Marcus Garvey was one of the most influential yet misunderstood Black leaders, and yet many people today can’t tell you much about him. This is no coincidence. There has long been a pattern of reshaping and misconstruing the images of influential Black leaders to make them more comfortable—or less threatening—for mainstream audiences. Despite this, and in many ways because of it, Garvey’s name continues to spark debate: prophet, visionary, dreamer, radical—or all of the above? His life is best understood as a series of bold chapters that expanded and shaped the global imagination of Black liberation.

This article is a brief profile written in honor of Garvey’s 138th birthday—a reflection on his life, his legacy, and what he still teaches us about freedom today.

Roots: Birth and Upbringing (1887–1916)

Marcus Mosiah Garvey was born on August 17, 1887, in St. Ann’s Bay, Jamaica, the youngest of eleven children to Marcus Garvey Sr. and Sarah Jane Richards (only him and eldest sister, Indiana Garvey, would live to adulthood. In the early 1900s, he apprenticed as a printer, developing his skills while gaining access to books, debates, and ideas through his father’s library. By 1907, Garvey had become active in labor organizing, joining a printers’ strike that marked his first significant step into activism.

Between 1910 and 1912, he traveled across the Caribbean and Central America—working in Costa Rica, Panama, Honduras, and other countries—where he witnessed racial discrimination and the harsh conditions faced by Black laborers. In 1912, Garvey moved to London, studying at Birkbeck College, working as a journalist, and connecting with Pan-African thinkers like Duse Mohamed Ali, which shaped his vision of global Black unity.

He returned to Jamaica in July 1914, where he founded the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), dedicated to Black pride, self-reliance, and diaspora-wide solidarity. Then, in March 1916, Garvey arrived in the United States, settling in Harlem, where he would begin building the movement that made him a central figure in global Black liberation.

Harlem and the Rise of Garveyism: Building a Global Black Movement

Garvey arrived in America at a time when everyone was talking about “The New Negro,” a term popularized by Alain Locke that represented a more dignified Black identity—one that refused to submit to Jim Crow laws or the limitations imposed by white society. By then, he had already founded the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), and he quickly began giving speeches that drew thousands—not just the intellectuals of the Harlem Renaissance, but Black people from all walks of life. In 1920, he held the International Convention of the Negro Peoples of the World, a gathering that underscored his commitment to connecting Black people across class, background, and geography. It was at this convention that the Declaration of the Rights of the Negro Peoples of the World was introduced, an early blueprint for human rights, and when the Pan-African flag emerged as a lasting symbol of shared identity and global Black unity.

From this moment, Garvey’s presence in Harlem became impossible to ignore. His movement grew rapidly, blending political ambition, economic enterprise, and cultural pride, setting the stage for the UNIA to become one of the largest Black organizations in history. “Garveyism” was on the rise as a religion of success and aim to be free from racism and colonialism.

Enterprise & Economy: The Black Star Line (1919–1922)

Garvey envisioned a shipping line to support Black trade and to transport people between the Americas, the Caribbean, and Africa. He called this the Black Star Line, which was incorporated into the UNIA in 1919. By 1920, the Black Star Line had three ships, with the first making its maiden voyage in November 1919. The shipping line drew even more supporters and became a powerful tool for recruiting others to the movement, though it was eventually undermined by mismanagement.

Also in 1920, the UNIA had chapters all over the world, working toward the goal of global Black interconnectedness. The organization hosted conventions and published The Negro World, a newspaper that was eventually banned in parts of Africa and the Caribbean (which we will explore in a separate article). Due to a combination of internal pressures and external government harassment, the movement began to falter. Like many influential Black leaders, Garvey was heavily monitored by the FBI. In 1922, the federal government indicted him on mail fraud charges related to the Black Star Line, forcing all operations to cease. Garvey attempted to launch another shipping line, but it too failed. He was sentenced to prison, though his sentence was later commuted, and in 1927, he was deported back to Jamaica, never to return to the United States.

Resistance, Exile, and Global Impact (1927–1940)

In 1927, Garvey was deported back to Jamaica after his prison sentence was commuted, never to return to the United States. He continued his work with the UNIA in Jamaica and also held conventions in Canada, though the movement in America moved forward without him. Garvey continued to write, observe politics, and advocate for global Black unity. He later moved to London, where he remained until his death in 1940. His life served as an inspiration to many Pan-African leaders who emerged in the following decades, and his newspaper, The Negro World, functioned as a network connecting Black struggles across continents

Legacy: Garveyism as Blueprint

Garvey’s life and work left a blueprint that still guides us today. He gave Black people a language of pride, sovereignty, and self-determination, reminding us that our freedom is connected across oceans and generations. The red, black, and green flag he helped create isn’t just a symbol—it’s a statement of who we are and what we carry with us as a people. His successes show the power of vision and organizing, while his failures remind us of the obstacles that come with challenging entrenched systems. Today, his legacy pushes us to think bigger, to connect across borders, and to imagine what true global solidarity among oppressed peoples could look like if we refuse to let fear or division hold us back.

Garvey’s Call Across Generations

Garvey died in 1940, but his ideas outlived him and continue to shape the methods of movements today. He was a tireless advocate for Black connection, no matter one’s geographical location. Liberation is bigger than borders in more ways than one: until all of us are free, none of us are truly free. As Black and Brown people are hunted in the streets, and as children in Gaza are starved and obliterated while the world watches and waits, it is time for us to speak through our platforms and advocate for their liberation. Without their freedom, we are next, and true liberation will remain out of reach. Their struggle is our struggle. Blackness is global. We are connected through our pain. Garvey dared to imagine a free Black world, and he left us a blueprint to continue that work. To imagine a free Black world is to imagine a world where all are free—a world where liberation is truly shared, and no one is left behind.

Happy Birthday to Marcus Garvey!!

You’ve made it to the end—and you know what that means: you’re a real one. Thank you for taking the time to read, reflect, and remember with me.

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Apple pie, Independence Day, Thanksgiving, the American Dream, the Pledge of Allegiance, the Super Bowl — all well-known American traditions often mentioned when defining what it means to be an American. But there’s another tradition, older than the nation itself, that’s usually left off the list: rebellion.

No, not the so-called “Founding Fathers” rebelling against their king — I’m talking about the rebellious spirit of a people brought here in bondage, yet who never truly accepted that bondage. A people who, in every way imaginable, refused it.

And along with that refusal came remembrance — not the patriotic memory shoved down our throats in the classroom, but a different kind of remembering. One rooted in grief, resistance, and the honoring of those we lost before we ever had the words for freedom.

This is the tradition they don’t speak of. This is the essence of Black August.

This article is going to answer the question: What is Black August, why we participate, how we participate, and why it matters — especially right now.

Black August is not merely commemorative — it is a radical lens through which to understand American history: an ongoing political and spiritual practice of refusal.

The Origins of Black August: A Tradition Born in The Cage

Black August was born out of the California prison system in the 1970s. It was not created by scholars or politicians, but by the incarcerated themselves — from the inside. A core element of Black August is the remembrance of fallen Black revolutionaries who rose up and were cut down by the authority imposed upon them by the system they found themselves in: America. One of the central catalysts for the observance of Black August was the killing of George Jackson, who can be considered the “father martyr” of the tradition.

At 18 years old, George Jackson was unfairly sentenced to one year to life for allegedly stealing $70 from a gas station. That sentence turned into more than a decade in prison. But the prison didn’t break him — it changed him.

While locked up, Jackson began to read and study. He became a committed Marxist revolutionary. He learned from the writings of people like Frantz Fanon (a doctor who studied colonialism), Mao Zedong (the leader of China’s communist movement), Che Guevara (a fighter for international socialism), and W.E.B. Du Bois (a Black scholar and freedom fighter). While still in prison, he co-founded the Black Guerrilla Family, a group focused on freeing Black people and fighting against white supremacy and capitalism (by any means necessary) — especially inside the prison system.

Jackson wrote letters exposing the violence and injustice happening behind bars. His book, Soledad Brother, came out in 1970 and became a bestseller. It made him a symbol of Black resistance — and also made him a target. He was speaking out about the prison system as a tool of control long before people were using the words “prison-industrial complex.”

That same year, on August 7, 1970, George’s younger brother, Jonathan Jackson, led a courthouse takeover, demanding the release of George and other prisoners. He was killed in the attempt. Just over a year later, on August 21, 1971, George Jackson was killed in San Quentin Prison. The official story said he was trying to escape, but many believe he was set up and assassinated by the state.

A few weeks later, the Attica Rebellion broke out in a prison in New York. People rose up against the horrible conditions they were living in, demanding better treatment, education, healthcare, and an end to abuse. The state responded with violence — 39 people were killed. The rebellion was a major moment in the fight to end mass incarceration, and it happened with the memory of George Jackson still fresh.

In August 1979, Black August was officially started by Black prisoners at San Quentin. The month was chosen to honor George and Jonathan Jackson and others who were killed fighting for freedom in August. It became a time for fasting, learning, self-discipline, and remembering. Outside of prison, it also became a way to challenge the patriotic pride of July 4th — offering a different kind of tradition: one rooted in resistance, study, and honoring those who came before us.

The Politics of Refusal: What are we saying no to?

REFUSAL IS NOT PASSIVITY. Refusal is radical disengagement — a deliberate and powerful act of resistance, not a lack of action. It means choosing not to participate in systems or structures of oppression.

But this brings up a deeper question: How do we refuse when our participation is involuntary?

This is something I wrestle with daily — through self-education and reflection. The revolutionaries of Black August might have said refusal meant killing the oppressor — but that was a choice made when the only other option was death. For our generation, I believe we must start by identifying which parts of our participation in oppressive systems are truly involuntary, and which are voluntary — then work to end all voluntary participation in those systems, immediately and completely with grace but also accountability.

We must not participate in state violence and mass incarceration. That means refusing to join agencies like ICE, which actively hire people to drag others off the streets without due process — much like what happened to newly freed Black people during and after Reconstruction, and what still happens today in the form of forced labor: the new slavery.

We must also refuse to participate in historical erasure — and actively counter it by teaching our children, and our children’s children, the truth of our history.

We must not participate in extreme consumerism and spectacle. We’ve seen this recently with the Target boycotts — a clear example of how corporations driven by capitalism and excessive consumption can begin to fall when the Black dollar is withheld. This is exactly what Dr. King spoke about.

We must also refuse to participate in reconciliation without justice.

Many modern movements are continuing the energy of this tradition—#CloseRikers, Assata’s Daughters (Chicago), Black Power Media, and Black Lives Matter, to name a few. The revolution has never stopped, and nothing is stopping us from creating even more branches of the same movement, all rooted in the same essential agenda BUT we have to start conversation to verbally express that agenda.

Rituals of Resistance: How Black August is Practiced

Black August is practiced in many ways: fasting, studying, physical and mental discipline, and reading groups are all part of its observance. It is not performative—it’s not about social media posts, but about transformation. In many ways, it’s about preparing yourself for the revolution. During this time, studying—whether religious or revolutionary texts—is a political act. Black August has evolved beyond the walls of prisons, reaching college campuses and now even digital platforms like Substack, through art and media.

Cultural Memory: The Archive of Black Refusal

Black August serves as a living archive—one that remembers martyrs and “misfits,” not presidents and policies. It centers the lives and legacies of those who’ve been demonized, criminalized, or erased from history. This month, we take deliberate time to reverse those distortions—refusing to glorify symbols of the state—and instead shine a light on the demands made by the revolutionaries, not just the images they left behind.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

-Maya Angelou

Art carries this tradition even today. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou’s groundbreaking memoir, captures what it means to live under constant constraint—racial, gendered, and psychological—and to still find your voice. It speaks to the experience of feeling unseen by the world yet deeply aware of your own reality. In that sense, it lives within the tradition of Black artistic resistance. I even aim for The Living Record to be part of that same tradition: witnessing, remembering, and rebelling through art.

Films like Ryan Coogler’s Sinners are a perfect example of both refusal and remembrance. The story follows two twins who refuse to participate in the subversive image of Black people in their time. They create a business of their own, carving out space for dignity and self-determination. And that final scene—where the KKK is obliterated—left me with a strange mix of satisfaction and joy.

Against The Rising Tide: The Refusal of Fascism

It is no secret that there is a rise of global and national fascist ideologies. I choose to actually use the word reappearance as I believe that it never left.

These ideologies have fueled the rise of white nationalism, anti-Blackness, historical revisionism, book bans, and hysteria around Critical Race Theory.

The far right has been emboldened through Trumpism and the rise of Project 2025, whose architects now hold executive power and control. As a result, we’re witnessing increasingly militant policing of immigrants—as well as non-immigrants who may simply “appear” as such—and the passing of anti-protest laws that contradict the very promises of the Constitution that many once believed in. These regressive measures have been rebranded as efforts to “restore law and order” and uphold so-called patriotism.

Liberalism/Mainstream Liberalism has failed to halt—or even slow down—fascism. Only revolutionary imagination and infrastructure can meet it with equal force. This is why we have Black August: it is the training ground for the resistance. There is a need for the far left to balance out the far right, which is currently tipping the entire nation in one direction. If there’s nothing wrong with vigilantes marching through Memphis, Tennessee, then there should be nothing wrong with action from the opposite end of the spectrum—right? For survival. For justice. For vision. Black radicalism is not extreme; it is necessary.

A Tradition We Must Inherit

Once again, Black August is not simply about remembering—it’s about remembering with the intent to continue the work of those we remember, using whatever platforms we have and whatever mediums we are skilled in. Everyone has a place in the movement. What is yours? Let’s refuse to forget. Refuse the state’s stories. Refuse the lie of progress. Let’s take this month—and the months and years that follow during these difficult times—to study, create, remember, and build. Not in the American tradition, but in the Other American Tradition.

You made it to the end—and you know what that means: you’re a real one.

Thank you for taking the time to read, reflect, and resist with me. If you haven’t subscribed already, go ahead and hit that button so you don’t miss what’s coming next.

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The chat is open right now to all subscribers, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. What does The Other American Tradition mean to you? What stories have been passed down in your family or community that the textbooks left out? Drop a comment. Let’s build an archive right here, together, on The Living Record.

We honor by remembering—and by telling the truth.

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“We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”

-Martin Luther King Jr.

In 1968 when Martin Luther King Jr. gave his last speech he had already been under surveillance by the FBI for over 10 years. The full breadth of this surveillance (as well as records related to his assassination) are known to us today as THE MLK FILES. These files were recently released by the Trump administration’s Department of Justice via an Executive Order declaring to release documents pertaining to the assassinations of MLK, RFK and JFK but why these files and why now?

LET’S FIRST TALK ABOUT THE KING WE WERE SOLD…

Peaceful, passive, universally beloved—this is the King that was packaged for us. “Be more like Martin Luther King Jr.”, “MLK was peaceful”, “remember on this MLK day how much he fought for peace and non-violence”. But if this was the case, why did his own government spy on his every move? These files don’t reveal a man to be feared. They reveal a state desperate to suppress a movement.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

We’ve heard this so many times that many of us are able to repeat it word for word. But why is this the only thing that we remember? This is what is in the pages of the American history book, but what they leave out every time, are his demands. So, what was King demanding?

The Disillusionment of Dr.King

In school most of us were taught that Martin Luther King Jr. rallied people together and marched until the government felt it was important for black people to have rights so they passed The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and eventually the Voting Rights Act of 1965 and this is partly correct but what is missing is what happened after.

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