Marcus Garvey

            Robert Hill adds a great energy to his depiction of the UNIA’s parades. These public spectacles would not have manifested as poignant a unified spirit without the presence of Marcus Garvey. The author highlights the commanding, inscrutable, if not at times conflicting, nature of the persona which Garvey portrayed in parade as well as in photographs and in written word. In the latter half of the article, Hill draws a fitting connection between Garvey’s “caricature” and the aspirations of the Dada movement by affirming that Garvey had indeed a keen insight into social satire. I find as a remarkable example his flippant response to being called ‘spectacular.’ I believe he intentionally mentions the adjective over and over again as a way to erode the word’s significance to the state of banality. (199-200)

            Similarly, I find Garvey’s satirical flippancy and overall commanding air, even down to his flamboyant, yet austere accessories, comparable to the description of Richard Huelsenbeck’s “stage” persona in Goldberg: ‘When he enters, he keeps his cane of Spanish reed in his hand and occasionally swishes it around. That excites the audience. They think he is arrogant, and he certainly looks it.’ (58)

            With further reference to Garvey’s statement, Hill quite astutely deepens his analysis of the ‘Commander-in-Chief’ by penetrating the surface of Garvey’s calculated caricature to the underlying paradoxical nature of his personality. “Garvey’s statement reveals his penchant for satire…. Garvey was clearly not being naive, even if at times his mimicry seems a bit ingenuous, smacking less of criticism than emulation. But in Garvey’s mimicry of monarchical and aristocratic symbols, one can also detect a powerful element of social striving. For Garvey was just as determined in his quest for social recognition as any of the educated West Indian elite.” (200) Hill delineates this tendency as “a twin set of competing imperatives” (201) while at the same time quoting another commentator, who referred to Garvey as an “artistic juggler.” (202) But I think it would be beneficial in celebrating Garvey’s outward audacity and inner resolve by referring back to Gilroy’s examination of “double consciousness” in his “Black Atlantic as a Counterculture of Modernity,” in which he states, “Striving to be both European and black requires some specific forms of double consciousness…. Where racist, nationalist, or ethnically absolutist discourses orchestrate political relationships so that these identities appear to be mutually exclusive, occupying the space between them or trying to demonstrate their continuity has been viewed as a provocative and even oppositional act of political insubordination.” (1)