Staggered Breaths: Holding the Note of Artistic Freedom
At Red Room Poetry, we understand the power of breath. Of voice, of silence, and of the spaces that stretch between. Like a choir sustaining a long unwavering phrase, we rely on each other in staggered breathing to carry the song when individual breath runs short. In this way, poetry endures. The work continues. The note does not break.
Poetry is our note. And we have always sung it together.
As Australia’s leading organisation for commissioning, creating, publishing, and promoting poetry, our work is inherently relational, grounded in integrity and born of collaboration with poets, communities, and partners across environments, First Nations, youth and marginalised voices. We create for impact because poetry must be visible, vibrant, and accessible, especially to those historically silenced.
That’s why we cannot hold our breath now.
A Sharp Intake of Breath
The recent decision by the State Library of Queensland to rescind the black&write! Fellowship awarded to Ren Wyld was a shock for all of us at Red Room Poetry. Abrupt, painful, and disorienting. Whether or not one agrees with the original (and subsequently deleted) post, it’s a silencing not only of a singular voice, but of the very principles black&write! was created to uphold: truth-telling, cultural autonomy, and the unapologetic brilliance of First Nations storytellers.
We honour the black&write! team whose dedication to truth and creative excellence has shaped literary culture in this country and we pay our respects to Ren Wyld, an artist we have worked with and admire. Their courage to speak from the heart, to write from the body, to name what others fear, is the very essence of poetry.
To see an artist’s recognition rescinded for expressing their beliefs is chilling. To know it has happened to a First Nations poet whose story arises from this land and lineage is infuriating.
This is not an isolated moment. These acts of silencing are targeting artists who have, in different ways, responded with passion and conviction to what committees of the United Nations and multiple human rights organisations have called genocide in Gaza. We are witnessing a wider reckoning in Australia’s cultural landscape, one where artistic freedom is increasingly compromised by political pressure and institutional fear.
Withdrawal of support, recognition and awards for artists selected by independent panels is a disturbing pattern with a public message: if your personal views are politically inconvenient, your voice will be silenced.
In the past year alone, we’ve seen resignations, retractions, festival cancellations, and behind-the-scenes pressure mount, a litmus test exposing the uncomfortable intersection of art, truth, and institutional allegiance.
On various occasions this year, we have written to cultural partners expressing our concern over the decisions they have taken and — in certain cases, with care for our fellow arts workers who do not directly make these decisions — paused partnerships until these issues are addressed, when we have found our values could be compromised.
To Our Creative Kin
To the artists who keep breathing truth into this world, even when the air is thin: we see you. Your voice matters. Your courage matters. You are not singing solo.
Red Room stands by our Commitment to Artistic Freedom and will continue to fight for a literary culture that protects creative freedom, celebrates radical honesty and honours truth-telling, especially when it is uncomfortable, and that holds space for the full range of human, poetic expression.
We understand that silence is not safety. And when we remain quiet in the face of censorship, we leave others to gasp for breath alone. We believe in curatorial sovereignty, cultural safety, and the sanctity of art as a space for reflection, dissent, and reimagination. We believe that art is not separate from politics, it is shaped by, and shaping of, the world around us. And it must be free to speak.
This moment is painful. But it has also made visible the strength, clarity, and solidarity of our community. Like a choir holding a note, breath after breath, voice after voice.
Let the note continue.
