Clément Duval (1850–1935) was an infamous French
illegalist, propagandist, and anarchist.
At eighteen he seems to have started a "normal" bourgeois life: he
dates a girl from a good family and becomes the father of a child. Shortly
after the birth of his son, he was sent to the front to fight in the
Franco-Prussian war, serving as a member of the fifth infantry battalion, distinguishing himself for his unruly character to
military rules.Twice wounded, he was sent to convalescence in June 1871.
When he returned to Paris he found his parents in serious economic and
physical difficulties, while fortunately his partner and his
26-month-old son had managed to escape the miseries of the war. Called back to the front, he was definitively discharged in 1873, also for serious physical problems (he suffered from rheumatism) which forced him to a long period of hospitalization.
Unable to work, Duval turned to theft.
Duval became an anarchist around 1880 and joined the anarchists of
The Panther of Batignolles. At the founding meeting, the group immediately manifested insurrectionist and illegalist ideas , reporting in the October 14 L'Etendard Révolutionnaire (Revolutionary Manifesto) the modalities concerning "the preparation of the hand grenades".
He was found guilty in 1886
death for an expropriation on October 25, 1886 –
a breaking and entering, during which he stole eighteen thousand francs
worth of jewellery and accidentally set fire to the residence of a rich
bourgeois – and the attempted murder of the police sergeant t
hat
tried to arrest him, of theft and attempted murder of a police officer.
The incident would likely have been relegated to the police blotter if
Duval had not defended his act as an anarchist attack—he did not steal
but put into action the theory of individual reclamation of capital, a
“
just restitution made in the name of humanity”. He stole not for his
own benefit but to support the Revolution.
During his trial, on January 11, 1887 Duval justified his action in a long declaration: “ While I do not recognize your right to pose to me the questions that you have, I have responded to you as the accused.
Now,
you are the ones that I am accusing. I do not pretend to defend myself.
To what end would this serve me, in front of those as well armed as
you, having soldiers, cannons, police, and finally an army of
mercenaries as your henchmen?
Let's be logical, you are in power,
taking advantage of it, and if you still need the head of yet another
anarchist, take it, and when our day comes we will take this into
account, and I have the firm hope that on that day the anarchists will
rise to the occasion. They will be without pity, because never will they
reach the number of your victims.
It is not only you who I am
addressing, but to all of this selfish, cruel, corrupt society, where on
one side we see an orgy and on the other misery!
You have accused me of theft, as if a worker that has nothing could be a thief.
No,
theft exists only in the exploitation of man by man, in a word by those
who live at the expense of the working class. It was not a theft that I
committed, but a just restitution made in the name of humanity, this
money was to serve for making revolutionary propaganda, through writing
and by the deed. To make newspapers and leaflets to show people the
truth; it has been a long time that they have been deceived. To show the
cure to those who are ill.
I busy myself with the chemistry and
prepare what is needed for the day of battle, the day when the workers,
conscious, will leave their torpor, their slump. Because it is time that
this diabolic machination of the old world disappear, to give place to
institutions where all will find a fate that is more fair, which does
not exist but within anarchist communism.
Because anarchy is the negation of all authority.
And
anarchy is the biggest social wound, because man is not free, and one
must become free to do all that one wants, as long as one does not
infringe upon the liberty of their fellow- of then one would become a
despot in turn.
In communism, man gives to society according to
his skills and strengths, and should receive according to his needs. Men
group themselves, find each other according to their character, their
skills, their affinities, taking as an example the group which functions
the best, away from vanity, foolish pride, not seeking to do better
than one's comrade for one can do better for one's self.
Out of
this will come the useful masterpieces, people's intelligence no longer
reduced to nothing but capital, because men would be able to evolve
freely, no longer under the despotic yoke of authority, of individual
property. And these groups can mutually exchange their products,
unhindered.
Learning, and feeling good about governing themselves,
they will federate and will be nothing more than a big family of
workers associated together for the happiness of all - one for all, all
for one - knowing only a single law: the law of solidarity and
reciprocity.
No more gold, base metal for which I am here and
which I despise. Base metal, the cause of all the evils and vices that
afflict humanity. Base metal, with which men's conscience is bought!
With
anarchist communism, there is no more exploitation of man by man, no
more of these managers of sweat, no more salesmen with a mercantile
spirit, rapacious, selfish, poisoning, falsifying their products and
their commodities, thereby bringing the degradation of mankind.
You
cannot deny this, because you see this all the way to the toy salesmen,
who already poison with these toys the poor little creatures who are
barely born.
And these factories, where they play with the workers
lives with an unparalleled shamelessness, like in the factories of
white lead where in only a few months the workers find themselves
paralyzed and soon dead, or in the tinsmiths who in little time become
bald, crippled, weakened in the bones and die in agony!
There are
scientists who know that they can replace these unhealthy products with
innocuous ones. The doctors who see these unfortunates twist in such
agony and who leave things to continue, they allow these crimes against
humanity to happen. It is even better, they decorate the heads of the
factories, and they award them honorary awards in memory of the service
they have given to industry and humanity.
And how many of these
unhealthy industries are there? The number would be too large to count
them all, not to mention the foul and unhealthy capitalist prisons where
the worker, imprisoned for ten or twelve hours is obligated, for the
sake of conserving his family's bread, to incur the vexations, the
humiliation of an insolent convict, missing only the whip for us all to
recall the heyday of ancient slavery and medieval serfdom.
And the
unfortunate miners, imprisoned five or six hundred feet underground,
seeing the light of day no more than once a week and when, tired of so
much misery and suffering, they lift their heads to reclaim their right
to sunlight and to the banquet of life: quickly the army is in the
country side at the service of the exploiters, and we shoot this
scoundrel! The proof doesn't default.
And the exploitation of man
by man is nothing compared to that experienced by women. Nature is
already thankless in this regard, to make them sick 15 days of the
month, but we hardly take this into account: flesh of profit, flesh for
fun, this is the fate of women. How many young girls arrive from the
countryside, full of strength and health, only to be enclosed in the
workshops, in rooms where there is room for four and they are fifteen,
twenty, without air, breathing nothing but pollution: hardships they are
forced to self-impose. By six months they are anemic. From there the
sickness, weakness, and dislike of work that is not even sufficient to
meet their needs drives these unfortunates to prostitution.
What
does society do for these victims? It rejects them from her breast, like
the leper, puts them on the map, enrolls them with the police and makes
informers of their lovers.
And do you think the workers, with
noble and generous sentiments, can see this picture of the human life
unfurling constantly before their eyes without being revolted? He who
feels all these effects, who is constantly a victim of them, morally,
physically, and materially: he who is taken at twenty years old to pay
his taxes in blood, cannon fodder to defend the property and privileges
of his masters: and if he returns from this butchery, he returns maimed
or with a sickness that renders him half crippled, making him go from
hospital to hospital serving therefore as experimental flesh for these
messieurs of science. I know what I speak of, I who have returned from
the carnage with two wounds and rheumatism, a sickness that has given me
four years in the hospital and which prevents me from working six
months of the year. As an incentive, if you do not have the courage to
give them my head as they ask, I will die in prison.
And these
crimes are committed in broad daylight, after being plotted in the
corridors of the government, under the influence of a clique, or the
caprice of a woman, while shouting over the rooftops: The people are
sovereign, The Nation is sovereign, and under the buzz words of
patronage - Glory, Honor, Homeland, as if there were several homelands
between all beings living on the same planet.
No! The anarchists have but one party, and that is humanity.
It
is also, in the name of civilization that exists these distant
expeditions where thousands of men are killed with a savage ferocity. It
is in the name of civilization that we plunder, that we burn, that we
massacre an entire people who demand nothing [more] than to live
peacefully in their homes. And these crimes are committed with impunity
because the law doesn't cover this type of theft and armed robbery, au
contraire: We award medals to those who have led all this carnage,
medals to the mercenaries who have taken part, in memory of their good
deeds, and these unconscious ones are proud to wear this insignia which
is nothing but a diploma of assassination.
But on the other hand,
the law severely punishes the worker to whom society refuses the right
to exist and who has the courage to take what is necessary which he
lacks, where there is superfluous amounts. Oh! And then this one is
treated like a thief, brought before the court and finally returns to
end his days in prison.
Voila! The logic of our current society.
Ah
well, this is the crime that I am here for: for not recognizing the
right of these people to die of plenty while the producers, the creators
of all social wealth, starve. Yes, I am the enemy of individual
property and it has been a long time that I have said, along with
Proudhon, that property is theft.
In effect, how does one acquire
property, if not through theft, by exploiting one's fellows, giving
three francs to the exploited for a job which will bring back ten for
the exploiter? And the little exploiters don't do it any differently.
Evidence: I have seen my companion do work as the second hand, two
little detached pieces of lace and pearls, for which she was paid seven
and a half centimes a piece. Fifteen days later, doing the same work as
the first hand, he was paid fifty five centimes a piece.
So do you
think that a conscious worker could be so stupid that one the day to
pay the rent, to give back to the same exploiter-owner a part of his
salary which had been given to him? And he will see his wife and
children forced to deprive themselves of things most necessary for life,
while the idle, with this money, goes to the stock exchange or
somewhere else to speculate, play the market on the misery of the
people, or wallow in some fashionable boudoir in the arms of an unwell
girl, who to live is forced to give her flesh to others for pleasure,
despite the disgust that it inspires in her.
As I do not want
myself to be made an accomplice of the likes of these dishonorables,
this is why I do not pay rent (for which you reproach me), not wanting
myself to be robbed by this thief, this vulture that we call an owner,
and this is why I had received bad references in the different areas
that I have lived. Good references are only given for the vile and the
groveling, for those who have no backbone.
Because the law is in
all things the accomplices of those who own, the throw away the anathema
at the workers who lift their heads proudly, who retain their dignity
by revolting against abuse, injustices, against the monsters who make up
the owning class.
But, it has been a long time since I have
reckoned with anything but my conscience, mocking the fools and the
wicked, feeling certain that I have the esteem of men of heart who have
known me closely. This is why I am telling you: you are not condemning
me as a thief, but as a conscious worker, who does not consider oneself
to be a beast of burden, taxable and thanklessly exploited, and who
recognizes the undeniable right that nature gives to all human beings:
the right to existence. And if society refuses us this right, we must
take it with unshaking hands (which would be a cowardice in a society
where all abounds, where everything is in abundance, where what should
be a source of well being is nothing more than a source of misery)...
Why? Because everything is monopolized by a handful of idlers who burst
from indigestion while the workers are continually searching for a loaf
of bread.
No! I am not a robber but one who has been robbed,
someone who brings justice, who says that everything belongs to
everyone, and that it is this clear logic of the anarchist idea, which
makes your legs tremble.
No, I am not a thief but a sincere
revolutionary, who has the courage of his convictions and who is devoted
to his cause. Within current society, [where] money is the nerve of
war, I would do all that is within my power to procure it to serve this
noble and just cause which would purge humanity of all of the tyrannies,
the persecutions that it has suffered so cruelly.
Ah! I have only
one regret, which is to have fallen too early into your hands, this
preventing me from satisfying an implacable hatred, a thirst for
vengeance that I have vowed upon so infamous a society.
But what
consoles me is that there are combatants that remain, because despite
all the persecution, the anarchist idea has germinated and the
theoretical revolution is ending, being quickly replaced by the practice
of action. Oh, then, that day - rotten society, governments,
magistrates, exploiters of all kinds, you have lived!
Long live social revolution, long live anarchy!
Duval was defended by Fernand Labori, a young lawyer committed to his
office, making his first appearance before the high court. He would go
on to defend (along with his own life) Pini and Auguste Vaillant and the
famous Captain Dreyfus, along with Emile Zola. There was much uproar and
popular support for Duval, which probably saved his head. Originally
sentenced to death, his sentence was commuted to deportation and hard
labor, he
was dispatched to the notorious Îles du Salut (Salvation
Islands), whose three islands included the notorious Île du Diable
(Devil's Island).
Established by Emperor Napoleon III in 1852. in a period of nearly 100 years over 70.000 men had been sent there. At least ¾ of them died
there,including murderers,
rapists and political prisoners. Around 5000 made it back to France as free men, 9000 tried to
escape, few of them survived. Doomed to a torturous existence,
most never made it off the island. It’s estimated that 40 per cent died
in the first year, and only 5000 survived to see their release date.
Even
the trip to the island was treacherous, and many didn’t make it off the
boat. Some were murdered during fights inside the cages where they were
locked up during the journey. Sulfer and steam were also used on
prisoners who refused to obey orders on the ship.
Duval's companions in misfortune were thieves,
assassins, soulless brutes; the sons of abjection, misery and ignorance.
Lebou, sentenced for having shot his mother; Faure who had killed his
brother for money, then chopped him up and fed him to the pigs; Mentier,
who had killed two old women in order to rape the corpses and other
worthy products of the society which had begotten them. This frightening
section of humanity was paraded on deck for inspection every day, and
met with the mockery, vulgarity and stupid comments of the crew, the
guards, and the civilian passengers.
Duval was not the sort to
accept this treatment willingly. On the first occasion he rebelled,
answering the provocations in the same vein, and thus he had a taste of
what was awaiting him in the penitentiary: naked as a worm, he was
thrown into a water-logged cell where he stayed for two days, unable to
stand upright because the ceiling was too low, and unable to lie down
because the cell was too small. Repression inside repression.
Guyana
was a real hell-hole, a filthy abyss of violence and depravity made
even more intolerable by the hot and humid tropical climate. There the
lie was given to the hypocritical idea that prison can lead to atonement
and repentance. Guyana was synonymous with forced labour, fettered
ankles, rotting food, punishment cells, swarms of insects, scurvy,
dysentery. Redemption? In captivity, men lost their health, their
dignity, they died of disease and want, their bodies and spirits
scarred, humiliated, broken, brutalised, reduced against their will to
the level of animals. The more assertive among them achieved some
squalid privilege at the expense of their companions. The most cynical
curried favour with the guards by crawling and informing on the others.
The weakest went under. The penitentiary was the perverted image of all
the vices, every misery, all the oppression of the society which had
produced it. Because of this, those who had not submitted before, when
they were free, did not accept the idea of submitting now that they were
in a society that was more vicious but otherwise not dissimilar. Duval
(and in general all the anarchists who ended up in prison) was
no exception.
The story of his stay on the terrible island is the
story of his pride of his unbeatable fighting spirit, of the constant
struggle with the situation, not to lose his identity, of his refusal to
fall into the abyss of misery that confronted him. And he succeeded. He
opposed the guard's traps, rebelled against the injustices, helped the
most wretched fellow prisoners, unmasked spies and provocateurs. The
cruellest bullies, the drunken directors, the scum, the murderers, the
mindless brutes that peopled the prison camp, learned to pay him a sort
of respect, certainly worthy of better circles, in which admiration for
his correctness was united with fear for his toughness. A respect that
was merited, if one thinks of the terrible price that had to be paid
for it.
After years of
brutality and deprivation, he was finally transferred in 1900 to the penal
colony of Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni on the mainland, and it was from there on April 13 1901
that he put to sea in a fragile canoe along with eight of his
fellow-prisoners. Rowing with all their strength during the night, they
managed to get out of sight of the mainland by daybreak and could put up
their improvised sail and headed north-eastwards, away from French
Guyana, Having survived hurricane-force winds and the accompanying
massive waves, they arrived in Dutch Guyana the following day. There
under false names, the fugitives went into hiding before. Duval himself
began what would end up being a two-year journey, travelling via British
Guyana and Martinique to Puerto Rico, where he spent some months
recovering his broken health. On June 16, 1903, he finally set sail for
the United States, arriving in New York City. There, supported by French
and Italian anarchist comrades, he set up home and began writing his
unfinished memoirs, which were published initially in 1907 in 'Cronaca
Sovversiva'. The memoirs were finally published in Italian (in a
translation by Luigi Galleani) by comrades from 'L'Adunata dei
Reffratari' under the title 'Memorie Autobiografiche' in 1929. In 1980, Marianne Enckell, at C.I.R.A. inLausanne, recovered part of Duval's original manuscript, and had it published as
Outrage: An Anarchist Memoir of the Penal Colony.
It is a remarkable story of survival by one man’s self-determination,
energy, courage, loyalty, and hope. It was thanks to being true and
faithful to his ideals that Duval survived life in a living hell. He encouraged his fellow prisoners to practice mutual aid,
through their deeds and not just their words. It is a call to action
for mindful, conscious people to fight for their rights to the very end,
to never give up or give in. More than just a story of a life or a
testament of ideals, here is a monument to the human spirit and a war
cry for freedom and justice. According to Paul Albert, "The story of Clement Duval was lifted and, shorn of all politics, turned into the bestseller Papillon." .
Despite all the deprivations he endured in the Bagne de la Guyane
française colony and the damage it wreaked on his health, Clément Duval
lived to the ripe old age of 85, dying in Brooklyn on March 25, 1935.
See Outrage: An Anarchist Memoir of the Penal Colony by Clément Duval (translated by Michael Shreve), PM Press, 2012.
Devil's Island :The earthly hell of thousands of prisoners
