|Slaves and Social Protest in Brazil, 1780-1850
University of Nottingham
This paper examines the various survival strategies adopted by slaves in Brazil between 1780 and 1850. Essentially it argues that the adoption of one survival strategy rather than another on the part of the slave reflected a realistic assessment of chances of success at a particular point in time rather than a permanent identity or state of mind. In this context, therefore, conjuncture and opportunity were all important.
2. Slavery in Brazil
Between 1550 and 1850 at least eleven million Africans were forcibly transported to the New World to work as slaves. Almost 40% of these arrived in Brazil, which in 1888 was also the last of the New World territories to abolish slavery. The absence of natural slave reproduction and the early mortality of slaves in Brazil guaranteed the continued importation of Africans into the country until 1850, when pressure from the British finally put an end to the international slave trade. Between 1800 and 1850, however, over three million slaves were transported from Africa to Brazil. As a result African culture in Brazil was constantly rejuvenated until the late 19th century and can still be observed to this day in the language, music and cuisine, as well as in certain Afro-Brazilian religious cults (candomblé, macumba, umbanda) (1).
Traditionally the history of slavery in Brazil, as elsewhere, has been written as a narrative of domination and cruelty, in which slaves appear as the victims of sadistic owners, as the objects of the system of slavery. The institution of slavery was without doubt brutally and often murderously inhuman. That is not in question here; and older images of a ‘benign’ slavery in Brazil simply do not hold water (2). Subject to such brutality, it was once believed that slaves had their African cultures and identities knocked out of them by the ripping apart of families and social networks, and by the trauma of transportation to and their experience in the alien environment of the New World. This process of atomization was also accelerated by the deliberate policies of some slave traders and subsequent owners to disperse slaves of the same origin, in order to reduce the risk of collective resistance (3). However, the recent historiography of slavery has increasingly turned its attention to slave agency, to the active role of slaves in shaping history. Moreover, it has become increasingly clear that the actions of some Brazilian slaves were informed by a culture, which owed much to African traditions and experience. In order to understand these actions, however, and in particular how the actions of African slaves differed from those of Brazilian-born slaves (described below as creoles), it is first necessary to understand the structure of Brazilian slave society.
3. The Complexity of Social Relations in Brazilian Slave Society
The profile of slave employment in Brazil (as elsewhere in the New World but to a much greater degree) was considerably more diverse than that implied by a dichotomous plantation model of great plantation owners on the one hand and field slaves on the other. Even on sugar plantations some slaves and manumitted slaves were employed in specialised occupations and in some cases entrusted with the management of entire estates. On many plantations slaves worked together with freed men. As Stuart Schwartz writes of the sugar plantations in Bahia,
“field hands were almost always slaves; senhores de engenho [owners]
were invariably free and white; but in the intermediate
positions of management, technical skill and artisan craft
were found free men, freedmen and slaves; whites, browns
The realities of economic life in Brazil thus created varieties of interaction between slaves and non-slaves (4).
Secondly, relations between the races worked against a simple, polar model of social stratification. The very small number of European women in Brazil led from the start to widespread miscegenation between slave owners and female slaves (Indian, African and mulatta). These owners did not always relegate the offspring of such unions to the category of ‘black’ and forever slave, unlike their counterparts in the USA. In Brazil the children of these liaisons were sometimes manumitted, though this appears to have applied more to the female than the male offspring, and there thus arose that spectrum of colour that has made mobilisation along racial lines extremely difficult in Brazilian society. Blacks could be slaves or freed or (less commonly) free, as could (more commonly) mulattos. This situation gave rise to what has become known as the ‘mulatto escape hatch’; and from the 17th century onwards it is possible to identify mulattos as well as whites in the middling ranks of Brazilian society. They, together with those of other mixed origins, were used to control and subdue African-born slaves. It was they who tracked down fugitives, destroyed the religious meeting places of the Africans and quelled slave rebellions (white Brazilians could never have done this entirely on their own). They were the policemen and slave hunters: people of colour, born in Brazil and speaking Portuguese. It was claimed at the time, and with good reason, that Brazilian-born slaves were far less likely to engage in rebellions or collective flight than their African-born counterparts. However, they did develop a repertoire of daily resistance, often involving individual insubordination, work slowdowns, feigned illness and temporary flight (sometimes described condescendingly by their owners as ‘creole rascality’). Some mulattos also became prominent in various forms of urban unrest – independence and separatist struggles, as well as attacks on the Portuguese - and later the abolitionist movement (5).
This conflict between African and creole slaves was not peculiar to Portuguese America. The creole leadership of the revolt in Haiti, influenced by the values of the French enlightenment, often despised the African slaves and their culture, which they regarded as primitive superstition; and, as John Thornton writes, ‘the post revolutionary period [in Haiti] was a partially successful creole (and mulatto) counterrevolution directed at African culture as well as against the former African slaves’ (6). In a Jamaican conspiracy of 1692 creole slaves planned to kill the island’s Europeans and leave the African-born in their servitude (7). To return to Brazil, in numerous slave revolts in Bahia between 1807 to 1835 the leaders and the led were African. To quote Stuart Schwartz, the war against slavery in North-Eastern Brazil, was a war ‘led almost exclusively by African slaves and by those freed persons of African birth for whom ethnicity was more vital than juridical status’ (9). This is significant.
The permeation of African structures in Brazilian uprisings (and, as we will see later, in ‘maroon communities’, i.e. communities of runaway slaves), suggests that, even in New World societies, the African roots and kinship ties of slaves were far from completely destroyed. Though some slave traders and plantation owners tried to separate Africans of the same ethnic group from one another in order to undermine the possibility of collective understanding and action, they were not always able to do so. The economics of shipment from ports with specific hinterlands and the desire to deploy labour as quickly as possible, given the infrequent arrival of ships, militated against the systematic implementation of any such policy. Recent research has also stressed the clustering of slaves from particular areas and related ethnic/linguistic groups in particular New World destinations. In any case, the fact that many Africans of differing ethnic origin spoke several (often related) languages and/or were able to learn new ones on the lengthy Atlantic crossing undermines the view of those, who imagine a world in which slaves were isolated individuals. Additionally the religions and cosmologies of Africans over wide areas of their native continent often had a similar core of foundation myths and beliefs, which, in the words of Assunção and Zeuske, ‘played a crucial role in the development of neo-African identities in Brazil…’. Even where traditional African roots had been destroyed, slaves showed great ingenuity and creativity in building substitute solidarities, in creating fictive kinship communities. Thus African slaves in Bahia in the 1830s extended the concept of ‘relative’ (parente) to include all those of the same African ethnic group. So, even if a slave could not be buried in the presence of his real family, he or she could still ‘die in a ritual family’ (9). Interestingly the creation of substitute bonds for slaves, crossing traditional tribal divisions, began as early as the middle passage across the Atlantic. In Jamaica the term ‘shipmate’ became synonymous with ‘brother and sister’, whilst in Brazil the solidarity of transportees even formed the basis of the quilombo (maroon society) of Catucá near Recife; for this was also known as Malunguinho - malungo meaning ‘shipmate’ (and malunguinho ‘little shipmate’) on a slave voyage in Portuguese. This means, of course, that the African ‘nations’ described by contemporaries in Brazil did not correspond precisely with ethnic groups in Africa itself (though this is a subject of debate); but their very existence again reinforces the point that the African slave in Brazil was not bereft of communal loyalties and identities. The work of Robert Slenes has also emphasized the cohesion of the senzala [slave quarters] (10).
Some recent research has raised questions about this supposed creole/African dichotomy, but in a way that also indicates the persistence of Africa in Brazil. Whereas revolts in the Brazilian Northeast, especially in Bahia, were primarily the work of Africans and did witness conflicts between African and creole slaves, some historians have identified an 1838 quilombo in Vassouras, a rising in Minas Gerais in 1831, an 1832 conspiracy in Campinas and a plan for revolt in the Paraiba valley in 1848, in which there was joint creole and African participation. The explanation of this difference may reside in the fact that the Africans imported into Salvador (Bahia) in the North-East in the first half of the nineteenth century were from the gulf of Benin, often Muslim, and had little in common with earlier generations of slaves from West-Central Africa. On the other hand, in the risings further south in Brazil (in Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo provinces), newly imported Congolese-Angolan slaves shared kinship and tribal solidarities with their elders. Slenes specifically identifies the survival of African culture amongst these groups and sees a Kongo cultural matrix as the backbone of the revolts in Vassouras and elsewhere in the Paraiba valley (11).
To return to the basic point about the complexity of social relations in Brazil: even on the sugar plantations we are dealing with a social structure that was more variegated than the slave-owner/slave dichotomy would suggest. Moreover, Brazilian plantation owners could not run their concerns profitably without some degree of cooperation on the part of the labour force. Hence the offer of various incentives (increases in the rum ration, more time for the slaves to work for themselves and – most important of all – manumission, which was significantly more common than in the French or British Caribbean, though paralleled in Cuba and Spanish America more generally) Now I do not wish to romanticize manumission in Brazil as a way out of slavery. Firstly, though much more common than in the USA or the Caribbean, it was still relatively rare. Secondly, most slaves had to purchase their freedom or have their freedom purchased for them: it was no simple gift. Accumulating this capital was often a lengthy and arduous journey; and the slave-owner was under no obligation to free a slave, even if sufficient funds were forthcoming, until the last few years of Brazilian slavery. Furthermore, most manumissions were conditional, requiring the slave to continue to work for their previous owner (or owner’s offspring) for some time. The status of the freed, both legal and social, was not that of the free; and although some forms of discrimination and violence against slaves and the manumitted were relaxed by legislation in the 1824 Constitution and the Penal and Procedural Codes of 1830 and 1832, in reality blacks and manumitted slaves continued to be treated like slaves by local and regional authorities. Their freedom of movement was restricted and they could be subjected to physical punishment. Moreover the freedom of non-whites was always very precarious. If a former slave could not produce papers of manumission, he or she was at constant risk of re-enslavement. Towards the end of slavery there were increasing numbers of court cases, in which (usually female) slaves sought to establish that they or their offspring had been granted cartas de alforría (letters of manumission). Yet, much as these qualifications are true, there can be no doubt that Brazilian slaves themselves recognized that the carta de alforría constituted a very real difference in life chances for themselves or members of their family. Hence the massive investment in time, energy and capital expended by slaves on obtaining manumitted status. However, most male slaves, who were manumitted, were Brazilian-born and light-skinned (mulatto or pardo), Christianised and spoke Portuguese. Some African women were also granted freedom, for reasons discussed later; but male African slaves were granted freedom only very rarely (12). It is tempting to see manumission simply as a form of social control and an institution, which stabilized slavery and enabled it to survive for so long in Brazil. Certainly it was seen in this way by the white elite; and has been so seen by later historians. But for slaves, as Eduardo Paiva stresses, it was something very different: it was a route to freedom and a way out of bondage. I am not sure that I would accept his description of the slave’s struggle for manumission as ‘pragmatic resistance’; but in most cases it was a struggle and cannot simply be seen as an acceptance of the prevailing system. For certain slaves (especially skilled pardos) it was the easiest route to freedom. For black African males, however, the fact that this route was not available made other forms of action – flight, life in a quilombo, rebellion – necessary and attractive (13).
Returning to the issue of social complexity, the model of plantation slavery found in Bahia and the North East was not reproduced in all parts of Brazil. Moreover as early as the second half of the 17th century a majority of Brazilian slaves was not working on sugar plantations. Some cultivated manioc, others ran mule-trains, fished and refined whale oil. In the towns slaves grew limes, lemons, mangoes and bananas, and raised chicken, goats, pigs and cows for sale as well as personal consumption. Slaves provided the labour force of iron foundaries, where they worked as woodcutters, charcoal burners and carriers of all kinds. By 1800 in the state of Minas Gerais alone 30,000 slaves worked in cotton production, whilst others mined gold and diamonds, side by side often with free or freed men. In the same state a domestic textile industry emerged, in which female slaves and their free mistresses worked side by side. By this time we have records of slaves working as shipwrights, carpenters, tailors, blacksmiths, bakers and barbers, i.e. in artisan trades, in which both masters and apprentices could be slaves. In some parishes 80% of Brazilian artisans were pardo (especially) or black. It is clear that such slaves had a concept of their own status and dignity, many had control of their own time and some even negotiated in the labour market on their own behalf. Slaves were further employed as musicians, painters and sculptors, as panellers, dustmen, porters, dockers and boatmen, as well as sailors - between one third and one half of the crews of slave ships were themselves slaves. Slaves and former slaves were shop assistants, delivery boys and girls, whilst some former slaves became slave-hunters (capitão-do-mato) and slave traders. Female slaves worked as registry officials, nurses, wet-nurses, cooks, street-vendors of all kinds, garment workers and milliners. In the cities many of these slaves were ‘negros de ganho’, i.e. they worked on their own behalf and gave a fixed quantity, daily or weekly, to their masters. Such slaves, needless to say, were not subject to the same degree of supervision as their cousins on the plantations (indeed some lived away from their masters), and some of them were able to accumulate sufficient capital to buy their freedom, through monthly or yearly installments (14).
So far we have seen that a dichotomous model of owner-slave relations is inadequate to describe even the quite complex hierarchy of plantation society, let alone the multiple forms of slave employment in pre- and post-colonial Brazil, especially in urban environments. Furthermore, quite a large number of former slaves became slave-owners: in 19th-century Bahia, of 259 wills of former slaves, 76.3% left at least one slave amongst their property, whilst in Minas Gerais between 1743 and 1811 libertos numbered between 3.3 and 14.6% of all slave-holders. The work of Júnia Ferreira Furtado identifies a group of freed mulatta women in the diamond district of Minas Gerais in the 18th and early 19th century, who became heads of households and accumulated significant material possessions; whilst Sheila Faria de Castro has found extremely wealthy manumitted African women in Rio de Janeiro (15). The fact that former slaves came to own slaves might be seen as the best example of the extent, to which slaves had internalized the values of the system of slavery. To some extent it does show this; but even here, however, it is not so simple. As already noted, the freedom of the freed slave was always precarious (18). In this context the surest way to indicate your freed status was to own slaves. Moreover, any aspirant to upward social mobility in Brazilian society had to own slaves. Slave ownership on the part of former slaves, therefore, was scarcely surprising.
To return to the complexity of social relations in slave Brazil once more, it is important to recognise that relations between owners and their slaves were mediated by all kinds of explicit or implicit negotiations (however asymmetrical), from which both sides could derive advantages (however asymmetrically) Neither sugar plantations nor gold fields could operate on principles of coercion alone: it simply was not possible to intimidate all of the people all of the time, especially where there were large numbers of slaves gathered in one place or where many pursued economic activities away from their masters. This applied all the more where labour was in short supply or expensive; and African slaves were not cheap. On the Bahian sugar plantations in 1833, for example, the value of the slaves was calculated as almost equal to that of the land, forests, buildings, horses, oxen, steam engines and other assets combined. Hence mutual dependency dictated that there were conventions about what was acceptable and what was not. For example, slaves would sometimes call upon local Catholic priests to speak out against labour on Sundays and church holidays; and they expected to work on their own behalf for some period in the week, as the demands of some slave protests indicate. (It was during the time they could work on their own behalf that slave miners in Minas Gerais discovered the richest new seams of gold!) In fact it was when traditional expectations were disregarded or treatment was exceptionally brutal that individual or collective acts of resistance and rebellion took place. Furthermore, slave owners lived in constant fear of individual acts of violence or arson, as well as of collective rebellion. So there were good reasons to avoid strategies of control that were exclusively coercive. Additionally the fact that some individual slaves could achieve skills and recognition, and a few could buy freedom and subsequently even become slave owners, constituted perhaps the most crucial safety-valve of all in Brazilian slave society (17). However, that valve blew with remarkable frequency.
Slaves as Historical Agents
Resistance constitutes the most obvious form of slave assertion; and historians of slavery have identified various kinds of both individual and collective resistance on the part of Brazilian slaves, in which, significantly, the behaviour of creoles and African-born slaves often differed.
The individual survival strategies of slaves included a mixture of accommodation and resistance. In the first case slaves would seek to avoid trouble, aspire to specialised employment and aim to accumulate sufficient capital to buy their freedom. (Sometimes, however, the purchase of manumission was a result of the collective action of slaves in fraternities, kinship groups or families.) Such a strategy, with freedom as its goal, was open to male Brazilian-born slaves, who spoke some Portuguese, possessed skills and were not infrequently mulatto. African women were also significantly represented amongst the manumitted, possibly because those who worked as street vendors were able to accumulate sufficient capital to buy their freedom. Here women reproduced the same dominance in the retail trade that they enjoyed in Africa. Only a few gained their freedom as a direct result of liaisons with their white masters, contrary to popular myth. On the other hand African-born males were almost completely absent from the ranks of the libertos, which may explain their predominance in slave rebellions. The strategy of eventual manumission was never reliable, depended upon the whim of owners and could be cut short by early mortality. Alternatively individual acts of resistance or attempts at manipulation often followed breaches with convention on the owner’s part or especially brutal acts by their agents. They assumed multiple forms: from feigned illness and weeping to suicide, abortion and the infanticide of boys. Here we enter the world of what has been termed ‘gynaecological resistance’ (18).
Other forms of action on the part of slaves included pilferage, which was common. Physical attacks on or the poisoning of owners and their agents, as well as individual acts of disobedience and arson, were not unusual, though they were much more effective where they were collective. Individual flight was also relatively common, though often it involved only short absences and visits to friends and neighbours, which most owners learned to tolerate. Sometimes, though, flight might have longer-term ambitions – to find a new master, to pass oneself off as free in a new environment, to join a quilombo or even to board ship to Africa. In general slaves adopted a variety of survival strategies, which were usually based on a realistic assessment of the opportunities open to them (19).
What all of these acts involved, however small or apparently insignificant, was the slave’s refusal to be treated as an object. They were acts of self-assertion against a world, which sought to humiliate them and deny them their humanity; and for the slave the purchase of manumission was about his or her freedom, rather than stabilizing the system of exploitation. Moreover, some slaves (normally Brazilian born and light-skinned, and in particular those with skills and some degree of mobility) inhabited a kind of half-world on the way to independence. They would travel to different parts of town, adopt a new name, pretend they were freed, and not only seek out work but also – sometimes – new masters. In this world they were able to build networks of communication, which were often the prologue to flight or a route to (illegal) freedom. Such networks could also constitute the basis for subsequent collective forms of action and resistance on the part of slaves (20).
Forms of collective action on the part of slaves were equally varied. Sometimes they mirrored those of manufacturing workers in Europe: laming animals and damaging tools served the same purpose as did Luddite actions, for example, and were a form of ‘bargaining by riot’ (Eric Hobsbawm). Sometimes creole slaves placed pressure on their owners by deserting the plantations and offering to come back only when certain concessions had been made. Such concessions included (on the demand of the striking creole slaves) giving the most menial tasks to Africans! After 1870 slaves also sought to exploit legal changes, in particular the Law of the Free Womb, to their advantage. This was especially true of female slaves. Collective slow-downs and strikes were not unknown, though these obviously required solidarity to make punishment difficult. Such acts were rarely knee-jerk reactions to misfortune but required a degree of prior communication and informal organisation. The same applied to the most distinctive form of slave resistance: collective flight to or the formation of settlements of runaway slaves, known as quilombos or mocambos. Most of these, in the hills, mountains, forests and swamps around Brazil’s large cities, were of short duration and they were usually repressed with vicious force. Such communities were endemic in both colonial and post-colonial Brazil. Some were mobile, living off raids, in which, incidentally, they themselves took slaves, though many of the longer surviving quilombos also engaged in cultivation of the land and exchange with local merchants. The very existence of these maroon communities testifies once again to the ability of slaves to create social networks of solidarity and either reproduce African structures or (more often) forge new, fictive kinship relations within African ‘nations’. To many fugitive communities African religious practices were central; and in some political and social organization followed African precedents, including the election of ‘Kings’. For Roger Bastide and R K Kent, maroon societies constituted African resistance to acculturation in the New World. Slaves in such communities utilized the skills they had learnt in their African homeland; and, as John Thornton points out, their African background did ‘help shape the direction of revolts, influenced timing and tactics, and validated leadership’ (21). Here, however, we must be careful. Even as early as the 16th and 17th centuries, economic and social organization mirrored that of no single African tribe but was rather an amalgamation of different tribal traditions, forged on the slave ships or in the new American homeland; whilst archeological research has identified a considerable Amerindian presence in maroon communities. There were even quilombos in the state of Matto Grosso, in which Indians constituted the majority of inhabitants and which were led by Indians. So it is dangerous to identify these forms of resistance simply as an attempt to recreate Africa in the New World. Stuart Schwartz sees the maroon societies of Brazil not as a return to African pastoral traditions but as the product of wild frontier conditions; whilst Richard Price, an authority on maroon societies, writes:
However ‘African’ in character, no maroon social, political, religious or aesthetic system can be reliably traced back to a particular tribal provenience; they reveal, rather, their syncretistic composition, forged in the
early meetings of peoples bearing diverse African, European and Amerindian cultures in the dynamic setting of the New World’.
The cultures to be found in such societies were usually ‘syncretistic’, involving different African traditions, as well as European and Native American features. As Carolyn Flick has shown in the case of Haiti and Marcus de Carvalho in the case of Pernambuco in North-Eastern Brazil, the culture of African slaves was a syncretistic mix of Dahomean, Yoruban and West-Central African cultures (22). Yet these mixed cultures obviously possessed significant African dimensions. Africa had clearly not been knocked out of Brazilian slaves by their enslavement.
Slave Rebellions constituted the most feared and explosive form of resistance. As in the case of European insurrections, rebellions required changing expectations of success, bred by ruptures in the social and political fabric. They were likely to take place when there were wars, invasions or internecine warfare between the white elites and they involved considerable planning. Some were small and involved only one plantation, others encompassed much broader areas, requiring networks of communication over significant distances. Usually they were led by slaves of higher status, e.g. muleteers or artisans, and not by field-slaves. They were often timed to coincide with religious holidays and festivals, as in Bahia in 1816, and they were rarely random in their violence. Rather they targeted agents of the owners and the authorities. Sometimes women participated, as in the Urubu Quilombo Revolt of 1826. Often, again as in 1826, the revolts of African-born slaves were closely intertwined with candomblé (an Afro-Brazilian cult), just as the revolt of African slaves on the Northern plane of Haiti in 1791 was inspired by voodoo. In the increasing number of such revolts in the 1830s and 1840s African slaves and manumitted Africans turned on the Brazilian-born; and the Brazilian-born were usually absent from the ranks of rebellion, as, with some qualifications, we have already seen. The great 1835 Mâle rebellion in 1835 and some preceding Bahian rebellions found their collective solidarity in an Africanised Islam (imported from Nigeria and Benin), which enabled it to cross tribal divisions but largely excluded women. It followed an increase in the importation of Yoruba, Hanas and Aja-Fon from Benin and Nigeria, who themselves had been the victims of armed conflicts in their homelands and had experience either of African militarism or of resistance to it. Furthermore, some of these slaves had been leaders of their communities in West Africa (23).
Brazilian-born slaves did participate in some forms of popular protest. Negros de ganho (artisans and street vendors) were sometimes urban rebels, as in the so-called ‘Tailors’ Revolt’ of 1798 in Bahia, which derived some its inspiration from the French Revolution. Such slaves often participated in riots, together with freedmen and poor whites in the towns, in separatist disturbances, independence revolts, republican agitation or attacks on Portuguese merchants, as in Rio de Janeiro, Salvador and Pernambuco in the 1830s and 1840s. Later in the 19th century others became active in the cause of abolitionism. Such forms of resistance, however, were clearly different from those of the African slaves described above (24).
Oscar Patterson’s model of the ‘social death of slaves’ identifies some crucial aspects of the dehumanization that has characterized slavery; but it fails to recognize the active human agency of slaves in reproducing African traditions or newly creating kinship and other networks of solidarity in their new environment. In their own actions and self-understanding the slaves who came to Brazil from Africa were very much alive.
Dick Geary University of Nottingham, 2007.
(1) On the slave trade see Robin Blackburn, The Making of New World Slavery (London, 1997); Hugh Thomas, The Slave Trade (London, 1997); James Walvin, The Slave Trade (Stroud, 1999); Barbara L Solow (ed.), Slavery and the Rise of the Atlantic System (Cambridge, Mass., 1991), in particular Solow’s ‘Introduction’ and the articles by Knight, Emmer, Eltis and Miller in this collection; Peggy K Liss, Atlantic Empires: The Network of Trade and Revolution, 1713-1826 (Baltimore, 1983); Philip D Curtin, The Atlantic Slave Trade (Madison, 1989); Paul Lovejoy, ‘The Volume of the Atlantic Slave Trade’ in Journal of African History 23 (1982), 4, pp. 473-501; Enriqueta Vila Vilar, Hispanoamérica y el comercio de esclavos (Seville, 1977); Douglas Cole Libby & Eduarda França Paiva, A escravidão no Brazil (São Paulo, 200), pp. 15-19; Manolo Garcia Florentino, Em Costas Negras (Rio de Janeiro, 1993); Colin A Palmer, Human Cargoes (Urbana, 1981); James A Rawley, The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade (New York, 1981); Joseph Miller, Way of Death (Madison, 1988); Pierre Verger, Flux et reflux de la traite entre le golfe de Bénin et Bahia (Paris, 1968); Herbert S Klein, The Middle Passage (Princeton, 1978); Marcelo Ferreira de Assis, ‘A influência do tráfico de africanos sobre a taxa de mortalidade escrava’ in Tarcísio Rodrigues Botelho et al., História quantitativa e serial no Brasil (Belo Horizonte, 2001), pp. 91-114; Jaime Rodrigues, O infame comércio (Campinas, 2000); Marcus J M de Carvalho, ‘Estimativa do tráfico illegal de escravos para Penambuco’ in Clio 12 (1989), pp. 43-54; Robert E Conrad, Tumbeiros: o tráfico escravista para o Brasil (Sáo Paulo, 1985); Salvador José Gonçalves, Os magnatos de tráfico negreiro (São Paulo, 1981). On the persistence of African customs and dress in Brazil see Manuel Qurino, Costumes africanos no Brasil (Rio de Janeiro, 1938). On African and Afro-Brazilian religions see Roger Bastide, Les religions africaines du Brésil (Paris, 1960); Ibid, Estudos afro-brasileiros (São Paulo, 1973); and Mikelle Smith Omari-Tunkara, Manipulating the Sacred. Yorùbá Art, Ritual, and Resistance in Brazilian ‘Candomblé’ (Detroit, 2005). Also Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, Slavery and African Ethnicities in the Americas (Chapel Hill, 2005)
(2) On the brutality of the system see Robert E Conrad, World of Sorrow: the African Slave Trade to Brazil (Baton Rouge, 1986); Paul E Lovejoy (ed.), Africans in Bondage (Madison, 1986); José Alípio Goulart, Da palmatôria ao patíbulo (castigos de escravos no Brasil) (Rio de Janeiro, 1971); Stuart B Schwartz, Slaves, Peasants and Rebels (Urbana, 1996), pp. 41, 45f and 56; Sílvia Hunold Lara, Campos da violência (São Paulo, 1988), pp. 57-113; Luiz R B Mott, ‘Terror na Casa da Torre’ in Joãn José Reis (ed.), Escravidão e invenção de liberdade (São Paulo, 1988), pp. 17-32; Libby & Paiva, Escravidão, p. 7; Stuart B Schwartz, Sugar Plantations in the Formation of Brazilian Society (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 133-36 & 142-5; Robert E Conrad, ‘Nineteenth-Century Brazilian Slavery’ in Robert Brent Toplin (ed.), Slavery and Race Relations in Latin America (Westport, 1974), pp. 150 and 159-61.
(3) Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death (Cambridge Mass., 1982); Darcy Ribeiro, O povo brasileiro (São Paulo, 1995).
(4) Schwartz, Sugar Plantations, p. 313.
(5) On tensions between Brazilian- and African-born slaves see Libby and Paiva, A escravidão, p. 56; João José Reis, Slave Rebellion in Brazil (Baltimore, 1993), pp. 14 & 54; Stuart B Schwartz, Sugar Plantations (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 474-79.
(6) John Thornton, Africa and Africans in the Making of the Modern World (Cambridge, 1998), p. 33 and p. 326
(7) Thornton, p. 302
(8) Stuart B Schwartz, Sugar Plantations, p. 479
(9) João José Reis, A morte é uma festa (São Paulo, 1999), pp. 55, 160 and 198; Matthias Röhrig Assunçao & Michael Zeuske, ‘”Race”, Ethnicity and Social Structure in 19th Century Brazil and Cuba’ in Ibero-Amerikanisches Archiv 24 (1998), 1, pp. 418f. For Slenes see note (11). Also Lydia Cabrera, Vocabulário Congo (Miami, 1984); Robert Farris Thompson, The Four Moments of the Sun: Kongo Art in the Two Worlds (Washington, 1981); Ibid., Flash of the Spirit: African and Afro-American Art and Philosophy (New York, 1984); Ibid, Face of the Gods: Art and Alters of Africa and the African Americas (New York, 1993); John Thornton, ‘On the Trail of Voodoo: African Christianity in Africa and the Americas’, in The Americas 55 (1988), pp. 261-78; James Sweet, Recreating Africa: Culture, Kinship and Religion in the African-Portuguese World, 1441-1770 (Chapel Hill, 2003); Hall, African Ethnicities.
(10) Michael Craton, Testing the Chains. Resistance to Slavery in the British West Indies (Ithaca, 1982), p. 23; Thornton, Africa, pp. 153-62 & 192-205; Carvalho in Joãn José Reis & Flávio Santos Gomes (eds), Liberdade por um fio (São Paulo, 1996), pp. 407-22. For Slenes see the next note.
(11) Robert W Slenes, ‘ “Malungo, Ngoma vem!”: Africa encoberta e descoberta do Brasil’ in Revista USP 12 (1991/2), pp. 48-67; and Robert W Slenes, ‘A Árvore de Nsanda transplatanda: cultos kongo de aflição e identidade escrava no Sudeste brasileiro (século XIX)’ in Douglas Cole Libby & Júnia Ferreira Furtado (eds), Trabalho livre, trabalho escravo – Brasil e Europa, séculos XVIII e XIX (São Paulo, 2006), pp. 273-316. Also Flávio dos Santos Gomes, Histórias de Quilombolas (Rio de Janeiro, 1995), ch 2; Marcus Ferreira Andrade, ‘Rebelião escrava na Comarca do Rio dos Mortos, Minas Gerais’ in Revista Afros-Ásia (1998/9), 21-22, pp. 45-82. Information on Pirola’s research in progress provided by Robert Slenes. The survival of African cultures in Brazil is further detailed in Matthias Röhrig Assunçao & Michael Zeuske, ‘”Race”, Ethnicity and Social Structure in 19th Century Brazil and Cuba’ in Ibero-Amerikanisches Archiv 24 (1998), 3-4, pp. 418-22; Hall, African Ethnicities; and Omari-Tenkara, Manipulating the Social.
(12) On patterns of manumission see Libby and Paiva, A escravidão, pp. 44-46; Laird A Bergad, Slavery and the Demographic History of Minas Gerias (Cambridge, 1999); Tarcísio Rodrigues Botelho et al., História quantitativa e serial no Brasil (Belo Horizonte, 2001); Tarcísio Rodrigues Botelho, ‘Família e escravidão em uma perspectiva demográfica: Minas Gerais (Brasil), sécolo XVIII’ in Libby & Furtado (eds), pp. 195-222; Mary C Karasch, Slave Life in Rio de Janeiro (Princeton, 1987); Eduardo França Paiva, Escravos e libertos nas Minas Gerais (São Paulo, 2000); A J R Russell-Wood, The Black Man in Slavery and Freedom in Colonial Brazil (Oxford, 2002); Sydney Chalhoub, ‘Slavery, Freedmen and the Politics of Freedom in Brazil’ in Slavery and Abolition 10 (1989), no. 3, pp. 64-84; Douglas Cole Libby & Clotilde Andrade Paiva, ‘Manumission Practices in a Late Eighteenth-Century Brazilian Slave Parish’ in Slavery and Abolition 21 (2000), no. 1, pp. 96-127; Stuart B Schwartz, ‘The Manumission of Slaves in Colonial Brazil’ in Hispanic American Historical Review 54 (1974), pp. 603-35; Mariana Dantas, ‘Inheritance Practices among Individuals of African Origin and Descent in Eighteenth-century Minas Gerais, Brazil’ in Marc Kleijwegt (ed.), The Faces of Freedon. The Manumission and Emancipation in Old World and New World Slavery (Leiden, 2006); Kátia M de Quirós Mattoso, Testamentos de escravos libertos na Bahia no sécolo XIX (Salvador, 1979). As a result of this, and of natural reproduction, Brazil had the largest free coloured population of any slave society in the Americas. See H S Klein & F V Luna, ‘Free Colored in a Slave Society: São Paulo and Minas Gerais in the Early Nineteenth Century’ in The Hispanic American Historical Review 80 (2000), 4, pp. 913-41; H S Klein & C A Paiva, ‘Freed Men in A Slave Economy: Minas Gerais in 1831’ in Journal of Social History 29 (1996), 4, pp. 933-62; H S Klein, ‘The Colored Freemen in Brazilian Slave Society’, Journal of Social History 3 (1969), 1, pp. 30-52; M S C Franco, Homens livres na ordem escravocrata (São Paulo, 1969); L Kowarick, Trabalho e vadiagem: a origem do trabalho livre no Brasil (São Paulo, 1987); M C de Oliveira, O liberto: Salvador, 1790-1890 (São Paulo, 1988); David W Cohen & Jack P Greene, Neither Slave nor Free (Baltimore, 1972); Eduardo Silva, Prince of the People: the Life and Times of a Brazilian Free Man of Colour (London, 1993). On the precariousness of freedom and how that actually increased in the years after 1831 see Sidney Chalhoub, ‘Costumes senhoriais: escravização illegal e precarização da liberdade no Brasil Império’ (extended version of a paper given at a conference on Slavery, Citizenship and the State, held at the University of Nottingham in September 2006).
(13) Eduardo França Paiva, Escravos e libertos nas Minas Gerais do século XVIII (São Paulo, 1995), p. 20.
(14) On the multiplicity of slave occupations see Cole & Libby, Escravidão, pp. 25-33; Marcia Cristina Leão Bonnet, Entre o artifício e a arte (MA, UFRJ, 1996), pp. 119-48; Maria José de Souza, A mão de obra Escrava em Salvador (São Paulo, 1988); Douglas Cole Libby, ‘Proto-Industrialization in a Slave Society’ in Journal of Latin American Studies 23 (1991), pp. 1-35; Ibid., Trabalho escrava e capital estrangeiro no Brasil (Belo Horizonte, 1984); Ibid., Transformação e trabalho em uma economia escravista (São Paulo, 1988); Leila Mezan Algranti, O feitor ausente (São Paulo, 1988); Mary C Karasch, Slave Life in Rio de Janeiro (Princeton, 1987); Vilma Paraíso Ferreira de Almeda, Escravismo e trabalho (Rio de Janeiro, 1984); Sandra Lauderdale Graham, House and Street. The Domestic World of Servants and Masters in Nineteenth-Century Rio de Janeiro (Cambridge, 1988). On slaves bringing African skills to Brazil see Douglas Cole Libby, ‘Habilidades, artifices e ofícios na sociedade escravista do Brasil colonial’ in Libby & Furtado (eds), pp. 57-74.
(15) Júnia Ferreira Furtado, ‘Pérolas negras’ in Ibid (ed.), Diálogos Oceânicos (Belo Horizonte, 2001), pp. 81-125; Ibid., Chica da Silva (São Paulo, 2003); Sheila de Castro Faria, ‘Sinhás Pretas’ in Francisco Carlos Teixeira da Silva et al. (eds), Escritos sobre História e Educação (Rio de Janeiro, 2001); Faria, A colônia em movimento: fortuna e família no cotidiano colonial (Rio de Janeiro, 1998); Stuart Schwartz, Sugar Plantations, p. 458.
(16) On the precariousness of liberty see note (12) above.
(17) The combination of resistance with various forms of ‘negotiation’ is a central theme of João José Reis & Eduardo Sliva, Negociação e conflito (São Paulo, 1999). See also Schwartz, Slaves and Peasants, pp. 42-46; and Libby & Paiva, Escravidão, pp. 7-9.
(18) For individual strategies see Libby & Paiva, Escravidão, pp. 45-56; and Reis & Silva, passim. Also Schwartz, Sugar Plantations, p. 138; José Alípio Goulart, Da fuga ao suicídio (Rio de Janeiro, 1971). On manumission see note (11). On female resistance there has been quite a lot of work in the case of the Carribean: Hilary McD Beckles, Natural Rebels (London, 1989); Ibid., Centering Women (Kingston, 1999); Verene Shepherd et al., Engendering History (Kingston, 1995); Barry Gaspar et al., More than Chattel (Bloomington, 1996); Lucille Mathurin, The Rebel Woman in the West Indies during Slavery (Kingston, 1975); Barbara Bush, Slave Women in Caribbean Society (London, 1990). Work on the subject in Brazil is in its infancy. There is, however, a not insubstantial body of work on women slaves and on slave families in Brazil. See Sonia Maria Giacomini, Mulher e escrava (Petrópolis, 1988); Maria Odila Leite da Silva Dias, Power and Everyday Life: The Lives of Working Women in Nineteenth-Century Brazil (Cambridge, 1995); Ibid. et al., A mulher no Rio de Janeiro no século XIX (São Paulo, 1982); Roberto DaMatta, A casa e a rua. Espaço, cidadania, mulher e morte no Brasil (São Paulo, 1985); Joseli Mendonça, Entre a mão e os anéis (Campinas, 1999); Carlos Eugênio Líbano Soares, ‘Comércio, nação e gênero: as negras minas quitandeiras no Rio de Janeiro, 1835-1900’ in Teixeiro et al (eds), Escritos; Sandra Lauderdale Graham, ‘Slavery’s Impasse: Slave Prostitutes, Small-Time Mistresses and the Brazilian Law of 1871’ in Comparative Studies in Society and History 33 (1991), pp. 670ff; Roger Kittleson, ‘Women and Notions of Womanhood in Brazilian Abolitionism’ in Pamela Scully & Diana Paton (eds), Gender and Emancipation in the Atlantic World (Durham, 2005), pp.99-120; Martha Abreu, ‘’Slave Mothers and Freed Children’ in Journal of Latin American Studies 28 (1996), 3, pp. 567-80; Kathleen J Higgins, Licentious Liberty (University Park, 1999); Mary del Priore, A mulher na história do Brasil (São Paulo, 1989); Ibid., Ao sul do corpo (Rio de Janeiro, 1993); Ibid., História das mulheres no Brasil (São Paulo, 1997); Maria Lucia de Barros Mott, Submissão e resistência: a mulher na luta contra escravidão (São Paulo, 1988); June Hahner, A mulher brasilieira e as lutes sociais e políticas: 1850-1937 (São Paulo, 1981); Kátia M de Queirós Mattoso, Família e sociedade na Bahia do século XIX (São Paulo, 1988); Sheila de Castro Faria, A colônia; Mariza Corrêa, Colcha de retalhos – estudoes sobre a família no Brasil (São Paulo, 1982); Júnia Ferreira Furtado, Chica; Ibid., ‘Considerações sobre estratégias e formas de resistêcia da mulher escrava no setecentos’ in Caderno de Filosofia e Ciências Humanas 9 (1997), pp. 104-9; Ida Lewkowicz, ‘Herança e relações familiars: os pretos forros nas Minas Gerais do sécolo XVIII’ in Revista Brasileira de História 17 (1989), pp. 101-14; Alida Metcalf, ‘Mulheres e propriadades’ in Revista da sociedade brasileira de pesquisa histórica, vol 5 (São Paulo, 1989); Ibid., ‘A vida familiar dos escravos em São Paulo no século XVIII’ in Estudos Econômicos 17 (1987), pp. 229-44; Muriel Nazzari, ‘Concubinage in Colonial Brazil’ in Journal of Family History 21 (1996), pp. 107-23; Ibid., O desparrecimento do dote: mulheres, famílias e mudança social em São Paulo, 1600-1900 (São Paulo, 2000); Donald Ramos, ‘Marriage and Family in Colonial Vila Rica’, Hispanic American Review 55 (1975), pp. 200-25; A J R Russell-Wood, ‘Women and Society in Colonial Brazil’ in Latin American Studies 9 (1977), pp. 1-34; Fernando Nascimento Silva (ed.), História da família no Brasil colonial (Rio de Janeiro, 1998); Anna Gicelle Garcia Alaniz, Ingênuos e libertos: estratégias de sobrevivência familiar (Campinas, 1997); Robert W Slenes, Na senzala uma flor (Rio de Janeiro, 1999); M G Florentino & J R Góes, A paz das senzalas: familias escravos e tráfico atlântica, Rio de Janeiro 1790-1850 (Rio de Janeiro, 1997).
(19) For a discussion of and references for such action see Dick Geary, ‘Europe and Slave Protests in the Americas’ in Mitteilungsblatt des Instituts für soziale Bewegungen 31 (2004), pp. 9-23. Also articles by Assunção, Lara, Villalta, Mattos de Castro and Carvalho in Libby & Furtado (eds), pp. 335-464.
(20) Sidney Chalhoub, Visões da liberdade (São Paulo, 1990), pp. 212-215 & 235-39; Marcus J M de Carvalho, Liberdade (Recife, 2001), pp. 37, p. 177, pp. 261-88.
(21) For a summary of collective action see Dick Geary, ‘Slave Protests’, pp. 11-19. For an account of the exploitation of the law and how this contributed to the ultimate decline of Brazilian slavery see Hebe Maria Mattos de Castro, Das cores do silêncio (Rio de Janeiro, 1995); Sidney Chalhoub, Visões da liberdade (São Paulo, 1990); Joseli Mendonça, Entre a mão; F A Abrahão, As ações de liberdade de escravos do Tribunal de Campinas (Campinas, 1992); Eduardo Spiller Pena, Pajens da Casa Imperial (Campinas, 2001); Keila Grinberg, Liberata (Rio de Janeiro, 1994); Ibid., ‘Freedom Suits and Civil Law in Brazil and the United States’ in Slavery and Abolition 22 (2001), 3, pp. 66-82. The standard work on maroon societies is Richard Price (ed.), Maroon Societies, (Baltimore, 1996). On Brazil see articles by Bastide, Kent in this collection. Also Joãn José Reis and Flávio Santos Gomes (eds), Liberdade por um fio (São Paulo, 1996); and in particular the articles in this collection by Funari, Carvalho, Gomes, Karasch, Schwartz, Assunção and Ramos. Further Décio Freitas, Palmares (Porto Alegre, 1973); Edison Carneiro, O quilombo de Palmares (Rio de Janeiro, 1966); Ivan Alves Filho, Memorial dos Palmares (Rio de Janeiro, 1988); Clóvis Moura, Quilombos e a rebeldia negra (São Paulo, 1981); Mário José Maestri Filho, Quilombos e quilombolas em terras gaúchas (Porto Alegre, 1979); Waldemar de Almeida Barbosa, Negras e quilombos em Minas Gerais (Belo Horizonte, 1972); Eliane Cantarino O’Dwyer (ed.), Quilombos (Rio de Janeiro, 2002). For the African-ness of maroon societies see Roger Bastide, ‘The Other Quilombos’ in Price (ed.), pp, 191-201; R K Kent, ‘Palmares’ in Price (ed.), pp. 170-190; R K Kent, ‘African Revolt in Bahia’ in Journal of Social History, 3 (1969/70), pp. 334-56; John Thornton, Africa, pp. 280f..
(22) Price (ed.), p. 29; Schwartz, ‘The Mocambo’, in Price(ed.), p. 211; Carlos Magno Guimarães, ‘Mineração, quilombos e Palmares-Minas Gerais no sécolo XVII’ in Liberdade por um fio, pp. 139-63; Luiza Rios Ricci Volpato, ‘Quilombos em Mato Grosso’ in Ibid., pp. 213-39; Marcus de Carvalho, ‘O quilombo de Malunguinho’ in Ibid., pp. 407-32; Carolyn E Flick, The Making of Haiti: The Saint Domingue Revolution from Below (Knoxville, 1990)
(23) There is a massive literature on slave risings in Brazil. See Carlo Maria Junho Anastasia & Flavio Marcus da Silva, ‘Levantementos secentistas mineiros’ in Júnia Ferreira Furtado (ed), Díalogos oceânicos (Belo Horizonte, 2001), pp. 307-35; Marcus Joaquim M de Carvalho, Liberdade (Recife, 2001); Décio Freitas, Insurreições escravos (Porto Alegre, 1976); Sílvia Hunold Lara, Campus da violência (Rio de Janeiro, 1988); Clóvis Moura, Rebeliôes na senzala (Rio de Janeiro, 1972); Reis, Slave Rebellion; Reis & Silva, Negociação; Stuart Schwartz (ed.), Slaves, Peasant and Rebels (Chicago, 1997); Maria Helena Machado, O plano e o pânico (Rio de Janeiro, 1994); Mário José Maestri Filho, O escravo gaúcho: resistência e trabalho (São Paulo, 1984); Ronaldo Marcos dos Santos, Resistência e superação do escravismo na provincial da São Paulo (São Paulo, 1980); M H P Machado, Crime e escravidão (São Paulo, 1987).
(24) Carvalho, Liberade; Geary, ‘Slave Protests’, pp. 19-22.