It is within the VJC’s prerogative to implement a six-year Integrated Programme. However, the exercise of this prerogative entails significant repercussions to the notion of a Victorian identity, and the new programme promises to evolve two different Victorias.

The alumni is an inherently conservative force – the potency of the group lying in their fiercely loyal attachment to the school, and more importantly, the shared common experience of the culture, the history and the spirit of Victoria. Without a doubt, any attempt to impinge upon the sacred ground of tradition will raise the ire of the alumni – the fear that the newly reformed institution will somewhat fall far short in corresponding to their memory and their expectation of what Victoria School should stand for, and thus rendering their attachment to the school specious. The alumni, in its vigorous stand for tradition, can sometimes be guilty of conflating the interest of the school with their own (selfish) interest in keeping the memory of the glory days in their alma mater intact. The truth in this ever evolving world of constant flux is that tradition may sometimes prove inadequate to meet with the challenges of the future.

VICTORIA SCHOOL: CO-ED

There are many academic justification for a co-educational Victoria School: widening the pool of potential PSLE entrants to include girls could provide the academically-talented students that may render an Integrated Programme with Victoria Junior College a viable possibility. The opportunity cost of not undertaking this change is huge; the debilitating attrition to the school’s educational standing is real – we will risk losing more quality students to institutions offering the coveted IP, and the tenuous affiliation to the sister college may wane even more dangerously, as VJC may expand its IP at, ostensibly, the expense of students of Victoria School.

A co-ed Victoria School, with its relative academic merits, is an attractive prospect for the VEC/VAC – solving swathes of problems bearing the school down in a single stroke of policy. The Victorian connection between the school and junior college will be galvanized with the introduction of a seamless IP, while having girls in the school will open opportunities hitherto denied.

As understandable as it would seem for the VEC/VAC to conduct its policy-making with academic excellence taking precedence, there remain various other intangible aspects to the management of a school with a rich and prestigious history. If our only aspiration is to emerge as frontrunners in the Straits Times’ School League, if our only responsibility towards Victorians is to manufacture the highest academic scorers with glittering co-curricular records, then there is no doubt that Victoria School should be co-educational.

THE VICTORIAN EXPERIENCE

Victoria School has the name recognition of being a top school in Singapore; while this is no assurance that this hallowed reputation will continue to be retained in future, the enduring popularity of Victoria School reveals what may be an understated, but nonetheless critical, element in our legacy: the experience of being a Victorian.

A school is more than the sum of its teachers and students, the buildings and school grounds, the awards and achievements collected by the various student body – and this is no more true particularly in Victoria School: it is a transformative body of influence, moulding the perspective of a young and bright-eyed student ready and relishing the prospect of making his mark on the world. The school not only teach, but inspire; the school not only discipline, but nurture and strengthen and grow the potential gentleman in every Victorian. This indelible experience, which leaves every Victorian, current, former and future, brimming with spirit and pride, is the true strength of Victoria School, and will remain so as long as it is held in respect and revered.

Tradition can hinder progress, and the tradition of being a boy’s school has had its adverse effects on the academic prowess of the school. However, progress has to be recognized for its nuances and details; a blind and persistent pursuit of it may yield ephemeral benefits at the expense of losing something far more valuable. In a decade of a co-educational Victoria School, we may see the stature of our beloved school rise: hogging the stage of academic excellence, and sweeping clean the divisional trophies for both boys and girls. And as illustrious as that may seem in ten years, what about in 50 years?

How are we to be recognized on our 200th anniversary – as an excellent co-educational school, one of the many in that hypothetical future Singapore, or as a distinctive boy’s school with a rich history of producing gentlemen of fine quality?

This Victorian experience is that intangible asset by which we had distinguish ourselves, and will continue to be that asset by which we distinguish ourselves in future. A co-educational Victoria School will tamper with this experience, one coalesced by many hands over generations, a culture shaped with countless individual bittersweet histories of sweat and tears of young boys plugging their heart out for the school.

THE PRICE OF THE NEW & KEEPING TO THE OLD

Truly, a co-educational Victoria School will offer a new experience – one that will be as empty as it is indistinguishable from the many ’school spirit’ and ’school culture’ that pervades every other co-educational secondary school in Singapore. So the poser: are we ready to forsake that quintessential Victorian experience that encapsulates the culture, history and spirit of 133 years – for a rise in academic standing and something new yet no more different, no more distinctive that what can be found elsewhere?

As easy as the choice would be for the tradition-centric alumni, the advisory board is faced with the challenge to reconcile this rich history with the need to remain relevant in the education landscape. The stark reality is that our stubborn refusal to accommodate girls in Victoria School may entail the affiliation to Victoria Junior College to dwindle only to a nominal shared name.

However, there are many middle grounds between the false dichotomy of these choices – inherently more difficult options, but worth exploring for the sake of Victoria School and its history, and more importantly, its future.

THE SELECTIVE IP

While it may seem tasteless and administratively difficult to separate an entire cohort of Victorians on their academic performance, the IP can be implemented in a partial basis: granted to those who are academically strong, while the rest are to offer the normal GCE O Levels. While this is a daunting prospect, and may very well divide the school with concerns of teacher deployment and the distinctions of an elite and second tier of students, it may work as a temporary measure as we work into improving the quality of the entire cohort; keeping an avenue open for those excluded from the IP will serve as a good motivation to spur the academically weaker to excel – and underlined the severe truth of Nil Sine Labore.

This debate about the future of the school and the junior college offers ample time for soul searching – and it will be disappointing to many to have to either see a co-educational Victoria School or the diverging of ways between the two institutions. The crux and solution of this emotive issue lies in the quality of the students of Victoria School – and resolving this will take more than just making it co-educational. The challenge of inducing quality to a cohort of boys who are evidently talented enough to secure a place in Victoria School does not really seem insurmountable, and if the various stakeholders – parents, students, teachers, alumni – are able to work and ensure that the four years of education does groom an academically-inclined gentleman, an IP involving both Victoria School and Victoria Junior College may not be a far prospect.

The choice facing the school and the college is not between the introduction of co-ed or the implementation of a six-year VJC IP, but rather in the various minutiae of teaching and learning methodology to harness the true potential of the Victorians to ensure that they are worthy of a streamlined VS-VJC IP.

THE VJC SIX-YEARS INTEGRATED PROGRAMME

Moving ahead to keep the flag unfurled does not mean sacrificing the tradition through which the institution has grown. Having VJC breaking into its own six-years IP is as much a break with tradition as transforming VS into a co-educational institution. While any further pause in the part of VJC in implementing a comprehensive Integrated Programme will mean the potential loss of quality students to other junior colleges of high repute, rushing through with the six-years IP will not only sever a link with VS, but set both institutions in an unnecessary collision course.

The proposed six-years IP may be palatable if VJC was an independent entity from VS; our intertwined circumstances however implores that our direction, while not necessarily being unified, should be in tandem. An outright merger seems to be neither feasible nor viable, given the different structure between secondary education and a junior college’s. A complete merger would effectively subsume VS into VJC’s fold, and the cultural fabric of being an all-boys’ secondary school runs the high chance of being tampered.

The synergy of resources between VS and VJC can be afforded even without a full merger, as VJC – through the VEC/VAC – could suggest for the implementation of certain programmes it believes will be key to the holistic development of students in VS, to ensure that at the point of entry into VJC, they have been sufficiently groomed to meet the challenges that lies in the junior college years. While it would be easier for VJC to monitor and develop its students by running an IP on its own accord, there is always the avenue of assisting VS in these areas of development that it wishes to see – and this mutual cooperation and collaboration will probably serve better the Victorian family as a whole.

Hence, it is entirely possible for VJC to implement its six-years IP, but tweaking it to allow the four years of development to be undertaken by its sister school. An advisory body of principals, subject heads and other key personnel could be tasked to ensure that the programme is kept on track at both the secondary and junior college level – with the possibility of swapping resources between the two institutions if required. While falling short of a full merger and reducing the dominance of VJC’s IP, this alternative provides for a creation of a true Victorian IP that integrates the strength and resources of both schools – instead of a VJC IP that VS is to ride on.

The path is laid open and it remains to be seen whether VS can accommodate, and be accommodated to the six-years IP masterplan. Otherwise, it would be a tragic day when a PSLE leaver has to decide between two Victorias.

9th August in Singapore is an annual ritual of nostalgia, a parade of redemption and a tale of success despite the odds. The popular narrative has Singapore born as a fledging nation on 9th August 1965 after being unceremoniously expelled from Malaysia; the material success of contemporary Singapore testifying to her progress from vulnerable outcast to cosmopolitan city-state, all marshaled by modern founding father Lee Kuan Yew.

The story of expulsion is canon, since it romanticizes Lee as a strongman capable of steering the nation to overcome and exceed the existentialist challenges of our early years. The mythology has Singapore, vulnerable and reluctantly thrust into independence, finding inspiration and courage in Lee.

In Melanie Chew’s Leaders of Singapore, interviews with two stalwarts of the PAP Old Guard (Dr Toh Chin Chye and Dr Goh Keng Swee) and the former chairman of Barisan Sosialis, Dr Lee Siew Choh, reveal two stark truths that goes against the grain of the mainstream narrative: that the separation was negotiated, and that the governance of Singapore in the immediate months post-independence was at best in a state of constitutional abeyance.

The Expulsion that really wasn’t

Divulging a hitherto state secret, Goh Keng Swee recited from a file codenamed Albatross:

“It should be done quickly, and before we get more involved in the Solidarity Convention.” (Chew, page 146)

‘It’ referred to the separation of Singapore from the Federation of Malaysia. Goh said that:

… on the 20th of July 1965, I met Tun Razak and Dr Ismail. Now this is the 20th July, 1965. [emphasis his] I persuaded him that the only way out was for Singapore to secede, completely.

… I said, “You want to get Singapore out, and it must be done very quickly. And very quietly, and presented as fait accompli.” (Chew, page 146)

According to Goh, Tun Razak and Dr Ismail ‘were in agreement with the idea’. A second meeting took place on the 26th of July. He admitted later that secession ‘was not’ foisted on Singapore.

In light of this revelation, of which there is no comprehensive official disclosure as of yet, it will be nebulous to suggest that Singapore on the 9th of August was an independent nation birthed into a sense of pervasive gloom. That Goh, a principal architect of modern Singapore’s finance, defence and education bureaucracy, could visualize a Singapore independent of a Malaysian hinterland on the 20th of July 1965, indicated hope and optimism – however embryonic – for a new nation. This has been unfortunately obscured.

What takes central prominence in the separation narrative was the exchange of letters between Toh Chin Chye and Tunku Abdul Rahman, entailing a last-ditched attempt by the former to preserve the union between the two nations.

The exchange, deeply rooted in Malayan-born Toh’s sentimentality, lends credence to the popular mythology of inadequacy for Singapore to face it alone, and seeks to justify Lee’s ‘moment of anguish’. For what it was worth, Toh and S Rajaratnam (who was raised in Seremban, Malaya) were both shunted from the decision-making process, and were prevented from traveling together to Kuala Lumpur lest they strategized to undermine the negotiated separation.

By delving into these particular minutiae of history, it is not to cast aspersion onto the notion of Singapore’s independence. The fact remains that Singapore is an independent nation, although understanding the circumstances that gave rose to that independence is important. This is particularly so when the country – and its leadership – remains caught up by the bitterness of the apparent expulsion, and conveniently perpetuates the rhetoric of vulnerability up to this day.

The challenges that faced Singapore after 9th August 1965 were daunting, but hardly insurmountable. It would have been trying to conceive Singapore as a viable independent state, but it was not a far-fetched notion. Goh would testify to that – he not only envisaged an independent Singapore, but proactively negotiated for that result. And given that Lee Kuan Yew would be loath to admit that he was any lesser than his contemporary, it is hard to imagine that he had not similarly formulated and prepared for an eventually independent Singapore.

Post-independence: the Lonely Parliament

An astute observer may notice that the Malaysian-Singapore union melodrama was a narrative entirely dominated by the UMNO Federal Government and the PAP Singapore Government. The previously redoubtable and formidable opposition had suddenly ceased to exist immediately after the merger battle and the 1963 elections.

In part an immediate legacy of Operation Cold Store, it was also due to the fact that, as Dr Lee Siew Choh complained, ‘during the whole of 1963, 1964, and 1965, Parliament hardly met’.

But surely, a freshly independent nation would convene Parliament immediately, to tackle the exigencies of the day?

Not according to Lee Siew Choh:

Independence of Singapore was declared on 9th August 1965. But the first session of Parliament was not called until the 8th of December 1965. Four whole months without a single meeting of Parliament! Although we asked and asked and asked, again and again. We wrote to the speaker, Dr Toh. He did not even give us a reply. (Chew, page 128)

This three months’ gap between independence and the first Parliamentary session of the newly-minted Republic of Singapore was admitted by Toh.

There was a big time gap in Hansard between our last parliamentary meeting and the next meeting. More than five months. One would have thought with such a big event, Parliament should have be immediately summoned and the announcement made to Parliament. I could not summon Parliament. The oppostion came at me. Why is there no Parliament sitting? So I had to hold the fort. (Chew, Page 97)

‘Why is there no Parliament sitting?’ The reason:

(Lee Kuan Yew) held two successive press conferences, and in both of which he cried. On the third morning I went to work, and saw the press boys again. I asked Lee Wei Ching, his press secretary, “Why are they hanging around here?” Another press conference! I told Lee Wei Ching, “You ought to tell the Prime Minister to go to Changi and take a rest. Call the press conference off! Another crying bout, and the people of Singapore will think the government is on its knees. So he went to Changi, staying at the government bungalow for six weeks.

… I was not appointed to act for him when he was away. When he went off to Changi, Parliament did not meet. So Singapore had a Parliament in suspended animation. Keng Swee and Lim Kin San saw me and asked me what was the constitutional position. Has he recovered? What if he does not recover? So what happens? I said I thought he was getting better, although I could not get to see him and telephone calls were not put through. (Chew, Page 97)

This contempt for the sanctity of Parliament as the premier law-making authority of the land is symptomatic of the PAP’s treatment of every apparatus of state power: as amenable organs tasked to pursue and dispense the objectives the party deem necessary.

However, the compelling nature of this revelation is the fact that Singapore was effectively in governed by a passive leadership in the months immediately after 9th August – Toh was only ‘hold(ing) the fort’, and master planners Goh Keng Swee and Lim Kin San were similarly paralyzed in the state of political limbo.

Perhaps the integral lesson to draw upon is the fragility of the human condition: we cannot be superheroes and nation-builders all the time.

And that we survived even though the halls of Parliament were lonely for three months, and a ship can still steer in her darkest days even with her captain missing.

O Captain, my Captain!

On a tangential note, Toh expressed the

… surprise to all of us that Lee Kuan Yew agreed to special rights for Malays as a condition for merger in 1963. A very great surprise. It was a contradiction of the ideals of the PAP. It was not at all the vision for Singapore that the PAP presented. And it was unacceptable to many Singaporeans. It could have been mere expediency, to sew up the merger in the fastest time. But it was a tragic mistake. (Chew, Page 96)

Against the backdrop of the intense battle for merger, it is admittedly easy to appreciate that ‘Lee Kuan Yew and Goh Keng Swee were in a hurry’. Toh also revealed that ‘the rest of the Cabinet were in the dark about the details of the merger. We did not have much to say.’

This frenetic pace of isolated negotiations – that can be said to be almost slipshod – cannot be fully attributed to the Barisan brinkmanship in Parliament (the PAP holding only a slender majority of one) or in the streets (the PAP left stranded as a middle-class English-educated party), since the nature of the Referendum assured PAP of its victory.

Toh admitted to this underhand tactic:

Few understood the ballot paper. … But we got away with it. We won! There were 25 percent spoilt votes. The Barisan were going around telling people to spoil their votes, although they knew spoilt votes were going to be counted in our favour! It was a win-win situation for the government! (Chew, Page 92)

Given that the convoluted Referendum would have delivered a result amenable to the PAP, Lee’s decision not to deliberate over the nuances and implications of the merger prior – especially in the context of Malay rights – seems imprudent. This is particularly so when the issue became the central breaking point in the state-federal relationship.

‘He was crying. I don’t understand him at all.’

The photograph of Lee’s emotional breakdown is probably one of the most enduring and emblematic image of Singapore’s independence. Toh accurately captured the sentiment:

He was crying. I don’t understand him at all. On one hand, he worked so hard for merger. Having gotten the cupful, he shattered it. And then he cried over it. (Chew, Page 97)

Admittedly, this enters into the realm of conjuncture, but it would be difficult to accept that Lee Kuan Yew was reduced into tears by the prospect of governing a tiny-city state with all its perceived vulnerability – particularly not when one of his trusted lieutenant was brokering the separation.

Lee Kuan Yew’s own words were:

For me, it is a moment of anguish. All my life, my whole adult life, I believed in merger and unity of the two territories.

Implicit in this statement was Lee Kuan Yew’s hope to govern a country beyond a small city-state: this was the reason for his faith in the ‘merger and unity of the two territories’.

Tellingly, as a state in the Federation of Malaysia, Lee Kuan Yew remained titled as Prime Minister, even though the normal designation for the head of state government was Chief Minister. (Toh charitably said that ‘the foreign press were a bit puzzled! Who was in charge?’)

That there were two Prime Ministers – a bona fide one of the Federation, another of an increasingly iconoclastic state – testifies to the vast ambitions that Lee Kuan Yew harboured: being a Chief Minister of a tiny land mass is surely insufficient and unfulfilling when there was a larger hinterland to be ruled.

Lee Kuan Yew probably did not expect to run against the problem of Malay rights, which according to Toh, ‘was the real sore point.’

False Mythology and Nation-building

The purpose of this article, again as previously stated, is not to cast aspersions on the process of Singapore’s independence, or to the cast that brought this process into fruition. However, for a nation to develop its own organic culture and sense of nationhood, the social cognition of history – one as close in accuracy to the ideal truth – is very much paramount.

There is no greater danger than a nation developed on the foundation of a false mythology, no matter how inspiring or rousing that mythology might initially seem. To define who we are, we need to discover who we were: even, and particularly, if that surfaces ugly and inconvenient truths.

We do not overcome our primordial demons by glossing over them, but by confronting them.

(sources)
Melanie Chew. Leaders of Singapore. Singapore: Singapore Resource Press, 2006.

Separately, Mr Goh also touched on the situation in Myanmar. He said while pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi is seen by the West as the solution, she is also “part of the problem” because she believes she is the government.

Mr Goh noted that Ms Suu Kyi’s political party needs to seek a fresh mandate in the 2010 general election.

CNA: PM Lee looking for successor in his 30s to be fielded in next GE

Dear Mr Goh Chok Tong, Aung San Suu Kyi is the rightful government. Her National League for Democracy won the 1990 elections, and she should have assumed the prime ministership.

She is hardly ‘part of the problem’. The problem is that the junta, who rules with a tyrannical fist, were never democratically elected.

This snafu follows George Yeo’s misreading of the Burmese situation during his Mcdonald’s Meet-the-People pow-wow where, among other remarks, he ‘mentioned that General Aung San created the rule that a Burmese who married a foreigner cannot rule the country and that now Aung San Suu Kyi is married to a foreigner’.

John Moe called this shenanigan out, saying that ‘the military junta only introduced the rule in 2008, deliberately aimed at preventing Aung San Suu Kyi’s participation in the 2010 elections’.

To his credit, George Yeo later clarified this mistake on his Facebook profile, although these two incidents should cast doubts on the veracity of our amenable foreign policy towards Burma.

Given the significantly erroneous analysis produced by the two heavyweight ministers, the policy of engagement with the Burmese junta should be called into question, since its foundation lies in faulty premises. The fallacy in this foreign policy is the rosy perspective that the government holds of the junta – prescribing it as a necessary evil for Burma, testified clearly in George Yeo’s belief that ‘only the military could hold the entire country together’.

That this necessary evil of a junta may not an aspiration of the Burmese people figures little in the calculations of the government, evidently.

This is very old news, but it involves two critical components of our nation-building process that have never been definitively resolved: inter-ethnic relations and reconciling religion in secular space.

Rebels with a Faith (transcript) documents the saga of four Primary 1 schoolgirls who were suspended for wearing the tudung in January 2002. Against the post-September 11 backdrop of heightened religious tensions, the headscarf evolved into a potent symbol that will either ‘threaten Singapore’s racial harmony’ or provide ‘assurance that when (the girl) grows up, she can become a modest person.’

Law Kam-Yee (2003) quoted then-Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong as saying that the ‘the practice (of girls donning the tudung in schools) was theoretically allowable’, although with a caveat:

He explained, “this is not a ‘never never’, but I want to build a successful multi-racial society first.” Given the current ethnic landscape and international tension about Islam, it was unwise, Goh argued, to stir up any sensitive ethnic/religious issues. He further argued that “we have been functioning this way for many years: students don’t wear headscarf in school. It has worked. I think better don’t change it.” (Law, 2003, pg 53)

In the same refrain, Rebels with a Faith has Hawazi Daipi, then-Parliamentary Secretary for Education warning that allowing the tudung will

fragment the common space that we have in school and invite competing demands from other communities to assert their own identities.

The Singapore Ecosystem: Balance & Fragility

The government’s portrayal of Singapore society is significant. Both Goh and Hawazi painted Singapore as a delicate ecosystem of racial communities co-existing in a fragile peace, interspersed with reserved and subdued interaction facilitated by a ‘common space’ that emphasized conformity rather than diversity.

The government’s vehemence in this episode can be traced to two paradoxical principles of its nation-building ideology: its consistent obsession with racial identities, and after evoking this racial consciousness, to establish a policy of impartiality across these racial lines.

Barr notes that the ‘Census quadratomy of CMIO (Chinese, Malay, Indian and Others) is sacrosanct and the distinctiveness of these building blocks of the Singapore nation has been set in concrete’. Borrowing a term from Giddens, he notes that Singaporeans affixed with a racial profile from birth are akin to ‘culture containers’. Hence, Singaporeans, through their ‘racial categories, are associated with corresponding characteristics, such as culture, language and religion’. (Barr, 2008, page 51)

In this perspective, our nation is essentially a United Races of Singapore, which can be defined ‘as not so much the amalgam of its population of individual persons but rather the sum of the official, sharply delineated ethnic groups’. (Barr, 2008, page 9)

However, having established the racial credentials of its citizens, the government then undertake great pain to emphasize and recognize the equality of all races – a process which Barr, inspired by Cheah Boon Keng, describes as ‘multiculturalism in neutral’. (Barr, 2008, page 51)

The Common Man in the Common Space

Hence, in this United Races of Singapore, the concept of a common space attains a canonical reverence: the common space is the platform where co-existence rests upon the principle of strict equality – where people of all races interact on the same footing, notwithstanding the sensitivities, peculiarities and inherent inequalities present within and between the racial communities.

As such, in the arena of ‘common space’, conformity to the dictated standards is required, lest it opens the gate to ‘competing demands from other communities to assert their own identities’. The paradox is material: the government consciously foster and assert racial identities, yet require citizens to subdue these identities when approaching a ‘shared space’.

This model is obviously unsustainable, particularly for a country hoping to nurture a sense of nationhood. The government, for all its decade of preponderance, has made little substantive progress in inter-ethnic relations if this delicate ecosystem of co-existence is the result of its efforts. What it could claim credit for is refining a colonial framework, since the outcome seems uncannily like a modern variation of Furnivall’s ‘plural society’ – the common space of Hawazi’s parlance being a more sanitized and genial version of Furnivall’s ‘market place’.

Hence, Singapore still operates within the confines of a modern plural society, except that the kinks of overt hostility, prejudices and tension are mostly ironed out. This however still leaves behind a fragmented and stratified society.

Differences: To Play it down or Embrace?

During the course of the saga, Chua Lee Hong suggested, in a Straits Times article dated 30th January, an alternative model – one centred around the principle of diversity. Positing that tailoring school uniforms to fit religious requirements would allow children to learn, accept and appreciate diversity from a young age, her proposal was shot down by Teo Chee Hean (then-Education Minister) and Goh Chok Tong. (Law, 2003, page 56)

In terms of overcoming differences, the government clearly favour muting and playing down variations to an acceptable common denominator over accepting and embracing this diversity. However, then-Deputy Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong tried to reconcile the two alternatives.

Lee said that ‘in schools, pupils must learn about one another’s customs and traditions, and learn how to get along with one another’; however he indicated that the ‘pupils who should learn from others are (the) Malay Muslims (students)’. (Law, 2003, page 57) In the government’s conceptualization of ‘common space’, the lesson to be learned is one of conformity. Diversity is clearly only acceptable within the strict confines of the respective ‘culture containers’.

The Foreshadowing: Appeal by scripture

On a tangential note, the issue can be viewed as the inherent tension between religion and secularism. (That this angle was largely lost to the racial perspective elucidated above testifies to the culture container syndrome where the racial profile ascribes religious identity and other associated appendages, resulting in the convenient conflation of a religious issue into one of race relations. Also, the involvement of Malaysian personalities adds a further political dimension that complicated the discourse.)

This clash between religious and secular principles foreshadows the S377A parliamentary debate and Aware debacle five and seven years on, respectively. However, the method of persuasion for the religious faction in all three episodes is similar: invoking divine wisdom and falling back on argument by scripture.

Naseer, the father of one of the girls involved in the 2002 affair, mentioned that his ‘daughter’s education is as important as my faith, my religion’ and donning the tudung was to ‘practise what they’ve been taught in terms of religion’. These statements will have minimal resonance beyond a Muslim audience.

The issue at stake revolves around the freedom of religion – one guaranteed by the Constitution. However, that freedom is self-limiting, as divine revelation does not provide carte blanche to act against the interests of others. Hence, it would be more prudent to debunk the argument (which was employed by the government in a manner of speaking) that wearing the tudung was an act in excess of the freedom of religion.

Freedom for an individual can be reasonably circumscribed if it provokes harm and detriment to the interests of others; in this particular instance, an act of religious piety can be disallowed if it impinges or threatens the rights of others. A seven year-old clad in tudung hardly qualifies.

The Religious Dance

Interestingly, the government’s handling of the tudung episode stood in marked contrast to its approach to S377A. In the former, the government comes in (unfairly) against religious expression, however its position on S377A suggests a tacit assent (unfairly, still) to religious expression.

Central to the decision to retain S377A is Lee Hsien Loong’s reasoning that ‘Singapore is basically a conservative society’ (23rd October 2007, Parliamentary Hansard). This sop to the masses indicated that the government favoured the morality afforded by the Bible and Koran over the authority of reason.

And as the Aware saga illuminated, evoking the principles of the Bible and Koran provides little substance (but a whole lot of rancour) in a public multi-religious discussion. In the words of David Marshall, ‘freedom is my right to swing my arms short of my neighbour’s nose’. (Melanie Chew, 1996)

As much as homosexuality is a swing of the arm short of the noses of the religious conservatives, it still remains that it was not an outright punch. Affront is not persecution, deviancy does not deprive the “right to profess and practice his religion, and to propogate it’. (Article 15 (2), Constitution of the Republic of Singapore)

While the nation tries to find an amicable resolution to this perennial tension, it would be wise to remember that the multicultural reality will inevitably give rise to alleged offences to particular sensitivities. The key is bilateral acceptance and appreciation: Muslims are at liberty to decline pork and alcohol, while Hindus hold the prerogative of abstaining from beef. However, translating these religious tenets into a blanket ban for the society at large is patently unfair – and so is expecting them to abandon their religious tenets.

There is hope for that multicultural understanding and solidarity, if we are brave enough to pour our respective culture containers and become into one huge vat.

-
(sources)

1. Rebels with a Faith. SBS/Dateline, 2002. 31 July 2009. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jM_kteRlwQs
2. The Tudung Affair. Singapore Window. 31 July 2009. http://www.singapore-window.org/sw02/020327sb.htm
3. Kam-Yee Law. The Myth of Multiracialism In Post-9/11 Singapore: The Tudung Incident. New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies 5.1 (June): 51-71. Available at http://www.nzasia.org.nz/downloads/NZJAS-June03/5.1_4.pdf
4. Barr, M. and Skrbis, Z. Constructing Singapore: Elitism, Ethnicity and the Nation-Building Project. Denmark: NISA Press (2008)
5. Melanie Chew. Leaders of Singapore. Singapore: Singapore Resource Press, 2006.
6. BBC News. Mufti puts school over scarves. 6 February 2002. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/1804470.stm

The legend of founding father Raffles is an integral element of our history, since it is central to the notion of Singapore being a nation of immigrants.

Despite the Raffles story being so deeply ingrained in The Singapore Story, it is not difficult to find an alternative perspective. Carl Trocki did just that in the opening paragraph of his book, Singapore: Wealth, Power and the Culture of Control:

There was more to the foundation of the British colony of Singapore in 1819 than a stroke of brilliance by Thomas Stamford Raffles, who is usually credited with the creation of the city. We are occasionally apt to forget that the city is located in Asia and is largely populated by Asians. At the time, it was also a vital part of the Asian maritime economy and should be seen as the heir of a long line of Asian maritime trading centres located in or near the Straits of Melaka. Singapore’s history, properly understood, can be traced back to the Malay entrepots of Srivijaya and Melaka.

The paradigm shift involved in this re-alignment of perspective is indicated on the following page where Trocki described the Riau island of Bentan as ‘the eighteenth century predecessor of Singapore’, a ‘Malay/Bugis centre … located near the the present [Indonesian] town of Tanjong Pinang. From this perspective, the Malays – who were the first to begin flocking to Singapore after 1819 – are not ‘immigrants’, as they are labeled in all versions of The Singapore Story, but are members of the Nusantara (the Malay world) relocating from one island to another, following the shifting focus of business.

Barr devotes a chapter in Constructing Singapore to analyze the revisionism of The Singapore Story, the government gospel that has special preeminence in the mainstream historical narrative. It was quite unfortunate that I never did get a chance to formally study in depth about Singapore’s history, save for a semester in Secondary Two (the teacher in question was responsible for much of my formative knowledge of alternative interpretations of local history, even if it was mostly on the side) and a very rushed and brief few tutorials in junior college.

Framing The Singapore Story as the bulkward of the Secondary Two History syllabus has the detrimental impact of focusing history as a subject of memorization, rather than as an analytical study in observation, reasoning and judgment to form alternative interpretations or conclusions. And this is very marked for the study of local history: the dominance of the government narrative endures and is perpetuated, even if the veracity is suspect.

For example, Barr points out that in Leaders of Singapore, Melanie Chew interviewed Goh Keng Swee who revealed that the separation of Singapore had an element of premeditation – a peaceful separation was negotiated between Goh and the second echelon of the Malaysian leadership before both groups sought to convince their respective premiers of this settlement thereafter. This narrative is profoundly different from the official line of expulsion – which discounts the survival rhetoric that usually accompanies the latter.

The Singapore Story was not meant to merely be a historical narrative, but as an element of National Education, it was to imbue a sense of sensitivity to the homeland. While emotive stories of overcoming crises and challenges make for good patriotic reading, it does not make for good study of history.

These are only two examples of the Singapore Story’s distortions, and the theme of the Communist threat is another potential area of concern to relook. The convenient boogeyman, the broad brush of Communism tarred many personalities and dismisses historical nuances that provide readers and students with an uninformed comprehension. In particular, the Malayan Communist Party was virtually broken in the early 1950s, and the direction of the movement was left at the mercy of “adventurists” who were not answerable, and more extreme, than the leadership. What the Singapore Story portrays is a simplistic conflict of good against evil – the PAP being the former, and the leftist and Communist elements being the latter.

And that thematic concern glosses unfairly the contributions of the Labour Front governments, particularly David Marshall who instituted an all-party parliamentary committee for education that laid the groundwork for bilingualism, and defused the tension arising from the Chinese community who felt that their education system was threatened. Furthermore, it also obviate any strong emphasis on the lucky break that Lim Yew Hock afforded Lee Kuan Yew in 1957 after the leftist elements won six seats of the PAP central executive committee. By subsuming the Labour Front period under a generic periodization of the ‘Communist Threat’, the narrative of Lee and friends’ mastery of events is not diluted.

That Lee Kuan Yew saw it fit to appropriate The Singapore Story as the title of his autobiography reveals the conceit with which the government approaches the study of history. There is nothing inherently wrong with Lee Kuan Yew adding his voice to the larger historical narrative, but it is troubling when his voice becomes the historical narrative – and the study of Singapore history becomes an exercise in regime legitimization.

India is one of the few professed liberal democracies in the world that still has such a law. The others are mostly Islamic or authoritarian, and even China lifted its ban in 1997.

Successive governments have long argued that Indian society is too conservative to accept repealing Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code — under which sex “against nature” is punishable by up to ten years in prison. India’s leaders have come under increasing pressure in recent years from activists who say that the law, introduced in 1860, violates civil liberties and encourages the spread of HIV by forcing homosexuals underground.

The new Government that took power in May after the Congress Party’s surprise election victory has indicated that it is ready to change the law, which is at present being challenged in the Delhi High Court, according to Indian media reports.

Times Online: India to repeal anti-gay law as second Gay Pride is held

Good on you, India. So after them and China, it falls upon Singapore to undertake the mantle and defend those sacred Asian values afterall. We shall remain staunch and steadfast at heart in discriminating against people because we are moral, we are conservative and we hold dearly onto our Asian values, go us!

“The problem of the burka is not a religious problem. This is an issue of a woman’s freedom and dignity. This is not a religious symbol. It is a sign of subservience; it is a sign of lowering. I want to say solemnly, the burka is not welcome in France,” Sarkozy told lawmakers.

The right of Muslim women to cover themselves is fiercely debated in France, which has a large Muslim minority but also a staunchly secular constitution.

In 2004, the French parliament passed legislation banning Muslim girls from wearing headscarves in state schools, prompting widespread Muslim protests. The law also banned other conspicuous religious symbols including Sikh turbans, large Christian crucifixes and Jewish skull caps.
Last year, France’s top court denied a Moroccan woman’s naturalization request on the grounds that she wore a burka.

Some lawmakers – led by communist legislator Andre Gerin – have called for burkas to be banned completely, claiming they are degrading to women. They also include housing minister Fadela Amara, a Muslim-born women’s rights campaigner, who has called the garments “a kind of tomb for women.”

CNN: French parliament to consider burka ban

The proposed law has a reminiscent echo to Thio’s 26th May parliamentary speech, which warned against secularism from being anti-religious. The French, with a proud anti-clerical and secular tradition, is considering a ban on the burqa – a parliamentary committee will “investigate whether the traditional Muslim garment poses a threat to the secular nature of the French constitution” and return findings after six months.

This ban is excessive. While the intent behind the proposed law may well be a sincere attempt to emancipate the perceived oppression of Muslim women, the ill-necessity and ramifications of such a ban makes it a foolhardy gesture for secularism.

The debate firstly underscores the tension between the competing interests of religious freedom and France’s much-vaunted laïcité. The huge stretch in declaring the burqa as “a sign of subservience … (and) of lowering” discounts religious choice in favour of secular dogma, without critical appreciation of religious values and sentiments. Furthermore, the legal recourse of a blanket ban on socially-perceived ills is convenient, but this earnest approach to religious practices is a dangerous precedent.

The separation of church and state works mutually: the church does not involve itself in the affairs of the state, while the state does not meddle in the affairs of the church, unless in exigent circumstances to protect the interests of other citizens. However much it is not legitimate for religious values to be foisted upon a secular society, secular tradition cannot impinge unnecessarily upon the freedom to practice religion.

Religious freedom thus remains permissible in a secular society, with certain exceptions – particularly when the said religious freedom threatens harm or curtails the rights of other individuals. Whatever the merits of the burqa, there is little to suggest that it falls under the categorical exceptions. The ban is an excessive infringement of religious freedom – the burqa does not threaten secularism or the society at large, beyond being offensive to strident women rights’ advocates.

This does not however disregard the fact that there is a prolific social ill of female oppression perpetrated in the name of religious values. This consideration is probably the chief motivation for the proposed ban, although the blanket ban is disproportionate and runs the risk of indiscriminately and unnecessarily destroying religious choice.

The blanket ban will allow women who had hitherto been compelled to wear the burqa to be emancipated from the “tomb” clothing; the ban also unfairly restricts the freedom of women who may truly be sincere and willing to wear a burqa. The proportionate response to provide help for the former should be education and persuasion, not legal compulsion.

A social outreach programme to these women in burqa – educating them about their rights and providing the means to exercise these rights will cost more funds, time and effort to implement. However, this cost also enshrines the values of a secular society without rampaging unnecessarily upon religious freedom.

Furthermore, it avoids the ugly ramifications of fraying social tension and complicating the progress of inter-faith dialogues. The proposed ban, in a fervent attempt to cure a perceived social ill, will ironically exacerbate sensitive fault lines further.

It seems clear that the 75-year-old is at the center of a fight for the future of the Islamic Republic. Mr. Rafsanjani’s vision of the state, and his position in his nation’s history, is being challenged by a new political elite led by Mr. Ahmadinejad and younger radicals who fought Iraq during the eight-year war.

Mr. Ahmadinejad and his allies have tried to demonize Mr. Rafsanjani as corrupt and weak, attacks that Ayatollah Ali Khamenei has not strongly discouraged. On the other side, opposition leaders, especially Mr. Moussavi, have received support from Mr. Rajsanjani, political analysts said.

“It has become an extremely dangerous, zero-sum game,” said an expatriate political consultant who asked not to be identified because his family lives in Iran and he was afraid of retribution.

For Iran President at Center of Fight Between Classes of the Political Elite – NYTimes.com

(see also: Iran’s election: Demanding to be counted – The Economist’s Briefing)

This article probably does justice in highlighting that the current popular outpouring of dissent is only a symptomatic ground expression of the fissures of the Iranian political class, and not an impasse of people against the leadership. The protests in Iran should not be defined in the romantic notion of people power, but more essentially as a political proxy for the factional powerplay of the political elite.

Interestingly, this political jockeying that pervades political systems in most nations is conspicuously missing in Singapore. Ministers and MPs of the ruling party can be trusted not only to toe the party line, but to avow unabashed loyalty to the party leadership. That could be attributed to the imposing strongman figure of founding father Lee, although it remains open whether the PAP political edifice can hold up the impression of being a generally cohesive and unanimous coterie once Lee Sr. yields himself from political involvement.

And pessimistic as this may sound, the evolution of a robust opposition will only be viable with defections from the PAP ranks. Deposing an incumbent is hastened easily with the presence of another echelon of elites that have been relatively marginalized under the old regime. Democracy as Lincoln’s “government of the people, by the people, for the people” can be a romantic ideal, but most of the time it is an exercise of realpolitik couched in demagoguery: often, the masses are pawns, not power-brokers.

Does idealism – and a constant clanging of idealist rhetoric – really have a place in the body politic, where power is claimed, maintained and exercised in pragmatic Machiavellian fashion?

Even President Obama, the most notable purveyor of the feel-good rhetoric of hope in recent memory, has difficulty in delivering the idealism, however sincere. Still aware that homosexuality is a flagrant minefield for sore Republicans who are out of power from the federal branches of the executive and Congress, he has skirted around his promise to revoke Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell – a military directive that continues to be responsible for the discharge of gay service personnel, notwithstanding their contributions or utility to the war effort; a legal brief filed by his Justice Department in favour of the federal Defense of Marriage Act also underscored the futility in expecting the progressive principles espoused by an idealistic spirit to be always in ascendancy.

Politics should be about hope, a saccharine and progressive future, and the realization of human promise and national potential, but politics operates firstly on the fulcrums of power. As long as the latter remains true, idealism has to co-exist in a flimsy and awkward place with pragmatism – the true question is where do we draw the line, in the absence of a hard-and-fast principle. An excess of pragmatism is opportunistic, but falling short in favour of idealism is throwing rocks into the sea.

How do you reconcile laws of ‘divine sanction’ with the rule of law founded upon reason and logic? Thio Li-ann gamely defends religion in the public sphere, and although the speech is a compelling rhetorical narrative, her downfall lies in her overreach.

Her central argument is pinned in the notion of ‘secularism with a soul’, a remark attributable to Senior Minister of State Zainul Abideen Rasheed.

Her argument was launched as a twin pincer – firstly, that our brand of secularism is ‘not anti-religious’ but only draws a distinction between ‘religious tenets and secular laws’ (which importantly reserves the right to express ‘religious convictions’); and secondly, the inherent danger of ‘thick secularism (being) an anti-religion religion’ and how it is ‘militant’ in ‘seeking to gag religious views.’

The flying unicorn (or why secularism is not an atheistic religion)

Her opening salvo was to decry that ‘thick secularism’ should be seen as just another religion competing for a share in public space, and not as impartial mode of socio-political governance.

This she attempts by positing that it requires much faith in rejecting God as in accepting God – and that faith qualifies it as a religion, albeit one with ‘atheistic foundations’.

Her premise: a rejection of God requires faith since it is ‘dogmatically assert(ed) without any empirical evidence.’ She obfuscates the burden of proof – the onus clearly lies with the believers.

It is a fair mistake to commit, as many people have different points of departures in clarifying their assumptions. To begin in an agnostic middle ground, it would be fair to say that choosing between belief and rejection of His existence is either way a matter of faith.

However, there is another point of departure to consider: one which presumes that God does not exist in the first place, and that it is not an article of faith to assume in such a manner.

When posited that a flying unicorn exists, evidence will be demanded to prove its existence – and meanwhile, believing that the said unicorn does not exist is reasonable skepticism, not an article of faith.

This spirit of the skeptic is deeply rooted in secular humanism – whose “morality independent of God” is dependent on empirical, rational and logical terms of reference.

However, more damaging to her notion of secularism as a hostile ‘anti-religious’ religion is her fundamental assumption that secular humanism is a ‘comprehensive anti-theistic world view.’ This is a convenient misrepresentation – a ‘morality independent of God’ does not have to be anti-theistic, but merely non-theistic.

Secularism – whether thick, thin or agnostic – should not be construed as an ‘anti-religion religion’ which is in active competition with the traditional theistic religions, but as a neutral framework for the diverse religions and value systems to coexist. Thio’s concerns with ‘thick and thin’ secularism are a reference to the different modulations of laïcité – the level of interaction between the state and religion – that varies from the synergistic collaboration of both entities in American politics to the French establishment’s outright rejection of religious involvement.

Even if an excess of laïcité (Thio’s ‘thick secularism’) discounts religion in the public sphere, the freedom to practice and preach remains intact, and to castigate it for being an ‘anti-religion religion’ is unfounded and skewed.

Religious views: Listening, but not legislating

Her other tangential argument is that our secular framework affords religion to ‘set society’s moral tone’ and ‘participate in public discourse.’

All true and valid, for an ‘ethical social consensus’ can certainly be forged with religious inputs, as some of its moral tenets will inevitably fall within an ‘overlapping consensus’ between the different value systems.

However, Rawl’s concept of ‘overlapping consensus’ only works if it ‘avoids the deepest arguments in religion and philosophy’ – which indicates that not all religious moral tenets can be accommodated.

Furthermore, having certain facets of a religious moral doctrine being accepted in the secular sphere does not mean the legitimization of the entire moral doctrine, but only that selected components have found an equivalent secular expression.

In pushing her argument, Thio also equivocates over certain definitions to justify an active role of religion in the public sphere. Prima facie, the arguments that religion can ‘set society’s moral tone’ and ‘have a role in public debate’ is fair. However, she loads the term ‘role’ not only as discourse, but also as a social force and in the context of legislative influence.

A society’s moral tone may frown on excessive drinking, but a state that prohibits this behaviour is hardly legitimate – unless in circumstances that endangers the lives of others. The distinction between social grace and public legislation – the former being motivated by virtuous behaviour, the latter a ‘no harm principle’ – has been conflated by Thio in an attempt to justify religion a dominant voice in affairs of legislation.

The militant Straw man

Drawing from the earlier imagery of ‘militant secularism’, Thio rebuked ‘secular fundamentalist’ for being ‘oppressive when they seek to mute religiously informed conviction … by demonizing (it) as religious.”

Again, compelling rhetoric. But a wonderful straw man fallacy – there was certainly outrage over the views held by the recently ousted Aware exco and the views of conservatives during the S377A debate. The outrage was however not due to its religious inspiration, but because those views trampled upon the individual liberties of others.

Nobody denies ‘religious values … a role in public debate’ – but there is a line drawn when it comes to legislation because divinely-inspired values should work by moral persuasion. This is particularly pertinent in a heterogeneous society with constituents that may not subscribe to the validity of the particular divine provenance.

The Last Contradiction

Also, in her effort to condone the religious voice in legislative affairs, Thio seems to contradicts her earlier understanding that ‘laws and policies derive their legitimacy not from divine sanction.’

To soften this compromising contradiction, she goes on to determine that this ‘legitimacy’ comes ‘from a democratically elected government.’ This is a quibble to declare that if a religious tenet is codified into law by a democratic government, the said law is legitimate.

The legitimacy of laws and policies cannot be sufficiently derived from being codified by a ‘democratically elected government’ alone, but from its concordance to fundamental principles of human rights and individual liberties – and religion finds itself on awkward ground because there are instances that it curtails these rights and liberties excessively.

Thio’s argument for religion to be afforded a voice in public discourse in public debate is certainly valid, but her thesis falters when she tries to justify further the religious encroachment into the legislative domain. Religious expression is fair, but religious compulsion by law is not.

Shameless self-plugs (heh. of sorts, since the first article was masterfully expanded and refined by Zheng Xi and the second was sharpened by Ravi’s and Andrew’s contributions), but the point remains that the proposed changes further deviates the political structure away from the concept of a fairly elected and representative legislature – its a brazen modulation against the spirit of democracy to provide an appearance of it.

The mantra of more opposition presence is not an end in itself, but as a means to develop a robust system of check and balances and to create a more representative, inclusive and accessible political structure in Singapore. This should be the true end point of the process of political liberalization.
The PAP can afford to be bold and magnanimous with these gestures – because they stand to win the most with these increased stakes. By allowing the token nine opposition members, they accrue the benefits of depriving the opposition of a major campaign platform while staking a claim on the moral high ground of liberalization.

more of TOC Analysis: PM’s gambit is manufactured dissent par excellence at http://theonlinecitizen.com/2009/05/toc-analysis-pm’s-gambit-is-manufactured-dissent-par-excellence/

And the Workers’ Party’s eager appraisal of the scheme is downright disappointing and forsakes the principle and ideal of a liberalized body politic for the parochial benefit of opposition parliamentary presence.

Despite both the NCMPs and NMPs being unelected, Lim argues that the latter does not deserve a Parliament seat because they did not “contest the election” – for she maintains that it is an “essential precondition to obtain some sort of mandate from the people.”

It is already very difficult to justify a Parliament seat for any unelected representative, but the double act of justifying a seat for the NCMP cabal yet denying the NMP coterie is certainly much harder – resulting in the pathetic quibble of hustings experience to distinguish between the two.

A Parliament seat cannot be sufficiently attained only with “some sort of mandate” – that is a mockery of democratic elections, notwithstanding the drawbacks of the first-past-the-post system. The WP has capitulated to the opportunity for more seats without due consideration for the sanctity of Parliament as an elected House.

more of Victims of reverse tactical ploy or party political opportunists? at http://theonlinecitizen.com/2009/05/victims-of-reverse-tactical-ploy-or-party-political-opportunists/