Départementalisation: 70 years ago

Today marks the anniversary of the departmentalization of France’s “old colonies”: Guiana, Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Réunion.

Une France Antilles DepartementalisationFrance-Antilles—a newspaper created under the aegis of De Gaulle to promote assimilation in the face of growing discontent—is celebrating with a front page illustration that says much about its editorial line.

But I am not interested this particular polemic at the moment. Rather, I’d like to use this opportunity to share a bit more of my manuscript in progress. Here is the section where I discuss political integration as an example of what Glissant calls the détour.

Glissant defines the détour in opposition to the retour, terms that Dash translates as diversion and reversion (Glissant 1999). The détour results from the impossibility of a colonial community to actualize itself in practice, to accept its ruptures from the past, and to heal its internal divisions. Furthermore, the détour is symptomatic of a system of domination that is so pervasive that it becomes invisible, forcing the subaltern community to seek the principle of domination elsewhere (Glissant 1997a, 48-57). The détour is both tactical and ambiguous. As Britton explains, “it is essentially an indirect mode of resistance that ‘gets around’ obstacles rather than confronting them head on.” The détour is a trick but, as Britton remarks, “it is itself marked with the alienation it is trying to combat.” She adds: “It is both an evasion of the real situation and an obstinate effort to find a way around it” (1999, 25).

Michel-Rolph Trouillot (2002) locates the origins of the détour in the everyday acts of petit marronnage at the edges of the plantation. While, in theory, the plantation was an absolute system of domination, in its actual instantiations, the system contained many interstices, cracks that slaves could exploit to manipulate the system from within. Trouillot explains: “And as slaves repeated such manipulations—on the one hand acknowledging the system, on the other circumventing its actualization in carefully chosen instances—they solidified the détour, the social time and space they controlled on the edges of the plantations” (202). It is through the creative manipulation of these openings that slaves were able to develop Creole languages, music, and religions; cultural practices that would come to shape not only their own environment but also that of their overseers. Trouillot concludes: “This creation was possible because slaves found a fertile ground in the interstices of the system, in the attitude provided by the inherent contradictions between that system and specific plantations” (202). There is, of course, a strong parallel between Hesse’s macro-level analysis of a creolized political and Trouillot’s micro-level analysis of what I see as the roots of an always already creolized anti- or postcolonial politics.

Glissant points to Césaire’s négritude as an aesthetic expression of the détour. Yet he does not connect it to Césaire’s politics, probably because they were at odds with his own, or at least with his politics at the time he wrote Le Discours antillais, a book still steeped in separatist longings. Césaire has often been criticized for what many perceived as the contradictions between his artistic production and his politics, between his radical Discours sur le colonialisme (2004) and his support for political assimilation, and—as was the case for Guadeloupean separatists in the 1970s—the tensions between the racial solidarities of his pan-Africanism and the class solidarities of communism. However, Wilder’s revisionist intervention (2015) demonstrates that these various strains of Césaire’s activity all participate in a consistent exploration of the fundamental problems of decolonization. First, the experiences of the French and Haitian revolutions had clearly demonstrated that, as long as Caribbean economies remained tied to capitalist regimes, republicanism alone could not ensure actual freedom: capitalist exploitation would always mollify political emancipation. Second was the realization that, as much as the French Antilles were constitutive parts of the French Republic, French culture played a significant part in Antillean life. From this perspective, it is possible to see the 1946 law of departmentalization as a profoundly practical political move, both from metropolitan and Antillean perspectives. It was simultaneously a testimony of the strength of Jacobinical ideology (radical egalitarianism within an indivisible territory) in French politics and an illustration of the politics of the détour.

For metropolitan Gaullists, the full incorporation of the French Antilles into the Republic preserved the integrity of its territory and participated in a broader effort to reconfigure France’s empire after a war that had weakened its own sovereignty. It also asserted France’s presence in the Western hemisphere, an especially salient issue given growing American influence on the region during the Cold War and, more directly, the United States’ direct input in French economic and political matters following World War II. More importantly, it preserved the French Antilles as a source of cheap labor and as a protected consumer market. Indeed, Antillean immigrants, funneled through the BUMIDOM (Bureau pour le développement des Migrations dans les Départements d’Outre Mer), contributed significantly to the metropolitan economic growth during the trente glorieuses (see chapter 3).

Conversely, for socialist and communist Antillean politicians such as Césaire, the 1946 law of departmentalization not only represented a victory against the white plantocracy but, at a time when the Antillean economy was crumbling, political incorporation also promised to bring greater social protection and higher wages to the islands. Finally, socialist politicians hoped that the French government—which after the war was dominated by socialist and communist forces—would move to save the ailing sugar industry by nationalizing it (Adélaïde-Merlande 2002, 80-82; Hintjens 1995, 24-25). In defending the proposed legislation, Césaire made an appeal to French political traditions and to the legacy of the Revolution (Miles 2001; Wilder 2015, chapter five). In other words, he worked within the French political structure, exposed its inconsistencies, and managed to transform it: a classic example of the poetics and politics of the détour. Conceptualized as a détour, the law of departmentalization overcomes its apparent contradictions. Rather than a politics of assimilation, it is revealed as a practical demand for “unconditional legal equality” within the French state (Wilder 2015, 106). Tied to this demand was a radical, if utopian, effort to redefine France itself as a postnational state (Wilder 2015, 199). The détour also helps us understand what Jean-Claude William (1997, 315) sees as the two contradictory impulses within Antillean “desire for reconnaissance (recognition)”: a “mimetic impulse” on one hand and an “affirmation of difference” on the other. We will return to the concept of reconnaissance and the détour in chapter 7. For now, it is important to note that Césaire’s ontological project—to redefine France and Antilleans’ position within it—is unfinished. To a great extent, it is its aftermath that I attempt to capture through the concept of Creole postnationalism.


Adélaïde-Merlande, Jacques. 2002. Histoire contemporaine de la Caraïbe et des Guyanes, de 1945 à nos jours. Paris: Karthala.

Britton, Celia. 1999. Edouard Glissant and Postcolonial Theory: Strategies of Language and Resistance. Charlottesville, Va.: University Press of Virginia.

Glissant, Edouard. 1997a. Discours Antillais. Folio Essais. Paris: Gallimard.

Glissant, Edouard. 1999. Caribbean Discourse: Selected Essays. Trans. by Dash, J. Michael. 3rd Printing. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press.

Hintjens, Helen. 1995. “Constitutional and Political Change in the French Caribbean.” In French and West Indian: Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Guiana Today, edited by Richard D.E. Burton, and Fred Reno. 20–33. London: Macmillan.

Miles, William. 2001. “Fifty Years of Assimilation: Assessing France’s Experience of Caribbean Decolonisation Through Administrative Reform.” In Islands At the Crossroads: Politics in the Non-Independent Caribbean, edited by Aarón Gamaliele Ramos, and Angel Israel Rivera. 45–60. Kingston, Jamaica: Ian Randle Publishers.

Trouillot, Michel-Rolph. 2002. “Culture on the Edges: Caribbean Creolization in Historical Context.” In From the Margins: Historical Anthropology and Its Futures, edited by Brian Keith Axel. 189–210. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Wilder, Gary. 2015. Freedom Time: Négritude, Decolonization, and the Future of the World. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

William, Jean-Claude. 1997. “Aimé Césaire: les contrariétés de la conscience nationale.” In 1946-1996: Cinquante ans de départementalisation outre-mer, edited by Fred Constant, and Justin Daniel. 315–34. Paris: L’Harmattan.



I have decided to post excerpts of my book manuscript as I write them. Here’s my definition of creolization.

In this book, I want to reclaim Creole and creolization from the semantic and analytical “muddle” described by Palmié.(1) I understand creolization as the process through which ideas and practices are appropriated or affirmed, manipulated, and blended in response to the particular power structure of colonialism sous toutes ces formes: classic and neo-colonialism, but also anti- and post-. I combine the original meaning of Creole referring to what has been made local with the later meaning of creolization as syncretization. Therefore I understand creolization as the act of creative incorporation into the vernacular, of localizing through both détour and détournement.(2) Whereas, as we’ll see below, the détour speaks of a general principle, a poetics symptomatic of a postcolonial unconscious, the French détournement refers to specific acts and practices. Détournement collapses several English words that are all appropriate—to various degrees and in various forms—to creolizing strategies: misappropriation and highjacking, diversion and perversion. I argue, along with Crichlow, that creolization entails a practice of “homing,” of making or claiming not only place, but also ideologies and politics.(3) Creolization is inherently relational. Through its détournements, it not only localizes, it also transforms—or “homes”—its source material. Thus, when I speak of the Creole politics of Guadeloupe, I really refer to creolizing politics, practices and poetics that adopt and adapt the French political while transforming it. Creole politics not only aim to govern the archipelago; they also seek to redefine the French nation-state. As Glissant proposes, creolization participates in an act of “mutual transformation.”(4) In the remainder of this chapter, I will first focus on the détour as a model of (post)colonial contestation before turning to aesthetics, audibility, and opacity.


1 Stephan Palmié, “Is There a Model in the Muddle? ‘Creolization’ in African Americanist History and Anthropology,” in Creolization: History, Ethnography, Theory, ed. Charles Stewart (Walnut Creek, CA: West Coast Press, 2007).

2 I adapt here the idea of the tactics of the détournement proposed by de Certeau.

Michel De Certeau, L’invention du quotidien 1: Arts de faire (Paris: Union générale de l’édition, 1980), 68-75.

3 Michaeline Crichlow, and Patricia Northover, Globalization and the Post-Creole Imagination: Notes on Fleeing the Plantation (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009).

4 Edouard Glissant, Poétique de la relation: Poétique III (Paris: Gallimard, 1990), 103.

La Fabrique de l’Histoire converse avec Luc Reinette

Lors de sa série d’émission sur les indépendantismes cette semaine, La Fabrique de l’Histoire a consacrée une heure au militant guadeloupéen Luc Reinette. L’entretien est fascinant, autant pour ce que M. Reinette a à dire, que pour sa dextérité à éviter certaine question, que pour les nombreux documents d’archive qui illustrent et contextualisent cette conversation.

Je regrette cependant un peu que cette émission consacrée à l’histoire politique récente de la Guadeloupe — un sujet auquel ni la presse, ni les chercheurs ne s’intéressent suffisamment — réduise la lutte indépendantiste aux efforts violents et sensationnels de l’ Alliance Révolutionnaire Caraïbe. Le mouvement indépendantiste en Guadeloupe ne s’est pas limité à des attentats dans les années 1980. Au contraire, ces attentats ne représentent qu’un aboutissement parmi d’autres d’un long processus de luttes sociales et politiques, processus qui avait vu naissance dans les années cinquante et dont les racines remontent encore plus loin. Le forum donné à M. Reinette obscure le travail réalisé par tant d’autres militants au sein des syndicats (comme l’UTA ou l’UGTG) et des partis politiques (comme l’UPLG) qui ont travaillé et continue de travailler pour redéfinir les relations entre la France et ce territoire d’outre-mer. Le mouvement indépendantiste guadeloupéen n’a jamais été monolithique. Il aurait été bon de le représenter dans toute sa complexité.



Entretien avec Lyonel Trouillot dans Libération

À propos du manque de souveraineté réelle:

« Au-delà du caractère corrompu du gouvernement qui impose son candidat, un conflit s’est installé entre la population haïtienne et «l’international» : Union européenne, Etats-Unis, ONG, bailleurs internationaux. C’est la première fois que les Haïtiens expriment un rejet massif de ce diktat sur la réalité haïtienne. Quand vous avez des diplomates qui vous disent : «Voilà, il y aura un second tour entre untel et untel, et ça sera ainsi et pas autrement», le pays ne peut que constater qu’il n’est plus un pays, et que le déni de souveraineté est acté. Même les partis politiques locaux disent : «Mais c’est impossible d’élire un homme nommé d’avance.» L’empressement des forces étrangères à continuer cette parodie est humiliant et détestable. Laisser Haïti reprendre la main sur ses affaires, c’est reconnaître la faillite des systèmes des aides, ces béquilles imposées par l’international. Ce pays est depuis dix ans sous pilotage de la communauté internationale. Cette dernière a imposé des élections après le tremblement de terre alors que les Haïtiens avaient évidemment d’autres urgences. Ce qui serait amusant, c’est que les citoyens européens interrogent leurs propres gouvernants : pourquoi avoir mis en place des élections à marche forcée dans un pays de 300 000 morts ? Pourquoi imposez-vous une élection dont vous connaissez déjà le vainqueur ? En fait, il s’agit de l’imposition de l’apparence de la démocratie à Haïti. »

Sur le rapport avec la France et le français:

« Envers la France, et pour des raisons historiques, notamment de la part des intellos haïtiens, il existe une relation amicale qui tient en vertu des humanités partagées. Or aujourd’hui, on sent qu’il n’y a plus cet élan de fraternité vis-à-vis même de la France. Le doute s’est installé. Du côté populaire, c’est très différent. Il y a évidemment un passé colonial, mais surtout dans l’héritage laissé par la langue. Or, la langue est celle de l’élite, de la bourgeoisie, des dominants. Quant au locuteur créolophone, qui ne connaît pas le français, il voit la langue comme un outil qui l’empêche de s’exprimer. L’image de la France paye le prix de ses crimes historiques et le prix des crimes économiques commis par l’élite haïtienne qui parle… le français. La langue française est vue alors comme un outil de domination. »

Et enfin sur la signification politique des églises évangéliques:

« Les églises évangéliques sont la plus grande catastrophe morale qui est tombée sur Haïti. L’individu est de moins en moins un citoyen : il est un frère en Christ. »

Lisez l’ensemble de l’entretien ici: http://www.liberation.fr/planete/2016/01/22/lyonel-trouillot-en-haiti-nous-n-avons-pas-la-maitrise-de-notre-pays_1428402

France-Antilles: La presse sous influence

Télérama publie ces trop courts extraits d’un entretien avec le réalisateur Martin Courcier dont France Ô diffuse actuellement le documentaire Histoire des médias sous influence.

Ma recherche m’a moi-même permis de prendre la mesure du control de l’information en Guadeloupe. En effet j’ai pu feuilleter tous les numéros de France-Antilles Guadeloupe des années 1960 au années 80 disponibles aux archives départementales. J’ai été très choqué de voir à quel point le journal ignorait les troubles sociaux et les mouvements politiques qui ont marqué cette époque. Lire France-Antilles et le journal indépendantiste Ja Ka Ta côte-à-côte, on a l’impression de deux mondes parallèles: l’un dédié à une lutte anticoloniale, l’autre obnubilé par les accidents de la route et les concours de beauté. Un qui s’inquiète des effets de l’arrivée des containers sur l’emploi guadeloupéen, l’autre qui fête l’atterrissage des premiers avions à réaction qui permettent l’arrivée d’encore plus de touristes.

France-Antilles a passé au silence les courants autonomistes et indépendantistes pendant plus de trente ans. Mais ce silence ne s’arrête pas là. Même aux archives, les pages consacrées aux événements phares de cette période — comme le massacre de Mai 67 — ont été arrachées ou les numéros manquent à la collection. Ainsi, c’est tout un pan de l’histoire guadeloupéenne qui est effacée.


Arresting Depiction of the Atlantic Slave Trade

I’m a little late to the game in discovering this great post on Slate. This is a powerful depiction of the Atlantic slave trade. Watch how many ships end up either in Brazil or Saint Domingue. Clicking on an individual ship also helps you get a sense of the tremendous loss of lives during each journey.