I refer to yesterday’s report “Mas Selamat escape: Detention centre superintendent gets the sack”. So the Government has sought closure to the Mas Selamat saga by handing out an assortment of punishments to the nine, mainly low-ranking, officers and guards whose security lapses had led to the escape of the terrorist.

I wish to express deep disappointment, shock and pain that in a national scandal of unprecedented magnitude and public outrage, it is only the little people who are held accountable and punished. By now, they are probably too frightened to appeal or seek redress.

Catherine Lim (Dr)

Final Comments on the Mas Selamat Scandal

Below are some final comments on the matter. I don’t expect to make any more statements unless new developments warrant them.

When I first followed the Government’s handling of the Mas Selamat scandal some months back, I wrote a commentary that expressed regret that the Minister of Home Affairs had not done the honourable thing of offering his resignation to set an example of the onerousness and dignity of high public office and duty.

Two days ago, when I listened to the Minister on TV tersely detailing the various punishments for each of the prison officers and guards responsible for the escape that fateful afternoon, my regret became mixed with shame and anger. I was ashamed and angry that in a society that prides itself on the highest standards of accountability and fairness, the entire blame seems to have been laid squarely on the shoulders of the ‘little people’ who, we are told, can appeal, but who, we all know, will have neither the courage nor the resources to do so.

In my 14 years as a political commentator, I have never been more outraged.

The following commentary was published in The Straits Times on April 5, 2007.

I have followed with intense interest the current debate on increasing ministerial salaries to match those of the highest earners in the private sector. And I have noted the impassioned arguments from both sides: the Government insisting on its necessity if top talent is to be recruited to ensure good leadership, and the public expressing its reservations, doubts and unhappiness.

I would like to go beyond the emotion and the rhetoric, and see the issue in the larger context of the PAP model of governance, in particular its special brand of pragmatism in solving problems. It is a hard-boiled pragmatism which even the severest critic will concede has contributed greatly to the Singapore success story. And one which, paradoxically, even the strongest supporter will concede is liable to harden into inflexibility.

In the case of ministerial salaries, the PAP leaders’ thinking seems to have gone along these lines: Singapore needs a good, strong government if it is to prosper or even survive. Hence, it needs to recruit top talent. Since there is competition for this from the private sector, it has to offer equally attractive salaries. It has to act quickly and decisively, otherwise the country will face a serious crisis of leadership, which can occur in three increasingly dangerous stages:

Talented people will not be attracted to government service.

Even if they are, they will soon be enticed away by the private sector.

But even if they are not enticed away, they will resort to corruption as compensation for their inadequate salaries, and thus bring ruin to society.

Rounding up the austere dialectic is the urgent plea to doubting Singaporeans: Do you want Singapore to go the way of corrupt societies?

I would like to point out, respectfully, a basic flaw in this rationale. In keeping with the overall, hard-nosed realpolitik that has characterised PAP rule, it fails to take into account the affective factor that is present in any relationship, whether between individuals or ruler and ruled.

This factor comprises that special constellation of emotions, moods, attitudes and ideals which somehow elude being quantified and reduced to monetary terms. I first analysed its role in the relationship between the PAP Government and the people over a decade ago in a political commentary titled The Great Affective Divide, noting the emergence of a serious emotional estrangement despite the country’s stability and prosperity.

Subsequently, I variously described the conflict in terms of the people’s wish to see a greater role for Heart as opposed to Head, EQ as opposed to IQ, Heartware as opposed to Hardware, etc.

The policy regarding ministerial salaries illustrates this conflict. Its definition of the talent that is eagerly sought as ministerial material does not appear to take into account attributes beyond those of intellect. It assumes that what is good for the corporate world must be good for government, and that therefore there is a common target of talent out there, which both will compete fiercely for.

But in reality, the commonality of talent is only in those attributes of mind and personality such as great intelligence, far-sightedness, boldness of vision, creativity, determination of purpose, etc, that are the hallmarks of today’s high achiever. Beyond this overlap, the emotional aspect comes into play.

And here, there is a dramatic parting of ways. For while the ideal political leader is imbued with nobility of purpose and altruistic instincts, the ideal CEO is impelled by the very opposite – raw ambition and ruthless drive. The first set of qualities is desirable for a life of public service; the second would be disastrous.

Indeed, a brilliant achiever without the high purpose of service to others would be the worst possible ministerial material. To see a potential prime minister as no different from a potential top lawyer, and likely to be enticed by the same stupendous salary, would be to blur the lines between two very different domains.

Next, the rationale goes against the very spirit of the social contract that it is supposed to protect. There is a compact, largely implicit, that governs the government-people relationship in every mature society in the free world, and it has as much to do with what is felt deeply in the heart as with what is worked out logically in the head.

By this compact, political leadership is less a salaried job and more a vocation, with all that this implies of selflessness and sacrifice on the part of the leaders, and trust, respect and regard on the part of the people. It is this reciprocity that defines a social compact and confers upon it a sort of sacrosanct quality. The ultimate reward for the leaders, whether or not they consciously seek it, is a revered place in the nation’s history, in the hearts and minds of future generations. Hence, material reward is only secondary.

Nevertheless, no Singaporean with any practical sense of the real world would want to see a minister denied a salary commensurate with his status and dignity, or living less well than any prosperous Singaporean. If the average Singaporean still aspires to the famous ’5Cs’ representing the good life, he is only too happy to see a minister already well in possession of these.

But, at the same time, no Singaporean would expect a minister to feel disgruntled if he is paid less than the top CEO. If the disgruntlement actually causes him to leave his job, then he was not cut out for public office in the first place. Thus, to offer him a matching salary to enable him to stay would be to demean that office.

There is clearly a need to balance material needs and public service. The balance, in the view of many Singaporeans, has already been achieved with the existing ministerial salaries, if benchmarked against those of high-earners across a broad range of professions, and also against the salaries of ministers in countries such as Sweden and New Zealand, consistently ranked among the foremost, corruption-free democracies in the world.

The policy of increasing ministerial salaries may have the effect of upsetting this balance and, more seriously, doing away altogether with the compact of trust and respect. It will create a new affective divide, or reinforce any existing one, between the government and the people, and reduce their relationship to a purely impersonal business contract.

Even in a society often described as aggressively materialistic and coldly efficient, there are, fortunately, Singaporeans who believe idealism has a place, and that the fire, passion and commitment of the Old Guard, who saw Singapore through the difficult early years with little hope of financial reward, are still alive in some young Singaporeans.

The policy on ministerial salaries will, at the least, breed weary resignation in Singaporeans: What’s the use of giving one’s views at all? And, at the worst, give rise to toxic cynicism: What’s the use of teaching our young such values as caring and selflessness and sacrifice if each carries a price tag?

The following article was delivered as a speech at a forum organised by the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies on December 1, 2006, and later published in The Straits Times on December 7 under the title “A dash of tolerance and a big helping of smart power”.

The first C is Control

What was true of the past 40 years of PAP rule is true of the present, and impossible to rule out for the future. A tight control, both of the political opposition parties and of members of the public who choose to criticise the government in the media, remains a cornerstone of PAP policy.

There are two reasons for what appears to be relentless control even at a time of sweeping change.

The first reason is given by the leaders themselves. They are convinced that the PAP leadership is the best that Singaporeans can ever have. The conviction is born not out of arrogance or hubris but of a record of clear PAP victories in the general elections over four decades. As one minister has remarked, the party can expect to be around for the next 40 years.

Hence, the tight control may be taken as continuing affirmation of the government’s strength, a cautionary signal not only to the people at home, but to those outside, who may be tempted to flex their muscles against this tiny city state.

The second reason for the control is seldom admitted by the leaders. It is their intense dislike of the noise, messiness and mayhem that often come with political dissent. A government that prides itself on its serious, no-nonsense style simply cannot tolerate an opponent who flaunts the very opposite attributes – flamboyance, histrionics, impudence.

The demagogue and the rabble-rouser will never be allowed a place in Singapore politics.

If there is anything that the PAP leaders have against liberal democracy, it is the system’s tolerance of the strident individualism seen in opportunistic political activists.

Noisy street demonstrations, face-offs with the police, raucous name-calling and fist fights in Parliament – nothing, in the eyes of the PAP leaders, can be more demeaning to the serious business of running a country, or more damaging to social order.

Hence, they practise what may be described as a fine selectivity in the adaptation of the democratic system inherited from the West, that is, keeping the basic elements that allow Singapore to be a legitimate member of the free world, and throwing out all the messy bits.

Here’s a light-hearted poem on the subject:

Say out the four-letter word.
The Devil at once shouts ‘Pope’,
The Pope frowns and says ‘Hell’,
The pessimist mutters ‘Hope’.

‘Porn’, growls the puritan,
‘Bush’, scream the Iranians,
‘Cops’, grumbles the hooker,
‘Jews’, roar the Palestinians.

For Donald Trump, it is ‘Poor’,
And for the poor, it is ‘Limo’,
The PAP says, ‘We have two,
They are ‘Oppo’ and ‘Demo’.’

The second C is Constraint

The knuckleduster approach can no longer be as readily applied today as in the earlier years of PAP rule.

There are two major constraints. First, Singapore, as a member of the free world, has increasingly close and beneficial ties with it that are worth maintaining. Hence, the PAP leaders, already rankled by frequent criticisms in the Western media of their treatment of the opposition, and by Singapore’s ranking as only a little above Iran and North Korea in international surveys on press freedom, will, as far as possible, avoid more criticism.

The second but far bigger constraint comes from within the nation itself. The Prime Minister has set out, as a major goal, the winning of the hearts and minds of young Singaporeans whose vote will make a big difference in future elections.

Unlike their parents and grandparents, who were only too grateful to be given government-subsidised flats with modern sanitation, the younger generation, being better educated and more exposed, are much more sophisticated, discerning and demanding. Increasingly they have become more vocal, fearlessly speaking their minds, and sharing their views over the Internet on subjects their parents would have nervously avoided.

The government knows that it must deal carefully and sensitively with this group of Singaporeans. The prospect of bright, highly skilled young professionals emigrating to countries that can afford them, in their own words, ‘more voice, more space’, is very worrisome.

Here’s a verse that could easily have come from one of these bright, outspoken young Singaporeans:

World reports and surveys
Are impressed by Singapore;
They note its glowing charts
And watch its economy soar.

An A for sound investments,
An A for rule of law;
An A-plus for governance,
Each is a perfect score.

But it is a dismaying D
For freedom of the press,
Political debate and dissent
Get a grade that’s even less.

Since we have turned global
We need the world’s regard,
So let’s correct the imbalance
And improve our report card.

The third C is Containment

Over the years, to contain political dissent, the government has set out stern parameters for political debate which stipulate what will, and will not, be tolerated. There are markers for both the content and the tone of the debate – no criticism of government conduct implying lack of competence, transparency and probity, and no disrespectfulness of tone or, as one minister has put it, using a Hokkien idiom, no ‘boh twa, boh say’.

Any disregard of these markers is met with a stern, robust rebuttal of the criticism or with what has come to be the most feared response – a defamation suit.

The result is a climate of anxiety, even fear. It is an oddity of the Singapore political situation that, while the people continue to say they are fearful of official recrimination, the government continues to insist there is none. The disconnect is so great as to be like something out of the Theatre of the Absurd.

Yet obviously the leaders see themselves as having no choice but to maintain this effective method of muting the dissenting voice. Their present quandary seems to be this: how to continue doing this and still appear to be moving with the times or, in other words, how to have their cake and eat it too.

As luck would have it, the way out seems to be provided by the happy circumstance called serendipity, when apparently unconnected events come together in just the right way to provide the solution to a problem. Here’s what is happening:

Currently, in keeping with its far-sighted policy of keeping up with rapid technological development, so as to stay ahead in the regional and international competition, Singapore is opening up in the most spectacular way in the areas of economic development and scientific innovation.

To make the city state an exciting, attractive world-class hub, this process of liberalisation is necessarily extended to other areas, notably, education, the arts and entertainment.

Now here’s the serendipitous bit: the openness in these areas of non-political activity is just the right thing to distract from its absence in the political area; the government’s encouragement of frank feedback on non-political issues is just the right thing to distract attention from its intolerance of frank feedback on political ones. It is a brilliant transference strategy, even if accidental.

The overall impression, as a result, is of widespread, sweeping change, like fresh air blowing through once-closed corridors. The disquieting truth that the political domain remains sidelined, indeed shrunk to almost nothing – for instance, most political clubs have closed down – is almost swamped out in the new euphoria.

It is very common when asking a Singaporean whether the society has loosened up to hear this response: ‘Oh yes. Only the other day, I was reading this letter in the forum pages of The Straits Times, lambasting the government for some educational policy, something unthinkable five years, three years, ago.’

If asked specifically about the political domain, he may pause and say, ‘Well, there’s the Speakers’ Corner,’ or ‘Oh well, the government has done so much for Singapore, so what is there to complain about?’

Being well-travelled, he may go on to add that in the countries he has visited, there are rampant official corruption, poverty and crime – all of which Singaporeans are, thankfully, free from.

In a world made insecure by 9/11, Sars, natural disasters, the aggressive rise of China, the stability and prosperity of Singapore must be the envy of many. Grateful Singaporeans attribute it directly to the PAP’s tough stand against dissident elements that are almost always disruptive. The result is an unquestioning trust in and total dependence on the government to continue to give them the good life and, indeed, to do everything else for them.

Here is a little poem about how easily the government can manage a people who have become overdependent and hence politically naive:

‘We do have freedom,’
say Singaporeans,
‘As is clear from our present
status,

Since we are free to do
everything
That the PAP government
lets us!’

The fourth C is Conflict

This is possibly the most compelling, and comes from within the party itself. Perhaps ‘conflict’ is too strong a word to use for a government that has always prided itself on consensus.

But it may accurately describe the profound difference of styles between the first prime minister and now Minister Mentor, Mr Lee Kuan Yew, and his younger successors, first Mr Goh Chok Tong and now Mr Lee Hsien Loong.

While Mr Lee Kuan Yew shows the stern, unremitting, uncompromising stance born of an earlier, tougher era, the younger leaders have no choice but to show the much more flexible, accommodating and friendly style required by the new mood and expectations of the times.

Such sharply contrasting styles must make for some disagreement when it comes to the formulation of major policies. While the Minister Mentor disclaims any influence on the decisions of the younger leaders, the reality is that his stature is so immense, both at home and abroad, his very presence so awesome, that he continues to be the huge banyan tree he has been compared to, overshadowing everyone else.

Recently, political observers had occasion to watch this conflict in action. It happened during the time of the General Election, in June this year, and was caused in the most unexpected way by a single incident, now known as the James Gomez debacle.

Let me describe it in some detail because I feel it may be very representative of future conflicts in the management of political dissent, as long as Minister Mentor is around.

Mr Gomez, a young member of the opposition Workers’ Party, had gone to a government department to fill in a certain form related to his intention to run in the election as a member of an ethnic minority. Later, he angrily accused the government officers of mislaying the form.

When a video camera that had been installed on the premises showed that he had in fact not submitted the form at all but had put it in a bag he was carrying, he retracted the accusation and said something about being too busy and distracted that day.

The incident angered Mr Lee Kuan Yew, who smelt mischief, and wanted instant exposure of Mr Gomez, while the other PAP members were clearly more concerned with getting across their election messages.

What happened during the short period of nine days before election day was an amazing series of quick responses and about-turns by the PAP, which could only be explained by the sheer lack of time to reach a consensus.

After the party’s initial rebuke of Mr Gomez, Mr Goh Chok Tong, Senior Minister, said it was time to move on and concentrate on more serious election matters, but quickly retracted his statement, explaining that, after consultation with the others, he felt that the gravity of Mr Gomez’s scheme to discredit the government warranted an all-out condemnation.

There followed a few days of this condemnation, clearly reflecting Mr Lee Kuan Yew’s deep loathing of any form of dishonesty and trickery.

But when it was clear that the tactic was having the opposite effect on the people, who were turning up in huge, friendly crowds at the Workers’ Party rallies, the Prime Minister announced, just two days before election day, that the government would deal with the matter after the election and would now concentrate on addressing major issues affecting the lives of the people.

But, as the political observers noted, the damage was already done, and the rather impressive performance of the Workers’ Party in the election was due to the people’s sympathy for it and disgust at what they perceived as the usual PAP bullying tactics. Immediately after the election, a somewhat chastened PAP said publicly that, in the future, they would ‘show a lighter hand, use a softer touch’.

But what was of particular interest to the political watcher was the outrage shown by Mr Lee Kuan Yew, who happened to be abroad at the time: He sent back an angry message, publicly repeating his earlier accusation of Mr Gomez as an out-and-out liar, and challenging the Workers’ Party to sue him, which provoked from them the rather coy response that they were ‘not the suing kind’.

Clearly, if Mr Lee had been fully in charge, the matter would have been dealt with very differently.

(The following poem was omitted by the Straits Times. It is based on a well-known pronouncement made by Mr Lee Kuan Yew: that even when dead and inside his coffin, he would instantly spring up should there be a problem out there for him to solve.)

‘The coffin was enormous
To match the godlike status;
For both in life and death
He was a real Colossus.

Someone who with the opposition
Was clearly in cahoots
Whispered, ‘Ah, a new dawn,
No more defamation suits!’

At which the corpse sprang right up
‘Who said that?’ it roared,
‘He’s defaming my good name,
So get our lawyers on board!’

The last C is Crystal-ball gazing

Currently, Singaporeans are wondering about a future Singapore when Minister Mentor will have left the scene. What will it be like? Will there be a split in the PAP? Will Singapore politics be changed forever?

It is most unlikely that the immediate post-Lee Kuan Yew years will see the kind of turmoil experienced in some societies when a great leader departs and leaves a political vacuum.

For an essential part of PAP policy is smooth transition and continuity, through the practice of careful selection, grooming and testing of new leaders. Through this process of self renewal, the party aims to preserve the prized Lee Kuan Yew legacy of competence, discipline and incorruptibility of leadership, and thus ensure, permanently, the well-being of Singapore.

But 15, 20 years down the road, the scenario may be very different. There may arise challenges and problems that will, most ironically, have been caused by this very legacy.

A people who have been trained to trust the PAP government implicitly and to engage only minimally in the political process by voting responsibly once every five years and for the rest of the time concentrating on doing well in business, the professions, the arts, community work, etc, will lack political savvy.

In another speech, I had compared them to hothouse plants incapable of surviving in the tough, brute world outside – the jungle out there. Never exposed to the rough and tumble of street politics, always accepting every official policy, Singaporeans could become blinded to the faults of their leaders.

As long as the legacy is kept intact, there will be no problem. But over the years, long after its founder is gone, the legacy is bound to be diminished and diluted, if only because the new leaders will have come from increasingly different backgrounds and experiences.

For one thing, they will be more globally exposed. There could appear a self-serving and corrupt leader who, because he wears the trusted PAP mantle, will get away with it. This is a frightening but possible scenario.

Another equally bleak one may once again be attributed to the PAP’s deliberate creation of a whole generation of apolitical Singaporeans.

Young men and women, encouraged to concentrate on pursuing ambitions of world-class achievements, will see themselves as cosmopolitans belonging more to the world than to their home country.

If it is true that love of one’s country is something spontaneous, the result of direct experience of the soil or direct witness of a fellow countryman’s heroic tenacity of purpose and fighting spirit, then the loyalty of a whole generation of protected, cossetted Singaporeans may be called into question.

For their loyalty will not be to Singapore, but to the good life that Singapore has given them. In the event of a crisis, this very conditional, fair-weather loyalty will vanish as soon as the temptation sets in of relocating in a part of the world where they can continue to enjoy this good life.

Currently, there are anguished debates about whether there is a Singapore identity, about whether young people are prepared to die for their country.

If the PAP were asked to give their own thumbnail history of their management of political dissent, they might begin with the hard power of Lee Kuan Yew, which was right for its times, then go on to the soft power of Goh Chok Tong, who had promised a ‘kinder, gentler society’, and end with the smart power of the present Prime Minister, a blend of the previous two. Clearly, this power is still evolving, its final shape as yet indiscernible.

But suppose we do a little speculation. The Prime Minister has made it very clear that his primary concern is to meet the needs and expectations of young Singaporeans in order to build a strong cohesive nation that, despite its small size, can hold its own against any aggressor.

This is a very long-term goal, well past the political life of every present PAP leader. Surely part of the smart power must be to convert this concern into present action to achieve the desired future? What could that action be? Could it begin with a change of PAP mindset?

Imagine we are looking into the crystal ball, and actually seeing this change of attitude towards political dissent. The leaders now recognise, even if grudgingly, that the need for freedom of expression, the impulse to challenge, is a natural and permanent aspect of the human condition, found in every society, at every period in human history.

Moreover, they may even acknowledge that this impulse may not be a bad thing after all, for it could bring about long-term change and renewal, though not without cost. The acknowledgement leads to full acceptance of the democratic package, that is, including all that annoying messiness. This in turn leads to positive action, that is, dismantling the existing mechanisms of control and containment to allow for the exposure required by the democratic process. At long last then, there will be true political education in the society.

If – dare we say when? – this happens, Singapore will have come into its own. It will have achieved an identity, a sense of its uniqueness, a rootedness. It can now take its place with those mature societies in the free world admired for their unshakeable commitment to allowing a place in their midst for even the most rabidly dissenting voices.

Singapore will then no longer be just a niche nation, a boutique model, where visitors come to learn how to build science centres, prevent pollution, improve the public transportation system, improve the teaching of mathematics, etc. It will no longer be described as just efficient, innovative, progressive, etc, but as great.

The following is an excerpt of an address given at the annual seminar of the Institute of Policy Studies on January 12, 2006, and later published in The Straits Times on January 20.

For a small island state eager to take its place among the most successful nations in the free world of practising democracies, one would have expected to see a steady increase in political freedom, an ascending line from its virtual non-existence in the rough early years of brute survival, to the emergence of incomplete but distinct forms in a still evolving ethos, to an end point of full functioning in a mature society.

But there has been no such clear path. Instead, we see only a thin ragged line, rather like a small weakly meandering stream that sometimes disappears into the ground.

This sputtering along of the political process is in sharp contrast to the smooth steep trajectories of other areas of development, notably in the economic area, where growth can only be described in breathless superlatives; and even in those areas where the Government has been traditionally conservative, for instance, education and the arts.

Hence while the winds of change are sweeping everywhere, while the clarion call to be creative, to think outside the box, is heard everywhere, the political domain remains a backwater, with every sign of drying up altogether.

This glaring incongruity has not gone unnoticed. It has led the dispassionate observer, both foreign and local, to qualify every praise of Singapore, no matter how lavish, with a polite ‘but’, as in:

‘Oh yes, Singapore is a model worthy of emulation by other societies but – ‘; ‘Oh yes, I am very proud to be a Singaporean except for this fear thing that is still around, you know what I mean?’

The contrast has also led to an embarrassing anomaly. While Singapore is consistently ranked among the top three in global surveys on economic growth, business friendliness and so on, it is placed with North Korea, Myanmar and Iran when it comes to individual or press freedom.

Why is there this continuing government reluctance to open up at a time when it can well afford to do so?

There are three possible reasons. The first is historical continuity. This policy is part of an ongoing and enduring legacy from the Lee Kuan Yew era of tough rule.

The second reason is strategic. Tight control of even minor political issues means pre-emption of major ones, which, as the Government has always maintained, Singapore cannot afford, with its small size and dependence on the rest of the world to make a living.

The third reason is psychological – a natural distaste of a serious-minded and purposeful leadership for the noise and rowdiness of political debate and dissent.

Here is a government that has made no secret of an almost pathological dislike of polemics, posturing and populist rhetoric.

This aversion to political debate is the reason not only for the Government’s continuing reluctance to make any change to its quiescent, inactive state but the reason for the desire to make that state permanent. Such a desire cannot obviously be openly articulated to an increasingly sophisticated and vocal electorate.

So what the Government has been doing quietly is to develop a strategy by which it can simultaneously achieve two objectives that appear to contradict each other: on the one hand, reassuring the electorate through a generous slew of opening-up measures; and on the other, making sure that nothing has changed.

The first objective can be made as overt as possible; the second is necessarily covert.

The result is a dual model of managing political dissent that is unique to the PAP leadership. It comprises both the soft, gentle, consultative approach of the Goh Chok Tong rule and the hard, stern no-nonsense approach of the Lee Kuan Yew rule; the soft approach being at the forefront, open for all to see, and the hard approach being in the background, hardly visible but clearly the prevalent one.

Hence, while the many official channels by which Singaporeans can freely express their views – the Feedback Unit, Speaker’s Corner, public forums – are all highly publicised, the warning of stern government action against those who dare abuse the channels by going beyond the out-of-bounds markers is only occasionally uttered, and even then in quick, brief response to direct questions.

These out-of-bound markers have never been clearly spelt out, but continue to operate as a broad metaphor, clearly to allow the Government its own interpretation of what is acceptable and what is not in political discourse.

By now, Singaporeans have a general idea of the permitted scope of criticism. The most readily tolerated is criticism of non-political issues, especially bread-and-butter matters, for example those related to CPF (Central Provident Fund), foreign maids and so on.

The somewhat grudgingly tolerated is criticism of government style, and the least tolerated is criticism of government competence and integrity.

The action taken against the transgressors of these markers has really been no more than a sharp and stern rebuttal of the criticism. But it works because in a small society that has been so long dominated by a powerful, implacable government, even this can create very real fear.

When young people, invited to public forums to speak their minds freely, talk about a still pervading atmosphere of fear, they mean exactly this.

This model is useful to the Government in the handling of criticism because, while the evidence for the soft approach is widespread, tangible and visible, the evidence for the hard approach is just this general sense of fear, hardly definable and thus easily challenged by the Government.

Hence the leaders can point to any number of instances of political opening up, usually supported by examples of the opening up of non-political areas such as the famous bar-top dancing issue, and say: ‘Fear? What fear? Look around you, see the many letters in the newspapers criticising the Government. Has anybody gone to jail for that?’

If pressed for a clear statement on how it will deliver on its promise to open up, the Government is apt to respond with a terse assertion that it will not necessarily follow the Western model that young people and journalists seem so enamoured of, but will instead develop its own model.

Overall, this dual model is a very sophisticated strategy of containment, control and manipulation, by which the Government can have the political cake and eat it too: give every appearance of political freedom but ensure it is not the real thing, and meanwhile, behind the scenes, work at getting rid of it altogether.

Now, getting rid altogether of political dissent is something abhorrent to the free world and the Government is not about to provoke condemnation from a global community to which it is so comfortably, securely and advanta- geously linked.

But suppose it does the unimaginable, the truly ingenious. Suppose it turns things around and proves to the free world that this very condemnable act can lead to greater stability and prosperity for the society. Suppose it proves that dispensing with a major tenet of democracy can actually save democracy from itself.

The truth is that this is already happening. When the Singapore Government confidently tells inquisitive journalists and critics that it isdeveloping a model of governance that is geared specifically to the needs and aspirations of the people, it is in effect showcasing an alternative to the Western model of democracy. And it is succeeding to the extent that certain experimenting and developing democracies in Asia and Africa that are very anxious to wean or distance themselves from Western prototypes, but still stay within the fold, may look to the Singapore model.

This is not such a far-fetched scenario, for the Singapore model has three features that are likely to authenticate and legitimate it in the eyes of the global community:

First, tight political control is motivated not by megalomania, greed or corruption but their very opposite: a genuine concern for the welfare of the society. Admittedly, not even the harshest critic of the PAP can doubt its passionate commitment to the nation.

Second, the method of getting rid of political dissidents is by due process of law or by the simple expedient of marginalising them, a blameless enough method when compared with the brutality so repugnant to the democratic sensibility.

Third, the sound pragmatism of a model that seeks only solid, practical results surely stands out in a world where ideology and high-sounding ideals have failed to solve problems.

The Singapore Government acts on the conviction that, at the end of the day, what matter most to the people are safety, job security and a peaceful and prosperous life.

Against these primary, urgent imperatives, political freedom is irrelevant or even meaningless. In the insecurity of a world atmosphere created by Sept 11, Sars, terrorism and natural disasters, nobody could agree more.

Indeed, the current high international standing of the Singapore Government is one of the reasons why it is succeeding so well in curbing political dissent at home. For if the world can accord such high praise to the leadership, how can its own people not believe that whatever it is doing must be right and good?

The result is that at no time has the dissident voice been more muted, at no time have political commentators stayed so warily away from the out- of-bounds markers. Political clubs such as the Roundtable have folded up; new ones are not likely to appear. And in an atmosphere of continuing anxiety, there will be continuing self-censorship. The greater the Government’s efforts to raise material prosperity, the more irrelevant and even harmful will the role of the political activist be seen.

And as if to push dissidents even more quickly into oblivion, the Government is working hard to win over potential dissidents, chiefly idealistic young people, by embracing two courses traditionally dear to them.

These are freedom of expression in the arts, and humanitarian concern for the underclass. Hence, the Govern- ment is going all out to create a lively arts scene by allowing bold experimentation in theatre, dance and movie-making. Similarly, it is going all out to help those left behind by the rapid pace of change, especially the poor and the handicapped.

Winning the battle hands down

THE result is spectacular. By giving buzz to a city once described as a cultural desert, and by putting a human face on a society once described as all head and no heart, the Government has taken over all the battles and cut the ground completely from under the feet of its critics.

It has won hands down. Indeed, it is well on its way to achieving its ideal of the Singapore society – one that will always be governed by a group of responsible, honest, hardworking men and women who will ensure utmost probity among themselves, through continuous self-monitoring and self-renewal.

This perfectly efficient and effective leadership is possible only because it need no longer be bothered by raucous dissidents who, at the least, are like small, pesky dogs yapping at the heels and, at the worst, a cancer on the body politic that has to be excised quickly. In this ideal society, the political engagement of the people is minimal, that is, voting wisely and responsibly once every five years and for the rest of the time cooperating with the Government to attain even greater prosperity.

In a troubled world where so much has gone wrong, the Singapore model may yet be a world model and this time without the qualifying ‘but’.

Already, Singapore is being cited as world exemplary on a wide range of achievements, besides its celebrated economic miracle: its quick adaptation to change, its foresight in being among the first to embrace and develop bio-technology, its preparedness in the face of global threats of terrorism and a bird flu pandemic, and its readiness to go to the help of neighbours devastated by natural disasters.

Against such a glowing picture, what I am going to say next will make me a surly wet blanket, a nasty shower of acid rain upon a glorious parade. I firmly believe that a model of governance in which political dissent has little or no role is deeply flawed on two points:

First, the need for expression can never be suppressed;

Second, if it is, then it is all the worse for the society.

This need is something natural, inborn, universal, something that defines us uniquely as a species. It has to do with the human sense of self, identity and belonging. It is manifest in all societies, whether full, partial or nascent democracies.

Even in a non-democracy it is not absent; it has simply gone underground and is just waiting for the first chance to surface. It can neither be intimidated into permanent silence nor seduced by material rewards.

It is neither a means nor an end to anything. It simply IS, a force to be reckoned with. Now, if we want to know why, we will have to ask the anthropologist and the evolutionary psychologist who will be able to explain its primordial origins.

Hence, in any society at any time, there will be a small minority of eccentrics, mavericks, rebels and troublemakers, a group certainly not endearing to the government or the majority.

In Singapore, after years of marginalisation, this must be a very, very small group indeed. But it has a crucial role to play. Its dissident voice and contrarian stand are the very yeast to enliven the political dough. Even its unruliness and rambunctiousness are the very genes, though dangerously mutant and rogue, to give new life to a tired species.

Instead of crushing it, the Government should engage it and allow it to play out its role in what ultimately must be a beneficial political education for all. For only through engagement with difference can convictions be strengthened, courage tested and characters moulded. Only in the rough and tumble, the cut and thrust of political battle, can there be the conditions to throw up a political genius who will one day lead the society with vision and courage.

Something akin to these conditions must have thrown up an undisputed visionary and fighter we still have in our midst – Mr Lee Kuan Yew. Obviously, the conditions cannot be replicated, but through a genuine opening up – the operative word is ‘genuine’ – the Government can create the much-needed environment.

Of course, in the short term, there will be the disruptions and dislocations of major change and adjustment, but the long-term outcome is a very positive one – a mature, fully functioning society in which material prosperity is matched by a robust political life, in which the two are seen as richly complementary.

The alternative is a monolithic, undifferentiated society ever making copies of itself, an inbred society of made-to-order leaders and citizens who will be very vulnerable to the predation of more robust competitors from outside.

I am going to finish my exposition on a shockingly pessimistic note. I have come to believe, with a somewhat heavy heart, that even if the Government wants to do something about the problem, it may be a little too late.

Singaporeans have by now become so dependent on the Government for making decisions for us, for thinking for us, and so used to our comfortable lives, that any major change and adjustment will be viewed with alarm.

Instead of going on with my exposition, I present it in the form of a short story, with the title ‘The Experiment’.

The Experiment

AT THE fourth ministerial meeting to discuss the very troublesome young activist Frankie Mah, Minister Supremo asks: ‘Well, what’s the latest?’ There is a barrage of new information: the young rebel has got bolder; his following has grown; at the Speakers’ Corner, he attracts never-before-seen crowds; the Internet is full of excited chatter among young people about how to force the government to give in to the LOD, or the Long Overdue Demand.

‘And what’s that?’ asks Minister Supremo, in his gentle, well-modulated voice. Here, Minister A.H. — for years the minister has been known only by these initials – says angrily: ‘Freedom! Would you believe it? Here are young people free from poverty, squalor, corruption, and they’re clamouring for freedom!’

He gives another angry snort. The other ministers try to calm him down.

‘How long are you going to tolerate this nonsense?’ he asks. ‘Listen. I’ve done some research on the fellow. When he was 16, he cheated in a school exam. When he was 18, he got his girlfriend pregnant. Why don’t we use this info…’

‘No!’ says Minister Supremo firmly. Then he goes on to make the most astonishing announcement: ‘I’m going to say ‘Yes’ to all the demands of Frankie Mah.’

Everyone is astounded. Minister A.H. has fallen off his chair. ‘Yes,’ says Minister Supremo calmly. ‘Frankie Mah is going to get all the freedom he wants.’

The announcement first shocks Singaporeans into speechlessness, then rouses them into a frenzy of rejoicing. At last! At last! Frankie Mah has become a national hero.

In the following days, Singaporeans witness what they had never thought to see in their lifetime. Large crowds carrying placards denouncing the death penalty mass outside Changi Prison. A rambunctious crowd at the Speakers’ Corner repeatedly punch the air with their fists, denouncing this or that government policy. A long procession marches down Orchard Road carrying a banner showing a portrait of Frankie Mah under the word ‘Revolution’.

‘Aren’t you going to do anything?’ shrieks Minister A.H. ‘Yesterday one of them exposed his backside to show an obscene tattoo making fun of the government!’

Minister Supremo lets out a little chuckle. He says reassuringly: ‘Don’t worry, everything will be all right,’ then continues to look outside the window at a crowd gathered under a giant banner bearing a portrait of himself with a Hitler moustache. He listens to Frankie Mah shouting into a megaphone:

‘Hey, hey, Pee-Ay-Pee

Best-ever government in his-tor-ree

Please be our government in perpe-tui-tee!’

The other ministers watch uneasily as he lets out another chuckle.

In the third week, things suddenly change. Large, noisy crowds come out to demonstrate not for but against Frankie Mah. They are in fact petitioning the government to stop him. He is disrupting the peace of Singaporean life.

Only the day before, somebody was badly hurt in a scuffle. Before that, a fight had broken out in a mall, and hooligans had taken advantage of the situation to loot. Piles of litter are left wherever his rowdy supporters meet. Such a thing has never before happened in Singapore.

Minister Supremo receives delegations of Singaporeans urging quick government action. The Association of Parents and Teachers complains that the demonstrations are causing students to play truant. The Moral Society complains that the rude, crude behaviour of the rebels is influencing the young. The Tourism Promotion Society worries that all the mayhem will drive away tourists.

But the Minister is unruffled. ‘I’m waiting,’ he says with serene confidence, adding cryptically: ‘It will come.’

And it comes soon enough, on the 37th day of The Experiment. A huge flood of letters in the newspapers and on the Internet, matched by the largest-ever delegation to the government, all voice the greatest, most urgent concern of Singaporeans: ‘The value of our property is going down!’

Minister Supremo acts. Minister A.H. is jubilant. ‘Throw that scum into jail! Fine him! Cane him!’ But Minister Supremo says: ‘No. I’m going to invite him to tea.’

Frankie Mah appears very nervous as he is shown into the Minister’s office. As soon as he enters, he sees a huge poster with his portrait and the words:

‘Hey, hey, Frank-Kie- Mah

So you thought to have the last hurrah

You just might have gone a little too far!’

Frankie turns deathly pale. Minister Supremo graciously invites him to sit down and have tea and cake. First, the intimidation; then the charm. Frankie is overcome with relief. But he is still a little nervous.

The Minister says affably: ‘That famous tattoo. I saw it on TV, but those kiasu MediaCorp people blocked it out. Tell me about it.’

Frankie tells him. The Minister roars with laughter. Frankie is no longer uneasy. In fact, he feels comfortable enough to ask about something he has always wondered about.

‘Those initials in Minister A.H.’s name. What do they stand for?’

‘Will you promise not to tell anyone if I tell you?’ says Minister Supremo.

‘Yes, of course,’ says Frankie.

‘Well,’ says Minister Supremo. ‘Minister A.H. is a well-meaning chap, but with his outdated ways of thinking, he’s become a real pain. The initials stand for a rude word which I won’t utter, but it rhymes with ‘mass soul’ ‘. Frankie laughs so much he spills his tea.

It is time for him to leave. He is overwhelmed by gratitude. His eyes are shining with joy. From now on, his life will take on a new purpose.

The following commentary was published in The Straits Times on May 10, 2005.

The interested observer of the Singapore political scene cannot but notice the emergence of a new model of People’s Action Party governance. After 40 years of PAP rule, through the leadership of two prime ministers and in the first year of the third, the emerging model carries the strong endorsement of the past prime ministers and is shaping into a blueprint for future governance.

It is actually an updated version of the old model, to fit in with the changing climate of the times. Basically, it has kept intact the substance of the old model but dispensed with the style.

It continues to affirm the philosophy of PAP founding father Lee Kuan Yew, which can be distilled into a few hard-headed principles:

The incorruptibility, dedication and self discipline of the elected leaders;

The primacy of the economic imperative for a tiny, resource-poor island state in a ruthlessly competitive world;

The absolute necessity of trust in the government-people relationship.

But it has abandoned the style that Mr Lee had deemed necessary to go with the stern principles – that is, an authoritarian, no-nonsense manner which has little use for sentiment – and actually opted for the exact opposite: an all-out effort to win the people’s hearts through a friendly, patient, consultative approach.

The change started with the Goh Chok Tong administration, which declared its goal of creating a kinder, gentler society. But it was left to new Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong – once perceived by the people to be aloof and arrogant – to reinforce, consolidate and complete the process.

In his constantly proclaimed aim to develop a caring, inclusive society in which no one would be forgotten, PM Lee is easing into an affable, witty and engaging style that has come as a surprise to many Singaporeans. In the short time he has been in office, he has established a pleasing camaraderie with young Singaporeans whom he has singled out for special attention and nurturing.

The new model seeks to achieve a fine balance between the famed, awesome PAP efficiency and a still-developing PAP amiability, between the old habit of top-down decisions and the new practice of seeking and welcoming bottom-up feedback, between hard pragmatism and gentle empathy, between, in short, the constantly competing claims of head and heart.

The recent Casino Debate is a good illustration of this striving for balance. The new Prime Minister took great pains, after making a decision in favour of the tough economic realities of today’s world, to reassure critics that he would balance the decision with the necessary measures to check, correct and prevent the social and moral ills they had warned him about.

The handling of the Casino Issue is likely to be the modus operandi for all future major issues: The Government will, in all sincerity and goodwill, invite free and frank views from everyone (but firmly turn down all suggestions of anything as raucous and messy as a referendum or street demonstrations), consider the views carefully, make its own decision, explain it with greatest care and patience, and then make a rallying call for all to close ranks and move on in a display, once more, of national unity.

There are two ways of looking at the new model of governance.

The first, that of the sceptics, says: Nothing has changed. The PAP Government merely goes through the motions of consultation and dialogue. It will never budge from the old tough Lee Kuan Yew stance: Leave us to do our job, and do not make any trouble.

The second, that of the optimists, says: Everything has changed. Never before has a Singapore leader so earnestly articulated the need for acaring, inclusive society and reached out to so many people with such warmth, sincerity and good humour.

The high visibility of the current Government-people amity should not obscure the fact that the new model has a serious omission. It has left out, rather conspicuously, something which one would have thought vital to the proclaimed national goal of inclusiveness, which ensures that that no one, even if he or she is in the minority, is left out.

This missing element in the model is the need for a political opening up, which should lead to a situation where political freedom enables Singaporeans, at last, to enjoy the basic rights taken for granted in other societies in the free world – such as the right of free expression, assembly and demonstration.

The fact that only a minority of Singaporeans – those with a tendency to be more vocal and contrarian – has agitated for these rights, does not detract from their importance in an inclusive model.

More than anything, these Singaporeans want to speak with their own distinctive individual voices, without fear of reprisal. They want to convince the Government that, far from being a disruptive force in society, political freedom will eventually lead to the development of a distinct Singaporean identity and culture.

For at some stage, beyond the unavoidable cacophony and messiness of diverse voices raised in vehement argument and debate, there will emerge a new collective confidence that cannot but revitalise and embolden the other domains of national life, in particular the arts.

The arts often take their cue from their sister domain of political expression. A government crackdown on dissident voices will result, for instance, in self-censorship and a new cautiousness in theatre or drama, whereas government relaxation of political controls will see an enthusiastic exploration of hitherto taboo subjects.

Hence there is a close link between political freedom and the arts, and by extension, between both and culture. Implicit in any discussion of whether there is a Singaporean identity or a Singaporean culture (an angst-filled question in the frequent bouts of collective soul-searching by Singaporeans) there is the understanding, therefore, of this role of political freedom.

Implicit also is the understanding that if Singapore culture is to be distinctive and unique, it must have the freedom to develop spontaneously, in its own time, on its own terms, like the super-organism which anthropologists say every culture really is.

Hence, it is not the ersatz culture copied from the West, nor the rojak culture cobbled from an arbitrary selection of cultural products such as char kway teow, Singlish, the Merlion or the Durian.

Identity, culture, national pride, a sense of national belonging, the meaning of being Singaporean – it would be extremely difficult to define any of these ideals without at some point or other bringing up the part played by political freedom.

In view of the importance of this opening up of society, loosening of present strictures and removal of the infamous out-of-bounds markers, it is surprising that the matter has so little place in the new model of governance.

At no time in the articulation of his goals for achieving the society he desires for Singaporeans, has Prime Minister Lee made any significant mention of a systematic development of this arguably all-important political identity without which there can be no true national identity and no true culture.

The reason for the reluctance may lie in a certain mindset resulting from an adherence to one of the inviolable principles laid down in the Lee Kuan Yew philosophy – namely, an unshakable bond of trust between the Government and the people.

Mr Lee Kuan Yew crushed his critics because he saw all criticism – whether from Singaporeans or foreigners, from individuals or from organisations – as undermining the people’s trust in the Government’s integrity and hence making it more difficult for the leaders to do their job.

It is a distinctive PAP policy of pre-emption and nipping-in-the-bud that has proved very effective.

It may be said that Mr Lee Kuan Yew has left a legacy of almost pathological dislike of the flamboyant theatrics, histrionics and fraudulence that the Government has come to associate with those critics, especially those in the Opposition, who have dared to challenge it openly.

This stance was maintained through the Goh Chok Tong administration, and is likely to continue in the present administration of PM Lee, since allowing political freedom, especially in the present times when the young have become bolder and more vocal, could open the floodgates of a long, pent-up need and unleash a torrent of criticism that would prove unmanageable.

Between his adherence to traditional PAP practice, and his new avowal to reach out to everyone in society, PM Lee cannot be in too comfortable a position. His response so far has been to play down the issue, tolerate it, or isolate it if possible. At the worst, the Government could simply wait it out, politely listening and explaining, but doing nothing.

The overall result of this response is that while the winds of change are allowed to sweep through the corridors of business, education, the arts, entertainment, etc, they bypass the political domain, which continues to be in the doldrums.

But, ironically, the biggest wind of change, that is, the Prime Minister’s whole-hearted effort to touch people by breaking down all barriers of communication, may be the very thing to embolden some rebels to protest against the greatest barrier of all – that of political suppression.

It would appear that having agitated for political change for so long, they are not about to stop now. A new, younger, sophisticated, more exposed electorate that likes to see itself as cosmopolitan, is making clear that this desired change should be much more than the concessions made so far, such as the setting up of the system of Nominated Members of Parliament to allow for more dissenting voices in Parliament.

And of course the change should be much, much more than the patently ineffectual Speakers’ Corner, the derisory Bohemians’ Corner and the laughable bar-top dancing. After these experiments, it is very unlikely that the Government will in the future offer anything that can be even remotely construed as a token, a sop or a joke.

The issue continues to be the most intractable problem on the political scene, and may be the worse for not having the clear-cut, unambiguous lines it had in the former Lee Kuan Yew regime.

While political dissent then was squashed unceremoniously, the new dispensation, in keeping with its image, has opted for a softer approach. But it is a necessarily ambivalent one which appears to satisfy no one.

The approach boils down to one of three standard responses, depending on which is most appropriate to the occasion:

There already is freedom, as evident from the presence of a whole range of channels through which people can freely express their views, for instance, the feedback units, the forum pages of major newspapers, the meet-the-people sessions with MPs, etc.

For a small, vulnerable country like Singapore, the political process must evolve slowly, if it is not to be a disruptive or even catastrophic force, as can be seen in so many countries today; and

The issue of political freedom is really the concern of the minority only, as the majority are more taken up with bread-and-butter issues such as jobs.

Beyond the official responses, given almost perfunctorily, as if to waste no more time in getting to more important matters, there has been no indication that the Government even regards the call for political freedom as an issue, much less a problem worthy of careful diagnosis, prognosis and cure.

At most, it is regarded as a nuisance, to be tactfully handled but quietly monitored to prevent it from getting out of hand. As long as it remains at the level of mere verbal disgruntlement, the Government seems willing and able to live with it.

But it refuses to go away. With alarming regularity, over many years, it has cropped up at almost every public forum, debate or discussion. And dismayingly, the official response each time is the same.

By now, the form and wording of these Government-people exchanges, especially those between ministers and young people in public chat sessions, are beginning to take on a tedious predictability, as are the polite silences following the official responses (which silences, however, could later turn up on the Internet dressed in colourful and scurrilous verbiage).

Surreal feeling

Hence, in the purportedly frank, friendly and no-holds barred sessions, the interlocutors seem locked in an uneasy ritual of spoken and unspoken responses, a pattern that will be repeated in similar future sessions, in a numbing cycle.

One gets the surreal feeling that everyone seems trapped in a Samuel Beckett-like circularity that nobody knows how to break out of:

Comment: There’s still fear in Singapore society.

Government response: What fear? Singaporeans are freely expressing their views and criticisms, and the Government is not putting them in jail for it.

Unspoken comment: But people are still too frightened to talk about the taboo subjects, defined by the so-called out-of-bounds markers. They fear that the powerful PAP Government will punish them in any number of ways, for instance, sue them, get their employers to demote them, cut their salaries, get the Income Tax people to go after them.

Comment: There’s no real opposition in Singapore, and never will be.

Government response: But anybody is free to stand against the Government. If you think you can do a better job than the present Government, by all means form an opposition party and prove it.

Unspoken comment: But the political playing field is not a level one, considering the tendency of the Government to play hardball politics during elections. It will only be a matter of time before the remaining opposition parties are mowed down and rendered extinct by the awesome PAP juggernaut.

Comment: We don’t feel a sense of belonging or ownership in Singapore.

Government response: No sense of ownership? But 90 per cent of Singaporeans own their homes.

Unspoken comment: But a sense of belonging and ownership does not come from only material things such as property and bank accounts. We need identity and individuality and space and freedom. But we are fearful that bringing all these issues up will make us appear ungrateful and disloyal Singaporeans.

This situation is certainly not a desirable one, because it is time-wasting, wearying, futile and most of all because it feeds on that most destructive of emotions – fear.

In the absence of any real effort to solve the problem, this fear has become grossly amplified, exaggerated and maliciously distorted in the channels of private, anonymous communication, such as through SMS, the Internet and coffeeshop and canteen chat.

In my own case, after I had displeased the Government through my political commentaries, I heard no end of rumours, some of them truly laughable, about the Government wanting to revoke my citizenship, about Government agents closely following me and bugging my phone, about the secret police bursting in on me in the middle of the night.

So here is the Government-people relationship caught in a situation where communication has taken both overt and covert forms, where what is unsaid can be far more significant than what is said, leading to a complex tangle of ambiguities, incongruities and contradictions.

How can this quandary be resolved? Something is happening in the present that may actually resolve it in favour of the Government. There is an atmosphere of anxiety, not only in Singapore but in the region and the rest of the world, which is the aftermath of a spate of catastrophes never before experienced: Sept 11, terrorist activities, Sars, the Indian Ocean tsunami.

People everywhere are gripped by an urgency simply to stay alive, keep safe, protect their loved ones. On a lesser scale but creating no less urgency, is the threat of the new economic giant China, which could mean the loss of jobs nationwide.

In such a charged atmosphere, the dissident voices of a minority clamouring for more freedom will be seen as an irrelevance, a nuisance, an intolerable distraction from more important concerns. This concentration on basic material needs and disregard of everything else, especially abstract ideological matters, is being seen currently in most societies, especially Asian countries, including China, India and Vietnam. Everybody seems determined to make a living, and a good one at that.

The trend is working to the advantage of the PAP Government. For the potential trouble makers who have been agitating for political change, and getting little support from others, will feel increasingly isolated and soon give up, from sheer fatigue, disillusionment or despair. They will eventually disappear from the political scene.

From the Government’s viewpoint, the best thing that can happen will be for these recalcitrants to come to their senses, and rechannel their energies into the more rewarding activity of making money or advancing their careers.

Political societies such as the now defunct RoundTable will fold up and never see the light of day again. It is unlikely that new political clubs will replace them. Two or three general elections from now, the Opposition parties may even cease to exist.

To the criticism that the PAP Government has reverted to the old authoritarianism and aims to be a government in perpetuity, by crushing out all opposition, the response will be a measured and principled one. Its rationale will be something like this: PAP rule, as originally established by Mr Lee Kuan Yew, is the best for Singapore, as shown again and again by the people’s resounding vote through elections over 40 years. Therefore, as long as the leadership remains incorrupt and competent, it is in Singapore’s best interests for it to stay.

But the Government recognises the danger of a complacency that could result from a permanently entrenched PAP leadership. So it will make it its duty to keep monitoring and re-inventing itself to stay ahead of the danger.

Hence, the people can always be assured of a strong, honest, efficient and dependable PAP Government to lead them in a world increasingly fraught with risks.

This is indeed a troubling picture for those who have agitated for change and now have to concede defeat. But there will be no show of triumphalism on the part of the Government. With characteristic grace and goodwill, it will concentrate quietly on perfecting the new model of governance, now happily excised of the last fractious element.

It will concentrate on what it knows everyone is most concerned about today – safety, security, jobs – and go well beyond these to ensure that Singaporeans will continue to advance in their standards of living. It will make sure that all the components in the model are configured optimally to give enduring stability, harmony and prosperity to the society.

In the light of this enlightened pragmatism, all accusations of materialism will sound hollow and appear hopelessly out of touch with reality.

Indeed, the model will be one not only for future governments in Singapore but also for governments in developing societies that have long suffered from riots, ethnic divisions, crime, poverty, official corruption and ineptness.

Singapore regularly receives visits from foreign delegations anxious to find out the secret of its orderliness and prosperity.

It enjoys a high ranking in worldwide surveys on political, economic and social stability, and its recent efficient but graceful, empathetic response to last year’s Indian Ocean tsunami crisis, can only enhance its international standing.

Sowing seeds of decay

Into this rosy picture of a near-utopia, it would be most ungracious, indeed churlish, to inject a sombre note. But the truth is that a model of governance that has no place for political openness carries with it the seeds of its own decline or even demise in the long run.

For it will have bred a politically naive, dependent, manipulable people who have never experienced the normal messy, noisy but healthy processes of political education, challenge and struggle.

These people can be compared to artificially nurtured hothouse plants, unable to survive if thrown among the sturdy plants in the wild. Living in a utopia as long as they are protected, they are plunged into a dystopia when circumstances change and they have to fend for themselves.

A biological analogy may be useful to highlight this danger. The new model of PAP governance, being monolithic and homogeneous because everyone is ultimately made to the PAP image, is not unlike a colony of organisms that, through long inbreeding, exhibits no diversity.

It is a model where differences of creativity, aptitude and attitude are tolerated only if they can be managed under the PAP aegis, like harmless genetic mutations in a system.

But strength and resilience, creativity and inventiveness, as we all know, come not from sameness and agreement, but from engagement with differences, leading to healthy competition and conflict and new improved forms. An undifferentiated colony of organisms becomes that much more vulnerable to destruction and extinction in the event of a sudden environmental change.

Such a fate for Singapore sounds horrendous, even if it is speculative and in the distant future. It would be no bad thing to act now to prevent the horror. And the most effective measure will be political education for Singapore society.

Such a political education is possible, and need take no more than 15, 20 years. It must not of course be provided only in the classrooms, the debating halls of colleges and universities, the forums in newspapers and on television.

Instead, it must be based chiefly on observation of and participation in the real world outside – the world of brute survival where the law of the jungle still prevails, where brilliant ideology, excellent academic credentials and even unimpeachable moral integrity are no guarantees of success, where ultimately experience, especially of the bruising kind, is the best teacher.

Still using analogies from biology: Singaporeans, like people everywhere else in the free world, should be seen as organisms, not products, and should be allowed to develop, not artificially in a controlled setting, but spontaneously in a natural environment.

Only then can a society truly come into its own. Between the present tentative, half measures of the political opening up, and this desired state still far off in the future, there is obviously a very long way to go. But if the Government decides to build this goal into its model of governance and is prepared to take the risk of a major experiment of nationwide political education to attain it, it will have taken a bold and brave step indeed.

And it will find that the risk is not so great after all. For at this stage of its rule, the PAP Government has all the necessary experience, skills and expertise, all the necessary structures and mechanisms to deal effectively with any risk, and avert any catastrophe.

If it brings to the experiment the same care, astuteness, foresight, boldness and above all open-mindedness that it had in the past brought to seemingly intractable problems in the economic sphere, the political experiment, even if it takes a long time and involves major adjustments, is likely to be a success.

The heady prospect of such a situation created by the PAP leadership after 40 years of resistance to it almost invites a paean: Let a hundred dissident voices bloom. Let each have its say and sharpen itself against the others. For then there will be a rich marketplace of learning experiences, the coming of age, at last, of the people.

When that happens, the new model of governance will have become a truly inclusive one, providing for the needs not only of the abiding majority but of the rebellious minority, taking care not only of the present population but also of generations in the distant future, who will come long after those of us who worry for them, have left the scene.

The writer is known for having penned the commentary, The Great Affective Divide, in 1994.

Two scenarios too awful to contemplate

Two possible scenarios could, in the long run, result from an overdependence on a super government. First, no government, no matter how enlightened in its principles and effective in its actions, can expect to remain so beyond a certain period of time. In the normal course of all things human, even Mr Lee Kuan Yew must make an exit, and there will come, in a matter of years, a post-Lee Kuan Yew era.

As younger ministers with different experiences and increased global exposure appear on the scene, the model will increasingly lose its original character and strength. There is a greater likelihood of an attenuation rather than an augmentation of the Lee Kuan Yew principles.

What is more, an actual reversal of the principles could come about. The Minister Mentor himself, at a recent conference in Malaysia, spoke about the probable intrusion of corruption into Singapore politics in the absence of the stern PAP philosophy that he has held dear for so long.

Twenty, 30 years down the road, long after MM Lee and other PAP stalwarts have left the scene, there may appear a government that will wear the PAP mantle but have none of its principles. The tragedy for Singapore then will be a leader or leaders inheriting all the structures of power and using them for their own self aggrandisement. And they will get away with it, because the electorate, through long habit, will have become incapable of protest and will continue to look up to any PAP government for guidance.

The second direful scenario resulting from this overdependence of the people concerns an external danger. While Singapore now enjoys good relations with its neighbours, the situation could change. The island-state, once described by a political scientist as a small Chinese fish in a large Muslim sea, could find itself squeezed between larger, more powerful neighbours not quite enamoured of it.

In the event of an invasion, even the strongest government needs a politically robust, alert and savvy society to fight the enemy, especially in a long drawn-out war of resistance. Singaporeans, not trained in the rough and tumble of the political process, lacking the brute instincts of the political animal, unwilling to take on the grit, grime and gore of a fight, may be unable to rise to the challenge.

The worst possible scenario is their fleeing, at the first sign of trouble, to countries such as Australia and Canada where, ironically, the material prosperity made possible by the PAP Government has enabled them to buy second homes.

These two scenarios may appear overly pessimistic, even ludicrous, in the context of the present situation, with its bright prospects of an ever prospering Singapore in an ever peaceful relationship with its neighbours and the rest of the world.

In the short-term view, Singapore is well on the road to becoming one of the world’s greatest success stories. But among concerned Singaporeans taking a long-term view, there must be anxieties that a clear, tight, streamlined model of governance that ignores the need for the nurturing of political awareness among the young, could spell danger.