Transnational Liminal Spaces: Reflections from the Marcus Garvey Fellowship at Emory’s Rose Library

Casey Johnson is a PhD student in Indiana University Bloomington’s Department of African American and African Diaspora Studies department. He was the 2025 recipient of Rose Library’s Marcus Garvey Foundation Research Fellowship.

As I made my way to Emory University’s campus, weaving through surrounding hills of historic homes and a lush green golf course I arrived at the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library ready for another scholarly journey. Atop the 10th floor of a modern institutional architecture styled building from the 60s, the Rose Library’s reading room offers a panoramic view of the city of Atlanta, a fitting backdrop for delving into history as it’s known historically as a major hub for civil rights activism, Black political empowerment, and arguably the most culturally influential ‘chocolate city’ in America. As the 2025 recipient of the Marcus Garvey Foundation Research Fellowship, I had come to the “Harvard of the South” to explore its rich collections on Marcus Garvey and the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA). My research centers on Black transnationalism in the 19th and 20th centuries, specifically the concept of “Black Intermedium Liminal” places and spaces between sites created by Black organizations that connected communities across borders. Gaining access to the Rose Library’s archives was crucial, as I hoped to unearth primary materials illustrating how Black-led groups in the U.S. and Canada forged such liminal spaces in the era of burgeoning Western imperialism.

Walking into the archive, I was eager to explicate the archives because the UNIA’s cross-border networks offered an ideal case study in Black transnational organizing. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries—precisely when American and British imperial ventures were expanding—Black communities in North America began forming a profusion of mutual aid societies, professional associations, and political organizations. Marcus Garvey’s UNIA became the largest of them all, spanning from Harlem to Toronto and beyond. I suspected that within Garvey’s papers and the UNIA records lay the story of how local chapters served as “intermedium” nodes, carving out liminal spaces of autonomy between nations. This fellowship gave me the opportunity to confirm that presage with evidence. After a few days in the archives, I emerged with a trove of information that will fuel multiple projects—ranging from a dissertation chapter on Black transnational networks to a digital database of historical Black organizational groups’ mission statements, objectives/goals, leadership statements and public communications, affiliations and coalitions, and historical significance. What I found at Rose Library went well beyond my expectations.

Discoveries in the UNIA Archives

The Garvey and UNIA collections at Emory are vast and exceptionally rich. I found myself handling fragile conference programs, yellowed newspapers, typed memoranda, and handwritten letters from Garveyites. The materials spanned an astounding range of themes: war, peace, love, communism, capitalism, property ownership and religion. It was apparent the UNIA’s leading figures had set out to philosophize every aspect of modern life from a Black liberation perspective. For example, I uncovered UNIA correspondence and editorials from the 1940s in which leaders like William H. Sherrill and Thomas W. Harvey responded to global crises. When the Great Depression or World War II threatened Black livelihoods, these Garveyites implored their people to continually unite globally and take ownership of their communities’ fate. The urgency of their messages was striking. In one circular, Sherrill emphasized that whether Black folks were in Alabama or Alberta, they faced common challenges—and thus must act in concert across borders. Reading these pieces, I could feel the pulse of a serious, no-nonsense movement preparing its people to weather storms together.

One aspect that stood out across the UNIA archival records was their tone of staidness and purpose. Unlike some other Black organizations of the era, the UNIA materials were not overabundantly preoccupied with social galas or cultural spectacles. However, it should be noted,  Garvey’s movement was famous for its grand parades, military-style uniforms, and marching bands—expressions of Black pride and pageantry. But in the texts, I examined, there was little idle celebration of Black culture for its own sake. Instead, poems, songs, and articles in the UNIA’s papers carried a sober pride in African heritage and a laser focus on uplift and unity. The overall impression was that being “proud of Blackness” was less about style and more about substance. In fact, one might say the work of building a self-sufficient global Black nation was itself seen as the ultimate expression of Black culture.

To illustrate this ethos, I came across a scathing 1973 op-ed by African-American journalist Carl T. Rowan. In it, Rowan warned Black Americans not to confuse symbolic fashions with true solidarity and progress. He wrote, “It’s time blacks—especially young blacks—stopped deluding themselves into believing that the sheepish following of stupid fads is ‘black solidarity.’ It is time to stop swallowing this malarkey that styling your hair in 30 nappy plaits…is the epitome of ‘pride in racial heritage’” (Rowan, 1973  ). More from Rowan – “anybody who didn’t find enough ‘black pride’ with a ‘bush’ is supposed to finally discover his or her black identity in a ‘cornrow.’” His pointed words captured the frustration that superficial expressions of culture cannot substitute for real empowerment. As I turned the pages of the UNIA’s meeting minutes and newsletters, I sensed a similar impatience from Garvey and his followers. Decades before Rowan, Garveyites were effectively saying: costumes and slogans alone won’t free us; we need organization, education, and economic power. Indeed, one recurring theme in the UNIA papers is an emphasis on “sagacity” over bravado – a point Rowan himself made when he wrote that “there isn’t going to be any meaningful black pride until more black people are making solid achievements…in competition with the white majority”. The archives revealed a movement deeply invested in substance over symbolism, intent on building the capacity of Black people to determine their own destiny.

This ethos was perhaps most clearly articulated in a 1960s UNIA newsletter I found titled “Messenger from the President-General.” Written at the height of post-civil rights euphoria, it delivered a sharp reality check to complacent readers. The author – likely one of Garvey’s successors in the UNIA leadership – admonished that now was not the time to rest on laurels. “The long period of talking and preaching about racial unity should be over and the time for action is at hand,” the message proclaimed. “Talk and talk will take us nowhere. The unity we seek must be programmed. Everyone, including our youth, must clearly see the direction in which we are heading and all must have the opportunity to take an active part. ‘Power to the people’ is a meaningless catch slogan that makes suckers out of trusting people unless it means direct action aimed at our freedom and a better life among men.” In-text and between the lines, the statement bristled with urgency – a call for practical, collective action rather than feel-good rhetoric. It made me think back on a speech by Garvey, “An Appeal to the Conscience of the Black Race” where he says “…I had a motive and a purpose. It was a crying voice which I could not silence. I had a message to give. It was the call of my people—the cry of a race that had suffered and yet refused to be conquered. I was but an instrument in the hands of Providence to carry that message.” The critique of “‘Power to the people’ as a meaningless slogan” especially resonated, given how popular that slogan was in the 1960s Black Power movement. The UNIA veterans were effectively telling the next generation: Don’t be lulled by slogans or superficial “representation” – keep pushing, keep organizing. This archival find enriched my understanding of how earlier generations viewed later Black freedom movements with a mix of solidarity and skepticism. It also reinforced a hypothesis in my own research; that there has long been a tension in Black activism between performative symbolism and concrete institution-building. The Garveyites clearly fell on the side of building institutions and demanding tangible power.

Garvey’s “Race First” Philosophy vs. Western Politics

Another significant insight from my Rose Library research was Marcus Garvey’s evolving political thought – particularly his views on socialism and communism. Prior to the 1920s, a young Garvey had expressed admiration for aspects of socialism; he even welcomed socialists to write in the UNIA’s Negro World newspaper. However, by the late 1930s, Garvey’s outlook had changed markedly. I came across an essay titled “Communism” that Garvey wrote (possibly published in his London periodical The Black Man). In it, Garvey critiques communism as a flawed, Eurocentric solution. He argued in essence that communism might be a fine remedy for injustices in white society, but it held possible perils for Black people. Garvey bluntly stated that communism was “a dangerous theory of economic or political reformation because it seeks to put government in the hands of an ignorant white mass who have not been able to destroy their natural prejudices towards Negroes and other non-white people” . In Garvey’s eyes, ideologies imported from Europe—be it Marxism or liberal capitalism—were not designed for Black liberation. He feared that if Black folks hitched their wagon to white-led movements, they would either be sidelined or used as pawns. Freedom, Garvey insisted, had to be won on Black terms (“race first”) or not at all.

Garvey’s skepticism of white political frameworks was not about isolationism per se, but about maintaining the radical integrity of the Black freedom struggle. Reading his essays in 2025, I was struck by how prescient some of his warnings were. Even today, gradual reforms often come packaged in what critical race theorist Derrick Bell later termed “interest convergence,” meaning meaningful change for Black Americans tends to occur only when it suits white interests. Garvey seemed to intuit this dynamic decades earlier. I believe, he essentially cautioned that if Black people relied on the benevolence of mainstream parties (left or right), they would only ever achieve incremental progress at best, not true self-determination. Instead, he championed an independent Black economic and political power base, free from white oversight. This perspective sometimes earned Garvey labels like “reactionary” from contemporary leftists, but, to me, in hindsight it’s clear he was aiming to protect his movement from being co-opted or diluted by outside agendas. He had seen how even well-meaning white allies could steer Black movements away from bold demands. Therefore, Garvey and his chief lieutenants crafted a philosophy that was unapologetically self-reliant – often summarized in the UNIA slogan “One God! One Aim! One Destiny!” In an earlier 1925 editorial, Garvey had written, “Negroes the world over must practice one faith, that of confidence in themselves, with One God! One Aim! One Destiny! Let no political machination divide us… let us hold together under all climes and in every country”. That ringing declaration encapsulates why I sought out these archives: Garvey’s was a transnational creed that recognized no colonial borders in the quest for Black freedom.

Building a Global Movement: Infrastructure and Ideals

Perhaps the most impressive through-line in the UNIA archives was the sheer breadth of infrastructure that Garvey’s movement developed. The records at Rose Library reveal an organization meticulously constructing a world-spanning framework in the early-mid 20th century, long before modern technology made global coordination commonplace. I examined UNIA charters, bylaws, convention minutes, mission statements, and countless messages from “parent-body” headquarters to local chapters. In these documents, one sees a movement building the machinery of a self-governing nation that included; UNIA division presidents in dozens of cities, auxiliaries like the African Legions and Black Cross Nurses, economic ventures like the Negro Factories Corporation, and even plans for a Black university. The language used in these texts is telling. It is pedagogical and exhortative – equal parts teaching guide, pep talk, and action memo. Leaders like Garvey, Sherrill, and Harvey carefully explained why the UNIA pursued certain goals, how members should conduct themselves, and what the ultimate vision was. They knew they were doing something unprecedented. Garvey often likened it to building a “Racial Empire upon which the sun shall never set”. As I flipped through issues of The Black Man newspaper and internal UNIA memos, I saw a concerted effort to educate the masses into a new consciousness. There was very little frivolity or “filler.” Every article and editorial had a purpose: to fortify Black readers’ pride, discipline, and unity of purpose.

One of my research pursuits beyond this fellowship involves analyzing the mission statements and platforms of various Black organizational across 19^th and 20^th century history. The Rose Library’s UNIA materials are supportive of this. I was able to photograph and transcribe many pages of the UNIA’s stated objectives, alliance announcements, and public communiqués. These will go into a dataset for comparative analysis. Already, some patterns emerge: Garvey’s UNIA, much like other groups of its era, emphasized economic self-help, racial pride, education, and Africa as a homeland. The UNIA’s way of articulating these was unique in its scope and intensity. For instance, a UNIA brochure might proclaim the goal of “uniting four hundred million Negroes worldwide,” or establishing “an industry in every Negro community.” The bold quantification of their ambitions (millions of people, worldwide solidarity, global economy) set the UNIA apart from, say, the NAACP of the same period. And unlike more integrationist organizations, the UNIA unabashedly spoke of a separate Black nationality. This was Black nationalism on a grand, international scale.

Working through the papers of William Sherrill, one of Garvey’s top American organizers, I discovered a fascinating document he penned, comprised of what he called “Pithy Paragraphs.” It read like a collection of fiery proverbs or mini-sermons from his thoughts. In one excerpt, Sherrill lambastes the Ku Klux Klan for promoting hateful caste divisions, warning that any doctrine which pits “Negro, Roman Catholic, Jew, or ‘alien’” against one another serves only to uphold an unjust status quo. The rhetorical style was direct and cutting, yet instructive – a hallmark of Garveyite writing. Throughout Sherrill’s notes and speeches, I saw a consistent three-pronged rhetorical strategy: (1) educate new adherents about the UNIA’s core principles and the necessity of unified action, (2) challenge the committed Garveyites to remain diligent and avoid complacency, and (3) continually reinterpret the philosophy of Garveyism in light of current events so that even veteran members would find fresh inspiration to act. The UNIA’s leaders were, in effect, teachers and strategists. They understood that to sustain a movement of this magnitude, they had to cultivate a shared intellectual framework among long distance members.

It was humbling to realize the logistical challenges these activists overcame. In one file, I found carbon copies of letters Garvey sent in the mid-1930s from his exile in London to chapter presidents in Kingston, Harlem, and Toronto. He would dictate responses to each local report, offering advice and sometimes scolding shortcomings. I held one such letter where Garvey addressed a Canadian division’s concern about declining membership; he urged them to intensify recruiting efforts and reminded them that every local action was part of a global picture. Garvey managed to keep his “finger on the pulse” of a decentralized movement spanning four continents – all through typewritten letters and newsletters. Little wonder that Sherrill, in a later reflection, observed that “Garveyism today is too big – its tasks are too big and varied to be contained within the confines of the U.N.I.A.” He foresaw that the ideas seeded by the UNIA would overflow any single organization. In fact, many principles of Garveyism (from Pan-Africanism to the importance of independent Black media) did disseminate into broader Black activism long after the UNIA as an institution waned. My time at Rose Library reinforced this continuity. I traced lines from Garvey’s 1920s speeches to 1960s Black Power rhetoric to even today’s Pan-African forums. As a scholar, mapping these connections is exhilarating –like watching a relay race across generations, with Garveyites passing the baton of ideas to successors.

The 1937 UNIA Conference: A Liminal Space in Action

Another particularly exciting find was a thin, typewritten booklet labeled “Official Minutes of the Second Regional Conference of the UNIA of Canada and the United States.” This primary source is a gem that perfectly exemplifies the “Black Intermedium Liminal” places/spaces I set out to research. The conference in question took place from August 24–31, 1937, in Toronto, Canada, bringing together delegates from UNIA divisions across the U.S. and Canada under one roof. As I carefully turned the pages , I realized I was holding the tangible record of a transnational Black gathering in the pre-war era. The minutes document 17 sessions over eight days, wherein Black men and women from New York, Chicago, Nova Scotia, Montreal, Detroit, Kansas City—virtually all over North America—sat together to strategize their collective future. In essence, that Toronto conference was a meeting location point for many intermedium places: an in-between place where national boundaries blurred, and participants existed in the liminal realm of Pan-African unity. They were not just Canadians or Americans in those moments; they were Garveyites, belonging to a global Black nation-in-the-making. This is precisely the outcome of the phenomenon of oscillating liminality my concept describes—spaces where Black people step outside the confines of any one country and enter a shared diasporic arena.

What do the conference minutes reveal? For one, they showcase how thoroughly organized and serious the proceedings were. Each session began with a devotional or the singing of hymns (a reminder that the UNIA blended the spiritual with the political), followed by roll calls, reading of previous minutes, and then hours of reports and resolutions. The tone of the meetings was earnest and duty-oriented, even when moments of celebration or humor emerged. For example, during one session the delegates passed a resolution to send greetings to boxing champion Joe Louis, applauding his recent victory as a point of racial pride. Immediately afterward, they dove into a debate on the UNIA’s Five Year Plan and fundraising for the organization’s collegiate program. The juxtaposition is fascinating: they acknowledged Black excellence (Louis’s sports triumph) but swiftly refocused on institutional development. The minutes are sprinkled with such evidence of a movement juggling multiple priorities—racial pride, global events, and movement-building—all at once.

The Foreword of the 1937 conference minutes, shown above, is especially illuminating. It summarizes the major outcomes of the conference with an almost businesslike precision. We learn that Marcus Garvey traveled from London to preside over the Toronto meeting (a risky journey, given he was in exile, but he made it under special conditions). The Foreword proudly notes the “tremendous, vital and interesting” business accomplished that week, including a reaffirmation of the UNIA’s ambitious Five Year Plan. Notably, it records the inauguration of two new auxiliary orders – the Sisterhood of African Charity and the Brotherhood of African Fellowship – and the starting of a “School of African Philosophy” on September 1, 1937, to systematically train UNIA organizers. This last point stopped me in my tracks. Here was Garvey in 1937, launching a leadership academy to professionalize Black activism. The school’s graduates would earn titles like Bachelor or Doctor of African Philosophy, and Garvey made it clear no one would henceforth represent UNIA officially without this training. It’s hard to overstate how visionary this was – a transnational cadre of certified Black leaders, made in the 1930s. The conference minutes also show that delegates petitioned Garvey to return to the U.S., and he agreed on condition of proper legal clearance (he had been deported in 1927). He even offered a plan to make periodic visits to help rebuild the movement in America. Reading this, I felt the palpable hope that must have filled that Toronto hall – hope that Garvey might soon be back on U.S. soil to spearhead a renewal of the cause.

Crucially for my research, these conference minutes demonstrate how UNIA gatherings themselves served as liminal empowerment zones. Inside that rented community hall at 355 College Street in Toronto, UNIA members created an autonomous space governed by their own protocols and collective aspirations. They passed resolutions addressing their unique dual status as Black people in predominantly white countries. For instance, one resolution (drafted by Toronto’s own B. J. Spencer Pitt) affirmed the loyalty of Black Canadians to Canada while thanking the government for its “kindly protection” – a diplomatic nod to their host country. At the same time, the very act of convening a Regional Conference of Negroes of America and Canada was a bold assertion that, regardless of citizenship, Black people had a common destiny and a right to self-determination. The conference minutes are, therefore, more than dry notes – they are a testament to cross-border Black solidarity in action. They capture a moment when a diasporic community stepped into a shared liminal space to imagine a different future. For my concept of “Black intermedium liminal spaces,” this is a perfect historical example: the 1937 UNIA conference was a space between and beyond nation-states, created by Black agency, where new social and political possibilities could be forged.

Conclusion: Legacies of Liminal Spaces and Future Directions

Sitting in the Rose Library’s bright reading room each day, with Atlanta’s skyline stretching out beyond the glass, I often paused to reflect on the legacy of what I was reading. The UNIA archives at Emory not only enriched my immediate research questions but also reminded me why studying history matters. In many ways, Marcus Garvey and his followers were ahead of their time. They grappled with issues—Pan-African unity, the pitfalls of performative activism, independent institution-building—that remain deeply relevant. The idea of Black transnational organizational structures operating in “liminal” spaces outside the white gaze resonates with how today’s movements (from Black Lives Matter to global African diaspora conferences) try to create safe, empowering zones for collaboration across borders.

On a personal note, this fellowship experience was profoundly rewarding. I came to Emory seeking evidence and left with inspiration. There is something magical about holding an old document in your hands and feeling a connection to the people behind it. As I held the 1937 conference minutes and saw the signatures of delegates from places I’ve lived and visited—Philadelphia, New York, Montreal, Toronto, Windsor, Detroit—I felt a kinship with those ancestors in struggle. In that sense, the Rose Library itself became a liminal space for me: a place where past and present converged, where I, as a modern scholar, conversed silently with Garveyites from eight decades ago.

This research trip has provided me with robust material that will fuel the next stages of my work. In the immediate term, I will be incorporating these findings into a dissertation chapter on Black transnational organizing, using the 1937 UNIA conference as a case study in how Black activists negotiated national boundaries. Additionally, the organizational documents I copied (bylaws, mission statements, official declarations) will feed into the dataset I’m building to analyze the evolution of Black organizational political thought over the last 150 years. I’m excited to compare the language of Garvey’s era with that of contemporary movements – already I can see echoes of Garveyism in today’s calls for Black economic self-sufficiency and pan-diasporic unity. My hope is that by studying these historical connections, I can help illuminate how current activists might learn from both the triumphs and tensions of their predecessors.

Finally, I want to express my gratitude. The Marcus Garvey Foundation Research Fellowship made this invaluable trip possible. I’m thankful to the Rose Library staff who supported me through boxes of fragile papers and photographs. It was a privilege to spend time with these archives in a setting as welcoming and stimulating as Emory. The experience reinforced something Marcus Garvey once wrote – “A people without knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots.” If that is so, then archives are the rich soil that keep our collective tree of knowledge alive. I’m leaving Atlanta with my roots deeper, my vision clearer, and my commitment to this research even stronger. One Aim, One God, One Destiny – and, as I humbly add for myself, one incredible archive to tell the story.

 

 

References

Garvey, M. (1925). African Fundamentalism. Negro World, June 6, 1925 .

Garvey, M. (c.1937). Communism (unpublished essay)  .

Rowan, C. T. (1973, Feb 8). “Brothers and Sisters, ‘Hair’ Ain’t Where It’s At.” The Augusta News-Review, p. 1  .

UNIA (1937). Official Minutes of the Second Regional Conference of the UNIA in Canada and the United States (August 24–31, 1937).

UNIA (c.1970). Messenger from the President-General (internal memo), New York. (Rose Library, Emory University).