From the early 2000s until 2015, before I started making films, I was a community organizer for Black, trans, queer, gender nonconforming, and disabled communities. It was in that context that I learned about freedom dreaming. Freedom dreams are born when we face harsh conditions not with despair, but with the deep knowledge that these conditions will change— that a world filled with softness and beauty and care is not only possible, but inevitable.
Freedom dreaming starts with asking questions, often the same questions, over and over, allowing ourselves to get deeper each time. Coming out of the long tradition of Freedom Schools, I focused on these three questions as an organizer: What does the dominant culture have that we want? What does the dominant culture have that we don’t want? What do we have that we want to keep? These days, it is the third question that preoccupies me.
The thing is, freedom dreaming isn’t just about the big things—the huge world changes that we are manifesting in our movements, like police and prison abolition, free universal healthcare, and gender self-determination for all. When I give myself permission to slow down like this—and particularly, when I wonder what we already have that we want to keep—what I always notice are the small things. (Or I should say: What seem like the small things, but really are the big things! The everyday acts of liberatory glamour, care, and openness that keep us alive.) I notice how much I am already surrounded by the world I dream of.
Tourmaline in a Bottega Veneta dress.
Photographed by MaryV BenoitI’ve begun to realize that I freedom dream every single day:
When I dye my hair blue at home in my bathtub, reclaiming the color from its capture by racist police—and then do my eyeshadow to match—I’m freedom dreaming. I am allowing my very existence to be an aesthetic resistance.
When I take a walk down my block, and slow down to touch and smell the blooming flowers, bursting with vitality, I’m freedom dreaming. I am allowing myself to live in a world where nature is a teacher and friend.
When I Venmo my friend $25 with a heart emoji, so that they can safely take a cab home from a protest or a date or a doctor’s appointment, I’m freedom dreaming. I am creating a world in which we can all move around safely, without fear of harassment.
When I stay in bed all day, luxuriating in rest, moving in and out of cat naps, I’m freedom dreaming.I am living in the knowledge that I don’t have to be productive in the ways capitalism demands of us in order to deserve relaxation and recuperation.
When I write to an incarcerated loved one, on colorful paper, enclosing exuberant childhood photos, I’m freedom dreaming. I am reaching through the walls designed to prevent connection and delight, and announcing that they have failed in their intent.
When I walk naked from my bedroom to my kitchen, adorned in nothing but lipstick, I’m freedom dreaming.I am communing with Marsha P. Johnson, anti-police activist and sex worker, and her naked walks down Christopher Street five decades ago.
When I sext all my friends, trading sultry photos into the late hours of the night, I’m freedom dreaming. I am envisioning a world in which pleasure isn’t a scarce resource, but is something to revel in and share.
When I refuse to make myself smaller to accommodate the demands for respectability put forward by mainstream institutions—when I wear sheer dresses and chokers to art openings and airports alike, when I don’t tuck, when I am my fullest and freest self in the most public of places—I’m freedom dreaming.I am expanding in the power of my unruliness and refusal to conform to violent and oppressive normativity.
When I post images on Instagram that will inevitably be taken down because they don’t abide by the platform’s repressive Terms of Service—images of sex toys, and trans joy, and futanari anime—I’m freedom dreaming. I am reminding myself that we cannot be contained by corporations seeking to stifle our wayward expressions of pleasure.
When I care for sick friends, and let sick friends care for me, I’m freedom dreaming. I am remembering that we do not have to be afraid of each other, and that contagion has historically been weaponized against us, used to stoke fear amongst and alienate trans people, queer people, sex workers, and disabled people from our loved ones.
Tourmaline in Vaquera NYC top and skirt.
Photographed by MaryV BenoitI want you to know that your freedom dreams can be immediate: the DMs you want to receive tonight, the quality of sleep you want to have, the screen break you want to take, the conversation you’re hoping to have with a family member or friend. I want you to know that it’s not frivolous to have dreams about seemingly small or pleasurable things; it is vital.
The world that I dream of is filled with ease. I’m not satisfied with Black trans lives mattering; I want Black trans lives to be easy, to be pleasurable, and to be filled with lush opportunities. I want the abundance we’ve gifted the world—the art, the care, the knowledge, and the beauty—to be offered back to us tenfold.
In the world that I dream of, it’s easy to move about. It’s easy to walk home at night with a bag of Skittles. It’s easy to relax in your own house. It’s easy to resolve conflict. It’s easy to hang out on the street. It’s easy to do the work you want to do. It’s easy to come together. It’s easy to have sex, to seek pleasure and joy, to wear what feels right. It’s easy to be soft. It’s easy to remember your power. To be in public. To use. It’s easy to not have to work. It’s easy to be in bed all day. It’s easy to be free. It’s easy to be alive.
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Filmmaker and Activist Tourmaline on How to Freedom Dream - Vogue
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