlander), Lithuanian, Latvian, Ormiański (Armenian), Łemkowski,
Bojkowski, West-Ruthenian (Ukrainian), East-Ruthenian (East-Ukrainian), Small-Ruthenian
(Byelorussian), Mazurian, Yiddish, Silesian or Tutejszy (lit. ‘from here’, predominantly around
Grodno and Białystok). He could have the Russian, Prussian, Austrian or even French nationality. So
much for blues eyes and high cheekbones then.
Nonetheless, the first and foremost ‘proof’ that commentators, both foreign and Haitian –
including the Poloné-Ayisyens themselves - turn to is precisely colouration, tone of skin, of eyes, of

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

hair; the most visible racialised aspects which led people to claim ancestry on the one hand, or to
‘prove’ Polishness on the other. Indeed, trudging through Cazale and its environs, I often met people
who, when asking if they were Polish (after clarifying that I too, was Polish), would answer, ‘mon
cher, gade figi’m, gade zye’m, gade nez mwen, gade koulè wouj pò’m, se evidan, nou se menm fanmi-
la, ou-menm e mwen.’ (‘Come on man, look at my face, look at my eyes, look at my nose, look at the
red colour of my skin, it’s clear, we’re the same family [here], you[rself] and I’). Colour then, is the
most distinguishing Polish retention in Haiti today. However, it is also the most problematic.
Turning to names, the case is a bit clearer. It seems obvious that many Polish names would
have been lost to the vicissitudes of Haitian history. Those that have remained have been modified to
such an extent that it is hard to consider them Polish. However, there are two reasons why the names
we have discussed make a much more compelling case for Polish descent than does colour. Firstly, we
have the tell-tale ‘-sk-’ suffix, quite clearly pointing to Slavic ancestry. Secondly, we have the oral
history of the Cazaliens themselves, a factor which I weigh heavily on the scale of probability versus
scepticism. An important point is the emergence of new, ‘Polish-sounding’ names for the given names
of children. This is an inventing tradition which in turn points to a broader discourse about Polishness
among the Cazaliens.
If we look at the role the chromolithograph of the Black Madonna of Częstochowa plays in
Haitian Vodou, judging the Polish influence herein also becomes a bit easier. Although we can only
speculate about the reasons why the scarred features of the Częstochowa icon that were chosen to
become the face of Ezili Dantò, it is clear that the Polish Virgin has in fact become the visual
representation of the Vodou lwa. Given the important role that the Częstochowa Virgin plays and
played in the lives of Poles, and the Poles’ unique participation Haitian revolution, the assumption is
that it must have been the Polish Legionnaires who brought their most sacred icon to Haiti. We must
not make the mistake however to judge the Polish influence in Vodou as fundamental in a cognitive or
phenomenological way. Rather, the Poles’ contribution to Vodou seems limited to merely providing a
visual contribution to an already existing system of beliefs, stories, symbols, and myths.

Fig. 27 – Vèvè, drawn symbol to invoke Ezili Dantò

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Survivals and Retentions”

As for the other themes (dancing & music, architecture, Christmas lanterns, post-colonial inscriptions)
we have discussed, I am aware that my presentation of them has been rather meagre. I am at present
unable to verify or discredit the thesis that they are indeed descended from Poles in one way or another.
What the ‘Kokoda’ and the ‘Polish’-style houses have in their decided favour, is that many locals think
that they are, and imagine them to be, Polish. This puts these two aspects into the realm of Polishness
as seen by the locals themselves, and the locals just so happen to be the principle actors of this thesis.
Ultimately, although it is important to consider the possible Polish survivals and retentions that may
have persisted in Haitian cultural praxis, the discourse generated by them, as shown by the internet
discussion forums and the literary expressions that have borrowed from Polishness in Haiti, is the most
telling survival of Polishness that has remained in Haiti today.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

Events, Memory, Narrative and Historical Production.

There are several issues concerning the narratives and discourse about the Poloné-Ayisyens of Haiti.
One thing characterises all discourse about the Poloné-Ayisyens; history. The story is infused with
history from its very inception. Whenever an author, historian, or raconteur deals with the subject -
however fleetingly - he will inevitably link the present-day Poloné descendants with the Polish
Legionnaires who arrived on the island more than two hundred years ago. The landing of the Polish
soldiers on St. Domingue is the one event can thus metaphorically be seen as the first seed planted in
Haitian soil that allowed a fragile plant to take root. However, it is precisely the fully historical nature
of the Poloné-Ayisyen story which renders it problematic.
The first thing that confronts the researcher who wants to produce a reconstruction or
historical narrative of the Poles and their descendants in Haiti is the relative poverty of the amount of
material residue available about the subject. There is quite little in terms of documents, artefacts, and
traditions that are neatly laid out for the historian to piece together a narrative concerning two hundred
years of a community’s history.
Later, when our researcher dives into libraries, sets out into the field, and diligently searches
any and every clue that is even remotely connected to this admittedly very specific subject, he
becomes aware of something else. Interviewing key-informants, ecstatically digging up obscure
footnotes in half-forgotten treatises, he becomes aware that there is a certain limit of historical threads.
There is a continuous repetition of a certain number of historical “facts.” How many of these “facts”
are mentioned depends of course on the length of the piece which deals with the subject –most of
which, as I’ve mentioned earlier, are extremely short and many amount to no more than a footnote. I
say “facts” but they are more aptly described as strands of historical narrative, reverberating strings
which quiver enticingly and hint at hidden stories just waiting to be revealed. Another way to describe
these anecdotal strings is as historical fragments. By right, they are so small that they should have
been forgotten long ago, yet these have persisted. They have persisted because apparently they evoke
enough symbolic authority to function as the building blocks –in some cases they might even provide
‘proof’- for the construction of a historical narrative; emically, for the Poloné-Ayisyens themselves, as
well as for outside observers and historians who regard the story from an etic perspective. Both groups
of historical narrators (Poloné-Ayisyens and outsiders – the grouping is arbitrary yet necessary) utilise
sets of these historical fragments to construct historical narratives in order to contextualise narratives
about the present. The (re)production of history necessarily simplifies known historical facts. It omits
some, mentions others, and stresses yet others. It and also reworks those facts to fit the story one is
telling, using the historical facts and narratives to prove the point, or illustrate the underlying idea. In
order to tell a story, one need not, and cannot, enumerate all the historical facts, narratives, and

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

possibilities of history. In the Poloné-Ayisyen historical narrative, often whole sections of history are
distilled into several sentences, sometimes even just one phrase, repeated over and over until it
becomes a reified ‘fact’. One important characteristic of these narratives employed by both groups of
narrators is the prevalent positive tone. For example, both groups consider the purported defection of
Polish Legionnaires to the Haitian army as an upstanding act of moral consciousness on behalf of the
Poles. However, the evidence supporting the contention that the Legionnaires had a moral aversion to
beating down an uprising by slaves fighting for freedom and liberty is rather scant, to say the least.
Many authors, including Pachoński & Wilson, Orizio, Thomson, Benoît, to name just a few, have
concluded, or at least have suggested, that the Poles defected out of moral disgust at slavery in general,
and the French dirty conduct of the war in particular. It is the object of this chapter to highlight several
events that occurred within the history of the Poloné-Ayisyens that in turn form historical narratives
from which deductions are made about the history, identity, and nature of the Poloné-Ayisyens.
Michel-Rolph Trouillot has written a seminal study which gives insight into how historical
narratives work. In Silencing the Past: power and the production of history (1995), Trouillot identifies
four crucial steps in the process of historical production (how history is made). There is fact creation
(the making of sources), fact assembly (the making of archives), fact retrieval (the making of
narratives), and the creation of retrospective significance (when history is actually made at the final
instance). (Trouillot 1995:26) During all four crucial phases of historical production, silences and
mentions enter into the process. Silencing and mentioning of sources, archives, assemblages, and
retrospective significance is intimately linked to those who have the power to omit or stress certain
facts within historical events or even the events themselves. For, as Trouillot succinctly puts, “power
is constitutive of the story.” (Trouillot 1995:28) Trouillot also makes a distinction between two types
of historicity; that what happened and that what is said to have happened. The first is the historical
process; the events as they occurred, the second is the narrative; the events as they are known, told,
and interpreted. In both types of historicity (which are of course interrelated and overlapping), people
participate both as historical actors as well as narrators. (Trouillot 1995:2-4, 22-23)
In the case of the Polish Legionnaires participating in Haiti’s Revolution and their assumed
descendants the Poloné-Ayisyens, the relationship between the events that occurred, how they were
archived, then assembled, and finally retrospectively interpreted, becomes very interesting. Firstly,
there is very little left in terms of physical markers left over from the events that occurred more than
two hundred years ago. To paraphrase Trouillot, the materiality of the socio-historical process is
limited to French reports and memos documenting the progress of the St. Domingue campaign as wall
as a few memoirs written by the odd Polish, French, or Haitian participant.
Secondly, after the French defeat, as Trouillot points out (Trouillot 1995:97), Haiti and its
Revolution were ostracised and silenced. The same goes for the Polish participation in the French
campaign on the ‘island of death’. In the immediate aftermath of the military debacle, with the French
avidly searching for scapegoats of the fiasco, Poles had their hands full trying to clear their name.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

Moreover, Polish leaders in exile had to get their heads around the fact that it was Napoleon who was
responsible for the decimation of two-thirds of the Polish Legions; the dilemma was unconditional
support for Napoleon or throwing in their lot with Tsarist Russia; that hated entity which had occupied
more than half their country. Not many were willing to consider the reasons and circumstances for
what seemed like defection to enemy ranks, defection to a black army to be precise, an unthinkable
proposition at a time when European colonisation and its accompanying scientific racism were at their
zenith. The Polish deserters then, were secluded in the mountains, ignored by their former Polish and
French military commanders, in an internationally ostracised yet independent Haiti.
Thirdly and fundamentally, virtually all mentions of the Polish Legionnaires and their
descendants ceased shortly after the Haitian Revolution. To be sure, Madiou (1848) and Ardouin
(1854) devote several sentences here and footnotes there to the Polish participation in the St.
Domingue campaign, even going so far as to praise the Poles for their lack of sanguinal fervour in a
footnote, yet over all the Legionnaires and especially their descendants were forgotten. Years later,
Polish historians, such as Gustaw Meinert (1886), Stanisław Schnűrr-Pepłowski (1899), Artur
Oppman (1917), and Szymon Askenazy (1919) devote some pages to the subject. Why the silence
about this unique defection and the descendants it conceived? Part of the answer I have mentioned
above, Trouillot however, gives a more satisfying insight into to the mechanics of silences and
mentions in historical narratives. “In history, power begins at the source.” (Trouillot 1995:29) In the
previous quotation, Trouillot explains how an occurrence is always immediately formed into a fact and
a historical source by those who have, or have acquired, the power in the first stage of the production
of history, at the time of said occurrence. What is important here is the realisation that the historical
actors are at the same time narrators (or producers) of history. The link between this and the defection
of Polish soldiers to the ranks of the indigenous/Haitian army is the understanding that these Polish
soldiers were very far from a position of power; in fact, they were completely in Dessalines’ power.
This means, following Trouillot, that they would have had hardly any influence in the production of
their own historical narrative. Although they had chosen to be on the winning side, all reports point to
these European soldiers being at the complete mercy of the black majority and especially their
benefactor, Dessalines. Furthermore, judging by the relative silence of their existence, their
descendants, the Poloné-Ayisyens, have also had neither the power nor the means to present their
historical narrative to the world at large.
Following this rationale, it becomes ever more intriguing that the little that has been said,
written, and presented about the defecting Legionnaires and their descendants, has been presented in
an overwhelmingly positive manner. Why, for example, did the Swiss and German participants in the
St. Domingue campaign not enjoy the same sympathy of the Haitian Revolutionary high command
and subsequent Haitian historians as did the Poles? They do not figure prominently, if at all, in
contemporary narrative (re)creation about the foreign participation in the war. The 1805 Haitian
Constitution mentions the Germans as explicitly as it does the Poles. Following Trouillot again, why

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

are the Poles mentioned as the only examples of European (read: white) upstanding moral conduct
whereas other white nationalities, such as Americans, English, Germans, and so forth, are silenced,
although their effective impact could not have been less on the fate of the Revolution than that of the
Poles? The answer might be sought in the uniqueness and quirkiness of this particular historical
narrative. Although they play a marginal role in the history of Haiti, their unique quirkiness it seems,
make them a perfect instrument to tap into Haitian history as a whole. The Polish-Haitian story is a
unique one. Perhaps its titillating plot of symbols and structures is its very essence. If in Trouillot’s
words, historical facts are mentioned and silenced, and are usually subject to power plays by the actors
in history, then maybe this historical narrative has such a tantalising plot that it is impossible to silence
it. Indeed the story has been interpreted and reinterpreted by various actors time and again. But I
propose that the story taps into such a spectrum of plots and subplots, interpretations, character swap,
and politics of colour, that it is impossible to ignore, if only for its unusual plot, its story-like
attractiveness.
Judging by their skin-tone and complexion, the Poloné-Ayisyens could by rights be
categorised as milats or clairs. Because they are overwhelmingly peasants, with limited education and
little means, they are classified as nègs. They seem to epitomise that most quoted of Haitian proverbs;
“Nèg rich se milat, milat pòv se nèg” (The rich black is a mulatto, the poor mulatto is a black).
(Trouillot in Gregory & Sanjek [eds.] 1994:155) Furthermore, although the Polish participation was a
one time injection of limited importance, it is exactly this uniqueness which makes them so
recognisable.
In the ‘Origins’ chapter I discuss several events which seem to have had a positive influence
on the fate of the Polish Legionnaires who stayed behind in independent Haiti and became its citizens.
The general assumption is that because of the Polish lack of fighting fervour, they garnered sympathy
from several influential Haitian leaders and so were able to survive the general genocide committed
unto the white population. To this lack of fervour several events were added which sealed the image of
the Polish soldier as a friend to the Haitian people. The few instances of voluntary defection added to
the myth of mass-defection by Polish Legionnaires to the Haitian army. The St. Marc massacre was
interpreted as a shining example of Polish disgust with their French superiors. The creation of the
Polonais Noirs as Dessalines’ 20th Demi-brigade further solidified the belief that Poles were now
fighting on the side of the Haitian army. Finally, the incorporation of a separate article in the Haitian
Constitution granting all Poles Haitian citizenship must be considered a public declaration,
promulgating that the Poles were to be seen as Haitians. Dessalines’ promulgation that all Haitians
were to be known under the generic name of ‘Noirs’, also applied to the Poles, making them fully
Haitian.
This chapter will describe and analyse the events that took place after the Polish ex-
Legionnaires became Noir and citizens of Haiti. It will focus on several events that, in one way or
another, have influenced the discourse within and outside the community of Poloné-Ayisyens of Haiti.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

These events and their discursive aftermath include the visit of marine Faustin Wirkus in the late
1920s and early 30s, the massacre of 1969, Jerzy Grotowski’s visit to Cazale in 1980, John Paul II’s
visit to Haiti in 1983, and finally, the ascendancy of one of their own to the centre of state authority in
Haiti.

Faustin Wirkus and the White King of La Gonâve

The 19th century solidified Haiti’s socio-political system as one of colour-based dichotomy and
polarisation, where animosities between colours and regions had fused with class-inequality. Although
it would be inaccurate to present Haiti’s hundred years of independence as one with no progress
whatsoever, it is certainly true that Haiti’s development was slower than the development of the world
around them. A hundred years of Haitian politics had developed among Haitians a strong sense of
national identity and national freedom, a deep distrust of foreigners and their designs concerning Haiti,
a strong sense of the indivisibility and geographic integrity of their country, and an understanding that
Haiti’s progress was stunted by colour/class partisanship. Concerning foreign relations, Haiti had,
under successive regimes, been able to negotiate with the great powers relatively successfully from a
position of weakness. It had only a limited amount of chips which it could dangle in front of the noses
of the expansionist powers; Môle St. Nicolas as a foreign naval base (which no Haitian politician
could actually offer without being politically murdered), and contracts and concessions in order to
infiltrate Haiti to such an extent so as to gain strangle-hold power over Haiti (a protectorate). This was
a highly risky game for any small country to play, a risk that was exacerbated by Haiti’s political
instability. Haiti’s inability to attain a form of internal stability would prove to be detrimental to its
sincere efforts to remain free, independent, and master of its own destiny. Its powerful northern
neighbour had its own expansionist program, and by the 20th century was ready to act upon it. Haiti’s
disastrous socio-political make-up, where corrupt elitist leadership of the minority took turns with
destructive despots of the majority to plunder the country, would provide just such an interventionist
opportunity for the largest power in the region, the United States. Haiti’s inability to keep American
Marines from intervention in their country would simultaneously and by default, provide the first
mention of the Poloné-Ayisyens, and a first lifting of the mysterious veil that had shrouded the
community for years.
The American occupation lasted from 1915 to 1934, with direct control over Haiti’s finances
until 1942.
One of the most blatant side effects of the American Occupation was an incident surrounding
the island of La Gonâve. Faustin Wirkus was a private when he entered the marines in 1917 and a
sergeant when he left active duty in 1929. His story is a classic Conradesque account of exoticism and
white male American paternalism in a mysterious, savage, and barbaric tropical country full of

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

Voodoo where the white male becomes king of a primitive people. By his own account and that of
others (most notably journalist William Seabrook), Wirkus was an enterprising young man, quickly
mastering Kreyol as well as the local customs. He was first stationed at Perodin in the Northern
Artibonite region, where heavy fighting against the Caco insurgency took its toll on the young man’s
physical and mental health. In 1920, Wirkus asked five-day’s leave from his post in order to return to
what he called “normal mentality.” (Wirkus 1931:109) His superiors, upon diagnosing his diminished
weight and shot nerves, deemed it necessary to send him off to a more peaceful part of the country.
This was to be the area around Arcahaie, up the coast from Port-au-Prince on the Western coast. In
January 1920, Wirkus met Lieutenant Claude “Hank” Bahn, Gendarme d’Haïti, and it was this marine
who acquainted Wirkus with the surrounding district, which included the island of La Gonâve as well
as Bahn’s headquarters, the village of ‘Carzal’. Wirkus describes ‘Carzal’ (now ‘Cazale’, ‘Casale’, or
‘Cazales’) as “. . . a pretty place, Carzal; nestling in a valley in the foothills with its white-skinned
people who spoke Creole and whose yellow hair was kinky, but who somehow seemed to me as much
like white people as Hank or myself.” (Wirkus 1931:115-116) White, with yellow kinky hair because,
according to Hank, it was the inhabitants’

. . . tradition that they were the descendants of a Polish regiment sent over by Napoleon . . . to
recover Haiti as a French dominion. The black patriot Dessalines, driving the French invaders
into the sea (as those who have followed still have fervid dreams of driving all white invaders
into the sea) spared the Polish legion and their descendants of mixed blood. Dessalines said
the Poles were victims of Napoleon, pressed into service against their will to make war on a
strange people for whom they had no ill feeling. They were in Haiti, said Dessalines, because
of Napoleon’s interference with Poland’s liberty and had been through troubles of their own
which he had no desire to make worse. (Wirkus 1931:115)

Fig. 28 - The White King of La Gonave by Faustin Wirkus Fig. 29 – Polish rewriting of The White King
of La Gonave; Biały Król Gonawy by Jan Kilarski

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

Wirkus is enchanted with the place yet decides after several visits that this was not a place he should
stick around in. According to his own account, he developed a platonic relationship with ‘Marie of
Carzal’, a local girl with a “. . . brilliant bandanna . . . twisted around her blonde hair and fair skin,
startlingly white by contrast with the brown and yellow women around her” (Wirkus 1931:124). In his
own blustering way he describes a crush that both of them have for each other. However, the marine,
his identity as a white American male challenged by Haitian realities on the ground, decided that he
could not develop the relationship any further. The reason was that “Marie seemed white –was white-
but the fact remained that her mother was a rotund brown lady who did not know any too certainly
who was Marie’s father.” (Ibid) He felt himself ‘slipping’, in danger of ‘going native’, of becoming
“an albino Haitian”, and suffering a “moral breakdown” (Wirkus 1931:108-109,116). Wirkus decides
to go back to Arcahaie with ‘Hank’ and forget about Marie. He saw no reason however, not to buy her
a pair of blue shoes with pink trimming, which -not wishing to see her personally and fall in love with
her- he gives to a gendarme who in turn gives them to a Syrian merchant to give to Marie as a present
from Faustin. Not long after entrusting the high-heeled slippers to the Syrian merchant, Faustin met
Marie in Arcahaie. Overjoyed to see the marine, she tells him about the providential gift of shoes
given to her by the Syrian merchant and the ensuing ‘mariage’ she has made with the man, for he
fulfilled her life’s desire, to have a pair of shoes.
A grievous Wirkus decides to leave for La Gonâve. He seems to have administered the fly-
bitten isolated mass of land in the waters in front of Port-au-Prince quite well. So well in fact, that by
1926, he is crowned “king” of this matriarchal vodouisant society. In 1929 he was forced to abdicate
by the American Congress; it was unbecoming for a marine to be so openly a regal authority on an
island belonging to a nominally independent country. The Americans’ interests were best served with
ambiguity about the effective leadership of the country; blatancy about the Americans’ ability to
govern the island however they saw fit would have irreparably damaged the Americans’ relations with
Haiti’s troublesome politicians. Wirkus left active duty in 1929. Journalist William Seabrook’s success
with The Magic Island, a sensationalist account featuring the ‘white king of Gonâve’ and cannibalistic
Voodoo, prompted Wirkus to write his own memoirs; The White King of La Gonâve (1931). This, in
its turn, prompted many a rewriting and sensationalist exoticist account in the US, Europe and,
especially Poland, the country Wirkus’ parents purportedly came from. The Polish Haitians came back
to the mass consciousness of Polish and Polish-American historians.56

56
An example is Biały Król Gonawy [The White King of Gonâve] (Kilarski 193?); not a literal translation as
might be expected from its title, but a free elaboration (with heavy emphasis on Wirkus’ Polish roots) based on
Wirkus’ own book of the same title.

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‘Papa Doc’ Duvalier and the Massacre of 1969

One story that was often recounted to me in Cazale was ever-present, had happened not so long ago,
and was terribly grim. It is a complicated one; one where colour and race become an issue, and where
frustration and resentment over economic and developmental backwardness are linked to matters of
identity.
In 1957 François Duvalier won the elections by playing the Noiriste card. Duvalier began as a
simple country doctor and amateur ethnographer as part of the Griot group of négritude writers. His
practice was near the coastal town of Cabaret, which being his base, overwhelmingly supported him
during the elections. After he was elected, the town was rewarded with the name of Duvalierville,
signalling the first symptoms of the bizarre megalomania which was to characterise his brutal regime.
Steadily, as the years went by, Duvalier was able to purge the country of political opponents. He was
able to rig the elections in 1961 and organise a referendum in 1964 declaring himself president for life.
Throughout the sixties Duvalier had a lot of space to operate as the United States steadfastly supported
him as an ally against communist Cuba. All Duvalier had to do was declare any opponent a
‘communist’ and subsequently arrest, terrorise or ‘forcibly disappear’ the person or persons in
question. This decade of power consolidation ultimately led to a nationwide campaign of arrests,
purges, executions, terrorism and ‘forced disappearances.’ 57 It is widely agreed that Haiti under the
Duvalier dictatorship had a highly politicised social organisation, thus section chiefs, houngans, higher
clergy, police, school teachers, etc. had all been infiltrated by the Tonton Macoutes.
Meanwhile, Cazale’s youth had quietly been agitating for tax-exemptions and against other
restrictive policies, involving market taxes and water usage of the Brethelle River. Light-skinned
intellectuals from Port-au-Prince who had fled to Cazale where the wide epidermic spectrum provided
excellent cover for Haiti’s persecuted mulatto progressives introduced a heightened political
consciousness. This is how Alix Lamaute and Roger Méhu, activists not originally from Cazale, after
agitating for a heightened political consciousness among Cazale’s youth, were found dead in Cazale in
1969. In 1966 the political party PEP (Parti d’Entente Populaire) was established in Cazale. In the
same year one of Cazale’s leading citizens, Jérémie Eliazer, who was a member of the Prefecture,
eliminated the administrative taxes imposed by the Cabaret section chief, Saintervil Dupervil. The
incident “. . . was considered a declaration of war between Cabaret and Cazale” (Benoît 2003:8).

57
In international human rights law, forced disappearance is considered a war crime and includes “unlawful
confinement, failure to allow due process, and failure to allow communication between the arrested person and
the outside world. It often involves torture and cruel, inhuman treatment, and too commonly, it involves
murder.” Forced disappearance is a form of political repression; the objective is not simply the victim’s capture
and subsequent maltreatment. The anonymity of the captors gives them impunity, creating a state of uncertainty
and terror both in families of victims and society as a whole. (Benoît 2003:8)

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

In 1968 the people of Cazale rebelled against paying taxes on sales of agricultural products
and for their use of river water, and for having to pay the church for Sunday confessions.
Jérémie Eliazer, who led the uprising, humiliated the tax collector, a man from Cabaret
named Neker Jean-Baptiste, by forcing him, in front of the whole population, to cross the
river, over which there was no bridge, with his shoes on. (Benoît 2003:8)

It was not long before Duvalier’s denim-clad storm troopers, the Tontons Macoutes, arrived, and
started raping, looting, and burning houses in Cazale. “On Holy Thursday, April 3, 1969, they came to
Cazale from Cabaret and started burning down houses and raping women. On Good Friday, April 4,
they arrested two members of the resistance group, Saintibert Valmont and Joseph Victomé” (idem).
The other members of the local resistance group reacted by burning down the Prefect’s representative
office, burning Duvalier’s black and red flag and hoisting their own flags; a red one which represented
their socialist ideals, and a blue and red one, the pre-1957 national flag of Haiti.

The next day about 500 military men came to Cazale and started the massacre. On Saturday,
April 5, Jérémie Eliazer’s daughter, who lived with Agatha Belneau-Benoit in Port-au-Prince,
was arrested and held for 24 hours, which allowed enough time for her father to learn about it
and turn himself in. Her mother Elycia Benoit-Eliazer, who was seven-months pregnant, was
jailed also (where she gave birth to her second daughter). When it was over, the bodies of 25
people were counted, some were imprisoned and about 40 others had disappeared forever. In
addition, 82 houses were looted then torched. Mills for corn and rice were destroyed. The
army carried off whatever bags of grain they needed, and burned the rest. Cattle met the same
fate. Women were raped and were forced to dance with the soldiers, who stayed long enough
to celebrate their “victory.” (Benoît 2003:8)

“As for the missing, they joined the legion of thousands of forced disappearances that occurred under
Duvalier” (idem).
Since then, Cazale has been in a state of stupor, economically, developmentally and, above all,
socially. Cazale is a commune of the Section Communale de Fond Blanc, which in its turn is part of
the Zone Communal de Cabaret. Seeing as many, if not most, of the Tonton Macoutes hailed from
Cabaret, Cazale has received no developmental aid, and there still exists a bitter feud between the two
communities. A small square with a commemoration plaque of the identified victims of the massacre
now exists in Cazale.58

58
They include; Neufort Victomé, Gardiner Benoit, Olive Eliazer, Max Belneau, Benoit Philantus Willy Joseph,
Christian Valmont, Dinéus Inome, Mervius Pierre-Louis, Michel Pierre-Louis, Pierrisca Pierre, Philippe
Dulorier, Bélizer Cajuste, Lamarre St. Germain, Elisme Elie, Louis-Juste Ismero, Jérémie Eliazer, Thomas
Victomé, Alix Lamaute, Théophile Victomé, Roger Méhu, Antioche Benoit, Syion Brutus, Maryo Jean.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

Much of what I know about the 1969 massacre comes from my key informant; Géri Benoît.
Benoît wrote a master’s thesis on the developmental issues of Cazale; Harnessing History to
Development: the story of Cazale (2003). She links it to history and makes a claim to employ or
‘harness’ history to the economic, social, political, and cultural development of Cazale. As mentioned
above, Benoît sees Cazale’s marginalisation as a direct result of the 1969 massacre. Certainly, all the
people I interviewed in Cazale feel the same way. In the paper Benoît discusses in short the events that
preceded and followed the Massacre of Cazale on 27 March, 1969. Benoît’s parents are both from
Cazale and it was at her father’s place that I spent most of my time while doing fieldwork in Cazale.
Although she was not born in the village but in Port-au-Prince, she explains that in Haiti’s social
reality, where 70% of the population is made up out of peasants working the land and most who live in
the city are only first or second generation urban immigrants, most people still have very strong ties to
the rural villages where they or their parents came from. It was only in the 1960s, under François
‘Papa Doc’ Duvalier, that rural immigrants actually started migrating en masse to the cities. It was an
active policy of urbanisation primarily through the policy of neglect of the Haitian hinterland
(andeyò), in fact, any other place than Port-au-Prince (Benoît quotes the popular cynical nominal
designation of the capital as ‘The Republic of Port-au-Prince’) was structurally neglected (2003:5).
Benoît starts off by unequivocally stating that the second most important date for Cazale and
its inhabitants is 27 March when they commemorate the Massacre. Benoît interestingly puts the first
most important day as the day the Polish Legionnaires settled in Haiti. Yet the date for this most
important event is difficult to set as the landing of Polish Legionnaires went in waves. Moreover, the
Polish soldiers came as enemy combatants, something which would complicate an anniversary
celebration. Thus, 27 March 1969 becomes a reference point for all Cazaliens; a date which functions
as a watershed in the history of the community, as well as an event of rupture and trauma which may
be commemorated with sadness. According to Benoît the 1969 massacre of Cazale “. . . scarred the
survivors with a deep sense of powerlessness, loss, and isolation.” She further states that one of the
most serious side effects of massacre “was to disrupt the relationship between generations. Elders
were seen and saw themselves as powerless, and the most-talented and dedicated leaders among the
young were assassinated” (2003:20).
Throughout her thesis, Benoît continues to stress the uniqueness of the community’s Polish
heritage and the way the community might utilise its history for the development of its future. Benoît
makes some very interesting comments with regard to the uniqueness of the Cazaliens, meaning their
‘Polish heritage’ and the colour of their skin, for example:

What makes the people of Cazale distinctive is their Polish origin. They are also very proud of
steadfastly fighting for justice and democracy, whether against the French armies or the
Duvalier dictatorship; … (2003:17)

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

However, Benoît also goes into the downside of their unique heritage and appearance in the context of
a wider colour/class dichotomy in Haiti’s social reality, when she says;

The color problem has never been resolved, and remains a potent issue that can be tapped for
political advantage whenever necessary. According to the people of Cazale, the color problem
is a caricature that distorts rather than describes them. They are poor peasants and, in
reference to the Haitian saying “rich blacks are mulattos and poor mulattos are blacks”, the
people of Cazale could only be considered black despite the light color of their skin. If the
village’s light-skinned population has become a people in a place of resistance, it has also
become a target. (2003:7-8)

Both excerpts illustrate admirably the way in which Benoît links the people of Cazale with colour on
the one hand and resistance on the other. It is the following excerpt however which firmly qualifies the
Cazaliens as a people who have always fought for freedom and the price they have had to pay for that
quality:

The people from Cazale, who have always fought for freedom and respect, were once again
victims of their beliefs. They not only hold Duvalier’s thugs responsible but also the people of
Cabaret who served as agents of that regime and facilitated its hideous crimes. They feel that
the personal vendetta of the Cabaretians aided and abetted the Tontons Macoutes.
(2003:8-9)

This qualification is linked to the myth of a long tradition of resistance and fighting for freedom, from
the very inception of the Polish Legions. As another instance of fighting for freedom and justice
among the Cazaliens, Benoît cites several of her elderly informants in the native village of her parents
who inform her that during the American occupation of Haiti (1915-1934), two notable members of
the Caco resistance movement lead by Charlemagne Perralte, were from Cazale: Jean-Pierre Israel
Belneau and Da Agénor Garçon Benoit. It would seem that Benoit is reproducing, or, reinventing the
Polish national myth of “for your freedom, and ours”; the slogan and rather simplistic ideology of the
Polish Legions at their formation, entailing fighting for all oppressed peoples around the world.
When I interviewed several people from Cazale, however, they would unequivocally deny any
knowledge of any resistance their fathers or grandfathers may offered to the Americans, possibly out
of protection of the ‘good’ name of their community, perhaps they were unsure of whether I would be
favourably inclined towards their resistance to other whites, or they might have been insecure of their
own historical knowledge, saying that they were not historians so they couldn’t know.
Elizabeth Abbot continues the reification of these Polish descendants as freedom fighters in
her analysis of the Duvalier regime; Haiti: The Duvaliers and their legacy (1988). Interestingly, in this

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

account of the Duvaliers’ slide toward inhuman depravity, Abbot puts the Cazale massacre in the
context of François ‘Papa Doc’ Duvalier’s paranoia of anyone who might oppose him, first and
foremost the Communists. After the deep divisions of the various Leftist factions in the nineteen-
sixties, and the brutal murder of Jean-Jacques Dessalines Ambroise in 1965, the rival factions united
to form the United Party of Haitian Communists (PUCH) in December 1968. Abbot states;

…PUCH members began a guerrilla operation. The village they chose was Cazale, home of
descendants of Polish soldiers sent by Napoleon to fight the Haitians but who so admired their
enemy that they changed sides and joined them. Respected throughout Haiti, the Cazale
villagers are a mix of Polish and Haitian bloodlines, many blond with Slavic cheekbones
sharp under tawny brown skin. Primarily Protestant, steeped in notions of fundamental
freedoms from their exotic heritage, and residents of the only village in Haiti without a single
houngan or mambo, the people of Cazale became PUCH’s testing ground.
(Abbot 1988:151)

The account continues with the young “Communists” defiantly raising the old blue and red flag of
Haiti and lowering of Duvalier’s black and red one and waiting for Duvalier to move. Abbot claims
that soon after, hundreds of Macoutes and soldiers arrived and stormed Cazale where “terrible battles
followed,” and many of the youngsters died as a consequence. Those who survived fled into the
mountains and slowly made their way to the various safe-houses.

In Cazale the villagers paid a heavier price. The Macoutes made examples of them, holding
them up to all other Haitians who might even consider sedition. Hundreds were beaten. A
dozen were tied with ropes behind cars and trucks until they died. Some were hanged and a
few more were shot. The total death toll stood at twenty-three, but hundreds more disappeared
for ever, and Cazale mourned them as dead. (Idem)

Clearly, Abbot also mythicises the Polish heritage of fighting for freedom. Not only that, but she
unequivocally claims that the Polish soldiers so admired their enemies that they changed sides and
joined them, simplifying her narrative in a classic Trouillotian sense; mentioning Polish defection to
the Haitian ranks yet omitting the complexities of that statement. It is furthermore interesting that
Abbot describes the result of the mix of Polish and Haitian bloodlines as people who are “. . . blond,
with Slavic cheekbones sharp under tawny brown skin”, repeating the same phenotypical
characterisations we find with other authors describing Cazale’s inhabitants. Most telling however, is
that Abbot somehow manages to imbue the Cazaliens with a tradition of freedom and resistance,
which has somehow passed down to the present-day inhabitants from their freedom-fighting ancestors.
One may also notice the leap that Abbot makes from the time that the Cazaliens’ ancestors joined the
Haitians to the apparent respect their descendants enjoy “throughout Haiti”. It is clear that both Abbot

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

and Benoît repeat and reify the prevalent myth of Polish resistance and love of freedom. The
interesting part is of course that this myth is commonly attached to discourses about Poland and its
history, now it has been transplanted and inserted into the people of Cazale, based on two givens;
defection of Poles to the Haitian army during the War of Independence and the beating down of a
militant communist guerrilla movement which happened to take place in Cazale.

Mr. Blokowski, Detopski, and Grotowski visit Cazale

In the public discourse that typifies the Haitian Poloné narrative, silences and mentions in the
historiography of this narrative (with its limited and scanty archival artifacts) have necessarily
clouded, deformed, distorted and reconfigured the narrative away from the actual events. This is true
of the initial stages of the Polish experience in Haiti, yet maybe even more so of the years after the
Polish Legionnaires first landed in Haiti.
In some instances, however, one may be fortunate enough to stumble across a highly
‘mythologised’ event which one is able to clear up; demythicise the circumstances of that event. One
such event is mentioned in Pachoński & Wilson’s Poland’s Caribbean Tragedy in the following
manner; “In Cazale the authors met a man who had spent eight months in Poland in 1980 visiting a
Polish gentleman who had come to Cazale ‘looking for his ancestors’” (1986:316). Pachoński &
Wilson do not deem it necessary to investigate this tantalising bit of information further. This might
have to do with the fact that the quoted passage is a reference to their description of La Présence
Polonaise en Haïti, the authors referred to obviously being the two priests, St. Juste and Clerismé. The
reader will excuse the ‘who dunnit?-structure’ of my presentation of the unfolding of the narrative.
The unearthing of the real identity of the mysterious ?-ski shows, I believe, in an effective manner
how certain facts, events and identities become muddled, confused and reworked to fit the signifying
needs of the narrators. Also, the relatively recent date of said event is a testament to the
reconfiguration of narratives which clearly sets in at an early stage, if not immediately.
Riccardo Orizio’s Lost White Tribes (2000), Ian Thomson’s Bonjour Blanc (1992), as well as
La Présence Polonaise en Haiti (1983), all deal with the same mysterious Polish gentleman’s visit to
Cazale, who took one Poloné-Ayisyen, a gentleman named Amon Frémon(t) (since deceased), from
Cazale and brought him to Poland for a longer period of time. In Orizio’s account, this gentleman is
called ‘Detopski, “who could travel and do business abroad despite the pro-Soviet regime and was
therefore one of the nomenklatura, the Communist élite, yet who was also a secret supporter of
Solidarity in the very year that saw the first of the strikes. . .” (Orizio 2000:144). Orizio self-
admittedly speculates on the reasons, after interviewing Frémon, and comes up with Vodou-rituals to
overthrow the Communist-regime in Poland or else: an unscrupulous circus exploiter who exploits this
Afro-Polish coffee-coloured Voodoo-priest for the taunts and jokes of peasants in clearings in the deep
Polish forests.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

In La Présence Polonaise en Haiti on the other hand, the same Frémon is interviewed and
there he declares that ‘Blokowski’ came to find his relatives in Cazale. This turns out to work well,
because it just so happens that Frémon’s grandmother is also called ‘Blokowski’. After this revelation
the prodigal cousins have finally, after two-hundred years of separation, found each other. Blokowski
the Pole takes Blokowski the Haitian ‘back’ to Poland to visit the country of his ancestors. However,
in an interview with a certain ‘Milot’, the story becomes somewhat different.59 Confusingly, Milot
states that Blokowski had come in April of 1982. Either both Amon Frémon and Milot disagree on the
date of Blokowski’s coming to Cazale or Blokowski had come several times, at least twice. Moreover,
Milot does not mention Blokowski’s visit as a family matter but as one which was instigated by a wish
to corroborate the existence of an image, presumably a Mother and Child – one that resembled the
Black Virgin of Częstochowa, which had purportedly been taken from Poland by the settling
Legionnaires (St. Juste and Clerismé 1983:46).
Thomson also interviews the same Frémon who also calls the visiting Pole ‘Blokowski’.
Thomson writes an enjoyable and well-written travelogue which subtly discusses his observations
based on months of travel through Haiti. The following excerpt tersely and succinctly describes his
interview with Frémon, who has a penchant for laconic and amusing conclusions;

Today the small heritage of Poland lives through song and dance. ‘ An elderly inhabitant of
Belno, Amon Fremon, beat on a drum for us the rhythm of a minuet which derives from the
Polka. It is known up here as the ‘Kokoda’, a sort of Polish-Haitian half-step. Monsieur
Fremon is a Voodoo priest.’ […] ‘Inside, the sanctum was hung with charms against mal jok,
evil eye: a goat’s skull, objects twisted like twisted red peppers (the same amulets are to be
found in Naples, countless plastic dolls like speechless mannequins with lidless eyes. ‘I spent
eight months in Warsaw,’ the priest informed us. ‘A Pole came here in search of his relatives.
He shared my grandfather’s surname – Blokowski. So he said, “Let me take you to the land of
your ancestors.” That was in 1980 and I’d never been on an aeroplane before.’ ‘What did you
make of Warsaw?’ ‘Not bad. Wonderful vodka.’ (Thomson 1992:54-55)

In both accounts, whether Detopski or Blokowski, Frémon declares that he was treated well and well-
taken care of. Moreover, he claims that the visit by the Polish gentleman was familial in character; a
wish on the part of the Pole to reunite his family (St. Juste and Clerismé 1983:47).
Finally, Orizio, in his Lost White Tribes, interviews the same Amon Frémon about his eight-
month sojourn in Poland. He describes his visit to Cazale (two days, judging by the narration) and his
interview with Frémon in the overwhelmingly melodramatic tone which seem to be a hallmark of his
otherwise strongly evocative writing-style. His account of Frémon’s visit ‘back to the country of his
ancestors’ is by far the longest, most evocative, tantalising and yet also the most speculative of the
59
This ‘Milot’ turned out to be none other than a sweet old uncle of Géri Benoit who had ‘adopted’ me after a
fashion, thus becoming my ton ton Milo.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

narratives so far, giving rise to some preposterous suggestions. It also differs from the others in some
important respects, most notably in the name of the Polish gent who visited Cazale in 1980; the name,
as mentioned above, being ‘Detopski’. In Orizio’s version, Frémon unconsciously grimaces as if to
remember an embarrassing incident, which gives rise to speculations by Orizio of nefarious grand
design or unscrupulous exploitation by Detopski (2000:142-144). In order to give an idea of Orizio’s
tone, itself intimately connected to a narrative which unfolds elaborately according to the character of
the narrator, I have decided to include several excerpts of Orizio’s account;

But fate chose one man, Amon Frémon, to be a witness to what things were like, or had been
at one point, Labas en Pologne. In 1980, when the painful years of Duvalier’s regime were
drawing to a close in Port-au-Prince and Communism was on its last legs in Warsaw, Casales
received a visit from a man whose name still excites love and veneration. Things would never
be quite the same afterwards. This man, a real Pole from Poland, appeared to the mountain-
dwellers as the Messiah whose long-awaited coming would rescue les Polonaises from their
miserable isolation and neglect by telling the world about their sufferings. To provide proof of
the survival of a Polish community in an obscure corner of the Caribbean, he chose Amon
Frémon and took him back to the Poland of General Jaruzelski on the very eve of the strikes
in the Danzig shipyards.” (Orizio 2000:142)

Maybe it was pure chance, but the man chosen by the mysterious Polish benefactor to revive
the ties between the lost tribe and the mother country was a houngan, a Voodoo priest or
magic-man. ‘Jerzy chose me because he liked the way I lived. I’m a magic-man, I have
special powers, everyone here loves me. And the grand blanc liked the idea of a Pole who
knew about magic.’ We egged him on with more questions and Amon sighed, obviously
thinking us ignorant foreigners so unimaginative that every last thing had to be explained.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘Jerzy knew that I was the one man who could bring peace to Poland. The
country was up in arms and needed someone with magic powers. Jerzy took me all over the
place, to one city after another, and organized great festivals of magic. Every city we went to,
we would take at least 25 white men with us into the forest and perform the rites together.’ He
broke off suddenly, as if he had suddenly recollected an incident that would not bear the
telling, and concluded by saying, ‘Ah no, mine is not an easy profession.’
The story was quite bizarre. I tried to imagine this Polish man, this grand blanc as Amon had
called him, who could travel and do business abroad despite the pro-Soviet regime and was
therefore one of the nomenklatura, the Communist élite, yet who was also a secret supporter
of Solidarity in the very year that saw the first of the strikes (the ‘war’ as Amon called it).
This powerful Pole, obsessed by accounts he had heard of his forgotten ‘brothers’ in Haiti,
must have imagined that with a bit of Voodoo magic even the mighty USSR could be made to
yield some part of its invincibility. Who Jerzy might have been, and why he ever came to

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

Haiti, remained unclear. Amon vaguely mentioned shops, leading one to suppose that he was
some kind of dealer. In what? There was no way of knowing.
It is possible that the Pole was simply a businessman who led Amon around the country
exhibiting him for payment in the villages and organising quasi-voodoo ceremonies in the
woods, carefully avoiding discovery by the police who could have arrested him for
subversion.
(Orizio 2000:143-144)

I have included these two passages for they evoke much better than I could ever describe in my own
words the dramatic tone of Orizio’s prose. They also show how Orizio’s narrative structure, and by
extension, any narrative for that matter, glosses over historical facts and events in order to construct a
gripping tale, one that is tightly structured and thus makes sense to the reader or listener. As to the
drama in Orizio’s prose, one might consider the first two paragraphs of Orizio’s narrative. I am not
merely alluding to ‘Fate choosing one man,’ for it is a turn of phrase, the choice or use of which is the
full and sole right of any narrator to employ. I am referring mainly to the phrases “Things would never
be quite the same afterwards.” and “This man, a real Pole from Poland, appeared to the mountain-
dwellers as the Messiah whose long-awaited coming would rescue les Polonaises from their miserable
isolation and neglect by telling the world about their sufferings.” Turns of phrase are the right of any
writer, but the two sentences I have chosen seem to me to be over-dramatisations. That things are
never quite the same after an event transpires, in this case the visit of “. . . a real Pole from Poland,” is
undoubtedly quite true. Yet I beg to differ on Orizio’s claim that our visiting Polak appeared to the
Cazaliens as some kind of Messiah who had come to deliver them from their misery. This implies an
attitude which can only be described as a type of messianistic millennialism pervading Poloné-
Cazalien thought, akin perhaps to Rastafarianism’s ‘Repatriation to Africa is a Must.’ During my
fieldwork and discussions in Cazale, I found no evidence of these attitudes. Furthermore, armed with a
copy of Orizio’s Lost White Tribes and the priests’ Présence Polonaise, I found that my queries
concerning Blokowski’s or Detopski’s visit provoked only limited response from my Cazalien
respondents, often amounting to no more than a disinterested “Wi, wi, Blokosky, li te vini isit-la pou
prann gangan-nan Laba LaPoloy” [“Yes, yes, Blokosky, he came here to take the Vodou-priest to
Poland”]. A far cry then from the “. . . man whose name still excites love and veneration” (idem: 142).
I would stress here that I carried out my fieldwork in 2003 in Cazale, and I believe Orizio must have
been in Cazale some seven years before. This is hardly a span of time in which the image of a man
considered a Messiah, in a rural community, where time passes somewhat slower than in those more
urbanised, would fade into near disinterested oblivion.
But to return to Amon and his mysterious Polish relative. We now learn from Orizio that
Amon’s grandfather’s name was Faon Frémon Beké, not quite the ‘Blokowski’ Thomson alludes to in
his conversation with Amon in Bonjour Blanc. Also, I assume the reader has noted that Orizio’s Pole

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

is not ‘Blokowski’ but ‘Detopski,’ with the clearly Polish given name of ‘Jerzy,’ a piece of
information seemingly of not much direct use, yet ultimately crucial to my finding out who our
visiting Pole actually was. Above all, there is the corroboration of all the other accounts of the man
searching for his ancestors. This might mean two things, either the man really was searching for long-
lost family members or, the Cazaliens might have interpreted his visit as one in which searching for
his family was the prime reason for his visit. The latter could in its turn be the result of an isolated
village’s social reality dictated by familial relationships or, alternatively, be the result of the Pole’s
claim that he actually was searching for his long lost family, for simplicity’s sake.
Even more interesting is Amon’s account of his time spent in Poland and by extension we
learn more about the reasons that might have prompted our grand blanc polonais to have chosen
Amon specifically, and here we must give credit to Orizio for delving deeper into this crucial episode
of the story. We learn for example that Amon did not simply stay in Warsaw for eight or nine months.
Jerzy apparently had taken him “. . . all over the place, to one city after another, and organized great
festivals of magic. Every city we went to, we would take at least 25 white men with us into the forest
and perform the rites together.” Amon considers the Vodou-rites and “great festivals of magic” as
intended to bring peace to the country, as “the whole country was up in arms”.60 This certainly would
explain Jerzy’s choice of an houngan, Amon’s spiritual calling, to choose Frémon specifically, to
Poland.
It is here that Orizio’s imagination, self-admittedly, takes flight to heights so high as to be
quite inconceivable. For example, hearing this – admittedly – bizarre story, Orizio tries to imagine;

. . . this Polish man, this grand blanc as Amon had called him, who could travel and do
business abroad despite the pro-Soviet regime and was therefore one of the nomenklatura, the
Communist élite, yet who was also a secret supporter of Solidarity in the very year that saw
the first of the strikes (the ‘war’ as Amon called it). This powerful Pole, obsessed by accounts
he had heard of his forgotten ‘brothers’ in Haiti, must have imagined that with a bit of
Voodoo magic even the mighty USSR could be made to yield some part of its invincibility.
(Orizio 2000:143)

I find it hard to begin to analyse at which point exactly the conceivability of Orizio’s imagination
actually starts to falter. Suffice to say that Orizio’s imagination manages to exceed in bizarreness that
of Frémon’s story. I concede that speculation is a creative and necessary part of any investigation,
especially one in which there are so few straws to hold on to. But the suggestion that just before
Jaruzelski’s declaration of Martial Law in Poland, a nefarious and unscrupulous Pole would be able to
lead “. . . Amon around the country exhibiting him for payment in the villages and organising quasi-

60
Something not too far-fetched as Poland at that time indeed was in the throes of acute political tension;
Jaruzelski’s Martial Law and Solidarność’s strikes.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

voodoo ceremonies in the woods, carefully avoiding discovery by the police who could have arrested
him for subversion . . .” is simply preposterous. In fact, the suggestion is self-contradictory.
Would the real Jerzy ?-ski please stand up! I discovered the real identity of the mysterious
Pole quite coincidentally. Shortly before setting off into the field in Haiti, I was staying at my father’s
apartment in Warsaw mulling over a glass of wine one fine evening, going over the various accounts
of Amon’s adventure. Suddenly my father recalled an anecdote;

It’s 1980 or ‘81 or so. I’m sitting at a street side café in Wrocław, drinking an espresso,
reading a newspaper which contained nothing at all actually, except maybe bullshit. I’m
feeling down, the situation in the country is not going in any direction except a bad one, so
y’know, things generally suck, everything’s grey. Suddenly, people in the street become
excited, they’re staring at something coming down the main street. I lean over to take a look,
and I see a group of coffee-coloured people, dressed in exotic clothing, parading in their
tropical colours through the main street. I ask a neighbour what’s going on and someone else
answers, ah, it’s probably Grotowski at it again.
(Piotr Rypson, personal communication, winter, 2003)

I had absolutely no idea who Grotowski might have been at the time. My father however, quickly
made the connection, “Here, what’s this guy’s name? Detopski, Blokowski,? Those aren’t Polish
names, . . . Jerzy? Jerzy Grotowski went to Haiti I think. . .” Thus, the credit goes to my father
for making the initial connection between the mysterious Pole who visited Cazale in 1980 and
the dramatist Jerzy Grotowski. In Cazale, I was able to identify the mysterious Blokowski and
Detopski as being one and the same as Grotowski by holding up various downloaded portraits of
Grotowski, which was met with much enthusiasm. In Haiti, The phonetic “r” sound is either a
French “r”, an English “w”, or an “l” –sound.
Maybe the most titillating version of the reasons surrounding Amon Frémon’s trip to the land
of his ancestors is thus somewhat closer to the truth. It so happens that Amon Frémon was invited to
participate in one of the last workshops of experimental theatre to be held in Poland by the world
famous visionary dramatist Jerzy Grotowski. Unfortunately, Jerzy Grotowski died in 1999 at
Pontedera, Italy. It is thus impossible to hear the reasons for his choosing Amon Frémon to accompany
him to Poland from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Amon Frémon sadly, also passed away, probably
in 1997 or ’98, due to ill health. It is not inconceivable that the festering wound observed by Orizio
and his wife, developed further and ultimately, without the proper treatment, took his life.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

Jerzy Grotowski

Jerzy Grotowski61 was a famous Polish dramatist who ventured to Haiti in 1980 to find Haitian Vodou
houngans62 to use in his plays. This was part of his Theatre of Sources research programme and his
first contacts were with the world renowned Haitian artist group Saint Soleil, whose leaders were
Maud Robart and Jean-Claude Garoute (also known as “Tiga”), with whom he developed an
association spanning many years. Following a thread of personal interest, he visited Cazale in 1980
where he met Amon Frémon, a Vodou houngan. He seems to have arrived at a mutual agreement with
Frémon for Grotowski included him in a group of thirteen Haitians to go to Oleśnica, Poland, to take
part in his Labaratory. After staying in Poland for eight months, Frémon was apparently forced to
return to Haiti in 1981 due to the Jaruzelski’s ‘State of Emergency’ or ‘Martial Law’ in that year.
Although strongly ethnological, Grotowski insisted that his program had nothing to do with an
exoticist fascination or a festival of folklorism of the so-called ‘Third World.’ Rather, the connection
with the natural world and the cross-cultural ritualistic and symbolic aspect of performance were of the
prime importance. With the contacts that he had made in Haiti, he invited a group of Haitians to take
part in his so-called Practical Seminary of the Theatre of Sources (Seminarium Praktycznym Teatr
Źródeł). Thirteen people came to Poland and stayed there for several months, these included: Maud
Robart (leader of the group), Levey Exil, Amon Fremon(t), Jean-Claude Garoute (Tiga), Veronique
Jean, Pelazie Jeannot, Antilliome Richard, Saint Jean Saintjuste, Antoine Smith, Leane Smith, Phito
Smith, Saint Jacques Smith, Stephen Smith.
Much of the information above I was able to receive through an e-mail from Professor Leszek
Kolankiewicz, a widely respected Polish anthropologist cum dramatologist, dated 13 January, 2003.
He was kind enough to share some basic information concerning Grotowski’s collaboration with his
Haitian partners. It was thanks to this e-mail I had finally found irrevocable proof of Amon Frémon’s
collaboration with the famous Jerzy Grotowski. Kolankiewicz also told me that Grotowski’s group of
Haitians were in Poland for several months yet most of the time they were busy rehearsing and doing
the Theatre of Sources workshop in the village (na wsi) near Oleśnica, in its turn, near Wrocław, the
base of the Theatre Laboratory. Even more intriguingly, during a visit to Warsaw, it was at
Kolankiewicz’s apartment that the Haitian group stayed.

61
Born in Rzeszów in 1933, Grotowski began his directing career in 1957. Gradually he developed ethnological
leanings within drama, founding the ‘Labaratory Theatre’ at Brzezinka near Oleśnica, not far from Wrocław at
the beginning of the seventies. In 1976 he started his so-called Theatre of Sources (Teatr Źródeł), in which he
gave free reign to his ethnological and anthropological leanings, conducted his research program in the
northeastern region of Białystok, Mexico, Nigeria, India and finally, Haiti, which he visited between 1977 and
1981.
62
The male priests of Haiti’s indigenous religion; Vodou or Vodoun.

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A far cry then from the nefarious Pole secretly exhibiting this Vodou houngan for the
amusement of Polish peasants in forest clearings at the fore eve of Martial Law. Nor does it seem
likely that Grotowski took Amon with him to topple the Communist regime in Poland or the
Communist party of the mighty USSR during Solidarność’s strikes in 1980-81. That being said, I do
not want to appear cynical for it would seem to be impossible to get inside Grotowski’s head with
regard to the precise reasons for his invitation of Amon Frémon to come to Poland and work with him
on the Theatre of Sources workshop.
However, from Professor Zbigniew Osiński, also a highly acclaimed dramatologist and
Grotologist,63 I was fortunate enough to gain further information. In an e-mail dated the 9 April 2006,
Osiński, despite his tight schedule, was kind enough to share with me the following. The first time
Osiński heard about the Poles in Haiti was in 1988 when he was staying at the Workcenter of Jerzy
Grotowski in Pontedera, having been invited by Grotowski for a period of ten days. According to
Osiński, Haiti was Grotowski’s third ‘homeland of the heart’ (ojczyzna serdeczna), Poland and India
being the other two ‘heartfelt homelands.’ It is thus not surprising that Grotowski visited Haiti many
times, starting from December 1977. In reaction to an e-mailed question about Grotowski’s fascination
with Haiti in general and in conjunction with his Theatre of Sources in particular, Osiński replied that
it was indeed Vodou, the Saint-Soleil group, and its leaders Jean-Claude “Tiga” Garoute and Maud
Robart which first drew Grotowski to Haiti. Unfortunately Osiński did not know anything about Amon
Frémon, except that he was part of the Haitian group of participants at the Theatre Laboratory.
Someone else however, met Amon personally. Mr. Bruno Chojak, working at the Archives of
the Grotowski Center in Wrocław, had several interesting observations to make concerning Amon
Frémon, in an e-mail dated 19 January 2006. Chojak was a participant in the Theatre of Sources
workshop series thus he came to know Amon personally in the framework of those workshops. He
writes that he remembers Frémon very well and has several distinct memories of the man.

Physically, he did not resemble the other Haitians whom Grotowski had brought along with
him. Quite clearly, he did not belong to the cultist group [of Saint Soleil], and he never failed
to mention to everyone he was conversing with that he was a Pole, that ‘we’re all one family’
(źe jesteśmy jedną rodziną). It sounded very strange, but he surely felt even stranger, when he
saw thousands of people of white skin all around him, and they were all supposed to be...
Poles. His own concept of Poles was limited only to his own tribe in Haiti. He didn’t know
until that time for example, that Poland was not in Africa... Such a consciousness would
indicate at least, that he had never gone to school, he was authentically illiterate.
(Chojak, 19 January 2006, personal communication, my translation)

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In answer to another question I had concerning Grotowski’s reason to visit Cazale, as well as Amon’s
role in the Theatre of Sources workshop, Chojak writes that, “As far as I can remember, Grotowski
went on his own initiative to that village, as Frémon himself quite clearly did not belong to the group
of Maud Robart. As I remember it, he always steered clear from them and had completely separate
activities, working as an individual with the European participants of the Theatre of Sources”
(Chojak, 26 January 2006, personal communication, my own translation).
Finally, in the same e-mail mentioned above, dated 9 April 2006, Osiński confirmed my
suspicion that one of Grotowski’s forefathers, a certain Feliks Grotowski, took part in the battles of
Saint-Domingue. As to the closeness of Haiti to Grotowski’s heart, Osiński says the following, “In a
conversation in Italy, Grotowski told me with the highest regard about the Poles ‘who went to the side
of the uprisers’ (którzy przeszli na stronę powstańców), that this was one of the most beautiful pieces
of Polish history, and unfortunately not known at all” (Osiński, 9 April 2006, personal
communication, my own translation).

Pope John Paul II visit to Haiti

Pope John Paul II had considered a visit to Haiti in 1978, when he briefly stopped in neighbouring
Santo Domingo, but the Port-au-Prince airport was not large enough to accommodate the papal plane.
Although urged by Haiti’s bishops to come and visit, John Paul II was adamant. “Some believe that
this was merely a pretext, that the Pope would only come to Haiti when its president agreed to stop
naming bishops, stop intervening in religious issues, and allow the pope to go into a poor
neighbourhood” (Greene 1993:137). Archbishop François Wolff Ligondé, one of the three original
bishops to be named by François Duvalier, visited the Vatican in 1980 and pressed His Holiness to
visit Haiti at the next opportunity. Others, like the North American delegation led by Reverend Jesse
Jackson which visited the Vatican in 1982, also urged the pontiff to come and visit Haiti.
In 1982 diplomatic efforts between the Holy See, the papal nuncio in Haiti, President Jean-
Claude Duvalier and his ambassador Jean-Robert Estimé (noiriste ex-president Dumarsais Estimé’s
(1949-57) son) eventually resulted in Pope John Paul II’s visit to Haiti on 9 March 1983. When the
Polish Karol Wojtyła, better known as Pope John Paul II, visited Port-au-Prince in 1983, Haitian
society was in a state of silent frenzy. President Jean-Claude Duvalier’s diplomats had lobbied
tirelessly to get the head of the Roman-Catholic Church to come to their country, and this was their
finest hour. The roads along which the Pope was to travel were reconstructed, facades were redone,
and every precaution was made to ensure that the Pope would leave with a favourable view of the
country. For Jean-Claude himself it meant vindication of his inherited regime, a perfect way to
demonstrate the support that he had of a respected world leader, not only a political leader, but above

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all the spiritual shepherd of millions around the world and the majority of those he ‘governed’. As
Greene says: “Within hours he was gone, but its impact and legacy are enduring” (1993:137).

The pope arrived at the Port-au-Prince airport via Air Italia, where he was greeted by the
president, his ministers, and a crowd, estimated at two hundred thousand. The president
opened the ceremonies, confirming his intention to give up the right to name Church
hierarchy. “At this time, in the same spirit, in order to complete the symbiosis between
Church and State and following the teachings of Vatican II, I intend from now on to waive my
concordatory rights and privileges and allow the Vatican to appoint archbishops and bishops.
(Greene 1993:137)

Then Pope John Paul II spoke. He was pleased to be with the people in Port-au-Prince, and to be in a
black country in Latin America for the first time. Significantly, Haiti was the first Latin American
country to proclaim liberty. He recalled that Polish soldiers, sent to recover St. Domingue for France,
changed sides on arrival and fought for liberty with the slaves; this liberty was important and should
continue to be obtainable at home (idem).

The pope continued that there was “a deep need for justice, a better distribution of goods,
more equitable organization of society and more participation. There was a legitimate desire
for freedom of expression, access to food, care, schools, literacy, honest and dignified work,
social security, and the fundamental rights of man.” All this had to be done “without violence
… out of respect and love of liberty.” John Paul II concluded his speech by saying that he was
with the people, and that he blessed them with all his heart. (Greene 1993:138)

Greene continues by stating that many people were deeply moved by John Paul II’s presence yet the
government was not. In fact, Greene’s foremost informant on this matter, Jean-Robert Estimé,
described Jean-Claude as angered, embarrassed and unhappy by the pontiff’s speech. The newspaper’s
reports on the papal visit were predictably selective. Reactions in the official newspaper, Le Nouveau
Monde, condemned those who “give lessons” and “make accusations.” The president’s father-in-law,
Ernest Bennet, condemned those Haitian clerics who had disinformed the holy father. The pope was
not yet out of the country when government ministers were already accusing archbishop Ligondé and
his bishops of drafting the pontiff’s speech saying: “‘You can’t tell (us) that the pope’s homily wasn’t
made in Port-au-Prince’” (1993:139).
Be that as it may, Pope John Paul II’s lightning visit and ensuing speech resonated deeply
within Haitian society, especially among the poor and the manifold grass-roots organisations, religious
as well as non-religious, rural and urban-based, representing their interests. His words of criticism vis-
à-vis the elite of the country, as well as his generous use of Kreyol, indicated to the Haitian poor that
he was on their side; he was with them. His parting words were;

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Haitiens tou patou, mouin avèk nou. (Haitians everywhere, I am with you.)
Mouin béni nou aktout kouer mouin. (I salute/bless you with all my heart.)
Kouraj! Kinbe fe’m! (Courage! Keep strong!)
Bon Dieu Gran met la avek nou! (God is with you!)
Jésu-Kri sé frè nou! (Jesus is your brother!)
Léspri Sin se limiè nou! (The Holy Spirit is your light!)
Mari sé manman nou! (Mary is your Mother!)
Je supplie Dieu de vous bénir, le Père, le Fils et le Saint-Esprit.
Amen. (Pope John Paul II: Wednesday, 9 March 1983)

Many commentators, both foreign and home-grown, have since claimed either that the speech
signalled the beginning of large-scale mass opposition to the Duvalier regime or at the very least
provided a major impetus to already existing opposition groups. Jean-Claude was initially particularly
pleased with the Pope’s impending visit, it seemed to be an important legitimisation of his regime, and
to this end he had swallowed several serious limitations to the regime’s power, the most important of
which was its right to name bishops and archbishops. The pontiff’s uncharacteristically non-
diplomatic rebuke was felt as a personal slap in the face. Moreover it had seriously embarrassed him in
front of the entire population, itself bereft of the right to criticise its leaders and, by extension, largely
shielded from the criticism in ample supply outside of the country. John Paul’s speech however had
been attended by some 200 000 Haitians; it had also been televised, so those with access to television
sets and more importantly on the radio had been able to follow it from the comfort of their homes.
News, although logically hampered by the lack of communications infrastructure, travels at incredible
and uncanny speed by way of teledjol (word of mouth) in Haiti, and it provided the necessary nouvel
(news), often infused with the witty satire characteristic of Haitian humour and social commentary.
John Paul II scorned the lavish expenditures organised by Michèle Bennet-Duvalier to accommodate
him, and chose to share the humble food of the Haitian clergy. One informer I spoke to recalled with
relish the amount of scorn heaped on the much hated President’s wife for failing even to don a hat in
the Holy Father’s presence. Although the Vatican’s sharp rebuke of ‘Baby Doc’s’ increasingly
cornered regime may have been prompted by its nervous suspicion of Haiti’s burgeoning leftist
‘liberation theology,’ represented by the ‘Ti Legliz’ (Small Church) movement – of which Father and
later President Jean-Bertrand Aristide was an active and popular founding leader, John Paul II’s visit
was massively and popularly acclaimed as a serious challenge to the legitimacy of the Duvalier
regime. The pontiff’s devotion to Our Lady of Częstochowa – originating from his native country’s
traditional devotion to the Catholicised concept of motherhood, and thus to the cult of the Virgin Mary
- might also have syncretised his critical message to many Haitians’ belief in the liberative nature of

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the Virgin Mary as well as to her Vodou counterpart Maitrès Ezili and Ezili Dantò. Terry Rey explains
the following in Our Lady of Class Struggle: the cult of the Virgin Mary in Haiti (1999);

To further illustrate this liberative, political dimension of popular Marianism in Haiti, it is

perhaps best to let the Haitian poor speak for themselves. Following is an exemplary selection
of comments made by lower-class respondents regarding what the Virgin has done for the
Haitian people” . . . ‘In 1983, the Virgin made Pope John Paul II come to Haiti, and that was
the birth of our democratic movement.’”
(Rey 1999:278)

During Mass at the airport, attended by some two hundred thousand Haitians, the Polish Pope -and this
is of prime importance to our present study- paid homage to the deserting Polish Legionnaires and
their descendants in Haiti. Indeed, Géri Benoît in her Harnessing History to Development: The Story
of Cazale, considers the Papal visit as one of the defining characteristics of the community of Cazale
even going so far as to say,“. . . If someone were to say that he or she is from Cazale, three
associations from national life would likely spring to mind: people of Polish descent, the massacre of
1969, and the visit of Pope John Paul II in 1983” (Benoît 2003:2).
The Pope’s visit and his Mass at François Duvalier International Airport was not long, every
word was carefully chosen and every word was received and later meticulously analysed thus it would
be logical that an entire paragraph devoted to the Polish Legionnaires and their descendants of that
speech would have ingrained themselves in the consciousness of those who were able to follow it.
Following is what the Pope had to say concerning the descendants of his deserting
countrymen;

Je voudrais rappeler ici un épisode plutôt dramatique ; qui a uni de quelque façon l’histoire
d’Haïti avec celle du peuple polonais. Il y a 170 ans, 3.000 soldats polonais débarquèrent sur
cette île, envoyés par les forces d’occupation afin de réprimer la révolte de la population qui
luttait pour son indépendence politique. Ces soldats, au lieu de combattre les aspirations
légitimes de liberté, ont sympathisé avec le peuple haïtien. Environ 300 d’entre eux ont
servécu. Leurs descendants, certes, ont eu part au developpement de ce pays. Ils ont conservé
et cultivé les traditions catholiques. Entre autres, ils ont construit des petites chapelles avec
des images reproduisant la Vierge de Czestochowa de la Pologne. Le mot Haïti s’associe ainsi
aux Polonais et évoque la voie épineuse vers la liberté et devient aussi une nouvelle source de
réflexion historique.
(Pope John Paul II: Wednesday, 9 March 1983)

Amidst this whirlwind of papal controversy, followed by almost the entire population of this, officially
at least, devoutly Roman Catholic country, hanging on to his every word, one cannot underestimate

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the importance of the effect of his mentioning of the common history he felt that Haitians as well as
his own native country shared. This was the first time that such a large proportion of Haiti’s
population was to hear of the Polish descent of their fellow countrymen. It might have been the first
time that they were to learn of foreign soldiers playing a positive role in their cherished War of
Independence. It certainly was the first time that the humble peasant Poloné-Ayisyens would be
honoured by such an important international figure. The object of love and veneration for so many
around the world, nominally Catholic, Haitians were (as they still are) no exception. Even before John
Paul’s visit it seems that the Pope was as a most important figure by villagers such as those in Cazale,
even if his Polish origins might not have been well known by the isolated villagers, bereft of
information as they were at the time. An indication of this is shown by the following answer Amon
Frémon gave his interlocutors quoted in Présence Polonaise en Haïti, “I was well treated as a member
of the family. Also, he taught me that I am of the same descent as the Pope” (St. Juste & Clerismé
1983:47). This indicates that the Pope is a reference point; a spiritually symbolic entity.
Orizio estimates the number of Cazaliens shuttled off so unceremoniously to the International
Airport at some fifty peasants to personally welcome Pope John Paul II, formerly known as Karol
Wojtyła. Orizio recounts the episode of the welcoming party of Polish descendants in his customary
prose, following interviews with the Cazaliens. One day in March 1983, two mulatto priests made
their way up the steep road to Cazale. They instructed the peasants to prepare themselves and be ready,
wearing their traditional Polish clothes, when they came for them again to bring them to a great
celebration. The completely mystified peasants changed into their best Sunday clothes and waited. A
week later the two priests loaded around fifty Poloné-Ayisyens –those with the fairest skin- into a truck
and unloaded the hungry and tired peasants on the international airport of Port-au-Prince. Amidst
thousands of Haitians waving Haitian and Vatican flags, they stood there with Polish white and red
flags and awaited the Pope. Having kissed the ground twice, Karol Wojtyla walked over to the Poloné-
Ayisyens where they were given the opportunity to shake his hand. He delivered a speech and he
seems to have promised the Poloné-Ayisyens, on the grounds that being Poles both sides had the
obligation to help each other, some financial aid –he never delivered. It was in this context that several
Haitian priests published a pamphlet with some 6 photographs on the Polish presence in Haiti.
During my inquiries I was told that only twelve had made the journey to Duvalier
International airport, a number generally agreed upon by most Cazaliens. As nicknames are commonly
used in the region (as well as in the rest of Haiti), these are the names my respondents came up with;
Sauve Magloire, Ti An, Deluis, Bienville, Dalzon, Maresse Grasse, Leoselle, Chalmais, Germain.
Pachoński & Wilson surprisingly devote much less attention to the influence the Pope’s visit
had, merely devoting a footnote to the event;

In 1983, John Paul II, the Polish pope, briefly visited Haiti on his way to South America. With
the laudable intention of interesting Poles and other westerners in their homeland, its history

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(and its problems), Laurore St. Juste and Enel Clerisme (a native of Port Salut in the
Southern Department) published a pamphlet entitled “Presence Polonaise en Haiti,” Port-au-
Prince (?), 1983, 57 pp
(Pachoński & Wilson 1985:315)

In the Lonely Planet guide to Haiti, Leah Gordon mentions interestingly that “The people of Cazales
performed Polish folk dances to welcome Pope John Paul II on his visit to Haiti in 1983.” I have been
unable to verify this claim.

Ian Thomson, in Bonjour Blanc: a journey through Haiti, (1992) says that Jean-Claude ‘Basket-head’
Duvalier himself delivers commemorates the Legionnaires, “[i]n a speech to mark John-Paul II’s visit
to Haiti in 1983, Baby Doc had praised them ‘as men who had not hesitated to join the battalions of
the revolting blacks’. This was by way of tribute to the Polish origins of the Pope” (1992:47).
Thomson continues by recounting an episode that seems to corroborate the major impact the Pope’s
visit and subsequent hailing of the heroic ancestors of the Poloné-Ayisyens has had on the village of
Cazale and its inhabitants. The author also considers the effect that the Pope’s visit had on Haitian
society as a whole when he mentions Opération Dechoukaj, the ‘uprooting’ of the Duvalier regime
and its trappings, most conspicuously the persecution and ‘necklacing’ of those Tontons Macoutes
who had been left behind in the panicked scramble to get out of the country by the major functionaries
of the regime. Thomson and his guide Enoch are visiting Cazale, cross the river into the oldest part of
town when they meet an old couple;

At Belno we met a couple who mistook us for envoys of John Paul II. The husband sat us
down on a wicker chair outside his trash-roofed shanty and feverishly produced a cardboard
box containing souvenirs from the Pope’s visit to Haiti in March 1983 – a rosary, plastic
medallions embossed with the crossed keys of the Vatican. The man was illiterate. ‘Read this!
Read this!’ He handed Enoch a dogeared transcript of the speech which John Paul had
delivered at Francois Duvalier International Airport (as it was then known). ‘Your
country is a beautiful country, rich in human resources’ – Enoch read out loud in Creole while
the man prostrated himself at our feet and kissed the ground three times as though performing
press-ups – ‘yet Christians cannot be unaware of the divisions, injustice, the degradation of
the quality of life, poverty, hunger and fear suffered by the majority.’ The words of this
homily would later serve as inspiration for Opération Dechoukaj.
(Thomson 1992:53-54)

To conclude, the historic speech by the Pontiff of the Holy Roman Catholic Church was
televised live nationally and thus accessible to millions of Haitians who had the possibility to cluster
around the television sets of their families, friends or neighbours. Also, John Paul delivered Mass in

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Kreyol, the local dialect which had then not yet become an official language of Haiti. The conclusion
must have been that this spiritual leader sanctioned the language of the people and rejected the
language of the elite and its claim to power. All this was mentioned by a man whom they deeply
respected and admired.
The importance of his visit and speech I cannot stress enough for it cuts to the core of the
present study. The pope’s visit was even more profound for the Poloné-Ayisyen community. His
speech familiarised ordinary Haitians with the Polish participation in the War of Independence as well
as the existence of their descendants. Secondly, the positive sheen he accorded to the role and morality
of these Polish soldiers, who were unable to carry out the deceitful orders of the occupying forces
(sic!) and sympathised with the Haitians and fought alongside them. He did not mention the 2700
other Legionnaires who apparently did not side with the Haitians but actively fought them. Thirdly, it
is telling that even the Vatican, with its considerable research capabilities, did not notice the mistake
of the amount of Legionnaires that had originally disembarked on Haitian/Saint-Domingue soil.
Instead of the 3000 that the Pope mentions, by 9 March, 1983, it was already known that the real
number of Polish soldiers would have been closer to 5500.
Therefore John Paul’s visit and speech are a classic case of mentions and silences of history. It
is also a clear example of the way historical narratives are used to provide a backdrop to a situation,
whether it is in a positive or negative light. More specifically, it shows how the story of the Polish
participation in the war of independence, about which, in all truth, very little is known, is used, retold,
and narrated to suit the narrator. The story of the Polish Legions in Saint-Domingue is so ambiguous
that it can be used and embellished in any way deemed favourable to the story-teller.

Fig. 30 - Présence Polonaise en Haïti; published during the Pope's visit, showing the Pope and Dessalines side by side

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Cazale’s Representative at the Top

I met Guerda Benoît-Préval, through Michelle Karshan, the foreign press liaison of President Aristide,
at her office of the non-profit organisation Institut Femmes Entrepreneurs (IFE). She was the ex-wife
of former President Préval, and more importantly, a Poloné-Ayisyen. This gracious, well-spoken, well-
educated, elegant lady was soon to become my key-informant as well my gate-keeper. She was very
cordial and explicitly delighted that a young Pole had at last come to Haiti to do research on her
ancestors.
It was she who introduced me into the Poloné-Ayisyen community of Cazale, taking me there
and explaining my purpose to the Cazaliens. She set me up at her father’s house, Sylvain Benoît, a
light-skinned gentleman with a raspy voice who had worked in the United States for years. He thus
spoke English and was easily one of the richest individuals in the community. She also designated a
young man, Jean-Jules Emile – Jid! to his friends – to be my guide, interpreter, teacher and general
caretaker of my person. I think I can safely say that if it were not for her, my sojourn in Haiti would
not have been half as fruitful, and I am greatly indebted for all the kindness she bestowed on me.
René Préval (1943) was the President of Haiti from February 7, 1996 to February 7, 2001.
After Jean-Claude ‘Baby Doc’Duvalier’s humiliating flight from Haiti in 1985, and the military
regimes of Raoul Cédras and Joseph Nerette, he was successor to the elected, deposed, and later
reinstalled Bertrand Aristide. He was married to Ms. Guerda (Géri) Benoît on July 12, 1997. For the
Cazaliens this was an important marriage, for Ms. Benoît is the daughter of two Cazaliens, from the
longstanding Belneau and Benoît families. Her value was that much more because, as a devoted
member of Cazale’s community as well as an educated member of Haiti’s upper-echelons of society,
she worked tirelessly to elevate the community from its deprived socio-economic status. Benoît firmly
believed and still believes that Cazale’s unique history was a key to the development of the region. To
support this thesis she has written an extremely eloquent paper entitled: Harnessing History to
Development: the story of Cazale (2003). She is also generally responsible for the thorough and
statistical: Monographie de Cazale (2002); an inventory of the problems and potential of the section
communale de Fond Blanc, renamed section communale de Cazale for this paper.
Harnessing History to Development deals mainly with how the bicentennial celebration of
Haiti’s independence could give the community an impulse to a rebirth of communal identity and
socio-economic development. As background information, a concise rendition of Cazale’s ‘known’
history was provided. I say concise, but, as far as I have been able to ascertain, it is the most complete
presentation of Cazale’s history to date. The main question is of course, how a community can use its
history – especially a unique one as in the case of Cazale – to move forward and (re)develop its sense
of belonging. Also important in the thesis is the question of how a community should use its

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indigenous – métis – knowledge and human resources for its own betterment. Can the national
celebration be a portal through which the community as whole put the process of development –
stagnant through years of misrule for so long – be put in motion (again)? The biggest obstacles to this
chance, according to Benoît, was the deep scar in the community resulting from the 1969 massacre, as
well as the resulting “amoral famili[sm]” (2003:5). This master’s thesis was all the more to the point
for it fused the main preoccupation of Cazale’s population, development, with its main outstanding
quality, its Polish roots.
Madam Préval – as she was called by the people of Cazale, referring to her period as First
Lady – was generally well-liked in the village and seen as the most competent and most successful
individual the community had so far produced. Yet there was sometimes a feeling of resentment
between Benoît and the community. The latter would sometimes resentfully wonder out loud why it
was that, as a First Lady in a position of unparalleled power, she had not done more to bring about
major public works (first and foremost was always the amelioration of the road linking Cazale to
Cabaret and thus the rest of the country) providing an avenue for development. Being a seriously
conscientious person in one of the few governments in Haitian history seeking the goal of unbiased
good governance, I had the impression that Ms. Benoît was at times rather frustrated at the Cazaliens’
inability to grasp the opportunities she tried to provide – resentment, however, being an emotion she
did not seem to succumb to. An example could be the paper factory based on banana-fibre she,
through her non-profit organisation IFE, had started in Cazale. This Japanese-financed factory was, at
the time of my fieldwork, processing banana-fibre mainly from the neighbouring community because
of insufficient supply – meaning effort – from Cazale itself, despite banana-plantations being one of
the main agricultural ventures in town. I am not quite sure whether the villagers were completely fair
in their (veiled) resentment though, for it was during the tenure of President Préval that the footbridge
over the river that divides the village was built.64 A square with plaque commemorating the terrible
events of 27 March 1969 was also redone, since then dilapidated and not really resembling anything of
a real square anymore. Not to mention the afore-mentioned paper-factory employing, much to the
villagers’ disappointment, ‘only’ some twelve Cazaliens.
Géri was very supportive and interested in all the different facets of my research and would
often inquire as to my progress – excruciatingly slow and inexorably minute as I thought then. Her
enthusiasm was truly infectious. Our respective researches often ran parallel to each other’s. We could
often be found discussing the collected data and disputing whether this or that facet of daily local
praxis had anything to do with Polish culture. Almost imperceptibly our discourse would many times
turn to what could be linked to Polishness. Whenever this happened, at least, whenever I noticed this, I
would veer off towards extreme skepticism, as I was – and still am – very sensitive to self-fulfilling
prophecy. I was adamant about not falling into the trap of seeing what I wanted to see, namely,

64
Unfortunately since washed away.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production”

Polishness. On her part, Géri Benoît also provided me with healthy doses of counterweight when I
came across crossroad crosses, imagining them to resemble the roadside chapels and crosses so
prevalent in rural Poland. They turned out to be a typical fixture in Haitian religious praxis, Vodou
crosses traditionally placed at crossroads. This is not to exclude the possibility of cultural synthesis,
Haitian and Polish, but typically Polish? No.
I recall another episode concerning a massive stone below the Catholic Church, next to the
Lycée, which seemed to have a cross chiselled across it. I was quite impressed and imagined yet again,
ancient Poles hewing an expression of their deeply Catholic faith into the face of the rock. I was quite
ecstatic to have been the first to have grasped the significance of this testimony of the first Polish
settlers left for posterity. I duly photographed it, many times. It seemed though, that the cross was
merely a handy aid for the rope which had been used to drag it out of the river some thirty or forty
years before. This seemed to explain the lack of significance attached to the thing, as well as the
bemused attention I attracted whilst excitedly photographing it from all sides including my hanging
from the point of view of the branches of a tree directly above it.
Benoît and I would also often discuss possibilities of developing Cazale. As I became more
and more emotionally attached to the community – a common internal development for those
immersing themselves into a community in order to ‘objectively’ study it - I was ever more drawn into
truly wanting to ‘help’ these people. Benoît, in consistency with the main tenet of her thesis, namely,
harnessing history to the development of Cazale, would often query me whether I could imagine ways
in which ‘we’ could ‘revitalise the Polish character’ of the village in order to ‘re-interest’ Poles in the
cultural heritage of said village and thus attract viable economic opportunities for the Cazaliens. Also
in line with her thesis, the question arose how this ‘repolonisation’ would impact upon the communal
identity of the village. By default, how the reassessment of their identity and use of their heritage
might be a means to maximise upon the development already set in motion. We would frequently
looked at the two still existing old houses which, I concede, could have their roots in Central-European
architecture – though again I must emphasise that my knowledge of architecture is severely limited.
We would imagine a library or a guesthouse and restaurant set up in those houses. The painting of
houses in ‘typical or traditional colours’ was suggested – just what these typically traditional colours
might be, aside from the white and red of the Polish flag, I did not know. An example frequently
mentioned were the cherry trees planted in Washington by the Japanese. In spring time, Benoît
explained to me, the Washingtonians would sit under the blossoming cherries and have picnics, just
like their contemporaries in Japan. Try as might though, I just could not envision Polish pines planted
in the tropical environment of Cazale. Nor could I see how we might develop the practice of
mushroom-gathering which millions of Poles do every autumn. All these things and more were
considered, not only with Ms. Benoît. Different villagers from the various habitations asked my
opinions as to traditional Polish colours, I could no better than the afore-mentioned white-red. I was
asked on more than one occasion by parents, wanting to name their children ‘Polish names,’ “what are

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typical Polish names?” (Despite the Polish descendants’ lack of knowledge of things Polish, they quite
rightly suspected that my name, Sebastian Rypson, would just not do). Enthusiastically launching
upon the various Sławomirs, Stanisławs, Bolesławs, Bogusławs, Bogumiłs, Mirosławs and their
respective diminutives, I elicited only polite smiles and ‘thank you’s. Quite clearly, there was a reason
why none of these names had survived in Haiti. (It turned out that some Cazaliens had for several
years now been doing quite well, without my services, by simply attaching a “–ski” to the end of first
names). The point being here, that I was, quite unwittingly, engaging in the ‘re-invention of traditions’
coined by Eric Hobsbawm.
Being introduced by someone of such stature in the community obviously had its perks. My
stay in Cazale, including my nosing about in business that wasn’t my own, was legitimised by the
explicit patronage of Madam Préval. I could do what I pleased and go where I would. In fact, when
walking around the town and the surrounding area, Jid would, in the first month of my sojourn,
invariably mention that I was ‘with’ Madam Préval, (li se moun Madam Préval) and I benefited from
the authority that went with it. By the same token, this also had its necessary drawbacks. I can well
imagine that I was spared any criticism about the person of Ms. Benoît. Any possible scepticism
towards the ‘Polish project,’ typically and inherently associated with the person of Ms. Benoît, was
left unuttered. How do I then know that there might have been some scepticism surrounding the search
for Cazale’s ‘Polish roots?’ I recall an episode when I was hanging around the afore-mentioned
massive stone beside the school (‘hanging around’ waiting for some sudden and inexplicable Polish
cultural tradition to jump up and bite me was one of the main activities I engaged in, I admit with a
certain degree of shame), I approached several young men and women who were also hanging around
in the neighbourhood. I asked them what they knew about the history of the area, history concerning
Poles and their descendants. By then I had come accustomed to positive reactions from the inhabitants
whenever anything even remotely ‘Poloné’ would come up. One of the young men, I forget his name,
produced a sound – a loud and thwacking tssk! – of displeasure. “Why?” (“Poukisa?”), he asked me.
“Well, because I want to talk to anybody who might know something about the history of the Poles so
that I might write about it,” I replied. “Moun Kazal pa bezwen pale, yo pa bezwen mo, yo pa bezwen
ecri sa yo. Moun Kazal bezwen travay! Yo bezwen kòb!” (“Cazaliens don’t need talking, they don’t
need words, they don’t need these writings. Cazaliens need work! They need money!”) he retorted, and
left. I must admit I had no answer to that. I was taken aback that this person, with his green eyes
clearly of Polish descent, would be so uninterested in the history of his own people. I mean, I had
come all this way to write about his people and its history! I believe I dismissed him as a bitter and
disgruntled person at the time. Looking back ashamedly at my feelings at the time, I realise that
historical consciousness can never be a substitute for the basic needs of food, clothing, shelter and
work. Historical consciousness is trifling in comparison.

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Polishness & Dévlopman

On the first day of my arrival in Cazale, Géri Benoît introduced me to the people working in the paper-
mill set up by IFE (Institut Femmes Entrepreneurs), the non-profit organisation started by the same
Benoît. Also present, but not an employee of the mill, was a young man of about thirty years of age.
She introduced me to this good-looking young man who resembled more an Indian from Uttar Pradesh
than a Haitian of Polish descent; Jean-Jules Emile, ‘Jid!’ to his friends and family. This was to be my
teacher of Kreyol, my interpreter, my general care-taker, soon to become my close friend with whom I
was later to discuss all manner of subjects, from girls to our hopes and wishes for the future.
Later on, on one of my last visits to Cazale, I stayed with him and his extended family. His
and his family’s hospitality was unequalled. At first I was given his bed, one of the two in the whole
house. Feeling uncomfortable at the fact that he unrolled a sleeping mat onto the floor, the next day I
insisted that we share the bed, for he would not hear of his guest sleeping on the floor. Later still, his
little brother joined us and a day later, another of his brothers crept into the comfort of the bed. We
would share food, clothes, wash in the river and every morning he would personally grind the beans
for my morning coffee, the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking.

Fig. 31 - Geri Benoit interviewing an old Cazalien for documentary Sang Melee Fig. 32 - IFE

As to the Polish history of the Cazale region, I had the impression that Jid, the young Cazalien
responsible for my gradual assimilation into the community, was interested in it more for my sake than
out of his own volition. Jid’s passion was development, specifically: agronomy. It was through this
means, primarily through the replanting of trees (rebwazman), that he expected to further the
community’s future as well as his own. One evening, as we were sitting on the terrace of Sylvain
Benoît’s house by the light of the candles, I asked him to give me his own rendition, his own narrative

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of what Cazale’s reality was, in his own words. Not being able to keep up with his flow of words, I
asked him to pen it down for me in my notebook. I have included the Kreyol version for it elucidates
nicely the way in which his narrative was constructed and structured:

Depi Divalier te sou pouvwa e li te kraze anpil moun nan Kazal paske li pat vle wè moun
wouj. Moun po wouj sa yo te nan kolonizasyon an ke Desalines te chwazi zònn Kazal pou
poloné yo te habite. Poloné yo rive fè pitit ak moun Kazal se sak fè pli fò moun nan Kazal gen
po wouj. Pandan masak Kazal sa tonton makout yo piyé zònn nan nèt, yo boule kay tout moun
ki gen po wouj sou pretèst kominis. E kounye a Kazal gen anpil pwoblèm. Pa gen wout, pa
gen l’opital, pa gen bon l’ekòl, anvironman vin detwi. Nou ta mande gouvènman poloné a pou
li ta wè sa li ta ka fè pou Kazal, paske tout moun Kazal se desandan poloné ke yo ye. Kòm
Kazal gen anpil pwoblèm, e ke poloy gen yon lieu avèk Kazal, si li ta gen mwayen li ta ka ede
Kazal na plizyè domèn tèl ke: wout, hopital, environman, etc.
(Emile 2003, personal communication)

(Since Duvalier was in power [he] killed many people in Cazale because he did not like to see
red people. These people of red skin were from the colonisation period when Dessalines chose
the region of Cazale for the Poles to live. The Poles came [and] made children with the
people from Cazale, and that’s how most people in Cazale have red skin. During that
massacre of Cazale, the Tonton Macoutes robbed the whole area; they burnt the houses of the
people of red skin under the pretext of them being communists. And now Cazale has many
problems. There is no road, there is no hospital, there is no good school, and the environment
was destroyed. We would ask the Polish government if it could see whether it could do
anything for Cazale, because all the Cazalien people are Polish descendants. As Cazale has a
lot of problems, and as Poland has a relation with Cazale, if it had the means it might be able
to help Cazale in various domains, such as: the road, a hospital, the environment, etc.
(My translation)

The efficiency of the Kreyol language serves here as an illustration of how Jid and most people of
Cazale, tell a story about themselves. In other words, how they construct a narrative about their
community, fusing the two most important aspects of the community of Cazale: their Polish origins,
and the necessity of development.
The reader will please to notice that the narrative starts with the Duvalier-instigated massacre
carried out by the Tonton Macoutes of 1969. This is a most important aspect in the Cazaliens’ relation
of self and community, for it has left a deep scar which many see it, both the Cazaliens and outsiders,
as being instrumental in the stagnation of the village. Further note that in the very first sentence, the
massacre is linked directly to Duvalier’s perceived hatred of people with a lighter skin-colour. The
second and third sentences explain the existence of ‘red people’ or ‘people of red skin’ in the region.

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They mention the two primary actors responsible for the ‘red skin’ of the Cazaliens: the Poles and
Dessalines, the champion of Haitian independence and, in this case, the benevolent hero of Polish
survival in Haiti. Thus we see that the internal logic of the narrative runs from Poles to skin-colour to
massacre to underdevelopment and its resulting problems. The last two sentences link Cazale’s Polish
ancestry to a decidedly respectful and polite suggestion of Polish aid to the region and its people. The
emphasis is telling: “We would ask the Polish government if it could see whether it could do anything
for Cazale, because all Cazalien people are Polish descendants. As Cazale has a lot of problems, and
as Poland has a relation with Cazale, if it had the means it might be able to help Cazale in various
domains . . .” The politeness of tone suggests that, although Polish help would be extremely
appreciated, the Cazaliens have never actually received an appreciable amount of foreign aid to expect
and demand it outright. However, although the tone is respectful, an emphasis is put on the Polish
connection with Cazale twice, implying that because of a certain blood bond (familial in this case I
think), the Polish government has an obligation of sorts to aid their (Polish) descendants who don’t
have the means to do it themselves.

One of my most informative informants was Marie Andlène Garçon, the schoolteacher at the Lycée
Jérémie Eliazer. Her house was along a path up from the Catholic Church, Legliz Sen Michel Arkanj
where she lived alone, yet it seemed she always had children from the community running around in
her house, helping her do all manner of chores. Being an educated person, she was present at all the
important meetings that concerned the community. And whenever there was a letter to be composed
that had an official character it was her that the community usually turned to write it. Moreover, she
was a member of the GCDC, the institution that dealt with the maintenance of communication
between the community itself and those of Cazalien migrants residing in foreign countries (a letranjè).
Also, because of her interest in the Polish heritage of her community and her fluency in the French
language she had read quite a few of the documents concerning that history. It was thus quite natural
for me to occasionally stop in front of her house, shout “honneur!” (the traditional greeting in Haiti,
inquiring whether the resident in question was ready to receive guests), and, refreshment at my elbow,
discuss amicably the nature of my visit. As was usual in Cazale, I would usually inquire into this or
that aspect of Cazalien daily praxis, seeking a link to Polishness. The conversation would
imperceptibly yet inevitably shift from Polishness to development (dévlopman). Typically, the
conversation would start by reiterating the reasons why Cazale indeed was inhabited by Polish
descendants. First of all, it was clear from the articles in the Constitution that the Polish Legionnaires
had earned and deserved, by virtue of their help to the Haitian people, the right to stay in Haiti and call
themselves Haitians. Furthermore, so many eminent Haitian historians (she often quoted Madiou and
Ardouin) had testified to the favour Dessalines had shown to the Legionnaires. This was further
proved by the fact that he had given them such an impressive piece of land with its life-giving river
and such benevolent climate (zòn ak rivyè e tèl fraichè) not too far from Port-au-Prince but secluded

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enough to offer these white men the necessary seclusion. The conversation would continue reiterating
by such ‘proofs’ as the colour of the population, the ‘fact’ that Belno was in fact originally ‘Belnosky,’
the Polish sounding ‘-sca’ suffix of ‘so many of the surnames.’ The ‘Kokoda’ dance, typical to the
region would finally be presented as the main cultural ‘survival’ in the region, being ‘a mix between
Polish and Haitian dances and music.’ Quite naturally the conversation would turn into an
enumeration of the main features which illustrated the ‘lack of development’ of the region, the main
concerns of the here and now of the community with such historical pedigree. Andlène Garçon would
then efficiently list the projects to be commenced upon at the earliest possible moment. I have to
concede that I am still quite awed by the great clarity with which Andlène, and this was true for most
of the villagers, would be able to recount the same list time and time again, lending credence to the
urgency of the respective projects. The list would be as following (in order of priority):
1. About two kilometres of walls (protective) on both sides of the river. Although the river
Béthel is the principal source of livelihood, it is an inconstant friend. Almost every year the
river overflows causing havoc, flooding gardens, entering houses and causing great damage,
sometimes even casualties. In order to avert this yearly natural disaster, we would need 2 walls
made of rocks and iron fencing. In order to restrain the flow of the river properly, we would
need about 3 kilometres of walls on both sides of the river, in total some 6 kilometres of walls
(rocks) and 6 kilometres of iron fencing.
2. Fixing of the walking bridge. Once the river is properly directed, it would enable us to keep
both sides of the walking bridge from being washed away. Thus, it is imperative that the river
be reigned in before fixing the footbridge. The footbridge would be built on top of the walls
mentioned before. Stairs would also have to be built on both sides, preferably cement-based,
probably some 25 sacks of cement would be needed. The bridge would need additionally:
iron, iron cables and sand.
3. Start the electricity going again. To facilitate the Cazaliens in the recommencement of the
electricity project one should know that basically all the facilities to get the generator running
again are present. Because many people, however, have difficulties in paying for the
electricity, we ask, if possible, aid in helping alleviate the costs for the running of the energy
plant. The partitioning of running electricity is as follows: One must assume some 8 gallons of
gasoline per hour. Taking into consideration that Cazale needs electricity some 3 hours a day,
one finds that 24 gallons a day are needed. For one month that would entail 720 gallons (30 X
24). The price of one gallon of gas at the time of fieldwork was about 60 gourdes, or 12 dolla
ayisyens (1 dolla ayisyen being a standard 5 gourdes), which was about $1,50 US. One month
of electricity would thus make 43200 gourdes (720 X 60), or 8640 dolla ayisyen (720 X 12),
or $1080 US (720 X 1,50). The assumed price for a technician or operator of the plant was
300 dolla ayisyen, or 1500 gourdes. The assumed price for the oil needed was some 250
gourdes, or 50 dolla ayisyen. The fixing of the transformer and other such technical devices

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was estimated at some 5050 gourdes, or 1010 dolla ayisyen. In total, one month’s supply of
electricity was estimated at some 50000 gourdes, 10000 dolla ayisyen, or $1200 US.
4. Replanting of trees on all sides of the river. Starting at the water reservoir right through the
whole town of Cazale. For the replantation of trees on both sides of the river Bethel special
importance is accorded because of the danger of erosion of the river sides, dissolving useful
farmland and by default the silting up of the riverbed. The other place of special attention for
replantation is accorded to the marketplace (preferably acacia trees, trees that could survive on
the type of soil surrounding the market, trees which would give lots of shade, not needing
much irrigation, not creating ravines, mango trees for example would not be feasible). The
replanting could ascend up into the mountains surrounding the market place.
Before this would happen, the Cazaliens would need to grow little trees in especially fertile
land for seedlings, in other words, a tree-nursery. Watering and irrigation would be needed so
that the young trees might be strong enough to replant the afore-mentioned places. Once
replanted, special attention would be given to their nurture and defence from farm animals
such as goats so that they might do the job they are destined to do. To be able to carry out this
project we would need:
3 shovels (150 gourdes each X 3 = 450 gourdes), 3 rakes (125 gourdes each X 3 = 375
gourdes), 2 pikes (125 X 2 = 250 gourdes), 2 wheelbarrows (1200 X 2 = 2400), 1 sieve (75), 1
pump (1750), 2 hoes (275 X 2 = 550), 3 machetes (75 X 3 = 225), 2 iron fence rollers (500 X
2 = 1000), and a nursery (3000). In total this would amount to 10075 gourdes, or 2015 dolla
ayisyen.
5. Put up a computer-system (internet if possible) using solar panels for energy. In order to break
through the monopoly of information reserved for the elite of the country it would be well
worth while to set up a computer-system in Cazale. In light of the lack of security at the Lycée
Jérémie Eliazer, as well as the absence of any running electricity it would be wise to locate the
computer center at the ISMA (Institution Saint Michel Archange) which has a strong door, a
solar panel, as well as two batteries (although whether this would be enough was not yet
known in full). If internet were to be installed, it would greatly benefit the community in its
quest to improve the access to information within and without the community of Cazale. We
have seen that it is possible in Fond Blanc, thus it most definitely should be possible in
Cazale.
6. Start the radio station transmitting again. About two years ago, a radio station was started by a
Haitian pastor for the community. Because of the feeble reach of the transmitter, Madame
Préval (Géri Benoît) donated some equipment for a better reach. When the pastor left
however, he took most of the equipment, thus the emissions were discontinued. We are thus in
great need of the equipment necessary for the continuation of the community radio. It would
greatly improve communication in Cazale, sadly lacking as of now. The items needed are the

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following: a transmitter, a mixing board, a microphone, a generator or, alternatively, a solar

panel.
7. Make a cement trough to lead the neighbourhood of Passe-Kabrit.
8. A small library for the students of Cazale. We would greatly like to start putting together a
fitting library for the people of Cazale, specifically Cazale’s students, of whatever age. For the
moment, a temporary location would be the Lécol ISMA, mentioned before (the structure is
directly above the justice of peace office, and is headed by Andlène Garçon). In time, we will
hopefully find a more fitting place for an institution such as the library. For the realization of
this project we would need: shelves, a catalogue, a desk with classification drawers, various
types of books in different languages such as Kreyol, French, English, Polish, Spanish, history
books, science books, political science books, religious books, agronomy, ecology,
agricultural, educational books, classical and modern literature.
9. A drainage system in the Grand-Chemin neighbourhood.

As I have already mentioned using Jid’s narrative as an example, the Polish history of the community
was seen as a given, a tightly structured short narrative that began in the time of the Revolution with
its principal actors Polish soldiers and Dessalines and ended with moun wouj of Cazale. It nearly
always was a prelude to the subject which was much more on people’s minds, development. Below I
give an example of how these two aspects of Cazale’s reality, by using as an example a proposal for
the education of underprivileged children by the GCDC, penned down by Andlène Garçon:

Helping to educate 500 Underprivileged Children of Cazale

A Community Project
G.C.D.C

During the time that Haitians were revolting against the French, Polish soldiers were brought
to the country to help the French. Instead, many of the Polish soldiers felt compassion toward
the cause of the Haitians. They felt that the Haitians should have their independence and sided
with the Haitians during the battle. The Leader of the Revolution, Dessaline, showed his
gratitude toward the Polish soldiers by sending them to Cazale, where they went into hiding
and eventually settled and established their homes. To this day, people from Cazale are
usually referred to as Polish descendents.

Cazale is located in the western part of the country. It is 47 kilometres from Port-au-Prince
and 10 kilometres from Cabaret. Cazale has Many Problems, among which are infrastructural,
environmental and educational. It is a fact that our people give utmost importance to
education. We believe that in order to have progress in our community, our youths must be
competent and educated.

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The town of Cazale has approximately 30,000 habitants. After having conducted a research,
we found that 5000 children, between the ages of 7 to 16, do not attend school at all. Because
the poverty situations of their families, education is not affordable and becomes an
unreachable dream. Unfortunately, our community does not have the resources to help these
children. However we do have the willpower, which is the reason we are requesting your
assistance to help us send 500 underprivileged children to school.

The letter goes on to specify the objective, namely to help the 500 children go to school which would
require $100 (US) per child for the covering of the annual school fee, uniforms, shoes, school supplies
and books.
I would like to turn the reader’s attention to the way the project proposal of the GCDC is
structured. As I’ve already discussed, the history of how the Polish soldiers settled and became, two
hundred years later, Polish descendants, forms the prelude, the historical narrative of the community.
It then jumps to the geographical setting of Cazale and informs the reader that “Cazale has Many
Problems . . . infrastructural, environmental, educational.” The authors then state their belief in
education of the community’s youths, which is a prerequisite for “progress in our community.” The
next and final part explains the plight of 500 children not going to school at all and expertly proposes
the project to remedy this clearly serious problem.
Again, the Polish origins of the community form the prelude to the project proposal for aiding
the community. It is clear, following Benoît, that somehow the Cazaliens use (or should use,
according to Benoît) the Polish heritage as an asset and that the GCDC is convinced that the Polish
ancestry does actually form an asset for the further development of the community. Why else would
they use the history as an introduction to their project? Yet it is equally perceptible that they do not
actually know how to use or, more correctly, how to place this asset in a way that would make the
Polish heritage a direct reason for financiers to support their project. They imagine that it might help to
mention their Polish origins, but the project itself does not naturally follow the narrative. The Polish
heritage is by no means linked to the objective of the project, namely, to finance five hundred
underprivileged children in their dream for education. I suggest that there are two reasons for
mentioning their Polish heritage. One, they see it as an asset, however vague, in their quest for
development. Two, they are genuinely proud of their Polish heritage, proud of the heroism displayed
by their ancestors during the War of Independence.
Géri Benoît is without doubt the most active Cazalienne in the realm of development for the
community. Educated as she is, director of the non-profit organization IFE, with direct access to
highly qualified Haitians in the domain of development, she has worked indefatigably for the
betterment of the community. It would thus not surprise me that Benoît may have instigated the
surprisingly developed consciousness of all things developmental. In her paper, Benoît, in so many

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words, sees her and the community’s Polish heritage as a portal through which they might realise their
dream for a more developed Cazale.

In 2004 Haiti will celebrate the bicentennial of its Independence as the world’s first black
country and the first and only place where a slave revolt succeeded. There are many aspects
to this story, not all of them well known. Cazale, a small village north of Port-au-Prince, has
one of the most unusual stories to tell. Its people plan to celebrate the contribution their
ancestors made to Independence, and are searching for the best way to use this unique legacy
to lead their community forward. In profiling how their effort is going, this paper tries to shed
light on the more general question of how communities can tap their heritage and sense of
belonging to mobilize all their human and physical resources for self-improvement. It also
asks if a national event can be the doorway for local communities to put the community
development process in motion.
(Benoît 2003:1)

With the emphasis that is put on development by virtually all Cazaliens, one might be forgiven to
think that Polish heritage is merely a ruse to acquire development aid. Yet I do not think this is the
case. In general I found that most Cazaliens were authentically proud of their Polish roots. They would
mention it often and I had the impression that it was a way of welcoming me to their community. They
seemed genuinely happy that a young Polish student should take such an active interest in their
community and history. That being said, their Polish origins, I firmly believe, was not the foremost on
their mind. They did not live according to any millenary principles, some kind of belief that one day
they would somehow be reunited with the country of their ancestors. Their primary concern was of a
developmental nature and not, as many observers – including myself initially – would like to believe,
their Polish heritage. It will be clear to anyone that the precise and detailed nature of the development
narrative supersedes that of the Polish heritage in both depth and scope. Frankly, I was baffled by the
precision of many Cazaliens with respect to the development of their community as opposed to the
general vagueness of their concepts of Polishness. This was the result of my own preconceptions
however. Looking back, it seems only logical that the preoccupations of the inhabitants would be
firmly entrenched in survival in the here and now, as opposed to concerns, luxurious as they are, of the
there and then. Yet for all the justified emphasis they put on development in the present, their Polish
heritage figured more strongly than might be expected. For their fervour to get things moving again in
Cazale is seen as a result of their relative marginalisation in the realm of economic development. This
marginalisation and the ensuing perceived backwardness of the community, in its turn is seen as a
result of Papa Doc Duvalier’s ordered massacre of the village in 1969. This traumatic event in its turn
is more often than not directly linked to the tradition of fighting for freedom and unusual physical
appearance of the Cazaliens, both qualities having been passed on by their Polish ancestors.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Polishness & Dévlopman”

Ultimately, one can see that with dévlopman, Polishness is only an asset in the sense that it sets the
Cazaliens in a unique position with a unique history. Their special history can even be seen as a
counterweight to the request for developmental aid; ‘we might be poor, but we’re special, we have a
heroic history, our ancestors fought for freedom.’

Fig. 33 - Poloné children at the home of Andlène Garçon; teacher and leading GCDC member

Fig. 34 - The local school; Lycee Jérémie Eliazer, partially funded by the GCDC

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Conclusion”

Conclusion

The question I set out to answer at the start of my research in Haiti was: “What is still to be
found/remains of the so-called Polish Presence in Haiti?” The question entails two obvious
assumptions; that the Polish Legionnaires who came to St. Domingue and those who stayed in Haiti
did in fact leave something, material artefacts and/or descendants, which are still to be found in Haiti
by the diligent researcher, and that there is something that is called a Polish Presence in Haiti. These
two assumptions were fairly easy to make as I had read three separate sources, Lost White Tribes,
Poland’s Caribbean Tragedy, and La Présence Polonaise en Haïti before my fieldwork, which
confirmed both assumptions. Putting aside the sources, which seemed to point to a so-called Polish
Presence in Haiti, the question I might have started out with, at the risk of being inconsequential,
should have been; “Is there a so-called Polish Presence in Haiti?” Having done fieldwork in Haiti, I
am able to answer an unequivocal ‘yes’ as to the existence of a Polish Presence in Haiti. Let us return
to the main question; what has remained of the Polish Presence in Haiti?
The most logical start to answering this question would be to start with the chapter ‘Survivals
and Retentions’. Following Mintz & Price, I depart from an understanding that “…no group, no matter
how well equipped or how free to choose, can transfer its way of life and the accompanying beliefs
and values intact, from one locale to another” (Mintz & Price 1976:1). Thus, this chapter deals
primarily with an enumeration and analysis of the various manifestations of cultural praxis, which is
either emically or etically categorised as being Polish-derived. Of these, colour is the most
distinguishing factor although colour can not, in itself, be categorised as the great distinguishing Polish
feature. However, colour and phenotype do have such a profound effect on the Poloné-Ayisyen
community, and since the lighter phenotype of many Poloné-Ayisyens presumably does stem from
their Polish progenitors, this aspect was included in the ‘Survivals and Retentions’ chapter.
Importantly, racial phenotype is the basis for the categorisation of Poloné-Ayisyens as ‘moun wouj’,
‘red people’. It is also, presumably, the catalyst for the use of the word ‘blan’ towards each other,
within the community of Cazale. Finally, colour has also provided the Cazaliens with an explanation
for the massacre committed upon them in 1969 by Duvalier’s Tonton Macoutes. The presence of the
Lady of Częstochowa in Haitian Roman-Catholicism and especially Vodou seems to have a direct
connection to the Polish Legionnaires who landed on St. Domingue’s beaches more than two hundred
years ago. Although there is a measure of speculation as to whether the Legionnaires were the ones to
bring the Częstochowa Madonna to St. Domingue, it is the most credible thesis. In this case, there
seems to be a true syncretism between Polish visual representation and Haitian content. Some
surnames of the Poloné-Ayisyens with the crucial “-sca/-sky” suffix at the end of the name, is an oft-
cited instance of ‘proof’ concerning the existence of Polish descendants in Haiti. Although in
themselves there are not many such names, still, one has to acknowledge that such a Slavic-sounding

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suffix must point to ancestors who bore similar Slavic-sounding names before them. Even more
interesting perhaps, is the tradition, in the process of invention, of adding the suffix ‘-ski’ or ‘-sky’ to
the end of the given name; this points to a discourse of identity and Polishness infused with apparent
immediacy and effective significance. As for dancing and music, I was not in a position to
authoritatively analyse the Polishness of this cultural aspect. However, the ‘Kokoda’ for example, is
seen both within the Poloné-Ayisyen community and outside of it as being a syncretised Polish-Haitian
dance and tune. The same applies to Polish architecture; my architectural knowledge is limited so I can
give no informed answer. However, two houses in Cazale have been both emically and etically
categorised as being Polish in design. I am inclined to at least acknowledge the possibility of Polish
origins of these two manifestations. The Christmas lanterns (fanals or fanaux) which resemble the
Polish szopki Krakowskie are interesting insofar as they provoke speculation concerning continuities
from Poland to Haiti, again though, because of lack of data and analytical tools, it is far from sure that
they are indeed survivals left over by Polish Legionnaires. Sayings and proverbs on the other hand,
seem to derive directly from the Polish Legionnaires. ‘Chajé kou laPoloy’ (‘Charge like Poland’)
especially must hark back to the time that the Legionnaires apparently inspired awe and admiration
whilst brandishing their superior weaponry and charging their enemy. Today, its meaning has
morphed into a proverb designating success (‘to pass with flying colours’). Lastly, I have dealt with
geographical names and (post-) colonial inscriptions. Relatively quite a bit has been written on the
matter, however, critical analysis of the various names which are said to be of Polish descent has
shown that the names at worst have nothing to do with Polish settlement, and at best remain
inconclusive. In sum, we conclude that although the quantity and depth of the various aspects which
are seen as having clear Polish derivation is severely limited, the fact that they are mentioned at all,
both etically and emically, is indicative of a survival, retention, or continuation of Polishness in Haiti.
This is effectively illustrated by the name ‘La Polonaise’ of the only bar/club in Cazale, as well as
Dorsinville’s Ils ont Tué le Vieux Blanc (1988). Both manifestations illustrate that the Polish Presence
in Haiti is not forgotten, both within the community of Cazale, as well among Haitians in general. The
WebPages and list-discussions on internet show that discourse about the Polish Presence in Haiti is
alive among a wider (albeit electronic) public. Moreover, it appears that it has departed from the realm
of strict academia and entered into a world wide web of extra-academic historical narrators and
contributors.
In addition to the ‘survivals and retentions’, I believe that there are two main groups of events
that lie at the core of this narrative’s persistence. The first group of events lies in the origins of the
Polish Presence in Haiti; those preconditions that actually created the possibility of a Polish Presence
in Haiti in the first place. The second group of events includes the key moments that have underlied
the Poloné-Ayisyen experience in recent history (beginning from the 20th century). In the ‘Origins’

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chapter, I followed historical narrative publications65 dealing with Haiti’s war of Independence and the
Polish participation in that war. The Polish Legionnaires became entangled in a colonial war they had
little to no idea about and, as the war progressed or, to put it more correctly, digressed into a bloody
fiasco, they became more and more disillusioned with. This disillusionment had to do with the unique
situation the Polish Legionnaires were in. Sent on a pacification campaign they had nothing to do with
(excepting, of course, the pact they had made with Napoleon), unsuited to tropical guerrilla warfare,
badly paid, demoralised because of the exorbitant mortality rate, with tensions between them and their
French commanders running particularly high; the Polish Legionnaires were not the most exemplary
soldiers in the St. Domingue campaign. Although it is impossible to be certain, several events may
have created the basis for a growing sympathy of the Haitian military High Command vis-à-vis the
Poles. Of these events, it seems that the St. Marc massacre played the biggest role in securing the fate
of the luckless Poles. It was at about that time that Dessalines defected for the last time to the side of
the ex-slave revolutionaries and had direct contact with several Polish battalions and their officers. The
role the Poles played in the massacre diverges from full compliance to mass rejection on moral
grounds, depending on the author narrating this story. It is here where communal memory and oral
historical narrative plays an important role. The divergence of the versions of events notwithstanding,
overall the Polish role in the massacre has (at least from the Haitian side) been judged overwhelmingly
positively. This event, I believe, was the catalyst for the sympathy the Polish Legionnaires were to
garner and, ultimately, that was to save their lives in the ensuing debacle of the St. Domingue
campaign. The chapter continues with the formation of Dessalines’ 20th Demi-brigade; Les Polonais
Noirs, shortly after, further pointing to the St. Marc Massacre as the origin of their (the Polish
Legionnaires’) survival. The formation of the Polonais Noirs also points to Dessalines’ development
of an ideology of colour that, instead of being based on raciality, was highly political in nature. The
granting of Haitian citizenship to the Poles, and, by the same token, renaming them under the generic
term ‘Noirs’, further underlines Dessalines’ departure from a strictly racial ideology to a political
ideology that was far in advance of its time. The chapter ends with the assassination of Dessalines, its
aftermath and colour-polarisation of the country and finally, with the last mentions of Poles in that
century, not to be heard about for the next century. This is interesting for it points to a certain measure
of marronage on the part of the Poles and their descendants. They did not intermingle with the milat
class but were absorbed within the Afro-Haitian interior, almost completely taking over the rural
customs from their Afro-Haitian neighbours. As Gérard Barthelemy succinctly formulates; « . . . au
lieu de contribuer à l'éclaircissement des mulâtres, ils se sont, au contraire, trouvés absorbés par la
couleur et par la culture noire. ils se sont pour ainsi dire "congolisés" en s'intégrant définitivement au
système de la contre-plantation » (Barthelemy 1989:101).

65
Greatly relying on Pachoński’s (1976), Pachoński & Wilson’s (1985), Madiou’s (1987 [1848]), Heinl’s
(1996), Ardouin’s (1854), and Kierzkowski’s (1903 [1831]) work.

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Conclusion”

Chapter three, entitled ‘Events, Memory, Narrative, and Historical Production’, deals with the
second group of events, which have direct bearing on the Poloné-Ayisyens (the descendants of the
Polish Legionnaires) themselves as well as the narratives produced about them and by them. It draws
upon the two previous chapters, ‘Origins’ and ‘Survivals and Retentions’. The chapter is, in a sense, a
continuation of the ‘Origins’ chapter, continuing a description and analysis of events which have been
fundamental to the Poloné-Ayisyen narrative. However, it is different in the sense that it focuses on
Cazale, the most well-known community of Polish ancestry, and also takes into account the century of
relative silence within which the Poloné-Ayisyen community was shrouded for more than a century.
The events analysed in this chapter are also similar to the ‘Survivals and Retentions’ chapter in the
sense that they (the events), much the same as the ‘survivals’, are a body of titillating ‘facts’ that form
the corpus from which narrators about Polishness in Haiti draw to construct their narratives. The case
of Faustin Wirkus for example, American marine of Polish extraction, crowned king of La Gonâve in
1926, who visited the town of Cazale (Wirkus rechristened it ‘Carzal’) somewhere around 1920. His
book, The White King of La Gonave, (describing his coronation, his initiation into a Vodou rite, and
his ‘platonic’ affair with ‘Marie of Carzal’) sparked a renewed interest amongst Polish Americans and
Poles in the descendants of those long-forgotten Legionnaires. Although his story is not well-known in
Cazale (and thus has had no direct implications for the Cazaliens), the Conradesque character of his
story has rendered it fascinating enough to be told and retold for over seventy years by outsiders. The
next event I deal with, the Massacre of 1969 has direct implications for the Poloné-Ayisyens of Cazale.
It has left them with a deep scar, influenced the development of their community negatively, and has
influenced the way they structure their narrative about that traumatic experience. Moreover, for them,
the Massacre serves as a link between their distinctiveness (stemming from their Polish ancestry), the
punishment they had to endure because of it, as well as the marginalisation of their community as a
result of it. The few authors who mention the Massacre explicitly link the Massacre to imagined Polish
traditions of freedom and resistance, thereby reinventing Polishness into (and within) the Poloné-
Ayisyen community in Haiti. Dramatist Jerzy Grotowski’s visit to Cazale forms a much more amusing
footnote of Polish-Haitian contact. Amon Frémon’s subsequent visit to Poland in 1980 is symbolic in
the sense that he reversed the voyage of his ancestors. This episode is highly titillating, although it,
like Wirkus’ sojourn in Haiti, has little significance in the realm of historical importance for the
Poloné-Ayisyen community. That significance is so much stronger when we turn to the production of
historical narrative. The experience of both men, Frémon and Grotowski, has given rise to much
speculation and invention. The story is by far the most misinformed and misrepresented narrative I
have come across. However, it has formed the most tantalising aspect in several accounts and
descriptions dealing with the Poloné-Ayisyens, and because of this, the episode grows in importance.
Pope John Paul’s visit to Haiti and his mention of the Legionnaires and their descendants was greatly
significant because his visit was so high-profile that every word he said was followed with meticulous
attention; his mention of the Poloné-Ayisyens was heard by a large Haitian audience. Secondly, the

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Conclusion”

Poloné-Ayisyens themselves now had an immensely important spiritual and political leader to whom
they had found a blood connection, for some it even meant a familial relation. Also, and more
importantly, as the Pope mentioned the Poloné-Ayisyens’ ancestors’ contribution to Haiti’s War of
Independence publicly, it reinforced the Poloné-Ayisyens’ sense of belonging within the framework of
Haitian citizenship. The Poloné-Ayisyens may have had somewhat exotic ancestors (Poles being
understandably exotic from a Haitian perspective), their ancestors may have even been white, but their
alliance with the Haitians (more correctly, their ancestors) against the French is more than enough
justification for their existence in Haiti. His mentioning of the Polish Legionnaires’ role in the Haitian
Revolution is directly linked to Trouillot’s concept of ‘mentioning and silencing history’. When the
Pope mentioned them, it was internalised by a large portion of Haiti’s population; it had become
‘history’. The manner in which he mentioned the Legionnaires harboured both mentions and silences.
For example, he ‘silenced’ the fact that most Legionnaires fought their adversaries to the bitter end,
yet he ‘mentioned’ that the Poles had fought along with the blacks and had even become Haitian
citizens. The publication of Présence Polonaise en Haïti (1983) at the time of the Polish Pope’s visit is
also a ‘mention’ of this historical narrative. It was undoubtedly envisaged as a way to link this spiritual
shepherd to Claude Duvalier’s Haiti; badly in need of international friends. The last event I describe
pertains to the very recent history of Cazale. Géri Benoît’s (daughter of Cazale) marriage to President
René Préval meant that the Cazaliens now had a member of their community who was their
representative at the top of the socio-political hierarchy of Haiti. Although she, to my knowledge, has
by no means ever misused her status, the keen interest she shows in the development of the
community of her origins has undeniably provoked an intensification of energy within the community.
Concluding, the events that have been described in chapter three and above, have had an undeniable
influence on the Poloné-Ayisyen community as well as the discourse surrounding said community.
Some events may not have had a tangible influence on the community itself, yet by their innate
fascinating quality, they form a corpus of information from which narrators construct their narratives,
historical or anthropological, about Polishness in Haiti.
The short chapter ‘Polishness and Dévlopman’ serves as a counterpoint to the assumption that
Polish heritage, history, and culture are the most important aspects of everyday praxis in the Poloné-
Ayisyen community. Food on the table, clothes on one’s back, and a roof over one’s head are
understandably the first and foremost concern of a poor community. In the chapter, I show that it does
not stop at these bare essentials. Indeed, most Cazaliens are clearly aware of the necessity of
sustainable development for the community as a whole. This clarity of vision is, at the same time,
compounded with the fusing of development with their Polish history and unique distinctiveness.
Interestingly, Polishness becomes part of a larger narrative of development. In fact, it is precisely
through the discourse of dévlopman that one sees the pride Cazaliens attach to their communal history.
Resembling Cohen’s less-formalised, “. . . more open definition of the meaning of historical
knowledge, (. . .) one finds that it is not located most formidably in poetic verse or extended narratives

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Conclusion”

of a formulaic kind; it is constantly voiced, addressed, and invoked all through every-day life . . . and
this voiced knowledge constitutes a remarkable reservoir of evidence on the past” (Cohen 1989:13).

I would like to return here to a question I asked myself after doing fieldwork in Haiti. It arose after I
had ascertained that there actually was a ‘Polish Presence in Haiti’. Why has something remained from
the Polish Presence in Haiti? Why is it, that only a handful of forlorn Polish soldiers 200 years ago
have left any traces in a Caribbean country where history, in the face of the immense problems of day-
to-day survival, is more of a luxury than anything else? For the outside chronicler it would seem that
this footnote of history harbours the charm of fascination and exoticism. The sheer quirkiness of this
story, the coming together of two seemingly unbridgeable worlds (Poland and Haiti), the plot-ridden
screenplay quality of this history, is its most alluring aspect. To make sense of Poles fighting alongside
black slaves against their French masters, one is compellingly drawn to delve deeper. There is another
reason - perhaps an even more important one - why this particular historical narrative should persist
for 200 years though. This narrative – as all narratives – has meaning for those who tell it. In this
thesis I have tried to enumerate and analyse all the building blocks – the ‘origins’, the ‘survivals’, the
more recent ‘events’, - that raconteurs can use to produce a narrative (anthropological or historical)
concerning the Polish Legionnaires and their descendants in Haiti. However, most Poloné-Ayisyens
make use of a simple narrative structure of their historical antecedents. Crudely put, it follows along
the lines of; “Our Polish ancestors came to Haiti to help the Haitians fight the French during the time
of the Revolution. In appreciation of this, Dessalines granted them a piece of land where they could
settle, start families. Poles and Haitians had children together and we are there descendants.
Dessalines even wrote an article in the Constitution to guarantee our rights.” This narrative, along
with several other details, has persisted for over 200 years in unwritten form. It is preserved for it
explains the presence of a localised group of lighter-coloured individuals in a region where most
peasants are of ‘pure’ African extraction. It also does something else. More importantly, it justifies
their being there; a recognition of their existence as a fixture of Haitian reality. For a people, stricken
by poverty and powerlessness, their history is a source of pride; their ancestors’ bravery earned them
the right to be here, to call themselves true Haitians. Barth’s view of group identity cannot directly
help us here, for in Cazale, identity is not so much based on ethnicity, as it is on locality. The
Cazaliens have appropriated the Poloné legacy as the defining characteristic of their village identity,
highly reminiscent of what Eriksen describes as “. . . the appropriation of a shared history (Tonkin et
al. 1989), that simultaneously functions as an origin myth, justifies claims to a common culture and
serves to depict the ethnic group as an extended kin group” (2001 [1995]:264). However, the
Cazaliens do not exclude themselves from Haitianness, and neither do Haitians exclude Poloné-
Ayisyens from the national identity. The Poloné-Ayisyens, whether they are from Cazale or not, do not
regard themselves as a separate ethnicity. Rather, they see themselves as having an additional unique
identity, based on Poloné-Ayisyen history, within the wider framework of Haitianness. Their ancestors

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: Conclusion”

were intimately connected in near-mythical heroism with the great Dessalines; the father of the Haitian
nation, thus they do not fall outside the boundaries of Haitianness, but rather stand at its epicentre.

In the final analysis, one can conclude that something does remain of the so-called Polish Presence in
Haiti. Although an obscure article 13 of the 1805 Haitian Constitution is possibly the most important
physical ‘proof’ of the presence of Poles at Independence, it is not the only thing which has remained
of the Polish Presence in Haiti. Besides the few Slavic-sounding surnames, the headstones,
architecture, and Christmas lanterns of indeterminable extraction, the ‘melancholic’ green, blue, and
grey eyes, the ‘Kokoda’, the use of the Black Madonna of Częstochowa as Ezili Dantò, or even the
invented tradition of the suffix ‘–ski’ at the end of first names, we have the production of narratives.
The oral histories of the Poloné-Ayisyens, the discussions on internet sites, the historical literature, the
terse footnotes in nearly every historical treatment of Haiti, as well as the widespread perception of
ordinary Haitians that something like a Présans Poloné an Ayiti exists. It is precisely in the
combination of that perception and the abovementioned ‘evidence’ that a unique historical narrative is
continually produced and reproduced, which, in the end, reifies the Polish Presence in Haiti into a
tangible and identifiable ‘thing’; something which undeniably ‘exists’.

Fig. 35 - Poloné children in Cazale

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 “Being Poloné in Haiti: References”

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Oaks/New Delhi: Sage Publications.

Kenscoff
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Kierzkowski, Jakub Filip

1866 Pamiętniki [Memoirs]. Poznań: Nakład N. Kamieńskiego.

Kilarski, Jan
193? Biały król Gonawy: Dzieje Polaka wśród murzynów Haiti. [The White King of
Gonave: History of a Pole amongst the Negroes of Haiti].
Poznań/Warszawa/Wilno/Lublin: Księgarnia Św. Wojcjecha.

Kula, Marcin
1972 ‘Polska Literatura Dotycząca Ameryki Łacińskiej XIX i XX W’ [Polish
Literature concerning Latin America XIX and XX century]. Warszawa: Dzieje
Najnowsze, Rocznik IV (2): 119-135.

Łepkowski, Tadeusz
1964 Archipelagu dzieje nielatwe [Difficult History of an Archipelago].
Warszawa: Czytelnik.
1964 Haiti : Poczatki panstwa i narodu [Haiti: Beginnings of a State and Nation].
Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe.
1969 Azjatycka i Afrykanska Ameryka [Asiatic and African America]. Warszawa:
Czytelnik
1968-9 Haití: Tomos I y II La Habana: Estudios del Centro de Documentación 4 y 5.
Juan F. Noyola. Casa de las Americas.
1988 ‘Polska Obecnosc w Historii Haiti i Haitianczykow: Częsc I’ [The Polish
Presence in the history of Haiti and the Haitians: Part I]. Przegląd Polonijny
14(1): 5-30, (2): 21-39.

Madiou, Thomas
1987 [1848] Histoire d’Haiti: de 1492-1807. Port-au-Prince : Editions Henri
Deschamps.

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Małachowski, Kazimierz
1917 [1831] ‘Wiadomość o Wyprawie Części Legionów Polskich na Wyspę San
Domingo w R. 1803’ [Knowledge about the Campaign of Part of the Polish Legions to
the Island of San Domingo in the Year 1803], pp. 59-86 in Artur Oppman (ed.) Na San
Domingo [On San Domingo]. Warszawa: Nakład Gebethner i Wolff.

Maurer, Bill
2002 ‘Fact and Fetish in Creolization Studies: Herskovits and the Problem of
Induction, or, Guinea Coast, 1593.’ Leiden: KITLV Press, New West Indian
Guide/Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 76 (1&2): 5-22.

Meinert, Gustaw
1886 ‘Legioniści Polscy na Wyspie San Domingo.’ [‘Polish Legions on the Island of San
Domingo.’]. Lwów: Przewodnik Naukowy i Literacki, Rocznik XIV (dodatek
miesięczny do Gazety Lwowskiej) [monthly supplement to the Gazeta Lwowska].

Mickiewicz, Adam
1997 [1823-32] Pan Tadeusz: Polish & English Text: czyli ostatni zajazd na
Litwie/Pan Tadeusz: or the Last Foray in Lithuania], trans. Kenneth R. Mackenzie.
London: Polish Cultural Foundation.

Mintz, Sidney and Price, Richard

1976 An Anthropological Approach to the Afro-American Past: A Caribbean
Perspective. Philadelphia: Institute for the Study of Human Issues.

Monographie de Cazale.
2002 Port-au-Prince: Le Centre d’Appui à la Jeunnesse.

Moreau de Saint-Méry, Louis Élie

1955 [1797] Déscription Topographique, Physique, Civile, Politique et Historique de la
Partie Française de l’Isle Saint Domingue. Ed. Maurel, B. Et Taillemite, E. 3 vols.
Paris: Librairie Larose.

Najman, Charles
1997 Fond-des-Nègres / Fond-des-Blancs. (CD) Buda Records.

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Olszer, Krystyna M. (Ed.)

1981 [1943] For Your Freedom and Ours: Polish Progressive Spirit from the 14th
Century to the Present. (2nd edition) New York: Frederick Ungar Publications Co.

Oppman, Artur
1917 Na San-Domingo. Warszawa: Nakład Gebethner i Wolff.

Orizio, Riccardo
2000 Lost White Tribes: Journeys among the Forgotten, trans. A. Bardoni.
London/Sydney/Auckland/Endulini: Random House.

Pachoński, Jan
1969-1979 Legiony Polskie: Prawda i Legenda 1794-1807 . [The Polish Legions: Truth and
Legend 1794-1807.] IV vols. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Ministerstwa Obrony
Narodowej.
1979 Polacy na Antylach i Morzu Karaibskim. [Poles in the Antilles and the
Caribbean Sea] Krakow: Wydawnictwo Literackie.

Pachoński, Jan, Wilson, Reuel K.

1985 Poland’s Caribbean Tragedy: a Study of Polish Legions in the Haitian War
of Independence 1802-1803. Boulder: East European Monographs, New York:
Columbia University Press.

Pałyga, Edward J.
1972 ‘Stosunki Dyplomatyczne Polski z Państwami Ameryki Łacińskiej’ [Polish
Diplomatic Relations with Latin American Countries]. Warszawa: Dzieje Najnowsze,
Rocznik IV, 2: 73-83.

Paquin, Lyonel
1983 The Haitians: Class and Color Politics. Brooklyn: Multi-Type Press.

Paul II, John, Pope

1983 ‘L’Eucarista e la Vergine’, Omelia al Congresso Eucaristo.
Wednesday, 9 March, Port-au-Prince.

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Poles in Haiti and Haitian Revolution

http://www.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti/misctopic/ethnic/poles.htm
(accessed 29-9-2006)

Price, Richard
1983 First-Time: The Historical Vision of an Afro-American People. Ann Arbor:
Karoma Publishers, Inc.
1986 The Convict and the Colonel: A Story of Colonialism and Resistance in the
Caribbean. Durham: Duke University Press.
1990 Alabi’s World. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Renda, Mary A.
2001 Taking Haiti: military occupation and the culture of U.S. imperialism.
Chapell Hill, London: University of North Carolina Press.

Rey, Terry
1999 Our Lady of Class Struggle: the cult of the Virgin Mary in Haiti. Trenton/
Asmara: Africa World Press, Inc.

Rogoziński, Jan
1999 A Brief History of the Caribbean: From the Arawak and Carib to the present.
New York: Facts On File, Inc.

Ros, Martin
1991 Vuurnacht: Toussaint Louverture en de slavenopstand op Haiti. Amsterdam:
Uitgeverij De Arbeiderspers.

Rulx, Léon
1945 Propos d’Histoire d’Haiti. Port-au-Prince: Imprimerie de l’Etat.

Schnür-Pepłowski, Stanisław
1897 Jeszcze Polska nie Zginęła! Dzieje Legionów Polskich [Poland is not yet Lost!
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1899 ‘Santo Domingo.’ Lwów: Opowieści Historyczne.

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Skałkowski, A.M.
1921 Polacy na San Domingo, [Poles on San Domingo] Poznań: Gebethner i
Wolff.

Sypniewska, Margaret Odrowaz

http://www.angelfire.com/mi4/polcrt/PolesinHaitiA.html (accessed 3-8-2004)

Thomson, Ian
1992 Bonjour Blanc: a journey through Haiti. London: Hutchinson.

Trouillot, Michel-Rolph
1994 ‘Culture, Color, and Politics in Haiti’, pp. 146-74 in Steven Gregory and Roger Sanjek
[eds] Race. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press.
1995 Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History. Boston: Beacon Press.

Védrine, Emmanuel W.
2005 [1995] Petit Lexique du Créole Haïtien. [Small Lexicon of Haitian Creole.]
(2nd edition) Boston: E. W. Védrine Creole Project, Inc.

Wajda, Andrzej
1965 Popioły [Ashes] Polska: Zespół Filmowy Rytm.

Wirkus, Faustin and Dudley, Taney

1931 The White King of La Gonave. New York: Doubleday.

Wirkus, Faustin
1933 ‘The Black Pope of Voodoo: Part I’, Harper’s magazine, vol. 168 (December):
38-49.
1934 ‘The Black Pope of Voodoo part II’, Harper’s magazine, vol. 168 (January):
189-198.

Wolf, Eric R.
1958 ‘The Virgin of Guadalupe: A Mexican National Symbol’, Journal of American
Folklore (71) January-March: 34-39.

Żeromski, Stefan
1964 [1904] Popioły [Ashes] Warszawa: Oprac. St.Pigoń.

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List Discussions

# 2814 Re Polish presence in Haiti 12th March 2000 (fwd)

http://209.85.135.104/search?q=cache:yFCnpkzIbosJ:www.webster.edu/~corbetre/hait
i-archive/msg02855.html+Cazale+Haiti&hl=nl&ct=clnk&cd=1 (accessed 29-9-2006)

#2824: Polish presence in Haiti and Ezili Danto : Bellegarde-Smith replies

http://64.233.183.104/search?q=cache:6xR1KZ1jtDAJ:www.webster.edu/~corbetre/hait
i-archive/msg02866.html+ezili+danto+polish&hl=nl&gl=nl&ct=clnk&cd=1
(accessed 29-9-2006)

Polish Roots: Gen Dobry

http://polishroots.org/gendobry/gendobry_index.htm. (accessed 7-2-2005)

Polish Roots: The Polish Genealogy Source

http://209.85.135.104/search?q=cache:Qu24ZQbcpvgJ:www.polishroots.org/gendobr
y/GenDobry_vol3_no10.htm (accessed 14-3-2005)

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Appendix: Internet Forums

#2814: Re Polish presence in Haiti 12th March 2000 (fwd)

• To: Haiti mailing list < [email protected]>

• Subject: #2814: Re Polish presence in Haiti 12th March 2000 (fwd)
• From: Robert Corbett <[email protected]>
• Date: Sun, 12 Mar 2000 08:50:24 -0800 (PST)
• Sender: owner- [email protected]

From: jacqualine labrom <[email protected]>

Re: Polish Presence in Haiti

I recently needed to accompany a journalist from Condé Nast Traveler Magazine for him to do an
article on the Polish presence in Haiti and so we went to Cazale Something I had wanted to do for a
long time since hearing the story. I was so excited. As most of you probably know, the road to Cazale
turns off just before Cabaret and soon deteriorates into a very bumpy old road. I decided we would ask
for the local Judge when we got there, and we were very lucky to find a very sympathetic and charming
Judge who invited us to his office. After explaining the reason for our visit he talked to us a little bit
about the different personalities in the village who might be able to help us. He also mentioned that
there was a book printed at the time of the Pope's visit in 1983 and he would get us a copy. So I'm very
excited to tell you that I have a copy of 'Présence Polonoaise en Haiti’ by Laurore St Juste and Frère
Enel Clérisme. The 1st part of the book is a dossier on the Polish Legion in St. Domingue 1802-1803
with copies of letters from the National Archives in Poland mainly addressed to the Division General J
H Dabrowski and to Inspector General of Infantry Kobylanski, Captain of the Polish 3rd Brigade. The
2nd part of the book is entitled Ethnographic Investigation and goes on to tell of the different
geographical areas where the Polish soldiers went to live in Cazale, Port Salut, Fond des Blancs, Petite
Rivière de St. Jean du Sud. It includes some photographs of local people who are descendants of these
soldiers and divides them into the geographical areas.

The Judge took us to meet one or two of the personalities involved – they were old men, - mainly in
their late 70's with wonderful hazel coloured or green eyes. They were most charming and were
thrilled that I could speak Kreyol with them. The journalist asked them if they remembered stories of
their original ancestors, but unfortunately they didn't. However the one thing that was still fresh in
their minds was the visit of Pope Jean Paul II and how he had sent for several of them to come and visit
with him when he was in Port-au-Prince. Many of the people in the village as we were driving through

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had very light skin, and a lot of the older women had very thick white hair - what the French call 'lisse'
- sleek.
All in all it was a fascinating glimpse into a part of Haitian history. I don't know if there is anyway that
I can make this book available on Bob's list, but if anyone can give me an idea how to do that I would
be very happy to. I know that the book is now out of print and I consider myself lucky that I have got a
copy.

Jacqui Labrom [email protected]

http://209.85.135.104/search?q=cache:yFCnpkzIbosJ:www.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti-
archive/msg02855.html (accessed 29-9-2006)

#2818: Re Polish presence in Haiti: Young replies

• To: Haiti mailing list < [email protected]>

• Subject: #2818: Re Polish presence in Haiti: Young replies
• From: Robert Corbett <[email protected]>
• Date: Mon, 13 Mar 2000 09:07:48 -0800 (PST)
• Sender: owner- [email protected]

From: David x Young <[email protected]>

Many years ago---1980 to be exact-- I visited Cazale researching for a screenplay I was writing on the
adventures of the Marine Faustin Wirkus --- the RWACONGO of La Gonave, who at one time had a
blond-haired, blue-eyed girlfriend from Cazale. Almost hard to believe, but some of them were still
there, quite beautiful. Not long after, news reports came of viscious actions by the chef de section of
Cazale upon the locals, which I found even harder to believe. I had met and talked with chef myself,
and had photographed him. He was a very gentle soul, who, when asked what he knew of the history of
the Polish fighters beginning in that area, said " I do not believe there is such a place as Poland".

David X Young
http://209.85.135.104/search?q=cache:yFpG6vBvbBgJ:www.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti-
archive/msg02862.html (accessed 29-9-2006)

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#2824: Polish presence in Haiti and Ezili Danto: Bellegarde-Smith replies

• To: Haiti mailing list <[email protected]>

• Subject: #2824: Polish presence in Haiti and Ezili Danto: Bellegarde-Smith replies
• From: Robert Corbett <[email protected]>
• Date: Mon, 13 Mar 2000 10:24:58 -0800 (PST)
• Sender: [email protected]

From: P D Bellegarde-Smith <[email protected]>

The Vergin of C., the patron of Poland is also black-skinned, just as one find other black or brown-
skinned Vergins in Cuba (Caridad del Cobre) and Brazil (Aparecida) and Mexico (de Guadaloupe),
all patron saints. The Church made an effort to satisfy the "natives" they had conquered, by giving in
on issues of female divinity/deity and "recognized" that their conquered subjects were not white. The
Ezilis are water goddesses from the Fon people in West Africa. The Polish vergin, furthermore,
exhibits these "elas," of identifying marks, the apanage of ethnic markings in that part of Africa. The
number is "three" on each cheek. Indeed, the Polish mercenaries that requested permission to remain
in Haiti after Independence may be the ones who introduced the lithograph to the country. In Yoruba
land, she is Yemoja (Cuba's Yemaya and Brazil's Iemanja). Most importantly, Danto is represented in
the dark blue band of the national flag, the red is Ogou. These are the two deities that presided over
the wars of independence.
P. Bellegarde-Smith PhD
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
http://64.233.183.104/search?q=cache:6xR1KZ1jtDAJ:www.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti-
archive/msg02866.html (accessed 29-9-2006)

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POLES IN HAITI AND HAITIAN REVOLUTION

Polish troops came to Haiti to fight in the Revolutionary war against the Nepoleanic forces. Some
Poles then stayed on in Haiti after the war and into independence and because Haitian citizens. The
classic treatment of this contribution is found in POLAND'S CARIBBEAN TRAGEDY by By Jan
Pachonski and Reuel K. Wilson

E-mail list discussion of the Poles in Haiti

21 Jul 1996
Subject: Polish subscriber needs info about Polish in Haiti
ludwik lilienthal
I am looking forward to learning more about Haiti's past and present. I am Russian/Polish/Jewish and
my interests with Haiti started two years ago after being exposed to some of the most beautiful folk
tales from that land. Since then I also became a a big fan of Leon Dimanche, a great Haitian singer.
Leon Dimanche to me is a Haitian Charles Aznavour. He is touring his native Haiti this week after a
12 year absence with a repertoire of new and old songs in Creole and French. Although I understand
French I would like to learn Kreyol this year. I have to admit that prior to my exposure to Haitian
literature, art and music I knew very little about Haiti except for one historical item (taught in history
classes in my native Poland) involving Polish soldiers sent to Haiti by Napoleon to quell the
revolution. Poland was allied with Napoleonic France, its liberator, and also participated in the
Napoleon's invasion of Russia. Polish cavalry carried banners saying : "For Your and Our Liberty". I
would like to find out if the Polish soldiers left any legacy in Haiti. Are there any Polish communities?
About 6 month ago there were very interesting articles about Jews in Haiti and their legacy.
ludwik lilienthal
=============================
22 Jul 1996
Giles C. Charleston
About Polish settlements in Haiti
I know for fact that, of the Polish soldiers sent by Napoleon, many of them defected to the cause of the
Haitian Revolution in 1804. And they were given lands by Dessalines and other high-ranked officers
in the Haitian army as a reward for their involvements. They were located in the region of "Kazale"
(sorry for the mis-spelling) very near of Cabaret. Since then there are children descent of these former
Polish settlers and the local Haitians that still live there. I do not have the references off hand to refer
you to. But I think you can find many historians that will account of the veracity of these historical
facts.

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"La patience ouvre la porte du destin."

"Le temps perdu ne se rattrape jamais."
"Aux Ames bien nees, la valeur n'attend point le nombre des Annees."
Giles C. Charleston
========================
Subject: Rouzier responds about Polish troops
22 Jul 1996
Pierre Rouzier
The little that I know, the Polish troops sent by Napoleon to Haiti joined forces with the Haitian army
in the defeat of Napoleon's forces. In so doing the polish people forged themselves a special place in
the heart of Haitians; although this might not be common knowledge to the city people nowadays. Also
because of this fact, the polish people were spared by Bookman and Dessalines when all white people
were killed during the famous "Koupe tet Boule kay". There are also many descendants of these polish
soldiers still living in Haiti. The Potensky family is one, and there are many more peasants of polish
descent, but I forgot the name of the community.
Pierre
========================
22 Jul 1996
Fequiere Vilsaint
Subject: Vilsaint tells of village with Polish presence
I often hear that in the village of Fond Des Blancs, a few miles south of Miragoane, Haiti, one can
find also several descendants of the Polish soldiers sent by Napoleon. In the discussion about this
subjects I only read about Casale, not about other communities in the South or in Plateau Central.
Any comments?
F. Vilsaint
===========================
22 Jul 1996
Barthol Joseph
Subject: More on the Poles in Casale and the Pope's visit
You are right about the Pope John Paul II's visit to Casale. He went to meet the Polish community
there. Casale is near Cabaret(formerly Duvalierville). I heard that Casale is culture rich community. I
have not visited yet, since the list is talking about it, I am going to visit in August.
================================
22 Jul 1996
Stewart R. King
Subject: Stewart King discusses the Polish troops

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>I know for fact that, of the Polish soldiers sent by Napoleon, many of
>them defected to the cause of the Haitian Revolution in 1804. And they
>were given lands by Dessalines and other high-ranked officers in the
>Haitian army as a reward for their involvements.
It seems that there were a few, perhaps as many as a hundred, who defected in 1804. Their presence
was played up for propaganda reasons and in (vain) hopes of defusing criticism that the Dessalines
regime was going to massacre all whites.
They were located in the region of "Kazale" (sorry for the mis-spelling) very near of Cabaret. Since
then there are children descent of these former Polish settlers and the local Haitians that still live
there.
I've been there. There were maybe a few more lighter-skinned people around than in most rural areas
in Haiti, and some Polish surnamed people, but basically if you didn't know the history you wouldn't
notice anything much different. Remember that women are generally the teachers of children and the
transmitters of cultural tradition, so these Polish soldiers married to Haitian women would have
passed on little of their culture to their children. Kind of like the Norse who settled Normandy -- in a
century, their descendents who conquered England thought of themselves as Frenchmen and thought
of the Vikings as their enemies!
Stewart King
===============================
23 Jul 96
Greg Chamberlain
Subject: Chamberlain comments on Casale and the Pope's visit
I'm surprised to hear that the Pope went to Casale. I'm pretty sure he didn't. He was only in Haiti for
10 hours on March 9, 1983. I see no mention of such a visit in my records. I can't lay my hand, for the
moment, on that day's Haitian newspapers to prove it definitively, but this is the first time I've heard of
it, and I was following things very closely. He would also barely have had time to get there and back.
But can anyone quote clear evidence that he was there? The incident referred to at Cazale was on
March 26, 1969, when a group of members of the Haitian Communist Party (PUCH) seized the village
for six hours and explained their cause before retreating to the hills. Two months later, Papa Doc's
thugs massacred most of the party leadership as they met in a house in Port-au-Prince.
Greg Chamberlain
==========================
25 Jul 1996
LeGrace Benson
Subject: Papal visit did not include Casale
My recollection of the Papal visit to Haiti is similar to Greg's. I was there at the time, watched the
plane come in, then followed the event on TV. At the ceremony greeting the pope --I believe I recall

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that the moment was actually during the long period of the offereings of the people, incorporated into
the Mass, that a contingent of folks from Kazal(sp?) dressed in farmer's blue chambray shirts and
jeans, the shirts starched to the nines, men wearing handsome straw hats which I beleive they may
have actually woven ( ask Gisele Fleurant about that detail) and presented a harvest from their fields.
TV announced explained that they were decendants of the Polish troops who fought on the side of the
slaves. Their greeting from the Pope was, as one would expect, warm. This may be the event that has
come to be reported as a Papal visit to Kazal. The events of the short visit were so compacted that I,
like Greg doubt the Pope any farther than the diplomatic residence of the Nuncio.
==========================
22 Jul 1996
Ralph Reid
Subject: Ralph Reid tells of experience in Polish rooted village
I think the village Ralph means is Kasoley in the Artibonite.
I remember spending a fews days during the summer of 1985 in the small town of Casale (sp?). A
friend of my parents had a small country home there. I met some of the polish descendants and they
were very friendly.
Three things I want to mention:

1. I remember watching some kind of ritual dance during a "fete champetre" and I was told it
was some kind of mixture of voodoo rythms and Polish folk songs. The dancer was wearing a
strange attire that look like an old military uniform with all kind of decorations.
2. One of the Polish descendant was also telling my parents of stories of a massacre in his
community that happened in the 1960's. He even showed us a memorial stone.
3. I also remember when Pope Jean-Paul II came to Haiti, the government arranged for him to
meet a representant of Casale.
http://www.websterfl.edu/~corbetre/haiti/misctopic/ethnic/poles.htm (accessed 29-9-2006)

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*******GEN DOBRY!*********

Volume III, No. 10. 31 October 2002.

Copyright (c) 2002, PolishRoots(R), Inc.
Editor: William F. "Fred" Hoffman, E-mail: [email protected]
***************************************
CONTENTS
Welcome
Trans-Atlantic Shipping, Part Two
Letters to the Editor
Update on Morse's One-Step Portal to the Ellis Island Database
New Edition of Historical Atlas of Central Europe
Upcoming Events
More Useful Web Addresses
You May Reprint Articles...
***************************************

*** WELCOME! ***

to the latest issue of GEN DOBRY!, the e-zine of PolishRoots(R). If you missed previous issues, you
can find them at http://polishroots.org/gendobry/gendobry_index.htm. Visit PolishRoots.org, the
sponsor of _Gen Dobry!_, and take advantage of the many resources offered there. Also, visit this site
to see some of the projects we're working on:
http://www.polishroots.org/projects.htm
We are particularly interested in getting help from people who can translate some interesting
travelogues of about 10 pages from Polish to English. We would like to put this information on the
PolishRoots web site. If you can help, please contact PolishRoots' President Don Szumowski
<[email protected]>.

*** LETTERS TO THE EDITOR ***

Editor -- Two items in the last issue provoked quite a response: the story about Polish Haitians, and
the question about Polish totem poles. Let me share with you some of the fascinating responses I
received. First, Carol Foster <[email protected]> sent a brief but intriguing description of her recent
visit to Haiti:]

Subject: Polish Haitians

My visit to Casale was only one day's duration in late August, but I was charmed by the children I met
there who were every shade of the rainbow, with eyes the same shade of green as mine! I had boxes of

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Crayola crayons with me that I passed out. Who knows, I may have started a whole new tradition of
Haitian -Polish folk art???

I have some great photos. I asked around, and was able to sit and visit with some elder residents of the
region, who had been brought to PAP by the government to meet the Pope when he had visited. One
of the gentlemen had the photo of himself with the Pope proudly displayed on the wall in his bedroom.

They speak Kreyol, not Polish, and the people with whom I spoke were peasant farmers just like their
neighbors, and didn't retain much Polish heritage. They told me that in the surrounding hills were
many other Polish- Haitian families, but they didn't come into town much. This was confirmed by an
American missionary lady I met there also, who said she has met many light-colored hill people with
long straight hair. I've been told that they still dance the polka, but that afternoon it was too hot to
dance! (However, if you listen to Haitian "konpa" music, there do seem to be associations with
polka!!!!)

Carol Foster

-----

In 1973 or 74. I visited a friend in Haiti. He introduced me to Kurt Fischer, the Austrian Counsel to
Puerto Rico and Haiti. He had an office in Port-au-Prince. I believe that he also represented the
East German Government. In addition, he represented Polish interests in Haiti. This assignment was
in the late 1960s and early 1970s. It may have encompassed a longer time frame. Kurt owned a
curio/souvenir store on Calle Cristo in San Juan aptly named Fischer's.
In his office in Port-au-Prince he had a large volume in the Polish language. He told me that he
represented Polish interests in Haiti. I am not sure what his title was in respect to this job, if he was
remunerated for this representation, or what the relationship to Warsaw may have been.
After a short conversation about Poland he excused himself for an appointment. I thought that I would
be able to get back to our conversation. Unfortunately this was never to happen.
One of the points that Kurt talked about was that about 5,000 Polish Hessians were hired to fight the
rebels. At that time Haiti was the biggest money-maker in the New World. Perhaps the IBM of its
time. So it was appropriate that this Cash Cow be brought back to the fold.
Napoleon had just received Louisiana in a war with Spain a few months before. I believe that he had
held the Louisiana Territory for only three months before he "flipped" it to the U.S. to get needed
funds to hire his Polish troops. As a side note, Jefferson, it appears, had already informed Napoleon
that he was going to take Louisiana, so it was appropriate that some funds be salvaged from this
"spoils of war."

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As Kurt had explained to me, the Pols saw that this appeared to be an impossible war and many of
them deserted. As a result, they could not go back to Poland, even after Napoleon was deposed. They
were still deserters. So many of them brought families to Haiti.
I had looked through the Port-au-Prince Telephone Book (an extremely thin volume in 1974, the
switchboard on the Island closed down at 11 p.m.), but could find not a single Polish name. I was
interested in finding out what had happened to these Polish people.

Francis A. Przygoda

http://209.85.135.104/search?q=cache:Qu24ZQbcpvgJ:www.polishroots.org/gendobry/GenDobry_vol
3_no10.htm (accessed 14-3-2005)

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LE PAYS EN DEHORS

De Gérard BARTHELEMY
L'africanité, en laquelle nous voyons aujourd'hui surtout un facteur d'unité, dans la mesure où ce
facteur s'oppose à l'occidentalité, présentait en 1804 un danger implicite d'explosion, de désunion,
d'incompréhension et d'incommunication. C'est l'acceptation d'un héritage culturel créole commun,
purifié par la grande catharcie de l'élimination physique de sa paternité blanche, qui aura permis de
triompher des forces centrifuges, Ce besoin d'unification autour d'un contenu culturel commun a été
tellement fort que, en moins de cinquante ans, non seulement il aura gommé la plupart des différences
ethniques, mais il aura réussi, entre autres, cette performance étonnante d'avoir transformé en
paysans-congos quelques milliers de Polonais, blancs catholiques des bords de la Vistule.
(. . .)
Du temps de la colonie, cette discrimination était en quelque sorte occultée par un autre préjugé
fondamental : celui de l'inexistence de la personnalité juridique de l'esclave, Après l'indépendance et
faute d'avoir résolu le conflit, au sein de la classe des Affranchis, entre mulâtres et noirs libres, la
question de couleur viendra occulter leur compétition fondamentale pour la suprématie et ce combat
est avant tout culturel et économique. Ne pouvant s'appuyer sur aucune inégalité d'ordre juridique
pour justifier une revendication de pré-éminence, reste à évoquer le vieux préjugé de couleur. La
meilleure preuve de tout ceci, et qui montre que la race ou la couleur n'a pas été considérée comme
une valeur en soi mais seulement comme le support d'autre chose, on le trouve dans la destinée des
Polonais de l'armée Leclerc en ce début du XIXe Siècle: au lieu de contribuer à l'éclaircissement des
mulâtres, ils se sont, au contraire, trouvés absorbés par la couleur et par la culture noire. ils se sont
pour ainsi dire "congolisés" en s'intégrant définitivement au système de la contre-plantation,

http://209.85.135.104/search?q=cache:xjQKXgQltb4J:doc-
aea.datapps.com/data/admin/le_pays_en_dehors.doc (accessed 17-6-2007)

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