The press secretary from the prime minister’s office says the government will soon take action against the estate of Chow Sze Teck, and the trial of the three senior officers from the Ministry of Housing will proceed, for the government has zero tolerance for the abuse of public office. The government will not spare any effort to recover money misappropriated from the public coffers as well as any ill-gotten monies received by public servants. The government is committed to an honest, incorruptible, efficient administration. That is the only way to ensure the stability and prosperity of the country.
In another development, Parliament has formed a commission of inquiry to look into the alleged abuse of parliamentary privilege by the member for Kampong Bahru, Hoo Liem Choh, leader of the Labour Party. Chaired by the prime minister, the commission consists of the deputy prime minister, the minister for home affairs, the attorney general and two MPs, whose collective role is akin to extras on a film location shoot. For the prime minister is an accomplished judge-cum-prosecutor, who is not prepared to let his subordinates share his pleasure in giving Hoo enough rope to hang himself.
Hoo puts up a courageous front. In his grey suit and polka-dotted tie, he steps up to the witness stand. He tilts his chin and strokes his seaweed beard that has come to symbolise his steadfastness.
Behind closed doors, without the prying cameras, the prime minister is at his uninhibited best. He stabs and slashes at Hoo with threats and accusations, while the other five members of the commission occupy their time solemnly nodding or shaking their heads.
“In support of your motion to form a commission of inquiry into the death of the former permanent secretary of the Ministry of Housing, you said the drugs that killed Mr Chow Sze Teck could not have been obtained by himself, but with the help of someone else. Am I correct, Mr Hoo?”
With the inquisitors seated on a raised platform, Hoo has to look up at them. “That is correct, my dear prime minister.”
“We can cut out the terms of endearment at this hearing. You may address me as Mr Prime Minister.”
“That’s fine, Mr Prime Minister.” Hoo strokes his goatee.
“On what evidence did you make that statement in Parliament, Mr Hoo?”
“I’m not a CID investigator, ah. It is not my job to produce evidence. My job as a member of Parliament is to raise questions that are of concern to the people in my constituency.”
“I put it to you that you have no evidence whatsoever in your allegation that someone else had obtained the drugs for Chow Sze Teck.”
“I was asking a question which even the vegetable seller in my constituency is also asking.”
“And what might that question be?”
“My dear prime minister, you can read the Hansard for that.”
Edward Wee narrows his eyes. “Mr Hoo, would you deign to repeat the question you asked in Parliament for the benefit of our panel here?”
“I asked that since Mr Chow could not have obtained those drugs without a prescription, and as he had been under CPIB surveillance, how come he secured those drugs without the knowledge of the CPIB?”
“You suggested that the CPIB collaborated with Mr Chow in his suicide.”
“I was merely asking a question.”
“But you made the implication while proposing the motion to form the commission of inquiry.”
“Mr Prime Minister, there are rumours among the people as to the cause of Chow’s death. I would not be doing my job if I do not let their concern be heard and hopefully answered in Parliament.”
“Mr Chow’s death has also been the concern of my government and that is why the CID has given it top priority. But you did not tell your ‘people’ to wait for the coroner’s court decision. Instead, you chose to make scurrilous statements in Parliament,” says Wee, without drawing breath.
“Since you mention the coroner’s court, they did not explain how Chow came into possession of those drugs. One can only wonder how they arrived at the suicide verdict.”
“Let me put this to you again. Without a shred of evidence and despite the findings of the coroner’s court, you are making the allegation that the CPIB helped Chow Sze Teck to procure the drugs in order for him to take his own life.”
“I am very frustrated, my dear prime minster, by your insistence that I need to produce evidence before I ask questions about the operations of the CPIB. It is known that the CPIB officers have wide-ranging powers and this can lead to fabrication of evidence by people under duress. They may be pressurised to say whatever the CPIB wants them to say and even to implicate others. On the other hand, because it reports to your good office, the CPIB may learn to be circumspect on matters that are connected to your office or your good self.”
Edward Wee stiffens and exchanges looks with the attorney general. “Mr Hoo, I challenge you to come out from behind the shield of parliamentary privilege and repeat those remarks outside this House,” the PM retorts.
“My dear prime minister, I think you are tightening the noose round my neck. You want me to—”
“Are you withdrawing your allegations then?”
“I did not—”
“Mr Hoo has made another insolent allegation, that the CPIB and I are guilty of abuse of power and obstruction of justice. This government is prepared to open all the books. Make the charges and there will be a commission of inquiry. The government will stand condemned or Mr Hoo will be found to be a shameless liar. Make your choice.”
“I will agree only if we have, unlike the one we have today, an independent commission of inquiry chaired by a non-partisan person of high public standing, with full facilities of the auditor general’s office and complete access to the books of—”
Making his maiden speech for the inquiry, the attorney general interjects, “Mr Hoo, this commission would like to remind you that you are tottering on the brink of contempt of Parliament and contempt of the coroner’s court. If you persist in such behaviour—”
“You are nothing more than a rumour monger,” the prime minister proclaims. “If you do not have the courage to repeat your allegations outside of this House, nor the decency to withdraw them, we will not waste any more time on it. The commission will now call the next witness, the director of the CPIB.”
The hearing lasts no more than two afternoons. In keeping with Parliament’s speedy passing of bills, four witnesses later, the commission arrives at a unanimous decision. Hoo Liem Choh is found guilty of abuse of parliamentary privilege. Because he is a repeat offender, the commission recommends that he be censured and suspended from Parliament for the rest of his term.
At the next sitting, Parliament accepts the recommendation of the commission of inquiry with alacrity. Hoo is duly removed. Without the protection of parliamentary privilege, aggrieved parties of Hoo’s “baseless allegations” may now take up civil or criminal proceedings against him. With his political career unceremoniously thwarted, Hoo returns to his bathroom accessories firm to make what money he can to pay for upcoming damages.
*
The following Sunday, Edward Wee, in his private Mercedes-Benz, attended by a motorcade of plain-clothes bodyguards, is chauffeured up the slope of Bright Hill Drive. At the top of the hill rises a complex of Forbidden City-like shrine halls with shiny, double-tiered roofs bristling with ceramic dragons, phoenixes and human figures. The cars drive through the open gate of Kong Meng San (Bright Hill) Temple, pass the four-storey columbarium and a towering pagoda, and curve round the octagonal Hall of Great Virtues. They stop in front of the Hall of Great Magnificence. The passengers emerge from the cars and climb a few wide steps into the gleaming hall. Edward Wee puts his hands together and bows towards the enormous Buddha in the marble shrine. A glass stupa in front of the golden statue contains a portion of the Buddha’s relics. Other Sunday visitors pause in their prayers for succour and prosperity to behold another true believer. A welcoming party of five monks in their saffron robes wear imperturbable smiles even as the convoy of cars sends a blanket of dust
and fumes billowing in its wake. After exchanging pleasantries, Edward Wee and his entourage follow their hosts out of the hall into a garden. Dappled sunlight bounces off the shaven heads of the monks and shimmers on the surface of a water lily pond.
The garden leads to another longer flight of wide steps that sweeps up to a red-columned reception hall. A novice opens the red door with gold trimmings to a large square lounge. There, an abbot is in repose in a rosewood and mother-of-pearl armchair. Nine other similar armchairs are arranged against the wood-panelled walls. An oval rosewood table with carved legs occupies the centre of the lounge. A tall vase of large yellow chrysanthemums lies on the oval table, and small bowls of red and green cacti decorate the coffee tables between the armchairs.
Lifting himself from his aura of serenity, the abbot breaks into a broad smile and greets Edward Wee with a bow. His right hand is perpendicular to his chest, touching the string of prayer beads hanging around his neck. Wee returns the courtesy. He instructs his 15 bodyguards to wait outside the reception hall and around the temple compound, while the abbot tells his disciples to return to their daily chores.
Sweet smelling incense mixes with the fragrance of chrysanthemum to smooth the PM’s furrowed brow. The abbot invites him to sit on a cool, uncushioned chair. Muted chanting of Buddhist sutras can be heard from an inner room. In the tranquil temple air, the Venerable and the demigod soon fall into a deep communion over a pot of green tea.
They emerge half an hour later and are joined by their respective followers. They proceed to tour the biggest shrine of the temple, the Hall of Great Compassion. The hall houses a benignly huge five-headed Bodhisattva with three pairs of hands, exuding kindness and virtues. Men and women kneel at her feet and whisper their prayers under the chandeliered-ceiling. In the presence of benevolence, Edward Wee’s heart trembles.
Behind the columbarium, which stores the ashes of dead believers in small urns, is a rock-lined pool. The dark green water is coloured by the lettuce merit seekers throw in to feed the turtles. The pond brims with the reptiles flapping about, ignorant of their ability to bring their benefactors closer to nirvana. A member of Edward Wee’s entourage, standing by the pool next to a wire cage of little turtles, appears overawed when his political boss and his religious leader stroll towards him, both beaming magnanimously. Wee bends to open the cage door and releases the eight turtles into the murky pool while the abbot mumbles a blessing.
That night, Edward Wee sleeps like a child. Since the day he became prime minister, Wee has been a patron of the Kong Meng San Temple. He is no dictator by any measure. He has abided by the rules of a parliamentary democracy, albeit a one-party kind. Importantly, no blood has been spilt on his account. The Public Order Act prohibiting assemblies of five or more persons has seen to it that no riot squads need be called in to disperse unruly crowds or protestors. Under his rule by fear, which he reckons is more effective than rule by rules, the entire population has been depoliticised after the last big “security” operation, which locked up hundreds of his rivals. To compensate the people for the loss of their political and civil rights, Wee’s government delivers on the economic goods, for he knows that a full stomach blunts the mind. Next to Stalin, he appears almost saintly. Yet, every time he comes home from work, he spends an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. He changes his working clothes every day even though he may have spent an entire day in an office which he has ordered to be cleaned with Dettol every morning before he comes in. He contributes generously to the building fund of the Kong Meng San Temple and frees turtles and doves regularly, especially after a skirmish with an enemy. On the abbot’s advice, he is on his guard with people who criticise him, as well as those who don’t.
TWELVE
WHILE SOME MEN keep a diary for future biographers, Edward Wee writes his to clarify his inner thoughts, to argue with himself, to vent his anguish and eventually to help himself make decisions. He subscribes to the maxim of “believing in everything and trusting no one.” Thus his diaries represent the apex of his civic religion: secrecy. But on the fateful morning of 13 March 1965, some of the diaries of Edward Wee landed on the desk of the director of the Special Branch in Kuala Lumpur.
1 June 1959
The sweet taste of victory after months of campaigning. It was a clear and decisive verdict of the people, yet the elation I had expected eludes me. We have mammoth tasks ahead of us. Slums. Unemployment. Industrial strikes. Chinese chauvinists. Malay ultras.
Taking advantage of all these are the communists. Lim Min Tong and other mischief makers are still calling the shots in many of our party branches. They claim that if it weren’t for their support I wouldn’t have won. They have clearly forgotten who got them out of jail in the first place. And our dear Governor Goode had the gall to say he was shaking the hand of a great man when Min Tong was introduced to him. Can’t recognise greatness when he trips over it. Thank goodness we have seen the last of the British governors. Whole bunch of big spenders who dug deep into our pockets.
Have to curb the loony lefties in the party. Sze Teck had better whip the union radicals into line. If the lumpenproletariat continue their strike fest every other week, our investors will pack up and go to Malaya. But I will win the masses over soon, with sound economic policies and not populist Hokkien rhetoric. You can’t feed your children with your union membership card. When that day comes, we’ll make a clean break with the rabble rousers. A millstone round my neck.
22 October 1959
The radio station and the newspapers have struck terror into the hearts of the people. Johnny is earning his keep, using propaganda to counter communism in the region. His metaphor in The Straits Times of the communist tiger planting its claws into Singapore, about to whack Malaya out of its existence is bound to give Tunku and the Brits goose pimples. Goode says I shouldn’t overdo the communist bogey. Our dear governor forgets I learnt the trick from Her Majesty’s own men. Good thing he’s been posted to the Sarawak jungle. A car exploded in Katong killing its driver and passenger; two strike breakers murdered on the street. Any imbecile can see these aren’t acts of God, but orchestrated by the communists in Singapore.
The spectre of a communist revolt is becoming real, courtesy of our neighbour to the south, and our prime minister of Malaya is trembling at the thought of the Yellow Peril at Malaya’s very doorstep. Well, he didn’t have to lift a finger to get his country’s independence from the Brits. It’s poetic justice that he now has to deal with his own fear of “too many Chinese, too many communists.”
13 February 1960
The Tunku has phoned several times and been flying to London to talk about merging the two territories. The only chance of our survival is a merger with Malaya that will beat the living daylights out of the communists. More importantly, with merger, I would not be responsible for any arrest of the communists.
7 April 1961
After over a year of shuttling between London and KL, the terms of the merger have finally been hammered out. But Lim Min Tong is accusing me of selling the people down the Singapore River. I know he wants independence before merger so that he and his miscreants can seize the legislative assembly and annihilate me.
The Tunku should realise by now it spells disaster for merger if he drags his feet on Singapore. And if merger does not happen, then Singapore will become a Chinese chauvinist and communist state. Yet, both the British and the Tunku do not want blood on their hands, and want me to deal with the communists instead. But how can I do it without incurring the wrath of the Chinese-speaking?
I’ve got to convince the people that our destiny lies with merger. It is a tide so huge that the communists would not be able to turn it back. The people would realise that those who support the communists would have to pay a high price when we become part of Malaysia. The federal government and the Malay nobility have a mortal fear of the communists. Once I get this message across, the Chinese-speaking towkays and teachers would not throw in their lot with Min Tong.
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In order to quash any allegation that this is a smear campaign against the communists, I have to give the people the background of how my party and the communists have formed a united front, but Min Tong has now betrayed our cause to fight for independence through merger with Malaya.
30 July 1961
The two-faced UK commissioner invited Min Tong and his miscreants to tea and told them the British are willing to deal with them as long as they act in a constitutional manner! I did not sacrifice so much just to be a seat warmer. Is this all I deserve after leading the state to self-government? Should I fly to London and see what game they are playing, or will I show myself up to be panicking?
Maybe the Brits are raising the stakes for me. They are hinting that if I cannot manage my house, they can always turn to others who will. No one wants the communists out of the party more than I do. But Min Tong has got the people eating out of his hand. Can I survive a major amputation? What pretext do I have to sack them, and what backlash will there be?
9 August 1961
The wolves have finally shed their sheep’s skin. Thirteen assemblymen led by Lim Min Tong have broken away from us to form the Socialist Party. The battle lines are drawn. That saves me the trouble of engineering a coup, but our party’s now paper thin majority in the legislative assembly is a major concern. All it would take is one of our men to die and we’d be done for. Already, we hear that there’s mass exodus on the ground; branch leaders are stealing our typewriters and furniture and taking them to the other side.
23 October 1961
After much wrangling behind the scenes and a marathon sitting, the assembly is set to hold a referendum on merger a year from now. The people will have three choices: Option A is my government’s proposal for merger; Option B is the Socialist Party’s; and Option C states that Singapore should not join on terms less favourable than those granted to the Borneo territories, never mind what terms the Borneo territories would obtain. Lim Min Tong argued that Option B is not his party’s proposal as it has been bastardised; he claimed that they have long changed their position with regard to Penang and Malacca. He also insisted that the referendum should be a “yes” or “no” vote to merger. He was roundly defeated.
Death of a Perm Sec Page 7