Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Marcus Garvey, the UNIA, and the Negro World

“They are allied with the Bolsheviks and Sinn Feiners in their world revolution” – W.E.B. Du Bois, on Marcus Garvey and the UNIA, 1920[1]

Garvey and the Contradictions of Black Elite Politics

Marcus Garvey and the United Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) were nothing if not contradictory. In 1919, before an audience of 2,500 at Carnegie Hall, Garvey denounced “[t]hose crackers of the South who have been lynching our brothers and sisters, our mothers and our fathers and our children for over 15 years.”[2] Three years later, after repudiating Black aspirations for social equality, Garvey publicly thanked the white South for “lynch[ing] race pride into the Negroes.”[3] On the one hand Garvey could distance himself from white elites, declaring his choice between “be[ing] one of the ‘black-whites’ of Jamaica, and be[ing] reasonably prosperous” or “com[ing] out openly and defend[ing] and help[ing] improve and protect the integrity of the black millions and suffer,” while also affirming that “up to now my one true friend as far as you can rely on his friendship, is the whiteman.”[4] Contradictions such as these were extant in the Garveyite enterprise for its duration as a political force in America.

Garvey’s contradictions were never static. Far from rigid binary oppositions, the contradictions in Garveyite ideology between the militant mass politics of 1919 and a nationalist inflected conciliation with white supremacy were formed from competing ideological tendencies influenced by the political events of the contemporary world. These events, whether the Russian Revolution or state repression of the UNIA, influenced Garvey himself and the broader UNIA to different degrees. While Garvey would never abandon a belief in Black business and would remain skeptical about the possibility of socialism, other UNIA members were quick to argue that capitalism was irredeemably flawed. Though the leftward pull of 1919 exerted greater influence on the UNIA than on Garvey personally, for both it was insufficient to withstand the impact of capitalist restabilization in the early 1920s.

The contradictions in Garveyism ultimately originated in the way the UNIA and Garvey’s early ideological commitments were transformed in the conjuncture of the New Negro. Judith Stein has described the UNIA as an attempt to “transform racial enterprise into a vehicle for militant politics.”[5] In implicitly distinguishing between the form and content of Garveyism, Stein argues that racial enterprises like the Black Star Line were ultimately carriers for the movement’s radical politics. I believe the reverse is more accurate: Garvey sought to transform militant politics and rhetoric into a vehicle for the promotion of racial enterprise. Garvey attempted to use the tremendous energy in the mass politics of 1919 as a dynamo for powering his project of racial enterprise. Although Garvey was initially committed to a Booker T. Washington[6] inspired ideology of racial uplift through industrial achievement, the politics of the New Negro years and the international influence of the Russian Revolution forced Garvey to reorient his politics and organization around mass politics. Throughout this period, lasting until 1921, Garvey worked closely with other New Negro radicals such as W.A. Domingo and the group of Black socialists around the Messenger. After 1921, however, government repression and a retreating Left led Garvey to look towards the other side of his contradictions, causing the UNIA leader to seek rapprochement with white supremacists such as the Ku Klux Klan and to distance himself from his radical former comrades. Garvey’s retreat created an unbridgeable chasm between the UNIA and the other New Negro organizations, and ultimately meant the beginning of the end of the movement.

In order to study Garvey’s contradictions in a coherent manner, Antonio Gramsci’s framework of contradictory consciousness is extremely valuable. Gramsci emphasizes that contradictory ideologies are not merely the result of self-deception, but instead are “the expression of profounder contrasts of a social historical order.”[7] When considered in terms of Gramsci’s framework, Garvey’s contradictions are not the results of a personal failure on his part, but are instead the result of his attempt to navigate real social contradictions between the interests of a Black bourgeoisie committed to conciliation with a white supremacist power structure and a massive Black working class whose interests were deadly opposed to that structure. Gramsci also describes how these contradictions can manifest themselves in mass organizations. He argues that a “social group in question may indeed have its own conception of the world, even if only embryonic” but that group often will “for reasons of submission and intellectual subordination, [adopt] a conception which is not its own but is borrowed from another group.”[8] Such an analysis explains why in “normal times” (to use Gramsci’s Aesopian term for non-revolutionary periods) the conciliatory ideology of Booker T. Washington reigns, while in revolutionary conjunctures such as 1919 that ideology is thrown off and denounced with great rapidity. Finally, Gramsci’s description of the tasks of Marxist criticism of philosophy serve as an excellent statement of the goals of this chapter: “What must next be explained is how it happens that in all periods there co-exist many systems and currents of philosophical thought, how these currents are born, how they are diffused, and why in the process of diffusion they fracture along certain lines and in certain directions.”[9] This chapter will thus trace the lines and directions of the competing philosophies of New Negro militancy and Washingtonian conciliation in Garvey and the UNIA.

Historians have often failed to appreciate the contradictory ideas and notions within Garvey’s thought. Garvey’s own political development has encouraged historians to overlook his more radical tendencies, as those tendencies were ultimately displaced by his more conciliatory nationalism. However, just because his nationalist politics became dominant does not mean that Garvey did not also espouse an emergent radical politics during the time of the New Negro movement. Confusing the commitments which were ultimately dominant with those of Garvey’s entire career obscures both his emergent radicalism and its residual expressions in his later years.

Ahmed Shawki, in Black Liberation and Socialism, is one of those who reads Garvey’s nationalism backwards over his radicalism. Shawki disputes Manning Marable’s characterization of Garvey in 1919 as “profoundly sympathetic with the international left and with mass workers’ movements against capital,”[10] arguing instead that “Garvey adopted militant rhetoric in 1919 because he understood it was necessary to attract members to the UNIA.”[11] While it is true that Garvey’s militant rhetoric failed to displace his conservative commitments, it is also true that that same rhetoric was used to build an organization of two million, primarily working class, Black folks. Garvey may have been cynically using leftist rhetoric to mask essentially nationalist goals, but those who joined because of that rhetoric were most assuredly not. Conflating Garvey with the UNIA as a whole misses this essential contradiction. In addition, as I demonstrate below, Garvey’s engagement with the Left during the period of the New Negro went beyond the mere borrowing of rhetoric to a genuine engagement with Leftist ideas.

Tony Martin is similarly undialectical in his judgment of Garvey. His nationalist study of the UNIA, Race First, contains a level of detail which cannot help but expose the myriad ways in which Garvey was linked to the Left. However, Martin seeks to subsume these details underneath an overarching narrative of Garveyism as an ideology profoundly hostile to integration or cooperation with non-nationalist groups such as the socialists. Martin is aided in constructing this narrative by Garvey’s own statements after his break with the rest of the New Negro movement. Too often, however, Martin accepts these statements at face value, thereby failing to situate Garvey’s reflections on earlier times within the contemporary ideological struggles in which UNIA leader was engaged. For example, in discussing Garvey’s dismissal of W.A. Domingo, a Black socialist, from his position of editor of the Negro World, Martin uncritically cites Garvey’s explanation from 1926, in which Garvey explained that he fired Domingo because of “his dangerous communistic principles.”[12] However, this statement is taken from Garvey’s legal appeal of his conviction for mail fraud. In entreating the U.S. state for clemency, Garvey clearly sought to minimize his own previous radical commitments.[13] At the time of the dismissal, however, Garvey himself was making statements that led the Justice Department to conclude that “the Soviet Russian Rule is upheld and there is open advocation of Bolshevism” in the pages of the Negro World.[14] Garvey’s dismissal of Domingo was not a repudiation of radicalism per se, but rather an attempt to insulate the UNIA from anticommunist government persecution.

What both Martin and Shawki miss in their respective studies of Garveyism is the deeply contradictory commitments of Garvey and UNIA, especially during the New Negro period. From 1918-1921, the UNIA was pulled one way by Garvey’s ideology of uplift through racial enterprise and another by the explosion of mass politics around the globe, particularly the growth of the New Negro movement in Harlem and the Russian Revolution. Before exploring Garvey’s ties and tensions with the New Negro movement, however, it is necessary to examine Garvey’s early years and the ideology with which he founded the UNIA.

Marcus Garvey was born in 1887 in St. Ann’s Bay, Jamaica. His father, as an artisan stonemason, was able to provide Garvey’s family with greater means than those available to most Jamaicans, who worked as sharecroppers. As a young man, Garvey worked as a foreman in a printer’s shop, where he participated in a strike by the shop’s workers. Fired for his involvement in the strike, Garvey got a job as a civil servant in a government print shop in Kingston. In Kingston, he became involved with the National Club, a group of middle class Jamaicans who sought to combat the worst excesses of British colonialism on the island. There he met W.A. Domingo, a fellow member of the club and later editor of the Negro World.

Garvey spent much of the next few years traveling, eventually landing in London as a messenger for the Pan-Africanist publication The African Times and Orient Review. Edited by Egyptian immigrant Duse Mohammed Ali, the journal’s goal was to “lay the aims, desires, and intentions of the Black, Brown, and Yellow Races – within and without the Empire – at the throne of Caesar.”[15] Such an objective was firmly within the consensus of fin de siècle Pan-African politics. Though discontented with colonial discrimination and exploitation, many early Pan-Africanists embraced what Michelle Mitchell has called “the Black Man’s Burden”[16] – the idea that European colonialism in Africa, by bringing the advancements of a “civilized” culture, would lay the basis for a united continent. For example, Edward Blyden, an early theorist of Pan-Africanism, was an enthusiastic supporter of the extension of British rule in Sierra Leone, because he felt that it freed “a great country from the cruel savagery of the ages and [threw] it open to the regenerating influences of an enlightened nation.”[17] As intellectuals whose experiences were forged in the quarter of a century in which Europe went from controlling ten percent of Africa to ninety percent of it, many early Pan-Africanists could not imagine the possibility of a generalized overthrow of European rule. Instead, they attempted to resist the worst depredations of the West while gaining what they could from its rule.

Similar circumstances shaped African-American intellectuals of the same period. Both Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. Du Bois, the two principle Black intellectuals at the turn of the century, agreed that Jim Crow was here to stay, at least for now. The image of the two in popular memory as bitter rivals actually obscures the common ground they shared. Du Bois expressed himself in a classic Washingtonian mode when he wrote that “a little less complaint and whining, and little more dogged work and manly striving would do us more credit and benefit than a thousand Force or Civil Rights bills.”[18] The modesty of the demands of both Du Bois and Washington in the years surrounding the turn of the century was a direct result of the Redemption of the South and the defeat of the interracial Populist movement. In Brian Kelly’s words, the concilliatory ideologies of Washington and Du Bois were the result of “the white South’s enhanced capacity to set the boundaries on [B]lack assertion.”[19]

Marcus Garvey was the inheritor of these aspirations formed in an era of defeat. Working for Duse Mohammed Ali, he found himself near the center of the Pan-Africanist movement of the time. Articles by Edward Blyden, Booker T. Washington, and W.E.B. Du Bois regularly appeared in the pages of the African Times and Orient Review. When Garvey returned home to Jamaica, he sought to put the ideologies he learned abroad to work. On July 20th, 1914, Garvey founded the United Negro Improvement Association and African Communities League. As an indicator of the extent to which Garvey, like his predecessors, had absorbed the ideology of European imperialism, two of the founding goals of the UNIA were “To assist in civilizing the backwards tribes of Africa” and “To strengthen the imperialism of independent African states.”[20] The UNIA’s first year of existence was marked by very slow growth; it could boast only a hundred members a year after its founding. The organization’s lack of growth concerned Garvey, and he sought the help of Booker T. Washington to rectify it.

Garvey’s activities in the UNIA in Jamaica provide an indication of his acceptance of an essentially Washingtonian sensibility. The UNIA was to be, in Garvey’s words, “non-political.” Garvey went so far as to ask his followers “to eschew politics as a means of social change.”[21] Such a request was in keeping with Garvey’s analysis of the problems of the race, which held that “those Negroes who failed to do their duty by the race in promoting a civilized imperialism” were the ones to blame for the “retrograde state of the Negro.” Garvey even went so far as to argue that “[n]o one in the wide world is handicapping the Negro…the sleeping Negro has handicapped and is still handicapping himself.”[22] Political activity would be of no aid in solving the problems of the “the sleeping Negro”. Instead, upper class Blacks needed to aid in the culturation of the lower classes, “so that they might advance into a higher state of enlightenment.”[23]

Garvey’s emphasis on the need of African-descended peoples to help themselves was a constant theme throughout his early years. His slogan, “Race First,” is a declaration of the belief that no one but Black folks can be counted on to help Black folks. In the years before the New Negro movement, however, Garvey’s pronouncements on self-help were of a markedly different sort than those that would come later. As part of the New Negro movement, Garvey and the UNIA asserted the need for Black folks to “help themselves” stand up in self-defense against white supremacist terrorism. “Race first” was a slogan which Garvey thought would mobilize African Americans to take the rights denied them by whites. In Jamaica, however, Garvey emphasized, along Washingtonian lines, the ways in which Black folks needed an ideology of self-help to overcome self-imposed obstacles. Self-help meant that improvement of Black peoples’ lives would not come through the elimination of white-imposed barriers, but through Black folks developing their own abilities. The ideology of self-help would later form the basis for Garvey’s Black Star shipping line, the primary route by which he sought to use racial enterprise as a means of uplift.

Garvey’s early years of political activity were marked above all by an acceptance of the political consensus formed in an era of Black retreat. Whether articulated in the desire for a “civilized” Africa as expressed by the Pan-Africanists or in the Washingtonian belief that Black achievement was the primary means by which racial progress could be achieved, Garvey was a convinced apostle of Black elite politics. However, the hegemony of these politics was soon to be fiercely challenged by the younger generation of Black activists. It is to Garvey’s relationship to these “New Negroes” that I now turn.

Marcus Garvey and the New Negro

Marcus Garvey and the UNIA cannot be separated from the broader New Negro movement. Without the conjunctural determinants analyzed in chapter one (the Great Migration, Red Summer, postwar labor, etc), it is uncertain whether the UNIA would have grown to become the massive organization it was. For it was only in America, under the influence of the country’s explosion of mass politics, that the UNIA moved from the tiny organization it was in Jamaica to the largest organization of the African diaspora in history. The New Negro movement and the Russian revolution were the key vectors through which ideologies of mass politics entered the UNIA.

Garvey’s relationship with the New Negro movement and the Left in general has been one of the most misunderstood aspects of his career. There is a systematic tendency to overstate Garvey’s differences with the movement and understate his similarities. Thus Judith Stein argues that “the UNIA was associated with the popular politics of 1919 only through individuals like Domingo.”[24] The significance of this statement diminishes when one sees just how many individuals like Domingo there were, and how important they were in Garvey’s organization. Indeed, the early years of the American UNIA witnessed a deep institutional connection between that organization and the broader Left. Tony Martin similarly separates the UNIA from the Left when he describes the two’s relationship as “cordial.”[25] Such a description renders the relationship between the two static, ignoring the definitive traces of Leftist presence inside the project of Garveyism. Both of these aspects of Garvey’s relationship with the Left, the institutional and the ideological, are crucial for a full appreciation of that relationship.

W.A. Domingo’s career provides an appropriate starting place for examining Garvey’s institutional links to the Left and the New Negro. As stated earlier, Domingo had been a member of the National Club in Jamaica along with Garvey. When Garvey arrived in New York in 1916, Domingo was one of those to whom he turned. Garvey’s relationship with Domingo would serve the former well. In 1918, when Garvey was trying to launch the Negro World, Domingo put him in touch with Henry Rogowski, publisher of the Socialist Party’s New York Call. It was from the Call that Garvey procured the credit necessary for the establishment of the Negro World. Garvey also offered Domingo editorship of the new paper. Under his tenure, the Call and the Negro World often published each others’ articles, with UNIA meetings often being announced in the Socialist newspaper. The Negro World also endorsed the Black Socialists (A. Philip Randolph, Chandler Owen, and George Frazier Miller) who ran for state assembly and Congress in 1918. The report, “Radicalism and Sedition Among the Negroes as Reflected in Their Publications,” noted the relationship between the UNIA and the Socialists when it remarked how the Negro World condemned nearly the entire Black press, “with the notable exception of the infamous monthly, The Messenger.”[26]

At the time of Domingo and Garvey’s collaboration, Domingo was also an associate editor of the Messenger, as well as an associate of Cyril Briggs, who would go on to form the African Blood Brotherhood in October, 1919 (Domingo would be a founding member, as well as a member of the organization’s Supreme Council). Centrally located within the New Negro movement, Domingo’s editorship of the paper was an indication of Garvey’s orbit within that movement.[27]

There were other individuals like Domingo, who were linked to both the Left and the Garvey movement, among whom, Hubert Harrison was one of the most important. As the foremost Black radical in Harlem (until Garvey’s ascent), Harrison’s editorship of Garvey’s paper from 1920-21 formed another link between the Negro World and the New Negro movement. Though by this time Harrison had severed his ties with the Socialist Party and declared himself a Black nationalist, he retained many of his old theoretical commitments. In 1920 he wrote a challenge to the Socialists in the Negro World: if they will send someone to Harlem to argue “the cause of Karl Marx, freed from the admixture of rancor and hatred of the Negro’s own defensive racial propaganda, you may find that it will have as a good a chance of gaining adherents as any other political creed.”[28]
In addition to political activists like Harrison, militant culture workers like Andy Razaf were also drawn to the UNIA. Razaf, born in Madagascar, was an immensely successful popular songwriter, writing the lyrics to classics like “Ain’t Misbehavin’” and “Black and Blue.” He was also a central figure in the New Negro movement. Razaf was on the staff of the Crusader in 1919, a contributor of poems to the Messenger, and a songwriter and poet for the UNIA. He was also, as William J. Maxwell describes, “a window onto Harlem Renaissance-era [B]lack [B]olshevism.” Razaf saw no contradiction between his “attachment to The Crusader’s [B]olshevik strain” and promotion of Garveyism[29]. In 1920, Razaf introduced Garvey during a speech at Liberty Hall with two songs he had written, “Garvey! Hats Off to Garvey!” and “U.N.I.A.”[30]

Yet another Black Leftist involved in the Garvey project was Claude McKay. McKay, who would become a vital link between the New Negro movement and The New Negro, “was a Garvey supporter and regular contributor to the Negro World in its early period.”[31] McKay was also an enthusiastic supporter of the Bolsheviks. In 1919, in an exchange published in the Negro World, McKay debated the paper’s literary editor, William Ferris, over the Russian Revolution’s significance for Black folks. In the debate he described Bolshevism as “the greatest and most scientific idea afloat in the world today that can most easily be put into practice by the proletariat to better its material and spiritual life.”[32] In response to the debate, one reader wrote in to the Negro World and described his interest in “Mr. Claude McKay’s defense of Bolshevism” as well as “the rejoinder of the distinguished author of the African Abroad.” The letter’s author went on to say that he had “come to the conclusion that capitalism is bad, unconscionably, irredeemably bad.”[33] This letter is especially significant, as its views were opposed to those set by the UNIA leadership which favored Ferris in the debate; yet it was printed nonetheless. Its presence is indicative of both the ideological openness of the UNIA in its radical phase, as well as the influence Bolshevism and its proponents like McKay had on the Negro World’s readership.

In addition to “stars” like Razaf and McKay, there were many lesser known Leftists who were associated with the Garvey movement, including John Sydney De Bourg. De Bourg had been secretary of the Trinidadian Workingmen’s Association in 1919, leading the organization in a massive strike. After emigrating to the United States, de Bourg became a leader in the UNIA and was elected “Leader of the Negroes of the West Indies, Western Province, South and Central America” at the organization’s 1921 convention. As the leader of class-based struggle in the Caribbean, De Bourg illustrates the degree to which the mass politics of the period were incorporated into the UNIA.[34]

A number of Black leftists who didn’t join the UNIA or contribute to the Negro World collaborated with Garvey. In March, 1919 the UNIA held a meeting presided over by Messenger editor Chandler Owen. The meeting was convened to elect a delegate to the Paris Peace talks to represent the race. A. Philip Randolph and W.A. Domingo were also present. The meeting denounced W.E.B. Du Bois, whom the State Department had approved as an “official” Black delegate, and elected Eliezer Cadet to give the truth “of lynching and burning of men, women and children in America because they are Black.” Though the relationship between the Messenger group and Garveyites would later become acrimonious, at this point they worked together to try and put militant Black demands on the world stage.[35]

This short list of Leftists in the UNIA gives some idea of the connections between the various institutions of the New Negro movement. Activists from one or another of these institutions saw no contradiction between supporting the “nationalist” Garvey and the “communist” African Blood Brotherhood. Their presence in the Garvey movement did more than merely link it with the other wings of the New Negro movement, however. Writers like McKay and Domingo changed the ideological content of the Garvey movement, even influencing Garvey’s own thought and rhetoric.

One of the most obvious examples of the influence of the Left on Garvey was his adoption of the rhetoric of “revolution.” Revolution was a term which was surely anathema to the Garvey who had instructed his followers to eschew politics. Yet after the success of the Russian Revolution, the upheaval in Europe, and the explosion of class struggle in the United States around 1919, revolution became a word which fell from Garvey’s lips as easily as those of any other New Negro radical. In November,1918, a Bureau of Investigation memorandum reported that Garvey had given a speech in which he “prophesied a revolution of the [N]egroes in the United States unless their demands were granted.”[36] The Bureau also noted that Garvey had sent invitations to the meeting to the well-known socialists Eugene V. Debs and Morris Hillquit[37]. However, it’s important to note that the appearance of revolutionary rhetoric in Garvey’s speeches did not mark the full displacement of his earlier ideology. This can be seen in his “Advice of the Negro to Peace Conference” from November 1918, where he warned “the statesmen of the various nations” at the conference “to be very just to all those people who may happen to come under their legislative control.” Garvey went on to describe how if these statesmen “were alive to the real feeling of their respective masses four and one-half years ago, Germany would have been intact, Austria-Hungary would have been intact, Russia would have been intact, the spirit of revolution never would have swept Europe, and mankind at large would have been satisfied.”[38] This attitude towards revolution contrasts markedly with the unbridled enthusiasm displayed by both A. Philip Randolph and Cyril Briggs. In Gramscian fashion, Garvey was expressing the revolutionary sentiments of his conjuncture in a language which militated against those sentiments.

The influence of the mass politics of 1919 is also visible in Garvey’s use of the term “capitalist” as an epithet. At a speech Garvey gave in December, 1918 he denounced the “Anglo-Saxon and American capitalists [who] met in London and determined that ‘the nigger’ should pay the cost of the war.”[39] The following April he attacked Du Bois’ attendance at the Paris peace talks, describing him as “never elected by any one except the capitalist class.”[40] Even Garvey’s “Advice” to the peace conference, which portrayed revolution as tragic, blamed the tragedy on the “graft, greed, and selfishness” of the capitalist class, who “were determined to rob and exploit the masses.”[41] Such language would have been equally at home in one of the Messenger’s polemics. Garvey’s use of radical rhetoric, unlike that of the Messenger, coexisted with a strong commitment to Black business as a means of racial uplift. As Garvey began to launch his Black Star shipping line, the radical rhetoric of capitalist malfeasance would soon disappear from his speeches.

Although theRussian revolution was a key influence behind these aspects of Garveyism’s radicalization, his relationship to the revolution was complex. On the one hand, he was tremendously inspired by the Bolshevik revolution as an example of victory by the downtrodden. This victory, he hoped, would give confidence to Blacks fighting for their rights around the world. Garvey sought to inspire his followers with the example of the victory of the lower classes in Russia, exhorting “Negroes…to win their freedom just as the Russians…have done – by revolution and bloody fighting.”[42] Here Garvey also displays the extent to which his methods for liberation have been shifted by world politics – it is now revolution by which Black folks can win their freedom, not education. At this time Garvey’s future editor of the Negro World, Hubert Harrison, was also extolling the virtues of Bolshevism. A report to the Director of Military Intelligence reported on a speech Harrison gave in Washington D.C. in which he claimed “Bolshevism is the salvation of America.”[43] The enthusiasm for the Russian revolution was not limited to the UNIA’s upper echelons. Federal agents investigating the UNIA in Massachusets reported to their superiors that the UNIA attendees at a Russian Club event “sang the Internationale [anthem of the international working class movement] as lustily as the Ruskys.”[44]

Garvey was also influenced by the specific actions of the new Soviet State. His most significant engagement with Soviet policy was in his March 27th, 1919 “Editorial Letter,” in which he commented on the Third International’s newly released Manifesto of the Communist International to the Proletariat of the Entire World, and reflected on the revolutionary movement in general. Garvey interpreted the Manifesto as “a proclamation of sympathy and good will towards the laboring peoples of the world.” He went on to argue that “the revolution among the whites” was progressing because “the masses are not yet free.” His enthusiasm for the revolution was guarded, however. Garvey was careful to note that “[w]e are not very much concerned as partakers in these revolutions.” Despite this avowed non-revolutionary intent, the Russian revolution pushed Garvey leftward insofar as it gave him confidence by providing the Black movement with what he described as “breathing space to then declare our freedom.” Garvey went on to praise Bolshevism’s victories, adding that “it is going to spread until it finds a haven in the breasts of all oppressed peoples, and then there shall be a universal rule of the masses.”[45]

Garvey was also a keen observer of the Revolution’s effects on other international leaders. In January, 1919 Garvey gave an adress to the New York Division of the UNIA during which he commented on a speech Woodrow Wilson made in which the latter declared that “[t]he fortunes of mankind are now in the hands of the people of the whole world.” Garvey argued that Wilson’s speech demonstrated that “labor has forced [Wilson’s] hands,” forcing him into “a direct compromise with Socialistic ideas.” It appears that labor also forced Garvey’s hands to a degree, for he now announced that “[t]he equality of man has become indisputable. There can be but one [aristocracy?] today and that is labor.” Garvey celebrated labor’s destruction of “the privileged aristrocracy in Russia, in Germany, in Austro-Hungary” and prophesized “within the next ten years that Great Britain will be swept away by this threatening revolution.” The speech also saw Garvey’s Pan-African eurocentrism mix with revolutionary influence, as when he contended that “the great centres of civilization” had “enlighten[ed]” African-Americans “of the fact that there can be no abiding peace until all oppression has been removed from the people.” [46]

In this same speech Garvey also revealed the extent to which the postwar labor militancy in the United States had pushed him leftwards. Garvey argued that AFL leader Samuel Gompers had become “a greater force in American national life than even President Wilson.” Gompers’ influence, Garvey believed, was due to his being “an exponent of labor” in the United States. Garvey asked his audience,

How is it that labor has become such a force in the world? Can you not remember in the years gone by when a few men used to strike for higher wages and they were turned down by their employers and forced to accept their conditions? Can you not remember. . . that some years ago trades unionism was regarded as an impracticable thing?. . .How is it that this change has come about then?

Garvey’s answer was that “[a]ll has been accomplished through organization. Organization is the force that rules the world.” Labor’s success stood as “a fair example to us as Negroes, that if we are to impose our wills on the powers that be, we must be as solidly organized as labor is today.” Labor militancy stood as an example to Garvey of the potential success of mass politics, pulling him away from his “anti-political” conception of Black uplift that he held in Jamaica.[47]

The insurgent politics surrounding 1919 forced Garvey to look towards mass politics as a source of power for his movement, opening the UNIA up for greater radicalization. In this period of working class ascendancy, so-called “Old Crowd” Black leaders like Du Bois and James Weldon Johnson “discovered that their hegemony dissolved as former white allies withdrew and the masses adopted new agendas and methods.” Even institutions like the NAACP “moved ideologically to the left, toward working-class methods of protest.” [48] Garveyism moved to the Left as well, although to a far greater degree than older, more established race leaders. The greater degree of Garveyism’s ideological shift is due primarily to two factors. First, Garvey had always focused on the Black working class as his audience, even when his methods for its uplift were profoundly bourgeois. This greater connection with the Black working class meant that its radicalization affected him more than groups further removed. Second, Garvey dove headfirst into organizing in Harlem at precisely the moment that the other forces of the New Negro movement, the Black socialists and the African Blood Brotherhood, were beginning to move. As I have shown above, the tremendous overlap of activists between these different groups both provided the New Negro movement with greater coherence and pulled the Garvey movement to the Left. As Judith Stein observes, when progressive forces were moving forward, ideological differences in the New Negro movement “were not of great significance.” The anti-radical Lusk Committee, writing with some exaggeration, warned that all groups, “be they Socialist, revolutionary, nationalist, communist and anarchist[,] have dropped their differences of opinion on detail for the common purpose of securing a change of government in the United States.”[49] Though the Committee’s members saw common cause in every group which chafed under the burden of white supremacy, in this case they touched upon a conjuncture in which there was a broad coherence among Black radicals towards revolutionary goals. This commonality of purpose was, unfortunately, not to last.

Garvey and the End of the New Negro

The defeat of the American Left in the early 1920s, begun with the failure of the postwar labor insurgency, removed the common momentum which had helped to bind together the various wings of the New Negro movement. As the various actors realigned themselves to meet the challenges of this new period, the differences between them came to be of larger and larger significance. The process of the movement’s decoherence was hastened immensely by government repression, aimed both against the general radical insurgency as well as specifically against the New Negro movement. As Garvey himself came to be a victim of this repression, he moved farther to the right, hoping to place his movement within the limits of acceptable dissent set by the American state. The fact that the radical movement at home and abroad was in retreat hastened Garvey’s rightward shift, as Leftist politics ceased to appear as vital of a source for social change. Garvey soon found a new source of inspiration, however, in the rise of the Ku Klux Klan, an organization which effectively displaced the revolutionary movement in Garvey’s rhetoric as the new source of legitimacy in American politics. Garvey’s retreat from the Left and his alliance with the Klan ultimately dissolved the New Negro movement as a coherent force; both the Messenger and the Crusader would soon be supporting a vicious campaign of deportation against the UNIA leader. This section will trace the general defeat of the Left and Garvey’s responses to the new conjuncture.

Mike Davis has written that “[i]t would be difficult to exaggerate the magnitude of American labor’s defeat in the 1919-1924 period.” While 1919 to 1921 formed an era of advance for working class struggle, that advance was eventually routed to such an extent that “[f]or almost a decade, the corporations were virtually free from the challenge of militant unionism.” [50] This period saw the Socialist Party’s membership decline from 110,000 in 1919 to 12,000 in 1923.[51] A large component of labor’s defeat in this period was the defeat of the great steel strike of 1919, “the failed test of native labor’s ability to unite with the immigrant proletariat.”[52] The domestic defeat of American labor was mirrored in the international situation. Judith Stein provides a short list of Left defeats of this period – “the huge French strikes in the spring of 1920, the American strikes of 1922, the state governments of the left in Germany in 1923”[53] – to which one could add the defeat of the Hungarian Soviet Republic, the failure of the Italian factory councils, and the increasing bureacratization of the Soviet state in Russia. In short, the Left was in a state of retreat both at home and abroad.

The defeat of American insurgent politics in the early 1920s was aided by a massive campaign of state-organized repression. The Industrial Workers of the World, a militant, interracial, industrial union, came under particular attack for its activities. In Arizona, an army of 2,000 deputies forced all IWW members and sympathizers into railroad cars and shipped them into the middle of the New Mexico desert. In Montana, mine owners organized the lynching of IWW member Frank Little, whose body was left hanging from a railway trestle. Many cities utilized wartime laws to continue the persecution of dissidents after the armistice. By 1921, only eleven of eighty-eight major American cities had rescinded their bans on large public gatherings passed during the war. The federal government also participated in the campaign against radicalism; the “Palmer Raids,” named after attorney general A. Mitchell Palmer, deported between five and ten thousand immigrant radicals. This wave of repression served to both disorganize existing Leftist organizations and warn potential recruits about the dangers of dissident activity.[54]

The Left’s retreat opened up political space for the growth of the organized right. The primary expresison of this growth was the explosion of the Ku Klux Klan. In the six years after 1920, the KKK grew in membership from less than two thousand to more than two million.[55] One of these new recruits was President Warren G. Harding, who used the White House Bible for his induction ceremony, which took place in the Green Room.[56] Two-thirds of Klan members in this period lived outside the South. In some states, most notably Indiana, there was no difference to speak of between the Klan and local government. Combined with the retreat of the Left, which included the New Negro movement, the Klan’s growth cast an ominous specter over Black hopes in the 1920s.

The shift to the right in world politics allowed the more conservative side of Garvey’s politics to assert itself. Garvey’s investment in Washingtonian ideology had been growing in parallel with his Black Star Line business venture, first launched in 1919. In its first few years, however, the pull of the Black Star Line away from radical struggle was always tempered by Garvey’s institutional and ideological connections with radical politics. At the same time Garvey could speak of both the rule of the masses and the need for investment in Black businesses. As mass politics were defeated, they became a less viable route for racial progress. Garvey adjusted correspondingly, removing his rhetoric of revolution from UNIA publications.

State repression also played a considerable role in Garvey’s retreat from radicalism. I have already shown Garvey’s essentially appeasing response to repression; when W.A. Domingo came to the attention of federal authorities, Garvey promptly dismissed him from his employ. Despite that dismissal, however, Garvey was still profoundly influenced by the revolutionary politics of the period. Once those politics began to recede, repression could exert a much greater influence on Garvey’s actions.

Though the federal government had displayed an interest in Garvey’s activities since 1919, it took years to finally discover evidence which could be used to prosecute him. The Bureau of Investigation had first placed infiltrators inside the UNIA in 1919, but even with considerable access to Garvey himself agents had been unable to find any criminal activity. A viable pretext for repression finally presented itself in 1921, when Garvey undertook a tour of the Caribbean. The State Department, in cooperation with the Bureau, developed a plan to deny Garvey (who was not a US citizen) reentry to the United States. As a result of this plan, Garvey was forced to spend four months in the Caribbean while filing application after application for reentry. Finally UNIA officials were able to bribe the required federal officials into granting their leader a visa. As Robert Hill notes, “the impact [of the government harassment] was immediate.” On his unexpectedly extended tour, “Garvey was careful to point out his respect for the established order.”[57] The day after his return to the States, Garvey gave an address at Liberty Hall in which he “waxed patriotic, professing his love for America and thanking Secretary of States Hughes for making his reentry possible.” The Bureau’s main informant at the time summarized Garvey’s oratory throughout August, 1921 as “more ‘pro-Negro’ than ‘anti-White.’” [58] In an attempt to both insulate his organization from repression and revitalize the Black Star Line’s flagging finances, “Garvey distanced himself from popular militance,”[59] a move made “all the easier by the fact that it came after Garvey’s protracted absence from America.” As Robert Hill writes, this resulted above all in a “loss of critical contact with the pulse of the movement’s rank and file.” [60]

Garvey’s rapprochment with the Klan had its roots in this same period. After returning from his Caribbean tour, Garvey suddenly shifted to take up the ideological cudgel against campaigns for “social equality.” In August, Garvey wrote a lengthy telegram to the League of Nations informing them of the UNIA’s repudiation of the Second Pan-African Congress. Using language strikingly similar to that of white supremacists such as Lothrop Stoddard, Garvey announced that UNIA members “sincerely feel that the white race like the Black and Yellow Races should maintain the purity of self.” He continued, denouncing “any attempts on the part of dissatisfied individuals who by accident are members of the Negro race, in their attempts to foster a campaign of miscegenation on to the destruction of the Race’s purity.”[61] The next month Garvey prasied a speech by Warren Harding in Birmingham which declared that “race amalgamation there can never be” due to “widely unequal capacities and capabilities.” Garvey even returned to his rhetoric of Black blame, asserting that Black folks “have done nothing praiseworthy on their own initiative in the last five hundred years to recommend them to the serious cconsideration of progressive races.” [62]

Garvey’s ideological shift was based in a reexamination of the political possibilities inside the United States. In an article called “America is [a] White Man’s Country,” Garvey asked “Why should I waste time in a place where I am outnumbered and where if I make a physical fight I will lose out and ultimately die.”[63] Such statements contrast vividly with earlier UNIA attitudes, such as a banner UNIA members made before the 1921 convention which warned, “The New Negro is Ready for the Ku Klux.”[64] By 1922 Garvey felt anything but ready to take on the KKK. Worn down by government harassment and no longer convinced of the vitality of mass struggle, Garvey looked to those espousing doctrines of racial purity as the powers in American politics. Such an assessment led Garvey to describe the Klan as the “invisible government” of the United States.[65]

If this evaluation, while overstated, contained a rational kernel, the political conclusion Garvey took from it, that Blacks should ally with the Klan, was utterly divorced from reality. Yet Garvey took his ideas about the Klan’s power in America to their logical conclusion, scheduling a meeting with acting imperial wizard Edward Young Clarke in June 1922. This move was met with immediate condemnation from other sectors of the Black Left. A. Philip Randolph, whose Messenger had been developing an increasingly anti-Garvey strain in the previous two years, described the UNIA leader as nothing more than the KKK’s “Negro leader.”[66] Cyril Briggs, whose organization had declared war on the Klan, similarly denounced Garvey. While acerbity between the Left of the New Negro movement and the UNIA had been growing, the meeting with the Klan was a qualitative shift, after which the door was forever closed on further cooperation between the various groups.

The disintegration of the New Negro movement as a coherent entity coincided with increased federal repression against the Garvey movement. In the spring of 1922, the Bureau had finally gathered enough evidence that it was confident it could pursue a mail fraud case, based on the alleged financial misconduct of the Black Star Line. The ensuing trial would further exhaust Garvey and his collaborators (especially his seemingly indefatigable wife, Amy Jacques Garvey), as well as divide the UNIA by revealing the extent of government infiltration. By the trial’s end, Marcus Garvey would be found guilty and sentenced to prison.[67]

The collapse of the Garvey movement, more than any other event in the history of the New Negro, took the wind from the sails of Black militancy in the 1920s. As the largest Black organization in the country, the movement’s success had been an inspiration to radicals of all types, regardless of whether they joined. The state’s successful persecution of the UNIA was a tremendous blow to Black activist self-confidence at a time when other sources of confidence, such as the labor movement, were equally troubled. The tremendous role of state repression in destroying the Garvey movement does not, however, render Garvey’s own contributions to the movement’s end irrelevant. The conciliatory politics which had existed in conflict with the radical politics of the New Negro ultimately won out after the collapse of the militancy of 1919. These politics led Garvey to seek an alliance with those forces most hostile to his own cause: white supremacists and the U.S. state. Such an alliance meant the end of the New Negro, in one form or another.

The failure of the Garveyite enterprise can thus be read as a metonym for the New Negro movement in whole. Barbara Foley has argued that the New Negro movement’s transformation into the New Negro represents a “failure of negation,” where radical politics did not succeed in their promise of change. The history of the UNIA is marked by a similar failure, as the radical politics of the Russian revolution and the New Negro were ultimately displaced by a reconciliation with the U.S. state through racial purity.



[1] Qtd. in Marable 116.

[2] Marcus Garvey and UNIA Papers, 514.

[3] Qtd. In Judith Stein The World of Marcus Garvey: Race and Class in Modern Society (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1986), pg 154.

[4] Stein 33-35

[5] Stein 152

[6] As I make clear later on, the political strategy of racial progress through racial achievement was not unique to Booker T. Washington in this period. W.E.B. Du Bois, supposedly Washington’s foil, shared a similar conception of progress. However, it was Washington who set the terms of this debate, and as such, I use his name as a signifier for the broad politics of racial conciliation near the turn of the century.

[7] Antonio Gramsci Selections from the Prison Notebooks. Eds. Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell. New York: International Publishers, 1971. Pg 327.

[8] Ibid

[9] Ibid

[10][10] Marable 117

[11] Ahmed Shawki Black Liberation and Socialism Chicago: Haymarket Books, 2006. Pg 105.

[12] Martin 236.

[13] Marcus Garvey Philosophy and Opinions Vol II New York: Atheneum, 1992. pg 244. Garvey also describes Domingo in this piece as “a red communist arch enemy” and “a draft evader.”

[14] Qtd. In Kornweibel 106. To be sure, the Justice Department exaggerated when it branded Garvey an advocate of Bolshevism (at least in the United States). He was, however, an enthusiastic supporter of the Bolsheviks in Russia, as well as their comrades in Hungary and the rest of Europe.

[15] Qtd in Stein 29.

[16] Michelle Mitchell “’The Black Man’s Burden:’ African Americans, Imperialism, and Notions of Racial Manhood. 1890-1910.” International Review of Social History 44 (1999), Supplement:77-99.

[17] Qtd. In Stein 10.

[18] Qtd. In Stein 17. Where Du Bois and Washington differed was on the subject of whose achievement would be most advantageous for the race. Washington held that industrial and agricultural work by the African American masses would convince whites of Black worth, while Du Bois thought that the achievements of the “Talented Tenth” were far more effective in ameliorating white oppression.

[19] Brian Kelly “Review of A Nation Under Our Feet: Black Political Struggles in the Rural South, from Slavery to the Great Migration by Steven Hahn.” Labor: Studies in Working-Class History of the Americas 1.3 2004 pg 147.

[20] Stein 30.

[21] Hill lix.

[22] Hill 65.

[23] Hill 55-56.

[24] Stein 62.

[25] Martin 317.

[26] Hill 488.

[27] Hill 528-29.

[28] Qtd. in James 128.

[29] William J. Maxwell New Negro, Old Left. New York: Columbia UP, 1999. Pgs.24, 40

[30] Hill Vol II 230.

[31] Martin 25

[32] Qtd in James 165.

[33] Hill vol II 21.

[34] James 51.

[35] Hill 392-393.

[36] Hill 285.

[37] Ibid 287.

[38] Ibid 302.

[39] Ibid 333

[40] Ibid 395

[41] Ibid 302.

[42] Bid 377.

[43] Ibid 363.

[44] Qtd. In Kornweibel 28.

[45] Hill 391

[46] ibid 354-55

[47] ibid.

[48] Stein 57-58.

[49] Qtd. In Stein 52.

[50] Mike Davis Prisoners of the American Dream: Politics and Economy in the History of the U.S. Working Class. New York, Verso, 1986. 51

[51] Stein 130. A large part of the responsibility for this decline rests with the Socialist Party’s leadership, which chose to expel two-thirds of the Party’s membership rather than allow the Left wing to win control. See Smith 63-101.

[52] Davis 50.

[53] Stein 129.

[54] Smith 94-95.

[55] Marable 118.

[56] Foley 138.

[57] Hill lxxx

[58] Kornweibel 120. The Bureau’s criterion for anti-white, of course, being any statement which asserts white culpability for Black oppression.

[59] Stein 143.

[60] Hill lxxxiv

[61] Hill lxxxi

[62] ibid lxxxii

[63] ibid.

[64] qtd in Martin 345.

[65] Qtd in Stein 159.

[66] Qtd. In Martin 346.

[67] It should be noted, however, that UNIA branches continued to exist all over the country, and carried on a great deal of local activity in Garvey’s absence. That Malcolm X’s father was forced to flee Nebraska in 1926 due to UNIA activities is but one example of the many local continuances of the Garvey project. As a player on the national stage, however, the UNIA disappeared at the same time as Garvey’s incarceration.

Chapter One

Chapter One: A. Philip Randolph, Chandler Owen, and The Messenger

In December, 1919, a small, Harlem-based magazine which had previously earned itself the title of “the most dangerous of all the Negro publications”[1] began its latest issue in a most traditionally American way: with a Thanksgiving celebration. The editors of The Messenger, Harlem socialists A. Philip Randolph and Chandler Owen, wasted no time in subverting this ritual, announcing “we do not thank God for anything…Our deity is the toiling masses of the world.”[2] Among the things the young revolutionists did give thanks for was “the Russian Revolution-the greatest achievement of the twentieth century.” Not content to stop with the invocation of an event that positively terrified the American government, they went on to give thanks for “the German Revolution, the Austrian Revolution, the Hungarian Revolution, and the Bulgarian Revolution.” Lest they seem ungrateful for the class struggles which had not yet produced a revolution, The Messenger’s editors also gave nods to “the titanic strikes which are seeping and have been sweeping Great Britain, France, Italy, the United States, Japan, and in fact every country in the world.” This small offering of thanks reveals the importance that Owen and Randolph placed on global revolution. Long before “globalization” was becoming a buzzword for everyone from social scientists to New York Times columnists, two young, African-American radicals were eagerly taking their lead from the international revolutionary movement. This chapter illustrates how that global movement, centered around the Russian Revolution, was both a source of strength for the politics of working class power – in a word, socialism – Owen and Randolph would advance in Black America, and a source of demoralization as the movement ebbed.

As their Thanksgiving editorial demonstrates, A. Philip Randolph and Chandler Owen were deeply influenced by world revolutionary upsurge in general and the Russian Revolution in particular. This influence has, however, gone largely unstudied in what little scholarship exists on the editors of The Messenger. Jervis Anderson’s 1972 biography of A. Philip Randolph remains the work that most explores the influence of the Russian revolution on the Messenger. The chapter dealing with Randolph and the Messenger rightly situates the magazine’s launch between America’s entry into World War I and the October Revolution of 1917. Anderson recounts the effusive praise Randolph and Owen heaped upon the Bolsheviks, but quickly notes that “[t]he Messenger would suddenly lose its enthusiasm for the Russian dance”[3] in 1921. I will argue later that the Russian Revolution remained a central orienting point for the Messenger’s editors as late as September, 1922. In addition, Anderson’s reasons for Randolph’s move to the right rely wholly upon domestic events. He lists “the general collapse of the New Negro insurgency,”[4] the Messenger’s always precarious finances, and the split between Socialists and Communists after the latter became a force in America. Completely lacking from this account is the tremendous sea-change that took place in world revolutionary politics between 1917 and 1922. Furthermore, these changes in international politics influenced the factors which Anderson does list as influencing the Messenger. As this study will illustrate, the shift from the upsurge of 1919 to the spectre of fascism in 1922 was one of the key factors behind the collapse of the New Negro movement. Anderson also generally understates the impact of revolutionary politics on the Messenger editors during the years in which they were aligned with the Soviet Union. In discussing their articles on the causes and solutions to race riots, he fails to mention that they look to Soviet Russia as an example of a nation where the problem has been solved, dedicating essays to elucidating that very argument. Anderson’s failure to note this influence results in an impoverished view of Randolph and the sources of his politics.

More recent treatments of the subject have hardly improved upon Anderson’s formulations. Paula Pfeffer’s 1990 Randolph biography gives the international influences on her subject’s political development even less space. She notes, for example, that “Randolph was unalterably opposed to taking direction from a source outside the United States,”[5] and uses this to explain the Messenger’s decision to side with the Socialist Party in the Socialist/Communist Split. It is only through a selective engagement with Randolph’s writings that Pfeffer is able to argue this interpretation. Her only evidence for it is an article Randolph wrote in 1926 (well after the end of his engagement with Marxism) for Opportunity magazine to the effect that the Communists were outsiders who split the movement. This vision of a nationally hermetic radicalism is utterly incongruent with the vast majority of the Messenger’s issues, which advance an internationalist politics based on the world revolutionary movement. As mentioned above, Randolph explicitly did take direction from outside the United States in the proposed solution to race riots in America. Furthermore, her analysis is blind to the nuances of Randolph and Owen’s engagement with Soviet Russia. While praising Lenin and Trotsky, for example, they heap scorn upon “St. Zinoviev” of the Comintern. Surely there is ground here for further analysis. What were Zinoviev’s policies which so enraged the Harlem radicals? How did they represent a break from the past? Pfeffer’s failure to even ask these questions leaves a massive void in her study of Randolph’s politics.

In fact, as I will demonstrate, the Russian Revolution and the international revolutionary movement had an immense influence on the Messenger’s politics. Randolph, Owen, and their collaborators (both around the Messenger and in the New Negro movement generally) were all tremendously enthused by the working class upsurge in Europe that was occurring when they founded the Messenger. News of revolutions abroad gave them confidence at home that their side was winning. Beyond this, it gave them an ethical compass, and an example to look to for solving problems domestically. Above all, it provided them with a realistic model of what socialism would look like. As this movement ebbed, and was eventually defeated, the Messenger group felt the demoralization which set in on the global movement. This was, I argue, a major force in the magazine’s conservatization. Before getting to that story, however, it is necessary to trace just how central internationalist working class politics were to the Messenger.

Black Bolsheviks

A. Philip Randolph and Chandler Owen, like many of those who represented the leadership of the New Negro movement, were recent immigrants to New York, partakers in the Great Migration. Randolph arrived in 1911, inspired by Du Bois’ Souls of Black Folk and impatient with the political opportunities available in Jacksonville, Florida. Owen arrived two years later, in 1913, to study sociology and political science at Columbia University. Introduced through Randolph’s wife, Lucille, the two became fast friends as they realized the striking congruence of their political views.

Owen and Randolph soon became fixtures in Harlem’s growing soapbox radical speakers scene. Most prominent among such speakers was the Black socialist, Hubert Henry Harrison. As Jervis Anderson has written, ”whenever [Harrison]…was speaking…the young men would be there.”[6] Learning from both Harrison and the time they spent studying “the theory and history of socialism and working-class politics” and “their application to the racial problem in America,”[7] the two, particularly Randolph, became noted radical speakers in their own right, joining the Socialist Party in 1916.

As the two grew in reputation as advocates of labor unionism and socialism, they attracted the attention of the Headwaiters and Sidewaiters Society of Greater New York, which was looking for editors for its magazine. Offered both a paycheck and office space, the two jumped at the opportunity. They soon moved into their new office on Lennox Avenue, and began publishing the magazine. Their editorship was to be short-lived, however. Eight months after they began, Randolph and Owen were fired for exposing corruption involving the headwaiters receiving kickbacks for selling uniforms to sidewaiters. Undeterred, the two simply moved their office next door and began publishing The Messenger.

The Messenger’s inaugural issue in November, 1917 set the tone for its endorsement of revolutionary internationalist politics. It contained a satirical jab at U.S. proposals to further the war effort by banning the teaching of German. Randolph and Owen sent greetings to Irish-American radicals who were calling on Great Britain to lift “her imperial heel from off the tired neck of Ireland.”[8] Russia was also on the writers’ minds, as they cheered the defeat of a counterrevolutionary military coup in Petrograd. Even more interesting, however, for a magazine which became infamous with the FBI for its defense of the Bolshevik Revolution, was Owen and Randolph’s paragraph long praise of Alexander Kerensky, Prime Minister under the provisional government of Russia and the man the Bolsheviks would depose from power. Their short “Who’s Who” entry on Kerensky praised him for the defeat of General Kornilov’s coup[9], and cheered his government on with exclamations of “Long live Revolutionary Russia!” and “Long live Socialism!”[10] This praise is even stranger given that the magazine’s very next issue would heap unstinting praise upon the Bolsheviks in general, and on Lenin and Trotsky in particular.

This seeming paradox of support for both Kerensky and his arch-foes, the Bolsheviks, reveals the lens with which Owen and Randolph judged revolutionary movements. While today, 90 years after the Russian Revolution, history books are filled with the actions of Lenin and Trotsky, Kerensky and Miliukov, or Martov and Dan, at the time the Messenger was endorsing not the positions of these various politicos, but the revolutionary actions of the Russian workers. As the closing exhortations of their endorsement of Kerensky reveal (“Long live Revolutionary Russia,” “Long live Socialism!”), Randolph and Owen were not endorsing his government for its own sake, but because they believed it was the representative of socialism and revolutionary Russia. Compare this stance, for example, with a resolution passed by metalworkers near Petrograd in March, 1917:

All measures of the PG [provisional government] that destroy the remnants of the autocracy and strengthen the freedom of the people must be fully supported on the part of democracy. All measures that lead to conciliation with the old régime and that are directed against the people must meet with a most decisive protest and counteraction.[11]

Just as the workers of Petrograd supported Kerensky insofar as his government “strengthen[ed] the freedom of the people,” so Randolph and Owen supported it insofar as it stood for revolution in Russia. They placed their trust at this point not in the parties contending in Russia at the time, but in the course of the revolution itself.

When news of the Bolshevik seizure of power did reach Harlem, however, it profoundly changed the Messenger’s stance. The next issue appeared in January of 1918, a full two months after the October Revolution. In the interim, it is clear that Owen and Randolph had come to fully endorse the Bolshevik position in Russia. Their editorial titled simply “The Bolsheviki” contains a detailed description of the Bolshevik platform, as well as a defense of Lenin and Trotsky against the charge of being German agents, an accusation floating around in both the Russian counterrevolutionary press and the U.S. “metropolitan press.” The editors dismiss this “malicious libel,” explaining how the Bolshevik example will “awaken the proletariat of the world to his power and his right to a fair share of the world’s goods.” Though clearly won to Bolshevism, Owen and Randolph still identified with the broader revolutionary movement as described above. Their endorsement of Lenin and Trotsky contains an explanation why the Bolsheviks succeeded: “[t]he Russian people want a general, and not a separate peace. Lenine and Trotsky are working for this result.” [12] It is the congruence of Bolshevik views with the views of “the Russian people” which gives them the moral and political authority they command.

This authority extended beyond the Messenger’s views on international politics and became an integral part of the magazine’s political identity. Rhetoric referring to the Soviet victory became an asset Randolph and Owen deployed in a multifarious assortment of situations. In the January issue, Owen’s column, “Peace,” uses the Russian Revolution to advance antiwar arguments against the U.S. government. Noting Wilson’s refusal to negotiate with Germany because it is not “a people’s government,” Owen goes on to argue that American hypocrisy is demonstrated “in the same breath by a willingness to make terms with the autocracy of Russia, but an unwillingness to recognize the people’s most democratic government of Russia.”[13] The victory of the Russian Revolution did not remain simply a success story from afar, but came home to shape the political arguments the Messenger would use to argue against the government at home.

The Messenger’s July issue continued this focus on the Bolshevik Revolution. Owen and Randolph led with an editorial titled “Bolshevism and World Democracy,” which portrayed the Soviet government as “a forward of true world democracy.” It also located Russia’s place within a narrative of ascending freedom, comparing those who doubt the Soviets to “the Tories of England and America” and “[t]he Bourbons of France.” The Bolsheviks became the latest incarnation of the Minutemen and the sans-culottes, standard bearers in the march of democracy.[14]

The July issue also displayed an awareness of the power of transnational political influences. In “Psychology Will Win This War,” Chandler Owen lays out a sophisticated understanding of the ways in which people construct their political identities from sources of extra-national origin. He describes how Kerensky (who had received praise in the Messenger’s inaugural issue) sought to make the Russian people “feel that their goal and the Allies’ goal were the same.” Here the construction of a political identity with transnational roots was at the service of those prosecuting World War I. If the goals of the Allies could be linked with the goals of the Russian peasants fighting and dying in the trenches, Kerensky would be vastly more assured of his army’s stability. The Bolsheviks, however, followed a different course. Owen notes that the Soviet government’s “democratic doctrine” was affecting German public opinion. By “attacking [German] policies,” the Bolsheviks were “changing Germany’s psychology.”[15] Indeed, Trotsky, as Russia’s new Commissar for Foreign Affairs, made the construction of transnational political linkages a central component of his work. He worked in conjunction with the new Soviet Commander in Chief Nikolai Krylenko, who immediately ordered a “cease fire and ‘fraternization on the fronts.” Krylenko and Trotsky hoped that “through contact with the Russian troops the German Army would become infected with revolution.” Trotsky also demanded as a condition for a truce that German authorities “expressly [allow] the Soviets to conduct revolutionary agitation among German and Austrian troops.” [16] The Bolsheviks thus made linkages between the soldiers of hostile nations a key component in their foreign policy.

In the same article, Owen noted how the world’s rulers were also aware of the growing connections between revolutionary politics in different countries. He recounts with glee British Prime Minister Lloyd George’s proclamation that “A Revolutionary Russia can never be anything but a menace to the Prussian autocracy.”[17] Authorities at home were equally attuned to the dangerous politics making their way across the Atlantic. Though it was standard practice for law enforcement groups to describe any African Americans who stood for full racial equality as Bolsheviks, with the Messenger group the charge was clearly not devoid of merit. Undercover agents who visited the publication’s offices took careful note of the portraits of Lenin and Trotsky which adorned the walls.[18] The Justice Department’s attitude towards the flow of ideas across the ocean was in some ways the mirror image of Randolph and Owen’s. One department memo described the Messenger in language which could only have made its editors proud: “a well-planned, well-executed and well-financed [Randolph and Owen were surely amused by this description] propaganda among the Negroes of this country to-day for an absolute overthrow of the present form of government and the substitution of governmental ideas as carried out by Lenin and Trotsky in Russia.”[19] Just as the Russian Revolution inspired militancy and hope in American radicals, it inspired trepidation and paranoia in America’s rulers.

In addition to scaring Justice Department agents, the offices of the Messenger became a meeting ground for many different radicals of the New Negro movement. A testament to the ecumenicalism of the movement’s early days, everyone from Garveyites to future communists could be found in the Messenger’s office. Among those who spent time in the small Lennox Avenue space were William Ferris, Black nationalist and future editor of the Negro World, Lovett Fort-Whitman, Black Wobbly and future Communist, and Wilfred Adolphus Domingo, another future editor of the Negro World and member of the African Blood Brotherhood.[20] All of these radicals shared a common hope in revolution in the United States, a hope nurtured by the progress of revolutionary movements abroad.

The hope and militancy inspired by both the Russian Revolution and the European revolutionary wave would come to a head in 1919 and 1920. The Messenger’s March 1919 issue (the first to appear following July 1918) carried an editorial about “The German National Assembly,” celebrating the birth of the Weimar Republic. Though the new assembly was headed primarily by moderate socialists with politics similar to Kerensky’s, Owen and Randolph were quite confident that “the more radical Sparticides will ‘ere long rise to power.”[21] This shift from the position in 1917 of support for the moderate socialists to support for those who sought a working class seizure of power is indicative of the revolutionary socialist ideas that the Messenger’s editors took from the upsurges of 1919. Where once they had backed the moderate section of the working class movement that was in power, they now supported the most militant wing, confident that working class power was the solution to the problems they faced. The following issue continued this identification with the revolutionary European workers, celebrating “the cosmic tread of Soviet government:”

Russia and Germany have yielded to its human touch and now Hungary joins the people’s form of rule. Italy is standing upon a social volcano. France is seething with social unrest. The triple alliance of Great Britain – the railroad, transport, and mine workers – threaten to overthrow the economic and political bourbonism of “Merry Old England.” The red tide of socialism sweeps on in America. South America is in the throes of revolution.[22]

The revolution was at hand, and Chandler Owen and A. Philip Randolph could scarcely contain their joy.

This exaltation was not merely a case of radicals drunk on the grandiosity of their own dreams. A revolutionary tide was sweeping Europe. By 1920 the Communist-led Third International contained the Italian Socialist Party (300,000 members), the Czechoslavak Communist Party (400,00 members), the French Socialist Party (140,000 members), the Bulgarian Socialists (35,478 members), and the Swedish Socialist Party (17,000 members). This was in addition to the German Independent Social-Democratic Party, which had voted to leave the Second International but not to join the Third, and had 800,000 members.[23] Lastly, of course, there was the Bolshevik Government in Russia. The sheer size of the revolutionary movement in Europe gave good warrant for the inspiration Owen and Randolph felt. Just as an earlier generation of radicals had taken heart from the successes of the British anti-slavery struggle, Black radicals in Harlem used the experiences of the European proletariat to shape their own political identity.

Randolph and Owen were self-conscious of the outer-national nature of this shaping. Their editorial from the August 1919 issue, “Internationalism,” presents the editors’ own miniature history of the transnational politics they advocated. The editorial began by extending a welcome to Éamon de Valera, newly elected Prime Minister of Ireland, to America. De Valera had come to the US to seek recognition for the Irish Republic, hoping thus to undercut British claims to the isle. Owen and Randolph applauded De Valera for this move, writing that it demonstrated “signal intelligence” to carry the problem “outside of Ireland for a solution.” They contrast De Valera’s shrewdness with “the ignorant Negro leaders” in America, who, Owen and Randolph claimed, were content to keep the American racial nightmare a purely domestic affair. The editors go on to claim that “the international method” is “the method of the future.” They also plumb the past for examples of its application, recounting General Lafayette’s aid in the American Revolution, Karl Marx’s work in lobbying the International Workingman’s Association to stand for the abolition of slavery, and Frederick Douglass’ travels to England to win support for the same. Noting Woodrow Wilson’s selective transnationalism, Owen and Randolph condemn the president’s “eloquen[ce] over the pogroms committed against Jews in Poland” when juxtaposed with his silence over “the burning of a Negro every day or so in Texas or Georgia or Mississippi.” [24] This history illustrates Owen and Randolph’s self-consciousness in using international tools to develop their own political identities. In discussing the ways De Valera and Douglass sought to make the issues of Irish Republicanism and Abolitionism, respectively, part of their audiences’ political priorities, the Messenger editors illustrated their own desires to make Black oppression in America an international issue as well. Not only did they seek to use transnational politics to their own advantage, they also placed themselves within an African American political tradition of doing the same

If Owen and Randolph sought to bring domestic politics abroad, however, they also hoped to bring international politics home. In discussing the proposed platform of the Left Wing of the American Socialist Party (SP), they emphasize their support of the proposed “immediate emergency national convention” by arguing for the need to discuss the SP position in regards to the Soviets. Randolph and Owen condemned the Right Wing of the SP for its combination of undemocratic procedure and anticommunism. Arguing that “It is high time that the leaders stopped proclaiming in the party press and out of the party press that they are not Bolsheviks,” they go on to ask, “Are the Bolsheviki something to be shunned, despised and declaimed? If we oppose them, why?...let us discuss the facts and interpret them.”[25] In calling for democratic discussion inside the party, the Messenger editors hoped to open up a space to win support for the Bolsheviks in Russia. The politics they brought home from abroad aided them in their struggles to forge the type of Socialist Party they desired. [26]

They also imported the ideas of working class power of the Russian Revolution to deal directly with questions regarding race in America. The September 1919 issue of the Messenger contained an article by contributing editor (and editor of Marcus Garvey’s Negro World) W.A. Domingo entitled “Did Bolshevism Stop Race Riots in Russia?” The article is primarily an exposition of the various measures the Soviets had taken against anti-Semitism in Russia. Domingo lists how Trotsky, a Jew, became Minister of War and how Karl Peters, a Lett, became a Commissar. He also contrasts Russia’s post-revolutionary emancipation of its colonies in Persia with Great Britain’s retention of its holdings. Most importantly, Domingo draws a parallel between the treatment of Jews in Russia and the treatment of Blacks in America. He recounts how “the great revolution came,” after which Russia was made “unsafe for mobocrats, but safe for Jews and other oppressed racial minorities.” He contrasts this state with the pogroms occurring in White Army occupied Russia, noting the same linkage Langston Hughes would describe between “red-baiters” and “race haters.” Domingo concludes by asserting that it is “deducible from the analogy of Soviet Russia” that Bolshevism in America is capable of stopping race riots.[27]

Domingo’s essay was a bold proclamation of Soviet sympathizing. It was published immediately after the “Red Summer” of 1919, when race riots across the country had killed scores of African-Americans. The summer’s moniker became a double entendre for politicians, who sought to blame the violence on “Bolshevik agitators” who stirred up the otherwise docile and contented Blacks. Indeed, these riots were on the minds of the editors of the Messenger, who opened their September issue with Claude McKay’s now famous poem, “If We Must Die.” The issue also carried a call for the defense of African-Americans who had been arrested during the rioting. This militant response to the terror of the lynch mob was partially made possible by the Messenger’s transnational politics. As Domingo’s essay makes clear, the Messenger group, using the example of Soviet Russia, thought of themselves as possessing the solution to race riots. For them, no amount of goodness on the part of African Americans would stop the riots. They would only cease once America had its “October.” The relative militancy of this response is clear when it is compared with that of the Crisis, which, while sanctioning self-defense, placed far greater stress on avoiding “vengeance” or becoming “blind and lawless.” While the Crisis saw the problem of lynching in terms of America straying from the path of “a Land of Law,”[28] the Messenger’s engagement with the Russian Revolution allowed it to argue that the problem could only be solved by overturning America’s laws.

The issue that most linked the Messenger’s celebration of revolutions abroad with its advocacy at home was its opposition to the United States intervention in Russia. Immediately following the Soviet seizure of power in October 1917, a clique of generals and monarchists began organizing an army to overthrow the new workers’ government. The Whites, as they were called, were aided in this endeavor by no less than fourteen governments from around the world. When the specter of communism materialized in Russia, states on both sides of WWI put aside their differences and agreed that Bolshevism was simply too dangerous to be ignored. All told, nearly 200,000 foreign troops were landed on Russian soil to assist the White Army. In addition, the United States held a blockade of Soviet ports which “allowed them to block almost all exports to Soviet Russia while permitting trade with White regions.”[29]

This blockade strangled the already damaged Russian economy, setting the stage for the revolution’s degeneration and the Messenger’s subsequent abandonment of the politics of working class power. Allied support for White forces had allowed them to devastate Russia’s productive capacities. Already by Spring, 1918, “the food ration in Moscow and Petrograd sank to just 10 percent of that needed to sustain a manual worker.”[30] As Wilson used the Federal Reserve, War Trade Board, and Shipping Board to tighten restrictions on exports to Russia, the situation grew only worse. The White Armies, meanwhile, made good use of the US aid that was allowed in. One Russian general, thanking the US, pronounced that “The North-Western Russian Army, which is fighting against the Bolshevism…is now existing practically upon American flour and bacon.”[31] The Whites used this advantage to secure a number of early victories in the civil war.

The editors of the Messenger, keenly aware of their government’s role in Russia, denounced US intervention in the region. They cheered when the 339th “Polar Bear” infantry mutinied in Siberia.[32] Owen and Randolph also printed attacks on the blockade by other Black radicals. The Convention of National Brotherhood Workers of America (CNBW), a Black labor federation founded by Randolph, passed a resolution in support of the Bolsheviks, calling for an end to the Russian Blockade, and demanding “the withdrawal of all troops from Russia.” The resolution, which came out of a committee Chandler Owen sat on, also drew explicit parallels between American intervention in Russia and the French blockade of Haiti following the victory of “the black democracy…led by Toussaint L’Overture.” The CNBW resolutions crystallize the kind of transnational political identity that Randolph and Owen were constructing. While Haiti may seem an obvious source of inspiration for American Blacks, Russia certainly was not. As the resolutions illustrate, however, Black radicals, led by the Messenger, considered both fecund political and rhetorical resources. The resolutions also demonstrate how support for the Bolsheviks could dovetail with opposition to the US government at home. In supporting the Soviets against US invasion, the CNBW resolution calls the American military intervention “not only wanton, unjust, and imperialistic, but also unconstitutional.” [33] Not only did the Bolshevik example provide morale for the editors of the Messenger, but in defending it, they found another front on which to attack their own government.

By 1920, Randolph and Owen were confident that the military threat to Lenin’s government had been overcome. In the March issue of the Messenger, they printed an ebullient editorial celebrating “The Russian Triumph.” In it they marked the defeat of several of the most important White generals and mocked “the Czarist minions and their capitalistic supporters in France, Great Britain, the United States, Japan, and other countries” who “placed their money on the wrong horse.”[34] In the September issue W.A. Domingo gloated that “Bolshevist armies are winning in Western Europe and undermining the great imperialist nations France and England.”[35] To the Messenger group, it appeared that the march of the Soviet government was all but unstoppable.

While it was true that the Bolsheviks emerged victorious from their struggle with the Whites, they did so at a terrible cost. The Russian working class, the base of the Bolshevik regimes’ support, had declined from 3,024,000 industrial workers in 1917 to 1,480,000 in 1920. At the same time, exchange between town and country was only at 12% of its pre-war level. The food ration dropped as low as 60 grams of bread for two days.[36] While the Messenger editors could celebrate the defeat of the Whites for now, the conditions in Russia had been paved for the negation of the October Revolution.

The existence of such conditions, however, did not stop Randolph and Owen from still looking to Russia and the world revolutionary movement as sources for inspiration in the struggle for Black liberation at home. The October 1920 issue of the Messenger contained updates on the revolutionary situation across the Atlantic. In Italy, “workers have seized the metal factories and mines” and are “beginning the establishment of a Soviet state.” In Germany “the present government will not only pass, but its successor must represent either the right wing…or the left wing of revolution – Communism.” Throughout this turmoil, Randolph and Owen pointed to the Soviet Army as a resource which revolutionaries across Europe could count on for aid.[37]

At the same time as they encouraged revolutionary movements across Europe to look to Russia, Randolph and Owen were encouraging African-Americans to do the same. In the same October issue, they published an article by Henry Borst entitled “Why Negroes Should Study About Russia.” Borst argued, in an article remarkably similar to one Lenin had written in 1913,[38] that since both African-Americans and Russian serfs were emancipated at roughly the same time, they were at similar points in their struggle for freedom. As the Russians had recently liberated themselves from “the czar’s political tyranny, the robbery of the capitalistic blood suckers, and the blighting mental curse of superstition,” they were pointing the way forward for Blacks in America. Borst argued for Russia’s centrality to global revolution, declaring that “understanding Russia” was key to workers, “white or black,” being able to “see through the capitalistic war making game.”[39] The thesis that capitalists divided white and black workers to conquer each had been a theme in American antiracism ever since Frederick Douglass’ brilliant formulation in My Bondage and My Freedom[40]. However, the Messenger broke new ground in suggesting that the solution to this division was international in origin. By observing how Russian workers had overcome their own divisions, Randolph and Owen hoped Black and white workers in America could throw off “the muck of ages”[41] and make the revolution a reality.

Red Tides Ebb

By 1921, it began to be clear to the Black radicals around the Messenger that socialism was no longer on the agenda in the way it had been in 1921. While still celebrating Russia as the most democratic country on the planet[42], Owen and Randolph began to acknowledge that the foundations of socialism in Russia were in deep crisis. The Messenger’s pages were at the same time filled less and less with optimistic reports from working class movements across Europe. In both cases, the idea of working class power, central to Owen and Randolph’s politics, appeared further out of reach than two years earlier. Though there was no outright acknowledgment of a shift in perspective, the Messenger’s editors had clearly sensed the changing winds.

They were paralleled in this realization by the Third World Congress of the Comintern. The Theses on the World Situation adopted therein declared ominously that ‘The first period of the post-war revolutionary movement…seems in essentials to be over.” Even worse, “[t]he leaders of the bourgeoisie…have gone over to an offensive against the workers in all countries”[43] This was most obvious in Germany and Italy, where two of the strongest workers’ movements were located. In both countries, the revolutionary movement sustained crushing defeats in 1920-1921. Whereas only a few months earlier workers’ power had seemed on the table, now both countries faced a rising fascist movement. As the Messenger group had looked to the global revolutionary movement as a source of both morale and theoretical strength, the movement’s downturn limited the resources on which Black radicals in America could draw.

Owen and Randolph’s initial response upon recognizing this downturn was to mount a defensive campaign centered on aid for the Soviet Union. Crucially, this campaign was conjoined with the recognition that “Soviet Russia…is the only hope of a new mankind.”[44] The fact that the socialist movement had entered a downturn did not immediately lead to an abandonment of the revolutionary principles which had made the Messenger famous. Indeed, Owen and Randolph threw themselves into the campaign for Russia aid with their typical polemical vigor.

One of the first articles to address the subject of aid for Russia was the September 1921 editorial “Hoover and Relief for Soviet Russia.” Recounting how Herbert Hoover made the release of American counterrevolutionaries a precondition for food aid, Owen and Randolph emphasized the reasonability of the Soviet government in acquiescing to such a request. At the same time that they condemned the actions of “the Food Dictator,” the Messenger editors also used the issue as a platform around which to draw workers in America. They ended their article with a call:

Let the American workers, white and black, Jew and Gentile, combine to drive the gaunt specter of starvation from the confines of the first Workers’ Republic![45]

Even at the beginning of what was clearly a period of retreat for socialists, Randolph and Owen were still using the Russian Revolution as a tool with which to organize working class radicalism in America.

The Messenger’s next issue elaborated on the same theme of imperialist culpability for Soviet deprivation. In an editorial Owen and Randolph praised the relief efforts of organized labor, to whom they attributed the motive of “maintaining the first workers’ republic of the world.” Whether or not such motives really were at the heart of the Russian relief effort, by constructing them as such the Messenger editors could maintain their argument that revolution was still on the agenda for the workers’ movement. At the same time that they praised organized labor, they also attacked the counterrevolutionary relief efforts of the imperialist countries, noting that “[h]ad the Russian people not been compelled to fight the United States, France, Great Britain, Poland, and nearly all the surrounding states…the Russian people would be fairly well able to take care of their own needs.”[46]

Randolph and Owen also sought to inject transnational revolutionary politics into the debates they had with the key trade unionists of the day. In their August 1921 issue, the editors had condemned the American Federation of Labor’s convention on a number of issues, including failing to condemn the Ku Klux Klan and opposing trade with Russia. In the October issue, convention delegate Louis Langer wrote to the Messenger to defend the federation. Langer wrote that he was not “ready to defend the Convention in its attitude of opposing trade relations with Russia. This is a problem that need be discussed by a political economist.”[47] Randolph and Owen excoriated Langer for this agnosticism, replying that it is no “more imperative that one be a political economist, in order to know that trade is essential to the life of a nation than it is imperative for one to be a physician in order to know that blood is essential to human life.” They then went on to list the reasons why American labor should be in support of the Soviet state. First among these was that “it is to the interest of Labor, everywhere, that the first Workers’ Republic of the world should live.” Here Randolph and Owen’s analysis of the interests of American workers, Black and white, posited Russia as a key source of strength for the American labor movement. In their words, “it is also an inspiration to labor everywhere, ever to strive for its emancipation from capitalist slavery.”[48] Just as Owen and Randolph themselves drew upon the Russian Revolution for political inspiration, so they advocated that the workers’ movement in America do the same. In the project of building a labor movement that was transnational in scope, Owen and Randolph saw the Russian Revolution as a key event around which to organize.

The Russian Revolution did not serve merely as an inspirational tool, however. Just as they used the politics surrounding the workers’ republic to attack their own government, Randolph and Owen also used those politics to attack their political rivals at home. Chief among these rivals was Marcus Garvey. While commentators on the Messenger have all recognized the centrality of the struggle against Garveyism to the magazine’s politics, none have brought up the key role that transnational, Bolshevik politics played in the feud. In the January, 1922, article “Black Zionism,” Randolph uses Garvey’s own image of a “Black Emperor” of Africa against him. “A Negro Emperor,” Randolph wrote, “would be no less ruthless, brutal, and despotic to Negro subjects than was Czar Nicholas to the Russian Moujiks, which finally resulted in the Russian Revolution.”[49] Randolph’s rhetorical linkage of Garvey with the czar illustrates the degree to which he had built his own political identity with transnational components. While there were certainly any number of examples of autocracy Randolph could choose from inside the United States, he chose as his political simile the man who the Bolsheviks helped to topple. This was the image Randolph hoped would most galvanize American workers against Garvey. Given the Messenger’s efforts at bringing a transnational perspective into American working class politics, this hope is hardly surprising.

The Messenger group also used the practices of the Bolshevik state as a foundation on which to build their own political ethics. In their struggle to have Marcus Garvey deported, Randolph and Owen used the Soviet deportation of counterrevolutionaries to justify their own advocacy of the practice. Chandler Owen’s September 1922 article “Should Marcus Garvey Be Deported?” quoted from an Associated Press article detailing the sentencing of 1,500 “intellectuals” to exile in August of that year. In Owen’s words, “Even the Communists favor deportation.”[50] When looking for sources of legitimacy for their politics, Randolph and Owen considered the Soviet state to be a resource on which to draw.

While Randolph and Owen were drawing on the radical politics of the Soviet Union, they were harnessing those politics to the profoundly reactionary end of trying to have a political activist deported on the basis of his nationality. Such a political demand was well within the bounds of the discourse of racist antiradicalism, used during the Palmer raids to deport thousands of foreign-born radicals. What Barbara Foley has called the “Messenger’s borrowing from the wartime discourse of the nativists”[51] served to bring Randolph and Owen into alignment with those forces which they had previously struggled against. The editors even went so far as to “agree to provide [a government agent] with any information that might damage Garvey.” In addition to aligning Owen and Randolph with the state, their campaign also led them to argue a view of American society which was deeply discordant with their earlier radical politics. In his letter urging Garvey’s deportation, Owen argued that Garvey was “a menace to harmonious race relationships.”[52] Such harmony was no where to be found in the Messenger’s description of race relations before Garvey’s rise.

By 1923 the Messenger’s articles would make it clear that Randolph and Owen no longer viewed the Soviet Union as a nation leading the fight for working class power, but instead a state as fallible as any other. Chandler Owen’s reply to a letter from W.A. Domingo accused the latter of “accept[ing] every dot of the ‘i’ and crossing of the ‘t’”[53] from Moscow. This standard anticommunist accusation would have been unthinkable in a magazine which six months ago had used Bolshevism as the grounds on which to build working class movements in the United States. Later references to Russia in that year reveal how the Messenger’s analysis of the workers’ state had changed. In the April issue of that year Randolph and Owen carried a report on Claude McKay’s address to the Fourth Congress of the Comintern. There they unenthusiastically reported that “resolutions were adopted in the interests of Negro emancipation.” The Messenger’s pronounced lack of enthusiasm towards the resolutions was not a result of the resolutions themselves, which declared “the Negro problem has become a vital question of the world revolution” and “The Communist International will use every instrument…to compel the trade unions to admit Negro workers to membership.”[54] Such resolutions were major steps forward in Comintern policy. Randolph and Owen’s disinclination towards celebrating them must be a result of a shifting attitude towards Moscow.

This shifting attitude is also evident in the April 1923 editorial advocating recognition of Russia and the resumption of trade. However, unlike earlier such editorials where trade was to be the lifeline of the workers’ republic, here Randolph and Owen argue that Soviet moves to the right mean that recognition would be no threat to American capitalists. Given Soviet Russia’s “disposition to recognize the rights of private property,” the United States would be “simply recognizing a state nominally under workers’ control which recognizes the methods of capitalism.” To recognize the reality of the erosion of workers’ control in Russia was a significant analytical step for the Messenger’s editors. However, they went even further, arguing that such moves to the right were the correct course for the Russian state to take. Whereas once Russia pointed the way towards the future, “[t]he march of events in Russia has shown that Russia is not yet ready for Communism.”[55]

This assertion radically changed the political terrain on which Randolph and Owen stood. The idea that the Russia Revolution pointed the way forward for Black politics in America had been a central support for their advocacy of revolutionary politics. With this support gone, Randolph and Owen had fewer theoretical resources on which to draw in arguing for working class revolution in America.

This change, however, was not simply the result of a belated recognition of Soviet fallibility on the part of the Messenger’s editors. Real changes in the revolutionary situation world wide put pressure on the beliefs Randolph and Owen held. In Russia, decimated by the civil war and economic blockade, “the Bolshevik Party…found itself ruling, in the name of a class which had effectively ceased to exist, over a population largely made up of small-holding peasants whose natural suspicions of government were reinforced by the regime’s commitment to collective rather than private ownership.”[56] After the decimation of the working class through starvation and war, these small-holding peasants constituted a major social force with which to be dealt. The New Economic Policy designed to do this effectively reintroduced markets to placate the peasants. Such reintroductions meant the erosion of democratic workers’ control. In the face of this, Randolph and Owen’s expectations for global revolution could not help but be diminished.

The working class movement was also in decline internationally, partially as a result of strategic errors on the parts of the various communist parties. Much of the responsibility for these errors lies with Gregory Zinoviev, head of the Comintern. C.L.R. James provides an excellent summary of Zinoviev’s influence in Germany:

Zinoviev…always unstable and lacking the patience so characteristic of the great revolutionaries, had been disappointed by the failures of the workers since November, 1918, and had developed a new theory, the theory of the offensive – desperate attack by the Communist Party and the vanguard, by this means to electrify the great mass.[57]

Zinoviev sought to apply this same theory, against Lenin’s objections, in America as well. His lack of regard for different national conditions was a major factor in Randolph and Owen’s alienation from the Communist Party.

This alienation does not then demonstrate, as Paula Pfeffer has argued, Randolph’s intransigent political nationalism. Instead, the October 1923 issue, which heaped scorn on the African Blood Brotherhood and “St. Zinoviev of the Third International,”[58] is illustrative of the Messenger’s critical engagement with international political forces. As this chapter has shown, Randolph and Owen were constantly seeking theoretical support and inspiration from outside of America. When it became clear that such support was no longer coming, they reacted by closing ranks and advocating what they thought to be a more realistic political perspective in the current period.

The coda of the Messenger’s engagement with the Russian Revolution is the obituary for Lenin published in March, 1924. The article lauded approbation upon the fallen Soviet leader, pronouncing him “the intellectual colossus of the statesmen of his period.” It also noted the conflicts Lenin had had with leaders such as Zinoviev, commending his struggle against the “infantile irrational leftism which impregnated the Third Internationale.” The article closed by arguing Lenin was the premier of “the first great workers’ republic.”[59] These statements clearly complicate any simple notion of the Messenger abandoning revolutionary politics because it was so nationalist it couldn’t take directions from outside. Randolph and Owen looked to Lenin as a visionary who had built a socialist government. However, the failure of that government, and of the revolutionary movement in general, changed their views on what the possible and desirable politics of human emancipation should be, placing them on a path which led off the political terrain of the New Negro movement.



[1] Theodore Kornweibel, Seeing Red: Federal Campaigns Against Black Militancy,1919-1925 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 76

[2] The Messenger, March 1919, 4

[3] Jervis Anderson, A. Philip Randolph: A Biographical Portrait (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), 89

[4] Anderson, 138

[5] Paula Pfeffer, A. Philip Randolph: Pioneer of the Civil Rights Movement (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1990), 17-18

[6] Anderson 76.

[7] Qtd in ibid.

[8] Messenger, November 1917, 8

[9] See Alexander Rabinowitch, The Bolsheviks Come to Power¸ Chs. 7-8 for a detailed account of the coup and its defeat.

[10] Messenger November 1917, 32

[11] Qtd. In David Mandel, The Petrograd Workers and the Fall of the Old Regime: From the February Revolution to the July Days, 1917 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1984), 67.

[12] Messenger January 1918, 7

[13] Messenger January 1918, 17

[14] Messenger July 1918, 9

[15] Messenger July 1918, 19

[16] Isaac Deutscher, The Prophet Armed – Trotsky, 1879-1921, (New York: Vintage Books, 1965), 350, 352.

[17] Messenger July 1918,20

[18] Kornweibel, 84.

[19] Qtd. In Kornweibel, 82

[20] Theodor Kornweibel No Crystal Stair: Black Life and the Messenger.Westport: Greenwood Press, 1975. Pg 61

[21] Messenger March 1919, 5

[22] Messenger May-June 1919, 8

[23] Tony Cliff Trotsky: 1917-1923: Sword of the Revolution (London: Pluto Press, 1990), 211

[24] Messenger August 1919, 5-6

[25] Messenger May-June 1919, 22

[26] It should be noted that the struggle in support of the Lefts in the SP was also a struggle against racism, as the Right wing was often openly pro-lynching. See Ahmed Shawki, Black Liberation and Socialism, 128-188. However, Randolph and Owen do not frame the issue around race in their article.

[27] Messenger September 1919, 26-27

[28] Crisis September 1919, 231.

[29] David S. Foglesong, America’s Secret War against Bolshevism: U.S. Intervention in the Russian Civil War, 1917-1920 , (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 248.

[30] John Rees, “In Defense of October,” International Socialism 52 (1991): 31.

[31] Qtd. in Foglesong, 232.

[32] Messenger October 1919, 8

[33] ibid 18.

[34] Messenger March 1920, 3

[35] Messenger September 1920, 86

[36] Marcel Liebman Leninism Under Lenin (London: J. Cape, 1975), 345-347.

[37] Messenger October 1920, 105

[38] Vladimir Lenin, “Russians and Negroes,” in Lenin on the United States (New York: International Publishers, 1970), 58.

[39] Messenger October 1920, 110.

[40] Frederick Douglass, My Bondage and My Freedom, ed. William L. Andrews (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1987), 188.

[41] Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The German Ideology (New York: International Publishers, 2004), 95.

[42] Messenger August 1921, 226. For evaluations of Soviet Democracy, see Kevin Murphy Revolution and Counterrevolution: Class Struggle in a Moscow Metal Factory. (Chicago: Haymarket Books, 2007), and Liebman 1975.

[43] “Extracts from the Theses on the World Situation and the Tasks of the Comintern adopted by the Third Comintern Congress” in Jane Degras, Ed. The Communist International 1919-1943 Documents, Vol. I (London: Oxford University Press, 1956), 230.

[44] Messenger September 1921, 243.

[45] ibid

[46] Messenger October 1921, 258.

[47] Ibid, 267.

[48] Ibid, 268

[49] Messenger January 1922, 334.

[50] Messenger September 1922, 479

[51] Foley 109.

[52] Qtd in Kornweibel 98.

[53] Messenger March 1923, 642

[54] Qtd. in William J. Maxwell New Negro, Old Left: African-American Writing and Communism Between the Wars (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 90

[55] Messenger April 1923, 657

[56] Alex Callinicos, Trotskyism (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1990), 12

[57] C.L.R. James, World Revolution 1917-1936, The Rise and Fall of the Communist International (New York: Pioneer Publishers, 1937), 167.

[58] Messenger October 1923, 830

[59] Messenger March 1924, 69