Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Abstract. This article introduces the concept of creole economics, a culturally in-
formed view of the informal economy in Martinique, French West Indies. Local
actors engaged in this economic practice are commonly known as débrouillards.
Drawing on studies of French slavery and folklore, literary works by Caribbean
authors, archival materials from Martinique, and the author’s own ethnographic
fieldwork, this argument suggests that cultural history and creole identities play a
significant role in shaping local patterns of illicit earning. By extending the notion
of creole adaptations to the economic domain, this work builds on the efforts of
Caribbean scholars who have clarified the influence of creole adaptations in other
areas, such as language, performance aesthetics, and belief systems.
Prologue
Like volcanic eruptions that form brand-new earth, creole societies of the
Caribbean were fundamentally new constructions spewed from both re-
sistance and accommodation to alien pressures from which there was no
ready escape. In the context of the longest-running and most brutal labor
system in human history, New World slaves produced and reproduced
adaptations to endure and resist their shrunken humanity. For nearly two
centuries of slavery, these creole adaptations were forged from a unique
collision of African cultural systems and New World impositions. These
new constructions of creole thought and practice permeated every aspect
of life. Today, despite fundamental changes in the economic and politi-
cal structures of Caribbean societies and despite important differences in
island social structure, large numbers of Caribbean people continue to re-
produce long-standing creole adaptations in their practice of creole lan-
guages, creole belief systems, creole status indicators, and creole perfor-
mance aesthetics.
In this article, I argue that economic behavior, assumed to follow uni-
versal principles of rationality, can also be shown to exhibit cultural values,
which stem from resilient creole adaptations. I am calling the set of eco-
nomic practices that draws on creole values ‘‘creole economics.’’ In this
necessarily compacted reconstruction of cultural history, I will limit my dis-
cussion to the clearest and most relevant links between the value systems
animating economic practice today and those that guided earlier genera-
tions. My goal is to use this argument, supported by both historical records
and by the voices and practices of contemporary informants, to open a
new cross-Caribbean dialogue about the creole forms of contemporary eco-
nomic behavior. Against the Martiniquais particulars of creole economics,
others can test the salience and specificities that obtain in other island soci-
eties. Ultimately, we can sharpen our understanding of the reach and depth
of those creole-derived values that remain adaptive today.
In the last fifty years, scholars have advanced the understanding of the
role of African influences in contemporary Caribbean societies. Where
once the scholarly perception of these complex societies volleyed between
Herskovits ( []) and Frazier (), who argued, respectively, that
African survivals did or did not exist, we now admit a more nuanced reality.
As Mintz and Price ( []) suggest, the evidence for African influ-
ences need not be reduced to concrete survivals, such as food and music.
Their more robust approach recognizes the continuity of African-based
‘‘cognitive orientations’’ that have contributed form and meaning to creole
adaptations.
Perhaps the most striking cognitive map presents itself in the rich
variety but underlying similarity of Caribbean creole languages (English,
French, Dutch). All are anchored to African rhythms and syntax, which
comprise the invisible substrate, while the more visible superstrate is domi-
nated by European vocabulary. Another cognitive continuity from Africa
appears in contemporary belief systems such as Santería, Candomblé, and
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‘‘Tell the operator the number you want and it will go through.’’ Thank
god, I thought. Things are not so bad. If a complete stranger is willing to
lend me his card for an international call, this place must be okay.
But the encounter was not over. The young man made his call and wan-
dered off. After I hung up, I looked around. There he was, strolling down a
side street toward me. I noticed this time his golden-brown skin, designer
jeans, and smart leather jacket. He was in his early thirties, I guessed. He
asked if everything worked out all right with my call. Yes, yes, I answered
gratefully. ‘‘So, what will you do today?’’ he asked, perhaps sensing my
indirection. Of course, the deserted streets made me wonder what was pos-
sible to do today. ‘‘Would you like to come to lunch at my house? I know
my mother would be pleased to meet an American girl. I can show you a
bit of the countryside. We live in Carbet, near St. Pierre. There’s not much
to do on Sundays in town. It’s dead.’’
I was aware that he might have more than lunch on his mind, but
having no other prospects for the day, I decided to take my chances. What
other options did I have, I rationalized. As it turned out, the adventure was
exactly what I needed to convince myself that the study I was contemplat-
ing doing—how the informal economy works across classes—was a very
good idea.
Patrick preferred to drive fast, testing his control on each winding
curve as we hurtled our way up the dramatic northern coastline to Car-
bet. When we arrived in the small fishing town, he announced that there
would be a few quick stops before we got to his house. Oh, god, I thought, I
should have known. But the stops had nothing to do with me. ‘‘Come,’’ he
said, after parking on a hill clustered with brightly painted and carefully
tended wood-frame homes. He popped the trunk lid and pulled out three
large suitcases. I was mystified. What was he up to? He rang the doorbell. A
young woman with a handsome amber face answered. She went to call the
others. We were invited to sit in the upright chairs of the foyer as Patrick
laid each suitcase on the floor. He unzipped each of them before folding
back the covers. After the ritual presentation to the three teenage daugh-
ters of the household, I was eager to see the contents. He pulled things out
on hangers, a few at a time: sexy two-piece bathing suits, very much à la
mode. He later explained to me that he had just returned from a trip to Bra-
zil where he had loaded up his suitcases with bathing suits. Now he would
visit as many of his contacts as he needed to in order to sell the two hun-
dred or more suits with which he had returned. The girls in this household
sighed quietly as the father sat in judgment over each suit they modeled.
With his blessing, the three girls decided on five suits among them. I did
not ask how much they paid, but Patrick said they were less than half the
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6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 159 of 256
cost that they would have paid to buy such fashionable suits here. ‘‘We all
win this way,’’ he said, noting that the profits to him were also substantial.
‘‘I can pay for the trip and make good money too by selling to my friends.’’
I asked him if he always purchases bathing suits. ‘‘No, sometimes jeans or
other clothes. And sometimes I go to Venezuela.’’
The other stops were not as lucky for Patrick. One household was
empty; one said he would have to come back next month when there was
more money. But he was undeterred. ‘‘I have friends everywhere: Fort-de-
France, St. Pierre, in the south.’’ He has been clandestinely importing and
selling clothes for many years. ‘‘It pays the rent for my apartment in town
[Fort-de-France] and for nice clothes when I want them. I’m a débroui-
llard.’’ Patrick earns his ‘‘regular’’ income from a formal sector job as a
wholesaler of fish to local fish retailers.
The experience with Patrick convinced me that I was on the right track
with my research plans. Clearly, in Martinique, the poor were not alone in
working off the books. And if Patrick were any indication of how others
felt, work on the side was a source of pride, perhaps even a source of pres-
tige. This seemed to bode well for data collecting. I returned to Martinique
the following summer to begin my long-term fieldwork.
this fifteen-year period) and subsidies to income, people have become fran-
tic consumers, spending money that they do not have. In this kind of social
environment, already known for the unusually high value placed on one’s
clothing and appearance, earning on the side can supply a critical source
of spending power.
Another possible explanation for the strong proportion of affluent
people operating in the informal economy involves the fact that there is no
serious enforcement system against such activity, except among those in-
volved in major smuggling or drug-dealing operations. Local police, work
inspectors, and judicial authorities all concurred in separate interviews that
containing the undeclared activity in this society was hopeless. However, it
was interesting that most of these official informants seemed to agree with
economists that the majority of people who operate informally are poor
and, therefore, pitiable and harmless. Of course, the poor are certainly the
most visible since they do not have access to the offices, shops, and homes
where the better-off are able to carry on their side affairs out of sight.
Ultimately, perhaps the most important explanation for the high num-
bers of informal operators in all classes relates to the high cost of doing
work legally. For an employer to be within the law, she must declare all
employees. In so doing, she must indicate the full number of hours an
employee works and pay approximately percent of the income of that
person to have him covered by social security and protected with state-
mandated medical coverage. Thus, by avoiding declaring an employee, an
employer stands to save a great deal of money. For the price of five declared
employees, an informal employer can hire ten at the same rate of pay.
Clearly, there are important economic and political reasons that the in-
formal economy in Martinique operates on the scale that it does. However,
while the desire to earn informally may be driven by economic self-interest
and the recognition that penalties for such behavior are unlikely, my re-
search suggests that, in Martinique, the logic of economic gain is condi-
tioned by cultural history and the ethic of débrouillardism. In other words,
both in the form of Martinique’s informal economy and in the way people
justify their involvement as actors, one can see that a particular cognitive
map influences local economic behavior.
During fieldwork research about work and income strategies, two
findings emerged as the most basic among people in my cross-class sample:
() irrespective of socioeconomic status, many people readily admit to un-
declared earning strategies to enhance their income; and () a person who
follows such strategies routinely, like Patrick, typically calls himself a dé-
brouillard, a term signaling one’s economic cleverness, intelligence, and
success.
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6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 161 of 256
The French slave system in the New World was a construction of colonists
who shared a cultural identity, a language, and common economic inter-
ests. In contrast, the slaves whose labor enabled colonists to realize their
fortunes from sugar had been ripped from many areas of Africa and trans-
ported to the New World with their various native languages and cultural
traditions. These natural divisions among their slaves served the interests
of colonists, who attempted to preclude revolt by minimizing communica-
tion within and across plantations. Such controls were especially impor-
tant in plantation society as the proportion of slaves increased to more than
eight times the number of whites. In , for example, years after
the first slaves had arrived in Martinique, the local population included
, slaves, , whites, and , free people of color (Blackburn
: –).
Slaves did not passively accept their drastically shrunken, alienated
new lives on sugar plantations an ocean away from home. But because of
their separation by language and the brutal consequences for resisters, the
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6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 165 of 256
forms of opposition that slaves displayed rarely interfered with the power
structure of the plantation. For all the slave revolts that occurred on Carib-
bean islands throughout slavery, only in Haiti was the white planter class
overthrown and kicked out (Blackburn : ; Burton : ).
Apart from the sporadic occasions of violent revolt, slave resistance
took on the form of hidden acts of defiance, which coexisted with apparent
acts of compliance. Thus, the highly supervised, compliant work of slaves
enabled the white planters to accumulate handsome profits from the sale
of sugar in Europe, while slaves found discrete ways to resist their exploi-
tation by plotting sabotage and scheming to serve their own self-interests.
The everyday tactics that slaves used to oppose the system included ‘‘work
stops,’’ disorganization in the fields, stealing farm tools, supplies, and food,
lying, mocking those in control, pretending to be sick, and serving poi-
soned food (Lazarus-Black : ; Roberts : ). In addition, com-
mon incidents of infanticide and abortion may suggest that slaves withheld
their reproductive potential from a system that would only imprison new
life (Craton : ; Burton : ). Over time, slaves became increas-
ingly adept at exploiting weaknesses in the plantation system and added
‘‘industrial sabotage’’ to their repertoire of resistance tactics. These strate-
gies included, for example, setting fires in the cane fields, killing cattle for
meat, and destroying carts, machines, and tools (Craton : ).
Such acts of resistance by slaves represented a crucial assertion of self
in the midst of negated personhood. Yet because resistance always occurred
in the context of slaves’ accommodation to the system, slaves were required
to embrace duplicity. Thus, the morality of duplicitous behavior, involv-
ing simultaneous accommodation and resistance, afforded the only path to
dignity: by feigning compliance, slaves could cope and also remain human.
‘‘The whole point of ‘psychological resistance’ was to show and not show
nonacceptance of the system and above all not to be caught in the act of
maneuver, deception, or defiance’’ (Burton : ).
‘As sugar belongs to massa, and myself belongs to massa, it all de same
ting—dat make me tell massa me don’t tief; me only take it!’
The master replies, ‘What do you call thieving then?’ ‘When me broke
into broder house and grond, and take away him ting, den me tief,
massa.’
A second story recounted in the slave owner’s diary (Mintz and Price
[]: ) relates how a slave mother beat her child for showing an
overseer in which direction an escaped slave had run: ‘‘Next time buckra
ax you which side neger run, you tell him me no know, massa.’’
Stealing food or tools from the master was not considered immoral or
wrong by slaves; to the contrary, it was smart survival behavior (Patterson
: ). Any strategies that exploited the system to one’s own advan-
tage were admired, so long as one could avoid being caught. In his historical
novel Texaco, the renowned author from Martinique Patrick Chamoiseau
(: ) recounts how clever slaves could also disappear from the planta-
tions without being noticed. One example occurs when a field slave during
broad daylight secretly visits a slave laundress washing at the river:
[He] blew her a few words then came back the following day, then
another, then a whole day, careless of the overseer’s eye. ‘‘So how is it
you don’t work?’’ [she] asked all astonished. . . . ‘‘I haven’t left work,’’
he would answer opening his eyelids wide around his eyes. And when
[she] asked around, no one had ever seen him leave his post or sabo-
tage his cutting. The overseer who accounted for the number of slaves
at work never fell upon his missing backside.
Stealing, lying, and other forms of exploiting the system were common
tactics among slaves at all levels, from the mass of field slaves performing
the most undesirable work to the small minority of ‘‘higher’’ slaves with
less odious jobs and better chances for favors. These latter slaves consisted
of artisans, including carpenters, mechanics, and masons; drivers and field
supervisors; and domestic slaves who worked inside the great house. But
despite the relative advantages of higher slaves, they too used their respec-
tive positions to advance their individual interests in whatever ways pos-
sible, winning for themselves better food and shelter, occasional holidays,
and gifts of cloth (Burton : ).
Female slaves sometimes sought the advantages of concubinage with
their master. One advantage to such a relationship involved the potential to
‘‘whiten’’ themselves through light-skinned children and thereby improve
their own social standing (Wilson []: ). Moreover, their mu-
latto children, especially males, would typically inherit special privileges
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6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 168 of 256
and often win their freedom in the slave-based economy (Mintz and Price
[]: ).
with minimal risk.’’ Others agree that the stories became models for living:
‘‘These tales provide a practical education, an apprenticeship in life—a life
of survival in a colonized land’’ (Chamoiseau : xii).
Local scholars are quick to point to the fact that the human débroui-
llard in Martinique is modeled on the character of Compère Lapin (Césaire
; Confiant ; Suvélor ). Like Rabbit, the débrouillard embodies
the ‘‘strength of the weak’’ by using his superior intelligence to trick the
dominant system and turn it to his own purpose (Burton : ).
For the majority of freed men and women, abolition () changed little of
the structural arrangements of life (Brereton : ). Most former slaves
remained poor while the white planters, who continued to control arable
land and the resources needed to make it profitable, also controlled wages
and migration (Craton : ). As a result, from abolition through the
next hundred years, both those who left the plantation to become inde-
pendent peasants and those who stayed on as wage workers could not sur-
vive without pursuing multiple occupations. Creole economics thus con-
tinued to offer culturally validated ways to profit by finding opportunities
and turning them to one’s advantage.
Many slaves left the plantations for land in the hills where their subsis-
tence gardening skills and market networks enabled them to become small-
scale peasants. However, most were forced to return to plantations regu-
larly to supplement their subsistence gardens with additional wage earnings
for the purchase of staples. Some slaves chose to remain on the plantation
in order to earn a sure income. As wage workers, these former slaves con-
tinued to cultivate provision gardens on the side. Thus, whether the freed
slaves opted to escape the plantation or to use it to enhance their own secu-
rity, they all invested in other economic activities.
The plantation economy continued to flourish and dominate local pro-
duction into the s, when the new supply of sugar produced by India
and Africa added to Europe’s own beet sugar industries. The competition
began to threaten the price expectation for Caribbean sugar. The depres-
sion of the s led to a further drop in the demand for sugar. Although
these crises spurred updates in the technology and organization of planta-
tions, the poor living standards of the plantation workers did not improve.
Both for workers who remained on the plantations and for the emerging
peasantry beyond, the reliance on multiple forms of work remained the
only way to survive.
Although the freedmen constituted the overwhelming majority of the
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6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 171 of 256
island population and their lack of economic mobility contrasted with the
riches of the dominant white minority, the intermediately positioned mu-
lattos pressed for new economic and political advantages. This third seg-
ment of society was composed of the children of liaisons between masters
and slaves. During slavery, most had been freed from bondage, and males
were frequently sent to Paris by their white fathers to pursue an education.
In exploiting the unique opportunities available to them, the mulatto
class cut a new facet into the structural pattern of creole economics. As
individuals, mulattos carried their creole attitudes of opportunism to the
new professional arenas they entered: law, medicine, and commerce. In the
first place, their slave mothers had taught this new class of creole citizens
that the fastest way up was not out of but through the great house. As early
as the nineteenth century, métis men who had completed studies in Paris
returned home to become local doctors, lawyers, and government admin-
istrators. Many went into commerce, a niche not yet filled by the békés (the
white plantation owners and former slave owners) (Aldrich and Connell
: ). The small mulatto class, with mixed blood and light skin, thus
occupied a middle-class position, a status inaccessible to darker-skinned
descendants of pure African heritage. As a group, they cast their futures
with the French state that, since the revolution, had promoted a new ‘‘re-
publican’’ ethic of universalism and a defense of the ‘‘rights of man.’’ Mu-
lattos came to claim new rights for themselves based on these republican
principles, as ways both ‘‘to take revenge on history and to struggle against
the békés and their hegemony’’ (Daniel : ). To realize the possibility
of upward mobility, mulattos jockeyed for administrative, teaching, and
political positions in the colonies.
The mulatto class also lobbied hard for Martinique’s political and eco-
nomic assimilation to France and, in so doing, appeared to many to have
shunned their creole roots. But, however much this in-between popula-
tion attempted to look and behave like white Europeans, there would have
been real advantages for those who practiced an invisible ethic of cunning
and duplicity. In fact, such an orientation offered adaptive value since the
opportunities to exploit new paths to status required a flexible toolkit of
strategies, licit or not. After the installation in of the Third Empire,
for example, which granted greater political latitude to such creoles, many
mulattos exploited both the decline of the sugar industry and the vol-
canic eruption that leveled St. Pierre, the island’s primary commercial cen-
ter, to wedge open a number of top administrative and professional posi-
tions. Because the eruption killed the town’s thirty thousand inhabitants,
including many of the whites who had held such top posts, these middle-
stratum creoles seized the newly available roles, thus laying the ground-
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6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 172 of 256
work for what later became creole-dominated political power on the island
(Brereton : ). Thus, mulattos relied on familiar, creole-based tactics
of ‘‘payback’’ to claim new economic and political rights for themselves,
all the while imitating the best European manners and dress possible (Bur-
ton ).
Eventually as political, if not economic, elites in Martinique, mulattos
as a class had an important influence on the shape of France’s assimilation-
oriented policy toward its colonies. They increasingly insisted on achieving
for Martinique equal living standards as well as levels of development equal
with those of metropolitan France. This political pressure to gain what
they viewed as their economic due ultimately led to the present transfer-
based economy (Daniel : ; de Miras ). Clearly, mulatto atti-
tudes about what was due them by the French state helped to model new
ways of thinking about payback.
Recalling the strategies of higher slaves, whose opportunities for self-
gain on the plantation were of a different variety from those available to
field slaves, mulattos mined the veins of French guilt by pressing the state
for political favors at the same time that they used it to enhance their own
economic standing. Mulatto boys and young men commonly spent years
abroad in Paris in order to return home with the respectability of Euro-
pean educations, languages, and material trappings. Mulattos wore Euro-
pean clothing, bought European furniture, practiced orthodox Catholi-
cism, and entertained in styles consistent with European decorum. Their
European sophistication and success helped translate the allure of French
values to the majority black population and reinforced to them the eco-
nomic potential of becoming ‘‘respectable’’ by becoming French. Demon-
strating their commitment to status based on the European system, mulat-
tos abandoned all visible manifestations of creole culture in favor of French
attitudes, French products, and French language. As a result, their darker-
skinned kin also learned to display European standards of behavior, dress,
and language in public and to reserve expressions of creole culture for home
(Aldrich and Connell : ).
Although many aspects of creole culture involving language, dress,
and food were submitted to intense stigmatization during this time, there
was always a space for creole expression. Scholars argue that, in Marti-
nique, creole culture evolved in a fashion parallel to European French cul-
ture, similar in concept to the parallel evolution of French Creole and stan-
dard French (Burton ). Rather than assimilating fully to the European
system of respectability or asserting the supremacy of the creole system
through political independence, most of the freed population embraced co-
existing value orientations. Not only were these cognitive systems not seen
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6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 173 of 256
The distinctive path that Martiniquais chose for their future reflects the de-
gree to which they believed in the French promise of assimilation (Mitchell
: ). Departmentalization offered an invitation to continue the pro-
cess of assimilation in the form of a more formal relationship with France.
The most immediate implications of the new status were political and eco-
nomic: Martinique would elect local people to represent the island in the
national government, and the new status promised the same gov-
ernment services and social security provisions as any department in the
metropole (Aldrich and Connell : ).
These political and economic protections presented new sources of
opportunity for the creole débrouillard. With status and full French
citizenship, islanders were now eligible for good jobs in the metropole.
In the forty years following departmentalization, the search for work in
the metropole became a pronounced strategy, and by , there were ap-
proximately , Martiniquais and Gaudeloupeans living in mainland
France, a figure that equals nearly one Antilles person in the metropole for
every two persons in the Caribbean (Marie : ).
Although one outcome of full political assimilation was the increased
stigmatization of creole language, dress, and diet, the underlying cogni-
tive orientations of creole culture were being actively reproduced in the
economic sphere. During World War II, for example, just before depart-
mentalization, the world system that had linked sugar produced in the
French islands to France for three hundred years came to an abrupt halt.
The four-year Vichy occupation of France led Allied forces to blockade
France’s Caribbean islands. No imports could be received and no exports
could leave the dock; the lifeline was severed. Isolation from France, the
Tseng 2002.5.16 16:06
6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 175 of 256
single source of economic connection and the hope for assimilation, left
Martinique alone in the world (Aldrich and Connell ).
These years tested the Martiniquais ability to mine their own cultural
resources to survive the difficult circumstances. They found a way during
the Vichy years to make salt, leather, glasses, baskets, and various foods.
People still remember vividly those years of ingenuity in the face of aus-
terity. Today, the Vichy period is commonly referred to as a triumph of
self-reliance and, for that reason, is a period that evokes great nostalgia.
Together, the struggles of slavery, postabolition subsistence, and the
Vichy period required the still-poor masses of Martiniquais to adapt and
learn to exploit a system they did not control. Modeled after the individu-
alistic rabbit of folklore, the survivor is one who identifies opportunity and
exploits it to maximize his own chances of success.
The side provision plots during slavery, the continuation of multiple eco-
nomic strategies during abolition, and the entrepreneurial inventiveness
during the Vichy period—all signal profoundly consistent opportunistic
adaptations to hardship that have made their way to the present day. But
many question whether economic hardship remains a reality today. If not,
is there still a role for creole economics and the local débrouillard?
In the s and s, a sweeping modernization effort brought sig-
nificant economic change: the island that had once specialized in produc-
tion for export became transformed into an island importing and consum-
ing eight times more than it produced. The metropolitan investment in the
local economy brought new infrastructure, better systems of education,
higher salaries, comprehensive social security protections, and vastly im-
proved overall standards of living (Aldrich and Connell : ).
In terms of socioeconomic stratification, French demographic and
labor specialists indicate three tiers of household income in Martinique
based on the occupation of the household head. At the high end, repre-
senting percent of urban household heads, are the professionals, pub-
lic administrators, and employers, most of whom officially earn more than
,.. annually. The middle group of income earners represents
nearly percent of Fort-de-France household heads and includes employ-
ees in private businesses and skilled workers in factories or small manu-
facturing shops. The incomes of these workers vary considerably, but in
they averaged between minimum wage (about ... an hour or
, per year) and ,.. per year. The group earning the lowest
Tseng 2002.5.16 16:06
6631 ETHNOHISTORY 49:2 / sheet 176 of 256
Conclusion
Notes
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