Introduction

I was invited by Hub Channel to write an article on reimagining feminism. Initially, I felt sceptical, perceiving feminism as having reached a point of stagnation—a sentiment Li and I previously termed The Ultimate Defeat of Feminism (Li and Ho, 2022). Over time, I have distanced myself from beliefs I once held dear, finding that the label of feminism no longer resonates with me as it once did.

In this piece, I wish to document my thoughts during this journey away from feminism and reflect on my past self—someone deeply entrenched in ideology, often unaware of my own blind spots. Rather than making a definitive political statement, I aim to use this writing process as a means of self-reflection.

My Life as a Feminist Dick

In the past, I found joy in analysing people’s behaviours and narratives to uncover hidden structures of oppression—whether in terms of class, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or ability. I took pride in exposing these omissions and implicit biases, convinced that highlighting them would prompt necessary action to empower the oppressed. This mission defined my role as a feminist scholar, artist, and activist. I believed that acknowledging and celebrating these overlooked sufferings would lead to a more equitable world. My feminist identity, often playfully dubbed Feminist-dick, became my tool for social activism in democratic struggles.

However, I have come to recognize the pitfalls of defining oneself through any ideological framework. When feminism—or any label—becomes the foundation of one’s identity, it can foster a sense of moral superiority. This moralism, rather than cultivating genuine understanding, often serves as a mechanism of power. Instead of encouraging dialogue, it creates rigid boundaries between those who are deemed “morally correct” and those who are not. I have experienced this firsthand from other feminists, and I recognize now that I, too, have been guilty of the same behaviour.

My experiences during the Hong Kong protests, coupled with disillusioning encounters with various feminists, left me feeling frustrated. I observed how feminism could be weaponized, used not for genuine liberation but as a political tool to label others within the movement as insufficiently radical—or even as traitors. This realization has made me increasingly wary of ideological rigidity and its tendency to obscure critical thoughts and diverse perspectives.

Engaging with Sodomitical theology has compelled me to confront my own need to align with “good" people—an impulse that often led me to be more judgmental than self-reflective. This process has encouraged me to embrace a more nuanced understanding of morality and inclusion, recognizing that the desire to be “on the right side” can sometimes blind us to the complexity of human experience.

At this stage in my life, I find a sense of belonging within Hub Church, where we often half-jokingly refer to ourselves as mediocre followers of a Jewish Carpenter. Consequently, feminism has become a topic I no longer wish to engage with in depth. However, my involvement in teaching Little Three (the Other Woman) Theology—a course inspired by queer theology, particularly Tonstad’s Sodomitical Theology—has led me to examine the blind spots in both queer theory and feminism that I have carried for many years. This exploration has been enlightening, allowing me to approach these subjects through the lens of universal human fallibility and shared sinfulness.

“I am a sodomite” (Tonstad, 2016): A Path Beyond Labels

Tonstad’s work on queer theology transcends identity politics and labels, urging a deeper engagement with spiritual growth. If I identify as a sodomite, and if we are all sodomites (sinners), what relevance does an oppressor-oppressed feminist framework hold for spiritual transformation? This strand of feminism—one that fixates on revealing patriarchal structures and positioning groups in opposition—feels increasingly inadequate for fostering genuine change.

Tonstad suggests that rather than focusing on exposing oppression, we should first engage in self-examination. This perspective invites a more compassionate and inclusive approach to our shared humanity, urging us to acknowledge our own shortcomings before condemning others. This framing dismantles the binary logic of oppressed versus oppressor, instead fostering a sense of unity rather than division.

This perspective feels more radical than Butler’s (2009) hierarchy of grievability and shared precarity, which still operates within identity-based struggles. While Butler highlights how social hierarchies determine whose lives are mourned and whose are neglected, Tonstad asks us to relinquish these distinctions altogether.

My Pro-Trump Boyfriend

This change in perspective stems not only from my engagement with queer theology but also from love. My pro-Trump boyfriend and I have had numerous, often intense, political debates. These discussions have forced me to confront my own assumptions and biases, compelling me to critically examine perspectives I had previously dismissed outright—especially during the American election period.

To navigate this, I compiled a list of books, YouTube videos, and podcasts presenting conservative viewpoints, realizing how few people in my circles engaged with such material in good faith. At times, I revisited Leftist texts to track how my thinking had evolved.

This wasn’t merely an academic exercise; it was essential for our relationship. While I could disengage from political debates with acquaintances, I could not disengage from a partner whose worldview differed from my own. Love demanded that I listen, even when it was uncomfortable.

As I began questioning rigid ideological commitments, my boyfriend, in turn, became less interested in debating me. One day, he said, “You can believe what you believe, but I hope you recognize your blind spots.” Ironically, I now find myself echoing his words.

Exploring the Inclusivity of Hub Church

My observations of the American presidential election and debates surrounding DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) policies have further shaped my understanding of equality and justice. I have witnessed how ideological polarization silences dissenting voices, leading to rigid frameworks that stifle genuine dialogue. Queer theology, particularly Sodomitical Theology, has helped me question binary thinking and reassess the limitations of progressive ideologies.

At first, I was drawn to Hub Church because of its explicit embrace of LGBTQ+ individuals. However, as I reflected more on what it means to be inclusive, I realized that true inclusivity extends beyond sexual orientation or gender identity—it also encompasses individuals of different faiths, political beliefs, and ideological backgrounds. Rather than rigidly adhering to a specific theological or political doctrine, Hub Church fosters a space where differences can coexist without the need for absolute agreement.

While we do not have an official stance on political inclusivity, our practices suggest a commitment to fostering a community that values differences and constructive disagreement—one where active listening is prioritized over ideological purity. This approach has made me proud to be part of such a space, where I can engage with others without the pressure to conform to a singular viewpoint.

However, I have also observed how the pride within inclusive churches can sometimes cultivate a sense of moral superiority. It is easy to fall into the trap of believing that because we champion progressive values, we are inherently more enlightened than others. This mindset, though well-intentioned, can create a culture of exclusion—where those with conservative views feel unwelcome, even within spaces that claim to embrace all. I have reflected on my own past tendencies to justify righteous anger and contempt, recognizing how these emotions often reinforced divisive boundaries rather than fostering true understanding.

Additionally, my perspective on victimhood has shifted significantly. While adopting a victim identity can provide a sense of community and validation, it can also become a limiting framework—one that focuses more on grievances than on personal growth. I realized that I had often emphasized the injustices done to me rather than recognizing the grace present in my life. Shifting my mindset has allowed me to reframe my experiences, moving beyond a singular narrative of suffering toward a more empowering and healing perspective.

This shift has not come easily. It has been shaped by countless conversations with Pastor Tim and others who have challenged me to cultivate compassion for all forms of suffering, regardless of their origins. It is a continuous process—one that reminds me that true growth requires both understanding and the courage to engage with differing perspectives with an open heart.

“Why do you see the speck in your neighbour’s eye but do not notice the log in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:3) 

Insights from George Bernard Shaw

A few days ago, while browsing the HKU Archives, I stumbled upon a pamphlet featuring a speech by George Bernard Shaw, delivered at the University of Hong Kong in 1933. His words—“Always learn things controversially. You will find there is a continuous plot to teach you one side of a thing dogmatically”—struck me like a divine revelation. It felt as though Shaw himself were a guiding spirit, reminding me of the importance of critical engagement and the necessity of exploring diverse perspectives.

Shaw’s encouragement to approach learning through controversy resonated deeply, especially as I navigate this evolving intellectual space where I often feel unmoored and unsettled. His reminder that truths are never absolute, but rather dynamic and ever-evolving, inspired me to revisit my engagement with queer theology with a fresh perspective—one that prioritizes questioning rather than clinging to rigid ideological categories.

While I appreciate the wealth of perspectives available today, I also acknowledge the loneliness that accompanies intellectual shifts. Encountering Shaw’s words in the archives was a reassuring moment, affirming that while this path may feel solitary at times, it is nonetheless valuable. I am learning to savor each stage of this journey, no longer relying on the external validation that once came with ideological affiliations. Instead, I am striving to live authentically, embracing uncertainty as part of the process of personal growth.

I am grateful to Hub Channel for providing me with a platform to articulate these reflections—reflections that I recognize may not resonate with everyone. Some may find my thoughts convoluted, underdeveloped, or even contradictory, but this documentation is ultimately for myself. It is a record of my ongoing self-exploration, a process I hope will continue to evolve in the years ahead.

Concluding Remarks

To reimagine feminism is to critically examine our beliefs and assumptions, engaging in what George Bernard Shaw called controversial learning. This approach encourages us to question our own truths, to actively seek perspectives that challenge our views, and to embrace discomfort as a means of fostering growth.

In my journey to dissolve rigid ideological boundaries—between good and evil, progressive and conservative—I have made a concerted effort to engage with perspectives I once dismissed. This shift has challenged my biases, forcing me to confront the ways in which my past commitments to feminism may have blinded me to alternative viewpoints.

Yet, I recognize that this new approach is still a work in progress. Feminists are not all the same, and I do not wish to reduce feminism to a monolithic label. Still, I cannot escape the realization that as long as we cling to the identity of being a feminist, we risk falling into the trap of moral posturing. If we believe ourselves to be the “good” feminists—the ones who are less extreme, more reasonable, or who truly understand the essence of feminism—we must ask ourselves: what exactly makes us better?

I cannot come up with a convincing answer for myself.

The desire to claim ideological superiority—to define ourselves as better feminists, better activists, better people—inevitably leads to judgment. We feel the need to assert our values, to erect ideological boundaries, to draw lines between ourselves and those who are wrong. But by now, I find myself uninterested in these distinctions.

I no longer wish to use feminism—or any label—as a means of defining who I am. Instead, I wish for something simpler: to cultivate genuine compassion. Compassion not just for those I once saw as allies, but also for those I previously regarded as ideological adversaries.

Cultivating compassion for my former self, and for those who continue to embody the values I once held, is essential. By embracing self-compassion, I can acknowledge my past without judgment, creating space for a more expansive and inclusive worldview. Perhaps, through this process, I will discover a path that does not simply reject feminism, but rather transcends the need for rigid ideological identities altogether.

Maybe there is a way forward that integrates diverse perspectives without falling into moralism. Maybe there exists a new way of being in the world—one that allows me to honour all facets of myself, even those I once sought to erase.

By fostering peace within, I hope to move beyond the dualistic notions of friend and foe, right and wrong. Instead, I seek a future rooted in openness, humility, and, above all, grace.

References

• Butler, Judith. Frames of War: When Is Life Grievable? Verso, 2009.
• Li, Ming 黎明 and Petula Sik Ying Ho 何式凝. Forthcoming. 香港「女權」 的「敗北」[The “Defeat” of Hong Kong “Feminism”]. In 香港反送中運動左翼敗北的系譜: 翻譯、轉型與邊界 [A Genealogy of Defeat on the Left: Translation, Transition, and Bordering in Hong Kong’s Anti-ELAB Movement], edited by Jon Solomon 蘇哲安, vi–xiv. Taiwan: Tonsan Publishing. 2022.
• Shaw, George Bernard. Speech to HKU students, February 13, 1933. Published in Union Magazine.
• Tonstad, Linn Marie. “Everything Queer, Nothing Radical?” Svensk Teologisk Kvartalskrift, Årg. 92 (2016).