March 29th, Sunday, was truly a remarkable day, and one that I’m unlikely to forget, for a long long time to come. Thousands upon thousands of people, Singaporeans and
non-Singaporeans, came voluntarily, lining the route of the late Mr. Lee Kuan
Yew’s final journey. The rain poured down as the procession set off, as if the
heaven was grieving too. As the cortege passed by Dover MRT station – where I
awaited amongst a packed crowd – we shouted out “Lee Kuan Yew! Lee Kuan
Yew!...” There were teary eyes to be witnessed around, even among some
teenagers. The scene was moving, and for a few moments I felt moist in my eyes
too.
Born
in China in the mid-1980s, my only experience of national mourning was when
Deng Xiaoping died in 1997. I do not remember shedding tears for China’s “grand
architect of reform”, but even if I did, I could not have done so out of
genuine grief – there was limitation to a 12-year-old’s experience and
comprehension. As a kid, I also studied in primary school a Chinese text
entitled Sending off the Premier along Chang’an
Boulevard (Shili Changjie Song Zongli), a text that depicts the Chinese public’s
outpouring of grief over the passing of the deeply-loved Premier Zhou Enlai in
early 1976. Little did I imagine that I would finally get to understand, at
least to some extent, the emotions described in this old text in, of all
places, Singapore, 2015, on the sad occasion of Mr. Lee Kuan Yew’s passing.
When
I was 17, studying at a high school in a second-tier Chinese city, a
scholarship scheme from Singapore would change my life trajectory. Having
passed written tests and an interview, I was awarded an “SM2” undergraduate scholarship,
together with around 200 other scholars from all over China. It has always been
speculated – though never confirmed – that the idea of scholarships for mainland
China students was born of the agreement between China and Singapore’s
respective “top leaders”. We would never know…but somehow, scholars like us,
not only those from China but perhaps also those from elsewhere, would believe
that it was the late Mr. Lee Kuan Yew’s commitment to meritocracy and his
valuing of talent that gave us the opportunities we had.
And
Singapore did seem to us to live up to the value of meritocracy. One telling
example: during the third year of my undergraduate studies, 2007, I took part
in the Singapore Japanese Speech Contest; and thanks to my own passion for Japanese
language then and the wonderful coaching from my NTU mentors, I clinched the
championship of the tertiary category, and as a result won a two-week homestay
trip to Japan, fully sponsored by the Singapore Japanese Embassy and local
governments in Japan. I still remembered how the Japanese host officials were
quite surprised that the champion that Singapore sent over was actually of
Chinese nationality and not a Singaporean; but this did not matter to the
Singapore organizers, for I was the winner. (I wonder how a similar situation
would be dealt with today?)
Also
in 2007, I had had the opportunity to meet with the then MM Lee in person on
his visit to NTU. As one of the student representatives, I had the chance to be
presented to the then MM Lee and to converse with him, albeit very briefly.
Even though the interaction between MM Lee and us students were short and
formalistic, the fact that he made a point to speak to the few of us from China
in Mandarin left us with a strong impression.
We now learn from various sources that the late Mr. Lee was very determined
to learn Mandarin, and spent a lot of efforts on it, even in his later years. After
the event, NTU gifted each of us a group photo taken at the end of the event as
keepsake; and all these years, I kept this photo together with my most
important documents like passport and degree certificates.
For
“foreign talent” scholars like myself, of which there have been tens of
thousands in Singapore over the years, we cannot but feel appreciative towards
Mr. Lee Kuan Yew and what he advocated: an open and meritocratic Singapore that
stood for opportunities and possibilities. It would be an exaggeration to say
that Singapore’s scholarship schemes were life-changing for all of us, but it certainly
changed the lives of some of us for the better, and provided others with
alternative paths and chances to be different.
Concerning
the question of “foreign talent” students, the late Mr. Lee used to remark in
2008 that even if just 30% to 40% of all foreign students stayed, it would be
good for Singapore. Such was his pragmatism. While probably more than 30-40% of
foreign students stay (and definitely higher for the bonded scholar category), it
is indeed the case that not all foreign students or scholars stay on in
Singapore. They go on to “pastures greener” to pursue further education or to
seek different career opportunities, but what I also observe is that many of
them start to miss Singapore after they left, and not a few also choose to
return after some further sojourning.
Over
the past week, as a seemingly endless stream of commentaries on Mr. Lee’s
legacy flooded in, I found myself caught in a tension between a personal
admiration and appreciation for Mr. Lee on the one hand, and a kind of more
critical perspective on his legacy that is typical of my professional circles,
namely, that of the social sciences and humanities. My colleagues are no Amos
Yee, but I imagine some of them in private do not think high of the act of
paying Mr. Lee effusive tributes. Taking a step back, I look to the level of
empirical observations. It seems clear that Singaporeans are proud of their country,
their society, their quality of life, and their identity – so proud in fact
that they could become rather protective and jealous if it appears that the
“foreign talents” are undeservedly sharing or threatening these precious
things; so proud that Singaporeans’ feelings could be easily hurt by remarks or
comments that are deemed disrespectful of the country and local culture. How
many people in the world could feel so proud and protective of their nation? It
is this that explains the hundreds of thousands queuing for up to ten hours to
pay respects at the Parliament House and the equally astounding show of
solidarity on Sunday. Revisionist history-writing and intellectual iconoclasm
pale in the face of such spontaneous expressions of emotions from the people.
Singapore is not Maoist China or the DPRK, nobody is forced to sing praise to
the late Mr. Lee; people chose to.
I then
glance at my Chinese passport, and think of not only the multitude of social
problems that people in China have to confront but also the discriminations and
hardships they often have to endure when they are abroad – yes, still, today,
as we supposedly become a “rising superpower.” It is this thought that makes me
understand why Singaporeans were so grateful to the late Mr. Lee; it is this
thought that makes me share the same emotions with Singaporeans as I stood
amidst them, shouting “Lee Kuan Yew!” as we saw him for the last time. Just like
Singaporeans, I’m quite sure I have never felt and will never feel this way for
any other political leader.
People
say that, with the passing of the Great Leader, a new era is dawning in
Singapore, and I believe so too! Yet, no matter how politics and society change
in Singapore in the future, I shall always hope that one essential attribute of
Lee Kuan Yew’s Singapore will not change: a meritocratic and open society that
values talent and gives people a chance to be successful.
Today,
I dare say at least half of my 2002 cohort of over 200 SM2 scholars have
settled down in Singapore, having obtained citizenship, bought properties, and
working in well-paying professional jobs. I, however, still hold my Chinese
passport, without a PR status either, because I have chosen the itinerant academic
career path. And no matter whether I eventually settle down in the red dot like
many of my fellow “foreign talent” scholars from China have done, or part with
Singapore again in the near future (with or without another return), Singapore
will always remain a very special and meaningful place to me. It will stay as
part of my identity – it already is.
I’m grateful and excited that I’m witnessing Singapore from within at such a
unique juncture of its history.
