The Best I Could (8 page)

One night, we were invited for cocktails at the embassy. We often received such invitations as we were supposed to be in solidarity with them as socialists. After cocktails, we took a stroll to Ladyhill Hotel to talk about the events of the night. I remember there were four of us—Conrad Jeyaraj, Sim Yong Chan, Sunny Chew and myself. I can’t remember why another person in the group, Francis Yeo, wasn’t with us. As usual, we discussed politics.

Then Conrad started making his corny jokes and we decided to throw him into the hotel’s swimming pool in his full formal suit. Many of the guests thought it was funny, but some members of the staff thought otherwise. The manager of the coffeehouse demanded that we leave immediately because we had bothered the guests. He was not prepared to listen to us. ‘Leave immediately or be thrown out’ was his ultimatum. He was flanked by the hotel’s bouncers and we had no choice but to leave. We headed back to Union House to summon help. Students from Raffles Hall, Dunearn Road Hostel and some medical students led by the always-ready Adam Liew gathered at Union House. There were about 70 to 80 students, most of them in pyjamas. Some Sikh students deliberately removed their turbans and let their hair loose. We marched to Ladyhill Hotel. At about midnight, all of us jumped into the pool. We created quite a din. Bedroom lights came on and guests were peering out of their balconies or windows to see what the ruckus was about. The same manager who had chased us away earlier saw me and asked me what was happening.

“Are you blind? Can’t you see what is happening?” I replied after taking a deep drag on my cigarette.

He didn’t know what to do. I told him we were university students and he shouldn’t have behaved so arrogantly earlier. I also said that we would be calling the journalists and his hotel would have great publicity the next day. I advised him to call the police if he wanted to. When he tried to speak again, I told him I’d rather not speak to the help and to let me speak to the general manager of the hotel.

Ten minutes later, I was told that the general manager would like to see me. She was an attractive Swedish lady and introduced herself only as Mrs Philip Seow. With two of my friends, we explained to her what had happened with her staff member earlier that evening. She apologised for his behaviour but I said that that the apology was insufficient. We sought some compensation from the hotel, perhaps some alcoholic drinks to warm everyone up. She smiled and said no. As we were students, she was prepared to give us hot chocolate and cookies. So we had a small party by the hotel’s pool, drinking hot chocolate and eating cookies and cakes under the moonlight. It turned out to be one of those fantastic, surreal moments in your life that you never forget.

To me and my friends, university life was not just about lectures, tutorials and hours spent in the library. It was about moments like the one at the Ladyhill Hotel. We did so many more things which would seem amazing to students in Singapore’s universities today. You have to realise the backdrop during those times. Singapore had recently been handed its independence from Malaysia and there were pockets of turbulence all across the island. The relatively new Lee Kuan Yew-led government was more worried about the threat of racial riots than what university students like us got into, such as taking part in demonstrations outside embassies.

I personally led a demonstration outside the American embassy to protest against the horrible incident which took place on March 16, 1968 in My Lai, Vietnam, when US marines indiscriminately killed old men, women and children. Students gathered outside the embassy which was located along Hill Street, opposite the Singapore Chinese Chamber of Commerce building. Before the demonstration, we sent Violet Oon and Linda Neo to scout the area. They came back and reported that there were police everywhere. It didn’t stop us. The students arrived at the embassy in a convoy of cars that had proceeded gravely and full of intent down North Bridge Road. The union bus was also used to carry banners condemning the United States. When we arrived, we saw US marines guarding the embassy. It appeared as though they were expecting us. We demanded an audience with the ambassador. We were told he was not in and that we could see the first secretary instead. Francis Khoo (now in exile in London), Peter Chen (who, if I am not mistaken, was our ambassador to Russia a few years ago) and I went inside to hand over our petition as well as challenge the absent ambassador to a debate.

As soon as we entered the embassy, the doors were shut. The din from the street outside vanished and we were completely cut off from our fellow protesters. We saw marine soldiers walking around on the grounds carrying guns. They were all more than 1.8 m tall and each of them must have weighed more than 100 kg. We were quite afraid and more than a little bit intimidated. The first secretary was a calm and polite person. He took our petition and said that he would pass it on to the ambassador together with our demand to engage in a debate. He then requested that we tell the students outside to disperse.

When we went out, we saw that a huge crowd had joined the students. It looked as though the students were outnumbered by the outsiders. To add to the drama that was unfolding, Conrad Jeyaraj decided to burn the American flag. Since he could not reach the flag flying at the embassy, he decided to torch the flag that we brought along. It was given to us by Jackie Sam, a senior
Straits Times
reporter as his contribution to our cause. Before Conrad could burn the flag, we were told by the police that they would not tolerate littering. They further emphasised that we could do anything to the flag except litter. So we decided to stamp on the flag and spit at it. We finally tore it and threw the tattered flag into the dustbin. The police were glad that we did not litter the premises. Eventually, I was told by the commander to get everyone to disperse. He said he had given us enough leeway and that we must leave or he would have to use force to clear us. He asked the leaders to have a quick meeting with the students. It was agreed that we all leave. We could see the relief in the faces of the policemen as we did so. The ambassador ultimately did not take up the challenge to a debate. I don’t blame him as his case was indefensible. The Americans had no right to be in Vietnam, and more and more Americans were beginning to realise it.

Not long after that, we organised a demonstration outside the Soviet Union embassy against the Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia on August 21, 1968. The Czechoslovakian government had declared that the troops had not been invited into the country and that the invasion was a violation of socialist principles, international law and the UN Charter. Again, the student protestors were joined by outsiders who swelled the crowd. The Russians did not want to see any of us. They locked their doors and did not respond to the abuse thrown at them. Some of us decided that we should burn the embassy cars to teach them a lesson. Sunny Chew, who was one of the Students’ Union leaders, told us not to do it. He did not want any violence. I was tired of singing and shouting, so I decided to go to the back of the embassy. I knocked on a window. A man opened it slightly and I asked him whether he could speak English. When he said he could, I asked if he could spare a few bottles of vodka. Our conversation was heard by some students who had followed me to the back of the embassy and they promptly reported my request to Sunny. He came immediately with some others and hauled me away. They were cursing me all the way, saying that I had cheapened the demonstration with my request for vodka. Other students thought it was funny and a little vodka would be welcome. Again, the police told us to leave or they would have to use force. I remember we marched off singing songs defaming the Soviet Union. For a few days, my request for vodka was a big talking point at Union House.

On another occasion during my university days, four of us went to a movie at the old Lido cinema, a classic standalone building with an airy 1960s feel to it. The cinema had front stalls, back stalls and circle seats. We bought half-priced tickets and proceeded to enter the hall. We were stopped and told we had to pay the full price. Our response was that we were students and that they had advertised that students pay only half the price. A commotion ensued and the manager of the cinema came and led us to his office. I explained to the manager that we were students and his advertisements had said that students pay half the price. He said the price was meant for schoolchildren. I told him we could not accept this explanation because if it was meant only for schoolchildren, this had to be stated categorically in their advertisements. The manager continued to argue with us. I got fed up. I told him that by the next day all Shaw Brothers cinemas, including Lido, would be picketed and we would make sure that no one went to his cinema. He looked worried and went to the next room to make a phone call. After the call, he told us we could see the movie with the tickets we had. I said that it was too late for us to view the movie and that he had to give us a refund and complimentary tickets for the next day. He agreed, but I told him that we needed more than four tickets as it was only fair to be compensated for all the trouble. I asked for about 30 tickets which he gave in to reluctantly. We went back to Union House and gave the extra tickets to our friends.

There were other times in university when I had to deal with situations on my own. As president of the Non-Hostelites Organisation (NHO), I had to attend inter-hostel meetings. Everyone else in those meetings was part of the academic staff. As a student, I was immediately disadvantaged. In one such meeting chaired by Peter Lim to ensure that the university sports meet was well attended, Professor Jansen of Dunearn Road Hostel called the NHO a dead-loss organisation. I responded by saying that it was a case of the pot calling the kettle black. The professor told me not to be funny, to which I replied I couldn’t care less. Hearing my response, Dr Nalla Tan, the mistress of Eusoff College, an all-girl residential hostel, who was sitting beside me, shouted that I was showing a lack of respect to all the academic staff present. I lit up a cigarette and blew smoke into her face. This infuriated her even more and she looked at the chairman for help. He promptly called off the meeting.

Professor Jansen and Dr Tan reported me to Reginald Quahe, the deputy vice-chancellor. I was also banned from Eusoff College. The resident students were told that they would face disciplinary action and possible expulsion from the hostel if they invited me there. I contacted the student leaders to tell them about the incident and that I would most probably be reported for disciplinary action. After a few days when there was no follow-up, I decided to see Mr Quahe myself. He offered me a cup of coffee and asked what I wanted to see him about. I told him I believed a report had been made against me and if that was so, what was he going to do about it.

He laughed and said, “Yes, a report has been made but I’m not going to act on it.”

I was very surprised. “Why?” I asked.

This time he laughed even louder. It was almost a guffaw. “I have decided not to make you a martyr,” he said.

Mr Quahe was a wise old man. He told me that to avoid such situations in future, he was instead going to appoint a master for the NHO who would be of equal status to the others at the meetings. He knew that if action was taken against me, there could be huge problems. It would have been a situation where no one would win but everyone could lose.

After graduation, I was advised by Norman Knight, a business administration lecturer who was also a chartered accountant, to pursue a second degree in chartered accountancy. He said to me, “Your law degree isn’t very good. Why don’t you consider going to London to do chartered accountancy to support your degree?” He was kind enough to offer to connect me with Coopers Brothers to do articleship. With that in mind, I toyed with the idea of going to London.

My elder sister was always very supportive of further education. She advised me to go. My mother, however, was not so keen on it as she knew that I would not be able to live on my own without her cooking. I believe that deep inside she was also concerned that I would return with an English girl. Anyway, as I still had friends at university, I continued to frequent the campus. One day I met Professor S Jayakumar, dean of the Law faculty then and the present Deputy Prime Minister of Singapore. He called out to me, “Hey, Subhas, what are you doing here? You should be doing your pupilage.”

“Yes, but I don’t have a place to go.”

“What do you mean? Did you speak to Mr Yang?” he asked. Mr Yang was a law faculty officer who was supposed to arrange for pupilage for everyone.

“Well, I didn’t want to bother him.” I didn’t want to tell the professor that I had been thinking of going abroad for further studies.

He seemed a little agitated. “What are you talking about? Come with me.” He led me to his office and made me sit in his room. I must say that he was very kind. He ordered a cup of coffee for me. He even told me that I could smoke if I wanted to. Then he coaxed me. “Look, Subhas, you must do your pupilage, you know. You must get called to the Bar. After that you can decide what you want to do. First things first, you know.”

“Okay, but I have not got a place,” I replied.

Without any hesitation, he picked up the phone and called Chan Sek Kiong (now Chief Justice of Singapore) who was then a partner with Shook Lin & Bok. He said: “Sek Kiong, I’ve got this guy here who has just finished his law and says that he’s got nowhere to do his chambers. Can you take him in? He’s very intelligent but prone to getting into trouble. I hope you can help him.” After a few minutes, he put the phone down and said to me: “Okay, I’ve got you a place with Mr Chan Sek Kiong, a senior partner with Shook Lin & Bok. He’s prepared to meet with you tomorrow. Most probably, he’ll take you in. So please go down there tomorrow for an interview and hopefully, pupilage under him.” A little reluctantly, I agreed.

As I walked away, he called out to me. “Subhas, for goodness sake, wear a tie for the interview, OK?” I smiled at him and assured him that I would wear a tie. I think if he did not say that to me, I would probably have gone in a T-shirt.