Published on The Straits Times
www.straitstimes.com Published on Jan 21, 2011
Please, Mr Postman, don't let the romance die
Food for thought, when the postal service is seen through eyes of art
By Clara Chow
THERE has always been something romantic about the figure of the postman in popular culture.
Just think of the lovelorn postman, who learns from Chilean exile Pablo Neruda how to write poetry to woo his beloved, in the 1994 Italian film Il Postino. Or of Thomas Pynchon's 1966 novel The Crying Of Lot 49, in which a mysterious, secret order of postmen called the Trystero triggers a housewife's obsession.
There's also the historical Pony Express - a short-lived mail delivery service from 1860 to 1861 - which is caught up inexorably in the lore of the American Wild West, all thundering horses, perilous crossings, speed and adventure.
Even Kevin Costner's 1997 post-apocalyptic film, The Postman, for all its awfulness, posits the postman as a kind of nomadic survivor-cum-hero; a lone ranger on a dedicated mission; a symbol of hope for a damaged civilisation.
So it strikes me as sad that the occupation isn't as rosy or glamorous in real life.
A report three weeks ago revealed that few people here want to be postmen. Singapore Post (SingPost) said it is considering hiring postal workers from countries like Malaysia, China and the Philippines, in the face of a dearth of local applicants for the postman's, um, post.
By the way, the average age of postmen here is 50 - not quite the right demographic if you're looking for the hunky, romantic male/mail heart-throbs seared into our collective consciousness.
Flying in the face of this trend, then, is a group of five young Australians, in town to play postmen for a week. As part of an art project called The Knowledge, Brisbane-based collective Boxcopy has started The Boxcopy Publics Carriage Office of Singapore (BPCOS).
BPCOS will deliver goods or messages islandwide for free from Monday to Jan 31. Their only condition: that the delivery challenges their knowledge of Singapore and the limitations of their services. The project, says team member Channon Goodwin, 29, has its roots in ideas about travel, exploration and service. He added that the group's effort and physical work in delivering the items were 'like a gift' to the participants.
Eschewing private cars for trains, bicycles or just plain hoofing it, the group - all in their mid- to late-20s - will document its attempts to complete the deliveries. Maintaining a temporary physical office at the Post-Museum, an independent art space in Rowell Road, the team will process and package the documentation materials. These will then be sent to the senders, whom Mr Goodwin refers to as 'employers', as proof-cum-present of their participation.
BPCOS is intriguing, not least because it harks back to an earlier ideal of postal service. When I rang the BPCOS office to try out their service, Mr Goodwin and I discussed the postman paradox. The figure is invested with meanings and associations of trust, reliability, sacrifice and even saviourhood. And yet, society has assigned the work he does with a low economic value. We valorise postmen on one level, yet make it so that the occupation is not rewarding. What has gone wrong?
But the lack of mailmen is just one aspect of a larger post-post issue. In the age of digital dissemination, there is a need to think long and hard about the role and symbolic power of Singapore's postal system.
Sometimes, when queueing to send parcels or buy parking coupons at a SingPost branch, I peer at the cans of abalone and entry-level mobile phones with pre-paid cards on display in the glass cabinets, and feel wistful and nostalgic. Whatever happened to the romance of the post office?
It used to be that the post office, with its busy sorting rooms, cascades of letters and colourful display of first-day covers, stood for infinite possibilities.
To mail a letter or a package was akin to waving a dear friend off on a journey: Would he be going by ship or air? How would she look, wearing her tickets on her paper jacket in the form of assorted stamps? Is there time for a quick kiss on the flap before the envelope slithers, slides and disappears into the slitty smiles of the mailboxes?
From the confines of the mailroom, you could imagine the immensity of the world beyond; and the routes, networks and links criss-crossing this world. And you could imagine reaching out and touching that world by the simple, physical act of sending something by post.
Ironic, then, that the world seems to have shrunk in our current, neighbourhood SingPost outlets.
These days, people engaging in basic postal matters - that is, buying stamps or posting packages - have a dedicated line or counter for them. They are the minority, the abnormal folk, who use the post office for its original purpose, as opposed to the peak-hour crowd busy attending to the mundane duties of their everyday, prosaic existence. You know, renewing road tax, getting insurance or loans, settling bills and buying abalone.
Perhaps, the post office is ultimately a symbol of a national identity, reflecting a community's needs and psyche. After all, one of the first things any country does on attaining independence is to issue its own stamps. Our post offices are microcosms of our heartland. And if the masses have no time for the the romance of postal mail, in a fast-paced, digital environment, who can blame them? Perhaps each nation gets the post office it deserves.
Perhaps, to evolve with the times while standing proud as an institution, SingPost has to consider heightening the post office-going experience. Like the cinema in the DVD age, its survival might be predicated upon it revamping itself as a specialised escapist apparatus, or an immersive event.
After all, as we are seeing with BPCOS, the act of sending and delivering something has become literally an art form.
E-mail? Oh - sniff! - how common.
clarac@sphxxxx.com.sg
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