First impressions, International Writing Program 2017

THE International Writing Program, which is hosted annually at the University of Iowa, is one of the oldest and largest Residencies in the world for creative writers. Each year, 30-35 writers, from various parts of the world are brought together and given the time and space that is conducive for writing, while also taking part in various literary activities and engaging with a variety of new and different cultures over the course of the 12-week duration of the programme.

The first week of this year’s Residency is now over, and from the moment I set foot in Iowa City, I have been overly conscious of the many first impressions that I have given, and those that have been given to me, as I begin what should be a truly astounding journey of navigating a new city, in a new country, in a continent I had never visited before. And that is what brings us to the point where I must discuss the first of the several first-impressions that have been impressed upon me: that is, my first impression of the place/space – Iowa City – and my initial reaction to it.

Even though I have only just begun to leave my footprints on a few of the streets, amid the early-fallen leaves and the shadow-prints of hundreds of college students hurrying through the best days of their lives, the place has certainly made an impact on me, with several aspects that one can only hope that Georgetown will, one day in the near future, aspire to aim for.

It is said that Iowa City is the only place in the world where, if someone asks you what your job is and you respond with: “I’m a poet,” you would not be laughed at, nor mocked, nor questioned or put down in any way. Being a writer or being involved in the arts in some way in Iowa City is as normal as going to the seawall on Sunday afternoons are in Guyana. The driver who brought the writers to the hotel is a writer. The day after arriving I met a young woman who works in administration who also turned out to be a playwright.

One night later, I met a lawyer who was a poet. Writing and literature are an important part of the culture of Iowa City and it is beyond refreshing to be accepted as that which you identify yourself to be without bringing forth contempt or a dismissive attitude from others. Sometimes, in comparing Guyana to the United States, an argument is put forward that America is what it is because it can afford to be that way and that Guyana is an incredibly poor country and, therefore, it is unfair to compare the two.

However, how much does acceptance cost? What is the price? Is Guyana so poor that writers and artists cannot be afforded free rein to do what makes them happy? How much does supporting an artist with encouraging words or buying a ticket to see a local play take out of someone? Is Guyana so poor that we must blame even this on the state of our poverty? Sometimes, there are valid excuses.

Yes, Guyana lacks the resources possessed by the United States and, for that reason, we are far behind. But in other ways, there is no blame but the blame within us – the blame that stems from an ignorance where we refuse to compromise beyond what we know, beyond our own beliefs, regardless of if they hold someone back or not, and artists do not thrive when they are reined in or suppressed.

As I type this in a hotel room on the University of Iowa campus, I can hear beautiful singing streaming through my window. The singer’s voice is accompanied by instruments. A group of college students has set up a small band by the Iowa River, no doubt, and they are enjoying themselves and enjoying their art. Tai Chi and Yoga are done on the lawns. There are paintings on bridges. Men play their flutes in the evenings just because. And every other person you pass on the streets is either a writer or a supporter of a writer. How much do these things cost? And, again, is Guyana really so poor?