To My Brethren in the Trenches,
I know it sucks. I know it hurts. I know it’s unfair.
Maybe you grew up being told that your dreams are not only impossible, but ridiculous. The world doesn’t want to hear your voice. You are working two jobs, your parents cannot afford your education, if you are going to college it needs to be for a job that pays, you have your brothers and sisters and grandparents, uncles and aunts and cousins, children and spouses and parents to take care of. Set those dreams aside, for now, maybe forever. Your family needs to eat. You need to eat. A full belly is more important than a full mind.
Maybe you never had to hear this. Maybe you heard it in the echoes of the world, in the empty spaces of where you thought you’d be. The world doesn’t want your voice–a walk down the book aisle of a library or store could tell you that. Where are the authors like you? In that world, you don’t exist, except maybe as a caricature of someone else’s dreams. You are standing outside that window, looking in. You must’ve told yourself at least once that your name would never be on those shelves.
Last week, we saw a woman of colour bravely delay her book for a crime others have committed, and commit, everywhere else. We saw her take the initiative, knowing what this means, knowing owning up to a slight oversight is akin to admitting a grievous error others are allowed to make.
Last week, we also saw women of colour harassed and attacked for something others do all the time: critique a book. They were accused, their platforms invaded, their very selves and presence in the industry questioned.
Last week, you may have spent more than enough energy trying to find where you fit in all these, what this means for people like you in this world. If it means you have to pick a side, if you have to walk with a gun to your head all the time because every single mistake you make is compounded, or if you have to close your eyes and pretend it’s all alright, the world is allowed to walk all over you, you need to stop fighting it for the chance to live another day.
It sucks. It hurts. It’s unfair. And I see you out there, wondering. I see the hesitation in your words. I see you questioning your desire to succeed in this industry, what if this happens to you, how will you cope? It’s already so hard. I know. I’m sorry it’s that way. We can’t change it today, not yet.
But I need you to do something for me, and for everyone like you and me: I need you to keep going.
I need you to be like the others before us: the ones who pushed forward in spite of the difficulties, the ones who sacrificed everything just to make it a little easier for the others behind them. I need you to own your pain so that others don’t take it from you and use it for themselves. I need you to own your stories, and your ancestors’.
I need you to take all that anger and frustration, bottle it up, and throw it at your work. Don’t let it burn you now. Because this is the truth: yes, you are not allowed to be mediocre. Yes, what works for them cannot work for you. That’s okay. Light your work on fire instead. Make it so that they cannot ignore you. Deafen them. The more of us there are out there, the more likely it will change.
And maybe it will be for nothing. Maybe, like those others, we’ll be silenced somehow. They’ve done it before. But that is the cards we were dealt with, so these are the cards we will play. And you know what’s amazing? Because of who we are, what we’ve had to do to stay alive another day? We’re good at that. We are strong. We are resilient. We will endure.
I’ll see you on the other side.
Sincerely,
Isang Manunulat na Kayumanggi
