On being brown and British in Anglophile Asia

by Olly Laughland and Pia Muzaffar

An Indian fellow with a great bushy moustache and a cloth wrapped around his head bows gently and swings the door open before us. We step into the cool interior of the exquisitely refined atrium – at last! – a reprieve from the oppressive humidity of the Orient. Outside, the Chinamen busy themselves whisking passengers up and down the bustling thoroughfare, whilst scores of immigrant workers from some godforsaken place sweat under the tropical sun. As we turn away from the chaos and disorder of the Asiatic metropolis and step inside, Sir Stamford’s statue fixes us with his steadfast gaze. The majesty of Raffles Hotel envelops us, two homesick British emissaries in a foreign land, and tells us we are home.

If this seems like a scene from a colonial-era novel, think again. This was our experience just a couple of months ago. Singapore, our new home and place of study for the remainder of this year, is a highly racialised and remarkably Anglophile society – as we have gradually discovered. It is a nation so unquestioningly proud of its colonial heritage that the legacy of Stamford Raffles is revered rather then resisted (as evidenced by the supremely prestigious status of Raffles Hotel). The British visitor is subject to both a disarming curiosity and an implicit respect. Despite the fact that most British citizens would be hard-pressed to point to Singapore on a world map, numerous Singaporeans themselves have exhibited the kind of internalised subordination to ‘our’ society that can only be explained with reference to the imported racial hierarchies of Western paternalism in the region.

For example, the university swimming pool has strict rules about suitable swimming attire. Crotch-cupping Speedos are prescribed; ordinary trunks will get you turned away at the entrance. Unless, of course, you are white. In this case, the colonial legacy kicks in and the subordinate ‘native’ simply moves aside and allows you to pass – no matter how flamboyant your swimwear. Such incidents, and other similar ones, have been related to us by our other European and American friends here. Unfortunately, the two of us happen to be brown. The same rules do not apply.

The difference between us and our fairer companions was highlighted on other occasions. We’ve been turned away from clubs, stopped and searched whilst attempting to board public transport, and seen the shock on people’s faces when we open our mouths and speak with fine BBC accents. We’ve also noticed our ethnicity being more of an issue amongst the other expat students. We’ve been referred to as ‘guests’ by a bunch of English people we’d just thought we were ‘hanging out with’. And we get asked where we’re from a lot. When we reply, “England,” they invariably hesitate before asking, “but where are you… you know… originally from?” It’s inexplicable, but there’s definitely the sense that this is more than mere curiosity; it’s a question designed to work out what our place is in the established racial hierarchies of Singaporean society.

Such experiences have given us the overriding impression of a racialised, rather than outright racist, society. However, there are times when this undercurrent does erupt into blatant racism. Just yesterday we witnessed a smug, velvet-suited white Australian man hurling abuse at and physically attacking a Chinese taxi driver, simply because he had refused to take him to a particular place. “You need my money to buy your fucking chicken rice!” he shouted, whilst kicking the taxi as the driver pulled the car away. When we confronted him, he tried to justify his behaviour by citing it as an example of stereotypical ‘Singaporean laziness’.

Of course, such scenes are rare. Singapore, on the surface at least, appears to epitomise the fully-functioning multiracial society that it has expended so much energy trying to project. Yet its collective aspiration is evident on the billboards showing handsome, white faces smiling down on the shoppers below; in the reverence paid to a celebrated colonial past; and in the enthusiastic welcome and inbuilt permissiveness that greets the Western exchange student. The white ones, anyway.


this article was first published in The Badger 29/10/07 (vol. 17 issue 5)