East Africa and the Legal Abolition of Slavery

Understandings of abolitionism in Anglophone East Africa have shifted considerably since the legal abolition of the slave trade, and later, slavery. For most of the twentieth century, Britain was celebrated as a benevolent nation by virtue of the triumphant achievement of abolishing slavery not just in East Africa, but throughout its empire. This position was voiced clearly by the historian Reginald Coupland, who in 1939 commended abolition in East Africa as a “revival of the British humanitarian tradition” that justified British imperialism. According to him, “the British people had come to the rescue of the African people on the east of the continent as in earlier days on the west.”Footnote ¹ In 1976, R. W. Beachey's depiction of Britain's role was much the same, though he dropped the congratulatory tone.Footnote ² Contemporaneous with Beachey in the wave of postcolonial historical work critiquing empire, and as an African himself, Moses D. E. Nwulia carefully dismantled the fictions of British philanthropy by analyzing the regime's sluggishly adopted antislavery policies.Footnote ³ Frederick Cooper's 1980 study of Zanzibar and coastal Kenya went further to show not only that abolitionists were driven by economic rationale, but also that the emancipatory gains of the abolition laws were extremely limited.Footnote ⁴ More recently, Matthew Hopper, in his 2015 account of the Indian Ocean slave trade, highlighted the failings of the British Navy in enforcing the abolition laws, and explained that the end of the slave trade in East Africa was owed largely to global political and economic factors outside of British control.Footnote ⁵ Historians focusing on emancipation in the region, such as Felicitas Becker (mainland Tanganyika), Elizabeth McMahon (Pemba), Elke Stockreiter (Zanzibar), Patricia Romero (Lamu), and Marie-Pierre Ballarin (Mombasa) have also shown how, even if the abolition laws stopped slavery, they failed to end its systemic political, social, and economic effects, which meant that emancipation was—and to some extent still is—extremely difficult to grasp.Footnote ⁶

As in almost every part of the world where slavery has ended, the abolition of slavery in East Africa is understood to be a European project or project of European imperialism. The scholarship therefore tells us that—though not all Europeans were abolitionists—all abolitionists were Europeans. These European abolitionists were, the scholarship also tells us, often ambivalent about abolishing slavery altogether and preferred to gradually limit and control slavery and the slave trade. Yet East African leaders who were involved in the legal processes of abolition (writing, signing, and negotiating abolitionist acts, decrees, and treaties, in spite of their political and economic interests in keeping slavery going) are portrayed unambivalently as the obstacles to abolition. The problem with this narrative is not only that it is incorrect, but that it highlights how little we know about the history of African ideas and legal frameworks with regards to slavery and abolition. We need to find and explore examples of East Africans restricting, ending, and challenging the legitimacy of slavery through legal, economic, political, and cultural means. One place to start is with the East African power brokers who issued anti-slavery legislation; and the Sultans of Zanzibar are key examples of such authority figures as they signed and passed eleven anti-slavery treaties and decrees between 1856 and 1897.

As historians have largely neglected to closely analyze the role of the Sultans of Zanzibar in passing anti-slavery legislation, accounts that consider whether the Sultans might have willingly and collaboratively passed these laws are scarce. Throughout the historiography on anti-slavery legislation on the East African coast, there is a tendency to assume that the Sultans of Zanzibar were being coerced into developing anti-slavery policies.Footnote ⁷ There are only a handful examples of texts that highlight the role of the sultans in ending slavery. Bernard K. Freamon describes how during the reign of Seyyid Saʿīd bin Sultan (r. 1807–1856) groups of aristocratic Omani including many “ulamā” merchants, plantation owners, and the Sultan's officials were beginning to form a consensus on limiting and ending slavery. The evidence for this appears to be limited to two facts: firstly, that Seyyid Saʿīd supported the legal measures to limit the slave trade and, secondly, that there is no evidence that the “ulamā” protested these actions. Freamon's account suggests that a consensus might have been arrived upon, had it not been for the pro-slavery seafaring and physically threatening so-called “Northern Arabs” who were known for kidnapping enslaved persons in Zanzibar and integrating them into the slave trade.Footnote ⁸

Meanwhile, William Clarence-Smith's Islam and Abolition is unusual for implying that the sultans were passing the legislation of their own accord.Footnote ⁹ He argued that, although most Sultans were opposed to passing anti-slavery legislation, Seyyid Ḥamūd bin Muḥammad (r. 1896–1902) did pass the 1897 abolition decree out of his own personal conviction. However, the evidence of this conviction is based entirely on how Seyyid Ḥamūd did not own slaves before coming to power. In reality, it might have been the case that there was no need for a prince to own slaves when they had ready access to those in the palaces. Moreover, Seyyid Ḥamūd's involvement with the drafting of the decree was limited to his insistence that concubines should be excluded from it (to which the British sympathized and eventually acquiesced).Footnote ¹⁰

This article builds on the historiography by critically analyzing the role of Seyyid Ali bin Saʿīd (r.1890–1893) in the 1890 Abolition Decree. Although the 1890 decree, on which this article centers, was essentially a dead letter, the Seyyid's expression of support for anti-slavery legislation was uniquely explicit and has been entirely neglected by historical accounts. This article will explain how the decree was created by taking a lens to the events surrounding it, the relationships involved in it, and the language used in the draft and final versions. The latter part will explore the obstacles to the decree's enforcement and contextualize its amendments.

Writing the 1890 Decree

The 1890 decree was the product of meetings between thirty-six-year-old Seyyid Ali and the forty-nine-year-old British Consul General of the time, Colonel Charles Bean Euan-Smith. Seyyid Ali was said to be the thirty-fourth of Saʿīd bin Sultan Al-Bū Saʿīdi's many children, most likely mothered by a Circassian or Ethiopian concubine.Footnote ¹¹ Seyyid Ali was the fourth sultan of Zanzibar, following his brothers Majid, Barghash, and Khalifa. All these regents were the sons of Seyyid Said bin Sultan, who ruled the Empire of Oman. Following Seyyid Said's death, the empire was divided but the social, cultural, and economic connections between Oman and Zanzibar remained.

In an obituary dated March 1893, marking the end of his short reign, he was described as “a well-built man of pleasing appearance and affable manners.”Footnote ¹² Little has been written about the Seyyid's personality, but he is never mentioned as partaking in the dramatic family succession politics, and in 1890 he came to power visibly self-assured.Footnote ¹³ Seyyid Ali's alliance with the British began early according to the White Fathers missionaries, who posited that he was “a man of the British since his youth” (“l'homme des anglais depuis sa jeunesse”). Upon the death of his older brother, Seyyid Khalifa, Seyyid Ali was the favored successor as far as Zanzibar's inhabitants, and the British, were concerned.Footnote ¹⁴ As for Euan-Smith, he had a military background and first visited Zanzibar (and Muscat) in 1873 as a military attaché, accompanying Sir Bartle Frere in his special anti-slave-trade mission to Zanzibar. He returned in 1875 to work at the British consulate, and was later appointed consul at Muscat in July 1879.Footnote ¹⁵ He was likable, renowned for his ability to charm with his captivating after-dinner stories, and his “very small but very expressive,” “twinkling greyish-blue eyes.”Footnote ¹⁶ He became Consul-General in Zanzibar in 1888 and attempted a coup to depose the sultan at the time, Khalifa bin Said, in favor of Seyyid Ali.Footnote ¹⁷ After Colonel Euan-Smith left his Zanzibar post in March 1891, Seyyid Ali sent four parrots as a gift.Footnote ¹⁸ This was a personal gesture as Colonel Euan-Smith had owned parrots in Zanzibar, who were known for incessantly shouting his name (“Charlie”), much to the amusement of his visitors.Footnote ¹⁹

Euan-Smith had accompanied Sir Bartle Frere on his 1871 mission to Zanzibar to induce Seyyid Barghash bin Saʿīd to end the trade of slaves by sea, but the dynamic between Seyyid Ali and Euan-Smith was dramatically different. Colonel Euan-Smith stated Seyyid Ali's willingness when explaining the first draft of the decree, which was put to Lord Salisbury in June 1890:

As far as the British agents were concerned, this was indirect rule at its finest. The appearance of an alignment in policy could benefit the British in two ways: it would both help to make Zanzibar colonizable and strengthen the authority of Zanzibar's sultanate so that they could wield power through the sultan.

Seyyid Ali's approach to dealing with illegal slave trading and abuse toward slaves developed quickly over a short time. In one case from the consulate logbook, dated February 1890 (just two weeks into Seyyid Ali's reign), a junior officer wrote a note reminding Euan-Smith that nothing had been done to punish slave traders who had been involved in illegally capturing people, some from the Anglican mission in Pemba. The officer recommended sending a man of war and representative from the British consulate with “a strong letter.” Euan-Smith replied in the following manner: “I concur but we are bound to give the new Sultan an opportunity of trying what his authority will do. Send Salim [bin Azan]Footnote ²¹ with a very careful and complete account of all to the Sultan.”Footnote ²² The records tail off here, so it is unclear what action the Sultan took, but in May, upon the request of Colonel Euan-Smith, Seyyid Ali “severely punished” some slave traders operating in Pemba and issued a proclamation warning that anyone landing slaves in Pemba who also face severe punishment. Seyyid Ali also allowed the proclamation to be posted in Zanzibar's Custom House and distributed the proclamation amongst his officials in Pemba.Footnote ²³

In June 1890, Seyyid Ali demonstrated a marked interest in ending slavery. He insisted to Captain Hennesse, a Belgian agent who was pressing him for permission to enlist 400 Zanzibari porters to venture into the Congo, that:

This was some thirteen days prior to Euan-Smith's attendance at a public reception at the palace to make the announcement of the protectorate. Seyyid Ali received the announcement “with the most evident satisfaction” and requested that Euan-Smith send Lord Salisbury his special thanks and hopes of maintaining “the ancient bonds of friendship which had for so long existed between Great Britain and Zanzibar.”Footnote ²⁵

In July, Seyyid Ali dismissed the liwali at Lamu who helped hide the activities of slave traders from the British and allowed an abused slave woman seeking protection to be recaptured by her slave master.Footnote ²⁶ In the same month, without any apparent prompting from Colonel Euan-Smith, Seyyid Ali freed four slaves and fined their master for abusing and nearly killing one of them.Footnote ²⁷ Each of these acts of anti-slavery was public and together formed a decisive political approach designed to send a message that Seyyid was actively trying to limit slavery and the slave trade; not that he was being forced to do so simply because the sultanate relied so heavily on their British allies.

The Sultan agreed with Colonel Euan-Smith to issue the anti-slavery decree in June 1890. Toward the end of the month, Smith wrote to Lord Salisbury at the Foreign Office in London with draft ideas.Footnote ²⁸ Both Seyyid Ali and Colonel Euan-Smith were eager to issue the decree before the public announcement of the British Protectorate (which took place on November 7 that year). This was Euan-Smith's reasoning:

Euan-Smith's words convey that abolition offered an opportunity for building strong diplomatic relations (at least momentarily), which goes against the usual narratives relating to the dynamics between Islamic power holders and British imperial agents in this era. However, it must also be said that this stance gave room for the blame to be placed with the Sultanate, rather than the British. It was a safe bet for the British; but not so for the Sultan.

On July 19, Lord Salisbury received a telegram from Euan-Smith requesting permission to issue the decree as soon as possible to quell the “growing disquietude among the Arabs” who feared for what might be in stall for them.Footnote ³⁰ Some discussion in the Foreign Office seems to suggest that there was a preference to proclaim the protectorate and the anti-slavery decree together, reasoning that, “it would be better that we had the credit.”Footnote ³¹ Yet, about a week later, Lord Salisbury instructed Euan-Smith to instruct Seyyid Ali to issue the decree, firmly in line with Salisbury's strategy for indirect control.Footnote ³² The Foreign Office in London demanded very little control over the wording of the decree. Euan-Smith wrote to Salisbury two days after the decree had been issued, notifying him what the main changes were from the draft they had discussed several months prior. Euan-Smith casually explained that the published decree “differs somewhat as to its phraseology and as to the numbering of its clauses” and insisted that “the sense of the decree” was “exactly the same, though in some instances it has been strengthened by the addition of a few words.”Footnote ³³

Evidently, Seyyid Ali had been extensively involved in the creation of the 1890 decree, and cannot be said to have simply played the role of curtailing Colonel Euan-Smith's abolitionist instincts as leading historical accounts would have us believe.Footnote ³⁴ The precise rationale is more difficult to track. Certainly, Seyyid Ali had been told by Euan-Smith at least two years prior that voluntary action on his part would give him more leverage over the decree. Indeed, a letter from Euan-Smith to the Anti-Slavery Society in 1888 outlines Smith's diplomatic strategy:

So, there were political gains to be had for Seyyid Ali by casting himself as an abolitionist. No doubt his early conversations with Euan-Smith secured his position as next in line for the sultanate. But strategic decisions are not the same as personal conviction, the latter being much more difficult to decipher. Here, we may turn to an account by the American explorer, Mary French Sheldon, whom Seyyid Ali invited to visit his harem circa March 1, 1891. Sheldon, who was in pursuit of a “passport” to explore the East African mainland, was unimpressed to learn that Seyyid Ali owned 142 concubines (despite each one of them presenting her with a ring as a gift, in addition to other lavish gifts). Perhaps sensing Sheldon's displeasure, Seyyid Ali asked her if her husband had other wives; a question that was met with great indignation. At the end of the visit, Seyyid Ali asked Sheldon what she thought of it all, admitting that this was the first time he had shown a foreigner his harem. “With true American frankness,” she told him candidly that she thought it was “atrocious.” In response, “He said he would gladly renounce his harem, ‘But I should lose my Arab constituency.’”Footnote ³⁶ These observations and comments speak volumes about the way that Seyyid Ali chose to position himself between Arab and British interests. Engaging with abolitionism and taking decisive action against slave traders may have been a way for him to signal to his subjects that he was not, unlike his predecessors, being forced by the British to end slavery. Yet, refusing to engage in concubinage, a practice that was legal until 1907 in the region, would have appeared a step too far.

Seyyid Ali's calculations may, equally, have been based on a close monitoring of the anti-slavery steps taken by other Islamic powers that had set an early precedent.Footnote ³⁷ In 1841, justifying his decision by reference to Islamic law, the Ottoman regent in Tunisia, Ahmad Bey, shut down the public slave markets in Tunis and in 1846 he effectively abolished slavery within the regions under his jurisdiction.Footnote ³⁸ A few years later, Sultan Abdulmejid abolished the slave market in Istanbul in 1847.Footnote ³⁹ In Egypt, Mohamed Sa'id and, later, Isma'il instated a long string of anti-slavery prohibitions between the 1850s and 1870s.Footnote ⁴⁰ So, there were many Islamic rulers who had advocated for abolition long before 1890. It may be that enough time had elapsed by this point for Seyyid Ali to see that there were advantages to abolition, that it could buy some leverage with the increasingly controlling British powers and perhaps even attract investors to balance the books of the increasingly struggling sultanate (Figure 1).

Figure 1. The original handwritten Arabic version of the 1890 decree, UKNA FO 93/116/7. Photograph by author and permission to reproduce this image for publication obtained from the UK's National Archives.

Seyyid Ali was, undoubtedly, trying to work out how abolition could fit into Zanzibari society. One of the most striking points about the content of the decree is that Seyyid Ali had “entirely spontaneously” made the suggestion in the first draft of the decree that: “The sultan binds himself by an immediate and subjectional reduction of the clove tax, which is now 30% ad valorum, to aid the Arabs to employ free paid labour for the cultivation of the estates.” This would have costed thousands of pounds a year but equally would have freed up some of the plantation owners’ capital to pay wages.Footnote ⁴¹ Citing concerns over the Sultan's income, it was Lord Salisbury who advised that the clause to do with repealing the clove tax should be scrapped.Footnote ⁴² Indeed, the wealth of the sultanate was not what it used to be, but Seyyid Ali most likely had in mind that the British government would subsidize this policy to make it affordable; given that it was they who had such great resources and it was they who were, it appeared, so intent on ending slavery.

Clove tax aside, the English version of the decree reads as highly ambitious and implied a radical reform to Zanzibar's courts system. It put an end to all slave trading in the Sultan's dominions so that the only way a slave could be passed from one person to another was through inheritance (article 4). However, a critical reading and re-translation of the Arabic decree (see appendices), prompts further questions about the terms used to describe “slavery.” The first Arabic word meaning “slave” used in the decree is “abīd,” which is the literal translation. However, in the remainder of the text, the term “khādim” is used, which means something much more akin to “servant” and alludes to the keeping of household slaves, rather than those purchased to work on plantations.Footnote ⁴³ This suggests that the eighth article, which allowed slaves to purchase their own freedom, may have represented a rather more subtle reform than in the English version. Regardless of the decree, manumission, which usually took place upon the death of the owner, was much more commonplace in the town than in the countryside, where slaves were working on financially critical plantations. For example, Seyyid Saʿīd bin Sultan manumitted thousands of concubines, soldiers, domestics, and messengers, but his plantation slaves remained enslaved.Footnote ⁴⁴ Seyyid Barghash bin Saʿīd, too, ensured that all his “town slaves,”Footnote ⁴⁵ who numbered more than 3,000, as well as the slaves in his army and the concubines in his harem, were freed upon his death.Footnote ⁴⁶ Thus, if we are to take it that by “slaves” the decree applied to non-plantation slaves, then the eighth article only dictated that: now, non-plantation slaves could purchase their own freedom with the help of the kadhi, rather than wait for the possibility that their masters manumit them upon their deaths. This was barely a change as enslaved persons could already purchase their own freedom if they had their master's permission. Given the discussion over kadhis being designed for Muslims, this subtlty makes sense; at this point in Zanzibar's history it would have been inconceivable for enslaved persons who were not Muslim (these were more likely to be found on plantations than in the town) to approach a kadhi.

A peculiar note about the translation of “khādim” to “slave” is that it was characteristic to the translations of the British consulate's head interpreter, Salim bin Azan. Even in cases when dignatries (who were clearly not slaves) signed their names as in English epistolary tradition, “I am your servant [name]” as a sign of respect, Salim opted to translate “khādim” to “slave.” To so consistently translate the word “khadim” as “slave” suggests that translation may have offered Salim a way to express the ideology that we are all in some way enslaved. Whatever the reasoning for his choice of words, his translation flattened the meaning of slavery and softened the implications of the decree.

Perhaps the most ambitious provisos were numbers eight and nine, which gave enslaved persons the legal right to be heard by the Islamic judges. The following section will, therefore, explain what the legal ramifications were and provide context around the kadhis and their relationship to Zanzibar's sultanate.

Anti-Slavery Policies in the Courts

Prior to the establishment of Zanzibar as the capital of the Omani empire, the Sultan's son Khalid and the Sunni and Ibadi kadhis held outdoor sessions after every afternoon prayer at the town's fort gates. Sunni Muslims were the majority in Zanzibar and they followed Shafi jurisprudence. The ruling Omani elite were, by contrast, Ibadi, following Shari'a law.Footnote ⁴⁷ After Seyyid Said moved the capital to Zanzibar in 1840, he declared that he was the judge of any cases that could not be resolved by the kadhis, and moved the physical location of the kadhis closer to the palace to what became known as “Uwanjani chini ya Mnara” (roughly translated from Swahili: “the spot near the minaret/tower”).Footnote ⁴⁸ In 1845, the Seyyid ruled that verdicts had to follow his own school of law, Shari'a. Customary law was more often employed in the rural parts of the island as elders, esteemed persons, and headmen of local communities (not kadhis) functioned as lawgivers. Moreover, legal scholars and authorities were independent from political authority and so were often outside of the sultanate's control.

Seyyid Barghash, who fiercely supported the Ibadi revivalist movement in Zanzibar, institutionalized Shari'a tribunals throughout the island, appointing local governors to manage districts and appoint kadhis. Barghash increased the salary and status of kadhis, which helped to promote their status, while also drawing them closer to his authority. As the British increasingly encroached upon Barghash's authority, finding influence within a field of competing Omani factions in the legal sector was important. Barghash was also noted for spending several hours a day hearing legal cases.Footnote ⁴⁹ Although Barghash was intent on applying Shari'a law throughout his territories, interpretations of Shari'a law were contextual and adaptable.Footnote ⁵⁰ During Seyyid Khalifa's reign, Zanzibar's legal system took a different, more violent shape in which executions by judgment of the sultan became common and, in many cases, it seems that judgments were left to the sultan's military.Footnote ⁵¹

Shari'a law was a holistic sociolegal concept designed to, as Stockretier puts it, “perpetuate and improve the social order by mediating conflicts rather than punishing individuals, a characteristic of the modern nation-state.”Footnote ⁵² Only if all mediation efforts failed would they issue a judgment. Stockreiter argues that the kadhis were designed to serve freeborn Muslims.Footnote ⁵³ By virtue of the 1890 decree, slaves could in theory approach a kadhi to make a case for emancipation on the grounds of being treated with “flagrant cruelty” or they could purchase their freedom for a price agreed by their master and the kadhi.Footnote ⁵⁴ Crucially, previous anti-slavery decrees issued by Zanzibar's sultans had not involved the kadhi at all. Drawing the kadhis into the abolition process was a novelty that may have been the true source of the slave owning elite's consternation that will be discussed in the following section. Indeed, slaves had previously been excluded from litigation on the assumption that they were not Muslims because the kadhis were specifically designed for Muslim communities.Footnote ⁵⁵

It is not known whether (Muslim) slaves successfully litigated in court prior to 1890, nor whether any slaves (Muslim or not) approached the kadhis by citing the 1890 decree as the kadhis did not keep records until 1900, the year after the British issued a decree to keep court records.Footnote ⁵⁶ If they did approach the kadhis it is likely that they did not find much favor there, as even after the abolition decree of 1897, which was highly effective and accompanied by a complete reform of the judicial system, the kadhis were not always welcoming to the enslaved.Footnote ⁵⁷

While there is no evidence that enslaved persons approached the kadhis specifically invoking the 1890 decree, the Anti-Slavery Reporter reported in March 1892 that there had been increases in instances of slaves approaching Europeans for help.Footnote ⁵⁸ When enslaved persons, or recently freed slaves, approached the consulate complaining of mistreatment by their (in some cases, former) masters, they were usually directed to Seyyid Ali, who ensured they were freed and punished the owners, according to Euan-Smith.Footnote ⁵⁹ There are few records that exist to verify this but the White Father records report that on one occasion, the Sultan helped a slave master claim back two slave children via one of his officers, claiming he was doing a good deed as they were “abandoned children” who he had the responsibility of looking after.Footnote ⁶⁰

It might be argued that the kadhis would refuse to emancipate enslaved persons on the grounds of the 1890 decree because they wanted to protect the practice of manumission. Historian Yacine Daddi Addoun, in his reflection on Islamic thought in relation to abolition, argues that abolition was unthinkable because it forfeited the chance of eternal salvation offered by manumission, which had to be voluntary on the part of the master.Footnote ⁶¹

The finer points about litigation, as well as the translation issues, were likely to have been, to many, inconsequential, given that Zanzibar was by and large an illiterate Swahili-speaking island excluded from the kadhi system. Enslaved persons spoke various languages from the East African hinterland if they were newly captured, and they spoke Swahili if they had lived on the coast for some time. Word of the decree must have spread to the enslaved, even if only from stolen snippets of conversation between Arab masters, or from Christian missionaries who worked with ex-slaves, who in turn may have passed the news on to the enslaved. Although the use of the term “khādim” and the fact that the decree was issued only in English and Arabic must have diluted the force of the decree, it was still met with significant objection. The following section explores these possibilities, and explains how the decree was issued and promulgated, while also explaining the fracturing of Seyyid Ali's authority within and beyond the island of Zanzibar.

Promulgating the Decree

The decree was meant to apply throughout the Sultan's dominions, including the Zanzibar archipelago and 10-mile strip of coastline of what is now Tanzania and Kenya. At the time, the coastal strip of what would become Kenya had been leased by the Imperial British East Africa Company (IBEAC) since 1887. The coastal strip of what would become Tanzania, on the other hand, had been administered by the German East Africa Company (Deutsch-Ostafrikanische Gesellschaft, DOAG) since April 28, 1888. Naturally, the first of these places to hear of the decree was Zanzibar town. On July 31, the day before the decree was issued, it was shared in a baraza (council meeting) with leading members of the Arab community in Zanzibar. Euan-Smith was under the impression that the decree was understood and accepted without difficulty: “the Arabs then present declared that they saw little to object to, the knowledge that their present slaves would not be taken away from them apparently giving them the greatest satisfaction.”Footnote ⁶²

On the same day, six slave-trading offices were shut down in Zanzibar town. Euan-Smith and one of the Sultan's unnamed officials went along a few hours after their evacuation to ensure no one was still there and they found the rooms abandoned.Footnote ⁶³ According to Euan-Smith, these and other Arabs who learnt of the decree:

On August 1, Seyyid Ali sent Euan-Smith a letter formally notifying him that the decree was to be issued, which gave the impression that the Sultanate had been planning to limit slavery for quite some time and were now autonomously affecting it:

Similar letters were sent to other foreign consuls, but the Sultan did not receive support for his decree from the French or the German administrations, whom he and Euan-Smith accused of having incited Arabs to violently oppose the declaration.Footnote ⁶⁶

The decree, which can be read in full in the appendices, was most fully promulgated in Zanzibar town, where it was posted in the Custom House and other public places.Footnote ⁶⁷ Predictably, it was met with resistance. Late in the afternoon on August 1 the decree was published and there was some “excitement” in the town.Footnote ⁶⁸ A few days later on August 4, twenty armed men (identified as being of Comoro ethnicity) charged into Zanzibar's custom house and tore down the decree. Seyyid Ali, who was furious, had the decree replaced immediately and the disturbance was quelled within an hour, and managed to catch at least some of the perpetrators. Seyyid Ali suggested to Euan-Smith that their right hands should be cut off, but Euan-Smith dissuaded him, and advised that “a good flogging” would suffice.Footnote ⁶⁹ Both Seyyid Ali and Euan-Smith were confident that this outburst was simply the expression of some “lower classes,” that presumably did not have any power to compromise the impact of the decree. Seyyid Ali insisted that the “leading Arabs” were “quite contented” with the decree.Footnote ⁷⁰

On August 9, the French Consul reported that there was talk of conspiracies against both Euan-Smith and the Sultan. Euan-Smith discussed these rumors with the Sultan, and both agreed they did not believe them to hold any weight. However, later that day at the Sultan's afternoon baraza, he appeared to have changed his mind. The Sultan announced to the room that there was a conspiracy against his life. Then, he half drew his sword from its sheath and declared himself ready for attack. The audience reacted to his performance by crowding around him to plant kisses on his robes and feet, assuring him of their allegiance.Footnote ⁷¹ It was on the same day and that the Sultan issued a proclamation, approved by Euan-Smith, to clarify the meaning of article 8, which reads in the English translation as follows:

Some days prior, Euan-Smith had written to Sir Francis de Winton (governor of the IBEAC's possessions) under the Sultan's instructions to explain that the decree should not be taken as an opportunity for slaves to escape “legitimate discipline,” emphasizing that “moderate reasonable punishment when necessary” was still entirely lawful. Euan-Smith added that there was some danger of the slaves getting “big heads.” Euan-Smith himself had added the quotation marks—which suggests that this phrase, or at least the words used to translate this phrase, may have belonged to the interpreter, Salim bin Azan.Footnote ⁷³ On August 15, the Sultan, perhaps feeling assured that the disturbances around the decree had completely dissipated afforded by the August 9 proclamation, held a sumptuous feast at the palace in which the Queen's letter of congratulations for his anti-slavery efforts was read aloud.Footnote ⁷⁴

The decree had a much more defiant reception along the Kenyan coast territory that was leased by the IBEAC. In addition to the flimsiness of the sultan's sovereignty and legal authority over this region, the IBEAC had already facilitated the emancipation of fugitive slaves and recently decreed absolute freedom in perpetuity to fifteen ethnic groups that had been targeted by slavers.Footnote ⁷⁵ On August 2, twenty copies were sent through Euan-Smith to Sir Francis de Winton, governor of the IBEAC, to reach the ports along the entire British coastline with the instructions that pains should be taken to “carefully explain” its contents to the Sultan's subjects.Footnote ⁷⁶ Much to Seyyid Ali's astonishment and chagrin, the British administration had still failed to publicize the decree beyond the IBEAC stronghold of Mombasa.Footnote ⁷⁷ In Malindi, word of the decree got out not by the means of the British agent based there (who was instructed to hold off on promulgating it), but by a letter sent directly from the Sultan, which was read out by the liwali to the town's “wazee” (elders).Footnote ⁷⁸ De Winton was reluctant to promulgate the decree and wrote to Euan-Smith advising that it should be modified, pleading in one of his frantic letters to Euan-Smith that “we must not withhold justice from the owner.”Footnote ⁷⁹

De Winton was acutely concerned with the risk of slave owners heavily invested into plantations falling into debt if they were to lose their slaves, even fearing that some would “starve.”Footnote ⁸⁰ De Winton had given leading Arab slave traders and owners hope that the decree would be modified, but there was still rumor that a rising against the IBEAC would occur.Footnote ⁸¹ He also added some instructions not provided by Euan-Smith. Firstly, he specified that “You will make it quite clear to the leading Arabs that the Co. are equally desirous for their welfare as well as for that of the slaves.” Secondly, he wrote that the English translation should be cut off, explaining that, “This will make it appear as if it were, as it is, an order direct from the Sultan, and not as having emanated from the Company.”Footnote ⁸² In some later correspondence, de Winton requested that the Sultan send his own special envoys to the British coast to promulgate the decree. However, Euan-Smith worried that it would most injuriously affect the prestige and the influence of the “Company.” He therefore “deemed it wise not to mention [this suggestion] to His Highness.”Footnote ⁸³ This reflects how both the British, and the Zanzibari Sultanate for that matter, had divergent and changeable interests in demonstrating their ownership of the decree.

On August 21, Seyyid Ali's advisor and political envoy, Hamid bin Suliman, arrived at Mombasa, supposedly to promulgate the decree.Footnote ⁸⁴ However, he issued a second amendment to the decree, which severely undermined the eighth and ninth articles:

Be it known to all men our subjects, with reference to what I wrote on the 15th El Haj (August 1), and put up in the Custom-house:

It took at least a year for the Foreign Office in Britain to become aware of this second proclamation.Footnote ⁸⁶ Euan-Smith, on the other hand, received word of it from de Winton a day after it had been issued and he wrote back furiously stating that:

Seyyid Ali might not have expected Euan-Smith to promulgate the decree in Mombasa; it was unprecedented and at this point the Sultan's authority there was particularly tenuous. De Winton's fears of outright rebellion on the Kenyan coast were well-founded. Yet, if Seyyid Ali had explained to Euan-Smith that the decree would hold no weight in Mombasa, it would sorely weaken the agreements to make Zanzibar a British Protectorate, and indeed depreciate the value of the sultanate in the long run. To maintain the illusion of his absolute authority beyond the islands of Zanzibar, Seyyid Ali had to put on a brave face and demonstrate consternation any time he was faced with dissent. If Hamid bin Suliman could meet with the Arab leaders in Mombasa and deal with the matter quickly and quietly, they may have stood a chance of maintaining their position on both sides. This strategy worked to some extent as there were no more reports of dissidence in Mombasa. Yet, while Seyyid Ali retained an appearance of acquiescence to Euan-Smith, the latter abruptly stopped mentioning the Seyyid's great desire for abolition.Footnote ⁸⁷ By this point, Euan-Smith finally expressed doubts that the Sultan's authority was strong enough to enforce it, and he suggested drawing up a treaty with Seyyid Ali to make him responsible for doing so, though this was never done.Footnote ⁸⁸

From the perspective of the British consulate, the response to the 1890 decree seemed quieter along the German coastline, though the Germans showed no interest in publicizing the decree.Footnote ⁸⁹ Euan-Smith was unaware until some weeks later that Suleiman bin Nasr al-Lemki, the recently-instated wali of Bagamoyo (the largest coastal town in the DOAG possessions), had in fact travelled to Zanzibar on August 5 to assure merchants that they could still trade in Bagamoyo, thereby luring them, their wealth and influence, away from Zanzibar. Suleiman was a descendant of an Omani family close to the ruling dynasty and among the wealthiest of the Pangani planters.Footnote ⁹⁰ He had also been working covertly for the Germans prior to 1888 and collaborated with them for many years thereafter.Footnote ⁹¹ It is unclear whether Suleiman made the same verbal assurances to slave owners in Bagamoyo as he did in Zanzibar, but it seems likely. These assurances were wrapped up in German plans to force Seyyid Ali to accept complete cessation of the territories DOAG was leasing. The pressure for cessation had started in late June 1890, when Seyyid Ali was presented with an offer of two million marks and the threat of further compensation for war losses if he delayed to reply. Seyyid Ali had refused, and stood up to the pressure with the remark, “Is my kingdom like a camel that is bargained for and sold in a few minutes?”Footnote ⁹²

With the abolition decree promulgated and ruffling feathers across the East African coastline, and with the DOAG possessions being on the cusp of full cessation on the part of the Sultan of Zanzibar, it may well have appeared that Bagamoyo could compete with, or even take, Zanzibar's critical economic place in the East African region on account of being free of British pressure to abolish slavery. With all this in mind, it was particularly alarming to the sultan's sovereignty that on September 6 this unsigned proclamation was issued in Bagamoyo:

The document was not signed but the name of Acting Governor of Bagamoyo, Lieutenant Perban, was written upon it.Footnote ⁹⁴ The Germans initially denied any involvement with the proclamation, despite being very clearly intent to severely punish the persons responsible for telling the British about the proclamation.Footnote ⁹⁵ They shrugged it off as a “sorry effort” (“machwerk”) on the part of an unnamed private Arab individual to further their trading interests. However, the Germans later stated that the proclamation was written by Suleiman bin Nasr and had been submitted to the German administration; it had been filed away and never formerly sanctioned.

Suleiman bin Nasr admitted that he did write a draft of a proclamation, which he submitted to the district chief for authorization.Footnote ⁹⁶ In London, the recipients of Euan-Smith's report could not have been more puzzled, jotting down that: “The evidence that the proclamation was issued under German orders does not appear to be strong.” Another replied, “it could hardly be stronger.” Lord Salisbury underlined the difficulty of designating any authorship to it, noting that “Col. Smith saw no one who himself had seen the proclamation and no one apparently proposes to have any signature to it.”Footnote ⁹⁷ While the Germans denounced the Bagamoyo proclamation, they did not post any of the copies of the Decree in any part of the DOAG territory. Hindsight does not afford us a more conclusive answer, especially seeing as both the Arabs and Germans had an interest in undermining Seyyid Ali's decree.Footnote ⁹⁸ It may be tempting to conjecture that this was all an attempt to promote Bagamoyo as the new economic capital of East Africa, but Suleiman bin Nasr did not seem to see it in those terms. His statement, dated September 21, 1890, explained that the town's labor force had largely disappeared owing to the unrest of the 1888 uprising, and food production was desperately low, which in turn was forcing townspeople to pay higher supplies to import from Zanzibar. Granted, Suleiman was making this statement in diplomatic circles, but his concerns were no doubt founded.Footnote ⁹⁹ Moreover, Bagamoyo was unique amongst the coastal towns in terms of having suffered a colossal loss of labor during the 1888 uprising; and it must also be noted that proclamations such as this were not issued in any other parts of the DOAG coastline.Footnote ¹⁰⁰

The Bagamoyo proclamation did not just threaten the efficacy of anti-slavery decree of August 1, but, Seyyid Ali feared, his own authority as Sultan in the eyes of the ruling Arab elite.Footnote ¹⁰¹ The Sultan wrote to the Queen on September 15 to solicit her help and put pressure on the German government, but the telegram was not sent.Footnote ¹⁰² Word of the controversies around the decree had spread to the British Isles, prompting one journalist to observe that, “his German neigbours have turned the good deed against [Seyyid Ali] in a most surprising way.”Footnote ¹⁰³ Seyyid Ali's decree, in combination with the debacle over the Bagamoyo proclamation, secured the loss of his mainland dominions to the Germans in the same month. On September 25, 1890, Seyyid Ali bitterly accepted the sum of four million marks, double the original offer but still a very low sum for the cessation of the territories DOAG had been leasing.Footnote ¹⁰⁴ The legal implications of Seyyid Ali's decree were, therefore, only really felt in Zanzibar.

On Pemba, the effects were particularly negligible. In 1895, Pemba's Vice Consul D.R. O'Sullivan-Beare attempted to enforce the 1890 decree in Pemba, but found that slave owners were “baffled” by his attempts and claimed they had little or no knowledge that trading slaves was illegal.Footnote ¹⁰⁵ In fact, they may well have been right that trading plantation slaves was still legal, given that the decree employs the term “kadim” rather than “abd” and the majority of enslaved persons in Pemba worked on plantations. As discussed, enslaved persons were unlikely to get a hearing under kadhis anywhere in the Sultan's dominions, they had to approach the Sultan, by way of the British consulate, to claim freedom invoking the 1890 decree.

Against all odds, this decree, in addition to the 1889 decree passed by Seyyid Khalifa, increased in importance over time, especially after enslaved persons could apply for emancipation as per the 1897 abolition edict. The 1889 and 1890 decrees were essential here because they determined the eligibility of the owners to claim compensation (funded by the Zanzibar Government) for their emancipation. Despite many British officials arguing that the abolition of slavery should follow suit with the process taken in India, i.e., that slave owners should not be compensated, Lord Salisbury disagreed. He argued that the second clause of the 1890 decree recognized the legal right of slave owners to own slaves and therefore he believed that compensation must be paid to anyone owning slaves that had been purchased prior to 1890 decree. The article to which Salisbury was referring to in the 1890 decree was as follows: “We declare that, subject to the conditions stated below, all slaves [khuddām] lawfully possessed on this date by our subjects shall remain with their owners as at present. Their status shall be unchanged.” Owners of certain categories of slaves were therefore given a guarantee of the uninterrupted possession of their lawful property and they had argued that this clause must be retained.

The earlier decrees also set limits on who could apply for compensation. So, if an enslaved person applied for freedom any time after 1897, their owners would not be entitled to compensation if they had (a) treated the enslaved with cruelty, (b) purchased them after 1890, or (c) if the enslaved person was born after January 1, 1890. These earlier decrees also had the potential to bolster claims to emancipation by concubines who were not strictly allowed to be emancipated until 1909.Footnote ¹⁰⁷ It was impossible to predict how much compensation would cost because estimates of the number of legally held slaves varied between 7000 and 70000. It was, Salisbury decreed, the Zanzibar Government who should foot the bill, but that financial aid from the British Government may be possible if required.Footnote ¹⁰⁸