1

One of the most peculiar developments near the end of the Haitian Revolution was the

adoption of the name Inca and children of the Sun by Jean-Jacques Dessalines. According to

historian Thomas Madiou, Dessalines began using the name by the autumn of 1802, referring to

those who submitted to him in opposition to the forces of Leclerc (Madiou 451). However,

Dessalines dropped the Inca name after July 1803, when he began to refer to his forces as Armée

Indigène, asserting indigeneity in opposition to the French (Geggus 52). Although a number of

observers and historians have commented on this “Inca Episode” in the history of the Indigenous

Army, contextualizing it within the broader context of nationalist struggles in the Americas

demonstrates the power of Inca symbolism across much of the Americas, extending even into the

Caribbean. Rebecca Earle’s The Return of the Native: Indians and Myth-Making in Spanish

America, 1810–1930 provides a context for understanding the appeal of the Inca to the Haitian

independence movement. Thus, this brief post will endeavor to elucidate the origins of Inca

symbolism and its appeal to the people of Saint Domingue in the 18th century, and connect it to

the independence movement that led to independence in 1804. By the conclusion, hopefully

Antillean “Incas” will seem less aberrant or surprising.

First, one must determine to what extent people in Saint Domingue were aware of the

history of the Incas. Residents of the colony likely encountered the Inca through encyclopedias,

histories, and theater. The colonial newspaper, Affiches américaines, actually listed a history of

the Incas for sale in the colony on the 31st of October 1780.1 On the 17th of May 1783, the same

newspaper also listed a book entitled Les Incas as available at the Imprimerie Royale. While it is

uncertain if this is a reference to Marmontel’s Les Incas or another work, these references in the

1
An additional possible source of information on the Incas and the Spanish Conquest may have been Abbé Raynal's
Histoire philosophique et politique des établissements et du commerce des Européens dans les deux Indes.
 2

colonial press establish the availability of books on the Inca.2 Those able to read French texts,

undoubtedly mostly whites, but a small number of the population of African descent, too, could

have accessed these books through purchase, borrowing texts, or through conversation with those

who had read such works.3 Those interested in the island of Hispaniola’s indigenous past may

have also been familiar with the Incas and Peru through encyclopedias, plays, and histories,

which could have reached free people of color and slaves through a variety of avenues. For

example, Charles Arthaud, a doctor and member of the Cercle des Philadelphes at Le Cap,

authored a study of the island’s indigenous people, Recherches sur la constitution des naturels du

pays, sur leurs arts, leur industrie, et les moyens de leur subsistance.4 Arthaud and similar

philosophes were likely familiar with the Incas through their research. In addition, copies of

Voltaire’s Alzire were also listed in the press as available for consumers in a notice on April 15,

1775 at Le Cap. This latter work, we shall see, was a popular choice for stage adaptation in the

colony and likely a significant contributor to the appeal of the Incas to the Haitian

revolutionaries.

The colonial press also covered the Tupac Amaru Rebellion in Peru during the 1780s. A

major revolt led by a descendant of the Incas, Tupac Amaru was mentioned in Affiches

américaines 5 times from 1781 to 1784 (Thomson 426). While the brief articles did not

invariably provide the most detail, the reference to Tupac Amaru’s presentation of himself as an

Inca and the references to his followers as children of the Sun likely stood out to readers. Those

familiar with the Incas through encyclopedias, Voltaire’s Alzire, Marmontel’s Les Incas or other

2
Jean-François Marmontel, a friend of Voltaire, wrote a historical romance on the conquest of Peru. His work was,
as one might expect, similar to Voltaire’s on the subject of Peru, and known to some in Saint Domingue, including
one of the generous of the Indigenous Army.
3
On literacy in Saint Domingue’s people of color, see Jean Fouchard, Les marrons du syllabaire: quelques aspects
du problème de l'instruction et de l'éducation des esclaves et affranchis de Saint-Domingue.
4
An interest in the island of Hispaniola’s indigenous past was quite strong with the Cercle des Philadelphes. See
Colonialism and Science: Saint Domingue and the Old Regime by James E. McClellan III.
 3

texts would have undoubtedly been at least somewhat aware of this historical background. The

rebels may have even aroused sympathy from those in the colony who saw the Inca through the

lens of the Black Legend of Spanish cruelty and tyranny. Nonetheless, coverage of the rebels in

the 1 May 1782 article referred to the actions of Tupac Amaru’s band as “brigandages” whilst

also referring to the event as “too interesting” to not cover. One can imagine that enslaved people

and free people of color who heard the news may have been interested, too. After all, a

subjugated, oppressed people had risen in revolt, perhaps recalling to some their own racialized

subordination in the French colony. Those familiar with the Incas through books or Alzire may

have even conceptualized the Incas as captives or slaves rising against their oppressors in a way

similar to slave revolts and marronage in the colony.

The next area in which familiarity with the Incas developed was theater. Theater could

reach more people than written texts in a colonial society with low literacy rates, and audiences

likely discussed what they saw with friends, families and neighbors.5 Enslaved people were

probably exposed to this, directly or indirectly, while free people of color were sometimes

prominent actors themselves or audience members of stage productions. Indeed, according to

Fischer, “Theater appears to have been one arena where blacks, whites, and mulattoes mixed

with relative ease and where the laws governing theatrical performances in France were relaxed

long before the “liberation of theaters” in the metropolis” (Fischer 208). Theater, therefore, was a

sure way in which certain themes, messages, and ideas were bound to circulate among all of the

3 racial groups in the colony. This is precisely why Voltaire’s Peruvian-inspired play, Alzire,

likely contributed to the appeal of the Inca to the Haitian revolutionaries in 1802. Between 1765

and 1783, the play was staged at least 7 times in the colony, including performances in

Port-au-Prince, Le Cap and Saint-Marc. This suggests that the play’s plot was probably familiar
5
On theatre in Saint Domingue, see Jean Fouchard, Le théâtre à Saint-Domingue.
 4

to audiences, and certainly those familiar with the text of the work or Voltaire’s other likely

books knew of it by reputation. Since free people of color and perhaps some of the slave

population would have seen the play or at least heard about its plot, setting, and characters, Alzire

was possibly the most important source of information on the Inca Empire and Peru. Moreover,

one staging of the play included an actor, Dainville, who allegedly wore authentic costumes for

the role, suggesting audiences had a glimpse of what was believed to be Inca dress.6 As a result

of the frequency of performances of Alzire plus the availability of the play in book form to

consumers, Voltaire’s story was familiar and accessible..

The play itself, a story set in colonial Peru that pits a tyrannical governor, Guzman,

against Zamor, a cacique of Potosi and lover of Alzire, critiques the Spanish conquest and,

intriguingly, reverses the charge of barbarism against the Europeans. Zamor, believed to be dead,

returns to see Alzire and later slays Guzman, described in the text as “Zamor, our country’s great

avenger” (Voltaire 13). Despite Voltaire’s admiration for the Incas, however, the play ends with a

message of the moral redemption of Guzman. This, in turn, demonstrates to Zamor that

Christianity and the Europeans were not entirely iniquitous. In other words, Zamor, the Avenger

of the Americas, is ready to enjoy the benefits of Spanish or European civilization through the

benevolent, paternal figure of Alvarez, the father of Guzman. One can envision free people of

color in a colony like Saint Domingue imagining themselves as Zamor, ready to lead the masses

into a truly novel New World with the benefits of European civilization. The message is thus

ambiguously critical of colonialism since the new generation of indigenous elites, represented by

Alzire and Zamor, the latter presumed to convert to Christianity later, will likely seek the counsel

of Alvarez (the positive side of European civilization). If one wishes to trace the origin of this

6
“Authentic” Inca regal garb likely left quite an impression on viewers. Even if rather deviant from historically
accurate clothing, special costumes probably fueled more discussion about the play.
 5

ambiguity deeper in time, El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, whose Royal Commentaries was

well-known to French intellectuals, was the mestizo product of the Spanish conquest whose work

served as one of the foundational sources for French historical and literary production related to

Peru.7 El Inca Garcilaso, torn between the idealized version of his mother’s people and his

Spanish background and experience, indirectly influenced Alzire and how audiences in Saint

Domingue viewed the Incas.

Besides theater, news and books, familiarity with the Inca may have reached Saint

Domingue through contact with pro-independence Creoles from Spanish America in France. For

example, Franciso de Miranda, who interacted with Brissot, was already interested in the Incas

before the Haitian Revolution.8 Although Miranda did not go so far as to desire an actual Inca

ruler at the head of government, his interest in reviving the name for an independent South

American state was mirrored by other movements in South America. For instance, the Inca Plan

of 1816, in which Rio de la Plata leaders at the Congress of Tucumán actively discussed the idea

of reviving an Inca empire led by an Indian, reveals how some pro-independence leaders

seriously considered a revival of the Inca state (Earle 44). Other pro-independence writers across

South America drew on the Incas, Inca symbolism, or the idea of a hereditary monarchy led by a

titular Inca. Undoubtedly, Haiti’s use of this symbolism predated much of the South American

nationalist movements, though Francisco de Miranda may have been one of the early influences

since 1790. Of course, as Earle’s work suggests, romanticized notions of the Incas or the

pre-conquest societies as idealized groups wronged by Spanish colonialism became part of an

invented past for a creole nationalism. However, Earle tracks how this changed over time as
7
The child of a conquistador and a woman from the Inca nobility, El Inca Garcilaso wrote his history of the Incas as
an elderly man in Spain, with the help of other written sources and the manuscript of a text by Blas Valera, a Jesuit
mestizo from Peru. See The Jesuit and the Incas: The Extraordinary Life of Padre Blas Valera, S.J. by Sabine
Hyland.
8
See Hacía una historia de lo imposible by Juan Antonio Fernandez for intriguing details about Miranda’s time in
Europe and the possible flow of ideas that reached free people of color from Saint Domingue.
 6

liberals and conservatives appropriated the past of pre-colonial societies while maintaining their

own elite positions and access to power. Regardless of their lofty praise indigenous civilizations

or the metaphorical use of the Indian as a foundational figure for the nation, the direct

descendants of the indigenous peoples were usually marginalized. In Haiti, on the other hand,

where there were no natives, Creoles of varying degrees of African descent participated in a

similar discourse that privileged the elites and marginalized the bossales (or their descendants).9

In order to better understand how this process worked in the Haitian context, a closer

examination of how free people of color and black Creoles related to indigeneity is necessary.

According to Haitian historian Beauvais Lespinasse, free people of color sometimes sought

patents to be recognized as having Indian rather than African origins. However, the French

government in 1771 urged officials to not recognize these claims by free people of color

(Lespinasse 237). Nonetheless, this demonstrates how some free people of color sought to

identify with (fictitious?) indigenous ancestry rather than African to gain the same privileges of

whites.10 Intriguingly, Hilliard d’Auberteuil in the 18th century also noted the pattern of rich free

people of color claiming Amerindian origin through the Indians of Saint-Christophe in order to

gain the rights of whites (d’Auberteuil 82). While it is certainly possible that some of these

families did indeed have partial Amerindian ancestry, it is clear that the main reason these

families suddenly discovered or proclaimed it had more to do with increasing discrimination in

colonial society.11 But it may also explain why claiming indigeneity and the label of indigenous

9
Possibly fruitful comparisons could be made with the Spanish Caribbean, too. A large corpus of poems, novels,
histories and legends were connected to independence movements in Cuba, Puerto Rico and the Dominican
Republic. For an introduction to the theme of the Indian in the Spanish Caribbean, consult Jalil Sued Badillo’s "The
Theme of the Indigenous in the National Projects of the Hispanic Caribbean"in Making Alternative Histories: The
Practice of Archaeology and History in Non-Western Settings.
10
Note historian Thomas Madiou’s claim to have Amerindian ancestry through his mother’s family; see Madiou,
Autobiographie. Some affranchis were probably accurately reporting their ancestry.
11
The scholarship of John Garrigus is particularly strong on the contours of race and increasing hostility directed
against free people of color after the Seven Years War. See Before Haiti: Race and Citizenship in French
Saint-Domingue.
 7

appealed to them in the later stages of the Haitian Revolution. Free people of color, and Creoles

of African descent could easily envision themselves as the rightful heirs to the vanquished

indigenous population devastated by the Spanish conquest. After all, some of them were already

claiming Indian ancestry. It also provided an avenue to choose a common identity that united

mixed-race and black Creoles while eventually including the African-born brought to the island

against their will. For the latter, the use of indigeneity as the result of a forced relocation via the

Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade could serve the palingenesis of a new Haitian people.

Perhaps a clear example from the life of General Etienne Elie Gérin will establish this

with greater clarity. According to the third volume of historian Joseph Saint-Rémy’s history

Pétion, it was actually Gérin, the antiquaire, who first called the army in the Sud and Ouest the

“Inca Army” (Saint-Rémy 75). This testimony is contradicted by the chronology of Thomas

Madiou, who attributed the name to Dessalines and his circle. Nonetheless, descriptions of Gérin

by Ardouin and Guy-Joseph Bonnet suggest he was quite interested in the island’s past. For

instance, in the 6th volume of Beaubrun Ardouin’s monumental history, Ardouin repeats an

anecdote he heard from Bonnet. Apparently, some time after the assassination of Dessalines,

Gérin actually proposed remodeling Haiti as a caciquat, or cacicazgo, like the indigenous polities

of the island in precolonial times (Ardouin 447). This political system would have established a

supreme cacique with lesser caciques serving in the departments or provinces. Of course, the

nobility would be created by the children of the signers of the Haitian Act of Independence. A

similar story is likely recounted in Guy-Joseph Bonnet’s memoirs, in a critical discussion of

Gérin. Again, he allegedly wanted to create a “superior cacique” in the constitution as the head

of government (Bonnet 154). Saint-Rémy likewise reported a few more details on Gérin in the

5th tome of Pétion et Haïti: étude monographique et historique. While contrasting him and
 8

Pétion, he described the former as someone with a deep education and interest in the “Taino”

indigenous population of the island. He was also said to have been inspired by Marmontel’s Les

Incas when, in 1802, he began calling his army in the Sud and part of the Ouest the “Inca Army.”

Last, but certainly not least, Gérin was interested in composing a Haitian Creole grammaire for

use in education (Saint-Rémy 2).12 Though the idea of establishing a new state as a caciquat was

rather different from the title of Incas Gérin also used during the Revolution, it illustrates how

even after the assassination of Dessalines, some still looked to indigenous, precolonial societies

as a model for a free state.13 Indeed, Gérin and some of the affranchis who had been to France

may have even heard of Jean-Baptiste Picquenard’s novel that proposed a Peruvian origin of the

“Taino” (Geggus 52). It is difficult to determine to what extent Picquenard’s novel would have

influenced this discourse of indigeneity and the Incas in the last few years of the Haitian

Revolution.14 But one can easily imagine someone like Gérin, seeing a link between Haiti’s

indigenous population and Peru, championing the use of the name Inca for the Indigenous Army.

Furthermore, allusions to the Inca abound in subsequent literature of Haiti. Voyage dans

le nord d'Hayti by Hérard Dumesle even compared Vincent Ogé to Manco-Capack, who brought

light to the ancient peoples of the Americas (Dumesle 75). This comparison to the founder of the

Inca dynasty is no coincidence. Though published in 1824, Dumesle’s work clearly demonstrated

an ongoing appeal of the Incas to Haitian readers well into the 19th century. Privileging Ogé

rather than, say, an enslaved person, was also significant. Centering affranchis who were initially

12
Sadly, for posterity’s sake, Gérin’s interests in promoting Haitian Creole in education were not taken seriously by
his contemporaries. Such a move, and so early in Haitian independence, could have led to higher literacy rates,
assuming schools were actually established and funded.
13
Early 19th century Haitian understandings of “Taino” chiefdoms of the precolonial era likely drew from references
to it by Charlevoix, Moreau de Saint–Méry and encyclopedias. One wonders if Gérin’s plan for the nobility created
from the families of the signers of the Act of Independence was designed to recreate the so-called nitaino status.
14
Picquenard’s novel, Zoflora ou la bonne négresse, anecdote coloniale, may have had only a very limited
circulation in Saint Domingue. Nonetheless, though a novel, the author posited a Peruvian origin of the “Taino”
while noting similarities in color, moeurs, and religions.
 9

only fighting for their rights rather than slaves, Dumesle nonetheless reveals an affiliation with

the Incas as an elite group who brought civilization or enlightenment to the Andes. Dumesle

wanted to depict Ogé and his class as the ones who paved the road for a great, future society in

which, to no surprise, their own privileges and power were not to be questioned.15 In addition to

Dumesle, other works by Haitian authors of the 19th century allude to the Incas. For example, a

hymne haytienne entitled “Quoi? Tu te tais Peuple Indigène!” translated in Poetry of Haitian

Independence, alludes to Haitians as children of the Sun while praising Dessalines (2).16

Undoubtedly, Dessalines continued to welcome comparisons to the Incas despite renaming his

army in 1803. Another tract, Baron de Vastey’s Le système colonial dévoilé, cites El Inca

Garcilaso on its first page as a reference for the Spanish conquest of Peru, followed by a brief

overview of the indigenous cacicazgos of Haiti (de Vastey 1).17 Undeniably, Haitians aware of

the history of the Americas were familiar with the Incas as a great civilization destroyed by

Spanish avarice and cruelty, which they compared to French rapacity and inhumane exploitation

of enslaved people and free people of color in Haiti.

Consequently, the salience of the Incas to the Haitian revolutionaries was an established

and meaningful symbol of independence. Indeed, even outsiders were struck by its use in Haiti.

A clear example can be seen in the work of Jean Abeille, the author of Essai sur nos colonies, et

sur le rétablissement de Saint Domingue, ou considérations sur leur législation, administration,

15
David Nicholls has aroused much debate about the so-called “mulatto legend” of Haitian history he attributed to
Beaubrun Ardouin and other historians of 19th century Haiti. But this discourse of the Haitian people as not “ready”
for republican governance or “civilization” and requiring elite tutelage has deeper roots in the Haitian Revolution.
For views of 19th century Haitians about Africa and the “Guinean” customs seen as retrograde, Thomas Madiou’s
Histoire d'Haiti is illustrative.
16
Additional poems are worthy of mention here, but the symbolic references to the Sun in early Haitian poetry were
not always drawing on Inca symbolism.
17
More could be said about the problematic ways in which Baron de Vastey wrote about indigenous peoples of the
Americas. Despite his familiarity with El Inca Garcilaso, in another work, Réflexions sur une lettre de Mazères, he
incorrectly associated khipu with Mexico. In his desire to defend Africa and the black race as not entirely
uncivilized, he boldly ranked Africans as more civilized than the Indians of the Americas.
 10

commerce et agriculture, published in 1805. Abeille, writing in favor of the French reconquest,

actually referred to Haitians as “prétendus incas” (Abeille 17). In Abeille’s view, the leaders of

independent Haiti were tyrants and a moral outrage, yet one notes how the Inca appellation of the

Haitian leaders was still used. Another source, a report from 1804, even alluded to Dessalines as

“jefe de la casa de los Incas” (AGI ESTADO, leg 68, exp 3).18 Haitian assertions of indigeneity

and the Inca title were clearly understood by French and European observers, who would have

shared this broader Atlantic World conceptualization of the Incas. For Abeille, a former planter

in Saint Domingue, the idea of Dessalines as an Inca ruling an “empire of liberty” was anathema,

hence his description of it as embodying the opposite of the virtues attributed to the Incas in the

idealized French historical and literary production on Peru.

The continued reference to Dessalines and early Haiti as Incas, plus ongoing Haitian

interest in the same affiliation, express a Haitian pattern in a general trend of Creole nationalism

in the 19th century. While in the case of Haiti, there were few or no “Taino” left, the powerful

and widespread appeal of the Inca Empire and its symbolism in the Atlantic World resonated in

the Antilles.19 Thus, even in a land without a recognized, surviving indigenous people, the image

of the “Indian” and its romanticized Inca incarnation, appealed to those desirous of

independence. Unsurprisingly, free people of color may have been more influenced by the Inca

trope, but the use of the Inca title by Dessalines even after 1803 attests to its broad appeal. Like

their creole patriot counterparts in the South American republics, the future Haitian elite

borrowed from a shared corpus of tropes, symbols and meaning to “avenge the Americas.”

18
The same source also described Dessalines as “General of Mexico.” If so, then the hemispheric dimensions of
Dessalines’ claim to be the Avenger of the Americas was rhetorically promoted by this.
19
Although we respect Taino revivalist movements, the evidence for Saint Domingue indicates a very small
presence of “Amerindian” peoples in the French colony. The percentage of that group that may have, to some
degree, been descendants of the indigenous population of the island, was likely an even smaller number. Those
looking for more evidence of Hispaniola’s indigenous people in this period (18th century) are more likely to find
traces of it in the Spanish colony.
 11

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