A scholar researches descendants of Creole émigrés who
fled racial prejudice
by Mary Gehman
Published in Louisiana Cultural Vistas,winter 2001-2002.
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The family trees of many people in Louisiana tend to have missing branches.
There may be a baptism certificate for a great-great-uncle at the local Catholic church,
perhaps a marriage certificate later and a deed to property and records of one or two
children-but there the line ends. No one knows what happened to this distant relative and
his heirs. An elderly relative might vaguely remember hearing that long ago many
acquaintances migrated to Mexico while others shipped out for France or Haiti, if they had
other family residing there.
Little if anything has ever been written on these elusive émigrés. They
lost all contact with their families in Louisiana. Their descendants' names remain blank
lines on genealogical charts, popular today with a new generation researching ancestral
history. This is especially true for many Creoles who descended from free people of color -
popularly called "les gens de couleur libre."
Mixed with French, Spanish, African, Indian or even German, Irish, or
Italian bloodlines, the free people of color lived a tenuous existence in a caste-like
system of antebellum Louisiana divided among three groups: whites in the upper caste, black
slaves in the lower, and the free people of color in between. These Creoles were free to
move about as they pleased, conduct commerce and trade, buy and sell property - including
real estate and slaves - as well as serve in the militia and attend cathedral, opera,
theater, and Free Masons meetings. Political office and the vote, however, were denied, and
they could not intermarry with whites.
In the 1850s, as abolitionists infiltrated Louisiana's churches and social
institutions with the message of serious conflict between North and South, free people of
color became increasingly more of a liability to Louisiana's white population. Free people
of color were generally well to do, well educated, and dominated trades such as leather
working, iron making, and cigar rolling. They also had their own journalists, writers,
educators and orators. They owned significant holdings in real estate, invested heavily in
local banks, and lent money to many whites. But their financial and social clout was about
to change. |
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Fearing an alliance between free people of color and rebellious slaves,
Louisiana's whites, who were then a minority, attempted to reassert their authority and
limit freedoms once taken for granted among free blacks. New regulations required free
people of color to register with local municipal officers so that their numbers, locations,
and professions could be monitored. It became illegal for them to assemble in groups of more
than a few people and they were not allowed to leave Louisiana without permission. A white
sponsor was required whenever they conducted business and they were obligated to carry
papers proving their free status at all times. As if these restrictions were not humiliating
enough, free blacks now had to observe the 9 p.m. curfew imposed on slaves.
Understandably, leaders among the free people of color were outraged by
these restrictions. In response, many began liquidating their real estate and business
holdings and transferring the proceeds to foreign banks. Free blacks with young families and
long futures ahead of them saw greater opportunity beyond the borders of Louisiana and
prepared to leave. |
Mexico: A Land of Opportunity
One of the few written accounts of this migration is mentioned by Rudoiphe Lucien Desdunes, a
free man of color, in his book Nos Hommes et notre Histoire published in 1911: "[In 1855]
Mr. [Lolo] Mansion generously donated a part of his fortune for the relief of our people, and a
number of them profited by his generosity, escaping the hardships of prejudice. Mexico and Haiti
opened their doors to them."
The
New Orleans Daily Delta newspaper of January 15, 1860, ran an article on the "exodus of free
persons for Mexico and Haiti." The 1994 book, Creoles of Color in the Bayou Country, by Carl
A. Brasseaux and others, states that in 1870 "many... Opelousas and Attakapas expatriates
chose to join the free black colony near Veracruz. Some became merchants, engaging in trade with
New Orleans."
It is well established that many such people went to Mexico, but there
is little if any information about what part of Mexico they settled in, what conditions were like
for them in a foreign land, or whether or not they retained their Louisiana culture and French
language. Could there really be a Louisiana Creole community in Mexico? A thorough search of a
book on black history in Mexico, La Poblacion Negra de Mexico (The Black Population of Mexico) by
Gonzalo Aguirre Beltran, along with his various other works on the subject, makes no reference to
free blacks from Louisiana.
Answers must lie then in primary sources: civil and church records interviews
with Mexicans who have Louisiana roots, and observations about their culture and cuisine. That is
a project I have undertaken, making several trips to Mexico, collecting data from national and
regional records, and meeting with Mexicans who are aware that their ancestors came from
Louisiana but with no knowledge as to why. They have no connection to distant cousins still
residing in the state.
The stories of these Mexican-Creole descendants are poignant, laced
with myths and cobbled together from oral histories with a need to recreate a past not clearly
conveyed by their great-grandparents. Their ancestors, émigrés from persecution, left a painful
situation in the United States in hopes of giving their children a new life free from racial
tension and inferiority. Some descendants believe their Louisiana ancestors fought in the French
Army during the invasion of Mexico under the self-appointed emperor Maximilian (1862-1867),
although no proof exists; others insist the lure of Mexico was strictly economic. They attribute
the cutting of all ties with family in the United States to poor communication via letters or
expensive travel of that era. Some assume the whole family moved, leaving behind no relatives. A
few mention aunts or uncles who moved to California but rarely wrote or visited thereafter.
There are stories of Mexican land grants signed by President Benito
Juarez, or permits to leave the United States signed by Abraham Lincoln, but these exist in
memory, not fact. Louisiana's offspring in Mexico are today fully acculturated Mexicans, many
having married local people of Spanish or Italian descent. Because Mexicans use the surnames of
both their mother and father, in that order, one hears among them the combination of one French
and one Spanish surname. Jose Olivier Garcia, for example, which indicates a mother from
Louisiana and a father from Mexico. The families' facial features, hair, and skin tone reflect
the same wide range of racial and ethnic mixes seen in Louisiana.
Fortunately, verified information about Louisiana émigrés to Mexico does exist
in church and civil records. Vestiges of Louisiana Creole heritage remain, such as the
cultivating of okra and use of it in gumbo,
above-ground
cemeteries, and family reunions that reinforce familial ties. Though the French language is no
longer spoken, there is still pride in having come from French stock. Most are curious about
their Louisiana history and would like to reestablish ties with family in the state. They are
unaware of the role that race played in their ancestors' decision to leave their homeland. They
are somewhat confused as to why race continues to separate people in Louisiana and why their
American relatives, whose heritage is predominantly European, would be identified as African
Americans.
Defining Creole
The term Creole is difficult for this community to associate with themselves since Creoles in
Mexico no longer exist. Contrary to the Louisiana definition of Creole as anyone born in the
colony, historically Mexican Creoles were children or grandchildren of the Spaniards sent by the
king of Spain to rule Mexico during its nearly three centuries as a Spanish colony. These Creoles
were a ruling and landowning class slightly below that of the Peninsulares, the king's appointees
from Spain, and vastly superior to the more common mestizos, the combination of Spanish, black,
Indian, or any other ethnicity In modern Mexico, the term Creole is relegated to historical
documents. In that sense, even the title of this article would likely be misunderstood in Mexico
today.
Records in Mexico and information imparted by the families reveal a history of
migration back and forth from Louisiana by several different groups in direct response to
politics of the time. The first wave left Louisiana in the late 1850s to settle along Mexico's
Gulf coast between the port cities of Tampico and Veracruz. Some returned after the Civil War
when Reconstruction eased the plight of free people of color. The second wave of migration to
Mexico - often the children of the previous generation - occurred in the 1880s through the end of
the 19th century as racial segregation became institutionalized in Louisiana.
Both waves of migration had two distinct components: urban and rural. In the
cities of Tampico and Veracruz, Louisiana's Creoles who were already artisans and merchants,
previously well established in New Orleans, set up bakeries, shoe factories, tailoring shops, and
restaurants, or found employment as carpenters,
construction workers, and iron workers. Others became professionals:
teachers, musicians, engineers, and import-exporters.
In contrast, the rural component settled in the fertile coastal areas of the
state of Veracruz, approximately 100 miles north of the city of Veracruz. There the descendants
of cattlemen, ranchers, and farmers from the Louisiana parishes of St. Landry, St. Martin, and
St. Mary now make their home. They continue to farm large haciendas on the original homesteads of
San Antonio, Bella Vista, Coronado, Barrilles, and Santa Rosa while their homes are in the nearby
villages of Papantla, Cabezas (now renamed Gutierrez Zamora), Tecolutla, and Tuxpan. Where once
their forefathers cultivated sugar cane, tobacco, and cattle-as they had in Louisiana-the farms
today are primarily planted in orange groves for the lucrative citrus concentrate market abroad.
Free from prejudice
Emigration to Mexico was a weighty but necessary decision. Few Louisiana expatriates left any
written indication of their feelings regarding the move. But in a letter obtained from a family
in New Orleans, Isidore Bordenave, from the city of Gutierrez Zamora, Mexico, wrote on Sept. 20,
1909, to his sister-in-law, Mrs. S. Bordenave, back home in Louisiana, what must have been the
sentiments of many. Referring to his recent visit to the family in New Orleans, he wrote, "I
still enjoy the company of you all. I am deprived of it, but at the same time it cannot be
helped. New Orleans is a dead city for me. Here I enjoy life-in a desert, it's true, but life
without any of the foolishness that makes the American Republic a dark ship... Those few days I
have spent with you all have been very pleasant, but, at the same time, to see that I was unable,
due to prejudice, to act as I would here, bled my heart and left a dark veil on the good time
enjoyed." Bordenave died and was buried in Gutierrez Zamora in 1923.
Transportation to and within Mexico was by water. Passenger lists from ships of
the time show dozens of young men, some married with one or two children, leaving together from
New Orleans or the Port of St. Mary Parish. There was already a well established trade route
between New Orleans, Tampico, Veracruz, and Havana with stops at smaller ports in between. Some
of the newcomers had business ties with Mexico and Cuba which doubtlessly helped them settle into
their new home country with ease.
Others bought into settlement arrangements operated by men from Louisiana who
brokered land deals. Many émigrés retained their U.S. citizenship and traveled back and forth
in the early years between Mexico, Cuba, and Louisiana for business and personal reasons. Second
and third generations, however, lost all contact with their Louisiana relatives.
The Eureka Colony is an example of a brokered land deal. In 1859, Louis Nelson
Foucher, a well known free man of color from New Orleans who had distinguished himself in
architecture and mathematics, contracted with a wealthy Mexican family to purchase a large area
of fertile farmland with access to the Panuco River south of Tampico. There he settled, along
with 100 families from New Orleans. The project was short lived since sketchy records indicate
that Eureka Colony burned in 1861 and that the families who were to move there instead relocated
to Tampico.
Of interest to musicologists is the family of Thomas Marcos Tio, a musician and
teacher from New Orleans who was among the settlers ot Eureka Colony. His sons, Louis and Lorenzo
Tio, were born and raised in Tampico. In 1877 Mrs. Tio and the children moved back to New Orleans
where Louis and Lorenzo, dubbed by locals as "the Mexicans," were clarinetists. They
worked as musical arrangers in marching bands and minstrel shows and eventually figured
prominently in the development of jazz. Their father remained in Tampico until his death in 1881.
The migration of free people of color from Louisiana to Mexico in large numbers
in the late 1850s was very possibly due in part to the influence of the wildly popular president
of Mexico at the time, Benito Juarez (1806-1872). Although no direct link can be documented thus
far, people in Mexico are well aware that Juarez spent 18 months in political exile in New
Orleans from December 1853 to June 1855,
rolling cigars in the French Quarter to make
ends meet. He associated openly with free men of color. It is also known that he took room and
board at the home of a free woman of color on Royal Street and was nursed - probably by her -
through a bout of yellow fever in 1854.
A full-blooded Indian, Juarez suffered racial discrimination during his New
Orleans stay. Certainly he was aware of the ever more precarious position of the free blacks in
the city and very likely offered to send for them once he returned to Mexico. Along with other
renegade Mexican politicos headquartered in New Orleans at the time - including Melchor Ocampo
and Guillermo Prieto - Juarez risked returning to his homeland to shape a new constitution and
lead the chaotic government in 1857. He saw the need for hardworking, stable families, like the
ones he had met in New Orleans, to settle the country. Except for the interruption of the Juarez
tenure by French military occupation between 1862 and 1867, Louisiana families of color were
welcomed by Mexican leaders. There is no evidence that they participated in the military or
government under Juarez but some descendants recall talk of land grants and business associations
with the Juarez regime.
One significant result of research into Louisiana's exiles in Mexico has been the
discovery of direct descendants of Henriette Delille, the free woman of color who founded an
order of nuns of African descent, the Sisters of the Holy Family, in New Orleans in 1846. Delille
is currently under consideration for canonization at the Vatican. Her great-nephew Bernard
Vincent, and his wife Celeste Simms, left Opelousas, Louisiana, with their two young children in
1891 for Cabezas, Mexico, where they prospered and added another 11 children to their family. Two
granddaughters of Bernard Vincent and one great-granddaughter - who bears a striking physical
resemblance to Delille - visited the Sisters at their convent in New Orleans in 1999 to share
their family's history, thus becoming the first Delille relatives to be discovered by the order.
These Mexican-Louisiana Creoles are among many who were
delighted to make contact with their original heritage and to discover that there are still
people with their names and faces here. They tell of grandparents and great-grandparents who
struggled with the language, customs, and frontier conditions of Mexico in the early years. They
survived, their children assimilated with the local population, and today they are thriving. In
some communities they have retained their close family connections, serving as godparents to each
other's newborns, visiting family tombs on All Saints Day, and gathering at a local restaurant
run by Dona Julia Pinta, a Mexican equivalent of Leah Chase's "Dooky Chase" restaurant
in New Orleans. They ask, would their Louisiana relatives welcome them? Would the two sides have
anything in common after years of separation? To see their ready smiles and animated
conversations, there is no doubt they would. 
Mary Gehman is an assistant professor of English at Delgado Community
College in New Orleans. Her scholarship and research has resulted in two books, Women and
New Orleans and The Free People of Color of New Orleans. She continues her
study of the Creole émigrés to Mexico.
Reprinted with permission of the Louisiana
Endowment for the Humanities