Banning Enslavement of Caribs (1739)

 

Whilst randomly perusing Gallica and other sites, we came across Copie d'un ordre du roi interdisant de réduire en esclavage les Indiens Caraïbes, a royal declaration banning the enslavement of Caribs or Kalinago peoples in the French Caribbean. Dated 1739, it obviously did not completely ban or outlaw the enslavement of Kalinago and other indigenous peoples. After all, "Caribs" even appear in some of the runaway slave notices in Saint Domingue from later decades. 

Alexis Saugrain's Martinique and Saint Christophe Origins

Saugrain and Faste were the parents of Alexis, Charles, and their brother, Francois. ANOM's Leogane records are priceless for trying to track down some of the later Bainet and Jacmel residents.

So it turns out that Alexis Saugrain, born in c.1696, in Saint-Domingue, was actually the son of parents from Martinique and Saint-Christophe. According to the 1694 Leogane parish register, Alexis's parents were married in that year. His father, whose parents were from Caux and Rouen, was probably born in Martinique or perhaps his family moved there relatively soon after his birth. It is interesting to note that the mother of Francois Saugrain was named Marguerite Tremonie in Martinique, but Tresorier in Saint-Domingue. Her name also changed to Magdelaine in Saint-Domingue, perhaps through errors of the parish priests in Leogane and Jacmel? Francois Saugrain was illiterate and couldn't have corrected them. Perhaps Marguerite Tremonie is the most likely candidate for his mother's name.

Thanks to ANOM, we know that a sister of Francois Saugrain died in Case-Pilote in 1727, around 80 years old. If accurate, she was probably born in the late 1740s or early 1750s. Another source, Personnes et familles à la Martinique au XVIIe siècle: d'après recensements et terrier nominatifs includes a roll or census from1680, suggests Jeanne Sogrin (Saugrin) was born in 1655.

From what I could gather from Martinique rolls, censuses and other documents, one of Francois's sisters was born in or around 1655. One document from 1671 also mentions the Saugrin, indicating they were definitely established in the Case-Pilote area of Martinique by 1671. I cannot tell if Francois Saugrain's sisters were born on the island, but I suspect he was. Like the Marin who married the first Marillac in Jacmel, Francois Saugrain appears to have been another example of a Martinique Creole who relocated to Saint Domingue. And like other early French colonists in the Antilles, the Saugrain were from Normandie. We wonder if their descendants in Martinique know that they have black Haitian cousins through Alexis Saugrain and Suzanne?

In 1682, a cousin of Alexis Saugrain was baptized in Martinique.

In addition to Martinique, Alexis Saugrain could also claim origins in Saint-Christophe, the other old French colony in the Caribbean. His mother, Barbe Faste, was a native of that island who, like many others, ended up in Saint Domingue in the late 1600s. I could not find any trace of her mother, Jeanne Gourdel, unfortunately. Her father, Guillaume Faste, may have been the Guillaume Foster listed in a 1671 census shared by the good people of Généalogie et Histoire de la Caraïbe. This is just a theory, but Faste and Foster could sound similar to a Francophone person. Besides, there was no other Guillaume with a surname similar to Faste. Perhaps the Foster surname is an indication of English origin, unsurprising in Saint-Christophe. At least we have a better idea of the origins of Alexis Saugrain in terms of the longer history of French colonialism and slavery in the Antilles. It is a long, sordid history and insidious legacy which still affects Haiti, Martinique, and Saint Kitts.

An English Guillaume Fostre or Foster appears in the 1671 Census of Saint-Christophe, also available on FamilySearch. This was probably the father of Barbe Faste, although he seems to have been married to a woman named Gidienne, not Jeanne.

Amerindian Presence in Saint Domingue

Grand Soleil, leader of the Natchez people. Their chief, also known as St. Cosme, was sold into slavery in Saint Domingue in the 1730s with 100s of his people. 

One topic that occasionally resurfaces is the theme of the indigenous past in Haitian history and literature. While the symbolism of the Taino or the indigenous past is worthy of research as a topic of its own merit, it is also interesting to consider French Saint Domingue's historically-documented "Indian" populations from the insular Caribbean and North and South America. These groups, rather than the Taino, were historically relevant and, arguably, significant in the early days of French settlement in Tortuga and Hispaniola. Indeed, during the time of the buccaneers and the frontier-like conditions of early Saint Domingue, indigenous peoples from the Caribbean and other lands were an important presence among the enslaved population and as trading partners of the French. By this era, the 17th century and early 18th century, there were no more indigenous Taino "Indians" on the island, unless one counts "mixed-race" descendants of Indians in corners of Spanish Santo Domingo. The village of Boya, for instance, was alleged by 18th century French and 19th century Haitian sources to have been founded as an Indian village in the 1500s, although none of its residents were "pure" Taino. Some 19th century Haitian authors such as Thomas Madiou and Emile Nau also admitted a degree of aboriginal ancestry among the Dominican population, but not for the Haitian population. Of course, that does not stop some more absurd manifestations of Taino revivalism from exaggerating Taino cultural traces in today's Haitians.

As for the indigenous populations of the island and Haiti, there seems to be very little evidence of any connection between modern Haitians and the precolonial inhabitants of the island. The "Indiens" of Saint Domingue appear to have come from Caribs, the Guianas, Louisiana, North America, and the Yucatan. To reiterate, by the time of the French presence in the 17th century, there were no more Taino groups on the island. Besides possible influence via Spanish Santo Domingo and today's Dominican Republic, one must look to the diverse "Indien" populations of the French colonial population. This makes it very unlikely that "Tainos" had any significant influence on Haitian culture, religion, and folklore, despite what one may find in Haitian literature or intellectual thought (Nau, Alexis, Beauvoir-Dominique). However, there very well could be influences from non-Taino populations in Saint Domingue, which is a topic of interest in its own right. This may explain some of the alleged "Amerindian" aspects to Haitian culture more than any far-fetched theory of cultural continuity from the pre-Columbian population of the island to modern Haitians.

Runaway ad for Joseph, a Carib. Caribs continued to appear in runaway slave ads and were imported to Saint Domingue. Even when held in low regard as captives, they continued to be exploited as chattel throughout the 18th century.

So, where does one begin with the "Indien" presence of Saint Domingue? One must go back to the origins of French colonization of the Caribbean, particularly St. Christophe and the Lesser Antilles. The French encountered "Carib" groups who were still autonomous, and occasionally a threat to Spanish and European settlements in the region. In their interactions with Caribs, the Dutch, English and enslaved Africans, the seeds of the French Antilles were planted. It was probably there, during the 17th century, that early French lexical Creoles evolved. By the second half of the 17th century, a French presence was asserting itself in Tortuga and northern Saint Domingue, propelled by expulsions from St. Christophe. According to 18th century Saint Domingue sources, many of the affranchi families claimed descent from "Indian" women and French men who left St. Christophe. Whether or not that was actually true is another question, but the French and English did interact with the Caribs in St. Christophe before slaughtering them. It is also likely the case that, due to the paucity of European women, some French married "Indian" women. Moreover, among the French and other Europeans in Tortuga were Caribs and "Indian" slaves. Indeed, in 1653, the number of "Indian" slaves was higher than those of Africans in Tortuga. "Indian" slaves from the Caribs and other groups were also acquired through raids on Spanish territories. One expedition to the Yucatan in the late 1600s brought several indigenous women to the southern part of Saint Domingue, where most ended up as wives to Frenchmen. Thus, "Indians" were, in the early period of French colonization, a significant part of the captive population while "Indian" women were probably represented among the mothers of "mixed-race" people in the colony's southern regions.

A woman departing for France listed an Indian women for sale, alongside two others of African descent, in her advertisement posted in the main Saint Domingue newspaper. The "Indienne" woman is said to have domestic skills many Indian women in the colony were employed for. She could also have been of "East Indian" origin, but Moreau de Saint-Mery mentioned the common use of "Amerindian" women for domestic labor.

"Indians" were not only captives to the French, but traders and fellow participants in French raids on Spanish colonies. The 17th century competition for Caribbean colonies among the European powers in the region led to conditions favorable for trading relations that may have created opportunities for various "Indian" groups to play Europeans against each other. For instance, 3 Indian chiefs from the Gulf of Darien, whose subjects had cooperated with French raids against Spanish colonies, were treated as guests of honor by the governor of Saint Domingue in Leogane. In 1701, a Pedre, chief of the Sambres, was also received by the interim governor in Leogane, suggesting trade relations that were still important. That "Indian" chiefs were honored guests to the political establishment of the colony in the late 17th century is a testament to trade links and raiding partnerships between French and "Indians" in the circum-Caribbean region. Indeed, Caribs and other "Indian" populations sold African or "Indian" slaves to the French, angering the monopoly company established by the French government to provide African slaves to Saint Domingue. This suggests that in those early frontier-like days of Saint Domingue, before plantation slavery was firmly entrenched and the shift to sugar and coffee plantations began, the French colony partly relied on partnerships and relations with indigenous populations in the region. Through their trading partnerships with "Indian" groups and other populations, they procured slaves, supplies, and relationships that likely profited both sides, at least initially. The "Indian" captives probably worked as domestics and, perhaps, alongside indentured French workers and African slaves on tobacco plantations in the 1600s.

Free people of "Indian" descent sometimes appeared in the newspapers. Marie-Magdelaine Nicole, for instance, is listed as a "mestive libre," and was tied to a merchant in Le Cap. While "mestives" (which was perhaps more ambiguous as a racial category than one might suspect) may not always connote "Amerindian" heritage, it often did. 

However, the transition to plantation slavery and the reliance on enslaved Africans altered the nature of "Amerindian" relations with French Saint Domingue. Tied to this process is French colonialism in Louisiana, Guyane, and Canada, as wars between the French and various native groups occasionally led to their enslavement. Or, as in the case of North America, the English colonies also sold Native Americans to the French. One particularly noticeable example occurred in the 1730s, when an estimated 500 Natchez were sold to Saint Domingue after losing a war with the French. While Indians were probably never more than a tiny minority of the enslaved population in 18th century Saint Domingue (Geggus suggests that the combined population of "Amerindian" and "East Indian" slaves in Saint Domingue was less than 1% of the total by the late 1700s), their presence shaped colonial definitions of race and inclusion. One cannot discount the possibility that they were more numerous among the free people of color, too.

 

According to Moreau de Saint-Mery, "Amerindian" slaves in the colony hailed from the "sauvages" of South America, Mississippi, the Fox and others in North America, and Caribs. While a Creole proverb would suggest Caribs were not seen as "good" slaves, a number of them appear in runaway slave ads. A few were identified as "mulatto" or mixed-race, and it is likely that Caribs were transported to Saint Domingue from other French colonies within the Caribbean, or perhaps the product of conflicts between independent Carib groups in the Lesser Antilles with the French. Indian women and children from Louisiana and North America were sometimes, per Moreau de Saint-Mery, brought by the English, and often employed as domestics. The English, it must be remembered, engaged in active slave trading of indigenous people in North America, often shipping them to colonies in the Caribbean. French Louisiana, according to Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, also engaged in a small-scale trade of Indian captives for African or black slaves, following English practices. It was probably an ongoing trade for much of the 1700s as French settlers in Louisiana expressed an interest in acquiring African slaves. The trade was common enough to the point that, as Jack Forbes cites, a Spanish ship of Santo Domingo intercepted a French vessel carrying Indians to Saint Domingue in the 1750s. Unfortunately for those interested in studying the "Indians" of Saint Domingue, quantifying the total  number of Indians in Saint Domingue from the initial French presence to the Haitian Revolution is extremely difficult. Colonial censuses stopped including them as a separate population group after 1713. Geggus's important article, "The Naming of Haiti", cites a 1681 Census that found 480 "mulattoes" and Indians, all enslaved. In 1631, the South of Saint Domingue had 128 Indians, but only 83 in 1713. The disappearing Indians probably merged into the general free people of color category.

 

Yota, a young Carib maroon, was only around 14 years old. His owner was a minister in Le Cap.

Moreau de Saint-Mery offers additional some hints, claiming there were more than 300 "Sauvages" and Indians enslaved in Saint Domingue at the beginning of the 1700s. Around 500 Natchez were sent to the colony in the 1730s, but how many actually survived the voyage is unclear. Some of their survivors lived on in the colony's chief city, today's Cap-Haitien. A study of 3 parishes by Jacques Houdaille, focusing on Jacmel, Cayes-de-Jacmel, and Fond-des Negres, found "Indiens" to have comprised 1.3% of legitimate births, 0.3% for illegitimate. Houdaille's study also claimed Indians from Yucatan and Veracruz were in the colony prior to 1700, probably a reference to Indian women from a 1685 raid. Some of the "Indiens" he located were apparently from Aruba, suggesting that there may have been a smuggling of small numbers of Indians from other parts of the region to the southern coast. For the captives from the French colony in South America, enslavement of Arouas, Palicours, Courarys was practiced, but on a small scale. Consequently, any trade of indigenous South Americans to Saint Domingue would have probably been a tiny proportion of the total Indien slave population in Guyane, which was always small. In short, a clear indication of their numbers is unavailable, but they were relatively important in the 1600s before becoming numerically negligible in the 18th century.

Indiens also appear in the parish records of Saint Domingue, such as Marie Louise, whose death was recorded in Baynet. A systematic study of each parish would likely reveal much more about the numbers and social relations of "Indiens" in Saint Domingue.

What can be said of the "Indien" presence in Saint Domingue? Occupational profiles, race relations, legacies, and other concerns remain somewhat speculative. Enslaved women may have been used primarily as domestics, and are sometimes advertised as such in newspapers. Males may have been servants, plantation workers, fishermen, cooks, or barbers. The runaway slave ads point to urban and plantation settings, suggesting they were used in both types of environments. How enslaved Indians got along with African slaves is unknown, but Contant d'Orville suggested an antipathy between Caribs and blacks in the French Caribbean. It is also clear that free people of color attempted to claim Indien descent to justify their claims to titles or political rights of whites in the second half of the 18th century. According to Hiliard d'Auberteuil, the "mixed-bloods" claimed descent from "Indians" in St. Christophe, who came to Saint Domingue in 1640. Garrigus, in Before Haiti, uncovers examples of free people of color families like the Gelée  in Les Cayes, who requested the Port-au-Prince council confirm his letters of nobility, claiming Indian descent rather than African. Clearly, by 1767, the French official position viewed Indians as "born free", unlike those of African descent. Indians, if not "stained" by African ancestry, were supposedly able to enjoy the rights of whites as assimilated peoples. And like free people of African descent, examples of "Indien" slaveholders can be found in at least one of the runaway slave ads, posted by a Roesayro, Mulatto Indian of Dondon. 

 

Like other free people of color, the "Mulatto Indian" Roesayro owned slaves. In this case, his "Senegalese" slave, Pierre, ran away.

The relationship of the "Indiens" to the free people of color population might be the best way to consider the "Indien" presence. As groups in between the enslaved majority and the white colonial population, it is not unlikely that the two often mingled, married, and combined their resources. It is possible that some may have strategically chosen Indian partners to facilitate their claims to rights increasingly taken away from those of African descent in the 1760s and 1770s. Some prominent families among the affranchis who also claimed Indien descent from St. Christophe or perhaps the early foundations of the colony were probably telling the truth in some cases. Thomas Madiou, prominent Haitian historian, also claimed an Indien ancestor in his autobiography. His mother was, according to him, the daughter of a woman of the Indien race from Le Cap. Historian Jean Fouchard found evidence of "Indian" descent among free people of color, using the example of the Dartigue family. Last, but certainly not least, relations between free people of African and "Indien" origin might explain the bizarre assertion of Amerindian ancestry Redpath assigned to President Geffrard in his Guide to Hayti. One should not be surprised if more than a few free people of color, particularly in the South of the colony, descend, in part, from Indians. It is also possible that certain names among Haitians after independence suggest "Indien" origin. The example of Benjamin Indien from Port-au-Prince in 1849 may very well reflect an "Indien" background or ancestry. 

 

After Haitian independence, one would assume formerly enslaved Indiens and free people of color of Indian origins probably stayed in the colony. Those who left may have returned from the US, France, and other lands later in the 19th century. Knowing that there was a small "Indien" population in Haiti on the eve of independence may help explain why "Indiens" were included in Haitian citizenship for various constitutions. Indeed, it could help explain why the indigenous name of the island was chosen to rename Saint Domingue. As for "Indiens" who immigrated after independence, I have yet to encounter any examples besides Benjamin Fruneau (whose mother was "East Indian). However, it is very likely that some of the African Americans who came to Haiti in the 1820s and 1860s included people of Native descent. As for "Indien" survival in Haiti after 1804, some of the more absurd theorists have even proposed sites where "Indiens" survived in isolated parts of the country. But Aristide Achille's study of the problem of Indian cultural survival in Haiti has pointed out the lack of evidence for assertions by Louis Emile Elie of Indian survival in the caves of the Grand Riviere du Nord, the "Vien-Viens" of Saltrou, habitation Lamarque in Kenscoff, and habitations Lebrun and Poulardier in Petit-Goave. It could very well be the case that some of the populations in those areas may descend, in part, from "Indien" slaves of the colonial period, but they are very unlikely to have any connection to the Taino.

 

Perhaps a testament to the loosely defined "races" in Saint Domingue, examples of runaway slaves who called themselves "Indien" appear. In this example, Francois is identified as a "Mulatto" by his owner, yet he calls himself Indian. Note that he is also described as having long, dark hair, perhaps making it easier for him to claim an "Indian" origin. It is possible that enslaved people were well aware of the legal rights of "free" Indians under French law, and may have, like free people of color, claimed it in their own interests.

Overall, the evidence for significant Taino influences and legacies in Haiti appear unfounded, or marginal at best. The story of the non-Taino Indians in Saint Domingue, however, was relevant to the history of the colony, slave trade networks, and conceptualization of race and differential status for free people of color. Although a clear understanding of their total numbers remains elusive, it is clear that Indians from other parts of the Americas were important to the colony in the 17th and 18th centuries. Their presence among the captive population and free people of color influenced the discourse of race and political rights. "Amerindian" people likely contributed to the formation of the free people of color group, whose role in the destabilizing of Saint Domingue and its racial logic cannot be forgotten.  Despite their small numbers, they may have also influenced Haitian religion, cuisine, language, and culture in ways not legible today. Considering the fact they actually interacted with the enslaved and free people of color of Saint Domingue, unlike the Tainos, any understanding of Native American influences on Haiti probably owes more to them than any alleged cultural tie to the Taino.

 

Bibliography

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Forbes, Jack D. Africans and Native Americans: The Language of Race and the Evolution of Red-Black Peoples. 2nd ed. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1993.

Fouchard, Jean. The Haitian Maroons: Liberty or Death. New York, N.Y.: E.W. Blyden Press, 1981. 

 

Gallay, Alan. The Indian Slave Trade: The Rise of the English Empire in the American South, 1670-1717. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002.

 

Garrigus, John D. Before Haiti: Race and Citizenship in French Saint-Domingue. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

 

Geggus, David. "The Naming Of Haiti." NWIG: New West Indian Guide / Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 71, no. 1/2 (1997): 43-68. Accessed November 4, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41849817

Hall, Gwendolyn Midlo. Africans in Colonial Louisiana: The Development of Afro-Creole Culture in the Eighteenth Century. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1992. 

Hilliard d'Auberteuil, Michel-René. Considérations Sur L'état Présent De La Colonie Française De Saint-Domingue: Ouvrage Politique Et Législatif, Présenté Au Ministre De La Marine. Paris: Grangé, 1976.

Houdaille, Jacques. "Quelques données sur la population de Saint-Domingue au XVIIIe Siècle." Population (French Edition) 28, no. 4/5 (1973): 859-72. Accessed November 11, 2020. doi:10.2307/1531260.

 

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Hrodej, Philippe. L'esclave et les plantations : de l'établissement de la servitude à son abolition : hommage à Pierre Pluchon. Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes, 2008.

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Moreau de Saint-Méry, Méderic Louis Élie. Description topographique, physique, civile, politique et historique de la partie françoise de l'isle Saint-Domingue. 3 vols. Philadelphia:  1797.

 

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Roux, Benoît. "Les Indiens caraïbes, acteurs et objets de traite aux Antilles françaises (XVIIe-XVIIIe siècle)." Cahiers d'Histoire de l'Amérique Coloniale, L'Harmattan, 2012, pp.187-188. ⟨halshs-01015141⟩

 

Rushforth, Brett.  Bonds of Alliance: Indigenous and Atlantic Slaveries in New France. Chapel Hill : Williamsburg, Va.: University of North Carolina Press, 2012.

French Antilleans in Haiti: 1848-1934

Edouard Bloncourt in the Blue Book of Haiti. His import-export business in Cap-Haitien was predated by his merchant past in Port-de-Paix. The Bloncourt family is from Guadeloupe, and Edouard was likely the relative who assisted Yves Bloncourt when he came to Haiti after WWI.

The presence of Afro-descendants or even white Creoles from Martinique and Guadeloupe in Haiti during the 19th and early 20th centuries is surprisingly difficult to investigate. Perhaps due to their cultural and linguistic similarities, the 1500 or more French Antilleans who came to Haiti during the aforementioned period are harder to locate than Syriens or Anglophone West Indian immigrants. The vast majority, according to Zacair, who relied heavily on French consul reports, were from Guadeloupe. Many married into Haitian families and therefore a large number of Haitians today can trace their ancestry to the French Caribbean. The Bloncourt, Boutin, Rabouin, de Catalogne, Demeuran, and many other families have ancestors who came to Haiti during this era, particularly after 1848. Many were "mulattoes" of the professional and bourgeois classes who established maisons de commerce in various Haitian port cities, like the Boutin family in St. Marc. Others were artisans, musicians, mechanics, educators, engineers, merchants, street vendors, laborers, and skilled workers, searching for opportunities beyond the confines of their colonial homes. Like Anglophone Caribbean migrants, such people were possibly also inspired by the idea of living under a black-ruled government where racial discrimination would not curb their freedom.

Gérard de Catalogne is in the second row, second from the left. Son of a Creole father from Martinique and a Haitian woman, de Catalogne diffused the reactionary ideas of Maurras in Haiti.

Indeed, the concentration of land ownership among the white plantocracy after 1848, plus restrictions on the newly freed and "free colored" class after emancipation would have been enough push factors to make Haiti an attractive location. Many former slaves found themselves trapped, working for their former masters as poorly paid plantation laborers. It is also probable that many in Guadeloupe and Martinique saw independent Haiti as a model for the Caribbean. In fact, long before 1848, free people of color from the French Antilles were in Haiti (not to mention connections during Haiti's colonial period). One Edmond Thetis of Martinique served in the army of Henri Christophe before returning to Martinique in 1811, implicated in a revolt. Joseph Saint-Remy, who wrote a biography of Alexandre Petion, was a Haitian born in Guadeloupe. His parents, inspired by Haiti's racially inclusive Constitution of 1816, which invited anyone and everyone of African or Amerindian descent the right to Haitian citizenship, eventually chose to resettle in Haiti.

Migrants from Martinique and other parts of the Antilles were identified as street vendors and artisans in Cap-Haitien and other towns of the Republic, as this 1892 article illustrates.

Saint-Remy's father, a carpenter, brought the family to Les Cayes. The same biographical notice in Saint-Remy's book also claims the father and grandfather of President Salomon were originally from the French Antilles, suggesting another politically important family of French Caribbean roots. Besides the several families from the French Antilles who came to Haiti during this era, Cyril Bissette, whose Revue des colonies published Haitian writer Ignace Nau, also invested time and labor in defending Haiti from what he saw as Schoelcher's attempts to paint Haitian society as hopelessly divided into black versus "mulatto" castes. Bissette even saw Haiti's potential as the capital of a future Caribbean confederation. Of course, one must not forget Guillaume Guillon-Lethière, a Guadeloupe-born artist, who painted The Oath of Our Ancestors. This famous painting of the Haitian Revolution and the uniting of blacks and "mulattoes," with the will of God, must have signified dignity and liberty for oppressed slaves and free people of color living before 1848.  Of course, there were exceptions to favorable views of Haiti among French Caribbean people of color, as the case of Victor Cochinat  in the late 19th century reveals. The journalist from Martinique's vitriolic articles triggered a response from Louis Joseph Janvier, which demonstrates another side of French Caribbean perceptions of Haiti.

Marc Boutin, born in St. Marc to parents from Guadeloupe, inherited his father's maison de commerce. Along with his mother, the family expanded the business to include Port-au-Prince. Aubin also refers to him as one of the French subjects owning land in Haiti. In his case, it was Caradeux, in the Cul de Sac plain. 

Clearly, Haiti was already etched into the minds of many in Guadeloupe and Martinique, perhaps especially so with educated free people of color. Haiti likely appealed to blacks in Martinique and Guadeloupe after 1848. The rise of a socialist party and labor movement in Guadeloupe by the 1890s, one that was specifically linking race and class, may have seen in the Haitian revolutionary past something inspirational. More work needs to be done exploring this, particularly on Hégésippe Jean Légitimus and allusions to Haiti among black workers of the late 19th century. His opponents, for instance, sought to compare him to "savage" Haiti, going so far as calling him a papa loi. For others, Haiti may have signified something else. For example, by the time the Third Republic arose, the "mulatto bourgeoisie" of Martinique were identified by metropolitan authorities as pro-republican and the best local allies. This process is summarized quite well in Church's Paradise Destroyed: Catastrophe and Citizenship in the French Caribbean, which unfortunately does not explore the Haitian connection or the ways in which natural catastrophes may have encouraged migration to Haiti.

Dr. Justin Castera of Jacmel was a martiniquais descent.

It very well could be the preference shown by many French Caribbean businessmen for the Liberals in Haiti was related to their liberal bourgeois politics. This shared fervor for liberalism, plus growing personal ties through marriage, cemented their attachment to the Liberal party. As one would expect, their open sympathy caused tensions with the Haitian government. For example, Ludovic Goubault's transparent support for Haitian rebels in Jeremie during the 1883 revolt illustrates how French West Indians intervened in the political affairs of Haiti. In addition to business and marriage with the Haitian upper classes, some even served in the Haitian military or married into the families of generals. According to Thorald Burnham, Andre de Thomas, for example, married the daughter of a major general and served as his attaché. This gave the "moucas" a surprisingly large influence in Haiti.  Consequently, going to the Black Republic may have meant not solely economic opportunity in commerce, but a chance to participate in the affairs of an independent republic.

Gaston Gerville-Réache worked as a teacher in Port-au-Prince for a short time. Once elected to the French National Assembly, he spoke for Guadeloupeans in Haiti during the turbulent year of 1883. In Paris, he also contributed to Benito Sylvain's La Fraternité . Unlike him, other French Caribbean educators, musicians and professionals stayed in Haiti. Louis Astrée, for instance, was a major figure in 19th century Haitian music as the director of the Musique du Palais.

But, who exactly were these immigrants? How were they received by the Haitian population? Did they chose to become Haitian citizens? After consulting Zacair's article and some of the sources, their position in Haiti was often paradoxical. For instance, they were able to practice professions in Haiti that were prohibited to foreigners. Others, despite marrying Haitians and establishing close ties with the Haitian political and economic elite, exploited their status as French subjects to make inflated claims on the Haitian government for compensation during moments of political turmoil. In fact, some of these French Caribbeans became consuls, while others were involved in larger French commerce or financial interests. As one can expect, French Antilleans, as well as other black immigrants, were occasionally attacked by Haitian political figures for their exploitative behavior and refusing to become Haitian citizens. In terms population and demographics, the "moucas" or French Antillean subjects were clearly an important presence. Indeed, they were numerous enough to form their own quarter in Cap-Haitien, by Bas de la Ravine. In Port-au-Prince, French and French Caribbean residents were involved in a mutual aid society, but Zacair hints at intra-community tensions as the business community sought to exclude workers from Guadeloupe and Martinique from the benefits of the society. Intellectually, some, such as Fernand Keitel, launched Le Cable, a Capois journal highlighted by Marc Péan. For most of the aforementioned groups, assimilation seems to have occurred relatively quickly. This was likely the case for the lower classes, too.  A cursory exploration of Haitian literary references to the French Antilles also sugguests this. Velleda Petite-Caille, in Justin Lhérisson's famous novel may be the best early example.

The Monfleury usine for the preparation of coffee. Aubin claimed Monfleury père  to be of Martinican origin.

As a card reader, she attracts a wealthy clientele, ultimately launching her husband into high society of fin de siècle Port-au-Prince. But Velleda, who does not come from the Martinique "mulatto" bourgeoisie. So, she continues to mispronounce some French phrases, thereby demonstrating an affinity with uneducated lower-class Haitian Creole speakers, whose elocution was also mocked by their social superiors. However, she was not a target of derision or singled out for her origins in Martinique, and her marriage with Eliézer suggests a great degree of cultural compatibility. Unfortunately, her fate does not end well in the novel, but there is no suggestion of bias or exclusive attitudes towards her due to her non-Haitian origins. Perhaps the ease at which she could establish a reputation for fortune-telling is matched by those of the French Antilles who could join Vodou congregations. Burnham alludes to Civil Blain, a Martinican in 19th century Bel Air, who left behind a lakou bearing his name. It is reasonably clear that the lower class waves of migrants from the French Caribbean were capable of assimiling well with locals in the urban popular quarters. Their skin color, language, and the ease with which they could travel into the interior of Haiti likely facilitated this, which perhaps masked their presence in the archives. Many practiced small trades in towns like St. Marc, Port-au-Prince, Cap-Haitien, Aux Cayes, Jacmel, or Gonaives, which brought them into regular contact with Haitians of all backgrounds. Perhaps the commonality of language and culture enabled positive interactions or professional relations, as well as marriage and progeny.

A bizarre story involving from Oct 1900 involving a Haitian woman and her husband from Martinique or Guadeloupe. 

In Eugène Aubin's En Haïti; planteurs d'autrefois, nègres d'aujourd'hui, published five years before the US Occupation, direct accounts of French West Indians abound. Aubin describes landholders, owners of usines for the preparation of coffee, a pious woman from Guadeloupe, an engineer by the name of Emmanuel Odeide working for the Manneville habitation, merchants, and spouses. Examples of their presence abound, such as the wife of General Dorsey Falaise of Croix des Bouquets, a Guadeloupean woman. These French West Indians are described by Aubin as mixing with locals due to language and color. However, his account also attests to their significance in new developments in the economy. Perhaps the business end of the French Caribbean community was ultimately negative for economic development by encouraging dependency on foreign imports, but during the 1870s and 1880s, they introduced some new technology in the coffee industry. Octave Francis, a "mulatto," was identified as one of the first to establish a usine for preparing coffee, in Petionville. Francis's mother was from Martinique while his father was from St. Thomas. While they may not have directly controlled the production of coffee, Francis, Monfleury, and other foreign-owned usines improved the quality of Haitian coffee, thereby increasing prices on the global market while, in some cases, weakening their Haitian intermediaries.

Yves Bloncourt was an early proponent of the Boy Scouts in Haiti.

Another family with origins in Martinique, the Montfleury, were associated with the usine in Carrefour, which was expanded by the two Montfleury sons and a French partner, Bertin.  Their usine employed 50 employees and 150 trieuses, leading to a new community to service the workers in the area. Some also contributed to tentative steps towards restoring sugar production or large-scale production in the Cul-de-Sac plain by providing essential services, like mechanics, management or engineering. A letter to a Haitian who criticized Martinican and Guadeloupean residents was published in Le Nouvelliste. The author, A. Charlesin, appears to be a Martinican or Guadeloupean forger-mechanic working in Haiti. Meanwhile, Zacair describes one who managed a plantation near Leogane managed by a French Antillean. Haiti en 1886 mentions a Martinican horticulteur known throughout Port-au-Prince. Thus, their presence was linked to early capitalist intrusion into the Haitian economy and new industries and businesses, shaping new social relations and methods of production while simultaneously weakening the local merchant class.

President Louis Borno was the son of a naturalized Haitian from Guadeloupe. His non-Haitian roots were a subject of concern to Jacques Roumain, who criticized Borno for being a puppet president of the US Occupation. 

Despite difficulties in knowing exactly how many French Caribbean peoples were in Haiti during the 19th and 20th centuries, their influence likely surpassed their actual numbers. Through commerce, education, music, the arts, and industry, migrants brought with them new ideas, concepts, and interactions which connected Haiti and the French Antilles within the archipelago and their diasporas in France. The Bloncourt family, for instance, had branches in Haiti and Guadeloupe, while Haitian presidents with origins in Martinique and Guadeloupe can be found in the Duvaliers and Louis Borno. Gerard de Catalogne, a descendant of a Martinican and a Haitian woman, was a major figure in 20th century Haitian journalism and politics. In Paris, Haitians such as Firmin brushed shoulders with Adolphe Lara of Guadeloupe. Thus, the French Caribbean and Haiti enjoyed a mutual influence in which the earlier migrations of Martinicans or Guadeloupeans was a pivotal part. The French Caribbean residents in Haiti may have also been influential in aspects of folklore and Vodou dance. Unsurprisingly, the paradoxical relationship of these migrants with Haiti and France illustrates a semi-colonial character in Haiti-France relations. The political independence of Haiti was gradually eroded as France, Germany, and, by the 20th century, the US, increasingly dominated its economic affairs. Those of Martinique or Guadeloupe roots knowingly or unknowingly contributed to this development, even if adopting Haitian citizenship, by encouraging the cultural orientation of the Haitian elite. 

Ouvè Lapôt'la

The same guy who turned a song about social security into a funky boogaloo, also has this irresistible number. There is something about biguine and rhythms from Guadeloupe and Martinique that seamlessly fuse with jazz so well, which is especially evident in the piano here.

Between Two Worlds

Simone Schwarz-Bart's Between Two Worlds, translated from the French original, Ti-Jean L'horizon, by Barbara Bray is an enchanting magical realist tale about slavery and identity in Guadeloupe, the author's homeland. While clearly specific to Guadeloupe and its rural communities, this postcolonial tale incorporates elements of pan-Caribbean culture and history (slavery, the zombi, a quote from Jacques Roumain, and a return to Africa) to tell the tale of Ti Jean, a young man from Fond Zombi who must return the Sun and save his community, which falls into reenslavement as eternal darkness reigns over the world. Along the way, Ti Jean experiences love, friendship, travels to Africa, France, and the Kingdom of Shades, and is forced to accept himself for what he is and take root in Guadeloupe. 

Although multilayered and at times a bit confusing (the numerous chapters where Ti Jean travels to Africa, for instance, and the dense mythological allusions and history can be hard to follow at times), Ti Jean's tale emphasizes the importance of Guadeloupe and its people's right to live free and with pride. The protagonist's grandfather, the 'Immortal One' who represents the maroons of the days of slavery, and the world of the descendants of slaves who meekly accept their condition, must learn to take pride in their land and free themselves of colonial thinking. Yet, the author does not fall entirely into negritude thought, since Ti Jean's return to Africa is not accepted by Wademba's people, thereby making the people of the Caribbean a branch of the African tree which must find roots in Guadeloupe. 

The text is full of local colors, supernatural events, travels across oceans and rivers, and last, but certainly not least, fully-fleshed symbolism and heroic archetypes. Ti Jean, compared to the Sun multiple times, ultimately frees it (metaphorically freeing the people of Guadeloupe from slavery and white domination) from the Beast (a cow with a pelican nesting in its ear), reminding one of Haitian literary giant Jacques Stephen Alexis, who also wrote of the Sun as an ally of the poor. In addition to ties with that tradition, the text quotes Jacques Roumain's Masters of the Dew in the final section, thereby linking itself with broader trends and a tradition of peasant novel and anti-colonial significance in the French Caribbean world. Needless to say, I could rant without end about the book, its cyclical message, the passionate critique of colonialism, and the numerous worlds the protagonist lives between, but I'll end here. Those eager to read of a fictionalized but highly integrated worlds of death, Africa before colonialism, and 20th century Guadeloupe should be highly interested in this novel. 

Favorite Quotes

"To tell the truth, it is a completely unimportant scrap of earth, and the experts have once and for all dismissed its history as insignificant."

"Moreover, it has a long history, full of wonders, bloodshed, and frustrations, and of desires no less vast than those that filled the skies of Nineveh, Babylon, or Jerusalem."

"Nor did they ask themselves whether Guadeloupe was of any importance in the world, they knew, they knew that rare happenings and unparalleled glories had been seen in the wretched forest they now haunted, and that these deeds had been the exploits of their ancestors."

"Instead of bringing everyone together under one shelter, darkness seemed to have stolen in between the living bodies, making them look just like dim shapes to one another, bereft of their weight of flesh and blood and old alliance."

"And our hero's heart was moved, moved by the living these familiar images as if the two worlds had held out their hands to each other, century after century."

"Being alive and dead at the same time, he belonged to both worlds yet was to both a stranger, as incongruous and out of place on earth as if he had fallen down from a star."

La Pati La Pata

One of my favorites from legendary Malavoi. This is also one of the more jazzy Malavoi songs I have heard, another example of how versatile the band was in playing the myriad styles of the Caribbean and jazz worlds.

The Beauty of Ryco Jazz

From Congo-Brazzaville to the French Caribbean, enjoy Ryco Jazz! Their Congolese 'rumba' is thoroughly rooted in the Cuban son and the Afro-Caribbean music of the Caribbean, so it's magical to hear their recordings from their relocation in the French Caribbean. Check out the following songs:

1. "Tu bois beaucoup" is jazzy, Cuban-sounding, proudly affirming a Creole identity, and in every conceivable way classic.

2. "Kumbele" is a classic recorded earlier by Les Bantous de la Capitale, a band from Congo-Brazzaville.

3. "Marie Jose (Merengue Scoubidou)"

4. "Bana Ryco"

5. "Wachi Wara"

6. "Josephine Mama"

Femme Martinique Doux

Now, this is the kind of jazzy Caribbean music I've been looking for! And listen to those drums! Rest in peace, Henri Debs.

Jou Ouvè

One of my favorite Malavoi songs, "Jou Ouvè" celebrates the beautiful daybreak in Martinique. The strings here add an element to the music that is reminiscent of Cuban danzón, but clearly rooted in Martinique's Creole language, music, and heritage. Brenda F. Berrian's detailed overview of the song alludes to the song's abundant language about gardens, flowers, tilling the soil, providing an intimate portrait of Martinique. 

Cuisse La

Min Rat La

Another excellent cover by a French Antillean band of one of my favorite songs from Trio Select! I am not sure if they were more influenced by Ibo Combo's version than the original, but regardless, both groups managed to surpass the original (the horns and jazziness of Ibo Combo has made them one of my favorite kompa groups). Another excellent rendition of Trio Select's song comes from the man himself later in life, listen here! Also, to hear the original from Trio Select, check out this. I love this style of kompa, drenched in darkness and fine Afro-Caribbean grooves. 

Les Vikings

I am quite fond of this group. I must say, I am beginning to favor Dominican, Guadeloupean, and Martinican bands playing Haitian kompa and kadans some days...Check out the same band's great cover of Nemours. They're jazzier and willing to go places where Nemours never went with his saxophone solos.

Zagalakatelema

I am loving this song right now. It's danceable, jazzy, and reminds me that there is a whole world of French Caribbean music beyond Haiti. Listen to that saxophone or the percussion! Les Rapaces knew how to make great music. 

Emile Antile

Jazzy biguine from the French Caribbean!

Pierrre Blain: Moin Pa Ni Doudou

Ah, what better way to begin 2014 with some excellent old Caribbean music? Pierre Blain, a fine vocalist, gave us this lively number, "Moin Pa Ni Doudou," which might have been recorded in Martinique or Guadeloupe. Regardless of where it was recorded, this is the kind of Haitian music I love the most: jazzy piano or keyboards, featuring an orchestra, and full of the sensual, stately sounds of the Haitian mereng. Check out "Suzette" for another example of this style I find so enchanting. 

Alexandre Stellio

An enjoyable number that shows how biguine was played back in the 1930s. Very similar to jazz, too, particularly in the orchestra's instrumentation and improvisation. All these genres have similar origins, jazz, Haitian meringue, Cuban son, etc. 

Remy Mondey's "Meringue"

Listen to that saxophone! This is a hot number, influenced by Haitian early kompa and Dominican merengue. It's dark, uptempo, lively, and full of mirth. I'll have to check out more tumbele and other French Caribbean music besides Haiti! I haven't heard a track that moved me so much since "Bobine!" 

“Moi égal à toi...": Images of Black Women in Revolutionary France

The above is a striking example of the use of women in general and a Black woman in particular as propaganda for the goals of the 'far left' of Revolutionary France. Not only challenging some of the sexism and the institution of slavery in the colonies, this image blends the to with the use of an Afro-Caribbean woman of what is now Haiti, according to this. Her headwrap, very Caribbean, evokes the Phyrgian caps that were equated with concepts associated with democratic governance, republican forms of government, and the ideals of the French Republic, including its abolition of slavery in the 1790s (partly because slaves already took their liberty in their own hands in colonies such as Saint-Domingue since 1791) as well as Masonic connotations. Although women were sometimes used to represent the benevolent, progressive character of republican government in France during the Revolution, of course women remained silenced and excluded from formal political power and office. The example below shows another Black woman, emancipated slave, from Saint-Domingue/Haiti, which is explained in French in this blog:

As one can clearly see, this woman bears the triangle necklace, another Masonic reference, but, so unlike British abolitionist imagery, shows no helplessness, holding her head high and demanding respect. Both of these images depict empowered, independent formerly enslaved Black women who demand freedom and surpass the usual depiction of enslaved Blacks in British and American abolitionist iconography. Compare these two with Benoist's Portrait of a Negress from the same era (circa 1800) and the strong, autonomous and rational Black woman looks into the eyes of the gazer, showing no deference or respect for patriarchal white authority. Indeed, her partly exposed breasts further the painting's ties to Classical references and freedom, from gender and racial oppression.Moreover, like the other two women, this former slave from the French Caribbean wears a headwrap in the similar Caribbean style while her part exposure is reminiscent of the later famous Liberty Leading the People by Delacroix in 1830. Thus, women both Black and white were used during the Age of Revolution to represent the entirety of the population, liberty, or advances for the female gender. Of course, paintings and engravings and political propaganda and rhetoric exaggerated and most certainly remained under the dominance for and by males, and, in the case of France and the rest of it's colonies excepting Haiti, white males. As for Haiti, nationhood and patriotism would eventually be defined largely as male, as Mimi Sheller has indicated regarding the attachment of an ideal Haitian in the early constitutions of the Black Republic with militarism, sword-bearing, and an entirely male-centered definition of citizenship rooted in patriarchy.

 

What these images provide, however, is a different look at how Blacks of the Caribbean perhaps responded to their enslavement, freedom, and reenslavement during the turbulent periods of the French and Haitian Revolutions. The former slave above,  for instance, appears confident, strong-minded, and aware of herself and her rights, beyond simply being a prop by the white French painter, who, in this case, was a woman. Furthermore, unlike the common depictions of Blacks in European art of the colonial period, these images stray far from the racist depictions of savage, ugly Blacks with exaggerated physical features or, as in some cases, associations with apes and lesser beings. For an example of the extremely racist, sexist depictions of Black women in European art,  Three Young White Men and a Black Woman, or Rape of a Negress, which shows three white males enjoying themselves with an unwilling Black woman, by van Couwenbergh. In addition, such images as the above three illustrate an undeniable link between Freemasonry in France and the Caribbean colonies, and, as Garrigus and others have suggested, may perhaps also allude to the presence of Black and mixed-race Masons in colonial Saint-Domingue, since Toussaint L'Ouverture and others were likely Masons. Moreover, Haitian paintings and history also describe Masonic leaders in the postcolonial period, proof of an undying link from colonial Freemason societies to their 19th and 20th century Haitian mulatto and Black counterparts. 

Clearly, the use of the image of Black people in this short period of French republican radical anti-slavery, pushed to do so by slave resistance and demand in the colonies, illustrates more than simply French proponents and supports of the Revolution just using images of Blacks from the Caribbean as simple props with no agency. Although, as this essay indicates, Blacks are still exploited by philosophers, articulators of Enlightenment and early Romanticist thought on the role of Blacks and their humanity, the image is not unambiguously wholly negative or racist, despite racist and sexist reception from many audiences of Benoist, a known proponent of abolition and feminist causes. Nevertheless, such images, as James Small demonstrates, were received differently and the intertextual layers in the portrait could easily appeal to racist, sexist, colonial attitudes regarding Black women, eroticism, and inferiority, despite the Neoclassical allusions, firm gaze of the woman, and the painter's abolitionist and feminist sympathies. Unfortunately, the remainder of the 19th century would reveal an overwhelmingly negative depiction of Black women as scientific racism, European imperialism in Africa, and re-enslavement and colonial exploitation continued, despite the brief relapse in revolutionary France. For an undoubtedly negative, oversexed and racist caricature of Black women, the infamous depictions and treatment of Sarah Baartman provide ample evidence. A woman of Khoikhoi extraction from what is now South Africa, she was forced into parading her body in freakshows in England, despite the abolition of the international slave trade by the British. To make matters worse, after her horrid life of freak shows and burgeoning alcoholism to cope with the daily life of being gawked and jeered at, her corpse was dissected by Georges Cuvier and her remains put on display at the Louvre until finally returned to South Africa in 2002. What happened? After a brief, positive visualization of Black women, they soon become equated with the worst racial stereotypes, aided by nascent scientific racism that used the body of women such as Baartman to exoticize, mock, insult, jeer, and dehumanize ALL Black women.