Over the span of my lifetime, I have been invited little by little to question. Question if what I’m taught is true. Question the facts. Question the source of the facts. Question authority. Question assumptions.
Thanks to my parents (and maybe to their dismay) I’ve double guessed almost everything.
Tiffany’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Questions take courage, because to be open to the truth is to be open to loss and pain.
When I was a student at a conservative christian college, I remember hearing a peer say that they don’t believe that the bible is the inherent word of god. They didn’t believe in heaven and hell. In that moment, even though I also questioned all of those things, I saw so clearly the cost of leaning in. It would mean that the foundation of everything that I knew to be true would crumble..or so I thought. If the bible wasn’t god’s word, how can I hold anything that I deemed as true under christianity?
I followed the questioning piece by piece. If god is love and loves humans, how can such ugliness be upheld by this religion? How can white supremacy be so entrenched in its doctrine? How can gay and trans people be punished? How can so much hate be backed up from god’s word? It doesn’t make sense.
It feels SO GOOD to know where you’re going after you die and to know that if you abide by the rules, you’ll have “belonging” forever. And then they stroke your ego by giving you responsibilities and the cheap satisfaction of doing good. It was some of my “happiest” days. What a facade of shared authentic desire for purpose and belonging.
At some point, the truth was too clear, and I was willing to pay the price. I was willing to give up everything I held true through the institutional system and the people too. My love for true love and for myself tipped the scale.
As I was deconstructing christianity and felt deep betrayal from the church, I saw that it wasn’t just the church. It was the whole damn system. The church was just an expression of systemic oppression. I knew that intellectually, but to really feel it after having escaped was another thing. It’s SO exhausting to continually discover more and more lies that come from every direction.
I was homeschooled by my mom growing up, and I remember when we were studying history in grade school in our living room around the circle marble coffee table. This memory is so vivid. I remember reading about the definition of democracy and capitalism. Capitalism was sold to me like it was an ingenious method of motivating small businesses to do well through competition. It helped with societal laziness and apathy. And that this nation was started from christian values. Those values uphold democracy, because people should have a voice in the world they live in. I remember being told that we are so lucky to have immigrated to the US, because this nation has so much more for us. I would feel so lucky that I spoke english and that I wasn’t like the kids in china. (More on Boba Liberals later.)
Through art (in my 20’s), I began to gain confidence for speaking out against the ways that white supremacy infiltrates everything - on IG through my art practice. I wrote about the behavior of white women. I wrote about internalized white supremacy and healing from it. I wrote about the violence white people embody in small and big ways. I wrote about my own experiences and what I was learning from Black and Indigenous thought leaders, educators, and organizers.
The cost was people who I thought was my community dropping like flies and getting messages from them about how I am too harsh. The cost was being punished by having access restricted to my bio family. The cost was being completely misunderstood and misconstrued as a bully. The cost is having the comfort (however flimsy) of “security” and “safety” being stripped away.
I accepted the cost, because the alternative was sacrificing myself, my integrity, and being able to sleep at night.
After October 7th 2023, I was confronted with the question: what am I willing to sacrifice?
As I watched Palestinians in Gaza livestream the massacre of their own people and land, it was so clear. My ancestors have guided me thus far in gaining courage with finding truth and speaking truth. The truth couldn’t be more crystal clear. So I did show up how I could, and the cost is lost opportunities, many death and rape threats, zionists finding my personal information, the loss of people who I cared for and loved. I am happy to pay the price, because what I gain is deep peace in my spirit.
There is no career, relationship, amount of money, illusion of safety that I wouldn’t give up if it means that it would get us closer to liberation. Or that’s what I’ve been saying. Recently, I’ve been really questioning that.
I’m so tired. Yesterday, I crashed so hard in the late afternoon with a deep depressive anxiety. I couldn’t do the dishes. I couldn’t get out of bed. What do I mean I would give up anything? I can barely do simple tasks most days.
The pendulum of conviction and deep grief is nauseating.
It’s nauseating to face the truth of pain and deep deep loss caused by colonialism in Palestine, Sudan, Congo, Hawaii…here in the imperial core.
But we have to believe if we face the truth head-on, it invites us to spread it like wildfire. Praying that it will burn away the illusions and lies. So that we can build the world we want to see. And that’s faith.
It’s ironic that leaving the church has only strengthened my spiritual faith.
Here’s a quote from Jenan Matari on Juneteenth:
(image description: “Freedom has never come because the oppressor suddenly had a change of heart. It has always been reached because the oppressed have risked everything to achieve it.”)
The older I get, the more questions I gain.
What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?
The collective courage to stand in truth however ugly, terrifying, and grotesque it may be. Behind the courage is the faith that things could be different. Not only could be different, but MUST be different. Liberatory Imagination sparks in me the determination that there must be enough of us who choose to be courageous to sacrifice everything for what must be.
(image description: words on cement that says “Palestine, Sudan, Congo will be free” in yellow in front of a foggy Lake Michigan)
Tiffany’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
