In Media Res

Charles sensed a pause coming up—But again, how you end up meeting Jean?

—Oh, in Paris. We met in Paris one summer. I had to leave the States on account of a bit of suspicion over my income taxes. When I left New York I moved to Paris, and…

—That much I know…in other words, Charles was glad that he was half the reason Richard had to leave New York City, way back when—but you're not answering my question. How did you…going slightly on the attack—I mean, how did you, you Ricky, of all fucking people, end up in politics? Because if you don't mind me saying so, it's definitely not like you to care about politics, especially Haitian politics, so when did you become so politically active?

Richard took a breath. The constant use of "Ricky" was beginning to grate on his ears and nerves, and yet, he had to endure it because he needed Charles to stay. He had to make Charles understand that his staying in Haiti was the right decision, the only decision to make, and if that meant putting up with the word "Ricky" and telling Charles all he wanted to now, well then, the cost was well worth it. Charles had to stay, because Richard had set a plan in action, and Richard's plan needed to be done—I'm sorry, the gin's beginning to go to my head. What was your question? Can you repeat it?

—I said, growing impatient—how in the hell did you end up a politico ?

The Secret History, Part I (Homage to Willie G.)

Why does one become anything, any sort of codified, commonly recognizable persona at all? What is it the cause of, and solution to, most of the troubles in the Western world? —Money…in a voice that rustled—Paper, yes. Not cash, but real paper money…smiling, swirling tonic into his glass—Bank notes, certificates of ownership and deposit, lines of credit, deeds and titles; all of it, real money. And when Jean couldn't get access to his money, that is, when Jean began to describe what his family wanted, what they were desperate to get back, well, with my father in hospital and all, we, I knew we needed to have real paper money too. What I mean to say is that now I've more money than I would have had had I stayed on in Europe, and Jean needed the help of Tenth Department Haitians like my father, because his money was quickly running out. Now, does that even remotely answer your question? Is it all beginning to come together for you now? Because really, I don't see how it…

Any start is a start, at least in some respects, and Charles knew that if he had questions, he would have to interrupt and ask them, just as much as if he were asked questions, he would do his best to answer. So then, when he replied with a stoic—no…we need not question the fact that if anything, Charles was simply playing his part, doing what was necessary in order to keep the conversation afloat—No, not really. I mean, you say you turned politico because of money, but if Jean's money was running out, then…

—Oh Charles…taking the time to breathe the name—Oh Charles, that's not it at all. Yes, the simple truth of the matter Charles is that Jean and I got involved with each other because of money, but that's only half of it. You see, Jean had been expecting to live on the interest from money his family had stashed away in Switzerland, but the old man had petitioned the Swiss to freeze all the accounts of the grandes familles d'Haïti , I think partly due to Mev's amazing political hubris. Yet…deciding to recount the entire tale, the whole historical record, for in order for events to work out as Richard wanted them to, then yes, he'd have to make good on his promise that everything would be illuminated—it's probably best if I explain: Jean was once a senator in the Haitian senate, the second-youngest senator in the Haiti's history in fact, and as a senator, he was wildly inept. You can't really find him totally at fault however, because Jean's parents had bought him his seat when he was fresh from college in England, from Birmingham. I can't fathom why, but my guess is that they knew he had no head for business and that there was nothing else he'd really be good for, and so they had hoped that a career in politics would keep him busy, in order that they could idly control a portion of the country without too much effort. But well, Jean, Jean bloody fucked all that, what, with his reckless politicking and all. Really, what I mean to say is this. Wait, wait, get this Charles. Do you want to know what Jean did, in his first year of political office, no less? He goes out on the senate floor one day, and this is practically the eve of the war, mind you, when everyone is scratching to get the old man out, Jean goes out on the senate floor one day and he acts like an absolute madman. He not only reveals that his family literally bought him his place in the senate, but he then goes on to mention exactly how . Jean stands there and he gives names and details, the necessary dollar amounts given to governmental departments in order to obtain his position, and he does it all to decry corruption in the senate and how it must stop. He sits there and reveals everything ugly about the ancien regime , and then he self-righteously stands up and lets fly about how it's all so unfair, because if he can get a seat, then anyone from a wealthy family can. And here, it's this, here's the really rich part, Charles: Jean-Paul Mev should have been vilified by his peers for what he'd done, but they let him alone. That's to say that not only did they think Jean horrifically naïve, but they realized that he'd just given them a way to get the old man out without sacrificing too many of their own. It's to say that since Jean didn't name any other senators or grandes familles in his speech, he had given them an opportunity to take down the old man on hypocritical, but legal, grounds. And true, there was talk of jailing him during the course of their inquiry, but in less than a week it became evident that they couldn't touch him. Rather, that they shouldn't touch him, that they should censure him and leave it at that. You see, he was a Mev, an easy target and worthy opponent of the other rich families, but the peasants here loved him for speaking the truth, for putting on national record what they already knew. Jean became, and still is in some respects, a national hero…pausing only to let the information sink in and add a necessary dramatic effect, with a grimace as he sipped his drink—That is, Jean's confession hit every international newsfeed, and well, now that you've seen him in the flesh, just imagine him in front of a camera: Jean-Paul Mev became the instant darling of the diaspora community. The Francophone newsnets started calling him up whenever they wanted Haitian political commentary with a charismatic face, and there was already so much resentment built towards the ancien regime that people immediately began to gather and rally around everything they thought he stood for. In other words, Jean never wanted to be president so much as the common people asked him, wanted him, convinced him that he should be. This might make you laugh, because I certainly find it funny, but in this country the name of Jean-Paul Mev is commonly associated with someone you can trust. Jean is not only a politician in Haiti, but for Haitians worldwide, he's also a celebrity. Everyone knows who he is and everyone knows what he did, but little do they really know why …and having left the hint in the air, Richard took the time to pour himself another drink, recalling that there were additional details that he should fill in, in hopes of providing Charles with enough to satiate his curiosity, and give him reason to not leave so soon.

—You know, come to think of it, I remember hearing about the corruption trials down here, but they didn't get that much press in the States. It must have been right around the time when we were still bogged down in the Wars of Reconstruction…

—You were…cutting him off, knowing that the history of the US had no relevance to the story he was attempting to tell, wanting to steer conversation away from US involvement in foreign countries, clandestine or otherwise, because some secrets were not to be shared so soon—I remember it quite well. But Haiti is not the Middle East, and when are you Yanks not in some semi-covert, highly propagandized but under-explained war? And being in Europe, I had concerns of my own. And Jean, of course, it wasn't long after Jean complied with the political inquiry that death threats started coming his way and the Haitian guerre civil broke out. And his family, pissed that he'd mangled everything they'd tried to set up, shipped him off to live in "temporary exile" in the safety of Paris. And that's precisely where, exactly when and the reason why I met him, Charles. That is, well, do you see it? Is it all coming together for you? Because I mean to say that the Mevs gave my father a call when they discovered that their Swiss accounts had been frozen, even as their compagnie de credit was under investigation. They were soliciting every international contact they knew, in order to get their hands on money. And even then, they really didn't know Edouard as much as only they knew of him. Those grubby bastards, they were so desperate that they were willing to offer up their family name in exchange for Edouard's international connections, especially among the Swiss. What they wanted him to do was arrange things so that a humanitarian organization would receive a large, philanthropic donation from the bank Jean owns, and then said organization would turn around and…

—Wait. Hold on a sec…literally backing up in his seat—do you mean to tell me that the guy I spent the evening riding around with, the cokehead, that guy owns a bank? Your president, he's that rich?

—Well, somewhat. The Mev's are wealthy, but then, wealth is a relative term. Jean owns a fraction of the controlling interest that his family owns in a bank called the Credit Carrefour. The Brandts used to own it, but back in the last days when the old man got desperate for cash, and before Jean gave his famous speech, the old man pressured chez Brandt to relocate Carrefour's main headquarters from Lyon to Haiti. So then, before word of the restructuring got out, the Brandts sold it to the Mevs. The national economy was shit back then, and because Carrefour got restructured as a national, and not an international bank, it was then dependent upon the bond rating of the country, which meant that it quickly became worthless. So yes, you're right. Jean does own a bank, but not in any substantial way you might imagine because it's not a multinational bank. And really now Charles, I'm sure even you're aware that multinational capital is where it's at. But Charles, are you sure you really want to know this? Because I can't see how this might be even remotely interesting to you, really…

—It's all very interesting to me, Ricky…meaning that he'd been held rapt since the words "Jean", "owns", and "bank" had been used together in the same sentence.

—Fine then…adding another splash of gin to his glass, attempting to make his Charles as comfortable as possible by showing that yes, he was capable of drinking himself into a state of near-incoherence too—But all this talk about Credit Carrefour is somewhat besides the point, especially since all of its assets are frozen. Once the old man had nationalized the Carrefour, it was then pressed into the service of the national debt. Whatever monies weren't sapped away in order to "maintain economic stability and promote national security", that is to say, whatever funds weren't used to keep the old man living a lifestyle that he had long since grown accustomed to, well, the rest had long since been liquidated by the Mevs' need to live like tawny-coloured Rothchilds. The bank only truly exists on paper now…finding himself marveling, for the look on Charles' face was of such dejection that it actually caused Richard to pause, made him wonder if he had not committed an irreparable blunder—Of course, there's also the CanaBank, but what's more interesting is that the Carrefour affair was the reason for Jean's senate-floor tirade. Jean spoke for almost an hour nonstop about what he called "gray banking": How in exchange for funneling money into the national treasury, his family was able to buy him a place in the senate…and, beginning to feel the effects of the gin, quietly letting his choice of words slip back into something more comfortable, habitual, more French, and giggling about the fact— Mais boeuf. Tu sais que , que le speech de Jean should have meant the end of his political career, but au fond , that speech was the only true act of genius that I've seen Jean accomplish, quoi . What I mean is that most people don't get that his speech was actually a very clever way to get back at the Brandts for selling his family a doomed business venture. Do you follow me, do you understand? Bon , really, think about it Charles: The old man couldn't manipulate Carrefour finances too heavily with the bank under scrutiny, and so it left the president with little choice but to turn to the Primex monopoly, the financial conglomerate owned by the Brandts, as a way to secure the funds paid to the people who ensured that the old man remained head of state. And with the Haitian banking system busy dodging a scandal, the president fighting off a criminal indictment, and the Primex monopoly quietly trying to bribe its way out of a political quagmire, the entire system of economic cronyism, what had quietly been built up for almost 75-odd years, quickly fell into disarray. All the sharks had received a cut, but with so much blood in the water, they turned on each other in order to make a kill. In a little less than an hour with nothing but revenge on his mind, Jean had literally fucked them all: the Brandts and the other grandes familles , his fellow senators, his own family, the people who maintained the society he lived in, and in some ways, even himself; but because he did, he came out of the whole mess smelling like roses. Jean had admitted his dirt, his involvement in the entire affaire , and really, what do you think the masses find most attractive? What do you think they want? It's nothing more than a noble-born politician who is somehow, at bottom, no better than the rest of them. Really now mon chou , don't give such a look, because it's the same wherever you go: People like, want, and often expect their politicians to be a little dirty, but what they also want is a dirty politician with clean hands…and after a moment of active reflection—And well, when the old man refused to admit his sins, when he refused to step down and resorted to violence as a way to resolve the crisis, well then, the people took it as a sign of guilt, and that's when they r splash of gin to his glass, attempting to make his Charles as comfortable as possible by showing that yes, he was capable of drinking himself into a state of near-incoherence too—But all this talk about Credit Carrefour is somewhat besides the point, especially since all of its assets are frozen. Once the old man had nationalized the Carrefour, it was then pressed into the service of the national debt. Whatever monies weren't sapped away in order to "maintain economic stability and promote national security", that is to say, whatever funds weren't used to keep the old man living a lifestyle that he had long since grown accustomed to, well, the rest had long since been liquidated by the Mevs' need to live like tawny-coloured Rothchilds. The bank only truly exists on paper now…finding himself marveling, for the look on Charles' face was of such dejection that it actually caused Richard to pause, made him wonder if he had not committed an irreparable blunder—Of course, there's also the CanaBank, but what's more interesting is that the Carrefour affair was the reason for Jean's senate-floor tirade. Jean spoke for almost an hour nonstop about what he called "gray banking": How in exchange for funneling money into the national treasury, his family was able to buy him a place in the senate…and, beginning to feel the effects of the gin, quietly letting his choice of words slip back into something more comfortable, habitual, more French, and giggling about the fact— Mais boeuf. Tu sais que , que le speech de Jean should have meant the end of his political career, but au fond , that speech was the only true act of genius that I've seen Jean accomplish, quoi . What I mean is that most people don't get that his speech was actually a very clever way to get back at the Brandts for selling his family a doomed business venture. Do you follow me, do you understand? Bon , really, think about it Charles: The old man couldn't manipulate Carrefour finances too heavily with the bank under scrutiny, and so it left the president with little choice but to turn to the Primex monopoly, the financial conglomerate owned by the Brandts, as a way to secure the funds paid to the people who ensured that the old man remained head of state. And with the Haitian banking system busy dodging a scandal, the president fighting off a criminal indictment, and the Primex monopoly quietly trying to bribe its way out of a political quagmire, the entire system of economic cronyism, what had quietly been built up for almost 75-odd years, quickly fell into disarray. All the sharks had received a cut, but with so much blood in the water, they turned on each other in order to make a kill. In a little less than an hour with nothing but revenge on his mind, Jean had literally fucked them all: the Brandts and the other grandes familles , his fellow senators, his own family, the people who maintained the society he lived in, and in some ways, even himself; but because he did, he came out of the whole mess smelling like roses. Jean had admitted his dirt, his involvement in the entire affaire , and really, what do you think the masses find most attractive? What do you think they want? It's nothing more than a noble-born politician who is somehow, at bottom, no better than the rest of them. Really now mon chou , don't give such a look, because it's the same wherever you go: People like, want, and often expect their politicians to be a little dirty, but what they also want is a dirty politician with clean hands…and after a moment of active reflection—And well, when the old man refused to admit his sins, when he refused to step down and resorted to violence as a way to resolve the crisis, well then, the people took it as a sign of guilt, and that's when they wer splash of gin to his glass, attempting to make his Charles as comfortable as possible by showing that yes, he was capable of drinking himself into a state of near-incoherence too—But all this talk about Credit Carrefour is somewhat besides the point, especially since all of its assets are frozen. Once the old man had nationalized the Carrefour, it was then pressed into the service of the national debt. Whatever monies weren't sapped away in order to "maintain economic stability and promote national security", that is to say, whatever funds weren't used to keep the old man living a lifestyle that he had long since grown accustomed to, well, the rest had long since been liquidated by the Mevs' need to live like tawny-coloured Rothchilds. The bank only truly exists on paper now…finding himself marveling, for the look on Charles' face was of such dejection that it actually caused Richard to pause, made him wonder if he had not committed an irreparable blunder—Of course, there's also the CanaBank, but what's more interesting is that the Carrefour affair was the reason for Jean's senate-floor tirade. Jean spoke for almost an hour nonstop about what he called "gray banking": How in exchange for funneling money into the national treasury, his family was able to buy him a place in the senate…and, beginning to feel the effects of the gin, quietly letting his choice of words slip back into something more comfortable, habitual, more French, and giggling about the fact— Mais boeuf. Tu sais que , que le speech de Jean should have meant the end of his political career, but au fond , that speech was the only true act of genius that I've seen Jean accomplish, quoi . What I mean is that most people don't get that his speech was actually a very clever way to get back at the Brandts for selling his family a doomed business venture. Do you follow me, do you understand? Bon , really, think about it Charles: The old man couldn't manipulate Carrefour finances too heavily with the bank under scrutiny, and so it left the president with little choice but to turn to the Primex monopoly, the financial conglomerate owned by the Brandts, as a way to secure the funds paid to the people who ensured that the old man remained head of state. And with the Haitian banking system busy dodging a scandal, the president fighting off a criminal indictment, and the Primex monopoly quietly trying to bribe its way out of a political quagmire, the entire system of economic cronyism, what had quietly been built up for almost 75-odd years, quickly fell into disarray. All the sharks had received a cut, but with so much blood in the water, they turned on each other in order to make a kill. In a little less than an hour with nothing but revenge on his mind, Jean had literally fucked them all: the Brandts and the other grandes familles , his fellow senators, his own family, the people who maintained the society he lived in, and in some ways, even himself; but because he did, he came out of the whole mess smelling like roses. Jean had admitted his dirt, his involvement in the entire affaire , and really, what do you think the masses find most attractive? What do you think they want? It's nothing more than a noble-born politician who is somehow, at bottom, no better than the rest of them. Really now mon chou , don't give such a look, because it's the same wherever you go: People like, want, and often expect their politicians to be a little dirty, but what they also want is a dirty politician with clean hands…and after a moment of active reflection—And well, when the old man refused to admit his sins, when he refused to step down and resorted to violence as a way to resolve the crisis, well then, the people took it as a sign of guilt, and that's when they went nuts. The myth, of course, is that they supported the revolution because they wanted a financial reformer, but history is cyclical; history says otherwise. The people's champion, the symbol of their lives and aspirations in the ancien regime was mortally wounded. What else could they do pick a new champion?

Bouef , so that's it then, that's how I met him. The Carrefour affaire is the how Jean and I met. The Mevs banished Jean to Paris to seek out my father and arrange a deal, and in return my father arranged for me to move up in the world. In short, the Mevs got access to their money and Edouard got what he'd always wanted, which was a way to ensure that the name of Plantagenet meant something in Haitian society. Never mind that Edouard hadn't set foot in Haiti in almost 50 years, Old Man Edouard got what he'd left the country in order to achieve after all, and precisely in his usual, self-serving way…with a sigh, and an admission of what was, for him, the absolute truth about the reason why—What I mean of course is that Edouard had always wanted me to identify as a Haitian, despite the fact that I could care less about the people or events in this country, but by introducing me to Jean-Paul Mev, by forcing me to see that the health of his body was dependent upon the welfare of the next leader of the country, the Old Man made me think like a Haitian, and I could do little about it. Charles, what I mean is that he knew Jean and I would get along, he knew we'd feed on each other's strengths and that it was only a brief matter of time before I'd be designing schemes wicked enough to get Jean-Paul out of any sort of trouble. Which is, of course, to say that Charles, I never doubted the abilities of my father, but what I always underestimated was his ability to orchestrate . Really, I mean that's the thing really, because otherwise I don't think Jean and I would have ever gotten to know each other. We're far too dissimilar, Jean and I, we're of two different worlds. I mean…sip, sip, and unconscious mimicking of a pet phrase of his cousin—Jean's part of the elite, a member of the grandes familles : If I'd grown up here we wouldn't even talk, much less travel in the same circles, but I needed him for his financial connections and he needed me for my avarice, for my middle-class willingness to do whatever it takes to survive…knowing that he had hit a nerve, if only within himself, but finding the pain more than bearable, picking up the thread of his thought, as well as his drink, and revealing—It's to say that we're not cultured; our family, I mean. You might think to the contrary, but me, you, and yes, my father, as Plantagenets we're okay, but to Jean and his ilk, we'll never be of the elite. We're too dark, you know. We're only good for diplomatic service, to be sent abroad, out to Africa and everywhere else the grandes familles never want to go, in order to curry favors and gold for them, that sort of thing. But really, that's part of it as well. That's part of Haitian, the old, truly ugly bit about Haitian culture. And honestly, even now, after the war, when we've got Metrocosmopolitans running about and we've managed to alter the social hierarchy so quickly, the majority of people down here, rich and poor, mulatto and black, the natives mind you, they still, to the last man, they all have such a ridiculous idea of what culture means both to and for them, what it says about them. What I mean is that for the most part, all Haitians possess a ridiculous idea of culture, you know, and that's just the half of it…