Human Rights in Sierra Leone, 1787-2016

The Long Struggle from the Transatlantic Slave Trade to the Present

John Idriss Lahai

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9780367664978
• eBook ISBN: 9780429887581
• Edition: 1
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: African History
• Index: History

This book offers an up-to-date, comprehensive interdisciplinary analysis of the multifaceted and evolving experiences of human rights in Sierra Leone between the years 1787 and 2016. It provides a balanced coverage of the local and international conditions that frame the socio-cultural, political, and economic context of human rights: its rise and fall, and concerns for the broader engendered issues of the transatlantic slave trade, colonialism, women's struggle for recognition, constitutional development, political independence, war, and transitional justice (as well as "contributive justice," which the author introduces to explain the consequences of the problems of the temporal nature of transitional justice, and the crisis of donor fatigue towards peacebuilding activities), local government, democracy, and constitutional reforms within Sierra Leone. While acknowledging the profound challenges associated with the promotion of human rights in an environment of uncertainty, political fragility, lawlessness, and deprivation, John Idriss Lahai sheds light on the often-constructive engagement of the people of Sierra Leone with a variety of societal conditions, adverse or otherwise, to influence constitutional change, the emergent post-coflict discourse on "contributive justice," and acceptable human rights practice.

This book will be of interest to scholars in West African history, legal history, African studies, peace and conflict studies, human rights and transitional justice.

1 The transatlantic slave trade and the illusions of “freedom,” 1787–1790

In England: the anti-slavery debate

The question of the transatlantic slave trade was the most topical issue in eighteenth-century England. On the one hand were those who saw slavery as a divine plan of God in his hierarchical ordering of the human race: whites as masters and blacks as expendable slaves.¹ For them, the physique and skin color of black Africans was not the only reason they were designed for slavery; they also believed the African had a natural instinct for horrendous practices such as cannibalism and violence—hence the need to make them expendable slaves. Moreover, to capture them from their “dark” African continent and sell them into slavery in Europe and the Americas was to save them from their “primitive” ways of life, and susceptibility to communicable and non-communicable diseases (see, Kiernan 2015). By the 1770s, those who held such beliefs were a minority, yet they included powerful members of English society. They were the owners of the West Indian Planters Association, they were members of the English Commons and House of Lords, and they were controllers of the banking sectors in London, Bristol, Manchester, and Liverpool. Prominent among them was Bamber Gascoyne,² alderman William Newman,³ John Sawbridge,⁴ George Dempster,⁵ William Miles,⁶ and William Gregson.⁷

On the other hand were those who had faith in the laws of England (as expressed in Lord Mansfield’s ruling in Somersett’s case of 1772⁸) and in the decency of the British people. For example, there was Jonas Hanway, a banker (one of the directors of the Bank of England) and abolitionist. In his capacity as the founding chairman of the Committee for the Relief of the Black Poor (Schama 2006), Hanway provided on a daily basis a quarter-loaf of bread to “every black in distress” on the streets of London between January 1786 and April 1787 (Pybus 2006b, 26). He also established the first fifty-bed hospital, in Warren Street, London, to care for destitute Africans. Moreover, it was Hanway who approached the House of Commons on January 6, 1786 to formally present a case “to the King, requesting funding to send the black poor to a place where they would be able to become independent and self-sufficient” (Pybus 2006b, 127). It was this pioneering work of Hanway that motivated other abolitionists: Granville Sharp, Thomas Clarkson, Henry Thornton, William Wilberforce, William Dillwyn, John Barton, George Harrison, Samuel Hoare Jr., Joseph Hooper, John Lloyd, Joseph Woods, James Phillips, Richard Phillips, and the Reverend James Ramsay.

There were those within English society who came to understand the plight of the Africans through the writings of the “sons of Africa,” a small group of London-based former slaves—including Olaudah Equiano,⁹ Ignatius Sancho, and Ottobah Cugoano. There were those who came to appreciate the efforts of the Abolition Society through the religious teachings of its leaders, Thomas Clarkson (general-secretary), Granville Sharp (chairman), and Samuel Hoare Jr. (treasurer). Some were driven to support the campaigns to end the slave trade by the literary works: Hannah More’s The Black Slave Trade and William Cowper’s The Negro’s Complaint (Thomas 1997, 497). Others were spurred on by the widely distributed pamphlets and books of William Wilberforce, Admiral Sir George Young, Henry Thornton, Alexander Falconbridge,¹⁰ John Newton, Thomas Clarkson, and Anthony Benezet.

Others were influenced by the arguments for reform by the leader of the Tories, Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger, as well as other members of parliament, particularly Henry Thornton, Edmund Burke, and Charles James Fox. In fact, it was Fox who precipitated the first parliamentary debate to end slavery—or what he referred to as a “disgraceful traffic”—after he had listened to Jonas Hanway (Thomas 1997, 521). Last, but not least, there were those who were inspired to join the cause of the abolitionists by their own lived experiences of being over-burdened by the landed gentry—the “feudal lords” of imperial England (see, Brown 2012; Drescher 1994).

Irrespective of the source of their motivation, their moral and financial contributions could not have the intended impact if there was no place to take the freed slaves to; a place where, in the words of Jonas Hanway, former slaves “would be able to become independent and self-sufficient” (Pybus 2006b, 127). Against this backdrop, it is worth noting that the founding of a “Province of Freedom” in Sierra Leone for liberated African slaves became a reality only after all possible options to relocate them elsewhere had been exhausted. The West Indies had been the first option, but the West Indian Planters Association—still embittered by Lord Mansfield’s ruling in Somersett’s case, and fearing that the existence of a “free colony” for liberated Africans in the West Indies would result in mass revolts in the plantations by those wishing to join the colony (Coleman 1999, 8)—rejected the idea. The second option was to send them to the Canadian province of Nova Scotia. This option was also rejected; the Africans who had fought for the British during the American War of Independence (1775–1783) (in exchange for their freedoms and land compensation) had been resettled in Halifax immediately after Britain lost the war in 1787 but began to protest the harsh Canadian winter soon after their arrival. The penal colony in Botany Bay (Australia) was considered but was deemed unsuitable because it was a colony of felons; to relocate freed slaves to Australia to live alongside prisoners was, both morally and psychologically, unhelpful to the formerly enslaved Africans (Coleman 1999, 7–21; 2005, 8). Interestingly, Botany Bay and Granville Sharp’s “Province of Freedom” in Sierra Leone are historically interconnected in the histories of asylum, imprisonment, banishment, slavery, and freedom. According to John Matthews, “in the popular imagination of late eighteenth-century Britain, nothing seemed so terrible as the fate of transportation to Botany Bay”—unless “you were black, in which case, being kidnapped into slavery was an even worse fate.” Thus, there was little difference between enslavement in the West Indies and transportation to Australia; between the condemnation of an African to be sold to a white man for some offense against the laws of his country, and the English felon transported to a wild, uncultivated country, Australia. Botany Bay, like the West Indies, was a place of no return (John Matthews 1788, quoted in Coleman 2005, 8).

Finally, in 1785, a Swedish botanist, Dr. Henry Smeathman, suggested Sierra Leone. In 1771, he had traveled to the coast of Sierra Leone aboard a slave trade ship, the Fly. His suggestion was the last resort, despite the controversies surrounding it. Smeathman was of the view that the rivers of Sierra Leone “with extraordinary temperature and salubrity of the climate, rendered the place ideal for a colony of freed slaves.” However, just a year earlier (in 1786), when the British government was undecided whether to send white convicts to Botany Bay or Sierra Leone (Pybus 2006a, 69), he warned against sending them to Sierra Leone because of the “unsuitability of the place as a penal colony.” In his assessment, “the [white] convicts would die … at the rate of a hundred a month,” whereas the liberated Africans could quickly adapt to anything nature threw at them (Thomas 1997, 497). Smeathman’s ties to the slave trade were known to the Abolition Society. He was a frequent visitor to Sierra Leone where his father-in-law, James Cleveland, was stationed as the middleman between the European slave traders and the local king, Panabouré Forbana—known to the Europeans as King Tom (Braidwood 1994, 7). Smeathman’s friend and former trading partner, Richard Oswald, had massive slave-trading forts on Banana and Bunce Islands, and in several locations along the estuaries of Sierra Leone (Thomas 1997, 497). One cannot tell whether Smeathman was sending these liberated Africans into Sierra Leone to be recaptured by slave traders. What is known, however, was that the Abolition Society agreed to his suggestion. In doing so, Granville Sharp and his colleagues ignored explorer Mungo Park’s warnings of the high incidence of cannibalism and the slavery that characterized the political economy of the region at the time.

With £5,532 (£12 for each of the 461 people) provided by the Tory Government of William Pitt the Younger, the Abolition Society hired the frigate Nautilus in April 1787. Under the command of respected anti-slavery sympathizer and Royal Navy Captain (later Baronet) Thomas Boulden Thompson, the Nautilus departed England on April 8, for the “Province of Freedom.” On board were 290 black men, 41 black women and 130 white women, the last of whom the English nobility regarded as “women of the lowest sort in ill health and bad character” (Thomas 1997, 498). Upon arrival, the Abolition Society bought a tract of land for about £60 from Panabouré Forbana (Thomas 1997, 498) for the “purposes of offering an asylum” to the black paupers and their women (Clark 1834, 492). This land, which would result in a series of legal issues and wars between 1789 and 1792, was about “ten miles by twenty miles” (Thomas 1997, 498). To the north it was bounded by the Sierra Leone River; to the south and west by the sea and Calmont Creek; and to the east by Waterloo Creek and Bunce Island, where it joined the Sierra Leone River (Clark 1834, 492).

In Sierra Leone: the illusions of freedom

Communicable diseases

The “Black Poors” arrived in Sierra Leone during the wet season and had to spend several months (from May 8 to September 6, 1787) onboard the Nautilus. Overcrowding and mosquito bites contributed to the occasional outbreaks of sicknesses such as cholera, malaria, and flu. Astonishingly, only one person (an old man) died on board (Hoare 1828, 325). The low mortality rate on the Nautilus was due, in part, to the preventive measures adopted by the Admiralty Lords in London and Captain Thompson. Being a man with a keen interest in tropical diseases, Captain Thompson send a request to the Admiralty Lords asking them to allow him to drop anchor at San Cruz de Tenerife, in the Canary Islands, on his way to Sierra Leone. The purpose of this short visit was to buy medicinal ingredients: wine, vinegar, tobacco, and cinchona or Peruvian bark (from which quinine was derived). Though hesitant at first, the Lords approved his request (Braidwood 1994, 194). Upon arrival in Sierra Leone, there was an outbreak of malaria. Thompson used the tobacco to fumigate the Nautilus every other day (Hoare 1828, 326). The wine he used for the infusion of the Peruvian bark, which was the best available treatment for malaria in the eighteenth century (Braidwood 1994, 193).

However—having disembarked in October 1787—by January 1788 the death toll had increased to 122. The shock that these deaths caused in the “Province of Freedom” was captured in a letter written to Granville Sharp by one of his beneficiaries, Mr. Elliot, on July 20, 1788.

I am sorry and very sorry indeed, to inform you, dear Sir, that this country does not agree with us at all; and, without a very sudden change, I do not think there will be one of us left at the end of a twelvemonth. It was a great pity ever we came to the country, after the death of Mr. Smeathman; for we are settled upon the very worst part. We are situated on a very high hill, where nothing will come forth at all. Mr. Irwin is dead, which puts everything out of its order entirely; and, what is more surprising, the Natives [the citizens of Rocamp, and the indigenous owners of the land] die very fast: it is quite a plague seems to reign here among us. I have been dangerously ill myself, but it pleased the Almighty to restore me to health again; and the first opportunity I have, I shall embark for the West Indies.¹¹

That at the “first opportunity” he (Mr. Elliot) had, he was heading back for the West Indies—the “place of no return” for the slaves—explains how the Black Poors felt upon arrival in Smeathman’s “ideal” place. That he was ready to return to the scene of the misery of slavery rather than live at the mercy of sicknesses explains the elusiveness of freedom. However, communicable diseases were but one of the many challenges experienced in this vague “Province of Freedom.” Others included the consequences of the presence of thriving slave-trading forts or factories, hunger and crime, wars (with the natives), and ultimately the destruction of their settlement.

The slave trade forts or factories

Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and bitter? … can it be readily conceived that government would establish a free colony for them nearly on the spot, while it supports its forts and garrisons, to ensnare, merchandise, and to carry others into captivity and slavery?

(Olaudah Equiano and Ottobah Cugoano, quoted in Coleman 2005, 9)

The presence of hundreds of thriving slave-trading factories in Sierra Leone at the time of the founding of the “Province of Freedom” in 1787 was a confrontational reality neither the “sons of Africa” (Olaudah and Ottabah) nor the Black Poors could understand. These factories represented a significant problem for the psychological rehabilitation of the “liberated” Africans, one that was to have a far-reaching impact on their society’s adaptation strategies, as well as their relationships with the natives.

Regarding the psychological aspects, let us imagine a fictional character, “Salone,” and situate him as the protagonist in my recounting of the true accounts of the realities of the slave trade—as explained in the works of Falconbridge (1967, 17–18), Ferreira and La Rosa (2015), Diop (2014), Steckel and Jensen (1986), West (1999; 1970), and LoGerfo (1973), among others. Salone was captured and taken inside the slave factory. There he was stripped naked to allow the European merchants to inspect him and check his health: bodily and dental defects, and physique (height, bone structure, and spine). Salone stood there helplessly as fellow slaves who failed these checks were chained to massive rocks and dumped into the river. Having passed the examinations, he was branded with the logo of the enterprise that bought him using a hot iron (see, Ferreira and La Rosa 2015). Then rusty neck and foot shackles were placed on him before he was thrown into an overcrowded holding cell— with the shackles on him clamped on whatever would prevent him from running away (see, Diop 2014). If the ship that was to take him to the West Indies was delayed, he might have remained in the cell for weeks, given the minimum quantity of rotten food and water required to keep him alive. However, the ship was anchored off the coast. He and the other slaves were carried in small boats to the ship with guns at their heads—let us not forget that Salone had already witnessed the killing of two of his fellow captives who had jumped into the shark-infested waters in an attempt to escape. Upon arrival, they were borne into the hold of the ship and stowed in the ship’s lower decks. Salone, having protested the overcrowding and filth (Steckel and Jensen 1986), was beaten and threatened with starvation for the greater part of the journey. To the crew members, Salone was a dangerous human cargo. To protect themselves from physical attack or attempts by Salone and his fellow slaves to seize the ship (Richardson 2001), they had safegu...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Series Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction
• 1 The transatlantic slave trade and the illusions of “freedom,” 1787–1790
• 2 The restitutive justice policy of the Sierra Leone Company, 1791–1808
• 3 No taxation without representation, 1820–1920
• 4 Citizens and protected persons, 1920–1951
• 5 Racism and the rise of party politics, 1950–1960
• 6 Class conflict: chiefs, politicians, peasants, and the revolts of 1955 and 1956
• 7 Women in the colonial spaces: from the founding of the colony to 1960
• 8 Political independence and the Africanization project, 1960–1967
• 9 The narratives on human rights in a neopatrimonial state, 1967–1984
• 10 Ethnopolitics, tribal-nationalism, and the youth empowerment crisis, 1985–1991
• 11 (Wo)men’s rights in the neopatrimonial/ethnopolitical spaces, 1967–1991
• 12 The idea of liberation in the war communities, 1991–2002: representation, adaptation, and outcomes
• 14 The War Victims’ Fund and the emergence of contributive justice after 2004
• 15 The institutional quest for another province of freedom: the Human Rights Commission and the Constitutional Review Committee, 1994–2016
• Conclusion
• Index