Abolition as Creation, Abolition as Care
Reflections from Building an Abolitionist Detroit workshop series
What does abolition mean as a creative practice? As a word held alone, abolition paints a picture of destruction; a world on fire, offloading of anger, ripping up a society through its infrastructures. These images are not wrong or misplaced; yet alone, they misrepresent the context we are living in. The world is already (and quite literally) on fire. Our lives are torn apart, our neighborhoods are depleted of basic resources, our spirits are shackled into a mechanized nightmare of time that is neither human nor of life. Our days are often interrupted by blares of sirens; we watch in fear whether cops are coming to get one of our own (and each time, they do); we shiver and lock up into a posture of obedience - praying to be spared. While dandelions insist on shaping our yards in blossoms, we are stuck in a constellation of fear; isolated from our neighbors, buried under an unexpected expense, tired from sleepless nights... And some of us march to the city council, stand up to demand a life without fear, to be seen as a human - to feel safe on our streets, stable in our homes, with fresh food and water to nourish ourselves and generations to come. And politicians – who are by now too deeply married to anti-life economics and corporate greed – more often than not ignore us, smirk while we speak, then throw a few million more dollars to surveillance infrastructure that will watch our lives, control our movement, in order to make white professionals in downtown feel safe1. Or better yet, they gift over a billion dollars to billionaires for a “District Detroit” that will shine with luxury buildings we cannot afford, grow office buildings we will not use, rise new hotels for their billionaire friends – but don’t worry, there will be70 affordable units and more jobs to serve the rich!2
Hold for a moment this image of absurdity. This ruthless, senseless denial of our agency to create the lives we wish to live. Lives where each one of us can claim our worth and be nourished to find our voice. Lives where we cook family recipes in big batches to share with our friends and neighbors; where we work not for a paycheck but to create and care for others in our community; where our streets smell of summer’s first harvest; where children grow in love and are free to wander; where we are in a kinship, supported, and understood with our capacity to change and grow… Now look at the word abolition again as a crack in the fence, as what rips through the overwhelming picture of an extractive society that has no place for us, as what reveals a life worth living for all of us. This is what Ruth Wilson Gilmore claims when she says, “abolition is about presence, not absence. It’s about building life-affirming institutions.”
Abolition as a creative practice is thus no short than building of a new society. This work could seem magnanimous, impossible, especially when the present world - racial capitalist, imperialist present - appears so continuous and inevitable that imagining anything but feels so difficult. So let’s take a smaller frame; let’s place you and your relationships at the center.
Are there people you are committed to growing lives with; friends, family, something in-between or beyond? Do you check-in on them when they are not doing well, or spend hours listening to them complain and name those feelings? Perhaps you make little gifts for them from scraps, or keep their favorite parts of the chicken for a lunch box. Perhaps you are worried about them, and how they don’t seem to be able to “get their lives together;” and you still see a light in them, a body that needs to be held, heard, rather than punished. Or you might be a much-needed, semi-nosy neighbor, checking-in on everyone’s affairs to make sure they are okay - not forgetting to bring a slice of pie along the way. And think about the warmth of being seen you may have received; from family members or friends, from a teacher or a lover, even a stranger who helps you carry that huge bag down the street...
These interactions hold in their center a simple act that is not so simple after all: care. Care is how we have survived through centuries of dehumanization and extraction; it is how we are still here. And it is the seed of most things we look forward to that give life its colors – a block party, gardening in the farm down the street, beach time with the homies, a public art festival, a moment to breathe with a warm drink, dancing like there is no tomorrow… All of these spaces are birthed by our creative energies directed towards making something for one another. Put differently, care is the rhythm of our relationships that transform a hot afternoon into a memory; it is us accepting the overwhelm of life and making it not only bearable, but magical with and for one another.
In the dominant story of a good life, especially in [white] american imagination, care at best extends to immediate family members. We overvalue responsibility, claiming that one’s well being is their business; if you are hungry, without shelter, or unable to have clean water for your kids - it is your fault; you should have tried harder. By placing blame, rather than stopping to ask whether we can build collectives that can take care of everyone, we feel justified to ignore other people’s pains, turn a blind eye when we see someone in need, or easefully live in Detroit neighborhoods with mansions that border neighbors without access to basic amenities. This same logic of unseeing justifies imprisonment that “disappears” individuals as punishment, as well as the absurd reality where billionaires are compensated to build shopping malls next to homeless encampments.
There are thus through lines, as Black feminists have brought to the foreground, between the shape of our relationships, the daily rhythms of our lives, and the unthinkable horrors that reflect the globalizing “normal”. What if then, learning to care for all with whom we create a life, practicing relationships that actively challenges unseeing, were seeds of abolition?3
Building an Abolitionist Detroit workshop series was conceived from an understanding of abolition as a relationship-based practice; as a series of experiments that pay attention to who we are to one another. When we look across the landscape and histories of Detroit, we see an insistent nurturing of neighborhoods; a prioritization of taking care that extends beyond an individual’s profits. From urban farms to local, cooperative economies, from drop-in healing spaces to accessible, public festivals, folks have been growing spaces, infrastructures, relationships that move with grounded histories and cultures, and extend into formations where no one is left behind. This wisdom is not pure or without contradictions; we are still living in a racist, capitalist society, fighting with gentrification and the police; we are worried about our loved ones, wanting to have enough food and time to ensure they can live; we are limited by existing “jobs,” frameworks of work or organizing – such as the bureaucratic nightmares of nonprofits. This is to say, directions and reflections of what is possible is around us; what we need is trust and commitment within an expansive understanding of care to channel our creative energies towards a communally sufficient city4.
In the workshops, we explored questions that can come up in this process of claiming an abolitionist possibility – what can a care-based society look like; how do we move past the fear of claiming something uncertain and promote courage; how do we overcome shame and guilt in our relationships and grow with our conflicts; what are the existing resources for meeting our needs collectively? Ranging from material to emotional, these questions prioritize us – our desires, our qualms, our relationships – as holders of an agency for creating the future. Evading the over-used paradigms of campaign building, mobilizing for city council ordinances, or applying for grants and funding, the workshop spaces instead sought our belief in creating a care-based society together, the hesitations and challenges we may encounter, and the ways we recognize our own power.
And the how of our gathering in these workshop spaces were as critical to our processes as what we talked about. Think about it - whether in organizing spaces or in non-profits, we often come together in an urgency; we are dealing with a crisis, or managing busy schedules. We rarely have the time to see one another, make space for conflicts that can strengthen our relationships, and take our emotions, bodies, yearnings as directions. Yet, if abolition is a process of breaking down the walls dominant society sets between us, our work lies at the question of how to truly come together. If we want to be real with each other, to allow our whole selves to be present – including our doubts, pains, and wildest dreams – if we want to be vulnerable and connect – not as networking or office job lunch-outing, but as people who are trying to understand one another – we need to consider how space and time can be arranged to cultivate openness, presence, and trust.
So the workshop spaces became experiments with the form, the culture of our gatherings. Each of the workshops was facilitated by a combination of artists, organizers, and healers who led us through a process of collective creation. Making art with folks, without the pressure of making something “good,” and instead claiming a space of play was in itself conducive to growing our relationships. In art making, we are invited to see one another as messy and beautiful beings; we can roam free in fields of our imagination, listen to our bodies and waves of our spirits, and vision possibilities without a need for settling on an answer. Considering the spatial dynamics, we leaned into healing and disability justice principles that introduce practices of inviting in our whole selves and paying attention to our wide spectrum of needs. Feeling good and spiritually nourished were our simple guides. We collectively decorated the workshop spaces; a friend brought warm lights, while another collected flowers for everyone. We had incredible food and most of our conversations took place while breaking bread. We gathered pillows and blankets so folks could lay around on the ground. There was always an option of and support for leaving to take care of one’s body and emotions. In warmer months, we gathered in farms, among the wisdom of trees and wildflowers… When the wind picked up, we huddled under blankets together; we recognized being cozy lended itself to being more vulnerable.
Looking back, time still felt too snug; we met up on weekday evenings when some folks may have needed to relax and not do anything… Often, I ended up getting too ambitious with the activities, adding yet another conversation or a question for a “good measure.” We sometimes defaulted to getting through with activities, rather than letting the needs of our relationships determine what we ended up doing. Thinking spatially, being outside could be healing; but uneven surfaces, direct sunlight, and surge of fish flies created challenges for some bodies. When folks are concerned about access, their presence is understandably diminished. Moreover, artistic practices and conversations on relationships require trust; people could take the invitation to the extent they felt comfortable in the practices and among other participants.
These reflections are beginning points for taking culture seriously, for querying with process over attachments to productivity or success. Wisdom of life-giving gatherings are already among us; in farms, dinners, rituals, poetry readings, nature walks… As we relinquish urgency and pay attention to what feels real and connective, we can draw from a wealth of local practices and models for many more experiments.
Abolition is a practice and a process. It is a search for lives where we value ourselves and one another generously. To embody abolition, we cannot solely make demands to a government body – we need to change our lives; take risks, try what is thought as unprofessional or unimportant, center our emotional and creative energies. We need to let go of paradigms such as growth, success, or excellence; we need to ask questions that do not immediately lend themselves to answers; we need to become comfortable with not having answers. Turning towards one another and cultivating care is work, is a rocky road that necessitates facing ourselves, our insecurities, staying with discomfort and giving time to people; it demands avoiding hasty judgements. Abolition is getting lost, trusting that you will not be left alone. Abolition’s creative practice is what you and I become together.
Ali (they/them) is a queer cultural organizer, writer, and space-maker from Antakya, Turkey. In their work and living, they center queer thought, Black feminist methodologies, and earthen/spiritual connections, as guideposts towards freedom. They’re an an avid fan of breakfast, poetry, and their cat, Ocean. Wanna connect with them? Reach out via email
See Dana Afana, Detroit City Council approves $7M to expand on ShotSpotter (Oct. 11, 2022) https://www.freep.com/story/news/local/michigan/detroit/2022/10/11/detroit-city-council-approves-7m-for-shotspotter/69556058007/
Lindsay Moore, Tax Incentive Freenlit for 15B District Detroit, Residents Call It ‘Arrogance of Billionaires’ (Apr. 25, 2023) https://www.mlive.com/public-interest/2023/04/tax-incentive-greenlit-for-15b-district-detroit-residents-call-it-arrogance-of-billionaires.html
In a conversation with Richie Resada, Prentis Hemphill brings home a definition of transformative justice that is as simple and potent as extending care to all as you’d care for a family member: “When I would think about explaining transformative justice to my family, I remember I wanted to talk to my mom about it and you know, I'm thinking like, what language do I use? And then I thought, this is what we do. . . .This is what . . . she would do for me or part of what she would do for me. It's what I've seen family members do for other family members. It's what we already do. But it's, it's, it's legitimizing it. It's systematizing it. It's spreading it.” Questioning Culture with Richie Reseda, Finding Our Way (Jul. 18, 2023), https://www.findingourwaypodcast.com/individual-episodes/s3s3
During the last workshop, Adrienne Ayers and folks in Feedom Freedom Growers introduced us to the framework of communal sufficiency, as what can collectivize our abolitionist world-building. At its core, communal sufficiency is meeting our needs together, without relying on extractive and state-based structures. These conversations require a committed, long-term process of discussing and agreeing upon values and stories to live by, before drafting out and moving towards material possibilities.