A personal (and traumatic!) reconsideration of Singapore history
STIFLING HISTORY
The year 2015 was formally and officially designated “Singapore’s Jubilee Year” by the government, celebrating fifty years of the nation’s independence and dazzling progress. Having grown up only in post-colonial, independent Singapore, I had little difficulty with the celebratory mood itself, because the many and varied successes of Singapore since 1965 were evident, acclaimed and personally experienced. I do vaguely remember the austere years in the ‘80s when one regularly saw official posters in government offices declaring – “Trespassers shall be shot!” and “Males with long hair will be served last!” but this had given way to a much more relaxed and convivial island culture by the late ‘90s.
What troubled me a little about the Jubilee year (quickly abbreviated, Singapore-style, to “SG50”) was that it seemed to ignore, albeit in the throes of joyous exuberance, all that had happened before 1965. Suddenly, it was as if pre-1965 Singapore had ceased to exist. Or, at least, pre-independent, colonial Singapore had been unceremoniously brushed aside for the moment. The history of Singapore apparently had been stifled in view of the exhilarating congratulatory wave of unbridled delight at the successes of the nation-state, her hard-working citizens and visionary leadership.
It did not help that several magisterial books had been runaway successes with the general reading population. The undisputed best-seller for some time had been The Singapore Story, the personal memoir of the nation’s first Prime Minister Mr Lee Kuan Yew, published in 1998. A most engaging read, its lucid and precise title did much to impress upon the nation that her remarkable progress since the 1960s was due to the foresight and skill of those at the helm. This view was taken up and elaborated upon by another, Men in White, which carried the subtitle – The Untold Story of Singapore’s Ruling Political Party, published some ten years later, in 2009.
The unmitigated consequences of SG50 hit home in my history classes when my students soon began claiming that Singapore was merely fifty years old! Or fifty-one, or fifty-two, as the case arose. Admittedly, it took not much more than a wistful (stern?) glare from me for them to reconsider their hastily conjured answer, and what usually ensued was a rich and fruitful discussion as to exactly how old Singapore really might be.
A plethora of books, exhibitions and events accompanied the Jubilee year, thereby investing the whole concept of fifty years with mesmerizing glamour and excitement. Two very interesting sets of book series were launched in 2015. The reputable World Scientific publishing company presented a 25-volume series that sought “to bring readers through an informative reading journey on the challenging paths that the Singapore pioneers have so boldly charted.”
The World Scientific definition of “pioneers” is aligned to the recently-made-popular usage, referring commonly to those residents of Singapore who were already young adults when nationhood was attained in 1965. However, this new meaning of “pioneers” also disregarded the very long-standing historical utility of the term itself.
For a long time, everyone thought of Tan Tock Seng, Govindasamy Pillay, Whampoa, Eunos bin Abdullah et al as “pioneers” of Singapore. Suddenly, overnight, people of my parent’s generation became the true pioneers. Certainly, that generation of the 1960s did play a large part in the nation’s story, however, even they were surprised to be conferred the title of “Pioneer Generation” so instantly.
Not to be outdone, and to provide just that sensible balance needed, the Institute of Policy Studies in December 2015 launched the first few books of the fifty-volume Singapore Chronicles. This ambitious series, according to the Director Jenadas Devan, “provides succinct introductions to various aspects of Singapore.” Its diversity in subjects is very impressive indeed, ranging from “the fundamental to the practical, the philosophical to the mundane.” The series is a very serious enterprise, not to be taken lightly. To prove this point, the books are “written by experts for the intelligent reader” and aim to capture “the story of our island-nation.” The fifty volumes, when fully launched by mid-2016, will focus on “the milestones of our history – from pre-colonial Singapore to our separation from Malaysia.”
I was glad that Volume 1 of the whole series was Colonial Singapore, written by that most august historian Nicholas Tarling, no less. The descriptive paragraph on the back of this book very clearly and unabashedly sums up the intent of this book:
This book is a history of Singapore from the founding of a settlement by Raffles in 1819, to the post-imperial phase inaugurated by World War II and the Japanese invasion. It shows how colonial Singapore matured as an economy and developed as a society even as it grew into a commercial centre that was also a centre for the movement of people and ideas. The book captures the essence of the island-city’s place in the Asian economic and political scheme of things as European imperialism reached its zenith before giving way to Japan’s military advance. The fall of Singapore to the Japanese in February 1942 embodied the new times. The return of the British after the Japanese defeat in 1945 set the stage for a fresh phase of Singapore’s political development as the anti-colonial movement grew in strength.
Professor Tarling himself writes of this superbly situated small island but maintains that its success was never only due to geographical positioning. Singapore, instead, is the “creation of many people.” These people (the real “pioneer generation”?) came from many lands, as settlers and sojourners. Tarling argues that what Singapore is today is due both to their own efforts, as well as “on the decisions of outsiders, colonial and post-colonial, and their handling of them.”
This short book aims to describe the trajectory its history took as a result, from the siting of a small settlement by the British East India Company in 1819 to the emergence of an independent Republic in 1965. This short book aims to describe the trajectory its history took as a result, from the siting of a small settlement by the British
STRETCHING HISTORY
If SG50 stirred up some unease within me, the historical exercises in the other direction led to deeper consternation. I arrived at the position of having to accept the veracity of archaeological excavations, with accompanying papers and books, but knowing that their conclusions – pointing to a much longer, “stretched” history of Singapore - jumbled up the long-held perceptions of my own identity.
For much of my own life, I saw my identity and lineage as tied to the Singapore which “Raffles founded.” When I first started researching my family history in the 1990s, relying on Sir Song Ong Siang’s magnificent tome One Hundred Years History of the Chinese in Singapore (1921), I discovered several facts about my great great great grandfather which generated much pride as a local-born Peranakan Chinese Singaporean.
Wee Guan Ho was the first in my family to arrive in Singapore from the south Chinese province of Amoy early in the nineteenth century, quite possibly in the 1820s. He was one of many immigrants who had flocked to the British colony after the arrival of Stamford Raffles, contributing to the sharp rise in the size of the population from one hundred and fifty in 1819 to eleven thousand in 1824, of which a third were Chinese. Among Guan Ho’s contemporaries who were soon to eke out their living here was Hoo Weng Kan, the father of Whampoa Hoo Ah Kay. Another was Lee Bok Boon, a Hakka, who was to become the great-grandfather of Mr Lee Kuan Yew.
Little is known of Wee Guan Ho, of his career, his education, his ideals and aspirations. We are not even aware of who his wife was. However, it is recorded that Mr Wee’s name appeared in the list of Grand Jurors for the year 1865-66. The participation of prominent local citizens in the jury had begun in 1826 when the Royal Charter of Justice was granted to the Straits Settlements. In the year before, 1864, the Grand Jury included the likes of Seah Eu Chin, Tan Kim Seng, Tay Beng Swee, Tan Kim Ching and Whampoa. These man were appointed by the government not only on the basis of their fluency in the English language but also on their good standing in the community. Many were successful businessmen and merchants while others were philanthropists, educationists and planters.
Who was Guan Ho’s wife? It is not recorded and the family’s oral history shed no light. The majority of Chinese immigrants could not even afford the luxury of marriage, being labourers, coolies and cooks for much of their hard and spartan lives. Those who were better off were able to return to China to marry and thereafter settle back in Singapore with their wives. In the early decades of the nineteenth century however, when immigrant Chinese ladies were extremely sparse in numbers, some Chinese sinkhehs (newcomers) took the intrepid step of marrying local Malayan-Chinese women, or nyonyas. The nyonya was a descendent of the early Straits-Chinese families in Malacca and Penang, many of whom had by then settled in Singapore. John Turnbull Thomson, a resident in Singapore in the 1840s and 1850s, has penned this delightful vignette of just such a lady:
The nona (sic) is clothed in rich silk sarongs, and flowing white kebayas. She waddles in wooden clogs, held to her feet by a wooden peg, which sticks up between her great and second toes. Her rich black hair is thrown back, and knotted behind, where it is secured by round-headed gold pins.
Did Wee Guan Ho marry a nyonya of the sort described above? It is quite possible. Many Chinese sinkhehs in Singapore had come to make a fortune, intending to retire, die and be buried in China. Whampoa Hoo Ah Kay, for example, although passing away in Singapore, had his remains interred on Danes Island, opposite Canton. Those who had decided to make Singapore their home however, usually did so willingly at the outset of their sojourn and at life’s end were buried here. While alive, they displayed their affinity for Singapore by taking on the local Malay cuisine, dressing and language, and by marrying local Straits-Chinese nyonyas. In doing so, these young men thereafter identified themselves as Straits-Chinese, or Babas.
Wee Guan Ho owned a plot of land at the fourth milestone in Bukit Timah Road and on his death in 1884, was buried there by his eldest son Wee Teng Cheow, who did so after taking out a license for the land to be used as the family cemetery. The fact that Guan Ho was buried here suggests that he had regarded Singapore as his home. It is likely that Mrs Wee Guan Ho was a nyonya, rather than a Chinese immigrant.
I had hardly thought of myself other than as a Singapore Chinese, with a Peranakan heritage, and brought up in a rather Anglophile family environment. My childhood reading fare was thoroughly English, as with most whose bookshelves were stocked with books by Enid Blyton, Conan Doyle and Anthony Buckeridge. My light reading comprised Beano and Dandy magazines, straight out of the UK, and as a football fan (Liverpool, no less), I scanned the pages of SHOOT magazine avidly. Afternoon tea was a daily affair, and each Saturday was spent glued to the television watching the English football league games. I grew up in the upper middle-class suburb of Frankel Estate, surrounded by street names such as Dunbar Walk, Cheviot Hill, Jedburgh Gardens, Burnfoot and Ettrick Terraces.
In short, my whole identity was defined by certain inviolable reference points. This included a proud descent from Peranakan Chinese over six generations in Singapore, the English language and literature, and even a distant but ever-present concept of England as a vicarious, if vague, land of influence. My world was bound up in Singapore, and that, a Singapore that “began” with its “founder” Sir Thomas Stamford Bingley Raffles. In 1819. No earlier and no later.
Therefore, the reverberations of John Miksic’s sensational archaeological digs shook the foundations of my little world to the core. In 2004, the Singapore History Museum published a book, Early Singapore 1300s – 1819: Evidence in Maps, text and Artefacts, based largely on the Miksic findings, and put forth “a convincing case for a 700 year-history of Singapore.” There are strong reasons advanced for casting the history of the island further back in time, all the way to the 1300s. Derek Heng has argued that if pre-colonial Singapore’s past is to become a relevant aspect of its social memory and historical narrative, then there is a need to consider the island’s history even beyond the time of its being a regional or global city to one that is indigenous.
The National Archives of Singapore then joined in the fresh discourse and in 2009, sponsored another new book, Singapore: A 700-Year History, whose editors were recognised and respected members of the nation’s academia. These editors were critical of the current popular strand of “The Singapore Story” and highlighted the “moral dilemma of whether propagation of The Singapore Story to promote civic virtues is an appropriate use, or misuse, of history.” Their own response to the whole issue was to relook Singapore’s history and cast it far back in time, and proposed a “long duration” view of the nation’s story.
Our rich current knowledge of pre-1819 Singapore has been derived from a wide range of evidence drawn from artefacts and archaeological data, traditional Malay literatures, early Dutch and Portuguese sources, as well as Chinese accounts. The resultant wave of scholarly works, have to a good extent, reinstated the days of ancient pre-British Singapore. Archaeological excavations and findings have abounded in recent years, yielding a wealth of material, artefacts and clues which have helped us reconstruct something of the island’s lengthened past before 1819. It has been established that even if Singapore was a “sleepy port” when Raffles set foot here, it was only because she had become one, and not that she had always been one.
As early as the thirteenth century, Singapore, or Temasek, had risen as an emporium serving the South Johor-Riau Archipelago economic area, with trading links to major Asian economies at Java, the Indian Ocean and China. John Miksic has argued persuasively that by the fourteenth century, there was even a settled population of Chinese in Southeast Asia, including Singapore, with very close links to China. In addition to economic activity round the Singapore River, Miksic even speculates, quite tantalisingly, that the Peranakan culture – “mixing Malay, Chinese and other crafts and objects into a distinct Straits blend” – might have roots as far back as this era.
Old Temasek was indeed a vibrant, lively and prosperous maritime-based centre of trade in the region, within the geo-political structures provided by the Johor-Malacca Sultanates. That much we must acknowledge and teach our students, which we now do. However, the advocacy of any “long-duration” view of Singapore must consider this: ancient Singapore did not survive long. Due to a variety of reasons, her prosperity eventually declined and her reputation faltered, long before the EIC flag was raised at the River mouth. Temasek’s role as a regional port-city lasted more than a hundred years, with several external factors causing her demise. By the fifteenth century, she was overtaken by Malacca, and for the subsequent three centuries remained a minor port in the Straits of Malacca, “relegated to the role of secondary port, servicing first Melaka… and then Johor in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.” It was:
Not until 1819, when Stamford Thomas Raffles established a factory in Singapore on behalf of the English East India Company, that Singapore emerged once again as an autonomous port-settlement, and was engaged once again with the international maritime economy.
Confronted with overwhelming evidence, my mental struggles and rejection of the very idea of a pre-1819 Singapore gradually gave way to a (very) reluctant and grudging acceptance of a “Singapore” whose past stretched long beyond the hallowed date itself. I also learnt an important lesson that would serve me well as a teacher of history and “National Education” in school, that identity was interwoven with one’s perception of the past.
(Re)STANDARDIZING HISTORY (by revisiting Raffles)
My personal identity, so entrenched in the year of Raffles’ arrival, had by this time, taken a severe beating. Neither the “Singapore Story” – compressed into fifty explosive years, nor the elongated view of the island’s distant past sat comfortably with me. It was time for a major review, perhaps some reassessment and maybe, if necessary, a revision of the views of my own and the nation’s past.
For decades, the standard history of Singapore was Constance Mary Turnbull’s textbook A History of Singapore 1819 – 1975, the staple for anyone seeking an initial understanding of the nation’s past. It is justifiably an iconic book, written in the earlier days of Singapore’s independence and nationhood. It has done a great service to our national psyche by not seeking to forcefully eradicate or deny Singapore’s colonial past, but acknowledging it as a foundational era for the modern, vibrant and exciting nation that we have been since 1965. As a result, Singaporeans do not suffer the same mental anguish as other fledgling nations which struggle with a past they are uncomfortable with in order to forge a collective identity for themselves.
For many years, the writers of the official Ministry of Education-sanctioned lower secondary history textbooks aligned themselves to the Turnbull thesis. The textbook, Singapore: From Settlement to Nation, pre-1819-1971, divided itself into ten neat chapters, with Chapter 1 focussing on pre-1819 Singapore, Chapters 2 – 5 on colonial Singapore before the Japanese Occupation and Chapter 6 on World War Two. A further two chapters delved into the movement towards Self-Government in 1959, Merger with Malaysia in 1963 and eventual Independence in 1965. The final two chapters explored the themes of nation-building in independent Singapore. I thoroughly enjoyed teaching from this text. I felt that there was a balance in its presentation of chronology, appropriately objective without indulging in anti-colonial rhetoric or ultra-nationalistic jingoism. Enough coverage was given to the British era and the underlying sense of gratitude to the early pioneers of Singapore, whatever their ethnic group, was perceptible.
To my delight, my history students were very enthusiastic about the course content and had very little qualms about attributing modern Singapore’s success to both her post-1965 leaders and the British colonial government. In fact, I discovered any anti-colonial anti-European sentiments to be absent. This made me even more reflective, and I took time to ponder the relative objectivity with which the young approach the past. It also made me acutely aware of the history teacher’s tremendous responsibility to nurture that appreciation without exploiting it for personal or national agendas.
The history syllabus and textbook changed in 2014. It is now divided into four major units. Now, one whole unit is devoted to Singapore before colonial times; this, I suppose, is a response to the clarion calls for a “long duration” view of history. The colonial era has been somewhat condensed into one unit, and the final two units bring students through the war and occupation years to the period of nation-building. With the passing of time and the crossing into the landmark SG50 jubilee year, this development in school-history historiography is understandable.
The Turnbull text had been preceded by H.F. Pearson’s slim volume A Popular History of Singapore 1819 – 1960, printed in 1961, before Singapore joined the Federation of Malaysia two years later. Published by Eastern Universities Press as part of the Malayan Historical Series, it appeared on the shelves soon after Britain had granted the island self-governing status in 1959, and did its part to help nurture a more confident and energetic outlook to the future. The starting point for the book was “the explosive moment when Raffles and the Temenggong, meeting on the southern shore of the island, discuss the founding of a settlement….” With Singapore still lacking viable local political heroes in 1961, Pearson falls back on the tried and tested imagery of the unexpected imperial hero.
In the early 1800s, Pearson writes, the ancient city of Singapura had been “sacked and utterly destroyed.” The jungle had overrun the ruins, and the island was “a small and unimportant possession” of the Temenggong of Johore, who himself owed allegiance to the Sultan of Johore and Rhio, whose authority had come in question by Dutch encroachment.
Into the confusion stepped Sir Stamford Raffles, representing the English East India Company and determined to establish a new British port east of the Straits of Malacca.
A lot has been written about Raffles, so numerous have been his biographers and admirers. Just seven years shy of the Bicentennial, yet another Raffles’ biography appeared, in which “acclaimed biographer Victoria Glendinning charts a unique life filled with adventure and shot through with sadness.” It is asserted that “the mark he left on the world is indelible” and that “even today, Raffles’ fame remains undimmed and, as he hoped, Singapore has become his own lasting monument.” In recent times, even his two wives and family have received coverage, mostly of a complimentary nature. Throughout the decades, I can think of only one book written in thoroughly scathing and blistering fashion, brutally criticizing Raffles for several blemishes in his career and casting him as a villain.
Other than this, the reputation of Raffles has stood the test of time, more or less. Even some mild reassessment by the historians Ernest Chew and Edwin Lee (both from the National University of Singapore) in the 1990s did not severely damage the iconic status of the man, though it did call his precise role in Singapore into question by asserting that it was only the Second Resident who had acquired the whole of Singapore island in 1824 and that it really was William Farquhar (the first Resident) who built up the fledgling settlement. As recently as 2017, one historian has lavished praise on the man and his legacy:
Everywhere in the maritime city-state of Singapore one encounters the name Thomas Stamford Raffles…. Raffles’ city plan is still perceptible as one walks through Chinatown, the government district or along the Singapore River. His statue is prominent. We see his name everywhere, a Raffles hotel, club, hospital, quay, Stamford Road…. Universally his name is identified with the upscale. No other former British colony so distinguishes and respects any of its former masters.
Resetting the standard historical narrative of Singapore history took a gigantic stride forward in 2012, with the publication of the groundbreaking compendium Studying Singapore’s Past. Subtitled C.M. Turnbull and the History of Modern Singapore, the essays paid tribute to Turnbull’s legacy, with one contributor describing her work as "an exercise in endowing a modern 'nation-state' with a coherent past that should explain the present." Clearly too, the essays highlighted new ways in which current historians are beginning to view Singapore’s past, ways in which Raffles would not necessarily occupy a central place. The Turnbull thesis of the Singapore story, so long the foundation for all other subsequent histories, was graciously but surely giving way to fresh and bold forays into the past. This is a must-read book for the 21st century serious student of Singapore history.
One man whose contributions to early Singapore has recently been acknowledged is William Farquhar, the first British Resident of Singapore. Several worthy attempts have been made to reinstate his reputation as the man on the ground, as it were, who diligently put Raffles’ plans into action, initiated many civic projects and introduced the first steps of good governance in the newborn settlement. The most provocative book so far is Nadia Wright’s very successful William Farquhar and Singapore: Stepping out from Raffles’ Shadow. It proposes a strong case indeed.
An easily accessible and readable book, The Singapore Biography, published in 2009, made a most noble effort to weave together multiples stories of the many peoples that made up the collective story of Singapore. The front cover itself is a happy collage of numerous pioneers of all races, in addition to Lee Kuan Yew and Raffles, as well as recognizable icons, symbols and buildings. Other than one chapter devoted to ancient Temasek, the rest of this treasure trove of a book recounts the familiar decades from colony to nation.
Without a doubt, the Bicentennial commemorations so far have provided the nation with a timely opportunity to review the role of Raffles in Singapore and modify our opinions of his contributions to the island colony. Additionally, the whole year-long endeavour will be a litmus test as to how the people of Singapore have understood, appreciated and embraced the diverse aspects of our collective heritage and history. Crucial to the whole ongoing enterprise of nation-building and identity-forging will be the manner in which Singapore’s colonial past is viewed. Will today’s citizens lambast all things colonial as exploitation, abuse and domination? Or would the Bicentennial activities yield a more studied, nuanced and objective survey of history, which will in turn allow the nation to frame her identity in the decades to come.
The official tone was set by Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong himself who publicly acknowledged that Raffles’ landing in 1819 was a crucial turning point in Singapore’s history. It set Singapore on a trajectory leading to where it is today - a modern, outward-looking and multicultural society. Hence, Mr Lee said, the Singapore Bicentennial is “worth commemorating” not just to remember Raffles or Farquhar, but to trace and reflect upon Singapore’s longer history before 1965.
Without 1819, we may never have launched on the path to nationhood as we know it today. Without 1819, we would not have 1965, and we would certainly not have celebrated the success of SG50.
The Bicentennial certainly has its trenchant opponents, who have seized upon the commemoration to remind us all that “Sir Stamford Raffles came not to improve our lives and undertake nation-building, but to promote British economic and political power in Asia.” Here is not the place to refute this and several other propositions from the anti-Bicentennial camp; they are entitled to their opinions. Suffice to say for now that we must not allow our view of the past to be framed only by the values and norms of the present. While it is correct to say that Raffles did not come over to nation-build, it must be asserted that the very notion of nation-building is a post-World War Two socio-political phenomenon. Raffles therefore cannot be guilty of neglecting that which did not even exist in his day and age.
Perhaps due to the extremely meticulous, efficient and sensible planning by the Singapore Bicentennial Office (SBO) under the supervision of the Prime Minister’s Office, the voices of the angry have been largely muted. As early as in December 2017, PM Lee stated that Singapore would "appropriately commemorate the 200th anniversary of the landing of Sir Stamford Raffles” As it has turned out so far, the commemorations have certainly not been a glorifying of all things colonial, but neither has it degenerated into a loud catcall denigrating all things colonial.
That is not to say that hard questions have not been asked, or that complex issues have not been confronted. The Bicentennial preparations anticipated tensions between different camps representing divergent views of Singapore’s colonial heritage. Even the recent advocates of a longue duree view of the past had difficulties crafting a “connected history.” The legacy of Raffles himself came under scrutiny, and there has been a lively and healthy public grappling with the issues of British colonialism, in an age of post-colonialism. Huang Jianli’s very sharp and lucid essay provides us all with some meaty food for thought:
The politics and dilemmas of the Bicentennial are intertwined with a larger ongoing struggle concerning how the history of the still-young nation state should be scripted. The commemoration has undoubtedly played a major role in raising historical consciousness and in getting both the one-party dominant state and its increasingly well-educated citizenry to ponder some foundational issues, including the island’s pre-Raffles past, its colonial and anti-colonial legacy, and even the changing nature of history as a discipline. In the short run there will inevitably be disagreements, tensions and confusion. In the long run, these will be valuable for forging deeper reflective bonds between the country and its citizens and for fortifying the inner heartbeat of the island city-state as it runs its next lap under a new generation of political leaders.
Early in January 2019, even before the official launch of the Bicentennial on the 28th of the month, two artistic projects along the Singapore River caused no little stir among ordinary Singaporeans. People walking along the Singapore River suddenly observed that the statue of Raffles had disappeared. Or so it seemed. Painted over on one side so that it blended into the background, the statue seemed to disappear when viewed from a certain vantage point. This was created by strategically layering paint over the statue's white polymarble surface, said the SBO, which confirmed on Wednesday (Jan 2) that it had “commissioned the stunt.” Accordingly, the curtain-raiser was intended to spark a conversation on the arrival of the British and their contributions to the nation. "The idea ... was to arouse curiosity, maybe some reflection and ultimately, to spark conversations about our history," said SBO deputy director Wong Chock Fang.
Some days later, four new sculptures joined the statue of Raffles along the Singapore River. These were the statues of Sang Nila Utama, Tan Tock Seng, Munshi Abdullah and Naraina Pillai, unveiled on Friday 4th January in recognition of the diverse communities and people who have shaped Singapore over the years, explained the SBO. These historical figures “represent a wider cast of characters that arrived on Singapore’s shores in 1819 and before." With these new statues, SBO said it wanted to invite Singaporeans to discover "our nation's cast of contributors and milestones from as far back as 1299."
Both artistic projects were temporary in nature. The original white Raffles statue “reappeared” within a few days. The other four sculptures stayed around Raffles for a week, before being moved to other spots along the River promenade for the rest of the year. While there was never any furore for or against the projects, the Singapore public seemed at least to be more aware of the delicate issues surrounding the iconic date of 1819. Perhaps the ambivalent, if lukewarm, response was typically Singaporean. In a nation built upon the constant edgy warnings of an uncertain future amidst a hostile world, the past has never seemed as important as the future.
And so, the Bicentennial year has moved along quite smoothly thus far. That there is even such a project in an ex-British colony is itself quite remarkable. I would not have imagined such an event in Uganda or Kenya, or even India, the “jewel” of the empire in her heyday. Present-day Australia, Canada and New Zealand are too paralyzed by their white colonial heritage, constantly making apologies and amends for past wrongs, and grappling with the problems of resurgent (white) nationalism on one hand and liberal immigration policies on the other.
As for Singapore, what pleased me immensely more than the statues was the public launching of yet another two new books. Kennie Ting’s Singapore 1819: A Living Legacy jumped out at me when I saw it on the shelves in late 2018. After so many questions were asked about the role of colonialism in Singapore, I did not expect so unabashed a title connecting the present back to 1819. Kennie Ting, in the back jacket flap of the book, is described as “a sociologist and cultural heritage professional, fascinated by the history and heritage of colonial port cities in Asia, especially of Singapore, where he was born.” At the time of writing this essay, Kennie is the Director of Singapore’s Asian Civilisations Museum and Peranakan Museum,” two premier museums “that explore interactions between civilisations and peoples in Asia.”
The book itself is a fascinating and racy account of how Singapore’s colonial and multi-cultural past has impacted upon the present. In it, he assembles an impressive list of heritage markers, both tangible (buildings, places, monuments, people) as well as intangible (culture, communities, arts and leisure). In his own personal blog, Kennie introduces the book as one that embraces many features of local heritage, yet also underlines the fact that there was always a global connexion; Singapore “has retained much of its colonial heritage in its urban landscape and way of life (high tea, anyone?); and it (wisely) did not choose a violently anti-colonial path to statehood.” This is point that I have also sought to assert, though to a much smaller and younger audience in my self-published book on colonial Singapore.
Ting is clear as to why his account begins in the year of his choosing:
The reference to 1819 was important because I wanted to make the point that colonial-era, British heritage is very much still an integral part of Singapore’s heritage. Who we are today is inextricable from who we were in the aftermath of 1819, when that most doughty official of the Honourable (English) East India Company planted the Union Jack on our shores.
Far from erasing, deleting or demolishing the vestiges of colonial rule, Ting lauds the retaining of so much colonial and cultural heritage in the city-state.
… if there’s one unique and distinguishing feature of Singapore and its recent history, it is that we have stood apart from every other nation-state in Asia in reconciling ourselves with and assimilating the colonial past as part of OUR past. This acceptance of the East-West character of our history and our identity is what has made us an exception and exceptional in Asia, and even the world.
I did not have any public or persuasive power in 2016, when I wrote and published my book, but that did not dim the satisfaction derived when reading the above lines by Kennie Ting and then re-reading the following thoughts from my book.
Finally, Singapore wasn’t even conquered. There was no bloody takeover, no fighting the natives, no battle, not even a skirmish or as much as a scuffle before Raffles could wrest control of the island for the Company. Instead, there was just a treaty signed and [the land around the River mouth] handed over in exchange for a tidy sum of money. It was, in all likelihood, it must be said, an unequal treaty. However, because it was a peaceful transaction, and because the vast majority of Singaporeans today descend from those immigrants who flocked in after 1819, and not before, we islanders do not suffer from any “victim” mentality. A good number of other ex-colonies do, and still struggle with building an identity detached from colonial rule. Singapore, in contrast, even with SG50 somewhat obscuring our clear vision, has had fewer difficulties with her colonial past.
If the appearance of Singapore 1819 astonished me, imagine my even greater surprise when I read in the newspapers on 29 January 2019 that Singapore’s Ambassador-at-large Professor Tommy Koh and the British High Commissioner to Singapore, Mr Scott Wightman, had co-edited the book 200 Years of Singapore and the United Kingdom. Launched with great fanfare, containing many readable articles by notable personalities, academics and journalists, it provides “thought-provoking perspectives on the evolving relationship between the two countries, and a dispassionate assessment of the legacy left by the British in areas as diverse as trade and commerce, language, education, housing and sports.”
Professor Koh’s introduction was a rich and meaningful foliage of words and thoughts. Taking the road less travelled (in ex-colonies), Koh assiduously avoids both the Niall Ferguson (apologist) and the Shashi Tharroor (critic) views of the British Empire. However, Koh makes the following definite stand: “I believe that if Raffles and Farquhar had not landed in Singapore on 29 January 1819 to establish a trading station for the British East India Company, we would probably not have the Singapore of today. In my view, the story of modern Singapore began in 1819.”
Providing a finely crafted observation of Singapore’s colonial past, Koh writes:
To sum up, I would say that the British rule of Singapore was probably 60 per cent good and 40 per cent bad. However, compared to other colonial powers which ruled Southeast Asia, the British were the least bad. The British left us with a very positive legacy. Independent Singapore was able to build on that legacy and to catch up with and even surpass the United Kingdom in some respects. There is little hostility among Singaporeans towards the British.
Reading the book, I take heart that Singapore is learning to adopt a mature, studied and objective view of the past. In so doing, the Singapore story has become longer – in time scope; broader – including many protagonists, and more honest – acknowledging many viewpoints for complex issues.
SCRIPTING A NEW “STANDARD” HISTORY
And so, I arrive now at the spot to which John Lukacs has been gently prodding me. There at this spot, the sacred conviction that there is but one inviolable view of the past is to be sacrificed. Here, the history teacher must become the history student. And here, the tight past gives way to a less-restrained future, and I am obliged to acknowledge after all, that historical knowledge is indeed necessarily revisionist. There are gaps of historical knowledge that are, or ought to be, filled. And that filling can never be permanent. The sincere historian must critically, continually and carefully examine sources with a view of improving or correcting prevailing understandings.
Therefore, with mixed feelings I picked up my final Bicentennial book (for now). I hesitated to open the pages of Michael Barr’s Singapore: A Modern History, knowing that it was sharply revisionist and highly provocative. In fact, I declined to purchase it at first and only did so when I saw it a second time. In Chapter 1, “Let’s Talk About 1819: Reorienting The National Narrative,” Barr begins by looking past Raffles and Lee Kuan Yew. Not the first national history to consider the region’s pre-colonial past, Barr seeks however, to be “the first to override 1819 by drawing firm lines of continuity that straddle it.”
While most accounts treat Singapore’s pre-colonial past as background, and with 1819 continuing “to loom large as the pivotal point at which everything changed,” Barr
sets out to reduce the significance of 1819 to the point where it is a punctuation mark, rather than a headline.
In his thesis, 1965 however remains “a headline, not a punctuation mark.” This is because the year marked a change of pace and focus.
Independence heightened the agency of Singaporeans in determining their own destiny in a fundamental way. Indeed it was only with the advent of sovereignty that it started to make sense to speak of ‘Singaporean’ at all.
Barr introduces a new set of historical dynamics and forces that have obliged the reader to view Singapore’s history laterally and horizontally, by employing several themes in the approach. The linear, chronological and traditionally telescopic-lens perspective is displaced in Barr’s book. The new themes include the role of geography, that is, regional geography, dislocating “Singapore” as an idea and placing her in the large context of the Southeast Asian Malay world. Then there is the theme of governance, “since c.1390 to the present, with periodization markers at 1867 and 1965 (not 1819).” Thirdly, the theme of economic cycles, in which 1819 is recognised as a critical turning point, “but not the beginning of everything.”
These historical dynamics have empowered me with a whole new and stunning way to relook the past. As uncomfortable as it is, since it impinges on my own personal identity as a sixth generation Peranakan Singaporean (whose first ancestor, in Singapore, arrived in the 1820s, just after Raffles!), this new outlook is somewhat liberating. At the very least, it helps us to confront and perhaps answer the questions as to how the island of Singapore fitted into the Southeast Asian scheme of things before its encounter with the Western world.
On a personal front, it also explains why Singaporean Chinese interested in their family histories have willingly gone beyond the shores of this island, and returned to visit China in order to discover the important stories for their heritage. I had never bothered with a pre-1819 Singapore, much less with any concept of a Wee family existing in China, before coming out to Nanyang in the south seas. We began in Singapore. In 1819. Or so I thought. But by becoming a history student once again, and divesting all previous personal prejudices, I have been forced to confront hidden shadows of identity that derive from a Singapore that was not always imprinted by British colonial rule. Perhaps, if I can muster up some inner energy, I will also be able to reconsider the significance of those first three years of my primary school life, spent (unhappily and unwillingly) in the very un-Anglicised and extremely Chinese world of Kong Hwa Primary School.
John Lukacs was right. In revisiting, reviewing and if necessary, revising perspectives of the past, the historian can indeed begin to construct a more meaningful historical narrative.