Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870-1914 9789048553556

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Asian History The aim of the series is to offer a forum for writers of monographs and occasionally anthologies on Asian history. The series focuses on cultural and historical studies of politics and intellectual ideas and crosscuts the disciplines of history, political science, sociology and cultural studies. Series Editor Hans Hågerdal, Linnaeus University, Sweden Editorial Board Roger Greatrex, Lund University David Henley, Leiden University Ariel Lopez, University of the Philippines Angela Schottenhammer, University of Salzburg Deborah Sutton, Lancaster University

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Anne Raffin

Amsterdam University Press

The publication of this book is made possible by a grant from the National University of Singapore.

Cover illustration: Extrait de L’Atlas de Vuillemin de 1851 Reproduction © Norbert Pousseur Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Lay-out: Crius Group, Hulshout isbn 978 94 6372 355 8 e-isbn 978 90 4855 355 6 (pdf) doi 10.5117/9789463723558 nur 691 © Anne Raffin / Amsterdam University Press B.V., Amsterdam 2022 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book. Every effort has been made to obtain permission to use all copyrighted illustrations reproduced in this book. Nonetheless, whosoever believes to have rights to this material is advised to contact the publisher.



Table of Contents

List of Diagrams, Graphs, Images, Maps, and Tables 7 Acknowledgements 9 1. Pondicherry in the French Empire during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries 11 Between Colonial Subjects and French Citizens

I. II.

Overview and General Concepts Analytical Framework

11 17

2. Contextualizing Pondicherry within the French Empireand the Indian Subcontinent 21 I. Pondicherry within the French Empire 21 II. Pondicherry within the Indian Subcontinent 27 III. Pondicherry during the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries 36 3. Inclusive and Exclusive Visions of Citizenship in French India 49 I. Colonial Pondicherry and Its Entanglement with Imperial Citizenship 50 II. The Topas, the Renouncers, and the Catholics 70 III. Institutions 81 IV. Conclusion 92 4. Education and Army 99 Attempts to Institutionalize Republican Ideals in French India

I.

The State of Education in Pondicherry before the Third Republic 101 II. Education in Third Republic Pondicherry: A Secular Primary Education for All 104 III. Civic Education and the Language Policies 109 IV. Hindrances to the Republican School Project: Race and Caste 117 V. Hindrances to the Republican School Project: Gender Issues and Budget Constraints 123 VI. The Armed Forces in Pondicherry 132

VII. Military Laws, Citizenship, and Indochina VIII. Conclusion

139 145

5. The Art of Petitioning in a Colonial Setting 151 I. Law, Order, and a Bureaucracy of Petitions 155 II. A Deficient Electoral System 162 III. Attempts to Prevent Electoral Frauds and Appeals on the Ground 168 IV. Partisan Political Fraud Under the Three-List System (1884–1899) 175 V. Partisan Political Fraud under The Two-List System (1900–1913) 180 VI. Conclusion 187 6. From Electoral Politics to Expansion of Rights and National Independence 193 I. What Conclusions Can We Draw from Republican Citizenship in Pondicherry? 193 II. How Far Was the Civilizing Mission Applied? 199 III. From Contestations to Nationalism and the Impact of British India 203 IV. New Forms of Political Participation in a Comparative Perspective 207 V. Situating Pondicherry within a Larger Theoretical Reflection on the Relationship between Empire and Citizenship 216 Bibliography 233 Index 245



List of Diagrams, Graphs, Images, Maps, and Tables

Diagrams Diagram 5.1 Three lists divided from 1890 to 1899 (end of the renouncer list) Graphs Graph 2.1 Population changes in the urban and suburban areas of Pondicherry Graph 3.1 The Acts of Renunciations registered in the City Hall of Pondicherry (1882–1962) Images Polling station Alacoupan, Pondicherry 1891 Image 1.1 Image 1.2 Arrival at Pondicherry in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century Maps Map 2.1 Map 2.2 Map 2.3 Map 2.4 Map 2.4

Former French India The region of Pondicherry Pondicherry in 1693 Pondicherry in 1693 Pondicherry in 1693

Tables Table 3.1 Table 4.1

Colonial state structure Female Tamil teachers

178

37 80 12 13 36 38 42 42 43 68 128

Acknowledgements I would like f irst to thank the National University of Singapore for the research grants that I was awarded. Without this generous financial support, this research would not have been possible. I would also like to express my gratitude to the staff of the Record Centre of Pondicherry, Jeewanandapuram, Lawspet, who tried to help me as much as they could with my research and made my time at this archival centre a pleasant one. I also wish to thank the librarians at the French Institute of Pondicherry, who always assisted me with professionalism. Social scientists who have contributed to the shaping of this project include Kankana Mukhopadhyay, Manjusha Nair, Dennis Smith and social scientists at the Centre for Studies in Social Sciences, Calcutta. Various individuals who commented on this work during presentations at several conferences and seminars were also helpful. Darinee Alagirisamy’s comments were very helpful due to her knowledge of Tamil social history. Finally, my good colleague Ho Ko Chong gave me valuable tips regarding publishing strategies. A special thanks to Frederick Cooper who read and commented on the entire manuscript as well as Kay Mohlman who was especially generous with her time and insightful comments. I am also thankful to the two anonymous referees for their constructive comments, and to Susan Lopez Nerney and Paul Nerney for their editing skills. Finally, one person in particular merits special mention, my daughter Lucie. She had to endure her mother’s research trips away from home and rightfully complained that one’s child is more important than any book. It is to her, with the utmost love, that I dedicate this book.

1.

Pondicherry in the French Empire during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Between Colonial Subjects and French Citizens

Abstract Chapter 1 introduces the topic of this book – the consequences of implementing colonial citizenship in the French enclave of Pondicherry during the early Third Republic (1870–1914). Embracing a historical and a sociological comparative approach, the chapter situates the book at the crossroads of two bodies of previous research: (1) the relationship between citizenship and the French empire as well as its policies of assimilation and (2) the Indian responses to this project. Keywords: colonial citizenship, French empire, assimilation, Pondicherry, Third Republic

I.

Overview and General Concepts

Pondicherry 1889, Alacoupan district, French India: a few bare-headed and bare-chested male villagers pass by a simple thatch shelter next to a grove of trees. Under the shelter, a small group of turbaned men sit around a table with a box at its centre. There seems to be no interaction between the villagers and the sitting men, who appear to be of higher status. At first glance, the scene evokes a picture of everyday rural life in nineteenthcentury south India, with its traditional and long-standing caste divisions. On closer inspection, however, it tells a significant modern story: the box is a ballot box, and the period is that of the Third French Republic, when, for the second time, all males in the French colony of Pondicherry received the right to cast their votes in local elections.1 1

Polling station Alacoupan, Pondicherry 1891.

Raff in, Anne, Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463723558_ch01

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Image 1.1  Polling station Alacoupan, Pondicherry 1891

Pondicherry in the French Empire during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries

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Image 1.2  Arrival at Pondicherry in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century

In 1848, the Second Republic had granted male Indians the right to elect a French representative to the Chamber of Deputies in the metropole. This situation did not last, partly due to the French administration in India opposing such a law and disorders that arose in one of the suburbs (aldées) of Pondicherry. The upper caste protested against the Pariahs who were emboldened to wear footwear, an emblem of the upper castes, by the establishment of a republic in France.2 From the 1870s to World War I, scenes of local polling places were no longer be so uneventful. There were fiercely contested battles among French and Indian candidates roughly representing republican values and the colonizers’ interests versus communal and caste-based motives. Eventually, many locals in Pondicherry were organized into voting blocks, voting fraud became endemic, and voting booths became sites of violence. Despite the doubts and opposition to transforming the people of Pondicherry from colonial subjects to French citizens, the commitment to doing so is reflected in a late nineteenth-century French educational postcard captioned ‘Arrival in Pondicherry’, which portrays an imaginary pair of well-dressed French schoolchildren in a small canoe rowed by an Indian oarsman. As the canoe reaches the beach, the boy removes his hat and gestures towards two French tricolour flags flying atop of a nearby building.3 The tricolour represents the right to vote and other political 2 Malangin, Pondicherry, p. 112. 3 Arrival at Pondicherry.

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

innovations of republican rule first realized in France and then extended to its Indian territories. In addition to granting electoral suffrage, colonial authorities expanded political participation of Indian males in new political institutions. Such measures often fell far short of ideal goals and sometimes made old inequalities worse or created new forms of inequality. This book traces how such republican measures during France’s Third Republic were initiated, negotiated, and translated, successfully or unsuccessfully, into a southern Indian context. It assesses the extent to which ideals of republican citizenship were realized at that time and, if any, the lasting effects of republican citizenship today. To better understand the questions about sovereignty and citizenship, as well as the tensions between particular social structures and specific forms of political organizations regarding the French empire in India, the book looks particularly at the emergence of a partial, ambiguous, and often contested phenomenon of colonial citizenship in Pondicherry between 1870 and 1914, a period that covers the early Third Republic era up to the beginning of the First World War. The meaning of the term citizenship in the early Third Republic revolved around citizens’ legal rights such as electoral franchise and civil equality guaranteed by law, which were notions of citizenship inherited from the French Revolution. 4 Citizenship during the Third French Republic was defined, according to the French contemporary politician Léon Gambetta, by the ‘little paper’ that embodied the Republic itself, because political activity was first and foremost exercised through universal male suffrage.5 The republican motto ‘Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity’ born during the Revolution carried the ideals of the 1790s. However, the literature has shown how such universal language aimed to include everyone was used in support of exclusionary policies.6 The well-known justification for France having colonies was France’s right and duty to civilize the Indigenous people in the French colonial empire based on the assumption of French cultural superiority over the cultures of the Indigenous people. An important tenet of France’s civilizing mission during the Third Republic was to turn colonial subjects into republican citizens. Natives were subjects, not citizens, which meant that they had duties, but few rights. In some French overseas territories, the French granted their colonized peoples citizenship rights, among which the right to vote for 4 Pairaudeau, Mobile citizens, p. 36. 5 Lehning, To Be a Citizen, p. 1. 6 Thompson, Colonial Citizens; Dubois, A Colony of Citizens; Church, Paradise Destroyed; Semley, To Be Free and French.

Pondicherry in the French Empire during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries

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their own representatives in local and metropolitan political assemblies. Historical studies on citizenship within the French empire by Frederick Cooper, Todd Shepard, and William F. S. Miles discuss issues surrounding citizenship and whether there was an alternative other than the creation of an independent nation state or becoming part of the French territory in the era of decolonization. Cooper’s comparison of citizenship rights and duties given to various parts of the French empire raises the question of what degree the extension of citizenship and voting rights to Pondicherry mirrored what was happening in the rest of the colonial empire under the Third Republic.7 Pathways from subjecthood in the French colonial empire to citizenship of the Third Republic required assimilation into French culture and mores. However, the process of assimilation seems to have differed throughout the empire. While the Algerian Muslim population did not get full citizenship rights before 1958, Algeria still had a unique position within the French colonial empire, because it was juridically part of France. It not only elected deputies to the French National Assembly but also was managed by the Ministry of Home Affairs like the rest of France. Due to such a situation, Todd Shepard discusses whether the negotiation of Algeria’s independence in 1962 was a betrayal of the republican tradition of assimilation.8 In contrast, French citizenship in French India only required male individuals to renounce their legal status as Hindus or Muslims to submit themselves to the French Civil Code – no knowledge of the French language and mores was required. The political scientist William Miles argues that if the originaires (names given to most of its inhabitants) of the four oldest colonial towns of Senegal (Dakar, Rufisque, Saint Louis, and the island of Gorée) had retained their French citizenship after the independence of Senegal, their situation would have been quite similar to the renouncers who chose to subject to the French law in French India.9 Blocks in the pathway to citizenship emerged for two reasons. First, following the French Revolution of 1789, the country experienced a change of regimes from being a republic to becoming an empire, followed by a return to monarchy before the coming of the Third Republic in 1870. Some of these political regimes were not opened to conferring citizenship rights to its own people, let alone to its colonial subjects. Second, during the Third

7 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation. 8 Shepard, The Invention of Decolonization. 9 Miles, ‘Comparative Decolonization’.

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Republic, some politicians in the metropole and the colonies were opposed to implementing republican assimilationist ideals and policies. Moreover, most of the colonial administrators who were trained under the Ancien Régime and followed the Regime’s policies of exception were not aligned with the Third Republic’s vision of a universal republican rule implemented all over the French empire. Elizabeth Foster’s work on colonial Senegal points out that, to study the modern French colonial empire, it is more insightful to look at the Ancien Régime’s framework of privilege rather than use a republican framework of analysis. This framework of privilege, in other words, ‘private law’, was a widespread range of distinctive laws and regulations that was applied to different territories and people.10 Her work invites scholars to measure the governance of these modern colonies against the standard of the Ancien Régime rather than the principles of French republicanism. Alice Conklin’s work on the civilizing mission in French West Africa from 1895 to 1930 has a different focus from Foster’s work and concentrates not only on the Republican ideology and the rhetoric of senior colonial administrators, mostly governors-general, but also on the role these administrators played in the formation and policy implementation of the Third Republic’s civilizing mission. Conklin argues that the Third Republic’s civilizing mission was not a hypocritical cover-up of colonizers’ interests but defined what actions were off limits within the colonial context.11 The data in this book shows that some French colonial officials and some local elites made references to the civilizing mission regarding the expansion of male suffrage in French India. This work raises a similar series of questions. Were these references only lip service to please the political powers back in France? Or were they a means of defending one’s political interests? Or did they reflect a genuine belief in the superiority of the French culture and its ability to improve the lives of inhabitants of Pondicherry? There is another body of literature that suggests some Indigenous people in French India were opposed to being French citizens, because their position of privilege was jeopardized by making all the members of the local society equal. Hence, a closer examination is still needed of the role of colonial subjects’ acceptance and opposition to receiving French citizenship in term of caste and class to help explain some of the difficulties of extending French citizenship 10 Foster, Faith in Empire, p. 5; Wilder’s concept of the ‘imperial nation-state’, which considered the metropole and the French empire as one entity, is not being used in this study. Foster’s model of Ancien Régime seems more appropriate to grasp groups’ privileges. Wilder, French Imperial Nation-State. 11 Conklin, A Mission to Civilize.

Pondicherry in the French Empire during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries

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and political rights. While historical and law-oriented studies have shown the local elites embracing or resisting such a political project, lower-caste people’s and outcastes’ reactions to such offerings and obligations inherent to citizenship have not been investigated as much.12 Such previous studies have also not looked at the impact of the Third Republic’s political project on colonized women, because citizenship rights were only granted to men. Yet there were some unintended positive consequences of citizenship for women; for instance, Chapter 4 discusses such consequences for Tamil female teachers. Finally, Pondicherry was a French colony within a British colonial world that dwarfed it – what some have called a ‘colonized colonizer’ or ‘subaltern colonizer’.13 British colonialism appeared as a point of reference not only for Pondicherry’s local press but also for French colonial and local administrators who compared everyday ruling strategies with those of their colonial neighbour, especially regarding developments in the city of Madras. For example, such comparisons seem to have led a few French colonial administrators to disagree with the implementation of the Third Republic’s political project, arguing that the French should follow the path of British India, which did not extend political power to male Indians. In addition, French and British India were not only tied by a circulation of ideas between colonial officials on how to run a colony, but they were also tied by the intercourse between Indian communities that were separated but not cut off by colonial boundary lines. While French academic research tends to study the French possessions in isolation, this study posits that integrating studies of British colonialization in India, and especially in Madras Presidency, can provide new perspectives regarding a colonial enclave granting citizenship rights to the inhabitants of Pondicherry under the Third Republic.14

II.

Analytical Framework

When it comes to the definition of citizenship, this work presents the history of laws about citizenship in colonial Pondicherry. Broadly defined, citizenship 12 Annoussamy, L’Intermède français en Inde; Annoussamy, Pondicherry; Deschamps, ‘Une citoyeneté différée’; Deschamps, ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’; Michalon, ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français’; Weber, Les Etablissements français; Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs. 13 Magedera, ‘French-language Representations of India’, p. 1. 14 I use the word ‘colony’ to refer to French India or British India even though neither was technically a colony. However, I use this term, because, in both cases, India was under the control of these foreign powers.

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refers to the relationship between an individual or a group of people with a political entity, in our case an empire. Such a relationship is articulated through a language of rights and duties. This research is influenced by T. D. Marshall’s 1950 framework of citizenship, which underlines the development of civil (individual rights such as freedom of speech), political (right to vote), and social rights (access to education, for instance) in Great Britain.15 In this book, I pay attention to the ways in which different institutions, such as schools, were inclusive or not towards the members of society (social rights). Within this historical context, I examine French citizenship in a colonial setting and the institutions enabling or hindering legal citizenship for Indians. In her insightful analysis, the scholar Emmanuelle Saada has already shown how a historical sociology approach to the field of colonial studies can be a fruitful method for studying nationality, citizenship, and the category of métis in the French empire.16 Likewise, applying sociological concepts to the study of a specific historical period, I look at how the colonial bureaucracy, and the laws and the means by which it categorized Pondicherry people, shaped facets of an inclusive and exclusive citizenship granted to Indian locals. My work moves beyond categorizations and rights to assess how far the implementation of citizenship could go within the French empire, based on the political manoeuvrings of Indian and colonial elites and protests carried on the ground. Through such an approach, I defend what has historically already been said about citizenship rights in Pondicherry while using a sociological perspective on the matter. This book poses questions around two dimensions of the extension of this notion of citizenship to France’s colonial territories. The first dimension focuses on the top-down, broad, and often abstract relations between the French empire and its subjects. This includes an overview of France’s colonial eras and its rivalries with other colonial powers. It also involves an analysis of French authorities’ differential treatment of its subjects in various overseas territories, the rights they were granted or not, and how far colonized subjects could go to attain legal rights and status equal to the colonizers. The second dimension chronicles the experiences of Indians who engaged in – or were excluded from – Pondicherry’s ostensibly new political culture based on the language of rights and participatory political institutions during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Such an approach delves into the historical meaning of republican citizenship in Pondicherry. Here, I explore 15 Marshall, Citizenship and Class. 16 Saada, Empire’s Children.

Pondicherry in the French Empire during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries

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further the continuum between colonial citizenship and French citizenship. Indeed, the proportion of the population of Pondicherry that could be considered citizens, and the extent to which this population in turn could be considered full French citizens, varied dynamically in accordance with the political measures colonial authorities attempted to implement and how individuals and groups used their own agency to accept, reject, or co-opt such measures. This introduction is followed by five more chapters. Chapter Two contextualizes French colonial Pondicherry within British India, then discusses the expansion of voting rights to Pondicherry’s Indian males within the French colonial empire. Chapter Three examines the impact of republican citizenship on the balance of power among different subpopulations in Pondicherry and the social identities that each subpopulation used to distinguish itself from other populations. Linked to the citizenship was the right to education and the duty of conscription. Chapter Four asks three questions: (1) how were compulsory education and military service implemented in Pondicherry, (2) how did local people perceive such institutions, and (3) which groups managed to gain access to benefits offered by French schooling and the army? Chapter Five explores how universal male suffrage in Pondicherry was instituted and why the right to vote was accompanied by electoral manipulation and sometimes violence. At the societal level, archival material underlines undemocratic practices, such as fraud, clientelism, and the impact of private interests within institutions. Most of the analysis in this chapter is drawn from petitions sent mostly by members of the upper castes to the Board of Administrative Litigation (Conseil du contentieux). Finally, Chapter Six focuses on the larger purpose of the study: that is, to use Pondicherry as a case study to reflect on the nature of republican citizenship during the early Third Republic, more specifically the extent to which the republican ideals of the Third Republic applied in Pondicherry.

References Annoussamy, D. 2005. L’Intermède français en Inde: Secousses politiques et mutations juridiques. Paris: L’Harmattan. Annoussamy, D. 2019. Pondicherry: A Social and Political History. Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry. Church, C. 2017. Paradise Destroyed: Catastrophe and Citizenship in the French Caribbean. Lincoln: University of Alaska Press.

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Conklin, A. 1997. A Mission to Civilize: The Republican Idea of Empire in France and West Africa, 1895–1930. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press. Cooper, F. 2014. Citizenship between Empire and Nation: Remaking France and French Africa, 1945–1960. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Deschamps, D. 1997. ‘Une citoyeneté différée: Cens civique des indigènes dans les établissements français de l’Inde’. Revue française de science politique 47 (1): 49–69. Deschamps, D. 2003. ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’. Outre-Mers 90 (338–339): 109–131. Dubois, L. 2004. A Colony of Citizens: Revolution & Slave Emancipation in the French Caribbean, 1787–1804. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press. Foster, E. 2013. Faith in Empire: Religion, Politics and Colonial Rule in French Senegal, 1880–1940. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Lehning, J. 2001. To Be a Citizen: The Political Culture of the Early French Third Republic. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Magedera, I. 2008. ‘French-language Representations of India: Globalised Research across National Disciplinary Boundaries’. IIAS Newsletter 46: 1–2. Malangin, R. 2015. Pondicherry that was Once French India. New Delhi: Roli Books. Marshall, T. H. 1950. Citizenship and Class and Other Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Michalon, Paul. 1990. ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français ou comment peut-on être Franco-Pondichérien?’ Mémoire de D.E.A. de sociologie. Université Aix-Marseille. Miles, W. 1990. ‘Comparative Decolonization: French West Africa, French Caribbean, French India’. Contemporary French Civilization 14 (2): 212–226. Pairaudeau, N. 2016. Mobile Citizens: French Indians in Indochina, 1858–1954. Copenhagen: NIAS Press. Saada, E. 2012. Empire’s Children: Race, Filiation and Citizenship in the French Colonies. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Semley, L. 2017. To Be Free and French: Citizenship in France’s Atlantic Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shepard, T. 2006. The Invention of Decolonization: The Algerian War and the Remaking of France. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Thompson, E. 2000. Colonial Citizens: Republican Rights, Paternal Privilege, and Gender in French Syria and Lebanon. New York: Columbia University Press. Weber, J. 1988. Les Etablissements français en Inde au XIXe siècle (1816–1914), 5 vols. Paris: Librairie de l’Inde. Weber, J. 1996. Pondichéry et les comptoirs de l’Inde après Dupleix. La démocratie au pays des castes. Paris: Editions Denoël. Wilder, G. 2005. The French Imperial Nation-State: Negritude and Colonial Humanism between the Two Wars. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

2.

Contextualizing Pondicherry within the French Empireand the Indian Subcontinent Abstract This chapter offers a short history of French colonial Pondicherry and provides an outline of its territory, economy, and society in terms of caste, creed, race, and social class, as well as the influence of external colonial competition between France and Britain. The chapter then discusses within this historical account the ways in which the expansion of voting rights to Indian males – accompanied by unintended consequences – differed from attempts to extend voting rights elsewhere in the French colonial empire. Keywords: French empire, Third Republic, citizenship and empire, British India

I.

Pondicherry within the French Empire

Four centuries brought France from the absolute monarchy of its Ancien Régime to republican citizenship of early twentieth-century modernity. In 1789, the country experienced a wholesale social and political revolution, followed by 23 years of the First Republic (1792–1804) and First Empire (1804–1815), the latter under Napoleon Bonaparte. After a period of postempire monarchy from 1815 to 1848, the nation then progressed from the Second Republic (1848–1853) to the Second Empire (1852–1870). The Third Republic, which lasted from 1870 to 1940, was founded in September 1870 following the French defeat in the Franco-Prussian war. During the Third Republic, France was politically unstable due to rivalries among Bonapartists who hoped to revive the empire, monarchists, and republicans, as well as various political scandals. Despite this turmoil, the Third Republic also

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

opened the path to the strengthening of institutions based on universal male suffrage.1 During these four centuries of internal transformation, France also fought over and maintained possessions abroad, including the small territory of Pondicherry in southern India, as part of what is termed the first French colonial empire. By the eighteenth century, the French colonial territories remained small in terms of area, but were spread all over the world: in North America, the islands of Saint-Pierre and Miquelon and Terre Neuve; in the Antilles, Saint-Domingue, Guadeloupe, Martinique, Sainte-Lucie, Tobago, and Guiana; Saint-Louis, the island of Gorée, the îles Soeurs (Nuns’ Islands), île de France (present-day Mauritius) and île de Bourbon (present-day Réunion) in Africa; and finally, five comptoirs (trading posts) in India. Even after 1814, when the first colonial empire is considered to have ended with the fall of France’s First Empire (1804–1815), Pondicherry continued to remain under French control throughout France’s subsequent periods of republic, empire, and monarchy of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, until the Indian colony was finally granted independence in 1962. France’s republican eras can be distinguished from other periods of empire or monarchy by a concern to politically assimilate France’s colonized subjects based on principles of the French Revolution – liberty, equality, and fraternity. Of the three republican eras, the third was notable, because it created a representative political system that allowed selected community members to participate in the politics of the colony and gave males the right to vote in local and national elections. Such a policy was part of an overarching French colonial plan based primarily on the idea of a civilizing mission and was implemented in various ways under the different French political regimes, because it was believed that French civilization was superior to the civilizations of colonized people and that humankind could reach perfectibility. Subsequently, it was felt that Indigenous people should benefit from the superior French civilization, because they could become progressively more civilized and French.2 The notion of civilization was closely linked to the idea of mastery, that is, the mastery of nature that would free individuals from certain forms of tyrannies: illness, ignorance, superstition, and despotism. Because the non-European populations had apparently failed to overcome these tyrannies, they were in need of civilizing.3

1 Lehning, To Be a Citizen, pp. 1–2. 2 Betts, Assimilation and Association, Chapter 2. 3 Conklin, A Mission to Civilize, pp. 1, 5–6.

Contex tualizing Pondicherry within the French Empire

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France’s Third Republican project, at the height of its democratic-imperial aspirations in the late nineteenth and early twentieth-centuries, thus played out in a small corner of the Indian subcontinent that was part of an ancient and established civilization whose various dynasties had ruled over the Tamil area. However, in imperial terms, Pondicherry was also a relative colonial backwater. Although Pondicherry was the political and administrative centre of French India, its population of approximately 280,000 inhabitants in 1888 was only one-seventh the size of the next largest French colony, Tunisia (2,100,000), not to mention the more substantial populations of Algeria (3,910,399) and massive French Indochina (19,916,429). 4 In contrast with many other imperial territories with more restricted rights in Africa, Asia, and Oceania that France acquired from 1830 onwards, Pondicherry was granted particular liberties by virtue of belonging to the group of colonies that constituted the first colonial empire. Some colonial administrators also hoped that assimilation into the political culture of the metropole could take root in Pondicherry, because they believed that colonial policy had to represent the republican ideology, that is, the unification of greater France’s population and the progress of humanity towards perfectibility.5 In parallel, other groups within the local community supported universal republican ideals, because they could benefit from such a political evolution. In 1871, all male Indians in Pondicherry received the right to vote, and a year later, they could participate in the political life of the colony through the creation of decentralized republican political institutions. In 1881, this population became eligible to receive French citizenship through a voluntary and individual process called ‘renunciation’, whereby they could elect to renounce their legal status as Hindus or Muslims and submit themselves to the French Civil Code. After this process, they would subsequently be known as renonçants ( ‘renouncers’ who have renounced their customary law). The universal laws of the French Civil Code embodied in such measures ultimately misaligned with, and subsequently challenged, some local norms and customary laws. They also reinforced existing Indigenous inequalities entrenched in a different social system largely based on heredity and caste. ‘Assimilation’ and ‘association’ were two key pillars of the civilizing mission.6 The Third Republic project was initially rooted in the idea of assimilation, which grew from seventeenth-century philosophy and was 4 Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 2, p. 1253. 5 Couderc-Morandeau, Philosophie Républicaine, p. 87. 6 Conklin, A Mission to Civilize, p. 6.

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

based on the premise that men were equal and should be equal before the law. This premise was coupled with a second assumption – men are inherently reasonable and educable. Together, these premises suggested that colonized subjects would recognize the benefits of assimilation and would subsequently adopt French norms. Campaigners for assimilation in the nineteenth century believed that the Indigenous populations would go through a preliminary stage of being culturally civilized (mission civilisatrice) before being entitled to become naturalized Frenchmen, because successful assimilation was a cumulative process of internalizing French mores.7 By the 1890s, French colonial policy moved away from assimilation and direct rule. This change reflected the preference for the doctrine of association, which had competed with the principle of assimilation throughout much of the 1880s. According to supporters of association, it was much more fruitful to work with colonized people’s institutions and to respect their cultures and customs rather than to erase them. However, the intention of granting French citizenship to colonial subjects was complicated by shifting sociopolitical situations within the Third Republic’s colonial empire and beyond which led to unintended consequences. In practice, the policy of assimilation gave French citizenship to some inhabitants in Senegal, Algeria, and in the old colonies. For the scholar M. M. Knight, subjection, assimilation, and association were not dissimilar policies on the ground, but rather elements or factors in policy, existing in many degrees and arrangements in the same colonies at the same time as it was the case in Pondicherry during the early Third Republic.8 Jules Ferry, a republican French statesman, was a promoter of colonial expansion and pronounced the first official formulation of what would become the colonial ideology of the Third Republic. He asserted that ‘the superior races have a right because they have a duty: it is their duty to civilize the inferior races’ in a famous speech before the Chamber of Deputies in July 1885; he argued against political adversaries’ objections to raising money to send troops on an expedition to Madagascar.9 Ferry’s notion of ‘superior’ and ‘inferior’ races reflected existing ideas about race. For example, one of the most popular writers at the time on supposedly scientific racial theories, Arthur de Gobineau (1816–1882), wrote An Essay on the Inequality of the 7 Bleich, ‘The Legacies of History’, p. 174. 8 Knight, ‘French Colonial Policy’, pp. 208–209. 9 Deschamps, ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’, pp. 111–112. This demand took place during the Franco-Hova wars (1883–1896), which included two military French interventions that deposed the ruling monarch and resulted in Madagascar becoming a French colony.

Contex tualizing Pondicherry within the French Empire

25

Human Races, published in 1855. According to his explanation, the inequalities of races were based on biological, genetic, and physical characteristics, which resulted in a hierarchical classification of races – with the White race at the top of the scale. The belief of the existence of ‘inferior’ and ‘superior’ races was the starting point of the republican reasoning in colonial matters, and these expressions of ‘inferior’ and ‘superior’ races became part of the republicans’ vocabulary.10 The impulse to grant citizenship rights to various socio-economic groups in Pondicherry and other French holdings overseas was a source of tensions among the republicans. Many republicans were half-hearted supporters of colonialism, and radical republicans were often opponents of imperial expansion, because they saw the colonies as serving the interests of banks, railroad companies, the steel industry, and arms manufacturers. For other republicans, colonialism was a means to redeem national honour after the loss of the eastern provinces Alsace and Lorraine, which had been annexed by Germany.11 In the end, leading republicans such as Jules Ferry supported colonial expansion and assimilation, which meant turning colonial subjects into republican citizens. As a result, policymakers had to face the possibility that colonial people would sooner or later become citizens of the Republic.12 Meanwhile, the average French person in the metropole was not interested in the issue of granting citizenship to colonial subjects, which was simply a distracting side issue with little relevance to ‘real’ issues of the day. The relationship between citizenship and empire in various French overseas territories had become controversial earlier in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. After the French Revolution, all slaves in the French Caribbean territories became free citizens of the French Republic in 1794. However, Napoleon Bonaparte’s troops arrived in 1802 to re-impose the slave system, leading to bloody conflicts in Guadeloupe and Saint-Domingue (present-day Haiti). Only Saint-Domingue evaded a return to slavery, thanks to slaves’ organizational capacity and tenacity as well as Napoleon turning his attention towards France’s European enemies.13 Narrowing the political distance between the French colonizers and the colonized also proved to be problematic in Senegal. While Senegal became a French colony in 1817, the French presence on the western coast of Africa had started earlier with their settlement in Saint-Louis in 1659 and the capture 10 Couderc-Morandeau, Philosophie Républicaine, pp. 65–66. 11 Gildea, The Third Republic, p. 18. 12 Lehning, To Be a Citizen, pp. 128–129. 13 Dubois and Berra, ‘Citoyens et amis!’, p. 281.

26 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

of the island Gorée in 1677. Both places were granted a general council in 1840 and received the right to vote a deputy in 1848. Later, an 1872 decree granted to Saint-Louis and Gorée the same advantages of French communes. The rationale for such a situation was that generations of African Muslims had paid a ‘blood tax’ by fighting in the colonial armies.14 However, for this population, all family and private affairs nevertheless continued to be kept under the jurisdiction of the Islamic courts, whereas the rest of Senegal was denied any voting rights whatsoever. While the granting of full citizenship in 1848 included the right to be judged according to the French Civil Code, Muslims fought back and secured the creation of Muslim tribunals, a legal situation called ‘status naturalization’ (naturalisation dans le status).15 Due to their economic importance, the city of Rufisque was granted the same rights in 1880, and Dakar received these rights in 1887. Another group in Algeria that benefitted from a ‘collective naturalization’ were the Indigenous Jews, who were living in Algeria at the time of the conquest, and their descendants. The Crémieux decree of 24 October 1870 changed their status from Indigenous Jews to French citizens. As a result, they had to follow the Civil Code but obtained the right to vote.16 Such a policy of assimilation from the French was a means to assure the loyalty of Algerian Jews to the French empire.17 Earlier on, the Senatus-Consulte of 1865 had included a provision on renunciation for Algerian Muslims, but it was subjected to administrative control, and most Muslims did not want to take this route. This resulted in them receiving French nationality in 1865, but not political rights. In the 1880s and again during World War I, there was an argument that Muslim Algerians should be given citizenship – that is, full or qualified citizenship rights – without giving up Islamic civil status. George Clemenceau, prime minister of France during World War I, was thinking of rewarding Muslim Algerians with citizenship for fighting and dying for France during World War I. These demands were rejected, but the fact that they were taken seriously in elite quarters suggests that assimilation was not the only alternative. Some officials advocated for respecting the cultural differences of the Algerians.18 Other countries benefitting from France’s political evolution were French Guiana and Réunion, as well as the Caribbean Islands of Martinique and 14 Diouf, ‘The French Colonial Policy’, pp. 672–674. 15 Pairaudeau, Mobile Citizens, p. 37. 16 Because the Hzab Mzab region was only annexed in 1882, Jews there retained their native status. Saada, Empire’s Children, p. 101. 17 Girollet, ‘Les Etablissements français’, p. 317. 18 Hassett, ‘Defining Imperial Citizenship’, p. 266.

Contex tualizing Pondicherry within the French Empire

27

Guadeloupe, two of France’s oldest colonies. The 1875 Constitution conferred full citizenship and governmental representation to a largely non-White population in Martinique and Guadeloupe.19 It is tempting to conclude from a comparison of the French government’s extension of citizenship and electoral franchise throughout France’s colonial empire that this extension was haphazard and ill planned during the Third Republic. Nevertheless, by integrating a comparative approach of the history of electoral franchise and republican citizenship with other parts of the French empire, we can see here the divergence of patterns regarding colonial citizenship and how unique the case of French India was: citizenship for the ex-slaves of the Antilles, citizenship while maintaining Indigenous status for the Quatre Communes (Saint-Louis, Gorée, Rufisque, and Dakar), refusal of citizenships for the Muslims in Algeria, and the intense politics around renunciation in Pondicherry as part of the diversity of legal arrangements characteristic of empires. While the Third Republic thus initiated changes in French colonial rule in Pondicherry and elsewhere, there were also continuities. In truth, France was more often defined as an empire or a monarchy than as a republic during the century after the French Revolution. Most colonial officials had been trained and governed overseas French territories under previous regimes, and hence continued to manage French India according to their own specific existing laws and rules, rather than systematically applying equalizing politics of universal citizenship. Although many metropolitan and colonial administrators acted in this way, a portion did eschew such hierarchical principles and strove to obtain more equal treatment for French Indians, as promised by the republican ideal.

II.

Pondicherry within the Indian Subcontinent

Pondicherry was part of the Tamil region of India. The name Tamil Nadu has been in use since 1968 – from 1956 to 1968, the state was called Madras. Prior to 1956, Madras was much larger than today’s Tamil Nadu state. It encompassed a big part of contemporary Andhra Pradesh and smaller portions of Kerala and Karnataka. Before India’s independence in 1947, the state of Madras was known as the Madras Presidency. The fortunes of colonial Pondicherry prior to the Third Republican era waxed and waned with France’s own regime transformations between 19 Church, Paradise Destroyed, p. 2.

28 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

monarchy, republic, and empire, and with its external conflicts and competition with Great Britain. The city of Madras was created in 1639 by the British East India Company. It became the mercantile gateway to south India and was the closest major city to Pondicherry. Before coming under British control, Madras had been a popular trading port for spices and cotton, and Portuguese and Dutch merchants conducted business there during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The city’s important role in maritime trade made it a site of contention among European colonial powers. French Pondicherry had a modest beginning. Puducherri (‘new village’), located on the south-east Indian coast, was a small f ishing village when Bellanger de l’Espinay landed there in 1673. However, the off icial founding of Pondicherry in 1674 is attributed to François Martin (1674–1706), the f irst governor general of Pondicherry, who, by 1689, provided fortif ications to assure the safety of the population. 20 Before holding this post, he had been commissioner of the French East India Company – a state-sponsored commercial entity formed for trading in the eastern hemisphere. Within a few years, the French founded trading posts in various places in India. Hence, quests for commercial prof its were rooted in this colonial enterprise. Thanks to Governor Pierre Dumas (1735–1741) and Governor Joseph Dupleix (1741–1754), this era witnessed the expansion of maritime commerce, which led to rivalries between the French and the British powers. Skilled administrators and businessmen facilitated trade between not only Pondicherry and Europe but also between Pondicherry and other parts of India, turning Pondicherry into a warehouse for Asian products. France expanded its influence over India by absorbing Chandernagor in 1688, Mahé in 1721, the territory of Karikal in 1739, and finally Yanaon in 1741. The economies of these comptoirs were based on the production of goods for their inhabitants such as rice and coconut oil, and exports of groundnuts, copra, pepper, onions, tobacco, indigo, salt, and cotton, which was known for its high quality, by 1815; contraband also played a key role in local commerce. Dupleix, governor of the French establishments in India from 1742 to 1754, believed that economic prosperity demanded territorial possessions and networks of alliances. Politically ambitious, Dupleix sought to considerably extend French holdings in India and even took Madras from the British. In 1749, however, following the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, which ended the conflict between the French and British, Madras was returned to Great Britain. Because Dupleix lacked the support of the metropole and was 20 Chopra, ‘Pondicherry’, p. 113.

Contex tualizing Pondicherry within the French Empire

29

called back to France, this development signalled the end of any hopes of establishing a large French colonial empire in India. Caring more for its possessions in America, political powers in France instead negotiated with the British to reclaim Louisbourg, known as the fortress of Canada, in return for recognizing Madras as a British territory. The outbreak of the Seven Years’ War in 1756 resulted in fights between the two colonial powers, which led to the 1761 siege of Pondicherry by the British, who razed most of the town.21 By this point, the French enclaves ran at a loss, and the liquidation of the French East India Company in 1769 was another sign of their poor economic performance.22 The French Revolution in 1789 spurred the British to declare war on France, which resulted in Britain’s capture of Pondicherry in 1793, along with other French Indian territories. Thanks to the Treaty of Amiens in 1802, France regained its Indian possessions. The treaty momentarily ended hostilities between France and Great Britain during the French Revolutionary Wars. However, Napoleon Bonaparte refused to settle for such an agreement and launched a campaign in India. The campaign was ultimately unsuccessful and resulted in the second Treaty of Paris (1815), which imposed British sovereignty over almost the whole of India and French sovereignty over f ive tiny, geographically dispersed comptoirs (trading posts) in India: Pondicherry; Mahé, on the west coast; Yanaon (sometimes spelled Yanam), on the central east coast; Karikal, about 130 kilometres south of Pondicherry; and Chandernagore, in Bengal. In addition, there were lodges (loges) located at Mazulipatam, Cassimbazar, Patna, Balassore, Jougdia, Dacca, Calicut, and Surate, but they were purely remnants of French factories (see Map 1). Moreover, the settlement weakened France’s authority over its territories, because they were internally cross-cut by British territory. For instance, Pondicherry consisted of twelve strips of land resembling a ‘puzzle’, divided by British-held territory. Such ‘a monstrous dissection’ was created to stop the French from being the masters in Pondicherry and to allow the British to have pieces of land suitable for the installation of batteries. 23 Finally, British authorities demanded the demilitarization of the French enclaves. Moreover, these enclaves, including Pondicherry, were subject to new economic restrictions by British customs. Aware of their own fragility – the Maratha imperial power was brought under submission only in 1818 – the British did not 21 Malangin, Pondicherry, pp. 52–54. 22 Carton, ‘Shades of Fraternity’, p. 595. 23 Miles, Imperial Burden, pp. 5–7; Markovits, A History of Modern India, p. 496.

30 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

want the French to regain any political or economic power. In 1815, the French agreed to stop selling locally produced salt from the marshes of Pondicherry and Karikal in Bengal in exchange for a meagre ‘annuity of India’ (4 lakh [400,000] sikha rupees paid by the British). Three years later, in 1818, a convention signed in Pondicherry ended this industry. Salt was curtailed as a means for the British to prevent French India from reviving its prosperity of the previous century, by depriving it a large part of its resources.24 With French rule over Pondicherry intact as France returned to monarchical rule, colonial authorities under Governor Eugène Desbassayns (1826–1828) embarked on a spate of institution-building measures between 1826 and 1828. They established a public library and schools for various segments of the local population as well as the future lycée Français de Pondichéry, which was created in 1826 and named the Collège Royal. This period also saw the lucrative expansion of Pondicherry’s production of sugar cane, cotton, and silk. However, as France embarked on further conquests to expand its overseas empire (marking the start of the Second Empire), at the beginning of the July monarchy in 1830, the comptoirs, like most of the older outposts, began to decrease in importance and the vibrancy of their economies declined.25 Another form of export from the French outposts was labour in which both French and British colonial powers were involved. The best-known migratory circuit, often a one-way migration, in which Indians participated through the Second Empire, was to the Caribbean islands. From the 1830s to 1917, thousands of economically disenfranchised Indian agricultural workers were lured abroad, often by corrupt immigration officials and agents working for one of the two colonial powers, with the promise of better economic prospects.26 The French brought a large number of Indians from Pondicherry and Karikal to the French islands of Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Réunion to work as free labour in the sugar plantations after the permanent abolition of slavery in 1848. The institution of a system of indentured labour (engagisme) by the British around 1834 marked the beginning of a large migration of the Indian population. Between 1834 and 1917, more than 1.5 million Indians went to Maurice Island (450,000), the Caribbean islands (200,000), British Guyana (239,000), and other places. Following the British example, the Dutch and 24 Weber, Les Etablissements français, vol. 1, p. 684; Markovits, A History of Modern India, p. 496. 25 Aldrich, Greater France, p. 23. 26 Mehta, ‘Indianités Francophones’, p.1.

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31

French adopted the indentured labour system, which resulted in Indians moving to Réunion island, the French Antilles, and Insulinde (present-day Indonesia); this system has been described as ‘second slavery’.27 In 1865 and 1866, droughts in Pondicherry led some coolies and agricultural workers to migrate voluntarily to Réunion and the Antilles, while others were made to work on railroad construction in British India.28 The British were not pleased to see so many Indians moving to the French sugar islands when they needed labour to build irrigation canals, railway lines, and telegraph infrastructure. Finally, in 1860–1861, two conventions were signed between France and Britain on labour recruitment, permitting recruitment by the French while subjecting labourers to the double control of the British and French.29 The scholar Venkatachalapathy notes that, at the beginning of the twentieth century, some Indian tea and coffee plantation workers returned home from Sri Lanka carrying proscribed literature, such as chapbooks on nationalist themes. Despite being illiterate, they possessed these materials for other modes of ‘reading’, which did not require ‘reading literacy’.30 These Indian migrants had been working on French islands that also granted citizenship rights and political participation to people of all colours. How much were they – for example, the 9460 Indians in Guadeloupe who returned to India at the end of their contracts – exposed to such a new colonial order and which political ideas did they bring back to India?31 Or did they only experience exploitation at the hands of the colonizers and blame from the former slaves who saw the Indian migrants as displacing them on the sugar plantations and as being in connivance with the perpetuation of a colonial society after the end of slavery?32 The Indian immigrants, therefore, ended up being excluded from the rest of the people in these plantation societies.33 At the same time, the local press in Pondicherry regularly referred to the poor treatment Indians received as indentured recruits: ‘there were many complaints against the harsh treatment of the Indians in Réunion,’ for instance.34 My account, however, does not focus on overseas migration in 27 Carsignol-Singh, ‘La diaspora’, p. 5; Lara, Suffrage Universel, p. 687. 28 Weber, Les Etablissements français, vol. 2, p. 1257. 29 Markovits, A History of Modern India, pp. 505–506. 30 Venkatachalapathy, The Province of the Book, pp. 237–238. 31 Mehta, ‘Indianités Francophones’, p. 5. 32 Sahaï, ‘De Calcutta à Sainte-Lucie’, p. 12. 33 Carter and Torabully, Coolitude, pp. 12–13. 34 ‘L’émigration’, Le Messager de l’Inde 67, August 20, 1902, BnF gallica. Complaints about the poor treatment of the Indian migrants in Madagascar is discussed in ‘Madagascar: L’émigration’,

32 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

relation to citizenship rights, but rather I explore what was happening on the ground in Pondicherry. When it came to the everyday rule of colonial India, before the changes brought by the Third Republic, French administrators respected local customs and customary laws in the French establishments in India – a native policy identical to that employed in British India in the second half of the eighteenth century. In 1772, Warren Hastings, who was by then the British head of the Supreme Council of India before becoming governor general of India from 1773 to 1785, stated the regulations as it applied to Indians of British India: In all suits regarding inheritance, marriage, caste and other religious usages or institutions, the law of the Koran, with respect to Mahometans, and those of the Shasters [treatise explaining the Vedas], with respect to gentus [Hindus], are to be invariably adhered to; and, on such occasions, the mulvies [learned Muslims] and Brahmans are to attend and expose the law.

In 1781, this regulation became applicable to Indians in Bengal, and in 1797, it was extended to the populations of Bombay and Madras.35 Because Pondicherry was a minuscule colony where the French lacked means of coercion to dominate the population, the colonizers had to espouse an ideology respecting differences in order to be accepted by the natives. Respect for local customs was the norm. In response to such a situation, the decree of 6 January 1819, article 3, stated: ‘The Indians either Christians, either Moors [Muslims], or gentiles [Hindus] will be judged, as in the past, according to the laws, practices, and customs of their castes’.36 In the context of deference to the local differences, one magistrate complained about this unique colonial situation in 1877: The other [French] colonies are societies with a new organization where we search to change the foundations. Our establishments in India, on the contrary, are fragments from one of the most antique societies in the Le Messager de l’Inde 59, 24 July 1901, pp. 378–379, BnF gallica. On the Indian returnees from Martinique to Pondicherry, see ‘Lundi de bonne heure…’, L’Echo de Pondichéry 8, 3 April 1887, p. 30, BnF gallica. 35 Weber, Les Etablissements français, vol. 1, pp. 616–617. All translations from French to English are mine unless otherwise noted. 36 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1887, p. 539, Record Centre of Pondicherry, Jeewanandapuram, Lawspet (hereafter, RCP).

Contex tualizing Pondicherry within the French Empire

33

world. There, almost everything has to be done. Here almost everything is kept.37

The first attempt at social change was in 1789, when French India sent representatives to the National Assembly. Later, in 1830, the Indian settlements had an Advisory Council, with only one Indian representative. In 1848, the Second Republic granted to Indian males in the metropole the right to elect a French representative to the Chamber of Deputies. The practical implementation of the electoral procedure was a challenge for the administration due to the language barrier and the caste system. Following the proclamation of the republic and its principal of equality, outcastes went through the streets of Pondicherry wearing slippers, a forbidden accessory that conveyed status. In retaliation, the higher castes organized brawls and burnt outcastes’ huts. Order was re-established by the governor who punished these outcastes for not respecting Hindu traditions.38 But these laws and policies did not go unchallenged – as the abovementioned magistrate lamented. In fact, this policy was challenged when the French Republic passed laws that gave lasting universal suffrage to Indian natives in 1871, set up a decentralized local council in each of the five establishments, and set up a colonial council common for all the establishments in 1872. In 1881, Indians in the French establishments in India could obtain French citizenship if they renounced their rights to settle disputes within their socio-religious communities and submitted themselves to the French Civil Code. Subsequently, from the 1880s to World War I, the French controlled republican formal political institutions in Pondicherry, but with local brokers. Among the French, the names of the republicans Jules Godin, Henri Galebelé, and Emile Hecquet stand out. The most famous local broker was Nadou Chanemougam (chief of high castes in Pondicherry), who appeared at times legalistic and at other times anti-French in his combat against French reforms. Another local broker, who opposed Chanemougam, was the Catholic lawyer Paul LaPorte, the leader of the renunciation faction.39 However, rather than unifying the native and European populations, voting rights and parliamentary representation created various tensions. In a

37 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1887, p. 539; Weber, Les Etablissements français, p. 482, fn A, vol. 1. 38 Lara, Suffrage Universel, p. 173. 39 Miles, Imperial Burden, p. 8. The names of the protagonists in this book will be written as they appeared in the archives. Part of the Tamil practice was to have a single name.

34 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

top-down manner, the imperial state of France’s Third Republic challenged existing racial, religious, and economic boundaries on the ground. Given that France could no longer pose a military challenge to British power in India, Paul Michalon speculates that the policy of assimilation launched by the Third Republic in 1870 could have been a long-term strategy to undermine British rule in India by promoting citizenship and participatory democratization throughout the various French enclaves on the Indian subcontinent. Michalon suggests that: ‘where the armies can no longer talk, we count on the “destabilizing” virtues of universal suffrage and the “reign of equality” […] at the doors of our powerful neighbour’. 40 Like the British colonial power in India, caste was a key category that French administrators used to classify the Indigenous population.41 Indeed, French academicians during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries assembled lists of Indian castes and their rankings, which colonial rulers used to emphasize the functional nature of each caste and its rationale. 42 Although French colonial power in India identified and categorized the norms, values, and behaviours of its subjects, Natasha Pairaudeau argues that the introduction of universal suffrage and the emergence of renouncers who embraced the French Civil Code and renounced, in theory, their local customs under the Third Republic meant that caste and creed as categories of classification were less important in French than in British India. Rather, citizenship became the ground ‘for French Indian social and political advancement’. 43 The French scholar Jackie Assayag argues that the Hindu royalty that emerged in the eighteenth century had an effect in moulding local identities. These dynasties required Brahmans to attend to the royals’ scriptural and ritual needs to consolidate their legitimacy after the defeat of the

40 Michalon, ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français’, p. 41. 41 According to Christopher Baker, who studied Madras government statistics from 1880 to 1940, due to the lack of necessary census and knowledge, it seems reasonable that the Madras government resorted to using caste to categorize the people in the province. As the Madras government consolidated their power and obtained more resources, caste often became the means by which the society was sorted into administrative units. Hence, colonial off icials granted financial help to ‘deserving’ castes while many other matters were settled with some consideration given to caste. British officials often saw India was a land without history, rather having a metaphysic nature, and subsequently thought that the only way of knowing the locals was through their castes and traditions. Baker, ‘Figures and Facts’, p. 219. 42 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, pp. 35–36. 43 Pairaudeau, Mobile Citizens, p. 14.

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35

Mughal Empire by the British East India Company in 1857. 44 As Susan Bayly asserts, this demand of the Hindu royalty to diffuse the Brahman conception of society contributed to the creation of a ‘traditional’ India. Post-Mogul society after 1857 meant the end of the Indian as nomad, soldier, and man of the tribe. Instead, such a notion was displaced by a caste system that was more rigid and stratified, with religious practices more homogeneously shared by all communities. In the view of the anthropologist Nicolas Dirks, British colonizers had a propensity to view caste as an Indigenous substitute for civil society. 45 The importance of caste notwithstanding, contemporary authors agree that studying India only through caste, as many British and French colonial officials did, leads to a distorted vision of the society. 46 Visions of the Indian context appeared through discussions between the members of the general and local councils regarding various issues at stake in the colony; the conflicting views of these state elites on the interpretations, or misinterpretations, of local society; and the representatives of the laws’ varied judgements that periodically arose from the existence of two legal systems (Indigenous and colonial courts). Like in other empires, legal pluralism was the reality: various layers of legal arrangements existed as a response to diverse polities. 47 Overall, we see how bureaucrats, judges, and politicians mediated such cases and how French state-sponsored late nineteenth-century republican citizenship worked and how impactful it was on the ground within a framework of colonial relations, especially when ‘this country [French Establishments in India] was in the grip of continuous infightings,’ intertwined with the apparently incompatible ideals of republican universalism and cultural differences. 48

44 The Mughal Empire was the prevailing power in the South Asia from the mid-sixteenth century to the early eighteenth century. Created in 1526, it officially lasted until 1858, when it was replaced by the British Raj. The dynasty is sometimes referred to as the Timurid dynasty, because Babur was descended from Timur. The Mughal dynasty was created when Babur invaded parts of north-western and northern India and defeated Ibrahim Shah Lodhi, the ruler of Delhi, during the First Battle of Panipat in 1526. The Mughal Empire supplanted the Delhi Sultanate as the rulers of northern India. Over time, the state hence created by Babur far surpassed the territory of the Delhi Sultanate, in the end covering a major portion of India, hence its appellation of Empire. 45 Dirks, ‘The Invention of Caste’, pp. 42–52. 46 Assayag, ‘Le débat’, pp. 234–237. 47 Ross and Benton, ‘Empire and Legal Pluralism’, p. 1. 48 ‘Monsieur Rodier’, Le Messager de l’Inde 18, 2 March 1901, p. 104, BnF gallica.

36 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Map 1  Former French India

Source: Annoussamy, L’Intermède français en Inde, p. 60

III.

Pondicherry during the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries

The name ‘Pondicherry’ refers to the city of Pondicherry as well its territory, the latter of which encompasses the areas surrounding Pondicherry city (Map 2). The population figures thus included city dwellers as well as rural inhabitants. During 1816 and 1907, the growth rate of the rural population exceeded that of the city of Pondicherry, with the number of the inhabitants almost doubling in the district of Villenour (sometimes spelled Villianur) and slightly increasing in the district of Bahour (see Graph 1). An aldée was an Indigenous village encompassing about one hundred dwellings in the European colonies. The land area of Pondicherry was small

37

Contex tualizing Pondicherry within the French Empire

Graph 1: Populaon changes in urban and suburban areas

Change in Populaon Numbers

Graph 1  Population Changes of in Urban and Suburban Areas of Pondicherry Pondicherry

60000 50000 40000 30000 20000 10000 0

1816 to 1866

Pondicherry City

1866 to 1887 Years Suburbs of Pondicherry

1887 to 1907

Total

Source: Recalculated data from Jacques Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde au XIXe siècle (1816–1914). Paris: Librairie de l’Inde, 1988, vol. 2, p. 1315.

(2,123,680 square metres); hence, the population density was high (415.8 inhabitants per square metre in 1866). Consequently, the city could not accommodate many people, and the majority of new arrivals settled in the aldées bordering the city, creating the suburb of Pondicherry. The whole territory of Pondicherry in the mid-nineteenth century encompassed about 93 main aldées and about 141 other villages. Pondicherry’s rural population generally preferred to stay in the outskirts thanks to, among other reasons, the agrarian reforms of Governor de Verninac-Saint-Maur (1852–1856), which included the reduction in land taxes. In addition, the land in the major district of Villenour-Oulgaret was the most fertile as well as the best irrigated in the colony. 49 Local Pondicherry society was dominated by the Vellâjas ( ‘the Vellalas’), who have been described as ‘the aristocracy of the Sudra [farmers]’ due to the partial absence of higher-ranked castes: there were few Brahmans and no Kshatriyas (warriors) or Vaishyas (merchants).50 Members of the Brahman caste were conservative and ardent supporters of the traditional values of Hinduism. The Vellala caste was strongly represented through the Tamil region; they were awarded ‘the first place in social esteem among the

49 Weber, Les Etablissements français, vol. 2, pp. 1313–1318; Huillet, Hygiène des blancs, pp. 9–11; Girod, L’Agriculture, p. 8. 50 Esquer, Essai, p. 103.

38 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Map 2  Pondicherry district in red

Source: L’Illustration 1931 (my photo from the atlas), Atlas colonial français, Colonies, protectorats et pays sous mandat.

Tamil Sūdra caste’.51 While they were farmers in the rural areas, in the city, Vellalas often worked in educated professions as lawyers or merchants. They engaged in economic relationships with colonizers earlier than did members of the other castes, and quite a few converted to Christianity, although most Vellalas remained conservative and attached to Hindu values.52 Christians, who constituted 10.4 per cent of the total population of the Pondicherry district in 1830, and Muslims, who made up 1.9 per cent of the population, were not immune to the influence of the caste system as a form of social 51 Thurston, Castes, vol. 7, pp. 363, 373. 52 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 34–36; Girod, L’Agriculture, p. 3.

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organization. While Islam did not formally recognize caste categories, Muslims in French India were in fact divided into caste-like categories. For example, their ‘castes’ were, ‘in ascending order of dignity, Pathans, Mughals and Shaikhs, emulating the “noble” and the “pure” Arabs in direct descent from the prophet Muhammad’.53 As for Christians, the majority of local Catholics were outcastes, while some 40 per cent were upper-caste Christians known as choutres. This latter group felt more solidarity with their own caste than with the ex-outcaste Catholics. As a result, the choutres requested priests to segregate outcastes from them during church services. The newspaper Progrès actually accused some of the priests of ‘brahmanizing Christ’ by enforcing caste segregation in their respective churches.54 In addition, most of the choutres supported the conservative Hindu power broker Chanemougam against the Indian lawyer LaPorte, who fully rejected Hinduism and the caste system and was an ardent supporter of French republicanism.55 The higher castes in Pondicherry were primarily the Brahmans and the Vellalas, followed by the Cavaré, who were merchants of precious stones; police officers or cipayes (Indian soldiers); and the Chetty, who were powerful bankers and merchants.56 The position that castes had in the local hierarchy, especially the ones in the middle regions, was not always clear, apart from the Brahmans who were at the top, and the outcastes who were at the bottom.57 Another important caste in Pondicherry was the Vannia or Pally caste, which represented more than 30 per cent of the population in Pondicherry.58 Edgar Thurston, a British museologist, who wrote on castes and tribes of Southern India in 1909 as part of the Ethnographic Survey of India, notes that, after the fall of the Pallava dynasty (third to ninth century), the Pallis were agricultural servants to the Vellalas throughout Tamil Nadu, and it was only under the British rule that they started to assert their demands for a higher position. In 1833, they tried to obtain a decree in Pondicherry stating that they were not from a lower caste. To improve their social status of conduct, they dissuaded adult remarriage, meat-eating, and widow remarriage.59 53 Assayag, ‘The Making of Democratic Inequality’, p. 14. 54 ‘Pondichéry, le 19 juillet 1885’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française 14, 19 July 1885, p. 60, BnF, gallica. 55 Weber, ‘Chanemougam’, pp. 291–292. 56 ‘Correspondance’, Le Petit Bengali 22, 2 June 1898, p. 2, BnF, gallica. 57 Srinivas, Caste in Modern India, p. 66. 58 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, p. 37. 59 Thurston, Castes, vol. 6, pp. 9, 12.

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

The outcastes, numbering around eight to ten thousand, were mostly agricultural labourers who lived in separate hamlets called paracherry.60 Among the outcastes were the Valangamugattar, ‘the soldiers of the Right Hand’. The notion of ‘right hand’ was a feature of southern India in which some castes were broadly divided into the Right Hand and the Left Hand. Right Hand caste people enjoyed some rights that were denied to those of the Left Hand. Some colonial administrators wanted to bring the republican motto ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’ to the Pariahs. Opponents to the improvement of the living conditions of the outcastes reminded colonial officials of the 6 January 1819 law, which promised the respect of the Indians’ mores but subsequently limited caste discrimination to a religious phenomenon. At the turn of the twentieth century, however, the Governor Gabriel Angoulvant (1906–1907), proposed to improve the Pariahs’ lot by applying the republican principle of equality to all, because it was a primary duty of a governor, ‘the representative of a republican Government’, adding: ‘When, like the caste people, he [a Pariah] will have wells, schools, cemeteries, pyres, homes, we will have achieved equality’.61 Whenever the governor visited outcastes’ villages, its residents complained about the lack of wells, ponds, pyres, and cemeteries or footpaths giving access to such places. In response to their demands, he proposed to freely concede state-owned wastelands to the outcastes to be used only for ‘services of public utilities’. Some councilmen worried that such intrusion would result in upsetting the ‘happy’ relationship between the mirasidars (landed elite, the majority Vellala) and Pariahs, who were often bonded agricultural labourers.62 Looking at the ‘Pariah question’ from 1890 to 1920 in the Madras Presidency, the scholar Rupa Viswanath argues that the British administration and the missionaries similarly defined the Pariah conditions as linked to the religion domain. When the administration tried to give outcastes ownership of their house sites, sites generally located on puramboke, uncultivated communal land which belonged to the government, mirasidars often took the rights to Pariah house sites. Because of the threat of eviction, Pariahs were forced to submission.63 In the end, neither colonial power directly impinged on the landed properties of the mirasidars. Religious neutrality and respect for customs resulted in obscuring the outcastes’ deprivation as labourers. Subsequently, not only castes, but social classes were part of the 60 Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, p. 40. 61 Conseil Général de l’Inde française, 1907, pp. 217, 224, RCP. 62 Conseil Général de l’Inde française, 1907, pp. 226–227. 63 Viswanath, The Pariah Problem, pp. 102, 110–111.

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story; in rural Pondicherry, social status and class were largely determined by land ownership, whereas in the urban context, social status and class were the result of wealth from commercial activities or working in professions in government service or law. Even colonial society, according to Charles Schoebel’s 1884–1890 writings, grew to become a sort of caste in itself: Like the British, they [Europeans in French India] form a new caste that “instinctively avoids” contact with inferior [people]. The incessant conflicts among white [people] are sometimes considered a manifestation of the spirit of caste, which “has penetrated all of European society and divided it acutely. As a result, the Brahman spirit can be proud […] to inflict the tyranny of the regime of caste upon the French and the British, that is, to the coldest and most sceptical spirits; this is to force us to be unfaithful to the stoic adage nil admirari [to be astonished at nothing].”64

The Europeans were divided into two categories: the White population, who came from France, and the topas or gens à chapeau, who were of mixed heritage – usually with European fathers and local mothers who had renounced their caste. The latter group were often perceived as inferior by the White population originating from France. In 1823, local statistics for the city of Pondicherry registered 461 topas, who were described as ‘miserable’; apart from a few individuals who worked as writers in offices or had small stores, the rest of them were jobless and were often taken care of by the colonial state.65 The topas, as an intermediary group between the colonizers and the natives, were spatially located in the White part of the town, but near the canal, which represented the border between the European and Indian parts of Pondicherry.66 Regarding the city of Pondicherry itself, the historian Jean Deloche established that its gridiron plan and the separation of the European neighbourhoods, called the White town, from the Indian ones was the work of the Dutch, who ruled the city according to a politics of divide and conquer between 1693 and 1699 (see Map 5). The Dutch also relocated the Indian population to a different area, west of the settlement, and kept for themselves the old town along the seashore.67 The Dutch plan stayed more or less the same with different locations for different populations. 64 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 31, 201. 65 Bédier and Cordier, Statistiques de Pondichéry, pp. 56–57. 66 Huillet, Hygiène des blancs, p. 83. 67 Deloche, Origins of the Urban Development, pp. 41–44.

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Maps 3 and 4  Pondicherry in 1693

Source: Jean Deloche, 2004, Origins of the Urban Development of Pondicherry, Pondicherry: IFP, p. 13. The word ‘malabar’ generally refers to Tamils, especially to the upper castes. The word applies more generally to caste Christians.

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Map 5  Pondicherry town in 1741

Source: Jean Deloche, 2002, Le papier Terrier de la ville blanche de Pondichéry 1777, Pondicherry: IFP, p. 57

Pondicherry was quite an heterogenous place, not only in terms of language and religion but also in terms of race. The existence of a small but influential European population, often working for the colonial administration, but also working as merchants or in religious or military services, transgressed some of the local norms, by employing outcastes, considered as highly polluted, as domestics or allowing them to have access to low entrance position in the colonial state. Such activities resulted in the creation of Pariah residential areas in the city itself, no longer confined to the rural areas and even situated close to the European settlements (Maps 3 & 4). Along with colonization came the development of the press. The decrees of 5 and 6 March 1848 in the metropole ended the financial requirements imposed on newspaper publication (for instance, taxes such as the stamp affixed on each copy of the newspaper), which probably explains the beginning of the press in this comptoir, starting with l’impérial in 1849. The decree of 16 February 1880, which extended the metropolitan legislation regarding the press to the French establishments in India, was justified by, according

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

to the minister of the navy and colonies, Jauréguiberry, the fact that ‘the French interests have developed enough [in French India] in order to support the creation of polemic and publicity bodies’.68 Subsequently, the freedom given to the press by the law of 29 July 1881 led to the sudden growth of various types of journals in the Indian enclaves. However, they often had a short lifespan partially due to a lack of readership.69 Journals from the Third Republic era in Pondicherry were quite polemic and took stands on multiple issues. Le Progrès, for instance, established in 1881, supported assimilationist policies and was created by friends of LaPorte, the ardent Indian supporter of republican ideals in Pondicherry.70 While my selection of newspapers is limited to the French-language newspapers, and therefore highlights mostly French positions on various issues in Pondicherry, this selection still allows an insight into political life in Pondicherry. While this chapter has presented the context in which citizenship laws and participatory politics were applied in Pondicherry, the next chapter discusses how such laws categorized Indian peoples in various groups with different rights.

References Primary Sources Record Centre of Pondicherry, Jeewanandapuram, Lawspet, India (RCP). BnF Gallica, digital library of the Bibliothèque nationale de France

Colonial Documents Conseil Général de l’Inde française, 1907, RCP

Government Serials Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1877, 1880, 1887, RCP

68 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, p. 340, RCP. 69 Complaining on the lack of readership, see la rédaction (the editorial), ‘Pondichéry, 14 Août 1887’, L’Echo de Pondichéry 27, 14 August 1887, p. 105, BnF gallica; ‘Nos abonnés’, L’Echo de Pondichéry 7, 27 March 1887, p. 25, BnF gallica; ‘Pondichéry, le 23 octobre 1887’, L’Echo de Pondichéry 37, 23 October 1887, p. 145, BnF gallica. 70 Weber, ‘La presse’, pp. 7–8.

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Contemporary Newspapers (BnF gallica) L’Echo de Pondichéry (Pondicherry) Le messager de l’Inde (Pondicherry) Le Petit Bengali (Chandernagor) Le Républicain de l’Inde française (Pondicherry)

Contemporary Published Materials Esquer, A. 1870. Essai sur les Castes dans l’Inde. Pondicherry: A. Saligny. Girod, P. 1868. L’Agriculture et l’Hydraulique Agricole dans l’Etablisement de Pondichéry. Pondichéry: Imprimerie du Gouvernement. Huillet, N. 1867. Hygiène des blancs, des mixtes et des Indiens à Pondichéry. Pondichéry: Imprimerie du gouvernement. Thurston, E. 1909. Castes and Tribes of Southern India, 7 vols. New Delhi: Cosmo.

Secondary Sources Aldrich, R. 1996. Greater France: A History of French Overseas Expansion. London: Macmillan Press. Assayag, J. 1995. ‘The Making of Democratic Inequality: Caste, Class, Lobbies and Politics in Contemporary India (1880–1995)’. Institut Français de Pondichéry: Pondy Papers in Social Sciences 18: 5–80. Assayag, J. 1997. ‘Le débat sur l’interprétation de la société indienne’. Historiens & Géographes 356: 227–242. Baker, C. 1975. ‘Figures and Facts: Madras Government Statistics 1880 to 1825’. In C.J. Baker & D.A. Washbrook, (eds), South India: Political Institutions and Political Changes 1880–1940: 204–231. Meerut, India: Macmillan of India. Bédier, A., & J. Cordier 1988. Statistiques de Pondichéry (1822–1824). Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry. Betts, R. 1961. ‘Origins and Growth of the French Doctrine of Assmilation.’ In R. Betts, Assimilation and Association in French Colonial Territory 1890 to 1915: 10–32. New York: Columbia University Press. Bleich, E. 2005. ‘The Legacies of History? Colonization and Immigrant Integration in Britain and France’. Theory and Society 34 (2): 171–195. Brubaker, R., & F. Cooper 2000. ‘Beyond Identity’. Theory and Society 29 (1): 1–47. Carsignol-Singh, A. 2009. ‘La diaspora, instrument de la politique de puissance et de rayonnement de l’Inde à l’île Maurice et dans le monde’. EchoGéo 10: 1–23. Carter, M. & K. Torabully 2002. Coolitude: An Anthology of the Indian Labour Diaspora. London: Anthem Press.

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Carton, A. 2008. ‘Shades of Fraternity: Creolization and the Making of Citizenship in French India, 1790–1792’. French Historical Studies 31 (4): 581–607. Chopra, P. 1992. ‘Pondicherry: A French Enclave in India.’ In N. AlSayyad (ed.), Forms of Dominance: On the Architecture and Urbanism of Colonial Enterprise: 107–137. Aldershot, England: Avebury. Church, C. 2017. Paradise Destroyed: Catastrophe and Citizenship in the French Caribbean. Lincoln: University of Alaska Press. Conklin, A. 1997. A Mission to Civilize: The Republican Idea of Empire in France and West Africa, 1895–1930. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press. Couderc-Morandeau, S. 2008. Philosophie Républicaine et Colonialisme: Origines, contradictions et échecs sous la IIIe République. Paris: L’Harmattan. Deloche, J. 2002. Le papier Terrier de la ville blanche de Pondichéry 1777. Pondicherry: IFP. Deloche, J. 2004. Origins of the Urban Development of Pondicherry according to Seventeenth Century Dutch Plan. Pondicherry: French Institute of Pondicherry. Deschamps, D. 2003. ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’. Outre-Mers 90 (338–339): 109–131. Diouf, M. 1998. ‘The French Colonial Policy of Assimilation and the Civility of the Originaires of the Four Communes (Senegal): A Nineteenth Century Globalization Project’. Development and Change, 29 (4): 671–696. Dirks, N. B. 1989. ‘The Invention of Caste: Civil Society in Colonial India.’ Social Analysis 25: 42–52. Dubois, L., & A. Berra 2003. ‘“Citoyens et amis!”: Esclavage, citoyenneté et République dans les Antilles françaises à l’époque révolutionnaire’. Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 58 (2): 281–303. Foster, E. 2013. Faith in Empire: Religion, Politics and Colonial Rule in French Senegal, 1880–1940. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Gildea, R. 1992. The Third Republic from 1870 to 1914, London: Longman. Girollet, A. 2008. ‘Les établissements français de l’Inde et l’Algérie (fin XIXe-XXe siècle): Acculturation juridique, déculturation ou assimilation?’. Journées internationales de la Société d’Histoire du Droit, 2008, Louvain (Leuven), Belgique p. 309–328. ffhal-00601240f, retrieved on June 8, 2019. Hassett, D. 2016. ‘Defining Imperial Citizenship in the Shadow of World War I: Equality and Difference in the Debates around Post-war Colonial Reform in Algeria’. In G. Barry, E. Dal Lago & R. Healy (eds), Small Nations and Colonial Peripheries in World War I: 263–280. Leiden: Brill. Knight, M.M. 1933. ‘French Colonial Policy – The Decline of ‘Association’. The Journal of Modern History 5(2): 208–224. Lara, O. 2007. Suffrage Universel et Colonisation 1848–1952. Paris: L’Harmattan.

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Lehning, J. 2001. To Be a Citizen: The Political Culture of the Early French Third Republic. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Malangin, R. 2015. Pondicherry that was Once French India. New Delhi: Roli Books, 2015. Markovits, C. (ed.) 2002. A History of Modern India, 1480–1950. London: Anthem Press. Mehta, B. 2010. ‘Indianités francophones: Kala Pani Narratives.’ L’Esprit Créateur 50 (2): 1–11. Michalon, P. 1990. ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français ou comment peuton être Franco-Pondichérien?’ Mémoire de D.E.A. de sociologie. Université Aix-Marseille. Miles, W. 1995. Imperial Burden: Countercolonialism in Former French India. Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Pairaudeau, N. 2016. Mobile Citizens: French Indians in Indochina, 1858–1954. Copenhagen: NIAS Press. Philo, C., & H. Parr 2000. ‘Institutional Geographies: Introductory Remarks’. Geoforum 31 (4): 513–521. Rao, A. 2009. The Caste Question: Dalits and the Politics of Modern India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Ross, R. J., & L. Benton 2013. ‘Empires and Legal Pluralism: Sovereignty, Jurisdiction, and Political Imagination in Early Modern World’. In L. Benton & R. J. Ross (eds), Legal pluralism and empires, 1500–1850: 1–17. New York: New York University Press. Saada, E. 2012. Empire’s Children: Race, Filiation and Citizenship in the French Colonies. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sahaï, J. 2010. ‘De Calcutta à Sainte-Lucie, de Pondichéry à Pointe-à-Pitre, et jusqu’au fond de l’eau’. L’Esprit Créateur 50 (2): 12–14. Srinivas, M. N. 1962. Caste in Modern India and Other Essays. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Suresh, A. 2010. ‘Politics and Social Conflicts in French India, 1870–1939’. PhD thesis, History, Pondicherry University. Venkatachalapathy, A. R. 2012. The Province of the Book: Scholars, Scribes, and Scribblers in Colonial Tamilnadu. Delhi: Permanent Black. Viswanath, R. 2014. The Pariah Problem: Caste, Religion and the Social in Modern India. New York: Columbia University Press. Weber, J. 1988. Les Etablissements français en Inde au XIXe siècle (1816–1914), 5 vols. Paris: Librairie de l’Inde. Weber, J. 9 February 1991. ‘Chanemougam, ‘King of French India’- Social and Political Foundations of an Absolute Power under the Third Republic’. Economic and Political Weekly: 291–302. Weber, J. November 1994. ‘La presse des comptoirs au XIXe siècle’. Le Trait-D’Union: 7–8.

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Weber, J. 1996. Pondichéry et les comptoirs de l’Inde après Dupleix. La démocratie au pays des castes. Paris: Editions Denoël. Zaidi, I. 2005. ‘Introduction,’ in M. Siddiqi, The British Historical Context and Petitioning in Colonial India: 9–16. New Delhi: Department of History & Culture, Jamia Millia Islamia.

3.

Inclusive and Exclusive Visions of Citizenship in French India Abstract The chapter explores the concept of citizenship in legal, social, and cultural terms and examines its inclusivity and exclusivity with respect to the various social groups that existed during the earlier part of the Third Republic (1870–1914). It also provides a description of the new local political institutions created in Pondicherry. Concepts of categorization, selfunderstanding, and Max Weber’s sense of belonging together facilitate our understanding of how groups belong to the imperial nation, but also the extent to which they would support the Third Republic’s political project. Subsequently, the political infighting regarding citizenship presents the major issues and different hopes that were at stake for diverse factions on the ground and how thoroughly universal republican rights were implemented in Pondicherry. Keywords: laws, citizenship, inclusion, exclusion, cultural rights, political institutions

Given the continuum of citizenship in Pondicherry to French citizenship in the metropole, this chapter concerns the extent to which the Third Republic was inclusive of its colonized people in French India. Could male Indians obtain full citizenship rights in a colonial society, or were they condemned to being ‘second-class’ citizens? This chapter shows that a traditional Greek concept of citizenship (inclusive of political rights) was applied to the French establishments in India and expands this finding to the notions of social (access to education and employment) and cultural citizenship rights.1 The issue of a cultural dimension of citizenship in terms of ‘norms, practices, 1 For Aristotle, citizenship was for men (patriarchs) who participate in the political sphere, while women were excluded. Popock, ‘The Ideal of Citizenship’, pp. 32–33.

Raff in, Anne, Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463723558_ch03

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meanings’ emerged, because notions of self-understanding and belonging were being reconfigured within an ethnically and cultural heterogenous population.2 Indeed, cultural citizenship focuses on the preservation and development of cultural lineages thanks to education, customs, language, religion, and the positive acknowledgement of differences in and by mainstream society.3 Thus, this chapter also focuses on two questions: how did various native groups respond to receive citizenship’ rights, and why did some groups support this project while others opposed it? This chapter argues that Indians’ responses to this political project were shaped by the social and political ramifications of group identification that began with the implementation of republican citizenship, which then created new identification categories and weakened old ones. The Indian population was far from being a monolithic body in Pondicherry; some dominant groups negotiated their collective self-understanding to advance their shared concerns and material interests. In parallel, insistence on differences at the community level was a challenge to the vision of citizenship as a universal principle. 4 This chapter first presents a history of the French establishments in India during the nineteenth century, through their entanglements with colonial citizenship, the related enabling legislation, and the impacts on various groups in Pondicherry. This chapter also introduces the building of new political institutions surrounding colonial citizenship in Pondicherry and the role they played in delivering and/or denying rights that one citizen should expect and what occurred in practice.

I.

Colonial Pondicherry and Its Entanglement with Imperial Citizenship

A.

‘Liberal French India’ 1870–1881: Why These Laws?

Because of a project to politically emancipate the Indigenous male population, in 1848, the French establishments in India (Pondicherry, Karikal, Mahé, Yanaon, and Chandernagore, as well as the lodges, which were the remnants of French factories) received universal suffrage, which encouraged

2 3 4

Isin and Turner, ‘Citizenship Studies’, p. 3. Miller, ‘Cultural Citizenship’, p. 231. Brubaker and Cooper, ‘Beyond Identity’, pp. 1–47.

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the assimilationist cause through electoral campaigns in the colonies.5 Belonging to the old colonies, the French possessions in India benefitted from this electoral law, which at first targeted the newly freed slaves of the Antilles, Réunion, and the Four Communes of Senegal (Saint-Louis, Gorée, Rufisque, and Dakar).6 It was believed that more than two centuries of slavery had prepared newly emancipated slaves for citizenship by allowing them to progressively adopt the norms and behaviours of their masters.7 Whereas issues of assimilation within French culture were discussed, scholar Oruno Lara notes that the 1848 expansion of universal suffrage to the colonies did not lead to any discussion regarding the correspondence between universal suffrage and colonization and whether the natives could be thought of as citizens when they were not free from colonialism.8 French theorist Ernest Renan later described the aims of the French Revolution of 1848 in these terms: We wish to establish everywhere the government which is suitable to us and to which we have a right. We believe we are doing something marvellous by establishing a constitutional regime among the savages of Oceania, and soon we will send diplomatic notes to the Grand Turk requesting him to convoke his parliament.9

This political choice to bring universal suffrage to the colonies in 1848 was connected to the earlier electoral process that arose during the revolutionary period of 1789–1798. The broadening of these rights (voting and abolition of slavery) was rooted in the French Revolution which reconceptualized these human rights as universal; therefore, they had to be spread to the rest of the world.10 Indeed, in 1794, the National Convention, the assembly that ruled France from 1792 to 1795, decreed that ‘all men resident in the colonies, without distinction of colour, are French citizens and enjoy all the rights assured by the constitution’.11

5 Lara, Suffrage Universel, pp. 9–12. 6 Deschamps, ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’, p. 110; Deschamps, ‘Une citoyeneté différée’, p. 49. 7 Saada, ‘Citoyens et sujets de l’Empire français’, p. 16. 8 Lara, Suffrage Universel, pp. 19–23. 9 Betts, ‘Origins and Growth of the French Doctrine of Assimilation’, p. 18. 10 Hunt, The French Revolution and Human Rights. 11 Lewis, ‘One Hundred Million Frenchmen’, p. 134.

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While the French colonies were not initially asked to participate in the 1789 Estates-General, the general assembly representing the French estates, a delegation of colonizers from Saint-Domingue (which became the independent nation of Haiti in 1804) was able to participate in the National Assembly. Three years later, the legislative assembly officially accepted the idea of colonial representation through a decree on 22 August 1792. Still, under the reign of Napoleon Bonaparte (Napoleon I), article 91 of the Constitution of the Year VIII stated that the colonies were under special laws, which consequently deprived them of their deputation.12 News of the French Revolution first arrived from Madras, before more precise information reached Pondicherry with the arrival of the ship La Bienvenue on 22 February 1790. A general assembly took place on 1 March 1790, in which only Frenchmen, métis, and topas participated. They proclaimed their allegiance to the nation, the king, and the laws. The next day, they met again to write six memoranda encompassing various demands to be taken to Paris. One of these six memoranda requested the right to elect two representatives to the French National Assembly.13 At the same time, a group of fourteen Indian notables wrote another missive and asked the members of this general assembly of Pondicherry to take their request to the French National Assembly in Paris. In this missive, these fourteen Indian notables welcomed the French Revolution ‘in favour of humanity’ and reminded the colonial authorities of their long attachment to France; they also asked the French National Assembly ‘to confirm our reception as members of the Assembly of the Citizens of Pondicherry’.14 This request was granted, and the elected representatives from Pondicherry were admitted as members of the French National Assembly representing India. In September 1790, a new municipality was created in Pondicherry. However, it had no Indian members. Even the topas were not admitted to this municipality, causing them to voice strong protests. Other members of the population were equally unhappy, because they were not allowed to participate in the local political system. This frustration with the lack of parity in the system resulted in protests. When the leader of the Indian community passed away, the governor appointed his fourteen-year-old son as his successor on 13 February 1791. This decision led to unrest among the Indian population, especially the Christian community, which had hoped that one of them would be the next leader. Consequently, on 6 March 1791, 12 Lara, Suffrage Universel, pp. 19–21. 13 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, p. 47; Labernardie, La Révolution, pp. 22–38. 14 Les deputés de L’Assemblée des citoyens malabars de Pondichéry.

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a large gathering of locals convened to express their unhappiness to the governor. In response, the governor invited all the caste leaders to his residence. There, he listened to their spokesperson, Belvandra Pillai, who requested the creation of a municipal body consisting of Indian citizens and in which Indian interests would be considered. Pillai’s request was denied. Around the same time, a certain Arumbathai Sonachalam owed 23 thousand rupees to Nalla Tanbiran. Consequently, Sonachalam’s properties were seized to be sold at auction. Sonachalam was a creditor of the French East India Company. Because the Company still owed him 246 thousand rupees, it was asked, unsuccessfully, that the auction be postponed until he was repaid. Because Indians tried to prevent the auction, fights broke out with French settlers. The situation quickly degenerated as some Frenchmen came with their guns and swords. In response, the governor sent in the army and imposed martial law until 31 July 1791.15 Clearly, French revolutionary ideas such as equality and fraternity had reached Pondicherry and its people. However, most members of the colonial society did not want to share their political power with Indians. The dilemma was interrupted by the arrival of the British troops in Pondicherry in mid-July 1793, as France declared war on Great Britain and the Dutch Republic in February 1793. After a brief resistance, the town surrendered to the British on 24 July. The debate on colonial representation resumed in 1840–1850. It was spearheaded by Victor Schoelcher, a committed republican who worked for the abolition of slavery. He believed in the universality of French republican values. He argued that cultural assimilation would occur only when colonized people were responsible for their own destiny and this was possible only if they had the right to vote within the framework of colonialism. However, many believed this right should be given only to colonies that had been connected with France for more than one hundred years.16 In the metropole and the colonies, neo-Lamarckism was a popular theory in the late nineteenth century. It was based on the idea that repeated, long-term contact with French people would make natives behave increasingly like French people.17 Racial thinkers were influenced by the zoologist Jean-Baptiste Lamarck’s general explanation of the development of organic complexity over time, which underlined the important role of the environment in contributing to acquired characteristics, which are passed on to offspring.18 15 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, pp. 51–53. 16 Malangin, Pondicherry, p. 112. 17 See Saada, Empire’s Children, Chapter 3. 18 Burkhardt, ‘Lamarck, Evolution’, p. 796.

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In French India, only five years of residency on French territory was required to acquire voting rights.19 In the electoral process from 22 to 31 January 1849, the elected deputy never managed to attend the assembly. This is because the seat given to French India had been cancelled by the Act of 1849 because of the perception by French authorities that local customs were too different from French mores. France justified this decision on the fact that neither neighbouring British India nor Algeria had given their colonial people the right to vote.20 Moreover, such a law led to violence between castes and outcastes by introducing a principle of equality between both groups in French India. The French authorities withdrew this right of representation in all its colonies with the coming of the Second Empire in 1852.21 Nevertheless, despite this negative experience and opposition from the conservatives who thought that French India was not ready for political assimilation, the era from 1871 to 1881 saw the promulgation of decrees that supported the political assimilation of locals into the French empire. Conservative opposition could not accept that some populations could participate in the moulding of French laws through their deputies, while they did not have to submit themselves to these laws.22 Assimilationist politics was supported in Pondicherry by a ‘liberal’ committee led by the Indian Ponnoutamby (Vellala caste) and Emile Hecquet, a creole businessman born in Karikal, who later settled in Pondicherry.23 By supporting this committee, the assimilationist republicans in France succeeded in having a deputy represent the Indian enclaves (according to the decree of 1 February 1871).24 The liberals had Alexandre Desbassayns de Richemont, son of the previous governor, elected as deputy of India in 1871 until 1876, and lawyer Jules Godin from 1876 to 1881. In 1871, the Indian inhabitants were again given the right to vote in the national elections despite having a civil status different from that of the French. This situation was an unusual occurrence in French imperial history in which subjects normally had to culturally assimilate to the French culture as a condition for political participation in the French polity. Indeed, Indians from all faiths 19 Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, p. 77, n. 1. 20 Sundararajan, Pondicherry, p. 62. 21 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, pp. 116–117. 22 Weber, ‘Chanemougam’, p. 293. 23 ‘Nécrologie’, Le Jeune Patriote, 16 July 1897, p. 81, BnF, gallica. French Indians creoles were either French settlers in French India who asserted “pure” French blood or more often people of mixed origins, in other words, Indian and European origins. 24 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871, pp. 59–60, RCP.

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were granted political rights. The cultural requirement for a more inclusive position within the French imperial nation was relaxed as assimilation was the fundamental doctrine of French colonial policy during the early years of the Third Republic.25 The governor of the French establishments in India, Napoléon Bontemps (1863–1871), spoke of ‘a measure of high equity’, because other colonies already had the privilege of being represented in the National Assembly.26 Additionally, in June 1872, Alexis Pothuau, minister of the navy and colonies, wrote to the president of the French Republic that giving the Indians the right to elect a deputy made sense. This was because they were ‘intelligent’ and ‘industrious’, and they had already possessed French nationality for a long time, thus entitling them to ‘a larger participation in the management of their own affairs’.27 Pothuau was also probably influenced by the neoLamarckian idea that being in a new environment over a long period led to new habits taking root.28 Having been nurtured by the French for a long time, Indians were now ready for more political participation. Local participation was extended with the creation of the colonial council and local councils in 1872. Under the initiative of the French deputy of India, and with the help of a commission consisting of people who specialized in political matters related to the colonies, these two councils were created to conform ‘to the general principles of our politics and to the actual needs and aspirations’ of each of the Indian enclaves, according to the minister of the navy and colonies.29 This minister’s statement generated tension from the simultaneous application of uniform republican ideals and respect for the norms of the local society. Indeed, each local council’s mission was to serve the particular interests of its respective establishment. The lodges did not have their own local councils; however, they could send petitions regarding their own interests to the colonial council.30 The colonial council, which was presided over by the governor, had eleven members consisting of seven representatives of the people who were elected by the members of the local councils and four nominated functionaries. The representatives included two Europeans and five representatives from the Christian, Muslim, and Hindu communities. To represent local diversity, seats in the colonial council were allocated according to race and religion. 25 Betts, Assimilation and Association, p. 20. 26 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871, p. 58, BnF, gallica. 27 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1872, p. 336, BnF, gallica. 28 Burkhardt, ‘Lamarck, Evolution’, p. 804. 29 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1872, p. 336, BnF, gallica. 30 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1872, pp. 336, 347–348.

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The presence of the four nominated functionaries and the governor from the colonial administration was justified by the minister of the navy and colonies as a measure ‘to establish a fair weighting of powers without diminishing the initiative of the elected members by the local councils’.31 The colonial council could not make any political requests. Its role was to decide on matters pertaining to properties of the colony, retirement funds of local cadres, construction of roads and public works, and voting on taxes – except for the customs tax. It also deliberated on loans to be contracted, public assistance, and, most importantly, the budget of the colony. The colonial council also gave its opinion on specific matters raised by the governor, but it could not decide on mandatory expenses – mostly regarding officers’ salaries; however, it could decide on other expenses. The colonial council could not deliberate matters related to public instruction, expenses related to religious cults not included in the state budget, the charity committee’s affairs, and any issue regarding religion and caste. Finally, it could respond to petitions sent by the population on matters that they were allowed to discuss.32 In 1879, the colonial council was replaced by a general council. It had similar functions as the colonial council, and it met annually for a month in ordinary session. Unlike the colonial council, the members of the general council were not selected by the governor. Rather, they were elected by universal suffrage. Of the 25 members, fourteen were Europeans and eleven were natives. Electors were divided into two lists, one encompassing the Europeans; the other, the Indians. Consequently, the 25 members were all elected by the electors on the list corresponding to their ‘origins’.33 French predominance had to be maintained in the general council. Supporting this voting system was the following argument: There was a concern for the minority, the civilizing element, to favour it [civilizing element], to defend it also against the invasion of the indigenous element of which the mentality of caste keeps its influence on the habits. They were afraid that the Europeans would have to conform to the Hindu population […] they were afraid to annihilate the European influence. They had recognized the duty to safeguard the superiority of the principles of our civilization while respecting the laws of the Indians.34 31 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1872, pp. 336–337. 32 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1872, pp. 344–347, BnF, gallica. 33 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1879, pp. 73, 88, BnF, gallica. 34 Poulain, Notes sur l’Inde française, p. 3.

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In 1879, the minister of the navy and colonies, Alexandre Peyron, stated that the European presence needed to be overrepresented due to ‘their moral importance in the elected councils’.35 The so-called Orientalists opposing the assimilationist project of the Third Republic continuously emphasized the caste-based distinctions of the local society as a hindrance to assimilation and saw caste as the central and essentialist marker of the Indians’ identity, which could not be erased. These Orientalists perceived Hindus as prisoners of an inflexible hierarchy and Brahman-centred value system.36 Such discourse ascribing an ‘otherness’ to the non-European population generated the tension between caste and the imperial nation and whenever transnational unity between Frenchmen residing outside of French India and the locals seemed possible. The multiple levels and categories of belonging to the nation were moulded by the rise of republican forms of discrimination. While there were aspects of the republican ideal that were successfully transplanted in French India, others, such as giving equal local voting rights to Indians, were not permitted on Indian soil. Other institutions created by the Third Republic on top of the general council were the local ones. The local councils’ members were elected by universal suffrage, except for the president, who was the ordonnateur in the case of Pondicherry. The ordonnateur was the person in charge of fiscal matters for the colonial administration. The number of council members was proportionate to the size of the population in each enclave; in Pondicherry, there were twelve of them. These councilpeople did not receive any salary. They met for fifteen days once a year. Half of them were elected by Europeans and descendants of Europeans, and half by the Indigenous population. The minister of the navy and colonies thought that it was an appropriate proportion, because these two groups were the ‘two grand elements which represent the population of the colony: one the most numerous, the other [the European] the most educated as well as the most suitable to political affairs’.37 Members were elected for a term of six years – the council was renewable by half every three years. Furthermore, members were eligible to be re-elected without restriction. Until 1887, they discussed local and municipal budgets, and they could give their opinions on agricultural, industrial, commercial, and administrative matters.38 However, the decree of 12 July 1887 cancelled each settlement’s budget and confined the local 35 36 37 38

Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1879, p. 168, BnF, gallica. Bayly, ‘Western “Orientalists”’, p. 47. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1872, p. 337, BnF, gallica. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1872, p. 337.

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councils to an advisory role: ‘The assemblies give their opinions on the project of the local budget of their respective establishment, and on all the matters within the competency of the General Council’.39 The constitutional law of 24 February 1875 granted the local members of the local and colonial councils another privilege. This was the right to elect a senator, who had to be a French citizen and at least 40 years old. Along with the deputies, this senator participated in the making of the law. 40 Finally, the French administrative division, the commune, was transferred to the French establishments in India in 1880. More precisely, the ten principal clusters of villages of these establishments became communes. The councils of these communes (conseils municipaux) – four of which were located in Pondicherry – were also elected by universal suffrage for a term of six years; in turn, the councils nominated the mayor, who administered the commune. As in the general council, the electors were separated into two lists – one for Indians and the other for Europeans and their descendants. 41 Commenting on this development, Jauréguiberry, the minister of the navy and colonies, noted how the creation of the communes aligned with the creation of local and general councils, because it facilitated the assimilation of French India with the metropole. He further noted that this move would please the local population and increase their appreciation of the ‘liberal’ government that had taken such an initiative. 42 Regarding the attributes of the communes, they were similar to the communes in France in that they made the decisions on all matters of interest to them, except those related to their expenses, which were supported by the local budget of each enclave. However, the minister of the navy and colonies strongly recommended that this new institution (commune) not be the source of new taxes, because it could mislead the population regarding the real nature of this institution.43 Following the 1884 creation of a three-list system, the colonial council grew from 25 to 30 members, and each of the three lists elected ten general councilpeople. Similarly, the local councils and the communes were elected with a three-list system, with each list electing one-third of the members. 44 To facilitate the electoral process, the decree of 24 April 1880 introduced civil registration for locals. Major events of civil life, such as births and 39 40 41 42 43 44

Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1887, p. 332, BnF, gallica. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1875, pp. 113–115, BnF, gallica. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, pp. 255–288, BnF, gallica. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, pp. 259, 262. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, p. 261. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1884, pp. 156, 172–173, BnF, gallica.

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marriages, had to be registered with the colonial state to determine who was eligible to vote. 45 All these changes were part of an important step that contributed to the emergence of a new colonial order in French India. Because of the general and local councils, a deputy representing the French settlements in the chamber of the deputies, a seat in the senate, and the creation of communes, it was as though the administrative unit, the French département, had been implemented in French India. Only the governor as a direct representative of the French state was attached to the French army and later to the minister of the colonies, the latter created in 1894.46 In addition to a diplomatic role, the governor had the same functions as a metropolitan préfet, the administrator in charge of a département or region. 47 Unlike before 1871, the governor had to start to share power with the general council, a body that consisted entirely of elected members and participated in the running of French India’s finances. Governor Louis Nouët (1889–1890) understood the stake of such a political evolution, which gave a voice to each male Indian through the act of voting and the possibilities for the Indian elite to more actively participate in the running of these Indian possessions. Such a situation could lead Indians to demand an India for Indians. This governor was worried about the growth of nationalist ideas and more precisely the influence on the French establishments in India due to what was happening in British India with the recent 1889 session of the Indian National Congress in Bombay. The Indian National Congress created in 1885 was a political party that, from the late nineteenth century, became the principal leader of the Indian independent movement. 48 Following the electoral success of the liberals (the election of Comte Alexandre Desbassayns de Richemont in May 1871 and later Jules Godin in April 1876), the French government supported the cultural assimilation of the locals, resulting in the decree of 21 September 1881. This decree allowed Indians to voluntary renounce their personal status. In other words, the Indigenous person could renounce Indigenous laws and customs and choose to submit to the French laws and the French legal institutions. Article 1 of the 21 September 1881 decree stipulated that ‘due to the renunciation, which will be final and irrevocable, they [the renouncers] are governed, as well as their wives and their children, by the civil and political laws applicable 45 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, pp. 551–557, BnF, gallica. 46 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1894, p. 100, BnF, gallica. 47 Malangin, Pondicherry, p. 115. 48 Deschamps, ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’, p. 116.

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to the French in the colonies’. 49 Article 2 stipulated that the renouncers had to indicate the patronymic name they adopted for their descendants and themselves. Subsequently, the renunciation of personal status was accompanied by a change to an either Francophone name, a Christian name, a frenchified Tamil name, or a choice of a traditional Hindu name, for instance.50 In Hindu culture, changing one’s name was an important step because of the social importance of the name; it often identified the individual as belonging to a particular caste. In addition, because the Hindu tradition gave a unique first name to each child that preceded the initial of the father’s name, giving a family name once which showed a clearer indication of the filiation was a decision welcomed by the colonial administration in charge of birth registrations.51 Finally, becoming a renouncer was an irrevocable decision. Renunciation was actually not new. Subjects had already been allowed to give up their personal status and replace it with French civil status since the decree of 6 June 1819.52 Thanks to the renunciation act of September 1881, however, renunciation was revitalized. Through renunciation, Indigenous people could acquire the political and civil rights of French citizens. This was a significant development. Unlike naturalization, renunciation did not require the applicants to prove that they were worthy or deserving, or that they had any specific coveted titles. The only requirement was that the applicant be 21 years old. Natives from French India, male or female, of any caste or religion, were entitled to apply for renunciation as specified by Article 1 of the decree. The law provided for two types of renunciation, both of which were easily done. The first type was renunciation during marriage in front of the registry officer. The second type was slightly more complicated. At the home of the applicant, a declaration of renunciation in front of the registry officer could be made. Alternatively, this declaration could be made in front of a justice of the peace, the justice’s clerk, and two witnesses. A third alternative was to make this declaration in front of a notary. Within fifteen days after the renunciation or after its transcription, the act was published in the official Moniteur officiel de la colonie as a means to ensure its authenticity.53 49 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1882, p. 10, BnF, gallica; Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, p. 58. 50 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1882, p. 11, BnF, gallica. 51 Michalon, ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français’, p. 39, n. 99. 52 Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, p. 29. 53 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1882, p. 11, BnF, gallica.

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The 21 September 1881 decree immediately triggered a war between what the press called the ‘French idea’ (‘which essentially pushed endlessly towards intellectual, moral and material progress’, as well as emancipation) and the ‘Indian idea’ (which liked ‘to indulge in a humiliating immobility’ through the maintenance of customs and traditions), which had coexisted harmoniously for the past two centuries.54 Citizenship was reconnected to the issue of culture, because this 1881 decree underscores a need to embrace some shared values (obeying French secular civic laws) as markers of belonging to French nationality. Rejecting cultural differences was a challenge to the universalization of citizenship.55 Prior to the law on renunciation of personal status in 1881, some Indians had shown their adherence to the French Civil Code by choosing to marry according to the French civil law. According to the French legislation, by 1852, such an act could be considered a ‘tacit’ renunciation of the Indians’ Indigenous personal laws (and subsequently the acquisition of French citizenship). Moreover, some of them already considered themselves to be French citizens, even if this was only articulated in vague terms.56 Hence, before 1881, the influence of the assimilated French identity was overlooked, because the act of marriage was perceived as sufficient to gain French citizenship. Because citizenship was an evolving concept, it was altered either in a top-down manner (role of government’s laws) or from below (a group of Indians who happened to perceive themselves as French).57 Because their French citizenship was not equally represented in the French empire, French Indians were barred from employment in the public service in France, hence limiting their rights in the home country and subsequently underscoring the fragmented nature of French Indians’ citizenship rights not only in the Indian enclaves but also in France.58 B.

Political Infighting around the Definition of Citizenship

While republican citizenship was taking roots in Pondicherry, new key participants in the political process appeared. In the absence of strong political parties, the political scene in Pondicherry consisted of groups or sectional interests, some of which were supported by the colonial administration. 54 ‘Pondichéry, le 6 Septembre 1885’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française, 6 September 1885, p. 87, BnF, gallica. 55 Isin (ed.), Democracy, Citizenship, p. 1. 56 Clairon, La renonciation au Statut Personnel, p. 29. 57 Helbling, ‘Struggling over Citizenship and Cultural Boundaries’, p. 371. 58 Pairaudeau, Mobile citizens, p. 61.

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These groups flourished due to personality-based politics.59 The newspaper L’Union hindoue described the political scene in Pondicherry as ‘narrow, petty and personality-based politics’ and made up of ‘many political sects that there were categories of people: Brahmans, choutres, renouncers, Muslims, outcastes, black creoles, white creoles from France, etc.’60 One of the political leaders was Chanemougam Velayouda Modéliar (1845–1908), who belonged to the landowning Vellala caste. Little is known about the man himself. According to Le Messager de l’inde, he was a religious man who led an austere and modest life; he had built his own pagoda and had an astrologer on his payroll. From a powerful family, he was designated as the Nadou, or the chief of the high castes in Pondicherry; his father, Sidambara Modéliar, had been the previous Nadou.61 Chanemougam was educated at the collège colonial; hence, he was well versed in French culture. Later, he became a councilman in the general council and also became a member of the municipal council of Pondicherry from 1880 to 1908.62 In 1877, he was named Knight of the Legion of Honour for his services as a civil servant in Pondicherry. Apparently, he was the first Indian to receive ‘such a high distinction’.63 Having no picture of him, the newspaper Le Petit Bengali described him as a ‘fat fellow’.64 What is known of him is drawn from his political career and the recorded sessions of the general council. Politically, he represented the rural Vellala, rich landowners and traditionalist Hindus. Sections of the French-language local press, which either supported the renouncers or settlers’ rights, were usually not kind when it came to labelling him. In 1885, pro-renouncer Le Progrès called him ‘king of the French establishments in India’, underlining not only his undemocratic political style but also his political influence in the Indian enclaves.65 Indeed, l’Echo de Pondichéry underlined how powerful he was, because he represented four-fifths of the population as the leader of the third electoral list.66 In contrast, the editorial staff of the pro-Chanemougam paper Le Messager de 59 Neogy, Decolonizaton, pp. 2–3. 60 ‘Chronique’, L’Union hindoue 6, 3 June 1901, p. 21, BnF, gallica. 61 ‘L’affaire Chanemougame manoeuvre électorale’, Le Messager de l’inde 103, 25 December 1901, p. 433, BnF, gallica. 62 His election as a member of the municipal council was unsuccessfully contested in 1880. See Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, pp. 557–559, BnF, gallica. He was mentioned as first deputy mayor in 1902. ‘Au Conseil Municipal’, Le Messager de l’Inde 101, 20 December 1902, p. 745, BnF, gallica. 63 ‘Pondichéry’, Le Petit Bengali 3, 17 January 1887, p. 9, BnF, gallica. 64 ‘A nos lecteurs’, Le Petit Bengali 1, 2 September 1905, pp. 1–3, BnF, gallica. 65 No title, Le Petit Bengali 6, 10 February 1885, p. 2, BnF, gallica 66 ‘Pondichéry, le 26 juin 1887’, l’Echo de Pondichéry 20, 26 June 1887, p. 77, BnF, gallica.

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l’inde portrayed him as ‘a man who embodies in himself a whole colony as considerable as French India and who should deserve by his disinterestedness, his abnegation, and his cult of the motherland, to be put among the best servants of the Republic’.67 When it came to politicians, Victor Schoelcher described him as a man hostile to republican institutions.68 Joseph Chailley, founder of the 1893 French Colonial Union, a group of French merchants supporting colonialism, portrayed Chanemougam as anticlerical towards Muslims and Christians, but clerical towards Hindus who wished for the departure of the French from Indian soil.69 Chanemougam’s adversary, Laporte (1832–1886), belonged to the powerful Vellala caste and a Christian group in Pondicherry. After receiving his education at the Catholic Petit Séminaire, he went on to receive a law degree and become a barrister. By 1856, he was working as the interpreter-in-chief in the tribunals of French India. Under the Third Republic, he was the leader of the renouncer movement and changed his original name from Ponnoutamby to Paul Laporte (‘the door’ in English). His new name as a renouncer signified that he was the one who had opened the door for everybody to gain entry into the French community, with all its existing rights and duties.70 In December 1883, Laporte was elected as general councilman on the European list in Chandernagor. He had taken advantage of the fact that, on 7 November 1883, the Cour de cassation – the main court of last resort in France and the supreme judge in colonial matters – ruled in favour of the renouncers to be inscribed on the first list, the list of Europeans.71 While Le Progrès praised Laporte, Le Petit Bengali, an anti-assimilationist newspaper, portrayed him as a ‘wily’ politician motivated by personal ambition and ‘unscrupulous’ when it came to politics.72 He received a public funeral at the city’s expense in 1886.73 Frenchman Pierre Alype was elected as deputy in 1881. He was a candidate of Chanemougam, leader of the upper castes, who strongly opposed assimilation policies that challenged the power of the higher castes as well as their way of life. Alype was re-elected in 1885, 1889, and 1893, remaining a deputy for over sixteen years, before being replaced in 1898 by another candidate 67 ‘Au Membres de l’Ordre’, Le Messager de l’inde 49, 18 June 1902 49, p. 377, BnF, gallica 68 Chailley, ‘La principauté de l’Inde française’, Le Petit Bengali 1, 2 September 1901, p. 2, BnF, gallica. 69 Chailley, ‘La principauté de l’Inde française’, pp. 2–3. 70 Annousamy, Pondicherry, p. 77. 71 ‘Le Conseil Général…’, Le Petit Bengali 5, 29 January 1884, pp. 17–18, BnF, gallica. 72 ‘Chandernagor’, Le Petit Bengali 19, 6 May 1884, pp. 73–74, BnF, gallica. 73 ‘Le conseil municipal…’, Le Petit Bengali 33, 16 August 1886, p. 129, BnF, gallica.

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of Chanemougam, journalist Louis Henrique-Duluc. As a docile deputy of Chanemougam, Alype promised to never set foot on Indian soil and to use his influence to weaken the renouncers’ demands in Paris. As social scientists J. Painter and C. Philo note, the political aspect of citizenship reveals ‘the individual’s position vis à vis an overarching political body’.74 In French India, for the national elections, there was only one electoral college common to all electors; unlike the local elections, for which there was a double electoral college as promulgated by the decree of 25 January 1879 and which resulted in two lists of voters, one for the Europeans and one for the Indians. Laporte wanted the renouncers to be registered in the first list. By contrast, Pierre Alype demanded the unity of the lists, which would result in the victory of the higher castes, because Chanemougam would most likely be able to mobilize a large part of the population on themes of the defence of Hinduism, Hindu culture, and the outcastes and lower castes who were economically dependent of the landed castes. The colonial supreme court (conseil supérieur des colonies) responded to the issue of electoral colleges by creating a three-list system in February 1884: one for the Europeans, one for the renouncers, and one for the non-renouncers.75 Despite the fact that the Cour de cassation settled the case in favour of the renouncers’ demand in 1883, the colonial state still refused to grant them this right. Some opponents of the renouncers’ demand argued that renunciation was an individual act, hence not the same as naturalization, which required the approval of the state.76 Again, the transfer of the republican ideal was fragmented, and local compromise was the chosen option, because most of the members of the colonial administration refused such a holistic proposition to this colonial problem. The creation of a third list was a response to a specific local situation. It supported Foster’s point on an Ancien Régime style of governing, which made concessions to different groups within a colonial setting. In Paris, some officials believed that the first two lists would co-operate and subsequently allow the ‘French idea’ to overcome the ‘Hindu idea’.77 In contrast, a strange alliance occurred between two groups fearing the 74 Quoted in Ho, ‘Negotiating belonging’, p. 387. 75 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1884, pp. 194–195, RCP. 76 On the opposition of naturalization requiring the approval of the state versus the personnel nature of the act renunciation, see Clairon, La renunciation au statut personnel, p. 54. 77 ‘Pétition des électeurs de la première liste des établissements français de l’Inde, à Messieurs les Membres de la Chambre des Députés’, in Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1885, p. 81, RCP.

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power of the renouncers: the upper castes, who feared for the diminishing power of the caste, and the Europeans, who were afraid of losing some of their influence to the renouncers. Especially afraid of losing some of their power were the members of the Catholic missionary organization Société des Missions étrangères, who were able to convince a large percentage of the first list to ally with the third list against the renouncers. This coalition was known as the cleric-Brahmanical party.78 By 1885, the heterogeneous French party had the majority in the general council. This party included Indians who opted for French citizenship and did not want to be treated as second-class citizens, Frenchmen favourable to them (Emile Hecquet, Governor Théodore Drouhet, and Deputy Jules Godin79), and Frenchmen defending only the settlers’ interests. However, Chanemougam, due to his blackmailing efforts, was able to secure the support of Louis Rassendren, the successor of Laporte, who had passed away in 1886. The alliance between the second and third lists allowed Chanemougam to take control of the local political scene.80 As previously stated, there was no particularly strong party in French India that consistently endorsed a well-defined ideology, although there were sectional interests supporting one or a few leaders. Locals complained that ‘parties’ could flourish overnight, and the local population would not know what their political programmes were. An evocative example is a petition that referred to a new party called the Soundiramourtychettiar party, which was created at the last minute. It carried the name of the person running for the position of municipal councillor in Pondicherry during the municipal election of 6 September 1908.81 One group that did not initially appear to play a key role within the new political institutions was the Muslim community. When this community made demands before the administration, they were often regarding religious matters. For example, in 1891, the Muslim elites submitted a request to the city of Pondicherry to have the telephone wires in the European town removed so that their gounds, similar to piety chariots, could parade around the city during the religious feast of Jamsey.82 Yet, unhappy with the 1884 three-list electoral system and feeling forgotten by the colonial administration and too easily assimilated with the 78 Poulain, Notes sur l’Inde française, pp. 7 and 20. 79 ‘Chandernagor’, Le Petit Bengali 45, 23 October 1885, p. 177, BnF, gallica. 80 Weber, ‘Les Etablissements français en Inde’, pp. 7–9. 81 Letter to the Conseil du Contentieux administrative, Pondicherry, 27 September 1908, RCP. 82 ‘A propose des fêtes de “Jamsey”’, l’Union Républicaine 12, 6 September 1891, pp. 3–4, BnF, gallica.

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Hindus, the Muslim community’s leaders sent a petition to the minister of the navy and colonies. In it, they demanded that the colonial authorities not confuse them with the Hindu population and to respect their differences from the Hindus based on the Koran. In particular, they noted that, due to their small number within the third list, Muslims ‘had not the slightest representation in the local electoral assemblies. The state of affairs causes us a real prejudice regarding our interests which have nothing in common with the ones of the Brahmans or the Hindus [in general]’.83 The petition further stated that the Muslim population in Pondicherry had showed ‘a lot of moderation and wisdom’ when dealing with politics and that it was firmly attached to the French party. Supporting the previous statement that the Muslim community supported the French party was the municipal election of 6 September 1908 in Pondicherry: the Muslim community appeared quite often in the administrative paper trail in the commune of Villenour as supporters of deputy Philéma Lemaire’s coalition.84 Their petition asked the minister to intervene to give Muslims a larger representation on the political scene. The petition mentioned that Muslims were forced to resort to paying a lot of money to professional politicians to defend their causes. According to the plaintiffs, the decree of the 26 February 1884 – the implementation of the three-list electoral model – had reinforced their dependency on these politicians, so they decided to speak out, something they had not done in the past: ‘So far we haven’t raised our voice in order to expose our grievances to the motherland’.85 More precisely, they wanted the minister to divide the third list into two sections – one Muslim, the other Hindu – with an equal number of representatives. The three-list electoral model was reinforcing communal feelings among Muslim leaders. The demands of the Muslim leaders in the 1892 petition were not granted. Instead, a new decree in 1899 again promulgated a system of two lists, one for Europeans and ‘assimilated’ renouncers, and one for Indigenous people. Writing to the president of the republic, Minister of the Colonies Albert Decrais, who was in favour of a two-list system, pointed out that the three-list system had not produced the expected results. Rather than maintaining ‘an equal balance among the three constitutive elements of the population’, it had led to coalitions between two lists to the detriment of the third one. 83 ‘Pétition des Musulmans’, Pondichéry, 14 September 1892, in Poulain, Notes sur l’Inde française, p. 103. 84 Letter from Simonel, 4 September 1908, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1908, RCP; letter from Lenhardt, 9 September 1908, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1908, RCP. 85 ‘Pétition des Musulmans’, in Poulain, Notes sur l’Inde française, p. 105.

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Moreover, Decrais argued that half of the renunciations were motivated solely by electoral considerations.86 The renouncers were actually instrumentalizing their political power due to the system of the three lists and were resented for doing so. They became the arbiters of local electoral assemblies, to the detriment of the Europeans and the Indians, because each list nominated ten members to the general council and one-third of the members of the local councils. As for the new two-list system, only the ‘assimilated’ renouncers could be included on the first list. Additionally, they had to meet the following requirements as ‘evidence’ of assimilation into French civilization: they must have been subjected to the Civil Code for at least fifteen years; they must have a university diploma; they must have held an administrative or judicial function for five years; they must have performed an elective mandate for five years or received a decoration or medal of honour. Furthermore, the receivers of a decoration had to demonstrate that they were fluent in French.87 Following such a law, the overwhelmingly majority of renouncers ended up on the list of the natives. The roughly two thousand renouncers – which comprised less than 5 per cent of the voters – were not happy with this situation. They believed it was contrary to the ‘assimilation, established by the decree of 21 September 1881, between Europeans and renouncers’, with the latter becoming a ‘specific category of French citizens’ who did not enjoy full political rights.88 This was not in accordance with the republican law, which dismissed inequalities based on civilization and education. The demanding criteria imposed on the renouncers to belong to the first list resulted in a visible line drawn between the insiders (the ‘true’ French) and the outsiders (the ones not assimilated into the French culture enough). The 1879 system that separated the locals from the Europeans had returned. In the struggles over citizenship, not only were cultural boundaries delineated but also social relations were reorganized according to people’s social experiences of these struggles and groups’ new interests. For instance, leaders of the French party, A. Gallois-Montbrun (pro-settlers’ interests) and Henri Gaebelé (pro-settlers’ interests) were skilled enough to gain the support of the caste of the Vannia (farmers), which encompassed more than 30 per cent of the population. Having noted the perpetual success of the Indian party, the French party chose to invite this caste to their side. This move resulted in the replacement of a rivalry of races with a rivalry of 86 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1889, p. 485, BnF, gallica. 87 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1889, pp. 492–494. 88 Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, pp. 86, 104; Weber, ‘Chanemougam’, p. 302.

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castes.89 This decision led to political fights between castes as a division of the third list occurred between part of the lower castes under the leadership of Sadassivanaïker and the upper castes following Chanemougam. The above political changes occurred within a bureaucratic structure created by the colonial masters. To provide an overview of what colonization looked like in Pondicherry from the 1870s to World War I, a rough presentation of the colonial state and its main institutions is presented in the following table (see Table 3.1). Table 3.1  Colonial state structure Colonial State  Governor General of the French Establishments of India For the French Establishments of India (for the five outposts and the lodges)  Colonial Council until 1879 and then General Council of India Director of Home Affairs created in 1880: the most important person after the governor, in charge of the organization of the administration. Colonial Commission created in 1879: it settled matters submitted by the General Council. Colonial Council of Public Education created in 1893: it oversaw the application of programmes and educational methods in schools. Fourteen members, out of which 3 were Indians nominated by the governor.  Committee for Private Schools (created in 1893): visited schools to check quality of books and educational methods used. Deciding of financial rewards; 8 members nominated by the governor.  Commission of Finances  Committee of Indian Jurisprudence created in 1826: to explain the locals’ laws to the colonial administrators and French magistrate. Colonial Court 

For the District of Pondicherry Local Council of Pondicherry

Committee for Primary Education created in 1893: it oversaw the good functioning of public primary schools in Pondicherry (each enclave had its own committee).  Committees of Indian Notables created in 1872: in charge of the direct surveillance of the schools for girls of caste origin (in Pondicherry, Nellitope, Oulgaret, Ariancoupam).     

 

Source: Record Centre of Pondicherry, Jeewanandapuram, Lawspet.

89 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, p. 135.

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Rather than an impersonal bureaucracy, the small number of people who ran the French Indian establishments in the end consisted of a small group who were council members either in the local council of Pondicherry or in the colonial council until 1789 and then the general council of India. One could not be a member of both councils at the same time. The sessions of these councils were meetings of personalities rather than assemblies of people performing the social role of the bureaucrats. Indeed, these bureaucrats did not always correspond to Max Weber’s model, because their thinking was not always based on the principles of rationality, objectivity, and consistency. Education, a right linked to citizenship, led to the creation of institutional entities such as the colonial council of public education, the committee for private schools, the committee for primary education, and the committees of Indian notables to overseas pedagogical questions, and the laicization of public schools, among other administrative tasks. In addition to this bureaucracy, there were other independent bodies from the colonial state. For instance, there was the ‘family and domestic tribunal’, which dealt with ‘caste affairs’, which each caste was allowed to have. However, the governor had the right to control the decisions of these independent bodies to ensure that they conformed to the manool (traditions). Indeed, decisions had to be sanctioned by a judge of peace.90 Religion was another consideration. Muslims were ruled by the Islamic law, whereas not only Hindus but also Christians were governed by Hindu law, as many continued to follow local customs and norms. Hindus’ conversion to Christianity had no impact on how customary laws applied to them, because officials often did not consider them as full converts. Moreover, no civil status was linked to Christianity, hence the need to continue judging them according to the local practices and laws. However, the authorization to have public processions, to make music, and to perform marriages and burials as well as other celebrations were still granted by the governor, because these occasions involved the issue of public order. Finally, the French policy of non-interference in local customs did not extend to criminal law.91 Indeed, only the French penal law was applied in French India in accordance with the decree of 1778 and reiterated in the 1887 decree.92 90 Esquer, Essai, pp. 340–341. 91 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871, pp. 271–272, RCP. 92 Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, p. 25. Bulletin off iciel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1877, pp. 55–58, BnF, gallica. Under Governor Desbassayns de Richemont, a comité de jurisprudence indienne (committee on Indian jurisprudence) was created in 1826 to explicate the local law to the colonial administrators and the French magistrate.

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II. The Topas, the Renouncers, and the Catholics A. The Topas An issue of contention even before the Third Republic came into power was who belonged to the imperial nation. More precisely, how did anyone come to belong to the imperial nation? The European Third Republic electoral college was not as heterogeneous as its name implied, because it encompassed two groups who did not socially mix. On one side were the state’s employees and other agents of colonization who came from France; on the other side were the topas. The topas were descendants of the Indians who converted to Christianity under the Portuguese domination during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and abandoned their personal status for an identity that was the same as that of the colonizers in order to differentiate themselves from the Indian population before and during the Third Republic era. The topas had two criteria for in-group membership. The first criterion was to wear a special outfit with a hat; hence, their name topas, which means ‘gens à chapeau’ (people with a hat). The Tamil word for ‘hat’ is topy.93 Another origin of this term topas could be the Sanskrit word dvibhāsha, literally meaning ‘one who speaks two languages’, underlining the idea of a hybrid identity. The second criterion for in-group membership among the topas was conversion to the Catholic faith and the adoption of a Portuguese name. Despite displaying such cultural assimilation into the French culture, their perceived lack of authenticity regarding their origins – some were descendants of Indians who converted to Catholicism and renounced their caste affiliation rather than descendants of racially mixed ancestors – meant that topas were often portrayed and treated as immoral and untrustworthy by the rest of the French colonial society.94 Indeed, a reader of the newspaper Le Petit Bengali emphasized that the topas had not ‘a drop of European blood’ and should therefore not be confused with the creoles. Furthermore, the topas were locals who started to dress like Europeans, before it became illegal to do so with the decree of 1827.95 Similarly, because some of them were the offspring of Frenchmen and often Indian maids of outcaste origin, they were also not welcomed within the Indian community.96 93 ‘Correspondance’, Le Petit Bengali 32, 5 August 1884, pp. 126–127, BnF, gallica. 94 Carton, ‘Shades of Fraternity’, pp. 592–593. 95 Un ami de la Vérité, ‘Les Topas’, Le Petit Bengali 52, 5 August 1884, pp. 127–128, BnF, gallica. 96 Annousamy, Pondicherry, pp. 72–73.

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On 2 March 1790, the French Revolution gave the topas the right to vote; they were subsequently classified as honorary citizens. However, on 6 September 1790, the Colonial Assembly (without ratification from the National Assembly in Paris) reversed this decision and subsequently stripped the topas of their citizenship rights. No explanation was given, but, with this move, the Colonial Assembly drew a clear racial boundary between those who could be considered Europeans and those who could not. Two years later, on 2 December 1792, topas men were again incorporated into the list of active citizens. Some of them were allowed back in the Colonial Assembly at Pondicherry and consequently were granted the same citizenship rights as the Europeans – mostly thanks to a 1790 petition written by 25 topas men to the Colonial Assembly at Pondicherry. The topas succeeded in having the pre-revolutionary conception of nationality based on domicile (to qualify as a Frenchman was determined by residing on French soil) and cultural assimilation (as Catholic subjects, they demanded European status) to overcome the nationality based on the principles of racial descent (nationality by birth). Mainly, they underscored both how free people of colour in other colonies were granted citizenship rights based on domicile and how the métis (children of mixed ancestors) in French India had secured French citizenship due to their verifiable origins.97 During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, concepts of race and colour, both in France and in the overseas French colonies, were completely different from modern ideas of racial classification anchored in lineage and type. The notion of what it meant to be French was based on questions of cultural, religious, and linguistic belonging rather than on a permanent and modern concept of Whiteness based on skin colour. Differences between individuals were not only physical but also inscribed in cultural practices and behaviours. Catholics, for instance, were considered as belonging to the ‘French race’.98 Interestingly, during the Third Republic, the topas opposed the renouncers’ demand to be recognized and treated as French citizens, because the topas perceived the renouncers as a threat to their political and symbolic power, which they were not willing to share with the renouncers.99 Instead, the topas supported the traditional Hindus in their opposition to the Third Republic’s project of social change in order to deny the renouncers’ access to the topas’ positions and privileges, a typical case of social closure. 97 See Carton, ‘Shades of Fraternity’. 98 Carton, ‘Shades of Fraternity’, pp. 587–588. 99 Deschamps, ‘La citoyenneté’, p. 5.

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

The Renouncers

Like any other collective categorical identification, citizenship remained a contentious issue in French India. To further complicate matters, the Third Republic, in a top-down manner, instituted a new category of citizens: the renouncers. Additionally, and to complicate matters further, the state’s implementation of a republican citizenship created a hierarchical ethnicized group, which contributed to conflicts in society.100 The rights of this group were limited in comparison to the topas, because they were excluded from registration on the first list with the Europeans. The refusal of the colonial supreme court to grant their demand to be registered on the first list was justified by Victor Schoelcher, a member of this colonial supreme court, as follows: the judgement of the Cour de cassation ‘could not have the effect of making the Indians into Europeans just by renouncing their personal status […] and having them [the renouncers] not to stay under the influence of their traditions for a long time’.101 This perception represented the typical French official mindset, which often depicted Hindus as displaying unique features (above all, a ‘caste mentality’) that created supposedly insurmountable differences between locals and Frenchmen. Unlike the topas who earlier on believed that their exclusion from the electoral roll as active citizens was based on their skin colour, Schoelcher pointed to the renouncers’ lack of cultural assimilation. More precisely, the idea that the renouncers did not share the Europeans’ cognitive model of how the world worked indicated their lack of assimilation into French civilization. Social scientist Damien Deschamps notes the contradiction of using the term ‘Indian renouncer’, because a renouncer was legally a fully fledged French person in terms of relation to the state. As Deschamps concludes, this local electoral system turned the renouncers into ‘an intermediary category’, because they were perceived as not having fully assimilated into French customs and French civil practices like the French natives. Until they could prove that they had a ‘French identity’, they were ‘deferred citizens’.102 Overall, the renouncers’ cultural attributes, manifested mainly in terms of religion and language, affected how much and what type of political participation they could pretend to have. The joint intervention of the metropolitan state and the colonial administration ethnicized citizen 100 Henders, ‘Political Regimes and “Ethnic” Identities’, p. 11. 101 ‘M. Choelcher’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française, 14 June 1885, pp. 40–41, BnF, gallica. 102 Deschamps, ‘Citoyens inachevés’, pp. 53– 55.

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participation within the state through the issue of voting. At the same time, the renouncers tried to renegotiate their access to different forms of power – political power and prestige – which affected the relationships between the colonial and caste groups. This situation again underlines how a particular category, the renouncers, had been repressed and devalued by the law and dominant discourse. Some renouncers proclaimed loudly and clearly that they had rejected not only the caste system but also the caste mentality. They believed that these new republican laws would nullify the privileges of the Europeans and the cultural differences between the renouncers and the Europeans. A quintessential illustration of this situation is seen in the case of the lawyer Ponnoutamby, who was the leader of the renouncers. In 1873, Ponnoutamby entered the court wearing European-style shoes. A magistrate chastised him for doing so by saying that he could not wear such shoes, an attribute of the Europeans. In reply, Ponnoutamby declared: My Lord! Once inside the court, I am an advocate. At the bar, all are equal. Then when arises the question of being an Indian or European? Further, socks and shoes do not belong to India. And to be frank, the very nature of my footwear exempts me from adhering to the local tradition.103

In response, the judge reprimanded and punished Ponnoutamby for his behaviour, consequently def ining him as a permanent outsider of the ‘civilized’ community, who could not claim equal status with the colonial master. The issue of law and order was at the root of the judge’s decision. In truth, he did not want the lawyer to degrade his caste position by wearing leather shoes (because leather shoes were made of raw leather, which was considered unclean, and thus worn only by Europeans and outcastes), because it could lead to violent reactions among the Hindu population. In this respect, the colonial judicial system was enforcing respect for the Indigenous personal law. As a response, Ponnoutamby appealed to the supreme court for justice, looking for the assistance of the imperial state in his protest against the judge’s decision. His petition to recognize his status as fully French – and subsequently the rights attached to this status – was recognized and validated by an external higher authority in France. Ponnoutamby organized the fight for his followers to be recognized as fully French citizens by identifying with the French Republican nation and using the rhetoric of universal rights. This case clearly illustrates that a 103 Raja, A Concise History of Pondicherry, p. 73.

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collective self-identification was created through the process of transforming a political regime.104 In support of Ponnoutamby’s cause, the newspaper Le Progrès reminded its readers of a similar event in the neighbouring British Madras. In 1872, an individual had to pay a fine for visiting the office of the judge of police ( juge de police) wearing slippers (babouches) instead of Western shoes. Similarly, during the official visits to Madras by the princes of Galles and Edinburg later on, the locals in Madras were prohibited from meeting these royal dignities if they were wearing slippers. Within Western institutions and on occasions involving Western political figures, locals had to dress in a Western manner to display their attachment to European culture through their choice of attire, hence sharing the norms of what it meant to be westernized.105 In contrast, the anti-assimilationist newspaper Le Petit Bengali used the word ‘farce’ to refer to renouncers who were ‘recruited among the lowest members of society’ and dressed like Europeans, pretending to embrace French mores. The newspaper referred to Frédéric Haas, the director of Home Affairs in 1881, who encouraged renouncers to adopt European attire as a marker of integration within French culture.106 Clothing was also a mark of caste; the Pariahs’ scanty clothing was an important sign of their subjugation. Outcastes had to wear a loincloth at work, and when they wore a waist cloth, it had to be worn above the knees. It was not only vexing to some French colonizers but also to members of higher castes to see Pariahs and individuals from lower castes trying to elevate their social status by dressing in Western style.107 This was a tough fight on the ground, because part of the local press in French India continued to focus on the inability of the Indian to evolve into a ‘civilized’ person, hence the ‘primitive’ nature of the natives, which justified the need for colonialism. As the journal Le Petit Bengali stated: The Indian will stay Indian that is a man opposing progress. He has a defect judgement [défaut de jugement], an indolent nature, and a flimsy spirit [un esprit léger], against which will always clash all the attempts to make him a man of this century – a worthy goal. His time to the grand 104 Henders, ‘Political Regimes and “Ethnic” Identities’, p. 7. 105 ‘Une délibération sur les babouches’, Le Progrès 120, 8 February 1885, pp. 523–524, RCP. 106 ‘les Electeurs de l’Inde Française’, Le Petit Bengali 23, 7 June 1886, p. 90, BnF gallica; ‘Prince Maharajan Mr Haas’, Le Petit Bengali 7, 17 February 1885, p. 25, BnF, gallica. 107 Viswanath, The Pariah Problem, pp. 76–77.

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European banquet has not arrived yet. Will it come? It is a question to which the future will answer.108

The kind of language used in the newspapers – such as ‘a man of this century’ and the ‘European banquet’ – signified the concern that the Indian subcontinent would be left behind in the historical quest for progress, excluded from modernity, and adhere to social norms in accordance with sacred millenary texts. In the linear development of human society, the inculcation of Western civilization was epitomized as the ideal, and France’s mission was to help Indians climb the evolutionary scale. An ardent supporter of the implementation of republican rights in French India was the lawyer Laporte, who died in June 1886. His gravestone evolved into a lieu de mémoire, a commemorative space that became ‘a symbolic element of the memorial heritage’ of the renouncers’ community.109 Each year, on the anniversary of his death, the renouncers’ community gathered at his grave to pay tribute to Laporte. For instance, on this occasion in 1897, the Indian Gnanadicom, director of the pro-renouncer newspaper L’indépendant and leader of the Liberal Party (and son-in-law of Laporte), gave an emotionally charged republican discourse on assimilation: We come here to accomplish a pious duty, to honour the memory of the generous man, of the brave patriot, of the French martyr who weakened under the weight of labours and fatigues, [and who] served one of the purest causes: the regeneration of the Indian. […] All the Renouncers, faithful to the dispositions of the Master, are gathered again around France and its flag. Let’s hope […] the union of the Frenchmen of French India in order to fight the prejudices and the fables of the Brahmanical fanatism which is today a fait accompli […] My friends, on your behalf, on behalf of the renouncer Liberal Party, on behalf of all the French, I deposit this wreath as homage of respectful gratitude to the First Indian French of the colony.110

The pro-renouncer Liberal Party stated its desire for the renouncers to come together to build a statue of Laporte, a social symbol of the republic commemorative culture; in opposition to the Hindu space inscribed in terms of pollution or cleanliness, a ‘true’ republican public space with its own heroes – in this case, a statue of Laporte – needed to be created, which would reinforce a 108 ‘Au Petit Bengali’, L’Echo de Pondichéry 13, 8 May 1887, p. 49, BnF, gallica. 109 Nora, ‘From Lieux de Mémoire to Realms of Memory’, p. xvii. 110 ‘Sur La tombe de M.S.P Laporte’, L’indépendant 11, 25 June 1897, p. 61, RCP.

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feeling of belonging together among renouncers. This pro-renouncer Liberal Party, as part of the Third Republic commemorative culture, asserted their claim for a more equitable form of citizenship. This move was one way by which the renouncers pursued a clearly identifiable agenda to support their goal to be recognized and treated as full French citizens. C.

The Catholics

Before the arrival of the French, there were no Christians in Pondicherry, and the community was ruled by the Muslim minority. Thus, in 1674, François Martin, the f irst governor general of Pondicherry, prioritized the evangelization of the native population. Subsequently, he welcomed the French Capuchin missionaries who came from Madras to settle in Pondicherry. They were followed in the 1680s by the Jesuit missionaries. By 1709, an estimated 1100 Indians had converted to Catholicism in this French enclave, and in 1725, the Catholic community consisted of three thousand Christian Indians out of a total population of 30,000. Most recent converts were from the Shudra caste (farmers) as well as outcastes. High-caste Hindus and their families had converted to Catholicism during the earlier days of French colonialism in India. This is because the French East India Company made it a point, as much as possible, to employ locals who converted to Christianity. In addition, from at least 1690 onwards, the French East India Company appointed a Christian Indian as diwan – a person who acted as an intermediary between the French and the locals. Indeed, so rare was the conversion of Brahmans to Christianity by the turn of the century that a newspaper felt compelled to mention the 1900 conversion of the son of Brahman Sadasiva Rao Govind and his wife, their children, and his sister.111 In contrast, many Hindus, especially Pariahs, converted during times of famine and epidemics, because Catholic missionaries offered economic and psychological relief to poor people. Overall, in the view of the scholar Jean-Baptiste Prashant More, the spread of Christianity among Hindus was hampered by social aspects of Hinduism such as vegetarianism and the caste system. As one reverend in India, Reverend Martin, wrote in 1699: But what shakes them [Hindus] particularly is that the Firangis [the name given to the colonizers] […] drink [alcohol] and eat flesh, which Hindus regard as horrible, and they treat those who eat [flesh] and drink as vile.112 111 ‘A la bonne heure’, Le Messager de l’Inde 3, 8 July 1900, p. 11, BnF, gallica. 112 More, ‘Hindu-Christian Interaction’, p. 113.

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The word ‘Firangis’, which came to represent ‘foreigners’, was probably a local corruption of ‘France’ or ‘français’. Other sources mention White men being referred to as ‘Frangui’, which literally means ‘eaters of chicken’. Apparently, locals gave this name to the Portuguese who had landed on their shores.113 In contrast, there were some Indians who converted to Catholicism but had refused to become renouncers. They remained attached to some Hindu values and subsequently perceived republicanism as implementing new ideas and laws potentially incompatible with their rights as a minority.114 At a 1913 session of the general council of French India, the Indian councilman Gnanou Diagou demanded the modif ication of the decree of 24 April 1880 so that Indian Catholic non-renouncers were not subjected to the legal provisions regarding legal separation (separation des corps). (Diagou had made the same demand previously.)115 Non-renouncer Catholics wanted their Catholic marriage to be indissoluble just like the Hindu marriages. The French general secretary, a committed republican, could not believe that Catholic Indians would reject ‘a true assimilation to the Europeans on the matter of civil status’, underlining how the meaning of the category ‘Catholic Indian’ was a site of contestation between some locals and colonial authorities. Gnanou Diagou replied that the decree of 1880 was passed at the time when Catholicism was a state religion in the motherland. The demand was rejected based on the argument that the Third Republic was bringing about social change not only in France but also in French India: the decree of 24 April 1880 of which article 8 seems to have been inspired by the respect of the rights of the woman who belongs to a religion which has the tendency to elevate and to make her, in dignity, the equal of her husband. This theory is, moreover, to conform to the republican principles themselves, thus it is not possible today to go back, to annul precisely what the decree of 24 April 1880 has of most liberal.116

The Third Republic re-established divorce in France in 1884. It was first legalized on 20 September 1792, before being abolished in 1816. During the nineteenth century, divorce was perceived as a republican institution. 113 Weber, Les Etablissements français, vol. 1, p. 609. 114 Brown, ‘The Democratization of National Identity’, p. 43. 115 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, pp. 556–557, BnF, gallica. 116 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1913, pp. 518–520, RCP.

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Ironically, gender inequality in France – women did not get the right to vote before World War II – did not prevent the general secretary from presenting French women as the liberated model for the local women. It is possible that the demand for Catholic marriages to be indissoluble like Hindu marriages was a reflection of male anxiety over French legislation giving power to women to seek a way out of their marriage.117 Interestingly, Gnanou Diagou argued that, like the conversion of many other Indians to Catholicism, his conversion occurred at a time when France was a conservative and religious nation. In 1913, secular French society in the metropole did not mirror the conservative and religious Indian population of the French enclaves. Clearly, there were disagreements as to what the term ‘Catholic Indian’ meant. There was an alignment regarding the prohibition of divorce between some Catholic and Hindu marriages, because legal Hindu marriages were indissoluble. Due to the complexity of this issue, the members of the general council demanded that the issue be examined again in the following year. The Catholic non-renouncers offer an interesting case in terms of their self-identif ication, showing the more limited transformation of social boundaries between them and the Europeans, because they drew a clear line between themselves and the French Catholics around the notion of the domicile, pre-revolutionary notion of citizenship and the specifics of Pondicherry (neighbouring to Madras Presidency, which had beliefs and practices built over millennia that could not easily be changed). Thus, one normative hallmark of French Third Republic democracy – the primacy of secular over religious values – was challenged, and concession to a specif ic group was asked.118 Still, becoming a renouncer did not always mean, in practice, the abandonment of important traditions, because the practice of citizenship was constrained by the existing culture. More often, the renouncers came together as a group to pursue shared interests (for example, to be treated as equals of the colonial masters) rather than to discuss their day-to-day experiences of life in which they were supposed to abandon their Indigenous customs. Historical data and Jacques Weber’s work indicate that renouncers petitioned the state for the right to conduct marriages between nieces and maternal uncles, a common practice in southern India among the castes and outcastes (except among the Muslims), but prohibited by articles 162

117 See Anagol, ‘Women as Agents’, pp. 181–218. 118 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1913, pp. 518–520, RCP.

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and 163 of the French Civil Code.119 This preferential marriage rule offered practical advantages. The rule emphasizes how a cognitive model consisting of particular ways of reasoning was specific to this group of renouncers. For instance, because it was customary for a son to live with his parents after marriage, one fear that parents had was that a stranger might live with them. Hence, by choosing someone who was already acquainted with the familial everyday life, rituals would be easier to conduct and this would promote more stability within the household. Generally, within household rules in Tamil society, the maternal uncle played a role similar to that of a father. He would be the first to be informed of the birth of a child in the family. During the ear-piercing ceremony, an act of purification in the Indian context, the child was placed on the uncle’s lap. It was also the oldest of the maternal uncles who took the young bride to the marriage ceremonies. Though it might seem contradictory that maternal uncles married their nieces, this situation was not so, because in southern India, marriages were not based on blood ties, but on alliances. At her marriage, a young woman leaves her family to enter a new family. Thus, marriage is a means of cementing new alliances. Because birth cross cousins are already part of this network of alliances, marriages between cross cousins reinforced the existing interdependency among the kin groups. The marriage was typically concluded between the last son and the daughter of the last son’s oldest sister, which minimized the age difference and ensured a difference in generation.120 In order not to slow down the renunciation movement, the colonial state always granted a demand for cross cousin marriage, despite opposition from the Catholic church.121 However, very few Indians, even Catholic Indians, became renouncers: only about 3700 individuals, or 1.3 per cent of the population, were reported as renouncers in 1883.122 The first year of the renunciation movement saw people hurrying to renunciate. However, this enthusiasm quickly died down as people realized that there was little to gain from renunciation. The newspaper Le Progrès explained the sluggish progress of the renunciation movement in the commune of Oulgaret: people representing the higher castes’ interests told the rural population that becoming renouncers meant becoming an outcaste.123 119 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1885, p. 210, RCP. 120 Annoussamy, ‘Le marriage’, March 2002, pp. 3–4 and April 2002, pp. 7–9. 121 Annoussamy, ‘Le marriage’, March 2002, pp. 3–4 and April 2002, pp. 7–9; Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, p. 242. ‘Causerie’, Le Jeune Patriote 14, 1 July 1897, p. 99, BnF, gallica. 122 Michalon, ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français’, p. 45, n. 123. 123 A.G., ‘Au ‘Progrès’ d’aujourd’hui’, L’indépendant 12, 5 July 1897, pp. 62–63, BnF, gallica.

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Graph 3.1 The Acts of Renunciations registered in the City Hall of Pondicherry (1882–1962)

Source: Pondicherry Municipal Records, in the nineteenth- and twentieth-century documents, Record Centre of Pondicherry, Jeewanandapuram, Lawspet.

Such threats regarding the imposition of new norms by the French state was part of a dominant discourse about the menace posed by the Europeans to Hindu society and demonstrates how traditionalist upper-caste Hindus tried to mark renouncers as the equivalents of outcastes and thereby convinced other Hindus (and Catholics) in Pondicherry not to support a European initiative for social change. Rejecting the cultural explanation, a contemporary writer named César Poulain underscored the inability to gain any privilege by becoming a renouncer: On the one hand it [the renunciation] imposed a complete submission to French laws, after abandoning real [caste] privileges, and on the other hand, it does not give any compensation for the consented sacrifice. At the political level […]the non-renouncers who sacrifice nothing of their

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privileges and rejected the principles of the French law, absolutely enjoy the same rights as the renouncers.124

Indeed, by abandoning their legal status as Hindus, people lost the communal rights linked to their caste. The consequences were severe. Caste Hindus who became renouncers were forced to leave their neighbourhood, because the caste Hindus who lived there would perceive them, after renunciation, as outcastes.125 Additionally, few Muslims renounced, because they did not want to participate in marriage and inheritance practices proscribed by the Koran. Of those who did renounce, the overwhelming majority were Catholics. There were far fewer Hindu renouncers and even fewer Muslim renouncers. In terms of caste, renouncers were either from high-status groups or they were Pariahs.

III. Institutions Citizenship has also been defined in terms of institutionalized relationships between citizens and the community. In theory, institutions such as tribunals and schools had to share cultural norms that def ined everyday practices of citizens participating in the community. In colonial Pondicherry, existing institutions made it difficult to promote a universal republican mode of identification among the Indian population, because existing mores could not easily be displaced by republican ideals. At the same time, the colonial administration sometimes chose to govern by enforcing pragmatic solutions rather than trying to impose a universal republicanism. A.

A Plural Court System Reinforcing a Localized Selfidentification

An imagined India was important to the French colonial society’s sense of self. The majority of European colonizers perceived caste as the main marker of the local Indians, which would also require, according to councilman Tamby’s 1873 comment, ‘a few centuries in order to cast off

124 Poulain, Notes sur l’Inde française, p. 13. 125 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1895, pp. 156–161, RCP.

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the prejudice of caste’.126 Changing the Indian environment and turning Indians into Frenchmen was therefore a slow process. In colonial thinking, the notion of caste often meant separation, particularly geographical separation, which prevented the feeling of brotherhood from developing among the citizens of the same nation. Colonizers often neglected the caste’s functional and social aspects: the caste system was a system of solidarity and interdependence; individual castes embarked on a group effort to try to achieve upward mobility through changing their ranking in the local hierarchy.127 Underscoring this perception, the Le messager de l’Inde newspaper stated in 1901: The French writers when speaking about India say the caste is a cause of separation, desegregation and division and portray the British government as respecting and even encouraging with assiduity the feeling of caste as a precaution and by selfishness. By lacking caste, they believe that India could be one [nation] as the European nations. […] Regarding this theory, we will restrict ourselves to say that the Hindu writers themselves admitted that the unique tie which links the 207,000,000 Hindus together, the only thing that sets them apart from the rest of mankind is precisely caste rather than religious belief or moral beliefs.128

Given this situation, some members of the local and general councils believed that it would be impossible to anchor a large and detached republican identity in such a caste-oriented society. Moreover, within emerging local institutions, the traditional high-caste brokers played a prominent role in opposing the formation of a new republican category of self-identification for the locals. They believed that it would lead to a redefinition of power relations and cultural differences detrimental to them; consequently, these high-caste brokers wanted to impede the process of social change fostered by the Third Republic.129 The establishment of a secular framework of political representation for Indians gave rise to debates about the issue of law and order and the legal system in relation to the local customs. In 1877, the minister of the navy and colonies, Gicquel des Touches, wrote a report to the president of

126 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1873, p. 211, RCP. 127 Srinivas, Caste in Modern India, p. 7. 128 ‘Notes sur la caste’, Le Messager de l’Inde 57, 16 July 1902, p. 433, RCP. 129 Tilly, ‘Contention Over Space’, pp. 223–224.

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the French Republic concerning the issue of caste, religion, and the law in French India. While he believed that the French governor of India should continue to respect the local customs regarding the penal code, such as the right to punish an individual wearing slippers of a colour outside of one’s caste (thus, respect for Indigenous personal law), he concluded his report by advocating for a more nuanced approach in dealing with the locals on such matters: The Indians are allowed to enjoy their personal status; they have, from then on, a privilege which does not belong to the nationals or to the foreigners. Due to this situation, the Administration, while assuring their immunities which result from our respect of their traditions and customs, has the duty to take the necessary precautions in the interest of public peace, and to guarantee them against the abuses which could be done with these privileges.130

In des Touches’s view, respecting local particularism was a means of maintaining peace and order. The two court systems reinforced separation between locals and Europeans, which proved to be a hindrance to the building of a united Republican mode of identification. While colonial law and its courts offered a potential channel to challenge the existing social order, the minister of the navy and colonies, like most of the colonial authorities, often chose to play down, and sometimes deny, opportunities for social change in the name of peace and order. Different judicial rules for various groups had been the rule in French India, as in many parts of the French empire. This was because, as with past policies, previous governors learned from experience that social peace depended on peace and harmony among the various religious groups. Moreover, it was also a practical solution, because French civil law did not always appear to be suited to the local setting.131 Not only did the colonial state allow a pluralistic legal system to exist, it even remunerated bureaucracies with such a privilege. Accordingly, the local French judicial system recognized the need to create two new positions for legal proceedings in the judicial courts of French India – one for a Brahman and the other for a mullah. The Brahman administered oaths for local Hindus, while the mullah did the same for Muslims. This move led to a passionate discussion

130 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1877, p. 542, RCP. 131 Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, p. 20.

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at the 1881 general council of French India: some members of the council questioned the need for such employment. For instance, the legal public prosecutor (procureur général) cited the unitary and secular aspect of the law, questioned the religious source of law, and indirectly contested a pluralistic legal structure: The oath, in the system of the French law, is received by the magistrate. This one does not concern knowing which religion or which sect the one who would compare in front of him belongs to, because this would be penetrating the sanctuary of the consciousness, sanctuary that the legislator is prohibited from entering, the day where he has claimed the freedom of worship. Regarding the witness, when he takes an oath, the hand up, he mentally invokes the God which attached him to his faith. He does not need, for this, the intermediary of a Muslim, Catholic, Hindu, Protestant, or Jewish religious authority. If lustral water is needed to make those who belong to the religion of Brahma take an oath, there is no reason not to also present Holy water to those of the Christian faith.132

Rather than criticizing how the judicial French norms had not been fully applied in these colonial enclaves, Indian councillor Covindassamy proposed that the positions be kept in accordance with local mores, but only if these functions were given the respect they deserve – that is, to be better paid. Indeed, in comparison to remuneration for European civil servants, the lower remuneration given to Indian bureaucrats was creating first- and secondclass citizens. Opting for a more assimilationist approach, the Directeur de l’intérieur rejected what he called the ‘peremptoriness’ of the procureur général in dismissing these functions as useless. Rather, he argued for the need to teach the population, mostly through schooling, the universal and secular ‘sense of duty’ that ‘should govern the consciousness and engage them [populations] to reveal the truth rather than the fear of divine justice’.133 The Directeur de l’intérieur’s remark embodied the typical French republican tradition derived from the 1789 Revolution, drawing on principles that would mould, over time, individuals as rational and secular beings. Because of the existence of Western and Manu (or local) legal systems, it was complicated when, as a republican citizen, an individual presumed equal rights for all in the law. Such equality was difficult to achieve within 132 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1881, p. 461, RCP. 133 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1881, pp. 460–461.

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a plural legal system wherein an individual could exploit a rotating system to gain advantage or simply escape various forms of subordination. On the other hand, could a pluralistic system be one in which litigants have the right to choose the type of law to be applied to their case and consequently use laws most advantageous to them? (This system has been called ‘forum shopping’.)134 The following story about Covindassamychetty, a merchant, and his wife Bangarammalle illustrates the case of ‘forum shopping’ and how Covindassamychetty tried to use the pluralistic system to get a positive answer to his demand. The plaintiff wanted to marry one of his nieces and desired the dissolution of his first marriage, which was impossible in the traditional court, because legal Hindu marriages were indissoluble. He asked his wife’s consent for this union, but she refused. Consequently, Covindassamychetty went to court in the hope of having his marriage cancelled. Due to his profession, his case was judged by the assembly of the caste Cavaré (as stated earlier, each caste had its own tribunal dealing with what was called ‘caste affairs’) on 2 December 1882. The court granted his request, because the merchant argued that his wife had uterine cancer and could no longer procreate. However, on 7 March 1883, the Western court of Pondicherry refused to officially recognize this decision, because ‘the infirmity is a question that could not be proved in front of the French justice’. Subsequently, he married his niece in nearby British Indian territory, under another jurisdiction. Outraged by his decision to marry without her consent, Bangarammalle went to the French court to ask her husband and father-in-law to return her jewellery and provide a maintenance allowance, because she refused to go back to living with her husband. The French court ruled that Covindassamychetty had to pay four hundred rupees of indemnities to his first wife for ‘the insult of a second union contracted in defiance of the previous one’. Eventually, Bangarammalle was required to go back living with her husband, because the court recognized that Hindu law ‘admits […] the cohabitation of a few wives of a same husband under the same roof’.135 The story did not end there: Covindassamychetty returned to the French court in July 1883 to dissolve his first marriage, notwithstanding that Hindu law did not allow such dissolution. For the same reason that his demand was refused in the first place, the judge Drouhet mentioned that second marriages were managed by the local jurisdiction, because

134 Balachandran, Pant, and Raman, Iterations of Law, p. 157. 135 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1883, pp. 301–310, RCP.

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they belonged to local custom and hence were not part of the French court jurisdiction.136 This case of overlapping court systems eventually worked together, an arrangement that arose out of the colonial administration’s need to exert control over the population at the lowest cost. The colonial court ‘created space for contestation and agency’ for Bangarammalle to f ight for her interests against Indigenous male patriarchy. 137 However, the colonial court chose to rule according to the Hindu law, hence preventing Bangarammalle from challenging the marriage that bound her. In this scenario, we see a local man who instrumentalized justice and would go with either the Indigenous or French court’s ruling as long as his wishes could be granted. Covindassamychetty displayed his personal interest-driven agenda beyond his identification with his caste. As other scholars have demonstrated in other contexts, an empire that allowed the coexistence of multiple forms of law (customary, religious, etc.) meant that litigants could choose among courts. However, the superior authority was the colonial state, which tried ‘to hold sway in the middle range of adjudication’. 138 Scholarship on India suggests that the coexistence of various forums for dispute resolutions did not necessarily mean a larger and better choice for litigants.139 Overall, the French empire under the Third Republic behaved in a contradictory manner. It promoted a limited ideology of somewhat individual emancipation through a Civil Code condemning polygamy and recognizing divorce (Polygamy was practised by both Muslims and Hindus). In actuality, there were two legal systems, both of which prevented possibilities of republican forms of emancipation for women. On one hand, the public law, administrative law, and criminal law had been imported from the metropole to the various colonies throughout the French empire with modification. On the other hand, when it came to private law, jurists regarded the Indigenous people as too culturally different to be subjected to the French private law. It was diff icult to apply the civilizing mission in a situation in which the Indigenous status of people was maintained.140

136 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1883, pp. 308–310. 137 Merry, ‘Comment’, p. 1068. 138 Burbank and Cooper, ‘Rule of Law, Politics of Empire’, p. 281. 139 Balachandran, Pant, and Raman, Iterations of Law, p. 156. 140 Saada, ‘Citoyens et sujets’, pp. 12–13.

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Other Institutions and the European–Indian Divide

Scholars in the social sciences consider citizenship to be a set of claims between agents of the state and members of society who belong to socially constructed categories such as gender, race, and religion.141 The colonial state had been accepted as the ruler of French India, and natives expected the colonial court to come to a decision regarding their various claims and petitions. For some citizens, contact with the state was often through its social policies regarding health, safety, and decisions on religious matters. This situation is seen in the following case, in which the newspaper L’Union hindoue asked for ‘nurturing’ rights – that is, the right to actively preserve one’s way of life.142 The L’Union hindoue professed to publish ‘the current ideas’ among the Hindu population of the French establishments in India. In 1901, it noted the reluctance of the Hindus to go to European hospitals, indirectly emphasizing that Hindus were different from the European population. The newspaper asserted that the local population wished to follow the hospital model of the British Madras Presidency. In this Presidency, young ladies belonging to unspecified castes trained in Western medicine, so they could practise their craft in the zenanas (part of the house reserved for women). An initiative also welcomed by the newspaper was the example from Madras, where native women doctors were working in the Gosha hospitals.143 Indeed, it was common practice in the British colonies for European physicians to share their knowledge with their local aids in hospitals and barracks.144 Overall, L’Union hindoue’s rhetoric emphasized adaptation to the local context. It sought to have the French officials follow the British colonizers in India, who respected a community that had its own values and customs. The right to petition, which came with citizenship, lets a set of actors demand recognition and inclusion. These people’s request was related to health and, more specifically, to the lack of Western medical assistance for Indians who were sick at home. In 1875, a group of Indians from Pondicherry petitioned the local council of Pondicherry to grant some native doctors the right to practise their trade. The council denied their petition, arguing that these native doctors first needed to take an exam to get the necessary diploma to practise. This was despite the suggestion from the 141 Tilly, ‘Citizenship, Identity and Social History’, p. 6. 142 Pakulski, ‘Cultural Citizenship’, p. 80. 143 La rédaction, ‘Chronique’, L’Union hindoue 2, 6 May 1901, pp. 5–6, BnF, gallica. 144 Bastos, ‘Teaching European’, p. 17.

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Councilman Covindassamy that such a request was not made compulsory for many mestrys (Indian doctors), who were already practising their trade in the French enclaves.145 More precisely, these native doctors looking to practise their trade would have to get a diploma of medicine after three years of studies, which would only allow them to exercise their profession in Pondicherry.146 As the traditional healing practices of the locals were not taken seriously by colonial officials who probably knew little, if anything, about it, the rejection must have been a humiliating experience for the native doctors. Indeed, the practice of medicine was considered a divine undertaking, so doctors were held in very high regard within a community. For many centuries, Indians had used Ayurvedic treatments and siddha, based on the use of mineral components. They also used unani medicine, which involved the use of herbal remedies and alternative treatments.147 Because they viewed Western medicine as superior to traditional healing practices, doctors trained in Western medicine were subsequently defined by the colonial administration as the in-group, while the traditional healers were regarded as members of the out-group and given neither proper recognition nor rights by the colonial state. While Pondicherry’s local council could have granted the local population more freedom to show that they were valuable citizens, the institution chose to support solutions that closed off opportunities for social change, which would have allowed more cultural pluralism. This example highlights the paradox of citizenship as both universal and exclusionary. Another point of contention between the colonial state and some religious groups in society also involved the safety of locals. This pertained to some religious rituals that posed a danger to participants. What was apparently an issue of cultural rights and whether such rights should be maintained became a political battle for electoral support. For instance, in 1885, Governor General Richaud wrote a letter to the Director of Home Affairs. In his letter, Richaud stated how he, like his predecessors, had always given his authorization to the celebrations of local religious ceremonies, except for one. This involved a celebration in which a repentant would trod barefoot on a burning brazier to purify himself and acquire merit. After an accident involving the death of an infant (the walker fell on the brazier while carrying the infant), this ritual was prohibited in 1861, but was restored in 1879 by the colonial administration. Such a ritual was 145 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1875, p. 151, RCP. 146 Nallam, Histoire de la Médecine, pp. 55, 201, 213. 147 Nallam, Histoire de la Médecine, pp. 15, 18.

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condemned by the Brahmans and was mostly practised by the low castes. ‘In the interest of the moralization of these populations’, Richaud proposed to allow the ceremony, but to prohibit the fire-walking on the brazier.148 The colonial state, as the ‘moral educator’ of the population, had been receptive to caste and religious preferences, but as the supreme regulator of society, some rituals had to be banned. For the lower castes, such rituals were part of a comprehensive religious world view that supported individual needs for belonging and self-identif ication. These religious aspects therefore provided a powerful feeling of belonging that was diff icult to displace. There was a continuing series of transactions between citizens and the political-administrative apparatus, and political leaders referred to this specific feeling of belonging as a useful cultural construct for some of the elites to secure political power.149 An example illustrates the apparently political manipulation of this specific feeling of belonging: Pierre Alype, the deputy for French India sponsored by Channemougam, was the one who recalled Governor Alexandre d’Ubraye’s 1861 decision regarding firewalking on the brazier.150 Members of the first list (European voters) in an 1885 petition to the members of the Chamber of Deputies in France argued that this 1879 recall was an electoral manoeuvre, because this ceremony was particularly popular among the lower castes and especially the inhabitants of the rural communes (Oulgaret, Villemour, and Bahour), where Alype got the majority of the vote and subsequently was elected deputy of India.151 The expansion of citizenship rights was accompanied by conflicts, as new demands from some groups of citizens affected existing customary rights, such as the right to engage in traditional practices.152 This point is well illustrated by the pyre located in Modéliarpett, a suburb of Pondicherry. Hindu tradition required corpses to be cremated, and the cremation was carried out on a funeral pyre. Modéliarpett’s pyre, due to its proximity to the main street of Goudelour, was regarded as unhealthy for the well-being of the population residing there. During a session of the local council, officials issued a notice to move the cremation to a different site. A new 148 Bulletin des Actes Administratifs, 1885, pp. 352–353, RCP. ‘La fête du feu’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française, 3 May 1885, pp. 10–11, BnF, gallica. 149 Henders, ‘Political Regimes and “Ethnic” Identities’, p. 6. 150 Poulain, Notes sur l’Inde française, pp. 10–11. 151 ‘Pétition des électeurs de la première liste des établissements français de l’Inde à Messieurs les Membres de la Chambre des deputés’, Pondicherry, 10 November 1885, Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, pp. 79–88, RCP. 152 Pakulski, ‘Cultural Citizenship’, p. 77.

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emplacement bordering the village of Ariancoupom was chosen despite the opposition of the village inhabitants, who argued that the transportation of a corpse from one aldée to another aldée was against their religion and that the smell of the incinerations could create illnesses. They demanded that the cremation be moved somewhere else. The council refused their demand, because the pyre was far away from where the inhabitants of Ariancoupom lived. Moreover, the council members argued that inhabitants of Pondicherry city burned their corpses outside of the city for sanitary reasons, and this practice did not offend the city inhabitants’ religious beliefs.153 These were two irreconcilable world views. One was mostly based on religion. It stressed how religious beliefs caused people to behave in a particular way. This is because religious rituals marked a major transition in life – death, in this instance – and were group-affirming occasions. The other world view was strictly based on health reasons and not affected in any way by religion. In this situation, elites were at pains to reconcile sanitary measures and the demand for a response to a particular local religious circumstance. Primary communal affiliations historically based on religion could not be easily brushed away. As a result, a group of citizens asserted their cultural differences and subsequently asked for political recognition as such. Prior experience was apparently forgotten, because no reference during the council session was made to this event when a similar case occurred in 1845. The case involved Karikal, another French outpost. There, the local administration ordered the transfer of a funeral pyre out of the town for sanitary reasons. The order led to protests by the local population, and the Europeans barricaded themselves in their homes. Order was restored, thanks to British intervention.154 Some locals displayed intense group loyalty towards their rituals and their groups’ norms, which could have evolved into nationalism. Indeed, the people who led these protest movements were Vellala people opposing the presence of the French, ‘who contaminates everything he reaches’.155 The extension of citizenship rights to all Indian males led to various issues regarding rights claimed not only by the elites but also by the lower classes and lower castes. These issues were related to distinct cultural identities, which subsequently extended citizenship into the ‘politics of

153 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1874, pp. 36–37, RCP. 154 Weber, ‘Chanemougam’, p. 292. 155 Weber, ‘Chanemougam’, p. 292.

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recognition’ of various groups’ lifestyles.156 Moreover, the fact that India was ruled by colonial powers that looked down on specific local customs led some members of the Indian elites to be on the defensive. Thus, reformist movements, such as the Brahmo Samaj, began in 1828 in British India. It was started by elites Ram Mohan Roy and Dwarkanath Tagore, and its goal was to rid Hinduism of its many ‘evils’, such as the lonely fate reserved for young widows.157 Contemporary writer Julien Vinson mentioned that he learned, in 1881, of the existence of an association in Râdjâmandri (probably the city today that is named Rajahmundry and located in Andhra Pradesh) in British India, which also facilitated the remarriages of young widows.158 Debates within the local council of Pondicherry discussed the role of the colonial state in promoting social progress, because these elite men regarded certain native customs as appalling, and on behalf of morality, they sought to eradicate these practices. For example, in 1873, the members of the local council of Pondicherry contemplated providing financial incentives to the first marriages between local males and Hindu widows to encourage such marriage and stop the phenomenon of ‘perpetual widowhood’.159 This wish was again expressed in the 1881 local council, which wanted to eliminate this ‘barbaric custom’. However, no concrete measure or law to prohibit such practice was ever articulated; only the unlikely success of financial incentives to allow remarriages was indicated.160 As Lata Mani argues about the debate over sati – during which a window threw herself on her husband’s pyre and burned to death – in British India, a similar situation occurred in Pondicherry. The discussion about remarriage, like in the case of sati, was often less addressed in regard to women’s conditions and wishes than about assessing the worth of Hindu tradition in a manner that would cast colonialism as liberating local women from barbarism.161 Newspapers then joined the movement for the remarriage of widows. In 1901, L’Union hindoue reopened the issue and asked the French establishments in India to follow the examples of the major cities in British India, where marriages of widows within the upper castes were regularly 156 Pakulski, ‘Cultural Citizenship’, p. 77; On ‘the politics of recognition’, see Taylor, ‘Multiculturalism’, pp. 25–73. 157 Srinivas, Caste in Modern India, p. 50. 158 Vinson, L’Inde Française et les Etudes Indiennes, p. 39. 159 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1873, pp. 304–305, RCP. 160 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1881, pp. 173–174, RCP. 161 Mani, ‘Contentions Traditions’, pp. 88–126.

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performed. L’Union hindoue stated that, because these people had high positions in the social strata, their social status was no longer so much based on religious purity, but on economic and educational status. Meanwhile, on British Indian soil, the newspaper Hindu Social Reformer supported this crusade.162 On this matter, L’Union hindoue, for a second time, looked at the British-led territory as more progressive than French India, and thus worthy of emulation. A year later, Le Messager de l’Inde, as evidence of the growing move to the remarriage of windows, noted that two young Hindu widows, aged fifteen and eighteen, got remarried in Madras Presidency in 1902.163

IV. Conclusion The implication of the political project of the Third Republic was fraught with incomplete application and resistance. Thus, it was difficult to dispel existing local beliefs that defined a sense of social cohesion. This political undertaking brought to focus the cultural aspects of citizenship. Using concepts of categorization, self-understanding, and Max Weber’s sense of belonging shows how a people’s self-identification influenced their support – or lack thereof – of the Third Republic’s political project. For instance, new modes of categorical identifications emerged from the French republic motto ‘Liberty, Equality, Fraternity’. Some local groups, such as the renouncers, embraced it. However, the French politicians never entirely supported these renouncers in their quest to be fully considered and treated as French. Among the inhabitants of Pondicherry, the implementation of a republican citizenship was circumscribed by stronger attachments to religious and ethnic categories than by ties to an intrinsically weak or non-existent sense of an imperial French nation. In parallel, some institutions reinforced cultural differences among various populations, and the existence of a plural legal system for separate religious communities made it substantially more difficult to promote an attachment to a universal republican ideal among the population, especially because locals could lose important caste-based community rights by becoming renouncers, for instance. Whereas some officials and civilian 162 ‘Chronique locale’, Le Progrès 14, 2 August 1901, p. 67, RCP. 163 ‘Deux veuves hindoues…’, Le Messager de l’Inde 85 and 86, 22 October and 25 October 1902, p. 685, BnF, gallica.

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actors were strongly committed to applying universal republican laws in the Indian settlements, a few decisions taken by various institutions showed respect for diversity, which included the needs of different groups and disparate visions and priorities. These decisions emphasized the rather heterogeneous aspects of French rule.

References Primary Sources Record Centre of Pondicherry, Jeewanandapuram, Lawspet, India (RCP). BnF Gallica, digital library of the Bibliothèque nationale de France

Colonial Documents Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, RCP Conseil local de Pondichéry, RCP Les deputés de L’Assemblée des citoyens malabars de Pondichéry, ‘Mémoire des Malabars’, Pondichéry, 11 March 1790, translated from Tamil to French, http:// cidif2.go1.cc/index.php/lettres-du-c-i-d-i-f/36-lettre-n-24/106-0714-memoiredes-malabars, retrieved on February 3, 2021.

Government Serials Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871, 1872, 1875, 1877, 1879, 1880, 1882, 1883, 1884, 1885, 1887, 1889, 1894

Contemporary Newspapers L’Echo de Pondichéry (Pondicherry) L’indépendant (Pondicherry) L’Union hindoue (Pondicherry) L’Union Républicaine (Pondicherry) Le Jeune Patriote (Pondicherry) Le messager de l’Inde (Pondicherry) Le Petit Bengali (Chandernagor) Le Progrès (Pondicherry) Le Républicain de l’Inde française (Pondicherry)

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Contemporary Published Materials Clairon, M. 1926. La renonciation au statut personnel dans l’Inde Française. Paris: Société Annonyme du Recueil Sirey. Esquer, A. 1870. Essai sur les Castes dans l’Inde. Pondicherry: A. Saligny. Poulain, C. 1894. Notes sur l’Inde française, n. 2: Le régime politique. Chalon-surSaône: Imprimerie de L. Marceau. Vinson, J. 1885. L’Inde Française et Les Etudes Indiennes de 1882 à 1884. Paris: Maisonneuve Frères et Ch. Leclerc, Editeurs.

Secondary Sources Anagol, P. 2005. ‘Women as Agents: Contesting Discourses on Marriage and Marital Rights.’ In P. Anagol, The Emergence of Feminism in India, 1850–1920: 181–218. Burlington: Ashgate Publishing Company. Annoussamy, D. March 2002. ‘Le marriage entre oncle et nièce dans le sud de l’Inde.’ Le Trait-D’ Union: 3–4. Annoussamy, D. April 2002. ‘Le marriage entre oncle et nièce dans le sud de l’Inde.’ Le Trait-D’ Union: 7–9. Annoussamy, D. 2019. Pondicherry: A Social and Political History. Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry. Balachandran A., R. Pant, & B. Raman 2018. Iterations of Law: Legal Histories from India, New Delhi, India: Oxford University Press. Bastos, C. 2012. ‘Teaching European Medicine in Nineteenth-Century Goa: Local and Colonial Agendas’. In P. Bala (ed.), Contesting Colonial Authority: Medicine and Indigenous Responses in Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century India: 13–28. Lanham, MD: Lexington Press. Bayly, S. 2014. ‘Western ‘Orientalists’ and the Colonial Perception of Caste.’ In S. Sarkar & T. Sarkar (eds), Caste in Modern India: A Reader, vol. 1: 47–87. Ranikhet, India: Permanent Black. Betts, R. 1961. ‘Origins and Growth of the French Doctrine of Assimilation.’ In R. Betts, Assimilation and Association in French Colonial Territory 1890 to 1915: 10–32. New York: Columbia University Press. Brown, D. 2004. ‘The Democratization of National Identity’. In S. Henders (ed.), Democratization and Identity: Regimes and Ethnicity in East and Southeast Asia: 43–66. Lanham, Md: Lexington Books. Brubaker, R., & F. Cooper 2000. ‘Beyond Identity’. Theory and Society 29 (1): 1–47. Burbank, J., & F. Cooper 2013. ‘Rule of Law, Politics of Empire’. In L. Benton & R. J. Ross (eds), Legal Pluralism and Empires 1500–1850: 279–294. New York: New York University Press.

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Burkhardt, R. W. 2013. ‘Lamarck, Evolution, and the Inheritance of Acquired Characters.’ Genetics 194 (4): 793–805. Carton, A. 2008. ‘Shades of Fraternity: Creolization and the Making of Citizenship in French India, 1790–1792’. French Historical Studies 31 (4): 581–607. Deschamps, D. 1997. ‘Citoyens inachevés ou citoyens supérieurs: Exemples et questions sur I’instrumentation de la citoyenneté républicaine,’ Revue française de science politique 47 (1): 53–55. Deschamps, D. 1997. ‘Une citoyeneté différée: Cens civique des indigènes dans les établissements français de l’Inde’. Revue française de science politique 47 (1): 49–69. Deschamps, D. 2003. ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’. Outre-Mers 90 (338–339): 109–131. Deschamps, D. 2009. ‘La citoyenneté dans l’Inde française dans la deuxième moitié du XIXième sciècle’, Lettre du C.I.D.I.F. 19: 1–11. Helbling, M. 2009. ‘Struggling over Citizenship and Cultural Boundaries: Charles Tilly’s Constructivist Approach’. Swiss Political Science Review 15 (2): 362–375. Henders, S. 2004. ‘Political Regimes and “Ethnic” Identities in East and Southeast Asia: Beyond the “Asian Values” Debate’. In S. Henders (ed.), Democratization and Identity: Regimes and Ethnicity in East and Southeast Asia: 1–21. Lanham, Md: Lexington Books. Ho, E. 2006. ‘Negotiating Belonging and Perceptions of Citizenship in a Transnational World: Singapore, a Cosmopolis?’ Social & Cultural Geography 7 (3): 385–401. Hunt, L. 1996. The French Revolution and Human Rights: A Brief Documentary History. New York: Bedford Books of St. Martin’s Press. Isin, E. (ed.) 2000. Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City. London: Routledge. Isin, E., & B. Turner 2002. ‘Citizenship Studies: An Introduction.’ In E. Isin & B. Turner (eds), Handbook of Citizenship Studies: 1–12. London; Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Labernardie, M. 1930. La Révolution et les Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1790–1793. Pondichéry: Imprimerie Moderne. Lara, O. 2007. Suffrage Universel et Colonisation 1848–1952. Paris: L’Harmattan. Lewis, M. 1962. ‘One Hundred Million Frenchmen: The “Assimilation” Theory in French Colonial Policy’. Comparative Studies in Society and History 4(2): 129–153. Malangin, R. 2015. Pondicherry that was Once French India. New Delhi: Roli Books, 2015. Mani, L. 1990. ‘Contentions Traditions: The Debate on Sati in Colonial India’. In K. Sangari & S. Vaid (eds), Recasting Women: Essays in Indian Colonial History: 88–126. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.

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Merry, S. E. 2010. ‘Comment: Colonial Law and Its Uncertainties’. Law and History Review 28 (4): 1067–1071. Michalon, Paul. 1990. ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français ou comment peut-on être Franco-Pondichérien?’ Mémoire de D.E.A. de sociologie. Université Aix-Marseille. Miller, T. 2003. ‘Cultural Citizenship’. In E. F. Isin & B. S. Turner, (eds), Handbook of Citizenship Studies: 231–244. London: Thousand Oaks. More, J.B.P. 1998. ‘Hindu-Christian Interaction in Pondicherry, 1700–1900’. Contributions to Indian Sociology 32 (1): 97–121. Nallam, V. 2009. Histoire de la Médecine de l’Inde Française. Madras: Samhita Publications. No author. 1986. Les troupes de la marine: 1622–1984. Paris: Charles Lavauzelle imprimerie. Neogy, A. K. 1997. Decolonizaton of French India: Liberation Movement and IndoFrench Relations, 1947–1954. Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry. Nora, P. 1992. ‘From Lieux de Mémoire to Realms of Memory’. In P. Nora, (ed.), Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past. Conflicts and Divisions, vol 1: XV-XXIV. New York: Columbia University Press. Pairaudeau, N. 2016. Mobile Citizens: French Indians in Indochina, 1858–1954. Copenhagen: NIAS Press. Pakulski, J. 1997. ‘Cultural Citizenship.’ Citizenship Studies 1 (1): 73–86. Pocock, J. G. A. 1995. ‘The Ideal of Citizenship since Classical Times’. In R. S. Beiner, (ed.), Theorizing Citizenship: 29–52. Albany: State University of New York Press. Raja, P. 2003. A Concise History of Pondicherry. Pondicherry: Busy Bee Books. Saada, E. 2003/2004. ‘Citoyens et sujets de l’Empire français. Les usages du droit en situation colonial’. Genèses 4 (53): 4–24. Saada, E. 2012. Empire’s Children: Race, Filiation and Citizenship in the French Colonies. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Srinivas, M. N. 1962. Caste in Modern India and Other Essays. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Sundararajan, S. 1995. Pondicherry: A Profile. Pondicherry: Government Press. Taylor, C. 1992. Multiculturalism and the Politics of Recognition: An Essay. Princeton University Press. Tilly, C. 1995. ‘Citizenship, Identity and Social History’. International Review of Social History 40 (S3): 1–17. Tilly, C. 1995. ‘The Emergence of Citizenship in France and Elsewhere’. International Review of Social History 40 (S3): 223–236. Tilly, C. 2003. ‘Contention Over Space and Place’. Mobilization: An International Journal 8 (2): 221–225.

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Viswanath, R. 2014. The Pariah Problem: Caste, Religion and the Social in Modern India. New York: Columbia University Press. Weber, J. August 1987. ‘Les Etablissements français en Inde au XIXè siècle (1816–1914)’. Le Trait-D’ Union: 7–9. Weber, J. 1988. Les Etablissements français en Inde au XIXe siècle (1816–1914), 5 vols. Paris: Librairie de l’Inde. Weber, J. 9 February 1991. ‘Chanemougam, ‘King of French India’- Social and Political Foundations of an Absolute Power under the Third Republic’. Economic and Political Weekly: 291–302. Weber, J. 1996. Pondichéry et les comptoirs de l’Inde après Dupleix. La démocratie au pays des castes. Paris: Editions Denoël.

4. Education and Army Attempts to Institutionalize Republican Ideals in French India Abstract Attached to the republican notion of citizenship was the notion of military service, because citizenship was required to fight for a country. Another institution linked to citizenship was education, which had a role in moulding pupils into faithful members of the nation. While most colonial and metropole officials perceived both institutions as key vehicles to create social identification with the French imperial nation, they fell short of developing such institutions in French India. Among the local population, some supported the development of such institutions, while others opposed it. What explains this situation in Pondicherry? Keywords: education, conscription, language, gender, religion, race

The notion of citizenship goes beyond political representation, because citizenship rights imply a sense of identification with a nation. In French India, colonial subjects were already French nationals before they received electoral rights, because they belonged to the larger French imperial nation. Turning local males into electoral actors raised the issue of assimilating Indians into French civilization, which made the key aspect of French colonial ideology even more salient. For French officials during the Third Republic, the ideological work of assimilating French mores and developing a feeling of attachment to the French imperial nation was supposed to be carried out by encouraging local children to attend colonial schools and having a certain category of Indian males complete military service. It was intended that these two institutions – schools and the military – would transmit the national republican ideal of equality, secularism, and inclusiveness. However, education and conscription needed to be established in ways that would develop and support an ideal republican culture in French India.

Raff in, Anne, Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463723558_ch04

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A common language of communication was often believed to be necessary to develop a sense of belonging to the nation as well as participation in the life of the political institutions created by the Third Republic. As the governor of the establishments of French India, Etienne Richaud, stated in 1887, the goal of the colonial administration was ‘to popularize the French language’ through schools as a means to allow Indians to fully participate in the public life of the polis. He stressed that only individuals who could speak, read, and write French could be members of the general and local councils. He added that these language requirements would soon be extended to members of the municipal councils as well as to any position within the French colonial administration.1 From 1889 onwards, all new recruits who joined as civil servants had to have an acceptable command of French.2 One tenet of citizenship was conscription, which was perceived as a tool to foster brotherhood among citizens and as a duty towards the motherland from which no one could be exempted. In 1897, the deputy of Sarthe, Baron d’Estournelles, attempted unsuccessfully to introduce a law that would terminate the positions of senators and deputies representing the French colonies apart from Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Réunion. For him, one could not be an elector if one was not also a soldier. The debt of blood went hand in hand with the privilege of voting. The fact that a colony could be represented in the French parliament when its male ‘inhabitants […] were not soldiers was a monstrosity’, according to the baron.3 Similarly, some political figures and groups agreed with the baron’s position and requested that the Third Republic of France impose conscription for all Indian males. This chapter discusses the two above tenets of citizenship: first, teaching the French language in schools as a means to allow Indian males to participate in the political life of the French establishments in India as well as to foster a sense of belonging to greater France among the Indians by assimilating them into the French culture; second, conscription as a feature of citizenship, which French officials chose to impose on only a specific group of males in French India a few years before World War I. This chapter argues that, although these citizenship initiatives were derived from the ideology and practices of the metropole, they were negotiated through a triangular relationship between the French metropolitan authorities, 1 La rédaction, ‘Le français’, L’Echo de Pondichéry 16, 29 May 1887, p. 61, BnF, gallica. 2 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1889, pp. 724–726, BnF, gallica. Still, the editorial staff of Le Messager de l’Inde complained in 1901 about an Indian mayor in the district of Pondicherry who could not even speak a few words of French. ‘Quelques mots’, Le Messager de l’Inde 84, 19 October 1901, p. 569, BnF, gallica. 3 ‘Les représentants des colonies’, Le Petit Bengali 6, 9 February 1897, pp. 2–3, BnF, gallica.

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colonial administrators in Pondicherry, and members of local society in Pondicherry. Rather than a sweeping application of the civilizing mission, a politics of compromise and adaptation was chosen, which limited the role of the schools and military as instruments for the formation of a republican nation based on a shared language, equal participation in public life, and the defence of the motherland by all young males.

I.

The State of Education in Pondicherry before the Third Republic

How much were the educational policies and the school system before the Third Republic regime helpful in aiding the Third Republic’s officials in Pondicherry to understand that education was an obligation as well as a right for Indian citizens? Some of the Third Republic’s educational policies were continuities of laws and structures that previous political regimes had put in place, such as relying on the religious orders to educate the youth, implementing decisions mirroring the educational system in France, developing primary education, and encouraging female education. These continuities created a foundation on which to develop education for Indians in Pondicherry. When the French arrived in Pondicherry in 1674, trade was their primary interest; subsequently, they aimed to consolidate their position there in order to promote commerce. Education was not on their agenda at that point. The existing local schools were divided by caste and run by pandits, Brahman scholars who were well versed in local languages, arithmetic, and religion. 4 Over time, education in French appeared. The rural lower-caste population showed little interest in studying in French; however, the rural and urban elites were interested in French education as a means to access French administrative positions, while upper-caste merchants aimed for English instruction to pursue commerce beyond Pondicherry.5 Alongside the local traditional Muslim and Hindu schools, French Catholic missionaries were the first to bring Western education for Europeans in the colony at the end of the seventeenth century, when the population of European settlers began to increase.6 After King Louis XIV (r. 1643–1715), allowed for the creation of Catholic missions in French Indian enclaves, 4 Premavalli, ‘Education in French Pondicherry’, pp. 102, 116, 136, 144. 5 Annoussamy, L’Intermède français en Inde, p. 93. 6 Valmary, ‘Rapport sur l’enseignement’, pp. 2–3.

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Western education was mostly for proselytizing Indians. François Martin, who founded the French outpost of Pondicherry in 1674, invited the Catholic order of Capuchins, an ascetic offshoot of the Franciscans who were already active in Madras, to settle there to care for the religious needs of the Europeans.7 The Society of Jesus (Jesuits), which had been founded in 1534 by Ignatius Loyola in Spain, was not exactly a teaching order, but it was nonetheless active in this field. The first Jesuit educators arrived in Pondicherry in 1689. Schools were organized according to caste, and the Capuchins brothers were in charge of the Europeans, while the Jesuits mostly instructed the natives.8 During the monarchist regime of the Bourbon Restoration (1814–1830), Christian missionaries began to establish primary schools: the first, called Ecole de la rue Royale, opened in 1820. This educational institution catered to the needs of the Europeans and topas (topas were Catholic Indians with Portuguese names, some of whom had racially mixed ancestors). A few years later, the colonial state opened a free primary school for all children of all castes and religions in 1827 due to the declining numbers of natives who were conversant in the French language. Decline in trade activities meant less people were interested in having their children learn the language of the colonizers.9 Because outcastes were not allowed to attend this newly created primary school, the French administration established another one only for them a year later called the ‘primary school for boys’ (école primaire de garçons).10 Regarding post-primary education in pre-Third Republic Pondicherry, in 1730, the Pondicherry Jesuits had opened a collège, or institution of secondary education, modelled after the same programme as that in the metropole, covering Latin, philosophy, and theology. The colonial administration eventually took over this institution, which became the collège royal in 1826 after which it was renamed the collège colonial in 1848 at the inception of the Second Republic.11 In parallel, the Société des Missions Etrangères (Society of Foreign Missions), opened the Petit Séminaire Collège in 1844. This institution was only for Indians and began to offer secondary school education around the mid-nineteenth century. School fees were lower than 7 ‘Mandement de Monseigneur l’Archevêque de Pondichéry’, Le Petit Bengali 20, 16 May 1887, p. 77, BnF, gallica. 8 Premavalli, ‘Education in French Pondicherry’, pp. 118, 129. 9 Premavalli, ‘Education in French Pondicherry’, p. 157–158. 10 Annoussamy, L’Intermède français en Inde, p. 99. 11 Annoussamy, L’Intermède français en Inde, pp. 94–96; Premavalli, ‘Education in French Pondicherry’, p. 166; Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 4, p. 2262.

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the ones at the collège, so it catered to the needs of the middle class. At first, the institution was only opened to caste Catholics.12 The overall result was that most of the schools were managed by congregations of Catholic religious in Pondicherry by the mid-nineteenth century. It was only after the Bourbon Restauration that the colonial state began to promote an educational system in French India that mirrored that of the metropole.13 During the July Monarchy (1830–1948), the ordinance of 30 September 1843 was a landmark decision for Pondicherry, because it aimed to provide free elementary education to all ‘inferior groups’, similar to primary schools in France.14 Consequently, the number of students in schools significantly increased during the Second Empire (1852–1870). For example, the number of pupils in public schools increased between 1834 and 1870 from 665 to 2277, while the number of students in private educational institutes grew from 2764 to 5528.15 On the eve of the Third Republic in 1870, colonial administration officials in the various French outposts counted 275 primary schools serving a population of 6178 European and Indian boys, of which about 6 per cent was financed by the colonial state. In contrast, there were a total of eighteen private and state-sponsored schools for 1130 European and Indian girls, of which 88.9 per cent were government-funded.16 Education for girls appeared quite early in Pondicherry. The governor general of French India, Pierre Dumas (1734–1741), was quite sympathetic to women’s education as most of the republicans under the Third Republic would later be. In 1738, the Ursulines, an order of nuns dedicated to the education of girls, opened a boarding school for female pupils in Pondicherry irrespective of caste and creed. However, the Ursuline Sisters were quickly recalled to France in 1744. It was with Governor General Desbassayns de Richemont (1826–1828) that Western education for girls was established. In 1827, the sisters of the Congregation of Saint Joseph de Cluny, an order that specialized in providing education to the poor, were entrusted by France’s minister of navy and colonies to create a boarding school for European girls in Pondicherry. In 1829, they also opened a free school for the topas girls.17 Another religious congregation involved in Pondicherry education 12 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, pp. 88–89. 13 Premavalli, ‘Education in French Pondicherry’, p. 164. 14 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1893, p. 105, BnF, gallica. 15 Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 4, p. 2263. 16 Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 4, p. 2263. 17 Annuaire des Etablissements Français dans l’Inde pour l’année 1895, Pondichéry: A. Toutin, imprimerie du gouvernement, 1895, p. 471, RCP.

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were the Carmelites, whose members ran a small school, mostly for female orphans, from 1780 to 1845.18 On the whole, education was expanded in colonial Pondicherry during the pre-Third Republic period, creating the bases on which the Third Republic’s officials developed further primary education and replaced teaching orders of Catholic religious with lay instructors whose f irst allegiance was to teaching the tenets of republican citizenship to pupils.

II.

Education in Third Republic Pondicherry: A Secular Primary Education for All

The Third French Republic had two aims in France: (1) the compulsory extension of the country’s school system, so every child would become literate and (2) the removal of clerical influence throughout the primary school system, so every French child would learn the values of republicanism. The founding leaders of the Third Republic wanted to promote the secularization of French society. They viewed education as a means to replace traditional beliefs with the ideas of the Enlightenment and notions of progress that fitted the needs of an industrializing society for a literate workforce as well as a ‘desirability of literacy for voters in a democratic state’.19 A series of laws between 1879 and 1886 known as the Ferry laws created free, compulsory, and secular public primary education throughout France for boys and girls from the ages of six to thirteen. Two decrees in March 1880 immediately disbanded the Jesuit schools, whose teachers provided an important part of the teaching corps, and obliged other non-authorized congregations to apply for authorization within three months or risk dissolution.20 The law of 30 October 1886 required the secularization of all teaching staff in primary schools. A transitional period of five years was given for boys’ schools; there was no time limit for girls’ schools. When nuns who taught died, retired, or transferred, these positions were replaced with lay personnel. After 1902, under the fervently anti-clerical ministry of Emile Combes, the legislative attack on religious congregations and the Catholic church increased. Combes’s government began to target the ‘unauthorized’ institutions of authorized congregations in 1903. These attacks 18 Emprayil and Kanjirmelkunnel, ‘Education of Girls in French India’, pp. 330–332; Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 48. 19 Clark, Schooling the Daughters of Marianne, p. 13. 20 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, pp. 381–382, BnF, gallica.

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culminated with the passing of a law on 7 July 1904 prohibiting members of religious congregations from teaching in France.21 How did these laws impact Pondicherry’s schools? A.

A Gradual Process of Laicization

During the early days of the Third Republic, before the implementation of the law of July 1903 preventing nuns from teaching in French Indian public schools for girls, the colonial administration sought the co-operation of religious orders to develop and improve the primary education.22 Such a gradual process of laicization was due to a lack of well-trained lay teachers to replace religious personnel and a colonial administration used to its long-term collaboration with Catholic congregations and their personnel in the field of instruction. Before July 1903, co-operation between the religious groups and the colonial state in the domain of instruction was the norm, especially for female education. Up to the July 1903 decision to expel nuns from the teaching staff of female public schools, the governor was still staffing French India’s girl schools with nuns. In contrast, out of 453 male school teachers in French India in 1870, only about 30 per cent of the instructors were from the teaching orders of lay brothers and priests.23 For instance, in 1892, the governor allowed the establishment of a new school for girls of caste origin in Mottalpeth, a territory of Pondicherry, which was managed by nuns from the congregation of Saint-Coeur de Marie. Another example was Eugénie, a nun who was named as an instructor at the pensionnat Saint-Joseph by the colonial administration in Pondicherry in 1898.24 However, in the spring of 1903, when it was announced that the religious teaching congregations in France at all educational levels had three months to dissolve, this measure had painful repercussions for French India. The refusal of religious headmistresses to remove religious emblems from classrooms led the governor to decree that nuns teaching in public 21 Foster, Faith in Empire, pp. 70–71. ‘Opinions diverses’, Le Messager de l’Inde 24, 25 March 1903, p. 137, BnF, gallica. 22 Bulletin off iciel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1903, pp. 300–303, BnF, gallica. Premavalli, ‘Education in French Pondicherry’, pp. 206–207. 23 Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 4, p. 2263. 24 Bulletin off iciel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1891, p. 16, BnF gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1892, pp. 19–20, BnF gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1898, pp. 441, 568, BnF gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1899, p. 630, BnF, gallica.

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schools for female pupils in French India would be removed by July 1903.25 Subsequently, the school managed by the sisters of the Congregation of Saint Joseph de Cluny, which admitted girls irrespective of caste and creed after 1879, was laicized in 1903. The sisters later opened their own private school, which shows that some Catholic nuns found ways to circumvent this law.26 Similarly, the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary also had to abandon their schools during the same year and only maintained control over a single private institution.27 This situation created challenges for the colonial administration, such as when seven public primary schools in Pondicherry were forced to accept both male and female students due to the lack of female teachers. The inspector of public instruction asserted in 1903 that public morals had been maintained, because the male teachers were ‘honourable fathers’ who continued to separate the sexes as often as they could.28 At the same time, the inspector of public instruction pointed to the lack of lay instructors, who were tasked with inculcating civic morality in pupils. Implicit in the inspector’s observation were the challenges Pondicherry’s school system faced in attempting to establish the basis for modern republican citizenship education and to replace the teaching of religious morality. For some 30 years prior to 1903, a few Indian leaders had been trying to take advantage of the republican policies, which aimed to remove the Catholic religion from schools and to bring forward their demands for religious neutrality. These leaders complained to the colonial administration that French schooling threatened their religion, because Catholic instructors had a propensity to proselytize pupils in the Catholic faith. An early response to such complaints was the Commission of Public Instruction’s (Commission de l’instruction publique) formation in 1871 of a subcommittee composed of three notables of caste origin and three Indian Catholics who jointly oversaw, with the Missions Etrangères, the teaching of sisters from the Congregation of the Sacred Heart of Mary. In Pondicherry, the congregation was made up of native sisters of caste origins who ran primary schools located in the aldées (suburbs) of Ariancoupom, Nellitope, and Oulgaret for Indian girls of caste origins. Previously, the congregation had been under the sole direction of the Missions Etrangères.29 The new subcommittee was tasked, among 25 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1903, pp. 300–303, BnF, gallica. 26 Annoussamy, L’Intermède français en Inde, p. 97. 27 Emprayil and Kanjirmelkunnel, ‘Education of Girls in French India’, p. 341. 28 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1903, p. 356, RCP. 29 Bulletin des Actes Administratifs des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871, pp. 314–318, RCP.

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other activities, with ensuring that nuns were respectful of the beliefs of non-Christians.30 A decree in January 1872 established committees of Indians notables in the city of Pondicherry and the surrounding districts. For schools under the umbrella of the Missions Etrangères, the administration opted for a compromise solution by which 50 per cent of the committee members were Christian, with Hindus and Muslims making up the other 50 per cent as a means to assure, among other goals, religious neutrality.31 The issue of religious neutrality can be also seen in the case of collège colonial. Councilman Louis Henrique pointed out in a 1902 newspaper article that the 1889 secularization of collège colonial had occurred in response to the demand of the members of the general council, among which were Chamenougam and his allies. These members had wanted their children to receive a secondary education without being subjected to the proselytization of Catholic priests.32 The position of Chamenougam’s group reflected some Indians’ uneasiness towards religious educators. Note the example of Ponnou Mourougaissapoullé, who rejoiced over the secularisation of the collèges in the French Indian enclaves during his 1901 speech at the celebration of the 21st anniversary of the Société progressiste de l’Inde Française, an organization that promoted the spread of the French language in French India. Mourougaissapoullé, who was both the general secretary of this Societé and a member of the Colonial Committee of Public Instruction (Conseil colonial d’instruction publique), worked with the other members on the committee to promote the teaching of French as a useful language for Indians – as long as its association with Christianity was severed.33 This clash not only echoed the bitter flights occurring in the metropole between the Catholic Church and the republicans but also reflected the interplay between local actors and local conditions shaping the everyday life of Pondicherry. 30 Bulletin des Actes Administratifs, 1871, pp. 314–318. 31 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871, pp. 362–364, RCP; ‘REGLEMENT pour le services des comités natifs’, Le Moniteur officiel des établissements français de l’Inde 1153, 12 April 1872, pp. 120–122, RCP. 32 Louis Henrique, ‘Bulletin: L’ affaire chanemougame manoeuvre électorale’, Le Messager de l’Inde 103, 25 December 1901, pp. 713–715, BnF, gallica; Louis Henrique, ‘Réponse d’un élu’, Le Messager de l’Inde 53, 2 July 1902, p. 419, BnF, gallica. 33 ‘A la société progressiste de l’Inde française’, L’Union hindoue 7, 10 June 1901, p. 26, BnF, gallica. Jacques Weber mentions the foundation of an organization carrying the same name and with the same mission, but created three years later, in March 1883. It was, according to Weber, a hoax, because it was created by Chanemougam to present him as a progressive politician back in the metropole. Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, p. 241.

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Expansion of Administrative Control over Education

With the rise of the Third Republic, the colonial state in Pondicherry embarked on measures to develop secular schools and expand its administrative control over education. Indeed, one of the two goals of the Third Republic was that every child would become literate. Now that Indians were electors, there was an urgency to develop primary education to inform these future electors about their duties as citizens. Pondicherry’s schools were first brought under the control of the Commission of Public Instruction (Commission de l’instruction publique) in 1877.34 To reorganize and expand the primary educational system in these Indian outposts, the Ministry of the Navy and Colonies sent Inspector Granboulan to French India in 1879. Surveying the situation after his arrival, he counted 38 public primary schools catering to some 2799 pupils in the French enclaves, out of which three were primaires supérieures or higher primary schools. He reported the learning practices in these schools as falling short of a successful education that properly taught the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. He viewed these schools as generating pupils who had difficulties explaining what they read, which led to poorly equipped future voters. Of the graduates of these schools, the inspector observed: They write badly; nothing is known about history and geography and almost nothing in arithmetic; they don’t know to write an essay or a letter […] As for the teaching staff (103 male and female school teachers), the [competencies of the] European ones are fair, though they often lack professional knowledge and pedagogical traditions. The indigenous staff is, with a few exceptions, absolutely incompetent.35

Granboulan noted that the colonial state could encourage the creation of private schools, and he recommended the creation of more free primary schools.36 However, as time passed, Granboulan’s two suggestions were forgotten: the proposal for the reorganisation of education in French India prepared by the director of Home Affairs was sent to France in July 1880 and, once in France, was never taken into consideration.37 Still, Granboulan’s report led to a new policy whereby the colonial state would expand 34 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 48. 35 Valmary, Rapport sur l’enseignement, p. 27. 36 Valmary, Rapport sur l’enseignement, p. 27. 37 Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 4, pp. 2267–2268.

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state-sponsored primary education to all Indians starting in 1881. This policy characterized the kind of idealistic and assimilationist goals that the Ministry of the Navy and Colonies strove for and that some colonial administrators in Pondicherry subsequently supported. However, a lack of well-trained teachers hindered these measures, and some rural schools were left with incompetent instructors.38 Later on, the French government wanted to expand education and issued a decree on 24 May 1898 stating that education was compulsory for all categories of the population in the Indian settlements. However, the governor did not implement this law, citing a lack of financial resources.39 Given budgetary concerns, the Third Republic’s major aim of making every child literate was not realized in French India, and subsequently, the teaching of civic education as part of a modern citizenship education did not reach many children. By 1906, education in French India was no longer a priority on the political agenda of the colonial state and was subsequently no longer a salient topic of discussion during the sessions of the general and local councils. Rather, discussions often regarded granting subventions to private schools based on their teaching performance, the qualifications of their teachers, and matters of assigning scholarships, dates of examinations, and the allocation of promotions.

III.

Civic Education and the Language Policies

A.

Civic Education and French, the Language of Citizenship

Citizenship as a political concept is often based on an ‘imagined community’, a community with specific rules and norms that are taught to children, especially in schools, through history, geography, civic education, and a common language. 40 In French India, shortly after the Third Republic came to power, the chief of public education linked the question of access to education to wider issues of universal suffrage, because, in his view, it was necessary ‘to enlighten the masses in order to inculcate in them the notion of civic rights’. 41 To participate in the political life of Pondicherry, civic education had to teach pupils the normative and expected behaviours 38 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1902, p. 330, RCP. 39 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, p. 92. 40 Anderson, Imagined Communities, pp. 6–7. 41 Conseil Général de l’Inde française, 1872, p. 329, RCP.

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of a citizen in order to participate in the public life of society. In 1883, Jules Ferry, as the minister of public instruction, sent the following letter to the teachers in the metropole: ‘Of the diverse obligations it imposes on you, assuredly the heaviest increase of work and anxiety, is your mission to instruct your pupils in ethics and citizenship’.42 It is unknown if teachers in French India received such a letter, but the wording stresses how paramount for the instructors was the task of moulding citizens. Two years later, the decree of 25 March 1885 stipulated that civic education was going to be taught alongside history and geography in all public primary schools in French India. At first, pupils would learn the meanings of the following words: ‘citizen, soldier, army, motherland, commune […] colony, nation, law, justice, public force, etc.’ As the children progressed through their education, they would be taught ‘citizens, their obligations, and their rights’, and a section on ‘Duties towards God’ would be added. During the last years of their education, the children would study the political, judicial, and administrative functioning of the French state as well as some laws regarding civil status and the protection of minors.43 This general description of civic education reveals a focus on civic matters in relation to citizenship and how school was considered an arena for political socialization. Moreover, this civic programme over the years stressed the important of the classroom as a place to cultivate the imperial affiliation and attachment to the motherland France by teaching about its political institutions and citizens’ rights and duties towards France. Alongside the desire to instil a love of, loyalty to, and defence of France was the desire to impose the French language on colonial territories, which stemmed from attempts to conform colonial policies and their implementation to the republican ideology from the end of the eighteenth century to the early nineteenth century. Language was a key aspect of the republican agenda, based on the assumption that political unity and co-operation were based on a common tongue. In France, local languages such as the Occitan tongue began to evoke associations with the monarchy, superstition, and clericalism – and needed to be eradicated.44 In Pondicherry, some colonial officials supported the idea of linguistic unification with a population only using French in French India. However, everyday life was conducted in different languages that carried out various social functions. Nevertheless, French was the language of citizenship and, along with citizenship rights, 42 Heater, A History of Education for Citizenship, p. 75. 43 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1885, pp. 226–237, BnF, gallica. 44 See Ford, ‘Which Nation?’, pp. 31–46.

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was imposed in a top-down decision from the metropole onto Pondicherry. From this decision arose unresolved issues related to the education of the young and political participation in the life of French India. There were arguments supporting the teaching of French. For instance, the newspaper l’Union hindoue pointed out that the goal of teaching French to Indian boys was to train males as citizens, while each Indian girl was designated to become a ‘devoted mother and a skilled housewife’ whose daily activities required her to learn Tamil, not French. 45 French was the language of politics, through which one could engage with state structures and deal with political processes. In contrast, Tamil was the ‘feminine’ vernacular, relegated to the private sphere of home and family. Note the 1898 decision of the court of law to acquit 22 persons accused of obtaining acts of renunciation by fraudulent means on the grounds that their acts of renunciation were considered void, because they were written in Tamil and not French. 46 We can speculate that the French court’s decision to void these acts probably reflected the racist vision of the Tamil language as a vernacular too primitive to be recognized as belonging to the political domain, and the language embodying reason and the civilizing mission was French. An important block preventing the spreading of French in Pondicherry was the contradictory views among the political elites regarding firmly establishing French as the official language of Pondicherry and phasing out Tamil as the medium of instruction. The lack of significant educational development and inadequate teaching of the French language was noted in 1884 by the chief of the colony, Etienne Richaud (governor general of French India, October 1884–1886): During two centuries […] we have done almost nothing to enlighten the masses, tear them away from their prejudices and make them sample the benefactions of our civilization and civil laws. The study and also the use of the motherland’s language, which are one of the primordial elements of assimilation, have been completely neglected. 47

Richaud recommended making French compulsory and Tamil optional in all schools, adding that the current policy mandated the opposite. Scholarships 45 La Rédaction, ‘Chronique de l’enseignement’, L’Union hindoue 17, 23 August 1901, p. 65, BnF, gallica. 46 ‘On écrit de Pondichéry’, Le Petit Bengali 12, 23 March 1898, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 47 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1884–1885, p. 6, RCP.

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would be given to deserving pupils, and the Indigenous culture would be progressively supplanted by a secular Western one. However, his request to members of the general council that they supply him the financial means and moral support to realize this civilizing mission was turned down. 48 Focusing on French India and the idea of assimilation, the primary school inspector stressed in 1886: This tendency [to expand the teaching of the French language to all pupils], far from being criticized, should be encouraged, fortified, developed. We are French, we are in contact with French [people]; nothing is more natural than for us to attempt to assimilate them through the spreading of the French language, to the extent that this is possible. It is the only means to have our ideas penetrate this country, to assure the population the benefits of civilization. 49

Others objected to the spread of French through schooling. French councilman Gallois-Montbrun reiterated the long-held belief that the general spread of the French language was a ‘chimera’, in a context in which Indians valued other languages more highly than French. French councilman Gaston Pierre argued against an expansion of French through education and instead supported the expansion of primary education in the Tamil language. In his view, the people of Pondicherry needed to speak Tamil and not French, given the proximity of Pondicherry to British India and inhabitants’ need to be able to converse with those located in the British-controlled territory around Pondicherry. In 1900, councilman Pierre again reiterated that the greater share of financial resources should not be concentrated in schools teaching French language; rather, primary education for the masses should be in the local language. The plan to ‘vulgarize’ the French language by teaching it to the majority of the native population was futile; as he stated, ‘a work as much in vain as it is unrealisable at the financial level’.50 During a 1902 debate about reinstating an increase of six hundred rupees for the wages of school teachers in three French schools in Pondicherry, Chanemougam voiced his opposition to teaching in French vernacular to the Indian masses, stating that the French language was of no use in their everyday life. Rather, Tamil should be the promoted language. The salary increase was ultimately denied by a majority of council members. The chief 48 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1884–1885, pp. 2–14. 49 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1896, p. 191, RCP 50 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1900, pp. 438–411, RCP.

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of public instruction was dismayed by this decision and cautioned that, if the colonial state’s policy continued this way, there wouldn’t be ‘more than one voter out of five who will be able to verify his electoral card in 30 years. This situation […] [is] particularly bad in a country of universal suffrage’.51 The chief of public education complained again, a year later, how few French Indians were able to speak the language of the colonizers. He noted the impossibility, even in Pondicherry, of recruiting police officers who could speak French, even though the police was representative of the colonial state.52 A 1907 decree led to the establishment of free French evening classes for adults who were required to master a minimum of the French language, especially those working in the colonial administration and public schools, both of which embodied the republican ideology of assimilation into French culture.53 Following this law, the chief of public education decided to require seven civil servants, three school supervisors, and three school janitors to take such a course in Pondicherry.54 A year later, another six state employees were ordered to take these classes.55 Henri Gaebelé claimed in the 1905 general council meeting of French India that ‘not one citizen in the aldées knows to speak French’.56 To substantiate his point, he cited an earlier report likely completed in 1897 by Inspector of Education Ferrier showing that, out of 40,000 school-aged children in French India, only about 16,000 were actually attending school. This broke down into nine thousand pupils in colony schools and seven thousand in private schools. Thus, a large number of children were excluded from education in either vernacular languages or French, limiting the number of informed future electors. Gaebelé was echoing a previous spokesman, Quaintenne, who had promoted private schools as a means of propagating education among the masses, and who supported giving financial aid to schools based on schools’ proficiency in teaching French. The chief of public education reminded Gaebelé that the native language was the only one taught most of the time, and hence this was an unrealistic proposition.57 Not only was the development of education in Pondicherry minimal, it was also, at times, inadequate. There was a view among the colonial administration that teachers, school administrators, and school 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1902, pp. 325–331, RCP. Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1903, pp. 347–359, RCP. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1907, pp. 159–160, BnF, gallica. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1907, pp. 245–246, 332. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1908, pp. 909–910, BnF, gallica. Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1905, p. 406, RCP. Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1905, pp. 404–410.

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inspectors only needed French to do their jobs. However, this view was not universally shared by off icials who oversaw the school system. The 20 February 1885 decree established the position of primary education inspector in French India. Following critical reports from various inspectors regarding the state of the schools, Governor Richaud and the colonial administration concluded that the French establishments in India needed their own permanent inspector making regular visits to schools.58 At a 1910 session of the general council of French India, Indian councilman Gnanou Diagou opposed some members’ wish to renew the funds for the post, citing what he termed ‘the useless performance’ of the previous inspector who could neither understand nor speak Tamil nor English. Due to the language barrier, he continued, the inspector could not comprehend parents’ complaints and lacked the means to assess Hindu pupils’ facilities with vernacular French. Gnanou Diagou sarcastically added: ‘The tours of the inspectors of primary education have justif ied the travel allowances of these state employees, but by no means have children prof ited from them’. The general council voted to discontinue this post.59 In the same vein, L’Echo de Pondichéry published an article criticizing the directors of schools who did not make any effort to learn Tamil and then went on inspection tours as if they were on ‘a promenade’.60 In 1900, an article in the newspaper Le Messager de l’Inde described a war between those who supported the teaching of Tamil in public primary schools and those who supported the teaching of French. The article pointed out that, before the arrival of Inspector Granboulan, too much emphasis had been given to schooling in the Tamil tongue. At that point, metropolitan teachers in French India were pressing to outlaw the teaching of Tamil in colonial schools, because these teachers did not want to make the effort to learn the spoken language of Pondicherry.61 However, the colonial administration could not ignore the demand for education in Tamil, and in 1906, the collège Calvé started to offer a two-year training programme in Tamil that prepared students for a degree in teaching the Tamil language.62 58 Valmary, Rapport sur l’enseignement, p. 33. 59 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1910, pp. 188–198, RCP. 60 ‘Une critique de Caron’, L’Echo de Pondichéry 17, 14 August 1887, p. 106, BnF, gallica. 61 ‘Choses de l’enseignement’, Le Messager de l’Inde 32, 27 October 1900, pp. 157–158, BnF, gallica. 62 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1906, pp. 139–140, BnF, gallica.

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The Importance of Tamil and English Languages

Nationalism and citizenship are linked concepts, because nationalism deals with the issue of who belongs to the nation as well as feelings of unity. Likewise, citizenship is about the rights and duties conferred by one’s membership in a nation, and how such national feelings translate into these rights and duties, hence into laws. While nationalist ideologies preach linguistic unity to bind people around a common language, the challenge in Pondicherry was people speaking other languages – mainly Tamil, but also English. Within a multilingual space, Tamil was difficult to displace or accommodate with the learning of another vernacular. Sumathi Ramaswamy’s historical study of Tamil refers to this tongue as a ‘language of devotion’, in other words, the exaltation of Tamilparru or devotion to Tamil, which became an important aspect of the Tamil identity from 1891 onwards and which would evolve into Tamil nationalism.63 Moreover, the proximity to the British Empire in India complicated the issue of what should be the proper medium of instruction. For instance, the decree of 1 September 1880 requested all students at the collège Calvé, a school for higher primary education, to partake in the daily study of English. In response, Indian councilman Narayanassamychettiar, in the name of a few families from Pondicherry, expressed the wish for English to be an elective subject rather than a daily compulsory one at the school. In the view of these families, the compulsory study of English was detrimental to the further study of French. He noted that a report from the commission of public instruction referred to the collège as a ‘school of emigration’, characterizing Pondicherry as a sub-colony of the British Empire. Moreover, the school also offered a special stream preparing students for the entrance exam to the University of Madras. The general secretary assured Narayanassamychettiar that students who graduated would be able to find a job in French Indian territory.64 However, the colonial administration could not ignore the geography of the French establishments in India as enclaves surrounded by British territory and the likelihood that French Indians would f ind employment in British India.

63 Ramasway, Passions of the Tongue, pp. 83–84. 64 Annuaire des Etablissements Français dans l’Inde pour l’année 1895, pp. 109–123, RCP. Valmary, Rapport sur l’enseignement, p. 26. This school was only opened to Indians of caste origins until it was donated to the colony in 1885 when it opened to ‘all children without distinction of origin and religion’; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1885, p. 240, BnF, gallica.

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Subsequently, the educational policy in the collège Calvé was to offer the first phase of schooling only in the Tamil language and later education in French and English. With the promotion of three languages, however, it was debatable how strong an attachment could be formed to French and the French nation.65 Later on, complaints were made in 1900 that the eight English professors teaching at the collège Calvé cost 3342 rupees, which was too expensive for the colonial budget, especially because most of the pupils would probably join the labour force in British India.66 A proposed cheaper alternative was to send these pupils to study in British Cuddalore or Madras.67 An education in Tamil and/or English made sense for some young people. The newspaper L’Echo de Pondichéry complained about the lack of professional opportunities for young creoles in Pondicherry in 1887.68 In the same year, the colonial administration in Indochina advertised twelve positions for civil servants in French India and received one hundred applications from Indian youth.69 In a 1901 article, the newspaper Le Messager de l’Inde underlined how difficult it was for the French-educated of Pondicherry to find work in the colony, lamenting the ‘many lawyers without a cause and high school graduates without work’.70 The editorial staff concluded that these graduates had no choice but to immigrate to other parts of India or to other colonies.71 Noting that Indians were no longer welcomed in Indochina, because Europeans and creoles from other colonies were preferred, Le Messager de l’Inde pointed out that young men who knew a trade and spoke decent English could advance professionally in British India.72 Because of the lack of career opportunities, the press reiterated a year later that educated youths were condemned either to an underpaid job in the French administration or forced to migrate to other French colonies or British India.73 The editorial staff of Le Messager de l’Inde partially blamed the French education for Indian youngsters’ aversion to manual labour and

65 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1880, pp. 98–101, RCP. 66 ‘Budget des dépenses’, Le Messager de l’Inde 43, 5 December 1900, pp. 227–228, BnF, gallica. 67 ‘Ce qui se passe’, Le Messager de l’Inde 85, 23 October 1901, p. 578, BnF, gallica. 68 ‘Nos jeunes créoles’, L’Echo de Pondichéry 24, 17 July 1887, pp. 89–90, BnF, gallica. 69 ‘Nouvelles locales’, Le Petit Bengali 3, 27 February 1887, p. 10, BnF, gallica. 70 ‘Notre avenir’, Le Messager de l’Inde 45, 5 June 1901, p. 265, BnF, gallica. 71 ‘Errores’, Le Messager de l’Inde 87, 30 October 1901, p. 593, BnF, gallica; ‘Causerie pondichérienne’, Le Messager de l’Inde 8, 26 January 1901, p. 45, BnF, gallica. 72 ‘Quelques Mots’, Le Messager de l’Inde 67, 21 August 1901, p. 442, BnF, gallica. 73 ‘Quelques Mots’, Le Messager de l’Inde 65 and 66, 13 and 16 August 1902, p. 489, BnF, gallica.

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preference for white-collar jobs in the French administration.74 From a broader perspective, it appears that speaking French was not an economic necessity for most Indians in Pondicherry. Without a strong demand for French-speaking employees, there was little support to study French; subsequently, there was less chance that the people of Pondicherry might feel a sense of attachment to the imperial French nation, which was not always able to provide social rights such as proper employment.

IV.

Hindrances to the Republican School Project: Race and Caste

Modern national citizenship was created by the French Revolution with the establishment of civil equality, which involves shared rights and equal access to existing institutions.75 A. Race The goal of shared rights for all, however, was not always the practice, because Pondicherry’s colonial society was organized in terms of a racial hierarchy that hindered equal access to education for all its citizens. The manifestation of racial discrimination can be seen in an 1879 decree that reiterated that the boarding school for European girls in Pondicherry, created in 1829 by the sisters of the Congregation of Saint Joseph de Cluny, was exclusively for ‘the white class’.76 Similarly, in 1880, members of Pondicherry’s local council deliberated over the creation of a secular school for girls in the northern neighbourhood of Pondicherry’s White town. French councilman Gallois-Montbrun deplored that only four to five public schools served a population of 92 aldées and proposed instead the creation of a new primary public school in one of the rural districts. The general secretary replied that the creation of a school in the northern part of Pondicherry’s White town was a necessity, because the female pupils had to walk a long distance from their homes to the school under a strong sun, which could be harmful to their health. Colonizers perceived the local climate to be debilitating for the White 74 ‘Notre avenir’, Le Messager de l’Inde 45, 5 June 1901, p. 265, BnF, gallica; ‘Fonctionomanie’, Le Messager de l’Inde 33, 3 July 1901, pp. 229–330, BnF, gallica. Such deep aversion to manual work is, according to Srivinas, the result of ‘the association of each caste with one or more hereditary occupations and their gradation into high and low’. Srinivas, Caste in Modern India, p. 93. 75 Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood, p. 35. 76 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1879, pp. 604–605, BnF, gallica.

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population, especially for females. The proposition by Gallois-Montbrun was rejected by the local council.77 While not using the word ‘race’, some administrators assumed that the ‘Caucasian race’ needed certain kinds of help and protection, and they used this assumption as a benchmark for the distribution of scarce resources. Post-primary education was not very developed in Pondicherry apart from the collège colonial and two higher primary schools: collège Calvé and the pensionnat des Jeunes Filles de Pondichéry.78 Some Europeans and creoles did not want to share their exclusive access to secondary French education. They viewed Indians as an outsider group, hence ineligible for such a privilege. In 1878, the collège colonial, subsidized by the colony, was opened to the Indian population. The Indian pupils requested access to a secondary education culminating in a baccalauréat degree (academic qualif ication at the end of secondary education). However, hostilities towards Indigenous students lasted for quite some time.79 According to the newspaper Le Progrès, the missions étrangères that managed the school at the time opposed this request – despite support from the commission of public instruction. The missions étrangères joined causes with upper-caste Indians, because both the missions étrangères and upper-caste Indians jointly feared that the victory of the secular Third Republic on Indian soil would reduce their power.80 Although pro-republican lawyer and renouncer Laporte and Jules Godin (deputy of French India from 1876 to 1881) secured access for Indians to the collège colonial in 1878, many brawls occurred between Indian and European pupils that required the presence of a police officer to keep an eye on students at the end of each school day.81 European pupils who resisted the measure experienced it as a loss of privilege, underscoring the difficulty of ensuring equal access to schooling for all in a colonial regime based on a racial hierarchy. Ten years later, in 1888, the newspaper Le Petit Bengali published an article lamenting the opening of collège colonial to Indian children, comparing it 77 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1880, pp. 95–98, RCP. 78 Valmary, Rapport sur l’enseignement, p. 26. 79 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, p. 245. 80 Poulain, Notes sur l’Inde française, p. 7. Over time, direction of the collège colonial changed hands a few times reflecting the traditional groups in charge of education. Initially it was run by the Jesuit priests, then the Missions Etrangères; it was later taken over by fathers of the Holy Spirit. Finally, by 1899, the institution was managed in a continuous manner by the secular civil servants. Annoussamy, L’Intermède français en Inde, p. 87. 81 ‘Le témoignage des faits’, Le Progrès 5, 11 February 1894, pp. 23–24, RCP.

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to a sort of biblical Capernaum ‘with all the crooks and all the infected and filthy mankind of Pondicherry and its surroundings’.82 Inside the school, students continued to clash. For instance, a creole pupil was expelled in 1892 for using ‘violent and uncalled-for terms’ to insult an Indian student who performed better than him at school.83 A year later, an anonymous writer at the newspaper Le Progrès lamented that the situation had not improved since the school had changed its policy. The writer cited an incident in which an Indigenous Hindu student was beaten by a young creole, but neither the principal nor the préfet d’études (who enforced discipline and made sure that students attended class regularly) had intervened to stop the fight. The Hindu student was expelled, despite the fact that he was the victim in this incident. The collège colonial decided to expel the Hindu boy, because he was ‘a deceitful boy’, among other things. After school had ended for the day, a street fight erupted between the two boys and their respective friends. The episode showed that Indigenous education was still a controversial public issue. For the writer, the lack of intervention on behalf of the native Hindu student by the school authorities, as well as their decision to expel him, indicated that ‘we do not want to see Indians progress in secondary education’.84 Indian children were not the only ones who were denied access to Western education in Pondicherry. Some colonial officials believed that hiring policies for teachers should privilege the hiring of White teachers rather than Indians. At a session of the general council in 1900, the report from the educational commission proposed the following measures for the collège Calvé, Pondicherry: reducing two posts of adjunct teachers to a single post and lowering the criteria for hiring an adjunct teacher to the degree of bachelier (holder of the French baccalaureate), which would cost only six hundred rupees per month for the post.85 The overall goal of the measures’ sponsors (Chanemougam and his supporters) was to reduce the educational expenses by giving the teaching posts to Indians. However, the general councillor Gallois-Montbrun insisted that all the teachers at collèges, and especially at the collège colonial should be French people from France; otherwise, the influence of French civilization on the pupils would be weakened. Gallois-Montbrun underscored his position by pointing out 82 ‘Pondichéry, le 21 octobre 1888’, Le Progrès 43, 21 October 1888, pp. 407–408, RCP. 83 ‘L’Egalité à l’école’, Le Progrès 26, 19 June 1892, p. 201, RCP. 84 ‘L’incident du collège’, ‘L’indigène et l’instruction publique’, both in Le Progrès 30, 21 May 1893, pp. 150–152, RCP. 85 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1900, p. 389, RCP.

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that teachers from the metropole ‘will once in a while go back to France, [and] breathe the sane and warm atmosphere of the motherland in order to bring new ideas’, as opposed to local holders of a French baccalaureate who barely spoke the French language.86 The point was that French teachers could mould ‘true French citizens’. Montbrun believed that the consolidation of French identity in the Indian enclaves was realized not only through language but also through ethnicity, emphasizing the territorial link to the motherland and the notion of ‘origin’. Perhaps such views echoed the discourse of France’s New Right at the time, as represented in the work of Maurice Barrès (1862–1923), who articulated a national identity through an emotional attachment to ‘blood and soil’. For Barrès, national allegiance was based on an ‘individual’s consciousness of the historical, climatic, cultural and racial forces that shaped his development’.87 Racism against one’s own peers was used as an excuse to not expand learning the French language; the argument was that most Indian pupils did not have the cultural and intellectual capacities necessary to learn another vernacular on top of their mother tongue. For instance, at the session of the general council on December 1903, Chanemougam noted how, in a previous council meeting, the majority of the council members voted against a proposition to give subsidies to private schools, because, he argued, [t]he intelligence of the majority of these students is not sufficiently developed in order to receive, at the same time, knowledge in both languages. It follows that the time they use in order to acquire some notions of French is lost for [learning] their maternal language and this without any appreciable gain for the study of French in itself.88

He added, as a member of the financial commission, that he had gone with Louis Rassendren on an inspection of some local schools and described what he saw as a typical example of a school located on the street des Missions, where they questioned students in French who could not answer satisfactorily. The chief of public education contested this, because, in his opinion, Chanemougam’s reasoning was based on too few schools visited and too few students interviewed. The chief pointed out that pupils in the street des Missions received only one hour of French instruction per day when French was taught, but, for most of the year, they lacked any French instruction 86 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1900, p. 391. 87 Ford, ‘Which nation?’, p. 41. 88 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1903, pp. 348–349, RCP.

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whatsoever. Thus, how could they expect the students to understand and speak flawless French? He added that subsidies for private schools were not only for hiring French teachers but also for promoting the diffusion of knowledge in Tamil. The issue of ‘intelligence’ was probably a smokescreen, because Chanemougam, a landed Vellala, wanted to maintain the existing hierarchy between landed castes and labourers and did not want Western education to disturb this relationship of economic and social subordination. B. Caste Caste was another perceived challenge to the republican rhetoric of equality and inclusiveness. The issue of caste often led to the construction of separate schools for the outcastes, because most of the caste population did not want their children to sit next to them in the classrooms. For instance, in 1871, an agreement between the colony and the Congregation of Saint-Coeur de Marie was signed to open a school for girls of caste origin in the locality of Rettiarpaléom. The terms prevented the outcaste children of Oulgaret from attending this institution; subsequently, in 1892, the ‘Valangaïmougattars’, or Pariahs of Oulgaret, asked the colonial authorities for a second time for the creation of a girls’ school in their village. As an incentive for the colonial administration to endorse their request, they promised to provide land for a school building. Because it would only cost the colonial administration the salary equivalent of three native teachers belonging to the Congregation of Saint-Louis Gonzague, their demand was accepted.89 The request for a local school proved to be the first of a number of changes that these Pariahs wanted. They also petitioned the colonial state for redress regarding their subordinate status not only as colonial citizens but also in relation to the existing castes. Thanks to a basic French education, some Pariahs became aware that it was possible to partially escape their social condition. For example, outcastes in the French administration in Cochinchina managed to acquire a brevet élémentaire diploma and were able to secure low-entry jobs such as lighthouse watchman, postal worker, or prison guard.90 Similarly, in Pondicherry, some outcastes were also able to obtain low-ranking positions in the administration, which was one of the most lucrative sources of employment.91 As expected, Chanemougam violently opposed education 89 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1892, p. 46, RCP. 90 Pairaudeau, Mobile Citizens, p. 78. 91 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 62; Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 238–239.

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for the Pariahs, claiming that their education would pose a threat to caste hierarchy.92 In fact, he had the senator of India, Alype, spread inaccurate accusations that resulted in the successful recall of the two most liberal members of the colonial administration at the time, Théodore Drouhet, governor of French India (1881–1884) and Frédéric Hass, the director of Ministry of Home Affairs (1881–1884) in France in 1884. The senator reminded the press of an affair when Drouhet was accused of embezzlement while in a public position in 1869, forgetting to mention that he had been cleared of all suspicions. Haas’s offence was having admitted Pariah children to public schools and having instructed his staff to hire outcastes in the colonial administration.93 Chanemougam was a Velalla himself and represented the interests of the conservative rural Velallas, most of whom were landlords who had a vested interest in keeping outcastes ignorant, because they were the main source of agricultural workers. In 1894, a group of renouncers published a commentary in the republican newspaper Le Pondichérien, denouncing the continued toleration of caste discrimination in republican schools. While asserting that they were not criticizing caste traditions, they pointed out that schools did not admit outcaste students to avoid situations in which caste Hindu parents would withdraw their children rather than have them associate with outcaste children. The writers demanded that outcastes should be allowed to attend free primary schools created in the aldées and centres of the rural communes, because these educational institutions had been created by the French administration. In their view, caste hierarchy should not prevail in the egalitarian and secular republican space that these schools represented. They echoed the Third Republic’s ideals to uphold the spread of education to all strata of society, even the most ‘despised’ groups such as outcastes and girls. They noted how outcastes had access to the republican schools in the city of Pondicherry, while not in its districts.94 A few years later, at a 1907 meeting of the general council, Governor Gabriel Angoulvant stressed how three thousand outcaste children had been denied education in the various aldées of the district of Pondicherry. While he tried to facilitate their admission to public schools located in the big rural centres, his attempts failed. ‘The prejudices [of caste] are still so perennial that it is preferable for

92 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1892, p. 46, RCP. 93 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 136. 94 ‘On lit dans l’Inde Française situation intolérable’, Le Pondichérien, n.d., 1894, RCP

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the moment to equip the important outcaste villages [parachéries] with a Tamil school. I have chosen this path for the 1908 budget’.95 By 1908, the colonial state had built four more schools for outcastes in the agglomerations where Pariahs were prevented access to education.96 The governor endorsed progressive reform, in response to what he called the ‘pariah question’, through the spreading of education that would ‘improve progressively the moral and material conditions of people whom we had no right to place outside of humanity’.97 He supported this strategy by underlining that, as civil servants in the colonial administration, the outcastes had performed as well as caste people, and that, as a governor under a republican regime, he had a duty to bring the ideals of ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’ to all the people in French India.98 The number of outcastes enrolled in primary schools between 1910 and 1920 showed a minor increase, from 6.76 per cent to 8.61 per cent. This was the result of the efforts of deputy Bluysen, who intervened in the meeting of the Chamber of the Deputies in April 1911 and successfully obtained funds for mandatory public education expenses. Still, by 1920, less than 10 per cent of the outcastes were enrolled in the republican schools of French India; therefore, few would develop the foundation in reading and writing as well as civic education that served as the basis of becoming informed voters.99 In sum, the negative effect of caste on education was that outcastes were treated as second-class citizens due to their inferior social status, which restricted their access to schooling. Yet some Pariahs did receive a primary education, often a segregated one, which allowed them to aspire to a profession beyond agricultural labour.

V.

Hindrances to the Republican School Project: Gender Issues and Budget Constraints

A. Gender Regarding gender issues, Jules Ferry brought a radical change to French education in 1882 by making primary school public, secular, free, and 95 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1907, p. 13–14, RCP. 96 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1908, p. 7, RCP. 97 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1907, p. 13, RCP. 98 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1907, p. 224. 99 Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 4, p. 2286.

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compulsory for everyone, including girls. The school subsequently became a tool for promoting equality between girls and boys in Pondicherry. Despite such republican rhetoric, the metropolitan decree of 25 March 1893 made primary instruction compulsory for only the male and female children of the Pondicherry renouncers.100 Before this decree, education had been compulsory only for European children and children of mixed ancestry, known as métis.101 That the decree did not make primary instruction compulsory for all Indians children in French India hindered the French republican project of moulding French children into informed citizens. Still, some officials and local Indians were interested in obtaining equal treatment for females and allowing a small group not only of Indians girls to get access to education but also some Indian women to become teachers. A number of local Indian notables, often renouncers, became active in the Committees of Indian Notables created in 1872 to promote education in free public schools. They allied with the colonial state for limited changes. One of them was Sandirapoullé, a non-renouncer Vellala and well-known local f igure who was the president of the Committee of Jurisprudence of Hindus as well as a member of the Société progressiste de l’Inde Française, which promoted the teaching of French, until he passed away in 1902. 102 During his address at the 1872 inauguration of Saint-Eugénie, Sandirapoullé mentioned how, at the outset, the committee had had diff iculties convincing parents to send their daughters to school. Only seven pupils had shown up the f irst day, because girls were considered ‘predestined to the slavery of an only material life’, and were ‘secluded in the house’.103 To gain parents’ approval, Sandirapoullé 100 Conseil Général de l’Inde française, 1895, p. 100, RCP. 101 The scholar Michalon wonders if the fact that primary education was not made compulsory for all children in French India was due to the lack of a parallel decree regulating child labour. Michalon, ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français’, pp. 39 and 112. 102 Earlier, he had been appointed Knight of the Legion of Honor as a means, for the French authorities, to thank him for his services in promoting education for young local girls and for his family’s support to the French colonial power, because one of his ancestors helped the French commander Lally against the British during the 1760–1761 siege of the city. ‘M. TandoSandirapoullé’, Le Messager de l’Inde 51, 25 June 1902, pp. 38–39, BnF, gallica. Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 148. ‘A la société progressiste de l’Inde française’, L’Union hindoue 7, 10 June 1901, p. 26, BnF, gallica. 103 This institution had been founded by the previous governor, Napoléon Joseph Louis Bontemps (1863–1871), who was in office during Napoleon III’s reign and who subsequently bestowed the name of the empress on the school. ‘Inauguration de la nouvelle école de Saint-Eugénie’, Le Moniteur officiel des établissements français de l’Inde 1154, 19 April 1872, RCP.

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underlined the importance of education for local women who would not be able to remarry if they became widowed, so they needed an education to manage their life after the loss of their husbands. According to the speaker, the education offered in this school was based on universal moral principles, not on religion. Nothing in the Hindu religion proscribed the education of women, in his view. A few years later, in 1885, Sandirapoullé pointed out that Saint-Eugénie now had 510 female pupils. He stressed that the Indian society was changing, as less and less Indians believed in the prejudice that ‘a woman who knew to read and write, was not considered honest or could not stay honest’.104 At the beginning, SaintEugénie took in students from the following high castes: Vellalas, Cavaré, and Yadaval (shepherds and milkmen); the members of the Chetty and the Commoutty (merchant) castes refused to send their daughters. These high castes – Vellalas, Cavaré, and Yadaval – allowed the daughters of some mid-range castes – Vanouva (oil manufacturer and sellers), Sénécodé (fruits vendors), Vannia, Camala (goldsmith), and Moutchy (artists) – access to the Saint-Eugénie school.105 Not only Sandirapoullé but also other Indians viewed education in the French language or local vernacular as an important means of advancement for their daughters. School authorities in the district of Pondicherry noted that the girls’ school that opened in 1889 in Modéliapett was regularly attended, and he lauded enrolment results during an 1891 awards ceremony.106 Some Indians, such as Rangassamynaïker, a philanthropist, decided to endorse the cost of the construction of a primary school in the aldée of Oulgaret, so it would cost the colonial administration only the salary of teachers and the subsequent maintenance of the school.107 However, the notion of educated women was not welcomed or accepted in many quarters. For example, a writer in the newspaper L’Union hindoue opined in August 1901 that the fate of the Indian woman was to get married – ‘a single woman is a phenomenon in this country’ – hence her duties were to be a housewife who required a home economics education.108 A week later, claiming to speak on behalf of all the Hindu population living in the 104 ‘Discours de M. Sandirapoullé’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française 18, 16 August 1885, p. 76, BnF, gallica. 105 Esquer, Essai, p. 474, n. 1. 106 ‘Distribution des prix aux élèves de l’école des filles de Modéliarpett’, Le Moniteur officiel des établissements français de l’Inde 62, 11 August 1891, p. 574, RCP. 107 ‘Discours de M. Singaravélounaïker’, Le Messager de l’Inde 43, 5 December 1900, pp. 231–232, BnF, gallica. 108 La rédaction, ‘Chronique locale’, L’Union hindoue 17, 23 August 1901, p. 65, BnF, gallica.

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French establishments in India, the editorial staff of this newspaper argued that the teaching of French language in schools should only be offered to Indian female pupils whose parents wanted them to speak French. However, it should not be compulsory, because French, in their view, was useless for Indian females. Our girls are not destined to live the life of salon or to appear openly in feasts or in other solemn circumstances. Even less can they f ind themselves in a mixed society of Indians and Europeans. […] They are condemned to live constantly locked up at home, except to go to church, to the bazaar, the fountain, etc.; still they almost always go out, led by and under the surveillance of one of the relatives older than them.

Instead, the British approach to education in India was praised, because the colonizers only taught subjects useful for domestic life and in the local vernacular.109 In the same vein, in 1908, Indian councilman Tamby-Douressamy commented that [t]he Indian mores do not allow girls to attend school for over five years in general. During this short time, they have to learn French and Tamil [which] would mean that they really learn nothing; in contrary, the Muslim mores do not allow girls to attend school more than three years. Will they in such a short time study Tamil, French, and Arab?110

He suggested that bilingual education be discontinued and that native girls be educated only in French, or, if that wasn’t possible, to receive ‘a good education in Tamil’. At the end of the discussion, the members of the council adopted the wish of councilman Pierre – that is, both languages as a medium of learning would be offered to native girls, but they would have the choice of studying only one of the two.111 This solution was perceived as a way to adapt education to the local reality, rather than trying to create a ‘miniature France’ in India. Yet some Indian women were not powerless actors, as these councilmen and L’Union hindoue stated. The colonial state had started to recruit them as teachers of Tamil in the school system. In 1884, Governor Richaud initiated 109 La rédaction, ‘Chronique’, L’Union hindoue 18, 30 August 1901, pp. 69–70, BnF, gallica. 110 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1908, p. 243, RCP. 111 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1908, pp. 255–256.

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a course called cours normal to be held in Pondicherry to train male Indian primary school teachers for their job.112 The July 1903 decision to remove nuns from public schools for girls resulted in a need for new female teachers. In February 1904, a two-year cours normal for women aiming to become teachers in French- or Tamil-medium schools was started.113 While the French bureaucratic documentation on administrative acts and decisions in Pondicherry rarely referred to female Indian teachers up to this point, from late 1903 onwards, Indian females appeared in the bureaucratic paper trail as potential Tamil teachers. Their castes, however, were not mentioned. A piece of information that we can gain from looking at their names is that a number of these actual and future women may have been Catholic converts.114 While a few of these teachers were the same persons over the years, we can still assume that about 20 per cent of them were Catholics and maybe speculate that, among this 20 per cent, most of them were renouncers. Moreover, we can also assume that teachers with names incorporating ‘andonissamy’, ‘agnissamy’, ‘resammy’, or ‘Maria’ were from the lower castes; the laicization of education by the Third Republic offered them a means to achieve social mobility (see Table 4.1).115 Looking at British India, especially at the Maharashtrian region from the second half of the nineteenth century to the early twentieth century, progressives believed that women could help the nation by doing seva (social service) in forms such as education and healthcare. These working women could also earn a living and complement their husband’s precarious job situations. At the same time, some women not only fulfilled their obligations to their families but also worked to carve an identity for themselves. Both in Pondicherry and the Maharashtrian region, a few women, some working with male reformers, wanted to promote change within an acceptable framework.116 Overall, the support of the French colonial power for expanding primary education for local female pupils thus offered an avenue for a small group of girls to gain some autonomy, and for a few Indian women to work as teachers. Progressive Indians such as Sandirapoullé promoted 112 Valmary, Rapport sur l’enseignement, p. 33. Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1884–1885, p. 14, RCP; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1884, pp. 180–183, BnF, gallica. 113 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1904, pp. 66–67, BnF, gallica. 114 A common naming convention of those times was to attach ‘Ammal’ as a suffix to women’s names. ‘Ammalle’ is the French spelling for Ammal, which literally means ‘mother’. I am thankful to Dr. Darinee Alagirasamy for pointing this out to me. 115 I am thankful to Dr. Narayanan Ganapathy for underlining this point to me. 116 Anagol, The Emergence of Feminism, pp. 83–85.

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Table 4.1  Female Tamil teachers Data from 1903 to 1913  1903: – 4 nominated as Tamil trainee teachers  – 2 transferred to a new school  1904:  – 8 given pay raises as Tamil trainee teachers  – 10 received a scholarship for training as Tamil teachers 1905:  – 10 received a scholarship for training as Tamil teachers (including 4 renewed scholarships)  – 3 stripped of scholarship  – 4 cases regarding replacing people on leave  – 1 convalescence leave  – 3 assignments to or removals from schools  – 1 nominated as Tamil teacher  1906:  – 3 stripped of scholarship  – 14 received a scholarship for training as Tamil teachers (4 renewed)  1907:  – 16 received a scholarship for training as Tamil teachers

– 14 assignments to or removals from teaching positions 

1908:  – 1 nominated as trainee teacher  – 5 received pay raise 

– 7 received a scholarship for training as Tamil teachers (3 renewed ones) 

Potentially Catholic converts  None 

Mrs. Marie, wife of Andonissamymodély  Gnanamariammalle Thérèse Lourdes-Marie, daughter of Rajapandier 

Théressammalie Lourdes Marie Salmon  Lourdes Marie  Marie Thérèse, window of Agnissamyppoullé Mrs. Saint-Jacques 

Lourdes Marie Salmon  Miss Gnanamballe, known as Lourdes-Marie  Mariasavérimouttammalle Aroquiaramarie Marie Selvomammalle  Saint-Hilaire (Sorname)  La Vérité (Périanayagame)  Atchimariammalle  Aroquiamarie Marie Thérèse  Lourdes Marie  Théressammalle 

Lourdes Marie  Rose Dupierre Saint-Hilaire (Sorname)  La Vérité (Périanayagame)  Lourde-Marie, daughter of Douressamypoullé Dayalamarie

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Data from 1903 to 1913  1909:  – 16 received pay raise  – 7 job transfers and resignations  – 2 removed from training as Tamil teachers – 2 leave  1910:  – 2 scholarship renewals 1911:  – No mention regarding matters on female Tamil teachers  1913:  – 2 tenured as Tamil teacher  – 2 job transfers – 6 convalescence leave and replacements  – 5 replacements for leaves of absence – 2 job assignments to school – 5 scholarships (4 renewed ones) – 1 leave of absence without pay

Potentially Catholic converts  Mariammalle  Rose Marie Dupierre  Mariammalle  Gnanamariammalle, Thérèse  Marie Soundiram (Leroy)  Primorguet (Lourdes Marie Salomon)    Marie  Atchimariammalle   

Clairemariammalle    Radjapandiar (Canicamarie) 

Source: Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de L’inde.

primary education for females as a crucial means of allowing greater control over their own destinies, while maintaining social order and traditional hierarchies. B.

Financial Struggles

Although the right to education was part of the general privileges of citizenship under the Third Republic, access to education depended in part on budgetary constraints in French India, which made access to education and the associated political rights uncertain. Both the lack of funding and the lack of support from inf luential Pondicherry politicians obstructed the spread of education. Pondicherry’s economic circumstances partially explained budget troubles. For instance, from 1880 to World War I, the Indian colony encountered financial difficulties due to natural calamities (droughts from 1876 to 1877, another drought in 1901 and flooding from 1884 to 1885, and another flood in 1887), the destruction of bridges from the 1884 floods impacting the groundnut

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industry, the rising costs of administrative personnel, and the devaluation of the rupee.117 Budgetary troubles in 1885 resulted in Pondicherry being unable to provide funds to build public schools in all the aldées.118 A few years later, even ensuring access to educational materials was a challenge. In 1896, Indian renouncer councilman Gnanadicom criticized Gaston Pierre’s plan to forgo the distribution of prizes and stationery supplies that were intended to motivate school attendance. This policy would lead, in Gnanadicom’s opinion, to fewer children attending school, hence contradicting the republican principles of equality and fraternity and the Third Republic’s mission to expand primary education. The committee finally decided to limit any new expenditure in this area due to a limited budget.119 The same year, in a report, the colonial administration compared the education budget of the French enclaves with those of Indochina. In Indochina, the French colonial administration allocated 30 per cent of the total colonial budget to education. By contrast, the annual educational budget in Pondicherry and the other Indian territories made up only 12.5 per cent of the total allotment of French India. Given that the allotment for primary school children in French India was calculated at twenty francs per student, the colony’s 63,000 school-going children would have cost 1,260,000 francs, hence three quarters of the total colonial budget, if they were all attending state schools (actually, 6,990 pupils were attending state primary schools). The primary school inspector of French India replied to the report that a comparison between these two French colonies was inappropriate, because Indochina was a new colony where ‘everything has to be done’, whereas French India was an old colony that ‘had reached development in all domains’. Instead, he drew a comparison between French India and the old colonies of the Antilles, where the educational policy was perceived as a successful one and where each student in Martinique and Guadeloupe was allotted one hundred francs.120 The inspector’s opinion on the French 117 ‘Pondichéry’, Le Petit Bengali 46, 23 November 1886, p. 181, BnF gallica; ‘On lit dans le Moniteur des Colonies’, Le Petit Bengali 13, 28 March 1887, p. 49, BnF gallica; ‘Un triste tableau’, Le Messager de l’Inde 46, 8 June 1901, p. 273, BnF gallica; ‘Chandernagor’, Le Petit Bengali, 5 January 1898, p. 1, BnF gallica; ‘Le gouverneur est attendu…’, Le Petit Bengali 38, 20 September 1886, p. 149, BnF gallica; ‘Conseil Général’, Le Petit Bengali 45, 8 December 1897, p. 1. BnF gallica; ‘Lettre de Pondichéry’, Le Petit Bengali 50, 17 December 1888, p. 197, BnF gallica; ‘Chronique De l’eau!’, L’Union hindoue 5, 27 May 1901, p. 17, BnF, gallica. 118 Valmary, Rapport sur l’enseignement, p. 25. 119 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1896, pp. 188–203, RCP. 120 Conseil Général de l’Inde française, 1896, pp. 188–190, RCP. We might speculate that each of these two colonies, because of the sugar economy – despite the decline of the Antillean sugar

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Antilles reflected the views of the officials in Paris, who believed that, if the educational politics of assimilation had worked in the Antilles, they should also work in French India.121 The outcome of this discussion was – as much as possible – not to incur new educational expenses due to budget concerns.122 Two years later, in 1898, four boys’ primary schools were closed in Pondicherry and its aldées due to budgetary troubles. Financial constraints led the colonial administration, a year later, to solicit private donations for a new fund (une caisse des écoles) that would reward pupils’ performance in school to motivate them to attend school and to help poor students purchase books and clothing.123 Again, at the session of the general council in December 1900, a heated discussion between Gaston Pierre, opposing education in French, and Montbrun and Quaintenne. Financial constraints on the budget led Pierre to support the financial commission’s recommendation to freeze expenses at current levels.124 In the face of budget constraints, funds for primary education in Pondicherry were classified as optional expenses in 1900.125 At the same time, the colonial state was thinking of a less expensive approach that involved copying a scheme of subsidized education through private schools that the British had successfully introduced in Madras Presidency to encourage the spread of English education to Indian students, according to the French press.126 This approach aimed to improve the standard of teaching for those students who could attend school rather than building new schools. The new approach involved giving subventions to private school teachers in the form of grants-in-aid, in other words, payments determined by student results. Administrators in French India hoped that these grants-in-aid would encourage the spread of less expensive, higher quality instruction primarily in French, but also in Tamil.127 Three in the world market by the end of the nineteenth century – had a bigger colonial budget than French India, hence they could afford to spend more money on education. 121 As the scholar Machalon mentioned, the Antilles’s population was made of a considerable slave population brought from Africa, who did not need to protect an existing culture from alien influences, and they lived in a very insular place. This population therefore often did not resist the colonial educational domination. Michalon, ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français’, p. 115. 122 Conseil Général de l’Inde française, 1896, pp. 203–204, RCP. 123 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1898, p. 468, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1899, pp. 710–711, BnF, gallica. 124 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1900, pp. 388–451, RCP. 125 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1903, pp. 350–351, RCP. 126 ‘Budget des dépenses’, Le Messager de l’Inde 43, 5 December 1900, p. 28, BnF, gallica. 127 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1903, pp. 350–351, RCP.

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years later, the decree of 7 March 1903 established the grant-in-aid system. Looking at the Madras Presidency, the chief of public education, monsieur Delale, stated that the success of the system there was due to the amount of money that the British devoted to it, but that the money in the local budget was quite limited. Hence, to reach a minimum of level of success with the grant-in-aid system in French India, Delale concluded that the council should grant the required subsidies to teach French in private schools. The general council voted in favour of Chanemougam’s demand to allow these subsidies for one year to see if the measure would be effective. In the 20 December 1903 general council meeting, the discussion again concerned the grant-in-aid system as a means to develop primary education in French India and to encourage teaching French, but no resolution was taken.128 Discussing educational policies in French India in one of the sessions of the general council, the chief of public education attacked Chanemougam for decreasing the budget for public education by 22 per cent from approximately 176,000 rupees in 1895 to 137,000 rupees in 1903.129 While, in 1888, there had been a total of 333 schools in French India (279 private school and 54 public schools), in 1903, the French establishments in India counted only 280 schools (239 private schools and 41 public schools).130 Overall, budget constraints and the lack of support by some influential off icials in the colonial administration substantially limited bringing a republican education to children In Pondicherry. In parallel, another institution also tasked to mould people into devoted republican citizens was the army.

VI.

The Armed Forces in Pondicherry

One of the main duties of French citizenship was the duty of fulf illing military service. The 1798 Jordan law clearly stated that ‘[e]very Frenchman is a soldier and must defend the country’.131 Despite this law, only a few Indians were required to complete military service a few years before World War I. The reasons for this situation in French India were the 128 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1903, pp. 347–359, RCP. 129 Conseil Général de l’Inde Française, 1903, p. 326, RCP. Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 4, pp. 2280–2281. 130 Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 4, pp. 2274, 2280. 131 Dumont, ‘Conscription antillaise’, p. 102.

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demilitarization of French India as a condition of the 1815 treaty between the British and the French, the cost of sending conscripts to France, and the decree of 6 January 1819, which forbade the extension of conscription.132 As a result, only Europeans and renouncers could be conscripted, which limited the number of nationals from Pondicherry who could perform the ultimate sacrifice that a citizen could make, in other words, dying for the motherland. A.

The Armed Forces in Pondicherry Prior to the Third Republic

The French initially settled in Pondicherry in 1673. Between 1702 and 1705, the government of Louis XIV erected a citadel and posted a garrison composed of some one thousand European soldiers and two to three thousand cipayes (Indian soldiers), who were locally recruited and commanded by French officers.133 Indians troops were incorporated into the French military and trained in the European military manner. In 1741, Governor Pierre Dumas (1735–1741) formed a larger military contingent of five thousand cipayes, which continued to form the defence of Pondicherry under Joseph François Dupleix, who held the governorship from 1742 to 1754.134 An additional unit, the Sepoy Regiment of Pondicherry, was established in 1775. This was followed by the Autonomous Company of Artillery, Cannons, and Bombardiers in 1776 and the Sepoys of India Infantry Corps in 1867.135 Local norms such as the caste system and racial hierarchy had an impact on the organization of the army. Under Dupleix and Comte de La Bourdonnais, the fighting force was divided in two, with a European section and a local one from which outcastes were excluded, although all sections fought under the same flag.136 The Treaty of 1815 between France and Great Britain prevented France from keeping troops in French India beyond what was required to maintain law and order. Apart from a few troops of cipayes to control the establishments of French India, there was no colonial army there. In 1880, there were 332 cipayes, but, due to budget constraints, by 1889, the number had

132 Malangin, ‘Le Temps de la Guerre’, in Landy, L’Inde Française, p. 29. 133 Haudrère, ‘Le rêve brisé de Dupleix’, p. 56. 134 Lafont, ‘Observations on the French Military Presence’, p. 84. 135 Miles, Imperial Burdens, p. 25; no author, Les troupes de la marine, pp. 50–51. ‘Suit Le décret’, Le Petit Bengali 21, 26 May 1898, pp. 1–2, BnF, gallica. 136 Le Progrès de l’Inde Française, 20 June 1882, quoted in Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 130.

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to be reduced to 250 men and slowly decreased to 150.137 The Sepoys of India Infantry Corps was disbanded and replaced with a gendarmerie indigène (local police force) in 1898.138 However, in 1901, the corps of the cipayes was re-established and attached to the colonial army so as not to burden the local budget with extra expenses.139 In 1907, Governor Angoulvant again announced the disbandment of the cipayes of India, to be replaced the following year by an Indigenous gendarmerie called the Indigenous Policemen of the Cipayes of India; their main task was to maintain social order in the French enclaves.140 Few positions as cipayes – never more than roughly three hundred – were offered to Pondicherry’s male population. As early as the 1700s, a major function of the Pondicherry military force was to maintain local peace and order, but it was not always successful in doing so. For instance, on 15 August 1702 at the Catholic Church’s demand, the colonial authorities prohibited Hindus ‘from conducting processions and celebrating their festivals and asked for temple keys’. In protest, Hindus of all castes, numbering about twelve to fifteen thousand, prepared to leave Pondicherry rather than accept these restrictions. With only a limited number of soldiers at his disposal, the governor had no choice but to revoke the decision.141 Pondicherry’s highly mobile population was thus a challenge to sovereignty and forced the colonial state to accede to inhabitants’ demands. Actually, the tactic of running away was not unique to Pondicherry, but part of a repertoire of contentions that had been used by peasants and artisans throughout the Madras Presidency and made it hard for soldiers to police such behaviours.142 As political scientist Albert Hirschman has shown in other contexts, the withdrawal or exit from a relationship can be a means for local populations to voice complaints and seek reparations.143 In the colonial Indian case, this drastic move was facilitated by the fact that the Pondicherry Tamils were exiting to a Tamil community with which they had strong ties through marriage. Borders between Pondicherry and 137 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, p. 370, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1889, pp. 12–13, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1891, pp. 76–77, BnF, gallica. 138 Miles, Imperial Burdens, p. 25; no author, Les troupes de la marine, pp. 50–51. 139 ‘Allocation prononcée Par M. Rodier, Gouverneur des Etablissements Français de l’Inde’, Le Messager de l’Inde 84, 19 October 1901, p. 571, BnF, gallica. 140 Bulletin off iciel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1907, p. 559; Bulletin off iciel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1908, pp. 428–434, 711–722, 892–895, BnF, gallica. 141 More, ‘Hindu-Christian Interaction’, p. 108. 142 Raman, Document Raj, p. 167. 143 Hirschman, Exit, Voice, and Loyalty.

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British India were porous and therefore difficult for the army to control, because Pondicherry was a territory of twelve strips of land separated by British territory. B.

The Armed Forces during the Third Republic

When it came to enlisting in the army, the Third Republic embraced the Ancien Régime style of granting privileges that made different concessions to various colonial territories rather than applying a universal republican law requiring military service in a colonial army for all young male subjects. Apart from joining the cipayes garrison in Pondicherry, the possibilities for them to enlist in the military and Marine Corps were limited. For instance, it was mentioned at the local council’s 1872 session that only two Hindus had to join the Marine Corps a few years earlier.144 In 1873, the minister of war had decided not to accept French colonizers from the French establishments in India into the army, because it would be too costly to bring a small contingent to metropole France.145 Unlike the majority of the population who had no interest in military conscription or a career in the uniformed forces, some members of two groups – renouncers and Pariahs – did ask for the right to enlist in the military in order to gain privileges. For other Indians, there was no desire to complete military service. The following two cases illustrate why many Indian men in Pondicherry regarded military service as undesirable. First, voting rights were perceived as having a hidden agenda. Some Indians feared that political changes brought about by the Third Republic would include compulsory conscription. Thanks to the press, there was a growing awareness of what is today called the ‘Second Empire’, when France embarked upon conquests of new territories such as the 1830 subjugation of Algeria and the pacification of Tonkin and Annam (Vietnam) during 1884–1885. As a result, during the 1871 election for deputies, some younger Indians fled to the Madras Presidency after registering as voters, fearing the government wanted to draft them into the army and send them to fight on the battlefields of other French colonies.146 The second case involved the fact that military service and caste prerogatives did not always mesh. At a 1872 session of the local council in Pondicherry, creole councilman Emile Hecquet complained that the Indians and creoles who worked for the colonial administration were not offered 144 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1872, p. 131, RCP. 145 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1873, pp. 491–493, BnF, gallica. 146 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 97.

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professional advancement.147 The ordonnateur (the person in charge of fiscal matters for the colonial administration) replied that he had made unsuccessful appeals to the local administration to raise Indians’ salaries for the year 1873. He alluded to a recent case in the navy in which two young Indians were denied a promotion on the basis of their caste beliefs, because they had chosen to avoid any travel by sea.148 Some Hindus believed that, according to local folk beliefs, one way of losing one’s caste status was by crossing the sea, which was referred to as kala pani, ‘black waters’, in other words, polluted water, the crossing of which would entail a form of social death. A few would bring their own cooked food or subsisted on uncooked rice and grains when the journey lasted a few weeks, because most of the Hindus would refuse meals not cooked by someone from their caste.149 The republican newspaper Le Progrès published an article that praised the young creoles of the French colonial island of Réunion who, in 1883, voluntarily joined the French army to fight on the side of the empire in Madagascar during the Franco-Hova Wars. These wars involved French military intervention in Madagascar between 1883 and 1896, which led to Madagascar becoming a French colony. In the newspaper’s view, the day when incorporation of Indians into the French army would be compulsory would show who had a true ‘devotion to France’.150 The article noted the ‘repugnance, even horror, that the caste man has [for any contact with] Europeans, contacts which are polluted’ and how the high castes would not be able to face the ‘proximity of the barracks’, which led the author of the article to wonder if higher caste Indians could pass the test of military service as a way to display their attachment to the motherland. In contrast, for others, the military was an avenue through which social mobility could be attained. For instance, in 1871, the outcaste Valangaïmougattars of Pondicherry petitioned the Chamber of Deputies in France for the right to become cipayes. Their demand was rejected based on the premise that an outcaste could not arrest a caste person.151 The outcastes in Pondicherry might have heard of the Mahar Dalits in British India who had gained some social mobility and experienced little discrimination in the military.152 147 Part of this long-time settler’s category were people of mixed ancestry who wanted to pass as European and erase their Indian heritage. 148 Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1872, pp. 129–131, RCP. 149 Carter and Torabully, Coolitude, p. 37. 150 ‘Pondichéry, le 21 octobre 1883’, Le Progrès 51, 21 October 1883, p. 201, RCP. 151 Weber, ‘Acculturation et Assimilation’, p. 193. 152 Rao, The Caste Question, p. 46.

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Similarly, opposing the ‘unpatriotic’ upper castes was the 13 October 1889 article in the republican le Progrès about an Indian child, an ex-outcaste who became a renouncer. During the governor general’s visit to a local school, this boy told him that he wanted to join the French colonial army – which existed in other parts of the French empire. The newspaper praised the boy for knowing his duties towards France, unlike ‘the proud castes who enjoy French political rights without having to submit themselves to the civil laws, and refuse to serve the homeland’.153 While outcastes were looking for employment opportunities in the armed forces, some renouncers supported military conscription for Indians as a means to legitimize their citizenship rights. For instance, in June 1882, Indian renouncer Laporte and his friends signed a petition seeking the right to complete military service. The pro-renouncer journal le Progrès published their petition as a means to demonstrate their patriotism. As new citizens, they argued, they should be able to take part in the defence of the motherland, stipulating that there should be no caste discrimination within the army as had been the case under Governor Joseph François Dupleix (1742–1754).154 For this group of renouncers, conscription, at least nominally, would make them equal to their French peers and would help them to be accepted and treated as fully fledged French citizens. Félix Faure, the sous-secrétaire d’Etat des Colonies, sent them a note of appreciation on behalf of the French government, but their demand was not granted. During an 1885 discussion at the Chamber of Deputies, the deputy of Châtillon-sur-Seine, Arthur Leroy, unsuccessfully asked for a distinction among the Indian population between French citizens and ‘the ones who are allowed to enjoy the rights of French citizens’ when it comes to military service and consequently to allow renouncers to perform this service as an obligation of citizenship.155 He alluded to France’s First Republic Constitution of 1792, which stipulated that only men who were legally obliged to do military service could be considered fully fledged citizens and consequently had the right to elect members of the government for which they risked their life.156 Le Républicain de l’Inde française also warned about the sincerity of the renouncers’ patriotism, wondering if their demand for compulsory 153 ‘J’entrerai dans l’armée colonial’, Le Progrès 41, 13 October 1889, p. 394, RCP. 154 Le Progrès de l’Inde Française, 20 June 1882 quoted in Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 130. 155 ‘Lors de la discussion…’, Le Petit Bengali 29, 21 July 1885, p. 113, BnF, gallica. 156 Tilly, ‘The Emergence of Citizenship in France’, p. 223.

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military service was not a tool to promote their own interests, in other words, to be recognized as full French citizens.157 Later, during World War I, renouncers encouraged by local leaders such as Joseph Laporte, the son of Paul Laporte, fought in France as volunteers to pay their blood tax to the French motherland. After the war, these renouncers petitioned the local jurisdiction to be registered on the first list (the European list) as a reward for defending the motherland against Germany. After their request was rejected, they appealed to the cassation court in France whose role was to verify the conformity of the law. The cassation court also refused to accede to their demand, arguing that the decree of 10 September 1889 implied that war mobilization did not qualify them a place on the first list.158 The Pondicherry press and people also scrutinized events in British India, which included the issue of which groups of Indians should be allowed to serve in the army. By 1892, the British government had stopped recruiting outcastes in the British army. The Mutiny of 1857–1859 had led to the reorganization of the military along caste lines, which excluded outcastes and Brahmans as well as south Indians. These latter groups were described, according to the ‘martial races theory’, as effeminate, weak, and incapable of displaying martial courage.159 According to British officials, unlike the caste-bound Hindus from the central plains, the Sikh and Muslims of the north-west were thought to be free of prejudice and therefore would make better recruits. By the late nineteenth century, the sturdy yeoman personif ied above all by the Jat Sikhs of the Punjab became the predominant group in the Indian Army, along with Punjabi Muslims.160 In 1910, when the British Indian government wanted to replace a term-expired Sikh contingent in Uganda with one composed of Rajputs (members of a dominant military caste from northern India), local authorities there, along with the colonial office, forcefully opposed this decision. Both argued that Rajputs, could not stand the African climate, while their high caste Hindu “scruples” over food and cooking would “seriously handicap” them on active duty […] varying caste prejudices, inexplicable to the Africans, 157 ‘Pondichéry, le 21 juin 1885’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française 10, 21 June 1885, pp. 43–44, BnF, gallica. 158 Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, pp. 100–103. 159 Rao, The Caste Question, p. 46. 160 Metcalf, Imperial Connections, pp. 69–73.

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would have to be accommodated, and extra expenses would accrue to the government.161

Far from accepting their fate, some outcastes fought against the 1892 decision on army recruitment. For instance, in the Bombay Presidency, the first Dalit organization – Anarya Dosh Pariharak Mandali (Society for the Removal of the Misdemeanours of the Non-Aryans; hereafter, the ADPM) – was created around 1890. In July 1894, early activists such as Gopal Baba Valangkar drafted a petition on behalf of the ADPM to the Bombay Presidency, asking for equal employment and civil rights for the untouchable communities. This was followed by many petitions from other outcaste activists demanding, unsuccessfully, the Mahar Dalits reinstatement into the British Army and employment in police forces.162

VII.

Military Laws, Citizenship, and Indochina

A.

Military Laws and Citizenship

When the movement for universal and equal military service gained ground, resentment began to grow towards long-settled foreigners who remained exempt from conscription. Throughout the 1880s, debates on citizenship laws among Frenchmen often included the issue of military conscription. These debates led to the extension of jus soli in 1889 to the sons and daughters born in France of foreign-born immigrants who were now considered citizens, a measure that historical sociologist Rogers Brubaker argues was undertaken not to increase the size of the army, but as a political necessity to make second-generation immigrants into French citizens. He contends that it was primarily a response to the ‘shocking inequality’ between the French, who completed up to five years of military service in comparison to long-term resident foreigners who did not do military service, and secondly because of the fear of the emergence of ‘different nations within the French nation’. After 1889, military service became compulsory not only for longstanding French citizens but also for new citizens who had become citizens under the reformed citizenship law.163 What did this mean for the Indian men of Pondicherry? 161 Metcalf, Imperial Connections, pp. 133–134. 162 Rao, The Caste Question, p. 48. 163 Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood, pp. 103–110.

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In 1885, the newspaper Le Républicain de l’Inde française reported that there was an inconclusive discussion of the establishment of a colonial army in French India, which raised the question of whether the cipayes garrison could become a contingent of such an army. The newspaper encouraged the authorities to look at the British, who had successfully organized a colonial army in British India.164 Four years later, the military law of 15 July 1889 required the French citizens of Guadeloupe, Guiana, and Réunion to carry out their military service on French soil. Le Petit Bengali saluted the patriotism of these old colonies as about eight thousand ‘coloured men will be incorporated in the metropolitan [military] corps’. The newspaper added that renouncers from French India were lobbying to have the law applied to them. While Le Petit Bengali supported the extension of the law to renouncers, its editorial staff feared that the renouncers would use conscription as a requirement for citizenship in French India to the detriment of non-renouncer Indians who could subsequently lose their electoral rights.165 On 16 August 1889, the Ministry of the Navy and Colonies had asked the governor of the French establishments in India to provide a list of the eligible young men for conscription before 1 December 1889.166 Le Progrès wondered whether the local administration had prepared this list of young local males regardless of caste, as requested by the metropole.167 Military law was finally applied to French India through the local decree of 18 November 1889 – as the ‘law on the military recruitment has been declared applicable to the French and the naturalized French’.168 Because of the 1889 citizenship law in France, which made military service mandatory not only for old-stock Frenchmen but also for those newly defined as French, talks in Pondicherry regarding the possibility of legally compelling Indians in French India to serve in the French army led some Brahmans and their supporters to voice their opposition in the Pondicherry press. The Brahmans objected to close connection with lower castes and Pariahs, eating food that had not been cooked by members of their caste, and not belonging to the warrior caste of Kshatriyas. On 6 October 1889, the republican newspaper Le Progrès countered their complaints by pointing to the example of British India, which had paid no heed to the caste 164 ‘A propose des cipahis…’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française 7, 31 May 1885, p. 53, BnF, gallica. 165 No author, ‘Le Services des Colonies en France’, Le Petit Bengali 42, 18 November 1889, p. 166, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1873, pp. 491–493, BnF, gallica. 166 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1889, pp. 707–708, BnF, gallica. 167 ‘J’entrerai dans l’armée colonial’, Le Progrès 41, 13 October 1889, p. 394, RCP. 168 ‘Pondichéry le 15 décembre 1889’, Le Progrès 50, 15 December 1889, pp. 476–477, RCP.

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system and had fielded Hindu troops in Europe, Burma, and Africa. The newspaper concluded by asking if Brahmans enrolled in the British Indian army were not as worthy as the Brahmans in Pondicherry. This issue became part of an electoral battle during which the deputy for India, Pierre Alype (1881–1898), swore that he would not allow French Indians to be conscripted for military service.169 However, apart from a few renouncers and some French politicians, the rest of the population in the French enclave did not perceive exemption from the military as an important issue – unlike people in the metropole, who resented the exemption of second-generation French citizens from conscription. The polemic appeared again a few months later in January 1890 during the speech given by M. V. Rajarattinamodéliar, a renouncer, during the awarding of prizes to students at a school called l’Union de Pondichéry: Here it is my duty to congratulate my friends who are with us today, for introducing military conscription to French India. An event of this type, I am sure, can only be productive and advantageous for the population. We will be proud to be part of the imposing army of the French nation whose annals are full of glories; but I think that I interpret the feelings of my fellow citizens by saying that the obligation that they must go to Saigon in order to be [militarily] disciplined will appear as painful; this will be an act contrary to their religious feelings and to the distinction of caste, two bases of the social system for the Indians.170

Such discourse points to how some Indians struggled to reconcile particular legislation with the messy reality on the ground. France intended to bypass the 1815 Treaty restrictions by having renouncers complete their military service in Saigon. According to Natasha Pairaudeau’s research, renouncers were typically incorporated in the Eleventh Colonial Infantry Regiment in Saigon.171 As already mentioned, the aversion to ocean crossings for Hindus of caste origin did not prevent members of some intermediary castes from making shorter trips by boat – such as from India to Saigon – because they could take their own unpolluted water and food for the voyage.172 Even with this concession, for most Hindus, their attachment to religious rules still 169 ‘Pondichéry le 6 Octobre 1889’, Le Progrès 40, 6 October 1889, pp. 383–384, RCP. 170 ‘Distribution des prix école de l’Union de Pondichéry’, Le Progrès 2, 12 January 1890, pp. 11–13, RCP. 171 Pairaudeau, ‘Vietnamese Engagement with Tamil Migrants’, p. 8. 172 Poulain, Notes sur l’Inde française, p. 46.

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conflicted with the state’s demands for military service and its promotion of a secular self-identification among its people in the metropole and colonies. In the 2 February 1890 view of Le Progrès’s editors, the reluctance of the Hindu masses to complete military service in either French India or in Saigon was due to the upper castes’ ability to manipulate them. Some upper caste members even threatened collective departure to find refuge in British territory.173 One year later, in 1901, the newspaper Le Messager de l’Inde excerpted a report by Charles Le Myre de Vilers, the deputy of French Cochinchina, who had criticized the unequal implementation of military service throughout the French empire that resulted from the application of differing laws to different groups in the colonies regarding conscription.174 The editorial staff of Le Messager de l’Inde stated that conscription should be compulsory in French India – not only for patriotic reasons but also to help young creoles and Indians to more easily secure a job in the French administration in Cochinchina.175 Four years later, Article 90 of the military law of 21 March 1905 made military service ‘equal for all’. However, the law was not applied in all the colonial territories, because the French administration had difficulties defining precisely the duties of French citizenship overseas. Indeed, Article 90 added that, in French India, the Europeans and renouncers would only serve one year of conscription rather than two years, and they would have to be incorporated into a ‘neighbouring army corps’. If there were no army corps posted within a radius determined by ministerial decree, they were exempted from their ‘effective presence under the flags’. Consequently, the citizens of French India were practically exempted from military service, because they were needed for the ‘rational economic development’ of the colony and the running of the colonial administration.176 B.

French Indochina and Conscription

Twenty years after the 1889 military law, on 18 November 1909, a local decree declared that young renouncers would be incorporated into the French Army – but not Indians who refused to renounce their caste affiliations.177 173 ‘Pondichéry le 2 février 1890’, Le Progrès 5, 2 February 1890, p. 37, RCP. 174 La rédaction, ‘Service Militaire aux colonies’, Le Messager de l’Inde 20, 10 April 1901, p. 165, BnF, gallica. 175 La rédaction, ‘Service Militaire aux colonies’, Le Messager de l’Inde 20, 10 April 1901, p. 166. 176 Dumont, ‘Conscription antillaise’, pp. 102–103; Haberbusch, ‘Un espace stratégique?’, p. 41. 177 Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, p. 100.

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The French government could not ask non-renouncer Indians to perform their military service, because of Indians’ personal status as stated in the 6 January 1819 decree, so officials granted them some rights of citizenship but not the obligation to be conscripted – despite the fact it was basic to French citizenship. This bore a resemblance to the Ancien Régime colonial policies. Other colonial civil servants argued that French authorities did not want to take the risk of asking non-renouncers to do military service, fearing that the local population would abandon Pondicherry for the Madras Presidency.178 Subsequently, renouncers managed to serve in the military forces from 1909 onwards in Cochinchina.179 The issue of the armed forces in Pondicherry was linked to colonial Indochina, because troops from French India received their military training there. Because the Treaty of 1815 between France and Great Britain prevented the former from keeping troops in French India beyond what was required to maintain law and order, this forced the French, a few decades later, to train eligible men from French India in Cochinchina. Unlike minuscule French India, Indochina was a large colonial entity conquered by France in the late nineteenth century and included what is today Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. The military first occupied what was treated as a commercial entrepôt in the 1860s, with French settlers arriving in the 1870s.180 From 1887 on, the governor general directed the administrative structure of Indochina, and, as an appointee of the French state, he devised and implemented policies for the entire colony. At the head of each protectorate was a résident supérieur and, for Cochinchina, a governor. As was typical in colonies governed by foreign states, there were four important sets of Western actors in Indochina: the navy and military, missionaries, civil servants, and merchants and businessmen. These groups planted the roots of colonization and accounted for most of the 42,345 Europeans who lived in Indochina in 1937, the year of the territory’s first systematic census.181 Not only were some Indians military recruits, but some worked in Cochinchina. Some seven thousand French Indians lived in Cochinchina during the interwar period.182 They mainly came from Pondicherry and Karikal in search of better avenues of employment and business.183 While largely working in mid-level and subordinate jobs in the administration, renouncers nevertheless held positions categorized as ‘European’. Others 178 Weber, Les Etablissements français en Inde, vol. 3, pp. 1516–1517. 179 Pairaudeau, Mobile Citizens, p. 56. 180 Stoler, ‘Sexual Affronts and Racial Frontiers’, p. 198. 181 Robequain, The Economic Development of French Indochina, p. 21. 182 Pairaudeau, ‘Vietnamese Engagement with Tamil Migrants’, p. 5. 183 More, ‘Indians in French Indo-China’, p. 448.

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worked in Indian-dominated trades such as tax farming (collecting taxes from the public for the government), security and surveillance personnel (e.g. police officers), and finance – the latter dominated by the Chettiar caste. In addition to political rights, renouncers in Indochina were also entitled to salaries similar to those that Europeans received, admission to European hospitals, and exemption from personal tax. Non-renouncer Indians were considered to be ‘subjected to French law’ and remained ‘legally assimilated’ with Europeans; as such, they had legal advantages denied to Vietnamese subjects such as the French commercial law applied to them. This was specif ically advantageous for Indian moneylenders, because they could pursue debtors with the backing of the French legal system.184 While the Vietnamese population seemed to tolerate Indians conscripted on their soil, the expansion of political rights to French Indian people created resentment and tension in Cochinchina. As with the other old colonies whose people were conferred political rights, Pondicherry was considered a backwards little enclave, a small pocket of colonialism perceived by officials in Paris as a calmer, more ‘mature’ place that, compared to Vietnam, lacked any broad-based opposition to colonial power. Renouncers in French India were thus granted access to overseas administrative positions elsewhere, except France.185 Indians who were French citizens working in the colonial administration in Indochina posed an uncomfortable example for those Vietnamese seeking political reforms in their own country. In addition, the fact that a ‘darker skinned’ person stood above an Indochinese subject in the colonial hierarchy served to redraw boundaries among racial groups, challenging what was viewed as the ‘appropriate’ racial hierarchy.186 As a result, some French colonialists in Indochina tried to bar the admission of French Indian citizens to the European college. The French mayor of Saigon engaged in what Le Progrès denounced as a ‘political assassination’ in 1888 by order of the governor general of Indochina. Le Progrès reported that the governor general wanted ‘the names of the Indian renouncers and the creoles native of French India should be crossed off the electoral list, except if they can justify their quality as descendants of French Europeans’.187 In 1901, Lieutenant Governor Picanon of Cochinchina unsuccessfully demanded the

184 Pairaudeau, ‘Vietnamese Engagement with Tamil Migrants’, pp. 15–19. 185 Michalon, ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français’, p. 40. 186 See Pairaudeau, ‘Vietnamese Engagement with Tamil Migrants’. 187 ‘Un assassinat politique’, Le Progrès 14, 8 April 1888, p. 123, RCP.

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removal of the Indian renouncers from the electoral lists of Cochinchina, because the mayor of Saigon refused to comply.188 After World War I, the Vietnamese Constitutionalist Party, seeking political reform, voiced its opposition to the rights that Indian renouncers in Cochinchina had as part of their demands for native political representation.189 The Vietnamese press that emerged in the beginning of the twentieth century also channelled resentment towards French Indian residents’ economic and political privileges as well as the protection given to them by the colonial state. Prior to the formation of the Indochinese Communist Party in 1930, the ‘Indian question’ was a key component of the Vietnamese elite’s calls for reform.190 In sum, the Third Republic had given some citizenship rights to local men, but citizenship required shared obligations – of which one was conscription. Republicans believed that the army was another area of life where a republican ideology should be instilled in all young men. It included the notion of a male, secular citizenship rooted in universal suffrage and in the revolutionary concepts of liberty and equality before the law, as well as attachment to the motherland. However, due to respect for local mores, Indians overseas were not obliged to serve in the military. Moreover, the Treaty of 1815 signed between Great Britain and France following the latter’s defeat prevented France from stationing troops in the French establishments – save for a few troops to maintain order, thus emasculating the military power of the French in India.

VIII. Conclusion Education and the army were two domains in which the ideals of the Third Republic were institutionalized and closely linked to citizenship’s rights and duties. Schooling was geared towards social engineering, while military service was geared towards social control. However, both served key functions for the state. Some French republicans believed that assimilation should start with compulsory school and be continued by military service.191 Republicans generally thought that public education linked to universal suffrage would teach secular republican values to pupils and instil a sense of 188 ‘Les Natifs de l’Inde’, Le Messager de l’Inde 17, 27 February 1901, p. 100, BnF, gallica. 189 Pairaudeau, ‘Vietnamese Engagement with Tamil Migrants’, pp. 26–28. 190 Pairaudeau, ‘Vietnamese Engagement with Tamil Migrants’, pp. 4–20. 191 Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood, p. 108.

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duty towards the nation. Resistance to, the lack of interest in, and especially the lack of resources for providing a French education resulted in few students receiving French primary education. Still, some social reformists who supported women’s education and outcastes’ causes pushed for girls, women, and Pariahs to have access to education as a means to improve their lives. Cultural accommodation, overall, became the de facto rule; ultimately, efforts to teach the French language and common French values to all children failed on a widespread basis. While some degree of secular education was incorporated into the curriculum of Pondicherry’s schools between 1879 and 1905, the colonial state still fell short of providing a sufficient number of state schools for the school-age population. Given Pondicherry’s enclave status within the greater Madras Presidency and British colonial India, there was little to compel Indians in Pondicherry to undergo French education; many preferred to be schooled in Tamil and/or English. The military prepared soldiers to sacrifice themselves for the defence of the motherland, which made it a keystone for instilling national belonging to greater France and a qualification for being seen as worthy to receive the material benefits of colonial citizenship. Political assimilation demanded that the population of the French establishments in India have not only the same rights but also the same duties as citizens from the motherland. However, Indians’ personal status (i.e. caste affiliation) and the Treaty of 1815 were two obstacles to compulsory conscription for all Indian men, who thus remained excluded from a fundamental experience that instilled the republican value of fraternity. A few Indians actively supported military conscription. However, doing so was largely symbolic, because only renouncers and creoles had to perform military service. Some renouncers wanted to complete their military service as a tool to ask the French republic to grant them citizenship with equal rights to Frenchmen in the metropole. For the outcastes, the military was an avenue of employment that they desired. Falling short of full French citizenship and the rights and duties that full citizenship entailed, how would such a population then manage its rights to vote and its claims to the holders of power?

References Primary Sources Record Centre of Pondicherry, Jeewanandapuram, Lawspet, India (RCP). BnF Gallica, digital library of the Bibliothèque nationale de France

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Colonial Documents Conseil Général de l’Inde française, 1872, 1884, 1885, 1892, 1895, 1896, 1900, 1902, 1903, 1905, 1907, 1908, 1910, RCP Conseil local de Pondichéry, 1880, 1872, RCP

Government Serials Annuaire des Etablissements Français dans l’Inde pour l’année 1895. Bulletin des Actes Administratifs des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871, 1873, 1879, 1880, 1884, 1885, 1889, 1891, 1892, 1893, 1898, 1899, 1903, 1904, 1905, 1906, 1907, 1908, 1909, 1910, 1911, 1913 Le Moniteur des établissements français de l’Inde, 1872, 1891

Contemporary Newspapers L’Echo de Pondichéry (Pondicherry) L’Union hindoue (Pondicherry) Le messager de l’Inde (Pondicherry) Le Petit Bengali (Chandernagor) Le Pondichérien (Pondicherry) Le Progrès (Pondicherry) Le Républicain de l’Inde française (Pondicherry)

Contemporary Published Materials Clairon, M. 1926. La renonciation au statut personnel dans l’Inde Française. Paris: Société Annonyme du Recueil Sirey. Esquer, A. 1870. Essai sur les Castes dans l’Inde. Pondicherry: A. Saligny. Poulain, C. 1894. Notes sur l’Inde française, n. 2: Le régime politique. Chalon-surSaône: Imprimerie de L. Marceau. Valmary, J. 1922. Rapport sur l’enseignement dans l’Inde française du 18e siècle à nos jours. Pondicherry: Imprimerie modern.

Secondary Sources Anagol, P. 2005. The Emergence of Feminism in India, 1850–1920: 181–218. Burlington: Ashgate Publishing Company. Anderson, B. 1991. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso.

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Annoussamy, D. 2005. L’Intermède français en Inde: Secousses politiques et mutations juridiques. Paris: L’Harmattan. Annoussamy, D. 2019. Pondicherry: A Social and Political History. Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry. Brubaker, R. 1992. Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Carter M., & Torabully K. 2002. Coolitude: An Anthology of the Indian Labour Diaspora. London: Anthem Press. Clark, L. 1984. Schooling the Daughters of Marianne: Textbooks and the Socialization of Girls in Modern French Primary Schools. Albany, N.Y.: Suny Press. Deschamps, D. 2009. ‘La citoyenneté dans l’Inde française dans la deuxième moitié du XIXième sciècle’, Lettre du C.I.D.I.F. 19: 1–11. Diagarassin, B. 1980. ‘L’enseignement du Français à Pondicherry de 1770 à 1980: les problèmes et les dimensions’. PhD thesis, Centre for French Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. Dumont, J. 2006. ‘Conscription antillaise et citoyenneté revendiquée au tournant de la première guerre mondiale’. Vingtième Siècle. Revue d’histoire 92: 101–116. Emprayil, E., & B. Kanjirmelkunnel 1999. ‘Education of Girls in French India’. In K. S. Mathew (ed.), French in India and Indian Nationalism, vol. 2: 329–344. New Delhi: B.R. Publishing Corporation. Ford, C. 1993. ‘Which Nation? Language, Identity and Republican Politics in PostRevolutionary France’. History of Europeans Ideas 17 (1): 31–46. Foster, E. 2013. Faith in Empire: Religion, Politics and Colonial Rule in French Senegal, 1880–1940. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Heater, D. 2015. A History of Education for Citizenship. London: Routledge. Haberbusch, B. 2014. ‘Un espace stratégique? L’empire colonial français à la veille de la Première Guerre mondiale’. Revue historique des armées 274: 38–48. Haudrère, P. 2003. ‘Le rêve brisé de Dupleix’. L’Histoire 278: 56–59. Hirschman, A. 1970. Exit, Voice, and Loyalty, Responses to Decline in Firms, Organizations, and States. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lafont, J.M. 1999. ‘Observations on the French Military Presence in the Indian States 1750–1849’. In K.S. Mathew (ed.), French in India and Indian Nationalism, vol. 1: 199–234. New Delhi, India: B.R. Publishing Corporation. Lehning, J. 2001. To Be a Citizen: The Political Culture of the Early French Third Republic. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Malangin, R. 2018. ‘Le Temps de la Guerre Time of War’. In F. Landy, L’Inde Française et la Grande Guerre: French India and the Great War: 28–41. Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry. Metcalf, T. 2007. Imperial Connections: India in the Indian Ocean Arena, 1860–1920. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Michalon, Paul. 1990. ‘Des Indes françaises aux Indiens français ou comment peut-on être Franco-Pondichérien?’ Mémoire de D.E.A. de sociologie. Université Aix-Marseille. Miles, W. 1995. Imperial Burdens: Countercolonialism in Former French India. Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers. More, J.B.P. 1998. ‘Hindu-Christian Interaction in Pondicherry, 1700–1900’. Contributions to Indian Sociology 32 (1): 97–121. More, J.B.P. 1999. ‘Indians in French Indo-China’. In K. S. Mathew (ed.), French in India and Indian Nationalism, vol. 2: 447–460. New Delhi: B.R. Publishing Corporation. No author. 1986. Les troupes de la marine: 1622–1984. Paris: Charles Lavauzelle imprimerie. Pairaudeau, N. 2010. ‘Vietnamese Engagement with Tamil Migrants in Colonial Cochinchina’. Journal of Vietnamese Studies 5 (3):1–71. Pairaudeau, N. 2016. Mobile Citizens: French Indians in Indochina, 1858–1954. Copenhagen: NIAS Press. Premavalli, C. 2001. ‘Education in French Pondicherry, 1674–1954’. PhD thesis, History, Pondicherrry University. Raman, B. 2012. Document Raj: Writing and Scribes in Early Colonial India, Chicago: Chicago University Press. Ramasway, S. 1997. Passions of the Tongue: Language Devotion in Tamil India, 1891–1970. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Rao, A. 2009. The Caste Question: Dalits and the Politics of Modern India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Robequain, C. 1944. The Economic Development of French Indochina. London: Oxford University Press. Srinivas, M. N. 1962. Caste in Modern India and Other Essays. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Stoler, A. 1997. ‘Sexual Affronts and Racial Frontiers: European Identities and the Cultural Politics of Exclusion in Colonial Southeast Asia’. In F. Cooper & A. Stoler (eds), Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World: 198–237. Berkeley: University of California Press. Suresh, A. 2010. ‘Politics and Social Conflicts in French India, 1870–1939’. PhD thesis, History, Pondicherry University. Tilly, C. 1995. ‘The Emergence of Citizenship in France and Elsewhere’. International Review of Social History 40 (S3): 223–226. Weber, J. 1978. ‘Acculturation et Assimilation dans les Etablissements Français de l’Inde la caste et les valeurs de l’Occident’, Comptes-rendus trimestriels des séances de l’Académie des Sciences d’Outre-Mer XXXVIII (2): 187–224.

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Weber, J. 1988. Les Etablissements français en Inde au XIXe siècle (1816–1914), 5 vols. Paris: Librairie de l’Inde. Weber, J. 1996. Pondichéry et les comptoirs de l’Inde après Dupleix. La démocratie au pays des castes. Paris: Editions Denoël.

5.

The Art of Petitioning in a Colonial Setting Abstract Chapter 5 explores the colonial state’s capacities to prepare and monitor elections as well as to maintain law and order during electoral periods. Electoral fraud and the use of intimidation were recurring problems. These as well malfeasance and systemic manipulation are useful concepts to understand electoral misbehaviours. During this period, petitions were the main tool for people to demand that the colonial administration resolve the electoral disputes. In doing so, the petitioners underlined the state’s inability to conduct proper elections while simultaneously reinforcing the legitimacy of the colonial rule. Keywords: elections, frauds, colonial state, petitions, law and order, partisan politics

Political rights imply the entitlement to participate in the exercise of power. This chapter addresses how Pondicherry’s population participated in the political arena not only through the act of voting but also through petitioning the colonial state. In the Indian empire, the act of petitioning was not new. The practice began in the Mughal Empire (1526–1857) in India, during which arzdashts or supplications were part of the Persianate administration’s documents, as the scholar Zaidi stated: It is obvious that in the pre-colonial period, there was a well-established and sophisticated mechanism to file petitions to the superior authorities. […] This window was open to the people to ventilate their grievances […] It was a way to have direct communication and to remain in touch with

Raff in, Anne, Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463723558_ch05

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the people, and the state considered its duty to meet the expectations of the people.1

Each time and place has people communicating in specific ways with the holders of power, either individually or collectively. Under the Third Republic in Pondicherry, the colonial state received many petitions regarding the functioning of the electoral system and various forms of fraud. Petitions in the Tamil language were translated into French by clerks. Some were filled out by individuals and others by groups, but all asked for redress. The Ministry of the Navy and Colonies stated in an 1879 ministerial dispatch that petitions were an important means through which the population communicated with the local authorities, and this was the legitimate way to address grievances.2 It appears most of the petitions were written by members of the upper castes, primarily by Vellalas, and secondarily by merchants and Chettiars. Some petitioners had Catholic or frenchified names, which suggests that they were renouncers, as such names seemed to appear more during the period when the third-list system existed (1884–1899). A few of the petitions were submitted by French and creole politicians as well as electors from the first list. These groups were already the most active in the political life of Pondicherry. Interestingly, Hindu petitioners always mentioned their caste as a marker of identity and social status, whereas the Board of Administrative Litigation (Conseil du Contentieux Administratif ), which received such claims, and the official Bulletin officiel des Etablissements de L’Inde, which published some of the board’s responses to these claims, did not refer to caste in their written responses. The state, as the decision maker in this case, applied ‘republican’ principles of administration such as disregard for the category of caste by asking only for the name, profession, and address of the petitioner.3 This chapter analyses how – paradoxically – the petitioners challenged the colonial state’s capacity to implement fair elections while legitimizing colonial authority and its rule. The petitions were about the electoral process, and specifically about voting procedures. Through them, petitioners asked the colonial administration to resolve disputes and deal with redress. Before the 1880s, few Indians bothered to vote. Yet after the 1880s and onwards, as more people cast their ballots, various forms of political misbehaviour emerged – from 1 2 3

Zaidi, ‘Introduction’, in Siddiqi, The British Historical Context and Petitioning, p. 14. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1879, p. 75, BnF, gallica. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1881, p. 517, BnF, gallica.

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electoral fraud and malfeasance to the use of violence against candidates, poll-watchers, and voters during election periods. The emergence of fraud and intimidation to prevent male Pondicherrians from voting for the ‘wrong’ person shows, as scholar Deschamps notes, that ‘the elected care[d]’ about the electoral results, and ‘it proves that they are worried’; indeed, both Indian and French elites sought political control on top of existing social domination. 4 Due to their clientelist relationship with the locals, a ‘personalistic relationship of power’ in which they gave rewards to citizens in exchange for political support, high-caste Indians realized from the first election that it was more gainful to make use of universal suffrage than to fight against it.5 Thus, Indian and French political elites not only encouraged the manipulation of votes but also encouraged their loyal networks of followers to use violence to control election results. Indeed, the first priority of candidates was generally to win the election, not to play by electoral rules. As a small group of Indian and French elites sought to bring Western ideas and principles to India, and another group of Indians and Frenchs wished to maintain the status quo, republican laws in Pondicherry led not only to an increase in conflicts between the Europeans and locals but also to conflicts between conservative and republican Europeans, as well as among various groups in Indian society. Because both French and Indian political elites sought to win elections at any cost, they undermined the proper functioning of elections in French India by promoting the manipulation of votes. Hence, political competition, not so much a ‘caste culture’ as some observers at the time believed, was at the root of electoral corruption. This divided spirit and political infighting allowed new political coalitions to emerge that eventually took the form of vote banks. Roughly two opposing visions of society were at play in the Pondicherry elections. On one side was the Indian party, which was created in 1879. It consisted of ‘traditionalists’, namely, high-caste leaders, sometimes missionaries, landlords, and racist administrators. This party sought to maintain the status quo by upholding the traditional values of Hinduism and local customs (manool). On the opposite side were the French party and a number of ‘liberals’, who mostly stood for the republican values of progress, universalism, and justice, and they allowed all Indian men to participate in the political life of French India. The two parties often represented sectional interests guided by one or a few leaders. Because 4 5

Deschamps, ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’, pp. 119, 122. Hutchcroft, ‘Linking Capital and Countryside’, p. 177.

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the political scene was anchored on personality-based politics, the parties, especially the French party, could embody different ideals at various times. For instance, it could stand for universal republican values at one time and French colonial interests at another time. The French party usually consisted of Western-educated locals, outcastes, Christians, civil servants, professionals, and also Frenchmen who only supported settlers’ interests.6 This chapter is based mainly on data from the Board of Administrative Litigation (Conseil du Contentieux Administratif ) of the French establishments in India from 1881 to 1914. The Board of Administrative Litigation was the original name given to the privy council (conseil privé), which was made up of a body of advisers assisting the governor on administrative and litigation matters in the French colonies. The Conseil du Contentieux Administratif was created in French India in September 1881. It was composed of the governor, the director of Home Affairs, the head of the Administrative Department, the public prosecutor, and two civilians, who were either Indians or European notables. The director of Home Affairs was in charge of all matters related to internal administration. In 1898, this position of director of Home Affairs was replaced by the general secretary. The Conseil du Contentieux Administratif was subordinate to the conseil privé in deciding questions of administrative law and disputes.7 Two other major sources of information for this chapter are Frenchlanguage articles in contemporary newspapers and various writings by Jacques Weber, the premier scholar on the history of the Third Republic in French India. In his compilation of primary sources, Weber often highlights and supports the views of colonial or metropolitan officials who believed that cultural rather than political assimilation should have been the first step in the task to assimilate locals within the French empire – Weber uses the failure to prioritize cultural assimilation as a means to explain the failure of the Third Republic’s political project in French India. 8 Using some of Weber’s descriptions of the elections in Pondicherry during the Third Republic, this chapter scrutinizes the development of the colonial state’s bureaucratic and coercive capacities. Results show that the state of affairs in Pondicherry was indicative of the hesitations and mistakes in the implementation of everyday colonial rules on the ground, which were due to inadequate preparation in the planning and practice of the electoral system. Moreover, the colonial state was weak, because it lacked the coercive 6 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 87. 7 Geetha, ‘Society and Politics’, pp. 36–37. 8 See, for instance, Weber, ‘Le “roi de l’Inde française”’, pp. 86–87.

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means to insure fair elections, and civil servants were far from impartial towards political leaders.

I.

Law, Order, and a Bureaucracy of Petitions

Electoral laws were transplanted from the metropole to the French Indian enclaves. This was because no reference to manool could be made on the matter of elections, unlike issues such as those regarding access to land for ceremonial or burial purposes which had to be managed according to tradition.9 Additionally, because voting rights within the colonial political system were new, there was no reference to long-established practices to legitimize these claims and no records of older disputes to quote. Some contemporary scholars who study electoral fraud approach the subject from a law-based approach, focusing on what violates the existing domestic laws governing a specific country.10 For instance, the French electoral law of 15 March 1849 defined electoral irregularities until 1914. It was mainly concerned with law and order, and subsequently, it gave priority to the issue of electoral violence over fraud and pressure.11 With Pondicherry’s implementation of the French administrative division commune in 1880 the incidence of electoral fraud and public disorder began to increase, as town councillors replaced the nominated notables as the presidents of the polling stations and often engaged in fraudulent behaviours themselves to help their candidates win municipal elections. Another measure regarding orderliness was a 1908 decree that prohibited the public gathering of people during election times, because they were ‘of a nature to compromise order and public security’.12 According to a 1879 decree, only the presidents of polling booths could summon armed forces to be stationed near or inside a polling station when necessary.13 However, despite concerns over law and order during elections, there was a lack of police and armed forces to maintain peace at such times. The editorial staff of Le Messager de L’Inde mentioned how the understaffed police force was incapable of maintaining order during elections. Thus, despite budget constraints, it was important not to reduce the numbers 9 Balachandran, ‘The Many Pasts of Manul’, p. 87. 10 See Vickery and Shein, ‘Assessing Electoral Fraud’. 11 Garrigou, Le Vote et la Vertu, pp. 131, 147–148. 12 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1908, pp. 686–687, BnF, gallica. 13 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1879, pp. 145–152, BnF, gallica.

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of cipayes (Indian soldiers), because they were the only ones capable of maintaining peace during electoral periods.14 Indeed, the press published recurring discussions on the excessive cost of the cipayes for the local budget. A weak coercive state led to the problem of securing polling stations. A recurrent procedural violation was the difficulty of gaining access to a polling station on election day, which had an impact on voter turnout. In addition, rivalries occurred at the polling station, and the voting room could simply ‘vanish’ or not perform its function. For instance, during the elections of the general council in August 1884, caste Indians packed into election rooms and chased away any outcastes who dared to come and vote.15 Such voter intimidation, which was unrestrained by poll officials, helped the cleric-Brahmanical coalition (alliance of the first and third lists), who opposed the republicans to secure their domination over the constituencies of the first and third lists and allowed Chanemougam to dominate the political scene at the time.16 Another tactic was people snatching the electoral urn and disappearing with it for a few hours, as a group of people did in the district of Caréambauttour during the August 1890 election of members of the local council.17 Access to the polling station could also be sabotaged by changing its location at the last minute. This occurred during the elections of three municipal councillors of the second list for the commune of Oulgaret in December 1905. According to the petitioners, Messieurs Mounissamynaïker and Sandirassegaranaïker, this tactic effectively distorted the vote count.18 Maintaining peace outside the electoral rooms was also a problem. An incident that occurred during the election of Alexandre Desbassayns de Richemont as deputy in 1871 illustrates this point. (Richemont was the candidate of the ‘liberal party’, which had been recently created by Emile Hecquet. The party supported Indian participation in local political life). The incident was described in a report from the governor to the Ministry of the Navy and Colonies as follows: ‘Complaints of irregularities in the elections were received. […] At one place a paan shop was established, which distributed paan [betel leaves] free of cost along with Mr Richemont’s election appeal’.19 14 ‘Nos cipahis’, Le Messager de l’Inde 20, 9 March 1901, p. 115, BnF, gallica. 15 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 245–246. 16 As already mentioned, the rise of a secular state in France had led the Catholic missionaries to form an odd alliance with Chanemougam, fearing the impact of secularism on French India. 17 Letter to the Directeur de l’Intérieur, Bahour, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, September 1890, RCP. 18 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1905, pp. 836–839, BnF, gallica. 19 Geetha, ‘Society and politics’, p. 97.

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Votes were bought not only for the price of a paan but also for the price of drinks. The mobilization effort to encourage voting included election season giving to the voting poor. For instance, during the elections of the general council in August 1884, individuals were locked in a house and given alcohol before being taken to the election room to cast their ballots for a designated candidate.20 Another complaint addressed to the members of the Board of Administrative Litigation blamed the electoral agents employed by the candidates for taking voters to a café (cantine) on their way to the polling station, so they ended up ‘voting under the influence of alcohol’, an obvious act of coercion.21 During the 1884 municipal election in Villenour, a man named Dumont reported that, as they were on their way to the polling place, he and 23 other electors from the second list were assailed and beaten up by a group of twenty people who were led by an electoral agent.22 The situation was so serious that, as the 1901 election of members of the general council approached, the editorial team of Le Messager de l’Inde expressed the hope that electoral agents would not affect the voters’ electoral choice.23 The authorities also tried to maintain peace and order by limiting the right of public speaking. For instance, the act of public debates (decree of 14 October 1877) stipulated that, for a public electoral meeting to be held, three individuals needed to sign the request and indicate their complete identities as well as the place and time of the gathering. After approval from the colonial administration, a civil servant was assigned to assist at the electoral meeting, which had to finish by eleven in the evening. This civil servant could dismiss the meeting at any moment if the conversation was no longer about elections or adjourn it if it was likely to disrupt public order. By contrast, private electoral meetings did not require the state’s approval; only written invitations had to be sent to each participant.24 The election of a deputy was a particularly high-stakes event. This was because a deputy had direct access to the colonial minister in Paris. As such, he could use his political influence to dismiss a refractory governor to ensure the implementation of local programmes, which would otherwise be blocked by the administration, or to obtain funds for colonial projects, 20 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 245–246. Letter to the Directeur de l’Intérieur, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 11 August 1884, RCP. 21 Protestation contre les élections du conseil général de la deuxième liste, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 11 August 1884, RCP. 22 Protestation contre les élections municipales de Villenour du 14 Sept. 1884, Pondicherry, Conseil Contentieux Administratif, 14 September 1884, RCP. 23 ‘Les prochaines élections’, Le Messager de l’Inde 74, 14 September 1901, p. 489, BnF, gallica. 24 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1879, pp. 193–196, BnF, gallica.

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which could not be f inanced by the meagre revenues of the colony. 25 Subsequently, ‘special journals’ were distributed during the campaigns for the election of deputies to better inform the public about the candidates’ respective programmes. However, before distributing these journals, the printing companies had to sign them and submit a few copies to the colonial administration for final approval.26 Other means of coercion were also employed during elections, such as brandishing sticks (bâtonnistes) and dissuading voters from casting their votes for the ‘wrong’ person. This was a recurring problem during elections despite the promulgation of the 1891 decree prohibiting people from carrying a stick near electoral booths.27 For instance, a few days before voting day, 29 August 1908, Governor Adrien Bonhoure prohibited any type of gathering in public, because bands of people carrying sticks had been observed roaming around Pondicherry, and some people had been injured in violent incidents.28 Overall, the principle of eligible men having equal access to voting was violated due to the lack of Indian soldiers to secure voting booths. Another electoral law promulgated in 1884 stated that the permanent electoral lists in each commune had to be revised annually to deter fraudulent voting in the name of a deceased person.29 However, the commission in charge of such revision was composed of the mayor and other representatives of the commune, who were far from neutral in their judgement. Only on the eve of the elections of 1898 and 1906, after the authorities of the colony received the order from the metropole to do a thorough clean-up of the lists, did the number of falsely registered voters significantly diminish.30 There were many complaints regarding the illegal aspects of elections in French India that appeared in the metropole press. The Parisian newspaper La Quizaine Coloniale noted that cancelling fraudulent elections was not enough. Eventually, the Ministry of the Navy and Colonies undertook a study of legislative and administrative measures that could be applied to ensure fair elections in the Indian enclaves.31 The study led, a few years later, to the French law of 1902 on the prosecution of electoral frauds, which was applied in the French settlements. Any electoral fraud led to a jail term of 25 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 69. 26 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1871, p. 97, BnF, gallica. 27 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1891, pp. 182–183, BnF, gallica. 28 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1908, pp. 686–688, BnF, gallica. 29 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1884, pp. 84–86, BnF, gallica. 30 ‘Le Développement de l’Inde Française’, La Dépêche Coloniale Illustrée, 15 September 1907, pp. 213–214, BnF, gallica. 31 ‘les élections dans l’Inde’, Le Petit Bengali 20, 25 May 1897, p. 1, BnF, gallica.

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six days to two months, a fine, and, in some cases, even the loss of one’s civil rights.32 Clearly, overall, there was the indirect questioning of the colonial state’s capacity to enforce proper electoral procedures in French India. It was also difficult to enforce proper electoral procedures in French India because of the reliance on mere oral evidence even when dealing with complaints of fraud. Respect for the local cultural practice of memorization was part of legal governance when it came to petitions. The habit of memorization was an important part of Tamil culture. Indigenous tinnai schools valued mnemonics and poetry, the medium of memorization, because their primary goal was the cultivation of the memory. (In contrast, missionaries and colonial schools favoured the transmission of texts through writing, which would, over time, reduce the role of mnemonic learning.33) The problem in enforcing proper electoral procedures in Pondicherry was assisted by the shift from reliance on mere oral evidence to ‘papereality’. The scholar Bhavani Raman has studied how written documents played a significant role in the formation of the early British colonial state in India. She describes the ‘document Raj’, which required new forms of documentation, attestation, and evidence – rendering older colonial practices outdated. In the case of French colonialism in India, ‘papereality’, or the reliance on official written documents to characterize the world, was not yet the norm.34 Despite the fact that civil registration was introduced in Pondicherry in 1880, common knowledge, hence memorization, continued to be the tool commonly used by officials to recognize people at polling stations until 1889, when the electoral card, a verifiable proof of identity, became compulsory.35 However, witnesses, referred to as identity attesters, were still used during elections in the early part of the twentieth century.36 The issue of authenticity was important, because the colonial administration was struggling with getting a proper and complete identification of each elector. Even the 8 April 1898 decree on the role of the interpreter in the polling station acknowledged this difficulty, stating that [t]he electoral card mentions as much as possible […] the last name, the first name, age, profession, address of the electors. They also indicate,

32 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1902, pp. 594–595, BnF, gallica. 33 See Raman, Document Raj, Chapters 2 and 3. 34 Raman, Document Raj, p. 3. 35 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1889, pp. 661–662, BnF, gallica. 36 See ‘Séance du 18 janvier 1909’, Conseil du Contentieux administrative des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, p. 2, RCP.

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for natives, filiation and caste. All these indications translated to the indigenous language are on the cards of the natives.37

Moreover, oral testimony was still the main evidence when dealing with complaints of fraud. The Board of Administrative Litigation required that each party – the accusers and the accused – present evidence to support their claims and come up with their own witnesses, who had to present an oral testimony. Two cases illustrate this point. The first case involved Mélitor Magry, owner of a hotel and two retired cipayes (Indian soldiers), who challenged the electoral procedures of 12 November 1905 in Pondicherry regarding the nomination of three general councillors belonging to the f irst list (Europeans and assimilated renouncers). Magry and the two cipayes sought the cancellation of the 12 November 1905 election of Henri Gaebelé (French party) and his friends Adolphe Filatriau and Gaston de Nanteuil as general councillors, mentioning that at least 60 electors had received five rupees each to encourage them to vote for these candidates, and that another 24 people had received generous cash handouts for the same reason.38 Through their election, the French party had renewed its hold on the general council. The Board of Administrative Litigation of the French establishments in India asked Magry and the cipayes to back their allegations with facts, notably, oral testimonies from witnesses. Unable to provide these testimonies, the protesters’ demands were rejected two months later.39 A similar complaint was filed by a renouncer regarding the mayor of Bahour; the mayor was posted at the entrance of the polling station and gave four rupees to each inhabitant as an incentive not only to vote, but above all to vote for the mayor of Bahour’s candidate. The board rejected the protest due to the lack of oral testimonies. 40 Echoing Raman’s point on the British mistrust of the ‘cunning’ scribes was the decree of 12 November 1839, which required the scribe who had translated a petition from an Indigenous vernacular to the French language to sign it, because ‘the writers of requests often abuse the ignorance or the good faith of the clients who approached them’. 41 Despite this measure, 37 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1898, p. 307, BnF, gallica. Emphasis added. 38 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1905, pp. 811–814, RCP. 39 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements Français dans l’Inde, 1906, pp. 26–28, RCP. 40 M. Gillet, protractor, Protestation contre les élections de 4 conseillers généraux de la deuxième liste, Pondicherry, conseil général, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1885, RCP. 41 Raman, Document Raj, Chapter 5. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1902, p. 53, BnF, gallica.

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duplicity was still an issue. A case in point is the alleged petition of two Chettiar landowners, a Vadaval caste merchant and a Muslim farmer. The petition asked for the annulment of the municipal election of the second list in the commune of Villenour in December 1901. The petition was written in French, but it was not signed by the translator. A few days after the petition was submitted, the petitioners sent a letter of complaint, which they had written in Tamil. In it, they wrote that most of the facts stated in the petition were inaccurate and that they had been deceived by the anonymous scribe.42 Incidents like this occurred sometimes, and a number of petitions were rejected, because they were unsigned and thus lacked accountability on the part of the petitioner or the translator. Documentation and attestations were hard to come by, because another constant problem was the lack of proof or the use of mere allegations to support people’s protests. Thus, the Board of Administrative Litigation had to find a way to resolve these trust and reliability issues. In his study of electoral fraud, Fabrice Lehoucq notes that these cases of fraud were often ‘clandestine efforts to shape election results’, hence difficult to identify. Moreover, ‘first-hand accounts of partisan denunciations of electoral shenanigans – are not “objective”’. 43 A typical situation was the case of Sir Narayanassany Poullé’s protest against the election of Sir VandjilingaCandassamy Poullé to the local council on 2 July 1909. Due to a lack of proof to support Narayanassany Poullé’s allegations, the Board of Administrative Litigation rejected the petition. 44 Similarly, two local persons – messieurs Nadessanaïker and Lourdemarianadin Marie Delcasse – contested the municipal election of Ariancoupom on 10 September 1911. However, they could only assert that some electors had had difficulty in obtaining their voting cards. Further, the protesters were unable to prove that votes had been cast by others in the name of those who were known to be illiterate. After struggling to determine how sincere these allegations were, the board rejected the protesters’ demands because of lack of tangible proof. It further ruled that the six voting cards, reported as not belonging to their owners by the interpreter posted, were not significant enough in number to have had an impact on the election results. 45 In general, not only was the board burdened with verifying authenticity when judging the veracity of petitions, it also had to deal with civil servants who were accused of bias. 42 43 44 45

Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1902, pp. 51–59. Lehoucq, ‘ELECTORAL FRAUD’, pp. 233–234. Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1909, n.p., RCP. Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1912, p. 2153, RCP

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II.

A Deficient Electoral System

A.

Untrustworthy and Poorly Trained State Officials

There were numerous complaints about elections and demands for the annulment of election results, underlining the poor performance of the colonial state when it came to implementing fair elections under a universal male franchise. This was particularly due to the lack of trustworthy election officers. One such protest was filed with the Board of Administrative Litigation by Carridou Sanirappoulé, a Vellala. The protest was against the president of the polling station for the 1884 election of general councillors at La Magnanerie in Pondicherry. The president was said to have received a pack of ballots filled out with the name ‘Chanemougam’, which he then later inserted in the electoral urn. The president of the polling station in the district of Mairtalpett, Pondicherry, committed a similar crime, resulting in two assessors leaving as a sign of protest.46 An identical electoral manoeuvre was denounced in the commune of Bahour, while, in the electoral district of Calvé Souprayachetty, the mayor was seen adding extra ballots ‘in the ballot box by pushing them with a feather pen’. 47 Furthermore, in the electoral district of Cariamanicom, while the assessor was momentarily absent, the president of the voting office asked a man named Mouttauretty to fold two hundred ballots, which were later put in the electoral urn. 48 In some cases, procedural standards were not met within electoral institutions. For example, on 26 November 1905, elections were held in the various electoral districts of the town of Pondicherry for the three-year renewal of some members of the local council. Following these elections, those in charge of the election office (and who belonged to the first list, in other words, the Europeans and renouncers or lettrés) refused to carry out the electoral census for the second list as a protest against the nomination of the ‘winning’ Indian party candidates. The protest was based on their recognition of ‘fictitious and not actual votes’ and their belief that ‘all kinds of obstacles were used regarding the issuance of [voting] cards to real voters’. 49 In response, the Board of Administrative Litigation chastised the complainants for overstepping their authority, because only the board had 46 Letter from Carridou Sanirappoulé, Vellaja caste, to the president of the Board of Administrative Litigation, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1884, RCP. 47 Letter from Carridou Sanirappoulé. 48 Letter from Carridou Sanirappoulé. 49 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1905, p. 767, BnF, gallica.

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the right to refuse to announce elected candidates. The role of the officials in charge of the electoral census (recensements électoraux) was only to check the numerical results of the electoral operations. Consequently, the board members decided to announce the candidates whom the electoral authorities had refused to name as the municipal councillors of Pondicherry commune for the second list.50 This case shows how procedural standards within electoral institutions were not always followed. In this case, election officers did not comply with the electoral laws because they were personally dissatisfied with the outcomes that the regime produced. A common tactic was to have an election without voters. In cases like this, the winner was determined by the electoral staff. This would happen when civil servants failed to open the polling station. For instance, during the elections of the municipal council in the commune of Nettépacom on 6 September 1908, the fourth, fifth, and sixth electoral districts’ election rooms were closed.51 Interpreter Sourassamy of the fifth electoral district of Nettapacom commune stressed how municipal officials did not always come during regular hours; hence, the closed election rooms.52 To influence electoral outcomes, off icials and supporters of various factions engaged in questionable behaviours, especially with regard to voting registration, because it was a means to determine who could vote and who could not. For instance, Sada, an interpreter for the first electoral district of the commune Nettapacom, informed the governor regarding the 6 September 1908 municipal elections that only 186 of the 494 electors registered on the first list had received their voter-registration identification. Despite providing this information, Sada declared that he was unable ‘to have the mayor’s delegate observe neutrality’ and that ‘the mayor’s delegate takes a long time to deliver [voting] cards to certain people and he hastens to give it to others’.53 Similarly, Lourdes Marianadin, an interpreter in the sixteenth electoral district of Pondicherry, reported the biased distribution of voter-registration IDs by the mayor’s delegate. Marianadin alleged that an elector had come to obtain a voting card for a second time under a different name. The elector denied the allegation and his statement was backed by

50 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1905, pp. 766–769, BnF, gallica. 51 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1908, p. 804, BnF, gallica. 52 Letter from A. J. Sourassamy, 8 September 1908, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1908, RCP. 53 Letter from Sada to the Governor, Nettépacom, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 5 September 1908, RCP.

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the mayor’s delegate, who proceeded to ignore Marianadin’s reprimands.54 Not only were illicit voters permitted to cast ballots improperly, the integrity of the voting process was also compromised through the biased selection of poll-watchers. Such a situation had already led Governor Théodore Drouhet (1881–1884) to remind civil servants in 1881 that ‘they cannot patronize any candidates, to publicly display their preferences for this and that competitor […] to become election brokers’. A similar note was sent by the minister of the navy and colonies André Lebon in 1898, and again in 1902 by Albert Decrais, also minister of the navy and colonies, to civil servants regarding the imminent election of deputies.55 However, the situation became even more confusing when the governor of French India himself was accused of openly supporting candidates and even encouraging fraud. For instance, in 1898, the newspaper Le Petit Bengali condemned the governor of French India, François Rodier, for getting his friend, Louis Henrique-Duluc, elected as deputy.56 This recurring problem was highlighted by the editorial staff of Le Messager de l’Inde, who hoped that the new governor, Victor Lanrezac (1902–1904), would be a righteous man: For years we were used to an administration of governors who, becoming a vassal of some party, spent, without counting the cost, the public moneys to favour their members and annihilate those who did not share their views.57

Similarly, on 15 April 1911, an elector named Monsieur Ramassaynaïker filed a complaint against the inappropriate behaviour of Governor Alfred Martineau, who apparently intervened in the municipal election of the commune of Bahour on 10 September 1911 ‘to assure the victory of one party [the French party]’. More precisely, the governor carried out ‘the arbitrary nominations and replacements of civil servants – the mayor of Bahour was

54 Letter from Lourdes Marianadin, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 11 September 1908, RCP. 55 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1881, pp. 411–412, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1898, pp. 155–156, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1902, p. 95, BnF, gallica. 56 ‘Voici d’après le journal…’, Le Petit Bengali 23, 9 June 1898, p. 1, BnF, gallica. See a similar complaint in J. O’Connell, ‘Nos Lecteurs’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française, 19 April 1885, p. 2, BnF, gallica. 57 ‘Espérons et prions’, Le Messager de l’Inde 95, 20 November 1902, p. 697, BnF, gallica.

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revoked, a town hall secretary replaced’. Ramassaynaïker’s complaints were dismissed following a police investigation.58 On top of distrustful civil servants and government-backed candidates, there was the issue of polling officials’ lack of professional training. Some problems stemmed from the fact that no practical political education was offered to polling officials, and issues of security took precedence over professionalism. Governor Adrien Bonhoure required cipayes (Indian soldiers) to oversee the distribution of voting cards on 3–5 Septembe 1908, as well as to oversee the municipal elections on 6 September 1908 in all of the electoral districts of Pondicherry. To prevent incidents, municipal police officers rather than civic officers were in charge of the polling stations. According to Captain Marache, cipaye, some of the municipal police officers were ‘completely not up to the job’ and thus they displayed ‘an excessive rigour in the comparison of what was listed on the electoral rolls and the declarations [made by the electors]’. This led them to refuse voting cards to people based on ‘trifles’. As a result, during the elections on 6 September 1908, in the polling station of the fourteenth district of Pondicherry, only eight voting cards were delivered on 3 September, although 70 people had gathered to pick up their cards. Moreover, other polling officers not familiar with the task, took a long time to find the name of the person on the electoral rolls and compare it with the one listed on the voting card. This led to delays and provoked anger among voters, who saw the ill will of officials at work rather than evidence of a lack of bureaucratic preparation to put suffrage into practice. The colonial state’s lack of properly trained polling officials was a typical example of malfeasance on the part of the political authorities, which rendered the polling officials unable to perform their duty of ‘political care’ and subsequently impacted the elections.59 B.

A Limited Franchise and Issue of Inclusion on the Electoral Rolls

The colonial administration was unable to provide the conditions necessary for the smooth implementation of elections because of the poor provisions for inclusion in the electoral rolls. It was diff icult to be well prepared for the elections because of the late implementation of compulsory civil 58 ‘Rapport’, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 15 November 1911, n.p., RCP. 59 ‘Rapport du Capitaine Marache au sujet de la période électorale et des incidents relatives’, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 8 September 1908, pp. 710–711, RCP.

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registration and the fact that the colonial census was not a sufficiently reliable source of information for identifying voters. Censuses were supposed to help operationalize elections, because they recorded adult male voters throughout French India. However, there were cases of census avoidance based on folk beliefs and superstition in some communities.60 A writer named Savary wrote in a 1901 issue of Le Messager de l’Inde that ‘[t] here is an inveterate prejudice among Hindus that by counting the number of persons composing a group, a crowd, there will inevitably be death among them before long’.61 Two incidents illustrate this problem with the voting list. During the election of the members of the general council, the third list, on 3 August 1884, a number of locals were unable to vote in the electoral eighth district, Oulgaret commune, because their names were not on the electoral rolls.62 Similarly, a few years later, the Board of Administrative Litigation cancelled the 11 November 1908 election for nine members of the municipal council in the commune of Pondicherry, because witnesses testified that some municipal delegates in charge of distributing the voting cards refused to give voter-registration IDs to electors, claiming their names were not on the electoral rolls.63 Another aspect of rigged elections was voting in the names of people who were already deceased. The triennial renewal of the general council in January 1897 resulted in the victory of the Indian party by the slimmest margin. Victor Quaintenne, one of the leaders of the French party, was able to show that, in three polling stations in Bahour, votes had been cast in the names of 150 deceased people, as part of an electoral strategy by the Indian party to win the contest at any cost. The board was obliged to nullify a few

60 Censuses were carried out in French India on a regular basis and were published as part of a volume of ‘colonial statistics’. For instance, during the early phase of the Third Republic, censuses were conducted in 1871, 1891, 1901, and 1911. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’inde, 1873, pp. 317–318, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’ Inde, 1891, pp. 10–11, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’ Inde, 1911, p. 160, BnF, gallica; ‘A propos du recensement’, Le Messager de l’Inde 21, 13 March 1901, p. 123, BnF, gallica. 61 In much the same way that certain communities later avoided having their photographs taken because they believed that having one’s image captured reduces one’s lifespan. Etemad, Possessing the World, p. 110. ‘A propos du recensement’, Le Messager de l’Inde 21, 13 March 1901, p. 123, BnF, gallica. 62 M. Gillet, protractor, Protestation contre l’ élection du conseil général, troisième liste, Pondicherry 1884, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 28 August 1884, RCP. 63 Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1908, n.p., RCP; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1908, pp. 927–931, RCP.

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elections, as members determined that the rules of fair elections had not been respected.64 Another problem related to the verification of voter identities was the inordinate delays in the process. For instance, the interpreter for the first electoral district of Villenour reported that, due to poor planning, a large number of electors came to collect their voting cards at the same time on 4 September 1908. Consequently, because of the delay in completing the process, many left unhappy and without their cards. The interpreter’s defence indirectly underlined the lack of proper civil registration as seen in the following example: The identification of voters is very difficult, given that they have several names and often they state another name and another filiation than the ones written on the book of issuance and the electoral roll […] Voting card number 1161: The elector stated that he was Abdoullazis, son of Moïdinesaïb, whereas he was enrolled on the electoral list and the book of issuance under the name of Abdoullazade, son of Moïdinesaïb; on the voting card, on the contrary, he appeared under the name of Aboulazid, son of Moïdinesaïb.65

Governor Gabriel Angoulvant had earlier dismissed such explanation. In a 1907 administrative circular targeting the mayors and the administrative staff in charge of electoral lists, he urged them to be more sensitive to the mores of Indian society and to not automatically deny electoral cards to individuals with different names. He added that it was not unusual to have a name on the electoral card that was different from the one written on the civil registration: ‘You are aware, in fact, that in India, from childhood to old age, the same individual can have successively, and without any links among them, two or three names to which sometimes, a nickname is added’.66 A contemporary judge in Pondicherry, Félix Falk, wrote that Indians changed their names at the age of eight after their horoscope was drawn. They never used, or even remembered, the name registered on their birth certificate, which was also the one written on the electoral list.67 For example, although voters’ names would be on the list, there would be no accompanying voting cards. Others had their names listed more than 64 ‘Le conseil du contentieux…’, Le Petit Bengali 12, 8 March 1897, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 65 Letter from Simonel, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 4 September 1908, RCP. 66 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1907, pp. 324–325, BnF, gallica. 67 Falk, Situation Politique de l’Inde Française, p. 23.

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once, raising questions about the integrity of voter-registration rolls and who had an electoral identification. All these issues resulted in ‘incredible slowness’ in the distribution of voter-registration IDs. For instance, at the polling stations in the electoral districts of Pondicherry in September 1908, only one quarter of the voting cards had been distributed by the eve of the election.68 On another occasion, the interpreter of the third electoral district of Modeliarpeth commune, R. Narayanassamy, noted how illiterate voters came in groups of ten or fifteen under the leadership of an ‘electoral agency’ that had collected their voting cards on their behalf. In the few times when the interpreter asked an elector to identify himself, the latter’s answer did not match the information on the electoral card.69 Given the extent of illiteracy, the ballots were either written by a literate third party – the preparation of the ballots was done outside of the polling station – or the candidates themselves had printed the necessary ballots.70 Once more, fair electoral procedures were flouted by imprecise electoral identifications, which led to voter suppression and frustration. Because electors were not passive followers, they verbally expressed their dissatisfaction with the deficient electoral system. As shown by the above examples, the various problems were a product of a colonial administration that was not able to implement smooth elections. These problems were dealt with in two ways. Either the Board of Administrative Ligation cancelled the fraudulent elections, or it left the electoral frauds unresolved, because officials in the voting booths could not or would not deal with the challenge of properly registering all adults as voters.

III.

Attempts to Prevent Electoral Frauds and Appeals on the Ground

A.

Interpreters as Providers of Knowledge to the Colonial State, the Population, and Poll-Watchers

One way to improve the electoral process was to assign specific roles to interpreters, for example, as ‘knowledge brokers’. Because these interpreters 68 ‘Rapport du Capitaine Marache au sujet de la période électorale et des incidents relatifs’, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 8 September 1908, pp. 710–711, RCP. 69 Letter from R. Narayanassamy to the governor, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 10 September 1908, RCP. 70 Garrigou, Le Vote et la Vertu, pp. 40–41.

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had linguistic and numerical competence, they were a precious source of knowledge for the colonial administration about what was occurring on the ground during election periods.71 Indeed, these interpreters were the people who would report various untoward incidents to the colonial authorities. As a rule, the members of the Board of Administrative Litigation trusted these interpreters’ accounts when contradictory reports made it difficult to discern whose account was reliable. For instance, the board dismissed the protest by monsieur Moïdinesâib and others regarding the municipal election in the commune of Villenour on 7 October 1908. The complainants alleged that municipal employees had made it difficult for supporters of the opposition party to collect their voting cards, but the interpreters’ reports did not support such a claim.72 Because they were fluent in both Tamil and French, the interpreters also played an important role as linguistic interpreters. According to the governor of French India, Rodier (1898–1902), they were called interpreters because they translated the minutes of the election results at their respective voting booths into French.73 The decree of 8 April 1898 stated that each polling station had to have a designated interpreter whose role was to inform the electors about the electoral law and its application and about voters’ rights and duties.74 This measure was instituted because approximately 80 per cent of the population at that time was illiterate; therefore, the election procedures had to be explained to them verbally rather than in writing.75 Apparently, among the polling officials, only the interpreters were given political education. This was because they were the ones assigned to explicate the electoral law and its application to the electors. This shortcoming reflects the fact that electoral republicanism in French India was initially instituted as a response to the situation in the French overseas holdings of Réunion and the Antilles, where slave populations had been recently emancipated. Little thought was given to how such a system would be adopted elsewhere in the colonies, and the rushed top-down approach taken in Pondicherry subsequently impeded fair elections. Not only were they ‘knowledge brokers’, interpreters were also responsible for ensuring electoral rules were respected. By 1902, Governor Rodier described the interpreters as performing first the function of judicial police 71 Raman, Document Raj, p. 8. 72 Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1908, n.p., RCP. 73 ‘Dépositions de M. Rodier à la Commission des Colonies’, Le Messager de l’Inde 4, 11 January 1902, pp. 26–27, BnF, gallica. 74 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1898, pp. 305–310, BnF, gallica. 75 Annoussamy, l’intermède français en Inde, p.122.

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officers (officiers de police judiciaire), because they were the ones reporting electoral offences and receiving electoral complaints.76 As stated earlier, in 1889, the electoral card became compulsory, and its distribution was left in the care of mayors. However, due to these mayors’ noticeable lack of impartiality, the task was eventually assigned to poll station interpreters, who were regularly distributing the cards by 1897.77 The 8 April 1898 decree stated precise instructions regarding the functions of the interpreter, which reflected rising concerns among politicians in France regarding electoral manipulation in French India. Article 4 of the decree stated that [t]he minutes, attendance sheets and all annexed documents recording the electoral operations are endorsed on the recto of each page by the interpreters who have, in addition, in case these documents are written in the indigenous language, to translate them into French and transcribe the entire translation by themselves. The interpreters also assist with affixing seals on the minutes and other documents.78

Governor Rodier praised Article 4, because he believed it prevented the writing of false minutes (procès-verbaux), a topic that had been widely discussed in the press.79 Additionally, the number of electoral booths was increased to 150, which meant one polling station for every 450 electors. This measure allowed for better surveillance of the voting process, because it prevented the formation of crowds.80 Still, a few years later, on 26 August 1908, the governor, Adrien Bonhoure, insisted that the interpreters should henceforth monitor very carefully ‘the issuance of the electoral cards as well as the polling operations of September 6 [1908]’ due to the preponderance of frauds in recent

76 ‘Dépositions de M. Rodier à la Commission des Colonies’, Le Messager de l’Inde 4, 11 January 1902, pp. 26–27, BnF, gallica. 77 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1889, pp. 661–662, BnF, gallica; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1897, pp. 305–310, BnF, gallica; ‘un décret…’, Le Petit Bengali, 13 June 1889, p. 78, BnF, gallica. 78 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1898, pp. 308–309, BnF, gallica. 79 ‘Dépositions de M. Rodier à la commission des colonies’, Le Messager de l’Inde 8, 25 January 1902, p. 58, BnF, gallica. 80 ‘Dépositions de M. Rodier à la commission des colonies’, Le Messager de l’Inde 4, 11 January 1902, p. 26, BnF, gallica.

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elections.81 Over time, as the magnitude of electoral fraud increased, the role of the interpreters expanded from a basic translator to that of a watchdog. However, as the colonial administrator was not always an impartial civil servant, the integrity of the interpreter as the watchdog of the colonial state began to be questioned. In 1906, to prevent interpreters from being bought by politicians, Governor Angoulvant decided to assign interpreters to station booths at the last minute through a lottery system.82 The governor believed that this system would resolve the problem of too many interpreters being ‘subservient to the politics of Chanemougam’.83 Illustrating this point regarding the impartiality of the translators was the following request. The chief of the Vannia caste, Sadassivanaïker (known as Sadassiva), and Louis Rassendren (assumed the role of leader of the renouncers after the death of Laporte) challenged the legitimacy of the election for the general council on 8 October 1911. They alleged that the list of interpreters composed by the administration had a biased impact on the election, because ‘the Catholics were in greater numbers than the Brahmans’. The protest was rejected, with the governor responding that, among the interpreters, 51 were Brahmans, 40 were choutres (upper-caste Catholics), eight were Catholic (previously outcastes), and three were Muslims. He added that interpreters had been chosen based on their professionalism, not their religion.84 Lack of pre-election information on the choice of electoral officials – in this case, the interpreter – led to criticism of procedural structures, which affected people’s faith and belief in the electoral system. Such a questioning of the trustworthiness of the interpreter was not out of order. As one suppliant stated regarding the election of 13 December 1908 in Pondicherry for the nomination of the local councillor (second list) in the fifth electoral district of Modeliarpeth, ‘the city delegate, together with the interpreter, have delivered more than one hundred cards to four individuals who took the functions, by turn, of illiterate voters and of witnesses attesting to voters’ identity’.85 Similarly, the court issued a reprimand to interpreter Ponnou Soundirom, who had illegally given an electoral card to monsieur Simon.86 81 Letter from Narayanassamy to the governor, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 10 September 1908, RCP. 82 ‘On nous écrit…’, Le Petit Bengali 20, 19 May 1898, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 83 ‘Le Développement de l’Inde Française’, La Dépêche Coloniale Illustrée, 15 September 1907, p. 214, BnF, gallica. 84 Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1911, n.p., RCP. 85 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’inde, 1908, p. 31, RCP. 86 ‘justice électorale’, L’indépendant Politique, Littéraire et Artistique 12, 25 April 1899, p. 37, BnF, gallica.

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In sum, the questioning of the credibility of civil servants was a source of vulnerability for the colonial state. B. Petitioning The main purpose of administrative law was to keep the government’s powers within legal bounds in order to protect citizens from its abuse. In response to electoral fraud – ranging from buying votes to violence against voters, poll-watchers, and politicians – individuals raised challenges by appealing to the Board of Administrative Litigation. These appeals represented another approved form of political activity during the Third Republic era. For the first time, ordinary people in India could lodge complaints about the electoral process to high-level colonial authorities. However, giving Indian men in Pondicherry the right to vote created the need to monitor electoral decision-making and complaints against elections, because petitioners had to comply with the relevant requirements of petitioning and the use of discretionary power by some of the colonial officials. Any elector could submit a petition, but the board used procedural and evidentiary criteria to make clear-cut rulings that limited the right to petition. For instance, complaints lodged with the board were unheeded if they did not follow proper procedures. Seeking the annulment of an election demanded that individuals first submit a request to the board’s secretary along with proper documentation. After getting a report from the rapporteur, the president of the board would ask for the petition to be communicated to the concerned parties, and the defendants had to submit their counterclaim. After that, there was a public hearing during which both parties defended their side of the story.87 The interpellation of legal subjects was a means to foster judicial truth, but in the case of a 1893 petition, when the claimants did not show up for their public hearing, they prevented their identity from being verified and ‘raised suspicion’ regarding the legitimacy of their claim.88 A similar case occurred when a group was granted a public hearing by the board. However, the group did not appear nor did it send representatives on its behalf. Therefore, the petition was declared an anonymous one as ‘it was impossible to establish the identity of the signatories and the sincerity of the signatures’.89 Such reliance on signatures shows the growing dependence of officials on attestations. 87 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1881, pp. 515–523, BnF, gallica. 88 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1893, pp. 522–524, BnF, gallica. 89 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1893, p. 525.

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The length of time during which the legality of an election could be challenged was short, consequently preventing some complaints from being investigated. For instance, the board rejected the 4 October 1890 demand of Covindaodéar to annul the municipal election of 28 September 1890 in Villenour because it had been filed too late.90 Similarly, Annoussamy Dominique and Antonimouttou Saint-Jacques, both registered on the first list, failed to win approval for the cancellation of the election of municipal councillors on the first list in Oulgaret commune dated 13 December 1905, because their request had been filed too late – after the expiration period of five days.91 The petitioners also needed to be disciplined and to observe the rules for properly addressing the Board of Administrative Litigation. While the law was a medium between the ruler and the ruled, the lack of knowledge regarding electoral processes led to the latter making illegitimate claims and consequently having their petitions rejected. A case that occurred in 1884 exemplifies this situation. It involved Sir Eugène Hecquet, a translator employed by the French administration. In response to a request by a local Indian to nullify Eugène Hecquet’s election as a member of the local council, the board replied that Sir Eugène Hecquet’s status as a state employee did not prevent him from standing for election as a member of the local council.92 Similarly, at the meeting of 31 October 1908, the Board of Administrative Litigation rejected the protest by Périassamypoullé and others to nullify the election of six members from the second list of the local council of Pondicherry. The main grievance concerned the absence of the scrutineer in the polling station. However, because this absence was not the result of a manoeuvre intended to distort the result of the ballot, it could not be a reason to cancel the election.93 Electoral fraud also generated petitions that the board resolved by drawing on French legal traditions to avoid nullifying certain elections. A case in point involved two Indians, messieurs Périassamynaïker and Douressamynaïker, who disputed the outcome of the 6 September 1908 municipal elections of the second list (list of the Indigenous population) in Ariancoupom, because one candidate, Gnanou Diagou (French party) and his partisans were distributing money to electors. At the same time, people 90 Lettre de Sir Covindaodéar, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 4 October 1890, RCP. 91 Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1905, pp. 844–845, RCP. 92 M. Gillet, protractor, Protestation contre l’ élection du Sieur Eugène Hecquet au conseil local de Pondichéry, deuxième liste, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 6 September 1884, RCP. 93 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1908, pp. 864–865, BnF, gallica.

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carrying sticks (bâtonnistes) also received money for scaring away electors who did not support Gnanou Diagou. After completing its investigation, the board concluded that ‘the sums of money, by their smallness, cannot be regarded as being [equivalent to] the price of votes, but rather a modest gift in the form of a tip […] [and] they are too few to be able to vitiate the poll’, a decision that reflected the practice in the French homeland, where illegal voting was invalidated only if its magnitude affected the results of the election.94 This pragmatism enabled the legality of many elections to be preserved in the metropole as well as in French India between the mid-1800s to the early 1900s, an era when few elections were exempted from irregularities.95 In some instances, the concept of electoral fraud was not defined clearly. This gave discretionary power to civil servants to define what would be considered as proper evidence. For example, during the December 1901 partial election of the municipal council of Villenour, neither the mayor nor the municipal councillors were present to chair the polling station. Thus, a complaint was raised to the board about the essential role of election monitors. However, after weighing the charges, the board members decided to reject the complaint as being about a lesser evil than other types of fraud, underlining how the board itself lacked, in this case, a clear-cut specification of how much fraud had to take place in order to constitute a fraudulent election.96 By the same token, three other demands by various local Indians to nullify the 6 September 1908 elections of the mayor and mayoral delegates in the communes of Ariancoupom, Oulgaret, and Bahour were rejected. In all three communes, the mandate of the president of the municipal commission, who was in charge of nominating the presidents of the respective election rooms, had expired at the time of the election. However, the Board of Administrative Litigation concluded that the elections had not been ‘tainted’ by this situation.97 Nevertheless, by requesting the annulment of an election, the accusers were casting doubt on the electoral process itself. Moreover, the delegation of discretionary power to the members of the Board of Administrative Litigation appeared to be a means to prevent their office from being clogged with too many requests demanding further investigation. 94 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1908, pp. 805–808, 908, BnF, gallica. 95 Garrigou, Le Vote et la Vertu, p. 133. 96 Conseil du Contentieux, 1902, n.p., RCP. 97 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1908, pp. 844–846, 849–852, BnF, gallica.

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Overall, while petitions offered an avenue for the electors to express their voices, they also reinforced the power of the colonial state, because it was the colonial board that determined which grievances to redress. All these claims and counterclaims addressed to the Board of Administrative Litigation occurred at a time of political infighting based on partisan political fraud.

IV.

Partisan Political Fraud Under the Three-List System (1884–1899)

Partisan politics led to instability, because the competing groups were unwilling to compromise. Some even resorted to electoral frauds and violence. These partisan politics quickly evolved into political infighting over the control of a political group. A number of examples depict how these partisan politics, political infighting, and the manipulation of the political system for the sake of political gain at any cost worked against the development of a republican electoral morality. For instance, Governor Etienne Richaud (1884–1885) intended to rally the Europeans and assimilated Indians around a French party that would promote French values. He sought to do this by drawing on the universal rhetoric of 1789 on the rights of all people to basic freedoms and liberating locals from what he perceived as obscure caste customs and beliefs through the French civilizing mission. The governor aimed to weaken the political coalition backing Chanemougam. More specifically, he wanted Europeans and descendants of Europeans to join the French party. Some of them supported Chanemougam, because they were worried about losing privileges with the republican political project that aimed to treat all nationals of French India as equals. Richaud also disapproved of the highly opinionated articles published in the renouncers’ newspaper le Progrès. However, in the legislative election of October 1885, Chanemougam’s candidate, Alype, was re-elected as deputy. This victory was due to the support of the rural communes, where pro-Chanemougam mayors chose the president of the voting booths and a campaign was held propagating the idea that the other candidate, Maurice Rouvier, was a menace to ‘Brahmanism, habits and customs [of the Indians and], the caste [system]’.98 The agrarian domination of the landlords over the landless lower castes and Pariahs was probably another reason why these lower social groups voted for Alype. 98 ‘Pondichéry, le 12 octobre 1885’, Le Républicain de l’Inde française, 12 October 1885, p. 108, BnF, gallica.

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Again, on 22 September 1889, Pierre Alype was re-elected as deputy to the French parliament against candidate Textor de Ravisi. The census commission estimated that 21,081 votes had been cast for Alype, due in part to the creation of irregular polling stations that gave him as many votes as there were registered voters. Still, the election was validated, because the Chambers of the Deputies’ rapporteur concluded that a few minor irregularities were not sufficient to invalidate the election.99 Nonetheless, some people started to be dissatisf ied with Chanemougam’s economic policy for French India, which led to a reconfiguration of partisan affiliation. Consequently, in December 1890, Chanemougam lost his majority of seats in the general council as a result of ‘an alliance’ between the f irst two lists, that is, the creoles (mostly merchants and manufacturers) and the renouncers. In particular, the creoles were unhappy with Chanemougam’s lack of support for the construction of a harbour and other developmental projects in the colony. In 1883, the creoles united to defend their economic interests, particularly by creating an association called Société Mutuelle des créoles de l’Inde française. Furthermore, in 1885, the newspaper Le Progrès published a letter addressed to Chanemougam, which expressed disappointment with the nadou (name given to Chanemougam as the leader of the upper caste in Pondicherry) for not keeping his electoral promises. The letter, which was signed by fourteen creoles, stated: You [Chamenougam] promised that you would dig the canals of Pambear and Vidour and that any new taxes would be vigorously rejected. We believed that you would be true to your word. Have you done one single good thing according to our wishes? No. We have seen the opposite of what you had promised us.100

In 1890, the leader of the renouncers, Louis Rassendren, was charged with breach of trust and forgery, because he had illegally sold the land that he rented from an Indian widow named Sengamalom. For his crime, Rassendren was tried and found guilty by two judges acquired by the Indian party, and he was imprisoned. On 28 September 1890, the day of the opening of Rassendren’s trial, municipal elections were under way. The results of these

99 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, p. 250. 100 ‘Nous avons saignés…’, Le Progrès, 15 September 1885, n.p., RCP.

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elections were troubling for Chanemougam. Though he won the commune of Bahour, he lost Villenour and Oulgaret, which he had controlled since 1880.101 To everyone’s surprise, Rassendren was acquitted the day after these elections. Chanemougam had intervened in his case, so Rassendren had a political price to pay. In a senatorial election a few months later, Chanemougam waited until the eve of the election to announce his alliance with Louis Rassendren. Subsequently, unsuspecting renouncers were duped into voting in favour of the pro-Chanemougam candidate, Jules Godin, on 11 January 1891 for the post of senator of India.102 To oppose Rassendren and his political misconduct, Gnanadicom, the son-in-law of Laporte, and a few renouncers allied with the French party and announced that he and his followers would promote progress and fight the caste. The newspaper Le Patriote castigated Gnanadicom for this move. Le Patriote argued that the Liberal Committee of the Renouncers created by Laporte had already previously chosen Louis Rassendren as Laporte’s legitimate successor after his death; thus, Gnanadicom was creating unnecessary political infighting.103 The aftermath of the 1890 Rassendren affair represents a political turning point. No longer were parties and candidates divided between a ‘French idea’ of progress and an ‘Indian idea’ of tradition. Instead, each of the three lists was divided between a French tendency and an Indian tendency. Such splits complicated the political scene after 1890. The European or first list was divided between the French party and the Indian party. It included candidates such as Gaston Pierre, whose support for Chanemougam was based less on a similar political ideal and vision of society, but rather on personal ambition and hatred of the other leaders of the first list. In the third list, the ambitious Sadassiva, the leader of the Vannia caste, decided to ally with Gaebelé to counter Chanemougam, whose contempt for the Vannias was well known. For instance, he vehemently opposed the Vannias’ right to elect mayors in the communes of Pondicherry.104 Diagram 5.1 shows how each list was divided between the French and Indian parties and who the leaders of each political faction were. Sadassiva’s political career began in 1890. His political motto was described as ‘divide and conquer’. The Le Jeune Patriote newspaper accused him of preaching that each caste had its own leader and calling upon the 101 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 172. 102 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 250–251. 103 ‘Chronique’, Le Jeune Patriote, 16 May 1897, p. 47, BnF, gallica. 104 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 173.

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Diagram 5.1  Three lists divided from 1890 to 1899 (end of the renouncer list) French party

Gallois-Montbrun; H. Gaebelé

Indian party

Gaston Pierre

2nd list Renouncers

French party

M. A. Gnanadicom

Indian party

L. Rassendren

3rd list Non-renouncers

French party

Sadassiva, leader of the Vannia caste

Indian party

Chanemougam

1st list Europeans and Descendants

Three Lists Systems

Vannias (farmers described as agricultural servants to the Vellalas) to vote for him as the defender of their interests, which subsequently politicized caste. Le Jeune Patriote also reported that, because a large proportion of the Vannias were pro-Chanemougam, Sadassiva had to use fraud and extensive violence to secure political success.105 Apparently, the night before the legislative election of 20 August 1893 during electoral meetings in Oulgaret, Sadassiva stated that ‘The atrocities to be committed on the day of the elections are not reprehensible; you will do everything in your power to ensure my victory’.106 Inspired by these words, on the day of the election, Sadassiva’s followers ransacked pro-Chamenougam houses in Pouranancoupam, an aldée of Pondicherry. The affected families later filed official complaints with the court. In Ariancoupam, Pondicherry, animals were slaughtered, and men raped some of the women there. A number of the rioters had been recruited from the British territory and brought to the commune of Bahour by Sadassiva’s supporters, where they ‘molested and attacked honest people’. As a result, elections could not be held in some places. Still, the electoral minutes ultimately gave a victory of 26,175 votes to pro-Chamenougam Alype over the other candidate, Paul Bluysen.107 Sadassiva was reprimanded by the Chamber of Discipline following the testimonies of British police officers in Kandamangalam, a village fifteen kilometres north of the city of Pondicherry, for helping British subjects carrying sticks to cross the border.108 A few years later, during the legislative election in May 1898, HenriqueDuluc, Chanemougam’s candidate was elected deputy with 31,776 votes 105 ‘Les fraudes électorales’, Le Jeune Patriote, 1 January 1898, p. 2, BnF, gallica. 106 ‘Les fraudes électorales’, Le Jeune Patriote, 1 January 1898, p. 3. 107 ‘Les fraudes électorales’, Le Jeune Patriote, 1 January 1898, p. 3, BnF, gallica; Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoires, p. 256. 108 ‘Les fraudes électorales’, Le Jeune Patriote, 1 January 1898, pp. 3–4, BnF, gallica.

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against Paul Bluysen’s 17,485.109 The newspaper Le Patriote complained about frequent electoral fraud and blamed the French party for not bringing the fraud to court, because its members had ‘respect for Sir Henrique so esteemed in the colonial world’.110 The municipal elections that followed showed that only a few renouncers supported Rassendren; many voted for the French party’s candidate instead. Because the three-list system was detrimental to Chanemougam, who lost several seats of the second list, he had his deputy Henrique-Duluc persuade the minister in charge of the colonies to abolish the second list in 1899.111 The fact that Henrique-Duluc belonged to the Radical Party in France – an intermediary party between the left and the right, and a party that was particularly influential during the Third Republic – helped Chamenougam to secure this change. Subsequently, the municipal elections of 19 November 1899 resulted in the triumph of the Indian party. In addition, through his new deputy Henrique-Duluc, Chanemougam obtained the end of the Europeans first list in communes with less than twenty Europeans (decree of 10 September 1899). The disappearance of the first list in a few communal divisions led to an important decrease in the number of seats won by the French party. Chanemougam finally controlled all the municipalities of Pondicherry and obtained the overwhelming majority in the general council election of 22 November 1899. In the election of 5 November 1899 for electing the members of the five local councils in French India, 34 seats out of 42 were won by pro-Chanemougam candidates. Godin was re-elected as senator of India in January 1900. Thanks to the decree of 1899, Chanemougam was at his apogee.112 The above examples underline how partisan politics, political infighting, and the manipulation of the political system for the sake of group interests characterized French India from 1884 to 1899 and worked against the development of a republican electoral morality. At that time, most of Pondicherry’s municipalities were controlled by Chanemougam, and he used his institutional power as a tool to either prevent or manipulate electoral contests. However, from the 1897 election onwards, the French party would also stop at nothing to achieve its electoral ends.113

109 ‘Elections législatives’, Le Messager de l’Inde 30, 12 April 1902, p. 233. 110 ‘Pour la verité’, Le Patriote 12, 22–29April 1899, p. 169, BnF, gallica. 111 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 262–263. 112 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1899, p. 487, RCP. 113 Weber, ‘le “roi de l’Inde française”’, pp. 77–78.

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Partisan Political Fraud under The Two-List System (1900–1913)

The electoral apprenticeship of adult Indian males was limited to the practical experience of voting. Mobilization of voters organized along networks of allegiances actually shaped the political scene. These included allegiances to one’s caste, to the Indian party or the French party, and to various members of the elites over whom poll-watchers had no power. Governor Rodier (1908) believed that Indians knew how to vote and that they understood the electoral process well, because they had already been electing the administrators of their religious temples for some time. He added that the process was quite similar to the electoral process that was used in political elections and which was supervised by the colonial administration by saying that ‘It would therefore be incorrect to claim that Indians understood nothing of the act of voting. This would be a serious mistake’.114 Rather, it was the local context in which the colonial administration and the political system were evolving that was responsible for political frauds. There was too much personality-based politics, which progressively led to the politicization of the castes, in which political bosses used any illegal means to get their candidates elected as a way to enhance their social and political power. Complicating the political scene was the influence of nationalist ideas coming from British India a few years before World War I. Given this situation, conditions deteriorated over time. In Pondicherry, the 6 May 1906 elections took the form of a violent clash between the upper castes and the Vannias and Pariahs, which resulted in villages being razed down to the ground and their inhabitants wounded and even killed. While power had traditionally lain with the Brahmans, who could demonstrate ritual purity of caste, the introduction of the Third Republic’s suffrage rules extended power to those who were elected to local political institutions. Moreover, electoral victories required new forms of coalition among castes and led such coalitions to become ‘vote banks’.115 In 1906, when the former governor of India, Lemaire, came to Pondicherry to run for deputy on the French party ticket, he used what was at the time a novel approach. During his campaign, he visited all the allées and talked to the inhabitants personally through an interpreter. Consequently, he was able to convince some of the low castes of Pondicherry district to leave the 114 ‘Dépositions de M. Rodier à la commission des colonies’, Le Messager de l’Inde 8, 25 January 1902, p. 58, BnF, gallica. 115 Assayag, ‘The Making of Democratic Inequality’, p. 24.

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Indian party and show allegiance to him instead. Lemaire embodied the use of politics against traditional authority. He competed with the networks of upper castes by conducting a fierce campaign among the inhabitants of the allées where he presented a programme – specifying what he had to offer to the population – rather than presenting his personality, his social status, and what he had done in the past for the community. His programme promised to bring new technologies and economic progress to French India, unlike Channemougam’s lack of support for measures such as the adjournments of the railway line between Pondicherry-Cuddalore, the construction of the city’s water supply system, and the building of schools for the masses. Lemaire was transplanting his tactics from the metropole – where the republican candidates were becoming political entrepreneurs and whose approach was less about who they were than about what they would do for the community as a means to defeat the traditional authorities, the notables of the French Indian establishments.116 The newspaper Le Petit Pondichérien recalled the year 1906, with the return of politician Lemaire to the French enclave, as a period of ‘anarchy’. Rival political coalitions were fighting one another – in this case, Lemaire supported by the Catholics against Chanemougam’s people. Lemaire had the support of caste Catholics, who voted for him during the legislative election of 6 May 1906, because he had promised them that he would not allow equality between Pariahs and castes within Christian churches. The choutres (upper-caste Catholics) also did not forgive Deputy HenriqueDuluc for previously organizing the laicization of the collège colonial. According to Le Petit Pondichérien, thanks to the protection of the police and corrupt magistrates, pro-Lemaire supporters got away with robberies and creating gambling houses everywhere. The money they collected through these activities served to pay organized gangs to carry sticks and terrorize the population to make sure that the electors voted for the ‘right’ candidate. A few people died in the process.117 Indeed, a few days before the 6 May 1906 elections, bands of Indians guided by pro-Lemaire White creoles broke into polling stations and smashed them. A day before the election, roaming gangs carrying sticks in Villenour killed one young 116 ‘The entrepreneurs could only compete with the notables by placing themselves on other ground: that of [public] opinion. Socially destitute, they had to compensate for their handicap through political work. They had to campaign through engaging in a “ceaseless apostolate of the universal suffrage”’. Garrigou, Le Vote et la Vertu, p. 220. 117 ‘Veritas’, ‘La situation dans l’Inde française’, Le Petit Pondichérien, 10 October 1907, p. 1, BnF, gallica; ‘Veritas’, Le Petit Pondichérien 4, 16 March 1912, p. 1, BnF, gallica; ‘L’Evangile Lemairiste d’hier, d’ajourd’hui et de demain’, Le Petit Pondichérien, 31 August 1912, p. 12, BnF, gallica.

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man. In the following days, these gangs returned and tried to snatch the ballot box, but they were prevented from doing so by posted soldiers. The president of a voting booth was able to prevent people carrying sticks from entering a polling station by aiming his gun at them. According to the contemporary civil servant Félix Falk, cipayes did not strictly enforce law and order because some of them were métis (from mixed origins, Europeans and Indians) and Catholic outcastes, subsequently on the side of pro-Lemaire gangs.118 As both parties proclaimed victory for the 6 May 1906 election, the census committee vote (commission de recensement des votes) was unable to announce the results due to violence perpetrated by both camps. Thus, the final decision rested with the Chamber of Deputies in Paris. This decision finally came on March 1907. Lemaire of the French party was declared deputy, because his opponent had unexpectedly died of natural causes (with no apparent foul play). Upon learning of the result, Chanemougam left Pondicherry and went to Valavanur, in British territory.119 The electionrelated violence shows the progressive politicization of caste, no longer only ‘a certain mode of social access to the sacred’ but also increasingly a politicized strategy made possible by the new conditions of universal suffrage.120 Such violence led a premier state institution in the metropole, the Chamber of Deputies, to delay its adjudication of election results, in the end only ruling when the decision became a fait accompli after the contestant had passed away. Two years later, on 6 September 1908, the day of the municipal election in the sixth electoral district of the commune of Nettépacom, it was already eleven in the morning and no votes had yet been cast. Voters waited for the arrival of an Indian soldier and the brigadier. An interpreter named Santhou who was posted there described the following scene in his report to the governor: On their arrival, there was unrest among the electors, and one party was preventing the other from voting. […] Around 5pm, 20 people armed with sticks came and began threatening the persons present. All the people except a few fled. At that time, I saw two or three electors casting their vote […] At 6pm, the president [of the polling station] called me for the counting [of the votes]. When the president touched the ballot box, some 118 Falk, Situation Politique de l’Inde Française, pp. 28–32. 119 Weber, ‘Chanemougam’, p. 301. 120 Assayag, ‘The Making of Democratic Inequality’, p. 6.

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people who were next to him told him to watch himself if he opened it. Faced with such a threat, the president kept quiet. Thereafter, it was impossible to count the ballots and write the minutes. Meanwhile, the president and poll-watchers had to leave the voting station, leaving the voting box on the table and documentary evidence [papers related to the election, such as voting lists, etc.] that was [located] in the drawer of the table.121

Like many other accounts of electoral wrongdoings at the time, this report shows how electoral procedures were flouted in Pondicherry. Not only fraud but also violence accompanied the election. For instance, on 6 September 1908, an attempt was made on Deputy Lemaire’s life after he returned to India to support the French party. He was seriously injured. The pro-Lemaire newspaper Les Annales Coloniales accused a band of Muslims from the village of Sultanpeth of being the aggressors, saying they had been encouraged to commit the crime by a lenient colonial administration that had allowed Chanemougam to return from Valavanur in British India to Pondicherry.122 Still, Lemaire’s friends won the elections; Pondicherry had a proChanemougam majority only in the commune of Nettapacom, and on 3 January 1909 Etienne Flandin was elected the senator.123 Recounting this episode, cipaye Captain Marache’s 8 September 1908 report noted that ‘much disorder and many incidents’ had happened during the pre-election campaign in Pondicherry for the municipal elections of 6 September 1908. He added that the party of the deputy in power, Lemaire, had no problem organizing electoral meetings during the month prior to the elections, unlike the other party, which could only organize a few electoral meetings since adversaries ‘either disturbed them or prevented them from doing so’.124 In 1908, municipal bodies needed to be reconstituted through local elections for senatorial elections to take place. Manifestations of electoral violence appeared through the decision of the Board of Administrative Litigation to cancel the 11 November 1908 election of nine members of the municipal council in the commune of Pondicherry; witnesses testified that armed bands had gone to people’s houses and forced them to hand over their electoral 121 Letter from Santhou to the governor, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, September 1908, RCP. 122 H. Cosnier, ‘Dans l’Inde’, Les Annales Coloniales, 24 September 1908, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 123 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, p. 308. 124 ‘Rapport du Capitaine Marache au sujet de la période électorale et des incidents relatifs’, Pondicherry, Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 8 September 1908, pp. 710–711, RCP.

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cards, claiming that ‘[the voters] would not know to use it’.125 Communal violence in Pondicherry’s daily life in the late 1800s and early 1900s was not new; what was new was violence based on political alliances between militants and electoral agents and their followers during election times. Chamenougam’s death in December 1908 resulted in a partial election on 6 June 1909 to fill his seat as councilman. It was the member of the pro-French party Louis Sinnaya Gnanaprégassa Modéliar who won this bitter contest for Chamenougam’s symbolic seat. A group petition signed by a landowner who was a member of the Cavaré caste, a subaltern employee (commis) from the Vellala caste, and a merchant from the Retty caste was sent to the Board of Administrative Litigation. These three men contested the election of the choutre Sinnaya, who won against Couttia-Sababadypoullé, representing the Republican Radical Committee of Pondicherry (Comité Républicain Radical de Pondichéry). According to the historian Weber, these Indian radicals were in fact conservative Hindus who wanted to defeat Lemaire’s coalition at any cost.126 The petitioners argued that ‘attacks and violence’ were targeted at the opponents of Sinnaya’s candidate. Members of the Republican Radical Committee of Pondicherry had their houses looted, while pro-Couttia-Sabadypoullé electors suffered verbal abuse and even physical violence on the day of the election. The petitioners underlined how the Republican Radical Committee was supporting the ‘Hindu Republican Party’, which opposed Deputy Lemaire and Senator Flandin, as ‘the party in question [pro-French Lemaire party] is determined to carry the [electoral] fight to the domain of caste and religion’.127 According to the petitioners, Sinnaya was supported by the Catholic castes, who wanted to exclude outcastes from churches. The choutres had never forgiven Bishop Louëman. In 1884, he had ordered the knocking down of the wall separating outcastes and castes, because of the repulsion of contacts with Pariahs, in the cathedral of Pondicherry. Moreover, the petitioners cited Sinnaya as saying: The brahmins engage too much with the pariahs. There is already a commission in order to revise the rules regarding the administrative committees of the temples; all this tends to give satisfaction to the pariahs,

125 Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1908, n.p., RCP; Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1908, pp. 927–931, BnF, gallica. 126 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 306–307. 127 Letter to Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 11 June 1909, p. 3, RCP.

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who also demand access to the temples. It is necessary that we band together in order to chastise the pariahs.128

As previously mentioned, Governor Angoulvant (1906–1907) tried to improve the lot of the outcastes by building wells and cemeteries in Pariahs’ villages and opening schools for them. The next governor, Bonhoure (1908–1909), continued policies based on a segregated improvement of the outcastes’ social conditions. Other political figures, such as Lemaire and Gaebelé, also talked about improving the outcastes’ social and economic situations. However, a growing division between the choutres and Catholic outcastes allowed the Catholic outcastes, paradoxically, to support the Radical Party. Earlier, in November 1908, when there were talks about allowing the Pariahs to sit in the main nave of the biggest church in Pondicherry, the Sacré-Cœur, the choutres organized pre-emptive attacks on a Pariah neighbourhood to send a strong message about challenging segregation in churches.129 The choutres, despite their conversion to Catholicism, still requested priests to segregate outcastes from them during church services due to the Hindu customary practices of caste segregation. In the above quote, the petitioners complained about a commission that had to review ‘the rules regarding the administrative committees of the temples’. They were referring to a panel created in May 1909 whose mission was to summarize the conclusions reached by another 1907 committee nominated by the Governor Angoulvant to reflect on revising the 1892 and 1893 decrees on temples’ administrative committees.130 The colonial administration wanted to revisit these two decrees due to many complaints regarding the mismanagement of the administrative committees. Not only did the 1909 panel have to discuss this issue, but they also needed to quickly implement changes regarding the administration of temple.131 However, this commission’s work, like the first one, went unheeded. The Hindu temple was not just a religious institution; it was also an economic one, which managed its own financial assets. Interestingly, while the colonial administration was alluding to financial mismanagement and fraudulent elections of members of the temples’ committees, the petitioners were worrying about the democratization of worship – outcastes’ access to temples that were the exclusive property of caste Hindus. The interwar period would 128 Letter to Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 11 June 1909, p. 3, RCP. 129 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs de l’Inde, p. 306. 130 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1907, pp. 612–613, BnF, gallica. 131 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français dans l’Inde, 1909, p. 486, BnF, gallica.

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witness in British India legal conflicts over Dalits’ access to temples, and the refusal to do so by caste Hindus arguing that these temples were restricted properties.132 In sum, Angoulvant and the next governor, Bonhoure, who had a reputation of wanting to improve Pariahs’ lives, were perceived as a threat by the petitioners, and more generally, the choutres and traditionalist upper castes, because these governors had already granted some of the Pariahs’ demands to enter educational institutions. Ultimately, the election of Sinnaya was invalidated based on one point underlined in the petition, which was that he did not know how to read and write French, a prerequisite for being a member of the general council (decree of 24 February 1885).133 Seeing the eruption of revolutionary terrorism in Bengal and eager to develop links with nationalists from British India, Sadassiva decided to leave Lemaire’s coalition and instead sealed an alliance with the old Chanemougam party in March 1910.134 It was a blow for Lemaire, who consequently lost the support of the Vannias; he was supported only by the Pariahs, choutres, fishermen, and coolies. The pro-Lemaire press criticized Sadassiva, and they presented him as Chanemougam’s successor. This was because the nadou (Chanemougam) himself was, in fact, a nationalist. For instance, the newspaper Les Annales Coloniales stated: ‘The words swadeshi [boycott of foreign goods] and swaraj [self-rule] were not used then, [but] the ethos was there’, because Chanemougam openly opposed any European influence in French India.135 The legislative election of 24 April 1910 was bloody. As many as 122 people were reportedly injured, and four were killed. The prosecutor of Pondicherry was physically assaulted by ‘rowdy characters’ who terrorized people in the White town of Pondicherry. From the beginning of April, gangs – a number of whom were recruited from British India – began roaming the streets, looting houses, and assaulting people.136 The newspaper Les Annales Coloniales questioned Lemaire’s defeat and accused the census committee vote of being ‘pro-Chamenougam’ and hence biased against Lemaire.137 In 132 Rao, The Caste Question, pp. 92–93. 133 Letter to Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 11 June, 1909, p. 2, RCP. 134 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs de l’Inde, pp. 311–312. 135 ‘La farce électorale dans l’Inde française’, Les Annales Coloniales, 16 June 1910, p. 2, BnF, gallica. 136 ‘L’élection de l’Inde’, Les Annales Coloniales, 12 May 1910, p. 1, BnF, gallica; ‘L’élection de l’Inde 24 avril 1910’, Le Annales Coloniales, 30 June 1910, pp. 1–2, BnF, gallica; ‘Les élections du 24 avril’, Le Temps, 27 April 1910, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 137 ‘L’élection de l’Inde’, Les Annales Coloniales, 12 May 1910, p. 1, BnF, gallica.

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the past, violence only occurred during election periods. By 1910, however, violence occurred at any time. For example, unrelated to elections were the attack on politician Gaston Pierre, who was vitriolic, and the assassination of the radical figure Nagarattinachettiar, a friend of Gaston Pierre, on 13 August 1910.138 In the next legislative election on 26 April 1914, candidate Paul Bluysen was elected as deputy (35,154 votes) against Philéma Lemaire (5,624 votes).139 It is interesting to note how little violence occurred during this election. The governor argued that the voters’ disillusionment with Lemaire, and consequently their lack of involvement in the electoral process, was the reason for this situation. Previously, Lemaire had been a supporter of the French party, but in the 1914 election, he changed his stance and became anti-European.140 Similarly, Paul Bluysen switched over to the side of Gaebelé, who was representing the French party, now known as the Gaebelé party. Bluysen was elected deputy until 1924. The Gaebelé party held power due to electoral manipulations in Pondicherry from 1908 to 1924. This situation suggests that the lack of electoral violence was not a result of voters having integrated the appropriate norms and practices for competitive politics under French republicanism. Rather, it was because there was no opponent who had to be defeated by any means. Scholar David Annoussamy argues that Henri Gaebelé, the leader who controlled Pondicherry, did not have the prejudices towards the locals as the old settlers did. Thus, he was able to achieve a kind of reconciliation between the Indian and French parties.141 Indeed, a reconciliation was signed between Gaebelé and Sadassiva, the leader of the Vannias, a few days before Sadassiva’s death in May 1913.142 However, as Les Annales Coloniales had foreseen, the legislative election of April 1914 was still riddled with electoral fraud.143

VI. Conclusion The petitions reinforced the legitimacy of the state, because it was to such an authority that petitioners appealed for redress, even though many of the 138 ‘lettre de Pondichéry’, Les Annales Coloniales, 3 February 1910, p. 2, BnF, gallica; ‘Inde française’, Le Temps, 30 October 1910, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 139 ‘Les Elections dans les Colonies’, Les Annales Coloniales, 30 April 1914, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 140 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, pp. 321–322. 141 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, p. 135. 142 Weber, Pondichéry et les comptoirs, p. 320. 143 ‘Les Elections dans les Colonies’, Les Annales Coloniales, 30 April 1914, p. 1, BnF, gallica.

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petitions underlined the dysfunctional working of the state. The state was riddled with electoral fraud, and it was unprepared to handle the electoral process. Petitioning allowed the dominant groups in society – the Vellalas, merchants, Chettiars, and French elites – to voice their claims. As petitioners, the elites expanded their political activities. On the other hand, the lower classes, lower castes, and outcastes did not solicit redress when it came to elections. They only did so when it came to issues involving education or military employment (Chapter 4). In other words, these lower groups in society petitioned the colonial authorities only when they could see a possibility of improving their lives. Philip Stern’s study of power and petitions in early English Bombay argues that the act of petitioning strengthened the existence of a civil society.144 In the case of Pondicherry during the early Third Republic, when it came to elections, petitioners were from the dominant groups in society that were already active in politics. Through the act of petitioning, they were incorporated into an extended form of political participation, and such activity reinforced their power in society. Petitioning the Board of Administrative Litigation became one of the strategies used to continue the electoral fight beyond the process of electoral campaigning and the act of voting, as well as demanding that the colonial state manage the electoral process more efficiently. Various studies have underlined how electoral fraud was prevalent in French India during the period under study. It is apparent that Pondicherry elections during the Third Republic encapsulated all three measures of electoral misconduct proposed by Vickery and Stein in their analyses of deficiencies in contemporary democratic and autocratic regimes.145 These include what they call systemic manipulation, or the use of legal provisions and electoral rules that depart from established democratic principles; electoral malfeasance, or the breach by an election official of the appropriate duty of ‘political care’ resulting from a lack of political training; and electoral fraud, or deliberate wrongdoing by election officials, politicians, and their supporters. This chapter has shown electoral malfeasance as demonstrated in numerous instances of ignorance and incompetence of electoral overseers and unintentional oversights in managing the balloting process, as well as in the state’s lack of professional training for individuals responsible for electoral outcomes. Finally, evidence for electoral fraud is apparent in the ubiquitous cases of election-focused bribery, vote-rigging, voter impersonalization, false voting on behalf of the deceased, and other types of illegitimate pressure and coercion. 144 Stern, ‘Power, Petitions, and the “Povo”’, pp. 186–209. 145 Vickery and Shein, ‘Assessing Electoral Fraud’.

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Both the French and Indian parties as well as colonial authorities took part in the fraud. However, Chanemougam’s supporters were more prone to and better at it, as the various electoral results showed. They used various techniques to persuade people to cast in favour of a certain candidate, from bribery to the use of pressure. Most of the Europeans and the high castes were firmly determined to defend their socio-economic privileges, whereas some of the locals from the lower castes, desired a more equitable distribution of wealth. As a result, some groups were willing to disturb the balance of forces by creating new forms of coalitions, such as between the Vannia caste and the outcastes, and becoming a vote bank – voting together in support of the same candidate. Indeed, holding office was not seen to be an end in itself, but rather a tool to promote particular interests. There was a link between electoral fraud and political violence. Loyalty networks linked to political elites were the main culprits in the violence. Political violence diminished the colonial state’s capacity to properly administer elections, as evidenced by polling centres not being able to operate safely or simply being closed down. Subsequently, officials (such as interpreters) promoting accountability had difficulty operating in such a context. More specifically, Chanemougam was able to partially control the elective councils. Because of the influence of his deputy at the Ministry of the Navy and Colonies and to the use of blackmail, he was able to ally the second and third lists, thus forming an alliance between the renouncers and non-renouncers. The French party prevented Chanemougam from gaining the support of the Vannia and Chetty castes, but it was not sufficient to break his monopoly over the third list. This led to electoral violence as well as the politicization of the caste.

References Primary Sources Record Centre of Pondicherry, Jeewanandapuram, Lawspet, India (RCP). BnF Gallica, digital library of the Bibliothèque nationale de France

Colonial Documents Conseil du Contentieux Administratif, 1884, 1885, 1890, 1902, 1905, 1908, 1909, 1911, 1912

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Government Serials Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1871, 1873, 1879, 1881, 1884, 1889, 1891, 1893, 1897, 1898, 1899, 1902, 1905, 1906, 1907, 1908, 1909, 1911

Contemporary Newspapers L’indépendant Politique, Littéraire et Artistique (Pondicherry) La Dépêche Coloniale Illustrée (Paris) Le Jeune Patriote (Pondicherry) Le messager de l’Inde (Pondicherry) Le Patriote (Pondicherry) Le Petit Bengali (Chandernagor) Le Pondichérien (Pondicherry) Le Progrès (Pondicherry) Le Républicain de l’Inde française (Pondicherry) Le Temps (Paris) Les Annales coloniales (Paris)

Contemporary Published Materials Falk, F. Situation Politique de l’Inde Française. Publisher and year of publication unknown.

Secondary Sources Annoussamy, D. 2005. L’Intermède français en Inde: Secousses politiques et mutations juridiques. Paris: L’Harmattan. Annoussamy, D. 2019. Pondicherry: A Social and Political History. Pondicherry: Institut Français de Pondichéry. Assayag, J. 1995. ‘The Making of Democratic Inequality: Caste, Class, Lobbies and Politics in Contemporary India (1880–1995)’. Institut Français de Pondichéry: Pondy Papers in Social Sciences 18: 5–80. Balachandran, A. 2011. ‘The Many Pasts of Mamul: Law and Custom in Early Colonial Madras’. In A. Murphy, (ed.), Time, History and the Religious Imaginary in South Asia: 84–99. New York: Routledge. Deschamps, D. 2003. ‘En attendant le vote des indigènes’. Outre-Mers 90 (338–339): 109–131. Etemad, B. 2007. Possessing the World: Taking the Measurements of Colonisation from the 18th to the 20th Century. New York: Bergahn Books.

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Garrigou, A. 1992. Le Vote et la Vertu: Comment les Français sont devenus électeurs. Paris: Presses de la Fondation Nationale des sciences politiques. Geetha, S. 2008. ‘Society and Politics in French India: Merger and Anti-merger Alignments in the Mid-Twentieth Century’. PhD thesis, History, Pondicherry University. Hutchcroft, P. 2014. ‘Linking Capital and Countryside: Patronage and Clientelism in Japan, Thailand and the Philippines’. in D. A. Brun & L. Diamond (eds), Clientelism, Social Policy and the Quality of Democracy: 174–203. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Lehoucq, F. 2003. ‘ELECTORAL FRAUD: Causes, Types, and Consequences’. American Review of Political Science 6: 233–256. Raman, B. 2012. Document Raj: Writing and Scribes in Early Colonial India, Chicago: Chicago University Press. Rao, A. 2009. The Caste Question: Dalits and the Politics of Modern India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Stern, P. J. 2018. ‘Power, Petitions, and the ‘Povo’ in Early English Bombay’. In A. Balachandran, R. Pant, and. Raman, Iterations of Law: Legal Histories from India: 186–209. New Delhi, India: Oxford University Press. Suresh, A. 2010. ‘Politics and Social Conflicts in French India, 1870–1939’. PhD thesis, History, Pondicherry University. Vickery C., & E. Shein 2012. ‘Assessing Electoral Fraud in New Democracies: Refining the Vocabulary’. International Foundation for Electoral Systems: White Paper Series, retrieved on November 10, 2018. https://www.ifes.org/publications/assessing-electoral-fraud-new-democraciesrefining-vocabulary Weber, J. 9 February 1991. ‘Chanemougam, ‘King of French India’- Social and Political Foundations of an Absolute Power under the Third Republic’. Economic and Political Weekly: 291–302. Weber, J. 1991. ‘‘Le ‘roi de l’Inde française’. Les fondements sociaux et politiques d’un pouvoir absolu sous la IIIe République’. Outre-Mers. Revue d’histoire 78 (290): 59–87. Weber, J. 1996. Pondichéry et les comptoirs de l’Inde après Dupleix. La démocratie au pays des castes. Paris: Editions Denoël. Zaidi, I. 2005. ‘Introduction’. In M. Siddiqi, The British Historical Context and Petitioning in Colonial India: 9–16. New Delhi: Department of History & Culture, Jamia Millia Islamia.

6. From Electoral Politics to Expansion of Rights and National Independence Abstract Chapter 6 draws on the preceding empirical and analytical narrative to reflect on the larger purpose of the study: using the Pondicherry case study to reflect on the procedure of granting citizenship within a colonial context during the early Third Republic. Political infighting and corruption within the colonial administration, rather than a cultural explanation, elucidates the malfunctioning of fair electoral processes and participation in local political institutions in this colonial enclave. More broadly, what can Pondicherry from the Third Republic to the Fifth Republic tell us about the interplay between empire and citizenship within the context of the French empire? Was Pondicherry an exceptional case? Finally, we discuss the legacy, if any, of such a political experience on independent India. Keywords: citizenship and empire, civilizing mission, British India, nationalism

I.

What Conclusions Can We Draw from Republican Citizenship in Pondicherry?

The preceding chapters have examined the implementation of republican citizenship in Pondicherry between 1870 and 1914. The study reveals a history of political infighting and struggles over status in relation to caste, class, and inclusive and exclusive visions of citizenship. Because the term ‘citizenship’ denotes political membership of a state, a prime citizenship right is the freedom to participate in the political sphere. While all adult men in French India had electoral rights, they were often bullied to vote for a certain candidate or prevented from exercising their voting rights. Thus, citizenship in Pondicherry was inclusive in that electoral rights were not reserved solely for those with European ancestry. However, it was exclusive

Raff in, Anne, Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press 2022 doi: 10.5117/9789463723558_ch06

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in its implementation due to clientelism, corruption, intimidation, and bribery, which sometimes prevented electors from voting freely. It was only for the elites that electoral citizenship in Pondicherry constituted an inclusive bond within the political community. They fully participated in the political process, because they were able to read and write French – a condition to run for elected positions such as councilman – and they were the ones who usually initiated petitions to question matters related to elections, as explained in Chapter 5. In contrast, when the lower strata of society made appeals to the colonial state, these appeals usually revolved around matters that could improve their lot, such enlisting in the colonial army or accessing education, which they hoped would increase their chances for employment in desirable positions within the colonial administration or other professions. The conception of citizenship is also related to the strength of the ties binding members of a community. The decree of 21 September 1881 allowed Indians to become renouncers. The French republican state was actually reactivating the intermediary category of renouncers, which had existed since the decree of 6 June 1819 allowing natives of French India to renounce the customs and traditions of their caste and submit to French law.1 However, the strength of their bond with the imperial French community was questioned because renouncers were not perceived to be French enough by some French political elites. This concern led colonial off icials to deny a petition by Ponnountamby and Laporte, the leaders of the renouncers, who demanded the inscription of renouncers on the first list of voters made up of Europeans rather than a second list made up of Indians. The significance of this refusal was not only a concern with whether renouncers were ‘French enough’. Entangled with electoral rights was the French’s determination to maintain the racial hierarchy that they had imposed on the colonial society of Pondicherry and elsewhere in the French empire. In contrast, in view of the 1789 revolutionaries, the claim of political equality came from the belief in civil equality. The end of privileges and the destruction of legal distinctions between individuals were perceived as a civil rights victory. This civic equality permitted the revolutionaries to think that all men, regardless of race and creed, were equal and had a right to universal suffrage.2 Yet in the context of colonial India, the requirement that the members of the local and general councils be elected by a voting 1 Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, p. 29. 2 Lefebvre, ‘Republicanism and Universalism’, p. 21.

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body made up of 50 per cent Europeans and 50 per cent Indians maintained French influence. This arrangement prevented a situation in which native Indians could outvote their metropolitan colonizers. Although the separate voting lists undermined the republican notion of citizenship, many colonial administrators justified this move based on their belief that the Indians were not qualified for citizenship rights equal to those of the Europeans. This belief was further justified by the idea that Indians belonged to a civilization frozen in the past and imprisoned by the caste system whose indigenous practices and laws they would not give up. Hence, the need to protect the supposed superiority of the principles of French citizenship and French civilization. In other areas, the French authorities were not overtly racist. In fact, the French Crown and the French East India Company had encouraged mixed marriages between Frenchmen and Indigenous women, which led to the creation of a community of métis and topas. Still, the belief that non-Western people of colour as well as creoles were inferior to White metropolitan French people affected the functioning of the colonial administration. Born and raised outside of France, creoles could not be true French citizens. For example, Le Messager de L’Inde’s editorial team lamented in 1900 that the colonial bureaucracy recruited and promoted on the basis of ‘origin’ rather than talent, with some positions reserved for Europeans, which questioned the notion of the republic as ‘one and indivisible, the same for all’. The posts of engineers were reserved for French people born and raised in France. Positions in the bridge and road services were the prerogative of Europeans and creoles, while employment as drivers and secondary civil servants was, in practice, not open to the Indigenous population.3 Opposing the assimilation of renouncers with Europeans, the newspaper Le Petit Bengali worried that, if renouncers ended up registering on the European voting list, they would gain access to occupations in the colonial administration that had been reserved for other privileged groups. 4 Overall, the inclusive political laws for the Indians that came from the metropole were often not received with enthusiasm by French colonalists, because these laws challenged their political, economic, and symbolic privileges. Part of this political infighting was a struggle over status in relation to class and caste. In rural Pondicherry, social class was mainly defined 3 ‘Bulletin’, Le Messager de l’Inde 16, 1 September 1900, p. 61, BnF, gallica; ‘Causerie pondichérienne’, Le Messager de l’Inde 26, 6 October 1900, p. 123, BnF, gallica. 4 ‘Si les leçons’, Le Petit Bengali 18, 11 December 1883, p. 70, BnF, gallica.

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by land ownership; in the urban areas, by contrast, prosperity was due to commercial activities or working in professions in government service or law, for instance. The urban-based Western school system influenced class formation by offering to Indians, for example, through the provision of law courses in 1838 as well as the creation of a law school in 1876 and a medical school in 1863. A 1883 report noted that 56 of the 73 law students were Indians. Of these 56 Indian students, fifteen were renouncers.5 Thus, Western education was a conduit to employment and social status for Indians choosing to become not only lawyers but also doctors, for instance. However, there was often an overlap between belonging to the Vellala caste (farmers, often landowners) and being part of the dominant economic class. Indians, among them a few Pariahs, had been employed in the administration and, with the creation of municipalities and other administrative departments in the late nineteenth century, new opportunities in the local public civil service emerged. Economic development also created a large working class. The f irst textile mill was created in 1828, and by the turn of the century, there were about eight to ten thousand labourers belonging to the low castes and the outcastes in textile mill jobs, because such professions were considered polluted, which prevented caste Hindus from working there. Moreover, these workers did not benef it from any labour legislation.6 The plight of these workers contributed to forming class distinctions in Pondicherry and to their later demands for better working and life conditions. The politics of caste was more about making claims than about purity and pollution. The politicization of the castes under the Third Republic resulted in various castes making alliances for political reasons. For example, the Vannias caste, led by the determined Sadassiva, left Chanemougam’s camp to join the French party due to the Chanemougam’s contempt for the Vannias, which he displayed by denying them the right to elect mayors in the communes of Pondicherry.7 Later on, in 1910, Sadassiva, influenced by the nationalist movement in British India, left the French party. Clearly, the notion of caste was less and less based on the notions of purity and pollution and increasingly politicized by issues of universal suffrage. Non-intervention in Indian affairs was a means by which colonial authorities attempted to maintain good relations with the local elites. An

5 Vinson, L’Inde Française et Les Etudes Indiennes, p. 25. 6 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, pp. 46–52. 7 Suresh, ‘Politics and Social Conflicts’, p. 173.

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accommodating stance meant that groups could live together peacefully. As Calhoun observes regarding other contexts: In the cosmopolitan capitals of empires […] members of different religions and ethnic groups coexisted in a harmony we find hard to recall […] But the citizens of these cosmopolitan cities could coexist in tolerance […] in large part because they were not called upon to join in very many collective projects. They were not called upon to join together in democratic self-government, most crucially, or to share their universities, or their neighbourhoods.8

However, the effectiveness of non-intervention was gradually eroded in Pondicherry. The traditional coalition of higher castes subverted the political and cultural project of the Third Republic by taking control, as often as the coalition could, of the local institutions when republican initiatives threatened their economic, political, and symbolic powers. The traditional coalition was mostly successful in mobilizing masses for the protection of Hinduism, due to the fear of God’s ire and the power of religious conventions. In addition, the low castes and outcastes most likely supported this coalition because of their economic dependency on the upper castes. Another player was the colonial administration itself, which harboured biased civil servants and governors who lacked impartiality, because they often backed parties or political candidates who supported their implementation of policies or civil servants who were subservient to a political leader and/or a party. Similarly, the ways various groups were incorporated into the greater French nation became a source of tension, because most of the colonizers were worried that the inclusion of locals in the political French republican nation would threaten their access to state resources and privileges. Additionally, various Indian groups wrangled for privileges and power. For example, local councillor Laporte’s renouncer movement – which not only sought equality with the colonizers but also among all the Indians regardless of caste – was a threat to the superior castes. Incorporation into the French empire as electoral citizens was modulated by cultural assumptions, institutional practices and a sense of belonging.9 Being Christian was not always a rallying point within a community of faith, because some Indian Catholics rejected the French law on divorce and/or higher caste Indians who converted to Catholism still wanted a 8 9

Calhoun, ed., Social Theory and the Politics of Identity, pp. 1–2. Werbner and Davis, eds., Women, Citizenship and Difference, p. 4.

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physical separation between themsleves and outcastes within churches due to practices of caste segregation. Secondly, collective identifications were also tied to the economic processes associated with the colonial regime. When the higher castes came to dominate the Pondicherry local council from 1881 to 1905 through Chanemougam, some groups were disproportionally disadvantaged as a consequence. For instance, the creoles, who were either merchants, manufacturers, or contractors, could no longer rely on the political system to support development projects such as the construction of a harbour that would benefit their businesses, because Chanemougam and his allies opposed projects that did not benefit them directly (most of them were landowner Vellalas). This led to a new political alliance of the creoles with the renouncers in 1885, which gave them a majority in the general council. Overall, the process of republican citizenship was a course in constant adjustments over rights, access to privileges, and relationships, which had implications for how Pondicherry was ruled.10 In a context of a pluralist citizenship with different social groups that were not only culturally diverse but also different in terms of rights, there was a need to construct a common civic category shared by all, but this did not happen. In the early days, French republicanism included many people into the abstract body of citizenship through universal male suffrage. However, republican citizenship required only the symbolic affirmation of ‘the people’ to realize full inclusion and did not include economic, social, and racial circumstances by which people measured their equality with each other.11 Nevertheless, gaining citizenship implied working with some norms and with a considerable, although not infinite, range of cultural constructions. This resulted in groups redefining their self-understanding as they fought each other through elections to maintain or reinforce their power. At the same time, many colonial officials as well as some French politicians in the metropole publically doubted the capacity of Indians to assimilate republican values, because of their attachment to the caste system. By asserting their doubts about Indians’ ability to embrace republican values, these colonial officials and French politicians also asserted natives’ inability to participate in the republican project. Interestingly, scholar Christopher Jaffrelot notes, since the 1947 independence, political democracy in India exists ‘without social democracy’, because social stratification has remained basically unchanged.12 Hence, this caste society did not prevent the forging 10 See Nagata, ‘Elusive Democracy’, in Henders, ed., Democratization and Identity. 11 Lefebvre, ‘Republicanism and Universalism’, p. 34. 12 Jaffrelot, India’s Silent Revolution, p. 3.

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of Indian democracy as these French officials believed. The leaders of the Third Republic did not recognize that the caste system and universal suffrage could coexist and function at different levels.13

II.

How Far Was the Civilizing Mission Applied?

‘Liberty, equality and fraternity’ were not often the values on which the governance of France were based after the French Revolution, because the country had reverted to monarchy and empire for most of the time up to 1870. This meant that, during the early decades of the Third Republic, the enclave of Pondicherry was more often ruled according to the Ancien Régime’s range of local compromises and exceptions than according to universal republican principles. Still, some local politicians and individuals as well as some colonial administrators wanted to implement a republican citizenship embodying the revolutionary motto of ‘liberty, equality, and fraternity’ in the complex local political terrain. French colonial literature has explored the paradox of the Third Republic’s political continuities of Ancien Régime policies and practices and innovations such as republican citizenship. Alice Conklin’s research on West Africa from 1895 to 1930 fits within this line of inquiry: she explores the notion of a civilizing mission and how this belief influenced some governor generals’ policies. Believing in the superiority of French culture, these colonial administrators hoped to improve the material and moral lives of Indigenous people. In contrast, Elizabeth Foster’s study of colonial French Senegal from 1880 to 1950 demonstrates that colonies’ realities rather than a rhetoric of universal republicanism were the norm when it came to colonial governance. Instead of a sweeping application of universal republican concepts in colonial Senegal, different groups received various concessions, a style of governing that echoed that of the Ancien Régime. This study of Pondicherry from 1870 to 1914 locates the enclave in the middle of the spectrum between Conklin’s and Foster’s findings. In some areas, policies were more the product of practical considerations, while in others, policies reflected a more conservative interpretation of the civilizing mission. In the metropole, the education system and the army were tasked with moulding individuals into citizens devoted to the nation. In the colonies, one aim of the civilizing mission was to free natives from superstitions

13 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, p. 116.

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and ignorance through education.14 However, what was actually achieved during the early part of the Third Republic? The 1880s reforms in France had made publicly funded primary education universal and compulsory in the metropole. Patriotism was cultivated in schools through moral and civic education, which placed the nation as the central subject of study. To ‘assimilate’ meant to ‘make similar’, and school teachers embarked on a mission to mould children into shared ways of thinking and feeling to realize this project. Although republicans in France had a strong faith in a school’s capacity to turn children into republican French citizens, effective educational tutelage was lacking in French India due to lack of funds and resistance of some local leaders.15 Chanemougam and his followers were worried that education would emancipate outcastes and low castes, who might then challenge their power. They systematically voted against funds for educational projects during council sessions. Moreover, women’s education was not a priority for many Indians. Finally, most colonizers in Pondicherry wanted to restrict Indians’ access to their resources and privileges; as a result, they did not want institutions of higher learning to be opened to locals. Still, there was an effort to increase the number of primary schools available to local children and to open a cours normal to train male and female teachers. The egalitarian ideal of French republicanism let to some changes in education, such as the opening of the collège colonial, a higher primary school, to the Indian population in 1878. By December 1879, 56 of its 141 students were Indians; among them, eight were Pariahs.16 However, education for the outcastes, for instance, met with limited success. The colonial government usually felt obligated to set up segregated schools for the pariahs as caste people did not want their children to sit next to them in the classroom. Education was valued by Pariahs, because it offered them an avenue for employment in the colonial administration and allowed them to aspire to something more than rural labour. At the same time, the colonial state did not challenge the dependence of Pariahs – as landless agricultural labourers – on traditional landholders, generally the Vellalas. In this case, a specific answer to a particular group, based on exigencies on the ground, was chosen to resolve issues and advance the welfare of outcastes. Another group that benefitted from education and employment offered by the colonial government was Tamil-educated female teachers, a significant number of whom appeared to be Catholic, based on their names. Their job 14 Conklin, A Mission to Civilize, p. 6. 15 Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood, pp. 107–108. 16 Vinson, L’Inde Française et Les Etudes Indiennes, p. 21.

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opportunities increased after the 1893 secularization of female education in French India. This situation was probably not the result of propagating the ‘superior emancipatory’ French culture among Indian women, but rather a response to the pressing need for female staff to replace nuns who were no longer allowed to teach. Furthermore, republicans in the metropole came to feel, by the end of the nineteenth century, that a common language and culture were determining factors in the consolidation of a political community.17 However, there was a hierarchy of languages in Pondicherry, and French was not at the top of this ladder. Many Indians preferred that their children learn Tamil, the language of the larger Tamil Nadu region, or English, the medium in British India, in which Pondicherry was a small secondary enclave. In the end, education in French was largely limited to members of the Francophile elite and some members of lower strata, because most of the local population saw little benefit in learning French. Military service was conceived as part of a citizen’s duties and as helping to develop attachment to the nation among the masses. However, the settlement terms of the 1815 Treaty of Paris required the demilitarization of the French enclaves and later on forced the French authorities to send men from French India to complete their military service in Saigon, a somewhat expensive solution. Yet military conscription was never seriously considered as a possibility for the inhabitants of French India. Especially because the French colonial power had promised to respect the Indians’s personal status (decree of 1819), which translated into the impossibility to submit Indians who had not renounced their customary laws to military conscription. While, in 1889, the ‘law on the military recruitment has been declared applicable to the French [citizens] and the naturalized French’ in French India, only in 1909 did the minuscule number of renouncers become required to fulfil their military service.18 Finally, some republicans supported military recruitment in the colonies as a means to produce patriots while other republicans feared removing workers from the agriculture and arming natives who could use their military skills and weapons against the colonizers.19 From all of the above reasons, the duty to serve in the French military was delayed for local French citizens in Pondicherry and then demanded only of a few.

17 Lefebvre, ‘Republicanism and Universalism’, p. 19. 18 ‘Pondichéry le 15 décembre 1889’, Le Progrès 50, 15 December 1889, pp. 476–477, RCP. Clairon, La renonciation au statut personnel, p. 101. 19 Girollet, ‘The Insufficiencies of Legal Assimilation’, p. 13.

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Not only was conscription defined as a paramount obligation for French citizens, the military, for others, was perceived as a source of better employment, and they asked for equal access to military employment as part of citizenship social rights. The fact that the French establishments in India did not have a colonial army limited the opportunity for a position in the army for the Indians. Moreover, the cipayes in Pondicherry, who maintained public order, was always a small garrison having no more than three hundred soldiers, which restricted the number of positions available.20 The outcastes had probably heard of the Pariahs who had, until 1892, been recruited in the British army and were subsequently able to benefit from increased social mobility and less discrimination.21 One of the basic tenets of the civilizing mission was the notion of assimilation based on the beliefs that all Indigenous people have, at some point, been assimilated into French culture. However, Indians in Pondicherry did not assimilate much of French culture and its ways of life. Instead, they mixed aspects of French culture with aspects of Indian culture. For instance, Catholic renouncers were able to have the colonial state accept consanguineous marriages between nieces and maternal uncles, a common practice in southern India among the castes and outcastes, except among Muslims. This marriage practice did not conform to the French Civil Code and pointed to a politics of specific privileges for certain local groups. Hence, citizenship was not only just about someone’s legal status, rights, and duties, but it was also something attuned to culture and values. Another aspect of the Third Republic’s civilizing mission was the responsibility and right to change Indigenous cultures along lines inspired by the political development of France.22 The minister of the navy and colonies wrote in a 1879 ministerial dispatch that he did not doubt that the Indian population would demonstrate ‘their intelligent aptitude in the handling of local affairs’ through their participation in the new local and general councils.23 What this minister did not mention, was how Pondicherry’s political scene was divided into various group interests and how the two main parties, the French and Indian parties, were often driven by leaders’ sectarian interests rather by a well-anchored ideology, which was especially true for the French party. The competition between the two parties was not 20 For instance, there were only 332 cipayes in 1880. Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1880, p. 373, BnF, gallica. 21 Rao, The Caste Question, p. 46. 22 Conklin, A Mission to Civilize, p. 2. 23 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1879, p. 73, BnF, gallica.

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a clear-cut fight between Europeans and Indians. Europeans were divided against each other, which led them to make alliances with various Indian communities. For example, a small group of Indian and French elites located in the city of Pondicherry supported French republican efforts to extend the universal rights offered to Indians. The Indians in this group were usually successful, French-educated merchants or men in high positions in the French administration and judicial system. By contrast, another group of traditional elites sought to maintain the status quo, in other words, Hindu culture organized around a caste hierarchy that supported these elites’ dominant socio-economic position in Pondicherry. Nevertheless, they were willing to support French policies and practices that did not disturb the current organization of local society. This group was led by Chanemougam, a conservative Hindu who defended the higher castes’ political and economic interests, which he saw as endangered by the Third Republic’s secular and equalitarian ideology. Ironically, universal suffrage became a powerful instrument for Chanemougam and his party to hinder the implementation of the motto ‘liberty, equality, and fraternity’ through the new republican institutions. Chanemougam’s election to the general council allowed him to successfully oppose various republican initiatives from 1881 to 1905. In addition, Chanemougam and the Indian party’s members were able to use their positions as landlords in rural Pondicherry to coerce their landless outcastes and low-caste agricultural labourers to support them. Because any sign of insubordination could result in these workers losing their employment, Chanemougam had the necessary public support to stop certain republican projects and reforms that displeased him.

III.

From Contestations to Nationalism and the Impact of British India

The implementation of the Third Republic’s civilizing mission resulted in the expansion of the colonial administration through the creation of participatory institutions. Not only was the expansion in terms of human staff but also through the number of off icial documents it generated. Petitions, which were sent to the Board of Administrative Litigation about electoral matters, were one type of document responsible for this expansion. Petitions were not only part of a system that recorded the work of the colonial state but also a means to contest the state’s capacity to deal with electoral fraud, which had became a tool of some elites to sabotage the

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Third Republic’s goal to expand electoral rights to all Indians regardless of caste and race. Just as giving electoral rights to male Indians led to debating political ideas, the rights of petition and assembly plus the growth of the press also supported political debate. The global spread of the press helped propagate the tenets of the civilizing mission in the French empire, while there was a massive explosion of popular writing due to the diffusion of the printing press.24 Accompanying the rise of the local press in India was the existence of chapbooks and novels, some of which spread nationalist feelings. More precisely, in colonial Tamil Nadu, the scholar A. R. Venkatachalapathy argues that the world of publishing was not only the domain of the elite.25 The revolutionary Bharati’s national songs were published in the Swadesamitran and the revolutionary journal India. The Swadesamitran, the leading daily publisher in Pondicherry, printed excerpts from books on nationalist politics and social reforms. The world of popular publishing included ballads and chapbooks, the latter containing songs, some of which had nationalist themes. Chapbooks could reach the masses, because the chapmen, often the authors of the songs, sold them at marketplaces and on street corners as they sang the songs.26 From the beginning of the non-co-operation movement in 1919, which aimed at self-governance, a regular flow of chapbooks on nationalist themes, temperance, khaddar (Indian homespun cotton cloth), and other Ganthian ideas appeared. Gandhi was very popular among songsters. Thanks to the diffusion of print culture in Tamil society during the nineteenth century, a number of ancient classics were rediscovered and led to a Tamil renaissance from the second half of the nineteenth century, which eventually resulted in the birth of Tamil nationalism and incited the Dravidian movement, a movement against castes and the Brahmans’ domination of political and professional life. On top of printing the writings from their founder, ‘Periyar’, the Dravidian movement also published radical books. Such ideological books were sold at cheap prices to reach a large audience.27 The prose that spoke of nationalism certainly reached the locals in Pondicherry and raised anti-European feelings. As Anderson argued, the interaction between capitalism, printing, and the many vernaculars made new non-colonial communities imaginable.28 24 Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, pp. 211, 391. 25 Venkatachalapathy, The Province of the Book, p. 156. 26 Venkatachalapathy, The Province of the Book, pp. 142–143. 27 Venkatachalapathy, The Province of the Book, pp. 14–15, 54–56, 111–112, 116–117. 28 Anderson, Imagined Communities, pp. 42–43.

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C. A. Bayly wrote that, worldwide, the years from 1890 to 1940 were ‘the age of hyperactive nationalism’, and various ideas about nationhood were also emerging from political debates in Pondicherry.29 In tandem with the growth of nationalist writing, the implementation of electoral rights, and political participation, a proto-traditional nationalism emerged in Pondicherry. Chanemougam did not just represent the interests of the dominant castes; he was also a symbol of nationalism, because it rejected European influence over the French enclaves in India. Embodying a traditional form of nationalism, Chanemougam and his allies did not support a hybridization of Indians in French India where they would be Indians by race but French by culture, a hybridization that the scholar Benedict Anderson called a ‘mental miscegenation’.30 Rather, they wanted to maintain the existing social organization and way of life in Pondicherry. After Chanemougam left for the Madras presidency in 1907 following the death of his candidate for deputy, Louis Henrique-Duluc, the pro- Lemaire newspaper Les Annales Coloniales accused Chanemougam of fomenting an uprising against a Catholic procession in Villupirram, 40 kilometres from Pondicherry, and creating trouble in the French enclaves: In Valvanour, on the British territory, three stations from Pondicherry, Chanemougam incites the inhabitants of our Establishments [to violence…]. And Chanemougam, hostile, in essence, to any encroachment from abroad on the sacred soil of India, foments divisions, arouses quarrels. He hopes, by promising an India for Hindus, to defeat the Europeans; because the Europeans want to abolish castes, to give pariah children access to school; they [Europeans] dig wells and make pathways for miserable villages, they bring vaccinations, hygiene. […] No, Chanemougam would not renounce; he gets agitated; he gets agitated, he waits, he hopes.31

By this point, protests against Catholicism, perceived as a foreign religion, had acquired a nationalistic tone. However, Chanemougam appeared to be someone whose nationalism and patriotic feelings came more from his attachment to a religious group and the caste system than from the notion of a nation state. At the same time, nationalist movements in British India also paved the way for a contestation of the colonial power in French India. For instance, 29 Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, p. 462. 30 Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 91. 31 ‘Dans l’Inde Anglaise’, Les Annales Coloniales, 16 April 1908, p. 1, BnF, gallica.

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following the 12 March 1908 arrest of freedom fighter Chidambaram Pillay who supported the Swadeshi movement, there were protests against his arrest in Tirunelveli, British India. There were also pro-Swadeshi individuals in Pondicherry who went door to door collecting relief for the victims of Tirunelveli’s protests and later planned to organize a public meeting. However, the mayor of Pondicherry prohibited this meeting. According to Lemaire, ‘the strong heads of the Chamenougam party’ were in agreement with the ‘agitators’.32 Pondicherry was far from a hermetically sealed enclave; rather, it was well connected to the British Madras Presidency. The links between these two colonies are clear from the micropolitical life of Pondicherry. For instance, Chamenougam was accused of organizing gangs of British Indians, especially Muslims from the bordering village of Contticoupom, to help him and his allies win each election that took place in the French enclave.33 The peculiarity of the chequerboard shape of Pondicherry territory also made it easier for some British subjects to cross the border to illegally register as French voters on electoral lists.34 Looking again at the British–French India connection, there was a continuous remodelling of the Indigenous institution of caste during the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, with the creation of ‘caste associations’ around the 1880s, which slowly evolved into interest groups and lobbies. Organizing special caste associations was part of a learned and shared repertoire of contention available to people at that time. Studying British India, Jackie Assayag notes how these castes as associations mediated between the colonial regime and a new political framework that emerged from the process of democratization and sought to socially advance their members. Using modern tactics of political agitation through newspaper articles and commentaries, meetings and petitions to the government, the leaders of the caste associations negotiated for concessions with provincial or state authorities of British India.35 The result was the creation of caste federations for political purposes ‒ a grouping of numbers of distinct endogamous groups into a single organization fighting for similar interests and resembling lobby groups today. In particular, the intermediary castes formed federations against the dominant castes, which created the proper 32 ‘Les troubles dans l’Inde’, Les Annales Coloniales, 4 June 1908, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 33 ‘Lettre de l’Inde’, Les Annales Coloniales, 5 November 1908, p. 1, BnF, gallica. 34 ‘Le Développement de l’Inde Française’, La Dépêche Coloniale Illustrée, 15 September 1097, pp. 213–214, BnF, gallica. 35 Assayag, ‘The Making of Democratic Inequality’, pp. 5–12.

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conditions for the later social movement of the Backward Classes, which fought against the caste system’s practices of caste exclusion.36 Similarly, French India also saw the rise of associations in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, such as Société progressive de l’Inde française (Progressive Society of French India), Société progressiste des Renonçants Valangaimougattar (Progressive Society of Outcaste Renouncers), and the Réveil Social (also a renouncer organization).37 Associations with more than twenty members had to get the approval from the governor and were expected to refrain from discussing political matters.38 Many of them were based on caste affiliation and subsequently provided the basis for caste-based political organizations, such as Société mutuelle des Hindous chrétiens de caste (Mutual Society of Caste Christians), founded in 1895.39 Similar to British India, these organizations became interest groups pushing issues that they deemed important. For instance, from 1900 to 1920, Catholic associations asked for equality among Catholics. They asked for partitions to be taken down that separated high castes from outcastes in churches and other public places such as theatres. 40 These associations existed outside of the state and were another avenue through which local people made demands on the colonial state.

IV.

New Forms of Political Participation in a Comparative Perspective

A progression from voting rights to petitions to public meetings to strikes came to prevail not only in French India but also in other French overseas territories as people fought for various rights and a more egalitarian and culturally inclusive vision of citizenship. For example, the election in 1914 of the first Black African, Blaise Diagne, to the French Parliament from the Four Communes of Senegal led to all évolués (highly educated persons who spoke French fluently and grammatically) throughout West Africa being given the full political rights of citizenship but permitted to keep their Muslim status (sharia practices and customary law). French politicians in 36 Sen, ‘The Persistence of Castes’, p. 365; Assayag, ‘Le débat’, p. 230. 37 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1893, pp. 344–345, BnF, gallica. 38 The law of April 1834 on associations and meetings required that gathering of more than twenty people could not be formed without the approval of the government. 39 Bulletin officiel des Etablissements français de l’Inde, 1895, pp. 128–129, BnF, gallica. 40 Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, p. 256; Divien, ‘Social and Religious Reform Movements’, in Sen, ed., Social and Religious Movements, pp. 399–400.

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the metropole argued this was irreconcilable with the French Civil Code.41 However, the accommodation of French citizenship to religion was not new. It had been posed by the Crémieux decree of October 1870, which had naturalized the Jews of Algeria whose religion, Judaism, was regarded as French and was given a place among the civilized people of the colony. 42 However, after 1881, opposition of French politicians in the metropole on the right and left political spectrum to colonial development and various scandals surrounding the elections of deputies in the old colonies prevented the extension of colonial representation in other French colonies. 43 Elections in French India and the other old colonies were labelled a ‘travesty of democracy’ due to electoral fraud and violence, which stemmed from personal rivalries between candidates that had little to do with political and constitutional issues and politically ignorant electors. 44 The occasional attempts of French colonializers to assimilate the colonized both culturally and politically had its origins in the French Revolution, when slavery was abolished and all those who lived in the colonies, regardless of race, were declared French citizens with full rights. The puzzle of how having colonies could be reconciled with the revolutionary and universal ideas of liberty and equality was resolved, not by giving political autonomy or even independence to the colonies, but by simultaneously promoting partial integration and responding in various ways to a range of stakeholders, in other words, continuing the Ancien Régime style of granting specific privileges to one group that were not granted to other groups. 45 Traits of voting behaviours (collective voting rather than individual voting, fraud, etc.) and castes organized to advance group interests already existed during the Third Republic. Observers at that time, as well as historian Jacques Weber, have argued that the assimilation of French culture needed to be the first step rather than the assimilation of political values and behaviours required by metropolitan political institutions in order for the Third Republic’s political project to succeed. However, unresolved questions about how to best assimilate Pondicherry were not the only factors shaping its future as a colony. That British India surrounded Pondicherry inevitably entangled the French enclaves in British India’s nationalist fight for independence at the turn of the nineteenth 41 Conklin, ‘REDEFINING “FRENCHNESS”’, in Clancy-Smith and Gouda, eds., Domesticating the Empire, p. 69. 42 Taithe, ‘Algerian Orphans’, p. 251. 43 Winnacker, ‘Elections in Algeria’, p. 263. 44 Winnacker, ‘Elections in Algeria’, p. 264. 45 Lefebvre, ‘Republicanism and Universalism’, p. 31.

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century. This book has examined the inhabitants of Pondicherry from 1870 to 1914, who, as electoral citizens, were divided into various groups in terms of caste, class, race, and gender, and as litigants petitioning the state for their entitlements; it has also shown the extent and nature of British influences there. It now presents the demands and fights of the locals through activism in organized bodies. Unlike mainstream French republicans who tried to construct a republic around the vote, by the 1900s, Indians in Pondicherry ushered an era of a different type of political participation, especially through strikes. Moreover, it was a different part of the population that started to actively engage in these political activities. The higher castes ignored employment opportunities offered by the textile mills, because they regarded these mills as polluted. As a result, labour unrest was the domain of the outcastes and low castes. Because the mills were owned by Europeans who depended on French policies that supported pro-business interests, labour unrest came to overlap with the nationalist struggle in British India. How did this nationalist fight become entangled with labour demands? At the beginning of the twentieth century, the French territories became a refuge for anti-colonial nationalists from British India as well as a base from which to fight against British colonialism. Henri Gaebelé, who governed French India from World War I to 1927 through his Indo-European Party, was convinced that he had to fight the British who were encroaching on French sovereignty in their fights against nationalists.46 Subsequently, he introduced the right to asylum for political refugees on the grounds that France could not extradite them without violating its own laws.47 This allowed Tamil poet, journalist, and freedom fighter C. Subramania Bharati (1882–1921), editor of a Madras revolutionary weekly India, to flee to Pondicherry in 1908 to escape arrest and where he continued to publish. Bharati was considered the first and greatest modern Tamil poet who wrote on contemporary issues and attempted to mobilize the Indian populace to support a nationalist project.48 Other revolutionaries also took refuge in Pondicherry around the same time, including the atheist non-Brahman literary figure, E. V. Ramasamy Iyengar (or ‘Periyar’); activist Subramaniya Siva (1884–1925); nationalist Aurobindo (1872–1950), member of the Swadeshi Movement, which preached production of home manufacture and boycotting of foreign goods; and Tamil

46 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, p. 135. 47 Stech, ‘Les possessions françaises’, pp. 33–36. 48 Venkatachalapathy, The Province of the Book, pp. 50–51.

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writer and revolutionary activist V. V. S. Aiyar (1881–1925).49 French officials also allowed the French India post office to receive seditious publications, while it was reported that arms for fighting British imperialism arrived in British India via Pondicherry and Chandernagore from Paris.50 All of this contributed to the nationalist effervescence of Pondicherry, which could not remain unaffected by such a movement for independence coming from British India. Civil disobedience, particularly in the form of strikes, was partly the influence of British India in Pondicherry.51 At the same time, there was also a strongly held belief that citizens of French India were not likely to be attracted by the call of independence. Many distinguished Indians had no desire to change administrators. The renouncers stayed quietly in the background. Overall, it was believed that most of the Catholics (opposing assimilation), some Muslims (fearing Hindu domination), and many outcastes (having benefitted some social advancement under the French) would rather stay under French authority.52 Still, between 1914 and 1946, some groups became involved with the independence movement. Compared to earlier anti-French sentiments, which were limited to a small local elite, these feelings started to be expressed by other economic groups which used non-institutional forms of political participation to foster social change in the face of economic difficulties related to World War I. Indeed, the impact of World War I led to economic difficulties – a stoppage of financial support from the metropole, increased land tax, and creation of new taxes such as income tax – which resulted in more demands on Indians and led to demonstrations and walkouts. World War I also had important consequences, as popular demands were expressed in Pondicherry – expulsion of corrupt civil servants; electoral reforms, especially the end of the two-list electoral system and proportional representation in the local assemblies; the right to vote for women; a reduction of officials’ salaries; the removal of the tax burden imposed during the war period; and the right to form associations.53 It was the beginning of a mass mobilization through labour unrest asking for more political rights and economic justice, a struggle beyond universal male suffrage. From a movement demanding more political rights and economic justice, it evolved into a fight for the rights of a special class, the workers. The 1920s 49 Kaiwar and Mazumdar, eds., Antinomies of Modernity, p. 131. 50 Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, p. 222. ‘La contrebande des armes dans l’Inde’, Les Annales Coloniales, 6 October 1910, p. 2, BnF, gallica. 51 Stech, ‘Les possessions françaises en Inde’, p. 17. 52 Malangin, Pondicherry, pp. 127–128; Miles, Imperial Burden, p. 69. 53 Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, p. 249.

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saw strikes asking for higher wages, a reduction of working hours, weekly holidays, and better sanitary conditions. Only a few meagre concessions were made, and due to the lack of proper labour laws, the mill owners continued to exploit workers.54 Each time workers started to agitate, they were suppressed with the help of the local police and the French administration.55 Another source of tension was the use of workers who had to vote for candidates favoured by their employers and the leaders of the pro-French party such as Henri Gaebelé. This was a continuation of the highest castes’ use of the rural population as a voting block. Poor working conditions became a key issue on top of the long-term problem of vote manipulation in the Third Republic colony. This tense labour situation in French India was exacerbated by the Great Depression of the 1930s. Another group involved in the bargaining for more citizenship’s rights from the colonial state to the outcastes and the mill workers was a youth organization inspired by Gandhi’s ideas. Desire for more autonomy was spreading from British to French India, especially in its youth. For instance, the Jeunesses de l’Inde Française (The Youth of French India) was founded in 1931. Partly following Gandhi’s philosophy, this organization professed itself opposed to European domination and for radical reforms. Gandhi wanted a return to supposed precolonial institutions, which he saw as more authentic than the liberal modernizing goals of the Indian professional elites.56 Not only did members of this youth group want the emancipation of the Pariahs, they also encouraged workers of the Pondicherry textile mills to stand up for their economic and social rights. As citizenship’s rights are given by a nation to its members, the demands for such rights were demanded by people with different visions of what the future Indian nation should be. To Gandhi’s desire for a nation encompassing all religions, others dreamed of another type of nation. For instance, the Dravidian movement, organized at the beginning of the twentieth century, which sought autonomy within the French Union, hoped to merge the French enclaves of Karikal and Pondicherry within the Tamil nation. This secession movement represented speakers of the Tamil language as the descendants of the Dravidian race in contrast to the Aryan race from northern India and the south Indian Brahmans perceived as descendants of both races. Its members opposed the Brahman caste and Brahmanical 54 Guenot, ‘Borders, Nationalism, and Representations’, pp. 212–213; Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, pp. 247, 253. 55 Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, p. 251. 56 Subramanian, Ethnicity and Populist Mobilization, p. 9.

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Hinduism as responsible for caste inequalities.57 The influential ‘Self-respect Movement’ founded in Tamil Nadu in 1925 by E. V. Ramasamy (also called Periyar by his followers) popularized the vision of a Dravidian or nonBrahmin community that they intended to represent.58 In 1931, Periyar visited Pondicherry and inspired local people such as poet Barathidasan – the protégé of Subramania Bharati – whose writings in the popular weekly publication Desa Sevakan facilitated the early growth of a similar movement in Pondicherry and its surroundings.59 These leaders from British India’s low castes started consciousness-raising movements that had an important political influence. Such movements resulted in the creation of the Justice Party, officially the South Indian Liberal Federation that was launched in 1917, and aimed to represent non-Brahmans’ interests in Madras. The British in the Madras Presidency were concerned with the over-representation of Brahmins in the administration and subsequently backed the caste-based positive discrimination of the Justice Party.60 They won the 1920 elections in Madras and introduced affirmative-action programmes in favour of the non-Brahmans, a new governmental administrative category.61 Gandhi’s civil disobedience movement, started in the 1930s with the Salt Satyagraha – a march to the sea in protest of the British monopoly of salt – helped to form the Harijan Sevak Sangh of Tamil Nadu, a group that connected French India to the nationalist cause in British India. The youth of Pondicherry also founded the Bharatmata Association, and they imparted a kind of patriotism among the population by chanting the songs of Subramania Bharati. This group invited Gandhi to Pondicherry on 17 February 1934, where he gave a speech calling the audience to fight against religious identity and caste segregation and linked this fight to the French ideals of liberty and equality.62 Demanding not only economic redistribution, labour organizations also supported the anti-colonial sentiment. For instance, the labour movement through the newspaper Soudandiram, which was created in 1934 in Pondicherry and published articles in Tamil and French, rapidly became 57 Subramanian, Ethnicity and Populist Mobilization, p. 16. 58 Subramanian, Ethnicity and Populist Mobilization, p. 82. 59 Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, pp. 257–258; Venkatachalapathy, The Province of the Book, pp. 42–43. 60 Jaffrelot, India’s Silent Revolution, p. 231. 61 Jaffrelot, ‘Caste and the Rise of Marginalized Groups’, in Ganguly, Diamond, and Plattner, The State of India’s Democracy, p. 68. 62 Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, pp. 257–259; Neogy, Decolonization of French India, p. 6.

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a propagator of anti-colonialism.63 The local European spinning miles recruited a large number of semi-qualified, barely educated, low-paid workers who were emboldened to establish clandestine unions by the presence of a few freedom fighters and communists in Pondicherry.64 The June 1936 French metropole elections were won by the Popular Front, which was made up of communists and socialists and headed by Leon Blum. This win encouraged labour agitation in Pondicherry, which lasted until the passing of the decree of 6 April 1937 which made French Indian workers the first in Asia to have a 40-hour working week and the right to organize unions and strikes.65 Here, in continuity with the Third Republic’s political project, there was recognition of citizenship and its rights to dissent and demand fair treatment from those in power. Universal suffrage was not the only means for the masses to participate in political life any longer. Indian workers’ strong militancy in Pondicherry led to the emergence of a new political party Mahajana Sabha signifying the ‘grand party of the workers’ in 1937, which followed the methods of the Indian nationalists – non-political co-operation and civil disobedience as well as direct contact with the masses. Mahajana Sabha set out to rectify the unsatisfactory conditions to which workers were subjected – long hours, low wages, and squalid living conditions. The movement put up their candidates for the May and October 1937 elections of the various local councils and municipalities with slogans stating ‘India for Indians’ and ‘Forward movement to join with mother India’. Partially due to the widespread electoral fraud and violence, the Mahajana Sabha lost to the Franco-Indian party, which was created in 1928 and led by an Indian. There were then attempts made on the lives of the leaders of the Franco-Indian party leaders.66 The press reported that more than 90 persons, including supporters of the Franco-Indian party, had been injured by workers in the commune of Modeliarpeth. In the following weeks, members of the Macouas caste, boatmen by profession from the village of Virampatnam, were attacked for not going on strike and for continuing to work despite receiving very low wages. This was followed by the Macouas, who retaliated by assaulting a community of striking workers.67 Refusing to accept the electoral results, the pro-labour workers led by the Mahajana Sabha occupied many municipalities in Pondicherry and created parallel 63 Guenot, ‘Borders, Nationalism, and Representations’, pp. 214–216. 64 Malangin, Pondicherry, p. 130. 65 Guenot, ‘Borders, Nationalism, and Representations’, p. 216. 66 Annoussamy, Pondicherry, p. 135. 67 ‘la situation à Pondichéry’, La Revue française d’Outre-mer 756, July 1938, pp. 257–258, BnF, gallica.

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administrations. Peace was only restored with the arrival of a new governor, who increased the police force, nullified the municipal elections (by a decree passed on 15 February 1938), and replaced elected officials with municipal commissioners appointed by the governor for five years.68 However, World War II subdued these political tensions as many people in Pondicherry rallied around de Gaulle to liberate France from the German occupation. Still, despite this display of support, Indian nationalist demands continued to affect the French enclaves, and France had to grant, through the decree of 23 August 1945, voting rights to women and the replacement of the two-list system with a single-list system.69 The 1947 withdrawal from India of the British and Pandit Nehru’s refusal to accept a pocket of French colonialism within an independant India raised the question of independence of French India. Yet some Indians would be allowed to simultaneously be French citizens with the rights and duties of French citizens while living in the Indian territory of Pondicherry. In June 1948, the Franco-Indian agreement was signed, stipulating a referendum for self-determination. The referendum was held on 19 June 1948, in the enclave of Chandernagore, where anti-French unrest was the most pronounced. Unsuprisingly, the people of the enclave voted in favour of integration into the Indian union. The off icial treaty of cessation was signed in 1951, while the other territories were to be transferred de facto in November 1954. The outcome of the referendum can be explained by two facts: first, Chandernagore had always opposed being administrated by people from Pondicherry, and second, its closeness to Calcutta exposed it to strong nationalist influences, especially to the extremist politics of the Swadeshi movement (1905–1911), which opted for violent means of action.70 However, the transition to independence was not all smooth: France did not want to let go of its Indian enclaves from 1948 onwards, beause it feared doing so might trigger a process of decolonization throughout the French empire. Weakened by the German occupation and the Vichy collaboration, France needed its empire to restore its international prestige. French India, as one of the oldest French colonies – together with SaintPierre-et-Miquelon, Martinique, Guiana, Senegal, and La Réunion – instilled some pride and historical continuity to France and its empire, a link used 68 Suresh, ‘Political and Social Conflicts’, pp. 263–268. 69 Annoussamy, L’Intermède français en Inde, p. 120. 70 The partition of Bengal by Lord Curzon in 1905, which hurt the interests of the Hindu intelligentsia of Calcutta and the landlords of East Bengal, led to an outburst of anger in a province that had introduced the idea of national political economy. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, p. 463; Guenot, ‘Borders, Nationalism, and Representations’, pp. 164, 207.

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to justify France’s renewed role in the post-war era.71 In retaliation, India hardened its position by launching, from October 1949 onwards, measures of blockage, which severely hindered the transit of goods and people with the objective of isolating Pondicherry from its other enclaves.72 As Nehru clearly stated in 1947, ‘Free India is not going to accept foreign rule in any part of India’.73 The 1954 defeat of the French in Dien Bien Phu, Vietnam, led to a change of policy regarding India, which resulted in the signing of treaty of cession signed by Nehru and the ambassador of France in May 1956. Due to right-wing opposition in the French National Assembly, this treaty would only be ratified in 1962.74 The cessation treaty, signed in 1956, specified that French nationals born on the soil of the French establishments in India would become Indian nationals. However, they had six months to choose, by a written declaration, French nationality. The treaty was ratified by the French parliament in 1962. Five thousand adults and 2100 children (95 per cent of whom were renouncers) opted for French citizenship out of a population of about 321,000 (based on 1954 figures).75 There were never many renouncers. Even at their peak in 1898, there were only 2861 renouncer voters, less than 5 per cent of the voters. Still, they engendered a key component of the French Pondicherrian community, of whom fifteen to twenty thousand still live in Pondicherry today, with even more settled in France.76 The Pondicherrians, as they are called today, are an ambiguous category, because the term refers to inhabitants of the town of Pondicherry as well as residents of the Union Territory of Pondicherry.77 This right to choose created an unusual group of French citizens who do not live on French soil – although common territory is often seen as the first characteristic in defining nationhood. Those optionnaires, as they are called, even today, form a small enclosed pocket of France while living in India as legal aliens, somewhat apart from the rest of former British India. India is still wrapped in a tricolour, but a saffron, white, and green one, which transcended the French flag of the former colonizers. Yet it also embodies a residual sense of continuity in imagining the nation as a site of 71 Guenot, ‘Borders, Nationalism, and Representations’, p. 134. 72 Sen, Chandernagore, p. 112. 73 Guenot, ‘Borders, Nationalism, and Representations’, p. 147. 74 Weber, ‘L’Inde française de Dupleix à Mendès France’, p. 214. 75 Markovits, ed., A History of Modern India, p. 519; Guenot, ‘Borders, Nationalism, and Representations’, p. 338. 76 Weber, ‘Chanemougam’, p. 305, n. 8. 77 The union was created when French India ceased to legally exist in August 1962. Sébastia, ‘Inculturation ou ethnicisation’, p. 101, n. 5.

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daily plebiscite for an independent democratic nation, with these French nationals on its soil.

V.

Situating Pondicherry within a Larger Theoretical Reflection on the Relationship between Empire and Citizenship

The book is primarily a historical analysis of republican citizenship and the electoral process in Pondicherry. Yet a study of Pondicherry from 1870 to 1914 also has broader theoretical implications for analysing the relationship between empire and citizenship within the context of the French empire. How did the interplay between empire and citizenship occur under different republican regimes from the Third Republic (1870–1940) to the Fifth Republic (October 1958–present)? Can we see commonalities and differences in the ways the Third Republic in Pondicherry and future republican regimes dealt with the relation between empire and citizenship? Taking a broader view of some of the convergences and rifts between the French republic, nation, and empire invites us to think in terms of a ‘connected history of empire’.78 During the earlier part of the nineteenth century, in addition to associations, petitions, and public meetings, there were also strikes within the French empire. It was a time when demands of various French colonies on the metropole were quite similar in that native populations were asking for more than just the right to vote. First, we need to review two key moments in 1848 – namely, the Second Republic’s enactment of universal male suffrage on 2 March 1848 and the definitive abolition of slavery in April 1848. The abolition of slavery changed former slaves into citizens in the French colonies of the Caribbean islands –Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Réunion – and on the South American territory of Guiana. Although the French establishments in India were not a slave society, their inhabitants nonetheless also became French citizens as members of the old colonies, and they subsequently benefitted from the right to representation in parliament. As early as 1830, the Four Communes of Senegal (the island of Gorée; the two ports of Saint-Louis and Dakar; and Rufisque, located on a peninsular shore) had already been declared as part of the metropole, and subsequently, their freeborn residents gained citizenship.79 78 Potter and Saha, ‘Global History, Imperial History’, p. 2. 79 Miles, ‘Comparative Decolonization’, p. 214.

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Third Republic (1870–1940)

The Third Republic revived the Second Republic’s policy of universal citizenship. Universal male suffrage was re-established in the colonies by the decree of 15 September 1870, which brought about a return to the electoral law of 15 March 1849, which had been abolished by the Second Empire. However, in the face of a large local population outnumbering the European population, the Third Republic’s overall policy was to enforce a dual- or triple-list electoral system, which was imposed on French India from 1872 onwards for conducting local elections. In this system, the votes of locals – even though they were citizens – were not equal to the votes of French citizens of old stock. Indeed, France’s Third Republic did not imply equality for Indian citizens but rather only a limited degree of fraternity and liberty to be politically active. In contrast, being a small group – fifteen thousand in 1830 – Algerian Jews were granted French citizenship in 1870 by the Crémieux Decree, which gave them full citizenship rights, and their personal status became regulated by French law, underlining the high point of assimilation practices of the Third Republic in Algeria.80 Yet Algerian Muslims, a numerical majority group, received French nationality in 1865 but were not given political rights until 1919, and similar to French Indian citizens, were only given restricted rights. As a means to recognize their participation in World War I, the law of 4 February 1919 made it easier for Algerian Muslims to acquire citizenship, but it still demanded the renunciation of their local civil status. The law also opened more civil service posts for them and created a double college for local, municipal, and cantonal elections. The so-called second college permitted some Algerian men with local civil status to elect certain officials in Algeria. Still, only 10.5 per cent of the male Muslim population over the age of 25 was part of this second college.81 This hierarchical form of citizenship was designed to maintain the power of European colonists in Algeria and their descendants over native Algerians through election; it provided an answer to the French officials’ anxiety about losing control of Algeria. The Four Communes of Senegal were part of the first colonial empire – roughly from the seventeenth century to 1830. The small French enclaves were conquered during the seventeenth century, and local merchants and French people created ties with each other as well as mixed families. For the French administration, the aim was to guarantee co-operation with the Four 80 Shepard, The Invention of Decolonization, p. 28; Dermejian, ‘Les Juifs d’Algérie’, p. 333. 81 Shepard, The Invention of Decolonization, pp. 31, 37.

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Communes rather than to promote and defend Frenchness. This aim to give some citizenship rights to the locals made sense. By 1848, the inhabitants of the Four Communes were designated as originaires who had the right to elect a deputy to the French parliament. In the 1870s, metropolitan-like municipal councils known as communes were created there, as well as a local assembly called the general council. In contrast, the rest of Senegal was governed as a protectorate.82 As in French India, inhabitants were able to keep their local civil status under the authority of the French empire. The originaire Blaise Diagne, as the deputy of Senegal, was to get legislation passed in 1916 that would confirm the legal status of the originaires and their descendants, a tiny minority, as French citizens rather than subjects of protectorate rule in exchange for compulsory conscription in the French army.83 The legislation of 1916 was issued for two reasons. First, the French state needed Blaise Diagne’s help to mobilize unwilling troops from French West Africa to serve as infantrymen in World War I. Second, it was a gesture of gratitude to Senegalese soldiers for their military contribution during this war.84 In contrast, roughly two thousand renouncers of French India who opted to renounce their native civil status and submit themselves to the French Civil Code thanks to the decree of 21 September 1881 were still denied the right to vote within the European college as they would outnumber Europeans and their descendants (530 electors), and their loyalty towards the French and their republican values were still in question.85 Only in national elections did Indians have the right to vote in a single college. A decree of 26 February 1884 created a triple-college system distinguishing Europeans, renouncers, and non-renouncers, with each list electing ten general councillors. This situation gave power to the renouncers in terms of their capacity to tip the balance away from the Europeans or from the third list of non-renouncers as holders of majority control in French India. However, a decree of 10 September 1899 re-established the dual electoral principle. By then, only a few renouncers were allowed to be part of the first college, because they had to satisfy almost unattainable prerequisites, and the French administration subsequently established a system based on capacity. While both locals and Europeans had citizenship rights in French 82 Miles, ‘Comparative Decolonization’, p. 214. 83 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, pp. 6–7; Semley, ‘“Evolution Revolution”’, p. 277. 84 Jones, The Métis of Senegal, p. 174. 85 Sundararajan, Pondicherry, p. 64.

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India, their votes did not have the same weight, because French officials created unequal electoral colleges. The electoral college for the Europeans, despite its smaller numbers, carried more weight than the one of the Indian populations, a means to maintain the power of the colonizers. Territories conquered during the first colonial empire were mostly small and encompassed tiny populations that were often able to acquire citizenship rights similar to those given to inhabitants of metropolitan France. In contrast, the colonizers’ fear of colonies with a large Indigenous population was a reason for them not to give voting rights to these people. The degree to which the colonized were seen to have assimilated into French culture also played a role in the acquisition of political rights. For example, this seems to have been the case for the originaires of Senegal and the populations of Guadeloupe, Martinique, Réunion, and Guiana, who were granted similar political rights to Frenchmen of old stock. The métis (children of White men and African women) of the Four Communes of Senegal were Frencheducated townspeople who had close ties to French culture.86 Because the bourgeoisie of Guadeloupe, Martinique, Réunion, and Guiana had been assimilated into French culture through the French school system in these colonial enclaves, they later supported the idea of the integration of their respective colonial territories into the French nation state. These colonial enclaves became French départements in 1946.87 By contrast, Indian electors had to be controlled through the creation of electoral colleges for local elections for two reasons: they were too culturally ‘Indian’, especially because they clung to a ‘caste mentality’, and they posed a numerical threat to the colonial power, because they could decide the outcome of elections if they were sufficiently united. For some locals, citizenship was not only a political status for exercising a limited right to vote; it was also a platform from which demands for lower taxes, higher wages, reductions in working hours, and better sanitary conditions could be voiced. For instance, the 1900 general strike in Martinique started with labourers on a few sugar plantations asking for a wage increase, before these demands led to strikes against sugar refineries and a stop to sugar production. By sending in the colonial militia – who killed eight workers – the governor angered the people; this resulted in the strike spreading to the whole island. Guadeloupe experienced a general strike in 1910, when workers demanded a wage increase. During this time, European beet sugar was becoming a cheaper alternative to sugar cane. This 86 Jones, Métis of Senegal, p. 97. 87 Lemercier, Toke, and Palomares, ‘LES OUTRE-MERS FRANÇAIS’, p. 13.

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situation brought sugar production to a standstill due to labourers’ growing unhappiness with the colonial economy in the Caribbean. 88 Likewise, between 1893 and 1903, nearly six thousand strikes and lockouts took place in metropolitan France – some successful, others not. Some of them were successfully resolved thanks to the 1892 Law of Labour and Arbitration. Protesters in the French Antilles also invoked this 1892 law, which had provisions extending its application, strikes and workers’ arbitration, to the old colonies. Earning half of what metropolitan workers did, Antilleans started to petition the French state for rights and privileges that equalled those of metropolitan workers.89 Later, in the 1920s, Indian workers in the textile mills of French India also went on strike for higher wages and a reduction of working hours. In the Great Depression of the 1930s, textile mill owners resorted to cutting workers’ wages, which, again, resulted in walkouts and strikes.90 Overall, the French empire under the Third Republic offered full citizenship benefits to populations that were numerically modest and perceived to have assimilated French culture. For local populations larger than the colonizers, electoral techniques such as the double electoral college were used for as long as possible to maintain the colonizers’ power or the power of dominant local leaders such as Chanemougam in French India. Moreover, for the locals living in greater France, citizenship was not limited to electoral rights but included access to labour and economic rights as well. B.

Fourth Republic (1946–1958)

Debates at the French Assemblée Constitutante (Constituent Assembly) from November 1944 to August 1945 in Paris regarding the drawing up of the Fourth Constitution brought together French politicians and members of the Commission de la France d’Outre-Mer (Commission of French Overseas). During these debates, Deiva Zivaratinam, an Indian lawyer trained at the law school in Pondicherry, denounced the French government for regarding French India as ‘a poor member of the French family’. Among his complaints was the lingering existence of a dual-list electoral system. His demand for equal representation was satisf ied with the decree of 23 August 1945, which ended the two-list system.91 The empire was vital 88 Church, Paradise Destroyed, pp. 32, 69. 89 Church, Paradise Destroyed, pp. 33–36, 173. 90 Guenot, ‘Borders, Nationalism, and Representations’, p. 213. 91 Church, Paradise Destroyed, p. 221.

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for France to restore its prestige on the international scene. Thus, it had to make concessions to its colonized populations, especially to French India, which had supported General de Gaulle and the French government in exile during World War II.92 The new French constitution of 1946, which laid the foundation for France’s Fourth Republic, declared all the inhabitants of the French empire as citizens regardless of their civil status. It also replaced the French empire with the ‘French Union’, modelled after the British Commonwealth (set up in 1931), to extend economic, political, and social equality with the metropole. Yet when it came to voting rights, the system of double electoral colleges was maintained in some places such as Algeria.93 Would the French Union’s attempt to bring the tripartite adage of ‘liberty, equality, and freedom’ to various parts of the empire at different times prove to be workable in the post-war period? Unlike the French Indian enclaves, most of the old colonies had had their Indigenous populations nearly wiped out, allowing an easier process of assimilation within French culture, because there was not a strong Indigenous culture to compete with like in the Tamil region. Yet because most of the population descended from African slaves, the question of difference was still present after the abolition of slavery in 1848. However, former slaves becoming citizens and not falling into some intermediary category like the renouncers in India is quite an important choice on the part of French politicians. Some old colonies officially chose to remain under French sovereignty, a situation still in place today – Martinique and Guadeloupe in the West Indies, Réunion in the Indian Ocean, and Guiana in South America became French départements, administrative divisions similar to those in the metropole, following a 1946 law initiated by colonial Deputy Aimé Césaire. The conscription of Antilleans during World War II also facilitated the 1946 incorporation (blood debt) of Martinique and Guadeloupe as French départements. A similar rationale was applied to make the tiny Pacific colonies – New Caledonia, French Polynesia, the Comoros Islands, and a few other islands overseas territories (territoires d’oure-mer), which joined them in a looser structure of association with metropolitan France.94

92 De Gaulle opposed the regime of Marshal Philippe Pétain in France, which collaborated with Nazi Germany during World War II. Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, p. 67. 93 Andres, ‘Droit de vote’, p. 7. 94 Kumar, Visions of Empire, p. 439.

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The situation was different in the colonial federation of French West Africa (Mauritania, Senegal, French Sudan [now Mali], French Guinea, Ivory Coast, Upper Volta [now Burkina Faso]). Frederick Cooper shows how French officials in the 1895 administration created the double electoral college system that allowed French West Africa’s large Indigenous population political participation while maintaining France’s ability to determine the outcome of elections. Africans opposed the double electoral college as a continuation of racist policies, but were unable to replace it. However, this system became the focus of intense political debate between 1946 and 1956 when the double electoral college was finally abolished.95 The cause of the decade-long debate was the Third Republic fear articulated by French politician Edouard Hérriot that France would lose sovereignty over its colonial territories, becoming ‘the colony of its colonies’, because it would be submerged under the sheer number of colonial citizens.96 Cooper emphasizes that citizenship does not go hand in hand with nation states but was attached to the notion of empire in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.97 Cooper’s observation leads to two questions: (1) which territorial form of organization was the principal form of identification for the local elites in West Africa and French India, and (2) did these elites think of themselves as citizens of an independent nation or members of the larger French nation? From World War II until independence in 1960 (except for Guinea, which became independent in 1958), political leaders of French West Africa discussed the fate of their countries and what kind of relationship they wanted to have with France: a federation (metropolitan France would remain the centre of control, and its relationship with the African territories would be a matter of internal governance); a confederation (a union of countries whose relationships would be decided by international treaties); or nation states. All three were popular political models after World War II. The African elites were open to the idea of creating a federation or confederation, as a means for Africans to attain equality within the French empire, because these elites thought that economic and political independence was not sustainable for poor, small African states.98 At the time of the decolonization of British India, issues of sovereignty and territoriality in Pondicherry were also at stake; local elites had various visions of what the empire should be and what type of attachment should 95 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, p. 164. 96 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, p. 227. 97 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, p. 2. 98 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, p. 9.

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exist with metropolitan France. The Dravidian movement of the 1930s to 1950s sought autonomy for the French enclaves of Karaikal and Pondicherry within a French Union in Tamil Nadu. This was an alternative to the full merger with British India, which merged in 1947 and the French withdrew in 1954. Akhila Yechury pointed out that a regional movement like the Dravidian movement questioned the legitimacy of the India state with a minority of people who did not fit with the emerging narrative of Indian unification.99 Like the French Indians at the beginning of the twentieth century, especially after World War I, the Indigeneous peoples in French West Africa used their rights of citizenship to correct discriminatory working conditions. The 1946 French constitution set up a political structure through which Africans as citizens could press for both electoral reforms and labour benefits. For instance, the 1946 worker strikes in Senegal, with the slogan ‘Equal pay for equal work’, resulted in authorities granting workers important concessions on wages. A year later, railway workers organized a five-month strike throughout French West Africa to gain a single non-racial global hierarchy with the same scale of benefits for all railway workers – not only in France but also in French West Africa. Subsequent negotiations led to the governor general’s compromise on some of the strikers’ demands.100 Just as the French Indian enclaves had asked for electoral reforms, more local political power, and especially the end of all forms of discrimination between Indians and French after World War II, similar demands were made on the African side. Thanks to the loi-cadre (enabling act) of 1956, the Indigeneous peoples of French West Africa won universal suffrage, the end of the double electoral college system, and real power for the African territorial assemblies. The unintended consequence of conceding more power to the territorial assemblies was the concentration of power at the national level, which later helped the creation of African nation states.101 The transfer of some administrative power to these overseas territories was annulled and a ‘community’ supplanted the French Union. Over the next two years, more and more politicians took into account the sentiments of their national political base as well as the inability of these various African nations to reach a consensus, which led to the nations’ independence from France (and each other) in 1960.

99 See Yechury, ‘Imagining India’, pp. 1141–1165. 100 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, pp. 178–181. 101 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, p. 433.

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Similarly, the transformation of Guadeloupe and Martinique into overseas départements was followed by strikes in 1950 and 1953. In 1950, state employees on these two islands and in the départements d’outre-mer (hereafter, DOM) went on strike over the cost-of-living allowance given to state employees from the metropole, which gave rise to accusations of racial discrimination against local French employees. After 33 days of conflict, a law was voted to establish the principle of equality among state employees. However, this law was not enforced. In May 1953, a general strike among state employees started in Martinique, followed by a strike among state employees in Guadeloupe a month later. Two months later, the strikers got the allowance for all state employees working in the French Antilles and DOM.102 Indeed, territories within the French empire were not isolated from one another – their inhabitants fought for social and economic rights during the first half of the twentieth century. Similar to the Third Republic, the Fourth Republic proclaimed equality for all inhabitants of the French colonies and instituted inequal practices that resulted in strikes and subsequently ushered in an era of political participation across various places throughout Greater France. C.

Fifth Republic (October 1958 to Present)

Who could keep their citizenship after independence from France if they wanted to? After the 1960 independence, West Africans’ economic and social needs could no longer be accommodated within the framework of French imperial citizenship. International aid would be the route through which to make such requests. Upon independence, in 1960, the originaires were absorbed into Senegal. They became citizens of the Republic of Senegal, and their special links to France and French laws became ‘a fading historical memory’.103 However, the nationality act of 28 July 1960 allowed people who were descended from an originaire to retain French citizenship without being required to settle in metropolitan France.104 Todd Shepard explains that the French came to understand Algeria as no longer a part of France when they came to see Algerians as no longer French. Accepting the independence of Algeria in July 1962 meant the disappearance of the legal, institutional, and economic apparatus that the French had used 102 See Dumont, ‘La quête de l’égalité aux Antilles’, pp. 94–96. 103 Miles, ‘Comparative Decolonization’, p. 215. 104 Cooper, Citizenship between Empire and Nation, p. 423.

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to make Algeria French since the beginning of the conquest of Algiers in 1830.105 Citizenship for Algerians meant that Algeria was constitutionally and legally an integrated part of metropolitan France – divided like the metropole into administrative départements and also represented in the National Assembly. Only in 1958 did the new French constitution extend full citizenship, including voting rights, to all Algerians with local civil status.106 Nevertheless, most of the nine million people from French Algeria who had French citizenship had it revoked by 1963 after the French government recognized Algerian independence in March 1962. The decision of who would be Algerian and who would remain French was made based on ‘racialized ethnicity’. Muslim Algerians became Algerians, while several thousand Algerian Jews were welcomed as French citizens by the metropolitan state.107 Unlike in French India, ethnicity in Algeria became a strong marker in deciding who could remain French after independence from colonialism. In comparison to Algeria, French India was a small, distant territory, with a minuscule number of inhabitants and a small number of Europeans; it also evoked no bad memory like the bitter war of independence between France and Algeria. This allowed French policymakers to more easily accept Pondicherry residents as part of the French nation and to subsequently maintain the republican process of assimilation as a way to extend citizenship to those persons who were deemed to have become sufficiently French. It was an interesting continuity that the people of the French empire and the French community were linked to France through their nationality, and not by soil. Most Pondicherrians would become French without ever visiting metropolitan France. French officials anticipated correctly that many of the 6252 French Indians who opted for the right to remain French would move to France for good. However, few – if any – predicted that a community of French Indians living in India would grow and become an alien group within India. Marriages of non-French Indians to French Indians resulting in the naturalization of non-French spouses as well as children is one of the reasons for the growth of this community. This has also occurred because a loophole in the 1962 transfer treaty gave locals the option to retain French citizenship. The loophole came from a judicial interpretation of unusual wording in the treaty, which stated that any person who had a French Indian parent and was born before 1962 outside of French Indian territorial limits was not covered by the treaty and was subsequently deemed to have never 105 Shepard, The Invention of Decolonization, p. 8. 106 Shepard, The Invention of Decolonization, pp. 45–46. 107 Shepard, The Invention of Decolonization, pp. 2–7, 230, 243.

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lost their French citizenship. Those who were granted citizenship under such circumstances were called immatriculés.108 A historical mistake, it could be argued, was at the root of such an unusual community, which had rarely cast ballots in Pondicherry for candidates in French elections when given the opportunity.109 It needs to be underlined that, as foreign nationals in India, they cannot actively engage in politics. French citizens of Pondicherry cannot hold public speeches, rallies, political meetings, or display public advertising. Only door-to-door campaigning and circulation of flyers are allowed. Moreover, many are illiterate in French, making it even more difficult for these voters to understand the parties they are called to vote for.110 French Indian retirees in Pondicherry today have mostly had careers in the French army. Because the majority of Indian recruits in the French army are from the low castes and harijans (outcastes), the French national community in Pondicherry still carries a caste-based stigma. Indeed, the manner in which group allegiances are invoked in the formation of political movements and in the electoral process shows that politics is still carried out along caste lines.111 In summary, although France professed and tried to extend varying degrees of citizenship that would preserve control of its colonies within an overarching doctrine of assimilation into its empire from the 1870s to the 1960s, a universal citizenship in its various territories was not applied. Citizenship in its relation to the French empire was often not able to transcend political particularities and differences of France’s far-flung colonies. Citizenship did not prevent some groups from being treated as second-class citizens, as French Indians were, due to the existence of the unequal electoral college system of voting during the Third Republic. How can we describe the French citizenship that French Indians have in Pondicherry beyond their rights and obligations? Indeed, in addition to civil, political, and social rights, scholars have started to talk about cultural rights, that is, the right to be culturally different and what it means to belong to a society. Most, if not all, of the French citizens living in Pondicherry are culturally Tamil. This raises the question of how this culture is part of mainstream French culture and how French Indians perceive and participate in metropolitan French cultures. We cannot compare these French Indians, who have never 108 Miles, ‘Comparative Decolonization’, p. 219; Miles, Scars of Partition, pp. 236–237. 109 Miles, Scars of Partition, p. 221. 110 Miles, ‘Absorbing International Boundary’, p. 14. 111 It is worth noting, although outside the scope of this study, is how post-independence politics in French West Africa have often been characterized by clientelism and an authoritarian rule by one man. Miles, ‘Comparative Decolonization’, p. 221.

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left Pondicherry and its surroundings, to French expatriates working abroad, because they have never left India; hence, there is no myth of them returning to the motherland. Rather, France and its laws came to them and offered them a deterritorialized citizenship (citizens living permanently outside of the French nation state). Some of these French Indian citizens have created kinship and social networks in both India and France. Most French Indians in Pondicherry are not involved in transnational activities. Rather, the state is the one involved in transnational activities by bringing welfare benefits to them and establishing French institutions on Indian soil such as the French School, the Lycée français de Pondichéry, and allowing them to continue to have firm roots in India. Rather than the French tricolour being replaced by the Indian one, the symbolism of one flag is superimposed on the other. In both the French and Indian contemporary contexts, French Indians are perpetual foreigners, because they cannot participate in the local political life of India. Being culturally and racially Indian, they cannot be firmly entrenched in French society, because they are often perceived in the metropole as leeches of the welfare system, instrumentalizing their citizenship.

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Index Algeria Citizenship 15, 24, 26-27, 54, 217, 221, 225 Crémieux decree of 1870 nationality 26, 208, 217, 225 Ethnicity 225 Anarya Dosh Pariharak Mandali (Society for the Removal of the Misdemeanors of the Non-Aryans) Mahar Dalits 136, 139 Valangkar, Gopal Baba 139 Ancien Régime Laws and privileges 16, 64, 135, 143, 199 Angoulvant, Gabriel (Governor) 40, 122, 134, 167, 171, 185-186 Anticlerical Laws 104-105 Anticlericalism in France 100, 104 in Pondicherry 63 See also Laicization Anti-colonial Nationalism in British India Indian National Congress in Bombay 59 Nationalist Ideas 186, 204, 209-214 Swadeshi Movement 186, 206, 209, 214 Swaraj or self-rule 186 See also Aurobindo Anti-colonial Nationalism in Chandernagore 210, 214 Anti-colonial Nationalism in Pondicherry Aiyar, V.V.S. 209-210 Bharati, Subramania 209, 212 Civil Disobedience 210, 212-213 Jeunesse de l’Inde Française 211 Siva, Subramaniya 209 Traditional nationalism 205 See also Aurobindo; Dravidian Movement; Soudandiram (newspaper) Antilles (French colonies and departments) Citizenship granted to former slaves 27, 51, 169 Department status granted 219, 221, 224 Education 130-131 Strikes 220, 224 See also Guadeloupe; Martinique; SaintDomingue (Haiti) Assimilation and caste 57, 63 and Catholics 77, 202, 210 and citizenship 15, 24-26, 34, 51, 53-55, 146, 217, 225-226 and civilization 24, 72, 111 and cultural assimilation 154, 208, 221 and education 111-113, 130-131, 145 and renouncers 59-61, 67, 75, 195 and republican ideology 23-24, 55, 113

and topas 70-72 versus association 23-24 Association 91, 176, 212; see also Castes as associations; Société progressiste de l’Inde Française Aurobindo 209; see also Anti-colonial nationalism in British India; Anti-colonial nationalism in Pondicherry Barrès, Maurice 120 Bellanger de l’Espinay 28 Bluysen, Paul (Deputy) 123, 178, 187 Board of Administrative Litigation Lack of clear-cut rules 174 Lack of proof 160-161 Procedural violation/disqualification 156, 162-163, 171-172 See also electoral frauds; Electoral manipulation; Electoral negligence; Petitions Bonhoure, Adrien (Governor) 158, 165, 170, 185-186 Bontemps, Napoléon (Governor) 55, 124n103 British India British Army 138-141, 202 British East India Company 28, 35 Comparison with French Rule 17-19, 27-31, 34-35, 40-41, 53-54, 74, 85, 87, 91-92, 112, 115-116, 126-127, 131-132, 138-141, 159, 166, 182-183, 201, 204-207, 209-213, 222-223 Indentured labour (engagisme) 30-31 Seven Years’ War 29 Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle 28 See also Anti-colonial Nationalism in British India; Madras Presidency Caribbean Colonies/Departments 25-26, 30, 216, 220; see also Antilles, Guadeloupe, Martinique, Saint-Dominque (Haiti) Castes and Christianity/Catholicism 38, 69-71, 76-79, 107, 184 and education 101-106, 121-123, 125-127, 146, 188, 194, 200 and military service 133-142, 146 and politicization 177-178, 180, 182, 189, 196 Brahman 32, 34, 37, 39, 62, 66, 76, 89, 138, 140-141, 171, 175, 180, 204, 211-212 Camala 125 Caste identity 57, 152, 212 Caste property 40, 185-186 Caste violence 54, 177-182, 184 Castes as associations 206-207 Cavaré 39, 85, 125, 184

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Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Chettiar/Chetty 39, 125, 144, 161, 189 Colonial perception of caste 56-57, 72, 81-82 Commoutty 125 Kshatriya 37, 140 Lower-castes/Low-castes 17, 39, 64, 68, 89, 101-102, 117n74, 127, 140, 175, 180, 188-189, 194, 196-197, 200-201, 203, 209, 212, 226 Macouas 213 Moutchy 125 Right Hand/Left Hand 40 Sénécodé 125 Sudra/Shudra 37-38, 76 Vaishya 37 Vannia or Pally 39, 67, 125, 171, 177-178, 189 Vanouva 125 Vellala (Vellâja) 37, 40, 54, 62-63, 90, 121, 124, 162, 184, 196 Yadaval 125 See also Chanemougam Velayouda Modéliar; Choutres; Hinduism; Law and Judiciary; Outcastes; Sadassivanaïker Categorization 18, 49, 73, 92 Catholics Arrival in Pondicherry 76 Catholic Church 46 Catholic Non-renouncers 44-45 See also Caste and Christianity/Catholicism; Choutres; Education; Laicization; LaPorte; Renouncers Chandernagore/Chandernagor Comptoir 28-29, 50 Referendum 214 Terrorism in Bengal 210 See also anti-colonial nationalism in Chandernagore Chanemougam Velayouda Modéliar and education 112, 119-122, 132, 200 Nadou 33, 62, 176, 186 Nationalism 63, 186, 205 Politician 33, 39, 62-65, 107n33, 156, 162, 171, 175-179, 182-183, 186, 189, 198, 203, 205, 220 Sidambara Modéliar 62 Choutres 39, 62, 171, 181, 184-185; see also Catholics Citizen Second-class citizen 49, 65, 123, 226 Subject distinguished from 14 Women 17, 78, 210, 214 Citizenship and empire 15, 17-19, 24-27, 61, 197, 216-227 Cultural citizenship 49-50, 55, 59, 61, 67, 81, 88, 90-92, 197-198, 226 Exclusion/Inclusion 49-92 Greek concept of citizenship 49 Pluralist citizenship 198 Social citizenship 49, 117, 198, 202, 211, 221, 224, 226

Citizenship in French India and civic education 106, 109-114, 123, 200 and civil rights 14, 18, 60, 117, 139, 159, 194, 226 and divorce 77, 86 and language 15, 50, 72, 100-101, 109-113, 115, 120 and marriage 58-61, 77-79, 81, 202, 225 and military service 19, 99-100, 145-146, 202 and nation 15, 49, 57, 70, 73, 92, 99-101, 110, 115, 139, 141, 145-146, 197, 199, 201, 211, 215-216, 219, 222-223, 225, 227 Colonial citizenship 11, 14, 19, 27, 50, 146 Customary rights 85 Deterritorialized citizenship 227 “Nurturing” rights 87 Requirements of obtaining 67, 218 Right to petition 87, 172 Right to vote 13-14, 18-19, 22-23, 53-54, 71, 172, 210, 216, 218 See also Elections; Naturalization; Political Institutions; Renunciation (of personal status); Revolution of 1848 Citizenship in the French Empire Electoral system 217-223, 226 Former slaves granted 25, 27, 30-31, 51, 53, 169, 208, 216, 221 in “old” colonies 24, 51, 130, 140, 144, 208, 216, 221-222 See also French Union; Loi cadre; Revolution of 1848 Civil Code and citizenship in French Empire 26, 208 and local mores 78-79, 86, 202 and renunciation 15, 23, 33-34, 67, 218, 248 See also divorce; Marriage Civil Registration 58, 159, 167-168 Civilizing Mission/Mission Civilisatrice 14, 16, 22-24, 75, 86, 101, 111-112, 175, 199-204; see also Assimilation versus Association Class Middle class 103 Rural labourers 30-31, 40, 121-123, 200-201, 203, 219-220 Social class 16, 21, 41, 193, 195-196, 209-210 Workers 31, 196, 209-213, 220, 223-224 Clemenceau, George 26 Cleric-Brahmanical Party 67, 156 Collèges Collège Calvé 107, 114-116, 118-119 Collège Royal/Collège Colonial 30, 62, 102, 107, 118-119, 181, 200 Lycée Français de Pondichéry 30, 227 Pensionnat des Jeunes Filles de Pondichéry 118 Petit Séminaire 102-103 Post-primary education 102, 118 Colonial Census 34n41, 143, 166

247

Index

Colonial Supreme Court 64, 72-73 Combes, Emile 104 Committees of Indian Notables 68-69, 107, 124Cour de cassation 63-64, 72, 138 Couttia-Sababadypoullé 184 Covindassamy, General Councilman 84, 88 Creoles, French India 54, 62, 70, 116, 118, 135-136, 142, 144, 146, 152, 176, 181, 195, 198, 248 Customary Laws Laws 23, 32, 69, 86, 89, 201, 207 Local customs 24, 32, 34, 40, 50, 54, 59, 61, 69, 78, 82-83, 87, 91, 175, 194 Manool/Manu 69, 84, 153-154 D’Ubraye, Alexandre (Governor) 89 Decolonization in French Empire 15, 214, 223-225 in French India 15, 214, 222-223, 225-226 See also Transfer treaty Delale (Chief of Public Education) 132 Départements d’outre-mer (DOM) 224 Desbassayns de Richemont, Comte Alexandre (Deputy and Senator for French India) 54, 59, 156 Desbassayns de Richemont, Eugène (Governor) 30, 69n92, 103 Diagne, Blaise 207, 218; see also Senegal Diagou, Gnanou 77-78, 114, 173-174 Divorce Forum shopping 85 Republican principles 77 See also castes and Christianity/ Catholicism Dravidian Movement Barathidasan 212 Justice Party 212 Ramasamy, E.V. or Periyar 204, 209, 212 Self-Respect Movement 212 Drouhet, Théodore (Governor) 65, 122, 164 Dumas, Pierre (Governor) 28, 103, 133 Dupleix, Joseph François (Governor) 28, 133, 137 Dutch political power 30, 41, 51 Education and brawls 118 and citizenship 18-19, 50, 69, 99-101, 106, 108-114, 119-120, 145, 194, 199-201 and females 17, 123-129, 146 and lack of funds 129-132 and secularization 99, 104-108, 122-123, 145-146, 156n16, 201 Capuchins 102 Carmelites 104 Colonial Committee of Public Instruction 68, 107 Commission of Public Instruction 108, 115, 118

Congregation of Saint-Coeur de Marie 105-106, 121 Congregation of Saint Joseph de Cluny 103, 106, 117 Congregation of Saint-Louis Gonzague 121 Female teachers of Tamil 17, 127-129, 200 Grant-in-aid system 131-132 Jesuits 102, 104, 118n80 Law school 196, 220 Medical school 196 Native schools 101 Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary 106 Ursuline Sisters 103 See also Castes and Education; Collèges; Granboulan; Languages; Société des Missions Etrangères Education laws Ferry Laws 104 Ordinance of September 30, 1843 103 See also Committees of Indian Notables Elections Assessors 162 Bank of votes 153, 180, 189 Census committee vote 176, 182, 186 Clientelism 19, 194, 226n111 Decree of February 18, 1938 214 Public debate 157 Three-list system 58, 64-66, 152, 218 Two-list system 66, 179, 189, 218 See also Board of Administrative litigation; Civil registration; Citizenship; Illiteracy and Voting rights Electoral Frauds in French Empire 208 Electoral Frauds in Pondicherry and polling stations 155-157, 160, 162-163, 174, 176, 181-182 Deceived voters 158, 166, 188 Poll-watchers 153, 164, 172, 180, 183 Prosecution of frauds 158-159 Vote-buying 152, 157, 172 Voting cards 159-171, 183-184 Without voters 163 Electoral Manipulation in Pondicherry Civil registration 58, 159, 167 Electoral agents 157, 184 Malfeasance/Systemic manipulation 19, 151, 153, 165, 170, 175, 179, 188, 211 See also Civil registration Electoral Negligence Lack of political, electoral training 162, 165, 188 Lack of preparation 154, 165, 171 Electoral Violence Bâtonnistes 158, 174, 181-182 Violence 155, 157, 175, 178, 181-185, 189 Faure, Félix 137 Ferry, Jules 24-25, 110, 123

248 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Fifth Republic 216, 224-227 First World War 13-14, 26, 33, 68, 100, 129, 132, 138, 145, 180, 209-210, 217-218, 223 Flandin, Etienne (Senator) 183-184 Fourth Republic 220-224 Franco-Indian party 213 French Deputy of India 54-55, 59, 63-66, 89, 118, 123, 141, 156-157, 164, 175-176, 178-184, 187, 189, 205 French Establishments in India Comptoirs (Trading posts) 22, 28-29 Lodges (Loges) 29, 50, 55, 68 Second Treaty of Paris 29, 133, 141, 143, 145-146, 201 Treaty of Amiens 29 See also Chandernagore; Karikal; Mahé; Pondicherry; Yanaon “French idea” versus “Indian idea” 61, 64, 177 French Party 65-67, 153-154, 160, 164, 166, 173, 175, 177-180, 182-184, 187, 189, 196, 202, 211 French Revolution in India 29, 52-53, 71 Motto “liberty, equality, fraternity” 14, 22, 40, 92, 123, 145, 199, 203, 208, 212, 217, 221 French Union Citizenship of the French Union 221 French West Africa 16, 199, 207, 218, 223, 226n11 Gaebelé, Henri 67, 113, 160, 177-178, 185, 187, 209, 211 Gallois-Montbrun 67, 112, 117-119, 178 Gambetta, Léon 14 Gandhi, Mahatma Civil disobedience movement 210-213 in Pondicherry 204, 211-212 Gender 78, 87, 123-129, 209 Gnanadicom, Councilman 75, 130, 177-178 Gobineau, Arthur de 24-25 Godin, Jules 33, 54, 59, 177, 179 Granboulan, Education inspector 108, 114 Guadeloupe Citizenship and rights/duties 27, 100, 140, 219 Department 221, 224 Export of labor to 30-31 Strikes 219, 224 See also Antilles, Caribbean colonies/ departments Guiana 22, 26, 140, 214, 216, 219, 221 Hass, Frédéric (Director of Home Department) 122 Hastings, Warren 32 Health and funeral pyres 89-90 and religious rituals 88-89

Gosha hospitals 87 Indian doctors 87-88 Hecquet, Emile 33, 54, 65, 135, 156 Henrique-Duluc, Louis (Deputy)/Henrique, Louis 64, 107, 164, 178-179, 181 Hérriot, Edouard 222 Hinduism Funeral pyres 40, 89-91 Hindu widows 39, 91-92, 125 Religious rituals 32, 34-35, 88-90, 248-249 Temple, access and management 134, 180, 184-186 Values and mores 37, 39, 64, 76, 91, 153, 197, 211 See also Castes Illiteracy and voting 161, 168-169, 171; see also elections Immatriculés 226; see also decolonization; Transfer treaty Indian Party 67, 153, 162, 176-181 Indochina Cochinchina 121, 142-145 Saigon 141-142, 144-145, 201 Vietnam 135, 143-144, 215 Vietnamese Constitutionalist Party 145 Interpreters 159, 161, 163, 167-171, 180, 182, 189 Karikal 28-30, 50, 54, 90, 143, 211; see also French Establishments of India Labor Activism in French Empire 216, 219-220, 223-224 Labor Activism in Pondicherry and Great Depression 211, 220 and Nationalist struggle 209-214 Mahajana Sabha Party 213-214 Outcastes and low-castes 209 Popular Front 213 Strikes 207, 209-213, 220 Textile industry 213, 220 Laicization 61, 69, 78, 82, 84, 104-108, 112, 117-118, 127, 142, 145-146, 181, 203; see also Anticlericalism Lamarck, Jean-Baptiste Neo-Lamarckianism 53, 55 Languages Arab 126 English 101, 114-116, 131, 146, 201 French 15, 100, 102, 107, 110-113, 120, 125-126, 146, 160 Tamil 111-112, 114-116, 121, 123, 126-129, 131, 146, 152, 161, 169, 200-201, 211-212 Lanrezac, Victor (Governor) 164 LaPorte, Joseph 138 LaPorte, Paul 33, 39, 44, 63-65, 75, 118, 137-138, 171; see also Ponnoutamby Law and Judiciary

249

Index

Caste affair 69, 85 Dual legal system 35, 83-86, 92 Law and order 73, 82, 133, 143, 151, 155, 182 Oath-taking 84 Personal law 61, 73, 83 See also customary laws Lemaire, Philéma 180-183, 185-187, 206 Loi Cadre (Enabling Act) 223 Madagascar Franco-Hova Wars 24n9, 136 Madras Presidency 17, 27, 40, 78, 87, 92, 131-132, 134-135, 143, 146, 205-206, 212; see also Tamil Nadu Mahé 28-29, 50; see also French Establishment in India Marriage Cross-cousin marriage 78-79 Hindu marriage 77-78, 85 Remarriages of young widows 91-92 Martin, François (Governor) 28, 76, 102 Martineau, Alfred (Governor) 164 Martinique and education 130 Citizenship and political rights 26-27, 100, 219 End of slavery 216 Export of labor to 30-31 French department 221 Strikes 219, 224 Territory 22, 214 See also Antilles, Caribbean Colonies/ Departments Métis/Metis 18, 52, 71, 124, 182, 195, 219 Military and Pariahs 135-137, 202 and personal status 133, 143, 146, 201 and renouncers 135, 137-138, 140-143 Cipayes 39, 133-136, 156, 160, 165, 182-183, 202 Cost of sending conscripts 133, 135 Recruitment 135, 144, 201 Treaty of 1815 145-146 Ministers of the Navy and Colonies/ Ministers of the Colonies Decrais, Albert 66-67, 164 Gicquel des Touches 82-83 Jauréguiberry 44, 58 Lebon, André 164 Peyron, Alexandre 164 Pothuau, Alexi 57 Mirasidar 40 Muslim 15, 26, 55, 65-66, 76, 81, 84, 101, 126, 161, 207, 217, 225 Napoleon Bonaparte 21, 25, 29, 52 Narayanassamychettiar (Councilman) 115 Nehru, Jawaharlal 214-215

Nouët, Louis (Governor) 59 Optionnaires 215; see also Renouncers; Transfer treaty Originaires National act of 28 July 1960 224 Status naturalization 26 See also Quatre Communes Outcastes and Christianity/Catholicism 39, 76, 184-186, 198, 207, 210 and education 102-103, 121-123 and elections 156, 171, 180, 182, 188-189, 210 and higher castes 13, 40, 54, 64, 74, 122, 175, 197, 200, 203, 205 and spatial location 40, 42-43, 123 See also Military and Pariahs Overseas Territories 14, 18, 25, 27, 30, 71, 142, 144, 169, 207, 221, 223 Partisan Politics Personality-based politics 62, 151, 154, 161, 175-187 Petitions and education 121, 188 and military 135-136, 188 Pierre, Gaston 112, 126, 131, 177-178, 187 Pillai, Belvandra 51 Political Institutions Colonial Council 33, 55-56, 58, 68-69 Commune 26-27, 51, 58-59, 110, 155, 158, 218 General Council 56-59, 65, 67-69, 194-195, 202-203 Local Council 33, 35, 56-59, 67-69, 100, 198 Polygamy 85-86; see also Civil Code Pondicherry Colonized colonizer 17 French East India Company 28-29, 53, 76, 195 Secondary enclave 146, 201 Subaltern colonizer 17 Sub-colony 115 See also French Establishment in India Ponnoutamby 54, 63, 73; see also LaPorte Poulain, César 80 Press Law 43-44 Quaintenne, Victor 113, 131, 166 Race 21, 24-25, 43, 55, 71, 87, 194, 204-205, 208-209, 211 Rassendren, Louis 65, 120, 171, 176-179 Renan, Ernest 51 Renouncers and naturalization 60, 64, 225 Cross-cousin marriage 78-79

250 

Republican Citizenship in French Colonial Pondicherry, 1870–1914

Harijans 226 in Cochinchina 143-145 Military service in Saigon 141-142 Renunciation 23, 27, 33, 59-61, 64n76, 79-81, 111 See also Catholics; Law and Judiciary; Optionnaires; Transfer treaty Republicanism 16, 39, 77, 81, 104, 169, 187, 198-200 Réunion Citizenship and rights/duties 26, 51, 100, 136, 140, 216, 219 Department 221 Export of labor to 30-31 Strikes 224 Richaud, Etienne (Governor) 88-89, 100, 111, 114, 126, 175 Rodier, François (Governor) 164, 169-170, 180 Sadassiva or Sadassivanaïker 68, 171, 177-178, 186-187, 196; see also Castes Saint-Domingue (Haiti) 22, 25, 52; see also Antilles; Caribbean Islands Schoebel, Charles 41 Schoelcher, Victor 53, 63, 72 Second Colonial Empire 30, 54, 135 Second Republic Voting rights 13, 26, 33, 50, 151 Second World War 78, 214, 221-223 Self-understanding 50, 92, 198 Senator of India 58, 122, 177, 179, 183-184 Senegal Quatre communes 15, 27, 51, 207, 216-219 Strikes 223 See also Diagne, Blasé; Originaires Sinnaya, Louis/Sinnaya Gnanaprégassa Modéliar, Louis 184-186 Société des Missions Etrangères in Pondicherry 65

Petit Séminaire 63, 102-103 See also Clerical-Brahmanical Party Société progressiste de l’Inde Française Mourougaissapoullé, Ponnou 107 Sandirapoullé 124-125, 127 Sonachalam, Arumbathai 53 Soudandiram (Newspaper) 212-213 Tamby/Tamby-Douressamy, Local Councilman 81-82, 126 Tamil Nadu Culture 23, 33n39, 37-39, 79, 115, 134, 159, 204, 209-212, 221, 223, 226 Region 27, 201 See also Languages; Madras Presidency Thurston, Edgar 37 Topas 41, 52, 70-72, 102-103, 195 Transfer Treaty 226; see also Immatriculés; Optionnaires Verninac Saint-Maur, de, Raymond (Governor) 37 Vinson, Julien 91 Weber, Max Sense of belonging 49-50, 57, 61, 71, 75-76, 89, 92, 100, 146, 197 Social closure 71 Women 17-18, 86-87, 91, 124-129, 146, 178, 195, 201, 210, 214, 219 World War I 13-14, 26, 33, 68, 100, 129, 132, 138, 145, 180, 209-210, 217-218, 223 World War II 78, 214, 221-223 Yanaon 28-29, 50; see also French Establishment in India Zivaratinam, Deiva 220