Collective Visioning as a Practice of Care, Resistance, and Liberation
This past June, Israel launched an unprovoked series of attacks on Iranian soil — a sudden escalation that plunged the region into twelve days of war.
As two Iranians living in the diaspora, we, like so many of our compatriots, were glued to our phones, watching the horrors unfold from afar. The distance didn’t dull the ache; if anything, it sharpened the loneliness that so often comes with being Iranian – scattered across continents and time zones, and often exiled from home, land, and loved ones.
In the midst of that isolation, we decided to act. We put out a call for an emergency support circle — an invitation for Iranian women in the diaspora to gather, share space, and hold our collective grief together.
Illustration by Liu Liu
Dreaming Beyond Survival
We opened our gathering with poetry — the words of Forough Farrokhzad carrying us gently into the space, grounding us in shared language and collective strength. Her verses reminded us that we are more than our wounds and stories of suffering. From there, we moved into a collective visioning exercise, intentionally lifting us beyond the weight of the present, and into dreaming of the day after tomorrow.
Collective visioning is a participatory method used in movement-building and social justice spaces to co-create visions of the future. It is a deeply political, and profoundly healing practice. It asks us to move beyond reaction and refusal, beyond merely naming what we oppose, and to instead articulate what we long for.
This exercise can be facilitated differently depending on the context. Ours unfolded slowly and intentionally, each step designed to help us move beyond grief and toward possibility. Here’s how we did it:
We invited everyone to slow down, settle into their bodies, and take a few deep breaths, creating space for imagination to emerge in a world that constantly demands urgency.
With eyes closed, we asked participants to imagine that Iran is free and liberated. We posed some prompts, such as what does that future look like? What does it feel like? What scents fill the air? Where are you, and what are you doing in this new reality?
Participants were invited to write, sketch, or simply hold their visions in their minds, letting the details of a liberated future take form without needing to be perfect or complete.
Finally, we came together to share what we saw. Some spoke quietly, others through tears. Stories emerged of homecomings, of walking familiar streets without fear, of women leading and thriving.
As we shared our visions for Iran, weaving together fragments of memory, family history, and future possibility, something powerful emerged. We began to see ourselves reflected in one another’s dreams. Each vision was deeply personal, yet woven together, they created a collective image — not a single, fixed picture, but a living landscape of possibility. It was a glimpse of the Iran we long for and deserve, imagined not in isolation but in community.
“Collective visioning is a deeply political, and profoundly healing practice. It asks us to move beyond reaction and refusal, beyond merely naming what we oppose, and instead articulate what we long for.”
Collective Visioning as Resistance and Repair
At its core, collective visioning is about reclaiming our agency to imagine. It is the radical act of refusing to accept the present as inevitable and instead daring to think about new worlds together. As writer and activist Naomi Klein reminds us in her book No Is Not Enough, we must go beyond saying no; the harder, braver work is naming what we’re saying yes to.
This exercise is more than a moment of reflection, it is part of a larger practice of collective resistance and healing. When we come together to dream, we push the boundaries of what feels possible, planting the seeds for futures that might one day take root.
It’s important to note that this exercise is especially relevant for marginalized and oppressed communities. Living in exile, navigating displacement, or existing under systems of violence often means our imaginations are colonized, narrowed by fear, shaped by scarcity, or silenced entirely. Collective visioning works against this. In our emergency meetup, it served as a lifeline, a way to reclaim agency, connect across distance, and envision liberation together.
“At its core, collective visioning is about reclaiming our agency to imagine. It is the radical act of refusing to accept the present as inevitable and instead daring to think about new worlds together.”
From Vision to Possibility
In moments of crisis, our capacity to dream often collapses. The future can feel impossibly narrow, reduced to only what is urgent. Yet if we are to move through grief and resist the pull of despair, we must also make space for imagination. Choosing to dream together in the midst of violence was a reminder that envisioning a different future is not naïve or escapist. It is a radical practice that keeps hope alive, even when the world tries to extinguish it.
From bearing witness to genocides in Palestine, Sudan, and Congo, to the rise of fascism across America and Europe, the need to imagine something better has never been more urgent. Speculative visions don’t just challenge our current realities, they help us prototype new possibilities and futures.
We invite you to join us in this practice, to try it yourself by pausing to envision what liberation could look like in your context. Try the steps above, adapt them for your own context, and see what emerges. Below you’ll find some of the visions our participants shared, a testament to what can emerge when we dare to dream together. May their words spark new possibilities within you, and may those possibilities guide us, together, toward the futures we deserve.
Community Visions for a Free Iran
I can tell it’s spring before I even open my eyes. I am surrounded by the smell of bahaar naranj and can feel my grandmother’s embrace and the stories she used to tell me as a child. I am reunited with my favourite season at last, the smell of blossoms and change in the air. Spring and all its promises of renewal have carried us back. When I open my eyes, I find myself in Hafezieh. I’ve of course purchased a delicious faludeh with friends, and we are all gathered in the shade, with faludeh and various poetry books in hand. An intimate group of friends (old and new), who have known and carried the weight and grief of diaspora. Yet it is finally safe to let that grief flow away with the breeze. The sweetness of the faludeh erases any bitter traces of ghorbat, as we joyously share our favourite verses, the potential of every tomorrow in the air.
By Shiva | Canada
Just behind City Theater on Enghelab Street in Tehran,
a narrow alley hides a quiet, hidden café.
I remember nothing of its interior—only the outside:
the scents of kūkū sabzi drifting from upstairs,
cigarettes, perfume, summer breeze
woven through our laughter.
We had just seen a play that shattered us beautifully.
That moment—light, laughter, a breath of freedom—
is the last image of Iran I carry.
Then came the war.
And I’ve since wondered:
Can I still imagine a homeland—
a free Iran beyond tomorrow—
where joy is simply life,
and every woman, child, and man lives beyond war?
By Tania | USA
Pomegranates symbolize Iran, my homeland
The sun shining, giving light and abundance
In a free Iran there are pomegranates everywhere
Each with its own shape and form, but beautiful nonetheless
I visit Forough’s resting place, no more limits or censorship,
Only the utterances of sweet poetry left.
By Parisa | Netherlands