Bitter Chocolate by Carol Off

harbour. For a time, the islands had been cultivated for sugar, but that ended when the Caribbean plantations became the main source of the world’s sweetener. The Portuguese continued to grow some coffee but had found no other purpose for the islands. As the world demand for cocoa increased and the plant stock in the New World diminished, the Portuguese finally realized they were in possession of a goldmine.
    The first cocoa plants arrived on São Tomé in 1824, and within two decades, as Van Houten’s machine revolutionized production—and boosted demand—the Portuguese expanded their plantations dramatically. Soon cocoa was flourishing on the island and then on neighbouring Príncipe. By the turn of the century, São Tomé was the leading producer of cocoa in the world, supplying the factories of Great Britain, the Netherlands and to a lesser extent the United States. There were few people native to the islands to perform the labour-intensive work of cocoa farming, but this was of little concern. The Portuguese had control of populous Angola.
    Since the sixteenth century, the Portuguese had exported an estimated three million Angolans to the Americas. Now, with a huge international demand for chocolate candy, Angolans would serve Portuguese interests once more. Officially, the Angolans were being offered jobs and wages in the cocoa groves. They were told they were free to come and go and were promised proper compensation for their efforts. That was what it said on paper. São Tomé wasn’t far away—not like the Americas. Presumably they’d work for a while, then return to where they came from. But, curiously, no one did.
    Nevinson wanted to know why.
    One of his best sources of information about Portuguese labour practices in Africa came from an enterprising newsletter put out by Britain’s Anti-Slavery Society, called the
Reporter
. In its pages, Nevinson combed through myriad accounts of abuse dispatched by the field workers and missionaries who worked in Africa. What they described, in detailed letters and articles, was a systemic forced labour scheme supplying workers to the Portuguese coffee and cocoa plantations. Reports of appalling abuse begin to appear in the
Reporter
as early as the 1850s, and each decade the stories become more shocking.
    In May 1883, a letter described “the shipments of Slaves” to the Portuguese islands where the author reports that three thousand workers had recently arrived. Technically, they were free to go home at any time, “however, as the offer is never made, nor the opportunity afforded,” said the source, “they become permanent indentured labourers.” More reports throughout 1885 contradicted claims by the Portuguese that the workers were treated humanely: “Why then torture them by squeezing their fingers in the copying press, cutting their parts and ears off, thrash them, men, women heavy in the course of nature, and children so unmercifully?” says the
Reporter’s
dispatch. Other missionaries claimed the workers arrived on São Tomé with iron rings around their necks. How could the Africans be anything other than slaves?
    What fascinated Nevinson more than the bulletins, which continued to pile up into the 1890s, was that the bland denials of the Portuguese were accepted by British authorities or, at least, regarded in the same light as the passionate accounts of missionaries to the Portuguese islands. These differing versions were accepted simply as two sides of the story. Why had no one done a proper investigation when the evidence was so thick and the narratives—covering a period of five decades—so consistent?
    Before departing for Africa in 1904, Nevinson contacted the Cadburys. With their reputation as social activists, it would have been reasonable to assume they’d be as curious as he was about the disturbing reports from the islands off West Africa, where Nevinson was