Ecology and political “birth” in Martinique.
Thoughts on the actions of a Martinican ecological NGO.
(1980-2011)
“[...] each man is as much an inhabitant of the earth as he is an inhabitant of his country”1
Hannah Arendt
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Introduction
“Ecology” is a term that is widely used and has a variety of meanings depending on
where and how the word appears. One of which can be the preservation or protection of
nature, which leads to the question of what is meant by “nature”, in other words, what is to be
preserved. “Biodiversity”, “ecosystems”, “biosphere” and “wildlife” remain entangled with
the same question – and rightfully so. That is to say that, although “ecology” is a commonly
known word, we must pay attention to the context in which it is used. For behind this
seemingly homogenised word dwell stories that say much more than “protecting nature” or
“fighting global warming”.
Paying attention to stories and histories, I became interested in the way in which
“ecology” and ecological claims came to light in the post-slavery society of Martinique. The
so-called “overseas department of France” (as named since 1946), harbours nonetheless an
undersea colonial history that the tide of generations may never swallow. What are the stories
in which the word “ecology” sits, in a society that bears the scars of slavery and colonialism?
In this presentation, I want to shed light on an ecology embedded in a story of both
(re)possession, and political birth, by taking a close look at one of the most well known
ecological NGO in Martinique, called Assaupamar. Relying on a field study as well as a
1
Hannah, Arendt, The human condition (2nd edition), University of Chicago press, 1998, p. 250.
This is an image of a demonstration led by the members of Assaupamar for the free access to the seashore in
2009. Obtained from < http://www.montraykreyol.org/spip.php?article2018> , the 20/06/2011.
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literature review of the written materials produced by the members of this NGO, I intend to
focus on the recurrent perception of ecology both as a way to lay claim to a land, making it
part of the heritage of the “Martinican people” and as a way to assert a political “birth” in the
world.
1) A few words on Assaupamar
Assaupamar dates back to the late 1970s and originated during a political climate
strongly influenced by the independentist parties. In 1974, in the south of the island, a popular
demonstration was led against a hotel project called “project Asatahama” in the town of StAnne, that required the drying of a swamp, and the commercialisation of a popular beach with
a plan for 11,500 beds. In the town of Rivière-Salée, another demonstration was taking place
against another hotel project that required the destruction of part of the mangrove. Having
successfully halted these projects these groups came together and formed Assaupamar in
1980.
Since then, Assaupamar has fought for the preservation of the environment with a
focus on the mangroves, for the preservation of agricultural land on the 1,100 square
kilometres of Martinique, as well as for the free access to the seashore. On the one hand, their
actions include demonstrations and occupations of the land, together with articles published in
local newspapers and posted on their website3. On the other hand, they take matters to court,
bringing many trials against the authorities that have illegally authorised projects, or against
individuals whose actions either induce ecological damage or seek to take ownership of a
public land, as is frequently the case along the coast.
Up to this point, these actions sound fairly familiar to what one would expect from an
ecological NGO and match pretty well with two out of the main three arguments that the
members give to legitimize their actions which are: 1) the preservation of life and 2) the
concern for future generations. Garcin Malsa, one of the founders of this organisation
criticizes a mall project in these terms:
“The project threatened the survival of the mangrove, a remarkable ecosystem that is vital for
the plain of Lamentin [...]. This new centre, increasing the concreting, was signing the death
of the mangrove” 4
3
http://www.assaupamar.mq
Malsa, Ecologie ou la passion du vivant, quarante ans d’écrits écologiques, Paris, L’harmattan, p. 220: « Le
projet attentait à la survie de la mangrove, écosystème remarquable et vital pour la plaine du Lamentin[…]. Ce
nouveau centre, en accentuant le bétonnage, signait la mort de la mangrove ». Translated by the author.
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It is the life of the mangrove that is at risk. Elsewhere, Malsa recalls how the birth of his
daughters reinforced his belief in his ecological struggle:
“If my parents taught me how to be anchored in my land and how to love it, [...], my children
brought me the strength to project myself in the future”5
What will there be tomorrow if today we don’t preserve the land? These two arguments keep
at their core the preservation of life and are well illustrated by the motto of Assaupamar : “tè
sé bwa, bwa sé dlo, dlo sé lavi” which translate to “earth is trees, trees is water, water is life”.
We have to preserve life in the soil, the forests and rivers so that all lives, including the
human species, can survive.
However, the political and social contexts of Martinique contained in this ecology
narrative emerge in the third argument of the members of Assaupamar, expressed in this
statement:
“Péyi-a sé ta-nou, ta matiniké” which translates to “This is our country, the country of the
Martinican people” 6
2) Ecology as a way to claim a land as one’s own: “this is our land”
This means for many members of Assaupamar that as Martinicans they have the right
to preserve what is theirs and have the right to decide what to do with this land. This
argument often stirs intense reactions from critics, thus becoming one the most interesting
aspects of the discourse to consider.
What exactly is at play in the sentence “this is our land” in the context of an ecological
struggle in Martinique? This claim raises a number of questions that I would like to address
now. First of all, who is the subject, the group to whom the land supposedly belongs?
Secondly, why does the land belong to that subject that some name the Martinican people?
Where does their legitimacy come from? Thirdly, this claim implies that the land is currently
not theirs. So how are the Martinican people excluded from a land that supposedly should be
theirs? In fact, why do they put forth this argument as an ecological NGO? I take on these
questions based on the discourses of the members.
Many members define the “Martinican people” in opposition to the descendants of the
colonisers called “békés”. The békés for some, in no way belong to the Martinican people. As
Malsa, p. 28 : « Si mes parents m’apprirent à m’ancrer dans ma terre et à l’aimer […], mes enfants m’ont
apporté la force de me projeter dans l’avenir ». translated by the author.
6
Quote from interviews made with the members of Assaupamar.
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a result for some members of Assaupamar, “Martinican people” include mainly, but not only,
the descendants of the slaves and plantation workers. This definition raises also a number of
questions that go beyond the scope of this essay. Moreover the members do not actually give
a definition of what the Martinican is. When asked about this definition, Mr T, a member of
Assaupamar, says : “I don’t have to justify or prove that I am Martinican, I simply am
Martinican”7.
Assuming that the Martinican people are the descendants of the plantation and sugar
mill workers, why is the land theirs? Edouard Glissant argues that “the massacre of the
Amerindians has uprooted the sacred”8. As neither the Africans, the Indians nor the
Europeans were the first on the island, no one can claim the land on the ground of a
genealogical sacredness. On what argument then lies the claim that “the land is ours”? The
following quote of Malsa gives some clues about the methods of justification of this
connection:
“This [ecological] conscience was all the more acute as I realised that the Martinican land did
not belong to the Martinican people, although they sowed it in pain, enriched it with their
blood, and their sweat, and still continue to suffer for it and by it”9.
In fact, we find in Malsa’s discourse a lockean argument by which, in cultivating the
land, the former migrant makes this land his or hers. By sowing the land with sugar canes, the
former migrant adds something to the land, he “enrich it”. This addition, the act of adding
blood and sweat, is what makes that land, the land of the Martinican people. Not only, does he
take some kind of ownership of the land, but he also acquires an identity, he is no longer a
migrant, no longer an African, or as Kamau Brathwaite would say an “arrivant” 10. By his or
her actions, the act of cultivating the land, he or she becomes a Martinican.
However, in the light of that argument one must notice that this act of becoming, in
Martinique has been truncated. Let’s remember that on the plantation, apart from the small
piece of land that the master gave the enslaved to feed themselves, the enslaved learnt that the
land is not theirs. More important, it is not a land on which you live11; it is not a land you
7
Quote from interviews made with the members of Assaupamar.
Glissant, Poétique de la relation,Paris, Gallimard, 1990, p 161
9
Malsa, Garcin, L’écologie ou la passion du vivant…, p. 27 : « . Cette conscience m’était d’autant plus aigu que
je me rendais compte que cette terre martiniquaise n’appartenait pas au peuple martiniquais, qui l’avait pourtant
ensemencée dans la douleur, enrichie de son sang, de sa sueur, et qui continuait à souffrir pour elle et par elle ».
translated by the author.
10
See Brathwaite, Kamau, The Arrivants: A New World Trilogy--Rights of Passage / Islands / Masks, Oxford,:
Oxford University Press, 1988
11
If you get a chance to travel to Martinique pay attention to the way the houses are spread out particularly in the
south of the island. All the low-lying fields are filled with sugar cane and banana plantations while all the houses
remain on the sloping hills.
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inhabit. This is the land “you” exploit and suck everything you can out of it. That is one of
the main differences between a populating colony and colony of exploitation, which
Martinique was and for some still is. The colonial enterprise in Martinique has in its essence a
profound anti-ecological belief: “this land does not have to last” (other than for business
reasons). This land is established as an other, an other from a mainland.
As a result, we have a situation where, on the one hand, the enslaved were excluded
from the decision making of what happens to the plantation fields. They never chose to
cultivate sugarcanes. On the other hand the slave owner’s purpose was to exploit that land,
leaving therefore a land that is not really cared for (other than for financial interest), or as we
say in Creole , “une terre-sans-manman”, a motherless land.
On the hills however, as demonstrated by Christine Chivallon12, it is a completely
different story. After the abolition of slavery in 1848, the former slaves populated the land
and established some properties on the hills. There, the relationship to the land was different.
They inhabited the land, cultivating crops that provided for the Martinican people, they
organised themselves into communities, and developed particular practises such as “lassotè”
and “coumbite”13. The difference was such that the colloquial expression used to designate
the people living on the hills is “negzhabitant”, which literally means “the inhabitant
negroes”, those that live there, those that inhabit the land. In those places the former enslaved
and descendant of the slaves took responsibility for the land.
Nevertheless, the majority of the land up until today remains the property of a group of
people including the békés that continues to exploit that land. Furthermore, the Martinicans
remain excluded from the decisions regarding the use of this land, and cannot take the
responsibility for that land. That structural “deresponsabilisation” certainly gives some clues
as to how from 1973 to 1993 the owners of the plantation have been able to use carcinogenic
pesticides on the land in total impunity14.
Indeed, the békés, the multinationals or other business minded promoters including
local mayors, may decide to build a mall that destroys the mangrove, or build a hotel and
prevent the people from having access to the coast, use the pesticide they want without having
any permission or control to get from the “Martinican people”. In fact, most of the
authorisations for their projects are obtained from a ministry of agriculture located in the
12
Chivallon Christine, Espace et Identité à la Martinique, paysannerie des mornes et reconquête collective,
1840-1960, Paris, CNRS édition, 1998
13
Practices which consist of a group people that help one person cultivate his piece of land by planting crops or
turning over the earth with music from a locally made drum.
14
See Raphael Confiant and Louis Boutrin, Chronique d'un empoisonnement annoncé: le scandale du
chlordécone aux Antilles françaises 1972-2002, Paris, L’Harmattan, 2007
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seven thousand kilometres away mainland France or from the prefect appointed by the French
government. So the “Martinicans”, according to the members, see their landscape changed,
their mangrove killed, their beach privatised without much of a say, almost as if they did not
exist. Mr T recalls the hurdles he meets when he talks about the ecological responsibility and
some people reply: “Sé tè béké-à” which means “this is the land of the béké”.
From a phenomenological point of view, claiming the protection of the land by the
demonstrations and political actions show a responsibility taken for that land. A responsibility
that has been denied as previously outlined. By taking responsibility for that land through
their political actions, they also take a particular ownership of that land thereby making it
theirs. This time, it is not the act of cultivating the land that leads to an ownership, but their
ecological actions. As they protect the land, they make it theirs.
That action is the centre of numerous conflicts between the members and sympathizers
of Assaupamar and the property title holders. On the one side the owners defend their right to
do what they want, on the other side, the ecologist claim a responsibility for that land. But it is
precisely through their actions and these conflicts that they show a responsibility for this land.
3) The creation of ecological actions: Political Birth
The act of claiming and taking an ecological responsibility, and the conflict that arise
are in themselves fundamentally creative. As a matter of fact, in their actions the members of
Assaupamar not only unveil a political subject, one that has a say, but also show the land in
the light of a heritage.
“Assaupamar” stands for “Association pour la sauvegarde du patrimoine
Martiniquais” which translate to “Organisation for the Preservation of the Martinican
Heritage”. It is important to realise that the heritage they want to preserve is not given, as in
something that would be there and simply in need of fencing or cleansing. Both of these terms
“Martinican people” and “heritage” are not objects that simply need to be picked up, polished
and put behind a glass door of a museum. The land was there but it is the political and
ecological actions of the people that suddenly make this swamp, this land, this spread of clay,
basalt and granite over a sea, part of a heritage. So the actions of Assaupamar, in claiming the
land as theirs, led to the recognition of the mangroves, of the rivers and the land of the island
of Martinique as a heritage. In this regard, we can say their actions led to the creation of a
heritage.
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Moreover, unlike the word “nature”, “heritage” implies a connection to the people.
What is to be preserved is a connection rather than an object independent of culture and
people. Preserving a connection means that both terms, the Martinican people and the land,
need to be taken into account. Therefore as they demonstrate their ecological concern for the
land, as the members claim a land theirs, and create a heritage, they also create a political
subject they call the “Martinican people”. I call this political subjectivation, this creation of a
subject, a political birth.
In short, the ecological actions of the members and activists of that NGO give birth to
fraternal twins. They reveal at the same time a political subject that takes responsibility for a
land and a land that is no longer a soil but becomes part of a heritage. This land is not
motherless anymore. It is the land of the Martinican people. This land has a motherland.
Conclusion
To conclude, the actions of Assaupamar face the following question: How can a group
protect a land from which for the majority of it, it has been expropriated from? Or to be more
precise, where its appropriation has been prevented? The ecology shown by this organisation
is one that I call a worldly ecology because not only does it deal with the preservation of the
environment, but it also looks at the social, cultural, political and historical context of its
actions. Indeed in that story, the ecology of Assaupamar has to tackle the question of the
colonial foundations on which the Martinican society is built. By claiming ownership over a
land that has never been theirs, not during colonisation, not during slavery, and not before,
they show an ecology of creation, laying new political foundations, raising a heritage and
unveiling the political birth of a people that has recognised its relationship to the land for its
existence. It is in this light, that we can read the following quote from Malsa:
“It is time, I think, to claim the Martinican land if we want to lay the foundation of our
existence in the world.”15
15
Malsa, p. 28 : « Il est temps, me semble-t-il, de revendiquer la terre martiniquaise si nous voulons poser le
socle de notre existence dans le monde. » translated by the author.
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