What's in a name?

I'm no longer calling these writings gentle.

Who was I kidding?

Mainly I was kidding myself, thinking Gentle Subversions was a good match for sweet little moi and my sometimes vitriolic thoughts. A sister-writer had described one of my writings (forthcoming) as such, and a beloved mentor said that “subversion” was my middle name. I liked that. No, I loved that and I am still grateful for that gift: that I should be regarded as such for the way I am and the things I write. I was flattered and I let it get to my head.

When I started this, I was ignorant of the fact that the phrase I claimed for myself was already the title of a collection of essays on Philippine Literature. That was the first nudge I got to maybe change the name of this newsletter.

And then, recently, the phrase was used to valorize Philippine literature on the world stage as resistance against empire. This is quite a sweeping claim to make. I love our literature and our writers. I labor for them as a bookseller. Many of our writers and publishers are dear, dear friends and mentors. However, I cannot stomach this claim, especially not for five days of literary displays costing our government millions in a space that has explicitly aligned itself with Israel since 2023: the Frankfurt Book Fair (FBF). The Philippines as Guest of Honor in the FBF was a long-held dream, now attained but tainted. I am glad some Filipino delegates spoke up for Palestine in the FBF halls but much of our writing—even writing that explicitly calls for the freedom of Palestine—has done nothing to stop the machinery of colonial occupation. We need to do more and we must continue to grapple with what “do more” can mean.

In practice, kindness and gentleness are intertwined. I often ask myself whether there’s such a thing as too kind. Perhaps when it comes to calling for an end to genocide, one can be too gentle, too nice, and as we saw in Frankfurt this year, too pretty.

It’s time to say goodbye to Gentle Subversions. I’m letting go of the phrase but not this newsletter. I aspire to lichenous writings instead.

Lichen Subversions

Lichens aren’t grand by any means, but they’re weird in a way that makes me stop mid-stride when I spot them.

Lichen beckons: come closer. Lichen intrigues. Lichen bothers the neat boundaries we like to draw around things.

They are multi-species beings that gave rise to the word symbiosis. Composed of the association of one or more fungi, algae, yeasts, or other bacteria, they are communities in themselves. They like to live on the surface of things—trees, rocks, soil crust, roofs, and walls. They seem to like growing alongside moss, too.

Lichens are silent shapers of landscapes and co-makers of soil. Recently I learned that they are capable of breaking down stone substrata “within a relatively short time-scale.” The article I read, Lichens as Subversive Agents of Biodeterioration, warned archeologists and conservators of the potential damage lichens might cause to exposed monuments of the past.

I like this idea very much. Lowly lichens can break down monuments over time.

the em dashes are mine,

Padma