The ‘Allah’ controversy – race in Malaysia and Singapore

Most readers here would at least be aware of the recent furore that has erupted over a Malaysian court ruling allowing a Catholic publication to use the word ‘Allah’. The backlash: a stay of execution has been ordered against the court ruling, the government has filed an appeal against the ruling, and 8 churches and a convent have been firebombed or vandalised. It must be noted that all the 8 incidents were isolated cases; yet, the fact that places of worship have been thus attacked can only show the widening rift over this issue in Malaysian society.

My first impression of the issue was that it seemed rather blown out of proportion. After all, it is largely a matter of semantics. Forgive me if what comes after this is misrepresented; this is what I have learnt from newspaper reports. ‘Allah’ is Arabic; it is actually ‘al-lah’, which is equivalent to ‘the god’, or simply, ‘God’, with a capital G. The word predates Islam by almost 300 years. Since during that time there were Arabs who converted to Christianity, they called their God ‘Allah’. Later on, missionaries who spread the Christian faith to the Malay archipelago (Borneo, Indonesia etc) also spread the use of the word ‘Allah’ to refer to the Christian God. Till this day, Indonesian and Arab Christians still use the word Allah, a widely-accepted practice.

Now Malaysian Muslims (or rather, a minority of them) are claiming ‘Allah’ as the name of their God only. They believe that Christians have no right to the word, and that their use of the word is an insidious attempt to proselytise, to confuse Muslims and thus convert them to Christianity. They contend that the word ‘tuhan’ in Bahasa means effectively the same thing, so Christians should use that and return ‘Allah’ to the Muslims. However, ‘tuhan’ is only a generic word for ‘god’ (note the lowercase), and besides, Malaysian Christians feel that there is nothing wrong with using ‘Allah’ – they have been using it for generations.

To add to the frustration, religious authorities have sanctioned the use of the word ‘Allah’ by Christians. After all, the three Abrahamic religions – Judaism, Christianity and Islam – effectively worship the same God.

It is tempting to say that nomenclature should not even be a matter for debate. That it does not matter what you call your God, as long as you have faith. However, it is understandable that Muslims might feel uncomfortable sharing their God with Christians, so to speak.  

The real concern, I have come to realise, is not so much the semantics but the underlying racial tensions and the political responses to the issue. It is from these that we in Singapore can glean the ways in which potential fault lines in a multiracial, multireligious society can crack open.

The controversy in Malaysia is perhaps the latest manifestation, or demonstration of, Malay supremacy. I read a comment on the issue, made by a Malaysian public figure. I cannot remember who it was or the actual wording, but the gist of it was, how can 3 million or so of the population (9.1% of Malaysians are Christian) claim ’Allah’ for themselves when it belongs to 15 – 16 million people (i.e. Malaysian Muslims) already? It was galling. It smacked of the condescending cockiness of a majority that is clearly used to getting its way. Indeed, affirmative action as enshrined in the Malaysian Constitution seems to have bred a vocal minority of Malay supremacists.

Next is the prickly role that religion plays in politics and public life in Malaysia. Although Malaysia is multireligious, the official religion is Islam. This goes in line with the current 54% Malay majority and Article 160 of the Malaysian Constitution, which equates being Muslim with being Malay. We see the prevalence of race-based parties in Malaysia; the ruling Barisan Nasional (BN) coalition consists of race-based parties, and in both BN and the opposition Pakatan Rakyat, the Malay-Islamic party is the most powerful. Even though the minorities may do better economically, it would be difficult for them not to feel disenfranchised with the race-based system.

Consider, then, the response to the issue. After the court ruling was publicised, rumblings of dissent began to stir. When it was made known that protesters would hold rallies after Friday prayers demonstrating against the court ruling, the government did not stop them – and this in a country that is just about as averse to protests as Singapore. Not only that – the government itself sent in an appeal against the ruling. Whatever the authorities may say, surely these two actions in themselves are tantamount to taking sides, underscoring the leadership’s stance on Malay supremacy. Or they can be construed as another attempt in a continued effort to cover up the majority’s insecurity. Either way, it does not seem to bode well for the state of racial affairs in Malaysia.

Singapore, in quite a few ways, is fundamentally different. We have a Chinese majority, but this majority is multireligious in itself. We do not practise affirmative action as such, according Malays only special status as the indigenous people of Singapore. We are officially multiracial and multireligious; race-based parties would be almost heresy in Singaporean politics. We have a clearly secular government. In fact, after the race riots of the 60’s, race has become a sterilised topic in public discourse, mentioned only as a tribute to the unity of our nation.

Put simply, I do not think the situation in Malaysia would ever replicate itself here. For one, Singaporeans, although still aware of racial differences, have indeed been drilled with the word ‘multiracial’. No matter how much all of us may roll our eyes at Total Defence or National Day messages that advocate plurality and unity, I believe we know the value of multiracialism, and we will not do anything foolish enough to upset the status quo. Needless to say, the government as propagator of the multiracialism policy would not allow anything that might upset it. Religion is perhaps even more untouchable than race in our society, perhaps because it plays a more private role in our lives. Secularism is something I think most if not all Singaporeans have come to accept – the right to believe whatever one wants to believe, as long as it is kept out of the public sphere. Though we may be seeing the rise of religious groups seeking to effect change in social institutions (think of the AWARE saga), we still see that the majority of Singaporeans remain rooted in secularism, as evidenced in the backlash against the takeover of AWARE.

After all that, to be truthful, race still matters in Singapore. It may not be as sensitive an issue as it once was, but there are still racial tensions inherent in society. For one, stereotyping is still common. Then there is the fact that minority groups like the Malays are not as well off economically and not as well-represented in social life and politics. However, perhaps race will become less of an issue in the future. It is heartening to know that 16.4% of all marriages in 2007 were inter-ethnic, a clear sign of a trend on the rise. It is good to know that we can debate a potentially racially-charged issue, such as choosing the race of a child of mixed parentage, rationally and in a public forum. We continue to progress, however slowly. 

Back to the controversy at the root of all this. So who does ‘Allah’ really belong to? While the real answer may be both Muslims and Christians, the pragmatic answer may be only one group. It would thus be a generous gesture if Christians gave up their claim in acknowledgement of the unique racial and religious state of affairs in Malaysia. It would also be wonderful if Muslims agreed to discard their suspicions and embrace Christians as fellow believers. Either way, that would really be faith as its best.

When Singapore ranks 133rd – and no one cares

In the Press Freedom Index 2009 released by Reporters Without Borders, Singapore ranked an unencouraging 133rd out of 175 countries. In a similar ranking by the World Audit website, Singapore came in 112th place out of 150 countries, one spot below Iraq. Freedom House, the organisation at the forefront of such press freedom rankings, lists Singapore’s press as “Not Free” in an abysmal 151st place out of a possible 195.

In a country where number ones in various fields are proudly held up as shining examples of progress against all odds, where a drop from the top spot is cause for urgent concern and a flurry of corrective action, any of the three rankings above should logically result in paralysing paroxysms of horror amongst the government and populace, followed by a revolution in our local media. Yet the response has been wholly nonchalant. K. Shanmugam, our Law Minister, commented on how such rankings are “absurd and divorced from reality”. Apart from the laments of bloggers and online commentators, the general population remains unmoved by, even unaware of, this shocking news. 

Before taking sides, it is useful to look at the methodologies used in such rankings. We begin with a Reporters Without Borders caveat: “[The] index should in no way be taken as an indication of the quality of the press in the countries concerned”. The indices measure press freedom specifically. Thus, even if a country has media that are well-written and/or well-presented, it stands for nothing if the media are completely controlled by the government. Indeed, the level of control exerted by government and other entities over the media is a key criterion in such rankings: Freedom House explains that its index measures “the degree to which each country permits the free flow of information”. It takes into account three factors: the legal environment, or the laws and regulations that can influence media content and the government’s inclination to use such laws to restrict media content; the political environment, which is the degree of political control exerted over the media; and the economic environment, which includes the structure, transparency and concentration of media ownership. Reporters Without Borders adds in “the degree of impunity” enjoyed by those perpetrating press freedom violations.

One only need flip through a copy of The Straits Times to see that there are articles on issues of local and international importance, all written in fluent and crisp English. Myself, I read the papers every day, and certainly it gives me my fill of news. I cannot fault it in that respect. But the press freedom rankings shed light on the glossed-over underside of Singaporean media, and the strange relationship between the government, the press, and the people. These are areas that we as a country would do well to look at with a fresh perspective.

I must link here to media academic Cherian George’s article titled “Newspapers: Freedom from the press”. Mr George posits that the government exercises three levels of control over the press, control which translates into a lack of press freedom. These three levels of control also gel nicely with the legal, political, economic framework used in the Freedom House survey. The first consists of various national security laws, such as the (now not used for this function) Internal Security Act and the Sedition Act. Such laws were contrived presumably to quash any voices that diverged from what the government wanted to be heard. We see these laws in action most clearly in the defamation suit brought against the Far Eastern Economic Review by Lee Kuan Yew and Lee Hsien Loong.

The second level of control comprises the Newspaper and Printing Presses Act. Surely the contents of this Act are cause for alarm: it requires newspaper companies to be publicly listed, and part of their shares divested to government-appointed persons. The government is effectively a major shareholder, wielding control over the board of directors and top editorial positions. The press, as many in the blogosphere put it, becomes the government’s “dog”.

If that is not worrying enough, we have the third level of control. It is the control exercised over a people who have consented to be controlled. As Mr George puts it, “the inescapable truth is that Singapore’s newspapers are, at least in part, willing partners, of the state”. Why? ”In the Singapore model, the elected government is the expression of democracy, and it is protected from the press, which is unelected and therefore undemocratic… it is about the government’s freedom from the press”.

All three levels of control are, in reality, cause for concern. This is particularly so for the last. Most Singaporeans can probably identify with the pithy summary of “it is about the government’s freedom from the press”; in fact, many probably are resigned to that fact, or do not even care. It has become so ingrained in Singaporean culture, to the point that in some ways it has become the culture. It is the culture of big government, the perception (or should I say reality?) that all public institutions, even the media, are staffed by government, and the laziness of a people who consent to their government making decisions for them. This may not be harmful in itself, particularly when the government in question has been firmly anti-corruption and, critically, successful in turning the nation’s fortunes right around in an incredibly short span of time. However, if Singapore is to progress further - if, as the government itself says, the emphasis is to shift from the hardware of governance to the “heartware” of the people – an increase in press freedom is necessary.

The press, in the framework of a democracy, plays a vital role in the system of checks on the government. A free press investigates shortcomings of policies, uncovers fraud, corruption, and other harmful elements in the system, highlighting all these to the people, who will ultimately decide whether they want to change the system. Because it can have a tremendous impact on public opinion, the pinnacle of press performance is reporting fact. This is, of course, impossible to achieve, since the selection and presentation of facts is necessarily subjective.  What the press can do is present a bundle of varying views on a particular subject, and then let the people form their own views.

In Singapore, the unsaid consensus is that the government has reined in the press precisely because of its ability to present alternative views. In essence, our government does not want Singaporeans to take heed of these alternative views; it wants to continue perpetrating the culture of big government, out of a sincere belief that it is the correct thing to do. Critical opinions in foreign publications are fair game, since outsiders cannot perceive the unique challenges Singapore faces and are hence misguided. But local media must be controlled because there can be no risk of dissent from within. Such are the quirks of our particular style of democracy.

In recent times, the government has gone to great pains to portray itself as receptive to criticism of its policies, just intolerant of personal attacks on statesmen. This is certainly believable, and reasonable. Yet it is unlikely one will ever find an article of the kind published on The Online Citizen or Temasek Review in the pages of The Straits Times. Such articles definitely qualify as ‘alternative’, but they are evidently anathema to the government, which is leaning to a combative stance towards such media. By doing so, the government is making a move that could prove costly: while small players, alternative media do attract readership. This readership is scornful of blunders in governance, and becoming entrenched in an ‘us-versus-them’ mindset that will clearly manifest itself at the polls.

Forgive me; I was making a side point. What I meant to say was, the obvious unwillingness of the government to let anything more than a touch negative about its policies be published in the local press, indeed, its very need to control the press, seems now to betray a certain insecurity. While press control in past decades may have been construed as part of a concerted effort to pave a smooth way for the implementation of potentially unpopular policy, such reasoning sounds hollow now in the light of a more stable society, educated population and the rise of divergent viewpoints exemplified in the alternative media. The impression is that the nanny is uncertain how to carry on after the child has grown up, and refuses to relinquish control. The nanny seems to have something to hide in the upbringing of the child.

Whether the government really fits in the mould of the nanny I mentioned above is a moot point. The important thing is that that is the impression given, and needless to say, that impression does not go down well in international circles. It may not affect big corporations’ decisions to relocate here, but it insidiously affects foreigners’ perceptions of Singaporeans. It paints Singaporeans as brainwashed, unable to think for themselves since they blindly follow the government. To think otherwise would be committing the crime of being “divorced from reality”.

The thing is, the Singaporean government has no need to be afraid of criticism. If, as it says, it is perfectly above board and has nothing to hide, why contradict itself by clinging onto press control? It wants the “right of reply” when accusations are levelled against it; sure, but logically, such accusations must be publicly published first. Would it not doubly strengthen its credibility if it could defend itself robustly against criticism it allowed to be published? Would not the electorate esteem it better if it humbly took heed of scathing, but contructive, feedback in a public forum?

Furthermore, a freer press would, I believe, create a more enlightened people. If exposed to differing views, Singaporeans would be more able to view things in a different light, to think critically about the issues that matter, to see fallacies for what they are, to form their own opinion and defend it. They would be more active, politically and socially, since the free press would be a vehicle for them to be aware of and highlight needed corrections in the society. And even if the government would have a tougher time of it, the rewards in the end would be greater, since the people would now play a more integral part in governance. 

I am, of course, being idealistic. It is understood that Singapore, due to inherent limitations, is a particular case where big government is sometimes required. Yet, such a “cultural [distinction]… may limit the volume of news flows within a country, but [this] and other arguments are not acceptable explanations for outright centralised control of the content of news and information”, as Freedom House puts it. What can be done? Abolish the Newspaper and Printing Presses Act. Maintain tough libel and defamation laws, by all means, but create a more open climate where it can be truly said that the government is receptive to criticism of its policies. Let journalists realise they do not, and in fact should not, self-censor. And for our part, let us open our eyes and realise how much we take for granted, how much we let our government do all the work, for we are part of the problem.

Why are Singaporeans politically apathetic, or, Why is the PAP still in power?

Before anything else, an explanation of this entry’s title is probably in order. Well, I feel that these two questions are intrinsically linked, and the answers to them overlap. Certainly there seems to be a justifiable correlation between Singaporeans’ indifference towards politics and the longevity of PAP rule.

A useful starting point for this discussion, even if it is on a tangent, is Bryan Caplan’s study titled “Two Paradoxes of Singaporean Political Economy”. Mr Caplan explores why, despite instituting “economically efficient, but politically unpopular” policies, the PAP has kept an iron grip on governance. It is his final explanation, “Singaporean voters are unusually loyal, deferential, and / or resigned” that is the most pertinent in this case. Why, according to the World Values Survey quoted in Mr Caplan’s study, are only 3.2% of Singaporeans “very interested” in politics, with a further 32.8% regarding themselves as only “somewhat interested”?

Out of the confluence of factors that I believe engender political apathy, it is hard to pick one out as the main culprit. The first reason that comes to my mind is a lack of credible opposition. How else could PAP hegemony, now reaching 51 years, be achieved if not for the absence of a rival group that could pose a threat? Every Singaporean knows that the opposition does exist; Chiam See Tong, Member of Parliament (MP) for Potong Pasir, is a household name of sorts. Yet beyond a few figures like Mr Chiam, Low Thia Khiang, Sylvia Lim and Chee Soon Juan, the term “opposition” draws a blank. When one considers that only 2 seats out of 84 in Parliament are held by opposition MPs, it is easy to conclude that political opposition in Singapore is still in a rather embryonic phase.

The other thing we should consider, though, is why the opposition’s performance is so lacklustre. Certainly the opposition parties can be faulted for not recruiting new blood, and for causing the occasional media fracas a la Chee Soon Juan. But then again, it is possible that the PAP has erected such high barriers to entry for other political organisations that it has become impossible to compete. The PAP has the manpower, grassroots penetration and, most importantly, funding, to effectively campaign and recruit new members. There is also seemingly no separation of powers between the PAP as government and the Elections Department, and policies such as the Group Representation Constituency Scheme, implemented by the PAP, undeniably work to its advantage. It is also difficult to shake off the impression that local media is at least partially controlled or monitored by the state, and stories about members of the opposition rarely show them in a good light. All this contributes to a generally poor or pitying impression of the opposition among the populace, leading to a dearth of new members as people avoid the ’dead end’ of opposition politics, which in turn further weakens the already anaemic opposition.

The end result is that no matter what platform the opposition campaigns on or how many fresh faces they recruit, they will always remain in opposition to the PAP behemoth. It may be likened to a case of David versus Goliath, and while Singaporeans may sympathise with David, they are resigned to Goliath winning. 

Simple resignation is amplified in a Singaporean context because of our unique psyche. Our ‘kiasi’ mentality – literally, ’scared to die’ – kicks in when we see the David versus Goliath battle: even if David won, we would still be afraid of the spectre of Goliath, looming over us with thinly veiled threats that we would not be able to enjoy the fruits of growth or even upgraded lifts. It is safer, and easier, to root for Goliath. Even if we cannot stand the end situation, our stoic temperament prevents us from doing much more than just complaining about it.   

Apathy can also be traced to the mindset that there is no point fighting the system. The PAP has penetrated every level of government and the civil service, from ministries down to neighbourhood Residents’ Committees. Awareness of this far-reaching bureaucracy, mixed with the fear that the bureaucracy might bite back, dissuades citizens from voicing their grievances, even if nowadays the government is more open to receiving feedback and complaints.

Regardless of how much they may rail against the PAP, the prevailing mindset amongst Singaporeans is ultimately that the PAP does know how to govern - the proof is in the 44 years since independence, when Singapore jumped from Third World to First, all under PAP governance. For this feat many Singaporeans are loyal to the PAP - on a personal note here, I know my parents certainly are – and hence, despite its shortcomings, the PAP is still widely regarded as the best choice to govern the country, especially in times of crisis. In the minds of much of the population, it is a reliable choice that they can fall back on. As long as it exists, they do not see much reason to worry or even to care, for the PAP will get on with its usual business of winning elections and governing.

Of course, apathy can also be explained as just that – a disinclination to bother. Many youth especially are comfortably apolitical, since politics does not affect their daily lives at all.

Ironically, the longevity of PAP rule may be the very reason for its continuity. It seems paradoxical, but is logical when viewed in the following context: since Singaporeans do not know any other system of governance apart from the PAP’s, they do not care for any other. The little they know of the opposition does not entice them, and they immediately jump to the conclusion of David versus Goliath, deciding to go with Goliath, of course, following the reasons stated above. They feel that the long reign of the PAP, and its inevitable continued rule, is reason enough for them to be apathetic.

(Side note: One has to wonder if the PAP does not actually mind Singaporeans being politically apathetic, if that can keep it in power?)

After all that, there is a caveat: the rumblings of dissent are growing louder. Recent news like sky-high prices of HDB flats and the influx (one could say invasion) of foreign workers, have not gone down well with Singaporeans, and they are getting bolder in their criticism of government handling of these issues. There is also a corresponding growing realisation, however small, of flaws in governance. This political enlightenment of sorts can be explained partly by the rise of new media such as blogs and online forums that provide alternative (read: anti-government) viewpoints on current affairs. Such new media have awakened Singaporean netizens’ social consciousness, resulting in a growing tide of politically aware voices.

Yet for the large part, even if they are angry at the government, Singaporeans cannot envision it without the PAP. At the very least, however, many Singaporeans are beginning to realise that their government is not perfect, and since dissatisfaction breeds awareness, that is the surest first step towards greater political participation. Then again, Singaporeans’ misgivings about the opposition and belief in the still-credible governance of the PAP should keep the PAP in power, even if by a much smaller margin than in the past. But what will happen once the number of politically aware Singaporeans reaches a critical mass remains to be seen. Will there be a parallel correlation between decreased political apathy and a reduction of PAP power? Only time will tell.

Asian values, democracy and dissent

I just re-read Ho Cheow Seng’s article on the Young PAP website titled “To The Devotees of Western Democracy and Human Rights”, and was as disturbed by it as I was the first time I read it. In essence, it excoriates the abovementioned devotees with the following: the West, particularly the United States,  has committed abominable transgressions in democracy and human rights in its wars and in its quests for colonies in the past, and hence has no moral right to force-feed us these very same values; and no one should be a “cultural banana” (i.e. yellow outside and white inside) as it betrays a lack of respect for oneself and one’s own culture.

There is, of course, some truth in the first point - one need not have studied history to know that the colonial masters were not always kind to their subjects. But even if this makes the perpetrators of democracy and human rights hypocrites, does that render these values necessarily false? It is curious how the article offers no substantative arguments against democracy and human rights as values in themselves. As for the second point, pride in one’s culture and learning from other cultures are not mutually exclusive. In any case, I fail to see how politics features in our Singaporean culture. If it does, it is the kind of politics practised by the PAP since it achieved one-party rule, and such politics is certainly not sacrosanct. 

The article sets up an opposition between “Western values” such as democracy and human rights, and “Asian values”. The trouble is, both these terms are nebulous, the second more than the first. How do we define these sets of values, so as to establish the parameters for debate? Even if we can associate democracy and human rights (of which the latter is really more of a universal concept) with the West, the term “Asian values” draws a blank. As one of the comments said, think about how much in common your values system would have with that of someone from the Philippines, Russia, India, even China or Taiwan. If Western values are a sham because they ring false, Asian values are definitely a sham too – because they do not exist. Even if “Asian values” is a synonym for more closely defined Confucian values, are Confucian values necessarily the best values for our society to hold to move forward, even if these values are derived from our individual culture? (Bear in mind that not every Singaporean is ethnic Chinese.)

If we are to determine what system of governance works best for us, we must first of all agree to discard all preconceptions and false beliefs. Declaring systems of governance with origins in alien cultures travesties of our own culture is bigoted in the extreme, and not constructive at all. Of course, the same goes for execrating our current system as worthless, so Mr Ho does have a point there in a way. 

When considering democracy, we should look at what it would add to our political climate, and whether it would be in the end beneficial for us as citizens. Indeed, Mr Ho himself puts it best when he says, “We should not be so arrogant as not to want to look closely at other successful systems of governance with a view to adapting aspects of those systems to our benefit”.

So which aspect of democracy can we adapt to our benefit? To be honest, if I carry on from here I will be going out of my depth, and in any case, this question warrants an entry on its own. I will venture on, though, and say that one thing I believe we could take from the concept of democracy is its acceptance of dissent. To illustrate: in his article, Mr Ho mentions Noam Chomsky’s book which denounces American democracy as a sham. Chomsky is an American. The irony lies in the fact that the system Chomsky exposes as false actually allows him to do so, and this is hence a vindication of sorts for democracy. By allowing dissent, the system’s flaws are highlighted and can be corrected. Now let me ask you: do you think our local authorities would allow a Singaporean to publish a book that exposes Singaporean governance as a sham?

Dissent is part of the unique self-sustaining cycle of democracy. For dissent, in the theory of democracy at least, is feared by the government, since if it spreads, the electorate will turn against them. The government thus has to address the root of the dissent, which will improve life for the electorate. If the problem is not fixed, dissent will spread, and the electorate will vote in a new government that will work for them. Either way, the system is kept healthy and the people happy.

The Singaporean government says it listens to opposing voices and is willing to engage with them, but even if real progress has been made on that front, that is clearly not the view on the ground. It is not hard to see why. For the rigidity of Singaporean politics is stifling, and whatever the PAP stands for now, it is definitely not candour. As with the Lift Upgrading Programme (LUP) issue, when citizens’ letters stating dissatisfaction with the status quo were met with officious replies that skirted their concerns, dissent is commonly met with a indifferent conclusion to “agree to disagree”. New media such as blogs and online forums, which are commonly anti-government, have been given a wide berth by the ministry meant to engage them, with the Acting Minister referring to them as a “challenge” to be presumably dealt with, rather than welcomed or at least accepted as a valid source of different views, extremely skewed though some of them may be. There is the existence of the Internal Security Act, which many Singaporeans still view as a looming spectre if they say anything anti-government, even if it no longer is so; there are incidents like the recent banning of a netizen from the YPAP forum for purported hurling of obscenities. Even if the last example is a comment on the netizen rather than the government, it is indicative of Singaporean mindsets that most citizens would probably react along the lines of “Aiyah, what can you expect.”

Would we benefit if the political climate here becomes more open to dissenting voices? Surely the answer is yes. If current non-mainstream views are anything to go by, a sizeable proportion of anti-government rhetoric is actually rooted in very rational fact, simply viewed through another lens. Singaporeans’ grouses on sky-high HDB prices, the influx of foreign workers, high ministerial pay: these are just a few issues where the man on the street can provide feedback and opinions the authorities should take heed of.  

Of course, there will be problems in the liberalisation in this regard of our political climate: dissent manufactured for political ends by the opposition, lies passed off as complaints, slower passing of legislation as more viewpoints are debated. But I believe the good outweighs the bad in the end. If Singaporeans were allowed to disagree, if they came to believe that their bone of contention might be resolved if they could engage with the government on the matter, I believe they would feel better about their lives and their government. And the PAP has not much to lose. In listening to dissent, it would remove one of the main arguments of the opposition, and thus strengthen its position. It would gain the faith of its people, faith that has been gradually slipping away in recent times. And certainly no one could accuse it of going culturally bananas, for it would display the highest kind of respect – that of the ruler towards the ruled.

On the cultural premise of bilingualism

Bilingualism in Singapore has always been a prickly issue for the Chinese majority. It is not hard to see why, as the policy thus far, in its linking of culture (insofar as language constitutes culture) to grades, has pitted the one against the other. The ongoing debate over the teaching of Chinese carries a lot of angst over the position of the language and hence the culture in our society.

If one views the learning of Chinese as purely an effort to instil a sense of rootedness to the Chinese culture in a child, one can on first sight hardly find fault with the policy of bilingualism; it is even perhaps to be admired. The English / Chinese duality, in its most perfect form, would be a prime example of our government’s constant exhortations to “Stay local, think global” and the like, a vindication of our efforts to mould competitive Singaporeans who can succeed in the global workplace without forgetting their roots.

Yet, once Chinese is made an examinable subject, it becomes fraught with pitfalls: one thinks of situations, albeit more common in the past, where bright students obtained distinctions in all their other subjects but failed Chinese, necessitating the emigration of the entire family to another country just so the child could pursue a university education. Similar situations can play out at primary, secondary and pre-university level.

We should consider the above example carefully. I am sure many of us would feel that the abovementioned students do deserve places in our local universities even if they failed Chinese. But what if it was a different subject? If, for example, a pass in Mathematics was a criterion for university admission, would we feel as strongly for a student who failed Mathematics but obtained distinctions in all other subjects?

I say the above because my own experience with Chinese tells me that Singaporean students rank Chinese as their lowest priority. I know I did, and I believe I am correct in saying most of my friends did too. The primary and secondary schools I attended were both Special Assistance Plan (SAP) schools, but even then, the attitudes towards Chinese in both schools were at best indifferent. In junior college, those of us who held passes at ‘O’ Level Higher Chinese laughed at those who did not, for they had to attend Chinese lessons which they succinctly labelled “a waste of time”. The fact is, students of my generation have no motivation to learn Chinese. It becomes another chore of a subject, not the cultural anchor it is supposed to be. Most of us can speak smatterings of Chinese, enough to converse with the mee pok seller at the hawker centre, but certainly inadequate for a prolonged conversation with a native Chinese. To put it simply, for us, bilingualism has failed. If it has not failed already in making us fluently bilingual, it certainly has failed in its inability to root us in our Chinese culture.

Perhaps the question to be asked is, what is ‘Chinese culture’? Does a Wang Lee Hom pop song with R & B-inspired beats and sprinkled English phrases constitute Chinese culture as much as the original version of Romance of the Three Kingdoms? Either way, certainly rote memorisation of texts and phrases, as is the norm in the teaching of Chinese here, will not instil a love for the culture, howsoever it is defined. And another, larger question: why should we have to be rooted in this culture anyway? In our modern age, China and its culture are literally and metaphorically miles removed from Singaporean Chinese. The fact that we are descended from Chinese immigrants does not causally mandate the learning of the Chinese language.

I am aware that what I have just said is a rather weak counterargument. But what about this: as far as language is the link to culture, Chinese dialects provide a stronger link to Singaporeans’ Chinese culture than the Chinese language. After all, if we are talking about the culture of our forefathers, they spoke Hokkien, Cantonese, Teochew, Hainanese… Chinese was simply the language they used to bridge the language gap between the different dialect groups. Personally, I am more inclined to learn Cantonese and Hakka, my parents’ dialects, over Chinese, for the simple reason that they form a more integral part of my cultural background and family history than Chinese does.

After all that, we see that the cultural premise of bilingualism is at least flawed. But there is still a compelling need for bilingualism, and that is due to the rise of China. We cannot doubt that in the future, more and more of our economics will be tied up with that of China’s, and to make inroads into China, knowledge of Chinese is crucial. This is easy to repeat (and indeed, it often is), but younger students will not understand this rationale, and older students will be inclined to roll their eyes at what they perceive is a lame excuse to justify the teaching of yet another irrelevant subject. Until students find their own reasons for wanting to learn Chinese, the teaching and learning of Chinese will remain a grind, just like any other subject.

Improved pedagogy, with its premise that fun learning leads to a desire to learn, can help in this regard, and the efforts of Chinese teachers to move towards more experiential forms of learning should be acknowledged and appreciated. However, unfortunate as it may be, things like tingxie and moxie should remain, for at the end of the day, rote memorisation and drills do improve the absorption of a language. The same goes for English – I am sure we all remember looking through excruciatingly long lists of verbs in their different forms. If Chinese is to be continued to be taught, its technicalities should not be diluted in the name of ‘fun learning’. A balance will need to be struck.

As for the original issue of poor Chinese grades being an impediment to further advancement - I think that the minimum Chinese grade requirements for school admission, where such requirements exist, should be abolished. Chinese (and the other mother tongues for that matter) should be treated as just normal subjects where grades are concerned. It is unfair to ignore good grades in other subjects just because of a poor grade in a language that may have no bearing on the student’s performance in further education: in extreme cases, it could be likened to rejecting a prospective excellent Theatre student because he failed Chemistry. But the grades, and the existence of Chinese as an examinable subject, must continue. One of the few reasons students keep up with their Chinese is to avoid a red mark on their report card, and if the grading system were dropped, most students would lose their only motivation for studying the subject. This is a cold fact that we must accept.

To conclude, Chinese has become in this day and age just another language: one that is part of our heritage, yes, but perhaps only in a tangential way, as we struggle to reconcile the familial link to China with the obvious inability to meaningfully relate to Chinese culture on an individual level. However, Chinese is and will continue to be relevant to us in other ways. Perhaps the motive for bilingualism should shift towards those reasons, rather than trying to force-feed culture. After all, a love for culture is best grown indirectly: once you find your own motivation to learn a language, the interest in the culture will sprout. Let us just hope that future generations of students manage to find that motivation.

Singlish / English – how?!

With Ris Low, Singlish has come once again into the spotlight. This most peculiar form of English has always provoked strong sentiments among Singaporeans, with some defending it as as part of our culture, and others condemning it as a corrupt version of English that has no place in modern Singaporean society.

But before anything else, I think it is necessary for all parties, particularly those who abhor it, to recognise that Singlish is quite separate from English. It is a strain of English, like American or British English. Unlike these two, however, Singlish was created by a community of people coming from societies where English is not the native language. It is, in other words, pidgin, in its simplification of the sentence structures and verb forms of English, and its incorporation of words from other languages.

I say the above because I subscribe to the belief that Singlish is in some ways a language of its own, especially where syntax is concerned. A sentence like “Are you going to school today?” becomes “You going school today not?”. Try fitting in other pronouns, nouns and similar verbs in the first sentence and the Singlish version will more or less mirror the one given above: simple verb forms, dropping of prepositions and the addition of words that signify questions or exclamations are all typically Singlish. There are general rules, though many of them overlap, for using ‘lah, ‘leh’, ‘lor’ - take a moment to think of the different shades of meaning between “No lah”, “No leh”, and “No lor”. Singlish also has its own phonetics – ‘th’ becomes ‘d’ or ‘f’ (‘this’ and ‘teeth’), plosives like ‘t’ and ‘k’ are almost invariably cut off or not fully aspirated (think ‘”bigini”), vowels are shortened (think “piss” for ’piece’), the list goes on.

Why all this is important is because parents and educators need to know what is English and what is Singlish – or, as the detractors would say, what is bad English. If we are to address the concern of falling English standards, presumably due to the prevalence of Singlish, then we must at least be able to see the links between the two. This applies particularly to parents and educators, for they are the ones chiefly in charge of creating a conducive environment for their children to learn properly structured and pronounced English. The converse must hence necessarily be true: the learning environment created must not encourage Singlish, if Singlish is feared to distract children from learning English. So parents and educators must be able to separate Singlish from English, or code-switch, in other words, so that their children will learn to code-switch as well.

How we can achieve the above remains to be seen, for surely there is a sizeable number of Singaporeans who cannot, for example, explain what is wrong with a Singlish redundancy like ‘irregardless’. But this initial difficulty notwithstanding, what else is required to firm up the English standards of the next generation?

It is widely acknowledged that continuous speaking, reading and writing are required to become proficient in a language. Furthermore, immersion in the language from a young age is advised. Parents must thus head the charge in this regard, as the home environment will be the only one the child knows until they reach nursery or kindergarten age. Early exposure to English words, introductions to phonetics and writing, and the growth of a love for reading, are critical for the seeds of good English to sprout in a child. Once the child enters nursery or kindergarten, properly expressed and pronounced English should be emphasised, mostly through drills, but also through other means like show-and-tell, singing, etc. This foundation must be continually built on throughout the child’s schooling life, with both parents and teachers reinforcing what they are teaching the child by speaking good English themselves.

I recognise that the above is all vaguely put. I will stick by it, however, because as far as I can remember, that was the kind of environment I grew up in, and I daresay my spoken and written English is not of a low standard. I was especially lucky that my parents (particularly my mother, since she is a primary school English teacher) understood the importance of reading to the development of my English proficiency, and hence exposed me to books at a young age. Once that was done, they did not need to do much more: my good teachers in primary school reinforced whatever I had learnt from my reading and gently guided me along in my writing. Looking back now, I really see how crucial reading extensively was for me – subconsciously, I picked up the nebulous concepts of syntax, diction and style, and learnt to appreciate the subtle nuances that mark varying employment of the three.

To emphasise again, parents and teachers should be collaborators in the learning process. A relationship where responsibility is constantly shirked by both parties on the grounds that “It’s not my job” should be avoided at all costs. By virtue of the fact that children spend their time either at school or at home, the controllers of these two environments, that is, teachers and parents, must share the responsibility of teaching the child. Blaming each other for falling English standards gets us nowhere on this issue.

I realise I have made the issue of Singlish and English sound like a zero-sum game. Indeed, it would be only logical to stamp out Singlish in order to facilitate the learning of proper English. But does Singlish deserve to be eradicated, simply because of our need for English?

My heart tells me, no. As tired as this argument may sound, it is true: Singlish is inseparable from our culture. We often define Singaporean society as a litany of multi-’s, but how many of our icons or hallmarks, tangible or not, fit the ‘multicultural, multiracial, multireligious’ bill? We are hard-pressed to find any others apart from our love of food, penchant for lucky numbers, collective hatred of ERP, and Singlish. Singlish is embraced by almost all Singaporeans, bar English puritans, and is a microcosm of our society, albeit in language. Foreigners learn it to blend in. We recognise fellow Singaporeans overseas when we overhear them speaking it. Can we honestly bear to throw our own unique vernacular away?

For some, myself included, Singlish and English can coexist. In fact, I think for many Singaporeans, code-switching is natural. Singlish is used for informal banter with friends or colleagues; English is for presentations, speaking to the boss, making enquiries on the phone. It is the standard of code-switching that varies, for obviously, those with a weaker command of English would speak and write English in a way that is deemed closer to Singlish. From my (admittedly limited) experience so far, however, I suspect that this group is actually aware that Singlish cannot be used in formal writing or discourse, but their weaker command of English cannot provide them with the correct terms or phrasing to be used. The end result is not Singlish, but overstructured, ‘created’ English. The question, therefore, is not so much how to eliminate Singlish but rather how to raise the standard of English.

In raising the standard of English of our next generation, educators, though partners in the learning process, must unfortunately bear a greater share of responsibility in teaching children, for certainly many parents do not have a strong foundation in English, due to the limited education they received. The uphill task lies especially with children who are from poor, non-English-speaking families, who may enter primary school without the slightest inkling of the alphabet. Currently, these children will be left behind in our ruthless system. Even as MOE programmes like Stellar get off the ground in terms of promoting exposure to and expression of English, these children will slip through the cracks if they do not have even a basic grasp of phonetics. So, while the paradigm shift represented by Stellar may bode well for a large majority of students in improving their English through increased exposure, the unlucky kids, the late bloomers, the ones with no aptitude for language, cannot be neglected.

Shifting the focus back to Singlish, I wonder if Singlish could perhaps be used one day as a teaching tool for English lessons. As mentioned, Singlish alters English in certain ways such that a set of rules governing the Singlish-English relationship may be established. Might it not be possible, at the higher levels of education, for students to maybe analyse a Phua Chu Kang script or dissect Ris Low’s interviews to note the errors in grammar and pronunciation? Students would then understand the links between Singlish and English, and be one step closer to clearly separating the two. They would be closer to becoming successful code-switchers.

Which direction the English / Singlish debate goes, only time will tell. Who knows, as our young become more wired, globalised and exposed to English, Singlish, created by their parents and grandparents in their struggle to assimilate to English, may become a legacy of the past. My own feeling, however, is that Singlish will continue to exist, for its rootedness in our collective being will take generations of concerted effort to tear out. My hope, however, is for English to take pride of place beside Singlish, yet not in place of it. Because, you know, zero-sum games just are not fun lah.

Censorship Review Committee is convened mid-term

As a future Media Studies student, my curiosity was piqued when I read that a new Censorship Review Committee (CRC) would be formed, or rather, has already been formed, this year. (For a summarised background on the CRC, please go here.) The Committee is convened by the government every 10 years to review censorship policies, and the last CRC was appointed in 2002. The CRC 2009 is thus unexpected, coming as it is mid-term.

However, when one views the emergence of the Internet as a medium, or should I say, the medium, the context of this mid-term convening of the CRC is understandable. The statistics on IDA’s website provide a good backdrop: in 2002, broadband was a novel concept (it does not even turn up as a statistic), dial-up penetration was only at 48% and most handphones did not even have a camera. Go forward 7 years, and the household broadband penetration rate is now 128.7%, you can easily access the Internet on your 3G handphone, and Facebook is where a large proportion of your social interaction takes place. The Internet, being largely unregulated and indeed largely impossible to regulate, has democratised access to all sorts of media that would be banned on other media platforms such as film or television. Certainly the CRC must constantly keep in mind the overwhelming ease of access to content on the Internet in its considerations.

Even without the rise of the Internet, the CRC faces an uphill task. For in Singapore there is a gradual emergence of two groups, or perhaps more accurately, two mindsets, that champion values that can be said to be polar opposites of each other, at least where censorship is concerned. For ease of reference let me just refer to them as the liberals and conservatives. The liberals are more likely young, possibly educated overseas, exposed to more liberal cultures, are alright with homosexuality, sex and nudity being depicted in media, and believe it is the individual’s responsibility to see what he wants to see. At the extreme, they believe that there should be no censorship controls, and they should have freedom of choice and access in viewing whatever content they wish to see. At the other end of the spectrum are the conservatives, perhaps best typified by the religious group at the centre of the AWARE scandal. Conservatives are  older, most likely married with children, quite possibly Christian (though not necessarily so), and disapprove of the depiction of homosexuality, sex and nudity due to their moral beliefs. They believe that the government has a responsibility to set moral boundaries in order to protect society, or more specifically, the young.

Seeing how vocal these two groups can be, the CRC faces an impasse. The differences are irreconcilable; it is impossible to make everyone happy. A compromise, even if that is unacceptable by both sides, is in truth the only solution. What the CRC needs to do is ensure that it picks up valid points from both sides so that the end result hits the centre of the spectrum.

The conservatives argue correctly that the government has a responsibility (indeed, a moral one) to demarcate boundaries for what is acceptable and what is not, if only to protect our young from negative influences. However, this government intervention must strike a balance with individual responsibility: as the CRC 2002 report states, the responsibility for censorship must gradually devolve to the people. As Singapore matures as a society and more of its people become more globalised and their attitudes more liberal, heavy-handed censorship must be weeded out; we must accept that Singaporeans are intelligent enough to think for themselves, set their own values, and pass these values down to their children. The government should not be a moral crutch that parents can use to abdicate their own responbility in educating their children.

As such, censorship becomes much like a moral barometer for society. Clearly, gratuitous pornography and sex are still unacceptable for most Singaporeans: we should not expect Playboy in our news-stands anytime soon. It is likely that the current zoning policy of no R21 movies in heartland cinemas will continue; this move is warranted, even if only not to tick off heartlanders. The belting of shows with risque or other objectionable content to late-night slots is also likely to continue, though one may question the many irregularities in this policy: should not the occurrence of rape scenes in popular prime-time Channel 8 dramas like The Little Nyonya be a concern?

Indeed, it is questions like the above that bring the CRC into an increasingly grey area. It is inevitable - as a society, we are entering a phase of development where we struggle with issues such as homosexuality and the portrayal of sex and violence through art. The trend seems to be towards acceptance, however, as the example of Lust, Caution aptly illustrates: the film was originally released with an NC16 rating with 9 minutes cut, but howls of protests from the public prompted an uncut release with a R21 rating. Can we infer from this incident that the public is more mature than we think?

Personally, I believe that the government should move towards less censorship where the arts are concerned. The impetus of the arts is to challenge society; as such, its overthrowing of social norms does not automatically make it a worthy subject of censorship. For example, the play Talaq was banned because it discussed the sensitive issue of marital violence and rape in Indian Muslim society. The issue is sensitive, yes, but that does not mean it merits censorship. In fact, it is sensitive issues like this that need to be discussed if we are to move forward as a society. Incremental improvements are being made, it is true: the Asian Boys trilogy and The Campaign to Confer the Public Service Star on JBJ touched on the grey areas of homosexuality and politics. However, issues of race and religion are still largely out-of-bounds, making funding for projects dealing with such issues scarce. These barriers should be removed, or at least reduced, to allow arts companies more breathing room and creative space.

The trend towards a more liberal Singapore is inevitable, and the government is wise enough to acknowledge that, as in the CRC 2002 report. The ‘light touch’ philosophy espoused in that report should be continued and its use widened; only that way, as our thoughts are aroused by viewing more diverse content, can our society hold a real conversation on where we are headed in terms of social mores. Censorship is becoming increasingly symbolic in the age of the Internet – wilful censorship will only cause the government woe. As such, its best course of action is to maintain its limits on sex and violence, and while encouraging the debate on issues like homosexuality, refrain from endorsing any single viewpoint. The best way it can exercise its role as moral guardian is on advising and educating parents about the moral pitfalls of the Internet, and the tools available to parents to overcome these pitfalls. The role of the Parents Advisory Group for the Internet (PAGi) should be publicised, as should the availability of filters offered by Internet Service Providers.

We must acknowledge that the next generation will probably grow up in an even more liberal environment, and their best asset in navigating that media landscape would be their own set of moral values, inculcated by their parents; the government can only play a supporting role through censorship. We may even have to prepare for the day when censorship becomes obsolete, for ease of access to media content is here to stay. After all, that’s what this new age is all about.

Foreign workers “left among the dead”

Today’s inspiration is Andrew Loh’s article, titled “Social isolation – left among the dead” . In essence, the article asks: Is siting a dormitory for foreign workers directly beside a cemetery an example of a policy of social isolation being implemented by the government?

On the one hand, we have a chronic lack of space in Singapore. It is natural for dormitories for such workers to be moved to ‘rural’ areas such as Lim Chu Kang. Of course, one may well argue that there is always space, just that the government determines how it is used: how come there always seems to be space for new luxury condominiums and shopping malls? Yet, it is precisely because land parcels are allocated for specific uses that dormitories are being pushed into increasingly ‘ulu‘ areas. To draw an analogy, if ever space is needed for new industry, I do not think Singaporeans would appreciate a new petrochemical plant operating smack in the middle of Orchard Road or Raffles Place. Even an area as desolate (or as desolate as you can find in Singapore) as Lim Chu Kang is not exempt from zoning – it is meant for farms, army camps and Live Firing Areas. Surely we will acknowledge the shortage and allocation of space in Singapore that necessitates the siting of farms and army camps in such a far-flung area, rather than contend that our farmers, regulars and NSFs are “left among the dead”.  

Besides, the siting of the dormitory in Lim Chu Kang makes sense when we consider that the workers’ workplaces may be in the Jurong or Tuas industrial areas. It would facilitate ease of travel; this would be the same reason why other dormitories are located in or near industrial areas, for example, Kaki Bukit and Tagore.

There are also those who say that there is nothing wrong with living beside a cemetery – after all, the Upper Aljunied residential area is located next to a columbarium, and HDB estates like Bishan were built over old cemeteries.

On the other hand, the detractors ask simply: would you really live there? I think I speak for most Singaporeans when I say that that is a rhetorical question. A panorama of graves stretching into the distance makes it a particularly unsettling place to live in, and the remote location, combined with a lack of public transport to nearby town centres, compounds the isolation. In this context, it is pointless to argue: Mr Loh has certainly hit on something. 

However, can we truly blame our government for isolating these foreign workers when we come round to the fact that that is precisely what we want? One need look no further than the Serangoon Gardens debacle to gather that Singaporeans feel less than welcoming to foreign workers living near them. In our minds, we are already isolating them through stereotype: they smell, they drink, they litter, they are rowdy, they have no respect for personal space, they overcrowd our public transport. Their lack of social graces (which is rather their non-acclimatisation to our culture), or perhaps, the very fact that they are foreign workers, damns them, and we would rather not see them at all if possible.

It is an irony indeed. When these workers come too near to us, we silently hurl vitriol at them and entertain thoughts of repatriating them to their home countries. When they are sent to live in an area most of us will never see, we complain they are socially isolated.

I believe that it would be pointless to continue the discussion on this instance of social isolation (and, conversely, how to integrate these workers into our society) until we and our government address some root issues, the first being the recent influx of these workers. It is undeniable that the growing tide of resentment towards foreign workers is due to their exponential growth in numbers, and this tide will surely not subside until their numbers stabilise. Thus, perhaps the government needs to reconsider the frenetic pace of development on our island and calibrate it such that the stream of immigrants slows. The social impacts of this influx, and the groundswell of displeasure directed towards the government for allowing it, cannot be ignored.

Also, before we even consider the implications of location in the siting of a workers’ dormitory, we should first direct our energy towards obtaining better living standards in general for workers. However isolated it may be, the Lim Chu Kang dormitory does seem to provide a clean and liveable environment. Contrast this to some other dormitories, detailed in another TOC feature here. We would be getting ahead of ourselves if we squabble over liveable dormitories near graveyards but neglect horrific living conditions in the underbellies of our sparkling new developments.

Lastly, we all need to do some soul-searching. Can we accept these workers for who they are – fellow human beings – and not view them as a lower social class whose sole purpose here is to raise our buildings? We may blame their sudden influx, but since it is unlikely their numbers will be drastically reduced anytime soon, we must learn to co-exist with them and accept them as part of our society. Social isolation, as the very term implies, is a social phenomenon, and geographical considerations are but a factor. It would be pointless, in fact far more damaging, to house our workers on prime land but entrench our thinking of them as our social inferiors. If any meaningful change is to be effected, it must first take place in our hearts and minds.

The LUP: Politics gone wrong

It has taken 8 years, since its first implementation in 2001, for the Lift Upgrading Programme (LUP) to reach the two opposition-held constituencies of Hougang and Potong Pasir. However, this good news has inadvertently ignited a furore over the government’s decision to announce the implementation of the LUP through People Action Party (PAP) ’grassroots advisers’, rather than through the opposition Members of Parliament (MPs) of those constituencies.

The LUP, even if it is administered by a supposedly neutral statutory board like the Housing Development Board (HDB), has always been politicised. It would be difficult to explain the withholding of the LUP from opposition wards otherwise. But whether the LUP is seen as a political carrot, dangled to entice citizens living in opposition wards to switch sides, or as the proverbial stick, designed to punish these same citizens for voting for the opposition, the fact remains that the LUP should not be a political issue at all.

The HDB is Singapore’s public housing authority. As such, it is responsible for the upgrading of all public housing, including those in opposition-held wards. As the PAP is in control of the government, and the HDB falls under the umbrella of the government, the PAP is bound through the HDB to provide programmes such as the LUP for wards like Hougang and Potong Pasir. The distinction between the two separate entities of the PAP and the government must be discerned: the PAP cannot and should not make use of its control over the government to use the LUP for its own political means.

Even if we ignore the nagging suspicion that the implementation of the LUP in Hougang and Potong Pasir at last is a sweetener thrown in before the imminent elections, it is impossible to ignore the fact that the announcement of the LUP was not made through the MPs of the respective constituencies, but rather though PAP ‘grassroots advisers’.

On first sight, the descriptor “grassroots” being applied to a PAP man in opposition territory is already oxymoronic. Mr Eric Low and Mr Sitoh Yih Pin, the two grassroots advisers in question, lost in these constituencies in the last election. It is clear that if anyone has an understanding of ground sentiment, it is the two constituencies’ MPs, Mr Chiam See Tong and Mr Low Thia Khiang, for the simple fact that residents put their trust in them – through their votes. 

It only takes a little more research to find out that in all other constituencies on the island – all 82 of them – the grassroots advisers are also the constituencies’ MPs. The subliminal message begs to be said: PAP MPs are good enough to take stock of residents’ views and opinions, but opposition MPs are not. 

The official reasoning, that the LUP is administered by the government and must hence be implemented through government channels like the grassroots organisations, does not measure up to scrutiny. In other constituencies, the elected MP is the grassroots adviser, who is hence deemed part of the government. But in Hougang and Potong Pasir, if the grassroots advisers are the ones deemed part of the government, what does that make the elected MPs? Figureheads? The answer that opposition MPs are ‘not answerable to the government’ is alarming: does that mean Mr Chiam and Mr Low are entitled to turn their constituencies into fiefdoms? The logic presented seems convoluted.

The point brought up in the same Ministry of National Development (MND) letter – that the opposition MPs, as Town Council heads, will cooperate with the grassroots advisers on the implementation of the LUP – does nothing to dress the wound of insult, for the implication is that the PAP grassroots adviser ranks first, with the elected MP playing a supporting role. It is hard to think of any other reason for the existence of this hierarchy other than that the PAP is trying to seek credit for bringing the LUP to Hougang and Potong Pasir.  

All this seeming political manoeuvring on the part of the PAP is disheartening for its lack of respect for opposition MPs. Even worse, it betrays a lack of respect for the residents’ votes that propelled the MPs into their positions. The overall impression is that of a party deploying candidates to grasp for credit for bringing to the precincts an opportunity that in the first place is a right of all residents. The woeful inadequacy of official replies on the question of why grassroots advisers are heading the LUP is disappointing as well. To ‘agree to disagree’ may be a valid endgame, but on this issue it is nonchalant to the point of being offensive: there does not seem to be a willingness to engage the public and the opposition in constructive discussion on what appears to be a systemic flaw. In addition, the high-handed tone of the replies has only underscored the cool logic of opposition rebuttals.

It is too late to say now that the PAP, with its control of government, should have initiated the LUP in opposition wards earlier. It is also too late to say now that the PAP should have graciously let the elected opposition MPs announce the LUP. Both of these actions would have done much to disprove the prevailing  image of the PAP as arrogant and also to coax the residents of both wards to discard their pro-opposition mindsets. Unfortunately, the PAP, whether deliberately or not, has portrayed itself as contemptuous of opposition MPs, contemptuous of votes cast for the opposition and hence, contemptuous of  residents themselves. Contempt will only breed contempt, and it is doubtful that Hougang and Potong Pasir residents will be any more appreciative of the PAP after this. Politicising the LUP has only proven counterproductive – no one is afraid of the stick anymore, and certainly no one likes rotten carrots.

—

- Mr Muhammad Yusuf Osman’s letter to the Straits Times Forum questioning why opposition MPs were not the ones announcing the LUP
- The reply from HDB and the People’s Association (PA)
- Mr Low Thia Khiang’s rebuttal to HDB
- The reply from MND to Mr Low
- Ms Sylvia Lim’s reply to MND
- MND’s final say

And here’s the obligatory introductory post

Hello all, and welcome.

The reason I am writing this prologue of sorts is: I feel there is a need to give some background to me as a writer. What inspires me to write, what I write about, and how I write it are all inevitably products of my particular temperament. It is perhaps only fair for readers to know where I am coming from when I express an opinion on a particular issue. 

So what inspired me to start this blog?

The answer, in short: The Online Citizen. One fine day, I was directed there by my GP tutor and told to take a look at the articles and following comments. What I read astonished me. The takes on local issues espoused in the various articles might best be described as… different. Definitely not opinions that would be given front-page billing on The Straits Times.

But after the overtly political overtones, what about the articles struck me next was their critical dissection of current affairs. The manner in which the writers thoughtfully parsed news stories and comments by the authorities was, in essence, to be admired. It was like a massive infusion of brain juice in a brain gone dry – as much as the character-building of our Army is to be praised, it does not simultaneously build up critical reading and writing skills, and one year and nine months in the Organisation had, quite frankly, dumbed me down a little. I was inspired to emulate the TOC writers, inspired to expound wisely on matters of grave import, inspired to think.

For what got to me next were the issues themselves. Immigration, housing woes, media bans, the LUP: I had never viewed these as much more than items in a newspaper. I had never realised what strong (and strongly worded) reactions these issues could stir up in a public forum. I had never seen the belief Singaporeans could hold in the relevance of such issues to the man on the street. I had never realised there might be a compartment in my mind labelled “social consciousness” that could, and should, take part in such discussion.

Now is a good time to bring in where I stand on that most prickly of Singaporean issues: politics. When speaking of local affairs, it is perhaps unavoidable that one becomes political one way or another. Disclosure: I am a Ministry of Information, Communications and the Arts overseas scholarship recipient, and I will be serving a 6-year bond with the Ministry upon graduation. With this information, some may be inclined to call me a government dog, or feel that I have no choice but to be pro-PAP. But that is where I take offence. I am not anti-government – if I were, I would not have applied for a scholarship that entailed a future job in the Civil Service. I am grateful that the government is sponsoring my studies. But I am not a sycophant either – if I were, I do not think I would have bothered creating this blog at all. I believe that there is a space in Singaporean society, narrow as it may be, for one to view both sides with a critical eye. For that is the only way for both sides to grow, and for both sides to begin taking part in constructive debate, not just poisonous polemic.

I sincerely hope to be able to stand and breathe in that abovementioned narrow space. I do not wish to polarise or condemn; I only wish to comment on what I see as inadequacies in our society, or inadequacies in the way the authorities are addressing the issues confronting our society.

I hope to learn to examine an issue from more than one perspective, and I hope to learn to write concisely (verbosity has always been one of my weak points).

And if I stumble along the way, I only hope it is not from lack of trying.

… And after wishing for conciseness, I realise this little introduction has already succumbed to verbosity. Looks like it’s time to let my writing walk the talk.

Still need to know the nitty gritty about me? The facts are on my About page.

If not, I hope you enjoy reading!