Les paysans haitiens et l'occupation américaine d'Haiti (1915-1930)

We have recently taken another look at Kethly Millet's study of the US Occupation of Haiti and the peasantry. Millet's brief book examines the impact of the Occupation on the Haitian peasant. The peasantry, however, were not an undifferentiated mass of smallholder farmers. Some were landless, others were squatters on state-owned land, more were sharecroppers, a few were grand proprietors and medium-scale owners, and then there were the speculators who benefited from their relationship with, for example, exporters of coffee to move peasant-produced crops. Naturally, the impact of the US Occupation on the peasantry varied by region and by the social status of the peasant involved. In some regions, such as Plaisance, 15% of the peasantry were landless (according to Simpson and Dartigue). Furthermore, some areas of rural Haiti had already been impacted by foreign agro-industrial enterprise like Freres Simmonds and Plantation d'Haiti. 

The major impact of the US Occupation appears to have been an intensification of this process, despite the meager investments (compared to Cuba). HASCO, Compagnie Nationale de Chemin de Fer, road construction using corvee labor, a sisal plantation, a cotton plantation in Artibonite, bananas, and new taxes furthered the development of a rural proletariat while creating conditions that enlarged the scale of Haitian emigration to Cuba and the Dominican Republic. Wages for this burgeoning rural laboring class were 25 to 30 cents (US dollars) for 12 hour day and 10 cents for women and children, which were lower than wages one could have earned abroad. According to Millet, the imposition of taxes in September 1928 on local distillers also weakened the position of local guildive production. HASCO, which enjoyed a sugar monopoly, as well as other US companies rerouted water sources which negatively impacted small farmers.

So, hurt by taxes on small-scale distillers, rising unemployment, increased prices for basic subsistence and food in the late 1920s, and loss of land or resources,  Millet's explanation for the conditions leading to 1929 and the massacre at Marchaterre seems adequate. Of course, we know what happened after 1929, as the bad press of the incident spread internationally and steps were made to finally end the Occupation by 1934. But what, if anything, was the legacy of this period? The caco resistance was brutally crushed, and the poorly armed peasants could not unseat the Marines. Despite some gains in infrastructure, funded by the Haitians and with their own labor, the peasantry appear to have experienced mainly immiseration, emigration and top-down reforms that did little to fundamentally alter the economy or aid peasant agriculture.

US Occupation of the Dominican Republic and Haiti

We have been rereading parts of Calder's The Impact of Intervention: The Dominican Republic during the U.S. Occupation of 1916-1924 and thinking about the role of US imperialism in Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Calder's book should be read in conjunction with Hans Schmidt on the US Occupation of Haiti for a similar but distinct experience of US military imperialism and interests in the Caribbean region. And the two occupations were definitely linked, involving some of the same personnel and leadership (Russell, Knapp) and engaging in finalizing the Haiti-US border as well as requiring Haitian labor in Dominican sugar plantations and other projects, like roads. 

Despite overlapping for several years and probably achieving the same result (no major systemic reforms in "democracy" or government), there are still some noticeable differences in the US military occupations of the island. And these differences cannot be found solely in the fact that the US Marines ruled the Dominican Republic directly while using puppet presidents in Haiti. Of course, the longest lasting legacies of the US in the DR appear to have been in public works and the Guardia, probably the same for Haiti in terms of the reforms of the Haitian military. The various military dictators of Haiti post-1934 and the Trujillo regime cannot be understood without taking this into account, despite some of the very different aspects of the military under the Duvaliers and Trujillo. But clearly the political and economic centralization in the two capitals and the defeat of the cacos and gavilleros, the caudillos and regional strongmen, by the US Marines, facilitated authoritarian regimes. 

Calder's book explores several examples of areas in which the US Occupation intervened or changed the DR. Some of the same goals were pursued in Haiti, such as reforms in taxation, military, public works projects, elementary education (more schools) and favoring US exports to the Dominican market. Legislation beneficial to sugar companies in 1920 also furthered tensions in the east of the DR, where an uprooted peasantry manifested into the gavillero "bandits" or rebels fighting the Marines. The US Occupation also implemented additional reforms in both countries but ultimately failed as the only arena in which Haitians or Dominicans were allowed to express any opinion was in education. In the Haitian case, we have well-known examples of US discriminatory attitudes, racist beliefs which also manifested in US interactions with the Dominican population. But perhaps because they are generally speaking lighter-skinned than Haitians, Calder suspects the US was willing to end their occupation of the Dominican Republic before that of Haiti.

The gavilleros in some way resemble the cacos of Haiti, but the areas of staunch caco resistance in Haiti does not appear to have developed in areas of the country under the influence of HASCO or other sites with large-scale agro-industrial projects (which were on a far smaller scale than US investments in the DR). The Haitian peasant did experience uprootedness, dispossession and labor migration to Cuba and the DR during this period (1915-1934), but the cacos appear to have been less active in, say, the Leogane area or Cul-de-Sac plain, regions where HASCO had an impact on the rural population. However, the two do seem to resemble each other in the disconnect between them and their respective elite opposition movements. According to Calder, the Union Patriotique in did not become a mass movement until the late 1920s, while the Union Nacional in the DR received more international support than their Haitian counterpart.  And while both elite opposition groups included intellectual resistance to the Occupation, perhaps the huge numbers of Haitian laborers in the DR and US racism precluded any elite Dominican attempt to rethink the nation's relationship to "blackness." Perhaps another legacy of the US Occupation was to ensure the somewhat deeper integration of the DR into the US "co-prosperity" sphere at slightly better terms than what they were willing to offer Haiti?

The Rise and Fall of the Istambulawa

Djibo Hamani's exhaustive Au carrefour du Soudan et de la Berbérie: le sultanat touareg de l'Ayar is a careful analysis of the "Istambulawa" dynasty of kings in Agadez for about 5 centuries, from c.1405 to 1905. Hamani's history of the sultanate begins with a geographical overview, some theories on Berber migrations to the Sahel and Sudanic region and some of the early polities and trading centers in and near Ayar, such as early ties to Tadamakka, Tigidda and its copper, the Azna and Gobirawa in the region, Marandet and the "white Berber" sultans of the area mentioned by al-Umari in the 14th century. Hamani's use of external medieval Arabic sources, local traditions, al-Suyuti and al-Maghili, the Timbuktu Chronicles, Palmer's translations or collection of sources and the famous manuscripts of the Chroniques of Agadez (mostly the same material translated by Urvoy and utilized by H.T. Norris) with some possible dates for them allow for some suggestive and probable theories on the early spread of the Tuareg into and near Ayar from the west and the north. The early ties to the Berber trading center and kingdom of Tadmakka to the west, suggested by the sources like Ibn Hawqal, point to the importance of trade and links to ancient Gao (Kawkaw) as well as Maranda and Marawa. 

Then the rest of the book shifts to the specifics of the "Istambulawa" dynasty's obscure origins (needless to say, they are not descendants of a Turkish prince of Constantinople, but more likely can trace their origins to an imam or religious figure from the west who was appointed or chosen by the major Tuareg confederations in Ayar) and the centuries-long struggle of the sultans to assert their authority beyond the control of the Tuareg elector tribes or their attempts to prevent a strong, centralized state from emerging. Intriguingly, some of the traditions collected by Hamani attribute part of the desire for a sultan or arbiter of the clans was due to Borno raids, something a little hard to imagine considering the difficulties the Sayfawa faced in Kanem and Borno during the late 1300s and early 1400s. But if these traditions can be relied on in a general sense, external factors like Borno and Songhay could have put pressure on Tuareg for some degree of political centralization, especially due to preexisting trade that an be traced back to the ancient Ghana to Egypt trade that traversed the region since the 9th century.

Undoubtedly, the desire for a regional sultan to arbitrate inter-tribal Tuareg conflicts and help unite the clans against external foes was complemented by the growing economic importance of Hausaland in trans-Saharan and West African trade. As Hamani emphatically insists throughout the text, Agadez's rise was linked to its geographical role as the northern "port" of Hausaland with North Africa and the Mediterranean. Hausa exports of textiles, grains, slaves, and other goods helped supply the Tuareg of Ayar (and later Adar) while also making Agadez an important trading center and the basis of the wealth for the Istambulawa dynasty who derived some of their revenue from the trans-Saharan trade. Indeed, the Hausa contributions to the formation and longevity of the Istambulawa dynasty can also be found in the terms used for the royal administration, the spoken language in Agadez, and the Azna and Gobirawa indigenous populations in and near Ayar. Indeed, influences from the Songhay and Borno can also be found in the region, but the economic significance of Ayar was directly linked to the Hausa states. Islam also played a role, as Islamic rulers of Ayar, Katsina, Kano, Borno, and Songhay in the late 1400s could use religion as a bridge between trading communities and, despite the weak Islamization of some of the Tuareg in the massif, introduce some changes or new sources of political legitimacy. 

According to Hamani, the early sultans of Agadez were likely weak and faced constant threats of deposition and coups. Over the course of the late 1400s, the dynasty established their capital in Agadez and, by the 1600s, succeeded in practicing patrilineal succession to the throne and greater political stability. Indeed, by the reigns of Muhammad al-Mubarek and his son, Muhammad Agabba, the sultans of Ayar conquered Adar, threatened Borno, attacked Zanfara, and appear to have had, for the most part, exerted their authority over warring Tuareg clans of Ayar. Unfortunately, just as the state had entered an expansionist phase and seemed to be moving in the direction of greater centralization, Muhammad Agabba was dethroned in 1720 and fled to Adar. The Adar sultans continued to recognize the authority of the main Istambulawa king to the north, but the rulers of Ayar lost more power and influence over the Tuareg factions during the 18th and 19th centuries. 

Kings were deposed or endeavored to pit clans against each other but often deposed or overthrown. The declining state of affairs manifested in the decline of Agadez as a center for trade and the movement of several members of the dynasty to Hausaland. This sorry state of affairs continued in the 19th century as effective authority, to the extent it existed, was in the hands of Tuareg chiefs or charismatic warriors who then faced the threat of Awlad Sulayman raids, Tubu bandits, the shifting political alignments of the post-jihad Central Sudan, and, finally, French colonial conquest. According to Hamani, the authority of the sultanate was severely weakened by Tuareg clans prohibiting it their own military force. Moreover, since their authority was not established based on conquest, the Kel Ayar never fully submitted to the institution and the geographic and climactic conditions in the massif likely contributed to the great local autonomy of the various groups. Perhaps, if the sultanate had been able to develop Adar as a source of revenue (based on its peasant cultivator population) and raise troops, the sultanate under Muhammad Agabba and his children could have maintained a centralized population and resisted the elector tribes who reasserted their control of succession. Alas, such a development was blocked by the Kel Ayar and the Istambulawa often became irrelevant players in Ayar and the Central Sudan.

While there is much to learn in his lengthy history of Ayar and the Sultanate, Hamani's interpretations and arguments do raise some questions. For instance, his view on the Bilma salt caravan and conflicts with Borno in Kawar seem to view it as just a minor affair with local Tubu. One is also not sure of the antiquity of the Bilma salt caravan or the Kel Away's role in it. Indeed, we thought Lovejoy's interpretation of the conflicts between Borno and Ayar over the salt trade in the mid-1700s was perhaps closer to reality. Moreover, it became rather difficult to keep track of the various alliances and shifting conflicts of the Kel Ayar. Perhaps the last 2 sections of the book could have been shortened or a timeline for the various confederations could have been of use to aid the reader. As for the "racial" question of the Tuareg and the "Sudanese" or Hausa populations of Ayar and Adar, Hamani criticizes Heinrich Barth for his racial if not racist reading of the history of Ayar, but Hamani also finds evidence of this in some of the sources, like the Y Tarichi and some of the animosity directed against the Kel Away (more sedentary and perhaps "mixed" than other Kel Ayar) from other Tuareg. Perhaps more recent research has delved deeper into the question of "race" in the sultanate and the ways in which Tuareg society and that of Agadez diverged. 

The Kingdom of Allada

Robin Law's short history of the kingdom of Allada was a little disappointing. We were hoping for a study of the scope of his other monographs with rich analysis of the kingdom of Allada. Unfortunately, our existing sources are thinner than we realized, often mainly relevant to Allada's active involvement in slave trading and only hints at other aspects of the state's administrative, economic, political, social, or cultural dimensions. Furthermore, as Law convincingly demonstrates, the surviving oral traditions are often problematic and present a number of problems since they have lost the institutional framework of the old kingdom's court and the traditions of Allada and Dahomey have changed over time to express new or different genealogies, historical events, or composite characters. 

It is clear that Allada was probably the dominant kingdom of the Slave Coast (or at least a good chunk of it) but its own origins remain unclear (although it was in existence by the 16th century if not long before) and the exact nature of Allada's authority over its "fidalgos" and vassal provinces or territories is unknown. However, as Law suggests, there does seem to have been more than a little continuity in the court and structure of the state from Allada to Dahomey. That continuity plus the pieces of the puzzle Law endeavors to place in correct order with the aid of European contemporary sources and later traditions, provides the reader with some idea of the chronology of kings, the institutions of the kingdom, and the impact of slave trading on the kingdom's relations economy and foreign relations. Due to our unfamiliarity with the historiography of the Slave Coast, we were surprised how often Law disagreed or felt a need to add nuance to arguments by Akinjogbin, whose study of Dahomey seems to be quite seminal. We feel Law was probably correct about the qualifications he attached to Akinjogbin's interpretations of the impact of the slave trade as a factor in Allada's decline.

Unfortunately, this brief history is a bit too schematic and we wonder if more recent scholarship has uncovered new sources or attempted to integrate more fully studies on the 'Arada" or "Arara" in the Americas. There is a recently published study coauthored by Law on early Allada-Portugal relations, suggestive of important links between Christianity (or interest in it) as a way to strengthen Allada's economic ties to European traders. Perhaps the possible or alleged Christian presence in Allada could also be of interest, with at least one king being educated by the Portuguese in Sao Tome and Allada's ambassador to the court of Louis XIV being fluent in Portuguese and, at least nominally Christian. Who knows, maybe Latin Americanists and Caribbeanists examining so-called "Arada" or "Arara" captives in the Americas could potentially shed light on social, ethnic, religious, or political dynamics impacting Allada and its neighbors in the 1600s and 1700s. Law uses some of this material, particularly the work of Alonso de Sandoval but we are convinced more material might be available. 

Le Coeur and Kawar

Marguerite Le Coeur's unfortunate death deprived the world of a second volume on Kawar. The second volume would have continued the history of this important central Saharan region into the colonial period and 20th century. Fortunately, the first volume, a short history of the area leading up to French colonialism makes a fine attempt at tracing the historical development of the Kawar oasis beginning with the Garamantes and Antiquity. The main problem, a similar one we noticed with Maikorema Zakari's book, is the paucity or severe limitations of the sources. Le Coeur and her husband had extensive experience in ethnographic research among the Tubu of Kawar, but for this volume on the precolonial era, Le Coeur had to draw from mainly external Arabic sources, references to Kawar in Kanem-Borno sources, and European geographers and travelers for more recent periods. 

Surprisingly, Le Coeur did not cite some sources that could have aided in the attempted reconstruction of 19th century Kawar's ethnic dimensions (Tubu and Kanuri populations), such as Nicholas Said's autobiography. But based on Lucas, Lyon, Hornemann, Barth, Rohlfs, Nachtigal, Monteil, and a few other European writers, Le Coeur's attempts to fill in some of the gaps of the medieval sources offers some interesting ideas about social, religious, economic, and ethnic relations for the people of Kawar. Fortunately, al-Idrisi, Ibn Said, al-Yaqubi, the chronicles of Ahmad b Furtu, and the Diwan of Kanem-Borno offers some clues about the close relations between Kawar and Kanem, and perhaps the importance of clans of Tubu or Teda origin who, at various moments in the past of the Sayfawa dynasty, intermarried with the kings, probably promoting trans-Saharan trade through Kawar (which linked Lake Chad to the Fezzan and Tripoli). 

By contextualizing Kawar in the larger trans-Saharan trade networks and political or economic shifts in the Central Sudan, one can see Kawar's declining importance in the period of Bornoan decline (late 1700s and for much of the 19th century). However, Bilma's salt caravan remained significant and was directly connected to Aïr and Hausaland. So even as direct trans-Saharan trade between Tripoli and Borno declined, Bilma and other parts of Kawar remained of some importance for the salt and slave trade, despite suffering from Tuareg or Awlad Sulayman attacks or raids. But commerce was essential for Kawar, to supplement the meager diet of its inhabitants and for the local notables or traders (who had been engaging in long-distance trade since the medieval era if not earlier) and the "kings" of Kawar: Tubu rulers of the Tomagra or Tomaghera origin who charged a tax on caravans. 

Since our medieval Arabic sources don't provide enough detailed information, Le Coeur's endeavor to use the few clues from their work and the scholarship on the Tubu and Kanem-Borno provides some inconclusive or interesting speculation. The rise and fall of particular Kawar towns or villages remains unknown due to the possible name changes since the medieval era and even the questionable 'conquest' of Uqba b. Nafi in the 7th century. Who were the original inhabitants of the oasis is also unknown, but it seems likely that Kawar was always multiethnic and included, as noted by al-Yaqubi, Berbers who participated in the slave trade between Kanem and Zawila. The "Zaghawa" or Teda-Daza appear to have been in the region since the 9th century if not before, probaby migrating into and out of Kawar via the Tibetsi, Borku, Kanem, and Borno. 

Then, later migrations and settlers from Borno and the incorporation of slaves probably encouraged the Kanurization of parts of the Kawar, at least in the southern end. Perhaps the "Kanuri" presence was always in Kawar when Kanem-Borno effectively occupied or 'ruled' the oasis. Local architectural traditions might hint at this, as Kawar towns with clear street layouts and homes that were not huts appear to owe more to the Kanuri. As for why Le Coeur assumes the Tomagheras and Kayes were "Berbers" is unclear, but Kawar must have been influenced by Berber and other Ibadi Muslim traders in the 9th and 10th centuries, and perhaps the origins of the Tura and Kawarian traders described by al-Idrisi may have some link to these early Muslim traders. Indeed, we were surprised Le Coeur did not attempt to use the Borno mahrams more often, as they would perhaps hint at the importance of Tura traders of Kawar origins in supplying Borno with horses and perhaps the close links that connected the Sayfawa dynasty with Kawar.

Overall, Le Coeur's study is a good introduction and overview to a complex region of the Sahara with an ancient history that likely connects the Garamantes, Tubu and Lake Chad. We still have to read Knut S. Vikør's much longer, detailed history of Kawar's salt production but Les oasis du Kawar is a great place to start. Also included are some interesting photographs by the author of various ruins and sites, such as Bilma and Seguidine and some useful quotations and references from Monteil, Nachtigal, and other 19th century European accounts. 

Contribution à l'histoire des populations de Sud-Est nigérien: le cas du Mangari (XVIe-XIXe s.)

Maikorema Zakari's important book builds on Landeroin and colonial-era scholarship as well as general histories of Borno in an endeavor to trace the history of northern and northwestern provinces of imperial Borno. Today part of southeastern Niger (Kazal, Mangari, Kutus, Munio) and peopled by Kanuriphone groups of diverse origins (Manga, Dagra, and others) as well as nomadic groups like the Koyam, Sougourti, and Tomagheras, these regions of the Bornoan Empire have probably been underpopulated and politically decentralized for most of their history, particularly due to the expansion of the desert, the lower levels of rainfall and nomadic incursions, especially by the Tuareg. Nonetheless, some of the area's residents like the Koyam, Sougourti, and Tomaghera, have strong links to early Kanem (through various queen mothers) and very well, despite some practicing a nomadic lifestyle, could have been present in Borno by the 1300s. The site of Garoumele as one of the possible Sayfawa capitals before Birni Gazargamo might be suggestive of the area's past importance for the ruling house of Borno.

Since northern Borno was perhaps one of the first areas incorporated into an expanding Kanem state by the 1200s, and probably one of the early bases of the Sayfawa dynasty after their flight to Borno in the 1380s, Zakari begins the story there. Unfortunately, besides some oral traditions and the general centuries-long migrations of Kanembu and other peoples from the eastern shores of Lake Chad, Zakari does not have too much to work with to piece together the ancient past of southeastern Niger. Relying on general histories and analyses of Kanem-Borno, particularly Lange, Palmer, Zeltner, Brenner, and a few other scholars, plus archaeological and oral history insights, the rest of the book focuses on the period from around 1500 to the fall of Rabih. The resurgence of Sayfawa power by the late 1400s under Ali Ghaji and the powerful mais of the 1500s established Borno as the dominant power in the Central Sudan, and the historical trends of the center of the empire help somewhat with Zakari's endeavor to make sense of the local history. Unfortunately, much of the oral traditions collected at various sites is not particularly useful for events before the 19th century and memories of the various local dynasties are often unclear on collateral succession and chronology. Nonetheless, Zakari's study is an important work for local histories or sub-regional histories of Borno, aiding the reader in piecing together how Borno's territorial expansion has marked areas outside the core.

Under the rule of various local chiefs or dynasties with little authority beyond their own village, the area, which should have been protected by the central authority of Borno to defend it from the Tuareg, was, as Zakari's study suggests, deliberately kept that way by the Sayfawa and al-Kanemi dynasties to better rule or tax its inhabitants. Indeed, the rulers of Borno appear to have appointed local lawan or village chiefs by receiving gifts from prospective candidates, who then taxed the population while not effectively protecting the inhabitants. This contexts helps explain why the emergence of a strong local authority to defend the populace from Tuareg or Tubu raiders never developed, and why the emergence of Zinder as a strong kingdom in the 19th century presented another threat from the west. This may also explain why the Sufi or mystical Islamic settlement of Kalumbardo was under incessant threats from the Tuareg and Tubu in the 17th century. Indeed, besides the Shehus of the Koyam and the 19th century Islamic presence under Koso of Munio, one does not find strong evidence of widespread Islamic practices or beliefs beyond a superficial level. Nor does one have a clear idea on the antiquity of salt and natron production in Mangari but one would think it was also important in pre-19th century eras. So, archaeologists and historians have a lot of work to do to help us understand the process of Kanurization and regional studies of Borno's imperial phase. 

Ethiopia and the Red Sea

Mordechai Abir's Ethiopia and the Red Sea probably should have been given an alternative title. Besides one chapter on the role of the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean in Ethiopia's trade networks and Ottoman versus Portuguese conflicts for dominance of the Red Sea, Persian Gulf, and Indian Ocean, this book is mostly a narrative history of the Solomonic dynasty of Ethiopia from it's expansion in the 1300s to the era right before the Gondarine period. So, Abir's study builds on earlier research by the author and the scholarship of Tamrat and other Ethiopianists to analyze why the Solomonic dynasty failed to establish a more integrated, centralized state in the Horn of Africa. Lacking familiarity with most of the sources utilized by Abir, we cannot determine how accurate or misleading some of his interpretations are, but he did not really utilize Ethiopian sources in Ge'ez so one cannot help but think that skews his interpretation of certain figures, like Susenyos or the conflicts within the church between the two monastic orders over theological debates.

Besides disastrous events like the jihad of Ahmad Gran and the Oromo migrations which continued with very little Ethiopian resistance from the royal court, Abir outlines a plethora of additional factors behind the failure of the Solomonic state to develop an effective, centralized polity capable of integrating or resisting Oromo migration, modernizing, or expanding its influence in the Horn. These include an elite Church dependent on appointed abuns from Egypt, little sustained efforts at evangelizing and integrating conquered peoples, tensions between the Amhara and the northern population of Tigre, regional lords and nobility using succession and factions in the royal court to challenge or revolt the emperor, attempted military and administrative reforms that, in some cases, aided and abetted Oromo expansion into provinces of the empire. The particularly long reign of Sarsa Dengel seems to be a great example of wasted opportunities for reform and centralization, processes that could have helped Ethiopia resist or integrate the Oromo and build a "modern" state beyond the "feudal" military-administrative structure Abir describes. It's hard for this blog to not read Abir's chapter on Sarsa Dengel and not think of the opposite trends in Borno under Idris b. Ali, or Idris Alooma, who appeared to have been far more effective at defending and expanding the borders of Borno while also promoting a monotheistic religion that must have served an integrative function in its vast domains.

Of course, the most interesting and perhaps too brief chapters analyze Susenyos and the Jesuits. Susenyos is depicted as someone who believed in the superiority of Catholic or European civilization and wanted to use it as a way of modernizing the state. Earlier rulers, who had expressed an interest in European military technology and artisans, were supposedly not modernizers, despite some of them attempting various administrative and military reforms with Mamluk or European aid. Susenyos, however, was pressured by the Jesuits into thinking Portuguese-Spanish military aid would flow to Ethiopia if he agreed to impose Catholicism as the official religion. With their aid, presumably Susenyos could have created a state based on different lines, reclaimed territories lost to the Oromo, and "modernized" Ethiopia. Abir presents this as an early attempt by a non-European state to modernize long before the more famous examples of the Middle East and Egypt, but one which Ethiopia was not prepared for due to the very unlikely chances of a Portuguese military presence or expedition and the fierce resistance to the Jesuits from members of the emperor's inner circle, the native religious hierarchy, Jesuit dogmatism attacking local culture and the "feudal" lords opposed to political centralization. Since more recent scholarship has focused on the period of the Jesuit mission, we shall return to this period in Ethiopian history and some of the conclusions reached by Abir of the Gondarine period as one of decline or, perhaps, failure. 

Kingdoms of Faith

Since we have been trying to read more histories of North Africa, the Mediterranean and Islam, we recently read Kingdoms of Faith: A New History of Islamic Spain by Brian Catlos. While one would think such a topic is not one of our immediate interests, Islamic Spain did have a connection to Kanem in the medieval era. Indeed, one of the earliest known West African poets of the Arabic language, Abu Ishaq Ibrahim al-Kanemi, lived in Almohad Spain after establishing himself as a grammarian and respected poet in the Maghrib. Moreover, al-Andalus was definitely linked to our Sahelian area of interest through trans-Saharan trade networks. So, Islamic Spain enjoyed global connections through Europe, the Mediterranean, the Near East, and Africa, although the ties to sub-Saharan Africa are often ignored or little known. 

A general overview of al-Andalus, like Kingdoms of Faith, does not delve into the trans-Saharan side of Islamic Spain, but it is a great overview of a complex history. Often reduced to obfuscating stereotypes or romanticized narratives of conflict or tolerance, al-Andalus was a profoundly dynamic and shifting region where alliances and conflicts occurred between people of the same or different religious traditions. While Catlos at times seems too eager to emphasize this, one cannot deny that religious identity alone never defined or solely motivated the actions of historical actors, especially in an arena where Muslims, Christians, Jews and almost certainly "pagans" from other lands like the pre-Christian Norse crossed paths and learned how to, out of convenience, come together for their own interests. Catlos is most persuasive on that point, the pragmatism of various Muslim or Christians rulers in their attempts to rule or establish stable states across the peninsula. 

So, in order to demonstrate how pragmatism and convenience motivated the political history of the Iberian peninsula from 711 to the early 17th century, Catlos outlines the development in chronological order of the peninsula from the first Muslim conquest to the emirate (and later caliphate) of Cordoba, and then the Taifa kingdoms, Almoravid and Almohad presence, and gradual expansion of the Christian kingdoms of Aragon and Castile. The reader gains some appreciation for the intellectual, cultural, technological, and economic sophistication of al-Andalus, especially under the Caliphate and the Taifa kingdoms, whose patronage for the arts and sciences definitely contributed to European philosophy and scientific knowledge. One also begins to understand how religion, ethnicity, clan, and slavery shaped this history as those of Arab lineage often occupied the best positions in government while discriminating against those of Berber origin or descendants of native converts who formed the majority of the population. This helps elucidate some of the internal dissension, civil wars, assassinations, and foreign invasions that pitted Muslim against Muslim or Christian against Christian in the broader sphere of Mediterranean history. 

Overall, Kingdoms of Faith is a good introduction to the history of al-Andalus. One might have to consider ignoring the jarring references to Andalusi elite male culture as "gangsta" or attempts to bring contemporary American politics or social commentary into the text, but those are fortunately few. All the Afrocentric extremists who love the racially-loaded term "Moor" should consider reading this, as it will establish very quickly how absurd it is to assume the "Moors" were "Black." It would also be a good read for those interested in the Sahel and how Islamic Spain was an important part of the bridge that connected the Sahelian zone with the Mediterranean and Europe in the Middle Ages. Perhaps future scholarship can shed additional light on this, particularly the West African presence in the Iberian peninsula as slaves, soldiers, students, and, in at least one case, authors whose impact might be important for shaping conceptions of difference and "race" in the early modern period. 

The Sultanate of Mandara to 1902

We strongly believe that studying the history of the lesser known polities in the Lake Chad Region is very useful for understanding Kanem-Borno, our main area of interest. By studying smaller polities and societies who, in some cases, were vassals of the state or "empire" of the Sayfawa, one begins to see how Kanembu and Kanuri influences spread throughout various regions in the Lake Chad Basin and beyond. Barkindo's short but powerful study of the Mandara Sultanate from its shadowy 15th century origins to the colonial conquest is a great example of this. Barkindo, with good reason, dismisses accounts of foreign origins or echoes of the Hamitic Hypothesis to explain the formation of a Mandara kingdom. 

Assembling linguistics, oral traditions, archaeological studies, textual sources, and the similarities in political structure of pre-Islamic Mandara and its neighboring societies, it becomes quite clear that the origins of the state cannot be attributed to Tubu, Arab, Berber, or even Borno roots. However, the relocation of the Sayfawa dynasty to Borno in the late 14th century appears to have pushed the ancestors of the Wandala further south into the hills and plains of what became the Mandara state in the 1400s and 1500s. Over time, a combination of Gamergu and Wandala peoples combining agriculture, hunting, iron production, and trade, established a kingdom that was important enough to appear on the world map of Fra Mauro in the 1400s and appear in the works of Leo Africanus and d'Anania. 

But over time, the Mandara/Wandala people adopted and adapted aspects of Bornoan civilization as well as Islam (in c. 1715) and, provide a possibly useful case study of the complexity of Borno relations with neighboring societies. Instead of solely seeing Borno's relationship with Mandara and others in the larger region as one of conquest or empire, the economic, cultural, and, eventually, religious factors appear to explain more fully how the Lake Chad area became a "Bornoan" Sea of sorts. This perspective can be seen in the way Yusuf Bala Usman sought to redefine or contextualize the nature of Hausaland-Borno relations and the question of tribute and gift exchanges. Instead of assuming military conquest was the dominant or only route to which the Sayfawa dynasty established itself as the regional hegemon, cultural, economic, and social factors appear to have been just as important. 

As the dominant power of the Central Sudan until the 18th century, Borno's dominance of salt production/trade, trans-Saharan exchange, textile industry, livestock, horse breeding, and function as a center for Islamic scholarship and culture placed it at a favorable position and could have played a role in Mandara submission or sending of tribute to Borno. Until the second half of the 18th century, when Bagirmi and Wadai offered alternative routes to luxury goods from North Africa and beyond, Borno would have been the major supplier of North African goods to Mandara. Kanuri or Bornoan settlers, Shuwa Arabs, and Islamic scholars also flocked to Mandara, bringing their expertise in weaving, dyeing, animal husbandry, and religious skills to a state that, unsurprisingly, would be more deeply drawn into this orbit. Mandara's expansion and economic growth was stimulated by this development. 

If Barkindo's analysis is correct, Islam also provided a path to push for greater political centralization of the kingdom by challenging the traditional title-holders and their control of the kingship. It would be interesting to compare this with other groups who adopted Islam via Kanem-Borno influence, as well as pushing back against the notion that the Sayfawa were opposed to the expansion of Islam because it would have hurt the slave trade by decreasing the number of legally enslaveable captives. Understanding how and why some peoples resisted Islamization would be shed light on Islamic proselytism and state support for it but we have much to learn about the Bedde, Kotoko, Musgun, Margi, and other ethnic groups and their own distinct histories of relations with Borno. 

Haiti in the New World Order

Alex Dupuy's Haiti in the New World Order: The Limits of the Democratic Revolution is one of those studies we should have read several years ago. Probably should have been done around the same time we read Dupuy's book on Aristide, but this one has the benefit of being written in the 1990s and focusing entirely on the first term of Aristide and how his eventual return to Haiti to complete that term was related to US foreign policy and neoliberal structural adjustments in a post-Cold War world. As Dupuy convincingly outlines in the early chapters, the new world order of neoliberal reforms promoted by the US, IMF, World Bank, and USAID would not have favored development for countries like Haiti and would not have alleviated the misery of the population. 

However, even a liberal capitalist state would have represented progress over the prebendary Haitian state and could have won over a share of the bourgeoisie. Nevertheless, one can see how the very conditions in which Aristide was allowed to return to Haiti after the first coup diminished the left-leaning social democratic agenda of Lavalas while recognizing how it deviated from Cold War-era US interventions in Latin America and the Caribbean (which usually involved intervention against leftist or left-leaning governments and support for military dictatorships). Aristide's first term must be contextualized in the new era in US foreign policy as well as the years of pro-democracy activism and struggles in Haiti since the fall of Duvalier in 1986. 

Reading Dupuy's book and thinking about his later analysis of Aristide as a politician who never relinquished the robe of the prophet for the clothes of the prince, one cannot help but feel Haiti may have been better off with Aristide remaining outside of formal politics. His real charisma and footwork for political, economic, and social changes in the 1980s was perhaps squandered or misdirected by his decision to run for president. Perhaps he really think believe it was a messianic or mystical relationship he enjoyed with the Haitian people and God was calling him to run to create a newer, better Haiti with dignified poverty instead of abject poverty most Haitians survive under. 

But his political and tactical errors of resisting a broad left coalition in government, employing threatening rhetoric against the bourgeoisie (which already hated or opposed him), his failure to thoroughly condemn violence or political mobs, and the "deal with the Devil" he agreed with to be returned to office almost ensured an unpleasant end to his political career. Just imagine if he had remained outside of formal politics but supported a broader left-leaning coalition that, while still facing pressure from the military, the haute bourgeoisie, and the US, was able to build a moderately progressive growth with equity economic policy for Haiti? Just imagine if the institutions and practice of democracy had been given the chance to actually develop and Aristide, as an outsider of the formal political process, could have used his charisma and influence to support this trend?

Perhaps it is naïve on our part to think the Duvalierist old guard and neo-Duvalierists would have ever agreed to this, but the last 36 years in Haiti have been a constant struggle for building democratic institutions and stability. The US role in this failed transition seems quite clear, and the old Duvalierists did not disappear since they played a role in 2004 and Martelly's presidency. We just wish Haiti could get a "do-over" for the last few decades, although it would be difficult to see huge progress made in Haiti becoming a "developed" or industrialized country. Perhaps things didn't have to become this bad, with the breakdown of the state, immiseration of the population, proliferation of gangs (and the Aristide years contributed to this), continued drug trafficking, fraudulent elections, and common human rights violations. When will Haiti's next chance for a democratic transition or something else to escape the current cycle present itself?

Against Decolonisation: Taking African Agency Seriously

Against Decolonisation: Taking African Agency Seriously by Olúfẹ́mi Táíwò is one of those catchy, polemical books that points out the several flaws in a certain type of decolonisation. Critiquing Wiredu, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o, and other like-minded proponents influenced by them, Táíwo illustrates how their understanding of African agency, history, and languages suffers from a variety of flaws. One of their major flaws is equating modernity with colonialism or Westernization, a perspective that ignores the plethora of ways in which European colonialism in Africa actually preempted or prevented modernity through the imposition of a government without the consent of the governed and an extractive regime based on the utter exploitation and abuse of indigenous or local populations. 

Táíwò is basically saying those who ignore the ways in which liberal representative democracy has been engaged with, accepted, and appropriated by Africans to create modern societies are actually guilty of a misunderstanding of decolonisation (in the original sense of a formal end to European colonialism) and do not seriously engage with African intellectuals and politicians like Nkrumah, Senghor, Nyerere, or Cabral who saw value and utility in liberal democracy and other ideas, political philosophies, and customs of European origin. The obsession with African languages, defining and delimiting "African" in atavistic or retrograde fashions, and rejecting something of European origin because it may have entered a place like Nigeria through missionaries or even the colonial state does a disservice to the nuances of African intellectual history and the challenges people across the continent are engaged in to ensure a freer, more democratic government. 

Something of European or other external origins can be debated, analyzed, and perhaps adapted instead of blindly emulated or copied, but calling it "decolonizing" does not facilitate our understanding and may further obfuscate a deeper engagement with the full array of African intellectual production. Even the chronologies we use, like "precolonial" or terms like "traditional African religion" have to be rethought or reconsidered for what it suggests about the history of the continent and the impact of European colonialism. And trying to use decolonizing as a method of resurrecting "traditional" or ancient African monarchies, communalism, or spiritual practices is dangerous and does not help in the struggle to end customs like child marriages, ritual killings, or genital mutilation. I am sure most reasonable writers and activists who speak of decolonisation do not really want a return to the political or social order of "precolonial" Africa. Moreover, no one who has read Fanon or Cabral or, dare I say it, Haitian intellectuals of the 19th and 20th centuries, would see a return to premodern civilization as the basis for building a postcolonial state. 

Although ostensibly about Africa, much of what Táíwò discusses is also relevant to Haiti and the Caribbean. In "Haitian Studies" one can also find similar rhetoric of "decolonizing" or "decoloniality" (although perhaps closer in spirit to Latin American forms) that often cloud deeper understanding or analysis of Haiti's political, linguistic, and intellectual debates. In the Haitian case, I see it more often around the question of religion and language. According to some, language in Haiti needs to be decolonised by favoring education and literature in Haitian Creole, the only language spoken fluently by all Haitians. Instead of privileging French, Haitian Creole should be promoted to complete the mental decolonisation of Haitians. The linguistic realities of Haiti are of course more complicated than this kind of Manichaean worldview allows. I also wonder how anyone can only see the French language as colonial force in Haiti when the vast majority of Haitian literature has been composed in that language and French has been owned, claimed, and mastered by Haitians for two centuries. As for Creole in Haiti's schools, we have yet to truly see the basic reforms necessary to improve and update Haitian education or properly prepare curriculum and materials for Creole instruction. The situation is more difficult than proponents of Creole recognize or admit, and the relationship between French and Creole is not so black and white. 

As for religion and spiritual practices, I also wonder if Haitians could learn from Táíwò. Instead of assuming that the Vodou religion offers practical or useful ways of rethinking or reconsidering liberal democracy or that it could even offer a template of an alternative democracy because of the faith's alleged democratic or imaginary spirit, perhaps Haitian intellectuals would do better to dwell on Haitian engagement with liberalism, the legacy of 1804 (and 1789), and repeated attempts to build a representative democracy that respects and protects the individual with independent judiciaries and rights for women and sexual minorities. I see some parallels between Africa and Haiti in the dangers of "atavistic impulses" and exclusionary conceptualizations of Haitian identity that have been tried or toyed with in the past, with the usual disastrous results one can see in 20th century Haitian politics. And this is in a context where Haitian intellectuals have been working with allegedly "Western" values for over 200 years. I don't see how or why some Haitians think the "real" culture of Haiti is to be found in some resistant culture of Vodou and Creole that is the "real" Haiti (a breached citadel) and will be the foundation for another political system that better matches the Haitian's true nature or culture.

In short, everyone with time should read Against Decolonisation. It beats a dead horse occasionally, but at least forces us to remember that Africans (and people of African descent) have agency and we should take their histories and thinkers seriously instead of relegating them to the status of children or objects of a "colonial" history. We should also reject simple-minded or kneejerk reactions that hide or ignore history, deny or minimize cultural and intellectual exchange, or evince a lack of engagement with the languages we seek to promote as "authentic" or "decolonized" in Africa (or the Caribbean). There is no "authentic" or "pure" African (or Haitian) tradition or civilization that has not been shaped by the interaction with others, before and after formal colonialism, and we should not reduce local agency in the choices and practices made by African governments in the postcolonial era. Haitians should pay attention to this and try to take their history seriously. 

A History of North Africa

Charles-Andre Julien's History of North Africa: From the Arab Conquest to 1830 is one of those good introductory overviews for the history of the Maghrib. Unfortunately leaving out Libya, which is our primary area of interest for North Africa, Julien covers the rest of the region from the Arab conquests to the 19th century. Beginning with the Byzantine period and the lengthy Arab conquests and spread of Islam, the book then shifts to the major Islamic dynasties and states which dominated parts of North Africa, like the Aghlabids, Imams of Tahert, Fatimids, Hafsids, Alawi dynasty, Almohads, Almoravids, and Regencies of Algiers and Tunis. 

We can't lie, sometimes one gets lost in the various names and dynasties over 1000 years. But Julien mostly retains the reader's interest and occasionally delves into other topics, like the spread of Islam, Sufism, the Barbary corsairs, the political economy of Tunis and Algiers, and how the Sharifian dynasties held Morocco together. Since the text was originally published several decades ago, we're sure that archaeologists and historians have shed more light on the Arab conquest and perhaps today's scholars would avoid phrases like "Berber inertia" to characterize what Julien describes as societies trapped in a civilization that hadn't changed much since the 7th or 8th centuries. 

Moreover, it would be interesting to read a history of North Africa that attempts to integrate a Saharan and Mediterranean perspective on the region. Julien, of course, mentioned the Moroccan invasion of Songhay and Hafsid relations with Kanem, but he seems to have bought into the idea that the Islamic civilization of the Sahel was an implanted Maghribi one while also minimizing the importance of the trans-Saharan trade. We have a lot more books to complete on North Africa before we can explore this, but we know Braudel will be on our reading list to help us understand the Mediterranean and, perhaps, how the Saharan "sea" was connected to it.