The first thing was that the words “freedom” and “friendship” share the same etymological root in a Sanskrit word that means “beloved.” I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but it jived with all I had learned about humans as social, interdependent animals. The second thing I learned is that pre-1500s, someone who was enslaved was understood as unfree not only because they were in bondage, but because they’d been separated from their people.

To be free was to be in a connected, caring community. To be free was to be of, and with, the interlacing fibers of life that hold us all.

This beautiful glimmer of truth fixed itself in my mind and spirit as a lens through which I began to examine American culture and life. It brought into sharp clarity the stark contrast between a freedom that nurtured and celebrated what it means to be human and the freedom espoused by American culture.

I realized that America’s obsession with individualistic freedom, which is part of beliefs and behaviors across the political spectrum, means we cannot achieve the social justice and liberatory future so many of us want.

We need to get more discerning about what we mean when we talk about liberation and what it means to get free. Yes, we need to dismantle systems of oppression—racial capitalism, white supremacy, and patriarchy—but we also need to excavate our internalized attachments to those systems. We need to imagine and build new systems of support and care and justice. We need to build in ourselves and among each other (human and nonhuman others) the living, breathing feeling of freedom. The absence of oppression is not freedom. Freedom is a presence and a practice.

This is one of the most ambitious projects I’ve ever engaged in. Writing about freedom is an enormous undertaking. It’s been explored and dissected for centuries, and attempting to say something new(ish) and meaningful is, honestly, intimidating. But once I began thinking about it, I couldn’t not do it.

This project is also one of the most fun, mind- and heart-expanding things I’ve worked on. Saneta and I talked almost weekly as we researched and wrote. Each conversation thrilled, enlivened, confused, and excited us.

As Black women, as mothers, and as politically radical dreamers, it has provided us with new grounding and clarity, and commitment to the generational work ahead of us.

We hope it provides our readers with something they need to deepen their relationship with our collective freedom.