If we care for each other enough, the world as we know it might cease to exist. This essay explores sex worker radicals’ interventions into the philosophy of care. First, understanding care as a utopian practice suggests that it disrupts the present social order more than it facilitates its continued operation. Sex workers’ care for each other thus emerges as a powerful site of self-valorization—a care practice that prepares us for struggle more than it reproduces us to maintain the status quo. Second, sex worker radicals articulate a vision of care powered by antagonism and rage, one whose affects cannot be comfortably accommodated or absorbed by the racial capitalist state. Finally, in pursuing care as a world building practice, sex worker radicals remind that building new worlds is never a gentle process. Their theories of militant care contribute to broader conversations about the place of violence in feminist politics.

In this paper, I argue that scholars who reproduce photographs of Black people for subversive purposes should pursue alternative modes of re-exhibition other than carelessly reproducing said photographs as is. Christina Sharpe’s care-based method of wake work, performed within In the Wake: On Blackness and Being (2016), is one such form of ethical exhibitorship. Care, in this text, is the pursuit of the full context of the afterlives of slavery against oppressive narratives about Black people and their lived experience to reach a clearer level of understanding and engagement with people experiencing anti-Blackness. In section one, I will analyze Mariana Ortega and Saidiya Hartman’s engagements with photographic representation. In section two, I will explicate Sharpe’s account of the wake and wake work, emphasizing the role of care. In section three, I will explore the limitations of wake work, mainly the tension between wake-filled reproductions and careful discretion.

Two foundational ethicists of care, Nel Noddings and Eva Feder Kittay, limit the moral community of care to humans. Noddings claims that the reciprocity required for her care ethic cannot be universally present in human relationships with non-humans. Kittay advances that her care ethic requires the cared-for’s assent, or “taking up” of the care, in response to the carer’s actions, which she claims is impossible with non-human cared-fors. But these claims can be disputed. I offer a few examples to contend that ethically meaningful reciprocity is possible in some human relationships with more-than-human entities and that some non-human cared-fors can assent to carers’ actions. Following from the work of Mary Anne Warren and others on moral personhood, “humans” and “persons” can refer to different things: biological organisms and a designation of moral status respectively. There can be persons that are not humans (e.g., legal persons like corporations and chimpanzees, and moral persons like whales and dolphins). Because the concerns of Noddings and Kittay can be addressed and there are non-human persons, I argue that we should reject the human restriction within care ethics. Humans have morally significant relationships with non-human persons and we need to open the realm of care ethics to legitimize and enhance these other relationships in our rich communities.

Braiding personal narratives and philosophical meditations, throughout this essay I reflect on what it means to care for more-than-human others when doing so often leaves us utterly compromised and when the broader conditions under which we coexist on earth with others are themselves antithetical to ecological continuity. Ecologically, the essay is situated in the midst of Cook Forest, an 8,500-acre public park in northwest Pennsylvania, where ancient eastern hemlocks (Tsuga canadensis) find themselves imperiled by the hemlock woolly adelgid (Adelges tsugae), an aphid-like insect native to east Asia. Considering responses to the adelgid at Cook Forest, I engage in a series of philosophi­cal and ethical meditations about ecological care—about its complicities and its conditions of (im)possibility. And, finally, in conversation with Theodor Adorno and Judith Butler, I reflect upon how critique and resistance might open onto still more radical modes of ecological care.