The Singapore Story: Memoirs of Lee Kuan Yew (87 page)

“If we delude people into believing that they are poor because there are no Malay rights or because opposition members oppose Malay rights, where are we going to end up? You let people in the kampongs believe that they are poor because we don’t speak Malay, because the government does not write in Malay, so he expects a miracle to take place in 1967 (the year Malay would become the national and sole official language). The moment we all start speaking Malay, he is going to have an uplift in the standard of living, and if it doesn’t happen, what happens then? … Meanwhile,
whenever there is a failure of economic, social and educational policies, you come back and say, oh, these wicked Chinese, Indians and others opposing Malay rights. They don’t oppose Malay rights. They, the Malays, have the right as Malaysian citizens to go up to the level of training and education that the more competitive societies, the non-Malay society, has produced. That is what must be done, isn’t it? Not to feed them with this obscurantist doctrine that all they have got to do is to get Malay rights for a few special Malays and their problem has been resolved. …”

Such arguments put in down-to-earth social and economic terms, and in Malay, had never been heard before in the Malaysian political debate. The PAP had brought crucial, sensitive issues into the open in a rational way to expose the shallowness of UMNO’s political argument, that because Malay leaders (mostly the aristocrats and educated elite) worked together with Chinese leaders (mostly the successful merchants) and Indian leaders (mostly the professionals), all would be well.

It was the most significant speech I had ever made in Malay, and I made it to an audience of Malay MPs, many of whom represented rural areas, and to a strangers’ gallery, which was packed with more Malays. I had spoken without a script, and for that reason it had all the more impact. As I spoke, there was a stunned silence. The air was electric.

Twenty-five years later, on the anniversary of Singapore’s independence, Eddie said of me in an interview: “He spoke for about half an hour. There must have been about 500 or so in the House and in the gallery but you could hear a pin drop. I think if they could have cheered, they would have. Looking back, I think that was the moment when the Tunku and his colleagues felt it was better to have Singapore and Mr Lee out.”

My Malay cabinet colleague, Othman Wok, was in the chamber. He recalled: “The chamber was very quiet and nobody stirred. The ministers of the central government sunk down so low in their seats that only their foreheads could be seen over the desk in front of them. The backbenchers
were spellbound. They could understand every word. That was the turning point. They perceived Lee as a dangerous man who could one day be the prime minister of Malaysia.”

I had no such illusions. Malaysia would not have a Chinese prime minister for a very, very long time.

The Malays present did not expect me, the supposed anti-Malay Chinese chauvinist out to destroy the Malay race, to speak in Malay with no trace of a Chinese dialect accent that most Chinese would have. I had been born and bred in Singapore, speaking the language from childhood. I could trace my ancestors for three generations in Singapore. They had made as big a contribution to the country as any Malay in the chamber. And I was on their side, not against them. I wanted to improve their lot.

The Tunku and Razak looked most unhappy. I was meeting them on their own Malay ground and competing for support peacefully with arguments in an open debate. I was not rattled by their strident, shrill and even hysterical cries of abuse and denigration. I could hold my own. If allowed to go on, I might begin to win over some Malays. They could see that among the MPs wearing the Haji skullcaps of those who had made the pilgrimage to Mecca, heads were nodding in agreement when I pointed out that simply having Malay as the national language would not improve their economic lot. They needed practical programmes directed in the fields of agriculture and education.

The speech aroused such unease among the Alliance leaders and MPs that, contrary to standing orders, the Speaker ruled I could not reply to arguments made against it. It was a backhanded tribute to my effectiveness in Malay. Instead, he called on Razak, in place of the Tunku, to wind up the debate. Razak launched into a long spiel of accusations: I was out to create chaos and trouble and hoped to emerge as the leader who could save the country. I was an expert in creating situations that did not exist. I twisted facts and cast doubts in the minds of people. I planned to split the country into two – “one Malay Malaysia, and one
Lee Kuan Yew’s Malaysia”. Razak was at his most bitter when he concluded, “The gulf that divides the PAP and the Alliance is now clear. PAP means Partition and Perish.”

I had not expected my speech to play so crucial a part in the Tunku’s decision to get Singapore out of Malaysia. Twelve years later, 1977, in his book
Looking Back
, the Tunku wrote, “The straw that broke the camel’s back, however, was a speech Mr Lee Kuan Yew made in Parliament, when he moved an amendment to ‘the motion to thank the King for his speech in May, 1965’. He brought up many issues which disturbed the equilibrium of even the most tolerant Members of the House.” He sent me a copy of the book, inscribed:

“Mr Lee Kuan Yew

“The friend who had worked so hard to found Malaysia and even harder to break it up.

Kindest regards
Tunku Abdul Rahman
26.5.77”

Five years later, in 1982, the Tunku told the author of a book on Singapore, “He (Lee Kuan Yew) would think himself as legitimate as I was to be the leader of Malaya because he speaks Malay better than I do.” I did not speak Malay better than the Tunku. Even if I did, I was still not a Malay and could not be the leader of Malaysia. But when he heard me that day in parliament, he realised that I was getting my message through to his own backbenchers. That was unacceptable.

41. The Quest for a Malaysian Malaysia

The mood of the debate in the federal parliament carried over naturally to the Malaysian Solidarity Convention rally the following week in Singapore. On a warm, breezy Sunday morning, 6 June 1965, at the National Theatre, a large open-air amphitheatre with a cantilevered roof but no side walls, 3,000 people packed the seats and filled the grass slopes behind them. It was a buoyant meeting. After their unspoken fears had been aired in parliament, the leaders of the five political parties in Malaya, Singapore and Sarawak felt released from their inhibitions and talked freely about the issues of race and a multiracial society, hitherto taboo subjects.

The convention was Chin Chye’s baby. Although he was not a great orator, he spoke with conviction in his opening speech:

“This convention is embarked on a crusade to preach interracial unity, to propagate the basic rights of all races which form our multiracial society. The force that will unite all our races into a Malaysian Malaysia is more than language, more than external aggression. Experience has shown that in similar countries, a united nation can arise only if one race does not aspire to be the master race but instead all citizens are equal irrespective of his race.”

D.R. Seenivasagam of the People’s Progressive Party in Perak was direct and blunt. The convention had become necessary because of a calculated attempt by UMNO leaders to stir up racial feeling. In the face of this threat, other political leaders could not sit back and do nothing. He accused the Alliance of using Article 153 of the constitution on special rights for the Malays to “bully non-Malays”.

Ong Kee Hui of the Sarawak United People’s Party (later a minister in the federal government) was equally pointed:

“We see an attitude of intolerance and mounting signs of denial of political equality to people who are non-Malays. For the sake of our country and for ourselves, this must be stopped and the drift to narrow racialism checked. Political equality should be accorded to all who live here and make this country their home irrespective of their racial origin.”

Dr Lim Chong Eu of the United Democratic Party, moderate and cautious by nature, was not known for his outspokenness. But he felt strongly enough to say:

“If we fail now to act on what we resolve, there may be no future, and there may be no equitable society for us, or for our children. The most important and the most fundamental attitude which this convention must manifest is the spirit of resolve and steadfastness in the face of the extremely vicious and near-hysterical criticisms which are hurled against us.”

Michael Buma of the Machinda Party in Sarawak was brilliant. He spoke simply but with tremendous effect. His speech was so devastating that the English newspapers were afraid to publish his punchlines. He said that every time he listened to a radio broadcast from Malaya, the announcer gave the time as
Waktu Tanah Melayu
– the Time of the Land of the Malays. Why was it not
Waktu Tanah Malaysia?
So, too, Malayan Railways was known as
Kreta Api Tanah Melayu
– Railway of the Land of the Malays. Again, why? Simply but effectively, he highlighted the racism.

The mood of the audience was set before it was my turn to wind up the convention. I referred to the

“growing truculence, or a heavy racial accent, the intimidatory postures and snarling guttural notes on which they sent out their signals to their followers on the basis of race … if this goes on,
Malaysia will not belong to the Malaysians. … They speak on two different wavelengths – one wavelength for multilingual, multiracial consumption, the other, a special VHF meant for their followers. The good men, multiracial men, the top leaders from time to time completely dissociate themselves from this special VHF, but the wild men keep up the pressure.”

I quoted Dr Lim’s advice to us, based on many years of intimate knowledge of their methods and tactics: “Be resolute, be firm. Never be intimidated.”

To give heart to the non-Malays, I tabulated the population figures from the last census: 39 per cent Malays, 42 per cent Chinese, about 10 per cent Indians and Pakistanis, 7 per cent Ibans, Kadazans, Kayans, Kelabits and others in North Borneo, and the rest Eurasians, Ceylonese, etc. Whoever played a communal line would be confined to his own racial group, whether it was Chinese or Malay or another. But those who appealed to the people on a non-racial basis stood a fair chance of winning over the 20 per cent minority. I reduced it to a simple formula: 40–40–20. If the Chinese appealed to 40 per cent, using Chinese slogans, they must lose. I left UMNO to conclude what would happen in the long run if they appealed only to the Malays.

I quoted the chief minister of Malacca, Ghafar Baba (later deputy prime minister), who said, “Look how non-communal the Malays are in Malacca. In a Malay constituency, they voted for Mr Tan Siew Sin.” The chief minister, I said, was an honest man, but

“every time Mr Tan Siew Sin goes around beating his chest, this is what he represents, the Malays who voted for him. … So, too, with Dato Sambanthan (MIC). He is another honest man. … He said Ja’afar Albar is a good man. Not communal. Do you know why? ‘In my constituency, which is in Perak, Sungei Siput, 90 per cent of the people are Malays, and Dato Albar goes around and tells them to vote for me. So they voted for me.’ Therefore Albar was not a communalist – because he had told the Malays to vote for UMNO’s favourite Chinese and Indian leaders in order that they can then lead the Chinese and Indian communities in the direction UMNO wanted to go!”

Speaking at the fateful gathering of the first Malaysian Solidarity Convention at Singapore’s National Theatre, 6 June 1965.

I exposed their tactics again:

“Get the truth out, and we will know that we have no reason to be afraid, no reason to be intimidated. … If we are … woe betide us. (To) a people that are cowed, frightened, intimidated, they will say: Riots coming, blood will flow. So we will all go home, close our doors and take the blankets and cover our heads. And they march up and down the streets shouting slogans. The next day, peace!”

According to Dr Lim, that had been happening for a long time in Malaya.

I stressed that we must not be against special rights for the Malays and the indigenous people. On the contrary, we should compete to raise their economic level in society.