Humanity in Everything
In conversation with activists
Qween Jean and Vidal Guzmán
on their shared journey.
Words + Images
Chloe Hartstein | Stylist, The Wall Group
On May 29th, after waking up for the second day in a row filled with rage and sadness over the murder of George Floyd, I stormed out of my apartment and into groggy COVID- locked-down NYC streets to scream my anger. I had scanned social media and found a protest happening in front of the courthouses in Manhattan, and armed with a mask and gloves I found my way down in a daze, rediscovering my city that had been taken away from me a few months prior at the beginning of the pandemic.
Discovery and rediscovery are the best way to express the impact that this movement has had on me in the past few months. That Friday at that particular protest, my instinct told me to follow this one young man who quickly and charismatically guided a group of people through the streets of New York. From that moment on, and for months after that, I felt like my head and heart had been cracked open. Marching day after day alongside this new family, listening, learning, looking within, I rediscovered what it means to be part of a community, part of an ecosystem that we create, care for, nourish, and absorb from.
I wanted to share this platform with two truly wonderful activists I was lucky to meet along the way: Vidal Guzmán (the young man I followed that day) and Qween Jean. Their generosity, kindness, and thoughtfulness throughout the events of the past few months and their own lives and stories, have inspired me, given me light and hope I so desperately needed in the darkest of days. They have given me hope that together, as a community, we can build the world that we want, that is a representation and a mirror of who we are and who we want to be.
Interview by Chloe Hartstein, Words by Qween Jean
Describe your journey and what has led your activist path.
For me, my journey has been rooted in advocacy—even as a designer, as a storyteller. My intentions have always been about allowing for the unsung heroes to be brought to the forefront, so their stories can be highlighted, prioritized, and centered. I often feel that there are people who contribute so much to the world, but because they are not white, because they are not popular, or because they don't have access, money, riches, all of these things, they aren't acknowledged. So through my path, I ask myself, "how do we give people access?" Especially Black Trans folks, how do we give them access to a living? For me, knowing that the life expectancy of a Black Trans person is 35 years is a problem, and it has catapulted my personal mission, my personal commitment to making sure we all have the basic needs of life. And that's protection, that's food, that is being able to have love in our lives. So that is kind of what has been my journey—it's a journey that has continued. I am constantly learning; it's an open journey—it's not broken, it's open. I'm trying to receive mentorship, guidance from the elders, from amazing Trans organizations that have been doing this work for years. I just want to amplify and celebrate Black Trans liberation.
What does this movement at this time mean to you?
At this particular time, the movement feels RIGHT—the movement is essential. We have been at home for the past six months sitting and waiting and trying to adhere to policies and safety for COVID-19. But the reality is that Black people, in particular, have been suffering from an epidemic of racism, white supremacy, and injustice this ENTIRE time. The unfortunate death of George Floyd really catapulted us out of our homes—physically, mentally, spiritually—into the streets and into the path of justice, because WE NEED JUSTICE. Black people can no longer be attacked; Black people can no longer be targeted and just killed. Black Trans women can no longer just be killed because they're simply holding space. That is something that we as a community have to solve; that is something that we as a community have to come together and fight back against.
How has community been defined or redefined for you throughout the 2020 protests?
For me, family AND community, and I say family because that is truly how I feel; I feel that when we come together, we as a group, as a collective, as organizers, as community members, folks that we've met through the movement, they truly have become family to me. They've literally protected me—the riders and the bikers have literally run in front of cars in oncoming traffic and in front of negative and angry people to protect me, so that to me is family. They protect all of us. They protect without reservation and without fear of the crowds who come out, because they know and understand how important it is to have Black Trans liberation. And so that is something that I think has transformed me. Me as Qween Jean, me as a designer, me as a storyteller, me as an advocate for Trans lives. They have transformed me, they've given me the understanding that we can do this, that it is our duty to win and that we will have justice, because we are not going to stand by idle and meek while others are in distress, while other people who can't speak are continually pushed further into the margins. We are saying NO, and we have to pull them out. We can no longer wait for the people in power; we have to BECOME the people in power.
And we need people with good sense to have power. What's important is that when we do have folks in these positions, that they can RELATE. People who have a real deep authentic understanding of what it is to be marginalized, what it is to be underserved, what it is to be counted out, sidelined. Because then I really feel like you can really fight. When you understand that there are women who are fighting throughout this epidemic to provide for their families, to somehow still manage to find work and still come home and teach algebra—THAT to me is someone I want to fight for and who should be fighting for us. Not someone that necessarily has access (not to say that folks with access shouldn't have power; they innately always will have power), I'm just saying we need people who will fight for EVERYONE and not just to maintain this kind of nepotism. When those things are perpetuated, the people in the margins are still there waving for help.
What is your hope for the future as a result of the current movement?
My hopes for the future are growing. My hopes for the future are vast and very intricate. This is not just one targeted goal. Yes, voting is prioritized at this current moment. We HAVE to vote and not just for our president but for our state, for our city council; we have got to vote to put the right warriors in our offices. We have to vote for the people who will fight for the people, and not just the 1%. Because there are a whole lot of folks who are out here navigating and trying to cultivate a piece of their own, their own version of the American dream. But the reality is they will never get that dream because the legacy wasn't created, and is not shared and made, in their likeness. It is not for them. So what we are here to do is to say our future WILL include everyone. It is not something that is only based on skin color or wealth or status, no. It is based on your human heart. The human being has to be centered.
What do you do to rest and recharge?
A lot of people don't know this but I teach meditation, and I also meditate every day. So I’ll meditate in the mornings from 6:30 AM to 7:30 AM, and then I work out. That's what keeps me grounded; it keeps me balanced, keeps my chakras intact. I always say, I'm an undeniably Black Trans woman, and I am unbothered by white fragility, white supremacy, and white racism because I know that my core is rooted in love. And I have a family that keeps me accountable; I have friends who love me and who have shown me, true communal love. In terms of rest, that happens often; I think for me, during this current moment, it's not like I take a week or two off. I find small pockets of my time to curate for myself, curated to be cleansed, to be renewed. In my meditation classes, we talk about self-care and how it's an individual process; self-care is a manifestation for yourself. And so self-care can look like a multitude of things: it's vast and intricate; it doesn't have to be about going out and getting drunk. If rolling a joint is what brings you complete ecstasy and serenity, do it. If it's eating a clementine, do it. If it's buying shoes, do it. It's how you cultivate personal joy, how you cultivate personal love. Self-love. That to me is what's important, that is what keeps me unbothered.
Interview by Chloe Hartstein, Words by Vidal Guzmán
Describe your journey and what has led your activist path?
My mother is an immigrant. We were homeless when I was five years old; I started selling drugs at eight years old and started getting involved in street organizations around 14 years old. The first time I was incarcerated at Rikers Island, I was 16. You know, they call it Gladiator school and Torture Island... My first week there, I saw three kids kill themselves. I got attacked while I was sleeping in my cell and learned the basics from the OGs on how to protect myself and what to stay away from, and I realized that was my first public education. After coming home at 18 years old, I was on probation, trying to return back to society. This was really difficult. I was being turned down from job interviews, etc. And then at 19, I got reincarcerated. That's when I noticed two things: the people I was with when I was 16 were still there facing time and it was also the same people always coming back. It was the same revolving door.
From 19 to 24, I spent two and a half years in solitary confinement because of the street organization I was a part of. I was a member of the Bloods. At 22 years old, I knew it was time to change the way I thought and change the way I dealt with my issues and decided to step away from street organizations in a prison facility that was all Bloods. I came home five and a half years ago on gang parole.
The way I got reentry into society was with a program called Get Out Stay Out. It was very powerful and helped me establish myself in the food truck business. I then got involved with Drive Change, who only hire formerly incarcerated people. And with this team, we won a Vendy Award in 2015 for “Best Food Truck in The City.” I came home December 31st, 2014 and the next day was a new year. So for me, that year, winning that award, was very powerful. And then I gradually got involved in the Close Rikers Island Campaign, the Raise the Age campaign, Halt Solitary, and the Erase the Gang Database. I was a major part of the Close Rikers Island campaign; we created this booklet called Build Communities Platform, convincing the City Council to not only close Rikers by 2026, but to also get $300 million for communities that have been directly impacted by Rikers Island and mass incarceration. That's what put me on my activist path.
What does this movement at this time mean to you?
I think we've been relying on the system for too long; we have to understand that it is two-faced. We have to use it the same way it's been using us. We know that we as taxpayers in BIPOC neighborhoods—we as a community—we are the most underfunded, over-incarcerated, and overpoliced. This is the right moment for us to change the political mindset of our communities and lift the consciousness of our people. I think this moment right now is an international struggle for Black people and for everyone to understand blackness. I think it's time for this country to understand how the culture of violence was created in America. We have to treat racism as a disease. There is a moment right now to find the humanity in everything—from people being incarcerated to homelessness—this is about defining the humanity in ourselves and our society. It's about learning to do the right thing and doing things from the heart, not from capitalistic ideas and thinking. THIS moment right now is bigger than us and is what our ancestors wanted us to do; it's the path they've created for us to act on. It was the blueprint and the train that was somewhat missed by the last generation because they were so deeply impacted by the war on drugs in BIPOC communities.
What is your hope for the future as a result of the current movement?
That people don't lose themselves. I don't want people to lose sight of why we're out here. We're not reformists, you know? Reform only works for certain things. Our idea is to change the thinking of our communities. And pushing further, realizing it's not about self-interest, it's about making sure that community members know and recognize their value as human beings and their leadership being needed NOW. The conversation right now is: how do you make yourself a better human being; how do you find roots in your community and help it, and water yourself to be successful? Truly be the change that you want to see. And do everything from the heart, because people will see it.
What do you do to rest and recharge?
I've been reading and studying a lot, it's a key part of healing for me. I'm studying Malcolm X's last speeches, trying to balance myself as a human being. I've been loving myself more, by putting inspiring quotes around my home, by being able to give myself healing time and time to be by myself. I'm just happy with where I am in my life, even if every day isn't perfect, I'd rather have the worst day out here than the best day in prison. I'm just happy to be alive. There were moments in my life where I felt that I wasn't going to survive, that I wouldn't make it past 18 and here I am. That gives me joy. Knowing that people are inspired by me and that I am inspired by others. That my community can see someone like me, who's been through so many things, and finding and challenging themselves and their thinking is truly inspiring.
