by Julie Greene
After confronting strikes over food, officials resolved to improve food preparation and delivery. It took more than a year, but the ICC created government kitchens where West Indians could get better food. Officials also built a silver section of the commissary where West Indians could buy supplies and cook them on their own. The ICC began importing large quantities of sweet potatoes, yams, and codfish from Barbados for cooking in the kitchens, and importing items like jam—of which West Indians were said to be very fond—from England for the commissaries. Still, food supply remained problematic. In 1907 the reformer Gertrude Beeks charged that men were getting dysentery from bad food in government cafeterias. Officials denied her charge but admitted that complaints about the lack of variety and the poor cooking were widespread.51 A representative from the Bible Society of Barbados visited the isthmus and tried to help officials understand why the laborers shunned government food: “He said the men live on two and frequently only one meal a day in their native country, and that they considered it a sinful waste for a man to pay 30 cents a day for meals when he did not want them and when they could live upon a little sugar cane costing from 1 to 2 cents.” But officials would have profited more from listening to their West Indian laborers. John Butcher, who worked for years in the Canal Zone as a plumber’s helper, eloquently suggested why so many avoided government food: “a meal of cooked rice which was hard enough to shoot deers, sauce spread all over the rice, and a slab of meat which many men either spent an hour trying to chew or eventually threw away because it was too hard. Along with our rice and meat each one was handed a loaf of bread which seemed so tasty with our metal cup of coffee.” The men also objected to the fact that there were no chairs or tables as there were for white workers—West Indians either had to sit on the ground or remain standing to eat their meal. When rainstorms hit at mealtime, men scrambled to find shelter, seeking a spot under buildings when possible.52
Chief engineer Wallace concluded: “My experience with … [West Indians] has been that, as a rule, you can not coerce them very much. They know what food they want, and what they can get the most benefit out of.”53 The government’s inability to coerce West Indians was evidenced in reactions to housing conditions as well. Indeed, housing and food were closely linked, just as both were inextricably bound with dissatisfaction over working conditions. Like their gold counterparts, silver employees received free housing from the government. For some, however, home was a boxcar. Those more fortunate lived in cramped, damp, and dark rooms that lacked privacy or toilet facilities, filled with iron cots covered with canvas. Many spent time outdoors when weather allowed. Others might lounge on their cots during off hours, or sit about on boxes playing cards.54 West Indians living in the labor camps spent considerable time finding ways to navigate around the ICC’s infamous vagrancy laws. They despised the Zone policemen who trolled through the camps, interrogating men who lacked a doctor’s note or other excuse. Those who wanted to miss a day of work had to leave and hide out in a Chinese shop, head into the jungle, or face arrest and possible imprisonment.55
In 1907 officials added another complication by deciding that only laborers who purchased meal tickets could live in government housing. Theodore Shonts, the chairman of the ICC, denounced West Indians for their “desire to indulge in eatables less suited to their physical needs, and to gratify other desires.” His and other officials’ reasoning was that men who ate a solid, nutritious meal would work better. Economic efficiency was also on their minds; West Indian cafeterias were losing money because so few workers were buying meal tickets. The officials installed watchmen in the labor camps, placing them on duty night and day to require that men show their meal tickets, which would prove they had a right to be in the camp. The numbers of those living in the free housing quickly plunged. In November 1907 nearly half of all West Indian employees ( just under twelve thousand men) lived in government housing. One year later the number had dipped to seventy-five hundred as West Indians voted with their feet. The most precipitous decline occurred after chief engineer Goethals ordered on September 1, 1908, that the requirement that West Indians show a meal ticket in order to sleep in quarters be strictly enforced. Officials hoped this would result in many more men eating government meals, but, they lamented, “the results show it had the opposite effect. As soon as it was enforced, about 1600 of the laborers went into the ‘bush’ altogether, neither eating nor sleeping in Commission houses.” Meal tickets cost twenty-seven to thirty cents a day—a huge sum when most laborers made only ten cents an hour. Even for palatable food this would seem a lot, but West Indians found it insulting to pay such money for intolerable food. Thus they rejected the free housing and instead built themselves shacks or rented apartments in Colón or Panama City. Those residing in the port cities of Panama faced extremely poor living conditions and high rents. Despite the pitiable circumstances, most West Indians preferred life away from the towns of the Canal Zone.56
When officials realized the meal-ticket requirement caused a mass exodus from the government’s labor camps, they soon removed it. As far as they could tell, chief quartermaster Carrol A. Devol concluded, the laborers’ efficiency was not impaired by cooking for themselves. Even after officials relented and let laborers cook their own food, however, West Indians continued to reject the free government housing. One reason was undoubtedly the lack of married housing or any facilities for women at a time when the latter were increasingly traveling to the Zone to join their men, to earn money, or both. Another was the fact that residents of government housing could be evicted if they got into trouble, entered into a disagreement with their employer, or sought work outside the Canal Zone. And they disliked the constant regimentation of the ICC’s rule; they could not entirely avoid being driven and disciplined while on the job, but they did at least have the ability to escape the bureaucratic feel of life in the labor camps with the ever-present Zone policemen, watchmen, and sanitation force patrols. For these reasons, as well as for access to agreeable food, most West Indians continued living in the port cities of Panama or in the jungle. The number of those in government housing had declined to little more than six thousand by the end of 1911 and hovered around that level for the remaining construction years—a small group indeed, when one considers that more than thirty thousand West Indians were working for the ICC. Evaluating the problem in early 1909, the chief quartermaster declared, “The time to prevent the West Indians living in the ‘bush’ has passed. … It is not believed that some 16, 000 laborers could be driven from their homes into Commission quarters without labor trouble serious enough to interfere with the construction of the Canal.”57 The majority of West Indians had found a way to arrange their lives—despite the overwhelming power of the U.S. government—to gain more control and independence.
Besides moving horizontally from one section of work to another in the Canal Zone, or taking what had been a white mechanic’s job as a step to economic mobility, West Indians found they could make more money and enjoy greatly improved conditions working for merchants in Panama City or Colón. Others moved on to banana plantations in Bocas del Toro, Panama, or in Costa Rica, or returned home to their island communities. Canal workers kept in close touch with their families in the Caribbean, sending money home when they could and cherishing a great dream of returning as soon as possible. Bonham Richardson eloquently demonstrated the importance of “Panama money” to Barbadian communities. When the mailman came, it was said, people in Barbados would run out to meet him to see if news—and hopefully money—from Panama awaited them. An “empty letter” was one without money. The Barbadian Cleveland Murrell remembered years later how his father had gone to Panama and worked as a janitor, carefully saving his money. When he had saved about $ 100, he decided more free-spending men in the barracks would not understand his possession of such wealth, and so he returned to Barbados. He managed to buy some land and cattle, and even opened a small shop. For this family, as for many others, canal work brou
ght an important measure of economic success and independence. Those who returned to Barbados from Panama were easily spotted, flashing money around and wearing the long coats, reaching down below the knee, that were fashionable in Panama at the time. The vast migrations encouraged by the Americans’ canal construction pushed many West Indians even farther, to jobs in Cuba or the United States.58
Such forms of mobility within and beyond the Canal Zone provided West Indian laborers with their best opportunity to shape living and working conditions and articulate grievances. Organized strikes, like the one in 1905 among Jamaicans protesting insufficient food, were uncommon. Instead, West Indian protests were fleeting and highly subterranean. Sometimes individuals engaged in acts of sabotage, for example, placing large rocks on the railroad tracks to wreck or demobilize a train. In a very different case, West Indians’ collective agency could be observed when officials anxiously tried to get laborers to ingest quinine several times a day to prevent malaria. The laborers fiercely protested against drinking the quinine because of its bitter taste. Finally officials resorted to mixing the medication with a gill of rum as the only way to persuade their workers to take it. The St. Lucian Albert Banister, who worked in a Cristobal boiler shop for many years, recalled: “The first gentleman that learn me to drink was Uncle Sammy. … When you drink that quinine you feel for 15 minutes you are the sweetest man in the land.” Ironically, officials came to see alcohol consumption as one of the West Indians’ chief weaknesses.59
West Indian laborers’ general deference and accommodation to the power of government officials, like slaves or sharecroppers across the United States and the Caribbean before and during this time, masked an ability to rebel—sometimes in very hidden ways—against the world of those in power. One example may suggest the possible form of such expressions. In 1909 a white man working as a steward at one of the government hotels was living with a woman. This was hardly unusual, but a Panamanian newspaper that routinely took the side of West Indians published the fact, printed the steward’s picture, and pointed out that West Indians often faced harassment from the authorities for such actions. And so, declared the newspaper, the authorities should investigate this steward, a Mr. Grosse, as well. The paper’s publisher was sued for libel for this and other statements. In an affidavit, Grosse complained that “he has a large number of coons under him and they took great delight for many days thereafter leaving copies of the paper on his desk.” One can imagine the pleasure West Indians working under Grosse felt as they opened the newspaper to this story and then laid it out on his desk. Without the libel case, such mocking of a white man’s power would not be known to us. Undoubtedly similar examples existed that never made it into court affidavits.60
Amid the dangers and discomforts and occasional humiliation of life as a canal worker, there remained for most an upside. The tales and memoirs of canal workers suggest that many viewed life on the isthmus as a great adventure. While the Americans sometimes angered or disgusted West Indians, the latter also felt proud of their role in digging the great ditch. A common metaphor in the West Indian canal workers’ testimonies is war: “You see most of us came here with the Same spirit as a Soldier going to war, don’t dodge from work or we will never finish it,” as Prince George Green, who began working as a janitor on the canal in 1909, described it. Among male workers there was often a swagger that came from pride in holding one of the Yankees’ jobs and living to tell about it, and many beautiful rocks from the depths of Culebra Cut were taken home as mementos. The ultimate souvenir, however, was a shark tooth. Occasionally canal workers would find one in the dirt dislodged by dynamite, a souvenir from millions of years past when the two oceans were still connected. Such a lucky canal worker would then mount the tooth and wear it proudly on a black watch fob. Reginald Beckford, who worked for a time in a jeweler’s shop, remembered mounting many shark teeth for West Indian clients.61
In the 1940s the ethnographer Louise Cramer studied the West Indian communities in the Canal Zone and found that at social gatherings and at work, a “love of singing remains an integral part of the West Indian nature in the Zone.” Indeed, she observed, “You owe me a song” was commonly declared after friends greeted each other. Many of the songs Cramer analyzed dated from the days of construction. They cover a wide spectrum, from teasing and amusing songs, to tales of courtship, the dangers of work, hard economic times in Jamaica, nostalgia for an island home, death, and the allure of the Americans’ construction project. One song devoted to the latter topic called to friends to come work on the “Merican Cut” (in this song, “a” preceding “Merican” means “to,” and the first syllable of the word “American” is dropped). The singer acknowledges that the American cut offers a better opportunity than working for one bit (about four and a half pence) a day back home in the Caribbean:
COME OUT A MERICAN CUT
Before me work fe [ for] bit a day
Before me work fe bit a day
Before me work fe bit a day
Me wid come out a Merican Cut
Dem a bawl [they cry], oh, come out a Merican Cut
Dem a bawl, oh, come out a Merican Cut,
Come out a Merican Cut, come out a Merican Cut.
Laborers were likely to sing songs like this one as they dug through the long hours in Culebra Cut until the whistle blew at the end of the day. Other songs were clearly meant to be shared during a wake, a celebration that would occur on the ninth night after someone had died, when, supposedly, the spirit of the dead would be laid to rest. As Cramer described, “The entire neighborhood turns out, and tables are loaded with all sorts of choice food, besides plenty of rum, for those keeping the watch. Songs are sung, stories told, and spirits mount during the evening as more rum is consumed.”62
Churches and other organizations created by West Indians in the Canal Zone and Panama also sustained them. The U.S. government did little to support social activities among West Indians despite the urging of foreign consuls, but officials allowed laborers to make use of ICC buildings for dances, sports, and other events. Otherwise, West Indians were left to their own devices. Cricket was extremely popular; on Sunday afternoons crowds would gather to watch a competitive game. Dominoes was also a popular evening activity in the labor camps. Friendly and mutual aid societies existed, organized on the basis of each ethnic group and often linked to organizations on their home islands, and they provided assistance for families of injured or killed workers. Like the Americans, West Indians ventured into Panama City and Colón for recreation, visiting rum shops and saloons, nightclubs, and brothels or, if their financial resources did not allow such pleasures, just promenading along the streets to enjoy the diversions of city life.63
Religion was a powerful force in West Indians’ lives. George Westerman, an important chronicler of West Indian life in Panama, found that there existed in the construction era thirteen Anglican congregations in the Canal Zone—on the isthmus as in Barbados, the Church of England was the most prevalent church. There were as well many congregations of Roman Catholics, Baptists, Methodists, Episcopalians, the Salvation Army, and some nondenominational churches. West Indians prided themselves on their regular church attendance and active engagement in church affairs. Westerman notes that the church tended to see its mission as “providing escape and consolation to those tropical ‘ditch diggers.’ ” The church rose in importance, he argued, simply because there was little else to sustain common laborers. It served as “the only institution which provided an effective organization of the group, an approved place for social activities, a forum for expression on many issues, an outlet for emotional repressions, and a plan for social living.” Amos Parks, who worked laying tracks at Frijoles in the Zone, expressed the motivation for regular church attendance more pungently, remembering, “That’s the reason we all use to go to Church more regular than today, because in those days you see today and tomorrow you are a dead man. You had to pray everyday for God to Carry you safe, and bring you back.�
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ICC OFFICIALS could not build the canal without tens of thousands of laborers, and they had searched the globe for a source of tractable workers. They had settled on West Indians as the most obedient workers they could feasibly bring to the Canal Zone and then sent recruiters through the Caribbean to offer labor contracts. Once on the isthmus, West Indians set out to shape the world around them. Some, like Amos Parks, remembered how workers would rely on God to “Carry you safe, and bring you back.” The most powerful weapon West Indians possessed, however, was more mundane. They could vote with their feet, and their mobility carried them safely into better homes or jobs or got them more-satisfying food. Movement of various kinds allowed them to shape their lives and generated the greatest adjustment on the part of their employers. Along the way, as they fought for a bit more independence, they forced officials to develop new approaches to managing and disciplining their supposedly quiescent workers.
Those officials never grasped that West Indians were capable of creating such change and adaptation. They had been dissatisfied with the West Indian workforce from the beginning, but not because they expected wide-scale collective challenges to government policy. Rather, officials believed West Indians would prove insufficient to the grand task of building the canal. So they looked elsewhere, thinking that somewhere there must be white men who could do hard labor in the tropical Canal Zone. Their eyes turned to Cuba, where Spaniards sweated on sugar plantations and on railroads. They expected more energy from Spaniards, and they got it—but with results they never anticipated.
CHAPTER FOUR
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LAY DOWN YOUR SHOVELS
