The past two decades have witnessed a resurgence of work on Marcus Garvey, Garveyism, and the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) in the American academy. Building on a first wave of Garveyism scholarship (1971–1988), and indebted to the archival and curatorial work of Robert A. Hill and the editors of the Marcus Garvey and Universal Negro Improvement Association Papers, this new work has traced the resonance of Garveyism across a staggering number of locations: from the cities and farms of North America to the labor compounds and immigrant communities of Central America to the colonial capitals of the Caribbean and Africa. It has pushed the temporal dimensions of Garveyism, connecting it backward to pan-African and black nationalist discourses and mobilizations as early as the Age of Revolution, and forward to the era of decolonization and Black Power. It has revealed the ways that Garveyism, a mass movement rooted in community aspirations, ideals, debates, and prejudices, offers a forum for excavating African diasporic discourses, particularly their contested gender politics. It has revealed that much more work remains to be done in Brazil, West Africa, Britain, France, and elsewhere.

In 1998, the Canadian historian and politician Michael Ignatieff wrote: “All nations depend on forgetting: on forging myths of unity and identity that allow a society to forget its founding crimes, its hidden injuries and divisions, its unhealed wounds.” Ironically, Ignatieff's home country has belied his assertion. Canada has engaged in collective remembering of one of its hidden injuries—the Indian residential schools—through a Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) from 2009 to 2015. Australia, too, has reckoned since the 1990s with its own unhealed wounds—the separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, or, in common parlance, the “Stolen Generations.”

Don Quixote is remembered as a dreamer, but he was, in the first instance for his creator, a cautionary tale about the bewitching danger of reading fiction. When Cervantes wrote what is considered to be the first modern novel, he did so having witnessed the explosion of printed texts thanks to the invention of the printing press, and his story chronicles what happens to hapless readers who are sucked into the dreamy world of fiction's unreality. Poor Don Quixote envisioned himself as a swashbuckling knight like those in the chivalric stories he consumed, and his metastasized imagination got him into heaps of trouble. He mistook inns for castles, flocks of sheep for advancing armies, and, most memorably, windmills for giants. Cervantes did not just give readers a unique portrait of an outlandish, romantic, and impractical schemer—he also inspired the word “quixotic” to describe others like him.