Scribe Publications LEE'S LAW Chris Lydgate was b o r n i n London, and educated at Reed College i n Portland, Oregon, USA.

He spent eighteen months in Singapore as a f r e e l a n c e reporter i n 1997 and 1998, d u r i n g w h i c h time he covered the Jeyaretnam saga f o r several p u b l i c a t i o n s . He h a s w r i t t e n about and Singapore for The Times of London, The Guardian, The Sydney Morning Herald, The Economist, Asiaweek. Willamette book. He is currently a staff w r i t e r w i t h Week i n Portland. T h i s is h i s first

LEE'S LAW

how Singapore crushes dissent

Chris Lydgate

SCRIBE PUBLICATIONS
Melbourne

Scribe Publications Pty Ltd PO Box 5*3 Carlton North, Victoria, Australia 3054 Email: scribe@bigpond.net.au First published by Scribe Publications ?oo3 Copyright Chris Lydgate ?oo3 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press National Libraiy of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data Lydgate, Chris. Leees law: how Singapore crushes dissent. Includes index. ISBN o 908011 89 X. 1. Jeyaretnam, J. B. 2. Dissenters - Singapore - Biography. 3. Legislators - Singapore - Biography. 4. Singapore Politics and government. I. Title. 959-57592

www.scribepub.com.au

I have t a k e n t h e view always, that n o t h i n g outside t h e p e r s o n c a n destroy the p e r s o n . That n o f o r c e outside c a n destroy a p e r s o n . That the h u m a n spirit is i n d o m i t a b l e . Joshua Benjamin Jeyaretnam, July 1998

W h e r e the m i n d is w i t h o u t f e a r a n d t h e h e a d is h e l d h i g h ; W h e r e k n o w l e d g e is f r e e ; W h e r e the w o r l d h a s not b e e n b r o k e n u p into f r a g m e n t s by narrow d o m e s t i c walls; W h e r e w o r d s c o m e out f r o m the d e p t h of truth; W h e r e t i r e l e s s s t r i v i n g s t r e t c h e s its a r m s t o w a r d s p e r f e c tion; W h e r e the clear s t r e a m of r e a s o n h a s not lost its way i n t o the d r e a i y desert s a n d of dead habit; W h e r e the m i n d is l e d f o r w a r d b y T h e e into e v e r w i d e n i n g thought and action; Into that h e a v e n of f r e e d o m , m y Father, let m y country awake! Rabindranath Tagore (1861-194.1)

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments Introduction by Geoffrey Robertson

ix xi

The coffee shop murder The Crossroads The aftermath of war Disillusion The advocate Lee's challenger The battle for A n s o n The champion Silence must be maintained Breach of privilege The president's guest A series of misjudgments The old warrior rides again The Molotov Cocktail The spirit of Anson

1 10 20 34 50 59 88 106 141 169 193 an 241 260 388

Glossary Bibliography Notes Appendix Index

395 297 399 309 315

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

After the last citation has been appended, and the final semi-colon struck, how can I begin to thank all the people who helped me through a project that took four years to complete? First, I am indebted to JB Jeyaretnam himself, who turned over his memoirs, bared his soul, and endured many hours of interviews without a word of complaint. Together with his sons, Kenneth and Philip, and his secretary, Wendy Chiu, he provided a full accounting of a life without any assurance of how that life would be portrayed. This book would never have been written, let alone published, without the inspiration and advice of Peter Browne, who provided key suggestions and steered me through several treacherous shoals. Dean Visser was a steadfast guide to the intricacies of Singapore politics, pointing me towards the unseen and the unsaid with singular insight. Heniy Rosenbloom brought the manuscript to life. For background into Singapore's history and politics, I relied heavily on the work of Bilveer Singh, CM Turnbull, Derek da Cunha, Jim Baker, James Minchin, Christopher Tremewan, and Francis Seow. I was fortunate to engage the sharp eyes of several perceptive readers, including DK Holm, Ilsa Sharp, Jenny and David Dearlove, John Lydgate, and Margaret John. Many others contributed to this worksome of whom, unfortunately, I cannot mention by name. They include Anita Jain, Ed Wray, Gandhi Ambalam, Gopalan Nair, Dr Ivy Chew, Jean Marshall, Jon Noble and Denise Cox, Justus Semper, Marty Smith, Peggy Boston, Wee Han Kim ix

L e e ' s Law

and Jean Wee, the librarians at the National Library of Singapore and the Multnomah County Central Library, and my editors at Willamette Week, who graciously gave me time off to work on the manuscript. I must also thank my intrepid research assistant, Justin Hardy, who dragged himself away from more pressing diversions; and Jeannine Nahabedian, whose patience and good humor sustained me through the dreary days when my desk groaned with half-completed drafts. John F. Kennedy once observed that "success has a thousand fathers, but failure is an orphan." This book owes whatever merits it might have to the foregoing list of people. Its shortcomings are my responsibility alone. Chris Lydgate Portland, Oregon, December 2002

INTRODUCTION

History is usual written by or about winnerswhich is one reason why this study of Ben Jeyaretnam, Singapore's perpetual loser, will prove so valuable. For almost half a century in this small city-state he stoodand stood and stoodfor universal values of decency, fairness, and transparency against the so-called "Asian values" of hierarchical order, submissiveness, and censorship imposed by the PAP government. Even when Ben won, he lost: his historic election victory in A n s o n was the trigger for the campaign to diminish and destroy him. But Ben's conviction that his are the true democratic values makes him indestructible, and his legacy lives on in this book. It is important to keep Singapore politics in perspective. Lee Kuan Yew was not a tyrant in the mould of Saddam Hussein or Colonel Gaddafi: he eliminated opponents by libel writs rather than machine guns, while the secret police obtained confessions from detainees by blasting them with cold air, not by fixing electrodes to their genitals. Indeed, he looks good compared with the mass-murdering Pol Pot or the voraciously corrupt Marcos and Suharto. Nor was Jeyaretnam in any realistic sense Lee's rival for national leadership: with his tailored waistcoat and watch-chain and muttonchop whiskers, Ben may have looked the very model of a Cladstonian liberal, but voters who wanted their monorails to run on time would obviously prefer the precision of the PAP to the shambolic Workers' Party. But this political punch-andjudy show ran in Singapore throughout the eighties and early nineties, producing evidence of how Lee's "Asian values" decode in terms of xi

Lee's Law

democracy, judicial independence, and the rule of law. For this reason, Mr Lydgate's readable and accurate account of these complex legal manoeuverings deserves a special welcome. Ironically, it was the PAP government's obsession with destroying rather than merely defeating its opponents which led it to overplay its hand against Ben Jeyaretnam. Not content with having him convicted, bankrupted, and expelled from parliament, its petty obsession with humiliating h i m led it to take away his right to practise law, the profession which had sustained him throughout his life. By so doing, it failed to notice an obscure clause in the Legal Practitioners Act which permitted an appeal by a debarred solicitor to the Privy Council in London. There, the whole trumped-up series of charges against him unravelled, in the distinguished and objective minds of the English law lords. They reviewed the entire course of the case and voiced a devastating condemnation of the Singapore judges who had handled it. The law lords expressed "deep disquiet that by a series of m i s j u d g m e n t s " Ben and his co-accused had s u f f e r e d a grievous injustice. They had been fined, imprisoned, and disgraced for offences of which they were not guilty. There will, of course, be no more objective judgments like thisthe government immediately abolished all appeals to the Privy Council, and still adamantly refuses to sign any human rights treaty which would permit any more decisions of its courts to be appealed to an international tribunal. But the Privy Council judgment in Jeyaretnam's case still resounds, as a warning to other judges tempted to fail in their true task of standing up for the subject against the state. I have never acted for Ben Jeyaretnam, although I was privileged to represent some of those for whose rights he spoke up, ranging from the Catholic youth workers, lawyers, and playwrights so wrongfully denied habeas corpus to Dow Jones Inc, under attack from the government because its newspapers occasionally interviewed other opposition figures in Singapore. At this time, the usual democratic checks and balances to the exercise of state power were mute or muted. The national newspaper, the Straits Times, had become a party propaganda organ, and the bench was the preserve of men whose judgments would naturally reflect their honest belief that the government could do no wrong. Truth xii

INTRODUCTION

or opinion discomfiting to the party would be silenced by "gazetting" foreign publications or by suing oppositionists for libel and if anyone dared c o m p l a i n about the f a v o u r a b l e v e r d i c t , p r o s e c u t i n g complainant for contempt of court. This b o o k provides sufficient examples (and there are many more) of how the repressive English law of libel (which places the burden of p r o v i n g truth o n the d e f e n c e and admits of no "public interest" defence) and the antiquated crime of contempt by "scandalizing the judiciary" can be deployed to suppress political opposition and free speech. Lee Kuan Yew evinced a disdain f o r foreign newspapers which "tell us benighted natives how to behave", but nonetheless used English law and English lawyers to mulct his own opposition. It is a sad reflection o n the human rights priorities of the UK government that it does nothing to reform or abolish these same outdated laws in Britain, where their operation is only made palatable by the retention of jury trial and by j u d g e s w h o are m o r e robust i n t h e i r dealings w i t h government ministers. There is at present, after the Bali bombing, a superficial attraction to the A s i a n "strongman" model of government. But it must be r e m e m bered that Singapore's obsession with crushing dissidents was extended to those who did not pose any real danger to the state. Quite the c o n trary: one of the country's great ironies is how its Internal Security Directorate concentrated o n persecuting liberals like Ben (and f o r m e r Law Society President Francis Seow and ex-President Devan Nair and idealistice lawyers and Catholic social workers) while ignoring the truly dangerous m e n who were at the time using Singapore as a base for r u n n i n g u n l a w f u l a r m s and e x p l o s i v e s s h i p m e n t s w h i c h would cost hundreds of lives elsewhere i n the world. I once acted for some w o m e n playwrights w h o m Lee's government d e t a i n e d without trial f o r two y e a r s o n the charge of "singing progressive songs and p e r f o r m i n g plays which exaggerated the plight of the poor and the inadequacies of the existing system." The existing system in Singapore could not tolerate honest critics who wanted to make it operate more equitably, not because they were espousing Western liberalism at odds with "Asian values," but because they were that

xiii

L e e ' s Law

advocating rights which should belong to everyone, everywhere. South Korean President Kim Dae Jung, formerly a human rights activist, criticised Lee's "Asian values" argument as unsupportable and selfserving, pointing out that the real problem was "authoritarian rulers and their apologists". The PAP initimidated whole electorates by the threat to demolish their public services if they returned a Workers' Parly candidate. This was an apt reminder that democracy is a necessary but not sufficient guarantee of human rights: that can only be achieved by laws which entrench free speech, due process, and fair trial by an independent and impartial judiciary. The criticisms of Singapore in the Western press are often misplaced: they focus on the laws against jaywalking in the streets and urinating in the lifts and dropping chewing-gum wrappers on the pavements, and they only make me wish we had similar laws in Britain. However, the superficially clean image of the state serves to hide a more important truth that this book, by telling Ben Jayaretnam's story, brings to light: that suppression of well-intentioned dissent by a government bent on maintaining monopoly of its political power may be achieved within a democratic framework, as well as under a dictatorship. What makes Ben Jeyaretnam so significant is that he stayed in Singapore and fought the state's attempts to silence him, sacrificing his liberty and his career in order to stand up to its overweening power. It is through books like this that later generations of Singaporeans will come to understand and appreciate his sacrifice, and wonder at the vendetta waged against him. He will be remembered as Singapore's John Wilkes, a lonely voice raised for liberty at a time when well - meaning criticism of government was treated as if it were a crime (or in the case of libel, a tort). The Privy Council recommendation that the government should make amends for his wrongful conviction has, of course, been ignored by the PAP. Through this book, a future generation will understand that Ben Jeyaretnam deserves not merely to be pardoned, but to be honoured. Geoffrey Robertson QC

xiv

T H E COFFEE S H O P M U R D E R

Early in the morning of 18 February 1989, before the sun had risen, officers of the Singapore police force came knocking at the door of a manual labourer named Zainal Kuning, and invited him to assist in a criminal investigation. Two weeks earlier, the body of an elderly caretaker had been found lying on the floor of a ransacked coffee shop in a pool of blood, covered with stab wounds. The police believed that Zainal, 34, was involved. Zainal was staying at his sister's flat in Tampines, a satellite suburb or "new town" on the outskirts of the metropolis, where ramshackle kampongs and groves of ironwood had long before given way to massive apartment towers and shopping malls. While his disbelieving family rubbed the sleep from their eyes, the officers marched Zainal out of the apartment and whisked h i m away to the Criminal Investigation Department headquarters on Eu Tong Sen Street. At first, Zainal claimed to know nothing about the stabbing. After several days' questioning, however, Zainal and two other suspects, brothers Mohmad Bashir Ismail, 28, and Salahuddin Ismail, 39, confessed to the brutal crime. They were duly charged with murder, and spent the next three years in the dreary Queenstown jail waiting for their day in court. Despite the savagery of the stabbing, the incident attracted little attention in Singapore. Neither the victim nor the alleged perpetrators were rich or famous, and the circumstancesa botched b r e a k - i n were hardly sensational. Nor, indeed, was it surprising that prosecutors 1

L e e ' s Law

pushed ahead with the case, even though they had no physical evidence linking the men to the murder. Zainal, Mohmad, and Salahuddin had, after all, confessed. Sitting in his prison cell, however, Zainal heard a curious tale. Shortly after the coffee shop stabbing, a fellow inmate happened to overhear a group of men gossiping about the case. One of the m e n boasted that he had killed the caretaker himself, and even showed off the scars on his chest where, he said, the victim had flung a pan of boili n g water at him. More remarkable yet, the inmate thought he remembered the name of the perpetrator: Man Semput. For Zainal, this jailhouse story represented an incredible opportunity. If it were true, he might escape the hangman's scaffold. But now he faced the most difficult hurdlegetting someone to believe him. Singapore is one of the most peaceful and prosperous societies in the world. The traffic jams, the gunfights, the beggars, the corruption, the tin-roofed shacks, and the tuberculosis that run rampant throughout so much of South-East Asia have been virtually eliminated. By 2000, per capita GNP stood at US$34,740, outranking Belgium, Great Britain, France, Canada, and Australia. 1 From the opulent gleam of Changi airport, with cataracts of bougainvillea cascading down its marble walls, to the soaring office towers of the central business district, the city-state enjoys a reputation as a well-scrubbed Utopia where the chances of being murdered by handgun are statistically less than the likelihood of being struck by lightning. But this tranquillity was not achieved by magic. Few societies have a lower tolerance for m i s c h i e f o r for mischief-makers. Illegal immigrants are flogged, drug-dealers hanged. A man may be sentenced to seven years in prison for stealing a bottle of beer. 2 In theory, criminal suspects are innocent until proven guilty. In practice, however, they are often treated as scoundrels who deserve little sympathy. Suspects are routinely questioned without a lawyer, and they cannot see the resulting statement until the trial has begun. There is no point in trying to sway a jury, because there are no juries. The bias against criminal suspects runs deeper than the procedural arcana of the judicial system. Almost from birth. Singaporeans are

T H E COFFEE SHOP

MURDER

constantly reminded that they live in a fragile, multicultural society whose survival depends on their willingness to yield individual interests for the sake of the common good. The country's official creed, in fact, is "Nation before community, and society above self." 3 Against this backdrop, who was going to listen to a cock-and-bull story from a confessed murderer? Zainal's lawyer urged him to do the sensible thingplead guilty and throw himself on the mercy of the court. But Zainal insisted he was innocent. In desperation, he turned to the only man in Singapore who could help him.
* *

In r998, the law offices of JB Jeyaretnam & Company were located in a rundown complex on North Bridge Road, a ten-minute walk f r o m Parliament House. It was the kind of building where the electric doors wheezed open with a resentful shudder and the escalators had been turned off to save money. Across the street stood a grimy block of prewar shophouses, their rust-red roof-tiles cracked and deranged by decades of relentless monsoons. A typical visitor might find Joshua Benjamin Jeyaretnam sitting at his desk, presiding over a recalcitrant pile of letters, files, faxes, transcripts, torts, summonses, and newspaper clippings curled yellow by the tropical sun. A s a young man, Jeyaretnam had the dashing good looks of a matinee idol; by the time he reached his seventies, his portly frame strained at the buttons of his shirt and his shoulders hunched, as if pressed down by the force of some invisible weight. Nevertheless, there was something striking about his appearance. His face was the colour and texture of rumpled suede, flanked by tufts of snowy hair that erupted into a luxuriant pair of muttonchops; his grey-blue eyes, milky white at the edges, glowed like branding irons beneath a massive brow. More remarkable still was his v o i c e a stately Victorian bass, with a crusty accent almost extinct in modern Singapore: dry, forceful, eloquent, creaky like an old cabinet, polished by the echoes of a thousand dusty courtrooms, laden with the cadences of an advocate, a campaigner, even a preacher. Jeyaretnam was not only Singapore's best-known lawyer; he was also

Lee's Law

an opposition member of parliament, constitutional watchdog, humanrights advocate, investigative journalist, and tax reformer rolled into one. For 3r years, Jeyaretnam used that voice to speak against "the cloud of fear" that settled over Singapore under the ruling Peoples' Action Party, which has held power since 1959. He spoke out against the notorious Internal Security Act, which allows detention without trial. He spoke out against the jailing of political prisoners; against the curbs on free speech; against regressive taxes on the poor; against the rising cost of health care; and against a host of restrictions, both fundamental and petty, imposed on the people of the Lion City for the convenience of the government. And for most of that time, he was the only person in Singapore willing to do so. So it was almost inevitable that Jeyaretnam would find himself face to face with Zainal in the visiting room of the Queenstown jail. "As soon as I sat down, he told me, 'Mr Jeyaretnam, you're looking at an innocent man,'" Jeyaretnam said. "And he told me he'd been tortured." 4

Allegations of torture are a familiar refrain in Singapore. According to defence lawyers, it is common for suspects to claim that their confessions were obtained by force s o c o m m o n , in fact, that their complaints seldom raise an eyebrow. Nonetheless, there was something peculiar about Zainal's case. With a confession in hand, police can usually dredge up corroborating evidence; but they had none linking the trio to the coffee shop. Moreover, if Zainal had fabricated the story about Man Semput, why had he waited so long? Why not finger someone while the police were questioning him? Most important, Zainal had rejected a plea-bargain. "A man who had something to do with this crime would have jumped at that chance," Jeyaretnam said. "But he wouldn't have it. It was all or nothing. He wanted a full acquittal." Jeyaretnam spent the next several months hunting for the elusive Man Semput. He didn't have much to go on. There was no listing for the name in the telephone directory; there was no record of any such individual having been arrested; there was no trace, in fact, of anyone by that

T H E COFFEE SHOP

MURDER

name at all. By the time the case came to trial, in March 199a, Jeyaretnam was still empty-handed. He had not even located the witnesses who overheard the boast. In his opening argument, Jeyaretnam pointed out that investigators had been unable to find a shred of physical evidence linking the trio to the scene of the crime, and challenged prosecutors to track down Man Semput. Meanwhile, as the case proceeded, Zainal told the court how the confession had been obtained. (The following description is taken from Zainal's sworn testimony.) The police came to his house in the dead of night, shook him awake, handcuffed him, and took him down to the police station. He was terrified. There were no explanations, no warrants, no time for a drink of water to wet his throat. Zainal was taken to the Inspector's room for questioning, and shown to a chair. As soon as the door closed, the officers told him, "The game's up!" The two officers demanded that he confess, but they wouldn't say what they were referring to. "They asked me, 'Zainal, tell me what you have done.' I pleaded with them, ' S i r . . . Please tell me why I am here.'" 5 After an hour, the inspector told Zainal he might as well come clean: the police knew he had been involved in an attempted coffee shop robbery that led to the caretaker's murder. For the next several hours, Zainal maintained his innocence. His questioners grew increasingly frustrated. At one point, an officer (who was in a hurry to go to the horse races) grabbed him by the hair and knocked his head against the wall. "You bastard," he told Zainal. "Today is Saturday. If I cannot go home by one, I will give you a proper beating." After Zainal had been questioned for roughly five hours, the police officers took a different tack. They told Zainal his accomplices had already fingered him as the one who had stabbed the caretaker. If he confessed, they said, he might get a lesser sentence. By two o'clock, Zainal had been interrogated for seven hours. He had been given nothing to eat or drink, and he desperately needed to urinate. But he stood by his story. His questioners were running out of patience. They removed his handcuffs, took him down to the bathroom, and pushed him into the shower. Still dripping, he was led back to the "Lobangpecah!"

L e e ' s Law

inspector's office, and made to stand on a chair and hold two telephone directories at arm's length. The officers sat at a table in front of him. Behind them was the final instrument of torturethe air-conditioner. The idea of interrogation by air-conditioning may sound surreal, even absurd. But the powerful units in use in Singapore are capable of chilling a room in a matter of minutes. To stand, dripping wet, in the icy downdraft of a high-performance atmospheric cooling system is to suffer a unique form of agony. (Allegations of torture by air-conditioning are not limited to Singapore. There have been reports that Chinese authorities have forced practitioners of Falun Gong to stand, soaking wet, in front of air-conditioners. 6 A n d in 1999 the Israeli Supreme Court banned the use of air-conditioning as a method of interrogating Palestinian suspects. 7 ) Zainal was terrified. "I want to see how long you can stand," the inspector told him. "I give you at the most three days to admit. If you still do not admit, I will know what to do with you. If you want to be a hero, OK. I am not bothered. I can make use of your friend's statement to submit to court." For the next 14 hours, Zainal testified, he was forced to stand in front of the air-conditioner, holding the telephone directories. Whenever his arms got tired and he dropped the books, he was made to pick them up again. Every hour or so he was marched back to the shower and drenched again. Nor was Zainal given anything to eat or drink. "I had no food," he testified. "I could feel the chill in my bones. Sir, I felt as if I was about to fall unconscious or even to die." 8 Around daybreak, Zainal finally could bear it no longer. "OK," he said. "I am prepared to admit." After 34 hours of questioning, he was allowed to step down from the chair and was given some breakfast. Then he signed a statement confessing to his involvement in the break-in. Later he was taken to Singapore General Hospital, as is mandatory for all suspects who have been questioned by the police. The doctor found no evidence of physical abuse. But then, why would she? Air-conditioners don't leave scars.

T H E COFFEE SHOP

MURDER

Unfortunately, Zainal had no evidence to back up his stoiy. In court, the inspector and the other police officers strenuously denied mistreating him. Justice TS Sinnathuray rejected his chilling testimony, and ruled that the confession was voluntary. The three men were now perilously close to being hanged. At the eleventh hour, however, the court heard a dramatic revelation. The police had managed to track down Man Semput, whose real name was Mohd Sulaiman. Mohd denied any involvement in the crime; but, at Jeyaretnam's request, he agreed to bare his chestrevealing severe scald marks. A s soon as Jeyaretnam saw the scars, he knew Mohd was the real killer. Now he thought he could prove it. During the murder investigation, police had lifted some fingerprints from a beer crate at the coffee shop, with inconclusive resultsthe prints were of poor quality, and did not match those of Zainal or the other two suspects. Now Jeyaretnam challenged prosecutors to run a check against Mohd. On 6 May 199a, the thirty-sixth day of the trial, deputy public prosecutor Bala Reddy walked into the courtroom, and asked the judge to withdraw the case. A police fingerprint expert had identified the prints from the crate as belonging to Mohd. After 39 months of imprisonment, the three men were finally free. Singapore's biggest-circulation daily, the government-linked Straits Times, played the acquittal as a feel-good human-interest story, where justice triumphed and the innocent were upheld. It even ran a sidebar praising the police department's high-tech fingerprint system. 9 One issue the paper did not raise, however, was the disturbing question of why three men would all confess to a murder they did not commit knowing that the penalty was death. Two days later, Jeyaretnam held a press conference and called on the government to open a formal inquiry into the case, and to ascertain if police routinely used force when questioning criminal suspects. The conference received minimal coveragea few paragraphs in the Straits Times. The allegations of torture never found their way into print. 1 0 The

L e e ' s Law

government made no reply. The three men subsequently launched a suit against the officer who questioned them, accusing the police of wrongful arrest, torture, malicious prosecution, and defamation. They lost that suit, and the subsequent appealall with little fanfare. Case closed. Had the men been tortured? Two judges said there was no evidence to support such a claim, and it is true that there was no physical evidence. But the circumstantial evidencethat three innocent m e n should each confess to a murdermust be described as puzzling. What was more perplexing was the wall of silence surrounding the case. There were no demonstrations, no pressure groups, no Sundaymorning chat shows, no campaigns, no marches, no vigils, no exposes, no commissions of inquiry, no speeches in parliament, no letters to the editor. The entire country, it seemed, was either unwilling or unable to discuss the issue. The trial might as well never have happened.
* *

There are two ways of looking at these sorts of cases. You can see them as driftwood, occasionally washing up on to the shore of consciousness, unconnected coincidences with no greater significance. Or you can see them as the tips of icebergs, whose presence implies a massive phenomenon lurking far beneath the surface. To analyse Jeyaretnam's public life indeed, to assess modern Singaporeis to confront this dilemma over and over. The Singapore government insists that it runs an exemplary democracy with fair elections, an independent judiciary, and a free press. A n d yet, time and again, the outside observer will notice strange anomalies: the suspicious silence thundering through newspaper columns; a pathological reluctance to challenge the government; and a curious coyness among non-governmental organisations about political issues. Democracy in Singapore has the outward appearance of a mighty fortress, resplendent behind thick ramparts, girded by moat and cannon. But the story of JB Jeyaretnam suggests that this imposing edifice is little more than a cardboard fa9ade. In r97i, when he became the leader of the opposition, Jeyaretnam was one of Singapore's most successful lawyers. He enjoyed all the

T H E COFFEE S H O P

MURDER

trappings of that success: a house, a swimming pool, servants, a car, and a chauffeur. Over the next three decades, however, he paid a staggering personal price for his political career. He was the target of dozens of libel suits; forced to pay out hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines and damages; kicked out of parliament; jailed; stripped of his licence to practise law; ostracised from his profession; subjected to innumerable petty harassments; and finally bankrupted. By the end of 2001 he lived in a tiny bungalow in Johor Bahru, virtually penniless, eking out an existence by hawking books on the street. Jeyaretnam's struggle against the Peoples' Action Party reflects, in a microcosm, the conflict between two profoundly different visions of democracy: a classic liberal construction based on individual rights versus a communitarian ethic where those rights yield to the needs of societythe so-called "Asian democracy" championed by Singapore's ruling elite. But the battle of ideas is never waged in a vacuum. It is waged by men and women who have families to support, mortgages to pay, and businesses to run. A s soon as the shrapnel threatens their own livelihood as soon as their convictions jeopardise their j o b s t h e vast majority retreat to their armchairs. This book is an effort to examine an exception to this rule: a man who held fast to his principles in the face of outrageous odds; a man who fought for his convictions with a fury that astonished his opponents; a man who would not give in, even when he stood alone and defeat was inescapable. Jeyaretnam was driven partly by idealism and partly by stubbornness. But he was also driven by faith: a faith in the law, and a faith in the ordinary people of Singapore. In the final analysis, his faith in the law was shattered. His faith in the people may yet prove true.

T H E CROSSROADS

It is impossible to understand the life and career of JB Jeyaretnam without a brief acquaintance with Singapore's unique history. For centuries, the island, shaped like an oblate diamond 42 kilometres long by kilometres wide, was regarded as a particularly desolate spot. Dangling from the tip of the Malay peninsula, a scant one degree north of the equator, Singapore consisted mainly of swamps and mangrove jungles infested by tigers, rats, and mosquitoes. Its earliest inhabitants were pirates so ruthless that the island's beaches were littered with skulls. 1 The island might have remained a sleepy pirate hideaway but for the advent of colonial power politics. By sail, the shortest passage from China and Japan to India, Africa, and Europe runs through the Strait of Malacca, directly past Singapore. British traders needed a strategic outpost on this crucial sea route to compete with the Dutch; for this reason. Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, the lieutenant governor of Bencoolen, anchored near the mouth of the Singapore river in 1819. In spite of the swamps and the malaria, Raffles could see the island's potential: it had ample supplies of fresh water, a commanding position on the Straits of Malacca, and an impressive natural harbour. Skilfully playing one local potentate against another, Raffles managed to convince the local Temenggonga hereditary court official to let him establish a trading post for the princely sum of $3,000 a year. The island was hardly a going concern. Its population consisted of the Temenggong's village on the bank of the Singapore river and a handful of orang laut (sea-gypsy) settlements along the Kallang and Seletar 10

THE

CROSSROADS

rivers. The island's red laterite soil supported a few gambier farmers, but there were no natural resources to speak of. The population was roughly one thousand. 2 To lure merchants and shipping, Raffles decided not to impose tariffs of any kind. While this began as a temporary policy to draw in new customers and build up trade to the point where it would be worth taxing, free trade became crucial to Singapore's success so crucial, in fact, that Raffles pledged in i8s>3 to retain the outpost's free-port status forever. The result was explosive growth. The fledgling trading post became the gateway to the fantastic riches of South-East Asia: tin, pepper, tea, coffee, nutmeg, cinnamon, ivory, and hardwoods. Traders brought opium from India, coffee from Java, and tea from China and Ceylon, Within ten years, Singapore's population was 10,000, and by i860 it had topped eighty thousand. 3 From the beginning, Singapore drew settlers from across the globe: Arabs, Armenians, Bugis, Chinese, Europeans, Indians, Javanese, and Malays. The three largest communities were the Malays, a seafaring people whose ships plied the warm seas surrounding the peninsula for four centuries; the Indians, mostly dark-skinned Tamils from the southern part of the subcontinent; and the Chinese. Fleeing the seemingly endless cycle of war and poverty in their native land, the Chinese quickly became the largest community, and the port's bustling Chinatown threatened to swallow the rest of the city, culturally if not geographically. By 1891, the Chinese accounted for 67 per cent of the island's population, compared to the Malays' 30 per cent and the Indians' 9 per cent. 4 But the Chinese were hardly a unified community. There were Hokkiens from Amoy; Teochews from Swatow; Cantonese from Guangzhou; and Hainanese, Hakkas, and others, many of whose "dialects" were mutually unintelligible. The Chinese were further divided into clan associations whose smouldering rivalries often flared into vicious gang warfare. The runaway growth of Singapore's Chinese community mirrored demographic trends in the Malay peninsula. The use of the tin can to 'M

L e e ' s Law

preserve food during the American Civil War stoked a demand for tin, and the discovery of major deposits of stannous ore in the Malay states of Selangor and Perak set off a "tin rush," luring waves of Chinese immigrants to work the mines. There were, by i860, over 40,000 Chinese tin miners in Perak, more than the entire Malay population of the state. 5 By the turn of the twentieth century, the Malay peninsula was one of Britain's wealthiest colonies, thanks to tin and the thriving commerce of its principal ports: Singapore, Malacca, and Penang. In the years leading up to the Second World War, however, Malaya's economy was revolutionised by another lucrative product: rubber. For centuries, the peninsula had produced gutta-percha, a pungent form of wild rubber native to the region. But in the 1890s, British researchers introduced hardier Brazilian rubber trees, which thrived in the wet, warm Malayan climate to produce top-notch latex. At the same time, the invention of the inflatable tyre, combined with the mass production of the automobile, created a huge worldwide demand for rubber. By 1989, Malaya accounted for 40 per cent of the world's rubber production, and almost 60 per cent of its tin. 6 Together, rubber and tin changed the face of the peninsula, creating fabulous wealth and at the same time posing new headaches for colonial administrators. The new economy demanded better roads, railways, ports, and postal services in order to get the products to their markets. At the same time, official British policy favoured keeping the native Malays in their traditional farming and fishing kampongs (villages). Where to find the clerks, railwaymen, engineers, doctors, secretaries, functionaries, and teachers needed to keep the colony's infrastructure running? For all their industry, the Chinese workers who poured into the area to work in the tin mines and rubber plantations lacked one key skill: the ability to read and write English. The answer to this dilemma was to import literate workers from India. Because the huge subcontinent had long been part of the British empire, it was an ideal source of clerks and teachers who were fluent in English but did not need to be paid an Englishman's wages. Thus, while the vast majority of Indian immigrants worked on the rubber plantations, a small but important minority took up posts in the colonial

THE

CROSSROADS

administration. And it was the prospect of a job like this that lured a young Ceylonese Tamil with the improbable name of Victor Lord Joshua to sail across the Indian Ocean to the Malay peninsula. 7 Victor was born in 1887 in the village of Chankanai, on the Jaffna peninsula of Ceylon. His father was a doctor, originally a Hindu belonging to the Vellalar subcaste, who was converted to Christianity by American Methodist missionaries. Victor was unable to go into medicine, however, because of his poor exam results. Instead, he left home and set off for the distant shores of Malaya. Victor was in many ways the classic first-generation immigrant, a self-made man who forsook his native land and carved out a successful career by dint of hard work. Fluent in English, from a family and a country long adapted to the quirks of the British empire, Victor landed a job with the Malayan railway. He returned to Jaffna to marry Rose Soundramma, and the couple settled in the sleepy coastal town of Muar in the Malay state of Johor, where they had four children, two boys and two girls. Despite his devout Christian faith, Victor was not immune to the ancient prejudices of his native land. Although technically caste held no meaning for Christian Indians, he was proud of his high caste and fair skin. Like many Christian Tamils, Victor inherited a surname with biblical connotations. But he did not want his children to be saddled with what he considered a Jewish surname in a predominantly Muslim country. For his two daughters, Ellen Maheswari Joshua and Emily Thanapakiam Joshua, this did not pose a serious problem, because it was expected they would eventually marry and change their names. But his sons would carry the name for life, and pass it on to their sons i n turn. For that reason, Victor reversed the names of his sons, giving t h e m traditional Tamil surnames, but retaining Joshua as t h e i r Christian names. As such, he named his eldest son Joshua Samuel Mahadevan ("Great God") and his younger son Joshua Benjamin Jeyaretnam ("Precious Victory"). The third of four children, Jeyaretnam was born in Chankanai, Ceylon, on 5 January 1926, while his parents were on holiday f r o m their ,3

Lee's Law

home in Muar. By this time, his father worked under the British as a civil servant in the public works department; Rose took care of the children. As a result of their father's decision to reverse their names, the boys were known as Sam and Ben. This particularly pleased Jeyaretnam, who was fond of the biblical stoiy of Benjamin, the younger brother of Joseph. He would be known as Ben to friends and family for the rest of his life. Principled and pious, Victor held regular bible sessions for the family after dinner. "He was a stern man," Jeyaretnam recalled later. "That didn't mean he was unkind to us, but he was strict. He was a man of principles. For example, if you'd been given too much change [by a shopkeeper], you'd instantly give it back. But, he'd always check the change. It works both ways. He would admonish us, T o u can't trust anybody. Not even your own brother.' And he didn't trust anyone." 8
* * * *

Muar was a small town, spread out along the southern bank of the Muar river. The family lived in a small house with a red-tiled roof at Number 35, Jalan Daud, a quiet lorong (side street) in a neighbourhood populated largely by civil servants and their families. The front yard was shaded by a durian tree, whose pungent aroma wafted through the house as the heavy fruit ripened in the tropical sun. From the age of nine, Jeyaretnam rode his bicycle to Muar Government English School, a colonial brick schoolhouse which charged students $1.10 a month for books and tuition. Built in 1915, the school itself was a product of the colonial system, run by a British headmaster by the name of JR Taylor, who put on a weekly lantern- slide show for the boys. At the beginning of each year, the teacher would hand out brand new textbooks. Jeyaretnam loved getting the new books so much he used to open them up and buiy his nose between the pages, the better to inhale the intoxicating scent. The young Jeyaretnam proved to be an apt if occasionally troublesome studenthe recalls that his teacher once made him stand on his desk for four days in a row. Possibly his unrecorded misdeed was related to an unfortunate accident which took place when he was 11 or 13 years old. 14

THE

CROSSROADS

Rushing through the house, Jeyaretnam slammed his head into an open door, which struck him squarely on the right side of his face and permanently damaged the hearing in his right ear. On Sunday evenings, the family would stroll along the Tanjong, a quiet park where the Muar river empties into the Strait of Malacca. Here, with the placid waves washing against the rocky trees or snack on iced kachang and sour khana. In 1939, when Jeyaretnam was i3 years old, the family moved to Johor Bahru, a boisterous town on the tip of the Malay peninsula, connected by a short causeway to Singapore. Jeyaretnam attended Johor Bahru English College and, at the age of 16, was promoted to Senior Cambridge class ( 0 level track). That same year. Hitler invaded Poland, plunging Europe into bloody conflict. But while England was soon to face the horrors of bombing raids, the Malay peninsula seemed a world apart. A few days after war was declared, the Straits Times editorialised: At this distance from the scene of the battle, with our defences perfected and Japanese participation in the struggle on the side of Germany an extremely remote possibility, Malaya has little to fear. 9 This sense of complacency was reinforced by the British belief that Singapore was an impregnable fortress, invulnerable to attack. Historian Noel Barber puts it like this: The white man, the tuan, not only lived a life which the tropics of necessity made more than usually comfortable, he was also cocooned in a myth of utter security. It was not smugness, nor was it complacency. It went much deeper than that; it was an absolute conviction, carefully fostered by authority at home, even after Munich, even after September 1939, that nothingnothing on earthcould ever disturb the peace of Britain's "arsenal of democracy." A mother might send her sons to fight in Europe, they might die in that war with Germany, but meanwhile life would go on in Singapore as it had done since Raffles snatched the magic island from under the noses of the Dutch in 1819 shore, Jeyaretnam, his brother, and sisters would play games under the banyan

'5

L e e ' s Law

This mood had spread throughout Malaya. It touched not only the 18,000 Europeans, but also the Asians who had been caught up in the fortune fever. For the polyglot population included a,000,000 Malays, almost as many Chinesewho concentrated on trade, many at that time having no real roots in the countryand 1,000,000 Indians and Tamils, who worked on the rubber estates and the railways, plus Armenians, Arabs, Javanese, Burmese. Malaya absorbed them all tolerantly. But to them war was not only unlikely, it was an event they did not even comprehend. 10 Before the sun rose on 8 December 194.1, a sinister roar rumbled through the skies of Singapore, shattering the tropical calm. Jeyaretnam woke up with a start. He thought it was a thunderstorm rattling the windows. In fact, he had been awakened by the disintegration of an empire.
* * *

"Within hours of the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, Tokyo landed three Japanese divisions on the north-eastern coast of the Malay peninsula and dispatched 17 bombers to raid Singapore. Less than two days later, the mighty British dreadnought Prince of Walespride of the fleet, symbol of British naval power, considered so fearsome that she bore the nickname "HMS Unsinkable"was attacked by a swarm of Japanese bombers and torpedoed to the bottom of the South China Sea, along with her cruiser escort Repulse. Within a month, Tokyo's troops (the infamous "bicycle brigade") blitzed down the mangrove swamps and backwoods villages of Malaya, crossed the causeway at Johor Bahru, and invaded the northern coast of Singaporewhose defences were weak because the British commander. Lieutenant-General Arthur Percival, believed that the peninsula was impassable and that any attack would come by sea. Although his supply lines were stretched thin and he was outnumbered three to one, the wily Japanese commander, Lieutenant-General Tomoyuki Yamashita, bluffed Percival into surrendering his 90,000strong garrison in order to avoid bloodshed. Suddenly, Singaporethe impregnable fortress of the Easthad fallen. 16

THE

CROSSROADS

The psychological impact was i m m e n s e :

The Japanese campaign and the fall of Singapore came at such lightning speed that most of the local population were stunned. Their faith in the optimistic wartime propaganda in the Straits Times remained undimmed to the end. After the news of the sinking of the Prince of Wales and Repulse, they still did not believe Singapore was in danger. When Johor was overrun, this was seen as a tactical retreat from which the British forces would regroup and counterattack. Even after the fall of Singapore, people expected the British to re-invade from Java. It was some time before the realisation sank in that the colonial regime had collapsed. 11

The people of Malaya may not have loved the British, but they bitterly r e s e n t e d the Japanese " l i b e r a t i o n . " Days a f t e r s u r r e n d e r , the Japanese kempeitai (military police) embarked o n a purge of supposedly a n t i - J a p a n e s e e l e m e n t s . T h o u s a n d s of S i n g a p o r e a n s , mostly Chinese, were herded into registration camps and interrogated. Those who gave the w r o n g answers were sent to prison, shot, or even taken away in boats and dumped into the sea. At least 5,000 Chinese civilians died in the first week of occupation, and possibly ten times that n u m ber. 1 2 The goal of Japanese invasion was control of Malaya's rubber plantations and mineral resources. But the capture of Singapore was such a major propaganda victory that the Japanese decided to make the city renamed Syonan, or light of the s o u t h a permanent colony. One of the first decrees of the Japanese was that schoolchildren learn to speak the language of their new masters. Many Malayan students were reluctant to learn JapaneseJeyaretnam's older brother Mahadevan, who was then a f i r s t - y e a r m e d i c a l student i n S i n g a p o r e , actually r e f u s e d b u t Jeyaretnam decided he might as well try. "I was prepared to make good to improve my prospects and advancement," he says. "I thought, if I can get a job by learning Japanese, why shouldn't I?" At the age of 16, Jeyaretnam picked up Japanese q u i c k l y s o quickly, in fact, that he was offered a job as a teacher i n his old h o m e town of

'7

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Muar. To his disappointment, however, his parents refused to let h i m live on his own. Instead, he got a job in the local census bureau, and later as an interpreter in the Transportation Department, where his father worked. The Japanese attitude towards Indians in Malaya was initially more tolerant than it was towards the Chinese, in part because many overseas Indians supported their native country's drive for independence, and quietly resented the haughtiness of their British overlords. Almost overnight, Jeyaretnam had gone f r o m schoolboy to civil administrator. It was a heady experience. "I was the one who had the ear of the chief," he remembers. "The other staff had to go through m e . " But the job was not without its perils. While Jeyaretnam was working at the Transportation Department, his Japanese superiors discovered that some tyres had b e e n stolen f r o m a warehouse. The kempeitai were called in, and questioned two of Jeyaretnam's colleagues. T h e n they said they wanted to talk to him. "I was terrified," he remembers. "My boss told them I had nothing to do with it, but they insisted on asking me some questions." Fifty years later, the veiy mention of the word kempeitai is enough to make Singaporeans of a certain age shiver. Masters of interrogation, the kempeitai instilled fear in the civilian population through a campaign of intimidation and torture. Singaporeans suspected of anti-Japanese activity were beaten or murdered. No one knew who might be an informant, which bred an atmosphere of paranoia: Owning a radio, criticising the Japanese, even grumbling about high prices, were political offences. One word from an informer could mean arrest and some people were denounced to the kempeitai out of sheer personal spite. No one dared speak up on behalf of the accused. Those arrested were imprisoned without trial in terrible conditions, starved and often tortured, unless their families managed to purchase their release with bribes. The whole period of the Occupation was a time of rumour, fear and secrecy, suspicion and informing, when it was unsafe to voice any opinions at all. 13

18

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CROSSROADS

Realising that any effort to avoid questioning would be interpreted as a sign of guilt, Jeyaretnam immediately set off for the kempeitai office, his heart pounding in his chest as he rode his bicycle through the streets of Johor. To Jeyaretnam's immense relief, the interrogation was mild. A s he pedalled his bicycle home, he came across his mother out on the street, sobbing with fear and grief. She had heard that the kempeitai had taken Jeyaretnam, and had gone wandering through Johor to look for him. However painful, the Japanese victory was liberating in one sense. It showed the people of Malaya that their British overlords, who had dominated the peninsula for 150 years, were not invincible, and that colonial rule was not necessarily part of the natural order. It demonstrated, in effect, that merdekaindependencewas thinkable.

'9

T H E A F T E R M A T H OF W A R

Conditions in Singapore during the Japanese occupation were far more brutal than in Johor Bahru. Food was so scarce that emaciated Singaporeans hunted for grains of rice that had fallen between floorboards. The punishment for listening to illegal radios was to have pencils hammered into the ears. Roughly 13,000 Allied soldiers were imprisoned at Changi jail, which had been designed to house 600 men. As many as 50,000 Singaporean Chinese perished in the purges. The nightmare officially ended with the Japanese surrender on 15 August 1945, but the task of restoring order and jump-starting the shattered economy was immense. Singapore was a shambles. The railway and port had been destroyed. The harbour was filled with sunken wrecks. Inflation was rampant; rice was scarce. Electricity, water, and gas supplies were all shut down. While the shattered colony began to rebuild, Jeyaretnam was at last able to finish his studies. Now 19 years old, he attended St Andrew's School in Singapore, where he sat the exams he'd waited four years to take: English language, English literature, mathematics, history, geography, religious knowledge, and Latin. After graduation, he taught at St Andrew's for a year as an assistant housemaster while he took a correspondence course from London University. Under pressure from his parents, Jeyaretnam applied to medical school, but was rejectedto his immense relief. Although his grandfather and his brother had both pursued medical careers, Jeyaretnam had never been interested in medicine. For as long as he could remember, 20

T H E A F T E R M A T H OF W A R

S37 he had wanted to be a lawyer. Jeyaretnam traced his fascination with the law to an incident that took place when he was just i3 years old. The family next door had an attractive grown-up daughter, who one day accused the patriarch of another family of molesting her. The case caused a sensation in Muar not only because of the charge, but because the families involved were both respectable Ceylonese burghers (Christianised Ceylonese of mixed Dutch and Tamil descent). To defend himself against the charges, the accused man hired one of Singapore's top barristers, Tampoe Phillips another Jaffna Tamil. To an impressionable i3-year-old, Phillips cut an impossibly glamorous figure. Jeyaretnam was riveted by the case. "I decided that was the life for me," he said later. "I liked the publicity and the glamour of being a lawyer." 1 For the rest of his life, Jeyaretnam would seldom shy from the public spotlight. This was partly because he realised that publicity is the oxygen of opposition politics. But it was also because he enjoyed being at the centre of attention. After completing his correspondence course, Jeyaretnam was eligible to attend University College, London. In 1948, at the age of 2,2,, he booked a passage to England to study law. Despite the hardships of the post-war years, London was an exhilarating place for an idealistic young man. At University College, Jeyaretnam stayed in Connaught Hall, where he met students from all over the world: Tibet, the West Indies, Africa, India, and Pakistan. During his first year, Jeyaretnam became friends with a British student named Philip Woodfield (who later became the permanent secretary of the Northern Ireland Office.) Woodfield introduced him to literature, and fifty years later Jeyaretnam could still reel off the authors they admired: Proust, Guy de Maupassant, Voltaire, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Fielding, Conrad, and EM Forster. The carefree high-jinks associated with undergraduate life were not part of Jeyaretnam's experience, however. Jeyaretnam and his peers were older than the other students, their educations having been

L e e ' s Law

disrupted by the war. Many, indeed, had s e e n action or even commanded troops. Now they were tiying to make up for lost time, and had little inclination for fun and games. In addition, Jeyaretnam was a man on a mission. A devout Anglican, he strongly believed in his Christian obligation to help those in need, as he was to write years later: I have, for myself, accepted that if one takes one's religion, and in my case Christianity, seriously, the highest duty in one's life is to love God and that in practical terms means to serve Him. Jesus explains quite clearly how one serves God and that is to serve his fellow mento attend to the needs of those around him. It means trying to do something to help the poor, sick and aged and to give a voice to those who are unable to speak for themselves and to give them the dignity as children of God.2 At University College, Jeyaretnam was to discover a way to channel this impulse, a tool that would amplify it and give it strength and power. That tool was the law. As he pursued his studies, Jeyaretnam began to see the rule of law as the cornerstone of modern civilisation, and he embraced the principles of justice with an unshakable passiona passion that would burn inside him for the rest of his life. He was particularly inspired by the reformist ideals of the eccentric legal philosopher Jeremy Bentham (whose mummified corpse remains on display, in a glass case, on campus). At first glance, the years immediately following World War II hardly seem like fertile ground for idealists. Whole civilisations had been consumed by fire and hatred; the conflict spawned atrocities so terrible that new words had to be coined to describe them. On the other hand, the ravages of war meant that societies had to be rebuilt. Surely it was now possible for rational leaders to rebuild them in a more humane, enlightened manner. For Jeyaretnam, no single event captured the scale of new possibilities as much as the Labour government's introduction of the National Health Service in 1946. Based on the premise of free, universal health care, the NHS symbolised the values of a progressive society

T H E A F T E R M A T H OF W A R

where people cared for each other and where the government helped those in need. Jeyaretnam was also fascinated by several of the Labour Party's leaders, especially by the minister of health, Aneurin Bevan. The son of a Welsh miner, Bevan left school at the age of i3 to toil in the coal mines. He later became an editor at the left-leaning Tribune (where he worked with George Orwell) before joining Clement Atlee's cabinet. Jeyaretnam got a taste of Bevan's eloquence at a lecture at the London School of Economics. "The hall was packed," he remembers. "Some Tory hecklers tried to shout him down. But Bevan never lost his step. He dealt with them masterfullyeveryone laughed and without losing his temper." During his second year at college, Jeyaretnam met an attractive young law student at a Student Christian Movement tea party. He was instantly smitten. Although he did his best to steal discreet glances between sips of tea and mouthfuls of cake, he could not take his eyes off Margaret Cynthia Walker. The two students hailed from different worlds. Charming and eloquent, with movie-idol looks and a thousand-watt grin, Jeyaretnam had grown up in a turbulent, multi-racial colony where the mercury seldom crept below 25 degrees centigrade. Margaret, on the other hand, was just 19 years old. She had been raised in Bournemouth, a seaside resort on England's southern coast, the daughter of a solicitor's clerk. A s their friendship bloomed, however, the pair realised they had much in common. They both had suffered the destruction of warJeyaretnam had survived the Japanese occupation, while Margaret's elder brother Kenneth had plunged to his death in a Hurricane fighter during the disastrous British raid on Dieppe. They both loved the law. They both shared a deep religious conviction that it was their duty as Christians to help the disadvantaged. Over the next two years, Jeyaretnam made clear his hope to marry her. For Margaret, however, the prospect was daunting. Wedding Jeyaretnam would mean leaving her home and family far behind, and setting off for a distant colony on the other side of the world. There were also practical considerations: Margaret was a year behind Jeyaretnam at University College. She anticipated three more years of apprentice work S3

L e e ' s Law

in a solicitor's office before she would be able to practise law. In addition, her mother was ill. When Jeyaretnam obtained his LLB and was called to the bar at Gray's Inn, he asked Margaret to come to Singapore with him. Regretfully, she declined. Jeyaretnam took the boat back to Singapore in 1951 alone.
*

The city that Jeyaretnam returned to in 1951 was a chaotic, lusty, sprawling metropolis. The colony was beset by food shortages, overcrowding, unemployment, poverty, tuberculosis, opium addiction, gang warfare, inflation, malnutrition, and constant strikes. Almost two-thirds of the population was housed in sub-standard conditions, ranging f r o m squalid shophouses in Chinatown to tin-roofed squatters' huts in Jurong. Conditions in shophouses were particularly deplorable: Originally built to accommodate a shop on the ground floor and house the people who worked there, these buildings themselves began to grow. Extra stories were tacked on, bringing them usually up to four, and extensions were added at the back. As more and more immigrants came, first the houses and then individual rooms were divided and subdivided into a dark warren of tiny cubiclesairless holes with room in them for little more than a bed. Thus buildings originally designed for one family were made to house 10 families or more, without privacy or sunlight, with a single tap, a single latrine, a single cooking space. For lack of any other place the street became dining room, meeting place and children's playground.3 The misery rekindled old ethnic animosities, particularly between the Malays and the Chinese. The labour movement attracted thousands of previously indifferent recruits from workers eager for better wages and conditions. The chaos and deprivation proved an ideal breedingground for communism, particularly among the Chinese masses who looked approvingly to Mao Tse-Tung's great victory on the mainland in 1949.

T H E A F T E R M A T H OF W A R

Singapore's political situation had also become more complicated as a result of a fateful decision by the British colonial authorities to administer the island separately from the rest of the peninsula. The decision was the fruit of the British desire to hold on to Singapore as a naval base and free port, while giving more independence to the Malay states on the peninsula. Because the population of these territories was dominated by the Malays, British officials worried that the addition of Singapore, with its predominantly Chinese population, would destabilise the political equation. Accordingly, in April 1946, Singapore became a crown colony, administered by a British governor, while the other peninsular states were joined together in a Malayan Union. Malay leaders bitterly opposed the union, however, because it stripped power from the Sultans, and gave immigrant Chinese and Indian workers the same rights as the indigenous Malays. They began a campaign of strikes, boycotts, and demonstrations to force colonial authorities to abandon the arrangement. Bowing to the popular pressure, Britain backed down, and in February 1948 the union was dissolved in favour of a loose-knit Federation of Malay States, which guaranteed special rights for Malays over other races, and restored the power of the Sultans. This in turn generated resentment and suspicion among the Chinese population, and in May the Communist Party of Malaya (CPM), which had waged a guerrilla campaign against the Japanese during the war, took up arms and vowed to overthrow British rule. In response, colonial authorities in Singapore and Malaya declared a state of emergency. The emergency was to last for 12 years. In a sense, the CPM's guerrilla war reflected the growing turmoil and thirst for independence in the region. All over South-East Asia, communist guerrillas were struggling to liberate their peoples from the colonial yoke. In Indochina, Ho Chi Minh was battling against the French; in Indonesia, a young firebrand named Sukarno was waging guerrilla warfare against the Dutch. Suddenly the creaking European empires found themselves on the defensive, scrambling to justify a system of exploitation that had gone unchallenged for centuries.

S5

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British authorities in Malaya pursued a two-pronged strategy, waging jungle warfare against the rebels while depriving them of support by resettling rural villagers, mostly Chinese squatters, into "new villages," where they had access to schools, clinics, running water, and electricity. At the same time, the British tried to blunt the communists' appeal by agreeing that the territories should ultimately become independent. The CPM inflicted significant casualties during the 12-year emergency, including the spectacular assassination of British high commissioner Henry Gurney near Kuala Lumpur in 1951. But despite this setback the British were generally successful in isolating the guerrillas. The emergency did produce one crucial legacy, however, which was to have a profound impact on Singapore: it instilled colonial authorities with an acute sense of paranoia about communism. Ever fearful of communist subversion, colonial administrators imposed tough measures to curb the insurrection and maintain order. They banned political meetings except during elections, and placed restrictions on meetings, processions, societies, and strikes. The police gained special powers to search and close schools. Newspapers were required to obtain publishing licences, which had to be renewed every year. Most importantly, the new rules allowed colonial authorities to detain suspected subversives without trial. Between 1948 and 1952, about 1,200 Singaporeans were arrested under the emergency regulations. 4 These measures outlasted both their colonial inventors and the threat of communism itself. Indeed, the repressive apparatus inherited from the emergency was to prove extremely useful to future governments of Singapore. At the same time, the conflict fostered an atmosphere of suspicion that persuaded many Singaporeans to steer clear of anything that might get them in trouble with the authorities. Although it was now administered separately from the federation, Singapore was hardly immune from the ethnic and ideological fever that gripped the region. One of the most startling examples of the tensions that lay below the city's surface was a peculiar episode that became known as the Maria Hertogh affair. Born in Java in 1987, Maria Hertogh was the daughter of a Dutch army sergeant and his wife, who were both Catholic. In the confusion 6

T H E A F T E R M A T H OF W A R

surrounding the Japanese invasion of the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), Maria's mother gave the four-year-old girl to their Muslim maid, Aminah binte Mohammad, for safe-keeping. Maria's parents were captured by the Japanese, and spent the duration of the conflict in prison camps. After the war, unable to locate Aminah or their daughter, they gave Maria up for dead and moved back to the Netherlands. In 1949, however, they learned that Maria had survived. Unfortunately, Maria, who was then i3 years old and spoke only Malay, wanted to stay with her adopted family. Her birth parents took their case to court in Singapore, demanding that she be returned to them. The case of the "jungle girl" polarised the colony. Should Maria, now a practising Muslim, remain with her adopted family in Singapore or go to the Netherlands with her Catholic birth parents? The colonial authorities vacillated: first, they placed her in the care of the Social Welfare Department, then let her stay with her adopted family, who quickly betrothed her to a Singaporean Malay, hoping authorities would be reluctant to interfere in a Muslim wedding. Ultimately, however, a British judge annulled her marriage and ruled that she should be reunited with her birth parents. A few days later, the Malay newspaper printed a photograph of Maria being led into a convent and kneeling in front of the Virgin Mary. Devout Muslim Malays were outraged. They regarded Maria as an innocent girl who had been ripped away from her husband, her family, and her religion, who had been forced to kneel before an alien god. The sensational photographs, accompanied by text which depicted Maria as weeping with frustration and sorrow, triggered two days of bloody riots. Roving street gangs attacked Europeans and Eurasians at random. When the smoke cleared, 18 people were dead and 173 injured. 5
* * *

This turbulent environment became the backdrop for Jeyaretnam's legal career, a career marked by an extraordinarily rapid rise. He returned to Singapore in 1952 and joined the legal service as a magistrate, presiding over traffic cases. Within two months, at the age of 25,
S27

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he was promoted to criminal district judgethe youngest ever in Singapore. Jeyaretnam's independent streak was clear from the beginning. One of his first decisions involved a man named Tan A h Inn, who was charged under the Dangerous Drugs Ordinance with "frequenting an opium den." 6 Colonial authorities had long tolerated opium as a way to deaden the backbreaking misery of Chinese coolies. It was also a handy source of revenue, contributing almost half the colony's income up to the mid-1930s. 7 By the 1930s, however, administrators reversed course and imposed restrictions on the drug. Unfortunately, the opium trade flourished anew during occupation. After the war, alarmed by a sharp rise in opium addiction, the British waged an aggressive campaign to crack down on the drug, and court dockets grew thick with opium cases. Because of the shadowy nature of the trade, prosecutors habitually charged suspects with the crime of "frequenting" opium dens, even if they had only been observed there once. In this case, Tan A h Inn had indeed been caught in an opium den, but there was no evidence that he had visited it more than once, Jeyaretnam could not bring himself to agree that this constituted "frequenting," and accordingly set Tan free. Jeyaretnam's r u l i n g w h i c h was upheld on appealwas a real headache for the government's anti-opium crusade. Dozens of similar cases were thrown out of court, and the police had to revise their strategy. But Jeyaretnam was unrepentant. You've got to construe criminal provisions very strictly. If you say a man frequents a place, you can't say that he's only been there once. It's just taking the literal meaning of the word. I wasn't prepared to accept things as they were. I was appointed a judicial officer to interpret the law. I'm trying to do my job. I wasn't concerned with a government policy that they had to eradicate opium smoking. If that is so, they should amend the ordinance. I'm tiying to be true to my profession and my job. If I think the law is like that, I have to stick to what it says.8 Jeyaretnam continued to rise through the legal service. In 1954, he

T H E A F T E R M A T H OF W A R

was transferred to the civil courts, and the following year was appointed deputy public prosecutor. Meanwhile, with typical tenacity, he wrote to Margaret every week. In ^ 5 5 , having earned three months' leave from the legal service, he visited her in England. Once again, Jeyaretnam asked her to marry him and, once again, Margaret was torn. Her mother was still illthe death of her brother Kenneth had been a devastating experience, and she never quite recovered from the shock. Margaret was reluctant to rob her of a daughter so soon. What was she to do? The answer arrived in an unusual way. One day, walking along the beach in Bournemouth, the couple came across a wooden hoarding, on which someone had scrawled, in bold letters,
TRUST TN GOD AND GO.

Jeyaretnam and Margaret both took the graffito as a good omen. Margaret finally agreed to leave England for Singapore and marry him. Thrilled, Jeyaretnam returned to Singapore-, good to her word, Margaret followed in October ^ 5 6 . They were married in February 1957. The courtship had been a long hauleight years in the makingbut the two were very much in love. Indeed, Margaret was to prove an enormously dedicated wife and mother.
* * * *

In r957, Singaporeans looked across the causeway with envious eyes as the Federation of Malaya, under prime minister Tunku Abdul Rahman, declared independence from Britain. Although Singapore had been kept out of the federation in order not to upset the new nation's delicate political balance, Britain promised that Singapore would be allowed to join eventually. The headache for British authorities was how to achieve this without handing control to the communists. Singaporewith its huge Chinese population, massive overcrowding, and powerful unionswas a tempting target for communist agitators. To prepare Singapore for self-rule and eventual independence, colonial authorities set up a legislative assembly with 3? seats, with a chief minister who would act as the people's highest elected representative, in concert with a British governor who would be appointed by the Colonial Office. A n election was held in A p r i l 1955 to i m p l e m e n t the new S39

L e e ' s Law

constitution. The result was an unprecedented episode of election fever; and, to almost everyone's surprise, the victor was the left-wing Labour Front. The Labour Front was headed by a renowned criminal lawyer by the name of David Marshall, a pipe-smoking Iraqi Jew whose family had first come to Singapore as date-traders. Eloquent, idealistic, and flamboyant, Marshall was a brilliant courtroom advocate but temperamentally unsuited to the role of chief minister, and constantly clashed with the British governor, Sir John Nicoll. Marshall had campaigned on a platform of repealing the emergency regulations, which he considered offensive and degrading. But once in power, faced by riots and communist agitationthere were nearly 3oo strikes that year 9 he discovered that he could not maintain control without them. It soon became clear that the only thing Singaporeans could agree on was that the British should go. Marshall led a delegation of local leaders to London for constitutional talks with the Colonial Office, demanding full internal self-rule. Negotiations broke down, however, and Marshall resigned from the Assembly on his return to Singapore in June 1956. Marshall's successor at the Labour Front, Lim Yew Hock, was more successful in his negotiations with the British. After a long series of talks in London, Britain agreed to turn over management of Singapore's domestic affairs, while retaining control over defence and foreign affairs. A new constitution provided for a 5 1 - m e m b e r Legislative Assembly, while internal security was to be overseen by an Internal Security Council, composed of representatives from Singapore, Britain, and the federation. The first election under the new constitution was held in May 1959. It was a particularly chaotic and exciting time. A fiery young labour lawyer named Hariy Lee Kuan Yew had started a radical new political group, the People's Action Party (PAP), which agitated for independence and attacked the government's various misdeeds, including the unpopular (and undemocratic) emergency regulations and the Preservation of Public Security Ordinance, which gave authorities the power to lock up "subversives" without trial. 3o

T H E A F T E R M A T H OF W A R

The PAP's stand against these repressive measures gained it many admirers, including Jeyaretnam. Although his position as a prosecutor meant that he could not take part in politics, he had long opposed the various undemocratic laws enacted by the British. Jeyaretnam also thought highly of Lee Kuan Yew's abilities. Lee had appeared in court before him to argue a case, and Jeyaretnam was impressed with his performance. "The excitement was therethat we should be independent," he says. "I was supportive of Lee and his party and what he stood for in those days." The PAP kicked off the election campaign in February 1959 with a pair of sensational allegationsthat the Labour Front had received a secret S$5oo,ooo gift from the Eisenhower administration, and that education minister Chew Swee Kee had appropriated the money for his own use. Referring to "public disgust and loss of public confidence," Lee called on the government to resign. For the Labour Front, the scandal was doubly devastating. First, it implied that minister Chew had abused his position for personal gain. Second, and more damaging, it implied that the Labour Front was an American proxy. Given the geopolitical intrigues swirling around Singapore at the time, this charge if truewould spell the end of the party. There was another wrinkle, however. Lee's source of information about the "gift" was a burly Eurasian lawyer by the name of Kenneth Byrne, who was a founding member of the PAP and was destined to become one of its future ministers. Byrne had been a high-ranking government official until September 1958, when he resigned from his position and joined Lee's legal firm, Lee & Lee. Barely a week after joining the firm, Byrne had received an anonymous telephone call from a disgruntled Income Tax officer who had seen Chew Swee Kee's income tax file, which contained details about the gift. The anonymous caller also said his superior in the Income Tax Department knew about the gift, and had blocked any investigations into it. This leak of a government minister's confidential tax records to a political opponent constituted a scandal in itself. To defuse the uproar 3i

L e e ' s Law

over Lee's allegationsand to discourage further awkward leakschief minister Lim Yew Hock convened a commission of inquiry shortly before the elections. The commission was ordered to investigate the charges and to determine how the information had fallen into Lee's hands. Jeyaretnam, who was now a prosecutor, was appointed to represent the Income Tax Department before the c o m m i s s i o n a n d , i n essence, to defend the department against the charge of leaking confidential information. A s it turned out, there was no dispute that minister Chew had received a huge sumS$70i,593-47, to be e x a c t a s a political gift f r o m "foreign wellwishers" of the Singapore Labour Front. 1 0 Nor was there any doubt that the Income Tax Department knew about the money i n fact, minister Chew had written two letters to the Comptroller of Income Tax to explain that it was a gift. The source of the leak was more problematic. Byrne testified that h i s mystery caller had identified himself as a " M r Stone." Two m o n t h s b e f o r e the c o m m i s s i o n was convened, i n fact, a senior i n c o m e tax o f f i cial of the same name had died of a heart a t t a c k a tragic circumstance w h i c h had the happy result, f o r Byrne, of r e n d e r i n g h i s t e s t i m o n y i n c a pable of contradiction. Jeyaretnam was naturally suspicious of this r e m a r k a b l e c o i n c i d e n c e , and did h i s best to expose the w e a k n e s s e s of the story. For example, Byrne t e s t i f i e d that h i s caller had s p o k e n clearly and distinctly w i t h a n English accent. But other w i t n e s s e s t e s t i f i e d that Stone had a p r o n o u n c e d A u s t r a l i a n accent, a n d t e n d e d to m u m b l e a n d slur h i s w o r d s . T h e c o m m i s s i o n ' s f i n a l report, w r i t t e n by justice Murray Buttrose, i n c l u d e d a s c a t h i n g i n d i c t m e n t of B y r n e ' s b e h a v i o r :

There can, in my view, be no justification or excuse whatever for not reporting this grave and serious leakage of secret information to the proper authorities at once and the failure to do so must immeasurably detract from the weight to be attached to Mr. Byrne's evidence with regard to that m a t t e r . . . A s a result of the delay any hope of tracking the offender has disappeared and, if was an official of the Income Tax Department, he is no doubt still at large in the Department and

3*

THE AFTERMATH

OF W A R

presumably prepared to divulge further secret information on request or voluntarily. By the naming of a dead man a living one has been protected, a situation for which Mr. Byrne must accept full responsibility ... A more deplorable and scandalous leakage of confidential information it is difficult to conceive. 11 The Straits Times, which was having its own battles with the PAP, made the most of the commissioner's condemnation, running headlines such as JUDGE
FLAYS

BYRNE.12 Politically, however, the revelation of

the gift proved fatal to the Labour Frontand would ultimately change the course of Singapore's history. On 3o May, the PAP scored a decisive victory at the polls, sweeping 43 of the 5r seats in parliament. At the age of 35, Lee Kuan Yew became the island's first prime minister. Although the British still maintained control over defence and foreign affairs, Lee was firmly in charge of Singapore's destiny. He would remain the nation's patriarch until the end of the century.

S33

DISILLUSION

Despite the political turmoil and the anti-colonial fever, Singapore's new leaders were anxious to reassure the world they were not revolutionaries. Indeed, many of the trappings of British authority remained: judges still pronounced their sentences in ringlets and ermine; the Singapore Cricket Club continued to play on the greensward of the Padang; and the bronze statue of the colony's founder. Sir Stamford Raffles, stood unmolested in the shadow of Victoria Hall. A tourist guide printed by the Ministiy of Culture boasted of a "modern city throbbing with life and vitality," amid advertisements for plush hotels and fancy watches. 1 Male tourists were advised to wear a coat and tie for dinner, and hotels advertised their cable addresses. Behind the veneer of continuity, however, the new socialist government quickly set to work sandpapering the city's rough edges. Nowhere was this more evident than the assault on what the PAP labeled "yellow culture." Portraying its efforts as a heroic struggle to save the ancient virtues of the East from the decadent vices of the West, the Ministiy of Culture embarked on a crusade to "eliminate sex-obsessed culture and all activities which are detrimental to a new and healthy society and culture" by cracking down on brothels, massage parlors, strip-tease shows, racist films, lurid paperback novels, and juke boxes. The result, in the words of one observer, was to make the boisterous city "as dull and respectable as an Australian Sunday." 2 But although it went little remarked at the time, the campaign also represented a significant assault on free expression a l t h o u g h
34

sex shows

are,

DISILLUSION

admittedly, the most difficult sort of expression to defend. The crackdown drew its share of critics. In November i960, professor D] Enright, a British scholar and poet, gave a lecture at the University of Malaya on "Robert Graves and the Decline of Modernism." Before discussing modernism, however, Enright criticised the government campaign to stamp out yellow culture. The idea of instituting "a sarong culture, complete with pantun competitions and so forth," was as ridiculous as England bringing back maypoles and Morris dancers, Enright declared. Enright's lecture was sensationally reported in the next day's Straits Times under the banner headline,
VULTURES. "HANDS OFF" CHALLENGE TO CULTURE

That same day he was summoned to the Ministry of Labour

and Law, where he was upbraided by the acting minister. He was then handed a letter accusing him of meddling in local politics: We have not time for asinine sneers by passing aliens about the futility of 'sarong culture complete with pantun competitions' particularly when it comes from beatnik professors ... You are being paid handsomely to do the job which you are presumably qualified to do, and not to enter into the field of local politics which you are unqualified to participate in. You would do well to leave such matters to local citizens. It is their business to solve these problems as they think fit. They have to live and die in this country. You will be packing your bags and seeking green pastures elsewhere if your gratuitous advice on these matters should land us in a mess. The days are gone when birds of passage from Europe or elsewhere used to make it a habit of participating from their superhuman heights of European civilisation.3 The interesting thing about this particular storm in a teacup was that many Singaporeans sympathised with Enright, and weren't shy about saying so. More than 500 students affirmed a resolution condemning the government's attempt "to strangle free discussion in the University and to cow an individual into silence for expressing views which do not coincide with official ones," and demanded "the immediate withdrawal

L e e ' s Law

and cessation of such threats." A Chinese-language newspaper criticised the government's unsporting tone. Workers' Party founder David Marshall encouraged Enright to sue the government for defamation. Meanwhile, Jeyaretnam's early enthusiasm for the PAP regime was fast evaporating. The Chew Swee Kee scandal demonstrated Lee's willingness to play political hardball with his political opponents. Lee had also demonstrated a toxic attitude toward the press. In 1959, two weeks before the election that swept the PAP to power, he warned reporters: Any newspaper that tries to sour up or strain relations between the Federation and Singapore after May 3o will go in for subversion. Any editor, leader writer, subeditor, or reporter that goes along this line will be taken in under the Preservation of Public Security Ordinance. We shall put him in and keep him in.4 Jeyaretnam's misgivings were soon reinforced. One of the PAP's first official acts in power was to cut the paycheques of all government workers by slashing the "variable allowance"a cost-of-living allowance paid to civil servants on top of their salary. The draconian cuts affected the lives of thousands of Singaporeans at a time when money was tight and jobs were scarce. A police inspector, for example, saw his salary tumble from S$i,?69 a month to S$94o a month, a drop of 35 per cent. 5 Controversy over the pay cut reverberated through the island. A n enterprising fruit seller named Ng Say Thuan even asked a judge to reduce his alimony payments because, he said, the civil servants who made up the bulk of his customers were buying less fruit. 6 (His request was denied.) Far from being apologetic, however, prime minister Lee Kuan Yew declared that civil servants should go down "on bended knees and thank their gods that their souls have been spared." 7 Outraged civil servants formed an action committee, known as the Council of Joint Action, to protest the cuts. The council's chairman, a technical assistant in the Telecommunications Department named Frederick Vyramuttu Rajendra, accused Lee of mounting a campaign of "sustained exaggeration." He continued: 36

DISILLUSION

The Council will not be held responsible for the loss of confidence and efficiency that must surely result from a series of statements which appear to be a public denunciation by the Government of the Civil Service ... 8 Rajendra's comments were quite mild compared to the overheated rhetoric that typically emanated from Singapore union leaders in the fifties. But the rules had changed. The next day, complaining that Bajendra's comments demonstrated "veiled insolence," finance minister Goh Keng Swee suspended Rajendra for insubordination. "The Government will not permit a situation," Goh said, "in which its employees, instead of resorting to well-established channels of consultation and negotiation ... make use of the public platform to criticise Government policies." 9 Rajendra's suspension was front-page news. It was one thing for a government to confront its critics. But this government seemed bent on hounding them. Prime minister Lee convened a special tribunal to determine Rajendra's punishment, appointing justice FA Chua, a High Court judge, as chairman. 1 0 Barely a week later, however, the government announced a new chairman: Tan Boon Teik, the deputy registrar of the Supreme Court. 1 1 Jeyaretnam and Tan Boon Teik had once been good friends. They had studied law at London University together, and had both signed on with Singapore's legal serviceJeyaretnam in 1953, and Tan three years later. In fact, Tan had been the best man at Jeyaretnam's wedding in 1957. But a chill crept into their relationship as a result of the Rajendra affair. To Jeyaretnam's dismay, Tan's tribunal declared Rajendra guilty of insubordination and demoted him, docking his paycheque for two years. 1 2 A few months later. Tan was promoted to a new postDirector of Legal Aid. Jeyaretnam was convinced the promotion was a reward for "delivering the goods" on Rajendra. Jeyaretnam was also upset by the intrusion of politics in his own department. In December 1959, just a few months after the PAP took power, the government reorganised the public prosecutor's office, creating five new positions of "senior state counsel." The new positions

37

L e e ' s Law

were ranked Grade F, a grade above Jeyaretnam's own position of state counsel. Although Jeyaretnam was the most senior state counsel in the department, he was passed over for the promotion. He felt certain that the reason for his non-promotion was his aggressive defence of the Income Tax Department during the Chew Swee Kee hearings, which had earned him Lee's displeasure. "I got veiy angiy," he said later. "I said, 'This is the thin end of the wedge.'" Jeyaretnam made an appointment to see his boss, advocate general Ahmad Ibrahim, and threatened to resign. Ahmad begged him not to. As an incentive for Jeyaretnam to stay, Ahmad upgraded the post of first civil district judge to Grade F, and offered Jeyaretnam the position. Mollified, Jeyaretnam stayed on. After all, he now had a family to supp o r t h i s first son, Kenneth, had been born in March 1959, and Jeyaretnam was mindful of his new obligations. Beyond the politics of the legal service, the thing that most disturbed Jeyaretnam about the new government was its decision to abolish the juiy system, except in cases involving the death penalty. Trial by a jury of one's peers is often considered a cornerstone of democracy and the rule of law. But prime minister Lee believed the institution did not work in Singapore a conviction that stemmed from the first case of his legal career, when he defended four men accused of murdering a Royal Air Force sergeant during the Maria Hertogh riots. Lee won acquittals for all four, but his victory left him with "grave doubts about the practical value of the jury system for Singapore." 1 3 Although judges traditionally avoid controversy, Jeyaretnam did not keep his thoughts to himself. In November 1962, he gave a weekend speech to the YMCA's men's luncheon, entitled "Law and Public Opinion," during which he criticised the church for remaining silent about public affairs: If men of good will, actuated by the love of their fellow beings, remain quiescent, then the result will be that politicians will impose on us their own brand of politics ... It is not enough to go to church on Sundays to sing about 'Onward Christian Soldiers,' about fighting the evils of the world, if nothing is done by Christians when they emerge from church.14 38

DISILLUSION

In a remarkably honest aside, Jeyaretnam also criticised the abolition of the jury system. The system, he said, had its faults: But its greatest advantage lies in that an ordinary man is tried by ordinary common persons who bring to the trial a fresh mind and not a mind sceptical and cynical, as judges even with the greatest good will can become. The judge tends to say, "Oh, I have heard that one before." 15 The YMCA speech provides a window into Jeyaretnam's thinking at the time: a belief in the "common man" combined with the conviction that ordinary people, motivated by good intentions, could change society for the better. But change does not happen by itself: It requires advocates, leaders, men and women who are willing to step forward and take a stand. Always attuned to the rhythms of politics, Jeyaretnam began to sense a disturbing pattern: Critics of the PAP who did step forward were being prosecuted on trumped-up charges, while supporters were being promoted up the ranks of the civil service. A fresh example came in January 1963, when a passionate union leader named Jamit Singh, secretary-general of the Singapore Harbour Board Staff Association, was accused of misusing union funds. It was a highly political charge. Singh, a charismatic Sikh who eschewed the traditional turban, had recently shifted his allegiance to a breakaway faction of the PAP known as the Barisan Sosialis, or Socialist Front. The Barisan Sosialis posed a real threat to the PAP and prime minister Lee. Following the split, the PAP's majority in the Assembly hung by a thread. Most of the party's branch offices defected to the Barisan, which also seized control of the rank-and-file party machinery such as the People's Association. The labour movement also splintered, with the majority of unions backing the Barisan. 16 Seeking every opportunity to discredit his rivals, Lee took a personal interest in the trial, conferring often with the prosecutor in charge of the Jamit Singh case, an aggressive young lawyer named Francis Seow. At one point, the prime minister even suggested that Seow avail himself of a dossier compiled on Singh by the Internal Security Department in 39

L e e ' s Law

order to expose the unionist's allegedly extravagant lifestyle. 1 7 The trial was conducted before district judge Choor Singh, who ultimately declared Jamit Singh guilty of criminal breach of trust and sentenced him to 18 months in prison. The sentence finished Jamit Singh and the Harbour Board union, which was deregisteredbroken up by the governmentin July. Judge Choor Singh was later promoted to the High Court bench. There is no evidence to suggest that judge Choor Singh's verdict was connected in any way to his promotion. But Jeyaretnam could not stop himself from wondering what might have happened to Choor Singh if he had acquitted the union leader. The bitter rivalry between the PAP and the Barisan was decisively settled in the darkest hours of 2 February t963. After months of meticulous surveillance work, police officers fanned out across the island in a massive dragnet, codenamed Operation Cold Store. Under the draconian powers of the Preservation of Public Security Ordinance, police detained rrr suspected communists, including some of Lee's foremost rivals for political power: Lim Chin Siong, Fong Swee Suan, and brothers James and Dominic Puthucheary, all former PAP activists who defected to the Barisan. At a stroke, Lee's most dangerous opponents were neutralised. Half the executive council of the Barisan was behind bars. Less than four years after taking power, the PAP had effectively wiped out its political opposition. The arrests had been ordered by the Internal Security Council, which included representatives f r o m Singapore, Great Britain, and the Federation of Malaya. This allowed Lee to dodge full responsibility for Operation Cold Store. But there can be no doubt about who drew up the list of "dangerous subversives," nor any question that Lee reaped the political benefits. It remains unclear exactly how long the various detainees spent in prison. In ^ 7 0 , Amnesty International released the names of 79 prisoners of conscience, some of whom had been arrested seven years before. 1 8 Lim Chin Siong spent nine years behind bars. Journalist Said Zahari was imprisoned for 16 years. 1 9 None of them were ever tried in court.
40

DISILLUSION

By the early 1960s, most Singaporeans expected that the colony would eventually gain independence and join the Federation of Malaya. But although Singapore was the undisputed economic capital of the Malay peninsula, reattaching the island to its hinterland proved to be a tricky operation. The peninsula was dominated by ethnic Malays, who made up some 60 per cent of its population, and who resented the rising prosperity of the more urban ethnic Chinese. The addition of Singapore, with its massive Chinatown, would tip the federation's population balance in favour of the Chinese, who would then make up 43 per cent of the population against 41 per cent for the Malays. 20 The federation's prime minister, Tunku Abdul Rahman, was implacably opposed to a Chinese-dominated Malaya. Privately, however, the Tunku was even more alarmed at the thought that Singapore might fall into the clutches of the communists and become, in his words, a "second Cuba," threatening the security of the federation. In May 1961, during a sedate luncheon hosted by the Foreign Correspondents Association of Singapore, the Tunku caused a sensation by proposing that Singapore merge with the Federation after allso long as Britain's territories on Borneo (Sarawak, Brunei, and Sabah) also joined the new nation. For the Tunku, the plan had obvious benefits. The addition of the Borneo territories, with their large Malay population, would offset Singapore's overwhelming Chinese majority, thus maintaining the Malays' political dominance. Singapore radicals would have trouble mobilising support across the far-flung federation, which could exert a moderating influence on the island's fractious politics. The proposed nationto be known as Malaysiawas in many ways a marriage of convenience. Hewn from the bones of the British empire, it would possess neither geographical integrity nor a coherent national identity. Although Malays would form a slender majority, Malaysia would also contain large Chinese and Indian minorities, plus a profusion of smaller groups: Eurasians, Dayaks, Bugis, Orang Asli, Arabs, Jews, and Europeans, each speaking different languages and worshipping different gods.
41

L e e ' s Law

Nonetheless, joining Malaysia was Singapore's best chance for independence. In September 1963, the island held a referendum, which offered voters three different ways to approve the merger, but none to reject it. After a long and divisive campaign, 71 per cent of the electorate endorsed the proposal (the rest cast blank ballots). Singapore declared independence from Britain on 3i August 1963, and joined Malaysia 15 days later. The final vestiges of colonial power were cast off: Singapore had achieved merdeka at last. Merger was to have a profound effect on Jeyaretnam's career, for a peculiar reason. Since 1959, Singapore's prime minister had been able to name his own appointments to the High Court bench. After the merger, however, Singapore's judges would be nominated in the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur; prime minister Lee would lose the power to pick and choose his own candidates. Once it became clear that merger was inevitable, Lee made a fluriy of appointments to stack the benches with his own nominees while he still could. The appointment of so many judges created other vacancies in the legal service. Early in 1963, Singapore's recently appointed chief justice, Wee Chong Jin, approached Jeyaretnam and asked if he would like to become the Registrar of the High Court. The registrar was a powerful official, functioning as a gatekeeper to the chief justice. The position was also traditionally a stepping-stone to higher officespecifically, to the High Court itself. Wee was particularly anxious to install a trustworthy registrar who could help him navigate the protocols of office, because he had spent most of his career as a lawyer in private practice, and had only been a judge for a year prior to his elevation to chief justice. Jeyaretnam, with his long courthouse experience, was an attractive candidate. The p o s i t i o n suited Jeyaretnam well i n d e e d , h i s situation recalled the days when he acted as translator to the Japanese boss. Well-versed in the intricacies of courtroom procedure, he performed an invaluable service for Wee, who relied on him for advice in the details of courthouse administration. The two quickly established a strong personal rapport. Later that year, prime minister Lee appointed the solicitor-general, T Kulasekaram, to the High Court bench,

DISILLUSION

leaving Kulasekaram's old job vacant. Jeyaretnam considered himself a prime candidate for the post. He was now among the most senior members of the legal service, was closely allied with the chief justice, and had, he felt, paid his dues. As the Legal Service Commission met to decide who to appoint as solicitorgeneral, Jeyaretnam was quietly confident they would choose him. At 4 , : 3 o that afternoon, his telephone rang. It was chief justice Wee Chong Jin. "Jeya, will you come upstairs?" he asked. Jeyaretnam dashed up the steps of the Supreme Court to the chief justice's chambers, his heart pounding. But as soon as he sat down, the look on Wee's face told him he was mistaken. According to Jeyaretnam, the conversation went like this: "Jeya, I wanted to tell you before you heard it from somebody else," Wee said. "I'm of the opinion that you're the best man for the job. You're more mature. But they have been grooming Tan Boon Teik and we had to consider the whole thing. I'm sorry, Jeya." 21 Jeyaretnam was crestfallen. He had now twice seen men with less experience promoted to positions for which he was well qualified. In addition, he was convinced that Tan Boon Teik's treatment of Rajendra was the reason Tan had received the promotion instead of him. In September ^ 6 3 , however. Wee offered Jeyaretnam a consolation prize: the post of First Criminal District Judge. It was not the position Jeyaretnam had hoped for, but it was better than nothing. As First Criminal District Judge he would be in charge of the entire subordinate court system, which consisted of five district courts and a half-dozen magistrate's courts. The criminal district and police courts were located in a run-down building on South Bridge Road, near Hong Lim Park, where the streets were jammed with hawkers, traders, beggars, and opium addicts sleeping in doorways. As soon as he took up his seat on the bench, Jeyaretnam introduced several measures to reinforce the symbols of judicial independence. Police officers were no longer allowed to sit at the bar next to the lawyers. "It was symbolic," he later recalled. "I wanted to send a message that the police didn't run the courts." 22 4,3

L e e ' s Law

He banned the widespread practice of prosecutors dropping in on judges in their chambers. From now on, he declared, prosecutors could visit judges only if defence attorneys were also present. He also insisted that courtroom interpreters wear jackets. ("It's not a fish market," he later explained. 23 ) Reading through press reports of Jeyaretnam's cases in the First District Court, one gets the impression of a judge with little tolerance for slipshod prosecutions. One case involved a ship's steward, who was accused of trying to smuggle gold bars under a couch in his cabin. Not only did Jeyaretnam throw out the charges, but he ordered that the gold worth S $ 6 ? , o o o b e returned to the steward. 24 Another case involved a young parolee by the name of Poh Lam San, who was supposed to report his whereabouts to the police once a week. One week, he failed to report. Poh was subsequently arrested, charged with violating the conditions of his supervision order, and sentenced to r8 months in prison. Later, however, prosecutors charged Poh with another offenceleaving Singapore without permissionand sent him back to court before Jeyaretnam. Jeyaretnam thought the prosecutors' position was unreasonable. "It is unduly harsh for a man to be punished twice for the same set of facts," he declared, "although it might appear that two offences were disclosed." Expressing sympathy for Poh, Jeyaretnam imposed another r8-month sentencebut declared that it should run concurrently with the previous one. 25 In cases where the defendant expressed remorse, Jeyaretnam was often lenient. When an r8-year-old messenger boy pleaded guilty to forging his uncle's signature on two cheques, a theft that amounted to S$rr,ooo, Jeyaretnam gave the youth a suspended sentence. 2 6 Jeyaretnam did sentence men to jail, of course, but he did so with obvious regret,
RELUCTANT JUDGE HANDS OUT JATL TERM

was the headline

for a case where a young labourer was convicted of possessing a stolen bicycle. The mandatory minimum sentence was six months, which Jeyaretnam duly pronounced, but only after noting that if he had any discretion he would not have sent the man to jail at all. 27 Another case involved Wong Mun Chong, a 70 -year- old bill collector

44

DISILLUSION

who was convicted of stealing S$7,ooo from his employer, the Kwong Wai Sui Free Hospital. Pleading guilty, Wong said he had stolen the money to pay debts arising from a protracted illness. "I am loath to send you to prison because of your age," Jeyaretnam replied. "But clearly it is right that I should pass a severe sentence on you to deter others." With what he described as "extreme reluctance," Jeyaretnam sentenced Wong to nine months in prison. 28 Jeyaretnam also revamped the way cases were assigned to district judges. Shortly after his appointment, he realised that the magistrate in charge of assigning cases had a tendency to send labour disputes to certain judges. Jeyaretnam felt this arrangement was vulnerable to political pressure. Accordingly, he decided that cases with political implications especially those involving trade unionswould be assigned by him. In November 1963, prosecutors charged three employees of the Paya Lebar Bus Company with participating in an illegal strikea strike that was a classic example of union politics of the era. The men belonged to the Singapore Bus Workers' Union, which was allied with the Barisan Sosialis. The PAP backed a rival union, and moved to deregister the Singapore Bus Workers' Union, which called a two-day strike in protest. Unfortunately for the Singapore Bus Workers' Union, the Legislative Assembly had recently enacted the Trade Disputes Ordinance, banning all strikes that did not arise from a "trade dispute." Prosecutors argued that the strike at the Paya Lebar Bus Company was called for political reasonsand was therefore illegal. On the surface, the government seemed to have a strong case. But as he listened to the arguments, Jeyaretnam became convinced that the PAP, not the union, was playing politics with the Trade Disputes Ordinance. His verdict, handed down on 30 November 1963, was a bombshell: he declared that the strike was not illegal because the government, by tiying to shut down the union, had inserted itself into the workplace. The government's battle against the union was, he ruled, essentially a trade dispute, and the strike was therefore legitimate: I am of the view, upon consideration of all the authorities, that the Government, having arrogated to itself the right to decide whether a

45

L e e ' s Law

particular trade union shall negotiate on behalf of employees in any trade or industry, in, so to say, having entered into the arena of employer-employee relationships, a dispute could well exist between the Government and a trade union within the meaning of a trade dispute as defined in the Ordinance. Particularly so, in my opinion, when the Government acts to deprive a trade union already representing the employees in any trade or industry of its right so to continue. Just as the courts have often said that the law recognises the right of an employee not to belong to any particular trade union, or not to take part in any trade dispute, it seems to me equally that the right of an employee to belong to a trade union of his choice is something the law must recognise and a matter which may well become a trade dispute.29 Jeyaretnam's judgment was a lifeline to the embattled unions who were struggling against the PAP. But it came too late. By the time he issued his decision the government had already deregistered the Singapore Bus Workers' Union; and the other unions, still reeling from a string of arrests and detentions, no longer had the stomach to continue the fight. Try as he might, Jeyaretnam could not shake the conviction that he was fighting a losing battle against a political machine. A f t e r just two months on the job, he decided to resign. I could see that politics was creeping into these appointments. Chong Jin made that very clear to me. I knew that I wouldn't be allowed to function as I wanted. I knew I'd be sidelined. You see, the system ... somehow... sucks you in. You feel quite powerless against the system so long as you're inside it. They'd have moved me outI'm quite sure. Made me Registrar of Companies or Director of Legal Aid. 30 Even three decades later, Jeyaretnam's decision is somewhat puzzling. He had spent 12, years in government service, and stood a good chance of becoming a High Court judge. But Jeyaretnam was convinced there was no place for him on the upper bench.
46

disillusion

The PAP were not going to have me there. I wasn't prepared to play a part in the system in which I'd lost some faith. People say I should have stayed on and fought from the inside. I don't think I would have been happy. Eventually the system sucks you in. You can't very well accept that post and continue to fight the system.31 There was, perhaps, another factor at workJeyaretnam had simply run out of patience. He was 37 years old. He was a father. His education had been derailed by the war. He had watched a parade of less-experienced rivals march toward promotion while he languished in the subordinate courts. He was, fundamentally, a man of action, and he was tired of waiting. So in December 1963 Jeyaretnam made the move that was to forever change his legal and political career. He quit his place at the bench, approached Singapore's top criminal defence lawyer and former chief minister David Marshall, and asked him for a job.
* * * *

While Jeyaretnam was suffering a crisis in his career, Malaysia was suffering a crisis of identity. Neighbouring Malay states Indonesia and the Philippinesviewed the creation of Malaysia as a British subterfuge to divide a people that should rightfully be united. In particular, Indonesia's ruler, the bellicose Sukarno, denounced Malaysia as a "neo-colonialistic plot," and pursued a policy of terrorist konfrontasi, or confrontation, in an effort to destabilise the new nation. From September 1963 to May 1965, Indonesian saboteurs set off more than 40 bombs in Singapore. To this polyphonic chaos, prime minister Lee Kuan Yew responded with an abrasive and uncompromising style. Although Singapore was now a Malaysian state, he refused to relinquish his title of prime minister, which meant that Malaysia was in the unusual position of having two officials holding that title Lee and Tunku Abdul Rahman. In the Malaysian parliament in Kuala Lumpur, where the PAP was now an opposition party, Lee argued vociferously for a "Malaysian Malaysia," by which he meant that no race or group would be favoured above any other.

47

Lee's Law

This noble principle ignored the region's unpleasant historical realities: simply put, the Chinese and the Eurasians sat at the top of the socioeconomic pyramid, while the Malays stood at the bottom. Increasingly, Lee and the PAP became, according to historian CM Turnbull, "the focal point of hatred" among extremist Malay elements. 3 2 Friction between the Chinese and the Malays became particularly intense in Singapore, where Lee refused to grant concessions to the Malay community, except in education. This communal tension exploded in July 1964, when thousands of Muslims gathered on the Padang to celebrate the birthday of the prophet Mohammad with a procession. A s marchers wound through the Kallang district, fighting broke out between Chinese and Malay youths, sparking riots. Cars were overturned; buildings set ablaze. Meanwhile, rumours spread that the massive pipes carrying the island's water supply across the causeway from Johor had burst: panicky Singaporeans began to fill every container they could find. By the time the chaos subsided, two weeks later, the death toll had risen to 22, with hundreds more injured. 3 3 In the end, the political, ethnic, and religious rivalriescynically stoked by politicians with their own agendassimply tore Malaysia apart. In the face of mounting pressure from Malay extremists, and with the threat of more riots looming on the horizon, prime minister Tunku Abdul Rahman decided he had only two options: get rid of Lee and the PAP, or get rid of Singapore. Practically speaking, there was no way to remove the PAP from its power base in Singapore. So, in August 1965, the Tunku summoned Lee to Kuala Lumpur and told him that the day of reckoning had arrived. Singapore had to leave the federation. On 9 August 1965, Singapore proclaimed itself an independent republic. Through a quirk of history, the former British colony had become a geopolitical f r e a k a tiny, overpopulated, predominantly Chinese island, surrounded by hostile giants, an amputated capital dangling from the Malay peninsula like the head of a guillotined noble. Lee regarded separation as a disaster. In 196?, he had called the idea of an independent Singapore "a political, economic and geographical absurdity." The problems seemed insurmountable. How could the tiny 4.8

disillusion

city-state defend itself against its giant neighbours, who could starve it into submission any time they wanted? How would it ease the tension between the Chinese and the Malays? And how would it avoid falling prey to communist agitators who saw Singapore as ripe for the plucking? Over the next three decades, Lee and his lieutenants would succeed in solving many of these problems. But the trauma of separation bequeathed a lasting heirloom: a siege mentality among Singapore's leaders that would persist into the next millennium. "Singapore is a small island, with a veiy narrow base," a senior local journalist said many years later. "It wouldn't take much to upset it." 34 This ideathat Singapore is an exotic, delicate flower that must be zealously guarded against predatorswould be repeated by the PAP many times over the years. It would become a recurrent, even dominant theme in Singapore politics. The nature of the threat would constantly shift: communist insurrection; invasion by Indonesia; a rift with Malaysia (which supplies half the city-state's water); an exodus of boatpeople from Indochina; decadent Western values; pornography; and drugs. But the underlying mentality would remain unchanged. In 1997, the minister for information and the arts, George Yeo, likened Singapore to a high-wire bicyclist who can never stop pedalling lest he fall over. "Our success is the result of anxiety," he told Fortune magazine. "And the anxiety is never fully assuaged by success." 3S Throughout history, astute leaders have known that nothing binds people together like an external threat. In Singapore, the atmosphere of crisis quite literally forged a nation. But it also had another, darker consequence: it provided intellectual camouflage for the government's efforts to dictate the destiny of its citizens. As long as Singapore's survival hung in the balance, dissidents could be labeled dreamers, opponents denounced as obstructionists, and human rights regarded as luxuries.

49

T H E ADVOCATE

Jeyaretnam's decision to go into private practice marked the beginning of an extraordinarily successful and productive time. He joined the law firm of former chief minister David Marshall and became a partner. Together they litigated one celebrated casea high-profile divorce between a former film actress, Maria Menado, and a former boxing promoter, Abdul Razak. Six months later, however, Marshall told Jeyaretnam he wanted to dissolve the partnership at the end of the year. Marshall's reasons remain unclear, but the parting was on amicable terms. In 1965 Jeyaretnam joined the firm of Donaldson and Burkinshaw, where his wife worked. He was now 39 years old, married, with two young sons: Kenneth, born in 1963, and Philip, born in 1964. Freed from the constraints of civil service, Jeyaretnam was now able to play a more active role in public life. After Singapore was unceremoniously booted out of Malaysia, the PAP decided to revamp the constitution it had inherited from the British and to set up a constitutional commission. In March 1966, Jeyaretnam appeared before the commission to plead for stronger individual rights. In particular, Jeyaretnam was disturbed by the Internal Security Act, which allowed the minister for home affairs to detainindefinitely, and without a trial anyone he considered a threat to Singapore's security. Jeyaretnam proposed that any detention should first be approved by a High Court judge a significant departure that would provide a check on the government's power to lock up political opponents,
GUARANTEE

the
FREEDOM FROM ARBITRARY ARREST

advocate

was the Straits Times' headline for an

article summarising his testimony. 1 It is easy to forget that behind abstract phrases like "arbitrary arrest" and "individual freedom" the lives of real men and women hung in the balance. Jeyaretnam knew that scores of prisoners languished in prison year after year because they were deemed a security threat. Never convicted nor even charged in a court of law, never knowing the evidence against them, suffering long stretches of solitary confinement, they remained in jail until they broke down and confessed their crimes, real or imagined. One of the prisoners rounded up in Operation Cold Store in 1963 described his experience thus: We have been in this new prison since May 1970. I do not know how many others are here but I think this place is meant to contain forty to fifty political prisoners. We are kept in groups of three and do not get even to see the others. Each of us is kept in a box-like cell without windows. The front of this box is closed by bars. We are kept in these cages all day except for meals and for five hours of forced labour. This forced labour, we have been told, is part of a compulsory "rehabilitation" programme. The door of our cage opens to a windowless corridor whose walls reach up to the ceiling. There is no direct ventilation and the air is very hot and still. This is the worst place we have been in since our imprisonment without trial in February 1963. I have had several terms of solitary confinement for periods of three to six months each at the Special Branch headquarters where they used torture. Now this seems even worseto live in a box for the rest of one's life! It seems to be that if they cannot break us politically then they intend to make us go mad in this place. Since coming here we have many times asked to see our lawyers but up to now we have not been allowed to do so. Visiting time is a very upsetting experience now. We are separated from our loved ones by soundproof glass and have to talk by telephone. A Special Branch officer listens in to the conversation and frequently intervenes. In truth he "conducts" the conversation... Everything is strictly restricted so we are short of everything

5'

Lee's Law

writing paper, ballpoint pens, singlets and shorts, not to mention the very severely censored trickle of reading matter ... The food here is awful. It is cooked and served in a filthy mess. The only drink we are allowed is a nauseating concoction that is officially called tea ... There is virtually no incoming mail; even postcards from Amnesty have ceased arriving.2 Perhaps the worst part of the ordeal was that political prisoners received no fixed sentenceafter all, they had never been judged guilty of a crime. Instead, their freedom depended on their willingness to recant. Some broke down almost immediately. Others went mad. And others held out, year after year, refusing to sign confessions they regarded as a charade. By far the most disturbing example is the stoiy of Chia Thye Poh. 3 Chia was a university physics lecturer and a founding member of the Barisan Sosialis who was elected to parliament in 1963. Two years later, Chia and the other four remaining Barisan MPs walked out of parliament to protest what they considered the anti-democratic policies of the PAP. In October 1966 the government announced that US president Lyndon Johnson would make a state visit to Singapore and Malaysia. In response, Chia and other Barisan leaders organised a series of protests against the war in Vietnam. On the afternoon of 29 October 1966, as Johnson was visiting with the prime minister, a squad of internal security officers burst through the doors of Barisan's headquarters in Victoria Street and took Chia into custody. He was then 25 years old. 4 Thus began an unimaginable nightmare. In an interview with American reporter Stan Sesser, Chia described his ordeal like this: They tried very hard to break prisoners, to extract confessions from them, to have them confess on television. They made me pay a veiy high price for not kowtowing to them. In 1966, they put me in a dark cell and said some people have gone insane under such conditions. Sometimes you could hear people kicking the doors as if they had gone insane. I went from one prison to another and was in solitary confinement several times. Sometimes I was deprived of reading material for months

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the

advocate

at a stretch. They said that there's no end to this, that it will go on year after year if I don't confess, that even if I'm made of steel they have means to break me. I told them that I have nothing to confess, and that if the government had evidence it should try me in open court, where I could see the evidence against me and defend myself. There were daylong interrogations in a freezing-cold room. They pressured my family. But I always thought, No matter how long they keep me this way, someday they will have to release me, because I'm innocent and I have support. It's part of the broad struggle for democracy all over the world. When you are in solitary, there is nothing in the cell. But you can explore, and see faint scribblings from previous prisoners. I still remember one of them. It was a poem in Chinese. Ten years behind bars Never too late Thousands of ordeals My spirit steeled. When you were alone and helpless, and you saw things like that, you were encouraged.5 Chia was finally released from prison in 1989 more than 2,2 years after he was first arrested. For the next three years he was confined to the island resort of Sentosa, off the southern coast of Singapore, where he lived in a one-room guardhousethe "prisoner in the theme park," to quote Stan Sesser's memorable phrase. His movements, speech, and activities were restricted until November 1998. He was never charged with any crime.
* *

While the Western world grappled with the Vietnam war, LSD, the miniskirt, and the Pill, Singapore in general and Jeyaretnam in particular remained the model of establishment decorum. Jeyaretnam drove his Austin Somerset across the causeway to Malaysia every weekend to visit his parents and sister in Johor Bahru. (By 1966, his mother, Rose Soundramma, was in poor health. She died of a tumour in October at the age of sixty-seven.)

Lee's Law

Meanwhile, Jeyaretnam's legal career was nearing its apogee. In 1968, Jeyaretnam and Margaret decided to leave Donaldson and Burkinshaw and form their own firm, JB Jeyaretnam and Co. They rented an office on Robinson Road, and hired a clerk and two secretaries. Later that year, Jeyaretnam scored a stunning victory on behalf of a former police inspector. Ling How Doong. Inspector Ling had been reprimanded and fined S$5o by the commissioner of police after a disciplinary board had found him guilty of committing "excess of duty" for unjustifiably ordering the arrest of two men, and for not keeping his police diaiy up to date. Although the fine was minimal. Ling felt the verdict was unfair, and appealed to the Public Service Commission. To his horror, instead of granting his appeal, the PSC decided to terminate him. After a job. For Jeyaretnam, the case epitomised the arbitrary way in which civil servants were treated. He filed a suit in the High Court; in September, justice Winslow ruled that the PSC had overstepped its powers and ordered that inspector Ling be reinstated. The case cemented Jeyaretnam's reputation as a passionate advocate for police officers and civil servants. Sometimes lawyers who represent a particular group begin to share that group's beliefs and prejudices, to see the world through the eyes of their clients. But Jeyaretnam's sympathies were more complex. Increasingly, he saw his role as standing up for individuals who had fallen afoul of the system. In particular, he continued to champion the rights of criminal suspects. One of the clearest examples of Jeyaretnam's willingness to argue unpopular cases was the trial of Teo Cheng Leong. 6 Teo was a member of a gang that robbed a Sims Avenue housewife at gunpoint in March 1969, snatching S$i,ooo in cash and roughly the same amount in jewelry. A large crowd chased the gang as they made their escape, attracting the attention of a passing police officer, Inspector Desmond D'Oliveiro. Inspector D'Oliveiro challenged the men to stop. With an angry mob in hot pursuit, Teo fired two shots from a .22 Mauser. Teo testified that he fired the shots into the air to scare the crowd. But the deputy public prosecutor argued that Teo aimed the shots at D'Oliveiroa grave offence no years on the force, he was out of

the

advocate

that carried the death penalty, even though D'Oliveiro was unharmed. Although Singapore had abolished jury trials in most cases in 1959, it retained them in cases where a conviction could lead to the death penalty. Starting in 1969, however, the government abolished juiy trials altogether, and Teo's case was the first death-penalty case to be heard under the new system. Jeyaretnam felt passionately that the abolition of the juiy trial represented an erosion of one of the most important principles of justice the right to be judged by one's peers. Teo's case was particularly tragic, because the crime occurred while juiy trial was still in place but did not go to court until after it had been abolished. To his dismay, Jeyaretnam's arguments were rejected. After a six-day trial, a panel of two High Court judges sentenced Teo to death. Like most lawyers, Jeyaretnam tried to keep his emotions sealed off from his cases. But he was not always successful. Whenever he perceived a miscarriage of justice, Jeyaretnam felt a dull rage burn inside him. One contemporaiy recalls appearing in a case with Jeyaretnam before justice Ambrose: Jeyaretnam completely lost his temper. Ambrose told him to sit down. Jeyaretnam gathered his gown behind him, pacing back and forth, and said, "I will not sit down, I will be heard. I haven't lost my temper." Ambrose said, "I wish we had a mirror so you could see your own face. If that's not the face of an angry man, I don't know what is." Five minutes later, JBJ was apologising profusely.7 One reason for Jeyaretnam's inability to compartmentalise his feelings stemmed from his strong identification with his clients. Another was his growing unease with the legal precedents that were being set in Singapore. Increasingly, Jeyaretnam believed that the law itself was veering from the path of justice. This was an extremely discomfiting conclusion. As a lawyer, Jeyaretnam was ultimately a servant of the law: he could invoke it, argue it, or dispute it. But he could not change it.
* *

55

Lee's Law

Jeyaretnam's elderly father, Victor Joshua, collapsed from a stroke in 1971. Jeyaretnam spent several nights in his father's hospital room, praying for a recovery. But Victor was 84 years old, diabetic, and in agony. To prevent the spread of gangrene, doctors prepared to amputate his leg. One afternoon, Jeyaretnam went to St Andrew's Cathedral on his lunch hour and knelt in prayer. "Please take him now. Lord, instead of letting him suffer," he implored. 8 When he returned to the office, he received a telephone call from the hospital: his father was dead. Victor had been a tremendous influence on his s o n a n d his influence would, paradoxically, grow even stronger after his death. In later years, Jeyaretnam would often recall Victor as a man of integrity. "People say sometimes you've got to give up your p r i n c i p l e s , " Jeyaretnam would say. 9 To his father, the proposition would have been absurd; he believed that principles mattered the most when they were difficult or painful to followotherwise, they were little but hollow platitudes. His death reinforced Jeyaretnam's conviction that a man must not simply cherish his principles, but act on them. Otherwise, what was the point of having them? Jeyaretnam's deep misgivings about the PAP government had by now hardened into resolve. Finally, in the spring of 1971, he received an invitation to translate that resolve into actionan invitation from the Workers' Party. , The Workers' Party was an organisation with a proud tradition that had fallen on hard times. Founded by former chief minister David Marshall on the principles of parliamentary democracy, socialism, and merdeka, the Workers' Party won four positions on the Singapore City Council in 1957. It failed to take a single Assembly seat in the general election of 1959, however, and was effectively shut out of power after the PAP abolished the City Council, although Marshall later staged a political comeback with a narrow by-election victory in 196^ From the start, the Workers' Party drew a ragtag assortment of adherents. Marshall epitomised the cosmopolitan, British-educated elite; the party also appealed to the working class, particularly the Chinese and Indians. At election rallies, Marshall would stand at the speakers' platform and deliver his eloquent speeches in English. When 56

the

advocate

he sat down, his lieutenants would translate his words into the major Chinese dialects, usually to thunderous applause. Such multilingual campaign rallies were hardly unique to the Workers' Partyvirtually all of Singapore's political parties used the same technique. But the translations also introduced opportunities for an unusual brand of internal politicking. While Marshall supported merger with Malaysia, other Workers' Party leaders opposed it. Unbeknownst to him, his ringing calls for merger were artfully retranslated as thundering denouncements I (When he was informed about this linguistic sleight-of-hand, Marshall resigned from politics for good.) Struggling to cope with the resignation of its founder, the Workers' Party faced another crisis in February 1963, when its top two leaders were rounded up in Operation Cold Store. Lacking charismatic leadership and a coherent manifesto, the Workers' Party went into political hibernation. The party was not dead, however. Grass-roots activists, in particular two pastry chefs, Chiang Seok Keong and Lim Ee Ping, held the organisation together, fielding candidates at every election despite scant support at the ballot box. 10 There were many reasons for the party's wretched returns, but perhaps the most important was the lack of credible, attractive candidates. Mindful that the party's survival depended on fresh faces, a group of activists approached Jeyaretnam with an intriguing proposal: they wanted him to take over the Workers' Party. At this point, Jeyaretnam was 45 years old and beginning to enjoy the fruits of success. He and Margaret had a thriving law practice. Their sons attended private school. They lived in a spacious bungalow on Rebecca Road with a garden and a swimming pool. They went on holidays to London, Paris, India, and Indonesia. Jeyaretnam had traded in his Austin Somerset for a Citroen Light Fifteen, which he nicknamed his "White Goddess." They employed a maid and a driver. Materially, Jeyaretnam had everything he could wish for. But his conscience was heavy. The gap between Singapore's rich and poor was growing widerunskilled workers' wages had increased just 5 per cent since ^ 5 9 , while executive salaries had doubled. 1 1 Unhampered by any opposition in parliament, the PAP enacted ever harsher laws laws that

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judges were bound to enforce. Jeyaretnam could remain silent no longer. He found the offer impossible to resist. I don't want to appear holier than thou. But I thought if I wanted to be true to my calling as a Christian, I had to do something about all the wrongs in society around me. Margaret was also angiy at the injustices. So I said I just have to do it, that's all. 12 Jeyaretnam was nominated as secretary-general of the Workers' Party on 16 June 1971. He made a strong impression on the central exec utive committee. "We trusted him, and agreed with his ideology," said former chairman Wong Hong Toy. "He was a gentleman. He emphasised human rights and democracy, which we all supported." Given the dismal state of the party's affairs, the result was never in doubt. The motion passed unanimously. The news that Jeyaretnam had taken over the Workers' Party caused a sensation among the legal community. Frustration over prime minister Lee Kuan Yew and the strong-arm tactics of the PAP had been mounting for years. As one lawyer put it: We were all fed up. The PAP were terribly arrogant. It was LKY knows best, and what he says, goes. And a lot of us resented it. I expected that someone, sooner or later, would get up and make a stand. We all admired Jeyaretnam from the word go. He became a sort of legend. 13 It was, in many ways, a spectacular defection. Jeyaretnam had a reputation as an able, gutsy, well-spoken advocate, with a passion for justice. He had a f i r s t - c l a s s resume: senior lawyer, graduate of University College, former First District judge, registrar of the Supreme Court and tutor in legal philosophy and criminology. Former chief minister David Marshall described him as "a man of complete honesty." 1 4 Jeyaretnam would prove a persistent and resourceful campaigner. But he was up against one of the most brilliant and ruthless politicians of the twentieth centuiy.

LEE'S CHALLENGER

Few societies have been as thoroughly dominated by a single man as Singapore has been dominated by Harry Lee Kuan Yew. Over three decades, Lee reshaped eveiy contour of his fledgling nation. Under his direction, the swamps of Jurong were paved over; kampongs razed; huge swathes of land reclaimed f r o m the sea; and the horizon crowded by towering blocks of flats. The ancient habits and prejudices of three civilisations were broken down, one by one, replaced with a synthetic ideology. A n entrepot economy was transformed, first into a manufacturing hub and then into a base for multinational corporations. His biographers, both sympathetic and otherwise, agree om Lee's utter mastery of the island's politics. In a decidedly unflattering account of Lee's life, unobtainable in Singapore, TJS George, a former political editor for The Far Eastern Economic Review, concluded: Singapore in the 1970s mirrors not the collective aspirations of a people or a generation but the ideals, convictions, and prejudices of Lee Kuan Yew. The country is the manand the man has had to use extraparliamentary force to make it so. 1 More than a decade later, Anglican priest James Minchin penned another critical portrait of Lee also unobtainable in Singapore. He wrote:

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[Lee] is the patriot of no fatherland so much as his own will. He has long been a formidable speaker and debater in English, of world class among politicians on a stage where English has only recently become the first language. He has mastered from scratch the other tongue needed for communication with his people. He is the patron of Singapore politics: spotting, hiring and firing top talent; commanding the apparatus of power and various alternative sources of information-, able to choose freely when to let well enough alone or when to intervene... His star and that of the island republic have merged almost beyond distinction.2 At every level, the inner core of meaning has been hollowed out from Singapore's parliamentary democracy and replaced with a state ideology now shaped almost entirely by one man.3 A related sentiment echoes throughout a tribute to Lee by three Singapore journalists published a decade later: No other leader in the modern world has had such a hand in influencing and directing his country's progress from independence to developed nation status the way he has ... The great Asian revolutionariesMao Zedong, Pandit Nehru, Sukarno and Ho Chi Minh earned their rightful place in history but failed to build on their revolutionaiy zeal. Lee's place is, of course, smaller. But he has been able to achieve what they could not, which was not only to destroy the old system, but also to create a new and more successful one. That Singapore is a success today and the success is largely attributable to Lee, there can be few doubts, even among his most severe critics.4 Born in 19^3 to a prosperous Hakka family, Lee enrolled in the elite Raffles Institution and emerged as top Malayan boy in the Senior Cambridge exams in 1939. He served as a stenographer and translator for the Japanese news agency Domei during the Japanese occupation, then sailed to England after the war where he obtained a rare doublefirst in law at Cambridge. Returningto Singapore in 1950, he joined a local law firm, specialising in union work, and quickly gained a reputation as a ferocious
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lee's

challenger

advocate. He was elected to the legislature in 1955, and became Singapore's first prime minister in 1959a post he held for the next 3i years. He ushered Singapore into Malaysia in 1963, and ushered it out again two years later. Lee orchestrated the island's metamorphosis f r o m ramshackle colony to urban Utopia with an iron hand: rare indeed was the politician, academic, businessman or journalist who dared to cross him. Scarred by the brutal amd turbulent struggle for independence, he played hardball with his critics. In 1997, he gave a revealing series of interviews to a team of local reporters: Nobody doubts that if you take me on, I will put on knuckle - dusters and catch you in a cul-de-sac... Anybody who decides to take me on needs to put on knuckle-dusters. If you think you can hurt me more than I can hurt you, tiy. There is no other way you can govern a Chinese society.5 It is sometimes difficult for those who have never visited the citystate to comprehend the breadth and depth of Lee's grip on Singapore. His is not a cult of personality. There are no statues, no murals, no disembodied likenesses gazing sternly from bank notes or copper pennies. But one by one, the sources of power in a democratic societybusinessmen, labour unions, lawyers, professors, journalists, churches, mosques, templeswere sucked into his orbit: Having guided Singapore through the dangerous years immediately following the separation, the political leaders had an overwhelming popular mandate and were unwilling to tolerate any obstruction to their dynamic programme of nation-building ... few individuals or organisations voiced any criticism. Commercial bodies appreciated the government's vigorous economic policy, radical trade unionism was tamed through far-reaching labour laws, the universities were brought to heel, religious organisations were told to concentrate on charity and keep out of politics, while some local government bodies such as public utilities were hived off into statutory bodies which made decisions without public debate ... The press was particularly subdued, with

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journalists from the Chinese-language press often telephoning official contacts before writing their stories, and young Straits Times reporters producing bland stories which read like government propaganda.6 The cumulative effect of these restrictions can be seen in the PAP's stratospheric margin in the 1968 general elections. The weak and divided minor opposition parties fielded just seven candidates for the 58 parliamentaiy seatsall lost. The PAP's overall vote was a thumping 84 per cent.

*

Faced with such a formidable adversary, Jeyaretnam might have been expected to plan his strategy with an engineer's precision. But his first press conference, which took place in September 1971 at the Workers' Party rundown headquarters in Hill Street, showed few signs of political finesse. Instead, he denounced the PAP for turning Singapore into ... a fully capitalist-orientated economy with all the unmitigated evils that such a system produces in a society. We have become an acquisitive society in which the most important thing is money... We are fast becoming, if we have not already become, a society where money speaks ... On the one hand persons with real and humanistic reasons to come into Singapore like young children to join their parents, wives to join their husbandsare refused entiy without any thought to the breakup of the family; on the other hand persons with a quarter million dollars to deposit with this government can come into Singapore and bring with them their families. 7 Jeyaretnam's remarks reflected a real outrage over the government's immigration policies. The chaos sparked by the city-state's sudden ejection from Malaysia meant that thousands of families were split apart, with some relatives living and working in Singapore, while others remained in Malaysia. After separation, however, the PAP had tightened immigration restrictions, making it particularly difficult for overseas 62

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women and children to join their husbands in Singapore. However attractive Jeyaretnam's lament may have been in moral terms, in political terms it had scant appeal. Although Singapore was a nation of immigrantsindeed, there was virtually no one on the island who did not have relatives abroad most Singapore Chinese were second- or third-generation residents, who were less likely to m a n y overseas. While many Malay and Indian families retained stronger ties to the peninsula or the subcontinent, they represented a small minority of voters. More important, by 1971, many Singaporeans had acquired the PAP's fortress mentality. They believed Singapore was too small and too precarious to afford the luxury of a liberal immigration policy. They had only to look at the bloody convulsions of Indonesia and the ethnic infighting of Malaysia to see how quickly their fortunes could ebb. Jeyaretnam raised another point at his maiden press conference: corruption. It was, at first glance, an unorthodox criticism to make. One of the cornerstones of the PAP philosophy was an uncompromising stand against corruption in the civil service, and by 1971 there could be no doubt that Singapore was one of the least corrupt nations in Asia, if not the world. Nonetheless, no bureaucracy in the world is completely immune from the temptations of bribery, and Singapore was certainly no exception. As Jeyaretnam said: Hardly a day passes without there being some report in the newspapers about corruption in the public life. However, we do not think that corruption can be stamped out just by prosecuting offenders. We have got to create a climate in which corruption is no longer attractive. This we believe can only be done by paying every man and woman an adequate living wage and ensuring him security in his job and creating conditions in which he can take pride in himself and so be able to resist any temptation that comes his way. The Government inherited what we think could be termed without any fear of exaggeration a very efficient and honest civil service but what 63

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has this Government done to it? It has totally undermined the service, robbed it of its security and harried and harassed its members so that they no longer feel secure in the service nor pride in their work. A man who has given a life time of service and looks forward to retiring on a pension can be deprived of his dream on some flimsy charge. Is it surprising that in these circumstances corruption is on the increase?8 Jeyaretnam was of course drawing on his own experience as a civil servant, and as a lawyer representing government workers. Nonetheless, in the absence of specific examples, his remarks struck a discordant note. One letter-writer to the Straits Times responded: Unless Mr. Jeyaretnam is specific, a vague charge without

substantiation is not good for the country. Our politicians must show depth of understanding of our problems and not merely make a lot of statements.9 To some degree, Jeyaretnam's remarks about corruption and immigration policy were misunderstood. He saw both phenomena as symptoms of an increasingly materialistic societya diagnosis that would gain widespread acceptance in decades to come. Politically, however, both points were duds. Why, then, did Jeyaretnam raise them at his maiden press conference, when media exposure was practically guaranteed? One reason was his inexperience as a politician. But the more important reason had to do with his personality: Jeyaretnam believed in right and wrong. Time and again, his sympathy for the common man would lead him to take the moral high ground at the expense of practical realities. However honourable this philosophy, it was the polar opposite of the PAP's pragmatic approach. It may have won him admirers, but it lost him votes.
* * *

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In 1972, it became clear that the PAP would hold a general election by the end of the year. Despite his short tenure as secretary-general, Jeyaretnam wanted the Workers' Party to contest as many seats as possible. The party published its first manifesto: it called for abolishing restrictions on newspapers; declawingthe Internal Security Act; easing travel barriers to Malaysia; greater freedom of speech; a national health care system; a national bus system; and a two-China policy in the United Nations. 10 As he hammered together the party's platform, however, Jeyaretnam demonstrated his political naivete. In July ^ 7 2 , prime minister Lee reminded Singaporeans to stand ready to defend the nation in case of a military invasion. A few days later, Jeyaretnam responded. "Nobody seems to have asked the question whether our present way of life in Singapore is worth defending," he said. 1 1 This statement reflected Jeyaretnam's growing unease about the materialistic trajectory of Singapore society and his scorn for the toadyism that was creeping into public life. In addition, Jeyaretnam felt that the threat of invasion was essentially a bogeyman hoisted by the PAP simply to rally popular support. He supported dramatic cuts in defence spending to make more money available for social programmes. But Jeyaretnam did not realise how this statement would sound when taken out of context. There followed a series of blistering letters to the Straits Times lambasting Jeyaretnam for his "anti-Singapore" stance. One read (in part): If any aspirant to leadership in Singapore, after looking at the nonsecular basis and style of politics and societies in our immediate neighbourhood, is of the view that the principle of multi-racialism, secularism and political democracy on which our society is based, is not worth defending, then the most decent thing he can do by Singaporeans is to take his politics elsewhere... Is it, perhaps, because he believes our way of life is not worth defending that Mr. JB Jeyaretnam maintains a home, away from home in Johore Bahru? In which case, his initials are certainly appropriate. For more than

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one eyebrow in Singapore has been raised by the latest utterances of Mr JB ("Johore Bahru") Jeyaretnam.12 The letter, signed "Singapore Sam," had all the marks of master rhetorician S Rajaratnam, a former journalist and essayist who was now deputy prime minister. Rajaratnam was, like Jeyaretnam, a Jaffna Tamil, and often wrote pseudonymous letters to the Straits Times. Another letter writer, "Singaporean," criticised Jeyaretnam's dovish stance and accused him of wanting a "dirty, bankrupt, defenceless and politically turbulent city." He went on to say: So when Mr. Jeyaretnam expresses hostility towards Singapore's way of life he is expressing more than mere dislike for the PAP. Some leaders of the Workers' Party are so repelled by our way of life that they send their children not to our schools but to British army schools and expatriate schools in Singapore. Presumably they do not want their children to be infected by the Singapore way of life. 13 It was quite true that Jeyaretnam's sons, Kenneth and Philip did not attend government schools. Margaret was anxious not to expose the boys, aged eight and ten, to the risk of reprisals because of Jeyaretnam's politics. At her insistence, the boys went to private schools: St Andrews, Raeburn Park, and (later) United World College. Singapore Sam's taunt about the home in Johor Bahru was especially unfair. In fact, Jeyaretnam had bought the bungalow for his parents. Now that his parents were both dead, his sister Emily, a spinster schoolteacher, lived there. Jeyaretnam and his family visited her several times a month. As the general election loomed nearer, anonymous critics stepped up their attacks, pouring vitriol on Jeyaretnam and the Workers' Party. "Bright Eyes" accused the party of being a "Trojan Horse posing as an opposition party." 14 For his first parliamentary contest, Jeyaretnam selected the constituency of Farrer Park, a central district near Little India. Farrer Park 66

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included a large number of Indian Singaporeans, but Jeyaretnam chose it because it also contained several private housing estates, bulging with middle-class voters. Singapore's election laws were patterned after the British model, but have evolved in a unique fashion. Elections must be held no more than five years apart. But within this limit the actual timing depends on the prime minister, who advises the president to dissolve parliament and call elections. Naturally, this confers an extraordinary tactical advantage to the incumbent party. This advantage is compounded by another feature of Singapore elections: a breathtakingly brief campaign season. Typically there are just nine days between nomination day, when candidates declare which seats they are running for, and election day, when citizens cast their compulsory vote. Political parties in Singapore are prohibited from engaging in a host of political activitiesholding processions, organising rallies, even putting up postersuntil nomination day, meaning that the entire election cycle is compressed into a period of 240 hours. Such short campaigns certainly avoid the staggering costs (and tedium) that characterise elections in many democracies. But they also put opposition parties at a tremendous disadvantage. There is little time to organise, meet voters, craft platforms, hammer home messages, explain positions, hold debates, plan strategies, or do any of the other things that help candidates get elected. A s Jeyaretnam courted voters in Farrer Park, the campaign against the Workers' Party grew more strident. The PAP planted doubts about Jeyaretnam's loyalty, warning voters against "foreign proxies" who wanted to drag Singapore back into Malaysia. This strategy played on the suspicion with which many Singaporeans regarded their neighbour to the north especially Chinese Singaporeans who worried that Malaysia's bloody anti-Chinese riots threatened the Lion City. The PAP remained vague about the exact identity of these foreign proxies, however, until a campaign rally at Paya Lebar on 25 August 1972, when a PAP candidate named Tay Boon Too accused the Workers' Party of receiving f u n d s s o m e S $ 6 o o , o o o f r o m a source in Kuala

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Lumpur, the Malaysian capital. Government radio broadcast Tay's accusation across Singapore in the island's four official languages. Jeyaretnam was furious. The allegation was "a monstrous lie," he f u m e d t h e party had less than S$4,ooo in its bank account, barely enough to cover its campaign expenses. 5 ^ Not only that, but the attack was eerily similar to the Chew Swee Kee affair of 1959, when the PAP had accused the Labour Front of receiving S$5oo,ooo from a foreign source, a charge which demolished the Labour Front and swept the PAP to power. Jeyaretnam threatened to sue Tay for libel unless he withdrew his remarks. But there was no respite. The PAP questioned Jeyaretnam's motives at eveiy turn. At an election rally in Farrer Park, Jeyaretnam's opponent, Dr Lee Chiaw Meng, a high-ranking MP who was minister of state for education, r e m i n d e d voters of Jeyaretnam's "challenge" to the Singapore way of life: In every conflict of interests, each time that Singapore has had to defend its national interests, Mr Jeyaretnam has leapt up in support of another country. In whose interests is he working for? Is it any wonder that Mr. Jeyaretnam wants national service abolished and all defence spending stopped? He wants our Republic drastically weakened, knowing full well that neither the foreign nor local investor will put their money into our Singapore if we are weak and unstable. 16 Dr. Lee made his attack even more personal at another PAP rally at Farrer Park football ground the next evening, just four days before the election: Who is this JB Jeyaretnam who wants to bring us all down? Mr. Jeyaretnam was born in JB. He voluntarily adopted Singapore citizenship, taking an oath to be loyal and to defend our Republic. By his own admission, he goes to JB frequently. Four or five times a month to see his sister, he says. His sister seems to have a strange influence on him ... 68

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Our Singapore schools are not good enough for him. All children of our citizens are taught to respect our national anthem, Majullah Singapura. And they are proud of it. When the Singapore swimmers won the many gold medals at the SEAP Games, our competitors and their supporters were so moved at the playing of the National Anthem, tears glistened in their eyes. That is a measure of our pride in the Anthem. But Mr. Jeyaretnam teaches his children to stand up for "God Save the Queen." 17 Jeyaretnam was particularly disturbed by the remark about his sister, which (he felt) implied an incestuous relationship. Never one to shy away from combat, Jeyaretnam accused Dr Lee and the PAP of running a "vicious personal" campaign against him: The PAP is doing a dangerous and mischievous thing. Our party is dedicated to Singaporeansnot to Malays, Indians or Chinese. 18 Jeyaretnam was not the only Workers' Party candidate battered by personal attacks. One example was the parly's candidate in Crawford, Wu Kher, characterised as a bicycle thief by foreign minister S Rajaratnam. In fact, Wu had been fined S$3o for attempted theft of a bicyclewhen he was 15 years old. 1 9 Jeyaretnam demanded that PAP candidate Tay Boon Too withdraw his allegation about the S $ 6 o o , o o o gift by 1 September. "We play clean to the end," Jeyaretnam declared. "We want to expose cheap, dishonourable tactics adopted by the PAP." 20 But Tay refused to back down. That evening, Jeyaretnam had a final opportunity to put his case to the voters of Singapore. In a four-minute party political broadcast, he made an eloquent appeal for political pluralism: In the four minutes that I have I would like to leave a few thoughts with you this evening so that you may think over them before you make your choice tomorrow. The PAP says it comes to you for your votes with its record of 11 years' government and, of course, we admit it is in some ways an impressive 69

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record. But our case and which we say is unanswerable is that in a democratic society an opposition in Parliament is absolutely necessaiy. Democracy without an opposition in Parliament providing, as it were, for representation of the people's view is unthinkable. A oneparty Parliament wholly subservient to the executive, rubber-stamping all decisions of the executive is not a democracy. For the last 12 years we have had a government that has not listened to the people and a government that does not listen to the people is an oligarchy, not a democratic government. We have heard from time to time our ministers saying how democratic Singapore is and they appear to be mortally offended when someone suggests that Singapore is perhaps not a democratic country. What baffles us is this: That our leaders in government can resort to threats to try and deny the people a voice in Parliament. We in the Workers' Party are striving through perfectly constitutional means to ensure that the democratic way of life finds acceptance in Singapore. We should have thought that a democratic government would encourage this attempt by the people through perfectly constitutional means to make the democratic system work, but on the contrary, for the last nine days we have had false and malicious allegations made against us, we have had threats made against us. We have been branded as enemies of the people. They even distort our policies... What is so tragic is that our leaders in government are unable to recognise that democracy demands recognition of the basic right of our people to turn out the government of the day and to elect another government of their choice and that they should be positively encouraged in this right. If we who have tried by constitutional means to inject democracy into our way of life fail and we are met at every turn by obstacles and threats and harassments by the ruling party, then it may be that the people will despair and they may then turn to unconstitutional means. Is this what our leaders desire? Please remember that the rest of the world will be watching us tomorrow and how you vote will decide whether democracy has become
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an accepted way of life of our people or whether our way of life is one of authoritarianism. We have no doubt you will do your duty according to your conscience. 21 It is striking that Jeyaretnam made no mention of his party's platform of trimming the defence budget and instituting a national health programme. Neither did he respond to the attacks against him. The broadcast was a golden opportunity to profess his loyalty to Singapore, to ridicule the "foreign proxy" allegations, and to present his policies without risk of distortion. But Jeyaretnam instead focused his criticism on the "rules of the game" a message unlikely to win new votes. Perhaps he felt that the attacks were so absurd that to respond would only give them more weight. Despite the odds, Jeyaretnam nursed the secret hope that he would stage an upset. Campaigning in Farrer Park the day before the election, he canvassed one of the Indian cowherds who then plied the streets of Little India peddling glasses of milk. "Take this," the milkman grinned, handing Jeyaretnam a glass of warm milk. "Take this, and you'll win tomorrow!" 2 2 But polling day proved to be a bitter disappointment. The PAP swept all 65 seats in parliament, with 69 per cent of the overall vote. The dark innuendoes against the Workers' Party took a heavy toll: the WP won just 24 per cent of the votes in the 27 constituencies it contested, and none of its candidates polled more than 37 per cent. In Farrer Park, Jeyaretnam himself drew a mere 23 per cent against Dr Lee. Publicly, Jeyaretnam put a bright face on the outcome: after all, the Workers' Party emerged from the election as the strongest opposition party. But this was rather like being the tallest midget in the circus. Privately, Jeyaretnam was devastated. The Workers' Party suffered a crippling lack of the resources that every election demands money, volunteers, and publicityand stretched those meagre assets too thinly.
*

A f t e r the excitement generated by Jeyaretnam's takeover of the 87

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Workers' Party, the dismal results of 1973 set off a round of internal recriminations. In December, a breakaway faction, headed by Charlie Seow and Ng Ho, announced they were leaving to form a new left-wing party. Seow and N g w h o had been instrumental in Jeyaretnam's election as secretary-generalaccused Jeyaretnam of freezing them out of strategy sessions. The split represented a major crisis: The splinter group, later known as the United Front, included several of the party's candidates from the general election, and about 300 supporters out of a total party membership of 554. Clearly, the wild rumour about mysterious foreign proxies was wreaking havoc within the parly. A similar charge devastated the Labour Front in 1959, and Jeyaretnam feared the same thing might happen to the Workers' Party. "It was a very serious allegation, which struck at the very life of the party," Jeyaretnam later wrote. 23 Jeyaretnam knew he had to take action. He pledged to make the party's accounts public, and followed through on his threat to sue PAP MP Tay Boon Too for defamation. There was a problem, however. Tay had made his speech in the Chinese dialect of Hokkien. Although the speech had been translated and broadcast in Singapore's four official languages (English, Mandarin, Malay, and Tamil) Jeyaretnam was unable to obtain a transcript of his original words. During the trial, attorneys for Tay and the Department of Broadcasting argued that this oversight was fatalthe lawsuit could not proceed without Tay's exact words. The judge, justice FA Chua, agreed, dismissing the suit and ordering the Workers' Party to pay Tay's legal costs, which amounted to S$r4,ooo. Jeyaretnam was outraged by the ruling. In an interview more than 38 years later, the tension in his voice still betrayed his emotions. "I did find it frustrating, yes," he said in ^ 9 8 . The case was frustrating for another reason, too: the lawyer for the Department of Broadcasting was none other than Jeyaretnam's estranged friend Tan Boon Teik, who had been promoted to attorney-general. The Workers' Party dragged its heels about paying Tay. According to Jeyaretnam, the reason was plain. They didn't have the money. 24 72

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It may seem strange that the Workers' Party would procrastinate over such a paltry sum, but fundraising was a chronic headache. "Finding monies even to pay for the day-to-day political activities of the party was and still remains one of the biggest obstacles that confront an opposition party in Singapore," Jeyaretnam wrote in his memoir. "People are too frightened to contribute any monies to an opposition party." 25 This is somewhat overstated. The Workers' Party had dedicated supporters who contributed hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years. The vast majority faced no sanction. But some Workers' Party supporters were penalised for their political beliefs. Their example persuaded hundreds, perhaps thousands of others to keep their head down and not to risk trouble by donating money to the opposition. Whether the reason, the Workers' Party made no effort to settle its debt with Taya fact that was later to have profound consequences.
* * * *

Jeyaretnam's next shot at elected office came in the general elections of 1976. Candidates in Singapore need not live in the constituencies they represent. In fact, political parties frequently shuffle nominees from ward to ward in an effort to pit their strongest contenders against weak opponents. During his first campaign in 1972, Jeyaretnam was accused of standing in Farrer Park because of its high percentage of Indian voters. This criticism stung him. Playing ethnic politics was regarded as a cardinal sin in Singapore, and he was anxious to demonstrate his appeal to bluecollar voters of all races. So in 1976 he decided to challenge the PAP in Kampong Chai Chee, a predominantly Chinese constituency. Not only was Kampong Chai Chee a working-class ward, but Jeyaretnam thought he stood a good chance against the two-term PAP incumbent, Sha'ari Tadin, who had squeaked into office in 1972 with 4 7 % of the vote in a three-cornered fight. Initially, he was reluctant to reveal which constituencies the Workers' Party would contest, in order to prevent the PAP from switching its weaker candidates to uncontested wards. But other WP members argued that the party should make its plans public. Jeyaretnam eventually held a

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press conference two days before nomination day to announce who was standing where. Candidates in Singapore are required to register in person on nomination day. After Jeyaretnam arrived at the Nomination Centre, just 2,0 minutes before the deadline, and signed up for Kampong Chai Chee, he was shocked to discover that the PAP had switched its candidates. 26 Instead of Sha'ari Tadin, Jeyaretnam suddenly found himself up against Major Fong Sip C h e e a popular PAP MP whose nickname was "The Rat Catcher." Jeyaretnam waged a much more effective campaign in 1976 than he had four years before. At the campaign's opening rally in Fullerton Square, he demonstrated a new grasp of oratoiy, as can be seen from the vivid account from the Straits Times-. The first salvo in the nine - day battle for votes was fired at 1 P yesterday M and it came from the Workers' Party. It came straight from the shoulder and was aimed not only at the People's Action Party but also the Straits Times. It thundered forth at Fullerton Square, which might become the Singapore version of the Speakers' Corner in London's Hyde P a r k well, at least for the next few days. Mr. JB Jeyaretnam, WP's secretaiy-general, went straight for the jugular veinand drew applause and cheers from the lunch-time crowd that packed the square. Speaking from a makeshift stage formed by lining two lorries side by side, he was a man in his element, striving hard to be in communion with his audience. He spoke eloquently and with gustohis voice becoming hoarse as the modulated tones of the courtroom lawyer gave way to the controlled fury of the street-corner politician. He urged the crowd to join him in shouting: "We want to be heard" and to shout it so loudly that "Mr. Lee Kuan Yew will hear it." They did. Three times. His was essentially a well-organised rally though he did not reckon with the elements, and a sudden downpour sent many spectators

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scuriying for shelter ... Mr. Jeyaretnam began his bitter attack against the PAP by saying that the fight today was not between two political parties battling for votes. "The fight today is between a minority who hold the reins of power on one side and the people on the other," he said. He also spoke about the "crawlers" the many people in Singapore who, he said, went crawling to the PAP begging for favours. "We in the Workers' Party want you, the people of Singapore, to walk upright. We don't want you to crawl," he added... Mr. Jeyaretnam then delivered an attack on the Straits Times Group by referring to what he described as the "press lords" of Kim Seng Road, Times House," as one of the "institutions of the PAP government." He charged that the press lords, too, did not want the people to be heard. Therefore, they distorted whatever was said by the opposition parties while whatever was said by the PAP was given full coverage. He did not blame the reporters and journalists who tried to do an honest job. It was the press lords sitting in their air-conditioned rooms in Times House who were denying the people their rights.27 The Workers' Party drew up a detailed manifesto for the campaign. Once again, it called for the abolition of the Internal Security Act. It proposed a National Health Service providing free medical care for anyone earning less than $500 a month, a programme which would be funded by cuts in military spending. It also called for the end to the rotan, or cane. In the Western world, the term "caning" conjures up images of bespectacled headmasters swatting naughty schoolboys. In Singapore, however, caning was a brutal punishment designed to scar its victims for life. According to a rare report published in the Straits Times in 1974, the prisoner is stripped naked and strapped to a trestle by his wrists and ankles, his body bent like a circumflex. The canehalf an inch thick, four feet long, and soaked in brine is wielded by a hefty prison officer who channels the momentum of his whole body into the blow. The cane strikes the buttocks with such force that the skin splits open. After three

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strokes, the buttocks are covered in blood, and most prisoners are in a state of shock. Some pretend to faint, but seldom fool the medical officer. Others collapse, but are quickly revived so that the punishment may continue. A typical sentence runs anywhere from six to twelve strokes. The report concluded with a quote from the director of prisons, Quek Shi Lei: The prisoners do fear caning. Firstly, the fear of pain and then whether they will be able to control themselves from crying out during the course of the caning. To ciy means a terrible loss of face to them. Secondly, the cane marks are indelible and these will be a source of humiliation to them for the rest of their lives.28 The cane was originally reserved for crimes involving unusual cruelty or violence. But gradually it became mandatory for a range of offences, including vandalism and overstaying one's visa. Jeyaretnam felt that this customa legacy of British colonialism was barbaric. But, as a campaign issue, the cane flopped. Jeyaretnam didn't even mention it in his party-political broadcast, televised a few days before polling day. Nor did he articulate the rest of the party's platform. Instead, he focused on what he considered a more fundamental issue: the hollowing out of the very processes which gave democracy its meaning. Lamenting the absence of any opposition in parliament, he said: Laws which drastically affected the life of our citizens have been passed without more thought than a housewife would give in deciding which bar of soap she should buy ... The truth is your vote for the last 12 years has been utterly wasted. Your basic rightthe most powerful right in a democratic system of governmenthas been stripped of all its power and your exercise turned into a charade, a sham ... Remember that Singapore belongs to all of us who have made it our home and not just to a few in whose hands we become digits to be used by them to serve their purpose our rights and our dignity trampled upon if we thwart their wishes.29
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Just as Jeyaretnam repeated his central message from the 197? election, so the PAP recycled the tactics that worked for them before. Once again, they sought to focus on the character of Jeyaretnam and the WP men, trotting out the same personal attacks. The fiercest criticism came from foreign minister S Rajaratnam, who derided Jeyaretnam as a "pukka English gentleman." Mr Jeyaretnam says our educational system is undemocratic. He says his party will raise the standard of vernacular primaiy education. You know vernacular means the language of home-born slaves. Mr Jeyaretnam does not want his children to mix with the hoi polloi and the vernacularspeaking Singaporeans. How do you explain then that Jeyaretnam is interested in education?30 Shortly before polling day, Jeyaretnam issued a challenge to prime minister Lee Kuan Yew over the question of the secrecy of the ballot. In a letter to the prime minister, Jeyaretnam described the constant refrain he heard from voters on the hustings, a reluctance to support the Workers' Party for fear of retaliation: Many people have telephoned me or spoken to me on receiving their polling cards. The fear, however irrational it may seem, is in the minds of many of our electorate, particularly the uneducated, that your government will discover how he or she has voted in the elections and they are terrified of the consequences. You must be the first to agree that a vote given under these circumstances, under this fear, cannot by any stretch of the imagination be called a free vote. 31 Jeyaretnam then asked the prime minister to issue a public announcement guaranteeing the secrecy of the ballot. In one sense, this letter, which he also sent to the secretary-general of the United Nations and to several foreign embassies, was a crafty electoral gamble. If Lee remained silent, he would cast doubt on the integrity of the ballot. But if he stated publicly that the vote was secret, he might allay the fear that kept many voters f r o m casting their ballot for the opposition.

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Characteristically, however, Lee rose to the challenge. He insisted that the ballot had always been secretand that opposition parties bore responsibility for impugning its integrity. 32 After the hard-fought campaign, tensions ran high on election day. On a final walk through the streets of Chai Chee, Jeyaretnam and his supporters encountered his opponent. Major Fong, flanked by PAP supporters. "So, you are the rat catcher," Jeyaretnam said. "I am going to have the best catch today," Major Fong replied. 33 The major was right. By midnight, the PAP had won every constituency except for Kampong Chai Chee, where election workers were still tallying ballots. Exhausted by the campaign, Jeyaretnam went home to await the verdict. W h e n the results were announced, at 2:12am, Jeyaretnam had lost by 7,177 votes to Major Fong's 10,729 a margin of 20 per cent. Once again, the PAP had made a clean sweep of the nation's 69 seats in parliament, with 72 per cent of the popular vote. Although the Workers' Party had pulled more votes than ever before, the election of 1976 showed that the obstacles in its path were immense. Fifteen years later, Singaporean political scientist Bilveer Singh listed several factors to explain the PAP's dominance: Its ability to virtually incapacitate all its major political opponents through sanctions and socialisation. Its ability to gain control of most of the political and non-political organisations as well as to win co-operation from organisations that are able to mobilise political support among the populace. Its ability to establish and gain control of all grassroots organisations in the country, including the Citizens' Consultative Committees (CCCs), the Community Centres (CCs) and the Residents' Committees (RCs), thereby functioning as a link between the Government and the people as well as depriving the Opposition of a potential source of recruitment. Its ability to establish strict rules for the media, which in the end, enabled the PAP to use the media almost as its own organ, as well as to deny similar visibility to its opponents. 7*

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Its ability to gain credit for all the progress and development that has taken place in the country and hence legitimise its dominance through the performance criteria. Its ability to present itself as more than a political party, something akin to a national movement, thereby neutralising the need for other competing political parties in the system which could challenge the PAP's predominance. Its ability to gain control of the civil service and the trade union movement.34 The PAP's unyielding grip on the levers of power put the Workers' Party at a tremendous disadvantage, especially in its efforts to attract candidates. While timorous voters could be consoled by the thought that their ballots were secret, at least in theory, potential candidates for the Workers' Party knew full well that standing on the party's platform was an act of defiance towards the PAP, a declaration that could never be revoked. In democratic nations around the globe, standing for office is seldom a pleasant affair. Candidates can expect their records to come under public scrutiny, with occasionally disastrous results. But WP candidates had more to worry about than merely losing their deposit. The threat of imprisonment was never far away: indeed, shortly after the election, the Ministry of Home Affairs accused WP candidate Ho Juan Thai of trying to incite "violent chauvinistic reaction" among Chinesespeaking voters. Ho had been a student at Nanyang University when the government tried to change the medium of instruction from Chinese to English. As president of the students' union, he organised a protest in which students refused to write their exams in English, which resulted in him losing his post. 35 During the election, he accused the government of stripping Chinese Singaporeans of their cultural identity. Although he only got 3r per cent of the vote, the government issued a warrant for his arrest under the Internal Security Act. Ho fled across the causeway, and never returned to Singapore.

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Shortly after his defeat at Kampong Chai Chee, Jeyaretnam scored one of the biggest legal victories of his career. He was hired to defend a police inspector, MM Pillay, who was accused of a routine traffic violation. Two years before, to ease the congestion that choked downtown Singapore, the government had imposed a Restricted Zone in the central business district. Motorists were not allowed to drive into the RZ during rush hour without purchasing a S$4 licence. The easiest course for Inspector Pillay would have been to throw himself on the mercy of the court. But as Jeyaretnam researched the traffic regulations, he realised that the Road Traffic Act did not allow the Ministry of National Development and Communications to impose any fees. The Restricted Zone was unconstitutional, he told the courtand his client was therefore innocent. In a ruling that stunned the nation, Magistrate Jeffrey Chan declared the zone invalid, of
RZ 'ILLEGAL' COURT SHOCK,

screamed the front-page statement warning

headline in the Straits Communications

Times.36 later

(To the dismay of motorists, the Ministry issued a terse

Singaporeans not to flout the zone. "The police will continue enforcing the rules," a spokesman said, "because we have received no new instructions to do otherwise.") 3 7 Undaunted by his defeat in Kampong Chai Chee, Jeyaretnam jumped back into the political arena five months later to contest a by-election in Radin Mas. Vowing to stand up for all the "little, down-trodden people mercilessly stripped of their human dignity by the PAP government," 3 8 he plunged into the campaign with renewed zeal. In his opening rally, he declared: The people of Singapore are going to show, here in Radin Mas, that we refuse to be a mindless people. We will show the PAP that a political party that has no respect for the people will not get the votes of the people ... The PAP government boasts of building beautiful roads, factories, and airport but this is not what we want. It is not these things that matter, it is the people that matter. Before you beautify these things. 80

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first beautify our people. And our people can only be beautiful if they are given their fundamental rights instead of being shoved from pillar to post.39 Political observers began to scratch their heads. In a blistering editorial, Straits Times editor Leslie Fong castigated Jeyaretnam's high-minded talk about democracy and human rights: We will find him standing on a platform with his hands stretched out like a man being crucified, talking himself hoarse about the voice of the people. His loyal wife will be nearby, dutifully, as loyal and dutiful wives of American politicians stand by their husbands at the hustings. She will probably be at his side when he invites his audience to join them in prayerthat there shall be light at the end of these long, dark days and that the oppressive PAP will rule no more. Mr Jeyaretnam will have to pray indeed and pray very hard too if he hopes to win in Radin Mas by merely spouting again these same high-sounding phrases. Sure, such oratory appeals to the well-educated, the professionals and others. It makes good reading too in newspapersjust the kind of stuff of which headline writers' dreams are made. But while I am all for standing up for human rights and justice and democracy, I wonder if Mr Jeyaretnam's going on and on about it will cut any ice with voters in Radin Mas. I wonder if he understands that Radin Mas is essentially a lower-income group area, the residents of which are concerned with more earthly problems.40 Despite widespread scepticism in the press, the Radin Mas by-election presented Jeyaretnam with several advantages. His PAP opponent, Bernard Chen Tien Lap, 35, was a novice campaigner. The blue-collar ward contained several kampongs slated for resettlement, which was often bitterly resented by kampong dwellers, loath to abandon their sleepy village huts for the impersonal apartment blocks that awaited them on the other side of the island. 81

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When the polls closed on 14 May 1977, Jeyaretnam hovered anxiously inside the counting centre at Tiong Bahru Secondary School while the votes were tallied. A few minutes after midnight, he walked out into the night. "What do you want me to say?" Jeyaretnam snapped at reporters. "That I am tired and upset? The people have decided. Let the Straits Times and the New Nation say what they like." 4 1 The crowd of Workers' Party supporters, mistakenly t h i n k i n g Jeyaretnam's emergence signalled victory, surged forward, shouting "Berjayar ("Victory!") and raised him up on their shoulders. "Put me down!" he shouted, shaking his head, frustration and disappointment drawing him to the verge of tears. "Put me down! Stop it!" His supporters lowered him to the ground, and walked with him to the street. Moments later, the results were announced. Chen had beaten Jeyaretnam by 12,053 to 5,021 a margin of more than seven thousand.

* *
Even as he grappled with this defeat, Jeyaretnam faced two serious crises. The first came when Margaret was diagnosed with breast cancer. The diagnosis was a terrible blow. The existing treatments for breast c a n c e r a particularly lethal f o r m of n e o p l a s m w e r e tomy and radiation treatment, but the outlook was grim. There was also trouble on the legal front. During the run-up to the 1976 general election, prime minister Lee Kuan Yew had ridiculed Jeyaretnam for offering to run the nation's finances when he was having trouble with his own (a sly dig at Jeyaretnam's law practice, which had suffered since he joined the Workers' Party.) At the campaign's opening rally, Jeyaretnam responded to this charge, saying: Mr. Lee Kuan Yew has managed his fortune very well. He is the Prime Minister of Singapore. His wife is the senior partner of Lee & Lee and his brother is the director of several companies, including Tat Lee Bank in Market Street; the bank which was given a permit with alacrity. expensive, painful, and ineffective. Margaret flew to England to undergo a mastec-

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banking permit licence, when other banks were having difficulties getting their licence. 42 After the election, Lee demanded an unconditional apology: a standard manoeuvre in libel proceedings. The demand put Jeyaretnam in a bind. If he apologised, he would be conceding that there was something to apologise f o r a n admission that could be used against him in court. But if he did not apologise, Lee could argue that Jeyaretnam was aggravating the damage by refusing to retract his remarks. Nonetheless, Jeyaretnam did not think the case could succeed. He had simply made a statement of fact. If the facts were true, how could he lose a libel suit? Jeyaretnam refused to apologise, and Lee duly filed suit in court, setting the stage for a sensational trial with major political implications. Jeyaretnam had lost an important libel suit once before: when PAP MP Tay Boon Too had accused the Workers' Party of receiving $600,000 in foreign funds. This time, however, he had an ace up his sleeve: he engaged the famous British barrister John Mortimer, author of the popular series Rumpole of the Railey. A product of Oxford and Harrow, Mortimer's remarkable success as a writer, journalist, and playwright has at times overshadowed his career at the bar. It is easy to forget that, as a Queen's Counsel in the 1960s, he was one of England's most prominent defence lawyers, specialising in free-speech issues, or what his colleagues sometimes referred to as "dirty-book cases." 43 Indeed, he once defended a British magazine against obscenity charges for publishing an illustration of Rupert the Bear sporting an enormous erection. The five-day trial, held in November 1978, made front-page headlines in the Straits Times. On the witness stand, Lee said Jeyaretnam's accusations were so grave they could have brought down the government: If the allegations are believed, I am destroyed. The allegations have been hanging over my head since December 18, 1976, when all other allegations by all others have been withdrawn.44 83

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But what were the allegations? All Jeyaretnam had done was to point out a strange coincidence and invite his listeners to draw their own conclusions. It is difficult to deny that the bare facts of the Tat Lee case invited speculation about undue influence. In 1969, the chairman of the Tat Lee Company, Goh Tjoei Kok, applied for a banking licence from the Monetary Authority of Singapore, proposing an initial capital of S$20 million. For almost three years, the application gathered dust in the halls of MAS. Then, in ^ 7 2 , Tat Lee hired the law firm of Lee & Lee to shepherd the bank's application through the bureaucratic maze. It was a shrewd choice: Lee & Lee was started by Lee Kuan Yew and his wife, and had become one of Singapore's most successful law firms. Although Lee himself had severed all formal ties with the firm, it retained a formidable reputation as having access to the corridors of power. In addition to hiring Lee & Lee, Tat Lee pulled in another individual with close ties to the prime minister: his brother, Lee Kim Yew, who was one of the proposed directors. Five months later, MAS approved the deal in principle, and ultimately issued a licence in February ^ 7 4 . It is important to understand that MAS was notoriously slow to grant banking licences. The last licence was issued i n ^ 6 8 to the Development Bank of Singapore, which had a large government stake. At the trial, the managing director of MAS, Michael Wong Pakshong, strenuously denied that the advent of Lee & Lee or the prime minister's brother had anything to do with MAS's decision to give Tat Lee the green light. The reason for MAS's change of heart, he said, was its belief that $20 million was too small a capitalisation for a local bank, an objection that Tat Lee overcame by raising its stake to $3? million. Mortimer argued that Jeyaretnam's remarks were fair comment and that he could not be responsible for all the implications or innuendo that could be read into his words. Indeed, Mortimer told the court, the ability to engage in robust debate was the essence of democracy. Despite Mortimer's oratory, Jeyaretnam lost the case. In January 1979, justice FA Chuathe same judge who had ruled against the Workers' Party in the Tay Boon Too caseordered Jeyaretnam to pay Lee S$r3o,ooo in damages and costs. 84

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Jeyaretnam was devastated by the judgment. One moment of the trial particularly disturbed him. Margaret was now dying of cancer. Nevertheless, she sat next to Jeyaretnam each day of the trial. When Lee was in the witness box, Mortimer asked if he was trying to bankrupt Jeyaretnam. Looking over at Jeyaretnam and his wife, Lee replied, "Not even $300,000 would bankrupt him." 4 5 Although there is no direct evidence that Lee knew about Margaret's cancer, Jeyaretnam was convinced he did know about it. He took Lee's remark as a personal affrontand bitterly resented it. How does a man raise that kind of money when his wife is dying of cancer and his legal practice is suffering? Jeyaretnam appealed the decision to the High Court, and even attempted to bring it before the Privy Council in London; but he lost both efforts. In the end, his liability in damages and costs amounted to S$5oo,ooo. And in the end he learned the answer to an awful question: how does a man raise half a million dollars? He sells his house, with its swimming pool and garden, dismisses his servants, and moves into a rented apartment.
* * * *

By January 1979, Jeyaretnam's political career was, to put it kindly, in a shambles. He was 53 years old. He had lost three times at the polls. He had lost two major libel suits. He was short of cash, the Workers' Party was struggling, and his wife was dying of cancer. But on the morning of 3i January, at fifteen minutes before noon, Jeyaretnam made a dramatic appearance at the Victoria School Nomination Centre to declare his candidacy for parliament in a byelection at Telok Blangah against the PAP candidate, a young accountant named Rohan bin Kamis. Coming so soon after judge Chua's ruinous S $ i 3 o , o o o verdict, Jeyaretnam's announcement shocked reporters covering the by-election. But, characteristically, he remained as fiery as ever, saying it was the "paramount duty" of opposition parties to challenge the PAP. Jeyaretnam's obvious relish for the campaign was echoed in the exuberant atmosphere of his rallies. While he continued, as always, to focus

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on democracy and human rights, he had become increasingly adept at raising bread-and-butter issues. He slammed the government for failing to increase pensions in line with inflation; for high taxes; and for sharp hikes in water, gas, and electricity bills. Despite Jeyaretnam's crusty accent, his British education, and his Indian heritage, working-class Singaporeans were beginning to identify with him. His stubborn refusal to give up, even after so many defeats, earned him grudging respect: The crowds turned wild when Mr Jeyaretnam ended his delivery and held high a wooden hammerthe party's symbol. Then to the chants of "We want Jeya," the opposition leader was chaired to his car. More than 100 people surged round him, cheering and shouting.46 Once again, the results were a crushing disappointment: the PAP candidate, Rohan Kamis, won 12,687 votes to Jeyaretnam's 8,o36, making Jeyaretnam now a four-time loser. However, Jeyaretnam could not help but take note of a very significant fact: his share of the vote was greater than ever before. And each time he stood for office, it seemed to creep a few points higher. By this time it had become clear that Margaret had only a short time to live. As her health declined, Jeyaretnam became increasingly despondent: He was utterly devoted to her. In an interview conducted almost 20 years later, his voice quavered with despair and frustration: There was nothing I could do! To see her crying sometimes, what could I do?! And it still troubles me, because there's no question that because of my political career, she must have suffered terrible stress. Her cancer was diagnosed after Lee brought his first suit against me. She used to say she wanted to go back to the UK. She was very loyal. But I could see she was worried. I wonder if I had given up politics and returned to the UK with her, she might still be living with me today.47 Margaret died of cancer on ro April ^ 8 0 , at the age of fifty. They had been married 23 years; Jeyaretnam was crushed. "She was with me on 86

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every platform," he told the Straits Times. "I feel as if half of me has been cut off. She was my whole strength in lots of things." 4 8 He kept a picture of her above his office desk, and bought a fresh red rose for it every day a ritual he would repeat for many years. For a while, Jeyaretnam considered retiring from politics. After all, his predecessor, Workers' Party founder David Marshall, had abandoned politics and returned to a successful career at the bar. But Jeyaretnam would not and could not abandon the struggle. Ironically, Margaret's death was the final catalyst that cast him irrevocably on his long crusade against the PAP: After her death I thought I would give up. But then it was brought on me that the time for giving up was before her death and I had no reason for giving up after her death. It would be an act of betrayal of her to give up so I forced myself back into picking up again an active political role. 49 To overcome his grief, Jeyaretnam hurled himself into politics as never before. He came tantalisingly close in the general election of 1980, polling 46.3 per cent of the vote in the Telok Blangah constituency, against 52.2 per cent for the PAP candidate, Rohan Khamis. If 600 voters had switched sides, Jeyaretnam would have won. Then, in 1981, Jeyaretnam got another chance. The PAP nominated party stalwart CV Devan Nair to the largely ceremonial post of president. In order to accept the nomination, however, Nair had to resign his seat in parliament. This left his constituencyAnsonup for grabs.

8?

T H E B A T T L E FOR A N S O N

Straddling Keppel Harbour on the southern shore of the island, the district of A n s o n was considered one of the PAP's safest seats. The constituency was surrounded by some of Singapore's most valuable real estate. To the north-east, the office towers of the financial district loomed over Robinson Road; to the north, the massive buildings of Singapore General Hospital glowed late into the night. Anson's previous MP was Devan Nair, a popular trade unionist and founding member of the PAP who trounced his last opponent with 84 per cent of the vote. Indeed, Anson was considered such a PAP stronghold that many of Jeyaretnam's supporters begged him not to run. Anson, they said, was unwinnableand a loss would squander the psychological advantage he had built up in his recent battles. But Jeyaretnam was undaunted by the long odds. Avoiding the challenge, he argued, would be perceived as cowardice. In addition, there was an encouraging historical parallel. Twenty years before, David Marshall, the founder of the Workers' Party, had scored an upset victory against the PAP in Anson. Jeyaretnam was convinced that, given the right opportunity, the district's voters would show their independent streak again. At rr:35AM on nomination day, barely 5(5 minutes before the deadline, Jeyaretnam appeared at the Nomination Centre and officially threw his hat into the ring. Publicly, PAP officials were brimming with confidence. "I don't think there is any way Mr Jeyaretnam can win," PAP organising secretary Goh Chok Tong told a press conference. 1 But almost as soon as the 88

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nine-day by-election campaign began, it became apparent that the PAP had for once miscalculated. Anson may have been surrounded by gleaming monuments to the nation's prosperity, but the constituency itself was dominated by wharves and railyards. The majority of Anson's 14,500 residents had been left behind by the island-nation's boom. Roughly one-third of the households earned less than US$23o a month, and another one-third earned less than US$460. 2 Anson was also a microcosm of the resentments that had built up over two decades of PAP rule. First among these issues was housing. In the early sixties, the Housing and Development Board had embarked on a massive construction programme throughout the island, bulldozing the rickety kampongs and squalid shophouses, and erecting high-rise flats in their stead. By 1981, the HDB had created more than 3 o o , o o o unitssurely one of the most impressive spurts of residential construction anywhereand more than 70 per cent of the nation's 3.4 million people lived in public housing. 3 Despite this spectacular record, however, Singapore was still suffering a tremendous housing shortage: roughly 100,000 Singaporeans were still waiting to buy their own flats from the HDB, with i 3 , o o o on the waiting list to rent. There were 63,000 one-room flats with more than three people living in them. A n d the government seemed to be falling further behind: in the first ten months of 1981, the waiting list grew by 46,000 people, while the official target for the entire year was just 15,000 flats. The average waiting time for a HDB flat was roughly five years. 4 Against this backdrop, the Port of Singapore Authority wanted to evict 700 families from nine high-rise blocks in Anson to make way for a new container complex. The neighbourhood, known as Blair Plain, was primarily occupied by port workers, who bitterly resented being pushed out by their own employer. What's more, the HDB refused to give them priority in applying for new flats. While the government's official inflation rate stood at just under 10 per cent, that figure masked sharp increases which had hit low-income Singaporeans particularly hard. The average purchase price for HDB 9

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flats had jumped 38 per cent in a single year. Rice was up 19.4 per cent; meat and poultry was up 13.9 per cent; public transportation rose 17 per cent. There were rumours that the government was planning to hike bus fares. In addition, there was grumbling over the government's "Speak Mandarin" campaign, launched by prime minister Lee in 1979. Most Chinese Singaporeans trace their ancestry to southern China, where the vernacular tongue was not Mandarin but dialects such as Hokkien, Teochew, or Cantonese. The government wanted Chinese Singaporeans to speak Mandarin instead, reaffirming their cultural heritage and simultaneously opening new links to China. Schoolchildren were encouraged to write and pronounce their names in Mandarin, rather than dialectso that Lee Kuan Yew, for example, might become Li Guangyao. 5 Various dialect place names were also changed: Nee Soon became Yishun; Peck San Teng became Bishan; and Tekka became Zhujiao. Singapore's Chinese-dialect groups were proud of their regional traditions, however, and the government's attempts to impose Mandarin infuriated them. (Imagine walking into an Italian restaurant and finding that the menu has been written in Latin.) The PAP also made several tactical blunders. The first was its choice of candidate: a 32-year-old mechanical engineer named Pang Kim Hin, with no political experience. By traditional measures, Pang had good family connectionshis uncle was Lim Kim San, a powerful PAP m i n ister. But, paradoxically, this was a liability in Anson, because his uncle was also chairman of the Port of Singapore Authority, the agency responsible for the Blair Plain evictions. Second, the PAP's master campaigner, prime minister Lee, was noticeable by his absence. Lee had decided that the A n s o n by-election would be a good opportunity for the younger PAP leaders to get a taste for electoral politics. The party's long stay in power had produced an echelon of so-called "second generation" leaders who had never undergone the rigours of a closely fought election. Accordingly, the up-and-coming minister of health, Goh Chok Tong, took charge of the PAP's campaign, even making speeches in the stead of the hapless Pang. 6 And while Goh aimed several jabs at Jeyaretnam, he never
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showed a knack for the vicious form of political ju-jitsu that came so naturally to Lee. Jeyaretnam also benefited from the awkward timing of the Trade Disputes (Amendment) Act, passed by parliament a week before polling day. The law banned strikes which would inflict hardship on any sector of the communitya vague provision which seemed, on its face, designed to outlaw industrial action altogether. Although the trade unions had long since come under the sway of the PAP, and although industrial action had therefore become exceedingly rare, the new law was a stark reminder of the unions' castration. During a three-hour rally at Blair Plain, Jeyaretnam skilfully exploited the issue: By this definition, all strikes are illegal. Strike actions, by their very nature, are coercive but the government has said no. They can then go around telling the world that the people here are so well-treated that they do not have to strike. But do they tell the world that all strikes are illegal here? 7 Finally, Jeyaretnam also enjoyed an unusual degree of co-operation from the other opposition parties, which stood aside to avoid splitting the anti-PAP vote. The newly formed Singapore Democratic Party, headed by lawyer Chiam See Tong, did not field a candidate, while the Barisan Sosialis and the Singapore United Front even sent in their workers to help campaign for Jeyaretnam. This temporary ceasefire may seem an obvious stratagem, but it was seldom encountered among the bickering chieftains of Singapore's puny opposition parties. (The only other contender was perennial candidate Harbans Singh, secretaiygeneral of the United People's Front, who told one reporter he was in the race as an "agent of God." 8 ) Tension mounted as election day drew near. Two days before the election, Goh Chok Tong told a press conference that no opposition member of parliament could serve Anson residents as well as a PAP MP: A PAP MP is in a better position to help than a non PAP MP, that's all I'm saying ... It will be more difficult for anybody who is not familiar

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with PAP government ministers to get things done. The PAP MP mixes with other MPs and ministers, and he can raise with them problems and issues the constituents may have on a friendly basis.9 Although Goh took pains to express himself in a non- confrontational manner, many Singaporeans read the speech as a blunt threat to Anson voters: if you elect Jeyaretnam, don't expect any help from us. It is difficult to know how many votes were motivated by Goh's statement. Certainly, some voters were outraged by it: At one PAP rally, a plastic packet of cooked noodles was hurled at Goh as he stood at the podiuma brazen act of defiance almost unheard of in Singapore. In sharp contrast to Pang's political inexperience, Jeyaretnam, now 55 years old, was a seasoned campaigner, having fought the PAP no fewer than five times before. Although he continued to emphasise human rights, he also hammered away at bread-and-butter issues: medical fees, bus fares, and the rising cost of HDB flats. Thousands of Singaporeans flocked to the Workers' Party rallies: the huge crowds forced some onlookers to stand so far from the platform that they couldn't even hear the speeches. They stayed nonetheless, just for a chance to see Jeyaretnam in action. By the end of the campaign, he told a reporter: "I have done all that is humanly possible. It is now in the hands of God." 1 0 On the evening of 3i October, polling day, Jeyaretnam and Workers' Party chairman Wong Hong Toy drove up to the counting station, located in the Gan Eng Seng Secondary School. Crowds of people, both W P and PAP supporters, jammed Anson Road, waiting for the results to be announced. Inside, poll workers counted the ballots, bundling them into groups of 50, and stacking the bundles in trays for each candidate. Jeyaretnam and Wong stood hypnotised as the trays filled with bundles: now Jeyaretnam's tray was higher, now Pang's, now Jeyaretnam's. As the hours dragged on, and the last ballots were counted and recounted, Wong's heart soared. "They were almost equal, but I could see that ours was a little higher," Wong remembered. "I told Mr Jeyaretnam we are going to win. He said really? I said yes, I see the ballots." At ro:53pM, returning officer Richard Lau stepped up to the micro-

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phone outside the counting station, and announced the result: Mr Harbans Singh: i3i votes. Mr Jeyaretnam: 7,012 votes. Mr Pang: 6,359 v tes. But the last three digits of Pang's tally were drowned out by a roar from the crowd. By a margin of just 653, the voters of Anson had staged the most dramatic upset in Singapore's political history. They had elected Jeyaretnam as their member of parliament. The PAP's spell was broken. The years of pent-up frustration had finally found an outlet. WP supporters jabbed their hands in the air and chanted, "We want Jeya! We want Jeya! " n As word spread, so did the delirium. Anson Road was a solid mass of revelers shouting and cheering from Palmer Road to Telok Ayer market. Taxi drivers were honking their horns and waving at one another. Standing in the schoolhouse, Jeyaretnam himself was gasping with disbelief. As the crowd outside chanted his name, he knelt on the floor and murmured a prayer for Margaret. 12 Then he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped up to the microphone. The crowd surged forward but was restrained by the police. "I went towards them and tried to shake the hand of as many as I could," he later wrote. "They were wild with excitement." His voice choked with emotion, Jeyaretnam thanked his supporters: This victory is yours. It is not mine. It is the people's victory against the might of the PAP and all the government agencies. In the face of all this, I feel veiy, very humble. I thank God for answering the prayers not only of myself but also of hundreds of thousands of Singaporeans. This is also my saddest moment. One person who has fought foryour cause as fiercely as I did, is not here. But I know that she is here in spirit. I am sure she will rejoice tonight, seeing you cheering me. Calling his 17-year-old son, Philip, to the platform (Kenneth was studying at Cambridge), Jeyaretnam hugged Philip for several

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minutes."We've won, son," he said to him before turning back to the microphone: I think we all need a rest and need to go back and thank God for this victory. Let us go home with jubilation and cheerfulness. There is a new sun breaking out tomorrow morning. Let us welcome the dawn of a bright, prosperous, happy Singapore, a Singapore we can all be proud to call our own. I pray to God that I will have the strength to serve not only the people of Anson but also the whole of Singapore. I am sure the Anson voters want me to regard myself not only as their MP but the MP for the silent majority. 13 Twenty years after Jeyaretnam's triumph, a retired police officer grinned like a hyena when asked to recall the events of that night. He was off duty, drinking in a pub, when he got a telephone call: "The old man is in!" He rushed over to Anson, where he saw a crowd he estimates at 20,000 people: People were cheering, shouting, banging on things. He has broken in. We understand each other. It's the joy and happiness we had. It was so overjoyous, so overwhelming. All racesall were cheering in defiance. I found a group who I didn't know, and I followed them to a hawker centre. We all spent money, we didn't know who was who, it didn't matter, we were in a mood of jubilation. We hugged and kissed each other. Even people outside the constituency came to join us. 14 Within minutes, news of Jeyaretnam's victory spread across the nation and even overseas. Lawyer Subhas Anandan was in London with some colleagues at the Swiss Cottage Inn during the election, and called his partner in Singapore, MPD Nair, to find out the result. When MPD said JBJ had won, we got the shock of our lives! I went down to the bar to tell the others. They thought I was joking. That night we bought drinks for everyone at the barall these Englishmen who didn't

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even know anything about it! 15 After years of negative coverage from the local press, Jeyaretnam was delighted the next morning to see the front page headline in the Straits Times-,
JEYARETNAM TAKES ANSON.

"It was pure joy," he later wrote. 1 6

A week later, Jeyaretnam led a procession of cars, vans, and motorcycles through Anson to thank residents for voting for him. Police officials had denied him a permit to lead a procession on foot, but not even this bit of bureaucratic pettiness could dampen the spirits of his supporters, who adorned him with garlands of flowers. Local journalists covering the election were amazedand some of them ecstaticthat Jeyaretnam had finally won. "I was happy that there was finally someone who's broken the stranglehold, who has beaten them at their own game," said one reporter who covered the event. "I thought that dawn had come to the political landscape of Singapore. But it turned out to be the other way around." 1 7 * * * Jeyaretnam's margin of victory may have been small, but the psychological effect was immense. Singapore had not elected an opposition MP since 1963. "When JBJ won the Anson by-election in 1981, it broke a psychological barrier in the minds of Singaporeans," says Russell Heng, an ex-journalist turned academic. "He demonstrated that the PAP can be defeated." 1 8 "We absolutely leaped up in our seats," said another senior journalist. "It was so exciting, a major breakthrough." 1 9 But to PAP supporters, the vote came as a tremendous shock. Straits Times editor Leslie Fong walked the halls of the newspaper's office in a daze, mumbling, "We lost." 20 No one was more upset by Jeyaretnam's victory than prime minister Lee himself. For this we have the evidence of former Singapore president Devan Nair, who fell out of favour with Lee in 1985 and fled to the United States. In 1999, he published an account of a meeting he had with Lee the day after Jeyaretnam's victory:

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The day after the by-election result, I had lunch with the then prime minister, Lee Kuan Yew, who fretted and fumed like a caged fury. As I saw it, Jeyaretnam constituted no threat at all to the PAP, in Parliament or outside it. For one thing, Jeya displayed a woeful lack of economics. He has never understood how Singapore clicks economically and it was plain that in five years in Parliament he would stand exposed. I explained this to Kuan Yew, but nothing I said sank in. He fretted about a potential critical drop in PAP votes across all constituencies that might bring down his PAP government ... Immediately, however, Lee was concentrated on how to deal with Jeyaretnam in Parliament. I was quite alarmed at some of the things the Prime Minister told me at that lunch. "Look," he said, "Jeyaretnam can't win the infighting. I'll tell you why. We are in charge. Every government ministry and department is under our control. And in the infighting, he will go down for the count every time." His last words were: "I will make him crawl on his bended knees, and beg for mercy." But Jeyaretnam was made of sterner stuff. He has never crawled, nor begged for mercy. 21
* *

Jeyaretnam quickly discovered that it was one thing to get elected to parliament, but quite another to take hold of the reins of power. Almost as soon as the returns were in, he found himself in conflict with a bureaucracy wholly unaccustomed to dealing with an opposition member of parliament. During the PAP's r 6-year monopoly in parliament, the organs of party and state, while theoretically separate, had in practice largely fused together. This convergence was particularly striking in the grassroots community organisations which co-coordinated neighbourhood activities. Reportedly inspired by the communist practice of establishing local cells and by the Japanese use of neighbourhood associations for surveillance during the war, prime minister Lee set up the first Citizens' Consultative Committees in 1965, both as a way to implement

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government policies and for residents to air their concerns. 2 2 In addition to the CCCs, the government also set up Residents' Committees, organised by apartment block, whose mission was to instill community spirit among Singaporeans who often felt a sense of dislocation and anomie as a result of being evicted from their kampongs and resettled in high-rise apartments. The CCCs and RCs were traditionally controlled by their local MP. But the rules changed as soon as Jeyaretnam was elected: henceforth, advisers and chairmen of CCCs and RCs were to be appointed by the prime minister. Jeyaretnam could not even get on the committees. Instead, the prime minister assigned two PAP MPs to Anson, and installed Pang Kim Hinthe man Jeyaretnam had defeated at the polls as chairman of the Anson CCC. 23 Jeyaretnam found the same thing with other nominally non-partisan community groups such as the management committee of the A n s o n Community Centre, which refused to let him use the facility to give lowincome children free tuition in English and maths. 24 A f t e r ten years on the sidelines, Jeyaretnam was determined to make his presence felt. Even before parliament was convened, he told the Far Eastern Economic Review he would seek a radical restructuring of Parliament House, and proposed that all 74 government MPs sit on one half of the chamber while he sat on the other. He wanted his own office. And he wanted Anson's local residents' committees to be elected by his constituents, and not appointed by the prime minister's office. When parliament met on 1% December, Jeyaretnam came out swinging. Minutes after taking his oath of allegiance, he was on the offensive, pressing for details about public housing costs from national development minister Lee Yock Suan, 25 one of the PAP's second-generation leadersmost of whom had no experience of any political opposition, let alone a bulldog like Jeyaretnam. Later that day, Jeyaretnam made his maiden speech, rising to oppose the Prevention of Corruption (Amendment) Bill. The bill strengthened the power of the police, giving investigators the power to pry open bank accounts and safe deposit boxes without a search warrant. It also

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allowed the police to conduct searches without a warrant if a delay might give suspects time to cover their tracks: Mr Speaker, Sir, I am glad that on this, my first speech in this House, I am able to compliment the Government in its efforts to stamp out corruption and I can assure the Government and the Members of this House of my Party's support in all that the Government does to stamp out corruption in this land of ours. Corruption is, as has been said, a cancer on the society and must be ruthlessly rooted out. But what we do not always approve of are the methods that are used by the law enforcement agencies when they go about carrying out the task assigned to them ... It is, if I may say so, Mr Speaker, absolutely essential that if there is to be respect for law and order among the citizens of our country, then law enforcement officers themselves should respect the laws of the country and act in accordance with the law. If law enforcement officers bend the law, or abuse the provisions of the law for the object of carrying out their task, however laudable it may be, the result can only be that there will be among the populace of the country a growing disrespect for law and order... Mr Speaker, Sir, one of the things that we must accept is that our people do have some rights and it is important that the government, the law enforcement agencies and Government departments recognise this and respect the rights of our citizens. It is a wrongful act for any person to enter into the house of another person unless he has been invited by that other person. If the law is going to change that, then should there not be proper safeguards in favour of the citizen?26 Jeyaretnam went on to suggest that, if the purpose of the bill was to prevent corruption, members of parliament should publicly declare their assets: This government has a name for being neither corrupt nor corruptible but, Mr Speaker, as the saying goes in regard to the administration of justice, it is not enough that justice is done but must be manifestly seen
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to be done. I think it is a matter in which Members of this House can set an example... What I am going to suggest, Mr Speaker, is that the Minister include a new clause in this Bill requiring all Members of Parliament to file a statutory declaration of all assets and movable or immovable properties belonging to or possessed by the Member, his wife or spouse, sons and daughters, and requiring hereafter every Member elected to Parliament to file a similar declaration before taking his oath and seat in Parliament. But then he strayed on to n e w a n d dangerousterritory. He referred to rumours that the PAP was using government property for its own purposes. Mr Speaker, Sir, it is noted that in Singapore today there is a close identification of a political party with the Government and I have heard that facilities and services provided for and paid out of public funds are put at the disposal of this party. This, Mr Speaker, Sir, is wrong and should be made punishable because it is also corruptionusing facilities and services provided for and paid out of public funds. 27 Prime minister Lee Kuan Yew jumped to his feet. LKY: Mr Speaker, Sir, can I ask the Member if he will give specific instances? I will take action on them forthwith. JBJ: Mr Speaker, Sir, the instances are the use by the party of Government land and premises at Napier Road. LKY: Yes, carry on. JBJ: And also the use by the Honourable Prime Minister in his election campaign last year, in December 1980, of police vehicles and police personnel. LKY: What else? JBJ: I will content myself with those two, if I may. LKY. Do I understand the Member for Anson to seriously suggest that the PAP is using Government property in Napier Road without a proper

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lease with the government? And is he suggesting that I campaigned in the last General Elections using police vehicles? These are grave charges. JBJ: Mr Speaker, Sir, I have not been acquainted with the terms and conditions under which the People's Action Party is using the premises at Napier Road. LKY: Then will you withdraw that? JBJ: The question I am saying is LKY: What are you saying? JBJ: It is wrong for any LKY: What is wrong? JBJ: It is wrong for any person or party to use facilities or services provided out of public funds. Jeyaretnam may have thought he was simply raising a question in the public interest, and making the uncontroversial point that government properly ought not be used for partisan ends. Instead he had been lured unprepared into a confrontation with a brilliant rhetorician. LKY: An allegation has been made ... that there have been corrupt practices by the PAP misusing Government facilities. I have asked for specific instances so that I can take immediate action. I have been given two. These are serious charges ... This is a government that is prepared to open all the books. Make the charges and there will be a commission of inquiiy. The Member will be given full facilities to justify and the Government will stand condemned or the Member will be found to be a liar and a hypocrite. Have your choice. Lee had bruised political opponents with this tactic before. In i960, the minister for national development Ong Eng Guan made a bid to wrest leadership of the PAP away from Lee. He was expelled from the party, joined the opposition, and began attacking Lee in parliament, accusing him of nepotism. When Ong was asked to substantiate his charges, he resigned. But Lee went ahead and convened a commission of
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inquiry anyway. The commission concluded that the allegations were "untrue, groundless and reckless." Lee then presented a motion to condemn Ong for dishonourable conduct. 28 Lacking any solid evidence of misdoingand reluctant to wade into full-scale combat so soonJeyaretnam shied away from outright confrontation. JBJ: Mr Speaker, Sir, I was proposing that there should be LKY: A commission of inquiry? JBJ: If the Prime Minister will let me speak LKY: You are afraid to justify, are you not? JBJ: I have said, Mr Speaker, Sir, that there should be this provision. If the Prime Minister denies and produces evidence to show that the LKY: I have to deny a specific allegation. I deny it emphatically. I am prepared to have a commission of inquiry to go into the two allegations made by the Member. Does he accept it? JBJ: W e l l LKY: It is a simple Yes or No. JBJ: Mr Speaker, Sir, I have said, and I repeat what I have said, that it is necessary that there should be no improper use of facilities or services provided out of public funds. LKY: And you think that there was? JBJ: I have said about the rumour that is circulated in town Some hon. Members: Rumour-monger! Mr Speaker: Order, order. Carry on, Mr Jeyaretnam. JBJ: about the occupation by the People's Action Party of Government land and premises. If the Prime Minister says here the terms under which it is occupied, that is, that market rent, or economic rent is paid by the People's Action Party, then, of course, I have nothing more to say on that. But we still do not know what the terms are. All that I am asking in this House is that there should be no semblance at all of any privileges given to one party or other. Likewise, if the Hon. Prime Minister says that he was not accompanied by police vehicles LKY: I was accused, Mr Speaker, of using police vehicles for campaigning. He has now shifted his ground and said that I was
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accompanied by security vehicles. JBJ: I cannot see what the difference is, if you have police officers accompanying you in police vehicles. Mr Speaker, to wind up my speech, I would ask that the Minister consider the inclusion of these proposals in the Bill. Dr Ahmad Mattar, (Acting Minister for Social Affairs): Yes or No, you should have a commission of inquiry? JBJ: Mr Speaker, Sir, am I not allowed to raise questions in this House? If the Hon. Prime Minister will deny this and produce the terms, I will withdraw that. LKY: A false allegation! JBJ: But am I not allowed to ask in this House about the occupation by the People's Action Party of Government land and premises at Napier Road without being subjected to this? LKY: Mr Speaker Sir, I speak as one who has been probably the oldest Member of this Chamber, from May 1955. I have met many more difficult and obstreperous Members than the present Member for Anson. I seek no cover of privilege and I give no reason for anyone to doubt that this Government stands ready and prepared at all times to have its conduct put under the closest scrutiny. What I will not have, Mr Speaker, Sir ... I will not put up with innuendoes and insinuations. He made one in ^ 7 6 and he has not learned from that lesson ... Two allegations have been made of misconduct. I offer an open forum for all details. Instead, I have an unseemly, disgusting, wriggling retreat.29 Years later, Jeyaretnam would admit he should have done more homework for his first parliamentary debate. Asked why he jumped into the deep end without better preparation, he said: That's me. That's mefire from the hip. To me it seemed wrong. Indira Gandhi was prosecuted for using her official plane for campaigning. I didn't think they would be that vindictive. I should have known. There's no question about it. It was silly. I don't regret it though. Because it gave the signal of the sort of man I was. I was going to be fighting. I was not ;o2

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going to be cowed.30 But the pressure had barely begun. In January 1982, the Internal Security Department arrested ten people for plotting against the government, including former Workers' Party candidate Zainul Abiddin bin Mohammed Shah, a taxi-driver, a film projectionist, and an unemployed teacher. (One of the detainees was arrested hours after his own wedding, where Jeyaretnam had been the guest of honour.) The government claimed that the suspects belonged to a group known as the Singapore People's Liberation Organisation, whose aim was to "overthrow the government through the force of arms." Their specific crime: attempting to distribute seditious pamphlets at the National Stadium. The leaflets accused the government of mistreating Malays, and concluded: It is the duty of every Moslem to protect the morality of Islam by whatever means. True Islam does not fear death. Imbibe a political spirit among our people to crush the suppressive policies of the PAP fascists. 31 While their rhetoric was harsh, the alleged plotters were hardly seasoned terrorists. Zainul himself was a 4 9 - y e a r - o l d self-employed shrimp importer who had formerly worked as a sub-editor for UPI, but was fired because of his political activities with the Workers' Party. Increasingly frustrated by the PAP regime, Zainul turned to unorthodox measures. Without informing Jeyaretnam, he made up rubber stamps to etch slogans on dollar bills such as "PAP musoh Islam" (PAP is the enemy of Islam) and "PAP suck blood." He even tried to enlist help from the governments of Libya and Vietnam, visiting the Vietnamese embassy in Jakarta to request a military base and radio station: an embassy official gave him brochures on Vietnamese trade and industry instead. In fact, Zainul never got a chance to distribute his revolutionary tract. A s he waited at a bus stop, holding a plastic bag filled with thou-

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sands of leaflets, two officers from the Internal Security Department approached and put him under arrest. Twenty years later, he recalled the incident like this: They put me into a car, blindfolded me, and took me to the detention centre. I never expected anything like this. They did not torture me physically, but mentally. First few days, very cold room. Underwear only. Light very strong on you all the time. No clocks. When they do this to you, you go temporarily insane. I remember going out and greeting the gurkhas and saying good morning, when it was night time.32 Zainul also described how ISD officers doused him with water and gave him drugs. After a few days of this treatment, he signed a lengthy confession. He was sentenced to three years in Changi Prison. While the press played up the Singapore People's Liberation Organisation links to the Workers' Party, PAP leaders continued to pound away at the scrappy opposition. Deputy prime minister S Rajaratnam, for example, repeated his charge that the Workers' Party had once fielded a bicycle thief. 33 In addition to the political jabs, Jeyaretnam had to contend with bureaucratic hurdles. The Workers' Party tried to hold a rally in Anson on 9 January, but was denied a permit by the Ministry of Culture, which issued the following statement: It is not the ministry's policy to issue licences for public rallies at public places by political parties outside election time except in special circumstances, e.g. the inauguration of a political party.34 Jeyaretnam believed this policy was fundamentally anti-democratic. But the PAP refused to back down. Minister of culture S Dhanabalan defended the policy like this: Sir, in his comments on newspapers, the Member has clearly revealed that he has picked up ideas and ideals of a by-gone era, maybe in the country where he was educated, and is trying to transfer and apply them 104

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wholesale to the situation in Singapore. Sir, I make no apologies that we in Singapore do not follow the rules that he thinks we should follow. We make our own rules as to how political parties should conduct themselves. And how public issues should be discussed ... We know from bitter experience in Singapore as well as from what is happening elsewhere in the world today, how easily political parties and discontented groups can twist issues and hold meetings which degenerate into riots and mob rampage. We must be aware of the sensitive issues peculiar to Singapore which can easily be used by irresponsible elements craving for publicity to incite crowds into violence or other such behavior ... The spectacle of governments being driven from pillar to post putting out bushfires ignited and fanned by single interest pressure groups may be the Member's idea of democracy in action. But, Sir, that is not my idea, nor the idea of this Government, and we will never allow such a situation to be created in Singapore.33 Dhanabalan used the arrest of the ten SPLO members, five of whom were also members of the Workers' Party, to justify the policy. "It is obvious [they] would have seen the Workers' Party rally as a target for them to cause mischief," he told parliament. The PAP continued to use the threat of " m i s c h i e f ' to prevent political parties f r o m holding rallies outside elections into the next millennium, making the Singapore constitution's guarantee of f r e e dom of assembly a provision honoured more in the breach than in the observance. Of course, the restrictions applied to the PAP as well as to the opposition partiesbut then again, the PAP hardly needed to hold rallies. It held power.

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As soon as he had taken office, Jeyaretnam plunged into his constituents' concerns, holding weekly m e e t - t h e - p e o p l e sessions in Anson. The Housing Development Board refused to allocate him an office, so he set up makeshift headquarters in the void deck* of Block 135, Jalan Bukit Merah, where he used a ping-pong table as a desk. His constituents had the usual litany of problems with government services: Housing Board applications, citizenship applications, medical bills, pensions, and so on. Soon Jeyaretnam was hearing from working-class people all over Singapore, who saw in him an ally in their quest for compensation, reinstatement, or vindication. He became a focal point for Singapore's collective gripes and grudges, legitimate and otherwise. Over the next several years, Jeyaretnam would lend his voice to an astounding range of issues. In his first session in parliament, he tried to prevent the forced resettlement of the residents of Blair Plain; urged more humane treatment for drug addicts; railed against unfair dismissals; criticised the Housing Development Board for profiteering; requested fairer rules for allocating flats; tried to make it easier for foreign wives to work in Singapore; called for health insurance; questioned hospital bed shortages; attacked government control of the newspapers; proposed better bus services; asked for more money for the destitute;

the ground floor of a high-rise apartment building, typically built without walls and used by residents as communal space. 106

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deplored the Internal Security Act; and commented on diverse topics such as horse-racing, the Alkaff Mosque, and the Spyros fire victims' fund. A s the first opposition MP in 16 years, it was inevitable that Jeyaretnam would latch on to all sorts of crusades. This was reinforced by his instinct to champion the downtrodden, as well as his legal work, which brought him into contact with clients who saw him as their best hope of fighting the system. But, paradoxically, the confluence of these two rolespolitician and lawyergave the PAP a powerful weapon against Jeyaretnam in parliament. In March 1982, for example, Jeyaretnam several times raised the issue of government policy towards non-citizen spouses. Singapore recognised two distinct categories for foreign workers: professionals, such as engineers and managers, who entered the country on an employment pass; and unskilled labourers, such as construction workers and maids, who entered the country on a work permit. A woman who entered Singapore on a work permitthat is, a legal but unskilled workerwould be deported if she married a Singapore citizen. The idea behind the law was simple, if stark: Singapore should not allow unskilled women to become citizens, lest theyor their childrenbecome a burden on the state. In addition, foreign women who married Singaporeans were often denied permanent resident status, which meant they could not work in Singapore. On 17 March, Jeyaretnam debated this policy in parliament with a junior minister, S Jayakumar. Their discussion was suddenly interrupted by the minister for home affairs, Chua Sian Chin, on a point of order. 1 Chua asked Jeyaretnam to declare his own pecuniary interest in the issue of non-citizen spouses. Parliamentary procedure in Singapore (as in the UK) required that each MP announce any personal stake in a subject under discussion. Jeyaretnam did not answer directly, saying only that he raised the issue as an MP on behalf of six couples. Chua then dropped a bomb: he produced and read aloud a letter f r o m Jeyaretnam, on his law f i r m ' s stationery, to the Immigration Department, about a non-citizen wife.
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The implication was that Jeyaretnam had concealed a conflict of interest: namely, that he stood to gain f r o m a more relaxed immigration policy because he represented a client who wanted to become a citizen. Jeyaretnam immediately pointed out that the letter was signed by his assistant. Unperturbed, Chua produced a second letter where Jeyaretnam's signature was prominently displayed. While Jeyaretnam puzzled over the letters, Jayakumar finished up his stirring speech on the evils of illegal immigration. "Are we to let in the indolent, the lazy, the malingerers into Singapore and therefore completely undermine the quality of life for all Singaporeans?" he asked. 2 Jeyaretnam rose to explain that the second letter was written before he became an MP. But the point was clear enough. From this moment on, Jeyaretnam would be at a severe disadvantage in parliament: he could not raise matters related to his legal work unless he first disclosed the connection. Once he disclosed that connection, however, he was vulnerable to the charge that he was advertising his servicesa terrible breach of legal etiquette. Jeyaretnam suffered another ambush a few days later. In a previous parliamentary debate, he had criticised the government's treatment of suspected drug addicts. Singapore authorities conducted frequent crackdowns on drug activity, rounding up dozens of suspects and detaining them for observation. If the suspects showed signs of narcotics withdrawal, they were imprisonedwithout t r i a l i n the Drug Rehabilitation Centre, where they could be held for as long as three years. Jeyaretnam criticised this policy, citing instances where innocent people had been wrongly imprisoned. There was no reaction to his comments that day. But on 2,2, March 198?, the junior minister of law and home affairs, S Jayakumar, charged that Jeyaretnam had concealed his true role in the narcotics cases: in fact, Jayakumar said, Jeyaretnam was the defendants' lawyer. Jayakumar brandished documents f r o m two separate cases to prove it. Now Jayakumar demanded to know why Jeyaretnam failed to disclose these pecuniary interests to parliament. 3 Jeyaretnam began his response by stating that, in his view, there was 108

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no conflicthe had simply been stating his views, honestly held, against government policy. But then he stumbled. Because the cases had been heard before he became an MP, he said, he didn't think he still had a direct pecuniary interest. Jayakumar was ready for this one. One of the lawsuits had been successfulthe two suspects were allowed to go free. In the other case, however, Jeyaretnam's appeal had been dismissed. He had then filed a fresh civil suit, which was still activeand Jayakumar just happened to have a copy of it. The Member for Anson, therefore, has again misled this House by hiding his personal pecuniary interest and by not disclosing, even on his response to my question ... that he had a pending case.4 House leader E W Barker then delivered the coup de gracea 20year-old report from the parliamentary Committee of Privileges. The report concerned Jeyaretnam's predecessor, David Marshall, who had been the MP for Anson in 1962. Like Jeyaretnam, Marshall was a criminal defence lawyer and, like Jeyaretnam, he wanted to raise in parliament an issue that was related to one of his cases. That report concluded that Marshall was not entitled to raise a case in parliament where he had also acted as a lawyereven in general terms: If a Member, who is also an Advocate and Solicitor, conducts himself in the Assembly in such a manner as is calculated to attract business to himself, he would clearly be using the protection of the Assembly to breach the etiquette of his own profession and for his own personal advantage. Your Committee is of the opinion that even if the Member referred in general terms to matters of public interest which he had gleaned during the course of his professional activities, it might well be that the notoriety gained by the Member in such matters would, even though no names were mentioned, relate his activities to such matters in such a way as could conceivably be thought to be in the nature of advertisement.

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When Barker sat down. Speaker Yeoh Ghim Seng announced that he would refer Jeyaretnam to the Committee of Privileges for disciplinary action. Barely three months after his election, his seat was in jeopardy. The irony was that Jeyaretnam had omitted his involvement in the drug cases precisely to avoid giving the impression of advertising his services. In reality, the premise was absurdfew lawyers grow fat representing drug addicts. Nonetheless, the ruling represented a real conundrum for Jeyaretnam. A lawyer fights injustice case by case. But Jeyaretnam became a member of parliament to make the law, not just argue it. Now he confronted a serious dilemma: abandon his clients, or abandon his rationale for entering parliament in the first place.
*

The effects of Jeyaretnam's breakthrough at Anson were felt far beyond the confines of Parliament House. In particular, prime minister Lee was enraged by what he considered the positive coverage Jeyaretnam was getting in the Straits Times. (Paradoxically, Jeyaretnam felt the paper was biased against him.) Lee was especially incensed by a Straits Times report, printed shortly before the by-election, that the government planned a steep hike in bus fares. The government denied the report, and the Straits Times duly issued a retraction, but Lee was convinced that the fear of a fare increase had swayed significant numbers of voters in Anson. (Shortly after the election, the government did, indeed, raise the fares.) Once a fiercely independent newspaper, over the years the Straits Times had been inexorably sucked into the gravitational field of the PAP. In February, Lee appointed a new executive chairman to run the paper: SR Nathan, a high-ranking official in the Ministiy of Foreign Affairs and former head of the government's military intelligence service. Lee's attitude towards the pressand his confidence in his ability to control what remained, in theory, an independent newspaperis demonstrated in the following anecdote, detailed by historian CM Turnbull. The day before he took up his new job, Nathan was told by prime minister Lee: "Nathan, I am giving you the Straits Times. It has r4o years of history. It's like a bowl of china. You break it, I can piece it no

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back together, but it will never be the same. Try not to." 5 The appointment of a former government official and intelligence officer to run the nation's biggest daily was widely interpreted as an ominous sign. Jeyaretnam was equally horrified. On 25 March, during the debate on the budget for the Ministry of Culture, he accused the government of hijacking the Singapore media. Noting Nathan's appointment, he added: So we had the appointment of an executive director of the Straits Times, a man who had served the government well as Permanent Secretary of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs his last appointment. I stand corrected; a manI do not know whether he had any experience of editing newspapers. But we all do know that he was at one time in the intelligence service of the government. What is perhaps not widely known in Singapore is that he also worked for the Japanese Police during the Occupation Days.6 In fact, Jeyaretnam's charge was true. During the war, Nathan had worked as an interpreter for the Japanese police in Johor, coincidental ly in the same building where the teenage Jeyaretnam worked for the Transportation Department. Later that day, however, Nathan declared that he had been "maliciously and viciously" slandered by Jeyaretnam, and challenged him to repeat his remarks outside parliament, where he would no longer enjoy immunity from libel. What Nathan objected to was the "smear" that he had been involved in the atrocities of the Japanese occupation, and that his career in the intelligence service had been given a sinister cast. After his disastrous experience in the Tat Lee libel suit, Jeyaretnam could hardly afford to take the risk. He had set out to illustrate the government's increasing dominance over the media. Instead, he found himself on the defensive, while the underlying issue remained obscured from view. Jeyaretnam's parliamentary debates highlighted his strengths and weaknesses. On the one hand, he would not be bullied. On the other, he was haphazard in choosing his targets, often raising issues even when he i111

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was starved for information. Jeyaretnam himself realised his shortcomings. In an interview with the Singapore Undergrade a student newspaper, he admitted that he could be better prepared: I appreciate that I'm not always fully equipped with the answers, with the facts and figures ... Before people start pointing a finger at me and saying, Tou haven't got the facts and figures,' they should know the limitations under which I work. Even on things like welfare benefits, do you know that the welfare agencies will not speak to me and give me all their facts and figures? They feel that, if they do thatthis is the kind of society we're in, you should take a note of all thisif they speak to an opposition member of Parliament and give him all the information, the Government might frown on them and they might suffer a cut in whatever they were getting from the Government.7 The welfare agencies Jeyaretnam referred to werenominally at leastindependent charities organised along communal lines, such as the Chinese Development Assistance Council, the Singapore Indian Development Association, the Council for the Development Singapore Muslim Community, and the Eurasian Association. One might have expected these agencies to welcome the emergence of a politician such as Jeyaretnam, who was concerned, sometimes even obsessed, with society's obligation toward its less fortunate citizens. But in fact, the opposite was the case. They worried that co-operating with Jeyaretnam would jeopardise their own standing. Meanwhile, ministries, government agencies, and statutory boards were reluctant to provide Jeyaretnam with statistics and other information about particular cases or policies, often delaying his requests while they sought guidance from the appropriate minister. 8 There was one other facet of Jeyaretnam's personality that became increasingly clear in his early parliamentary performanceshis inability to concede that the PAP had done anything right. Indeed, David Marshall, founder of the Workers' Party and himself a trenchant government critic, once told a researcher: "If the Archangel Gabriel ' '2 of

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himself came down f r o m heaven and sat on the PAP b e n c h e s , Jeyaretnam would complain that the glare was too bright and his wings were taking up too much room." 9 By the summer of 1982, the first serious challenge to Jeyaretnam's parliamentary seat had reached a critical juncture. Back in March, law minister EW Barker had accused Jeyaretnam of breaching parliamentary privilege for failing to disclose his pecuniary interest when he raised a question about foreign wives. On 27 July, before a packed gallery, Barker rose to move that parliament refer the case to the attorney-general for criminal prosecution. The charge was deadly serious. If convicted, Jeyaretnam could be fined S$5,ooo, lose his seat, and go to jail for up to two years. The debate raged for forty minutes. PAP members denounced Jeyaretnam, while he maintained he had done nothing wrong. But just as Speaker Yeoh Ghim Seng prepared to call the matter to a vote, Barker jumped to his feet and made a dramatic offer: if Jeyaretnam were prepared to apologise, he said, he would withdraw his motion. It is difficult to know Barker's motivation. First elected in ^ 6 4 , he belonged to the PAP's old guard, and was one of the few members of the cabinet who had a reputation of being able to stand up to prime minister Lee. It is possible that the PAP realised that its unrelenting attacks on Jeyaretnam were only generating sympathy for him. It is also possible that Barker was less antagonistic toward Jeyaretnam than other ministers. Whatever his motivation, Barker's offer represented a lifeline that Jeyaretnam could hardly afford to ignore. But Jeyaretnam was convinced * ^ h a d done nothing wrong. How could he, in good conscience, apolo;? Facing potential ruin, he remained defiant. "I am not convinced, on't think, I am in breach," he said. "If I have to apologise, it would appear to be insincere." 1 0 Finally, Jeyaretnam reached for a compromise. Standing and turning to Speaker Yeoh, he said: "I have been asked to apologise. If you, sir, rule that I should have declared my personal pecuniary interest, I will accept the ruling and say sorry. But I didn't think and still don't think that was required of me." "I could not know what interest you should have declared," Speaker n3

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Yeoh shot back. "It was up to you to declare." There was an awkward pause. Unexpectedly, Barker rose, and said it seemed to him that Jeyaretnam was asking if the Speaker felt he should have declared his interest at the time. Eveiy head turned towards the Speaker. For several seconds, the House was silent. Then, Speaker Yeoh replied, 'Yes, I think Mr. Jeyaretnam should have declared." Finally, Jeyaretnam had found a way out of his dilemma. "If you rule, so be it," he said. "I accept your ruling and say I am sorry that I did not tell the House that I had acted previously for this woman." Barker accepted Jeyaretnam's apology, and withdrew his motion. Jeyaretnam looked up towards the gallery and flashed his tiger's grin. The crisis had been averted.
* * *

While Jeyaretnam was busy defending himself in parliament, however, an ominous shadow was looming on the horizon. It had been almost ten years since the Workers' Party had lost its defamation suit against PAP MP Tay Boon Too, and had been ordered to pay S$t4,ooo in costs. Because its finances were in a chronic mess, the Workers' Party allowed the payments to lapseand Tay had been silent. But barely a month after Jeyaretnam was sworn into office, Tay demanded his money, now swelled by inflation to S$t7,ooo. Unfortunately, the campaign in Anson had drained the parly's coffers it had exactly S$r8-47 in the bank. Tay took the party to bankruptcy court, and a receiver was appointed for its assets. To raise money to pay the judgment, the Workers' Party printed an appeal leaflet that was inserted into the August edition of its sporadically published party newspaper, The Hammer. Signed by Workers' Party chairman Wong Hong Toy, the appeal recounted the saga of the party's suit against Tay Boon Too, noted that Tay had never tried to prove his allegation that the party was beholden to a foreign power, and asked the public to send money to the court-appointed receiver. This appeal triggered a new attack. On 27 August 1982, Jeyaretnam, Wong, and other party members agreed to meet at lunchtime on a downtown street corner near Peninsula Plaza to sell The Hammer. The
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fundraising leaflets were inserted by hand into each copy. Within minutes, police officers approached the group and confiscated the leaflets. They were later convicted of violating the House to House and Street Collection Act, which forbids soliciting money in public without a licence, and fined S$i,5oo. To make matters worse, attorney-general Tan Boon Teik charged Wong with criminal contempt of court for writing the leaflet. Such proceedings are extremely rare elsewhere in the world British courts had not entertained such a charge for at least 100 y e a r s b u t , in February 1983, Wong was fined S $ i 2 , o o o for undermining the judiciary. Once again, the Workers' Party had b e e n trapped. Its fundraising e f f o r t s had only succeeded i n d r i v i n g it even f u r t h e r into debt. Henceforth it would be virtually impossible for the party to make any kind of public appeal for m o n e y l e a v i n g it vulnerable to even m o d e r ate fines and the court costs which inevitably followed. "From then on," Jeyaretnam later wrote, "we had to rely on begging supporters w h o m we knew personally to come to our aid." 1 1 As nettlesome as the fundraising fiasco may have been, it paled by c o m p a r i s o n to Jeyaretnam's next crisis. O n 23 August 1983, the Singapore Monitor carried a sensational scoop: Jeyaretnam and Chairman Wong were under investigation for fraud. The paper revealed that prosecutors f r o m the attorney-general's office had accused Jeyaretnam and Wong of diverting three donations, totalling $2,600, f r o m the Workers' Party. The amounts involved were small, but the charges were extremely serious. If convicted, the political damage would be immense. Jeyaretnam could be imprisoned, ejected f r o m parliament, and stripped of his licence to practise law. Ever afterwards, the PAP would be able to call h i m a fraud and a liar. Ironically, the charges against Jeyaretnam arose out of his loyally to a supporter. Back in the general elections of 1980, Jeyaretnam had lost the constituency of Telok Blangah to Rohan Khamis by just 500 votes. There was an irregularity, howeverone of the ballot boxes had been left behind at a polling station after election officials took the rest to the counting station, and was not recovered until 20 minutes later. In view of the PAP's tiny margin, the Workers' Party decided to challenge the count.

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Under the election law, the petition had to be brought by someone who lived in the constituency. Unfortunately, Jeyaretnam lived in another constituency, so the mother of Jeyaretnam's election agent, a washerwoman by the name of Madam Chiew Kim Kiat, volunteered to put her name on the petition. Election regulations required that the petition be served personally on both Rohan Khamis and on the election officer within ten days of being issued. But both men evaded the Workers' Party lawyers. In February 1981, High Court judge Sinnathuray duly dismissed the petition, and ordered that the petitionerMadam Chiewpay the PAP's legal costs, which amounted to S$i3,ooo. 1 2 Shortly after Jeyaretnam was elected to parliament, lawyers for Rohan Khamis demanded that Madam Chiew pay up. Jeyaretnam was horrified. He could not allow Madam Chiew to be driven into bankruptcy, but the Workers' Party had no money. And because the party was now under receivership, it was obliged to turn over any donations it received to Tay Boon Too. Luckily, in January 1982, Jeyaretnam received a cheque for S$?,ooo from Dr Ivy Chew, a supporter he had known for years, along with a note saying the cheque was to be used at his discretion "for the cause of the opposition." Although the cheque was made out to the Workers' Party, it was not crossed, which meant that it could be transferred by a simple endorsement. Seeing a chance to help Madam Chiew, Jeyaretnam called Dr Chew and explained that he wanted to transfer the cheque. With her agreement, he endorsed the cheque to Madam Chiew's lawyers. "I did not think for one minute that this act of mine would be made the basis for a criminal prosecution," he later wrote. 1 3 But Jeyaretnam was wrong. The cheque (together with two similar donations, one for S$4oo and one for S$2oo) was made out to the Workers' Parly. But the three cheques were never recorded in the party's booksbooks that Jeyaretnam and Wong had sworn were accurate in a signed declaration. Accordingly, they now faced four criminal charges: the first accused them of giving false evidence in their sworn declaration. The other three 116

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involved fraudulently diverting money out of party accounts, one charge for each cheque. Although the two Workers' Party leaders were not taken into custody, all the other rituals of a criminal proceeding were observedboth were arrested, charged, fingerprinted, and had their mug-shots taken. Jeyaretnam insisted on maintaining his sense of humour, joking with the chairman that the photographs would be displayed in the Rogue's Gallery. "I was determined that no one should see me despondent and pitiful," he wrote. 14 Despite Jeyaretnam's efforts to downplay the seriousness of the offences, the three little cheques set off an avalanche of litigation that was destined to derail his political career.
* *

The sensational case of the three cheques was scheduled for trial on 28 December 1983. Barely a week before the trial, Jeyaretnam was served with a notice demanding the minutes of the Executive Council of the Workers' Party for the past 21 years. Jeyaretnam was outraged. The minute books contained the most intimate details about the Workers' Partyits election strategies, its legal disputes, its internal conflicts. By demanding such sensitive political materials, prosecutors had stripped the last vestige of non-partisanship from the case. Because the notice was not backed by a court order, however, Jeyaretnam ignored it. The next day, a group of police officers returned with a warrant and searched his office and his home. (As was always the case when police officers interacted with Jeyaretnam, they were polite to the point of apologetic about their orders.) They found nothing; Jeyaretnam had wisely moved the books elsewhere. As Jeyaretnam walked into the dock on the first day of the trial, he was fully aware of the irony of the situation. Twenty years before, he had been the judge meting out justice. Now the roles were reversed: I felt for the first time the apprehension every accused person who passionately believes in his innocence must feel when he is in the dock.

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Not only did I believe in my innocence, I knew that I was innocent. Yet that was not good enough. My fate was in the hands of the man sitting up there on the benchon the view that he took of the facts and the law applicable to the facts. Throughout the trial I was silently praying to God that He would direct justice to be done. 13 The stakes were enormous. If convicted, Jeyaretnam could go to jail and lose his seat in parliament. If acquitted, he would benefit from a wave of sympathy. Jeyaretnam's chief adversary during the trial was a ferocious prosecutor named Glenn Knight. To defend himself, Jeyaretnam turned to his old friend John Mortimer, who agreed to represent him pro bono. The charge of false evidence was by far the most worrisome. It carried a penalty of up to seven years in prison; a conviction would almost certainly spell the end of his career in politics. Early in the trial, however, judge Michael Khoo threw out this charge on technical grounds: it turned out that the Commissioner for Oaths who witnessed Jeyaretnam's declaration had allowed his commission to lapse. As such, the declaration had no legal force and was therefore not fraudulent. As the trial progressed, it became clear that none of the donors' money had been misused, at least in the everyday sense of the word. The S$2,ooo cheque had been donated by Dr Chew for Jeyaretnam to use at his discretion. The S$4oo cheque had been donated by a contractor named Willie Lim to help Jeyaretnam set up his Anson office. The S$aoo cheque had been contributed by a supporter named Ping Koon Yam with the specific goal of helping defray Madam Chiew's costs. The Workers' Party was able to show that all three donations had gone to their intended purpose. After two weeks of testimony, judge Khoo acquitted both men of charges relating to the S$?,ooo cheque and the S$:?oo cheque, but found them guilty of diverting the S$4oo cheque. In his written judgment, which ran to 52 pages, Khoo criticised the prosecution for failing to call two key witnesses, Dr Chew and Ping, and fined Jeyaretnam and Wong S$r, 000 each. 118

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From Jeyaretnam's point of view, the verdict represented a significant victory. He had been acquitted of the most serious charge. He could appeal his single conviction. Even if he lost the appeal, the fine was only S$i,ooo. This was crucial because, under Singapore law, a member of parliament who has been convicted of a criminal offence and fined more than S$2,ooo is automatically disqualified from parliament. By throwing out the false declaration charge, and by pitching the fines low, judge Khoo had saved Jeyaretnam's seat. There was good news on the financial front as well. Jeyaretnam managed to raise enough money to pay off former PAP MP Tay Boon Too, whose demand for payment had originally triggered the Workers' Party's financial crisis. But the new year's promising outlook did not last long. Barely a week after judge Khoo's verdict, the Workers' Parly faced another ultimatum: The attorney-general, Tan Boon Teik now demanded S$:?5,ooo for his office's costs of defending the Department of Broadcasting in the Workers' Party's misbegotten libel suit nine years before. A G Tan gave the party one month to pay, or face bankruptcy proceedings. Even as the Workers' Party struggled to stay afloat financially, it faced all kinds of petty hurdles in Anson, where politics pervaded every conceivable aspect of community life. The previous year, the party had decided to hold a children's procession during the autumnal festival of Zhong Qiu Jie, when Singaporeans gather under the full moon to pay homage to Chang-E, the Lady of the Moon, and celebrate with mooncakes, pomelos, and paper lanterns. The Workers' Party originally hoped to include a troupe of Lion dancers, as is traditional, at the head of the parade. The local police department granted the party a permit for the parade, but cryptically refused to allow the Lion dancers. Nonetheless, the procession went ahead, with Jeyaretnam and his supporters accompanying the children through the streets of Anson. Halfway through the festivities, however, they ran into a rival procession, organised by Jeyaretnam's erstwhile PAP opponent, Pang Kim Hin. To Jeyaretnam's astonishment, the rival procession included Lion dancers. Trivial as it was, to Jeyaretnam the incident symbolised bureaucratic i9

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favouritism toward the PAP. He vowed to get to the bottom of itand for the next several months, despite facing serious threats to his position as MP, and to the party's veiy existence, he devoted considerable time and energy to the Lantern Festival scandal. In March 1984, Jeyaretnam revealed in parliament that the PAP procession had not bothered to apply for a permit. He asked the minister for home affairs, Chua Sian Chin, if the organisers would be prosecuted, and deplored the government's using the police to do its "dirty work."
Jeyaretnam: I would like to ask the Minister whether he is aware of this particular situation. Chua Sian Chin: Mr Speaker, Sir, I have heard a tirade from the Member for Anson and it all consists of smears. Is there any evidence? If he has any evidence that the Police have been acting slavishly under a political directive in the enforcement of law, he should bring it up now, give instances, and not make insinuations. Jeyaretnam: Answer this. Chua. Look, I am speaking. I have not interrupted you. Why are you so afraid that I should speak and expose you? Jeyaretnam: Because you do not answer. Chua: Why do you interrupt me? Are you afraid that I may expose you? Jeyaretnam: Answer the question. Chua: Will you keep quiet? Jeyaretnam: Answer the question. 16 Not only did minister Chua refuse to answer the questionwhether the organisers of the rival parade would be prosecuted for their failure to obtain a permitbut he brought up the criminal charges pending against Jeyaretnam for the three "misdirected" cheques. Jeyaretnam stormed to the microphone and asked the Speaker of Parliament, Yeoh Ghim Seng, to rule Chua's comments out of order. Jeyaretnam and m i n ister Chua were now both on their feet, face to face. Jeyaretnam said his conviction was under appeal, which meant, under the doctrine of sub judice, that it should not be discussed in parliament. Speaker Yeoh 7 20

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agreed, telling Chua to avoid the topic: Speaker Yeoh: Mr Chua, I suggest you do not carry on like this. Anything sub judice should not be said here. Chua: It is not sub judice. Jeyaretnam: It is all under appeal. Chua: I am not saying anything sub judice. I am just stating a fact. It has been reported. It is a fact. Speaker Yeoh: I suggest you answer. Chua: May I say that he has been convicted in court for defrauding creditors and he has appealed? Jeyaretnam: Sir, are you going to allow a Minister to defy your ruling? Speaker Yeoh: I am not allowing. Mr Chua, please answer. Chua: It is part of the answer, Mr. Speaker, Sir. Chua insisted that the PAP had nothing to do with the rival procession. Pang Kim Hin was acting "in his individual capacity." In addition, he said, the Workers' Party procession was also illegal, because it failed to get permission from the Housing Development Board to let the children assemble in front of Jeyaretnam's constituency office. The Lantern Incident demonstrated Jeyaretnam's inability to consolidate power in Anson. It also showed the extraordinary degree of control the government maintained over people's everyday lives. Singapore was a nation where a bureaucrat could prohibit something as innocent as Lion dancers in a children's procession. It was just as prime minister Lee told Devan Nair three years before. "We are in charge. Every government ministry and department is under our control. And in the infighting, [Jeyaretnam] will go down for the count every time."
* * *

In Britain or the USA, a defendant who is acquitted of a criminal charge cannot be tried again later for the same offence, under a common-law doctrine known as double jeopardy. In Singapore, however, prosecutors may appeal the verdict of a district judge. Accordingly, the attorneyMi

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general asked the Court of Appeals to overturn Jeyaretnam and Wong's acquittal, while Jeyaretnam and Wong asked it to overturn their convictions. The three-day appeal, which took place in May 1984, was conducted before Jeyaretnam's old mentor, chief justice Wee Chong Jin. The warmth between Jeyaretnam and chief justice Wee had long since evaporated. "There was a feeling we were on different sides," Jeyaretnam later recalled. 1 7 Nonetheless, Jeyaretnam believed the prosecution's position in the Case of the Three Cheques was weak. A s he left the courtroom, Jeyaretnam felt "quietly confident" that Wee would rule in his favour. 1 8 As it happened, chief justice Wee did not issue his judgment for another eleven months. In the meantime, however, something happened which shook Jeyaretnam's confidence in the judicial system to his core.
* *

On 7 August 1984, Jeyaretnam read a small item in that morning's Straits Times, stating that senior district judge Michael K h o o t h e judge who had acquitted him of three of the four chargeshad been transferred to the attorney-general's office. According to the newspaper, the transfer was sudden, and had taken members of the legal profession by surprise. The news came as a shock. Judges in Khoo's position were usually promoted to the High Court, or at least to more senior posts. But Khoo was made a prosecutor, andalthough Jeyaretnam didn't know it at the time replaced by a man two grades below him, Errol Foenander. Having been a judge himself, Jeyaretnam was curious about the political implications of the move. Was Khoo being transferred because he had let Jeyaretnam off too lightly? Was this a signal to other judges? A n independent judiciary is one of the cornerstones of democracy. Citizens must believe that they will get a fair hearing in court, no matter what their political beliefs. Jeyaretnam did not harbour the naive belief that judges in Singapore were immune to their own prejudices. In his darker moments, he suspected that judges were under pressure to mete out verdicts that were politically correct. But until now, there had never been any outward evidence to hint that the PAP might be actively seek-

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ing, behind the scenes, to influence judges. Prime minister Lee himself had said on many occasions that judicial i n d e p e n d e n c e a n d the perception of judicial independencewas vital to Singapore's success as a society and as a centre for international businesses. The deck was already stacked against the opposition in so many ways the PAP, after all, was able to enact any law it pleased. It dominated the press, the unions, and the universities. Through its interminable system of licences, it dictated the tiniest details of people's lives. Why should it need to monkey with the mechanics of justice? And yet, here it was: the first judge who had ever made a substantial ruling in Jeyaretnam's favour had suddenly vanished from the bench. 1 9 Jeyaretnam kept his suspicions to himself. He was already juggling a dozen different issues in his multiple roles of MP, lawyer, publisher, and human-rights advocate. As elections loomed nearer, the PAP stepped up the pressure in parliament. Prime minister Lee's attacks, which at first were simply sharp, veered into the savage. In March 1984, Lee called Jeyaretnam a "mangy dog." 20 In June, he accused Jeyaretnam of suffering from "a psychological deformity of mind." 2 1 In July, Lee referred to Jeyaretnam's speeches as "the pestilence that from time to time spews out from that corner of the House." 22 Finally, on 25 July 1984, Lee went one step further. During a debate on a constitutional amendment, he took to the floor and delivered a sinister V W O : If the Member for Anson and the Workers' Party were really the alternative, then I have to say to Singapore, "This is a non-starter." For it is our duty to expose, demolish, and destroy the Workers' Party and him, because he does not accept the basic premise that we must defend Singapore... The Singapore experience is very recent history. It has worked. Whether it will continue to work depends on getting able, honest and dedicated men to run the system ... It also depends on our ability to expose and keep irresponsible Opposition in check, so that no ideas of social welfare give-aways, dismantling of the [Singapore Armed Forces], reducing our defence expenditure and generally weakening the

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state, is allowed to permeate public consciousness ... Our histoiy has shaped us, including the clownish stupidities and idiocies of people more ferocious than the Member from Anson. We have infinite patience. In the end, we track them down. We have great determination. We learnt it. There is no other way. Just contain yourself. Wait. Sooner or later, the time will come when a person is thoroughly exposed and totally destroyed.23 Perhaps Lee's promise to "expose, demolish, and destroy"

Jeyaretnam was conceived on the spur of the moment, a bit of political hyperventilation. But coming after so many vivid expressions of contempt; coming from a prime minister who always boasted that his speeches were carefully prepared; coming from a man who had broken so many of his previous opponents, it is hard not to conclude that Lee meant exactly what he said. Singaporeans did not have to wait long to learn Lee's strategy to destroy his enemy. A f t e r months of speculation, the government announced that the general election would be held on him at the polls.
*

December

1984. The time had come to teach Jeyaretnam a lessonand to crush

Jeyaretnam's original victory in Anson was due in part to the youth and inexperience of the PAP candidate. Determined not to repeat its mistake, the PAP selected for the return engagement a very different man: the prime minister's political secretary, Ng Pock Too. Ng was a formidable candidate. A former chief executive officer of the Trade Development Board and deputy director of the powerful Economic Development Board, he was fluent in both Mandarin and Cantonese. For several months before the election, Ng campaigned in Anson, holding regular "meet the people" sessions and officiating at various functions. Although Ng ran a more sophisticated campaign than his unfortunate predecessor, Jeyaretnam benefited once again f r o m popular resentment over government policies p r i m e among them, the 124

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Graduate Mother Scheme. This controversy had been set off by prime minister Lee during his National Day speech on 12, August 1983, when he deplored the number of woman graduates who remained unmarried and childless. To Lee, the implications were ominous: the nation's smartest women were being siphoned out of the gene pool and into spinsterhood, leaving their lessgifted sisters to produce Singapore's next generation. In April 1984, the government came up with several programmes to reverse the trend. Schools were ordered to give preferential admission to students whose mothers were university graduates. Less-educated mothers were offered grants of S $ i o , o o o if they agreed to be sterilised after having two children. And in a final, almost Darwinian gesture, the government set up the Social Development Unit, a state-run dating service designed to help brainy but lovelorn graduates fumble through the intricacies of romance. For more than two decades. Singaporeans had endured countless high-handed policies imposed on them "for their own good." But the Graduate Mother Scheme met with a withering reception. Social engineering was one thing; genetic engineering another. Hundreds of Singaporeans engaged in what had become virtually the only meaningful form of political participationwriting letters to the Straits Times. So deep was the tide of criticism that the paper eventually had to declare a moratorium on the subject in its letters page. 24 Even the PAP's backbenchers, by and large an accommodating lot, were roused from their lethargy. For Jeyaretnam, the Graduate Mother Scheme was an obvious target. He hammered away at the PAP's effort to create "an elite society," and argued that the government was "not interested in any children from the illiterate and poor citizeniy." 2 5 Shortly before the election, Jeyaretnam gained another populist issue when the army promoted the prime minister's son, Lee Hsien Loong, to the rank of brigadier-general. At the tender age of 3a, the younger Lee was now second-in-command of the nation's armed forces. The promotion of Brigadier-General Lee Hsien Loong (better known as BG Lee) was one of those issues that was impossible to discuss openly

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in Singapore, thanks to the nation's strict libel laws. To stand up in a public meeting, for example, and wonder aloud if BG Lee's connections were responsible for his advancement, would be grounds for libel. Although Lee Hsien Loong was clearly an intelligent and capable individualhe had attained high marks at Cambridgemany Singaporeans privately grumbled that his pedigree was the real reason for his meteoric rise through the ranks. For three years, the PAP had taunted Jeyaretnam at every turn, predicting that the voters of Anson would toss him out of office at the general election. In March, prime minister Lee s u m m e d up Jeyaretnam's political future thus: PM Lee: I can assure the Member that he faces a real dilemma. And it has got nothing to do with the community centre in Anson. To show his political valour, he has stated that he will recontest Anson. He knows, and so do other Members of the House, that he won Anson by less than 700 votes. Of them, about 1,900 have been resettled from Blair Plain. Jeyaretnam: You have done that! PM Lee: Mr Speaker, Sir, he did those 1,900 voters a disservice. He promised them something he could not deliverthat they need not be resettled. He urged them on delaying tactics which resulted in their incurring greater resettlement expenses. Now he faces the dilemma of either living up to his political protestations or going back and risking defeat. I sympathise with his psychosis. I can only say that he needs more than a psychiatrist to resolve his problems.26 Once again, the battle for Anson was waged block by block, amid the tin-roofed huts of the kampongs and the dreary government housing estates. Workers' Party volunteers draped banners proclaiming
TO YOUR FREEDOM! WAKE UP

across storefronts and shophouses; PAP supporters

unfurled gigantic placards proclaiming their candidate's name. Although Ng could communicate with Chinese voters in their own language, Jeyaretnam benefited f r o m several loyal and energetic lieutenantsin particular, a young teacher named LowThia Kiang. Low was among the final class to be graduated from Nanyang 126

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University, a Chinese-language institution that the government closed down, ostensibly because Singapore was too small to support two universities. Low and his classmates were convinced the real reason was political: Nanyanghad a long tradition of anti-government demonstrations and was the intellectual soul of the Chinese-educated community, whose relationship with the PAP remained prickly. The closure of Nanyang combined with the media's reluctance to report opposition to the movehad a profound effect on Low. He joined the Workers' Party, where Jeyaretnam quickly noticed his energy and intelligence. Fluent in Mandarin and dialect. Low proved to be extraordinarily effective at "working the ground" in Anson. From the first rays of dawn until the cool breeze of evening, he and Jeyaretnam knocked on door after door, asking voters for their support. At night, the Workers' Party held huge rallies, where cheering crowds roared for the "Tiger of Anson," whose typical platform was a flat-bed truck. 27 The spectacle of Jeyaretnam and the PAP slugging it out in Anson riveted the entire nation. Some 12,000 voters jammed a massive car park on Jalan Bukit Merah for Jeyaretnam's final rally, held on the eve of polling day. As Jeyaretnam wound up his speech, the crowd surged forward to shake his hand. Jubilant supporters carried him on their shoulders, chanting, "We want Jeya!" After the polls closed on December, Jeyaretnam and his sons, Kenneth and Philip, went to the counting centre at the Raffles Institution. The stress and the long hours had taken their toll on Jeyaretnam, who was suffering from influenza. The atmosphere was tense: thousands of PAP and WP supporters milled around outside the centre, waiting for the results to be announced. 2 8 Shortly after midnight, PAP spokesman Dr. Yeo Ning Hong emerged from the hall, raised his arm, and shouted, "PAP!" The PAP supporters unfurled a banner congratulating Ng Pock Too and chanted "Anson, PAP! Anson, PAP!" But a few minutes later, Workers' Parly candidate Peter Chua Chwee Huat walked out of the hall flashing a victory sign. The party's supporters went delirious, chanting, "We want Jeya! We want Jeya!" Confusion reigned outside the hall for another hour, until finally, at 1:47AM, the returning officer stepped up to the microphone and i137

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read out the official results: Jeyaretnam: 9,909. Ng Pock Too: 7,533. Jeyaretnam had done it again. Despite the invective heaped against h i m in parliament, despite the bureaucratic bullying and the legal legerdemain, the voters of A n s o n still regarded Jeyaretnam as their c h a m p i o n a n d their gladiator. Not only had Jeyaretnam stood his ground, but his winning margin (57 p e r cent) was w i d e r than ever b e f o r e . A c r o s s the island, Singaporeans greeted the news with ecstatic celebrations. People jumped into the pool with their clothes on. Huge crowds gathered outside Jeyaretnam's office in Anson. "I could hear my flat rocking," says one resident. "People were like Manchester fans. Nobody collected them. It was all spontaneous." 2 9 The 1984 general election was truly a historic event. Jeyaretnam's reelection marked the biggest swing against the PAP since 1959. Better yet, another opposition politician, Chiam See Tong of the Singapore Democratic Party, was elected in the Potong Pasir constituency, and several other Workers' Party candidates came within a few percentage points of defeating their PAP opponents. Although the PAP still held 75 of the nation's 77 seats in parliament, its share of the popular vote dropped to a mere 64 per cent. At a press conference the next day, a visibly shaken prime minister Lee Kuan Yew fulminated against the voters' "dangerous brinkmanship," and warned against the inherent weaknesses of democracy. " I f . . . it continued this way then the o n e - m a n - o n e - v o t e system may lead to our decline, if not our disintegration." 3 0 Lee even proposed barriers to protect Singapore against the naked will of the people: It is necessary to try and put some safeguards into the way in which people use their votes to bargain, to coerce, to push, to jostle and get what they want without running the risk of losing the services of the Government, because one day by mistake, they may lose the services of the Government. 138

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Jeyaretnam's triumph exposed Lee's contradictory, almost paradoxical attitude towards the democratic process. On the one hand, Lee insisted on scrupulous observance of the outward formsthe rules and ritualsof democracy, knowing that the legitimacy of his government came from the ballot box. Philosophically, however, he was disdainful, almost contemptuous, of the one-man, one-vote systemespecially when it produced the wrong results. Lee was clearly rattled by the PAP's shrinking vote. By contrast, Jeyaretnam's faith in the working man, his belief in civil liberties, and his affection for his own constituents had never been stronger. The year had begun with him standing in the dock with four criminal charges hanging over his head. It had ended in vindication at the polling booth and a good chance of his being acquitted on the only charge remaining against him. "It was not a bad year," he wrote in his memoirs. 3 1 Unfortunately, his run of good luck would not hold.
* * *

For most political parties, an overall vote of 64 per cent, combined with a parliamentary dominance of 75 out of 77 seats, would be greeted by popping champagne. But several observers agree that the ^ 8 4 general elections signalled a new epoch for the PAP. Singaporean political scientist Bilveer Singh described it as a "turning point as it led to the beginning of the questioning of [the PAP's] very dominance." 3 2 Australian political scientist Garry Rodan called it "a genuine watershed in Singapore politics." 3 3 "The size of the protest vote," wrote Singaporean sociologist Chua Beng- Huat, "broke the spiral of silence which was sustained by an exaggerated sense, among the population, of fear of persecution that supposedly would visit anyone noted as a critic." 34 In truth, Singapore was changing. More than 60 per cent of the electorate was below the age of forty. Many were too young to remember the trauma of independence, union, and separation. Not only was the electorate getting younger, it was better educated and better off than ever before. The number of students at college or university in ^ 8 5 was almost 40,000, up from ? 3 , o o o in ^ 8 0 . A n emerging middle class was i129

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tasting the fruits of the nation's prosperityand beginning to question the paternalistic attitude of the PAP and its habit of micro-managing their destiny. Sensing the shifting mood, prime minister Lee launched several reforms aimed at softening the edges of one-party rule. In July 1984, Lee proposed a scheme known as the "non-constituency MP" (NCMP) designed to create a new kind of "intelligent opposition." Under this system, at least three seats in parliament would be earmarked for opposition parties. If, in a general election, no opposition candidates won seats, the government would award three seats to the three nearest losers. If, say, just two opposition candidates won seats, the government would award one seat to the nearest loser. At first glance, the non-constituency MP scheme seemed to demonstrate the PAP's commitment to democracy. In fact, it is hard to think of a parallel situation. Where in the world would a ruling party automatically install at least three critics in parliament? But there was less to the NCMP arrangement than met the eye. NCMPs were not allowed to cast votes on constitutional amendments, budgetary matters, or motions of no confidence. In addition, they were forbidden from representing constituents in their dealings with government agencies. There was also the issue of credibility. A n NCMP's impudent remarks about government misdeeds could be immediately slapped down with the rejoinder that the NCMP owed his seat to the government's generosity. During the debate on the amendment in parliament, Jeyaretnam attacked the NCMP proposal as a "fraud on the electorate" and a "sham bill." 3 5 In fact, the whole point of the NCMP proposal was to provide an avenue for dissent that would be less threatening than a robust opposition. Describing the NCMP scheme and various other PAP "reforms" made in the mid-eighties, political analyst Garry Rodan wrote: The principal aim was to undercut gains by opposition political parties and to diffuse any formative sentiment for a change to the political culture.36 i3o

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Over Jeyaretnam's strident objections, parliament approved the NCMP proposal in time for the 1984 elections. Shortly after the vote, the NCMP issue set off a bitter debate within the Workers' Party. Two opposition candidates, Jeyaretnam and Chiam See Tong, had won their seats outright. Under the new scheme, an NCMP seat was now available to the closest loser: a Workers' Party candidate named MPD Nair, who had scored a heartbreaking 49 per cent in the constituency of Jalan Kayu. Nair was a senior lawyer with a long political pedigree. A leader of the Army Civil Services Union, he was one of the founding members of the Singapore Labour Party in 1948. He had won a seat in Jalan Kayu in the 1955 elections for the Legislative Assembly as an independent, and had contested Jalan Kayu under the Workers' Party banner in every election since 1972. Was the party now going to order him to turn down the government's offer to become an NCMP? Nair clearly wanted the seat. Asked by a reporter whether he would accept the position, he replied, "It is a decision for the party to m a k e not me or JB Jeyaretnam." On 3 January 1985, the Workers' Party executive council held a meeting to decide whether to take the seat. Many residents of Jalan Kayu begged the party to send Nair to parliament. But Jeyaretnam remained implacably opposed. Accepting the NCMP seat would make the Workers' Party an accomplice in the PAP's cosmetic surgery. In addition, Jeyaretnam had roundly condemned the NCMP proposal in parliament. Accepting it now would look like hypocrisy. In the end, the executive council voted to reject the offer, forcing Nair to decline the seat. Jeyaretnam was left with the unpleasant task of communicating the decision to Nair. It was not something he relished, as he described in his memoirs: It was a very painful decision for us and especially for me because I knew Mr. MPD Nair was very keen to accept the seat. He had been a minister in the Lim Yew Hock government and would have been an asset in Parliament... It was my duty to inform Mr. Nair. I did not relish it but I had to. He was most upset ... I think Mr. Nair blamed me for the Council's i3i

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decision. He thought, quite wrongly, I had influenced the Council's decision. It did not, however, prevent him from standing by me when my troubles began again later in the year. He was a loyal friend. 37 The party's decision stunned the nation,
SEAT

WORKERS' PARTY 'NO' TO THIRD

was the headline in the Singapore Monitor.38 The widespread

assumption was that the Workers' Party could not afford to refuse the offer. Certainly, another seat in parliament, even an NCMP, would have been an enormous boost. It would have broadened the parly's leadership, thrust Nair into national prominence, and hushed critics who groused that the party was a one-man show. It would have offered an opportunity to build another power base in Jalan Kayu. But once again, the Workers' PartyJeyaretnam in particularput principle before prudence. In so doing, it demonstrated an inability to grapple with the messy realities of political power. The Workers' Party could claim the moral high ground in the NCMP debate, but only by retreating from the goal of becoming a viable alternative to the PAP.
* *

While the Workers' Party wrestled with the NCMP question, the PAP stepped up the pressure on Jeyaretnam on bread-and-butter issues. Shortly after the election, it announced the withdrawal of all PAP "services," including party-run kindergartens, residents committees, and meet-the-people sessions, from the two opposition constituencies of Anson and Potong Pasir. In March 1985, the minister for national development, Teh Cheang Wan, told parliament that the Housing Development Board, the agency responsible for maintaining public housing, would henceforth give PAP constituencies priority in maintenance and upkeep. "We should look after constituencies which have returned PAP MPs first," Teh said. "Constituencies which have elected opposition MPs are not going to get priority." 39 These policies struck at the heart of Jeyaretnam's political base. Many of his constituents could not afford to send their children to private kindergartens. Now they worried that their children would be left i3?

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behindleft behind in a nation almost maniacally focused on education. And what about their clogged drains, their leaky roofs, their crumbling apartments? How many times would the citizens of Anson trudge up the stairs in the tropical heat, laden with shopping bags, and curse their broken lifts? How long would they stare at the cracks in the wall? How many times would they steal envious glances at their politically correct neighbours in the PAP constituencies with the nice apartments and the smart children? Jeyaretnam was furious. He denounced the "scandalous" policy as an effort to intimidate Anson. "We will stop paying service and conservancy charges," he fumed. "You can take us to court." 40 Jeyaretnam and his c o m r a d e - i n - a r m s , Chiam See Tong of the Singapore Democratic Party, were not alone in their outrage. For the first time, parliamentary debates were now being televised, giving ordinary Singaporeans their first peek into the vaulted chamber of Parliament House. The Straits Times received nine calls during the debate, all of them from viewers deploring minister Teh's statement. The Business Times issued a scathing editorial describing Teh's statement as "bald stupidity:" To state in Parliament, the bastion of democracy in Singapore, that residents of Anson will be at the bottom of the HDB's priority list as far as the maintenance of the properties are concerned is to make the HDB the tool of the PAP. This cannot be. The HDB may well be the tool of the Government of Singapore, and it is not unfair that it should be used as such for government needs. However, it is a different kettle of fish for Mr. Teh to state openly that HDB will be used as a weapon of punishment against those who in aggregate preferred to be represented in Parliament by someone other than a PAP representative.41 The Business Times' willingness to condemn the new policy clearly demonstrated Singaporeans' growing frustration with the PAP's brassknuckle tactics. Or did it? Even as the issue was being printed, Peter Lim, its editor-in-chief, apparently had second thoughts. He gave the order to stop the presses and recall the 2,000 copies that had already i33

Lee's Law

been trucked to news vendors. The editorial blasting Teh was replaced by an innocuous encomium about improving trade. The following day, the Business Times printed a rewritten version of the HDB editorial which, while still opposed to the policy, was so bland with fulsome praise as to be almost indigestible: We do not share the view that the might of a national institution should be harnessed in a political cause, even in so modest and inconsequential a manner, and notwithstanding that but for the PAP there would probably have been no HDB, or many new houses for that matter. But this is not the key issue either. There is no gainsaying the political honesty of the PAP and its consistency of belief is laudable. However, its admission of how it feels towards opposition voters, not in the heat of elections or the post-election trauma of a swing to the opposition, but coldly and openly in Parliament, is another question. The Business Times was apparently able to recoverand destroy virtually all copies of the paper containing the original editorial. A few survived, however, one of which made its way to Jeyaretnam's desk. Armed with a copy of the "ghost edition," Jeyaretnam took the floor of parliament and made a stunning revelation: Now, Mr. Speaker, Sir, I wish to ask the Ministiy about a matter that has been brought to my attention, and that is this. The Business Times for its issue on Friday, 22nd of this month, came out at first with an editorial. This editorial is headed "Feedback for the Government." This editorial dwelt on the statement made by the Minister for National Development on the priority that would be given to PAP constituencies. The editorial called this statement "a bald stupidity" and said that that would result in people in Singapore crying, "Foul!" This editorial of the Business Times, Mr. Speaker, Sir, only lasted half an hour. I am told that within half an hour all the issues of this paper which had been distributed to the newsvendors were recalled. And the Business Times made another appearance, this time with another editorial, completely innocuous and flattering to the Government, 134

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"Trade Improves, Hopes Fade." May I ask whether the Ministry had anything to do with this recall of the Business Times with its original editorial which, as I said, was a very pungent attack on the Government, centreing as it did on the statement made by the Minister for National Development? May I know whether the Government had anything to do with this? If it did not, then it shows the depths to which our press has sunk. They are so frightened, it would appear, to make any criticism of the Government that they take it upon themselves to withdraw the criticism. Either way you look at it, it's a scandal.42 The PAP and the Business Times both denied any government pressure. Editor Peter Lim issued a statement explaining that he spiked the original version because "the language used was unbecoming of a Times publication... the language in the BT's second version is classier." 4 3 But Jeyaretnam was rightthe ghost editorial was like an X-ray into the metabolism of the local press, revealing a strong heart but a weak spine. Many trenchant observersincluding Francis Seow, Derek Davies, Gariy Rodan, and CM Turnbullhave described how the Singapore press, once among the most combative and independent in Asia, was conquered, domesticated, and eventually reduced to the role of cheerleader. Although entire volumes have been dedicated to this subject, the words of Leslie Fong, a senior editor of the Straits Times, are perhaps the most eloquent: The press laws and political culture are such that the government, with a vast array of powers at its disposal, will not countenance the press taking any determined stand against it on any issues that it considers fundamental.44 In most democracies, the press plays a key role in exposing government policies to public scrutiny. In Singapore, however, the press remained unwilling to challenge the PAP on any fundamental issue. And what could be more fundamental to a political party than the issue of power?

Lee's Law

By April 1985, it was clear that the PAP's political assault on Jeyaretnam had boomeranged. The HDB's "bottom priority" for Anson only stoked his constituents' sense of pride, while the Business Times scandal won him sympathy. Even the government's decision to televise parliamentary sessionsoriginally made in the hope that Jeyaretnam's constant objections would alienate viewersbackfired. Prime minister Lee originally predicted that the television cameras would expose Jeyaretnam as a gadfly. "No pressman in the gallery can convey [Jeyaretnam's] sloppy, slovenly, ill-prepared presentation," Lee declared. 4 5 But after a few months, most observers agreed that Jeyaretnam was beginning to master the medium. A n analysis by the Sunday Times concluded: He wore his Workers' Party badge on his shirt every day. He smiled more, during his speeches, from his seat, and was even able to laugh with PAP members when he was shown up by a minister. Even PAP MPs noticed that his questions were sharper, more specific, and quite often backed with facts. One suspects that Mr. Jeyaretnam was determined that the TV camera would work for him, not against him. 46 Despite the odds, Jeyaretnam was holding his own in Parliament House. Across High Street, however, in the Supreme Court, chief justice Wee Chong Jin dealt Jeyaretnam an ominous defeat. On 18 April ^ 8 5 , more than eleven months after hearing appeals in the Case of the Three Cheques, chief justice Wee overruled virtually every part of judge Michael Khoo's previous decision. In a 68-page judgment, Wee declared Jeyaretnam and Workers' Party chairman Wong Hong Toy guilty of three counts of diverting party funds one count for each cheque and fined them S$ 1,000 on each count. These fines, however, were not big enough to disqualify Jeyaretnam from parliament. The more serious charge was the crime of falsifying the Workers' Party accounts, which could be punished by a fine of S$5,ooo or seven years in prison. Here, too, Wee overruled judge Khoo, 36

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ruling that the statutory declaration carried legal weight even though it was technically invalid. Rather than declare Jeyaretnam and Wong guilty, however, Wee instead ordered a retrial. Wee's verdict was front-page newsand extremely bad news for Jeyaretnam. His precious victory in Anson would be meaningless if he were convicted at the retrial and disqualified f r o m parliament. Gloomily poring over the decision, however, his lawyer's eye caught the faint outlines of an escape hatch. Criminal cases in Singapore come in two flavours: misdemeanours, heard in a subordinate or district court; and felonies, heard in the High Court. In the mid-eighties, defendants convicted in Singapore's subordinate or district courts had only one way to reverse their convictions: to request a hearing before the Court of Appeal. Defendants convicted in the High Court, however, had an additional avenue: if they were rejected in the Court of Appeal, they could plead their case before the ultimate arbiter of justice in Commonwealth nations, the Privy Council in London. Jeyaretnam and Wong had originally requested that their trial be heard in the High Court for precisely this reason. They even cited a precedent: in 1963, a case involving leaders of the Barisan Sosialis had been transferred to the High Court so that the defendants could appeal to the Privy Council if necessary. Unfortunately, Jeyaretnam and Wong's request for a change in venue had been denied. Their path to the Privy Council was barricaded. But Jeyaretnam saw that there might be another way. The Court of Appeal had the last word on issues of fact. But on issues of law, defendants were entitled to refer questions to a special panel known as the Court of Criminal A p p e a l s o long as the questions were matters of public interest. And decisions from the Court of Criminal Appeal could be appealed to the Privy Council. A month after the chief justice handed down his verdict, Jeyaretnam requested a hearing before the Court of Criminal Appeal on five questions of law arising from the Case of the Three Cheques. It was an artful manoeuvre. In all likelihood, the Court of Criminal Appeal would rule against the Workers' Party men. In fact, Jeyaretnam hoped it would rule i37

Lee's Law

against thembecause he could then appeal that decision to the Privy Council. Once he reached the Privy Council, he felt certain he could persuade the law lords to scrutinise the entire sordid affair, and not simply confine themselves to the narrow technicalities of the law. The plan contained a major obstacle, however. In order to schedule a hearing before the Court of Criminal Appeal, Jeyaretnam first had to get permission from the chief justice. As Jeyaretnam stood at the bar and pleaded for permission to take his case to the Court of Criminal Appeal, he kept glancing at Wee to see if there was any glimmer of sympathy. But Wee's face remained impassive. He dismissed the request without even calling on the prosecution. Jeyaretnam then appealed this decision, and asked that the retrial be transferred to the High Court (to clear a path to the Privy Council). Both requests were rejected. There was no way out: Jeyaretnam and Wong would have to face once again the most serious charge from the misbegotten Case of the Three Chequeswithout the possibility of appealing to an outside court. On z September 1985, the Workers' Party men trooped into the courtroom of justice Errol Foenanderthe judge who had replaced Michael Khoo. Previously, Jeyaretnam had steered clear of the political implications of the case. But in light of all that had happened in the meantime, he could no longer restrain himself. He opened his defence with a sharp attack, telling the court that the prosecution was clearly being mounted "for political reasons." Jeyaretnam did not get far with this line of argument, however judge Foenander interrupted him and said he would not permit the court to be used as a sounding-board for Jeyaretnam's political views. 47 One of the strange twists of the trial came from the testimony of an expert witness for the prosecution, Keith Tay, an accountant with Peat Marwick. Under cross-examination, Tay said he had been provided with a bodyguard to protect him from the Workers' Party. Jeyaretnam leaped to his feet to ask if there was any basis for Tay's concern, but was ruled out of order. 48 The "bodyguard issue," dutifully reported in the Straits Times, put another dent in the Workers' Party's battered public image, because it 38

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implied the party was trying to bully hostile witnesses. Allied with Jeyaretnam's often-brusque manner during cross-examination, it reinforced a message that would occur over and over in local reporting and in official pronouncementsthat the Workers' Party was a bunch of crooks, thugs, and stooges. Indeed, the Jeyaretnam controversy had drifted from lofty abstractions in the rarefied chambers of parliament to legal technicalities in the crowded courtroom. The former judge was now fighting to prove that he was not a common criminal. 49 In every trial, the first move by the defence is usually to argue that there is no case to answerthat the prosecution has not presented credible evidence of misdoing. In the first trial in the Case of the Three Cheques, judge Khoo ruled that the prosecution had failed to mount a credible case on the charge of giving false evidence. But once chief justice Wee ordered a retrial, it became unlikely that any judge would dismiss the charge. Judge Foenander ruled predictably that Jeyaretnam and Wong had to a case to answer. To the astonishment of onlookers, however, Jeyaretnam and Wong refused to testify or call witnesses in their defence. Years later, Jeyaretnam explained that he simply believed the prosecution's case was hopelessly flawed. "I was tired of the whole thing," he said. "I was angry." 50 Even so, the decision not to testify remains puzzling. By choosing not to present a defence, Jeyaretnam and Wong virtually invited the judge to rule against them. On 25 September 1985, judge Foenander found both m e n guilty of giving false evidence, and sentenced them to three months in jail. In his judgment he wrote: The clear purpose was to mislead all those who were interested in these proceedings...It is a serious act when done knowingly and cannot be condoned, particularly when done by persons who hold responsible positions in public life...It is reprehensible conduct.51 Foenander's ruling was a terrible blow. The Workers' Party, which originally sued Tay to protect its good name, now faced the likelihood 13g

Lee's Law

that its top two officials would spend three months in jail. Jeyaretnam's long-running battle with the establishment, which had tumbled from the political, to the civil, to the criminal arena, looked as good as lost. Pending the appeal, however, Jeyaretnam still retained his seat in parliament. As long as he remained the member for Anson, he could tackle the government on the issues he cared about so passionately civil liberties, the rule of law, political pluralism, and the welfare of the working class. But a subtle change was taking place. Jeyaretnam the advocate was becoming, day by day, Jeyaretnam the defendant.

140

SILENCE M U S T BE M A I N T A I N E D

Parliament House stands on the north bank of the Singapore River, near the spot where Raffles is thought to have first set foot on the island. Built in 1837, massive structure served as a post office and a courthouse before it became the Legislative Assembly. There was even a jail in the basement where suspects were once held pending trial. Reporters who covered proceedings in Parliament House remember the building for another quirk: a stern notice in the press galleiy warning that
MUST BE MAINTAINED." "SILENCE

Although Jeyaretnam was convinced that the criminal proceedings against him were politically motivated, he never mentioned them in parliament. One reason, of course, was that cases that have not yet been heard, or which are under appeal, are sub judice no one is supposed to comment on them. The other reason was more pragmatic. Without concrete evidence, accusing prosecutors of political motivation could be dangerous. True, under the doctrine of parliamentaiy privilege, MPs could not be sued for defamation over statements made in the House. But privilege had its limits: parliament itself had the power to punish MPs who made "scandalous" statements. Even so, Jeyaretnam was still haunted by the transfer of judge Khoo, which symbolised to him the worrisome issue of the independence of the courts. By January 1986, he could keep silent no longer. He took advantage of a debate on the subordinate courts to criticise the set-up of the Legal Service Commission, the body that controlled the hiring and 141

Lee's Law

firing of all district judges, magistrates, and legal officers. Enshrined in the Singapore constitution, the Legal Service Commission consisted of the chief justice; the attorney-general; a High Court judge; plus the chairman and two other members of the Public Service Commissionthe body that controlled the hiring and firing of the rest of the civil service. 1 Jeyaretnam believed this arrangement left district judges vulnerable to political pressure. Of the six m e m b e r s of the Legal Service Commission, only two were high-ranking judges. The two judges enjoyed relative immunity to the whims of the government: they could only be removed by impeachment. But the three members of the Public Service Commission were appointed to fixed terms of office by the prime minister; if they incurred his wrath, he could remove them from office when their term expired. Jeyaretnam was even more concerned about the role played by the attorney-general, the official ultimately responsible for prosecuting criminal offences. Would district judges be reluctant to declare criminal defendants innocent lest the attorney-general retaliate against them b e h i n d the closed doors of the Legal Service C o m m i s s i o n ? A s Jeyaretnam told parliament: It is of the utmost cardinal importance that the Judiciary and not just the High Court but also the Subordinate Courts are seen to be immune from the displeasure of the Executive ... But this is not possible, Mr Speaker, Sir, if they are aware that their appointment, their promotion, their transfer, depends not just on the Chief Justice and the judge of the Supreme Court, but depends on whether the Attorney-General considers they are good enough or not; whether the Chairman of the Public Service Commission considers they are good enough or not; whether the other two members of the Public Service Commission consider they are good enough or not. So there will be a tendency, and you cannot help it, for the District Judges to look over their shoulders and to worry whether they will be, in the discharge of their functions, incurring the displeasure of the Attorney-General of the Government.2 142

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maintained

In response,

S Jayakumar, the minister of law,

dismissed

Jeyaretnam's criticism, noting that the present system had been in place for a long time. "It has worked satisfactorily and there are no good reasons why we should change that now," Jayakumar said. 3 Jeyaretnam returned to the topic later the same day. This time, he went a step further. Without mentioning any names, he referred to the sudden transfer of judge Michael Khoo some 16 months before. Jeyaretnam said that the transfer of judge Khoo, coming after Khoo had acquitted him of the most serious charges in the Case of the Three Cheques, eroded confidence in the courts. It suggested, he said, that judges could be punished if their verdicts were not deemed acceptable. He also mentioned two other cases where judges had been transferred after rendering unsettling verdicts, again omitting specifics: These decisions were not acceptable. So what independence of the Subordinate Judiciary is there if the public see these things happening? The District Judges are under threat or fear of being transferred from their posts when they administer justice, whether it is civil or criminal. That is why I say that it is important, I see it as of cardinal importance, that if we are to maintain the structures of our society as a democratic society, as a stable society, as a society in which every member can repose confidence, then the Subordinate Court Judiciary should be seen to be immune, as I said, from the displeasure of the Executive. Unfortunately, the public do not see that at the moment. The public see that the District Judges are not immune and that they may suffer the displeasure of the Executive.4 Jeyaretnam's statement triggered no uproar at the time. Minister Jayakumar's response that afternoon was nothing out of the ordinary the standard dismissive reply that government ministers usually gave Jeyaretnam. There were no sensational reports in the press. But two months later, during a heated clash in parliament between Jeyaretnam and prime minister Lee Kuan Yew over the budget, the prime minister accused Jeyaretnam of making "scandalous allegations about the quality of justice. " s

14,3

Lee's Law

LKY: This is not the Philippines. There are three Judges. He has made scandalous allegations about the quality of justice when he keeps losing his cases. JBJ: Scandalous allegations, where? LKY: That he was being pursued. JBJ: Where did I make these scandalous allegations? LKY: In this House last year. I was waiting for it this year, under Judicature. Wisely, he did not. [Interruption.] Please. The more reckless it becomes, the better it is. JBJ: No, I am not going to become reckless, Mr Prime Minister. The allegation that I made when discussing the Subordinate Courts (Amendment) Billthat was the main bill that was being discussed last year LKY: It is a smear and you know that. JBJ: It is not a smear. Not on the Judiciaiy, Mr Prime Minister, if you will listen. The allegation that I made was that the prosecution was politically motivated. That was my allegationthat the prosecution of me and my Chairman was politically motivated. And the other thing I said was we are acquitted of three of those charges by the Senior District Judge. And after he had written his judgment, because an appeal was filed by the Public Prosecutor against the acquittal, he was transferred. He was transferred from being a Senior District Judge and man who had been there for years, and, as I said then and I repeat now, who would in the normal course have been translated to the High Court Bench ... I said, speaking last year, that there were eyebrows raised in public about this transfer of the man, and I asked for an explanation. So there were no scandalous allegations about the Judges or about the courts. I think the Prime Minister must understand what I said last year. I said the prosecution was politically motivated and I stand by it... LKY: Is the Member aware that transfer of Judges is in the hands of the Legal Service Commission under the chairmanship of the Chief Justice? JBJ: The Attorney-General is the No. % man there, and I said there were three administrative men there. LKY: He now admits that the transfer was made by the Chief Justice in the Legal Service Commission in which the Government has no hand.

44

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must

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JBJ: This is getting tiresome. LKY: It is. JBJ: Sir, the Prime Minister should be aware, as I explained last year, that the Legal Service Commission consists of the Chief Justice as Head of the Legal Service Commission, the Attorney-General who is not a Judicial Officer (he is the Government's No. 1 Legal Officer), and then a High Court Judge and three others, or something like that. And I pointed out that they exceeded in number, the Judges, on the Legal Service Commission. LKY: I am now entertained by a new theory that the High Court Judge and the Chief Justice were overruled by three Government nominees. I will write officially to the Chief Justice, as chairman of the Legal Service Commission, to find out if there was any division of views on this. He has made another wild statement that because the man was a District Judge, therefore he should have been a High Court Judge, since his predecessor was. That is a fatuous remark ... why make this scandalous allegation?6 In fact, Jeyaretnam had a strong basis for his statement about the typical career trajectory of senior district judges. Since 1963, most of the three individuals who served in that position had been later elevated to the High Court or else to the post of solicitor-general. The others had either (like Jeyaretnam) resigned or died. 7 Nonetheless, prime minister Lee refused to back down. LKY: Let us cut out the anecdotal. Let us get down to basics. A smear was made that the man who acquitted him of a primary charge was not made a High Court Judge, and he having been there (I do not know) for four years maybe, was transferred. JBJ: I was not asking that he should have been made a High Court Judge. I am asking why was he transferred. LKY: Therefore it was politically motivated. That the Attorney-General took up the appeal was politically motivated. That the appeal was allowed and the case sent for re-trial was politically motivated ... The questions of law are simple. They are to be settled by the courts. Whether he is

45

Lee's Law

ultimately found to be guilty and a criminal, that is his business. But to say that he is being prosecuted because it is politically motivated when the prosecution is in the hands of the Attorney-General is to give a twist which only a sick and disordered mind is capable of.8 The debate raged back and forth for more than an hour until parliament adjourned for lunch. When the session resumed, prime minister Lee took the floor and produced a letter from chief justice Wee Chong Jin written that veiy day: Michael Khoo was transferred from the Subordinate Courts, where he was the Senior District Judge, to the A-G's Chambers on 6th August
1984.

I made the decision to transfer him after consultation with the A-G. The authority to decide on transfers of any officer in the Legal Service was delegated to me as President of the Legal Service Commission and the A-G as a member of the Legal Service Commission. (Signed) Wee Chong Jin.9 In truth, the letter was rather vague. The chief justice gave no reasons for his decision, and did not reveal the attorney-general's advice. Nonetheless, with letter in hand, the prime minister demanded that Jeyaretnam apologise. LKY: Does he not owe an apology to the members of the Public Service Commission, this government, and the Chief Justice? JBJ: What apology do I owe? What is it that I have said? LKY: You have lied. JBJ: What is it that I have lied about? I have said that the transfer should be explained. Now, you come out with a note from the Chief Justice. It was not brought at the last discussion in this House. LKY: Otherwise you would persist. JBJ: It was not brought out. Was there a meeting of the Legal Services Commission? Let us have the minutes. Was there a discussion on this? LKY: Is he impugning the integrity of the Chief Justice?

746

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must

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maintained

This question put Jeyaretnam in a tight spot. If he questioned the chief justice's integrity, he could be charged with contempt of court. At the same time, he was convinced that there was more to the transfer of judge Khoo than the public realised. JBJ: I accept what the Chief Justice says in his letter. But you are alleging a number of things. LKY: He is asking for the minutes of the meeting, which means the Chief Justice is lying. JBJ: That is the Chief Justice's note. It is quite evident, is it not? LKY: It is quite evident that since the Member for Anson is calling for the minutes, the Chief Justice's note is patently untrue. What else does he want the minutes for? Be a man. Own up. JBJ: I have nothing to apologise for. I keep telling you. It is because I have asked for an explanation and now you give us this explanation. It was never given last year. Why was it not given last year? And what is wrong with asking a question on the transfer? Eveiy time I ask a question in this House, I am told that I am making an insinuation or I am making an allegation.10 By refusing to apologise, Jeyaretnam virtually invited the PAP's next move. Majority Leader S Dhanabalan rose and asked the Speaker of Parliament to refer Jeyaretnam to the Committee of Privileges for insulting the judiciary: Mr Speaker, Sir, a very serious allegation has been made about a key institution in Singapore and the Member for Anson has refused, after evidence has been produced, to apologise. I move that this matter be sent to the Privileges Committee. Jeyaretnam had been referred to the Committee of Privileges before. But this time the stakes were higher. The prime minister concluded the debate with an ominous warning: I would like to remind Members that irksome though it may be, each

47

Lee's Law

time a scandalous, frivolous, a wild and impossible allegation is made, it is important to pin the man down ... Let me add this caution: he may end up by having to justify what he said here. I think I am slowly convincing my colleagues that the only way to get a skunk is to skin him and nail his skin. 11 Two days later, the prime minister returned to parliament, armed with an "internal minute" about judge Khoo's transfer. Before a hushed chamber, he read the following letter from Tan Eng Siong, personnel co-ordinator of the Legal Service Commission, to the secretary of the Legal Service Commission: LEGAL SERVICE POSTINGS I spoke to you last Monday evening regarding postings of superscale Legal Officers within the Legal Service. Through the Registrar, Supreme Court (Mr RE Martin) the Honourable Chief Justice has directed that the following postings be effected from Monday, 6 Aug 84: Mr Michael Khoo Kah Lip Senior District Judge (Superscale D) Subordinate Courts To be posted to AG's Chambers Mr Errol Carl Foenander Senior State Counsel (Superscale E) Attorney-General's Chambers To be posted to Subordinate Courts. Mr Martin has taken appropriate action under the Subordinate Courts Act to seek the President's approval for Mr Foenander to function as Senior District Judge, Subordinate Courts, wef 6 Aug 84. Accordingly, the usual LSC's [Legal Service Commission] minute to effect the postings is at cover for your consideration/signature, please. (Signed) TAN ENG SIONG 1 Aug 84 12

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Handing the note to Jeyaretnam, prime minister Lee once again demanded an apology. I have gone to some length to trace all the documentary and other evidence on this transfer. I now ask the Member for Anson whether he accepts that the removal of Mr Michael Khoo from the position of Senior District Judge was in the ordinary and proper course of the transfer of officers in the Legal Service and unconnected with the Prime Minister or Ministers of Government.13 But Jeyaretnam dug in his heels. After all, the note was singularly unedifying about the reasons for which Khoo had been transferred. In addition, Jeyaretnam still believed that the composition of the Legal Service Commission was seriously flawed. This note ... simply says that the Chief Justice has directed through the Registrar of the transfers that should take place. What I did ask was whether the Hon. Prime Minister would make available as to how the transfer came about. Who originated it? Somebody must have originated it. And whether there was any reason given for the proposal that this man should be transferred. That is what I asked, whether there was a minute. 14 Perhaps, Jeyaretnam suggested, if the prime minister was so anxious to lay the matter to rest, he should appoint a parliamentary committee to look into it. Now prime minister Lee demanded evidence: Mr Speaker, Sir, I asked a very serious question whether the Member intends to pursue his allegation that there was something beyond what the Chief Justice has said, what the minutes of the Legal Service Commission have disclosed, and that he will produce reasons for his reservations before a Parliamentary committee. Because we are not going to have a Parliamentary committee to have a psychoanalysis of the Member for Anson. He must have hard evidence. 15

Lee's Law

Instead, Jeyaretnam tried to steer the debate back to his original point: that the current system of hiring and promoting district judges be changed: What I said was that there was disquiet about the transfer of this man four months after he had given a decision. And the Prime Minister must know, if he has read the report containing my speech, that what I was urging in that speech was the setting up of a separate body for District Judges to take them away from the Legal Services Commission, have a separate body which will determine their promotions, their transfers, so that they can be seen to be absolutely independent of the Executive in their decisions. So the Prime Minister must first get his facts correct. I was not making any specific allegation. I was urging the need for the independence of District Judges, whose jurisdiction was raised last year, to be jealously safeguarded so that, in the minds of the public, there would be no qualms at all about their independence and their ability to have regard only for the due and proper administration of justice, without worrying about anything else. 16 But Lee was not content with statements of principle. He instantly went on the attack: Can I make sure that I have understood the Member correctly, because they are very grave words spoken on a grave matter? He has just said and we have all listened to him, and I have with great attentiveness, that the system (never mind whether the Chief Justice initiated this move or not) is wrong, it does not guarantee independence of his Subordinate Courts, and that there should be a separate body to ensure their independence and their freedom from any pressure to which they can be exerted under the existing system. Please confirm. For a full hour-and-a-quarter, Lee and Jeyaretnam debated the Khoo controversy before a hushed chamber. Again and again, Lee dared Jeyaretnam to provide concrete evidence, and to propose a commission

'5

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must

be

maintained

of inquiry to investigate; and again and again, Jeyaretnam, mindful of the fate of other proponents of inquiries, tried to get Lee to propose the commission himself. Lee: I want to establish the unassailable nature and attributes of our judicial system which has been impugned by the Member for Anson, even after the Chief Justice had given me a written note, even after the minutes of the Legal Service Commission has been produced as he requested. He asked that there be an inquiry to look into the nature of the system because it is at fault. Will he now draft the terms of reference of this inquiry? Because there will be one, and he can give evidence before this inquiry. Draft the terms of reference and there will be the inquiry. Jeyaretnam: May I ask the Prime Minister whether he is now proposing that there should be a Parliamentary committee to consider proposals to safeguard the independence of District Judges? Is that what he is proposing? Because if that is what he is proposing, I shall be very happy to make my views known before the committee and to give my recommendations. I shall be only too happy to do that. And if he wants the terms of reference, I shall be delighted to send him the terms of reference. Lee: Mr Speaker, I did not propose an inquiry. I am completely satisfied that there was nothing improper, there was nothing out of the ordinary in the transfer of Mr Michael Khoo from the position of Senior District Judge. It is the Member for Anson who has insinuated that there are many things wrong. Confronted with the statement from the Chief Justice that he ordered the transfer out, supported by the minutes of the transfer in the Legal Service Commission files, he shifts his ground in two respects. Jeyaretnam: I did not shift my ground. Lee: He says, "What is the motivation? What is the initiator?" Second, that the system is wrong because the Attorney-General is a member of the Legal Service Commission, and that there should be a Parliamentary inquiry. I now say, "Yes, let us have this Parliamentary inquiry." And he says it is my proposal to look into the system. It was his proposal. I am '5'

Lee's Law

now asking him to draft the terms of reference. Let me have it. It shall be done. Jeyaretnam: Mr Speaker, Sir, I thought I told the Prime Minister that if Lee: Put it down. Jeyaretnam: You mean you want me to draft it now, right immediately, Mr Prime Minister? Lee: Say it. Jeyaretnam: I do not think we should be too hasty about it. I will send it to you. Hold your patience for a little while, Mr Prime Minister. You know, terms of reference have to be carefully drafted out. You do not expect me, this veiy second, to scribble out something and hand it to you. Lee: The Member for Anson made this proposal. I am not asking him for a legally crafted form of words. All I want is the subject matter of this Parliamentary committee of inquiry. What is the subject matter? Let us have it. Jeyaretnam: Mr Speaker, Sir, for the last time, may I say that what has been presented this morning are not the minutes. The Prime Minister keeps saying, "I produced the minutes." They are not the minutes. It is a letter from one Mr Tang Eng Siong, the Personnel Coordinator, who says that certain things have been arranged. They are not the minutes. Lee: Let that also be the subject of the inquiry. Yes, all the allegations. Jeyaretnam: I do not know how many inquiries the Prime Minister is proposing. Lee: You are going to be hoist with your own petard. 17 Lee was determined to corner his old adversary. As the morning dragged on, he manoeuvred Jeyaretnam into proposing a committee and baited him into defining its terms of reference on the spot. Next he demanded that Jeyaretnam nominate its members immediately. Again, Jeyaretnam hesitated, then suggested that the committee include some members from outside parliament. Lee raised a series of objections, badgering Jeyaretnam to provide more specific details to his proposala proposal he had raised on the fly, without any significant preparation, that very day. Finally, Lee made a counter-proposal: why

'5*

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be

maintained

not have the investigation conducted outside parliament, by a panel which included a High Court judge? This suggestion put Jeyaretnam in a difficult position. Earlier in the debate, he conceded that he had no objection to Singapore's system of appointing High Court judges, as opposed to district judges. Although Jeyaretnam privately entertained doubts about the impartiality of certain High Court judges, he could not say so publicly. Now he would be hard put to object to having a High Court judge on the panel. In vain, Jeyaretnam tried to return to his original proposal for a parliamentary committee, while Lee kept pressing for Jeyaretnam to make his nominations now. "I will not accept any nominee once the Member has left this chamber," Lee said. There then followed a remarkable exchange. Lee: If we adjourn and he comes up with a name this afternoon, I would never be quite sure he has already found out, if not directly from that person, through friends, what that person's position is with regard to the issue involved. I am asking him now. Jeyaretnam: If the Prime Minister wishes, he can get some of his ISD men to follow me all around. They already do, sometimes. The Prime Minister must accept that I am in earnest. If he thinks I am going to go around and find people who will be of my persuasion to name them, then may I tell him that he is doing me wrong. I do not intend to do that. All I want to do is think about it, and without any communication with them I will give the Prime Minister the names. Get your ISD men to follow me all round. In the end, Lee insisted that the inquiry be conducted by a single High Court judge, and he redefined its terms of reference: Lee: I am loath to tax the Judiciary on what are really unfounded charges of interference with the due process of law. But if we do not nail the lie, there will be no end to it. There will be someone appointed to conduct it and the Member for Anson will be one of the prime suppliers of evidence to this High Court Judge.

Lee's Law

On 11 April, the government commissioned High Court justice TS Sinnathuray to conduct an inquiiy under the following terms:

To investigate the evidence upon which Mr JB Jeyaretnam based his allegation in Parliament on the 10th day of January 1986 that the executive arm of government had on at least three occasions interfered with the administration of justice in the Subordinate judiciary by transferring judges from the Subordinate judiciary whenever decisions were given by them that displeased the executive and this interference had undermined the independence and impartiality of the subordinate judiciary; and To investigate the evidence upon which Mr JB Jeyaretnam, M P for Anson, based his allegation in Parliament on the 19th and srst March 1986 that the transfer of Mr Michael Khoo f r o m his appointment as Senior District judge to an appointment as Senior State Counsel and Deputy Public Prosecutor in the Attorney-General's chambers was due to, or caused by, interference by the executive arm of government in the subordinate judiciary; and To decide if there was any truth in these allegations by Mr JB Jeyaretnam; and If the commissioner finds, on the evidence, that the transfers were due to or caused by interference by the executive arm of Government to receive proposals as to how the existing system and procedure as provided in Article 111 of the Constitution relating to the Legal Service Commission and its duties and functions can be improved.

What had begun as a spontaneous suggestion by Jeyaretnam to safeguard the independence of the judiciary had metamorphosed into a truly Kafkaesque proceeding. Instead of sitting on a committee, directing investigators to interview witnesses and examine documents, Jeyaretnam himself was to be examined. The inquiry would resemble a triala trial where the chief justice's actions would be reviewed by a judge bound to follow the chief justice's rulings. To assist the inquiry, justice Sinnathuray would enjoy the services of prosecutor Glenn Knightthe same prosecutor who had pursued

54

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maintained

criminal charges against Jeyaretnam in the Case of the Three Cheques. Knight would investigate the actions of his own boss, the attorney-general, who could promote or demote him at will. The terms of reference were not about judge Khoo's transfer, but about Jeyaretnam's conduct. Years later, Jeyaretnam would describe the commission like this: By the terms of reference Lee had put before the Commission, the inquiry was into my conduct in Parliament. The first three terms of reference were unmistakably clear. It was not the position of District Judges and their tenure that was the subject of the inquiry, but whether I was guilty of wrongdoing in raising in Parliament the need for safeguarding the District Judges and Magistrates in the discharge of their judicial functions and duties. I was in the position of an accused person before a criminal court accused of wrongdoing and called upon to explain.18 The commission opened its proceedings in justice Sinnathuray's courtroom on 3 June 1986. A n absurd argument broke out as soon as Jeyaretnam and his lawyer, MPD Nair, took up a position at the barthe traditional location for lawyers and defendants. Justice Sinnathuray told them to move back into the spectators' section, because Jeyaretnam was not a party of interest to the commission, but simply a witness appearing before it. As a party of interest, Jeyaretnam would have been entitled to a lawyer, to call and cross-examine witnesses. As a witness, however, he could only answer questions. Jeyaretnam argued that the terms of reference clearly meant that he was a party to the inquiry. Justice Sinnathuray disagreed. He ordered Nair to leave, and told Jeyaretnam to remove himself from the bar. The next dispute was just as surreal. Glenn Knight, acting as counsel for the commission, asked that Jeyaretnam be called as the first witness. Ordinarily, witnesses before a commission of inquiry are compelled to testifythere are no grounds to refuse. Members of parliament, however, are granted immunity to such proceedings under the doctrine of parliamentary privilege. Jeyaretnam was certainly not eager to subject 55

Lee's Law

himself to the hostile grilling of Glenn Knight, who stood ready to b o m bard him with questions about the Case of the Three Cheques. But he said he would waive his privilege if justice Sinnathuray would let him cross-examine the chief justice and the attorney-general. This was a bold manoeuvre. Jeyaretnam had no evidence of executive interference in the case of judge Khoo. Without a paper trail, without any knowledge of schedules or conversations between the two men, cross-examining the chief justice and the attorney-general would have been hit-and-miss at best. On the other hand, Jeyaretnam must have known that justice Sinnathuray would be reluctant to expose the two high-ranking officials to cross-examination, under oath, from the one man in Singapore who stood willing to probe the inner workings of the judiciary. Sinnathuray refused to make a deal. Jeyaretnam had two options. He could testifyand face cross-examination from his relentless inquisitor, Glenn Knightor he could claim parliamentary privilege, and refuse to give evidence. After a lunchtime strategy session with friends and fellow lawyers, Jeyaretnam decided to stick to his guns: he refused to testify. Sinnathuray then ordered Jeyaretnam to leave the courtroom (an unusual edict in a public hearing), and retreated to his chambers, refusing to emerge until Jeyaretnam was gone. Without Jeyaretnam's participation, the inquiry quickly descended into farce. It did produce one revelation, however. Attorney-general Tan Boon Teik testified that judge Khoo's transfer came about after a discussion between him and chief justice Weewhich suggested that the executive arm of government was involved in the decision. Nevertheless, justice Sinnathuray's 79-page report completely rejected any suggestion of executive interference. Presented to parliament on 17 July, it concluded:
O n the evidence of the Chief Justice, the evidence of the A t t o r n e y General, and the letters of the Prime Minister and the Minister for Law, there is no doubt that at no time had any member of the Executive interfered with the delegated functions of the Chief Justice and the Attorney-General. It follows that there was nothing improper in the

56

silence must
transfer of Mr Michael Khoo.

be

maintained

Accordingly, I find on the overwhelming evidence that there is no truth to the allegations that there has been Executive interference in the transfer of judicial officers in the subordinate judiciaiy. The wholly unfounded allegations of Mr Jeyaretnam were scandalous statements that should never have been made. 1 9

Sinnathuray also slammed Jeyaretnam's refusal to testify, saying his evidence would have been protected by parliamentary privilege unless any of it were false and concluded that Jeyaretnam simply had no evidence to give. Prime minister Lee could now say that a full investigation had refuted the charge of executive interference in the subordinate courts. But he was not prepared to stop there. Two years before, he had vowed that Jeyaretnam would be "totally destroyed." He intended to keep his promise.
*

What accounts for this singular obsession? After all, Lee had faced many other resourceful political opponents during his long reign, and in many cases was satisfied to simply shunt them to the sidelines. Why did Jeyaretnam come in for such harsh treatment? One reason must have been his sheer persistence. Despite the attacks against him, he continued to raise a staggering variety of issues in parliament. In March 1986, for example, while the prime minister mounted an all-out political assault on the issue of judge Khoo, Jeyaretnam described Singapore as a police state:

I hear increasing stories of police violence. We have seen reports, even in the papers, of police resorting to violence upon arrest of persons in the streets. These are all manifestations of police violence; an excessive, zealous use of powers by the police. I hear time and time again of people who are taken into police stations and then assaulted violently. The police are getting very good at this. They are able to commit acts of battery without leaving any evidence of it.

57

Lee's Law

I cannot emphasise too strongly. Sir, that in a democracy the police must be kept within the bounds of law. The question is, who will guard the guardians if the guardians themselves do not uphold the law?20 In addition, Jeyaretnam's long-running feud with Lee was beginning to intrigue influential foreign papers such as the .Asian, Wall Street Journal, and the Far Eastern Economic Review. Lee found such international attention extremely irritatingand invariably responded. Weaiy editors all over South-East Asia groaned at the way their letters pages grew thick with official denials from the Singapore government. The bad press threatened Singapore's continuing efforts to attract multinational corporations; worse, it questioned the rules of the game. The city-state's strongest selling point had always been impartial, fair government. Jeyaretnam's political guerrilla warfare kept exposing its darker side. At the same time, Singapore was suffering its first recession in z o years of double-digit growth. For two decades, Singaporeans had been willing to sacrifice freedom for prosperity. Now the terms of that equation were unstable. Was Jeyaretnam being hounded to set an exampleand to reinforce that fear of persecution? Or was it simply a case of picking off a vulnerable opponent? In his biography of Lee Kuan Yew, Father James Minchin suggests that Lee's dominance fed a pathological aversion to dissent: Once in government, an instinct deeper than respect for democratic convention took over: power. Lee's preference was that the instinct be exercised within bounds unless the enemy's behaviour dictated otherwise. The trouble was, as he had remarked in the Assembly, that repression is a habit that grows addictive with time and practice. However interminable the chicken-and-egg argument may be, any investigator will be struck by a record bristling with instances of dissent being labelled subversion and thence communism, and will suspect that the authorities were not all incapable of making the distinction. 21 There is, perhaps, one more possible explanation. The early careers of Lee and Jeyaretnam ran strangely parallel: both hailed from middle-

'5*

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class backgrounds; both were more comfortable in English than in the languages of their forefathers; and both studied law in England after the war. As students, they shared a belief in progressive socialism and the rights of the common man. But while Lee had long since jettisoned the remnants of his youthful idealism, Jeyaretnam still held fast to the Fabian slogans that rang through the university quads so many years before. Was it possible that Lee heard in Jeyaretnam's voice the faint echo of his own conscience? Was the vitriol he poured on the member for Anson an effort to obliterate that unpleasant reminder of what he had been, and what he had become? Whatever the reason, Lee's patience was snapped. Jeyaretnam had beaten back the PAP at Anson with an increased majority. He had escaped the commission of inquiry without major mishap. He had managed to cling to his seat through the hair-raising switchbacks of the Case of the Three Cheques. Lee was determined to find another way.
* * *

In the midst of the controversy over judge Khoo, Jeyaretnam made a terrible mistake. In March ^ 8 6 , he rose in parliament and asked the minister of home affairs, S Jayakumar, to reaffirm the principle that criminal suspects had a right to see family, friends, and a lawyer. Jayakumar replied that this was already standard procedure. Jeyaretnam then made a dramatic revelation. He told parliament about the case of a manual labourer who had recently been arrested because he was not carrying his identity card, and was detained incommunicado for 15 hours. Was this, he asked rhetorically, what the minister was talking about? Clearly blindsided by of the incident, minister Jayakumar asked Jeyaretnam to provide more details. A week later, Jeyaretnam m e n tioned the case again, along with several other disturbing episodes: a shopkeeper whose store was searched without a warrant; half a dozen non-citizen wives who were ordered to leave the country, despite being married to Singaporeans; and a teenager accused of gang activity, detained without trial, whose friend was intimidated by police officers into testifying against him.

59

Lee's Law

Once again, minister Jayakumar requested more information. After several weeks, Jeyaretnam complied, sending the name of the prisoner Lim Poh Huatand the place and time of his incarceration. Jeyaretnam had heard about the case of Lim Poh Huat from a mutual friend, a journalist named Percy Seneviratne who had known Lim for 15 years. Seneviratne had asked Lim to help him renovate his cousin's house, and arranged to drive Lim to the worksite on the morning of 2 March. But Lim did not show up. When he finally appeared, later that evening, he told Seneviratne that the police had arrested him in Geylang the night before because he was not carrying his identity card. He had been locked up for 15 hours before being released. To Jeyaretnam, Lim's story was a classic illustration of the way individual rights in Singapore were flattened by the steamroller of bureaucratic efficiency. But during a parliamentary sitting on 29 July, Jeyaretnam got the shock of his life when minister Jayakumar rose to declare that that Jeyaretnam had "seriously misled the House." 22 The minister said he had ordered a full investigation into the case of Lim Poh Huat, only to discover that there were no records of any such person being detained. Blasting Jeyaretnam for "tarnishing the image of the entire police force," he asked if Jeyaretnam could produce Lim Poh Huatand reveal the steps he had taken to determine that the story was true. Jeyaretnam said he had a signed letter from Seneviratne describing the incident. But he conceded that he made no inquiries of his own. "All that I need to do is to ask in parliament, bring to the notice of parliament, any abuse of police powers that comes to my information and ask the minister concerned to investigate," he replied. "What is so very wrong about that?" Jayakumar would not let the matter rest. He pressed Jeyaretnam to withdraw his accusation and make an apology to parliament. Jeyaretnam withdrew the accusation, but refused to apologise. Once again, the Speaker referred him to the Committee of Privileges for disciplinary action. The next morning, 3o July, Jeyaretnam made a short speech announcing the address of Lim Poh Huat. What he did not reveal was 160

silence

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that Seneviratne had given h i m a statement, signed by Lim, admitting that he had m a d e up the entire s t o i y a s an excuse for being late.

Jeyaretnam's failure to relay L i m ' s c o n f e s s i o n to p a r l i a m e n t was a s e r i ous misstep. T h e very next day, 1 A u g u s t , m i n i s t e r Jayakumar d e m a n d e d to k n o w w h y J e y a r e t n a m h a d w i t h h e l d t h e c o n f e s s i o n .

Jayakumar: He already knew that the whole thing was a fabrication. He already had with him a signed confession from Mr Lim Poh Huat. The question is: why did he suppress those facts when he took the opportunity to speak on Wednesday? Mr Speaker: Have you anything to say, Mr Jeyaretnam? An hon Member: Let's hear him. JBJ: Let's hear him, let's hear him. Yes, the whole matter is before the Committee of Privileges. I came here to give you the information and I said, 'You can go and interview him now and get the thing from him yourself." That is the reason ... I do not know whether even his confession is true or not true. It is for the police to go and investigate.23

A s a l a w y e r a n d a f o r m e r j u d g e , J e y a r e t n a m k n e w t h a t n o t all c o n f e s sions are voluntary. Nevertheless, his refusal to back down was

astonishing. T h e previous day's

Straits Times

had carried a f r o n t - p a g e

i n t e r v i e w w i t h L i m u n d e r t h e b a n n e r h e a d l i n e , I MADE IT ALL UP. T h e r e p o r t q u o t e d L i m as s a y i n g , " I m a d e t h e e x c u s e f o r m y f r i e n d , n o t f o r JBJ, n o t f o r p a r l i a m e n t a n d n o t t o m a k e t h e p o l i c e l o o k s t u p i d . I a m s h o c k e d it h a s r e a c h e d t h i s s t a g e . " 2 4 Despite this persuasive report, Jeyaretnam

still

had doubts

about

Lim's confession. A s the debate raged, he b e g a n to lose his t e m p e r . There followed on a confusing and in chaotic date exchange that after Jayakumar received

dwelled

a discrepancy

the

Jeyaretnam

Seneviratne's letter:

Jayakumar: A world of difference between the end of March and July. Well, contradictions will always arise when people are engaged in fabrication. 16/

Lee's Law

JBJ: I certainly object to that because the imputation is that I was engaged in fabrication of this. This matter has been referred to the Committee of Privileges. Will the Minister withdraw thatthat I was engaged in fabrication? Jayakumar: Mr Speaker, Sir, we have just established that the Member suppressed the truth. Let me proceed, Mr Speaker, Sir. JBJ: I insist, Mr Speaker, Sir. As I said, are you allowing Government Ministers to get away with murder in this House? Some hon. Members: No! Mr Speaker: Am I? JBJ: Yes. Mr Speaker: I am surprised at your remark, Mr Jeyaretnam. I have been very patient with you. JBJ: But they are making statements Mr Speaker: I think you should withdraw your remark. JBJ: All right, I withdraw it for you, Mr Speaker, Sir, about you allowing it. But I am saying that they are making statements. May I finish on my point of order? Mr Speaker: What point of order? JBJ: And that is, that I was a party to this fabrication, that I got the man to come and make a statement to Percy Seneviratne, that I fabricated all this. Will he withdraw it? Jayakumar: I never withdraw anything that I said and I never said what he claims I have said. JBJ: He says "parties concerned in the fabrication." Were you referring to me or not? Have the courage. Were you referring to me or not? Will you have the courage? Jayakumar: Can I speak without his rude interruptions, Mr Speaker, Sir? JBJ: Does he have the courage or not? Mr Speaker: It is up to the Minister. JBJ: Does he have the courage? Were you saying that I fabricated all this? Jayakumar: Mr Speaker, Sir, the truth will come out in the Committee of Privileges. 162

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JBJ: Will you please answer my question? Will you please answer my question? Are you saying Jayakumar: Will the Member for Anson please keep his cool and sit down? JBJ: No. I am asking you. Look at me! Jayakumar: I don't want to look at him. Why should I look at him? JBJ: Because you are frightened. I say. Look at me and answer the question. Jayakumar: If he was a person of honour he need not fear. JBJ: Will you look at me and answer the question? Jayakumar: He has shown that he had suppressed the truth in this House. Any member who has suppressed the truth really has done the most dishonourable conduct. JBJ: Mr Speaker, Sir, on a point of order. I am going to insist on your ruling. Let it be on record. If you are making a motion, a complaint, that I suppressed the truth on the 3oth July by presenting that signed statement to this House, well, do so. Do so, and refer it to the Committee of Privileges and I will answer it. But now you are saying (or I thought you were saying) An lion. Member: "Thought?" Another hon. Member: Out of order. JBJ: But if you did not say it, have the courage, my man. Have the courage to say whether you said it or you did not say it. I am asking you for the last time, are you saying that I was a party to this fabrication? Mr Speaker: He did not say it. Jayakumar: These are the desperate efforts of a man who is sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksands of falsehood, lies and untruth. JBJ rose sit down? JBJ: I want an answer to my question. Mr Speaker: What was your question, Mr Jeyaretnam? JBJ: I want an answer to this question: is the Minister saying in this House that I fabricated the whole thing, that is, I got Lim Poh Huat to make a false statement to Percy Seneviratne, then I got him to come and 7 63 Jayakumar: Mr Speaker, Sir, I wish to proceed. Can I ask the Member to

Lee's Law

see me knowing that it was a false statement and then I raised it in this House? Is he saying that or not? Mr Speaker: I did not hear it. JBJ: You did not hear it? Mr Speaker: That is what you say. JBJ: Is he saying that? Jayakumar: Mr Speaker, Sir, that interesting question will be answered in the Committee of Privileges. What I said JBJ rose Jayakumar: Can you ask him to sit down, Mr Speaker, Sir? Mr Speaker: Will you let the Minister finish first? JBJ: I want an answer to my question. Jayakumar: Please sit down. JBJ: Are you saying it or not saying it? Jayakumar: Mr Speaker, Sir, can you ask him to sit down? Mr Speaker: As I said, Mr Jeyaretnam, I did not hear it. JBJ: I thought he said I was a party to the fabrication. Mr Speaker: No. He was not referring to you. Jayakumar: Sit down, please! JBJ: Nobody said it, is it? Jayakumar: Can you ask him to sit down, Mr Speaker, Sir? Mr Speaker: Sit down, Mr Jeyaretnam. He did not say it. JBJ: He can't even look at me straight in the face. Jayakumar: I do not relish looking at people who tell untruths. Mr Speaker: Order, order. Sit down, Mr Jeyaretnam! JBJ: He can't look at me straight in the face. Jayakumar: Mr Speaker, Sir, these are desperate efforts of a man who is sinking into quicksands of falsehood and untruth. [Interruptions] JBJ: Let the public decide. See you at the end of 1988, whether you get elected or not. Mr Speaker: Let us have some order in the House ... Jayakumar: When the Committee of Privileges meets, we will find out who has fabricated this conspiracy to hoodwink Parliament.25 Minister Jayakumar clearly overstated the case. The Lim Poh Huat 164

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case was hardly a conspiracy. It was, rather, a case of straightforward gullibility on Jeyaretnam's part. But the question remains, why did he climb out on such a slender limb, at a time when he knew the PAP would seize upon the tiniest slip to discredit him? How could he have been so slipshod in his preparation? One reason is that Jeyaretnam was cut off from the sorts of resources that politicians in most democracies take for granted. He could not rely on advocacy groups, because there are no advocacy groups in Singapore. He could not rely on newspaper accounts, because there are no investigative reporters in Singapore. He had no money to pay researchers; potential volunteers were afraid of being associated with him. He had virtually no staff. Australian political scientist Garry Rodan, who has written extensively about Singapore, described Jeyaretnam's dilemma thus: The intense pressure and difficulty of the task of serious opposition should not be underestimated. Without a well-resourced party and extra-party machinery, including a strong network of researchers and advisers, individual oppositionists are prone to stumble. Jeyaretnam's failure to bolster such organisational structures within his party is a failing. However, the Societies Act effectively bars the usual links between opposition parties and the broader civil society. Until this legislation is scrapped and civil society itself develops within Singapore, opposition political parties are likely to remain personalitybased and fractured. Bravery alone has its limits.26 In addition to the legal and institutional barriers in his path, Jeyaretnam suffered from the fact that the years of political isolation had made him suspicious of offers of support. A senior Singapore lawyer remembers approaching Jeyaretnam in the early r98os with an offhand political suggestion. He recalls that Jeyaretnam simply smiled, and politely brushed the idea aside. "He wanted people to join his party, but I didn't want that. I just wanted to help," the lawyer says. 27 Like a suitor spurned too often, Jeyaretnam had almost come to prefer dining alone. With his brilliant legal mind and keen sense of injustice, Jeyaretnam

Lee's Law

was quite capable of poking holes in government policies on his own. But his labyrinthine legal troubles starved him not only of money; they starved him of time. Trapped in a maze of writs, summonses, motions, and appeals that could have befuddled an army of lawyers, Jeyaretnam simply did not have time to do his homework. A less adventurous spirit might have moved more carefully. But Jeyaretnam would not, could not, rein himself in. He viewed himself as the last remaining check on the government's power, and he could not bring himself to ignore an allegation of the abuse of that power. Asked about the Lim Poh Huat case many years later, he paused for several moments before replying. Parliament is a place where you can ask questions ... Because you're a Member of Parliament and you want to know the truth. So I felt there was nothing wrong about it. But you see, that's me. I'm not a cautious man who worries about everything. If I think I've got to do it, I'll do it. This is what marks me differently from Chiam See Tong. People say I shoot from the hip. All right. But you're in Parliament and you're in the opposition. Especially in Singapore, where the opposition is denied access to knowledge. So what do you do? Keep quiet? That's not me. It's just not me.28

Over the years, Jeyaretnam had scored several points in parliament with this all-or-nothing strategy. But the Lim Poh Huat affair exposed his worst shortcomings his haste, his stubbornness, and his recklessness. It dented his credibility and eroded his public support just when he needed it most. * 0 * Intertwined with the Lim Poh Huat debacle, the issue of executive interference in the courts was coming to a climax. Now that the one-man commission of inquiry had concluded that Jeyaretnam's allegations "should never have been made," prime minister Lee was ready to pounce. On 29 July, Lee rose to endorse the commission's report. During his hour-long speech, he made a stunning revelation: the chief justice, Lee j 66

silence

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said, transferred judge Khoo because of mistakes he had made in the Jeyaretnam case:

There is nothing mysterious about Michael Khoo's transfer and I am prepared to have it examined, re-examined, further reviewed ... A n d there were very good grounds why, if a person can make such a series of misfindings of fact and two misfindings of law in one simple case, he should be transferred to the A t t o r n e y - G e n e r a l ' s Chambers. There is nothing mysterious. 2 9

For the first time, Lee had admittedin publicthat Khoo had been transferred because of his verdict in the Case of the Three Cheques. Jeyaretnam considered this such a crucial admission that he spent the rest of the session, and several hours the next day, badgering the prime minister into repeating his statement: Mr. Jeyaretnam

[to the Prime Minister]: Would he concede, he can

answer afterwards, that out of his own mouth in this House he has said that [Judge Khoo] was transferred because he acquitted Jeyaretnam and Wong?

The Prime Minister: Mr. Speaker: The Prime Minister:

O n a point of order, I must insist.

Point of order. Do sit down, Mr. Jeyaretnam. I never made such a statement. I would not. Mr.

Speaker, Sir, it was the furthest thing f r o m my mind. I could not utter those words which were not in my mind: that [Judge Khoo] was transferred because he acquitted Jeyaretnam of three charges and convicted him of one. No. What was in my mind, reading the judgment, was that here was the Chief Justice struggling v e i y hard to explain the Lower Court's decision and, f i n d i n g evidence to the contrary, therefore he wrote that judgment. The Chief Justice could have reversed it, but he went further. He spelt out the r e a s o n s [ J u d g e observe, analyse ... Khoo] could not

Mr. Jeyaretnam:

Did you not say yesterday, Mr Prime Minister, that the

man, you could see v e i y clearly, or you could understand v e i y clearly, why the man was transferred because he made six mistakes of fact and

167

Lee's Law
two m i s d i r e c t i o n s in law w h e n he gave his j u d g m e n t Jeyaretnam and Wong? Did you not say that? acquitting

The Prime Minister: Yes, Mr. Jeyaretnam:

Mr. Speaker, I said that.

Thank you. A l l right then. 3 0

Through dogged persistence, Jeyaretnam had wrung a key concession from the prime minister. Unfortunately, the Singapore press paid little attention: the exchange was completely overshadowed by the dramatic revelations of the Lim Poh Huat affair. By invoking parliamentary privilege, Jeyaretnam had thwarted Lee's efforts to crucify him in the commission of inquiry. But privilege could not shield Jeyaretnam from proceedings inside parliamentparticularly from the Committee of Privileges, the body that meted out discipline to errant MPs. In March, Jeyaretnam had b e e n referred to the Committee of Privileges for his remarks about judge Khoo. Lee was determined that where the commission of inquiry had failed, the Committee of Privileges would succeed. Jeyaretnam would be forced to testify and, this time, he would have no way out.

168

B R E A C H OF P R I V I L E G E

Shortly before

II:OOAM

on Monday, 8 September 1986, Jeyaretnam

climbed the stairs of the Parliament Annexe building to face the Committee of Privileges. It was a poignant moment. In the 1950s and 1960s, this historic structure had housed the civil district courts. Now it was reserved for parliamentary committees. Ironically, Jeyaretnam's hearing was convened in the veiy same courtroom where, thirty years before, he had presided as a civil district judge. The room was ablaze with television lights, and reporters jammed the galleriesit was the first time a disciplinary hearing had ever been open to the public. As he stepped into the chamber, Jeyaretnam looked up at the bench where he once had pronounced his verdicts: now it was occupied by eight MPs sitting behind a long table: five government ministers, two government back-benchers, and a single opposition MP, Chiam See Tong of the Singapore Democratic Party. Across the room, on the prosecution side, stood the prime minister himself, assisted by majority leader S Dhanabalan and prosecutor Glenn Knight. The witness box was emptywaiting for Jeyaretnam. The stakes were immense. Just two weeks before, parliament had rushed through a special amendment beefing up the punishment for errant MPs. Under the amendment, which passed its mandatory three readings in less than six hours, wayward members could now be imprisoned; dishonourable conduct, abuse of privilege, and contempt were now punishable by a fine of up to S$5o,ooo (from a previous maximum of S$ 1,000); and members could also be stripped of their privilege and
169

Lee's Law

exposed to civil lawsuits. 1 Although the new penalties were not retroactivethey could not be invoked against Jeyaretnam for his previous statementsthey would apply to anything he said during the hearing. But if the potential penalties were huge, so was the prize. If Jeyaretnam could succeed in his caseif he could show that judge Khoo's transfer was the result of executive pressure he would drive a stake through the heart of the PAP government. Time after time, prime minister Lee insisted that Singapore judges were absolutely independent of the PAP. Time after time, those same judges ruled in the PAP's favour. Now, with the whole nation watching, Jeyaretnam would have a chance to peel back the ermine robes, and probe for strings and wires. As the hearing came to order, the chairman. Speaker of Parliament Yeoh Ghim Seng, laid down the ground rules. He warned Jeyaretnam that he would be cited for contempt unless he could substantiate each allegation or innuendo he made on the stand. The committee would decide the order of witnesses, and would call Jeyaretnam first. All witnesses could be cross-examined, but no "scandalous or defamatory" allegations could be put to them unless those allegations could be substantiated. The justification for this rule was to protect witnesses from "unwarranted attacks" during cross-examination. But it put Jeyaretnam in a peculiar bind. Now he was not even allowed to put "scandalous" questions to witnesses unless he could already prove the answers. The charge against Jeyaretnam was that he had falsely accused the PAP of meddling with the courts, specifically in the transfer of judge Michael Khoo and two other judges. But the offending words were never specified. Before he testified, Jeyaretnam objected to this oversight: how could he defend himself, unless he knew exactly what he had to defend? Chairman Yeoh overruled his objections. At noon, Jeyaretnam stepped into the witness box, placed his hand on the Bible, and solemnly swore to tell the truth. He had no lawyer. He was on his own. Because his speeches in parliament were not contained in the complaint against him, Jeyaretnam began his testimony by reading from themword for word. Majority leader Dhanabalan interrupted with a startling offer.
7 70

breach of

privilege

Dhanabalan: If the member is saying that he is not making this allegation, and therefore he has no evidence, I think that is the end of the matter. Is he saying categorically that he is not making any allegation of this kind? I will withdraw my complaint if he is not making this allegation. Chairman Yeo Ghim Seng: So there is an offer. 2 Sitting alone in the witness box in the glare of klieg lights, before a partisan panel and a hostile press, Jeyaretnam must have been tempted by this unexpected chance to wriggle out of the confrontation. His adversary Lee had manoeuvred him into a corner where his chances of survival were exceedingly slender. He was isolated politically and even physically: he faced the court without a single ally, without anyone whose eye he could catch for a reassuring glance or a whispered consultation. But, remarkably, he refused to back down. JBJ: Mr Chairman, Sir, tempting as it is the offer, I am bound to say that Chairman Yeo Ghim Seng: That you accept? JBJ: No, Sir. Mr Chairman, Sir, if you will hear me. I am bound to say that I stand by what I said in Parliament and I shall point out to you what I said. And I shall call the necessary evidence to stand by what I said in Parliament. Years later, Jeyaretnam explained his decision like this: To me it was a matter of truth. My speech in Parliament referred to disquiet felt in the public mind over the sudden unexplained transfer of Mr. Michael Khoo. If I acknowledged I had no evidence to substantiate what I said, it might be presented that I was withdrawing all I had said in Parliament about the disquiet felt among the public on the position of District Judges in Subordinate Courts demonstrated by the removal of Mr. Michael Khoo. The PAP could then rightfully say that I was given to making reckless statements in Parliament. Further I felt that the circumstances and the reasons for the transfer of Mr. Michael Khoo

'7'

Lee's Law

should be made public. All we had until then was the then-Chief Justice's note that he in consultation with the Attorney-General had removed Mr. Michael Khoo. We knew nothing about the reasons why it was thought necessary to remove him. 3 Jeyaretnam's decision to hold his ground set the stage for one of the most dramatic political confrontations in Singapore's history. Lee Kuan Yew, prime minister and patriarch of Singapore since ^ 5 9 , had broken every political opponent he had ever faced. For the next five days, he would use every method at his disposal to break the Tiger of Anson. Lee began his cross-examination by reminding Jeyaretnam of a bitter memory.- the Tat Lee defamation suit that ultimately cost him his house. "So you know all about innuendo and you have to pay to learn the costly business of making these snide remarks; you say a few words and you look knowingly and point your finger," Lee said. 4 This, then, was the essence of Jeyaretnam's c r i m e h e may not have said that Lee had interfered in the course of justice, but he had implied it. By law, MPs are granted immunity from defamation in Parliament House precisely because robust debate is the lifeblood of democracy. If MPs have to worry that damaging innuendo will be read into even the most innocuous statements, they can hardly criticise government actions or policies. But now that protection had been retroactively stripped away. Jeyaretnam had asked for an explanation of judge Khoo's transfer. Now he was being ordered to produce evidence to justify his request. Lee's first line of attack focused on Jeyaretnam's statement that chief justice Wee was "beholden" to Lee. The rules for appointing and reappointing Singapore's High Court judges were complex. Unlike district judges, High Court judges were nominated by the prime minister and appointed by the president (in practice, the president seldom if ever rejected the prime minister's nominees.) As such, High Court judges could only be removed by impeachment. This practice, similar to the British and American systems, was designed to ensure that top judges could retain their independence without fear or favour of the government. There is, however, a drawback

breach of

privilege

to this approach: sometimes judges languish on the bench well past their sell-by date. To avoid this problem, the Singapore constitution specified a mandatory retirement age of sixty-five. But the mandatory retirement age posed other difficulties. Because judges are not usually elevated to the highest bench until late in life, and because of Singapore's relatively small size, this restriction led to a chronic shortage of High Court judges. So in 1969 parliament amended the constitution to allow certain exceptions. Under the new rules, a judge who reached retirement age could be re-appointed for an additional, fixed-length t e r m o n the prime minister's recommendation. Chief justice Wee, originally appointed by prime minister Lee in 1963, had turned 65 in 1982. Lee had then re-appointed him for a three-year term and, when that term expired in ^ 8 5 , had re-appointed him for another three-year term, due to expire in ^ 8 8 . It was certainly reasonable to sayas the chief justice later admitted that he owed his position to Lee. But Jeyaretnam had used the word "beholden." Lee read selections from the Oxford, Webster's, and Chambers dictionary definitions of "beholden." Each contained the idea of being under an obligation, legally, morally, or simply in gratitude, to return a gift or favour. Jeyaretnam was trapped. If he backed away from his statements, he would come across as a coward. But if he amplified them, he would be required to produce evidence evidence he had no way of obtaining. Lee's strategy was brutally simple: to keep confronting Jeyaretnam with this dilemma until he cracked. As it would throughout the entire affair, local press coverage resolutely avoided any independent reporting on the issue of judicial independence. Instead, reporters focused on the confrontation between Lee and Jeyaretnam.
PM TO JEYA: PROVE YOUR ALLEGATIONS

was the

eight-column headline on the front page of the Straits Times. Lee resumed his cross-examination the next day by asking what Jeyaretnam was seeking to prove with the witnesses he had called before the committee. Jeyaretnam said he was trying to establish the public disquiet over the transfer of judge Khoo, and to obtain more information on the circumstances of the decision. i73

Lee's Law

Lee feigned astonishment. "That's all?" he asked. "You wanted information? You don't have any evidence of any wrong-doing?" "That's exactly what I said in parliament on January ro," Jeyaretnam replied. "I said the whole thing must be revealed because of public disquiet. I can't produce the evidence. There is this disquiet which is the main basis and I said the whole thing must be revealed." 5 This should have come as no surprise: Jeyaretnam had essentially been saying the same thing for months. Indeed, the whole point of calling for an investigation in the first place was to find out exactly what had happened in the Khoo transfer. But Lee denounced Jeyaretnam's statement as an admission of defeat. Pointing out that no fewer than six government ministers were sitting on the committee, he thundered: "An enormous amount of energy, time and resources has been expended in order to enable him to prove his wild, reckless, baseless accusationsand he treats us as morons." 6 Lee then stepped aside to allow prosecutor Glenn Knightthe lead prosecutor in the Case of the Three Chequesto grill Jeyaretnam on the minutiae of the trial. This exercise was extremely dangerous for Jeyaretnam. The vast litigation spawned by that case had produced thousands of pages of evidence and testimony. If Jeyaretnam could be tripped up if his testimony veered away in the slightest degree from his previous statementshe could be charged with perjury. In the middle of Jeyaretnam's cross-examination, however, Chairman Yeoh interrupted with a surprise announcement: chief justice Wee Chong Jin himself was ready to testify before the committee. Jeyaretnam was released from the witness box, and the chief justice took his place. The chief justice began his testimony with a prepared statement denying all Jeyaretnam's allegations: In respect to the transfer of Mr Michael Khoo in August ^84, there has never been any request or interference, either direct or indirect, by the Prime Minister or the Attorney-General or any other member of the Legal Service Commission in my decision to transfer Mr Michael Khoo and as head of the judicial branch of the Legal Service, I decided on Mr

'74

breach of

privilege

Michael Khoo's transfer. Mr Jeyaretnam has insinuated that because the Prime Minister had appointed me Chief Justice for a fixed term of three years after I had reached the constitutional retirement age of 65,1 transferred Mr Khoo as I was beholden to the Prime Minister. He has defamed me because this insinuation is untrue. The truth is that I agree to continue in my office at the request of the Prime Minister. I did not ask to stay on. For the sake of completeness, there has never been any request or interference by anyone in respect of the transfer of Mr Jeffrey Chan or Mr Yong Yung Sui.7 The committee then allowed Jeyaretnam to question chief justice Weea remarkable event by any standard. Here, in a nation criticised for its authoritarian leanings, a political renegade with criminal convictions hanging over his head was being allowed to cross-examine the chief justicethe supreme arbiter of the law of the l a n d o n the question of whether Singapore judges were immune to political influence. If Singapore were truly a police state, why was Jeyaretnam given this extraordinary opportunity? Why, indeed, did prime minister Lee go to such lengths to squelch the suggestion that justice was not blind? There were several reasons. First, the PAP's legitimacy hinged on the perception that it played by the rules. Second, Singapore's economy was highly dependent on foreign investment. To offset the city-state's higher operating costs and small domestic market, the PAP emphasised its political stability and rectitude. Multinational corporations needed to know that building a billion-dollar refinery in Singapore would not suck them into an endless round of threats and bribes. The party's willingness to investigate Jeyaretnam's charges would be reassuring to foreign executives. There was, perhaps, an additional reason: as a young man, Lee had chafed under the smug colonial attitude that the natives would let the place run downhill if they were allowed to manage their own affairs. He wanted to prove that Singapore upheld the sterling values of the rule of law.

'75

Lee's Law

PAP leaders would later point to the proceedings as evidence of the government's unflinching commitment to the independence of its judges. Allowing Jeyaretnam to cross-examine chief justice Wee under oathwas the pinnacle of this exercise. Yet the ground rules of the cross-examination, and of the hearing as a whole, practically guaranteed that Jeyaretnam would fail. He was on trial before a panel dominated by his political opponents. Now, in the middle of fighting for his political life, he was expected, without preparation or documents, to cross-examine the chief justice. His questions would first be vetted by the committee for relevance. He would not be allowed to suggest wrongdoing without first supplying evidence e v i dence he didn't have. Still, Jeyaretnam knew he would never get another chance. It was now or never. He began by exploring a knotty constitutional issue. The Singapore constitution gave the power of hiring and firing district judges to the Legal Service Commission, which was explicitly allowed to delegate any of its powers to "any officer in the legal service." The chief justice was the chairman of the LSC. But technically, Jeyaretnam argued, the chief justice was a member of the judicial service, not the legal service. The committee quickly shut down this line of questioning. Minister for law Jayakumar said the committee would not debate constitutional issues. Next, Jeyaretnam tried to explore the chief justice's reason for transferring judge Khoo. There was no particular reason, the chief justice replied. Well, what was the reason, even if there was no particular reason, Jeyaretnam asked. Finally, the chief justice produced a rather evasive answer: The usual criteria were used in the case of Mr Michael Khoo. And it is well-known in relation to transfers, just transfers, we are not talking about anything else, exigencies of the service, as you well know, Mr Jeyaretnam, the officer's suitability in his post and in the post to which he is transferred. That is another criterion. And lastly, which is part of the business of any well-managed organisation, it is the officer's career development. Those are the basic criteria and I have not departed from
176

Jeyaretnam's father, Victor Lord Joshua IJB jeyaretnam]

Jeyaretnam's mother. Rose Soundramma [JB Jeyaretnam]

The Jeyaretnam children in Muar in the 1920s. Clockwise from left: Ellen Maheswari Joshua; Joshua Samuel Mahadeva-, Joshua Benjamin Jeyaretnam; Emily Thanapakiam Joshua [JBJeyaretnam]

Jeyaretnam and Margaret depart for their honeymoon in 1957

[JB Jeyaretnam]

Rochore Road in 1963. Post-colonial Singapore was a crowded, sprawling, chaotic city I National Archives of Singapore I

The advocate: Jeyaretnam as a lawyer in private practice in 1964

Holdings ]

[Singapore Press

Jeyaretnam and Margaret at a Workers' Party press conference in 1976 [JB

Jeyaretnam]

Arms in the air, JBJ proclaims victory in the Anson by-election of 3i October 1981
[Singapore Press Holdings]

Parliament House, 1985

[Minstrj of Information

and the Arts]

Re-elected in Anson by an increased majority, a triumphant Jeyaretnam arrives at the opening of Parliament in 1985 IMinstry
of Information and the Arts]

Jeyaretnam addresses a Workers' Party rally at Fullerton Square in 1988. Despite the numerous obstacles, the party's rallies drew big crowds [Minstijof
Information and the Arts]

Almost a decade after being stripped of his parliamentary seat, Jeyaretnam returns to parliament as a non-constituency MP in 1997 / Minstry of Information and the Arts]

Jeyaretnam in his study at home in 2002

[Chris Lydgate]

Bankrupted by his immense legal losses, Jeyaretnam ekes out a living by hawking copies of Make it Right for Singapore on Orchard Road in 2,002, fChris Lydgate]

Jeyaretnam's sister's house in Johor Bahru, where he increasingly repaired for a bit of peace and quiet /Chris Lydgate]

breach of

privilege

them in the case of Mr Michael Khoo.8 Jeyaretnam was not satisfied. Once again he asked for the specific reason for judge Khoo's transfer and, once again, the chief justice dodged the question: I have come here. You have hedged and you have hedged. But you have not said that you have some evidence, you have some reason to believe you are not making a reckless statement. You have reason to believe that I transferred Michael Khoo, not like the transfer of any other officer, but because of Executive interference and lately because I was beholden to the Prime Minister.9 Incredibly, however, the chairman shut down this line of questioning. Jeyaretnam was obliged to move on. He turned to the chief justice's consultation with attorney-general Tan Boon Teik. When and how did he consult Tan? Was it in person or by telephone? Both questions were ruled irrelevant. What was Tan's reaction? The chief justice could not hazard a guess. Further questions were disallowed. Jeyaretnam could feel his opportunity slipping away, but he was running out of ideas. He tried to ask the chief justice what he had told Jeyaretnam that afternoon more than 550 years before, when Tan Boon Teik had been promoted to solicitor-general above Jeyaretnam. He asked the chief justice if it were true that, with the exception of judge Khoo, no court had ever ruled in favour of Jeyaretnam or the Workers' Party. He asked if the chief justice owed his position to the prime minister. But the questions led nowhere. Frustrated, Jeyaretnam sat down. Later he wrote: [Wee] had said when he commenced his evidence that he had come to tell the Committee why he removed Mr Michael Khoo. He had been in the witness box for almost one and a half hours but when he stepped down I still did not know why Mr Michael Khoo had been transferred. 10 Now the prime minister said that Jeyaretnam deserved the "utmost contempt" for failing to ask the chief justice three key questions. Then '177

Lee's Law

Lee put those key questions to the chief justice himself: Prime Minister Lee: In all these years since 1963, have we ever discussed your control of your judicial officers? Chief Justice: Never. Prime Minister Lee: After your office was extended for three years in 1982, did you feel beholden to me? Did you feel you were under a debt, an obligation to do me a favour? Chief Justice: Not at all. As I have said, the Prime Minister asked me to stay on and I have told him many times that I wish to finish and go on to retirement. Prime Minister Lee: In 1985, when I asked the Chief Justice to stay on for another three years, did he feel he was obliged to me to do me a favour? Chief Justice: No. Prime Minister Lee: Does the Chief Justice expect a further extension at the end of his three years? Chief Justice: I do not and I hope the Prime Minister won't ask me. The headlines in the next day's Straits Times could not have been worse. 1 claimed:
CAN'T PRODUCE EVIDENCE: JEYA,

and

JEYA FAILS TO ASK CJ THE KEY

QUESTION,

crowed the front-page headline. A n inside headline proCJ's IMAGE.'

JEYA 'USED PRIVILEGE TO TARNISH

Despite the lopsided press coverage, there is no doubt the proceedings generated sympathy for Jeyaretnam. As the hearing entered its third day, supporters turned in a petition with i3o signatures expressing their concern over the transfer of judge Khoo w h i c h Lee denounced as an effort to mock the committee: I think we have to have some procedure. It is time that a certain decorum and a certain dignity be accorded to you, the members of your committee, and all of us ... I suggest that it is mocking; it is making monkeys out of us and that [Jeyaretnam] should be punished for contempt... I suggest that from now on, you rule, Mr Chairman, Sir, that if there 178

breach of

privilege

are any more such interjections, snide asides, reference to irrelevant petitions designed to boost his standing in the eyes of his constituents, that I will move, or perhaps you may decide to move on your own, that we deal with him for contempt. 11 The chairman dutifully issued Jeyaretnam a "final warning" that he could be ruled in contempt, and ordered him to take the stand. All his efforts to produce the only evidence he could musterof widespread disquiet at Khoo's transferhad come to nothing. Even the efforts of his supporters to rally to his side had been turned against him. A s Jeyaretnam approached the witness box, he did something unusual. He smiled. It was certainly not because there was anything amusing about his ordeal. Indeed, he found the atmosphere "oppressive ... One could have cut the air with a knife." 1 2 Still, he refused to appear dejected lest it dishearten his supporters. Even this minor act of defiance came in for criticism. Seeing the smile, Lee again accused Jeyaretnam of contempt, and the chairman warned him once more. "Yes, all right, Mr Chairman, Sir, I will keep as grim as possible," Jeyaretnam replied. 1 3 Back in the witness box, Jeyaretnam was again cross-examined by Glenn Knight, who resumed his probe into the Case of the Three Cheques. One of Knight's more remarkable claims was that Jeyaretnam never asked Dr Ivy Chew to testify about her S$?,ooo donation because. Knight said, Jeyaretnam feared Dr Chew would say the money was meant for the Workers' Party. In fact, it was Knight who named Dr Chew as a witness, and Knight who failed to call her to the standan omission criticised by judge Khoo. Many years later, in a cozy bungalow in Pasir Panjang, over tea and biscuits, Dr Ivy Chew recounted the saga of the $2,000 cheque to a visitor. In a clear voice, she described her longstanding distaste for prime minister Lee and the PAP. Although she thought Jeyaretnam was too hasty in his attacks in parliament, she wanted to support him. She wrote the cheque, her first-ever contribution, to help Jeyaretnam in any way he saw fit. Asked if that included paying the legal bills of Madam Chiew, Dr

'79

Lee's Law

Chew replied: "I had in mind that he could have it for that purpose. It was all right with me." 1 4 With these words, Dr Chew utterly demolished the government's argument that Jeyaretnam had "siphoned o f f ' party funds. If she had been called to testify at any point during the lengthy hearings, she could have rescued Jeyaretnam's case. But Dr Chew was never called to the witness stand. Her testimony was essentially smothered, and her intentions would remain a mystery for the next r5 years. Throughout the hearing, the PAP tried to paint Jeyaretnam as an opportunist driven by jealousy, vanity, and greed. This strategy reached its apex during the testimony of attorney-general Tan Boon Teik. Tan Boon Teik had once been Jeyaretnam's best man. Now, prime minister Lee declared, he was Jeyaretnam's "worst enemy." Lee said their friendship cooled in ^ 6 3 when Tan was promoted to solicitorgeneral above Jeyaretnam, and turned frosty after Tan defeated Jeyaretnam in the 1972 Workers' Party libel suit against PAP MP Tay Boon Too. This personal history, Lee said, explained why Jeyaretnam had been "clamouring for [the attorney-general's] blood." Jeyaretnam could be ruled in contempt if he put "defamatory" questions to the attorney-general without producing evidence. But Jeyaretnam had no way to obtain evidence. In fact, the only evidence he really had about the inner workings of the Legal Service were the things he had observed with his own eyes more than 20 years before, when he was a district court judge. Instead of asking about judge Khoo's transfer, Jeyaretnam began with some ancient history. He recalled the turbulent days of 1959, when union leader FV Rajendra criticised the government's decision to slash civil servants' salaries. The attorney-general, then a junior district court judge, chaired the disciplinary committee that punished Rajendra. On the stand. Tan denied any recollection of the Rajendra case. But he did confirm that, in ^ 6 0 , a few months after his committee found Rajendra guilty of insubordination, he was promoted to director of Legal Aid. For the next hour, Jeyaretnam and Tan jousted over the finer points of constitutional law, which exasperated prime minister Lee. "Put the ques180

breach of

privilege

tions or stand condemned," Lee declared. "The attorney-general is here. Stick the knife in his face, or his breast, not in his back. Let's hear it." The chairman ruled that Jeyaretnam could ask three final questions. But what should they be? Tan was unlikely to admit interfering in Khoo's appointment, and Jeyaretnam couldn't ask the question without being cited for contempt. But perhaps, he thought, he could show that Tan did not want judge Khoo to hear his retrial: JBJ: After the conclusion of the trial of myself and Workers' Party Chairman Wong Hong Toy before Mr Michael Khoo, did Mr Glenn Knight report to you that Mr Khoo was completely biased against him and against the prosecution? Attorney-General Tan: My officers report to me the results of the cases in which I had advised an opinion. So he came to me and reported the case to me in a matter-of-fact fashion, like any other case he had reported to me. There were no recriminations against Michael Khoo ... JBJ: Did you direct Mr Tan Teow Yeow, in arguing the appeal before the Chief Justice, to ask that the case be sent for retrial, rather than follow the usual course of the case being remitted back to the same District Judge to call on the defence? Did you direct Mr Tan Teow Yeow to ask for a retrial? Attorney-General Tan: No, I did not direct him. But he did it in my name because, you see, when he goes to the court to argue, I leave it to him. I don't control him. I can't control a man who is in court, you know. Chairman Yeoh: Third and last question, (pause.) Are you running out of questions? JBJ: No, I am not. Sir. I have got several questions. I have got several questions. I am thinking which one I should ask. Chairman Yeoh: Third question. JBJ: I've got twenty or thirty questions I want to ask him. I do have. Chairman Yeoh: Third question. Come on. JBJ: I've got to select the most important of the questions because I have got several questions that I want to ask him. Prime Minister Lee: You are not asking that he is beholden? 181

Lee's 206

Law

EW Barker: Good question. JBJ: I wish to, but since the Committee is not going to allow me to, I can't. Prime Minister Lee: He has made that charge. He has to put it to the witness or he has withdrawn it. He is a lawyer. He knows that. If he does not put to a witness the charge that he has made about that witness, he has withdrawn it. JBJ: The Prime Minister is conducting my case. I must have the conduct of it. I must have the conduct of it. Did it matter veiy much to you and the Attorney-General's office and the government that Mr Michael Khoo should not hear the retrial? Attorney-General Tan: It didn't matter to me at all who heard the retrial. JBJ: Did you ask Mr Tan Teow Yeow why he then wanted another judge to hear the case? Chairman Yeoh: You had your last question. Attorney-General Tan: I didn't ask him. I didn't direct him. Jeyaretnam's clash with the attorney-general produced even worse

headlines than his examination of the chief justice. The Straits Times played up the antagonism between the two men
BECAME HIS 'WORST ENEMY'), (JEYA'S BEST MAN WHO

and trumpeted Jeyaretnam's refusal to con(9S MINUTESBUT JEYA DOESN'T PUT VITAL

front the attorney-general

ISSUES TO A - G ) .

Even his forlorn smile on the witness stand became an

issue:

JEYA TRYING TO DEMEAN HEARING, SAYS PM.

Years later, Jeyaretnam wrote that he wanted to show the committee how the attorney-general rose to power. In addition, he wrote, "I had learnt in my years at the Bar that one had to prepare the ground first which would more than suggest the answer which the examiner seeks from the witness." 1 5 Under the circumstances, however, there was no way Jeyaretnam could prepare that ground. By denying that the government wanted to stop judge Khoo from hearing the retrial in the Case of the Three Cheques, attorney-general Tan Boon Teik effectively scuttled Jeyaretnam's effort to build a case on circumstantial evidence. Unless he could establish this motive, Jeyaretnam

breach of

privilege

would never show Khoo's transfer was wrapped up in politics. But the next day, Jeyaretnam got another chance. It came during the testimony of prosecutor Tan Teow Yeow, who had argued the government's appeal against judge Khoo's ruling. On the stand, Tan Teow Yeow said he asked for a retrial because he believed that judge Khoo was biased. Khoo's ruling, he said, "made me come to the conclusion that the trial judge was not the proper person to have anything more to do with the continued hearing." 1 6 For the first time in the entire hearing, Jeyaretnam had an opening. Armed with the concession that prosecutors thought judge Khoo was biased, Jeyaretnam was able, finally, to ask some probing questions. Why, he asked, did the police launch an investigation into the Workers' Party's finances in the first place? In Singapore, investigations begin in one of two ways: a "first information report," which is a tip or complaint; or a directive from the attorney-general's office. No first information report had ever surfaced in the Case of the Three Cheques. Therefore, Jeyaretnam argued, the investigation must have been triggered by the attorney-general's office. Tan Teow Yeow insisted that he was ignorant of any directive. But even as Jeyaretnam homed in on the true genesis of the case, the committee shut him down. Jeyaretnam tried to circle back to Tan Teow Yeow's assertion that judge Khoo was biased, but the chairman shut him down again. "We are not here to discuss whether the judge was biased or not and how the trial was conducted," said education minister Tony Tan. "What has all that got to do with the allegation of executive interference in the judiciary?" 1 7 Jeyaretnam was at his wits' end. True, he had managed to show that Tan thought judge Khoo was biased, but where could he go from there? He knew the committee would not let him call the attorney-general back to the witness stand. There was, however, one more witness who might be able to save him: Michael Khoo himself. Michael Khoo was 45 years old. A graduate of the University of Singapore, he had joined the legal service as a magistrate in 1967. After a spell as registrar of the Supreme Court, he became senior district judge in 1978, where he served until his sudden transfer in August 1984. 83

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What would Khoo say? Until now, he had maintained an absolute silence on the uproar surrounding his transfer. If he testified that he lost his seat on the bench because of his lenient treatment of the Workers' Party, Jeyaretnam would at last have a basis on which to probe other witnesses without being ruled in contempt. Of all the witnesses questioned by the committee, Khoo was most likely to be sympathetic; he had, in fact, acquitted Jeyaretnam on three of the four criminal charges, and flayed the prosecution in his judgment. But Khoo was no longer a judge sitting on the bench. Now he was a prosecutor in the attorney-general's office t h e same attorneygeneral who had just the previous day insisted that his transfer was completely routine. Now he had to argue cases in front of his former colleagues, and in front of the chief justice, who had just two days ago also insisted that his transfer was completely routine. And now he was standing in front of the television cameras in the eye of the biggest political controversy of the decade. The first bombshell came early in the session. Under Jeyaretnam's questioning, Khoo said he had received no warning about the transfer. He was just told, by the registrar of the Supreme Court, that in six days' day time he would no longer be a judge. But while Khoo was willing to divulge the bare facts surrounding his transfer, he steadfastly refused to be drawn into comment. Asked if the post of prosecutor was less prestigious than senior district judge, he demurred. "It's difficult to agree with that," he replied. "They are totally different functions under different administrations. Both are equally important in the administration of justice." 1 8 For the next 3o minutes, Jeyaretnam tried to ferret out the reason for Khoo's transferbut if Khoo knew, he wasn't telling. In fact, he said, he was never told the reasons, and never asked. By the time Khoo stepped down, Jeyaretnam was frustrated. "I expected him to tell the Committee a little, at least, of his feelings, what he felt when he was suddenly told he was being removed and sent to the AG's chambers," he laterwrote. "But Michael Khoo was still in the service when he gave evidence and was very vulnerable." 1 9 184

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It seems incredible that Jeyaretnam could have been forced into a situation where he had staked so much on the testimony of a single man, without having the faintest idea of what that man would say. And yet in the 25 months since Khoo had been transferred, the two had never exchanged a word. Jeyaretnam may have felt disappointed, but he had no one to blame but himself. He had never asked Khoo about the transfer; he had never told Khoo he would raise the issue in parliament. Perhaps Jeyaretnam believed there was no point that Khoo, if approached, would only ask him not to make a fuss. If so, he could hardly have expected Khoo to be seized by an epiphany on the witness stand. Not only was Jeyaretnam losing the case before the committeehe was getting terrible press. The Straits Times played up the PAP's attacks against him:
JEYA 'HIVED OFF MONEY FKOM PARTY ACCOUNTS'; PM: HOW JEYA

SIPHONED OFF CHEQUES; JEYA 'RAN THE GAMUT OF THE WHOLE COURT.'

As the parade of witnesses dragged on, a pattern emerged. Sometimes Jeyaretnam managed to extract a suggestive or damaging admission, but could never deliver hard evidence. The question marks hovering over the Khoo affair were not enough. Jeyaretnam needed an airtight case. On the fifth day, the committee finally agreed to let witnesses testify about the "public disquiet." Kwan Yue Kheng, who had waited five days to speak, said that ordinaiy people believed the courts sided with the government. But like other witnesses, Kwan was careful not to make any accusations himself. "I personally felt strongly that they shouldn't say this," he told the committee. Another witness, sales manager Tay Cheng How, was so intimidated by the proceedings that he recanted his words as soon as they left his mouth. He testified that he was "a little surprised" when he heard that judge Khoo had been transferred, "like a natural response as a human being, like I going out and saw the cloud dark, and natural surprising, maybe raining like that." JBJ: Did you connect the two? Did you think maybe he was transferred because he acquitted Jeyaretnam and Wong? Tay: I don't think that because I read the newspaper and I see the title, surprising a while.

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Chairman Yeoh Ghim Seng: You were not worried? Tay: Not worried. Just as usual. Yeoh: Just like today's rain. JBJ: When you went out in your business to the shops, offices, did anybody talk about this at all? About what you had read? Tay: I heard a few people saying about this but what is their feeling I don't know. JBJ: What did they say? Tay: The just say a few words, like 'Michael Khoo transfer.' Only these few words only I heard. But actually what they are saying I don't know. What are the people's feelings I don't know. Other thing, I never heard. Tay was clearly not comfortable in Englishso prime minister Lee served as his interpreter. In Mandarin, Lee asked Tay why he had come to testifyand translated the damaging statement that he was asked to help Jeyaretnam by a member of the Workers' Party, Low Yong Nguan. The Straits Times report gave this angle prominent coverage:
ASKED ME TO HELP JEYA: WITNESS, WP MEMBER

along with the caption, "Mr Tay doesn't

know how people felt about transfer." 2 0 The strongest witness on the theme of public disquiet was AL Sundram, a former teacher and Workers' Party candidate. Sundram testified that he and several of his students were concerned about the government's control of the lower courts, and that there was a lot of coffee shop talk revolving around the removal of Michael Khoo. But prosecutor Glenn Knight cunningly weakened Sundram's credibility by asking if the coffee shop talk was over beer. Sundram conceded that discussions were held "sometimes over beer, whisky, or coffee" a phrase which turned up in the next day's headline on his testimony:
OVER BEER, WHISKY OR COFFEE, THERE'S TALK OF DISQUIET. 2 1

The hearing ended with a bitter personal showdown. Prime minister Lee Kuan Yew stepped into the witness stand to respond, he said, to Jeyaretnam's three central allegations about executive interference. Mindful of the ever-present threat of contempt, Jeyaretnam tried to approach the issue in his own way. He began by asking if the prime m i n ister hated him: 186

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JBJ: First of all, Mr Prime Minister, you said that you bore me no animosity. My question is more than that. Do you hate me? PM Lee. I'm soriy to disappoint you, but hate requires a certain energy, a certain venom. I'm afraid that degree of intensity that you register in me is fairly mild, fairly moderate. If I had to put from a scale of 1 to 10, let us say I hate terrorists, gangsters, evil men. Hitler as number 10, then will rate you as number three, two? In fact, I wouldn't call it hate. At that level, it's just distaste. I think because, if I may say so, Mr Chairman, because the Member demeans all those who have to be in his presence and have somehow to be besmirched by the general lack of honour, dignity, sense of propriety... JBJ: Do you consider me your worst enemy? ... PM Lee. If he asks me what I think of him, I say, well, difficult to hate because there is nothing fearsome or fearful. He has been in politics since 1972. He is not new. He is 60 years old. He is still a one-man party. And it is good that he believes he is a threat to the PAP. And I hope the PAP members believe he is a threat and bestir themselves. JBJ: So you think I have to be destroyed? PM Lee: Politically, yes. You have to be debunked, exposed as a charlatan, as basically dishonest, as immoral and utterly opportunistic and unscrupulous, that you make any allegation against anybody so long as you are protected. But the moment you have to bear the consequences, you flinch and you cringe, which is shameful.22 The committee again prodded Jeyaretnam to ask Lee the infamous "three questions." Jeyaretnam refused. In that case, the chairman ruled, the committee would adjourn and issue its verdict later. Jeyaretnam objected that he had not been allowed to finish crossexamining the prime minister, but it was too late. The hearing was over and, with it, Jeyaretnam's last hope of exposing the fragility of justice in Singapore. Indeed, the hearing had not been about judicial independence at all. It had been about Jeyaretnam. What had begun as a point of principle had become a battle for political survival waged under the unblinking eye of the television camera. His wife long dead and both his sons
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studying abroad, Jeyaretnam suffered through the ordeal utterly alone, without even a stenographer to take notes. The secretary he hired quit after the first day, unable to bear the poisonous atmosphere, and no one was willing to take her place.
* *

Meanwhile, the epic Case of the Three Cheques, which had consumed so much of Jeyaretnam's energy for the previous three years, was grinding its way to a final verdict. On 3 November 1986, he returned to the Supreme Court on St Andrew's Road to appeal his conviction of making a false statement. This was his last chance to avoid jail: if he failed, there was nowhere else to turn. Originally Jeyaretnam asked QC John Mortimer to represent him in this return engagement, but Mortimer had by this time largely retired from the bar. Instead Jeyaretnam hired another prominent barrister: Lord Emlyn Hooson, a British QC and f o r m e r Liberal MP for Montgomeryshire in the 1960s and t970s, who was assisted by Jeyaretnam's friend Subhas Anandan. Before the hearing. Lord Hooson tried to persuade Jeyaretnam to ease back on the grounds of his appeal. In particular, Hooson suggested that Jeyaretnam appeal against his conviction by judge Foenander, but not his sentence. Hooson's logic was sound. The prospect of three months in jail was certainly daunting, but it would not disqualify Jeyaretnam from parliament. But if Jeyaretnam appealed this sentence, justice Lai Kew Chai might impose a fine insteada fine that would bar Jeyaretnam from parliament if it exceeded a mere S$2,ooo. Appealing the sentence was therefore a gamble. But, characteristically, Jeyaretnam held his ground. Not only was the conviction wrong, he argued, but the sentence was manifestly unreasonable. It was all or nothing. During the hearing, Hooson dutifully asked justice Lai not only to reverse the conviction, but to reduce the "monstrous" three-month prison sentence. Despite Hooson's eloquent arguments, Jeyaretnam and his supporters were seized by pessimism after the hearing. 23 That night, the 188

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executive council of the party convened a special meeting to make arrangements for temporary leadership if Jeyaretnam and Wong were imprisoned. Jeyaretnam composed a letter to his sons, both studying in London, in case he was taken into custody. On the following Monday, Jeyaretnam packed a toothbrush and a hand towel into his briefcase and, with a "sinking heart," walked into Court No. 7 to hear the verdict. 2 4 Roughly 200 onlookers, mostly Workers' Party supporters, jammed the public gallery while reporters crowded the press bench. Written judgments in Singapore are often simply printed and handed down from the judge's chambers. In this case, justice Lai chose to read his 36-page verdict aloud. Almost as soon as the careful phrases began to spill into the hushed courtroom, Jeyaretnam knew that he had lost. One by one, justice Lai listed Jeyaretnam's grounds for appeal, and one by one he dismissed them. When he came to the sentence, justice Lai declared that he would shorten the prison term to one month. There was an audible sigh of relief. But, seconds later, Lai lowered the boom. Because of the defendants' "mental malignity," he was imposing a fine of S $ i o , o o o each. Spectators gasped as the implications of the sentence reverberated through the courtroom. A fine of S$ro,ooo meant that Jeyaretnam would lose his seat in parliament. Jeyaretnam was devastated. He had always known his chances were slender. But throughout the epic legal proceedings he had hung on to the hope that he would somehow prevail. He was convinced he was innocenthe was certain of it. Before he surrendered to despair, however, he had one last desperate manoeuvre. He asked justice Lai to refer several questions of law to the Court of Criminal Appeal. If Lai agreed, Jeyaretnam would be able to argue his case before the Privy Council. Lai said he would consider the requestand extended bail for Jeyaretnam and Wong for another 24 hours. "I had won a reprieve for one day," he wrote later. "I returned to my office gloomy at the prospect that now lay without any doubt before me." 2 5 But that very afternoon, Subhas burst into Jeyaretnam's office with a stunning piece of news. While he was down at the courthouse filing 189

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papers for the next day's hearing, he discovered that justice Lai had made a serious mistake. The S $ i o , o o o fine exceeded the maximum limit for an offence that was heard in subordinate court. Lai had probably selected that figure because the limit had recently been extended to S$ 10,000, but the law had changed after Jeyaretnam's case came to trial. Subhas was certain that the maximum fine was S$5,ooo. Jeyaretnam was "elated beyond b e l i e f ' at this discoveiy. If the S $ i o , o o o fine was declared invalid, then it would have no legal force. If it had no legal force, then he need not lose his seat in parliament. Time was of the essence. In order to argue that the fine was invalid, Jeyaretnam and Subhas had to file new papers by five o'clock. They quickly drafted the necessary forms and Subhas dashed them down to the Registrar's office. In his rush to take advantage of this legal windfall, however, Jeyaretnam had overlooked something. Ordinarily, criminal procedures in Singapore dictate that sentences be pronounced in open court in the presence of the accused. But there was an escape clause. A judge was permitted to rectify errors without convening another session, so long as the mistake was corrected on the same day. As soon as Subhas filed the papers, they were sent upstairs to justice Lai, who promptly realised his mistake. Summoning Subhas and prosecutor Tan Teow Yeow to his chambers. Lai told the two lawyers that he was therefore slashing the fine to S $ 5 , o o o a sum small enough to slide under the legal maximum, but still big enough to disqualify Jeyaretnam from parliament. By warning Lai of his mistake, Jeyaretnam had allowed him to correct it. I had been, as it were, presented with a gift, unbelievable as it was, which could have saved my seat in Parliament and I threw it away ... I have not forgiven myself to this day for having acted in haste.26 The following morning, hundreds of spectators clogged the streets around the Supreme Court building. Once again, Jeyaretnam had packed a towel and toothbrush in his bag. Despite his dread of jail, he was determined not to let his feelings showeven to the point of joking 790

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with a foreign correspondent about visiting him in prison. "I did not want to allow the proceedings to overcome me and tried to look as cheerful as I could," he wrote. 27 Donning his advocate's robes, Jeyaretnam stood and asked justice Lai to refer eight questions of law to the Court of Criminal Appeal, taking roughly an hour to make his arguments. Then Subhas argued that Lai's revised sentence had been irregular and was therefore null and void. After the arguments, Lai adjourned the court and said he would render his decision at three o'clock. There was nothing to do but wait. Since his youth, Jeyaretnam had been a deeply religious m a n a devout Anglicanand while he awaited Lai's verdict he walked across Coleman Street to St Andrew's Cathedral. Set off from the hustle and bustle of the city streets by the lush, green, broad-bladed grass of its lawns, the gothic spires of St Andrew's form a sanctuary of calm in the heart of the metropolis. Inside the magnificent, vaulting nave, ceiling fans waft a hint of breeze down to the pews and, just above the roar of traffic down North Bridge Road, you can hear the birds chirping in the trees outside. In i8a3, Singapore's founder. Sir Stamford Raffles, had selected this location to be the site of an Anglican church. The first building was savaged by Singapore's relentless thunderstorms, and the present structure was built by convict labour in 1856. During the Japanese invasion, it served as a makeshift hospital; after the war, it became the haunt of Indian magicians, fortune-tellers, and snake-charmers. For Jeyaretnam, St Andrew's had long been a special place. It was where he came to worship every Sunday. Six years before, Margaret's funeral here had drawn hundreds of well-wishers. Kneeling in the Epiphany Chapel, with the light from the stainedglass windows illuminating the dark wooden pews, Jeyaretnam bowed his head. As he prayed, he noticed a cleaning woman sweeping in front of the altarsweeping away his entreaties, he thought. And suddenly he realised, perhaps for the first time, that he was going to jail. He walked back to the courthouse in a daze, surrounded by crowds of bystanders and a clutch of foreign journalists. At the stroke of three, justice Lai pronounced his final verdict. He
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turned down all requests for further appeals. The Case of the Three Cheques was over at last. Jeyaretnam slowly removed his robe, his coat, and his tie. He embraced Subhas and Wong, and a string of sobbing party supporters. "It's all right, it's all right," he told them. 28 While spectators wept, guards led Jeyaretnam and Wong through the courthouse and bundled them into a police van. The streets outside the courthouse were thronged by hundreds of sympathisers, many of whom had waited for hours in the stifling heat. A s the van containing Jeyaretnam and Wong roared out of the court's rear exit, the crowd surged towards it, chanting, "We want Jeya!" Through the metal grill of the van's windows, they caught a glimpse of a last, almost bizarre act of defiance: Jeyaretnam saluted them as he was hauled away to prison. And so it was that on 10 November 1986, Jeyaretnam, graduate of the University of London, former district judge, former Supreme Court registrar, tutor in legal philosophy, member of parliament, was led into the Queenstown prison. He exchanged his lawyer's clothes for a convict's garb, and was locked in a solitary cell, bare but for a straw mat and a blanket on the floor. On 9 December 1986, the Speaker rose from his chair and told parliament that Jeyaretnam had vacated his seat as a result of the $5,000 fine. Within days of his arrest, government workers seized Jeyaretnam's office and demolished itwith sledgehammers.

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Many years after his stint in prison, Jeyaretnam would play down the fear he felt during his first days of confinement. In 1997, asked by an interviewer what he did during his stay, he said, "Just sitting in the cell. Solitary. Yah, but that's nothingone month! (laughs) It made me all the more determined to get back into parliament." 1 But the first few hours behind bars must have been acutely distressing. For 14 years, he had relentlessly criticised the government's human-rights record. Now he was the prisoner of that government, totally at its mercy. His sentence was only a month, but how could he be certain he would be released on time? Other opponents had been jailed for 2,0 years. And how would he be treated? Inside the four walls of a dreary cell, he wrestled with uncertainty and fear. Would the experience break his spirit? Would he be tough enough to emerge with his principles intact? "I was filled with dread," he wrote. 2 In addition to the physical discomfort, there was the sheer humiliation. Jeyaretnam knew the law; he had made a career of the law. He knew the rules of evidence, knew the statutes and provisions, the principles of jurisprudence and the doctrine of habeas corpus. Now his shirt had a serial number printed across the chest. He was not allowed to keep his briefcase or his bible. His requests for a pillow and a chair were refused. The only concession authorities appear to have made was to let him keep his handkerchief. 3 Throughout his whole life, Jeyaretnam placed great stock in keeping a stiff upper lip. But he was not always able to do so in prison. On his iy3

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second day in jail, his lawyer Subhas Anandan came to visit, along with him two of Jeyaretnam's secretaries, Wendy Chiu and Des Wong. Seeing them through the glass partition that separates prisoners from visitors, Jeyaretnam broke down and sobbed. 4 The visit made a deep impression on Subhas. Thirteen years after the event, his voice grew hoarse at the memory. It was terrible. Mr Jeyaretnam was really down ... I felt very bad seeing him in his prison clothes. There were tears in his eyes. He said, 'I never thought the day would come when you'd see me like this.' I was so sorry for that man. He was a politician, an MP, a registrar of the supreme court, a senior district judge. His politics cost him so much. So much money. And finally to see him in prison. It was heartbreaking.5 There was to be one further emotional encounter. One afternoon, Jeyaretnam received a surprise visit from his brother. Joshua Samuel Mahadevan had followed his father's wishes and become a doctor, with a practice in Mersing, a small town on the east coast of the Malay peninsula. As boys, the two brothers had been close, but since the death of their parents they had drifted apart. By 1986, they had not seen one another for years. In fact, Mahadevan learned about Jeyaretnam's imprisonment from the newspaper. As soon as he saw Jeyaretnam, Mahadevan burst into tears. He sobbed for the remainder of the visit. After a few days in prison, Jeyaretnam found an "inner strength." Having no clock, he learned to tell the time by listening for the signature tune from the daily BBC World Sports Commentary, broadcast every night at 8:45PM, emanating from a radio in a nearby dormitory. The prison guards treated him "with respect and sympathy," and the other prisoners, he wrote, "often showed their support for me." He resolved to keep a diary, and refused to shave until he was released. In fact, Jeyaretnam's spell in prison only steeled his determination. By the morning of his release, 10 December, which turned out, serendipitously, to be International Human Rights Day, he was as feisty as ever. As he and Wong walked through the light morning drizzle to the

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prison gate, they saw a crowd of 300 supporters waiting to greet them. Someone handed Jeyaretnam two doves to release into the air. That night he held a press conference in his Anson constituency, where he vowed to serve the voters however he could. The PAP had been able to lock him up, but they had not been able to shut him up.
* *

Almost as soon as he was released, Jeyaretnam found himself back on the defensive. The Workers' Party had moved its headquarters to a shophouse on Boat Quay, on the south bank of the Singapore river, a cannonball-shot away from Parliament House. On 10 January 1987, the party held an opening ceremony to dedicate the new premises. In keeping with Singapore's strict laws on public meetings, the parly had applied for a permit for the occasion. But on the morning of the event, two hours before he was due to take the podium, Jeyaretnam learned that the permit had been turned down. Coming after all his other travails, this petty refusal infuriated him. He decided to go ahead with his speech anyway, remarking whimsically that the party was now "poised for a beach assault on Parliament." A few minutes into his speech, a police superintendent approached him and asked him to stop. He refused, drawing cheers and applause from the audience. Why was he willing to take such a risk? More than a decade later, Jeyaretnam would smile at the question: It was the fighter in me. I'd come out of Parliament. I was already disqualified for five years. But all this didn't really go through my mind. The refusal came just two hours before our opening ceremony. Diplomats were there. We had 200 people. After 5 minutes, an officer came up to me and said, Mr Jeyaretnam, you have to stopyou don't have a licence. I told him, I'm not going to stop.6 Jeyaretnam was duly convicted of the crime of providing public entertainment without a licence, and fined S$3,5oo. 7 (Fortunately, this fine was of little consequence, because he had already been disqualified

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from parliament.) There were more serious matters to come, however this time, it was his licence to practise law that was under threat. It is common practice, in Singapore and throughout the world, for attorneys to be disciplined if they have been convicted of a criminal offence. In fact, disciplinary proceedings were initiated against Jeyaretnam in April 1984, shortly after judge Khoo convicted him of concealing the $400 cheque from investigators. But Jeyaretnam successfully argued that the disciplinary proceedings should be postponed until all his appeals had been heard, and the process hung in suspended animation for two years. The disciplinary committee investigating Jeyaretnamconsisting of three prominent attorneys, CG Tan, M Karthigesu, and S Rajendran was scheduled to meet in December 1986. But chief justice Wee Chong Jin revoked the committee and appointed a new one, to be chaired by retired high court judge Choor Singh, district judge Francis Remedios, lawyer TPB Menon, and accountant Peter Chi Man Kwong. Jeyaretnam appeared before the committee on 19 March 1987, and asked that it "look behind" his criminal convictionsin other words, to consider anew the question of whether he had been wrongly convicted. Not surprisingly, the committee refused. A month later it declared that Jeyaretnam had been convicted of "criminal offences implying a defect of character." 8 The next step was a mere formality: on 19 October 1987, Jeyaretnam appeared before a special panel of three Supreme Court judges: chief justice Wee Chong Jin, justice FA Chua, and judicial commissioner Chan Sek Keong, who would decide whether to disbar him. Before the hearing began, Jeyaretnam objected to the presence of chief justice Wee, who had already been intimately involved with his case. But Wee overruled his objections, and declared that he was "well qualified to sit." 9 Jeyaretnam must have known at that moment that his case was doomed to fail. Nonetheless, he endeavored to persuade the panel to go behind his convictions, or at the very least, to consider that he had not personally sought to benefit from the three cheques. Perhaps he still hoped the panel would merely reprimand him. But it was no use. Chief justice Wee dismissed his arguments and announced the court's deci796

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sion: Jeyaretnam would be struck off the roll of advocates and solicitors stripped of his licence to practise law. Jeyaretnam was stunned. Ever since he had been called to the bar in 1951, the law had been his passion and his life. After being kicked out of parliament, he had taken solace in the idea that he could carry on his fight for the common man in the courts. Now he had lost even that. At the age of 61, he was out of a job. As he plodded out of the courtroom, he ran into an old lawyer friend, MPD Nair, who asked him the outcome of the hearing. Jeyaretnam, his eyes brimming with tears, had to admit that he had just been disbarred. 1 0 He returned to the office and sat for hours, holding his head in his hands. 1 1
* * * *

By 1987, Singapore had become a veiy different place from the rambunctious colony of a quarter-century before. The sleepy kampongs with their tin-roofed shacks had been demolished to make room for towering blocks of high-rise apartments. Government planners had created a giant industrial zone by draining the swamps of Jurong and, on the island's eastern tip, a massive reclamation project in Changi had paved the way for one of the world's largest airports. The seven small islands off the southern coast had been turned into petrochemical hubs crammed with refineries, oil terminals, and industrial plants. A n ambitious belt of freeways girdled the central city and thrust north to the causeway to Malaysia. The standard of living was among the highest in Asia, and the island's importance as a shipping and financial hub was challenged only by Hong Kong. By any measure, the PAP's economic accomplishments were impressive. But they were fully matched by its feats of social engineering. Consider, for example, some of the restrictions Singaporeans had to put up with. Under the slogan "Community before family, and society above self," the PAP banned busking, chewing gum, guns, firecrackers, jam sessions, satellite dishes. Playboy, Cosmopolitan, political advertising, homosexuality, and certain species of large dogs. Books were screened by government censors-, naked breasts and drug references were forbidden.

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With the ouster of Jeyaretnam, the PAP had effectively demolished the last threat to its political dominance. The only opposition MP, Chiam See Tong of the Singapore Democratic Party, learned from Jeyaretnam's mistakes. Chiam was careful never to challenge the government, but focused on bread-and-butter constituency issues. While this non-confrontational approach avoided antagonising the PAP, it also prevented Chiam from questioning the fundamental axioms of the government's philosophy. On the surface, Singapore's political situation appeared utterly inert. But this tranquillity was deceptive. In May and June 1987, Singaporeans witnessed one of the most bizarre political episodes in the island's history: under the provisions of the Internal Security Act, security officers arrested 22 young professionalsincluding two key members of the Workers' Partyfor their alleged involvement in a "Marxist conspiracy" to overthrow the government. More than a decade later, the case of the Marxist conspirators remains a puzzle. The detainees themselves did not fit the stereotype of the "agitators" whose activities were so troublesome to the PAP in the 1950s and 1960s. Inspired by the success of communist insurrection in China and Vietnam, the old-guard leftists tended to be hot-headed, populist orators. The detainees, by contrast, consisted primarily of educated professionals. Indeed, the man accused of masterminding the plot was Vincent Cheng, a 40-year-old social worker for the Roman Catholic church, who had once studied to be a priest. Another prominent target was lawyer Teo Soh Lung, a Workers' Party supporter who had tangled with prime minister Lee during parliamentary hearings on the Law Society in 1986. Other detainees included social workers, lawyers, and actors. Although there was no evidence that the alleged plotters ever contemplated violence, their interrogation was brutal. Take the example of lawyer Tang Fong Har, 3i, who was arrested at home at ?:OOAM on 20 June. She was blindfolded and taken to the basement of the Whitley Road Detention Centre for interrogation. Years later, she described the ordeal:

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It was very dark except for the two spotlights, and [the room] was filled with cigarette smoke there seemed to be about seven or eight people there. The air-conditioning was very strong, and the floor was bare concrete. I felt cold and fearful. After what seemed an eternity of eerie silence, a voice boomed "So, Tang Fong Har, at last you are here." Then there began a series of questions and outrageous allegations. I could not hear properly as I was disoriented and I was not allowed to wear my glasses. The hurling of questions, allegations, and loud noises went on for some time. I was so stupefied that I kept quiet. When I felt that I could not keep quiet anymore, I told them I needed my glasses as they affected my hearing. My glasses were then returned. I saw four people seated at the table, which I was standing fairly near. Two or three other people were standing nearby in sports jackets, shoes and socks. Barefoot and in prison garb, I felt humiliated and veiy cold. I was shivering and I tried very hard to stop my teeth from chattering but I could not, and the interrogators watched me as I was in near-spasms trying to control the cold. At one point during the interrogation I was threatened with indefinite detention and asked whether I intended to emulate Chia Thye Poh. They warned me that if I chose to remain quiet, they could wait for 20 years or more, just as they had waited for Chia Thye Poh [who was detained for 2,2, years]. I refused to believe it but somehow my heart went cold. I felt I could not stay in this place for another minute, let alone 20 years. I also felt immense admiration for Chia Thye Poh. The male interrogator throughout made snide remarks about lawyers and the legal profession and belittled my work in the Law Society. In the midst of the accusations being hurled at me, I retorted "Now, look here ..." or words to that effect. I never completed my sentence: one of the interrogators slapped me across my left cheek, not with a flick of his wrist but with the full force of his body. I fell to the ground and my glasses landed on my chest. I was completely shocked by the assault and wished that I could faint as I felt that I could not take any more. I had never felt more humiliated in my life. 12 '199

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On 2,6 May, the Ministry of Home A f f a i r s issued a statement denouncing the group as a Marxist conspiracy whose ultimate mastermind was Tan Wah Piow, a student radical who had spent a year in prison in the early 1970s for the crime of "inciting workers to riot." At the time of the arrests, Tan was reading law at Oxford University, where he dismissed the charges against him as "nonsense." 1 3 The thrust of the government's claim was that the conspirators had subverted seemingly innocuous institutions such as the Geylang Catholic Centre for Foreign Workers and were turning them into pressure groups, with the eventual aim of making Singapore a classless society. The dramatists involved with the Third Stage were accused of "arousing disaffection with the existing social and political system" with plays such as Esperanza, which dramatised the difficult life of Filipina maids working for affluent Singaporeans. 1 4 Jeyaretnam was outraged by the arrests: Their crime is that they were following what their social conscience dictated to do something for the less fortunate and privileged members of society by drawing attention to their lot and condition. In the eyes of the PAP government it is a crime to care for the poor and the less privileged in the society if that caring takes the form of awakening the conscience of the people. The government's action is the action of terrorists. Terrorists justify their action by their "law." The PAP government seeks to justify the detention by a law which flouts all recognised principles of law practised by freedom-loving peoples. 15 But what could he do? He had lost his seat in parliament and, stripped of his law licence, he could not represent the detainees in court. Nonetheless, Jeyaretnam felt so strongly about the detentions that he took an extraordinary risk. Just after dawn on 3o May, he met with Wong Hong Toy and Jufrie Mahmood at the Holiday Inn for a daring mission: a political demonstration. By the late 1980s, demonstrations were practically unheard of in Singapore. The nation's strict laws prevented gatherings of more than
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three people without a licence. By keeping their number small, however, Jeyaretnam skirted the edge of the law. Carrying a banner reading "Justice Not Terrorism," the three men marched down Cavanagh Road to the Istana. Formerly known as Government House, the Istana was once the domain of the British governors who ruled the colony. Now it housed the office of prime minister Lee Kuan Yew. As the plucky protestors entered the Istana's grounds, a police officer approached them and demanded that they hand over their banner. Jeyaretnam refused: the sign was wrenched out of his hand. Undeterred, the three men trooped off towards the palace, where a squad of riot police awaited them. By 9:00AM, word of the protest had spread to news reporters, who made a beeline for the Istana. Just before prime minister Lee's car was due to arrive, a police officer approached Jeyaretnam and asked him to move along. "I wasn't blocking the path," Jeyaretnam remembered years later. "So I refused. Then he said, I've got to arrest you. I said, what for? Then he grabbed my elbow and they pushed us into a police car." 1 6 The three men were taken to the Tanglin police station and charged with attempting to hold an assembly without a police permit and obstructing the police. They were released that afternoon. The protest was hardly a mass demonstration. But protests of any kind were so rare in Singapore that it made the front page of the International Tribune.17 Within a few weeks of their arrest, most of the detainees had signed statements confessing their revolutionary activities, and an interview with several of them was broadcast on local television. For many Singaporeans, the confessions justified the government's action. But Jeyaretnam was not convinced. Between the lines of the detainees' statements, he read the unmistakable imprint of the air-conditioner. The case of the Marxist conspiracy was to have a tremendous impact on Singapore politics. First, it neutralised %2, educated professionals who opposed the PAP regime. More importantly, it struck fear into the hearts of other potential opponents. After all, if you could be arrested for staging a play about Filipina maids, what would happen if you '201 Herald

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actually joined the opposition? To Jeyaretnam, the episode represented the worst sort of abuse of power, an outrageous crushing of the human spirit. He did his best to keep up the pressure on the issue, publishing numerous articles in The Hammer. But, towards the end of 1987, he was faced with another crisis: a revolt within his own party.

Ever since Jeyaretnam had been kicked out of parliament, the Workers' Party had b e e n caught in a difficult dilemma. On the one hand, Jeyaretnam was a proven champion: popular, articulate, and forceful. No one could question his courage or his dedication. On the other hand, he had become something of a political liability. Lawyer Gopalan Nair, a Workers' Party candidate who later sought asylum in the United States, described Jeyaretnam as "very charismatic, hard-working, able, a clever m a n . . . a very determined man. But he lacked tact and diplomacy." 1 8 Jeyaretnam's courage was described as s t e e l y a n appropriate adjective, for in reality that determination was an alloy forged of conviction, but tempered with vanity. The long years of isolation, an isolation that deepened with the death of Margaret, gradually seduced Jeyaretnam into believing that he was the only person capable of leading the opposition. His role as the people's champion became so closely bound with his own personality that he could no longer distinguish the two. He regarded every insult inflicted on him as an attack on the ideals and the people he represented, an attack that demonstrated the government's callous disregard toward individual rights. Increasingly, his attitude came to resemble Martin Luther's declaration at the Diet of Worms more than four centuries before: "Here I stand, I can do no other." Some party members felt that Jeyaretnam should never have allowed his dispute with Lee Kuan Yew to get so personal. Others wondered if the party might be better o f f a n d might encounter less resistance from the governmentunder a more diplomatic leader. There was also the question of Jeyaretnam's ethnic background. Working-class Chinese voters were naturally attracted to politicians who spoke their languageHokkien, Teochew, Cantonese and, eventu202

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ally, Mandarin. Jeyaretnam never mastered more than a few simple phrases in Chinese, and some party members believed that Chinese voters, who made up the vast majority of the electorate, would prefer a Chinese leader. The simmering dissatisfaction within the party came to a boil after a press conference Jeyaretnam held in August 1987. He had flown to London to ask the Privy Council to reverse his convictions and reinstate his parliamentary seat. It was a doomed effort: the Privy Council had no jurisdiction over cases heard in Singapore's subordinate court, and concluded that the legal foundation for hearing the case was weak. The council was reluctant, it declared, to interfere in "something as political as this." 1 9 Before he flew home, Jeyaretnam called a press conference in a cramped room inside St James's Church, near the Ritz Hotel. With the roar of the West End rush hour audible, Jeyaretnam lamented the council's refusal to hear his case. He also introduced another famous SingaporeanTan Wah Piow, the Oxford law student who had been accused by the government of masterminding the "Marxist conspiracy." Tan's statements at the press conference were hardly surprising, considering the accusations against him by the Singapore government. He described his difficulty in getting a lawyer to represent him. "Quite a few have turned it down, not for personal reasons, but from their tone in conversation with me on the telephone, I can sense some degree of fear," he said. Nonetheless, Jeyaretnam misjudged the reaction in Singapore to his press conference with Tan Wah Piow. Several party members felt that Jeyaretnam should have sought their permission before making such a controversial appearance, especially when the government claimed that Marxist forces had "infiltrated" the Workers' Party. In October, the anti-Jeyaretnam faction within the party decided it was time for action. Ironically, one of its leaders was chairman Wong Hong Toy, who proposed that three party membersLow Yong Nguan, Jufrie Mahmood, and Kwan Yue K h e n g b e promoted into the party's executive council. Like the PAP, the Workers' Party was organised on a cadre system. zo3

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There were three levels of membership: rank-and-file ordinary m e m bers, numbering roughly 2,000; cadres, numbering roughly 60; and the executive council, numbering twelve. The council elects the cadres, and the cadres elect the council. Although hardly democraticindeed, Lee Kuan Yew once compared it to the Vaticanthis system prevents an influx of double-agents from taking control of the organisation. And if the prospect of subversion by double agents seems fanciful, it is worth remembering the uncertainty and suspicion that hovered over every opposition party. Indeed, by the m i d - r 9 8 o s , anxiety among the Workers' Party about government surveillance, PAP "plants", and hostile takeovers verged on paranoia, and would remain a staple of internal opposition politics into the next century. While these suspicions were sometimes well grounded, at other times they reached almost comical proportions. One Workers' Party man was promoted at work after he was elevated to the council a fact that led other party members to suspect that he was a government spy. As many visitors can attest, the political atmosphere of Singapore, with its anxious history of black operations, communist agents, foreign spies, and the Internal Security Department, has bred a pervasive form of paranoia infecting locals and foreigners alike. Everyone assumes the telephone is tapped. Whether these anxieties are misplaced or not, they have the same ultimate effectparalysing levels of suspicion and distrust. More than a decade after the fact, it remains unclear exactly what the party rebels had in mind. Wong maintains that the move was intended simply to broaden the party's leadership and bring in some new blood. But Jeyaretnam clearly feared that Wong and others in the party were seeking to replace him as secretary-general. At the centre of the controversy was businessman Low Yong Nguan. Low was a former PAP MP who had defected from the party and crossed over to the opposition, joining the National Solidarity Party in 1984. Three years later, he threw his lot in with the Workers' Party. Low's public defection should have been an automatic passport to the top of the Workers' Party. But Jeyaretnam did not trust Low. "He was a troublemaker," he later recalled. 20 7,04

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The showdown took place on Sunday, 18 October 1987, at an extraordinary conference of organisers of the Workers' Party. Tension mounted as four dozen Workers' Party cadres filed into the party headquarters on Boat Quay, one by one. The first order of business was a motion to admit three party membersLow Yong Nguan, Jufrie Mahmood, and Kwan Yue Khenginto the executive council. For the next four hours, tempers flared as Jeyaretnam and chairman Wong dueled over the motion. Jeyaretnam blamed the rift on Low Yong Nguan. A vote to promote Low, he said, would be a vote of no confidence in the council, and particularly in himself. Several arguments erupted during the course of the proceedings until the question was brought to a vote. By secret ballot, the Workers' Party cadres recorded their loyalties. The final ballot was 24 votes against the motion, 2,1 in favour, with one abstention. Jeyaretnam had fended off the challenge by three votes. Chairman Wong resigned a few weeks after the vote, and later joined up with Chiam See Tong's Singapore Democratic Party. 21 At a press conference held on 4 November, Wong declared himself "heartbroken" over the party's refusal to bring new faces into the council, while Seow Yong Chew characterised Jeyaretnam's leadership style as "dictatorial." 22 The charge that Jeyaretnam was resistant to new leadership was not entirely fair. The Workers' Party had recently inducted three young graduates Low Thia Kiang, James Teo Kian Chye, and Woo Chi Yong into the council. Nonetheless, the ugly and public split left the party even weaker than before. Surprisingly, however, Jeyaretnam was unwilling to acknowledge the damage inflicted by the revolt. Years later, he insisted that the controversy actually strengthened the party by ridding it of troublemakers. "It did not hurt the party, because I stayed in the party," he said. "7 was still there." 2 3 In public, Jeyaretnam was forceful, combative, and loath to compromise. With his family, however, he was a different man. His sons Kenneth and Philip instinctively reach for the same words: principled; '205

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kind; gentle; flexible; patient. "It wasn't a get-the-strop-out kind of family," says Kenneth. Both sons describe Jeyaretnam as more indulgent than their mother. Philip remembers one incident when he was on holiday from university, borrowed his father's car, drove to Malacca, and lost the keys. Jeyaretnam had to procure a friend's car and drive up with the spare keys. "There wasn't a word of censure," Philip recalls, "which of course made me feel even worse." Jeyaretnam was no disciplinarian, but he had high expectations for his boys expectations they constantly strove to exceed. Both won firstclass honours at Cambridge: Kenneth in economics, Philip in law. When Jeyaretnam first went into politics, Margaret worried that the boys might suffer reprisals. In fact, however, their setbacks were minor. Kenneth's first job after Cambridge was for a financial company that insisted on posting him in Hong Kong rather than Singapore. Philip, meanwhile, found some law firms reluctant to hire him. The senior partner at one major firm told Philip that he'd like to hire h i m b u t that his partners worried the business would suffer. Both sons overcame these initial hiccoughs, however. Kenneth's financial career eventually took him to London, where he became a portfolio manager for a US$350 million hedge fund. Phillip got a job as a commercial lawyer and also became a successful writer. He published a short-story collection entitled First Loves (1987), followed by the novels Raffles Place Ragtime G988) and Abraham's Promise (1995). As they grew older, both sons came to admire their father's courage and idealism. "He's a very strong person," Kenneth says. "Very stubborn, and so confident of himself. He's got his opinions, and he won't listen to anyone else. My dad's always been full of grand schemes and grand dreamsan eternal optimist." "It's his ideals that have driven him on, and fortified him through all the tough times," adds Philip. "If he wasn't an idealist he would have given up the struggle. He's always said exactly what he believed, regardless of whether doing so will win votes or get him into trouble."
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While the Workers' Party grappled with its internal divisions, the government was busy tinkering with Singapore's election laws. With an eye to the upcoming 1988 elections, the PAP introduced a radical idea known as group representation constituencies, or GRCs. Under the new system, 39 of the nation's eighty-one parliamentary districts were clumped together to form i3 super-districts, each of which was to be contested as a single seat. Each party would field a team of three representatives for each GRC, and voters in the GRC would choose whichever team they liked best. The avowed purpose of the GRC system was to increase the number of Malay and Tamil MPs by requiring each team to include at least one minority candidate. But the practical effect of the change was to make it even more difficult for opposition parties to win elections. First, the GRC system allowed the PAP to yoke its weakest and leastexperienced candidates to stronger ones, making them harder for the opposition to pick off. Second, it meant that opposition parties had to field teams with credible minority candidates, which added to their difficulties. Finally, the increased scale of the GRCstypically comprising 60,000-90,000 voters compared to ? o , o o o - 3 o , o o o for a traditional districtmagnified the advantages of incumbency and made door-todoor campaigning virtually impossible in the island's nine-day election cycle. Adding to the opposition's woes, the government redrew the political map, merging some constituencies and creating new ones. Anson, long a key stronghold for the Workers' Party, was now carved up into three adjoining districts: Kreta Ayer, Tiong Bahru, and Tanjong Pagar. Not only was Jeyaretnam barred from running for parliament because of his fines, but the Workers' Party was deprived of its political base. In the first half of 1988, mindful of the difficulties posed by the new GRC system, two minor opposition parties decided to throw their lot in with the Workers' Party: the Singapore United Front, headed by Seow Khee Leng, and the Barisan Sosialis, led by Dr Lee Siew Choh. The consolidation of the three parties was certainly good news for the Workers' Party. But just before the September general election it got an even bigger boost: Francis Seow, former solicitor-general and presi'207

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dent of the Law Society, announced that he would run for parliament on the party's ticket. Seow's legal career ran strangely parallel to Jeyaretnam's. Called to the bar at London's Middle Temple, he had joined the Singapore legal service in 1956 as a deputy public prosecutor. In 1963 he served as senior counsel to a commission of inquiry into suspected communist activity in an exam boycott by Chinese secondary school students. In 1968 he was promoted to solicitor-general, a post he quit in 1972 to go into private practice. During his long government service, Seow gained an intimate familiarity with the inner workings of the PAP government, including numerous meetings with prime minister Lee Kuan Yew. By 1988, however, his relationship with Lee had grown strained after the Law Society, under Seow's leadership, dared to criticise press restrictions. Seow was catapulted to national fame by the case of the Marxist conspiracy. In April 1988, eight of the former detainees were rearrested, along with their lawyer, Patrick Seong, after they said they had been tortured. With their lawyer behind bars, the detainees turned to Seow to represent them. In a darkly comic turn of events, Seow himself was arrested and detained for 72 days. 24 By the time Seow emerged from prison, he was a committed opponent of the PAP. He had originally intended to run for parliament as an independent candidate because of the political baggage carried by the Workers' Party. In his memoirs, he described the WP's leadership as "short-sighted and selfish." 2 5 Nonetheless, given the abbreviated life-cycle of Singapore political campaigns, Seow decided that joining the Workers' Party was better than the alternatives. On nomination day, 24 August, Seow filed to run for parliament on the Workers' Party ticket in the Eunos GRC, together with Dr Lee Siew Choh, formerly of the Barisan Sosialis, and Mohamed Khalit bin Baboo, a Malay radio and musical star. The news that Seow had signed up with the Workers' Party sent a Shockwave through the city-state, reminiscent of the buzz that had accompanied Jeyaretnam's decision 16 years before. Thousands of people clamored to see Seow and his teammates at election rallies, causing 208

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bumper-to-bumper traffic for miles around. For Jeyaretnam, the 1988 election campaign was a difficult time. Barred from running for office until 1991, stripped of his licence to practise law, and politically weakened by the recent squabbling within the party, he felt increasingly isolated and irrelevant, upstaged by Seow and Dr Lee. He even told the New Straits Times that he would consider quitting his post as secretary-general if the party failed to win a seat. Nonetheless, the Workers' Party fielded a record 32 candidates, and Jeyaretnam poured his heart into getting them elected. He spoke at rallies and debated issues such as the elected presidency and town councils on television. On 27 August, he took the stage at no less than three Workers' Party rallies, at Telok Blangah, Chua Chu Kang, and Eunos. But polling day, 3 September, delivered a heartbreaking disappointment. Seow and his team-mates lost the battle for Eunos by a razor-thin margin, scoring 35,231 votes compared to 36,500 for the PAP team. 26 The Workers' Party fell short by only r,279 votesless than 1.7 per cent of the total. The other results were little consolation. Although the PAP's share of the nationwide vote dropped to 62 per cent, it swept 80 of the island's 8r seats in parliament. The only opposition candidate elected was Chiam See Tong of the Singapore Democratic Party. By redrawing the electoral boundaries and introducing the group representation constituencies, the PAP had diluted the power of the opposition voteand wiped the Workers' Party off the map. In the aftermath of the elections, the Workers' Party again confronted the dilemma of the non-constituency MP. Jeyaretnam had originally opposed the concept as anathema to real democracy and, after the ^ 8 4 general election, the Workers' Party ordered MPD Nair to refuse an NCMP position. But in ^ 8 8 the situation was different. Because only one opposition candidate had been elected in his own right, there were two non-constituency seats available to the closest losersthe WP slate at Eunos. If the party refused those seats, it would have no representatives in parliament at all. This time, Jeyaretnam was overruled. In a press conference on 10 September, he announced that the party would accept the seats, "not '209

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unmindful of the fact that its candidates in the Eunos GRC have as much moral authority" as the PAP team. 27 To give some voice to the 38 per cent of voters across Singapore who cast their ballots against the PAP, the party selected Francis Seow and Dr Lee Siew Choh to become the non-constituency members of parliament. Jeyaretnam was careful to note that the party remained opposed to the concept of the NCMP. But coming after the party's high-minded stance in 1984, the change in policy was widely viewed as a cave-in. "They have compromised their principles," said Chiam See Tong of the SDP. 28 Jeyaretnam sank into a glum mood. 29 If he had been allowed to run in Eunos, the Workers' Party team would almost certainly have won. The party would have held three seats in parliament without having compromised its ideals. Instead, he was increasingly consigned to political oblivion. Jeyaretnam had exhausted eveiy avenue, it seemed, only to find himself in a blind alley. Time and time again, he had hurled himself against the legal, political, and bureaucratic machinery of Singapore, and time and time again he had been mauled. He had lost in subordinate court. He had lost in the Court of Appeal. He had lost in the commission of inquiry, the Committee of Privileges, and the disciplinary tribunal of the Law Society. But the epic case of Jeyaretnam vs. the Singapore Establishment was not quite closed. Across the globe, in the heart of a former empire, Jeyaretnam still had one card left to play.

vo

A S E R I E S OF M I S J U D G M E N T S

The Judicial Committee of the Privy Council is something of a historical anomaly. Descended from the medieval Curia Regis, or Royal Court, the Privy Council was once an important set of advisers to the king of England. As power shifted to parliament in the seventeenth century, the Privy Council's dominance withered. But it preserved one key role: it remained the court of last resort for distant colonies. W h e n those colonies gained independence, many chose to keep this link to British justice. Lee Kuan Yew himself once observed that the Privy Council was an important anchor for Singapore's judicial system, providing a final safeguard against corruption on the Singapore bench. Jeyaretnam had always been convinced that if he could ever bring the Case of the Three Cheques before the Council, his convictions would be overturned. Outside Singapore, he was certain, few judges would tolerate such a politically motivated prosecution. But his numerous attempts to reach the Council had always been blocked. Because Jeyaretnam was convicted in subordinate court, and not the High Court, the law barred him from appealing to the Privy Council. Paradoxically, however, prime minister Lee's determination to "totally destroy" Jeyaretnamnot only to kick him out of parliament, but also to strip h i m of his licence to practise l a w h a d given Jeyaretnam an escape hatch. The Council had no jurisdiction over cases from Singapore's subordinate court. But it did have jurisdiction over the conduct of Singapore's lawyers. Throughout the Commonwealth, lawyers who had been stripped of their licence had the right to appeal to 2M

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the Privy Council. This right had enormous significance. It meant that, for the first time, Jeyaretnam was now in a position to bring his case before an outside courtan English court whose judges would not have to think twice about the political implications of their verdicts. True, the Privy Council could not reverse his convictions or restore him to parliament. But it could pronounce judgment on Jeyaretnam's disbarment and, if it chose, comment on the chain of events that led to his ejection. On the morning of 24 October 1988, shortly before
IO:OOAM,

Jeyaretnam drove to the offices of the Privy Council at 11 Downing Street with his lawyer, Martin Thomas, QC. As he fiddled with the Gray's Inn tie he wore for good luck, Jeyaretnam felt his heart "throbbing with anxiety." 1 Would the Privy Council decide he was an innocent victim? Or would it dismiss him as a litigious crank? Inside the council's chambers, behind an oval table, sat the supreme arbiters of Commonwealth lawthe Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, consisting of Lord Bridge of Harwich, Lord Templeman, Lord Ackner, Lord Oliver of Aylmerton, and Lord Jauncey of Tullichettle. QC Thomas opened his case with Jeyaretnam's first and most important argument: that he should never have been convicted in the first place. Thomas recounted the saga of the Case of the Three Cheques, while Robert Reid, QC, and Singapore lawyer Goh Joon Seng, representing the Law Society of Singapore, argued that Jeyaretnam's disbarment was justified. Ever the optimist, Jeyaretnam was quietly pleased with the first day's hearing. At one point, as QC Reid recited passages from chief justice Wee Chong Jin's judgment, Jeyaretnam overheard one of the law lords muttering "rubbish." 2 After two days of argument, the committee recessed to discuss the case. W h e n the law lords returned to announce their decision, Jeyaretnam sat on the edge of his chair. Of all the verdicts he had ever waited for, this was the most crucial. It wasn't just that his livelihood was at stake. In a sense, the committee would be rendering judgment not only on his licence but also on the system that had revoked that licence, on the system that had convicted him and condemned him as a criminal. 7,04

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The committee's verdict was unanimous: Jeyaretnam's appeal was allowed. His licence to practise law would be restored. He had won. I did all I could to stop myself from letting out a ciy of delight. It was the culmination of all my battles. Until then I had lost all my battles and it had seemed that the forces ranged against me were insuperable. Now the forces had been scattered and my prayers answered.3 After the hearing, Jeyaretnam and Thomas drove to the Reform Club in Pall Mall and ordered champagne. He kept wondering if he was in a dream. If the Privy Council's verdict was the answer to Jeyaretnam's prayers, the reasons for its decision, issued a month later, were political dynamite. In a 22-page judgment, the council fulminated against the various Singapore judges who had overseen the convictions and disbarment. Characterising the rulings against Jeyaretnam as "astonishing," "difficult to follow," "erroneous," "unfortunate," "absurd," "fatally flawed," and "wholly unconvincing," the law lords finally concluded: Their lordships have to record their deep disquiet that by a series of misjudgments the appellant and his co-accused Wong have suffered a grievous injustice. They have been fined, imprisoned and publicly disgraced for offences for which they are not guilty. The appellant, in addition, has been deprived of his seat in Parliament and disqualified for a year from practising his profession. Their Lordships' order restores him to the roll of advocates and solicitors of the Supreme Court of Singapore, but, because of the course taken by the criminal proceedings, their Lordships have no power to right the other wrongs which the appellant and Wong have suffered. The only redress, their Lordships understand, will be by way of petition for pardon to the President of the Republic of Singapore.4 The judgment was a stunning indictment of Singapore justice. The Privy Council, the highest court in the Commonwealth, had declared that Jeyaretnam was innocent. The verdict, Jeyaretnam later wrote.

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"worked on me like a tonic that had taken 10 to 15 years off my life." 5

The first few weeks after Jeyaretnam returned to Singapore were a busy time. His son Philip was married on 3o October to Cindy Sim, a junior college teacher and fellow Cambridge graduate. Jeyaretnam gave a speech at the reception following the ceremony, which was attended by deputy prime minister Ong Teng Cheong, who was a friend of Cindy's family. In his remarks, Jeyaretnam drew attention to Ong's presence. There was a pause, as the guests wondered what was coming next. Then Jeyaretnam said there was no truth in any stories circulating to the effect that he was going to join the PAPa comment that provoked considerable amusement. 6 Jeyaretnam was also determined to be reinstated in time to participate in the legal ceremony calling Philip to the bar. On 8 November, in his first action as an officer of the court, Jeyaretnam moved that Philip be admitted to the roll of advocates and solicitors. This simple honour made Jeyaretnam immensely happy. He was particularly pleased (though he was careful not to say so) that the judge presiding over the ceremony was justice Chua, one of the three judges who had struck him off the rolls. Despite the Privy Council's scalding judgment, Singapore bureaucrats and judges refused to swerve from their course when it came to the Workers' Party's latest champion, Francis Seow. Shortly before declaring himself a candidate (but after confessing his intention to his captors) Seow received a letter from the Inland Revenue Authority demanding a statement of his accounts. During the campaign, the correspondence over his tax issues grew lengthier by the hour, and on 11 Augustjust three weeks before the electionhe was charged with six counts of tax evasion. In December, Seow flew to New York to attend the tenth anniversaiy celebrations of Human Rights Watch and to seek medical advice for heart arrhythmia. In his absence, he was tried and convicted of tax evasion. He decidedwisely, it seemsnot to return. Accordingly, the government withdrew his non-constituency seat, leaving the Workers'
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Party with a single representative in parliament, Dr Lee Siew Choh. Dr. Lee's very first speech in Parliament concerned the Privy Council's ruling. Two years before, prime minister Lee Kuan Yew had promised to ask the President to pardon Jeyaretnam if it turned out that his convictions were baseless. If there is a miscarriage of justice, I think Parliament should undertake to ask the President to either grant [Jeyaretnam] a pardon or even to set aside the convictions, order a new trial. It is within our legislative competence to do that.7 At the opening session, with Jeyaretnam perched in the gallery, Dr. Lee asked if the PAP would follow through on its promise now that the Privy Council had declared a "grievous injustice" had taken place. There was more at stake than scoring points: once pardoned, Jeyaretnam would be eligible to stand for parliament In response, the minister for law, professor S Jayakumar, said that the prime minister had promised to seek a pardon only if Jeyaretnam proved he was innocent by calling two witnesses to the Committee of Privilegessomething, Jayakumar noted somewhat disingenuously, that Jeyaretnam had refused to do. Dr Lee persisted. Surely, he said, in view of the Privy Council's ruling, the government owed Jeyaretnam a pardon. But Jayakumar would not budge. The issue of a pardon did not arise, he said, because Jeyaretnam had not asked for one. Further, he now revealed the government's official line: the Privy Council's decision was flawed because attorney-general Tan Boon Teik was never given the chance to present the government's case. There was a grain of truth to this claimthe case before the Privy Council was captioned Jeyaretnam t>s. the Law Society of Singapore, and the Privy Council did not hear arguments from the AG's office. But for this the attorney-general had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who had initiated disbarment proceedings against Jeyaretnam. He knew when Jeyaretnam's hearing was scheduled. He certainly could have asked to appear before the Privy Council. Even if the council had for

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some reason refused to hear him, he could have briefed the Law Society's lawyers. . Indeed, during the Privy Council hearings, the law lords asked several times whether the attorney-general's office was aware of Jeyaretnam's appeal: in each case, QC Reid, after conferring with his assistant, Goh Joon Seng, replied that the attorney-general knew about the appeal but made no request to be heard. 8 Although the Singapore government would repeat the suggestion that the Privy Council had not heard both sides of the case against Jeyaretnam, it was untruebecause the law lords reviewed all the rulings in the caseand, in any case a poor excuse, especially when Tan later declined Jeyaretnam's offer to rehash the case before the Privy Council. When it became obvious that the PAP would not seek a pardon, Jeyaretnam decided to petition Singapore president Wee Kim Wee himself. In April he wrote to president Wee, appealing, he said, not for mercy, but for justice. On 5 May, the president replied. Jeyaretnam's petition could not be considered, he wrote, because he showed no "remorse, repentance, or contrition for wrongdoing." 9 While the PAP did its best to downplay the significance of the Privy Council's ruling, at least in public, it is not hard to gauge the magnitude of the decision's impact on the prime minister himself. The prime minister had once been an ardent champion of the Privy Council. In 1967 he had extolled the virtues of having an institution such as the Privy Council to oversee justice in Singapore, and had warned future governments not to tamper with it: I can only express the hope that faith in the judicial system will never be diminished, and I am sure it will not, so long as we allow a review of the judicial processes that takes place here in some other tribunal where obviously undue influence cannot be brought to bear. As long as governments are wise enough to leave alone the rights of appeal to some superior body outside Singapore, then there must be a higher degree of confidence in the integrity of our judicial process. This is most important.10

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Barely six months after the law lords delivered their verdict, however, the Singapore parliament cut off all appeals to the Privy Council for civil, criminal, and disciplinary cases. Singapore's last link to Commonwealth justice had now been severed. The final word in Singapore justice would henceforth be uttered by Singapore judges.

Although Jeyaretnam had not been a candidate in the 1988 elections, he soon found himself under attack for his statements during the campaign. On 26 August 1988, a few days before the general election, Jeyaretnam commented on the suicide of the minister for national development, Teh Cheang Wan, at a Workers' Party rally. The Teh scandal had first emerged in November 1986, after he was accused of taking bribes worth S$8oo,ooo from developers. Minister Teh denied the allegations, but the Corrupt Practices Investigation Bureau launched an investigation. On 15 December ^ 8 6 , his lifeless body was discovered in bed. He had taken a massive overdose of sodium amytal. The day before his death, he had written a letter addressed to the prime minister, which read: Prime Minister I have been feeling very sad and depressed for the last two weeks. I feel responsible for the occurrence of this unfortunate incident and I feel I should accept full responsibility. As an honourable oriental gentleman, I feel it is only right that I should pay the highest penalty for my mistake. Yours faithfully, Teh Cheang Wan11 Set against the PAP's long boast of honest government, free of corruption, Teh's suicide caused a sensation in Singapore. By the time of the election, a commission of inquiry had already been held to look into the allegations regarding Teh, and the affair was no longer headline news. Nevertheless, Jeyaretnam raised the issue on the campaign trail:

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In Singapore you can't buy poison over the counter... My question was ... Why hasn't the government conducted an inquiiy to find out how Mr. Teh came by this poison, by these drugs? Shouldn't the people be told? It is essential for a government to tell the truth and nothing but the whole truth and not to hide anything... Mr Teh wrote to the Prime Minister ... and Mr Teh ended the letter by saying, I am sorry, I will do as you advise ... Did he respond to the letter? And if he did, what was his response? It was wrong to allow Mr. Teh Cheang Wan to get away from answering his question and so we must know how is it that he came by his death.12 In fact, Jeyaretnam misquoted the suicide noteTeh never wrote that he would do as the prime minister advised. A few days after the rally, therefore, Lee sued for defamation of character. The implication of Jeyaretnam's speech, Lee claimed, was that Lee had encouraged Teh to commit suicide to avoid a damaging investigation. This was now the second time Lee had sued Jeyaretnam for defamation. The previous lawsuit, involving the Tat Lee Bank, had been an unalloyed disaster for Jeyaretnam, ultimately costing him S$5oo,ooo. But Jeyaretnam felt his prospects were better in the Teh case. His speech made no factual allegations; it had only raised questions. The four-day trial took place in July 1990, in the court of judge Lai Kew C h a i a n awkward venue for Jeyaretnam. Four years before, judge Lai had sentenced him to jail and imposed the S$5,ooo fine that had stripped him of his seat in parliament and his licence to practise law. To defend himself, Jeyaretnam hired Martin Thomas, the London silk who had scored the stunning victory in the Privy Council. Thomas's first move was to ask judge Lai to disqualify himself. First, Thomas argued, judge Lai's decision in the Case of the Three Cheques had been criticised by the Privy Council. Second, judge Lai had formerly worked for the prime minister's law firm, Lee & Lee. Lai overruled these objections, however, and ordered the trial to begin. On the witness stand, the prime minister admitted that he had been friends with Teh for 3o years, and suggested that Teh's letter had

a series of

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probably been sent in the "faint hope" that Lee would call off the investigation. But he denied making any reply. Lee conceded that the Teh affair was a legitimate political target, because clean government was a key element of the PAP's platform. But he insisted that Jeyaretnam had darker motives. As evidence, he cited Jeyaretnam's call for a merger with Malaysia, and his opposition to national service which, Lee declared,"smacked of subversion." 1 3 In the end, judge Lai ruled that Jeyaretnam's remarks constituted "grave slander" and implicated the prime minister in "the unlawful taking of a human life for a sinister purpose." He awarded Lee S$:?6o,ooo in damages, plus costs, which amounted to S$355,ooo. 1 4 In May, two months before the trial was due to begin, the Workers' Party had launched a fund-raising campaign in The Hammer to help Jeyaretnam pay his court costs (it also tried to run ads in the local newspapers, but was turned downnone of the papers would accept political advertising). Unfortunately, this optimistic undertaking only mired the party in more legal trouble. On 2 August, the day before judge Lai handed down his ruling, Jeyaretnam learned that the police had launched an investigation into the party's fund-raising appeal under the House to House and Street Collections Act, because it had not obtained a police permit to solicit funds. Over the next few days, police officers seized the party's bank account, raided its offices, and conducted midnight searches of several party members' homes. Supporters who contributed money were interrogated, as were the printers of The Hammer.15 Rather than encouraging the authorities to ease up on Jeyaretnam, the Privy Council's decision seemed to spur them to new depths of pettifoggery.
* * *

One of the most disturbing aspects of the campaign against Jeyaretnam was the way that journalists who chronicled his tribulations themselves became the target of government attacks. Over the years, the government assailed several foreign journals, including The Asian Wall Street Journal, The Far Eastern Economic Review, Time, and The Economist, for

Lee's Law

"interfering in Singapore's domestic politics" often at the faintest whiff of criticism. For example, The Asian Wall Street Journal was prosecuted for contempt of court over a 1985 editorial headlined The editorial stated: The problem here is government credibility. We don't know if Mr. Jeyaretnam is guilty. But even if he were, many Singaporeans wouldn't believe it because court actions, and especially libel suits, have long been used in Singapore against opposition politicians. 16 This apparently mild statement was denounced by the attorney-general as "calculated to bring the judiciary of Singapore into contempt." The newspaper eventually decided to plead guilty and was fined a total of S$i6, 000. 1 7 Next came Time, which ran a piece in September ^ 8 6 headlined
SILENCING THE DTSSENTERS: PRIME MINISTER LEE RESTRICTS THE OPPOSITION'S MANOEUVREING ROOM. 1 8 JEYARETNAM'S CHALLENGE.

When the magazine refused to print the govern-

ment's response in full, its circulation was restricted to 2,000 copies. The Jeyaretnam affair also reached the ears of The Times of London, which in June 1989 published an article by columnist Bernard Levin, headlined
THE LAW GROSSLY MISUSED.

Recounting the Jeyaretnam saga,

the formidable columnist declared "the misuse of the law here has been gross ... Legality has been twisted into a hideous shape." 1 9 In keeping with its long-standing policy, the PAP government fired off a lengthy reply, delivered by its high commissioner in London, Abdul Aziz Mahmood. Claiming that the reply defamed Jeyaretnam, The Times omitted one paragraph, and altered another one. In previous disputes involving newspapers circulating in Singapore, the government had retaliated with court proceedings or by restricting circulation (far craftier than an outright ban, which would have given some moral satisfaction to the errant publications.) But neither course was open to the PAP in this case. The Times was not published in Singapore, and was thus beyond the reach of Singapore courts. Instead, the high commissioner asked The Times to run the original
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reply as an advertisement. When The Times refused, the high commissioner published a half-page advertisement in the Guardian, the Financial Times, the Daily Telegraph, and the Straits Times, in both its regular daily and overseas weekly editions, for a total cost approaching S$66,ooo. 2 0 By the late 1980s, Jeyaretnam had been the target of several libel suits. He had lost almost every case, paying out hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages and costs. 21 He had also brought several libel suits, winning none. But those cases had always been argued in Singapore. What if Jeyaretnam were able to bring a suit outside Singapore's jurisdiction? The advertisements in the Guardian, the Financial Times, and the Straits Times Overseas Edition provided him with the opportunity to find out. In October 1989, he sued the Singapore government, the high commissioner, and the Straits Times for libel, this time lodging his complaint in a British court. Unfortunately, the strategy backfired. Lawyers for the Straits Times successfully persuaded the High Court in London that it lacked jurisdiction. The British judge dismissed Jeyaretnam's case and ordered him to pay the newspaper's legal fees, which amounted to a staggering S$ 150,000. 22

On 26 November ^ 9 0 , after 3i years in power, prime minister Lee Kuan Yew stepped aside in favour of his protege, first deputy prime minister Goh Chok Tong. During his long tenure, Lee had forged a truly historic legacy, overseeing with iron discipline the transformation of Singapore from a tumultuous colonial port to an orderly island republic. Goh brought a different style to the prime minister's office. Where Lee was domineering, combative, eager to unleash his Cambridge erudition and barrister's barbs, Goh was a self-effacing economist, apt to stumble over his words, who championed an "open, consultative style" of governmentoften over the harrumphing of the PAP's old guard. But if Goh inherited an enviable political situation in one sense, it was awkward in another. Coming on the heels of an acknowledged 2V

Lee's Law

political titan, he was bound to suffer by comparison. In addition, there was widespread speculation that Lee's son. Brigadier-General Lee Hsien Loong, was waiting in the wings to succeed his father. Many Singaporeans felt that Goh was merely keeping the saddle warm until the younger Lee could take hold of the reins. Moreover, Lee Kuan Yew did not retire from politics. He remained in the cabinet as senior minister, and retained his position as secretarygeneral of the PAP. Many Singaporeans were convinced that Lee was, and would remain, the government's dominant force. A s political scientist Bilveer Singh commented: It is difficult to believe that Mr. Goh would be able to overrule Mr. Lee, as the latter, from his sheer personality and role as father of the country, remains the most influential political figure in the country.23 Goh's first moves as prime minister could hardly have b e e n described as radical, but they signalled a less confrontational style. He announced that he would conduct fortnightly walkabouts to stay in touch with popular concerns. He announced new plans to subsidise health care, education, and housing for poor Singaporeans. He also relaxed the ban on R-rated films. In August r99t, prime minister Goh announced that the next general election would be held at the end of the m o n t h a full two years ahead of schedule. Goh had several reasons to hold the elections early. Having laboured so long in the shadow of Lee Kuan Yew, he was anxious to establish his own political popularity and fortify his position in the cabinet. His standing was buoyed by a raft of popular new programmes, and some economists predicted a slowdown the following year, which would aggravate political opposition. But there was one further consideration that Goh could not have overlooked: the date of the "snap poll," 3r August 1991, would take place two months before Jeyaretnam could stand for parliament, because of the five-year ban imposed on him 1986, The effect of the early date would be to condemn Jeyaretnam to wander the political wilderness for 222

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another five years. Jeyaretnam was convinced this was the real reason behind the early announcement. In a press conference, he denounced the accelerated election as a "disgraceful and desperate" ploy to shut him out of parliament. 24 Many Singaporeans agreed. The long campaign of official harassment, the libel suits, and the Privy Council's ruling had convinced them, in the words of political scientist Bilveer Singh, that Jeyaretnam was a "political victim." 2 5 Even though Jeyaretnam was barred from running for office, he plunged into the campaign with all his energy. The Workers' Party issued a pamphlet restating its core manifesto, while Jeyaretnam criticised PAP policies which favoured the affluent, such as the high cost of housing and health care, educational streaming, and racial quotas in government housing estates. Unlike previous contests, the general election of 1991 featured an unprecedented degree of co-operation among the opposition parties. Over the years, astute political observers noticed an interesting phenomenon in Singapore elections: opposition candidates tended to attract more votes in by-elections than in general elections. The most persuasive explanation for the so-called "by-election effect" was that, although many Singapore voters resented the PAP, they were reluctant to entrust the entire machinery of government to an untested opposition. The gradual fusion, and confusion, of party and state made voters anxious about forsaking the only government many of them had ever known. These fears were periodically stoked by the PAP through the media, trade unions, and grass-roots groups, which echoed the prophecy of doom if the party ever fell out of power. But in a by-election, the question of expelling the government from power simply did not arise. By-elections offered voters a chance to vent their frustration with the PAP without actually having to file for divorce. (It is also interesting to note that by-elections, once a common occurrence in Singapore, had not been held since Jeyaretnam's upset victory in Anson in t98r.) With an eye to the by-election phenomenon, opposition politicians, particularly Chiam See Tong of the Singapore Democratic Parly, hatched

Lee's Law

a novel and ingenious strategy. What if they guaranteed that the PAP would be returned to power by contesting fewer than half the seats in parliament? In that case, voters in the remaining wards could support opposition candidates without worrying about the "freak result" forewarned by the PAP. This approach also made a virtue of a necessity. Without sufficient time to prepare for a full-scale campaign, and in the face of the enormous advantages enjoyed by the PAP, the opposition stood no chance of outright victory. The by-election strategy increased the likelihood that opposition candidates would win at least a few seats. Convinced of the wisdom of this plan, the opposition parties including the Workers' Party, the Singapore Democratic Party , and two smaller organisations, the National Solidarity Party and the Singapore Malay National Organisation t o g e t h e r contested just 40 of the nation's 81 parliamentary seats on nomination day. Counterintuitive as it may seem, the remarkable spectacle of winning the election before the first vote was cast presented prime minister Goh with a serious dilemma. At a single stroke, the opposition had stymied his attempts to frame the election as a referendum on his "open, consultative style," and had turned it into an opportunity for Singaporeans to voice their dissatisfaction with the PAP. Goh was also disturbed by the coverage Jeyaretnam was receiving in the foreign press, where the snap poll was depicted as a deliberate effort to keep him out of parliament. In an effort to stem the rising tide of criticism, both at home and abroad, Goh promised to hold a by-election within 18 months. Jeyaretnam, he said, would then have the chance to run. 26 To Jeyaretnam, the offer was too little, too late. He deplored it as a "desperate attempt to appear reasonable," and maintained that a more honourable alternative would be to pardon the convictions that led to his disqualification in the first place. 27 Whatever its motivation, Goh's offer effectively short-circuited the disqualification of Jeyaretnam as a political issue. Once again, Jeyaretnam was relegated to a backstage role as the party's elder statesman, attacking the PAP for its anti-democratic policies:
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The restrictions on our freedom have no place in a democratic society which cherishes the freedom of the human being and the development of his personality. We have the monies we need and more to provide a more caring society. All we need is the political will to sweep away all this ironclad control over our lives. 2 8

The single best prospect for the Workers' Party lay in the Eunos GRC, where victory had eluded the party in 1988 by a few hundred votes. A s before, the parly's four candidates, Dr Lee Siew Choh, Jufrie Mahmood, Wee Han Kim, and Maurice Neo Chuan Aik, drew huge crowds to their rallies. Three days into the campaign, the PAP made a dramatic shift away from framing the election as a referendum on Goh's style of government, and accused the Workers' Party team in Eunos, especially its Malay candidate, Jufrie, of stoking resentment among Malay voters. Although Singapore had not witnessed ethnic violence since 1964, religious, communal, and linguistic divisionsespecially between the majority Chinese and the minority Malayswere still a neuralgic issue. Constantly lectured on their good fortune in avoiding the communal bloodshed that plagued neighbouring countries, most Singaporeans regarded communal chauvinism as the eighth deadly sin. But the PAP often leveled the charge of chauvinism against political opponents even when their only crime was to voice the concerns of minority groups. Jufrie was a case in point. He had accused Sidek Saniff, the PAP minister for education, and one of his opponents in Eunos, of abandoning Islam by supporting the Maintenance of Religious Harmony Act of rggo, which banned religious leaders from commenting on political matters. Jufrie also criticised Sidek for failing to object to the introduction of R-rated movies, which offended the sensibilities of many Muslims. All things considered, Jufrie's speech hardly amounted to a political jihad. But prime minister Goh excoriated the Workers' Party for descending into "extremist politics," and warned that, if Jufrie were elected, the country would return to the r95os, "where communal politics will be the politics of the day." 29 225

Lee's Law The PAP's allegations (duly given front-page treatment in the local press) provoked a furious denial from Jeyaretnam. At a rally at Bedok Reservoir Road, he indulged in a rare bit of profanity:

It is a damned lie because the Workers' Party had never, never advocated any communal approach in politics ... Mr Goh should show me the passages in the speech which he considers to be inflammatory and which he considers will lead to a breach of the peace in our country. But he's done nothing of that s o r t . . . I challenge the PAP f r o m this platform to produce or to refer to any statement put out by the leadership of the Workers' Party or by me which they can suggest is racism or communalism. Until they do that, they should not accuse the leadership of the Workers' Party of pursuing a racist or communal line. 3 0

In response, the PAP's campaign manager, Wong Kan Seng, accused Jufrie of invoking the name of Allah in his speeches to stir the passions of Malay voters. 31 But the expressions cited by Wong included Insya Allah (God willing) and Alhamdulillah (all praise be to God)both common phrases among Muslims. If anyone was guilty of communal politics, it was the PAP, which played on the fears of the majority Chinese by painting Jufrie as a Malay extremist. The results of the election were widely interpreted as a setback for prime minister Goh. Four opposition candidates were elected to parliamentmore than at any time since r 963including Workers' Party candidate Low Thia Khiang, who triumphed in the constituency of Hougang. While the PAP team squeaked out a win in the Eunos GRC with 52.4 per cent of the vote, its popular majority dipped to 61 per cent overall. Prime minister Goh was unusually candid about his disappointment:
The results show that while the voters had given the PAP the mandate to govern Singapore, they have not given me the clear endorsement I had hoped for ... That solid endorsement did not come. I will have to study the detailed results, to reflect over t h e m to understand the meaning and

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then to decide whether and how to continue with my open consultative style of government. 3 2

Goh's dejection was so obvious, in fact, that Singapore bookies began taking bets on when he would resigna remarkable possibility for a prime minister who had entered the election knowing he would be returned to power. 33 For Jeyaretnam, the results were bittersweet. While he described himself as "very pleased" with the Workers' Party victoiy in Hougang, he could not disguise his frustration at the loss in Eunos a battle it would almost certainly have won if he had been able to enter the fray. 34 In addition, the 1991 election established Chiam See Tong's Singapore Democratic Party as the dominant force in the opposition. The SDP now boasted three seats in parliament, compared to just one for the Workers' Party. Nor did it have to lug around the legal baggage that the Workers' Party had accumulated. The success of the by-election strategy demonstrated the benefits of cooperation among the opposition parties. Shortly after the election, Chiam announced that he wanted to meet Jeyaretnam to explore the idea of merging the SDP and the WP. "It is a popular idea," he said. "Everywhere I go, people say to me, Why don't the SDP merge with the WP?" 3 5 Despite its obvious strategic appeal, the proposal bogged down in a series of misunderstandings fed by mutual suspicion. The two parties frequently affirmed their desire to co-operate, but somehow the cooperation always stopped short of merger. Ideologically, there was little difference between them, but their leaders had totally opposite styles: Jeyaretnam was confrontational where Chiam was diplomatic. A more flexible politician might have been able to cross this philosophical divide. A more pragmatic politician would have appreciated the practical benefits of merger. But flexibility and pragmatism were not Jeyaretnam's strong suits, and the opportunity was squandered.
* * *

Prime minister Goh's promise to hold a by-election r8 months after the general election struck many political observers as odd. Some analysts 227

Lee's Law
saw t h e a n n o u n c e m e n t as a n e f f o r t to b l u n t t h e " J e y a r e t n a m i s s u e . " O t h e r s saw it as a d e m o n s t r a t i o n of G o h ' s m o r e r e l a x e d p o l i t i c a l s t y l e , o r a w a y to r e f o c u s t h e c a m p a i g n o n t h e P A P ' s t e r m s . S o m e c o n s i d e r e d it a m a g n a n i m o u s gesture toward Jeyaretnam. But t h e r e is a n o t h e r p o s s i b i l i t y that was generally overlooked.

A l t h o u g h f e w o u t s i d e r s k n e w it at t h e t i m e , J e y a r e t n a m w a s t e e t e r i n g o n t h e b r i n k of b a n k r u p t c y b y 1 9 9 1 . J e y a r e t n a m ' s f i n a n c e s n e v e r f u l l y r e c o v e r e d f r o m t h e Tat L e e l i b e l suit, w h i c h c o s t h i m half a m i l l i o n d o l l a r s . I n 1 9 9 0 , h e s h e l l e d out a n o t h e r S $ ? 6 o , o o o to L e e K u a n Y e w i n d a m a g e s a r i s i n g f r o m t h e T e h C h e a n g W a n a f f a i r . T o m a k e t h e p a y m e n t , h e w a s f o r c e d to b o r r o w $ 3 o o , o o o f r o m a f r i e n d , W o r k e r s ' Party c a d r e Justus M a r i a n , w h o m o r t g a g e d h i s o w n h o u s e to p r o v i d e t h e f u n d s . 3 6 But t h e c o u r t a l s o o r d e r e d h i m to p a y L e e ' s l e g a l c o s t s , which

a m o u n t e d to t h e e y e - p o p p i n g s u m of S $ 3 5 7 , 2 i 6 . i 3 . J e y a r e t n a m s t r u g g l e d f r a n t i c a l l y to f i n d t h e m o n e y . O n 6 A u g u s t 1 9 9 1 , t w o w e e k s b e f o r e the general election. Lee's lawyers served h i m with a bankruptcy p e t i tion. The prospect of bankruptcy was particularly chilling. Under

S i n g a p o r e law, b a n k r u p t s c a n n o t h o l d p o l i t i c a l o f f i c e , n o r c a n t h e y s e r v e as l a w y e r s . If J e y a r e t n a m w e r e d e c l a r e d b a n k r u p t , h e w o u l d b e s h u t out f r o m p a r l i a m e n t f o r g o o d . "It w o u l d m e a n t h e e n d of e v e r y t h i n g f o r m e , " he told reporters.37 On Halloween, 1991, Jeyaretnam somehow scraped together

S $ 3 9 2 , 8 3 8 to p a y o f f h i s d e b t s to L e e , b e a t i n g t h e d e a d l i n e b y a s i n g l e day. W h e r e d i d h e g e t t h e m o n e y ? O v e r t h e y e a r s , c o f f e e s h o p c o n j e c t u r e h a s s p e c u l a t e d t h a t J e y a r e t n a m e n j o y e d t h e s e c r e t b a c k i n g of a m a j o r business interest. S o m e rumours focused o n multimillionaire Pillai, t h e flamboyant Raj an

"biscuit king" who built a sprawling snack food

empire f r o m his father's cashew-nut business. Others swirled around t h e H o n g L e o n g G r o u p , a M a l a y s i a n c o n g l o m e r a t e t h a t s o u g h t to g e t i n t o the b a n k i n g business in Singapore. A s k e d a b o u t t h e s e r u m o u r s m a n y y e a r s later, J e y a r e t n a m s p l u t t e r e d i n t o h i s tea. " N o n s e n s e ! " h e r o a r e d . " N o t o n e c e n t ! N o B i s c u i t K i n g , n o Hong Leong, nothing!"38 There were no deep pockets, no shadowy

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millionaires. His mysterious backers were ordinary Singaporeans, friends and supporters, who believed in him and his cause. Having staved off bankruptcy proceedings, Jeyaretnam waited through the spring and summer of 1992 for prime minister Goh to announce the by-election. In the meantime, two events took place which strengthened Goh's position. First came the revelation in November 1993 that deputy prime m i n isters Lee Hsien Loong and Ong Teng Cheong were both suffering from cancer. Both men had been potential rivals to Goh within the PAP, especially Lee Hsien Loong, son of Lee Kuan Yew, who practically glowed with the aura of a natural successor. Two weeks later, Goh's position was further consolidated when senior minister Lee Kuan Yew stepped down as secretary-general of the PAP, clearing the way for Goh to take his place. 39 Now fully in control of his party and his government, prime minister Goh announced that the long-expected by-election would be held on 19 December, in Marine Parade GRC, the group-representation constituency that included his own seat. Marine Parade would be an uphill battle. In the previous year's general election. Marine Parade had given Goh and his colleagues a resounding 77 per cent victory. Nonetheless, Jeyaretnam was itching to return to the hustings. For six long years, he had paced the sidelines of Singapore politics, barred from standing for parliament by his S$5,ooo fine. Now, armed with the judgment of the Privy Council, he was convinced that the voters would give him another chance. Unfortunately, however, the political map was more complex than it had been in 1984. By ^ 9 2 , Chiam See Tong's Singapore Democratic Party was flexing its muscles. The SDP boasted three seats in parliament, compared to a single seat for the Workers' Party. In previous elections, the WP and the SDP had always worked out arrangements to avoid competing against one another in the same constituency. But Marine Parade presented them with a conundrum: election rules stated that each team had to consist of four members of the same party. In order to "share" Marine Parade, two candidates from the WP would have to join the SDP, or two candidates from the SDP would have to join the 229

Lee's Law WP. Negotiations broke down. In the end, four opposition partiesthe Workers' Party, the Singapore Democratic Party, and two minor parties resolved to field teams in Marine Parade, setting the stage for a fivecornered fight that practically guaranteed a PAP victory. Early in the morning of nomination day, 9 December, Jeyaretnam received a devastating phone call. One of the four Workers' Party candidates was backing out. He had until noon to find a replacementor the entire slate would be disqualified. Recruiting candidates had always been a major headache for the Workers' Party. The fear of defying the government was so pervasive that many Singaporeans were afraid to vote against the PAP, let alone campaign against it. The anxiety over voting was misplacedthere had never been a single recorded instance of reprisals against individuals who cast a ballot against the PAP. But the paranoia over campaigning was well founded. The decades of PAP rule were strewn with the battered wrecks of political opponents: some, like Chia Thye Poh, detained without trial for 2,2, years; others, like Francis Seow, hounded by the Inland Revenue Authority; still others, like Ho Juan Thai and Jufrie Mahmood, accused of inciting communal hatred; and then there was Jeyaretnam himself. Standing for office as an opposition candidate required extraordinary courage. "You suddenly feel that your friends are no longer your friends, your clients are no longer your clients," said lawyer Gopalan Nair, a Workers' Party candidate in t988 and 1991. "You go to court and you suddenly lose your cases." 40 Years later Dr Chee Soon Juan, the secretary-general of the Singapore Democratic Party, would sigh in frustration when asked about recruitment.
It's so difficult to get candidates. You have to be mad to get involved in opposition politics. It's a nightmare to get people to stand. The fear factor is so strong and so intense. Even just calling the [SDP] o f f i c e sends shivers down their spine. 4 1

Jeyaretnam embarked on a desperate round of calls, frantically z3o

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dialling friends and supporters in search of a candidate. Again and again, he heard the same explanations: I have to think of my job; I have to think of my family. With minutes to spare, Jeyaretnam reached a Workers' Party stalwart, John Gan Eng Guan. At length, Gan agreed to stand in Marine Parade. He told Jeyaretnam he would head over to the Nomination Centre at oncethe team could not register until all the candidates were physically present. Jeyaretnam and the other two candidates, Dr Tan Bin Seng and Jufrie Mahmood, rushed over to Tao Nan School, the Nomination Centre, shortly before noon. Jeyaretnam was in a state of acute anxiety, pacing and checking his watch. His political future hung by a thread. The Tao Nan School was located in Marine Parade, on the island's East Coast. But Gan was coming from Tuas, on the West Coast, more than 30 miles away, battling lunchtime traffic. Finally, Gan dashed through the school gates, huffing and puffing and apologising for the delay. But it was too late. The time was 13:07. The party's team had missed the deadline by seven minutes. Jeyaretnam tried to put a brave face on the fiasco. As the Workers' Party team trudged away from the Nomination Centre, he deflected reporters' questions with his signature thousand-watt grin. 42 The smile is the most versatile of human expressions. It may signal delight, anticipation, sympathy, surprise, or approval; it may also signify derision, disdain, or even frustration. But Jeyaretnam's smile served another purpose entirely: it was a shield. Jeyaretnam had taken refuge behind that shield during some of the most painful moments of his life: in the Committee of Privileges, for example, when his forlorn smile drew a sneer of contempt from Lee Kuan Yew; or after he was bundled off to prison, when he managed to flash a grin through the windows of the police van. Jeyaretnam's determination not to seem dejected was partly political: he didn't want his supporters to lose heart. But it was also personal. The smile not only masked his disappointment; it acted as a psychological barrier against the flash of the news cameras and the thicket of tape recorders. Marine Parade was a political catastrophe for Jeyaretnam.

Lee's Law
256

Singaporeans could not understand how he could have let such an important opportunity slip through his fingers. His smiling demeanour even stoked speculation that the entire affair had been "stagemanaged," so that Jeyaretnam could save face and avoid a battle he was sure to lose. 43 Only those who did not know Jeyaretnam could believe such a far-

fetched theory. Jeyaretnam was a fighter. He had always been a fighter the longer the odds, the better. The meltdown at Marine Parade was a consequence of the Workers' Party's long-standing trouble recruiting candidates. The most authentic portrait of Jeyaretnam that day was captured not by the photographer's camera but by the caricaturist's pen. A Straits Times cartoon depicted Jeyaretnam standing at the end of a pier, watching a ship labeled "92 By-Election" sail off into the sunset. The smoke from the ship's engine formed the word "History."
*
* *

Defenders of the PAP often compare Jeyaretnam to his counterpart in the SDP, Chiam See Tong. Unlike Jeyaretnam, Chiam suffered no libel suits, no investigations, and less bureaucratic harassment. If the PAP is truly repressive, the argument runs, why did Chiam escape? Indeed, this line of reasoning can be taken a step further: Chiam's political survival clearly demonstrates that Singaporeans need have no fear of opposing the PAP. Certainly, Chiam has been the frequent target of rhetorical barbs by PAP ministers, and his constituency has lost out on government programmes, but that's part and parcel of the rough-and-tumble of politics. Jeyaretnam's troubles, in other words, were of his own making, and not due to any democratic shortcomings on the part of the PAP. In one form or another, this argument is often wielded against foreign critics whose enthusiasm for running down the PAP exceeds their grasp of the intricacies of Singapore politics. From the beginning, Chiam adopted a completely different style. Where Jeyaretnam was charismatic, adversarial, and eloquent, Chiam was self-effacing, cautious, and awkward in his oratory. Where Jeyaretnam challenged fundamental axioms, Chiam concentrated on bread-and-butter issues.

a series of

misjudgments

In fact, Chiam deliberately adopted his cautious approach after watching what happened to Jeyaretnam. Reflecting on their differences many years later, he said:

Jeyaretnam is schooled in the English tradition of Parliament and he goes about his work in that vein. He feels the opposition's role is to come out and sharply criticise and draw attention to what he's unhappy about. But he tends to forget we are a v e i y new countiy. The Workers' Party style has not been well-entrenched here, and the PAP takes Jeyaretnam's strong criticisms as s o m e t h i n g not constructive to

Singapore's building a nation ... If he were in England, nobody would give it a second thought. But in Singapore the situation is quite different. The Singapore government is very paternalistic. They feel they have provided for the people and they feel the people should be obligated to t h e m in return. 4 4

Senior minister Lee Kuan Yew often maintained that the PAP was willing to tolerate political opposition, but distinguished between constructive opponents, willing to work within the system, and destructive ones, who undermined the nation's institutions. In an interview on the eve of the new millennium, he said:

We didn't go for Chiam See Tong. We don't have to. Cheo Chai C h e n and Ling How Doong [two SDP members of parliament], we have not. Low Thia Khiang [WP member of parliament], we have not gunned for him. He keeps within a certain framework ... He is not actively trying to undermine the system. He looks after his constituency, he attends every wake, every marriagewell, good luck to him. Can you run a country on that basis? But if you are a troublemaker, in the sense that you will do Singapore no good, it's our job to politically destroy you. Put it this way. A s long as Jeyaretnam stands for what he stands f o r a thoroughly destructive f o r c e w e will knock him. There are two ways of playing this. One, you attack the policies; two, you attack the system. Jeyaretnam was attacking the system, he brought the Chief Justice into it. If I want to fix you, do I need the Chief Justice to fix you? Everybody

233

Lee's Law
knows that in my bag I have a hatchet, and a very sharp one. You take me on, I take my hatchet, we meet in the c u l - d e - s a c . That's the way I had to survive in the past. That's the way the communists tackled me. 4 5

Lee's brass-knuckle attitude is probably shared by many Chinese, both in Singapore and throughout Asia. He once told a visiting journalist that "in a Confucian society the phrase 'loyal opposition' is a contradiction in terms." 46 Despite the PAP's periodic efforts to invoke Confucius and other Asian philosophers to bolster their case for "Asian democracy," there is something fundamentally authoritarian about this approach. After all, the great political figures of the twentieth centuryLee Kuan Yew includedwere denounced as "troublemakers" by their rivals. Given the region's history of ethnic conflict, one can understand why Lee would swing his hatchet against racial chauvinists. But Jeyaretnam was no chauvinist. Given the region's bitter legacy of communism, one can understand why Lee would swing his hatchet against Marxist insurgents. But Jeyaretnam was no Marxist. Nor was he the tool of any foreign power, as Lee well knew. Jeyaretnam was a "troublemaker" because he dared to chip at the foundation on which Lee's regime was based: the proposition that the rights of the individual must be subordinate to the greater good. Lee always argued that "Western-style" democracy would ruin Singapore. "Asian democracy," on the other hand, had transformed a fractured colony into an economic powerhouse. But this transformation was purchased at a steep price, a price eloquently described by former president Devan Nair, a founding member of the PAP who later had a bitter falling-out with Lee Kuan Yew:
We looked at the sad fate of other multiracial and multireligious

developing countries and recognised that life's highest rewards and f u l f i l l m e n t s were beyond the reach of societies riven by sterile, senseless class and ethnic strife, and cursed by a corrupt polity, inefficient production, material poverty, and hungry bellies. Modern technology and management systems would be the necessary means to

a series of

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advance the human agenda. Alas, we failed to foresee that human ends would come to be subverted for the greater glory of the material means, and our new Jerusalem would come to harbour a metallic soul with clanking heartbeats, behind a glittering technological fa9ade ... What we launched as the i n d e p e n d e n t republic of Singapore

succeeded, as the world knows, all to well, only to discover that in the eyes of Lee Kuan Yew, means had become ends in themselves. First principles were stood on their heads. Economic growth and social progress did not serve human beings. O n the contrary, the primary function of citizens was to fuel economic g r o w t h a weird reversal of values. The reign of Moloch had begun. 4 7

Even if one accepts Lee's proposition, the survival of opposition figures such as Chiam See Tong and Low Thia Khiang does not prove that Singapore enjoys a healthy democratic environment. If anything, their presence in parliament reminds one of pandas in a zoo. Government publications often trumpet the fact that there are parties in Singapore. 48 registered political But most of these parties exist only on paper.

Their continuing inclusion in official brochures can only be considered as an artful bit of propaganda. When Singaporeans contemplate opposing the government, do they look at Chiam and Low, and conclude that dissent is welcome? Or do they look at Jeyaretnam, and keep their mouths shut? * Prime minister Goh and the PAP trounced the opposition in the Marine Parade by-election, winning an impressive 73 per cent of the vote. Goh's willingness to put his own seat at stake, combined with the handsome margin of victory, reinforced his standing. Originally viewed as a bench-warmer, Goh's modest style seemed to appeal to Singaporeans long fed up with the arrogance of the old-school PAP leaders. The debacle at Marine Parade effectively demolished Jeyaretnam and the Workers' Party as a realistic alternative to the PAP. The noble principles that Jeyaretnam had articulated so often and so eloquentlythe rights of the individual, the rule of law, and the dignity of the working

Lee's Law classdissolved into an intensely personal feud. There was an unmistakable tang of bitterness in every clash. This was clearly demonstrated during the presidential elections of 1993. Ever since independence, the ceremonial office of president had been appointed by parliament. But after almost a decade of discussion, parliament amended the constitution to provide for an elected president with the power to oversee budget spending and government appointments. The advent of the elected presidency allowed the PAP to boast that Singapore was now more democratic than ever before. But there was a hitch. Not anyone could run for president. Instead, candidates had to enjoy at least three years in one of several posts: cabinet minister, chief justice, speaker of parliament, attorney-general, permanent secretary in the civil service, or a chairman or chief executive officer of a company with S$roo million in paid-up capital. These requirements, as Jeyaretnam put it, were "clearly tailor-made for someone from the PAP club." 49 As a result, Jeyaretnam was barred from the presidential election, held in August 1993, which featured only two candidates: former deputy prime minister Ong Teng Cheong, and a former accountant, Chua Kim Yeow, who described his opponent as "far superior." (Nonetheless, Chua managed to get 4a per cent of the vote.) Meanwhile, the focus of opposition politics shifted to the Social Democratic Party, especially after Dr Chee Soon Juan, a lecturer in neuropsychology at the National University of Singapore, joined the SDP team in Marine Parade. Dynamic and articulate, with an advanced degree from an American university, Chee represented a new generation of political activists. Two months after Dr Chee's political debut, however, he was dismissed from his university post for allegedly padding his taxi receipts and misusing research funds to mail his wife's doctoral thesis. Dr Chee accused his department chairman, S Vasoo, who was also a PAP MP, of sacking him for political reasons, and subsequently staged a hunger strike. The subsequent trials and tribulations of Dr Chee echoedbut also overshadowedJeyaretnam's own misfortune. 236

a series of

misjudgments
Jeyaretnam's

E v e n as h e s t r u g g l e d t o m a i n t a i n p o l i t i c a l r e l e v a n c e ,

financial situation, already grim, was deteriorating faster t h a n ever. I n 1 9 9 3 , Justus M a r i a n f i l e d b a n k r u p t c y p r o c e e d i n g s against J e y a r e t n a m to r e c o v e r t h e r e m a i n i n g t h i r d of a S $ 3 o o , o o o l o a n h e h a d m a d e i n 1 9 9 0 so Jeyaretnam could pay senior minister Lee Kuan Yew.50 W h i l e Jeyaretnam s c r a m b l e d to f i n d the m o n e y to pay b a c k Marian, h e also faced a bankruptcy petition f r o m the

Straits Times.

Jeyaretnam

o w e d t h e p a p e r 8 1 1 6 1 , 7 3 5 . 7 7 f o r h i s m i s b e g o t t e n a t t e m p t t o s u e it f o r libel after the Bernard Levin affair. In A p r i l 1 9 9 5 , Jeyaretnam m a d e a p a y m e n t of S $ 8 i , o o o . He was given until final payment was due by

n o o n , 18 May, to pay the balance o w i n g o r b e declared bankrupt. O n c e again, he e m b a r k e d o n a frantic effort to d r u m up cash f r o m friends and supporters. F i n a l l y , at ?:OOPM o n t h e a p p o i n t e d d a y , h i s secretary,

W e n d y C h i u , a r r i v e d at t h e o f f i c e s of H a r r y E l i a s , t h e l a w y e r f o r t h e

Straits Times,

carrying S$70,735-77 in cash and a S $ i o , o o o cheque. T h e its b a n k r u p t c y p e t i t i o n t h e s a m e day.51 O n c e again,

paper dropped

J e y a r e t n a m h a d e s c a p e d r u i n b y t h e s k i n of h i s teeth. * *

By 1 9 9 5 , Jeyaretnam's b r u i s i n g e x p e r i e n c e w i t h S i n g a p o r e ' s libel laws h a d t a u g h t h i m t o b e e x t r e m e l y c a u t i o u s i n h i s c r i t i c i s m of t h e P A P a s , i n d e e d , w e r e all p u b l i c f i g u r e s . V i s i t o r s t o S i n g a p o r e , a c c u s t o m e d t o t h e r a m b u n c t i o u s p o l i t i c s of W e s t e r n d e m o c r a c i e s , a r e o f t e n s t r u c k b y t h e reading-room atmosphere of p u b l i c d e b a t e in the city-state, where

c o l u m n i s t s o f t e n tiptoe around f u n d a m e n t a l issues and p r e f e r to c o n centrate o n style, presentation, or perception. I n A u g u s t 1 9 9 5 , h o w e v e r , t h e W o r k e r s ' Party organ.

The Hammer,
minority. The were

carried a m o r d a n t attack o n a c o m m u n i t y event p r o m o t i n g the Tamil language, the mother tongue of S i n g a p o r e ' s Indian

Hammer w a s

a multilingual publication.

Its f r o n t - p a g e articles

usually printed in English, and were followed by translations in Malay, Mandarin, and Tamil. T h i s particular piece, however, only appeared in t h e T a m i l s e c t i o n of t h e p a p e r . U n d e r t h e h e a d l i n e THE TAMIL LANGUAGE WEEKA CHARADE ENACTED TO CONFORM TO THE RULES, t h e a r t i c l e ACCUSED f i v e P A P M P s of e x p l o i t i n g t h e e v e n t f o r p o l i t i c a l g a i n . 5 2

2^7

Lee's Law The author, former WP treasurer A Balakrishnan, accused five Tamil PAP MPs of hypocrisy for officiating at various Tamil Language Week functions when they were actually more comfortable in English than in Tamil. Balakrishnan also criticised the event's promoters for failing to press for courses in Tamil at the National University of Singapore, and deplored their exploitation of the Tamil language to "nakedly prostitute themselves" in search of political office. Jeyaretnam did not write the piece. In fact, he did not even read it his grasp of written Tamil was shaky. But, as the editor of The Hammer, he was legally liable for it. The five PAP MPsforeign affairs minister S Jayakumar, S Chandra Das, a S Vasoo, libel K Shanmugam, against and R Sinnakaruppan launched suit Jeyaretnam,

Balakrishnan, and the Workers' Party. The ten organisers of the Tamil Language Week also sued for libeleven though they had not been named in the article. At the time, the twin lawsuits against The Hammer seemed little more than another exhibit in the weary catalogue of the Workers' Party's legal woes. Coming on the heels of so many other suits, they attracted scant attentionespecially because they were overshadowed by two events that catapulted Singapore to international notoriety. The first was the case of Michael Fay, an American teenager living in Singapore, who was convicted on multiple counts of vandalism for spray-painting 18 cars. In March 1994, Fay was sentenced to four months in jail and six strokes of the canethe standard punishment for vandalism in Singapore. The flogging of an American boy whipped up a frenzy of protest in the United States. Calling the punishment "extreme," president Bill Clinton asked the court for lenience. For Singapore's leadersand, indeed, for conservatives in the US the Fay affair was a perfect opportunity to contrast the island-nation's low crime rate with the bloody reputation of America's streets, highlighted by an recent string of tourists murdered in Florida. Singapore's leaders argued that Western democracies had grown softa sentiment reinforced when Fay's lawyer asked the court to reduce the punishment because his client had been diagnosed with attention-deficit disorder. No sooner had the hubbub over Michael Fay died down than another 238

a series of

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controversy erupted over Flor Contemplacion, a 43-year-old Filipina maid working in Singapore, who was convicted of the double murder of another Filipina maid and a four-year-old boy. In March, Contemplacion was hanged at Changi Prison, sparking furious protests in the Philippines and setting off a diplomatic rift between the two nations. The uproar over Flor Contemplacion and Michael Fay had a curious effect. Bombarded by foreign critics, many of whom knew almost nothing about the island-nation, Singapore reacted with a surge of patriotism. Singaporeans long used to grumbling about the high-handed style of the PAP were suddenly proud of their plucky little nation and its strict laws. Rather than challenge the PAP's authoritarian leanings, these episodes reinforced themand, perversely, gave them broader public support.
* *

While foreign observers were distracted by the media circus surrounding Fay and Contemplacion, Jeyaretnam's tribulations were not entirely forgotten. In October 1994, Christopher Lingle, an American political economist lecturing at the National University of Singapore, published an op-ed piece in the International Herald Tribune. Headlined
OVER PARTS OF ASIA OBSCURES SOME PROFOUND CONCERNS, THE SMOKE

the article skew-

ered the finger-drumming of various South-East Asian governments in response to the acrid haze spewing from forest fires in Indonesia. Lingle also used the haze to highlight democratic shortcomings in the region. In particular, he listed certain techniques for intimidating political opposition:

Intolerant r e g i m e s i n the r e g i o n reveal c o n s i d e r a b l e ingenuity

in

suppressing dissent. S o m e t e c h n i q u e s lack f i n e s s e : crushing unarmed students with tanks or i m p r i s o n i n g dissidents. Others are more subtle: relying u p o n a compliant judiciary to bankrupt opposition politicians, or buying out enough of the opposition to take control

"democratically." 5 3

Lee's Law
Although Lingle never mentioned Singapore by name, he was

s u b s e q u e n t l y i n t e r r o g a t e d a n d c h a r g e d w i t h c o n t e m p t of c o u r t o n t h e grounds that the article insinuated that Singapore judges were

" c o m p l i a n t . " W i t h i n h o u r s of h i s i n t e r r o g a t i o n , L i n g l e f l e d t h e i s l a n d . A Singapore judge convicted h i m in absentia, and the

International Herald
in

Tribune

eventually paid senior minister Lee Kuan Yew S $ 2 i 3 , o o o

damages for libel. It is i n t e r e s t i n g to c o m p a r e t h e s t o r m o v e r L i n g l e w i t h t h e c o n t r o v e r s y o v e r DJ E n r i g h t , w h o c r i t i c i s e d t h e g o v e r n m e n t ' s c r a c k d o w n o n "yellow culture" more than 3 o years before. In the Enright affair, stud e n t s , j o u r n a l i s t s , a n d o r d i n a r y S i n g a p o r e a n s j u m p e d to t h e d e f e n c e of a p r o f e s s o r w h o t r a n s g r e s s e d t h e o f f i c i a l o r t h o d o x y . But n o t a v o i c e w a s r a i s e d i n d e f e n c e of L i n g l e . S i n g a p o r e a n s h a d i n t e r n a l i s e d t h e l i m i t s of p e r m i s s i b l e p u b l i c d i s c o u r s e . T h e y h a d o n l y to l o o k at J e y a r e t n a m to s e e w h a t c o u l d h a p p e n if t h e y s t r a y e d b e y o n d t h o s e l i m i t s .

240

T H E OLD W A R R I O R R I D E S AGAIN

H a r r i e d to t h e v e r g e of b a n k r u p t c y , h i s t r i u m p h at A n s o n r e c e d i n g i n t o the past, Jeyaretnam faded into the political b a c k g r o u n d d u r i n g the m i d - 1 9 9 0 s . H i s law p r a c t i c e s u f f e r e d f r o m t h e p e r c e p t i o n i f n o t t h e r e a l i t y t h a t j u d g e s w e r e b i a s e d a g a i n s t h i m . By 1 9 9 6 h e w a s 7 0 y e a r s o l d , p a u n c h y , a n d s l o w of gait. H i s f a m o u s m u t t o n c h o p s h a d g r o w n a luxuriant white, the hair o n his scalp had t h i n n e d , and his eyes blazed b e n e a t h increasingly craggy brows. M e n t a l l y , h o w e v e r , J e y a r e t n a m w a s as s h a r p as e v e r . H e w a s a g e i n g , y e s . But h e w a s also w a i t i n g w a i t i n g f o r a n o p p o r t u n i t y t o m e e t t h e v o t e r s a g a i n , to r e c e i v e t h e p e o p l e ' s v e r d i c t o n h i s s t r u g g l e s . T h e l o n g y e a r s had only sharpened his hunger. T h e r e w a s s p e c u l a t i o n t h a t t h e g o v e r n m e n t w o u l d call a n e l e c t i o n i n December 1994, and again in D e c e m b e r 1995. But t h e s i g n s were

u n m i s t a k a b l e b y t h e f a l l of 1 9 9 6 , w h e n t h e P A P r o l l e d out its f i r s t b a t c h of prospective candidates. Finally, president Ong Teng Cheong

a n n o u n c e d t h a t p o l l i n g day w o u l d t a k e p l a c e o n 2, January 1 9 9 7 . A t l o n g last, J e y a r e t n a m w o u l d g e t a n o t h e r c h a n c e at p a r l i a m e n t . A s always, J e y a r e t n a m f a c e d a n i m m e n s e c h a l l e n g e . T h e g o v e r n m e n t r e d r e w e l e c t o r a l b o u n d a r i e s i n O c t o b e r , b r i n g i n g t h e total n u m b e r of seats i n p a r l i a m e n t to 83. A t t h e s a m e t i m e , m o s t of t h e s i n g l e - m e m b e r constituencies were merged into massive group representation s t i t u e n c i e s , s o m e of w h i c h c o m p r i s e d m o r e t h a n con-

140,000 v o t e r s . N o n e

of t h e f o u r o p p o s i t i o n c o n s t i t u e n c i e s w e r e a l t e r e d , b u t s e v e r a l m a r g i n a l PAP wards were absorbed into neighbouring GRCs.

24

Lee's Law Beyond the difficulties of connecting with voters in the sprawling GRCs, opposition parties confronted the usual litany of handicaps, from a shortage of cash, to a pro-government media, to trouble attracting candidates. But Jeyaretnam remained undaunted. True to form, he had two surprises in store. The first was the news that Tang Liang Hong was joining the Workers' Party. A n affable, 61-year-old lawyer, Tang burst into prominence that year after senior minister Lee Kuan Yew and his son, deputy prime minister Lee Hsien Loong, sued him for libel for comments he made to a Hong Kong magazine, Yazhou Zhoukan, in June 1996. The magazine had asked Tang's opinion of a recent episode involving Hotel Properties Limited (HPL), a publicly listed company on the Stock Exchange of Singapore, which had offered generous "early bird" discounts on luxury apartments to several prominent Singaporeans, including the senior minister, whose discounts totalled S$4i6,ooo and the deputy prime minister, whose discounts totalled S$643,ooo. The discounts, which came to light in May 1996, aroused considerable attention, in part because SM Lee's younger brother, Dr Lee Suan Yew, was one of the company's directors, and in part because HPL did not report the discounts to the Stock Exchange of Singapore. To allay public concern, prime minister Goh Chok Tong commissioned an investigation by the minister of finance, Richard Hu, and the deputy managing director of the Monetary Authority of Singapore, Koh Beng Seng. Although the report cleared the Lees of any wrongdoing, prime minister Goh initiated new disclosure requirements for ministers, and the Lees announced that they would turn over the discounts to the government. Many Singaporeansincluding Jeyaretnamfelt that the HPL affair deserved closer scrutiny. And it was on precisely this question that Tang made the following comment to Yazhou Zhoukan: Why wasn't this matter handed over to a professional body like the Commercial Affairs Department or the Corrupt Practices Investigation Bureau? They are government departments not only rich in experience, but are also well known for being iron-faced with selfishness [a Chinese 242

the old w a r r i o r

rides

again

expression meaning tough but fair.] They would be more detached and their reports would have b e e n more convincing to the people. Koh Beng Seng and Finance Minister Richard Hu are after all not experts in the field. 1

It was hardly a cry for the barricades. But Lee Kuan Yew's allergy to criticism was as acute as ever. Along with his son, Lee sued Tang and the editor, publisher, and printer of Yazhou Zhoukan for libel. Subsequently, the editor, publisher, and printer apologised, and paid the Lees a total of S$45o,ooo in damages. Tang refused to apologise, however. He later explained:

It was a matter of principle. To me, I was touching on a topic of public interest. Whether as a matter of public policy, it is right for so many people holding high positions, to get deep discounts through

guan xi

[connections] f r o m a publicly listed c o m p a n y w h i c h is supposed to maximise returns for shareholders? A n d my comment was very fair. Why should this case not be handled like any other case? It was time to stand up to Lee Kuan Yew. 2

Tang had been critical of the government before. All his life he had been a passionate believer that all Singaporeanswhether Chinese, Malay, or Indianshould know their own language and culture. But in the early nineties he became concerned that Chinese Singaporeans in particular were losing touch with their roots. Progressively fewer Chinese Singaporeans had any mastery of Mandarin, and the Chinese Buddhist community was not nearly as active as the Chinese Christian community. Despite his strong feelings about language and religion among Singapore's Chinese, Tang was essentially an establishment figure. He had a successful law practice, lived in a bungalow in Bukit Timah, drove a Mercedes, and belonged to the Singapore Cricket Club. His defection to the Workers' Party was front-page news. But Jeyaretnam had another surprise. Most political observers expected him to fight in one of the smaller single-party constituencies. Jeyaretnam deliberately fostered this impression with a series of 24,3

Lee's Law walkabouts in Kampong Glam, a working-class ward at the mouth of the Kallang river. But at 11:35AM on nomination day, Jeyaretnam, Tang, and three other candidates marched into the Nomination Centre in the suburb of Bishan, and filed papers to run for the Cheng San GRCa sprawling five-seat constituency in the north-eastern part of the island. Jeyaretnam's long-awaited return to the hustings hit an immediate snag. After the candidates submitted their papers, copies were posted on a bulletin board in the hallway while elections officials processed the paperwork. With minutes to go before the deadline elapsed, the minister for education, Lee Yock Suan, who was defending Cheng San, lodged a complaint against Jeyaretnam's application: the signature of the commissioner of oaths was above, and not below, the rubber stamp. There followed a tense and chaotic scene. One of the Workers' Party men accused the elections clerks of being biased towards the PAP. Jeyaretnam whirled on him, and made him apologise on the spot. Finally, the elections officer overruled the PAP's objection and allowed Jeyaretnam to stand. Jeyaretnam emerged from the centre to meet his son and daughter-in-law, Philip and Cindy, and his 31-month-old grandson, Tristan. There were tears in his eyes, tears of frustration and relief. Jeyaretnam's decision to make his stand in Cheng San caught almost everyone off guard. First, Cheng San was a big ward, boasting more than 100,000 voters. Second, it meant going head to head with a PAP team anchored by the minister for education, Lee Yock Suan. And third, Cheng San was 90 per cent Chinese. 3 But, at heart, Jeyaretnam was a gambler, and he liked to raise the stakes. A win in Cheng San would mean five seats in parliament and the defeat of a PAP minister. In addition, he had never subscribed to indeed, he invariably bristled atsuggestions that the Workers' Party appealed to ethnic minorities. He was a man of the people, the workers, the ordinary Singaporeans at the bottom of the ladder, no matter what their race. And in Tang Liang Hong, he found a team-mate who could connect with Chinese voters on their own terms. After a decade in the wilderness, Jeyaretnam had staked his claim. Cheng Sanwhich means "Quiet Hill"would be his Waterloo. As reporters crowded around him outside the nomination centre, he felt a

the old w a r r i o r

rides

again

s u r g e of e x h i l a r a t i o n . " W h a t d o e s it f e e l l i k e to b e b a c k i n p o l i t i c s ? " h e was asked. "I've waited, waited now for t e n years, I've waited," he replied. " H o w do y o u t h i n k I f e e l ? " 4 * Despite the usual bickering, Singapore's o p p o s i t i o n parties agreed to repeat the b y - e l e c t i o n strategy that h a d p r o v e d so successful in the p r e vious general election. In 1 9 9 7 , they had fielded only 36 candidates for t h e n a t i o n ' s 83 p a r l i a m e n t a r y s e a t s , t h e r e b y g u a r a n t e e i n g t h a t t h e P A P would remain in power. But t h i s t i m e t h e P A P r e s p o n d e d w i t h a n i n g e n i o u s s t r a t e g y of its o w n . O p e n i n g t h e c a m p a i g n , p r i m e m i n i s t e r G o h C h o k T o n g v o w e d to wage the election on a local, not national basis. I n particular, he issued a stark ultimatum: constituencies that r e j e c t e d the PAP, h e w a r n e d , w o u l d b e d e n i e d o n e of t h e g o v e r n m e n t ' s m o s t p o p u l a r p r o g r a m m e s t h e u p g r a d i n g of H o u s i n g a n d D e v e l o p m e n t B o a r d e s t a t e s . By r 9 9 6 a n e s t i m a t e d 8 6 p e r c e n t of S i n g a p o r e ' s p o p u l a t i o n l i v e d i n H D B f l a t s , 5 b u i l t b y t h e g o v e r n m e n t i n o n e of t h e m o s t a m b i t i o u s p r o g r a m m e s of p u b l i c h o u s i n g a n y w h e r e i n t h e w o r l d . T h e u b i q u i t o u s H D B blocks l o o m e d square and squat against every skyline like gigantic and

b l o c k s of L e g o . M a n y w e r e c o n s t r u c t e d i n t h e r 9 6 o s o r 1 9 7 0 s ,

s h o w e d t h e i r age, w i t h p e e l i n g p a i n t , c r u m b l i n g c o n c r e t e , a n d a s t a r k , utilitarian design. Most H D B - d w e l l e r s owned their own flats, w h i c h they were free to d e c o r a t e a n d r e n o v a t e . But t h e r e w a s l i t t l e t h e y c o u l d d o to i m p r o v e c o m m u n a l a m e n i t i e s s u c h as e l e v a t o r s , p a r k i n g l o t s , p l a y g r o u n d s , w a l k ways, and parks. T h e s e were o w n e d and m a i n t a i n e d by the H D B a n d only the H D B could spruce t h e m up. U p g r a d i n g m a d e a n e n o r m o u s d i f f e r e n c e to t h e l o o k a n d f e e l of h o u s i n g e s t a t e s a n d to t h e v a l u e of t h e H D B f l a t s t h e m s e l v e s . I n o n e estate, f o r e x a m p l e , t h e g o v e r n m e n t a d d e d t w o p l a y g r o u n d s , two p o w e r s u b s t a t i o n s , a n d a m u l t i - l e v e l car p a r k . M a s t e r b e d r o o m s w e r e e n l a r g e d , t o i l e t s i m p r o v e d , a n d elevators n o w s t o p p e d at e v e i y floor ( i n s t e a d of s k i p p i n g alternate floors.) A s a result of t h e i m p r o v e m e n t s , t h e v a l u e of a t h r e e -

245

Lee's Law room flat climbed by more than S$ioo,ooo. 6 Best of all, from the residents' point of view, the programme was heavily subsidised. Unveiling the strategy, prime minister Goh was anything but subtle:

You vote for the other side, that m e a n s you reject the p r o g r a m m e s of the PAP candidate ... If y o u reject it, we respect your choice. T h e n you'll be l e f t b e h i n d , t h e n i n 2,0, 3 o years' time, the whole of Singapore will be bustling away, and your estate through your own choice will b e left b e h i n d . T h e y b e c o m e slums. That's m y m e s s a g e . 7

Goh's threat to give opposition wards the lowest priority in upgrading sent a collective chill through the spines of Singaporeans. It also played on a distinctive Singaporean trait known as kiasu a Hokkien term meaning "scared to lose." By the late 1990s Singapore society had become increasingly materialistic, and kiasu Singaporeans were obsessed with keeping up with the Joneses. The PAP's threat to withhold upgrading from opposition constituencies represented a return to classic hardball tactics. Jeyaretnam deplored the move as "unethical and immoral." 8 While reaction in local newspapers ranged from outright endorsement to timid equivocation, foreign papers were more forthright, line in Asiaweek.9 In
NO MORE MR NICE GUY was

the head-

Washington, Sharon Bowman, a spokeswoman for

the US State Department, condemned the threat:

We believe that voters everywhere should be able to vote without fear of repercussions f r o m the government as a result of the exercise of their responsibilities as citizens. 1 0

Like Singaporeans across the island, voters in Cheng San were eagerly awaiting upgrading. Some of them had been resettled from the farms and kampongs bulldozed to make way for the HDB housing estates. In addition, the government had unveiled plans to convert nearby Punggol Point into a major new suburb, linked by a light-rail feeder to the proposed north-east subway line. Instead of lurching down Serangoon Road in a slow, crowded bus, commuters looked 246

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f o r w a r d t o a s m o o t h , a i r - c o n d i t i o n e d r i d e i n a g l e a m i n g s u b w a y car. B u t n o n e of t h i s w o u l d h a p p e n , t h e y w e r e t o l d , if t h e y v o t e d f o r t h e W o r k e r s ' Party.11 W h y d i d p r i m e m i n i s t e r G o h resort to s u c h a b l u n t f o r m of political i n t i m i d a t i o n ? In a n effort to explain the party's hardball tactics, p o l i t i cal s c i e n t i s t D e r e k da C u n h a writes:

People everywhere tend to become more outspoken, more critical, and more demonstrative when they see the power of government weakened, if only marginally. This is no less the case for Singaporeans.12

A l t h o u g h t h e P A P w a s already g u a r a n t e e d a m a j o r i t y of seats i n p a r liament, G o h was determined not to cede any m o r e g r o u n d to the

opposition. Every seat the g o v e r n m e n t lost brought the o p p o s i t i o n c l o s er to critical m a s s and w e a k e n e d the g o v e r n m e n t ' s psychological hold over the population. T h e PAP had dominated the nation's politics since i n d e p e n d e n c e ; it w a s n o t p r e p a r e d t o s a c r i f i c e t h a t p r i m a c y .

J e y a r e t n a m p l u n g e d i n t o the c a m p a i g n w i t h t h e e n e r g y of a m a n 3 o y e a r s y o u n g e r . O n the first day of the n i n e - d a y e l e c t i o n cycle, h e hit the trail at 6:OOAM, p a s s i n g o u t f l y e r s a n d g r e e t i n g c o m m u t e r s in a T-shirt

e m b l a z o n e d " P o w e r to the People." T h e n h e s p e n t four hours w a l k i n g through Cheng San. "The spirit of A n s o n is in the air," he told

reporters.13 For ten years, Jeyaretnam had wandered through the lonely political w i l d e r n e s s . N o w h e w a s b a c k a n d S i n g a p o r e a n s g r e e t e d h i m as a l o n g lost savior. W o r k e r s ' Party rallies d r e w h u g e c r o w d s , s o m e t i m e s as m a n y as 3 o , o o o p e o p l e . 1 4 R e u t e r s j o u r n a l i s t R e n e P a s t o r d e s c r i b e d a t y p i c a l scene:

The crowd, which already numbered several thousand, continued to swell in the gathering dusk despite the heavy clouds that began to sweep in and threaten rain. A breeze began to blow across the still, muddy meadow. Matrons cradling children tried to juggle their infants.

Lee's Law
Wrinkled old m e n carried their own chairs and umbrellas, prepared to stay put and listen even if the rain fell. Whole families strode in to attend the rally, while mosquitoes started swarming out of the nearby river. 1 5

The gigantic rallies re-energised Jeyaretnam. He was quietly confident that the PAP's upgrading strategy would backfire. Days into the campaign, however, the PAP opened up a second front. Prime minister Goh Chok Tong launched a full-scale assault on Workers' Party candidate Tang Liang Hong. Calling Tang a "dangerous character," Goh accused him of being a Chinese chauvinist whose extremist views on Chinese education and religion would tear apart Singapore's fragile communal harmony. 16 These charges stemmed from a speech Tang had made three years before, where he predicted increasing tension among Buddhist and Taoist families as more young Chinese Singaporeans converted to Christianity. In that speech, he also noted that the government and civil service was increasingly dominated by English-educated Christians, and suggested that Chinese-educated Buddhists and Taoists learn from the Christian community how to maintain their influence. At first, the campaign to tar Tang as a Chinese chauvinist seemed almost surreal. Tang spoke Malay and had performed Indian dances. His daughter, Kelly, was a Christian. His team-mate, Jeyaretnam, was a Christian. But day after day, as the PAP stepped up its attack, Singaporeans began to have doubts. Tang's election speeches might sound reasonable, prime minister Goh said, but at heart he was an extremist who would plunge Singapore into the nightmare of racial strife. Education minister Lee Yock Suan said that Singapore voters only had to look across the Indian Ocean to the sad fate of Sri Lanka, where Tamil rebels were locked in a bloody struggle against the Sinhalese government, to see the dangers of electing Tang. 17 The PAP charges were recited at length by local newspapers, whose coverage of the election was strikingly partisan. One such example was a stoiy on the front page of the Straits Times, headlined
OPPORTUNISTS: SERIOUS MEN

vs.

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There is a clear difference between how the People's Action Party selects its election candidates and how the opposition parties do it, and the result can be seen in the men being thrown up, PAP leaders said last night. Whereas the PAP sought out "serious men with a serious purpose," who could help lead the countiy, opposition parties adopted "strange bedfellows out of political opportunism." Speaking at the party's first rally for the Jan. t General Election, held in Hougang last night, Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong and Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew noted that the PAP spent many years looking for good men and scrutinised these candidates carefully before they were fielded. In contrast, the opposition parties seemed only too ready to take in candidates who appeared credible, but who proved on closer scrutiny to be of questionable character and to have hidden motives. 18 Tang himself was shocked by the ferocity of the attack. "I had never expected that they would go to such an extent," he said later. "I would never believe what would happen to me and my family." 1 9 Once again, the PAP had rewritten the script. Suddenly, the election had become a referendum on religious harmony, with Tang cast as the agent of intolerance. Declaring that Tang had to be "stopped," prime minister Goh and other top PAP leaders personally campaigned in Cheng San. Goh challenged Tang to sue for libel if he were truly innocent of the charges, then labeled Tang a "coward" when he said he was too busy to file papers. 20 The PAP's campaign against Tang was clearly drawing blood. He began to receive death threats, and appealed to the prime minister and others to withdraw their accusations. The PAP was "concocting lies" about him, he said. If they refused to stop, he would have no choice but to lodge a report with the police for defaming him and endangering his life. 2 1 The final days of the campaign witnessed two startling developments. At a rally in Cheng San, prime minister Goh unveiled a new refinement to the PAP's strategy of linking votes to upgrading. Rather than penalise an entire constituency for supporting the opposition, the

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Lee's Law
P A P w o u l d target s m a l l e r d i v i s i o n s p r e c i n c t s of r o u g h l y 5 , 0 0 0 v o t e r s eachand schedule opposition precincts for lowest priority. The

i m p l i c a t i o n s were clear: t h e P A P c o u l d zero i n o n p o c k e t s of o p p o s i t i o n and punish t h e m accordingly. Political s c i e n t i s t D e r e k da C u n h a b e l i e v e d t h e l a s t - m i n u t e t i m i n g of t h e a n n o u n c e m e n t was h i g h l y s i g n i f i c a n t :

That the Prime Minister chose the eleventh hour to reveal that the government would ... determine priorities amongst precincts within constituencies for HDB upgrading does not appear to have been an accident. It seemed to have been carefully timed, as the last card the PAP would play in its carefully conducted election campaign. And it would an issue right at the forefront of voters' minds just hours before they cast their votes. 2 2

T h e o t h e r d e v e l o p m e n t was T a n g ' s l a s t - m i n u t e d e c i s i o n to l o d g e o f f i c i a l c o m p l a i n t s against P A P l e a d e r s f o r f a l s e l y a c c u s i n g h i m of i n t o l erance and endangering his l i f e a seemingly inconsequential act

w h i c h w o u l d u l t i m a t e l y s e n d T a n g into exile a n d J e y a r e t n a m i n t o b a n k ruptcy. * A l t h o u g h t h e u l t i m a t e o u t c o m e of t h e g e n e r a l e l e c t i o n was n e v e r i n d o u b t w i t h o n l y 3 6 seats at stake, t h e P A P was automatically r e t u r n e d to p o w e r t e n s i o n s ran h i g h o n p o l l i n g day, e s p e c i a l l y i n C h e n g San. A f t e r t h e polls c l o s e d , t h o u s a n d s of P A P a n d W P s u p p o r t e r s d e s c e n d e d o n t h e c o u n t i n g centre at t h e B i s h a n Institute of T e c h n i c a l E d u c t i o n , a r m e d w i t h radios, f l a g s , a n d m i n i a t u r e t e l e v i s i o n sets, c h a n t i n g s l o g a n s s u c h as

Kiasu

(uptight) f r o m t h e W o r k e r s '

Party a n d

Berjaya

(victory) f r o m t h e

PAP. 2 3

A t 9 : 0 0 P M p r i m e m i n i s t e r G o h a n d d e p u t y p r i m e m i n i s t e r Lee H s i e n L o o n g , w h o h a d already w o n t h e i r o w n seats, arrived i n C h e n g S a n to await t h e results. O n e b y o n e , t h e results f r o m t h e o t h e r c o n s t i t u e n c i e s t r i c k l e d in. D r C h e e S o o n Juan, w h o h a d t a k e n o v e r t h e r e i n s of t h e S i n g a p o r e D e m o c r a t i c Party f r o m C h i a m See T o n g a f t e r a n u g l y split,

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went down to defeat at the hands of PAP MP Matthias Yao. The PAP had recaptured two seats from the SDP. So far, the only opposition victories were the WP's Low Thia Khiang in Hougang and Chiam See Tong, now with the Singapore People's Party, in Potong Pasir. By 1:15AM Cheng San was the only constituency whose results were still unknown. Outside the counting centre, the suspense mounted. Finally, at ?:?OAM, the returning officer took the stage outside the counting centre to announce the results: the PAP team had received 53,553 votes; the Workers' Party, 44,13?. Once again, Jeyaretnam had been beaten. Jeyaretnam was stunned by the results. The massive Workers' Party rallies had bubbled with excitement. How could that effervescence have fizzled at the ballot box? Standing on the platform after the results were announced, he glared at the PAP team, clad in their white suits. He was so angiy he could not even bring himself to make a full concession: For the time being, it would appear that the PAP has won. But it's not the end of the battle because there are a number of things which we have to consider veiy seriously and perhaps we will present some of these things tomorrow at the press conference.24 After he spoke, the Workers' Party supporters chanted "kelong"a sporting taunt meaning "the fix is i n " l o n g into the night. Jeyaretnam repeated his bewilderment at the results the next day. "It is veiy difficult for us to understand how [voters] could come to our rallies and show their total agreement to what we were saying and then, come polling day, there is a change." 25 At first glance, it does seem strange that the huge and enthusiastic crowds at the Workers' Party rallies did not translate into victory at Cheng San. But as political scientist Derek da Cunha has pointed out, many Singaporeans were drawn to the Workers' Party rallies by sheer curiosity: In recent years, in most Western countries, election rallies have tended to draw the party faithful and have been largely intended for a television *5'

Lee's Law audience. In Singapore, however, rallies draw a spectrum of people with diverse political persuasions. And, for the Opposition in particular, rallies are a major part of an election campaign intended for a party which has been relatively inactive between electionsto get its message across to voters. With this phenomenon taking place only during a nine-day period once every four or five years, it clearly generates a great deal of curiosity in even the most apolitical of Singaporeans. 26 In addition, Jeyaretnam's deep faith in the c o m m o n man sometimes eclipsed his political judgment. A s Workers' Party MP Low Thia Khiang later put it:

Jeyaretnam is veiy optimistic about the ground. As a result sometimes I think we might have stretched our resources too far. The basic fact is that the opposition party is there to provide a choice during an election. But sometimes you have to assess the reality. Are the voters ready for a change? Is the party ready? 27 Jeyaretnam could not help wondering if a last-minute PAP "trick" had been the key to securing victoiy in Cheng San. On polling day, prime minister Goh, deputy minister Lee Hsien Loong, and other PAP heavyweights visited polling stations in Cheng San before the polls closed, shaking hands with voters about to cast their ballot. Singapore's election regulations, contained in the Parliamentary Elections Act, specified that only voters, candidates, counting agents, and election officials were allowed inside polling stations. All others were required to stay at least 200 metres away. The provisions were originally drawn up to prevent gangs of hoodlums f r o m intimidating voters. But Jeyaretnam suspected that the presence of the prime m i n i s ter and other top government officials might have deterred some voters from casting their ballot for the Workers' Party. A f t e r all, each voter's national identification number was matched to a serial number on the ballot's counterfoil. The Workers' Party had reassured voters on many occasions that their ballot was secret, and there is no evidence that individuals had

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ever suffered reprisals for casting their ballot. But as they walked to the polling station under the gaze of the prime minister himself, it was not hard to imagine that some voters were beset by doubt. Prime minister Goh shrugged off the complaint. He told reporters he had visited the polling stations in Cheng San for ten minutes at a time, but had not gone inside. "Maximum ten minutes in each placeyou can't influence the voting people by standing around for ten minutes," he said. If Jeyaretnam continued to press his complaint, even to the extent of bringing it to the United Nations, Goh said he would "laugh my head off." 2 8 Against the backdrop of a general election where millions of voters went to the polls without incident, the infraction was minor. The PAP's margin of victory in Cheng San was almost 9,500 votes. Perhaps a few dozen voters were swayed by the presence of PAP top brass; perhaps a few hundred. But five thousand? It seemed unlikely. Nonetheless, prime minister Goh was not a candidate at Cheng San, and his visits to the polling stations there seemed to violate the rules, so Jeyaretnam lodged an official complaint. The resulting investigation, released in June 1997, disclosed a startling fact: six top PAP leaders including prime minister Goh Chok Tong, deputy prime minister Lee Hsien Loong, deputy prime minister Tony Tan, minister for law S Jayakumar, and MPs S Vasoo and Tan Guan Senghad not only visited polling stations, but had entered them while voting was in progress. (The investigation also found that two Workers' Party men, MP Low Thia Khiang and Goh Yew Chye, had entered polling stations.) 29 The investigation contradicted prime minister Goh's statement that he had never entered the polling stations. But attorney-general Chan Sek Keong dismissed Jeyaretnam's complaint on the grounds that being inside a polling station was not the same thing as being within a 200metre perimeter of one: The relevant question is whether any person who is inside a polling station can be said to be "within a radius of 200 metres of any polling station." The answer to this question will also answer any question on

Lee's Law

loitering inside a polling station. Plainly, a person inside a polling station cannot be said to be within a radius of 200 metres of a polling station. A polling station must have adequate space for the voting to be carried out. Any space has a perimeter. The words 'within a radius of 200 m' therefore mean '200 m from the perimeter of any polling station.30 Therefore, Chan concluded, the prime minister had committed no offence. Jeyaretnam was flabbergasted by this pretzel logic: It was with some amazement we read of this decision that no offence had been committed by those worthy gentlemen inside Cheng San polling centre. I must confess, I find it baffling. It seems to suggest they can flock in by the hundreds, like people seeking the sanctuary of a church.31 But he gained little traction with the issue. The Straits Times' report on the entire investigation consisted of a single article buried on page fifty-two.

The general elections of 1997 were generally regarded as Singapore's nastiest political contest in years. 32 Jeyaretnam called it a "very dirty chapter" in the nation's history. 33 After years of pursuing a kinder, gentler style of government, prime minister Goh showed his teethand got results. The PAP recaptured two opposition wards held by the SDP, bringing its parliamentary tally to 81 out of a total of 83 seats. It also nudged its share of overall votes from 6r per cent to 65 per cent, reversing a gradual decline since the late sixties. "The [voters] have rejected Western-style liberal democracy and freedoms putting individual rights over that of society," Goh said. 34 Jeyaretnam's first dilemma after the election was whether to accept a non-constituency seat in the new parliament. Because only two opposition candidates had won their seats outright, the nearest runner-up was now entitled to claim an NCMP seat. Since the battle in Cheng San had

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been lost by the narrowest margin, any one of the five Workers' Parly candidates could claim the seat. Jeyaretnam was the obvious choice. But Jeyaretnam was also one of the harshest critics of the NCMP system. When it had been introduced, back in 1984, he had declared it "a fraud on the electorate." Although the Workers' Party later reversed itself and accepted two NCMP seats in 1988, Jeyaretnam remained opposed to the concept. Now, however, the NCMP scheme represented Jeyaretnam's only chance to return to parliamentback to the chamber that had expelled him more than ten years before. It was a chance to overturn the "grievous injustice" he had suffered. And it was also a chance to represent the 45 per cent of voters in Cheng San who supported the Workers' Party in the face of PAP threats to withhold their upgrading and their subway service. The decision belonged to the Workers Party's nine-member executive council. Some of them believed it would be hypocritical to take the seat; others argued that the party could not afford to turn it down. In the end, the council voted to accept: Jeyaretnam would reclaim his place on the opposition bench. Announcing the decision, Jeyaretnam said: The executive council [of the Workers' Party] was deeply conscious that the voters of Cheng San were not allowed to exercise their vote freely with their minds untroubled by the fear that national infrastructure projects such as the MRT [mass rapid transport] or LRT [light rail transport] would be withheld from Cheng San GRC if they voted the Workers' Party candidates into Parliament.35 It was, without question, a compromise one of the few compromises of Jeyaretnam's political career. For although he could now sit in parliament, he could not claim to represent a particular constituency. Henceforth he would have to concede that his seat in parliament stemmed from the PAP's generosity. Whenever he criticised the PAP's anti-democratic leanings, he would have the fact that he was an NCMP thrown back in his face. The day the news broke, PAP MP Dr Tan Cheng Bock made an acid

55

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comment about Jeyaretnam's decision. "I was surprised," Dr Tan told the Straits Times. "I thought he was a man of principle." 36

Even as Jeyaretnam wrestled with the political implications of the NCMP seat, Singapore reverberated with the after-shocks of the election. In keeping with the PAP's litigious habit, the political struggle during the campaign was transformed into a legal one afterwards. The first victim was Jeyaretnam's erstwhile compatriot, Tang Liang Hong. The day after the election, fearful that his life was in danger. Tang ' slipped across the causeway to Johor Bahru, where he carried on a longdistance war of words with the PAP. By the end of the month, he faced a barrage of libel suits filed by top PAP members for his remarks during and after the electionironically, one round of libel suits against Tang was triggered by his threat to sue prime minister Goh for libel. Altogether the election and its aftermath spawned no fewer than i3 libel suits against Tang, each brought by top PAP leaders, each with its own calendar of hearings. Tang's lawyers quickly bowed out of the case. There was only one lawyer willing to defend himJeyaretnam. The labyrinthine Tang affair, replete with writs, injunctions, and appeals, dominated headlines for months. Several key hearings were held before justice Lai Kew Chaithe same judge who in 1986 had imposed the fine that got Jeyaretnam kicked out of parliament. In fact, justice Lai himself was connected to the HPL affair, the controversy that formed the basis for several of the libel suits against Tang. Justice Lai had received an "early bird" discount from HPL for an apartment in Nassim Jade, signing the purchase agreement on the same day as senior minister Lee Kuan Yew and deputy prime minister Lee Hsien Loong. 37 In view of justice Lai's involvement in Nassim Jade, his former association with law firm Lee & Lee, and his friendship with senior minister Lee, Tang filed an affidavit asking justice Lai to disqualify himself. But as so often with opposition politicians in Singapore, this manoeuvre boomeranged. Not only did justice Lai decide to hear the case, but he denounced Tang's application in unmistakable terms, calling him a liar and a coward, and depicting the request as "malicious," 256

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"scurrilous," "vicious," and "poisonous." 3 8 He also referred both Tang and Jeyaretnam to the Law Society for disciplinary action for attacking the integrity of the High Court. The twists and turns of the Tang affair dragged on for months. Tang lost all i3 cases, and in May was ordered to pay S$8 million in damages, breaking all previous records. While the massive damages spoke volumes about the political situation in Singapore, the proceedings themselves were almost as revealing. A typical scene was a hearing on 3o May before justice Goh Joon Seng, located in the old City Hall building, a gigantic colonial relic with magnificent brass fixtures, vaulted ceilings, and security officers clad in white suits topped by jaunty red fezes. In spite of the solemn atmosphere, dozens of tiny birds flitted along the corridors and hallways, darting in through the open windows of the cupola and squabbling among the rafters. 39 On one side of the courtroom, representing the PAP leaders, stood Davinder Singh, a razor-sharp Sikh barrister and a PAP MP himself, dressed in a black robe and a scarlet turban, strutting about like an emperor penguin, with a flock of assistants diligently rooting out colour-coded files from meticulously organised boxes. On the other side, appearing alone for the defendant, with his grand white muttonchops and craggy eyebrows, his sad eyes with the pupils going milky at the edges, stood Jeyaretnam, hunched forward, his black robe pulled askance over his shoulders, his knuckles resting on the thick bundle of documents piled before him. The issue was a technical question of considerable significance to Tang. Jeyaretnam wanted to bundle all of Tang's appeals together into one single action. Davinder Singh wanted to keep them separate. The practical difference was that if the cases were consolidated Tang would only have to put up S$5,ooo in security; if they were kept separate, he would have to post S $ i ? o , o o o . In his diy, dusky baritone, with a veiled gruffness whose disguise wore thinner and thinner, Jeyaretnam objected and implored, arguing that keeping the appeals separate only served to multiply the legal costs costs that Tang would have to bear if he lost. 257

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It is a strange experience to listen to a lawyer argue a case when the entire courtroom is plainly against him. Every statement seems to fall flat. Every precedent seems to miss the mark. Every argument seems destined to fail. Once or twice, Jeyaretnam turned to peer at the sea of hostile faces behind him, while Singh's teamat least a dozen attorneys, clerks, and assistantssnickered down their sleeves. Then he faced the judge again, invoking legal principles like a sorcerer whose spells have lost their power. The judge removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He dismissed Jeyaretnam's motion and adjourned the hearing. The PAP team trooped out of the courtroom, with Singh in the lead, while the local reporters jostled each other to get a quote from him. A s Singh & Co disappeared down the corridor, Jeyaretnam trudged out of the courtroom, with his robe flung over his elbow, hauling a battered briefcase in one arm and lugging two enormous files in the other, already late for his next appointment.
* *

After rr years of exile in a political no-man's-land, Jeyaretnam's parliamentary homecoming took place on 26 May 1997. It was a quietly historic moment. Most of the PAP's other political adversaries had been exiled, jailed, co-opted, or broken. Since r97r Jeyaretnam had withstood everything the PAP had thrown at him. Now he was back in parliament, battered but unbowed. Dressed in a green suit with a red carnation, Jeyaretnam raised his right hand and swore to "faithfully discharge my duties to the best of my ability, swear true faith of allegiance to the Republic of Singapore and preserve and protect and defend the Constitution." Parliament's first order of business was to elect the Speaker, Tan Soo Khoon. After congratulating the Speaker on his re-election, Jeyaretnam noted his personal satisfaction at returning to the chamber. "I am delighted to be back," he said. "My delight is all the more when I see the delight of the faces of the front bench in front of me." 4 0 He soon showed that he was as feisty as ever. In his first speech,

the old w a r r i o r

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delivered on 4 June, he attacked the general election as a "sham" and described the PAP as a "mafia government." 41 He called for the abolition of detention without trial, removing the curbs on free speech and assembly, reform of defamation laws, and a Freedom of Information Act: Mr Speaker, Sir, what we have to learn is to be able to trust our people, that our people have the intelligence and the capabilities to safeguard Singapore's future. It is when decisions are made on the collective wisdom of our people that the country can survive. A government that relies on fear of the people is not a democratic government that rules by the people partaking in the decisions. Agovernment that rules by fear is a Mafia government. Mr Speaker, Sir, I know a number of Ministers will rise and say I am talking nonsense. But I have found in this country a fear that grips our people.42 Unfortunately, Jeyaretnam's triumphant return to parliament was largely overshadowed by the NCMP issue. Reviewing Jeyaretnam's first speech. Straits Times journalist Koh Buck Song compared it to a "a rerun of a dusty old recording." Finally, even Jeyaretnam cannot dispute one obvious point that will no doubt be raised against him many more times by PAP MPs in the next five years. The NCMP's very existence in the House argues silently but loudlyagainst his own claim that there is no room for more say in decision-making in this democracy... The fact that Mr Jeyaretnam can sit as a fully legitimate member and raise any old issue he wants to is as if the "mafia government" as he called it had invited a senior vigilante right into its own den.43 But while establishment Singaporeans were busy congratulating themselves on this demonstration of political generosity, another controversy was looming on the horizonone with disturbing implications for Singapore's brand of democracy.

259

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In its first two decades of power the PAP tended to imprison its most dangerous political opponents, making use of the draconian Internal Security Act to detain them without trial. Starting in the 1970s, however, the PAP adopted a much subtler approach: it sued them. Prime minister Lee Kuan Yew sued Jeyaretnam for making defamatory innuendoes in his speech about the Tat Lee Bank in 1976. Lee sued him again for asking about the suicide of Teh Cheang Wan in 1988. Lee sued United Front leader Seow Khee Leng in 1989. Lee sued the Far Eastern Economic Review in 1989. Lee sued Singapore United Front member Quek Teow Chuan Lee in 1991. Lee and his son, Lee Hsien Loong, sued Workers' Party candidate Wee Han Kim in 1992. PAP MP S Vasoo sued Chee Soon Juan of the Singapore Democratic Parly in 1994. Five PAP MPs sued the Workers' Party in 1995. Lee Kuan Yew, his son Lee Hsien Loong, and prime minister Goh Chok Tong sued the International Herald Tribune twice in 1995. And then there was the barrage of libel suits against Tang Liang Hong. [See Appendix] Human-rights groups such as Amnesty International and the International Commission of Jurists were alarmed by the PAP's growing habit of using the law of defamation against its critics. But the PAP did not stop at Tang. In January 1997, the same 11 leaders of the PAP launched a withering legal bombardment against Jeyaretnamsuing him over a statement uttered in the dying minutes of the campaign. The astonishing thing was that Jeyaretnam's statement was unquestionably, incontestably true. 7,60

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Earlier in the campaign Tang had threatened to lodge a police complaint against PAP leaders for spreading lies about him. This was an unusual prospect, because libel is usually litigated in civil courts between two parties, and is seldom prosecuted as a criminal offence. Nonetheless, Tang carried through with his promise. At 6:00PM on 1 January, the day before polling day, he filed two reports accusing prime minister Goh, senior minister Lee, and several other PAP leaders of defaming him. Tang then rushed to the Workers' Party rally at Yio Chu Kang stadium, and joined Jeyaretnam on the speakers' platform. Standing before a giant banner emblazoned with the Workers' Party hammer, in the glare of the stadium's floodlights, garlanded with flowers, Jeyaretnam was winding up his final speech of the campaign: I have told you before, Mr Tang is not a Chinese chauvinist. As I said, they don't even know the meaning of the word 'chauvinist'. Neither is he anti-Christian. And I have said they can charge him in court if he is, you know, inciting people about Chinese language and being antiChristian. But I also give an assurance that it's not Mr Tang alone, you know. Mr Tang is coming in as a member of the Workers' Party. He is in the Workers' Party, not alone. And so, don't worry about what Mr Goh says and what the Government says. I have told you that if Mr Tang goes about expressing anti-Christian views and sentiments, we will expel him from the party. So, he can no longer be a Member of Parliament if he goes round inciting the Chinese against the other minorities, we will equally expel him. So, tell Mr Goh Chok Tong to shut up and keep quiet. Now, so, my friends, please, you're not voting for upgrading, you're not voting to protect yourself from Mr Tang because the Workers' Party will take care of it ... you're voting for your rights as citizens of this country. At this point, Tang approached Jeyaretnam on the platform, put an envelope on the speakers' podium, and whispered in his ear. Jeyaretnam nodded, and continued with his speech: 261

Lee's Law I ask you to stand firm. Don't let fear, you know, stop you from voting for your rights. Tang was clearly frustrated. He leaned into the podium, and tapped at the envelope, as if to remind Jeyaretnam of its contents. Appearing somewhat irritated by these interruptions, Jeyaretnam asked the crowd to disperse in an orderly fashion, so as not to cause any trouble with the police. And then, for the first time, he mentioned the reports: And, finally, Mr Tang Liang Hong has just placed before me two reports he has made to the police against, you know, Mr Goh Chok Tong and his people. Just remember. Have one thing onyour mind, one purpose, one will, that it is not for Tang Liang Hong you are voting, or for me or for the Workers' Party. You are voting for yourself. The PAP have been trying desperately to win this battle. They've been trying to stop you from voting for your rights. Well, show them tomorrow .. .if you do that, I will be very proud of you people. Jeyaretnam's brief comment about the police reports contained no element of falsehood or deceit. Tang had indeed filed the police reports, and placed them in front of Jeyaretnam. But senior minister Lee and the other PAP politicians claimed that the allegations contained in the reportswhich Jeyaretnam had not even readwere themselves false and malicious. By publicising the reports, they said, Jeyaretnam had implicitly endorsed their contents and therefore defamed them. Prime minister Goh subsequently likened Jeyaretnam's announcement to a "Molotov Cocktail." Of all the libel suits the PAP aimed against its critics, the case of the Molotov Cocktail was the most fantasticand the most revealing. The PAP justified its all-out assault against Tang on the grounds that he had disturbed Singapore's delicate ethnic harmonya doubtful claim, but one that provided at least a scrap of intellectual camouflage. But whatever Jeyaretnam's other transgressions, he never veered into communal or religious politics. It was difficult to see the case against him as any262

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thing but a personal vendettapayback for his return to parliament. For many years Jeyaretnam's troubles had largely been ignored outside Singapore. Condemned to the sidelines, he had become a figure of marginal interest to a world pre-occupied by its Gulf Wars and Bosnias, its Tiananmen Squares and its Monica Lewinskys. Given the far bloodier conflicts in far more populous countries, Singapore politics were both too byzantine and too civilised to merit sustained scrutiny. But the case of the Molotov Cocktail seemed to crystallise the essence of Singapore politics. The lawsuit was a contest not just between two political parties, but between two ideologies and, in a way, two civilisations. Since his undergraduate days in London, Jeyaretnam had been steeped in the classic doctrines of Western liberalism: the rights of the individual, the right of free speech, the right to robust and open political debate. The PAP, on the other hand, was the self-appointed champion of so-called "Asian values," a synthesis of Western-style democracy and Confucian thought, where the rights of the individual were subsumed to the greater good of society. Western critics long suspected that "Asian values" were simply a convenient justification. Peel back the Confucian veneer, the argument went, and you would find old-fashioned authoritarianism. And by 1997 the Western world was convinced that authoritarianism was doomed. The previous decade had been littered with the hulks of authoritarian regimes turned democraticamong them the Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, South Korea, South Africa, and Haiti. Moreover, authoritarianism seemed to go h a n d - i n - h a n d with poverty, corruption, and backwardness. Compare the factories of South Korea to the famines of North Korea; the explosive growth in Thailand to the relentless poverty of Myanmar. Whenever people enjoyed political freedom, it seemed, they responded with a surge of productivity and innovation. Singapore represented a striking challenge to this complacent line of thinking. By 1997, Singapore was one of the richest countries in the world. At US$30,170, its per capita GNP exceeded that of the United States (US$29,246). 1 In virtually every measure of d e v e l o p m e n t infant mortality, life expectancy, literacy, productivity, cell-phone penetration, and so onSingapore ranked as a "First World" nation. 263

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Yet its restrictions on free speech were among the tightest in the world. In addition to the clash of ideologies, the case was about something else: the struggle of one man to uphold his ideals in the face of overwhelming odds. For Jeyaretnam, the stakes were enormous. Victory would vindicate his role as the nation's conscience, and would perhaps sate the PAP's appetite for libel suits. Defeat would almost certainly mean bankruptcy and the end of his political career.
* * *

When the trial opened in August 1997, hundreds of Singaporeans descended on the High Court in City Hall to observe the spectacle first hand. Young and old, they thronged the halls for hours at a stretch, in sweltering heat, for a chance to witness the courtroom battle. The international pressincluding the AP, Reuters, The Times of London, the Guardian, the South China Morning Post, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, the BBC, AFP, DPA, and many otherspacked the press bench to overflow capacity. Human-rights groups such as Amnesty International and the International Commission of Jurists sent observers. The drama was heightened by the presence of Jeyaretnam's lawyer, George Carman, QC, the legendary "silver fox" of the London bar, who enjoyed a reputation as one of England's most formidable barristers. He was devastating in cross-examination. One of his adversaries, South African journalist Jani Allan, who sued Britain's Channel 4 for claiming that she had slept with neo-Nazi leader Eugene TerreBlanche, complained: "Whatever award is given for libel, being cross-examined by you would not make it enough money." (She lost.) The prospect of George Carman jousting in court with senior minister Lee Kuan Yew was the forensic equivalent of watching Muhammed Ali climb into the ring with George Foreman. But courtroom spectators were in for a disappointment. Two days after Carman was admitted to argue the case, the senior minister, who had originally led the pack of PAP litigants, was rescheduled to be heard last. In his place, prime minister Goh would lead the charge. The rescheduling took many observers by surprise. The senior minister had been the dominant force throughout the proceedings 264

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against Tang Liang Hong. Indeed, prime minister Goh revealed that he had asked the senior minister to take the lead in the legal battles. Nonetheless, as the international press converged on the high court, the senior minister was conspicuously absent. Sporting a green suit, an orange carnation, and a Workers' Party pin on his collar, Jeyaretnam sat next to Carman at the front of the crowded, wood-paneled courtroom. A few feet to his left sat prime minister Goh with his lawyer, Thomas Shields, QC, and lawyers representing the other ten plaintiffs. Prime minister Goh's lawyer, Thomas Shields, opened the case by accusing Jeyaretnam of using a "sensational revelation" in the dying minutes of the campaign to damage the prime minister politically. He quoted again the key passage of Jeyaretnam's speech: And, finally, Mr Tang Liang Hong has just placed before me two reports he has made to the police against, you know, Mr Goh Chok Tong and his people. "It may have been short," Shields said. "But short messages can have deep meanings." The police reports. Shields argued, amounted to an accusation that the prime minister had lied and conspired against Tang: "To accuse the prime minister ... of criminal defamation and criminal conspiracy strikes even more woundingly at the veiy integrity and honesty which should characterise the holder of the highest political office. " 2 Sitting in the courtroom, watching his lawyer tear in to Jeyaretnam, prime minister Goh must have felt he had a strong case. As Shields mounted the legal attack, painting Jeyaretnam as a politician desperate to gain votes, it seemed as if bringing the case had been a smart move. But the next day, the tenor of the proceedings underwent a dramatic shift. Now prime minister Goh was no longer listening to the soothing rhetoric of his own advocate: he was on the witness stand, under oath, facing one of the most relentless adversaries ever to stand at the bar. The fireworks began almost immediately. Before a hushed courtroom, Carman, dressed in a gray, double-breasted suit, proceeded to confront the prime minister's motives: 265

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Carman: Let me ask you next about your political experiences. Politics is sometimes a fairly tough game, if the phrase can be given. Prime Minister Goh: Most of the time. Carman: Most of the time. In a democracy. Prime Minister Goh: Yes. Carman: In the heat and fight of general elections or in party politics, controversial views are expressed? Prime Minister Goh: Yes. Carman: Views that you find that you may disagree with very profoundly? Prime Minister Goh: Yes. Carman: And equally, your opponents may very profoundly disagree with your views? Prime Minister Goh: Surely. Carman: You would respect their right to disagree with your views, would you not? Prime Minister Goh: Of course. Carman: You wouldn't try and hamper them? Prime Minister Goh: No. Carman: For expressing their view? Prime Minister Goh: Not at all. Carman: You wouldn't try and prevent the electorate from electing them if they wish? Prime Minister Goh: Of course not. Carman: And if elected to Parliament, you would not try and get them out by some back door means? Prime Minister Goh: Of course not. Carman: Is that right? Prime Minister Goh: Right. Carman: That is your philosophy? Prime Minister Goh: That's my philosophy. Carman: So for example, to use the courts as some kind of instrument of financial oppression against a Member of Parliament would be a very wicked and dangerous and irresponsible thing to do? Prime Minister Goh: That's correct.
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Carman: Certainly if you are in government, it would be a cowardly and oppressive thing to do, would it not? Prime Minister Goh: I'd agree with that. On the press benches, reporters paused from their scribbling to catch the eye of colleagues. Sitting in the witness box, Goh remained impassive. And yet it was impossible not to feel the sting of Carman's questions. Over the course of the next three hours, Carman grilled the prime minister on his motives, his veracity, and his democratic credentials. Using phrases that rang through the courtroom and across the front pages of newspapers around the world, Carman exposed the PAP's brand of "Asian values" to relentless scrutiny: Carman: Let me ask you this. If a Member of Parliament in Singapore is an adjudicated bankrupt, then he can no longer sit as a Member of Parliament, is that right? Prime Minister Goh: That's right. Carman: One way of making a Member of Parliament bankrupt, Mr Goh, is to use the heavy artillery of multiple actions at the same time in the courtroom to obtain massive damages for many people and run up large sets of legal costs, you understand? Prime Minister Goh: Yes, I do. Carman: Was that part of the strategy of you and your 10 political compatriots? Prime Minister Goh: No, we decided to sue and the costs mount up and that's the problem for the defendant. Carman: Oh yes, I'm sure you're weeping... I put it to you, Mr Goh, that this litigation is designed to bankrupt my client and keep him out of Parliament. Prime Minister Goh: Your suggestion is groundless. He is no threat to us. Carman: I put it to you that the court provides an instrument by which you can financially oppress your political opponents. Prime Minister Goh: How else can we vindicate ourselves?

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Later on, the prime minister made his infamous "Molotov Cocktail" analogy. Carman pounced: Carman: Do you not think, in all conscience, Mr Goh, that to call that a Molotov cocktail is a blatant appeal to the Court, the public and a gross exaggeration of the reality of that? Prime Minister Goh: Would you announce the lodging of police reports if they were about traffic fines by the Prime Minister? So the timing was precise. Carman: Precise? Prime Minister Goh: Yes, just a few minutes before the closing of that final rally before eve of poll. Carman: Yes. Your real complaint was against Mr Tang, wasn't it? Prime Minister Goh: And against Mr Jeyaretnam for throwing the Molotov cocktail. Carman: Throwing a Molotov cocktail! I'm sorry, I shall have to comment on those words later but I want to give you the opportunity. I suggest you are using the witness box to produce a totally dramatic, unreal phrase and losing the dignity of your high office in Singapore by demeaning yourself by describing that aside comment as a Molotov cocktail. You are demeaning the office of Prime Minister of Singapore. In a country where deference to leaders was second nature, Carmen's suggestion drew a stunned silence. A moment later, Goh pulled himself together: Prime Minister Goh: I'm sorry for your outburst. Carman: No, it's a question. Prime Minister Goh: But that is the analogy which I put across and that's my belief. Despite several objections from Goh's lawyer, Thomas Shields, to Carman's line of questioning, the silver fox would not be swayed from his target:

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Carman: I suggest that you and Mr Lee Kuan Yew, you learning from him, being a willing and able apprentice, have learnt to play the system in this way: first, you pay lip service to having the full rights of a democracy like there are in the Western countries and in Australia and others. In other words, you, as you have done today, agree with freedom of speech, independence of the Judiciary, freedom of the press and freedom of opposition; all those things you've agreed to, have you not? Prime Minister Goh: Yes. Carman: But what I suggest you do, although you pay lip service and indeed in many respects great regard to them, there comes a point when you adapt them for your own purposes in Singapore to stay in power and to stifle opposition. Prime Minister Goh: Now, it is my job to make sure that when we go for election my party wins, right? For hour after hour, Carman relentlessly exposed inconsistencies in Goh's testimony. In response to a question about whether 1997 had been a good year for him politically, the prime minister declared that ithad been an excellent year. Carman then drew his attention to his sworn affidavit, where the prime minister claimed that his "reputation, moral authority, and leadership standing have been gravely injured both locally and internationally." Next, Carman noted that the PAP leaders began their legal action against Jeyaretnam the day after Tang Liang Hong hired Jeyaretnam as his lawyer. Did the lawsuits against Jeyaretnam have anything to do with Jeyaretnam's role as Tang's advocate? Goh emphatically denied any connectiononly to be confronted, once again, with his own sworn testimony that Jeyaretnam's conduct in the various Tang hearings aggravated the damage to his reputation. But the most startling revelation came when Carman grilled the prime minister on the details of how the contents of Tang's police reportswhich were never disclosed at the rallycame to be public knowledge. Under oath, Goh admitted that he himself had authorised senior minister Lee Kuan Yew and deputy prime minister Lee Hsien Loong to leak the reports to the Straits Times.3 269

Lee's Law This admission should have been front-page news. The police reports, which PAP leaders viewed as so damaging to their reputation, had been made public at their own behest. The prime minister and the other plaintiffs had "shot themselves in the foot," Carman declared. 4 But the domestic press downplayed the revelation. The Straits Times report describing the exchange was modestly headlined
EVENTS SURROUNDING POLICE REPORTS 5 PM GOH RELATES

The paper's reluctance to trumpet

the news was easy to understand: it had known the source of the leak all along. As the prime minister stepped down from the witness box, it was difficult not to wonder about his mood. Originally, he had taken a back seat in the legal juggernaut against Tang and Jeyaretnam, and given the senior minister the lead role in the litigation. Because of the last-minute rescheduling, however, Goh was the one to face Carman on the stand. Now his motives were being questioned; his name splashed on headlines across the world, while the senior minister disappeared in the background. The remainder of the trial produced few new revelations. On the stand, Jeyaretnam declared his belief that the lawsuits were "purely political," and designed to drive him out of parliament, while Shields insisted that Jeyaretnam timed his statement at the rally so as to inflict maximum impact. If Goh felt any resentment, he did not let it show. But on the final day of the trial, minutes before the court adjourned, his lawyer, Thomas Shields, asked the judge for aggravated damages based on Carman's sensational attack. Citing international press reports, such as: QC
OF CLIMATE OF FEAR IN SINGAPORE SPEAKS

(London Times) and

GOH'S MOTIVES QUES-

TIONED IN SINGAPORE DEFAMATION CASE

(International Herald Tribune),

Shields said the prime minister was entitled to damages totalling S$2oo,ooo as a "vindication of his integrity." Carman jumped to his feet. His adversary's line of reasoning was, he said, an "astonishing argument" which implied that the media could not report on legitimate news events. In his final speech. Carman implored judge S Rajendran to "look behind the libel game" for the true motivation for the lawsuits and to limit any damages to "a single dollar." The 270

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galleiy, packed with members of the Singapore public lawyers, executives, and cab driversburst into applause, which was quickly silenced by the baleful glare of a police officer. Because the other PAP plaintiffs had agreed at the outset to be bound by the ruling in the prime minister's case, the trial was effectively over. Jeyaretnam's fate now rested in the hands of one m a n j u d g e S Rajendran. Like Jeyaretnam, Rajendran was a Jaffna Tamil. Born in Malaysia, he had studied law at the University of Singapore and served as a public prosecutor, magistrate, and judge before becoming a partner at Khattar Wong & Partners, one of Singapore's biggest and most successful law firms. Appointed to the High Court in 1991, Rajendran soon made a name for himself for his unwillingness to tolerate shoddy prosecutions. In 1994, Rajendran acquitted a Thai worker who had confessed to murdering his roommate at a construction site, because he was troubled by the circumstances of the confession. The following year, Rajendran acquitted a Thai national who had been arrested in Changi airport with S$3 million worth of heroin stitched into the lining of his bag, because he accepted the man's story that he had been duped by a friend. Rajendran had also presided over another high-profile libel suit: the case brought by senior minister Lee Kuan Yew against American academic Christopher Lingle. In that case, Rajendran awarded damages of S $ i o o , o o o against Lingle (who by then had fled the country.) In the weeks leading up to the Jeyaretnam verdict, Singapore's legal community was abuzz with speculation about the outcome. But virtually all were agreed on one thing: none envied Rajendran's position. As one lawyer put it, "Thank God I'm not in Raja's shoes."
*

Justice Rajendran's ruling, handed down on 29 September 1997, was a qualified victory for the PAP. Rajendran awarded the prime minister S$20,ooo in damages, and ordered Jeyaretnam to pay 60 per cent of Goh's legal costs. But the verdict was hardly a ringing endorsement of the plaintiffs. The damages were just one-tenth of what Goh had sought. Calling the prime minister's case "overstated," Rajendran noted that

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Lee's Law Goh had been unable to point to a single incident to show that his reputation had been harmed. He also scolded Goh's lawyers for not revealing sooner the "highly material" fact that Goh himself was responsible for leaking the reports. The judge's conclusion on the impact of Jeyaretnam's speech was couched in the weakest terms possible. An ordinary Singaporean, he declared, would walk away from the rally "with the impression that [Mr Goh] may have conducted himself in such a way that it is possible he will be investigated for some offence or other." 6 But the fact remained that the prime minister had won a key victory. The way was now clear for the other ro PAP plaintiffs to claim damages and costs, which clearly had the potential to bankrupt Jeyaretnam. International reaction ranged from eye-rolling to outrage. The US embassy expressed dismay over "the ruling party's use of the court system to intimidate political opponents." 7 The Economist editorialised: [Prime Minister Goh and his colleagues] might be wise to kick their litigious habit. It risks ridicule: would not the People's Action Party be better named the Libel Action Party, it will be asked? It is certainly unbecoming for a mighty government to break butterflies on the wheel, especially when there is such a strong correlation between might and right: no Singaporean leader has ever lost a libel action ... Surely, the government, which has been in office since 1959, is strong enough to take whatever criticism a few dissenters may dish out? If not, Singapore might as well come clean and give up the claim to be a multi- party democracy at all.8 Amnesty International, which had been monitoring the twists and turns of Jeyaretnam's fortunes for decades, issued a blistering rebuke: What then was the reason in bringing the action? The ruling People's Action Party (PAP) government, which has been in office since 1959 and continues to enjoy an overwhelming parliamentary majority, argues that such defamation suits are a legitimate and necessary means to uphold the integrity of its leaderson which they claim their ability to 272

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govern depends. The government asserts also that the potential fragility of Singapore's multi-racial, multi-religious society makes it necessary to curb the individual rights of political opponents and others with dissenting opinions through civil defamation actions and through restrictive legislationincluding the Internal Security Act (ISA) allowing indefinite detention without charge or trial. Amnesty International believes that civil defamation suits are being misused by the executive to intimidate and deter those Singaporeans holding dissenting views. The suits have a 'chilling' effect on Singapore's political life and place unreasonable and unacceptable restrictions on the right of Singaporeans to freely hold and peacefully express their opinions. Whereas imprisonment of political opponents under the ISA has declined, the executive's use of civil defamation suits to bankrupt opponents through the courts and so prevent their participation in public life constitutes an emerging pattern. In such cases the Singapore judiciary has not moved to check the executive's misuse of the law in this way. In fact the government's resort to civil defamation suits to intimidate and deter those Singaporeans holding dissenting views may well have a more subtle and insidious effect than the ISA, in that such suits are not so likely to provoke domestic and international protest.9 Perhaps the sharpest condemnation came from the Geneva-based International Commission of Jurists: The High Court of Singapore has done little to overcome the Singapore courts' reputation as improperly compliant to the interests of the countiy's ruling People's Action Party ... The Singapore leadership has a long-standing record of using the High Court as a mechanism for silencing its opponentsby suing them for statements that, in any comparable jurisdiction, would be seen as part of the robust political debate inseparable from democratic freedoms, and by being awarded such unconscionably high damages and costs as to bankrupt the defendants, forcing them out of Parliament.10

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The ICJ also issued a detailed report of the proceedings written by its observer, Australian Queen's Counsel Stuart Littlemore. Originally a television reporter, Littlemore became a household name in Australia as the host of a weekly television show, Media Watch, which excoriated the excesses of the press, to the delight of viewers. "In his younger days, he was a terror among journalists," ran one comment. "Now, he is the terror of journalists." 11 Littlemore's report contained extensive background information and legal analysis of the Jeyaretnam case and of the use of defamation law in Singapore including the previously obscure case of lawyer and former Workers' Party candidate Wee Han Kim, who was forced to sell his apartment to pay a S$20o,ooo settlement to senior minister Lee Kuan Yew after he characterised membership in the PAP as a "wise career move." Littlemore compared damages received in 25 defamation suits instigated by PAP politicians to those received in seven suits by ordinary Singaporeans. The average award for PAP members was S$570,000. The average award for ordinary Singaporeans: S$4,3,86o. The Australian QC also described his courtroom impressions. Describing the prime minister's cross-examination, he wrote: It was somewhat startling to see the court attendant serve the Prime Minister, when he was in the witness box under cross-examination, with a pot of tea, milk and sugar, on a tray. No such refreshment was provided to Mr. Jeyaretnam, but the event probably had to do with the court attendant's priorities than anything sinister.12 Unfortunately, Littlemore had blundered. In fact, the potalthough served with a cup and saucercontained only warm water. The government immediately pounced on this discrepancy as evidence of Littlemore's bias. In a scathing statement, the Ministry of Law denounced Littlemore's report as "false, misleading, and hypocritical." 13 The attorney-general's office subsequently issued a statement saying that it was considering criminal charges against Littlemore for contempt of court. 14 A few days later, the Ministry of Law accused
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Amnesty International and the International Commission of Jurists of engaging in a "co-ordinated, partisan propaganda campaign to pressure the Singapore government," whose "contemptible Singapore judges were designed to "intimidate the Littlemore for the teapot error: Mr Littlemore's concocted account of what happened is despicable, made worse when he tries to wriggle out of the allegation by dismissing it as a distraction. His invention says volumes about the so-called objectivity of some foreign observers and should open the eyes of the fair-minded to what agenda these chaps from the ICJ might really have up their sleeves.16 This collective spasm of outrage was unintenionally revealing. The prospect that international observers might themselves face criminal charges for condemning the PAP only underscored the regime's allergy to criticism. For the PAP, the "storm in a tea cup," like the Jeyaretnam case itself, was an example of winning the battle but losing the war. Honour was not yet satisfied, however. Within a week of the Jeyaretnam verdict, the prime minister's lawyers filed an appeal, seeking to increase the damages ten-fold.
*

attacks"

on

courts." 15

Meanwhile, Straits Times columnist Tan Sai Siong heaped ridicule on

Despite the spectre of bankruptcy hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles, Jeyaretnam maintained his busy schedule, attending to his law practice, making speeches in parliament, conducting walkabouts, and dictating endless letters to his secretary, Wendy Chiu, who had worked for him since 1964. He continued to buy a red rose every day for Margaret, placing it in front of her picture. In November, the Workers' Party celebrated its fortieth anniversary. At a dinner reception, Jeyaretnam lashed out at a recent cabinet decision to extend a US$5 billion line of credit to the government of Indonesia, which was reeling under the financial turbulence sweeping the region. Financial analysts were stunned by the government's

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announcement, which came in addition to a US$:?3-billion-dollar aid package put together by the International Monetary Fund. Jeyaretnam believed that under the Singapore constitution only parliament could approve loans to foreign nations. But his speech was notable less for the constitutional issue than for his eloquent call for Singaporeans to stand up for their rights: I see the Senior Minister, in his book [Lee Kuan Yew.- The Man and His Ideas], talks about the opposition the PAP will tolerate. The Senior Minister says he will not tolerate any opposition that challenges the system. "As long as Jeyaretnam stands for challenging the system, we have to knock him out." But what is the system? The system ... is one where Ministers and government officials disregard the law. The central pillar, the crux of any democracy, is the rule of law. In Singapore, we don't have the rule of law, and you see it demonstrated by this government giving this loan to Indonesia. It is a system which breeds fear among our people. Time and time again, I come across people whose question is, "Is this all right?" and "Could we get into trouble?" Our people are uncertain of their rights. People live in fear, fear of being arrested for speaking out. It's a system that lives on fear... I get into a taxi, and the taxi driver says, "In Singapore we can't open our mouths." It is a system that does not tolerate any dissent ... Anyone who challenges that system is not acceptable to the PAP. We must break out of the parameters, work fearlessly to expose the system, and if necessary, to pay the price for it. Otherwise, it seems to me, we are wasting our time. Our people need to wake up to the kind of system they're living under, and hold our heads high in freedom. It's time for the people to stand up. Singaporeans must say enough is enough. We want the system changed.17 The speech itself underscored one of the ironies of Jeyaretnam's political career. After he finished his remarks, the dinner guests clapped politely. Then came a rather surreal moment, as his speech was translated into Mandarin. This time, the applause was thunderous. Most
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of Jeyaretnam's supporters were working-class Chinese Singaporeans, many of whom literally could not understand him. In truth, time had passed him by. The triumphs of Anson and the Privy Council were but a distant memory. Singaporeans had more pressing matters to care about. They wanted to know whether the regional economic slowdown known as the "Asian Flu" would affect their retirement savings. Jeyaretnam wanted to debate constitutional law, while they wondered if their children would keep up on the internet. He was still fighting old battles, asking questions in parliament about the suicide of Teh CheangWan.
* * *

In April 1998 the Court of Appeals heard prime minister Goh's request for higher damages in the case of the Molotov Cocktail. Jeyaretnam engaged British silk Charles Gray, QC, to defend him. Gray, like Carman, was one of England's leading libel lawyers (he was later appointed to the bench, and presided over one of the UK's most sensational trials. Holocaust revisionist David Irving vs. Penguin Books.) The appeal, argued over two days beneath a sky thick with haze from forest fires in Indonesia, held none of the drama of the original trial. The legal teams Gray and Jeyaretnam on one side of the courtroom, facing a flock of PAP lawyers on the otherconfined their arguments to the arcana of defamation law. Jeyaretnam was hopeful that Gray's calm, logical approacha sharp contrast to Carman's theatricsmight convince the court to quash Goh's appeal. But the court's verdict, handed down in July, crushed his hopes. Chief justice Yong Pung How, together with justices M. Karthigesu and L P Thean, hiked Goh's award to S $ i o o , o o o , and ordered Jeyaretnam to pay 100 per cent of Goh's legal costs (estimated at S $ i o o , o o o . ) With seven other suits still hanging over his head, Jeyaretnam's expenses seemed likely to exceed S$r million. A f t e r the decision was announced, Jeyaretnam called a press conference in his office in North Bridge Road. With reporters packed into the sweltering heat on tiny plastic chairs, he frankly assessed his predicament:
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If Mr Goh Chok Tong pursues me into the bankruptcy court and I am declared a bankrupt... I shan't be able to pay the judgment. If I am made a bankrupt as a result of Mr Goh's petition, I shall have to vacate my seat in Parliament. I've been asked more than once ... Will this judgment destroy you? Have you been destroyed? Well my answer is simply this And here the old warhorse paused for a full ten seconds, as if weighing the proposition for the very first time: The judgment doesn't financially destroy me because I have nothing. You're only financially destroyed if they're able to take your property, or your monies or your moveable properties. Well, that I don't have and I think that there's no question of being destroyed financially. I am in no worse condition than I was ... The other question is whether it has destroyed me as a person. Well I hope I am not thought pretentious if I say I have taken the view always, that nothing outside the person can destroy the person. That no force outside can destroy a person. That the human spirit is indomitable.18 Jeyaretnam was in a desperate position. He had no money with which to pay the prime minister. But in August, Goh made a surprising offer: he was prepared to forego the damages, he said, so long as Jeyaretnam was willing to apologise. One can only speculate on Goh's motivation. It was the second time he had demonstrated more flexibility than his predecessorthe first was his willingness to give Jeyaretnam another chance at parliament in the disastrous Marine Parade by-election. At first glance, Goh's offer seemed to demonstrate a rather admirable Singaporean trait, the reluctance to make an opponent lose face. But it is also possible that Goh simply felt that the political benefit of snuffing out an opponent was outweighed by the negative publicity that would invariably ensue from foreign critics. For several weeks Jeyaretnam haggled over the terms of the apology, but Goh stood firm. Finally, Jeyaretnam agreed, on one condition: that 278

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the prime minister's legal costs be agreed upon, and that the other seven suits stemming from the Molotov Cocktail be settled. Goh rejected the counter-offer, and served a bankruptcy petition on Jeyaretnam. In October 3000, however, he withdrew the petition and allowed Jeyaretnam to pay in ten instalments of $20,000 each. 19
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Jeyaretnam had played many roles in his long careerprosecutor, magistrate, registrar, judge, lawyer, politician, gadfly, champion, dissident, and martyr. But in his twilight years one role began to overshadow the others: debtor. Long after the high-profile lawsuits had ground their way through their endless hearings, motions, appeals, and reviews, Jeyaretnam was saddled with huge billsbills he could not possibly pay. As his financial resources dwindled, he turned to his supporters. By the 1990s he had borrowed hundreds of thousands of dollars. His law practice was teetering, and every month seemed to bring more legal costs. A few months after judge Rajendran's ruling in the Molotov Cocktail suit, Jeyaretnam was back in courtthis time defending himself against the first of the twin libel suits spawned by the article on Tamil Language Week published in The Hammer in 1995. The defendantsJeyaretnam, Balakrishnan, and the Worker's Partyaverted a trial by agreeing to pay S$200,000 to the four PAP MPs named in the article. 20 Jeyaretnam's efforts to drum up money became increasingly frantic. "I am desperately trying to get people to give me the money," he wrote. "But it is very very hard." 21 In r999 he asked his old friend Subhas Anandan to call up lawyers and dun them for contributions. Subhas was reluctant. As a non-citizen, he was supposed to steer clear of politics. But he gritted his teeth and made the calls anyway. The results were disappointing. None of the lawyers Subhas called were willing to help Jeyaretnam financially. When Subhas broke the news, Jeyaretnam was angry: with the lawyers, with Subhas, with his whole predicament. In Subhas's view, the long legal struggles had taken a toll on Jeyaretnam. "The way he has been treated has made him bitter 279

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changed his character," Subhas said. 22 Indeed, by the turn of the centuiy, Jeyaretnam had begun to project a distinctly embattled demeanour. When he went campaigning, or spoke with reporters, he was as friendly and charming as ever. But trudging down North Bridge Road on his way to parliament or the High Court, he could be gruff to the point of rudeness to strangerseven, ironically, to admirers who only wished to greet him and shake his hand. His formidable gaze, trained over so many years to scrutinise courtroom briefs and parliamentary papers, had hardened into a piercing, almost spectral, glare. Sometimes, it seemed as if Jeyaretnam himself had become the Spirit of Anson, a ghostly presence haunting North Bridge Road, vanishing into the small print in the back pages of newspapers. Increasingly, Jeyaretnam became preoccupied with the vast sums he owed to his creditors. And as anyone who has suffered financial hardship knows, nothing grates on a friendship like an unpaid debt. But as fast as Jeyaretnam borrowed money, he seemed to rack up new debts. In December 1998, after a 14-day trial, justice Goh Joon Seng ordered Jeyaretnam and the Workers' Party to pay ten members of the Tamil Language Week committee S$?65,ooo in damages, plus legal costs of roughly S$25o,ooo, in the second of the libel suits spawned by The Hammer. Although the article had not identified the ten committee members, they persuaded the judge that they had been defamed by the implication that they were curiying favour with the government. Throughout his trials Jeyaretnam remained defiant. "I will fight on," he told Asiaweefc in 1999. "I have no intention of giving up." 23 By the spring of 1999, however, his situation had slipped from perilous to dire. Together with the Workers' Party, he now owed damages and costs totalling S$5i 1,000 to the Tamil Language Week committee. In April, one member of the committee R Ravindran, a PAP MPserved a petition to bankrupt the Workers' Party. As the court proceedings dragged on, Jeyaretnam applied for a licence to solicit moneya prerequisite for any organised fundraising activity. But in August the minister of state for home affairs. Ho Peng Kee, denied the licence. "The Workers' Party's intention to collect funds to pay damages incurred for defaming others can neither be considered
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a charitable cause or a worthy community project," minister Ho declared. 24 Meanwhile, in September, Ravindran and another member of the Tamil Language Week committee, lawyer R Kalamohan, instituted bankruptcy proceedings against Jeyaretnam personally unless he paid them their portion of the judgmentS$54,ooo. Jeyaretnam's ability to raise funds was further hampered in June 2000, when the government passed the Political Donations Act, restricting anonymous contributions to political parties. After a party reached a total of S$5,ooo in anonymous contributions, all further contributors were required to make their identity public. The law was enacted with the express purpose of preventing foreigners from interfering in Singapore's domestic politics. But the effect was to scare contributors away from the opposition. Jeyaretnam's close calls became ever more frequent, and more spectacular. On 5 May 2000 the High Court declared him bankrupt after he failed to pay Ravindran and Kalamohan their share of the judgment. But a week later he came through with a last-ditch payment, and the court set aside the order. Politically, The Hammer suit was highly significant: it represented the first time Jeyaretnam had been sued for libel by a group of Indian Singaporeans. Some Western liberals, eager to criticise Singapore despite a rather superficial understanding of its complex ethnic politics, have jumped to the conclusion that the government's persecution of Jeyaretnam was rooted in his Indian ancestiyan impression compounded by Western news reports of Jeyaretnam's trials dominate the island's population statistics. But ethnic politics never played more than a walk-on role in Jeyaretnam's drama. In fact, the PAP was admirably free of prejudice when dealing with its dissidents, whether they were Chinese, Malay, or Indian: it subjected them to withering scrutiny regardless of their race. In the international arena, however. The Hammer suit gave the impression that Jeyaretnam's own ethnic base had eroded. It also allowed the Singapore government to disarm international criticism that it was ?8i and tribulations, whose final paragraphs often point out that ethnic Chinese

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squeezing Jeyaretnam out of the political arena. Instead, it could argue, Jeyaretnam's own kinsmen had resolved to swat an irritating gadfly. These overtones were not lost on Singapore's more sophisticated critics. Francis Seow, the former solicitor-general who had been imprisoned without trial after tangling with Lee Kuan Yew, and who later fled to the courtyards of Harvard University, wrote a searing analysis of The Hammer suit: Thus Jeyaretnam had staggered out of a dire political crisis only to find himself in another PAP sink-hole. [Senior Minister] Lee's substitution of [Prime Minister] Goh for his troop of eager Indians was diabolically clever. Lee had subtly removed race from the political equation: it looked better all round if the Indians themselves and not his phlegmatic Chinese protege Gohwere seen as slaughtering a member of their own ilk: Jeyaretnam.25 Jeyaretnam's local defenders, as always, found themselves in a catch-22. The central question in the suit was whether the organisers of the Tamil Language Week had, indeed, sought to curiy favour with the PAP by their actions. Now that the organisers had won the suit, to accuse them of political motivation was to invite a fresh defamation action. Once again, the law of libel, as interpreted by Singapore judges, formed an airtight clamp. Hamstrung by the government's new rules on political donations, and by the asphyxiating political atmosphere, Jeyaretnam turned to a new method of raising money: in May 2000, he published a book of his speeches in parliament, entitled Make It Right For Singapore. Many bookstores refused to carry it, and it received scant attention in the local press. But Jeyaretnam bypassed the literary establishment and hawked it on the streets. One observer described a typical scene: In every possible means at its disposal, the PAP is trying to stop JBJ from speaking on behalf of the people. Even his book, Make It Right For Singapore, doesn't get any mention in the newspapers. I saw JBJ in Serangoon Road yesterday selling his book to an enthusiastic crowd. 282

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Taxi-drivers, mainly Chinese, pulled up their vehicles along the kerb in busy Serangoon Road, thronged by Deepavali shoppers, to get a copy of his book. It kept me wondering if only a minute fraction of publicity that goes into promoting Lee's memoirs could be given to JBJ's book, it would definitely surpass all sales and remain the number one bestseller in Singapore.26 Jeyaretnam managed to post more than 7,000 street-corner sales of Make It Right For Singapore. Popular reaction gave him a desperately needed boost, both financial and emotional. But his legal situation continued to deteriorate. Although he had staved off bankruptcy proceedings brought by two of the plaintiffs in the Tamil Language suit, in July he lost an appeal to stop the other eight from claiming S$2?3,ooo in damages against him. In October, they took him back to bankruptcy court. Jeyaretnam appealed to Singaporeans to help him raise money. Unfortunately, his plea for cash came at a moment when many of his bedrock supportersthe working class found themselves in dire financial straits. In the fall of 1997, the government of Thailand devalued the national currency, the baht. This seemingly innocuous development triggered a recession that tore through the bustling economies of South-East Asia with surprising fuiy. Singapore, although not as badly battered as some of its neighbours, did not escape the slowdown. As a result, wages for low-skilled workers fell from S$74,6 a month in 1998 to S$49? in 1999. 27 Even as he struggled to stay out of bankruptcy, Jeyaretnam was locked in an ugly dispute with another lawyer by the name of Krishnan Ganesan. Jeyaretnam and Krishnan had once been friends, and Krishnan had represented Jeyaretnam in court on several occasions. In 1996, the two lawyers agreed to jointly represent a plaintiff in a dispute over a sundries shop. Jeyaretnam, who would argue the case in court, would receive two-thirds of the fee, while Krishnan, who took care of the legal paperwork, would get one-third. Their client ultimately won the lawsuit and was awarded S $ i o o , o o o for legal costs, which he paid to Krishnan in 1999. But Krishnan then ?83

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baulked at paying Jeyaretnam his share, claiming that Jeyaretnam had already received S$4,o,ooo in fees from the client. 28 Jeyaretnam was outraged: It was a complete bombshell. The case was over. We had won the costs... I was shocked. I've learned a lot of things during the 3o years or so after I went into politics. I was a trusting person. Then finally it came on me that you can't trust anybody. That's terribleto feel you can't trust anybody.29 He sued Krishnan, who ultimately agreed to pay him the S$66,666 in December 2000. Considering the massive debts Jeyaretnam still owed, it was not a large sum. Nonetheless, this windfall prompted yet another clutch of creditors in The Hammer lawsuit to resurrect a claim against him. Back in 1997 the minister of foreign affairs, S Jayakumar, and four other PAP MPs had extracted a S$:?oo,ooo settlement from Jeyaretnam and the Workers' Party as a result of The Hammer article. Jeyaretnam and the WP coughed up half that sum, but then allowed the payments to lapse. For almost three years Jayakumar and the other plaintiffs took no action to collect the balance: Now, however, they were clamouring for their money. Within days of receiving the S$66,ooo, Jeyaretnam was ordered to relinquish it to minister Jayakumar and the other PAP MPs. Now he was in a real jam. His next instalment to the eight plaintiffs, totalling S$?3,45o, was due by noon on 16 January, and his only means of paying it the $66,666 won from Krishnanwas nothing but a fleeting memory. The PAP had cleverly manoeuvred Jeyaretnam into a corner where the only thing that could save him was the one thing he did not have: money. The philosophical debates about the rule of law, the rights of the individual, and the nature of freedom had been reduced to a single, brutal equation: could Jeyaretnam pay his debts? It was a painful predicament. I've been put to the agony of finding $?3,ooo every month. It's been terrible for me, running around, trying to raise the money, woriying if I can make it. It's been a real trauma.30

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As the deadline loomed, Jeyaretnam scrambled once again to raise enough money to make the instalment. For three decades he had managed to stave off one crisis after another by a hair-raising series of last-minute loans. On 16 January, however, his luck ran out. He missed the deadline by a single day. The High Court declared Jeyaretnam bankrupt two days later. He appealed the decision, lost, and appealed again. As long as his appeal was pending, he was able to retain his seat in parliament. For many Singaporeans, Jeyaretnam's long slide into bankruptcy was a wrenching spectacle. In the spring of 2001, however, reinforcements arrived from an unexpected quarter: the Think Centre. Organised in 1999, the centre was an idealistic band of Singaporeans who wanted to nurture political discourse without joining a political party. Director James Gomez had recently published a best-seller entitled SelfCensorship: Singapore's Shame, which methodically dissected Singaporeans' habit of keeping their thoughts to themselves. Faced with the ignominious implosion of Jeyaretnam's political career, activists at the Think Centre organised a rally to support him. In a statement titled Why JBJ Must Be Saved, the Centre wrote: By tiying to save him, we as the people will allow him another chance to prove himself at the polls. We know he wants the best for his people and we also know that he was always brave and critical of the government in Parliament. He never succumbed to the pressures of being an opposition politician and we all know him as the lion of Singapore politics. For some, he was the only man who stood up to Lee Kuan Yew and that meant a lot for so many people who were disaffected by PAP policies. History is always on the side of the winners. Yet JBJ constantly spars and jostles with history to establish his belief for a Singapore based on justice and democracy. He is standing alone waiting and with the sun behind his back to make the final comeback. He has fought the good fight but can we abandon our fighter when he needs us most? It is one last fight, one for his belief and one for the love of Singapore. Let us shed away our prejudices, ideologies, political strategies and even our apathy

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to give this gladiator the prized sword to gain his entry into the arena. We all know it is going to be hard. Let us give and give in kind to JBJ.31 After several false starts and some awkward restrictionsthe organisers were prohibited from soliciting funds for Jeyaretnamthe Think Centre finally obtained a permit, and scheduled the rally for the evening of Saturday, 28 April 2001 at the Yio Chu Kang stadiumthe same spot where Jeyaretnam had uttered his infamous Molotov Cocktail speech more than four years before. The demonstration was a ground-breaking event. Nothing comparable had been organised in Singapore since independence. Under yellow banners proclaiming, "Help Keep JBJ In Parliament," organisers sold tshirts and bumper stickers, and autographed copies of Jeyaretnam's book. Speaker after speaker denounced PAP policies in English, Mandarin, and Malay. Finally, as the orange rays of the dying sun faded to twilight, Jeyaretnam approached the podium. The last time he had appeared at Yio Chu Kang stadium, on the eve of the general election of 1997, more than 3 o , o o o Singaporeans had come to watch. Now, as he gazed out at the sea of faces illuminated by floodlights, he realised that there were only 2,000 people in attendance. Swallowing his disappointment, Jeyaretnam proceeded to give an impassioned speech i m p l o r i n g Singaporeans to "cast off this fear," and "wake up out of your apathy." "The state has become ... a monster," he continued. "Some people in this country begin to think that this is normal. It is not normal. It's abnormal for a government to behave like this." When Jeyaretnam excoriated the Singapore press as "a national disgrace," the crowd, which had been chanting "JBJ!" throughout the event, burst into cheers and applause. 32 The rally raised S$4,o,ooo. But after subtracting expenses such as renting the stadium and paying for security guards, the take was a mere S $ r 9 , o o o f a r short of Jeyaretnam's S$55o,ooo in debt. Why was the turnout so small? First, a cloud of uncertainty hovered over the event throughout its gestation. A previous effort to hold a "Save JBJ" rally had been cancelled after government bureaucrats refused to grant a licence. Even after the ministry relented, a host of petty issues 286

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security, public health, even the text of the bannershad to be resolved. The final permit was issued just a week before the rally. Second, the Think Centre operated on a shoestring budget. It spent less than S$5oo to promote the event, mostly in the form of flyers. Third, the Think Centre had damaged its reputation with a publicity stunt a few weeks before, when it issued an April Fool's Day press release declaring that its director James Gomez would stand as a candidate in the upcoming election. Unfortunately, the spoof was taken seriously and the light-hearted hoax went down like a lead balloon. Two days after the rally, Jeyaretnam announced that he was stepping down as leader of the Workers' Party. "It was time that new blood took over the position of secretary-general," he said. 33 In fact, tensions within the Workers' Party had been simmering for years. The damages and costs in the Hammer lawsuits were imposed not just on Jeyaretnam as the editor, but also on A Balakrishnan (the author) and the Workers' Party (the publisher). Under Singapore bankruptcy law, however, the creditors couldand did demand the entire sum from Jeyaretnam. Jeyaretnam begged the party's executive council to help him pay the debtsafter all, he argued, the party bore the same moral responsibility for the article as he. But he met with a stony reception. The executive council felt that its senior member of parliament had become too much of a political liability. On 27 May 2001 the annual general meeting of the conference of organisers of the Workers' Party voted to install the party's MP for Hougang, LowThia Khiang, as the new secretary-general. Jeyaretnam did not even attend the meeting.

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For five months Jeyaretnam's seat in parliament hung in the balance while his appeal against the bankruptcy order wended its way through the courts. On Monday, a3 July, at 3:15PM, he mounted the steps of the massive Supreme Court building to plead his case before the Court of Appeal. It was his last chance to hang on to his seat. Jeyaretnam's courtroom clashes had once drawn hundreds of spectators. Now, apart from a handful of reporters, an observer for Amnesty International, and a couple of friends, the public benches were empty. A few days before, Jeyaretnam had made one final effort to appease his creditors. He offered to pay them S$5o,ooo right away, and the balance of S$i?5,3i3 in two subsequent instalments. But their lawyer, PAP member of parliament Davinder Singh, refused to accept Jeyaretnam's offer. Singh had clashed with Jeyaretnam many times before in the Tang affair and during the Molotov Cocktail trials. Throughout the long legal battles, Singh always maintained that Jeyaretnam was the one driven by political motives. "He resorted to politicising the issues," Singh told the court, "by claiming that these proceedings are part of a conspiracy to deny him a place in parliament and that he has been denied justice. His sole purpose is to extract as much political mileage as possible." 1 Citing Singh's "oppressive and extortionate" refusal to accept S$5o,ooo for his clients, Jeyaretnam begged the court to reverse the bankruptcy order. 2 "It's a scene straight from the Merchant of Venice," Jeyaretnam told the three-judge panel. "There was Shylock demanding 24

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his pound of flesh. He didn't want the money ... just an order of bankruptcy." 3 While Jeyaretnam battled to keep his seat in parliament, chief justice Yong Pung How sharpened his pencil. After Jeyaretnam and Singh returned to their seats, the three judges huddled together for a few seconds. Then the chief justice announced their verdict. The decision was unanimous. Jeyaretnam's appeal was rejected. He had lost. He was bankruptfinally, irrevocably, bankrupt. Jeyaretnam was stunned. Despite his almost unbroken string of defeat in the courtrooms of Singapore, he had been certain the justices would see through Singh's arguments. I was disgusted, really shaken by the decision. The court couldn't see that the bankruptcy proceedings were brought solely for the purpose of taking me out of parliament. That was the whole plan, executed with vigor by Davinder Singh. But the courts couldn't see that. Less than one day late! I was shocked dazed. Where am I going to go from here? That was the end of the road. It was terrible. 4 His eyes glistening with disappointment, Jeyaretnam turned to walk down the steps of the courthouse into the blistering heat. After 3o years as the leader of the opposition, he had nothingbankrupt, isolated from his party, no longer licensed to practise law. His ejection from parliament was now a mere formality. By one estimate he owed a total of $547,508 in damages for the various libel suits brought against him by the eight Tamil Language Week organisers, minister S Jayakumar, and prime minister Goh Chok Tong. 5 In addition, he still faced another seven libel suits left over from the Molotov Cocktail speech. Eveiything that had given his life purposethe lofty speeches in parliament, the cut and thrust of courtroom debate, the political platforms, the press conferenceshad now crumbled. His health fading and his step faltering, even his luxuriant muttonchops seemed to wilt. The man who smiled for the cameras while he was dissected by the Committee of Privileges, the man who saluted his supporters as he was 289

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driven off to prison, could no longer muster any words of hope. In a telephone conversation, the despair crept into his voice: I'm shattered ... I have to think hard and long ... 3i years ... But now, you see ... there's very little I can do having been declared a bankrupt. They can be very nasty to me now... It's terrible. You're made to feel like a man who's caught the plague.6 With his last appeal exhausted, Jeyaretnam had to give up the most precious thing of allhis seat in parliament. There was no ceremony. When parliament met on the following day, Speaker Tan Soo Khoon read out a terse notice: The seat of JB Jeyaretnam has been vacant with effect from July 2001.7 Jeyaretnam's political career was over.
* *

What had he accomplished? In 3o years, he had not passed a single piece of legislation. The PAP was more firmly entrenched than ever, while the opposition lay in hopeless disarray. The Internal Security Act remained in place. Trial by jury was a fading memoiy. The links to the Privy Court had been severed. Singapore had become an increasingly materialistic society, even as the gap between rich and poor widened. His concrete achievements were so few that Lee Kuan Yew airily dismissed Jeyaretnam as an ineffectual gadfly: Jeyaretnam was all sound and fury. He made wild allegations of police high-handedness and repeated eveiy grievance disgruntled people channelled through him without checking the facts. That he had no principled stand suited us, because he was unlikely to become a credible alternative. I decided he was useful as a sparring partner for the new MPs who had not gone through the fight with the communists and the UMNO Ultras. Besides, he filled up space on the opposition side of the 290

the spirit of

anson

political arena and probably kept better opponents out. His weakness was his sloppiness. He rambled on and on, his speeches were apparently unprepared. When challenged on the detailed facts, he crumbled... Jeyaretnam was a poseur, always seeking publicity, good or bad.8 It is pointless to search for Jeyaretnam's accomplishments in the realm of the concrete. His achievements were set in a far more durable medium: the hearts and minds of the people of Singapore. Despite the odds against him indeed, because of the odds against him h e inspired a generation of Singaporeans who for years had bitten their tongues and held their breath. Lee got it partly right. Starved of resources, Jeyaretnam was disorganised in parliament. Surrounded by injustice, he did dissipate his energies. In a sense, he was a publicity-seeker, trying desperately to focus attention on the plight of the poor and the downtrodden, only to find the spotlight reflected back at him. But Lee's backhanded slap at Jeyaretnam's principles was a low blow. Principles were practically the only thing Jeyaretnam did have. His stubborn loyalty to his principles, long after they had gone out of fashion, was the reason he jumped into the political arena in the first place, and the reason he soldiered on alone, battered and bleeding, for 3o years. Principles were what gave Jeyaretnam his strength and his courage. The people, he felt, had chosen him as their champion. He would not, could not, abandon them. And if he could not abandon them, they refused to abandon him. In the streets, in the wet markets, in the coffee shops, and on the bus their faces invariably lit up when they recognised him. A reporter who followed him around on his errands would find his notebook littered with admiring quotes: "He's a man with a lot of toughness and staying power. He's been knocked down over and over. I have to admire the man." "For 20 years, nobody stood up, but JB did. I think we owe him something, collectively, as a nation. Whether he is right or wrong, just the fact that he stood upwe owe him for that." 315

Lee's Law

"Everybody respects him, because they see his courage shining through. He will keep going until he draws his last breath." "He's doing this for m e f o r all of us. He stood up when I should have stood up." "We need people like him. He's all the way. From the heart." There is no need to conjure up dark conspiracies in order to understand what happened to Jeyaretnam. The conspiracy was out in the open. Lee had vowed, in public, to destroy him. Like a colony of honeybees attacking an intruder, a deadly swarm of ministers, bureaucrats, prosecutors, lawyers, and journalists descended on Jeyaretnam with an almost apian savageiy. It was, however, a pyrrhic victory for the PAP. Jeyaretnam's primary transgression was to accuse the government of running an ornamental democracy. Ironically, the PAP's scorched-earth tactics only made Jeyaretnam's case more convincing.

As the midday sun climbed to its zenith, Orchard Road thronged with shoppers: tourists in Hawaiian shirts toting paper bags from Robinson's, teenage girls chatting on their cell phones, schoolchildren in their uniforms slurping milkshakes. Outside the Centrepoint mall, an old man stood next to an artist's easel, which bore a slab of styrofoam proclaiming
READ THE TRUTH ABOUT SINGAPORE.

Dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt that was open at its crumpled collar, black slacks, and black leather shoes, he held a paperback book in his right hand. For several minutes he stood in silence, gazing off into the distance, his heavy brows settling over his eyes as the shoppers hurried past. Then he shouted, "Make it right!" "Make it r i g h t . . . for Singapore!" A smartly dressed young Chinese couple approached him to buy a copy of the book. Jeyaretnam broke into a broad smile. "Would you like me to sign it?" he asked. They nodded in approval. He inscribed his autograph with a flourish, and beamed again as he handed it to them. They sauntered on down the street, and Jeyaretnam turned to watch them as they disappeared into the crowd. 292

GLOSSARY

Attorney-General Government official in charge of criminal prosecutions. Also called the Public Prosecutor; briefly known as the Advocate-General. beijaya victory botak affectionate nickname. bukit hill Cantonese a dialect of Mandarin GPM Communist Party of Malaya GRC Group Representation Constituency Hakka a dialect of Mandarin HDB Housing Development Board. Hokkien a dialect of Mandarin iced kachang a Malay delicacy involving shaved ice, jelly cubes, red beans, corn kernels, and condensed milk. jalan street kampong village kempeitai Japanese secret police kiasu Hokkien term meaning "scared to lose." Pushy, selfish, or materialistic, lorong alley Malay The language and indigenous people of the Malay peninsula. Malaya Name of the British colony on the Malay peninsula, and later, the independent Federation; Malaysia Nation formed in 1963 by the merger of the Federation of Malaya, Singapore, Sarawak, and Sabah. MAS Monetary Authority of Singapore merdeka independence MP Member of Parliament NCMP Non-constituency member of Parliament. orang laut indigenous inhabitants of the Malay peninsula, also known as "sea gypsies." PAP People's Action Party PM Prime Minister Queens Counsel A senior British barrister silk see Queen's Counsel SDP Singapore Democratic Party SM Senior Minister sook ching During Japanese occupation, a murderous round-up of alleged

*95

Lee's Law

subversives. sour khana preserved fruit Teochew a dialect of Mandarin void deck ground floor of a high-rise apartment block, built without walls and used by residents as communal space. WP Workers'Party

296

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Arasaratnam, Sinnappah. Indians in Malaysia and Singapore. Bombay, Published for the Institute of Race Relations, London, by Oxford University Press. 1970 Baker, Jim. Crossroads: A Popular History ofMalaysia & Singapore. Singapore: Times Books International. 1999. Barber, Noel. A Sinister Twilight: The Fall of Singapore 1942. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. 1968. Chee Soon Juan. Dare To Change: An Alternative lesion, for Singapore. Singapore: Singapore Democratic Party. 1994. Chee Soon Juan. Singapore, My Home Too. Singapore: CSJ Publications. 1995. Chee Soon Juan. To Be Free: Stories from Asia's struggle against oppression. Clayton: Monash Asia Institute. 1998. Chua Beng-Huat. Communitarian Ideology and Democracy in Singapore. London: Routledge. 1995. Da Cunha, Derek. The Price of Victory: The >997 Singapore General Election and Beyond. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. 1997. De Konninck, Rodolphe. Singapore: An Atlas of the revolution of territory. Montpelier: Groupement d'lnteret Public RECLUS. 1992. Enright, DJ. Memoirs of a Mendicant Professor. London: Chatto and Windus. 1969 George, Cherian. Singapore: The Air-Conditioned Nation. Singapore: Landmark Books. 2000. George, TJS. Lee Kuan Yew's Singapore. London: Andre Deutsch. 1973. Han Fook Kwang, Warren Fernandez, and Sumiko Tan. Lee Kuan Yew: the man and his ideas. Singapore: Times Editions. 1998. Jeyaretnam, Joshua Benjamin. Make It Right For Singapore: Speeches in Parliament '997~7999- Singapore: Jeya Publishers. 2000. Jeyaretnam, Joshua Benjamin. Memoirs. Unpublished. Jeyaretnam, Philip. Abraham's Promise. Singapore: Times Books International. *995Jeyaretnam, Philip. Raffles Place Ragtime. Singapore: Times Books International. 1988. Lam Peng Er & Kevin Y1 Tan. Lee's Lieutenants-. Singapore's Old Guard. St Leonards: Allen & Unwin. 1999. Lee Kuan Yew. From Third World To First, The Singapore Story: 1965-3000. New York:

24

Lee's Law HarperCollins Publishers. 2000. LePoer, Barbara Leitch. Singapore: a country study. Federal Research Division, Library of Congress. 1991. McKie, Ronald. Malaysia in Focus. Sydney: Angus & Robertson. 1963. Minchin, James. No Man Is An Island: A portrait of Singapore's Lee Kuan Yew. Sydney: Allen & Unwin Australia. 1986. Ministry of Information and the Arts. Singapore: Facts and Figures 1997. Singapore: MITA. 1997. Mortimer, John. Clinging to the Wreckage. New Haven and New York: Ticknor & Fields. 1983. Rodan, Garry (ed). Singapore Changes Guard: social, political and economic directions in the 1990s. New York: St. Martin's Press. 1993. Said Zahari. DarkClouds at Dawn: A Political Memoir. Kuala Lumpur: INSAN. 2001. Seow, Francis. The Media Enthralled: Singapore Revisited. Boulder, Colorado: Lynne Rienner Publishers. 1998. Seow, Francis. To Catch a Tartar: A dissident in Lee Kuan Yew's Prison. Yale University Southeast Asia Studies. New Haven, Connecticut. 1994. Sesser, Stan. The Lands of Charm and Cruelty: Travels in Southeast Asia. New York: Knopf. 1993. Singh, Bilveer. Whither PAP's Dominance? An Analysis of Singapore's 1991 General Elections. Petaling Jaya: Pelanduk Publications (M). 1992. Tan Kok Seng. Son of Singapore. Singapore: Heinemann Educational Books (Asia) Ltd. 1974. Tan Sook Yee. Private Ownership of Public Housing in Singapore. Singapore: Times Academic Press. 1998. Tremewan, Christopher. The Political Economy Of Social Control In Singapore. New York: St Martin's Press and London: Macmillan. 1996. Turnbull, CM. A History of Singapore 1819-1988. Second Edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1989. Turnbull, CM. Dateline Singapore: 150 years of the Straits Times. Singapore: Singapore Press Holdings. 1995. Workers' Party. 40th Anniversary Magazine. Singapore: The Workers' Party. 1997.

298

NOTES

1 World Bank, World Development Indicators Database. Seven years' preventive detention for repeat offender. Straits Times. 16 May 1997. See Singapore government website, www.sg/flavour/values-5.html, accessed April 2002. 3 Jeyaretnam's quotes on the coffee shop murder are taken from an interview in April 1998. 4 See testimony of Zainal bin Kuning at his murder trial, p. 483. Because Zainal testified through an interpreter, some of his phrases will not sound idiomatic to a non- Singaporean ear. 5 For example, see the Falun Gongwebsite. www.clearwisdom.net/emh/articles/aooo/11/17/6158.html, accessed April 2002. 6 Israeli court bars torture. Detroit News, 7 September 1999. 7 Zainal bin Kuning testimony, p. 514. 8 High tech to the rescue: fingerprints pointed the way in arrest of suspect yesterday. Straits Times, 7 May 1992. 9 WP calls for inquiiy into police methods. Straits Times. 9 May 1992.
2

T H E COFFEE SHOP M U R D E R

T H E CROSSROADS

1 Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir, The Hikayat Abdullah (1849), cited in Travellers' Tales of Old Singapore. Michael Wise. ed.. p. 12. 2 CMTurnbull. A History of Singapore, p. 5. 3 Ibid, p.36. 4 Singapore: a country study, p. 275. 5 Jim Baker. Crossroads: a popular histoiy of Malaysia and Singapore, p. i32. 6 Turnbull, A History of Singapore, p. 160. 7 Interview with JBJ, January 2000. 8 Interview with JBJ, March 1998. 9 Editorial, Straits Times, 4 September 1939, quoted in Turnbull. Dateline Singapore, p. io3. 10 Noel Barber, Sinister Twilight, pp. 8-10. 11 Turnbull, A History of Singapore, p. 190. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid., p. 205. 1 Interview with JBJ, March 1998. 2 JBJ correspondence with author, April 2002. 3 Ramon Magsaysay Centre, The Ramon Magsaysay Award: 1958-1978, p. 282. Quoted in Lam Peng Er & Kevin Y1 Tan, Lee's Lieutenants, p. 18 4 Turnbull, A Histoiy of Singapore, p. 242. 1 2 3 4 5
6 7

T H E AFTERMATH OF W A R

DISILLUSION

Travellers' Guide to Singapore, i960, Ministiy of Culture. Ronald McKie, Malaysia in Focus, p. 120. DJ Enright, Memoirs of a Mendicant Professor, pp. 128-9. Straits Times, 19 May 1959. Quoted in Dateline Singapore, C M Turnbull, p. 216. Forced by $329 cut in salaiy, officer to pay $90 less. Straits Times. 15 September 1959. Govt, pay cut has affected business, court is told. Straits Times, 15 September 1959. The myth about the English-educatedby Mr. Rajendra. Straits Times, 24 July 1959.

24

Lee's Law

8 9 10 11 12

Ibid. Rajendra suspended. Straits Times, 25 July 1959. Rajendrato face tribunalseeks to engage lawyer. Straits Times, 7 September 1959. Rajendra: Govt, sets up a new tribunal. Straits Times, 15 September 1959. See First Report of the Committee of Privileges, Complaints of Allegations of Executive Interference in the Judiciary, Presented to Parliament 21 Januaiy 1987. Minutes of Evidence, D 47713 Lee Kuan Yew, From Third World to First, the Singapore Story 1965-2000. p. 212. 1* Church criticised for being silent on public affairs, Malay Mail, 3 November 1962.
15 16 Ibid. Turribull, A History of Singapore, p. 2 7 2 .

17 18 19 20 21 22
23

Francis Seow, To Catch a Tartar, p. 3o. TJS George, Lee Kuan Yew's Singapore, p. 124. See Said Zahari, Dark Clouds at Dawn. Turnbull, A History of Singapore, p. 272. Interview with JBJ, February 2002. Interview with JBJ, March 1998. $62,000 gold handed back. Straits Times, 8 October 1963. Two charges on same facts "too harsh" says judge. Straits Times, 26 October 1963. Forged his uncle's signature. Straits Times, 3o October 1963. Reluctant judge hands out jail term. Straits Times, 12 November 1963. Jail order "with reluctance." Straits Times. 19 October 1963. Strike was NOT illegal. Straits Times, 21 November 1963. Interview with JBJ, March 1998.

24 25 26 27 28 29 30
31 33

Ibid

32 Turnbull,j4Histoiyo/Singapore, p. 284. 34 Interview with N, December 1996. 35 A blunt talk with Singapore's Lee Kuan Yew. Fortune, 4 August 1997.
T H E ADVOCATE
Ibid., p. 2 8 3 .

Ibid.

1 Guarantee freedom from arbitrary arrest. Straits Times, 10 March 1966. 2 Letter from an unnamed detainee, circulated by Malaysians and Singaporeans for a Democratic Society in 1971, quoted in George, Lee Kuan Yew's Singapore, p. 120-1. 3 Description of Chia Thye Poh taken from Chee Soon Juan, To Be Free, starting p. 242, and from Stan Sesser, The Lands of Charm and Cruelty, starting p. 33. 4 Barisan's Chia held in security round-up. Straits Times, 3o October 1966. 5 Stan Sesser, The Lands of Charm and Cruelty, p. 33. 6 Gangster who fired twice at police gets death penalty, Straits Times, 25 Februaiy 1970. 7 Interview with H, March 1998. 8 Interview with JBJ, Februaiy 2002. 9 Interview with JBJ, March 1998. 10 Workers' Party, Power to the People, pp. 58-62. 11 Turnbull,.4 History of Singapore, p. 3i3 12 Interview with JBJ, Februaiy 2002. 13 Interview with H, March 1998. 14 Letters, Straits Times, 29 September 1971. 1 George, Lee Kuan Yew's Singapore, p. 200. 2 James Minchin, No Man is an Island: a portrait ofSingapore's Lee Kuan
3 Ibid, p. 3 4 4 .

LEE's CHALLENGER

p. ix.

3oo

notes

4 Han Fook Kwang, Warren Fernandez, Sumiko Tan, Lee Kuan Yew. 6 7 8 9 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34
35 26 10 5 Ibid, p . 126.

the man and his ideas,

p. i3.

Turnbull, Dateline Singapore, p. 398-9. S'pore turning into capitalist orientated society, says Jeyaretnam. Straits Times, 23 September 1971. Letters, Straits Times. 4 October 1971. Letters. Straits Times, 16 October 1971.

Jeyaretnam on opposition's role in politics. New Nation, 21 July 1972 Letters. Straits Times, 25 July 1972. Letters, Straits Times, 1 August 1972. Letters. Straits Times, 8 August 1972. JBJ memoir, p. 11. Dr Lee: WP wants chaos in Singapore. Straits Times, 29 August 1972. Jeya told: State your stand. Straits Times, 3o August 1972. Vicious personal campaign against me: Jeya. Straits Times, 3o August 1972. WP to field only 3o candidates. Sunday Times, 12 December 1976. Jeya: Challenge came "a bit too late." Straits Times. 2 September 1972. Jeyaretnam: Why an Opposition in the House is a necessity. Straits Times, 2 September 1972. Interview with JBJ, February 2002. JBJ memoir, p. i3. Interview with JBJ. May 1998. JBJ memoir, p. 32. Battle for votes opens. Straits Times, 15 December 1976. Branding the bad hats for life. Straits Times, i3 September 1974. Jeya on the 'charade of the basicright.'Straits Times, 18 December 1976. Why don't J and M allow their children to mix with local pupils Raja, Straits Times, 22 December 1976. Jeya: fear over secrecy of ballot. Straits Times, 20 December 1976. The vote is secret, assures Lee. Straits Times, 20 December 1976. Jeya's early exit lets down the WP followers. Straits Times, 25 December 1976. Bilveer Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 10.
L e e , From Third World to First, p. 1 4 8 . Ibid., p. 3 8 .

Power to the People, p . 7 .

36 RZ 'illegal' court shock. Straits Times. 12 Januaiy 1977. 37 RZ: We cany on, say police. Straits Times. i3 Januaiy 1977. 38 I will speak up for the down-trodden, says Jeya. Straits Times. 7 May 1977.
39

40 41 42 43 44
45

Back to beat the drum for those lofty ideals. Leslie Fong, Sunday Times. 8 May 1977. 12,053 votes win for Chen. Sunday Times. 15 May 1977. Registrar of the Supreme Court. Case PCA4/1980 John Mortimer, Clinging to the Wreckage, p. 182. Not Even $200,000 would bankrupt Jeyaretnam, Lee tells court. Straits Times, 22 November 1978. Jeya lashes out at bogey of communism and communalism, Straits Times, 10 February 1979. Interview with JBJ, January 2000. Jeya's wife dies of cancer at 50, Straits Times, 11 April 1979. JBJ memoir, p. 41.
Ibid.

Ibid.

46 47 48 49

T H E BATTLE FOR ANSON

1 Chok Tong puts Jeya, parties under the microscope. Straits Times. 27 October 1981. 2 Cited by Ian Gill, Oppositionist's Election Spurs PAP to Review Its Position, Asian Wall Street Journal, 24 November, 1981. 3 Housing & Development Board. Building Statistics, Statistics & Charts for FY 1997/98.
3oi

Lee's Law

4 See FEER, 11 December 1981, and FEER, 18 December 1981, quoting LKY analysis of PAP loss in Anson. 5 Peter KW Tan, Englishised names? Naming patterns among ethnic-Chinese Singaporeans. (See courses.nus.edu.sg/cour8e/elltankw/name8.pdf. Accessed July 200a.) 6 Chua Beng-Huat, Communitarian Ideology and Democracy in Singapore, p. 173. 7 WP Chief hits at 'curbs on right to strike,' Sunday Times, 25 October 1981. 8 Kenneth Whiting, Spokesman says election loss won't change official policies, AP, Nov. 11981 9 More difficult time for Anson if non-PAP man wins. Straits Times, 29 October 1981. 10 Last words, Sunday Times, 1 November 1981. 11 Jeya breaks one-party rule, Sunday Nation, 1 November 1981. 12 Interview with Wong Hong Toy, Februaiy 2000. 13 Jeyaretnam takes Anson, Straits Times, 1 November 1981. 14 Interview with K, Februaiy 2000. 15 Interview with Subhas Anandan, Februaiy 2000. 16 JBJ memoir, p. 52. 17 Interview with G, Februaiy 2000. 18 Email from Russell Heng, March 1998. 19 Interview with I, April 1998. 20 JBJ correspondence with author, Februaiy 2001. 21 CV Devan Nair, Point of no return for Singapore, Sydney Morning Herald, 5 April 1999. 22 PAP's political primers, FEER 15 October 1982. 23 FEER, 15 October 1982. 24 JBJ memoir, p. 55. 25 The Hansard, 22 December 1981,3oo. 26 Ibid., 320-227

28 29 30 31 32 33

Minchin, No Man Is An Island, p. 109. 22 December 1981,3283i. Interview with JBJ. Januaiysooo. Lee tightens political control in Singapore. International Herald Tribune, 11 Februaiy 1982. Interview with Zainul Abiddin bin Mohammed Shah, Januaiy 2000. Straits Times, 16 January 1982. The report quoted Rajaratnam as saying that the Workers' Party fielded a bicycle thief "in the last election." Later, however, Rajaratnam insisted he had said "in a past election." The paper then retracted its report, prompting Jeyaretnam to accuse the Straits Times of attempting to "rescue" Rajaratnam. This led to the bizarre spectacle of the Straits Times suing Jeyaretnam for libela suit it ultimately lost. 34 Permit for rally refused, says Jeya. Straits Times. 8 Jan 1982. 35 The Hansard, 25 March 1982, i6334.
The Hansard,

Ibid.. 3 2 7 -

T H E CHAMPION

Ibid., Ibid.,

17 March 1982, io3340.

3 4
5

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

22 March 1982. i3o8. i3io. Turnbull, Dateline Singapore, p. 337. "Nathan: if Jeya is an honourable MP...," Sunday Times, 4 April 1982. Jeya says he could do better, Sunday Nation, 11 July 1982. The Hansard, 24 July 1984,1753. Turnbull, Dateline Singapore, p. 334The Opposition says 'sorry.' Asiaweek. 6 August 1982. JBJ memoir, p. 90. Interview with JBJ. Februaiy 2002. JBJ memoir, p. 60.
Ibid.,

Ibid., 1039.

3o?

notes
14 Ibid., p. 107.

15 ibid..p. 115. 16 The Hansard, 14 March 1984,1028-33. Also see Verbal turbulence rules, but light episodes win the day, Straits Times, 15 March 1984. 17 Interview with JBJ, February 2002. 18 JBJ memoir, p. 164. 19 The question of whether Xhoo's move was a "transfer" or a "demotion" remained a topic of fierce debate between foreign reporters and government spokesmen (who usually had the last word: The Xsion Wall St Journal was even fined for using the word "demotion" in an editorial). It is fair to say the move was not a demotion in terms of pay: Khoo retained his grade and his salary. But the man he switched places with was two grades below him in the civil service. In terms of prestige and prospects, it seems clear that the post of senior counsel (roughly equivalent to senior assistant district attorney) was a step below that of senior district judge. 20 The Hansard, i3 March 1984.899. 21 Ibid., 29 June 1984.1501. 22 Ibid., 24 July 1984,1734. 23 Ibid., 25 July 1984,1812-24. 24 Turnbull, Dateline Singapore, p. 355. 25 JBJ correspondence with author, April 2001. 26 The Hansard, 29 June 1984,1499. 27 Fervent WP supporter interrupts Jeya at rally. Singapore Monitor, 17 December 1984. 28 Ebb and flow at Anson counting centre. Straits Times. 24 December 1984. 29 Interview with K, February 2000. 30 Straits Times, 24 Dec 1984, quoted in Bilveer Singh, p. 15 31 JBJ memoir, p. 173. 32 Bilveer Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 15. 33 Garry Rodan, The Growth of Singapore's Middle Class, in Singapore Changes Guard, p. 58. 34 Chua Beng- Huat. Communitarian Ideology and Democracy in Singapore, p. 21. 35 The Hansard, 24 July 1984.1754. 36 Rodan, The Growth of Singapore's Middle Class, p. 58. 37 JBJ memoir, p. 172. 38 Workers' Party No To Third Seat, Singapore Monitor, 4 January 1985. 39 Jeya irked by Teh's priority for PAP wards. Singapore Monitor, 21 March 1985. 40 Serve PAP constituency first policy. Straits Times, 22 March 1985. 41 Francis Seow, The Media Enthralled, p. 210. 42 The Hansard, 27 March 1985,1571. 43 The night the chief editor stopped the press. Straits Times, 28 March 1985. 44 Sunday Times, 27 October 1991, quoted in Seow, The Media Enthralled, p. 227. 45 Jeya put on his best show but Chiam was ill at ease. Sunday Times, 7 April 1985.
46

47 48 49 50 51

Ibid.

JBJ memoir, p. 233. ibid., p. 231.

The Political Economy of Social Control in Singapore.

Interview with JBJ, February 2000. Quoted in JBJ memoir, p. 243.

Christopher Tremewan, pp. 206-9.

1 The Constitution of the Republic of Singapore, Article 111. 2 The Hansard, 10 January 1986,702.
3 4 Ibid., 7 0 6 . Ibid., 712. Ibid., Ibid.,

SILENCE M U S T BE MAINTAINED

5 6

19 March 1986, 696. 696-8.

3o3

Lee's Law

7 First Report of the Committee of Privileges, Complaints of Allegations of Executive Interference in the Judiciary, Presented to Parliament 21 Januaiy 1987. Minutes of Evidence, D 485. 8 The Hansard, 19 March 1986, 698700.
9

10 ibid., 706^7. 11 Ibid., 719-20. 12 Ibid., 21 March 1986, 891-2.

13 14 15 16 Ibid. , 8 9 2 . Ibid., 8 9 4 . Ibid., 8 9 5 . Ibid., 8 9 6 .

Ibid., 7 0 6 .

17 ibid., 898-900. 18 JBJ memoir, p. 264-5. 19 Report of the Commission of Inquiry into allegations of executive interference in the Subordinate courts, Cmd 12 of 1986, p. 74. 20 77ie Hansard, 27 March 1986,1387. 21 Minchin, No Man Is An Island, p. 217. 22 The Hansard, 29 July 1986,111. 23 The Hansard. 1 August 1986,391. 24 I made it all up. Straits Times, 3i July 1986. 25 The Hansard, 1 August 1986,393-6. 26 Email from Garry Rodan, September 1998. 27 Interview with H, March 1998. 28 Interview with JBJ, February 2000. 29 The Hansard, 29 July 1986,172. 30 Ibid, 3o July 1986, 289-90. 1 FEER, 4 September 1986. 2 First Report of the Committee of Privileges, Complaints of Allegations of Executive Interference in the Judiciary, Presented to Parliament 21 January 1987. Minutes of Evidence, D 20. 3 JBJ memoir, p. 288. 4 Straits Times, 9 September 1986, p. 10. 5 Straits Times, 10 September 1986, p. 1.
6

BREACH OF PRIVILEGE

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16
17

Wee's statement reprinted in Straits Times, 10 September 1986, p. 10. Minutes of Evidence, D 180. Straits Times, 10 September 1986, p. 10. JBJ memoir, p. 3oo. Straits Times, 11 September 1986, p. 10. JBJ memoir, p. 284. Straits Times, 11 September 1986, p. 10. Interview with Dr Ivy Chew, February 2000. JBJ memoir, p. 3o8. Retrial sought 'because judge was biased', Straits Times, 12 September 1986, p. i3.
Ibid.

Ibid.

18 Demotion it was not: Khoo, Straits Times, 12 September 1986. p. 1. 19 JBJ memoir, p. 3i6. 20 Straits Times, i3 September 1986. p. 12.
21 Ibid.

22 Minutes of Evidence, p. 508. 23 JBJ memoir, p. 366.

24 Ibid.

304

notes
25 26 27 Ibid., p. 3 6 8 . Ibid., p. 3 6 9 , 371. Ibid., p. 3 7 2 .

28 The Fall of Jeyaretnam. Asiaweek. 23 November 1986.

T H E PRESIDENT'S GUEST
3 4 Ibid., p. 3 7 6 . Ibid., p. 3 7 9 .

1 Asia Online, "Asia Online interviews JB Jeyaretnam," March 1997. 2 JBJ memoir, p. 38o. Interview with Subhas Anandan, February 2000. Interview with JBJ, February 2000. No-licence conviction: Jeya loses appeal but gets fine reduced. Straits Times, 11 October 1989. JBJ memoir, p. 404.
Ibid., p. 4 0 6 . Ibid., p. 4 1 0 .

5 6 7 8
9 10

11 Interview with Wendy Chiu, February 2000. 12 Tang Fong Har, A detainee remembers. Index on Censorship, August 1989. Tang was detained for a total of 85 days, and laterfledto England. The Singapore authorities have issued a warrant for her arrest in case she ever returns. 13 FEER. 4 June 1987. p. 9. 14 Gany Rodan. State-society relations and political opposition in Singapore, 1996. 15 Justice, Not Terrorism. The Hammer, August 1987. 16 Interview with JBJ, February 2000. 17 Jeyaretnam arrested for demo. New Sunday Times, 3i May 1987. Police stop WP protest. Straits Times 3r May 1987. See also FEER, 11 June 1987, p. 10. 18 Interview with Gopalan Nair, February 1999. 19 Jeya criticises Privy Council rebuff, Sunday Times, 9 August 1987. 20 JBJ correspondence with author, April 2001.
21

22 WP chairman resigns from party. Straits Times, 5 November 1987. 23 Interview with JBJ, February 2002. 24 The saga is described in vivid detail in Seow's chilling memoir. To Catch A Tartar, which is impossible to obtain in Singapore, although the government does not acknowledge that it has been banned. However, bootleg photocopies continue to circulate in the Lion Cityin 1998,1 myself was the lucky recipient of a well-thumbed Xerox. 25 Seow, To Catch a Tartar, p. 254. 26 Singapore Elections Division website www.elections.gov.sg/history/Histoiy.html. Accessed March 2002. 27 Workers' Party accepts offer of two NCMP seats, Straits Times, 11 September 1988.
28

Power to the People, p. 14.

29 JBJ correspondence with author, April 2001.

A SERIES OF MISJUDGMENTS

Ibid.

1 JBJ Memoirs, p. 416.

Ibid., p. 4 1 9 . Ibid.

2 3

4 Privy Council Appeal No. 10 of 1988. Reasons for decision of the lords of the judicial committee of the privy council of 25 October 1988, delivered 21 November 1988, p. 22. 5 JBJ Memoirs, p. 421.
6

First Report of the Committee of Privileges, Complaints of Allegations of Executive Interference in the Judiciary, Presented to Parliament 21 January 1987. Minutes of Evidence, D 496.

Ibid., p. 4 2 3 .

3o5

Lee's Law

8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44
45 26

JBJ Memoirs, p. 418. Damage Control. FEER, 1 September 1989. The Hansard, 15 March 1967. Lee, From Third World to First. The Singapore Story, 1965-3000, p. 162. Judge: Grave slander against Mr Lee. Straits Times, 4 August 1990. PM tells why he did not reply to Teh's letter. Straits Times, 5 July 1990. Hammered Down. FEER, 29 November 1990. The Hansard, 9 November 1990, 649-55. Jeyaretnam's Challenge, Asian Wall Street Journal, 17 October 1985. See Seow, The Media Enthralled, p. 144. "Silencing the Dissenters: Prime Minister Lee Restricts the Opposition's ManoeuvTeing Room." Time, 8 September 1986. The Law Grossly Misused. The Times of London, 14 June 1989. Govt spent $63,000 for ads in UK papers to put across its views. Sunday Times, 8 October 1989. The only libel action Jeyaretnam successfully defended was one taken out against him by the Straits Times in 1983 over a WP press release. Jeyaretnam pays up. so bankruptcy petition withdrawn. Straits Times, so May 1995. Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 19. Snap polls a disgraceful and desperate ploy to keep me out again: Jeya. Straits Times, 16 August 1991. Singh. Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 43. 19 August 1991, quoted in Bilveer Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 50. A message from the Secretaiy-General. quoted in Bilveer Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 70. Straits Times, 37 August 1991, quoted in Bilveer Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 80. WP taking racial line? That's a lie, says Jeya. Straits Times, 39 August 1991. Straits Times, 39 August 1991, quoted in Bilveer Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p.83 Business Times, (Malaysia), 3 September 1991. quoted in Bilveer Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 110. Singh, Whither PAP's Dominance? p. 113. Jeyaretnam pleased with election results. Business Times, 3 September 1991. Straits Times, 4 September 1991, quoted in Bilveer Singh, Either PAP's Dominance? p. 151. Jeya repays his defamation loan. Straits Times. 34 January 1995. Jeya beats bankruptcy order with last-minute payment. Straits Times, 1 November 1991. Interview with JBJ, Februaiy 2003. Lees give way. Prime Minister Goh consolidates his power. FEER 17 December 1993. Interview with Gopalan Nair, February 1999. Interview with Dr. Chee Soon Juan, Januaiy 3000. Cherian George, Singapore: The Air-Conditioned Nation, p. 87. The beginning of the end for WP leader Jeyaretnam? Straits Times, 13 December 1993. Interview with Chiam See Tong. 14 February 3000.
Straits Times, H a n , et al. The Man and his Ideas, p . 1 4 6 . Ibid, p . 4 8 .

46 Derek Davies, former editor of FEER, in a speech to the Freedom Forum, Hong Kong, December 1994. 47 Devan Nair, in the foreword to To Catch a Tartar, p. xii. 48 For example, see Singapore: Facts and Pictures, 1997, p. 25. 49 One Horse Race, FEER, 17 June 1993. 50 Jeya repays his defamation loan. Straits Times. 34 Januaiy 1995. 51 Jeya pays up. so bankruptcy petition withdrawn. Straits Times, 3 0 May 1995. 52 News Focus, Straits Times, s3 November 1995. 53 International Herald Tribune, 7 October 1994.

3o6

notes

T H E OLD WARRIOR RIDES AGAIN

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23
24

Yazhou Zhoukan, 2 June 1996. Interview with Tang Liang Hong, February 1997. Derek da Cunha. The Price of Victory, p. 22. Jeyaretnam surprises by standing in Cheng San. Straits Times, 24 December 1996. Housing & Development Board. Statistics & Charts for FY 1996/97. The cost of opposition. Asiaweek, 17 Januaiy 1997. We will fight GE as local election. Straits Times, 23 December 1996. US not interfering in S'pore's domestic affairs: WP. Business Times, 3o December 1996. No More Mr. Nice Guy. Asiaweek, 17 Januaiy 1997. Straits Times, 27 December 1996. Quiet mountain that became a hot seat. Straits Times, 2 Januaiy 1997. da Cunha, TTie Price of Victory, p. 104. JB Jeyaretnam: the spirit of Anson is in the air. Straits Times, 25 December 1996. da Cunha, The Price of Victory, p. 45. Singapore opposition warhorse still feisty at the age of 70, Jakarta Post, 2 Januaiy 1997. Quoted in Da Cunha, p. 45. WP's Tang Liang Hong a dangerous character, says PM. Straits Times, 27 December 1996. Tang is 'not who he makes himself out to be.' Straits Times, 3o December 1996. Serious men vs. opportunists. Straits Times, 27 December 1996. Interview with Tang Liang Hong, Februaiy 1997. Tang a coward and a liar, says PM. Straits Times, 3i December 1996. I will sue, but not now as I have no time, says Tang. Straits Times, 3i December 1996. da Cunha, The Price of Victory, p. 41. Drama, delay and protest at Cheng San. The New Paper, 3 Januaiy 1997.

25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35
36

WP raises poser over results at Cheng San. Straits Times, 4 January 1997. da Cunha, The Price of Victory, p. 46. Interview with Low Thia Khiang, Januaiy 2000. Visit to polling stations not improper: PM. Straits Times, 6 Januaiy 1997. Complaints against PAP men dismissed. Straits Times, 11 July 1997. Letter from Attorney-General Chan Sek Keong to Minister for Law Prof S Jayakumar, 21 July 1997. Workers' Party press conference, 6 August 1997. da Cunha. The Price of Victory, p. 35. Ring in the Old. FEER, 16 January 1997. Against the odds: one man's bid for democracy. Sydney Homing Herald, 15 Februaiy 1997. Jeyaretnam says "yes" to offer of NCMP seat. Straits Times, 11 Januaiy 1997.
Ibid.

Ibid.

37 See caveats lodged at Land Titles Registiy against units in Nassim Jade. 38 Submissions by Mr Charles Cray QC on behalf of Tang Liang Hong in the Court of Appeal of the Republic of Singapore, Civil Appeals Nos. 63. 64.111.112, n3.114,115,116,117,118,119,120,121, and 135 of 1997. p. 19. 39 The description of Jeyaretnam's appearance before Justice Goh is taken from the author's own notes as an observer. 40 New and old mingle as MPs take oaths. Straits Times, 27 May 1997. 41 JB Jeyaretnam, Make it Right for Singapore, p. 4.
42

43 Jeya dishes out a dusty old recording. Straits Times, 5 June 1997.
T H E MOLOTOV COCKTAIL

Ibid.

1 New York Times Almanac 2001 (figures from the World Bank.) 2 Singapore suit: big stakes, hired guns. UPI, 18 August 1997. 3 QC blames leaks on Singapore leaders. London Times, 22 August 1997.
307

Lee's Law

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Author's notes on the trial, 22 August 1997. Goh relates events surrounding police reports. Straits Times, 20 August 1997. Words were defamatory, judge rules. Straits Times. 3o September 1997. US comments on Singapore libel award, UPI, 1 October 1997. Action in Singapore, The Economist. 4 October 1997. Amnesty press statement, 15 October 1997. International Commission of Jurists press release, 1 October 1997. More on Littlemore. The New Paper, 15 October 1997. Stuart Littlemore, Report to the International Commission of Jurists on a defamation trial in the High Court of Singapore: Goh ChokTongv JB Jeyaretnam 1822 August 1997 Ministry of Law statement, 12 October 1997. Ministry of Law shows contempt for Littlemore. Sydney Morning Herald, 14 October 1997. Ministry of Law statement, 17 October 1997. Lawyer Littlemore spills hot tea on his credibility. Straits Times, 11 October 1997. Author's notes, November 1997. JBJ press conference, July 1998. Letterto the author, November 1998. WP and 12 members to pay $200,000 for defaming MPs, Straits Times, 9 September 1997. Letter to the author, November 1998. Interview with Subhas Anandan, Februaiy 2000. Down and possibly out. Asiaweek, 22 January 1999. Singapore opposition party's bid to raise funds from public rejected. AFP, 5 August 1999. Francis Seow, Singapore's Sisyphus, Asian Post, 18 January 2001. C. Manuneethi, Letter to Singaporeans For Democracy. 20 October 2000. Jeya predictsrisingvoice in next polls. AFP, 2 July 2000. JBJ awarded $66,666.66 plus interest. Straits Times, 20 December 2000. Interview with JBJ, Februaiy 2002. Last stand for Lion City dissident, Asian Reporter, 27 March 2001. Think Centre press release, 21 March 2001. Jeyaretnam supporters rally for civilrightsin Singapore. Asian Wall Street Journal. 3o April 2001. Jeyaretnam silent on future with party, AFP, 5 May 2001. Counsel for creditors says Jeya given time and chance to pay debt. Straits Times, 24 July 2001. JBJ says I was forced into bankruptcy. Straits Times, 24 July 2001. Bankruptcy forces Singapore opposition leader out of politics. AFP, 23 July 2001 Interview with JBJ, Februaiy 2002. JBJ loses appeal and NCMP seat. Straits Times. 24 July 2001. Interview with JBJ, July 2001. Bankrupted opposition MP barred from parliament. AFP, 25 July 2001. Lee, From Third World To First, p.124-5

T H E S P I R I T OF ANSON

3o8

APPENDIX

A LEGAL ODYSSEY: a selective chronology of civil and criminal issues involving JB Jeyaretnam and the Workers' Party

1972.-

Workers' Party sues PAP MP Tay Boon Too and the Department of Broadcasting for slander after Tay accuses WP of receiving S$6oo,ooo from a foreign source. Case dismissed because WP fails to cite the original words, spoken in Hokkien dialect. Tay awarded costs of S$3o,ooo.

1979.-

Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew sues Jeyaretnam for libel over an election speech where Jeyaretnam said: "Mr Lee Kuan Yew has managed his fortune very well. He is the Prime Minister of Singapore. His wife is the senior partner of Lee & Lee and his brother is the director of several companies, including Tat Lee Bank in Market Street; the bank which was given a permit with alacrity, banking permit licence when other banks were having difficulties getting their licence." Prime Minister Lee awarded S$i3o,ooo. Jeyaretnam appeals; loses. Additional costs and appeals drive total to S$5oo,ooo.

1981:

WP candidate R Murugason sues the Straits Times over an article describing an election petition filed on behalf of Madam Chiew Kim Kiat following the Telok Blangah by-election of 1980. Dismissed.

Oct 1981:

Jeyaretnam wins Anson by-election, becoming first opposition candidate to defeat PAP at the polls since 1963.

19$?:

Jeyaretnam sues Minister for Defence Goh Chok Tong for libel over a press conference at which Goh described a joint appearance by Jeyaretnam and Singapore Democratic Party leader Chiam See Tong. Goh said, "When [Jeyaretnam] left the hall, 200 participants went with him. I believe the exodus was engineered... It shows that the crowd... still looks to Jeyaretnam... as the leader of the opposition. .. I am inclined to believe that the exodus was contrived by the Workers' Party to show who is boss at this stage. And surely Mr Chiam cannot take that trick lighdy." Dismissed. 3oy

Lee's Law 1982: After 10 years of silence, Tay Boon Too demands that the WP pay the balance of his legal costs, S$i?,ooo. WP has only S$i8-47 in account. Tay initiates bankruptcy proceedings; receiver appointed. 1983: Straits Times sues Jeyaretnam over a WP press release. "The Workers' Party notes that the Second Deputy Prime Minister has failed to respond to the challenge by the Party and has sought refuge behind the Straits Times who has attempted to go to his rescue by a statement that he was reported incorrectly." Dismissed. 7983: Wu Kher and the WP sue S Rajaratnam over a statement that the WP fielded bicycle thieves in the elections. WP ordered to pay security for costs. Fails. Dismissed. 1 p83-. Case of the Three Cheques I. Jeyaretnam and WP Chairman Wong Hong Toy charged with fraud for allegedly diverting three donations, worth a total of S$?6oo, from the WP. Judge Michael Khoo acquits them on three charges; convicts them on one count of concealment of property. On appeal. Chief Justice Wee Chong Jin, citing numerous "errors" in Khoo's decision, convicts them on two of the acquitted charges and orders a re-trial on the third. Dec 1984,: 79S5: Jeyaretnam re-elected in Anson with increased majority. Case of the Three Cheques II. Jeyaretnam and WP Chairman Wong Hong Toy re-tried on remaining charge. Convicted; sentenced to three months in jail; they appeal. Sept 1986: Parliamentary Committee of Privileges convenes for five days to investigate Jeyaretnam's charges of executive interference in the courts. Hearing turns into an investigation of Jeyaretnam himself. Nov 1986: Case of the Three Cheques 11. Justice Lai Kew Chai reduces sentence to one month in jail, but imposes a fine of S$5,ooo, sufficient to disqualify Jeyaretnam from Parliament. Nov 7986: Jeyaretnam spends one month in jail; loses seat in Parliament; barred from standing for five years. Oct 79S7: Sept 7988: Oct 1988: Jeyaretnam stripped of licence to practise law. General elections held; Jeyaretnam barred from standing. Privy Council in London reinstates Jeyaretnam's license; declares him innocent of all charges in Case of the Three Cheques and says he is victim of a "grievous injustice." Jeyaretnam asks the President of Singapore for a pardon.

2 74

notes May 1989: President rejects Jeyaretnam's petition on the grounds that he showed no "remorse, contrition or repentance." 1990: Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew sues Jeyaretnam for a 1988 election speech on the death of National Development Minister Teh Cheang Wan. JBJ said, "In Singapore, you can't buy poison over the counter. My question was, why hasn't the government conducted an inquiiy to find out how Mr. Teh came by this poison? Mr. Teh wrote to the Prime Minister and Mr Teh ended the letter by saying that I am sorry, I will do as you advise. Did he respond to that letter? And if he did, what was his response?" Justice Lai Kew Chai awards Lee S$a6o,ooo plus costs amounting to S$355,ooo. Aug 1991: May 1992: General elections held; Jeyaretnam barred from standing. Workers Party candidate Wee Han Kim tells a May Day rally, "BG Lee should know all about fair competition in politics. He has got all the right connections, hasn't he? With his political connections, I can practically guarantee he would have enjoyed just as great a success as a businessman had he chosen a career in business, as he has enjoyed in politics." Deputy Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong and his father. Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew, threaten legal action; Wee apologises and pays S$200,000 in damages. 1995: Hammer I. Minister for Law S Jayakumar and four Indian PAP MPs sue over an article in WP paper The Hammer about an event known as Tamil Language week. Article said the five had done nothing to promote the Tamil language. Defendantsauthor A Balakrishnan, editor Jeyaretnam, and WPeventually agree to pay S$?oo,ooo in damages. 7995: Hammer II. Eleven members of the event's Organising Committee launch separate suit over same articleeven though they were not named. 1995: Prime Minister Goh ChokTong, Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew, and his son. Deputy Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong, sue the International Herald Tribune for saying that Singapore practised "dynastic politics." The paper settles out of court for S$95o,ooo. 1995: Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew, and his son, Deputy Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong sue the International Herald Tribune and American academic Christoper Lingle for an opinion piece in which Lingle said unnamed "intolerant regimes" relied on a "compliant judiciary to bankrupt opposition politicians." The paper settles out of court

335

Lee's Law for S$65O,OOO. Lingle ordered to pay an additional S$ioo,ooo, but had long since fled Singapore. May 1996: Tang I. Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew, and his son. Deputy Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong, sue lawyer Tang Liang Hong and Hong Kong magazine Yazhou Zhoukan over Tang's remarks that the HPL affair"early-bird" discounts given to the Lees on luxury apartmentsshould have been investigated by professional government bodies. "This matter should have been referred to professional agencies such as the Commercial Affairs Department or Corrupt Practices Investigation Bureau. The reports put up by them would have been more convincing to the people. Koh Beng Seng and Finance Minister Richard Hu are after all not experts in this field." Magazine settles out of court for S$90o,ooo. Lee Kuan Yew awarded S$55o,ooo, Lee Hsien Loong S$5oo,000. Dec 1996: Tang II. Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong; Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew; his son, Deputy Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong; and five other PAP leaders sue WP candidate Tang Liang Hong for telling a Straits Times reporter, "Of course I am going to sue them. Not only that, but I am going to lodge a police report against them for criminal offence. They are telling lies. They are defaming, assassinating my character. They concocted lies and go on television and spread the lies." Goh awarded S$6oo,ooo, Lee S$55o,ooo, six others S$i.35o million. Jan 7997: General elections held; Jeyaretnam returned to Parliament as nonconstituency MP. Jan 1997: Tang III. Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew, and his son. Deputy Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong, sue WP candidate Tang Liang Hong for remarks at election rallies about the HPL issue (see above). Typical sample: "We will be raising the issue on HPL. This is their death blow. Because of this they are veiy excited and nervous. So they have fabricated a lot of rumors saying that I am a chauvinist, that I am against a certain religion." Lees awarded S$5oo,ooo. Jan 1997: Tang IV. Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong and Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew sue WP candidate Tang Liang Hong for an interview with the Straits Times. "They were building up this case against me. I could see where it was all heading. I wanted to leave Singapore and be given a chance to tell the whole world that I am not who they say I am. Once I go back to Singapore, there is a possibility that I may be locked up and not given a chance to defend myself." Goh awarded

3iz

notes S$35O,OOO, Lee S$3oo,ooo. Jan 1997: Tang V. Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong, Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew and 6 other PAP leaders sue WP candidate Tang Liang Hong for saying the PAP had launched libel actions against him to squeeze him out of the political arena and "buiy me politically and financially." Goh awarded S$45o,ooo, Lee S$4oo,ooo. Six other PAP leaders awarded a total of S$i,075,000. Jan 1997: Molotov Cocktail I-IIX. Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong, Senior Minister Lee Kuan Yew, and 9 other PAP members launch 8 separate suits against Jeyaretnam for telling an election rally that his teammate had just handed him two police reports. "Mr Tang Liang Hong has just placed before me two reports he has made to the police against Mr Goh Chok Tong and his people." Prime Minister Goh likens this statement to a Molotov cocktail. Justice S Rajendran awards the Prime Minister S$20,000 in damages and 60% of his costs. Prime Minister appeals. On appeal, court hikes damages to S$ioo,ooo and orders Jeyaretnam to pay all Prime Minister's costs. Other suits pending. Aug 1998: Molotov Cocktail la. Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong initiates bankruptcy proceedings against Jeyaretnam. Withdraws petition after Jeyaretnam pays $69,000 in instalments. Dec 799S: Hammer II. Balakrishnan, Jeyaretnam and WP ordered to pay ten members of the Tamil Language Week organising committee S$265,ooo damages and S$25o,ooo in costs. Sept 1999: Hammer Ila. Two members of the Tamil Language Week organising committee, PAP MP R Ravindran, and R Kalamohan, serve petition to bankrupt Jeyaretnam. Jeyaretnam is declared bankrupt in May 2000; order set aside when he comes through with last-ditch payment. Oct 2000: Hammer lib. The eight remaining members of the Tamil Language Week organising committee serve petition to bankrupt Jeyaretnam. He agrees to pay in instalments. Dec 2ooo: Dec 2000: Jeyaretnam wins settlement of S$66,666 from lawyer G Krishnan. Minister of Foreign Affairs S Jayakumar garnishes the S$66,666 for balance of S$ioo,ooo still owed to him and four other PAP MPs for Hammer I. Jan 200i: As a result, Jeyaretnam is one day late with payment to eight

3i3

Lee's Law members of the Tamil Language Week organising committee for Hammer II. Jeyaretnam declared bankrupt; he appeals; loses; appeals again. Feb 300i: Molotov Cocktail la. Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong demands balance of S$3i,ooo. May 200t: July3001: Jeyaretnam resigns as secretary-general of the Workers' Party. Hammer lib. Jeyaretnam loses final appeal; declared bankrupt; stripped of seat in Parliament. Nov 3ooi: April 3003: General elections held. Jeyaretnam barred from standing. Molotov Cocktail II-IIX. Ten remaining plaintiffs withdraw lawsuits after Jeyaretnam agrees to apologise.

314

INDEX

Abdul Rahman, Tunku, 29, 41,47-8 Anson; battle for, 87-97; ping-pong, 106; repercussions of, n o ; lion dancers, 119-21; second battle for, 124-9; withdrawal of government services from, i32~5; carved up, 207; spirit of, 247, 280 Balakrishnan, A 238, 279, 287 Barisan Sosialis, 39,52, 91,137, 207-8 Barker, Eddie, 109-10,113-14,182 Bentham, Jeremy, 22 Blair Plain, 89-91,106,126 Business Times: "ghost edition," i33-6 Buttrose, Murray, 32 Carman, QC George, 264-77 Ceylon, 11, i3 Chee Soon Juan, 23o, 236, 250, 260 Cheng San: battle for, 244-50; polling station debate, 252-5 Cheng, Vincent, 198 Chew Swee Kee affair, 3i-3, 36, 38, 68 Chew, Dr Ivy, 116-18,179-80 Chia Thye Poh, 52-3,199, 23o Chiam See Tong, 91,128, i3i, i33,166, 169,198, 205, 210, 223, 227, 229, 232-3,235,250,251 Chiang Seok Keong, 57 Chiew Kim Kiat, 116 Chiu, Wendy, 194, 237, 275 Choor Singh, 40,196 Chua Sian Chin, 107,120 Chua, FA 37,72, 84,196 Committee of Privileges, 109-10,147, 160 etpassim-, Jeyaretnam hearings 169-88; 210, 23I, 289

Communist Party of Malaya, 25-6 Contemplacion, Flor, 239 D'Oliveiro, Desmond, 54 Davinder Singh, 257-8, 288-9 detention without trial: 4, 40,159-60, 199, 208, 23o, 259, 273. see Chia Thye Poh, Francis Seow, Marxist conspiracy. Operation Cold Store Dhanabalan, S., 104-5, 1 47> iT0'1 Donaldson and Burkinshaw, 50 Enright, DJ, 35, 36, 240 Fay, Michael, 238-9 Foenander, Eroll, 122, i38*9,148,188 Fong Sip Chee, 74 Fong Swee Suan, 40 Fong, Leslie, 81, 95,135 George, TJS, 59 Goh Chok Tong: brimming with confidence, 88; in battle for Anson, 90-1; as prime minister, 221-2; 1991 general election, 225-7; Marine Parade by-election, 229, 235; and HPL affair, 242; 1997 general election, 245-52; laughing his head off, 253; rejecting Western-style liberal democracy, 254; Molotov cocktail 260-79. Goh Joon Seng, 212, 216, 257, 280 Gomez, James, 285, 287 GRC, see Group Representation Constituency Graduate Mother Scheme, 125 Group Representation Constituency, 207-8, 210, 225-6, 229, 244, 255

Lee's Law Gurney, Henry, 26 Hammer, The, 114, 2 19, 287-8, 279-84 Harbans Singh, 91, 93 HDB, see Housing and Development Board Heng, Russell, 95 Hertogh, Maria, 26,38 Ho Juan Thai, 79, 23o Hooson, Lord Emlyn, 188 Housing and Development Board, 89, 92, i33-6, 245-6,250 HPL affair, 242-3, 256 Hu, Dr Richard, 242-3 Indonesia, 25, 27, 47,49,57, 63, 239, 275, 276, 277 Internal Security Act, 4, 50, 65, 75, 79, 107,198, 273, 290 Internal Security Department, 39, io3, 104,153, 204 Jamit Singh, 39, 40
1 59~64, Jayakumar, S., 107-9, 176, 215, 238, 253, 284, 289 Jeyaretnam, Joshua Benjamin: and the coffee shop murder, 3-8; childhood, i3-i6; during Occupation, 17-19; in London, 214; in legal service, 27-9; and Chew Swee Kee affair, 3i-3; growing unease, 36-40; as registrar, 42; as judge, 43-6; in private practice, 47, 54-5; opposing Internal Security Act, 50-1; joining Workers' Party, 56-8; 1972 general election, 65-71; 1976 general election, 73-9; selling the house, 85; battle for Anson, 8797; bureacratic hassles, 96; first speech in parliament, 97-102; pecuniary interest, 107-10,113-14,; under investigation, 115-17; on trial, 117-19; second battle for Anson, 124-9; retrial-138-40; and Khoo affair, 141-9; and

Commission of Inquiry, 150-7; Lim Poh Huat affair, 159-66; clinging to his freedom, 188-91; in jail, 193-5; losing licence, 196-7; with his sons, 205-6; 1988 general election, 20710; vindicated, 211-16; 1991 general election, 222-7; an< * the Biscuit King, 228; Marine Parade debacle, 229*32; 1997 general election, 24153; return to parliament, 255-6, 258-9; Molotov cocktail, 260-75 and 277-9; bankruptcy looms, 27988; final appeal, 288-9; accomplishments, 290-2 Jeyaretnam, Kenneth, 38,50, 66, 93, 127, 205-6 Jeyaretnam, Margaret Cynthia Walker, 23-4, 2 9 , 5 4 , 5 7 - 8 , 6 6 , 82, 85-7, 93,191, 202, 206, 275 Jeyaretnam, Philip, 50, 66, 93,127, 205-6, 214, 244 Johnson, Lyndon, 52 Johor Bahru, 9 , 1 5 , 1 6 , 20, 53, 66, 256 Joshua, Victor Lord, i3,56 Khoo, Michael, 118,122, i36, i38,143, 146-51,154,157,167,170-7,181-6 kiasu, 246, 250 Knight, Glenn, 118,154-6,174,179, 186 Kulasekaram, T, 42-3 Lai Kew Chai, 188-91; 218-19; 256-7 Lee Hsien Loong, 125-6, 222, 229, 242, 250, 252-3, 256, 260, 269 Lee Kuan Yew: entry into politics, 3o3; battle with civil servants, 36-7; in Malaysia, 47-9; as patriarch 5962; and balloting secrecy, 78; Tat Lee bank, 82-4; Anson, 95-6,110; in parliament, 99-102; vows to destroy Jeyaretnam, 123-4; attitude to democracy, 128-9; "scandalous allegations," 143-8; transfer of Judge Khoo, 149-53,166-8; roots

3i6

index of enmity, 157-9; Committee of Privileges, 169-88; unwitting provision of escape hatch, 211; views on Privy Council, 215-16; suicide of Teh Cheang Wan, 217-19; senior minister, 221-2; attitude to opposition, 233-4; HPL affair, 2423; litigious habit, 256; Molotov cocktail, 262-4, 269; belittles old adversaiy, 290 Lee Siew Choh, Dr, 207-10, 215, 225 Legal Service Commission, 43,141-6, 148,151,174,176 Levin, Bernard, 220, 237 libel, 36,68,72,83-5,111,114,119, 126,141,172,180, 2i8-23, 228, 232, 237-43, 249, 256, 259-65, 270-89 Lim Chin Siong, 40 Lim Ee Ping, 57 Lim Poh Huat, 160-4, l ( >6,168 Lim Yew Hock, 3o, 32, i3i Lim, Willie, 118 Ling How Doong, 54, 233 Lingle, Christopher, 239-40, 271 Littlemore, QC Stuart, 274-5 LowThia Kiang, 126-7, 205-6, 235, 251-3, 287 LowYong Nguan, 186, 203-5 Mahadevan, Joshua Samuel, i3,194 Make It Right For Singapore, 282-3, 292 Malaya, 12-19, 25-6, 29, 35, 40-1 Malaysia, 41-2,47-53, 57, 61-7,197, 219, 271 Man Semput, 2-7 Marian, Justus, 228, 237 Marine Parade by-election, 229-32 Marshall, David, 3o, 47,50,58, 87,109 "Marxist conspiracy," 198-201, 2o3, 208 Menado, Maria, 50 merdeka, 19, 42, 56 Minchin, Father James, 59,158 Mohamed Jufrie bin Mahmood, 200, 2o3, 205, 225, 226, 23o, 23i Molotov Cocktail, Case of the, 260-75, 277-9, 288, 289 Mortimer, QC John, 83-5,118,188 Nair, CV Devan, 87-8, 95,121, 234 Nair, Gopalan, 202, 23o Nair, MPD, 94, i3i, 155,197, 209 Ng Pock Too, 124,127-8 Nicoll, Sir John, 3o Non-constituency MP, I3O-2, 209-10,

Ong Eng Guan, 100 Operation Cold Store, 40, 57 opium, 11, 24, 28, 43 Pang Kim Hin, 90, 97,119,121 Percival, Arthur, 16 Phillips, Tampoe, 21 Pillai, Rajan, 228 Poh Lam San, 44 Privy Council, 85,137-8,189, 2o3, 211-19, 223, 229, 277 Public Service Commission, 142 Queenstown prison, 192 Raffles, Sir Stamford, 10,191 Rajaratnam, Sinnathamby, 66, 69, 77, 104 Rajendra, Frederick Vyramuttu, 36-7, 43,180 Abdul Razak, Tun, 50 Reddy, Bala, 7 Rohan Khamis, 87,115-16 Said Zahari, 40 Salahuddin Ismail, 1 Seneviratne, Percy, i6o-3 Seong, Patrick, 208 Seow, Francis, 39,135, 207-10, 214, 23o,282 separation, of Singapore and Malaysia, 48-9, 61-2,129 Sesser, Stan, 52-3

3'7

Lee's Law Sinnathuray, TS, 7,116,154-7 Subhas Anandan, 94,188-94, 279-80 Tampines, 1 Tan BoonTeik, 37, 43,72,115,119, 156,177,180-2, 215 Tan Soo Khoon, 290 Tan Teow Yeow, 181-3,190 Tan Wah Piow, 200, 2o3 TangFongHar, 198-9 Tang Liang Hong, 242-4, 24,8-50, 256-62, 265, 268-70, 288 Tat Lee Bank affair, 82, 84,111,172, 218, 228, 260 Tay Boon Too, 67, 69, 72, 83-4,11416,119 TehCheangWan, i32, 217-18, 260, 277 Teo Cheng Leong, 54 Think Centre, 285, 287 Thomas, QC Martin, 212, 218 Three Cheques, Case of the, 116-22, i36-8,155-9, l 6 7- >74-182-3,188, 196,211-12,218 torture, 4, 6 , 7 , 8,18,51,104; by air conditioner, 6 , 1 9 9 Trade Disputes Ordinance, 45 Wee Chong Jin, 42.122, i36,146,1734,196,212 Wee Han Kim, 225, 260, 274 Winslow, AV, 54 Wong Hong Toy, 58, 92,114,181, 200 Wong Mun Chong, 44 Woodfield, Philip, 21 Workers' Party, 71-4, 77-9, 92-3,127, 208-9,227"3o, 233,238,250-1, 284 Yamashita, Tomoyuki, 16 Yazhou Zhoukan, 242-3 Yeo, George, 49 Yeoh Ghim Seng, Dr, 110,170,186 Yio Chu Kang, 261, 286 Yishun, 90 Zainal Kuning, 1-8

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