The Singapore Story: Memoirs of Lee Kuan Yew (57 page)

Selkirk retorted that, under the constitution, it was the duty of the Singapore government to govern, but the government had sought to transfer the responsibility for internal security to the Internal Security Council. I countered by saying that the constitution had wisely provided that it should be the British who held the ultimate responsibility for employing the gun. The Singapore government had limited power, by comparison no more than that of an air rifle, and could not use it.

These arguments summed up the dilemma the three governments faced. Each wanted the odium to be carried by the others. Both the British and Malayan representatives wanted the Singapore government to take action against the communists, but the Singapore government contended it could not do this without incurring enormous damage to its support among the Chinese-speaking. What was important now was to show that the communists were not the future masters of Singapore. Because only then could we put merger to the vote. And I had concluded that this was absolutely essential, for to bundle Singapore into Malaysia without it would be disastrous. It would be proof that we had sold out to the Malay-dominated government in Kuala Lumpur.

I preferred a referendum to a general election, whose outcome would not be decided on the single issue of merger. But to win a majority for Malaysia, I had to get the Chinese-speaking fence-sitters to see that we – and not the communists – were the winning side. We could not leave them believing that there was a chance of our losing, for many would then vote against merger or abstain, certain that those who had voted in favour of it would later be punished by the communists. On the other hand, if we convinced people that merger was inevitable and the communists did not have the majority to block it, the people would reason that those who supported the communists would run the risk of being punished by the federal government. I had therefore to create in people’s minds the feeling that this was a tide so big and so powerful that neither the communists nor anyone else could stop it. I was sure that if we could get this message across, the Chinese-speaking leaders in the chambers of commerce, cultural associations and schools would not go with Lim Chin Siong. At worst, they would remain neutral, at best quietly support merger.

The surest way to generate this sense of the inevitability of Malaysia was to get people to see that Lim Chin Siong, Fong and the pro-communist cadres themselves realised that they were fighting a losing battle, and it
was better not to join them. To foster this impression, I decided it was necessary to give everybody the big picture, the background of how the PAP and the communists had formed a united front, why Lim Chin Siong and Fong had broken their undertaking to fight for independence through merger with Malaya, and why they, the communists, must lose.

To think all this out, I needed peace and quiet, which I could not get in Singapore. On 11 August I left by night train for Kuala Lumpur and then went on by car to Cluny Lodge, a Singapore government holiday bungalow in the Cameron Highlands some 5,000 feet above sea level, taking Choo and our three children. But I also took with me my personal assistant, Teo Yik Kwee, for I proposed to dictate and draft a series of 20 to 30-minute speeches that I would deliver over Radio Singapore, giving the people the whole story.

The Camerons were cool, quiet and remote, a blissful respite from the political hothouse of Singapore. At that time there were no fax machines, not even direct dialling, and as the line was not clear, I had left instructions that I should not be disturbed unless it was extremely urgent. So I was left in peace for nearly a fortnight, playing many rounds of golf on the pleasant nine-hole course. By the time I left I had completed eight speeches but had to write the last four in Singapore in between recording the earlier ones. For a period of one month, from 13 September to 9 October, I was broadcasting three times a week, each time in three languages, two of which – Malay and Mandarin – I normally used only at the colloquial level in my working life. It was a gruelling experience. On one occasion, Radio Singapore staff were alarmed when they looked through the studio’s glass panel and did not see me at the microphone. Then one of them spotted me lying on my back, flat on the floor in a state of collapse, as she thought. In fact, I had lain down because it was the best way to recover from my exhaustion and recharge my batteries in between recording the three different versions of my broadcast.

In these 12 talks, I summarised the background to our united front with the communists from 1954 when the PAP was formed, what had happened since, and why the split had taken place, leading to the present fight over merger. I wanted to dispel any suspicion that this was a smear campaign against communists and subversion. I gave the communists credit for the strength and courage of their convictions. In one broadcast I said:

“We bridged the gap to the Chinese-educated world – a world teeming with vitality, dynamism and revolution, a world in which the communists had been working for over the last 30 years with considerable success. … We the English-educated revolutionaries were latecomers trying to tap the same oilfield. We were considered by the communists as poaching in their exclusive territory. In this world we came to know Lim Chin Siong and Fong Swee Suan. They joined us in the PAP. In 1955 we contested the election. Our initiation into the intricacies and ramifications of the communist underground organisation in the trade unions and cultural associations had begun.

“It is a strange business working in this world. When you meet a union leader you will quickly have to decide which side he is on and whether or not he is a communist. You can find out by the language he uses and his behaviour whether or not he is in the inner circle which makes the decisions. … I came to know dozens of them. They are not crooks or opportunists. … Many of them are prepared to pay the price for the communist cause in terms of personal freedom and sacrifice. They know they run the risk of detention if they are found out and caught. Eventually many of them landed in jail in the purges of 1956 and 1957. I used to see them there, arguing their appeals. Many were banished to China. Some were my personal friends. They believed that I should join them. They believed that ultimately I would be forced to admit that what they call the ‘bourgeois’ democratic system could not produce a just and equal society, and that I would admit that they were right.

Exposing the communists in 12 exhausting radio broadcasts, each made in English, Mandarin and Malay, 1961.

“On the other hand, I used to spend hours arguing with some of them, trying to prove to them that whatever else happened in China or Russia, we were living in Malaya and, irrespective of communism or democratic socialism, if we wanted to build a more just and equal society in Malaya, we would have to make certain fundamental decisions, such as being Malayans, uniting the Chinese and Indians and others with the Malays, building up national unity and national loyalty, and rallying all the races together through a national language.”

I explained why Malaya and Singapore were inseparable:

“Everyone knows the reasons why the Federation is important to Singapore. It is the hinterland which produces the rubber and tin that keep our shop-window economy going. It is the base that made Singapore the capital city. Without this economic base, Singapore would not survive. Without merger, without a reunification of our two governments and an integration of our two economies, our economic position will slowly and steadily get worse. Your livelihood will get worse. Instead of there being one unified economic development for Malaya, there will be two. The Federation, instead of cooperating with Singapore, will compete against Singapore for industrial capital and industrial expansion. In this competition, both will suffer.”

In my last broadcast, I re-emphasised the point: “Had there been no drought in Johor and water shortage in Singapore over the last three months, the communists might well have switched their line … to independence for Singapore alone. But nature reminded them of the utter absurdity of such a move.” It had been an exceptionally dry year with little rain and none at all since June. At the end of August, the water pressure suddenly dropped, causing many factories to close temporarily and badly affecting big hotels. Our three main reservoirs were almost empty – one of them, Seletar, had elephant grass covering its floor. Water was rationed to six hours a day. There was no need to remind people that Singapore had had to surrender in 1942 because the Japanese had
captured the reservoirs in Johor. Water rationing in 1961 could not be lifted until the end of January the following year. The elements had conspired to help convince people that merger was the rational solution to Singapore’s problems.

There was as yet no television in Singapore, and these radio broadcasts reached a wide audience. By the end of the series, I had convinced most people that I had told the truth about the past – the infighting, the betrayals, the Plen – and that I was realistic about the future. I had held their interest. I had told a story that was part of their own recent experience – of riots, strikes, boycotts, all of them fresh reference points in their minds – and I had given them the explanation for mysteries that had puzzled them. It was as if I had gone up on the stage where a magician had been performing and exposed his props and accessories by lighting up the darkened areas they had not noticed before. The talks made a tremendous impact, especially on the English-educated, to whom they were a revelation. Among the young men who listened to them was Cheong Yip Seng, who later became editor-in-chief of the
Straits Times
. He remembered:

“The broadcasts were a real eye-opener to a schoolboy in his Senior Cambridge year, anxious for a job after his exams to relieve his poor parents. The radio talks laid out the future in stark, real-life terms. I was struck by their candour, the power of the simple, vivid language, most of all, by the inside story of the struggle within the united front against the British colonialists.

“The broadcasts were an unprecedented experience. They were not the typical political ones. They contained real-life experiences. They were happening even as they were being aired. The Plen was real. Every broadcast ended with the listener in suspense, and anxious for the next instalment, the way ordinary folk at that time lapped up the kung-fu serials broadcast over Rediffusion by Lei Tai Sor in Cantonese. A master storyteller was at work. But this was not fiction. This was life and death for Singaporeans.”

Soon after my last talk on 10 October, John Duclos, head of the Broadcasting Division, invited Lim Chin Siong to join one of 12 radio forums planned to match the 12 broadcasts I had given. All the others who had been named in these broadcasts, including Fong Swee Suan, Sidney Woodhull, James Puthucheary, Dr Lee Siew Choh and Dr Sheng Nam Chin, were also invited to take part. Duclos wrote, “Any statement made by the prime minister over the air which is untrue and damaging to the reputation of anyone can be challenged.” The next day, Lim and Woodhull issued a press statement saying they wanted equal time on the air for their 12 broadcasts. They did not want any face-to-face confrontation. I had put them on the defensive.

Those Chinese-speaking groups already committed to the communist cause showed real anger and hatred for me when I passed their union or society premises. Even Chinese press reporters who were on their side had sullen and sour faces when they covered my press conferences. They looked upon my exposure of their identities, their methods and their intentions as a betrayal. I took this as evidence of the effectiveness of my disclosures.

The highest tribute I received was from James Puthucheary. He came to see me in my office at City Hall after the broadcasts were published in a booklet. He said they were brilliant and asked me to autograph a copy, which I did. I asked him if he would be prepared to take part in a radio forum with me. He looked at me, grinned, shook his head and said, “After you have set up the stage props, I would not stand a chance.” More important, he tacitly admitted that what I had disclosed about the Plen and the communists had sunk home. I was satisfied that I had undermined the people’s belief in the chances of the communists, and felt more confident that we could paint them into a corner and prepare the ground for later action against them, preferably after merger.