In June 2020, amid the dual pandemics of Covid-19 and systemic racism, one voice echoed through Milwaukee with clarity, passion, and purpose. That voice belonged to Broderick Pearson, also known as Montell Infiniti Ross, a Black, gay man who, frustrated by the glaring silence surrounding the Black Lives Matter movement from Milwaukee’s own Pridefest organizers, ignited a call for visibility, solidarity, and justice. 

Ross knew from personal experience what it felt like to be unseen in spaces meant to celebrate identity and liberation. Fueled by frustration, Montell did what many leaders do in moments of crisis: He spoke from the heart. He went live on Facebook and laid bare the realities that so many in his community were feeling. The live video wasn’t rehearsed or polished, but it was passionate, personal, and unfiltered. Within hours, it began to spread. By the time the dust had settled, over 10,000 people had heard his message.

His candid words sparked a fire, and what happened next was nothing short of extraordinary. In just four days, a grassroots movement took form. Without a blueprint, budget, or institutional support, organizers, artists, neighbors, and allies came together, all compelled by a shared recognition that something powerful needed to happen. Led by Ross, their efforts culminated in the “March with Pride for Black Lives Matter,” a massive, peaceful demonstration that brought together thousands of people from all walks of life, unified in purpose: To say loudly and visibly that Black queer lives matter.

“Being a Black, gay man is the experience that motivated me to create this space,” Montell explains. “My life itself is the experience. But I was just the catalyst holding the torch; the community was the team ready to battle.”

Rooted in the intersection of Blackness and queerness, the march was more than a protest, it was a turning point in Milwaukee’s queer history. What began as a spontaneous expression of frustration became a transformative movement that challenged exclusion, honored legacy, and empowered a new generation of leaders. Five years later, its impact continues to echo through community spaces, Pride celebrations, and public health advocacy, reminding us that liberation must be intersectional and that the most powerful movements begin with truth, courage, and a refusal to remain unseen.

Centering Black Queer Identity

Montell’s journey began in Racine. After attending Grambling State University, he moved to Milwaukee in 1998. “I came out a year after I moved to Milwaukee,” he shared. The relocation wasn’t just about career, it was about survival, about finding the space to be fully and safely himself. That distance from home allowed him to step into his truth, and eventually, into leadership.

While he formally began his community work in 2003, Montell’s passion had long been influenced by the people around him including friends and mentors already immersed in community work, many of whom were part of the House of Infiniti. Ross formally joined the House as a Program Manager, and during that time, the Milwaukee chapter of House of Infiniti became one of the first publicly known Ballroom-based Black gay-led organizations to provide direct outreach and support in response to the HIV/AIDS crisis. 

The work was deeply personal for Ross, having lost his father at the age of 14 to HIV-related illness, as well as his uncle and role model, an advocate for survivors of sexual violence, to HIV complications. 

Another pivotal experience that shaped his worldview was being in a relationship with someone living with HIV during a time when HIV stigma was still pervasive and deadly. People made cruel assumptions about his HIV status, but despite not living with HIV, he was open to serodiscordant relationships to show others that one’s status doesn’t matter. He recalls the pain of attending funeral after funeral—seven in total at one point—all in the same location, each one another loss to the AIDS epidemic. 

Having made a silent promise to himself to change the narrative surrounding HIV, Ross worked to ensure that others didn’t have to suffer in silence or die from preventable diseases because of stigma, ignorance, or systemic neglect. That promise became his life’s mission. Montell’s goal was not only to uplift Black lives, but to spotlight the intersection of Blackness and queerness, a lived reality often overlooked throughout LGBTQ+ narratives.

From Moment to Movement

The “March with Pride for Black Lives Matter” didn’t just resonate with seasoned activists or those already embedded in advocacy work, it ignited something deeper and more widespread. It reached people who had never previously considered their role in racial justice or understood the weight of their silence. 

When asked about it, Ross recounted an emotional encounter with a white, gay man who approached him years after the march. The man described seeing Ross standing boldly on a van with a bullhorn, declaring the importance of Black queer lives. That single experience challenged his assumptions, sparked reflection, and shifted his sense of responsibility. “It was something more than amazing,” the man told Ross. “It was something our community needed.” 

This interaction reflects the broader legacy of the march: Its power to humanize, educate, and inspire. By centering Black queer voices, the march created a space where empathy could thrive, where accountability could take root, and where allyship could move beyond performative gestures to genuine, sustained support. It allowed people from all walks of life to see injustice more clearly and to see themselves within the solution.

Ross’s impact, therefore, isn’t measured just in the number of people who marched that day. It lives in the hearts and minds of those who were changed by it, in those who began to understand their privilege, use their voice, and stand in solidarity. That is the true legacy: A movement that didn’t just raise awareness, but redefined what community, inclusion, and justice could look like for everyone.

Echoes in Time

June 2025 marked the 5th anniversary of the “March with Pride for Black Lives Matter,” and its legacy continues to unfold. The event cracked open longstanding conversations about race, representation, and exclusion within Milwaukee’s LGBTQ+ spaces, many of which had been dominated by white leadership and aesthetics for decades. 

That impact took tangible form in “Montell’s Melanin Extravaganza Drag Revue Show,” the first Black-led, Black-centered drag performance to take the stage at Milwaukee PrideFest. The show was Montell’s answer to a community yearning not only to be heard but to be celebrated. Featuring local Black drag performers and artists, the revue became a vibrant showcase of talent and a bold statement that Black queer art is not peripheral, it is central to the Pride experience.

Today, the Extravaganza is a cornerstone of Milwaukee’s PrideFest, drawing thousands of attendees and generating widespread acclaim. Its presence on one of the festival’s main stages represents a bridge between protest and policy, between community outcry and institutional accountability.

Looking Forward

Five years from now, Ross envisions the 10-year anniversary of the march as something even bigger. He dreams of a citywide celebration of Black queer culture, complete with media coverage, public recognition, legislative engagement, and full community participation. 

But for Ross, legacy isn’t about the spotlight. It’s about empowerment. Throughout his reflections, his passion for lifting others is unmistakable. You can feel that his sense of purpose extends far beyond personal achievement. It lies in opening doors for others to walk through because the true measure of success lies in how many people he can inspire to step into their own power. “If there’s a need, make a way,” he advises future organizers. “Don’t wait for perfect planning. Move with passion and integrity.” It’s a call to action that centers courage over perfection, and purpose over performance.

This philosophy is especially critical for Black and brown LGBTQ+ individuals, many of whom grow up in environments where their voices are silenced or devalued. Montell’s message to them is clear: You are more than enough. Find your voice. Use your voice. Speak truth to power, not just for yourself, but for those around you. 

The long-term benefits of this kind of advocacy are profound. Beyond the celebratory aspects of Pride or the visibility won through drag revues and marches, Montell’s work has helped lay the groundwork for structural inclusion where equity isn’t an add-on, but a core principle. It’s a future where young, Black, queer people don’t have to fight to be seen, because they’re already centered. Where policy reflects diversity. Where institutions listen. And where cultural platforms reflect the full spectrum of queer identity.