Brush with Haiti Read Free

that story were white. Teaching about Latin America would pose new challenges.
    "You're not Mexican," a student once told me years later on the first day of my first History of Mexico class.
    "You're right. I'm not." It was a learning moment for me, as I discovered just how bold and provocative a student could be. It was a teaching moment, as well. "I'm not French either, but I can teach the French Revolution. Anyway, there is no one Mexican history. You will learn in this class just how culturally, socially, politically, and economically varied Mexico is, and how its history is packed with vastly different perspectives." I am not sure whether my reply satisfied him, but it served as a starting point for discussions through the semester on how history is written.
    The Valparaiso class was not nearly as diverse, and I wondered how I might get them to feel connected to Latin America. I casually made a comment about there being a major city in South America named Valparaiso, to see what their reaction might be. A prepared and studious group, some nodded while others wrote down what I said. Clearly they were serious, and it seemed they might take well to the semester curriculum I had planned for them. It would be challenging for them and me, as we covered at least a dozen countries from the time of their independence in the early 19th century to the present. The task of approaching history both chronologically and regionally presents unique demands when the subject is Latin America. It is far more complex than many realize. But that is one of the aspects I most wanted to emphasize, and I found myself adding to the complexity by giving substantial attention to the Caribbean. And if I were to do that, I could not ignore Haiti.
    There were good reasons for including Haiti in the course design. First, it was part of Latin America. While other scholars might not consider it representative of the area, I knew if it were not included there it might not be covered at all. Second, Haiti was in the news. That is not always a good reason, as historians shy away from "presentism" - the examination of history through prisms of the present. However, I did not intend to encourage students to judge past actions in or regarding Haiti through late 20th century sets of cultural or moral criteria, which is what presentists tend to do. Rather, I wanted to make the material relevant for them. The Clinton Administration had recently intervened to give President Jean Bertrand Aristide his rightful place in power, and this might be a chance for my students to make better sense of Haiti's unstable past and understand why this move was so significant.
    I also saw this as an opportunity to appeal to their religious sensibilities. While not every student professed adherence to a faith, Valparaiso is a Lutheran school, and religion permeates the campus environment. I assigned Aristide's recently released autobiography. It was not a typical choice for a history class, but it would prompt discussion about objectivity and how it is we come to know what we know. It would also add to the complex dimension of combining religion with politics so prevalent in Latin American history. In the work he discusses his past as a priest and his commitment to the poor. And he opens the door for real world applications of liberation theology.
    Liberation theology is a delicate blend ofNew Testament Christian principles, particularly those of progressive Catholics, with the basic tenets of Marxism. Introducing the concept to students was new to me. In fact, the topic itself was fairly new to me. While considered controversial and in some circles dangerous, history professors discuss religion and politics all the time. Liberation theology was reasonably fresh, however, articulated only since the 1970s, and comparatively radical. Still it weighed heavily in the contemporary history of Central America and some parts of South America. Here was a chance to see how it played out, or