The Weight of the Monsoon

Monday, 19^th November

Singapore

It has been a while since I have written personal thoughts, having begun my interviews and become lost in a flurry of academia.

The monsoon enters its third week. Today was the first day without rain since, it feels like, I got back from Australia. The rain is both refreshing and oppressive; I have always liked rain, growing up I loved the afternoon thunderstorms of North Carolina. I loved disappearing into coffee shops and book places in England during the rain and drizzle, a chance I (and everyone) has often.

This equatorial, tropical rain is more persistent than any I have encountered. There is no escape from it; it even seems to wet the insides of a room, somehow. The drops are fat enough to measure with a spoon.

The air is tolerable because of the daily rain, and that helps. The sun is not one’s friend here. But still, outdoor activity becomes difficult with the daily deluge. So, in either rain or sun, Singapore is a difficult place to be, if not on a veranda with a breeze or fan, or in an air conditioned room.

**

The rain adds to the creeping… heaviness of life here. I am now nearly three months into my time here, and have dug past a few of the surface layers. I am starting to feel like I live in Singapore, and only by feeling that way, am I starting to feel that I am living in Singapore’s authoritarian system, its heavy, oppressive, strong handed system. It does not creep into one’s head after a few days, but only after several weeks or months. The policeman in my head warns me against strange or offensive behaviour, not that I was planning any.

Singapore gets into you, you begin to internalize it.

Perhaps the initial interviews and my walk through Bukit Brown, which combined, have had a very chilling effect. The impact of seeing the 4000 graves being exhumed and then not one but two very candid, critical interviews, not entirely optimistic on their views of the city-state or the future, have left me noticing things with (yet another) fresh pair of eyes.

The Straits Times, for example, which at first seems like your everyday mainstream, centrist national paper (like USA Today, the Times of London, etc), now looks more and more like political propaganda. There is a formula, people say, and now I notice things I didn’t before. All well in Singapore; all fucked in the rest of the world. And on page 3, a man won a prize for his garden. On page 4, a girl lost her scholarship for drugs.

**

I won’t go into my interviews, since they will have been transcribed and explored in my PhD text. What I came away with, so far, were two people with differing levels of criticism on the Singapore State. One was a Singaporean, battle-scarred but still fighting for equality and human rights, perhaps a believer in slow liberalisation and having lived through the 1960s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and 2000s, with the hindsight, foresight, and patience of a veteran. The other interviewee was British, having arrived within the past decade. He seems to have made a life for himself here with his family and hopes to get permanent residency, and yet had nothing but scathing, troubling views on the City-State. My question, which I didn’t ask but should have, is why he stays, why he subjects his wife and young child to this society, if it is so bad? He also claims to have ‘fallen in love’ with aspects of Singapore – the ability not to have to worry about things, to not have to be guarded as one would be in London or Dallas. Perhaps just knowing that you are being looked after, and that there is a policeman in your head, is comforting somehow.

I read the paper today. There is a serious debate going on, seemingly involving several notable academics, about ‘the maid problem’. Not so much how they are mistreated (they are) and underpaid, denied a day off and other basic human amenities; but rather about how Singapore will face a shortage of maids in coming years. (Since maids from ‘dependable’ Philippines and Indonesia will go to other places, where they are treated better and have higher wages).

What made me balk was not so much that there was a serious discussion in the newspaper about the prospect of a maid shortage, but that the solution to this problem seemed (according to consensus), to be to simply take small steps to fill the shortage, such as allowing some maids to live outside their employers homes, encourage more Singaporeans to be maids, and encouraging maids to come from other countries (such as Thailand or Cambodia).

What is truly shocking, though perhaps shouldn’t be, was that this was even being discussed at all, but more importantly, that maids don’t seem to be thought of as people who deserve a minimum wage, a weekend, and the whole host of other protections and rights they are guaranteed in other countries (including many in Asia, such as Hong Kong). Not  that being a maid is ever a glamorous job, picking up 13 year olds shit-stained clothes and mopping a bathroom floor. Moreover, is there the capability for a discussion here about whether so many maids are necessary? Can people clean their own rooms? Would Singapore be a healthier, more dynamic society, if more children were not raised by maids, more fathers cleaned the house?

**

Another perpetual ‘problem’ for discussion here is the ‘drug problem’, which, if you believed the paper, is tearing apart Singaporean society. I have yet to see a junkie walking around or someone that I encounter that seems to be high on anything, except maybe cold and flu medicine or coffee.

Not only are drug-peddlers sentenced to death or (at minimum) life in prison (if they name names); drug users are also treated as criminals and punished severely. What is viewed as ‘rehabilitation’ here, for example, for a teenage-female heroin addict, is 12 months in basically solitary confinement. Young girl, saved from drugs, recounts her time with 2 bars of soap per month and just a squat for a toilet, which she had to clean by hand. The newspaper warns, it boasts, it chides. Never is there a discussion that maybe drug addicts are deserving of at least some modicum of human treatment, access to help rather than punishment.

Here too, Singapore differs from the leading ‘creative’ cities in the world, which are increasingly taking progressive stances toward drug users; Vancouver has realized that rather than try to social engineer heroin use out of the population (of which the Indigenous Canadian population is particularly hard-hit), drug users will at least have access to clean and sanitary facilities and methodone will be given to attempt to mediate and ameliorate the problem. Drug use has never been ‘erased’ from cities; cities can make things better, at best. Colorado voted this month to legalize marijuana.

And finally, the academy itself. Thus far and even more than a month in, I assumed that the National University, with its accolades, partnerships, and rankings, was somewhat insulated from the larger system – more connected to the ivory towers of the Ivy League and the Russell Group than to the People’s Action Party.

I assumed, in particular, that the Geography Department, which possibly produces as a cohort the most critical papers on topics such as spatial justice and human rights – would be an even more insulated group within the academy.

While this is somewhat true, I am realizing that nowhere here is insulated from the government or the ideology, and I learned this from a personal discussion with one of the senior faculty members in my field who is also a university administrator. Highly regarded, well-travelled, and Cambridge educated.

 She sounded like an automaton, hardly any different than the type of surface politeness cum wariness one might get from a civil servant or a waitress here. She seemed especially off-put with the topic of a gay-rights group I am interviewing (People Like Us). She seemed puzzled as to why they were part of my research, and managed to say, “Aren’t they -, um, a different kind – of – advocacy group?” The subtle ways that Singaporeans code-switch, channel you away from certain topics. A sensitive issue indeed, given the imminent opening of Yale / NUS college and the hesitation of Yale Faculty to associate with a university which will not openly promote alternative lifestyles in any way. Despite what is said, and despite what is agreed, I am at this juncture doubting that Yale / NUS will give rise to any sort of liberalization, any sort of ‘chipping away at the stone’ that is Singapore’s rigid value set. Not unless Yale and NUS faculty implicitly support and encourage it, which, from my observations and discussions thus far, does not look likely.

19 year-olds aren’t the bravest in the world, not these days anyway. Especially when there is a policeman inside their heads, warning them not to cause trouble.

Perhaps my forthcoming interviews will shed a different, more optimistic light, and what I feel in my heart will be proven wrong. I am open to this. I know that there are ways in which Singapore works and also ways in which it is easy to like, easy to even fall in love. There is a reason there are tens of thousands of highly-educated expatriates here. Neil Humphreys, the author, called Singapore his ‘girlfriend’ that he can’t get out of his heart. Hugh, (the British expat) I interviewed, though he called Singapore “Nazism without the anti-Semitism” (and there may be a fair amount of anti-Semitism), has chosen to remain here with his family, even saying that he would encourage his son to do National Service, the true sign of commitment to the state. He can say in the same sentence, however that 11 year olds kill themselves every year because their test results are poor.

 I don’t think he quite has figured out how to reckon with this place, or his decision to come here.He seemed almost agitated and stressed after talking to me. Perhaps the tropical calm of his garden, swimming pool, and comfortable lifestyle assuage the anxiety, ease the doubts, act as an opiate. Perhaps there was something worse for him in London, worse than a heavy-handed government in a tropical city. Perhaps there is some joy in knowing that he is different, other, can always return to England. Perhaps there is something exotic, naughty, slightly dangerous about being here. Or, perhaps, Singapore is no more rigid, controlling than anywhere else. At least it is open about it. Guantanamo Bay is still open, and London films you hundreds of times per day, can tap your phone or internet account at will. 

Nazi Germany was also seductive, and had a certain allure, attracting authors and great minds. I am not ready to compare Singapore to a fascist state, at least not that kind of fascism. Nor am I ready to make a blanket, black and white verdict – I don’t think that’s possible, and cities are too puzzling to describe without nuance and circumspection.

But every day, I feel the heaviness creeping in. And wake up with the policeman in my head. Is it fear? Anxiety?

From Singapore,

JDL

My Return to Oz

October 2012

When I was 22 years old, I arrived in Melbourne with everything I would need for a year, an excitement and freedom I had never felt before, and an open mind. Though I only spent 10 months on Australian soil, the experience changed me in profound and important ways. It would be untrue to say that I ‘grew up’, because how can one grow up in 10 months. I did, however, try things I have never tried before, and go exploring at the end of the earth, the place where the dragons live and the waters fall into space. And the fresh air and smell of Eucalypt have stayed with me for nearly 7 years.

I have taken the opportunity while living temporarily in Singapore to devote energy and money to returning to Australia for 12 days, even though the sensible thing to do would be to explore the ‘new’ region of Southeast Asia rather than go back to a place I have been before. Yet the need to return to Oz has been in the back of my mind for years, ever since I left. I wanted to see this place with a fresh set of eyes, older, having travelled and lived abroad other places. I wanted to see if the waves of Australia would wash over me in the same ways, or differently. I wanted to revisit old streets and pass old trees, and see the dear friends I made in such a short time, many of whom I have stayed in touch with and reconnected with around the world. And, pragmatically, I wanted to do something I never got a chance to do when I lived in Melbourne: drive, on my own, from Sydney to Melbourne, around Australia’s highest mountain, Kozsiousko (over 7,200 feet and still snow covered in late Spring). I did travel around Victoria and took myself out to Broome, Western Australia in 2005/2006, but never really immersed myself in the bush on a long road trip – a quintessentially Australian adventure. In doing so, I am hoping to come full circle, to use a cliché, and finish my Australian chapter, as it were. At least for now. For me, this is something of a spiritual journey mixed with simple good times with friends, the perfect way to end my 30^th year as I approach my thirtieth birthday. I began my 20s with Australia, and, so, I will end with it.

The context is certainly different. When I was 22 and fresh out of Cornell, I was a nervously closeted, hard drinking evolving fraternity boy with no plan for the next 3 years, let alone my life. I didn’t know if I would stay in Australia for one year or thirty. I didn’t know if I would ever go back to school. I had never really dated properly and though I desperately wanted to, I was not yet equipped with the mental tools to do so. I was who I am now, but only in an earlier mould, not yet fully shaped. I had long curly hair.

I am still not fully shaped by any means. Here I am, still a student, perhaps once expected to have bought and sold a house by this time (by my younger self). To have it all figured out. To have gone to the moon.

But I have gone many places. I have learned a great deal. There is much more I want and need to accomplish in life, professionally, socially, personally, but I have progressed a great deal. I have made mistakes and have some regrets, but equally accept that these mistakes have made me smarter, sharper and more careful. I have not lost my love of life and a good time. I am still not afraid to let my hair down, even though I keep it shorter now. I am who I have always been, and I know myself. In all these things, I am extremely lucky and grateful. Were I more religious, I would say blessed. And I think I still can.

Now I have a (relatively) clear plan. The PhD is a map for 2 years. Then it becomes hazier, but I know for certain that going back to school is no longer a fork in the road. I also know that putting on a suit everyday and not being surrounded by intellectuals is also a ‘closed road.’ Whether I go into the hard, political world of Academia or remain in policy and research circles, the road is still becoming narrower, clearer, and better paved. I may not know how many miles there are until my destination, but at least I know I have one, and that I am heading toward it.

I know that I am only in Australia for 12 days. 8, in fact, as of this journal writing. This is different. I am a visitor, a tourist. I will not be a resident; will not be looking for a house or signing tax papers. There is comfort in this, but also a tinge of sadness. This land does have, as expressed in Australian art, film, and literature, a mythical, surreal, dreamlike pull. This land lulls one into a happy oblivion, if a perilous one. And already, it has cast its spell.

Australia, like myself, is different. Older now. And having gone through a remarkable economic change; it was booming in 2005-2006, but then, everywhere was. I felt Australian values imbued in everyday life: a fair deal, progressive policies, high standard of living, ‘tall poppy’ mind set. An ability to be successful and savvy without being ostentatious or callous. I fear that this, the ‘soul’ of the nation, has changed with its new wealth. Australia never got hit as hard as the West during the gut wrenching economic strife of 2008-2011. A supplier of what China needs, it has boomed as China has. Wealth, almost unimaginable wealth, has been created by a tiny elite that combines flashy, in your face living with far-right attitudes (country dwellers suddenly billionaires). One, the richest woman in the world, uses her wealth to buy air time to voice her concerns, among which is the fact that Australians are not as willing to work for low wages as Africans. Another, a man, is building his own full scale replica of the Titanic. This is ominous, always foreboding some turn for the worse, and is not the Australia I know.

**

Sydney

There is no greater modern day city rivalry than Sydney and Melbourne. The old rivalries of yore – Paris and London, Rome and Milan, New York and Chicago, et al., no longer have the fight they once had. Cities are increasingly ordered into clean divides of perceived influence and power, and regional and national rivalries have turned into the global cities system of ‘Alpha,’ ‘Beta,’ ‘Gamma,’ and so on. Cities are increasingly specialized and play different roles, complementing one another. They are also more linked than ever before, so rivalries are healthy, like two team mates both vying for the ball. They are not the Victorian duels and inflammatory rhetoric they once were, that even inspired Wars and violence.

Except for Sydney and Melbourne. The two cities will never go to war with one another, but they maintain a ferociously loyal following and there is a stark divide between them. Sydney: the glittering, glamorous, wealthy, beach queen; the tacky, shiny, superficial Saturday night. The muscled body and perfect hair; the water view and adrenalin. Sydney loves to talk about everything and yet nothing; it is like a pop culture feed and a constant reality TV show. It is remarkably beautiful. It is seductive. Cruel.

Melbourne is the Victorian aunt with the black clothes and cup of coffee. She is dry and sarcastic and reads books. There is something both blue blood and working class about her; she at once evokes the London literati and the Greek country village. When she dresses up, she looks gorgeous, but is equally happy to walk around in jeans and a drab, dour blouse. Look closely. Her boots are Italian and very expensive.

**

I landed in Sydney with an open mind, having spent nearly a year with Melbournians (and after, even more time) calling it trashy, vapid, overexpensive, and boring.

I went to Sydney before, for a few days, and wrote about it. Many of my observations then, in 2006, struck me again this time: it immediately feels like a ‘big’ city; a global city, a cosmopolitan and ‘important’ city. Melbourne can, at times, but largely feels like a sleepier, more regional place.

Sydney is corporate and seems to drip money, now much more so even than 2006. Luxury cars and luxury people give a sense of well being that is not even apparent in London anymore. Sydney is by some measures in the very, very, very highest echelon of most expensive cities on earth, vying for the top spot with places like (Singapore), Hong Kong, and in some ways, outdoing London.

Yet, it is, without a doubt, a most spectacular city. Maybe the most beautiful waterfront city of all time. The parks, the Harbour, the Opera House; the fine homes on the hills; the way that the beach (as a public space, as a park itself) is woven into everyday urban fabric and everyday life. The beach is for everyone. The green hues of the sea; the air. The blooming Jacaranda trees. The beautiful people. This is Los Angeles without the problems; this is San Francisco with more size and depth.

Sydney ‘feels’ like both a Georgian and a 20^th Century city, but not a Victorian one. This reflects its boom years: it was the first, and largest city in Australia from 1788 until the 1850s, with many fine sandstone Georgian buildings. The next architecture that really stands out is Art Deco of the 1920s-1930s, and the kind of early 20^th century buildings found in New York (red brick). You don’t see that in Melbourne as much… in fact, the art deco assemblage in Sydney is spectacular – even the Harbour Bridge. I am surprised not to hear Sydney mentioned more as one of the great Art Deco cities, alongside New York, Miami, London, and Los Angeles.

Sydney is also, as I noticed years ago, vapid and superficial. I know that there is a Sydney of wire rim glasses and philosophical chats, but I think that the sheer expense of the place, combined with the beauty and bacchanal culture, makes it a hard place for those people to live. I have not yet encountered a Sydneysider that I would consider to be alternative, or outside of the mainstream. Perhaps I just don’t have an ‘in’ to that subgroup

The conversations seem to revolve about pop culture and the whole host of nothingness. My friend’s flatmate boasts of being a very good writer, both of prose and of songs; an excellent singer; in fabulous shape, and working on the “advanced stages” of a screen play. He seems to know all of the top-40 radio hits, and is a travel agent who doubles as a phone-answerer at a pizza store. He lives in a flashy condominium with a rooftop sauna and pool. Thus is the life of a Sydneysider.

The life is seductive – I know that I, too, would be drawn into extreme gym routines and the general Sydney attitude. But I fear that I would be sacrificing other things. Is it worth it, for such a beautiful life, full of avocado, sun tan lotion, and blue skies? Perhaps the penultimate question for those who choose West Los Angeles or Miami over Montreal and Vienna. What is important?

The most worrying thing, though, seems to be the social relations – in Sydney there just isn’t the social milleu and patchwork of socially connected urban spaces that there are in Melbourne or London. People are very individualistic in their workout routines and high salaries; it would probably be a very nice place to be in a relationship, but hard with either a family or a single life. How can anyone build a meaningful relationship while maintaining 5% bodyfat?

If Sydney weren’t so far, and I hypothetically were considering coming back to Australia to live, could I become a Sydneysider? I think there are too many wonderful things about the city to say no. With money, and a good routine, one can live an almost ideal life, jogging in the gardens, kayaking in the Harbour, smelling the sea saline. I would have to be ready, though, to ‘give in’ and not fight the superficiality, a difficult ask.

I think everyone has a Sydneysider in them, and a Melbournian. After all, what is life without a vapid, wonderfully careless day at the beach. Likewise, how empty would life be without the occasional existential moment at a dark, back alley café.

The Australian Capital Territory (Canberra)

It was great fun to spend time with friends and take in the perfect weather and beaches in Sydney. But the real excitement for me was the prospect of my 3 day drive to Canberra, then over the Snowy Mountains and the Victorian / New South Wales backcountry, to Melbourne.

I left Sydney and after the sprawling suburbs, found myself climbing into green, crisp, fragrant hills. They must be brown and windblown in Summer and fall (bushfire season), but in Spring they are verdant and beautiful, evoking both the Appalachian country and the English countryside. It is simply amazing how de-peopled Australia becomes within miles of leaving a city. The cities are full and developed; the countryside simply isn’t. It may never be, which is the wonderful thing: people move to cities to build their lives, not the country. The farm life or the booming small town is a thing of the past, except for the mining areas, resort areas, cute retirement villages, and the very rich with their ‘play’ farms and ranches. Thus, the Australian outback may always remain an Outback of red sunsets and vistas of gum trees. That is, if it isn’t all dug up and sent to China on boats.

I passed at least 3 dead Kangaroos along the way, and lots of other dead and run over things. Some people probably think you only experience Australian wildlife in zoos. Australian wildlife is everywhere, even in the cities. The birds and bats in Sydney reminded me of prehistoric creatures, as they did in Melbourne when I first arrived there.

After lunch in Goulburn (the ‘oldest inland town’, apparently) which at 25,000 people, is larger than most inland towns, I headed down a dry lake bed to Canberra, the unique, modern planned capital.

There are few examples of purely post-war planned cities in the World, aside from Brasilia (which must feel and operate like a vastly bigger Canberra) and the British new towns (Milton Keynes, in particular). China and the other new boomlands are building new towns and new cities, but none have Canberra’s particular mix of prairie planning idyll, scale, and setting.

I say ‘prairie’, because Canberra (began, anyway) as the brainchild of Walter Burnley Griffin, the American protégé of Frank Lloyd Wright and a proponent of axial planning, with views along linear and monumental water and landscape planes. Canberra involved an artificial butterfly-shaped lake, much open space and parkland, and circular, wavy streets. There was careful separation of Federal Government, commercial, retail, and residential areas. Though Canberra strayed far from Griffin’s plan, it is heavily influenced by in, and maintains the axial vistas and segregation of use.

I haven’t yet made a verdict on Canberra. It is, like suburban Singapore, (and perhaps any modern landscape), hard to get around and find ones way. Without a clear vista there is no way to orient oneself in a sea of identical buildings and streets. It can be disorientating and frustrating, and also, on a Sunday evening, devoid of people.

That said, it is a gorgeous natural setting – a crisp, clean plateau with glittering Eucalypt leaves and no humidity. The lake and parkland are attractive and conducive to cycling and running. The urban spaces seem functional, if ordinary and boxy. I am a fan of modernist and brutalist architecture and urban form for its pure functionality and pragmatism. Yet it lacks a certain human element and color. I can see Canberra being a very bleak place at times, and I understand why those who study at Australian National University, the finest in Australia, very rarely stay. I also understand why the official residence of the Prime Minister moved to Sydney a decade ago. Canberra is isolated and somewhat aloof from even Sydney, if even more so the rest of the world.

But like any international capital and university town, which Canberra is, there is a sense of internationalism that is out-sized. Korean churches and fine-looking restauraunts; attractive people and many cultural centres. Nice houses and a certain cosmopolitan ‘buzz’ (that would certainly be lacking from a normal city of 500,000 more than 3 hours from any other large city).

I will explore more tomorrow and am excited to see some of the Federal Temples, such as the National Gallery. This is an intriguing city and worth seeing. It is so young that it will be interesting to see Canberra in 10, 20 years… as it matures and diversifies. It will change more than Sydney or Melbourne, and has the potential to be a truly interesting place as it finds itself. As Australia continues to grow into one of the leading countries of the world, Canberra will become increasingly important and visible. The question will be whether it continues to be unique in its planning and development, a true garden city, a city of avenues and axis, or if it will over time morph into a ‘normal’ city. Time, and planning, will tell.

Tomorrow: Canberra to Cooma, Jindabyn and then the Perisher Valley, over the Snowies, and descending to Khancoban.

**

Wednesday, 31 October (Halloween)

From Singapore

The Snowy Mountains and Melbourne

Reflecting back upon the latter half of my Australia return, I am unable and unwilling to write a lengthy recap of the events. Highlights included one of the most beautiful drive I’ve ever undertaken, through the dry Southern Highland plateau and then over the Snowy Mountains to the Murray River Valley. Along the way, I reached snow-capped heights, descended into green valleys full of kangaroos, emus, echidnas and dingoes, drove through strange and surreal country towns, and even blew a tire on the Hume highway, some miles north of Melbourne. I saw the Snowy Scheme, one of man’s great triumphs (or rapes) over nature but a crucial feat nonetheless, engineering the distribution of alpine water to quench the thirst of a dry nation. I drove through glistening eucalypt forests and cold, crisp air; past lakes and fields.

In Melbourne, I retraced the steps and chased the shadows of my 22 year old self, down laneways and through gardens. I saw old friends and colleagues and remembered all reasons why I fell in love with Melbourne. I also remembered why I left.

In an odd way, my 2 weeks in Australia was like a mini-version of my entire year there: I arrived, fell into dreamland, and then felt those pangs of remoteness, isolation and insularity by the last few days (that I felt in my last few months). It is hard to explain to someone not familiar with the Antipodes: even though the landscapes are gorgeous, the conversations familiar and the streetscapes vaguely European, there is a constant consciousness of distance, of being removed from the heart of the world.

To ‘be’ in Australia; to give oneself over to it completely, one has to be willing and able to start fresh completely; to cut off old attachments and sever roots. This worked for convicts, adventurers, fortune seekers and jackaroos; for refugees from war-torn lands and survivors from distant traumas. It is a land of start-freshers, planting new gardens and digging new foundations.

I think there are two groups of those who migrate to Australia. The first are the above – those seeking the garden at the end of the world, the place where the waters fall into nothing. They arrive and live a life that perhaps would not be possible from whence they came, either that or they are able to tell themselves so. The second group, however, are never able to feel at home here at 37 degrees South Latitude. Many within this group eventually leave: as I did, after only 10 months, or after some years, even decades. They constantly yearn to re-connect with their past, with their roots, with the main thoroughfares of our world. If they stay in Australia, they spend their days reminiscing, in Anglo or Europhilia, romanticising being other places.

I know now that I would never feel completely at home in Australia. There are too many people, too many places embedded within me to ever ‘rest’ on an island so many miles away. It took perhaps a second visit to establish this fact, though I think I knew this even those years ago. My homesickness at age 22-23 sunk in only weeks after arriving, and I never for a moment seriously contemplated giving it all up and starting a life down under. Even though I could have, and what a life it would have been.

The scenery, the food; the lifestyle. Sublime in many ways, carefree, simple. European quality; migrants carried with them the best aspects of the old world and none of the worst. Flowers. Sunny skies and smiles.

Before I get carried away, I must end with a caveat: even in Melbourne, I noticed some of the same changes I felt in Sydney. A worrisome insularity, attitude, wealth and aloof-ness that I did not sense 7 years ago and that I think will corrode Australian society if not addressed. This is not pervasive nor obvious, but just below the surface is the sure-fire confidence of a society that has gotten too comfortable with economic boom and resource-riches; a cockiness that did not serve America or Britain well before they fell into decline.

Australia will change; it will grow. It cannot remain always a frontier, a land of untouched red earth and mysteries. As it does so, though, I only hope it remembers who and what it is and came from, its humility, its dreamtime, its ability to be rough around the edges and imperfect. Its warmth and kindness and its sense of adventure and reason.

There is something mad about Australia and this is a wonderful thing. I like the whimsical, dreamy madness of Baz Luhrmann and Peter Weir, of Michael Leunig and Dame Edna. I fear, however, that the madness of Gina Rinehart and Tony Abott are a new direction and their version of Australia would be a far less wonderful place.

**

Melbourne

Melbourne appears on the horizon like the Emerald City, its towers hovering faintly over rolling pastures of sheep and cattle. It sprawls. Some 50km in all directions (except the Bay). Having eschewed a GPS device and only vaguely remembering how to navigate the inner city by car, I decided to follow the old Sydney Road tram into town, which slowly led me, through rambling suburban zones and older Victorian districts, to the Thrifty depot to return my car. The angst over my blown tire aside, I was suddenly right back where I started, at the corner of Elizabeth Street and Latrobe Street, facing the office where I reported for work that August morning, 2005. And for a second, I felt like I was back there, arriving on my morning train.

When I got to Melbourne in 2005, it was the first major city I had ever lived in, and I had no real frame of reference. Since then, I have lived and spent time in New York and London and many other cities of various shapes and sizes.

So coming back to Melbourne, I noticed things with a new set of eyes. For one, the city has an unmatched Victorian fabric. With a population of some 600,000 people in 1900, it nearly matched the great British Victorian cities in size (Manchester, Glasgow, Birmingham). Unlike them, however, Melbourne never dealt with the Blitz or British-style urban renewal. Likewise with the great Victorian American cities (San Francisco, Chicago, St Louis for example). Melbourne never suffered an earthquake like San Francisco or the white flight of St Louis. British and American cities were chopped up and emptied from the 1940s to the 1990s. Australian cities weren’t untouched, but largely retained much of their Georgian, Victorian, Edwardian, and Art Deco urban fabric.

The result is that Melbourne is a Victorian and Edwardian showcase, possibly the best preserved example anywhere. The grandness and elegance of the fine buildings on Parliament Square, on Collins Street or even in peripheral suburbs matches anywhere in the world.  So too with the trams, which for ever reason were  never replaced with buses. The trams add to the historic feel of the city and must always be cherished, even if they are trundling, traffic inducing and rather inefficient.

Melbourne is also, compared to New York and London, extraordinarily vibrant in a holistic sense. The city centre pulses, yes, but so do all of the inner-ring neighbourhoods, on both sides of the river. Brunswick and Fitzroy, Carlton and St Kilda, South Yarra and South Melbourne. Here too Melbourne differs from North American cities and even many European cities, which have areas of dead zones and ‘no go’ zones. London has such large areas of council housing and industrial spaces and likewise in New York. It seems possible, in any Melbourne neighbourhood, to get a fine coffee, meal and film.

My concern for Melbourne is that it rests too much on its past. It was marvellous and it remains Marvelous, beautiful, livable and full of life. But with population growth, it is noticeably bursting at the seams. It cannot rely on Victorian infrastructure and a few new freeways. A comprehensive growth strategy seems to have been abandoned (constantly re thought and revised). Land for new housing isn’t enough; there must be new trains, an underground, bus lines, and other investment. In a country and city as prosperous, it seems foolish not to spend on infrastructure. Even debt ridden and recession-addled American cities are building new light rail and other mass transit lines, even in places like Houston and Charlotte. New York is building a new subway line, and London is awash with new rail infrastructure. Melbourne must follow suit, or it will lose it livability.

And on that note, a final thought: it has become prohibitively expensive! New York and London are less livable because they are inordinately expensive places to live. Melbourne must find ways to make itself affordable both to visitors and residents or it will become (like Singapore or Hong Kong), an Antipodean Switzerland, sterile and untouchable except by (and for) the wealthy. I fear this is already underway, with the poor being pushed to the periphery, a trend evident in other areas of the developed world. Affordable housing must be provided within easy access to the city and jobs and on key transit nodes and I did not see evidence that this is occurring.

But marvellous it is, a very lucky place indeed. Were it closer, I would move back. But were it closer, would it be so wonderful? I will leave on this final thought. 

The Beach

Sunday, 7^th October

Sentosa – Tanjong Beach Club (TBC)

Disneyland with a death penalty. Sentosa, ostensibly Singapore’s answer to a seaside park, is an “experience” rather than a place.  First a concession. It isn’t at all unpleasant. Like Singapore’s other slick, manicured spaces, Sentosa is well-landscaped, green, easy and cheap to get to, open to the public and altogether attractive. It is nice to sit by the sea with a cold beer, feel the breeze, watch the ships in the queue to the port. Listen to the relaxing beach beats, a little piece of Ibiza. Look at washboard abdominals, bronzed breasts and rippling pecs, on Singaporeans and Westerners alike.

And yet.

Compare this to say, Toronto’s Island Park, or any one of London’s great, rambling parks. (Or Chicago’s lakefront, or.) There is a universal studios here and about a dozen other for-profit attractions, not to mention a monorail and giant merlion. There is a W hotel and some other resorts and an enclave of exclusive residential neighbourhoods.

Beach music is piped in on hidden speakers, and a DJ says “Sentosa sounds” and extolls the many attractions on the island. This is a place meant to be experienced as planned, a scripted experience. Nothing left to chance. And yet.

The beaches though are public spaces, and are being used as such. Spontaneous ‘pockets of interaction’ occur. Here, an impromptu date on the rocks, with a kiss. There, a Muslim family gathers with a picnic, shrouded in headscarves and hijabs.

Different races and classes, belief systems and backgrounds rub elbows and share sand.

Some are buying expensive beers from the beach club, others having brought picnic lunches. There is a pleasant lack of exclusion here, that is often found in similar places in North America or Europe. A sort of harmonic egalitarian feel that is, I believe, one of Singapore’s unique attributes.

There is a free tram system that takes visitors to various parts of the island, from the “beautiful people” to the more average and workaday. It may be fake – but at least it is fair.

Sentosa seems to embody Singapore’s paradox:

It is hyper planned, sterile, somewhat ersatz, and evoking other places (it reminds me of the “Polynesian” resort at Disney World, which is meant to mimic this part of the world… the Irony!). But it is at the same time not a place that repels, but a sensory and experiential feast. One wants to dislike it, to judge it, but it is likable, easy, safe, clean, and enjoyable. This is Singapore’s duality, its contradiction.

**

Tanjong Beach Club is about half Asian and half Eurasian, slanted toward the middle and upper middle classes. Australian accents, British, and European tongues. Some Americans. Age mainly 20s and 30s, some families with young children. People that seem to come here often and know what they are doing, know each other. This must be a Sunday routine.

Very low bodyfat. Half of these people could be models. Maybe some are. There is also, a definitive queer presence here, as one would also find on a Balearic beach such as Ibiza. This is a cruising spot, thinly disguised. The kind of place spread by word of mouth, with some notoriety. Not obvious, but can be sensed nonetheless. There is something camp not only about Tanjong Beach, but about the whole island… down to the mer-lion.

This is sort of an island in drag.

An emasculated, bejewelled, caricatured island, dressed to the 9s. A bright tackiness. A beer pong table. Beach volleyball. Some femme types. No hippies. Does this erupt into a gay club at a certain time?

Or into a subversive place? Is it, by its very nature, unplanned and surprising? Or scripted, like everything else? Contested?

Is it for everyone? The shrouded, quiet Muslim family over there, having a picnic. How do they feel about the abs, buttocks, and booze of the beach club?

Appropriation of space, use of space, strategy, tactics. Foucault, LeFebvre. I am realizing I am out of place sitting and writing – someone just came up to me and seemed amused that I was doing so. Perhaps I am the odd one out. Why even think about these things?

*

China - Sept 19th to 23

The dragon.


First impressions:

1. Natalie Portman. She was the first advertisement I saw in the Shanghai airport, even before immigration control. Dior's Jewish princess. Welcome to China!

2. Brutal efficiency. Both the flight, and at the airport.

3. What is communism? Is this it? Or if not, what is this?

**

Is China old fashioned? Or is it the future?

I feel like anything I write about China will not do the place justice, and I only saw one corner of one massive (23 million person) city in a nation of many ethnicities and stories and over one billion people. So it is unfair for me to make observations. Only some thoughts from my brief visit.

Being in China made me realize how ... 'light' Singapore is. Singapore, as they say, can 'look' Chinese due to its 75% Han Chinese majority, but it is far, far from China. It is a garden city, it is a colonial city.

China is a great modern empire built upon thousands of years of influential history with its very own, roaring soul.

I was bamboozled, awed, offended, exhausted, invigorated, enlivened, weakened, strengthened, inebriated, and fucked by Shanghai. Not sure what else I can say, other than I would like to go back and slip more deeply into the city. If Shanghai is a pair of clothes, I only picked it up, smelled it, and looked at the price tag. I didn't put it on.

**

Sunday, 23

Shanghai Pudong International Airport

Just took the 300 km / hour 'Maglev' train to the airport, which felt like flying.  Not sure if it is necessary, but cool nonetheless. Can't see a maglev in New york or any other America now or in the future. 20+ miles in 7 minutes.

Some concluding thoughts on China / Shanghai, ending my first (and not last) visit.

Shanghai may not be the 'real' China, as the capitalist, global gateway with so much historical (Western) baggage and artifacts. But it certainly has parts of it. Just as New York City may not be the 'real' America, it is, quintessentially, a very American city.

Shanghai feels like 20 world cities jammed into one. New York, Paris, Moscow, Tokyo.

Maddening, frenzied, beautiful, frightening, electric, ugly, creepy, exciting, sad. Futurist. Old fashioned. Dirty, sleek. Fast. Layered. Alive. Excessive. Neon. Obscene. Fantastic.

Shanghai is like an erotic slap in the face when coming from languid, shiny, fine-scented Singapore. Singapore is the nice girl you met at the cotillion, and Shanghai is the whore you keep going back to.

Talk about 'spontaneous pockets of interaction'. Anything goes.

Art deco mansions next to a tea house. Ming dynasty doorway next to a Citibank. An impromptu bluegrass band announcing songs about Nashville in mandarin and then again with an Appalachian twang.

"To what do we compare China?" (ask Logan and Fainstein).

To everything. To ourselves.

Little India and the Arts District, 18th Sept

Smells, colors. Saffrons, reds and blues.

Little India is almost everything Singapore isn't. Messy, gritty, dynamic, full of shouts and sensations. As Sharon Zukin might say, "authentic."

Is it this way by accident, or on purpose?

Arts spaces (theatres, studios) coexist with bazaars and jewelry stores and immigrantspaces.

There is a palpable tension here, at least I sensed it - I was yelled at by a visibly agitated and probably insane  African woman who said something like "British cannot come here! British passports not welcome here!," looking at me. Good thing I'm not British.

There are surprises here. A beggar in a ditch. Backpackers and hawkers give a somewhat and refreshingly grimy edge that I haven't seen elsewhere on the island. This isn't so different than the (former) Lower East Side of New York or part of East London, with more tropical colors and heat.

That arts groups have 'seeped' into Little India is no accident. The adjoining district is the main Arts District, home to many large museums, galleries, studios, and "SOTA" - Singapore's School of the Arts, in a monumental, architect designed building. The creative vibe probably sought out the Colonial architecture, diversity, and comparatively low rents of the shop-houses as compared to the CBD and Chinatown (which gentrified earlier and more completely).

The museums and the Art School probably have a similar effect on Little India as the Covent Garden / Central St Martin cluster does on surrounding neighbourhoods in London, or the fashion and design schools of the Garment District / Chelsea in Manhattan. Seep, creep.

The "Stamford Arts Village" is a NACS (National Arts Council) sponsored space for performances, rehearsals, props, and storage room for a variety of creative groups that seem to need to audition / submit bids to get space in a competitive process.

Nearby, behind a gallery, I saw graffiti! Real, actual graffiti! albeit in a contained, designated space.

Still, the area and surrounding districts has a certain aura of artistic expression that one does not find on the Esplanade or at Marina Bay, or even in Chinatown, with its chic bars and 'experiential' economy.

These were always the ethnic quarters - Chinese, Indian and Malay, yes, but also Arab, Jewish, Armenian...

History of loud, multi-cultural exchange and dialogue and occasional shouting has left its imprint here and perhaps the embodiment of this history is the Bugis covered market, sort of the Covent Garden of Singapore, with hall after hall of bric a brac, food, colors, sex shops. Altogether wonderful. And delightfully NOT an air-conditioned, marble mall.

**
The tension I wrote about. TC Chang found that there is a tension between the immigrant (working class and poor) community and the hipsters, creative types and backpackers who coexist, each vying to use and even own the space.

Does this represent a Jane Jacobsean healthy mix, or the beginnings of entropy?

This area WILL change - construction indicates the arrival of a new metro line with a number of stations opening in the next 5 years. This will no doubt make the area more accessible and more popular with business types, and may cause a cleaning up of the facades, the replacement of immigrant shops with Starbucks and day spas. I hope this does not happen. I like this chaos and Singapore needs it.

**

Some other observations:

1. Singapore is a small island, but it is bigger that it seems at first! It takes longer to get places than one might expect - upwards of 40 minutes in some cases.

2. One DOES get used to the heat. I have, but only after many back to pack days of being outside. Now I hardly sweat. The weather does seem to have cooled, though, probably due to the beginnings of the (slightly cooler) Northeast monsoon.

3. Singapore can be expensive, but it is fair - tapered to assist those on low incomes, from students to the poor. Food at food stalls is cheap (2-3 pounds) and other things, from phone plans to the public transportation, seem subsidized and much cheaper than I'm used to. It all seems very 'pay as you go' - if you have the money, you can live lavishly, but if you don't, you can live. I like it - very utilitarian. And extends to the housing system, which I've written about already.

That's all for now. Off to China.

Explorations (Sept 15th-Sept 26th)

Catching up some, been exploring.

Fusionopolis: The purpose-built, vertical Silicon Valley of Singapore, home to new-economy sounding firms like Synerges and Connexeties (not real names, but you knowi what I mean). A rooftop 'Fitness First' with a pool. Sleek lobby with Starbucks and a smoothie bar. This is a piece of Palo Alto transplanted and put down in suburban Singapore, and it seems at least half full of Westerners.

This is part of the 1 North development, a massive master planned playground for the 'creative class', abutting the National University, Nanyang University of Technology, Singapore Polytechnic, and an old Colonial neighbourhood of former army barracks called the "Wessex Estate." Singapore's wealthiest and most expatriate-heavy neighbourhoods are not far away to the North in the Tanglin / Orchard / Bukit Timah area.

Who works here? White people with sandals, Seattle types. Lifestyle stores.

Not far away is a new mall (new as in just opened) called "The Star". It was designed by the British architectural firm Aedas and looks like a spaceship. It wouldn't be out of place in a Ridley Scott film.

Inside the sterile spaces of consumption, a live band was playing Disney movie themes. It made me think again of William Gibson's description of Singapore as 'Disneyland with a Death Penalty..."

People show up, in Fusionopolis, to business meetings in shorts and sneakers. They seem to meander around. Working remotely. Palo Alto on the phone.

The Wessex Estate

Thus my interest in the Colonial aesthetic in Singapore begins. It is already the focal point of the creative industries and creative vibe in neighbourhoods such as Little India and Chinatown and the Civic / Arts District in the city centre - shop houses (Edwardian / Victorian terraces) and grander, white buildings of British design.

Here in the suburbs, the Colonial architecture takes the form of re-habbed 'black and white houses', former Army Barracks and the homes and villas of the administrators and civil servants of the Colonial government. The very wealthy lived in grand villas / estates behind gated gardens - these are by and large still occupied by wealthy Singaporeans and expatriates, or have been torn down for bigger and taller things.

The Wessex Estate is a 50 acre (or so) forested plot of attractive but simple 'black and white' army barracks, of Art-Deco and Bauhaus (and Raj) inspired bungalows. Mainly built from the 1930s to the last days of Colonialism in the 1950s.

These are the 'service residential' that is meant to somehow feed into the larger One North development - galleries, day spas, little cutesie design stores and tiny theatre companies. I do not see a connection between this area and the high-rise sleek of Fusionopolis (which is visible over the treeline), other than the fact that they are owned by the same company (the State venture, Jurong Town Development Corporation, or JTC).

This area has clearly been purposefully saved from the wrecking ball and 'maintained' as a creative cluster and heritage zone, evoking a certain nostalgic yesteryear. The question is why, and by whom? Mini coopers and minibikes, some with British ensignia, line the streets. The streets themselves are straight out of Surrey: "Weyhill Court" and "Westbourne Lane".

Lots of British mummies in fancy cars waiting to pick their blond children up from the school, the Tanglin School, which seems judging by the cars and the security, to be very posh, and probably a 'go to school' for wealthy Britons for many years.

"Workloft at Wessex" is the name of the community of live-work (or just work?) residences here, with names such as "Centre Stage School of Art". I wonder who works here and will need to seek them out for interviews.

The whole vibe is very British, in a Raj or Caribbean sort of way. Interesting that it evokes 'other' places.

Construction seems to be encroaching though, and the yesteryear character of Wessex Estate does seem slightly precarious, as Lily Kong wrote some years back. The sheer scale of these new developments and multilane freeways makes low-density residential seem quaint and conspicuous.

Wessex Village Square

The hub of Wessex Estate is a small collection of restaurants, cafes and hang out spots. These are 'woodsy chic' and probably not a particularly cheap beer or coffee. though I need to find out.

Though these seem at first like little neighbourhood organic spaces, the 'One North' logo is displayed on the sign, showing that this, too, is part of the master plan, and owned / operated by the Jurong Town Corporation, and therefore, indirectly, the Government of Singapore. So grassroots this is not.

At 3pm, some woodsy types are hanging out, but nobody else. This must be a weekend and after work spot.

"Laurent's Cafe and Chocolate Bar." Who goes to a chocolate bar?

And an italian restaurant called Pietrasanta.

"Asian Inspired Art and Living!" says another place. Asian inspired? Or British inspired Asian Inspired British inspired etc etc

The Col Bar

The Col Bar, short for 'Colonial Bar', is a hole in wall porch with a bar attached. I found it closed during siesta time. But certainly had a mess hall, summer camp sort of feel. Some black and white community post its and notes on a message board, some Heineken beer mats strewn about. Must be enticing on a warm night with friends.

And yet.

An information wall on the back of the building told the story of the Col Bar, and, as I read, I realized this is a reconstructed building (recently) made to mimic the original, which was destroyed in 2003 for a freeway expansion.

In 1953, this was a canteen for a 2600 acre British military base, and in these dying days of the British rule, was named 'Colonial Bar.'

It was, as the info-plaque reads, a "Gastronomical Oasis for Liver and Onions and Lamb Chops."

**

In 2003, the building was torn down, but SAVED!!! By the Jurong Town Development Corporation (JTC).

The Dis-Assembled Colonial Bar was Re-assembled, wooden plank by plank, on Whitchurch Road in its current location. It reads:

..."The Intrinsic Soul of the place" was re-created and replicated "close to exact."

This to me seems fascinating: A shoddy, un-impressive structure which symbolized the British military rule of Singapore, which isn't TERRIBLY historical (post war, not pre war), was carefully reconstructed to become a modern day symbol of, what? The Creative Class? And if so, why does the British Imperialism of yesterday symbolize the Creative Class in Singapore? This, I think, is the crux of my PhD. Why is it important to preserve buildings that represent a contested time in Singaporean history - one that featured violent protests and a long and difficult independence movement?

Singapore 'broke free' of its Colonial shackles in 1959 and set out to build something new - and yet here, carefully reconstructed, is the old British mess hall. Meant to attract Seattle types, their dogs, and their blond children.

Reopened 25 February, 2004

**

Ersatz Colonialism. What does that say about modern Singapore? Or an aesthetic that reflects Singapore's national ideology, and neo-confucian ideals?

**

Raffles

Raffles (Thursday, 13^th)

Sitting in a café in the lush and aristocratic old British quarter (in the vicinity of the Raffles Hotel), makes me realize how wide the gap is between the colonial / cosmopolitan centre of S’pre and the largely Asian ‘Heartland’.

The Raffles itself is the mirror to Clementi’s “everyday” ness: It’s columns, lawns and fountains ooze an older, more contested time when the British ruled on Cunard lines, shot tigers in exotic places, and drank gin mixed with Brandy and local fruit and sugars (the Singapore Sling, invented at the Raffles by a local Bartender, in 1919). Amidst the black and white photos in the hotels’ small museum are pieces of Singapore of yesterday – only pieces of which still exist (in pieces). As it happens,  I missed the Duke and Dutchess of Cambridge by only a few hours – unaware that they were in Singapore until I saw reports from a British paper.

This coffee shop could just as easily be in London, with a view of such a mix of people, shade trees, and Victorian architecture. An orthodox Jewish couple and child in the queue are a testament to the cultural diversity of this district, the former Colonial precinct (probably always largely for and by non-Asians). 

  A tale of two Islands

It should be noted that two major world events occurred in 1959. One was the Marxist revolution and military coup d’etat on a tropical Island and the exodus of the elite. The other was the independence of another tropical island from its Colonial administrator of nearly 150 years.

The first, Cuba, went on to become an egalitarian, if shabby and paint-peeling Marxist society, which, 50 years later, remains (relatively) true to its revolutionary roots. Despite widespread poverty and occasional food shortages and failing infrastructure, Cuba has near universal literacy, fine health care, racial and cultural diversity and a ‘high’ level of overall happiness (index, citation).

The second tropical Island, Singapore, went on to develop into one of the wealthiest, and unequal, societies in the world. It is, fifty years after its independence from Britain, a tightly-managed, highly modern and developed financial and logistics hub with fine research universities. It has, like Cuba, high levels of adequate housing, healthcare, education, and overall happiness and contentment. The difference, however, is that the rich got richer – much richer – and Singapore today has the highest wealth gap in the world, according to some indices (citation). Unlike Cuba, Singapore must import huge percentages of foreign labor –both manual and elite –to sustain itself as it currently exists. The elite imported labor lives in expensive private housing with prices and amenities not unlike London or Manhattan (or Hong Kong).

The poor imported labor lives either in the worst and most ill-located State Housing (HDB) or in dormitories set up by their employer – temporary accommodation often with poor or no air conditioning and questionable cleanliness.

Two tropical islands, shaping their own destinies from 1959 to 2012. Yet evolved so differently.

    

Singapura

      Friday, September 14^th: Melaya and Singapura

Two museums in particular were important in contextualising Singapore this week. The first was the National Museum of Singapore, with a wonderful exhibit on Singapore’s history. The second was the Museum of Asian Civilisations, set in the rambling halls of the old Parliament House on the river.

I will not go into what I learned about Singapore’s history in detail here, but just draw out some important and over-arching themes and points that I found particularly interesting and relevant to my research.

Firstly: the context of the 1940s and 1950s, when Singapore ‘fought’ (without fighting) for its independence from Britain and began forming the ideology, outlook, and political structure of the modern state.

Secondly, the layers upon layers of history here in this ‘place where the trade winds end’.

On the first note: I am better understanding the PAP and why Singapore ‘is’ the way it is due to what happened in the 1940s and 1950s. Notably, the war – and the Japanese Occupation; the ‘Merdaka’ movement for Malayan independence from London, and the nascent political ideology of both the People’s Action Party (capitalist / socialist democracy) and the socialist / communist / more radical forces that were also at work during the time (and are now embedded in Singapore as well).

What I found particularly interesting was that Singapore was born out of, and the PAP party a direct result of, anti-Western and Anti-imperialist sentiment: the rolling back of Western (particularly British) influence and control was central to the movement in the 1940s and 1950s. In fact, in its early days, the PAP had many radical elements and Singapore was really only ‘allowed’ its independence when it could prove to the British (and probably the CIA) that it would be a Bulwark AGAINST communism and would strongly stifle any communist discord.

It would be no Indochine, it promised.

Which is interesting given that from the 1980s onward, Western ideas and competition with the West has been increasingly prominent in Singapore.

A.      Where have those radical, Marxist forces gone within Singapore? Do they still exist? If so, in what forms? In what neighbourhoods?

B.      Or will / has the PAP itself changed / reformed enough to ‘absorb’ these more radical ideas and forces?

C.      . Did London begin to re-assert its influence, control in ‘other ways’ from the ‘Big Bang’ of the 1980s, in the form of ever more important financial and policy ties? And, specific to me, is the ‘Creative City’ one of those forms of ‘new Colonialism?’

D.      . Or, on the other hand, did Singapore, after ‘shedding itself’ of British control, turn back toward Britain / the West on its own accord? Did the rise of the neoliberal state in the 1980s cause Singapore to re-integrate itself in many ways with both the economic orthodoxy of the West and also certain strands of political / cultural ideology, such as the Creative City?

E.       If Singapore was ‘Born’ out of strikes, protests, labor unions and movements, etc, striving for equality, better housing, education, and representation *(in 1940s and 1950s), then will the current “Money obsessed” (internet quote) neoliberal state be the ‘death’ of Singapore? Has it been recolonized? (similar question to above)

F.       Is the ‘Soul’ of Singapore a free-trading, unequal, port city, or a communist one? Can these two ‘souls’ exist?

G.     Is the threat of communism / unrest / revolution still there?

H.      What does the relationship with Communist China mean for Singapore – in terms of political ideology? Social / Cultural ideology?

II. Early Singapore v. Later Singapore

Early Singapore (1950s – 1970s)

Housing / Infrastructure improvements

Egalitarian

Racial mixing / ideology of diversity, tolerance and nationhood

Sports, cultural activities

Later Singaore (1980s-Present)

Neoliberal

Growing inequality (Dhamani – citation)

Gentrification?

Growing influence of ‘creative city’ and continued links to London + Wall Street

Reliance on Foreign labor – tension

Reinforcement of Anglo / American / Chinese Elite?

III. Is ‘creative city’ / ‘Experiential city’ (TC Chang, 2012) a ‘playground’ for Singapore’s new and old elite?

More Questions:

1.       Why was Singapore so eager to embrace foreign influence from the 1980s (or why were these foreign influences so eager to embrace Singapore?) when the early nation-building rejected these exogenous influences? (1950s // 1960s)

2.       Why is / wasn’t Singapore satisfied with being a quasi-socialist, semi-developed welfare state (a slightly better Cuba?) Why transition to neoliberal, unequal State?

Post 1: Arrival and Early Observations

The Singapore Diaries: Observations of a Multinational


1. Plastic Apples: Arrival and First Impressions 
Wednesday, September 5th I arrived on a Qantas Airlines A380 from London, the new double-decker plane. An Australian airline filled mostly with Australians, I began to get a sense of the spheres of influence in the non-British, non-American corner of the world. Australia, it seems, spreads its influence deep into the airline hubs of South East Asia, crucial stopovers on the way to Europe and beyond. My first impression of Singapore, as is the case with most cities, is the airport. Unremarkable other than its calm and quiet – “There are no announcements in Singapore airport”, said a member of the flight crew. Would that be too unruly?

Inside the terminal was an assortment of Easterners and Westerners, ladies with headscarves, businessmen talking into mobile phones, and backpackers on their way to here or there. A microcosm, perhaps, of the Port of Singapore, a collector of people and things from anywhere on their way to anywhere, but only here (whatever here is), briefly.

 The equatorial heat. It doesn’t so much as ‘hit you’ as embrace you like a humid hug. It got into my nostrils and organs immediately. It does, to use a cliché, feel like being inside a greenhouse at a botanical garden, though inverted: outside is the greenhouse, and inside, the sterile air conditioning. The air smelled of burning: I was told later this is the season of wildfires in the rainforests of Indonesia, which lead to haze and poor air quality in Singapore. Still, it gave Singapore a ‘smell’ which I will always associate with my first days there. The road from the airport to the city gave my first glimpse of the ‘garden’ that is Singapore: a sort of Le Corbusien urban landscape of unremarkable, homogenous high-rises set above carefully landscaped gardens and large, mature trees. Altogether attractive and seductive, if rather bland. Each bend in the road reveals a similar scene, there are not many landmarks and the topography is flat. There are, however, some exceptions. Getting closer to the ‘city’ revealed a towering, unique skyline and the signature Marina Bay Sands hotel and Esplanade performing arts centre which together give Singapore a ‘heart’ not unlike the great front doors of Millennium Park in Chicago or New York’s Battery.

 It was not long before I discovered my first Hawker Centre – the ubiquitous food courts in Singapore that serve everything from recognizable chains (Wendys, McDonalds) to local food vendors with Indonesian, Malaysian, Chinese, and ‘Western’ options. I had a ‘Congee’ for dinner (which is a slimy soup) which settled my stomach and a sort of puff pastry.

I settled into my hotel room and began the task of orienting myself and overcoming jetlag, whilst keeping up with the American politics entering an electoral frenzy. My first full day in Singapore involved travelling to my ‘home’ for 6 months, the graduate housing at the National University, and getting registered and administered on campus. I found the campus and associated infrastructure not unlike other universities, if more contextual to tropical geography and Asian-style green glass high rises. The student body is mixed, like the city itself, Eastern and Western. Blond hair and straight dark, German being spoken and Mandarin. I was ‘processed’ at various departments and could not figure out if the bureaucracy of the university was uniquely Singaporean, or similar to the often baffling bureaucratic processes at universities in the West (King’s and Cornell, much the same). “Go here” said one person, when I asked where a certain store was, selling a cable I needed for my laptop. Once there, someone else said “Not here, go there.” And so on. Sort of Orwellian and Terry Gilliam-esque, this place where nobody knows everything, only what they are expected to know. Ask beyond the script, and they scratch their head. Is this endemic to Singapore, or only to clerical staff at this (and perhaps all ) universities?

 Walking in the heat, unaccustomed to it, is a struggle. It is deceptive: the temperature is no hotter than a hot London day or certainly the North Carolina summers I grew up with. But the humidity is extreme, and the heat pervades, slows, and wilts. One begins to feel an almost malarial delirium. The pace of the place has been described as a ‘languid Hong Kong’, and I see this.

 What is real? It is hard to discern, so early in my journey here, what is Singaporean, and what is not. What is real, unique, and what is false? The place names are English (Kent, Commonwealth, Dover). The architecture is institutional. The food, pan-Asian. The vegetation is tropical, but could just as easily be Panama or the Congo. The streetscape is vaguely Panama City, minus the slums and beggars. The buses are double-decker. Is this a tropical Vancouver, an Equatorial Seoul? What IS Singapore? Is it defined by this definitive mix of things, or is there a soul buried deep in the dense vegetation, ensconced within the customised interiors of the unremarkable high rises?

 As I waited in the air conditioned office of the ‘management’ of my graduate residence hall for various paperwork to be filled out, I walked over to what appeared to be a basket of juicy, ripe, green apples. Eager for a snack and a quick boost of blood sugar, I picked one up. Giggles from the management desk. “They are plastic apples”, said the student assistant. Looking closer, I saw that they were not real apples at all.

  2. Clementi: The Heartland (September 6th)

I have read about a certain divide within Singapore, between the ‘City’ and the ‘Heartland.’ The City is cosmopolitan and global; creative and connected. The ‘Heartland’ is more conservative, traditional, and largely Chinese, with regional Asian minorities (but few Westerners). There is, according to local literature, a clash of values and ideals between the outwardly focused ‘City’ and the more inwardly focused Heartland. My PhD thesis focuses on this clash, in terms of how policy relates to the differences within and across Singaporean society and Singaporean neighbourhoods.

 The overriding policy set is one relating to ‘creativity’, a word that has come to associated with ‘being’ cosmopolitan, ‘being’ progressive, and looking outward toward global influences, rather than inward. How are ideas that come from other places interpreted in Singapore? And within Singapore, how are ideas interpreted in the ‘cosmopolitan’ City Centre, verses the traditional heartland? The National University of Singapore is certainly a cosmopolitan and connected enclave in Singapore, with its microcosm of students, researchers and faculty from all over the world. It continues to gain accolades for its academic excellence, and its research standing sees it crawling into the top 30 global universities. Geographically, however, it is somewhat disconnected from the global ‘hub’ of Singapore’s ‘city’, and surrounded by what seem to be more traditional, middle and lower-middle class ‘heartland’ neighbourhoods. Surely the faculty and research staff live nearby, but the university itself seems more or less self-contained.

 Walking outside the confines of the university campus, searching for some amenities I needed such as a pillow, instant coffee, a spoon and sunscreen, I quickly found myself in a disorientating suburban landscape of wide roads and repetitive housing blocks. This, Western Singapore, is how most Singaporeans live and these spaces are the most common in the City-State. Clementi is a town centre focused around a transport station (Clementi MRT and bus interchange). Like most ‘neo urban’ town centres, there is a modern mall adjacent to the MRT station, then some lower-rise, older shopping and entertainment spaces, including some bric a brac market stalls (useful for the home-wares I was looking for) and a number of food courts (hawker centres) with everything from traditional Chinese restaurants to air conditioned frozen yoghurt shops.

 Surrounding the town centre are lumpy clusters of high-rise housing estates that seemed neither rich nor poor, though in various states of presentation: some look nicer than others, some are clearly very new and others are 20 to even 30 years old. These are the homes of mid-level pencil pushers and clerical workers, lower-level assistances, and in the older, less-plushly landscaped towers, probably immigrants and domestic workers, construction laborers, and even PhD students. I realized, walking around, that I have found one of my case study sites. I was looking for a site of ‘average, everday’ Singapore, the kind of place and space in which the majority live, shop, and hang out. The Heartland. And Clementi, only a few blocks from the National University’s rarefied air, is the Heartland. In one of the shopping centres I passed a chi chi looking restaurant that seemed out of place: a slick sushi house that could have been mistaken for Nobu or something in London’s West End. A sign out front said “Bringing the ‘City Experience’ to the Heartland.” A ha. How, then, are urban policies promoting cosmopolitanism and ‘creativity’ brought to the ‘Heartland?’ and How are they interpreted, used, and performed? Are they ignored? Contested? Subverted? Discarded, or disliked?

These are the types of things I will be looking for in my walks and observations. On my walk back from Clementi to the National University’s cluster of graduate housing, darkness had fallen, and I lost my bearings. I passed Mosques and saw men at their evening prayers. I passed schools, some with English names (Holy Cross) and others with Mandarin characters. I waited at huge intersections, given only seconds to cross 8 lanes of traffic.

Weighed down by the evening humidity and the sameness of the landscape, I slowly realized I had no idea how to get back. An urban landscape so devoid of difference and remarkable landscapes, possible to navigate during the day, suddenly became impossible at night. I was lost. After walking in what seemed like two circles and ready to hail a cab, I finally realized that I could see the towers of the National University (amongst the hundreds of other towers) and found my way back. Exhausted and sweating, carrying several bags of spoons, coffee cups, deodorant and sunblock, I swiped my access card and left South East Asia as I re-entered global academia.

 I passed by the Yale University dorms, and noticed two very preppy looking blond men practicing racquetball or squash (or something) in a multi-purpose sports hall. What a strange place, so different and yet so similar, seemingly no place and yet all places at once. Walking through Singapore is like walking from the tropics to London, from Indonesia to China, from colonialism to post colonialism in the space of a few miles. A wonderful place to study urbanism and urban processes, a fact I already knew based on my reading but reinforced through only one day of wandering. No need to compare other cities to Singapore when it can be compared over and over again, in so many ways, with itself. What secrets are here? What answers?

  3. Be Creative, Be Spontaneous (7th Sept)

 One of the new high rises in the ‘University Town’ extension of NUS has the giant letters “CREATE” on it (Which is an acronym for whatever activities take place within the building, Centre for Researcher Excellence and something or other). I found this interesting given the topic of my research. Create, ok, but what? It is not hard to see creativity in various forms in Singapore, even based on the two days I have yet been here. The hawker centres, for example: these are all similar in layout and offering, but offer little variations that make them all interesting , unique, and different. Each food stall has a twist, a slightly different display, a slightly different recipe. One might have boxes of beers arranged in a certain way; dishes displayed in a particular way to entice passerbys. Conversations differ from table to table; westerners mingle with each other over some beers at once, while a family sits, speaking Mandarin, at another. Are these the ‘unofficial’ sites of creativity in Singapore? Hawker centres might be the most Singaporean assemblage. Yet what goes on within the monolithic housing estates requires a careful unpeeling. Are there starving artists within them? Are there discussions about culture? And what kind of discussions? What kind of culture?

  4. Influences

 Early on, I am getting a sense of the spheres of influence here. Picture a people-less patch of mud, rainforest and swamps. This came first. Then the Malay Kings and the conquering Pirates of this jungle Archipelago. Then the Chinese and the British (19th Century). These two influences are still strong and manifest physically and culturally in all walks of life.  The Muslim influence is also very present, from 21st century Malaysia and Indonesia, with headscarves, mosques and Madrassas a visible minority presence. This cultural aspect will come across in various ways. Indians (very dark, visibly from the South and Sri Lanka) are also common, both as students / researchers / faculty and also as poorer laborers (seemingly much of the construction workforce). They are Hindu (recognizable from the forehead markings) and therefore would be culturally more tied into the Hindu world than the Muslim (or Confucian). The Western influence is mixed British, European, Australian, and American. So far, European and Australian seem to be, at least visibly, more influential than American. This comes as a bit of a surprise, given the strength and reach of American academia and business. But the American end may simply be newer, and Australia, at least geographically, is closer. It may be more common for Australian students to head to Singapore given the relative paucity of Australian universities. And a 10 hour plane ride is easier than 2 days of travel (necessary for British or American).

 It will be interesting to see if this might change given the recent announcement for Qantas airlines to move their hub from Singapore to Dubai. What is the importance of airline hubs / flows / networks? Given Singapore’s historical role as a ‘port’ of various forms, it could be very important indeed. There are other influences.

I picked up a flier for an Israeli Film Festival, of all things (there is, and has always been, a Jewish community here - as there is in all trading ports, from Mumbai to Panama City). Israel and Singapore though are linked in other ways - small in land, compulsory military service, creativity in water and resources, surrounded by Muslim nations, a high-tech economy, both new nations (Israel since 1948 and Singapore since 1965). Interesting. The question in terms of policy mobilities and assemblages then becomes, what is more influential in Singapore: physical movements of people (those coming here to study and work, those travelling to and from) versus the immaterial movement of IDEAS (on the internet, from research, etc?). More on this later.

  5. Wanderings. Saturday, 8th September.

A. Day

 Chinatown Peeling Colonial buildings next to crossfit gyms. Little Buddhist Temples smelling of incense next to Digital Media companies and male grooming spas. White Westerners jog by as a Chinese man brushes his teeth using a pail of wash water in a back alley. Dead cockroaches hide next to the pedestal of a trendy coffee shop, with newspaper clippings and accolades in the window. Restaurants called “Beaujolais” and ‘The Club” next to old Chinese women making cakes and dumplings and selling bric a brac,.

 The 'City'

 The ‘City’ everywhere looks and feels the same. Singapore, Canary Wharf, Chicago on a hot day. The glass buildings, brands, the streets, the plazas and the ‘lunch courts’ all look and feel the same and render context and latitude obsolete. Without the views of the water or Mandarin-covered shopfronts, Singapore is Midtown Manhattan, ‘The Loop’ Chicago, Charlotte, and Downtown Sydney. Sri Lankan and / or Bangladeshi men sitting on sidewalks without their shoes, eating lunch with their hands. They, with their bright shirts, dark skin, and saffron food, are the only real color, disorder, and spontaneity amidst the city’s monolithic nothingness and unrecognizable everywhereness.

 B. Night

 Singapore glistens, twinkles, pulses at night, and the centre of the activity is Chinatown. Those that come to see and be seen fill the tropical evening like fireflies. Gays saunter next to packs of tourists, locals and expats alike amidst architecture that, especially at night, evokes Colonial romance (even if it is at time erzats). This must be Singapore at its best, its most fun – away from the relentless heat of midday and the corporate lunch. Is a Saturday evening Singapore’s soul? And it started to rain. Big, fat raindrops the size of dimes, that wet you to the core immediately, and it feels wonderful and cleansing. The pores clear, sweat washes away and the rain even tastes good. Running, I get to the air conditioned and spotless MRT just as my shirt begins to soak. And smiling.

  6. Cruel Heat, Cruel Bureaucracy (Tuesday, 12th September) 

Martha Stewart (yes, that Martha Stewart), remarked about Singapore’s ‘Cruel Heat’ upon a recent visit (Straits Times). Locals got defensive. Martha’s sentiment was pure. To me, coming from a ‘never too hot, never too cold’ London, Singapore’s equatorial humidity is all encompassing. It’s not unlike a North Carolina August afternoon, except it is that way every single day of the year. Evenings are bearable, even pleasant; so are mornings.

But midday can be deceptive – the sun and twinkling palms beckons one outdoors, yet even a short walk can drain me of energy so much that taking a step becomes difficult. It is not just the heat; it is the constant switching into the falsely cool and dry world of air conditioning, on which this nation relies (even with the fans, human-propelled in Victorian times; the Verandas, the rainy evenings, I cannot fathom how over-dressed Victorians settled here before the air conditioning). My body tires from switching cool to hot and I have been falling asleep before 10pm each night. Perhaps this is a natural tropical rhythm I will get used to, perhaps over time my body will adjust. While I’ve convinced myself that I need the air conditioning (I am not sorry that I paid extra for it), another part of me realizes that I’d adjust faster and feel better outside if I had only a fan (which really is sufficient). The Singaporeans wear sweatshirts and fashionable London clothes about town. Even dark colors. I cannot believe how they do it don’t sweat. But, if this is all the body knows… four seasons and a biting winter wind is probably as foreign to them as this heat is to me.

 I have spent the past week getting used to my surroundings and acclimatizing in more ways than one. I have made an effort to walk around the city centre and the ‘main’ Central areas, and have covered a fair bit of ground. The only significant portion yet missing is Little India, as well as the Eastern Beaches. I will save this for when I need to head that way anyway to apply for my student pass at the ICA – Immigration and Customs Authority. Which brings me to my next point – er gripe.

Singapore’s famously fastidious and slow-moving, Terry Gilliam-esque paper-pushing, pencil grinding bureaucracy has not yet annoyed me (it seemed friendly and efficient!) until now. It seems like every decision – every question – every ok and process – runs up against a ‘do not ask questions, do not seek alternative routes’ system which would be maddening long term.

 For example: I’ve learned to always carry my passport and bank details, for these are apparently needed for purchases including a cheap throw away phone. By the time I’m finished, every business in Singapore will have a scanned copy of my passport photo. Which would unsettle me if it wasn’t Singapore, and I didn’t already assume I was being monitored. Another example: my student pass. The ‘Student Pass’ is basically an extended visa for those studying here for a period longer than the 3 months allocated for a regular visit. Seems simple enough. I had begun the application process (and paid the money) over the summer, and was prepared to “Complete the formalities’” this week by showing up at the ICA and submitting my paperwork. 

Wrong. It turns out that because I arrived later in Singapore, my application had expired (and I lost all $30!). Therefore, I had to begin the process all over again, and pay another $30. As of this writing, I am still waiting for my (second) application for a student pass to be processed and I am unsure whether or not I will be in possession of my passport for my planned trip to China next week, or whether I am breaking some (death penalty inviting) rule by simply existing in the country without my pass at this point. I suppose I will find out after the line-managers of State Affairs have all played a round of Chinese Whispers and get back to me. 

***

Singlish. Singlish is not English. It is the local patois, a pidgin English combined with every other ‘ethnic seasoning’ here, Malay, Mandarin, probably bits and pieces of Javanese and Tamil thrown in for good measure. It is often indecipherable. If the majority of locals speak and understand English, which I’m sure they do, they often throw their hands up at my careful accent and toss back something mumbled and spoken in low tones. Perhaps I should work on my Singlish if I hope to communicate with locals here during my ethnography and interviews.

 I’m learning how to ‘get around the system’. Shh, don’t tell anyone. I’ve started jaywalking. It’s too hot for me to walk all the way up or down hill to the official ‘crossings’, so I’ve started to cross the street when I please. I’ve seen other people do it, and they haven’t been carted away by men in a black truck. The Graduate Club. A lovely-looking, air conditioned gym and pool, the kind of place I could take my mom if she came to visit. Palms, bouganvillia and the clinking of real silverware. To join, though, one has to be in Singapore for ‘At least a year.’ So, that’s how long I’ll be here (shh!) if it means I get to swim in and lie by a nice pool.

 Still , some questions can’t be asked, and some rules can’t be broken. For example, back to the ICA and my student pass: asked the university registrar to the bureaucrat, “Can the student simply bring his stamped, expired letter to the ministry for his student pass, and can he get a refund for the application he already had processed?” Curt reply: “No, the student cannot.” Such is life in a managerial State.

  7. William Gibson and ‘Disneyland with a Death Penalty’

The British science fiction novelist William Gibson said of Singapore that it resembled what a country would look like if entirely possessed by IBM. Another writer called Singapore ‘Disneyland with a death penalty.’ Yes, the penalty for smuggling drugs into Singapore is death. Which is harsh, no doubt about it. But I have seen enough day laborers napping on hot sidewalks, (small) piles of trash and even (yes!) some graffiti to remark that Gibson is being typically British about a former colony.

In fact, Singapore does not really run any more efficiently than other cities of this size – it has problems with traffic, pollution, social tensions, housing prices, and even some blight and buildings in a state of disrepair. If it is run by a computer, then it is run by an imperfect one.

 The people that I have observed, walking about the streets, coming to and from the gym staring into their pads and pods and phones, standing in clumps on the Metro, seem very serious. There does not seem to be a whole lot of spontaneous laughter. This is true even on campus, with its relative diversity and large American / European / Australian community. Serious students! Serious conversations. Theories: this is a financial center, and many of the workers I’ve seen, students I’ve observed and even academics are related to business and the other ‘serious’ disciplines. Read: there aren’t a lot of hippies here, or the types of groups / activities / clubs / neighborhoods that attract hippies. There isn’t any cocaine (maybe some in elite circles) and very little ‘hard’ drinking. No marijuana to speak of. Some cigarette smokers. Does this lack of inebriation and other vices ‘erase’ the haphazard laughter, boisterous braying and annoying shrieking so common to British and American cities? Or is the reason cultural? (Confucian, Buddhist, Muslim traditions of quiet conversation and general calm?) Or, as I perceived above, does it relate to the percent of ‘serious’ MBAs more concerned with learning how to trade oil and futures than having fun?

 The memory of Michael Fay, the American douchebag who famously was caned 12 times due to drunk and disorderly conduct, may be fresh in people’s minds. Laugh, but not too loud: have fun, but not too much. On one hand, the quiet, respectful demeanor is refreshing, especially coming from the bottle-smashing, fight and booze splattered streets of British central cities, so full of street piss and piles of garbage that it becomes noxious. There are no crackheads asking for money (and I haven’t seen an opium den). It is equally, however, unsettling. The calm and quiet, combined with the heavy, oppressive air and humidity, must cause a breaking point in some. The rigidness is yes, distinctly Asian (Chinese) but also carries over a leftover of Victorian British repression – a possibly fateful combination that I think explains much about the City-State. 

There are, as I have mentioned, exceptions and dots of color and surprises, and these tend to be the other ethnicities. Namely, Indian – who seem to have a spice that is slightly more romantic, smiling, embracing, and warm. Not to trade stereotypes here. But this does perhaps come from Indian social and cultural traditions, the traditions of communal, inclusive dining (such as at a Sikh Temple). And the great Indian ‘fete’, the lavish wedding, the happy dancing and celebrations.

 The Western expatriates, as I mentioned, so far do not seem to breathe a celebratory and spontaneous air into things. Quite the opposite, they seem as driven, serious, and reserved as the Singaporeans. New mothers seriously pushing serious babies. Bored and rather lonely looking white bankers, perhaps checking out dating sites on whatever flat pad pod they are using while having a solitary beer. Serious business students. Singapore may attract a certain ‘type’ of person, not prone to serious partying of ‘joie de vivre’ing. The ‘Creative Class’? Or not? From what I’ve observed, not. Unless you call a day trader creative.

 That said – there are yet layers to peel. And I think, (as China Mieville writes and my mother reminded me,) a “City and the City”. There are things here that cannot be observed at street level or in the public realm. What happens in the home, at the private party, or behind the unmarked, closed doors of the various sites of sin and vice that still (and have always ) dot the lanes of this port, may be very different. The Victorian British, those staunch, starched and dour protestants, were very good at living two lives – one of public respectability, and another of vice, indulgence, and even perversion and grotesque. The Chinese too – with their importance on respect and adherence to social codes – must have back door debauchery up their sleeve. I believe languid Singapore, with its rules and codes, is layered and textured, a ‘City and a City’. At least this is my hope.

  8. Those that Singapore ignores, and those it forgets

 Just as conspicuously absent as boorish drunks and punks and misfits are the socially downtrodden, the insane, the self mutterers and the generally shit out of luckers. And yet, this can’t be the case: every society has those who simply cannot and do not fit in, for reasons of unfortunate birth or some other malady. And those who get too old to walk, or begin to lose their grip. I have not yet seen these people.

 I’ve seen many elderly people, walking slowly, but still able to navigate the Metro system and go about their duties. I have not seen that person stinking of odour and generally understood to be ‘not with it’. They have to be here. They exist everywhere. They are us, with a few circuits shorted. It must be hard for them here. I have read that the elderly have it hard in Singapore. There is no state welfare system, no state homes for the old. They are taken care of by family and various private charities and philanthropic organisations. I saw as one old woman, able to stand but just barely, came onto the Metro at one station. She hobbled over to the seat that is ‘reserved’ for the elderly, the pregnant, and the disabled (shown in diagrams above the seat). A young woman was sitting in the seat, glued to her pid pad pod thing. She did not so much as look up and acknowledge this older woman, who hovered over her hopefully for a few minutes, without saying a word. After some time, she hobbled down the car to another one of the ‘reserved’ seats, and this time, a younger (but not much!) man got up to allow her to sit.

Is this the life of a ‘past due’ Singaporean, no longer able to work and help build the model society? Are they simply quiet, reduced to a form of ‘begging’, not for money, but for a seat on the train? Are Singaporeans, once grown stale like a rancid banana or an old pair of shoes, tossed away?

 Surely this cannot be the case for a nation who look up to, still, the founding father, Lee Kwan Yew, who is approaching 90 years old. Still referred to as ‘Dear Leader’ by many who grew up under his premiership in the 1970s and 1980s, Yew has a mythical and legendary status here, like a modern day Thomas Jefferson, John Adams and George Washington all combined into one. Does the average grandmother command such respect? What, generally, does command respect here?