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Pia
Muzaffar Dawson with two other
international students
protesting at
Orchard Road.
Encounter
with the police.
"Erm…
guys, I'll be a bit late for the forum," he said in guarded
tones. "There are couple of policemen in my bedroom. They
want to have a word with me."
From our point
of view, the lengths to which the authorities went in order to
try and stifle our political action really demonstrated to us how
much we cherish those civil liberties we've always taken for
granted in the UK.
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Singapore's
shame
Singapore Democrats
2 Feb
08
A group of international exchange students from the
National University of Singapore (NUS) conducted a protest
against the Burmese government at the ASEAN Summit in December
last year.
Two of them Pia Muzaffar Dawson & Olly
Laughland reveal, in the article below, how they were
intimidated and harassed in the most disgraceful manner by the
authorities here.
These
youths wanted to express their anguish at the killings that were
going on in Rangoon, something that millions across the world
were doing. How wrong was that? No student should have to go
through what they went through just to voice their dissent at a
murderous regime.
Now the sordid details of their
harassment are out. The only thing that is more
stomach-churning is that NUS dares to aspire to be the "Oxbridge
of the East." Does this Government know no shame?
Protest
Singapore style
"Protest Singapore style,"
so the headline went. "9 protestors, 29 journalists, 2,500
police." We couldn't have put it better ourselves.
Weeks
of planning, secretive meetings, liaisons with the international
media, personal struggle and strained friendships, family
warnings and relationship crises – all to walk up a busy
shopping street in red t-shirts and holding candles. Our quiet
vigil in protest against the Burmese junta's uncontested
presence at the annual ASEAN Summit in Singapore caused
something of a stir, to put it mildly.
Of course, we
weren't the only people greatly concerned about the situation.
Since the violent crackdowns of Burmese civil society reported
in October of last year, hundreds of thousands of people
worldwide have been involved in campaigning, calling for an end
to the oppressive regime. But the Association of Southeast Asian
Nations (ASEAN), currently chaired by what was our host country
of Singapore, is crucial to either undermining or legitimising
the Burmese junta. However, Singapore had so far failed to
condemn the junta's actions, its high-level business links with
the regime proving far too important to jeopardise, to the great
displeasure of Singapore's 30,000-strong Burmese
community.
When we found out that the Burmese generals
themselves were to be welcomed with open arms into Singapore's
luxurious Shangri-La Hotel, we decided to take action. There
were other events planned, including two forums organised by
Overseas Burmese Patriots and SG Human Rights, but these were to
be held indoors in diluted form after applications to protest
outside were rejected. Singapore's stringent protest laws and
total ban on public assembly once again proved to be an
effective way of containing and constraining civil society.
Raised on Millian notions of freedom of speech, a vocal
student body at Sussex and general discontentment at elite
political power, we decided to risk our student visas and bend
the rules. Our plan was simple: to walk towards the ASEAN Summit
in groups of three (theoretically remaining within the ban on
public assemblies of more than four), wearing red t-shirts to
mark our solidarity with the Burmese people, and holding candles
(since any sort of banner or placard would require a
permit).
An innocent statement, we thought, though loaded
nonetheless with our disgust at the junta's regime. But the
authorities thought differently, and made this patently obvious
in the days preceding our event.
First of all, an email
told us, "You are requested to attend a chat with the
Provost and the Dean of Students tomorrow morning." We went
along, and spent a good half hour politely deflecting their
polite attempts to neuter our efforts. "We don't want this
descending into violence," said the Provost, drawing on the
standard Singaporean truism: speaking out equals violence and
chaos; chaos equals a threat to the economy. He courteously
passed us a copy of the Straits Times (the state-controlled
newspaper), folded neatly to the front page which read,
"Singapore will stick to its tough laws governing public
protests". The internet said the same – so did the
television, so did the radio.
Chuckling to himself, he
opened a large dossier containing page after page of our
personal information gleaned from Facebook. Covered in
annotations, it told a story of "potentially unlawful
behaviour". Little did we know a group of fellow students
had seen our "Stand Up For Burma" event on Facebook
and reported us straight to the University authorities, probably
in order to attain more all-important points for their own
personal records. Nervous laughter followed. "You know we
won't be able to help you if you're arrested. Student visas are
an issue out of our control," said the Provost (who is
also, incidentally, the ex-Deputy Superintendent of the
Singapore Police).
Though we hadn't been explicitly
threatened, we left the "chat" somewhat perturbed. Had
our plans taken on a life of their own? Were we interfering in
areas that were not ours to meddle with?
It got weirder.
The next day we were on our way to the forum organised by the
Burmese expatriate community in Singapore, when we got a phone
call from a friend who was also involved in organising the
vigil. "Erm… guys, I'll be a bit late for the
forum," he said in guarded tones. "There are couple of
policemen in my bedroom. They want to have a word with me."
We felt a sudden jolt of anxiety. The police? The magnitude of
what we were doing began to dawn on us. "Do you want us to
come by your room?" we asked our friend. "Erm…
yeah, that'd be good actually," he replied, straining to
conceal the panic in his voice."
We rushed to his
room, our hearts thudding. There we were greeted by two
plainclothes police officers with clipboards. Like the
university authorities, they warned us that our planned actions
risked breaking Singaporean law. Getting arrested in Singapore
is a major, major social transgression. Determined not to be
dissuaded, we tried to thank them politely for their advice, but
without capitulating. They left eventually, having realised that
their words were falling on deaf ears. Yet their visit left us
shaken, unsure of what measures the authorities would take to
prevent our protest from going ahead.
After this failed
attempt, the police force resorted to more insidious means. An
undercover policeman was installed at our planning meetings. We
each received anonymous text messages clearly concocted by a
novice police officer trying to sound young and hip. "Yo
heard fm law fac guy police gonna take realie tuff action 2day
on asean protest… dude has gd frend in police who knows
some higher ups.. better tell those goin 4 protest 2 b real
careful… looks like the cops here ain't jokin…
laterz." We got emails warning of "rising
anti-foreigner sentiment" in Singapore, and links to
internet forums full of posts condemning our plans.
On
the wall of our Facebook event, there was even a cleverly
constructed anonymous attendee (creatively named "Nigel
Chomsky") who attempted to delegitimise our advocacy of
non-violent protest by saying things like, "For once
Singaporeans, DISSENT!!!!! Hell, we can f*ck the policing
bastards." His profile, again hastily invented by some
novice policeman with no conception of what "anarchism"
actually means, had pictures of a burning car and a hooded
demonstrator hurling a Molotov at riot police. His "About
Me" section said, "The system's fucked up. So I set it
right. I dissent." Although in retrospect these efforts at
surveillance and infiltration seem laughable, at the time they
were enough to make us feel like our every move was being
watched, as if we were in some kind of Orwellian dystopia.
As
if these warnings from various authorities were not enough, we
were also being chased up by story-hunting journalists who had
got wind of our plans. Protest, sadly, is big news in Singapore.
And the Singaporean web forums were buzzing with lively
discussions about what we were proposing to do. "I think we
should deport these ang-mos [local slang for "white
people"]," one angry user said. Another countered,
"NUS, good try, you have my support! NUS you are not
wasting your time as you are brave to step out to do so. This is
just the beginning, I hope to see more of such movement. Bravo,
NUS! Keep it up!" Singaporean friends and strangers
contacted us with messages of support. At the same time, a few
members of our group were even contacted by lawyers and
university authorities their our home countries, warning that
participating in the protest would mean automatic expulsion from
their degree programmes back home.
What had started as a
simple idea, with which we'd become involved through a series of
chance encounters, had now snowballed into an event of massive
significance, in which an unprecedented number of different
people seemed to have a stake. And this was not without effects
on our personal wellbeing. We were double-locking our doors at
night, unable to sleep. We were constantly looking over our
shoulders, and trying to brush aside the threats and doubts that
seemed to assail us from all angles. Within our group itself,
the pressure was taking its toll. We became embroiled in heated
arguments about the right thing to do – and even whether
to go ahead with the protest at all – severely testing our
friendships with each other. We were tense, scared and doubtful
of our own capabilities. The claustrophobia proved too much for
many.
The day came, our group whittled down to just
nine. We approached the venue with trepidation, not knowing what
awaited us at the top of the escalators as we emerged from the
underground station onto the street. We were met by scores of
journalists, photographers and film crews, far outnumbering our
diminutive assembly. Upon sighting us they swarmed, cameras
flashing, questions shouted, dictaphones thrust to our faces.
"What would you say to the Burmese junta if you could be at
the ASEAN summit today?" "Are you not scared of
breaking Singapore's strict anti-protest laws?" "Do
your parents know you're here?"
They followed us as
we walked towards the venue of the summit. They were present
when we encountered the police, and when we dispersed without
incident. And so it was that the message of our simple,
minimalist protest achieved a degree of publicity unthinkable in
the UK, making the front page of Singapore's national newspaper
as well as countless other media channels throughout Asia. And
the next day, emboldened by the fact that we were not arrested,
a group of fifty Burmese residents in Singapore staged another
anti-junta protest outside the Summit – an event of far
greater political significance.
Our protest was
controversial. It may have offended some. But in the following
weeks, it became clear to us that our protest had not taken
place for no reason. What may have begun as a basic attempt to
publicly criticise the Burmese military regime, in an
environment where it enjoyed an unacceptable level of impunity,
quickly escalated into a question of how Singaporean society
understands itself: how it is disciplined, how it relates to
"external" interference, and what its fundamental
values are. It served to crystallise national debates around
public dissent, legitimate authority, the treatment of
minorities, and regional diplomacy.
And from our point
of view, the lengths to which the authorities went in order to
try and stifle our political action really demonstrated to us
how much we cherish those civil liberties we've always taken for
granted in the UK, and which have been rapidly eroded under the
Blair government. On a personal level, we ended up with sturdy
friendships and a new awareness of what we were prepared to do
for a cause we believed in.
Pia Muzaffar Dawson
and Olly Laughland are former international students at the
National University of Singapore. This article was written for
student magazines in the UK.
Read also: Interview
with student protestor by The Campus Observer
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