Aug 03, 2014
By Jeremy Lee
Step into any shopping mall in Singapore on a weekend or public holiday and one faces a battle of epic proportions.
Apart from the usual hordes of shoppers, there lurks a greater menace: Prams.
But before a ruckus erupts on how insensitive a childless person like me is to parents who are doing their Singaporean duty of going forth and multiplying, let me just slip in the small observation that most of these prams that I have seen… do not actually have babies in them.
I feel that some parents' overuse, and misuse, of prams is a truly distressing social ill.
I have encountered criss-crossing convoys of prams bearing down walkways, their pushers using them as battering rams to clear the crowd before them, leaving those who just have their own two legs desperately trying to avoid being mowed over.
Sometimes, the pushers don't even have the decency to utter words of contrition.
A friend once had his foot rather painfully rolled over by a pram, with its pusher only spewing sounds of annoyance at the foot that dared to get in its way.
Worse, these pesky perambulators also contrive to take up much space in the lifts. The buggys have now turned into luxury models, with more bells and whistles than Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
The wait for a lift on a busy weekend can already be interminable, but finding yourself unable to get in after waiting for ages, due to one of these "S-Class" prams, can literally drain the colour from your face.
I have seen such monsters and their associated adornments take up space in a lift that could have fit four people. Such a small human being, but it takes up so much space, I always think.
More annoyingly, though, a great number of prams I have seen in public seem to be used for nothing more than as shopping carts, with the children that they're meant to be transporting often being carried or merrily skipping alongside the hefty purchases.
Some other prams I've seen do actually have humans in them, but I do not consider them "babies" as it's obvious that they are old enough to actually walk.
In my humble opinion, as soon as a child can walk without falling flat on his face, he's too old to be pushed around by his loving but perhaps misguided parents.
Unfortunately, many parents don't seem to share my view. Once, in Orchard Cineleisure, I saw a girl who looked to be close to primary school-going age sitting in a pram pushed by a struggling young woman. The girl was wearing heels and absorbed in her iPad, oblivious to the world. If the girl can wear heels, surely she can walk in them? Or perhaps she's too busy playing Candy Crush to actually pound the pavement?
The root word of "perambulator", which "pram" is a contraction of, is "perambulate", which means "To walk, wander, or travel from place to place", according to the Oxford English Dictionary.
"Perambulate" is, in turn, derived from "ambulate", which means "to walk". Isn't it ironic that a pram now ensures children don't walk?
As far as my memory serves me, I was running everywhere at the age of three or four , and it was my parents who got tired trying to keep up.
My mother tells me I never sat in a pram as soon as I could walk. Are the children nowadays somehow weaker or less healthy? Or was I just special, imbued with almost-superhuman reserves of energy?
A good friend of mine, a kindergarten principal with about 15 years of teaching experience in the childcare and kindergarten industry, has seen many children who have been energetically running and climbing all day only to hop into a pram when their parents arrive to pick them up.
Did they suddenly and inexplicably become very tired as soon as their parents appeared with a pram or did the appearance of the "mothership" induce a reverential stupor?
I fear that we are doing more harm than good to the next generation by mollycoddling them. I'd rather my children build up their muscles, take a few knocks even, so they can get used to using their limbs at a young age, rather than become fully grown "invalids".
And if people can't help but push their children around, is it too much to ask that they do it with a little more graciousness and sensitivity towards the people around them who are inconvenienced, rather than just expecting the world to give way?
Monday, August 4, 2014
One of JFK's Secret Service Agent's story
Not exactly news, but interesting account of a historical event.
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Meeting one of JFK's Secret Service agents
On June 23, I had the chance to meet retired U.S. Secret Service Special Agent Paul Landis.
He spoke at a northeast Ohio courthouse and was introduced by a judge who knows him and is personally interested in President John F. Kennedy's life and times. Landis, who served in the Secret Service from 1959-1964 and is now retired, spoke to a crowd of about thirty. He is a quiet, slim man who gives an impression of diffident sadness. In the late 1950s, he had a friend who worked for the Secret Service and who encouraged him to apply after his graduation from Ohio Wesleyan University. The Secret Service at that time did not require any previous law enforcement experience, just a college degree. He underwent a thorough background check and training, and was sworn in as a Secret Service special agent in 1959. He started work in the Cincinnati field office but, within six months, was assigned to guard the grandchildren of President Dwight D. Eisenhower in Gettysburg, Pa. (Agents today may spend up to seven years in other posts before being assigned to protective duty, he said). In October 1962, he was assigned to the White House Detail – the youngest person up to that time, he thinks. He was assigned to protect First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy and the two Kennedy children, Caroline and John Jr. (“the Kiddie Detail,” as it was known). He got the assignment just before the Cuban Missile Crisis, and he remembers three Marine helicopters being flown to the South Lawn of the White House to evacuate the President, First Lady and key staff in the event of an incoming Soviet nuclear attack. He asked what he should do if an unauthorized person tried to get on the First Lady’s helicopter and was told, “Just shoot ‘em, and we’ll worry about the consequences later.” Fortunately, it never came to that. He later accompanied Mrs. Kennedy on a trip to Ravello, Italy, and to Greece with her sister, Lee Radziwell. He still remembers the “opulence like you couldn’t believe” of Aristotle Onassis’s yacht, including its gold fittings, disco and swimming pool. He was assigned to Mrs. Kennedy when she gave birth to Patrick Kennedy in the fall of 1963; the baby died soon afterwards. Landis was assigned to the fateful November 1963 Presidential visit to Texas. It was the first time he’d been on motorcade duty, although he’d trained for it. He was on the advance plane for Love Field in Dallas on November 22, and helped his friend and fellow agent Clint Hill guard Mrs. Kennedy as she greeted well-wishers along the fence at the airport; the President was further along the same fence. Consistent with Landis’s training, he would look at hands and faces, watching for any weapon or threat. In the motorcade heading into downtown Dallas, he was in the followup car directly behind the Presidential limosine. The crowds got so big, overflowing into the street, that the Dallas Police motorcycle outriders sometimes had to drop behind the limo. “It was like driving into a funnel,” Landis said. The motorcade had to slow down considerably when it entered Dealey Plaza, making two turns, to the right and then to the left. The limo’s and the followup car’s bumpers almost touched. After the final turn, as the motorcade headed towards the triple overpass and the School Book Depository dropped behind them to the right, he heard what he immediately recognized to be a gunshot (from his many years of hunting) from behind him and to the right. He looked over to his right, but saw nothing threatening in the crowd. He looked forward again and saw President Kennedy slump in his seat. After a brief pause, he remembers two more shots following in quick succession, still behind and to his right. Landis was looking directly at Kennedy from “about 15, 20 feet” behind him, when “I saw the President’s head explode [and knew] no way could anyone survive that.” Clint Hill jumped off the followup car, ran forward and climbed onto the back of the President’s limo, and covered the President and First Lady with his body as the motorcade accelerated out of Dealey Plaza. Landis saw Hill look back and give a thumbs-down, indicating that the President’s condition was bad. Landis shouted to the driver of the followup car, “Go, go, go!” The motorcade sped to nearby Parkland Hospital. Landis ran up to the Presidential limo and saw that Mrs. Kennedy was shielding her husband’s badly-wounded head. Hill took off his suit coat to cover it and persuaded her to let hospital staff take the President inside. Landis carried Mrs. Kennedy’s famous pink pillbox hat into the hospital but doesn’t know what became of it after that (it has since been lost). He stayed with the First Lady at Parkland, as he had been assigned. He went with her briefly into the trauma room twice. He was there when other Secret Service agents insisted on removing the President’s body to return to Washington, even though local police and the Dallas coroner insisted it had to remain for an autopsy there under Texas law. “It got a little tense,” he said, “but we said we were going, and we did.” He helped put the coffin in the hearse, and then rode in the hearse as it took Mrs. Kennedy and the President’s body back to Love Field. Once the former First Lady was settled into the back compartment of Air Force One, he went forward and found a seat, where “I just broke down.” He was very sad but knew he still had a job to do. When Mrs. Kennedy attended Lyndon Johnson’s swearing-in as President, he was standing in the doorway nearby. Air Force One returned to Washington, of course, and he now remembers little of the trip; it seemed he was in shock. He was there when the coffin was removed from Air Force One and was taken by Navy ambulance to Bethesda hospital. He stayed with Mrs. Kennedy while the autopsy was underway, and then returned with her and the body to the White House. He guarded Mrs. Kennedy for another six months but quit after she took an impromptu trip from Chambersburg, Va. to Palm Beach, Fla. with her friend Bunny Mellon. He didn’t have time to pack clothes for warmer weather and decided he had just finally had enough of the frequent travel that Secret Service work required (being on the road an average of 300 days a year). Hill said, “You’ll never quit,” but Landis submitted a one-sentence resignation letter the next time he was in Washington. Hill called him within the hour and said ruefully, “You really did it, didn’t you?” Landis purposefully didn’t read anything about the President’s death until the recent 50th anniversary of the assassination. He has long been reluctant to talk about it, and still seems haunted; he and his fellow Secret Service agents had a mission in Dallas that day but failed to carry it out, he said. He has since spoken to Clint Hill often, and they mutually realized the problems they’ve had over the years were in part because they’d never had the chance to talk through what they saw and experienced in Dallas. He and Hill are now in touch every week or so, and both contributed to the books Mrs. Kennedy and Me and The Kennedy Detail. Landis meets yearly with the association of retired Secret Service agents, and agreed to take part in a Discovery Channel special on the agents who had been in the Kennedy detail, tied to Hill’s book. There were some skeptics of the Warren Commission's findings in the audience. During Q&A, Landis was adamant that the President’s body was not secretly removed from the plane, tampered with and then taken by another route to Bethesda naval hospital, as some conspiracy theorists suggest. Landis submitted a written report to the Warren Commission but wasn’t interviewed by Commission staff, which surprised him at the time. Landis believes that Lee Harvey Oswald was the sole assassin, as alleged by the Commission (“Three shots and Oswald”), but said he did not personally believe the “magic bullet” theory, given Texas Gov. John Connally and his wife’s testimony as to when and how he was hit. He denied that the agents he was with had been drinking the night before the assassination. They got to their hotel in Fort Worth around 11pm, were starving and went looking for something to eat, but did not consume alcohol. He said the Secret Service had no individual radios or walkie-talkies in 1963, but agents relied on hand signals to communicate with each other. They wore sunglasses to shield their eyes and also to keep others from seeing where and at whom they were looking. They were issued standard police revolvers and had some Army surplus M-1 carbines, one of which he carried in a golf bag while protecting President Eisenhower on the links in Gettysburg. It was at his suggestion that the Service got one of the new AR-15 machine guns for field testing, and one was in the followup car in Dallas (and can be seen in the hands of an agent in photos as the motorcade sped towards the hospital). Landis thought very highly of the President and Mrs. Kennedy, who were always friendly and warm with their agents. The first time he saw JFK, he held a door open as the President walked down the Rose Garden colonnade towards the White House residence. The President nodded pleasantly at him and smiled. The next day, when Landis again held the door, JFK asked, “And how are you today, Mr. Landis?”, so the agent knew the President had asked someone who he was and had remembered his name. Landis knew, going to Dallas, that there was considerable hostility towards the President there, but thought, “What’s not to like? It’s personal, not political.” He simply nodded wryly when asked if there were tensions between the Kennedys and the Johnsons, and their respective staffs, as well as between the Secret Service, the FBI and CIA. He has been back to Dallas just twice, the first time in 1983, twenty years after the assassination. He later visited the Sixth Floor Museum with Hill and they quietly joked, “What would these people think if they knew it was us looking around up here?” It was very difficult for him to go back, and he “tried to convince myself there was nothing I could have done” to prevent the assassination. He now believes that averting the tragedy would have been an “impossibility,” given what was known at the time, the President’s outgoing nature and his often-stated reluctance to be surrounded by an imposing phalanx of guards. JFK once jokingly asked, after a group of agents were clustered on the back of his car, for “those Ivy League charlatans” to back off. The bubbletop cover of the limo, which was not bulletproof but might at least have obstructed Oswald’s view or deflected a bullet, was not put on that day given the good weather and the President’s desire to be seen by the Dallas crowds Landis did not keep in touch with Mrs. Kennedy or her children after leaving the Service. He bumped into her on a New York City street around 1970 or so, by happenstance, as her limo pulled up at the salon of Mr. Kenneth, her hair stylist. She was very friendly and greeted him by name. He lived and worked in New York for awhile for a firm which produced TV commercials, and later was briefly a realtor in Massachusetts. He moved back to northeast Ohio in 1975, and is now retired but for his security work for a local historical society. I had the chance to shake his hand, speak briefly with him, and thank him for his service. |
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Singapore's forgotten islands
Aug 03, 2014
Balik Pulau exhibition offers rare glimpse into nation's past and ways of life long lost
By Ho Ai Li
Kusu, Sudong and Lazarus. Even if you have never set foot on these outlying islands of Singapore, chances are you would have heard of them. More so Ubin, Tekong and Sentosa.
But what about Rabbit Island or Pulau Sakra, Sebarok or Sekudu? They don't even exist "on the margins of our mental landscapes", as organisers of the ongoing Balik Pulau (Return To The Islands) exhibition at the National Museum of Singapore so piquantly put it.
Many of the outer islands didn't exist for me until I visited the exhibition recently. Yet, Singapore once had as many as 77 islands, and still has about 40.
Before Singapore became a key node in Britain's global shipping empire, its identity was anchored in a network of islands in the Riau Archipelago.
A series of heritage activities and a Drama Box play this year have helped Singaporeans to reclaim some of these forgotten isles - dozens of which have been lost to the tides of history - and to reimagine Singapore's identity and position.
One significant island lost to us is Pulau Seking. As big as 10 football fields, it was home to the last southern island kampung community before it gave way to a landfill.
Many islanders were said to be descended from the nomadic Orang Selat, or People of the Straits. For centuries, they fished or built boats, although many later became wage-earners as technicians on nearby Pulau Bukom.
Seking had a Malay primary school that closed in the early 1980s, after which its pupils had to commute by motorised sampan to the main island for classes.
By 1994, the last residents - nearly 200 in all - had been relocated from their sea-facing kampung houses on stilts to high-rises on the main island. On their island, there had been no roads, no cars, just a lot of goats.
Provision shopkeeper Teo Yan Teck, 83, was one of the few Chinese on Seking. Interviewed on camera by organisers of the mu-seum exhibition, he was asked how he felt about leaving the island. His face crumpled, and he could only utter a silent cry.
Seking has since been joined to an adjacent island to form Pulau Semakau, a huge landfill for rubbish.
I knew nothing of Seking until I attended a recent talk at the mu-seum, held as part of the Singapore Heritage Festival.
Temasek Polytechnic lecturer Normala Manap, who did an anthropological study on Seking in 1982, said at the talk: "The fact that we have let Seking become a landfill (means) we have lost a big opportunity to get insights into Singapore's roots and history."
Old and young, the islanders had a deep sense of the history of Seking, which got its name from a fable about its founder Yang Meleking. Goats were released by Chinese devotees as an offering to the benefactress, who is said to have battled pirates to found the isle.
As documented in The Sea Nomads by cultural geographer David Sopher, the Riau Archipelago was home to nomadic seafarers, who lived with their families on boats and sailed from one mangrove coast to another. Some were also pirates.
As Ms Normala put it, Seking's residents looked to a wider Malay world than Singapore.
Anthropologist Vivienne Wee, who studied Seking previously and was a panellist at the same talk, said many of its residents would go by sampan to Pulau Pangkil in Bintan to attend relatives' weddings.
Most younger Singaporeans do not know about Seking, partly because there was hardly any public discussion about whether it should be preserved - unlike in the case of Pulau Ubin, home to Singapore's last surviving village community.
Dr Wee noted that former Nominated Member of Parliament Kanwaljit Soin was the only one to question the move to destroy the settlement in Seking, in Parliament in 1993. Dr Wee said turning the island into a landfill was a "demolition and rubbishing" of its history.
Another significant isle whose history could be better known is Pulau Senang. Now known largely as the location for military live-firing exercises, it was a penal settlement from 1960 to 1963, and the site of a bloody riot that took place in 1963.
Older Singaporeans know the incident well, but most younger people do not. I certainly didn't before May this year, when I watched the Drama Box play Senang, about the experimental prison without bars.
In this dramatic retelling, British warden Daniel Dutton experiments with hard work as a way to reform the detainees on Senang. But he becomes increasingly severe in his demands, forcing them to build a jetty in harsh weather on one occasion. An uprising by the detainees on July 12, 1963, led to the deaths of four officers, including Superintendent Dutton, and brought the shutters down on the experiment.
Senang is a reminder of how the islands were natural sites for imprisonment and exile.
Sentosa the tourist magnet used to be called Pulau Belakang Mati and was once a military base.
In 1970, it was renamed Sentosa, which means "peace and tranquillity", from the Sanskrit word Santosha. Long-time political detainee Chia Thye Poh, arrested in 1966, was confined to Sentosa from 1989 until his release in 1992.
Sentosa as we know it today is an amalgamation of several smaller isles, just as petrochemical hub Jurong Island is made up of islands in the Ayer Chawan archipelago.
A short film shown along with the exhibition sums it up well, noting: "The story of Singapore's islands is one of growth, in size and economic significance, and loss, in numbers and nature, as habitats and homes give way to the needs of a modern city."
In 1998, long after many of Singapore's islands had disappeared, then Indonesian president B.J. Habibie dismissed Singapore as being no more than a little red dot.
Singaporeans have since embraced that nickname, using it to underline how this little island nation has transcended size to take its place on the world stage.
But a red dot doesn't show context. Zooming in on our many islands past and present allows us to see mudflats and porcelain shards, and ways of life long forgotten, yet still part of our history.
Balik Pulau exhibition offers rare glimpse into nation's past and ways of life long lost
By Ho Ai Li
Kusu, Sudong and Lazarus. Even if you have never set foot on these outlying islands of Singapore, chances are you would have heard of them. More so Ubin, Tekong and Sentosa.
But what about Rabbit Island or Pulau Sakra, Sebarok or Sekudu? They don't even exist "on the margins of our mental landscapes", as organisers of the ongoing Balik Pulau (Return To The Islands) exhibition at the National Museum of Singapore so piquantly put it.
Many of the outer islands didn't exist for me until I visited the exhibition recently. Yet, Singapore once had as many as 77 islands, and still has about 40.
Before Singapore became a key node in Britain's global shipping empire, its identity was anchored in a network of islands in the Riau Archipelago.
A series of heritage activities and a Drama Box play this year have helped Singaporeans to reclaim some of these forgotten isles - dozens of which have been lost to the tides of history - and to reimagine Singapore's identity and position.
One significant island lost to us is Pulau Seking. As big as 10 football fields, it was home to the last southern island kampung community before it gave way to a landfill.
Many islanders were said to be descended from the nomadic Orang Selat, or People of the Straits. For centuries, they fished or built boats, although many later became wage-earners as technicians on nearby Pulau Bukom.
Seking had a Malay primary school that closed in the early 1980s, after which its pupils had to commute by motorised sampan to the main island for classes.
By 1994, the last residents - nearly 200 in all - had been relocated from their sea-facing kampung houses on stilts to high-rises on the main island. On their island, there had been no roads, no cars, just a lot of goats.
Provision shopkeeper Teo Yan Teck, 83, was one of the few Chinese on Seking. Interviewed on camera by organisers of the mu-seum exhibition, he was asked how he felt about leaving the island. His face crumpled, and he could only utter a silent cry.
Seking has since been joined to an adjacent island to form Pulau Semakau, a huge landfill for rubbish.
I knew nothing of Seking until I attended a recent talk at the mu-seum, held as part of the Singapore Heritage Festival.
Temasek Polytechnic lecturer Normala Manap, who did an anthropological study on Seking in 1982, said at the talk: "The fact that we have let Seking become a landfill (means) we have lost a big opportunity to get insights into Singapore's roots and history."
Old and young, the islanders had a deep sense of the history of Seking, which got its name from a fable about its founder Yang Meleking. Goats were released by Chinese devotees as an offering to the benefactress, who is said to have battled pirates to found the isle.
As documented in The Sea Nomads by cultural geographer David Sopher, the Riau Archipelago was home to nomadic seafarers, who lived with their families on boats and sailed from one mangrove coast to another. Some were also pirates.
As Ms Normala put it, Seking's residents looked to a wider Malay world than Singapore.
Anthropologist Vivienne Wee, who studied Seking previously and was a panellist at the same talk, said many of its residents would go by sampan to Pulau Pangkil in Bintan to attend relatives' weddings.
Most younger Singaporeans do not know about Seking, partly because there was hardly any public discussion about whether it should be preserved - unlike in the case of Pulau Ubin, home to Singapore's last surviving village community.
Dr Wee noted that former Nominated Member of Parliament Kanwaljit Soin was the only one to question the move to destroy the settlement in Seking, in Parliament in 1993. Dr Wee said turning the island into a landfill was a "demolition and rubbishing" of its history.
Another significant isle whose history could be better known is Pulau Senang. Now known largely as the location for military live-firing exercises, it was a penal settlement from 1960 to 1963, and the site of a bloody riot that took place in 1963.
Older Singaporeans know the incident well, but most younger people do not. I certainly didn't before May this year, when I watched the Drama Box play Senang, about the experimental prison without bars.
In this dramatic retelling, British warden Daniel Dutton experiments with hard work as a way to reform the detainees on Senang. But he becomes increasingly severe in his demands, forcing them to build a jetty in harsh weather on one occasion. An uprising by the detainees on July 12, 1963, led to the deaths of four officers, including Superintendent Dutton, and brought the shutters down on the experiment.
Senang is a reminder of how the islands were natural sites for imprisonment and exile.
Sentosa the tourist magnet used to be called Pulau Belakang Mati and was once a military base.
In 1970, it was renamed Sentosa, which means "peace and tranquillity", from the Sanskrit word Santosha. Long-time political detainee Chia Thye Poh, arrested in 1966, was confined to Sentosa from 1989 until his release in 1992.
Sentosa as we know it today is an amalgamation of several smaller isles, just as petrochemical hub Jurong Island is made up of islands in the Ayer Chawan archipelago.
A short film shown along with the exhibition sums it up well, noting: "The story of Singapore's islands is one of growth, in size and economic significance, and loss, in numbers and nature, as habitats and homes give way to the needs of a modern city."
In 1998, long after many of Singapore's islands had disappeared, then Indonesian president B.J. Habibie dismissed Singapore as being no more than a little red dot.
Singaporeans have since embraced that nickname, using it to underline how this little island nation has transcended size to take its place on the world stage.
But a red dot doesn't show context. Zooming in on our many islands past and present allows us to see mudflats and porcelain shards, and ways of life long forgotten, yet still part of our history.
Wanted: A new CPF vision
Aug 03, 2014
Tweaks over the years got in the way of original aim of providing for old age
By Han Fook Kwang, Editor At Large
What is it about the Central Provident Fund (CPF) that has attracted so much public discussion lately?
You would have thought that one of Singapore's most enduring social policies with an almost 60-year history would be well understood and accepted by now.
But debate and misunderstanding persist about its core purpose, how it works and how it affects different people, growing louder and more pronounced in recent months.
The Government has had to give repeated assurances that CPF money belongs to the people even if there are rules about how much can be withdrawn after retirement.
There are advertisements in the newspapers daily explaining how and why the scheme works the way it does.
Yet, talk to people and many don't seem able to grasp what it all means.
Tweaks over the years got in the way of original aim of providing for old age
By Han Fook Kwang, Editor At Large
What is it about the Central Provident Fund (CPF) that has attracted so much public discussion lately?
You would have thought that one of Singapore's most enduring social policies with an almost 60-year history would be well understood and accepted by now.
But debate and misunderstanding persist about its core purpose, how it works and how it affects different people, growing louder and more pronounced in recent months.
The Government has had to give repeated assurances that CPF money belongs to the people even if there are rules about how much can be withdrawn after retirement.
There are advertisements in the newspapers daily explaining how and why the scheme works the way it does.
Yet, talk to people and many don't seem able to grasp what it all means.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Guaranteed rates of CPF due to GIC pooling of funds
If the GIC managed CPF funds as a separate pool, and not together with other government assets, the interest rates that the Government has committed to would be unsustainable, Deputy Prime Minister Tharman Shanmugaratnam told Tuesday’s CPF forum. Mr Tharman was responding to questions from blogger Roy Ngerng, who is being sued by the Prime Minister for defamation. Mr Ngerng fired off four questions and Mr Tharman, who is also Finance Minister, answered them in turn. Here is an edited transcript of the exchange.
ROY NGERNG: Now that we know that the CPF is invested in the GIC, is it also possible to know what is the interest earned in Singapore dollar terms since inception?
Second, Temasek Holdings has said that they do not invest our CPF. The GIC was set up only in 1981, so prior to 1981, how was the CPF used and was it invested in Temasek Holdings?
Third, how much has the Government earned in absolute monetary terms from the excess returns of the CPF and will the Government consider returning some of them to Singaporeans?
Finally, the GIC has said before June this year that they do not know if they invest our CPF because it is not made explicit to them. But in June, the Government admitted that they do. So in the public interest, is it possible to know why the Government made an about-turn?
DPM THARMAN: You asked some factual questions. Did Temasek manage the CPF funds in the past? No. It has never managed CPF funds. Temasek started off with a set of assets which were transferred by the Government at the time of inception – I don’t have the exact figure in my head – but about $400 million worth of assets in the form of a set of companies. It has never received CPF monies to invest.
Before we amended the Constitution in 1992, CPF monies, which were invested in Special Singapore Government Securities (SSGS), could be used by the Government to finance infrastructure – such as road infrastructure, Singapore’s economic infrastructure and social infrastructure. Just like (other) Singapore Government Securities (SGS), the Government was allowed to use borrowings in addition to the revenues it got in its Budget, to finance infrastructural investments. That was the old system.
That changed in 1992. Together with constitutional amendments, we introduced the new Government Securities Act, which disallowed the Government from using borrowings for spending. From then onwards, all borrowings – the SGS, SSGS – have had to be invested.
How are they invested? Prior to the formation of the GIC, it was the MAS (Monetary Authority of Singapore). It was an old-fashioned, central bank investment system. Dr Goh (Keng Swee) changed that, explained why, explained that these are basically longer-term assets, and we should invest them for the longer term. And a significant chunk of reserves that were managed by the MAS was passed back to the Government, which then had the GIC manage them.
After the GIC was set up in the early eighties, it was essentially the GIC that managed CPF assets, but not as CPF assets. It is managing government assets: all government assets put together.
GIC knows it is managing government assets. That is the Government’s mandate for the GIC. The mandate is irrespective of the source of funds it manages, which comprise the SSGS, the SGS, government surpluses, the proceeds from land sales – all government funds. The GIC (hence) pays no regard to what the source of funds is. It just has to meet its mandate: to invest for the long term, take risks, in the hope of achieving good long-term returns, significantly above global inflation.
And that is a real strength of our system, that besides the CPF, we have unencumbered government assets – government assets that don’t have liabilities like the CPF. If the GIC was just managing CPF funds as a CPF fund manager, it would be managed quite differently. To provide a guaranteed interest rate of 4 to 5 per cent of the Special Account, or 2.5 to 3.5 per cent of the Ordinary Account, capital guaranteed and interest rate guaranteed, it would be a very different fund that it would be managing. It would be invested largely in bond securities, and earning returns that are very different from what it is able to earn by investing for the long term in higher-risk assets. Plus, it would mean the interest rates that the Government has committed to would be unsustainable, because it is no longer possible to earn these interest rates on a guaranteed basis, using a bond portfolio. It’s very difficult.
So the GIC manages a pool of government assets, irrespective of sources of the funds. It is the Government that then takes the risk. The Government takes the risk that the performance of the GIC from year to year, sometimes even over five-year periods, may not be adequate for it to meet commitments to the CPF.
The strength of the system is we have assets that exceed our liabilities, that enable us to meet our commitments. And that’s why we’re not just triple-A rated, but we’re able to provide CPF members with a very fair return on a guaranteed basis.
Next question had to do with excess returns. The GIC publishes five-year, 10-year, 20-year returns, and they are easily computed into Singapore dollars. Over the last five years it earned 0.5 per cent in Singdollar terms, over the last 10 years it earned 5 per cent in Singdollar terms, over the last 20 years it earned 5 per cent in Singdollar terms. So those are the facts, but that’s not returns gained from investing CPF monies. That’s returns gained from investing all government assets, including the unencumbered assets. It’s returns gained from investing in higher-risk portfolios for the long term. If it was just CPF monies, it will be a different portfolio and a different set of returns. Every serious financial professional knows that.
Second, Temasek Holdings has said that they do not invest our CPF. The GIC was set up only in 1981, so prior to 1981, how was the CPF used and was it invested in Temasek Holdings?
Third, how much has the Government earned in absolute monetary terms from the excess returns of the CPF and will the Government consider returning some of them to Singaporeans?
Finally, the GIC has said before June this year that they do not know if they invest our CPF because it is not made explicit to them. But in June, the Government admitted that they do. So in the public interest, is it possible to know why the Government made an about-turn?
DPM THARMAN: You asked some factual questions. Did Temasek manage the CPF funds in the past? No. It has never managed CPF funds. Temasek started off with a set of assets which were transferred by the Government at the time of inception – I don’t have the exact figure in my head – but about $400 million worth of assets in the form of a set of companies. It has never received CPF monies to invest.
Before we amended the Constitution in 1992, CPF monies, which were invested in Special Singapore Government Securities (SSGS), could be used by the Government to finance infrastructure – such as road infrastructure, Singapore’s economic infrastructure and social infrastructure. Just like (other) Singapore Government Securities (SGS), the Government was allowed to use borrowings in addition to the revenues it got in its Budget, to finance infrastructural investments. That was the old system.
That changed in 1992. Together with constitutional amendments, we introduced the new Government Securities Act, which disallowed the Government from using borrowings for spending. From then onwards, all borrowings – the SGS, SSGS – have had to be invested.
How are they invested? Prior to the formation of the GIC, it was the MAS (Monetary Authority of Singapore). It was an old-fashioned, central bank investment system. Dr Goh (Keng Swee) changed that, explained why, explained that these are basically longer-term assets, and we should invest them for the longer term. And a significant chunk of reserves that were managed by the MAS was passed back to the Government, which then had the GIC manage them.
After the GIC was set up in the early eighties, it was essentially the GIC that managed CPF assets, but not as CPF assets. It is managing government assets: all government assets put together.
GIC knows it is managing government assets. That is the Government’s mandate for the GIC. The mandate is irrespective of the source of funds it manages, which comprise the SSGS, the SGS, government surpluses, the proceeds from land sales – all government funds. The GIC (hence) pays no regard to what the source of funds is. It just has to meet its mandate: to invest for the long term, take risks, in the hope of achieving good long-term returns, significantly above global inflation.
And that is a real strength of our system, that besides the CPF, we have unencumbered government assets – government assets that don’t have liabilities like the CPF. If the GIC was just managing CPF funds as a CPF fund manager, it would be managed quite differently. To provide a guaranteed interest rate of 4 to 5 per cent of the Special Account, or 2.5 to 3.5 per cent of the Ordinary Account, capital guaranteed and interest rate guaranteed, it would be a very different fund that it would be managing. It would be invested largely in bond securities, and earning returns that are very different from what it is able to earn by investing for the long term in higher-risk assets. Plus, it would mean the interest rates that the Government has committed to would be unsustainable, because it is no longer possible to earn these interest rates on a guaranteed basis, using a bond portfolio. It’s very difficult.
So the GIC manages a pool of government assets, irrespective of sources of the funds. It is the Government that then takes the risk. The Government takes the risk that the performance of the GIC from year to year, sometimes even over five-year periods, may not be adequate for it to meet commitments to the CPF.
The strength of the system is we have assets that exceed our liabilities, that enable us to meet our commitments. And that’s why we’re not just triple-A rated, but we’re able to provide CPF members with a very fair return on a guaranteed basis.
Next question had to do with excess returns. The GIC publishes five-year, 10-year, 20-year returns, and they are easily computed into Singapore dollars. Over the last five years it earned 0.5 per cent in Singdollar terms, over the last 10 years it earned 5 per cent in Singdollar terms, over the last 20 years it earned 5 per cent in Singdollar terms. So those are the facts, but that’s not returns gained from investing CPF monies. That’s returns gained from investing all government assets, including the unencumbered assets. It’s returns gained from investing in higher-risk portfolios for the long term. If it was just CPF monies, it will be a different portfolio and a different set of returns. Every serious financial professional knows that.
[The best part of this all? Roy doesn't understand any of it.]
Party like there's no tomorrow?
Jul 27, 2014
That's the surest way to a self-fulfilling outcome; better if people will the future
With flags going up on buildings, aeroplanes buzzing above our heads and streets being closed for parade rehearsals, it's that time of the year when we bring out the red-and-whites for National Day.
Many have also started to think about how to mark the big 5-0 next year, when the Republic celebrates five decades of independence.
Should Singapore party like there's no tomorrow in 2015, as suggested by Professor Kishore Mahbubani, dean of the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy at the National University of Singapore, in a recent column in this newspaper?
He made the case for a year-long national jamboree this way:
"Why be happy for this one year? The reason is simple. We have had, by any standards, an extraordinarily successful first 50 years. The chances of us being equally successful over the next 50 years are practically zero.
"Since we have had a good run and are about to embark on a more difficult run, let us rest and celebrate before the hard slog. A mountaineering metaphor comes to mind. We have reached a good base camp. Before we climb to higher and more difficult altitudes, let us drink teh tarik and celebrate how far we have come."
No doubt, Prof Mahbubani is right not to underestimate the challenges we face, and to remind Singaporeans not to assume that the road ahead will necessarily be anything like what we have traversed so far.
But as I read his thoughtful column, it also made me pause to ponder: What if the pioneer generation of Singaporeans had taken a similar view? What if they too had looked ahead in 1965 and concluded that the chances of a better future were "practically zero"?
Mind you, this would have been an entirely rational conclusion at the time. Singapore faced a bleak future, with no resources, no hinterland, no defence, and no clear idea of how to make its way in the world after independence was thrust on it out of the blue.
Thank goodness they did not choose to sit back and party for a year or more, but hunkered down instead to the task of eking out a living and securing their future, against all odds. If they had done otherwise, we would not be contemplating how best to mark our 50th National Day.
So it seems to me that for Singaporeans today to look ahead with the notion that their best years are past them is the surest way to ensure a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Put another way, unless we believe in a brighter future and will it to happen, it simply will not.
To be fair to Prof Mahbubani, the flip side of this is also true, of course, and no less worrying. That would be for Singaporeans to look ahead and assume, rather complacently, that continued success is assured, almost our birth-right.
To turn an expression on its head, failure is not an option, and Singapore will prosper, simply because it has always done so.
Both scenarios - assuming that the future can't get any better, or can't possibly be worse - are equally flawed, and risky. They point to the critical importance of getting the national narrative right in the minds of people, both here and abroad, as these could shape our future prospects.
This might best be illustrated by way of a football metaphor. Consider the much lamented 2014 Brazilian World Cup football team.
Despite being the favourites to lift the prized golden trophy, they crashed spectacularly out of the tournament at the semi-finals, in one of the biggest shockers in soccer history.
Here was a team with great football pedigree. Their hopes were buoyed by success at the Confederations Cup the previous year. As hosts, they had homeground advantage, with millions cheering and willing them to victory. Having spent billions on some fine stadiums, the people were expecting a few weeks of dazzling football to culminate in the Cup being lifted by the home team for the first time on Brazilian soil. Failure, in other words, was not an option.
With their talismanic player Neymar injured and their respected captain Thiago Silva disqualified after the quarter-finals, the pressure mounted on the team. They knew they had to win, to give their people the prize they craved. Never mind whether the team had the skill, stamina and mental strength to get the job done.
We all know how this sad story ends. The team choked, and suffered a humiliating 7-1 drubbing by the well-oiled German juggernaut, in front of millions of stunned fans at home and abroad.
The same might be said of the star-studded Spanish team, the defending champions who were humbled 5-1 in their opening game, another result no one saw coming.
How does this apply to Singapore? Well, in some ways, the Republic bears a resemblance to those well-regarded teams. It has had a long run of success, with an enviable record of economic progress and good governance that even other governments talk about. People here and abroad have come to expect Singapore to keep going on and on with its lucky winning streak.
So it might be worth asking the awkward question: Is Singapore at risk of facing the political, economic or social equivalent of an unexpected 7-1 drubbing when we least expect it? How would the country react if this were to happen? Would it be shocked and split, thrashing about in defence, and bewildered as to how best to counter-attack?
No doubt, for many these questions will be uncomfortable, even odd. For the idea that Singapore might falter, flounder, and even fail seems fanciful, perhaps the work of overwrought imaginations or those given to political scaremongering.
Yet, if truth be told, this is a dangerous illusion that some experts have labelled "false certainty".
Of course, such false certainty applies equally to the idea that Singapore cannot fail or that the next 50 years are unlikely to be better than the last.
The best antidote to such misguided sureness, or smugness, about the future would be for Singaporeans to look squarely at their past, rather than sugar-coat it in celebratory fashion, assess their present strengths and weaknesses rationally and dispassionately, while also dreaming big about where they might take the country, provided they have the wit and will to make these plans a reality.
Next year's 50th anniversary is a good opportunity to do just that and many interesting events are being planned. But as I see it, simply partying as if there is no tomorrow is not the best way and instead, the focus of any celebrations should be to achieve three things:
That's the surest way to a self-fulfilling outcome; better if people will the future
With flags going up on buildings, aeroplanes buzzing above our heads and streets being closed for parade rehearsals, it's that time of the year when we bring out the red-and-whites for National Day.
Many have also started to think about how to mark the big 5-0 next year, when the Republic celebrates five decades of independence.
Should Singapore party like there's no tomorrow in 2015, as suggested by Professor Kishore Mahbubani, dean of the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy at the National University of Singapore, in a recent column in this newspaper?
He made the case for a year-long national jamboree this way:
"Why be happy for this one year? The reason is simple. We have had, by any standards, an extraordinarily successful first 50 years. The chances of us being equally successful over the next 50 years are practically zero.
"Since we have had a good run and are about to embark on a more difficult run, let us rest and celebrate before the hard slog. A mountaineering metaphor comes to mind. We have reached a good base camp. Before we climb to higher and more difficult altitudes, let us drink teh tarik and celebrate how far we have come."
No doubt, Prof Mahbubani is right not to underestimate the challenges we face, and to remind Singaporeans not to assume that the road ahead will necessarily be anything like what we have traversed so far.
But as I read his thoughtful column, it also made me pause to ponder: What if the pioneer generation of Singaporeans had taken a similar view? What if they too had looked ahead in 1965 and concluded that the chances of a better future were "practically zero"?
Mind you, this would have been an entirely rational conclusion at the time. Singapore faced a bleak future, with no resources, no hinterland, no defence, and no clear idea of how to make its way in the world after independence was thrust on it out of the blue.
Thank goodness they did not choose to sit back and party for a year or more, but hunkered down instead to the task of eking out a living and securing their future, against all odds. If they had done otherwise, we would not be contemplating how best to mark our 50th National Day.
So it seems to me that for Singaporeans today to look ahead with the notion that their best years are past them is the surest way to ensure a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Put another way, unless we believe in a brighter future and will it to happen, it simply will not.
To be fair to Prof Mahbubani, the flip side of this is also true, of course, and no less worrying. That would be for Singaporeans to look ahead and assume, rather complacently, that continued success is assured, almost our birth-right.
To turn an expression on its head, failure is not an option, and Singapore will prosper, simply because it has always done so.
Both scenarios - assuming that the future can't get any better, or can't possibly be worse - are equally flawed, and risky. They point to the critical importance of getting the national narrative right in the minds of people, both here and abroad, as these could shape our future prospects.
This might best be illustrated by way of a football metaphor. Consider the much lamented 2014 Brazilian World Cup football team.
Despite being the favourites to lift the prized golden trophy, they crashed spectacularly out of the tournament at the semi-finals, in one of the biggest shockers in soccer history.
Here was a team with great football pedigree. Their hopes were buoyed by success at the Confederations Cup the previous year. As hosts, they had homeground advantage, with millions cheering and willing them to victory. Having spent billions on some fine stadiums, the people were expecting a few weeks of dazzling football to culminate in the Cup being lifted by the home team for the first time on Brazilian soil. Failure, in other words, was not an option.
With their talismanic player Neymar injured and their respected captain Thiago Silva disqualified after the quarter-finals, the pressure mounted on the team. They knew they had to win, to give their people the prize they craved. Never mind whether the team had the skill, stamina and mental strength to get the job done.
We all know how this sad story ends. The team choked, and suffered a humiliating 7-1 drubbing by the well-oiled German juggernaut, in front of millions of stunned fans at home and abroad.
The same might be said of the star-studded Spanish team, the defending champions who were humbled 5-1 in their opening game, another result no one saw coming.
How does this apply to Singapore? Well, in some ways, the Republic bears a resemblance to those well-regarded teams. It has had a long run of success, with an enviable record of economic progress and good governance that even other governments talk about. People here and abroad have come to expect Singapore to keep going on and on with its lucky winning streak.
So it might be worth asking the awkward question: Is Singapore at risk of facing the political, economic or social equivalent of an unexpected 7-1 drubbing when we least expect it? How would the country react if this were to happen? Would it be shocked and split, thrashing about in defence, and bewildered as to how best to counter-attack?
No doubt, for many these questions will be uncomfortable, even odd. For the idea that Singapore might falter, flounder, and even fail seems fanciful, perhaps the work of overwrought imaginations or those given to political scaremongering.
Yet, if truth be told, this is a dangerous illusion that some experts have labelled "false certainty".
Of course, such false certainty applies equally to the idea that Singapore cannot fail or that the next 50 years are unlikely to be better than the last.
The best antidote to such misguided sureness, or smugness, about the future would be for Singaporeans to look squarely at their past, rather than sugar-coat it in celebratory fashion, assess their present strengths and weaknesses rationally and dispassionately, while also dreaming big about where they might take the country, provided they have the wit and will to make these plans a reality.
Next year's 50th anniversary is a good opportunity to do just that and many interesting events are being planned. But as I see it, simply partying as if there is no tomorrow is not the best way and instead, the focus of any celebrations should be to achieve three things:
- Help people reflect on what it takes for Singapore to succeed, and how it can continue to have the collective courage, commitment and cohesion to keep alive that old dream of forging "one united people, regardless of race, language or religion, to build a democratic society, based on justice and equality''.
- Provide a lasting legacy to show future generations how we got here. I have proposed previously the idea of creating a Jubilee Park, stretching from the steps of City Hall, across the Padang and all the way to the Esplanade by the Singapore River, with streets closed off to allow people to walk through monuments and markers of the scenes of so much of Singapore's shared history.
- Give people a sense of why and how they might keep up the effort to take Singapore even further, by not only showing the possibilities for better lives in the years to come but also inviting ideas from all on how best to do so.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Let's not open the doors to 'culture wars'
20 July 2014
Differences in values and views shouldn't be depicted as battles of good versus evil
By Sunday With Lydia Lim Political Editor
A friend once told me how excited she was to take part in a demonstration during her travels in America, because she had never seen or experienced one here.
Those were the days when protests were in short supply in Singapore.
Not any more.
Now, mass gatherings of citizens intent on making their views on contentious issues known and heard have become a regular affair at Hong Lim Park and even spilled over to other parts of Singapore.
Indeed, since the start of June, there has been a spike in such activities. In just five weeks, there have been two protests against the Central Provident Fund (CPF) scheme and one against the Prime Minister at Hong Lim Park.
On the last Saturday of June, the park also played host to the annual Pink Dot picnic, a lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender(LGBT) event held to celebrate the "freedom to love" regardless of sexual orientation.
That same weekend, some mosques and churches were the sites of a Wear White campaign that saw Muslims and Christians donning white to counter Pink Dot and oppose the LGBT lifestyle.
Over the past fortnight, the action shifted to the National Library. The atrium of its Victoria Street building was where hundreds of parents and children gathered for a read-in last Sunday to protest against the removal of three children's books, after public complaints that they contained homosexual content.
Are these signs of a maturing democracy? After decades of a much-whispered-about "climate of fear", isn't it a welcome change that a growing number of Singaporeans are now unafraid to make public their stand on issues?
Perhaps.
But I worry that the shift now taking place is one towards a culture of protest and purges that depicts differences in values and of viewpoints as battles of good versus evil.
When that happens, we stop regarding those who disagree with us as fellow citizens who see the world differently. Instead, they become enemies. The aim then must be to defeat them, find ways to discredit them and take them down.
If we head down this path, then even as fears of government reprisal lessen, the fear of what other citizens who disagree with us may do in retaliation will increase.
What contributes to this new culture of fear is a tendency for those who feel strongly about an issue - be it LGBT relationships or the CPF scheme - to talk and plot the next steps of their campaign within closed circles of the like-minded.
Rally cries to stage protests, organised efforts to lobby national agencies to purge public spaces of information one finds offensive, attention-grabbing speeches and withdrawals from public events as a way to pressure the same agencies to recant and take a U-turn. None of these promotes mutual understanding.
The preference for stealth among some groups who move behind the scenes to lobby and pressure, and whose members refuse to come out to engage openly with anyone not seen to be in their camp, is also disturbing.
In the NLB saga, the man who boasted on Facebook that two children's books - And Tango Makes Three and The White Swan Express - were removed within two days of his letter of complaint, shut down contact once news of his post spread beyond the We Are Against Pink Dot group he belonged to.
Later, a group of 80 concerned parents, who resigned from the same group because they objected to the books' removal and to the hate speech circulating, chose to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals.
These are disturbing signs that Singaporeans do not trust each other to discuss and debate issues of public interest in a civil, respectful way.
But stealth and secrecy feed suspicion and conspiracy theories, and further erode trust.
I think it is vital that we as a society strive to keep open the lines of communication between groups who disagree.
If we do not, the conflict over values could well escalate into the "culture wars" that increasingly hinder compromise in several Western democracies, especially in the United States.
Last week, reflecting on the escalation of violence between Israel and Gaza, Israeli writer Nimrod Nir recounted how a Palestinian construction worker saved his life when he was 13 years old and accidentally cut himself so badly at home, that he was "drowning in his own blood".
And he mourned today's breakdown in communication between Jews and Arabs who once lived and worked side by side.
"What I do know is that since ordinary Israelis and Palestinians stopped communicating, we lost sight of all the things that connect, rather than divide, us," he wrote.
"When I tell my younger siblings today that a Palestinian from Gaza saved my life, they're sceptical. They can't even imagine a reality in which Israelis and Palestinians could be in the same room together without killing each other.
"But there was a time when we co-existed and had a deep, direct dialogue. It's nowhere to be found today, and both sides are trapped by their leaders' agendas. As in most wars, each side dehumanises the other.
"The more time passes without contact, the easier it is to forget that there are very similar human beings on the other side."
We in Singapore have entered a new phase in our political development. It is an exciting time that sees many more ordinary citizens stirring from years of apathy.
But as we stand up for what we believe in, let us also remember to listen to those who hold different views, to take seriously their deeply held values and beliefs and to converse with them in a way that builds mutual respect and trust.
For that is the only way we will be able to reach the compromise solutions vital to a healthy democracy.
Differences in values and views shouldn't be depicted as battles of good versus evil
By Sunday With Lydia Lim Political Editor
A friend once told me how excited she was to take part in a demonstration during her travels in America, because she had never seen or experienced one here.
Those were the days when protests were in short supply in Singapore.
Not any more.
Now, mass gatherings of citizens intent on making their views on contentious issues known and heard have become a regular affair at Hong Lim Park and even spilled over to other parts of Singapore.
Indeed, since the start of June, there has been a spike in such activities. In just five weeks, there have been two protests against the Central Provident Fund (CPF) scheme and one against the Prime Minister at Hong Lim Park.
On the last Saturday of June, the park also played host to the annual Pink Dot picnic, a lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender(LGBT) event held to celebrate the "freedom to love" regardless of sexual orientation.
That same weekend, some mosques and churches were the sites of a Wear White campaign that saw Muslims and Christians donning white to counter Pink Dot and oppose the LGBT lifestyle.
Over the past fortnight, the action shifted to the National Library. The atrium of its Victoria Street building was where hundreds of parents and children gathered for a read-in last Sunday to protest against the removal of three children's books, after public complaints that they contained homosexual content.
Are these signs of a maturing democracy? After decades of a much-whispered-about "climate of fear", isn't it a welcome change that a growing number of Singaporeans are now unafraid to make public their stand on issues?
Perhaps.
But I worry that the shift now taking place is one towards a culture of protest and purges that depicts differences in values and of viewpoints as battles of good versus evil.
When that happens, we stop regarding those who disagree with us as fellow citizens who see the world differently. Instead, they become enemies. The aim then must be to defeat them, find ways to discredit them and take them down.
If we head down this path, then even as fears of government reprisal lessen, the fear of what other citizens who disagree with us may do in retaliation will increase.
What contributes to this new culture of fear is a tendency for those who feel strongly about an issue - be it LGBT relationships or the CPF scheme - to talk and plot the next steps of their campaign within closed circles of the like-minded.
Rally cries to stage protests, organised efforts to lobby national agencies to purge public spaces of information one finds offensive, attention-grabbing speeches and withdrawals from public events as a way to pressure the same agencies to recant and take a U-turn. None of these promotes mutual understanding.
The preference for stealth among some groups who move behind the scenes to lobby and pressure, and whose members refuse to come out to engage openly with anyone not seen to be in their camp, is also disturbing.
In the NLB saga, the man who boasted on Facebook that two children's books - And Tango Makes Three and The White Swan Express - were removed within two days of his letter of complaint, shut down contact once news of his post spread beyond the We Are Against Pink Dot group he belonged to.
Later, a group of 80 concerned parents, who resigned from the same group because they objected to the books' removal and to the hate speech circulating, chose to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals.
These are disturbing signs that Singaporeans do not trust each other to discuss and debate issues of public interest in a civil, respectful way.
But stealth and secrecy feed suspicion and conspiracy theories, and further erode trust.
I think it is vital that we as a society strive to keep open the lines of communication between groups who disagree.
If we do not, the conflict over values could well escalate into the "culture wars" that increasingly hinder compromise in several Western democracies, especially in the United States.
Last week, reflecting on the escalation of violence between Israel and Gaza, Israeli writer Nimrod Nir recounted how a Palestinian construction worker saved his life when he was 13 years old and accidentally cut himself so badly at home, that he was "drowning in his own blood".
And he mourned today's breakdown in communication between Jews and Arabs who once lived and worked side by side.
"What I do know is that since ordinary Israelis and Palestinians stopped communicating, we lost sight of all the things that connect, rather than divide, us," he wrote.
"When I tell my younger siblings today that a Palestinian from Gaza saved my life, they're sceptical. They can't even imagine a reality in which Israelis and Palestinians could be in the same room together without killing each other.
"But there was a time when we co-existed and had a deep, direct dialogue. It's nowhere to be found today, and both sides are trapped by their leaders' agendas. As in most wars, each side dehumanises the other.
"The more time passes without contact, the easier it is to forget that there are very similar human beings on the other side."
We in Singapore have entered a new phase in our political development. It is an exciting time that sees many more ordinary citizens stirring from years of apathy.
But as we stand up for what we believe in, let us also remember to listen to those who hold different views, to take seriously their deeply held values and beliefs and to converse with them in a way that builds mutual respect and trust.
For that is the only way we will be able to reach the compromise solutions vital to a healthy democracy.
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