By Sam Remie, Bart van Duijvenbode and Emma Zijp

I. Introduction

This data story will analyse in which ways ethnicity played a role in the ownership of enslaved people in the urban environment of Paramaribo in the period 1837-1846, and additionally, how this expressed itself spatially and temporally within the confines of the city. The focus on Paramaribo was chosen as enslaved people within an urban setting have often been ignored in the historiography, with the Atlantic slavery on the plantation being the central topic of research. On top of that, it gives the opportunity to analyse an overlooked group of slave owners: non-white enslavers (4, pp. 12). This group is interesting because it enables us to discern the particularities of ethnicity by comparing the black and mixed communities. To look at the role of ethnicity in the practice of slave ownership, this data story will be using the Ward Register, which provides information on individual citizens as well as enslaved people living in the different districts of the Surinamese capital between 1828 and 1847 (2).

Suriname was colonised by the Dutch Republic in 1667, and soon after, Paramaribo, its capital, became the administrative and commercial centre of the colony (6, pp. 100). Paramaribo was the only urban area of the colony and grew strongly in the late 18th and early 19th century, from 1.881 citizens in 1762 to 15.510 in 1862 (5, pp. 43). This population growth resulted in the division of the city in different districts, for the first time in 1828, with the arrival of districts (wijken) A, B, C and D, and again in 1837, with districts E and F and the two outer districts (buitenwijken). Alongside the general growth of the city of Paramaribo, one group in particular expanded rapidly: free non-white citizens. From the beginning of the 19th century, they had become the biggest population in the Surinamese capital (5, pp. 26). With the spread of the city, the local colonial government needed new forms of registration – besides civil registration – to be able to fully govern these different districts, and consequently, the Ward Register was set up. For each plot in the city, the names, ages, occupation, and religious affiliation were written down for the heads of the households. From 1837 on, the register also included the number of enslaved people living on an address and some of their characteristics as well: sex, racial category (either black or mixed), and their age, which was registered as either adult or child with the age of 14 as the cut-off point. This registration is a rich source of history and enables us to study the role of ethnicity within the confines of Paramaribo (6, pp. 101-102).

The city plan of the Surinamese capital was characterised by both racial concentration and racial micro-segregation in the researched period (3, pp. 243-244). On the one hand, this meant that the ethnically mixed population lived all over the city, but some areas were mainly populated by one of the three main groups –white, mixed and black– which will be discussed in this data story. In general, the white community had mostly settled near Fort Zeelandia, i.e. district A and the first outer district. The free non-white community primarily lived in the southwest districts, E and F. These two districts were often referred to as Frimangron (“free man’s ground”), as it was a piece of land that had historically been inhabited by formerly enslaved people (6, pp. 101-102). On the other hand, plots of land were often inhabited by both slave owners and enslaved people. Enslavers lived in their houses at the streetside of the plot, while the enslaved people lived on the back of the plot in shacks (4, pp. 84). So while there was no general racial segregation, there were certain patterns in racial distribution across the city.

Slavery in Paramaribo took many forms. The enslaved were used for domestic labour, but were also often rented out for various tasks, such as carpentry, dock work or selling goods. Some enslaved would be free in their decision of labour, but would have to pay their enslaver a fixed rate (4, pp. 86). While this could create income for the enslaved, it didn’t guarantee freedom in the long-term, as the Dutch colonial system didn’t allow for enslaved people to purchase their own freedom. Instead, manumission would happen through a proposal of a free person to the Council of Policy (Raad van Politie) or by testimony of the enslaver. There was also an unregistered form of manumission, named piki-nyan, where enslavers had given the enslaved their freedom, while remaining registered as enslaved (4, pp. 128). Even if formally manumitted, the formerly enslaved would still remain tied to their former enslaver through their last name and the obligation to help them in the event of economic hardship (4, pp. 48-49). The slavery-freedom binary should thus be approached with caution.