Trey Roberts is turning big dreams into lively, welcoming spaces across Raleigh, North Carolina. Through the GAG! queer event series, Raleigh Pride, the Triangle Native American Film Festival and an ambitious inter-tribal pow wow, the Panamanian and Haliwa-Saponi organiser is making room for people who once struggled to see themselves represented.
Essential Takeaways
- A joyful starting point: GAG! brings LGBTQ+ people together through parties and playful community-building.
- A major gathering: Roberts helped create Raleigh's Dix Park Inter-Tribal Pow Wow, which drew about 14,000 people.
- Many creative roles: He's also a founding member of Raleigh Pride and director of the Triangle Native American Film Festival.
- Representation matters: His work reflects both queer and Indigenous identity, particularly in the American South.
- A hopeful message: Roberts encourages queer Southerners to imagine lives and communities beyond what they've already seen.
A party series with a bigger purpose
The energy behind GAG! is easy to understand. At its heart, the Raleigh event series is about queer people having fun together, but that simple premise carries real weight when community spaces can feel scarce or fragmented.
Roberts has described wanting to become a local equivalent of Susanne Bartsch, the celebrated New York nightlife figure known for extravagant events and fearless self-expression. That ambition became especially personal when he worked with Bartsch and Amanda Lepore, turning a once-distant fantasy into a very real collaboration.
It's a reminder that nightlife can be more than flashing lights and a good outfit. Done well, it becomes a place where people can test out confidence, meet their peers and leave feeling a little less alone.
From rural North Carolina to a wider stage
Roberts grew up in Hollister, a rural community in North Carolina, with Panamanian and Haliwa-Saponi heritage. His background gives his work a distinctive point of view, particularly because he understands what it feels like to imagine a broader life without many visible examples close by.
That gap between possibility and visibility sits at the centre of his message. For queer people growing up in smaller Southern communities, the future can seem narrow simply because the local picture is narrow. Roberts' work expands that picture through celebration, culture and public gathering.
The result isn't one single project, but a network of spaces. Some are loud and glamorous, others are educational or ceremonial, yet all offer the same basic reassurance: you belong here.
The pow wow made Indigenous culture visible
One of Roberts' most significant achievements has been helping create Raleigh's Dix Park Inter-Tribal Pow Wow through the Triangle Native American Society. The event brought tribes from across North Carolina together and attracted roughly 14,000 people, giving Indigenous culture a prominent place in one of the city's best-known public spaces.
The gathering also shows how community events can work on several levels at once. Visitors may arrive for the music, dancing, food or atmosphere, but they leave with a richer sense of the people and traditions being celebrated. The park becomes not just a venue, but a meeting point between history, identity and contemporary Raleigh.
Dix Park's own coverage of the inter-tribal pow wow highlights its growing importance as a large public event. That scale matters, but so does the warmth of the occasion. A crowd of thousands can still feel personal when the programme is rooted in connection.
Why queer and Indigenous spaces matter now
Roberts' projects sit at the intersection of two communities that are often discussed separately. That makes his work especially valuable: it creates room for Indigenous identity within queer cultural life, while also bringing LGBTQ+ visibility into wider civic and cultural spaces.
Raleigh's Pride movement, the Triangle Native American Film Festival and the pow wow each reach different audiences. Together, they create a more complete local landscape, one where identity isn't reduced to a single label or a once-a-year celebration.
There is practical power in that visibility. When people see events that reflect their lives, participation feels less like asking permission and more like taking part in something already theirs.
Dreaming bigger is part of the work
Roberts' most direct message is also his most generous: queer people in both Southern cities and rural communities have the freedom to dream big. It sounds straightforward, but it can be transformative for anyone who has rarely seen their ambitions reflected nearby.
His career offers a useful example of what that can look like in practice. A party series can grow into a cultural platform. A local organiser can help bring thousands together. A personal dream can become a public space for other people, too.
And perhaps that's the most lasting part of Roberts' contribution. He isn't simply waiting for better representation to arrive. He's building the rooms, stages and gathering places himself.
Dreaming big is easier when someone has already started building the door.
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