The Citadel

Twenty thousand people died building a fort from which a shot has never been fired in anger.

It rained heavily again last night, but the sky was clearing by dawn. Fog shrouded the tops of the mountain range that borders the southern edge of Milot. Atop that mountain, 3000 feet above the surrounding valleys, and with a view of the ocean 20 miles distant, stands the Citadel. We left at 7 am for the 7 mile drive up a winding road. A few of the more hardy souls among us, including Jackie and Jono, felt it would be a nice brisk walk and left earlier. As we bounced out of town, we passed the remains of the royal palace, which was destroyed by an earthquake in 1847. Several miles up, large numbers of school children in uniform were walking toward us. I didn’t recall seeing a school nearby, and was told that they were walking to Milot, a trip of an hour each way. People were bathing and doing laundry at public fountains, primarily served by cisterns that catch the rainwater from higher in the mountain. Our guide, Michel, was born in the village below the Citadel, where the road ended in a dirt lot. We were immediately surrounded by locals, offering to be our guides, sell us artwork, or give us horse rides the rest of the way. We could see the fort another 1000 feet up and three quarters of a mile away.

As we climbed, Michel told us the story of the Citadel. The Haitians drove the French out of the country in slightly over 2 years, ending around 1805. King Christophe from Grenada was to lead the people. The palace was built in Milot, but it was not defendable from an attack, should the French wish to reoccupy. The king chose to build a fortress on the highest point possible and began work. Over the next 15 years, a human chain of workers brought bricks, captured cannons, ammunition, metal bars, and other materials up the mountain. A caldron was built to render animal carcasses for a gelatin like material that served as mortar. The Citadel was finally completed, and cannon shots rang out across the valleys both to celebrate and as a warning.

The scale of the fortress cannot be captured by pictures. A system for water, multiple cannon batteries, toilets that empty to the valley 1500 feet below, and royal bedroom designed to be ventilated by the prevailing winds were all there. Yet they were never used. King Christophe suffered a stroke after an argument with a priest (some say he was struck down by God), and subsequently committed suicide. His body was brought to the grounds and secretly buried. Subsequent rulers chose to be closer to the population.

Yet there was something more concerning as I toured. Much of the compound was dedicated to prisons – not for combatants, but for slave workers who were deemed to be lazy. So a country founded by freed slaves, enslavened some of its own people, forcing them to work and to die for the perceived good of a larger society.

Whenever humans live together, hierarchies form. In many cases it is important to have a leadership structure, to provide the most good to largest number of people. But I couldn’t help but wonder how these form. Is it the random chance of your birth parents? Is it truly your abilities? Even today, at Sacre Coeur, there is the clear understanding that certain groups will get paid jobs, and others won’t. Although we in America claim that “All men are created equal,” our actions have not lived up to that ideal. In moments of fatigue and frustration, I catch myself in stereotyping. Being surrounded by Haitians asking for money or trying to sell me “local” products made in China made me uncomfortable. Then I saw their living conditions, and recognized how they were viewed by the more connected of their countrymen. And I realized that they were fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, children and friends finding whatever way they could to survive and pass on something to the next generation. So I bargained for some artwork, and took a chance by buying 2 freshly fried empanadas. They were delicious.

And as we got into the truck for the trip down the mountain, the fog lifted and sunlight reflected off the puddles from the rain.