Where we should not go

There is no quarrel that in many fields and ways of life we have done exceedingly well, and surpassed many of the western countries. The danger is that we may get carried away by our successes, be complacent or be lost in chasing the wrong goals. The blind and unquestioning pursuit of material wealth and physical comfort, and the madness in chasing for more money and more money could lead us into an abyss. The citizens who are concerned about the long term viability of this country, the quality of life, must speak out and shout, scream, if things are turning bad. We cannot let some silly buggers to tell us that we must achieve Tokyo's infamous mass transport cram as the ultimate goal of having arrived. That is a bad example of success. It is regression. Let no fools utter or compare our transport system with Tokyo as a yardstick of the best in the first world. Let no fools compare Hongkong's property prices and be gratified that ours are cheap. Let no fools think that living in micky mouse flats or coffin size boxes is a new lifestyle, desirable lifestyle, because some countries are doing it. We must set our own criteria on what is good and gracious living for our people and consciously set out to achieve them. The govt should stop degrading the people's quality of life by building ever smaller flats and ever higher prices. Our medical cost is daylight robbery but still cheaper than the West. This is deadly. How many hardlanders have $30k cash, or $50k, $200k, or more, to be ready to be robbed in privatised govt hospitals? The citizens cannot be robbed by a system at a time when they have no choice to act otherwise. The obnoxious medical fees, hospitalisation fees must be curbed. Don't ask me how unless you want to pay me to do it. We have the best paying jobs in govt. Even an ordinary minister will earn more than the President of USA or the Prime Minister of UK or Japan. We must get the best from the best paid ministers. No buts. No more comparing with Africa or third world countries and say we are betterer. We must compare with the best and their best as our standard of goodness and achievements. Are we being too demanding? Or should we be complacent and leave things the way they are going, and be like the proverbial three monkeys?

2 in 3 are foreigners!

The latest statistics show that there are 3.2m Singaporeans to 1.8m foreigners in the island. In the trains, probably for every 10 commuters 6 are foreigners. Though the Singaporeans are technically still a majority, in many other counts Singaporeans are already a minority here. For the 3.2m, I am not sure how many are new citizens who were foreigners a few days or a few months ago. And in the trains, Singaporeans are definitely a minority. So what is this call for Singaporeans to integrate foreigners to our society and way of life? It should be the other way round when Singaporeans are a minority. At the rate it is going, soon Singaporeans will be an absolute minority here and have to integrate themselves to the foreigners way of life. It must be a good thing for the well being of country and Singaporeans to plunge into this situation with eyes wide shut. One puzzling phenomenon, where are the foreigners hiding, or living? In Orchard Road or Bukit Timah and Tanglin? It is not possible that for every 5 HDB flats 2 are occupied by foreigners. Where are they other than those living in the workers dormitories? Oh, some jokers will compare with Bahrain and say look, they have 80% foreigners there and very happy about it. So we are still far from being overwhelmed! We can do much more and have more foreigners here.

Clumsy solutions to clear up a mess

The NSmen Award may not be well thought out as it totally disregard the hundreds of thousands of reservists that have completed their NS liabilities. Brushing them aside with a stroke of the pen is the most insensitive thing to do. I would thought it would be more amiable to reduce the budget for those currently serving and apportion a little to those who have done their duties diligently without complaining. A token sum of a couple of thousand dollars could have soothe the nerves and avoid a backlash from those who were summarily dismissed from the award. That is only one part of the problem. Compare to the measures to curb property speculation and runaway prices, the NSmen Award is nothing. A whole list of complaints and grievances are going to be poured out by those affected. Just wait and see. A trickle has started in the ST forum. The broad strokes are going to anger many who are caught by the sudden measures which were anything but brunt instruments. After having created such a big mess for so long, and affecting so many innocent home owners and potential home owners, Rip Van Winkle suddenly realized that he had overslept and jumped up to catch a train, knocking everyone and everything in his path. When the problem is so huge and turns into a Gordian Knot, being denied, a hurriedly push out remedy is likely to create more unhappiness. That’s what I think it will generate.

How the gangsters did it?

In the days of the 50s and 60s, the tongs and triad activities were high. They ran the country’s business world parallelled to the limited presence of the police force. They were quite successful and were part and parcel of life. They had their ways to gain acceptance by the communities, rightfully or wrongly. They had their own modus operandi, from thugs to saviours. They brought along peace and order in an otherwise chaotic society. Of course they were the bullies and took advantage of the people whenever they could, for their own benefits. They disturbed the businesses, from street hawkers to shopkeepers. They harassed the operators and workers. They threatened them as well as their customers. Things were broken, shops broken into, electrical and water supplies damaged, fires were often encountered. Robberies and theft and whatever that gave no peace to businesses. Then, with the situation grinding to a point of near collapse, help was needed to restore order and stability. The village or kampong headmen would invite the gangsters to help. And what else could happen if the devils stopped playing punks? The gangsters became the heroes, for saving the villages and kampongs of their problems. How would the villages know that their problems were caused by the same gangsters they appointed to help? So the devil became the saviour. They were honoured and given their dues. That was how the gangsters claimed credits for undoing their own dirty works. The formula, create a mess, chaos, problems for everyone, everyone crying for help, then step in like a knight in shining armour. Always work.

A letter from a surviving hostage

Events that lead to the death of eight tourist inside the bus Postscript Of A Bloodbath by Bang Lu Min (One of the Hostages) Mr. Mendoza was already upset even before he saw on television what the policemen did to his brother. The other tourists who remained inside the bus were complaining. Wei Ji Jiang wanted to go to the bathroom. Dao Chi Yu was hungry and the rest were just groaning and whining like they have forgotten that our lives rest in Mr. Mendoza's hands. The hostage taker, as you know him was really nice. He treated us okay and even let the elders and the children leave the bus. He said your policemen treated him unfairly. He was a policeman too and was accused of doing something he had no knowledge of. But your government didn't listen so he used us to get everyone's attention. Things would have never turned for the worst if he didn't see how his family was dragged out of their house and taken into custody. He was watching the news all the time as we huddled around each other behind the bus. He shouted some words in your language then started shooting in the air. A girl about my age started screaming. Mr. Mendoza demanded her to stop but she didn't understand English. God, he had to slash her neck with a knife just to put her to rest. Her boyfriend who tried to hit him was shot in the head. Tension was rising. You can see in his face how scared and confused he was. The bus driver ran away leaving him alone with strangers from a distant land. I can see him walking across the aisle, sometimes pointing his machine gun to one of the tourists. But he tried his best not to hurt us, especially those who really cooperated. I guess its in your nature not to inflict pain on others unless it was necessary. I remember him saying that he will free us before sundown and implored us to forget everything when we return home. But his words don't matter now. The policemen were trying to force their way in, while we all lied down to shield ourselves from bullets. Mister Mendoza blindly shoots at his enemies which I think kept them from rescuing us. I hear sobs under the chairs. Some were even shouting the names of their loved ones even when the air merely eat their words. Kevin Tang tried to escape when the glass door was was shattered, but one shot and he slumped on the floor with blood gushing from his mouth. Heavy rain pitter-pattered on the rooftop. In old Chinese saying, it means an end to a struggle. Finally, somebody was able to open the escape hatch at the back of the bus. Freedom. But I knew Mister Mendoza was still alive. I knew he was just waiting for a chance to strike back at his enemies. So I told those around me not to escape. Let the authorities come for us instead. Then there was gunfire. He was firing at his enemies with a machine gun. Those who were at the escape hatch fled abandoning us once again. It's like a nightmare with no end and to wake up means a certain death. Then somebody from outside the bus threw a canister. It forced out a black smoke that is so painful to the eyes and putrid smelling to the nose. People started screaming. We cannot breathe. Some ran in front of the bus but Mister Mendoza warned them of stray bullets. It was too late. One was hit on the head, the other was hit on the shoulders. Bullets were now flying. Its like the authorities thought we were all dead. Mister Mendoza finally realizes his mistake and said sorry to everyone, dead or alive. He then ran towards the front of the bus where he would meet his maker. As he passed by my chair with bullets whistling overhead, I clutched my hand on the velvet curtain and wrapped it around my face. All I could think of was to stay alive - for my child who is waiting for me back in Xinjang. I know I will survive, I will come home. Bang Lu Min Survivor, Quirino Bloodbath