Imani Derivois, a senior sociology student at Florida Atlantic University, understands the impact of intersectionality firsthand. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, intersectionality is defined as “the way in which the effects of multiple forms of discrimination (such as racism, sexism and classism) overlap or intersect, especially in the experiences of marginalized individuals or groups.”

A 2022 report done by the Scottish Government on intersectionality with a focus on Black women, White women and Black men highlighted that “Black women often face unique discrimination — not just the combined effects of race and gender bias, but distinct experiences as Black women, differing from those of white women or Black men.”

The challenges as a person of color are more tangled by adding gender identity into the mix for Derivois who is a Black transgender woman born into a Haitian family. She began her transition during her sophomore year, and she remembered that time as a period of confusion, as she had to learn how to cope with the ways society responded to her gender.

Derivois recalled that she has still experienced her fair share of racism and transphobia. The toughest challenge, she says, has been finding acceptance within the very groups she identifies with, being both a woman of color and a member of the LGBTQ+ community.

According to a 2022 report by the Columbia Broadcasting System, homicides of transgender and gender-nonconforming individuals in the United States have risen by 93% over the past four years. Although Black individuals make up just 13% of the transgender community, Black transgender women accounted for nearly 75% of the victims.

“The racist encounters I’ve experienced have mainly been microaggressions and general blanket ignorant statements about Black people. Thankfully, the transphobia that I have faced hasn’t been anything that threatened my safety or livelihood,” said Derivois.

Yet, even in spaces where Derivois expected support, she still faces prejudice. 

“Within the queer community, I have to navigate racist stereotypes about how Black people behave and exist,” Derivois said. “I also have to overcome the transphobia that cisgender queer people hold towards trans people.”

According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, cisgender refers to people whose gender identity matches the sex they were assigned at birth, and queer is a term used by some people whose sexual orientation is not exclusively heterosexual, as the LGBTQ+ label may not be enough to describe a queer person’s sexual orientation. 

Derivois has also had to deal with homophobia within the Haitian community. Although Haiti has taken steps toward the protection of LGBTQ+ citizens, at the same time, the country is heavily influenced by religion and religious values. The Outright International has reported that “the Catholic and Protestant Churches play a strong cultural role in Haiti, influencing norms around gender and sexuality. Prominent religious leaders publicly disparage LGBTIQ identities as immoral.”

“I come from a culture that is very religious and very traditional in its values and norms, and as such, I can feel extremely disconnected from my culture simply because my entire existence as a lesbian, transgender woman seems to go against everything from my culture,” Derivois said.

Derivois’ challenge of finding a community doesn’t end there.

“I have had to overcome transphobia and homophobia, finding Black people who don’t see me as a predator or believe I violate their religious beliefs,” she said.

These deeply ingrained values have been passed down through generations, leaving Derivois with the difficult task of finding acceptance in the culture she comes from. However, her struggle for belonging doesn’t stop there; it also extends into the queer community.

Cisgender queer people have questioned her transition because she identifies as lesbian.

“They didn’t understand why I felt the need to transition if I was still going to like women, just as I did before my transition,” Derivois said.

On top of the racism, homophobia and transphobia she has experienced from the queer and Black communities, Derivois has had to balance the way society at large has responded to her identity.

“I experienced catcalling and feeling genuine fear for my life when I would go out dressed femininely,” said Derivois. 

For Derivois, being a transgender woman means having to carry an additional layer of anxiety. Each interaction, like catcalling, holds the potential for prejudice and, in the worst case, for violence. 

“Catcalling is something most women deal with, but I fear what could happen if the person catcalling me realized I’m trans and felt inclined to assault or murder me,” she said.

Derivois has found community in FAU’S BIPOC LGBTQIA+ Individuals Seeking Safe Spaces (BLISSS), a club that celebrates not just LGBTQ+ students, but all identities and cultures. Derivois joined the club in 2024 and has since risen to a leadership position, serving as the club’s event coordinator. 

“My experience within BLISSS organization has allowed me to more easily find individuals like myself and be part of a family on campus,” she said. “I have found genuine sisterhood among my female friends, who have helped me feel more secure and comfortable during my transition.”

Angel Santiago is also a sophomore majoring in criminal justice, who is a part of BLISSS. Santiago was born into a very religious Puerto Rican and Nicaraguan family. 

Santiago identifies as queer. She explains that her queer identity is seen as a phase by those closest to her. 

“I definitely face a big struggle being queer, especially in my culture and being raised in a Christian family,” Santiago said.

Despite that hurdle, she’s still focused on sustaining her relationship with God despite the status quo. When it comes to being a Hispanic woman, she feels her race and gender don’t significantly impact how she’s treated, though she acknowledges the challenges that come with both. 

“I 100% feel as if my experiences as a woman of color at FAU differ from other women,” she said. “I’ve noticed over time that Hispanic women tend to stand in the blank middle zone of everything, where we are overlooked when we should be just as high as anyone else.” 

Santiago explains how these stereotypes appear when people make assumptions about her character. 

“Stereotypes geared toward Hispanic women, like being loud, annoying and stupid, have always been thrown at me by people who’ve never taken the time to truly know me,” Santiago said.

According to a 2020 report by the Student Research Foundation, Hispanic high school students, despite similar STEM interests as their peers. They faced obstacles like limited internet access and fewer opportunities in these classes. 

This led many to choose two-year schools over four-year schools. The report stated that Hispanic women represented only 2% of STEM workers in 2018, despite earning higher grades but reporting the lowest confidence and aspirations in the field.

Just like Santiago, Grace Stahr, a junior majoring in urban design, has also faced and continues to experience challenges with preconceived stereotypes.

Stahr was born in Liberia, Africa. She was adopted by a German-Irish mother when she was only six months old. Stahr’s mother served in the Peace Corps, a government agency that trains and sends out volunteers to help develop international areas. 

When Stahr’s mother adopted her, she spent time around African culture so she could equip her daughter with any cultural knowledge she needed. Stahr’s mother always had answers to any questions that Stahr had about her culture, such as questions about her adoption process and her African tribes, Bassa and Kru. 

According to Brittanica, Kru is defined as an ethnic group that resides in Liberia, and Bassa is a subgroup of the Kru people. 

Stahr’s mother made it a point to know about African culture, providing her with knowledge about her Liberian background.

While Stahr and her mother occasionally faced comments and stares from others due to her African background and her mom’s white background, Stahr remains proud and appreciative of how she grew up. 

“My household is very multicultural; my cousin is Asian and also adopted,” she said. 

Stahr realizes that certain stereotypes that Black women have to navigate are automatically placed on her without people taking the time to get to know her first. 

 “It is already hard enough to be a woman in a male-dominated world, regardless of race. If we feel strongly about an idea, we are called too emotional,” Stahr said. “Now add race to the equation. If I am mad, then it’s not ‘Oh, she’s just being dramatic,’ but instead, it’s ‘There goes an overdramatic Black woman,’ or my favorite, ‘Angry Black woman.’” 

Navigating these societal expectations extends beyond social interactions and into systemic spaces, such as healthcare. Stahr’s medical experience rings true for many Black women. 

“I was going to a medical appointment, and I didn’t feel my concern was being answered or taken seriously. My mom, who is white and in the healthcare field, started to vouch for me. That’s when they took it more seriously,” said Stahr.

According to a 2024 report done by the University of Colorado Health, Black women in the U.S. face a maternal mortality rate two to three times higher than white women and experience higher rates of maternal morbidity, including severe bleeding, infections and other life-threatening conditions. 

Stahr has also faced shock from other Black people when they found out she was African. Living in Florida, she is often mistaken for being American or Caribbean, which she explains is great but not her culture.  

“Being in Florida, I knew there were a lot of Caribbean students in [the] Black Student Union, so I still felt a little out of place,” she said. 

While she found a sense of community within Black American culture, Stahr continues to seek a deeper connection to her African roots. She has joined the university’s African Student Association (ASA). Carving a space for the heritage that she grew up in within her new life allows her to connect back to her culture.

“I didn’t even know that this was a group at FAU. So, when I found out about ASA, I felt even more connected to my African heritage. I can laugh and joke in a way that I know they would understand,” she said.

This story is in the UP’s latest print issue Vol. 31, “Women in Paradise,” which can be found in the distribution boxes around the Boca Raton campus or in the Student Union room 214.

Kaii Thompson is the Business Manager for the University Press. For more information on this or other stories, contact Thompson at kaiiliburdthompson@gmail.com.