“This dreaming happens in the minutiae of caring”
An interview of Irie Aman on friendship, journaling, and dreaming as care work
Meerabelle Jesuthasan
Who Cares is a series of Q&As about care—the many definitions and applications of the word, from individual to collective, as it manifests across contexts from friendships to grassroots organizations to neighborhoods to group chats. What are the radical potentials of care under capitalism, and how does care—in the many forms of work and relationships that it takes—let us reimagine the current conditions?
Irie Aman is a worker and community organizer based in Singapore. Previously, they were the editor-in-chief of the now-defunct magazine The Local Rebel. Their current projects range from hosting virtual journaling sessions to developing safe spaces for queer Muslims through a group called QUASA. We spoke over video chat about the relationship between art and mutual aid, the creation of spaces in which to thrive, and the impact of material conditions on mental wellness.
—Meerabelle Jesuthasan
On mutual aid as instinct. Kids come up with social wisdom on their own, and we tell them that’s wrong. Mutual aid is a lot like that—we know that there are things that we should be doing for our community and we don’t necessarily have the language for it. I think the language helps develop our capacity, but it’s not necessary. For me, mutual aid has always been about asking: who do I personally know, and how can I reach out to them?
The poetry world I’m a part of was crucial to me in university, as a place to vent and as a source of support. I was food insecure, and the people in that community made sure that I had enough to eat and that I wasn’t as financially anxious as I probably would have been without their help. Just that generosity of $20 for a week completely blew mind. I knew people cared for each other but it was another thing for them to also recognize, “I can’t just say ‘I love you’ today, I need to give you money so that you can eat.” At that time, I hadn’t yet developed close personal relationships with the people that were helping me out. It made me realize that, if I care about someone, I have to also care about their lived experiences, their material conditions.
On providing tools to navigate mental health. Until recently, I didn’t have the financial capacity to provide material support to others during the pandemic. So I thought, what can I offer? I realized I could give people the language to express what they’re going through, and the tools to do that in a healthy way.
I do have a degree in psychology but, beyond that, I’ve just always been very curious about, and aware of, what my own mental health required. I developed those tools on my own, by picking things up here and there, whether it was from therapy, or other workshops, or things I read online. The whole idea of empowering people with tools that they already have is very important to me. I don’t know anyone as much as they know themselves. If I give you the tools, you can refine and adapt them for your own purposes. I’m just a conduit of information; I’m not more qualified or better at this than anyone else.
On finding community through art. I was ostracized and bullied growing up in school. It wasn’t until I entered creative spaces that I found so many queer people, progressive and interesting people, that I could really connect with. I found community by learning to prioritize the arts and learning to make space for queerness in my life.
When you first walk into a creative space, something arises within you. You realize that, for all these years, you’ve been repressing the arts in yourself, or society has been asking you to ignore that part of yourself, and for the first time you feel so alive. You realize that this is what people are meant to be doing. You’re meant to be creating art, you’re meant to be talking to people, sharing ideas, and dreaming of better things.
I think this dreaming happens in the minutiae of caring for each other, in the way that we have all these big ideas for ourselves, or the events that we run, and we don’t think about what could stop us. Being in that space, being so comfortable, you’re not thinking of yourself as someone who’s marginalized, even if you’re aware of what happens outside the bubble you’re in. You just have this notion that you want to replicate that safety, that belonging everywhere else—and that, for me, is what the dreaming aspect is like.
On QUASA and creating safe spaces. QUASA is an example of a community that is daring to dream for itself. “Where can we go? Can we make that space here, can we build it ourselves?” QUASA is for queer Muslims, and we’re really committed to creating not just a safe space but also structures and processes and material that will outlast us as individuals. We’re making sure that we have established all these different, interlocking safety nets for the queer Muslim community to adopt and practice for themselves. Basically, we are trying to create a replicable curriculum of sorts.
I run the mental health part. There is also the spiritual aspect and the social welfare aspect, and in all of these we try to create processes that people can keep applying in order to develop their own communities beyond Quasa. I have been in great spaces that were dependent on one or two people. It’s very egocentric, which doesn’t create a healthy environment and makes us all reliant on this one person. We’re trying to avoid that with Quasa.
On material conditions. We can’t divorce well-being from our material conditions or the infrastructure that we have grown up in, like family dynamics that breed toxicity and abusive behaviors, or, especially in a Singaporean context, a very stressful education system. As much as individuals suffer alone, we are very much a result of our environment. Growing up in a kierarchy does gaslight you, it does trick you into thinking that your experiences are not real or valid.
On bullet journaling. During the circuit-breaker [Covid-19 shutdown in Singapore], I organized virtual journaling check-ins, which included general emotional journaling as well as bullet journaling tips. I would do an introduction, then give a small activity to do. The participants would share a bit, and then I would talk to them about a different but related facet, like boundaries, or what connecting to our emotions can look like, or the skill we’re building. The sharing portion was when people not only learned new things but also I could see the moment when they would think, “It’s really nice to share this with someone else.”
On friendship. I have this pedestal complex when it comes to my friends. I think it’s because I’m so aware with every moment that friendships have served what my family could not. Friendship is so transformative and restorative. I honestly do not know who I’d be without my friends. I know that they are my biggest support systems, that they have given me a really solid foundation.
On being big on themselves. I have so much on my plate, what I’ve been trying to do is block out days where I don’t meet anyone. And I can’t really tell you how that’s going yet. I think the danger for me is, because I am so community-minded, I tend to build my self-worth around what I can do for other people. I’m very big on community, but now I have to be big on myself.
Liked this piece? If you live in Singapore, you can support QUASA by sending funds directly to Irie on Paylah/Paynow: 88569096.
If you’re in the US, you can Venmo @atm-magazine or @Meerabelle-Jesuthasan, who will transfer the funds to Irie.You can read Meerabelle’s essay “The Internet Is Not Forever” in issue 1.