Les marrons du syllabaire

Jean Fouchard's work can be quite frustrating. Sometimes he promises more than he delivers, relies on faulty assumptions or limited sources or his loquacious writing style can become a chore to read. Thinking this case would be different, we read his Les marrons du syllabaire: quelques aspects du problème de l'instruction et de l'éducation des esclaves et affranchis de Saint-Domingue. Too short and consisting of somewhat meandering, brief chapters, the historian endeavored to portray the struggle of our ancestors to attain literacy and education in the hellish slave society known as Saint Domingue. As one probably suspects, the French colonial system was based upon the exploitation of blacks as chattel slaves. Preventing them from challenging that order meant restrictions on the ability of free and enslaved people of color, including prohibitions aimed to restrict literacy and education to whites. Nonetheless, our ancestors, against all odds, did learn how to read and, in some cases, acquire a more than rudimentary education. Since Fouchard wrote this work around the time of the 150th anniversary of Haitian independence, he seeks to celebrate this achievement of our forebears while also, perhaps falsely or inaccurately, portraying free people of color and slaves as always united against the colonial order.

Unfortunately, most of this short book does not really address or explain how slaves and free people of color learned to read. Some likely achieved it through clandestine meetings and schools that have not left behind in terms of sources. Others may have learned the rudiments of reading and writing from priests and "kind" masters. A fortunate few, especially those sent to France for education, received the best education available in those times. The most interesting group of literate blacks, however, were those who already knew how to read and write before leaving Africa. This group, the Islamized or Muslim West Africans, included those who could read and write in Arabic and use Arabic to write local languages. Of this group, Fouchard mentions the case of the familiar Tamerlan plus references to Bornoans in Saint Domingue, interviewed by Descourtilz. Not mentioned, sadly, are the Kongo natives and other Africans who sometimes could read and write in Portuguese. Nonetheless, Fouchard was able to hear direct testimony from poet Roussan Camille that his great-grandfather was literate in Arabic. Indeed, his ancestor left an Arabic engraving in Jacmel that, sadly, has not survived. Still, Camille's testimony is an interesting example of how Haitians with African Muslim ancestors were aware of this past, even though the knowledge was lost. One wonders if Camille's ancestor was a "Mandingue" or perhaps Hausa?

Despite its flaws, Fouchard's study truly does warrant a modern, thorough study of the topic. The question of African Muslims in Saint Domingue and possible legacies in 19th century Haiti has not received a proper analysis. The question of education and literacy among free people of color is also interesting. Indeed, one of our ancestor's had a godfather who was able to read and write. Were literate free people of color in 18th century Bainet and Jacmel simply the products of clandestine "schools" or networks? Were they learning to read and write (or at least sign their names) from other free people of color who taught them informally? And what was, truly, the role of education in the vision of Toussaint Louverture and the Saint Dominguan revolutionaries during the Haitian Revolution? Was Romaine la Prophetesse, who appears to have been literate, able to use this to promote his alleged connection with the Virgin Mary?

Fouchard and the Taino

Jean Fouchard's Langue et littérature des aborigènes d'Ayti is an incredibly problematic text. Consisting of short chapters on language, literature, history, and the legacy of the indigenous peoples of Haiti, it is rather obvious that Fouchard's work was already outdated by the 1970s. One expected better of Fouchard given the more careful scholarship in his work on maroons in Haiti, but his questionable scholarship and unpersuasive attempts to find remnants of areytos in 19th century Haitian literature were shocking. Fouchard failed to offer enough context for the examples of areytos provided in the book to be taken seriously as likely survivals of the Taino past. For instance, the war song associated with Caonabo appears to be lifed from a book by Edgar La Selve on Haitian literature and a play by Henri Chauvet. Since Fouchard's sources are ambiguous, we are inclined to regard his Caonabo example as inauthentic. Something similar could be said of Emile Nau's elegy to Racumon, which appears to be based on earlier accounts of Kalinago funerary song but appears irrelevant to Haiti's aboriginal literature. 

Moreover, the Song of Cacique Henry, about Enriquillo, is reproduced in full in a version published in Frederic Marcelin's journal in the early 1900s. Supposedly Marcelin first encountered it in 1893 while in the north of the country. While it is a riveting poem extolling the just war of Enriquillo against the Spanish, and it contains references to cemis and aspects of Taino culture, there is nothing in the poem that suggests it was actually based on a real song or areyto of Enrique. Indeed, if anything it's another example of the ways in which 19th century Haitian authors drew from the history of Taino resistance to colonialism in their own struggles against the French. In this light, it is perhaps not surprising that the Song first appears in the court of Henry Christophe. Learned members of his court, particularly Baron de Vastey and other educated elites would have been in the perfect position to compose a poem in the Indianist mode that would soon become popular in the Spanish-speaking Caribbean.

Furthermore, the attempt to prove aboriginal survival through references to runaway slave ads in colonial Saint-Domingue or the death certificate of an "Indian" woman who died after 1804 are fundamentally dishonest. A perusal of these aforementioned runaway slave ads plus the writings of Moreau de Saint-Mery and other 18th century sources would make it abundantly clear that the vast majority of these "Indiens" were from other parts of the Americas or even the Indian subcontinent. To suggest otherwise, especially without providing any additional evidence, is just lazy. That said, Fouchard did draw on the research of Suzanne Comhaire Sylvain, Louis Elie, and other Haitians who argued for a Taino or aboriginal influence on Vodou veves, Haitian folklore, and in the pockets of Haitian communities alleged to be of partial Indian origin. Unfortunately, we have not yet located the essay by Comhaire-Sylvain on Indian influences in Haitian folklore. However, arguments in favor of a Taino origin of veve or lwa has yet to be demonstrated (Loko is likely from West Africa, veve is also of African origin). 

In spite of its numerous problems (such as asserting that Breton had lived in Saint Domingue) and the outdated beliefs of Fouchard on the peopling of Hispaniola and the Caribbean (somehow we are led to believe Macorix was the dominant language of Hispaniola, the people of the Bahamas spoke Carib, and Caonabo was from Guadeloupe), this short work contains some essential references. Now it will be easier for anyone seriously pursuing the topic to locate key articles by Haitian intellectuals on the subject. Moreover, the text does include a French translation of our favorite friar's recordings of Taino belief. This plus the addition of some of the literary texts are additional resources. If only Fouchard had included all of the nearly 500 words of indigenous origin collected by Nouel, then this could have been an even better resource for those perusing the topic of the Taino influences on Haitian Creole and culture. There is undoubtedly potential insights and new discoveries to be made with this topic. Lamentably, some of the key studies remain inaccessible, lost or in archives.