The UNSW Brouhaha

It’s clear that the sudden withdrawal of the UNSW Asia campus from Singapore is a bombshell for several students and teachers, both local and foreign, as well as their families. Much help has come forth from the local universities, and while it is probably true that much of the blame should be assigned to poor planning on the part of the varsity (which our papers from the ST to the New Paper have made incontrovertibly clear so far), I have one point of discontent to air regarding the Singapore government’s response to the abrupt shutting down of the UNSW Asia campus in Singapore. That is something that has not at all been brought to the surface. Admittedly, journalists cannot quite report on silence, but I think there is a rather ugly sound that one can drag out lurking behind the silence, albeit with some analysis.

It is the sheer fact that the government did nothing in its capacity as a government to mitigate the effect of the shut-down on the university’s students. It is clear that the main (if not only) reason for the government’s inaction is that this is a commercial effort made by the UNSW to house a university here. To the government agency most central to the whole project (from bringing the UNSW to Singapore to possible funding so as to purportedly boost Singapore’s reputation as a regional education hub) should be the EDB. However, at least up till now, we have not heard anything from the Board regarding the shut-down. It is almost definitely the case that for EDB, the entry of the UNSW to Singapore is a commercial project. The Board is probably willing to support the university partially, at least partly based on the number of students the university manages to attract to its campus and courses. This is perfectly in line with the EDB’s plans to boost Singapore’s reputation in the tertiary education industry. However, the problem lies precisely in the fact that there is – beyond that commercial commitment – no extension of the mission to make sure that Singapore (with its governmental infrastructure and other forms of support that the state can render) as an education hub will do its best to ensure that aggrieved students who have been subject to sudden major changes in their educational plans (albeit due to poor planning on the part of other parties) will be given sufficient support. The news we hear today of such succour comes from the three main local universities alongside other smaller education institutions like SIM and MDIS.

Herein lies my worry: while it is commendable that the EDB tries so hard all along to bring in investments and further our name as a good environment for education, when we play host to foreign education institutions, there are parties involved (namely the students) who have expressed strong confidence not just in the institutions in question but also in the host country (Singapore, in this case). For the sake of thought experimentation, let me suggest that there is probably a strong case to be made that if UNSW had chosen to house its Asia campus in Manila or even Timor Leste. My point here is that the geographical state location in which a university chooses to establish its foreign branch says a lot about its confidence in the state in question in supporting education purposes. However, if the host organisation (in this case EDB) does little to support the aggrieved customers of the institution in question in times of need, then Singapore’s allure is little more than just that of a pretty box in which one keeps a designer watch. There is no concomitant guarantee that someone will render at least partial repair services to the watch if it is found to be faulty within a certain number of months. The focus of merely bringing in the institution and students for economic gain is too myopic for Singapore’s good. The deafening silence thus far from the state suggests regrettably that so long as the immediate profit motive cannot be met if the state intervenes at this point, no one from the state should intervene. What sort of brand image is the Singapore government projecting to potential students and more importantly, potential universities thinking of coming to Singapore? Can we not provide a financial solution that proffers more flexibility than simply: we cannot fund you further because you have not brought in enough students; this is despite the fact that you have set up campus here and have started but one semester of the first academic year?

As a host country to an education provider whose presence can add heavily to our goals to be a regional education hub, why can’t we do something to help the students and university, and view that as a long-term financial investment to our name and burnish our reputation as a host committed to the development of tertiary education institutions in the region? Already there have been universities that came very close to setting up campuses here, only to cite the want of academic freedom in Singapore as the main reason to leave (one is immediately reminded of the University of Warwick). While it is obvious that such freedoms cannot easily be objectively measured (and I will not split hairs over how free Singapore is academically, but it should be clear that such freedoms are the lifeblood of any self-respecting academic institution, so much so that if the subjective view that Singapore is academically unfree is pandemic in the region or indeed worldwide, then we are going to face severe roadblocks in future if we want to develop our credentials as a regional education hub), if we are unwilling or unable to change the mindsets of those who think like the latter University, we have fewer reasons to bring such institutions into Singapore and the attendant education dollar as well.

All the pandemonia on elitism

The recent debate about elitism and its after-effects in schools in Singapore has been intriguing in more ways than one. Broadly speaking, a ST survey found that students from ‘elite’ schools tend to suffer more from inferiority or superiority complexes vis-à-vis their peers in the other (by definition ‘non-elite’) schools. While it remains unclear what standards one ought to go by to determine if a school is elite (a point that the reports thus far, including the reviews that I’ve come across either explicitly acknowledge is not always lucid, or at least do not deny the difficulty of the question), there seems to be a general consensus that the value of a school that eventually leads it to be or not be an ‘elite’ institution lies in its ability to generate good academic results or bring about successes in the areas of sports, the arts etc. Some worry that because of such purported proclivities in ‘elite’ schools, students in these institutions tend to suffer from all these pathologies and parents, principals and teachers should be solicitous to such phenomena.

Let’s not quibble about the definition value in a school that eventually makes it elite or not. Elitism and elite-ness in Singapore have taken on very unique meanings of their own that may or may not be shared by other English speakers elsewhere, in my opinion. There is almost an air of exclusivity not just in elitism (which is probably a legitimate property of that concept) but also in being an elite. It’s partly due to the gleeful politicization as effected by our political leaders; the scholarship system that is almost crowded out by the state and the attendant implications that those who get the scholarships are considered ‘elite’ desperately narrows the idea of being an elite. In Singapore, being an elite is not just about being the best in your field. It is about being one of the best in the very specific ambit of academic and subsequently public service success. It is hard to understand ‘elite’ in the context of the business setting in Singapore. Sim Wong Hoo, Olivia Lum and even maybe even David Gan, some of the self-made rags-to-riches business celebrities that I have so much reverence for, are successful and especially for the former two, entrepreneurs. Nonetheless, we cannot – in Singapore’s socio-linguistic context – consider them elites, because while ‘political elites’ makes sense, ‘business elites’ is a weakly-linked oxymoron to most minds.

But enough said about the words. I am more taken aback by the point that was raised and I have reproduced in the last line of the first paragraph. Those working closely with the students who tend to be more afflicted by such superiority or inferiority complexes as the survey suggests or portends ought to give more attention to the latter. Parents apparently are also concerned about sending their children to such ‘elite’ institutions because of the propensity for their children to come out either wetting their pants or having a sprained neck from sticking their noses in the clouds for too long. Competition – which they think is at the heart of the problem, given its almost unbridled intense presence and ubiquity in such institutions – is what we need to be careful of. Teenagers (the ST interviewed 15-24 year-olds) to young persons cannot handle competition of that sort, so we must all be very chary about how it moulds them into worse characters.

This is said notwithstanding the obvious fact that these institutions have been churning out successful individuals continually. Of course there are black sheep occasionally, but that’s the case everywhere. Teenagers and young persons in my opinion are a lot hardier than these molly-coddling parents, teachers and counselors in favour of such a prescription think they are. It’s without doubt that the learning will be both in the classroom (in terms of actual course content) and beyond (in terms of learning how to interact with people who have shown themselves to be either doggedly conscientious or very intelligent), and there are those who will learn more slowly, possibly because they tend more to suffer from the alleged complexes, but why should there not be sufficient room for these students to learn all these important skills? Competition that is more intense than that awaits them if they want to be successful in their professional life in future, because they will likely be competing with more intelligent and hardworking persons from all over the world, if the globalisation argument has its way in the labour market this young man or woman is to work in subsequently. Why do we shield them from such competition, or indeed why do we even have to fear it or orchestrate its possible recession from the scenes?

I find this argument from fear an argument from paranoia. And I think this is partly because I see a gross parallel here with the arguments that protectionist governments like to articulate to shield their economies from the forces of competition that constitute the inevitable phenomenon of globalisation. Why should we do that? If farmers from France to S Korea are not bucking up, only if there is a truly indomitable moral or cultural reason to keep them alive despite the inefficiencies should we contemplate protectionism, and even then it shouldn’t be a long-term solution, but one that eases the passage to competitive production. Chirac was clearly in favour of the agrarian heritage of France, and among other things it led to the controversies surrounding France’s high tariffs on agricultural imports. It is emblematic of the French way of life, we are told, and that is probably not without a grain of truth in it. But even if we give him the benefit of the doubt, it is clear that tariffs are not going to be a long term solution, and the inefficiencies will continue to cost the country much to recover. Sarkozy’s election is probably going to be a whiff of fresh air for France, given his manifesto and mandate thus far, but we’ll keep our fingers crossed for now.

It is probably very hard to ever find such strong moral or cultural reasons for protectionism, in my opinion. Politically it is very easy to argue for this conclusion and indeed it is very often the main justification for this backlash from globalization. However, while economics and politics almost always come hand-in-hand, it is my view that politics requires the economics for continuity more than the other way around. Interregna in governance almost always come from penury in the country, and eventually, protectionism regardless of what clout a country has in the international stage will erode the political capital that a ruling party has because of the inevitable loss that the country has to suffer from protecting its industries.

Indian banks are an exception. To date, several Indian banks are still protected by the Indian government, but thankfully as has been evinced by the general spirit of the Indian government thus far, this move is taken only to streamline the local financial industry and bring forth the best few to compete in the world market. The eye of the government in this endeavour continues to be focused on preparing the banks for globalization and the ensuing competition, and protectionism in that sense is a means to that end which the government has not forsaken or hidden away from.

But look at our students. What moral or cultural reason can there possibly be to protect them from competition? And this debate is not even one that stems from the more intense competition when we bring in the best of their peers from all over the world. If individuals are to be denied the right to know how difficult it can be to compete with the best in their country at a young age, it is going to be a Herculean task for them to recover from the shock when they hit the labour market later. It is that denial of knowledge – in my opinion – that screams out for a moral justification, not the other way round. And culturally (or even historically, for that matter), we pride ourselves for being competitive. We like to think that we built this country based purely on our brains, based on competing first with our ASEAN neighbours and now increasingly with more countries in the world. Despite the odds, we like to think we have made it. Why now are we shying away from what ought to be the hormones for competition in our blood?

When I was in TCHS, there was a massive debate in the Chinese papers about whether PRC students coming into Singapore were posing unhealthy or even unfair competition to our Singaporean youngsters. They were more eloquent in their first language and obviously in Chinese exams and competitions, they would fare so much better. Eventually – so the argument goes – it becomes a competition largely for Chinese candidates and Singaporean students are unfairly left out. What’s the implication? To either boot the Chinese students out or set up a separate ‘enclave’ for Singaporean students and competitors to compete amongst themselves? If you ask me, the unfairness comes only when we leave the Chinese competitors out. There’s no way in which we can avoid the truth that the Chinese in the status quo will be better than us in most things Chinese (I won’t say all because I’ve come across too many Chinese PhD students in Oxford who hardly know anything about the Dream of the Red Mansions, inter alia), but does this ipso facto imply that we are going to cower in fear and wait for some panacea to come to us and solve the problem leaving everyone amicable?

I suspect that we are suggesting all these ideas to cosset our youth because of this syndrome that too many parents share: that of molly-coddling their children and confusing the boundaries between the private and public. We hear screaming and generally obnoxious children creating racket after racket in public spaces like restaurants and shopping complexes, dins which I think ought to be left only at home. Such behaviour is obviously uncalled for, usually regardless of the child’s age after he/she reaches P1. My time in the UK, US and China didn’t give me such headaches, despite our stereotypical prejudices of American kids being spoilt brats and Chinese children being kings of the household. I am honestly unsure if these children are badly behaved at home, but even if they are, they are (by and large) almost indubitably more well-behaved in public spaces than our Singaporean cluster bombs are.

This tendency in parents has translated – I suspect – into the kind of calls we read about in the papers today for students of elite institutions or indeed students who face such complexes to be given more care and attention. My take is that those who are not given the privilege to face such competition should be given more opportunities to know what ‘competition’ means today, not the other way around. Children of Singaporean parents in Singapore really need to be given that break from this almost fanatical and overbearing protection (for want of a better word) that their parents are brimming with. I dread to think what’s going to happen one or two generations later when they grow up and pule about how the going is so tough out there. Before we know it, we’ll be gone.

Melt of Dawn

In trickles, you are simple as your hands
smooth, retiring, translucent, round:
you are the lingering lavender of the woods in dreams of night
you are slender, slender as the trickle of stream in the break of spring

You are blue as the velvet night of Cuba
you still keep stars and moonshine in your hair
but quickly you are flowing
like the gleaming rays of a church in summer

You stroke gently the deep opal of your history
and as it falls away you curve into the light
till the day is born as naked as you are
the wisps you fondle
stretched across the canvas that you are
and the silence begins
to sing of birdsong

寻庙

寂寞
没有了伴侣
犹如没有了对话的寄托
突然间如果我是华佗
存亡就是失了药方的困惑

不愿走上熄灯的月台
不愿光顾打烊了的便利店
或许只在自身腻人的繁杂中
才找回自己语塞后我
顿时的净土

泪湿罗衣空楼满。四叠阳关，唱到千千遍。人道山长山又断。潇潇微雨闻孤馆。
惜别伤离方寸乱。忘了临行，酒盏深和浅。好把音书凭过雁。东莱不似蓬莱远。

So it has been a time of jittery expectations and mis-expectations. When one’s boss loses her mind and begins to shoot random commands with her not quite know what she really wants to do. Arguably, this has been the case since I stepped into the blighted office that is my workplace now. Nonetheless, the intensity is in a rather morbid sense commendable, and getting increasingly out of hand.

I am waiting right now, in various senses of the word, for various things. But foremost in my mind is the ominous sense of dread, that I will – without any reason that has thus far been made known to me – be required to stay back tomorrow and on Thursday night. I know and I have been proselytizing that there is a myriad of things in the organisation that I am compelled to breathe and serve in that we cannot, are not expected to and are precisely paid not to understand. When a Second Lower Econs major from NUS who is your boss talks to you about the economics of conscription, in order to justify her conviction that your existence makes economic sense, and that everything that she is firing away makes economic sense and is the most efficient way of doing things, you sometimes wish you’re not from Oxford (and wish especially that you didn’t ever do economics there), because it is precisely in the spirit of that tradition that you are impelled to question, and find the gaping lacuna that screams silence at you in her argument. You shudder at such grotesque imprecations of logic, you wish you could think you didn’t understand her, and if you’re lucky, you swallow everything in slowly enough so that by the time the nonsense settles in, you are allowed to go back finally to your cubicle to continue working.

But that’s not all. I am not intending to put this forth as a boss-bashing banquet. I am more interested in life beyond the banquet. I have been thinking of my ORD, of my time out of this breathing hell-hole and the trip(s) I can make before I finally go. I am thinking of my hitherto-unknown successor, how my life will be salvaged from the living tongues of hell and how I can begin to make my speedy exit. There are tough times ahead, but I trust that I can go out in one piece, and that I shall never need to see nor pity this headless chicken of a boss ever again.

I’ve abandoned my blogging for many weeks now, in fact in the measure of months. But that’s also in line with the fact that I’ve abandoned many things. I’ve abandoned introspection, I’ve abandoned some friends, I’ve abandoned the cello and music and many things that used to ossify into my very bone. But one thing I’ve tried to pick up again is reading. Perhaps – because of the substantial difference of my current reading habits which I am trying to cultivate – one might say that this isn’t picking up something that I left behind. I used to read, but read randomly, sporadically. I never quite had a big picture in mind when I read. I just read whatever that came my way that I found interesting or simply had to read. Then came university, when I had interminable lists of readings which I only covered a measly fraction of, consistently. And I rarely had time for any other sorts of readings except the musings of the occasional witty The Guardian writer on Sundays, the bored Chicagoan or Lonely Planet before and when I went on trips. Of course, the always-intriguing museum artifact description pieces kept me spell-bound often and time was always a liar when you looked at the watch before you step in and that last time after which you definitely needed to fly out in a hurry. But I didn’t go far beyond philosophy, beyond my immediate academic interests in Oxford and the US. I tried to go into politics and IR, and have now some stomach for current and political affairs, and since late last year, have been dipping a toe or two into the pool of history. Political history and history to me were almost synonymous for a long time, but thankfully, my ephemeral swim in philosophy in Oxford taught me that history in art, architecture and especially in ideas can be relatively self-sufficient and need not live on the life-support system that is political history. Sure politics pervades and pervaded much of our life, but similarly, art, philosophy and the rest were actuators of change too in the political scene. So I decided to learn more about Shakespeare (starting with my fetishised obsessions over tragedies), fiction in general (starting with the beautifully ironic The Inheritance of Loss which continues to baffle me with its overriding theme of chaos and fragmentation of the self by politics, memories and the humble chapatti) and the histories of ideas and civilization. It’s definitely my bias, but I often wonder just how important individuals as have been reified by political historians can be as one goes deeper and deeper into the past. Do we really care about the tantrums of some random King or Queen in the 15th century just so that we know ourselves today better? Wouldn’t an understanding of the ideas that pervaded that period that continue to have a hold on us today indirectly or not be more important? Probably predicated on my own understanding of society as a culmination of ideas as bubbled forth in the cauldron that is the history of philosophy, I believe more strongly in understanding how ideas came about and form sequences in the current chain of events to see why we are where we are today.

But that’s really the focus of my own narcissistic world for now. And that’s partly because I’m still floating around not being quite sure about where I am going to be and what I’ll be doing. It’s all part of this bell jar that has been capped over our heads. For two and a half years, our lives are forfeit, frozen and fried, all at once. We have no say over our destiny (in fact, the fact that we ought to have no say becomes a justification very often for what happens to us, as people in my line of service currently can attest to), and our lives are in that sense forfeit. Our time is frozen because we can’t do very much beyond existing as pawns on a chessboard of slime that catches our feet every once in a while. Our lives are fried because when time stands still and you have no say, you can’t quite be too happy without having lost your mind. We are (or at least I am) painfully reminded that we are covered by no labour laws, so we can’t even turn to some union or just the court for protection. And we are (or at least I am) not reminded that we are paid an allowance (and here’s where the law suddenly comes into the picture, like a rabbit out of a hat), which justifies our not being entitled to any bonuses or CPF contributions. The law of civilian society flits in and out of our lives like a flirtatious prostitute, eager only to whet our appetites but aware that nothing will come out of the exchanges. In short, while we are not protected by labour laws, according to labour laws, we are not entitled to bonuses or CPF contributions. Oh dear I wish I didn’t manage to articulate this so starkly (and here’s one instantiation when one should not think too much. In fact, I might venture to say that one is paid not to think about this).

Enough said. I can only continue to wait, wait for the number to fall on a daily basis, until I begin to see at least a whisper of light at the end of the tunnel.

Depression is very often an obsession over a party of pity, an indulgence in one’s laggard and lacklustre life.

Since I came back to this country, much has happened that has taught me at least a trifle about what it means to be subject to the vagaries of an ostensibly rational system. There are too many dark crevices that I had to creep into for survival, only to be cognisant of yet uglier secrets. For purposes of my own wellbeing, I am not about to parade anything on this street, just in case there are eyes fixated on my every word and whim. A lot of what happened I have been quite honest about with myself, and a lot of time was spent cogitating either alone or with a select group of persons over the likely implications of all these ineffable grotesques that have come into my visual field. As it is, I guess partly due to my yet-to-expire youth, I like to think that I have a good number of years ahead and not everything has to end and collapse on me just because I have had a few setbacks of late.

I don’t know if I came out of the whole organizational tempest (am I even properly out of the domain of the storm?) stronger or yet more depressed. I am tempted either way to be honest. When a couple of friends told me casually that I was probably suffering from clinical depression while I was overseas, I already had that impression that depressed people (excepting the true geniuses, gifts of whom test the linguistic communicability of kudos) are just self-indulgent masochists who celebrate their bouts of neuroses as a sickly but nonetheless aesthetic expression of life. It is true that life has its ups and downs, and those who have a certain view of life, ethics, morality and beauty may have a penchant for materialising life into a series of actions and words caught in a time series, and articulating that ideal of beauty that is married inextricably to the dilemmas of the good life and the right actions through repeated declarations of self-deprecation and histrionics; at least, that’s what my ‘depression’ has been like.

In short therefore, when I was down overseas, I never quite had a good opinion of myself. In fact, I almost had no room except that for opprobrium. As it is, I chose and still choose to take a deflated view of myself to start, which is probably a safer route to take than unbridled megalomania. Nonetheless, as I have heard some friends advise me before, it is one thing to be modest, and quite another to hate oneself and be disgusted with the accolades that others see with my name but remain existentially diaphanous in my own consciousness more often than not: they are admittedly there, but really are not worth much mention. To me however, it’s a thin line, but more importantly, I’m sometimes drawn to the edge like a moth is drawn to the very same candlelight that will reduce it to ashes. It’s just that perhaps I’ve been terribly fortunate so far, and things never quite got out of hand ever.

I mean to say more, but it is late and I want to do some reading now. Hence, excuse me for my departure, but I will return.