Liberation Day

A Monologue on Tariffs, Elon Musk’s Comedy Career, and the Global Economy’s Cry for Help

Oh, you think you’ve had a bad day? Try waking up to the news that the entire global economy is now the unwilling hostage of a man who thinks trade wars are fun.

Yeah. That’s where we are.

Trump—our fearless, economically illiterate leader—has just declared “Liberation Day.” Now, if that sounds like the title of a bad action movie starring Steven Seagal, that’s because it is. But no, this isn’t Hollywood. This is real life. And instead of being liberated, we’re about to get economically pile-driven into the abyss.

And here’s the kicker—Elon Musk is the one explaining it to us.

That’s right. Elon. Musk. Not an economist. Not a diplomat. No, no. We’ve got the Twitter meme lord, the guy who named his kid after a Wi-Fi password, trying to make sense of Trump’s tariff rampage.

And he’s doing it… as a stand-up comedian.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Musk says, stepping onto the stage, "have you ever noticed how tariffs are kinda like Tesla autopilot? You think they’re gonna get you to your destination, and then BAM! Right into a brick wall."

Oh, great. We’re in for one of those nights.

Trump, sitting in the front row, does that thing where he fake-laughs way too loud. “HA! HA! So true, Elon. So true.” He looks around, checking to see if the cameras caught his reaction.

The rest of us? We’re sitting here in stunned silence, watching Musk struggle to justify the unjustifiable.

"25% tariffs on auto imports!" he announces, flipping to a slide that literally just says “Big Ouch” in bold red letters. "It’s like if I charged you a 25% fee just to use a Tesla charger. Oh wait—" he chuckles, "I already do that."

Trump loves this joke. Slaps his knee. “Brilliant! Just brilliant.”

Meanwhile, economists are watching from the wings, contemplating whether now is a good time to start drinking.

Because here’s the thing—these tariffs? They’re real. This isn’t a joke. American consumers are about to pay more for everything. Trading partners are already sharpening their retaliatory tariffs like medieval swords. The stock market? Oh, buddy. It’s in freefall.

And yet here we are, stuck in this nightmare comedy special where Musk is bombing on stage, and the entire world is forced to sit through it.

"You ever think about how trade wars are kinda like a Tesla Model X? Super expensive, no one really asked for it, and somehow—somehow—it still catches on fire?"

Nothing. Dead silence.

Even Trump stops fake-laughing for a second.

The American people? We’re slumped in our seats, exhausted, wondering when this show ends. Europe is side-eyeing the exit. Japan is considering deleting America’s number. Canada? Canada is just sitting there, quietly furious, chugging maple syrup straight from the bottle.

And Musk? He’s sweating now. He knows this is a disaster. He looks at Trump, hoping for a rescue.

But Trump? Oh, he’s loving this. Standing ovation, clapping way too hard. “Genius! Elon, you’re a genius! We gotta have you explain all my policies. You make them sound funny!”

And that’s when it hits me.

We’re not watching a comedy show. We’re watching a hostage situation.

Elon Musk is trapped on stage, trying to make sense of Trump’s tariff-fueled economic firestorm, and we’re all trapped in the audience, forced to witness it.

No refunds. No early exits. Just us, Musk, and a global economy teetering on the edge.

God help us all.

Scars That Don’t Fade

(Verse 1)

I built my walls up high, brick by brick, alone
Learned too young that love can leave, and silence feels like home
Mom and Dad weren’t there, so I learned not to care
If nobody’s watching, then why should I share?

(Pre-Chorus)
I had too many dreams, too many hopes
Held on too tight, just to let go
And now I stand here, nothing left to say
Some scars don’t heal, they just fade to grey

(Chorus)
I gave and I gave, but it’s never enough
She took what she could, then called it love
I see through the lies, the secrets, the pain
And I won’t be a pawn in her selfish game
I’m done, I’m done, I’m done…

(Verse 2)
She whispered my name to the one who broke me
Kept my truth in the dark like it meant nothing
I stayed silent, I played strong
But those nights were way too long

(Pre-Chorus)
I had too many dreams, too many hopes
Held on too tight, just to let go
And now I stand here, nothing left to say
Some scars don’t heal, they just fade to grey

(Chorus)
I gave and I gave, but it’s never enough
She took what she could, then called it love
I see through the lies, the secrets, the pain
And I won’t be a pawn in her selfish game
I’m done, I’m done, I’m done…

(Bridge)
She tried to leave instead of facing me
Her shame too loud, her guilt too deep
But I won’t carry what’s not mine
Her truth, her past—I’ll leave behind

(Outro)
I’ll break the cycle, I’ll make it right
If I ever have kids, they’ll sleep at night
No more secrets, no more shame
Some scars don’t fade, but I’ll heal my name.

The Weight of Unseen Sacrifice

The worn leather of the armchair felt familiar, a comforting embrace against the chill seeping from the drafty window. Rain lashed against the glass, mirroring the storm brewing inside him. Jamal stared out, the city lights a hazy blur through the downpour. His mother's words echoed, a cruel refrain in the silence: "You're just a mama's boy, always needing me."

He'd sacrificed everything. College dreams deferred, a career path abandoned, his life a meticulous tapestry woven around her needs. He'd been her rock, her confidante, her shield against the world. He'd expected gratitude, maybe even a hint of pride. Instead, he'd received a lifetime of subtle dismissals, his efforts labeled as weakness.

The words, "You're just a mama's boy," stung with a venomous precision. It wasn't just an insult; it was a dismissal of his entire existence. He'd poured his heart and soul into caring for her, and all he received was a condescending label.

The rain continued to fall, a relentless rhythm mirroring the pounding of his own heart. He thought of the countless nights spent by her bedside, the endless errands, the comforting words whispered in the face of her anxieties. He'd built his life around her, sacrificing his own dreams, his own happiness, for the woman who was supposed to be his biggest supporter.

And for what? For a lifetime of "thank yous" that felt hollow and a constant undercurrent of disapproval. He felt a wave of suffocating anger, a bitter taste of betrayal. He had loved her fiercely, unconditionally. But love, he realized, was a two-way street.

As the storm raged outside, Jamal sat in the armchair, the weight of his unseen sacrifices pressing down on him. He was drowning in a sea of resentment, the echoes of his mother's words a constant reminder of the love he'd never truly received. He knew he needed to heal, to find a way to forgive, not just for her, but for himself. But the pain ran too deep, the wounds too fresh.

He closed his eyes, the image of his mother's face, etched with a lifetime of worry lines, flashing before him. He loved her, he truly did. But he also knew that sometimes, love wasn't enough. Sometimes, it wasn't enough to heal the wounds inflicted by those closest to us.

Fiction

 I was only six years old the last time I saw my mother before she sent me to live with my aunt in Port-au-Prince. The details of that night were blurry, but I remembered her leaving. I remembered her gentle hands guiding me to my aunt’s house, her whispering words about opportunities and sacrifices as if they were magic spells meant to protect me. She told me I was going to be “safe and loved,” but I didn’t fully understand. All I knew was that she was leaving and that I wasn’t going with her.

For the next few years, I grew up in a home that wasn’t mine, with people who loved me in their own way but couldn’t fill the void left by my mother. She sent money from America, gifts for my birthdays, letters with warm words and promises. But she never came back. Every dollar bill, every piece of candy, every word on those letters felt hollow, like an apology for something I could never understand.

By the time I was 10, my mother was like a phantom. I knew her face only from old photos, her voice only from faint memories. My aunt told me stories about her – that she was working tirelessly, that she loved me and was doing all of this so I could one day join her in America. So I clung to those stories like lifelines, hoping one day I’d have the chance to ask her why she’d left, why I had to grow up in someone else’s house, with someone else’s family.

Eventually, at 10, I made it to America. When I arrived, I expected a warm embrace, maybe tears, maybe that long-awaited apology. Instead, she greeted me with a polite smile, almost as if I were a distant relative rather than her only child. We lived together, but there was a distance, a coldness in our interactions. She worked a lot, rarely home, always busy with some job or project. It was as if she’d brought me here to complete some unfinished obligation, not because she wanted to rebuild the relationship we’d lost.

In the following years, I did everything I could to make something of myself. I went through school, found part-time jobs, and learned to be independent. I worked relentlessly, not just to survive but to prove to myself that I could thrive, even with the gaping absence of a real family connection. By 29, I had done what I thought was impossible. I had saved up enough money to buy my own house. It felt surreal – me, the little girl left behind, now a homeowner in a foreign land.

But just when I thought I’d finally freed myself from the past, she called. My mother needed help. She’d grown tired, her once tireless spirit weighed down by years of working for others, and she wanted to come to America to be closer to her family. I felt torn – the girl who’d waited for her mother’s love wanted to say yes, but the woman who’d built her own life wanted to keep her distance. Still, I agreed. Maybe this was the opportunity for us to finally connect, to build the bond I had longed for.

When she arrived, I hoped for change. I hoped she’d look around my home, see my achievements, and realize she didn’t need to hide anything from me. But things only grew more complicated. I soon found out that she had a younger son, a boy in Haiti whom she’d never mentioned. My younger brother, hidden like a dark family secret, a ghost of her life that she’d kept tucked away.

And then it started – the requests for money. She wanted to send him money every month, a modest amount, she said. I could see her relief as she handed over the responsibility to me, as if I had somehow become the parent and she the child. There was no gratitude, no acknowledgment of the years I’d struggled on my own. Just expectation.

As weeks turned into months, I became a stranger in my own home. She treated my house like her kingdom, taking over spaces without asking, ordering groceries as if money was endless, and leaving reminders of her presence in every room. She was still the same – secretive, withholding, never opening up about why she’d left or why she had kept my brother a secret. And every day, my resentment grew.

One evening, after weeks of her silence, I asked her outright about my brother. I wanted to know why she’d never mentioned him, why she’d kept him hidden from me. She looked at me with eyes I couldn’t read and said, “You wouldn’t understand.” Those three words cut deep, pulling me back to that young girl waiting for a mother who never came.

I couldn’t sleep that night. It felt like the universe had played a cruel trick on me, reuniting me with a woman who felt more like a stranger than my own mother. The fantasy of reconnecting, of finding closure, crumbled. I began to realize that the distance between us was more than just physical; it was emotional, a gulf neither of us knew how to bridge.

Months passed in tense silence. I supported her and sent money for my brother, but the bitterness grew. I had become the provider, the caretaker, the parent to a woman who should have been all those things to me. Every now and then, she’d look at me with what I thought might be remorse, but she never said the words. She never acknowledged the years of abandonment, the pain of growing up without her. It was as if those things had happened to someone else.

In time, I came to accept that the woman who lived with me was not the mother I had once dreamed of. She was a person with her own flaws, her own secrets, her own life story that I would never fully understand. The love and acceptance I had sought from her would not come. And somehow, I had to be okay with that.

So, I turned my focus inward. I stopped waiting for her approval, her gratitude, her love. I found my own peace, my own strength, separate from the expectations I’d once had. And with that acceptance came a strange freedom. I realized that, while I couldn’t change my mother, I could choose how to live my life. I could build my own family, one built on honesty and openness, so I would never pass down the same legacy of secrets and silence.

And as for my mother? She remains a part of my life, but at a distance – a complex figure, a reminder of the past, but no longer the focal point of my future.

Love to love song 🎶

Here’s a verse that channels the vibe of Larry June:

---

**Verse 1:**

Don’t cry for love, cry ‘cause you found it,  

In this life, it’s rare, something real, profound, kid.  

I love to laugh, yeah, I love that joy,  

I love to eat good, like I’m cooking with poise.  

I love my sleep, that’s my peace in the night,  

I love her cheeks, yeah, she’s my sunlight.

---

**Chorus:**

I love to love, it’s my therapy, my peace,  

My love language is all the above, never miss a beat.  

Option trades in the morning, fast money, no doubt,  

But I yearn for something real, that love that’s devout.

---

**Verse 2:**

I love to earn, yeah, that grind’s in my soul,  

But more than the paper, I want a love that’s whole.  

Long-lasting marriage, my rib by my side,  

Through thick and thin, together we’ll ride.  

Money comes fast, but love’s what stays,  

I want that happiness that never fades.

---

This song blends Larry June’s laid-back, introspective style with a focus on both the grind and the desire for lasting love and happiness. 

Why Getting to Know Someone Matters More Than Just Sex: The Importance of Compatibility in Relationships

In a world often dominated by quick flings and superficial connections, the essence of truly knowing someone seems to have taken a backseat. While physical attraction and chemistry play a role in relationships, they shouldn't overshadow the significance of compatibility and understanding.

A study by Margaret S. Clark titled "Implications of Relationship Type for Understanding Compatibility" sheds light on the importance of compatibility in relationships. Clark's research emphasizes that the nature of the relationship significantly impacts how compatible partners perceive themselves to be. This highlights the necessity of understanding the intricacies of a relationship beyond its physical aspects.

It's crucial to recognize that past relationships can leave lasting imprints on individuals. Emotional baggage and unresolved issues from previous encounters can inadvertently affect current relationships. Therefore, diving straight into physical intimacy without truly knowing someone can be detrimental in the long run. It's akin to painting over a cracked wall without addressing the underlying structural issues—it may look fine initially, but problems will eventually resurface.

To truly gauge compatibility, investing in tools like "The Big Five compatibility test" can be invaluable. This test delves into the five broad dimensions of personality: openness, conscientiousness, extraversion, agreeableness, and neuroticism. By assessing these traits, individuals can gain insights into their own personalities and how they align with their partners'.

Imagine embarking on a journey with someone whose values, goals, and outlook on life fundamentally differ from yours. No matter how intense the physical attraction may be initially, sustaining a fulfilling and harmonious relationship becomes increasingly challenging when core values clash. Compatibility isn't just about enjoying each other's company; it's about complementing each other's strengths and understanding each other's weaknesses.

Getting to know someone on a deeper level fosters emotional intimacy and strengthens the foundation of a relationship. It involves engaging in meaningful conversations, sharing vulnerabilities, and learning from each other's experiences. These interactions cultivate a sense of trust and understanding that goes beyond the surface level.

In a culture inundated with instant gratification and hookup culture, it's easy to overlook the significance of building genuine connections. But true fulfillment in relationships stems from emotional resonance and compatibility rather than fleeting moments of physical pleasure. So, before succumbing to societal pressures or impulses, take the time to truly get to know someone. Your future self—and your relationships—will thank you for it.

Bridging the Gap: The Haitian Diaspora's Call to Transformative Impact

The Haitian diaspora, dispersed across the globe, has long been recognized for its significant contributions to the countries they now call home. However, a critical examination reveals a paradox: while these immigrants strive to prosper and contribute to the economies of their adopted nations, the impact on their homeland, Haiti, remains somewhat elusive. This article delves into the dynamics of the Haitian diaspora, exploring the idea that their potential for transformative impact in Haiti necessitates a more direct involvement in the country's development.

The Financial Support Conundrum:

Undoubtedly, the Haitian diaspora plays a crucial role in providing financial support to their families and communities back home. Remittances, often sent with love and a sense of responsibility, contribute to the livelihoods of many in Haiti. However, an inherent limitation exists – these remittances primarily address immediate needs rather than fostering long-term, sustainable development.

A Call for Direct Involvement:

For lasting change, it is imperative for the Haitian diaspora to consider channeling not just funds, but also their skills, knowledge, and creativity directly into Haiti. Despite the diaspora's financial contributions to their host countries, there is a palpable void when it comes to actively participating in the nation-building efforts in Haiti.

Unlocking the Potential:

The diaspora possesses a wealth of skills and talents acquired in diverse fields such as education, healthcare, technology, and entrepreneurship. By redirecting some of these skills towards Haiti, the diaspora can actively engage in projects that address critical issues facing the country.

Moreover, the infusion of diaspora knowledge could catalyze innovation and sustainable development. Initiatives that focus on education, vocational training, and entrepreneurship can create a ripple effect, empowering Haitian communities to break the cycle of poverty and build a more robust economy.

Cultural Strength and Passion:

The unique strength and passion of the Haitian diaspora, shaped by a rich cultural heritage, can be a driving force for change. By fostering a sense of unity and purpose, the diaspora can collaborate on projects that transcend geographical boundaries and bring about a collective impact on Haiti.

While remittances serve as a lifeline for many Haitian families, a paradigm shift is required for the diaspora to become catalysts of transformation in Haiti. It's time for Haitians abroad to leverage not only their financial resources but also their skills, passion, and cultural strength to actively participate in the revitalization of their homeland. Through collective efforts,[L’union Fait la Force] as our ancestors advised us; the Haitian diaspora can bridge the gap between virtual impact and tangible, sustainable change, unlocking the true potential for growth and development in Haiti.

Behavioral Report: The State of Engagement of the Haitian Diaspora

Despite a deep connection to their roots, the behavioral patterns of the Haitian diaspora indicate a complex relationship with direct involvement in Haiti's development. Here are key observations:

• Financial Generosity: The Haitian diaspora demonstrates commendable financial support through remittances, showcasing a strong commitment to sustaining their families and communities.
• Limited Direct Involvement: While financial contributions are significant, there is a noticeable gap in direct engagement. Few members of the diaspora actively participate in on-the-ground initiatives that address broader developmental challenges.
• Entrepreneurial Ventures Abroad: A substantial portion of the diaspora's entrepreneurial endeavors is directed towards their host countries. While this contributes to those economies, it leaves Haiti bereft of the potential economic boost that could arise from diaspora-led enterprises.
• Educational and Professional Achievements: Many members of the Haitian diaspora have excelled in education and achieved professional success in their adopted countries. However, there is a need to harness these achievements for the benefit of Haiti, particularly in sectors like education, healthcare, and technology.
• Cultural Retention: The diaspora retains a strong cultural identity, demonstrated through various events, celebrations, and community organizations. However, channeling this cultural strength towards impactful projects in Haiti remains an untapped resource.
• Desire for Change: There is a growing acknowledgment within the diaspora of the need for more direct involvement in Haiti's development. Many express a desire to contribute beyond remittances and express a longing to see tangible, sustainable change in their homeland.      

In conclusion, while the behavioral report reflects a generosity of spirit and a deep cultural connection, there is untapped potential for the Haitian diaspora to become more directly involved in the transformative development of Haiti. By channeling their financial support, skills, and cultural strength into targeted initiatives, the diaspora has the opportunity to redefine its impact from a distance to one that is felt and seen on the ground in Haiti.

The Importance of Preserving Haitian Creole: A Look at the Challenges Faced by Haitian Immigrant Parents in the U.S.

A number of Haitian parents raised ‘bègwè’ children who aren't fluent in Haitian Creole in America, France, Canada, and elsewhere in the diaspora. These Haitian parents made a considerable oversight when it comes to speaking Haitian Creole with their children and insisting that their children reply to them in Haitian Creole. It's puzzling why they didn't insist on their children responding in their native language. In my opinion, it's a questionable parenting choice.

Haitian immigrants, like many immigrant communities, bring with them a rich cultural heritage and language traditions. For Haitian parents who have settled in the United States and have children born on American soil, the question of language preservation often arises. Despite understanding Haitian Creole, some Haitian immigrant parents do not ensure that their American-born children learn to speak their ancestral language. This article explores the reasons behind this phenomenon and discusses the potential detrimental effects on both the children and the preservation of Haitian Creole.

The Value of Language Preservation:

Language is an integral part of culture and identity. Haitian Creole, also known as Kreyòl Ayisyen, is a vibrant and expressive language that encapsulates the history and traditions of Haiti. Preserving Haitian Creole is not just about linguistic heritage; it's about maintaining a strong connection to one's roots and a sense of belonging. Every time a Haitian speaks Creole, the language of their ancestors, they become closer to their forebears; like the Jean Jacques Dessalines, Toussaint L’ouverture, François Makandal just to name a few. 

Understanding the Challenges:

Haitian immigrant parents face several challenges when it comes to teaching Haitian Creole to their American-born children:

• Integration Pressure: Parents often feel the pressure to ensure their children fully integrate into American society. English proficiency is seen as a crucial aspect of this integration. In Kreyòl my Haitians would say, “yo gen foli blan.” It is not a bad thing to merge, assimilate, and integrate in the American culture do not integrate too much to where you are erasing your cultural background. I’m sure those children never stop loving and eating ‘diri djon djon,’ ‘legim,’ ‘Bouyon,’ ‘taso bèf’ and ‘bannann peze.’ I say that to say, integrating fully is an abstract idea.

• Limited Opportunities: In communities where English is the dominant language, children may have limited opportunities to use Haitian Creole. The lack of a supportive language environment can hinder the learning process.
• Time Constraints: Balancing work, family, and cultural preservation can be demanding. Teaching a second language can be time-consuming, and parents may prioritize other responsibilities.

Detrimental Effects:

The failure to teach Haitian Creole to American-born children can have several detrimental effects:

• Cultural Disconnection: Children may feel disconnected from their Haitian roots, leading to a potential loss of cultural identity.
• Communication Barriers: Without knowledge of Haitian Creole, children may face challenges communicating with relatives in Haiti, which can strain family relationships.
• Loss of Linguistic Diversity: The preservation of Haitian Creole is vital to the continued existence of the language. If American-born Haitians do not learn it, the language's vitality is at risk.
• Missed Opportunities: Proficiency in multiple languages can be a valuable asset in an increasingly globalized world. Failing to teach Haitian Creole may limit future educational and professional opportunities.

Encouraging Language Preservation:

To address these challenges, it is essential to find a balance between language integration and cultural preservation. Haitian immigrant parents can take several steps to ensure their children learn Haitian Creole:

• Home Environment: Create a supportive language environment at home by using Haitian Creole in everyday conversations.
• Language Classes: Consider enrolling children in Haitian Creole language classes or cultural programs within the community.
• Cultural Celebrations: Participate in Haitian cultural events and celebrations where the language is prominently featured. Haitian churches are a great resource with all the Haitian Creole speaking elders, and newcomers. 
• Extended Family Involvement: Encourage extended family members to speak Haitian Creole with the children. As the parent of an American-born, it's beneficial to arrange for your child to spend time with a grandparent who primarily speaks Creole. This allows the child to interact with the grandmother, grandfather or bother and gain valuable knowledge directly from the source.

The preservation of Haitian Creole is not just a matter of language; it's a commitment to cultural heritage and identity. Haitian immigrant parents in the United States have a significant role to play in passing on their ancestral language to the next generation. By finding ways to overcome the challenges they face, they can help ensure that their children grow up with a strong connection to their Haitian roots and the ability to communicate in the language of their ancestors.

Katanga Infanticide: The Tragic Fate of Afro-Japanese Babies in Congo

The legacy of colonization holds many dark secrets, and one of them is the heart-wrenching story of Afro-Japanese babies born in the Democratic Republic of Congo. While we've heard stories of children abducted from their maternal families in various African regions during colonization, this is a lesser-known chapter that involves Japan's role in the systematic abduction and infanticide of biracial children.

Apart from exploiting Africa for its rich resources, Japan was a significant player in the mining industry, specifically in the southeastern region of Katanga Province in the Democratic Republic of Congo. This area is known for producing approximately 70 percent of the world's cobalt and copper. During the 1970s, the Japanese government dispatched miners to work in these mineral-rich mines.

These Japanese miners were forbidden from forming relationships with native women, as Japan was not prepared to repatriate any biracial children. To enforce this policy, the miners were strictly confined to camps. Any transgression, such as engaging with local women, resulted in immediate deportation back to Japan.

Despite these strict rules, some Japanese men formed intimate relationships with Congolese women and had children. Tragically, a sinister pattern emerged: the mixed-race infants born of these unions would often die shortly after birth.

In 2010, France 24's investigative reporters, Arnaud Zajtman and Marlène Rabaud, uncovered the heart-wrenching stories of mothers who had lost their mixed-race babies and survivors of the Katanga Infanticide.

The mothers shared a common experience – they had taken their infants to the local mining hospital, which was led by Japanese physicians and nurses. When news of the baby deaths spread, pregnant mothers who were expecting children with Japanese miners went into hiding.

One poignant account came from a woman named Yvonne, whose mixed-race child had died under mysterious circumstances. She recounted the story of her child's death and the ordeal she had faced. Yvonne's son was buried near Calama, not far from their home.

Like other mothers, Yvonne had taken her son to the hospital along with his father. A Japanese doctor had taken the child inside, and when he was returned to her, he was no longer alive.

Another woman shared her heart-wrenching story, describing how she left her baby with his father to fetch water. Upon her return, her child was weak, so she rushed him to the hospital, where he ultimately passed away.

These are just a few among many similar stories, with mothers strongly believing that the camp doctors and their children's fathers had conspired to end their infants' lives.

The graves of mixed-race children can still be found in Katanga, a haunting reminder of this tragic history.

Today, there are around fifty Afro-Japanese survivors of this infanticide. Many grew up in secrecy, hidden from the world. Years later, they united to form an association and sought legal counsel to push for a formal investigation into these killings. They submitted official inquiries to both the Congolese and Japanese governments, but Japan has yet to respond to these requests.

These survivors, who lack birth certificates due to being born outside hospitals, have received no citizenship, compensation, recognition, apologies, or even acknowledgement from the Japanese government. Justice remains elusive over 53 years later.

What are your thoughts on this deeply saddening chapter in history?

Don't forget to subscribe for more thought-provoking stories.

I would also like to credit Jessica Uchechi Nwanguma, a writer who has done research 

on that story and enlightened me as well. 

Jamaica's Debt to Haiti: The Forgotten Exodus for Freedom

This is why lady History always gives me a boner.

  In the pages of history, the brave and tumultuous journey of Jamaica's enslaved population often overshadows an important chapter that took place within the borders of Haiti. Yet, it is a chapter that should not be forgotten – the tale of how Haiti opened its doors to nearly 300,000 enslaved Jamaicans, offering them freedom and the chance to build new lives. Today, Jamaica owes a debt of gratitude to Haiti for this extraordinary act of liberation. 

This year alone, the Jamaican government facilitated the deportation of 65 Haitian migrants who arrived to Jamaica from Haiti on boats. It's important to note that these Haitians did not initially intend to travel to Jamaica; rather, they were at the mercy of wind and directionless navigation. However, these instances shed light on the Jamaican government's limited consideration and understanding of the plight of Haitian migrants, who often leave their homeland to escape gang violence and seek a brighter future. As the Jamaican proverb wisely states, 'Good frien' betta dan packet money.' Both nations share a maritime boundary, and as Haiti’s neighbor, many Haitians view Jamaicans as brothers and sisters. It's worth remembering that Jamaica was the home of Dutty Boukman, a prominent figure who played a crucial role in the Haitian slave revolt during the Saint Domingue era.

In the 18th century, Jamaica was a British colony where sugar plantations thrived, and the backbone of this booming industry was enslaved African labor. As the cries for emancipation reverberated across the Caribbean, hope and determination ignited the hearts of many Jamaican slaves.

During this era, the winds of change were blowing in Haiti. The Haitian Revolution (1791-1804) was a fiery struggle for freedom led by formerly enslaved people. It resulted in the establishment of the first independent Black republic in the Western Hemisphere, and Haiti became a beacon of liberty for enslaved people far and wide.

The impact of Haiti's revolution rippled through the Caribbean. Jamaican slaves caught wind of the revolutionary spirit on the neighboring island and yearned for their own liberation. As they heard about the possibility of freedom, the desire to break free from the chains of bondage surged within their hearts.

Haiti's leader, General Jean-Jacques Dessalines, saw an opportunity to extend the hand of liberation to the enslaved in Jamaica. He knew that solidarity in the fight against oppression was a potent force. In 1804, General Dessalines issued an invitation to the enslaved population of Jamaica, encouraging them to come to Haiti and join the fight for freedom.

Approximately 300,000 Jamaican slaves heeded the call and embarked on an epic journey across the Caribbean Sea to reach the shores of Haiti. They faced treacherous waters and harsh conditions but were driven by the dream of a better life.

Upon their arrival in Haiti, these brave souls were welcomed with open arms. They found refuge and a sense of belonging in a land that had tasted the sweet fruit of liberty. Haiti, a nation born from the struggle against enslavement, was now a symbol of hope for those who had suffered under similar chains.

This migration was not without its challenges. The Jamaican migrants faced economic hardships and the complexities of adapting to a new society, language, and culture. However, they also gained something invaluable – their freedom.

Today, it's crucial to recognize the debt of gratitude that Jamaica owes to Haiti. Haiti's extraordinary act of solidarity with the enslaved Jamaicans not only provided them with freedom but also served as a testament to the strength that unity and perseverance can bring.

The story of Haiti's open invitation to Jamaican slaves and their journey to freedom is a remarkable but often overlooked piece of history. It should remind us that the fight against oppression is not confined by borders. It transcends boundaries and calls upon us to stand together in the face of injustice.

As we look back at this remarkable chapter in Caribbean history, let us honor the courage and resilience of those who made the journey from Jamaica to Haiti. Let us remember that the debt Jamaica owes to Haiti is a debt of gratitude for the precious gift of freedom that was extended across the waters, and a debt of remembrance for the indomitable spirit of those who dared to dream of liberty.

Here is the letter written by President Alexandre Petion to James M'Kewan, the Jamaican Slave owner who followed the 15 enslaved men who fled to Haiti from Jamaica after hearing that Haiti is a safe haven enslaved-black-men. 

“Port-au-Prince

30th January, 1817

14th year of Independence

Mr James M'Kewan Port-au-Prince

Sir,

I have received your letter of 28th inst claiming the English schooner Deep Nine, together with the individuals who brought her from Jamaica to Trou-bon-bon, as your property.I have just given direction for restoring to you the vessel, and everything pertaining to her, but as to the men, they are recognised to be Haitians by the 44th article of the constitution of the republic from the moment they set foot in its territory, and it is out of my power to restore them to you agreeable to your demand.

Each country has its laws, as you must know, Sir, and fortunately for the cause of humanity, Haiti is not the only one where slavery is abolished.The allusion you make in your letter cannot be attended with any serious consequence, because nobody here has been guilty of suborning subjects belonging to other powers; but such persons as arrive in this territory must be protected, since the laws require it.If there be, among the men you claim, any who have committed crimes against the rights of men, they will, on your furnishing me with proof of their crimes, be delivered over to the proper tribunals established for the purpose of taking cognizance of them by the local laws of the country, of which they are now citizens.”