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Wednesday, April 16, 2025

How Rookery Nook came to be named

by

20100613

Be­fore read­ing this book, one needs to fa­mil­iarise one­self with three con­cepts that con­tin­u­ous­ly in­form the writ­ing. These are "the nar­ra­tive," "pla�age" and "the cult of the will." These con­cepts be­come clear by the time one reach­es the sec­ond part of the book, but they should have been ex­plained at the be­gin­ning. "Nar­ra­tive" in this text is not mere nar­ra­tion; it is not just a re­count­ing of the French Cre­ole and the Afro-French Cre­ole past, but rather the spin that is put to that re­call­ing. Nar­ra­tive here means who is in­clud­ed and who is ex­clud­ed, and the book deals at length with the con­se­quences of that de­lib­er­ate­ly-cre­at­ed nar­ra­tive. It is the ar­gu­ment of this book that Er­ic Williams, the his­to­ri­an, tai­lored his nar­ra­tive to ex­clude or un­der­play the role of ma­jor con­tri­bu­tions to the cre­ation of Trin­ba­go.

"Pla�age" refers to the high in­ci­dence of con­cu­bi­nage prac­tised by Eu­ro­pean mer­chants, planters, mil­i­tary men, civ­il of­fi­cials and the mot­ley crowd of ad­ven­tur­ers who came to this side of the wa­ter where Eu­ro­pean women were in very short sup­ply, and took full ad­van­tage of slave women over whom they had to­tal con­trol. Lat­er on, they pounced on the mixed-race, coloured women pro­duced by these first en­coun­ters. Quite of­ten, these coloured off­spring were in­vit­ed to share their fa­thers' hous­es along­side his le­git­i­mate chil­dren, to be cared for by the law­ful wife. There was lit­tle ef­fort to hide placage. Besson re­counts the case of John Nicholas Boissiere, who had mar­ried a woman of colour with whom he had sev­er­al chil­dren, liv­ing in a posh home op­po­site his fa­ther's man­sion at Champs Elys�es in Mar­aval.

In this abode, his out­side, pla�age chil­dren al­so lived, and when some lo­cal wags com­ment­ed on the num­ber of crows (blacks) who lived in this rook­ery, his re­sponse was to name the res­i­dence "Rook­ery Nook," which name the place proud­ly bears to this day. The third term that re­quires ex­pla­na­tion is "the cult of the will," which de­rives from the prac­tice of pla�age. In the tan­gled his­to­ry of the Caribbean, where pa­ter­ni­ty was of­ten dis­put­ed, the off­spring of these ma­cho men faced an un­cer­tain fu­ture. The will be­came a ma­jor de­ter­mi­nant of ei­ther a good start in life or the prospect of aban­don­ment. Those who were favourably treat­ed in the will could go on to live a com­fort­able life, but those who were not had to pad­dle their own ca­noe in a so­ci­ety where skin colour and/or the kind of hair were ma­jor cri­te­ria of so­cial and eco­nom­ic mo­bil­i­ty.

Even so, be­ing in­clud­ed in the will did not mean that ben­e­fits could be reaped. Besson ar­gues that Er­ic Williams' fore­bears, com­ing from this Afro-French Cre­ole stream, were twice de­nied ben­e­fits that should have ac­crued to them by an­ces­tors who did not con­sid­er them de­serv­ing of any pat­ri­mo­ny. Such de­pri­va­tion forced Er­ic's par­ents in­to a penu­ri­ous liv­ing, and this im­pact­ed neg­a­tive­ly on the young man. Williams, the his­to­ri­an, made fre­quent ref­er­ences to his par­ents' strained cir­cum­stances, and this sense of vic­tim­hood be­came a ma­jor fea­ture of his writ­ing, as well as his po­lit­i­cal phi­los­o­phy. The cult of the will, there­fore, which de­ter­mined who ben­e­fit­ed and who did not, forms a ma­jor theme of Bessons' work. The book is di­vid­ed in­to two parts. Part one is a care­ful­ly-gath­ered ge­neal­o­gy in which the saga of the Besson dy­nasty is painstak­ing­ly traced, be­gin­ning 1,000 years ago with the es­tab­lish­ment of a church at Besson in the Au­vergne re­gion in France.

The re­search is thor­ough; the au­thor was able to lo­cate au­then­tic doc­u­ments in France, in Eng­land and in Grena­da, and to or­gan­ise this di­verse ma­te­r­i­al in­to a co­her­ent nar­ra­tive. He gives rea­sons for the Bessons' mi­gra­tion from France to the Caribbean. In the wake of the French Rev­o­lu­tion, Roy­al­ists fled to San­to Domin­go and to the south­ern Caribbean, par­tic­u­lar­ly to Grena­da. Un­der the Cedu­la of Pop­u­la­tion (1783), hun­dreds of French set­tlers mi­grat­ed to a sparse­ly-set­tled Trinidad. Fran�ois Besson was one of these, and in 1788 he re­ceived a grant of 256 acres in South Na­pari­ma. With­in a few years, he was able to ac­quire La Ro­maine, La For­tun�e and Belle­vue (at Guapo) where, with his many slaves, he pros­pered. Buoyed up by this mi­ni-em­pire, Fran�ois moved north to Port-of-Spain, ac­quir­ing a num­ber of prime prop­er­ties, in­clud­ing one at Besson Street, where his de­scen­dants lived, up to the 1920s.

This pros­per­i­ty con­tin­ued un­til the sec­ond half of the 19th cen­tu­ry, when the de­pres­sion of the sug­ar in­dus­try hit the French Cre­oles hard.

Some lost their prop­er­ties or had to sell cheap­ly to the Eng­lish in­vestors, and oth­ers went in­to the co­coa in­dus­try. The first part of the book con­tains much de­tailed in­for­ma­tion on the for­tunes of the French and French Cre­ole set­tlers and the ac­com­pa­ny­ing mis­ce­gena­tion, which spawned the Afro-French Cre­ole seg­ment. It tells of their spread­ing in­flu­ence every­where, even as far as Ma­yaro. It is a mi­cro-study that com­ple­ments the ex­act­ing macro-stud­ies, pro­vid­ing hard ev­i­dence that sup­ple­ments the gen­er­al, known frame­work. Many of the pic­tures are pub­lished for the first time, and these are em­bell­ished by the fam­i­ly trees that can be of use for peo­ple whose an­ces­try de­rives from the French Cre­ole in­put.

The copies of wills that form the ap­pen­dices are trea­sure troves of in­for­ma­tion. These wills em­pha­sise the im­por­tance of the cult of the will. The sec­ond part of the book, one sus­pects, will be of ma­jor in­ter­est to most read­ers. For it is in this sec­tion that Besson's the­sis is ex­pos­tu­lat­ed. He sees an ag­gres­sive streak in the male off­spring of pla�age, ev­i­dent, for ex­am­ple, in the mixed-race Grena­di­an rev­o­lu­tion­ary Fe­don, who led a bit­ter­ly-fought up­ris­ing against Eu­ro­pean dom­i­na­tion in Grena­da in 1795. That re­bel­lious spir­it is lat­er trans­ferred to Trinidad, and is man­i­fest­ed in the rise of a num­ber of peo­ple of colour who rise to po­si­tions of em­i­nence here. Er­ic Williams, as a 20th-cen­tu­ry de­scen­dant of that Afro-French Cre­ole ma­trix, falls with­in that same tra­di­tion.

As a stu­dent in Eng­land, he came un­der the in­flu­ence of the black na­tion­al­ist CLR James, who im­pressed on his mind that rev­o­lu­tion­ary ten­den­cy in the lead­ers of the Hait­ian rev­o­lu­tion, so pas­sion­ate­ly es­poused in James' The Black Ja­cobins. Besson be­lieves that Williams com­bined these el­e­ments of thought with his own per­son­al sense of vic­tim­hood, ev­i­denced by his fam­i­ly's ex­ci­sion from the cult of the will, to cre­ate an ide­ol­o­gy based on right­ing the wrongs vis­it­ed up­on Caribbean peo­ple. Thus, when he gave us the slo­gan, "Mas­sa Day Done," he was in­di­cat­ing that all of the re­main­ing de­scen­dants of the Eu­ro­peans must take note of the new re­al­i­ty. The term "French Cre­ole" now meant all per­sons of Eu­ro­pean de­scent, with­out re­gard to their ac­tu­al an­ces­try. By the same to­ken, Besson ar­gues, East In­di­ans were no more than mar­gin­al in Williams' cal­cu­la­tion.

For this rea­son, they are vir­tu­al­ly ex­clud­ed from the Er­ic Williams nar­ra­tive. They are no more than pe­riph­er­al to the sto­ry of our de­vel­op­ment. This theme, the ma­jor the­sis of The Cult of the Will, is, to say the least, high­ly-con­tro­ver­sial, and will no doubt be the sub­ject of in­tense scruti­ny over the next few decades. It is a ma­jor ad­di­tion to the Williams de­bate, not to be dis­missed light­ly. So what does one make of the book as a whole? The first part is a com­pendi­um of care­ful­ly-gath­ered in­for­ma­tion, de­tail­ing a ma­jor hith­er­to un­writ­ten di­men­sion of our his­to­ry. The cul­tur­al and eco­nom­ic con­tri­bu­tions of the French Cre­ole and Afro-French Cre­ole com­mu­ni­ty is de­tailed, and we learn much of their so­cial life and in­ter­ac­tions with the larg­er so­ci­ety.

This use­ful in­tro­duc­tion then leads us in­to the sec­ond part, which deals with Williams' trans­fer­ence of his own his­tor­i­cal hurt in­to his writ­ing of his­to­ry and in­to his prac­tice of pol­i­tics. Be­cause of the de­ci­sive role of pol­i­tics in small so­ci­eties such as ours, that as­ser­tion of per­son­al pain in­to the busi­ness of gov­er­nance has had dam­ag­ing con­se­quences on our ef­forts to cre­ate uni­ty and pro­duc­tiv­i­ty out of our di­ver­si­ty. The book ar­gues that di­ver­si­ty was used to cre­ate di­vi­sion rather than har­mo­ny. The Cult of the Will now seeks to add that broad group who are called French Cre­ole in­to the dis­course, so that there can be greater bal­ance in the chron­i­cle of our na­tion. The book is, there­fore, a wel­come ad­di­tion to the lit­er­a­ture of de­vel­op­ment, and must now be in­clud­ed in our na­tion­al di­a­logue.


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