|
 In
recent years Singaporeans have enjoyed some loosening
in the media and the arts and a freer business
environment. And trendy nightspots sprout up almost
every week on Club Street and Mohamed Sultan Road.
But will locals ever rid themselves of their enduring
image as a buttoned-down society that is boring
and obsessed with rules, results and founding
father Lee Kuan Yew? It's happening, but old habits
die hard. Asiaweek spoke to Singaporeans from
various walks of life to assess how real they
perceive the new openness to be and where they
still encounter out-of-bounds markers.
JEREL
KWEK, 21
junior entrepreneur
In a society where educational qualifications
count, Jerel Kwek, right, stands out for having
few. The lanky young man is close enough to his
teen years to say "cool" - and get away
with it. But behind the stripling image is someone
with years of business experience. Kwek made his
first buck selling stickers when he was five.
He later branched into dog-breeding and vegetables
grown by hydroponics. But it was when he got into
the Internet for the first time in 1994 that he
found his calling. "In one minute, I knew
that was where I wanted to spend the rest of my
life," he says. When he was 17, he set up
an Internet consultancy - registered under the
name of his father, an air-force officer, because
Kwek was too young. Imagine Multimedia made revenues
of about $59,000 in its first six months, most
of it profit.
The
young entrepreneur recently launched a second
venture, MyAngel.net, a career and human-resources
website that occurred to him when he experienced
difficulties hiring staff for Imagine. A third
project, a business information portal, is already
on the way. Kwek managed to fit in two years of
national service, during which he helped revamp
the Defense Ministry's Web service. He was accepted
last year to an undergraduate program at the University
of Pennsylvania's Wharton School of Business,
but put it off for a year. He is likely to defer
for another 12 months.
Putting
off school? For a Singaporean, that sounds sacrilegious.
But for Kwek, it is the right thing to do. After
all, he can't let his (much older) colleagues
down. And he has bad memories of junior college.
He says he felt constrained, practically straitjacketed,
by Singapore's results-based, narrowly focused
education system - which the government has recently
been trying to reform by encouraging innovation
and creativity. "I was always disgruntled,"
he says. "You are just taught that whatever
they say is right, to never question, and that
everything else is wrong. That is terribly cruel,
it is wrong. It is not developing people to their
full potential. Our education [system] has done
a tremendous disservice to our budding entrepreneurs
because it pushes them into a box where they are
taught not to challenge, debate or question. But
the New Economy is about constantly reinventing
yourself and being creative and moving to where
you can charge your customer a premium. How else
can you do that without breaking the rules?"
While
most of his pals are busy becoming engineers,
Kwek courts potential investors, liaises with
clients and constantly hunts for new tech talent
to recruit. He recognizes that some people may
find it difficult working with a boss so young.
"Anybody younger than 20 is looked on as
someone who can't do a good job in business. We
have to prove ourselves by being better than others."
He wouldn't have it any other way, though. "I've
always been a rebel. Singaporeans have never been
known to be risk-takers. They have been taught
to stick to the status quo and never to challenge.
In the New Economy, that is a recipe for disaster."
INDERJIT
SINGH, 39
technopreneur and legislator
Ruling
People's Action Party legislator Inderjit Singh,
top, opposite, knows the frenzy of launching a
start-up. He used to be employed by Texas Instruments
but left more than two years ago to set up semiconductor
services company Utac with colleagues. It's been
non-stop since. "When I started, I found
it very difficult to raise backing," recalls
Singh. "About 60% of my funds came from Taiwan
because I couldn't get Singaporeans to commit.
The Taiwanese saw the value [of the venture] very
quickly and had the confidence that there was
a team willing and able to make it work."
To part with their money, his Taiwanese investors
were satisfied with just a 30% to 40% chance of
success. "But Singaporeans wanted to have
almost a 90% chance before they would back us."
Utac
recently moved into new premises. It now has 400
staff, rising to 700 by the end of this year,
and may soon list on Nasdaq. "Singapore is
in a transition," Singh says. "In the
past 34 years of development, we've been used
to a very strong and stable government and the
strong hand of government in the way things are
done. Being a scholar and then going into a stable
career as a civil servant or an executive at a
multinational corporation has been the model.
But that means there is a reluctance to try something
new that could potentially make a lot of money,
but which could also be a big failure."
Changes
are afoot, Singh insists. "It takes time.
The problem is not resistance, but inertia - this
is the way things have been done." The MP
doesn't shy away from prodding ministers for a
faster pace - and a lighter touch. "My advice
to the government all the time has been to create
the environment and then back off. Let there be
a bit of chaos. It's okay. We cannot have everything
so structured all the time." Singh recently
called in Parliament for the privatization of
Singapore's government-linked companies. "To
be successful in the global environment, they
have to be run on a purely private-sector basis,"
he says. That's a proposal that may have seemed
radical not long ago, but may soon become conventional
wisdom.
SHELLEY
SIU, 55
"missionary for women"
 Want
to know how fast Internet speed is? Follow Shelley
Siu, below. She divides her time between running
her own human-resources company, shepherding a
new Web service for female entrepreneurs and speaking
to young and old on a range of issues. And she
has just written a new book on Singapore women.
Barrier Breakers, which is the Lion City's first
e-book (it is also available in hard copy), is
a collection of profiles of 13 women achievers.
Siu could count herself among them.
She
says that when she was young, she was "conditioned
to accept that girls are not as important as boys."
But Siu reckons the situation has improved. Now
boys are taking home economics, while women are
allowed in technical courses. Just look at the
numbers, she says. The literacy rate among women
15 years and older in 1997 was 89%, compared with
73% in 1980. Since 1995, more than half the intake
at Singapore universities has been women. And
a third of the senior managers and professionals
in the workforce are female, as opposed to 20%
in 1990.
Siu
says the space for women in the workplace is now
wide open. "As long as you are capable, there
are no barriers to what you can be." But
there is lingering social discrimination, she
admits. Some people's perceptions, particularly
at the grassroots level, have yet to change -
she still encounters men who expect her to make
the coffee and clean up and who don't like it
when women are complimented for their work or
speak about their accomplishments. Siu is also
troubled by policies such as a quota set on female
medical students and the fact that foreign husbands
of Singaporean women do not automatically qualify
for permanent residence, while the foreign wives
of the men do. Siu describes this immigration
rule as a "hurdle" for her daughter,
who lives with her American husband in the U.S.
Siu and her husband also have a married son in
Britain.
Siu's
latest business initiative is FemmE-net.com, a
website for women entrepreneurs. And she is starting
an IT retraining program. She is pleased by the
government's recent decision to allow tax rebates
for home offices since this will encourage more
women to set up their own businesses. Singapore
needs more affordable child-care facilities and
greater flexibility on working hours, Siu argues.
And there are not enough women in Parliament -
only six of 93. "More women have to come
forward," she says. Preferably at Internet
speed.
ALEX
AU WAI PANG, 47
gay-rights activist
Freelance writer Alex Au, not pictured, runs Yawning
Bread, a website that deals with homosexuality
and issues of particular concern to the gay community
- as well as delivering an occasional sharp commentary
on everything from the latest films to Singapore
Telecom's failed bid for Cable & Wireless
HKT. "For readers who are not homosexual,
I hope [the website] can serve as a window into
the thoughts of gay people, particularly gay Singaporeans,"
Au writes. "For readers who are homosexual,
I hope [it] can be a catalyst to self-reflection,
self-discovery, and a better understanding of
where we stand in society, and why we stand where
we stand. I hope it is of some help to you in
breaking out of any sense of isolation you may
have."
Launched
in 1996, Yawning Bread (the name just appealed
to Au) now has an average of 2,900 hits a month.
Early on, Au decided to house the site on a server
outside Singapore because he feared it might be
censored. He doesn't think he would have any problems
now, but it's just too much trouble to transfer
all those kilobytes. Not that Au is about to celebrate
any new openness. He and fellow gay activists
keep a low profile - though nobody would describe
them as being out of sight.
In
November 1996, they applied to the government
to have a group called "People Like Us"
registered as a society so it could hold group
discussions on gay and lesbian issues and circulate
a newsletter, among other things. In April 1997,
the application was rejected. Au and his colleagues
appealed twice to the Home Affairs Ministry. Both
failed. Finally, they wrote to Prime Minister
Goh Chok Tong. The petition was denied. Au believes
treatment of gays is the test case of the authenticity
of the government's drive for a more open society.
He is not hopeful.
The
government says its decision to refuse People
Like Us a license merely reflects current mores,
but Au and his associates complain that they have
no means to plead their case to the public if
they are not allowed to do so openly. The good
news is that at least the bad old days of regular
police dragnets to entrap homosexuals seem to
be over. Meanwhile, Au keeps adding new slices
of life to his Yawning Bread loaf. Recent offerings
include an essay on the future of ASEAN, a humorous
account of how he helped his nearly 80-year-old
father get wired and a reflection on cruising
public toilets.
HARESH
SHARMA, 35, playwright
ALVIN TAN, 37, artistic director
For Haresh Sharma and Alvin Tan, blurred boundaries
are a good thing. Tan, right, below, is artistic
director of the theater group The Necessary Stage
(TNS), while Sharma is its resident playwright.
The way they see it, written rules governing the
local drama scene don't actually match practice.
For example, touching on such sensitive areas
as race, religion and sex, particularly homosexuality,
is officially discouraged, but many plays deal
forthrightly with these supposedly taboo topics.
"It's good in a way that the OB (out-of-bounds)
markers are blurred," Sharma says. "Sometimes
you just don't know where the lines are. If we
were to push too much and they made the rules
very clear, then maybe no plays would get performed,
which would be even worse."
As
it stands, TNS no longer has to submit scripts
to the Public Entertainment Licensing Unit, but
must still pass them to the National Arts Council.
The group also voluntarily slaps a rating on its
own performances, particularly if a work contains
sensitive material. If the National Arts Council
reckons something is too on-the-edge, it may have
it reviewed by a committee. "Where it goes
from there, we're not quite sure," says Tan.
"Most of the time, though, everything is
all right."
Last
December, a day before a presentation of sex .
violence . blood . gore ., a play by twenty-somethings
Alfian Sa'at and Chong Tze Chien, the censors
asked for three scenes dealing with race to be
cut. Tan considered canceling the show, but decided
to go ahead. The contentious scenes were not performed,
but Tan had the text photocopied and distributed
to the audience. When the scenes were reached,
the house lights were turned up and the situation
was explained to the public. Actors carried on
"in fast-forward" with no words. "The
censorship was against the scenes being performed,
but not against the text," explains Tan.
"It was a loophole, but we moved right to
the brink. By being pragmatic, we preserved as
much of our integrity as we could." By censoring,
Tan reckons, the government contradicts its own
aim of fostering a more open society.
Sharma
says he doesn't feel constrained as to what he
can or cannot write. He is now working on a play
about two drag queens that he wants to be performed
by real transsexuals. Tan points out, however,
that scriptless performance art and so-called
audience-participation forum theater remain "proscribed"
- not strictly banned, but unlikely to be licensed.
Because organizers would have to place a $59,000
deposit with the authorities, nobody tries. But
that's not stopping resourceful playwrights. Some
plays that are approved and staged include improvisation
and audience participation - with no complaint.
JAMES
GOMEZ, 35
Internet political activist
 He's
a former student unionist with two degrees in
politics, as well as a Singapore-based researcher
with a foundation associated with Germany's Social
Democratic Party. And now he's author of a self-published
book whose title alone is provocative - Self-Censorship:
Singapore's Shame. But James Gomez, opposite page,
whose father was one of the founders of the Singapore
Mercantile Workers' Union, seems proudest to be
known as "a political entrepreneur,"
the sole proprietor of Think Center, which he
set up last year. He explains: "It's an independent
political research initiative - a dotcom company,
but what I do is political. It's new age, new
look, young. It's a concept."
A
participant in the government's Singapore 21 consultation
exercise to discuss how to develop a more active
civil society, Gomez has set out "to fight
the inertia" of what he believes is the Lion
City's culture of self-censorship. By registering
Think Center as a company - "It took only
a few hours" - he neatly avoided having to
go through the arduous process of applying for
official approval under the Societies Act, which
governs activist groupings, among other things.
"I exist on the Net; all my operations and
promotions are there," Gomez says.
He
has leveraged his website and his recently published
book to promote a series of seminars. The fourth
and latest one, a discussion of human rights in
Singapore, took place March 10 and attracted about
150 people. Advertising was through the Think
Center website and e-mail. "The dotcom approach
to politics has a multiplier effect," Gomez
says. "If you receive a mailer, you forward
it to other people who may be interested. It snowballs."
Going
about his political business hasn't been such
a smooth ride, though. After his inaugural forum
on youth and politics in October last year, police
called him in for questioning for allowing into
the room a number of people who had not pre-registered
online. The authorities said they had received
a complaint that an offense had been committed,
but would not give specifics. After a few months
of investigation, Gomez and three colleagues were
let off with a warning, advising them to apply
for a license whenever they hold meetings.
"I
raise eyebrows," Gomez says with pride. "People
ask, 'Can you really do this? Is it allowed?'
Many people just stay away, but others ask to
be put on our mailing list." He sees Think
Center as only one activity in the process of
trying to stir up Singapore society. There should
be as many things going on as possible, he argues.
"I'm against old-fashioned notions that we
must be rigid and march forward in a tight formation.
I'm a bit more funky, relaxed, slip-and-slide,
groove-and-jive. We can move in different ways
but get there together in the end."
So
far, the official reaction to his book has been
muted. Some bookshops have accepted it, while
others have taken only a token number of copies.
The National University of Singapore bookstore
had stocked it at the request of a teacher for
use in a course, but subsequently returned the
consignment to the distributor. That riled Gomez,
who suspects self-censorship. "If you want
to censor, then come out. Don't hide behind advisories
and memos. Justify yourself."
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