sign in sign up
<<
Home , Alain Krivine, Ayrault government, Cayenne, Christiane Taubira, Club Med, Couac

Tensions of Development and Negotiations of Identity at the Periphery of : Guyane Française since 1946

A thesis submitted to the University of Manchester for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Humanities

2015

Sarah L. Wood

School of Arts, Languages and Cultures

2

Table of contents Page

2 ………………………………… Contents 4 ………………………………… List of figures 5 ………………………………… List of abbreviations 7 ………………………………… List of special terms 8 ………………………………… Abstract 9 ………………………………… Declaration & Copyright Statement 10 ………………………………… Acknowledgements

12 Introduction: from ‘tensions of empire’ to tensions of development 17 …… Chapter outline and sources

23 Chapter 1: Geographies of the periphery 30 ……The imagined frontiers of empire 39 …… Literary and medical tropes of decay: Guyane as Third-Republic ‘underworld’ 48 …… Filling in the blanks: exploration and the cartographic imperative after 1946 58 …… Conclusion: Problematic modernity: a technocratic takeover in the DOM?

61 Chapter 2: Guyane in a French ‘Black Atlantic’, 1946-1962 67 …… Triumph of civilisation or unsanctioned disorder? Malraux’s Gaullist mission, 1958 71 …… Reclaiming Félix Éboué 80 …… ‘De la France équinoxiale au Palais de Luxembourg’: the one-way trajectory of 82 …… Monnerville’s departmentalisation: the realisation of ‘attachment’ to France 85 …… Press and politics in Guyane between Fourth and Fifth Republics 86 …… Political debate post-1958: the UPG’s forlorn hopes of Négritude 90 …… Justin Catayée and the death of dissent 94 …… Conclusion: The French ‘Black Atlantic’ and the politics of commemoration

98 Chapter 3: The Plan Vert of 1975 and the reconfiguration of ‘development’ in Guyane 101 …… Harmonising population, place and production: the rationale of the Plan global de développement de la Guyane 112 …… National economic priorities, localised management 114 …… Guyane and the political establishment in the Fifth Republic: differences of perspective 122 …… The Plan Vert as foreign policy 125 …… ‘Green’ modernity: from Plan Vert to ‘sustainable development’ 132 …… Conclusion: ‘Green’ governmentality

136 Chapter Four: Geopolitical orientations: French responses to conflict at the border, 1986-1992 139 …… The ‘Refugee problem’ and ethnic politics at the border 149 …… Conclusion: The transnational consequences of an ‘Interior War’

151 Chapter Five: Negotiating identities: indigeneity, ‘sustainable development’ and ecological citizenship 154 …… From colony to province: Representing the industrial past, present and future of the DOM in the Ecomusée 3

159 …… From industry to ecology: drivers of decay and preservation at Guyane’s ‘sites of memory’ 162 …… Negotiating indigeneity: the Kalawachi Amerindian cultural centre 163 ………………………………… i) Historicising the ‘Amerindian question’ 168 ………………………………… ii) Framing French ‘indianité’ 171 ………………………………… iii) French museology and the politics of culture 173 ………………………………… iv) Knowledge, power and indigeneity 174 …… Conclusion: Ecosystemic interventions, governance and citizenship

178 Conclusion: ‘La France, c’est aussi la Guyane’

184 …… Appendix …… i) Deputies for Guyane in the National Assembly, 1932-2015 …… ii) Council of the Republic Members / Senators for Guyane, 1946-2015 185 …… iii) Governors / Prefects of Guyane, 1939-2015 186 …… iv) Mayors of , 1935-2015 …… v) Ministries, Ministers and Secretaries for , 1946-2015 189 …… vi) Air transport links to and from Cayenne, 1939-2001

190 Bibliography …… Archive sources 192 …… Films 193 …… Oral history interviews 194 …… Memoir and autobiography …… Personal communications …… Fiction and literary works 195 …… Grey literature …… Newspapers …… Periodicals 196 …… Websites 200 …… Conference papers 201 …… Postgraduate theses …… Published sources pre-1945 202 …… Published sources post-1945

Final Word Count: 79,279 4

List of figures Page

31 Figure 1: Alexandre Vuillemin, La France et ses Colonies (, c. 1858). 32 Figure 2: Illustration to an article by Vidal de la Blache in the Annales de Géographie . 33 Figure 3: Map of the Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque. 35 Figure 4: Henri Coudreau’s 1891 map of Guyane. 36 Figure 5: Location of the Kong Mountains. 38 Figure 6: Walter Raleigh’s map of Guiana, c.1599. 43 Figure 7: Dreyfus on the cover of Le Petit Journal (27 Sep 1896). 44 Figures 8 & 9: stills from Georges Méliès, (dir.), L’affaire Dreyfus: Mise aux fers de Dreyfus and L’Île du Diable (1899). 50 Figure 10: André Cognat in 1979. 50 Figure 11: Jean Hurault, filmed in the 1990s. 50 Figure 12: Raymond Maufrais (c.late 1940s). 76 Figure 13: Félix Éboué’s statue in the Place des Palmistes, Cayenne. 77 Figure 14: Detail of Éboué monument. 78 Figure 15: Monument forming part of more recent commemorations built into Félix Éboué airport, . 155 Figure 16: The Ecomusée Municipal de l’Approuague-Kaw. 155 Figure 17: Displays dowanstairs in the Ecomusée. 156 Figure 18: Map of permits, ‘protected’ areas and mining projects near Régina. 158 Figure 19: Upstairs displays in the Ecomusée. 160 Figure 20: Plantation machinery near Régina. 170 Figure 21: Visitors’ carbets, Kalawachi. 171 Figure 22: Inside the ‘ecomusée’ carbet, Kalawachi. 173 Figure 23: Information board in the Kalawachi 'ecomusée' carbet .

5

List of Abbreviations AAGF Association des Amérindiens de la Guyane française AALGD Association des Amis de Léon-Gontran Damas AEF Afrique Équatoriale Française AMI Aide Médicale Internationale AOF Afrique Orientale Française ARC Alliance Révolutionnaire Caraïbe BAFOG Bureau Agricole et Forestier Guyanais BIPIG Bureau Intéressant les Personnes Immigrées en Guyane BPDA Bureau pour le Développement Agricole BUMIDOM Bureau de Migrations Intéressant les Départements d’Outre-Mer CARICOM Community CARIFTA Caribbean Free Trade Association CCPABG Conseil consultatif des populations amérindiennes et bushinengé de Guyane CENADDOM Centre National de Documentation des Départements d'Outre-Mer CIME Comité Intergouvernemental pour les Migrations Européennes CNEFV Comité National d’Entreaide Franco-Vietnamien, Franco-Cambodgien et Franco-Laotien CNES Centre National d'Études Spatiales CNRS Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique COM Collectivité d’Outre-Mer CSG Centre Spatial Guyanais DOM Département d’Outre-Mer EDF Électricité de France EEC European Economic Community ESA European Space Agency FIDES Fonds d’Investissements pour le Développement Économique et Social IACHR Inter-American Court of Human Rights IFAN Institut Français de l’Afrique Noire IGN Institut de Géographie National ILO International Labour Organisation IMF International Monetary Fund INSEE Institut National de la Statistique et des Études Économiques IRD Institut de Recherche pour le Développement MOGUYDE Mouvement Guyanais de Décolonisation MQB Musée du Quai Branly MRP Mouvement Républicain Populaire MSF Médecins Sans Frontières NGO Non-Governmental Organisation NPK Nationale Partij Kombinatie (Surinam National Party Alliance) OAS Organisation de l’Armée Secrète ONF Office National des Forêts ORSTOM Office de Recherche Scientifique et Technique Outre-mer ORTF Office National de Radiodiffusion Télévision Française PPDS Personnes provisoirement déplacées du PRG Parti Radical de Gauche PSG Parti Socialiste Guyanais RMI Revenue Minimum d’Insertion RN Route Nationale 6

ROM Région d’Outre-Mer RPF Rassemblement du Peuple Français SATEC Société d'Assistance Technique et de Crédit social SEPANGUY Society for the Study and Protection of Nature in Guyane SFIO Section Française de l’Internationale Ouvrière SIGUY Société Immobilière Guyanaise SIMKO Société Immobilière de SMIC Salaire Minimum de Croissance SOFRIGU Société Frigorifique Guyane TAAF Terres Australes et Antarctique Françaises TOM Territoire d’Outre-Mer UDR Union pour la Défense de la République (Gaullist after May ‘68) UDR Union des Démocrates pour la République (Gaullist movement 1967- 76) UNHCR High Commissioner for Refugees UPG Union du Peuple Guyanais USAID Agency for International Development UTG Union des Travailleurs Guyanais WWF Worldwide Fund for Nature 7

List of special terms Guyane The territory known in French as Guyane française, in English as , and in Guyanais Créole (Kreyol Lagwiyann) as Lagwiyann. It is distinct from the predominantly Anglophone Republic of (formerly British Guiana).

Guyanais Inhabitants of Guyane, usually but not always of French nationality.

Guiana Refers to the region as a whole (usually pre-conquest) stretching roughly from present-day to the the . This region post-conquest is referred to as ‘’.

‘Metropolitan’ France or the ‘métropole’ Refers to the French territorial entity in , also referred to as the ‘Hexagon’. Inverted commas acknowledge the colonial origins of the distinction. ‘Metropolitan’ or métropolitain is also used as an adjective to describe who come from the ‘Hexagon’ rather than from one of the overseas departments or territories. Its use is contested (notably by one Breton interviewed, who did not consider Brittany to be part of the métropole ).

Maroons Descendants of escaped slaves, mostly from plantations in Suriname, who formed communities from the sixteenth century and later established treaties with Dutch and French colonial powers to assign their own, independently-governed territory. Also known in Guyane as ‘bushinengé’ and ‘Noirs marrons’, they formed six communities: (also known as Boni), Ndjuka, Saramaka, Kwinti, Paramaka and Matawai. Maroons continue to live across Suriname and Guyane and diasporically: most in Guyane are Aluku but many refugees from the Surinamese War, 1986-1992 were Ndjuka, and migrants from the Saramaka homeland in Suriname have long been a significant social force in Guyane. 1

Amerindians or ‘Amérindiens’ The identity category - adopted or recuperated from the terms employed by colonisers – now used by descendants of ‘first peoples’ of Guyane and the Guianas. Communities present in Guyane include the , Kali’na (also known as Galibi), Arawak, , Teko (also known as Emerillon) and Wayampi. 2

‘Créole’ and Kreyol ‘Créole’ is the term often used by French and Guyanais to refer to Guyane’s population of mixed ancestry (i.e. those categorised, on the whole, as neither ‘métropolitain’, ‘Amérindien’, Maroon nor Hmong. ‘Kreyol’ is used in this thesis to refer specifically to Guyane’s language (Kreyol Lagwiyann); although French is the official language, Kreyol is a commonly- employed vernacular.

1 On Maroon history see Richard Price (ed.), Maroon Societies: Rebel Slave Communities in the (New York, 1973); Jean Moomou, Le Monde des Marrons du en Guyane (1772-1860):La naissance d’un people (Matoury, 2004); Wim Hoogbergen, The Boni Maroon Wars in Suriname (Leiden, 1990); Richard Price and Sally Price (eds.), Stedman’s Surinam: Life in an Eighteenth-Century Slave Society (Baltimore, 1992); H.U.E. Thoden van Velzen and Ineke van Wetering, In the Shadow of the Oracle: Religion as Politics in a Suriname Maroon Society (Illinois, 2004). 2 B. Saladin d’Anglure and F. Morin, ‘Les peuples amérindiens de Guyane: identité et histoire’, http://www.unesco.org/culture/fr/indigenous/Dvd/guyane_identite_et_hist.html [accessed 27 Jan 2015]. 8

Abstract

This thesis addresses the contemporary cultural history of French Guiana (Guyane française), an ‘overseas department’ of France and ‘ultraperipheral region’ of the European Union in . Historiographical frameworks of metropole- colony and of the ‘French ’ (Burton, 1995) have trapped Guyane in historical marginality. I contend that, when studied in the regional context of the Amazonian Guianas as well as in relation to the Caribbean and in terms of its postcolonial or neo-colonial relationship with France, Guyane’s history during this period offers a new and important perspective on postcolonial relationships and identities. The thesis focuses on the period since 1946, when the French government attempted to transpose plans for post-war modernisation and development onto this geographically Amazonian territory. It draws upon archival sources, oral histories and ethnographic analyses to explore how state visions of the place and its future interacted with locally-grounded perceptions and experiences. The five chapters develop historical perspectives on current tensions of ‘development’ and identity in this complex, multicultural and rapidly-changing place. The first chapter examines cultural cartographies and the production of geographical visions of a French Amazonia across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The second focuses on the specific political situation of Guyane in the Fourth Republic, offering a transatlantic geography of local elites’ paths of mobility and the social networks through which power operated. The third focuses on the context for and consequences of a large-scale, ostensibly ‘failed’ development plan of 1975, the so- called Plan Vert . Tracing overlaps and tensions between discourses of development and environment, it suggests that this event paved the way for important shifts in languages of ecology, in ideas of ‘green’, and in the relationships of these to ‘development’ policy. The fourth chapter gauges the geographical, political and cultural role of the border between Guyane and Suriname. It contends that decolonisation (1954-1975), conflict (1986-1992) and the aftermath of these in the latter country had critical repercussions which have not yet been fully apprehended. The final chapter synthesises the findings of the four previous ones in an exploration of the contemporary politics of cultural representation and expressions of identity in Guyane. In conclusion, the thesis makes a historiographical contribution by arguing how this territory, considered peripheral and difficult to define, can in fact be key to apprehending and challenging received ideas and categories of centre and margins, colonial and postcolonial. 9

Declaration No portion of the work referred to in the thesis has been submitted in support of an application for another degree or qualification of this or any other university or other institute of learning.

Copyright statement i. The author of this thesis (including any appendices and/or schedules to this thesis) owns certain copyright or related rights in it (the “Copyright”) and she has given The University of Manchester certain rights to use such Copyright, including for administrative purposes. ii. Copies of this thesis, either in full or in extracts and whether in hard or electronic copy, may be made only in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (as amended) and regulations issued under it or, where appropriate, in accordance with licensing agreements which the University has from time to time. This page must form part of any such copies made. iii. The ownership of certain Copyright, patents, designs, trade marks and other intellectual property (the “Intellectual Property”) and any reproductions of copyright works in the thesis, for example graphs and tables (“Reproductions”), which may be described in this thesis, may not be owned by the author and may be owned by third parties. Such Intellectual Property and Reproductions cannot and must not be made available for use without the prior written permission of the owner(s) of the relevant Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions.

iv. Further information on the conditions under which disclosure, publication and commercialisation of this thesis, the Copyright and any Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions described in it may take place is available in the University IP Policy (see http://documents.manchester.ac.uk/DocuInfo.aspx?DocID=487), in any relevant Thesis restriction declarations deposited in the University Library, The University Library’s regulations (see http://www.manchester.ac.uk/library/aboutus/regulations) and in The University’s policy on Presentation of Theses 10

Acknowledgements This thesis owes its existence to the many individuals and institutions that have supported its author, academically, practically and personally. These are far too numerous to acknowledge adequately here, and I apologise to anyone who is omitted. My first thanks are to my supervisory team. Laurence Brown put me en route to the French Caribbean as an undergraduate and has been on hand since then with ever-acute academic advice and guidance. Barbara Lebrun’s interventions during the writing process have been consistently illuminating and I am grateful for her support, also continual since my undergraduate years. Bertrand Taithe has been a resolutely demanding, inspiring and effective supervisor; I owe a great intellectual debt to him and am grateful for the many hours that he has shared in order to help me realise the potential of this thesis. Research and writing were enabled by generous grants from the UK Arts and Humanities Research Council, The Society for the Study of French History, the Society for French Studies and the University of Manchester. Many an archivist has also facilitated my research and I thank in particular Caroline Lelouard of the Archives du Centre Spatial Guyanais and the helpful and friendly staff of the Archives Diplomatiques in and the Archives d’Histoire Contemporaine at Sciences-Po. At the Alliance Française de Cayenne I gained insights into the nexus of Kreyol language, culture and environment from Rosange Jadfard. In Manchester, Freddy Leidsman was a valued Guyanais informant and Kreyol translator. Further academic thanks go to Gary Butler and Rosy Rickett, who helped me to clarify and structure some of my ideas for the fifth chapter, to Nathan Booth, Luke Kelly, Ed Owens, Alistair Dickins and Tom Scriven, each of whom read and commented on chapters, and to all participants in the Locating Guyane conference of July 2014. Catriona MacLeod probably doesn’t remember it, but was responsible for planting the seed of an idea that postgraduate study might be envisageable in the first place; thanks also to Leif Jerram and Joseph McGonagle for timely academic encouragement. The thesis is but one result of the education that has been available to me in Manchester, and in this the remarkable conviviality of the History PhDs has been definitive. My thanks to all of the Picnic Wednesdays crew, among them Ben Wilcock, Maarten Walraven, Patrick Doyle, Kat Fennelly, James Greenhalgh, Jenni Hyde, Alistair Kefford, Marci Freedman and Kelly Spring (the old guard); plus Jan Gryta, Michael Smith, Sarah Fox, Hannah Robb, Jessica Patterson, Ben Walker, Stefano Locatelli and Kathleen Easlick (the vanguard). Ravi Hensman and Ellen Crabtree have been helpful interlocutors on the subject of twentieth-century France. Of inestimable value has been the friendship and solidarity of Paula Smalley throughout our time as postgraduates. Having researched in Guyane, Paris, Nantes, Aix-en-Provence and London, I have a great debt of hospitality to pay forward (or back). In Guyane I was very generously hosted by Flavie Rident, Eric and Linda Tissier and Bénédicte and Michel Santoro and their families, as well as by the English Language Assistants in Cayenne and by Monique Seghers (and, it seemed, the entire population of ). Monique-Christelle and Stève Jean-Marie - plus Léhanna - and Franck Phan were genial housemates in Cayenne and were generous with their contacts. Kind enough to share their insights and experiences of life in Guyane were, amongst others, Patrick Vigneresse, Jean-Yves Gallard, Jacqueline Zonzon, the Ho-A-Sim family, Eugène Epailly, Michel Plaisir, Jamanta, Antoinise Azur, Jean Barjou, Emmanuel Bellony, Yolaine Champestaing, Norbert Clet, Catherine Corlet, Hector Dorilas, the Génèves family, Marie-Thérèse Gittens, M. Milock, M. Apolinaire, M. Narfez, Frédéric Piantoni, Raphaël Wintrebert, Antoine Karam, Christian Pernault and the inspirational Floriette Methon. I thank 11 all participants in my oral history endeavours, anonymous and otherwise, including Penny Summerfield for allowing me to audit her course in Personal Testimony and Historical Research. Frédéric Lesimple provided essential logistical and moral support in Guyane – including the occasional foie gras en pirogue – and carried out some crucial proxy detective work after my return to the UK. Laure Venier was a helpful post-fieldwork discussant and we shared a first visit to Kalawachi, where I also thank Jean-Pierre Joseph and the indomitable Hervé. Knowing no fear but conscious of a risk-assessment form, I would not admit hitch- hiking alone, and Hannah Goodwin was a delightful travelling companion to and from Régina. In Paris, Helen Emanuel, Pierre De Pasquale and Catriona MacLeod have been gracious and benevolent hosts, as have Leslie Guillet, her family and friends in Nantes. In London, I have my friends Jessica Haigh, Elizabeth Siarkiewicz and Fionnuala Chantrey to thank for their spare rooms and their generosity. Quality of life during the PhD is vital and I could not have asked for better nor more joyful flatmates than those who have put up with me since 2011: namely, Colleen Nee, David Cruickshank, Kim Marsh, Peter Donald, Anthoula Kefallinou, Helen Parry and Deepanshu Srivastava. Contramestre Gato Preto and Energia Pura Guyane, Mestre Valdir and Capoeira Conviver, the gang at Capoeira Angola Manchester, and Ray ‘Use the force’ Haq have all trained me for battle over the last few years, while Ellen Roecke has kept me in music. I also thank my ‘extracurricular’ friends Joanne Kirkham, Sophie Pope, Verity Emanuel, Jo and Chris Gray, Stevie Spiegl, Lyndsay Cross and Nicole Ferraiolo for their forebearance. The support of everyone at home (in all its guises) has got me through the PhD and out of the other side with sanity more or less intact. Helen Gould and Lily-Mae, Caitlin Leigh and Brenda Young have offered more-than familial hospitality and indeed a holiday home in Greenfield, plus an awful of moral support and wine; I cannot thank them enough. Mark and Chloe Wood provided R&R Lincolnshire-style. Derek and Ana Booth, their friends and neighbours provided succour in the form of turkey dinners, acarajé and lambada in Salvador da Bahia on a break from fieldwork. When my dad, Bernard Wood, took it upon himself many years ago to support my education, I don’t think he bargained for taxi- ing me, aged 28, back and forth across the Pennines; I thank him for his dedication and his logistical help. To Nico Carpentieri I owe more than I can enumerate (or articulate) here. Finally, everything is in the end thanks to my mum, Lorraine Booth. 12

Introduction: from ‘tensions of empire’ to tensions of development 3 The case of Guyane challenges assumptions about the nature of modern France, the historiography of ‘decolonisation’, and the continued role of French ‘tropical’ colonies and their inhabitants. It offers an alternative story to existing narratives of Republican identity and the end of empire. Guyane must, therefore, complicate historical understandings of the aftermath of imperial projects in the late-twentieth century. This thesis analyses how, through projects of development and conservation, government discourses formulated a relationship to the locality. How did Parisian assumptions about this ‘confetti of empire’, its ‘nature’ and its future correspond – or not – to the experience of those living in Guyane? 4 How have these tensions affected the contestation and the reinforcement of Guyane’s Frenchness, such that in 2015 there is no sign of its future independence? Within a study of Guyane, three fields of history enter into dialogue with one another. First of these is the French colonial and decolonial; secondly is the history of France’s modernisation and democratisation; and finally, that of imaginings of nature and ‘development’ in Amazonia. The location of Guyane in north-eastern South America means that it offers a unique prism through which to employ these three approaches in combination. Thus, the thesis permits a re-envisaging of multiple historical perspectives. It aims to reshape approaches to each of these three, individual historiographical strands as well as to the history of Guyane specifically. A set of late-twentieth century events are pivotal in this history. In 1975, ministers proposed a grand modernisation plan – the agricultural-industrial Plan Vert –as the solution to Guyane’s perceived problems. Within two decades of its apparent failure, the French government had seemingly abandoned its pretensions to ‘developing’ Guyane in the classic sense. 5 Instead, it began to imagine its Amazonian territory as a key player in French and global ‘green’ imperatives. Although this was more obviously the case following international agreements arising from the 1992 Rio environmental summit, there were earlier precedents to the apparent ideological shift. At the same time as Guyane was going ‘green’, however, the spectre of industry and ‘development’

3 Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (eds.), Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World (London, 1997). 4 Guyane is now a département et région d’outre-mer of France. This 90,000 km 2 territory is a unique legacy in continental South America of the formerly vast French American empire, much of which was was lost in the 1763 Treaty of Paris following the Seven Years War between France and Britain. Daniel Baugh, The Global Seven Years War 1754-1763 (London, 2011); Hamish Scott, ‘The Seven Years War and Europe’s Ancien Régime ’, War in History 18:4 (2011), pp.419-455. The ‘confetti’ metaphor was used by J.-C. Guillebaud, Les confettis de l’empire: Djibouti, , , Réunion, , Nouvelle Calédonie, Guyane (Paris, 1976). 5 Among ‘classic’ development economics texts is W. Arthur Lewis, ‘Economic Development with Unlimited Supplies of Labour’, Manchester School 22 (1954), pp.139-191. James Scott critiques development ‘failure’ in Seeing Like a State: How certain schemes to improve the human condition have failed (London, 1998). 13 remained present – and indeed intrinsic to conservationist language – negotiated among French politicians and with those of neighbouring countries such as . By questioning cultural histories of ‘environment’ and of ‘development’, the thesis identifies the complexities of an apparent transition in how the places and spaces of a supposedly postcolonial Département d’Outre-Mer (henceforth DOM) are imagined, constructed and used. The co-presence of ‘French’ and ‘indigenous’ points to the continued existence of a colonial paradigm in Guyane, or at least, it challenges the imputation of a ‘postcolonial’ label. Hence, an important sub-theme is cultural alterity. How has difference been signified, categorised and debated in this place where, in line with Republican ideology, race and ethnicity are officially taboo? The response offered is that, while to some extent Republican discourse does mask adaptation in practice, it is also the case that difference and commonality are construed in the ways that people draw upon, interact with and describe their environment in everyday life, and in museological representations of these practices. This raises the question of ‘ecological citizenship’ and indicates a broader argument for the importance of ecological discourse in cultural history. The thesis seeks to contribute to the historiography of colonial, decolonial and postcolonial governmentality. 6 By looking at the local political scene alongside the broader history of decolonisation, it responds in particular to the work of Frederick Cooper. Cooper warns against the teleological pitfalls of ‘doing History backwards’, amongst them the narrative of decolonisation as an inevitable culmination of historical processes. 7 The alternative path taken by Guyane thus appears as one of Cooper’s ‘dead ends of historical processes, the alternatives that appeared to people in their time.’ 8 The fact that the colony did take the road of departmentalisation rather than decolonisation does not make Guyane a historical anomaly; rather, it is a function of its being a fundamental part of modern France.

6 Michel Foucault defined governmentality as ‘the ensemble formed by the institutions, procedures, analyses and reflections, the calculations and tactics that allow the exercise of … power’, ‘Governmentality’ in Graham Burchell, Colin Gordon and Peter Miller (eds.), The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality (Chicago, 1991), p.102. The concept is elaborated in relation to ‘self-governance’ by Nikolas Rose, Governing the Soul: the shaping of the private self (London, 1999) and to urban life, the modern, liberal state and materiality by Patrick Joyce, The Rule of Freedom: Liberalism and the Modern City (London, 2003) and Joyce, The State of Freedom:A Social History of the British State Since 1800 (Cambridge, 2013). Governmentality in extra-European situations (including Guyane) in explored in Jonathan Xavier Inda (ed.), Anthropologies of Modernity: Foucault, Governmentality, and Life Politics (Oxford, 2005); David Scott discusses ‘colonial governmentality’ in Conscripts of Modernity: the tragedy of colonial enlightenment (London, 2004) and Scott, ‘Colonial Governmentality’ in Inda (ed.), Anthropologies of Modernity pp.23-49. Partha Chatterjee questions the conceptual separation of ‘colonial’ from any other category of ‘state’, The Nation and its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories (Princeton, 1993); see also Ann Laura Stoler, Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things (London, 1995). 7 Frederick Cooper, Colonialism in Question: Theory, Knowledge, History (London, 2005), p.26. Todd Shepard makes a similar argument in The Invention of Decolonisation: The and the Remaking of France (London, 2006). 8 Cooper, Colonialism in Question , p.18. 14

The real centrality of this ‘peripheral’ territory is overlooked in predominantly ‘hexagonal’ perspectives on French history. The thesis thus also represents a significant contribution to work on France and on Guyane specifically. With rare, notable exceptions, scholars of the French outre-mer tend to append this département to their accounts of the French Caribbean. 9 Although Bill Marshall acknowledges Guyane’s stark historical and present differences from the Antilles, his study remains within the bounds of Cayenne, the major coastal city. 10 The approach of this thesis is original in that it does not consider Guyane’s twentieth-century history to be necessarily a Caribbean one, nor the ‘French Atlantic’ one of a coastal enclave. Rather, it might be described at the same time as ‘Amazonian’ – a site of many, multi-scalar interactions – and yet, paradoxically, firmly French. 11 Guyane’s cultural and economic attachment to the Antilles is a consequence of imperial history which today neither holds nor seeks a rationale beyond that of their common, ‘official’ Frenchness. Its geographic and cultural commonalities with the neighbouring country of Suriname and with the Brazilian North East are more significant, and ought to reorient scholarly approaches to Guyane. 12 These connections are not prominent in Peter Redfield’s definitive anthropological work on the bagne and Centre Spatial Guyanais (henceforth CSG). Redfield raised key points about French imaginings of Guyane as a ‘green hell’ and the ‘underworld’ of empire, and his work was crucial in relating governmentality to space and environment in Guyane. 13 These anxieties about civilisational decline are the first chapter’s starting point. Subsequent chapters nuance Redfield’s account of Guyane’s role in French modernity by replacing Guyane in the context of regional geopolitics and the cultural dynamics of ‘the Guianas’.

9 Richard D.E. Burton and Fred Reno (eds.), French and West Indian: Martinique, Guadeloupe and French Guiana Today (London, 1995); particularly noticeable in literary ‘Francophone Caribbean’ studies: Celia Britton, The Sense of Community in French Caribbean Fiction (Liverpool, 2010); Louise Hardwick, Childhood, Autobiography and the Francophone Caribbean (Liverpool, 2013); Gertrud Aub-Buscher and Beverley Omerod-Noakes (eds.), The Francophone Caribbean Today: literature, language, culture: studies in memory of Bridget Jones (Barbados, 2003). 10 Bill Marshall, The French Atlantic: Travels in Culture and History (Liverpool, 2009), pp.220-259. 11 ‘Multi-scalar’ is borrowed from geography. Madeleine Boudoux d’Hautefeuille, ‘La frontière et ses échelles: les enjeux d’un pont transfrontalier entre la Guyane française et le Brésil’, Cybergéo: Revue européenne de géographie 514 (2010), http://cybergeo.revues.org/23405 [accessed 27 Jan 2015]. On defining the ‘Caribbean’ see Valérie K. Orlando, ‘Introduction: Situating the Caribbean: Texts and Contexts’ in Valérie K. Orlando and Sandra Messinger Cypess (eds.), Reimagining the Caribbean: Conversations among the Creole, English, French, and Spanish Caribbean (London, 2014), p.xvi. 12 Sites such as La Réunion (as a fellow DOM) Cape Verde with its Creole cultures and even Tasmania - a large, sparsely- populated site of a former penal colony – also offer potential for fruitful comparison. Richard and Sally Price have studied Guyane alongside Belize (also continental and multicultural, and in 1981 one of the last Caribbean colonies to gain its independence), Price and Price, ‘Executing Culture’, p.98. Stephen Toth has drawn comparisons with Nouvelle-Calédonie, with its penal history and indigenous politics in Beyond Papillon: The French Overseas Penal Colonies, 1854-1952 (London, 2006). 13 Peter Redfield, Space in the Tropics: From Convicts to Rockets in French Guiana (London, 2000); Redfield, ‘Foucault in the Tropics: Displacing the Panopticon’ in Inda, Anthopologies of Modernity , pp.50-79. Guyane’s place in French legal imagination is explored in Miranda Spieler, Empire and Underworld: Captivity in French Guiana (London, 2012). On French modernity see Paul Rabinow, French Modern: Norms and Forms of the Social Environment (London, 1995); Kristin Ross, Fast Cars, Clean Bodies: Decolonisation and the Reordering of French Culture (London, 1995); Michael Bess, The Light-Green Society: Ecology and Technological Modernity in France, 1960-2000 (London, 2003). 15

The thesis probes the question of why Guyane neither ‘decolonised’ during the Fourth Republic (or later), nor had its status adapted as many other French colonies did. Autonomy was nevertheless a recurring theme in Guyanais political reclamations from the mid-twentieth century. However, the autonomy claimed was often not from the French state, as was largely the case in Martinique and Guadeloupe. Rather, the Guyanais sought to be disassociated from the effects of French military or expansionist projects, or indeed from the Antilles.14 Whilst other DOM-TOMs’ relationships with central government were tumultuous, Guyane’s was marked by paternalism. This was sometimes manifested in social, political and cultural conservatism, for example in the case of Catholicism, where Guyane is still exempted from the separation of church and state. At other times, it has been asserted that ‘attachment’ to France is just the thing to assure the independence of individuals and the flourishing of diversity, both cultural and biological. Certainly, the historical political roles and personal trajectories pursued by Guyanais individuals such as Félix Éboué, Gaston Monnerville and, lately, have inscribed them as integral to ‘French’ history. French paternalism (or maternalism) seems to be reciprocated in a lack of independentist sentiment, an absence which is remarkable if compared to the Antilles and other DOM and collectivités d’outre-mer (henceforth COM) such as Nouvelle-Calédonie. A ‘nation’ of Guyane has rarely been realistically imagined; few have invested efforts to theorise one, and political movements to such end have not held great currency since an autonomist movement was quelled in 1962 (see chapter two). Few in Guyane attempt to shake off what links this territory to the French nation. These links – be they in the form of the heavy military presence or of the education or health systems – may be perceived at the same time as chains and as conduits; tools of repression or platforms for social mobility. Guyane constitutes a paradox. It is the antithesis of ‘metropolitan space’: ‘indigenous’, invaded (by illegal goldminers) and uncontrollable, and yet it is ‘metropolitan’ – or at least, French – space. To paraphrase Peter Redfield and Miranda Spieler, it is the ‘underworld’ of empire, where the prevailing norm is a nominal Republicanism that is obviously beset by its own contradictions.15 Most narratives of Guyane’s history are told from a French perspective, and hence exclude much that could explain the experience of many of its inhabitants. 16 The majority of

14 Other examples of direct and indirect reclamation include the ‘Galmot affair’ in 1928, in which a rioting crowd killed six men, interpreted as a proletarian revolt against a corrupt, Antillais ‘cabal’ said to have plotted the demise of a popular French politician. Conflict occurred in 1945 between the Guyanais and tirailleurs sénégalais sent after the 1928 violence. , La Révolte des Tirailleurs Sénégalais (France, 1995). See also chapters two and three of this thesis. 15 Spieler, Empire and Underworld ; Redfield, ‘Foucault in the Tropics’, p.65. 16 With the exception of rare pre-Columbian histories and archaeologies (Gérald Migeon, ‘Le rôle de la Guyane précolombienne dans la zone d’intéractions caribéo-amazonienne’, EchoGéo 6 (2008)), these begin with its visitation by Europeans from the late-fifteenth or early-sixteenth century and small, French settlements based on African created 16 the current population was born outside the département , whether in South America or the Caribbean, Europe, the or Asia, and hence the story of this place also includes their many and complex historical trajectories. 17 Guyane is different things to different people; if it is one coherent entity or ‘place’, its boundaries are not easily ascertainable. Since the 1970s, its environments and societies have been changing with a new rapidity in terms of demographics, economy and the use of space and ‘natural resources’. By adopting a broad chronological scope, this thesis sets ongoing changes in the perspective of contemporary history. As material realities evolve, contests have developed amongst and between different local, national and international parties over visions of and plans for the human and ‘natural’ environments of Guyane.18 In the case of recent debates over a charter setting out the remit of the Amazonian National Park, for example, the interests of stakeholders at community, civic, national and global levels have converged and conflicted. 19 These interests are ostensibly in environmental conservation and/or ‘protection’ of particular human cultures, yet they are also underscored with the language of mise en valeur . The debates are but the latest in a history of negotiations over the delimitation, management and use of certain kinds of space – and its material contents – in Guyane. Parties in these debates attempted to crystallise the meanings in coastal regions (with occasional incursions by Portuguese, Dutch and British) throughout the seventeenth century. They then cover the disastrous 1763 mission to install thousands of families from across Europe and the former French American Empire on the banks of the Kourou river. An idealistic plan to develop an agricultural colony with no African slaves (but with migrants of whom many had little choice but to be transported), the plan ended in the death of thousands and the evacuation of almost all remaining migrants: between 15,000 and 20,000 people in all. The trauma occasioned to France by this spectacular failure was, according to Rothschild, determining in the history of the French outre-mer : it deterred France from future attempts to develop its South American colony and thus set the tone for future settler colonialism in ‘la France équinoxiale’. Marion Godfroy, ‘ Passengers to the West . De Coblenz à Kourou: recrutements et stratégies d’une migration transcontinentale et transatlantique en 1763’, Annales de démographie historique 124:2 (2012), p.90; Marion Godfroy, Kourou, 1763: le dernier rêve de l’Amérique française (Paris, 2011); Emma Rothschild, ‘A Horrible Tragedy in the French Atlantic’, Past and Present 192 (2006), pp.67-108; Christopher Hodson, ‘“A Bondage So Harsh”: Acadian Labour in the French Caribbean, 1763-1766’, Early American Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal 5:1 (2007), pp.95-131. Subsequently, Guyane was a site of exile for refractory priests after the 1789 Revolution. Plantation cultures and other settlement projects developed there in fits and starts during the nineteenth century. Much depended on the 1794 abolition of slavery, its reinstatement and then its final abolition in 1848: on doomed plans for resettlement of free Black and Irish migrants from the U.S. during the early-nineteenth century see Joseph Boromé, ‘When French Guiana sought American Settlers’, Caribbean Studies 7:2 (1967), pp. 39-51. Also in this period, a Catholic Sister of Saint-Joseph-de-Cluny, Anne-Marie Javouhey, created a utopian agricultural colony for freed slaves near the village of Mana. Sarah Curtis, Civilising Habits: Women Missionaries and the Revival of French Empire (Oxford, 2010), p.209. In 1854, a formal penal colony for ‘common-law criminals’ was established in Guyane. The institution persisted until after the Second World War and put the brakes on other kinds of mise en valeur of the territory. Stephen Toth, Beyond Papillon: The French Overseas Penal Colonies, 1854-1952 (London, 2006), p.1; Spieler, Empire and Underworld ; Boromé, ‘When French Guiana Sought American Settlers’, p.50; Jonna Yarrington, ‘Sugar and the Edge of France’ in Catriona MacLeod and Sarah Wood (eds.), Locating Guyane (Liverpool, 2016), forthcoming . The bagne was officially closed in 1946 and final repatriations of former prisoners made until 1952. Pierre Dufour, Les bagnes de Guyane (Paris, 2006), p.337. Its abolition coincided with the 1946 alteration of Guyane’s status from colony to DOM. Pascal Blanchard, Sandrine Lemaire, Nicolas Bancel and Dominic Thomas, ‘Introduction: The Creation of a Colonial Culture in France, from the Colonial Era to the “Memory Wars”’ in Pascal Blanchard, Sandrine Lemaire, Nicolas Bancel and Dominic Thomas (eds.), Colonial Culture in France Since the Revolution (Indiana, 2014), p.24. 17 Statistics on the population’s origin are from Didier Breton, Stéphanie Condon, Claude-Valentin Marie and Franck Temporal, ‘Migrations, Famille et Vieillissement: Défis et enjeux pour la Guyane’, Antianéchos (INSEE) 21 (2012). 18 The theoretical approach of this thesis in respect of ‘environment’ is to consider ‘social relations’ between human and non- human actors – i.e. between people and environment - symmetrically, in the manner of Timothy Mitchell, The Rule of Experts: Egypt, Technopolitics, Modernity (Berkeley, 2003), p.11. 19 See chapters four and five. 17 accorded to space and place in order to lend their claims symbolic weight. Building on the work of Richard and Sally Price, this thesis argues that museological politics have been a key forum for negotiations of the possible identities of Guyane’s inhabitants, and for the articulation of ecological relationships between people and place. Since the 1990s, a relatively high proportion of funds has been channelled by local and national government and others into museum, ‘heritage’ and other cultural projects such as archaeology, signifying that Guyane’s history is under debate, and hence also its present and future. 20 The parties to these negotiations of development, environment and identity have repeatedly had to reassess the terms of their debates as relatively demographic massive change has occurred in Guyane over recent decades as a result of high birth rates and of migrations. Debates have also been reconfigured according to changing national policies.21 Categories of all kinds in the département – social, linguistic, economic, environmental and cultural – have been in flux since 1946. As people seek and attempt to establish resolution for their conflicting visions, a historicisation of these categories is timely.

Chapter outline and sources The underlying chronological progression is underpinned by a thematic logic: the interrogation of the boundaries of France, and of how governance at these boundaries has been imagined and negotiated. Chapter one frames Guyane as an imagined and an environmental boundary, chapter two examines events and individuals at the political margins (which were also central to events in ‘metropolitan’ France and beyond) and chapter three interrogates modernity at the periphery. Chapter four focuses on the ‘Third-World’ conflict which spilled across the French Latin American border between 1986 and 1992, and chapter five unpicks the threads of debates around ethnicity, indigeneity and identity, issues which were made stark during the 1986-92 war and in its aftermath. Chapter one argues that Third-Republic modes of imagining, ‘exploring’ and governing French peripheries survived through the era of departmentalisation from 1946 and into the late-twentieth century. For this, it identifies the historical processes by which maps and cartographic practices have chartered the known, the unknown, and the border between the two. Geographical and medical cartographic visions of environment and people, it suggests, were permeated by literary and cultural tropes of a ‘heart of darkness’. 22 This in

20 Richard Price and Sally Price, ‘Executing Culture: Musée, Museo, Museum’, American Anthropologist 97:1 (1995), p.97. 21 For example: departmentalisation in 1946; decolonisation elsewhere throughout the 1950s and 60s; the end of Guyane’s division between‘département’ and ‘territoire’ in 1969; decentralisation from 1982. 22 Tropes articulated most famously in Joseph Conrad’s novel, Heart of Darkness (London, 2006 [1899]). On the historical 18 turn offers a way into the wider thematic of the role of ecological relationships in cultural cognition and historical understanding. The visualisation and presentation of space in a certain way ‘prepares the ground’ for plans made to act upon that space. Cartographic difference thus offers a way of explaining gaps between plans and reality when it comes to governance and economic ‘development’ (and thus the first chapter coheres thematically with subsequent exploration of economy and ‘development’). The relationship between cultural cartographies and governance is particularly interesting to analyse in the case of Guyane, because the colony/DOM functions as a border: both geographically and conceptually, it stands at the edge of France. The chapter uses maps alongside texts written by geographers, medics, colonial administrators and ‘explorers’ from the Third to the Fifth Republic. Thus it interrogates the intersection between narrative and image in the production of governmental discourses. Chapter two refocuses the analysis of politics at the margins of empire. It asks how political space – rather than the environment – was configured in the first decades of departmentalisation. Where was Guyane – and where were the Guyanais – in the networks through which political action was conducted in the post-Second World War era of decolonisations? Individuals from Guyane and events in this DOM, it argues, were in fact at the very crux of the negotiations and tensions of (post)colonial citizenship during the Fourth Republic and afterwards. The chapter draws a prosopography of a particular network of Guyanais politicians who moved in both ‘French Atlantic’ and ‘Black Atlantic’ circles, variously instigating, justifying or challenging assimilationist policies.23 It considers the French politics of ‘memory’ surrounding the afterlife of these politicians, analysing the production and utilisation of monuments to key figures such as Félix Éboué and Gaston Monnerville. For these purposes, it draws upon archival sources from the Archives Départementales de la Guyane, the Archives Nationales d’Outre-Mer and Monnerville’s personal archive. The chapter indicates how hyper-local events such as the deaths in plane crashes of the politicians René Jadfard (1947) and Justin Catayée (1962) were in fact key to broader processes of decolonisation and ‘assimilation’ across the French empire. Thus it develops historiographical challenges to frameworks of ‘centre’ and ‘periphery’ based on ‘symmetrical’ social relations and offers new perspectives on the geographies of ‘French’ and

and cultural power of colonial notions of ‘dark continents’ see: Robbie McLaughlan, Reimagining the ‘Dark Continent’ in Fin-de-Siècle Literature (Edinburgh, 2012); Agata Szczeszak-Brewer, Empire and Pilgrimage in Conrad and Joyce (London, 2011); Bertrand Taithe, The Killer Trail: a colonial scandal in the heart of Africa (Oxford, 2009). 23 On Senghor’s interpretation of ‘assimilation’ see Frederick Cooper, ‘Decolonising Situations: The Rise, Fall, and Rise of Colonial Studies, 1951-2001’, French Politics, Culture and Society 20:2 (2002), p.48. 19

‘black’ identities. 24 Who appropriated local and international political languages, how, and to what purpose? Within Guyane, rivalries hinged on a distinction between an ‘outward-facing’, Cayenne-based politics emphasising ideological, Republican belonging, and one which claimed to look to the ‘inner’ diversity of Guyane. Hence, the ostensibly political approach speaks to overarching themes of Frenchness, environmental identities, and the production and contestation of space. Chapter three critiques French development plans and languages of modernisation. It assesses the conception and attempted implementation of a French-style modernisation plan in this Amazonian DOM. The Plan Vert was related to two contemporaneous projects: the resettlement of Hmong refugees (from former from 1976) and the development of the Space Centre (from 1964). The Space Centre heralded economic change in Guyane but also technological modernisation across France and Europe. The conjunction of these projects exposes an important transition in the ways in which French institutions began to re-envisage concepts of ‘science’ and ‘development’. It also indicates how these institutions and concepts were still intrinsically related to the French outre-mer . The resettlement of Hmong refugees was a key site of experimentation with changing visions of ‘science’ and’development’. Futuristic interpretations of ‘development’ elaborated in the Plan Vert were synthesised with a re-play of colonial ideas about human cultures, environments, and the management of the relationship between the two. The Plan Vert was a relatively late example of attempted grands travaux of the dirigiste era. The chapter analyses the terms in which the Plan was announced and how these were altered and adapted according to changing circumstances. It addresses the relationships between the Plan ’s local reception, the idea of its supposed ‘failure’, and its repercussions for French notions of modernity, ‘development’ and the sustainability of the two. Particularly important sources are French- and Kreyol-language oral histories recorded in Guyane in 2012-13. These permit perspectives on ‘peripheral’ French modernities which challenge governmental discourses and nuance existing historical interpretations. Also deployed is material on Space Centre-related modernisation plans from the Archives du Centre Spatial Guyanais, sources on the Hmong and other migration projects from the Archives Nationales Contemporaines, Plan Vert publicity material held in the Bibliothèque de l’Hôtel de Ville, and contemporary Guyanais and French press sources.

24 Joyce, The State of Freedom , p.20; Bruno Latour, Reassembling the Social:An introduction to actor-network-theory (Oxford, 2005); Manuel Castells, The Rise of the Network Society (Chichester, 2010); Abdoulaye Gueye, ‘The labyrinth to blackness: On naming and leadership in the black associative space in France’, French Cultural Studies 24:2 (2013), pp.196- 207. 20

The Space Centre and its concomitant projects, especially the Petit-Saut hydroelectric dam, instigated a wave of scientific research and development based in Guyane. The role of ‘science’ in the postcolony, from the economic logic of the post-war research bureaux to later institutions such as the Institut de recherche pour le développement (henceforth IRD), is a sub-theme. Did ‘science’ signify French ‘development’ or ‘conservation’ in the DOM, and how far were these two ideas co-dependent? As much as or more than the Space Centre, the supposed ‘failure’ of the Plan Vert may have signalled an ideological reconfiguration of French plans for Guyane. The onus of research shifted away from the use of science as a tool in industrial development and towards an ‘ecological’ or ‘ecocentric’ imperative. This pivotal chapter cuts to the heart of discourses of economy, ecology and environment. Guyane’s ‘value’, it argues, was relocated from its productive potential to its ‘environmental capital’: its ‘biodiversity’ and potential as a site of conservation and of ‘ecological’ human life. 25 Finally, chapter three probes the events of 1975 to explore government visions of France as a Latin American power during the Cold War. It paves the way for an examination of the effects of decolonisation and civil war in Suriname, Guyane’s western neighbour. With the 1975 Plan Vert , the government sought 30,000 migrants for Guyane. In 1986, this purported hospitality was absent when they received several thousand refugees. Chapter four unpicks the politics of ethnicity in relation to migrations in Guyane post-1975. Firstly, the nature of the Franco-Surinamese border was crucial to how the war played out, as were French diplomatic interventions and their treatment of refugees. Secondly, the war had and continues to have transformative social, economic and cultural consequences in Guyane (and therefore for France) which have not yet been apprehended. The chapter draws on French embassy archives from , now held in the Nantes Archives Diplomatiques. It is the first work to draw significantly on these archives, notable for their multilingual documentation (French, Portuguese and Dutch). The fifth chapter explores the terms of debate over ethnicity, indigeneity and identity. French political debates on these issues are largely conducted from a Parisian, centralist viewpoint, assuming a Republican paradigm in which ‘ethnicity’ is taboo. 26 Given the presence of self-defining ‘Amerindians’, then, how far are the terms of life in the DOM established by its inhabitants, and how far do they remain hegemonically French? Scientific and technological visions of Guyane, as elaborated in chapter three, paved the way for the

25 Echoing, perhaps, Michel Foucault’s distinction of the ‘species body’ as opposed to the ‘machine body’, The History of Sexuality: An Introduction (London, 1990), p.139. 26 Trica Danielle Keaton, ‘The Politics of Race-Blindness: (Anti)Blackness and Category-blindness in Contemporary France’, Du Bois Review: Social Science Research on Race 7:1 (2010), pp.103-131. 21 articulation of ‘identities’ of the place and its inhabitants according to ecosystemic visions. That is to say, difference, belonging and community were articulated in terms of the co- dependence of human and environmental life, and in terms of the technologies and techniques by which the two interact. These languages of ecology are not necessarily new, but have gained increasing currency and are allotted more political space as the French state adapts Republican governmental systems to Amazonia. This is currently evident with regard to Guyane’s Regional Parks and National Park. Debates continue between 'customary' (i.e. ethnically-based) authorities and state and commercial actors as to, firstly, who should have a say in negotiating the definition and limits of the National Park, and, secondly, who has the right to authorise or deny industrial development in a particular area of Guyane. The question is at stake of whose forms of environmental knowledge and practice have more legitimacy and purchase. This final chapter builds on debates raised in the fourth around the regional complexities of ethnicity and identity. How are these tensions of ethnicity, indigeneity and citizenship – essentially, the politics of diversity – articulated in Franco-Amazonian space? Geographical, political and museological spaces have been accorded to ‘culture’ and its representation. Focusing on museological claims to ‘authenticity’, the chapter traces these negotiations across different local, national and regional scales. Key primary sources are museum ethnographies conducted during fieldwork (Sep 2012-Jan 2013), in conjunction with oral histories, interviews with institutional actors, grey literature and the archives of museological, scientific and environmentalist organisations. Apparently minor events in fact illustrate a wider trend of clashes between local, national and global ecological politics. The National Park is an enjeu in French diplomacy on an international scale, as well as a way of asserting French national sovereignty in the Amazonian region. In this respect it resembles such projects in Guyane as the Space Centre and the bridge linking Guyane across the Oiapoque river to Brazil, initiated in 2001 by their respective Presidents and Henrique Cardoso. 27 Even when such diplomatic interactions involve Guyane's regional neighbours, the locality is frequently overlooked as the Elysée and military interact with the Brazilian, Surinamese and other politicians. Hence the thesis aims to sketch the historical geographies behind these latter-day ironies.

27 ‘Accord entre le Gouvernement de la République française et le Gouvernement de la République fédérative du Brésil relatif au projet de construction d'un pont sur le fleuve ’, TRA20010035 (5 Apr 2001), French Diplomatic Database, http://basedoc.diplomatie.gouv.fr [accessed 28 Jan 2015]. Cardoso was more inclined to build relationships with ‘developed’ global powers, whereas his successor Luis Inácio da Silva emphasised ‘South-South’ links. This may partly explain the silence surrounding the bridge (still unopened to traffic in 2014) since the end of Cardoso’s presidency. Peter Dauvergne and Deborah Farias, ‘The Rise of Brazil as a Global Development Power’, Third World Quarterly 33:5 (2012), p.907. 22

'Ecological' politics – operating as they do across different scales – trace complex and contradictory networks of power which leave Guyane as an entity without a coherent or locally-integrated political basis.

23

Chapter 1: Geographies of the Periphery In 2000, an article appeared in the Cahiers d’Outre-Mer , journal of the Académie des Sciences d’Outre-Mer , about the mythologisation of Guyane’s landscape. Its author, Jean Hurault, was in the latter stages of a long career as cartographer, geographer and anthropologist of Guyane and its Amerindian (and sometimes Maroon) communities, and the article reiterated and developed a point he had made in the Revue française d’histoire- d’outre-mer back in 1973. Hurault devoted both articles to condemning the continued use of the toponym ‘Tumuc-Humac’ to refer to ‘mountains’ in southern Guyane which, he claimed, did not exist. These imagined mountains, he argued, were a chimera, exaggerated by an earlier explorer to justify his ventures, but nevertheless continued to be mapped by the ignorant or the delusional. 28 This in turn, he lamented, encouraged more young and naïve adventurers to seek their vision of El Dorado in Guyane’s ‘interior’, sometimes with lethal consequences. To make matters worse, for this geographer trained at the Institut de Géographie National (henceforth IGN), a nineteenth-century cartographer who had drawn the ‘Tumuc-Humac’ chain into existence – Henri Coudreau – had passed for a ‘scientific’ geographer when in some cases he had invented journeys and sketched what he had seen from a distance. Then, since Coudreau ‘filled in the blanks’ on the map where other cartographers had been ‘honest’, his ‘complete’ representation of Guyane had been accepted and re-used in official, institutional contexts by successive geographers, explorers and even governments. To be an approximative and therefore unscientific eyewitness made Coudreau an ‘imposter’ in Hurault’s eyes:

En quasi-totalité, les explorateurs du XVIIIe et du XIXe siècles…s’étaient contentés de figurer les montagnes qu’ils avaient effectivement franchies, laissant en blanc tout le reste. Coudreau au contraire représentait, démesurément grossis, quelques sommets aperçus depuis ses itinéraires, parfois de très loin, en les reliant arbitrairement sous forme de chaînes. 29

Hurault’s premise was that the projection of European ignorance and fantasy onto Guyane’s landscape was damaging to all concerned, especially after the deaths of two young, male, French ‘adventurers’ in Guyane’s ‘interior’ – who were seeking the Tumuc-Humac

28 Hurault claimed that the toponym was ‘inconnu des indigènes’, who only named individual summits. He attributed its uptake to the naming of a mountain in Venezuela on a 1758 map delimiting the Spanish and Portuguese Guianas. The name of a mountain ‘Tumunucuraque’, he claimed, was a long word on a small-scale map and so appeared to denote a mountain chain running to the Guyane-Brazil border region. Jean Hurault, ‘Une chaîne de montagnes imaginaire: les Tumuc-Humac’, Revue française d’histoire d’outre-mer 60:291 (1973), p.243; Jean Hurault, ‘Montagnes mythiques: Les Tumuc Hamac’, Cahiers d’Outre-Mer 53:212 (2000), pp.367-492; 29 Hurault, ‘Une chaîne de montagnes imaginaires’, p.249. 24

‘mountains’ – in the mid-twentieth century. 30 The perpetuation of a myth was the perpetuation of ignorance, he claimed, and therefore ought to be firmly rejected by ‘modern cartography’; the use of aerial photography in the region, he asserted, had already demolished it, and so the name ‘Tumuc-Humac’ should be wiped from the map.31 Hurault’s argument presents an opportunity to unpick several threads that are fundamental to understanding French geographical visions of Guyane: why certain visions and languages were produced, how they changed over time, and which tropes remained in place as contexts, institutions and ideologies evolved around them. It refers, first of all, to imagined geographies dating back to the first explorers and colonisers in the Guianas region, and to the associated stories and maps of El Dorado with its mythical landscapes and magical beings. Secondly, this defensive rejection of the unscientific recalls older fears of the decay of civilisation. Faced with ‘nature’, the unknown, or whatever seemed ‘out of control’, European (male) scientific authority and purpose was confronted with the prospect of its own death. One of the ill-fated adventurers of whom Hurault wrote, Raymond Maufrais, was of the same generation as him, and the two had met. Their two trajectories – one a state-funded, scientific geographer, the other a romantic idealist – literally intersected in the ‘interior’ of Guyane, and they had more in common than Hurault preferred to acknowledge. 32 Finally, the history of French geographies of Guyane – of which Coudreau’s maps, Hurault’s articles and Maufrais’s story are part – raises basic questions of knowledge and legitimacy: who speaks for Guyane, for which version of Guyane, and to whom? This chapter outlines processes by which French colonial imagination was maintained and challenged from the Third Republic into the era of departmentalisation. For this, it traces the journeys of both administrative and non-state, French actors into Guyane’s ‘interior’ and unpicks their attempts to produce ‘authoritative’ geographical visions of territory. Some acted in the name of positivist science, closely tied to an agenda of economic development and modernisation, whilst others were fascinated by notions of primitive nature and the ‘mystique’ of ‘mountains of the mind’. 33 These two approaches, the chapter argues, intersected. The colony was nominally modernising and assimilating, but in practice the grip of government was very loose. For the French, Guyane was on the brink: the very edge between civilisation and its absence. En mission there, they struggled to reconcile their real

30 Raymond Maufrais disappeared in late 1950, presumed to have died early in 1951. Patrice Mainguy died in 1970. 31 Hurault, ‘Une chaîne de montagnes imaginaire’, pp.248-250. 32 Maufrais narrated his expedition in notebooks, found in the forest after his death. He described crossing paths with Hurault, who was leading his own expedition. Raymond Maufrais, Aventures en Guyane (Paris, 2014), p.108. 33 Kevin Blake, ‘Mountain symbolism and geographical imaginations’, Cultural Geographies 12 (2005), p.527; Robert MacFarlane, Mountains of the Mind: a history of a fascination (London, 2003). 25 ignorance of the environment and absence of colonial purpose with their long-held visions of ‘primitivity’ that existed to be civilised. Colonies, according to Michael Worboys, were terrains of ‘mission and mandate’ where ‘colonial medicine… missionary activity, modernization, and protection of the health and welfare of indigenous people’ were part of the same enterprise. 34 Historiographically, this chapter emphasises the key role of the ‘tropical sciences’ in Fourth-Republic colonial modernity. ‘Tropical’ distinguished a set of environments – largely colonised territories - defined in terms of climatic difference from a ‘temperate’ Western Europe. 35 Tropical sciences sought to tame the perceived wild exuberance found in warmer, often-equatorial climates. Practitioners were often drawn to their disciplines precisely because of the opportunities that scientific research afforded to travel and experience the ‘exotic’. Taking a syncretic approach to tropical discourses in administration, geography, medicine and ethnography indicates some of the connections between them. Discourses were, in addition, perpetuated or challenged by individual agents. Subsequent chapters follow projects via which France sought to bring a tropicalised version of modernity to the DOM. This chapter emphasises the intertwinement between scientific and literary ‘tropical’ tropes.36 Engaging with ‘postcolonial’ critiques of geography, history and literature, it attempts a radical revision of Guyane’s historiography. 37 This revision is necessary given the diffuse and dislocated nature of scholarship on Guyane and its exclusion from imperial and postimperial histories. French scholars and writers have produced empiricist historical accounts but rarely (if ever) engage with Anglo-American cultural historical approaches or with ethnohistories such as those of Richard Price.38 To remedy this is to make a significant historiographical contribution to work on Amazonia, on France and on ‘postcolonial’ perspectives.

34 Michael Worboys, ‘The Colonial World as Mission and Mandate: Leprosy and Empire, 1900-1940’, Osiris 15:1 (2000), p.207. 35 Schools and disciplines were developed in order to adapt sciences developed in ‘temperate’ contexts – geography included – to be ‘applied’ to tropical environments. David Arnold, ‘Introduction: Tropical Medicine before Manson’ in Arnold (ed.), Warm Climates and Western Medicine: The Emergence of Tropical Medicine, 1500-1900 (Amsterdam, 1996) , p.6. At the other end of the climatic spectrum, polar environments were considered cold and barren wastelands, yet the two ‘extremes’ were both sites of expeditions by explorers and geographers seeking to stake national claims on their landscapes and resources. The tropical medics’ ‘civilising’ impulse was not only common to Europeans: a Brazilian school of physicians sought to harmonise understandings of the ‘tropical’ and its diseases with visions for a ‘civilised’ Brazil where Europeans could be healthy. Julyan Peard, ‘Tropical Medicine in Nineteenth-Century Brazil: The Case of the “Escola Tropicalista Bahiana”, 1860-1890’ in Arnold (ed.), Warm Climates and Western Medicine , pp.110-115. 36 ‘Postcolonial’ critics have unpacked the psychoanalytical elements of the latter; see Diane Nelson, ‘“The Horror”: The Subject of Desire in Postcolonial Studies’, American Anthropologist 99:2 (1997), p.383. 37 On geography’s place in ‘postcolonial’ critique, see Cheryl McEwan, ‘Postcolonialism, Materialism, and the Politics of Knowledge’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 24:3 (2003), pp.341-342. Guyane is frequently assumed to have none ‘of its own’ literature, in comparison to the French Antilles. Elie Stéphenson, 'Quelques repères littéraires', Nouvelles Études Francophones 23:2 (2008), p.34. 38 Richard Price, First-Time: the Historical Vision of an African American People (London, 2002); Neil Whitehead, ‘Indigenous Cartographies in Lowland South America and the Caribbean’ in J.B. Harley and David Woodward (eds.), The History of Cartography 2:3 (London, 1987), pp.301-326. 26

Work by Bill Marshall on Cayenne’s literature and history opens the way for a reading of Guyane in light of key texts from the past two decades which brought Foucauldian ideas of power and sexuality and psychoanalytic interpretations of desire into historical study of colonial situations. 39 Ann McClintock and Warwick Anderson sketched ways in which individual subjectivity and action were (and are) bound up with gendered, colonial power relations. 40 Where France and Amazonia meet, such power relationships are complex and unstable, and refute simplistic dichotomies between coloniser and colonised, colonial and postcolonial. The chapter carries the insights of McClintock et al into its study of representations of the human-environmental relationship in Guyane. ‘Imperial anxieties’ – traceable to racialised medical anxieties of the nineteenth century – were evident in mid- twentieth-century French reports of and plans for Guyane’s ‘interior’, as they had been in nineteenth-century medical and missionary discourse and in literature. Using literary modes of analysis draws attention to how French representations of Guyane’s environment betray fears of non-dominance. Postcolonial critics and theorists have traced how a vast network of authors grappled with European, colonial and ‘tropical’ modernities from the nineteenth and into the twentieth century, producing literary modernisms and magical realism in texts from Europe and . 41 Similar analyses of administrative and geographical discourses, however, as opposed to the corpus of literary fiction, are much less frequently attempted.42 Repeated development ‘failures’ in the post-war years seemed to confirm French fears of the loss of civilisation in Guyane. Such modes of representation not only survived the 1946 shift in the political paradigm; they also endured throughout the late-twentieth century. Another side to the trope of anxiety about the ‘interior’ was one of fascination with becoming ‘other’ than European in the ‘New World’. To some, the confrontation of ‘French’

39 Drawing upon Deleuze and Guattari, Marshall identifies Guyane’s repeated association with ‘lack’, inviting a psychoanalytic reading of its marginal, (post)colonial situation, The French Atlantic, pp.220-259; Equality and Difference: Queering Guyane in MacLeod and Wood (eds.), Locating Guyane (Liverpool, 2016, forthcoming). 40 Ann McClintock, Imperial Leather: Race, Gender and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest (New York, 1995); Stoler, Race and the Education of Desire, Warwick Anderson, Deborah Jenson and Richard Keller (eds.), Unconscious Dominions: Psychoanalysis, Colonial Trauma, and Global Sovereignties (London, 2011); Warwick Anderson, Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines (London, 2006). 41 For example: Joseph Conrad, Jack London and Thomas Mann (Europe); Alejo Carpentier, Jorge Amado and Mário de Andrade (Latin America). A ‘postcolonial’ literary critique incorporating medical discourse is Lawrence Phillips, ‘The Canker of Empire: Colonialism, Autobiography and the Representation of Illness: Jack London and Robert Louis Stevenson in the Marquesas’ in Lawrence Phillips, Laura Chrisman and Benita Parry (eds.), Postcolonial Theory and Criticism (Cambridge, 1999), p.115; see also Szczeszak-Brewer, Empire and Pilgrimage . The relationship between literature, history and environment in Martinique and Guadeloupe receives an increasing amount of scholarly attention, as elsewhere in the Caribbean, but, this relationship in Guyane remains overlooked (with the significant exception of Marshall’s chapter); Guyane is excluded from the shared preoccupations with ‘community’ identified in Britton, The Sense of Community , p.4 and Nancy Morejon, ‘Towards a Poetics of the Caribbean’, World Literature Today (2002), pp.52-53. 42 McEwan, ‘Postcolonialism, Materialism, and the Politics of Knowledge’, pp.341-342. 27 with ‘Amazonian’ meant transformation rather than death and decay. The presence of increasing numbers of French individuals in Guyane after the war, as state bureaucracy expanded, offers an opportunity to examine individual cases and narratives of ‘transformation’. Philip Deloria has explored performances of ‘Indianness’ as a facet of American identity in the US. 43 The case of Guyane differs, since those who ‘played Indian’ were not doing so in service of a new national identity and had little to fall back in the way of French infrastructure and urbanisation. The authority of the coloniser was not so assured as elsewhere. Journeying into the ‘interior’, individuals produced accounts in which they explicitly relinquished their Europeanness to a lesser or greater extent. Here, a comparison of the narratives of André Cognat and Raymond Maufrais is telling. One of these tells of redemption in becoming Indian, and in the other, the protagonist dies from want of ‘Indian’ or local knowledge of environment, place, and how to travel through it. Intrinsic to these narratives is, first of all, a confrontation with environment, and secondly, a consequent negotiation of a new ecological relationship. Maps were a key site of the representation and transmission of French perceptions of colonial environments. A multi-faceted historical source, maps are at the same time a ‘cognitive system… material culture, and …social construction.’ 44 As one of the ‘classificatory and naming devices by which science and authority produce order out of chaos’, in Raphael Samuel’s formulation, they are a key site of power. Aided by use of ‘colour, cartouches, vignettes, boundary lines, and blank spaces’ maps were a crucial weapon in the arsenal of European colonisers. 45 Historical work on colonial cartographies centres on the mapping of Africa, especially the late-nineteenth-century ‘scramble’ to partition and occupy the continent. 46 French South America offers a parallel to – and another dimension of – the African case. In all cases, ‘military leaders…held cartography as the most useful and valuable of the various scientific endeavours’, and cartography, medicine and military went hand in hand. 47 The production and deployment of cartographic knowledge were crucial to the processes through which the Guianas (like Africa) were partitioned by European colonial powers. Hence Hurault’s reproachful response to the errors of his predecessor, Coudreau:

43 Philip Deloria, Playing Indian (London, 1998), p.2. 44 David Woodward and G. Malcolm Lewis, ‘Introduction’ in Harley and Woodward (eds.), The History of Cartography , p.1. 45 Raphael Samuel, ‘Reading the Signs’ (1991), cited in James Cook, ‘The Kids Are All Right: On the “Turning” of Cultural History’, The American Historical Review 117:3 (2012), p.753; Thomas Bassett, ‘Cartography and Empire Building in Nineteenth-Century West Africa , Geographical Review 84:3 (1994), p.316. 46 Bassett, ‘Cartography and Empire Building’ is a case in point. Burnett’s history of the mapping of ‘El Dorado’ is a notable exception, but relates principally to the early-modern period. D. Graham Burnett, Masters of all they surveyed: Exploration, geography and a British El Dorado (London, 2000). 47 Michael Osborne, ‘Resurrecting Hippocrates: Hygienic Sciences and the French Scientific Expeditions to Egypt, Morea and ’ in Arnold (ed.), Warm Climates and Western Medicine , p.80. 28 national sovereignty was at stake in his errors. When Guyane became a DOM in 1946, however, neither partition nor mapping was yet as ‘complete’ as had been achieved elsewhere. Cartographers construct a particular vision of terrain, which often functions to justify other kinds of intervention. The very act of surveying can constitute an intervention in itself; the encounter between surveyor and surveyed may be a first contact between people and state apparati, or it can expose existing political tensions. 48 As geographical and anthropological studies of Guyane’s ‘interior’ developed – together – in the second half of the twentieth century, two key political dilemmas were articulated: intervention and citizenship – the extent to which forest-based people and environments should be left alone or ‘francisés ’ by the state, and what should be done, or not done. Geographers and anthropologists publicised these issues as advocates of the nominally ‘indigenous’ or ‘primitive’ people, but their ‘subjects’ later took on a limited role in public discourse. Since the Third Republic, geography was an academic discipline, a branch of state administration and a ‘colonial science’ intersecting with medicine and anthropology. It played an important part in the delineation of French territory, and continued to do so in Guyane as geographers sought to complete the map. A half-century before Hurault, Paul Vidal de la Blache was involved in a political dispute over the Franco-Brazilian boundary. 49 Focusing on cartographic and exploratory missions highlights how the production of geographical knowledge, physical and human, was itself very much a social process. In Guyane, pre- twentieth and early-twentieth-century maps were drawn by ‘explorers’ such as Henri and Octavie Coudreau who were driven as much by heroic and romantic ideals as by scientific imperatives. Many also held political adherences (the Coudreaus have been described as anarchistic disciples of the French geographer Elisée Reclus). 50 The Coudreaus and their ilk

48 Raymond Craib, Cartographic : a history of state fixations and fugitive landscapes (London, 2004), p.93; James Scott, Seeing like a state: how certain schemes to improve the human condition have failed (London, 1998). 49 Vidal de la Blache is widely regarded as the founder of a ‘holistic’, scientific human - as distinct from physical – geography in fin-de-siècle France. His teaching at the École Normale Supérieure influenced a generation of French politicians and writers as well as geographers. From observational studies of peasant life in the he developed a school of geographical thought that was analytically rather than historically-based and considered the environment to be a fundamental determinant of human societies, with ‘the unique personality of regions’ formed by characteristic ecological interactions in particular localities. André-Louis Sanguin, Vidal de la Blache: 1845-1918. Un Génie de la Géographie (Paris, 1993); Kevin Archer, ‘Regions as Social Organisms: The Lamarckian Characteristics of Vidal de la Blache’s Regional Geography’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 83:3 (1993), pp.499-500. The contested area was between the rivers Oyapock and Araguary. In 1900 the Swiss Federal Council, as arbitrators, decided in favour of Brazil. Paul Vidal de la Blache, ‘Le contesté franco-brésilien’, Annales de Géographie 49 (1901), pp.68-70. 50 Durval de Souza Filho, Os retratos dos Coudreau: Índios, Civilização e Miscigenação através das lentes de um casal de visionários que percorreu a Amazônia em busca do “Bom Selvagem” (1884-1899) (Universidade Federal do Pará, MA diss., 2008, p.36. Reclus wrote an encyclopaedic Géographie Universelle and is considered a ‘populariser’ of geography. Federico Ferretti described him as an early ‘provincialiser’ of Europe, “‘They have the right to throw us out”: Élisée Reclus’ New Universal Geography ’, Antipode 45:5 (2013), pp.1337-1355. Marcelo Lopes de Souza, ‘The city in libertarian thought from Elisée Reclus to Murray Bookchin and beyond’, City 16:1-2 (2012), pp.4-33, refers to Reclus as a libertarian ecologist avant 29 gave lectures to learned societies, undertook government-funded research, and were considered to be driving progress in geographical knowledge. In Guyane, geographical and scientific involvement was the preserve of a relatively small network of people, many of whom occupied multiple roles. The limited number of expeditions and the finite quantity of archived cartographic material offers the possibility of tracing intertextual influences. This chapter tracks the legacies of individual projects and expeditions across maps and sources relating to their production. French anthropological discourse in the Fourth-Republic period was the result of transformations undergone by the discipline during the interwar and Second World War years, as ‘ethnography’ and ‘ethnology’ replaced the physically-based ‘science’ of anthropology. The newer disciplines considered cultural and social formations, rather than ‘race’, as markers of distinction between human societies. 51 Alice Conklin’s account of this history does not consider in detail how ethnographic discourses intersected with those of other sciences. Yet Guyane was an important site of interaction between ethnography and geography. Geographers of the IGN, another institution reborn after the war, were – as much as ethnologists – part of the set of ‘colonial administrators, missionaries, travellers, and explorers’ who contributed to the ‘emergence… of sociocultural anthropology and a modern ethnographic method in France.’ 52 These themes lead into the second chapter’s consideration of individual trajectories in relation to political identities, networks and mobilities. 53 Geographical knowledge and the production of cartography and territorial division were intrinsic to other kinds of French imaginings of Guyane and its inhabitants in the twentieth century, in particular the nexus of ‘race’/ethnicity, culture and society. Imperial visions of this nexus had long been linked to justifications for colonial appropriation of land. Later in the twentieth century, the relationships between ‘populations’ and ‘environment’ came to be expressed in the language of ecology, rather than those of ethnology and geography. This shift occurred as Guyane became a new kind of French ‘laboratory’ for a nominally postcolonial era. 54 The first chapter therefore paves the way for a revisitation, in la lettre and precursor to Bookchin, author of The Ecology of Freedom: The Emergence and Dissolution of Hierarchy (, 1982). 51 Alice Conklin, In the Museum of Man: Race, Anthropology, and Empire in France, 1850-1950 (New York, 2013), pp.5-9, emphasises the importance of the group around Marcel Mauss and Paul Rivet, of the Institut d’Ethnologie and Musée de l’Homme , in this transformation. The Second World War and UNESCO’s 1950 disavowal of race as a ‘biological fact’ sealed the alteration. On ‘colonial geography’’s Third-Republic origins: Pierre Singaravélou, ‘The institutionalisation of ‘colonial’ geography’ in France, 1880-1940’, Journal of Historical Geography 37:2, pp.149-157. 52 Conklin, In the Museum of Man, pp.5-9. 53 Ethnography and geography met literature and politics in the person of Léon-Gontran Damas - a student of Mauss turned poet of Négritude and briefly a politician. Damas published Retour de Guyane (Paris, 2003 [1938]) after being sent to the colony of his birth on an ethnographic ‘mission’ by Mauss. 54 Helen Tilley, Africa as a Living Laboratory: Empire, Development, and the Problem of Scientific Knowledge, 1870-1950 30 the final section of the thesis, of ‘ethnic’ identity and cultural differentiation. It re-situates France’s ‘internal others’ in the Americas – in this case Amerindians and Maroons – in a historiography long concentrated elsewhere. 55 It also addresses how visions of environment and ecology are produced, arguing that this is from a combination of the discourses of territory and geography and of ethnographic languages of ‘race’ and culture. New languages and perspectives with which to discuss Guyane past, present and future are necessary in order to apprehend and respond to the consequences of France’s retention of this sizeable section of Amazonia. Guyane is far from the place of death and extinction that it was long thought to have been in the ‘métropole’; such visions, therefore, require historicisation.

The imagined frontiers of empire The specific images of Guyane criticised by Hurault in 2000 were created and disseminated from the late-nineteenth century. Maps and other texts by the explorers Henri and Octavie Coudreau continued to be cited in the twentieth century, perpetuating what the later cartographer called an ‘obstinate belief’ in ‘mythical mountains’. In the late-nineteenth century, Henri and Octavie Coudreau produced 18 books, 29 shorter publications, five grands reportages , four encyclopaedia entries and one photographic album based on expeditions in Guyane and Brazil (they also undertook voyages in North Africa). The publications were relatively popular, being taken up by publishers such as Hachette. 56 With titles such as ‘Les Indiens de Guyane’, ‘Les Français en Amazonie’, ‘Les Légendes des Tumuc-Hamac’ and ‘La France Équinoxale’, these fin-de-siècle works shaped twentieth-century patterns of reference to and interest in the region. The Coudreaus were by no means the first to use the toponym ‘Tumuc-Humac’ and its derivatives disappeared and reappeared on French and Brazilian maps of their boundary region throughout the late-nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Alexandre Vuillemin’s 1858 map of La France et ses Colonies’ (figure 1) depicts a ‘Sierra Tumucumaque’ as the source of rivers including the Maroni and border between ‘Guyane française’ and ‘Brésil’, both of which are located within a broader but vague area labelled ‘Guyane’. In 1900, the ‘Monts Tumuc-Humac’ featured on the maps produced as evidence – on Vidal de la Blache’s watch – during the border dispute between the two countries. After disappearing from IGN maps in

(Bristol, 2011); Butler, Moore and Thomas end their study of decolonisation at 1975 in The Crises of Empire: Decolonisation and Europe’s Imperial Nation States, 1918-1975 (London, 2008). 55 It is usually assumed that French ethnographers came to the study of Amerindians late, and as external ‘others’, in contrast to the longer-standing presence in U.S. studies and museums of ‘their’ Amerindians assumed to be in ‘closer proximity’. Conklin, In the Museum of Man , p.103. 56 De Souza Filho, Os retratos dos Coudreau , pp.25-34. 31 the late twentieth century (largely on Hurault’s insistence), in 2002 the name was taken up again in Brazil to name the ‘Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque’, bordering with the new ‘Parc National Amazonien de Guyane’. 57

Figure 1: Alexandre Vuillemin, La France et ses Colonies (Paris, c.1858).

57 Guia Geográfico – Turismo et informações do Brasil, ‘Montanhas do Tumucumaque’, http://www.brasil- turismo.com/amapa/tumucumaque.htm [accessed 2 Oct 2014]. 32

Figure 2: Illustration to an article by Vidal de la Blache in the Annales de Géographie on the result of the arbitration. 58

58 Vidal de la Blache, ‘Le contesté franco-brésilien’, p.69. 33

Figure 3: Map of the Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque. 59

Eyewitness verification for the assumed mountains was long made difficult by the fact that this section of the inland Guianas was notoriously difficult to access, cut off from the Amazon river by land and from the rivers of the coastal Guianas by rapids. Coudreau drew upon existing understandings of earlier cartographers in order to corroborate his own experiences or to fill in gaps in that experience. Hurault argued that aerial photography and satellite mapping revealed the true location, size and nature of these previously hidden geographical features, and so the influence of imagined geographies could and should be excised from scientific cartography.60 However, Coudreau had not entirely invented the disputed region that he mapped; its inselbergs and hills had previously been cited as the ultimate source of the rivers making up the political borders of the Guianas (as on the Vuillemin map, figure 1). European cartographers were in turn informed by a combination of

59 From http://montanhasdotumucumaque.blogspot.com.br/p/mapas.html [accessed 2 Oct 2014]. 60 Hugh Clout, ‘Popular geographies and scholarly geographies in provincial France: the Société Normande de Géographie, 1879-1937’, Journal of Historical Geography 34 (2008), p.35. 34 very limited first-hand navigation, communication with local, ‘Amerindian’ inhabitants, and contemporary assumptions about global patterns of topography, mountain chains and drainage lakes. Thus, they located mountains either at the juncture of what are now the Guianas and Brazilian Amazonia, or to mark the border between the Spanish and Portuguese Guianas, now Venezuela and Brazil. Representing ‘natural’ barriers, they were thus also connected to the history of political frontiers. Coudreau’s expeditions took place in the 1880s and 1890s, when European and Brazilian geographers were still in the process of beginning to access and map the regions under dispute in the area between the Oyapock and the Amazon. Where solid lines of national demarcation had not yet been drawn, Coudreau’s approximative mountains overlapped with and influenced the political mapping of the dispute. Nineteenth-century interpretations of the Guianese landscape may well have been inflected by stories of another set of mythical mountains. The ‘Kong’ mountain range, erroneously believed to exist in West Africa since the early-sixteenth century, was perceived as ‘a great drainage divide separating streams flowing to the Niger River and Gulf of Guinea’. 61 Its location inland from the Gulf of Guinea presents a geographical mirroring with the South American mountains, across the Atlantic and between the equator and the ‘Tropic of Cancer’. Much as the ‘Tumuc-Humac’ separated the Guianas from the Amazon, the Kong mountains signified an ‘insuperable’ barrier between the coast and the ‘interior’ and were assumed to be the main hindrance to any kind of commerce between the two regions. Whereas the inexistence of the Kong was accepted by the end of the nineteenth century, however, the Tumuc-Humac continued to be disputed until the beginning of the twenty-first, reflecting a delay in the production of governmental ‘knowledge’ of French South America.

61 Thomas Bassett and Philip Porter, “‘From the best authorities”: The Mountains of Kong in the Cartography of West Africa’, Journal of African History 32 (1991), pp.367-371. 35

Figure 4: Coudreau’s 1891 map of Guyane, based on journeys undertaken Aug 1887-Jan 1889 and Oct 1889-Feb 1891. The ‘Tumuc-Humac’ feature in the right-hand inset image. 62

62 From Bulletin de la Société de Géographie 7:12 (Paris, 1891), pp.544-546. 36

Figure 5: Location of the Kong Mountains. 63 A range of rolling hills with rocky outcrops (inselbergs), occasionally of up to 700 above sea level, exists in southern Guyane and across into Brazil. It is accessible from the outside by air or river; there are no roads as such.64 The target of Hurault’s criticism, then, is not so much factual inaccuracy as mythologisation – of both the mountains themselves and of the explorers who claimed to ‘discover’ them. As an ethnographer of ‘Indiens de Guyane’, Hurault took issue with Coudreau’s amateur anthropology: his human as well as his physical geography. Alongside his maps, the latter had published inflated estimates as to how many ‘tribes’ existed in Guyane, and how great the population was numerically (although his ‘Guyane’, it should be recalled, did not necessarily stop at the present-day political boundaries). This was Coudreau’s response to the ‘depreciation’ of the colony that he read of in other travellers’ accounts. The ‘explorer’ characterised himself as a free thinker who could see Guyane’s potential in his own projected notions of the ‘noble savage’. He compared his

63 Bassett and Porter, “‘From the best authorities”, pp.367-371. 64 Enrico Bernard (ed.), ‘Inventários Biológicos Rápidos no Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque, Amapá, Brasil’, RAP Bulletin of Biological Assessment 48 (U.S., 2008), p.13. 37 own vision with the near-consensus amongst other authors as to the harmful climate, perilous environment and degraded human condition which prevailed in the tropical penal colony. 65 In 1891, Coudreau used the accounts of his predecessors, such as Jules Crevaux, and offered himself as eyewitness, to inventorise dozens of populous Indian tribes. Concluding his article, he wrote: ‘Au du 4° degré de latitude nord, c’est notre territoire civil. Au sud du 4° degré de latitude nord, c’est le Territoire indien . L’avenir de la Guyane est là. Je termine en répétant qu’il se trouve, dans notre Territoire indien, 50 tribus et 50,000 indigènes.’ 66 The mythologisation of the southern ‘border’ of Guyane may not be merely a European projection. The life of the Tumuc-Humac ‘myth’, indeed, is intrinsic to the cultural geography and history of the region. According to anthropologists Collomb and Dupuy, these mountains were a Euro-Amerindian legend. In Wayana Amerindian myth and narrative, the mountains serve as a site of action for ‘warrior or civilising heroes’ who fight there against other groups, both human and non-human. 67 The argument made by the geographer Hurault – a doyen of the Académie des Sciences d’Outre-Mer – for ‘science’ to prevail was rooted in a stance against the persistence of purportedly damaging, ‘El Dorado’ delusions. The stance claimed to be ethical, but was no less ideological for that. As Whitehead indicates, apparently ‘European’ knowledge of the Guianas region had from the outset been socially produced: Walter Raleigh’s 1599 map of the lower region (see figure 6), he claims, ‘was essentially accurate’ and ‘effectively illustrates native knowledge rather than European geographical survey…Amerindian notions of spatial relationships and not European measurement of them…informed Raleigh’s map.’ 68 Hurault’s views of pre-scientific maps, with their migrating mountains, as inaccurate, misses the chance to see them instead as part of a cross-cultural history of knowledge production from which his own geographical understandings are inseparable. The ‘Tumuc-Humac’ represented the limits of the river-based exploration, local understandings, and geographies empirical and imagined of their time.

65 For example J.-B. Pugliesi, Des accidents causés par la puce chique observés à la Guyane française (Paris, 1885), who begins by narrating how he was sent to Guyane to replace a predecessor who ‘succumbed’ to yellow fever, and Jules Laure, Considérations pratiques sur les maladies de la Guyane et des pays marécageux situés entre les tropiques (Paris, 1859). 66 Henri Coudreau, ‘Notes sur 53 tribus de Guyane’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie 7:12 (1891), p.132. 67 Gérard Collomb and Francis Dupuy, ‘Imagining Group, Living Territory: A Kali’na and Wayana View of History’ in Neil Whitehead and Stephanie Alemán (eds), Anthropologies of Guayana: Cultural Spaces in Northeastern Amazonia (Arizona, 2009), p.116. This interpretation stands in contrast to claims made by Hurault in his 1973 article that Wayana did not use the term for the region. For a comparable exploration of the intersections between Western/‘indigenous’ views of mountains see Martin Thomas, The Artificial Horizon: Imagining the Blue Mountains (Melbourne, 2004). 68 Whitehead, ‘Indigenous Cartographies’, p.325. 38

Figure 6: Walter Raleigh’s map of Guiana, c.1599 (reproduced by Whitehead, ‘Indigenous Cartography’ p.325.) North and South are reversed.

A self-referential chain of ‘explorers’, from Raleigh’s era to the late-twentieth century, embarked on expeditions seeking physical contact with the mythologised environment of the Tumuc-Humac mountains. Most cited previous journeys as inspiration, often in macabre fashion as they ‘followed in the footsteps’ of men who had died undertaking their journey. 69 They were conscious producers and reproducers of a set of narrative tropes in which mountains had a dual function. First of all, mountains were the border between the known and the unknown, and so one which existed to be reached, known, and crossed. Secondly, they represented a return to source, replenishing rivers and restoring health to people: both an escape from and a cure for the ill effects of civilisation. At the same time as explorers put this

69 Coudreau referred to Jules Crevaux, who had journeyed across Amazonia between 1876 and 1882, at which point he was allegedly cannibalised by Indians in Boliva. Emmanuel Lézy, ‘Jules Crevaux, l’explorateur aux pieds nus’, Echogéo 7 (2008). In the late-twentieth century, an Englishman referred to Maufrais in his account of his journeys in the region of the Jari river undertaken in the 1980s-1990s. One participant in the first expedition, a Brazilian gold prospector, died of malaria. John Harrison, Into the Amazon: An Incredible Story of Survival in the Jungle (Chichester, 2001), pp.13-21. 39 bodily to the test, this ‘synthesis of modes of discourse’ on human-environmental relationships was recognised and attempted in literary expression by modernist writers.70 The physical ecotopes of rivers and mountains, that is to say, intersected with their literary or magical counterparts. Representations of the Tumuc-Humac have this in common with the modernist articulations of human relationships with mountain landscapes. Thus, from the early-modern period to the twentieth century, it is possible to trace a literary geography of mountains as sites of ‘journeys-to-knowledge.’ 71 In Guyane, these mountain geographies operated in parallel to narratives of journeys to the ‘interior’. The writers of these journeys invoked notions not only of renewal through physical and mental challenge, but also of martyrisation, loss and despair. When ‘ en mission ’, they grappled with the question of how far they could carry the mandates of ‘civilisation’, both in the external environment and in their bodies and minds. The confrontation taking place was simultaneously with an ‘other’ located externally, in the environment, and one located internally. The imagined borders of Guyane were France’s ultimate imperial frontier. Here were located the limits of the endurance, imagination and knowledge of ‘civilisation’ and those who represented it.

Literary and medical tropes of decay: Guyane as Third-Republic ‘underworld’ If the ‘mountain’ borders of empire carried an imaginative and political charge of toxicity, narratives of ‘interior’, ‘jungle’ environments offered medicalised visions of the (white) Frenchman’s degeneration. During the Third Republic, army medics and trainee doctors who worked in the colony produced accounts describing the noxious climate, the tropical environment and the working and living conditions of local goldminers, French administrators, bagnards and ‘ primitifs ’ alike as conducive only to ill health and the decay of mores. At the same time, writers such as Émile Zola and produced works of literature and reportage in which Guyane was written into discourse as ‘Cayenne’, ‘l'Île du Diable’ and ‘ le bagne ’. The terms became synechdoches for a vague and distant state of hell, and so, in the Hexagon, Guyane was not so much a geographically-rooted location as a rhetorical device. The function of Guyane as ‘underworld’ of French imperial, legal and moral civilisation, described by Miranda Spieler, had discernible and significant dimensions

70 In Mann’s classic example, the protagonist stays in a mountain sanatorium more or less to avoid re-engaging with the vicissitudes of modern European urban life. Valerie Greenberg, ‘Literature and the Discourse of Science: The Paradigm of Thomas Mann’s “The Magic Mountain”’, South Atlantic Review 50:1 (1985), p.60; Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain (Harmondsworth, 1960). 71 Wil Gesler, ‘Hans Castorp’s journey-to-knowledge of disease and health in Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain ’, Health and Place 6:2 (2000), pp.125-134. 40 in literary and medical discourse. 72 The second section of this chapter connects the history of medical discourse on Guyane to literary tropes, paving the way for discussion of how these intersected with other languages of the ‘tropical’. In the mid-nineteenth century, before the extension of transportation to ‘recidivist’ petty criminals in 1854 and before the Dreyfus affair, Guyane's bagne was a site of exile for political prisoners. In Zola's novel Le Ventre de Paris (1873) the protagonist, Florent, is an escapee from ‘Cayenne’ and the ‘Île du Diable’, where he had been sent after being wrongly accused of violence during Louis-Napoléon's 1851 coup d'état. Marked by his experiences, Florent cannot readjust to life in Paris and by the end of the novel is re-deported to Cayenne, literally excreted by the social body of the capital and its inhabitants once more to be channelled elsewhere. 73 The difference between ‘Cayenne’ as sewer and the sewers of Paris (as depicted in Victor Hugo's Les Misérables ) was in the threat posed by the living, non- human environment to escapees from the bagne in Guyane . A defining moment in the experience of Zola's protagonist is when a fellow escapee is ‘eaten by beasts’, and Florent struggles to return to Paris through a hostile wilderness inhabited only by carnivorous plants and creatures. 74 Le Ventre de Paris is perhaps the first fictional depiction of Guyane but it was not the last to feature man-eating flora and fauna; this image has recurred in literature from and about Guyane until the twenty-first century. 75 Zola's imagined ‘Cayenne’ was central to his influential vision of what happened in the heart – or indeed the belly – of Paris. The author returned to the subject tangentially when he published J'accuse (1898) in defence of Alfred Dreyfus. The Dreyfus Affair reinscribed ‘Devil's Island’, where the army officer accused of treason was kept in solitary confinement, as the ultimate punishment for a Frenchman persecuted as an ‘outsider’. 76 With J'accuse , Zola set a precedent for literary ‘intellectuals’ embarking on journalistic crusades to remoralise the French social and political body. 77 His publications were still in the

72 Spieler, Empire and Underworld. 73 Émile Zola, Le Ventre de Paris (Québec, ebook [1873]), p.181. 74 Victor Hugo, Les misérables (Paris, 1957 [1862]); Zola, Le Ventre de Paris. 75 Valérie Rodrigue, Fanta, fleur et martyre (Paris, 2006) ; Paule Constant, La Fille du Gobernator (Paris, 1994). As Marshall points out, the idea overlaps with the terrain of magical realism. Marshall, The French Atlantic , p.258. However, whereas other proponents of this ‘Latin American’ genre were involved in projects of local artistic appropriation, literary Guyane remains largely inextricable from the European gaze. In a number of ‘magical realist’ novels, Guyane or ‘Cayenne’ has a similar function to that in the French literature described. Escaped bagnards feature in works by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, for instance, while Guyane is significant in El siglo de las luces , by Cuban novelist (and inventor of the term lo real maravilloso ) Alejo Carpentier, both as penal colony and as graveyard of French colonial administrator Victor Hugues. Alejo Carpentier, El siglo de la luces (Barcelona, 2001 [1962]), p.314. Literary appropriation in Brazil found expression in literary ‘cannibalism’: Oswald de Andrade, ‘Manifesto antropófago’ (Brazil, 1928); Stephen Berg, ‘An introduction to Oswald de Andrade’s Cannibalist manifesto’, Third Text 13:46 (1999), pp.89-91. 76 Ruth Harris, The Man on Devil’s Island: Alfred Dreyfus and the affair that divided France (London, 2011). 77 Émile Zola, J’accuse (Clamecy, 1994). 41 consciousness of French readers when in 1923 the campaigning journalist Albert Londres published in Le Petit Parisien his reportage from the penal colony of Guyane.78 From the fin-de-siècle and into the twentieth century, news from Guyane beyond ‘Devil’s Island’ most often went unreported, since neither the practical channels nor the narrative tropes to express it were, on the whole, available. Occasionally, however, it was revealed to scandalous effect. Londres’ 1923 reportage created a definitive scandal, and many reporters followed in his footsteps. Indeed, Kari Evanson has claimed that after Londres, a reportage from the bagne was almost a prerequisite on the CV of any French metropolitan reporter looking to build a reputation for literary reportage.79 Subsequently, throughout the twentieth century, former prisoners also drew upon these established tropes in order to sell narratives of their time in the bagne .80 Jean Genet, writer of transgression, picked up on the interplay between taboo and scandal, knowledge and ignorance, morality and hypocrisy which characterised representations of Guyane’s bagne .81 ‘Devil’s Island’ was even used as a metaphor in 2011 for ‘bounded thinking’ in intertwined structures of thought and geography in engaged pedagogy. This suggests how, on its journey to the US via Papillon and translated texts such as former prisoner René Belbenoît’s The Dry Guillotine , the physical location has been completely transformed into a metaphor. 82 The language of hell, devils and evil, and the grip of prisoners’ narratives on imaginings of Guyane, continued to constitute it as distant – the preserve only of outsiders – from the interwar period until at least the 1980s. At this point, remaining former bagnards were interviewed before they died, providing material for a colourful English-language book – entitled Devil’s Island: Colony of the Damned – written by an American journalist residing in Guyane. 83 Portraits of failure and hopelessness did not, however, have a complete monopoly; they competed, or sometimes went hand in hand with, pleas for the mise en valeur of the colony (later the département ). In Retour de Guyane (1938), Léon-Gontran Damas

78 Albert Londres, Au bagne (France, 2001) and L’Homme qui s’évada (France, 1999). J.P. Daughton situates Londres’ career amongst ‘humanitarian’ French writers of the interwar period in ‘Behind the Imperial Curtain: International Humanitarian Efforts and the Critique of French Colonialism in the Interwar Years’, French Historical Studies 34:3 (2011), pp.503-528. 79 Kari Evanson, ‘Albert Londres’ Guyana: Bringing the Exotic Back Home’, Conference Paper: Locating Guyane , University of London Institute in Paris (10 Jul 2014). 80 Allyson Delnore, An Imagined Colony: The Erasure of Geographic Reality in la Guyane française from la France équinoxiale to Devil’s Island’, Conference Paper: Locating Guyane (ULIP, 10 July 2014). Deportees from 1797 also published accounts of their time in Guyane: Allyson Delnore, ‘Robinson Crusoes in Chains: Punishment and Colonial Power Relations in French Deportee Writings, 1791-1848’, Historical Reflections/Réflexions Historiques 33:3 (2007), pp.395-419. 81 Jean Genet, Le bagne (Décines, 1994). 82 Carl Grant, ‘Escaping Devil’s Island: confronting racism, learning history’, Race Ethnicity and Education 14:1 (2011), p.33; Franklin J. Schaffner (dir.), Papillon (U.S., 1973) based on Henri Charrière, Papillon (Paris, 1969); René Belbenoît, The Dry Guillotine: Fifteen Years among the Living Dead (New York, 1939). On the symbolic power of sites of punishment see Philip Smith, ‘Narrating the Guillotine: Punishment Technology as Myth and Symbol’, Theory, Culture and Society 20:5 (2003), pp.27-51. 83 Alexander Miles, Devil’s Island: Colony of the Damned (California, 1988). 42 called for the exploitation of gold as a way out of the morass he described in his homeland. 84 Damas leaned more heavily in his writing on the existing negative tropes than did his political rival Gaston Monnerville and his acolytes during the mid-twentieth century. Monnerville, a nationally-successful Parti Radical politician, campaigned for the abolition of the penal colony during his time as deputy to the National Assembly for Guyane (1932- 1942). Monnervillistes , as his local supporters were known, for the most part acknowledged Guyane’s abiding bad reputation only in passing, although they were compelled to address it in order to gain any purchase for their campaigns amongst a ‘metropolitan’ readership. Usually, they took it as a starting point for texts which proceeded to write in positive terms instead, about a place bursting at the seams with latent wealth (namely, exploitable natural resources such as timber, bauxite and gold). Damas prolonged the scandal in order to delegitimise French governance, whereas Monnerville developed a veritable PR campaign in order to try and ameliorate it. 85 With the promise of industrial development, Monnervillistes indicated the way to a future break with the cycle by which Guyane was doubly ‘condemned’: first by association with criminality and death and then by the real consequences of the bagne on its existing society. They did not, however, propose a break from the nation which had entrapped it in the cycle. Rather, they characterised a long- suffering but patient ‘fille ainée de la France’ or indeed a ‘ Cendrillon ’ (Cinderella) who, after being unfairly maligned, would eventually reap her due (the image of embers or ashes – cendres – also implying a re-rising after destruction). 86 The value of the penal colony for the state lay precisely in its distance from the métropole. An invisible but menacing background presence, Guyane was known to many only for its function of exile, whether of political deportees or of the ‘petty recidivists’ deported there after legislation was changed in 1854. 87 Hence it took on an imaginative configuration as a legacy of the corrupt and pernicious Second Empire – an intrinsic part of Third-Republic political turbulence. It represented injustices perpetrated by governments, armies and emperors and contained only martyred idealists and Parisian lowlifes – but also a mystery pure and simple, about which not enough was known to escape a romanticised

84 Damas, Retour de Guyane . 85 Monnerville prefaced a text written by a friend and former classmate Gabriel Bureau, La Guyane méconnue (Paris, 1936). 86 This imagery was prevalent in celebrations part-organised by Monnerville of the 1935 Tricentenary of the ‘ rattachement ’ of the Antilles and Guyane to France. The vieilles colonies were described as ‘Filles de la France’: see La chronique coloniale illustré (15 May 1935), ANOM/AGEFOM//286/2. On the ‘family romance’ of métropole and French-Caribbean colony see Richard D.E. Burton, La Famille Coloniale: La Martinique et la Mère Patrie 1789-1992 (Paris, 1994). 87 The imposition of transportation for a wider range of crimes saw larger numbers of prisoners exported from French port cities. Stephen Toth, ‘Neither Myth nor Monolith: the bagne in fin-de-siècle France’, Journal of European Studies 28 (1998), p.246. 43 language of the occult. 88 Visual representations in press and even in film depicted either huis clos – as in the case of the images below of Dreyfus’s cell and outdoor surveillance, enclosed by sea on ‘Devil’s Island’ – or an impossibly wild and verdant nature. Guyane, presented thus, was either the dark side of civilisation, or its absence.

Figure 7: Dreyfus on the cover of Le Petit Journal (27 Sep 1896).

88 Taussig explains Walter Benjamin’s critique of European romanticisation of the mysterious. External perceptions of the ‘occult’ or ‘phantasmagoric’, Benjamin wrote – referring in particular to intellectuals such as the Surrealists – become trapped in their own dialectical and imaginative limitations. Michael Taussig, ‘Culture of Terror - Space of Death. Roger Casement’s Putumayo Report and the Explanation of Torture’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 26:3 (1984), p.468. 44

Figures 8 & 9: Stills from Georges Méliès (dir.), L’affaire Dreyfus: Mise aux fers de Dreyfus and L’Île du Diable (1899). 89 In Third-Republic journalism and literature, Guyane and its penitentiaries functioned as background scenery to French scandals. The presence of this colony in ‘metropolitan’ France differed little from that of Nouvelle-Calédonie (both had been the sites of Communards’ deportation after 1871). Thus, Guyane’s environment – as in the case of Zola’s representation – entered into the ‘natural history’ of French social history.90 Zola’s ‘Cayenne’ is the point of overlap between his ‘literary naturalism’ and his Dreyfusard political project. Perceptions of Guyane's ‘peripheral’ environment thus played a central role in denouncements of the malaise of French civilisation. The medical signification of malaise is not coincidental, and here these Third- Republic literary tropes join with medical ones. Before Zola wrote about Guyane’s role in the functioning of the French social body, medical doctors and trainees produced narratives of the effects wrought on human bodies – individual or racially-categorised – by Guyane’s tropical environment. In 1859, the head of the colonial medical service in Guyane, Jules Laure, emphasised ‘l’intoxication miasmatique’ as its worst problem, a malady induced not by heat or rain but ‘uniquely’ by swamps and vegetation: ‘le miasme végétal qui réagit sur les humeurs à la manière des ferments.’ Topography was linked to health: ‘le sol maigre des hauteurs nourrit les colons avec peine et la maladie les repousse…des plaines fertiles… les éléments de fécondité sont précisément ceux qui engendrent la fièvre…’. This ‘miasma’ was observed as part of temperament and mores as well as humours, and Laure referred to ‘vice’ and ‘oisivité’ amongst ex-slave populations, characteristics which he feared if unchecked

89 ‘Lives in film no. 1: Alfred Dreyfus – part I’, http://thebioscope.net/tag/silent-films/page/40/; Michael Brooke, ‘Devil’s Island – Within the Palisade’, http://filmjournal.net/melies/2008/05/ [accessed 9 Oct 2014]. 90 The subtitle of the series of novels in which Le Ventre de Paris appeared was Histoire naturelle et sociale d’une famille sous le Second Empire. 45 would see Cayenne, Guyane's uniquely salubrious hope for ‘civilisation’, taken over by the ‘vegetal’. 91 The problem and task of colonial medics, Laure’s account suggests, was to prevent such an eventuality through an understanding of the bodily ‘economics’ of ‘maladies suivant les races’: the supposed different relationships of Europeans, ‘créoles’/’noirs’ and ‘Indiens’ to one another and to the environment, climate and vegetation. 92 It was Europeans whom medics sought above all to reconcile to ‘equatorial’ conditions by battling ‘vegetation’ considered as ‘puissance de destruction’, synonymous with ‘putréfaction’. 93 Struggles against human and environmental ‘weaknesses’ were two elements in the same combat. Laure was concerned with the health of French military officers, but other medics ventured further, socially and geographically. Some visited and treated goldminers, other workers and ‘ Indiens ’ upriver, or forced labourers of the bagne . J.-B. Pugliesi, the author of a text published in 1885, was a navy medic acting as sanitary commissioner to ‘coolie’ labourers from India as well as working at the military and penitentiary hospitals. He described encountering in Guyane ‘laboratory’ conditions in which to study racial variants in the aetiology and spread of disease. Pugliesi did not in the end find the ‘racial’ differences he set out for, concluding that ‘coolies’ and ‘transportés blancs’ in the forest were afflicted alike. 94 He did, however, observe cultural differences in disease prevention techniques, comparing ‘ Indiens’ ’ use of roucou dye, Maroons’ use of Carapa oil and Caribbean goldminers’ tactics of wearing socks soaked in Copahu juice (probably learned from Amerindians). 95 In 1886 another Paris-trained navy doctor, J. Orgeas, attempted to use medical data from Guyane to contribute to the scientific project of proving pathological differences between ‘races’. Despite anthropologists' and medics' certainty that these differences existed, Orgeas complained, empirical proof of them remained elusive. Guyane conveniently presented itself, to Orgeas as to Pugliesi, as the ideal ‘laboratory’ in which to pinpoint them due to its unparalleled set of combinations of race, environment and disease. 96

91 Laure, Maladies de la Guyane , pp.2-3. 92 Laure, Maladies de la Guyane , p.75. 93 Laure, Maladies de la Guyane , pp.5-7. 94 His concern was infections caused by the chigo flea. Pugliesi, ‘Des accidents causés par la puce chique’, pp.5-24 95 Pugliesi, ‘Des accidents causés par la puce chique’, p.39-40. Carapa oil is extracted form the Carapa guyanensis tree and remains a common remedy in Guyane. Copahu fruits come from the Copaifera langsdorfii , a tree with medicinal uses now cultivated for ‘biofuel’ in the Amazon. 96 The bagne so complicated Guyane’s 'racial' make-up that Pugliesi classified Européens libres and transportés européens as though separate ‘races’ with their own ‘pathologies’, the conditions under which they lived being so different. Other categories were nègres libres, métis libres, transportés nègres, Arabes, Hindous, Chinois and Annamites . J.Orgeas, La Pathologie des races humaines et le problème de la colonisation: étude anthropologique et économique faite à la Guyane française (Paris, 1886), pp.viii-ix. 46

These medics shaped their studies to respond to contemporary politics of settlement or other colonial uses for Guyane. They addressed the environment’s effects on newly-arrived Europeans and offered medical justifications for, variously, the extension or suppression of penal transportation of ‘whites’. Intrinsic to their arguments was the notion that Europeans’ resistance to tropical diseases was weakened by an overlong stay in the colony. ‘Conditions hygièniques détestables’ – going barefoot, eating badly and lack of care for one’s person – were anathema to ‘civilisation’. 97 Guyane presented particular anxieties in this respect since its European population was by these standards among the least ‘civilised’ in the colony. Beyond a thousand or so military personnel, a few missionaries and the rotating sets of administrators and professionals, the ‘white’ population consisted of convicted criminals and a few gold prospectors. All of these lived in close proximity to non-whites occupying the same roles. 98 In addition, the medics noted, Europeans seemed to lack the knowledge of preventative techniques against disease and discomfort used by ‘Indians’ and Maroons. It would be up to French medicine to develop a better scientific understanding of the relationship between race, disease and local environment in order to prevent their compatriots’ bodily degeneration in this particular social, racial and geographical environment. The notion that conditions in Guyane induced physical and moral rot in Europeans held sway until well after the Second World War. This was evident in officials’ exchanges over the fate of the bagne ’s personnel, who were to be ‘reclassified’ as the bagne was wound up between 1945 and 1948. Administrators tried to have penitentiary guards placed elsewhere in the colonial service, but their transfer requests were rejected by authorities in other colonies. Ostensibly this was because the men concerned did not have the required level of education now that standards for fonctionnaires had been raised and ‘natives’ often fulfilled them. There are implications in correspondence, however, that Guyane’s penal guards had a reputation for being drunkards and dolts or that they were otherwise considered toxic. Between July and September 1942, surveillants militaires who had worked in Guyane, although few in number, were rejected by the High Commissioner of Cameroun and by authorities in , Brazzaville, Saigon and elsewhere for ‘l’insuffisance de leurs aptitudes’, for being less qualified than ‘indigenous’ personnel or because they would not have preference over demobilised soldiers. In 1947, the Minister for Overseas France asked

97 Pugliesi, ‘Des accidents causés par la puce chique’, p.52. 98 Orgeas, La Pathologie des Races Humaines , p.1. In the late-nineteenth century, prisoners and goldminers alike – European, (North) African, Asian and Caribbean – worked and lived in the forests, especially after a surge in gold prospecting from the 1860s. 47 the governor of Guyane to produce dossiers on individual personnel in order to decide whether they were to be reassigned elsewhere in the colonial or civil service or ‘mise à la retraite’. The resulting files contain multiple references to alcoholism, despair and other, less specific or euphemistic failings such as being ‘de moyens limité’; many are simply declared ‘inapte au Service Colonial’ without explanation. As an example, the commandant supérieur on the Îles du Salut, Julien Echard, was in 1944 said to be very well regarded. In 1946, however, his dossier noted: ‘Surveillant principal qui a rendu de grands services mais qui, sur la fin de son séjour aux îles du Salut avait perdu tout contrôle de lui-même. Dirigé sur la Métropole…comme rapatrié sanitaire – A mettre à la retraite.’ One individual, first declared satisfactory, was then described as a ‘Mauvais surveillant animé d’un esprit frondeur et malveillant’. Another agent was described as an ‘alcoolique invétéré’. Of one commis des travaux , it was claimed that ‘on l’avait vu errer comme un égaré dans les rues de Saint- Laurent et il avait dû être enfermé à l’Hôpital en chambre de sûreté’. Whilst the health and the repatriation (or not) of former bagnards was left to the ministerings of the Salvation Army, the health and employment of their guards was taken in hand at the ministerial level of government. 99 Administrators noted that ‘les fonctionnaires désirant rester à la colonie sont en effet extrêmement rares’ and that more precautions ought to be taken in the métropole as to who was returned to Guyane after illness or congé .100 In the end, most of the guards seem to have been retired off at relatively young ages. As Anderson explains: ‘The threat to civilization might come from outside (as the tropical climate) or from inside (as the unconscious) but the locus of its target did not change… the true terrain of civilization was the mind of the bourgeois white male.’ In the tropical colony, disorders of mental health were associated with the shameful dysfunction of administrators’ masculine and national/colonial roles: ‘The white man’s dirty secret was replacing the white man‘s burden.’ 101 In this case, the shame was that of the agents of the penitentiary administration who were liable to be locked up, transported themselves back to the métropole , and to end up in as bad a general shape as many of the ‘vieux blancs ’ (former prisoners notorious for their supposed haunting of the streets of Saint-Laurent, invariably drunk on tafia). 102

99 ‘Libérés back from Devil’s Island’, War Cry (17 May 1947); ‘The End of the Penal Settlement in Guiana’, War Cry (25 Oct, 1947); ‘Prisoners’ friends on Devil’s Island’, Catholic Herald (24 July 1953), ‘Devil’s Isle Men are Going Home’, Manchester Evening News (5 Dec 1947), Salvation Army Archives (SAA), London. 100 ANOM/1AFFPOL/2982. 101 Warwick Anderson, ‘The Trespass Speaks: White Masculinity and Colonial Breakdown’, The American Historical Review 102:5 (1997)’, p.1365. 102 Miles, Colony of the Damned , p.185. 48

This example from the political administration accords with those from literature and journalism. The bagne was synonymous with moral bankruptcy in the minds of the same ‘bourgeois white males’ whose words made up the majority of printed and archived matter on the subject. The bagne , however, was but one of many, different spaces which constituted Guyane, and even this singular institution signified a multitude of often-competing spaces. To be held on the temperate, breezy islands, for instance, where Dreyfus was held, was sometimes characterised as a ‘soft’ punishment, whereas the prisons and the interminable and lethal road-building labour projects on the mainland had astonishingly high mortality statistics. 103 Geographically-enforced isolation, however – whether by sea or by forest – with its concomitant psychological challenges, was a feature of each site. French visions of Guyane – its ‘interior’ versus coastal environments and its relationship to the ‘metropole’ – were, then, not only disputed on maps. They were also sketched out in reportage, where Guyane and its bagnes were vaguely tropical but often a-geographical loci for French scandals, in fiction, where the ‘interior’ was constituted as an invincible and anthropophagous mass of green, and in racialised, medical theories. The medical texts related to the life conditions of an unusually diverse assemblage of populations. Their authors assumed that these populations might be racially grouped – that their skin colour distinguished them ontologically and conditioned their responses to the shared tropical environment. Hence the medical narratives are particularly auspicious examples of how visions of environment, fears of degeneration and colonial administrative discourses interacted on the subject of Guyane. In the mid-twentieth century, medics’ ‘mandates’ became increasingly bound up with languages of mise en valeur – later, ‘development’. Army and navy doctors were joined upriver by still-small but growing numbers of colonial administrators, new kinds of scientists and, from 1946, fonctionnaires of the centralising, technocratic, post-war French state. The next section returns to the geographers, reconsidering their actions in the post-war ‘tropical’ context of Guyane and addressing how, from the Fourth Republic, Third-Republic literary and medical discourses operated alongside newer, technocratic scientific discourses.

Filling in the blanks: exploration and the cartographic imperative after 1946 As the case of Henri and Octavie Coudreau demonstrates, the romantic legacy of ‘jungle’ exploration and the scientific logic of cartography were intertwined. After the Second World War, however, newly-professionalised, scientific geographers of the IGN sought to

103 Dufour, Les bagnes de Guyane , pp.130-169. 49 systematise topographical knowledge. In doing so, they would disassociate their work from the maps produced by renegade or mercenary explorers. Nevertheless, the post-war geographers of Guyane drew upon maps, data and textual accounts written prior to 1946 by medics, geographers and businessmen ‘ en mission ’ in the ‘interior’ of the country. Third- Republic discourses carried over into the Fourth Republic, with its authoritarian emphasis on producing and applying knowledge in service of modernisation and development. 104 Guyane became represented as a problematic environment for the implementation of French plans. The trajectories of three French individuals intertwined in Guyane’s ‘interior’ in the post-war period. The aforementioned Jean Hurault, firstly, after a number of cartographic ‘missions’ to delineate political borders in the post-war decades, wrote ethnographic studies of the inhabitants he had encountered along the way, later intervening politically on behalf of ‘Amerindians’. Raymond Maufrais, secondly, undertook upriver exploration missions after the war (having travelled first in Brazilian Amazonia). Drawn to the ‘unexplored’ for its own sake, Maufrais sought self-mastery rather than scientific knowledge or political dominance. The two had met, and Hurault had attempted to dissuade Maufrais from undertaking the badly-prepared solo journey to the ‘Tumuc-Humac’ which killed him. Two decades later, a factory worker from , André Cognat, aware of the well-publicised story of Maufrais, undertook his own solo journey upriver. Cognat intended to broach a frontier by photographing lesser-known ‘Indians’. He recounted in published memoirs how, after nearly succumbing to the environment when travelling alone, he grew attached to the Wayana and their way of life to the extent that he chose to become Wayana, and today remains a key member and spokesperson of a village that was named after him. 105 The death of Maufrais and the mission undertaken by his father, Edgar Maufrais, to find him, received considerable press and fed into the powerful received idea of Amazonia as green hell and ‘ mangeur d’hommes. ’106 Rumours spread that Maufrais had been killed and perhaps eaten by ‘natives’ (whereas Amerindians had in fact found his diary and personal effects and passed them to French authorities). For the final leg of his journey, Maufrais eschewed the usual practice of European travellers to employ Amerindians or Maroons as navigators, guides and suppliers of food and equipment. His was, in effect, a suicide

104 On Gaullist technological modernisation policy see Jacques Perget et al, ‘Le general de Gaulle et la recherché scientifique et technique’, Cahiers de la Fondation 12 (2003); André de Lattre et al, De Gaulle en son siècle, Tome 3, Moderniser la France (Paris, 1990). 105 Cognat took the name Antecume and married a woman from the village. ‘His’ village is now known as Antecume-Pata. André Cognat, J’ai choisi d’être indien (Paris, 1967). 106 ‘Edgar Maufrais rentre en France, après trois ans de vaines recherches dans les forêts d’Amazonie pour retrouver son fils’, Le Monde (26 Aug 1955). 50 mission.107 Cognat, by contrast, related a tale of the gradual shedding of his Western trappings and baggage as unnecessary encumbrances – ‘j’abandonne mon appareil-photo au profit d’une flêche’ – and a fairly rapid realisation that being alone with the elements was conducive neither to psychological nor to physical survival, hence a necessary reliance on Amerindian hospitality. 108

Figures 10, 11 and 12: (left to right), André Cognat (1979) with the brother of Mimi Siku (attrib.), Jean Hurault in the 1990s, Raymond Maufrais (c.late 1940s). 109

The activities of all three of these men might be identified as branches of colonial enterprise. Their ‘missions’ arose from a certain received idea that Guyane was virgin territory and that there was a destiny to be realised in penetrating its mysteries. Jacques returned to Zola to express this sense of the colony as blank yet fertile canvas for a Frenchman of any class willing to work ( oeuvrer ) to inherit, in a sense more than inflected by the language of Christianity: ‘Ce royaume appartiendra au laboureur qui aura osé le prendre, s'y tailler à son gré un domaine aussi vaste que la force de son travail l'aura créé’. 110 Guyane, in this sense, would belong to he who first and most convincingly undertook to map it, hence Hurault’s missions. State-funded, scientifically-trained, he found more ‘authoritative’ justification for his journeys and his idealism than did his two contemporaries. As well as for the IGN, he worked for state-funded ‘development’ bureaucracies – notably the Office de Recherche Scientifique et Technique Outre-mer (henceforth ORSTOM) – intended to modernise the French Union. Maufrais, only twenty-three when he disappeared in the forest,

107 Maufrais’s diaries, until the last, evince conviction that he would overcome his increasingly massive difficulties (delusions resulting from malnourishment, perhaps, or an attempt to counter depression); he also ran out of money and could not obtain any more from the journal, Sciences et Voyages , for which he was reporting. Maufrais, Aventures , p.282. 108 Cognat, J’ai choisi d’être indien , pp.21-27. 109 Photograph of Cognat © Paul Scot, http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Guyane_0043.jpg [accessed 3 Nov, 2014]; image of Jean Hurault from Généviève Wiels (dir.), Dessine-moi…une frontière (France, 2004); Association des Amis de l’Explorateur Raymond Maufrais, http://www.maufrais.info/ [accessed 3 Oct 2014]. 110 Émile Zola, Fécondité (1899) cited in Jacques Marseilles, ‘Les images de l’Afrique en France (des années 1880 aux années 1930), Canadian Journal of African Studies/Revue canadienne des études africaines 22:1 (1988), p.127. 51 remained marked by a mid-twentieth-century, provincial Catholic upbringing. He had engaged in the Resistance as a teenager, in and the Lot. The diaries he left on his trail in Guyane suggest a character, motivations and state of mind somewhere between those of a boy scout and of a religious martyr; they are testament to someone depressed and driven in part by self-abnegation and in part by messianism. 111 Cognat’s aims were initially quasi- anthropological. By bearing witness to people hitherto ‘unknown’, he hoped to achieve both self-development (through the journey) and glory (through the dissemination of its results). Less prone to existential torment and more pragmatic than Maufrais, but not as (formally-) educated nor as integrated in scientific milieux as Hurault, Cognat was also simply trying to make his living and life through travel. In this he resembled early-twentieth-century writers of reportage who followed Albert Londres. The ethnographer and habitué of Amazonia Claude Lévi-Strauss claimed in 1955 that ‘Nowadays, being an explorer is a trade, which consists… in covering a great many miles and assembling lantern-slides or motion pictures… so as to fill a hall with an audience…’. 112 Such actions were certainly not new in 1955, so Lévi-Strauss was perhaps lamenting an increased accessibility of ‘adventurous’ travel. Cognat, certainly, intended to capitalise on existing tropes of idealised, primitive society by scooping an exposé in Guyane that would propagate them. Guyane was ideal territory for these three individuals who shared a fascination with adventure, discovery, testing one’s limits in hostile environments and ‘playing Indian’. 113 Not exclusive to men in practice, these pursuits were nevertheless commonly characterised in gendered terms. Tellingly, according to De Souza Filho, Octavie Coudreau, who was present on most or all of the same expeditions as her husband, described herself as an ‘explorateur’ and said the noun could not be feminised. 114 The ‘authorship’ of these repeatedly-traced paths upriver in Guyane, from the nineteenth century to the late-twentieth century, has largely been claimed as a masculine one. 115 The different kinds of quest for knowledge undertaken by Hurault, Maufrais and Cognat also converged on the theme of the Amerindian. For Hurault, Amerindians became the object of scientific investigations; as a geographer in the vein of Vidal de la Blache – or Élisée Reclus – he considered them inseparable from the landscape

111 With, for example, repeated references to ‘le cafard’, ‘calvaire’, ‘mea culpa’. Maufrais, Aventures , pp.235-257. 112 Claude Lévi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques (London, 1973 [1955]), pp.17-18. 113 Deloria, Playing Indian. 114 Indeed she outlived him and continued ‘exploring’ after he died of malaria. De Souza Filho, Os retratos dos Coudreau , p.64. 115 Likewise, the travel narrative of English ‘explorer’ John Harrison – who undertook a canoe expedition to the Tumucumaque region with his wife Heather during the 1990s – is one half of the story of the journey. Harrison, Into the Amazon . A succession of people followed in Maufrais’s footsteps from the 1950s onwards: Francis Mazière, Expédition Tumuc-Humac (Paris, 1953). 52 that he had initially been interested in. 116 Though his stance was largely anti-‘assimilation’, he undertook political activism which ultimately facilitated the engagement of some of their number in the French political systems. Cognat also undertook political advocacy, but his stance was that contact with the coastal civilisation ought to be limited to the improvement of health services, and he was instrumental in the ’ rejection of French citizenship in 1969. 117 By the mid-twentieth century, expeditionary, geographical and ethnographic practices alike had become caught up in self-consciously 'modernising' processes. Throughout the late 1940s-1950s, the first and second plans de modernisation et d'équipement were instituted for overseas France. These were linked to the Fonds d’investissements pour le développement économique et social (henceforth FIDES) through which government channelled investment in ‘development’, organised and authorised by a central planning committee, to colonies and former colonies. 118 Much of this investment came from public funds but it was intended that the projects would also stimulate private investment. 119 Research bodies such as the ORSTOM and the IGN (for which Hurault worked) were intrinsic to the plans’ implementation. Both had pre-Second-World War origins and were remade during the war. The Office de la recherche scientifique colonial was created in 1943 and developed by the provisional government in 1944 but had been initiated by Léon Blum in 1937 towards the end of the Popular Front government. 120 The IGN was created in 1940 to replace the Service géographique de l’armée, founded in 1887. 121 The new IGN was confirmed as part of the Ministry of Public Works by the 1945-46 provisional government.122

116 Élisée Reclus, Nouvelle géographie universelle: la terre et les hommes (Paris, 1878-94). 117 In 1969, the Territoire de l’ was ended and the extent of Guyane’s territory formally ‘assimilated’ into the French administrative regime. Serge Mam Lam Fouck, Histoire générale de la Guyane française (Matoury, 2002), p.158; Nadia Mohia and Eric Navet, ‘Considérations sur la situation des Amérindiens de l’intérieur de la Guyane’, Journal de la Société des Américanistes 76 (1990), p.223. On health services in Antecume-Pata see Marie Fleury, ‘Les populations du Haut- Maroni et le projet de Parc national de la Guyane’, Journal de l’agriculture traditionnelle et de botanique appliquée 40 (1998), p.593. 118 Présidence du Conseil – Commissariat général au plan de la modernisation et d'équipement, Deuxième plan de modernisation et d'équipement: rapport général de la commission d'étude et de coordination des plans de modernisation et d'équipement (April 1954), British Library. 119 Martin René Atangana, ‘Mythes et réalités de l’investissement privé en Afrique noire française: Le cas du Cameroun dans les années 1940 et 1950’, Canadian Journal of African Studies/Revue canadienne des études africaines 35:1 (2001), p.1. 120 In 1949 the institution’s base was in Paris, but satellite institutions were set up throughout French colonies and former colonies, including in Cayenne, where they remain under the name (since 1998) of the Institut de recherche pour le développement (IRD). IRD, ‘Historique’, http://www.ird.fr/l-ird/historique [accessed 31 Oct 2014]. The Cayenne institution was set up as early as 1946: http://www.guyane.ird.fr/l-ird-en-guyane/la-representation [accessed 31 Oct 2014]. 121 This change was instigated by Jean Hurault’s father, an anti-Vichyite army general, in order to ensure a civil cartography as opposed to a military one during the Occupation. On the IGN relative to other branches of geographical practice see Jean- François Picard and Elisabeth Pradoura, ‘Jean Dresch, La Géographie’, Cahiers pour l’Histoire du CNRS (1987), pp.55-69. 122 The institution’s public historical overview begins in 1940: http://www.ign.fr/ [accessed 4 July 2012]. It has largely charted its own history in the Cahiers de l’histoire de l’IGN . 53

From 1947, the IGN launched missions seeking to ‘complete’ spatial knowledge of French territories. An ambitious US project during the interwar years had attempted to draw upon international sources of expertise to produce the as-yet most complete map of South, Central and Caribbean America. But as Pearson and Heffernan have indicated, the ‘remote’ regions of the Guianas – notably their borders with each other and with Brazil, and the sources and paths of the key rivers in these largely upland, ‘interior’ regions – although technically ‘on the map’ remained very inaccurately charted. The map’s makers ‘made no pretence that the map was anything other than an approximation of the topography of the region’ and included their approximations ‘in the absence of anything superior’, recognising that ‘those who suggested that such areas be left blank or labelled ‘uncharted’ also had a case.’ 123 The French government, however, had national interests in the Guianas, and – particularly after the war – it faced the imperative to delineate them in relation to other, potentially competing national and (post)imperial interests. 124 Elsewhere in the French empire (now Union), major colonial cartographic projects, such as that to map West Africa, had been taking place since the late-nineteenth century and early-twentieth century, but Guyane had largely escaped institutional scientific attention of this kind before departmentalisation. 125 The 1947 mission sought to chart the western, eastern and southern reaches of territory claimed by France. This information would shape both interventions in local economies and societies and international border politics. 126

The first post-war cartographic expedition in Guyane, and subsequent ethnographic work, united physical, human and regional geography – by then the discipline’s three main branches – and might also be considered archetypical examples of a French ‘tropical geography’, successor of ‘colonial geography’ from the 1940s. 127 Much of the knowledge

123 Alastair Pearson and Michael Heffernan, ‘The American Geographical Society’s Map of Hispanic America: Million-Scale Mapping between the Wars’, Imago Mundi: The International Journal for the History of Cartography 61:2 (2009), pp.234- 235. 124 Although the IGN did receive Marshall Plan funding directly, for placing itself at the service of international co- operation: ANOM/FM/1FIDES/17. On the Marshall Plan in France see Brian McKenzie, Remaking France: Americanisation, Public Diplomacy, and the Marshall Plan (New York, 2008). 125 In West Africa, development plans preceded topographical surveys rather than the other way round. The Governor of Sénégal’s Plan Flaidherbe in the 1860s ‘outlined plans for eastward development’, which were followed up with survey missions in the following decades. Isabelle Surun, ‘French Military Officers and the Mapping of West Africa: the Case of Captain Brosselard-Faidherbe’, Journal of Historical Geography 37:2 (2011), p.168. 126 As Urban points out, the ambiguous legal definition and status of the Territoire de l’Inini (1931-1969) placed its inhabitants in a legal limbo vis-à-vis citizenship and relationship to the state, especially after departmentalisation. Yerri Urban, L’indigène dans le droit colonial français (1865-1955) (France, 2011). 127 The growth in human geography around 1950, related to history, was not without controversy but contributed to a rejuvenation of the discipline according to Jacqueline Beaujeu-Garnier, ‘French Geography since 1950’, Scottish Geographical Magazine 106:3 (1990), p.130. On the discipline’s ‘colonial’ branch see Singaravélou, ‘The institutionalisation of “colonial geography” in France, 1880-1940’; on the ‘tropical’ see Paul Claval, ‘Colonial Experience and the Development of Tropical Geography in France’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 26:3 (2005), p.289. 54 produced by French ‘tropical’ geographers was based on research conducted in Africa and applied in French territories, but not exclusively. A number of key researchers worked in Brazil, both at universities and ‘in the field’, and as Claval notes, ‘there was a large measure of convergence between the research developed in Africa and in America.’ Techniques and methods were applied relatively late in the vieilles colonies .128 Tropical geography was a privileged part of the research programmes of the ORSTOM, IRD and the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (henceforth CNRS). Raison claims the discipline was a precursor to ‘tropical ecology’ and associated altermondialisme .129 Hurault seems to have corresponded roughly to Raison’s characterisation of ORSTOM-linked French ‘tropical’ geographers in the postwar period, or at least, to have developed into one over the next decade: distinct from Latin Americanists (although Hurault’s early career pre-dated the growth of that discipline), they were ‘hardly touched by Marxism… Apart from their taste for fieldwork and discovery, what characterized them most was a loose tiersmondisme …often of Christian inspiration, and a desire to practice an “applied geography”.’ 130 Hurault led or was involved in expeditions to gather data from upriver sites in West Africa as well as Guyane during the 1940s, 50s and 60s, under the auspices variously of the ORSTOM, the IGN and the Institut Français de l’Afrique Noire (IFAN), and under disciplinary labels of geography, sociology and ethnography. 131 His career spanned the second half of the century, and he continued to publish into the early twenty-first century before his death in 2006. As his interest in the ‘human’ overtook that in topography, the cartographer turned ethnographer. Appealing for funds to the research bodies who, he established, ‘lacked’ knowledge of the French national territory in South America, he undertook expeditions with a specific focus on producing anthropological and sociological texts. In January 1957, he carried out another cartographic venture to map the southern border, then returned to Guyane the same year with a doctor, André Sausse. A demographic study followed which was actually the fruit of several research visits. 132 Since such studies were the only up-to-date, ‘scientific’ ones available about Guyane

128 Claval, ‘Colonial Experience and the Development of Tropical Geography’, pp.297-299. 129 Jean-Pierre Raison, “‘Tropicalism” in French Geography: Reality, Illusion, or Ideal?’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 26:3 (2005), p.323-324. 130 Raison, ‘Tropicalism in French Geography’, p.327. 131 Hurault graduated in 1938 from the École Polytechnique then was taken on as 'ingénieur géographe élève' at the IGN. He wrote a doctoral thesis on Cameroun in the late 1960s. CNRS, http://celia.cnrs.fr/FichExt/Facsimiles/encyclopedie_caraibes/Note_liminaire.pdf [accessed 28 June 2012]. 132 Jean Hurault, Mission de délimitation de la frontière Guyane française-Brésil: frontère sud (bassin du Maroni), Octobre 1956-Février 1957: rapport de fin de mission (Médiathèque du Musée du Quai Branly) ; During this decade he published studies on ‘Boni’ (Aluku) Maroons and Wayana Amerindians: Hurault, Étude démographique des populations tribales de la Guyane française (France, 1959). 55 after the war, these sociological texts – as much as the spatial mapping and in conjunction with it – informed the political debates about intervention of the late 1960s. Earlier missions of all kinds had taken place in unambiguously colonial contexts, as denoted by the earlier appellation of the ORSTOM. Patterns of practice, however, remained little altered into the post-war era of the French Union. The Fourth-Republic outre-mer has often been overlooked by historians, perhaps because it presents greater challenges to prevailing assumptions about a colonial/postcolonial dichotomy than do the imperial Third Republic or the ‘decolonizing’ Fifth. 133 Maufrais’s expedition was driven by the cult of the heroic explorer that flourished at the height of the Third Republic. 134 By the 1950s, however, this was outdated, hence the aura of futility surrounding the venture and the tone of pity – sometimes ridicule – that accompanied the exploits in the press. Si elle avait réussi, son aventure ne se serait pas distinguée de beaucoup d'autres dont les récits sont à la mode. Elle aurait fini par les interviews habituelles et par le lancement soigneusement calculé d'un livre ou d'un film. Au lieu de ce bruit nous ne sommes qu'en présence d'un jeune homme, d'un enfant seul devant l'indifférence méchante de la nature. 135 If individual ‘adventures’ of Maufrais’s sort, to believe this comment, were banal after the war, more opportunities to travel were available to young Frenchmen – and increasingly, women – as fonctionnaires across a bureaucratic ‘greater France’. The careers of mobile ‘technicians’ such as Hurault emerged from and responded to a political context that was rapidly changing and, with the prospect of decolonisations, uncertain.136 Interviewed late in life, Hurault recalled experiencing Guyane's transition from colony to department in terms of a simultaneous alteration of material apparel and disruption of its symbolic connotations. Initially obliged to wear the casque colonial , he remembered a dawning realisation after 1946 that ‘ça ne sert à rien’.137 This anecdote is multi-layered, articulating as it does a ‘private’ meaning of a more ‘public’ narrative of colonial memory. 138 On the one hand, the discarding of the casque is a minor, cosmetic act. It belies how, although imperialism's clothing may have changed, the ensemble of everyday practices and underlying structures did not alter

133 On this dichotomy in French historiography see Jean-Frédéric Schaub, ‘La catégorie “études coloniales” est-elle indispensable?’, Annales 63:3 (2008), pp.625-646. An exception is Donald Bruce Marshall, The French Colonial Myth and Constitution-Making in the Fourth French Republic (London, 1973). On the processes leading to the announcement of the Fifth Republic and predominance of a paradigm of ‘decolonization’ see Shepard, The Invention of Decolonization. 134 Berny Sèbe, Heroic Imperialists in Africa : The Promotion of British and French Colonial Heroes, 1870-1939 (Manchester, 2013). 135 Robert Coiplet, ‘Aventures’, Le Monde (4 Oct 1952). 136 Daniel Ringrose, ‘Nomadic Technicians and Migration in the Francophone World’, Proceedings of the Western Society for French History 32 (2004), pp.308-327. 137 Wiels, Dessine-moi . 138 Britta Schilling, ‘Imperial Heirlooms: The Private Memory of Colonialism in Germany’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 41:1 (2013), p.664. 56 overnight. Alternatively, it could represent a shift in the relationship of Frenchmen to the formerly colonised: the removal of a symbolic barrier and apparent equalising of hierarchy. However, it is possibly more meaningful for what it suggests about the way in which Frenchmen conceived of themselves, their place and their bodily experience in the tropics at this stage in colonial history. Clothing was a fundamental means of negotiating the ‘real and serious socio-psychological dislocation’ of Europeans in the colonies, a dislocation of body as well as mind. 139 Colonial uniform was a centrally-mandated intervention in this process, backed up with racialised scientific understandings of the relationship between body and climate and how to regulate it, similar understandings to those articulated by the Third- Republic medics discussed earlier.140 To dismiss this uniform was to dismiss a certain kind of colonial science – one which attempted to gauge the techniques necessary to adapt the sun- sensitive European body with its heat, sweat and humours to tropical climatic conditions. (Whether or not ‘colonial’ headgear was genuinely useful in any of Guyane’s environments is another question.141 ) The claim Hurault makes in his anecdote pertains to a shift in the focus of colonial science: from the ‘terrain’ of the colonist’s mind and body to ostensibly more ‘neutral’ ground of topographical, environmental knowledge. In the wake of the war, then, imperialism was not ended but re-envisaged, its ‘mission and mandate’ relocated. For the developmentalists of the Fourth Republic, the cumbersome ‘burden’ of the colonial-humanist mission civilisatrice belonged to the past and ought to be shed. In its place, FIDES, ORSTOM, the IGN and their ilk would impose a rational and efficient and programme of economic ‘modernisation’. In 1954, the second plan de modernisation explicitly sought to favour ORSTOM's ‘recherches sociologiques... études humaines,’ proposing a pragmatic production of knowledge in the service of thrift: ‘quelques millions d'études peuvent sauver des milliards d'investissements.’ 142 The IGN’s cartographic project, in this vein, completed a vision of Guyane ‘from above’ which, although undertaken in the name of ‘science’, could allow the French government to stake a claim justifying its continued guardianship of its former colony. The journeys, the pattern and reach of expeditions seeking to lay groundwork for

139 Dane Kennedy, ‘Climatic Theories and Culture in Colonial Kenya and Rhodesia’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 10:1 (1981), p.50. 140 For nineteenth-century, British-colonial musings on the relationship between head, climate, elements, and the materiality of the helmet, see James Ranald Martin, ‘The European Soldier in India’, Calcutta Review 30: 59 (1858), p.128. 141 On clothing’s symbolism in , where its utility was comparably ambiguous, see Phyllis Martin, ‘Contesting Clothes in Colonial Brazzaville’, Journal of African History 34 (1994), p.401. 142 Présidence du Conseil – Commissariat général au plan de la modernisation et d'équipement, Deuxième plan de modernisation et d'équipement: rapport général de la commission d'étude et de coordination des plans de modernisation et d'équipement (Paris, 1954), p.53. 57

‘development’ were not new in 1946, nor was the way in which apparently specific missions – whether cartographic, medical or ethnographic – gave way to a much broader enquiry encompassing humans, landscape and the social relations between them. Hurault, Maufrais and Cognat trod in the wake of earlier explorers, scientists and naturalists, of Third-Republic medics and colonial administrators, of miners and merchants, and of Maroons and Amerindians. IGN maps were based on fluvial paths and traced few of the overland tracks used by upriver forest-dwellers. Individual cartographic documents did not convey how what they ‘fixed’ and named as toponyms in the landscape in fact fluctuated over time and according to cartographers’ economic, social and political priorities. The history of gold- mining in particular meant that places could appear and disappear with remarkable rapidity; the toponymic changes of early- and late-twentieth century maps are testament to this. 143 Plenty of lieux-dits known to a variety of communities, furthermore, existed without attracting the cartographers’ attention. Upriver, Europeans were relatively ignorant of the environment and how to navigate it, and vulnerable to the vagaries of the river and forest. Hence they were, as Cognat, Hurault and (eventually) Maufrais all learned, profoundly reliant on established local hospitality, practices and economies. Since the earliest European presence in the Guianas, ventures into the ‘interior’ involved incomers and locals in conjunction, both in the logistics of the voyage and in resultant scientific and/or imaginative output. Maps are texts, but like any texts, in and of themselves they barely acknowledge the journeys behind their production, even as they reproduce visual traces of those trajectories. 144 Those traces in turn render invisible the ‘uncharted’ territory of what is not mapped. Maps also silence the human and non-human agents of cartographers’ journeys: notably, Maroon and Amerindian navigators on whose knowledge and experience of fluvial and forest trajectories geographical missionaries relied. The new national, international and imperial formations which emerged in the aftermath of war brought a renewed urgency to the IGN’s task of establishing the exact boundaries of French South American territory. Technological developments such as aerial photography brought new perspectives to the process: ‘seeing’ the territory no longer necessitated arduous canoe expeditions if it could be done more efficiently from above. Technology thus gave the French a tactical advantage over local inhabitants who, remaining

143 ANOM/FIDES/FM/64/494. 144 In a classic essay, Harley was among the first to apply Foucauldian ideas of encoded power in texts and discourse - and Derridean deconstruction - to maps and scientific cartography. J.B. Harley, ‘Deconstructing the Map’ in Martin Dodge, Rob Kitchin and Chris Perkins (eds.), The Map Reader: Theories of Mapping Practice and Cartographic Representation (Chichester, 2011), p.57. 58 river-oriented, did not possess the means to ‘see’ their situation from above. Aerial photography also paved the way for a shift from laborious hand-drawn mapping techniques towards computerised and satellite imagery. Shortcut to an apparently more comprehensive overview of Guyane, it presented the place visually as akin to tropical African regions whose forest ‘cover’ was also perceived to shield a mysterious nature. 145 This technological function of western modernisation, by visually ‘capturing’ the land from above, became part of a process in which visions of ‘nature’ could be yoked in service of developmentalist ideology and planning. The Fourth Republic was a period of bureaucratic transition. Interventions in formerly colonial territories signified different things to different French actors, depending often on whether they considered it as a colony or as a département . There were important differences between the experience of those going en mission and the perception of Guyane that could be had by the bureaucrats in Paris to whom they submitted their reports (less so with the advent of aerial photography). Parisians were not necessarily informed of the practical aspects of expeditions, nor that the information was co-produced with local agents. Nor did they share the ethnographic knowledge of the colonial/tropical scientists, medics and geographers. Those en mission put their lives and work in the hands of their informants, whereas planning bureaucrats in Paris and Cayenne did not.

Conclusion: Problematic modernity: a technocratic takeover in the DOM? Reporting from Cayenne in 1962, a Le Monde journalist summarised how, to anyone with no concept of a French Amazonia (i.e. most people), reality seemed stranger than fiction.

Dès l'arrivée dans le chef-lieu de la Guyane le contraste est saisissant entre le spectacle qui s'offre et celui des riantes petites villes antillaises, grouillantes, colorées. Autant les Antilles françaises paraissent tournées vers l'avenir, autant la Guyane reste repliée sur son passé… Le plus impressionnant de tous les lieux publics est le cimetière, de proportions gigantesques. 146

French visions of Guyane in the post-war period were multiple, competing and more often than not confused. Guyane was many places at the same time: paradisical El Dorado of mythic mountains and verdant fertility, whilst also still the ‘cemetery of Europeans’ and déchetterie of the Third Republic and before: ‘Devil’s Island’ of Dreyfus and green hell of diseased colonists, primitive natives and bagnards worked to death. It was also, for a small

145 Jean Hurault, Mémoires de photo-interpretation no. 1: Applications de la photographie aérienne aux recherches de sciences humaines dans les regions tropicales (Paris, 1963). 146 Philippe Decraene, ‘La réalité dépasse la fiction’, Le Monde (17 Aug 1962). 59 but vocal part, a coastal enclave of French-Caribbean , Créole culture with a prominent bourgeoisie, as the next chapter explores. Cartography was the primary way for French authorities to assess their prospects for dominating the fullest extent of ‘their’ Amazonian territory; this was as apparent in the post- 1946 period as in the early modern era. The cartographic mission and the research, migration and industry bureaux were part of the same plan: to rationalise Guyane by the application of a developmental algorithm: first, drawing its outline; and then, filling it full of people and extractive industry.147 The scientific institutions through which this was attempted – together with the literary and journalistic language in which Guyane was understood in the métropole – had their origins in the Third Republic. Chapter three will address how Guyane, in the post-war period, began to be considered as a place of tropically-adapted modernity. However, this vision was overlayed, often with great difficulty, on the longer-established idea of the colony as a site of European failure. Guyane was transformed by the central government’s attempts to install bureaucracy and ‘efficient’ government of land, ‘resources’ and people, but not yet in the way desired. The ‘development’ imperative increased in prominence following the Second World War, as was evident in the creation of the FIDES to ‘modernise’ territories of the French Union, but the Fourth Republic was nevertheless a period in which newer discourses of modernisation and cosmopolitanism lost to Third-Republic colonial legacies. In Guyane, the colonial administration’s purchase had already been relatively weak and geographically very limited. The imposition of post-war, state-funded research and development on top of this therefore offers an interesting case study of the production of a narrative of development failure. In this narrative, older anxieties about the forested, tropical colony as ‘white man’s grave’ and site of civilizational decline continually resurfaced. 148 Until attempts were made in later decades to reconfigure representations of Guyane’s environment in terms of ‘sustainable development’ and ‘ecological capital’, these tropes remained little altered. If Guyane could not be harnessed for national economic success, however, its ‘development’ potential in terms of environment, pharmacopeia and other kinds of scientific research and practice began to be noticed. 149 The of Cayenne became a

147 The IGN’s mandate was linked to those of bureaux for immigrants’ installation and for forestry industry research and development. ANOM/1FIDES/1. 148 Michael Sappol, ‘Introduction: Empires in Bodies; Bodies in Empires’ in Michael Sappol and Stephen Rice (eds.), A Cultural History of the Human Body in the Age of Empire (Oxford, 2010), p.12. 149 Phytotherapeutic health practices are widespread in Guyane. On the politics of these practices see Géniève Wiels (dir.), Les guérisseurs noirs d’Amazonie (France, 1998). On the tensions of documenting environmentally-based knowledge as ‘ethnopharmacology’ see Marco Leonti, ‘The future is written: Impact of scripts on the cognition, selection, knowledge and transmission of medicinal plant use and its implications for ethnobotany and ethnopharmacology’, Journal of 60 minor hub for research and practice of ‘tropical’ medicine following its expansion in the mid- century, and far from a failure in terms of its own aims of disease eradication. In 1952, Michel Pointet compiled an inventory of medicinal plants in Guyane and the French Antilles, marking a significant shift away from nineteenth-century medical conceptualisation of Guyane as perilous and miasmatic, and towards an emerging language of the mise en valeur of ‘biodiversity’.150 This still appealed to ideas about man’s (gendered) place in ‘nature’ and his ‘responsibilities and prerogatives’ towards it which had underpinned older imperial projects. 151 The idea of Guyane’s environment as curative, rather than dangerous, was produced in part by research in centres such as ORSTOM into local knowledge of and uses for plant medicine. Guyane’s history since 1946 seems to bear out ecocritical scholars’ thesis of a transition from anthropocentric to ecocentric scientific discourse. 152 The shift in governmental focus from ‘civilisation’ of humans to encadrage of landscape, territory and ‘nature’ allows us to question the extent to which this transition represented a break from past imperial tropes, or a remodelling of them.

Ethnopharmacology 134:3 (2011), pp.542-555. 150 Michel Pointet, Les plantes médicinales des Antilles et de la Guyane Françaises: Mémoire présenté pour le Prix Menier 1952 (Paris, 1952). A strand of ethnobotany developed, based at the ORSTOM/IRD: Pierre Grenand, Christian Moretti and Henri Jacquemin, Pharmacopées traditionnelles en Guyane: créoles, palikur, wayãpi (Paris, 1987), leading to more recent promotion of ‘traditional’ practices such as abattis agriculture. Parc Amazonien Guyane, ‘L’agriculture vivrière, au coeur du développement de la Guyane: Opportunités et défis d’une agriculture traditionnelle en évolution’ (c.2014). The imperial production and circulation of plant knowledge has a long history: Londa L. Schiebinger, Plants and Empire: Colonial bioprospecting in the Atlantic World (London, 2004); Richard Drayton, Nature’s Government: Science, Imperial Britain, and the ‘Improvement’ of the World (London, 2000). Guyane played an important part in this: naturalists arrived from 1722; La Condamine ‘discovered’ the Hevea guyanensis , a plant from which material can be extracted for rubber, in the area in the mid-eighteenth century while on expedition for the Jardin du Roi . Robert deFilipps, Shirley Maina and Juliette Crepin, ‘Medicinal Plants of the Guianas’ (Washington, 2004). Voeks connects colonial tropes of ‘virgin’ nature and fetishisation of ‘native knowledge’ to contemporary bioprospecting practices: Robert Voeks, ‘Disturbance Pharmacopoeias: Medicine and Myth from the Humid Tropics’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 94:4 (2004), pp.868-888. French researchers at the Cayenne CNRS and for the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle (Paris) have since 1983 co-operated with the Smithsonian Institution’s programme, ‘Biological Diversity of the Guiana Shield’ to ‘study, document and preserve…biological diversity’: see http://botany.si.edu/bdg/index.html [accessed 2 Mar 2015]. 151 Drayton, Nature’s Government , p.xvii. 152 Graham Huggan and Helen Tiffin, ‘Green Postcolonialism’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies 9:1 (2007), p.3. 61

Chapter Two: Guyane in a French ‘Black Atlantic’, 1946-1962

During the Fourth Republic (1946-1958), Guyane was in transition: not only had its political status altered from that of colony to that of département , but the end of the penal colony between 1944 and 1952 – on which much had depended, administratively and economically – entailed considerable social and economic change. Elsewhere in the French empire, the era of decolonisations began. 153 This chapter aims to understand why Guyane did not take a similar route to Sénégal, Guinée and other territories of the French Union. 154 On the one hand, it charts the prosopographies and trajectories of individuals who either challenged or reinforced Guyane’s French political identity. At the same time, it discusses monuments and other sites of ‘memory’ of these ‘Native Sons’. 155 How did individual trajectories and commemorative practices anchor or challenge Republican identity in the political, social and geographical landscapes of Guyane? 156 Chapter one sought the imaginative limits of governance. Picking up on Cooper’s questioning of colonialism, this chapter now analyses political contestations of those limits at a time when the continued ‘Frenchness’ of colonies – even the vieilles colonies – was not inevitable. 157 Responding to the question about non-decolonisation, the chapter also offers an important complication to Redfield’s idea of Guyane as a site of ‘negative’ governmentality. 158 In Guyane, French identity is in many senses fundamental, and in turn, the workings of central government are shaped by Guyane and its ressortissants . The biographies of President of the Monnerville (1897-1991), Governor-General Éboué (1884-1944) and current Minister of Justice Christiane Taubira (1952-) demonstrate this. Indicating the existence of what might be termed a French ‘Black Atlantic’, the chapter also responds to scholarship on Négritude , on black internationalism (which has tended to focus on the interwar period) and on ‘Black France’. 159 Analysing the historical

153 Martin Shipway, Decolonisation and its Impact: A Comparative Approach to the end of the Colonial Empires (Oxford, 2008), pp.61-86. 154 Cooper points out that decolonisation was not a given in Africa in Africa since 1940: the past of the present (Cambridge, 2002), p.20; ‘Reconstructing Empire in British and French Africa’, Past and Present 210 (2011), pp.196-210. On the cases of Madagascar and Cameroon see Martin Thomas, ‘The Colonial Policies of the Mouvement Républicain Populaire, 1944- 1954: From Reform to Reaction’, English Historical Review 118:476 (2003), pp.401-403. 155 Gregory Mann, Native Sons (London, 2006). 156 On the relationship between memory politics and history see Geoffrey Cubitt, History and Memory (Manchester, 2007). On French sites of national ‘collective memory’ see Pierre Nora (ed.), Rethinking France: Les lieux de mémoire , Volume 1 (Chicago, 2001); Herrick Chapman, ‘Revolutionary Memory as Contested Terrain from the Popular Front to the Fourth Republic’, French Politics and Society 7:4 (1989), pp.33-44; Laurence Brown, 'Monuments to Freedom, Monuments to Nation: The Politics of Emancipation and Remembrance in the Eastern Caribbean', Slavery and Abolition 23:3 (2002), pp.93-116. 157 I follow Sontag’s description of ‘memory’ as something which, since it dies with the individual, is a ‘stipulating’ when deployed publicly or collectively. Susan Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others (London, 2004), p.76. 158 Redfield, ‘Foucault in the Tropics’, p.65. 159 The influential concept of a ‘Black Atlantic’ cultural history and identity was outlined by Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (London, 1993). On politics of ‘blackness’ in the French context see Trica Danielle 62 production of commemorative representations of ‘black’ French men in positions of national power – in the same era as Négritude flourished – offers an insight as to how, in Guyane, the relationship was negotiated between implicit or explicit politics of ‘race’ and those of French Republicanism in which ‘ethnicity’ or skin colour is purportedly irrelevant. 160 A historical approach taking into account the social relations and geographical mobilities of the elite actors who constituted the movement complicates the sometimes hagiographical approaches of literary scholarship to the subject. Guyane’s ‘Frenchness’ was asserted by ‘Guyanais’ and ‘Métropolitain’ elites for a range of purposes, both practical and ideological. Whilst operating publicly within Republican strictures, some elites made use of racial-political tropes from Africa, the U.S. and elsewhere to depict Guyane as part of a ‘Black France’. They appealed to changing tropes of racialised collective identity: first the transatlantic ones of Négritude , and later that of ‘blackness’. 161 A limited but exceptionally mobile circle of people increasingly adopted influences from beyond the French sphere, deploying them with varying degrees of legitimation and success in Guyane. Elites more often than not became such by climbing the ranks of the national education structures, a process which required departure from Guyane. They typically reinforced their place, either locally or nationally, by way of a profession combined with political activity, and by making use of social, familial or professional networks. Thus, elite individuals constituted links building Guyane into transatlantic, French and Caribbean webs of political and cultural discourse. The commemoration of these individuals, often carried out by their peers, is highly political, as it attempts to consolidate the authority of their creators’ visions of these connections. 162 Some French histories of the département – often written by Guyanais politicians – offer few challenges to a vision of departmentalisation as a realisation of what is just and/or inevitable, obtained through the heroic efforts of individual men, and continuing inevitably throughout the twentieth century as Guyane ‘modernised’ in line with the French pattern. 163

Keaton, T. Denean Sharpley-Whiting and Tyler Stovall (eds.), Black France/France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness (London, 2012); on internationalism, Brent Hayes Edwards, The Practice of Diaspora: Literature, Translation, and the Rise of Black Internationalism (Cambridge, 2003). 160 Keaton, ‘The Politics of Race-Blindness’ pp.103-131. 161 On representations and definitions of ‘blackness’ – and the binaries associated with it - see Stuart Hall, ‘The Spectacle of the “Other”’ in Stuart Hall (ed.), Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices (London, 1997) p.223- 290. On relationships between migrations of people, migrations of meaning and reformulations of identity see Barnor Hesse (ed.), Un/Settled Multiculturalisms: Diasporas, Entanglements, Transruptions (London, 2000). 162 On the ‘poetics and politics’ of attempts to ‘fix’ meaning through ‘representational practice’, see Hall, ‘The Spectacle of the “Other”’, p.228. 163 A monograph by Rodolphe Alexandre, President of the Regional Council of Guyane since 2010, on a revolt by tirailleurs sénégalais in Cayenne in February 1946 was prefaced by Gaston Monnerville, about whom Alexandre has also written a biographical history. Alexandre has also authored an Hommage à Félix Eboué (Guyane, 1984). The works of Georges Othily offer similar examples. 63

Such accounts, being based largely on material from the Departmental Archives in Cayenne and private sources in Guyane, usually consider the département in isolation, compared only to the Antilles if to anywhere, with the broader contemporary context of the French Union absent or backgrounded. Here the chapter returns to Guyane’s ideological location within the French empire. After empire became increasingly unenvisageable in the long term in Algeria – and when even from the 1950s Guyane’s dependence on France was described as unsustainable – why, and in whose interests, was the French presence in Guyane reinforced? 164 The Fourth Republic (1946-1958) is under-represented in histories of twentieth- century French politics. 165 However, the French Union and departmentalisation have attracted interest from cultural and intellectual historians in terms of their relationship to interwar ‘colonial humanism’, notably from Conklin and Wilder. For Mouralis, Monnerville’s France was not celebrated as a patrimoine but utilised as ‘l’espace d’un combat politique’. 166 This echoes later descriptions by Taubira (born into the Fourth Republic and formed politically in the Fifth) of her own ‘combats’, indicating parallels between the journeys these two powerful ‘radicals’ took from Cayenne’s local political scene to the heart of the Parisian government.167 Historiographically speaking, it also points to Cooper’s call for histories of political movements in the colonies, since ‘the space of empire’ was ‘a terrain where concepts where not only imposed but also engaged and contested’. Cooper decentres decolonial struggles from nationalist historiography: ‘Empires should not be reduced to national polities projecting their power beyond their borders.’ 168 In coastal Guyane, whose small population meant that projections of French power radiated relatively strongly, ‘national polities’ were omnipresent as a unique means of social advancement. Colonial-born politicians rising through the ranks of the French system were subject to criticism from anticolonial activists, Monnerville being a case in point. However, such people were well-placed to criticise that same system, having acquired the understanding necessary to appropriate its tools.169

164 This was especially so from the mid-1960s, with the installation of the Space Centre and then the Foreign Legion in 1973. On the repatriation of the Foreign Legion and its re-exportation outre-mer see Marie Larroumet, Mythes et images de la Légion étrangère (Paris, 2004), pp.185-189. On 1950s critiques of Guyane’s economic dependence see Serge Mam Lam Fouck, Histoire de la Guyane française: les grands problèmes guyanais: permanence et evolution (France, 1992), p.196. 165 Exceptions are Sandro Guerrieri’s account of the genesis of Fourth-Republican institutions, ‘Le modèle républicain français et la Constitution de 1946’, Parliaments, Estates and Representation 25:2 (2005), pp.215-225 and the prosopographies of Bernard Lachaise, ‘Itinéraires des parlementaires gaullistes de la IVe République’, Parlements 7:1 (2007), pp.47-63. 166 Bernard Mouralis, ‘René Maran et Gaston Monnerville: entre négritude et radicalisme’, Francofonía 14 (2005), p.101. 167 Christiane Taubira draws up a list of specific ‘combats’ she has undertaken in her recent memoirs, Mes météores: combats politiques au long cours (France, 2012). 168 Cooper, Colonialism in Question , p.11. 169 Tools which, according to Cooper, Colonialism in Question , pp. 4-7, had been perfected in studying indigenous groups but were now directed at the ‘totality of coercive, structural, and ideological mechanisms of colonial power’ across empire 64

Monnerville and his ilk may have used the imperial framework to change that same framework, as did Cooper’s Senegalese activists, but as members of the national elite they operated at a considerable remove from local experience of activism amid colonial conditions. 170 As an architect of the FIDES as well as of departmentalisation, Monnerville was a point of connection between ‘domestic and imperial reconstruction on the one hand’ and a ‘fight strategy’ to maintain colonial power on the other. Martin Thomas considers that these two characteristics of the Fourth Republic, when juxtaposed, present its key tension.171 This tension was manifested here in the two alternatives of departmentalisation and decolonisation. Each of these alternatives has been characterised as ‘inevitable’, and yet each, to quote Shepard, had its historical ‘invention’.172 In an attempt to problematise the distinction between the two, Nesbitt has elaborated the concept of the DOMs’ ‘decolonisation through juridical integration’. 173 On the historical evolutions of the DOMs’ juridical status, French and Antillo- Guyanais historiography has laid important groundwork and deployed sources otherwise difficult to access.174 However, analyses making broader connections and bolder or critical interpretations of Guyanais history are thin on the ground. Work addressing more ‘peripheral’ regions of French presence – , the Comores, Polynesia, St-Pierre-et-Miquelon – in relation to decolonisation is also scarce. Guillebaud’s 1976 journalistic exposé – detailed but polemical – remains the only comprehensive survey of French overseas governance in the mid-to-late twentieth century. 175 The question has never been comprehensively addressed of why certain territories were separated fully from France, others partially decolonised, and others assimilated into the Republic. 176 Unlike the politics of departmentalisation and ‘French Union’, the politics of racial difference in France have undergone relatively thorough historical and theoretical

and métropole . 170 Cooper, Colonialism in Question , pp.204-205. 171 Martin Thomas, Fight or Flight: Britain, France, and their Roads from Empire (Oxford, 2014), p.75; see also the in- depth exploration of ‘tensions’: Cooper and Stoler, Tensions of Empire. 172 Shepard, The Invention of Decolonisation . 173 Yarimar Bonilla, ‘Guadeloupe is ours: The Prefigurative Politics of the Mass Strike in the French Antilles’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies 12:1 (2010), p.128; Nesbitt, ‘Departmentalization and the Logic of Decolonization’. 174 Emmanuelle Jos, Contribution à l’histoire juridico-politique de l’outre-mer français: Guadeloupe, Guyane, Martinique, Mayotte et La Réunion: vers des statuts sur mesure (France, 2012); Rodolphe Alexandre, Gaston Monnerville et la Guyane, 1897-1948 (Guadeloupe, 1999). 175 Guillebaud, Les confettis de l’empire . 176 From a case study of La Réunion, Finch Boyer argues that ‘Social legislation was… key to decolonisation struggles in all the former French colonies, whether or not they became overseas departments’, since ‘from the 1960s it slowly transformed the structural inequalities between French citizens in La Réunion and French citizens in the métropole.’ Héloïse Finch- Boyer, ‘“The Idea of the Nation was Superior to Race”: Transforming Racial Contours and Social Attitudes and Decolonizing the French Empire from La Réunion, 1946-1973’, French Historical Studies 36:1 (2013), p.140. 65 exploration. This chapter seeks to integrate the two topics, since studies of the latter often tackle ‘metropolitan’ France specifically.177 In a conscious attempt to avoid conceptual insularity, the chapter considers of the work of cultural critics from beyond French spheres, notably Gilroy. Citing Gilroy, however, necessitates historicising the ‘black’ category as it has been constructed in a Francophone (or multilingual) and not only an Anglophone ‘Atlantic’ context. 178 Lozès denies the existence of a ‘black community’ as such, claiming that it has been prevented by the Republican education system and suggesting that the idea of a ‘black’ collectivity or category emerged only with the creation of anti-discrimination organisations. 179 Michel Giraud, however, drawing upon Stuart Hall, gives longer historical scope to the emergence of a ‘corporate identity’ of blackness, specifically in ‘the last four decades… a long phase of economic and social crisis in major industrial societies, during which racial exclusion has emerged as an important subject of social concern.’ 180 Work on Négritude and colonial humanism such as that of Wilder and Conklin draws this history still further back in time to the Third Republic, and explicitly extends its geographical scope to the colonies. This chapter attempts to access a point at which Négritude ends and Black/‘ Noir(e) ’ begins, against the background of the complexities and contradictions of the purportedly colourblind Fourth and Fifth Republics. A final key reference is Benedict Anderson’s notion of ‘pilgrimages’ – one that has much in common with Gilroy’s findings – considered here alongside the trajectories of Guyanais colonial elites involved in creating and disseminating ideologies of Négritude , ‘Black’ identity or indeed Republicanism. For Anderson, the production of ‘colonial nationalism’ was linked to the particular ‘geography of… colonial pilgrimages’; these pilgrimages shaped the experience of elites and put them in contact with peers from around the empire who became influential points of reference on the individual’s ‘journey’ (again comparable to Gilroy on the construction of ‘Black’ identity).181 Principally concerned with Éboué, Monnerville and Damas, the chapter also refers to the appearance in Guyane, at a crucial political juncture, of the famous ‘exporter’ of French Culture (with a capital) André

177 A frequent reference point is Alec Hargreaves, Multiethnic France: Immigration, Politics, Culture and Society (London, 2007). 178 Of particular relevance is Gilroy’s contention that ‘black’ identity was constructed in part via the travels of such figures as W.E.B. DuBois, as a way to ‘locate cultural or ethnic roots and then to use the idea of being in touch with them as a means to refigure the cartography of dispersal and exile’. Gilroy, The Black Atlantic , p.112. 179 Patrick Lozès, ‘The Invention of Blacks in France’ in Trica Danielle Keaton, T. Denean Sharpley-Whiting and Tyler Stovall (eds.), Black France / France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness (London, 2012), pp.104-106. 180 Michel Giraud, ‘The “Question of Blackness” and the Memory of Slavery: Invisibility and Forgetting as Voluntary Fire and Some Pyromaniac Fighters’, in Keaton et al (eds.), Black France , p.175. 181 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism (London, 2006), pp.114-115. 66

Malraux. 182 The individuals all illustrate Anderson’s concept, though with some significant deviations from the patterns he identifies. Elite stories dominate the chapter. This choice of perspective illustrates how threads of ideology and action established by individuals’ trajectories wove ties between France and Guyane as successive generations followed back and forth along established pathways. Elites’ tendency to face outwards from Guyane, usually to ‘metropolitan’ France, led to the exclusion of other routes. It was also a socially exclusive option. One embarking on a ‘pilgrimage’ from Guyane, particularly in earlier years, was unrepresentative of the locality from whence s/he came, necessarily becoming dissociated from it. However, it has also been the case that ‘different’ routes taken by individuals, in this widely-travelled but numerically very limited elite, had significant impacts on the political – and therefore the social, economic and cultural – fabric of Guyane, France or beyond. (The reverberations diffused particularly widely in the case of Éboué.) A key theme, then, is how certain people became influential, but also how they became, or were made, symbolic to different extents and purposes. Oral history is a methodological answer to this. From interviews with people from a range of social backgrounds who have lived much or all of their lives in Guyane, it is possible to gauge a variety of social responses to the trajectories of the more famous elites, as well as the reception of and alternatives to government-sponsored symbolism in the public landscape. The chapter begins with a discussion of the symbolic stakes of Malraux’s visit to Guyane, shortly before it voted to remain a département in 1958. It then focuses on the intersecting trajectories of Monnerville and Éboué – figures, like Malraux, active in the upper echelons of government – in the period immediately following departmentalisation. Both (also like Malraux) began their careers in the imperial Third Republic, came to be interpreted as symbolic of French colonial humanism, and played a role in the politics of newly- departmentalised Guyane. Monnerville helped orchestrate Guyane’s political integration into the Republic but subsequently failed to be re-elected in his home constituency; his absence from Guyane is considered alongside the Éboué’s symbolic presence. The local political scene post-Monnerville is explored with reference to the publications of two rival, left-wing parties of the 1950s-early 1960s – Serge Patient’s Union du Peuple Guyanais (UPG) and Justin Catayée’s Parti Socialiste Guyanais (PSG) – outlining local political dissent and consent in this period. Finally, the chapter reviews the import of Justin Catayée and his death in 1962 (the second death by plane crash of a Guyanais deputy in fifteen years) in relation to

182 On Malraux’s own travels in the service of constructing French Culture overseas and in the provinces see Herman Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort: André Malraux and the Reinvention of French Culture (London, 1999). 67 dissent and non-decolonisation in Guyane.

Triumph of civilisation or unsanctioned disorder? Malraux’s Gaullist mission, 1958 Before the referendum (28 September 1958) on the new constitution which brought about the Fifth Republic, Malraux toured Martinique, Guadeloupe and Guyane on behalf of de Gaulle’s new Union pour la Nouvelle République (UNR). Extolling the virtues of French civilisation in the vieilles colonies , he sought the support of the DOMs’ electorate for the proposed new measures.183 In effect, this was also a test of departmentalisation, carried out by a Gaullist performer and ‘embodiment of France’s civilising mission’. 184 As de Gaulle’s cultural emissary, Malraux connected French politics with literature, with art and with a sense of mission or morality, and exported this vision of culture to various urban and rural corners of ‘metropolitan’ France, the DOM and further afield: a mission civilisatrice for the era of decolonisation. A ‘yes’ vote in 1958 would alter nothing for the DOM but left scope for future changes of status, albeit under centrally-directed auspices. A ‘no’ from any territory, however, would bring about its full separation from France, as it did for several African territories.185 On 20-21 September, Malraux made public speeches at key locations in Cayenne, including at the Félix Éboué monument in the Place des Palmistes. The history of this visit exposes fundamental themes: imperial visions of Guyane, the question of decolonisation, the contestation of departmentalisation in Guyane, and the paths along which elites travelled to anchor French ‘civilisation’ at ‘peripheral’ nodes. Crucial to this analysis is Malraux’s account of his Guyanais experience in Antimémoires , his semi-fictionalised autobiography. Playing upon the contrasts of darkness and enlightenment on which the ‘civilising mission’ was predicated, he gave away how Parisian visions of the Amazonian DOM as the edge or underworld of ‘civilisation’ continued to be permeated by puzzlement, fear, and a frisson of attraction. Malraux recalled how, prior to his visit to Guyane, de Gaulle himself had pressed his own emotional associations of Guyane upon his minister: ‘“You must go to Guiana, because

183 Jacques Adélaïde-Merlande, Histoire contemporaine de la Caraïbe et des Guyanes: de 1945 à nos jours (France, 2002), p.189; W. Scott Haine, The History of France (Connecticut, 2000), p.181. 184 Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort , p.171. In June 1958, Malraux had taken on the role of ministre délégué à la présidence du conseil , and was known as ‘de Gaulle’s minister’; from July, he was attributed the specific task of ‘l’expansion et…rayonnement de la culture française.’ In 1959, Malraux would create the Ministry of Culture within which he would work, as Minister of State for Cultural Affairs, for the following ten years. Claude Pillet, Le sens ou la mort: essai sur Le miroir des limbes d’André Malraux (Berne, 2010), pp.119-121; Ministère Culture Communication, ‘De la construction d’une administration’, http://www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/historique/ [accessed 29 May 2014]. A contemporary commentator summarised Malraux’s cultural policy thus: ‘Si vous n’allez pas à la Joconde, la Joconde ira-t-à vous’. Violette Morin, ‘La culture majuscule: André Malraux’, Communications 14 (1969), p.71. See also David Looseley, The Politics of Fun: Cultural Policy and Debate in Contemporary France (Oxford, 1995). 185 Namely Sénégal, Guinée and Tchad. Jean-Louis Quermonne, ‘Les nouvelles institutions politiques des états africains d’expression française’, Civilisations 11:2 (1961), pp.171-186. 68

France must help Guiana…You must go there because it is heart-rending”.’ 186 For de Gaulle, Guyane was not yet ‘France’ and therefore to be ‘helped’. The crowd, Malraux claimed, were receptive to this. His account of the end of his visit depicted unity between a cheerful, -prone peuple , the prefect (enforcer of French authority) and the formerly separatist guyanais deputy, Justin Catayée. I told them of my interview with General de Gaulle…A sombre burst of approbation filled the street…we went to the prefecture arm in arm. The new prefect and Catayée followed us. The videh formed behind us, as it had in Fort-de-France; thousands of men, and a few women, arms linked, in immense improvised farandoles. 187 His account of the previous day, however, was markedly different. His welcome at the airport and in Cayenne was picturesque but quiet. He draws a contrast with the known quantity of the Antilles: Girls in dazzling dresses and head-scarves smiled at us as we went by, but whereas in the Antilles I had encountered a few scattered ‘Vive de Gaulle’s, here I met with nothing but silence…there was something eerie about our motorcycle escort and the big car gliding noiselessly through a multi- coloured crowd which closed up behind us in the darkness… 188 Malraux was tasked with selling a Republican vision to a public from whom his experience was disconnected, and to a local political class largely disenchanted by the unfulfilled promises that departmentalisation would enact the realisation of a destiny. When he arrived, there was near-consensus for an altered, ‘special status’ – autonomous or semi-autonomous - for Guyane, as had been granted to Suriname in 1954. This was agreed at a summit of political factions – republican, socialist and communist – in the summer of 1958. 189 The charismatic and popular socialist leader Catayée had called upon the Guyanais to vote against the new constitution, in protest at what he considered to be the failure of recent negotiations of Guyane’s requirements between local leaders and central government.190 The first pivotal moment in Malraux’s self-aggrandising narrative (mistaken in some subsequent interpretations for a historical account) occurs as he single-handedly persuades Catayée to change his mind and instead to convince his followers to vote for the constitution.191 Malraux, in his own account, is the architect of Republican Guyane; Catayée, his only

186 Déchirant in the original French: the source version used here is an English translation. 187 André Malraux, Antimemoirs (London, 1968), p.130. 188 Malraux, Antimemoirs , p.121. 189 The PSG, SFIO, URG were involved, along with a group called ‘L’Union et Rénovation Guyanaises’. Mam Lam Fouck, Histoire de la Guyane française , pp.186-187. 190 He and the Republican mayor of Cayenne, Roland Barrat, had travelled to Paris for these. The government had proposed to end the Guyane/Inini division, raise social allowances and permit limited decentralisation of powers. Barrat considered these adequate, Catayée did not. Mam Lam Fouck, Histoire de la Guyane française , p.188. 191 For example Christine Clerc, De Gaulle–Malraux: une histoire d’amour (France, 2012). 69

Guyanais interlocutor of any importance. 192 Following his meeting with Catayée, Malraux was to make a public speech. However, the directive to support rather than contest Malraux and his mission had not yet filtered down from Catayée to the people, and the event proved to be a turbulent one. The predictably Gaullist rhetoric was secondary to the symbolic staging of his appearance, elevated on the platform by the Éboué monument in central Cayenne. Attempting to be heard through a faulty sound system, he was pelted with projectiles (he recalled pieces of wood with nails sticking out). The idea that he was pilloried by mistake gave, in his later recollection, an impression of theatrical absurdity. It also attributed a mixture of passivity and menace to the assembled crowd of Guyanais, spectatees turned spectators. The mystery (for Malraux) harboured by their silence altered its character, becoming something which augured violence. An eerily silent and static welcome party was replaced by a ‘gesticulating black mass’. Carriers of placards saying ‘DOWN WITH FASCISM’, ‘DOWN WITH DE GAULLE’ and ‘DOWN WITH FRANCE’, by contrast, remained ‘motionless’, creating a threatening contrast with the ‘jamboree’. The missiles’ provenance was left vague, coming from the direction of the ‘mass that hesitated as if in fear of the light’. Then, the same ‘mass’ was said to be ‘gradually encroaching on the floodlit area’ and stirring into violence – ‘not the gestures of political activism, but of murderous drunkenness’ – quieted only by the arrival of marines. Writing with creative licence, Malraux gave, by the shapes and contrasts of his imagery, the impression of a primitive carnival. Screams and yells had replaced the slogans. The videh of Martinique was building up, and it would not be Carnival who was to be killed…a wild-looking procession came into view and paused, dazzled by the light. In front, an injured man dragged by four others…, blood-stained…; behind him, with the galvanic movements of crazed drunkenness and bloodlust, a hundred maniacs armed with nail-studded planks. References to dark and light were repeated. What was hiding in the shadows was both unknown and a threat to this bringer of French enlightenment.193 Allusions to drunkenness suggested people beyond their senses and beyond reason. At this solemn, national occasion, the suggestion was that in Guyane, the opposite of order was brewing ‘below’. Neither was it the ‘sanctioned disorder’ of Bakhtin’s carnival, but rather, Malraux made Guyane represent ‘broken fragments of carnival, terrifying and disconnected’ in a symbolic universe whereby carnival was alien to a ‘phobic… bourgeois unconscious.’ 194 The language he used to

192 Pillet, Le sens ou la mort , p.120. 193 Malraux, Antimemoirs , pp.123-129. 194 Peter Stallybrass and Allon White, The Politics and Poetics of Transgression (London, 1986), pp.171-172. 70 describe the events of the evening of his speech is typical of Guyane’s place in French discourse, as the first chapter explored: as ‘Heart of Darkness’, in opposition to ‘les Lumières’ of civilisation. 195 It shared with Africa a negative, ‘dark’ imaginary role, despite – or perhaps because of – its South American location, reflecting a pan-Atlantic symmetry of jungle and tropics. 196 Though carnival is also common to the Antilles, which Malraux recognised in his attribution of the vidé (also usual in Guyane) to Martinique, the potential for disorder that it refers to is closer to the surface here. In Malraux’s version of events, the Antilles needed only to be reminded of de Gaulle’s role in ‘saving France’ to be persuaded to vote for the constitution. Guyane, on the other hand, he described as altogether more reticent and unpredictable (and this despite the participation of figures such as Catayée in the Resistance). Malraux described that night as ‘la plus saugrenue de ma vie’. 197 The adjective suggests something slightly but not profoundly amiss – things not going according to one’s plan, but also not going according to anyone’s plan. Guyane was but one ‘exotic’ episode for this definitive cultural envoy (he was subsequently sent to India and to Brazil). Yet he claimed credit for a pivotal action in the history of its continued adherence to the French nation. Ultimately, it might have been all the same to Malraux and de Gaulle had Guyane been ‘lost’ (as Guinée was in 1958, Sénégal in 1960). It was, to them, on the edge of ‘another world’, which Malraux defined as the ‘elemental forest’ of Amazonia with its ‘Stone Age’ people. It was not quite, from his point of view, over that edge, but the description of the Guyanais crowd conveyed a clear sense of a latent lack of control.198 Hence, as long as Guyane remained under French tutelage, it was a place where a representative of ‘metropolitan’ government and culture encountered fear (his own) and hostility (whether of the populace or of the specific, unknown forces). These, it appeared, could only be held in check by the imposition of the forces of order. Inaugurating a Maison de la Culture in the new, ultra-modernist and still-unfinished city of Brasília in 1959, Malraux also described civilisation on the edge of Amazonian ‘wilderness’.199 However, Cayenne was clearly

195 In La Voie Royale , Malraux deployed similar tropes in his description of Indochina. Isabel Guillaume, ‘ La Voie royale et Voyage au bout de la nuit : deux réécritures française de Heart of Darkness ’, Cahiers de narratologie 13 (2006), http://narratologie.revues.org/331 [accessed 8 June 2014]. 196 Similar language is also apparent in an interwar narrative about the 1928 riots in Cayenne: Blaise Cendrars, Rhum: l’aventure de Jean Galmot (Paris, 1958) written by a travelling modernist writer who had visited Brazil (though never Guyane). 197 Pillet, Le sens ou la mort , p.120. 198 Malraux, Antimemoirs , p.128. 199 Already, in March 1956, Kubitschek and , then French Minister of Foreign Affairs, had inaugurated a French cultural institute, the Maison de France, in Rio de Janeiro. This thirteen-storey building, designed by French architects Auguste Rendu and Jacques Pilon and built between 1951 and 1955, contained a theatre, two libraries, an Alliance Française, and until 1976 housed the French Embassy. ‘Présentation de la Maison de France’, 71 different to Brasília, and was considered as such by de Gaulle and Malraux (‘ déchirant ’ rather than full of hope). Brasília was for Malraux the new Acropolis, and Brazil a ‘pays de l’espoir’.200 It was symbolic in his cultural mission as the ultimate expression of modernity: tropical modernism in art and architecture in combination with the post-war, economic modernisation with which Kubitschek has become synonymous. Malraux’s 1958 visit to Guyane occurred before he officially took on the mantle of Minister for Culture, and he was not inaugurating a building or a Maison de la Culture in Cayenne .201 There were subsequent, unrealised plans to build such institutions in Guyane, as in Réunion, Martinique, Guadeloupe and Nouvelle-Calédonie. Lebovics describes similarly- unrealised plans for a Maison de la Culture in honour of Éboué in the latter’s former domain of Fort-Lamy, capital of Tchad. Designed by Le Corbusier, this would represent a modern(ist) French civilisation in the colony that was key to its war victory but now ‘lost’. 202 By giving his speech next to the Éboué monument in Cayenne, Malraux was – in a political and an aesthetic sense – associating himself with a symbol of modern, Republican culture and ‘civilisation’.203 His Antimémoires make clear that the purpose of this ‘civilisation’, even as it was attached to a programme of ‘cultural modernisation’, was still to bring ‘enlightenment’. 204

Reclaiming Félix Éboué The Éboué monument encapsulated the ‘Malraux moment’ in its combination of modernist sculpture – an unorthodoxically-cast bronze figure and a concrete arch – with an attachment to Classical Culture ‘majuscule’: ‘cette maîtrise gréco-latin’. 205 On the plinth was a Greek inscription of words by the author himself. However, the monument was erected several years before his visit on behalf of the government, and the Antimémoires attest that Malraux had not been aware that his words were reproduced on it. 206 The next section probes Éboué’s afterlife in Guyane. How and by whom was he invoked, and what was the relationship http://www.maisondefrance.org.br/# [accessed 29 May 2014]. As Pillet points out, Malraux’s narrative implicitly exchanges the order of the visits by a use of tenses suggesting that, by the time he made the Guyane visit, he had already been addressed by Kubitschek on the (1959) visit to Brasília. Pillet, Le sens ou la mort , p.118. 200 Edson Rosa da Silva, ‘André Malraux au Brésil: le role de l’art’, Klincksieck: revue de littérature comparée 316 (2005), pp.443-448. Herman Lebovics overlooks the Maison de la Culture in Brasília, dating the first completed version of this institution to 1961, in . Bringing the Empire Back Home: France in the Global Age (London, 2004), p.74. 201 Although Cayenne’s Alliance Française would be opened the following year. Conscience Guyanaise (Sep 1959), ADG/PER106. 202 Lebovics, Bringing the Empire Back Home , pp.60-74. 203 Rosa da Silva, ‘André Malraux au Brésil’, p.443. 204 Augustin Girard, ‘Les politiques culturelles d’André Malraux à Jack Lang: ruptures et continuities, histoire d’une modernisation’, Hermès 20 (1996), p.28. 205 Morin, ‘La culture majuscule’, p.72. 206 Malraux, Antimemoirs , p.127. 72 between commemoration of Éboué and departmentalisation? How did certain networks of people manage to inscribe a Gaullist vision of Frenchness – and, at the same time, of modernity - in Fourth-Republic Guyane? Born in Cayenne in 1884, Éboué grew up in a Guyane dominated by the penal colony. A scholarship boy from relatively modest origins, he ascended the social scale through marriage to the daughter of the director of the penal administration, as well as through education. As a freemason and rising through the ranks of the French colonial administration, he became increasingly well-connected and was friends with such figures as Blaise Diagne and René Maran. 207 The daughter of Éboué and Eugénie Éboué-Tell, Ginette, married Léopold Sédar Senghor. Éboué, then, was one part of – and helped to consolidate – a network of familial and amicable links in transatlantic, ‘black’, French and ‘Francophone’ political and intellectual circles. After his first colonial administration post, in the Oubangui-Chari province of French Equatorial Africa in the 1920s, Éboué then worked in Martinique, Soudan and Guadeloupe during the 1930s, before being posted to Tchad in 1939. 208 There, famously, he engaged with the Free French, declaring loyalty to de Gaulle on 26 August 1940. 209 Not only was Éboué the only governor of a major colony to do so at that stage, but arguably, he was also the only administrator ever to affiliate his colony to de Gaulle of his own free will. Tchad was a small, poor but strategically located colony, and from there, the Free French placed neighbouring French Equatorial Africa under ‘strong military pressure’ to ‘rally’ behind de Gaulle, which it did later in 1940 .210

207 Although Diagne and Maran were not friends with each other, according to David Murphy, ‘Defending the “Negro race”: Lamine Senghor and black internationalism in interwar France’, French Cultural Studies 24:2 (2013), pp.162-163. Éboué’s father and three brothers were goldminers; his father achieved some success and briefly entered municipal politics. His mother opened a shop after her husband’s death and was well-known locally as a ‘devout Roman Catholic’ with a ‘fund of knowledge about Creole culture’. Éboué pursued secondary education in and then attended the Ecole Coloniale in Paris as well as studying for a law degree. He met Diagne around 1914 when the latter was posted as a customs official in Guyane. With Maran, fellow mobile colonial administrator and the first black author to win the Goncourt prize, Éboué shared an interest in ethnography and linguistics. Maran was also a friend of René Jadfard, according to René Ladouceur, ‘La guyanité de René Maran’ (Lecture: Association Z’abitan de Bonhomme, Cycle de conférences sur René Maran, 10 June 2011). In 1922 Éboué married Eugénie Tell, whose father Herménégilde was the first ‘black’ man to hold the penitentiary directorship and had also studied law; he introduced Éboué to the freemasons after the marriage. Brian Weinstein, Eboué (Oxford, 1972) pp.12-120, Martine Sagne, ‘Herménégilde Tell, directeur de l’administration pénitentiaire’, UAG Service de la documentation, http://www.manioc.org/fichiers/V12017 [accessed 4 May 2014]. After her husband’s death, and upon the Fourth Republic’s enfranchisement of women, Eugénie Éboué-Tell stood for election in Guadeloupe, becoming a senator in 1946 and serving until 1952. Sénat, ‘EBOUÉ-TELL Eugénie: Ancien sénateur de la Guadeloupe’, http://www.senat.fr/senateur-4eme-republique/eboue_tell_eugenie0410r4.html [accessed 4 May 2014]. 208 Éboué was initially appointed in Madagascar, but agreed to swap with a Martiniquan classmate who had been posted to Oubangui-Chari on the grounds that the latter was married and Éboué was not, central Africa being considered a less family- friendly posting). Weinstein, Eboué , p.27. 209 Strongly influenced by Henri Laurentie according to Martin Shipway, ‘Thinking Like an Empire: Governor Henri Laurentie and Postwar Plans for the Late Colonial French ‘Empire-State’ in Martin Thomas (ed.), The French Colonial Mind Volume I: Mental Maps of Empire and Colonial Encounters (London, 2011), pp.225-226. 210 Éboué had other options in August 1940. Nazi racism had at this stage not fully permeated the French Vichy regime; notably, Henry Lémery, a conservative, Martiniquan ‘mulatto’, was Vichy’s first colonial minister until his dismissal in September 1940. Lémery contrasted his own ‘loyalty’ with the ‘infidelity’ of Éboué, and Jennings claimed that ‘to his death, Lémery failed to understand why he had earned prison time whilst Éboué was pantheonised. Jennings, Vichy in the Tropics , 73

By 1947, three years after Éboué’s death, campaigns to memorialise this ‘great man’ of France were underway throughout Africa, the Antilles and the Hexagon. 211 Cayenne’s new lycée – its first – was named after him in 1944, and the street where he was born (formerly rue Richelieu ) was renamed rue Félix Éboué . The moment was ripe: 1948 was also the centennial of the 1848 abolition of slavery, and the cult of Schoelcher was also strong, in both métropole and outre-mer . In Guyane as elsewhere, those who campaigned to ‘remember’ Éboué in the late 1940s were more often than not the same people who populated the Schoelcher Committees, hence the joint Pantheonisation of the two men in 1949. 212 In March 1944, an A. Themire wrote to the Governor of Guyane, Jean Peset, announcing the formation in Cayenne of a ‘Comité d’Initiative Félix Éboué’ to raise subscriptions to fund a statue of Éboué in Cayenne. Peset accepted Themire’s invitation to become its honorary president, and the Committee’s efforts were publicised daily – along with the names of donors – in Le Radio-Presse , an official bulletin of the Service des Informations de la Guyane française . The committee gathered subscriptions from individuals, associations, employees, syndicates, churches, and the bishop. On the occasion of the transferral of the ashes of Schoelcher and Éboué to the Panthéon in 1949, representatives of both the Éboué and the Schoelcher organisations joined together for ceremonies in Cayenne in parallel with those in Paris. Names from both committees were also familiar from the Cayenne sections of the Ligue des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen , the local Committee of the Red Cross, and from Guyane’s two freemason lodges.213 Indeed, it appears that the Éboué Committee was formed on the initiative of the Loge de la France Équinoxiale .214 These were all significant, secular organisations of solid bourgeois and Republican standing. The Schoelcher committee also had links to Damas, the poet associated with Négritude movement who, from 1948 to 1951 – and so at the time of the Panthéon ceremony – was Guyane’s deputy to the National

pp.10-20; see also Eric Jennings, La France libre fut africaine (Paris, 2014) and Martin Thomas, The French Empire at War, 1940-1945 (Manchester, 1998). 211 Name changes and centenary celebrations are a key part of a self-perpetuating (and often self-aggrandising) French- Caribbean politics of commemoration of both local and national (lone, male) heroes. See Laurent Dubois, ‘Haunting Delgrès’, Radical History Review 78 (2000), pp.166-177. In the Antilles, literature and politics are linked, as in the case of Césaire, and there is something of a counterfoil to the ‘great men’ narratives of politicians-cum-historians as novelists such as Daniel Maximin and Maryse Condé produce engaged, historical novels attempting to rewrite voices of women and children into history (for instance Daniel Maximin, L’isolé soleil (Paris, 2001 [1981]); Maryse Condé, Traversée de la (Paris, 1992). In this light, the dearth of ‘literature’ from Guyane takes on a new significance, as ‘great-men’ political/historical narratives go largely uncontested. 212 On memorialisation of slavery in the Caribbean see Laurence Brown, ‘Monuments to Freedom, Monuments to nation; on the Pantheonisation see Charles Forsdick, ‘The Panthéon’s empty plinth: commemorating slavery in contemporary France’, Atlantic Studies 9:3 (2012), pp.279-297. 213 Schoelcher Committee circular (1937), ADG/1J56. The Loge de l’union guyanaise in St-Laurent was something of a renegade institution, set up by Herménégilde Tell, Éboué’s father-in-law. In establishing this lodge, Tell broke with the Cayenne-based France Équinoxiale . ADG/1J56. 214 Letter from Robert Vignon (2 Sep 1950), ADG/1J57. 74

Assembly. Gaston Monnerville was also a donor. 215 The local elites of Guyane – despite their internecine political rivalries of other kinds – all built themselves into this network which encompassed similar monument committees in Guadeloupe, Brazzaville (AEF/Congo), Fort- Lamy (now known as N’Djamena) and Bamako (AOF/Mali) as well as Parisian politicians.216 The life of the Éboué Committee, like the Schoelcher Committee, spanned the transition in Guyane’s status from colony to Overseas Department. 217 Indeed, it was an intrinsic part of the impetus for departmentalisation, and Monnerville was not the only one to cite Éboué’s actions to justify this political ‘assimilation’. 218 In July 1947, members wrote to the Cabinet of the Ministry of Colonies appealing for financial support from ‘beyond the Colony’. When they had not raised sufficient funds by July 1950, they engaged the Assembly of the French Union to ask for government help. Over the same period, the first appointed prefect of the department, Robert Vignon, replaced the governor Peset as the committee’s patron. In 1950, Vignon wrote to the Minister of the Interior (within whose scope Guyane fell now that it was no longer answerable to the Ministry of Colonies) that: ‘Son souvenir contribute…à resserrer les liens puissants qui unissent les fils de ce Département d’Outre- Mer à ceux de la France Continentale.’ Memory of Éboué among the Guyanais population, Vignon claimed – making an appropriative move on ‘popular’ memory – was based on the same admiration in which they also held Victor Schoelcher and Anne-Marie Javouhey (the missionary who had founded a colony in Guyane for freed slaves), both of these figures being definitive symbols of paternalistic, ‘colonial-humanistic’ links between the département and ‘metropolitan’ France. Monnerville echoed the sentiment in a radio speech in 1949, as the ashes of Éboué and Schoelcher were transferred to the Panthéon, describing Éboué as, essentially, a result of Schoelcher's acts: proof positive of their worthiness.219 There was, however, a time limit on – or a dip in – the efficacy of these appeals to central government. In 1950, the committee was at the height of its powers but by 1954, its president complained that the departmental administration from whom they had hoped to receive five million francs had reduced that sum to one million. In 1955, citing financial difficulties, the vice-president wrote to the prefect that the preparatory sculpture and

215 ADG/1J56. 216 Weinstein, Éboué , p.316. 217 Guyane’s Schoelcher Committee was in existence between 1913 and 1953. 218 In a contemporary commentary on these events, the Trinidadian politician and historian Eric Williams wrote that departmentalisation and the Panthéonisation of Éboué were concomitant statements of antiracism on the part of the French state, and were felt in the Caribbean as ‘the most dramatic gesture in the field of racial equality’. Eric Williams, ‘The Contemporary Pattern of Race Relations in the Caribbean’, Phylon 16:4 (1955), pp.367-379. 219 Gaston Monnerville, Radio speech transcript (unnamed), 19 May 1949, ADG/1J57. 75 engineering work for the statue were being wound up. 220 The invocation of Éboué as the embodiment of the success of the mission civilisatrice , in other words, produced a less affirmative response from government between 1954 and 1957. Perhaps it was simply the case that particular individuals and networks involved in the Committee lost connections and social purchase as time went on. A broader political and perhaps more convincing explanation, however, is that by the mid-1950s, the cosmopolitan vision of national politics announced by the French Union and Fourth Republic had faded. The government was too preoccupied with bloody entanglements in Indochina and Algeria to give priority to ‘remembering’ the solidarity between metropolitan and colonial elites that Éboué represented. Its disillusionment perhaps extended to the departmentalisation of the vieilles colonies . The period also coincided with a crisis in De Gaulle’s Rassemblement du Peuple Français (RPF) and its ‘rapid demise’ from 1953: ‘De Gaulle’s activities…in the rôle of leader of a political party’ were suspended until 1958 and this period has been called his ‘ traversée du désert ’.221 Nevertheless, the monument was completed and inaugurated in 1957, over a decade after the committee’s creation, and in time for Malraux’s visit the following year. 222 The exact cost is unclear, but was at least two million francs and likely to have been considerably more. 223 The statue, by sculptor Maurice Gardon, is a somewhat unflattering rendering of Éboué in metalwork, under an immense concrete arch – a possible citation of the French arc de triomphe – as high as the palm trees that give their name to the square in which it stands.224 The Place des Palmistes is the most central site imaginable in Cayenne, adjacent to the city’s main civic buildings. It is a well-frequented spot, commonly used for speeches, festivals and Carnival. 225

220 Horth to Prefect, 24 Oct 1955, ADG/1J57. 221 Roy Pierce, ‘De Gaulle and the RPF: A Post-Mortem’, The Journal of Politics 16:1 (1954), p.97. The label for the period 1953-1958 is used by the Fondation Charles de Gaulle, ‘Chronologie détaillée de la vie du Général de Gaulle, 1890-1970’, http://www.charles-de-gaulle.org/pages/l-homme/accueil/chronologies/chronologie-detaillee-de-la-vie-du-general-de- gaulle.php#1953 [accessed 25 June 2014]. 222 De Gaulle visited Guyane in 1956, before the completion of the monument; he returned 1964 and paid homage to Éboué at a ceremony on 22 March (the day after he had inspected a new military installation and given a patriotic speech in Cayenne. Fondation Charles de Gaulle, ‘Chronologie détaillée’. See also ‘Visite du général de Gaulle à Cayenne’, http://www.ina.fr/video/I08007293 [accessed 25 June 2014] and ‘Charles de GAULLE: voyage en Guyane’ (1964) http://www.ina.fr/video/I00013956/charles-de-gaulle-voyage-en-guyane-video.html [accessed 25 June 2014]. 223 By 1950, almost a million had been raised, and in 1954, the département promised another million (the committee had hoped for 5 million from this source). ADG/1J57. 224 This example of modernism, transplanted to the tropics both artistically and materially, with its post-Second World War block-concrete architecture offers a new twist in the cultural history of monuments. Little is known about Maurice Gardon, but the exaggeratedly curved human form clearly prefigures (or imitates) Colombian artist Fernando Botero, who worked in Paris during the 1930s and began to attract fame by 1958. Ricardo Pau-Llosa, ‘Botero and Sculpture’, Sculpture 31:8 (2012), pp.26-31. 225 The Classical reference might be read as an attempt to link Éboué with a perennial idea of heroism as a virtue distinguished in wartime actions, as in ‘Greek and Roman historiographies’ which ‘had the great men of war and politics as their focus.’ Richard Drayton, 'The problem of the hero(ine) in Caribbean history', Small Axe 34 (2011), p.33. On the meanings of citations of Classical antiquity in European memorials and their intersection with artistic modernisms see Ana 76

Figure 13: Éboué’s statue in the Place des Palmistes, Cayenne. 226

Éboué’s memory was revived when, in 2012, Guyane’s international airport, ‘Rochambeau’, at Matoury, near Cayenne, originally named after a maréchal of the French expeditionary forces in the American War of Independence, was renamed in Éboué’s honour.227 Taubira instigated a name change in 1999, on the basis that Rochambeau’s son had brutalised Haitians, and so his name was offensive in the Caribbean region. Taubira did not suggest Éboué as a replacement; this was proposed in 2008 and accepted by Cayenne’s Chamber of Commerce in 2009. 228 As its name changed, so the premises underwent renovation, and a smaller monument, mirroring in design that in the Place des Palmistes (although with a printed photograph rather than a statue), was erected outside the main doors. Just as significantly, an assemblage of texts was printed on glass panels above the doors. These indicate how in this twenty-first-century revival, the symbolic associations of Éboué were altered. Instead of the Classical grandiloquence of Malraux, the text printed on the building displays the words of Guyanais poet Léon-Gontran Damas and of his contemporary, the Senegalese statesman and writer – and Eboué’s son-in-law – Léopold Sédar Senghor. 229

Carden-Coyne, Reconstructing the Body: Classicism, Modernism, and the First World War (Oxford, 2009), pp.110-159. 226 Image in public domain, http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Félix_Eboué [accessed 4 May 2014]. For detail of the friezes, see the sculptor’s website, http://maurice-gardon.ludorious.fr/html/sculptures/Feboue-Guyanne4.htm [accessed 4 May 2014]. 227 Chambre de Commerce et de l’industrie de la Guyane, ‘Aéroport’, http://www.guyane.cci.fr/fr/aeroport [accessed 25 June 2014]. 228 Laurent Marot, ‘La Guyane retrouve la mémoire en changeant le nom de l’aéroport’, Le Monde (21 Jan 2012). 229 On the trajectory of Senghor the poet see Kathleen Shields, ‘Léopold Sédar Senghor’s Translations and the Trajectory of a 77

Notable among the poetic excerpts is one from a panegyric, Au gouverneur Éboué (Hosties noires) , written in 1942 by Senghor:

Ébou-é! Et tu es la pierre sur quoi se bâtit le temple et l’espoir… Ébou-é! Tu es le lion au cri bref, le lion qui est debout et qui dit non!... Et trois siècles de sueur n’ont pu soumettre ton échine. Ébou-é! Tu es pierre qui amasse mousse, parce que tu es stable et que tu es debout.

Figure 14: detail of monument.230

World Writer’, Romance Studies 28:2 (2010), pp.106-117. 230 Image in public domain, http://blogannick.over-blog.com/article-34847238.html [accessed 4 May 2014]. 78

Figure 15: Monument forming part of more recent commemorations built into Félix Éboué airport. The text reads: ‘Jouer le jeu, c’est savoir prendre ses responsabilités et assumer les initiatives, quand les circonstances veulent que l’on soit seul à les endosser.’ Photograph Sarah Wood, August 2012.

At the main point of arrival and departure between Paris and Cayenne, this dedication to Éboué’s ‘stability’ – and his monumental qualities as a ‘pierre qui amasse mousse’ – affirms historical continuity and unity between Guyane and France. The change from 1957 is that, rather than attributing ancient European roots – themselves an obscure language in Guyane, quite apart from the Greek of the inscription – to the ideology Éboué is said to stand for, it recuperates a more familiar language: that of the Négritude of Damas and Senghor. Presenting a selective version of Négritude , it contains references neither to blackness nor to the pan-African dimensions of the movement as a whole. 231 In both cases, Éboué is debout – upright – a symbol of resistance, in terms both of his Free French role and of his personal character. The text on the parallel monument at the airport – ‘jouer le jeu, c’est… prendre ses responsabilités… que l’on soit seul à les endosser’ – echoes this idea. Éboué’s words as inscribed here present an idea of virtue that is equated with solidity ( la pierre ), an erect and militaristic masculinity and uprightness in the face of capitulation or apathy. It cites an ability to play the hand one is given – ‘jouer le jeu ’ – by harmonising external discipline –

231 Guy Martin recalls the U.S. origins of Pan-Africanism and the Parisian roots of négritude in African Political Thought (Basingstoke, 2012), p.4. 79

‘responsabilités ’ – with personal will and action. 232 The story of Éboué that is told then, at the airport as in the centre of Cayenne, is one in which Republican virtue and moral fibre reveal themselves when employed in the service of the nation. The two sites at which Éboué’s name is asserted most prominently – central Cayenne and the transport hub bridging the geographical distance between Guyane and ‘metropolitan’ France – are the two places which are perhaps hardest to miss, either for an incomer or for the more affluent, mobile residents of the main city. 233 More so than Monnerville, whose move from periphery to centre was definitive, Éboué – who was born in one colony and defended French interests from another – has been repeatedly invoked by Guyanais elites to reaffirm links between the two. The rededication of the airport was spearheaded by new versions of the commemorative committees of the 1940s and 50s. It was contemporaneous with an ongoing reclamation of Damas by the Association des Amis de Léon-Gontran Damas (henceforth AALGD), whose membership in turn overlapped with that of the campaign for the renaming of the airport (Taubira, notably, was involved with both Committees). 234 Thus it plays a part in a new mobilisation of ‘blackness’ in an ‘Atlantic’ network now more French than African. In the 1940s and 50s, the Éboué memorial committee possessed the social status and legitimacy to write to the Governor in expectation of receiving a favourable response, and to get one. In the 2000s, the project of Taubira and the Cayenne-based ‘cercle de reflexion’ which chose the dedicatee achieved parallel validation when the President of the Republic, , inaugurated the renamed airport. 235 A key difference between the two commemorative moments, however, was in the Atlantic scope of the vision of France symbolised. In 1943, the ‘Rochambeau’ airport was built, by Americans, to connect Guyane to Africa, and the first non-military flights drew a route extending from the Caribbean to Natal (Brazil) then Dakar. French-African connections were then consolidated politically in the French Union. By the time Sarkozy renamed the airport, however, France’s African dimension was consigned to the past. The airport served principally to convey Guyanais to

232 In an additional, speculative twist, I suggest that a tension is inherent in this idea of a ‘game’: it acknowledges that it is possible to ‘play the system’ in order to advance, at the same time as asserting the ultimate, humanistic goal of self- realisation along a moral path. 233 Paris is the principal destination of aeroplanes from Cayenne’s airport (see Appendix). 234 Lawoetey-Pierre Ajavon, ‘Damas entre Négritude et engagement politique’, http://www.blada.com/chroniques/2012/7535-Damas_entre_Negritude_et_engagement_politique.htm [accessed 4 May 2014]. Active since the late 1990s, the AALGD organised a conference in 1998 from which a book resulted, produced a film in 2004, and arranged celebrations for the centenary of Damas’s birth in 2012. AALGD, Léon Gontran Damas: un homme, un nègre en quête de l’universel (Montréal, 2000). The press release for the 2004 film, with participants’ names, is available on the production company’s website, http://www.lalanterne.fr [accessed 30 May 2014]. 235 For the ‘national’ scale of the 2012 celebrations: http://www.culturecommunication.gouv.fr/Regions/DAC- Guyane/Manifestations-nationales/Celebrations-nationales-2012-Leon-Gontran-Damas/Celebrations-nationales-2012-Leon- Gontran-Damas [accessed 30 May 2014]. 80

Paris, and fonctionnaires from the ‘métropole’ to Guyane. Éboué’s Gaullism, rather than any African-linked identity, was marked as definitive at the airport. Guyane, this commemoration announced, was to be understood and constructed along the increasingly direct – but less cosmopolitan – ‘Paris-Cayenne’ route. 236

‘De la France équinoxiale au palais de Luxembourg’: the one-way trajectory of Gaston Monnerville 237 Éboué’s near-contemporary, Gaston Monnerville, also began a high-level political career by travelling to ‘metropolitan’ France to be educated. Monnerville, however, as President of the Senate, was notable for challenging de Gaulle in the name of Republicanism. 238 Nevertheless, he remembered consciously following in the wake of Éboué, who was held up as an example to Cayenne’s schoolchildren. In later life, Monnerville remembered being captivated by a 1908 visit by Éboué, fresh from the École Coloniale and dressed in military uniform, to his collège .239 Evidently, the anecdote suggests a successful Guyanais on a homecoming visit could make a lasting impression on a schoolchild, and that in this image, the colonial service uniform was the insignia of success. Furthermore, by associating himself with Éboué thus, Monnerville clearly wished to indicate that he had seen in him a mirror of a possible future self and that he henceforth sought to follow in his footsteps, beyond Guyane to ‘greater’ things (though always within the French system). Like Éboué, Monnerville competed for one of the few scholarships available to Guyanais children wishing to pursue their secondary education beyond collège . Unlike pupils in Martinique, Guadeloupe and Réunion, where there had been lycées since the nineteenth century, for ambitious students in Guyane, a long- term trip to the ‘métropole’ or Antilles was a requirement and a rite of passage. 240 If Éboué’s trajectory was partly shaped and funded by the penal administration (his father-in-law provided financial support to help launch his career), Gaston Monnerville made use of the bagne to define his own. Entering parliament as deputy for Guyane in 1932, Monnerville campaigned for the abolition of transportation and penal servitude in the colony. 241 The end of the penal colony was largely welcomed by Guyane’s civil population

236 See Appendix for changing flight paths from Cayenne. 237 The title of his autobiography summarises his trajectory: Gaston Monnerville, Témoignage: De la France equinoxiale au Palais de Luxembourg (Paris, 1975). (The original title names the palace as ‘ de ’ rather than ‘ du ’ Luxembourg.) 238 Jean-Paul Brunet, Gaston Monnerville: Le Républicain qui défia de Gaulle (Paris, 1997); on non-Gaullists prominent in the early Fifith-Republic government see Sylvie Guillaume, ‘Les ministres non gaullistes dans les gouvernements de Gaulle et Debré (juin 1958-avril 1962): techniciens et politiques’, Histoire@Politique 12:3 (2010), p.2-2. 239 Brunet, Gaston Monnerville , p.30. 240 After secondary education in , Monnerville pursued studies in law. 241 The rhetoric he used to justify these claims was in the same vein as that which he had used as defence lawyer at a 1931 trial in Nantes, where he argued successfully for the acquittal of thirteen Guyanais in relation to riots and killings which had 81 but this did not guarantee Monnerville’s continued electoral success. ‘Although elected to the Council of the Republic just weeks later’ after he lost his deputyship to René Jadfard in 1946, according to Paul Smith, ‘he sensed his position in the old colony weakening and even thought of abandoning politics altogether.’ 242 Nevertheless, by this time he had acquired an enduring, national reputation as a proponent of Radical republicanism prepared to hold the French government to the letter over its purported ideals of liberty, fraternity and equality, and to challenge the unequal treatment of citizens beyond the métropole .243 Even before his decisive installation in the Hexagon, Monnerville established an unequivocally French political identity. This distinguished him from the Antillean hybrid politics of his fellow architect of departmentalisation, Aimé Césaire, who represented Martinique in the National Assembly whilst based in his home department as mayor of Fort-de-France between 1945 and 2001. 244 Monnerville, by contrast, cut geographical ties with Guyane (although he corresponded prolifically), only returning to visit years later. In ‘metropolitan’ France, he became involved in the Council of the Republic’s overseas policy, helping to create the FIDES (in some sense the attempted completion of the mission civilisatrice ) in the countries of the French Union. 245 For scholarship recipients like Eboué and Monnerville, ‘advancement’ required hierarchy: the designation of one place (Guyane) as inferior, making the superior one (‘metropolitan’ France) desirable. With departmentalisation, Monnerville attempted to address this clivage , arguing for ‘ continuité territoriale’ or ‘egalité territorial ’. Yet once the legislation was achieved, Monnerville absented himself entirely from the place for which he

occurred in Cayenne in 1928 following fraudulent elections. The inhumanity of the bagne , he asserted – well known in since Albert Londres published his exposés on the subject in the interwar period - was another example of Republican hypocrisy, and did an injustice to the historically-oppressed, ‘Créole’ population of Guyane. Archives Littéraires Suisses (ALS) Cendrars/O112a/I. 242 Material in Monnerville’s own, comprehensive archives gives reason to speculate that he may also have feared for his safety due to particularly bitter and abiding rivalries. His biographer, Brunet, claimed that Monnerville feared he might fall victim to a similar fate as the businessman, politician and aventurier Jean Galmot whose alleged murder provoked the 1928 riots and subsequent trial. Relations were sour between Monnerville and René Jadfard after the latter, his antagonist in the 1946 elections, was associated with use of racist language and fraudulent tactics (Monnerville was referred to during the campaign as ‘le nèg-blanc’. Accusations were exchanged after Jadfard’s death in a plane crash in 1947; the prefect Vignon, Jadfard’s friend, was also in the plane but survived the crash. He suggested in a letter to Monnerville that the latter had authorised the sale of the plane (in reality acquired in dubious circumstances by Vignon). Neither was Monnerville any friend of Léon-Gontran Damas, who replaced Jadfard as deputy in 1947. Other (perhaps related) feuds dated back to the 1929-32 trial following the alleged 1928 murder of Jean Galmot. Brunet, Gaston Monnerville , p.143; AHCS/GM9/7. 243 In the short term, his career was saved when sometime Prime Minister and close friend and mentor in the , , secured for Monnerville a rural constituency near his own. There, Monnerville was able to accumulate mandates: ‘installed as…general councillor for the canton of Sousceyrac…in the north-eastern corner of the Lot… In 1948 he was elected senator for the Lot, and held offices of mayor of Saint-Céré and president of the general council concurrently.’ Smith, A History of the French Senate II , p.51. 244 Césaire was deputy for Martinique in 1945-1956 and 1958-1993. H. Adlai Murdoch, ‘ Ars poetica , ars politica : The Double Life of Aimé Césaire’, Research in African Literatures 41:1 (2010), p.2. 245 On Monnerville’s role in earlier negotiations over the place of overseas territories in the new Republic see James Lewis, ‘The French Colonial Service and the Issues of Reform, 1944-8’, Contemporary European History 4:2 (1995), pp.153-188. 82 sought ‘equality’. True to Republicanist aims, education and administration functioned as an ‘ascenseur social ’ for these individuals, and their professional successes seemed to prove that not being ‘white’ was not necessarily determining nor a barrier to ‘integration’ within institutional structures. This was perhaps a triumph for the individuals, and for Republican ideology, but it designated Guyane as the very bottom of the ladder: the place from which one escaped. In addition, although Monnerville’s governmental colleagues rarely referred explicitly to his skin colour, he was, like Éboué, the object of panegyrics describing him as a ‘product’ of French civilisation, especially under the pre-war, colonial system. In the words of Minister of Colonies Marius Moutet in 1937, for instance, ‘Monnerville apparaîtra…comme le plus pur produit de notre civilisation dont les traits éminents se retrouvent en lui.... Ce sont les qualities essentielles de ce Français moyen qui font la France forte et j’ose dire indissoluble…’. 246

Monnerville’s departmentalisation: the realisation of ‘attachment’ to France Since the first decade of the twentieth century, calls had emanated from Guyane for its full integration into the French Republic. The idea of ‘l’harmonisation des institutions républicaines… égalité politique et legislative’ was advocated by deputies Gustave Franconie and Henri Ursleur, finding favour amongst the General Council, the Chamber of Commerce and the masonic lodges. Such calls came primarily from elites – theatre-goers and readers of poetry and novels, many of whom were ‘metropolitan’-educated – for whom the prospect of departmentalisation ‘semblait…une evidence.’ 247 Little trace remains of working-class opinion, of those who had not attended the lycée , and the population of the ‘interior’. Monnerville’s memoirs emphasise the influence of such ideas during his formative years. Alongside Éboué’s visit to his collège , he recalled his connection with a teacher, Ulrich Sophie, ‘le type même de “l’instituteur ”’: ‘originaires du pays’ (Guyane), ‘titulaires d’un brevet élémentaire ou supérieur, ces premiers instituteurs laïques forgèrent le civisme et la culture de toute une generation.’ 248 In a speech to the masonic Grand Orient de France on the 40th anniversary of Eboué’s death in 1984, Monnerville also emphasised how

246 From a speech made by Moutet at a banquet held in Monnerville’s honour (and seemingly organised by Monnerville himself together with his circle of friends, among them Thémire) in the Orsay Palace Salons when Monnerville was made Undersecretary of State for the Colonies. AHCS/GM 9/3. On Moutet see James Lewis, ‘The Tragic Career of Marius Moutet’, European History Quarterly 38:1 (2008), pp.66-92. 247 Alexandre, Gaston Monnerville et la Guyane , p.230. 248 Ulrich Sophie went on to become head of the school at Malmanoury in 1923, teacher of technical education in Cayenne from 1938, and mayor of Cayenne 1941-1943. In the 1950s and 60s he wrote: Le Gouverneur Félix Eboué (1958), prefaced by Monnerville, Le Cultivateur guyanais (1958) and Le Ralliement de la Guyane à la France libre (1964). Alexandre, Gaston Monnerville et la Guyane , p.27. 83 freemasons in Cayenne helped ‘former les esprits’ of his generation.249 He described a yearly ‘vaste cortège’ in the public space of Cayenne, ‘au pied du monument’ to Schoelcher, and followed by speeches: Le gouverneur prononçait le discours officiel, mais les paroles qui devaient à la fois nous former, nous incliner à penser que notre vie ne vaudrait quelque chose plus tard que dans la mesure où nous saurions… la sacrifier pour la liberté des hommes, c’étaient des francs-maçons qui les prononçaient. 250 In both the freemasons’ speeches to which he refers and his own rhetoric, Monnerville conflates ‘liberty’ with liberation, equating one liberation with another. In this case, the liberation from slavery that Schoelcher symbolises is bound by the occasion (commemoration of Éboué) to the Second-World-War liberation of France. He locates the roots of his own faith in ‘liberty’ in his Third-Republic Cayenne childhood, specifically in directives such as the one recalled in this speech, urging children to invest their self-worth in the idea of a later sacrifice for the nation across the Atlantic to which they ‘belonged’. Thus he emphatically acknowledged the role played in his own professional ascent by the social networks provided by institutions for the propagation of republican and humanist ideology. In 1935, two years before joining the government as Under-Secretary of State to the Colonies, Monnerville became heavily involved organising of celebrations of the tricentenary of Guyane’s ‘attachment’ to France. 251 During this time and for the rest of the decade, he campaigned for investment in industry and ‘development’ in Guyane, alongside its legal assimilation. This and similar views were also echoed in texts and tracts published in ‘metropolitan’ France during the late 1930s: Damas’s Retour de Guyane (1938) is probably the most famous (enough so to have been banned), but it was preceded by the more optimistic La Guyane méconnue (1936), by Monnerville’s friend Gabriel Bureau. Monnerville often called upon the support of sympathetic friends and acquaintances. His archives attest to the quantity of letters exchanged across the Atlantic and beyond and to his frequent organisation of and attendance at political-cum-social occasions. 252 After joining the navy during the war, he returned to Paris and the centre of government, pursuing his legislative ideas for Guyane

249 On the links between freemasonry and republicanism in the colonies see Owen White, ‘Networking: Freemasons and the Colonial State in , 1895-1914’, French History 19:1 (2005), pp.91-111 and on freemasonry’s own, broad ‘civilising mission’ see Danny Kaplan, ‘Freemasonry as a playground for civic nationalism’, Nations and Nationalism 20:3 (2014), pp.415-435. 250 Gaston Monnerville, ‘Allocution au Grand Orient de France à l’occasion du quarantième anniversaire de la mort de F. Éboué, le 4 décembre 1984’ (Archives du Grand Orient de France, Atelier Guyane Républicaine), cited in Alexandre, Gaston Monnerville et la Guyane , p.37. 251 Assemblée Nationale, ‘Gaston Monnerville’, http://www.assembleenationale.fr/histoire/biographies/IVRepublique/monnerville-gaston-02011897.asp [accessed 30 May 2014]; ANOM/AGEFOM/286/2 . The psychoanalytic language of ‘attachment’ is no coincidence: see Burton, La famille coloniale . 252 Bureau’s book appeared, for instance, on the occasion of the Tricentenary celebrations partly organised by Monnerville. AHCS/GM 9/1. 84 by joining a working group of representatives of the colonies which were to become DOM. In 1946, there seems to have been little opposition in Guyane to the idea of departmentalisation (although a U.S. presence remained at Rochambeau airport for some years after the war, spectres of American takeover were conjured). 253 The working group in Paris consisted of Léopold Bissol and Eugénie Tell-Éboué (Guadeloupe), Aimé Césaire (Martinique), Raymond Vergès (Réunion), and Monnerville. In March 1946, Césaire presented the propositions de loi as the ‘logical conclusion’ of a process begun under the Third Republic. 254 The Assembly unanimously backed the law on 14 March 1946. It was promulgated in the ‘métropole’ on 19 March and in Guyane nine days later. In a biography, the Guyanais politician Rodolphe Alexandre claimed that Monnerville’s personal efforts were decisive in making departmentalisation happen when it did rather than later, and making it happen for Guyane. 255 Only representatives for the vieilles colonies participated in this action, even though AOF representatives in the first National Constituent Assembly of 1945 shared similar views about the harmonisation of citizenship across colonial territories. The ‘ quatre communes ’ of Saint-Louis, Dakar, Gorée and Rufisque had, like the vieilles colonies , sent deputies since 1848 and their originaires had limited citizenship rights, renegotiated by Éboué’s friend Diagne (the ‘first black deputy’) in 1915-16. 256 Senghor (Éboué’s son-in-law) and Lamine Guèye (SFIO deputy, Sénégal-Mauritanie) were likewise strong advocates of French Union. 257 During the second Assembly, from June 1946, three months after the DOMs’ creation, Guèye was president of the Commission des territoires d’outre-mer . In this capacity, he brought in a law ‘qui donne la nationalité française à tous les ressortissants de l'AOF.’ 258 Despite this, by the end of the Fourth Republic, all former African colonies had gained (or were on the verge of gaining) independence. Guyane, by contrast, remained French, but had lost the architect of departmentalisation – another ‘native son’ – to Paris and the Lot. In Guyane, monnervillisme and departmentalisation were synonymous, but

253 An exception was a movement named Combat , led by Auguste Horth, which opposed itself to ‘ monnervillisme ’; the governors Peset and Surlemont communicated their suspicions to Monnerville of Horth’s ‘velléités séparatistes et de collusion avec les Américains’, words which imply an accusation of Communist sympathies. Alexandre, Gaston Monnerville et la Guyane , p. 230. On the spreading of American takeover rumours see CHVSS, GM 9/2. On U.S. culture in Fourth- Republic France see Richard Kuisel, ‘Coca-Cola and the Cold War : The French Face Americanisation, 1948-1953’, French Historical Studies 17 :1 (1991), pp.96-116. 254 Journal officiel , 12 March 1946. 255 Alexandre, Gaston Monnerville et la Guyane , p.236. 256 Richard Fogarty, Race and War in France: Colonial Subjects in the French Army, 1914-1918 (Baltimore, 2008), p.239; Gary Wilder, The French Imperial Nation-State: Negritude and Colonial Humanism between the Two World Wars (London, 2005), pp.129-131; Catherine Coquery-Vidrovitch, ‘Nationalité et Citoyenneté en Afrique Occidentale Française: Originaires et Citoyens dans le Sénégal Colonial’, Journal of African History 42 (2001), p.285. 257 Jennings, Vichy in the Tropics , p. 81; Assemblée Nationale, ‘Léopold Sédar Senghor’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/sycomore/fiche.asp?num_dept=6385 [accessed 30 May 2014]. 258 Assemblée Nationale, ‘Amadou Lamine-Guèye’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/histoire/biographies/IVRepublique/lamine-gueye-amadou-20091891.asp [accessed 30 May 2014]. 85 the ideology was no longer personified.

Press and politics in Guyane between Fourth and Fifth Republics Of the two most emblematic figures of Guyane’s republican belonging, Éboué and Monnerville, by the late 1940s, one was dead and the other had moved permanently to the métropole . Many of those Guyanais educated before the opening of the Lycée Félix Éboué – and therefore in the métropole or in the Antilles – had returned to the DOM to live, unlike Monnerville and Éboué and many of their circle (for instance, Monnerville’s brother Pierre and Éboué’s widow Eugénie). A number of these returnees formed political parties and accessed means of printing (though not yet broadcast media such as radio). Thus voices emerged – though with a limited purchase when it came to action – which publicly contested the Republican insistence that departmentalisation was Guyane’s best or only option. Two factions of the local left were particularly vocal during the 1950s and early 1960s. One was the Union du peuple guyanais (henceforth UPG), led by Serge Patient, which from January 1959 published a monthly newspaper named Conscience Guyanaise .259 The other was Justin Catayée’s Parti socialiste guyanais (henceforth PSG), whose printed organ was called Debout Guyane . 260 The UPG officially formed in 1959, but emerged from a Comité Guyanais d’Action Sociale et Politique established in Paris in 1955. Of the four men who formed the party’s core, two were teachers at the new Lycée Félix Eboué , one a lawyer, and one a doctor in Cayenne.261 The UPG had a literary slant in terms of both its composition and its ideology. Patient was also a poet and novelist, and the Guyanais novelist Bertène Juminer wrote for the party’s paper; in one article, the latter attempted to reconcile the contemporary state of Guyane with the ideals of négritude .262 Mam Lam Fouck credits the UPG with the ‘invention’ of Guyanais nationalism. However, Catayée, as deputy from 1958, had advocated autonomy, if not quite a full ‘nationalism’ inspired by the ideologies of struggles elsewhere. Separatism was also

259 The newspaper, like most printed items from Guyane since the early-twentieth century, was printed by the Imprimerie Paul Laporte in Cayenne. The director of publication was Hugues Sirder, and many of the articles were written by Sirder or by Serge Patient. After 1960, Laporte, the official printer of the département , ceased to print newspapers and the printing was carried out in Martinique. Mam Lam Fouck, ‘L’Union du Peuple Guyanais’, p.276. 260 Assemblée Nationale, ‘Justin Catayée (1916-1962)’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/sycomore/fiche.asp?num_dept=1518 [accessed 26 May 2014]. 261 Recent work by Edenz Maurice elaborates on this story of political engagements of young, returnee teachers to Guyane. Edenz Maurice, ‘Vers l’État post-colonial: enseignants créoles et pouvoir local en Guyane (années 1950-1960), Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine 61:1 (2014), pp.147-172. Serge Mam Lam Fouck, ‘L’Union du Peuple Guyanais et l’invention du nationalisme en Guyane française (1955-1965), Outre-mers 93 (2006), p.263. 262 Conscience Guyanaise Jan-Mar 1960, ADG/PER/106; on Juminer, see Rodrigo Olivencia, ‘La Représentation de la bâtardise chez Bertène Juminer: Genèse d’une double prise de conscience’, Nouvelles Etudes Francophones 23:2 (2008), pp.44-54. 86 advocated by Guyane’s SFIO. Suriname had been semi-autonomous since 1954, so this was hardly a new regional phenomenon by this stage. Comparable to Césaire in political outlook, Catayée was, like the Martiniquan politician, a former member of the SFIO who abandoned communism in the late 1950s to instead form a new, to respond to local specificities. The autonomists’ opponents, meanwhile, advocated a continued and unadjusted departmental status for Guyane, and dominated municipal politics in the late 1950s-early 1960s. 263 Whilst the publications of the UPG and PSG remained firmly political and explicitly ideological, the publication supported by Vignon, Parallèle V , operated with more lateral tactics. It published writings by a local folklorist, Michel Lohier, showcasing contes créoles and other cultural forms in order to foreground a ‘culture guyanaise’. Though distant from metropolitan French literature and art, this attempt to mettre en valeur a ‘Guyanité’ based on environmentally-grounded cosmologies of local language and storytelling avoided direct political engagement, never suggesting that these were incompatible with French identity.264 According to Lepelletier, Lohier, like Vignon, who claimed to be interested in Amerindian communities, also favoured a limited désenclavement in Guyane: road-building schemes as a way to connect ‘interior’ communities and improve education and hygiene, rather than the encouragement of industrial extraction. 265 In a different way to other publications from the left, then, Parallèle V also offered an adapted version of the departmentalisation which in Monnerville’s vision would provide a road to economic ‘development’ along a more classically industrial path.

Political debate post-1958: the UPG’s forlorn hopes of Négritude The UPG’s monthly newspaper, Conscience Guyanaise , in a typical issue from 1959 painted a picture of a lively and outward-looking, if small-scale, political culture in and around Cayenne. It reported on SFIO meetings and on a transatlantic extension of Guyanais political organising, the Union des étudiants guyanais in ‘metropolitan’ France. 266 In a section entitled ‘D’ici et d’ailleurs’, it juxtaposed a report on the neighbouring country of Suriname with one on ‘La Fédération de Mali: Une étape vers l’unité Africaine’, praising Senghor’s efforts

263 The party of Robert Vignon, the Mouvement Populaire Guyanais (MPG), and the Union Républicaine de la Guyane (URG). The Gaullist URG became a branch of the Union pour la Nouvelle République in 1959; the MPG joined them in 1964. Mam Lam Fouck, ‘L’Union du Peuple Guyanais’, p.269. 264 Catherine Lepelletier, Michel Lohier: Régionaliste et folkloriste guyanais (Matoury, 2008), pp.112-114. Parallèle V published writing in Créole before this would become an explicitly political act in the 1970s. 265 Lepelletier, Michel Lohier , p.50. 266 Serge Patient, ‘Congrès de la Fédération SFIO de la Guyane’, Conscience Guyanaise (Feb 1959), p 4, ADG/PER106; Edmond Frédéric, ‘Les Etudiants Guyanais Regardent vers l’Amérique Latine’, Conscience Guyanaise (Feb 1960), p.2. 87 towards African federation at a moment when the French Union had been replaced with the ‘French Community’. These latter two articles were reproduced from elsewhere rather than authored for this newspaper: the intention behind their inclusion was clearly to inform the readership of events in comparable places in the wider world. For instance, they were printed alongside a list of names of French government members, from Prime Minister Michel Debré to the Secretaries of State. The rest of the newspaper comprised opinion pieces on the state of Guyane which tended to call for political and economic change or to assess the reception of ‘metropolitan’ political events in the département .267 On the whole, the pages of the newspaper offer a snapshot of Guyane in relation to a constellation of places its editors considered relevant. These were, namely, the other Guianas, comparable in size and status to the French one, African countries of the French Community such as Mali and Sénégal, and ‘metropolitan’ France. The greater Caribbean context was also in the background. A meeting of the Caribbean Commission (henceforth CARICOM) in Cayenne in December 1959 presented the UPG with an opportunity to underline the French territories’ exceptionality within the Caribbean. The following month, Serge Patient contrasted the political transitions occurring in former British and Dutch colonies such as Barbados and Suriname with the DOMs’ static status. Indeed, CARICOM had, according to the article, itself been reconfigured to take account of ‘evolution constitutionnelle’ occurring in Caribbean territories. 268 It was perceived as ironic that the inaugural meeting of the altered Commission took place in Cayenne, where no such ‘evolution’ had taken place, and which would be spoken for at the same meeting by a French, rather than a Guyanais, representative. 269 The newspaper, with its tightly-packed print, long articles and highly political content, is not an easy read. It makes self-conscious references to ‘intellectuels guyanais’ and its contributors, including the novelist and doctor Bertène Juminer, and UPG activist Serge Patient, were part of Cayenne’s higher-educated and therefore relatively well-travelled elite. 270 They cited Frantz Fanon and reflected on their own place in the context of Négritude , as in a 1960 article by Juminer, entitled ‘Nous les bâtards’: ‘Notre négritude ne saurait être une fin mais un moyen d’accéder à d’autres stades… plus riches de potentialités. Elle nous

267 Conscience Guyanaise (Feb 1959), pp.1-4. 268 Serge Patient, ‘Vers une nouvelle organisation des Caraïbes’, Conscience Guyanaise (Jan 1960), p.1. 269 This criticism of the lack of direct representation in regional meetings was echoed in oral history interviews by the former President of the Region who recalled having to take a back seat to the central government’s representative in Amazonian political fora. Interview: M.O. (Rémire-Montjoly, Dec 2012). 270 Juminer wrote a pastiche novel, La Revanche de Bozambo (Paris, 2000 [1968]), published by Présence Africaine, in which black Africans colonised metropolitan France. 88 aidera à sortir de l’abâtardissement puis à nous présenter sous notre vrai jour d’hommes nantis d’une spécificité réelle…’.271 Guyanais intellectuals, for Juminer, could adapt Négritude to their own circumstances in an era which he considers ought to be marked for Guyane, as elsewhere, by a transition from colonial domination, via regional federation, to national independence. 272 This dichotomy between colonial and anticolonial ideology brought with it an interpretation of Guyane’s racial politics which recuperated multiple groupings for the ‘anticolonial’ side: Ceux qui croiraient voir dans notre foi en la négritude une forme de racisme camouflé verseraient dans le plus stérile négativisme. Pour nous, Jaunes et Rouges de Guyane sont au même titre de nous des colonisés, et tout ce qui est colonisé doit nous revenir... Dans la vaste union que nous préconisons, nous prévoyons une place pour les vieuxBlancs ( sic ) et pour les Blancs tout court. Mais nous écartons…ceux qui, colonialistes ou colonisés irrécupérables, se servent contre nous de la Ruse d’un certain monde blanc. 273 Juminer defined these groupings first by affiliation or not to the colonial power, and then by skin colour. A Guyanais who identified politically with France was, in this view, excluded from participation in Guyanais self-definition. ‘Assimilation’ was described as ‘une plaie atone ouverte au flanc de la Guyane’ which only a ‘radical intervention’ can help. Clearly, this was a reaction against departmentalisation, and hence against monnervillisme . Both Monnerville and the UPG claimed to seek the same thing – human emancipation and liberty – but sought opposite paths to it. For Juminer, as long as the ‘Guyanais’ lived within a French paradigm, they would be perpetually defined by ‘blackness’, in the way described by Fanon in Peau Noire, Masques Blancs (1952). Instead, Juminer asserted, ‘Nous voulons être des hommes, tout simplement. Et seule l’autodétermination nous permettra de nous réaliser en tant que tels.’ Monnerville, unlike proponents of Négritude , purported colourblindness and appeared to realise its promises; he steadfastly avoided reifying blackness, instead promoting education in Republican ideals as the path to individual emancipation and the triumph of humanism over racism. When the UPG claimed to be talking about ‘group’ emancipation, of ‘les Guyanais’, it was really about themselves; few of the ‘Jaunes et Rouges de Guyane’ to which Juminer referred were among their number and few were likely to have been in their social circle. The ‘intellectuels’ had, Juminer explains, travelled to the métropole and spent time there only to understand, on their return, the ‘truth’ of Guyane’s abased or ‘bastardised’ condition. The necessary next step to empowerment was a ‘pélérinage aux sources’; that is, a

271 Bertène Juminer, ‘Nous, les bâtards’, Conscience Guyanaise (Jan 1960). 272 An idea which prefigures the Créolité of Bernabé, Confiant and Chamoiseau (1993). 273 Juminer, ‘Nous, les bâtards’. 89 journey into Négritude . ‘Il nous reste… à descendre aux enfers de la négritude pour nous purifier. Ensuite seulement, nous pourrons monter…’274 The nous sought and failed to encompass the population at large. For the UPG, Monnerville’s one-way journey to the métropole after over a decade representing Guyane – and after taking it down what they implied to be the erroneous path of ‘assimilation’ – constituted a defection. In the 1950s, the UPG was able to observe alternatives to ‘assimilation’, not only in Africa, but also in the Caribbean. They did not necessarily have to travel far to do so – the CARICOM met in Cayenne in 1956 – and representatives of Suriname paid visits to the French territory. 275 The UPG’s tentative suggestion that Caribbean federation might be Guyane’s hope of regional belonging echoed the debates over African federation taking place across the Atlantic. … il est hors de doute qu’il (l’avenir) doit se concevoir au sein d’une entité fédérale qui nous liera aux Antilles d’abord, à la Communauté Française ensuite; car l’étape nationale est indispensable et préalable à toute étape multinationale… Nous pouvons donc dès à présent jeter les bases de notre avenir en établissant des contacts politiques suivis avec les Antilles. Unrest was at this time more developed in the Antilles, where an increased military presence prefigured events in Guyane in the 1960s. In late December 1959, a curfew was declared in Martinique following three deaths which occurred when members of the Compagnies Républicaine de Sécurité (CRS) intervened a brawl in a café. 276 Excepting the incident on the occasion of Malraux’s visit, Guyane was relatively calm until 1962, when newspapers began to discuss the prospect of the arrival of the Foreign Legion. The UPG’s printed output was earnest, dense and intellectual, whilst trying to be outward-looking. It therefore failed to gain purchase, since these characteristics were less meaningful to the majority of people who were neither lycée -educated nor widely-travelled, mobile or highly literate like its authors. As Mam Lam Fouck states, the UPG in effect spoke to milieux in Paris, such as the Guyanais student one whence they came, or to autonomists in the Antilles with similar backgrounds to themselves. In any case, their ideology did not resonate with working-class Cayennais or the residents of the rural bourgs or of the ‘interior’.277 Perhaps they did not expect it to; the stated aim of the UPG, after all, was not to win mandates but to awaken ‘consciousness’ (conscience ) among the population. Theirs was, in effect, a poetic as much as a political manifesto in the manner of Césaire’s 1939 Cahier

274 Juminer, ‘Nous, les bâtards’. 275 –– ‘Caribbean Commission’, International Organization 10:4 (1956), p.649. 276 Adélaïde-Merlande, Histoire contemporaine de la Caraïbe , p.190. 277 Mam Lam Fouck, ‘L’Union du Peuple Guyanais’, p.275. 90 d’un retour au pays natal .278 Late-1950s Guyane, before the expansion of radio and television and the introduction of social security allocations , lacked the infrastructural, technological and financial means (not to mention the population) to enable participation on a very wide scale. And yet, the principle had been anchored more firmly in 1958 that established its future in symbiosis with France. When ‘development’ did occur in the 1970s-80s (explored in chapter three), the discourses of political and cultural identity operating in press and public spheres altered again. The PSG’s newspaper contained few literary references and on the whole presented itself as less based in ideals and more in the conditions of the workers and the populace. Hence it found a more receptive readership than did Conscience Guyanaise , as the popularity of Catayée demonstrates. Its editorial stance – ‘Vers un changement de statut politique’ – was more moderate, as opposed to calling for the unknown quantities (to most) of autonomy and Négritude . It also suggests a growing consumer culture locally, having a more proto-tabloid- style layout, photographs, and advertisements for consumer products and American and French films at the Gaumont cinema. Compared to this, the UPG with its tightly-packed print appeared as a rather more self-conscious ‘ Conscience ’, i.e., representing idealistic thinking – academic and theoretical – rather than action.

Justin Catayée and the death of dissent With the PSG won over to de Gaulle’s constitution, over 90% of Guyanais votes were cast in favour of it. Just after the referendum of November 1958, legislative elections were held. During the campaign, the UPG criticised the conduct of candidates, Catayée included, claiming that debate had descended into an undignified sniping match and lamenting the sway held by personalities and charisma rather than ideas. For the UPG members, this too much resembled the way in which elections were carried out earlier in the century. 279 The UPG thus represented an expression by the local elites of disappointment that departmentalisation did not seem to have effected much change during its first ten years. In the end, however, Catayée, who as general secretary of the PSG won the election, would agitate more than any politician had yet done in earnest for a change in the status quo. 280 In the Parisian National Assembly, in the Antilles and in the département itself, Catayée continually called for a Guyanais ‘special status’, consisting of a devolved regional assembly,

278 Mam Lam Fouck, Histoire de la Guyane française , p.190. 279 Mam Lam Fouck, ‘L’Union du peuple Guyanais’, p.265. 280 Mam Lam Fouck, Histoire de la Guyane française , p.189. 91 elected by universal suffrage, with full financial and monetary responsibility. 281 Catayée, born in 1916 in Cayenne or Sinnamary, had a more Antillean ‘formation’ than did Éboué or Monnerville. His family had moved to Guyane from Martinique in 1915.282 Aged around twelve, he embarked on secondary education in the Antilles, obtaining his baccalauréat in Martinique before marrying ‘une native de Fort-de-France’ in 1937. After the war, in which he joined the Free French and was active in Africa and Italy, he pursued university education in Bordeaux. Like Éboué and Monnerville, Catayée’s first political engagement was with the SFIO.283 However, Catayée joined in the context not of the Third Republic but of a particular ‘milieu des étudiants de l’Outre-mer’ whose members included Frantz Fanon and were, Andrew Daily claims, collectively radicalised, whether as communists or socialists, by their experiences of postwar ‘metropolitan’ France. 284 Discussions focused on ‘les mérites respectifs de la départementalisation…et de l’autonomie, voire de l’indépendance… (Catayée) lance un journal, l‘Essor guyanais, afin de mieux informer les Français de métropole sur les besoins de l’Outre-mer.’ 285 By 1951, Catayée had returned to Guyane, becoming a maths teacher at the new Lycée Félix Eboué , a member of the Loge de la France équinoxiale and also the leader of the SFIO in Cayenne. After the re- election of a Gaullist, Edouard Gaumont, as deputy in 1956, and disillusioned with the local SFIO, Catayée formed the PSG, many of whose founding members were also teachers. By 1958, the party had some success in canton-level elections and Catayée personally was well- known as an orator (Malraux likened him to a Communard ). The party organ Debout Guyane had also gained a relatively wide circulation. 286 It was in this context that Malraux appeared in Guyane and had the conversations with Catayée related in Antimémoirs , and in which Catayée was elected to the seat of deputy in November 1958. In April 1961, Catayée joined the Front Antillo-Guyanais (henceforth FAG), an organisation advocating self-determination for the Antilles and for Guyane and which included Édouard Glissant and other prominent intellectuals and politicians in the Antilles.

281 Adélaïde-Merlande, Histoire contemporaine de la Caraïbe , p.191. 282 His biography on the Assemblée Nationale website emphasises his family’s ‘origins’ in the Antilles, as for the Monnerville brothers and for René Jadfard. ‘Justin Catayée (1916-1962): Biographie’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/sycomore/fiche.asp?num_dept=1518 [accessed 19 June 2014]. ‘Official’ records occasionally contain disputed biographical information about Guyanais politicians. Catayée’s place of birth is claimed as Cayenne, whereas other biographies assert it as Sinnamary – see http://www.guyane-guide.com/dossiers/j_catayee.htm [accessed 19 June 2014] - the claim by Léone Michotte, Catayée’s biographer and PSG activist in Guyane, that he was born in Cayenne but spent his early life between there and Sinnamary, is perhaps more accurate, 1, Cité Césaire: Au nom de Justin Catayée (France, 2013). 283 Gamal Abdel Nasser, ‘Justin Catayée’, Afrique Caraïbe Amérique , http://www.afcam.org/index.php/en/?option=com_content&view=article&id=70&Itemid=254 [accessed 19 June 2014]. 284 Andrew Daily, ‘Race, Citizenship, and Antillean Student Activism in Postwar France, 1946-1968’, French Historical Studies 37:2 (2014), p.331. 285 Assemblée Nationale, ‘Justin Catayée’. 286 Malraux, Antimemoirs , p.121; Assemblée Nationale, ‘Justin Catayée’. 92

The FAG was dissolved at the behest of Michel Debré in July the same year ‘pour atteinte à la sûreté de l’État’. In 1962, Catayée assembled the Guyanais left under the Front démocratique guyanais , and sought to represent them in Paris. On 14 June, a demonstration took place in Cayenne ‘en faveur d’un statut spécial et contre l’envoi de la Légion (étrangère) en la Guyane’, which was ‘durement reprimée… sur ordre du préfet René Erignac.’ 287 On 19 June, Catayée spoke in the Assembly against the ‘repression’ of the Guyanais, and then three days later departed for Cayenne in order to attend a second demonstration in Cayenne, planned for 25 June. However, the Boeing 707 in which he was travelling crashed into a hill near Point-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe, on 22 June, killing all on board. Conspiracy theories surrounding the order of these events and the circumstances of the plane crash seem only to have been articulated publicly many years later, specifically around the half-centenary of the incident in 2012. 288 In the immediate term, it is said to have been received in Cayenne with ‘calm’ rather than the unrest which the death of Jadfard provoked. A memorial address was also made to the Parisian student milieu , including a speech by Glissant. 289 Glissant spoke on behalf of the networks of the educated ultramarins in Paris – those of the student groups and the FAG: Lequel d’entre nous ne s’est pas senti douloureusement étreint en lisant cette liste des noms… Lequel d’entre nous, enfin, ne s’est pas senti meurtri par un tel drame au moment où nos pays ont tant besoin de toutes leurs forces vives… Nos pays…ont su produire tout au long de leur histoire des hommes aux dimensions du monde… 290 The disappearance of this figure – whom as an ‘homme aux dimensions du monde’ Glissant signalled as one in the same league, in terms of potential influence, as an Éboué – very abruptly altered the local political landscape. This was not just a Guyanais tragedy. In his novel L’isolé soleil , the Guadeloupian Daniel Maximin expressed that the loss of such a proportion of their number, at such a moment as 1962, caused a trauma to a generation of transatlantic student activists. Glissant’s expression of feeling ‘ meurtri ’ seems to encapsulate such a trauma. Maximin expresses in historical fiction the idea that the people on the plane were in filial relation – whether in blood or in spirit – to past rebels and resistors of

287 Assemblée Nationale, ‘Justin Catayée’. 288 The theory was advanced in Michotte’s 2013 book, which was promoted by Guyane 1ère , the branch of FranceTV which is a prominent part of broadcast media in Guyane. Véronique Bedz, ‘Une histoire de Justin Catayée’, http://guyane.la1ere.fr/2013/08/06/une-histoire-de-justin-catayee-53379.html [accessed 19 June 2014]. See also an anonymous online article, ’22 juin 1962: le crash de Deshaies’, http://www.une-autre-histoire.org/22-juin-1962-le-crash-de- deshaies/ and commentary: Hector Déglas, http://www.une-autre-histoire.org/justin-catayee-biographie/ [both accessed 19 June 2014]. The local newspaper France-Guyane offered a provocative headline to announce the half-centenary activities: ‘Justin Catayée: 50 ans après, bientôt la vérité sur sa mort?’, France-Guyane 10 March 2012. 289 ‘Discours prononcée par Edouard Glissant au nom de l’association générale des Etudiants martiniquais à la soirée commémorative d’Albert Beville, Justin Catayée et Roger Tropos, à Paris, Palais de la Mutualité, le 6 juillet 1962’, Edouard Glissant: Une pensée archipélique , http://www.edouardglissant.fr/discoursmutualite.html [accessed 19 June 2014]. 290 ‘Discours’ (1962), Edouard Glissant: Une pensée archipélique . 93 domination such as Louis Delgrès. 291 The end of Catayée may in a sense have severed the Guyanais branch of this bloodline, bringing about the beginning of disassociation of Guyanais politics from those of the Antilles. As in 1958, an underlying threat of unrest seemed, in 1962, to be quelled at exactly the moment it could have occurred. Meanwhile, until at least 1963, a number of student- related political movements in the Antilles such as the Organisation de la Jeunesse Anticolonialiste Martiniquaise were subject to repression, with government claiming that they had links to revolutionaries and nationalists in Cuba, and ‘Saint-Domingue’ (termed as such by Jean-Pierre Aurosseau at the Ministère de la France d’Outre-Mer). 292 The left, under Catayée’s colleague in the PSG, Léopold Héder, did not dominate for much longer. In 1964, soon after Héder took over the deputyship, the news of the imminent installation of the Space Centre in Guyane was announced. The next two decades saw subtle yet firm military reinforcement coupled with the extension of measures promoting ‘social citizenship’.293 The French space base and Foreign Legion were both transferred from Algeria to the more pacific – or more easily pacified – Guyane. In 1967, the republican right dominated again when Hector Riviérez, for de Gaulle’s UDR, won the deputyship from Héder. Riviérez was the brother of the aforementioned Maurice Riviérez of the Éboué Committee, and before standing for election in Guyane he had been, during the Fourth Republic, the senator for Oubangui-Chari (1952-1959), Eboué’s former posting. He was re- elected in 1968 and in 1973, being ousted only in 1981 (from the left by Elie Castor).294 The left’s 1981 return to power in Guyane made sense nationally, being in convergence with that in the métropole , but locally, it bore marks of Catayée’s political legacy. From 1982 politicians in Guyane sought the collectivité unique : a merging of the ‘regional’ and ‘departmental’ administrative powers in Guyane (to be enacted in 2015). This time, the political elites were not in solidarity with their Antillais counterparts, who were against the measure. The Parisian Secrétariat à l’Outre-Mer , however, was more responsive. The campaign articulated an approach towards what Thierry Michalon calls a form of ‘autonomy’ for Guyane, based for a large part on its geographical distinction from the

291 Maximin, L’isolé soleil . I am grateful to Andrew Daily for bringing this novel, and the centrality of the plane crash in it, to my attention. 292 Daily, ‘Race, Citizenship, and Antillean Student Activism’, p.353. 293 Finch Boyer explores the parallels in La Réunion in ‘“The Idea of the Nation was Superior to Race”.’ 294 Sénat, ‘Riviérez Hector: Ancien Sénateur d’Oubangui-Chari’, http://www.senat.fr/senateur-4eme- republique/rivierez_hector0371r4.html; Anon., Assembée Nationale, ‘Hector Riviérez’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/histoire/trombinoscope/VRepublique/legis05/rivierez-hector-joseph-19031913.asp; Anon., ‘Personnages de Guyane: Hector Riviérez’, http://www.redris973.fr/HTML/personnages1.html [accessed 19 June 2014]. 94

Antilles. 295 As a pragmatic compromise with ideological ‘independence’, this idea of autonomie de gestion is closer to what Catayée sought.

Conclusion: The French ‘Black Atlantic’ and the politics of commemoration ‘Memory’ of the prominent political figures in Guyane during the 1950s and 60s, like that of Éboué and Monnerville, is not only bound up with the historical legacies of those individuals but also is a function of contemporary political activity. All the politicians mentioned hitherto (including Jadfard and Riviérez) have been allocated street names, whether in Cayenne, Kourou or St-Laurent-du-Maroni, and some have had schools named after them (Vignon’s in his ‘interior’ constituency of ). ‘Memory’ is also affected by the economics of scholarship and publishing. In recent years, Guyane’s only publishing house of note, Ibis Rouge, has published works devoted to Gaston Monnerville, to the folklorist Michel Lohier and to Justin Catayée (as well as to Paul Niger, aka Albert Béville, a Guadeloupean author and fellow Front Antillo-Guyanais member who also died in the 1962 plane crash). 296 René Jadfard remains an almost entirely obscure figure, barring a hagiography by the politician Georges Othily and his appearances in Robert Vignon’s self-aggrandising book of memoirs, Gran Man Baka (itself almost the only existing work about Vignon).297 Gaullist republicans less inclined to heroism than were Éboué and Monnerville, such as Hector Riviérez, have rarely if ever been considered as apt subjects for commemoration or study, and nor has the socialist Héder. Given the significance of these figures in the post-war history of Guyane, their absence from narratives of this ‘history’ is itself noteworthy. For each act of commemoration or a writing-in to ‘l’Histoire’ of grands hommes of France such as Éboué and Monnerville, different stories – usually more complex ones, fitting less easily into the frameworks of heroes and martyrs – have remained untold. 298 In the early-twenty-first century, with the renaming of the airport, Éboué was once again the most prominent figure in Guyane’s commemorative landscape, but advocates of other agendas also sought to gain purchase. Their strategy was to invoke figures who could

295 Thierry Michalon, ‘Réflexions sur un nouveau statut de la Guyane’, Pouvoirs das la Caraïbe 11 (1999), http://plc.revues.org/528 [accessed 18 June 2014]. 296 Ronald Selbonne, Albert Béville alias Paul Niger (France, 2013). 297 This obscurity is perhaps because no ordering of events (except, in the case of Vignon, his own), could emplot either Jadfard or Vignon as republican heroes in the manner of Éboué or as political martyrs in the manner of Catayée. Georges Othily, René Jadfard ou l’éclair d’une vie (France, 1989); Robert Vignon, Gran Man Baka (France, 1985): the title translates as ‘Great White Man’, the ‘gran man’ referring to title of Maroon and Amerindian ‘customary’ leaders. 298 That is, untold in published books. One wall in the Musée Franconie in Cayenne features, opposite a painting of the Last Supper, a row of three portraits of doomed men: Jean Galmot, René Jadfard and Justin Catayée, all of whom were (loosely speaking) socialist politicians in Guyane and all of whose lives were cut short. This choice of display – and the omission of Monnerville or Éboué – is interesting in the Conseil Général-run museum. (Fieldwork notes, 16 Aug 2012). 95 be made to produce resonances in the contemporary context; often, this would be by association with Éboué, but this was not exclusively so. However, reference to France, and to Guyane’s relationship with France, was a precondition of their gaining that purchase, since it was largely through state and related institutions that commemorations were funded, devised, and offered the legitimacy of a quasi-permanent, material legacy in public space. For monuments, that public space was offered, topographically, according to a hierarchy. Central Cayenne, where the figure of Éboué stands, was the prime spot. Monnerville’s supporters obtained a compromise; he stands in the botanical gardens of Cayenne. Although much- frequented, this is a somewhat unexpected place in which to find the former president of the Senate. The statue – a bust only – is very unobtrusive. Lower down in the hierarchy are Vignon – with a school in Maripasoula – and Riviérez, with his street in St-Laurent-du- Maroni. Beginning in the 1990s, commemorative associations for Catayée and for Damas sidestepped the competition for statue space. Instead of seeking to monumentalise their heroes, they undertook cultural-political projects with less concrete endpoints. Commemorations of Catayée were instigated entirely by latter-day PSG activists and focused temporally around his traumatic amputation from political life. As such – perhaps because they cannot avoid addressing potentially controversial circumstances – they venture little further than publicising Catayée’s career via a website, at conferences and speeches organised by the Party in Guyane, and via exchanges with local dignitaries in Guadeloupe and Martinique. 299 Meanwhile, the UPG and its literary protagonists (Serge Patient, Bertène Juminer) fade into genteel obscurity (although Juminer remains in print with Présence Africaine ). In oral history interviews Patient and Juminer were described as the people who ‘might have been’ great literary or political figures for Guyane, comparable with better- known characters from the Antilles such as Césaire and Glissant. 300 Justin Daniel claims that ‘La départementalisation se situe à l’intersection d’une double perception contradictoire dans la mesure où elle semble désigner tout à la fois un aboutissement et un processus en constant devenir’.301 In one sense, it is a singular act, a moment. In another, however, it is something which undergoes constant stages of anchoring, challenge and renewal. The statues, committees, colloquia and artworks dedicated to the Guyanais who came to be considered as noteworthy are interventions this process. The

299 Conferences in 2012 and 2014: see http://www-association-justincatayee.over-blog.com/ [accessed 19 June 2014]. 300 Interviews: M.J.; M.O.; Mme. M. 301 Justin Daniel, ‘Introduction’ in Cinquante ans de départementalisation d’outre-mer (Paris, 1997) cited in H. Adlai Murdoch, ‘Autobiography and Departmentalization in Patrick Chamoiseau’s “Chemin d’école”: Representational Strategies and the Martinican memoir’, Research in African Literatures 40:2 (2009), p.19. 96 monuments, in particular, are expressly one side of the story – the assertion, perpetuation and domination of French presence in Guyane. Yet in the cases of Éboué and Monnerville, they also tell other stories of participation by Guyanais in government: of the utilisation of structures for self-advancement, self-esteem and success. Public manifestations of ‘memory’ are palimpsestic and have adaptable meanings which can be subverted, whether through public indifference or physical intervention. Éboué and Monnerville are celebrated as the ultimate embodiments of ‘republican values’ – more French than the French – when it came to meritocracy within the institutional hierarchies and the promise of racial neutrality. Here, there is a paradox: as ‘overseas’ French they are differentiated form the norm in subsequent biographies and commemorations, whether this is expressed in terms of their being dark- skinned or of ‘colonial’ origin. Yet not only is the nature of this ‘national’ identity supposed to be colourblind, but also, since 1946, Guyane ‘is’ France. From the interwar years until the end of the French Union, the National Assembly’s composition seemed to bear out the theory of colourblindness. It was during the transitional period of 1944-46 and the Fourth Republic that Félix Éboué was commemorated in statues across locales of the ‘Black Atlantic’, including Paris. At the same time, African, Antillais and Guyanais politician-poets such as Senghor, Césaire and Damas brought the poetics and politics of ‘blackness’ into a ‘Francophone’ public sphere. They were enabled to by their utilisation of highly selective channels of mobility first established in the colonial context. These were, namely, scholarships for academic education and – until 1958 – careers in colonial administration across Africa. A precondition of mobility, then, was ‘playing the game’, as Éboué put it, of achieving legitimation within the dominant political order. The rare few to enter this ‘game’ were nonetheless practically guaranteed social standing and access to means of influence, especially if they chose to return to Guyane with their higher education diplomas, and to stay there. Simon Gikandi calls for a ‘recentring’ of thinking on the ‘Black Atlantic’ to focus precisely on the trajectories of the actors who constituted it: the ‘ambiguous ways in which margins and centres are conflated or blurred, the process of fusion or fission that brings them together and also separates them.’ 302 In Guyane, where committees have re-rooted the département ’s notable personnages in the landscape in the form of public artworks, they have invited attention to be paid to who they were, what they supposedly embodied, and how that could be represented in the present. Yet the ‘remarkable’ events of their lives did not, on the

302 Simon Gikandi, ‘The Black Atlantic: Introduction: Africa, Diaspora, and the Discourse of Modernity’, Research in African Literatures 27:4 (1996), p.5. 97 whole, take place in Guyane. A caveat, then, is necessary in this story of successful, ‘black’ Guyanais politicians and poets and their transatlantic trajectories. The other side to the story is, of course, who they were not. When establishing political careers in the métropole , they may have appeared as a vanguard (Senghor, Damas) or indeed as heroic underdogs, successful against the odds because principled, tenacious or canny (Éboué, Monnerville). However, back ‘home’ in Guyane they were the elite of the elite, and they were so because they had left. This is clearly demonstrated by the respectful non-response in Guyane to the rhetoric of the UPG. Most inhabitants of the département were on entirely different trajectories from the ‘Black Atlantic’ ones that Gilroy focuses on.303 Non-Créole populations were almost entirely absent from civic space until the entry of Amerindian associations into politics in 1984. When Monnerville advocated departmentalisation ‘au nom de l’outre-mer’, such people were spoken for when they did not have the same voice as the coastal population did in French civic and representative structures. The historian of pan-Africanism Hakim Adi describes how the movement took root in transnational networks of Africans outside of Africa. 304 Yet there was a version of this process that was not only ‘Francophone’ (Senghor’s preferred term) but ‘French’: made up of individuals who were more bound up with the apparati of government than were the Anglophone pan-Africanists. 305 This French ‘Black Atlantic’ was based on mobile elites who found each other precisely because they were mobile along the same paths, whether in Paris, Africa or the Antilles (witness Éboué’s meeting Diagne in Guyane). The patterns continued from the Fourth into the Fifth Republic with its student activists for autonomy, and the authors of Conscience Guyanaise who, isolated as intellectuals in Guyane, wrote texts best interpreted as responses and addresses to educated Antilleans. Guyane and the Guyanais, as the stories of Éboué, Monnerville, Catayée and Damas demonstrate, played an integral but overlooked part in the ‘remaking of France’ during the Fourth Republic. The case of this DOM proves that the 1946-1962 period was not so much an era of decolonisation as one of multiple possible postimperial and national futures.

303 Emmanuel Todd asks ‘whether the end result of higher education around the globe has not been to produce a new multiracial transnational oligarchical elite, the basis for a new enduring imperial order.' Todd, Après la démocratie , cited in Richard Drayton, 'Imperial History and the Human Future', History Workshop Journal 74 (2012), p.168. 304 Hakim Adi, ‘African Political Thinkers, Pan-Africanism and the Politics of Exile, c.1850-1970’, Immigrants & Minorities: Historical Studies in Ethnicity, Migration and Diaspora ’ 30:2-3 (2012), p.272. 305 Divisions were not clear-cut, however: the American activist Angela Davis spoke French well and once participated in a debate about racism on French national television alongside Gaston Monnerville. ‘Apostrophes: le racisme’ (France: Antenne 2, broadcast 6 May 1975), http://www.ina.fr/video/CPB75053453/le-racisme-video.html [accessed 10 Jan 2015]. On Senghor and ‘Francophonie’ see Shields, ‘Léopold Sédar Senghor’s Translations’, p.106. 98

Chapter 3: The Plan Vert of 1975 and the reconfiguration of ‘development’ in Guyane

If Guyane was a last and fundamental frontier of empire during the Fourth Republic, it was also a site where dirigiste colonial modernisation took its last breaths in ‘overseas France’. In August 1975, the Secretary of State to the DOM-TOM, Olivier Stirn, announced a major development project for Guyane. 306 Known as the Plan global de développement or more commonly as the Plan Vert , the project combined older notions of a colonie de peuplement with newer discourses of modernisation and development. 307 It proposed a large, initial investment in preparatory infrastructure by central government, followed by a programme of agriculture and industry to be implemented over the course of the next decade. This would be accompanied by the installation of around 10,000 families – counted as 30,000 people - from ‘metropolitan’ France and from other DOM-TOM, many of whom would work in forestry and associated industries; applicants could be allocated not only jobs but also property and resources to develop their own agricultural installations. 308 Thus, Guyane's forests would become the raw material for a large-scale paper pulp industry, and the département as a whole would become self-sufficient in food production. The population of Guyane was then 60,000 or fewer, its inhabitants largely practising slash-and-burn agriculture (with some polderisation) or consuming imported food, and its economy was based on the civil service and some small-scale production of tafia, timber and gold. The Plan would therefore enact a complete economic, demographic and environmental overhaul of the département .309 The Plan in its original form had been publicly declared a 'failure' in 1977, was much altered and its ambitions reduced by 1980, and by the 1980s it was rarely or never alluded to as a current preoccupation. 310 Yet the Plan Vert has an overlooked historical significance, not only in respect of the regional history of the département but also nationally, in terms of the evolution of French discourses of planning, development and environmental protection. The rare scholarly attention paid to Guyane’s post-war 'development' has emerged from the disciplines of geography and anthropology rather than history. Hence it focuses on the Space

306 Stirn was a member of the Gaullist Union des démocrates pour la République (UDR). 307 The origins of the plan's nickname are uncertain – possible explanations are discussed later in the chapter. Rumours had been circulating earlier that year – and even as far back as September 1974, when the new Secretary of State for the DOM- TOM had paid a visit to Guyane – about the possible 'Stirnisation' of Guyane. The Plan global was officially authorised on 21 July and publicity began in August. Caou Ca (9 Sep 74), ADG/PER117; Bulletin du Centre Spatial Guyanais (15 May 1975), ADG/PER119. 308 Letter, Olivier Stirn to M. le Secrétaire Général des DOM, Président du BUMIDOM, 'Peuplement de la Guyane' (20 Aug 1975), ANCF/19940380/19. 309 INSEE counted Guyane’s population as 55,125 for 1974. See http://www.bdm.insee.fr/ [accessed 31 Jan 2015]. 310 Jean-Emile Vié, L'échec du Plan vert en Guyane', Le Monde (1 Jul 1977); 'Le plan de développement de la Guyane: grands projets, petites réalisations”, Le Monde (3 Aug 1977); Jacques Ferret to Prefet de la Région Guyane, 'Situation des agriculteurs en Guyane' (25 Jan 1980), ANCF/19940380/19. 99

Centre and on the social and cultural impact of migrations from the 1970s onwards, since these are deemed to be the most significant institutions and processes in the département today. 311 To what extent was the Plan related to the construction and growth of the Space Centre? What was its broader role in the patterns and shifts in French discourse on ‘its’ Amazonian territory during the late-twentieth century? This ambitious and apparently 'failed' project was, the chapter argues, at the crux of a shift in French ideas about this formerly colonial territory and its possible futures. The Plan ’s timing is interesting: spearheaded by President Valéry Giscard d'Estaing, who is firmly associated with an era of liberal governance, it nevertheless represented the extension of French dirigisme to la France d'outre-mer . The Plan is absent from French history, assumed to be a belated ‘failure’ of colonial logic: inevitable consequence of French ignorance of Guyane's realities and misjudgement of the ‘vocation’ of a place. This chapter attempts a more nuanced reading of what and how historical events can be deemed to be significant in relation to planning. It takes account of the acknowledgement, adjustment and negotiation over time – not only by the French planners but by multiple parties – of the gap between planning and realisation. In this case, it suggests, two factors presented themselves as paths along which the original plan – to install agricultural workers from the métropole and other DOM – could be diverted. The first of these factors was the arrival in Guyane of Hmong refugees from the former French Indochina in 1977. The second was the success, from the 1980s, of the Space Centre (CSG), and the related adjustments to the idea of how Guyane’s ‘developed’ future was to look, with the CSG as a major part of it. In the mid-1970s the CSG’s success had not seemed certain, but by the 1980s, the prospect of Guyane as terre d'avenir opened the way for a different vision of Guyane's tropical modernity than had been envisaged in the original Plan. 312 Ultimately, the reconfigurations of environment, ‘development’ and population which occurred between 1975 and 1996 informed an important shift in French governmentality. Authorities and institutions in Guyane had long attempted to apply techniques of modernisation developed in the métropole and in other colonies, with little adaptation. After the 1970s, however, they adjusted their language to one ostensibly rooted in environment, eventually developing a form of governmentality based on discourses of ecology and 'sustainable development'.

311 Redfield, Space in the Tropics ; Frédéric Piantoni, L’enjeu migratoire en Guyane française: une géographie politique (Matoury, 2009). 312 The Ariane launcher which was to be the making of the Centre was announced in December 1975, a few months after the Plan Vert was announced. Bulletin du Centre Spatial Guyanais (15 Dec 1975), ADG/PER119. 100

That the Plan Vert was so called is significant, and the notions of environment and exploration considered in the first chapter remain relevant here. If, until the mid-twentieth century, l'enfer vert was a site onto which fears of civilisational decline and degeneration were projected, the Plan Vert attempted to replace this vision of ungovernability with a more futuristic idea of Guyane's 'greenness': one in which the management of 'nature' could be envisaged. In 1975, this idea was not yet associated meaningfully with languages of environmental conservation or 'sustainable development' that were nascent in the mid-1970s. Yet the connection between the Plan Vert 's and changing conceptions of 'greenness' would pave the way for an important shift in French governmental discourse, away from productivism and towards ecological management. Such discourse was not, of course, produced in isolation in Guyane. This consideration of Guyane’s particular case therefore also aims to reveal something of how the Amazonian DOM was conceived of in relation to other colonial or formerly colonial spaces, including those of rural ‘metropolitan’ France. Thus, while contributing to the history of Guyane, the chapter also proposes a rethinking of how this DOM fits into broader postcolonial conceptions of French global presence. The gap between planning and realisation is a common preoccupation of historians: plans seem to offer a shortcut to understanding the responses of states and their ‘experts’ to the past and present, as well as governmental visions of the future. 313 The background to the conception and implementation of the 1975 masterplan for Guyane, however, is remarkably complex. First of all, in 1975 France was on the cusp of political and economic transition. Giscard d'Estaing represented neither of the two ideologies – Socialism and Gaullism – that had dominated post-war French politics hitherto. His presidency is associated with liberal social governance and – especially after he replaced Jacques Chirac as Prime Minister with – with the transition from a planned economy to one increasingly integrated in the international context of advancing neoliberalism.314 Thus his ‘five-year plans’ made increasingly emphatic reference to industries of growing international and high-tech interest, in line with the ‘space age’. 315 Secondly, Guyane occupied an ambiguous and obscure place in French politics and in 'metropolitan' culture; it was not

313 On the role of ‘expertise’ in governmental technologies of rule see Mitchell, The Rule of Experts. 314 Giscard’s relationship was to a French liberal tradition as distinct from a US or UK one. A technocratic product of the École National d’Administration, his approach remained state-centred and his centre-right administration was not necessarily incompatible with dirigisme . Grands travaux remained an important part of French governance throughout the twentieth century. On Giscard’s social reforms see Julian Crandall Hollick, ‘France under Giscard d’Estaing – A Retrospect’, The World Today 37:6 (1981), p.204; on his economic policy see Sarah L. Babb and Marion Fourcade-Gourinchas, ‘The Rebirth of the Liberal Creed: Paths to Neoliberalism in Four Countries’, American Journal of Sociology 108:3 (2002), pp.564-565. 315 After the 1974 national Plan had accelerated France’s nuclear programme, Giscard’s Eighth Plan focused on ‘telecommunications, information technology, microelectronics, biotechnology, space and aeronautics.’ Crandall Hollick, ‘France under Giscard d’Estaing’, p.208. 101 considered to be entirely ‘French’, nor exactly a colony. It could be called upon to signify all that was rotten and failed about French imperialism – a living-dead colonial legacy – but at the next moment, following the installation of a base for the French and ultimately European space programme from 1964, Guyane (or at least Kourou) could be deployed to represent hopes for a cosmopolitan and high-tech national future. Against this complex and shifting background, how can a plan for a new economic system in Guyane, with its resultant set of cultural, social and environmental changes, be understood? Discussions hinging around narratives of 'development', and of the relative success or failure of particular projects, weave a powerful discursive web. However, they operate within a limited paradigm, restricting historical perspectives to the same 'centre-periphery' paths travelled by the would-be 'developers' such as Stirn, and thus to the same assumptions about what 'success' constitutes and what kind of successes could be possible. In relation to the Plan Vert , to previous plans for Guyane and to the place as a whole, the pervasive language of failure has masked important changes which did occur. Development discourse remains embedded in French national structures, and only by historicising this can it be understood how official plans and narratives were and are subject to disruption, to détournement or to being ignored or rendered irrelevant. Employing sources from local press and oral history interviews permits access to perspectives from beyond administrative and political realms, informing analysis and critique of the governmental discourses in official speeches and documents. The first section considers the economic justifications offered for the Plan , and its outcomes, intended or otherwise, as different political administrations attempted to respond to unforeseen and changing circumstances. It then addresses the political context and rationale behind these intentions, in terms of domestic, foreign and (post)colonial ' outre-mer' policy. The second half examines the forms of modernisation and modernity considered to be possible in Guyane, and the consequent adjustments made by governments in the attempt to produce 'French' subjects in South America. For this, it ascertains Guyane's place in the construction and application of French ecological thought, via its use as a site for experiments in environmental management and, ultimately, 'sustainable development'.

Harmonising population, place and production: the rationale of the Plan global de développement de la Guyane The French government acted to reaffirm its authority in Guyane in 1975, the same year as neighbouring Suriname achieved independence from the and became a 102

Republic.316 Guyane was now the only remaining non-independent territory on the South American continent (or, as a contributor to the paper of the Union des Travailleurs Guyanais (henceforth UTG) phrased it, ‘The last enclave in South America under the imperialist boot of a foreign power’). 317 On 20 August 1975, a telegram from the Ministry for the DOM-TOM informed the prefect of Guyane, Jean Le Direach, of a 'governmental decision' on the 'implantation en Guyane familles provenant Métropole ou DOM'. The Ministry sought the prefect's opinion on the appropriate 'socio-professional composition' of the proposed migrants. 318 If Guyane was to be made into an industrious country worthy of the dynamic continent of South America in which it was situated – whilst still remaining a French satellite – some migrants were more desirable than others in this vision. The Prime Minister Jacques Chirac claimed that the Plan global would be the opposite of a 'ruée anarchique (vers l'or ou vers le bois)'. Nevertheless, it would have a 'principal motor': the Amazonian forest. 319 This ministerial planning encountered controversy in the National Assembly, in Guyane and more widely, its critics pointing out that Guyane already had a particularly high unemployment rate, and so the migration plan presented an insult to the existing unemployed. 320 On 24 December 1975, Chirac flew to Guyane to address its inhabitants on the subject of the intended transformation of their pays . His speech seems to have been intended in part to reassure or assuage locals in the wake of the initial criticism. However, it also expressed a somewhat brutal paternalism, and more than a hint of reprimand: Il faut maintenant se préparer aux temps de l'ouverture et du développement. La Guyane, selon le voeu du Président de la République et du Gouvernement, doit se mettre à l'heure du monde. Il ne s'agit pas de bouleverser les facteurs d'équilibre et d'un certain bonheur de vivre dont vous bénéficiez aujourd'hui. Mais il faut rejeter la tentation du repliement, il faut que les Guyanais entrent dans l'action collective du développement et en prennent leur juste part.

The necessity of forcing Guyane's 'ouverture ' or 'désenclavement ' was a recurring idea, usually contrasted with a sleepiness or ease which, the speeches claimed, characterised life in Guyane hitherto. But if to be French was to be modern and industrious, Chirac suggested, the

316 That the French government considered the two to be linked is suggested by the presence, in the National Archives in a dossier marked 'Immigration en Guyane 1975-1980', of a 1975 press clipping from Le Monde about Suriname's independence process. Martin van Traa, 'Après plus de trois siècles de colonisation néerlandaise, le Surinam accède à l'indépendance', Le Monde (26 Nov 1975), ANCF/19940380/19. 317 Author unknown, 'Le diabolique complot du pouvoir colonialiste a pitieusement échoué,' La Voix des Travailleurs (Mar- Apr 1975), ADG/PER56. 318 Telegram from Ministère des Départements et Territoires d'Outre-Mer to Prefect of Guyane (20 Aug 1975), ANCF/19940380/19. 319 Secrétariat d'Etat, Le Plan Vert: charte du développement de la Guyane: vivre, travailler, investir en Guyane (1976). 320 ADG/PER117; ADG/PER56; Patrick Léon, Luttes sociales et politiques en Guyane: Union des Travailleurs Guyanais (1934-1989) (Paris, 2001). 103

Guyanais had a duty to wake up, and the perceived time lag between Guyane and 'l'heure du monde' would need to be closed, by force if necessary. Guyane suffered from its bad reputation, the ministers repeated, but it was Guyane – and not metropolitan attitudes – that needed to change, especially now that the timescale of modernity was ‘global’. The changeable uses of the pronouns 'nous' and 'vous' throughout Chirac's speech are telling: Guyane was France, he claimed, and so there was no separation between Guyanais and Français, and yet elsewhere he addressed instructions to, and imparted judgements on, 'les Guyanais'. Essentially, he asserted, 'you' are 'us', but 'we' are not 'you'. In the National Assembly and the Senate, elected representatives from Guyane and elsewhere described the Plan as a project of 'recolonisation', as did local newspapers and pamphlets (with the notable exception of the official La Presse de Guyane ). At a CARICOM meeting in St Kitts, the representative of the Republic of Guyana denounced the plan as an attack on the 'French Guianese people'. 321 Aimé Césaire, Deputy for Martinique, described it as 'génocide par persuasion' and accused Stirn of not ‘respecting the personalities of the DOM’, thus articulating a sensitivity to the government's attempts at racialised demographic and economic management.322 The Gaullist Chirac countered by describing such critics as 'extrémistes irresponsables' and raising republican logic against identitarianism. The 'Guyanais' could not be understood in a racial sense, he implied, and so any migrant might themselves become 'Guyanais' by virtue of making their living from that land. He repudiated the idea that 'colonisation' of Guyane was possible, on the basis that its Frenchness was so longstanding as to be entirely natural: 'La Guyane est français depuis trois siècles... Ses habitants sont indéfictiblement attachés à la République... l'essor du département de la Guyane se fera pour les Guyanais et par les Guyanais, c'est-à-dire pour les Français et par les Français.' 323 His speech was printed in a glossy PR brochure in 1976, described as a 'Livre Vert'. The booklet also printed speeches by Stirn (then Secretary of State to the DOM-TOM) and President Giscard d'Estaing, and featured marketing material to attract investors and migrants to Guyane.

321 A report in Le Monde describing this event was reproduced in its entirety in an independentist pamphlet in Guyane, Caou Ca (17 Dec 1975), ADG/PER117. 322 Mireille Rosello has discussed the ‘coinage’ of the phrase ‘genocide by substitution’ and the significance of its violent connotations. However, she follows an attribution error made by Raphaël Confiant in a 1993 critique of Aimé Césaire, claiming that the phrase was first used in 1978 and applied to metropolitan France’s importation of Antillais migrants. Mireille Rosello, ‘The “Césaire Effect,” or How to Cultivate One’s Nation’, Research in African Literatures 32:4 (2001), p.89. In fact it was first deployed by Césaire in relation to the Plan Vert , as he criticised ‘Stirnism’ as ‘excessive departmentalisation’. For a summary of his intervention in the assembly on 13 Nov 1975: ‘Aimé Césaire: Tables nominatives des interventions (1945-1993)’, pp.8261-8262, Service des Archives de l’Assemblée Nationale (SAAN) http://www.assemblee-nationale.fr/histoire/aime-cesaire/tables_nominatives.asp#2avril1973 [accessed 31 Jan 2015]. 323 The brochure was described as a 'Livre Vert'; it also reprinted speeches by Stirn and Giscard d'Estaing, and featured marketing material intended to attract investors and migrants to Guyane. Secrétariat d'Etat, Le Plan Vert . 104

For the architects of the Plan , its ultimate goals of modernisation and economic rationality outweighed accusations of 'recolonisation' or calls for recognition of and deference to an existing 'Guyanais' identity. According to Stirn, the intended outcome was to realise an economic specialisation in timber production and thus to reverse the national deficit in 'pâte à papier'. The government perceived an empty land; total 'development' was therefore considered to be necessary, hence a 'plan global '. In this, the forestry industry would be complemented by infrastructural developments such as the construction of roads, bridges and a deep-water port, and a portfolio of other primary industries including hydroponic cultivation of rice and other crops, manioc and sugar cane production, cattle farming, prawn fishing and gold mining. Projects would be funded by a combination of grants and loans from different sources including the European Regional Development Fund and private enterprise , as well as the state directly. 324 They would build on existing bureaux, institutions and Sociétés d'Etat, notably the Bureau de migrations intéressant les départements d'outre-mer (henceforth BUMIDOM). 325 Government propaganda represented the makeshift, sporadic agricultural development projects and scientific surveys that had been carried out in Guyane over the previous three decades as impressive and established existing projects – advances which had prepared the terrain for Guyane's thoroughly modernised economic future. 326 In Guyane, Chirac described immigration as something secondary, necessary to complement 'l'initiative et le travail des Guyanais'. By late 1975 he avoided reference to the proposed figure of 30,000 over five years, emphasising instead that the immigration would be gradual, over 'probablement une dizaine d'années'. 327 Inhabitants of Guyane, he stated, would have priority over the jobs created by the scheme, 'dans tous les domaines où leurs capacités et leurs qualifications leur permettront de tenir les postes demandés.' The catch here, of course, was that the vast majority of Guyanais were excluded, isolated or otherwise disadvantaged when it came to the acquisition of state-approved qualifications. In the end, the Plan had nothing to do with Guyane and everything to do with a French vision of what ought to constitute a national, economic whole, and of the role of the outre-mer in this.

324 At least two large firms, including the U.S. Company International Paper, it was hoped, would install large bases in Guyane. 'Le plan de développement de la Guyane: grands projets, petites réalisations”, Le Monde (3 Aug 1977), ANCF/19940380/19. 325 As both Secretary General for the DOM and Director of the BUMIDOM, Jean-Emile Vié was given the task of organising the necessary 'studies' for the project by Olivier Stirn. Vié informed Stirn that, since for the BUMIDOM the Plan was not 'dans le cadre habituel de ses missions', it would proceed according to ministerial instruction. ANCF/19940380/19. 326 Notably the case in Stirn’s speeches: La Presse de Guyane (Nov 1975-Feb 1976), ADG/PER261; Sécretariat d’État, Le Plan Vert . 327 Initial documents gave a timeframe of five years; this schema seems to have been dreamt up by Olivier Stirn. 105

The government's deployment of dirigisme for 'development' in the second half of the twentieth century – in Guyane as in the Antilles and elsewhere – grew out of late-colonial economic policy. In a sense, the Plan Vert was a last, open attempt to construe colonial 'peripheries' as places existing solely to supply a national 'centre' with raw materials, before the opening-up that was to characterise the French economy in the context of European integration. 328 Demographics and the movement of certain 'populations' from place to place were considered necessary aspects of this process. Guyane's 'exceptionality' in relation to the economic, social and demographic statistics of the other French DOM annoyed bureaucrats, and since at least the late 1950s they had expressed a desire to bring Guyane into line with the Antilles in these terms. 329 The Antilles and Réunion being considered 'overpopulated', and Guyane 'underpopulated', a migration plan appealed as a solution to both of these construed problems. 330 French technocrats were troubled both by the demographic 'imbalances' of Guyane compared to the other DOM and by the stark difference between its economic statistics and those of Martinique, Guadeloupe and La Réunion. In the years preceding and following the announcement of the Plan Vert , official publications referred repeatedly to an ideal of economic harmony between the four DOM. Between 1971 and 1980, the Centre National de Documentation des Départements d'Outre-Mer (henceforth CENADDOM) collated officially-produced or ‘scientific’ knowledge of them; it published summaries of development projects undertaken and, in 1973-74, produced special editions on the theme of 'conjuncture and complementarity'. The CENADDOM bore links to a full complement of governmental and scientific institutions: the INSEE, to the Rue Oudinot (former site of the Colonial Ministry), the Centre National d'Études Spatiales (henceforth CNES) and a Centre d'Études de Géographie Tropicale near Bordeaux (connected to agronomic and geographic research in

328 Although the export of Guyanais wood to the U.S. and to Caribbean countries was mentioned, it is clear that the Antilles and the métropole were envisaged as the primary buyers. The starting-point of European integration is taken as the Treaty of Rome in 1951. Bonin, ‘L’action du Premier ministre Chaban-Delmas’, pp.399-401. See also Louis Sicking, ‘A Colonial Echo: France and the Colonial Dimension of the European Economic Community’, French Colonial History 5 (2004), pp.207-228. 329 This did not prevent the inclusion of Guyanais alongside Antillais and Réunionnais as candidates for migration to the métropole with the BUMIDOM. In 1977, as the government still sought its 30,000 migrants to Guyane, 165 people moved from Guyane to France with the scheme. (By comparison, 5181 moved from the Antilles and 5727 from Réunion, plus 1 from St Pierre et Miquelon.) Tyically, Guyane's migrants were comparably young, with a higher percentage aged under 20 than those from the other DOM. 'Conseil d'administration du 19 janvier 1979', ANCF/19940380 /0007-0008. The UTG newspaper in 1978 lamented the ‘scourge’ of emigration from Guyane. La voix des travailleurs (Jan-Feb 1978), ADG/PER56. 330 The undocumented of Guyane, although sizeable and growing, were not included in official statistics nor yet perceived in the Parisian government's discourse. Only in 1980 did the government's migration bureau note the fact that Guyane's fecundity rates were, despite the numerically small population, in fact relatively very high, a subtlety not noted by those who assumed present under-population to be its primary 'problem'. BUMIDOM 'Séance du Conseil d'Administration en date du 24 janvier 1980', ANCF/19940380/0007-0008. 106 the DOM and in other former colonies). The Presse de Guyane also advertised its publications and reflected its findings in its editorial stance. 331 Thus, the CENADDOM pooled together and disseminated demographic, political and scientific knowledge and resources from a variety of institutions devoted to understanding and maintaining certain forms of social, geographical and political connection between 'metropolitan' and 'overseas' France. It was followed up in 1977 with a formal, separate ministerial bureau dedicated to linking the DOM with one another. 332 Such actions served to discourage the integration of Guyane and of the islands into the geographies and economies of their own, continental and archipelagic environments. Depicted in statistical tables and descriptions of ‘development’ projects alongside the insular DOM, Guyane appeared to be consistently exceptional. 333 Thus, to those drawing upon this research (to inform policy, for example, or to discuss Guyane in newspaper articles), it might appear logical that the 'development' of the 'last' DOM was the missing link in an incomplete project to make industrious, modern subjects of all domiens . The scale of the Plan Vert appeared massive relative to the economic and demographic figures for Guyane. It was projected that, afterwards, these figures would be in a necessary harmony rather than an undesirable discord with those for the island DOM. Guyane had to be forced to fit the 'norm' of the other DOM, whose histories of plantation slavery had laid the basis for economies reliant on export commodities such as sugar, coffee, fruit, and eventually of people, as migrant main d'oeuvre . The 1975 plan called for migrants from both the métropole and the DOM, but comparable, previous plans had made clear that the government considered other domiens as more suitable candidates than métropolitains for installation in Guyane (and any Français as preferable to a foreigner). Above all, government must be harnessed to control movement of people and production: ' la migration sauvage ' was not admitted. During the 1950s, the French government had attempted to unite the financial, technical and economic bureaux of its three American départements and to encourage young people in the Antilles to undertake agricultural training and move to Guyane. 334 At the 'Centre experimental' for 'l'Education professionnelle agricole et la modernisation rurale' near Kourou in 1958, 'metropolitan' youth

331 Although the Bulletin d’information CENADDOM was not as celebratory of the Plan Vert as were the publications with closer ties to the higher levels of government. 332 ANCF/19940380/0007-0008. 333 Bulletin d'information CENADDOM, 1971-1980, ADG/PER122. 334 A letter of 1958 refers to a multimillion-franc programme of 'Action rurale' for Guyane designed to encourage 'jeunes agriculteurs' to set up there, and subsidies were found for Antillais agricultural students. A letter from the same year suggests a desired ' amorçage ' of immigration to Guyane from the Antilles. ANCF/19840179/1. 107 would be allowed to train, but Antillais were preferred. The training programme would include a stage théorique de formation de conseillers ruraux pour les Antilles (Guyane being implicitly included in the Antilles), with classes in applied sociology and anthropology as well as general geographic studies of the 'milieu'.335 This attempt to train rural elites with 'local' knowledge came from a FIDOM-funded bureau, the Société d'assistance technique et de crédit social. (SATEC), created to 'faciliter le développement de la petite production (artisanat – agriculture – industrie légère)'. During the Fourth Republic, this Société turned from a 'domestic'/colonial into a postcolonial development agency. By 1964, with new funding from the UN and the European Development Fund, it reached not only to La Réunion but to 'pays en voie de développement' such as the Upper Volta, , Brazil and Madagascar. By 1970 it concentrated almost entirely on these 'international' projects rather than on the DOM. 336 By this evidence, political priorities in the 1970s lay not with the remaining overseas territories but with 'development aid' to those no longer formally administered by France. Attempts render the DOM 'complementary' to one another in terms of population and production sought to rationalise them and therefore facilitate the central, umbrella governance of a spectrum of French satellites. Better-known for organising Antillean migration to the métropole , the BUMIDOM was drawn into the above process. The BUMIDOM had precursor bureaux prior to its 1963 creation. These, formed with the specific intention of making 'modern territories' out of the DOM (one of the objectives announced explicitly in the 1946 law of departmentalisation), sought to 'even out' the populations across those territories: ' une politique progressive d’immigration d’agriculteurs dans des terres tropicales inexploitées parce que insuffisamment peuplées'. 337 Between 1948 and 1963, state migration bureaux transplanted Réunionnais to Madagascar (and later to Guyane), and a small number of eastern European refugees, as well as Antillais migrants, to Guyane. 338 From 1961, the Service Militaire Adapté (henceforth

335 'Stage de formation de moniteurs aux Antilles', 12 Dec 1958, ANCF/19840179/1. 336 SATEC document (1964), ANCF/19840179/1. This transfer seems to correspond with the Treaty of Rome and its agreements on ‘association’ with ‘overseas territories’. Dimier has described an exodus of French colonial administrative personnel towards the organisations - such as the European Commission’s directorate VIII - responsible for implementing ‘development’ in countries such as these. Véronique Dimier, ‘Recycling Empire: French Colonial Administrators at the Heart of European Development Policy’ in Thomas (ed.), The French Colonial Mind Vol. I , pp.252-253. See also Talbot Imlay, ‘A Success Story? The Foreign Policies of France’s Fourth Republic’, Contemporary European History 18:4 (2009), pp.499- 519. 337 The founding document of the BPDA, cited in Monique Milia, 'Histoire d'une politique d'émigration organisée pour les départements d'outre-mer, 1952-1963', Pouvoirs dans la Caraïbe 9 (1997), http://plc.revues.org/739. The post-war attempt to achieve a more even 'modernisation' between métropole and outre-mer is encapsulated in the 'Constantine Plan' for Algeria of 1958, described in Muriam Haleh Davis, 'Restaging Mise en Valeur : “Postwar Imperialism” and The Plan de Constantine', Review of Middle East Studies 44:2 (2010), pp.176-186. 338 These bureaux were, respectively, the BPDA and the BIPIG. Around 4500 migrants arrived in Guyane in this period, settling in the structures designated by the state: a former penal camp at St-Jean-du-Maroni in the west of the country. Milia, 'Histoire d'une politique d'émigration’. 108

SMA) set up camp in the same area, bringing more – especially young – Antillais. 339 From 1963 to 1975, the era of the BUMIDOM, migration of domiens became synonymous with migration to the métropole . In 1975, however, the government charged the BUMIDOM with the task of processing candidates for subsidised migration under the Plan Vert. Thus it announced an attempt to reorient these migrations back to and amongst the DOM, in keeping perhaps with the worsening statistical and social 'problems' of unemployment figures in ‘metropolitan’ France, problems which meant that migrants from the Antilles – however French they felt and however French their passports said they were – became less welcome. 340 This time round, planned inter-DOM migrations fell under the remit of the BUMIDOM. This bureau’s administrators looked to its predecessors – namely the SATEC, the Bureau pour le Développement Agricole (henceforth BPDA) and the Bureau Intéressant les Personnes Immigrées en Guyane (henceforth BIPIG) – for guidance on how to proceed. This was despite the planned scope of the Plan Vert – much larger with its figure of 30,000 than were the projects of these earlier bureaux. It was notably the case for those directing the resettlement of the Hmong from 1977, who sought and were sent the paperwork from an earlier project to settle Réunionnais migrants, including an inventory of tools and technology needed to clear the forest and create a settlement.341 In this respect, then, the implementation of government's national planning was, post-1975 – in a period usually considered post- colonial – profoundly influenced by the Fourth-Republic colonial modernisation projects created in the aftermath of the Second World War. By 1977, there had been high-level changes of personnel and state bureaucrats had begun to recalculate the Plan ’s possibilities . Guyane’s immigration service had received 15,973 dossiers from potential migrants – a not-insignificant number. Of these, however, it had rejected 5820, and considered most to be no longer valid, having been sent two years previously and candidates' circumstances having changed in the meantime. 342 In 1980, a representative of the Secretary of State for the DOM-TOM claimed that as many as 30,000

339 Initiated in 1960, the SMA sought to provide a single, military solution to the multiple ‘problems’ of youth training and unemployment in the French American DOM, as well as to enable the carrying out of conscription of Antillais and Guyanais. G. Koenig, ‘Affectation de ressources et système de conscription en France’, Revue économique 24:1 (1973), p.96; Sainte- Croix Rauzduel, ‘Les Dom-Tom: Enjeux Stratégiques pour la France’, Caribbean Studies 28:2 (1995), pp.320-321; Gary Brana-Shute, 'Security Issues and Indigenous Groups in the Guianas: Guyana, Suriname, and French Guiana', Small Wars and Insurgencies 7:2 (1996), p.133. 340 This was expressed, for instance, in the 1974 election campaign video of the Revolutionary Communist Front, who invited Philippe Pierrecharles of the groupe révolutionnaire socialiste des Antilles to describe the situation of inhabitants of the DOM-TOM. ‘Alain Krivine: Campagne électorale’ (France, 1974), http://www.ina.fr/video/CAF92034329/alain-krivine- video.html [accessed 10 Jan 2015]. See also Kristen Stromberg Childers, ‘Departmentalization, migration and the politics of the family in the post-war French Caribbean’, History of the Family 14 (2009), pp.177-190. 341 ANCF/19940380/20; ANCF/19940380/24. 342 Albert Bros to Directeur des DOM Président du BUMIDOM, 'Utilisation du fichier des candidats à une implantation en Guyane' (7 Oct 1977), ANCF/19940380/19. 109 applications had indeed been received (though little archival evidence remains to support such a figure). 343 Yet even by 1979, only a handful – 'quelques dizaines' – of French migrants had actually materialised in Guyane. This seems to have been the result of a selection process that was both stringent and confused, coupled with bureaucratic delays. Of those who did arrive to be 'exploitants agricoles', a number left again soon after (or were asked to leave), or transferred to other work locally. One man, for instance, was described in archived BUMIDOM documents as having used the Plan to come to Guyane in search of a 'promenade touristique'. 344 Another, after a brief period spent working on unsuccessful cattle farms, left to seek his fortune in gold-panning and ended up, interviewed in 2012, as a mine manager. 345 According to the Guyanais workers’ union, the remnants of the Plan Vert in the forestry industry several years down the line caused strikes and conflicts in this sector. 346 For these paltry results, the efforts cost a significant proportion of BUMIDOM funds: almost 17.5% of its total budget in 1978 was spent on 'Opération Guyane' in 1978, with 8.2% allocated the following year. 347 As early as July 1977, the President of the BUMIDOM and Secretary- General to the DOM-TOM Jean-Emile Vié declared the plan 'failed'. 348 The French government and its bureaux, then, were constantly adapting the equations by which they calculated plans for national and outre-mer population and 'development'. It was in such changing circumstances that, in 1976, Hmong refugees entered into these equations as a new variable. Following the end of a U.S.-led civil war in Laos in 1975, around a tenth of the latter’s population moved abroad. A third of these émigrés or refugees were of the Hmong ‘ethnic group’. 349 French and American authorities, for whom some Hmong had fought, became involved in their resettlement from refugee camps in Thailand to the U.S., , , France and elsewhere; during the 1980s, around 100,000 Hmong moved to these countries. 350 From 1977, a small proportion were resettled in Guyane at the behest of a

343 Jacques Ferret to Prefet de la Région Guyane, 'Situation des agriculteurs en Guyane' (25 Jan 1980), ANCF/19940380/19. Ferret was then Director of Economic, Social and Cultural Affairs for the Secretary of State to the DOM-TOM, Paul Dijoud. 344 The words of Albert Bros, a BUMIDOM worker who was trying to find a replacement for the person in question, ANCF/19940380/19. 345 Interview: M.R. (Matoury, 2012). 346 La voix des travailleurs (c.1980), ADG/PER56. 347 8.6 million francs of 49.156 million in 1978 and 7.3 million out of 89 million in 1979. 'Conseil d'administration du 19 janvier 1979', ANCF/19940380/0007-0008. 348 'L'échec du Plan vert en Guyane', Le Monde (1 Jul 1977). See also 'Le plan de développement de la Guyane: grands projets, petites réalisations”, Le Monde (3 Aug 1977). 349 Kou Yang, ‘The Hmong in America: Twenty-Five Years after the U.S. Secret War in Laos’, Journal of Asian American Studies 4:2 (2001), p. 165; Keith Quincy, Harvesting Pa Chay’s Wheat: The Hmong and America’s Secret War in Laos (Washington, 2000); Jane Hamilton-Merritt, Tragic Mountains: The Hmong, the Americans, and the Secret Wars for Laos, 1942-1992 (Indiana, 1999). 350 Rebecca Henry, ‘Measles, Hmong, and Metaphor: Culture Change and Illness Management under Conditions of Immigration’, Medical Anthropology Quarterly 31:1 (1999), p. 35. 110 network of state and missionary institutions and individuals. 351 In November 1976, Stirn received communications from Jean Sainteny describing the Hmong and explaining their situation. Sainteny suggested Guyane as a suitable location, citing on the one hand reasons of ethnic/cultural suitability and on the other, the desire to live ‘in community’ expressed by Hmong leader Yang Dao. In the same month, the Secrétariat also received a letter from a naval captain named Robinet, who seemed to have been presented with the same proposition and who sent an initial report, in which mapped geographies of Thailand/Laos and of Guyane were juxtaposed. In annexe was an assemblage of information about the Hmong collected from unreferenced sources including glossy magazines, describing their culture and ‘habitat’ – ‘plutôt que de se soumettre, ils ont préféré se retirer dans des lieux inaccessibles’ – and mentioning their cultivation of poppies for opium. (It was subsequently made a condition of the community’s installation in Guyane that they agree to rules of ‘hygiene’.352 ) The transferral of Hmong refugees to Guyane and to ‘metropolitan’ France was overseen by a ‘Comité National d’Entreaide Franco-Vietnamien, Franco-Cambodgien et Franco-Laotien’ (henceforth CNEFV). The organisation had links to the Comité Intergouvernemental pour les Migrations Européenees (henceforth CIME) and to Secours Catholique, representatives of which visited Guyane in April 1977 to study the terrain and choose an appropriate site. 353 The initial plan was to resettle sixty families in Guyane, and a second village was planned there from 1979 based on the success of the first. 354 The CNEFV liaised largely with the Prefect of Guyane, Jean le Direach, in order to access information and resources. Le Direach lay down several conditions for the project’s success, among them that the settlers should be monogamous and not ‘opiomane’. 355 He also warned the CNEFV’s head, Michel Barbier, that preparation was vital to the success of the project and that failure would have grave consequences for ‘la situation intérieure de la Guyane d’abord et sur le plan international’. Sure enough, the initial local response to news of the refugees’ imminent arrival was one of strong hostility. Not only were the same complaints as had arisen against the Plan Vert repeated, but they were also intensified by the fact that this repetition had

351 Marie-Odile Géraud, Regards sur les Hmong de Guyane française (Paris, 1997). 352 ANCF/19940380/20. 353 ANCF/19940380/20. The choice of site may have depended, among other things, on where the Catholic church owned property; it is indicated in the archived correspondence that they owned significant terrain in Guyane, and a link is especially probable at Javouhey, ADG/1J70. It is also worth noting that the Committee attracted an eminent following; present at its meeting in March 1978 were Gaston Monnerville, , the Ministers of Foreign Affairs and of Labour, representatives of the Red Cross as well as of Secours Catholiquem and General Nguyen Van Hinh. 354 According to a 1980 report from the Committee following a visit to Guyane, the second community, located near Mana, differed from the first, at Cacao: ‘Les refugiés qui sont à Cacao y sont pout quitter la Thaïlande, ceux qui sont à Mana, ont quitté la Thaïlande pour venir en Guyane’, ANCF/19940380/20. 355 ANCF/19940380/20. 111 proved necessary. The milder manifestation of such complaints, articulated by a collection of municipal elected representatives, was that the state seemed to be able to find work for its chosen migrants (and now refugees) in Guyane but not for locals, who were forced to migrate to the ‘métropole’ to seek work. 356 The stronger version, put forth by independentists and in street demonstrations vociferous enough to worry the Prefect, was that it was a further act of colonial invasion. In addition, the Hmong were perceived locally as an unknown quantity in both cultural and numerical terms – essentially, as aliens. 357 The project was again framed as racial substitution, with La voix des travailleurs suggesting that its organisers were attempting to achieve a more desirable racial mix by installing South-East Asians, although reserving its harshest words for the Hmongs themselves, which it cast as servants of French colonialism, refugees because cowardly rather than vulnerable: ‘un ramassi de corrompus, de trafiquants de drogue, d’assassins, d’anti-communistes primaires…traitres’. 358 For the government, the stakes of this project, even though it was on a smaller scale than the original Plan Vert , most likely seemed higher than for that of 1975; any lingering resentment against 30,000 French people who never arrived might be venomous if concentrated against a small and relatively homogenous ethnic group of unwanted newcomers. Chirac in 1975 had accused opponents of the Plan Vert of ‘extremism’; in 1977, the Prefect accused them of ‘creole racism’ and party-political point-scoring. Local political leaders, he claimed, were attempting to gain kudos by stoking racism when in fact, among the rest of the population, hostility towards the Hmong refugees was declining.359 The Plan Vert had been presented as the combined solution to a set of mathematical equations: of unemployment across metropolitan and 'overseas' France, and of the pre- assigned imperative of economic growth. By 1977, considered 'failed' on its initial terms, it might now be transformed by the government and its bureaucracies into anything which might be interpreted as addressing the central priorities for national 'development'. The instinct of BUMIDOM bureaucrats, based on‘ethnographic’ familiarity with this South-East Asian ‘mountain people’, was to encourage the production of rice, and to this end, a proportion of the ‘Opération Guyane’ resources were transferred to the Hmong. Despite this, however, as Marie-Odile Géraud has described, the Hmong over time transferred their efforts to maraîchage . By the 1990s they had become the principle producers and suppliers of fruit

356 The indignance of municipal politicians such as the locally-prominent Constant Chlore may in part be attributed to their exclusion from the process by which Guyane was decided upon as a resettlement site for the Hmong. They were informed only after the decision had been made between the Prefect, the cabinet, the DOM administration and the NGOs concerned. 357 ANCF/19940380/20. 358 La voix des travailleurs (1977), ADG/PER56. 359 ANCF/19940380/20. 112 and vegetables to the market of Cayenne, and had also developed something of an ‘ethnic’ industry in the village of Cacao. 360 It was in spite of the intentions of the planners, then, that the resources channelled under the Plan Vert in a sense actually ended up fulfilling, via these detours of time, agronomic effort, and ‘ethnicity’/culture, part of the ministers’ 1975 aims of agricultural self-sufficiency for Guyane via the planned migration of certain ‘populations’.

National economic priorities, localised management The contradictions inherent in the French government's planning for Guyane in 1975 reflected the economic paradoxes that, as Hubert Bonin has described, characterised the organisations and decision-making processes of the Fourth Republic and throughout the period known as the trente glorieuses .361 During the late 1960s and early 1970s, according to Bonin, a number of financial crises occurred which apparently went against the grain of prosperity. 362 Jacques Chaban-Delmas, Prime Minister between 1969 and 1972 at the 'apogee' of these famously prosperous years, claimed that these economic shocks had informed his political approach. He recalled that: ‘Nous n’avions pas d’autre solution, pour rétablir l’équilibre de nos paiements, que de nous doter d’une base industrielle forte aux relations sociales assainies.’ 363 The Plan Vert is evidence of how, after 1975, Giscard d'Estaing's new government pursued these same economic aims. With the Plan , Giscard d’Estaing, Stirn and Chirac pursued the ambition of the large-scale industrial projects which had boosted French GDP during the previous decades and sought to protect the nation from outside shocks. Their vision for the organisation of migration, agriculture and a paper industry admitted and responded to the financial crises in that it sought to relieve unemployment and organise labour, primary industry and secondary industry rationally. The Plan was referred to as part of the Seventh Plan of 1976-81, and its aims were matched up with those of the national programme. Notable amongst these was, firstly, the social and economic integration of the ‘excluded’, including the unemployed. The movement of tens of thousands of migrants from the ‘métropole’ and other DOM to Guyane claimed to address this. The correspondence exchanged and the controversies elicited by the Plan also presented central government with ongoing 'problems' in Guyane which it had not hitherto

360 This is the thesis of Géraud, Regards sur les Hmong . 361 Hubert Bonin, Histoire économique de la IVe République (Paris, 1987). 362 Bertrand Blancheton, Hubert Bonin and David Le Bris, ‘The French paradox: A financial crisis during the golden age of the 1960s’, Business History 56:3 (2014), pp.391-413; Hubert Bonin, ‘L’action du Premier ministre Chaban-Delmas’, pp.397-426. 363 Jacques Chaban-Delmas, Mémoires pour demain (Paris, 1997), pp.432-434. 113 apprehended. Archived documents articulate the dilemmas of the département 's 'immigration problem' as they were perceived by the authorities at the end of the 1970s. A handwritten note from late 1978 states that 'C'est un grave problème' and asks: 'Faut-il décourager l'immigration sauvage à (ce) Pays Vide? Quels en sont les dangers? Surtout peut-on faire quelquechose d'efficace?'. 364 It was admitted that authorities had for a long time consciously turned a blind eye to 'clandestine migration' to Guyane from elsewhere in Latin America and the Caribbean (and this included the recent years over which the Space Centre and Kourou were constructed), any population being considered better than none in this 'underpopulated' département .365 However, migrants were competing for increasingly ill-paid jobs in a labour market whereby companies routinely ignored French employment regulations. The prefect warned the government that this would cause tensions between migrants and ‘local’ workers, that it contributed to Guyane's relatively very high unemployment rate and that it created a precarious sanitary situation. 366 By the 1980s, then, the archives indicate that Parisian administrators were in fact beginning to understand Guyane as something more complex than the 'Pays Vide' described by the handwritten note. The Giscard d'Estaing government's attempts to direct migration to Guyane from the Parisian centre had in the end alerted the state to its own ignorance as regards the geopolitical situation of Guyane. The newly- discovered enjeux of this DOM were, firstly, the permeability of its borders, and secondly, the complexity (if not the detail) of how such projects as the Space Centre and the Hmong installation impacted upon the local, social and economic environment. Nevertheless, the Plan Vert had been conceived as part of a set of national, economic priorities. Not only did Guyane and the Guyanais come a clear second to these 'domestic' matters, but Guyane's 'departmental' status gave statesmen such as Chirac licence to deny any separate or 'divisible' existence for it. A heavily authoritarian set of central powers claimed to be realising a futuristic vision of modernity in a region construed as far-flung and backwards but also, when it suited the planners, entirely French. Although planners and ministers claimed to be forward-looking – forcing Guyane to 'catch up' with French modernity – the structures that they relied on – economic models, bureaucracies and institutions as well as a

364 Préfet Guyane to Dir. DOM/Bureau de Cabinet, 'Contrôle de l'immigration en Guyane', 27 Dec 1978, ANCF/19940380/19. 365 'Note à l'attention de M. le Ministre (Pour le Commandant Brixy), 'Immigration en Guyane', 24 Oct 1979, ANCF/19940380/19. 366 In 1978, the prefect Le Direach drew attention to the presence of relatively large numbers of Haitians, claiming that 20% of Guyane's entire population consisted of undocumented migrants. Préfet de la Guyane à M. le Secrétaire d'Etat auprès du Ministre de l'Intérieur (DOM-TOM), 'Contrôle de l'immigration en Guyane', 20 Dec 1978, ANCF19940380. In 1979, Maxime Kalinsky, Deputy for Val de , questioned the decision to install 'Etrangers Indochinois' in Guyane in terms that indicated awareness of the tensions described above. 'Question écrite no. 20.117 à M. le Premier Ministre', Journal Officiel (22 Sep 1979). 114 paternalist and essentially colonial understanding of the outre-mer – had been formulated during the Fourth Republic or before. Not only were their models rooted in the past, but they had very little local engagement, in the present, with the place that they were planning for, understanding it instead according to a broad conception of the 'tropical'. After the response of French potential migrants to the Plan was deemed inappropriate or disregarded between 1975 and 1977, the government and its bureaux adapted it to integrate the Hmong – a people it deemed 'tropical' and 'indigenous' – into an environment that it considered to be appropriate for such a 'population'. Thus they considered themselves to be fulfilling the task of ' assainissement social ' described by Chaban-Delmas: producing social 'health' in a way that balanced their considerations of 'race' and environment. They did not abandon the other aims of planning – those of industrial development and the achievement of statistical targets for production and niveau de vie – but changed their priorities and adapted or postponed them.

Guyane and the political establishment in the Fifth Republic: differences of perspective The Plan Vert , a statement of dirigiste intent in 1975, sits uneasily with the common characterisation of the new President of that year, Giscard d'Estaing, as a centre-right liberal. As Minister of Finances under De Gaulle between 1959 and 1966, Giscard had gained a reputation for mitigating the reach and impact of the national, five-year plans: ‘(il)…a réussi à en faire (du Plan) un receuil d’idées générales, qui n’hypothèqueraient en rien l’avenir.’ 367 This section seeks to establish how he and the other ministerial architects of the Plan Vert , Stirn and Chirac, viewed and justified the project. Within this, it considers how the three men considered their own relationships with Guyane – personal and political – and how they were received in the département . 1975 was the seventeenth year of the Fifth Republic, but only several months into Giscard d'Estaing's presidency. Although he had found roles within governments of both Fourth and Fifth Republics, his own stance had not fit easily into any of the post-war party- political ideologies. According to Hubert Bonin, Giscard d’Estaing gained a reputation as an ‘expert des finances quelque peu technocrate et sans aptitude à mesurer les effets sociaux et politiques’ of his policies. Once in the role of President, Giscard appeared to be leading French politics in a new direction, with vestiges of dirigisme contained and adapted to a

367 Hubert Bonin, ‘L’action du Premier ministre Chaban-Delmas pour rendre la France industrielle plus performante (1969- 1972), Revue historique 654 (2010), p.407; Antoine-Pierre Mariano, Métamorphose de l’économie française cited in Bonin, ‘L’action du Premier ministre Chaban-Delmas’, p.408. 115 supposedly more liberal economic climate. On the one hand, then, the Plan Vert may be considered as an attempt to belatedly extend dirigisme to an economy perceived as 'backwards' and far from ready to become part of a free-market system. On the other hand, however, it could be said to echo the half-hearted commitment to economic planning that Bonin attributes to Giscard d'Estaing. On paper, the Plan responded to identified priorities of the five-year plans: ‘space’ (in that it was to complement the space base in Guyane, a project which could never have been achieved without considerable state planning), ‘migration’ and ‘social inclusion’ (by drawing Guyane into the BUMIDOM programme as a recipient of migrants). In practice, however, it was not supported by real social, cultural or even economic engagement with the place and people that it would affect. The President and ministers no doubt considered the Plan to be a way of making their government's mark in 'overseas France', and Giscard, Chirac and Stirn all visited Guyane in the course of its announcement, reinforcing policy with personal appearances. In much the same way as their predecessors, Malraux and de Gaulle, the three men each traced the familiar paths between Paris, the Antilles and Guyane, arriving at Rochambeau airport and making speeches from the same, central, public platforms at each port of call. Unlike Malraux and De Gaulle, however, whose intention was to convince the Guyanais and Antillais to vote to remain part of France, the later three did not offer their speeches as persuasive acts of rhetoric. Rather, they were non-negotiable announcements of intent and of delivery of preconceived policy packages. In 1958, at the end of the French Union, Guyane – like the Antilles, Algeria, Guinée, Sénégal and most other colonies – had been poised between two possible futures: French or independent. 368 In 1975, however, no other path than departmentalisation was admitted by the visiting ministers; Guyane was now considered to be more of an 'interior' than an 'overseas' matter. 369 This was despite the fact that the make-up of the outre-mer was changing. In the 1970s as in each decade since 1946, negotiations took place over the varying degrees of separation, both of the regions of ‘metropolitan’ France and of the remaining overseas departments and territories. The midpoint of the decade, it seems, was that at which the government posed the question of what exactly it now considered the remains of French empire – the outre-mer – to be for. In his 1976 journalistic polemic, Les confettis de l'empire, Guillebaud summarised the many, complex and contradictory social and legal situations of the 'DOM-TOM'. This book was and remains unique in capturing the still-

368 The ‘no’ vote in Guinée, obtained under the leadership of Sékou Touré, resulted in its instant departure from the French Union, de Gaulle’s withdrawal of all French support, and the departure of all French citizens. Dietmar Rothermund, The Routledge Companion to Decolonization (London, 2006), pp.136-137. 369 See Appendix (v) for the changing denominations of the Ministry. 116 extensive remains of the French empire – including such locations as the Côte français des Somalis and the Terres Australes et Antarctique Françaises (TAAF) – when such places were subject to a variety of irregular regimes and were considered neither entirely domestic nor entirely foreign. 370 In 1976, for instance, St-Pierre-et-Miquelon became a DOM rather than a territory, and Mayotte affirmed its status as a French territorial collectivity. 371 French governance was subject to contest in the Antilles; elsewhere, it was adapted (Nouvelle- Calédonie, Polynésie) or ended (Territoire Français des Afars et des Issas, Djibouti from 1977).372 Relations between a number of ‘metropolitan’ regions and the French government were also fraught, as in Brittany, the Basque region and . 373 Far from being 'liberal' in 1975, the governmental presence in Guyane and the Antilles was more authoritarian than ever. This was the case both in language – for example in the ministers' speeches and in printed propaganda – and in action. It was marked across the range of local newspapers and political pamphlets which existed in Guyane during the 1970s, but especially in the official organ, La Presse de Guyane . Without fail, in the days before, during and after these visits, the Presse devoted its front page and multiple subsequent pages to coverage of the politicians' presence. It published the men's timetables and locations in advance, articles to mark the day of arrival, then photographs and transcripts of speeches afterwards, all of which were often surrounded with tricolour print borders to mark them out from the usual monochrome news. 374 The attempted hold on print culture was backed up with control of the radio waves, as Giscard’s reforms stopped short of a fuller relaxation of the state grip on broadcast media via the ORTF. 375 This reflected the situation in the métropole and in the other DOM. Urban space, moreover, became more French than ever during the 1970s, with the construction of the new town of Kourou and a number of building projects in Cayenne. 376 The state monopoly on violence, finally, was particularly evident in the contrast between Guyane's small population and the relatively large military presence. This became

370 Guillebaud, Les confettis de l'empire . I am grateful to Kate Marsh for alerting me to the existence of Guillebaud’s book. 371 In 1985, St-Pierre-et-Miquelon's status reverted to that of 'territorial collectivity'. Ministère des Outre-Mer, 'Saint-Pierre- et-Miquelon: Présentation', http://www.outre-mer.gouv.fr/?presentation-saint-pierre-et-miquelon.html#outil_sommaire_3 [accessed 23 Nov 2014]; Ministère des Outre-Mer: 'Mayotte: Présentation', http://www.outre- mer.gouv.fr/?presentation,138.html [accessed 23 Nov 2014]. 372 Rothermund, Decolonization , p.170; Amedee Bollee, ‘Djibouti: From French Outpost to US Base’, Review of African Political Economy 30:97 (2003), pp.481-484. 373 Karis Muller, ‘, Another Corsica? French Conceptual Obstacles to Considering Independence as an Option’ The Journal of Pacific History 26:2 (1991), p.295; Stéphane Gerson, ‘ Une France locale : The Local Past in Recent French Scholarship’, French Historical Studies 26:3 (2003), p.540. 374 ADG PER/122. 375 Crandall Hollick, ‘France under Giscard d’Estaing’, p.204. A number of interviewees recalled the very limited radio broadcasting available in Guyane prior to the 1980s. 376 These were led for the most part by the increasingly well-resourced Société Immobilière Guyanaise (SIGUY) and in Kourou, the Société Immobilière de Kourou (SIMKO). ANCF/19840179/63; Archives du Centre Spatial Guyanais (ACSG) 25A2660. 117 especially stark when a Foreign Legion base was installed near Kourou in 1973, thus ensuring that any potentially violent display of dissent could be curbed before it began. 377 The government had demonstrated on successive occasions that it was prepared to use the same tactics against Guyanais agitators as it did against those acting on behalf of other regional or anticolonial independence movements. Such an occasion had arisen in 1962, when the meeting at the Cayenne headquarters of Catayée’s PSG – itself in part related to an earlier plan to install Legionnaires in the département – met unusually heavy-handedly repression. 378 From the perspective of the central authorities and of some of those in the ‘French Atlantic’ networks of activism, this 1962 incident was perceived as part of the same current as events in the Antilles, where in December 1959 three days of rioting broke out, the CRS were deployed and three young Martiniquan men killed. 379 Similarly, in December 1974, a number of young independentists were accused of plotting a bomb attack in Cayenne, arrested and deported to face the Cour de Sûreté de l’État .380 However, the group were returned home fairly quickly, accompanied by what seems to have been a hurried recognition their arrest, deportation and imprisonment had been disproportionate. 381 The Plan Vert followed quickly thereafter. With it the government attempted to divert and distract the Guyanais from the kinds of discussion of independence that it observed in other DOM-TOM. They replaced it with a diktat about the nature of central management which brooked little debate and introduced once more the idea that Guyane could be made to realise a singular, economic 'vocation'. Neither the discursive nor the physical French governance of Guyane went uncontested in the 1970s. As the announcement of the Foreign Legion base had met with demonstrations, so did the 1977 arrival of the Hmong. The minimum wage (SMIC) remained lower than in the métropole , prices were 30-60% higher, and the government’s response to

377 The 3 rd Infantry Regiment of the Foreign Legion was transferred from Madagascar in this year. Jean Mercier, L’Armée Française et la Guyane (Matoury, 2009), p.447. 378 Conscience Guyanaise (1962-63), ADG/PER106; Debout Guyane (1962) ADG/ PER115. 379 The date has been mythologised, by Frantz Fanon among others, as the moment at which departmentalisation was rejected and a ‘Martiniquan nation’ claimed by a segment of the population. Louis-Georges Placide, Les Émeutes de décembre 1959 en Martinique (Paris, 2009), p.7. 380 Those arrested were Guy Lamaze, Jean Mariema, Félix Bade, Roger Karam, David Donzenac, Raymond Charlotte, Michel Kapel, Georges Wacapou, Maurice Bichonnet, Albert Stanislas, André Lecante and Louis Lambert, according to La Voix des travailleurs (Mar-Apr 1975), ADG/PER56. Breton independentists had also faced this court, which was originally created in 1961 as an emergency measure through which to deal with the Organisation de l’Armée Secrète (OAS) and abolished by the Mitterrand presidency in 1981. Ronan Caerléon, Les Bretons le dos au mur: le F.L.B. devant la Cour de sûreté de l’État (Paris, 1973); Vincent Wright, ‘The Fifth Republic: from the droit de l’État to the état de droit?’, West European Politics 22:4 (1999), p.103. 381 Caou Ca (23 Feb 1075), ADG/PER117. There was a small but sympathetic response in the UK press to these arrests, based on the socialist deputy Léopold Héder’s words in support of those arrested. The Guardian quoted Héder’s accusations that French authorities were creating a ‘reign of terror… to crush all political opposition’; The Times was also sympathetic to those arrested, noting that the group contained teachers, journalists, a lawyer and a doctor. La Voix des travailleurs (Mar-Apr 1975), ADG/PER56. 118 the high unemployment rate was to offer young Guyanais passage to the Hexagon with BUMIDOM. 382 Those arrested and lifted to the métropole in 1974 to face the Cour de Sureté de l'État were part of a small but lively current of writing, discussion and activism on such issues. They framed them in terms of anticolonialism and, occasionally, ‘black power’.383 Activists tended to be educated – first at the Lycée Félix Éboué , then in the ‘métropole’ or Antilles – and were aware of political events and social movements elsewhere in the Americas: the U.S. Civil Rights movement as much as the ongoing decolonisation of Suriname. 384 One of those arrested was Raymond Charlotte, an editor of the political pamphlet, Caou Ca , which called for national independence and made frequent reference to Surinamese events. Also closely involved was Roland Delannon, ex-husband of Taubira and founder of an ‘anticolonial’ political party. Very occasionally, acts of violence occurred, but state force was stronger and on the whole such activism was a minority occupation.385 Within this limited social circle of activists, not enough internecine competition occured to precipitate an outbreak. 386 Thus it was in the context of a relatively lively and youthful public political sphere based in Cayenne that Chirac, Stirn and Giscard d'Estaing arrived to announce to the Guyanais that they lived in a dead, empty and stagnant place, and that the government was to step in to save them from themselves and from the 'miasma' of the clichés and failures of the past. 387 It is therefore perhaps unsurprising that the ministers met with a local response ranging from phlegmatic ambivalence to fierce hostility. Few were unaware that – far from representing a break with the past – the Plan Vert in fact appeared to follow in a distinct historical pattern of ambitious, centrally-mandated projects in Guyane. These were intended to solve French domestic and colonial problems at once but in practice detoured spectacularly from their intended outcomes. The Kourou disaster of 1763 was, in effect, a prototype, and proved to be a frequent reference point for critics of the new plan. The bagne was the next in

382 La Presse de Guyane (Sep 1974), ADG/PER256. 383 Christiane Taubira, according to her own memoirs, was connected with this group. It centred around the Mouvement guyanais de décolonisation (MOGUYDE), founded by her former partner Roland Delannon, Taubira, Mes météores . Another activist, Eugénie Rézaire, was recalled at this time as having resembled ‘une sorte d’Angela Davis’. Interview, M.S. 384 ADG/PER117; see also Taubira, Mes météores . 385 Two French-born residents of Guyane recalled that a bomb was detonated at the Monument aux morts near Cayenne’s marketplace one year in the early 1980s, killing only the planter of the bomb, described as a poor and possibly alcoholic Amerindian, paid to do so by parties unknown. Another, Guyanais interviewee, suggested that the incident summarised the extent and nature of Guyanais independentism as farcical and sad. Interviews: M. T.; M.S.; M.J. 386 Adria Lawrence, 'Triggering Nationalist Violence: Competition and Conflict in Uprisings against Colonial Rule', International Security 35:2 (2010), pp.88-122. 387 Visiting Guyane in September 1974 and making a speech next to the Éboué monument, Stirn had promised to ‘décoller’ la Guyane; in March 1975, the UTG complained that this promise had not yet been followed through. The independentists, meanwhile, bemoaned the anticipated ‘Stirnisation’ of the département . La Voix des travailleurs (Mar-Apr 1975), ADG/PER56; Caou Ca (Sep 1974), ADG/PER117; La Presse de Guyane (Sep 1974), ADG/PER261. 119 the series, followed by the number of smaller-scale attempts, during the 1940s and 50s, to install migrants to work on specific, state-planned agricultural and industrial projects. At the Space Centre, not all launches succeeded, and the institution was sometimes derided as an expensive folly; according to The Times , ‘cutbacks’ at the Centre in 1975 led to job losses.388 The Centre’s social consequences were also considered dubious, despite the optimistic, futuristic rhetoric of ‘ terre d’avenir ’ which surrounded the construction of the new town at Kourou to accompany the base. In the end, the announcement of the Plan Vert was met in Guyane with a real but small – perhaps token – amount of agitation: denouncements in the independent press, demonstrations, and the occasional nocturnal act of destruction.389 Chirac attempted to differentiate the 1975 Plan from a 'rocambolesque' past, stating that 'la Guyane n'a pas besoin d'aventuriers ni de rêveurs'. 390 However, when he suggested that instead, it needed outsiders equipped with qualifications, skills and energy, he overlooked the youth of Guyane – increasing in number, skills and qualifications – which by then included several generations of graduates of the Lycée Félix Eboué and many others with experience of industrial work or knowledge of abattis culture and other agricultural techniques. Among Chirac's reference point for French incomers to Guyane may have been Raymond Maufrais, the idealistic young man who had disappeared in the forest over two decades previously. Yet such stories as Maufrais's were irrelevant to the Guyanais in the 1970s. 391 The characterisation of Guyane as ripe terrain for exploration by Frenchmen was all that Chirac, Stirn and Giscard knew of it, but from the local perspective, this view was so irrelevant as to be barely even offensive. Nevertheless, in ‘metropolitan’ France a certain image of Guyane still prevailed, and it was this image which dominated the PR material for the Plan Vert . The 1976 brochure offered the exemplary story of a young man named Henri. Fresh from a vocational training course, Henri was beginning to ask what his future would be, and a photo-story in the brochure follows his progress as he goes to look for the answer to that question in Guyane. Arriving there, Henri devotes his energies to a job in an extractive industry. In addition to this presumably salaried work, he also explores the opportunities afforded by his new environment to turn his hand to hunting, fishing and exploration. Henri does so alongside the existing inhabitants, and the brochure depicts him shooting a bow and arrow alongside an Amerindian man and taking part in a Saramaka community meeting. The publicity material

388 The Times quoted in La Voix des Travailleurs (Mar-Apr 1975), ADG/PER56. 389 More present, both in archives and interviews, were the protests against the Foreign Legion and against the Hmongs. 390 Secrétariat d’État, Le Plan Vert . 391 In Maufrais’s own writings it appears that many locals in 1949 treated him and his mission with bemused pity. 120 for the planned migration of 1975 thus attempted to reproduce the same appeal that Guyane had held for Maufrais: a rich, green natural environment – scenery which included exoticised local people – with mysteries to yield for an adventurous young man. However, this time, there was an attempt to utilise – even commercialise – these clichés, by combining the call of the wild frontier with the notion of salaried labour, in the context of the French-planned economy. The first aspect of this could not have been further from the experiences of the politically-engaged, Cayenne-based youth who tended to consider themselves and their future as urban. The second , not merely irrelevant, offended by its suggestion that jobs were available for incoming French people, while the ‘Français de Guyane’ were for a large part unemployed or emigrating to the métropole . An enthusiastic proponent of the language of aventures en Guyane was Robert Vignon, who lent his backing to the plan. Vignon, the first prefect in 1946, held positions of political power until 1974. Since his early days in Guyane, he had seen himself as a pioneer and an adventurer. Having struck up a friendship with the deputy René Jadfard, he travelled around the country – including to upriver and ‘interior’ locations such as Maripasoula, places not previously been associated with the Cayenne-based, bourgeois political class (to which Jadfard claimed his rival Monnerville belonged). Whilst also taking credit for any modernisation and ‘progress’ achieved in Guyane after 1946, Vignon saw himself precisely as an aventurier . In his colourful 1985 memoir, he recalled his time in Guyane: ‘J’étais jeune, sportif, en pleine possession de mes moyens physiques et intellectuels. J’ai eu la joie virile d’y créer tant de choses, d’y vivre si intensément…’ 392 Vignon saw the possibility of realising such qualities as intrinsic to Guyane’s appeal to a Frenchman. Hence he advocated the characteristics of the explorer in those men he sought to attract to Guyane as workers and settlers. The prefect, informer and point of contact between central government and Guyane, played an influential role in shaping the vision of Guyane that was formed by ministers, politicians and bureaucrats in Paris. Vignon spent a unusually long time in this role, and remained part of Franco-Guyanais political networks in the 1970s. Like Vignon, Stirn and Chirac both participated personally and politically in the portrayal of Guyane as a terrain of adventure and site of the primitive and exotic. Stirn was a descendant of Alfred Dreyfus, and so from the outset had a historical family connection with the département .393 His stint as Secretary of State for the DOM-TOM came relatively early in

392 Vignon, Gran Man Baka , p.3. 393 According to Libération , Stirn is the great-great nephew of Dreyfus. Alain Auffray, ‘Une cérémonie nationale pour Alfred Dreyfus’, Libération (Jul 6 2006). 121 his career, when he was thirty-nine.394 Stirn played upon his relative youth to market the Plan Vert as something pioneering and of the future, and in the press, he was often depicted as more or less another ' aventurier '. Chirac considered himself as a somewhat intrepid ethnographic collector with a personal relationship to Guyane. In speeches about the Plan Vert , his language on the surface seemed to offer a sympathetic counterpoint to the more gung-ho attitudes of Stirn and Vignon, and to the rather dry, distanced explanations offered by Giscard. It was not a coincidence that Chirac, rather than one of the other two, went to Guyane in December 1975 to assuage fears that the Plan would be another in a long line of colonial failures. During these visits, Chirac supposedly developed a long-lasting, apparently sentimental relationship with Guyane and with some of its residents and cultures (or with what they signified to him). 395 Chirac has been criticised for playing upon this nostalgia whilst also, along with Jacques Kerchache, appropriating and collecting ethnographic objects from former colonies. 396 The personal connections to Guyane of Chirac and Stirn appeared on the surface to differentiate them somewhat from the 'technocrat' Giscard. However, the politicians' personal idiosyncracies came with contradictions. Between the colonial nostalgia of Chirac and the quasi-pioneering machismo of Stirn, the two embodied or enacted the very values that they claimed that the Plan Vert did not stand for. Chirac, promising Republican equality and inclusion for Guyane, was a patron of colonial extraction and perpetuated nostalgia for the ‘primitive’.397 Stirn, meanwhile, attempted to market the Plan on the same vision of the Amazonian forest as a frontier that had inspired 'explorers' such as Raymond Maufrais, the one difference being that it supposedly contained a promise of modernity, rather than of primitive purity. These idiosyncracies and contradictions between the attitudes to Guyane of individuals at the ministerial level – but also their paternalism – reflected the broader relationships between central government and provincial and overseas France during the 1970s. The words of the men who occupied positions of governmental power indicated that they still considered themselves to be paternalist patrons of 'la fille aînée de la France'. The Plan Vert was appropriately paradoxical for this period. It stated a will to reinforce French

394 He held the position between 1974 and 1978 before being appointed Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. 395 Two interviewees, one a prominent Amerindian community member, the other an elderly resident of Sinnamary, had personal memories of Chirac; the latter referred jokingly to him as ‘mo ti Chi-chi’. Interviews: M.N.; Mme. P. 396 Sally Price, Paris Primitive : Jacques Chirac’s Museum on the Quai Branly (Chicago, 2007). 397 Chirac was also involved in the Gaullist ostracism of Monnerville between 1962 and 1968 which Todd Shepard claims was an example of the unspoken contradictions of republican colourblindness, i.e. that it was driven by racism, The Invention of Decolonization , pp.259-261. 122 authority in Guyane – an authority which in 1975 still stemmed, little altered, from the era of explicit colonialism and the mission civilisatrice – but at the same time asserted confidence in an agenda of economic development that looked to a postcolonial future. At the same time, the inaptness of the Plan , and the lack of sustained interest or resources attributed to it from the centre, was in turn received and understood, locally, in a way neither anticipated nor comprehended by central powers.

The Plan Vert as foreign policy Beyond the French economic and political context and the local reception, it is worthwhile to consider the Plan from an international perspective. Given its timing, and given the South American location of the département , it is likely that the Plan Vert was not unrelated to ongoing French Cold War politics and diplomacy. 398 Economic and social ideologies and government regimes across South and Central America and the Caribbean were subject to contest in more or less overt ways in the 1970s, and the US was asserting its influence in countries such as and Brazil. French rivalry or co-operation with the U.S. in South America has been overlooked as a subtle yet significant part of its post-war history, and the U.S. economic and industrial presence in Guyane was not insignificant. In 1943, the Americans built an aerodrome outside Cayenne as a landing and fuelling stage for aircraft bound for Africa. This aerodrome, which would become the Rochambeau and later the Félix Éboué Airport, was a U.S. extraterritorial enclave until 1947. The base had represented a unique concentration of functioning technology and relative luxury which the Guyanais had often had recourse to when the French-built local infrastructure failed. Additionally, in subsequent decades, one of the more successful industries in Guyane was an American- owned shrimp business known as the Pêcheries Internationales de Guyane Française (henceforth PIDEG), established in 1962. 399 The proposed paper pulp industry may, then, have been in part an attempt either to use dirigisme to head off potential economic domination by American-based private investment, or to develop and adapt it to bring about a measure of international economic co-operation. Further evidence that the Plan Vert was part of a national strategy to respond to U.S. influence in the region can be found in French bureaucratic information about the DOM produced during this period. Economic researchers

398 For an earlier manifestation of French Cold War politics in relation to decolonisation see Martin Thomas, ‘France’s North African Crisis, 1945-1955: Cold War and Colonial Imperatives’, History 92:306 (2007), pp.207-234; on the Cold War’s impact on French internal politics, David Hanley, ‘From co-operation to conflict: the French political system and the onset of the Cold War’, French Cultural Studies 8:22 (1997), pp.3-15. 399 Bertrand Oddo, ‘La belle crevette de Guyane’, Antiane-Eco 21 (1993), p.28. 123 commented on the Antilles' lack of competitivity in the face of US-led trade and co-operation agreements taking place in the Caribbean such as CARICOM and the Caribbean Free Trade Association (CARIFTA).400 When Giscard took the presidency in May 1974, he was not blind to the potential strategic significance, in political terms as well as economic, of France's presence in the Americas. One of the first actions he undertook as President was to visit the Antilles, where he met with Gerald Ford. 401 Then in 1976, after the Plan ’s announcement, Prime Minister Chirac visited the Antilles and Guyane, stopping in Cayenne, St-Laurent and Maripasoula. The latter two places are on the Suriname-Guyane border, and this choice of locations was presumably no coincidence, Suriname having very recently gained its independence. In speeches, Chirac offered French resources to the inhabitants of the newly-independent country, as an alternative provider of services for health and quality of life. In Maripasoula, then a small, upriver village on the Maroni, he wished the new state well but vaunted the improved quality of life achieved in the region in previous years (i.e. under European rule). He noted that if Dutch doctors did leave Suriname, French doctors would step in to care for the Surinamese sick. 402 In this light, the announcement of the Plan Vert might simply be seen as a statement of intent – directed both at the inhabitants of Guyane and at other powers in the Americas – staking a present and future claim on the territory. Whereas until then, the absence of industry and 'development' had made French claims on Guyane appear to be merely nominal, existing only by historical default, a programme for future ‘development’ asserted authority. A more concrete form of French governance would be seen enacted in the region, ‘harmonising’ Guyane economically with its regional neighbours. If forced through in its original form, the Plan Vert might have had enormous consequences for Guyane and beyond. The French were well aware of what had been achieved and might be achieved in South America, albeit often under even more authoritarian regimes than theirs. Suriname’s transitional government, in tandem with the North American company Alcoa, had in the 1960s flooded a vast area of land for a hydroelectric dam to power the growth of its bauxite industry. 403 Elsewhere on the continent, since the 1950s, French

400 ADG/PER122. They also commented on the lack of competitivity in relation to European changes such as the establishment of the common market; hence the Plan Vert may also have been part of France's economic strategy in relation to European Economic Community (henceforth EEC). The head of the French Department of Waters and Forests noted that the retention of Guyane as a DOM meant that, nationally, France had far more forested territory than any other European country, that this might constitute a significant economic resource, and that Guyane's inclusion in French membership of the common market could have consequences in this respect. 401 ADG/PER122 (1975). 402 ADG/PER122 (1976). 403 Planned in 1959 by the state in tandem with Alcoa, the company dominating the bauxite industry in Suriname, the land flooded was mostly Saramaka territory. Rosemarijn Hoefte, Suriname in the Long Twentieth Century: Domination, 124 rhetoric of a ‘civilising mission’ had been reflected back by governments such as Pérez Jiménez’s dictatorship in Venezuela and Kubitschek’s democratic but heavily-centralised dirigisme in Brazil. Pérez Jiménez called for the ‘moral, intellectual and material improvement of the inhabitants of the country and the rational transformation of the physical environment.’ 404 The architectural fruits of modernism in Latin America included massive, Le Corbusier-inspired, urban housing projects ( superbloques ) in , 1952-1958, and the 1960 completion of the new city of Brasília. 405 Brasília was intended to open up a new ‘frontier’ in the Amazon, away from previously coastal-dominated development in the country; like the other projects on the continent (including the Plan Vert ) it was accompanied by the rhetoric of a ‘manifest national destiny’. 406 Agricultural projects of similar or greater ambition to the Plan Vert had been commonplace throughout the 1960s, as Brazilian military regimes after Kubitschek pursued their own grands travaux .407 Yet for the French government, the Plan Vert was one national plan among others. Paper was not so lucrative a commodity as, for instance, the nickel produced in Nouvelle-Calédonie since around 1960. 408 Nor was the imperative for Guyane to become self-sufficient in terms of food production as pressing as it was elsewhere on the continent, since French imports, though expensive, were secure. Ultimately, the Plan had not been allocated the same stakes either as the Latin American projects or as other French projects in terms of national prestige, and so was far from a priority.

Contestation, Globalization (New York, 2013), pp.95-97. 404 Marguerite Mayhall, ‘Modernist but Not Exceptional: The Debate over Modern Art and National Identity in 1950s Venezuela’, Latin American Perspectives 32:2 (2005), p.126. 405 The superbloques corresponded to a contemporary Venezuelan artistic programme of anti-tropicalist modernity and ‘progress’. Latin American modernism was, according to Mayhall, the result of a ‘love affair’ with France on the part of its artists and architects, and almost all those prominent in this scene studied in Paris mid-century. Mayhall, ‘Modernist but Not Exceptional, pp.124-132. On Brasília see (for example) E. d’Almeida Vitor, História de Brasília (Brasília, 1980), James Holston, The Modernist City: an anthropological critique of Brasília (Chicago, 1989) and Ivany Câmara Neiva, Imaginando a capital: cartas a JK (1956-1961) (PhD diss., Universidade de Brasília, 2008). A new city was also planned and built from scratch in the Guianas region from 1961, in southern Venezuela. Lisa Peattie, Planning: Rethinking Ciudad Guayana (Michigan, 1987); Clara Irazábal, ‘A Planned City Comes of Age: Rethinking Ciudad Guayana Today’, Journal of Latin American Geography 3:1 (2004), pp.22-51. 406 Paulo Tavares, ‘Modern Frontiers: Beyond Brasíla, the Amazon’ in Patricio de Real and Helen Gyger (eds.), Latin American Modern Architectures (Hoboken, 2013), p.191. 407 Seth Garfield, ‘Beholding the Miracle: Xavante Indians and Economic “Development” Under Brazilian Military Rule’, The Americas 57:4 (2001), pp.551-580; Wilfred Bacchus, ‘Development Under Military Rule: Factionalism in Brazil’, Armed Forces & Society 12:3 (1986), pp.401-418. 408 On the place of nickel in negotiations of governance in Nouvelle-Calédonie see John Connell, ‘The fight for Kanaky: decolonisation in the South Pacific’, Australian Geographer 18:1 (1987), pp.57-62, Leah S. Horowitz, ‘Toward a Viable Independence? The Koniambo Project and the Political Economy of Mining in New Caledonia’, The Contemporary Pacific 16:2 (2004), pp.287-319 and Nathalie Mrgudovic, ‘Evolving approaches to sovereignty in the French Pacific’, Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 50:4 (2012), pp.456-473. Colin Newbury calls for a historiographical shift away from ‘island-centred’ studies and towards histories oriented around business and commodities, ‘Mammon in paradise: economic enterprise in Pacific historiography’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 26:2 (1998), pp.196-212. 125

‘Green’ modernity: from Plan Vert to 'sustainable development' 'Green' nickname notwithstanding, the government paid very little attention, even as lip service, to the ultimate ecological impact of its proposition for large-scale, industrial forestry in French Amazonia. This attitude corresponded with a shift that had been underway since the 1960s across sections of the 'developing world' towards large-scale, high-yield production of certain grains, especially wheat and rice. 409 Conceived and directed by a combination of scientists, international organisations, governments, NGOs and businesses, the process became known in the press and ultimately in scientific literature as the 'Green Revolution'. With their aggressive encouragement of monoculture rather than biodiversity, the proponents of the 'Green Revolution' were usually far from sensitive to local ecologies. They used and encouraged the development of new, 'enhanced' seed varieties and other forms of agricultural technology, something which had significant social, economic and environmental consequences in the localities concerned. 410 Characterised variously as a humanitarian endeavour to combat famine and food shortages or an act of US-led neocolonialism in the context of the Cold War – but ultimately in the service of corporate profit – the 'green revolution' has been subject to numerous political, social, economic and environmental critiques. 411 It is worth speculating, then, that the 'Vert' of the French plan referred not to any environmental imperative, nor even necessarily to the aerial perspective on Guyane that the ministers would have – as a blankly green canvas of forest cover – but rather to this 'Green Revolution'. Research bureaux in Guyane occasionally co-operated internationally. The Institut Français D’Amérique Tropicale (IFAT), for instance – a home in Cayenne for scientific researchers, related to the CNRS and ORSTOM – borrowed ‘Green Revolution rhetoric of developmentalism and ‘increasing the food supply’. 412 French researchers in

409 Formerly an agricultural policy officer for the Ford Foundation, Lowell S. Hardin recounts a key meeting in the conception of these policies in 'Meetings that changed the world: Bellagio 1969: The green revolution', Nature 455 (2008), pp.470-471. Organisations involved included the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), the Ford and Rockefeller Foundations, the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation and the British and US governments' overseas aid departments. Following research and experimental projects first conducted in Mexico, the 'green revolution' was implemented primarily across Asia from the 1960s, and later extended or re-envisaged in areas of Africa. Arthur Combs, 'Technical Change in Wartime in South Vietnam (1967-1972), Etudes rurales 151-152 (1999), p.225. 410 A case in point is the rash of suicides amongst local farmers in the Punjab region of India, many of whom had contracted debts to agricultural firm for the purchase of modified seed varieties. Tom Deiters and Hilbert Kamphuisen (dirs.), Toxic Tears: The Darker Side of the Green Revolution (Netherlands, 2012). 411 An extensive literature exists on the subject in science disciplines and in environmental and development studies, with approaches ranging from polemic to panegyric. In 1975, journals such as Nature exhibited the 'humanitarian' view often espoused by agricultural scientists: that their duty was to ensure that food supply remained adequate to the 'demand' presented by growing (Third-World) populations. David Spurgeon, 'Updating the Green Revolution', Nature 254 (1975), pp.642-643. John Perkins's Cold War account is remains cautiously neutral, Geopolitics and the Green Revolution: Wheat, Genes, and the Cold War (Oxford, 1997). 412 The ORSTOM, present since 1957, took over the IFAT’s mandate from 1964, ADG/1J65. 126

Guyane co-operated with others across the wider Guianas region from Venezuela to Brazil in the 1950s-60s, for example on geological surveying.413 From this perspective, the Plan Vert appears not only as an attempt to bring Guyane in line with the economic statistics across the French outre-mer and to mark a place for it in the Guianas region (as previously discussed). It also seems to have motioned towards an economic and environmental rationalisation of Guyane – in rhetoric, at least – amongst those 'Third-World' countries (which, like Suriname, were often newly-decolonised) where a developmentalist agenda was in full swing. If this were done only in rhetoric, it at least served to mark Guyane, which had taken on a new value now that it was the home of French space technology, as French territory rather than as open to foreign capital and exploitation. This renewal of the French statement of possession was also, of course, aimed at the Guyanais themselves, especially any who might be influenced by currents of anticolonial nationalism and ‘Black Power’. The Plan Vert was primarily intended to produce paper for France rather than foodstuffs for export, but rice cultivation did feature in the project, and the ideas for industry were, as a whole, exogenous ones. That is to say, they did not emerge from existing kinds of production such as manioc cultivation, small-scale gold-panning or slash-and-burn abattis agriculture. Timber was used locally, but commercial ventures were few and far between; there had been attempts to produce Guyanais wood for export in the post-war years but these had been shortlived and in 1970 wood was imported into Guyane, the few remaining sawmills being largely dilapidated. 414 The Plan for Guyane, as it was described by the ministers, thus emerges as a kind of bricolage , assembled from a limited, outdated awareness of existing industrial ventures in Guyane (such as timber and rice) and a collection of economic narratives of 'development' for a postcolonial or neocolonial era, applied rather clumsily to what the government still, in effect, considered to be colonial territory. Given the basis of the plan in paradox and contradiction, it is perhaps not so surprising that environmentalism made a premature appearance amongst these narratives. In his speech of 24 December 1975, the Prime Minister made a succession of statements which appeared to acknowledge concerns surrounding the environmental impact of industry in Amazonia. Chirac announced to the Guyanais that: 'Le plan de mise en valeur est indissociable d'un plan cohérent et rigoureux de protection de votre patrimoine naturel.' At

413 The director of the survey noted that the main aim of the Bureau Minier Guyanais (BMG) was to prospect for bauxite, Suriname’s main commodity. Boris Choubert, ‘The “Institut Français d’Amérique Tropicale”: Pilot Institute in French Guiana’, Bulletin de Services Français de Coopération Technique 14 (Jan-Feb 1960), pp.26-46. 414 600 tonnes were imported in 1970 according to a government report, 'La forêt guyanaise et sa mise en valeur' (1971), ANCF/19840179/3; ANCF/19840179/53. 127 every stage, he claimed, companies were to be obliged to employ the 'procédés de lutte contre' the pollution caused by the paper industry, procedures descibed as 'parfaitement au point et complètement efficace'. Placing a grammatical emphasis on a Guyanais 'ownership' of 'their' patrimoine , he continued : 'Pour nous, il ne faut pas que l'industrialisation porte atteinte à la nature exceptionnelle qui vous a été donnée.' The notion that the 'nature' of Guyane belonged to the Guyanais, however, only extended so far (not to mention being complicated by Chirac's conflation elsewhere in the speech of 'Guyanais' and 'Français'). Indeed, the Prime Minister extended the French mission civilisatrice in Guyane to its trees, suggesting that the French would 'improve' on nature there. Referring to a forestry research centre created the same year, he made the rather ambitious claim – one that was reinforced by Olivier Stirn in the latter's own speeches about the Plan – that the proposed exploitation would actually 'improve' Guyane's forests. This 'improvement', the ministers claimed, consisted of 'rehabilitating' the quality of Guianese timber. 415 The inclusion of this rather overconfident claim is particularly suggestive of how the positivist, scientific ideology behind the 'Green Revolution' was reflected in the Plan Vert of the French ministers. Chirac made clear that only certain sections of 'nature' deserved to be preserved: 'En pratique, nous appliquerons le régime des réserves naturelles à certains secteurs particulièrement intéressants.' Sites of 'particular interest', 'unique au monde', he imagined, could be spared and conserved, implying none-too-subtlely that everything else was liable to be destroyed. 416 Specifically, the mouth of the Sinnamary, where ibis rouges can be observed, turtles' habitats near Mana, the Marais de Kaw with its caimans and the 'Ilot du Grand Connétable' with its rare seabirds were singled out as being 'uniques au monde', as though they might be preserved as such, in isolation from the rest of the local ecosystems. 417 Clearly, for the ministers, if these sites were 'intéressants', it was only due to their potential to turn a profit. A further indication of this utilitarian attitude was evident insofar as Chirac envisaged tourism:

415 Among the information about Guyane's forests drawn upon by ministers was the above 1971 report, which itself relied on research conducted in Guyane since the late 1960s by the Office National des Forêts (ONF). The ONF found that there were few problems with the 'quality' of wood in Guyane; the major difficulty it perceived was the irregular distribution of different kinds of wood throughout the vast forests. Presumably, the ministers sought to 'improve' the forest by replacing this 'biodiversity' with homogenous plantations. ANCF19840179/3. 416 On the history of the development-conservation dialectic, in play since the industrial revolution, and the emergence of the environmentalist notion of ‘green’ see Harriet Ritvo, The Dawn of Green: Manchester, Thirlmere, and Modern Environmentalism (London, 2009). Caroline Ford explores comparable events in France centring on the Fontainebleau forest and ‘landscape preservation from the nineteenth century, ‘Nature, Culture and Conservation in France and her Colonies (1840-1940)’, Past and Present 183 (2004), p.174. 417 Secrétariat d’État, Le Plan Vert , p.7. 128

La nature est d'ailleurs en elle-même une richesse économique: la mise en valeur touristique de cette région qui passe pour une des plus fascinantes de la terre, doit aller de pair avec le développement des activités productives et commerciales.

Thus, he offered a relatively early articulation of theories that would be developed by states, scientists and institutions throughout the 1980s and 90s, of 'sustainable development' and 'ecological capital'. It was in the 1970s that environmentalist discourse began to be more frequently related to 'development' – often in direct response to the 'Green Revolution' – thus shaping changes in understandings of 'nature' and its future. 418 In the global political realm, the report of the influential Club of Rome think tank in 1972, entitled The Limits to Growth , had signalled that unchecked, exponential economic growth could lead to ecological catastrophe. 419 ‘Sustainable development’ was conceptualised not long after, with the first major international discussions on the topic taking place when the UN General Assembly created the World Commission on Environment and Development in 1983. 420 French rural political activism for protection de la nature had been developed by figures such as Philippe Lebreton since the mid-1960s. In the 1970s, political ecologism emerged, led by figures such as the prominent agronomist René Dumont, and significant French works in the history of political, economic and altermondialiste thought were published. 421 Alongside the 'Green Revolution' in postcolonial and neocolonial agricultural practices, then, a new meaning of 'green' was developing. This was the case on a global scale, but characteristic versions of ‘green’ developed in France. French thinkers and policy-makers, according to Whiteside, did

418 The first person to contest the French presidential elections on an 'écologiste' ticket, René Dumont, was an agronomist who had written in favour of productivist agriculture in the colonies in the 1930s, and following the Second World War had at first advocated American-style agriculture and the 'Green Revolution'. He stood for election in 1974, and so had been one of Giscard d'Estaing's opponents. René Dumont, Electoral Campaign Video (France, 1974), http://www.ina.fr/video/CAF88000834/rene-dumont-video.html [accessed 17 Jan 2014]. In the same year that the Plan Vert was announced, Dumont – then working at the Institut National Agronomique - referred favourably to the Club of Rome and criticised the Green Revolution. René Dumont, 'World Priority Number One: Population and Subsistence', Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 261:1 (1975), pp.147-149. 419 The Club of Rome was founded in 1968. René Passet,'Que l'économie serve la biosphère', Le Monde diplomatique (Aug 1989), pp.4-5 420 Peter Rogers, Kazi Jalal, John Boyd et al, An Introduction to Sustainable Development (London, 2008), p.22. 421 Passet’s La Nature de la Nature is cited in Kerry Whiteside, Divided Natures: French Contributions to Political Ecology (Massachussets, 2002), p.296. Françoise D'Eaubonne's Le féminisme ou la mort (Paris, 1974) interpreted environmental destruction as a result of masculine rather than generally human domination, complicating the idea of anthropocentrism. For discussions of the text’s significance see Luc Ferry, The New Ecological Order (London, 1992), pp.116-126 and Erika Cudworth, Developing ecofeminist theory: the complexity of difference (Basingstoke, 2005). The beginning of political ecologies in the West more broadly is often considered marked by the 1962 publication of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring . Charles-François Mathis and Jean-François Mouhot, ‘Introduction générale’ in Charles-François Mathis and Jean-François Mouhot (eds.), Une protection de l’environnement à la française? (XIXe-XXe siècles) (France, 2013), p.12. Another central reference point in Western intellectual history of ecology is Bookchin's The Ecology of Freedom, which theorised the political and ethical implications of an ecologically-grounded social science. Other historical work has examined relationships between colonial environmental history, imperial domination and development policy: Cathy Green and Melissa Leach, 'Gender and Environmental History: From Representation of Women and Nature to Gender Analysis of Ecology and Politics', Environment and History 3:3 (1997), pp.343-370. On the whole, however, the intellectual and cultural history of concepts and uses of ecology remains underdeveloped and incommensurate with the significance of the issue, with Whiteside's Divided Natures a significant exception. 129 not follow the pattern of anthropocentric vs ecocentric categorical debates associated with the U.S. Rather than assuming a solid dichotomy between the human and the non-human, they adopted a technological approach to ‘managing’ human-environmental interaction. 422 This ‘French’ ecology is discernible in theories of symmetrical social relations between people and environment formulated by figures such as Bruno Latour, Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari. 423 Only more recently, however, have Anglo-American environmental humanities begun to take ‘technonatures’ as a starting point and to attribute ideas of ‘wilderness’ and ‘conservation’ to nostalgia.424 The Plan Vert appeared at a key juncture in the French association of ‘nature’ with ‘technology’. In French ecological thought the dialectical relationship of human-technological intervention was constant and unavoidable, but 'Green' was undertaking a definitive transition in meaning, and the 1975 Plan Vert appeared at a crucial moment in this transition. By the early 1980s, ‘green’ could not only be associated with a Plan Vert , but also with a capitalist, agroindustrial ‘Revolution’, an aesthetics of landscape, a political party and more local, civic environmental movements. 425 The first two of these meanings were diametrically opposed to the others. In the early 1980s, it had become clear that Guyane's agroindustrial 'development' as set out in 1975 was barely in motion. Newly-politicised ideas of 'green' as environmentally respectful henceforth began to manifest themselves in the département . Any notion of Guyane and its 'development' in the 1970s is usually considered to be inseparable from the Space Centre. Moved to Guyane from Algeria in 1964, the French space programme was – much like the Plan Vert – a project with a colonial genealogy but which sought to realise a vision of the future, responding at the same time to the international context. 426 A number of relocation sites had been considered; Guyane was chosen due to its

422 Whiteside, Divided Natures , pp.12-13. 423 The philosophy of Guattari overlapped with French ‘green’ politics when he co-wrote an article with Daniel Cohn-Bendit devoted to ecological thinking as ‘dissensus’. Ferry, The New Ecological Order , pp.112-113. See also Latour, Reassembling the Social ; Félix Guattari, The Three Ecologies (London, 2000); Bernd Herzogenrath, Deleuze/Guattari and Ecology (Basingstoke, 2009); Joseph Dodds, Psychoanalysis and Ecology at the Edge of Chaos: Complexity Theory, Deleuze/Guattari and Psychoanalysis for a Climate in Crisis (Hoboken, 2012). 424 Damian White and Chris Wilbert, ‘Introduction: Inhabiting Techonatural Time/Spaces’ in Damian White and Chris Wilbert (eds.), Technonatures: Environments, Technologies, Spaces and Places in the Twenty-first Century (Ontario, 2009), p.1. 425 Formal party structures for Les Verts were created only in 1984, and thereafter were subject to division as a number of movements had coalesced under this banner. Burchell argues that this was in response to the new socialist government’s failure to address environmental issues and its pro-nuclear stance. Jon Burchell, The Evolution of Green Politics: Development and Change within European Green Parties (London, 2002), pp.64-67. 426 The base had first been built on a smaller scale at Hammaguir in Algeria, but was moved from the Sahara desert to the Amazonian forest shortly after the 1962 Evian Accords. The French space programme is not mentioned in Ross's influential work, Fast Cars, Clean Bodies , on the connections between French modernity - specifically the spectacular and experiential aspects of technological ‘development’ and consumerism - with decolonisation. This is noticeable since space technology and the subsequent mediatisation of rocket launches firmly connect these two processes. On the development of the CNES (created officially in 1961) see Jérôme Lamy, ‘Grandeur scientifique et politiques de l’espace: la creation et le transfert du CNES (1958-1974)’, Revue d’histoire modern et contemporaine 58:1 (2011), pp.156-177. 130 relatively stable political situation, scant population and optimal position for launches in relation to the equator. Insofar as the département was drawn into this aspect of central planning for French technological 'development', then, it was not on its own terms, but by default of colonial legacy. Once decided upon, the construction of the rocket-launching base in Guyane first involved a massive act of territorial appropriation. It subsequently brought immense social and economic change via, for example, the construction of Kourou, the arrival of various kinds of workers and security measures such as the installation of the Foreign Legion. One of the intentions of the Plan Vert , moreover, was to complement the new base by turning the département into a sufficiently modern home for it (driven by the Fifth Plan’s identification of 'space' as a priority, 1966-1970). 427 One of the key consequences of the arrival of space technology in Guyane, however, has not yet been fully apprehended. The way in which the Space Centre project was pursued and implemented was in a large part responsible for the arrival and development of French environmentalism and ‘sustainable development’ in the département. A hydroelectric dam was first imagined and planned for Guyane in the 1970s, following the example of the Afobaka dam on the Suriname River, completed in 1964 to fuel the bauxite extraction industry. Guyane's version, it was envisaged, would fulfill the energy needs of the Space Centre – and, consequently, of a 'developing' département . The resulting construction, carried out primarily by Électricité de France (henceforth EDF), was operational from 1994. At Petit-Saut, near Sinnamary, in land appropriated for the Space Centre, around 365 square kilometres of land were flooded. 428 Even before it was begun, Guyane’s dam became a transformative spur to French environmental research and activism. Thorough environmental studies were commissioned to accompany the project and to assess its consequences, giving rise to large quantities of new knowledge of the milieu. By contrast, there is scant evidence of comparably detailed prior surveys and impact studies for the Space Centre, nor for the Plan Vert ; both relied on and referred to existing knowledge. Even less anthropological or sociological study accompanied them, despite the fact that the appropriation of the land around Malmanoury Creek for the space base involved the displacement of at least one human settlement. 429 The studies which

427 Bonin, ‘L’action du Premier ministre Chaban-Delmas’, p. 400. 428 Robert Delmas and Corinne Galy-Lacaux, ‘Emissions of greenhouse gases from the tropical hydroelectric reservoir of Petit Saut (French Guiana) compared with emissions from thermal alternatives’, Global Biogeochemical Cycles 15:4 (2001), p.994. 429 Several hundred people in the Kourou region were displaced by the Space Centre: the 274 inhabitants of Malmanoury village, according to an anonymous essay on Sinnamary’s local history (1984); an official CSG document describes the relocation of Kouroucien agriculture without explaining the situation of the inhabitants. ACSG/Unclassified; CNES, 'Déséquilibres économiques nés, pour la Guyane, de la création du Centre Spatial Guyanais' (c.1967), ACSG/AR25W419. 131 accompanied the Petit-Saut dam project throughout the 1980s and 1990s, however, brought environmental scientists and biologists to the département in relatively large numbers. They worked not only within existing structures such as the ORSTOM/IRD, but also for organisations such as the Worldwide Fund for Nature (WWF). New, environmental NGOs were established – often by French and European newcomers to Guyane – such as Kwata, which was initially concerned with the flora and fauna in the Sinnamary area near the dam. 430 Existing organisations also developed, such as the Society for the Study and Protection of Nature in Guyane (henceforth SEPANGUY). 431 The arrival and actions of people perceived locally as both 'exogenous' and 'écolo' in some cases led to tensions around 'nature' in Guyane: that is to say, how humans ought best to regulate and to live with and within their environment. Prior to 1968, there were no meaningful hunting restrictions in Guyane. From c.1972, the CSG worked in tandem with Protection of Nature societies and the ORSTOM to enforce hunting restrictions in and around the territory it had appropriated, by making use of the French Code Rural .432 Since then, clashes between conservationist imperatives and local cultural landscapes have frequently been expressed, and resentment expressed when the former were given precedence. Restrictions on hunting and fishing, for instance, were represented as selective limitations. Either they threatened communities’ livelihoods or they privileged the 'traditions' of some at the expense of others, or indeed at the expense of ‘development’ which might alleviate poverty. 433 The arrival of French environmentalism in Guyane, then, brought with it the trappings of a longer (French, rural) history of conflicts of access to land, space and

430 Kwata adopts the local name of the black spider monkey Ateles paniscus . It has since branched out into research and conservation projects across the territory, especially the protection of turtles (dangers to which French biologists had noticed in the 1960s). Association Kwata, http://www.kwata.net [accessed 5 Nov 2012]; the (British) nationality of the founder is remembered from conversations held in Guyane, 2012. See also Gérard Collomb, ‘Sous les tortues, la plage? Protection de la nature et production des territoires en Guyane’, Ethnologie française 39:1 (2009), p.11. 431 Established in 1964, the same year as the Space Centre, the organisation changed its name from the Société Zoologique to SEPANGUY in 1971. http://www.sepanguy.com/site/historique [accessed 14 Feb 2015]. 432 The director of the CSG wrote to the mayors of Sinnamary and Kourou in Oct 1972 to inform them of the intention to enforce restrictions, as advised by the ORSTOM and ‘dans un souci de protection de la faune en Guyane’, ACSG/8W120. On the French Code rural see David Belanger, 'La législation des aires protégées en droit français et canadien' in Jean-Marie Breton (ed.), Tourisme, environnement et aires protégées (Antilles-Guyane/Haïti–Québec) (Paris, 2004), pp.45-46. 433 An example of the former: a 1991 colloquium on ‘eco-development’ organised by the Conseil Général discussed how to balance the prevention of the extinction of ibis rouges with the fact that the sale of their feathers provided the livelihoods of many in Sinnamary and . Pierre Reynaud, 'Etudes ornithologique ( sic ) dans le cadre de la mise en place du centre nature Guyane (Sinnamary)’, Actes du colloque éco-développement amazonien: Traditions et environnement (Guyane, 19-21 April 1991). An example of the latter is in an anecdote from oral history interviews (M.E.; M.D.). Sea views from Cayenne are periodically limited by coastal shifts bringing and 'paletuviers'; areas of green, swampy forest which shield the town from the water and limit views and access to the sea. The Place des Amandiers, claimed as a traditional place of repose and shade overlooking the sea, holds a significant place in the memory of locals, but its atmosphere was considered to have been changed by the encroaching greenery which blocks the sea views. Two interlocutors blamed French environmentalists for this, claiming that the latter had insisted that the paletuviers could not be cleared because it would destroy the habitat of a species of bird, when in fact the birds would be equally happy to nest further down the coast. See also Redfield, Space in the Tropics p.112. 132 resources, but acted in and on a different social and cultural context. Tropes of ‘indigeneity’ played an increasing part in this, but were not always articulated as such (chapter five develops this question). 434 These questions indicate how, from c.1972, the language of conservation and delimitation of zones for the ‘protection of nature’ exposed and drove multiple conflicts between ways of acting on ‘environment’ and of experiencing place. 435

Conclusion: ‘Green’ governmentality From the bricolage of the conception and implementation of the Plan Vert , it is possible to understand much about what had become of the ‘French colonial mind’ in Guyane by 1975, and in particular, about the contradictions and misunderstandings amid which ministers and bureaucrats attempted to plan for the DOM. 436 The constituent parts of the Plan were assembled from a collection of economic narratives of development, both colonial and post- colonial. Although initially intended to be hyper-extractive, it was furnished as an afterthought with empty rhetoric addressed to nascent environmental sensibilities by Chirac. If by the 1990s Guyane had become associated with environmental conservation and attempted ‘sustainable development’, it was in part despite the state's developmentalist governmentality, but also in part because of the way that existing projects (the Space Centre) and unexpected events (the movement of the Hmong) were adaptated or recuperated. These later, ‘green’ discourses perpetuated a certain coloniality of power into a supposedly postcolonial era. The language of ‘development’ – including in its ‘sustainable’ form – emerged from centrally-mandated projects which paid little and selective attention to the local, and which overrode dissenting versions of it.437 In other ways, however, it opened the way for local appropriation, adaptation and influence of central plans and projects (as the fifth chapter examines). As it was conceived and first announced, the Plan Vert was a blunt instrument in the

434 The conflicts were sometimes but not always categorised in ‘ethnic’ terms. Where ways of interacting with environment have been interreactive for centuries, rules to protect 'indigenous' ways of life are in some quarters considered to make a false separation of Guyane's communities into heterogenous ethnicities or cultures. Serge Bahuchet, François Grenand and Pierre Grenand, ‘Environment and peoples in French Guiana: Ambiguities in applying the laws of the French Republic’, International Social Science Journal 58:187 (2006), pp.49-53. Florence Pinton and Pierre Grenand argue that in a rural, mobile, ‘frontier’ society of eastern Amazonia, individual trajectories mean the ‘circumstantial’ acquisition of knowledge, hence an individualised repertoire of it; this cannot be distilled into ‘indigenous’ or other caultural categories, ‘Savoirs traditionnels, populations locales et ressources globalisées’ in Catherine Aubertin, Valérie Boisvert and Florence Pinton (eds.), Les marchés de la biodiversité (Paris, 2007), pp.165-194. 435 Collomb, ‘Sous les tortues, la plage?’, p.12. Ford, ‘Culture and Conservation in France’, p.180, traces questions of conflit d’usage to the nineteenth century and the so-called ‘guerre des demoiselles’ of 1829 in which peasants protested against restrictions on their customary use of the forest. 436 Martin Thomas, ‘Introduction: Mapping the French Colonial Mind’ in Thomas (ed.), The French Colonial Mind Vol I , p.xiii. 437 On the commodification of 'biodiversity' see Vandana Shiva, Biopiracy: the Plunder of Nature and Knowledge (U.S., 1997) and for a longer-term perspective considering imperial history, Schiebinger, Plants and Empire.

133 attempt to force Guyane's economic and demographic statistics into line with those of the other DOM. The mention of the 'environment' was an a posteriori addition to this, and was intended as a palliative measure. Perhaps it was the case that, in a practical sense, the ministers considered it prudent to make provisions to mitigate the environmental effects of their plans. However, the first mention of the environment was in one particular speech by Chirac whose entire purpose seems to have been to assuage criticisms of the announced plan. This suggests that the palliative intention behind the 'environmental' language was first and foremost a rhetorical one. Chirac's expressed 'sensitivity' was not about respect for the infinitely complex ecosystems, human or otherwise, of Guyane, about which he and his ministerial colleagues possessed little notion. Rather, it was a sign that Chirac considered it necessary or politic to express 'sensitivity' to a nascent environmental movement. As it involved organisations such as the CENADDOM, SATEC and BUMIDOM, and as it 'adopted' the Hmong, the reach of French planning for 1970s Guyane extended across both formerly colonised spaces and across those outre-mers still considered to be French, all in the service of economic nationalism. In this cosmopolitan history, the French idea of assainissement social , as it was linked to planning for 'development', involved a racialised idea of social harmony. This involved an idea of the ‘social’ in which a desirable ecological relationship between populations and environment existed, and might be created and re- created scientifically. The ‘ecology’ that French planners hoped to arrange, then, still had little to do with the protection of nature or the environment in the 1970s. Planning for industrial forestry in Amazonia could be based on no such notion of balance, as was evident in the 'development' of Amazonian Brazil. Rather, as is evident in Chirac's language towards the Guyanais, and in the 'integrating' of the Hmong in Guyane, an idea of human, social ecology – essentially, the ‘populations in environment’ of Third-Republic geographical thought – then prevailed in French governance. Its genealogy, as the first chapter explored, was in colonial-scientific assumptions about the relationships between ‘race’, culture and environment. By the time the Petit-Saut dam was completed in the 1990s, the logic of governmental rhetoric when it came to the ‘development’ of Guyane's ‘environment’ – the utility of its ‘greenness’ – had been reversed. The rhetoric of the Plan Vert in 1975 offered an overconfident vision of Guyane's industrially-developed future, with scant regard for ecological sustainability. Chirac's predictions of environmentally-conscious ‘development' were eventually realised in a way, albeit through the Space Centre and hydroelectric dam rather than central, state agro-industrial planning. Following the apparent 'failure' of the 134

Giscard government's grand designs, environment and development in Guyane were consciously interconnected. The Petit-Saut dam was perhaps the first project to take ecology into account, and with it, scientists and environmentalists practised an ‘ecocentric’ version of the discourse. Conservation of the 'environment' – 'ecological capital' – henceforth became the primary governmental concern, as was evident in the establishment of the Amazonian National Park in 2007, in addition to the Regional Natural Park established in 2001. People would be integrated only with difficulty into this discourse. In this branch of governance the inhabitants of Guyane entered the picture primarily insofar as they were considered to exist in symbiotic relationship with that 'environment'. The post-war ‘rationalisation’ of France was a turn to ‘interior colonialism’, according to Kristin Ross, in which ‘the practice of colonialism outlived its history’. 438 Shepard, focusing on the Algerian War, agrees that decolonisation was fundamental to a rethinking of French government and society. 439 The Space Centre and the Plan Vert are evidence that, after formal decolonisation elsewhere, governments attempted to re-export bureaucratic, ‘rational administrative techniques’, first been developed in the colonies, back to DOM such as Guyane. The new emphasis on ecology in Guyane was a response to the apparent public 'failure' to transplant visions from elsewhere, unadapted, onto the local landscape. The Amazonian département became a French laboratory for ideas of 'technonature', combining the high science of the Space Centre, infrastructure for 'development' such as the hydroelectric dam, environmentalist ecocentrisms and an older discourse of primitive 'nature'. It thus represents an important adaptation of French 'scientific' governance. However, this critique of the rhetorics and practices of rule is predicated on the idea that these practices 'often lack coherence and always run up against limits'. 440 This is evident in the disconnect between the prevailing, of 'failure' in relation to Guyane and the experience of the place lived in situ . This has been expressed not only in oral history interviews but also in the very silence of the Guyanais in governmental discourse on 'their' pays . Multiple attempts to produce place in Guyane, as they have run up against each other or ignored each other, have in fact produced a site of many places.441 Many conditions for life in Guyane are

438 Ross, Fast Cars, Clean Bodies , p.7; on the limits of reifying ‘colonialism’ see Jane Burbank and Frederick Cooper, ‘The Empire Effect’, Public Culture 24:2 (2012), p.239. 439 Shepard, The Invention of Decolonization . 440 James Ferguson and Akhil Gupta, 'Spatializing States: Toward an Ethnography of Neoliberal Governmentality', American Ethnologist 29:4 (2002), pp.981-1002 cited in Marina Welker, 'The Green Revolution's ghost: Unruly subjects of participatory development in rural Indonesia', American Ethnologist 39:2 (2012), p.390. 441 For Bill Ashcroft, production of place where colonisation has taken place is an interresponsive process. Place is 'never simply location, nor... static, a cultural memory which buries. For, like culture itself, place is in a continual and dynamic state of formation, a process intimately bound up with the culture and the identity of its inhabitants... Above all place is a result of habitation, a consequence of the ways in which people inhabit... that conception of space as universal and 135 deeply affected by French colonial and postcolonial systems and their breakdown. On the one hand, the local contests, failures and adaptations of French discourse in Guyane show that – however sensitive to the complexity of ecosystems it claims to be – a system designed to impose, define and dominate inevitably misses local detail. On the other hand, they indicate that governmental visions of place and of the role of governance in it can also themselves be transformed by what happens at the local level.

uncontestable that is constructed for them by imperial discourse.' Bill Ashcroft, Post-Colonial Transformation (London, 2001), p.156. 136

Chapter Four: Geopolitical orientations: French responses to conflict at the border, 1986-1992. The French government pursued its adapted policies for Guyane’s ‘development’, as a dependent satellite of France, from 1975 into the 1980s. In this latter decade, however, it began to become apparent that Guyane was, in fact, embedded in the socio-political environment of the Guianas. This chapter argues that the Surinamese ‘Interior War’ (1986- 1992) led to a refocusing of French perspectives on Guyane, its significance and purpose. In the context of global geopolitics of colonialism, decolonisation and the Cold War during the Fourth and Fifth Republics, the government was increasingly compelled to take notice of events at France’s Amazonian borders. 442 Diplomatic relations with Brazil increased with the re-establishment of democratic (if oligarchic) government under José Sarney (1985-1990). 443 Suriname, meanwhile, made a transition from apparently-peaceful fellow colony (until 1954) to democratic but weak government (1975-1980) and then ‘failed state’ of the ‘Third World’ following a military coup by Dési Bouterse in 1980.444 When war (1986-92) provoked a ‘refugee situation’ on French territory, Franco-Surinamese diplomacy was further strained. Both French government and Guyanais were compelled to confront the fact that theirs was a regionally-integrated territory, in addition to being an isolated satellite of the Hexagon. 30,000 (French) migrants were sought for Guyane in 1975, yet this was also the point at which authorities began to incite or compell other migrants – notably Haitians and Brazilians

442 Brazil’s third and harshest military government, under Emílio Médici, ended in 1974 to be replaced by that of Ernesto Geisel (1974-79). Geisel’s policy of distensão signalled relaxation but not yet abertura (opening-up) of authoritarian rule. Leslie Bethell and Celso Castro, ‘Politics in Brazil under Military Rule, 1964-1985’ in Leslie Bethell (ed.), The Cambridge History of Latin America (Cambridge, 2008), pp.165-230; Thomas Skidmore, The Politics of Military Rule in Brazil, 1964- 85 (Oxford, 1988). 443 Sarney made his political career in the nordeste : from Maranhão, he was Senator for Amapá after his presidency. In 2000 he wrote a ‘regionalist’ novel based across Guyane/Amapá. José Sarney, Saraminda (São Paulo, 2014 [2000]); Gérard Police, ‘Le mot “créole” dans Saraminda de José Sarney’, Nouvelles Études Francophones 23:2 (2008), pp.85-97. A typical study of Brazilian ‘soft power’ jumps from 1960s’ developmentalism to Cardoso, ‘Lula’ da Silva and Roussef, omitting the irony that its military force was wielded internally in the meantime, and omitting Sarney’s presidency. Dauvergne and Farias, ‘The Rise of Brazil as a Global Development Power’, pp.903-917. 444 On the Cold-War emergence of the idea of ‘failed states’ see Mark Berger and Justin Reese, 'From nation-states in conflict to conflict in nation-states: The United States of America and nation building from South Vietnam to Afghanistan', International Politics , 47:5 (2010), p.455 and Daniel Thürer, 'The “failed State” and international law', International Review of the Red Cross 836 (1999). For critiques of ‘failed state’ theory see: Alison J. Ayers, 'An illusion of the epoch: Critiquing the ideology of “failed states”', International Politics 49: 5 (2012), p.569; Olivier Nay, 'Fragile and failed states: Critical perspectives on conceptual hybrids', International Political Science Review 34:3 (2013), p.329; Meera Sabaratnam, 'IR in Dialogue... but Can We Change the Subjects? A Typology of Decolonising Strategies for the Study of World Politics', Millennium: Journal of International Studies 39:781 (2011), pp.781-803; Jonathan Hill, 'Beyond the Other? A postcolonial critique of the failed state thesis', African Identities 3:2 (2005), p.139. On Suriname’s postcolonial transition see Chaitram Singh, 'Redemocratization in Guyana and Suriname: Critical Comparisons, European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 84 (2008), p.77; Dionne Bosma, 'The Dutch-Surinam Treaty on Development Assistance: A Correct Appeal to A Fundamental Change of Circumstances?', Leiden Journal of International Law 3 (1990), p.202; Edward Dew, The Difficult Flowering of Surinam: Ethnicity and Politics in a plural society (The Hague, 1978); Gary Brana-Shute, ‘Suriname: A Military and its Auxiliaries’, Armed Forces and Society (1996) 22:3, p.470 137

– to leave. 445 This chapter analyses French and Guyanais reponses to the more complicated regional situation from 1986, drawing primarily upon documents from the French embassy in Paramaribo (held in the Archives Diplomatiques), but also informed by French, Dutch, Surinamese and Brazilian contemporary press accounts. Within this analysis, it tackles the politics of ethnicity surrounding discussions of migration in Guyane, focusing on the case of the (mostly) Maroon refugees from conflict in eastern Suriname. Thus it stresses how tensions of ‘ethnicity’ at the border have informed French governance, arguing that these complex interactions between French, Surinamese, Maroon and other identities challenge assumptions about the cultural and political composition of contemporary France. The colonial and postcolonial trajectories of Suriname and Guyane diverged in some ways, but were fundamentally intertwined in others. Key dates in the chronology of Surinamese decolonisation were also structuring moments in Guyane’s history: 1954 (year of Suriname’s autonomy) saw contestation of departmentalisation in Guyane, while 1975 (its independence) was the year in which the Plan Vert was announced. The two territories share a border in the form of the Maroni River, across which goldminers, traders, Amerindians and Saramaka and Aluku Maroons have been long accustomed to live, transnationally. 446 The Maroni, therefore, is both political frontier and lieu de vie .447 Since the conflict and ensuing economic collapse of the 1980s, independent Suriname has represented to Guyane a kind of distorted mirror – a succeeded or failed version of itself against which the French and Guyanais judged the non-decolonised situation of the département . Yet events and people of Suriname have also affected the social, economic, cultural and demographic composition of the French DOM. French authorities apprehended, ignored or dealt with this fact in changing ways. Bouterse’s 1980 military coup gave only a minor jolt to the hitherto peaceful, relative ignorance in which central French government had held Suriname. Even after Bouterse’s massacre of a set of political opponents in 1982, the ‘soft’ diplomacy of cultural events continued between the two countries, as did economic deals, including the sale of military

445 A Portuguese-language announcement appeared in the Presse de Guyane (Oct 1974) urging undocumented Brazilians to return ‘home’. It promised that bilateral accords had been established to provide returnees with identity cards, money and work in (still-authoritarian) Brazil, on Amazonian sentiers such as Manaus airport and the Transamazônica road. ADG/PER256. 446 Clémence Léobal, Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni: Une porte sur le fleuve (Matoury, 2013); Richard Price, ‘The Oldest Daughter of Overseas France’, Conference Paper: Locating Guyane (ULIP, 10 July 2014). 447 On the dynamics of migration across the Maroni see the work of Frédéric Piantoni, L’enjeu migratoire en Guyane Française ; ‘Les recompositions territoriales dans le Maroni: relation mobilité-environnement’, Revue européenne de migrations internationales 18:2 (2002), pp.11-49. 138 helicopters, and scientific co-operation.448 There were even tentative exchanges between the two countries' militaries, with sports matches and dance competitions announced between French and Surinamese soldiers in 1984 and 1985. 449 From an international perspective, Bouterse’s régime seemed to follow in a pattern of Caribbean 'revolutionary' régimes set by Cuba, and Nicaragua (though Suriname was far less prominent in ongoing Cold War politics): in April 1981, the Secretary of State for the DOM-TOM insisted to Guyane’s prefect that good relations be maintained with Suriname so that it would not fall under 'Cuban influence'. 450 Giscard d'Estaing’s foreign policy was underpinned by an awareness that France's place in the world had changed since the Algerian War; ministers and diplomats were unwilling to make overt gestures of disapproval in the early days of Bouterse's regime. 451 The issue for the French government, as for Brazil, was one of international relations strategy. They did not consider themselves to be directly involved in Suriname, and this relatively small country was hardly a foreign policy priority. 452 If anything, they may have preferred the regime for what could be interpreted to be the relative ‘stability’ of its ‘strong-man’ politics compared to the ‘fragility’ of its tentatively democratic predecessor from 1975. In December 1982, however, a massacre of Bouterse’s political opponents soured any neutrality, ‘soft’ diplomacy notwithstanding. French authorities began to use openly critical language, and explicitly refused to be seen co-operating militarily with Suriname. 453 In 1984 they attempted to associate Guyanais independentists of MOGUYDE with a potentially ‘terrorist’ network that linked them both to the Surinamese regime and the Antillais Alliance Révolutionnaire (ARC). 454

448 On the massacres see Scott MacDonald, ‘Insurrection and Redemocratization in Suriname?: The Ascendancy of the “Third Path”’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs 30:1 (1988), pp.113-116. On schools and cultural exchanges, including a 1985 ‘Festival des 3 Guyanes’, see ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/4; on scientific co-operation, ADN/ 509PO/1/54/G/XI/8, ADN/509PO/1/54/G/1, ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/5. The UK (under Margaret Thatcher since 1979) and Brazil (under João Figueiredo, the last president of the military regime), were also involved in boosting Surinamese military capabilities. The UK traded with Suriname throughout the war, buying its entire banana production in 1988. ADN/509PO/1/34 /G/I/3d; ADN/509/PO/1/51/G/2c. 449 A football match took place between the Surinamese army and the French Marine Infantry during the first visit to Guyane (initiated by Suriname) of post-coup military personnel. It accompanied a demonstration of the Ecureuil helicopter, and there was a Brazilian presence at the event. ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/3; ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/7. This event followed an invitation extended by Suriname to a basketball tournament which would involve representatives of Guadeloupe, Martinique, Guyane and Suriname, alongside an 'International Michael Jackson imitation, electric boogie and break-dance contest', 14 June 1984, ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/3. 450 ' Nos relations avec le Surinam' (16 Apr 1981), ADN/ 509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a. 451 Vaïsse, 'La puissance ou l'influence? (1958-2004) in Allain et al (eds.), Histoire de la diplomatie française , p.864. 452 On diplomacy between the three countries: João Nackle Urt, ‘A lógica da construção de confiança: Relações Brasil- Suriname entre 1975 e 1985’, Revista Brasileira de Política Internacional 53:2 (2010), p.70; Vaïsse, ‘La puissance ou l'influence?’, p.935. 453 ADN/509PO1/54/G/X/1. 454 During the night of 24-25 March 1984, French authorities expelled to Curaçao sixteen Surinamese of Dutch nationality who were apprehended in Guyane carrying arms. J.F. Gin, Confidential communication (24 Apr 1984), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 139

When war broke out in 1986, French standoffishness with respect to its neighbour's ‘internal affairs’ was most severely tested. The official line, even after several months, was that the conflict was an ‘internal’ matter for Suriname. The minister for the DOM-TOM, Bernard Pons, announced during a press conference in Guyane that: 'Il y a un gouvernement légal au Surinam. La France entretient des relations diplomatiques avec ce gouvernement. La France n'a pas à s'associer avec ce gouvernment légal pour régler des problèmes internes qui le concernent'. 455 The reality in western Guyane, however, made such a stance seem increasingly disingenuous. 1986 marked a turning point in the two countries' relations, as it was the moment at which the French government began to realise the potential geopolitical implications – and to sense the real impact - of keeping a département in South America. The French response to the presence of Surinamese refugees from 1986 demonstrates how the government shaped political language and categories to reflect, in the face of changing geopolitical realities, a continuing, racialised ideal of Guyane’s envisaged ‘population’. There remained serious limits to central comprehension of the regional situation, however. In September 1987, for instance, when Chirac (then Prime Minister under Mitterrand) spoke in strategic terms of developing France's Caribbean relations, he did not mention Guyane. Caribbean regional co-operation was only envisaged (if at all) via Martinique and Guadeloupe. The South American continent was still discussed in terms of ‘Latin America’, with a focus on relations to countries such as Argentina, , and Brazil, where French chiffres d'affaires were higher. 456 The French government’s realisation of the significance of its border with Suriname – exposed by the civil war but part of a deeper, interconnected regional history – has been delayed until now, but was exposed to them in 1986.

The ‘Refugee problem’ and ethnic politics at the border In eastern Suriname, a quarrel between Bouterse’s military and an insurgent paramilitary, known as the ‘Jungle Commando’, led by Ndjuka Maroon Ronnie Brunswijk, rapidly turned into 'collective reprisal' by the régime's forces against Maroon civilians. In December 1986, government forces committed a number of atrocities, levelling many Ndjuka villages and killing several hundred non-combatants. ‘Unable to deploy to Brunswijk's redoubts deep in the rainforest,’ according to Gary Brana-Shute, the military instead attacked the more

455 Bernard Pons cited in France-Guyane (26 Dec 1986), ADN/509PO/1/35. 456 ADN/509PO/1/54/G/X/2. 140 accessible villages, closer to the coast. 457 At this point, inhabitants of eastern Suriname – mostly Maroons but also Amerindians resident in the affected areas – began to cross the border in significant numbers in order to escape the violence. 458 These events indicated both the porousness of French borders and the complexity of the politics of ethnicity in the region. They also demonstrated that the two were interrelated. The war came to be known as an ‘ethnic’ conflict due to the (Maroon) cultural background of most of its victims and of those it displaced, but this was a label which masked a wealth of intersecting social, economic, and cultural stratifications, both in Suriname and in Guyane. 459 Ethnicity’ is crucial to a discussion of the conflict, but not in any simple sense.460 As well as Ndjuka Maroons, Brunswijk’s ‘Jungle Commando’ paramilitary at various times also comprised (or was said to comprise) Amerindians, non-Maroon Surinamese such as South Asians, people of French nationality from Guyane and European mercenaries. 461 The relationship of different groups to land and resources was at stake and, as Richard Price has pointed out, this aspect of the war’s aftermath continues to the present day. 462 The majority of refugees from the conflict arrived in the Guyanais town of St- Laurent-du-Maroni, but the population of virtually all settlements along the Maroni increased. 463 This was not unfamiliar territory to many: in earlier decades, Price noted, Maroon men expressed a preference or nostalgia for life on the French side, and the sense that Guyane was a home from home. 464 De Thieje and Heemskerk claim that prior to the conflict, Maroons and Amerindians of the Maroni region – women as well as men – settled in

457 Brana-Shute, 'Security Issues and Indigenous Groups’, p.128. 458 Price, 'Executing Ethnicity', pp.442-443. 459 In Caribbean Studies these ‘ethnic geographies’ have so far been explored mostly for the coastal population. The capital, Paramaribo, had previously been considered the domain of Surinamese Creoles, ‘assimilated’ into Dutch culture, rather than of South Asians and Javanese (considered ‘foreign’ by Creoles), but the latter settled there in increasing numbers after 1945. St-Hilaire, ‘Ethnicity, assimilation and nation’, pp.999-1005. 460 Merlin Brinkerhoff and Jeffrey Jacob identify ‘reactive ethnicity’ in the formation of ‘strategic alliances’ between Hindus and Muslims, practised in order to ‘advance their common interests against the country's other major ethnic groups.’ Alliances were not only among South Asians; ‘multi-ethnic coalitions’ formed ‘to advance…interests’ and avoid conflict, ‘Racial, ethnic and religious social distance in Surinam: An exploration of the ‘strategic alliance hypothesis’ in a Caribbean community’, Ethnic and Racial Studies 17:4 (1994). The anti-government side in the civil war was mostly made up of Maroons, but not exclusively so. Surinamese South Asians, for instance, were among the casualties. ADN/509PO/1/55/G/XI/10a. 461 An RFO interview film made in Sep-Oct 1986 showed 'trois mercenaires de race blanche', said to be half of a total of six mercenaries: three British (one a former Legionnaire) and three German. ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a. On Amerindian and Guyanais involvement see Anouilh, La France, la Guyane et la Guerilla , pp.36-38. A French communication (Sep 1986) registered two ‘hindoustani’ individuals who supposedly travelled to Cayenne to support the Jungle Commando. ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1; see also ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a. 462 In this he is supported by the findings of the UN Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination. Price, Rainforest Warriors , pp.77-140. 463 Léobal, Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni, p.186. 464 Price, Rainforest Warriors , pp.45-46. Price’s analysis is in this case gender-specific: on the women of a Maroon community see Sally Price, Co-Wives and Calabashes (Michigan, 1984). On French infrastructural responses to the increasing population on the Maroni see Léobal, Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni , pp.114-150. 141 increasing numbers on the French side, and that the war only reinforced this pattern. 465 However, the French response to the rapid arrival of these several thousand people demonstrates how ‘ethnicity’ continued to be – in the late 1980s – fundamental to its conceptions of Guyane’s ‘populations’, both existing and desired. Before Bouterse, the Paramaribo government had displaced Maroons and Amerindians, notably to flood land for a reservoir and hydroelectric dam from 1961. 466 When, in the 1980s-90s, Bouterse denounced Brunswijk's Jungle Commando as atavistic ‘terrorists’, he departed little from the nation-building rhetoric which had accompanied this project twenty years previously. Throughout the mid-1980s, this rhetoric – together with Bouterse’s 'revolutionary' claims – became harnessed to a prevailing contempt for Maroons. This cynical deployment of racist tropes then fed into the viciousness with which the civil war was fought. In the first place, Bouterse exploited existing ignorance or contempt for Maroons to explain his actions to the rest of Suriname and to international communities. On top of this, he took every opportunity to emphasise the Jungle Commando’s youth – their leader Brunswijk was only twenty-four years old in 1987 – and hence their unsuitability as serious political contenders. 467 The whole Maroon community, by extension, was deemed immature. At the same time as the régime castigated Maroons as 'counter-revolutionaries', it recycled old tropes of their being 'savage' and uncivilised forest-dwellers. In Bouterse's version of affairs, he was a unifying force in a country whose plural cultures made it otherwise fractious, and Maroons threatened a fragile stability. In 1985, in a bid to court international investors for the regime (the Dutch had pulled their aid after the 1982 ‘December massacres’), Bouterse had already hired a US public relations firm known for whitewashing countries' images. He appeared to lift a ban on political parties and made a ‘stirring speech about democracy’ at the UN General Assembly in New York. In 1987, with the war in full swing and only months after the 1986 atrocities, Bouterse ratified the

465 Reflecting preference for French 'social support and security', according to Marjo de Theije and Marieke Heemskerk, 'Moving Frontiers in the Amazon: Brazilian Small-Scale Goldminers in Suriname', European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 87 (2009), p.9. 466 160,000 hectares were flooded; 6000 Saramakas who lived on this land were evicted in the name of ‘national’ development: see Price, ‘Executing Ethnicity.’ A World Bank report estimates the size and relative impact of dam projects: George Ledec and Juan David Quintero, ‘Good Dams and Bad Dams: Environmental Criteria for Site Selection of Hydroelectric Projects’, The World Bank: Latin America and the Caribbean Region Sustainable Development Working Paper 16 (2003), p.12. On bauxite’s significance in Suriname, (it replaced sugar as the main foreign export) see de Koning’s social history of the 'company town' (formerly a Maroon village) Moengo, 'Shadows of the Plantation?’, pp.215-246 and Lamur, The American Takeover. 467 See the reportage by Swiss journalist Roland Krimm (1987), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. In 1988 the Surinamese Minister for Foreign Affairs, Herrenberg, authored a text entitled 'Le phénomène Ronnie Brunswijk' in which he described Brunswijk as 'much too young' and blamed others behind him, whilst also dismissing the refugee situation as ‘not new’. ADN/509PO/1/54/G/I/2m. 142

American Convention on Human Rights. 468 Meanwhile in Suriname, he addressed aggression directly towards Maroons, making threats on the radio to 'kill you all'. 469 Bouterse cannot be credited with the fabrication of a certain, negative conception of 'the Maroon'– this had a longer history – but he was notable for the aggression with which he brandished that image as a vocative, open and specific threat to a people's existence. 470 Despite this, however, and although the word 'réfugiés' was ubiquitous in media reports and political and diplomatic correspondence, ‘refugee’ status was not granted to those arriving in Guyane to escape the conflict from 1986. 471 Such a recognition would have acknowledged their rights according to the 1951 UN Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees.472 After debates and disagreements among ministers – and a five-year period of official silence on the issue – the government announced in June 1991 that those in the camps were not refugees. Instead, French authorities created the ad hoc category of 'Personnes provisoirement déplacées du Suriname' (PPDS). 473 This not only suggested an official impatience for the swift return of the arrivals back across the border: for thousands of people, whether accommodated in camps or informally, it circumscribed their 'normal' or 'inevitable' situation as being in Suriname. The policy was informed neither by a nuanced understanding of Maroons’ and Amerindians’ transnational mobility, nor by any sense the relationship of these involuntary displacements to previous, voluntary ones. Rather, it was driven by bureaucratic assumptions among the European and international powers involved (mostly France but also the Netherlands and the U.S.) that the displaced could be moved like chess pieces to the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ side of an imagined political border. However, this assumption of omnipotence was countered in communications between politicians and diplomats themselves, who acknowledged that, in fact, it was perfectly obvious that imminent mass return was unrealistic. The bureaucratic machinations of states and international bodies neglected to take into account the fact that refugees did in fact have agency, but the individual politicians involved were forced to acknowledge it in order to deal practically with the situation. 474 In a confidential telegram marked 'urgent' (24 Dec 1986), the prefect of Guyane, Jacques Dewatre, opined that refugees were not likely to return to

468 Price, 'Executing Ethnicity', p.445. 469 Price, 'Executing Ethnicity', p.441 and citation of Cerquone (1987), p.442. 470 Gatrell explains how in new states, conflict over 'resources for basic infrastructure' was often 'expressed in ethnic terms', The Making of the Modern Refugee , p.226. Anouilh ironises tropes of the predictability of certain kinds of conflict in La France, La Guyane et La Guerilla, p.13. 471 See ADG/1J117 for Reuters press reports; in scholarship, see Brana-Shute, 'Security Issues and Indigenous Groups in the Guianas’. 472 The text and an introductory explanation: UNHCR, http://www.unhcr.org/3b66c2aa10.pdf [accessed 12 Mar 2015]. 473 ADG/1J117/1, press releases May-July 1992. 474 For a broader discussion of these issues see Gatrell, The Making of the Modern Refugee , p.9. 143

Suriname so long as Bouterse was in power, regardless of the best efforts of politicians and of organisations such as the Comité International du Croix Rouge (CICR). Dewatre knew that Bouterse’s promises were intended as 'poudre aux yeux' of the international community. 475 The authorities were aware of refugees’ opinions on repatriation efforts, since they collected reportage from the camps. In 1987, a Swiss journalist, Roland Krimm, cited the opinion of one group thus: ‘Au délégué du CICR qui leur présentait les endroits proposés par les autorités surinamiennes pour la rapatriement des réfugiés, ils ont répondu: “comment voulez- vous nous protéger, vous n'avez même pas de fusil!”.’ 476 However, the prefect commented publicly only on refugees' fears and not on the validity of their foundation – i.e. whether or not they actually faced real danger of persecution. Thus he dodged the issue of whether or not the displaced Surinamese fell into the category of refugee as defined by the 1951 Convention. Other, confidential communiqués indicated that Dewatre was aware of the foundations of refugees' fears to return. He stated in a message to the Ministry of Defence in 1987 that: ‘les chefs de camp m'ont fait savoir que M. Middellijn, consul du Suriname à Cayenne avait fait connaître à ces derniers que leur réinstallation dans la région de Moengo était conditionné par le fait que ces réfugiés s'engageaient à ne plus critiquer le régime surinamien.’477 With the PPDS status, French authorities concurred with the Surinamese ‘definition of the situation’: that the displacement was temporary, and that there was a ‘correct’ solution based on the ‘proper’ place of an ethnically-understood people. 478 For the French, Maroons belonged in Suriname; in Bouterse’s view, they ought, as a collective, to disappear. By the fact that the Surinamese government denied any special recognition of separate, 'Maroon' rights or culture, it theoretically negated the 'grounds of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion' which might mark their victims as refugees. 479 Likewise, the French attribution of ‘PPDS’ status was designed to avoid the intervention of the UNHCR and, in the words of Dewatre, the 'internationalisation' of the situation. 480

475 ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 476 Krimm (1987), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 477 Dewatre and Le Gourrierec, 'Situation actuelle de la rebellion' (25 Nov 1987), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a. 478 The reference to competing definitions of the situation is borrowed from Price, Rainforest Warriors and Travels with Tooy: History, Memory, and the African American Imagination (London, 2008). 479 Gatrell, The Making of the Modern Refugee , p.6. 480 Dewatre cited in Anouilh, La France, la Guyane et la Guerilla , p.66. It was not altered even after French authorities sought UN involvement, bringing it into talks with Suriname (1988) to attempt to plan the facilitation, funding and security of refugees' return to Suriname. By remaining in charge of ‘definitions’, authorities were not prevented from, for example, escorting ‘recalcitrant refugees’ to the border, as they did with six 'leaders of a demonstration' in November 1987 (the six were escorted to Langatabiki, an island which served as a Jungle Commando base, but theoretically they were being led back to the country from which they had fled). The incident indicates how, ultimately, what France considered to be at stake was the sovereignty of its territory, but that in practice it conceded that territorial borders were used for other purposes than national ones, and that only somewhat superficial or ‘provisional’ interventions could be conducted into these. ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a; Anouilh, La France, La Guyane et la Guerilla , pp.88-89. 144

A comparison of the cases of refugees of different ‘ethnicities’ and social classes, of different countries of origin, and at different points in time in Guyane offers a perspective on the question posed by Gatrell as to 'why did refugee camps emerge in some situations and not others'. 481 The French reception of the Surinamese in 1986, for instance, differed markedly from their relatively hospitable welcome of émigrés from the same country in 1975, when Chirac made his speech in Maripasoula offering the use of French medical services to the inhabitants of the newly-independent republic (see chapter three). It also differed from the pains taken to ‘integrate’ the Hmong refugees into their new environment from 1977. Even though considered in terms of ‘indigeneity’, the Hmong were nevertheless approved as candidates for resettlement and financial investment. First of all, whilst they denied the status of 'refugee' to the displaced, the French authorities construed the 1986 situation as being about a 'mass' – a logistical problem – rather than about individuals. Secondly, nothing was at stake at the level of international politics when it came to the resettlement or return of Maroons. Smaller numbers of individuals and families moved to Guyane after 1980, largely because affected by the targeted elimination of Bouterse's urban, educated opponents around the 1982 ‘December massacres’. Politicians and diplomats intervened to help in certain cases, which were attributed individual dossiers in the diplomatic archives. 482 Prior to this, those who migrated from Suriname just before its independence were primarily those with the economic means to move. Most headed for the Netherlands, but those who did move to Guyane were not especially unwelcome. The war in eastern Suriname, however, changed the paradigm through its combination of ‘ethnicity’ with numbers and speed of movement. In his telegram of 24 December, the prefect Dewatre claimed that 5000 refugees had arrived over the course of a few days. 483 In 1987, when the refugee count stood at around 8000, one official in Guyane pointed out that this number was around a tenth of the entire population of Guyane. 484 French treatment of Maroon refugees was perhaps rather more comparable to the reception of Haitians in Guyane, although there were also significant differences. Thousands more Haitian refugees and migrants than Surinamese were present in Guyane at the start of 1986 (although by the end of the year, the numbers were more equal). 485 Increased numbers of people fled Haiti after the replacement of the president Jean-Bertrand Aristide by a military

481 Gatrell, The Making of the Modern Refugee , p.9. 482 ADN/509PO. 483 Dewatre, telegram (24 Dec 1988), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 484 Krimm (1987), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 485 Anouilh, La France, la Guyane, la Guerilla , pp.49-51. 145 regime in 1991. 486 Government and press rhetoric represented Haitians and Surinamese Maroons in similar terms, using the language of natural forces. Both were 'besieging' Guyane by air and by sea; the displaced people became a 'flow of illegal aliens,' 'pouring' over the border, which needed to be 'stemmed'. 487 In 1993, an estimated 20,000 Haitians were living (illegally) in Guyane, compared to around 15,000 Surinamese. However, authorities did not articulate the Haitian case as so urgent a 'problem' whose consequences they needed to take responsibility for. 488 In 1993, 582 Haitians were expelled from Guyane, compared to 3629 Surinamese. 489 No camps were constructed for Haitians – bidonvilles around the district of Cayenne were Haitian-formed – but for the Surinamese, by contrast, authorities immediately supported the setting-up of refugee villages. The operation was a centrally-directed one, managed by the prefecture rather than local authorities. 490 French military and especially gendarmes were made responsible for coordinating accommodation, clothing and food for almost 10,000 refugees across six camps, as well as communications with refugees’ elected representatives.491 Price has emphasised the desire of most refugees to return, when it would be safe, to their homelands in Suriname. 492 However, the question was never seriously raised as to whether large numbers could be resettled in Guyane. Central government dismissed the suggestion by Guyanais politician Léon Bertrand that refugees might be dispersed across Guyane rather than concentrated in the St-Laurent area. 493 In terms of budget, of cultural integration and of political expediency, any kind of long-term planning or geographical dispersal was assumed to be out of the question. This was despite 1975 French plans to install tens of thousands of metropolitans in the department, and the costly but ultimately successful settlement of hundreds of Hmong from 1977. 494 When it came to Surinamese

486 On political events driving Haitian migration see Laurent Dubois, Haiti: the Aftershocks of History (New York, 2012), p.354. 487 See national and local press reports in ADG/1J117/1 (Jul 94-Dec 95) and ADG/PER. 488 In December 1995, the fifteenth plane that year to carry expelled migrants back to Haiti crashed, killing all sixteen Haitians on board as well as two crew and two gendarmes. The UN, rather than France, first made the announcement; the French ministry released commentary to the effect that they only considered it 'their' news insofar as French gendarmes and crew were killed. ADG/1J117/1 (Dec 95). 489 This is not to say that Haitians were made welcome in Guyane. In September 1994, the US held 2500 Haitian refugees in their Guantánamo Bay facility and had made an agreement with the government of Suriname to transport them to that country. The French government was vocal about its opposition to the arrangement, claiming that Suriname would be a 'stopover' for Haitians who would then travel into Guyane, joining the Haitian community already residing there. Chirac, then mayor of Paris and soon-to-be presidential contender, travelled to Guyane in person to criticise the US-Surinamese decision. Chirac added his voice to clamour in Guyane against the presence of Caribbean refugees, and promised to step up the expulsion of Haitians from Guyane. ADG/1J117/1. 490 Anouilh, La France, la Guyane et la Guerilla , p.60. 491 Brana-Shute, 'Security Issues and Indigenous Groups in the Guianas’, pp.133-134. 492 Anouilh concurs, pointing out that refugees had clearly defined the terms and conditions under which they would agree to return. Anouilh, La France, la Guyane et la Guerilla , p.88. 493 Krimm (1987), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 494 Patrick F. Clarkin, ‘Hmong Resettlement in French Guiana’, Hmong Studies Journal 6 (2005), pp.6-7. 146

Maroons, authorities argued that the local population 'would never accept' mass resettlement. Dewatre commented on the improbability of the long-term integration of people he described as 'd'ethnie bosch' in Guyane. 495 His reasoning was that such people were used to a 'certain way of life' that was incompatible with Guyanais 'traditions' and with its identified ‘need’ for ‘main d'oeuvre’ to contribute to its ‘economic development’.496 The statement denied the fact that Maroon ways of life were just as ‘traditional’ in the Guianas as any preconceptions Dewatre had about Guyanais practices, and indeed were historically intrinsic to the social and cultural fabric of Guyane. Maroons had also long been participants in the economy which did exist there, for example as river navigators, gold panners, main-d'oeuvre for the CSG at Kourou, and labourers in Cayenne and elsewhere. 497 It was clear, then, that local ‘needs’ in Guyane were to be conceived on a basis of negotiation between two parties: the French government and the local ‘Créole’ population of towns such as Cayenne and St-Laurent. These towns’ most vocal representatives at the time were often to be found either protesting against the presence of the Surinamese refugees (as they initially had against the Hmong), or pamphleteering and otherwise agitating for independence. ‘Integration’ in Guyane was still, at this stage, largely conceptualised as being between French and ‘Créole’. The French ambassador to Suriname, Gaston Le Paudert, using less equivocal language than Dewatre, referred to ‘l'ethnie bosch’ as ‘peu évoluée’. 498 As in Suriname, people who represented a ‘traditional way of life’ in the region were not considered to be a viable future force. If French authorities chose to see the Surinamese refugees as a ‘mass’, it was because they did not consider it to be in French or Guyanais interests to make provision for the possibility of their longer-term resettlement. By 1992, the Foreign Legion had taken over the running of the camps, and were inducing their inhabitants to return to Suriname. On the one hand, they offered monetary rewards to returnees, and on the other, interfered with dietary arrangements of those who remained: While carefully holding the camp diet at the internationally mandated number of calories... the Foreign Legion... discontinued rice, a Maroon staple, and substituted lentils, a food that Maroons find distinctly unappealing... At the same time, Legionnaires – again acting on the authority of local politicians – blanketed with herbicide the manioc gardens where many Ndyuka refugees had been growing some of their own food near the camps. 499

495 ‘Bosch’ being a derivative of the Dutch term ‘Bosneger’ and/or the English term ‘Bush Negro’. 496 Jacques Dewatre, telegram (24 Dec 1988) ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 497 Price, ‘The Oldest Daughter of Overseas France’. 498 Gaston Le Paudert (16 Sep 1986), ADN/ 509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 499 Price, Rainforest Warriors , p.91. 147

A Guyanais politican in interview in May 1992 was keen to emphasise that some refugees were returning already, and of their own accord. In July 1992, Reuters reported accusations of enforced repatriation, and in the same year, locals in St Laurent marched to demand as much. 500 Alongside such direct tactics, the French also involved themselves in sets of peace talks between the belligerents, which also involved refugee groups, 'granmans' (Maroon customary leaders), the Moravian church (long active in eastern Suriname, the Moravians had helped the first refugees to cross the border) and a Surinamese ecumenical collective. 501 While some of these took place on Maroon territory or in Paramaribo, the so-called ‘Kourou Accords’ of 1989, intended to establish conditions for peace, were the result of meetings held in that Guyanais town as well as on the Île Portal, an island on the Maroni which was technically French territory. 502 France's role as a political intermediary and its contributions to such negotiations were proffered in the service of hastening the refugees' departure. When this level of involvement is compared to the French government’s noncommittal stance towards Surinamese politics prior to 1986, it becomes clear that the ‘refugee situation’ (or indeed the PPDS situation) was key to a great deal of French actions vis-à-vis its neighbouring country. This point is complicated, however, by the fact that facets of the conflict were also taking place in Guyane. Attacks or attempted attacks were sometimes made on French soil. In October 1986, for example, a grenade exploded outside the Cayenne home of a Surinamese import-export trader, 'well known for his sympathies with the dissidents' according to the French authorities.503 During the night of 23-24 November 1988, a shooting occurred on the French side of the Maroni which left four dead and six seriously injured. 504 It was not the case, though, that the war paid no heed to borders, and for the most part, the forms that the conflict took altered once it crossed the Maroni. For instance, Guyane was a crucial route of travel and communication for the protagonists of the conflict. The French military in Guyane reported to Paris that those killed during the 1988 incident on the Maroni were transporting

500 This apparent lack of solidarity with conflict victims targeted according to their 'ethnicity' was at odds with local politicans' anti-racist rhetoric when it came to denouncing the 'xenophobia' of, for example, South Africans. Elie Castor of the PSG spoke in terms of anti-racism when rejecting South African investment in mining in Guyane. ADG/1J117/1 (May- Jul 1992). 501 On the Moravians' part in the border crossing, see Krimm (1987), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. On the intervention of the Suriname Churches Committee (CKK), see ADN/509PO/1/54/G/I/2m. 502 Anouilh, La France, La Guyane et la Guerilla , pp.110-114. 503 Fax (6 Oct 1986), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 504 In a Dutch-language report of 26 Nov 1986, three of the dead and mortally wounded were described as 'surinaamse Bosneger', the fourth as 'surinaamse Boni, broer van een franse Boni, lid van de regionale van de franse Guyana'. Of the wounded, two were listed as 'surinaamse Bosneger' (one of whom was sixteen years old) and two others, said to be acting as piroguiers , were 'surinaamse Hindoestaan' from Paramaribo. ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a. 148

‘35 futs d'essence et 2 futs d'huile’ to the ‘Iles Arouba au nord de Saint Laurent pour une transaction avec des Bosh’.505 In 1986, a French diplomatic dispatch had reported that ‘dissidents’ on the Maroni were using the French flag on their boats to dissimulate as they brought supplies across to Suriname. 506 By the end of September 1986, the Jungle Commando was in charge of ‘les voies de communication d'une zone de 30 000km 2 de forêt’ in eastern Suriname. 507 These zones were closed off from the rest of Suriname, but were accessible from Guyane, via the Maroni river. Indeed, travel between the ‘interior’ and the coastal zones of Suriname (including its capital) was, according to Hoogbergen and Kruijt, only possible via Guyane. 508 This was a route used routinely by Brunswijk, who embarked on an international trajectory as he sought and communicated with international allies, such as Surinamese exiles in the Netherlands, and conducted illicit trade in order to fund and arm the Jungle Commando. Unable to travel unmolested from Paramaribo, he used Cayenne airport instead, and was frequently to be found on French territory. 509 No stranger to Guyane even before the war, Brunswijk was alleged to have been involved in a bank robbery there in 1984 (at which point he was still in the employ of Bouterse’s military). In 1990, he was wanted in Guyane in connection with the robbery, and indeed it was in Cayenne that he was arrested, according to a press report, as he attempted to board a plane to Paris. 510 Between 1986 and 1991, when he was granted amnesty in Suriname, French PR in relation to Brunswijk was cautious, and there was uncertainty and disagreement as to how he should be treated when on French soil. 511 On the one hand, Brunswijk was the bane of the local, Guyanais authorities due to his links with armed conflict and illegal activity. On the other hand, Bouterse was not popular at any level of French or Guyanais government. Throughout the war, the French were obliged to rebuff or ignore Bouterse’s continual accusations that they were complicit with the Jungle Commando. Guyane, claimed the regime, was used as a jumping-off point for what it called ‘Dutch- trained counter-revolutionaries’. The Suriname News Association insisted in its propaganda

505 Those who had opened fire were reported to be Amerindians, and the document also speculated as to whether they were in the employ of the Surinamese army, or whether this was a 'règlement de compte d'origine ethnique'. Telex (25 Nov 1988), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a. 506 Fax (6 Oct 1986), ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 507 Anouilh, La France, la Guyane et la Guerilla , p.33. 508 Hoogbergen and Kruijt, 'Gold, Garimpeiros and Maroons', p.20. 509 On 18 Nov 1987, the prefect noted that Brunswijk had been escorted to the border for the fifth time that year. ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a. 510 The press claimed that Brunswijk was caught because, although his visa to enter Guyane was valid, his passport to travel to France was false. ADG/1J117/1 (Mar 96). 511 At which stage Brunswijk went into 'business', the legality of some of which has been questioned. ADG 1J117/1 (Mar 96), ‘Surinam Rebel Leader Back on French Soil’; Price, ‘Executing Ethnicity’, p.468. 149 that Brunswijk was a terrorist, renamed as a freedom fighter and supported by European 'imperialists'. 512

Conclusion: The transnational consequences of an ‘Interior War’ Only when confronted with the overspill of conflict and people onto its territory did central government begin to take seriously the idea that Guyane might be something other than the 'blank canvas' they understood it to be when composing the 1975 Plan Vert . The situation from 1986 demonstrated that Guyane was part of a lived reality beyond the understanding of many in Paris (or even Cayenne), and in this case, that it was playing its part in a set of regional and global conflicts. In the short term, the government's response to events was driven by the perception that these conflicts might at any point escape French control. In the long term, the realisation would slowly dawn that in fact, they had long evaded it. Guyane's insular, 'French' identity was and remains a decoy, and national discourses would continue to struggle with this fact. The conflict was not ‘internal’ to Suriname; it challenged the political and geographical boundaries that this new, postcolonial nation was defining for itself. The French government understood from the Surinamese ‘Interior War’, as it spilled over into Guyane, that events in a new, ‘third-world’ nation impacted directly upon those in a ‘first-world’ nation. It was precisely the exceptional situation of Guyane which made this hyper-apparent. As a European territory located, geographically, outside of Europe, Guyane’s role in the conflict demonstrated that it was in multiple ways a conduit between what was increasingly conceptualised as the global 'South' and 'North'. The political status of Guyane as DOM was integral to the way in which the conflict unfolded. French and European soil as opposed to another South American republic, it afforded protection to anyone with Dutch nationality, as well as transport and communications links, notably the 'route de soutien à Brunswijk' of Amsterdam to eastern Suriname via Paris and Cayenne. 513 As the Cold War drew to a close and the paradigm of bipolar global division began to be reconfigured into that of 'First' and 'Third World', Guyane’s unusual situation (and that of the Guianas region) became more remarkable. French relations with South America and the Caribbean were customarily anchored around ‘Latin America’, where the business was, and to a lesser extent, the island Caribbean, where the Antillean DOM were. The French government did not challenge the habitual

512 Price, 'Executing Ethnicity', p.445. 513 Le Paudert (16 Sep 1986), ADN/ 509PO/1/54/G/XI/1. 150 constructions of ‘the Caribbean’ and ‘Latin America’ through the lens of the U.S. and international institutions, at this moment of Bretton Woods and structural adjustment. 514 Organisations such as CARICOM were by this stage a vehicle for a neoliberal agenda. 515 Guyane, however, was absent from such fora, and Suriname was marginal or excluded in the 1980s due to its political and economic state. Only recently, and to a very limited extent, has the Parisian government begun to reconsider its geopolitical approach to the Guianas region. Rather than merely ignoring Guyane as an anachronistic, insignificant and insular enclave, it has acknowledged its function as a bridge between the Caribbean and Amazonia and between Europe and the Americas. Anouilh claims that the Surinamese conflict was the trigger for a ‘rupture’ between Suriname and Guyane. 516 Twenty years after his study it appears that the war has, conversely, proved the porousness of the Guianas. ‘Rupture’ denied the fact that they were never necessarily separate entities. Guyane did not 'break away' from Suriname; rather, French central government was made belatedly aware of how intertwined their histories were, and responded in such a way as to attempt to disentangle them and thereby protect French national sovereignty. French authorities had to get to grips with the moveable boundaries of what they deemed to be 'refugee camps'. As they did so, the fluidity of the national border in Guyane, in contrast with the more fixed Maroon categories, became apparent. Despite French national and international efforts, Maroons effectively appropriated the Maroni. French and ‘Créoles’ struggled to integrate 'Maroon' into their conceptions of French national and local identity in Guyane. The situation from 1986, however, forced them to begin to confront regional realities – most notably the imaginary nature of the international border – and hence the complexities of local self-definition. The engagement between European and Amazonian sociopolitics necessitates a different view of the South American continent, as France’s governors discovered during the Surinamese war.

514 Edmar Bacha and Richard Feinberg, ‘The World Bank and Structural Adjustment in Latin America’, World Development 14:3 (1986), pp.333-346. 515 A CARICOM report (20 May 1985) introduces the rationale behind ‘structural adjustment’ in its member states. Increased productivity, efficiency and rationalisation (of land use) are paramount; the paper refers to measures such as ‘more efficient production of traditional export crops’, ADN/509PO/1/54/G/X. 516 Anouilh, La France, la Guyane et la Guerilla , p.69. 151

Chapter Five: Negotiating identities: indigeneity, ‘sustainable development’ and ecological citizenship

With varying degrees of explicitness, French planners categorised the Maroons, Amerindians and Hmong of Guyane in terms of their ‘indigeneity’ throughout the Fifth Republic. Focusing on museological representations and exploring the politics of their production, this chapter explores how community and state representatives negotiated who ‘belongs’ where: what geographical and political spaces might be accorded to whom in French Amazonia. In this way it builds on previous discussion of the racially-charged treatment of refugees at the border and the contrast between the government’s exclusionary policies and its 1975 project to attract 30,000 migrants. The chapter argues that negotiations which elsewhere are expressed in terms of ethnicity and indigeneity have in Guyane come to be articulated around notions of ecological citizenship. Describing ‘central’ French perceptions of the DOM-TOM in 1976, Guillebaud claimed that they could be ascribed to one of two ‘categories of language’: exoticism, or economics. 517 Possessing neither the picture-postcard blue seas and tourism industry of the Antilles nor the same economic role as nickel-producing Nouvelle-Calédonie, Guyane fit uneasily into such short-hand assumptions about the nature and purpose of overseas departments and territories. The bourgeoisie of its coastal enclaves occasionally produced figures of national significance such as Éboué and Monnerville. In national consciousness more broadly, however, Guyane itself had little coherent identity throughout the twentieth century beyond impressions of hellishness harking back to the days of the penal colony. A few, exoticised depictions of Guyane’s Amerindians did emerge, but they were rarely distinguished from a generalised image of the South American Indian. 518 Not external to France, as were the Indians of Mato Grosso studied by Lévi-Strauss, their near-absence from metropolitan cultural production past and present is remarkable, given the paradox they represent to la République .519 Negative imagery of Guyane – or indifference towards it – persisted despite the publicity effort for the 1975 Plan Vert and the Space Centre. These marked attempts by the French government and its institutions to offer an alternative portrayal of the DOM as a

517 Guillebaud, Les confettis de l’empire, p.19. 518 J. Tripot, La Guyane: au pays de l’or, des forçats et des peaux-rouges (Paris, c.1910); ‘Faut-il nationaliser les indiens français?’, Républicain Lorrain (6 Jan 1980), ANCF/19940380/20. 519 French anthropological interest in ‘Amérindiens de Guyane’ tended to replay Lévi-Strauss’s nostalgia as he recalled disappointment with ‘degeneration’ – of both the urban and the rural/‘primitive’ - in the ‘New World’. Lévi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques , pp.96-305. 152 dynamic and growing territory – ‘terre d’avenir ’ – whose ‘development’ needed to be taken in hand by dynamic young workers and entrepreneurs.520 The tropes of development and its ‘failure’, explored in preceding chapters, span Guyane’s colonial history. However, with the creation of Regional and National Parks in 2001 and 2007, Guyane’s image underwent a further reinvention. Instead of a blank canvas ripe for large-scale industrial exploitation, Guyane was to become a conservation site, the source of its future assets located as much in the environmental riches of its biodiversity as in its untapped mineral deposits. The roots of this reinvention process were intertwined with those of Guyane’s scientific functions, exemplified in the CSG and in the Petit-Saut hydroelectric dam. Teams of environmentalists and ecological scientists accompanied the project to flood 365km 2 of land between January 1994 and July 1995, surveying and attempting to minimise the damage caused to flora and fauna. 521 This movement of expertise and interest paved the way for further scientific research centres but also for conservationist groups. In 1992, the UN Conference on Environment and Development (also known as the Rio Earth Summit) backed ideas of ‘sustainable development’ with the weight of international resolutions. 522 This gave new impetus to the French reinvention of Guyane, key to which was a programme of (Parisian) co-operation with Brazil, hosts of the 1992 summit.523 French and Brazilian governments diverged, however, when it came to policy dealing with ‘indigenous’ populations, many of whom inhabited land areas henceforth to become part of the national parks, and the ‘protection’ of whom was ostensibly a part of conservationist programmes. In 1989, just as UN member states had begun to plan the Rio Summit, the International Labour Organisation (henceforth ILO) established its Convention no.169 on the rights of indigenous and tribal peoples. Signatories would aim to abandon ‘assimilationist’ policies and rhetoric, and they would accept the implications of proprietorship and usage by indigenous peoples of their ‘traditional land’, as well as encouraging their recognition. 524 In

520 The phrase and associated ideas recurred in touristic and economic publicity for the department since the construction of the Space Centre. For example CNES, Kourou: ville spatiale (Versailles, 1967), ACSG/AR25W419; Paul Bouteiller, Préfet de la Guyane, ‘La Guyane terre d'avenir: conference prononcée devant les élèves-officiers du Croiseur-Ecole 'Jeanne d'Arc', 23 Dec 1967), ADG/1J54. 521 Jean-Christophe Vié, ‘Wildlife rescues – the case of the Petit Saut hydroelectric dam in French Guiana’, Oryx 33:2 (1999), p.116. 522 On the Rio Summit’s ‘internationalisation’ of ‘sustainable development’ see Duncan French, International Law and Policy of Sustainable Development (Manchester, 2005), pp.17-34. 523 The fruits of this co-operation included the establishment of adjoining national parks across Guyane and Amapá and Pará, which then constituted the largest National Parks of France and Brazil respectively. The Parc amazonien de Guyane also boasts that it is the largest national park in the European Union. http://www.parc-amazonien-guyane.fr/le-parc-amazonien- de-guyane/carte-identite/ [accessed 20 Jan 2014]. At 38,464 km2, the Brazilian Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque is the largest in that country. ‘Gestão’, http://montanhasdotumucumaque.blogspot.co.uk/p/plano-de- majejo.html; WWF Brasil, ‘Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque comemora 10 anos de criação’, http://www.wwf.org.br/informacoes/noticias_meio_ambiente_e_natureza/?32162 [accessed 20 Jan 2014]. 524 The Convention did not attempt to define ‘indigenous’ but rather to ‘safeguard the persons, institutions, property, labour, 153

2002, Brazil ratified the Convention. France, on the other hand, never has, ostensibly on the grounds that it conflicts with its constitution: the Republican philosophy of universal citizenship does not admit languages of ‘ethnicity’ into legal discourse and avoids recognition of collective interests. 525 Much as Amerindians’ continued ‘assimilation’ in Guyane confers on them certain rights, such as droits d'usage negotiated since 1987, the other side of this coin is that the French government is not obliged to concede their ultimate (albeit theoretical) ownership, regulation or control of the extent of Guyane’s territory. 526 Hence, although it professes to promote decentralisation of power and local autonomy, with the National Park the government in effect affirms the hold of centralised state power and ideology in Guyane. By examining French museology in Guyane, it is possible to gain an understanding of how the linkages between political and material constructions of ‘ethnicity’ and culture are represented. Alice Conklin and Tony Bennett have considered French museums from a historical perspective as sites of colonial governmentality. 527 This is a particularly relevant framework in contemporary Guyane as the cultural politics of the museum come to the fore locally, at the same time as negotiations over environmental protection and conservation, ‘development’ and rights to use of land. 528 Redfield opened debate on the place of science in postcolonial Guyane, but did not consider its reception in the context of local cultural politics. 529 This chapter considers two examples of museums which interpret local cultural ecologies – the relationships between humans and their environment – in their displays. The first section focuses on the state-funded Ecomusée Municipal de l'Approuague-Kaw (henceforth EMAK). Through a reading of the institution and its displays, it asks how this new museum situates itself between the French ecomuseum model and its local, Amazonian

cultures and environment of these peoples’. ILO, ‘Convention No. 169’. http://www.ilo.org/indigenous/Conventions/no169/lang--en/index.htm [accessed 20 Jan 2014]. 525 On France’s non-ratification, see Survival France, ‘Les Nations-Unies appellant la France à ratifier la legislation international sur les peuples indigènes’ (21 Sep, 2010), http://www.survivalfrance.org/actu/6499 [accessed 20 Jan 2014] and Armelle Guignier and Philippe Karpe, ‘Quel développement durable pour les Amérindiens de Guyane française?’, Ethnies 31-32 (2005), pp.114-119. The French government recently reaffirmed its opposition to signing the convention. A. S.-M., 'Une épine amérindienne dans la semelle de l'Etat', France-Guyane (20 Jan 2014). Although only 22 countries worldwide have ratified the treaty, on the South American continent, only Suriname, Guyana, and Uruguay have, like France, declined to sign. 526 On Amerindians’ response to the 1987 law decreeing territorial rights of use see Gérard Collomb, ‘Une “citoyenneté” kali’na? Constructions citoyennes, affirmations identitaires, jeux de niveau en Guyane française’, Citizenship Studies 15:8 (2011), p.985. 527 Alice Conklin, ‘Civil society, science, and empire in late Republican France: the foundation of Paris’s Museum of Man’, Osiris 17 (2002), pp.255-290; Conklin, In the Museum of Man: Race, Anthropology, and Empire in France, 1850-1950 (London, 2013); on the Musée des Arts et Traditions Populaires, Tony Bennett, ‘Museum, Field, Colony: Colonial governmentality and the circulation of reference’, Journal of Cultural Economy 2: 1-2 (2009), pp.99-116. For a perspective on museums in Anglophone post/colonial cultures see John Mackenzie, Museums and Empire: Natural history, human cultures and colonial identities (Manchester, 2009). 528 Similar themes are explored with specific reference to indigeneity in Moira Simpson, Making Representations: Museums in the Post-Colonial Era (London, 2001). 529 Redfield, Space in the Tropics . 154 cultural and geographical environment. It assesses the museum’s attempt to reconcile Guyane with France via the engagement of national research bodies, local culture and environment, and by the juxtaposition of displays of high technology and ‘local knowledge’. A comparison is drawn to another attempt to display the shared ‘heritage’ of human actors in relation with the environment, in the form of Kalawachi , an ‘Amerindian’ ecomuseum and cultural centre. This venture links Amerindian ‘heritage’ with ‘eco’-tourism on a site near the CSG town of Kourou. To contextualise Kalawachi’s contemporary cultural intervention, the chapter outlines the formation of an Amerindian political voice and addresses the spatial politics which throw into relief the changing relationship between Amerindian communities and the French state during the latter half of the twentieth century. It then focuses on the Kalawachi centre, as a site where debates about the relationship between perceptions of identity and claims on space are materialised. 530

From colony to province: Representing the industrial past, present and future in the Ecomusée The bourg of Régina was constructed during a minor ‘gold rush’ in Guyane from around 1850, as a hub for the river-based transport taking workers and equipment up the Approuague river. In the late-nineteenth century it had two to three thousand inhabitants. 531 From the mid- twentieth century, however, the rum, gold, timber and bois de rose industries declined to the extent that, in 1988, the sociologist Marie-José Jolivet considered that Régina might be ‘wiped from the map’ before very long. 532 Today, the commune ’s ‘legal’ population as counted by INSEE stands at around a thousand, and Régina is increasingly integrated by road and civic infrastructure into the wider region. 533 The conurbation now falls into the domain of the Parc Naturel Régional de Guyane (henceforth PNRG), created in 2008, and as such is linked to its mandate ‘pour protéger et mettre en valeur de grands espaces ruraux habités.’ 534

530 The debates on ‘Amerindian’ identity are distilled in Sarah Wood, ‘Silence, Space and Ecology: Representing the “Amerindian” in Contemporary Guyane’, Modern and Contemporary France 23 (2015), forthcoming. 531 Damien Hanriot, ‘Médiations autour du patrimoine de l’esclavage à l’Ecomusée municipal d’Approuague-Kaw (Guyane): enjeux, état des lieux et perspectives’, In Situ: revue des patrimoines 20 (2013), http://insitu.revues.org/10026, p.4. René Jadfard’s novel Nuits de Cachiri (1946) paints Régina as a lively regional centre of social and economic activity, complete with nightclub. 532 Jolivet cited in Hanriot, ‘Médiations autour du patrimoine’, p.51. 533 Counted as 975 on 1 Jan 2012. INSEE, ‘Recensement de la population: 973 Guyane’ (2015). The route nationale (RN) was completed between 1990 and 2010, and in 2004 a bridge over the river Approuague was completed, facilitating road access to the village Before the RN’s completion, it was long the ‘end of the line’ on an incomplete road towards Brazil. Travel to and from Régina, where it was undertaken at all, involved either boat travel or the painstaking ferrying of a car across dirt tracks and rivers, as described in multiple oral history interviews (Mme. K.; Mme. M.; M.S.). Part of the reason for Régina’s revival is that it remains implicated in networks of commercial or extractive activity of sometimes dubious legality. 534 Fédération des Parcs naturels régionaux de France’, http://www.parcs-naturels-regionaux.tm.fr/fr/approfondir/qu-est-ce- qu-un-parc.asp [accessed 3 Mar 2015]. 155

Significant among the PNRG’s ‘sustainable development’ projects is the ‘Camp Caiman’ goldmining project at the Montagne de Kaw, 20km north of Régina. 535 It was in the context of these developments, then, that in 2000 the municipality of Régina initiated a project, in conjunction with the Direction Régionale des Affaires Culturelles (henceforth DRAC) and the Centre de Recherche et de Restauration des Musées de France to carry out research into the area’s industrial past and to deploy museological ‘science’ in order to create an ecomuseum. 536 In 2008, the EMAK opened its doors. 537

Figure 16: The EMAK.538 Figure 17: Downstairs displays .539

535 The Kaw exploration is run by Ariane Gold, a subsidiary of Canadian coropration IAMGOLD; it also has permits to explore sites closer to Régina. Ariane Gold, ‘Exploration and Mining in the Rain Forest of French Guiana’ (2003) http://www.pdac.ca/docs/default-source/publications---papers-presentations---conventions/viens.pdf?sfvrsn=4 [accessed 28 Feb 2015]; Bloomberg Business, ‘Company Overview of Ariane Gold Corp.’, http://www.bloomberg.com/research/stocks/private/snapshot.asp?privcapId=3126397 [accessed 2 Mar 2015]. The idea of ‘sustainable’ goldmining in Guyane is new and controversial. In 2009, the French government blocked all mining in Guyane until a new code minier could be formulated. Alfredo Gurmendi, ‘Mineral Industries of French Guiana, Guyana and Suriname’, USGS Minerals Yearbook (2011). Thus, changing political responses to Guyane and its ‘resources’ affect national economic policy. The ‘mining’ moratorium extended to petroleum exploration. Nathalie Mrgudovic, ‘Le pétrole en Guyane: entre espoirs et inquiétudes’, Conference paper, Locating Guyane (ULIP, 11 July 2014). 536 Hanriot, ‘Médiations autour du patrimoine’, pp.8-9. 537 Philippe Goergen, ‘Autour de la conservation et de la valorisation du patrimoine métallique de l’industrie en Guyane: un projet de rencontres scientifiques et techniques’, In Situ: Revue des patrimoines 8 (2007), http://insitu.revues.org/3427 [accessed 22 Jan 2014], p.10. The EMAK is housed in a large ‘kaz kreyol’: a wooden-built former restaurant of ‘traditional’ Créole architecture. The Musée de France label (since 2002) is conferred by the Minister of Culture and can apply to state or other public or private associations or foundations: of the 1218 in existence, 82% belong to ‘collectivités territoriales’, 5% to the state, and 13% to other institutions. The label renders them eligible for state scientific, technical and financial support. Ministère de la Culture et de la Communication, ‘Appellation Musée de France’, http://www.culturecommunication.gouv.fr/Aides-demarches/Protections-labels-et-appellations/Appellation-Musee-de-France [accessed 3 Mar 2015]. 538 Blada, http://www.blada.com/sorties/communes/sorties/communes/Regina/2410.htm [accessed 3 Mar 2015]. 539 Image by Carole Cosquer © EMAK (2009), from Hanriot, ‘Médiations autour du patrimoine’, p.21. 156

Figure 18: Map of permits, ‘protected’ areas and mining projects near Régina. 540 In accordance with the French museological genre developed in the 1970s following Georges-Henri Rivière, the assemblages of objects in the EMAK represent aspects of everyday, local life and work in which humans engage with the environment. 541 These objects stand for practices: in the downstairs exhibition (see figure 17) are items of fishing tackle, hunting weaponry, tools for transformation of manioc ( grajé ), pans and other constructions to help mine gold. 542 Information boards explicate techniques and their contexts in the locality and display photographs, maps and deeds from the archives. They use local words and thematic proverbs in Kreyol provide subheadings on many of the boards. Thus, a poster about the changing uses of boats, for example, is accompanied by a pithy local summary of ‘universal’ wisdom: ‘Oun bato koulé pa ka anpéché ounòt navigé’. 543 Others relate to the

540 Ariane Gold, ‘Exploration and Mining in the Rain Forest of French Guiana’. ‘Ramsar site’ indicates a wetlands area protected by international convention, in this case the Marias de Kaw. Ramsar France, http://www.ramsar.org/wetland/france [accessed 2 Mar 2015]. 541 Rivière founded the Musée National des Arts et Traditions Populaire: see Nina Gorgus, ‘Le Heimatmuseum, l’écomusée et Georges Henri Rivière’, Publics et musées 17 (2000), p.63 and Herman Lebovics, True France: The Wars over Cultural Identity, 1900-1945 (New York, 1992), pp.164-166. 542 Smaller objects are placed behind glass display cases; larger ones are free-standing. 543 ‘Just because one boat has sunk, it doesn’t prevent another from being able to sail’. 157

‘first inhabitants’ of the region, 544 to commerce in the Approuague-Kaw region from the 17 th to the 20 th century, and to festive social occasions such as Carnival. 545 The displays do not obviously distinguish past and present. The text of the boards devoted to festivities, for example, is entirely in the present tense, but the photographs are uncaptioned, juxtaposing different eras without explicit markings of time except those which can be read in the colouring of the photos and the clothing of those photographed. Hunting and fishing techniques appear static and timeless, with evolutions in the social and economic roles of the materials, foods and practices unexplored. 546 Only when it comes to the relationship between the locality and the wider world, via economic activity such as goldmining, is there a sense of history: it suggests a narrative of progress and decline around the gold industry of the late nineteenth century. Comparisons to industries and practices in neighbouring countries are notable by their absence; detail is largely offered as ‘local’ and rarely contextualised beyond Guyane. Moreover, much as the EMAK’s exhibitions are sensitive to holistic and environmental aspects of ‘local’ culture and history, there are significant omissions, with only token reference being made to the effects of industrial activity, past and present, on local ecosystems. The meaning of ‘eco-’ in the museum does not equate to ‘ecolo-’ when it comes to environmental health, of either people or ‘nature’, or to degradation and pollution resulting from legal or extra-legal extractive activity. 547 Matthew Lazen claims that the ecomuseum simulates a ‘mummified past’; a ‘provisional alternative reality’ off which local life can ‘feed’.548 The conflation of past and present in many of the EMAK’s displays, coupled with the nostalgic evocation of a static, quasi-timeless culture, might support Lazen’s interpretation in this case. However, the exhibition described above fills only the ground floor of the building; it does not constitute the totality of the museum. On the first floor (figure 19), a gallery created by the CNRS evokes the place of ‘high’ technology and environmental research in the region, describing

544 The board briefly summarises the Amerindian presence in the region, from the archaeological evidence dating from 900BCE, via the first mentions in historical documents of the 16 th century, to their disappearance from the locality by the mid-nineteenth century. 545 These are subheaded, respectively: ‘Sa ou pa konèt vyé pasé ou’ (What you don’t know is too old for you; literally, is older than you); ‘Bénéfis pa ka krévé pòch’ (profit doesn’t wear a hole in your pocket); and ‘A kouto ounso ki savé sa ki a tchò nyamn’ (appearances can be deceptive). Kreyol phrases are left untranslated; this may simply assume that visitors are Créolophone or know enough French to decrypt them. Alternatively, given the small space given over to Kreyol language, its use could be viewed as a limited concession to cultural particularity. 546 One display dedicated to fishing, for example, features techniques and equipment comparable to those observable in use today in the vicinity of Kaw. At the same time, practices for most people have been altered over past decades by the arrival of cars and commodities, frozen foods from SOFRIGU and importation of foodstuffs including manioc. For an eco- anthropological approach to changing practices such as these see the essays in Egle Barone Visigalli and Anna Roosevelt (eds.), Amaz’hommes: Sciences de l’Homme et sciences de la Nature en Amazonie (Matoury, 2010). 547 An exception is the reference to the demise of Amerindians in the area, alongside the activity of colonists. 548 Matthew Lazen, ‘Living-dead Cultures: the Ecomusée d’Alsace and the local heritage in postmodern France’, French Cultural Studies 8 (2002), p.126. 158 programmes of biological research and environmental monitoring. Thus, two forms of human-environmental activity are clearly distinguished in terms of time. The juxtaposition of the two exhibitions depicts the locality of Régina as a place where ‘past’ and ‘present’ cultures coexist. This message is supported in two specific ways by the compilation of exhibits in the EMAK. First of all, the evocation of a local social life in interaction with ‘natural’ resources invokes nostalgia for ‘la vie des communes’, self-sufficient and rich in local knowledge and folk wisdom. Representation of social interactions between people (for instance in a description of communal festivities as the defining feature of ‘la vie sociale’), and of social interactions between humans and environment, both sketch and validate the features of a local identity. Secondly, the inclusion of ‘high science’ alongside ‘local’ knowledge ties traditional culture to the ultramodern. The EMAK, as a ‘Musée de France’, offers the French state’s validation for this juxtaposition. It implies on the one hand that Guyane, though distant from ‘metropolitan’ France in space, is nevertheless part of the nation, languishing neither in time nor in resources. (This ignores how the time lag between ‘métropole’ and DOM in terms of infrastructural development meant that Régina would have been unthinkable as the site for an ‘ecomusée’ when the concept was first popularised in the Hexagon, three decades earlier). At the same time, the EMAK purports to create a space for local difference in terms of language and environment, very much in the same manner that the French ‘ecomusée’ allows for rural ‘metropolitan’ French regions. It asserts that coexistence is possible: of ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’, French and Guyanais, development and environment, but only under the auspices of French government and science.

Figure 19: Upstairs displays in the EMAK. 549

549 Photograph from ‘Escapade Carbet’, http://www.escapade-carbet.com/annuaire/ecomusee-municipal-approuague-kaw/ [accessed 3 Mar 2015]. 159

From industry to ecology: drivers of decay and preservation at Guyane’s ‘sites of memory’ The EMAK’s showcase of rural life has since 2006 been concurrent with an archaeological project to conserve the material legacies of heavy industry in the area. The operation, still underway in 2015, engages with a number of large, metal machines (see figure 20). Legacies of both plantations and post-emancipation industrial activity, these machines had been abandoned to rust and vegetation. 550 This interest in Guyane’s industrial ‘heritage’ is relatively new: archaeologists have more commonly been concerned with traces of its pre- Columbian past, while the history of plantations and of the colony’s role in transatlantic commerce during the era of slavery and after has often been sidelined in histories of French imperialism and the Atlantic world, where Guyane primarily signifies bagne . In the French Antilles, by comparison, preserved plantation houses and other such memorialisations of slavery and industrial history are more common features of the landscape. In Guyane, the sites most commonly referred to as repositories of ‘memory’ worth preserving and promoting have in recent decades been those of the bagne .551 Industrial legacies have not yet featured prominently and no habitation structures have been preserved. 552 This is despite the fact that the commune of Régina alone has been the site of: ‘l’agriculture sur polder à partir de 1778, l’exploitation du café, du coton, du cacao, du , la découverte de l’or en 1855, l’exploitation du balata rouge… pour son latex et finalement la distillation du bois de rose… de la fin du XIXe siècle jusque vers 1970.’ 553 In this DOM, it appears, the ‘stipulating’ processes of ‘collective memory’ have been selective. 554

550 Before the flooding of a large area south of Sinnamary for the Petit-Saut hydroelectric dam, metal machines were recovered from the Sinnamary area, but as of 2007 remained exposed to the elements and subject to no research or conservation project. Goergen, ‘Autour de la conservation’, p.10. 551 See for example Chamoiseau and Hammadi, Guyane: Traces-mémoires. There are some exceptions: the Musée départemental Franconie in Cayenne, for instance, devotes a section to goldmining. Some recent ecotourism initiatives have redeveloped former extraction sites. The forest lodge Les carbets de Coralie , a converted mining camp on the Yaoni Creek near the Hmong agricultural exploitations around Cacao, is one of these. In 2012 its main carbet featured information boards about this former usage of the area. http://www.carbetsdecoralie.fr/ [accessed 1 Nov 2012]. 552 Philippe Goergen, ‘The forgotten remains of the Approuague: industrial treasure’ (undated), http://www.guianas- geographic.com/article-en/history/the-forgotten-remains-of-the-approuague-industrial-treasure/ [accessed 22 Jan 2014]. Martinique’s Musée du Rhum and the nearby Musée de la banane in Sainte-Marie, for example, occupy former plantation habitations . 553 Goergen, ‘Autour de la conservation’, p.10. On the role of bois de rose essence from Guyane and Brazil in an expanding perfume industry in the twentieth century see Catherine Vial-Debas, ‘De la grume au linalol: une interface écologie- économie’ in Laure Emperaire (ed.), La forêt en jeu: L’extractivisme en Amazonie centrale (Paris, 1996) pp.179-188. On the threat to the species see Danielle Mitja and Jean-Paul Lescure, ‘Le bois de rose doit-il disparaître?’ in Emperaire, La forêt en jeu , pp.93-102. 554 Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others , p.76. 160

Figure 20: Plantation machinery near Régina. 555 In 2007, a set of French researchers debated as to how to engage with the objects concerned and how to go about their mise en valeur .556 Little comparison was made with ‘heritage’ projects related to the bagne . Yet in the sense that the two sets of remnants stand as material testament to abandoned colonial activity and ambition, they are comparable. From 1994, the mise en valeur of the bagne sites was envisaged, on a national basis, when the Centre des monuments nationaux took on their restoration. 557 More recently, the conservation project for industrial machinery, in conjunction with the EMAK, has attracted similar levels of scientific expertise, from French universities and research centres such as the CNRS and IRD as well as state heritage bodies such as the DRAC. However, unlike the centrally-led bagne restoration project, the EMAK was driven at the municipal level. As such, its literature and displays express the aim to be rooted in locality, and to have an economic function in that place. The genre of ‘ecomusée’ and the ‘Musée de France’ label, however, indicate that it also serves a symbolic, national function. The current difference, then, between the relatively well-frequented and carefully- preserved sites on the Îles du Salut and the decayed plantation infrastructure is not an inevitability of the tropical environment. Rather, it accords with historical changes in the priorities and relative power of institutions in Guyane. The restoration of the bagne was part- funded by the CSG, and focused especially on the Iles de Salut, in which they had a strategic interest. 558 In the first place, the islands aligned with the trajectories of rockets, rendering

555 Photo by Damien Hanriot © EMAK (2009) in Hanriot, ‘Médiations autour du patrimoine’, p.17. 556 Goergen, ‘Autour de la conservation’, p.2. 557 Chamoiseau and Hammadi, Traces-mémoires . 558 CNES, ‘Le CNES, acteur et partenaire de l’aménagement du territoire en Guyane: Dossier préparé par le CNES pour Monsieur Christian Estrosi, Ministre délégué à l’aménagement du territoire’ (28 Aug 2006), ACSG/Unclassified. 161 them a good site for tracking equipment. Secondly, they had the additional features of breezier weather and bluer seas than on the continental coast. Together, these attributes advertised the islands as attractive, in keeping with the DOMs’ appeal on the basis of ‘exoticism’ and ‘economics’. In 1971, the CSG acquired the islands, and thus began the process of restoration of structures to make a ‘break-out space’ for CSG personnel, later opened up to general tourism.559 The CSG, more or less solely responsible for Guyane’s economic ‘development’ since the 1970s, had no interest, beyond immediate, strategic scope, in intervening in national ‘heritage’. However, given a combination of political decentralisation from the 1980s, and increased road infrastructure making rural Guyane more geographically accessible from the 1990s, mayors and municipalities – as the EMAK demonstrates - began to develop their engagement in discourses of cultural heritage and local ‘development’. The resulting Ecomusée municipal offers a selective vision of the locality. It does recognise that the ‘outside’ world is not only present in a relatively isolated and marginal commune such as Régina, but that it is constitutive of it. However, it offers a selective interpretation of the region’s cosmopolitanism. What appears to be a focus on human- environmental relationships which is neutral in terms of ethnicity in practice privileges the French and Créole past and the French, scientific present, to the exclusion of the complex set of social and cultural dynamics which characterises the current human population of the region. Terms such as‘ valoriser ’ are frequently deployed in relation to the purpose of the EMAK and its accompanying projects. 560 The ‘ mise en valeur’ of local life that the institution attempts, however, and which is implied in its displays, is not only a matter of the ideological ‘value’ of culture. The EMAK ultimately has an economic purpose: by creating jobs and attracting visitors, it is hoped, an evocation of the area’s past can be deployed in service of its ‘development’ in the present and future. In its attempt to synthesise science, environment and a ‘culture industry’, the museum might be read as archetypical of the concept of ‘sustainable development’, as sought for National and Regional Parks, as opposed to its ‘unsustainable’ counterpart of heavy industry, whose past it displays. However, individuals from the CNRS and IRD have taken part in museological projects of ‘sustainable development’ at the same time as they have worked with and for mining companies at the nearby Montagne de Kaw,

559 CNES, ‘Le Cnes et les Iles du Salut’, Dossier de presse (2010); Redfield, Space in the Tropics , p.209. 560 For example Hanriot, ‘Médiations autour du patrimoine’; Journées nationales de l’archéologie, http://journees- archeologie.fr/c-2014/fiche-initiative/945/Ecomusee-municipal-d-Approuague-Kaw [accessed 3 Mar 2015]; ‘Ecomusée d’Approuague-Kaw’ (leaflet, c.2015). 162 also in the domain of the Parc Naturel Régional . One distinct drawback to the economic aspect of the museum venture is the lack of a public.561 Where the population of Guyane – comparable in size to that of a European city – is concentrated in Cayenne, Kourou and St- Laurent, all several hours drive from Régina, few yet venture specifically to the EMAK.562 Neither does the museum, which does not offer accommodation, have obvious appeal in the context of a growing ‘eco-tourism’ sector based largely on overnight stays in forest carbets (lodges for hammocks). Guyane already struggles to commodify its attractivity; this rural bourg occupies a particularly awkward position, having neither the ecotouristic appeal of la forêt profonde nor the relatively convenient location and larger pool of potential visitors enjoyed by museums in Cayenne and Kourou. Thus, it seems, this ‘valorisation’ of an industrial past has been created for an imagined future public, to emerge alongside the industrial redevelopment of the area. This redevelopment, it is envisaged, will carry with it the language of ‘sustainable development’ both in its industrial and its museological branches.

Negotiating indigeneity: the Kalawachi Amerindian cultural centre The Kalawachi Amerindian museum and cultural centre which originated not in local governance structures, as the EMAK did, but as the initiative of a voluntary association, headed by a private individual. As such it presents a ‘first nation’ narrative to rival the French-national ideology of the Ecomusée municipal . The cultural centre opened in 2009, shortly after the EMAK. Although able to draw upon French, EU and CSG funding, and upon French museological expertise, as a privately-instigated venture Kalawachi remains free to represent and advocate a vision of a particular community. Moreover, although part of this ‘cultural centre’ is described as an ‘ecomusée’, it does not, in the words of the Association, claim to be ‘scientific’.563 As such, Kalawachi is not advertised by the official Tourism Committee, instead making an independent marketing effort. 564 In particular, it is able to capitalise on its location just outside the town of Kourou, in the vicinity of the CSG. Kalawachi does not conform to the model of the French ‘ecomusée’ as proposed by

561 Guyane already has a reasonable quantity of museums. Cayenne has the Musée des Cultures Guyanaises and associated Creole house museum, as well as the Musée Franconie , while Kourou has the Musée de l’espace , the small Amerindian museum at the Kalawachi cultural centre, and a small museum on the Ile Royale (one of the Iles du Salut); the Camp de la transportation at St Laurent now also houses a historical exhibition. 562 Anecdotally, I spoke to several Guyanais who had never been to Régina; fear of driving alone across the long stretches of the route nationale was cited twice. 563 ‘…n’a pas de prétention scientifique’, Wood, ‘Silence, Space and Ecology’, forthcoming. 564 Only three museums are listed at http://www.tourisme-guyane.com/incroyable-guyane/tradition/musees.html [accessed 24 Jan 14]. 163

Rivière. In the first place, it has expanded the concept to be explicitly of present relevance, as opposed to ‘preserving’ the past. It is also more participatory and experiential: in addition to the displays of the ‘ecomusée’, Kalawachi offers touristic lodgings, forest and river excursions, craft workshops and hospitality facilities. More significantly perhaps, the boundaries of the culture on display there are not drawn around a specific locality. Rather, they are ethnically located; a kind of cultural ecology is depicted as specific to a ‘people’. However, the notion of the ‘Amérindien de Guyane’ that is expressed is one that has been forged in the political and cultural events of recent decades. In what follows, the chapter explores how and why the creators of this contemporary expression of Amerindian identity have chosen to appropriate ‘indigeneity’, offering historical background to the framing of the ‘Amerindian’ before focusing on the contemporary example of Kalawachi.

i. Historicising the ‘Amerindian question’ In 1930, the deputy of Guyane and mayor of Cayenne redrew the map of Guyane, marking off the more populated coastal regions – to be known as 'Guyane française' – from the ‘interior’, then named the Territoire de l'Inini.565 Placed under the authority of the sub-prefect of St-Laurent (the penal colony town on the western border), Inini was removed from the control of the locally-elected Conseil Général, in effect becoming the private domain of the colonial governor. The deputy, Eugène Lautier and the mayor, Eugène Gober, had grand plans for the commercial exploitation of this new territoire, but they were not realised, and Lautier died in 1935. Yet the legislative fact of the rather arbitrary territorial division was not reversed until 1969, an unusual omission given that departmentalisation was supposed to bring Guyane in line with metropolitan France in the matter of administrative divisions of space. One legal scholar later claimed that there were protective intentions behind the creation of Inini, and more than one anthropologist has defended it on the basis of its consequences in practice for the population of the ‘interior’ – mostly made up of Amerindians and Maroons. 566 Yet if its inhabitants were shielded from industry and settlers, the creation of Inini could just as well have had the opposite effect (the relatively unexploited mineral riches of Guyane's ‘interior’ did not go uncoveted in the early twentieth century).567

565 The demarcation was defined by ‘natural’ restrictions on communications: Inini began at the first sauts upriver , which acted as the first obstacles to river traffic inland. 566 Hurault, ‘Pour un statut des populations tribales’, p.42; Edgar Aubert de la Rüe, ‘Quelques observations sur les Oyampi de l’Oyapock’, Journal de la Société des Américanistes 39 (1950), p.94; 567 On nineteenth-century goldmining see Eugène Epailly, Beauregard: une habitation sucrière et ses esclaves dans la colonie de Guyane (1775-1891) (Cayenne, 2013). On the twentieth century see Bureau, La Guyane méconnu and archived reports of government ‘missions’ upriver 1907-1915, ANCF/FM/MIS/68 and documents on Jean Galmot’s Compagnie de Mines, dissolved in 1921, ANCF/FM/COL/H5156. 164

Inini’s population did not register as significant enough on the national and colonial administrative radar for the government to question the contradiction represented by the carving of a colonial territoire into an ‘old colony’ of France’s ‘first empire’, where subjects had been made citizens following emancipation in 1848. 568 The first INSEE surveys, in immediate post-Second World War years, bear witness to the assumption that even an ‘assimilated’ French département could contain – and gloss over – ‘tribus indigènes’. 569 The transitional period from colony to department (1945-1947) did not see the inconsistency ironed out. A semblance of political participation on the part of ‘primitive populations’ continued to be enacted via chefs coutumiers , a position which perpetuated habitual modes of contact between coloniser and colonised and which still exists in 2015. This system was permitted under both Fourth and Fifth Republics by virtue of the fact that little existed to crystallise in writing how the communities concerned operated within structures separate enough from those of the state that they required a mediator. The 1930-1969 Inini division upheld a delay in the extension inland of the kinds of French practices normalised in the coastal colony since the nineteenth century, such as conscription, French education and western medicine. In , for instance, the first school was built in 1956, and ‘ enseignement adapté ’ instituted in 1971. 570 Coastal Guyane experienced ‘development’ of living standards and infrastructure during the ‘trente glorieuses ’, but the ‘interior’ was (and remains) subject to a lag when it came to amenities such as electricity, running water and consumer commodities. 571 From around 1969, however, the local administration began a policy of ‘francisation’ of these upriver areas, under the guise of encouraging economic development in the ‘interior’. Where the national scientific initiative of the Space Centre was already making inroads, politicians claimed to be helping communities make a necessary ‘adaptation’ to the inevitable dominance of a French developmental paradigm. 572 The map was again redrawn, into communes, in line with metropolitan practice. Local administrators made attempts to standardise schooling, even if it

568 Passed by central government in 1930, the legislation might have made sense to deputies in the context of the terminology of ‘association’ then used to describe the relationship to France of many of the more newly-colonised peoples, as in the case of Algeria. On the contradictions of legal status in Guyane, see Spieler, Empire and Underworld and Urban, L’indigène dans le droit colonial . 569 The 1946 census counted the populations of ‘Guyane’ and ‘Inini’ separately. In Inini the ‘denombrement collectif’ was 4993, including 1355 of ‘tribus indigènes’, but the ‘total’ of 3502 given in a summative table excluded the latter. INSEE, Annuaire statistique de l’Union Française de l’Outre-Mer, 1939-49 (1951-52). Bibiliothèque de l’INSEE. 570 Navet, Camopi, commune indienne? , p.17. 571 The situation in an upriver, ‘Amerindian’ commune is presented in Yves de Peretti (dir.), Allons enfants de Camopi, l’horizon amérinden (France, 2007). 572 ACSG/Unclassified; ACSG/AR25W419. On the assumption of Amerindians’ inevitable ‘francisation’ see Gérard Collomb, ‘De la revendication à l’entreé en politique’, Ethnies 31-32 (2005), p.23; Mam Lam Fouck, Histoire générale , p.158; Bonfait, La question amérindienne , p.97. 165 meant evangelisation by the primarily Catholic missionaries who often ran internats and schools. 573 They tabled the development of a tourism industry: visitors began to stay in the village of Awara and in a opened in the western ‘interior’ commune of Maripasoula. 574 However, initial ambitions were tempered relatively rapidly following intervention by members of the Société des Américanistes, led by Jean Hurault and with the support of Lévi- Strauss. 575 (Although, objections notwithstanding, a Club Méditerranée complex existed in Maripasoula for a brief period.576 ) Faced with changing realities, Amerindians began to organise. At the same time, the idea of reservations and national parks was raised alongside the prospect of agricultural and industrial development embodied in the Space Centre, the hydroelectric dam and the Plan Vert. Amerindians were aware of the situation in neighbouring Suriname, where the hydroelectric dam had uprooted thousands of Amerindians and Maroons from their ancestral lands. 577 Territorial reorganisation and decentralisation across France, in 1982, created new possibilities for appropriation of decentralised decision-making, and by 1984, the Association des Amérindiens de Guyane Française (henceforth AAGF) had established a new political space in Guyane. 578 The AAGF assembled previously-disparate groups to discuss French state policy and how to formulate responses to it. Proceedings from its first meeting were published in the inaugural issue of Survival France’s journal, Ethnies . In these proceedings, spokespeople for the AAGF recognised that their new Amerindian collectivity responded to certain historical conditions. In the very first place was the colonial imposition of the status of indianité . Secondly, they recognised that this singular label conflated nations and groups who had not in the past considered themselves to be part of the same cultural category. 579 Ultimately, however, they recognised that at stake now was the question of what could be conferred by the status of 'Amerindian' on territory claimed by the French government, and indeed whether or not it was worth accepting that status. Under the post-1946 regime, the status of customary chiefs and customary laws in Guyane/Inini left something of a juridical black hole. The 1958 Fifth Republic constitution allowed for an exceptional 'statut personnel' for inhabitants of Mayotte, Polynésie, Nouvelle-

573 Interview, M.N. 574 On the Maripasoula hotel and Awara, see Navet, Camopi, commune indienne? , p.14. 575 Jean Hurault, ‘Pour un statut de populations tribales de Guyane française (1968-1984)’, Ethnies 1 (1985), p.45. 576 The Amerindian leader Brigitte Wyngaarde remembers the Club Med as having existed in the 1980s, ‘La parole occultée’, Ethnies 31-32 (2005), p.56; an edition of the Bulletin du Centre Spatial Guyanais suggests that it may rather (or perhaps additionally) have been in the early 1970s. ADG/PER119. 577 Hoefte, Suriname in the Long Twentieth Century, pp.95-97. 578 Edmond Preteceille, ‘Decentralisation in France: new citizenship or restructuring hegemony?’, European Journal of Political Research 16 (1988), p.409. 579 Félix Tiouka, ‘Adresse au gouvernement et au peuple français’, Ethnies 1 (1985), pp.7-10. 166

Calédonie and Wallis-et-Futuna, but did not do the same for Guyane. There, in keeping with its status as département , only 'statut civil' could legally link individual to nationality. 580 Hence, as residents on French territory, Amerindians had the choice between co-operating with civil record-keeping or being considered without rights of citizenship; as Carmen Bernand terms, ‘guests’ on their own land. 581 This dilemma was posed starkly in 1969, when Amerindians were offered the choice to opt in or out of French citizenship. 582 From then on, Amerindian politics were divided between those, mostly in ‘interior’ communities, who claimed that the obligation to provide état-civil threatened their way of conceiving of the world and of themselves, and those who argued that their 'way of life' was not intrinsically threatened by signing papers, and that they may as well be pragmatic and sign, if non-co- operation meant that they would have fewer rights than foreigners to their own land. 583 Anthropologists then intervened to speak on behalf of Amerindians, in some cases replaying the colonial roles of their profession. Individuals such as Jean Hurault, Pierre Grenand, Françoise Grenand and Eric Navet acted as both gatekeepers and witnesses, and the CNRS undertook a ‘mission’ in Camopi in July-December 1981. 584 Interpretations of the debate initially emerged in French terms which departed little from a nostalgic association of Amerindians with a cultural purity rooted in the past. 585 One article from 1990 compared the situation in Camopi, where many were relatively sedentary and had opted for citizenship, with that of the more dispersed groups, described as ‘les Wayana et les Emerillon de la region Maroni-Tampok’, in the Maripasoula area (south-western Guyane), where most had opted out. In Camopi, the authors claimed, salaried employment was incompatible with ‘traditional temporalities’ and was therefore culturally disruptive. Rather than being a quotidian subsistence activity, for example, ‘la chasse devient une chasse “du dimanche”,’ while the revenue minimum d’insertion (henceforth RMI) was said to be spent on alcohol. The authors also saw moral ‘degradation’ in the form of sometimes-commercial sexual practices, said to risk ‘l’extension à ces populations du sida déjà dramatiquement répandu en Guyane.’ 586 It

580 Bonfait, La question amérindienne , pp.36-38. 581 Carmen Bernand, ‘The Right to Be Different : Some Questions About the “French Exception”’ in Kathleen P. Long (ed.), Religious Differences in France : Past and Present (Missouri, 2006), pp.215-216. 582 Mohia and Navet, ‘Considérations sur la situation des Amérindiens’, p.219. 583 Bonfait, La question amérindienne , p.92; Wood, ‘Silence, Space and Ecology’. 584 Navet, Camopi, commune indienne? , p.11. 585 These anthropologists constituted a specific network of individuals, many of whom combined ethnographic study with activism and/or educational work. Pierre and Françoise Grenand, prolific anthropologists of Amerindian culture in Guyane, were personally and professionally acquainted with Jean Hurault. Eric Navet, whose work is cited below, in one pamphlet combines historical information based on the work of Hurault and the Grenands with personal reminiscences of experiences in enseignement adapté in 1970s Guyane. Navet, Camopi: commune indienne?. 586 Mohia and Navet, ‘Considérations sur la situation des Amérindiens’, p 219; on the prevalence of AIDS see Frédéric Bourdier, Migration et sida en Amazonie française et brésilienne (Matoury, 2004) 167 was assumed that ‘dépendence matérielle’ engendered ‘dépendence mentale’ as certain objects were increasingly incorporated into communities; the authors approved of ‘le fusil et les cartouches, le moteur hors-bord et l’essence,’ but disapprove of ‘gadgets occidentaux… baladeurs, montres de luxe, etc,’ as well as of the purchasing of items such as couac and poisson boucané which Amerindians ‘traditionally’ produced themselves. This structural approach considered Amerindians to be caught between two systems: ‘exilés de leur propre culture’ on the one hand, due to their ‘illusory assimilation’, while on the other, lacking full ‘accès aux valeurs et au milieu socio-culturel dominants.’ A perceived substitutive failure, it was claimed, led to a ‘vide culturel,’ and disruption of a prior ecological ‘equilibrium’ of man and milieu. 587 Until the formation of the AAGF in 1984, communities remained spoken for in French public life by anthropologists and by their antagonists in the ‘francisation’ debates, the local politicians. If anthropologists attempted to understand and frame Amerindian cultures within a French paradigm, politicians became frustrated by apparent Amerindian ambivalence to French political activity. Navet recalled the attitude of a conseiller général for the Oyapock region in 1983 as typical of local political opinion: ‘La communication avec eux ne marche pas… ils ne s’expliquent jamais clairement, ils disent toujours “oui”.’ 588 Those affected by the didactic ‘francisation’ policies which resulted from such impatience were long sidelined as merely the subject of debate. Ironically, ‘francisation’ would provide the linguistic and educational tools of their engagement in it. When choosing to accept or reject citizenship in the first place, Amerindians were responding to what Hurault and Navet described as loaded questions, on forms whose French language many did not fully understand. 589 The citizenship choice offered to Amerindians in 1969 presented them with a double bind. Refusal of ‘francisation’ might entail ignorance of an increasingly interventionist state which could gradually actualise its claims on proprietorship of all Guyane’s land, including ‘Amerindian’ territory. Formalising citizenship, on the other hand, would concretise Amerindians’ engagement in dialogue with an interlocutor which unfailingly assumed its own superiority. 590 In a speech from the 1984 meeting of the AAGF, Amerindian spokesman Félix Tiouka argued that the administration’s policies of ‘francisation’ proved that the French did not and would

587 Mohia and Navet, ‘Considérations sur la situation des Amérindiens’, pp.215-219. 588 Navet, Camopi, commune indienne? , pp.18-19. 589 Hurault, Français et indiens en Guyane , p. 301, cited in Navet, Camopi, commune indienne? , p.13. 590 Ernest Stromberg, 'Rhetoric and American Indians: An Introduction' in Ernest Stromberg (ed.), American Indian Rhetorics of Survivance: Word medicine, word magic (Pennsylvania, 2006), p.5. 168 not share Amerindian ways of life: that their ways of interacting with the land and with other people were incompatible, and that in response, Amerindians would have to assert the primacy of their right to inhabit the land and make use of their environment. The creation, during the early 1990s, of the new and primarily Amerindian-run commune of Awala may be seen as an attempt to enact this approach, reappropriating a voice from politicians and anthropologists alike and forging what is in effect a geographical ‘Amerindian’ space from the political one. 591

ii. Framing French ‘indianité’ These post-1969 political changes occurred alongside relatively massive demographic change in Guyane. Not only has the population multiplied tenfold since the 1960s, but its composition has altered. Since people born in either Guyane or ‘metropolitan’ France no longer constitute a majority, the framework of French dominance has been challenged to reinvent itself. 592 Amerindians are now one of multiple groups attempting to assert a cultural and political existence within this context. As such, they are also challenged to re-examine facets of their identity, and how best to represent these in Guyane’s cultural landscape. Local cultural institutions have struggled to adjust to social changes, and museums have played an increasingly significant and self-conscious role in Guyane’s cultural politics. In 1994, Price described how local politicians were seeking to create a grand museum which would be ‘France’s Show-Window in the Americas.’ 593 The attempts of curators and designers - at the politicians' behest – to fix and display evidence of Guyane’s diverse communities seemed at the time to have failed, and Price suggests that the museum was ultimately an inadequate project in the face of the complexity and fluidity of Guyane’s social and cultural categories. Since 1994, several developments have occurred in the Guyanais museological landscape. Among these, in addition to the EMAK in Régina, is a Musée des cultures guyanaises ,

591 The ‘Amerindian commune’ provoked consternation in some French political and legal circles re. how, when ethnicity was not supposed to factor into politics, a de facto ethnic minority could become a majority and dominate, politically and culturally, the defined space of a constituency. On anthropologists’ condescension, Navet (1984) claims that one had asserted that Amerindians did not speak French, ‘ignorent tout de nos structures et sont totalement incapables de gérer l’instrument administratif mis théoriquement entre leurs mains’. Local politicians were accused of running the communes system for their own benefit. An administrative division without its own sources of revenue or economic production would see a certain amount of state revenue and investment designated to them, and as Navet indicated, ‘Ces dépenses donnent lieu à toutes sortes d’avantages directs et indirects pour les groupes politico-financiers qui se sont institués protecteurs des communes dont… les habitants ne parlent pas français’. Navet, Camopi, commune indienne? , p.14. On the paradoxes of the ‘ethnic communes’ see Marie-José Jolivet, 'Des “tribus” marginalisées aux communes “ethniques” ou les enjeux territoriaux du développement en situation multiculturelle' in Benoît Antheaume and Frédéric Giraut (eds.), Le territoire est mort: vive les territoires!: une refabrication au nom du développement (Paris, 2005), pp.223-244. 592 Breton et al., ‘Migrations, Famille et Vieillissement’. 593 Richard Price, ‘Ethnicity in a Museum Case: France’s Show-Window in the Americas’, Museum Anthropology 18:2 (1994), pp.3-15. 169 smaller than initially intended, in tandem with a ‘traditional’ Créole house, in central Cayenne, and the Kalawachi centre near Kourou. Kourou is, for some, an ultra-modern place of high technology, but it is also in the domain of sites traditionally occupied by Amerindian communities. In interview, Kalawachi’s founder claimed that the centre attempted to respond to both the European and the Amerindian characteristics of the locality. It would, he hoped, remain relevant to members of the latter community and potentially provide them with work, whilst also appealing to tourists, to CSG staff and other outsiders living there long-term, and to those from Guyane wishing to 'discover' more of their own country. 594 The central feature of Kalawachi is the Tukusipan, traditionally the central carbet under which meetings and socialising would take place in an Amerindian community, and here used as an exhibition space, bar and informal restaurant. The carbet , a structure familiar to all inhabitants of Guyane, is a wooden shelter for hanging hammocks. Kalawachi re- deploys it in the context of its 'Amerindian' roots, with the hand-thatched roofs made from local wood being a marker of ‘authenticity’. A further two carbets accommodate overnight visitors (see figure 18), and another houses what is described as an ‘écomusée’ (figure 19). The four carbets at the site are constructed according to the different styles and building methods employed in Amerindian communities across Guyane. Thus, though aesthetics may differ, techniques and productions are brought together and exhibited in one place. A similar approach is adopted in the production of food and drink made from manioc – a fundamental and iconic foodstuff in the circum-Caribbean – and the exhibition and sale of beaded jewellery and pottery. Many items on sale were made by Amerindians in Brazil rather than in Guyane; techniques displayed, then, might be ‘traditional’ to any or all of the Amerindian communities of Guyane and beyond. This emphasis on commonalities as opposed to differences is a strategy with ideological and pragmatic intentions. Pragmatically speaking, it sacrifices a detailed account of cultural differences between Amerindians in order to sketch an identity that is more legible and coherent to (non-Amerindian) visitors. This is in service of the association's hopes to be a kind of social enterprise, bringing together and showcasing the work of local artisans so that they can gain employment. Ultimately its purpose is to exhibit, share, advocate and sell 'Amerindian culture'; unlike the EMAK, it cannot rely on (although it may attract) central or local state subsidies for this.

594 Interview, M.N. 170

Ideologically, this emphasis on Amerindian commonality echoes Gerald Vizenor’s description of the ‘postindian’, who uses tropes of ‘tribal identity’ and constructions of ‘Amerindian culture’ to pragmatic ends. There is irony in this, Vizenor argues, since Amerindians thus affirm that ‘the Indian’ as invented by westerner does not exist, but at the same time access and defend the rights conferred by indigeneity. This is a strategy of getting by in the face of a dominant society and language which might otherwise extinguish a minority. Stromberg and Powell describe this process in terms of ‘rhetorics of survivance’: essentially, the adoption by ‘Indians’ of the language of the coloniser in order to play him at his own game. Kalawachi might be mapped onto this framework since it employs the cultural tropes of indianité and harnesses them to the familiarly ‘French’ cultural technologies of the museum.

Figure 21: Visitors' carbets, Kalawachi. 171

Figure 22: Inside the ‘ecomusée’ carbet .595 iii. French museology and the politics of culture According to its founder, Kalawachi was conceived in the ‘ère du Musée Branly’, following a world Amerindian meeting in 1996 in Paris. 596 Lebovics and Sally Price have critiqued the Musée du Quai Branly (henceforth MQB) on the grounds that it displays a fragmented spectacle of ‘otherness’ rather than offering a respectful insight into the living dynamics of cultures over time. 597 Its experiential aspect relies heavily on spectacle, appealing at times to stereotypical, western colonial images of a primitive ‘heart of darkness’. As a result, according to Lebovics, the MQB does not, as it claims to, mark the end of ‘othering’; instead, it ends up eclipsing ‘le respect de l’Autre au profit du merveilleux’. 598 Additionally, the MQB contains little or no trace in its displays of the ‘indigenous’ other within France’s own South American département . Kalawachi, in a sense, responds to these omissions from the MQB. It

595 Photographs Sarah Wood (Jan 2013). 596 Interview, M.N.. On said meeting see Jean-Claude Monod, ‘Amérindiens à Paris : les ambiguités d’une rencontre’, Journal de la Société des Américanistes 82 (1996), pp.358-360. 1996 was a moment of change and pronouncement on indigenous rights, with multiple congresses worldwide between 1995 and 1997: http://www.cidh.oas.org/indigenas/chap.2f.htm [accessed 25 Sep 2014]. Guyane/France is not a member of the Inter- American Commission on Human Rights (Suriname is, and now Guyana), an important player in ‘indigenous’ politics. Chirac’s meeting may perhaps have been a rival convocation. 597 Herman Lebovics, ‘Le Musée du Quai Branly. Politique de l’art de la postcolonialité’ in Nicolas Bancel et al (eds.), Ruptures postcoloniales: les nouveaux visages de la société française (Paris, 2010), pp.443-454; Price, Paris Primitive . These critiques suggest the MQB as successor to the ‘zoos humains’ described in Nicolas Bancel, Pascal Blanchard, Gilles Boëtsch et al, Zoos humains: au temps des exhibitions humaines (Paris, 2004). 598 Lebovics, ‘Le Musée du Quai Branly’, pp.443-454. 172 displays Amerindian culture in situ , for one. Secondly, its own experiential dimension purports to go beyond the passively ‘spectacular’. Visitors are not expected merely to attend, to look at objects, and to wait for a specially-composed aesthetic environment to produce the intended emotional response. Instead, they are invited to inhabit the site as they choose, not only looking at objects but also sleeping, creating, eating and drinking. If Kalawachi represents a local response to the MQB, it is nevertheless evident that French museological expertise has been channelled into the centre. This is especially apparent in the ‘écomusée’ carbet , with its display cabinets of pottery and arrow-heads, accompanied by lengthy sections of illustrated, explanatory text on professionally-produced information boards (see figure 18). Certain of these texts depart significantly from other French depictions of Amerindian life in that much of the more accessible writing on display consists of the testimonies of adults and children of the communities, in their own words. 599 The descriptions of Amerindian daily life in Guyane seem uncritical; the French presence is taken for granted in that it is barely mentioned. However, problems faced by Amerindian communities, such as educative exclusion and pollution of rivers by goldmining, are described on exhibition stands. This acknowledgement of environmental problems distinguishes these displays from the more nostalgic vision of the EMAK. Yet Kalawachi ultimately refuses to dictate any particular message, and individual visitors are instead invited to take away whatever resonates with them. 600 This apparent avoidance of confrontation with political issues might make Kalawachi seem ‘anti-political’ in the sense suggested by James Ferguson, an example of ‘cultural’ activity as a kind of toothless substitute for political action. It could also appear to recall the significant omission from the MQB of references to colonialism and its violence. 601 However, taking into account the history of Amerindian political engagement against policies of ‘francisation’, the creation of the cultural centre may alternatively be viewed as a delayed but direct response to the call to engagement in 1984 issued by Félix Tiouka of the AAGF. A specifically Amerindian ‘ecomusée’ asserts ‘belonging’ in a certain place by way of the primacy of a particular kind of living knowledge of and interaction with that place. It is, like the EMAK, an important form of ‘soft power’. 602 Less confrontational than overtly racial, political rhetoric expressed elsewhere, this intervention in Guyane’s cultural landscape stakes

599 Although it is not specified whether those words were originally offered in French or have been translated. 600 Interview, M.N. 601 Lebovics, ‘Le Musée du Quai Branly’, pp.448-449. 602 Following the definition, based on international relations, by Joseph Nye Jr, Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics (New York, 2004). 173 a limited but nonetheless vocal claim, on behalf of Amerindians, on the ‘power to define truth’. 603

Figure 23: Information board in the Kalawachi 'ecomusée' carbet.604

iv. Knowledge, power and indigeneity Kalawachi's founder suggested that some kinds of knowledge deployed by Amerindians, such as the construction techniques of carbets , were widespread in Guyane because, quite simply, they were the best adapted to the environment. 605 Thus he implied that Amerindians could, firstly, have confidence that their way of life – and specifically, their environmental and

603 A power which in reality actually escapes the state apparati anyway: Jonathan Xavier Inda, ‘Analytics of the Modern: An Introduction’ in Inda, Anthropologies of Modernity (Oxford, 2005), pp.7-8. Candidate in the 2014 municipal elections in Camopi, Joseph Chanel advocated an integral, racialized ‘Amerindian’ identity and stood for the French royalist party, ‘Alliance Royale’, claiming that: ‘Seule la monarchie peut apporter la renaissance de notre peuple et la fierté de notre race que la République a voulu piétiner par une assimilation dégradante.’ Joseph Chanel, 'Alliance Royale candidature municipales 2014 Camopi (Guyane)', http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wiyfKSN83PM; see also Wood, ‘Silence, Space and Ecology’. 604 Photograph Sarah Wood (Jan 2013). 605 The carbet and the hammock are indeed ubiquitous in Guyane. 174 technological knowledge – did not need to be abandoned, and secondly, that they could consequently turn this to their social, cultural and economic advantage. In both a literal and a conceptual sense, Kalawachi takes possession for Amerindians of land in Guyane where its proprietorship remains subject to contestation. 606 Appeals to tropes of indigeneity in France, even as they are not recognised in law, have some recognition in institutional parlance. The NGO Survival, for example, which is present in France, marks discursive territory for indigenous people by claiming a closer local knowledge and more effective ecological stewardship for those whose relationship with a place dates back the furthest. 607 Kalawachi's production of a similarly ecological discourse in this particular context is therefore a tactical act. It identifies Amerindians according to the environmental practices that they share, negotiating for them a kind of ‘ecological citizenship’ in the context of French rule. Hence, Kalawachi appeals to the recognisable tropes promulgated by Survival. Yet, at the same time, it avoids an overtly essentialist categorisation in terms of race or ethnicity which would separate it from the French state.

Conclusion: Ecosystemic interventions, governance and citizenship The two museums, both opened in the 2000s, were interventions in a public landscape altered firstly by French national decentralisation policies and secondly by the territorial and cultural politics of the National and Regional Parks. They stake claims in the increasingly contentious debates over land and its use in Guyane. They make these claims in euphemistic terms of culture and cultural identity rather than of ‘state’ or ‘ethnic’ rights. This chapter has argued that claims on cultural and political identity have increasingly appealed to notions of ecology and human-environmental relationships. Ecology is a concept at the interface of empirical science and culturally-situated knowledge. 608 It has long attracted scholars, politicians and activists because it seems to offer a possibility of conceptual and material unity, showing ‘how the Earth’s biological members are involved in intricately entangled relationships with one another’. 609 The articulations of culture in both Kalawachi and the EMAK are centred around ecologies, but their interpretations compete with one another. This echoes the

606 It is contested between locals and the Space Centre around Kourou, between locals and National Park authorities in the inland regions, and between Natural Park authorities and conservationists along the coast. 607 The term premiers occupants is deployed in Survival’s critique of the Parc National Amazonien, for instance: see Survival, ‘Dossier sur le Parc de Guyane (23 Mar 2007), http://www.survivalfrance.org/actu/2305 [accessed 2 Mar 2015].The notion of ‘first occupants’ is complicated where some of Guyane’s ‘tribus indigènes’ were in fact imported (Maroons) and others (Wayana, Palikur) have migrated from elsewhere on the continent. Francis Dupuy, ‘Rapports à l’Autre, rapports à l’État dans le haut Maroni’ in Mam Lam Fouck (ed.), Comprendre la Guyane d’aujourd’hui, p.647. 608 Vassos Argyrou, The Logic of Environmentalism: Anthropology, Ecology and Postcoloniality (Oxford, 2005), p.ix. 609 Alan Marshall, The Unity of Nature: Wholeness and Disintegration in Ecology and Science (London, 2002), p.1. 175 differing power relationships from which these two institutions have resulted. The opening of an ‘ecomusée’ in the municipality of Régina brought Guyane into la plus grande France : it transformed the metropolitan/colonial dichotomy into an urban/rural one. 610 Kalawachi makes use of French tropes. Yet it does so in order to stake an ‘Amerindian’ (i.e. a non- French) claim on environmental knowledge and practice in Guyane, where any kind of voice from the communities it represented was obliged to speak in French in order to make itself heard. Both the EMAK and the cultural centre expose the juxtaposition of ‘old’ Guyane with its ‘new’ function as scientific research centre. Between the displays of nineteenth-century goldpanning tools and the CNRS gallery of environmental research, the Régina ‘ecomusée’ attempts to integrate the high-tech and the low-tech in its displays. Implicitly, it makes an argument for ‘sustainable development’ for the Parc Naturel Régional in which it is situated. Kalawachi, although it refers to industry in its displays only as an intruder, itself is a product of CSG funding and deploys French museology. Despite its identitarian discourse, it succeeds in presenting a cosmopolitan and regionally-integrated vision of environmental cultures in Guyane, via its experiential aspect and its inclusion of the ‘Amerindian’ from beyond ‘French’ territory. This chapter, therefore, has described negotiations of ‘ecological citizenship’ in Guyane, but its discussion of ‘indigeneity’ also raises fundamental questions about modern France. At the same time as limited cultural and political ‘space’ is reserved for ‘indigenous’ cultures on ‘French’ territory, the government refuses to officially acknowledge the existence of these same ‘indigenous’ cultures as part of the Republic. It thus appears that the French government is not yet willing to understand how the national existence is fundamentally bound up with the complexity of Amazonian cultures and ethnicities in this territory that it appropriated (and reappropriated in 1946 and 1969) and continues to govern. Nor has it apprehended how the continued existence in one of its départements of ‘indigeneity’ – a category excluded from Republican understandings of identity – offers an alternative understanding of France. The ‘indigenous’ voice – which might also include Maroons and Hmong – is a minor one nationally, but it ought to be of great symbolic weight. It is, in addition, far from negligible if we take into consideration that some of the key twentieth- century figures in French politics – Éboué, Monnerville and now Taubira – have emerged

610 Sherman, ‘Peoples Ethnographic, pp.687-690. 176 from the cultural context of Guyane, with its historical and ongoing negotiations of ‘race’, identity and now ecology. To remedy the enfer vert and in response to a perception of Guyane as underdeveloped and empty, the government attempted a form of agronomic/industrial ‘green revolution’ via the Plan Vert . However, as the third chapter discussed, this in fact led in part to the construction of a development discourse in Guyane based on the intrinsic interrelation of ecology and technology. The CSG site is a striking example of the coexistence, in the same space, of high technology and the protection of ‘wilderness’, and the Regional and Natural parks may be a vehicle for a similar project, via the reintroduction of mining industries to the ‘interior’. Guyane, then, is a key site of the French ‘light-green society’ described by Michael Bess. It has seen ‘the gradual commingling… of…two… ideological currents – and the technological enthusiasts’. 611 For Bess these currents are ‘antagonistic’ but, as Whiteside has demonstrated, French ecological thought does not fall so easily into such a dichotomy. Nevertheless, Guyane corresponds to Bess’s identification of a ‘partial greening’ in twentieth-century France. As this ‘greening’ process was negotiated, ‘a whole new complex of discourses and institutions…came into being’ and ‘practices of environmental stewardship shade imperceptibly into an ethos of territorial control and management, a form of subtle domination over the land that becomes (in the eyes of some) even more pernicious than the naked exploitation of yesteryear.’ 612 Large-scale ‘eco-management’ projects such as EDF’s hydroelectric power plant were spurred by the intervention into the landscape of the CSG. The creation of the National Park again offered Guyane as a canvas for such projects. The ‘green’ of French political rhetoric found synergy, via Guyane, with that of international institutions with their languages of ‘sustainable development’. The 1995 law of ‘green Gaullist’ Michel Barnier, for instance, enshrined the ‘principle of preventative action, which dictated that French laws should aim at avoiding environmental damage at the source, rather than attempting to repair such damage after it had already occurred.’ 613 This directly echoes the 1992 Rio Declaration, which inspired the creation of the Parc National, as much as it does the attempts to scientifically understand and mitigate the environmental consequences of the Petit-Saut dam. At the same time, a distinctively French aspect of the Parc National was its belated extension to Guyane of projects and practices rehearsed in its other colonies, as it had done with the movement there of the Foreign Legion, the space base and the bureaux

611 Bess, The Light-Green Society , p.4. 612 Bess, The Light-Green Society , p.6. 613 Bess, the Light-Green Society , p.204. 177 for science and ‘development’. In this case, it exported to Guyane a form of environmentalism developed elsewhere in the French colonies, with its concomitant tropes of forest preservation alongside population ecologies.614 By reinforcing and extending its management of Guyane’s land, forest, population and resources, the French government would, it announced, mitigate the effects of deforestation elsewhere in colonial and postcolonial (or neocolonial) situations, as had taken place in Indochina, and Africa and during the ‘Green Revolution’. Guyane, Third-Republic site of French fears about the degradation of civilisation and its prevention, became the locus for discussions of how to guard against ‘environmental’ degradation. The environmental historian Peder Anker saw ecology as a discourse rooted in imperialism, having emerged from ‘patrons in the economic administration of the environmental and social order in the .’ 615 Ecological discourse could indeed be considered a branch of governmentality. However, beyond the CSG, in the ‘territoire guyanais… immense et peu accessible’, the task of French ‘territorial governance’ is Sisyphian. 616 The National Park project was part of an attempt to (finally) make Guyane knowable. However, as chapters four and five demonstrated, Amazonian geopolitics at the geographical and cultural borders of France largely escaped governmental attempts to categorise and ultimately control ‘French’ tropical South America.

614 Ford, ‘Nature, Culture and Conservation’, p.188. 615 Peder Anker, Imperial Ecology: Environmental Order in the British Empire, 1895-1945 (London, 2001), p.1. 616 J. Bluteau, V. Gond., B.B. Koné et al, ‘La géomatique, outil de surveillance de l’orpaillage clandestine en Guyane française’, Canadian Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 34:68 (2009), p.177. The use of geomatics in attempts to survey and control illegal goldmining in Guyane offers a recent example of the nexus of technology, governmentality and environmental preservation. 178

Conclusion: ‘La France, c’est aussi la Guyane’ The thesis set out to establish how France imagined territory and its governance at the geographical and conceptual limits of the nation after 1946. How were these visions affected by modernisation and democratisation processes of the Fourth and Fifth Republics? The DOM offer a counter-narrative to the stories of decolonisation related with regard to other French colonies. Contextualising Guyane in its Amazonian geographical location brings an entirely new dimension to the history of contemporary France and the postcolonial Francophone world. It points to the historical production of an Amazonian France: what might be termed a ‘ Françamazonie ’. The existence of this political formation has broader implications, both in historiography and for present, transatlantic and wider international geopolitics. 617 It is impossible to conceive of Guyane – and therefore of France – as abstracted from the South American continent. From this conclusion, a rethinking of France from the perspective of Guyane must necessarily result. The thesis opened by hypothesising that Third-Republic imaginings of Guyane lingered into the post-Second World War era. The first chapter found that, although with the introduction of FIDES-funded bureaux for modernisation and ‘development’ these were sometimes adapted for a more bureaucratic era, many imperial tropes remained fundamentally unaltered. By analysing the intersections between literary and geographical discourses and their prevalence among French administrators, scientists, medics and ‘explorers’ in the ‘interior’, it established that the Amazonian environment was key to French visions of ‘its’ tropics. The persistence of these visions in the Fourth Republic was demonstrated in the dead-end ‘mission’ of Raymond Maufrais. Throughout the period of decolonisation’s ‘invention’ identified by Shepard, and as the late-twentieth century approached, Guyane was still taken to signify the vegetation that could devour and decay the (white, male) European coloniser and his civilisation. The language of ignorance, failure and fear was used by government-funded scientists such as Hurault to justify their attempts to obtain full territorial knowledge and rationalisation through surveillance, mapping and other ‘scientific’ projects. At the same time, the story of André Cognat’s expedition, considered alongside these other narratives of journeys-to-knowledge (and/or to death), demonstrates how Guyane was a meeting-point for French and ‘indigenous’ understandings. Via the ‘missions’ of Cognat and others, interactions and exchanges took place which would sow the seeds for future developments in the French and Guyanais political landscapes. ‘Race’ and

617 On the dynamics of new ‘shifts’ and ‘alliances’ across the Caribbean see Matthew Bishop, ‘The Caribbean Amidst New Regional and Global Dynamics’, Caribbean Journal of International Relations & Diplomacy 2:4 (2014), p.4. 179 culture, then, were bound up with representations of environment, and this combination is key to an understanding of French ideas about how they might govern the ‘colonial borderlands’. 618 Chapter two further complicated the notion of Guyane as ‘periphery’ by tracing the mobilities and anchorings of political actors from and in Guyane. Its consideration of individuals’ overlapping trajectories and their utilisation of the opportunities offered within national hierarchical structures demonstrates how, through figures such as Éboué and Monnerville, Guyane, its events and people were present at the heart of the French government. Not only were they merely present but also, as the chapter shows, they were of unique and remarkable historical influence. Conversely, the absence from Guyane of those who ascended the ranks of the Third-Republic colonial administration had important implications for the DOM. What might have been if Monnerville had been re-elected in Guyane, if Éboué had survived and returned to Guyane, or if Catayée had not died? The career and death of local politician Catayée offer specific examples demonstrating how broader political processes – in this case, a colony’s independence or non- independence – in fact often hinge on the most local of events. Historians in Guyane and the Antilles have begun to address the local significance of hitherto ‘forgotten’ events and people, but frequently miss their national or international ramifications. The situation of Guyane’s mobile elites in a ‘French Black Atlantic’ network contributes a way of apprehending how they construed and enacted identities as colonial-born, non-white but ‘French’ subjects. The analysis of the politics of commemoration presents the other side to the coin of the ‘forgetting’ of ‘marginal’ actors. The processes by which certain figures were ‘stipulated’ into a supposedly ‘collective’ national ‘memory’ in Guyane were (and remain) highly political ones. Such projects are usually undertaken by similarly educated and mobile elites and modelled either in their own image or in response to a French imperative to anchor the symbols of Republican narratives and national authority. 619 Through the repeated transatlantic journeys of generations of ‘pilgrims’ (as described by Anderson), the French nation was implanted and reinforced in political and social landscapes across a ‘French Black Atlantic’, a network in which Guyane was a key node. This Third-Republic influence on French representations and governance in and of Guyane hit a turning point around 1975, when the purpose and role of remaining ‘overseas

618 Louis Sicking, Colonial Borderlands: France and the Netherlands in the Atlantic in the 19 th Century (Leiden, 2008). 619 Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others , p.76; Abdoulaye Gueye, ‘The Colony Within the Metropole:The Racial Diversity of Contemporary France and the Insertion of the Colonial Past into National Narrative’, Canadian Journal of African Studies/Revue canadienne des études africaines 45:1 (2011), pp.2-3. 180 departments and territories’ were examined. Ministers spoke of ‘DOM-TOM’ in near- unchanged colonial terms, and the language of remnants and legacies – the ‘confetti of empire’ – constituted them as anachronisms, out of sync with modern time. These terms, however, were tested and adapted in the face of ongoing processes of modernisation, democratisation and – particularly with Giscard’s government – social liberalisation. 620 Old ideas about the desirable ‘conjuncture’ of populations, production and environment in the colonies were still deployed, as was the case in the transplantation of the Hmong, an ‘indigenous people’ from what had been French Indochina, into the similarly-tropical environment (or so it was judged) of Guyane. This project, undertaken as part of the Plan Vert – in the context of the development of the Space Centre – exposed the intersection of older discourses with the newer ones of ‘development’ and ‘ecology’. French Amazonia was in fact a fundamental part of what Bess has described as France’s ‘light-green society’ in the late-twentieth century. As nuclear, space and other ultra-high technologies were developed, the debates around them gave rise to new forms of environmental discourse, thus altering the shape of French political ecologies. Guyane was a key locus of these debates. Yet French ‘modernity’ was tested in Guyane, in ways intrinsically linked to the politics of ethnicity and hospitality. With the mass arrival of ‘Maroons’ from across the river, central government was forced to take stock of the real fluidity of its ‘peripheral’ frontiers. Compared to the mass migration plan of 1975, the treatment accorded to refugees from Suriname’s civil war from 1986 into the mid-1990s indicates that the imagined nation was still highly racialised at its borders. 621 Despite Fifth-Republican rhetoric purporting the non- recognition of people in terms of race and ethnicity, the French government once more demonstrated that it considered Guyane as a legal and cultural ‘underworld’ where ‘normal’ French rules did not apply due to the ‘specificities’ of its Amazonian situation. By denoting (Maroon/‘indigenous’) refugees as PPDS, the government rehearsed the avoidance or non- recognition of international law which was to be reiterated in the repeated refusal to ratify the ILO Convention no. 169 on rights to land and cultural recognition conferred by ‘indigeneity’. The unique politics of ethnicity that have arisen in Guyane due to the presence of those categorised as ‘indigenous’ and/or ‘Maroon’ distinguishes it fundamentally from other DOM. In the islands, discussions of difference have since the 1980s hinged around ‘Créolité’, defined from and for the Antilles. The politics of difference and citizenship shed light on a

620 On scholarly approaches to these ‘-isations’ see Cooper, ‘Decolonising Situations’, p.48. 621 The situation of Maroons offers a South-American precursor and therefore a new dimension to French sans-papiers debates of the 1990s explored in Abdoulaye Gueye, ‘The Colony Strikes Back: African Protest Movements in Postcolonial France’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 26:2 (2006), pp.225-242. 181 new dimension of the relationship between ‘metropolitan’ France and ‘its’ outre-mer . Because of Guyane’s ‘indigeneity’ (the term being considered applicable both to ‘Amerindians’ and ‘Maroons’, as indeed to the Hmong), governmental avoidance of the issue of ‘ethnicity’ seemed unconvincing and, in practice, self-serving. In response to the fluid nature of the fluvial border (i.e. the realisation that its Amazonian border is an imagined one, often meaningless in practice), French authorities practiced a racialised form of hospitality and began to reconsider their approach to ‘frontier’ governance in Amazonia. ‘Ethnicity’, ‘indigeneity’, locality and nation have variously been asserted, avoided or contested through cultural representations. French museological representations of Guyane purport to be apolitical. Yet by concentrating on human-environmental relationships and on science and industry, they enact the ongoing process of ‘departmentalisation’, reimagining Guyane as a rural province of France. The EMAK – linked to the Parc Naturel Régional – represented the ‘diversity’ of Guyane in terms of a nostalgic evocation of the French colonial- industrial past. The ‘Créole’ and the ‘Amerindian’ were present only as anecdote or local colour; the latter in particular consigned to the past. Thus, French scientific and state cultural institutions reimagined Guyane for the twenty-first century as a place where ‘diversity’ may be conceived of only in relation to land and resources and valued only insofar as it contributed to ‘development’. The cultural space of the EMAK left little room for what was not French: evidence of the territory’s integration into the cultures of the wider Guianas, for instance. Nor did it substantially acknowledge the political debates over resources and ‘development’ (goldmining, petroleum and other forms of environmental upheaval) in which the EMAK and the Parc Naturel Régional were themselves interventions. The counter- institution of Kalawachi challenges the nationalistic paradigm by reinserting an ‘Amerindian’ voice into the French cultural landscape. Its politics are implicit – for instance, the ‘Amerindianité’ represented is constructed knowingly, in response to Guyane’s colonial history, but as part of an identitarian political programme. However, ‘Amerindian’ politics represent local belonging in terms of environmentally-grounded knowledge and identity, and this ‘ecological citizenship’ stands as an important development in French negotiations of identity and citizenship. The governance of Guyane is sometimes justified with reference to this DOM’s relative peacefulness. Yet the paucity of overt conflict within Guyane is itself bound up with more or less overt forms of systemic violence: the pacification of dissent in the 1960s-80s, for instance, and the containment and categorisation of refugees and other migrants. Nevertheless, much in Guyane has remained beyond ‘metropolitan’ understanding and 182 control. French central governance in this DOM was imagined according to a ‘tropical’ schema rooted in Third-Republic colonial discourses of ‘civilisation’. These imaginings fed through into acts of domination or attempted domination via specific and interlinked modes of representation: literary tropes, cultural cartographies, racial-medical discourses and museology. Throughout the second half of the twentieth century, governments and bureaucrats attempted to extend ‘development’ institutions to Guyane, and adjusted their plans in function of three main considerations. First among these was how they imagined the particular ‘nature’ of its tropical environment, its past of ‘rocambolesque’ failures and its possible future human ecologies. Secondly was the relative priority or lack of priority and resources accorded to Guyane in view of decolonial and postcolonial processes elsewhere. Thirdly was the extent to which government apprehended the nature, function and significance of Guyane’s Amazonian borders. As a tropical, equatorial territory, Guyane was, during Third and Fourth Republics, imagined and represented in many of the same ways as was tropical Africa. As a DOM, however – and particularly around the point of 1975 at which many other ‘decolonisations’ were considered complete and the era of postcolonial ‘development’ and ‘Françafrique’ was underway – it occupied a more uncertain political, economic and cultural location from the Hexagonal point of view. With the events surrounding the Surinamese War and refugee situation, this thesis has identified a point at which France adjusted its perception and began to conceive of Guyane in relation to its Amazonian neighbours of Suriname and Brazil. At the turn of the twenty-first century, French surveillance of Guyane was extended via satellite technology, itself enabled by the CSG. The creation of Parcs Naturel Régionaux and the Parc National Amazonien affirmed the theoretical reach of territorial governance and set the scene for more concrete manifestations of development policy, ‘sustainable’ or otherwise. Through the sciences of human, animal and vegetal biodiversity, French research institutions obtained more detailed ecological understandings of their place in Amazonia. What appears to be missing or as-yet undeveloped in these reconfigured French visions of Guyane, however, is a reassessment of the implications of the continued assertion that – as Chirac put it in 1975 – ‘la Guyane, c’est la France’. During the Third Republic, the bagne, Cayenne and Guyane were interchangeable terms to denote all that French civilisation was not supposed to be and that it rejected. Spieler’s work showed that the legal ‘underworld’ of empire cannot be considered as something separate or ‘other’ than France; Redfield’s anthropological study anticipated Spieler’s eighteenth- and nineteenth-century history by 183 playing upon the notion of Guyane as a site of ‘negative governmentality’. Responding to these hypotheses, this thesis argues that Third-Republic imperial visions were also part of French cultural and political ‘imagination’ throughout the Fourth Republic and into the Fifth. It integrates the problematics of boundaries and borders between France and Amazonia, significantly nuancing historiographical debates. A further historiographical contribution is its drawing of explicit links between France’s imperial past and its supposedly postcolonial present, links that are embodied in Guyane. The use of oral history, other forms of personal testimony, museological methodologies, and analysis of commemorative practices, builds important bridges in this respect. That the third most important person in government in 2015 should be Guyanaise indicates important continuities between the contestations of departmentalisation in the 1950s-70s and the present day. Having emerged from the Lycée Félix Éboué and followed in the footsteps of all Guyanais elites since the Third Republic, Taubira’s political approach has combined the ‘Radical’ Republicanism associated with Monnerville with a discourse – citing the Négritude of Léon-Gontran Damas – charged with awareness of politics of ‘race’. 622 As such, from 2001 and the ‘loi Taubira ’ she was a central figure in debates surrounding memory of colonialism and Republican identity. 623 Éboué, Monnerville and Taubira – but also Maroons, Amerindians and Hmong – have contributed to shaping the political entity known as France. This examination of Guyane’s contemporary history demonstrates that it makes less sense to assert that ‘Guyane, c’est la France’, and more sense to assert that ‘la France, c’est aussi la Guyane’: France cannot be disassociated from its Amazonian dimensions, its ‘indigenous’ and ‘ethnic’ components and denominations, and the notions of territory, governance and ecology that have been shaped there.

622 Christiane Taubira, ‘Foreword: Black… A Color? A Kaleidoscope!’ in Keaton, Sharpley-Whiting, and Stovall, Black France / France Noire , pp.ix-xiv. 623 ‘Loi 2001-434 du 21 mai 2001 tendant à la reconnaissance de la traite de l’esclavage en tant que crime contre l’humanité’, http://www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichTexte.do?cidTexte=LEGITEXT000005630984&dateTexte=vig [accessed 16 Mar 2015]; Abdoulaye Gueye, ‘Memory at Issue: On Slavery and the Slave Trade among Black French’, Canadian Journal of African Studies/Revue canadienne des études africaines 45:1 (2011), pp.89-91. 184

Appendix i) Deputies for Guyane in the National Assembly, 1932-2015 Date Deputy Affiliation Other mandates where known 1932-1946 Gaston Monnerville Républicain radical et radical-socialiste 1946-1947 René Jadfard SFIO 1948-1951 Léon-Gontran Damas SFIO 1951-1955 Edouard Gaumont RPF (until 1955) 1956-1958 Républicains sociaux (from 1956) 1958-1962 Justin Catayée PSG 1962-1967 Léopold Héder PSG 1967-1968 Hector Riviérez UDR 1968 -1973 Hector Riviérez UDR 1973 -1978 Hector Riviérez UDR 1978-1981 Hector Riviérez RPR 1981-1986 Elie Castor PSG Castor: Mayor of Sinnamary 1986-1988 - Elie Castor PSG (1977-1996); President of - Paulin-Christian RPR General Council of Guyane Bruné (1979-82 and 1985-94). 1988-1993 - Elie Castor PSG - Léon Bertrand RPR 1993-1997 - Christiane Taubira /PRG - Léon Bertrand RPR 1997-2002 - Christiane Taubira Walwari/PRG - Léon Bertrand RPR 2002-2007 - Christiane Taubira Walwari/PRG - Juliana Rimane UMP 2007-2012 - Christiane Taubira Walwari/PRG - Chantal Berthelot PSG/Socialiste, républicain et citoyen 2012- - Chantal Berthelot PSG/Socialiste, républicain et citoyen - Gabriel Serville PSG/Gauche démocrate et républicain

ii) Council of the Republic Members / Senators for Guyane, 1946-2015 Date Member / Senator Affiliation Other mandates 1946-1948 Gaston Monnerville Groupe de la gauche démocratique 1948-1952 Jules Patient Groupe socialiste 1952-1959 August Boudinot Groupe de la gauche démocratique; Rassemblement des Gauches Républicaines 185

1959 -1962 Georges Guéril Groupe de l’Union pour la Nouvelle République 1962 -1971 Robert Vignon Groupe de l’Union pour la Nouvelle République 1971 -1978 Léopold Héder Groupe Socialiste Mayor of Cayenne 1965-1978 1978 -1980 Henri Agarande Groupe Socialiste 1980-1989 Raymond Tarcy Groupe Socialiste 1989-2008 Georges Othily Groupe du Rassemblement Démocratique et Social Européen 2008-2014 - Jean-Étienne Antoinette Groupe Socialiste - Georges Patient Groupe Socialiste Mayor of Mana 2014- - Georges Patient Groupe Socialiste Mayor of Mana - Antoine Karam Groupe Socialiste Conseiller Général (Cayenne Nord-Est) iii) Governors / Prefects of Guyane, 1939-2015 Date Name 1939-1942 Robert Chot 1942-1943 René Veber 1943 Albert Lebel 1943-1944 Jean Rapenne 1944 -1946 Jules Surlemont 1946 -1947 (last Governor) Jean Peset 1947-1955 (Prefect) Robert Vignon 1955-1957 Pierre Malvy 1957-1958 Pierre Voitelier 1958-1960 André Dubois-Chabert 1960 -1963 René Erignac 1963 -1967 René Letellier 1967-1970 Paul Bouteiller 1970-1971 Jean Monfraix 31 Dec 1971-1974 Jacques Delaunay 13 Feb 1974-1977 Hervé Bourseiller 20 May 1977-1980 Jean le Direach 1980 -1981 Désiré Carli 1981 -1982 Maxime Gonzalvo 1982-1984 Claude Silberzahn 19 Sep 1984-1986 Bernard Courtois 20 May 1986-1988 Jacques Dewatre 22 Aug 1988-1990 Jean-Pierre Lacroix 1990-1992 Jean-François Di Chiara 1992 -1995 Jean -François Cordet 1995 -1997 Pierre Dartout 1997-1999 Dominique Vian 1999-2002 Henri Masse 2002-2006 Ange Mancini 186

2006 -2009 Jean -Pierre Laflaquiere 2009 -2011 Daniel Ferey 2011 -2013 Denis Labbé 2013- Eric Spitz iv) Mayors of Cayenne, 1935-2015 Date Name 1935-1940 Gaston Monnerville 1940-1941 Maurice Rivierez 1941 -1943 Ulrich Sophie 1943 -1945 Gaston Monnerville 1945-1947 Chlore Constant 1947-1953 Auguste Boudinot 1953-1965 Roland Barrat 1965-1978 Léopold Héder PSG 1978 -1995 Gérard Holder PSG 1995 -2008 Jean -Claude Lafontaine PSG 2008-2010 Rodolphe Alexandre Divers gauche followed by UMP 2010- Marie-Laure Phinéra-Horth Divers gauche followed by PSG v) Ministries, Ministers and Secretaries for Overseas France, 1946-2015 Date Status Prime minister President Outre-mer minister /secretary 1946-1959 Ministère de Vincent Marius Moutet l’Intérieur (1947); Robert Auriol (1946); Schuman, (Jan 47 – Jan Auguste Laurent André Marie 54) 1946-47); (1948); Henri Marius Moutet Queuille (1948- (1947); 49); Georges Paul Coste-Floret Bidault (1949- (1947-49); 50); Henri Jean Letourneau Queuille (1949-50); (1950); René Paul Coste-Floret Pleven (1951- (1950); 52); Edgar François Faure (1952); Mitterrand (1950- 51); (1952-53); René Mayer (1951-52); (1953); Joseph Laniel (1953- (1952-53); 54); Louis Jacquinot Pierre Mendès- (1953-54); France (1954- René Coty 55); Edgar (Jan 54 – Jan (1954-55); Jean- Faure (1955- 59) Jacques Juglas 187

56); Guy (1955); Mollet (1956- Pierre-Henri 57); Maurice Teitgen (1955-56); Bourgès- Maunoury (1956-57); (1957); Félix Gérard Jaquet Gaillard (1957- (1957-58); 58); Pierre André Colin Pflimlin (1958); (1958); Charles de Bernard Cornut- Gaulle (1958- Gentille (1958-59) 59) 1959 -1960 Ministre délégué Michel Debré Charles de Jacques Soustelle au Sahara, aux (1959-62) Gaulle (1959-60) territoires d’outre- (Jan 59- Apr mer, aux 69) départements d’outre-mer et à l’énergie atomique, later a separate ministry under the ministre d’État. 1960 -1968 Separate ministry under Ministère Georges (1960-61) d’État; Ministre Pompidou Louis Jacquinot des DOM et des (1962-68) (1961-66) + Jean TOM de Broglie as Secrétaire d’État chargé du Sahara, des DOM et des TOM (1962-64) Pierre Billotte (1966-68) Joël le Theule (1968) 1968 -1969 Secrétariat d’État Maurice Couve Michel Inchauspé (independent) de Murville (1968-69) 1969 -1971 Ministère délégué Jacques Georges Henri Rey 1971-1972 Separate ministry Chaban-Delmas Pompidou Pierre Messmer (under ministère (1969-72) (June 69 – d’État) Apr 74) 1972-1973 Secrétariat d’État Pierre Messmer Xavier Deniau 1973-1974 Separate ministry (1972-74) Bernard Stasi 1974 Secrétariat d’État Joseph Comiti 1974-1976 ‘Secrétariat d’État Jacques Chirac Valéry Olivier Stirn autonome aux (27 May 1974- Giscard DOM-TOM’ 25 Aug 1976) d’Estaing 1976-1981 Secrétariat d’État Raymond Barre (May 74- Olivier Stirn (until responsible to (1976-81) May 81) 1978); Paul 188

Interior Ministry, Dijoud (1978 -81) 1981 -1984 with additional François Henri Emmanuelli minister for (1981-84) Mitterrand (1981-83) Nouvelle- (May 81 – Georges Lemoine 1984 -1986 Calédonie 1984- May 95) Georges Lemoine 1985 (1984-86) 1986 -1988 Separate mi nistry, Jacques Chirac Bernard Pons + with additional (1986-88) Gaston Flosse Secrétaire d’État (Secrétaire d’État for Nouvelle- chargé des Calédonie. problèmes du Pacifique-Sud) 1988 Ministère délégué Olivier Stirn 1988 -1991 Separate ministry (1988-1991) Louis le Pensec 1991 -1992 Édith Cresson Louis le Pensec (1991-92) 1992 -1993 Pierre Louis le Pensec Bérégovoy 1993 -1995 Édouard Balladur 1995 Alain Juppé Jean -Jacques de (1995-97) Jacques Peretti 1995-1997 Ministère délégué Chirac (May Jean-Jacques de 95 – May 07) Peretti 1997-2002 Secrétariat d’État Jean-Jack responsible to Queyranne (1997- Interior Ministry 2000) Christian Paul (2002-02) 2002 -2005 Jean -Pierre Brigitte Girardin Raffarin

2005 -2007 Dominique de François Baroin

Villepin

2007 -2009 Secrétariat d’État François Fillon Christian Estrosi Nicolas responsible to (2007-12) (2007-08) Sarkozy (May Interior Ministry Yves Jégo (2008- 2007 – May 09) 2012) 2009 -2011 Separate ministry Marie -Luce

(Ministère de Penchard (2009-

l’Outre-Mer), but 2012)

connected to

Interior Ministry

2012-2015 Name changed to Jean-Marc François Ministère des Ayrault (2012- Hollande (2012-14) Outre-Mer 14 (2012-) George Pau- (2014-) Langevin (2014-)

189 vi) Air transport links to and from Cayenne, 1939-2001 1939 – Reached by Panam (US company) from San Juan (Puerto Rico) via Port-of-Spain (Trinidad) and Georgetown (British Guiana). c.1945 – After the Second World War, an Air France hydroplane connected Cayenne into a Caribbean archipelago which included San Juan and Curaçao. 1961 – Guyane was no longer served by Panam; Air France operated a Miami-Cayenne arc. Air travel to Paris from Cayenne was possible via Paramaribo, Georgetown, Barbados, Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Lisbon. 1972 – Air France connected Cayenne with Paris via the Antilles. The Boeing 707 flew to and from Rochambeau. 1981 – The number of local carriers in the independent Caribbean (with the exception of Cuba) increased considerably, leaving the French DOM relatively excluded, and connected primarily or exclusively to Paris. 624 1986 – Air France’s monopoly on aeroplane connections between metropolitan France, the Antilles, Guyane and Réunion was ended, although no foreign or charter companies flew to Guyane as a result. 1987 – Air France launched a Paris-Cayenne direct service. 1989 – A second company, AOM, began to operate the Paris-Cayenne service alongside Air France; there were now four flights per week. 2001 – Air France regained its monopoly of the route. 625

624 Chardon, L’avion dans les Antilles , pp.1-68. 625 Michel Socie, Etude et Propositions Concernant la Desserte Extérieure de la Guyane (Paris: Ministère de l’Équipement, des Transports, de l’Aménagement du Territoire, du Tourisme et de la Mer, 2004), pp.7-9. 190

Bibliography Archive sources Archives du Centre Spatial Guyanais (ACSG) ACSG/25A2660 ACSG/AR25W419 ACSG/489W20 ACSG/8W120 ACSG/Unclassified

Archives départementales de la Guyane (ADG), Cayenne ADG/1J54 ADG/1J56 ADG/1J57 ADG/1J65 ADG/1J66 ADG/1J70 ADG/1J92 ADG/1J117/1 ADG/1J117/2 ADG/1J117/3 ADG/PER56 La Voix des Travailleurs ADG/PER106 Conscience Guyanaise ADG/PER115 Debout Guyane ADG/PER117 Caou Ca ADG/PER119 Bulletin du Centre Spatial Guyanais ADG/PER122, Le Bulletin d’information du CENADDOM ADG/PER261, La Presse de Guyane

Archives d’Histoire Contemporaine, Sciences-Po (AHCS), Paris, Archives Gaston Monnerville (GM) AHCS/GM/9/1 AHCS/GM/9/3 AHCS/GM/9/7

Archives Diplomatiques (ADN), Nantes: Paramaribo Ambassade ADN Series C15-16 ADN/509PO/1/30/G/I/2b ADN/509PO/1/34 /G/I/3d AND/509PO/1/35 ADN/509/PO/1/51/G/2c ADN/509PO/1/54/G/I/2b ADN/509PO/1/54/G/I/2k ADN/509PO/1/54/G/I/2m ADN/509PO1/54/G/X ADN/509PO1/54/G/X/1 ADN/509PO1/54/G/X/2 ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/1 ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/3 ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/4 191

ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/5 ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/7 ADN/ 509PO/1/54/G/XI/8 ADN/509PO/1/54/G/XI/10a AND/509PO/1/55/G/XI/10a

Archives Littéraires Suisses (ALS), Berne ALS/Cendrars/O112a/I

Archives Nationales Contemporaines (ANCF), Fontainebleau ANCF/19840179/1 ANCF/19840179/3 ANCF/1984/0179/53 ANCF/19840179/63 ANCF/19940380/0007-0008 ANCF/19940380/19 ANCF/19940380/20 ANCF/19940380/24 ANCF/FM/COL/H5156 ANCF/FM/MIS/68

Archives Nationales Outre-Mer (ANOM), Aix-en-Provence ANOM/1AFFPOL/2982 ANOM/1FIDES/1 ANOM/AGEFOM/286/2 ANOM/FM/1FIDES/17 ANOM/1FIDES/30 ANOM/1FIDES/61 ANOM/FIDES/FM/64/494 ANOM/FP/12PA/1

Bibliothèque de l’INSEE (BI), Paris Annuaire statistique des Possessions Françaises (1944) Annuaire statistique de l’Union Française de l’Outre-Mer, 1939-1949 (1951-52) Annuaire statistique de la Zone France, 1949-1955 (1957)

Bibliothèque Nationale Française (BNF): Gallica Bulletin de la Société de Géographie 7:12 (Paris, 1891). Orgeas, J. De la pathologie des races humaines et le problème de la colonisation: étude anthropologique et économique faite à la Guyane française (Paris: Octave Doin, 1886).

Bibliothèque numérique Medic (BIU Santé) Laure, Jules A.E.J. Considérations pratiques sur les maladies de la Guyane et des pays marécageux situés entre les tropiques (Paris: Librairie Victor Masson, 1859). Pointet, Michel. Les plantes médicinales des Antilles et de la Guyane Françaises: Mémoire présenté pour le Prix Menier 1952 (Laboratoire de Matière Médicale, 1952). Pugliesi, J.-B. Des accidents causés par la puce chique Observés à la Guyane française (Paris: A. Parent, Imprimeur de la Faculté de Médecine, 1885).

192

British Library Bureau, Gabriel. La Guyane méconnue (Paris: Fasquelle, 1936). Préfecture de la Guyane. La Guyane française: le pays, ses problèmes économiques (Cayenne, March 1966). Présidence du Conseil – Commissariat général au plan de la modernisation et d'équipement, Deuxième plan de modernisation et d'équipement: rapport général de la commission d'étude et de coordination des plans de modernisation et d'équipement (April 1954).

Diplomatic Treaty Database of the French Government TRA20010035 (5 Apr 2001), http://basedoc.diplomatie.gouv.fr [accessed 28 Jan 2015].

Médiathèque du Musée du Quai Branly (MQB) Jean Hurault, Mission de délimitation de la frontière Guyane française-Brésil: frontère sud (bassin du Maroni), Octobre 1956-Février 1957: rapport de fin de mission .

Salvation Army Archives (SAA), London Press sources 1947-1953 (See Periodicals): Catholic Herald, Manchester Evening News, War Cry . Charles Péan, autobiography drafting notes. Photographs of Armée du Salut activity with bagnards in Guyane, c.1945-1952.

Service des Archives de l’Assemblée Nationale (SAAN) ‘Aimé Césaire: Tables nominatives des interventions (1945-1993)’, pp.8261-8262, http://www.assemblee-nationale.fr/histoire/aime-cesaire/tables_nominatives.asp#2avril1973 [accessed 31 Jan 2015].

Films ‘Apostrophes: le racisme’ (France, broadcast 6 May 1975), http://www.ina.fr/video/CPB75053453/le-racisme-video.html [accessed 10 Jan 2015]. De Peretti, Yves (dir.), Allons enfants de Camopi, l’horizon amérindien (France, 2007). Deiters, Tom and Kamphuisen, Hilbert (dirs.). Toxic Tears: The Darker Side of the Green Revolution (Netherlands, 2012). Dumont, René. Electoral Campaign Video (France, 1974), http://www.ina.fr/video/CAF88000834/rene-dumont-video.html [accessed 17 Jan 2014].

Krivine, Alain. Electoral Campaign Video (France, 1974), http://www.ina.fr/video/CAF92034329/alain-krivine-video.html [accessed 10 Jan 2015].

ORTF ‘Visite du général de Gaulle à Cayenne’, http://www.ina.fr/video/I08007293 [accessed 25 June 2014].

ORTF, ‘Charles de GAULLE: voyage en Guyane’, Les Actualités Françaises (1964) http://www.ina.fr/video/I00013956/charles-de-gaulle-voyage-en-guyane-video.html [accessed 25 June 2014].

Méliès, Georges (dir.). L’affaire Dreyfus: Mise aux fers de Dreyfus and L’Île du Diable (1899). Sources: ‘Lives in film no. 1: Alfred Dreyfus – part I’, posted 10 Mar 2010, 193 http://thebioscope.net/tag/silent-films/page/40/ and Michael Brooke, ‘Devil’s Island – Within the Palisade’, posted 30 May 2008, http://filmjournal.net/melies/2008/05/ [accessed 9 Oct 2014].

Schaffner, Franklin J. (dir.), Papillon (U.S., 1973).

Wiels, Géneviève (dir.), Les guérisseurs noirs d’Amazonie (France, 1998). Wiels, Généviève (dir.). Dessine-moi… une frontière (France, 2004).

Oral history interviews M. A. ‘Amerindian’ community figure (Unrecorded: Bellevue, 2013). Mme. B. Cleaner, former PIDEG worker, born in Guyane, inhabitant of Cité Césaire, Cayenne (Recorded: Cayenne, Oct 2012). Mme. C. Local historian and teacher, arrived in Guyane in 1970s (Recorded: Rémire- Montjoly, Sep 2012). M. D. Agricutural entrepreneur, arrived in Guyane in 1960s (Recorded: Sinnamary, Dec 2012). M. E. Retired inhabitant of Rémire-Montjoly, born in Guyane, studied in ‘metropolitan’ France (Recorded: Montjoly, Nov 2012). Mme. F. Assistante scolaire , born and resident in Sinnamary (Recorded: Sinnamary, Dec 2012). M. G. Retired, born and resident in Sinnamary (Recorded: Sinnamary, Dec 2012). Mme. H. Works in administration of Parc National, born in Guyane (Recorded: Cayenne, Dec 2012). M. I. Retired former driver at the CSG, born in Guyane (Recorded: Sinnamary, 2012). M. J. Local historian and teacher from Mana, Guyane (Recorded: Cayenne, Oct 2012). Mme. K. Retired teacher, born in Guyane, educated in ‘metropolitan’ France (Recorded: Rémire-Montjoly, 2012). Mme. L. Shopkeeper in Cayenne, born in Guyane (Recorded: Cayenne, 2012). Mme. M. Retired educateur , born in Guyane, educated in ‘metropolitan’ France (Recorded: Cayenne, Oct 2012) M. N. Entrepreneur and influential ‘Amerindian’ community figure (Unrecorded: Kourou, 2013). M. O. Former Président de la Région, born in Guyane (Recorded: Rémire-Montjoly, Nov-Dec 2012). Mme. P. Locally-notable retired agricultural worker and founder of a women’s co-operative (Recorded: Sinnamary, 2012). 194

M. Q. Shopkeeper in Cayenne and artisan (gold), born in Guyane (Recorded: Cayenne, Dec 2012). M. R. Entrepreneur and manager in the gold industry, arrived in Guyane as an agricultural worker under the Plan Vert in 1981 (Recorded: Matoury, 2012). M. S. Teacher at the Lycée Félix Éboué, arrived in Guyane as Volontaire d’Aide Technique in the 1970s (Recorded: Cayenne, 26 Sep 2012).

Memoir and autobiography Belbenoît, René. The Dry Guillotine: Fifteen Years among the Living Dead (New York, 1939). Chaban-Delmas, Jacques. Mémoires pour demain (Paris, 1997), pp. 432-434. Cognat, André. J’ai choisi d’être indien (Paris, 1967). Condé, Maryse. La vie sans fards (Paris, 2012). Harrison, John. Into the Amazon: An Incredible Story of Survival in the Jungle (Chichester, 2001). Malraux, André. Antimemoirs (London, 1968). Maufrais, Raymond. Aventures en Guyane: journal d’un explorateur disparu (Paris, 2014 [1952]). Maufrais, Raymond. L’appel de l’aventure (Paris, 1991). Monnerville, Gaston. Témoignage: De la France Équinoxiale au Palais de Luxembourg (Paris, 1975). Penta, Karl. A Mercenary’s Tale (London, 2001). Taubira, Christiane. Mes météores: combats politiques au long cours (France, 2012). Vignon, Robert. Gran Man Baka (France, 1985).

Personal Communications Ecomusée de l’Approuague-Kaw, conversation with museum steward (unrecorded – field notes, 11 Jan 2013). Leidsman, Freddy, conversations 2013-14 and email communication (3 Jan 2014). Lesimple, Frédéric, email communications (Jan 2013-Jan 2015). Maïas, Marie-Georges. (Unrecorded conversation: Cayenne, Nov 2007). Patient, M., conversation at Montsinéry-Tonnégrande (unrecorded - field notes, Jan 2013). Wood, Sarah. Notes from fieldwork diary (16 Aug 2012-11 Jan 2013).

Fiction and literary works Carpentier, Alejo. El siglo de la luces (Barcelona, 2001 [1962]). Chamoiseau, Patrick. Un dimanche au cachot (France, 2009). Charrière, Henri. Papillon (Paris, 1969). Condé, Maryse. Traversée de la mangrove (Paris, 1992). Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness (London, 2006 [1899]). Constant, Paule. La fille du Gobernator (Paris, 1994). Genet, Jean. Le bagne (Décines, 1994). Hugo, Victor. Les Misérables (Paris, 1957 [1862]). Jadfard, René. Nuits de Cachiri (Paris, 1946). Juminer, Bertène. La Revanche de Bozambo (Paris, 2000 [1968]). Mann, Thomas. The Magic Mountain (Harmondsworth, 1960). 195

Maximin, Daniel. L'Isolé soleil (Paris, 2001 [1981]). Rodrigue, Valérie. Fanta, fleur et martyre (Paris, 2006). Sarney, José. Saraminda (São Paulo, 2014 [2000]). Zola, Émile. Le Ventre de Paris (Québec, ebook [1873]), http://beq.ebooksgratuits.com/vents/zola-03.pdf [accessed 18 August 2014].

Grey literature Ariane Gold. ‘Exploration and Mining in the Rain Forest of French Guiana’ (2003) http://www.pdac.ca/docs/default-source/publications---papers-presentations--- conventions/viens.pdf?sfvrsn=4 [accessed 28 Feb 2015]. CNES. Le Cnes et les Iles du Salut . Dossier de presse (2010). Conservation International. Bernard, Enrico (ed.). ‘Inventários Biológicos Rápidos no Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque, Amapá, Brasil’, RAP Bulletin of Biological Assessment 48 (U.S., 2008). Ecomusée d’Approuague-Kaw (publicity leaflet, c.2015). INSEE. Breton, Didier, Condon, Stéphanie, Marie, Claude-Valentin and Temporal, Franck, ‘Migrations, Famille et Vieillissement: Défis et enjeux pour la Guyane’, Antianéchos (2012), http://www.insee.fr/fr/themes/document.asp?reg_id=25&ref_id=19085 [accessed 18 Feb 2015]. INSEE. Oddo, Bertrand, ‘La belle crevette de Guyane’, Antiane-Eco (1993), pp.27-29. La Documentation Française. Taubira-Delannon, Christiane. L’Or en Guyane: Eclats et Artifices: Rapport à Monsieur le Premier Ministre (Paris, 2000). INSEE. ‘Recensement de la population: 973 Guyane’ (2015). Ministère de l’Equipement, des Transports, de l’Aménagement du Territoire, du Tourisme et de la Mer. Socie, Michel, Etude et propositions concernant la desserte extérieur de la Guyane (Paris, 2004). ORSTOM. Choubert, Boris, ‘The “Institut Français d’Amérique Tropicale”: Pilot Institute in French Guiana’, Bulletin de Services Français de Coopération Technique 14 (Jan-Feb 1960), pp.26-46. Parc Amazonien Guyane. ‘L’agriculture vivrière, au coeur du développement de la Guyane: Opportunités et défis d’une agriculture traditionnelle en évolution’ (c.2014). Smithsonian Institution Department of Botany. deFilipps, Robert A., Maina, Shirley L. and Crepin, Juliette, ‘Medicinal Plants of the Guianas’ (Washington, 2004). Survival France. ‘Dossier sur le Parc de Guyane (23 Mar 2007), http://www.survivalfrance.org/actu/2305 [accessed 2 Mar 2015]. United States Geological Survey (USGS). Gurmedi, Alfredo C. ‘The Mineral Industries of French Guiana, Guyana and Suriname’, Minerals Yearbook (2011), pp.11.1-11.10.

Newspapers France-Guyane (2012-2014) Le Monde (1952-2012) Libération (2006-2012)

Periodicals Americas (2001) Catholic Herald (1953) La chronique coloniale illustré (1935) Le Monde diplomatique (1989) 196

Républicain Lorrain (1980) The Wall Street Journal (1986) Vanity Fair (2012) War Cry (1947)

Websites –– ‘22 juin 1962: le crash de Deshaies’, http://www.une-autre-histoire.org/22-juin-1962-le- crash-de-deshaies/ [accessed 19 June 2014].

–– (for Chantal Berthelot), ‘Hommage à Eugénie Tell-Eboué’, article placed online 8 Mar 2013, http://www.cberthelot-guyane.fr/actualites/hommage-a-eugenie-tell- eboue/#.U4fAl_lNHrw [accessed 30 May 2014].

–– ‘Justin Catayée (1916-1962)’, http://www.une-autre-histoire.org/justin-catayee-biographie/ [accessed 19 June 2014]

–– ‘Personnages de Guyane: Hector Riviérez’, http://www.redris973.fr/HTML/personnages1.html [accessed 19 June 2014].

20 minutes, ‘Guyane: Sarkozy announce la création d’une université de la biodiversité’, 21 Jan 2012, http://www.20minutes.fr/planete/864220-20120121-guyane-sarkozy-annonce- creation-universite-biodiversite [accessed 13 Mar 2013].

Abdel Nasser, Gamal, ‘Justin Catayée’, Afrique Caraïbe Amérique, http://www.afcam.org/index.php/en/?option=com_content&view=article&id=70&Itemid=254 [accessed 19 June 2014].

Alliance Royale, 'Joseph Chanel: communiqué de presse', 28 Oct 2013, http://www.allianceroyale.fr/vie-du-mouvement/agenda/417-joseph-chanel--communique-de- presse [accessed 12 Nov 2013].

Assemblée Nationale ‘Amadou Lamine-Guèye’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/histoire/biographies/IVRepublique/lamine-gueye-amadou-20091891.asp [accessed 30 May 2014]. ‘Gaston Monnerville’, http://www.assembleenationale.fr/histoire/biographies/IVRepublique/monnerville-gaston- 02011897.asp [accessed 30 May 2014]. ‘Hector Riviérez’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/histoire/trombinoscope/VRepublique/legis05/rivierez-hector-joseph- 19031913.asp [accessed 19 June 2014]. ‘Jean Sainteny’, http://www.assemblee-nationale.fr/sycomore/fiche.asp?num_dept=6236 [accessed 1 Feb 2015]. ‘’, http://www.assemblee-nationale.fr/histoire/biographies/IVRepublique/moch- jules-15031893.asp [accessed 30 May 2014]. ‘Justin Catayée (1916-1962): Biographie’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/sycomore/fiche.asp?num_dept=1518 [accessed 19 June 2014]. ‘Léopold Sédar Senghor’, http://www.assemblee- nationale.fr/sycomore/fiche.asp?num_dept=6385 [accessed 30 May 2014]. ‘René Jadfard’, http://www.assemblee- 197 nationale.fr/histoire/biographies/IVRepublique/jadfard-rene-24011899.asp [accessed 30 May 2014].

Association des Amis de l’Explorateur Raymond Maufrais, http://www.maufrais.info/ [accessed 3 Oct 2014].

Association Justin Catayée, http://www-association-justincatayee.over-blog.com/ [accessed 19 June 2014].

Association Kwata, http://www.kwata.net/ [accessed 5 Nov 2012].

Bauer, Barcha and Martial, Jean-Michel, ‘Dossier de presse: Léon-Gontran Damas’, available at http://www.lalanterne.fr [accessed 30 May 2014].

Bedz, Véronique, ‘Une histoire de Justin Catayée’, http://guyane.la1ere.fr/2013/08/06/une- histoire-de-justin-catayee-53379.html [accessed 19 June 2014].

Blada, ‘Une bombe guyanaise sur Médiapart: ça tient à si peu de choses…’, www.blada.com/jodlas/9582- Une_bombe_guyanaise_sur_Mediapart_ca_tient_a_si_peu_de_choses....htm [accessed 28 th August 2013].

Blada, ‘Ecomusée municipal d’Approuage-Kaw’, http://www.blada.com/sorties/communes/sorties/communes/Regina/2410.htm [accessed 3 Mar 2015].

Bloomberg Business, ‘Company Overview of Ariane Gold Corp.’, http://www.bloomberg.com/research/stocks/private/snapshot.asp?privcapId=3126397 [accessed 2 Mar 2015].

Chambre de Commerce et de l’industrie de la Guyane, ‘Aéroport’, http://www.guyane.cci.fr/fr/aeroport [accessed 25 June 2014].

Comité de tourisme de Guyane, http://www.tourisme-guyane.com/incroyable- guyane/tradition/musees.html [accessed 24 Jan 14].

Conseil consultatif des populations amérindiennes et bushinengé, ‘Avis no. 3/ CCPAB’, 8 Dec 2012, http://www.blada.com/data/File/2012pdf/ccpabavis08122012.pdf [accessed 15 Feb 2013]

Direction des Affaires Culturelles de Guyane, ‘Célébrations nationales 2012: Léon-Gontran Damas’ http://www.culturecommunication.gouv.fr/Regions/DAC-Guyane/Manifestations- nationales/Celebrations-nationales-2012-Leon-Gontran-Damas/Celebrations-nationales-2012- Leon-Gontran-Damas [accessed 30 May 2014].

‘Discours prononcée par Edouard Glissant au nom de l’association générale des Etudiants martiniquais à la soirée commémorative d’Albert Belville, Justin Catayée et Roger Tropos, à Paris, Palais de la Mutualité, le 6 juillet 1962’, Edouard Glissant: Une pensée archipélique, http://www.edouardglissant.fr/discoursmutualite.html [accessed 19 June 2014].

198

Division de la Vie Scolaire et de l’Action Culturelle. ‘CyberMayouri DAMAS’, http://webtice.ac-guyane.fr/divisac/spip.php?article196 [accessed 30 May 2014].

Entraygues, Mathieu, ‘Coastal footpaths on the Cayenne peninsula: Mount Montabo’, Une Saison en Guyane , http://www.guianas-geographic.com/article-en/ecotourism/coastal- footpaths-on-the-cayenne-peninsular-mount-montabo/ [accessed 19 Sep 2014].

Escapade Carbet, http://www.escapade-carbet.com/annuaire/ecomusee-municipal- approuague-kaw/ [accessed 3 Mar 2015].

Fédération des Parcs naturels régionaux de France, http://www.parcs-naturels- regionaux.tm.fr/fr/approfondir/qu-est-ce-qu-un-parc.asp [accessed 3 Mar 2015].

Félix Éboué monument detail , http://blogannick.over-blog.com/article-34847238.html [accessed 4 May 2014].

Gardon, Maurice, http://maurice-gardon.ludorious.fr/html/sculptures/Feboue-Guyanne4.htm [accessed 4 May 2014].

Goergen, Phillippe, ‘The forgotten remains of the Approuague: industrial treasure’, http://www.guianas-geographic.com/article-en/history/the-forgotten-remains-of-the- approuague-industrial-treasure/ [accessed 22 Jan 2014].

Golden Star Resources, www.gsr.com [accessed 10 th September 2013].

Gouin, Thomas, ‘Université de plein exercice en Guyane: c’est signé!’ (11 Nov 2013), http://guyane.la1ere.fr/2013/11/11/universite-de-plein-exercice-en-guyane-c-est-signe- 84251.html [accessed 8 Dec 2013].

Gouvernement de France http://www.gouvernement.fr/gouvernement/l-outre-mer [accessed 22 Nov 2012]. http://www.outre-mer.gouv.fr/?-histoire-du-ministere-.html [accessed 22 Nov 2012]. http://www.outre-mer.gouv.fr/?-organisation-.html [accessed 22 Nov 2012]. http://www.interieur.gouv.fr/sections/a_l_interieur/le_ministere/histoire [accessed 22 Nov 2012].

Guia Geográfico - Turismo e informações do Brasil, ‘Montanhas do Tumucumaque’, http://www.brasil-turismo.com/amapa/tumucumaque.htm [accessed 2 Oct 2014].

Guyane 1ère, Clarke, Patrick and Lama, Catherine, ‘Une dizaine de familles sous le coup d’une expulsion imminente au Larivot’ (6 Sep 2013), http://guyane.la1ere.fr/2013/09/06/une- dizaine-de-familles-sous-le-coup-d-une-expulsion-imminente-au-larivot-67981.html [accessed 14 Feb 2015].

Guyane-guide: le guide web de la Guyane, ‘Justin Catayée’ (posted 17 July 2005), http://www.guyane-guide.com/dossiers/j_catayee.htm [accessed 19 June 2014].

Ibis Rouge, http://www.ibisrouge.fr [accessed 25 Jan 2015].

Institut de Recherche pour le Développement (IRD), ‘Historique’, http://www.ird.fr/l- 199 ird/historique [accessed 31 Oct 2014].

INSEE, ‘Évolution de la population totale au 1er janvier 2011’, http://www.insee.fr/fr/themes/tableau.asp?reg_id=25&ref_id=poptc02101 [accessed 4 July 2012].

INSEE, Macro-economic datebase, http://www.bdm.insee.fr/ [accessed 31 Jan 2015].

Institut National de l’Information Géographique et Forestière, ‘L’histoire de l’IGN’, http://ign.fr/institut/dossiers/lhistoire-de-lign [accessed 17 Sep 2014].

Inter-American Commisison on Human Rights, http://www.cidh.oas.org/indigenas/chap.2f.htm [accessed 25 Sep 2014].

International Labour Organisation, ‘Convention No.169’, http://www.ilo.org/indigenous/Conventions/no169/lang--en/index.htm [accessed 20 Jan 2014]. http://www.ilo.org/dyn/normlex/en/f?p=NORMLEXPUB:12100:0::NO::P12100_ILO_CODE :C169 [accessed 20 Jan 2014].

Journées nationales de l’archéologie, 19, 20 et 21 juin 2015, http://journees-archeologie.fr/c- 2014/fiche-initiative/945/Ecomusee-municipal-d-Approuague-Kaw [accessed 3 Mar 2015].

Legifrance, ‘Loi 2001-434 du 21 mai 2001 tendant à la reconnaissance de la traite de l’esclavage en tant que crime contre l’humanité’, http://www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichTexte.do?cidTexte=LEGITEXT000005630984&dateText e=vig [accessed 16 Mar 2015].

Les autorités coûtumières Aluku, http://www.blada.com/data/File/2012pdf/avischefscoutumparc2612.pdf [accessed 20 Jan 2014]

Les carbets de Coralie, http://www.carbetsdecoralie.fr/ [accessed 1 Nov 2012].

Ministère de la Culture et de la Communication, ‘André Malraux’, http://www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/historique/ministres/malraux.htm [accessed 29 May 2014]. ‘De la construction d’une administration’, http://www.culture.gouv.fr/culture/historique/ [accessed 29 May 2014]. ‘Appellation Musée de France’, http://www.culturecommunication.gouv.fr/Aides- demarches/Protections-labels-et-appellations/Appellation-Musee-de-France [accessed 3 Mar 2015].

Parc Amazonien de Guyane, http://www.parc-amazonien-guyane.fr/le-parc-amazonien-de- guyane/carte-identite/ [accessed 20 Jan 2014].

Parc Naturel Régional de Guyane, ‘Une mosaïque de paysages et diversité des territoires’, http://pnrguyane.free.fr/spip.php?article299 [accessed 22 Jan 2014].

Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque, ‘Gestão’, 200 http://montanhasdotumucumaque.blogspot.co.uk/p/plano-de-majejo.html [accessed 20 Jan 2014].

Parti radical, ‘Notre histoire’, http://www.partiradical.net/notre-histoire/notre-histoire [accessed 1 April 2014].

Ramsar France, http://www.ramsar.org/wetland/france [accessed 2 Mar 2015].

Sagne, Martine, ‘Herménégilde Tell, directeur de l’administration pénitentiaire’, Université des Antilles et de la Guyane: Service commun de la documentation, http://www.manioc.org/fichiers/V12017 [accessed 4 May 2014].

Sénat, ‘Vignon Robert: Ancien sénateur de la Guyane’, http://www.senat.fr/senateur/vignon_robert000259.html [accessed 30 May 2014].

Sénat, ‘Riviérez Hector: Ancien sénateur d’Oubangui-Chari’, http://www.senat.fr/senateur- 4eme-republique/rivierez_hector0371r4.html [accessed 19 June 2014].

SEPANGUY, ‘Historique’, http://www.sepanguy.com/site/historique [accessed 14 Feb 2015].

Smithsonian Institution, ‘Biological Diversity of the Guiana Shield’, http://botany.si.edu/bdg/index.html [accessed 2 Mar 2015].

Survival France, ‘Les Nations-Unies appellant la France à ratifier la legislation international sur les peuples indigènes’ (21 Sep, 2010), http://www.survivalfrance.org/actu/6499 [accessed 20 Jan 2014].

Système Universitaire de Documentation (SUDOC), ‘IdRef: Jean Hurault’, http://www.idref.fr/030325234 [accessed 19 Sep 2014].

UNESCO. Saladin d’Anglure, B. and Morin, F, ‘Les peuples amérindiens de Guyane: identité et histoire’, http://www.unesco.org/culture/fr/indigenous/Dvd/guyane_identite_et_hist.html [accessed 27 Jan 2015].

UNHCR, ‘Convention and Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees’, http://www.unhcr.org/3b66c2aa10.pdf [accessed 21 mar 2015].

WWF Brasil, ‘Parque Nacional Montanhas do Tumucumaque comemora 10 anos de criação’, http://www.wwf.org.br/informacoes/noticias_meio_ambiente_e_natureza/?32162 [accessed 20 Jan 2014].

Conference Papers Delnore, Allyson. ‘An Imagined Colony: The Erasure of Geographic Reality in la Guyane française from la France équinoxiale to Devil’s Island to the Euro Note’, Locating Guyane , (University of London Institute in Paris, 10 July 2014).

Evanson, Kari. ‘Albert Londres’ Guyana: Bringing the Exotic Back Home’, Locating Guyane (University of London Institute in Paris, 10 Jul 2014).

201

Gyssels, Kathleen. ‘Queering the French Assembly: the Resurrection of the Third Man of Négritude (Taubira/Damas)’, Locating Guyane (University of London Institute in Paris, 10 Jul 2014).

Ladouceur, René. ‘La guyanité de René Maran’ Association Z’abitan de Bonhomme, Cycle de conférences sur René Maran (10 June 2011), http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:http://www.manioc.org/gsdl/collect/r echerch/archives/T11008.dir/lado-guya.pdf [accessed 29 Sep 2014].

Mrgudovic, Nathalie. ‘Le pétrole en Guyane: entre espoirs et inquiétudes’, Locating Guyane (ULIP, 11 July 2014).

Price, Richard. ‘The Oldest Daughter of Overseas France’, Locating Guyane (ULIP, 10 July 2014).

Reynaud, Pierre. 'Etudes ornithologique ( sic ) dans le cadre de la mise en place du centre nature Guyane (Sinnamary)’, Actes du colloque éco-développement amazonien: Traditions et environnement (Guyane, 19-21 April 1991).

Postgraduate theses Bilby, Kenneth. The Remaking of the Aluku: Culture, Politics, and Maroon Ethnicity in French South America (PhD diss., John Hopkins University, 1990).

Bonfait, Nicolas. La question amérindienne en Guyane française: aspects administratifs, juridiques et politiques (Thèse DEA, Université des Antilles et de la Guyane, 1991).

De Souza Filho, Durval. Os retratos dos Coudreau: Índios, Civilização e Miscigenação através das lentes de um casal de visionários que percorreu a Amazônia em busca do ‘Bom Selvagem’ (1884-1899) (MA Diss., Universidade Federal do Pará, 2008).

Elfort, Maud. L'organisation communale aux Antilles-Guyane (du XIXème siècle à nos jours) (PhD diss., Paris X-, 1986).

Neiva, Ivany Câmara. Imaginando a capital: cartas a JK (1956-1961) (PhD diss., Universidade de Brasília, 2008).

Redon, David. La base spatiale de Kourou et la Guyane (1962-années 90): Intégration économique et changement social (Thèse DEA, Université Toulouse II, 2003).

Published sources pre-1945 Coudreau, Henri. La France Équinoxiale, tome 1: études sur les Guyanes et l’Amazonie (Paris, 1886).

Coudreau, Henri. Les Français en Amazonie (Paris, 1887).

Damas, Léon-Gontran. Retour de Guyane. Suivi de ‘Misère noire’ et autres écrits journalistiques (Paris, 2003 [1938]).

202

De Andrade, Oswald, ‘Manifesto antropófago’ (1928), http://www.ufrgs.br/cdrom/oandrade/oandrade.pdf [accessed 20 Sep 2014].

Londres, Albert. Au bagne (France, 2001 [1923]).

Londres, Albert. L’Homme qui s’évada (France, 1999 [1927]).

Marcel, Gabriel, ‘L’apparition cartographique des monts Tumuc-Hamac’, Journal de la Société des Américanistes 2:2 (1898), pp.14-24.

Reclus, Élisée. Nouvelle géographie universelle: la terre et les hommes (Paris, 1878-94).

Ranald Martin, James, ‘The European Soldier in India’, Calcutta Review 30: 59 (1858), pp.121-148.

Rudge, F.M., ‘Venerable Anne-Marie Javouhey’, The Catholic Encyclopedia 8 (New York, 1910), http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/08326a.htm [accessed 24 Nov 2013].

Tripot, J. La Guyane: au pays de l’or, des forçats et des peaux-rouges (Paris, c.1910). Vidal de la Blache, Paul, ‘Le contesté franco-brésilien’, Annales de Géographie 49 (15 Jan 1901), pp. 68-70. Zola, Émile. J’accuse (Clamécy, 1994).

Published sources post-1945 Adélaïde-Merlande, Jacques. Histoire contemporaine de la Caraïbe et des Guyanes: de 1945 à nos jours (France, 2002).

Adi, Hakim, ‘African Political Thinkers, Pan-Africanism and the Politics of Exile, c.1850- 1970’, Immigrants & Minorities: Historical Studies in Ethnicity, Migration and Diaspora ’ 30:2-3 (2012), pp.263-291.

Adlai Murdoch, H., ‘Autobiography and Departmentalization in Patrick Chamoiseau’s “Chemin d’école”: Representational Strategies and the Martinican Memoir’, Research in African Literatures 40:2 (2009), pp.16-39.

Adlai Murdoch, H., ‘ Ars poetica, ars politica : The Double Life of Aimé Césaire’, Research in African Literatures 41:1 (2010), pp.1-13.

Adler-Nissen, Rebecca and Pram Gad, Ulrik, ‘Introduction: Postcolonial Sovereignty Games’ in Adler-Nissen, Rebecca and Pram Gad, Ulrik (eds.). European Integration and Postcolonial Sovereignty Games: The EU Overseas Countries and Territories (Abingdon, 2013), pp.1-24.

Alberti, Samuel J. M. M., ‘Objects and the Museum’, Isis 96:4 (2005), pp.559-571.

Aldrich, Robert. France’s Overseas Frontier: départements et territories d’outre-mer (Cambridge, 1992).

203

Aldrich, Robert. Greater France: a history of French overseas expansion (Basingstoke, 1996). Alexandre, Rodolphe. Gaston Monnerville et la Guyane, 1897-1948 (Guadeloupe, 1999). Alexandre, Rodolphe. Hommage à Félix Éboué (Guyane, 1984). Alexandre, Rodolphe. La Révolte des Tirailleurs Sénégalais (France, 1995). Allain, Jean-Claude, Autrand, Françoise, Bély, Lucien, Contamine, Philippe, Guillen, Pierre, Lentz, Thierry, Soutou, Georges-Henri, Theis, Laurent and Vaïsse, Maurice, (eds.). Histoire de la diplomatie française (France, 2005). Anderson, Alan B., 'Recent Acculturation of Bush Negroes in Surinam and French Guiana', Anthropologica 22:1 (1980), pp.61-84. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London, 2006). Anderson, Warwick. Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines (London, 2006).

Anderson, Warwick, ‘The Trespass Speaks: White Masculinity and Colonial Breakdown’, The American Historical Review 102: 5 (1997), pp.1343-1370.

Anderson, Warwick, Jenson, Deborah and Keller, Richard C. (eds.). Unconscious Dominions: psychoanalysis, colonial trauma, and global sovereignties (London, 2011).

Anker, Peder. Imperial Ecology: Environmental Order in the British Empire, 1895-1945 (London, 2001).

Anouilh, Dominique. La France, La Guyane et La Guerilla (1986-1992): Implications de la crise surinamienne en Guyane française (Toulouse, 1995). Archer, Kevin, ‘Regions as Social Organisms: The Lamarckian Characteristics of Vidal de la Blache’s Regional Geography’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 83:3 (1993), pp.498-514. Argyrou, Vassos, The Logic of Environmentalism: Anthropology, Ecology and Postcoloniality (Oxford, 2005).

Arnold, David, ‘Introduction: Tropical Medicine before Manson’ in Arnold, David (ed.). Warm Climates and Western Medicine: The Emergence of Tropical Medicine, 1500-1900 (Amsterdam, 1996), pp.1-19.

Ashcroft, Bill. Post-Colonial Transformation (London, 2001). Association des Amis de Léon Gontran Damas (ed.). Léon Gontran Damas: un homme, un nègre en quête de l’universel: actes du colloque international de Cayenne, 3-8 novembre 1998 (Montréal, 2000).

Atangana, Martin René, ‘Mythes et réalités de l’investissement privé en Afrique noire française: Le cas du Cameroun dans les années 1940 et 1950’, Canadian Journal of African 204

Studies/Revue canadienne des études africaines 35:1 (2001), pp.1-31.

Aub-Buscher, Gertrud Omerod-Noakes, Beverley (eds.). The Francophone Caribbean Today: Literature, language, culture: Studies in memory of Bridget Jones (Barbados, 2003).

Aubert de la Rüe, Edgar, ‘Quelques observations sur les Oyampi de l’Oyapock’, Journal de la Société des Américanistes 39 (1950), pp.85-96.

Auclair, Laurent, Genin, Didier, Michon, Geneviève, Moizo, Bernard and Thomas, Frédéric, 'Qu'est-ce qu'une forêt?', Les dossiers thématiques de l'IRD: Des forêts et des hommes (France, c.2011).

Ayers, Alison J., 'An illusion of the epoch: Critiquing the ideology of “failed states”', International Politics 49:5 (2012), pp.568-590.

Babb, Sarah L. and Fourcade-Gourinchas, Marion, ‘The Rebirth of the Liberal Creed: Paths to Neoliberalism in Four Countries’, American Journal of Sociology 108:3 (2002), pp.533- 579. Bacchus, Wilfred A., ‘Development Under Military Rule: Factionalism in Brazil’, Armed Forces & Society 12:3 (1986), pp.401-418.

Bacha, Edmar and Feinberg, Richard, ‘The World Bank and Structural Adjustment in Latin America’, World Development 14:3 (1986), pp.333-346.

Bahuchet, Serge, Grenand, Françoise and Grenand, Pierre, ‘Environment and peoples in French Guiana: Ambiguities in applying the laws of the French Republic’, International Social Science Journal 58:187 (2006), pp.49-58.

Baj-Strobel, Michèle. Les Gens de l’Or: Mémoire des orpailleurs creoles du Maroni (Guadeloupe, 1998).

Bal, Ellen and Sinha-Kerkhoff, Kathinka, 'Muslims in Surinam and the Netherlands, and the divided homeland', Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 25:2 (2005), pp.193-217. Bal, Ellen and Sinha-Kerkhoff, Kathinka, 'Religious Identity, Territory, and Partition: India and its Muslim Diaspora in Surinam and the Netherlands', Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 14:2 (2008), pp.155-188. Bancel, Nicolas, Blanchard, Pascal, Boëtsch, Gilles, Deroo, Éric and Lemaire, Sandrine. Les zoos humains: Au temps des exhibitions humaines (Paris, 2004). Barbosa, Luiz C., 'Manumission in Brazil and Surinam: the role of Dutch hegemony and decline in the capitalist world-economy', Ethnic and Racial Studies 10:3 (1987), pp.349-365. Barone Visigalli, Egle and Roosevelt, Anna (eds.). Amaz’hommes: Sciences de l’Homme et sciences de la Nature en Amazonie (Matoury, 2010). Bassargette, Denis and di Meo, Guy, ‘Les limites du modèle communal français en Guyane: le cas de Maripasoula’, Cahiers d’Outre-Mer 241-242 (2008), pp.49-80.

Bassett, Thomas J., ‘Cartography and Empire Building in Nineteenth-Century West Africa’, 205

Geographical Review 84:3 (1994), pp.316-335.

Bassett, Thomas J. and Porter, Philip W., “‘From the Best Authorities: The Mountains of Kong in the Cartography of West Africa’, Journal of African History 32 (1991), pp.367-413.

Baugh, Daniel A. The Global Seven Years War 1754-1763 (London, 2011).

Beaujeu-Garnier, Jacqueline, ‘French Geography since 1950’, Scottish Geographical Magazine 106:3 (1990), pp.130-134.

Belanger, David, ‘La législation des aires protégées en droit français et canadien’ in Breton, Jean-Marie (ed.). Tourisme, environnement et aires protégées (Antilles-Guyane / Haïti – Québec) (Paris, 2004), pp.35-58.

Bell, David S. and Gaffney, Simon. The Presidents of the (Basingstoke, 2013).

Bennett, Tony, ‘Museum, Field, Colony: Colonial governmentality and the circulation of reference’, Journal of Cultural Economy 2: 1-2 (2009), pp.99-116.

Berg, Stephen, ‘An introduction to Oswald de Andrade’s Cannibalist manifesto’, Third Text 13:46 (1999), pp.89-91.

Berger, Mark T. and Reese, Justin Y., 'From nation-states in conflict to conflict in nation- states: The United States of America and nation building from South Vietnam to Afghanistan', International Politics , 47:5 (2010), pp.451-471. Bernabé, Jean, Chamoiseau, Patrick and Confiant, Raphaël. Éloge de la Créolité (Paris, 1993). Bernand, Carmen, ‘The Right to Be Different : Some Questions About the “French Exception”’ in Kathleen P. Long (ed.). Religious Differences in France : Past and Present (Missouri, 2006), pp.201-220.

Bess, Michael. The Light-Green Society: Ecology and Technological Modernity in France, 1960-2000 (Chicago, 2003).

Bethell, Leslie and Castro, Celso, ‘Politics in Brazil under Military Rule, 1964-1985’ in Bethell, Leslie (ed.). The Cambridge History of Latin America (Cambridge, 2008), pp.165- 230.

Bishop, Matthew, Clegg, Peter and Hoefte, Rosemarijn, ‘Still Lonely After All These Years? Contemporary Development in the “Three Guianas”’, Caribbean Studies 43:1 (2015, forthcoming).

Bishop, Matthew, ‘The Caribbean Amidst New Regional and Global Dynamics’, Caribbean Journal of International Relations & Diplomacy 2:4 (2014), pp.1-21.

Blais, Hélène, Deprest, Florence and Singaravélou, Pierre, ‘French geography, cartography and colonialism: introducion’, Journal of Historical Geography 37:2 (2011), pp.146-148.

206

Blake, Kevin S., ‘Mountain symbolism and geographical imaginations’, Cultural Geographies 12 (2005), pp.527-531.

Blanc, Guillaume, ‘Protection de la nation et construction de la nature: Une histoire des parcs nationaux français depuis 1960 (Cévennes, Pyrénées et Vanoise)’, Vingtième Siècle. Revue d’histoire 107 (2010), pp.131-144.

Blanchard, Pascal, Lemaire, Sandrine, Bancel, Nicolas and Thomas, Dominic, ‘Introduction: The Creation of a Colonial Culture in France, from the Colonial Era to the “Memory Wars”’ in Blanchard, Pascal, Lemaire, Sandrine, Bancel, Nicolas and Thomas, Dominic (eds.). Colonial Culture in France Since the Revolution (Indiana, 2014), pp.1-47. Blancheton, Bertrand, Bonin, Hubert and Le Bris, David, ‘The French Paradox: A financial crisis during the golden age of the 1960s’, Business History 56:3 (2014), pp.391-413. Bluteau, J., Gond, V., Koné, B. B., Kotchi, S. O. and Linarès, S., ‘La géomatique, outil de surveillance de l’orpaillage clandestine en Guyane française’, Canadian Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 34:68 (2009), pp.177-193.

Bollee, Amedee, ‘Djibouti: From French Outpost to US Base’, Review of African Political Economy 30:97 (2003), pp.481-484.

Bonilla, Yarimar, ‘Guadeloupe is ours: The Prefigurative Politics of the Mass Strike in the French Antilles’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies 12:1 (2010), pp.125-137.

Bonin, Hubert. Histoire économique de la IVe République (Paris, 1987). Bonin, Hubert, ‘L’action du Premier Ministre Chaban-Delmas pour rendre la France industrielle plus performante (1969-1972)’, Revue historique 654 (2010), pp.397-426. Bookchin, Murray. The Ecology of Freedom: The Emergence and Dissolution of Hierarchy (California, 1982).

Booth, Philip, ‘Decentralisation and Land-Use Planning in France: A Fifteen-Year Review’, Policy and Politics 26:1 (1998), pp.81-105.

Bosma, Dionne, 'The Dutch-Surinam Treaty on Development Assistance: A Correct Appeal to A Fundamental Change of Circumstances?', Leiden Journal of International Law 3 (1990), pp.201-220. Boudou, Alain, Fréry, N., Maury-Brachet, R., Maillot, E., Deheeger, M. and De Mérona, B., ‘Gold Mining Activities and Mercury Contamination of Native Amerindian Communities in French Guiana: Key Role of Fish in Dietary Uptake’, Environmental Health Perspectives 109:5 (2001), pp.449-456.

Boudoux-d’Hautefeuille, Madeleine, ‘La frontière et ses échelles: les enjeux d’un pont transfrontalier entre la Guyane française et le Brésil’, Cybergéo: Revue européenne de géographie 514 (2010), http://cybergeo.revues.org/23405 [accessed 27 Jan 2015].

Bourdier, Frédéric. Migration et sida en Amazonie (Matoury, 2004). 207

Boyd, John A., Jalal, Kazi F., Rogers, Peter P. et al. An Introduction to Sustainable Development (London, 2008). Brana-Shute, Gary, ‘Suriname: A Military and its Auxiliaries’, Armed Forces and Society (1996) 22:3, pp.469-484. Brana-Shute, Gary, 'Security Issues and Indigenous Groups in the Guianas: Guyana, Suriname, and French Guiana', Small Wars and Insurgencies 7:2 (1996), pp.121-138. Brana-Shute, Gary, 'An Inside-Out Insurgency: The Tukuyana Amazones of Suriname’ in Paul Sutton and Anthony Payne (eds.). Size and Survival: The Politics of Security in the Caribbean and the Pacific (London, 1993), pp.54-69. Breinig, Helmbrecht, ‘Native Survivance in the Americas: Resistance and Remembrance in Narratives by Asturias, Tapahonso, and Vizenor’ in Gerald Vizenor (ed.). Survivance: Narratives of Native Presence (Nebraska, 2008), pp.39-58.

Brinkerhoff, Merlin B. and Jacob, Jeffrey C., ‘Racial, ethnic and religious social distance in Surinam: An exploration of the ‘strategic alliance hypothesis’ in a Caribbean community’, Ethnic and Racial Studies 17:4 (1994), pp.636-661.

Britton, Celia. The Sense of Community in French Caribbean Fiction (Liverpool, 2010).

Brown, Laurence, 'Monuments to Freedom, Monuments to Nation: The Politics of Emancipation and Remembrance in the Eastern Caribbean', Slavery and Abolition: A Journal of Slave and Post-Slave Studies 23:3 (2002), pp.93-116.

Brown, Peter, ‘Negotiating postcolonial identities in the shadow of the EU: New Caledonia’ in Adler-Nissen, Rebecca and Pram Gad, Ulrik (eds.). European Integration and Postcolonial Sovereignty Games: The EU Overseas Countries and Territories (Abingdon, 2013), pp.169- 186.

Brunet, Jean-Paul. Gaston Monnerville: Le Républicain qui défia de Gaulle (Paris, 1997).

Brunings, Ernie, 'The Impact of University and Research Institutes on Scientific and Technological Development: the case of Suriname, with special references to the Amazonian region' in Luis E. Aragón and Maria de Nazaré Oliveira Imbiriba (eds.). Universidade e Desenvolvimento Amazônico (Pará, 1988). Brustlein, Violette, de Albuquerque David, Maria-Beatriz and Wanie, Philippe, ‘Les mutations de l’espace agropastoral brésilien 1975-1996’, Mappemonde 53:1 (1999), pp.26- 33.

Buell, Lawrence. The Future of Environmental Criticism: Environmental Crisis and Literary Imagination (Wiley-Blackwell Online, 2005).

Buller, Henry, ‘De la terre au territoire: the reinvention of French rural space’, Modern and Contemporary France 11:3 (2003), pp.323-334.

Bunker, Steven G. Underdeveloping the Amazon: extraction, unequal exchange, and the failure of the modern state (Illinois, 1985). 208

Burbank, Jane and Cooper, Frederick, ‘The Empire Effect’, Public Culture 24:67 (2012), pp.239-247.

Burchell, Jon. The Evolution of Green Politics: Development and Change within European Green Parties (London, 2002).

Burnett, D. Graham. Masters of All They Surveyed: Exploration, Geography, and a British El Dorado (London, 2000).

Burton, Richard D.E. La Famille Coloniale: La Martinique et la Mère Patrie 1789-1992 (Paris, 1994).

Burton, Richard D.E. and Reno, Fred (eds.). French and West Indian: Martinique, Guadeloupe and French Guiana Today (London, 1995).

Butler, L.J., Moore, Bob and Thomas, Martin. The Crises of Empire: Decolonisation and Europe’s Imperial Nation States, 1918-1975 (London, 2008).

Caerléon, Ronan. Les Bretons le dos au mur: le F.L.B. devant la Cour de sûreté de l’État (Paris, 1973).

Call, Charles T., 'The Fallacy of the Failed State', Third World Quarterly 29:8 (2008), pp.1491-1507. Call, Charles T., 'Beyond the Failed State: Towards Conceptual Alternatives', European Journal of International Relations 17:2 (2011), pp.303-326. Callon, Michel and Hecht, Gabrielle. The radiance of France: nuclear power and national identity after World War II (Boston, 2009).

Calmont, André and de Vassoigne, Christian, ‘Guadeloupe, Martinique, Guyane: des espaces tropicaux entre insularité et continentalité’, Mappemonde 54:2 (1999), pp.10-14.

Camus, Jean-Yves, ‘The Commemoration of Slavery in France and the Emergence of Black Politica Consciousness’ The European Legacy 11:6 (2006), pp.647-655.

Carme, Bernard, Charles-Dominique, Pierre, Fotsing, Jean-Marie and Gombauld, Pascal (eds.). De la recherche en Guyane: La science par l'exemple (Matoury, 2011). --- ‘Caribbean Commision’, International Organization 10:4 (1956), pp.648-650. Carrigan, Anthony, “‘ are Squatting on my Metaphors”: Tourism, Sustainability, and Sacred Space in the Caribbean’, Journal of Commonwealth & Postcolonial Studies 13:1 (2006-2007), pp.59-82.

Castells, Manuel. The Rise of the Network Society (Chichester, 2010).

Chafer, Tony and Godin, Emmanuel, ‘Introduction’ in Chafer, Tony and Godin, Emmanuel (eds.). The French Exception (Oxford, 2005), pp.xiii-xxiv.

209

Chamoiseau, Patrick and Hammadi, Rodolphe. Guyane:Traces-mémoires du bagne (France, 1994). Chanson, Philippe, ‘Father Yves Bertrais, An Essential Figure in the History of Hmong Christianity: Tribute in the Form of a Travel Story’, Exchange 22:1 (1993), pp.1-17. Chapman, Herrick, ‘Revolutionary Memory as Contested Terrain from the Popular Front to the Fourth Republic’, French Politics and Society 7:4 (1989), pp.33-44

Chapuis, Jean, ‘For a Dynamic Approach to the Social Organization of the Carib of Inner Eastern Guiana: an Overview of Wayana Ethnosociogenesis’, Ethnohistory 53:3 (2006), pp.507-542.

Chardon, Jean-Pierre. L’avion dans les Antilles: Géographie des transports aériens des îles de la Caraïbe (Bordeaux, 1987).

Chathuant, Dominique, ‘L’émergence d’une élite politique noire dans la France du premier 20e siècle?’, Vingtième Siècle. Revue d’histoire 101 (2009), pp. 133-147.

Chatterjee, Partha. The Nation and its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories (Princeton, 1993).

Chevallier, Denis, ‘Le patrimoine rural, outil politique ou enjeu de société?’, Modern and Contemporary France 11:3 (2003), pp.279-292.

Clarkin, Patrick F., ‘Hmong Resettlement in French Guiana’, Hmong Studies Journal 6 (2005), pp.1-27.

Claval, Paul, ‘Colonial Experience and the Development of Tropical Geography in France’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 26:3 (2005), pp.289-303.

Cleary, Mark, ‘Managing the Forest in Colonial Indochina c.1900-1940’, Modern Asian Studies 39:2 (2005), pp.257-283.

Clerc, Christine. De Gaulle – Malraux: une histoire d’amour (France, 2012).

Clignet, Rémi, ' Une invitation à observer les observatoires' in Rémi Clignet (ed.). Observatoires du développement, observatoires pour le développement (Paris, 1998), pp.123- 146. Clout, Hugh, ‘Popular geographies and scholarly geographies in provincial France: the Société Normande de Géographie, 1879-1937’, Journal of Historical Geography 34 (2008), pp.24-47.

Clout, Hugh, ‘Book reviews:’, Progress in Human Geography 35:2 (2011), pp.271-273.

Collomb, Gérard and Dupuy, Francis, ‘Imagining Group, Living Territory: A Kali’na and Wayana View of History’ in Whitehead, Neil and Alemán, Stephanie (eds.). Anthropologies of Guayana: Cultural Spaces in Northeastern Amazonia (Arizona, 2009) pp.113-123.

Collomb, Gérard, ‘De la revendication à l’entreée en politique’, Ethnies 31-32 (2005), pp.16- 210

29.

Collomb, Gérard, ‘Sous les tortues, la plage? Protection de la nature et production des territoires en Guyane’, Ethnologie française 39:1 (2009), pp.11-21.

Collomb, Gérard, ‘Une “citoyenneté” kali’na? Constructions citoyennes, affirmations identitaires, jeux de niveau en Guyane française’, Citizenship Studies 15:8 (2011), pp.981- 991.

Combs, Arthur, 'Technical Change in Wartime in South Vietnam (1967-1972), Études rurales 151-152 (1999), pp.225-253. Conklin, Alice. In the Museum of Man: Race, Anthropology, and Empire in France, 1850- 1950 (London, 2013).

Connell, John, ‘The fight for Kanaky: decolonisation in the South Pacific’, Australian Geographer 18:1 (1987), pp.57-62.

Cook, James W. ‘The Kids Are All Right: On the “Turning” of Cultural History’, The American Historical Review 117:3 (2012), pp.746-771.

Cooper, Frederick and Stoler, Ann Laura (eds.). Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World (London, 1997).

Cooper, Frederick. Africa Since 1940: The Past of the Present (Cambridge, 2002).

Cooper, Frederick. Colonialism in Question: Theory, Knowledge, History (London, 2005).

Cooper, Frederick, ‘Decolonising Situations: The Rise, Fall, and Rise of Colonial Studies, 1951-2001’, French Politics, Culture and Society 20:2 (2002), pp.47-56.

Cooper, Frederick, ‘Reconstructing Empire in British and French West Africa’, Past and Present 210 (2011), pp.196-210.

Coquery-Vidrovitch, Catherine, ‘Colonisation, racisme et roman national en France’, Canadian Journal of African Studies/Revue canadienne des études africaines 45:1 (2011), pp.17-44.

Coquery-Vidrovitch, Catherine, ‘La mise en dépendance de l’Afrique noire: essai de périodisation, 1800-1970’, Cahiers d’Études Africaines 16:61 (1978), pp.7-58.

Coquery-Vidrovitch, Catherine, ‘Nationalité et Citoyenneté en Afrique Occidentale Française: Originaires et Citoyens dans le Sénégal Colonial’, Journal of African History 42 (2001), pp.285-305.

Cousin, Saskia, ‘Un brin de culture, une once d’économie: écomusée et économusée’, Publics et musées 17 (2000), pp.115-137.

Cubitt, Geoffrey. History and Memory (Manchester, 2007).

211

Cudworth, Erika. Developing ecofeminist theory: the complexity of difference (Basingstoke, 2005).

Curtis, Sarah. Civilising Habits: Women Missionaries and the Revival of French Empire (Oxford, 2010).

Craib, Raymond B. Cartographic Mexico: a history of state fixations and fugitive landscapes (London, 2004).

D’Almeida Vitor, E. História de Brasília (Brasília, 1980).

Daily, Andrew M., ‘Race, Citizenship and Antillean Student Activism in Postwar France, 1946-1968’, French Historical Studies 37:2 (2014), pp.331-357.

Daniel, Justin, ‘L’espace politique aux Antilles françaises’, Ethnologie française 32:4 (2002), pp.589-600.

Daughton, J. P., ‘Behind the Imperial Curtain: International Humanitarian Efforts and the Critique of French Colonialism in the Interwar Years’, French Historical Studies 34:3 (2011), pp.503-528.

Dauvergne, Peter and Farias, Deborah B.L., ‘The Rise of Brazil as a Global Development Power’, Third World Quarterly 33:5 (2012), pp.903-917.

Davis, Muriam Haleh, 'Restaging Mise en Valeur : “Postwar Imperialism” and The Plan de Constantine', Review of Middle East Studies 44:2 (2010), pp.176-186. Davis, Peter. Ecomuseums: a sense of place (London, 2011).

Davis, Peter. ‘Ecomuseums and the Democratisation of Japanese Museology’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 10:1 (2004), pp.93-110.

D'Eaubonne, Françoise. Le féminisme ou la mort (Paris, 1974). De Koning, Anouk, 'Shadows of the Plantation? A social history of Suriname's bauxite town Moengo', New West Indian Guide 85 (2011), pp.215-246. De Koning, Anouk, 'Beyond Ethnicity: Writing Caribbean Histories through Social Spaces', Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies 6:3 (2011), pp.259-282. Delmas, Robert and Galy-Robert, Corinne, ‘Emissions of greenhouse gases from the tropical hydroelectric reservoir of Petit Saut (French Guiana) compared with emissions from thermal alternatives’, Global Biogeochemical Cycles 15:4 (2001), pp.993-1003.

Delnore, Allyson, ‘Robinson Crusoes in Chains: Punishment and Colonial Power in French Deportee Writings, 1791-1848’, Historical Reflections/Réflexions Historiques 33:3 (2007), pp.395-419.

De Lattre, André et al. De Gaulle en son siècle, Tome 3, Moderniser la France (Paris, 1990).

Deloria, Philip. Playing Indian (London, 1998). 212

De Mérona, Bernard. Le fleuve, le barrage et les poissons: Le barrage de Petit-Saut sur le Sinnamary en Guyane française (1989-2002) (Paris, 2005). Desblache, Lucile, 'Introduction: profil d'une éco-littérature', L'Esprit Créateur 46:2 (2006), pp.1-4. Dew, Edward. The Difficult Flowering of Surinam: Ethnicity and Politics in a plural society (The Hague, 1978).

Dilley, Roy, ‘The Construction of Ethnographic Knowledge in a Colonial Context: the Case of Henri Gaden (1867-1939) in Harris, Mark (ed.). Ways of Knowing: Anthropological Approaches to Crafting Experience and Knowledge (Oxford, 2007), pp.139-157.

Dimier, Véronique, ‘Recycling Empire: French Colonial Adminsitrators at the Heart of European Development Policy’ in Thomas, Martin (ed.). The French Colonial Mind Volume I: Mental Maps of Empire and Colonial Encounters (London, 2011), pp.251-274.

Dingli, Sophia, 'Is the Failed State Thesis Analytically Useful? The Case of Yemen', Politics 33:2 (2013), pp.91-100. Diouf, Mamadou, ‘The Lost Territories of the Republic: Historical Narratives and the Recomposition of French Citizenship’ in Keaton, Trica Danielle, Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean and Stovall, Tyler (eds.). Black France / France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness (London, 2012), pp.32-56.

Dodds, Joseph. Psychoanalysis and Ecology at the Edge of Chaos: Complexity Theory, Deleuze/Guattari and Psychoanalysis for a Climate in Crisis (Hoboken, 2012).

Dodge, Peter, 'Ethnic Fragmentation and Politics: the case of Surinam', Political Science Quarterly 81:4 (1966), pp.593-601. Drayton, Richard, 'Imperial History and the Human Future', History Workshop Journal 74 (2012), pp.156-172.

Drayton, Richard, 'The problem of the hero(ine) in Caribbean history', Small Axe 34 (2011), pp.26-45.

Drayton, Richard. Nature’s Government: Science, Imperial Britain, and the ‘Improvement’ of the World (London, 2000).

Dresch, Jean, ‘Le general Hurault’, Annales de Géographie 83:460 (1974), p.714.

Dubois, Laurent, ‘Haunting Delgrès’, Radical History Review 78 (2000), pp.166-177. Dudler, Hermann Joseph, Fürst, Erhard, Hardon, Michiel and Lambert, Marie Henriette, 'The Economy of Surinam', Staff Papers – International Monetary Fund 18:3 (1971). Dufour, Pierre. Les bagnes de Guyane (Paris, 2006). Dumont, René, 'World Priority Number One: Population and Subsistence', Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 261:1 (1975), pp.147-149. 213

Dupuy, Francis, ‘Rapports à l’Autre, rapports à l’État dans le haut Maroni’ in Mam Lam Fouck, Serge (ed.). Comprendre la Guyane d’aujourd’hui (Matoury, 2007), pp.643-655. Eckhardt, Pieter, ‘Acquisitions: Photography about the history of Surinam’, The Rijksmuseum Bulletin 57:3 (2009), pp.260-279. Edwards, Brent Hayes. The Practice of Diaspora: Literature, Translation, and the Rise of Black Internationalism (Cambridge, 2003). Edwards, Jay D., ‘Upper ’s French vernacular architecture in the greater Atlantic world’, Atlantic Studies 8:4 (2011), pp.411-445.

Endfield, Georgina, ‘Through marsh and mountain: tropical acclimatization, health and disease and the CMS mission to Uganda, 1875-1920’, Journal of Eastern African Studies 4:1 (2010), pp.61-90.

Epailly, Eugène. Beauregard : Une habitation sucrière et ses esclaves dans la colonie de Guyane (1775-1891) (Cayenne, 2013).

Esty, Jed. Unseasonable Youth: Modernism, Colonialism, and the Fiction of Development (Oxford, 2012).

Evans, Jocelyn. The French party system (Manchester, 2003).

Evans, Martin. Algeria: France’s Undeclared War (Oxford, 2011).

Evenden, Matthew, 'Aluminium, Commodity Chains, and the Environmental History of the Second World War', Environmental History 16 (2011), pp.69-93. Fanon, Frantz. Peau noire, masques blancs (Paris, 1952).

Fassin, Didier and Fassin, Éric (eds.). De la question sociale à la question raciale? Représenter la société française (Paris, 2006).

Ferguson, James. The Anti-Politics Machine: ‘Development’, Depoliticisation, and Bureaucratic Power in Lesotho (London, 1994).

Ferguson, James and Gupta, Akhil, 'Spatializing States: Toward an Ethnography of Neoliberal Governmentality', American Ethnologist 29:4 (2002), pp.981-1002. Ferretti, Federico, “‘They have the right to throw us out”: Élisée Reclus’ New Universal Geography ’, Antipode 45:5 (2013), pp.1337-1355.

Ferry, Luc. The New Ecological Order (London, 1992).

Finch-Boyer, Héloïse, ‘“The Idea of the Nation Was Superior to Race”: Transforming Racial Contours and Social Attitudes and Decolonizing the French Empire from La Réunion, 1946- 73’, French Historical Studies 36:1 (2013), pp.109-140.

Fitzgerald, Edward Peter, ‘Did France’s Colonial Empire Make Economic Sense? A Perspective from the Postwar Decade, 1946-1956’, The Journal of Economic History 48:2 214

(1988), pp.373-385.

Fleury, Marie, ‘Les populations du Haut-Maroni et le projet de Parc national de la Guyane’, Journal de l’agriculture traditionnelle et de botanique appliquée 40 (1998), pp.577-610.

Fogarty, Richard S. Race and War in France: Colonial Subjects in the French Army, 1914- 1918 (Baltimore, 2008).

Ford, Caroline, ‘Review Essay. Landscape and Environment in French Historical and Geographical Thought: New Directions’, French Historical Studies 24:1 (2001), pp.125-134.

Ford, Caroline, ‘Nature, Culture and Conservation in France and her Colonies 1840-1940’, Past and Present 183 (2004), pp.173-198.

Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality: An Introduction (London, 1990).

Foucault, Michel, ‘Governmentality’ in Burchell, Graham, Gordon, Colin and Miler, Peter (eds.). The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality (Chicago, 1991), pp.87-104.

Frank, Zephyr and Musacchio, Aldo, ‘Brazil in the International Rubber Trade, 1870-1930’ in Topik, Steven, Marichal, Carlos and Franck, Zephyr (eds.). From Silver to Cocaine: Latin American Commodity Chains and the Building of the World Economy, 1500-2000 (London, 2006), pp.271-299.

French, Duncan. International Law and Policy of Sustainable Development (Manchester, 2005).

Garfield, Seth, ‘Beholding the Miracle: Xavante Indians and Economic “Development” Under Brazilian Military Rule’, The Americas 57:4 (2001), pp.551-580.

Gatrell, Peter. The Making of the Modern Refugee (Oxford, 2013).

Géraud, Marie-Odile. Regards sur les Hmong de Guyane française (Paris, 1997).

Gerson, Stéphane, ‘ Une France locale : The Local Past in Recent French Scholarship’, French Historical Studies 26:3 (2003), pp.539-559.

Gesler, Wil, ‘Hans Castorp’s journey-to-knowledge of disease and health in Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain ’, Health and Place 6:2 (2000), pp.125-134.

Gikandi, Simon, ‘The Black Atlantic: Introduction: Africa, Diaspora, and the Discourse of Modernity’, Research in African Literatures 27:4 (1996), pp.1-6.

Gildea, Robert. France since 1945 (Oxford, 2002).

Gilroy, Paul. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (London, 1993).

Gilroy, Paul. After Empire: Melancholia or convivial culture? (Abingdon, 2004).

Girard, Augustin, ‘Les politiques culturelles d’André Malraux à Jack Lang: ruptures et 215 continuities, histoire d’une modernisation’, Hermès 20 (1996), pp.27-41.

Giraud, Michel, ‘The “Question of Blackness” and the Memory of Slavery: Invisibility and Forgetting as Voluntary Fire and Some Pyromaniac Fighters’ in Keaton, Trica Danielle, Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean and Stovall, Tyler (eds.). Black France / France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness (London, 2012), pp.173-203.

Glissant, Édouard. Le discours antillais (France, 1997).

Godfroy, Marion. Kourou, 1763: le dernier rêve de l’Amérique française (Paris, 2011).

Godfroy, Marion, ‘ Passengers to the West . De Coblenz à Kourou: recrutement et stratégies d’une migration transcontinentale et transatlantique en 1763’, Annales de démographie historique 124:2 (2012), pp.89-104.

Goergen, Phillippe, ‘Autour de la conservation et de la valorisation du patrimoine métallique de l’industrie en Guyane: un projet de rencontres scientifiques et techniques’, In Situ: Revue des patrimoines 8 (2007), http://insitu.revues.org/3427 [accessed 22 Jan 2014].

Gorgus, Nina, ‘Le Heimatmuseum, l’écomusée et Georges Henri Rivière’, Publics et musées 17 (2000), pp.57-69.

Gowricham, Ruben, 'Moral capital in Surinamese transnationalism', Ethnic and Racial Studies 27:4 (2004), pp.607-621.

Granger, Stéphane, 'La Guyane: un territoire Caraïbe en voie de sud-américanisation', Echogéo 6 (2008), http://echogeo.revues.org/6503 [accessed 10th September, 2013].

Grant, Carl A., ‘Escaping Devil’s Island: confronting racism, learning history’, Race Ethnicity and Education 14:1 (2011), pp.33-49.

Green, Cathy and Leach, Melissa, 'Gender and Environmental History: From Representation of Women and Nature to Gender Analysis of Ecology and Politics', Environment and History 3:3 (1997), pp.343-370. Green, Nancy L., ‘French History and the Transnational Turn’, French Historical Studies 37:4 (2014), pp.551-564.

Greenberg, Valerie D., ‘Literature and the Discourse of Science: The Paradigm of Thomas Mann’s “The Magic Mountain”’, South Atlantic Review 50:1 (1985), pp.59-73.

Gregory, Shaun, ‘France and Missions de Souveraineté’, Defense Analysis 16:3 (2000), pp.329-342.

Grenand, Françoise and Grenand, Pierre, 'Le mouvement amérindien: de la fête au mouvement culturel', Ethnies 1:1-2 (1985), p.6. Grenand, Pierre, ‘Note luminaire: les raisons de la traduction française d’une oeuvre d’Ahlbrinck sous l’égide de Jean Hurault’, CNRS, http://celia.cnrs.fr/FichExt/Facsimiles/encyclopedie_caraibes/Note_liminaire.pdf [accessed 28 June 2012]. 216

Grenand, Pierre, Moretti, Christian and Jacquemin, Henri. Pharmacopées traditionnelles en Guyane: créoles, palikur, wayãpi (Paris, 1987).

Grenand, Pierre and Pinton, Florence, 'Savoirs traditionnels, populations locales et ressources globalisées' in Aubertin, Catherine, Boisvert, Valérie and Pinton, Florence (eds.). Les marchés de la biodiversité (Paris, 2007), pp.165-194.

Guerrieri, Sandro, ‘Le modèle républicain français et la Constitution de 1946’, Parliaments, Estates and Representation 25:1 (2005), pp.215-225. Gueye, Abdoulaye, ‘Memory at Issue: On Slavery and the Slave Trade among Black French’, Canadian Journal of African Studies/Revue canadienne des études africaines 45:1 (2011), pp.77-107.

Gueye, Abdoulaye, ‘The Colony within the Metropole: The Racial Diversity of Contemporary France and the Insertion of the Colonial Past into the National Narrative’, Canadian Journal of African Studies/Revue canadienne des études africaines 45:1 (2011), pp.1-16.

Gueye, Abdoulaye, ‘The Colony Strikes Back: African Protest Movements in Postcolonial France’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 26:2 (2006), pp.225- 242.

Gueye, Abdoulaye, ‘The labyrinth to blackness: On naming and leadership in the black associative space in France’, French Cultural Studies 24:2 (2013), pp.196-207.

Guignier, Armelle and Karpe, Philippe, ‘Quel développement durable pour les Amérindiens de Guyane française?’, Ethnies 31-32 (2005), pp114-131.

Guillaume, Isabel, ‘ La Voie royale et Voyage au bout de la nuit : deux réécritures française de Heart of Darkness ’, Cahiers de narratologie 13 (2006), http://narratologie.revues.org/331.

Guillaume, Sylvie, ‘Les ministres non gaullistes dans les gouvernements de Gaulle et Debré (juin 1958-avril 1962): techniciens et politiques’, Histoire@Politique 12:3 (2010), p.2-2.

Guillebaud, J. C. Les confettis de l’empire: Djibouti, Martinique, Guadeloupe, Réunion, Tahiti, Nouvelle-Calédonie, Guyane (Paris, 1976).

Haalboom, Bethany, 'Framed Encounters with Conservation and Mining Development: Indigenous Peoples' use of Strategic Framing in Suriname', Social Movement Studies 10:4 (2011), pp.387-406. Hall, Stuart, ‘The Spectacle of the “Other”’ in Hall, Stuart (ed.). Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices (London, 1997), pp.223-290. Hamilton-Merritt, Jane. Tragic Mountains: The Hmong, the Americans, and the Secret Wars for Laos, 1942-1992 (Indiana, 1999). Hanley, David, ‘From co-operation to conflict: the French political system and the onset of the Cold War’, French Cultural Studies 8:22 (1997), pp.3-15. 217

Hanriot, Damien, ‘Médiations autour du patrimoine de l’esclavage à l’Ecomusée municipal d’Approuague-Kaw (Guyane): enjeux, état des lieux et perspectives’, In Situ: revue des patrimoines 20 (2013), http://insitu.revues.org/10026. Hardin, Lowell S., ‘Meetings that changed the world: Bellagio 1969: The green revolution’, Nature 455 (2008), pp.470-471. Hardwick, Louise. Childhood, Autobiography and the Francophone Caribbean (Liverpool, 2013). Hargreaves, Alec G. Multi-ethnic France: Immigration, Politics, Culture and Society (London, 2007).

Harley, J.B., ‘Deconstructing the Map’ in Dodge, Martin, Kitchin, Rob and Perkins, Chris (eds.). The Map Reader: Theories of Mapping Practice and Cartographic Representation (Chichester, 2011), pp.56-64.

Harris, Ruth. The Man on Devil’s Island: Alfred Dreyfus and the Affair that Divided France (London, 2011).

Hartog, Thierry and de Vassoigne, Christian, ‘Les tourismes dans les départements français d’Amérique’, Mappemonde 54:2 (1999), pp.21-25.

Hathaway, Michael, ‘The Emergence of Indigeneity: Public Intellectuals and an Indigenous Space in Southwest China', Cultural Anthropology 25:2 (2010), pp.301-333.

Haynsworth, H.C. and Lee, J. Edward. Nixon, Ford and the Abandonment of South Vietnam (North Carolina, 2002).

Heemskerk, Marieke, 'Livelihood Decision Making and Environmental Degradation: Small- Scale Gold Mining in the Suriname Amazon', Society and Natural Resources: An International Journal 15:4 (2002), pp.327-344.

Heemskerk, Marieke, ‘Do international commodity prices drive natural resource booms? An empirical analysis of small-scale gold mining in Suriname’, Ecological Economics 39:2 (2001), pp.295-308.

Heemskerk, Marieke and de Theije, Marjo, 'Moving Frontiers in the Amazon: Brazilian Small-Scale Goldminers in Suriname', European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 87 (2009), pp.5-22. Heffernan, Michael and Pearson, Alistair W., ‘The American Geographical Society’s Map of Hispanic America: Million-Scale Mapping between the Wars’, Imago Mundi: The International Journal for the History of Cartography 61:2 (2009), pp.215-243.

Hélénon, Véronique. French in Africa: Diasporic Connections and Colonial Administration, 1880-1939 (Basingstoke, 2011).

Henry, Rebecca R., ‘Measles, Hmong, and Metaphor: Culture Change and Illness Management under Conditions of Immigration’, Medical Anthropology Quarterly 31:1 (1999), pp.32-50. 218

Hesse, Barnor (ed.). Un/Settled Multiculturalisms: Diasporas, Entanglements, Transruptions (London, 2000).

Hewlett, Nick, ‘France and Exceptionalism’ in Chafer, Tony and Godin, Emmanuel (eds.). The French Exception (Oxford, 2005), pp.3-15.

Hill, Jonathan, 'Beyond the Other? A postcolonial critique of the failed state thesis', African Identities 3:2 (2005), pp.139-154. Hodson, Christopher, “‘A Bondage so Harsh”: Acadian Labor in the French Caribbean, 1763- 1766’, Early American Studies 5:1 (2007), pp.95-131. Hoefte, Rosemarijn. In Place of Slavery: A Social History of British Indian and Javanese Laborers in Suriname (Gainesville, 1998). Hoefte, Rosemarijn, ‘Female Indentured Labor in Suriname: For Better or for Worse?’, Boletín de Estudios Latinoamericanos y del Caribe 42 (1987), pp.55-70. Hoefte, Rosemarijn. Suriname in the Long Twentieth Century: Domination, Contestation, Globalization (New York, 2013). Holm, Ulla, ‘French concepts of state: nation, patrie , and the Overseas’ in Adler-Nissen, Rebecca and Pram Gad, Ulrik (eds.). European Integration and Postcolonial Sovereignty Games: The EU Overseas Countries and Territories (Abingdon, 2013), pp.145-151. Holston, James. The Modernist City: an anthropological critique of Brasília (Chicago, 1989).

Wim Hoogbergen. The Boni Maroon Wars in Suriname (Leiden, 1990).

Hoogbergen, Wim and Kruijt, Dirk, 'Gold, Garimpeiros and Maroons: Brazilian Migrants and Ethnic Relationships in Post-War Suriname', Caribbean Studies 32:2 (2004), pp.3-44.

Hopquin, Benoît. Ces Noirs qui ont fait la France: du chevalier de Saint-George à Aimé Césaire (France, 2009).

Horowitz, Leah S., ‘Toward a Viable Independence? The Koniambo Project and the Political Economy of Mining in New Caledonia’, The Contemporary Pacific 16:2 (2004), pp.287-319.

Huggan, Graham and Tiffin, Helen, ‘Green Postcolonialism’, Interventions : International Journal of Postcolonial Studies 9:1 (2007), pp.1-11.

Hurault, Jean. Étude démographique des populations tribales de la Guyane française (France, 1959).

Hurault, Jean. Les noirs réfugiés boni de la Guyane française (Dakar, 1961).

Hurault, Jean. Mémoires de photo-interpretation no. 1: Applications de la photographie aérienne aux recherches de sciences humaines dans les regions tropicales (Paris, 1963).

Hurault, Jean, ‘La population des Indiens de Guyane française. I. Vue historique générale’, Population 20:4 (1965), pp.603-632. 219

Hurault, Jean. Français et Indiens en Guyane (Cayenne, 1989).

Hurault, Jean, ‘Une chaîne de montagnes imaginaire: les Tumuc-Humac’, Revue française d’histoire d’outre-mer 60:291 (1973), pp.242-250.

Hurault, Jean, ‘Montagnes mythiques: Les Tumuc Humac’, Cahiers d’Outre-Mer 53:212 (2000), pp.367-492.

Hurault, Jean, 'Pour un statut des populations tribales de Guyane française (1968-1984)', Ethnies 1:1-2 (1985), pp.43-51. Imlay, Talbot, ‘A Success Story? The Foreign Policies of France’s Fourth Republic’, Contemporary European History 18:4 (2009), pp.499-519. Inda, Jonathan Xavier, ‘Analytics of the Modern: An Introduction’ in Jonathan Xavier Inda, Anthropologies of Modernity (Oxford, 2005), pp.1-20.

Irazábal, Clara, ‘A Planned City Comes of Age: Rethinking Ciudad Guayana Today’, Journal of Latin American Geography 3:1 (2004), pp.22-51.

Janssen, Roger. In search of a path: An analysis of the foreign policy of Suriname from 1975 to 1991 (Leiden, 2011).

Jennings, Eric T., Visions and Representations of French Empire’, The Journal of Modern History 77:3 (2005), pp.701-721.

Jennings, Eric. Vichy in the Tropics: Pétain’s National Revolution in Madagascar, Guadeloupe, and Indochina, 1940-1944 (California, 2001).

Jennings, Eric. La France libre fut africaine (Paris, 2014).

Jessu, Philippe, ‘Georges Henri Rivière et le musée régional’, Ethnologie française 17:1 (1987), pp.79-86.

Jiménez Sánchez, Pilar, ‘The Use and Abuse of History: The Creation of the “, Pays Cathare”. An example of the management of an historical and cultural patrimony?’, Imago Temporis. Medium Aevum 4 (2010), pp.373-398.

Jolivet, Marie-José, 'Des “tribus” marginalisées aux communes “ethniques” ou les enjeux territoriaux du développement en situation multiculturelle' in Antheaume, Benoît and Giraut, Frédéric (eds.). Le territoire est mort: vive les territoires!: une refabrication au nom du développement (Paris, 2005), pp.223-244.

Jones, H.S. and Wright, Julian (eds.). Pluralism and the Idea of the Republic in France (Basingstoke, 2012).

Jos, Emmanuelle. Contribution à l’histoire juridico-politique de l’outre-mer français: Guadeloupe, Guyane, Martinique, Mayotte et La Réunion: vers des statuts sur mesure (France, 2012).

220

Joyce, Patrick. The Rule of Freedom: Liberalism and the Modern City (London, 2003)

Joyce, Patrick. The State of Freedom:A Social History of the British State Since 1800 (Cambridge, 2013).

Kaplan, Danny, ‘Freemasonry as a playground for civic nationalism’, Nations and Nationalism 20:3 (2014), pp.415-435.

Kaplan, Seth, 'Rethinking State-building in a Failed State', The Washington Quarterly 33:1 (2010), pp.81-97. Karsten, Sjoerd and Leeman, Yvonne, 'Holland in Surinam, Surinamese in Holland', Compare: A Journal of Comparative and International Education 18 (1988), pp.63-77. Keaton, Trica Danielle, ‘The Politics of Race-Blindness: (Anti)Blackness and Category- Blindness in Contemporary France’, Du Bois Review: Social Science Research on Race 7:1 (2010), pp.103-131. Kennedy, Dane, ‘Climatic Theories and Culture in Colonial Kenya and Rhodesia’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 10:1 (1981), pp.50-66.

Knapp, Andrew and Wright, Vincent. The Government and (Hoboken, 2006).

Knapp, Andrew, ‘France: Never a Golden Age’ in Farrell, David, Holliday, Ian and Webb, Paul (eds.). Political Parties in Advanced industrial Democracies (Oxford, 2002), pp.107- 148.

Kneafsey, Moya, ‘Rural Cultural Economy: Tourism and Social Relations’, Annals of Tourism Research 28:3 (2001), pp.762-783.

Koenig, G., ‘Affectation de ressources et système de conscription en France’, Revue économique 24:1 (1973), pp.66-108.

Kosmatopoulos, Nikolas, 'Toward an Anthropology of “State Failure”: Lebanon's Leviathan and Peace Expertise', Social Analysis 55:3 (2011), pp.115-142. Kothari, Uma, ‘Spatial practices and imaginaries: Experiences of colonial officers and development professionals’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 27:3 (2006), pp.235- 253. Kothari, Uma (ed.). A Radical History of Development Studies: Individuals, Institutions and Ideologies (London, 2005). Kosmatopoulos, Nikolas, 'Toward an Anthropology of “State Failure”: Lebanon's Leviathan and Peace Expertise', Social Analysis 55:3 (2011), pp.115-142. Kritzman,Lawrence D. (ed.). The Columbia History of Twentieth-century French Thought (Chichester, 2006). Kuisel, Richard F., ‘Coca-Cola and the Cold War : The French Face Americanisation, 1948- 1953’, French Historical Studies 17 :1 (1991), pp.96-116. 221

Lachaise, Bernard, ‘Itinéraires des parlementaires gaullistes de la IVe République’, Parlements 7 :1 (2007), pp.47-63. Lamur, Carlo. The American Takeover: Industrial Emergence and Alcoa's Expansion in Guyana and Suriname 1914-1921 (Dordrecht, 1985). Lamy, Jérôme, ‘Grandeur scientifique et politiques de l’espace: la creation et le transfert du CNES (1958-1974)’, Revue d’histoire modern et contemporaine 58:1 (2011), pp.156-177. Larroumet, Marie. Mythe et images de la Légion étrangère (Paris, 2004).

Latour, Bruno. Reassembling the Social: an introduction to actor-network-theory (Oxford, 2005).

Lawrence, Adria, 'Triggering Nationalist Violence: Competition and Conflict in Uprisings against Colonial Rule', International Security 35:2 (2010), pp.88-122.

Lazen, Matthew, ‘Living-dead Cultures: the Ecomusée d’Alsace and the local heritage in postmodern France’, French Cultural Studies 8 (2002), pp.125-144.

Le Galès, Patrick, ‘Regional economic policies: An alternative to French economic dirigisme?’, Regional Politics and Policy 4:3 (1994), pp.72-91. Le Galès, Patrick, ‘La decentralisation de la Vème République: heritage départemental versus villes et régions’, Modern and Contemporary France 16:4 (2008), pp.451-467.

Le Lidec, Patrick, ‘Le jeu du compromise: l’État et les collectivités territoriales dans la decentralisation en France’, Revue française d’administration publique 121-122 (2007), pp.111-130.

Le Sueur, James D. Uncivil War: Intellectuals and Identity Politics during the Decolonization of Algeria (Philadelphia, 2001).

Lebovics, Herman. True France: The Wars over Cultural Identity, 1900-1945 (New York, 1992).

Lebovics, Herman. Mona Lisa’s Escort: André Malraux and the Reinvention of French Culture (London, 1999).

Lebovics, Herman, ‘Le Musée du Quai Branly. Politique de l’art de la postcolonialité’ in Nicolas Bancel et al (eds.). Ruptures postcoloniales: les nouveaux visages de la société française (Paris, 2010), pp.443-454

Lebovics, Herman. Bringing the Empire Back Home: France in the Global Age (London, 2004).

Ledec, George and Quintero, Juan David, ‘Good Dams and Bad Dams: Environmental Criteria for Site Selection of Hydroelectric Projects’, The World Bank: Latin America and the Caribbean Region Sustainable Development Working Paper 16 (2003). Léobal, Clémence. Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni: Une porte sur le fleuve (Matoury, 2013). 222

Léon, Patrick. Luttes sociales et politiques en Guyane : Union des Travailleurs Guyanais (1934-1989) (Paris, 2001).

Leonti, Marco, ‘The future is written: Impact of scripts on the cognition, selection, knowledge and transmission of medicinal plant use and its implications for ethnobotany and ethnopharmacology’, Journal of Ethnopharmacology 134:3 (2011), pp.542-555. Levy, Jonah D., ‘From the Dirigiste State to the Social Anaesthesia State: French Economic Policy in the Long Durée ’, Modern and Contemporary France 16:4 (2008), pp.417-435. Lewis, G. Malcolm and Woodward, David, ‘Introduction’ in J.B. Harley and David Woodward (eds.). The History of Cartography Vol. 2 Book 3 (London, 1987), pp.1-10.

Lewis, James I., ‘The French Colonial Service and the Issues of Reform, 1944-8’, Contemporary European History 4:2 (1995), pp.153-188.

Lewis, James I., ‘The Tragic Career of Marius Moutet’, European History Quarterly 38:1 (2008), pp.66-92.

Lewis, W. Arthur, ‘Economic Development with Unlimited Supplies of Labour’, Manchester School 22 (1954), pp.139-191.

Lézy, Emmanuel, ‘Jules Crevaux, l’explorateur aux pieds nus’, Echogéo 7 (2008), http://echogeo.revues.org/9983 [accessed 2 Oct 2014].

Little, Paul E. Amazonia: Territorial Struggles on Perennial Frontiers (Baltimore, 2002).

Looseley, David L. The Politics of Fun: Cultural policy and Debate in Contemporary France (Oxford, 1995).

Lopes de Souza, Marcelo, ‘The city in libertarian thought from Elisée Reclus to Murray Bookchin and beyond’, City 16:1-2 (2012), pp.4-33.

Lowenthal, David, 'Degradation and Celebration: Caribbean Environments and Indigenes', Journal of Historical Geography 16:2 (1990), pp.223-229. Luxner, Larry, 'Suriname: A Culture of Tolerance', Américas 58:2 (2006), pp.10-19. Lozès, Patrick, ‘The Invention of Blacks in France’ in Keaton, Trica Danielle, Sharpley- Whiting, T. Denean and Stovall, Tyler (eds.). Black France / France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness (London, 2012), pp.103-109.

Luu, Claudine, 'Contribution á l'étude des plantes médicinales de la Guyane française', Journal de l'agriculture tropicale et de botanique appliquée 22 (1975), pp.121-140. Macdonald, Scott B. ‘Insurrection and Redemocratization in Suriname?: The Ascendancy of the “Third Path”’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs 30:1 (1988), pp.105- 132.

MacFarlane, Robert. Mountains of the Mind: A History of a Fascination (London, 2003). 223

Mackenzie, John M. Museums and Empire: Natural history, human cultures and colonial identities (Manchester, 2009).

Majumdar, Margaret, ‘Exceptionalism and Universalism: The Uneasy Alliance in the French- speaking World’ in Chafer, Tony and Godin, Emmanuel (eds.). The French Exception (Oxford, 2005), pp.16-29.

Mam Lam Fouck, Serge. Histoire de la Guyane française: les grands problèmes guyanais: permanence et evolution (France, 1992).

Mam Lam Fouck, Serge. Histoire générale de la Guyane française (Matoury, 2002).

Mam Lam Fouck, Serge, ‘L’Union du Peuple Guyanais et l’invention du nationalisme en Guyane française (1955-1965), Outre-mers 93 (2006), pp.259-292.

Mam Lam Fouck, Serge, ‘La Guyane française’ in Bégot, Danielle (ed.). Guide de la recherche en histoire antillaise et guyanaise: Guadeloupe, Martinique, Saint-Domingue, Guyane, XVIIe-XXIé siècle, tome II (France, 2011), pp.729-790.

Mann, Gregory, ‘Locating Colonial Histories: Between France and West Africa’, The American Historical Review 110:2 (2005), pp.409-434.

Mann, Gregory. Native Sons: West African Veterans and France in the Twentieth Century (London, 2006).

Marseilles, Jacques, ‘Les images de l’Afrique en France (des années 1880 aux années 1930), Canadian Journal of African Studies / Revue canadienne des études africaines 22:1 (1988), pp.121-130.

Marshall, Alan. The Unity of Nature: Wholeness and Disintegration in Ecology and Science (London, 2002).

Marshall, Bill. The French Atlantic: Travels in Culture and History (Liverpool, 2009).

Marshall, Donald Bruce. The French colonial myth and constitution-making in the Fourth Republic (London, 1973).

Martin, Guy. African Political Thought (Basingstoke, 2012).

Martin, Phyllis M., ‘Contesting Clothes in Colonial Brazzaville’, Journal of African History 35 (1994), pp.401-426.

Mathis, Charles-François and Mouhot, Jean-François, ‘Introduction générale’ in Mathis, Charles-François and Mouhot, Jean-François (eds.). Une protection de l’environnement à la française? (XIXe-XXe siècles) (France, 2013), pp.10-25. Maurice, Edenz, ‘Vers l’État post-colonial: enseignants créoles et pouvoir local en Guyane (années 1950-1960), Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine 61:1 (2014), pp.147-172. 224

May, Jacques M. and McLellan, Donna L. The Ecology of Malnutrition in Eastern South America (London, 1974). Mayhall, Marguerite, ‘Modernist but Not Exceptional: The Debate over Modern Art and National Identity in 1950s Venezuela’, Latin American Perspectives 32:2 (2005), pp.124-246. Mazière, Francis. Expédition Tumuc-Humac (Paris, 1953).

McClintock, Ann. Imperial Leather: Race, Gender and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest (New York, 1995).

McEwan, Cheryl, ‘Postcolonialism, Materialism and the Politics of Knowledge’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 24:3 (2003), pp.340-355.

McKenzie, Brian. Remaking France: Americanisation, Public Diplomacy, and the Marshall Plan (New York, 2008).

McLaughlan, Robbie. Reimagining the ‘Dark Continent’ in Fin-de-Siècle Literature (Edinburgh, 2012).

Meel, Peter, 'Money Talks, Morals Vex: The Netherlands and the Decolonization of Suriname, 1975-1990', European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 48 (1990), pp.75-98.

Mercier, Jean. L’Armée Française et la Guyane (Matoury, 2009).

Michalon, Thierry, ‘Réflexions sur un nouveau statut de la Guyane’, Pouvoirs dans la Caraïbe 11 (1999), http://plc.revues.org/528.

Michotte, Léone. 1, Cité Césaire: Au nom de Justin Catayée (France, 2013).

Migeon, Gérald, ‘Le rôle de la Guyane précolombienne dans la zone d’intéractions caribéo- amazonienne’, EchoGéo 6 (2008), http://echogeo.revues.org/7103. Milia, Monique, 'Histoire d'une politique d'émigration organisée pour les départements d'outre-mer, 1952-1963', Pouvoirs dans la Caraïbe 9: Spécial (1997), http://plc.revues.org/739. Miller, F. Bart. Rethinking Négritude Through Léon-Gontran Damas (Amsterdam, 2014).

Miles, Alexander. Devil’s Island: Colony of the Damned (California, 1988).

Mitchell, Timothy. The Rule of Experts: Egypt, Technopolitics, Modernity (Berkeley, 2003).

Mitja, Danielle and Lescure, Jean-Paul, ‘Le bois de rose doit-il disparaître?’ in Emperaire, Laure (ed.) La forêt en jeu: L’extractivisme en Amazonie centrale (Paris, 1996), pp.93-102.

Mohia, Nadia and Navet, Eric, ‘Considérations sur la situation des Amérindiens de l’intérieur de la Guyane’, Journal de la Société des Américanistes 76 (1990), pp.215-227.

Moniot, François, ‘L’écomusée de Marquèze, Sabres, dans le cadre du Parc naturel regional 225 des de Gascogne’, Museum International 25 (1973), pp.79-84.

Monod, Jean-Claude, ‘Amérindiens à Paris : les ambiguités d’une rencontre’, Journal de la Société des Américanistes 82 (1996), pp.358-360.

Moomou, Jean. Le Monde des Marrons du Maroni en Guyane (1772-1860): La naissance d’un people (Matoury, 2004).

Moore, Bob, 'Decolonization by Default: Suriname and the Dutch Retreat from Empire', The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 28:3 (2000), pp.228-250.

Morejon, Nancy, ‘Towards a Poetics of the Caribbean’, World Literature Today (Summer/Autumn 2002), pp.52-53.

Morin, Violette, ‘La culture majuscule: André Malraux’, Communications 14 (1969), pp.70- 83.

Mouralis, Bernard, ‘René Maran et Gaston Monnerville: entre négritude et radicalisme’, Francofonía 14 (2005), pp.101-122.

Mrgudovic, Nathalie, ‘Evolving approaches to sovereignty in the French Pacific’, Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 50:4 (2012), pp.456-473.

Muller, Karis, ‘Between Europe and Africa: Mayotte’ in Adler-Nissen, Rebecca and Pram Gad, Ulrik (eds.). European Integration and Postcolonial Sovereignty Games: The EU Overseas Countries and Territories (Abingdon, 2013), pp.187-202.

Muller, Karis, ‘New Caledonia, Another Corsica? French Conceptual Obstacles to Considering Independence as an Option’, The Journal of Pacific History 26:2 (1991), pp.288- 302.

Murphy, David, ‘Defending the “Negro race”: Lamine Senghor and black internationalism in interwar France’, French Cultural Studies 24:2 (2013), pp.161-173.

Nabais, Antonio José, ‘Le Musée municipal de Seixal: un écomusée de développement’, Museum International 36:2 (1984), pp.71-74.

Nackle Urt, João, ‘A lógica da construção de confiança: Relações Brasil-Suriname entre 1975 e 1985’, Revista Brasileira de Política Internacional 53:2 (2010), pp.70-87.

Navet, Eric. Camopi, commune indienne? La politique ‘indienne’ de la France en Guyane en 1984 (France, 1984).

Nay, Olivier, 'Fragile and failed states: Critical perspectives on conceptual hybrids', International Political Science Review 34:3 (2013), pp.326-341. Ndiaye, Pap. La Condition noire. Essai sur une minorité française (Paris, 2008). Nelson, Diane M., ‘“The Horror”: The Subject of Desire in Postcolonial Studies’, American Anthropologist 99:2 (1997), pp.383-386.

226

Nesbitt, Nick, ‘Departmentalization and the Logic of Decolonization’, L’Esprit Créateur 47:1 (2007), pp.32-43.

Newbury, Colin, ‘Mammon in paradise: economic enterprise in Pacific historiography’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 26:2 (1998), pp.196-212.

Nora, Pierre (ed.). Rethinking France: Les lieux de mémoire, Volume 1: The State (Chicago, 2001).

Nye Jr, Joseph S. Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics (New York, 2004).

Olivencia, Rodrigo, ‘La Représentation de la bâtardise chez Bertène Juminer: Genèse d’une double prise de conscience’, Nouvelles Etudes Francophones 23:2 (2008), pp.44-54.

Orlando, Valérie K., ‘Introduction: Situating the Caribbean: Texts and Contexts’ in Orlando, Valérie K. and Messinger Cypess, Sandra (eds.). Reimagining the Caribbean: Conversations among the Creole, English, French and Spanish Caribbean (London, 2014), pp.ix-xxi.

Osborne, Michael A., ‘Resurrecting Hippocrates: Hygienic Sciences and the French Scientific Expeditions to Egypt, Morea and Algeria’ in Arnold, David (ed.). Warm Climates and Western Medicine: The Emergence of Tropical Medicine, 1500-1900 (Amsterdam, 1996), pp.80-98.

Othily, Georges. René Jadfard ou l’éclair d’une vie (France, 1989).

Passes, Alan, ‘The Gathering of the Clans: The Making of the Palikur Naoné ’, Ethnohistory 51:2 (2004), pp.257-291.

Passet, René. La Nature de la Nature (Paris, 1977). Passet, René. L'Économique et le vivant (Paris, 1979). Passet, René. Les Grandes Représentations du monde et de l’économie à travers l’histoire. De l’univers magique au tourbillon créateur (Paris, 2010). Peake, Linda, ‘From Cooperative Socialism to a Social Housing Policy?’ in Conway, Dennis and Potter, Robert B. (eds.). Self-Help Housing, the Poor, and the State in the Caribbean (Knoxville, 1997), pp.120-140. Pau-Llosa, Ricardo, ‘Botero and Sculpture’, Sculpture 31:8 (2012), pp.26-31. Perkins, John H. Geopolitics and the Green Revolution: Wheat, Genes, and the Cold War (Oxford, 1997). Peard, Julyan G., ‘Tropical Medicine in Nineteenth-Century Brazil: The Case of the “Escola Tropicalista Bahiana”, 1860-1890’ in Arnold, David (ed.). Warm Climates and Tropical Medicine: The Emergence of Tropical Medicine, 1500-1900 (Amsterdam, 1996), pp.108-132.

Peattie, Lisa. Planning: Rethinking Ciudad Guayana (Michigan, 1987).

Perget, Jacques et al. ‘Le general de Gaulle et la recherché scientifique et technique’, Cahiers de la Fondation Charles de Gaulle 12 (2003). 227

Phillips, Lawrence, ‘The Canker of Empire: Colonialism, Autobiography and the Representation of Illness: Jack London and Robert Louis Stevenson in the Marquesas’ in Phillips, Lawrence, Chrisman, Laura and Parry, Benita (eds.). Postcolonial Theory and Criticism (Cambridge, 1999), pp.115-131.

Piantoni, Frédéric. L’enjeu migratoire en Guyane française: une géographie politique (Matoury, 2009).

Piantoni, Frédéric, ‘Les recompositions territoriales dans le Maroni: relation mobilité- environnement’, Revue européenne de migrations internationales 18:2 (2002), pp.11-49.

Picard, Jean-François and Pradura, Elisabeth, ‘Jean Dresch, La Géographie’, Cahiers pour l’Histoire du CNRS 1987, pp.55-69.

Pierce, Roy, ‘De Gaulle and the RPF: a Post-Mortem’, The Journal of Politics 16:1 (1954), pp.96-119.

Pillet, Claude. Le sens ou la mort: essai sur Le miroir des limbes d’André Malraux (Berne, 2010).

Pindard, Maurice (ed.). Mouvement de Décolonisation et d'Emancipation Sociale. Décolonisation de la Guyane : Statut transitoire (Cayenne, c.1995).

Placide, Louis-Georges. Les émeutes de décembre 1959 en Martinique (Paris, 2009). Poirine, Bernard, ‘Will the EU and the euro lead to more sovereignty? ’ in Adler-Nissen, Rebecca and Pram Gad, Ulrik (eds.). European Integration and Postcolonial Sovereignty Games: The EU Overseas Countries and Territories (Abingdon, 2013), pp.152- 168. Police, Gérard, ‘Le mot “créole” dans Saraminda de José Sarney’, Nouvelles Études Francophones 23:2 (2008), pp.85-97.

Preteceille, Edmond, ‘Decentralisation in France: new citizenship or restructuring hegemony?’, European Journal of Political Research 16 (1988), pp.409-424. Price, Richard. Maroon Societies: Rebel Slave Communities in the Americas (New York, 1973).

Price, Richard, ‘Ethnicity in a Museum Case: France’s Show-Window in the Americas’, Museum Anthropology 18:2 (1994), pp.3-15.

Price, Richard, 'Executing Ethnicity: The Killings in Suriname', Cultural Anthropology 10:4 (1995), pp.437-471.

Price, Richard. Rainforest Warriors: Human Rights on Trial (Oxford, 2011).

Price, Richard. Travels with Tooy: History, Memory and the African American Imagination (London, 2008).

228

Price, Richard. First-Time: the Historical Vision of an African American People (London, 2002).

Price, Richard and Price, Sally (eds.). Stedman’s Surinam: Life in an Eighteenth-Century Slave Society (Baltimore, 1992). Price, Richard and Price, Sally, ‘Executing Culture: Musée, Museo, Museum’, American Anthropologist 97:1 (1995), pp.97-109. Price, Richard and Price, Sally, ‘Shadowboxing in the Mangrove’, Cultural Anthropology 12:1 (1997), pp.3-36. Price, Richard and Price, Sally. Equatoria (London, 1994). Price, Sally. Paris Primitive: Jacques Chirac’s museum on the Quai Branly (Chicago, 2007). Price, Sally. Co-Wives and Calabashes (Ann Arbor, 1984). Puri, Shalini, ‘Legacies Left’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies 12:1 (2010), pp.1-10. Puyo, Jean-Yves, ‘Mise en valeur de la Guyane française et peuplement blanc: les espoirs deçus du baron de Laussat (1819-1823)’, Journal of Latin American Geography 7:1 (2008), pp.177-202.

Quermonne, Jean-Louis, ‘Les nouvelles institutions politiques des états africains d’expression française’, Civilisations 11:2 (1961), pp.171-186.

Quincy, Keith. Harvesting Pa Chay’s Wheat: The Hmong and America’s Secret War in Laos (Washington, 2000).

Racine, Nicole, ‘Jean-Paul Brunet, Gaston Monnerville. Le républicain qui défia de Gaulle’, Revue française de sciences politiques 48:2 (1998), pp.312-313.

Raison, Jean-Pierre, ‘“Tropicalism” in French Geography: Reality, Illusion or Ideal?’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 26:3 (2005), pp.323-338.

Randeria, Shalini, ‘Global designs and local lifeworlds: Colonial Legacies of Conservation, Disenfranchisement and Environmental Governance in Postcolonial India’, Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies 9:1 (2007), pp.12-30.

Rauzduel, Sainte-Croix, ‘Les Dom-Tom: enjeux stratégiques pour la France’, Caribbean Studies 28:2 (1995), pp.304-325.

Redfield, Karen, ‘Inside the circle, outside the circle: the continuance of Native American storytelling and the development of rhetorical strategies in English’ in Stromberg (ed.). American Indian Rhetorics of Survivance , pp.149-165.

Redfield, Peter. Space in the Tropics: from Convicts to Rockets in French Guiana (London, 2000).

Redfield, Peter, ‘Foucault in the Tropics: Displacing the Panopticon’ in Jonathan Xavier Inda 229

(ed.). Anthropologies of Modernity (Oxford, 2005), pp.50-79.

Ringrose, Daniel M., ‘Nomadic Technicians and Migration in the Francophone World’, Proceedings of the Western Society for French History 32 (2004), pp.308-327.

Rioux, Jean-Pierre [translated by Godfrey Rogers]. The Fourth Republic, 1944-1958 (Cambridge, 1987).

Ritvo, Harriet. The Dawn of Green: Manchester, Thirlmere, and Modern Environmentalism (London, 2009).

Rogers, Peter P., Jalal, Kazi F., Boyd, John A. et al. An Introduction to Sustainable Development (London, 2008). Roopnaraine, Rupert, 'Resonances of Revolution: Grenada, Suriname, Guyana' in Shalini Puri (ed.). The Legacies of Caribbean Radical Politics (London, 2010), pp.1-24. Rosa Da Silva, Edson, ‘André Malraux au Brésil: le role de l’art’, Klincksieck: revue de literature comparée 316 (2005), pp.443-448.

Rose, Nikolas. Governing the Soul: the shaping of the private self (London, 1999).

Rosello, Mireille, ‘The “Césaire Effect,” or How to Cultivate One’s Nation’, Research in African Literatures 32:4 (2001), pp.77-91.

Ross, George. Workers and Communists in France: From Popular Front to Eurocommunism (London, 1982).

Ross, Kristin. Fast Cars, Clean Bodies: Decolonization and the Reordering of French Culture (London, 2011).

Rostain, Stéphane. Islands in the Rainforest: Landscape Management in Pre-Columbian Amazonia (California, 2013).

Rothermund, Dietmar. The Routledge Companion to Decolonization (London, 2006).

Rothschild, Emma, ‘A Horrible Tragedy in the French Atlantic’, Past and Present 192 (2006), pp.67-108.

Rubinstein, Steven L., 'Steps to a Political Ecology of Amazonia', Tipití 2:2 (2004), pp.131– 176.

Russell, Jim, ‘Towards more inclusive, vital models of heritage: An Australian perspective’, International Journal of Heritage Studies 3:2 (1997), pp.71-80.

Sabaratnam, Meera, 'IR in Dialogue... but Can We Change the Subjects? A Typology of Decolonising Strategies for the Study of World Politics', Millennium – Journal of International Studies 39:781 (2011), pp.781-803.

Sanders, Andrew. The Powerless People: An Analysis of the Amerindians of the Corentyne River (Basingstoke, 1987). 230

Safier, Neil, ‘Global Knowledge on the Move: Itineraries, Amerindian Narratives, and Deep Histories of Science’, Isis 101:1 (2010), pp.133-145.

Sanguin, André-Louis. Vidal de la Blache: 1845-1918. Un Génie de la Géographie (Paris, 1993).

Sappol, Michael, ‘Introduction: Empires in Bodies; Bodies in Empires’ in Sappol, Michael and Rice, Stephen P. (eds.). A Cultural History of the Human Body in the Age of Empire (Oxford, 2010), pp.1-35.

Schaub, Jean-Frédéric, ‘La catégorie “études coloniales” est-elle indispensable?’, Annales 63:3 (2008), pp.625-646.

Schiebinger, Londa L. Plants and Empire: Colonial bioprospecting in the Atlantic World (London, 2004).

Schilling, Britta, ‘Imperial Heirlooms: The Private Memory of Colonialism in Germany’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 41:1 (2013), pp.663-682.

Schmidt, Nelly, ‘Schoelchérisme et assimilation dans la politique coloniale française: de la théorie à la pratique aux Caraïbes entre 1848 et les années 1880’, Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine 35:2 (1988), pp.305-340.

Schmidt, Nelly. Histoire du métissage (Paris, 2003).

Schmidt, Vivien, ‘Running on empty: the end of dirigisme in French economic leadership’, Modern and Contemporary France 5:2 (1997), pp.229-241. Schmitz, Jean, ‘L’anthropologie et les disciplines du développement’, Cahiers d’Études Africaines 30:120 (1990), pp.493-507.

Scott, David. Conscripts of Modernity: the tragedy of colonial enlightenment (London, 2004).

Scott, David, ‘Colonial Governmentality’ in Inda, Jonathan Xavier (ed.). Anthropologies of Modernity: Foucault, Governmentality, and Life Politics (Oxford, 2005), pp.23-49

Scott, Hamish, ‘The Seven Years War and Europe’s Ancien Régime ’, War in History 18:4 (2011), pp.419-455.

Scott, James C. Seeing like a state: how certain schemes to improve the human condition have failed (London, 1998).

Scott Haine, W. The History of France (Connecticut, 2000).

Sèbe, Berny. Heroic Imperialists in Africa: The Promotion of British and French Colonial Heroes, 1870-1939 (Manchester, 2013).

Selbonne, Ronald. Albert Béville alias Paul Niger (France, 2013). 231

Shepard, Todd. The Invention of Decolonization: The Algerian War and the Remaking of France (London, 2006). Sherman, Daniel J., “‘Peoples Ethnographic”: Objects, Museums, and the Colonial Inheritance of French Ethnology’, French Historical Studies 27:3 (2004), pp.669-703.

Sherman, Daniel J. French Primitivism and the Ends of Empire, 1945-1975 (Chicago, 2011).

Shields, Kathleen, ‘Léopold Sédar Senghor’s Translations and the Trajectory of a World Writer’, Romance Studies 28:2 (2010), pp.106-117.

Shipway, Martin, ‘Creating an emergency: Metropolitan constraints on French colonial policy and its breakdown in Indo-China, 1945-47’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 21:3 (1993), pp.1-16.

Shipway, Martin, ‘Madagascar on the eve of insurrection, 1944-47: The impasse of a liberal colonial policy’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 24:1 (1996), pp.72- 100.

Shipway, Martin. Decolonisation and its Impact: A Comparative Approach to the End of the Colonial Empires (Oxford, 2008).

Shipway, Martin, ‘Thinking Like an Empire: Governor Henri Laurentie and Postwar Plans for the Late Colonial French ‘Empire-State’ in Thomas, Martin (ed.). The French Colonial Mind Volume I: Mental Maps of Empire and Colonial Encounters (London, 2011), pp.219-250.

Shiva,Vandana. Biopiracy: the Plunder of Nature and Knowledge (U.S., 1997). Shiva, Vandana. The Violence of the Green Revolution: Third World Agriculture, Ecology and Politics (London, 1991). Sicking, Louis. Colonial Borderlands: France and the Netherlands in the Atlantic in the 19 th Century (Leiden, 2008). Sicking, Louis, ‘A Colonial Echo: France and the Colonial Dimension of the European Economic Community’, French Colonial History 5 (2004), pp.207-228. Simpson, Moira G. Making Representations: Museums in the Post-Colonial Era (London, 2001). Sinclair, Donald and Jayawardena, Chandana, 'The development of sustainable tourism in the Guianas', International Journal of Contemporary Hospitality Management 15:7 (2003), pp.402-407. Singaravélou, Pierre, ‘The institutionalisation of ‘colonial geography’ in France, 1880-1940’, Journal of Historical Geography 37:2, pp.149-157. Singh, Chaitram, 'Redemocratization in Guyana and Suriname: Critical Comparisons, European Review of Latin American and Caribbean Studies 84 (2008), pp.71-85. Sizer, Nigel and Rice, Richard, Backs to the Wall in Suriname: Forest Policy in a Country in Crisis (Washington, 1995). 232

Skidmore, Thomas E. The Politics of Military Rule in Brazil, 1964-1985 (Oxford, 1988). Smith, Andrew W. M., ‘Of Colonial Futures and an Administrative Alamo: Investment, Reform and the Loi Cadre (1956) in French West Africa’, French History 28:1 (2014), pp.92- 113.

Smith, Paul, ‘“A quoi sert le Sénat?” Reflections on French bicameralism’, Modern and Contemporary France 4:1 (1996), pp.51-60.

Smith, Paul. A History of the French Senate Volume II: The Fourth and Fifth Republics 1946-2004 (Lampeter, 2006).

Smith, Philip, ‘Narrating the Guillotine: Punishment Technology as Myth and Symbol’, Theory, Culture and Society 20:5 (2003), pp.27-51.

Sontag, Susan. Illness as Metaphor (Suffolk, 1987).

Sontag, Susan. Regarding the Pain of Others (London, 2004).

Sorum, Paul Clay. Intellectuals and Decolonization in France (North Carolina, 1977).

Spieler, Miranda. Empire and Underworld: Captivity in French Guiana (London, 2012).

Springer, Simon, ‘Human geography without hierarchy’, Progress in Human Geography 38:3 (2014), pp.402-419.

Spurgeon, David, 'Updating the Green Revolution', Nature 254 (1975), pp.642-643.

Stallybrass, Peter and White, Allon. The Politics and Poetics of Transgression (London, 1986).

Stanfield, Michael Edward. Red Rubber, Bleeding Trees: violence, slavery, and empire in northwest Amazonia, 1850-1933 (Albuquerque, 1998).

Stéphenson, Elie, 'Quelques repères littéraires', Nouvelles Études Francophones 23:2 (2008), pp.31-34.

St-Hilaire, Aonghas, ‘Ethnicity, assimilation and nation in plural Suriname’, Ethnic and racial studies 24:6 (2001), pp.998-1019. Stoler, Ann Laura. Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things (London, 1995).

Stone, Lawrence, 'Prosopography', Daedalus 100:1 (1971), pp.46-79.

Strobel, Michèle-Baj. Les Gens de l’Or: Mémoire des orpailleurs creoles du Maroni (Guadeloupe, 1998).

Stromberg, Ernest, 'Rhetoric and American Indians: An Introduction' in Stromberg, Ernest (ed.). American Indian Rhetorics of Survivance: Word medicine, word magic (Pennsylvania, 2006), pp.1-12. 233

Stromberg Childers, Kristen, ‘Departmentalization, migration and the politics of the family in the post-war French Caribbean’, History of the Family 14 (2009), pp.177-190.

Surun, Isabelle, ‘French Military Officers and the Mapping of West Africa: the Case of Captain Brosselard-Faidherbe’, Journal of Historical Geography 37:2 (2011), pp.167-177.

Szczeszak-Brewer, Agata. Empire and Pilgrimage in Conrad and Joyce (London, 2011).

Taithe, Bertrand. The Killer Trail: a colonial scandal in the heart of Africa (Oxford, 2009).

Taussig, Michael, ‘Culture of Terror – Space of Death. Roger Casement’s Putumayo Report and the Explanation of Torture’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 26:3 (1984), pp.476-497.

Tavares, Paulo, ‘Modern Frontiers: Beyond Brasíla, the Amazon’ in de Real, Patricio and Gyger, Helen (eds.). Latin American Modern Architectures (Hoboken, 2013), pp.191-212.

Taylor, Owen R. The Fourth Republic of France: constitution and political parties (London, 1951).

Taubira, Christiane, ‘Foreword: Black… A Color? A Kaleidoscope!’ in Keaton, Trica Danielle, Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean and Stovall, Tyler (eds.). Black France / France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness (London, 2012), pp.ix-xiv.

Thody, Philip. The Fifth French Republic: presidents, politics and personalities (London, 1998).

Thomas, Dominic, ‘Immigration and National Identity in France’ in Keaton, Trica Danielle, Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean and Stovall, Tyler (eds.). Black France / France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness (London, 2012), pp.110-122.

Thomas, Martin. The French Empire at War, 1940-1945 (Manchester, 1998).

Thomas, Martin, ‘The Colonial Policies of the Mouvement Républicain Populaire , 1944- 1954: From Reform to Reaction’, The English Historical Review 118:476 (2003), pp.380- 411.

Thomas, Martin, ‘France’s North African Crisis, 1945-1955: Cold War and Colonial Imperatives’, History 92:306 (2007), pp.207-234.

Thomas, Martin. Fight or Flight: Britain, France, and their Roads from Empire (Oxford, 2014).

Thomas, Martin, ‘Introduction: Mapping the French Colonial Mind’ in Thomas, Martin (ed.). The French Colonial Mind: Mental Maps of Empire and Colonial Encounters (London, 2011), pp.xi-xlvii. Thomas, Martin. The Artificial Horizon: Imagining the Blue Mountains (Melbourne, 2004). 234

Thürer, Daniel, 'The “failed State” and international law', International Review of the Red Cross 836 (1999). Tiouka, Félix, ‘Nana īñonol ī, nana kinip īnanon iyombo nana īsheman: Adresse au government et au peuple français’, Ethnies 1:1-2 (1985), pp.7-10. Tilley, Helen. Africa as a Living Laboratory: Empire, Development, and the Problem of Scientific Knowledge, 1870-1950 (Bristol, 2011).

Toth, Stephen A., ‘Neither myth nor monolith: the bagne in fin-de-siècle France’, Journal of European Studies 28 (1998), pp.245-266.

Toth, Stephen A. Beyond Papillon: The French Overseas Penal Colonies, 1854-1952 (London, 2006).

Troussier, Jean-François, ‘La Guyane en questions’, Tiers-Monde 17:67 (1976), pp.721-737.

Tsayem Demaze, Moïse, ‘L’agriculture itinérante sur brûlis (abattis)’ (France: University of ), https://ressources.univ-lemans.fr/AccesFedere/UNT/UVED/GuyaneFrancaise/4- Generation_web/2_1/co/cours_07.html [accessed 21 Nov 2013]. Tyre, Stephen, ‘From Algérie Française to France Musulmane : Jacques Soustelle and the Myths and Realities of “Integration”, 1955-1962’, French History 20:3 (2006), pp.276-296.

Urban, Yerri. L’indigène dans le droit colonial français (1865-1955) (France, 2011).

Vaïsse, Maurice, 'La puissance ou l'influence? (1958-2004)' in Allain et al (eds.). Histoire de la diplomatie française , pp.861-976

Vander Weyden, Patrick, 'Election report: The Comeback of Désiré Bouterse? General Elections in Suriname', Representation 42:3 (2006), pp.235-242.

Van Velzen, H.U.E. Thoden and Van Wetering, Ineke. In the Shadow of the Oracle: Religion as Politics in a Suriname Maroon Society (Illinois, 2004).

Vergo, Peter (ed.). The New Museology (London, 1989).

Vial-Debas, Catherine, ‘De la grume au linalol: une interface écologie-économie’ in Emperaire, Laure (ed.). La forêt en jeu: L’extractivisme en Amazonie centrale (Paris, 1996) pp.179-188.

Vié, Jean-Christophe, ‘Wildlife rescues – the case of the Petit Saut hydroelectric dam in French Guiana’, Oryx 33:2 (1999), pp.115-126.

Vinen, Richard. Bourgeois Politics in France, 1945-1951 (Cambridge, 1995).

Voeks, Robert A, ‘Disturbance Pharmacopoeias: Medicine and Myth from the Humid Tropics’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 94:4 (2004), pp.868-888.

Warner, Keith Q. Critical Perspectives on Léon Gontran Damas (Washington, 1988).

235

Weil, Patrick, France et ses étrangers: l'aventure d'une poltique de l'immigration 1938-1991 (France, 1991).

Welker, Marina, 'The Green Revolution's ghost: Unruly subjects of participatory development in rural Indonesia', American Ethnologist 39:2 (2012), pp.389-406.

White, Damian F. and Wilbert, Chris, ‘Introduction: Inhabiting Techonatural Time/Spaces’ in White, Damian F. and Wilbert, Chris (eds.). Technonatures: Environments, Technologies, Spaces and Places in the Twenty-first Century (Ontario, 2009), pp.1-30. White, Owen, ‘Networking: Freemasons and the Colonial State in French West Africa, 1895- 1914’, French History 19:1 (2005), pp.91-111. Whitehead, Neil. Histories and historicities in Amazonia (Lincoln, U.S., 2003).

Whitehead, Neil, ‘Indigenous Cartographies in Lowland South America and the Caribbean’ in J.B. Harley and David Woodward (eds.). The History of Cartography Vol. 2 Book 3 (London, 1987-), pp.301-326.

Whitehead, Neil, ‘Guayana as Anthropological Imaginery: Elements of a History’ in Whitehead, Neil and Alemán, Stephanie (eds.). Anthropologies of Guayana (Arizona, 2009), pp.1-20.

Whiteside, Kerry H. Divided Natures: French Contributions to Political Ecology (Massachussetts, 2002). Wilder, Gary, ‘Eurafrique as the Future Past of “Black France”: Sarkozy’s Temporal Confusion and Senghor’s Postwar Vision’ in Keaton, Trica Danielle, Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean and Stovall, Tyler (eds.). Black France / France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness (London, 2012), pp.57-87.

Wilder, Gary, ‘Race, Reason, Impasse: Césaire, Fanon, and the Legacy of Emancipation’, Radical History Review 90 (2004), pp.31-61.

Wilder, Gary. The French Imperial Nation-State: Negritude and Colonial Humanism Between the Two World Wars (London, 2005).

Wilder, Gary, ‘Untimely Vision: Aimé Césaire, Decolonization, Utopia’, Public Culture 21 (2009), pp.101-140.

Williams, Eric, ‘The Contemporary Pattern of Race Relations in the Caribbean’, Phylon 16:4 (1955), pp.367-379.

Wood, Sarah, ‘Silence, Space and Ecology: Representing the “Amerindian” in contemporary Guyane’, Modern and Contemporary France 23 (2015), forthcoming.

Wood, Sarah, ‘Reclaiming Félix Éboué’ in MacLeod, Catriona and Wood, Sarah (eds.). Locating Guyane (Liverpool, 2016), forthcoming.

Worboys, Michael, ‘The Colonial World as Mission and Mandate: Leprosy and Empire, 1900-1940’, Osiris 15:1 (2000), pp.207-218. 236

Wright, Vincent, ‘The Fifth Republic: from the droit de l’État to the état de droit?’, West European Politics 22:4 (1999), p.103.

Wyngaarde, Brigitte, ‘La parole occultée’, Ethnies 31-32 (2005), pp.52-59.

Yang, Kou, ‘The Hmong in America: Twenty-Five Years After the U.S. Secret War in Laos’, Journal of Asian American Studies 4:2 (2001), pp.165-174.

Yarrington, Jonna, ‘Sugar and the Edge of France’ in MacLeod, Catriona and Wood, Sarah (eds.). Locating Guyane (Liverpool, 2016), forthcoming.