A Candle in the Darkness

As a child, I did not possess the knowledge and vocabulary around social structures I have today but I was able to perceive differences in treatment, consideration and respect. Children can tell who belongs to the “in crowd” and who stays out. The signs are clear as day and the messaging is constant. Early on, I integrated the notion that certain people were celebrated and others were not. A specific few were even despised and erased whenever possible—that is, when they were not ridiculed.

So… knowing where I stood on the social ladder (and yes, I do remember being keenly aware of my position by the age of 6), I knew what I could and couldn’t expect to see on television and decided that whatever sliver of a connection there was between me and a character, I would snatch it and feed on it as if my life depended on it—because, perhaps, it did. That’s how Sailor Moon became my girl and “in the name of the Moon”, I would punish my enemies too. Just for context, if you haven’t read anything from me before, I must bring to your attention that I was born on a small island in the Caribbean and, to the understanding of all, I was a little Black boy. The only thing Sailor Moon and I had in common was the skinniness.

I also really loved Ranma ½ because all he had to do to become a girl was to have the content of a bucket thrown in his face or fall into some body of water. How lucky! And what about Gigi! I wanted to be like her and, with the flick of a wand, turn into a beautiful grown woman, doing all types of jobs, helping all kinds of people. But do you see how none of them looks like me? That’s an issue, huh?

At some point in my early days, I had dreams of being on the screen but, from my observations, the types of roles I was interested in were reserved to the “in crowd”. At the time, there was no Bridgerton as a possibility model. Besides, my concerns exceeded the limits of just race. I simply could not “see” myself in a Marie-Antoinette type dress. All I could hope for, as a future period piece actor, would be the role of an enslaved man. No thanks. Instead, I decided to meticulously kill this dream—bring a pillow to its face and push down, slowly but firmly; almost with love. Then I disinfected my mind to avoid being polluted with further hopes of a similar kind.

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Ultimately, I grew up and blossomed, moving to my own rhythm, creating my own version of me. I still fed off of superficial TV connections for the sole purpose of catharsis—similarly to the way a swan accepts stale bread from strangers in a park because, well, it fills the belly, but it’s not truly nutritious or a viable long-term source of nourishment.

Until one day, in 2016.

I was on YouTube, probably working on content for an old website when I saw Angelica Ross for the first time in a web series titled “Herstory”. The piece followed Violet, a trans woman growing into herself, who has a friend and sponsor named Paige, also a trans woman who happens to be a lawyer, played by Angelica.

At the time, I had transitioned over a decade prior and had recently won my own legal battle with the state to have my ID and my birth certificate altered. For the first time, I truly saw myself in a character. Just like Paige, I was a Black transgender woman (of about the same age). I was no longer as active in social justice work but I had soaked in it for quite a while and it was (still is) dear to my heart. Like Paige, I was blessed not to be a night butterfly but a college graduate. There was a familiar texture to this woman. Like her, I did not harbor any shame about my identity and did not make efforts to conceal it; but I also did not live every minute of my life with the aura of transness following me around. In my professional and day-to-day life, people did not know I was trans. No-one but Angelica Ross could have given that character her particular feel because her own true voice poked through that of the character. She won me over.

A couple of years later, like all good queer folk with a bit of melanin, I stumbled upon Pose and bay-bee… my wig was snatched. Between the loud absence of representation and the long list of cis women and cis men playing tragic / murdered trans women, a cast of diverse Black trans women elbowed their way through and said “No no no… we’re here!” and I lived!

The echo to Paris is Burning was delectable but what truly touched me was the way finally Black trans women were allowed to contrast with other Black trans women. The show made it clear that transness is not a monolithic experience and neither is Black womanhood and at the intersection of that, Black and Brown trans women get to be different people with their own specific concerns and aspirations. And once again, Angelica Ross is the face that first drew me in because I was familiar with her.

In 2020, just a couple of days before everything was shut down (you know the rona and things), I had the chance to sit with her for a wonderful evening in Paris. I did tell her my appreciation then. However, taking a step back and looking at the totality of my life (and also reflecting on a couple of exchanges with Angelica), I realize that for a while I became a possibility model myself, before I got to see one on mainstream television. When young Black and Brown girls around me were dropping out of school and turned to survival sex work, I was a reminder that something else does exist. I don’t want to get into what would feel like an uncomfortable, self-congratulatory space so I’ll end here but my point is that representation is amazing. However, you sometimes have to be that light for other folks; and you don’t have to shine as bright as a lighthouse. You can simply be a flashlight or a candle in the darkness.