When you’re a writer anywhere, the kind that was not served publishing contracts or writing gigs on a silver platter, one of the first things you learn about is power. And not so much that you don’t have any of it—that seems normal enough for when you’re young and new in any industry–as it is how power (and opportunity, cultural capital, funding, etc. etc.) is in the hands of a very small group of people. In the Philippine writing and publishing sector, this surfaces simply as an exclusive clique, a cabal, a mafia (take your pick) that is called the literary establishment. This is your big publishing houses, putting out work by mainstream writers, who are also the leaders/consultants on the payroll of your national and local government agencies, teaching in your schools and creating syllabi and required readings, and founders/members of your writing organizations. It all ties together into a neat little package called power, and as a by-product of that, money. At the very least, undeniable cultural capital.

But as with politicos denying they have power and wealth and want more of it, so does the literary establishment deny that this cliquishness and exclusivity is something they nurture—sharing the few seats on that table with those outside their circle is not an option, and generosity is an illusion. As with the most corrupt politicos insisting that the work they do is about “nation” and “constituency”, so do the worst of the literary establishment claim that this is about “writing” and “literature” and “book development”. And as with politicos always denying their unethical and unjust practices, so does the literary establishment pretend the cabal doesn’t exist.

Sometimes though, it is surfaced for all to see. Ladies and gentlemen, the Philippine Book Festival. (more…)