Remember this: In all your successes and failures, it was because of the Virgin Islands, not in spite of them. Remember where your dreams, your grit, your resilience, and your unshakable determination were forged.

What kind of success is it if you thrive but never at home?

When you return and feel the sting of generational and systemic failures, the weight of decay, the ache of despair—know that these conditions exist in every corner of the Earth. And when you see others, native or not, thriving in the very soil where you once struggled, I hope something stirs awake inside you.

When the eyes of people who’ve never touched our shores light up when they hear where you’re from, that’s when you truly see what’s at stake. When we see and hear the dreams of many looking to escape the ills of their realities, who will quickly, liquidate, scam, and scrape whatever they can to find themselves here, I hope it makes your body ache.

Whether you’re coming home to mourn, to fete, or to reclaim yourself, tread every inch of these islands with reverence. Honor the people who have suffered and are still suffering. Understand that returning is not a performance—it is a responsibility.

I have been blessed to know that my roots stretch deep into this soil and far beyond it. I have been blessed to witness that while the horrors persist, so do the people! So do the communities and organizations that need your active support—not your commentary from afar, not your once-a-year post, but your presence, your partnership, your follow-through.

Stop feeding into the divide and those that benefit from it. Know your history. Ask and research for yourself. Tune in and follow the conversations with the same fervor you have after these decisions are made. We hold trivial matters to the fire with more urgency than we do the systems and individuals actively eroding our future. We shout louder at each other than we ever do at the ones who profit from our silence, confusion & disengagement.

Recognize the leverage we hold. We are not powerless—we are distracted. And that distraction serves someone. We’ve handed power to those who exploit and disrespect us. We can take it back.

Do not let them rest. Do not let them tread peacefully while our elders suffer, our youth flee, and our leaders fail to lead. Show them the price of their choices. Confront them with the consequences of their corruption and cowardice.

Let your love for these islands show not only in your celebration, but in your confrontation. In your commitment. In your refusal to be pacified by nostalgia, or lulled into thinking your success elsewhere exempts you from responsibility here.

Eagerness alone is not enough.

The idea that the diaspora is “eager and interested” is valid, but we need to examine how that eagerness manifests. Too often, there’s a pattern of distant engagement: showing up during crises, offering critique without context, or launching short-lived initiatives with no staying power. Meanwhile, those still living here navigate these challenges daily, without the luxury of stepping away when things get hard. That reality demands more than philosophical support. It demands real partnership.

One of the most harmful dynamics is when those who leave position themselves as more enlightened or capable simply because they’ve accessed different resources abroad. The mindset of “I left because things don’t change” may feel personally valid, but when weaponized, it becomes a quiet dismissal of those who stayed—of their strategies, their sacrifices, and the unglamorous, everyday labor of persistence.

If the diaspora truly wants to contribute, the work starts with decentering yourself.

It means listening before leading. It means taking the time to understand the current local ecosystem—not assuming that what works in New York or Atlanta can be copy-pasted into St. John, St. Croix, or St. Thomas.

It means putting money behind local initiatives, lending skills without strings, boldly saying NO to the parasites and village idiots we grew up with, and honoring the pace of real community work—which rarely aligns with quarterly benchmarks or viral content and election cycles.

It also means confronting your privilege. Leaving doesn’t make you less of a Virgin Islander—but it does change your vantage point. You may not experience the outages, the impossible bureaucracy anymore, but it doesn’t help to condemn and condescend. So while your ideas and solutions may be well-intentioned, they often don’t reflect the daily grind of survival here. That distance matters. Acknowledge it—with humility, not guilt. And definitely not with superiority.

And yes, modernization is necessary. But modernization is not just digital—it is relational. It’s about recalibrating the power dynamics between home and diaspora so efforts are rooted in mutual respect and shared leadership. Tech without trust is empty. Strategy without solidarity is performance.

So yes—let’s activate our people everywhere. But let’s do it with honesty. With equity. And with a deep, unshakeable grounding in the lived realities of those still holding the line at home.

Our future demands more than memory—it demands action. The 6th Constitutional Convention is not just a meeting of delegates—it is a defining moment. An opportunity to reflect the needs, dreams, and demands of Virgin Islanders in our own language, on our own terms. It is where we decide how power is distributed, how justice is upheld, how our identity is protected, and how our future is shaped.

This process isn’t just about politics. It’s about legacy. About the kind of Virgin Islands our children will inherit. About how we protect our land, our rights, and our people. And whether you’re on island or abroad, you have a role to play.

Don’t wait until it’s over to have an opinion. Don’t be louder after the fact than you are right now, when your voice and pressure could shape the outcome.

Here’s how you can act:

• Follow the process at usvicc.org
• Share accurate updates and context within your networks
• Ask hard questions. Demand transparency.
• Amplify local voices doing the groundwork. Find an organization and get involved.
• Submit your thoughts and concerns to your delegates
• Bring others into the conversation—even if they don’t usually “do politics”

If you care about education, about land use, about housing, about autonomy—this is your moment. If you care about cultural preservation, about youth opportunity, about real economic development—this is your moment.

This is how we reclaim what has been lost, protect what remains, and define what’s next.

This is how we ensure that the Virgin Islands survives—not just as a memory or a vacation destination—but as a place where we can all live, thrive, and lead. This is our moment to get it right—let’s not waste it. Not this time. Not again.

—Jonelle-Alexis Jackson is a Virgin Islands-born photojournalist, media producer, and creative strategist committed to amplifying stories that challenge systems and uplift community. With roots in both the territory and the diaspora, her work bridges culture, accountability, and collective action.

Editor’s Note: Opinion articles do not represent the views of the Virgin Islands Source newsroom and are the sole expressed opinion of the writer. Submissions can be made to visource@gmail.com.