For the spirit of Vertières was not formed in an isolated moment. Long before 1803, it already inhabited our ancestors. In 1779, more than five hundred volunteers from the battalion of Chasseurs Volontaires de Saint-Domingue embarked for Georgia and participated in the Battle of Savannah. They mingled their blood with that of the American insurgents, and the colony also contributed substantial sums to the cause of American independence. This gesture, often forgotten, carried immense symbolic value: even before winning their own freedom, Haitians had already given for that of others.

Then came Vertières, on November 18, 1803. That morning, the chains broke. An army of former slaves, driven by a lust for life and newfound dignity, confronted Napoleon. And the impossible happened: the victory of the smallest against the most powerful. From this victory was born Haiti, the first independent black republic, proclaimed in January 1804. Vertières was not just a battle. It was a cry, a universal breath: never again slavery, never again the degradation of man by man.

And the whole world heard this cry. In Greece, Haiti was the first state to officially recognize their war of independence in 1822. In Latin America, it was in Haiti that Bolívar found refuge and received weapons, ships, and support, on the condition that he abolish slavery in the liberated territories. From there, Gran Colombia was born, cradle of nations like Venezuela, Colombia, Panama, Ecuador, and Bolivia. This gesture by Haiti was foundational for millions of men and women across an entire continent. And later, in 1947, at the UN, Haiti found itself once again on the side of history by voting for the creation of Israel, recalling its vocation to carry forward the causes of freedom, even far from its shores.

And nearly a century and a half after Vertières, Haiti dared to surprise the world again. In 1949, Port-au-Prince hosted the Bicentennial International Exposition, recognized by the Bureau International des Expositions. For six months, the small republic attracted nearly 250,000 visitors and erected more than 50 international pavilions, including those of the United States, France, Spain, Cuba, and several other nations. It was a moment of national dignity, the equivalent of what Expo 67 represented for Montreal: a proclamation that even a small nation, free to determine its own destiny, could summon the world and stand before it.

And today, Montreal inscribes this name, Vertières, in its metro. This is no accident. It is not a trivial gesture. It is a recognition. An outstretched hand that says: this history is also ours. I cannot see this as anything other than a moment of pride. Not just for Haitians. For all those who believe in freedom, dignity, and solidarity.

This is why it pains me when I see our debates turn into internal wars, into destructive criticisms. I understand the right to dissent, but I refuse to let our energy be lost in self-flagellation. Because I dream of this energy elsewhere: in our schools, in our neighborhoods, in our solidarity.

Vertières is not frozen in 1803. It lives today, here. It lives in every fight for dignity. It lives in every outstretched hand, every step toward greater equality. I choose to see a light in it. I choose to see an outstretched hand. I choose to celebrate this moment. Not because everything is accomplished, not because I close my eyes to our wounds. But because this spark deserves to be kept alive.

So I'm not ordering anyone to do anything. I'm simply sharing my choice: to celebrate, to give thanks, and to reach out. Because Montreal has written Vertières within its walls. Because Haiti, in its history, has already shown that the smallest can inspire the greatest. And because we each have, in our own way, the power to write Vertières within our lives.

Neil Armand