Opening Remarks for 2021 Hinashasan Workshop for Young Writers

 

Hinashasan Workshop Panelists, Fellows, Lecturers, Moderators, and Other Attendees, a pleasant morning to you all!

One of the most insightful write-ups I read about the pandemic came out in the first half of last year, as countries the world over slipped, like rapidly falling dominos, into lockdowns and various other restrictions. Besides calling out the Indian government for the inhumane way it enforced its pandemic protocols, Arundhati Roy’s “The Pandemic as a Portal” articulates a unique perspective on the crisis, one that’s particularly nuanced in the face of toxically positive rhetoric like “The planet is healing” or overtly negative opinions that interpreted COVID-19 as some sort of divine punishment. In Roy’s willfully optimistic view, the pandemic, besides being an obviously devastating event for many, is also a “gateway,” a chance for humanity to collectively gain insights that we can carry toward a potentially better, post-COVID world. The Book Prize–winning author ends her essay thus, and I quote:

Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next. 

We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.

Artists and writers may not exactly be in the same breadth as health care workers, grocery staff, bank employees, and other quote-unquote essential personnel, but many of us have realized in the course of quarantine that the fruits of creative labor do fulfill a different need within us. For those privileged enough to follow through on stay-at-home orders, a number of us took the time to, among other things, tick some books off our TBR pile, make the most out of our Netflix subscriptions, finally get around to working on that long-delayed personal project, or hone a new skill like baking pastries or brewing coffee. All these acts benefit from and/or require some level of creative effort. Art, in one way or another, thus helped a lot of us stay sane over, or—as evinced by Arundhati Roy’s write-up—make some sense of, the past year. 

A few weeks ago, for the midterm activity in our creative writing class, my students and I put together a virtual workshop—smaller in scale compared to this one—where we had their short story outputs critiqued by two practicing writers, for the purposes of seeking an outside perspective on their works. Both the students and the panelists agreed it was quite the fruitful experience, despite the limitations of an online platform, and especially for an activity that really ought to be more personal. It’s great, I think, that writers’ workshops still carry on despite these limitations, as they not only aid in furthering creative discourse in these times when a lot of people are turning to the arts, but they also hone promising talent, so that fellows like you and other budding creatives, in the future, can come up with works that improve on or even subvert what came before, and thus further shape our culture or put forward new ideas. 

Speaking from personal experience, I’ve found writers’ workshops quite helpful not just because of the panelists’ critiques, which compel you to become aware of how far you’ve come since that first moment you realized you have a knack for words, and what areas you can still improve on, but also because of the bonds and friendships I’ve formed in the course of workshopping. I will admit that it’s quite unfortunate we won’t be able to interact personally with our fellow workshop participants in between critiquing sessions, as per normal practice, but I hope this doesn’t hinder us from connecting with each other through other platforms, and possibly even meeting up in the future for casual discussions on writing and art, or even literary collaborations. When I experienced my first workshop roughly a decade ago, thanks to the Cebuano Studies Center and as an undergraduate student at this university, it was the first time I felt a creative kinship with a group of people who came from very different backgrounds but who all shared a passion for the written word. It was eye-opening and refreshing, especially for someone like me who came from a school that tended to prioritize math and science, at the expense of arts and humanities subjects. 

Fellows, whatever feedback your work receives over the next two and a half days, know that the mere fact that you were able to dedicate the necessary time and energy to come up with your own compositions, is proof enough that you are a writer. No one can tell you otherwise. And your acceptance into this workshop should only serve to temper your talent and passion for the craft. 

Now, allow me to close these remarks with an exhortation of sorts for both the panelists and fellows. 

To my fellow panelists: Know that our responsibilities during this workshop are a lot weightier than they may seem. We carry the great burden of molding these promising young talents into the best writers they can be for the literary scene, and even for Philippine society at large. 

To the fellows: May this workshop be the first of several stepping stones into the wider field of literature. Besides helping others nourish their inner life in the face of lockdown restrictions, and contrary to what our profit-driven systems would like to make us think, the world needs writers, especially in such a time marred by rampant disinformation, and the corruption or oversimplification of language by influential hucksters. Writers are essential in helping sift through and find nuance amid all the noise we are barraged with, and in articulating emotions and experiences that others who aren’t as privileged as we are wouldn’t be able to. 

Dear audience members, welcome to the 2021 Hinashasan Workshop for Young Writers. May we all have a fruitful weekend! Thank you.