Solynth Network · Economic History
Not a contributor to Britain's revolution, but an independent attempt at industrial modernisation.
Madagascar had essentially no significant role in the Industrial Revolution as the term is conventionally understood, meaning the British and Western European mechanisation of roughly 1760 to 1840. It was not a major supplier of industrial raw materials to Britain, not an important export market, and not a node in the coal, iron, cotton, and capital networks that drove mechanised production. Anyone who frames the island as a contributor to that story is making a claim the mainstream economic history does not support.
The genuinely interesting connection runs the other way. During the same decades that Britain was industrialising, the Merina kingdom of highland Madagascar attempted its own state-directed industrialisation, deliberately in order to avoid dependence on the European powers. Where to date the beginning of that effort is contested. The familiar narrative treats the two reigns as opposites. It casts Radama I, who ruled from 1810 to 1828, as the outward-facing moderniser who signed a formal alliance with Britain in 1817, ended the export of slaves, and encouraged the London Missionary Society to establish schools. It casts his successor Ranavalona I, who ruled from 1828 to 1861, as the ruler who reversed that openness, expelled nearly all foreigners, and insisted that Madagascar develop on its own terms. On that telling the autarky is Ranavalona's signature alone.
The specialist literature complicates the picture. Gwyn Campbell, the standard economic historian of imperial Madagascar, dates the industrial experiment from 1825 and identifies a declaration of autarky in 1826, from which point the Merina crown took on the salaries, lodging, and provisioning of the foreign artisans on the island. That places the beginning within Radama's reign. The reconciliation is that two different axes are in play. Radama's openness was diplomatic and religious, his engagement with Britain and the missionaries. The autarky was economic, a self-sufficiency and import-substitution drive that used those very European artisans and their skills to build indigenous manufacturing capacity. Ranavalona then fused that industrial programme with political and religious closure, which is why she tends to receive sole credit for it. This early dating is a revisionist reading rather than a settled fact, and it should be weighed as such.
The centrepiece of the effort was Jean Laborde, a French adventurer shipwrecked on the island in 1831. He first manufactured muskets and gunpowder at Ilafy, and then from around 1837 organised a large forced-labour workforce to build an industrial complex at Mantasoa, sited near water, wood, and iron ore. It was the largest of several such sites. Campbell describes Mantasoa as comprising five factories with blast furnaces and numerous workshops, producing cannon, muskets, gunpowder, glass, porcelain, soap, bricks, cement, and a wide range of other goods. The labour figures are worth stating precisely, because they measure two different things. The complex was built by a fanompoana, a corvée levy, of around twenty thousand workers, equivalent to about five per cent of the adult Merina male population, and once it was operating it maintained a permanent workforce of roughly five thousand. By 1850 that standing workforce of about five thousand was spread across the five factories. The twenty thousand is the construction levy and the five thousand is the operating establishment, and both figures are correct for their respective quantities.
The accurate way to state Madagascar's relationship to industrialisation, then, is not as a peripheral input to Britain's revolution but as an independent, defensive, and largely contemporaneous attempt at industrial modernisation on the island itself. Mantasoa belongs in the same conceptual family as other nineteenth-century state-led modernisation drives, such as Muhammad Ali's Egypt and, later, Meiji Japan, efforts by non-European rulers to acquire industrial and above all military capacity precisely in order to resist European domination. It was import-substitution and defensive modernisation before those terms existed. Where it differed sharply from the British model is that it was coerced from above and rested on forced labour rather than on wage labour and private capital, which is one reason it proved fragile and did not outlast its royal sponsor and its foreign engineer. Laborde was expelled in 1857, along with the other Europeans, after a failed plot involving Ranavalona's son Rakoto and the French merchant Joseph-Francois Lambert, and his factories were confiscated. Workers destroyed much of the Mantasoa complex once he had gone. He returned to Madagascar only after the queen's death in 1861, under her successor Radama II, and died at Mantasoa in 1878.
Ranavalona's own reputation is contested, and it is worth stating plainly rather than smoothing over. European accounts branded her the mad queen of Madagascar, while many Malagasy historians view her instead as a fierce defender of sovereignty. Her reign combined the industrial ambition described above with the expulsion of foreigners, the persecution and execution of Christian converts, and the harsh forced-labour system that built Mantasoa in the first place. Both things are true at once, and how one weighs them tends to track whether one is reading the colonial-era European sources or the nationalist reappraisal.