lsil2017.files.wordpress.com€¦ · Web viewLATITUDES OF INDENTURE: PORTUGUESE ISLANDERS IN POST-ABOLITION GUIANA PLANTATIONS AND IN HAWAI‘I. Cristiana . Bastos. PI, ERC AdG 695573

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Legacy of Slavery and Indentured Labour

Linking the Past with the FutureConference on Slavery, Indentured Labour, Migration, Diaspora

and Identity Formation.June 18th – 23th, 2018, Paramaribo, Suriname

Org. IGSR & Faculty of Humanities and IMWO, in collaboration with Nat. Arch. Sur.

LATITUDES OF INDENTURE: PORTUGUESE ISLANDERS IN POST-ABOLITION GUIANA PLANTATIONS AND IN HAWAI‘I

Cristiana BastosPI, ERC AdG 695573 The Colour of Labour – the racialized lives of migrantsInstitute of Social Sciences - University of Lisbon

[email protected] [email protected]

DRAFT VERSION PLEASE DO NOT QUOTE WITHOUT CONTACTING THE AUTHOR

ABSTRACT

In the aftermath of the abolition of slavery in the British empire, tens of thousands of Portuguese islanders from Madeira were brought to British Guiana sugar plantations from 1835 onwards, a movement that predated the massive displacement of South Asians to the Caribbean. Madeira was already a familiar stop for British vessels travelling between Liverpool and the Caribbean; more importantly, Madeira’s rigid social structure left many of its inhabitants disenfranchised to the point of willingly embarking into unknown places like Guiana where they endured the harshness of plantation labour. Of those who survived to the end of their contracts, some went back to the island, while others

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carved their own racialized niche in Guianese society. Throughout the nineteenth century, Madeira was connected to the plantation world of the larger Caribbean, a world far beyond the scope of the Portuguese empire. Madeirans, Azoreans and Cape Verdeans also engaged in far-reaching whaling and sailing, creating a vast network of routes, practices, knowledge, connections, which facilitated the further expansion of their labour routes. In 1878, partly facilitated by the contingent of Portuguese whalers and traders in Hawai‘i, a sponsored contingent of Madeiran contract labourers arrived to Honolulu to work on the sugar plantations. More would come until 1913, to a total of nearly 20,000 people – thus making the Portuguese one of the most pronounced migrant groups in Hawai‘i. Their situation at departure and at arrival was quite different from the one experienced by their kin in Guiana. And yet the two cases can be compared and studied in connection. In this paper I will discuss the possibilities and limits of their combined study.

KEY WORDSIndentured labor; Madeira; British Guiana; Hawai‘i

PAPER IN PROGRESS

1. Madeirans in motion In this paper I will bring together two different societies in which Madeiran

islanders became a distinct local group after migrating there as contract labourers: British Guiana and Hawai‘i. Both societies stood upon a labour-devouring sugar economy which recurred, in different moments, to contingents of Portuguese islanders from Madeira and, on a lesser degree, from the Azores. In the Guianas, the Portuguese were recruited since the mid-1830s, right after the abolition of the traffic of enslaved Africans, after the failed attempts to recruit free West Africans to replace them, and before the massive displacement of indentured South Asians into the wider Caribbean plantations. In Hawai‘i, the Portuguese were contracted since the late 1870s, under the sponsorship of the Hawaiian Board of Emigration and with the support of the Planters Association; it is generally accepted that the recruitment of Portuguese workers, or any other groups coming from the European region, was meant to counterweight what was seen locally as an excessive number of Asian workers. As the Hawaiian native population was in dramatic and speedy decline, many feared being annihilated and engulfed by the Asian nations.

According to oral tradition, Madeirans were recruited because they were familiar enough with sugar cane fields and mills to endure the work at the plantations. Indeed, there had been sugar production in Madeira in the past. It still

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existed, but in residual scale, as it does today, its main products being molasses and local rum rather than massive exports. However, in the 19th century, when Madeirans were recruited to work in foreign cane fields, not many of them were directly engaged in the sugar economy, although a larger number of them could have the embodied experience of plantation, or it’s the memory, or the sort of post-memory transmitted in generations. That embodied experience or post-memory could account for a familiarity with the rhythms and rationale the plantation, its work schedules, gangs, hierarchies, tensions, violence, resistances, suffering and subversions.

In other words, Madeirans were not going from sugar cane to sugar cane in a literal way, as kept in oral history, but they were familiar with plantation life and its harshness. Sugar had been replaced by another global commodity: wine. By the time Madeirans went to the Guianas and Hawai‘i, wine, not sugar, was the main production of their island. Madeira is a wine type that many around the world can identify without even associating it with a place, even less so with an island within an archipelago of the same name, let alone the place of departure for many Portuguese who became the labour force in tropical plantations. Madeiran wine, just like Port in the norther Portuguese mainland, was mostly run by British merchants. The commerce of wine kept Madeira tied to the world economy, to London, to British networks, to maritime routes across the world. It is my argument that those factors, particularly the position in British networks of commerce and sailing, are likely to have influenced the recruitment of Madeirans more than their expertise in cane fields.

From the perspective of Madeirans, Demerara and Hawai‘i became viable destinations to escape the harsh life at the island. Plantations were in their horizon, regardless of the fact that they might, and most often did, run into potentially harsher conditions than the ones they had at home. Madeirans, like Azoreans, were themselves the descendants of settlers who started arriving from mainland Portugal since the 1400s to the previously uninhabited archipelagos. The feudal model of settlement adopted by the Portuguese crown and its beneficiaries was based on a rigid and pyramidal social structure with a disenfranchised labouring class at the bottom. Given Madeira’s geographical position in the North-South Atlantic routes, it comes with no surprise that vulnerable population at the bottom of the social hierarchy was ready to jump on passing by ships, be it as stowaways that just wanted to leave, be it as part of organized migrations, or as a combination of both. In fact, many departed, in sponsored contingents or as individuals who took their risks and endured their passages. Of those, some were not in the most vulnerable positions and still embarked with the prospect of improving their lives.

Other routes were in the horizon of Madeirans: above all, Brazil, a magnet that attracted people from everywhere before and after its independence in 1822. Already its southern borders – subject of dispute between Spanish and Portuguese rulers – had been fixed with the settlement of Portuguese islanders in the 18th century. Hundreds of thousands Portuguese mainlanders would join the islanders south and north of Brazil. While a limited few owned the Brazilian plantations or

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occupied high positions in the royal bureaucracies and regional governments, most of the Portuguese in Brazil worked with their hands on agriculture, crafts, industries and above all on commerce.

Besides Brazil, there were a number of other agricultural and non-agricultural overseas destinations attracting the Portuguese islanders: the New England shores, with its cotton mills, fisheries and whaling (Sylvia 1976, Pap 1981, Baganha 1990, Graves 2004, Barcelos 2007, Williams 2007, Warrin 2010, Holton and Klimt 2009, Bastos 2018); California, first with the gold rush and later with the dairy economy in which many Portuguese achieved steady success (Pap 1981, Baganha 1990, Graves 2004); Trinidad, on occasion of a religious exile that moved on to Illinois (Ferreira 2006); St Vincent and Venezuela; South Africa; and, for a period, Angola became a viable destination under the sponsorship of the Portuguese government in its attempt to both fix the colonial borders and to re-route the migrants who kept departing into competing empires (Bastos 2008).

2. Current project on labor and raceI address Madeirans in British Guiana and Hawai‘i in the context of a project on

labour and racializations. Other cases include Mauritian plantations and the multiple layers of labour regimes; contemporary Southern Italy’s tomato production and the regime of precarious labour; the production of São Tome cacao and coffee in the networks of labour, technology and commerce and its links to projects of plantation in Angola; the cotton mills of New England, its labour migrants and their racialized representations. I also discuss Madeiran labour flows in the context of Portuguese colonial settlements. In both fronts, I fight against a common-sense tendency – one that nonetheless enters the works of social scientists and historians – towards the essentialization of the categories “Madeiran” or “Portuguese,” be it as race, nation or culture.

Madeirans in colonial Guiana and in Hawai‘i are two quite expressive cases in which the position in labour generates a racialized classification which lasts as a group identification, whether or not the group remains associated with that position in labour. They are, however, different cases in many respects – place, time, ecology, legal framework, political environment, cultural environment. My purpose on bringing those two similar-yet-different cases is less about promoting the strict comparison matching similarities and contrasts but rather about their connectedness and the potential of their combined study in expanding our understanding of each of the cases.

Time allowing, I will also bring a third case that is not strictly about sugar plantation labour but involved Madeiran settlers – a rerouting of outmigration into Portuguese colonial administered territories, promoted by the Portuguese government in 1884-5. That pilot experiment brought a group of Madeiran settlers into southern Angola, where sugar had failed and where African groups and other European settlers competed for territorial influence. Madeirans were left to their

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chance and survived, to be racialized on all sides later on, including by the 20th century settlers from mainland Portugal (see Bastos 2008).

3. Madeirans to Colonial GuianaHistorians and anthropologists of Guyanese society and colonial Guiana have

addressed the local Portuguese ethnicity in a number of ways -- from Mary Noel Menezes’ comprehensive monographs (Menezes 1992) to Walter Rodney’s analysis of the structural competition between Portuguese and Africans on matters of commerce as the root of the so called Portuguese-riots (Rodney 1981), to Brackette Williams nuanced approach to the role of Madeiran Portuguese, along with the other groups, in the complex dynamics of ethnicity in Guyana (Williams 1991). But why, when and how did the Portuguese end up in British Guiana and Caribbean in the first place?

Madeirans started their route to Demerara in 1835. It was in the aftermath of the Slavery Abolition Act of 1933, aimed to extend to the whole British Empire the 1807 prohibition, and before the arrival of large numbers of indentured labourers from Asia (Lai 1993, Palmié and Scarano 2011), that Caribbean plantation owners resorted to the impoverished Portuguese islanders from Madeira as a source of labour (Meneses 1992, Rodrigues 2008). Abolitionists, planters, politicians, journalists, priests and other opinion makers had debated on who should better provide the workforce needed to replace the enslaved Africans: free Africans, whether from the place, from the Caribbean islands, from Sierra Leone? Before planters were allowed to bring in indentured South Asians, Madeiran islanders came handy.

From 1835 on, and particularly between 1846 and 1848, tens of thousands of Madeiran islanders moved into the Guianas and Caribbean, sometimes not fully aware of their precise destination (Meneses 1986, 1992, Ferreira 2006). Why did they embark into such endearing venture and ended up in places where many would die, get sick, work to exhaustion in the plantations that until very recently depended on enslaved labour? Although some authors suggest that there were also Portuguese-descent planters that might have influenced the recruitment – there were indeed some seventeenth century Jewish exiles from Portugal who had settled in the Low Countries and resettled in the Caribbean (Arbell 2002) – the massive number of Madeirans moving to multiple plantation sites much transcends that possible link. One shall instead look at the fact that Madeira was in the route from Britain to the Caribbean; British captains, contractors, businessmen, pastors, physicians, wine planters were familiar with the place. British- owned businesses existed in the island. But above all, the local social structure was brutally unequal, the fertility rate was high, and many islanders live in extreme poverty. They were ready to leave and many embarked to unknown destinations as stowaways or crew. To embark on a contract to work on a sugar cane plantation was a desirable horizon for many of them.

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In the context of my current project I try to retrace their experience using an ethnographic-historical perspective; in dialogue with the analytic and historiographic literature, my research combines a variety of primary sources like consular reports, letters, health assessments, naval logs, and oral history. The preliminary analysis of collected data indicates that the conditions in which the first batches of Madeirans embarked were often extreme, and that their lives at arrival were most challenging.

The few navigation logs I could find are an eloquent window for the near-desperate condition in which many embarked. On board of the Borderer, on its trip from Funchal to Demerara in 1847, the captain -- or whomever authored the anonymous the log -- did not spare the words “skeletons” and “skin & bone” to describe the bodies of his migrant passengers. The Borderer left Liverpool on May 17th and arrived to Madeira after 11 days of sailing. On June 8th it received a contingent of 250 islanders with the destination Demerara. “Men, women, children, most of them in a state of apparent starvation”, referred the log, reiterating that they were “literally nothing but skin and bone.” By reading the remaining entries, we learn that some actually died during the passage, many got sick with dysentery and motion sickness, some had fits and one even fell into the ocean. But there was life and even some enjoyment; there were dances; there were babies who were born. One of the babies did not wait long and was born right after the mother stepped in: “one women half an hour after she came on board has delivered a fine child.” During the first days of sailing the crew was so busy tending to the migrants that there was hardly any one left to trim the sails. They had to rescue the men who fell overboard after a fit, care for him, and at some point using a straightjacket. People got sick, some died, and many suffered. But after a few days, people felt happier, the log says, with at least one episode in which migrants and sailors dance together. They arrived to Demerara after 22 days of sailing.

So far we have no direct testimonies of the experience of arrival and settling in the sugar cane plantations – only the broad frame provided by Guianese historian Mary Noel Meneses monograph The Portuguese in Guiana. They worked in the harsh conditions once experienced by enslaved Africans. Yet they were not enslaved, and after their contract was over they could move out. Some moved back to the island. Some moved into other contracts. Some moved up in the social scale. Many worked as hucksters. Some competed with the freed Africans on the petty commerce. The tension exploded and there were even some riots against the Portuguese. They had created a niche, they actually became counted as one of Guyana’se six races – up to our days. Some built comfortable livelihoods based in commerce; some became part of the richer group in Guyana – although they never became classified as “white.”

In her landmark monograph on the politics of cultural struggle in Guyana, Brackette Williams provides a nuanced and complex account of the multiple tensions that shape and reshape Guyanese groups and identities, the stereotypes associated with each of them; the Portuguese (or potogee) occupying, according to her field informants, the stereotype of the greedy merchant who only thinks of

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money making. Differently than what we shall see for Hawaii, post-contract Portuguese in colonial Guiana did not establish themselves as farmers, landowners or city landlords. Their business was commerce. Still according to Williams’ field informants, a Portuguese drop of blood in one’s veins who expand one’s chances of being successful in business -- although, still according to the ethnic stereotypes and related organic metaphors, that chance might become annihilated by the presence of the opposite tendencies coming from African heritage, go on the stereotypes (Williams 1991). After independence, many of the Portuguese-Guianese felt out of place and uncomfortable in a society increasingly polarized between the South Asian- and the African-descendants, and moved on to new destinations in Canada, where they formed multi-hyphenated communities.

4. Madeirans to Hawai‘iBeyond the boundaries of the European empires in the late nineteenth

century, the indigenous kingdom of Hawai‘i also relied on sugar and needed external labour. Reportedly, the king Kalakaua of Hawai‘i preferred the Portuguese islanders, who came with their families, rather than the Japanese or Chinese workers, who came as single men and were said to bring trouble (Williams 2007, Caldeira 2010); but the planters’ preference had a racialist and managerial component, as they considered the Portuguese islanders as of Caucasian descent and characterized them as less prone to engage in class-conflict (Jung 2006). Moreover, there are indications that the choice for Portuguese islanders derived from the agency of some of them who had previously settled in Hawai‘i for whaling and promoted their own people as the most suitable for work, in spite of coming from so far away (Caldeira 2010). Starting in 1877, the negotiations between the two countries led to an agreement for the mutual benefit of their peoples and with the practical effect of facilitating the recruitment of Portuguese labourers for plantation work in Hawai‘i.

The reasons why the Hawaiian board of immigration and the local planters sponsored Portuguese islanders over other populations from closer places -- with less expensive travel costs -- deserves further analysis; a set of structural elements and conjuncture shaped the choice of this group as labour supply for the Hawaiian plantations (Takaki 1983, Beechert 1985, Jung 2006). The Hawaiian government was keen about the need of countering the Hawaiian demographic decline by bringing migrants, and there were endless discussions on what peoples would make the best migrants according to which criteria. Surrounding those discussions there was also a growing fear of being engulfed by neighbouring Asian nations that had furnished contract labourers in large numbers, a fear laced by the “yellow peril” ideology (see Miller 2017). King David Kalākaua, who ruled between 1874 and 1891 as a cosmopolitan monarch who engaged with western modernity while keeping the traditional Hawaiian ways, was an active promoter of the project of bringing in other groups as a counterweight to the Chinese. The Portuguese were

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also counterpoint to the Japanese labourers; as much as planters cherished this group, there was a subliminal fear that Hawai‘i became an extension of Japan via an overpopulation of Japanese in the islands.

For a few years, the Portuguese were presented to the planters as worth being paid for on the basis of a number of traits: laborious, family oriented, and, through a variety of euphemisms, of an appropriate race – not really white, as the haoles, but still of European descent, a variation of the white-but-not-quite concept that pervades in Anglo-Saxon environments. Portuguese disputable whiteness was manipulated by the authorities and ideologues according to the occasion – to bring them closer to white planters in disputes regarding annexation (Daws 1968) or to keep them at a social distance for purposes of managing labour. The Portuguese, arguably white, at least “Caucasian”, “speakers of a European language” (categories used to bring them closer to white), but not really “white”, were conveniently used as an alternative both to Pacific islanders, who were in small numbers, and to East Asians, who might be too many. Bringing in Africans was then out of question – nor was it acceptable, neither for the Hawaiian rulers nor for the New England haoles, to restore the concentrationist racial regime of the Caribbean and Southern U.S. plantations. Diversifying the labour force was a better prospect for all parts involved. Bringing in European labourers was considered a plus. In smaller contingents than the Portuguese, other European groups made it to Hawaiian plantations: from Spain, Germany, Norway and Sweden.

Sailing from the north Atlantic islands of Madeira and Azores to the Pacific was a long trip of about six months, but not necessarily a tedious journey, judging from the only existing testimony -- the journal “Destination: Sandwich Islands.” It reports the 1887 sailing of the vessel Thomas Bell between Madeira and Hawai‘i written by the young travelers Joao Baptista d’Oliveira and Vicente d’Ornellas, assisted by the vessel’s mate. The manuscript was given to a Portuguese pastor in Hawai‘i, who kept it stored away for years, probably forgotten, to be found by his daughter Lucille da Silva Canario. Ms Canario realized the importance of the document, which, in her words, it is the only testimony ever found of the twenty-four sailings that over the years brought Portuguese islanders to Hawai‘i. She transcribed it and translated it into English, and had it published in the Hawaiian Journal of History in 1970. Thanks to her efforts we have a lively account of the experience of traveling from Madeira to Hawai‘i with a group of four hundred Portuguese passengers, most of them from Madeira. We get to feel the mix of endurance and joy, of love and grief, of parties and fights, of births and deaths. There were rituals, spontaneous festivities, parades, satires, religious festivals; there was food, enjoyment, sea-sickness. There was love, sex, betrayal, there was even a wedding officiated by the mate. People died and babies were born on board.

Between 1878 and 1913, over 20,000 Portuguese arrived as contract laborers for its growing sugar economy; they came in families, differently than the previous batch of Portuguese whalers and sailors who came as single men who jumped off ship and married local. The contract laborers settled in the plantations, along with other ethicized, racialized communities of workers. Historian of Hawaiian

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plantations Ronald Takaki (1983) argued that it was of the interest of plantation owners to keep the work force segregated, even when that involved different housing, different wages, different functions. Indeed, plantation payroll records are most often organized by racialized groups – Chinese, Hawaiians, Japanese, Portuguese. Some Portuguese moved up to the plantation middlemen position of lunas. Others became paniolos (cowboys). Some of also got to the city and worked in urban jobs. Many moved out of the plantation and established businesses, bought land, made farms. Most did not move back home: they rather move to California and join another flow of Portuguese islanders who created a successful economic niche in the dairy industries (Williams 2007). Many, thought, remained in Hawai‘i, blending in without losing sight of their Portuguese heritage (Knowlton 1960, Felix and Senecal 1978, Freitas 1979, Correa and Knolwton 1982, Takaki 1983, Caldeira 2010).

How did the Portuguese fit in the also complex, multi-ethnic, idiosyncratically racialized plantation society of Hawaii? Contrary to the stereotypes supported by the lusotropicalist credo, the Portuguese in the sugar plantations married mostly within the community – like other groups living the plantation life. And like the Japanese, Chinese and other groups, the Portuguese were counted in the census as a separate racial group under the category of “other Caucasians” until 1940.

Sociologists Romanzo Adams (1937) and Andrew Lind (1938) explored the racializations in Hawai‘i plantations and post-plantation society, one that included Chinese, Portuguese, Japanese, Okinawans, Koreans, Filipinos, combined with the local Hawaiians and the “haole” class of missionaries and planters. Although none of those groups corresponded to a precise “race” in the terminology of the time, they were treated as racial categories for analytical purposes, with due distance from the biological definitions of race (see Adams 1937). More recently, sociologists Geschwender, Carroll-Seguin and Brill suggest that the Portuguese in Hawai‘i provide a case to demonstrate the universal dynamics of ethnicity – a classificatory “anomaly” in that they are of European extraction but considered local, not haole (white), due to the fact that, contrary to the haole, who came from the center of capitalist core, the Portuguese had come as labor (Geschwender, Carroll-Seguin and Brill 1988). And, like other groups of laborers, they were ethnically stereotyped – racialized as “portegee”, “pocho”, “poregee”, etc. More recently, Moon-Kie Jung suggests that “conceptualizing Portuguese, Japanese, Filipino and other migrants in racially disparate ways” was a way of keeping haole power and influence (Jung 2006:61). The Portuguese, in particular, were left in “analytical ambiguity” (Jung 2006:69). That ambiguity is felt by the central character Infelice in Elvira Osorio Roll Hawaii’s Koahala Breezes, a novel casting the early Portuguese settlers (Roll 1964, Rogers 1978, Silva 2013). The girl – and later the woman she grew into -- always distances herself from the illiterate and backward “poregee” who work in the cane fields, flashing out that she descends from Portuguese aristocracy and her father owns a business; but she does not cease

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being stigmatized as poregee herself by the haoles who disapprove of her romantic involvement with a haole boy.

The Portuguese who went to the Hawaiian plantations came from a variety of backgrounds. Many were familiar with agriculture, and some came from the bottom of disenfranchisement. But many others did not: some were urbanites who longed to work on a city street shop; others had been small-scale farmers who dreamt of acquiring land; others were business oriented and used the time of indenture/contract to amass funds and used some opportunities of achieving land to pursue their projects. At the end of their three-year contract some renewed it, some moved up in the plantation hierarchies as lunas, others bought land and farmed it, others moved into the city, others, particularly after annexation, into mainland US, and only a few went back home.

By mid-20th century, the Portuguese were no longer racialized in Hawaii, but acknowledged for their heritage, culture and contribution to the making of modern Hawaiian society. To them are associated iconic Hawaiian foods like malasadas or Portuguese sausage, and the quintessential Hawaiian ukulele, ingeniously developed by Nunes, Dias and Espírito Santo from their own braguinha (Tranquada and King 2012). On the 1978 centennial of the arrival of the Priscilla, the bark who brought first sponsored Madeiran islanders, a local committee of distinguished Portuguese marked the event with a number of celebrations and the construction of a marble “padrão” and Portuguese cobble-stone pavement downtown (see Felix and Senecal 1978; Freitas 1979). A plaque in the monument pays homage to the Portuguese pioneers, notes their origin and dynamics of growth and upward mobility, their full integration in the island community. To this day, the number of Portuguese family names in Hawai‘i is impressive; and although hardly anyone knows the language, there are festivals and associations celebrating heritage and keeping the flame of genealogy.

5. Preliminary coda: Madeirans and the biopolitics of empires All through the nineteenth century, Madeiran islanders migrated to a variety

of destinations across empires and nations, making the Portuguese government nervous about population loss. In many consular documents one can read the anxieties and the attempts to reroute the migrants of Demerara into Portuguese administered territories in Africa and elsewhere. After much discussion, the Portuguese government promoted a bio-political move that attempted at once to reduce the outmigration of nationals into competing nations and empires, and at the same time to create white settlements in disputed lands in Africa. From 1884 on, thousands of Madeirans—some of whom had already been to Hawai‘i—moved to the plateau of Huila in southern Angola (Medeiros 1976, Bastos 2008), where previous attempts to develop a sugar economy had failed for both ecological and social reasons (Medeiros 1976). The Madeirans gathered in relatively egalitarian small rural communities in that region, carving out their space as white settlers, only to be reclassified as second-class whites by later settlers who arrived in the twentieth century from continental Europe (Medeiros 1976, Castelo 2006). After

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Angolan independence, many of the descendants of the original Madeiran settlers moved to new destinations, including Portugal, Brazil and South Africa.

By adding the Angola case to the double study of British colonial Guiana and Hawaii, we expand even further the universe of analysis that emphasizes connections rather than strict comparison in the understanding of the ways the legacies of slavery and indentured labour -- which stand upon global empires with political strategies about territories and peoples -- are inscribed in the social tissue, collective memory, and racialized stereotypes.

FUNDINGResearch for this article was conducted under the Project The Colour of

Labour – the racialized lives of migrants, coordinated by the author and funded by the European Research Council (ERC) under the European Union Horizon 2020 Research and Innovation Programme Grant Agreement No. AdG 695573, hosted by the Institute of Social Sciences, University of Lisbon.

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Documents

lsil2017.files.wordpress.com€¦ · Web viewLATITUDES OF INDENTURE: PORTUGUESE ISLANDERS IN POST-ABOLITION GUIANA PLANTATIONS AND IN HAWAI‘I. Cristiana . Bastos. PI, ERC AdG 695573