“For me, my road to self-love and pride has been rooted in knowing where I come from. Looking into Caribbean history, spirituality, and my people as a whole has fast-tracked a sense of self-worth and strength — especially given the current state of the country and the world. White Americans take for granted that their history and religions are the mainstream in this country and abroad. People of color at large, and Caribbean people living here in the U.S., are often disconnected from their own story. The image of the sad slave is all I knew. All the heroes on TV are white; all the heroes in the history books are white. Where do I find my reflection? I can’t find her. To this day, queer, and POC history is often relegated to the backs of the history books, if it’s included at all. Vodou, for example — a religion with roots in non-gender-binary practice, which liberated Haiti from French control — is demonized in contemporary media and pop culture. And as Maya Monès mentions in her RAGGA NYC interview, “Like most Dominican families, mine refrained from exploring our roots, leaving me with a cloudy sense of pride in a sort of racial limbo. It felt like I was facing a foggy mirror, with a deep yearning to see and embrace the person who stood opposite me.” From the Haitian Revolution’s religious spark; from the irony of William Thomas Beckford, the largest plantation owner in Jamaica, fleeing his family in England because he was gay; from the origins of witchcraft in West Africa — the more I looked back, the more I garnered strength, yet still yearned to see myself. Where is my queer self? What are the stories of my trans sisters during the fight for freedom in Trinidad and Tobago? What are the stories of my femme brothers in Puerto Rico’s rebellions against the Spaniards? We were there, too. We have always been here. I want to see myself.”