Haiti in c.1818

Whilst perusing references on 19th century Haiti, we recently encountered De la République d'Haïti: île de Saint-Domingue, considérée sous ses différents rapports, ses forces, ses moyens physiques et moraux, et le caractère national de ses habitants by A. Rouzeau. Published in 1818, the author, Rouzeau, wrote a brief work on economic, political and social conditions in Haiti at the time. According to Rouzeau, it would have been impractical, expensive and unsuccessful for France to try to reconquer Haiti militarily. Instead, he focused on an alternative that would foment France's economic advantages in Haiti. 

Part of this included a rather grandiose idea of France freeing its colonies in the Americas and promoting a federation arrangement that would encourage trade with the metropole. Obviously, things did not quite work out according to Rouzeau's proposition to the French king, but it is important for recognizing how unfeasible a French military conquest of the island would be. Even with a lengthy blockade, France might still lose the conflict if other European powers drew their attention to other affairs. Moreover, the mountainous terrain and climate would make things difficult for French troops. Even against barefoot Haitian soldiers, which would have included over 30,000 in Petion's state (and about 30,000 in Christophe's kingdom), the French would have struggled to hold the island. Once the conflict ended, all that would be left is ruins, and France would have had few means of rebuilding the colony's agriculture. 

Besides his ideas about France's future in the Americas and how to increase their economic advantages in Haiti, there are a number of details here on Port-au-Prince, Les Cayes, Jacmel, Leogane, and the exports of each area. Throughout, one finds allusions to the conflict with Christophe in the Nord. Although Rouzeau was not able to visit Christophe's kingdom, which he dismissed as a barbaric despotism, he did note that people fleeing the Nord for the republic was a constant factor. Indeed, some of the officers in Petion's guard were said to have been individuals who fled Christophe's kingdom. While the Republic lacked proper regulations and laws to encourage agriculture and worker-proprietor relations, and sucreries (about 70 in the Cul-de-Sac plain) were not as productive as they could be, Christophe's kingdom did not pay ouvriers on the estates enough. In fact, Rouzier hypocritically referred to Christophe's treatment of the masses as a horror unequaled in the annals of Saint Domingue. This is rich, since the history of slavery was so recent. 

Peguero and Xaragua

Although written in the 1760s and often unclear with some of the sources for its claims, Luis Joseph Peguero's Historia de la conquista de la isla española de Santo Domingo contains some useful allusions to the history of Xaragua. While he seems to largely rely on Las Casas, Oviedo and Herrera, some of the references to Xaragua appear to be unique in Peguero's work. Keeping in mind that he incorrectly identified Anacaona as a wife of the ruler of Xaragua (and misrepresented her as a sister of Caonabo), Peguero's work is nonetheless worth a second look for those interested in Xaragua.

First, Peguero identified items besides cotton and casabe as tribute of Xaragua to the Spanish. For instance, salt and brazil wood were also identified as items of value by the Spanish. In addition, one finds specific caciques named who ruled areas where salt and brazil wood were plentiful. For the former, a cacique named Guanaconel, in the area of Neyba, allegedly ruled a domain which included a salt mine. For brazil wood, a cacique identified as Mateguana, ruled somewhere in the Banda del Sur (presumably located near the future settlement of Yaquimo?). Cabo de Tiburon and the principal lake of Xaragua also had brazil wood. An additional cacique at the time of Ovand, Aybanes, was said to have ruled the area near this large lake. 

Peguero also gives some figures for the vassal caciques of Xaragua and its soldiers. One is undoubtedly inflated, putting the number of warriors at the disposal of Xaragua at 20,000 when he first crossed paths with the Adelantado by the Neyba River. Peguero similarly suggests Xaragua had 32 cacique vassals. It's principal settlement, or capital, allegedly had multiple plazas with trees to provide shade. One is left unsure if the over 80 caciques serving under Anacaona at the time of Ovando's slaughter was perhaps due to Indians from other parts of Hispaniola fleeing to Xaragua beforehand or if this attests to the discrepancies in the Spanish sources. 

Last, but certainly not least, Peguero also wrote about Xaragua's fall. Putting the blame for the massacre on Sebastian de Biloria, who falsely accused Anacaona of plotting against Ovando, Peguero suggests Ovando late felt remorse for the brutal killings.  Indeed, Anacaona was also said to understand and speak some Spanish and harbor a legitimate desire for baptism. If Peguero's story is reliable, it would appear that Biloria had wanted Anacaona to side with him in a plot against Ovando and the colonial government. Once Ovando fell for Biloria's lie, however, her fate was sealed. Without Roldan as a counterweight to the colonial government (and despite his abuses) and with the treacherous method used by Ovando to eliminate Xaragua's political elite, the most powerful cacicazgo on the island was neutralized as a threat to the colonial system. The fall of Xaragua's capital, unsurprisingly, was followed by the defeat of Haniguayagua and La Guababa. The seed of Xaragua later arose to threaten the colonial regime for several years in the revolt of a cacique, Enriquillo, whose movement centered in the Bahoruco contributed to the depopulation of Yaquimo and Salvatierra de la Sabana. Indeed, Enriquillo, whose wife, Mensia Bauruco, was the said to have been the daughter of a cacique named Baurucos. Enriquillo was said to have under his command 6 captains with 70 warriors each, plus Tamayo. 

Of course, Peguero also wrote about each of the other cacicazgos and their dissolution. Some general comments on the "Taino" can also be found. Echoing chroniclers like Las Casas, we learn of the Taino penchant for trade and exchange (as well as the use of eggs, corn and supposedly cacao in buying and selling). The Taino calendar system, apparently lunar and beginning the year in spring, was also discussed. The stars, believed to be deceased Indians and bright stars former caciques, snippets of Taino cosmology are revealed in a way that is somewhat more respectful than the condescending remarks that focus on Taino idolatry and superstition. 

Ricardo Alegria and the Cacicazgos of the Antilles

Although Ricardo Alegria's dated MA thesis at the University of Chicago was written in the 1940s, there are still useful nuggets of information and references to be found. Reflecting the time in which he wrote, Alegria's thesis examines the cacique, or chief, of the Taino of the Antilles as a development that represents the zenith of indigenous Caribbean political organization and culture. This is demonstrated through a lengthy review of the cultural sequences of the pre-colonial Caribbean, encompassing the Archaic, Sub-Taino, Taino, and Caribs. Unsurprisingly, Alegria uses both archaeological and textual sources (mainly the chroniclers, especially Las Casas and Oviedo) to emphasize the unequal, hierarchical aspects of Taino chiefdoms based on social stratification/social class differentiation, religion (including the cemification of deceased H, and administrative functions. 

Like more recent scholars, Alegria identified the clear link between the rise of caciques as paramount chiefs and religion in its more elaborate aspects. Furthermore, material culture demonstrates this through some types of cemis, as well as the burial customs for caciques, their roles as mediators between their subjects and the cemis, and the ceremonial, judicial, diplomatic, and military roles played by caciques. Indeed, if one goes by the chronicles, particularly Las Casas, then at least what Irving Rouse referred to as the "Classic Taino" of Puerto Rico, Hispaniola, and eastern Cuba developed stratified chiefdoms with the clearest evidence for social inequality. Since Oviedo, Las Casas, Enciso, Peter Martyr, Colombus, Pane, and others were either able to witness Taino chiefdoms themselves or, at the bare minimum, receive reports from those who had, one suspects that at least on Hispaniola, and perhaps eastern Cuba, chiefdoms developed that approximated the highly stratified society described by Alegria. Indeed, if one can rely on Las Casas, this must have occurred in areas like eastern Cuba, where the conquering "Taino" enslaved the previous residents, albeit treating the descendants of the conquered groups almost like their own.

Of course, scholarship on the issue has changed with newer excavations, reinterpretations of the Spanish documentary sources, and new techniques and technology used by archaeologists. That said, even the Spanish sources themselves, especially Las Casas, acknowledged that some cacicazgos of the Caribbean were not highly developed polities or lordships ruled by paramount chiefs. And like future scholars, a young Alegria may have correctly observed that possible Mesoamerican influences on the "Taino" reached Hispaniola and Puerto Rico indirectly, via South America. One wonders if recent scholars would suggest that Alegria should have looked more closely at the isthmo-Colombian region here, particularly with regard to guanin. Likewise, one wonders if his assumption that the Ciguayo Indians of Hispaniola spoke another Arawakan language may have been incorrect. 

Zagada

Source

After reading Geggus's essay on "Kongomania" and seeing his reference to one of the few known African leaders in the North during the early days of the Haitian Revolution, we had to consult ANOM's digitized collection of Moreau de Saint-Méry's papers. Geggus briefly mentioned Zagada as the leader of a band of Aradas and Aoussas (Hausas), but based on his name, we wondered if he was possibly Hausa. Well, after consulting ANOM, we found the source cited by Geggus, a 1792 letter addressed to Moreau de Saint-Méry. According to the document, Zagada's band of rebels were armed with arrows, which is not too surprising. But the combination of Aradas and Aoussas is interesting, since another leader of a band of rebels, La Fortune, was said to lead a group of Nagos (Yorubas) in Limonade. Our guess is that Zagada was Hausa, although we would have to consult the names of various groups sometimes lumped into the "Zagada" category in order to confirm it. 

State and Nation in Haiti's First Half-Century

One of the more rewarding readings of the end of 2024 has been Le Culte de l'égalité: une exploration du processus de formation de l'État et de la politique populaire en Haïti au cours de la première moitié du dix-neuvième siècle (1804-1846) by Jean Alix René. René's study really challenges us to rethink the relationship between the early state in postcolonial Haiti and its relationship with the rural majority. Instead of, say, adopting the theory of postcolonial Haiti as a maroon state, a more accurate way of looking at it may have been one in which cultivateurs and peasants viewed the state as a legitimate source of protection and an aid in their search for justice. If, as René suggests, the early Haitian state and early constitutions were based on the idea of protection of the governed and a fraternity of suffering based on the racial discrimination, slavery and colonialism in which all Haitians were at least partly affected by, then the state could occasionally be seen as a force in which subaltern groups sought redress, respect, honor, and dignity. We, unfortunately, are not doing justice to all the nuances of this important study, but its implications are quite suggestive. Drawing on various archival sources, including petitions from subaltern groups, governments acts and proclamations, Haitian constitutions, and the press, this other dimension of the state's relations with the nation are more nuanced. 

Of course, as various scholars have argued (Trouillot, Gonzalez, Barthelemy, etc.), the state during the Haitian Revolution and after 1804 sought to limit the extension of smallholder property, the partition of estates, and, at times, even the movement of cultivateurs. According to the author, Dessalines tried to build a Haitian economy based on state control of production through the leasing of habitations for 5 year terms and usage of the military to police or control cultivateurs and limit squatting. However, he faced the problem of both soldiers and cultivateurs resisting his state plans. The emergence of the de moitié system itself was at least partly motivated by the cultivators themselves, who chose to either sharecrop, engage in logging, squat on lands, or, later on, purchase small parcels from the recipients of land under Petion. On the other hand, practices that dated from marronage in the colonial period and forms of resistance among cultivateurs during the Revolution, some Haitians (soldiers and cultivateurs) formed runaway communities that Christophe and others endeavored to crush during the early years of Haitian independence. 

Under Petion, however, relations between state and nation took a different path. Petion's agrarian policy of land concessions or grants and preference for la douceur to gradually change or influence Haitians of the lower classes, appears to have strengthened bonds between the state and its rural majority. While still basing itself on protection, Petion also sought to use land grants and more subtle methods to encourage the cultivation of export crops while also rejecting measures like forced placements of cultivateurs. Moreover, it would appear that Manigat was incorrect when he posited the importance of the commercial oligarchy in Petion's decision to concede small properties in 1809. That Petion's change in policy was at least somewhat effective and supported by the rural majority, one notes how it roused desertions from Goman's rebel state in the South. Although not stated in the study of René, one imagines that Petion's agrarian policies were also contributing factors for the flight of Haitians from Christophe's kingdom to the Republic. But for deeper, specific case studies, René cites the case of Cupidon Guillotte, an African-born former slave whose 1828 petition may represent how peasants viewed or conceived of the state. The petition emphasizes the role of the government as a protector and one in which the peasants saw state power as a source for legitimacy of smallholders. Naturally, this process during the tenure of Petion was not the benevolence of a magnanimous president, but a result of years of peasant and cultivateur resistance and the conflicts with Christophe in the North.

Unfortunately, the more positive aspects of Petion's policies, which still sought to exclude the masses, were magnified by President Boyer. Jean-Pierre Boyer would, as early as 1818, restore corvee labor. He also agreed to the horrible conditions of the 1825 indemnity to France, despite vociferously opposing it in 1814. Boyer similarly excluded cultivateurs from juries, national guard gatherings, and, most infamously, promulgated the Code Rural. Seen by René as the most systematic attempt to control the labor of the rural population of Haiti, through domination, coercion and force, Boyer still failed due to resistance from the peasantry and some of the local and provincial government officials or military officers. Yet even as Boyer sought to exclude the rural majority and control their labor, Haitians continued to petition the state for justice. This identification with the state emerges more clearly with the peasant revolt in the South in the 1840s. Led by peasant smallholders rather than the landless, this middling group, influenced by the liberals who held banquets with peasants in 1842 and overthrew Boyer in 1843, went even further by demanding education for their children, an end to exclusionary practices, and participation in the formal political process. 

Although the peasant revolution only lasted a short time, the proclamations of Acaau and other sources fascinatingly point to the ways in which the peasantry drew on the legacy of the Haitian Revolution and relations with the state, demanding participation rather than isolation. Alas, the resistance of the elites prevented this from fully occurring, while occasional peasant rebellions and use of violence did open some positions in government to some peasants. The tragedy seen in the failure of the Piquets nonetheless lingered, as the "nation" was still largely excluded by the state. Hopefully, future scholarship revisits the themes raised by  René for the second half of Haiti, in the 19th century. 

Sociedad y economía de los Taínos

Francisco Moscoso's Sociedad y economía de los Taínos contains two essays on Taino society and agriculture. As one might expect, it treads familiar territory in terms of Moscoso's past scholarship on the development of precolonial societies in the Antilles. Drawing from chronicles, archival documents, archaeological studies, and theoretical premises of changes in the mode of production and social relations, Moscoso argues quite persuasively for a "tribal-tributary" mode for the Taino cacicazgo by 1000 CE. This was a transitional stage to a class-based society that was interrupted by the Spanish conquest. Moscoso applies this understanding to the entire history of humans in the Caribbean, starting with bands, moving to tribes, and culminating with the chiefdoms known as cacicazgos with more division of labor, hereditary elites (caciques, nitainos, behiques), and regular surpluses through conuco agriculture. This was, at least in Azua, Jaragua, and Maguana, supplemented by irrigation projects and possibly hydraulic works that facilitated agriculture in parts of Haiti which suffered from less rainfall. Indeed, Moscoso even cites a 1495 document by Columbus on the existence of acequias in Maguana. Although it is uncertain, it is likely that similar irrigation practices existed in Puerto Rico, Cuba and possibly Jamaica, too. 

The second essay included in the volume focuses on agriculture, and regularly draws from Oviedo, Las Casas, and other ethnographic sources on societies at similar stages of development. The various uses, applications, and varieties of crops, plants, fruits, and wood utilized by the Taino cacicazgo societies exhibit a highly developed understanding of their local environments. Both essays similarly stress Moscoso's argument about the tribal-tributary stage reached by cacicazgos and the central importace of regular surpluses. Using Las Casas and other sources, one can reach possibly accurate estimates of yuca production (but not other crops cultivated by the Tainos) that suggest high population levels. Thus, Moscoso estimated that Xaragua could have had 30,000-40,000 inhabitants (assuming Behechio and the 32 caciques under his order each led aldeas with the minimum number of inhabitants suggested by Las Casas (1000 people). Similarly, Serrano, one of the old conquistadors interviewed in 1517 by the Hieronymites, reported that the grand caciques held under their control 30,000, 40,000 or 50,000 naborias. And given the role of the cacique in ordering the type of labor to be done by naborias and their role in determining the redistribution of said surplus, the dominant 'class' developed a complex ideology that justified the control of caciques and nitainos. 

Exploring Igbo and African Ancestry

Roseline Siguret's tabulation of African slave "nations" in the Quaarter of Jacmel (from "Esclaves d'indigoteries et de caféières au quartier de Jacmel (1757-1791)"

After reading FonteFelipe's recent blog on African ancestry and matches of his sample of 30 Haitians, we decided to reexamine our own African matches on Ancestry. Unfortunately, we could only find 2 obvious African matches, both Igbo-descended individuals. With one of them we share 23 cM of DNA. Our Haitian parent, who, unsurprisingly, has more African ancestry, shared 29 cM with the same Igbo individual. In addition, they also had African matches who, based on their surnames and publicly posted genealogies, hailed from Mali, Congo, Nigeria, and what appears to be Sierra Leone. The known ethnic breakdown is Igbo, Yoruba, and Mandinka. We could not easily determine the ethnic background of the other Africans. Needless to say, our Haitian parent's African matches were usually of a low degree of shared cM of DNA, 8-16. Her ethnicity estimates assigned 1% Yorubaland, 2% Nigeria-North Central and 2% Nigerian Woodlands (in addition to Mali, Senegal, Ivory Coast & Ghana, Benin & Togo, Cameroon, Western Bantu Peoples). She received a whopping 27% Benin & Togo and 21% Nigeria in the latest update. While there are many problems with her results in the update (her European ancestry is assigned mostly to Spain, even though her previous results assigned the largest European percentage to France), looking at her African matches does suggest some generally useful information on Haitian ancestry. The preponderance of Nigerian matches is likely a reflection of the greater number of Nigerian customers of Ancestry as well as the deep ancestry of Haitians in Nigeria, Benin & Togo and neighboring areas that supplied many of the African captives enslaved in Saint-Domingue. Here is a table breakdown illustrating her matches:

After her match with one Igbo person at 29 cM shared DNA, the next closest match was at 16 cM with someone bearing a Yoruba name. As suggested by FonteFelipe and the work of scholars such as Geggus, there clearly was a larger presence of Igbo and people from the Bight of Biafra in Saint-Domingue's south (which included Jacmel, in the calculations of Geggus). This noticeable Igbo presence is attested to by plantation inventories, testaments, and other contracts mentioning the enslaved population in 18th century Bainet. After Creoles, Igbos were one of the most common groups. The Yoruba ancestry and related Benin/Togo is possibly, in part, represented by the large Creole population among the slaves in Bainet during the second half of the 18th century. Many of the Creoles were likely the children of people who were purchased from the Slave Coast, which would have included various groups represented in Saint-Domingue (like the "Aradas"). This also could have accounted for the "Senegalese" results in our parent's ethnicity estimates. After all, if Senegal was important early on in the French slave trade, then some of the Creoles may have harbored ancestry from Senegambia. As for Mali connection, we assume this to be a sign of ancestry from "Mandingues" and, perhaps, Bambara, in Saint-Domingue. The Bambara would have reached Saint-Domingue through slave trading networks in Senegal, as was likely the case for "Mandingues" who may have not always been clearly distinguished from the Bambara. Interestingly, the Bamana were present among the enslaved in Bainet and one of them played a prominent role during the Haitian Revolution in the Sud (Gilles Bambara). 

Sadly, without more data from African customers or better ethnicity estimate information on African reference panel groups (such as directly telling us which ones we share DNA with), we are still left with only a general picture. Nonetheless, the Igbo contribution to our African ancestry seems very likely based on our shared DNA with one Igbo family. Furthermore, it seems our African ancestry probably includes Mandinka or Malinke (and Bambara?) ancestry as well as Yoruba. To some extent there was undoubtedly a Congolese or Central African contribution, though "Congos" in Bainet could have included Mondongues, Loango, Kongo, and others. As for "Senegal" and areas like Nigeria-North Central, we assume that could be Hausa and Wolof or Fulbe ancestry. Perhaps the "Senegal" and Mali ancestry is slightly inflated by Poulard or Fula, while Nigeria-North Central is from the Hausa or another another northern Nigerian population whose name was not recognized or used in Saint-Domingue. There definitely was a small flow of captives from northern Nigeria, but usually of Hausa or Nupe origin in Saint-Domingue's nomenclature for African "nations."