The other chronicle by Ahmad Ibn Furtu covers the Kanem campaigns launched by Sultan Idris Alooma against the Bulala leaders of the region. The conflict was, according to this chronicle that covers 7 expeditions launched against Kanem, sparked by the Bulala refusal to cede 3 districts to Borno and a disrespectful letter sent from them to Idris Alooma. What proceeds from here is a hard to follow account in Redhouse's dated translation of various expeditions launched by Idris against the Bulala, who usually choose to flee and avoid pitched battles. So, Idris and his forces subdue the Tubu, ensure the loyalty of other Tubu and Arabs, raid and pillage, and forcibly relocate various peoples of Kanem into Borno. Finally, a claimant to the throne of Kanem who is aligned with Idris manages to secure the throne with the aid of Idris, who only keeps a few provines of Kanem for Borno while returning most of the area to the new ruler, Muhammad.
Through occasional asides, Ahmad Ibn Furtu alludes to the genealogy of the Borno rulers and their ancient history in Kanem, as well as the various conflicts both internal and with the Bulala that precipitated their shift to Borno. Intriguingly, Ahmad Ibn Furtu seems to draw from both oral traditions for the early history of Borno (as well as a chronicle one a recent forebear of Idris) as well as written sources, hinting at the possibility of a number of lost chronicles of the Saifawa dynasty. Perhaps the Girgam really was just an abbreviated form of a much longer chornicle(s) that covers their lineage from their alleged Himyarite origins to the 19th century. Indeed, when covering the early history of the Saifawa kings from their ancient Kanem period, there is clearly something akin to legend and lost grandeur in Ahmad Ibn Furtu's claim that Kanem once extended as far east as Dongola and the Nile. Of course, his patron, Idris, has surpassed his ancestors as a military genius guided by devout Islamic principles, according to Ibn Furtu.
Unfortunately, we found this chronicle to be less informative and more tedious of a read than Ibn Furtu's coverage of the Borno wars. Too many encounters with the Bulala here end with the flight of the Bulala king to the deserts, and it is not entirely clear what happened in certain passages. Some of this must be due to the translation and the bewildering number of towns and place names which are not explained by the translator. Nonetheless, there is a wealth of information on military organization, tactics, and Borno's possibly "quasi-feudal" relationship with its tributary subjects and allied nomadic groups (Tubu and Arabs, for instance). A number of titled dignitaries also appear, suggesting something of the political and military administrative apparatus of Borno in the late 16th century. Allusions to merchants and the purchase of horses point to relations with North Africa and the wider world, which presumably received some of the captives from the various expeditions to Kanem. On slavery, supposedly one of the other reasons Borno was superior to the Bulala of Kanem was due to their respecting Islamic laws prohibiting the enslavement of Muslims. The Bulala, on the other hand, kept Muslim and non-Muslim captives as slaves, violating Islamic law. Perhaps Borno's Saifawa dynasty remembered events from the late 14th century when even members of the royal family became slaves sold to Egypt or Syria. Or, again, it was just another example of Ibn Furtu exaggerating the Islamic credentials of Borno and its dynasty against the pagan or insufficiently Muslim polities surrounding them.
But once we have perused the more recent translation of Lange and reviewed more of the literature on Ibn Furtu, we shall return to his work and the nature of historical writing in "Sudanic" Africa. It has always struck us as rather odd that so many are familiar with the Timbuktu Chronicles and the importance of those primary sources for the study of Songhay or even the earlier Ghana and Mali "empires" yet few seem to acknowledge or reference Ibn Furtu's 2 chronicles which predate the Timbuktu tarikhs. Why is that? Perhaps the more limited nature of Ibn Furtu's writing, which focus on military campaigns? Or simply Timbuktu being better known as an exotic and mysterious location than Borno?
Out of a desire to read more Heian-era literature from Japan, we here at the blog read a diary by an unnamed author from a minor branch of the Fujiwara family. Unlike the perhaps superior Pillow Book, The Gossamer Years tells the tale of an unhappily married woman, focusing on the sense of abandonment and resentment she feels for her husband of higher status. Since men of the aristocracy had a basically polygamous lifestyle, Kaneie, her husband, pursues other affairs and usually ignores our author, despite her raising his child. Structurally the text is more akin to a memoir, with confusing and garbles passages that have marred the translation. As one would expect from literature of its era, much of the text consists of poetic exchanges between men and women or relatives. Much of the poetry is, as admitted by the translator, far from great. One can find occasionally moving passages about the depression, suicidal thoughts, and emotional rollercoaster the author is suffering from due to her neglectful husband. As a work of literature, it seems far from the greatness of the monogatari. So its value for those of us who are still learning the basics of the Heian period history can be found in reading the source as a historical document. Our interesting narrator sheds light on gender relations, daily life, and religion for the aristocrats of the 10th century, pointing to the importance of gossip, superstition, ritual, festival, and social status. We shall endeavor to read other examples of diaries from this era for more insight.
An informative video on one of the groups Borno waged war against.
Perhaps out of boredom, we here at the blog have recently finished reading the first of two chronicles by the chief imam of Borno, Ahmad Ibn Furtu, translated by Redhouse in the 1860s. Covering various campaigns during the first 12 years of the reign of Sultan Idris Alooma in the second half of the 16th century, it is the earliest surviving historical writing in West Africa. As to be expected of a work by a learned Muslim, Ahmad Ibn Furtu endeavored to portray Idris as a model sovereign and Muslim, whose piety, completion of the Hajj, and willingness to listen to the advice of the learned made him an even better ruler than his grandfather. Unfortunately, the chronicle on the grandfather of Idris has not survived for posterity, but one can assume it was one of the primary models for Ahmad Ibn Furtu's historical writing, and thereby probably written in a panegyric tone that praised the military prowess, justness and religious devotion of Borno's ruler, stressing the Islamic models of the Prophet. Unfortunately for modern readers, much of the details of Idris's various campaigns against the "Sao" and Tuareg, the Ghizm and other peoples were lost, as the author seems to have mostly relied on oral accounts and perhaps only witnessed a few of the expeditions personally.
Thus, the reader only finds outlines of various expeditions with occasional anecdotes on the piety and Islamic virtue of Borno's ruler. For instance, Ahmad Ibn Furtu will insert examples of the Islamic devotion of Idris in the middle of or right after describing a campaign, such as the building of mosques in clay (instead of reeds) as one of the innovations of his ruler. Or, alternatively, Idris's intervention in public morality by prohibiting fornication and urging his subjects to submit to judgments of holy law instead of their chieftains. Fortunately, something of the military tactics and battle formation can be gleamed through Ahmad Ibn Furtu's history, however. We know the Borno ruler used brutal tactics against his enemies, destroying their crops and their trees or groves to reduce places of refuge for them. He also established stations or outposts which were fortified and used as bases to continually attack the crops and fortified settlements of his opponents. If Ahmad Ibn Furtu is to be trusted, Idris was one of the first Borno rulers to use more camels for carrying military provisions during campaigns in arid areas. In addition, Sultan Idris apparently was the first to think of enlarging the ships used by Borno's forces on Lake Chad and the rivers in their domain, developing larger ships to carry more people and supplies instead of the older ones constructed from hollowed out trees.
Oddly, Borno never seems to have adopted the use of the cannon, which presumably would have made their siege warfare tactics more effective against some of their "pagan" foes. Ahmad Ibn Furtu also mentioned the famous musketry of Borno's military, trained by Turkish advisors. Indeed, one of the few casualties in a Borno campaign on Denkir was a Turk, Ali Ghar, attesting to the presence of Turks in the military. On the ground, they appear to have played a significant role in the military formation of Borno, shooting from the rear while men bearing shields protected them from the front against arrows and darts. The cavalry appear to have remained in the rear unless the enemy directly engaged them, or they were used to cover the enemy forces from behind, preventing them from fleeing back to their strongholds. Despite their use of firearms, they seem to have relied heavily on archers and horsemen bearing armor. Moreover, much of the military spoils was meant for redistribution to chiefs and subordinates of the Sultan, and one can assume many of the children and women captives were destined for the trans-Saharan slave trade. Even Muslims appear to have been taken as captives, such being the case in the campaign against the Tuareg Berbers, who were loyal to Air ("Ehir" in Redhouse's dated translation) until subdued by Idris. To cap it all, according to Ahmad Ibn Furtu, Borno's military often exterminated the adult male population of their enemies and resettled some of the survivors in various parts of the empire, uprooting them from their homes and putting them to use in other areas.
But as one of our few surviving written sources from the early modern era in Borno, the document is also a treasure for its descriptions of Borno's relations with its "pagan" neighbors, ethnographic descriptions, and the extent to which Borno was integrated into the wider world. For example, Ahmad Ibn Furtu alluded to Sultan Idris's pilgrimage to Mecca multiple times in the text, even including references to the pilgrimages of Idris's forebears. This, besides establishing the Islamic devotion of Borno's rulers, also points to the extent to which these elites viewed Borno as a part of the Muslim world, and its ruler as a Protector of Muslims. One would think the pilgrimages to Mecca also helped establish Borno as a Muslim power to the Ottoman Empire and other Islamic states, possibly faciliating the introduction of Turks and other foreign mercenaries. In fact, a mysterious man, perhaps named Francisco, randomly appeared in the history, perhaps another example of foreign mercenaries or advisors who made it to Borno in the second half of the 1500s.
Borno's relations with Sahelian and West African rivals was also an interesting dynamic. Much of the reasoning for some of the various expeditions was meant to ensure security on the roads of Borno, to protect merchants. Moreover, Borno's ruler was able to shift the loyalty of various Air-aligned Tuareg to his camp, ensuring some degree of influence in the Sahel and Sahara against a rival power. Even with "polytheist" neighbors, Idris was able to overlook religious differences and act on their behalf while increasing his own prestige and influence. This can be best be seen in the case of a "Mendera" prince overthrown by his uncle, who is later restored to the throne by Idris. Borno was effective at intervening in the affairs of neighboring states, including non-Muslims, and expanding its sphere of influence when not directly administering others. Unfortunately, our chronicler was, perhaps not surprisingly, not interested in the religious practices of the Sao "polytheists," but the mention of groves of the Sao Ghafata leads one to think those woods may have possessed a religious or sacred meaning. This could add another dimension to Borno's insistent deforestation of their lands, something the Muslim historian would have applauded as a champion of Islam.
One supposes the larger question of this all is to what extent is Ahmad Ibn Furtu's chronicle a historically reliable work and what does it suggest about the nature of history, religion, and political power in 16th century Borno? As the author admitted himself, the lack of details on some of the expeditions and the fact that much, if not most, of Idris's reign is omitted, we have inherited only a limited portrait of the Idris. However, the author was clearly cognizant of precedents for his work in earlier historical works, and saw his ruler in the light of both Islamic ideals and the history of the Sayfawa dynasty. As panegyric, this work places Idris at the pinnacle of great mais in the dynasty, and probably took a few liberties to express that opinion by attributing innovations or conquests that may have not been due to Idris. It causes one to wonder if other mais or prominent people in Borno similarly commissioned likewise works on their deeds, ancestry, and accomplishments, and the extent to which writing of local history was practiced at earlier dates in the history of the Sayfawa dynasty. Regardless of the hard to believe instances in the work, clearly political power in Borno was tied to realpolitik concerns and a balancing act of supporting Islam (through pious acts, charitable works, construction of mosques, reinforcing Islamic law, respecting Muslim intellectuals) while dominating or reducing to tributary status non-Muslim neighbors. Prominent persons attracted subordinates and dependents, and were in turn called upon to support the mai in various campaigns while the majority of the population presumably toiled as farmers, shepherds, servants, and artisans in villages and towns. One can assume that the construction of the Kanuri as an ethnic group developed over the centuries of Sayfawa control in Borno. Lamentably for those interested in this history, these developments were marginal to the author of the chronicle, who sought to praise and justify the reign of the mai.
Duverneau Trouillot's 1885 Esquisse ethnographique: Le vaudoun; Aperçu historique et évolutionsprovides one of the first and most detailed accounts of Haitian Vodou. As such, and despite the lack of clarity on the source of information used by Trouillot, his ethnographic account was a pioneering effort and one of the most detailed 19th century ethnographies. For instance, Trouillot provides one very detailed account of some of the major lwa, tracing their origins back to the Whydah, the "Ardres" kingdom of the "Arada" and the snake cult. The legendary snake of the widespread snake cult of Dahomey, "Ardres" and Whydah is Wedo in Haiti, but spelled by Trouillot as Houedo. Mention of Legba, Badagri, Loco, Agwe, and other well-known spirits appear in Trouillot's account. He also provides one of the earliest mentions of the "Cimbi" or Simbi spirit (although a short story by Alibée Féry used a Simbi spirit), not to mention the evolution of the term houngan, the importance of taboos, and the use of Catholic images.
Of course, as a Haitian intellectual likely imbued with Positivism and the superiority of Western civilization, Trouillot saw Vodou as a religion in a state of decline. Vodou, according to him, existed more for entertainment and speculation, not as a serious practice. Alcohol and the cupidity of the papa-lois and mama-lois were the most powerful stimulants to the Vodou dance, in his day. Indeed, he even claims the religion no longer has dogma or rites! It is hard to take such a perspective seriously when Vodou exists to this day in Haiti and its diaspora, but Trouillot shares with Janvier a belief in presenting Haiti as evolving toward civilization, which entailed the decline of Vodou belief or practices. Thus, Trouillot can declare, "Ni les cérémonies actuellement en usage, ni l'olympe contemporain, ne rapellent le cult du passé, le vaudoun s'est francisé et tend à disparaître sous les pas redoublés de la civilisation chrétienne" (278). For Trouillot, Vodou would eventually wither away with the spread of education and civilization.
But what is most enlightening in Trouillot's brief essay is the analysis of the priesthood of Vodou. According to Trouillot, houngans and caprelatas were ambulant, selling pwen, wanga, "science" and works. It was actually the papa or papa-loi, master of a particular society, who constituted the priesthood of the faith (although a papa could also serve as houngan). Yet, today, houngan is generally used for Vodou priests whereas papa-loi seems to have disappeared. One wonders if this process was tied to the changes in the structure of Vodou priesthood noted in Richman's Migration and Vodou, where social dislocations, proletarianization, and the rise of priests buying and selling their services gradually replaced some of the older societies led by papa-loi and family-based Vodou rituals. One cannot generalize too broadly from Trouillot's essay since it is not clear who his informants were, but one suspects it was people living in or near Port-au-Prince, possibly in the Cul-de-Sac plain. Informants from these areas may have already began a transition away from the older family-based lwa and towards the more commercial services and ceremonies which 20th century ethnographic accounts reported.
Of course, additional research is required to ascertain the accuracy of Trouillot's description of the Vodou priesthood. But it might have also shaped his negative description of Vodou if houngans and caprelatas were beginning to replace papa-lois or mama-lois, and the commercial aspect of the religion seemed more obvious. Perhaps the death of the bossales and people who were directly familiar with African rites by the late 1800s also struck the author as another cause for decline. Although he mentions special food offerings associated with Congos, Nagos, and Ibos, suggesting the persistence of Afrian "nations" by his era, Trouillot may have inferred a gradual decline as old rites and traditions adapted themselves to younger generations of Haitians. Unsurprisingly, he may have seen this as sign of a religion in decline, a faith losing its dogma and becoming the territory of charlatans who prey on the uneducated and ignorant. Moreover, the author's belief in inevitable progress also necessitated the eventual disappearance of such a religion. One wonders if, like Firmin and Comte, Trouillot saw in African "religion" an eventual leap to the positivist stage, which may have contributed to the depiction of Vodou as a religion in decline.
Further Reading
Clorméus, Lewis Ampidu. Le Vodou Haïtien: Entre mythes et constructions Savantes. Paris: Riveneuve éditions, 2015.
The Saga of the People of Laxardal featured more genealogies and excessive characters than any other saga we have read so far. However, it was actually an engaging tale that captures a key moment in Iceland's history through the entwined families of the Laxardal area. One is immediately struck by the prominent women whose will and character determine the course of the various marriages, feuds, duels, and conflicts across several generations. Women, especially Gudrun (or even the Irish slave) assert themselves against fathers and godis, but without upending dominant gender roles. After all, the saga pokes fun at the idea of women wearing breeches.
One is also reminded of how vast the world was to the people of Iceland. References to Ireland, Russia, Constantinople, Rome, and other parts of Europe occur throughout the text. This serves as a useful reminder that the rural civilization of medieval Iceland was never disconnected from the rest of the world, and absorbed traders, slaves, migrants, Christians, and travelers. Of course, as the text was written sometime in the 13th century and by Christian authors, the saga quickly passes over the Christianization of Iceland, only mentioning a few initial forms of local resistance. Yet the saga undoubtedly draws on pre-Christian folk belief, ritual, and fears of sorcery and supernatural phenomena to add suspense and show the other sources of conflict in Iceland. Moreover, regardless of Christian conversion, clearly kinship, honor and local concepts of compensation continued.
That brings us to the main theme of the story, or one of them. Kinship and feud. Since these families were quite large and conflicts arose over land, goods, power, or women (Gudrun instigates the central feud after the meandering early chapters), sometimes feuding clans or kinship groups continued to fight over generations, harboring new resentments and more feuds as different kinship groups and their respective dependents threw more salt into festering wounds. Feuds between kinsmen can never lead to any good, as it deprived the community of its best leaders (such as Bolli). Peace could only last as long as any level-headed charismatic male authority figure was around to demand it. This is why we think there may be a pro-Christian sentiment underlying the saga, emphasizing forgiveness as a virtue. Of course, it didn't always work, but Gudrun's transformation into a devout Christian woman may symbolize the transformation wrought by the new faith.
While perusing the excellent Corpus of runaway slave ads for Saint Domingue, we came across what appears to be one of the few other sources to mention "Borno" Africans in Saint Domingue. Instead of spelling the name of their homeland in the same manner as Descourtilz (Beurnon), it was rendered as Bernon. The 1789 advertisement in Affiches américaines also mentions that one of the "Bernon" fled his owners in the company of 3 Hausa named Aly, Dominique and Aza. Scipion, the man of "Bernon" nation, was likely very familiar with Hausa people due to Borno's long history in northern Nigeria. Perhaps they also shared an Islamic background that may have helped them transcend "ethnic" differences and find some commonality with other enslaved African Muslims in Saint Domingue. The text likewise mentions another maroon, Christophe of the "Bernon" nation. He was stamped Pommier and belonged to a different owner.
One cannot help but wonder if these "Bernon" captives were part of the same group of prisoners of war who were sold into slavery and ended up in the Rossignol-Desdunes plantation. "Bernon" Africans seem to have been somewhat uncommon in Saint Domingue, although it is possible the ambiguous "national" labels assigned to Africans in Saint Domingue misidentified them. It is possible that enslaved West African Muslims united through religion, and may have adopted or assumed a name like "Mandingue" or "Hausa" which obscured the distinct origins of some members. Such a phenomenon occurred in Trinidad's Free Mandingo mutual aid society, whose members were not solely Mandingo. Alternatively, there were probably some Africans who spoke multiple languages and were lumped into one or another "nation" which did not accurately reflect their homeland.
As an empire mostly drawn into the trans-Saharan orbit, and primarily exporting other peoples as slaves rather than their own (with a few exceptions, according to Descourtilz), it is interesting to consider the connections of Haiti with the "Sudan" and Borno. While most "Muslims" in Saint Domingue were probably drawn from various Mande groups, "Senegal" and probably Hausa and some "Malais," the links to the Central Sudan may have also been important. One wonders if Haitian writers of the 19th century, reading French works that mention, sometimes in detail, various kingdoms in the heart of the continent, also thought of their own population, which still included people born in said regions. For example, Baron de Vastey's knowledge of Mungo Park and his detailed description of Segou was utilized as proof that Africa wasn't as "uncivilized" as Europeans usually depicted it. Surely, Baron de Vastey knew of "Bambara" and "Mandingue" in the kingdom of Christophe who could also enlighten him about their homelands. Perhaps Haitian writes were also familiar with Descourtilz's description of Borno, and that of other European accounts, which depicted a sophisticated Islamic kingdom with security, literacy, and order. Who knows, maybe the Borno Africans living in Haiti also offered an example of "civilized" Africans from ancient kingdoms that the kingdom of Christophe could reference for proof of racial equality and justification of monarchy?
Jalil Sued Badillo's essay, "The Theme of the Indigenous in the National Projects of the Hispanic Caribbean", published in Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and History in Non-Western Settings should be required reading for anyone and everyone interested in Taino revivalism, Puerto Rican cultural identity, the rise of the mixed-race Creole culture of the peasantry by the 17th century, and nationalism in the Spanish Caribbean setting. Sued Badillo makes a convincing case for the survival, persistence and cultural reproduction of indigenous Puerto Rican and Caribbean peoples well after the mid-1500s. But, over time, this social and cultural reproduction became something new that people of European and African origin also participated in, leading to the distinct Creole identities of Puerto Rico, Cuba, and the Dominican Republic. This, in turn, became a central theme for the construction of national identities, as the peasantry best represented the continuity with the indigenous past and the ""national" character. As illustrated in Sued Badillo's article, 19th century Puerto Rican nationalists called the jibaros of Borinquen the children of Agueybana.
For our interests, Sued Badillo's documentation of "Indian" communities after the middle of the 16th century was most important. It was not solely in Cuba, where "Indian" pueblos and barrios existed long after 1600. For instance, on Hispaniola, he mentions the "Indian" pueblo of Boya, an attempt by Hispaniola encomienda "Indians" to form another town, and the prominence of "Indians" and "mestizos" in western Hispaniola, where smuggling and contraband with other Europeans was common, leading to some mestizos and "mulatos" becoming wealthy. Indeed, this probably explains why Samuel de Champlain, writing in 1599, mentions "Indians" in Hispaniola who trade with the French. These "Indians" and mestizos who continued to trade with Europeans and develop their own contraband economy were also part of the creation of a new creole identity on Hispaniola as "Indians" and mestizos were joined by people of African descent that resisted the colonial government in Santo Domingo. One can see the rustic "monteros" of the 19th and 20th century Dominican Republic emerging from these forebears.
Moreover, something similar occurred in colonial Puerto Rico just as colonial officials were proclaiming the disappearance of "Indians" and mestizos. Some did so, as pointed out by Sued Badillo, to mask the fact that they continued to purchase and exploit enslaved "Indians" from other lands long after the New Laws of 1542. Such an honor appears to apply to the governor of Puerto Rico in the 1560s. Sued Badillo points out the persistence of "Indian" and mestizo communities such as the Quebrada de Dona Catalina, near San Juan. Other "Indians" and mestizos were scattered and pushed onto marginal lands and shifted into the piedmont overlooking the coastal area. These communities, joined by people of European and African origin, gradually increased in population, engaged in subsistence agriculture and commercial exchange for local and foreign markets, and continued to influence colonial society.
Sued Badillo's analysis of the "Indians" of Mona is likewise enlightening, for it points to indigenous survival on an island which engaged in smuggling, food production (cassava) for other Spanish colonies, and their eventual relocation to the hills of San German and nearby regions sometime before 1685. Unfortunately, Sued Badillo does not explain or speculate on what happened to the "Indian" pueblo of Cibuco, but we are of the opinion that Mona "Indians" and the former residents of the 16th century Cibuco settlement must have both ended up in the region that would eventually be named La Indiera. Perhaps the reappearance of "Indians" on censuses in the late 18th century in the San German area is related to descendants of Cibuco, Mona, and "Indian" or mestizo laborers and convicts transported to Puerto Rico from Venezuela and Mexico in the late 1600s and 1700s, but the censuses do not provide adequate information to ascertain this. An alternative and equally speculative theory could be related to land control and access, as mestizos" and people who may have had distant "Indian" ancestry in western Puerto Rico tried to defend their property or local autonomy in the late 18th century and early 19th century.
Overall, Sued Badillo's persuasive article demonstrates not only "Indian" survival" in the Spanish Caribbean, but significant "Indian" contributions to the rise of the "mestizo" creole culture. He does not seek to romanticize it, as it was not egalitarian and suffered from some of the same racial hierarchies and problems inherent to its colonial setting. Nor does Sued Badillo seek to exaggerate the population of "Indians" or mistakenly equate jibaros with "Indians" as some Taino revivalists argue. But the indigenous population and its racially mixed-progeny provided much of the basic structure of the nascent creole identity, even as officials denied the existence of "Indians" and even "mestizos" disappear. This perspective was adopted by historians who failed to see how the social and economic conditions of the Spanish Caribbean in the late 1500s and early 1600s favored "Indians" and mestizos through contraband trade, migration away from colonial towns, and a degree of autonomy that allowed for population growth. As for the fate of "mestizos" in the region, Schwartz's article suggests it is very likely that many mestizos became whites (or perhaps even "blancos de la tierra), while others were lumped into the "pardo" category in a process seen for much of Puerto Rico by Abbad y Lasierra in the 18th century. More works remains to be done on this process, as well as the experiences of "Indians" in La Indiera during the late 18th century.
Works Cited
Castanha, Tony. The Myth of Indigenous Caribbean Extinction: Continuity and Reclamation in Borikén (Puerto Rico). New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011.
Schmidt, Peter R., and Thomas C. Patterson, eds. Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and History in Non-western Settings. Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press, 2003.
Schwartz, Stuart B. “Spaniards, ‘Pardos’, and the Missing Mestizos: Identities and Racial Categories in the Early Hispanic Caribbean.” NWIG: New West Indian Guide / Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 71, no. 1/2 (1997): 5–19.
The Fall of Hyperion should be read with the first novel in the series. It is the necessary conclusion to the first installment, despite it being a worse experience for the reader. Continuing right where the previous story concluded, it expands our ensemble of characters, introduces another Keats cybrid persona, and changes the narrative structure. The second John Keats persona can experience what others see and do via "dreams," allowing him to relay data on the pilgrims to Hegemony CEO Meina Gladstone. Unfortunately, the change in narrative structure is a turn for the worse, as the reader no longer has a Chaucer-like plot structure to mix up the stylistic and genre references. Moreover, the plot is stretched out with turgid, sometimes unnecessary prose and exposition. The whole experience starts to drag after a while, which is why we here at the blog took our sweet time to finish this novel.
While there are some interesting new additions to the setting here, particularly the introduction of Ouster characters (and their vast Swarms), time travel, additional Keats allusions and more context for the development of the civil war taking place in the Core, the overall reading experience was not the greatest. It just seemed excessive and unnecessary for the story to be stretched in the manner it was, for its numerous digressions and the lack of adequate attention on more interesting characters, such as Ummon. Some of the new settings and visual language are stunning, especially the Ouster Swarm invading Hyperion, and the metasphere.
The religious themes and apocalyptic imagery were occasionally interesting, particularly for the fusion of AI and human spirit embodied in a certain character, and the dualism of a battle between future Ultimate Intelligences crafted by humanity and AI. Sure, very Manichaean and perhaps Gnostic influences evident there, but science fiction has always reworked these themes in intriguing ways. Clearly, the Hegemony was a civilization in decline, dependent on the Core for its greatest scientific and conceptual revolutions. Thus, a civilizational change was necessary, one that would change the nature of humanity's relationship with technology and the rest of the universe. Perhaps the next civilization will fuse the cultures of the former Hegemony with the Ousters, their belief in humans adapting to the universe rather than terraforming other planets and reproducing old Earth. This is more plausible as a desirable future than the collective consciousness of Gaia in Asimov's Foundation series. Besides, it builds on the messianic and Christian symbolism of the cybrid persona and Brawne's child. Perhaps it also appealed to Simmons and the ecological interests he clearly possessed when creating the Templars.
Although genetics is now confirming that most people in the Spanish Caribbean do indeed have indigenous ancestry from the native populations of the Caribbean and its surroundings, it is worthwhile to consider the various Haitian sources which have been saying the same thing about the Dominican people (and their ancestors) for over 200 years. While hardly new, it does shed light on some of the ethnic and racial dynamics that shaped Haitian perceptions of Dominicans, and the question of political union of Haiti and Spanish Santo Domingo under president Boyer. It may also serve as an additional "local" Caribbean source on the legacy of the indigenous Caribbean population in the Hispanic Caribbean. The following quotations are mostly drawn from Thomas Madiou, with a few from Beaubrun Ardouin, Emile Nau, and one from the Haitian government publication,Le Moniteur. Google Books and Gallica contain numerous works by the aforementioned 19th century Haitian historians, which should be consulted for additional information.
Here, Thomas Madiou references a local military commandant addressing the local population of San Juan de la Maguana, affirming indigenous ancestry among the contemporary population of the eastern half of the island. Not only did commandant Herrera draw on on the legacy of the cacique Henri, he claimed the indigenous population as ancestors. Such a speech indicates how "Dominicans" themselves were claiming aboriginal ancestry in the 19th century.
Here Beaubrun Ardouin references an address of Dessalines which explicitly refers to the population of the east as descendants of the Indian population of Hispaniola. Clearly, over 200 years ago, Haitians were already recognizing indigenous ancestry among Dominicans. In this case, it could be rhetorical in the sense of Dessalines and the indigenous army, unifying it politically under his rule to complete the avenging of the Americas.
Emile Nau, a 19th century Haitian historian of the indigenous population of the island, mentions "Indian" traits among the people of the island. He specifies that it is used to describe women of mixed-blood in the east, and "ignes" in the west, who have features associated with "Amerindian" people. He admits that none of these people are "pure," but it shows how certain phenotypes were associated with "Indios" in the DR (and, to a lesser extent, Haiti).
Here, in Le Moniteur, a Haitian refutes the claims of an American observer in the 1850s that the Dominican people are whites. Instead, the author argues that most of the population are "mulattoes" and blacks, and the "mulattoes" have indigenous ancestry. The Indians, according to this Haitian, have mixed principally with Africans.
Thomas Madiou on the "Indian" village of Boya, where descendants of the indigenous population of the island were recognized as an Indian town by the Spanish for centuries. Madiou claims there were still "pure" Indiens there in the 1700s, but different sources suggest otherwise. Intriguingly, for the 19th century, Madiou clearly states that there are no more "pure" Indians in Boya or any other part of the island.
Here, Madiou interestingly states that the Dominicans always affirmed an indigenous origin. This, according to him, played a role in the eventual 1844 separation of the Dominican side of the island from Haitian unification. If true, this suggests that one of the reasons Dominicans may have resented Haitian rule was due to their indigenous heritage, which would have, perhaps, made them feel more legitimate in asserting their right to independence and autonomy.
Here, while referencing Haitians traveling to Santiago and the valley of Vega Real. There, the inhabitants are more of a "mestizo" type and a "mulato" type, but a footnote on the same page references a higher proportion of "mestizos" in Seybe and Higuey, in the east of the island.
Here, alluding to the 1844 separation, Madiou references an "Indian" sergeant named Jose del Carmen. This could be an allusion to Jose del Carmen Garcia, an uncle of Dominican historian Jose Gabriel Garcia.
In the first volume of Madiou's history of Haiti, he also mentions a fusion of Indian and Spanish "blood" among the population of the Spanish colony. This process occurred over time under the poor governance of the Spanish, but resulted in a population with "Indian" blood.
