Abolishing the Slave Trade
January 1787, Central America. Whether chaos engulfed Europe or not, France dispatched a massive fleet to Louisiana. The expedition alone cost a staggering twenty million francs.
"This is Saint-Domingue, our midway port of call. It's also where we record colonial achievements. The final destination for our first wave of settlers is the Yucatán Peninsula. The main mission is to push down to the Isthmus of Panama. The Osa Peninsula marks our territory, so we must not encroach on Spanish lands."
To reach the Yucatán, they chose the French Caribbean colony of Saint-Domingue—present-day Haiti—as their stopover.
"Hmm? That's an awfully large fleet for tax collectors."
The plantation owners of Saint-Domingue eyed the unannounced armada from the homeland with suspicion.
"You've had a hard journey. Here to collect taxes? I was planning to head to the governor's office this week anyway."
The grand landowners, the Grands Blancs, and the petty landowners, the Petits Blancs, anxiously wondered if they'd been caught in some infraction, yet still welcomed the homeland's settlers and officials.
"After a month at sea, my body's aching all over. Ah, are you the local landowners?"
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
The planters perked up subtly at the visitors from the expedition and bureaucracy. Even conservatively, it meant over three hundred mid-sized ships, around a hundred thousand settlers, and thousands of officials descending on the colony all at once—a clear sign that the homeland's attention had shifted to the colonies.
The grand landowners dreamed of swelling their fortunes and honors through the homeland's new ventures, while the petty ones hoped to rise to the ranks of the elite.
"His Majesty has ordered the colonization of the colonies. You know about the cession of New Spain a few years back, right? We're here to develop it."
"Ha ha, well done. You'll be stopping here often from now on, then."
The coastal planters inwardly cheered at the news. Colonizing Louisiana meant using Saint-Domingue as a logistics hub or transit point.
"Yes, exactly. And the homeland's colonial policy has changed as well."
"Colonial policy?"
The landowners tensed at the official's words. A shift in colonial policy meant changes to the rules of plantation management.
It could mean levying the costs of colonization on local landowners, or alterations to crop procurement policies. Just a few years prior, a sudden change in military uniform colors had cratered the indigo industry, after all.
"There will be major changes to the slave system."
"Wait. That means..."
And as they feared, the rules of colonial plantation management were indeed changing.
"Commissaire, is this real?"
"Yes, it is. The governor-general's ordinance will come down next month."
And those rules had to be followed without question.
"Sigh... You can't change it, can you, Commissaire?"
"No. It's the homeland's will—you must comply. I'll take my leave, then."
The landowners grumbled but obeyed the homeland's directives without resistance. Even the most influential grand planters lacked the courage to defy a fleet of hundreds of ships and their escorts staring them down.
"They're dead serious. The colonial economy's going to tank."
"The papers complained about excessive trade surpluses, but who knew they'd fix it like this? Still, it's about time to abolish slavery."
The landowners could only complain; they dared not resist the homeland's course.
"At least we heard it early. One month until emancipation... We've got to figure out how to keep the plantations running. Ha..."
They could only prepare for the shifting tides.
"Master, I've brought your tea."
"Mm."
But where there are many ears, rumors spread.
"Did you hear? They're abolishing slavery."
"Don't lie."
"Then what's with all those hundreds of ships?"
"Hmph."
From the landowner's valet to the plantation slaves, and from those slaves to the ones on neighboring farms. It took less than a week for word of the slave system's abolition to reach Saint-Domingue's 450,000 slaves.
"In my thirty-eight years, I've heard emancipation rumors 8.6 million times. Don't get your hopes up—do your job."
But no one got excited.
"It's real this time!"
"Hey, César, quit slacking and harvest that sugarcane."
Slave emancipation rumors had circulated during unstable politics in the homeland, stable politics, victories in war, and even times of utter boredom. It was old bait, stale as yesterday's bread.
The colony's slaves dismissed it as the exaggerated tale of some overeager valet thrilled by the colonization fleet.
But this time, things were a bit different.
"Why's the master acting so strange?"
"Beats me."
The white landowners were bustling about, lobbying furiously.
Especially the middling planters—neither grand nor petty—who held 40 to 50 slaves. They were the most aggressive.
They were the class that had inherited land and slaves from their forebears and slowly expanded over a century or two.
"Oh, just leave it there. I must enact the solemn edict."
"Come on, don't be like that. You work so hard for the crown—accept my humble token."
"Heh heh, you rascal."
Their personal wealth was substantial but insignificant to the state.
Yet these middling planters controlled 30 percent of Saint-Domingue's plantations—and about 100,000 slaves.
"Governor, we've received fifteen gold bars today alone. That's 500,000 francs."
"Hmph. What are they thinking? As if bribing a Commissaire with gold will sway the homeland's policy. Confiscate half for now. Eight should suffice."
Their small tokens added up to a lobbying sum that couldn't be ignored.
"Commissaire, the law is the law, whatever it may be. Announce the slave trade ban as scheduled."
And so the "slave trade ban" edict was proclaimed.
"Slave trade ban? Wasn't it abolition of slavery?"
Everyone in Saint-Domingue was baffled when the edict dropped. As far as they knew, the February 1787 decree was to be full emancipation.
"Commissaire, why did abolition of slavery turn into a slave trade ban?"
But it had all been a rumor.
"Abolition? When did I say that? I said there would be major changes to the slave system."
The message had warped in transmission—from Commissaire to landowner, landowner to valet, valet to slave. A classic mid-level bureaucrat's euphemistic phrasing had spawned the disaster.
"You misunderstood. In any case, as of now, slave trading is illegal in France. If you need more labor, hire workers."
The Commissaire casually corrected their misconception and returned to the governor's office.
But that alone couldn't quell the chaos in Saint-Domingue.
"Wait, this is actually happening?"
The planters who'd lobbied hard convinced themselves their efforts had worked.
"I wish it'd been full abolition, but... hm. Kinda disappointing."
The slaves, who'd only heard abolition rumors, couldn't emotionally accept the mere trade ban.
"Mars, this edict isn't so bad. Marriage is free now, and kids born from here on will be free citizens."
"It's good, but..."
Even with revisions to the slave code—Code Noir—that bordered on banning corporal punishment, bans on sales, freedom to love, and shortened work hours, the slaves felt an odd sense of betrayal.
"Doesn't sit right."
Though it was the first step toward emancipation, the slaves were disappointed by the gradualism.
"Still better than the old days. César, let's go pick tobacco."
Of course, feeling dissatisfied didn't mean they could do anything about it.
But unlike the slaves, some did have options.
"Argh, damn it!!"
The Petits Blancs, petty landowners. Specifically, the hasty ones who'd jumped the gun and freed slaves based on abolition rumors, anticipating a shift to wage labor.
They'd emancipated to spread good PR ahead of hiring workers, but with only a trade ban—not abolition—they were left holding the bag.
They couldn't resurrect the dead, nor re-enslave the freed.
"Uh, master—no, boss. What do we do now?"
"...Room and board, six sols a week."
They were less than 1 percent of French colonial planters, but their existence mattered.
Having lost all their slaves, they schemed to maximize the advantages of laborer plantations.
"Wage laborers... more profitable than I thought."
In the end, they learned just how inefficient slave plantations were—and how efficient wage-labor ones could be.
"Slight losses in winter. They drop like flies during harvest, but factoring in costs, it's not bad."
For instance, under the Code Noir, even "low-productivity" slaves couldn't be easily dismissed.
But laborers? Fire them, plain and simple.
"Boss, the accountant here. There are tax dodges with laborers—want to hear?"
"Let's hear it."
Beyond that, slaves incurred property taxes, but farm employees qualified for Louis XVI's tax reforms: deductions, income credits.
"If you're borderline on income brackets, mass-hire laborers. Accountant, keep this between us."
In under a month, they'd extracted full data on the abolition policy experiment and prepped to maximize profits.
"The moment emancipation hits, we'll be grand landowners."
Those who treated laborers like slaves now eagerly awaited true emancipation.