On 27 September 2014, I attended the Singapore Dreaming Project, a precursor to a larger-scale discussion of national issues in 2015. As promised, the event centred on dreaming—an actively ongoing process—in a Singaporean context, with diverse speakers sharing their interpretations which were insightfully informed by their respective fields of expertise. This, I felt, was highly relevant to Singapore Literature, which has the potential to probe, be as multifaceted and as full of possibilities yet critical as the dreams we have, and have yet to dream for Singapore.
In “Shades of Vibrancy”, Professor Joseph Lim posed an interesting question which stayed with me throughout the workshop: why are some cities considered “vibrant” while others (heavily hinted to be Singapore) merely “crowded”? Could population density—a problem certainly not unique to us but pertinent nonetheless—be something actually celebrated? Professor Lim suggests that spontaneity is key here: also the stuff dreams are made of. The roads of Ho Chi Minh which operate on unspoken yet vocal pedestrian-driver cooperation is a sign of vibrancy. So is the normalised, mutually-supportive mix of informal and formal businesses in Shanghai despite increasing curbing measures from the state. In both cases, people negotiate, even struggle to create, their own ways-of-life within the state to an extent, which certainly seems to support Professor Enright’s take that “you must leave people free to make their own mistakes”.
However, recognising that this would be rather extreme for Singapore where “space is tightly controlled”, Professor Lim turned to the potential of Singapore’s existing mall culture as the first step in creating vibrancy. He gave examples of teenagers using malls as spontaneous spaces in which to practice dance routines or generally hang out, as well as mall-sponsored events inviting community participation. I found this optimistic but less convincing than the first half of the presentation. In my personal experience, malls are first and foremost areas of commerce, and such hype is contingent on spending power more than anything else.
Nonetheless, if perception and image of a certain space can literally change one’s living experience in it (see author Zadie Smith’s “love-hate letter to New York City”), literature can play an extremely important role having always grappled with such ideas. Ricard would probably add a caveat that a literary mausoleum can hardly force such character and culture into being. Yet, more independent ventures are popping up in the literary market (BooksActually comes to mind), carving a legitimate spontaneous space as I’m sure most bookworms will agree—perhaps because of the relative newness of this market?
A video promoting GoLi, a mobile community theatre initiative, certainly seemed more convincing as a spontaneous space. The stars of this video asking for support—and hopefully of this travelling theatre if realised—were your friendly neighbourhood aunties and uncles, for whom theatre is a means of strengthening bonds, articulating their lived experiences, and just good spontaneous fun. I feel this project is especially relevant in light of Singapore’s aging population: aside from the fact that a travelling theatre adds a refreshing sense of whimsy, it is a way to pass on culture by meaningfully engaging them and the younger generation as well in a common avenue. Of course, the market aspect cannot be discounted—they are still short of their goal—but perhaps it is this goal that creates a sense of liveliness and drive, which comes through in the video. It’s hard not to be affected by its infectious optimism; at the risk of sounding overly sentimental, it reminded me that age does not stop one from artistic dreams.
Other speakers also provided reminders of a more “wake-up-call” variety. This is especially important when we do dream too far…
From Leftwrite Centre, Mohamed Imran demonstrated how literature can really engage: relating his dream, which was clearly not literal but was presented as such, the speaker allegorised race relations in Singapore. Trapped in a box where he could not look out, but where people who did not look like him could look in; being labelled as lazy, undeserving; finally being allowed to join those outside but not knowing why; staring inside the box at people who did look like him and feeling conflicted—to some of us, this would seem a nightmare, but for some, it’s reality. By defamiliarising it for those of us who have never had to pause and think about this, he invites us to examine more closely our own role in others’ nightmares. It could have just been my imagination, but was there a subtle discomfort as the speaker was telling his story? (Shklovsky and Marx would approve!) Ultimately, Mohamed Imran dreams for a Singapore where all have “freedom from stereotypes, and freedom to do things”. This was in my opinion a thought-provoking start in asking whether our dreaming is inclusive enough.
Similarly, Teo Yeo Yann delivered a hard-hitting presentation on “Undoing Differentiated Deservedness” in Singapore. She revealed how nightmarish the lives of those who toil to support this nation’s “dreaming” can be—performance here is certainly not of the spontaneous kind, and in fact only serve to humiliate and trap the underprivileged in positions where they must prove their deservedness through specific gendered functions. If dreams are to be earned, perhaps they are not dreams at all. The speaker emphasised, “That the material problems are pronounced and the conditions they are in are logical outcomes of our system and not an aberration”. If what we accept as this country’s dreaming is manufactured, then this is no coincidence. Any possibility of spontaneity is called into doubt if this dreaming is a calculated plan to follow through. Perhaps this is the best explanation for why I am unconvinced and even disturbed by the idea of mall culture paving the way for “vibrancy”: it’s already too close for comfort, aligning Singapore more towards District One than Ecotopia (which another speaker, Professor Chang Jiat Hwee, dreamt of for Singapore).
In four hours, the workshop provoked, convinced, and questioned the audience about almost every aspect of Singapore. Perhaps it’s the “Singapore” that negates the floatiness of “Dreaming”, but as Lee Hui Min suggests, perhaps such pragmatic dreaming is just our way. As dreaming always consists of a shifting multitude of strands of dreams and never just one single narrative, the workshop has me convinced that Singapore Literature similarly has this wealth of issues to explore. It’s certainly never seemed more challenging and interesting!