Liberatory Imagination with Tiffany

\ To watch this substack via video recording - scroll to the bottom! \ Paper Daughter Tiffany Wong 1882 Chinese exclusion act The first explicit immigration law To ban people solely based on race or nationality To entering the “land of opportunity” 1906 San Francisco rose up in flames Burning it all down and birthing whispers of “this is our chance” “this is our ticket” Rising from the ashes came paper Proof. Proof that: I am the son of (fill in the blank Wong - who is an American citizen) I am the daughter of (fill in the blank Chan - who is an American citizen) Proof that: If I wave this piece of paper Fabricated or not…who knows I might be able to stay Might be able to stay Might be able to let out a breath To feel the weight of my agency Ground me to the land that grieves Ground me to what could be Might be able to stay with my loved ones Might be able to stay Might be able Might be 2025: burning The mirage of stability has evaporated the dazzle of stuff is gone We are born to burn We are born to birth What could be into reality We were born to burn We were born to resist For true peace For true rest We were born to burn F**k ICE F**k the police Free all prisoners Free all detained F**k this empire Free Palestine Free Sudan Free CongoMy story begins long before my existence, before my first birthday, before coming into soulful consciousness.It wasn’t too long ago that my mom told me that we immigrated here through clever means. The term “trickster mobility” by Akwaeke Emezi keeps on coming to mind. The way “trickster” sits in my body feels steady and strategic. It doesn’t feel devilish or deceptive. Well, I guess it is deceptive to the empire. The empire that defines what is legal and who is legal. The same empire who steals lands and commits genocides.My mom casually mentioned that my great grandfather was in San Francisco as a laborer during the 1906 SF earthquake that resulted in days long fires across the city. The fires burned down everything including papers and documentation. Trickster mobility! The Chinese laborers including my great grandfather saw their opportunity to forge paperwork. They claimed to be sons and daughters of Chinese American citizens. And then, subsequently, their sons and daughters and their sons and daughters were also citizens. Thus the term paper sons and daughters. (Here is an excellent articled titled “My Father was a paper son” by Steve Kwok.)But let’s back up even more.The Chinese Exclusion Act (“the Act”) was passed on May 6, 1882 and was the first U.S. federal legislation that explicitly prevented the immigration of a particular nationality by prohibiting Chinese laborers from entering the United States. Originally lasting for 10 years, it was extended by the 1892 Geary Act for another 10 years, then for an additional 10 years, and finally indefinitely in 1904. The Act mandated that people of Chinese origin carry identification certificates or face deportation.Eventually, the Act was repealed by the 1943 Magnuson Act, but it only permitted an annual quota of 105 Chinese immigrants. This quota system was finally lifted by the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965.Sourced from this site83 years. It birthed the Model Minority Myth, which was designed to pit Asians against Black folks. Those 105 Chinese immigrants (highly educated and rich) were hand picked every year to prove that pulling yourself up from your bootstrap works! You just need to study and work hard.Be a good minority. And stay a minority.So as I’m witnessing daily the kidnapping of folks both documented and undocumented by ICE, the rage is burns hot. Every day, ICE is trying to kidnap folks going to their court hearing. Just a few days ago, Chao Zhou, a Hong Kong student was kidnapped and detained here in Chicago. ICE was spotted a few blocks away from where I live in uptown yesterday. It’s enraging to see how humans are treated sub humanly everywhere I look. No one is safe.No matter how much you try to assimilate and appease the empire, no one is safe. If you are Black or brown or even white, you are not safe from the hunger of empire. The poorer you are, the more disabled, the more you dissent, the more you see through the empire, the more unsafe you are. As I’ve written a million times, things just get clearer. There are so few things that actually matter, and it’s crystal clear.In October of 1989, my mom drove through the Bay Bridge after my 2 month old appointment. A few hours later, the bridge collapsed during a huge earthquake. I find it poetic my birth coincided with the biggest earthquake to hit SF since 1906. Being a Leo, I have always felt like my purpose is to burn, shine, and clear space for truth.Not to romanticize natural disasters, but I’m sitting with:What do we need to clear out and make way for? Because this is not it.Calls to action:* Donate to this fundraiser to support a single mother pay legal fees - as her son is being detained by ICE.* Sign this petition for our local organizer, Gladis Yolanda Chavez Pineda, who has been detained by ICE.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?I was listening to adrienne maree brown’s podcast How to Survive the End of the World’s latest episode titled “A Palestinian Love Story with Devin Atallah and Sarah Ihmoud.” It brought me to tears multiple times when they talked about deep love during genocides. It is a powerful thing to say yes to and a magical way that fuels us. To fall in love and to be in love is such a f**k you to the empire…if the alignment and north star is shared.Devin Atallah says on the podcast:“Our love story is not something I can celebrate without being real that we are weapons. And we need to be weapons right now. We’re not trying to be coming together and enacting care for each other that doesn’t help us fight and get free. We have to be weapons for a collective freedom and it’s our responsibility to do so.”Yes yes yes. What an honor.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!”LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

\ To watch this substack via video recording - scroll to the bottom! \“Like that thing where you show someone just a little bit and they run, and then you think, wow, if just this terrified you—the tip of a feather—how am I supposed to open up entire wings? If I’m already so alone with this useless human face pressed over mine to make you more comfortable, how bad will it get if I show you my nonhuman faces?”— Dear Senthuran: A Black Spirit Memoir by Akwaeke EmeziWhen I see a child throw a tantrum or cry really big, my instinct is now to tear up and want to hold them so close. Not necessarily to comfort them, but to assure them that it’s ok for them to feel big and be seen.Because that’s what I want as a 35 year old.Just yesterday I was video chatting with my sister and my nibling who is 1.5 years old. My nibling was eating a muffin, and when my sister went to help peel the wrapper off - it was over. Their little glorious face contorted to be the most pained face, instant tears, a loud cry, cheeks red with rage. It became very clear very fast that they didn’t my sister to peel the wrapper - either they wanted to do it or just eat the muffin with the risk of paper in the mouth. As i was watching this unfold, tears came into my eyes, because I know what it’s like to feel my agency being taken from me. I relished in this new human to express that quickly and vulnerably. What would it be like for me to be soft like a toddler? With my most beloved chosen family. I’m not even sure if I’m soft like that with myself.[Photo: that’s 8 year old me in the orange shirt at my sister’s 5 year old bday.]I remember when I was probably 8 or 9 years old writing in my journal in the dark corner of my bedroom that I have chosen to shut myself off from my emotions. It was a clear moment where I found a spell that I can summon anytime. When I willed it to activate, it created this impenetrable bubble where everything was muffled on the outside, and everything was ok on the inside. The only thing I needed to abide to, is not to react to anything on the outside of the bubble or the spell wouldn’t work.I wrote in my locket journal that if I was able to shut off my feelings, everything could slip off me. It won’t hurt! In those next years, I perfected nonchalance. A kind of non reactivity. Sometimes I fell for the trap, and I let it all go at the same time - but for the most part my new spell was key to feeling agency again.When my mother would rage and lose all control, I would look at her blankly and continue to do what I was doing without batting an eye. That would set her off more, and I knew that. I put myself on a pedestal (as much as a 7 year old could) high enough to see her exploding in her own suffering and thinking that I would never: it’s so embarrassing to lose yourself like that.That loneliness echoes in me to this day. I’ve never been socially alone (thank god). Throughout the seasons, I’ve found community - even though in hindsight many of the “communities” have been shallow as hell.But that kind of loneliness to myself within myself is such a distinct flavor.I’m reading Dear Senthuran by Akwaeke Emezi right now and it is HITTING. I’m only 40% through the book, but it’s clear what the themes are. Emezi writes so rawly and so other wordly about what it takes to be honest with ourselves and each other in relationship, in creating, in resisting, and in being. “For people who live in the knuckles with sixty-seven faces, it’s not really about pretending to be people you’re not. It’s more about having faces for all the things you already are—blurred spaces, trickster mobility.”Their take on code switching or mask wearing is so refreshing.As a child, I had to put on that mask and summon that bubble to survive. To cope. It was the face that kept me the safest.The past 15 years has been learning to take that mask off when I’m alone, and then also dipping my toe into taking that mask off in front of people I choose.When I read the quote at the top of this post, I physically stopped doing the dishes and had to listen and read it again. It’s what I’ve been talking to my dear ones recently! There have been so many people in my life who I thought were for me, and when I showed them a flicker of my heart, they ran away. Too harsh. Too fixed. Too sure. Too much.What do you mean???? I didn’t even go hard. I didn’t even show the breadth of how I feel and how I can create and how I can expand!! If you can’t handle that little bit, it’s clear you can’t handle me at all.I’m so tired of bending and wearing masks. I can and will do it to survive, but I’m tired.Healing for me is to create enough space within myself to be huge and to feel big.With my babe, I’ve shown glimpses of my real emotions that I’ve never shown a partner. It’s scary. Because I can feel my inner child watch and squint…”we don’t do that.” “We don’t cry in front of people.” “We don’t show them our tenderness.” “We don’t get angry and show it.” Healing is developing trust within myself that I can be big, and not hurt or harm anyone. I can express my feelings and not say things I don’t mean. I can fill the room, and still make space for people who have earned my trust.I’m still scared of being accused that I’m too much.The thing that keeps me rooted is that when someone says I’m too much, most likely they are just confessing their own fears.I have matured enough to know that I can never wait for people’s permission to pursue what I want to see in my life, in community, in our world. As an Asian femme, I know too well what people expect me to be like. If followed that, I would be married to a white man with children, church going, have no stance on anything, a liberal, and my spirit would be dead.Another aspect about letting people see a glimpse of me, is that it attracts people who want to extract from me. My people and I talk about this ALL THE TIME, because it happens to us ALL THE TIME. People want to get close, because I reflect something they want to acknowledge in themselves - like honest creativity. But the moment that they are confronted about the cost it takes to be honestly creative, they attack (or leave). As if I am the source of why they are not living into their potential. As if I am the reason they aren’t ready to pay the price.No thanks.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?Where we [Black + brown folks] can feel deeply, express it, and be safe. It is an honor to be big in how we feel, in the joy, fear, rage, bliss. It is an honor to witness it. White supremacy has stolen so much. I want us to wrap our younger selves in our arms and tell them it’s ok to be big and to feel big. We will nourish them to feel safe with their emotions and teach them that they aren’t their emotions. They ebb and flow. There is enough space.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongartwith note “coffee from substack!”LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

\ To watch this substack via video recording - scroll to the bottom! \Up to just 2 years ago, I thought it was my destiny to have children…like birth them from my literal body or through adoption. Being a future mother felt synonymous with me since I was little. I’ve always been really good with kids and everywhere I went people commented how I will be an amazing mom one day. I remember so many times growing up when I would be in the kitchen helping my mom make dinner, and she would say how this is training me to be a good future mom and wife. Every time she said that, I didn’t cringe. It warmed my heart thinking about me grating ginger for my future family.LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.For two decades of my life, I took care of children for a living! I freaking loved being a nanny. I loved playing and taking care of little ones, and I still do. I loved picking up the baby after nap time and getting their snacks ready. So what happened in the past 2 years? Is it my age that made me suddenly have a change of heart?I almost froze my eggs.From 2021-22, I did ALOT of research about freezing my eggs. Early 30’s is when people say you should do it before it’s too late. Too late. Too late. I kept on hearing that and I kept on saying it.I was in a long term committed relationship at the time and kids were a possibility with that partner. (Side note - I thank the universe every day for saving me from having kids with that man. He ended being a lying and manipulative piece of s**t.)At that time I was 100% sure I would have a kid with or without a partner, but I really hoped it was with my then boyfriend. I learned that freezing your eggs is very expensive (10-15k), it doesn’t guarantee a successful pregnancy, you might need to do multiple rounds if you want a higher chance of conceiving later, and freezing your eggs fertilized makes the eggs more stable. In the end, I didn’t want to be in debt and would take a chance on things working out naturally.After the breakup, I felt free. And then after uncovering all the ways my ex lied to me after the breakup, I felt EXTRA free. I got to embody principles and values I couldn’t when I was dating that piece of garbage (I don’t usually like to classify any human as garbage, but you would agree if you knew what he did).Throwing away the relationship ladder.Finally I was able to live into my queerness not as an abstract idea, but a tangible way of life. It was healing to connect and love people of different genders excluding cis men. But - let me tell you - untangling the tricky ways of comphet (compulsive heteronormativity) and patriarchy is an ongoing struggle. It’s so much more than who you are romantically connected to. It’s getting into the nitty gritty and questioning it all on a body level. Part of embodying queerness was getting rid of the relationship ladder. Dating→partnership→moving in together→getting married→having kids. The whole thing is trash. It robs us of true choice and consent. It makes us become little capitalism machines churning out humans to feed the capitalism machine. It strips us of having relationships and connections that are rooted in authenticity and accountability.I’m not saying that all relationships that follow the relationship ladder are fake or unhappy or unsuccessful…I’m saying that without clear alternative paths (that are available and respected), it’s not much of a consensual choice. Going to repeat myself again: truly liberating ourselves from patriarchy and systems of oppression cannot be stuck on an intellectual basis.But I get it. Like what I wrote in the last post, there are real life consequences (socially/economically) when you don’t submit to empire’s wishes for you. If you don’t follow the relationship ladder in a cishet relationship, there are punishments. Many of them are lethal.How much was the desire for kids selfish?How much was the desire of having kids spoon fed to me by patriarchy/capitalism and how much was it actually from me?To expound on that, part of it was that I wanted to see a mini me. I wanted to raise a child and do better than my parents. I wanted to give a child the household I wish I had. I wanted to feel what it’s like to have a human grow inside of me. I wanted to have a baby that adored me and needed me. I wanted all the snuggles and sweet baby breaths. I wanted to have a toddler who would be delighted to see me enter the room. I wanted to be able to choose their little clothes and style their hair. I wanted to do night time baths and bedtime book time. I wanted to have open and honest communication. I wanted to create a household that was safe for their big feelings. I wanted a tangible way of passing on my legacy. I wanted a full grown adult to hug me and say they couldn’t have solved world hunger without me. And once again, I wanted to blubber over my mini me, who would be the cutest thing ever.(Above: a photo of my mom and me. Omg look at me…I’m SO CUTE.)When I looked at the reasons why I wanted children, I couldn’t justify it.Those weren’t good enough reasons to bring a human into this world. Side-note: I’m not going to get into adoption here, because that’s a whole other complex conversation.To answer my leading question: yes the desire is selfish. All those reasons center me and my ego.Reasons why I choose not to have kids:1 . In this economy??I can barely make rent.2. Under this empire??This empire wants to either kill the children or make them into slaves (prison or to capitalism). 3. With my unstable state??I am mentally/emotionally unwell and traumatized. If push comes to shove, I think I could rise to the occasion, but that’s a huge question mark. There are so many moments where I just thank god I don’t have children when I just need to crawl into my bed and disappear…or when I’m overstimulated and feel like screaming.4. In this timeline??If I were a floating soul, I wouldn’t want to be birthed into this timeline. I love children.I know people will continue to have kids and they won’t regret it. This is not sarcastic - I’m happy for them. And no shade to anyone! Children are incredible and such a gift. The reason why I don’t want kids isn’t because I don’t value them anymore. It’s because I’ve pivoted how I see family and community. I have the peace that there will always be children in my life, and I hope to be a loving community member in raising those children. For how society is structured, I don’t think I have the means to raise children, and in deconstructing my desire for kids - I’m not sure if I will ever have any valid reasons to have them. That feels peaceful in my body.The rush I felt in my late 20’s going into my 30’s to have kids was so unfair. I hate that I felt that weight in watching my “biological clock” tick. Having that pressure lift off of me is a blessing. Honestly, who knows what life will bring me. All I know is that my responsibility is to heal from this oppressive system as much as I can while living from my values.(Below is me - the older one, my baby sister, and my stylish mom.)What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?A world where children are actually valued. People like to think that they care about children, but it comes out real fast they don’t if they are Black or brown or poor. The images of babies in Gaza…in the NICU…left to die…is seared into my body forever. The countless kids who were martyred. Hearing from children about their accounts of watching their siblings being killed. Girls in sudan being systemically sexually assaulted. Black children who are fed into the school to prison pipeline, which is just another word for slavery. Just yesterday an autistic teenager was shot 9 times by the police. This world hates children.Liberatory imagination asks me: what am I doing to contribute to a world where children are loved and protected?I have a new event coming up virtually! We will be gathering on April 16 Wed 7-8:30pm CST. Registration is based on sliding scale (free is an option). For more info and to register: visit my site.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongartwith note “coffee from substack!”LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

\\ To watch this substack via video recording - scroll to the bottom! \\It’s maddening and laughable, because I was taught that if I focused my whole life on god (or at least who I was told god was) then I would live a righteous life. In bible school (yes I went to a private christian collage), I so vividly remember these two images in one of the bible classes.The first image: numerous dots surrounding god and they are chaotically going in random directions with no balance. The second image portrays those same dots neatly surrounding god, pointing in towards god, in perfect balance. I remember how it really clicked in my head: “WOW. How can it be any clearer?! Makes total sense, and it confirms everything I know and feel. If I just focus on God, then everything else will snap into place.” I breathed and lived for god (I mean, I cheated ALOOOOTTT in college, but who cares - god understood.)I’ve written this before, but I really miss that kind of unprincipled peace. The kind that let’s you walk with a bounce, because you got it all figured out - the purpose of life, how it all started, what happens after death, what you can and cannot do, and what I need to personally do to please god. That kind of clarity on top of existential superiority is so fun. Everyone at my church knew me, because I led music. Saying hi to so many people was exhilarating. Did any of those people actually know me or have my back in any way? No, but I didn’t know that yet.After college, I got deep into leadership with a church that I thought was more progressive. LOL. It felt like a cool and grounded church, but in reality it was just as patriarchal, white supremacist, and homophobic as any ol’ church. My ego ate it up though, because being a token woman of color - I felt “loved and heard” - at least 20 percent of the time. And I was cool with it! Change takes time!I spent hours prepping and practicing for music every week (below is a photo of me in 2022 deep in my church era - I’m looking off in the distance playing the guitar). Hours in meetings about initiatives. Hours in meetings about the “vision” of the church. Hours in meetings about meetings about meetings about meetings. SO MUCH TALKING. With nothing to show for it. Nothing ever happened. Except for an egg hunt for the kids during easter.Those decades are formative to who I am today, but I grieve. I lost all those hours and weeks and years laboring for free. I believed it my choice, but was it? Other than my ego getting stroked and experiencing the facade of “community,” was I better off? HELL NO. The thought of all those hours of listening to men talk nauseates me. All those hours of listening to “diverse view points” and “spirit led” blasphemy was sickening. And not to forget…I gave CASH MONEY to the church, because I was taught to tithe (give 10% of your income to the church).For what?? A tinnnyyy fraction of the budget helped people in financial need. We were able to go on trips and retreats on that church budget. The church supported missionaries. *GAGGING*The success of mobilizing a few hundred people went to…nothing. People had the semblance of community and maybe made some friends, but it was nothing more than a social club. They loooved talking about how the church is not a social club - ironic. There are real life people who need CASH MONEY to pay for rent and food, but the church didn’t actually care. They didn’t actually care about addressing white supremacy and colonization. They knew how to use key words to seem relevant. Push comes to shove, no one is willing to sacrifice their comfort for real work or change.Obviously that’s a huge generalization, but that’s what I saw with my very own two eyes. Even in writing this, I can feel my blood boil. It’s so wrong to use the umbrella of Jesus’ teachings to neglect people who are outside the doors - who need homes, food, and shelter from ICE. And it doesn’t count to volunteer at a homeless shelter 2x a year. I’m still actively grieving not using my energy and resources in a materially helpful way all those years…let alone the religious trauma.When I finally left the church for good, I was so angry. Everything the church taught me about chaos (like in that illustration) was wrong. My life didn’t crumble because I was leaving the church and the faith. I didn’t fall into sin (at least in my definition). I was taught that people who didn’t have Jesus in their heart were lying to themselves in believing that they had peace or were happy. I was taught it was all a facade. When I left, I saw that the people outside the church were just as miserable as the people in the church. Actually, christians are some of the most tortured, discontent, and immoral people I’ve ever witnessed.When I finally left the church for good, I had agency to actually walk in alignment. The weight of obligation and spiritual guilt lifted off of my shoulders. OMG I had no idea how heavy it was. I always felt bad I didn’t pray and read the bible more. It was always weighing on me that my relationship with god wasn’t stronger. The peace I felt after leaving was deeper and truer than anything I experienced. In my soul, I know Jesus would have been proud of me!Instead of being in meeting after meeting, I took control of my energy and how I allocated it. Years later, I’m still figuring out how to be a loving friend, partner, and local/global neighbor. Because I don’t have spiritual obligation and guilt taking up space in my being, I can own up to my decisions fully. I’m not showing up truthfully because I should as a christian…I’m showing up truthfully because I choose to practice integrity.Self accountability can only happen when I’m not functioning out of obligation and guilt.Something I have my eyes and ears out for is the same pitfalls the church had in the organizing space. All I know is that any space where people gather is susceptible to losing the whole plot and obeying narcissist leaders.Just because a space isn’t religious doesn’t mean that the same systemic harm can’t exist. Wow triple negatives! Cults are cults whatever form they take. In my book, a cult is where people are exploited for their bodies and their labor, usually led by a person or group of people who are in it for themselves. Typically it’s for money, but it could be for sexual gratification or just ego/control, or all of above.In the christian church, people are exploited for their bodies and their labor in exchange for the sense of existential certainty, a feeling of belonging, moral superiority, and “community.” Who benefits? Usually it’s white men (sometimes white women and sometimes men of color) who are the pastors and leaders. They get literally paid by people’s tithes or/and they get their ego stroked. I’m not even going to get into MAGA churches and how all those votes are manufactured by the US and israel.I gotta be honest, some of these political spaces look more like cults than revolutionary spaces. There’s alot of talk and little action…lots and lots of meetings…more talk…performative actions…very little material difference. People are finding belonging and friends, but at what cost? All I’m saying is that I won’t be surprised when I find out there is financial fraud or that a prominent person in the group has been abusing people. It’s sad. I don’t wish that on any group or anyone.Having come from a background where that was normalized, I feel super guarded.I’m reading Abolish the Family by Sophia Lewis and I just finished Earthlings by Sayaka Murata. They both address our function under empire and what the system expects of us in order to be deemed as valuable to them. It is ALL about exploitation of our bodies and labor. Earthlings was a creative and provocative book that I’m still churning on.Something that I loved being brought to light is: what is considered as taboo? And who is protecting abusers?Being an unwed and child free woman is socially unacceptable (kinda taboo if you think about it), and there are many punishments for that behavior. Pedophilia is taboo for sure, but who is protected the majority of the time in a society that doesn’t value children?I highly recommend the book, but please read through the very intense trigger warning list before starting the book.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?A day where we don’t have to figure out how to resist and survive (like this image of a bee barely hanging on). Surviving seems so impossible as we are still witnessing the genocide in Palestine a year and 6 months later…as we are witnessing devastating earthquakes and tsunamis…the abduction of people off the streets…trans siblings having all their rights stripped away…surviving itself feels so impossible. Liberatory Imagination sparks in me a future where we don’t need to “choose” between bowing down to the empire or death. Either way it is death. Liberatory Imagination sparks in me a future where we have the context and environment to actually thrive. There’s no thriving here, baby. We can have glimpses and glimmers, but until the empire has been burnt to the f*****g ground…there is no thriving.I have a new event coming up virtually! We will be gathering on April 15 Wed 7-8:30pm CST. Registration is based on sliding scale (free is an option). For more info and to register: visit my site.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongartwith note “coffee from substack!”LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

I’m half way into Abolish the Family by Sophia Lewis and have been digesting a few pages per day. Here’s an excerpt from it on page 2:I will hazard a definition of love: to love a person is to struggle for their autonomy as well as for their immersion of care, insofar such abundance is possible in a world choked by capital. If this is true, then restricting the number of mothers (of whatever gender) to whom a child has access, on the basis that I am the ‘real’ mother, is not necessarily a form of love worthy of the name. Perchance, when you were very young (assuming you grew up in a nuclear household), you quietly noticed the oppressiveness of the function assigned to whoever was the mother in your home. You sensed her loneliness. You felt a twinge of solidarity. In my experience, children often ‘get’ this better than most: when you love someone, it simply makes no sense to endorse a social technology that isolates them…Damn. That hit me. I remember watching my mother raising two young children in her 30’s and drowning - at least from my point of view (because who knows how it aligns with her reality). From her stories, she was a bubbly and socially loved girl growing up in Hong Kong. She was popular at her schools, top student, and got many scholarships. It led to working in law when she immigrated to the states. Got married. Had kids in her 30’s, which was late in that context. Boom. In the kitchen with a 1 year old and 4 year old. Then, for the next 20 years, everything had to take in consideration of the kids. She stayed at home and homeschooled my sister and me from my 1st grade all the way through high school (my sister and I did independent studies with public schools).I felt her loss of self. Motherhood didn’t make up for it.It was traumatic for me to witness her and to experience the consequences of her loss.She had friends and a religious community - thank goodness - but it didn’t fill the hole of her existential loneliness. It was exhausting and she was outside of her capacity every day. Any little thing could tip her over. Her body was a vibrating ball of anxiety and inflammation. (Sounds like me right now.) I did not have a nervous system to find comfort in growing up.And again I’m angry about the christian church! In so many ways, the community was shallow shallow shallow. I saw my friend’s mother’s in the same position as my mom. Actually, witnessing and hearing about the other families made me realize I had it better than most. At least my dad didn’t also yell at me. And they weren’t as strict as other parents. The trauma of the parents passed down to the children seemed like a cultural norm. I remember my parents talking to other parents about how rebellious the kids are and then using the Bible to justify punishment.From Abolish the Family:In the nineteenth century, the US and Canadian federal governments’ Indian policies typically demanded marriage as a way of dissolving tribal models of collective ownership that went along with gender-nonbinarism, non-monogamy, and/or matrilocal open marriage: they instituted private property and then concentrated it in the hands of ‘heads of household,’ that is, husbands. It is in this sense that we can say that family abolition—as a project of resistance to and flight from bourgeois society and a defense against colonization—was a horizon raised via the practices of stolen, captive, colonially displaced, and/or formerly enslaved people who defied the institutions and modes of citizenship the US attempted to acculturate them to, namely: private property, secularized Christian monogamy, and the marriage-based private nuclear household.I remember so vividly being told my dad is the head of the household, and my mom is his support. But EVERYONE knew my mom ran the family and made the decisions. She had to cosplay good wife while being utterly trapped to tending to all the household chores, her kids’ education, driving us back and forth, planning every detail, and cooking. My dad did dishes and helped out for sure, but he embodied the passive man that just needs to get out of the way of the dramatic wife. That’s just another font for a patriarchal man.Skip this part if you haven’t seen Adolescence on netflix!I just watched Adolescence, and wow. How it was shot, scripted, and performed was incredible. White people reallyyy get the opportunities of showing themselves as very nuanced and layered. If it was about a Black or brown family, there’s no way that it would have been afforded this kind of complexity. I kept on thinking about the constant heartbreak of Black families seeing their children either killed by pigs or locked up.This series was written and directed by men. It’s ironic, because the film seems to be exploring misogyny while indulging in misogyny. By the end, we still don’t know anything about the mom, sister, or any femmes in the story. The whole series begged the audience to sympathize and humanize the boy and the men, which was very easy to. When we know their story, their fears, their trauma, it opens up so many more possibilities to empathize.Who gets that opportunity in this world? We all know.In the last episode, you could feel the loneliness of the nuclear family. The neighbors weren’t actually caring to them…they were just nosy. The school teachers were just little cop assistants and didn’t give a f**k about the students or their privacy. The worker at that english home depot just wanted to indicate that he was invested in the investigation like it was a hobby (also I totally think that he was an incel). That isn’t community!Zooming in to the mom, the beginning scene of the last episode. The dad was in a rage about his van being vandalized with spray paint, and so he fills up a bucket with water and soap. As he is chaotically lifting the bucket out of the sink, water spills everywhere - all over the sink and floor, and he tells his wife that he is sorry and will clean it up later. After he comes back in from unsuccessfully scrubbing off the paint, the mom is mopping up the water and the dad pours the bucket of water in the sink making a mess at the sink.The whole episode, you could feel the mom trying to keep it together for the family. She is externally calm and is desperately trying to show up for her husband and daughter in a loving way. After the dad’s rage against those teens outside the home depot, she is almost laughing in her attempt to cope. All whilst, her baby - her son - is locked up for killing a girl. Her baby - her son - will never be downstairs eating chocolate ice cream.(Note to self: write about all the reasons why I’m glad I don’t have kids and why I don’t want kids. 87th reason - they could hurt and murder people. I’m out!)What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?I learned about Alexandra Kollontai, a Soviet family abolitionist, and she wrote this in her 1920 pamphlet “Communism and the Family”:Communist society takes care of every child and guarantees both him and his mother material and moral support. Society will feed, bringup and educate the child. At the same time, those parents who desire to participate in the education of their children will by no means be prevented from doing so. Communist society will take upon itself all the duties involved…but the joys of parenthood will not be taken away from those who are capable of appreciating them. Such are the plans of communist society and they can hardly be interpreted as the forcible destruction of the family and the forcible separation of child from mother.THAT is liberatory imagination that is founded on theory and principle.I want to imagine new and create structures of care. I need to grieve what has been and what is. Children are so beautiful and pure. I want to contribute to a society where they are actually protected and cherished. My heart is heavy from the brutal murder of children, mothers, fathers, aunties, uncles, grandparents, teachers, and community members in Gaza. It is unfathomable. Praying praying praying for Palestine. No food, aid, or water has entered Palestine in more than 21 days.F**k Israel and f**k the US. F**k the empire!How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attatch the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!”* My next read is Revolutionary Mothering edited by Alexis Pauline Gumbs, China Martens, and Mai’a Williams. Send me funds to purchase this book or send me the book directly - I would love to add this to my liberatory library. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

There’s this tiktok (not endorsing the creator - have no idea who she is) that came across my FYP that was about how everyone wants a village but no one wants to be a villager. Oof. She goes on about how her mom has always had a huge village around her and the creator shares her observations of what her mom does to make that possible.It made me think about my relationship with community, my upbringing and the life my parents are living. Below is a photo of my parents! My mom is in that darling striped dress with the large collar, my dad is beside her, and my maternal grandparents are beside my dad, and my aunt is next to my mom. They are at a Chinese restaurant filled with people. And it’s for my parent’s wedding banquet in the 80’s! They are so cute! I’ve been at many Chinese dinner banquets and large gatherings growing up. There’s usually shark fin soup (not sure if it’s actual shark fin or if it’s that ethical), cold jellyfish, garlicky crab, roast duck, many other savory yummy dishes, and a dessert sago soup. It’s LOUD in that room. People are talking and basically yelling. Love it so much.You might know that I grew up in an evangelical christian home, and for my whole childhood my community was a Chinese community church in the Bay Area. For all the ways that I resent Christianity in my lineage, I am also grateful to have grown up with fellow Chinese and Asian community members. All my aunties and uncles (biological and chosen) spoke Chinese - Cantonese - and the first generation kids spoke chinglish (chinese/english). In that church, there was a deep sense of belonging that was more than sharing the same faith.One of my favorite memories was church lunch after service, and the aunties have been rushing to get all this food ready for lunch before choir practice. They laid out hot trays on wooden foldable tables all lined up. You grabbed your plate and utensils and you went to town. Rice, veggies, noodles, savory meats, saucy tofu. SO GOOD.During the week, my parents had bible study, prayer meetings, and church meetings held in people’s homes. Sometimes we would host. The kids would play and watch movies. That was my childhood! For all the trauma that was happening on different levels, my memories of the gatherings are joyful and warm. Oh the nuance.In between church events and meetings, I was at least once a week at someone’s home with my parents for a non church gathering. There would be dinner, lots of laughter, and late night goodbyes. Most of the households had pianos, and I would practice piano at my parent’s friend’s homes. I remember being SO obnoxious with my 21st century weird ass piano pieces that I played extremely loud. My mom would have to be like “so proud of you for practicing, but can you not play so loud?” Haha!Like the tiktok creator’s mom, people are always dropping by with desserts or a random things, and my parents are always dropping off things at other friends’ homes. It’s been 16 years since I’ve lived at home, and every time I’m visit - it’s still the same. When I was at my parent’s place last time, a long time friend dropped off peeled jackfruit. My parents are always hanging out with their elderly friends at their home - my dad helping with their computer and ordering things for them. There’s always something.Over the years their community has changed drastically. Some folks remain close, but most of them came and went. I remember quieter years when there was less social activity. In the past few years, they rejoined a new asian church, and it’s been really sweet to hear about their new friends. My mom told me about all the different regional asian dishes she’s been learning about from her community.My parents are adventurous - they try new places to eat and plan trips across the world with their friends. A couple months ago I called my mom and found out that they were on a road trip in the pacific north west visiting some friends over the weekend. Adorable.Below is a photo of my younger sister and I on a roadtrip! We are in our black honda accord, which I inherited when I was a teenager. Every year growing up my parents would take us on 2 big road trips to national parks and museums across the states. One of the reasons why they decided to homeschool us was to bring us on trips that could also double as field trips and family vacations. We didn’t have much growing up, and could’t afford international and expensive trips - so getting into our car and staying at motels was their way of making a more immersive learning atmosphere as well as spending time together. Looking back, I’m so grateful for my parents’ thoughtfulness in raising me and my sister. I’m so tired all the time, and I can’t imagine having kids and then getting the energy to make their lives feel exciting and full. Thank goodness I’m not a parent!!I remember growing up hearing in the other room grown up meetings happening. I felt in the air there was betrayal and lots of conflict. When my parents were alone, I would hear them talking in the kitchen about what was simmering and unfolding. Lots of tears and heartbreak. I felt like my parents were constantly mediators, but I’m sure they were part of rupture too.It’s interesting to think how my upbringing informs my formation of community.The truth is that I feel very guarded and jaded. The older I get the smaller my circle is getting, and that’s by choice!I went to a talk yesterday that featured Mariame Kaba ( Prisonculture ), Beth Richie, and Avonlon Betts-Gaston hosted by IRRPP at UIC, where they talked about building a collective vision of liberation. It was so incredibly good for my spirit. So much wisdom, truth, and honesty.Mariame Kaba said many things that challenged me, and one of them was how we need to be widening our circles. My body’s reaction was BUT NO!!!. She talked about how the network needs to get bigger and we need to make more friends to build the future we want to see. But I don’t want more friends!! I can barely keep up with the ones I have! I have so many people left unread literally right now!As I said: confronted.I cognitively know that we need each other. Mutual aid and organizing (with literal humans) is our way towards the world we want to see. But humans are so consistently disappointing. I was looking at the organizers and thought leaders on the panel, and I whispered to my friend next to me about how they have seen harm and been majorly let down in their lifetime over and over again - WAY more than what we have seen. We probably have no idea the extent of it. Yet, they are speaking from their souls and encouraging us to widen our circles. I could cry, because I know it’s the truth - and I so don’t want to.The flip side is certain and dark. That’s how the empire wins - if we dig our heals in our individualism. If we think we don’t need each other. If our pride gets in the way of connection. If we silo ourselves and simmer in the what if they betray me and us. If we don’t take risks. The empire wins.Mariame Kaba spoke about being grounded in the possibilities.This substack is about liberatory imagination, because I want to strengthen my center. Strengthen my gaze towards our North Star. I can feel my spirit recognizing how she feels wobbly. Praying for increase of faith…I sure need it to endure the unknown-ness of the future and people’s behavior. On the flip side, I need to look in the mirror. Alot of the fear with people is fear that I will be someone who will be kicked to the curb. Can I allow people to show up as fully human? Can I allow myself to show up as fully human? It’s scary to think that I will continue to make mistakes.What I do know is that keeping myself accountable is hand in hand on where we are going towards - free of police and prisons. Transformative justice is key to creating a culture where there is accountability and true opportunities of growth. Gotta practice what I preach.As I reflect on my upbringing, I see that my parents are always taking relational risks. They have been hurt and were burned many many times I’m sure. And they probably did the same to others. Yet they keep on trying. In a country that rejects them, they keep on trying to build community. I wrote about this in the last post, and it is still resonating. I have to try.I don’t know what will happen and I don’t need to. I just need to try.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?Someone on the panel (I think it was Avalon Betts-Gaston) said that at the end of your life there should be so many people gathered around you. Your community should extend so deep and wide. And if you don’t have friends around you, that’s a problem.Liberatory Imagination sparks in me roots that continue to grow deeper and wider as I age. The deeper and wider my roots get, the deeper and wider my community becomes. I will surround myself with folks dedicated to building the world we want to see with unity and diverse strategies. Harm will be reduced and true accountability will be embraced free from policing (systemically and relationally.)How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* I’m changing my ask! Before, I was asking folks to become a paid subscriber, but instead - please don’t go through substack. Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attatch the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!” Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

This substack has been a live journal of the waning and waxing…of feeling so lost and then feeling so clear and then having them overlap. Today my body remembers what it felt like a year ago. Five months into live streaming the Palestinian genocide. I just re-read a few substacks from last March, and oh baby. I had no idea what was coming.In my substack titled “My body feels ok today” (March 12th), I wrote:I think in the last post or maybe in the one before that, I described myself behaving manically, because I’m going from zero to a hundred - from coming back from a break and feeling super depressed to being in 3 direct actions in one week. Today, I want to extend acceptance that I don’t always need to be “grounded.” Nothing is normal. I’m not normal. Maybe it’s ok that I’m swinging back and forth. As long as I’m not harming people or myself (for the most part) along the way, that’s all that matters.My head: What about long-term sustainability like how you always preach?My response: Long term? People are dying every day. There’s no promise I will live past this day, month, year. Let alone long term.My head: Ok but aren't you going to burn out like next week? And what about your health? This stress is going to really make you not make it into the "long term."My response: Fine - we won't do 3 direct actions next week.My body remembers.Some days I would feel so off and triggered, and then I would look at my calendar. It would remind me that a year ago, 2 years ago, 5 years ago, something traumatic happened. The older I get, it compounds. My body remembers not only traumatic things that happened to me, but she remembers our collective trauma - significant moments where we were beat down.I keep on wondering how can I continue moving forward when every week and month and day feels like an anniversary for something horrific?I hate how resilient we - poor Black + Brown people - have to be. I hate that it takes so much to keep on going…to survive under an empire that wants you exploited to the bone or dead. I hate how we can’t be a tender soft puddle all the time. (Note: we need to make more space to be tender soft puddles together.)I’ve been on an anti-depressant for the past 5 or so months, and I decided to start weaning off of it this past week. This morning I laid in bed and felt a different kind of anxiety gnawing at me. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m on a lower dose of meds or what. I also was freaked out that I have felt more tired the past few days than I normally do…even though I definitely have felt very tired being on the anti-depressants.A few reasons why I am trying to wean off of the meds is because I’m curious what my baseline is. I have a suspicion that it has blunted my personality and has taken away my edge - in a good and bad way. The good way is that it has helped me regulate (especially in the beginning.) The bad way is that it might have also taken the edge to my personality…that is so me. Not sure. Another reason is when things crumble even more and medicare is taken away, I don’t want to be reliant on medications from pharma. It’s a privilege to be able to have this be a choice of mine. That’s another motivator of being as well as possible so that I can do my part in resistance.All that being said - I’m not sure how to cope with this very dark timeline, but I need to try. I have no idea how I’m going to pay my bills in the next few months, but I need to try. I have no idea how to keep stable in my mental/emotional/physical health, but I need to try. We need to try. This is a community effort in surviving.One way that has been helping me cope are taking care of my plant babies. I’ve been propagating them and giving them away to loved ones <3. Below are photos of some of my babies.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?A future where we can be soft puddles. Where tenderness is abundant and afforded to everyone. Where vulnerability is respected and honored. Where ingenuity and creativity isn’t spent on how to survive, but on art. Where a leisure pace is just default. Where communion with the land is a common delight.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* I’m changing my ask! Before, I was asking folks to become a paid subscriber, but instead - please don’t go through substack. Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attatch the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!” Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

I really believe that self honesty is the hardest kind of honesty. So much stems from that place. I can’t hold myself accountable if I’m not honest and brave enough to face truth. I can’t be held accountable by my loved ones if I’m not honest with myself first. Because how can I be honest with people if I can’t be honest with myself?It takes vulnerability and compassion towards myself. And I struggle with that.I’m a Leo sun, Virgo rising, and Cap moon…and that might tell you everything about how I would like to be perceived…a perfect little angel that’s badass. While I am that for sure, I feel in my spirit that part of this lifetime is learning how to truly embody a child like ego. Leo’s are the children of the universe! Kids are naturally playful and take up space. They don’t mind being perceived. I love the clarity young kids have in their creativity. I want that! I want to be so rooted in my value, that there can be bravery in truth telling and expression.Over my past 30+ years, there is a pattern I see over and over again. Where ever I go, there are power hungry and manipulative people in leadership who do harm. I have seen this in christian churches (so so so many) and in organizing spaces. Every time I see this happen, I take the time to self reflect.What do I see in them that I can identify in myself? How have I perpetuated harm? What is my role in seeing this unravel? What did I miss in hindsight?I never never never think that I’m above that person or that behavior.Having been raised in a household where I had to be hyper vigilant about the state of my mother’s mood, I have developed an attentiveness to people’s energies and behavior. I don’t identify as an empath, but this empathic skill is both a gift and a trauma response. Something I’ve noticed with narcissistic leaders are that they are very good at identifying (consciously or not) people’s weak spots. When you know what drives a person, especially if it’s an insecurity, it is easy to use that against them. If someone is looking for validation in a certain way, that can be wielded into a weapon for manipulation.These leaders are very good as masking (at least at first), because they are familiar with belonging, what brings people together, and what people value. Can you see why religion and organizing are such hot spots for this kind of thing?As I get to know people, I pick up on how and why they make decisions, which is a neutral thing to observe. But I have to acknowledge within myself that I could harm people with that knowledge. All those things I see in those manipulative leaders, I see the potential in myself. As I said, I’m a Leo, and I am susceptible to my ego gobbling up all the adoration and wanting to control people for my purposes. That’s my shadow side. And I cannot be afraid of looking her in the eye.The work is being able to see what I’m capable of, but ultimately being rooted in love. I love myself too much to rob myself of authentic connection and community. I love myself too much to receive shallow affirmation and adoration. I love myself too much to lose sight of what actually matters and my role towards our North Star.The level of how real I can be about my shadow is the same level of how deep I can love.It’s too dangerous to think that I’m not capable of doing great harm. I believe self accountability is a core tenant of collective liberation. We don’t have to wait for other people to call us in or out. We take the time to look within with brave honesty.I have fucked up and will do it again and again. This kind of honesty will ensures that relationship and connection will be abundant.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?A future where gatherings of people will be able to hold and protect the vulnerable and the harmed. Where the harmer and harmed will be humanized, and restoration can be possible. I’m drawing from what I’ve learned from transformative justice - especially through mia mingus. I know this happens, but I haven’t seen it practiced effectively yet larger contexts…which I have more thoughts to share on that. There’s so much deep healing we need as a immensely traumatized collective. Colonization, capitalism, imperialism…all of it…destroys lives and relationships. We must not forget why it’s so messy and difficult to come together against our enemy - it is strategic.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* I’m changing my ask! Before, I was asking folks to become a paid subscriber, but instead - please don’t go through substack. Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attatch the note “Recurring substack subscription.”* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!”LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Watch the video recording of this substack on Spotify! The video should be live after an hour after I publish this substack. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

My resentment towards Christianity has reared its familiar head once again.I just started season 3 of Blowback the podcast (recommended by my friend Emma) about the Korean War, and wow. Just when you think you’ve heard the worst of imperialism, it never ceases to shock me what humans are capable of. Last month I listened to season 2 about Cuba, and it was very educational, eye opening, and disturbing. It is a great podcast that gets into the details of what happened from an anti-imperialist/colonial and leftist POV.liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.For context, I grew up in a conservative evangelical christian household. Everything was about Jesus, and I found solace in the faith growing up. When I felt so alone at home, I prayed and felt God’s presence. I basically never felt lost or purposeless, because it was clear what my life was for: pleasing God and spreading the gospel. It’s soooo great to have certainty about so much - like what happens after you die, what life is about, who God is, how the world was created, what the cause of evil was. I almost envy the past me that had all the confidence and peace.In my 20’s I majorly deconstructed my faith, and eventually left it behind me all together. Connection to God/Spirit/universe is still very much important to me, but I’m done with the religious piece.Back to the podcast, so far (I’ve only listened to the first two episodes) they are setting up the context to the Korean War, and the following was part of that context.“Filipinos with whom the Americans had once fought against Spain, again, not totally unlike the Cubans, were now being slaughtered by United States troops. The historian Ken de Beauvoir wrote a book, Agents of Apocalypse, about how the Philippines developed the highest mortality rate on the planet at the time of this war. Here's a key excerpt.He writes, ‘It appears that the American war contributed directly and indirectly to the loss of more than a million persons from a base population of about seven million.’”“Here's an account of McKinley speaking before a Methodist congregation in 1899. Now, McKinley begins by telling his audience that he, quote, didn't know what to do with the islands, and he prayed to God for guidance. McKinley concluded, quote, that there was nothing left for us, the Americans, to do, but to take them all, to take all the Philippines, and to educate the Filipinos, and uplift and civilize and Christianize them, and by God's grace, do the very best we could by them as our fellow men for whom Christ also died.”From Blowback: S3 Episode 2 - “The Uninvited”Knowing how South Korea is like now (a majority Christian state) - it sends chills down my spine.Christianity/Catholicism and colonization are long time buds.And it’s honestly such a shame. Don’t get me wrong, there are fucked up things in the Bible (I can totally write another post about that), but I still believe that the core of the faith is beautiful. Jesus teaches about how it’s about loving our neighbors, feeding the poor, uplifting the ostracized, and subverting the power structure. Love it.BUT…power hungry people used the text and twisted the meaning to whatever they want. The christian church likes to teach that it’s important to decipher the holy text contextually, and that some people like pastors have the authority and training to do it well. Each individual can do it themselves, of course, but they should use resources like study bibles (that were translated and interpreted by people with a very particular angle) and teachers/pastors (who have a very particular angle.)So you have a large number of people who were told were nothing without God & the faith PLUS spiritual leaders with authority PLUS imperialism and colonial systems of power…we got ourselves a brilliant strategy for the empire.Christianity is the perfect tool to wipe out indigenous wisdom, culture, art, language, connection with the land, and the indigenous people themselves. I think about the indigenous people here on Turtle Island, and how they were choked out of resources and food. The only way they could get food, is if they went to churches and christian schools, abided by their rules of dress/language/religion/etc. Per usual, indigenous families were separated and white families adopted the poor brown children.The thing about religion, is that it disguises itself as soft, because it’s about God and faith. It’s not about the government or politics! LOL. The church is always political.I’m not even going to get into evangelicalism and right wing politics here in the US of A. I’m also not going to get into missionaries or mission trips. *gag*There are so many reasons I loathe Christianity, but why I feel resentful is how it has infiltrated my lineage. Christianity is only 2 generations old: my grandparents and my parents. For both sides, it’s the same reason. They were in Hong Kong during the colonial Britain era. They went to catholic schools and christian churches. My paternal grandmother was a dynamic christian teacher and missionary all the way into her old age.When my parents immigrated to the states in the 80’s they found a Chinese community church. Some of my fondest memories and most fundamental moments were created there. My mom was a choir director and my dad was a deacon and bible teacher. So much good food and community. In many ways, I feel lucky to have been brought up in that environment surrounded by Chinese folks. I get it…joining a church is a really great way to be plugged into a community. But at what price?To state the obvious, the patriarchy, homophobia, transphobia, racism, abuse, dishonesty, etc…is not worth it.One thing I know for sure, is that this lifetime is meant to purge Christianity from my lineage. Whether I have kids or not, it stops with me. That is the healing that I know I am meant for.I’ve been talking alot about the similarities and differences of Christianity and Islam with jenin j , and it has sparked a deeper love of the faith I want to protect. I do believe in God and how this lifetime is about resisting oppression and engaging in class war. A life lesson I’m learning is how to let go of things that I’m not meant to know. It’s ok that some things are a mystery! There is enough that we do know.That’s a little crumb of my religious trauma!What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?Deep deep healing. Healing that radiates before me and back behind me defying time and space. It sparks in me a relationship with spirit and faith that actually supports all of us. I can’t wait to see the day when we don’t elevate people as higher and when we don’t diminish people was less than. Celebrating and uplifting people has a different vibration from celebritizing. We need to heal.Watch the video recording of this substack on Spotify!How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Be a paid subscriber. All my posts are accessible for everyone, and it would mean so much to me on my path of figuring out how to sustain myself under capitalism.* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!”liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

Let’s be honest…Most of the people who are reactively signing up to organize will not be there in a month - 2 months tops.I went to a mutual aid meeting a few days ago, and there were a lot of people (white people mainly) that were enthusiastic about being helpful. It was their first time at the meeting. Love to see it. We need all the allies to be hands on. But…I have many but’s coming up.A longtime participant named that they would like to meet twice a month at least, because the needs are urgent. An organizer asked the large group who can commit to meeting twice a month and almost everyone raised their hand. I almost LOL’d out loud.There is no way everyone can sustain that.I’ve joined many groups where by the second meeting, most of the people aren’t there and I won’t see them again.I’m not trying to be a negative Nancy, but having a good heart and being aligned with leftist values isn’t enough.It’s a disservice to ourselves and each other when we aren’t honest. We always use the term “capacity” and I’m going to keep on using it! Because it’s important.Telling people who are in vulnerable situations that you commit to them means something. And to not be able to follow through is not only rude but potentially very dangerous. It is selfish to appease the part of ourselves that want to believe we are good people, but not be able to do what we say.Yes. Capacity ebbs and flows. Sometimes it does so in a surprising way, and that’s ok. Life happens. But the thing about life, is that life happening is actually pretty predictable. We need to be honest and measure in the surprises that comes with being alive. It isn’t ok to say yes to things without really weighing your responsibility with honor and respect.Let me tell you, it will be uncomfortable and inconvenient consistently to be showing up for one another. It’s winter here in Chicago, and it pains me to leave my apartment every time. Not only is it uncomfortable and inconvenient, but organizing with humans with their personalities, shortcomings, messiness, trauma, etc. can be so frustrating.But what roots us?I just facilitated a workshop yesterday about being rooted in love. I shared:A common feedback I’ve gotten from folks that aren’t in my inner circles (that you might also be familiar with) is being told that I’m too harsh and hard on…namely white people or people that don’t “think like me”. And I always reply: I am harsh and hard on white supremacy, on zionism, on evil systems, on genocide. But it roots out of deep love for people and faith for what is actually possible. It is resistance to the acceptance that people have to be exploited, murdured, policed, and diminished to less than human…period. That resistance to apathy is LOVE.Love of land, love for my people, love for my global siblings, love for my neighbors, love of children, love of families staying together, love of creativity and music, love of indigenous culture, love of language staying in the mouths of the people.LOVE.There is no fight - no resistance - without love. There is no bravery without love.Last year I said yes to ALOT. And when my mental/spiritual health shifted, I had to pull out of most of it. Everyone was so understanding and kind. But I didn’t love doing that. So this year, I want to be more mindful of what I’m saying yes to. I want to deepen the relationships, and say yes from a rooted place.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?A future where honesty is honored. Where energy is abundant, because capitalism and empire has fallen. Imagine what life would be like where we don’t have to work endlessly for housing and food. Imagine what our world would be like when the class war is over. I can’t wait for the day when we have abolished the billionaires and the rich. The land wants to be in relationship with us and has so much to give. And as Robin Kimmerer in Braiding Sweetgrass reminds us - we aren’t a destructive pest on earth. We are meant to nourish the land and have it nourish us back. She writes that the earth can benefit from us being here.(Look out for the video via spotify podcast and mayyybbeee youtube.)How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Be a paid subscriber. All my posts are accessible for everyone, and it would mean so much to me on my path of figuring out how to sustain myself under capitalism.* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!”liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

Since the Lunar New Year, I have felt a shift in my soul. Something I’ve been praying for. Don’t get me wrong…I’m still sad and anxious and grieving. But the rage and energy is back baby!I needed to sit in sorrow the past many months. Here are some of my reflections.liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.For my entire life, I’ve been a go-getter. As a child I was a disciplined classical pianist who practiced every day for at least an hour. In high school, I got into competitive piano and basically lived at my teacher’s house with a group of 6 other students. I won awards and got all the certificates. I was in multiple jazz bands and combos. Got my BA in performance arts. And then I crowdsourced and produced a folk album of my original music playing guitar and singing. I’m not going to get into my 20’s, because that’s a whole other story. But doing all those things trained my body and nervous system to behave under intense pressure. I knew how to perform.[ID: me as a kid (maybe around 8 years old) wearing a nautical themed dress playing the piano in front of company.]I learned how to push through the anxiety and excel. I learned how to push through all the fight/flight/freeze signals my body was sending me and please the audience. The cool part is that at a young age, I discovered agency and the joy of discipline. The not so cool part is that I also discovered how to shush messages from my body.When I was around 10, I remember something clicking: if I repeated each measure (small section in the piano sheet music) until it was perfect and applied it to every measure of the piece, I could achieve perfection. It was just about putting in the time and practicing with good technique. From then on, I was in! It was an exhilarating feeling to be able to track my progress and mastery in a household where I felt so out of control. On top of that, my parents were really proud of me when I did well.That was such a mixed bag of a beautiful opportunity of exercising my independence and also the deepening of capitalistic values.Throughout my 20’s and now into my mid 30’s, I’ve been healing from and naming those capitalistic/colonial values that feel so embedded into my body. It all culminated to last year where I really tested where the boundaries of my love and faith lies.The heartbreak of witnessing genocides, the abuse from my ex, the betrayal of community and friends, the nonstop onslaught of Black and brown people from every angle, childhood trauma…the grief stopped me. I let the heaviness wash over me. And I didn’t even fight it.What a strange relief to allow myself to feel the depth of grief.Everything that I’ve worked so hard on internally - to dispel lies of unworthiness, of supremacy, of competition, of always needing to prove something…led me to a place where I didn’t need to push through.I sank into the sadness with faith. Faith that change is constant. Faith that liberation is coming. Faith in my role. Faith in my community. Faith that the deeper I can experience grief, the higher my experience of joy and connection will be. Faith in God and my ancestors. Faith that my value is not determined by how I perform.As I wrote numerous times last year, it is an honor to dedicate this lifetime in pursuit of collective liberation. It is an honor. It is an honor. It isn’t something that I do to prove that I’m worthy or valuable. I do it, because it is a privilege and a gift to do so.In the darkness, I believed.And I’m proud of myself, because I tested the bounds of my faith…of my love for myself and for the collective, and it was there in dark.[ID: a painting I’m working on that expresses how I felt like floating in darkness]I don’t mean to wrap it up neatly with a ribbon. One piece of the nuance is that there was shame popping up all over the place. I felt these bouts of shame that I wasn’t more productive and creative. I saw people living their lives and doing things that I felt was impossible for me. My internalized capitalism is very much still present. But as there were bouts of shame, there were more moments of gentleness and compassion. And both will continue to ebb and flow, because the journey still has a long way to go (God willing.)It feels vulnerable to share this. Even though I feel like things have shifted for me energetically, I know that the ebb and flow of life will bring me back into a season of sadness again and again. I pray that it won’t come around that soon, but I’m thankful to know that the bounds of my love and faith are far reaching.Every day as I’m watching evil ass trump doing exactly what he said he would do, I try to root down a little more in love and faith.All empires fall. All empires fall.It’s an honor to fight for the liberation of my siblings here on Turtle Island, Palestine, DRC, Sudan…for my trans siblings…disabled siblings…unhoused siblings…migrant siblings…and for my own.[ID: a self portrait of me a Chinese femme with short bangs and long hair in the sunshine with a gentle smile]Upcoming Events:2.11 Liberatory Imagination: rooted in love - a virtual workshop2.20-3.27 Finding Your Writing Voice with The Newberry Library - virtual classliberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

It’s been more than a year since I’ve quit my full time job. Ever since that day I haven’t been able to access motivation to give a s**t to having a career or achieving anything. Honestly, I barely had it in me when I had a full time job. As I’m coming closer and closer to being in a financially dire spot, I still can’t muster the will to give a s**t.Bearing witness to the Palestinian genocide has moved what I knew in theory into my body in a necessary and jarring way. I’m so thankful and so fucked. Everyday I’m penjulating between gratefulness and the trauma of being under this empire. This genocide is painful to witness and torturous - to grieve the daily cost of revolution. I’ve been writing here since the Spring, and I keep on thinking that maybe I’ll be more regulated the next month. More than a year later…it hasn’t happened yet. And I’m coming into more acceptance that I might not be ok in this lifetime as long as the empire is still thriving.I can feel this tension of agency in my body. My hand is forced - I have to trade my labor to afford a roof over my head and food in my mouth. And thank goodness I don’t have kids. I haven’t found a way to do my soul work in a financially sustainable way and every time I try, marketing myself drains me. I know that this is by design. If I did my soul work freely, the empire will be weaker. My hand is forced in keeping my head above water while I’m drowning in grief.All whilst, I have agency to invest in relationships that align with my soul when I have energy (which is so sadly scarce.) I have agency to learn and read (when I have energy.) I have agency to question status quo (when I have energy and support.) I have agency to identify what I’ve absorbed from colonial culture and choose to practice liberating myself from it (when I have energy.) I have agency to consume less (which is most of the time forced by having next to nothing.) I have agency to organize with fellow freedom fighters (when I have energy.) I’m so tired.Under empire, agency is only afforded to those who benefit from white supremacy and capitalism. The billionaires and their minions are so afraid of their mortality, that they strip the agency from as many people as possible. The less agency people have over their bodies, thoughts, actions, future, and world view, the more they can manipulate and mutilate humans for profit and power. Part of their systemic organizing is recruiting people who fall for the seduction of the mirage of power and “abundance.” This looks like Asian Americans who bend to upholding anti Blackness as to maintain the model minority myth. It looks like kids of immigrants climbing the corporate ladder and becoming landlords thinking capitalism will bring honor to their family. It looks like poor white people rallying for deportation of migrants as if the rich white people will have their back. The misdirection of threat is violent and intentional by design.We are coming up to the holiday season, and what a season of the illusion of choice. Folks are told to work hard to make money that exploits everyone below their ladder rung (while being exploited) so that they can buy things for their families that are a made through more exploitation - and every step it’s all taxed so that our government can send it to isreal and military bases to commit genocides and destabilize Black and brown countries. All that can only happen when the amekkkican dream has saturated every pore promising that if you abide by rules of capitalism, you will be free. You will go on amazing vacations around the world, be educated, own properties, have cars, be able to buy anything you want, and be able to pass down generational wealth.Being able to buy anything you want if you work 40-60 hrs a week isn’t freedom. Being able to ignore the lives killed and the blood shed for stuff and land isn’t freedom. The empire has fed us the illusion of choice by seducing us with questions like: What do you want to buy today? and Where do you want to travel to? and What properties do you want to own? and What restaurants do you want to eat at? and What movie do you want to watch? and What new tech do you want to invest in? and What do you want to do this weekend? and Who do you want to feel superior to?It’s not real choice when our basic needs cannot be met without participating in the economy of exploitation.“There is no ethical consumption under capitalism” - we say this all the time. But wow…just sit with it for a second.I’ve been floundering in my depression and anxiety. It’s like I can see myself from the outside and can see all the pieces that cause the freeze/dip/dissociation. I’m like a floating trauma response. The moments of feeling tethered to the ground and to my real self are scarce. There is a sense of giving into the lack of agency, which scares me. Being unable to tap into that feeling that what I do actually counts and has purpose is terrifying.“But to become free, you have to be acutely aware of being a slave.”Assata Shakur, Assata: An AutobiographBut here I am now, tethered to reality. Upholding and honoring dignified choice is what matters. Choice that is free from the struggle to survive. Choice to build and create. Choice to heal in community. Choice to ask and receive. Choice to see value as it actually is.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?A future where everyone can have agency over their bodies, decisions, and dreams. Sounds so utopian, but what is the pursuit of liberation? We have to fight for what must be. It’s so simple, but we are conditioned by empire to imagine in the confines of their profit. Liberatory imagination is breaking out of the mirage and resist for the dignity of one another.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Be a paid subscriber. All my posts are accessible for everyone, and it would mean so much to me on my path of figuring out how to sustain myself under capitalism.* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart.(ID: self portrait of me - east asian femme with short bangs, bleached brows, hair behind me, in my studio apartment on a sunnier day with a smug expression coping with depression.)liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

In the past seven days, I feel more grounded compared to the previous two weeks that felt like I was a gaping wound exposed to the open air. Per usual, I’m picking apart and analyzing the f**k out of it. Why and how and what does it mean…Being a recovering feelings intellectualizer, I can’t help it!liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.The constant feeling of nausea for existing in this colonial capitalistic genocidal timeline is unbearable. And when I have slightly more capacity, I go onto social media to tap into what’s happening in Palestine and the world…the barometer drops. Then I am faced with the questions: what am I doing? How am I contributing to the world I want to see? How am I using this one lifetime in service to collective liberation? The grief surges. The guilt pokes it’s head out. The exhaustion comes over me and I think about all the people who don’t have the privilege of being depressed because they are fighting for their lives. And I’m laying in bed frozen.This is not it.The ridiculous part is at the same time I’m feeling closeness and connection to my chosen community and also experiencing so many healing moments through liberation workshop facilitation. It’s ridiculous, because you would think that there would be no space for connection and laughter by how nauseating being tapped into reality is. Somehow, so much coexists. And I feel guilty? Or maybe it’s fear.I’m afraid that any semblance of normalcy is an indication that I’m giving into “the matrix” as my friends and I say.As I’m reading people’s notes here on Substack, I feel annoyed when glittery fairy writing pops up about love and light.I used to be a glittery fairy girl who would talk about the need to romanticize the small things. Oh the afternoon coffee + pastry, little walks, quiet mornings, painting in afternoon light, and farmers markets. I was aware enough to describe it under anti-capitalism, but it all seemed so simple and easeful.(ID: me, east asian femme, with bangs wearing tortoise shell sunglasses at a farmers market holding sunflowers and raclette baguette smiling in the sun - last summer.)Maybe I’m annoyed about it, because I wish I could still be that glittery fairy (socially conscious-ish) girl. Instead, I’m depressed-anxious-angry-finacially-struggling-under-capitalism girl.I’ve been digesting lessons from Assata Shakur’s autobiography. One of those lessons is understanding that revolution needs scientific analysis and strategy. Below is a photo with this quote: “One of the hardest lessons we had to learn is that revolutionary struggle is scientific rather than emotional. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t feel anything, but decisions can’t be based on love or on anger. They have to be based on the objective conditions and on what is rational, unemotional thing to do.”That challenges me. Assata writes that the downfall of a lot of movements is because people make decisions from reactivity on an individualistic basis. I believe that change for the good is birthed from a spiritual place of love and hope, but the spiritual rooting needs to translate into action that actually causes material change.I am not against all symbolic actions. In fact I think that symbolic disruptions are needed. But it needs to be just a tiny part of the greater movement towards change.Here are a few ways that I love when I think about material change. Boycotting israel and war is powerful. It’s all about money/resources - so it’s strategic to hit them where it hurts if we are able to sustain it for as long as it takes. Feeding and housing unhoused folks is powerful, because it’s a big f**k you to empire when we take care of each other. Wearing a mask and testing for COVID is powerful, because it saves lives, protects the vulnerable (esp poor Black and brown folks), and prevents further disabling folks.As I’m dipping my toe into different ways of organizing and applying myself through mutual aid, I’m also confronted with my posture. I don’t have to be of service to community because they need me…coming in as a savior is dehumanizing and just another way to extend empire. How can I practice circular energy that honors the fact that I’m a piece of a larger movement that resists imperialism and capitalism?The one year mark is coming up this october when the world erupted with rage alongside Palestine. Forever I will be changed by the faith of the Palestinians. Forever I will be changed by the martyrs of Palestine, Sudan, Congo…Black and brown folks who have been brutalized and murdered by state sanctioned violence here in the imperial core and globally. Posture is so important thinking about how to enact change that honors those who we lost too soon.When I’m frozen with depression in bed, I hope that the deeper my faith becomes in my role here on the earth, the more fluidity and movement will arise. And the more I can embody the grief, rage, laughter, love, courage and soulful connections with rooted confidence.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?Ease of movement through different emotions. Ease to feel and not have all the words to assign each feeling towards. Ease to laugh and love that is rooted in honor and gratitude. Ease to hold sadness and deep grief with tenderness and connection - instead of isolation. Ease to do all of it in community.How to support me (thank you in advance):Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.* Be a paid subscriber. All my posts are accessible for everyone, and it would mean so much to me on my path of figuring out how to sustain myself under capitalism.* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart.(ID: self portrait of me - east asian femme with short bangs, bleached brows, hair behind me, in my studio apartment coping with depression.)liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

This past tuesday, my neck and shoulder flared up.The first time I consciously noticed the correlation of my body pain and spiritual pain was when my boss of that time said something that empathized with the pig that shot Laquan McDonald. Something like how hard it must be for him and his family. I felt this cold drip extend from my spine upwards into my right shoulder and then to my neck. The next day, I could barely move my neck.liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.From there, I started processing how my body reacts when injustice happens around me or to me. I also saw another theme around truth suppression and truth speaking especially around my neck pain. The correlation isn’t a stretch, because it literally is in my throat center. But making that connection continues to be illuminating for me.On wednesday, I put my hands on my neck and shoulder and asked what my body wants me to hear. Sitting in the pain and stiffness, my body had a lot to say. Immediately, she told me I’ve been moving really fast and there’s fear in what slowness will uncover…but she can’t keep up with the speed. And what if I trusted her in slowing down and be in the sadness and grief. So that’s what I did. I spent all of Thursday in bed. Surprisingly, I didn’t slump into a state of deep depression. Yay.Ever since that day, I’ve been sitting in the physical and spiritual pain testing my capacity.I led a liberatory imagination workshop thursday. (It was so beautiful to gather with aligned souls!) I heard myself speak about how it takes courage to believe that something else is possible (a world free of colonization, empire, capitalism, genocide, cops, prisons, etc.) - it actually makes the horror of what we are witnessing more horrifying to think that an alternative world is actually possible. I heard myself and conviction hit me.The universe has been teaching me lessons about liberation - how there needs to be integration of my political theory into the details of my life - particular relational life. Woof. Healing from emotional abandonment from my parents and having had an incredibly cruel ex, my abandonment wound has changed so many forms and is currently raw. So when I heard myself talk about the capacity for courage for something else…it hit me in the arena of my partnerships and community.Being betrayed by community and romantic partners is so predicable...or so it feels.How can I practice imagining a possibility where I can build connections that are based in honesty and love?…AND have margin for being human.I have the opportunity to do that right now in my community and with my partner, and I’m terrified.My gaping abandonment wound has been dysregulating me like none other the past few days. On top of the trauma of witnessing genocide, feeling the crushing weight of capitalism and witnessing the effects of the empire everywhere I look is triggering for my innerchild as a baseline (I wrote more about it in Innerchild Work + Activism.) The continuing dysregulation is exhausting. I honestly don’t know what to do.Watching other people be normal makes me mad sometimes. Part of me is resentful that I can’t find that kind of ease in my life. Another part of me is afraid they are normal because of the indulgence of privilege. And another part is afraid I might find ease in my life and that would be me indulging in ignorance. Cognitively, I have so many things I know I could do - being that I’m a nerd about the nervous system and somatics. But the call for transformation is held in the body and not just the mind.The call for transformation is held in the body and not just the mind. The call for transformation is held in the body and not just the mind.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?Praying for courage in the face of fear and loss. Courage to believe that not only that a free Palestine, freedom from empire, freedom from exploitation is possible…but is coming. Courage to believe that in this lifetime I can have beautiful community and partnerships in its complexity and imperfection…courage to not only believe that its possible but to see it in its presence. Praying for courage to accept the good and the miraculous in the sea of grief.“Courage is the most important of all the virtues because, without courage, you can't practice any other virtues consistently.” - Maya AngelouHow to support me (thank you in advance):* Be a paid subscriber. All my posts are accessible for everyone, and it would mean so much to me on my path of figuring out how to sustain myself under capitalism.* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart.(ID: self portrait of me - east asian femme with short bangs, bleached brows, hair behind me, in my apartment on a sunny day. The sweet shadow of plants are across my chest.)liberatory imagining is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe

It’s too easy to simplify the things that asks us to see as multidimensional, and it’s too easy to over complicate the things that are pretty simple.How I define truth has been swirling around in my system for the past few weeks. Idealistically, truth is what lines up best with reality and facts…but I’ve been challenging myself to lean into nuance a little more.Tiffany’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Ismatu Gwendolyn writes this in her essay “the role of the artist is to load the gun”:Art-making is divine in its ability to make and shape and reshape what we come to understand as real, relevant, true (A=C).Truth, the ability to shape it and to market it and to have others strengthen it with their own belief, carves out reality; reality is just what we collectively agree upon; multiple realities exist at once, even from person to person.Truth, just like any other weapon, can act as an agent of oppression or a means of liberation, depending on who crafts the narrative.It makes me uncomfy to think people’s truth can be shaped, but OF COURSE. Think about the zionist propaganda, anti communist propaganda, anti Black propaganda, anti Indigenous propaganda, pro white supremacy propaganda, pro capitalism propaganda! Truth is shaped so that it benefits the white and rich. In my book…sure all the propaganda isn’t considered as truth, but what does that matter when it does to the masses?Being raised evangelical christian, I was taught that truth was fixed…and then I was taught about the “truth” of creationism, being gay is bad, men should be the head of the household, etc. The irony! They shaped truth that I held as truly true for my whole upbringing. Thinking back to all the truths I believed with my heart makes me reckon with how shapeable truth really is.Back to the first sentence of this post. An example is that it’s too easy to simplify that abolition is a goal that’s too lofty, and it’s too easy to over complicate that genocide is wrong - and it needs to stop now.Something I’ve been checking myself on is how much of my efforts for collective liberation is proving to myself I’m on the right side of history…and therefore is rooted in perfectionism or even saviorism(?). Thinking out loud here. I think it’s ok to strive to be on the right side of history, but that better not be the motivator. If it is, I know that there is no longevity to the pursuit…in a way, it’s performative.I hope my motivations are rooted in love and integrity because I care that everyone deserves to have all their needs met and to be safe. There’s nothing for me to prove.Recently, I’ve been having conversations with friends about folks who have done harm in the community. I keep on thinking that everything that I loathe in those people lives in me. In another timeline with slightly different circumstances, I am capable of doing everything I’m condemning. Also, I’m not exempt from causing harm in the future, and actually what I do know for sure is that I will f**k up. And I have fucked up in the past.I’m practicing not watering down harm and systemic abuse while looking in the mirror to see what needs healing and deconditioning within myself.Shadow work and seeing how this fucked up system has conditioned us is very key to our liberation. I have to say - the seduction as a leftist to really indulge in the feelings of supremacy are STRONG. I feel the pull! Using leftist beliefs to boost my ego and give myself false confidence in the future is easy. Read this full post about “good people” from @thecollectress on IG:(ID: white text in front of a black background. Text says “Dr. Maya Angelou said, ‘We are all human; therefore, nothing human can be alien to me.’ As someone who has done transformative justice mediation and believes in the power of collective practices, I do not wish to be separated from my fellow humans because my access to better choices has allowed me to maintain the mask of goodness far better than them. I would rather lay my head down without fear that my less favorable traits will have me thrown away. I would rather be comforted and provide comfort that in meeting the challenging asks of accountability, I will be reminded that my breath alone is enough to ensure that I am valuable. And while I say these words, let me be clear I know some of us we share this planet with ain’t s**t. That does not deter me. An ask that we let go of our complicity in the packing of YT supremacy is acceptance of the messiness that will come as people have their mirrored illusions cracked.”)The call is to see through the conditioning and propaganda, to hold ourselves accountable in community, and to make decisions from a place of true love and hope for what could be.There’s beauty in seeing myself as complicated and nuanced. I get to stumble and be messy while keeping my eye on the north star. All that can happen while staying grounded in integrity and loving relationship.On my path with healing from the trauma from this life time on top of trying to heal from systemic trauma that is inflicted every day (exhausting), I know that when I’m in an active trauma response, my system very naturally distills things to become very stark. Words like “always,” “never,” “all good/bad” are underlined all over the place. Things suddenly become SO clear and definitive. Sometimes there is clarity amongst the storm, but guarantee when I’m triggered - things are more complex than they seem.When my inner child feels threatened and unsafe, she sees things so simply. As she should! She’s a child. Also, my flight/fight/freeze/fawn response is so smart to conserve energy so that I can be safe. As I am reminded daily about the colonial violence inflicted on my Black, Palestinian, and Brown global siblings - and myself, my inner child feels triggered all the time. All the time. There’s so much room for that truth, because the fact is that this empire has been and is killing Black and Brown people every day in horrifying droves.Bringing nuance to that embodied feeling of my inner child looks like, acknowledging that it’s so understandable to feel fear. Seeing dead Palestinian children and their moms, dads, uncles, aunties every day is sickening and the instinct that it’s not right should be protected. AND in this moment, in this room, in my presence (as an adult) she is safe - and we are so deeply grateful for that. There are things I can do as an adult that aligns with resisting injustice. I have agency. So grateful for that too.I’m expanding my capacity to hold the truth of colonial violence, grief, and gratitude at the same(ish) time.What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?The ability to hold complexity with integrity with community. My body can’t take carrying it alone. My body feels tired and heavy all the time, and it’s time to lean onto my chosen family with more trust and less walls. The complexity is that they also get to be human and flawed like me. That can coexist with mutual accountability and tenderness.How to support me (thank you in advance):* Be a paid subscriber. All my posts are accessible for everyone, and it would mean so much to me on my path of figuring out how to sustain myself under capitalism.* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart.Upcoming events:9.5 Liberatory Imagination: waves of change - virtual journaling workshop(ID: self portrait of me - east asian femme with short bangs, bleached brows, two braids, in my apartment)Tiffany’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to LIBERATORY IMAGINATION at tiffanywongart.substack.com/subscribe