One event that helped, perhaps unwittingly, hasten the decolonialisation of The Straits Times was the company strike of 1971. The only time that I had intimation that details of the strike might be recorded in a book was when English historian Mary Turnbull telephoned me in the 1990s to tell me that she was writing a book on The Straits Times. Could she glean more information about the strike from me? I invited her to stop over in Dubai where I was working for the Gulf News. She said ruefully, with a laugh, that her commission did not provide for a stopover. Would I send her a report, she asked. I said I would prefer to meet her in person. I felt then I would rather not commit anything in writing. I never met Turnbull. Her book, Dateline Singapore, 150 Years of The Straits Times, is a tremendous read, packed with information and written in her typical erudite style. A photograph of Straits Times general manager Ronald Scott making his way through picket lines with a belligerent look on his face speaks volumes. But Turnbull, who has since died, only mentions the strike in passing.
Yet the strike was a significant event. It was the first time that the daily, a national institution with 150 years of history, had been off the streets since World War II. The Straits Times 1971 strike put a dent in managing director A.C. Simmons’ boast that the newspaper would be out on the streets come what may. Even during World War II, the newspaper was produced, under the name of Syonan Shimbun. The strike deprived readers of their daily dose of print news for eight days. The 2,000 unionised employees, who trooped out of Times House in Kim Seng Road and Times Printers in Thomson Road, were fuelled by a feeling of humiliation, of injured self-respect. Many felt they had no stake in the development of the country, be it economic, social or cultural. Scott tried to exert his authority. By marching through the picket lines, he wanted to show that a single British manager could cow thousands of Asians. His act enraged the strikers who, on any other occasion, would have hung their heads in submission. He retreated to the safety of Times House with the taunts of the workers echoing in his ears. The bosses found it inexplicable that young, fresh-faced journalists — most of us were in our early 20s — dared to take on the monolith that was The Straits Times.
It was good that we knew no fear. We had the courage then to take one bold step to secure a better deal for workers. But being still wet behind the ears, we had neither the vision nor the wisdom to see the aftermath of the strike and its effects on the profession.
Cheong Yip Seng, who headed the news desk at the time of the strike, rose to become group editor of the English and Malay newspapers. In his views for this book, he said “clearly a new phase” had begun with the 1971 strike. In his words:
“The worst was over for industrial relations. While there continued to be niggling industrial problems, the newsroom was more focused on getting on with producing the paper. As the years wore on, newsroom management improved, with increasing resources channelled into making the paper more efficient and more attention given to training and career development. With every passing year, the quality of fresh recruits improved. Talent management was a major priority. Meanwhile, with an increasingly educated population and a more complex economic and political landscape, the scope to offer greater diversity of opinion widened.”
Cheong believes that The Straits Times will survive the onslaught of new media. “That The Straits Times could command a readership of well over a million in this digital age speaks for itself. It can stand up to professional scrutiny.”
Yeo Toon Joo, SNUJ secretary-general in 1971 and now happily retired and flitting between homes in Seattle and Singapore, believes that journalism in Singapore has declined over the years. He laments that following the strike, there were too few people left in journalism in Singapore who could have held off for a little longer that decline of the profession in Singapore. His view is that the government happily filled that vacuum with imports of its own compliant scholars, some of whom had been sent for postgraduate courses in journalism, but had never worked a day in mass media before their senior appointment in the ST organisation.
The strikers who closed down The Straits Times were merely bit players in an infinitely larger scheme, less than pawns on the government’s chess board. The government had always wanted to take over the entire media scene, without being overtly seen, as even now, to be doing so. Did the strikers give the government an opportunity to strike at the enemy, the neocolonialistic Straits Times? Yeo believes this is so.
Asked for his views on the strike, advertising maestro Denis Tay, who rose to become deputy president, recalled Simmons telling him when he met him in Auckland where he had retired: “I hate the journalists for their arrogance, but there is nothing much you can do about them.” Tay sees The Straits Times’ survival lying in its ability to continue to inculcate the joy of reading. He says: “This would depend on the language proficiency of our people. Over the years the standard of English in Singapore has dropped significantly. I lamented about the standard of English in public notices, but sadly not much has improved (for example, ‘don’t drive to drink’ should be put simply as ‘don’t drive after drinks’).”
Lin Holloway, now 83, remembers the War Room at the Shangri-La. He said some among the management did not want to settle. But he felt the situation (regarding the strike) could not go on. He believes that the Singapore and Kuala Lumpur offices of The Straits Times could have come to a tacit agreement to settle, although he does not recall that there were any meetings on the issue. Was there any government influence on The Straits Times at the time of the strike? None, he said. There was generally “very little” influence on The Straits Times on editorial matters at the time. Relations between the unions, workers and management improved after the strike of 1971, he felt. Holloway, who retired in 2000, agreed that the strike helped put an end to the “colonial” mentality that still prevailed in The Straits Times, especially among some members of the management. They had to be replaced, and when they were eventually, The Straits Times became very much a Singapore paper. Reflecting on Simmons, he said it was not so much the colour of one’s skin that mattered, but the colour of one’s mind that determined one’s outlook on life. He said Simmons was very much Singaporean. Lin remembered Simmons as a tall man, at least 6 ft 2 in, and fond of sports, despite being a hell of a smoker. The Straits Times will definitely face a threat from online media. But as it still enjoys a considerable monopoly, the threat is less than what it is in other countries in the west, he predicted.
Recalling the days of the strike, former group editor Peter Lim said:
“Simmons first told me he absolutely would not pay more bonus — and then he did, saying that the journalists were ‘our own people’ and he did not want them camped out in the streets any longer. With the wisdom of hindsight, I should have refused to be in Simmons’ counterstrike team when he said he would not compromise on the bonus issue. I expected him to stand firm but he gave in under pressure. Of course the strike was justifiable! You guys won!”
Asked if he would agree that The Straits Times has become a government mouthpiece and that its credibility has sunk, Lim said: “ST has lived and prospered with the ‘government mouthpiece’ label from colonial times. Credibility, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. I think much of today’s Straits Times and its sister newspapers is very credible. Don’t discount the brave efforts of Singapore journalists to function as professionally and with integrity as the ecosystem allows.” Putting the blame squarely on the “ecosystem”, Peter Lim has a good word to say about the country’s journalists. “The best people in journalism and the best of Singapore journalism can compare with the best anywhere in the world,” he maintains.
David Kraal, who was editor of the New Nation when it was shut down following a work-to-rule in the run-up to the 1971 strike, recalls: “We tried hard to continue putting out a newspaper. I was placed in The Slot (like the captain on a ship’s bridge) with amateur sub-editors sitting around me ready to do my bidding. Among them were editors Mr Khoo and Mr Sabaratnam, then the highest of the high executives like Mr Simmons, Mr Scott, Mr Jennings.”
Kraal designed the pages and gave the orders. “It was most harrowing ... these mighty men may have been the big bosses of a blue-chip Singapore company, but (apart from the first named two, both excellent newspapermen) they were terrible journalists!” Outside, at the pickets where he had been five years earlier (in the 1965 Straits Times strike), a painted sheet had been hung on the fence surrounding Times House that read “Crawl, David Kraal” and featured a dog-like creature (of Kraal) on all fours. Now, 74, he marvels at the irony of life. “From a luminary union picketer [in the 1965 strike] on the verge of being arrested to a mongrel in the eyes of the union [in the 1971 strike] … such was the swing of sentiment over a few years. I enjoyed both my roles very much.” Kraal has not lost his sense of humour and his zest for life.
Tan Wang Joo, a fresh-faced reporter with The Straits Times in 1971, said photographs of the strike made her nostalgic. Tan, who is now retired after rising to senior positions in The Straits Times, recalls:
“We were young and optimistic/naive and the world was our oyster. My friends from university in executive jobs were titillated that I had taken to the streets. So roughnecked! … Even so, we were more accustomed to bashing a typewriter than brandishing fists and waving banners.
Out on the streets, the main hazards were boredom (assuaged by card games, chatter and a good book); the sun (hats on!) and a bursting bladder (nip down the road to nearby King’s or Apollo hotel in Havelock Road). All this was well before the mortgage and the children’s exams; old dreams abandoned and new paths tried; the digital revolution; our parents ageing, and our own keen interest in diet and regular health checks! The strike seems an eternity ago.”
Another reporter at the picket lines was Gerry de Silva, now communications head at City Developments Ltd. He remembers shouting himself hoarse with endless cries of “Merdeka!! Power to the People!” whenever the opportunity arose, and especially the sense of joy and jubilation he felt when the strike was called off with victory to the unions.
Public relations consultant Soh Tiang Keng, a reporter on the financial beat then, recalls that one afternoon, feeling a bit bored, he left the picket lines and crossed the road to Sky cinema in Great World to watch a movie. He reminisces:
“After the movie was over [I can’t remember the title], I crossed the road back to the picket lines. To my surprise, I found that the strike was over! By locking myself inside Sky cinema, I had missed the fun of witnessing the dramatic ending of the strike. What rotten timing on my part!”
Soh says the young and journalists of today lack the colourful CVs the old guard have:
“We, the oldies, can proudly mention in our CVs that we had gone on strike, a privilege enjoyed exclusively by a select, vintage bunch of journalists like us. If today’s journalists try to go on strike, the authorities will ship them off from the picket lines to Changi University.”
Victor Ng, one of the Young Turks who led the strike, puts great hope in new media bringing back the vitality of the media and journalism. In particular, he feels the onset of new media/social media has rendered impotent any official or governmental attempts to manipulate and control them.
“Today’s print media — fringe media under siege — is as good as irrelevant. Mainstream media is an endangered species! People, young and old, have choice, virtually infinite choices, including the choice not to bother with news, reports emanating from government/official media! The Internet is the greatest social and political equaliser. One click or one touch and one is in contact with the world, overnight everyone is a reporter, everyone is a publisher, everyone is a ‘newspaper owner’. Governments worldwide are now on call 24/7, trying to figure out how to reach out to the people. They ignore the new media, especially social media, at their own peril.”
In the aftermath of the strike, a quiet but uneasy peace reigned at Times House. Many of the Young Turks left soon after the strike. Edward Liu, who became SNUJ secretary-general in the years after the strike, said that following the “turbulent years”, The Straits Times began recruiting more scholars from the civil service in the 1980s. This policy, he feels, has worked well for the management. The economics and politics of the media have changed.
Over the years, The Straits Times group has evolved into the monolithic Singapore Press Holdings of today. The competitive spirit amongst the journalists is less evident. Liu, who was a reporter during the 1971 strike, and is now the honorary consul to Cote d’Ivoire, said following the strike the management continued to treat the journalists with caution, but with more respect. When he took over the leadership of the chapel, he sought to ease the strained relationship between union and management. Working with Chiam Heng Him, the head of the personnel department who replaced Anthony Colton, he brought about a period of conciliatory calm.
Some of the journalists who remained with The Straits Times acquired the management perks that came with sticking with the job — a house, a BMW and a yacht, a trophy wife perhaps.
But did the journalists who stayed on after the strike — granted the number has dwindled as the years wore on — really acquire the acclaim and sheen of respected reporters and editors? They may have, to the unknowing public. In our time, we did try so hard, in our own small way, to give journalism a good name, but in the trying, even the iconoclasts that many of us were ended up as apologists for authority. How did this happen? When did the erosion of our beliefs in truth and justice begin?
We were fired up as young journalists in our early 20s then, convinced that we were fighting for a just cause to secure justice from a management that trampled on our rights, and believed that the government shared with us our idealistic vision for the profession. The strike did bring in its wake a better monetary deal for journalists over the years but, unfortunately, that small process of collaboration with a government that had other ideas for the media would result in a new brand of journalism, variously called “development journalism”, “socially-responsible journalism” and “objective non-opinionated journalism”. Since it would be unconscionable for “un-elected journalists” to try to set or frame the national agenda, is Singapore or Singapore journalism better off with this new paradigm?
I have also wondered about the absence of industrial action in the Chinese newspapers. Were reporters there a docile and submissive bunch? My take is that management of the Chinese press was paternalistic in those times, which made their management style more palatable. There was also the innate respect on the part of Chinese reporters for their seniors. While salaries were low, the Chinese newspapers made up for it by paying better bonuses. And kinder working arrangements too, depending on how you see it. For example, a noodle man would go around every evening and dole out steaming hot bowls of noodles to the reporters. No charge. This way, the staff could focus on their work and not waste time eating in the canteen or elsewhere. Confucius reigned supreme.
To wonder if there is hope for mainstream journalism today, the question that should be asked is this: What are the areas in which mainstream media need to improve to continue to appeal to the younger generation, in view of the strides made by online media today? In a word — quality. Only those offering quality, valuable content, can survive. People will pay for such content, as quality newspapers elsewhere prove. To produce it, there must be continuous investment in newsroom talent and news gathering which, as journalists know, is an expensive business.
Herbert Teo, one of the Young Turks, who left journalism to go into public relations, and now resides in Perth, feels that mainstream media may soon be a thing of the past as social media continue to fly at supersonic speed. Breaking news now appears in social media, such as text messages first, followed by social sites such as Twitter, Facebook and many others. Mainstream media need to reinvent themselves in the face of this onslaught or face their own demise. The strike was a surreal event. Says Teo:
“Never having ever been involved in industrial action before, we found the build-up to the strike action tense. We really did not know how the government would react to our move. Has mainstream journalism in Singapore improved since the strike? Not really. It continues onward with its monotonous, single-minded, top-down approach. A regurgitation of government pronouncements.”
Most of the Young Turks came from humble backgrounds. I was brought up with five other siblings by a housewife mother, who was made a widow at the young age of 35 when my father fell while repairing the ceiling of a neighbour’s home one rainy afternoon. We survived on her meagre takings from her chores as a grossly underpaid housemaid. But we grew up stoic and uncomplaining at what life threw our way, I would like to think. Victor Ng grew up in the slums of Redhill, steeped in “PAP but primarily opposition politics” in the family’s crowded atap hut occupied by 14 persons. His father was detained a number of times, the last time under Operation Coldstore in 1963. His mother, like mine, also had to work as a maid to keep the family together. Ng recalls visiting his dad in several prisons, the last at Moon Crescent, Changi Prison. Bored after the “Great Strike”, he packed his bags and went to London to pursue his dreams. He returned home with an M.Sc (Econs) degree. He now spends his time keeping, as he says, “a strategic overview of his business interests”, and mentoring his five grandchildren from daughter Joyce and son-in-law Adam.
I left Singapore at the end of the 70s and spent 20 years in the Gulf, working as managing editor of Kuwait Times and then deputy editor of the Gulf News in Dubai, before returning to Singapore in 2000, to join the pioneering team that launched TODAY, the alternative newspaper to The Straits Times. That was a brief period when we thought the “liberalisation of the media” would see a flowering of a brave new brand of journalism. For a while, that dream flourished until it too was swept away by the dictates of commercialism.
Group editor T.S. Khoo died in 2004, after retiring in 1981, passing the mantle of editorial leadership to Peter Lim, who in turn left in 1987. Cheong Yip Seng assumed the position. Cheong retired in 2006 and is now ambassador (non-resident) to Chile. Top editors of The Straits Times, in my time, expected to be appointed ambassadors upon retirement. Khoo was disappointed not to be picked for one of these plum postings. His predecessor, Wee Kim Wee, became the high commissioner to Malaysia when he retired from The Straits Times in 1973, a position he held for seven years. He then served as ambassador to Japan in September and after that, to South Korea. He was appointed to the highest position in the land when he became Singapore’s fourth president in 1985. Wee died in 2005.
Both managing director Simmons and editor-in-chief Hoffman died in 1987. General manager Scott retired to England in 1973, not long after the end of the strike.
The Straits Times probably has as many readers for its online version as it has for its print edition, perhaps more. Will the surge of online media and the proliferation of blogs throw up new “Young Turks” as passionate as the journalists of yesteryear before their dreams evaporated with the onset of “developmental journalism”? This slogan was popular in my youth when it was coined by post-colonial era leaders bent on encouraging the media to serve the needs of a brave, new, emerging Third World then.
Soon after the strike, Khoo told us how he had been called to City Hall along with other editors and asked how they could develop a medium whose credibility would make the dissemination of government policy more acceptable to the populace. Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew wanted Khoo’s views on how he would come up with a Straits Times the credibility of which would not be challenged. When Khoo hedged on his answer, the prime minister became furious and said without much ado: “If you guys cannot tell me what we should do, I will tell you what you should do.” Did government control of the media start from that point? History — and the consensus of public opinion — appear to bear out this development.
But the Third World is now the First World, a claim embraced by Singapore. Gen Y will have its dreams, obsessions and passions. Its members will fight their own battles. Some old battles. And some new ones. They will ask the same old questions. Only the answers will be different. In some cases, there will be no answers. Will we see Gen Y rising to challenge the status quo in media? Our book on the strike of 1971 is a simple story of youth without fears. We look forward to hearing Gen Y tell its own new story.
Over to you, twenty-somethings!