A Class-Conscious Person Goes to the Singapore Writers Festival

90% of the accents at Singapore Writers Festival are what could be called Internet American. People here pronounce "writer" "wrider", for example. Their speech, especially that of the under-30s, is slightly too dramatic for ordinary settings, with a heavy undertone of self-mockery. In other words, they speak in the voices of the usual above-average-looking person on YouTube or TikTok.

Singapore Writers Festival attendees, moderators, and panelists, in general, are hearty with their approbation and lavish in their praise. When heard 53 times a day, however, phrases like "that's so interesting", "isn't this wonderful", and "thank you so much for sharing" cease to be meaningful. These utterances begin to sound like the old chestnut, "that's a really good question", that panelists often say during Q&A in order to buy time... that is, completely insincere. 

I would really prefer if people could be honest and say, "oh man, I need a minute to think about that." In response to a poetry or essay reading, a simple, unembellished "thank you, [name]" is, to me, good enough. There is no need to randomly select a part of the reading and gush about how "relatable" it is and proceed to talk about your own experiences ("it reminds me of when I..."), thereby making it all about you.

The atmosphere at Singapore Writers Festival is genteel and collegiate: think expensive liberal arts college. People of various genders mill about wearing vintage-looking, colourful outfits, free to reflect on and discuss things like mental health and identity representation/erasure in this ambience of privilege.

Meanwhile, over at the back of the Arts House is a tent where a cluster of black hoodie-clad young men, apparently mostly Malay, slouch with their phones as they standby with event and sound equipment. The roadies. They look bored and uninterested in the literary discourse going on within the building. I have yet to hear a roadie speak, but I do not imagine he speaks in Internet American.

Around lunchtime, food delivery riders start appearing around the Arts House with bags of 10 or 15 boxes of nasi goreng. I am sure there's an entire constellation of couriers, van drivers, movers, caretakers, cleaners, and other blue-collar workers working to make this festival possible. But so far I have not seen any of them wandering in.

Below is a screenshot from the SWF 2022 trailer:

If "everybody" is writing these days, and thus SWF is relevant to "everyone", why aren't there stories about and by the working class? The only nods to class diversity I have seen so far are the migrant worker poetry slam and a reading by domestic worker Bhing Navato. It's so interesting, isn't it, that migrant workers are part of this event while the roadies aren't.

I would have liked it if the SWF programme curators had asked roadies, couriers, and drivers what content they consume and then invited their creators. Inviting creators like, say, the producers of popular Malay language podcasts would have been a nice way to fix this imbalance.

Singapore Writers Festival is very proud of itself for being multi-lingual, featuring all 4 state languages in accordance with CMIO guidelines. Maybe next year it can attempt to transcend socioeconomic class, too.