Catherine Lim, I salute you
The Experiment
AT THE fourth ministerial meeting to discuss the very troublesome young activist Frankie Mah, Minister Supremo asks: ‘Well, what’s the latest?’ There is a barrage of new information: the young rebel has got bolder; his following has grown; at the Speakers’ Corner, he attracts never-before-seen crowds; the Internet is full of excited chatter among young people about how to force the government to give in to the LOD, or the Long Overdue Demand.
‘And what’s that?’ asks Minister Supremo, in his gentle, well-modulated voice. Here, Minister A.H. — for years the minister has been known only by these initials - says angrily: ‘Freedom! Would you believe it? Here are young people free from poverty, squalor, corruption, and they’re clamouring for freedom!’
He gives another angry snort. The other ministers try to calm him down.
‘How long are you going to tolerate this nonsense?’ he asks. ‘Listen. I’ve done some research on the fellow. When he was 16, he cheated in a school exam. When he was 18, he got his girlfriend pregnant. Why don’t we use this info…’
‘No!’ says Minister Supremo firmly. Then he goes on to make the most astonishing announcement: ‘I’m going to say ‘Yes’ to all the demands of Frankie Mah.’
Everyone is astounded. Minister A.H. has fallen off his chair. ‘Yes,’ says Minister Supremo calmly. ‘Frankie Mah is going to get all the freedom he wants.’
The announcement first shocks Singaporeans into speechlessness, then rouses them into a frenzy of rejoicing. At last! At last! Frankie Mah has become a national hero.
In the following days, Singaporeans witness what they had never thought to see in their lifetime. Large crowds carrying placards denouncing the death penalty mass outside Changi Prison. A rambunctious crowd at the Speakers’ Corner repeatedly punch the air with their fists, denouncing this or that government policy. A long procession marches down Orchard Road carrying a banner showing a portrait of Frankie Mah under the word ‘Revolution’.
‘Aren’t you going to do anything?’ shrieks Minister A.H. ‘Yesterday one of them exposed his backside to show an obscene tattoo making fun of the government!’
Minister Supremo lets out a little chuckle. He says reassuringly: ‘Don’t worry, everything will be all right,’ then continues to look outside the window at a crowd gathered under a giant banner bearing a portrait of himself with a Hitler moustache. He listens to Frankie Mah shouting into a megaphone:
‘Hey, hey, Pee-Ay-Pee
Best-ever government in his-tor-ree
Please be our government in perpe-tui-tee!’
The other ministers watch uneasily as he lets out another chuckle.
In the third week, things suddenly change. Large, noisy crowds come out to demonstrate not for but against Frankie Mah. They are in fact petitioning the government to stop him. He is disrupting the peace of Singaporean life.
Only the day before, somebody was badly hurt in a scuffle. Before that, a fight had broken out in a mall, and hooligans had taken advantage of the situation to loot. Piles of litter are left wherever his rowdy supporters meet. Such a thing has never before happened in Singapore.
Minister Supremo receives delegations of Singaporeans urging quick government action. The Association of Parents and Teachers complains that the demonstrations are causing students to play truant. The Moral Society complains that the rude, crude behaviour of the rebels is influencing the young. The Tourism Promotion Society worries that all the mayhem will drive away tourists.
But the Minister is unruffled. ‘I’m waiting,’ he says with serene confidence, adding cryptically: ‘It will come.’
And it comes soon enough, on the 37th day of The Experiment. A huge flood of letters in the newspapers and on the Internet, matched by the largest-ever delegation to the government, all voice the greatest, most urgent concern of Singaporeans: ‘The value of our property is going down!’
Minister Supremo acts. Minister A.H. is jubilant. ‘Throw that scum into jail! Fine him! Cane him!’ But Minister Supremo says: ‘No. I’m going to invite him to tea.’
Frankie Mah appears very nervous as he is shown into the Minister’s office. As soon as he enters, he sees a huge poster with his portrait and the words:
‘Hey, hey, Frank-Kie- Mah
So you thought to have the last hurrah
You just might have gone a little too far!’
Frankie turns deathly pale. Minister Supremo graciously invites him to sit down and have tea and cake. First, the intimidation; then the charm. Frankie is overcome with relief. But he is still a little nervous.
The Minister says affably: ‘That famous tattoo. I saw it on TV, but those kiasu MediaCorp people blocked it out. Tell me about it.’
Frankie tells him. The Minister roars with laughter. Frankie is no longer uneasy. In fact, he feels comfortable enough to ask about something he has always wondered about.
‘Those initials in Minister A.H.’s name. What do they stand for?’
‘Will you promise not to tell anyone if I tell you?’ says Minister Supremo.
‘Yes, of course,’ says Frankie.
‘Well,’ says Minister Supremo. ‘Minister A.H. is a well-meaning chap, but with his outdated ways of thinking, he’s become a real pain. The initials stand for a rude word which I won’t utter, but it rhymes with ‘mass soul’ ‘. Frankie laughs so much he spills his tea.
It is time for him to leave. He is overwhelmed by gratitude. His eyes are shining with joy. From now on, his life will take on a new purpose.
Catherine Lim is a freelance writer. This is excerpted from an address given at the annual seminar of the Institute of Policy Studies last Thursday.
