Caribbean labour politics in the age of Garvey,1918

Abstract

This article examines the impact of Garveyism – the political brainchild of Jamaican activist Marcus Garvey – in the articulation of post first world war labour politics in the greater Caribbean region. Garveyism nurtured a platform of race-first, worker-oriented, anti-colonial politics that both gave encouragement to, and provided a language of grievance for, a series of strikes, riots and rebellions after the war. During the reactionary era that followed, Garveyites nimbly scaled back the stridency of their politics, replacing their emphasis on direct action and worker resistance with a labour politics that privileged organisation building and constitutional reform, but which continued to project the implications of the work in global terms, joined to Garveyites’ end goal of African liberation and racial redemption. By the mid-1930s, a new labour politics emerged that both surpassed Garveyist labour organising in its stridency and relied on Garveyist tropes of racial solidarity; one that distanced itself from Garveyist labour organisers while boasting a leadership that had been nurtured within the Garvey movement.

Keywords

Belize Garveyism Greater Caribbean labour unrest Marcus Garvey pan-Africanism Panama Canal Zone Trinidad Trinidad Workingmen’s Association Tubal Uriah ‘Buzz’ Butler Universal Negro Improvement Association

At the break of dawn on 19 June 1937, smoke billowed from the wells of the Apex Company at Fyzabad, in the heart of Trinidad’s southern oilfields. It was a signal to workers to stay home: the strike, which had been threatened since the beginning of the month, had begun. Worker defiance quickly engulfed the western half of the island, first spreading through the oilfields, then heading north to the sugar plantations and the towns, reaching Port of Spain, the capital, on 22 June. Police and volunteer forces, overwhelmed by the extent of the resistance, opened fire time and again on the crowds, killing at least twelve, and wounding dozens. Only the arrival of two British warships, on 22 and 23 June, allowed the authorities to regain control. Out of the carnage came the reluctant acknowledgment of the need for trade unions – until then, sharply circumscribed – and the institutionalisation of the labour movement in Trinidad. During a fleeting moment of sympathy for the workers, the acting Colonial Secretary, Howard H. Nankivell, pledged ‘a new era in the history of Trinidad’, an end to the ‘conditions of economic slavery’ and the institution of fair wages and decent conditions of employment.¹

The labour rebellion in Trinidad comprised an episode in a series of dramatic strikes and riots that shook the British West Indies in the second half of the 1930s, forever altering the landscape of the region and laying the foundation for the labour and decolonisation struggles of the subsequent decades. The confrontations – pitting majority populations of poor, disenfranchised workers of colour against the islands’ powerful white oligarchies – were a product of the severe economic hardships set in motion by the Great Depression: collapsing sugar prices, spiking unemployment, reduced wages, escalating poverty. These class-based grievances were woven into longstanding racial tensions, which were ignited by the aggression of Italian fascists in Ethiopia, beginning in late 1934. Typical of interwar labour radicalism in the greater Caribbean, black workers viewed their struggle for economic justice through a prism of racial solidarity; labour, to borrow the felicitous phrase of the leader of the Trinidad demonstrations, Tubal Uriah ‘Buzz’ Butler, mobilised under an ‘Ethiopian tent’.² It was a blend of labour politics and racial consciousness born from an earlier, galvanising period of radicalism following the end of the first world war. It was a politics that owed part of its articulation, and much of its persistence, to Garveyism.

From its epicentre in New York, Garveyism spread impressively across the African diaspora during the interwar period. The brainchild of Jamaican activist Marcus Garvey, the charismatic President-General of the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), Garveyism skilfully projected black nationalism, racial pride and global anti-colonialism as mass politics. The history of Garveyism has traditionally been written as a dramatic account of Garvey’s rise and subsequent fall, and framed by the institutional successes and failures of the UNIA.³ But by the early 1920s, the movement had begun to mature as a formidable project of transnational network-building, consciousness-raising and activism that extended beyond the operational parameters of the UNIA, influenced a diverse array of regionally constituted political projects, and persisted long after the central organisational edifice of the UNIA had begun its decline.⁴ A preoccupation with the dramatic exploits of Marcus Garvey and the oversized schemes and business ventures of the UNIA has obscured the extent to which Garveyism was a product of its adherents’ commitment to mundane organising. It has had the paradoxical effect of obfuscating the unmatched importance of Garveyism as a political vehicle for black subalterns across the globe during the decade and a half after the first world war, a period that I have described elsewhere as an ‘age of Garvey’.⁵

The proliferation of work on Caribbean Garveyism in recent years has created some confusion about the relationship of the movement to labour politics. Ronald Harpelle, focusing on Garveyist⁶ contacts with West Indian migrants employed by the United Fruit Company (UFC) in Costa Rica, demonstrates the extent to which the demands of UNIA fundraising aligned with UFC business interests, particularly after 1921. Anne Macpherson convincingly charts the evolution of Garveyism into a politics of conservative reform in British Honduras (now Belize). On the other hand, Carla Burnett has established the deep relationship between Garveyist organising and labour radicalism in the Panama Canal Zone in 1919 and 1920. And in a wonderful recent essay, Lara Putnam complicates the issue further by questioning the degree to which traditional notions of accommodation and resistance, reformism and radicalism can be disaggregated in the burgeoning ideology of black internationalism following the first world war.⁷

None of this work, separated as it is by place and time, is diminished by this incongruity. Like much of the recent work on American Garveyism, local studies of the movement in the greater Caribbean region successfully and helpfully illustrate the extent to which Garveyism was shaped by local forces, moulded by participants to suit their diverse and often contradictory sets of needs.⁸ What it does suggest is that we might profit from a more comprehensive regional dialogue, a sustained discussion about the trajectory of Garveyite labour politics against which to test the fissures of local variety. This task is made all the more pressing because in the absence of such a conversation several local historians of the movement seem intent on reviving Judith Stein’s sweeping and greatly misleading view that Garveyism was an essentially pro-business, petty-bourgeois and anti-union philosophy. Stein’s perspective on Caribbean Garveyism is based entirely on Marcus Garvey’s fundraising trip to Cuba, Jamaica and Central America in 1921, and it ignores much – in particular, the radical period of Garveyist labour rebellion that followed the war, and the deep and sustained ties that the UNIA forged with labour activists over the next decade and a half. Nevertheless, Macpherson uses Stein’s conclusions to make sense of her own discovery of conservative Garveyism in British Honduras. Elsewhere, a perplexing cognitive dissonance has set in. Frederick Douglass Opie, finding unmistakable evidence of Garveyist support for a labour strike in Puerto Barrios, Guatemala, in 1920, is left wondering if Garvey’s ‘intended’ message was ‘co-opted’. Burnett, in her otherwise excellent monograph, wonders why the ‘anti-union’ Garvey might have supported the strike of Panama Canal workers in 1920, and rests on the unsatisfying conclusion that the growth of Garveyism ‘happened almost spontaneously in different parts of the world’; implying, like Opie, that Garvey’s essential vision was lost in its transmission abroad.⁹

In proposing a unified narrative of Garveyist influence in the interwar labour politics of the greater Caribbean, this essay both emphasises the influence of Garveyism on regional labour politics and suggests its limitations. It both embraces the local diversity implied by recent work while remaining mindful of the broader conceptual and strategic currents that underlay that diversity, gave the movement its coherence, and propelled its global project. Garveyism, I argue, was carried to the Caribbean archipelago and the Central American isthmus between 1918 and 1920 as a strident doctrine of international mobilisation, race consciousness and assertiveness that both gave encouragement to, and provided a language of grievance for, a series of strikes, riots and rebellions across the region. This period of revolutionary enthusiasm was not sustainable; workers gained some concessions, but administrators also redoubled their efforts to undermine meaningful labour reform, to police manifestations of race consciousness, and to generally restore the ‘order’ of starkly exploitative capitalist relations. As in the United States, Garvey and his supporters responded by scaling back the stridency of their politics. In Cuba and Central America, shorn of the subversive immediacy that had propelled the early years of contact, local UNIA divisions supported the more mundane needs of its predominantly West Indian constituency, developing in many places into an ‘immigrant protection association’ that legislators in the Hispanic Caribbean, save in Cuba, viewed with little concern.¹⁰ In the West Indies, Garveyists worked closely with labour activists to establish the foundation of a labour politics that emphasised, partly out of necessity, organisation and constitutional reform rather than direct action and worker resistance. The work across the greater Caribbean was locally calibrated to the needs of its constituents, and fashioned with an eye to the opportunities and limitations offered poor, black and colonised subjects. But it was also projected in global terms, viewed as the mundane spade work of diasporic solidarity and African redemption. By the mid-1930s, a new labour politics had emerged, one that both surpassed Garveyist labour organising in its stridency and relied on Garveyist tropes of racial solidarity; one that distanced itself from Garveyist labour organisers while boasting a leadership that had been nurtured within the Garvey movement.¹¹

Approaching Caribbean Garveyism from a regional perspective requires an appreciation of the ways in which the UNIA moved from an early period of strident immediacy towards an embrace of patient organising and consciousness-raising that set the long-term goal of African redemption in conversation with the demands of local needs and opportunities. This in turn requires viewing Garveyism as an organic mass politics rather than a philosophical system devoted to either ‘radicalism’ or ‘conservatism’. Garveyites were connected by a series of broad and relatively fixed assumptions: a belief that African redemption and Negro redemption were coterminous and biblically ordained; a view of the ‘Negro race’ as a unified and ancient category of belonging; and an understanding of history that suggested a declining white civilisation and an ascendant Negro one. Such beliefs did not recommend an approach so much as demand that the work be done. And, in practice, this work was malleable, strident or cautious depending on the circumstances, dedicated to the work of politics rather than the demands of ideological purity. The success of Garveyism in the greater Caribbean in the 1920s and 1930s – as with the success of the UNIA in the United States in the 1920s, and the success of Garveyist organising across sub-Saharan Africa in both interwar decades – reflected the capacity of the movement to speak effectively to the needs and the aspirations of the moment within the realm of political possibility. And, as in the US and Africa, after its time had passed, after the movement lost the capacity to meet the demands of the new and strident politics of the mid-1930s, its legacy lived on in the work of the sons and daughters whose political consciousness had been forged by, and nurtured within, the protective embrace of the UNIA and the philosophy and opinions of Marcus Garvey.

Dislocation and discontent in the wartime Caribbean

The post-emancipation Caribbean was shaped by the broad currents of world price fluctuations, economic reorganisation and labour migration, all of which amounted to new and refined methods of worker marginalisation, coercion and exploitation. As the older British sugar islands entered into a period of decline, workers faced diminishing resources for peasant production, competition from waves of indentured workers from Asia and evaporating opportunities for employment. They responded by migrating en masse to the burgeoning sugar plantations of Cuba, to the construction sites of the Panama Canal Zone, to the banana farms of the United Fruit Company stretching through Central America, and to the urban centres of the US. Worker efforts to vote with their feet, their willingness to oscillate from labour centre to labour centre in search of better wages, had the paradoxical consequence of creating a massive regional pool of cheap, expendable labour that undercut wages and allowed employers the latitude to utilise draconian and coercive measures of discipline to sustain a pliant workforce. Efforts at worker organisation were crushed. ‘Agitators’ were quickly removed. In the fields and work sites of Central America, West Indian labourers were introduced to the insidious indignities of Jim Crow segregation carried south by American multinational corporations and administrators of the Canal Zone.¹²

At the outset of the first world war, West Indians patriotically enlisted for duty. Sixteen thousand black troops were raised in all, including five battalions recruited from Panama and Costa Rica. In Jamaica, the newly formed Universal Negro Improvement Association organised a farewell meeting to honour members of the British West Indies Regiment (BWIR), at which Marcus Garvey ‘impressed on the men … the duty of every true son of the Empire to rally to the cause of the Motherland [Britain]’.¹³ Rather than plaudits, however, members of the BWIR were greeted overseas with a relentless stream of racist invective and personal humiliations. Disembarking at Alexandria, Egypt, in 1916, Corporal Samuel A. Haynes and his regiment arrived at their base camp YMCA ‘under the strains of Rule Britannia’, only to be ‘immediately confronted by a number of British soldiers and asked, “Who gave you niggers authority to sing that! Clear out of this building – only British soldiers admitted here.”’ West Indian soldiers received separate and unequal living quarters, were provided with inadequate kitchen, transportation and hospital facilities, and were asked to perform menial tasks around camp otherwise reserved for labour battalions. As ‘aboriginal troops’, they were kept from the European theatre and mostly held from combat duty; classified as ‘Natives’ by the War Office, they were deemed ineligible for a six-pence a day raise in 1918. In December of that year, as troops remained stationed in Taranto, Italy, members of the Ninth Battalion rose in revolt against their officers, resulting in the disarmament and demobilisation of West Indian soldiers, mass imprisonments and the execution of one soldier. Members of the BWIR returned from the war deeply disillusioned about their place in the Empire, and receptive to the doctrines of racial consciousness and solidarity that had begun to circulate around the greater Caribbean.¹⁴

The experiences of West Indian soldiers abroad fed into a larger narrative of anger and frustration at home. Wartime inflation more than doubled the prices of basic foodstuffs, antagonising workers who accused white merchants of profiteering and who blamed white employers for failing to raise wages to meet the rising cost of living.¹⁵ Mounting black resentment was further inflamed by shocking reports of cruelty inflicted on black men and women during race riots in both the United States and Britain. In July, days before riots erupted in Belize, British Honduras, the Belize Independent published a report from England describing race riots in Liverpool and Cardiff, Wales, during which ‘infuriated crowds hunted every negro from pillar to post, wrecked and fired their lodging houses’, and stalked the streets armed with revolvers, razors and knives. Similarly, massive labour resistance in Trinidad, which began in November 1919, was preceded by reports of gangs of white soldiers and sailors ‘savagely attacking, beating and stabbing every negro they could find’ in the streets of Liverpool, including a Trinidadian, Charles Wootten.¹⁶ ‘There are serious indications from many directions that Trinidad, and perhaps the British West Indies generally, are on a social volcano … which is liable to burst into eruption at almost any time’, reported Henry A. Baker, the American Consul at Port of Spain, to Washington. As returning black soldiers mixed with disgruntled black workers, sharing their sense of outrage, rumours travelled among frightened members of the oligarchy that the entire white population would be wiped out, massacred and swept out to sea.¹⁷

Garveyism and postwar labour radicalism

No vehicle was more influential in sustaining the narrative of mounting black frustrations, and in giving them structure and form, than Marcus Garvey’s Negro World, a weekly newspaper established in 1918. By this time, Garvey had relocated to New York, where his reconstituted UNIA was beginning to find its voice as a mass-based, diasporic projection of Harlem’s anti-war, anti-racist and anti-colonial intellectual ferment. Attracting large numbers of West Indians in its early years, Garveyism was swiftly carried to the greater Caribbean by black sailors, UNIA organisers and local Garveyites, who had founded divisions of the UNIA in the region by late 1918 and early 1919.¹⁸ Efforts by government agents to suppress the spread of the movement by banning the Negro World not only proved ineffective, but had a galvanising effect.¹⁹ The move by the Legislative Council of the Windward Islands to ban the paper in Grenada was resisted by an impassioned campaign led by T. Albert Marryshow, managing editor of the local West Indian. The Governor of British Honduras, Sir Eyre Hutson, listed his predecessor’s suppression of the Negro World as one of the contributing causes of the riots that erupted in Belize in July 1919.²⁰ By May 1920, Hutson had given up. ‘It is almost impossible, in this Colony, to search persons and their luggage, particularly every coloured person arriving in the Colony from [Mexico and Guatemala], or even from the United States’, he conceded. Rather than pursue a ‘futile’ ban, Hutson proposed informing the local UNIA that government officials were themselves subscribing to the Negro World; that they, like thousands of readers stretching throughout the region, were receiving copies of the paper, and studying its directives carefully.²¹

There was reason for white authorities to be alarmed. The message broadcast by the Negro World from 1918 until the end of 1920 was strident, audacious and clearly intended to inflame the passions of members, readers and sympathisers. Declaring an approaching ‘war of the races’, Garvey called on Negroes scattered around the world to capitalise on the disarray produced by the war, to organise under a common banner, and to prepare to ‘give [their] blood to make a free and independent African republic’. In the US and the Caribbean, this meant responding to race riots by ‘match[ing] fire with hell fire’ and threatening to turn ‘the oppressed worm upon the oppressor’ if the Negro continued to be denied ‘a fair chance in life economically and politically’. It meant responding to ‘wage slave[ry]’ with racial organisation, and with Negro unionisation and labour radicalism in the pursuit of racial goals.²² For Garvey, there could be ‘no compromise until Africa is free’. This was particularly true in the majority-black Caribbean islands, which Garvey described as British ‘powder houses’, waiting to explode if whites were ‘to start anything’. ‘Let the pale-faced British governors suppress the Negro World’, taunted George Tobias, the treasurer of the UNIA’s steamship company, the Black Star Line. ‘The time will come when they will have to run for their very lives with shoes in their hands to find refuge in the Caribbean sea.’²³

On 2 May 1919, an estimated 1,200–1,500 longshoremen working for the Panama Canal and Panama Railroad Company, nearly all West Indians, went on strike at Cristobal Dock, demanding an increase in wages. Prominent in the agitation were several important Garveyites, all founding members of Panama’s first UNIA division, established in December 1918.²⁴ Over the next year, a series of riots and labour disturbances, big and small, and all with connections to Garveyist propaganda and organising, rocked the region. In Belize, massive coordinated riots, led by returned members of the British West Indies Regiment, were linked to ‘noxious literature’ published by the Negro World and by the Garveyist Belize Independent.²⁵ In Trinidad, where a dockworkers’ strike in Port of Spain mushroomed into a general unrest that reached neighbouring Tobago, Garveyist strike leaders distributed UNIA literature and spurred on workers with speeches that ‘almost read like extracts’ of the Negro World, as one investigator put it.²⁶ In the Windward Islands of St. Vincent, St. Lucia and Grenada, months of agitation by local Garveyites erupted in a strike of labourers and policemen in St. Lucia that threatened to spread into a general strike before the situation was calmed by the arrival of a British warship.²⁷ That same month, a massive strike – involving as many as 16,000 workers – was called in the Panama Canal Zone, this time led by Garveyites and supported directly by Marcus Garvey, who cabled $500 for the cause.²⁸

One measure of the UNIA’s influence in these confrontations was the extent to which workers, rioters and ex-soldiers articulated their grievances in the language of racial solidarity. In Belize, the Riot Commission concluded that simmering tensions had been inflamed by the steady infusion of Garveyist propaganda, leading participants in the disturbance to the conclusion ‘that British Honduras is the black man’s country and that white men are interlopers’. During the demonstrations, protesters set upon white men they encountered in the streets, and were heard singing, ‘We are going to kill the white sons of bitches tonight … This is the black man’s night!’²⁹ The strike of the black dock workers in Port of Spain, Trinidad, beginning in mid-November 1919, was preceded by ‘wild and persistent rumors about the blacks rising in a body against the whites’, fuelled by smuggled copies of the Negro World. It sparked a wave of anti-white uprisings that quickly engulfed the island.³⁰ The Trinidad Workingmen’s Association (TWA), which organised the dock workers’ strike, was directed by several of the island’s leading Garveyites, and during the strike TWA meetings often became de facto UNIA rallies.³¹ According to witnesses, at one meeting James Braithwaite, the TWA’s secretary and local UNIA officer, repeated nearly verbatim the argument that Garvey had been making in the pages of the Negro World. ‘You are a powerful race and our power was proved in the gigantic struggle for British liberty’, Braithwaite thundered. ‘You don’t think it is a shame for the intelligent negro to remain sleeping and waiting for amelioration? No, we must fight. If we can die for the white man against his German brother we can die better for ourselves.’³²

Garveyist participation in labour agitation in the Panama Canal Zone provides a useful illustration of the ways in which UNIA activists situated class-based politics within what they viewed as the more useful framework of international race relations. Carla Burnett has effectively contrasted the language of non-Garveyist and Garveyist organisers during the labour agitation of 1919–1920 and noted the ways in which Garveyists refashioned the struggle as one between whites and blacks (rather than capital and labour), sold union activity as a demonstration of loyalty to the race, and emphasised the broader project of pan-African organisation and unity.³³ The canal workers’ strike of 1920 was viewed by several of its participants as part of the UNIA’s international assault on the ramparts of white supremacy. This attitude was encouraged by the arrival in Panama, in December 1919, of UNIA organisers Henrietta Vinton Davis and Cyril Henry, on the maiden voyage of the Black Star Line. Davis and Henry spent the months leading up to the strike addressing huge crowds, and touring Panama organising local UNIA divisions. When the strike began, on the morning of 24 February, they cast their lot with the strikers and Henry urgently cabled Garvey for help. If some union leaders viewed the strike through a prism of local grievances, it soon became clear that Garveyites considered themselves to be engaged in the first stages of the ‘all out race war’ that Garvey had been prophesying. When William Stoute, de facto leader of the union movement in Panama, ordered his workers back to work after the logistics of the stoppage had turned against the union, leading local Garveyite Eduardo V. Morales begged the workers to ‘stay out and die’ if they had to. ‘We are not fighting any government nor for any government, we are fighting for the uplift and the betterment of ourselves’, Morales argued. ‘I say … it is a racial cause and if we divide ourselves we are going to fall, so let us keep off the streets, keep in our homes, and show Gov. [Clarence] Harding we can stay out three months more.’³⁴

Retreat from radicalism

The wave of radicalism that swept the greater Caribbean in 1919 and 1920 was – like most such moments of dislocation and possibility – fleeting. In Panama, striking labourers were either fired from their jobs and replaced by less recalcitrant workers, or welcomed back to work at reduced rates of pay. In Trinidad, dock workers won an historic victory, earning a 25 per cent increase in wages and official recognition of the TWA, but labourers across the colony were hit with a wave of repression, including a sweeping ban on ‘seditious’ literature that curtailed the freedom of Trinidadian activists to spread or promote Garveyist materials. Across the region, with some adjustments, equilibrium was restored. For a brief moment, as Nigel Bolland has suggested, Marcus Garvey and his followers ‘succeeded in bridging the gaps between nationalists and internationalists, black workers, businessmen and professionals, and in articulating a powerful appeal to racial pride and self-sufficiency’. Now, as the status quo returned, natural fault lines began to re-emerge among West Indian subjects. Legislatures assisted this process by matching their crackdown on proletarian and radical activism with concessions to moderates and to light-skinned and upwardly mobile black elites. Except for brief periods of instability in British Guiana and Jamaica, in 1924, the region settled into a decade and a half of relative calm.³⁵

As episodes of strident activism disappeared in the Caribbean, Garvey – facing similar reactionary forces in the US – began his own ‘retreat from radicalism’, as Robert A. Hill has termed it. For Garvey, even as he basked in the glory of his triumphant International Convention, mounting economic and political pressures were coalescing in a dangerous spiral. Determined to arrest the alarming financial decline of the Black Star Line and resuscitate the UNIA’s most ambitious and well-known business venture, Garvey organised a fundraising tour of the West Indies and Central America, ignoring the threat that he would be denied re-entry by nervous federal officials if he left the United States.³⁶ Garvey was not blind to the risks; to the contrary, the dilemma posed by the tour abroad presented in stark terms the gathering political threat to the UNIA. Faced with the likely destruction of his movement if he continued on the same course, Garvey recalibrated. From the beginning convinced that the future of the Negro race depended on a free and liberated Africa, disdaining the engagement of organisations like the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People in the ‘white man’s politics’ as a ‘waste [of] time’, Garvey now began to couch his programme of African redemption in carefully crafted declarations of non-interference with constituted authority outside of the Motherland. ‘I have not come … to stir up strife among the races, nor to preach revolution, because I am not an anarchist nor a socialist, even though they try to picture me as one of these’, he told an audience in Chicago on 1 February 1921, three weeks before departing for the West Indies. Blaming the ‘concocted lies’ of reporters, noting the presence of special agents in the crowd and declaring that he had ‘no fear of jail’, Garvey assured, ‘We are not going to worry Uncle Sam nor any other nation for that matter; we are going to build up in Africa a government of our own, big enough and strong enough to protect Africa and Negroes everywhere.’³⁷

Garvey’s tour through the Caribbean and Central America – with stops in Cuba, Jamaica, Panama, Costa Rica, British Honduras and Guatemala – was framed in similarly non-confrontational terms. In Kingston, Garvey told his audience, ‘I have not come to Jamaica to stir up any revolution or race strife’, and encouraged them to pursue constitutional means to demand their rights. In Colón, Garvey observed that he was ‘not here to criticize Panama nor any Government whatsoever’. In Costa Rica, Garvey met amicably with the President, Julio Acosta, and told United Fruit workers that ‘they should not fight the United Fruit Company, that the work given them by the United Fruit Company meant their bread and butter’. An ecstatic G. P. Chittendon, Manager of the UFC’s Costa Rica Division, reported after one meeting that ‘Garvey was the most conservative man’ in attendance.³⁸ The suspicion earned from his early years of stridency, compounded by his steadfast articulation of racial consciousness and pride, would stalk Garvey for the rest of his life. Yet the moderation of the UNIA’s approach was noticed by that vast majority of legislators in the greater Caribbean. The Governor of British Guiana, Sir Wilfred Collet, observed in 1922:

I consider that in its inception [the Negro World] was a gigantic folly and appealed to the worst sentiments of the negro race; but so far as I have seen copies of this publication I have found nothing that is likely to do any more harm in this Colony than other publications.

He added: ‘the general tone of the [UNIA] is different from what it was three years ago’. After 1920, with the notable exception of Trinidad, government officials ceased their campaign against the distribution of the Negro World.³⁹

Though Robert A. Hill has argued that Garvey’s ‘personal shift from radical propaganda toward conservative diplomacy’ embodied the ‘political evaporation of Garveyism’,⁴⁰ the history of Garveyism in the greater Caribbean suggests precisely the opposite. As in the US and Africa, the movement was sustained because of the willingness of both Garvey and his followers to adapt to changing opportunities, to effectively gauge local needs, to act with political sensitivity rather than ideological dogmatism. As elsewhere, the Garveyist ‘retreat’ in the Caribbean offered a space for followers to continue their diasporic project of mobilisation, preparation and African redemption, a cautious platform upon which to pursue their ambitious global aspirations. Eager to sustain their long-term, unambiguously anti-colonial vision, Garveyists prevented their political evaporation by conceding the short-term advantages of white supremacy. As a result, Garveyism moved away from its brief and anomalous period of radicalism to frame the emergent dominant strain of black politics during the interwar era. Tony Martin points out:

At a time when most Black people in the area were denied the right to vote, and in an age mostly predating mass political parties, the UNIA often performed the function of quasi-political party as well as mutual aid organisation. It was a major, sometimes the major, organised group looking after the interests of the mass of Black people.

For West Indians scattered throughout the greater Caribbean, the pan-African discourse projected by Garveyism, along with the organisational space carved by the Universal Negro Improvement Association, both reflected the outer limits of dissent and pushed them. Without understanding the cautious work of race-conscious activism during this period, it is impossible to understand the labour rebellions that followed.⁴¹

The UNIA remained remarkably resilient in the migrant communities of the Hispanic Caribbean. By the mid-1920s, more than fifty divisions had been organised in Cuba, joined by nearly same number of divisions and chapters in Panama and the Canal Zone, twenty-three divisions in Costa Rica, and three dozen more stretched across Colombia (6), Brazil (1), Guatemala (5), the Dominican Republic (6), Mexico (4), Nicaragua (5), Honduras (7), Puerto Rico (1), Ecuador (1) and Venezuela (1).⁴² Throughout the decade, Garveyites in the Hispanic Caribbean remained devoted and enthusiastic contributors to the Negro World’s weekly ‘News and Views of UNIA Divisions’ feature, and provided steady and generous support to the African Redemption Fund, and later – as Garvey faced prosecution – the Marcus Garvey Defense Fund.

Broadly speaking, divisions in the Hispanic Caribbean flourished as mutual aid organisations, social clubs and relief networks for their largely West Indian constituencies. Projecting a moderate face of political non-interference, local Garveyites accepted the limited opportunities available for strident advocacy and instead devoted their efforts to serving the needs of the community. In Cuba, constrained by a law banning racially organised political parties, Garveyites ‘foregrounded the mutual aid dimensions of their activities’, while pledging not to ‘meddle in the political affairs of the country’. This type of caution, combined with the Garveyist emphasis on self-help and education, encouraged in some places the drift towards a middle-class politics of ‘respectability’ and conservative reform. In British Honduras, where the local UNIA developed along lines similar to its Central American counterparts, Anne Macpherson has charted the uncomfortably cosy relationship established between colonial authorities and the local division of the Universal Black Cross Nurses, which thrived under the leadership of Vivian Seay until the 1950s.⁴³

Yet even as they adopted this conciliatory front, Garveyites joined their brethren in America and Africa in projecting their work forward and abroad, imagining local activism against the backdrop of global, anti-colonial mobilisation. In August 1925, officers of the UNIA division in Ancón, Panama City, addressed a letter to the British Envoy to Panama expressing confidence in both him and the King. Yet two months later, at a meeting of the same division, the headlining speaker pointed to mounting political pressures in India, in Morocco and in China as proof of ‘the rising voice of LIBERTY throughout the world’, and a signal that the redemption of Africa was ‘just beyond the hill’. From this perspective, argued the leader of a local division, the UNIA need not ‘spill one drop of blood’ in the short term, or be ‘as brutal to his white brothers as they are to him’; rather, they must organise, train themselves, ‘prepare for the next cataclysm’ when Negroes might seize the day. At the unveiling of the charter for the Bluefields division in Nicaragua, a speaker confidently explained that Europe had ‘reached the zenith and is now on the decline’, and that out of the debris Africa would rise. Aiding this effort, both at home and abroad, was the UNIA. The head of a Panamanian division told an agent that the organisation ‘had its agents all over Africa at the present time, including the enormous territories covered by East and West Africa’ – an assertion repeatedly made by the Negro World and, as it has turned out, mostly true.⁴⁴

This expectation of a rising tide of anti-colonial activism, joined by an appeal to racial consciousness and organisation, framed the work of Garveyist organisers in the West Indies as well. J. R. Ralph Casimir, the leading figure in the Dominica UNIA, celebrated the Negro World for providing an honest channel to world news and to news of Africa. Having ‘heard the cry of India for the Indians, Egypt for the Egyptians, China for the Chinese’, Negroes must declare ‘Africa for the Africans’. According to a Garveyite in the Virgin Islands, ‘[a] similarity of suffering among the darker races is creating a similarity of sentiment among their members in regard to the future relations with the white race’. The UNIA was facilitating this effort by spreading news of white atrocities and anti-white resistance across the African diaspora, creating an expansive and united community of interest. In Jamaica, the American Consul noted that the idea of a ‘Negro Republic’ and ‘an alliance with Hindus working for independence from British rule, with Japan and China and with the Russian Bolsheviki’ was being discussed with a ‘certain amount of seriousness’. In the early 1930s, Garvey’s Kingston-based journal, the Blackman, had a regular feature entitled ‘The truth about the Indian situation’.⁴⁵

Against this canvas of anti-colonial solidarity, Garveyists in the West Indies collaborated in the development of a distinct form of regional labour activism. In the wake of the 1919–1920 labour rebellions, organisers of the Trinidad Workingmen’s Association – joined by organisers of like-minded associations in Grenada, British Guiana, Barbados and Jamaica – adopted a reformist stance that emphasised more moderate economic and political goals, sought alliances with the British Labour Party in the metropole, and pursued change through the vehicle of constitutional reform. This move towards moderation was not unproblematic. Led by a group of middle-class activists dedicated to the tactics of bourgeois advocacy and suspicious of the more ill-tempered and unpredictable devices of working-class resistance, these organisations have been accused of leaving ‘the majority of working people unenfranchised and without an organisation that was really their own’.⁴⁶ Yet these concessions cannot be understood in a vacuum. After 1920, labour organisations in the Caribbean joined the UNIA in scaling back their stridency and their demands as a precondition for their existence. In Trinidad, amidst the hail of repressive legislative measures following the disturbances of 1919, the TWA persevered as the lone body representing the Trinidad workforce during the 1920s. In this act of survival, it ensured a training ground for the more militant labour leaders that followed. As interwar Caribbean labour politics swung from rebellious to cautious to rebellious once again, it is hard to disaggregate orientation from opportunity.⁴⁷

Nor can the simple calculus of class interest explain interwar Caribbean labour politics. Labour movements in the 1920s and early 1930s remained viable by cultivating a Garveyist platform that encouraged broad and popular appeals to racial solidarity and dignity, and which contextualised cautious reformism in the language of African redemption. Nearly every notable labour leader of the period had a past or current relationship with the UNIA, and labour organisations and UNIA divisions shared offices, membership and meeting spaces.⁴⁸ As if to cement the relationship, during his return to Jamaica, from 1927 to 1935, Garvey threw himself into reformist labour politics, establishing his journal, Blackman, as an advocate for workers’ rights, creating a bold and labour-friendly platform for his People’s Political Party, and participating in the creation of the Jamaica Workers and Labourers Association, to which Garvey was elected chairman.⁴⁹ By combining a thrilling vision of racial emancipation with a situational commitment to limited mechanisms of reform, middle-class labour leaders sought to strike an uneasy balance that might bring workers into the fold.

A new insurgency 1935–1939

By the mid-1930s, amidst the mounting pressures of the Great Depression, the winds of opportunity once again shifted course, and a new and more radical type of labour politics started to challenge, and then surpass, the politics of the 1920s. Collapsing world markets precipitated a rise in unemployment and poverty, a situation exacerbated by the mass return of migrant workers to the islands. The crisis fell upon a crumbling infrastructure marked by deplorable working facilities, inadequate housing, and appalling conditions of health and sanitation.⁵⁰ As circumstances worsened, a rising generation of activists grew increasingly frustrated with labour reformism, and began experimenting with more strident methods of protest. As they developed their fresh and radical appeal to class-based insurgency, this generation reinvigorated the Garveyist tradition of race-based labour activism that had become an indelible part of the region’s political culture. Yet, older Garveyists, and particularly Marcus Garvey himself, found themselves unable to adapt to the changing circumstances, to the new moment of possibility. The labour rebellions of 1935–1939 bore the imprint of Garveyism even as organisational Garveyism was receding from the spotlight.⁵¹

Once again, mass organisation was facilitated by the ‘Ethiopian Tent’. Worker insurgency was sparked by the pan-African enthusiasm and mobilisation that grew out of the Italian-Ethiopian War, which formally commenced in October 1935 after a build-up of nearly a year. It is hard to overestimate the impact of the war on the popular consciousness of the West Indies. Petitions, including several from local UNIA divisions, flooded the Colonial Office, demanding that Britain do more to protect Ethiopia from the widely expected Italian invasion, expressing frustration with European complacency, and requesting permission – in light of this complacency – to mobilise their own regiments of volunteers to help defend Ethiopian independence.⁵² Officials noted with concern the escalating rhetoric at pro-Ethiopian meetings, and the large crowds gathering around cable stations waiting for news while ‘known local agitators’ worked them up into a state of excitement. When strikes and riots began to break out across the archipelago, beginning in St. Kitts in January 1935, it became clear that the passions inflamed by the conflict in Africa would have real consequences. After bloody riots erupted in St. Vincent, the Governor expressed frustration that his black subjects were determined to ignore ‘geography and ethnology’ in viewing the war in Ethiopia as a nationalist cause. ‘To them the Emperor [Haile] Selassie … is regarded as a national hero who is making a valiant stand against the unprovoked attack of a white race’, he reported. It mattered little that Italy, and not Britain, had declared war on the African nation. ‘What has stirred them profoundly’, he noted, ‘is that a white race has gone to war with a black race’.⁵³

The leaders of this insurgency, and several of its participants, had grown up in the Garvey movement.⁵⁴ As in 1919–1920, they framed worker grievances and trade union politics in the language of pan-African solidarity. In Barbados, the labour leader Clement Payne joined labour issues to discourses on race relations, Garveyism, black cultural pride and the international consequences of the Italo-Ethiopian conflict. At a protest outside Government House in Bridgetown, Payne’s lieutenant, Ulric McDonald Grant, combined a critique of the island’s ‘capitalist element’ with a broader condemnation of the ‘white man’ and his disdain for ‘poor negroes’. He enlarged a call for worker organisation to an appeal for the mass organisation of black West Indians, urging the crowd to ‘remember your mother country which is Africa’, and offering praise to Marcus Garvey.⁵⁵ As labour disturbances spread from St. Kitts and St. Vincent to British Guiana and St. Lucia, to Trinidad and Barbados, to Jamaica and the Bahamas, officials were faced with the uncomfortable reality of an ‘ever growing antagonism towards the white race’. During a wave of strikes in British Guiana, a group of several hundred black men armed themselves with cutlasses and marched through the countryside, reportedly shouting ‘Bad Abyssinia [Ethiopia] – all you white bitches got no business here – our country – you go back where you come from’. In Trinidad, the Governor reported rumours of Marcus Garvey’s imminent arrival during the labour disturbances of 1937.⁵⁶ If workers challenged employers on the grounds of pressing economic grievances and want, they were galvanised by the lesson, crystallised in their minds by the Ethiopian crisis, that battles between capital and labour, between fascism and democracy, were legible in the context of the great conflict between whites and non-whites that continued to underlie the geopolitical order.⁵⁷ In this climate, observed the Secretary of State for the Colonies, William Ormsby-Gore, conditions of ‘unemployment, underpay [and] undernourishment’ threatened ‘a colour clash spreading throughout the West Indies’. Fearing this contagion, legislators privately discussed ways to ‘disguise’ the racial outlines of the conflicts in public reports.⁵⁸

A liminal figure in this new wave of labour rebellions was Tubal Uriah ‘Buzz’ Butler, who emerged as the de facto leader of the strikes and disturbances that rocked Trinidad in 1937. Disillusioned by what he viewed as a disconnect between the reformist tactics of the TWA and the deteriorating situation for Trinidad’s oil workers, Butler organised the British Empire Workers’ and Citizens’ Home Rule Party (or the Home Rule Party), quickly mobilising a strong base of support among the workers in the island’s southern oil fields, and establishing an informal alliance with similarly disaffected and radicalised activists in the north.⁵⁹ In the months leading up to the oil workers’ strike in June 1937, Butler travelled between the oil fields and urban centres of southern Trinidad, electrifying black Trinidadians in a series of speeches and meetings that colourfully repackaged well-worn tropes of Garveyist mobilisation in the context of growing labour unrest. Warning that ‘British Ethiopians and all coloured folks in Trinidad’ were being ‘set aside for slow but sure extermination’, Butler called on non-white workers and citizens to unite, to prepare to shed blood in defence of their homes, their livelihoods and their liberty. Like earlier Garveyists, Butler declared himself a loyal subject of the Empire, but argued that a vast international conspiracy was afoot, represented by the emergence of a ‘Fascist-Imperialist-Capitalist’ cabal that had led Britain into collaboration with Benito Mussolini and now conspired to return black workers to a state of slavery. Pledging his organisation to the pursuit of a ‘brighter British Day’, couching his labour demands in the language of messianic prophecy, racial awakening and pan-African consciousness, Butler embraced the Janus-face of Garveyist reformism and recast it in the language of ‘open rebellion’ and ‘Industrial war’.⁶⁰ As a tribute to Garveyism, Butler opened his meetings with a recitation of ‘From Greenland’s Icy Mountains’, a hymn popularised by its use at the opening of UNIA meetings. To close, Butler selected recognisable labour songs such as ‘Arise Ye Toilers of our Nation’.⁶¹ In the space between the two hymns, a torch was being passed.

Conclusion

From London, where he lived out his remaining years in increasingly miserable exile, Marcus Garvey cast a tragic shadow over the events. The zeitgeist had passed him by; he seemed unwilling, or unable, to acknowledge the magnitude of what was happening in the Caribbean. By the beginning of July 1937, the worker rebellion had been violently suppressed in Trinidad, but tensions simmered, and workers, employers and authorities nervously awaited the report of the Forster Commission, which would recommend a new framework for the island’s industrial relations. The International African Service Bureau (IASB), led by a group of young black radicals in London, including Trinidadians C. L. R. James and George Padmore, had seized on the cause, demanding that labour conditions and worker rights in the West Indies be harmonised with British standards, and that the West Indies be granted representative government to ensure an end of the domination of workers by an ‘alien people’. In August 1937, as Garvey was holding court at Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park, he was confronted by James and Padmore, and challenged to speak on behalf of the Trinidadian workers. Antagonised by his rivals, Garvey replied that the workers had been ‘misled’, that they should follow the lead of his reformist ally, Captain A. A. Cipriani and not ‘agitators’ from London, the IASB, who were unnecessarily trying to keep trouble going. Why, asked Garvey in a follow-up interview with the conservative Trinidad Guardian, should Trinidadian workers ‘risk their employment for the sake of these agitators in London who have nothing to lose’, and who were concerned more with ‘industrial strife’ than ‘industrial peace’. The resulting front-page article caused a sensation in Trinidad, and was an embarrassment for local Garveyites. An aghast E. M. Mitchell, President of the UNIA division in Port of Spain, tried to minimise the damage by suggesting that Garvey’s ‘unjustified [and] serious blunder’ was a result of ‘misinformation and ignorance of local conditions’.⁶²

In October, during a tour of the West Indies, Garvey was allowed to land in Trinidad under strict restrictions.⁶³ He visited the southern industrial region, met with a number of ‘negro organizations’ in Port of Spain, and delivered two addresses of a ‘non-political but inspirational’ character. Among the more militant, unaware of the constraints with which Garvey was burdened and fixed to a view of the UNIA leader as a fierce and courageous race leader, there was deep disillusionment. The Garvey of that story had passed from the scene, even as his legacy continued to be woven into the fabric of Caribbean political culture. At the Globe Theatre, Captain Cipriani introduced Garvey by declaring him ‘one of the greatest leaders in present-day history’. By this time, such accolades were a bit far-fetched. But Cipriani reached at a greater truth when he remarked, ‘it is not the man or the individual, it is the work and the word that will stand through the long ages that are yet to be’. Cheers rose to the rafters.⁶⁴

Garveyism nurtured a platform of race-first, worker-oriented, anti-colonial politics that remained at the cutting edge of West Indian activism and dissent for nearly two decades following the first world war. It did so by effectively articulating the needs and grievances of West Indian blacks, and by remaining sensitive to the shifting currents of political possibility in which such needs and grievances might be approached. Marcus Garvey’s legacy was established not only in the radical fires of postwar labour rebellion, but also in his ability to sustain a vibrant culture of organisation and political engagement suited to the reactionary era that followed. By the mid-1930s, his mind had hardened. Whereas new organisations like the IASB, and rising Caribbean radicals like Butler, understood the emerging possibilities of labour radicalism, Garvey proved unable to so adapt. The legacy of Garveyism remained in the continued engagement of its sons and daughters in the struggle against world white domination. Philosophical renderings of ‘Africa for the Africans’ and racial nationalism would continue to inspire black activists. Yet the politics of Garveyism – its vibrant connection to mass organisation – had ended. The Age of Garvey had passed.

Footnotes

Adam Ewing is a Mellon Postdoctoral Fellow at Johns Hopkins University. His first book, The Age of Garvey: global black politics in the interwar era will be published by Princeton University Press.

References

‘Trinidad and Tobago disturbances, 1937: Report of the commission’, National Archives of England (hereafter, PRO), CO 295/601/2; ‘Summary of principal events in the Trinidad strike, 2 July 1937’, PRO, CO 295/599/13; Bolland

O. Nigel

, The Politics of Labour in the British Caribbean: the social origins of authoritarianism and democracy in the labour movement (Kingston, Jamaica, Ian Randle Publishers, 2001), pp. 250–01; Debates in the Legislative Council of Trinidad and Tobago, 9 July 1937, CO 295/599/14.

Testimony of Tubal Uriah Butler, Rex v. Butler, PRO, CO 295/608/5.

See Cronon

Edmund David

, Black Moses: the story of Marcus Garvey and the Universal Negro Improvement Association (Madison, University of Wisconsin Press, 1955); Martin

Tony

, Race First: the ideological origins and organizational struggles of Marcus Garvey and the Universal Negro Improvement Association (Westport, CT, Greenwood Press, 1976); Stein

Judith

, The World of Marcus Garvey: race and class in modern society (Baton Rouge, Louisiana State University Press, 1986); Grant

Colin

, Negro with a Hat: the rise and fall of Marcus Garvey (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2008).

Spurred by the remarkable efforts of the Marcus Garvey and Universal Negro Improvement Association Papers Project, the traditional narrative of the Garvey movement has been richly complicated by scholarship over the past thirty years. See Hill

Robert A.

, ed., The Marcus Garvey and Universal Negro Improvement Papers [hereafter MGP], 11 vols (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1983–2011). Standout examples of this work in the United States and Africa not touched on below include Emory Tolbert, The UNIA and Black Los Angeles: ideology and community in the American Garvey movement (Los Angeles, Center for Afro-American Studies, UCLA, 1980); Hughes

Arnold

, ‘Africa and the Garvey movement in the interwar years’, in Garvey: Africa, Europe, and the Americas (Jamaica, Institute for Social and Economic Research, University of the West Indies, 1986, eds Lewis

Rupert

Warner-Lewis

Maureen

), pp. 111–35; Hill

Robert A.

Pirio

Gregory

, ‘“Africa for the Africans”: the Garvey movement in South Africa, 1920–1940’, in The Politics of Race, Class and Nationalism in Twentieth-Century South Africa (London, Longman, 1987, eds Marks

Shula

Trapido

Stanley

), pp. 209–53; Bair

Barbara

, ‘Renegotiating Liberty: Garveyism, women, and grassroots organizing in Virginia’, in Women of the American South: a multicultural reader (New York, NYU Press, 1997, ed. Farnham

Christie Anne

), pp. 220–40; West

Michael O.

, ‘The seeds are sown: the impact of Garveyism in Zimbabwe in the interwar years’, The International Journal of African Historical Studies (Vol. 35, no. 2/3, 2002), pp. 335–62; Vinson

Robert Trent

, ‘“Sea kaffirs”: “American Negroes” and the gospel of Garveyism in early twentieth-century Cape Town’, Journal of African History (Vol. 47, 2006), pp. 281–303; Rolinson

Mary G.

, Grassroots Garveyism: the Universal Negro Improvement Association in the rural south, 1920–1927 (Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press, 2007); Harold

Claudrena N.

, The Rise and Fall of the Garvey Movement in the Urban South, 1918–1942 (New York, Routledge, 2007); Hahn

Steven

, ‘Marcus Garvey, the UNIA, and the hidden political history of African Americans’, in The Political Worlds of Slavery and Freedom (Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 2009), pp. 115–62; Roll

Jarod

, Spirit of Rebellion: labor and religion in the new cotton south (Urbana, University of Illinois Press, 2010), pp. 52–75.

Ewing

Adam

, ‘Garvey or Garveyism: Colin Grant’s Negro with a Hat (2008) and the search for a new synthesis in UNIA scholarship’, Transition (Vol. 105, 2011), pp. 130–45; Ewing

Adam

, ‘Broadcast on the Winds: diasporic politics in the age of Garvey, 1919–1940’ (PhD diss., Harvard University, 2011).

I use the term ‘Garveyist’ to describe the tradition of organising and politics that grew out of, and extended beyond, the UNIA. Supporters of Marcus Garvey referred – and continue to refer – to themselves as Garveyites. I use this appellation to describe subjects who viewed their work as a piece of the larger, Garveyist project. Subjects who acquired a Garveyist perspective as a result of the work of Garveyite organisers, but who pursued their work independent of the movement, are referred to as ‘Garveyists’.

Harpelle

Ronald

, ‘Cross currents in the western Caribbean: Marcus Garvey and the UNIA in Central America’, Caribbean Studies (Vol. 31, no. 1, 2003), pp. 35–73; Burnett

Carla

, ‘“Are We Slaves or Free Men?”: labor, race, Garveyism and the 1920 Panama Canal strike’ (PhD diss., University of Illinois at Chicago, 2004); Macpherson

Anne

, ‘Colonial Matriarchs: Garveyism, maternalism, and Belize’s Black Cross Nurses, 1920–1952’, Gender & History (Vol. 15, no. 3, November 2003), pp. 507–27; Putnam

Lara

, ‘Nothing Matters but Color: transnational circuits, the interwar Caribbean, and the black international’, in From Toussaint to Tupac: The Black International since the Age of Revolution (Chapel Hill, UNC, 2009, eds West

Michael O.

Martin

William G.

Wilkins

Fanon Che

), pp. 107–29; Guridy

Frank

, Forging Diaspora: Afro-Cubans and African Americans in a world of empire and Jim Crow (Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press, 2010), pp. 61–106.

By ‘greater Caribbean’, I refer to the islands of the Caribbean Sea, along with the Atlantic coastal regions of Central and South America. As discussed below, Garveyism had its greatest regional impact in the British West Indies (comprising the islands, along with British Guiana (now Guyana) and British Honduras (now Belize)) and in the labour centres of Central America and Cuba that attracted large numbers of West Indian migrant workers.

Stein, op. cit., pp. 142–3; Macpherson, op. cit., p. 508; Opie

Frederick Douglass

, ‘Garveyism and the labor organization on the Caribbean coast of Guatemala, 1920–1921’, The Journal of African American History (Vol. 94, no. 2, 2009), p. 167; Burnett, op. cit., pp. 182, 190.

10.

McLeod

Marc C.

, ‘Garveyism in Cuba, 1920–1940’, Journal of Caribbean History (Vol. 30, no. 1/2, 1996), pp. 157–8.

11.

In developing this argument, I owe a debt to a pioneering body of Garvey scholarship that deserves more credit than it has received. See Elkins

W. F.

, ‘Black power in the British West Indies: the Trinidad longshoremen’s strike in 1919’, Science and Society (Vol. 31, no. 1, 1969), pp. 71–5; Martin

Tony

, The Pan-African Connection: from slavery to Garvey and beyond (Dover, MA, The Majority Press, 1983); and, in particular, Lewis

Rupert

, Marcus Garvey: anti-colonial champion (Trenton, NJ, Africa World Press, Inc., 1988).

12.

Holt

Thomas C.

, The Problem of Freedom: race, labor, and politics in Jamaica and Britain, 1832–1938 (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), pp. 347–67; Rodney

Walter

, A History of the Guyanese Working People, 1881–1905 (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981), pp. 32–4; Brereton

Bridget

Yelvington

Kevin A.

, ‘Introduction: the promise of emancipation’, in The Colonial Caribbean in Transition: essays on postemancipation social and cultural history (Gainsville, University Press of Florida, 1999, eds Brereton

Bridget

Yelvington

Kevin A.

), pp. 7–13; James

Winston

, Holding Aloft the Banner of Ethiopia: Caribbean radicalism in early twentieth-century America (London, Verso, 1998), pp. 14–30; Watkins-Owens

Irma

, Blood Relations: Caribbean immigration and the Harlem community, 1900–1930 (Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1996), pp. 11–27; Harpelle, op. cit., pp. 39–41.

13.

James, op. cit., pp. 52–4; ‘UNIA Farewell to the Jamaica War Contingent’, MGP, 1, p. 163.

14.

Testimony of Corporal Samuel Alfred Haynes and Testimony of Captain Greville William Charles Hulse, Interviews Conducted by the Riot Commission, Belize, British Honduras, PRO, CO 123/296/65699; James, op. cit., pp. 56–63; Elkins

W. F.

, ‘A source of black nationalism in the Caribbean: the revolt of the British West Indies regiment at Taranto, Italy’, Science and Society (Vol. 34, no. 1, 1970), pp. 99–102.

15.

For example, between 1914 and 1918, the price of both flour and rice in Panama rose from 5 cents a pound to 12.5 cents. Murray

J. R.

, British Consulate, Colon, to Sir Claude C. Mallet, 3 February 1919, PRO, CO 318/350/19715. See also Chancellor

J. R.

, Governor of Trinidad and Tobago, to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 7 December 1919, CO 295/523/69892; Labour Unrest and Wages Question, 1919, CO 318/352/72908; ‘Report of the Riot Commission’, Belize, British Honduras, 21 October 1919, CO 123/296/65699.

16.

‘Race riots in the United Kingdom’, Belize Independent, 16 July 1919, p. 11; Report by Hugh Burgess, Inspector, CID, c. November 1919, PRO, CO 318/352/66887; Eyre Hutson, Governor of British Honduras, to Viscount Milner, Secretary of State for the Colonies, 31 July 1919, CO 123/295/48750.

17.

Baker

Henry A.

, American Consul, Port of Spain, to Secretary of State, Washington, 9 December 1919, Department of National Archives, College Park, MD (hereafter DNA), RG 59, File 844G: Trinidad, Central Files, 1910–1929.

18.

A division of the UNIA had been established in Panama, by December 1918, and in Belize, British Honduras, and Kingston, Jamaica by April 1919. See ’Censored letter from Edgar McCarthy, Secretary, Colón Branch, UNIA, to Cecil Hope, Secretary General, UNIA, New York’, 8 March 1919, DNA, RG 165, File 10218–161: UNIA; ‘Military Intelligence Report’, 5 April 1919, MGP, 1, p. 402; Burnett, op. cit., p. 67. For methods of Negro World distribution, see Chancellor

J. R.

, Governor of Trinidad and Tobago, to Viscount Milner, 1 November 1920, PRO, CO 318/356/63718.

19.

Marcus Garvey to D. B. Lewis, Corozal, British Honduras, 1 November 1918, DNA, RG 165, File 10218–261: UNIA; Testimony of Captain William Caile Price, Interviews conducted by the Riot Commission, Belize, British Honduras, PRO, CO 123/296/65699; Eyre Hutson, Governor, British Honduras, to Secretary of State for the Colonies, PRO, FO 371/4467/A5761. A variety of methods, equally unsuccessful, were employed to curtail the paper in Trinidad, British Guiana, St. Vincent, Grenada, Jamaica, the Bahamas, and Costa Rica.

20.

Walter

, Acting Governor, British Honduras, to British Ambassador, Washington, DC, 13 February 1919, PRO, CO 123/295/48750; Haddon-Smith

G. B.

, Governor, Windward Islands, to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 11 May 1920, CO 321/308/29007; Hutson

Eyre

, Governor, British Honduras, to Viscount Milner, 31 July 1919, CO 123/295/48750.

21.

Hutson

Eyre

, Governor, British Honduras, to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 10 May 1920, PRO, FO 371/4467/A5761.

22.

‘Report of UNIA mass meeting at Madison Square Garden’, 30 October 1919, MGP, 2, pp. 128–9; ‘Editorial Letter by Marcus Garvey’, 1 October 1919, MGP, 2, pp. 41–2; ‘Blackmen All Over the World Should Prepare to Protect Themselves: Negroes Should Match Fire with Hell Fire’, ‘The Riots Once More’, and ‘Socialism and the Negro’, Negro World, 11 October 1919, pp. 1–2, in PRO, CO 23/285/68500. While Garvey and the UNIA were to later condemn class-based tactics as ineffective instruments of Negro protest, the Negro World, which was edited by the socialist activist W. A. Domingo until July 1919, routinely championed the blending of racial and class-based activism. See, for example, ‘The victory at Atlantic City’ and ‘The Negro and the unions’, Negro World, 21 June 1919; ‘Conditions in Panama’, Negro World, 28 June 1919, in DNA, RG 165, File 10218–317/4.

23.

Report of Speech by Garvey at Liberty Hall, 7 January 1920, and transcription of remarks by George Tobias, in ‘Negro Agitation’, M.I.1.C, New York, Report No. 232(3), PRO, FO 371/4467/A443.

24.

Visible participants included Eduardo V. Morales, who later served as the UNIA’s High Commissioner to Cuba; Samuel Percival Radway, who later organised for the UNIA in Cuba, before returning to his native Jamaica and playing a leading role in the worker riots of June 1924; and F. S. Ricketts, Panama’s delegate to the UNIA’s First International Convention, in August 1920, and an official signatory of the organisation’s Declaration of Rights of the Negro Peoples of the World. See Dispatch from Panama to Earl Curzon of Kedleston, PC, 10 May 1919, PRO, CO 318/350/37003; Burnett, op. cit., p. 67; ‘Marcus Garvey to William Ferris, Literary Editor, Negro World’, 21 May 1921, MGP, 3, pp. 423–4; Charles A. Patterson, Detective, Confidential Report, 23 May 1924, CO 137/774/32280; ‘UNIA Declaration of Rights’, MGP, 2, pp. 571–8.

25.

‘Report of the Riot Commission’, op. cit.; Peter Ashdown, Garveyism in Belize (Benque Viejo del Carmen, Belize, SPEAR, 1990), p. 16; Bolland, op. cit., pp. 197–8.

26.

Chancellor

J. R.

, Governor, to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 7 December 1919, PRO, CO 295/523/69892; Report by Elphinatono

L. H.

, Solicitor-General, 12 March 1920 and Report by de Pass

Major H.

, Inspector of Constabulary, 12 March 1920, CO 295/527/17716; Elkins, ‘Black power’, op. cit., p. 72; Tony Martin, ‘Marcus Garvey and Trinidad, 1912–1947’, in Lewis and Warner-Lewis, op cit., pp. 55–8.

27.

Elkins

W. F.

, ‘Marcus Garvey, the Negro World, and the British West Indies, 1919–1920’, in Lewis and Warner-Lewis, op cit., pp. 41–2. As early as February 1919, Marryshow

T. Albert

, editor of the West Indian, began publishing addresses by Garvey. See ‘Address by Marcus Garvey in Brooklyn’, West Indian, 28 February 1919, MGP, 1, p. 375.

28.

Burnett, op. cit., pp. 1–4, 117.

29.

See the Report of the Riot Commission, op. cit.

30.

Gordon

W. M.

, Acting Governor, to Secretary of State for the Colonies, 18 June 1919, PRO, CO 295/521/41273; Report by May

G. H.

, Inspector General, 29 July 1919, and Gordon

W. M.

, Acting Governor, to Viscount Milner, 29 July 1919, CO 295/521/50043; G. H. May to Colonial Secretary, 5 August 1919, CO 295/522/50042. W. F. Elkins calls the dock workers’ strike ‘[one] of the earliest effusions of [mass-based] black nationalism’. See Elkins, ‘Black power’, op. cit., p. 71.

31.

Martin, Pan-African, op. cit., pp. 54–69; James, op. cit., p. 51; Report by Major H. de Pass, Inspector of Constabulary, 12 March 1920, PRO, CO 295/527/17716.

32.

Report by Major H. de Pass, ibid.

33.

Burnett, op. cit., pp. 67–9.

34.

Ibid., pp. 120–3, 148–51.

35.

Elkins, ‘Black power’, op. cit., p. 74; Burnett, op. cit., p. 5; Bolland, op. cit., pp. 171, 203–4; Graeme Momson, Governor, British Guiana, to Thomas

J. H.

13 April 1924, PRO, CO 111/652/20598; H. Bryan, Officer Administering the Government, to Thomas

J. H.

, Secretary of State for the Colonies, 19 June 1924, CO 137/774/32280.

36.

The suspicions of Garvey’s advisers were perfectly accurate. See ‘J. Edgar Hoover to Lewis J. Baley’, 11 February 1921, and ‘Report by Special Agent P-138’, 11 February 1921, in MGP, 3, pp. 177–8. For Garvey’s ‘retreat from radicalism’, see Hill

Robert A.

, ‘Garvey’s gospel, Garvey’s game’, in The Philosophy and Opinions of Marcus Garvey (New York, Atheneum, 1992, ed. Amy Jacques Garvey), pp. xx–xxvi.

37.

‘UNIA meeting at Carnegie Hall’, 25 August 1919, MGP, 1, p. 506; ‘Speech by Marcus Garvey’, 1 February 1921, MGP, 3, p. 150.

38.

‘Speech by Marcus Garvey’, Liberty Hall, 20 July 1921, MGP, 3, pp. 532–9; ‘Garvey in Jamaica’, Tribune, 15 May 1921, in PRO, CO 318/364/34269; ‘Speeches by Marcus Garvey at Colón, Panama’, 27 April 1921, MGP, 3, pp. 368–70; G. P. Chittendon, Manager, United Fruit Company, Costa Rica Division, to V. M. Cutter, Vice-President, UFC, Boston, United Fruit Company Records, Costa Rica, TLS, accessed 2 April 2011, http://bolt.lakeheadu.ca/~sojourners/diaspora/doc1.html; Harpelle, op. cit., pp. 55–60; Roy T. Davis, San José, Costa Rica, to Secretary of State, Washington, 5 March 1928, DNA, RG 59, File 811.108G, 191: Marcus Garvey.

39.

Elkins, ‘Suppression of the Negro World in the British West Indies’, Science and Society (Vol. 35, no. 3, 1971), p. 346; Wilfred Collet to Winston Churchill, 6 July 1922, PRO, CO 318/371/37349.

40.

Hill, ‘Garvey’s gospel’, p. lix.

41.

Martin, Pan-African, op. cit., pp. 61–2.

42.

‘Divisions of the UNIA, 1926–1927 (compiled from index cards)’, Universal Negro Improvement Association Records of the Central Division (New York), 1918–59, Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, New York Public Library, New York: microfilm, Reel 1, Series A, Box 2, Section A16.

43.

Harpelle, op. cit., pp. 45–6; Aviva Chomsky, West Indian Workers and the United Fruit Company in Costa Rica, 1870–1940 (Baton Rouge, Louisiana State University Press, 1996), pp. 205–6; McLeod, op. cit., pp. 135, 157–8; Guridy, ‘“Enemies of the white race”: the Machadista state and the UNIA in Cuba’, Caribbean Studies (Vol. 31, no. 1, 2003), pp. 119–20; Macpherson, op. cit., pp. 513–6.

44.

Charles

Bryant, UNIA, Ancon, Canal Zone, to Major Charles Braithwaite Wallis, 24 August 1925; ‘Division No. 17 holds interesting meeting on Sunday night’, Panama Times, 27 October 1925; and Charles Braithwaite Wallis, Panama, to Austin Chamberlain, 4 November 1925. All in PRO, CO 554/66.57659. ‘Unveiling of charter in Nicaragua’, Negro World, 19 March 1921, p. 5.

45.

‘Garvey is making the white world uneasy, says West Indian poet’, Negro World, 20 May 1922, p. 3; ‘Letter from “An African Abroad”’, Dominica, Negro World, 11 March 1922, p. 3; Casper Holstein, ‘The awakening of a soul and striking tribute to power of “Negro World”’, Negro World, 28 July 1923, p. 8; Charles Latham, American Consul, Kingston, to Secretary of State, Washington, 12 September 1920, DNA, RG 59, File 811.108G, 191: Garvey, Marcus; Lewis, op. cit., p. 93.

46.

Bolland, op. cit., pp. 199–205.

47.

Ibid., pp. 199–205; Brereton, op. cit., pp. 164–9; Martin, Pan-African, op. cit., p. 70; Martin, Race First, op. cit., pp. 234–5.

48.

Captain

A. A.

Cipriani, the white leader of the TWA in the 1920s and 1930s, shared with Garvey a relationship of mutual respect; Howard Bishop, Jr., the secretary of the organisation and the editor of its journal, the Labour Leader, was a former member of the UNIA, and continued to speak at local meetings. Dr. Charles Duncan O’Neale, founder of the Barbados Workingmen’s Association, collaborated with John Beckles and the Barbadian UNIA. T. Albert Marryshow, leader of the Grenada Workingmen’s Association, had reprinted incendiary speeches by Garvey in his journal, the West Indian, and, in 1919, he led a campaign to protect free speech as the legislature moved to ban the Negro World. Hubert Critchlow, leader of the British Guiana Labour Union (BGLU), encouraged his members to join the UNIA, and ‘expressed hearty approval of the objects of the association’. For Cipriani and Bishop, see Lewis, op. cit., pp. 266–8; ‘UNIA in Trinidad’, Negro World, 19 November 1921; ‘Brilliant Unveiling Ceremony Staged by UNIA in Port-of-Spain, Trinidad’, Negro World, 13 May 1922, p. 3. For O’Neale, see Bolland, op. cit., p. 205. For Marryshow, see ‘Address by Marcus Garvey in Brooklyn’, West Indian, 28 February 1919, in MGP, 1, pp. 374–6; and the series of editorials penned by Marryshow in the West Indian, collected in PRO, CO 321/308/26945. For Critchlow, see ‘Report of meeting of Georgetown, Demerara UNIA’, Negro World, 11 March 1922, p. 11; ‘Leader of Eastern Division Visits the Colony of British Guiana’, Negro World, 9 July 1921, p. 9. For an example of inter-organisational and intercolonial association see ‘Great Labor Mass Meeting Held at Liberty Hall in Trinidad’, Negro World, 23 August 1924, p. 14.

49.

For Garvey, see Lewis

Rupert

, ‘Garvey’s perspective on Jamaica’, in Garvey: His Work and Impact (Kingston, Institute of Social and Economic Research, University of the West Indies, 1988, eds Lewis

Rupert

Bryan

Patrick

), pp. 236–7; Martin, Race First, op. cit., pp. 234–5; Lewis, Marcus Garvey, op. cit., pp. 209–12; Ken Post, Arise Ye Starvelings: the Jamaican labour rebellion of 1938 and its aftermath (The Hague, Nijhoff, 1978), pp. 206–7. Lewis notes that twelve of the twenty-six clauses of the PPP’s manifesto were geared towards worker concerns.

50.

Bolland, op. cit., pp. 212–3; Brereton, op. cit., pp. 177–8.

51.

‘Garveyism was both more widespread and more deeply rooted in the political culture of the region [than Marxism]’, writes Nigel Bolland. ‘Many labour leaders of the 1930s were followers or former followers of Garvey, some with experience in the UNIA branches in Cuba, Costa Rica or the United States. So it was not only the ideas of Garvey that were important but also the experience of public speaking and organising, and of recognizing the need for unity, self-reliance and solidarity. After the Italian invasion of Ethiopia, in particular, the Pan-African and anticolonial aspects of Garvey’s philosophy became a major force in the labour rebellions.’ See Bolland, op. cit., p. 360.

52.

For petitions, correspondence, and reports of meetings pertaining to the Italo-Ethiopian conflict, see PRO, CO 318/418/4 and CO 318/421/5.

53.

Confidential Letter to H. Beckett, St. Lucia, 16 October 1935, PRO, CO 318/418/4; S. M. Grier, Governor, Windward Islands, to Malcolm Macdonald, 12 November 1935, CO 321/363/13.

54.

According to one veteran leader in the West Indian labour movement, ‘most of the major labour leaders who came to prominence in the British West Indies as late as the 1930s were profoundly influenced by Garvey’. This was particularly true in Jamaica, where the labour rebellion of 1938 was led by Alexander Bustamante, who had been influenced by Garveyism as a younger man, and St. William Wellington Grant, a leading Garveyite in New York in the early 1930s. Surrounding Bustamante and Grant were several other men with ties to Garveyism and the UNIA: Coombs

A. G. S.

Buchanan

Hugh

Edwards

J. A. G.

Coombs

Stennet Kerr

Rose

L. W. J.

See Martin, Pan-African, op. cit., p. 53; Post, op. cit., p. 275; Lewis, Marcus Garvey, op. cit., p. 265.

55.

Bolland, op. cit., pp. 281–2. Another of Payne’s lieutenants, Israel Lovell, was a prominent and long-time Garveyite. See Report by Loc/Corpl. J. Jones, Barbados Detective Department, to Captain J. R. Anderson, Inspector of Police, 10 August 1920, PRO, CO 318/355/43627.

56.

R. S. Johnson, Governor, Leeward Islands, to Sir Philip Cunliffe-Lister, 14 May 1935, PRO, CO 152/454/12; Report of the commissioners appointed to enquire into and report on the labour disputes in Demerara and Berbice, September and October, 1935, CO 111/732/2; Murchison Fletcher to Mark Young, 3 August 1937, cited in Martin, Pan-African, op. cit., p. 75.

57.

See, for example, the address delivered by T. Albert Marryshow before the St. Kitts Workers League in 1935. ‘Honourable T. Albert Marryshow at St. Kitts’, Union Messenger, c. October 1935, in PRO, CO 318/418/4.

58.

Meeting between the Secretary of State for the Colonies and Deputation of the West Indies Committee, 3 July 1936, PRO, CO 295/599/13; E. J. Waddington, Governor, Barbados, to Moore, 3 January 1939, CO 28/324/11; Chief Justice, Antigua, to Governor Johnston, 11 May 1935, CO 152/454/12.

59.

Testimony of Tubal Uriah Butler, Rex v. Butler, PRO, CO 295/608/5; Bolland, op. cit., pp. 254–6.

60.

For testimony, reports of Butler meetings, and letters and materials written by Butler, see the documents collected in Rex v. Butler, PRO, CO 295 295/608/5. In particular, see the ‘Mass Meeting Poster’ printed by Butler; Report of Meeting, Point Fortin, 16 June 1937; T. Uriah B. Butler, General Secretary, BEWCHRP, to Acting Governor, Fyzabad, 27 July 1936; Butler to Lt. Col. H. C. B. Hickling, Attorney, Fyzabad Junction, 2 June 1937; Butler to Acting Governor, 4 September 1936; Report of Meeting at Fyzabad, 16 May 1937.

61.

Testimony of Tubal Uriah Butler and Testimony of Charles John, Rex v. Butler, PRO, CO 295/608/5.

62.

George Padmore and I. T. A. Wallace-Johnson, Memorandum of Evidence of the International African Service Bureau, 20 August 1937, PRO, CO 295/600/7; Beaufort Report: ‘Report on investigation into political influences in connection with Trinidad labour troubles, 1937’, 22 March 1938, CO 295/606/4; Lewis, Marcus Garvey, op. cit., pp. 270–2.

63.

Garvey agreed to the Governor’s stipulations that he would refrain from speaking about the labour situation, and that ‘he would not make any political speech or make any utterance which was calculated … to promote ill will between the different races and classes resident in the Colony’. See Murchison Fletcher to William Ormsby-Gore, 10 November 1937, quoted in Martin, Pan-African, op. cit., p. 77.

64.

Lewis, Marcus Garvey, op. cit., pp. 267–9; C. H. Hall, Jr. American Consul, Trinidad, to Secretary of State, 27 October 1937, DNA, RG 59, File 844G.5045; Port of Spain Gazette, 21 October 1937, p. 13.

Caribbean labour politics in the age of Garvey,1918–1938

Abstract

Keywords

Dislocation and discontent in the wartime Caribbean

Garveyism and postwar labour radicalism

Retreat from radicalism

A new insurgency 1935–1939

Conclusion

Footnotes

References