Every morning reciting the pledge, repeating every word, instilled in me a belief of the greatness of this nation. When I grew up, everywhere I turned, I had friends of different races and faiths. I could go to the mainstream PAP kindergarten in the mornings and I also went to the mosque kindergarten in the afternoon. I was exposed to different customs and languages and I had the opportunity to bask in the rich multi-racial flavour of our nation.

“Pledge ourselves as One United People, Regardless of Race, Language or Religion…”, I oathed. Every pledge taking ceremony, this line mattered to me most.

This was what made me different. Whether you’re Malay, Chinese or Indian, this is what makes us different from our ancestral nations. Chinese law states that you must be ethnically Chinese to be a citizen of (PRC) China. In Malaysia, non-Malays don’t get Bumiputera rights. And in India, while you could now naturalise as an Indian citizen, one needs to be a resident of India for at least 11 years. Of course, it would be quite difficult to find Indian citizens of non-Indian ethnicity in India though there is evidence of mixed ethnicity due to the large diaspora of Indians who have since returned.

But in Singapore, no matter what colour your skin is, what language you speak, or what religion you profess (or not), you are always welcome. So long as you pledge yourself as One United People.

The British Surrender

I used to frequent Johor as a child. I have relatives in a kampong at Jalan Setanggi. I remember one morning when my cousin and I talked about our countries, and learnt what it was like in our different countries. I was curious what it was like living in my ancestral land. I asked what was school like, and what they do in school. And we suddenly broke into patriotic competition. We’d sing our national anthems and we’d recite our pledges. I was a darn proud Singaporean but I respected my Malaysian cousins for what they have.

We don’t have kampongs anymore. Gotong-royong is still alive across the border. Here, it’s a different story. We exchanged our simple pleasures for the ones provided to a metropolis. Without the Internet, we wouldn’t know what to do with our time, as evident when I made my trips to Malaysia and Indonesia. Or perhaps, the connectedness with our virtual reality is a way for us to escape the realities of life.

I remember in one of my trips to my cousin’s kampong, I flipped through their photo albums, and in one of them, I discovered a historical relic. There slit behind the clear plastic was a Japanese banana note.

This was a time when Singapore was a significant part of Malaya. What Singapore went through, is shared with our brothers up north. This was a time when you could cross the causeway without a passport. A time when Singapore residents got along with each other, no matter what race.

The table where the surrender negotiations happened

“I want you to surrender without conditions! We shall stop all firing by 0700 hrs ” said General Yamashita to the British officers, led by General Percival. Percival tried to negotiate a later end to hostilities so that there would be enough time to destroy all British government documents. It was a convenient solution for them. Our men battled at the front, bled and died. And they raised their hands in surrender to save their lives.

What Percival didn’t know was that Yamashita was forcing the British to accept a quick surrender as the Japanese had almost run out of ammo and supplies, and had far less men than the Allies.

Had the British any idea of the custom of Ta’at Setia, Singapore as with the rest of Malaya would not have fallen to the Japanese. It was a war of attrition. A war which apparently was in our favour to win, despite the odds and the well-trained Japanese army.

Percival nodded, eventually agreeing to the Japanese terms. “I want to hear from your mouth that you agree to the unconditional surrender!” demanded Yamashita. Percival said in a dejected tone, “Yes, I, on behalf of the British and Allied forces in Singapore and Malaya, agree to surrender and stop all hostilities at the agreed upon time”.

Malay women used as comfort workers turning Geylang into a Red-light district

And then began 3 years of military internment for all in Malaya and Singapore. The Japanese used the British system of administration by race. Colonial master to colonial master, race was seen as an efficient way to administer its territory and subjects. The Chinese would suffer the worst from the racial discrimination of the Japanese. Chinese men were executed at random. They were tortured, and mutilated. Shot and bayoneted.

Every race was used differently by the new colonial masters. The Chinese were treated worse than animals. The Indians were to be re-used as soldiers to fight for the Japanese against British India. But the Japs weren’t quite sure of what to do with the Malays, so they tried to put them to work as labourers in place of the Chinese to revitalise the Japanese administered Syonan and Malayan economy.

Despite the better treatment to the other races, the Japs didn’t pay well. Inflation soared and life was hard. Everyone suffered under the Japanese. Food was rationed and the Japanese encouraged planting our own crops. But hard as it was to buy anything to plant, the only cheap crop was tapioca.

Zaman Ubi Kayu

My uncle described how it was like under the Japanese. “Zaman Jepun, kita takde apa-apa nak makan. Semua mahal. Ubi Kayu aje lah.”

I couldn’t quite imagine eating just tapioca.

“Kalau dapat ayam tu masa raya je. Tak macam zaman sekarang, hari-hari makan ayam,” he continued explaining how luxurious our life is today.

“Duit Pisang ni, jangan di bawak keluar. Ni lah kenangan Zaman Ubi Kayu tu,” he ended his short story about the hardships of war.

I could not help being reminded of the Banana Note as I crossed back the causeway into Singapore. No one in class had ever seen a real Banana Note. Most of my friends in class were Chinese.

And then it struck me. Of course none of them had seen it. Most of them were killed. And these memories were too painful for their grandparents to have. Why would they keep a relic of the past that reminded them of the discrimination against them?

I don’t have fond memories of my time in PAP kindergarten. As much as I appreciated being exposed to the richness of multi-racial cultures, my best memories were the afternoons at mosque kindergarten. Mostly because after lessons, we got to play at the neighbourhood playground, supervised by our teacher. I learnt the same things in mosque kindergarten, except for Chinese language and the ritualistic Islam that were taught to me.

Why? Because I enjoyed mosque kindergarten. People were nice to me, and we had lots of fun. We were taught Malay and English but were mostly instructed in English. At PAP kindergarten, we didn’t get to play. But it was ok. I made some friends there, mostly Chinese. For a kid, if you had a friend, it was fine.

Malay students learning Japanese under occupation

But what made my time there least memorable was how I was discriminated as a non-Chinese speaker. Everyone was expected to take the same subjects. And even if you were a Malay or Indian, you had to learn Chinese. Other mother tongues were not offered yet because the resources were not yet available.

I couldn’t understand a single thing in Chinese class. The teacher kept speaking Chinese! I sat at the back everytime she came in, and she often gave me the least attention. Perhaps, she didn’t think Chinese was important to me. But I tried hard to absorb whatever was taught in class. I didn’t care what the mother tongue was, passing was very important to me!

In my 2 years there, all I understood were the words “mouth” and “people”, mostly because of the gestures and the occasional slip into English. I could write those words too and I was proud of it. But what I couldn’t do was pass Chinese. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t because firstly, my Chinese friends spoke to me in English, and secondly but most importantly, my Chinese teacher did not give me the desired attention of a non-native Chinese speaker. So only knowing those 2 words, imagine how shocked I was when I arrived for school to take an exam. Apparently, even the words “exam” was instructed in Chinese, and I was hardly prepared.

Like the British, and the Japanese masters, this one Chinese teacher didn’t know what to do with the Malay boy sitting by the window. She probably thought I was lazy for not studying hard enough, but I tried very hard to get along. I’m a Singaporean! Regardless of race and language remember?

Malays were given free education under the Japanese to prepare them for economic revival.

Mum was mad at me for failing Chinese. Mum, a Malay lady, mad at me for failing a language I hardly spoke at the age of 5 or 6? I rebutted Mum, “It’s not MY language!”, only as a frustration of how difficult it was to pass the darn thing when my teacher did not make the effort to teach me well. I aced all other subjects, so don’t tell me I was stupid or lazy!

And then, primary school came and I was introduced to the pledge. I already understood the national anthem. It was in Malay! I felt patriotic everytime I sang it, because I understood what it meant. This is my country, and I was singing my anthem in my language! In a way, I pitied my Chinese friends who struggled learning the anthem and could never quite get the words right. I was there before just a year ago, never understanding what was it I was asked to mouth during Chinese lessons. We were an anglicised society and my generation no longer had Malay as the lingua franca. We were asked to preserve our individual community’s languages and customs, maintaining Malay as the only official language at the risk of it being used only for ceremony, whilst using English as a common tongue even though our former British masters had left us to our doom during the war.

The only thing that bonded us, that we often used as inspiration, was the pledge. It was the only thing we understood as One People. In a country where we sing Majulah Singapura, perhaps our disconnectedness from our anthem is a way for us to escape the realities of Singapore life. Maybe we could do better if “One United People, Regardless of Race, Language or Religion”, meant that we embraced each other’s cultures and languages, and treat them as part of our own. Have we surrendered too much of our heritage and our common sense for the sake of “progress and prosperity for our nation”?

Memories at Old Ford Factory. Where the British surrendered.

(End of Part 3)

Marker at the entrance of Bukit Chandu memorial

Second Lieutenant Adnan Bin Saidi.

Lieutenant Abdullah Bin Saad.

Lieutenant Ariffin Bin Haji Sulaiman.

Lieutenant Ibrahim Bin Sidek.

Lieutenant Abdul Wahid Bin Mat Kidam.

These are just some of the names that no one knows, who fought, bled and died for this land. These are the officers of the Malay Regiment. These are the anak watan who lived a short life, but left a great legacy. These are the men who lost their lives, so that we could gain our freedom.

The irony of it all, is that these brave men, pre-independence, gave up their lives for a country that has yet to exist. Yet, our country built a memorial for these men, so that we may remember all that they have given up, so that we could live.

Our citizens though have seem to forgotten the deeds of these men. The valiant few who stood tall in the face of danger, who fought to death to uphold honour and spilt their blood for the land they called home, even though Singapore was home for only a few months.

The British had decided that their stand would be at Singapore. That anything defensible was only at Singapore. They posted the Malay Regiment to Pasir Panjang, Singapore, and that was home for the next few months awaiting the arrival of the Japs.

What these men defended was more than land. It was the land of their fathers, and the land of their fathers’ fathers. This was a land of a mystical past, and an optimistic future. This, Singapore (and the rest of the Malay peninsula), was where they belong, and they would not allow another colonialist to take it away from them.

Pepys Road off Pasir Panjang Road

Our country is young. The concept of a national identity is still forming. There is some idea of what it means, and how much a difference it is between being a Singapore citizen and being a Malaysian, and Indian or a Chinese citizen. But if you look into the past, regardless of where our forefathers came from, all of them defended this “foreign land” against the invaders.

Whether it is the Malay Regiment, the Indian Regiment or Force 136, all of them spilt blood for this land, and you cannot take it away from them. It is obliged upon us that we remember these names, and honour them, because our citizenship owes them our respects.

Kastam Malaysia Quarters

When you walk up Pepys Road, up Bukit Chandu, reminisce how this land we call home was once a part of our neighbour’s. We will always be reminded of it. Part of our land is still owned by our neighbour, and they left remnants of pre-65 behind. We must always remember, that no matter how different we are from the Malaysians, no matter what race, our neighbour is our brother. We divided only because of political differences. Only because a few men in politics had differing views. There are many of us, whether they be Malay, Chinese or Indian, have relatives up north. When I served in the army, my Indian seargeant-major, a regular, was born in Johor. My Indian warrant officer, was born in Selangor. They spoke perfect Malay. Yet they served the Singapore army.

I have Chinese friends, Singapore PRs, who were born in KL, Malacca or Selangor. Yet despite their blue ICs, their allegiance was to Malaysia. It was evident where their loyalties lied when I’d bring them to Singapore-Malaysia football matches. They bunched up with their Singapore friends, whom they’ve lived with for years. But their shirts reflected the Merah, Putih, Biru, Kuning. It was to the “Negaraku”, they’d sing and chorused.

It is more important today, that we Singaporeans realise that we are not much different than our Malaysian brothers. We share a common heritage, a common past, and common heroes. The only thing different is our political ideology, and what we stand for in this land we call home.

In order to understand Singapore, we must also understand Malaysia. We are who we are, because of our brothers. Our Singaporean-ness can sometimes be described by how un-Malaysian we are. Yet in the same meaning, it can also be how Malaysian we are.

We both confer the Durian as the King of fruits and we both love our Nasi Lemak and Nasi Ayam. We both use “lah” in our daily conversations, and we both strive for a more harmonious multi-racial country.

Our Fallen Heroes

Sweating from the climb up Bukit Chandu, read every name on the roll-of-honour. Every single soldier who fell, fighting for this land, who formed the last stand of Singapore. From the lieutenants to the drummer, each one of them boots to helmet, dug in along that ridge, and gave everything for the freedom we enjoy. Some of them, like Lieutenant Adnan, mutilated, decapitated, refusing to remove their uniforms. Refusing to die without honour.

Ta’at Setia. Each soldier echoed their pledge to the regiment, to their land. Ammo was short. Fix bayonets! Fight to the death. Honour before death. And we… we call ourselves patriots? We call ourselves proud Singaporeans?

Pertempuran di Pasir Panjang

(End of Part 1)

When I go to the coffeeshop to order a cup of coke, I am greeted by a China-girl, who can’t speak an inch of English, and tried to mouth back my order in barely comprehensible mainland Mandarin. The local prata shop staff which resides in the coffeeshop, is constantly frustrated at her, to the point of bad-mouthing in terms I can only say are ungracious. They’ve tried so hard to communicate, telling her in English, that the used plates are to be placed inside the bin, not on their counters, but to no avail. All she knows is Hua Yi.

Several months later, I observed the China-girl was still around, slightly improved, yet still barely comprehensible Mandarin. I wonder how does someone with zilch English continue to have a job, when born and bred Singaporeans who are of a similar or better educational level are struggling to find one today. The service is obviously shoddy. The patrons are obviously frustrated. This is a coffeeshop, where all races converge. Whether for a cuppa, or a meal of hor fun and nasi ayam, beer and coke alike. Yet the coffeeshop owner probably found it logical to employ someone who does not speak in a common language (read: English), leaving those that cannot speak Hua Yi to leave, perturbed.

In another case, a friend of mine who happens to be a Malay, and who has been working in a large IT company had already upgraded to a degree. He submitted his transcripts, and applied for a raise. HR never acted on it. Months later, the company employed a young diploma holder, with zero experience, and paid him $600 more than my friend! That young diploma holder, happens to be someone of Chinese ethnicity.

Obviously, my friend was upset. This should not happen in a country that practices meritocracy. Not affirmative racial discrimination like our neighbours upstairs. We believed in the Singapore system, only for us to realise that the Singapore system treats us like 2nd class citizens.

Another friend of mine. No. wait. Several friends of mine of a minority race, applied for jobs at a government agency which was non-security related. They were well qualified. They had degrees. Some with Masters. Some others with Honours. All rejected. And the funny thing was, this agency was suffering from a lack of civil servants which were to be deployed to institutions of enlightenment, leading them to go on a massive campaign to attract more of such civil servants.

It puzzles me, this Singapore I live in today. How could a country I so dearly love, as I grew up in the 80s, which embraced multi-racialism suddenly become so un-Singaporean? The tide of discontentment is growing, even among Chinese Singaporeans. People are unhappy. I’ve never seen such a level of discontentment with the country in my life, and this is probably unprecedented.

I have nothing against speaking Mandarin, so long as you give equal treatment to the other official languages, especially our national language. I love the fact that I can understand some Mandarin, enough for me to survive, especially when I’m faced with China service staff. I’m partially Chinese myself! But this country, I feel, has lost its soul.

I dare to ask you Singaporeans, especially those who are not trained in the National language (Malay), do you really know what each verse in our anthem means?

Mari kita rakyat Singapura sama-sama menuju bahagia.

Do you know what bahagia means? It means, happiness. That’s the first stanza in our anthem. The first stanza asks all Singaporeans achieve happiness as one people. As one nation. Yet, what are we today? Are we happy? Are we one people? One nation?

After nearly 44 years of independence. After nearly 44 years of secession from Malaysia, where they practise open, affirmative, discrimination. We are a shame to our own ethos. How in the world did we end up practising discrimination here?? And how did we become so unhappy with nearly everything around us?

So many people are finding this country to be increasingly foreign to them. Its like we’re foreigners in our own home. Obviously, this country needs change.

Do we vote in the opposition? Its quite obvious, most people feel the opposition does not possess a better calibre of candidates that the incumbent possesses. So personally, I’d rather not vote in an inept government. We will have more to be unhappy about.

I’d rather ordinary Singaporeans do extra-ordinary things to change this country. Being a Libertarian, that’s the only thing I know best. That things will not change, unless you take ownership of your problems and your issues. The government cannot be depended on for everything. So take charge of the things you’re unhappy about and change it.

If there needs to be a campaign to enrich Singaporeans with our other official languages, then so be it. We need to wake up some Singaporeans who are not sensitive to the minority groups. If there needs to be a movement to end racial discrimination in the workplace, then so be it. We need to kick out racism in Singapore because it is inconsistent with our Singapore pledge, “… regardless of race, language or religion …”. If people are losing jobs because someone decides to let go of people who are not his kind, its time we gave people a wake up call, that we are Singaporeans first. Not this race or that race.

We are Singapore. Not Chinapore. We are Singaporeans. Race should never be a factor. We are a country that embraces multi-culturalism, not a country that tries to force a culture’s language over its disgruntled minorities.

I love this country. And I want it to regain its soul. Her citizens need to learn about her heritage and her history. Her people needs to be united in order to progress further.

We, the citizens of Singapore
Pledge ourselves as One United People
Regardless of race, language or religion
To build a Democratic Society
Based on Justice and Equality
So as to achieve Happiness, Prosperity and Progress for our nation

We are the only country in the world that has a minority language (Malay) as the ONLY National language of its country. But her citizens do not speak her tongue. We are a country that believes in meritocracy and racial equality. Yet somehow, we’ve managed to not practise them.

Singaporeans, this NDP, things will change. The theme for this year is called “Come Together”. The NDP committee has drawn its inspiration from the pledge. And asks her people to reflect on it. Particularly the bit that says, “One United People”.

Singaporeans, we’ve come a long way from third world to first. We’ve attained so much wealth, but we are not wealthy. Not where the heart is. So I ask you to reflect with me and other like-minded Singaporeans on this country we call home; it’s anthem, its pledge, its crescent and stars, its red and white. Have you been Singaporean enough?