First ~20min here:

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To honor Alice—and all our disability ancestors—is to keep building that connective tissue she described. To love fiercely, politically, on purpose. To ensure the filaments they left behind continue to glow in us, and through us, long after the world has forgotten their names. We won’t.

Alice helped us see that legacy as ballast. A grounding force. A reminder that none of us are doing this alone, and none of us ever were. The future we fight for is stitched together with the lessons and loves of those who came before.

Disability ancestors aren’t gone; they accompany us. In our organizing, in mutual aid, in the awkward joy of surviving another day that wasn’t designed for us. They’re in every access met, every gentle reminder to slow down, every firm refusal to abandon one another.

Her work was a reminder that memory is not passive. It’s an active practice of tending to the filaments she described—those blazing threads that glow warm with the people who shaped us. To tend them is to extend them. To extend them is to refuse the isolation the system relies on.

Alice showed us how to honor that inheritance: by activating it, by actively practicing the kind of solidarity that keeps us tethered to one another. By making more space, more access, more possibility—especially for those who are told they’re “too much” or “too complicated.”

When we talk about disability ancestors, we’re not talking about some distant, abstract lineage. We’re talking about people who fought, organized, wrote, dreamed, and survived alongside us. People who left us tools, strategies, jokes, tenderness, and a politic were responsible for carrying forward.

Alice reminded us that these bonds are world-making. They are the underground architecture that lets us survive a political order that treats disabled life as disposable. She insisted on holding disabled brilliance close, refusing the erasure capitalism demands.

In disability communities, grief isn’t episodic. It’s cumulative. It layers. It reverberates. We lose people who should’ve had decades more time—because the world is engineered to wear us down. And yet, in that same world, disabled people keep building life with one another anyway.

I am holding so much grief, but also so much gratitude that we lived in a world so shaped by her brilliance and creativity. Rest in power, Alice Wong. Your work changed us. Your vision will continue to lead us. Your memory is a blessing and a responsibility we must honor every day through action.

May her memory be for a revolution. May it deepen our commitments. May her example sharpen our politics. May her life remind us that disability justice is a practice of transforming the world through collective care, accountability, creativity, defiance and imagination.

Alice leaves behind a body of work that will continue to shape movements for decades. But more importantly, she leaves behind communities and relationships she helped build and nurture—relations that will carry her clarity, her defiance, and her tenderness forward.

Alice Wong’s legacy is the political horizon she helped articulate. A horizon where disabled knowledge is central, and care is a shared commitment. She taught us to name grief & rage without collapsing under them, to celebrate disabled brilliance without ignoring the material conditions shaping life

I’m devastated by this loss, and also profoundly grateful that I got to witness her work, her thought, and her example. She deepend how I understand disabled solidarity—what it demands, what it makes possible, and how much responsibility we owe to one another.

Alice moved through the world with a kind of political generosity that made people bolder. She noticed people. She uplifted new voices. She reached out with intention. She gave disabled folks permission to be angry, joyful, complicated, imaginative—to exist beyond the flattened roles we’re assigned.

Alice was a master of calling out power without losing sight of community. She named the violence of austerity, medical rationing, eugenics & state abandonment with unflinching clarity. But she also paired critique with genuine belief that disabled futures are possible & already emerging everywhere

Through DVP & every collaboration she touched she cultivated a vast, intergenerational ecosystem of disabled writers, thinkers, organizers & storytellers. She didn’t hoard influence—she redistributed it. She understood that visibility w/o redistribution is just optics & she refused to play that game