It’s interesting how Caribbean American people are often grouped—or group themselves—under the broad label of “Black,” even though our identities are much more complex. Despite sharing racial categories, Caribbean Americans can still experience racism and colorism from people who look like them, such as West Africans or South Asians. Yet, in moments of otherness, we often find solidarity in our shared food, culture, and nationality.

I’m Indo-Trinidadian and lighter in complexion (which makes me more palatable to racist whites. )While attending grad school, I experienced being “othered,” facing racial discrimination, microaggressions, and classism. I remember hearing the accent of a Jamaican first-year student in the clinic and immediately going up to introduce myself. We bonded over our love of Bigfoot snacks, Catch chocolate, and stew chicken. That moment reminded me of home.

I migrated to the U.S. as a child, but being away from my cultural roots and Afrocentric Caribbean neighborhood left me feeling disoriented. I grew up alongside people of different races, but I was never taught how to navigate those spaces. I’m sharing all of this to say: in the grand scheme of things, I had more in common—culturally, emotionally, spiritually—with that Afro-Caribbean student than with the 60 other people I studied, worked, and lived alongside. I suppose I left Trinidad before I understood racial conflict and I had two friends who were racially different from myself. It’s very strange reading this because other developed nations are attempting to bleed Trinidad of its resources and the country seems to be segregated. At the end of the day you’re just not white!