I Am Marcus Garvey – The Dream of a Free Black Nation
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Roots of Fire
1887, Saint Ann’s Bay, Jamaica.
I was born on an island where black faces still carried the invisible weight of chains. My father was a proud man, who read the books of white men and taught us that knowledge was a weapon. “Never let anyone tell you that you are worth less than another.”
But everywhere I looked, I saw injustice. Why were my brothers always the poorest, the last to be served, the first to be scorned?
So I read. I listened. I observed.
And I swore that I would not die without awakening my people.
The Struggle Begins
1914, Founding of the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA).
I traveled. I saw Black people exploited in the plantations of Central America, despised in American factories, humiliated in the streets of London.
Everywhere, we were broken.
So I founded the UNIA. A movement to restore pride, education, and economic power to Black people.
I launched a newspaper, “The Negro World.” A voice for those who had never been heard.
I preached the greatness of Africa. “A people without knowledge of their past is like a tree without roots.”
The Dream of a Black Empire
Why should we always depend on others?
I created the Black Star Line, a shipping company to transport Black people back to their motherland, Africa. A voluntary exile for a triumphant return.
I envisioned a strong, united, self-sufficient Black empire.
I dared to dream of a Black president for Africa.
And for that, they wanted to destroy me.
The Orchestrated Fall
1925, Prison in the United States.
They infiltrated my ranks. They fabricated fraud charges against me. They made me a criminal to silence my dream.
In prison, I saw my own people turn against me, manipulated by those who feared my vision. I went from leader to traitor in the eyes of some.
But even behind bars, I knew ideas cannot be caged.
Deported to Jamaica, then forgotten in England, I watched my dream collapse.
But I knew it would rise again.
The Immortal Legacy
I died far from the lands I loved. I never saw Africa rise, but I knew it would.
Because the seeds I planted had taken root.
Martin Luther King carried my cry for justice. Malcolm X was shaped by my influence. Even those who betrayed me eventually understood.
Today, my name echoes in the streets of Ghana, Harlem, and Kingston.
For a man may be forgotten.
But a dream never dies.