Something I think about a lot is how liberation has always been spiritual, always been embodied. There’s an ancestral component to this. Getting ourselves free has always involved spirit, and always involved the body. I don’t mean spirit in a floaty, abstract, white-washed way. I mean ass-shaking. I mean hair-braiding. I mean altar-tending. I mean sweat and oil and grief and praise. I mean cracking jokes on the front porch while you snap peas and plot the revolution. I mean singing your people through the hard parts. I mean protecting what is sacred, and knowing how to name what is sacred in the first place. And if you can’t recognize those as forms of organizing, as forms of resistance, then you’re missing the whole point.