Tom went to Burma during the aftermath of Cyclone Nargis with the intention of being of some assistance, particularly in the worst-hit rural areas. Being quite visibly English, he wasn't able to access those areas but spent some time working for a local NGO engaged in relief work in Rangoon. Here is his report, edited by me.
My first foray into Burma has been emotional, to say the least. Initially, I felt that life was ticking along normally; Rangoon seemed to be like many other third world cities, the streets alive with food stalls and child beggars, with rubbish cluttering the gutters. The desecrated landscape and rigid tree branches jutting from sidewalks were the only evidence of an environmental disaster. People in Rangoon were relaxed – to the point of appearing blasé – about the effects of Cyclone Nargis and the encroaching monsoon season. An early chat with a Burmese man revealed that when it rains through his decrepit roof he simply gets out of bed, sits on the floor and drinks hot tea under an umbrella. Perhaps, it seemed to me, people here should be more worried about sleep deprivation than the onslaught of a ‘second wave’ of disaster.
These perceptions have been proven to be grossly miscalculated. The suburbs of Rangoon reveal a darker picture, whilst the storm-affected regions are suffering from starvation and disease.
On a rickety bus ride through Rangoon I met Kyaw Aung Aung, an off-duty shipman heavily involved in aid work. On Friday I met with Aung very early, intending to proceed to a refugee camp to hand out supplies. This ended in disappointment for me. "No Foreigners" is the message drilled into the officers, so despite my cunning disguise in green longjee, a sarong worn by Burmese men for generations, I was politely sent packing along with the bureaucratic formalities.
Disappointed, but not downcast, we returned to Aung's house, from which he proceeded to show me around a neighbouring village in living abject poverty. The dividing line between these polarised habitats was so sudden that this village could conceivably have been someone’s bedraggled garden. Each household we went to delivered the same message: the government are corrupt, terrible human rights abusers and totally inept in this climate of disaster. People want to fight but have no provisions and no training. They are in limbo.
The worst news was painfully obvious to a trained eye. In the markets around downtown Rangoon there are inordinate amounts of warm weather clothing and ponchos, usually spread out over tarpaulins on the ground. These are exactly the same types of donated clothing I saw cluttering the corner of the Myanmar Buddhist Temple in Singapore, from where I flew to Burma. It has been explained to me that supplies sent from abroad have been surreptitiously stolen by soldiers to be sold on the black market. The aid is not reaching the needy. Moreover, corrugated iron sheets are not being administered properly. One small sheet is being sold for 5000 Kyats (five US dollars) a piece – utter corruption. Meanwhile, civilians are receiving only half a litre of water as their ration per day, queuing for hours to receive it. Funerals are further contaminating the water supply around the suburbs, as these traditionally take place in the rivers. All these factors illustrate one common necessity: deliver resources to the right people.
The good news is that local civil society groups, such as Aung's, are allowed to deliver supplies to their people. The other cars in our convoy went in without a problem – it was the foreigner’s vehicle that was held back! Aung says there are 7000 people in his group, but they are not a fully fledged NGO, as this would place them under the scope of the government, effectively making it a GO (Governmental Organisation). They have around 1000 monks on board, but, incidentally, monks are not allowed into the refugee camps. The government are afraid of the blurring of religious and political lines.
Saturday was quite a harrowing ride. My walk with Aung through the destitute village, where we handed water sterilising tablets to a local Red Cross branch, became deeply upsetting. Aung had had too many heartfelt conversations, the longest with some increasingly impassioned monks in a Buddhist monastery, and was clearly shaken by the end. Part of me dre not imagine how horrific conditions in the refugee camp would have been.
Unfortunately, so far as personal endeavours go, there is not much I can accomplish with Aung at the moment, since my foreigner status imposes inevitable limitations. To stay true to my commitment to helping these people, I now work as journalist/editor and website whipping-chief for Nargis Action Group, a local NGO in Rangoon, far from the cyclone-affected Ayeyarwady Delta but close to the present state of affairs. As I am the only native English speaker, my responsibilities have spanned to thank you letters, international requests and yesterday I helped an elderly gentleman down the stairs. It's all go, go, go!
Nargis Action Group has been a reliable presence in the Ayeyarwady Delta. We have a strong infrastructure in the field, with our own Regional Health Centre, clinics, temporary shelters and roaming medics. Swarms of yellow-emblazoned volunteers toil in Pyapon, Bogalay, Dedaye, Labutta and beyond, receiving and distributing supplies every day. Our registered volunteers are accompanied by countless other helpers who are crucial to the relief effort. They have a valuable knowledge of the area and a thirst for work, which we repay with cash-for-work.
The Delta regions are still in a dire state, while aid distribution has struggled to reach some of the remote villages. The news that foreign aid workers had finally been granted access to the disaster-hit areas was met with great enthusiasm (not least by me, as I have thus far been desk-bound), but also scepticism. The latter sentiment has since come to the fore, as General Than Shwe's promise has proved to be another bureaucratic hash-up, even affecting our efforts as a local organisation; the government checkpoints barricading the disaster-zones have become more stringent and time-consuming for our supply-laden trucks.
However, we are not a political organisation! Far from it: since the establishment of Nargis Action Group we have prized the benefits of staying on the right side of the intrusive military force. That is not to say we are pro-government here – no one is pro-government in Burma – but it makes sense to be mindful of our words in this time of urgency. I have had a sentence or two deleted on the grounds that they are too subtly provocative for our website. But I have learnt my lessons – I have to be more subtle! – and have concentrated on writing empathetic pieces to grapple with the conscience of potential donors, seduce their sympathy glands and encourage them to help.
The foreigners, computer geeks and businessmen (I stake a claim to all of these) man our headquarters in Rangoon; maintaining the website and accounts, contacting donors, etc. The office is always a hub of activity, with frequent donors coming by to drop off packages (ranging in size from teeny to titanic), funds, or simply to seek some further information on our organisation. My boss, a German lady named Kerstin, is lovely, brassy and tempestuous all at once. Just what is needed around here, as the Burmese are never shy of a tea break. Perhaps the same would go for me if the tea wasn't so god-awful.
It can be a saddening process at times, and not just because of bad tea. The number of heartbreaking stories that reach my ears and storm-ravaged pictures I must sift through can engender a sorrowful mood. In one instance, I had to choose the 'best' photograph from a whole folder of dead naked figures strewn across landscapes and on riverbanks, leaving me subdued and ponderous for the afternoon. My personality has taken a swift beating, and I have since become a bit of an emotional wreck.
Some of the tales from the night of the storm are nothing short of breathtaking. It is difficult not to enjoy such accounts of daring-do and resourcefulness, although, as with many of these things, they are not devoid of a sombre note. I relish (and simultaneously anguish over) the visual image of an entire village huddling together in a monastery, only to find the next morning that it is the only construction still standing. Meanwhile (I say meanwhile as this was not an isolated case), villagers in a brick nogg building, its roof blown clean off, stood up for almost twelve hours straight, covered up to the neck in water. As the water level rose rapidly in the building, these Burmese people summoned great initiative by placing their children in plastic buckets. The nippers bobbed incessantly through the night, only to emerge the following morning once the water had receded. This image is such a poignant one: babies bobbing in bright buckets around the heads of their grown-up saviours. And all this in the midst of a thunderous cyclone plundering through the sky.
We have had a good deal of success here in the offices of Nargis Action Group, initially with our relief aid distribution, and since with building and reconstruction. This latter initiative is a pressing concern, with both the rains and the postponed first day of school fast approaching. Are lessons to take place in temporary shelters or under individual umbrellas, with students sheltering from the monsoon downpours?
Schools must be rebuilt, especially as village schools in Burma serve many purposes besides education. To any new visitor, they might appear to function as a community hall, kindergarten and hotel all at once; children play, villagers congregate to have meetings, while guests even sleep and eat there in the right circumstances. Unsurprisingly, these villages are desperate to have their schools back, so, for now at least, we are looking to build temporary constructions to function as schools and housing whilst also planning for long-term buildings. We are aiming to construct cyclone shelters like, for example, the ones already existing in Bangladesh, built in the aftermath of their Cyclone Sidr. These would be constructed in areas close to the Bay of Bengal, as that is the area most prone to future storms and flooding.
As for aid relief, we have focused on food distribution, providing shelter materials and water purification measures, and medical care. Rice, noodles, potatoes and oil make up the culinary pongs currently wafting through the delta (Burmese cooking notoriously uses copious amounts of oil - good for killing bugs in the pan but a danger for romantic dinners..). For shelter, we distribute plastic tarpaulins and corrugated galvanised iron sheets to help build temporary shelters, while handing out blankets, candles, flip flops, mosquito nets, etc. Flip flops might seem a curious one, but the number of patients turning up at our clinics with wounded feet created the necessity, as it was further burdening the over-worked nurses and doctors who are busy with tetanus vaccinations, first aid and ad hoc psychological support. Meanwhile, our volunteers have been working with villagers to clean and clear water ponds (large tanks for harvesting rainwater) and also provide for a future chlorinated water supply. As most of the water had been contaminated by flooding and disease, the need for renovation of water purification procedures and a distribution of Aluminium Sulphate tablets was paramount.
A lot of our work in the delta focuses on needs assessment, since it is important to identify the most desperate villages whilst, as much as possible, helping everyone. Some of the more remote villages are extremely difficult to reach in the current climate of destruction so are in grave need of attention. Once our roaming volunteers have allocated a spot, they then determine to whom they should give the food and other supplies for distribution within the village; should it be a monk, the chief or a teacher? We then send out a monitor, who scurries from village to village, making sure that everything is being administered justly. What a lot to think about!
Frustratingly, although we have the most personnel in the delta, plus countless local volunteers, we lack sufficient funding for our substantial plans. We receive donations in kind at all times of the day, but, thus far, hard cash has been thin on the ground. UNICEF and Oxfam, among others, have since sent us supplies, while Action Aid, an international non-governmental fellowship programme, has channelled funds through us from the offset, providing their own volunteers to accompany ours in the field.
This has been a thoroughly interesting and enlightening experience for me so far. It illustrates the necessity of carefully researching where to send aid contributions. A case in point: the reconstruction of new schools is imperative in lieu of the destruction caused by Cyclone Nargis. The new term was due to begin on June 2nd but this has been postponed because most villages in the Ayeyarwady Delta lack temporary shelters, let alone school buildings, to conduct classes. Corrupt construction businesses have grasped a unique opportunity here, and are charging unreasonable prices for building works. The experienced local businessmen here scream, 'Foul Play!', and use their grassroots know-how and connections to seek out cheaper, but equally effectual, options. We have alerted other NGOs to more realistic prices and companies, while continuing our own initiatives.
The future for cyclone-affected families looks bleak. Millions of people have been displaced from their homes, squeezing under flailing plastic tarpaulins in alien villages, their possessions and loved ones nowhere to be found. Households and livelihoods have been shattered. While these people beg for food and plead for work to repair their lives, the desecration of their countryside is visible all around. Paddy fields and farm land are a mess, with contorted water lilies and decaying animal carcasses dotted around the landscape. Most of the Delta’s buffalos and cows were slaughtered by Cyclone Nargis, machinery damaged beyond repair, while stockpiles of seeds were cleared and scattered by the storm and flooding. Even if the resources were still available to toil the land, there would only be a fifty-fifty per cent chance of a decent harvest due to the contaminated, salted water supply. The circumstances look desperate; farmers could toil for months with sub-standard resources and eventually yield an unusable harvest of rice. Farmers have two weeks – the situation is urgent.
The international community seems to have forgotten about Burma. Cyclone Nargis is not news anymore, displaced in peoples’ consciousnesses by earthquakes, typhoons and European football, but it is still news out here. It is still big news. Money is needed, and needed fast, because we can help these people to survive and repair their lives.
See for yourself at www.nargisaction.org. (It's probably still under construction – some of these computer buffs have no appreciation of aesthetics – but if you read any flowery puff pieces with the occasional empathetic detail, it's most likely to be written by me.)
Showing posts with label burma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label burma. Show all posts
Saturday, 9 August 2008
Friday, 8 August 2008
Protest Singapore Style
by Pia Muzaffar and Olly Laughland
‘Protest Singapore style,’ so the headline went. 
The day came, our group whittled down to just nine. We approached the venue with trepidation, not knowing what awaited us at the top of the escalators as we emerged from the underground station onto the street. We were met by scores of journalists, photographers and film crews, far outnumbering our diminutive assembly. Upon sighting us they swarmed, cameras flashing, questions shouted, dictaphones thrust to our faces. “What would you say to the Burmese junta if you could be at the ASEAN summit today?” “Are you not scared of breaking Singapore’s strict anti-protest laws?” “Do your parents know you’re here?”
‘9 protestors, 29 journalists, 2,500 police.’
We couldn’t have put it better ourselves.
Weeks of planning, secretive meetings, liaisons with the international media, personal struggle and strained friendships, family warnings and relationship crises – all to walk up a busy shopping street in red t-shirts and holding candles. Our quiet vigil in protest against the Burmese junta’s uncontested presence at the annual ASEAN Summit in Singapore caused something of a stir, to put it mildly.
Weeks of planning, secretive meetings, liaisons with the international media, personal struggle and strained friendships, family warnings and relationship crises – all to walk up a busy shopping street in red t-shirts and holding candles. Our quiet vigil in protest against the Burmese junta’s uncontested presence at the annual ASEAN Summit in Singapore caused something of a stir, to put it mildly.
Of course, we weren’t the only people greatly concerned about the situation. Since the violent crackdowns of Burmese civil society reported in October of last year, hundreds of thousands of people worldwide have been involved in campaigning, calling for an end to the oppressive regime. But the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), currently chaired by what was our host country of Singapore, is crucial to either undermining or legitimising the Burmese junta. However, Singapore had so far failed to condemn the junta’s actions, its high-level business links with the regime proving far too important to jeopardise, to the great displeasure of Singapore’s 30,000-strong Burmese community.
When we found out that the Burmese generals themselves were to be welcomed with open arms into Singapore’s luxurious Shangri-La Hotel, we decided to take action. There were other events planned, including two forums organised by Overseas Burmese Patriots and SG Human Rights, but these were to be held indoors in diluted form after applications to protest outside were rejected. Singapore’s stringent protest laws and total ban on public assembly once again proved to be an effective way of containing and constraining civil society.
Raised on Millian notions of freedom of speech, a vocal student body at Sussex and general discontentment at elite political power, we decided to risk our student visas and bend the rules. Our plan was simple: to walk towards the ASEAN Summit in groups of three (theoretically remaining within the ban on public assemblies of more than four), wearing red t-shirts to mark our solidarity with the Burmese people, and holding candles (since any sort of banner or placard would require a permit).
An innocent statement, we thought, though loaded nonetheless with our disgust at the junta’s regime. But the authorities thought differently, and made this patently obvious in the days preceding our event.
First of all, an email told us, “You are requested to attend a chat with the Provost and the Dean of Students tomorrow morning.” We went along, and spent a good half hour politely deflecting their polite attempts to neuter our efforts. “We don’t want this descending into violence,” said the Provost, drawing on the standard Singaporean truism: speaking out equals violence and chaos; chaos equals a threat to the economy. He courteously passed us a copy of the Straits Times (the state-controlled newspaper), folded neatly to the front page which read, “Singapore will stick to its tough laws governing public protests”. The internet said the same – so did the television, so did the radio.
Chuckling to himself, he opened a large dossier containing page after page of our personal information gleaned from Facebook. Covered in annotations, it told a story of “potentially unlawful behaviour”. Little did we know a group of fellow students had seen our ‘Stand Up For Burma’ event on Facebook and reported us straight to the University authorities, probably in order to attain more all-important points for their own personal records. Nervous laughter followed. “You know we won’t be able to help you if you’re arrested. Student visas are an issue out of our control,” said the Provost (who is also, incidentally, the ex-Deputy Superintendent of the Singapore Police).
Though we hadn’t been explicitly threatened, we left the ‘chat’ somewhat perturbed. Had our plans taken on a life of their own? Were we interfering in areas that were not ours to meddle with?
It got weirder. The next day we were on our way to the forum organised by the Burmese expatriate community in Singapore, when we got a phone call from a friend who was also involved in organising the vigil. “Erm… guys, I’ll be a bit late for the forum,” he said in guarded tones. “There are couple of policemen in my bedroom. They want to have a word with me.” We felt a sudden jolt of anxiety. The police? The magnitude of what we were doing began to dawn on us. “Do you want us to come by your room?” we asked our friend. “Erm… yeah, that’d be good actually,” he replied, straining to conceal the panic in his voice.”
We rushed to his room, our hearts thudding. There we were greeted by two plainclothes police officers with clipboards. Like the university authorities, they warned us that our planned actions risked breaking Singaporean law. Getting arrested in Singapore is a major, major social transgression. Determined not to be dissuaded, we tried to thank them politely for their advice, but without capitulating. They left eventually, having realised that their words were falling on deaf ears. Yet their visit left us shaken, unsure of what measures the authorities would take to prevent our protest from going ahead.
After this failed attempt, the police force resorted to more insidious means. An undercover policeman was installed at our planning meetings. We each received anonymous text messages clearly concocted by a novice police officer trying to sound young and hip. “Yo heard fm law fac guy police gonna take realie tuff action 2day on asean protest… dude has gd frend in police who knows some higher ups.. better tell those goin 4 protest 2 b real careful… looks like the cops here ain’t jokin… laterz.” We got emails warning of “rising anti-foreigner sentiment” in Singapore, and links to internet forums full of posts condemning our plans. On the wall of our Facebook event, there was even a cleverly constructed anonymous attendee (creatively named ‘Nigel Chomsky’) who attempted to delegitimise our advocacy of non-violent protest by saying things like, “For once Singaporeans, DISSENT!!!!! Hell, we can f*ck the policing bastards.” His profile, again hastily invented by some novice policeman with no conception of what ‘anarchism’ actually means, had pictures of a burning car and a hooded demonstrator hurling a Molotov at riot police. His ‘About Me’ section said, “The system’s fucked up. So I set it right. I dissent.” Although in retrospect these efforts at surveillance and infiltration seem laughable, at the time they were enough to make us feel like our every move was being watched, as if we were in some kind of Orwellian dystopia.
As if these warnings from various authorities were not enough, we were also being chased up by story-hunting journalists who had got wind of our plans. Protest, sadly, is big news in Singapore. And the Singaporean web forums were buzzing with lively discussions about what we were proposing to do. “I think we should deport these ang-mos [local slang for ‘white people’],” one angry user said. Another countered, “NUS, good try, you have my support! NUS you are not wasting your time as you are brave to step out to do so. This is just the beginning, I hope to see more of such movement. Bravo, NUS! Keep it up!” Singaporean friends and strangers contacted us with messages of support. At the same time, a few members of our group were even contacted by lawyers and university authorities their our home countries, warning that participating in the protest would mean automatic expulsion from their degree programmes back home.
What had started as a simple idea, with which we’d become involved through a series of chance encounters, had now snowballed into an event of massive significance, in which an unprecedented number of different people seemed to have a stake. And this was not without effects on our personal wellbeing. We were double-locking our doors at night, unable to sleep. We were constantly looking over our shoulders, and trying to brush aside the threats and doubts that seemed to assail us from all angles. Within our group itself, the pressure was taking its toll. We became embroiled in heated arguments about the right thing to do – and even whether to go ahead with the protest at all – severely testing our friendships with each other. We were tense, scared and doubtful of our own capabilities. The claustrophobia proved too much for many.
When we found out that the Burmese generals themselves were to be welcomed with open arms into Singapore’s luxurious Shangri-La Hotel, we decided to take action. There were other events planned, including two forums organised by Overseas Burmese Patriots and SG Human Rights, but these were to be held indoors in diluted form after applications to protest outside were rejected. Singapore’s stringent protest laws and total ban on public assembly once again proved to be an effective way of containing and constraining civil society.
Raised on Millian notions of freedom of speech, a vocal student body at Sussex and general discontentment at elite political power, we decided to risk our student visas and bend the rules. Our plan was simple: to walk towards the ASEAN Summit in groups of three (theoretically remaining within the ban on public assemblies of more than four), wearing red t-shirts to mark our solidarity with the Burmese people, and holding candles (since any sort of banner or placard would require a permit).
An innocent statement, we thought, though loaded nonetheless with our disgust at the junta’s regime. But the authorities thought differently, and made this patently obvious in the days preceding our event.
First of all, an email told us, “You are requested to attend a chat with the Provost and the Dean of Students tomorrow morning.” We went along, and spent a good half hour politely deflecting their polite attempts to neuter our efforts. “We don’t want this descending into violence,” said the Provost, drawing on the standard Singaporean truism: speaking out equals violence and chaos; chaos equals a threat to the economy. He courteously passed us a copy of the Straits Times (the state-controlled newspaper), folded neatly to the front page which read, “Singapore will stick to its tough laws governing public protests”. The internet said the same – so did the television, so did the radio.
Chuckling to himself, he opened a large dossier containing page after page of our personal information gleaned from Facebook. Covered in annotations, it told a story of “potentially unlawful behaviour”. Little did we know a group of fellow students had seen our ‘Stand Up For Burma’ event on Facebook and reported us straight to the University authorities, probably in order to attain more all-important points for their own personal records. Nervous laughter followed. “You know we won’t be able to help you if you’re arrested. Student visas are an issue out of our control,” said the Provost (who is also, incidentally, the ex-Deputy Superintendent of the Singapore Police).
Though we hadn’t been explicitly threatened, we left the ‘chat’ somewhat perturbed. Had our plans taken on a life of their own? Were we interfering in areas that were not ours to meddle with?
It got weirder. The next day we were on our way to the forum organised by the Burmese expatriate community in Singapore, when we got a phone call from a friend who was also involved in organising the vigil. “Erm… guys, I’ll be a bit late for the forum,” he said in guarded tones. “There are couple of policemen in my bedroom. They want to have a word with me.” We felt a sudden jolt of anxiety. The police? The magnitude of what we were doing began to dawn on us. “Do you want us to come by your room?” we asked our friend. “Erm… yeah, that’d be good actually,” he replied, straining to conceal the panic in his voice.”
We rushed to his room, our hearts thudding. There we were greeted by two plainclothes police officers with clipboards. Like the university authorities, they warned us that our planned actions risked breaking Singaporean law. Getting arrested in Singapore is a major, major social transgression. Determined not to be dissuaded, we tried to thank them politely for their advice, but without capitulating. They left eventually, having realised that their words were falling on deaf ears. Yet their visit left us shaken, unsure of what measures the authorities would take to prevent our protest from going ahead.
After this failed attempt, the police force resorted to more insidious means. An undercover policeman was installed at our planning meetings. We each received anonymous text messages clearly concocted by a novice police officer trying to sound young and hip. “Yo heard fm law fac guy police gonna take realie tuff action 2day on asean protest… dude has gd frend in police who knows some higher ups.. better tell those goin 4 protest 2 b real careful… looks like the cops here ain’t jokin… laterz.” We got emails warning of “rising anti-foreigner sentiment” in Singapore, and links to internet forums full of posts condemning our plans. On the wall of our Facebook event, there was even a cleverly constructed anonymous attendee (creatively named ‘Nigel Chomsky’) who attempted to delegitimise our advocacy of non-violent protest by saying things like, “For once Singaporeans, DISSENT!!!!! Hell, we can f*ck the policing bastards.” His profile, again hastily invented by some novice policeman with no conception of what ‘anarchism’ actually means, had pictures of a burning car and a hooded demonstrator hurling a Molotov at riot police. His ‘About Me’ section said, “The system’s fucked up. So I set it right. I dissent.” Although in retrospect these efforts at surveillance and infiltration seem laughable, at the time they were enough to make us feel like our every move was being watched, as if we were in some kind of Orwellian dystopia.
As if these warnings from various authorities were not enough, we were also being chased up by story-hunting journalists who had got wind of our plans. Protest, sadly, is big news in Singapore. And the Singaporean web forums were buzzing with lively discussions about what we were proposing to do. “I think we should deport these ang-mos [local slang for ‘white people’],” one angry user said. Another countered, “NUS, good try, you have my support! NUS you are not wasting your time as you are brave to step out to do so. This is just the beginning, I hope to see more of such movement. Bravo, NUS! Keep it up!” Singaporean friends and strangers contacted us with messages of support. At the same time, a few members of our group were even contacted by lawyers and university authorities their our home countries, warning that participating in the protest would mean automatic expulsion from their degree programmes back home.
What had started as a simple idea, with which we’d become involved through a series of chance encounters, had now snowballed into an event of massive significance, in which an unprecedented number of different people seemed to have a stake. And this was not without effects on our personal wellbeing. We were double-locking our doors at night, unable to sleep. We were constantly looking over our shoulders, and trying to brush aside the threats and doubts that seemed to assail us from all angles. Within our group itself, the pressure was taking its toll. We became embroiled in heated arguments about the right thing to do – and even whether to go ahead with the protest at all – severely testing our friendships with each other. We were tense, scared and doubtful of our own capabilities. The claustrophobia proved too much for many.
The day came, our group whittled down to just nine. We approached the venue with trepidation, not knowing what awaited us at the top of the escalators as we emerged from the underground station onto the street. We were met by scores of journalists, photographers and film crews, far outnumbering our diminutive assembly. Upon sighting us they swarmed, cameras flashing, questions shouted, dictaphones thrust to our faces. “What would you say to the Burmese junta if you could be at the ASEAN summit today?” “Are you not scared of breaking Singapore’s strict anti-protest laws?” “Do your parents know you’re here?”
They followed us as we walked towards the venue of the summit. They were present when we encountered the police, and when we dispersed without incident. And so it was that the message of our simple, minimalist protest achieved a degree of publicity unthinkable in the UK, making the front page of Singapore’s national newspaper as well as countless other media channels throughout Asia. And the next day, emboldened by the fact that we were not arrested, a group of fifty Burmese residents in Singapore staged another anti-junta protest outside the Summit – an event of far greater political significance.
Our protest was controversial. It may have offended some. But in the following weeks, it became clear to us that our protest had not taken place for no reason. What may have begun as a basic attempt to publicly criticise the Burmese military regime, in an environment where it enjoyed an unacceptable level of impunity, quickly escalated into a question of how Singaporean society understands itself: how it is disciplined, how it relates to ‘external’ interference, and what its fundamental values are. It served to crystallise national debates around public dissent, legitimate authority, the treatment of minorities, and regional diplomacy. And from our point of view, the lengths to which the authorities went in order to try and stifle our political action really demonstrated to us how much we cherish those civil liberties we’ve always taken for granted in the UK, and which have been rapidly eroded under the Blair government. On a personal level, we ended up with sturdy friendships and a new awareness of what we were prepared to do for a cause we believed in.
this article was first published in The Pulse (Spring 2008, issue 1)
Our protest was controversial. It may have offended some. But in the following weeks, it became clear to us that our protest had not taken place for no reason. What may have begun as a basic attempt to publicly criticise the Burmese military regime, in an environment where it enjoyed an unacceptable level of impunity, quickly escalated into a question of how Singaporean society understands itself: how it is disciplined, how it relates to ‘external’ interference, and what its fundamental values are. It served to crystallise national debates around public dissent, legitimate authority, the treatment of minorities, and regional diplomacy. And from our point of view, the lengths to which the authorities went in order to try and stifle our political action really demonstrated to us how much we cherish those civil liberties we’ve always taken for granted in the UK, and which have been rapidly eroded under the Blair government. On a personal level, we ended up with sturdy friendships and a new awareness of what we were prepared to do for a cause we believed in.
this article was first published in The Pulse (Spring 2008, issue 1)
Confessions of a Cultural Relativist: ‘Asian Values’ and Activism in Singapore
Development is imperialistic. It is inseparable from the totalising capitalist project, locking poor peripheral nations into an exploitative relationship with the multinationals and rich governments that make up the core. The notion of a singular development trajectory in which the Rest lags behind the West still doggedly persists in many institutional contexts, often resulting in misguided policy recommendations from Western agencies with disastrous results for developing countries. Well-intentioned grassroots organisations are often just as guilty, imposing inescapably Western norms on recalcitrant or merely unsuspecting populations. All these things we want to export to the rest of the world – women’s rights, free speech, secular education – they so often fail to take cultural difference into account.
Which is why, on my study abroad programme at the National University of Singapore, I had absolutely no intention of getting involved in any sort of activism.
It’s just not the Singaporean way, as we were repeatedly informed. Since Singapore’s independence in 1965, the government of this small city-state has progressively dismantled all the main channels through which real political dissent could be expressed, while fostering a civic culture of conservative conformism. The ban on chewing gum is well known; less often mentioned are the effective ban on public protest, the state-controlled national media, and the decimation of meaningful political opposition. All of which is justified, we are told, by the notion of ‘Asian Values’.
Popularised by the Singapore’s first Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew, who continues to exercise a dominating influence in the Singaporean government through his self-created position as ‘Minister Mentor’ and the fact that his son is current PM, ‘Asian Values’ are held in contrast to Western liberal individualism and the sorts of rights and freedoms they imply. Asians, it is argued, are culturally and historically predisposed to a greater emphasis on family, discipline, and social stability.
Thus Singapore’s highly authoritarian government justifies its policies by positing adherence to Asian Values as the key ingredient to its stable social order and, more importantly, to its successful economic development. Amongst the Singaporeans I met, in various capacities, there was a clear consensus between many that whilst an overbearing government might not be to everyone’s taste, there could be no denying the fantastic wealth Singaporeans enjoy in comparison to the countries that surround it. Also frequently noted was the absence of violent and destructive civil unrest, to which all neighbouring states have been subject in varying degrees at some point over the last 50 years. The older generation of Singaporeans did take to the streets and protest, but at the moment the country is a peaceful and prosperous place to live.
There were things about Singapore I gradually became aware of and didn’t particularly like – the servile national media, the ‘free’ but unfair elections, the treatment of immigrants and labourers, the nepotistic government, the warm friendship with the Burmese military regime – but who was I to try and challenge them? If two and a half years of Development Studies have taught me anything, it’s that my personal beliefs in relation to direct political participation are at best culturally specific, and at worst totally unwelcome. It’s sheer arrogance to assume that I have the right to try and spread these ideologies elsewhere.
* * *
The problem, of course, is that Singapore can by no means be described in the simplistic terms outlined above. Economic growth, racial harmony and social stability constitute the idealised picture Singaporean elites are keen to project, and have certainly been internalised by the population to a significant degree. But the longer I stayed in Singapore, the more the cracks began to show.
Thanks to a chance encounter between a friend of mine and a Singaporean pro-democracy campaigner, I found myself in a planning meeting comprising a hotchpotch of different people: Singaporean human rights activists, Burmese residents in Singapore, a Swedish politician, an artist, other exchange students, and members of the Singapore Democratic Party (SDP), the politically marginalised opposition to the ruling People’s Action Party. There were two central points for discussion. The first point was how to respond to the forthcoming Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) Summit in Singapore, given that the leaders of the Burmese military regime were to be in attendance and the news images of their bloody crackdown on monks and other protesters were still fresh in our minds. The second point was how to encourage and embolden ordinary Singaporeans to take an active interest in the political machinations of their government.
What became clear during this meeting is that ‘Western’ notions of liberal freedoms, democratic participation and human rights cannot, in fact, be easily dismissed on crude applications of cultural relativism. The ‘Asian Values’ espoused by certain elites are neither common to all of Asia, nor representative of a homogeneity of opinion in individual Asian countries. There are hundreds, even thousands of people in Singapore who desire a greater engagement with political processes, and a small number of those have sacrificed any semblance of a ‘normal’ life in order to pursue these rights for Singaporean civil society.
Such individuals do not have it easy. I met Chee Soon Juan, now the charismatic icon of the SDP. Once a lecturer at the same National University where I was undertaking my exchange programme, he was promptly fired on spurious grounds as soon as he became involved in opposition politics – a dismissal that other academics there still defend, even if privately acknowledging that there was no legitimate reason for it. Refusing to be deterred, Dr Chee has since become infamous for continuing to assert and act out the right to engage in non-violent protest against the government. As a result, he has been sued and bankrupted by PAP leaders, arrested and imprisoned numerous times, prevented from leaving the country, and consistently ridiculed in national media. The message is clear: Singaporeans attempting to make a stand face severe consequences. The result is a pervasive culture of fear throughout Singaporean society.
Like Dr Chee, I believe firmly in the right to protest and in the usefulness of direct action as a means to social change. Which is why, a few weeks later, I ended up walking with two other exchange students down Singapore’s premier shopping street holding candles and wearing red t-shirts saying, “We pursue peace, justice and democracy for Burma”, surrounded by over twenty international and local journalists and cameramen, and filmed by plainclothes police.
It was the day that the ASEAN Summit began in the exclusive Shangri-La Hotel, and we marched towards the venue to stage our protest against the actions of the Burmese junta and its friendly relationship with Singaporean leaders. In any other country, no one would have batted an eyelid. We had no placards (these being illegal without a permit), we shouted no slogans (to avoid anything giving the vaguest impression of that oft-repeated fear of civil action degenerating into chaos), and we were split up into groups of three (since a public assembly of more than four people is also illegal). When we finally were approached by three of the 2,500 armed police safeguarding the area, we peacefully dispersed. It was the most innocuous protest imaginable. And yet one student journalist later reported that we “did the unthinkable”. This is the extent of the depoliticisation of Singaporean society.
Admittedly, it had not been an easy decision to protest that day. We had been summoned and ‘advised against’ it by the university administration, warned against it by police knocking on our bedroom doors, sent mysterious emails and text messages warning of severe repercussions, and threatened with the possibility of expulsion from some of our home universities. The few Singaporean students who had wanted to participate were totally daunted, and with good reason. The Burmese students, faced with the possibility of deportation, were not about to take the risk either. In the end only nine of us, all foreign students, were able to conduct our vigil.
And, as we had hoped, it turned out pretty well. No arrests, no violence. The somewhat disproportionate media presence meant that our message achieved a degree of exposure quite unimaginable in other contexts, being reported on the front page of Singapore’s national paper and making the evening television news, as well as numerous other media channels throughout Asia. Most importantly of all, the fact that no harm befell us encouraged more people to attend a public rally organised the very next day by members of the Burmese expatriate community in Singapore. Forty to fifty Burmese residents stood close to the ASEAN Summit venue holding placards and posters that read: “ASEAN Act With Honour! Action on Burma Now!” and “Listen To Burma’s Desires. Don’t Follow Junta’s Order.” A protest of this size was unprecedented, and yet police simply stood back for fifteen minutes, after which they called on the protesters to peacefully disperse.
* * *
Academic discussions questioning the universality of human rights and democracy are crucial, but how can we do anything but vigorously assert them when members of other societies are risking their lives and livelihoods in campaigning for their realisation? Amartya Sen, author of Development As Freedom, has argued:
“The people whose political and other rights are involved in this debate are not citizens of the West, but of Asian countries. The fact that individual liberty may have been championed in Western writings, and even by some Western political leaders, can scarcely compromise the claim to liberty that people in Asia may otherwise possess.”
Whilst interrogating Western universalism, we can’t assume that a monolithic, homogenous alternative – ‘Asian Values’ – exists; nor should we imagine that various Asian leaders speak for their diverse populations. As recently as forty years ago, Singapore had a vibrant activist and trade unionist culture where rallies could number in the thousands. Right now, a small but growing group of Singaporeans are working on ways to revive something of that spirit. There’s nothing inherently un-Asian about expressing dissent.
And what’s more, we have to admit that those characteristically ‘Western’ liberal freedoms aren’t exclusively Western. A polarising discourse, which justifies oppression by pitting a falsely homogenous set of ‘Asian’ values against its Western antithesis, is just as dangerous as imposing one set of cultural norms onto the rest of the world.
I certainly don’t want to force my culturally contingent belief in things like free speech and civil disobedience onto a recalcitrant recipient. Yet equally, I have been forced to challenge vacuous and ahistorical formulations of cultural relativism, and ask what purpose they may be serving. Singapore has made me a reluctant sort of universalist.
written for U8 Magazine (forthcoming)
see http://www.u8development.com/default/index.php
Which is why, on my study abroad programme at the National University of Singapore, I had absolutely no intention of getting involved in any sort of activism.
It’s just not the Singaporean way, as we were repeatedly informed. Since Singapore’s independence in 1965, the government of this small city-state has progressively dismantled all the main channels through which real political dissent could be expressed, while fostering a civic culture of conservative conformism. The ban on chewing gum is well known; less often mentioned are the effective ban on public protest, the state-controlled national media, and the decimation of meaningful political opposition. All of which is justified, we are told, by the notion of ‘Asian Values’.
Popularised by the Singapore’s first Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew, who continues to exercise a dominating influence in the Singaporean government through his self-created position as ‘Minister Mentor’ and the fact that his son is current PM, ‘Asian Values’ are held in contrast to Western liberal individualism and the sorts of rights and freedoms they imply. Asians, it is argued, are culturally and historically predisposed to a greater emphasis on family, discipline, and social stability.
Thus Singapore’s highly authoritarian government justifies its policies by positing adherence to Asian Values as the key ingredient to its stable social order and, more importantly, to its successful economic development. Amongst the Singaporeans I met, in various capacities, there was a clear consensus between many that whilst an overbearing government might not be to everyone’s taste, there could be no denying the fantastic wealth Singaporeans enjoy in comparison to the countries that surround it. Also frequently noted was the absence of violent and destructive civil unrest, to which all neighbouring states have been subject in varying degrees at some point over the last 50 years. The older generation of Singaporeans did take to the streets and protest, but at the moment the country is a peaceful and prosperous place to live.
There were things about Singapore I gradually became aware of and didn’t particularly like – the servile national media, the ‘free’ but unfair elections, the treatment of immigrants and labourers, the nepotistic government, the warm friendship with the Burmese military regime – but who was I to try and challenge them? If two and a half years of Development Studies have taught me anything, it’s that my personal beliefs in relation to direct political participation are at best culturally specific, and at worst totally unwelcome. It’s sheer arrogance to assume that I have the right to try and spread these ideologies elsewhere.
* * *
The problem, of course, is that Singapore can by no means be described in the simplistic terms outlined above. Economic growth, racial harmony and social stability constitute the idealised picture Singaporean elites are keen to project, and have certainly been internalised by the population to a significant degree. But the longer I stayed in Singapore, the more the cracks began to show.
Thanks to a chance encounter between a friend of mine and a Singaporean pro-democracy campaigner, I found myself in a planning meeting comprising a hotchpotch of different people: Singaporean human rights activists, Burmese residents in Singapore, a Swedish politician, an artist, other exchange students, and members of the Singapore Democratic Party (SDP), the politically marginalised opposition to the ruling People’s Action Party. There were two central points for discussion. The first point was how to respond to the forthcoming Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) Summit in Singapore, given that the leaders of the Burmese military regime were to be in attendance and the news images of their bloody crackdown on monks and other protesters were still fresh in our minds. The second point was how to encourage and embolden ordinary Singaporeans to take an active interest in the political machinations of their government.
What became clear during this meeting is that ‘Western’ notions of liberal freedoms, democratic participation and human rights cannot, in fact, be easily dismissed on crude applications of cultural relativism. The ‘Asian Values’ espoused by certain elites are neither common to all of Asia, nor representative of a homogeneity of opinion in individual Asian countries. There are hundreds, even thousands of people in Singapore who desire a greater engagement with political processes, and a small number of those have sacrificed any semblance of a ‘normal’ life in order to pursue these rights for Singaporean civil society.
Such individuals do not have it easy. I met Chee Soon Juan, now the charismatic icon of the SDP. Once a lecturer at the same National University where I was undertaking my exchange programme, he was promptly fired on spurious grounds as soon as he became involved in opposition politics – a dismissal that other academics there still defend, even if privately acknowledging that there was no legitimate reason for it. Refusing to be deterred, Dr Chee has since become infamous for continuing to assert and act out the right to engage in non-violent protest against the government. As a result, he has been sued and bankrupted by PAP leaders, arrested and imprisoned numerous times, prevented from leaving the country, and consistently ridiculed in national media. The message is clear: Singaporeans attempting to make a stand face severe consequences. The result is a pervasive culture of fear throughout Singaporean society.
Like Dr Chee, I believe firmly in the right to protest and in the usefulness of direct action as a means to social change. Which is why, a few weeks later, I ended up walking with two other exchange students down Singapore’s premier shopping street holding candles and wearing red t-shirts saying, “We pursue peace, justice and democracy for Burma”, surrounded by over twenty international and local journalists and cameramen, and filmed by plainclothes police.
It was the day that the ASEAN Summit began in the exclusive Shangri-La Hotel, and we marched towards the venue to stage our protest against the actions of the Burmese junta and its friendly relationship with Singaporean leaders. In any other country, no one would have batted an eyelid. We had no placards (these being illegal without a permit), we shouted no slogans (to avoid anything giving the vaguest impression of that oft-repeated fear of civil action degenerating into chaos), and we were split up into groups of three (since a public assembly of more than four people is also illegal). When we finally were approached by three of the 2,500 armed police safeguarding the area, we peacefully dispersed. It was the most innocuous protest imaginable. And yet one student journalist later reported that we “did the unthinkable”. This is the extent of the depoliticisation of Singaporean society.
Admittedly, it had not been an easy decision to protest that day. We had been summoned and ‘advised against’ it by the university administration, warned against it by police knocking on our bedroom doors, sent mysterious emails and text messages warning of severe repercussions, and threatened with the possibility of expulsion from some of our home universities. The few Singaporean students who had wanted to participate were totally daunted, and with good reason. The Burmese students, faced with the possibility of deportation, were not about to take the risk either. In the end only nine of us, all foreign students, were able to conduct our vigil.
And, as we had hoped, it turned out pretty well. No arrests, no violence. The somewhat disproportionate media presence meant that our message achieved a degree of exposure quite unimaginable in other contexts, being reported on the front page of Singapore’s national paper and making the evening television news, as well as numerous other media channels throughout Asia. Most importantly of all, the fact that no harm befell us encouraged more people to attend a public rally organised the very next day by members of the Burmese expatriate community in Singapore. Forty to fifty Burmese residents stood close to the ASEAN Summit venue holding placards and posters that read: “ASEAN Act With Honour! Action on Burma Now!” and “Listen To Burma’s Desires. Don’t Follow Junta’s Order.” A protest of this size was unprecedented, and yet police simply stood back for fifteen minutes, after which they called on the protesters to peacefully disperse.
* * *
Academic discussions questioning the universality of human rights and democracy are crucial, but how can we do anything but vigorously assert them when members of other societies are risking their lives and livelihoods in campaigning for their realisation? Amartya Sen, author of Development As Freedom, has argued:
“The people whose political and other rights are involved in this debate are not citizens of the West, but of Asian countries. The fact that individual liberty may have been championed in Western writings, and even by some Western political leaders, can scarcely compromise the claim to liberty that people in Asia may otherwise possess.”
Whilst interrogating Western universalism, we can’t assume that a monolithic, homogenous alternative – ‘Asian Values’ – exists; nor should we imagine that various Asian leaders speak for their diverse populations. As recently as forty years ago, Singapore had a vibrant activist and trade unionist culture where rallies could number in the thousands. Right now, a small but growing group of Singaporeans are working on ways to revive something of that spirit. There’s nothing inherently un-Asian about expressing dissent.
And what’s more, we have to admit that those characteristically ‘Western’ liberal freedoms aren’t exclusively Western. A polarising discourse, which justifies oppression by pitting a falsely homogenous set of ‘Asian’ values against its Western antithesis, is just as dangerous as imposing one set of cultural norms onto the rest of the world.
I certainly don’t want to force my culturally contingent belief in things like free speech and civil disobedience onto a recalcitrant recipient. Yet equally, I have been forced to challenge vacuous and ahistorical formulations of cultural relativism, and ask what purpose they may be serving. Singapore has made me a reluctant sort of universalist.
written for U8 Magazine (forthcoming)
see http://www.u8development.com/default/index.php
Exclusive interview with student protestor
By Michael Wan
Jan. 9 2008
from http://campus-observer.org/index.php/news/exclusive-interview-with-student-protestor.html
NUS exchange student Pia Muzaffar Dawson did the unthinkable last November.
Along with two exchange students, the 22-year-old took her chances with Singapore’s tough laws against public protests by marching down Orchard Road into an area guarded by about 1,000 armed police and soldiers.
Together with Daniel Babiak and Mark (who did not want to reveal his last name), Dawson entered the city area where the Association of South East Asian Nations leaders’ summit was being held.
The trio, dressed in red T-shirts and holding lighted candles, were protesting against Asean’s inaction toward Burma’s junta after the country’s bloody military crackdown on demonstrations led by Buddhist monks. In an e-mail interview with The Observer on Jan. 08, Dawson spoke about her experience with the university administrators that called to warn her against protesting and about what she thinks of NUS students. She has since completed her semester as an exchange student at NUS and returned to England, where she is studying international relations and development studies at the University of Sussex.
Campus Observer: Have you ever protested in England before?
Dawson: Yes, but not very much. I don't have much history of activism. It's only recently that I've been inspired to participate in protests, specifically regarding education in the UK, anti-war, the occupation of Palestine, and the gradual erosion of our civil liberties in England.
Campus Observer: What inspired you to protest that day?
Dawson: First and foremost, the continuing political repression in Burma, the strong links between Singaporean elites and Burmese military rulers and drug barons, and the relative silence in Singaporean media on both these issues. It would have been awful if the Burmese junta could be seen to just turn up in Singapore and not be held accountable for their actions -- especially given the recent violent crackdown on monks and others. Secondly, the repressive environment in Singapore, which restricts free speech, free assembly and free press. With the government silent and civil society groups facing massive restrictions, we thought that we could use our status as international students to highlight this issue. Thirdly - and I am speaking for myself here -- it is becoming increasingly clear to me that protest and political participation are vital to maintaining any semblance of democracy and political accountability. This is something that one generation of Singaporeans knew well, but has been stifled in contemporary Singapore. Knowing full well that a public assembly of more than four people does not necessarily degenerate into violence and chaos, we wanted to demonstrate this in Singapore.
Campus Observer: It was reported that administrators from NUS called to warn you of Singapore's laws. What exactly did they tell you?
Dawson: The provost and dean of students spoke to some of us. They had managed to print out our Facebook event details and explained that the wording of our appeal made it clear that there was intent to hold an assembly of more than four people, even if the protest was conducted in smaller groups. They didn't want us to unwittingly break the law and were concerned that as foreign students we were not aware of local law. They even offered us the Central Forum as an alternative venue to stage a vigil.
Campus Observer: Why did you still decide to go ahead with the protests?
Dawson: Because our reasons for protesting remained the same, and we were concerned that this kind of muting of our plans would have much less of an impact and carry our message much less far. We were also lucky because we knew that any sort of legal action or arrest would not affect us in the same way that it would affect a Singaporean student and their future career prospects (unless we want to work in Singapore, that is).
Campus Observer: Were you afraid when security officials and the police stopped your group of protesters?
Dawson: I wasn't afraid, because we had expected to encounter police in that area, and we knew that we hadn't broken any law. We also knew that the police would not mistreat us in the presence of so many international journalists. The main reason I wasn't afraid, however, was that a successful protest usually relies on good planning, and our group had collectively decided that we would not confront the police or try to defy their warnings. So when the moment came, we were all prepared to disperse peacefully.
Campus Observer: I see that you were using your handphone in one of the photos. Who were you calling?
Dawson: Journalists from all over the world had been calling me non-stop that day!
Campus Observer: Were there any friends, well-meaning or otherwise, who tried to dissuade you from joining the protests? Could you recount one such experience?
Dawson: Yes, one law-student friend tried to dissuade us and managed to dissuade some others. One other friend was not comfortable with the fact that we would have no control over how our protest would be represented in the media, and he was very worried that we would be cast as troublemakers, or that reporters would focus on us and not on the issues that we were trying to publicise. He didn't come, in the end. Luckily, his fears didn't come true. However, I had no problem with the fact that some people didn't want to participate, because it's not right to do those things without being comfortable with your actions. Also, other people's criticisms were totally legitimate and meant we had many excellent discussions in the days before the protest, which ultimately prepared us much better for the day.
Campus Observer: Daniel was quoted by Bloomberg: "A lot of people wanted to come, but they were afraid of the repercussions.” What were these people’s reactions after the protests?
Dawson: They were relieved, I think, that no harm came to us. But I think their fears were totally valid, especially given the way the university, police and local media attempted to scare us out of participating. Hopefully, people will be more encouraged the next time such an opportunity arises.
Campus Observer: What do you think has been the effect of the protests on Singapore's political scene?
Dawson: I don't know. I think it's important to highlight that the next day, 40-50 Burmese residents of Singapore were able to stage a rally, even holding banners and placards. I hope this will encourage even more Singaporeans to become active in civil society. I know that there are many Singaporeans who feel disillusioned with politics, seeing it as a sphere outside and above their control. For me, politics is something everyday and ubiquitous, and I believe we can empower ourselves without the permission of those who are supposedly in authority.
Campus Observer: Describe your opinion of NUS students in three words.
Dawson: Overworked, competitive, and de-politicised!
Jan. 9 2008
from http://campus-observer.org/index.php/news/exclusive-interview-with-student-protestor.html
NUS exchange student Pia Muzaffar Dawson did the unthinkable last November.
Along with two exchange students, the 22-year-old took her chances with Singapore’s tough laws against public protests by marching down Orchard Road into an area guarded by about 1,000 armed police and soldiers.
Together with Daniel Babiak and Mark (who did not want to reveal his last name), Dawson entered the city area where the Association of South East Asian Nations leaders’ summit was being held.
The trio, dressed in red T-shirts and holding lighted candles, were protesting against Asean’s inaction toward Burma’s junta after the country’s bloody military crackdown on demonstrations led by Buddhist monks. In an e-mail interview with The Observer on Jan. 08, Dawson spoke about her experience with the university administrators that called to warn her against protesting and about what she thinks of NUS students. She has since completed her semester as an exchange student at NUS and returned to England, where she is studying international relations and development studies at the University of Sussex.
Campus Observer: Have you ever protested in England before?
Dawson: Yes, but not very much. I don't have much history of activism. It's only recently that I've been inspired to participate in protests, specifically regarding education in the UK, anti-war, the occupation of Palestine, and the gradual erosion of our civil liberties in England.
Campus Observer: What inspired you to protest that day?
Dawson: First and foremost, the continuing political repression in Burma, the strong links between Singaporean elites and Burmese military rulers and drug barons, and the relative silence in Singaporean media on both these issues. It would have been awful if the Burmese junta could be seen to just turn up in Singapore and not be held accountable for their actions -- especially given the recent violent crackdown on monks and others. Secondly, the repressive environment in Singapore, which restricts free speech, free assembly and free press. With the government silent and civil society groups facing massive restrictions, we thought that we could use our status as international students to highlight this issue. Thirdly - and I am speaking for myself here -- it is becoming increasingly clear to me that protest and political participation are vital to maintaining any semblance of democracy and political accountability. This is something that one generation of Singaporeans knew well, but has been stifled in contemporary Singapore. Knowing full well that a public assembly of more than four people does not necessarily degenerate into violence and chaos, we wanted to demonstrate this in Singapore.
Campus Observer: It was reported that administrators from NUS called to warn you of Singapore's laws. What exactly did they tell you?
Dawson: The provost and dean of students spoke to some of us. They had managed to print out our Facebook event details and explained that the wording of our appeal made it clear that there was intent to hold an assembly of more than four people, even if the protest was conducted in smaller groups. They didn't want us to unwittingly break the law and were concerned that as foreign students we were not aware of local law. They even offered us the Central Forum as an alternative venue to stage a vigil.
Campus Observer: Why did you still decide to go ahead with the protests?
Dawson: Because our reasons for protesting remained the same, and we were concerned that this kind of muting of our plans would have much less of an impact and carry our message much less far. We were also lucky because we knew that any sort of legal action or arrest would not affect us in the same way that it would affect a Singaporean student and their future career prospects (unless we want to work in Singapore, that is).
Campus Observer: Were you afraid when security officials and the police stopped your group of protesters?
Dawson: I wasn't afraid, because we had expected to encounter police in that area, and we knew that we hadn't broken any law. We also knew that the police would not mistreat us in the presence of so many international journalists. The main reason I wasn't afraid, however, was that a successful protest usually relies on good planning, and our group had collectively decided that we would not confront the police or try to defy their warnings. So when the moment came, we were all prepared to disperse peacefully.
Campus Observer: I see that you were using your handphone in one of the photos. Who were you calling?
Dawson: Journalists from all over the world had been calling me non-stop that day!
Campus Observer: Were there any friends, well-meaning or otherwise, who tried to dissuade you from joining the protests? Could you recount one such experience?
Dawson: Yes, one law-student friend tried to dissuade us and managed to dissuade some others. One other friend was not comfortable with the fact that we would have no control over how our protest would be represented in the media, and he was very worried that we would be cast as troublemakers, or that reporters would focus on us and not on the issues that we were trying to publicise. He didn't come, in the end. Luckily, his fears didn't come true. However, I had no problem with the fact that some people didn't want to participate, because it's not right to do those things without being comfortable with your actions. Also, other people's criticisms were totally legitimate and meant we had many excellent discussions in the days before the protest, which ultimately prepared us much better for the day.
Campus Observer: Daniel was quoted by Bloomberg: "A lot of people wanted to come, but they were afraid of the repercussions.” What were these people’s reactions after the protests?
Dawson: They were relieved, I think, that no harm came to us. But I think their fears were totally valid, especially given the way the university, police and local media attempted to scare us out of participating. Hopefully, people will be more encouraged the next time such an opportunity arises.
Campus Observer: What do you think has been the effect of the protests on Singapore's political scene?
Dawson: I don't know. I think it's important to highlight that the next day, 40-50 Burmese residents of Singapore were able to stage a rally, even holding banners and placards. I hope this will encourage even more Singaporeans to become active in civil society. I know that there are many Singaporeans who feel disillusioned with politics, seeing it as a sphere outside and above their control. For me, politics is something everyday and ubiquitous, and I believe we can empower ourselves without the permission of those who are supposedly in authority.
Campus Observer: Describe your opinion of NUS students in three words.
Dawson: Overworked, competitive, and de-politicised!
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