One could get the impression from this incident that I was an important member of a gang. This is not true. Sembawang was a tough neighbourhood to grow up in. I had many friends inside and outside the Base. We were mostly around the same age and shared the same interests like playing football and listening to the popular music of the day. The Beatles and Elvis Presley were huge then. It was one big family and we were there for each other. I may have been the pride and joy of not only my parents but also the friends I grew up with. I was the first student from the Base to ever go to Raffles Institution to do the ‘A’ levels. I was also the first from the Base to study law. My friends wanted to see me succeed academically. I was doing what they could not do and they accepted it. There was no jealousy or envy. They were prepared to do anything to help me and definitely didn’t want a bunch of students to destroy my future. That’s how deep our friendship was. The day after the incident, I went to university as usual. Everybody left me alone. Some of my friends who were scared to be seen with me came over to say hello. They were not frightened any more.
Soon, orientation month was over and everybody continued with the business of studying. Eventually, the seniors forgave me. I played football for the university for four years. I also played for the combined universities of Hong Kong, Malaysia and Singapore. I was president of the Non-Hostelites Organisation which represented all the students who did not stay in the hostels. It was the second largest organisation after the Students’ Union. I was also secretary-general of the Socialists’ Club (a club which Mr Lee Kuan Yew once described as a pro-communist club) and an executive committee member of the Law Society of the university.
During my time, the intake of law students was high and anyone who qualified was probably accepted. But in the years that followed, many were told to leave or had to repeat a year. There was no re-exam for students in the law faculty. In my third year, we were joined by some repeat students. One of them was Lau Tow Weng. He was from Malacca and we became good friends. Lau, Isaac Selvanathan, Tommy Choo, Christian Ayadurai and a few others who often joined us at Union House made up one of my cliques.
One day, while we were having our usual coffee in Union House, the subject of Karpal Singh popped up. I stated that he was a coward who did not turn up when he was supposed to during the orientation incident, about two years earlier. Lau looked at me and said that I didn’t know the full story. Karpal and his friends had returned to Dunearn Road Hostel that morning and reported what happened. They said that I had challenged them to go back to Union House at 7.00 pm. Some of the students were worried and consulted a security officer, Martin, at the library. Martin was supposed to be a high ranking member of a triad. He told the students that I was very dangerous and that they should not fool around with me. Later on, when I was doing my pupilage, Martin came to me for help on a case which I will recount later in the book.
After hearing Martin’s advice, the students went back to the hostel and told Karpal and his friends not to turn up at 7.00 pm as they might get hurt. Karpal said he had to go. It didn’t matter if he was going to get hurt or killed because his reputation was at stake. At about 6.45 pm, his friends burst into his room, overpowered him, tied him up and locked him in the room. They made sure he was released only after we had left. Lau told me that Karpal was a brave man. I had no reason to doubt Lau and my impression of Karpal changed.
Many years later, the Workers’ Party chairman, Wong Hong Toy, was charged with contempt of court. I was asked by J B Jeyaretnam to defend him. I was not familiar with the law and was quite nervous to appear alone. On the other side was Attorney-General Tan Book Teik, who was assisted by Glenn Knight. In desperation, on the eve of the hearing, I called Karpal Singh in Penang. When he took the phone, I told him who I was and he laughed. “You are the Sembawang kid, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I replied.
I told him I needed his help and explained the problem. I said that the Workers’ Party could only pay for his air ticket and hotel room expenses. They were unable to pay his fees. He said that it was not a problem and asked when the case was scheduled for hearing.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
“What, tomorrow!” he exclaimed and scolded me. He said he had many things going on in Penang. He was also by then a member of parliament. I apologised and said that I was only given the approval to call him that same morning. He was still very angry and grumbled about me being irresponsible, but he said he would call me back. I didn’t think he would and began to get ready for the case. However, at about 3.00 pm, Karpal Singh called me. He said that he would be coming to Singapore with his wife and gave details of his flight. I was so relieved. I was at the airport to receive him and his wife, a lovely woman. I took them to the Pavilion Inter-Continental Hotel (now The Regent Hotel) and checked them in. After that, we left to see J B Jeyaretnam at his flat. We worked on the case until around 4.00 am. We argued the case before Justice Sinnadurai. Karpal was at his best, giving the Attorney-General and Glenn Knight a run for their money. Judgment was reserved. That night, I took Karpal and his wife to dinner with my then girlfriend, who later became my wife. J B Jeyaretnam couldn’t join us. It was a wonderful dinner. In a way it was good that Jeyaretnam was not there as we were reminiscing about Union House and all the mad things we did.
The next day I went to the hotel, paid the bill and invited Karpal and his wife for lunch. I also bought some gifts for them. Jeyaretnam again said he could not join us. I was very disappointed. Maybe it showed in my face. Karpal said, “Subhas, why are you so glum today?” I did not reply and he asked, “Is it because Jeyaretnam is not here?” Again I kept quiet. He looked at me and said: “You know, I didn’t come down to Singapore to see Jeyaretnam or his party members. I came down because you asked for help and you know the Union House spirit that binds us will not allow me to let you down.” He then grabbed my shoulder and asked me not to be so moody. I laughed and I realised that this was really a great man. I was glad he was unable to keep his appointment with me that day in Union House.
Ladyhill Hotel was a favourite haunt of university students during my time. It was a walking distance from campus and the stroll down the Nassim area amid the leafy environment and the massive colonial houses could be romantic, especially at night. It reminded me a bit of Sembawang. Ladyhill Hotel was also near the Soviet Union embassy.
One night, we were invited for cocktails at the embassy. We often received such invitations as we were supposed to be in solidarity with them as socialists. After cocktails, we took a stroll to Ladyhill Hotel to talk about the events of the night. I remember there were four of us—Conrad Jeyaraj, Sim Yong Chan, Sunny Chew and myself. I can’t remember why another person in the group, Francis Yeo, wasn’t with us. As usual, we discussed politics.
Then Conrad started making his corny jokes and we decided to throw him into the hotel’s swimming pool in his full formal suit. Many of the guests thought it was funny, but some members of the staff thought otherwise. The manager of the coffeehouse demanded that we leave immediately because we had bothered the guests. He was not prepared to listen to us. ‘Leave immediately or be thrown out’ was his ultimatum. He was flanked by the hotel’s bouncers and we had no choice but to leave. We headed back to Union House to summon help. Students from Raffles Hall, Dunearn Road Hostel and some medical students led by the always-ready Adam Liew gathered at Union House. There were about 70 to 80 students, most of them in pyjamas. Some Sikh students deliberately removed their turbans and let their hair loose. We marched to Ladyhill Hotel. At about midnight, all of us jumped into the pool. We created quite a din. Bedroom lights came on and guests were peering out of their balconies or windows to see what the ruckus was about. The same manager who had chased us away earlier saw me and asked me what was happening.
“Are you blind? Can’t you see what is happening?” I replied after taking a deep drag on my cigarette.
He didn’t know what to do. I told him we were university students and he shouldn’t have behaved
so arrogantly earlier. I also said that we would be calling the journalists and his hotel would have great publicity the next day. I advised him to call the police if he wanted to. When he tried to speak again, I told him I’d rather not speak to the help and to let me speak to the general manager of the hotel.
Ten minutes later, I was told that the general manager would like to see me. She was an attractive Swedish lady and introduced herself only as Mrs Philip Seow. With two of my friends, we explained to her what had happened with her staff member earlier that evening. She apologised for his behaviour but I said that that the apology was insufficient. We sought some compensation from the hotel, perhaps some alcoholic drinks to warm everyone up. She smiled and said no. As we were students, she was prepared to give us hot chocolate and cookies. So we had a small party by the hotel’s pool, drinking hot chocolate and eating cookies and cakes under the moonlight. It turned out to be one of those fantastic, surreal moments in your life that you never forget.
To me and my friends, university life was not just about lectures, tutorials and hours spent in the library. It was about moments like the one at the Ladyhill Hotel. We did so many more things which would seem amazing to students in Singapore’s universities today. You have to realise the backdrop during those times. Singapore had recently been handed its independence from Malaysia and there were pockets of turbulence all across the island. The relatively new Lee Kuan Yew-led government was more worried about the threat of racial riots than what university students like us got into, such as taking part in demonstrations outside embassies.
I personally led a demonstration outside the American embassy to protest against the horrible incident which took place on March 16, 1968 in My Lai, Vietnam, when US marines indiscriminately killed old men, women and children. Students gathered outside the embassy which was located along Hill Street, opposite the Singapore Chinese Chamber of Commerce building. Before the demonstration, we sent Violet Oon and Linda Neo to scout the area. They came back and reported that there were police everywhere. It didn’t stop us. The students arrived at the embassy in a convoy of cars that had proceeded gravely and full of intent down North Bridge Road. The union bus was also used to carry banners condemning the United States. When we arrived, we saw US marines guarding the embassy. It appeared as though they were expecting us. We demanded an audience with the ambassador. We were told he was not in and that we could see the first secretary instead. Francis Khoo (now in exile in London), Peter Chen (who, if I am not mistaken, was our ambassador to Russia a few years ago) and I went inside to hand over our petition as well as challenge the absent ambassador to a debate.
As soon as we entered the embassy, the doors were shut. The din from the street outside vanished and we were completely cut off from our fellow protesters. We saw marine soldiers walking around on the grounds carrying guns. They were all more than 1.8 m tall and each of them must have weighed more than 100 kg. We were quite afraid and more than a little bit intimidated. The first secretary was a calm and polite person. He took our petition and said that he would pass it on to the ambassador together with our demand to engage in a debate. He then requested that we tell the students outside to disperse.
When we went out, we saw that a huge crowd had joined the students. It looked as though the students were outnumbered by the outsiders. To add to the drama that was unfolding, Conrad Jeyaraj decided to burn the American flag. Since he could not reach the flag flying at the embassy, he decided to torch the flag that we brought along. It was given to us by Jackie Sam, a senior Straits Times reporter as his contribution to our cause. Before Conrad could burn the flag, we were told by the police that they would not tolerate littering. They further emphasised that we could do anything to the flag except litter. So we decided to stamp on the flag and spit at it. We finally tore it and threw the tattered flag into the dustbin. The police were glad that we did not litter the premises. Eventually, I was told by the commander to get everyone to disperse. He said he had given us enough leeway and that we must leave or he would have to use force to clear us. He asked the leaders to have a quick meeting with the students. It was agreed that we all leave. We could see the relief in the faces of the policemen as we did so. The ambassador ultimately did not take up the challenge to a debate. I don’t blame him as his case was indefensible. The Americans had no right to be in Vietnam, and more and more Americans were beginning to realise it.
Not long after that, we organised a demonstration outside the Soviet Union embassy against the Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia on August 21, 1968. The Czechoslovakian government had declared that the troops had not been invited into the country and that the invasion was a violation of socialist principles, international law and the UN Charter. Again, the student protestors were joined by outsiders who swelled the crowd. The Russians did not want to see any of us. They locked their doors and did not respond to the abuse thrown at them. Some of us decided that we should burn the embassy cars to teach them a lesson. Sunny Chew, who was one of the Students’ Union leaders, told us not to do it. He did not want any violence. I was tired of singing and shouting, so I decided to go to the back of the embassy. I knocked on a window. A man opened it slightly and I asked him whether he could speak English. When he said he could, I asked if he could spare a few bottles of vodka. Our conversation was heard by some students who had followed me to the back of the embassy and they promptly reported my request to Sunny. He came immediately with some others and hauled me away. They were cursing me all the way, saying that I had cheapened the demonstration with my request for vodka. Other students thought it was funny and a little vodka would be welcome. Again, the police told us to leave or they would have to use force. I remember we marched off singing songs defaming the Soviet Union. For a few days, my request for vodka was a big talking point at Union House.
On another occasion during my university days, four of us went to a movie at the old Lido cinema, a classic standalone building with an airy 1960s feel to it. The cinema had front stalls, back stalls and circle seats. We bought half-priced tickets and proceeded to enter the hall. We were stopped and told we had to pay the full price. Our response was that we were students and that they had advertised that students pay only half the price. A commotion ensued and the manager of the cinema came and led us to his office. I explained to the manager that we were students and his advertisements had said that students pay half the price. He said the price was meant for schoolchildren. I told him we could not accept this explanation because if it was meant only for schoolchildren, this had to be stated categorically in their advertisements. The manager continued to argue with us. I got fed up. I told him that by the next day all Shaw Brothers cinemas, including Lido, would be picketed and we would make sure that no one went to his cinema. He looked worried and went to the next room to make a phone call. After the call, he told us we could see the movie with the tickets we had. I said that it was too late for us to view the movie and that he had to give us a refund and complimentary tickets for the next day. He agreed, but I told him that we needed more than four tickets as it was only fair to be compensated for all the trouble. I asked for about 30 tickets which he gave in to reluctantly. We went back to Union House and gave the extra tickets to our friends.
There were other times in university when I had to deal with situations on my own. As president of the Non-Hostelites Organisation (NHO), I had to attend inter-hostel meetings. Everyone else in those meetings was part of the academic staff. As a student, I was immediately disadvantaged. In one such meeting chaired by Peter Lim to ensure that the university sports meet was well attended, Professor Jansen of Dunearn Road Hostel called the NHO a dead-loss organisation. I responded by saying that it was a case of the pot calling the kettle black. The professor told me not to be funny, to which I replied I couldn’t care less. Hearing my response, Dr Nalla Tan, the mistress of Eusoff College, an all-girl residential hostel, who was sitting beside me, shouted that I was showing a lack of respect to all the academic staff present.
I lit up a cigarette and blew smoke into her face. This infuriated her even more and she looked at the chairman for help. He promptly called off the meeting.
Professor Jansen and Dr Tan reported me to Reginald Quahe, the deputy vice-chancellor. I was also banned from Eusoff College. The resident students were told that they would face disciplinary action and possible expulsion from the hostel if they invited me there. I contacted the student leaders to tell them about the incident and that I would most probably be reported for disciplinary action. After a few days when there was no follow-up, I decided to see Mr Quahe myself. He offered me a cup of coffee and asked what I wanted to see him about. I told him I believed a report had been made against me and if that was so, what was he going to do about it.
He laughed and said, “Yes, a report has been made but I’m not going to act on it.”
I was very surprised. “Why?” I asked.
This time he laughed even louder. It was almost a guffaw. “I have decided not to make you a martyr,” he said.
Mr Quahe was a wise old man. He told me that to avoid such situations in future, he was instead going to appoint a master for the NHO who would be of equal status to the others at the meetings. He knew that if action was taken against me, there could be huge problems. It would have been a situation where no one would win but everyone could lose.
After graduation, I was advised by Norman Knight, a business administration lecturer who was also a chartered accountant, to pursue a second degree in chartered accountancy. He said to me, “Your law degree isn’t very good. Why don’t you consider going to London to do chartered accountancy to support your degree?” He was kind enough to offer to connect me with Coopers Brothers to do articleship. With that in mind, I toyed with the idea of going to London.
The Best I Could Page 6