Marie and Yean continued their agitated walk round the upper quadrangle of the Temasek campus. The grey green needles and dark branches of the casuarina trees which lined the sides of the quadrangle gave it an air of sagacious age in a university barely a hundred years old. But then, as Marie wryly observed, in a progressive and dynamic country fuelling a massive rebuilding programme, a hundred years did seem to be very old. They looked at their watches again, wishing the others would hurry up as they would like the rally to begin on time. It was already ten past six and except for about thirty students seated on the grass near the platform the quadrangle was still empty. Where were the students? In a student population of more than three thousand, only about thirty had responded to the invitation to pray for peace in Vietnam. Marie was disgusted. She felt she should call it off.
Hans, who had planted himself next to her, sensed her disappointment.
“It’s to be expected. The Singapore student is generally known to be apathetic. He’s indifferent to things not directly linked to getting a degree.”
Hans could accept the student apathy matter-of-factly but Marie was angry. She would never accept this as a mere fact to live with. These were her people. She would have to do something about it. What it was that she would do, she had only a vague idea but she felt that with God and Right on her side, somehow she would succeed.
Dr Tamney Jones, the guest speaker for the rally arrived, and Marie signalled to her group of helpers. As planned, Kim and Yean distributed song sheets and candles while Peter and Ken took up their positions behind the slide projector. Marie, seeing that everything was ready, nodded to Mak Sean Loong to begin the rally.
Mak stood on the raised platform, hands in pockets, thick glasses gleaming in the brief tropical twilight.
“Welcome everyone! It’s good to see some of you still alive and willing to learn of things not directly related to exams!” Mak’s voice boomed across the quadrangle. “I welcome you to this evening’s attempt to call for a moratorium on the war raging in Vietnam—a war which had sapped the energy and youth not only of the United States but also of many Asian states like Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. Many atrocities were committed and are still being committed. But of course, since in this part of the world we are dominated by the so-called free press we read only of the atrocities committed by the Communists. Tonight we have some slides made by a neutral group called Peace International which reveal atrocities committed by the United States. Before we begin, we have Dr Tamney Jones here who will give you a short history of his country’s shameful involvement in Vietnam. Dr Jones,” and Mak stepped down amid loud applause. Dr Jones climbed on to the platform and stood there, feet apart, facing his audience. In fifteen minutes, he awed the students with an account of how the United States had become a bullying imperialist denying the Vietnamese the right to choose their destiny. His government, he was ashamed to confess, had generally supported puppets and military junta which subjugated their peoples. The military-industrial complex of the United States needed the support of such local dictatorships to ensure a supply of cheap raw materials and labour for its capitalist empire.
Like the other students, Yean marvelled at his analysis and fiery eloquence. Such courage! Such clarity! Then just as Ken switched on the projector and the slide show began with Yean reading the commentary with the aid of a torch light, Marie noticed three officials from the Students’ Union beckoning to three Chinese students—two boys and a girl—who were sitting on the fringe of the crowd under the trees. After conferring for a few minutes the three Chinese students left the quadrangle while the three officials remained, more as observers of the rally than as participants since they did not join in the singing at all.
“Now everybody, please light your candles!” shouted Ken.
The candles were lit, dispelling the darkness which had descended upon them, and in the flickering candle light, the crowd, led by Marie’s group, burst into song:
Lord we pray for golden peace
Peace all over the land.
May all men dwell in liberty
Walking hand in hand ...
The faces of the thirty or so students took on the look of fervent hope, trust and faith. Marie standing on the platform facing the crowd was moved and inspired. This was it, the students were not indifferent. Given the opportunity and the push to open themselves up to new experience, they could respond positively. Yean, standing beside Marie, felt the same too. What this university needed were events like this to thrust the students out into a world wider than Singapore and a full rice bowl.
The whole group adjourned then to the sarabat stalls to celebrate for it was agreed that although the turnout was small the event had been a success. Many students had agreed to meet again for more discussions and this was a good sign. They sat around three wooden tables joined together, each with a glass of steaming kopi susu. The switch to kopi susu had been deliberate. Following the compelling arguments of Mak, the group had decided to support this local coffee and milk, and reject the alluring advertisements of Nescafe and Maxwell House. Marie, looking down the row, beamed with pleasure at this symbol of unity—two rows of glasses filled with steaming kopi susu.
“Hey, what were Santok and company doing tonight?” she asked Peter who was on one of the union committees. “I saw them talking to three Chinese students who seemed to be from the Chinese department.”
“Ah, they were throwing their weight around. I had invited those three. They’re from Yuan Tung University,” Mak said.
“Hey, they look communistic, boy!” exclaimed Kim.
“What do you mean?” Mak barked angrily, almost as if he had been caught out.
“Aiya, look at their hair!”
“What? What’s wrong with their hair?”
“Short and stiff-lah like a toilet brush,” Kim laughed.
She was joined by the others except Mak who took such matters seriously.
“Hey, you people have simplistic notions, and no bloody idea of ideology. Short hair equals communist; long hair equals bum. Brainwashed! See, I wear white shirt and dark pants, and you think I’m a government supporter?” Mak asked impatiently. “And your student officials were giving the Yuan Tung students the boot tonight, claiming that they were recruiting,” he continued, his voice filled with disgust.
“Why would they want to do a thing like that?” asked Yean, shocked at the police tactics of these elected officers.
“Hah! They’re probably members of the Alpha Club. You know, these people in the Union see themselves as the guardian of the political purity of this campus. Like our political leaders, they believe that the students here in Temasek are gentle fishes of the aquariums while the students in Yuan Tung are the prowling sharks of the oceans. The moment we let them in, they would swallow all of us. The Alpha Club members will join the ruling party so they have been appointed to keep an eye on us.” Mak was proud to show that, unlike the other lecturers, he was in touch with students from both campuses.
“But not so long ago, didn’t Yuan Tung students help the Chinese students of Nan Hai organise a demo outside City Hall?” asked Ken, who felt that there was some truth in the belief of the political leadership.
Mak nodded and said with some pride in his voice, “These three were among the organisers.”
Ken who had always been cautious made no comment but he began to see Mak in a more critical light than Marie and Yean.
Marie was pleased to know that there were students in Yuan Tung willing to stick their necks out for others. “We should meet more of such committed students and work with them instead of setting ourselves apart from them because they speak Mandarin.”
“Difficult,” said Hans, speaking for the first time. “The Bukit Temasek students are apathetic and self-centred. The Yuan Tung students are committed and communalistic. The English stream student works only for himself and he’s happy with the status quo as long as he is assured of a secure future.”
Peter and Ken rose in defence. “Hey, surely we’re not as bad as you make us out to be. How can you be sure that yours is not a surface judgement? Have you done a comparative survey? Or at least a sampling?” challenged Ken who had attended Dr Jones’s sociology lectures.
“No, I don’t have to do a large-scale survey. I look at the turn-out tonight and the hundreds that mug in the library each day and I draw my own conclusions,” replied Hans, keeping his voice even because he did not want to be drawn into an argument with Ken and Peter with whom he wished to work later, on a project he had already discussed with Marie.
“That’s not fair! I know many of them are the kia-su type. They will mug and mug in the library but you can’t call the whole student body muggers and rats,” added Kim.
“And if we live in a rat society, you have to act like a rat to survive. Boy! Do we have to rat to gain a little respect in this world!”
Peter was very conscious that he had to come to Ken’s aid. Loyalty to his friend and his campus somehow demanded it. In this, reason took second place. After all they were arguing with someone who did not belong to the group.
“And what’s wrong with wanting a little respect? Everybody wants to be respected. Where would you be if nobody respects you?” asked Ken.
“But people only respect your paper qualifications and money,” Yean protested, so anxious to strip off her protective layer of wealth that she was unaware of the undercurrent of group loyalty against Hans.
“That’s it,” said Ken excitedly as he put his empty glass down with a thump. “That’s why we have to mug and mug.” He was pleased that he could point out the obvious.
“But exam results aren’t everything,” Yean persisted.
“That’s how people think. Can’t be helped,” Ken shrugged. He was used to acting according to the reality of the situation rather than what ought to be.
“But surely life is more than just gaining respect?” Yean asked.
Marie was pleased with Yean’s persistence. Here at least was someone who shared her beliefs and she felt she would be able to work closely with her. She would invite Yean to her next meeting with Hans and Mak but she ought to keep out of the debate now. She did not want to be seen siding with Hans. It would be awkward. She was so aware of his presence.
“Look, we have no time. It’s not a matter of going all out to gain respect, we just have to study and pass,” Kim was saying, exasperated that the idealistic Yean was refusing to see reality again.
“Don’t we care a damn for the underprivileged, the refugees and the victims of senseless wars?” Yean was persistent.
“Yes, but we can’t do anything. You want us to march around in demos like the Americans?” Peter asked, peeved that Yean had managed to appeal to Kim’s and Aileen’s sentiments. “Boycotts and revolts are negative. Our care and concern must be constructive! Running around carrying placards fun lah but can’t help anybody except the media.”
“Peter Pang! I wasn’t suggesting that!” Yean almost shouted at him but this time Peter did not respond.
Marie, however, could no longer contain herself. She was not going to let him maintain this victorious silence after such an altercation. She ought to come to Yean’s aid and let the rest know where she stood on the issue.
“Are you seriously telling me that you’re satisfied with life according to lecture, lunch and library, lecture, library and lunch?” She looked down the table. “Are you satisfied with being digits and manpower potential to be slotted into a pigeonhole? Have a four-figure salary, a flat, and a car and colour TV? You would rather be a rat than a human being? A digit rejecting your right to protest? All in the name of stability and prosperity? For whose sake? Yours or the foreign investors? Look at us now. You do this, you’ll be fined. You do that you’ll be rewarded. Is this what you want? A carrot-and-stick society? Is this the level of your morality?”
Five heads bowed a little in shame. The teacher in Sis had surfaced and they felt that somehow she was right though they resented her authority.
The discussion had come to an end. The group broke up and went home in different directions. That early appearance of unity had vanished. The present line-up seemed to be Marie and Yean with Hans on one side as the advocates of the higher life while Ken, Peter, Kim and Aileen were on the other side clinging to the ordinary and the mortal. Mak seemed somehow to stand alone, his hair cut stiff and short, his eyes squinting behind thick ringed glasses framing a face coated with oily perspiration.
Clad in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt Marie was walking to the university to meet Hans, Mak and Yean. Her lithe body moved with the grace and ease of one used to long walks without being bothered by the heat of the day. The cloudless sky still shimmered a pale blue as the early morning sun spread a light golden sheen on the leaves of the tall angsana trees swaying in the breeze. It was still a beautiful world, and the leaves of the bushes along the canal nodded in agreement with her. Singapore was still beautiful if one were to cut off from one’s view all the new concrete structures beginning to dominate the skyline and the constant roar and dust of the traffic. With every few steps her heart wanted to leap into song and soon, unable to resist this delightful impulse, she hummed “a gift of song is a gift of love ...”. The pink feathery blossoms floating on the tops of the rain trees joined her in song while the branches of the bushes reached out to touch her. The blades of the grass lifted their heads in homage and invited her feet to step on them for that was their singular purpose in life. Creation was delightful. As everything served a higher purpose, she had no qualms trampling on the grass for that was what grass was made for. But she was not grass. She was a flame of the forest in bloom whose shade and beauty served to remind the world of the Father’s love and benevolence despite the hate and suffering which at times overwhelmed all life. She did not deserve it, of course, but He had been good to her. He had been so good. Such warmth in those eloquent hands. Such warmth whenever he had rested them on her shoulders. Such a contrast to his blue eyes which remained still, suggesting the tranquillity of great depth while his hands moved constantly in rhythm to his voice, a low deep voice charged with controlled excitement whenever he was sharing some of his convictions. At such times the hands moved but not his eyes which were still, gazing at her. Enthusiasm and caution held in counterpoise. A disciplined person, she concluded with a little smile playing on her lips. He was a fortress into which she had gained access. No, she had been invited, persuaded and implored to enter. It was very flattering indeed, but she must stop dreaming of him. Bashful though there was no one else with her, she quickened her pace. This was bad. She had caught herself daydreaming again and looking forward to being with him. Where was her discipline? Where was her commitment to her vocation? The first attractive male, a foreigner and a church worker at that, and she was feeling like a dizzy sixteen-year-old. She should check this weakness, although it was a very common human failing, this appreciation of warm affection, this yearning to be special to someone and that highly pleasurable feeling of finding someone attractive attracted to her. She had sometimes caught him looking at her in a way that was different, and she had been secretly pleased. Secretly! That was it! This must remain a secret. No one should know of it, least of all him. What would Mother Superior say? She must take a firmer hold over her feelings. It was vanity to enjoy Hans’s attention. From now on, she would stick to work. Everything should be for the project in hand and nothing else.
Marie entered the library and went up behind Yean. “Hi, sorry I’m late,” she whispered.
“Yes, I’m hungry. Where’s Mak and Hans?”
“They’re waiting for us in the canteen,” said Marie, walking quickly toward the exit.
“Hey, no need to hurry, the canteen is still crowded.”
Marie arrested her walk and slowed down, reminded of her promise to stick strictly to business as far as Hans was concerned. She strolled across the field with Yean in companionable silence, their saunter a direct contrast to the hurried pace of the other students.
“Students here make a beeline for everything—food, studies, even love. Each goal achieved in due course as scheduled, but by the shortest route. So very sensible and rational.”
Yean smiled at the contempt in Marie’s voice. They halted at the entrance to let those in a hurry overtake them. The canteen was crowded, grimy and noisy. Char kway tiao, garlic and curry filled the air, thick with pungent smoke. The char siew rice stall was surrounded by a throng of undergrads jostling each other. It was each man for himself at lunchtime in the university. Push to the front or be pushed to the back.
“How like the tactics of survival Singapore style,” commented Marie.
She wouldn’t push. When it came to the crunch, it was Yean who had to push for the both of them. In such a situation, Marie needed help. She had yet to master the intricacies of the Chinese dialects to communicate easily with the hawkers and taxi-drivers. With such people, she had often felt helpless. And now it was left to Yean to shout out their orders to the fat hawker manning the char siew rice stall who didn’t blink an eye to indicate he had even heard the order as he continued to cut and chop the meat. Yean watched, mesmerised by his oily grace, sweating like a horse as he cut, chopped, cut, chopped with his flashing blade, the sweat pouring off his forehead and rolling down his short neck to be absorbed by his once white singlet. There was a hypnotic grace in his rhythm of cut, chop, cut, chop. Next! And the operation was repeated. A human conveyor belt. Was this a meaningful existence? Or was the search for meaning confined only to the educated rich like herself? Why couldn’t this rhythm of cut chop cut chop be her rhythm too? But as the man handed her her order, Yean knew the answer was that she would never choose such a life. Her educational successes and her parents’ wealth had given her other options to choose from.
They joined Mak and Hans at the table with their plates of rice. Mak with characteristic abruptness welcomed them by pointing to the inherent inequality of the canteen system.
“Note that the academics because of higher pay and status sit in airconditioned comfort in the building designated Academic Staff canteen from which by edict all the social riff-raff are excluded.”
Yean squirmed for she certainly preferred to sit in air-conditioned comfort too rather than sweat like the hawkers out here but Mak turned his attention back to his nasi biryani and ignored them. Marie looked at Hans for an explanation but he merely shrugged his shoulders. It was one of those things one had to accept in Mak. Marie coloured a little for she had turned to Hans again for reassurance and explanation despite her earlier promise. However a glance in Hans’s direction comforted her with the thought that he had not noticed anything so she looked up and smiled.
“You weren’t happy with last night’s meeting,” observed Hans.
“No, it was terrible. What worries me is that the students are not aware of anything wrong in wanting a good image, respect and security,” she replied. “There was no questioning of society’s values or their own values. What they want are just good results and security.”
The two men smiled, pleased with an analysis from a woman which tallied with their own.
“True, true. Selfish! Bourgeois!”
Mak hit the table with his spoon to show his approval.
Marie was pleased with the effect she had created. She darted another look at Hans who was thoughtful.
“I agree with you,” he said. “This university is not producing people who think, who question and who are critical. There seems to be little understanding of the real issues.”
Marie once again felt less isolated in the presence of these two men for they understood and agreed where Paul Tan would have argued with her. Strange, how Paul Tan came into her mind. And, of course they were right. Hans was just as logical as Paul, and in fact, far more agreeably so.
“Is the university producing leaders who think? Who are concerned with the country’s future? Are they willing to sacrifice personal interests for the good of the whole?” Hans’s logic was just as beautiful as her own intuitive spontaneity.
“I’m not surprised you’re depressed by this batch of students,” Hans continued. “Most of them come from solid middle-class backgrounds. They’ve a stake in the status quo. These students realise that they’re separate, special and privileged. The top ten per cent. It’s in their interest to preserve things as they are. As your leaders put it, they should not rock the boat.”
“I should think not,” growled Mak between mouthfuls of nasi biryani. “They will heed such excellent advice. Those spoiled bourgeois brats will conform, and it’s easy to make people conform. Our educational system domesticates rather than liberates!”
Mak’s voice rang with such authority that the students at the next table looked up, surprised. He glared and turned his back on them. Yean found this immature trait of Mak’s irritating.
“Acceptance, agreement and accommodation are the keys to survival and success here,” declared Marie, pleased with her own slogan.
Yean refused to join in the game, but Hans and Mak were nodding their heads. Such agreement was sweet to Marie, for Paul Tan had always argued against her. After all, he was a successful “returned scholar”. Naturally, he would side with the establishment whatever the issue.
“We must do something about our educational system and its products,” Marie urged the three of them.
“I’m certain that your elite are totally ignorant of working conditions in factories, and hawkers such as these,” said Hans as he pointed to the hawker stalls in the canteen. “And yet, this elite will be formulating policies affecting the lives of all these people.”
Yean shifted in her seat apologetically for she belonged to this ignorant elite, and so did Hans although he spoke as if he knew more about the plight of the Singapore masses than any local person.
“These establishment kids are not only ignorant, they’re odious!” exclaimed Mak. “Those Union guys, luckily not the brightest, actually swallowed hook, line and sinker the official line about Yuan Tung University students planning a take-over of our campus here. They told me, and they were dead serious—those buggers—that Yuan Tung Students’ Union was a communist front and therefore must be watched and controlled. Rampant paranoia. They know their days are numbered.”
“Perhaps some of them are strong advocates of Maoism,” Yean ventured, remembering what Mak had told them about the three student organisers of the Nan Hai College demonstration.
“But not all of them are Communist sympathisers,” Marie hastened to add, for she was keen to work with such committed people. “You can’t lump everyone who is critical of the system as Communist supporters.”
Hans smiled at her but Marie was too upset to acknowledge his supportive gesture. She was convinced that such branding had snuffed out critical opinion on campus.
“No,” said an emphatic Mak. “But one of those idiots doing P.S. or Soci must have snitched to the dean. The old man called me into his office this morning, and very politely asked me about the Peace International slides, how I got them, why I was showing them. And I replied, very politely of course, that I wanted to correct the imbalance in the flow of information from a U.S. dominated world press. You should have seen his face. I know he wasn’t pleased. He told me to get clearance from the department first and to concentrate on my thesis. He sounded vague and said the higher ups were concerned about my activities, but I was too fed up to pay much attention to his dribble,” Mak snorted. “Leaders? Timid rabbits!! Now a man like Chin Peng, that was a real leader. Committed unto death. No surrender even in defeat.”
But Yean knew that Mak had conveniently forgotten that many Communist leaders had died ignominious deaths in the Malaysian jungles, betrayed and deserted by their followers.
“Your dean seems worried about your academic initiative,” laughed Hans, a little baffled by Marie’s indifference to him.
“That old bugger is constantly worried about this and that. He’s a snitch, keeping an eye on everyone. Politically he’s wishy-washy like the rest. Supporting U.S. aggression in Vietnam because it’s important to Singapore’s survival. Doesn’t care a damn, as long as it benefits us and the industries here let’s support it!” mimicked Mak.
Yean laughed, for Mak was like a teenager giving an account of a fight with an authoritarian father.
“The spirit of protest and critical enquiry will not be allowed at a time when your authorities see the nation as an Israel of the East,” Hans remarked.
“Hah, you want to know what the VC said? Individual liberty is only the concern of ivory tower academics, and our old man agreed with him wholeheartedly,” Mak continued as if Hans had not spoken.
“But these people are sincere. They only want to preserve our independence,” Yean insisted.
“Nah, they’re paranoid. These lackeys of the imperialist powers are scared. They know they may not last out.”
Yean caught the flash of determination behind Mak’s steel-rimmed glasses.
“Hey, what about this other rumour which many people believe? Your government is so anxious to keep out sinister interests it has now employed spies on campus. They have even infiltrated the Legion of Mary,” Hans laughed as he imitated the local accent. “Remember Operation Cold Storage? Don’t talk too loud if you don’t want to end up in Moon Crescent-lah!”
Mak gazed at the smiling Hans, and to Yean’s observant eyes, he seemed a shade paler. Apparently he took such rumours seriously. No smoke without fire, he muttered. It was difficult to make out why he believed in such rumours. Yean admired Mak’s sharp critiques of capitalist society. And yet something that Mak said had worried her without her quite knowing why.
“Time now for protest,” he said. “Tear down the whole system. Later, there’ll be time for strict control, when we have what we want, when the people have been given back their dignity, and the running dogs of imperialism have been whipped back into their kennels.”
“Wait, Mak, calm down, calm down, don’t get carried away. We’ve got to discuss our project now so that I can write it up over the weekend. Yean doesn’t know much about it yet.” Marie was now more conscious of her role as director of the group, determined to stick strictly to business and overrule the whisperings of her heart.
“Yean, are you ready?” smiled Hans as he took a sip of his lime juice. He too was determined not to let his discomfiture affect him unduly. “This is a bold attempt to supplement what had been neglected by the university here. A gap which the churches should have filled had they been courageous enough. As we see it, university education is more domesticating than liberating. A hierarchical structure exists limiting students’ participation in decisions affecting their lives. Everyone is subjected to heavy pressure from a rigid exam system to which he either conforms or loses out.”
“Ya, our university system is a ‘conformistic’ rather than a learning process.” Marie concluded, a triumphant glint in her eyes as she looked at Yean, waiting for her applause. Almost unconsciously she had joined forces with Hans to convince Yean.
Although Yean did not as yet share the enthusiasm of the other three, she could not deny the truth of what Hans had said. She nodded to signify agreement, and Mak immediately took over.
“The present political leadership had decided that this university’s role is to produce top managerial elites who will work in close alignment with industry. In this meritocratic society, the university has isolated the individual from the real social and political problems in the country today. Education here is merely the means to prepare for minority rule over the majority. It supports the capitalist structure by producing vast numbers of managers and specialists to execute the will of a still smaller group of monopoly capitalists.”
Yean admired the way Mak could speak so clearly and simply on his favourite topic.
“If you all agree with this analysis, we can work on a project which Hans and I have tentatively planned. It could bring about great changes in our educational system.” Marie’s voice was tinged with hope and enthusiasm for Yean’s endorsement.
Yean agreed to join the group in its weekly discussions on “the contradictions in Singapore’s society”. Mak had chosen this phrase from one of Mao’s famous essays. For Yean, this meant that Ser Mei’s death would not go to waste. She was determined to move out of her narrow circle in the university.
“Alright then, we’ll meet at James’s place on Friday night. I have to rush off now,” Mak gulped down the remainder of his drink.
“Me too.” Yean stood up.
Marie stood up too, disappointed that the meeting had ended so soon. Still faithful to her promise, she did not want to linger in the canteen with Hans. “I’ve to go too,” she said. “I’ve to see Dr Jones about my assignment.”
“I’ll walk with you,” said Hans. “I’ve to see him too.”
Checkmate! He had gotten himself a bit of time to be alone with Marie. She had been keeping him at arms length, not as open as before. Something was bothering her and he wanted to know what it was.
It must be something to do with him, and if that was the case, he wanted to clarify a few things. He was not one to run away from difficult situations. Being frank and open was the best strategy. He got up and followed Marie out of the canteen and they strolled across the quadrangle under the shady casuarina trees, Marie enjoying the springy feel of their brown needles under her feet. Hugging her files to her chest, she walked slowly, concentrating on the rough texture of the tree trunks.
“Marie, are you afraid of life?”
She gave a start at this unexpected question, and stole a glance at him before replying, “No, why?”
“You’re afraid to let people come too near you.”
Hans said it as if he were making a clinical observation.
Marie remained silent. It would be an insult to lie to him when he had been so open with her. If only she could say she was afraid of him—no, afraid of her feelings for him, but since she could not, she kept quiet and began to walk again.
Hans came quite close to her before asking, “Are you afraid of me?”