The SNUJ liked to see itself as an independent entity. For one thing, it was the only journalists union in Singapore and, while very small — having not more than 200 members island-wide — it liked to think it had a musculature beyond its miniscule membership. Punching above its weight, as we would say today. Some of us thought we were part of the intellectual elite, and quite apart from the rest of the workforce.
Of course it was wishful thinking. It was true that the SNUJ seldom sought the counsel of the National Trades Union Congress (NTUC), which had brought under its umbrella the vast legions of blue-collar workers. There was a certain suspicion by journalists that the NTUC, with its close alignment with the government, would have no truck with militant unionists, which journalists in those days liked to think they were. The government in the late 60s had begun to foster the image of Singapore as an attractive place for multinational corporations to invest in. The bait dangled was stability and a docile, hard-working labour force, who understood the national imperative to stay competitive. Singapore was proud that it could attract the likes of Ishikawajima-Harima Heavy Industries, Sumitomo, Hitachi Zosen and Mitsubishi Heavy Industries to set up shop in Singapore. The SNUJ was not sure if its fight for better wages and working conditions would make headway under the guidance of the NTUC.
But desperate situations called for desperate measures and so despite our misgivings about the role of the NTUC to dampen down worker ambitions, we sat down to talk in earnest with the NTUC’s deputy secretary-general Lawrence Sia, who could and did open a number of doors for the journalists to push their cause. One of these doors led to the office of Devan Nair, the NTUC’s founder. He was a PAP stalwart and later served as president of Singapore. A small-sized, neatly dressed man in white, his receding hairline giving him a scholarly bent, he was evidently being kept in the loop about what the journalists were up to. When we met him, he agreed quite readily with us that tougher measures would be needed if we wanted to get the better of The Straits Times. He exuded an air of confidence.
Nair made us feel that he could get things moving — quite unlike what we experienced at our earlier meetings with ministers S. Rajaratnam and Jek Yuen Thong, who seemed to think that The Straits Times was too big to be tackled.
Nair’s mood at our meeting was, in fact, quite cheery. He picked up the telephone at one stage and said into the mouthpiece: “Keng Swee, I have got a delegation from the SNUJ with me. They have a problem with The Straits Times.” He listened intently, but we could not tell what the defence minister was saying on the other end of the line. Nair did not tell us what had transpired when he put the phone down, but he had a smile on his face. Was this the breakthrough that we had been hoping for all along? Could it be that Nair and Goh* were of one mind, that the journalists needed all the help they could muster? Those of us at the meeting — SNUJ chairman Chang Hin Chong, Victor Ng and I — kept our fingers crossed in the hope that things were beginning to look up.
Had Nair been given the green light to act? We felt he had. He sent us on to our next meeting — with Minister of State for Labour Sia Kah Hui. A courteous soft-spoken man in his late 40s, Sia advocated a conciliatory approach. We curbed our impatience and told him that we had already taken that approach, to no avail. Sia said he would have a word with the management and see if he could arrange a meeting between both parties. Sia later informed us that the management wanted to take the dispute to the arbitration court. He did not seem to like the stubborn stance of the management in not wanting to settle the matter through his offer of conciliation. We were not surprised and hastened to convince him further that he was dealing with a very obstinate adversary. He said he would try to find a way out of the impasse. Sia, who died in 2009, is fondly remembered by his PAP colleagues as a man who, among other things, urged people to strive for a work-life balance to avoid ending up like robots. But at that time in December 1971, we wondered whether this courteous gentleman had the guts to get things done. We were quite surprised when a few days later, we were told to go to City Hall for the fateful meeting with Labour Minister Ong Pang Boon.
Ong’s plan was decidedly simple. Get your members convinced of the righteousness of why you have to strike and then organise and execute the strike so that you succeed in reaching your goal. “Here’s what you have to do. The company will definitely bring up the case for arbitration and put an end to the strike. You will have to decide how long you can get your members to stay out on strike assuming that the matter of arbitration can be delayed. You’re sure your members are with you?”
We told Ong how we had stood firm together for the past several weeks. Our work-to-rule campaign had shut down the New Nation and we were now slowly, but surely, crippling the capacity of the company to bring out The Straits Times expeditiously. Ong appeared convinced that we would prevail. What did we say that impressed him? Was it the fire or the bravado in our words, or our innocence in steadfastly believing that the righteousness of our cause would be enough to bring down a multimillion-dollar enterprise? I am not sure. But I knew that we were silently willing him not to lose faith in us, not to take the expedient path of saying “no” to some young firebrand upstarts. With his support, we were sure one final push would topple the already tottering Goliath.
Ong fired off more directives. Go speak to Tan Boon Chiang, the president of the Industrial Arbitration Court (IAC), and see how much help he can give you. Tan would have to stall in setting the date for a hearing when the company brought the case up to court. Next, speak to the police. Their job is to break up any picket line if it gets unruly and threatens the peace. So get the cooperation of the police to stay away. But make sure your leaders know how to manage the picket line in case there are attempts to cause a rumpus in your ranks. Ong seemed to know what to expect. Had he been a student activist once upon a time? Was he part of the student riots of 1955? We did not enquire. We went away even more confident that we could execute the coup de grace that would deal the final blow to the company.
But our air of confidence was punctured when we met IAC’s Tan. He seemed put out when we trooped into his office and told him what we were about to do. Did he feel compromised? He fussed around, his brows knitted, and he said a number of times: “Gentlemen, this is not proper…” We left him wringing his hands, and said we would call on him again shortly.
Our second meeting with him, two days later, was more promising. He said, his face tight: “Gentlemen, I can only do so much. Once the management brings up its case, the court will have to set a date for a hearing, and I am afraid you will have to call off your strike then. Have you got your mandate to strike? Everything done properly?”
His change of attitude was startling. Had he received a phone call? Had he been briefed by some higher-up? We assured him that the members had voted resoundingly to launch a campaign to go slow. We were sure we could secure an equally resounding vote to strike. Our comrades were eager to go on the warpath. The Employment Act of 1968 had sealed the fate of workers in many matters, among them, bonus, which was ruled a non-negotiable issue. The company had the sole prerogative in deciding the quantum of bonus. Payment of ex gratia, in the interest of parity? Well, we told ourselves that was another matter. So we would substitute the word “bonus” in our resolution to strike with “ex gratia payment”. We would be very proper in sticking to the letter of the law. And for good measure, we told Tan we would say we were striking for justice. It was a grandiose statement and it would not mention bonus at all. We were splitting hairs, but words made the vital difference and, after all, we were in the business of words.
Ever pragmatic, Tan injected a sense of urgency in our discussion. “Look, how many days do you need? How long do you think your strike will last, how long can you hold out?” Frankly, none of us in the chapel committee had thought about such a practicality. “We will stay out for as long as we can, or until the company capitulates,” we said. Tan grew agitated. “Look, are 10 days enough? I can delay setting a date for arbitration for a week, 10 days, at the outset, but I don’t think I can hold off for any longer than that.” We quickly agreed that we would be happy with 10 days. He looked at us as if overcome by constipation: “Gentlemen, if there is any problem with police and security, I will have to convene a hearing immediately. You do your part and I will do mine. As long as you understand.”
We carried out these meetings with great secrecy, for obvious reasons. I am sure the people we met would deny any such meetings had taken place. But first a call on the police. Times House came under the jurisdiction of the Tanglin Police Station, a cluster of nondescript grey government buildings located at the junction of Orchard Road and Paterson Road, where Ion Orchard now stands. The officer-in-charge did not blink when I told him about our plan to go on strike and that we would need his cooperation not to intervene. He cheerfully agreed that none of his men would show up, provided we kept our picket lines orderly and did not litter the place. “But any disturbance of the peace, we will have to come and break you guys up. We have to do our job, you understand?” We assured him that we did, and that we would do our own policing of our picket lines. He did not quite like our use of the word “policing”. We soothed his ruffled feathers and thanked him for his cooperation. Was he briefed, did he also receive a telephone call? He never let on but, frankly, we were quite amazed. Things were beginning to move at a dizzying pace.
Our call for action was given impetus by the return of Yeo Toon Joo, SNUJ secretary-general, from an NTUC-sponsored conference in Japan. He was enthusiastic, yet concerned, at how things had come to a boil in the short time he was away. He could see the fatigue on our faces. The time for debate was over, he said. It was time to act, to escalate the struggle and we had to hit the enemy quickly and suddenly. We had to exercise the ultimate weapon of the workers, the power to strike. He was not aware that the stage for a strike had already been set in motion during his absence. Things were proceeding according to a plan of action hatched during his absence, we assured him.
An emergency meeting was called at the SNUJ union house in nearby Havelock Road. It was located over a shophouse and we reached it going up a rickety staircase by the side of the shophouse. We also had the use of a small roof garden which we used for our monthly hops, or social gatherings as they were called then. Many a happy get-together was held on this roof garden, when the weather was fine. But that day of the emergency meeting, we were sombre. Calling for strike action was not something we did every day. In fact, it was a first for most of us. Members were on edge as they arrived at the union premises at the end of the working day. Many were already feeling the strain of maintaining the go-slow. They were tired of dragging things out. They wanted a quick resolution to the struggle. Some felt more talks were necessary to bring an end to the conflict. Union leaders hailed the valiant efforts of members. But the momentum to stage a strike should not be wasted, there was no time to lose, the Young Turks said. The time for the big blow had come. The end was in sight.
Victory was in sight, we told members. The vote was taken. It was unanimous. Members were told to be alert to the call to strike. They would be told when by word of mouth. Sudden and swift action was desirous, and a surprise attack would take the wind out of the sails of the management. Once the order was given, we would all vacate en masse. No delay, no procrastinating, no wringing of hands. Be prepared, were our last words to members.
The printers were both apprehensive and jubilant when we informed them that we had secured the vote and were ready to strike. We decided that we would storm out of Times House the next day, 23 December. The printers called an emergency meeting of their members just hours before we marched out en masse. The members who had assembled in the car park at the back of Times House voted to go on strike. Going on strike two days before Christmas — after we had collected our usual annual bonus — was fortuitous. Everybody had enough in their pockets to see them to the start of the new year when school would reopen and cash was needed for new books, new uniforms, etc. in the event that the strike went on longer than anticipated. Nobody lamented that manning the picket lines would mean forsaking all the revelry and parties of the festive season. Many of us were aware that the company would be hard hit as the run-up to the festive period was a peak period for the placement of advertisements. The company would buckle faster when revenues — where it hurt most — were hit.
On the morning of the strike, a headline in The Straits Times screamed out: “Why you didn’t get your New Nation”. The company said it had suspended publication of the afternoon tabloid “because of persistent delays in production”. It said it hoped that publication could be resumed the next day. The editor and management, it said, regretted the “inconvenience to our readers and advertisers”. The company had no choice but bring the conflict to the attention of the public. Both unions said in statements published concurrently by The Straits Times that they were unaware of any “go-slow” referred to by management. It added: “Perhaps the delays could be explained by the interference in the company’s Production Department in the past few days by management officials, who are not trained in production work.” Ronald Scott, the general manager, must have squirmed at this obvious reference to him. Hours later, the strike erupted.
SNUJ secretary-general Yeo Toon Joo had a brainwave. Inspired by the fearlessness of Japanese activists he saw in action during his trip to Tokyo, he led a snake dance to whip up the fervour of the members when the call to vacate the premises was given at the stroke of noon. It was a riotous spectacle. Yeo was the snake head. A line quickly formed, each of us clutching the one in front by the waist, yelling: “Out! Out! Out!” The snake wove its way through the editorial department and made its way upstairs to the general office where the army of clerical staff watched in open-mouthed amazement as whoops and cries of “Merdeka!” (“Freedom!”) rent the quiet of the office.
Why noon? That was the time when most of the editorial staff would have arrived and the afternoon shift of the production staff would be starting. Earlier, I had spoken to Cheong. He was perturbed by the buzz in the department as the countdown to noon approached, but he continued to do his work at his desk at the head of the newsroom. Stoically, his brow knitted in concentration. Or perhaps worry. I asked him: “Cheong, you are joining us, aren’t you?” He looked up with a puzzled look. Cheong had recently been made head of news desk, but he was still a union member and we expected that he would join us in a sense of camaraderie, despite his desire not to rock the boat. He said bravely: “Clement, after two hours, you guys will all be back at your desks. I don’t want the work to be delayed…”
I cut him off curtly: “So you won’t be joining us?”
He remained silent. I guessed he did not want to jeopardise his opportunities as he was on the cusp of becoming a new member of management. Cheong, who rose to be the editor-in-chief of the English and Malay Newspapers Division in Singapore Press Holdings Ltd (SPH), a post he held until 2006, when he retired, recalled (for this book) that the strike and its settlement marked the end of the worst in industrial relations between the company and its staff. He said that following the strike, newsroom management improved, with increasing resources channelled into making the paper more efficient. More attention was given to training and career development, he explained.
Then I went over to check if Bob Ng, who was a deputy editor on the business desk but still a union member, would also join us in a show of solidarity. We were old friends, and I had enjoyed many a meal with him at his parents’ house. He looked in the direction of his boss, Blair Johnson, who had taken over from Geoffrey Boland, and said something like management staff cannot join a strike. “Hey Bob, we have a momentous event coming up, and I am surprised you want to be a bystander,” I growled at him. He grinned amiably at my jibe. All the unionised journalists, which meant close to 99 per cent, were tensed up, like coiled springs, ready to spring into action. As noon approached, the countdown began, like what we do as the old year ends and the new year dawns. As the hands on the office clock hit noon, cries of “Merdeka, Bersatu!” (“Freedom, Unity!”) reverberated throughout the building. We shimmied our way out as a gigantic human snake, in one surging, frenzied, seething, slithering mass.
Picket lines formed in front of Times House. Motorists passing by gaped in shock and surprise. Some cheered. Posters and banners that had been prepared clandestinely were unfurled and draped at the front of the building facing Kim Seng Road. The sun beat down mercilessly. Sweat poured off the faces of journalists, jubilant that the battle lines had finally been drawn.
But jubilation and euphoria turned to dismay when word spread that the printers were in two minds about joining the journalists at the picket line. The NTUC felt that the journalists’ walkout would scare the management into submission. It would be a matter of time before the management would capitulate. In fact, Colton had made an 11th-hour telephone call to the NTUC, saying the management was prepared to talk. Stay put, the SPEU leaders were advised by the NTUC. We cursed, we swore, we ranted. The NTUC had got things very wrong, we feared. Were the printers about to desert us? Yeo rushed down to the NTUC to sort things out with Devan Nair.
A group of us gathered in the car park at the back of Times House. I mounted one of the company lorries parked there, along with Victor Ng and Abu Fazil, a union official who worked with me on the subs desk, and launched into lengthy fiery speeches. Armed with megaphones, we directed our tirade at the upper floor where the management offices were. I saw frightened faces at the windows. Some of the clerical staff had got up from their desks and had finally wised up to what was happening. “Come down, come down, this is your day to show what you are made of. Stand up and be counted,” we screamed at them. They scurried away from the windows. Some of them, family breadwinners, said later that they were worried. They were quite unaware of what was going on. Going on strike was the furthest thing from their minds. Later, they did leave their desks and join the picket lines. They said they were encouraged by the sight of so many angry young journalists apparently willing to make the supreme sacrifice of losing their jobs.
SPEU general secretary Louis Nathan said: “Yes, we must stick together. The journalists are our brothers.” His face darkening, he said he would get his members out. “We have given our word, and we must keep it. The NTUC must understand this,” he bellowed to his fellow leaders. His dentures popped out suddenly and the tenseness of the situation was relieved, as we all broke out laughing. At the NTUC, Yeo, accompanied by SPEU president Peter Wong, berated Devan Nair for falling for Colton’s ploy. Yeo recalled “almost going berserk in Nair’s office”. “You are making us sacrificial lambs,” he yelled at Nair. “How can you go back on what has been agreed upon? All will be lost. The SNUJ will be finished and all workers in The Straits Times will have lost the battle for better bonus.” The dire message — that the credibility of the NTUC was on the line — was not lost on Nair. He acquiesced and said: “Ok, get the printers to join the strike.”
The NTUC point man at Times House, Lawrence Sia, relayed Nair’s message to SPEU leaders and close to 2pm, when the journalists had given up all hope and thought that we had been cast to the wolves by the wavering of the NTUC, we heard a loud roar. The SPEU members streamed out from the front of Times House, joining us two hours after we had walked out. Waving placards and yelling slogans, their greater number swelled the picket lines. The day had been saved.
Sunny Wee, one of the few reporters to own a car, and a swanky Toyota Celica at that, dashed off to the Tanglin Police Station to collect our permit to stage a strike. There, he received an admonition to keep the picket line in order or else...
David Kraal, the editor of the New Nation, walked by after lunch and laughed good-naturedly when he saw a placard that read: “Crawl, David Kraal”. Kraal was one of the nicer guys, and a master at tabloid journalism. A good-looking, sports-loving Eurasian, he was also a hit with the young lady reporters. But that day, the lines had been drawn, and Kraal was not one of us. Asked about that occasion, Kraal, now 74, remembers that placard:
“It was hung boldly on the fence surrounding Times House, placed so cars coming towards Kim Seng Road would not miss the message: ‘Crawl, David Kraal’ it read and featured a doglike creature [me] on all fours. Well, with a name like mine one expects trouble. My mother, bless her soul, was very proud of this poster and would drive her friends past Times House again and again and point out my infamy to them.”
More infamy was discovered in the newsroom of the New Nation. The ribbon in most of the typewriters had been cut. The reporter who had been chastised into endlessly typing “The quick brown fox…” had got his own back on the management, he told me years later. I did not see Cheong at the picket lines. Perhaps he was still manning the news desk, waiting for our return. We formed rows, three deep, closed the gates and ringed the fence perimeter. Only umbrellas protected us from the heat. We were drenched in sweat, but there was joy in our hearts. The company did not know what hit them. Round Two to the workers. The battle had begun in earnest.
* Dr Goh Keng Swee has often been called the “economic architect” of Singapore, contributing greatly to the shaping of Singapore’s development into a prosperous nation as minister for finance and minister for defence. He held several other key appointments, including deputy prime minister, minister for education, and chairman of the Monetary Authority of Singapore (MAS) and various government-led companies.