The Caribbean in the Islario General

 

Although not immediately useful for our primary interests, we found the maps of the insular Caribbean in Alonso de Santa Cruz's Islario general de todas las islas del mundo fascinating. We are primarily interested in indigenous toponyms in the Greater Antilles, for which the map of of Hispaniola is perhaps the most detailed or useful.

Ceramic Age Caribbean Matches

As we should have done at the beginning, we finally went back and re-read the reference study (Fernandes et al.) used by 23andMe for their indigenous Caribbean references. As expected, our Matches are to Ceramic Age samples from sites in Hispaniola (mostly eastern), Puerto Rico, and Bahamas. Our historical matches fell into the following major groups based on the above study's analysis of the genomes of ancient Antillean peoples:

Haiti Ceramic: 2 matches

Bahamas Ceramic: 2 Matches

SECoast DR Ceramic: 11 Matches

Eastern Greater Antilles Ceramic: 11 matches

The overwhelming number of matches (although mostly small) are with what the study terms Southeast Coast DR groups and Eastern Greater Antilles (which includes samples from Puerto Rico and the eastern Dominican Republic). This matching pattern is to be expected given the Ceramic Age population largely replacing Archaic lineages and the pattern of close relatives from different sites on Hispaniola or genetic matches between individuals from other islands. To what extent this pattern was also due to relatively small population sizes in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico is another mystery. We have always tended to prefer somewhat higher population numbers for Puerto Rico and Hispaniola in pre-Columbian times based on Moscoso's analysis of Puerto Rico. 

We also found it cool that some of our larger matches were to the two Individuals in the Haiti Ceramic clade. These two individuals were related and harbored significant Archaic ancestry from groups on the island before the Saladoid or Arawakan expansion to the Greater Antilles (unless we are already outdated in our terminology here). We matched the two ancient Haitians from Diale for approximately the same amount of total shared cM on 2 segments. It would be interesting if part of that shared ancestry was from the earlier, Archaic population.

Anacaona's Gift

Anacaona's Gift: Cotton and the woven arts of the 11th to 17th century Caribbean by Joanna Ostapkowicz is a must-read for anyone interested in the material culture and history of the indigenous peoples of the Caribbean. Despite the paucity of extant materials made of cotton, the archival sources, Spanish chronicles, ethnographic analogies with South American peoples, and close analysis of ceramics and indigenous sculpture reveal often neglected aspects of Taino textile production and weaving traditions. Ostapkowicz presents compelling evidence for cotton production and weaving as one of great importance for the indigenous peoples economically, socially and politically and religiously. Cotton, as a source of material for wrapping cemis or for making hats, caps, naguas, masks, crowns, belts, capes, arm and leg bands, hammocks, burial shrouds, was undoubtedly a specialist activity for the most elaborate and best products. This made it an extension of cacical power or authority, particularly if the caciques controlled the storehouses where cotton was stored before redistributing it through their families, communities or other caciques. It is possible that elite women may have been the ones responsible for producing the best quality cotton goods, such as those using gold, shell, stone, feathers, and other products to produce refined cemis, belts, or elite regalia. Indeed, their elite status likely freed them from some of the other daily domestic duties of women who likely wove most of the cloth used by the indigenous societies of the island.

Much of the book analyzes closely each example or type of item made with or using cloth in so-called Taino and Kalinago cultures. This close analysis includes basketry, too, for additional examples of weaving use fiber materials. But the bulk of the analysis focuses on types of clothing and the application of cotton materials for wrapping or constructing materials like belts or cemi materials. The artistic and labor skills required to have produced some of the best examples must have been astonishing, which suggests there were specialized textile workers. Similarly, the production of the most elaborate stools (duhos) and platters or wooden objects similarly required experienced workers. Their close association with caciques, especially in the production of items and goods that, at their most refined level, were for elites, attests to a degree of power and hierarchy in the indigenous Caribbean chiefdoms more complex than many realize. Perhaps interpreting too literally Columbus and other chroniclers who often emphasized the nudity of the Taino, scholars have truly missed another dimension of the complex material culture. Indeed, some of these elaborate works featured thousands of beads, different weaving patterns, complex geometric patterns, and skillful use of gold or feathers. The arm bands, caps, skirts, and hammocks, sadly, have not survived, but the level of skill required to produce them (and in quantity) are a testament to the relatively high level of production. 

An area not fully explored however, and this is due to our limited sources in terms of surviving artifacts, is the extent to which the entire population of the cacicazgo had access to certain goods, like hammocks. Moscoso, for example, seemed to think hammocks were not universally used by all Taino. Similarly, the shortages of hammocks and the importation of cloth from Europe (not enough in the early colonial period, but a source for hammocks for settlers who took to the hammock) deserves further inquiry. To what extent were indigenous weavers in Jamaica learning to make European-styled clothes? Was there an increase in the scale of production for the "market" during European colonial rule, despite the lack of interest by Spaniards for cotton plantations in places like Hispaniola? What about Xaragua, when its tribute to Columbus was in cotton and included extra cotton treasures give by Anacaona? In other words, what were the mechanisms for the increase in textile production before colonialism? Was Xaragua, already noted for its cotton, producing a surplus for trade with other parts of Hispaniola, Cuba, and Jamaica? And to what extent were Taino products possibly exported south to the Lesser Antilles or the South American mainland for items like guanin? 

Caribbean Ancient DNA...

Although hardly the most sophisticated or reliable method, using Gedmatch's autosomal DNA comparison feature can be entertaining and occasionally useful. In this case, comparing our data to that of around 42 kits of ancient samples was an interesting experience. Indeed, of the 42 ancient samples, we only had matches with 4 individuals, which is significant. All 4 of them, however, were either individuals from Cuba or the Bahamas, surprisingly. We apparently did not share DNA, at least not detectable using Gedmatch, with ancient persons from Puerto Rico and Hispaniola with kits on Gedmatch (that we know of). The dates given for the samples are from undated in one case but the others the woman from Preacher's Cave, in the Bahamas, was the subject of an important article published in 2018 by Hannes Schroeder. According to this study, "Results are consistent with Puerto Ricans and the ancient Taino forming a clade without any significant gene-flow postdivergence." Clearly, the ancient Lucayan woman's genome was similar to that of modern-day Puerto Ricans. Indeed, this study found that Puerto Ricans share large parts of their genome with the ancient "Taino" of the Caribbean. Another study found similarities between the Preacher's Cave sample and precontact Puerto Rico samples in terms of autosomal DNA. These similarities also extend to South American Amazonian groups, such as the Yukpa, Piapoco, Karitiana, and Surui. Furthermore, modern Puerto Ricans harbor mtDNA that is at least partly a reflection of precontact Puerto Rico populations. 

What we find interesting in our matches is the lack of a Puerto Rico or Hispaniola connection. While this is probably, in part, due to the less sophisticated tools and models via Gedmatch, we did match with another ancient "Taino" sample from the Bahamas. On Gedmatch, it is called Kit WE2232796 (*Bahamas Taino Native), with further indication that its test results are from 23andMe. Is this one of their indigenous Caribbean samples the company uses? This person appears to be the same as the Atunwa Inaru, the name given to this ancient woman from the Bahamas. Anyway, we only shared a total of 3 segments, the longest at 3.6 cM. Our total Half-Match segments was 9.7 cM and a total of 458412 SNPs were used, with 47.467 percent fully identical. As one might expect, shared DNA with someone who lived several centuries ago would be low. Yet, with another kit from the same woman from Preacher's Cave, Atunwa Inaru on Gedmatch, we shared a total Half-Match segments of 14 cM, with the largest segment at 6.7 cM of 3 shared segments. 260057 SNPs were used for the comparison with 38.498 percent identical. We assume this match is at least somewhat reliable since geneticists using more sophisticated matches noted similarities in the ancestry of the Preacher's Cave sample and that of modern and ancient Puerto Ricans. We are not sure which of the two kits for the same person are more accurate or reliable, though we'd bet money on the first kit. 

The other two matches, however, remain more problematic. Both are from Cuba, although the date and exact location are unclear. One, called Brizuela on Gedmatch, is supposedly from the 12th century. With that sample, we share one segment at 4.5 cM, but at a lower SNP density. The other sample from Cuba shared even less with us, only 3.8 cM. But, with this Cuban sample, more SNPs and at a higher density. One wonders if these Cuban samples may reflect a 'ceramic' culture whose ancestors included some of the same groups who migrated into the Bahamas from Hispaniola. Or, alternatively, due to the widespread seafaring abilities of the indigenous Caribbean and the lack of evidence for inbreeding in the sample from Preacher's Cave, perhaps some groups found spouses or significant others from distant islands in the archipelago. What we do not understand, however, is our inability to find ancient samples from Hispaniola with whom we share DNA...

Taino Art and Duhos

 

While appreciating some of the brilliant pieces of polychrome ceramics produced in ancient Puerto Rico, included in Mela Pons Alegria's book on Saladoid ceramics, we could not help but notice certain patterns and designs that recur in later Taino art. While some of these similarities may be explained by recurring patterns and geometric designs influenced by hallucinations, others suggest deeply rooted practices and aesthetics that were likely inherited by the later "Taino" civilization. The above piece, a rather remarkable decorative plate with 3 circles, each one with a distinctive central circle within. The circles are organized along a line and each one appears to have what may be legs, perhaps something akin to a frog?

The similar arrangement of 3 circles along a line was a frequent motif in Taino duhos, or stools. While the stools were produced centuries later, the fact that the back often had the similar design of 3 circles is likely significant. Perhaps the 3 circles, representing the Sun, Moon, and horizon, signified the cosmos that was supporting a Taino cacique? The above example, from Hispaniola and reproduced in Arrom's careful study of Taino art and mythology, is one of the best examples of the pinnacle reached by duho sculptures. Other pieces with even more elaborate backs included intricate panel designs with faces. Indeed, the pattern of 3 circles on high-backed duhos can even be seen in stone stools found in Puerto Rico and some of the stools from the Bahamas.

Undoubtedly, the similar designs on duhos from Hispaniola, Puerto Rico and the Bahamas points to some degree of common culture and cultural exchange. In addition, if women were the potters among the Saladoid culture in ancient Puerto Rico as well as the producers of some of these elaborate duhos, as suggested by Pieter Martyr d'Anghiera for the case of Xaragua in Haiti, perhaps female artisans inherited some of the same designs and applied it to a different medium, wood and stone. For instance, one can see stylistic similarities in the faces of anthropomorphic and animal figures in stone trigonolith cemis from Puerto Rico and wooden duhos from Hispaniola. This suggests that the artists of these works were competent with stone, wood and possibly ceramics or pottery. Granted our evidence for women producers of duhos is only available for the inhabitants of La Gonave, but it is suggestive of a possible deeply rooted tradition of circular patterns from pottery adjusted to duhos. 

Thus, in our minds, the consistent pattern of 3 circles on high-backed duhos from 3 different island cultures that shared the "mosaic" of Tainoness points to trade and common origins. The pattern of the 3 circles must have held some deep meaning, which the ancient Hacienda Grande decorative plate may have shared. As mentioned previously, it likely had religious relevance and could have been tied to a common cosmovision. We know the Sun was important in the Taino cosmovision, and perhaps the 3 circles symbolized the stars? Alternatively, the Hacienda Grande pot features what may be legs, perhaps an allusion to frogs or another animal associated with life. In addition, the designs might symbolize life if the squatting position are associated with frogs, water, and birth. 

The remarkable continuity of motifs and styles across different mediums like pottery, stone and wooden sculpture strongly suggest cultural continuity and exchange in Hispaniola, Puerto Rico and the Bahamas. The deeply rooted Saladoid tradition must have influenced subsequent cultural development, particularly in Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. Unfortunately, we have not seen more examples of ceramics and sculpture from the Hacienda Grande and other cultures of Puerto Rico, but we suspect like later Taino art, some of the patterns of their ceramics were reproduced in their sculptures.

Our theory, of course, is pure speculation. But it does suggest some possible antiquity to aesthetic styles found on the ornate duhos of Puerto Rico, Hispaniola and the Bahamas. That the symbol was found on the more elaborate of stools, associated with caciques and cohoba ceremonies, one must assume its frequency was related to the Taino cosmovision and spirituality. Despite the several centuries separating the elegant Hacienda Grande pottery and the later duhos, one might see elements of later "Taino" beliefs reflected in their art. 

Caonabo, the Stranger King

Although the author admits to the speculative nature of some of his conclusions, Taino Indian Myth and Practice: The Arrival of the Stranger King, Keegan's study is a thought-provoking work on the basis of cacical authority and the inter-island connections in the late precolonial Caribbean. Using Las Casas's claim that Caonabo was from the Bahamian archipelago, Keegan endeavors to use ethnohistoric and archaeological methods to identify the possible village site Caonabo came from. Of course, since the sources are problematic and our understanding of Taino worldview less than ideal, Keegan must use potentially misleading or unrepresentative writings on Taino mythology (mainly Pané) to make meaning of the Spanish sources. Indeed, this is a necessity but there is always the danger of generalizing and homogenizing based on Pané's recordings of the specific beliefs of one particular cacicazgo of Hispaniola. Despite these risks, and  the author's recognition of far greater diversity among the peoples of the Taino Interaction Sphere, he still uses Pané (and the interpretations of Taino religion from Stevens-Arroyo's scholarship) heavily to reconstruct the mythic geography of the Taino. Caonabo's alleged origins at a specific site in Middle Caicos requires heavy allegiance to Stevens-Arroyo's work on Pané.

Since Keegan accepts the greater diversity of Taino peoples and the antiquity of ceramics in Cuba and Hispaniola soon after the Saladoid culture reached Puerto Rico, the deeper history of migrations, cultural exchanges, and eventually colonization of the Bahamas is a more complex process than one would think. Indeed, if Keegan is correct about the matrilineal and avunculocal nature of the Taino chiefdoms, perhaps some specific sites in the Bahamas were short-term and long-term settlements meant to provide fish, salt, and shell beads to Hispaniola. Caciques, whose power was at least partly based on marriage alliances with numerous other communities (as well as their ability to communicate with numinous beings), could have been linked to Middle Caicos sites from northern Hispaniola. Marriage alliances could have meant Caonabo was born at the MC-6 site excavated by Sullivan and Keegan, but his mother was from Hispaniola, perhaps Maguana. Caonabo then would have been eligible to succeed to the office of cacique in Hispaniola through his mother's kin, and perhaps would have embodied aspects of a stranger "king" with roots in an island that provided salt and marine resources (or salted fish) to Hispaniola. This remains rather speculative and uncertain, and one still has to consider the reason why Las Casas believed Caonabo rose to position of chiefdom: his military prowess. Perhaps his background on Middle Caicos may have prepared him, or he displayed distinct warrior talent in his early youth after relocating to the cacicazgo of his mother? 

Since so much remains unknown of Caonabo's origins and the Spanish sources, beginning with Columbus, were guilty of creating their own myths and legends of Caribbean indigenous peoples, much remains uncertain. Columbus himself, according to Keegan, was guilty of misunderstanding the Taino reference to the Carib as part of a mythology that also included notions of guanin and an island inhabited only by women. The fact that Columbus was sometimes mistaken to be a Carib himself has apparently escaped critical attention by many scholars. In fact, if the Spanish could also be perceived as Caribs, then the alleged cannibalism of the Caribs should be seen as part of Taino mythic geography. Indeed, perhaps this is why Caonabo, who was not born on Hispaniola, could be referred to as "Carib" by Oviedo and at the same time embody some of the mythic characteristics equated with outsiders. Indeed, Keegan goes even further, suggesting that Caonabo may have cultivated or been associated with Deminan and his 3 brothers (Caonabo was said to have 3 brothers) and possibly was seen as the guardian of the Cave of the Jagua from which humans first arose. In addition, Keegan produces evidence from MC-6 and the site of El Corral de los Indios in today's San Juan de la Maguana to point to certain patterns of astronomically aligned plazas and Taino monuments reflecting the culture's mythology or cosmovision. 

Indeed, the MC-6 appears even more unique in this regard with its own plaza recalling those of Hispaniola. Since Caonabo was ruler of Maguana, and would have been familiar with the plazas of MC-6 and Maguana, one can link him to MC-6 for its exceptional qualities. After all, it is possible that only an exceptional site in the Lucayan islands would have produced someone capable of becoming the most powerful cacique of Hispaniola. And due to his position, Caonabo would have intervened with Guacanagari's chiefdom by destroying La Navidad, in order to protect his own position as the "dominant" stranger king of Hispaniola. Even if Caonabo was, through his mother, actually part of the kinship structure of Maguana or another Hispaniola chiefdom, he was still remote or enough of a stranger to accumulate possible mythological characteristics linked to his political office. He would have felt a strong threat from Columbus as a potential contender, or perhaps someone through whom Guacanagari could have become a threat. Caonabo, already allied with Beheccio through his marriage to Anacaona, may have dominated half of Hispaniola with Jaragua. A newcomer allied with a different cacicazgo could have threatened the political stability of the island.

Perhaps most interesting is the archaeological evidence for cacical authority reflected in sites such as En Bas Saline, MC-6, San Juan de la Maguana. Citing evidence from another archaeologists analysis of En Bas Saline, Keegan presents evidence that the households of caciques were not exempt from the daily tasks and chores of commoner households. Moreover, it is possible that caciques did not actually impose sumptuary restrictions on their population, but monopolized the distribution of luxuries like iguana meat for festivals or feasts. Indeed, it remains unknown to what degree caciques actually controlled production in their polities through tribute or other means. However, caciques must have had access to skilled labor for the production of luxury crafts, communities for long-distance trade or manufacturing of shell-beads and salted fish off Hispaniola, and the construction of elaborate plazas and ballcourts. Undoubtedly, the cacique's rise to supremacy over behiques with regards to contact with the divine through the cohoba ritual was an important aspect of the ideological basis for political authority. As a result, the form of a Taino village and the most elaborate plazas with astronomical alignments for the solstice and Orion must have reinforced the cacique's authority as leader of a community spatially organized in recognition of the cemis. Whether or not this means the most powerful cacicazgos were en route to state formation from a "tribal-tributary" model is up for debate. But one is led to think that at least the matunheri caciques wielded tremendous power. Indeed, some may have even sponsored short-term and long-term colonization in nearby islands to harvest resources for use in Hispaniola.

Duhos and Taino Chiefdoms

Taino duhos are some of the best-known and most elaborate works of pre-Columbian Caribbean craftsmanship and art. Associated with cacical authority and the elites of Taino society, the best known duhos are often sculpted of wood. Many possess two-dimensional geometric patterns and designs and feature anthropomorphic or zoomorphic faces and features. Although stools are widely used in South and Central American indigenous cultures, among the Taino, duhos, particularly the ornate wooden ones, have stood the test of time and still serve as a testament to the artistic talent and technical brilliance of indigenous woodcarvers. As powerful artifacts associated with caciques and the elites, they can also be a powerful source or analysis for reconstructing something of Taino ruling ideology. Their restricted use, elaborateness, and the addition of symbols that may be based on cotton textiles, belts, navels, cemis (and/or ancestors) and entoptic phenomena suggest art and religion were closely entwined in an overall ideology of rulership.

Joanna Ostapkowicz, author of the thesis Taíno Wooden Sculpture: Duhos, Rulership and the Visual Arts in the 12th-16th Century, appears to be one of the world's leading experts on the subject. Her thesis, including an extended catalog of extant duhos and their provenience and museum acquisition histories, establishes that at least 147 duhos have survived. Unfortunately, several have been damaged and the original contextual location of the find is not always clear. More than a few pieces probably ended up in private hands and several more likely await discovery in the Caribbean. Haiti, for example, with La Gonave identified as one center of production during the time of Anacaona, might yield more duhos of wood that could shed light on their production and distribution. Ostapkowicz's study also includes those built of stone as well as wood, but the wooden ones are often the most remarkable. In addition to examining the known origins of over 100 duhos, she includes examples of other wooden sculpture in Taino art traditions. A sophisticated review and discussion of known scholarship on Taino chiefdoms, the role of women in production, animal symbolism, and the relationship between rituals and ideology in cacical authority and duho use cover the rest of the dissertation.

The technical aspects of production are likewise included, as she estimates that wooden duhos constructed out of dense, tropical hardwoods like guayacan, would have likely required a specialist artisan (part-time or perhaps master artisan) 4 to 6 hours per day and at least a year to finish. This does not include the amount of time required to fell a tree or the seasoning time, either. Undoubtedly, crafting elaborate duhos required a woodcarver who know how to select the appropriate tree and the mastery of techniques with adzes, heat, and cutting to produce a finished stool. At the time this was written, the specific type of wood used for the duho or more precise dating was lacking. Today, however, some duhos have been dated as far back as the 13th century. Ostapkowicz's analysis and dating of other wooden artifacts, such as cohoba stands, suggest elaborate woodcarving in guayacan probably developed centuries earlier. Indeed, some masterpieces of Taino Hispaniola wooden sculpture date back to the 11th or 12th centuries. Perhaps elaborate duhos carved from guayacan or mahogany were already in circulation by the 11th century, possibly of restricted, elite use and distribution? This would suggest an efflorescence of Taino arts and cacical authority a few centuries before the dates proposed by Rouse.

Where Ostapkowicz's analysis is most interesting is on the subject of women in production, exchange, and use of duhos. If, as indicated by Martyr d'Anghiera, women in La Gonave actually produced duhos and wooden sculptures, this would suggest women were not restricted only to ceramics, domestic duties and cotton cloth production. Moreover, if the duhos depict the anthropomorphic or zoomorphic figure wearing cotton bands, belts, and caps, produced by Taino women, then the role of goods produced by women were essential to elite accoutrement. Women were also involved in the transfer of duhos, as Anacaona herself gave duhos to the Spanish. Moreover, according to Ostapkowicz, duhos may have been inherited matrilineally and exchanged at weddings. Indeed, women were also participants in at least some of the ritual activities involving cohoba, and probably sat on duhos if in positions of authority as cacicas. The past assumptions of scholars for a strict gender segregation during cohoba rituals or the actual act of sitting on a duho, lack sufficient evidence. Even among various South American populations from whom ethnographic analogies are often sought, women occasionally use stools and participate in various hallucinogen-induced trances or rituals. 

Similarly important for understanding Taino society is the prominence of anthropomorphic features of several duhos. For Ostapkowicz, this emphasis is likely linked to ancestors and or cemis, as past cacique ancestors could also become cemis. By incorporating them into the duho, they literally and symbolically act as the foundation or support for the sitter. The sexual genitalia, linked to procreation, may have further supported this view. Moreover, the symbolism of trees with roots, trunks and branches associated with stages of life and connections to the subterranean world was likely linked to spirits, or seen as embodying or housing a spirit or being. Ostapkowicz, though skeptical of drawing too heavily on Pané, cites numerous episodes involving trees, wood, or, in one case, fruit. A tree moving on it own, and speaking with a behique through cohoba, can direct the shaman/carver into cutting it. Moreover, cemis carved of wood were also believed to be able to move on their own and escape from caciques or communities they were not interested in staying with. If ancestors were similarly venerated and could become cemis, their representation in a duho would become a powerful numinous quality that justified the sitter's right to office. Through sitting on the duho that was explicitly linked to powerful ancestors, and using the same duho in cohoba rituals or placing it in caves, the owner asserted their power to intercede between the human and other worlds in the Taino cosmos. In other words, elaborate duhos can be "read" as powerful texts of rulership. 

West Indians in Haiti: Anglophone Caribbean Immigration

Joseph Robert Love, a prominent Bahamian residing in Port-au-Prince during the 1880s. Initially working with James Theodore Holly, Love involved himself in Haitian political affairs and spoke for West Indians in Haiti.

Although the West Indian presence in Haiti began with runaway slaves fleeing to free Haitian soil before emancipation, emigration in the British West Indies took on new dimensions after 1838. Prior to Panama, Cuba, the Dominican Republic and Central America becoming popular destinations for intra-Caribbean migrants of the West Indies, Haiti was a common choice, particularly among Jamaicans. Fraser estimates the total number of West Indians in Haiti during the 19th century at 3000, although many of these people came and went throughout the period. Another source, based on Protestant estimates of the British subjects residing in the Black Republic in the 1870s, and cited in Griffith's dissertation on Methodism in Haiti, puts the number at 2000 Jamaicans in Port-au-Prince and 800 Bahamians in Cap-Haitien and Port-de-Paix. These West Indian migrants often formed families with Haitians, played a pivotal role in the early Protestant conversion of the native population, and filled a niche in the Haitian urban economy as merchants, artisans, mechanics, tailors, shoemakers, and cabinetmakers. Thus, even though the number of British West Indians in Haiti was quickly eclipsed by the numbers migrating for work opportunities in other parts of the circum-Caribbean, their conspicuous presence in the various port towns of Haiti reveal another dimension of intra-regional migration. Through Protestantism, they left a cultural impact on Haiti, while taking with them notions of black autonomy, the Haitian Revolution, and, in some cases, political organizing experience.

Advertisement for a garage that employed Jamaican mechanic Ernest Burkett for several years. Arnold Braun would later sell the business to a Haitian, and Burkett worked as the chief mechanic.

Perhaps the best source of information on the legacy of British West Indian subjects in Haitian history is Philippe Jean-Francois's contribution to Cap-Haitien: Excursions dans le temps, based largely on oral histories provided by his own family and others in Cap-Haitien who remember the koko presence in the historic city. The grandson of an immigrant tailor from Turks & Caicos, Jean-Francois relied on his mother and other descendants of migrants to account for their coming to northern Haiti, the economic and social dynamics of their presence in Cap-Haitien, and relations with the local population. Additional sources on the history of the Bahamas also point to merchants in Inagua establishing trade networks with Port-de-Paix and Okap. Haitian ships from Tortuga and the north exchanged agricultural produce, handicraft, and rum for currency and manufactured goods. The arrangement worked well for the southern Bahamas, which had easier access to northern Haitian ports than Nassau, perhaps well into the 20th century. Due to this trade network, some Bahamian families already had Haitian ancestry or resided in Cap-Haitien. Jean-Francois's account provides additional details on some of these Bahamians and Turks & Caicos migrants, many of whom worked in the trades. One of the earliest West Indian migrants in Cap-Haitien, James Cartright, arrived in 1870, while others arrived in subsequent decades, such as the Moss family or Jean-Francois's grandfather. An additional wave of West Indians also arrived to work in Haiti during the US Occupation, when their English and skilled trades were in demand. For example, a Jamaican, Alan Miller, worked for the electric company in Cap-Haitien. Other Jamaicans worked for HASCO, Plantation Dauphin, or some of the new industries that grew during the US Occupation. Some Jamaicans appear to have come as English teachers, like Miss Burke, who stayed in Port-au-Prince to manage an orphanage. Others worked as mechanics for the National Railroad Company, particularly on the Gonaives-Verrettes line and the Port-au-Prince-St. Marc line.



In 1893, James Moses is listed as an artisan in the Carenage area of Cap-Haitien, known for its Anglophone Caribbean character in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

Jean-Francois's essay indicates a degree of assimilation for West Indian immigrants, or at least for those in northern Haiti. Many retained their Anglican or other Protestant faith, as well as a tightly-knit network of families who supported each other for funerals and other community causes. However, their culinary tastes quickly adapted to the Haitian palate, and many married locals, as the case of Jean-Francois demonstrates. Perhaps they maintained informal benevolent societies, and their Protestant faith may have distanced them from local Haitian artisans, such as Coeurs-Unis, which leaned more heavily towards the Catholic Church. According to Fraser, two examples of benevolent associations established by a West Indian in Haiti failed as the founder absconded with the funds, but it is likely others existed through church networks or based on regional origins. Through their religious connections and social networks, they likely practiced some form of mutual aid. Others, perhaps tailors and similar master artisans, probably took on locals as apprentices, which may have diminished the social distance between West Indians and Haitians. Unfortunately, Jean-Francois does not examine that question,  but Péan's masterful trilogy on the hstory of Cap-Haitien describes the system of apprenticeship.

Nonetheless, descendants of many of these West Indian migrants appear in later newspaper accounts, such as a Nelie Cartright as Carnival Queen in Cap-Haitien. The Brights, Lightbourns, Bakers, Rokers, etc. have left an impact on various aspects of social life in Cap-Haitien. Indeed, according to Jean-Francois, their presence in the northern metropolis was strong enough to define Carenage as their quarter, where English and the various West Indian Creoles were overheard. Some of these West Indian artisans who arrived in the late 19th century probably took on Haitian apprentices, and may have appealed to some Capois families who recalled Henri Christophe's preference for the English language and promotion of industry. Of course, unregulated numbers of such West Indians could also be a cause for alarm, as Reveil revealed in an 1892 article on the hawkers and artisans of the West Indies in Cap-Haitien. The same article refers to similar conspicuous Antillean activity in other Haitian cities of the era. 

1892 article on the state of two habitations near Cap-Haitien. Vaudreuil, managed by the Etienne brothers, used more than 80 laborers from the Antilles on the estate. It is likely that these workers were from the Anglophone Caribbean. 

Interestingly, a few attempts at large-scale agriculture and concessions for exports also involved West Indian laborers. Fraser refers to the Maunders concession, which for a Tortuga agricultural venture in the early 1870s employed a  West Indian labor force. The project floundered, but some of these workers may have stayed in Tortuga and northern Haiti, perhaps joining other Caribbean immigrants in the 1870s. The Vaudreuil habitation, near Cap-Haitien, is also described as employing over 80 Antillean workers in 1892. In light of past attempts at using British West Indian laborers and Cap-Haitien's ties with Bahamian networks, it is very likely that these 80 or more workers were from the Anglophone Caribbean or British West Indies. Regrettably for the state of northern agriculture, the association of the Etienne brothers that successfully managed Vaudreuil fell apart in a few years. Perhaps these Antilleans joined their counterparts in Carenage? Or they may have moved on to better work prospects in the Dominican Republic, which by this time was experiencing immigration of cocolos to work in the burgeoning sugar industry. Regardless of the outcome, the vast majority of West Indian migrants in Haiti were not rural laborers or farmers. Most were concentrated in the urban areas, where they developed defined quarters and, eventually, assimilated into their host society through intermarriage and length of residence. Indeed, popular neighborhoods of Port-au-Prince also developed West Indian or perhaps African-American quarters, such as bourg anglais in Port-au-Prince. Smith describes the West Indians of Port-au-Prince as residing in areas like Port-au-Prince's Bel-Air, where they likely carried on social intercourse with the Haitian urban poor and laboring classes.

Miss Burke, a Jamaican who came to Haiti in the 1920s to teach English. She also ran an orphanage.

Many likely worked side by side with local artisans in Port-au-Prince's Bel-Air or Morne à Tuf. In Port-au-Prince, West Indians, especially Jamaicans, were known as drivers. Those not engaged in manual labor or artisan professions, however, included prominent merchants, such as the Crosswell or Cole families, who interfered in political conflicts in the 1880s. The 20th century brought Oswald Brandt, a Jamaican of German extraction who became the wealthiest man in Haiti. Some Jamaicans came as pastors of Protestant churches or for missionary work, such as the Jamaican Baptist Missionary society's work in Jacmel, Saint-Marc, and Cap-Haitien. Nosirhel Lherisson's Baptist schools and proselytizing in the Jacmel area was partly funded and supported by Jamaican Baptists. Indeed, Lherisson's proselytizing was likely the most successful of Protestant missions in the late 19th century and early 20th centuries, claiming around 2000 local converts. Jamaican residents in Jacmel were certainly present to aid in such efforts and to lead congregations comprised of fellow West Indians. In terms of total conversions, these Jamaican missions were not altogether successful, but Jamaican Baptists missions may have played a role in the Protestant faith of Jean Price-Mars, born in Grande-Riviere du Nord to a Protestant father in a region visited by these Baptist missionaries. Consequently, the early legacy of Protestant missions led by West Indians introduced new ideas and social relations in different parts of Haiti, probably spreading notions of the  Protestant work ethic, gender relations, and comportment in provincial Haiti. These West Indians may have also carried with them notions of respectability and black nationalist-informed perspectives on Christian faith. Perhaps they shaped the early examples of the types of Protestant Haitian peasants described by Bastien during the 1930s and 1940s.

Nossirhel Lhérisson, a Haitian convert to the Baptist Church, enjoyed support from Jamaican Baptists to proselytize across the Jacmel area. Source: Jacmel: sa contribution à l'Histoire d'Haïti

Some prominent West Indian migrants included Joseph Robert Love, a Bahamian who eventually settled in Jamaica. His experience in Haiti shaped his political ideology and eventually caused his departure. Nonetheless, he petitioned the British government on behalf of West Indians residing in Haiti, many of whom were blamed by Salomon for the 1883 attempted revolt. Love later lectured on Haitian history in Jamaica, and his newspaper shaped a young Marcus Garvey. Perhaps unsurprisingly, West Indians were not represented well by British consuls. Their Haitian-born children were denied the right of British citizenship, an episode described in Griffith's work on the Methodists in Haiti. This indicates a sizable number of West Indian descendants raised in Haiti, probably the very same people who would express an interest in Garveyism during the US Occupation. Thus, Garveyism in Haiti returned to its roots through Love's legacy. Theodora Holly, the daughter of a famous  African-American Episcopal Bishop in Haiti, appears to be the most engaged Haitian to involve herself with the UNIA (Elie Garcia was also involved), but the Episcopalians and other Protestants of Haiti, which included many West Indians and their progeny, would have been the followers of the UNIA through their Negro World newspaper. During the US Occupation, other West Indians residing in Cap-Haitien and Port-de-Paix may have followed news of Garvey, too. For instance, a bar run by Marcy Myers, a Bahamian in Port-de-Paix, served American servicemen and other Bahamian traders, stevedores, and deckhands. These networks may have solidified a small base for Garveyism.

Hurst, whose mother was a descendant of African-American immigrants, was AME Bishop in Haiti. His father was, if not of African-American origins, West Indian. The AME Church in Hispaniola, first brought by African-American immigrants in the 1820s, grew in the late 19th and early 20th centuries through West Indian immigration.

Nearing the end of the US Occupation and the proceeding decades, the Jamaican colonie is referenced several times in Port-au-Prince's newspapers. In 1931, Le Matin expressed concern over Jamaicans leaving Cuba for Haiti. This is likely the context in which the Daily Gleaner published articles about Jamaican immigration as a matter of concern to Haitian authorities, alluding to Haitian attempts to limit Jamaican immigration in Haiti. Unlike Cuba and the Dominican Republic, however, Haitian attempts to block Jamaican immigration were not racial, but due to a fear of their impact on the poor already struggling in Port-au-Prince. Other Jamaicans who came in the 1930s and 1940s were not so unfortunate. For example, Jocelyn McCalla led the effort to launch friendly soccer tournaments between Haitian and Jamaican teams. McCalla also hosted several Jamaican visitors in Port-au-Prince. Ernest Burkett, a Jamaican chief mechanic at the West Indies Garage, appears in the press. Burkett had been in Haiti since the 1920s or 1930s, when the business was owned by Arnold Braun. Braun later sold it to a Haitian, who directed it in partnership with Burkett. Other Jamaicans appeared in the press in terms of high-profile visitors to Haiti, travels back and forth between the two islands, or, in one case, a Jamaican employee of Plantation Dauphin defending the Black Republic from bad press in the Daily Gleaner. The Duvalierist era probably led many in the Jamaican community of Port-au-Prince to leave, either for North America or Jamaica. Burkett himself was expelled for some time by Francois Duvalier, and others of West Indian descent likely found better opportunities abroad. Like Hubert Bright of Cap-Haitien, who worked as an interpreter in Anglophone Canada, more remunerative opportunities in Canada or the US acted as pull factors for emigration.

George Angus, one of the Jamaican Baptists active in the St. Marc area. He married a Haitian.

Perhaps due to racial consanguinity and their ultimately small numbers (possibly no greater than 3000 across a century), the Anglophone West Indian presence does not seem to have sparked the ire of Haitians. A few references to their predominance in some of the trades likely reflected Haitian frustrations over the foreign dominance of nearly every aspect of the economy by the end of the 19th century. References to attempts to limit their numbers in 1931 (around the same time Haitian frustrations over the Chinese presence manifest) illustrate some tension, but that was likely in relation to the Depression. Other than these few instances of anger or anxiety about local labor, perhaps also associated with the West Indians working for the US Occupation, they appear to be a welcome population who have assimilated into Haitian society. Of course, the occupational niches filled by West Indians in Haiti were less attractive in the years after the Occupation, and since so few were engaged in rural labor, the West Indian presence in Haiti was only a fraction of the plethora who labored in Central America or Cuba. Nevertheless, the history of Anglophone Caribbean immigration in Haiti impacted the spread of Protestantism, urban tradesmen, and black nationalist sentiment for both Haiti and the Caribbean.

James Weldon Johnson and Haiti

Did you know that the composer of the black national anthem, "Lift Every Voice and Sing," is of partial Haitian descent? Though his mother is from the Bahamas, her name, according to Wikipedia, is Helen Louise Dillet, and this indicates that Johnson and his composer brother were sons of a Nassau woman of Haitian descent, born in 1842. The question is, however, were her parents Saint Dominguans leaving a French colony or were they leaving an independent state of Haiti? Evidence would suggest his mother's descent can be traced to enslaved Saint Dominguans who moved to the Bahamas, which is part of the reason French surnames can be found there, such as the famous Sidney Poitier. Apparently, his mother's ancestry can be traced to a Stephen Dillet, a slave from Saint Domingue sent away from the island on a schooner by a Frenchman with the surname Dillet, which likely indicates French ancestry, too, a fact one can find in his autobiography.  Maybe this may be part of the reason Johnson so passionately documented abuses of power on the part of US Marines in Haiti during the American occupation, because he took pride in the Haitian Revolution and Haiti as a symbol for black liberation as well as the land of his mother's forebears. Thus, one can see the influence of Haiti, the first black state in the hemisphere, as a definite presence in "Lift Every Voice and Sing" and the long history of black nationalism. On that note, enjoy the lyrics of this beautiful tribute to black solidarity and freedom!

Lift every voice and sing, till earth and Heaven ring,

Ring with the harmonies of liberty;

Let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies,

Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.

Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,

Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;

Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,

Let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod,

Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;

Yet with a steady beat, have not our weary feet

Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?

We have come over a way that with tears has been watered;

We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered;

Out from the gloomy past, till now we stand at last

Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,

Thou Who hast brought us thus far on the way;

Thou Who hast by Thy might, led us into the light,

Keep us forever in the path, we pray.

Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee.

Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee.

Shadowed beneath Thy hand, may we forever stand,

True to our God, true to our native land.