Colonial history in the archive of botanist Went

For many, the scientific discipline of botany does not immediately evoke associations with colonial history. Yet the archive of Friedrich Went (1863–1935), professor of botany at Utrecht University from 1896 to 1933, contains a wealth of information on how scientific research took shape in formerly colonised regions, particularly in Suriname. 

As part of the Botany collection, this archive contains a remarkable array of reports, notes and correspondence concerning the preparation and execution of expeditions to the Surinamese rivers Coppename, Gonini and Saramacca, which were carried out between 1900 and 1903.

While these journeys served scientific purposes, they were equally driven by territorial and economic objectives. A network of individuals with diverse backgrounds–from scientists and administrators to politicians and entrepreneurs–set up these expeditions and secured their funding. Given Went's outspoken interest in Surinamese flora, he was trusted as a botanical expert within this network. Consequently, his archive contains valuable information on the social and institutional infrastructure through which colonial knowledge was produced between 1895 and 1905.

Science and colonialism

In the nineteenth century, the natural sciences and colonial expansion became increasingly intertwined. Scientific advances enabled European rulers to extend and consolidate their power over a greater number of territories. In this context, botany prioritized the study of lucrative crops and the potential for large-scale exploitation. In the Netherlands, as in many other European societies, the production of scientific knowledge about colonialised territories was highly institutionalised. Organisations such as the Maatschappij ter Bevordering van het Natuurkundig Onderzoek der Nederlandsche Koloniën (‘Society for the Advancement of Natural Science Research in the Dutch Colonies’), founded in 1887, emerged in response to a growing demand for knowledge about colonised regions. In practice, however, this scientific interest focused firmly on ‘the East’. As early as 1888, an Indisch Comité (‘Indies Committee’) was established in Batavia under the auspices of the Society. This Committee was dedicated to research in Asia, whilst no comparable infrastructure was established in the Caribbean.

West Indies Committee

In this light, the material from Went’s archive is remarkable. Letters reveal that various initiators, including Went, actively sought to address the lack of scientific knowledge about regions on the American continent. An 1896 letter from the aforementioned Society to the Inspector of Education in Paramaribo, Dr. H. Benjamins, shows how the scientific “neglect” of the “Dutch West Indies” was discussed (Fig. 1). The letter explicitly mentions a proposal for the establishment of a “West Indies Committee” as a counterpart to the Indies Committee in Batavia–an initiative that appears to be absent from existing historiography.

Suriname as “unexplored” territory

By 1897, this initiative had prompted the creation of the Commissie tot Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek van Suriname (Surinamese Scientific Research Commission), which was tasked with advising on the preparation, organisation, and funding of scientific expeditions. This explicit focus on Suriname underscores that demands for enhancing knowledge about colonised territories in America were directed primarily at this colony. Suriname was portrayed as both largely unknown and full of potential – scientific as well as economic. 

The organisational design of scientific expeditions illustrates the close connection between the production of scientific knowledge, territorial control, and economic interests. In a 1900 memorandum, Suriname is presented as being shrouded in a metaphorical “veil” that needed to be lifted (Fig. 2). Such portrayals justified expeditions into the region, which were in turn presented as a form of “enlightened expansion”. By explicitly referring to Suriname’s potential resources, as well as the Netherlands’ alleged lag behind neighbouring countries in exploiting them, this expansion was simultaneously linked to expectations regarding control and exploitation. 

Pure science and practical utility

This emphasis on the potential outcomes of knowledge production did not stand on its own. Letters and reports concerning the preparation of expeditions make clear that it was not always easy to secure funding for scientific journeys into Suriname’s interior. Expeditions had to be carried out as cheaply as possible to promise yielding “high rewards” (Fig. 2). To achieve this, an 1897 report by the Commission argued, ostensibly “purely” scientific research objectives had to be combined with a purported “practical utility” that would promote the prosperity of the colony (Fig. 3).

Geographical research was prioritized in this advisory report. Mapping the region could facilitate the achievement of other research objectives. Furthermore, the demarcation of borders was deemed of great political importance. Additionally, this recommendation invoked a “purely industrial interest” (Fig. 4). To map Suriname’s mineral resources, an engineer was proposed to accompany the expedition and conduct mining investigations to chart gold, diamonds, and other valuable minerals.

 The necessity of botanical research was presented in a similar manner. Rather than focusing solely on the pursuit of “pure” scientific discovery, the traveling botanist was also tasked with identifying products suitable for exploitation and export. This way, scientific objectives were explicitly combined with commercial interests.

Negotiating Funding

During the preparatory phase of the expeditions, objectives were carefully drawn up to secure sufficient support from various parties to contribute to the funding of research journeys. Although the Dutch government was initially reluctant to provide support for the expeditions (Fig. 5), topographical objectives were eventually deemed of national interest. As demarcation of borders was determined a “state task”, financial support was made available for this purpose (Fig. 6). However, the government was not prepared to fund these expeditions in full. Responsibility for other research objectives, such as geological, mining and botanical surveys, was therefore placed on the private sector. Numerous memoranda make clear that funding was by no means guaranteed, but rather the result of ongoing negotiations about which knowledge was valued and whose responsibility it was. 

Because the costs of expeditions could run high, attempts were made to link scientific research to existing research conducted by private companies as much as possible. The sources also mention informal negotiations, which reportedly revealed that further research was regarded as “highly desirable” in private circles as well (Fig. 6). This intertwining with private initiatives was also indirectly reflected in the locations chosen for the first expeditions. As the gold industry had already significantly expanded knowledge of the eastern interior of Suriname, it was decided that the first expeditions of the newly established Commission would focus on the western interior, an area depicted in the sources as completely unknown.

Local knowledge

What was repeatedly presented in these documents as uncharted territory was, of course, not at all unknown to the people living in these areas. The expeditions were heavily reliant on local residents for their operations. This is evident from letters and reports, which regularly refer to the number of labourers hired for expeditions. For the Coppename expedition (1901), for example, around fifty Surinamese labourers were hired (see Report on the Coppename expedition in Suriname. Leader: L.A. Bakhuis, by: H.D.H. Bosboom). These labourers were tasked with carrying supplies (see Fig. 8, a photograph taken during the Gonini expedition (1903), from the KITLV collection), setting up camps, or clearing paths through densely forested areas. In addition, local guides played a central role in these expeditions; they led the expedition through areas with which the leaders themselves were unfamiliar.

Marron and indigenous Surinamese communities were indispensable to the success of these expeditions. As experts on both the landscape and the inhabitants of the areas visited, they were, for example, hired to help navigate dangerous waterfalls and rapids. Without familiarity with these stretches, they were deemed virtually impossible to traverse. 

The importance of local knowledge is evident, among other things, from the wage conflicts that frequently arose. The report of the Coppename expedition shows that guides demanded twice the standard wage set by the expedition leaders (see ‘Verslag van de Coppename-expeditie in Suriname. Leider: L.A. Bakhuis, door: H.D.H. Bosboom’). In the end, the expedition’s leaders had no choice but to give in to these demands, as the journeys could not be continued without the guides’ cooperation. The various examples of conflicts with expedition leaders show that these expedition members were not merely passive participants; they had room to negotiate, and they used it.

Local knowledge was also crucial to the collection of botanical specimens. Many of the plants gathered were,  for instance, already used in local communities for their medicinal properties. Researchers often obtained these plants more successfully on land managed by those communities than in the tropical rainforest, where they did not always succeed in finding suitable material. This becomes clear, for example, from a letter by A. Pulle, a student of Went and later a professor at Utrecht University (see ‘Voorlopig botanisch verslag van de Saramacca-expeditie 1902-1903 door: A. Pulle’).

The leaders of the expeditions tended to assume that local communities would be willing to cooperate with the expeditions. In practice, however, such assistance was not always forthcoming. The leaders of the Gonini expedition (1903) expressed their surprise when they came across a village that had not taken any measures to assist the expedition, despite having been informed of the expedition’s arrival in advance (see ‘Brieven van de commissie tot wetenschappelijk onderzoek van Suriname aan: het bestuur van de maatschappij ter bevordering van het Natuurkundig onderzoek der Nederlandse Koloniën te Utrecht, ondertekening onleesbaar, 1903/04’). 

In conclusion: science as a process

In Went’s collection, science is not presented as the disinterested production of knowledge, but as a process shaped by institutional frameworks and colonial power relations. What makes this collection unique is that it demonstrates how there was active advocacy within scientific and administrative circles to address the lack of knowledge about Suriname. The establishment of committees and attempts to organise expeditions demonstrate a marked interest in this region. This interest has so far been largely overlooked in studies of the Dutch colonial past. 

The documents on preparation, fund-raising, expectations, and implementation provide insight into the framework within which scientific knowledge was developed, the interests at stake, and the people involved. Reading between the lines of these reports makes clear just how dependent the expeditions were on the assistance of local communities. When sources from this archive are combined with other material, such as the expeditions’ photographic collections, it becomes possible to see this reliance more clearly, in ways that letters and reports only hint at indirectly.

The insights offered by this archive complement those provided by an older masterpiece from the collection of Utrecht University Library: Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium by the entomologist Maria Sibylla Merian (1647–1717), published in 1705. Whereas Merian’s work makes colonial science visible in the form of an individual knowledge product, the documents from Went’s archive reveal the less visible layers of the process behind science. It is not the end result, but the conditions under which knowledge was pursued, that are brought to life here. It is this institutional and social dimension that lies at the heart of the archive. Together, these collections demonstrate how knowledge about Suriname was produced, valued and utilised in various ways during different periods. 

Daniëlle de Kurver, February 2026

This article was written as part of the Utrecht University History Fellowship held by the author from December 2025 to February 2026.