I'm back from Taiwan, after two weeks of stuff that I can't write about here but three days of R and R that I certainly will post on because it was so cool and a great change from the usual run of things. I'll write more about it when I get the pictures from my friend Melvin, who brought his camera and took more than 300 photographs around Taipei! He took so many that he had to pop by a photo studio along the way twice to get the pictures on his memory stick burned onto CD so he could continue taking more.
However, home is still the best place to be, despite all the things we usually complain about when we've been around too long. Travelling is a good thing because it makes you realise what you have that you can't get outside, and it's not just the food that I'm talking about. Singaporeans always make a big song and dance about how the one thing they miss about home is the food, but I think that's because it's a national characteristic that we don't talk too much about touchy feely issues -- things that really touch our hearts and make us cry. Things like how being home means being with family and loved ones, how Singapore's so small that seeing relatives is just a fifteen minute cab ride and not a 2 day series of connecting flights, how the traffic actually stops for you at the crossings, how serial murderers strangle kittens and not people. There are so many reasons to love home, regardless of one's political persuasion, but our nation's chronic inarticulateness and need for concrete, material signposts means that we simply end up saying that we miss the food and leave it at that.
Yesterday I had the chance to meet my kindergarten teacher again; my mother works in Simei now, near the kindergarten I used to attend and where she still teaches, so she bumped into her a few times and came to mention that I hadn't seen her in ages. Since I had the day off anyway I said yes and went along with her. It was like being brought to school for the first time all over again. It's been so long that I can hardly remember what she looked like. According to my mother she hasn't changed much at all, so I should go have a look at my old photographs. Seeing all the kids in her class reminded me of my younger days. One thing I recall quite clearly, for some reason, is that I once spelt 'skirt' wrongly for a test. And all the strife in the classroom: fighting over toys, things, and other kiddy stuff. The children in her class seemed quite docile, and they were so cute when they clustered at the door to see who their teacher was talking to. To think I was once their age and size! It feels really odd, somehow, to consider that. Perhaps I would have been the boy lost to himself in the corner staring at his feet while lying on his back. But it was nice to reminisce, though all those years in between meant it was really hard to say anything: too many things to catch up on. Coincidentally, two of my former classmates had come back to see her just a few days ago: they're in university now. I doubt I'd recognise them if I saw them, and perhaps I have seen them around in the street. It would be cool to meet all of them again.
Today I also met my cousin who now lives in the US. She returned to visit her parents and sister with her husband. The last time I saw her I was probably six or seven and my sister was one, so it's another case of plenty of catching up. But it was easier, perhaps, with my other cousin (her sister) as an intermediary of sorts, and the whole familiy talking together.
With all these memories, and people from the past resurfacing, it's hard not to think about where I'd be in the future. It's certainly difficult to tear oneself away from home, and the sheer familiarity of the streets and the way things work, right down to the odd looks people give you when you act different, make it hard to think that I'd ever stray away from home for very long. Certainly the world has to be seen, and I'm raring to go see it, but like a boomerang, and because the world is round as a pear, I'd have to come back one day and probably, certainly will.
29 April 2006
12 April 2006
Flying Hair Club
According to the BBC, Islamist MPs in Pakistan are protesting the forced early retirement of an air force officer who refused to trim his long beard, saying that he was victimised by secularist forces, and by implication claiming that religious life is under threat. The explanation by the air force, that long beards cause oxygen masks to malfunction, was simply brushed aside amid the furor.
Perhaps they should think a bit more about what that means. It means that if his beard is too long, and he is flying at high altitude, his facial hair might compromise the seal of the mask around his face and cause the oxygen supply to leak. When the mask malfunctions, he will die and the plane will crash. It is ridiculous to claim that 'secularists' are actively persecuting the religious who wish to maintain their beards. On the contrary: they are actively aiding their cause by keeping them grounded so that they will not die. If every long-bearded pilot was allowed to fly then soon there would not be any long-bearded pilots left, and then the aforementioned MPs might cry foul and ask why the air force had no long-bearded pilots -- were they being actively excluded and discriminated against? The answer, in that case, is simply the invisible hand of natural selection acting upon a trait (beards) that is disadvantageous in the aerial environment. The Pakistani air force is merely saving them from themselves.
Perhaps they should think a bit more about what that means. It means that if his beard is too long, and he is flying at high altitude, his facial hair might compromise the seal of the mask around his face and cause the oxygen supply to leak. When the mask malfunctions, he will die and the plane will crash. It is ridiculous to claim that 'secularists' are actively persecuting the religious who wish to maintain their beards. On the contrary: they are actively aiding their cause by keeping them grounded so that they will not die. If every long-bearded pilot was allowed to fly then soon there would not be any long-bearded pilots left, and then the aforementioned MPs might cry foul and ask why the air force had no long-bearded pilots -- were they being actively excluded and discriminated against? The answer, in that case, is simply the invisible hand of natural selection acting upon a trait (beards) that is disadvantageous in the aerial environment. The Pakistani air force is merely saving them from themselves.
Dialect Use
Our favourite Singaporean English-language broadsheet has a front-page article on dialect use in China. The Chinese broadcasting authorities are concerned about the excessive use of dialect on television, and have introduced measures to vet programmes with dialect content. They expect programmes to be in Mandarin, or Putonghua, and frown upon dialect terms and accents seeping in to 'contaminate' the speech in broadcasts.
In this respect, China's broadcasters are moving in the opposite direction from other large broadcasting companies, which are increasingly embracing linguistic diversity. Where one might have heard only the crisp Received Pronunciation or BBC English on the World Service some years ago, one now hears a large range of twangs and tongues of accents Scottish to Jamaican. But where commercial broadcasters might want to diversify the sounds they transmit because of a conscious policy of representation or to increase regional viewership, the government broadcasting authority in China wishes to homongenise the language spoken in public for more complex reasons.
One important reason is political stability. China's size makes it appear monolithic in the eyes of external observers, but it has considerable cultural heterogeneity within its borders. Cultural differences may, in the fears of the central government, translate to sectarianism and provinces wishing to break away from Beijing's control. While it seems quaint when the Mandarins in Beijing object to Shanghainese TV shows, it is a more serious matter when Tibetans start speaking, well, Tibetan. The article quotes a Professor Shao Peiren of Zhejiang University, who says that 'the resurgence of dialects, abetted by broadcasters, is threatening national cohesion.' The use of the Minnan dialect as a badge of identity by the Taiwanese was then raised as an example of how dialects can be dangerous.
Another possibility is simply class and cultural prejudice. Mr Guan Xiang, a Cantonese coach from Guangdong feels that 'the message is that dialects are vulgar, backward, and undesirable.' With Mandarin being the speech of high officials, other dialects have long been seen as provincial and unsophisticated. This attitude has a long tradition, ironically emphasised by the Chinese government's insistence on calling Mandarin Putonghua, to maintain proletarian appearances and confound the impression that Mandarin is the speech of the elite.
So what does this have to do with Singapore's dialect policy? Our government's rationale is that dialect use will interfere with the learning of standard Mandarin Chinese by students in schools, should they speak one thing in school and then speak another at home. A secondary economic argument has been appended to the pedagogical one, that in doing business with China, a close knowledge of standard Putonghua is important, while dialect use would impair that.
Therefore, China's policy on dialects has no bearing on Singapore's, and one cannot be used to justify (by association) the other. China's language and cultural policy is based on interests of national unity, on the political need to maintain the system of centralised power. Dialects, being regional codes and by definition exclusive to outsiders, generate suspicion from those being excluded and are seen as being centrifugal forces. Singapore, on the other hand, wants to strike down dialect use because it has a negative impact on our ability to do business with other Chinese communities.
Personally, though, I feel that dialect use in Singapore should not be so closely regulated: dialect programming is virtually nonexistent on our TV and radio, being limited to a few specialist outlets, in particular cable Rediffusion radio. The danger of dialect overwhelming our ability to speak Mandarin Chinese is overstated: dialect use has been cut back so greatly that now it is primarily the older generation that can speak it. As some young local writers and poets have attested, being inconversant in dialect only widens the generational divide between youth and the elderly, limiting conversations to polite platitudes and a few stock phrases. This, of course, is contradictory to our social policy on the role of the family as the fundamental unit of society. More so than our bricks-and-mortar monuments, the unique assemblage of dialects in Singapore makes it Uniquely Singapore, something to be cherished and preserved, rather than swept under the carpet. Neither can we hope to rejuvenate dialect speaking in Singapore simply by importing teachers from the appropriate provinces in China. Our dialects have been enriched by borrowing from other languages, a direct testament to our multi-racial community. For instance, ba sha for market is not standard Chinese (that being shi chang) but a phonetic rendering of the Malay pasar. One might speak of using the jamban, and children are told to behave otherwise the mata might catch them. Borrowings have gone the other way, too, and both Malays and Chinese believe in the efficacy of doing things kongsi.
So much talk has been, well, talked about Singlish and how it is a badge of Singaporean identity. Here is another instance of something that could have only developed in Singapore, and it would be a national shame if we would let it disappear simply because of faulty philological instinct in considering Mandarin to be 'purer', or because of youth thinking it declasse to speak their dialect.
In this respect, China's broadcasters are moving in the opposite direction from other large broadcasting companies, which are increasingly embracing linguistic diversity. Where one might have heard only the crisp Received Pronunciation or BBC English on the World Service some years ago, one now hears a large range of twangs and tongues of accents Scottish to Jamaican. But where commercial broadcasters might want to diversify the sounds they transmit because of a conscious policy of representation or to increase regional viewership, the government broadcasting authority in China wishes to homongenise the language spoken in public for more complex reasons.
One important reason is political stability. China's size makes it appear monolithic in the eyes of external observers, but it has considerable cultural heterogeneity within its borders. Cultural differences may, in the fears of the central government, translate to sectarianism and provinces wishing to break away from Beijing's control. While it seems quaint when the Mandarins in Beijing object to Shanghainese TV shows, it is a more serious matter when Tibetans start speaking, well, Tibetan. The article quotes a Professor Shao Peiren of Zhejiang University, who says that 'the resurgence of dialects, abetted by broadcasters, is threatening national cohesion.' The use of the Minnan dialect as a badge of identity by the Taiwanese was then raised as an example of how dialects can be dangerous.
Another possibility is simply class and cultural prejudice. Mr Guan Xiang, a Cantonese coach from Guangdong feels that 'the message is that dialects are vulgar, backward, and undesirable.' With Mandarin being the speech of high officials, other dialects have long been seen as provincial and unsophisticated. This attitude has a long tradition, ironically emphasised by the Chinese government's insistence on calling Mandarin Putonghua, to maintain proletarian appearances and confound the impression that Mandarin is the speech of the elite.
So what does this have to do with Singapore's dialect policy? Our government's rationale is that dialect use will interfere with the learning of standard Mandarin Chinese by students in schools, should they speak one thing in school and then speak another at home. A secondary economic argument has been appended to the pedagogical one, that in doing business with China, a close knowledge of standard Putonghua is important, while dialect use would impair that.
Therefore, China's policy on dialects has no bearing on Singapore's, and one cannot be used to justify (by association) the other. China's language and cultural policy is based on interests of national unity, on the political need to maintain the system of centralised power. Dialects, being regional codes and by definition exclusive to outsiders, generate suspicion from those being excluded and are seen as being centrifugal forces. Singapore, on the other hand, wants to strike down dialect use because it has a negative impact on our ability to do business with other Chinese communities.
Personally, though, I feel that dialect use in Singapore should not be so closely regulated: dialect programming is virtually nonexistent on our TV and radio, being limited to a few specialist outlets, in particular cable Rediffusion radio. The danger of dialect overwhelming our ability to speak Mandarin Chinese is overstated: dialect use has been cut back so greatly that now it is primarily the older generation that can speak it. As some young local writers and poets have attested, being inconversant in dialect only widens the generational divide between youth and the elderly, limiting conversations to polite platitudes and a few stock phrases. This, of course, is contradictory to our social policy on the role of the family as the fundamental unit of society. More so than our bricks-and-mortar monuments, the unique assemblage of dialects in Singapore makes it Uniquely Singapore, something to be cherished and preserved, rather than swept under the carpet. Neither can we hope to rejuvenate dialect speaking in Singapore simply by importing teachers from the appropriate provinces in China. Our dialects have been enriched by borrowing from other languages, a direct testament to our multi-racial community. For instance, ba sha for market is not standard Chinese (that being shi chang) but a phonetic rendering of the Malay pasar. One might speak of using the jamban, and children are told to behave otherwise the mata might catch them. Borrowings have gone the other way, too, and both Malays and Chinese believe in the efficacy of doing things kongsi.
So much talk has been, well, talked about Singlish and how it is a badge of Singaporean identity. Here is another instance of something that could have only developed in Singapore, and it would be a national shame if we would let it disappear simply because of faulty philological instinct in considering Mandarin to be 'purer', or because of youth thinking it declasse to speak their dialect.
11 April 2006
Some Random Things
A headline on the BBC news website caught my eye: 'New working life peers unveiled'. What on earth is a 'working' life peer? How different is such a peer from any other person in the House of Lords? One can easily imagine the second clause in the headline that was lost in editing: 'Old, broken life peers quietly discarded'. As it turns out, working peers are those nominated by political parties rather than chosen by an independent commission. The reason for the media's interest is the recent controversy of people who had made substantial secret loans to political parties being nominated for peerage.
Speaking of politics, an opinion article in today's Straits Times by Tom Plate riled me a bit. (No link here because ST online is for subscribers only.) Essentially, he states that multi-party democracy is not necessarily the 'panacea to all ills' (tautology!). He goes on to list examples of where this model of governance has failed or wavered, namely Thailand and the Philippines, both of which have experienced some unrest lately, and an example of a country governed by a 'strongman' which has done very well, viz. Singapore. Plate's contention is that practices of 'good governance' are more important than the form which government takes. He then rounds up his argument by observing that China and Vietnam, both professedly Communist states, have set up public policy schools to train their government officials: a puzzling situation to him, because shouldn't the party already be 'the fount of all wisdom'?
Unfortunately, merely listing examples of the failure of multi-party democracy and counting successes (and only one, at that!) is a misleading way of conducting an argument, as pointed out by Carl Sagan in his essay 'The Fine Art of Baloney Detection'. For each example of 'failed' multi-party democracies one can cite other examples of countries that are doing very well on that model. And in contrast to Singapore, not every one-party state has been fortunate in having a leader with enough savvy to make it an economic success; Zimbabwe comes to mind, if only because the BBC has a running feud with it. Ironically, Plate's second contention, that good governance matters, rehabilitates his faulty 'evidence' for the failure of multi-party democracy. Whether a country succeeds or fails doesn't appear to depend so much on what political system it nominally follows as whether the right people are in power, i.e. whether it enjoys 'good governance'.
However, the writer is quite silent as to what constitutes good governance, other than the general feel-good understanding that it will make everyone pull up their socks and stop being inefficient and corrupt. His observation on Vietnam setting up a public policy school of its own supplies part of the answer which he could not see: good governance requires a diversity of opinion as to what constitutes good public policy. When the party's internal mechanism falls short when it comes to formulating and studying policy, external institutions such as, you guessed it, public policy schools play a role in providing feedback to those who govern. Strongmen are not necessarily always smart and with their 'hearts in the right place', as Plate optimistically hopes they might be. The history of political revolution shows that dull and unkind people with only their own ends in mind can just as easily cajole or force their way into power: political astuteness is a trait that is independent from moral virtue or economic foresight. In theory, multi-party democracy acts as a system of checks and balances, where different parties represent different views and the fight for the people's hearts and minds ensures that only the best or at least the most popular policy gets put into action. But danger lurks wherever power and influence are concerned, where politicking grossly overgrows its original role as a barometer of opinion and becomes an end unto itself. On the other hand, one-party rule or monarchical rule can succeed where there is goodwill between the rulers and the ruled, and where policy is formulated with adequate discussion and debate, both within the party and by actively soliciting the advice of the public and external experts.
To conclude, let us learn from the lessons of two neighbouring kingdoms, the kingdoms of Nepal and Bhutan, one of which is experiencing rebel uprisings, anti-monarchical sentiment, and martial law, while the other is peaceful despite having closed itself off to the outside world for most of its modern history. In Nepal, King Gyanendra's direct rule, which he justifies by pointing to the failure of the previous government to stop Maoist rebellions and by promising to reinstate democracy at a future date, has resulted in resentment and mass protests as the armed forces are used to control the population. In Bhutan, King Wangchuk's announcements of his abdication and the introduction of democratic reforms were met with appeals for him to stay on. Bhutan's political dissent, while not nonexistent, is not nearly as violent as that in Nepal, and its problems are primarily economic, as it opens up to the realities of modern trade and commerce. One might argue that Bhutan is not necessarily better off than Nepal, because of these problems, but at least with a peaceful home front they can be tackled properly: can useful anything be accomplished over the frenzy of street riots and the sting of tear gas?
Speaking of politics, an opinion article in today's Straits Times by Tom Plate riled me a bit. (No link here because ST online is for subscribers only.) Essentially, he states that multi-party democracy is not necessarily the 'panacea to all ills' (tautology!). He goes on to list examples of where this model of governance has failed or wavered, namely Thailand and the Philippines, both of which have experienced some unrest lately, and an example of a country governed by a 'strongman' which has done very well, viz. Singapore. Plate's contention is that practices of 'good governance' are more important than the form which government takes. He then rounds up his argument by observing that China and Vietnam, both professedly Communist states, have set up public policy schools to train their government officials: a puzzling situation to him, because shouldn't the party already be 'the fount of all wisdom'?
Unfortunately, merely listing examples of the failure of multi-party democracy and counting successes (and only one, at that!) is a misleading way of conducting an argument, as pointed out by Carl Sagan in his essay 'The Fine Art of Baloney Detection'. For each example of 'failed' multi-party democracies one can cite other examples of countries that are doing very well on that model. And in contrast to Singapore, not every one-party state has been fortunate in having a leader with enough savvy to make it an economic success; Zimbabwe comes to mind, if only because the BBC has a running feud with it. Ironically, Plate's second contention, that good governance matters, rehabilitates his faulty 'evidence' for the failure of multi-party democracy. Whether a country succeeds or fails doesn't appear to depend so much on what political system it nominally follows as whether the right people are in power, i.e. whether it enjoys 'good governance'.
However, the writer is quite silent as to what constitutes good governance, other than the general feel-good understanding that it will make everyone pull up their socks and stop being inefficient and corrupt. His observation on Vietnam setting up a public policy school of its own supplies part of the answer which he could not see: good governance requires a diversity of opinion as to what constitutes good public policy. When the party's internal mechanism falls short when it comes to formulating and studying policy, external institutions such as, you guessed it, public policy schools play a role in providing feedback to those who govern. Strongmen are not necessarily always smart and with their 'hearts in the right place', as Plate optimistically hopes they might be. The history of political revolution shows that dull and unkind people with only their own ends in mind can just as easily cajole or force their way into power: political astuteness is a trait that is independent from moral virtue or economic foresight. In theory, multi-party democracy acts as a system of checks and balances, where different parties represent different views and the fight for the people's hearts and minds ensures that only the best or at least the most popular policy gets put into action. But danger lurks wherever power and influence are concerned, where politicking grossly overgrows its original role as a barometer of opinion and becomes an end unto itself. On the other hand, one-party rule or monarchical rule can succeed where there is goodwill between the rulers and the ruled, and where policy is formulated with adequate discussion and debate, both within the party and by actively soliciting the advice of the public and external experts.
To conclude, let us learn from the lessons of two neighbouring kingdoms, the kingdoms of Nepal and Bhutan, one of which is experiencing rebel uprisings, anti-monarchical sentiment, and martial law, while the other is peaceful despite having closed itself off to the outside world for most of its modern history. In Nepal, King Gyanendra's direct rule, which he justifies by pointing to the failure of the previous government to stop Maoist rebellions and by promising to reinstate democracy at a future date, has resulted in resentment and mass protests as the armed forces are used to control the population. In Bhutan, King Wangchuk's announcements of his abdication and the introduction of democratic reforms were met with appeals for him to stay on. Bhutan's political dissent, while not nonexistent, is not nearly as violent as that in Nepal, and its problems are primarily economic, as it opens up to the realities of modern trade and commerce. One might argue that Bhutan is not necessarily better off than Nepal, because of these problems, but at least with a peaceful home front they can be tackled properly: can useful anything be accomplished over the frenzy of street riots and the sting of tear gas?
Out of Town
Hello folks, I'll be away from Wednesday until the end of the month; going overseas on an exercise. Do behave yourselves until I return!
08 April 2006
An Unphonetic Phonetic Alphabet
The NATO phonetic alphabet (A for Alpha, B for Bravo, C for Charlie) was designed to aid in radio voice transmissions, where interference and poor reception often made sounds indistinct. To overcome this problem, 26 words were chosen to represent the letters of the alphabet, each word being distinct and not easily confused with the others, so that one could spell out one's message using these call-signs. What, then, would an unphonetic phonetic alphabet, designed for maximum confusion, be like? Here's my attempt. Suggestions for improvement are welcome!
Auntie
Bee
Cue /* Cholmondeley (pronounced Chumly)
Dhoti
Enervate
Fish / Ghoti
Gestate
Horology
Innervate
Juan
Ketchup
Llama
Magdalene (pronounced Mawdlin)
Nought
Oocyte
Ptolemy
Quiche
Route
Sea / Syzygy
Tea
Untie
Virgil
Wavertree (pronounced Wawtry)
Xhosa
You
Zymurgy
* indicates alternatives, i.e. I can't decide which would be more confounding.
Auntie
Bee
Cue /* Cholmondeley (pronounced Chumly)
Dhoti
Enervate
Fish / Ghoti
Gestate
Horology
Innervate
Juan
Ketchup
Llama
Magdalene (pronounced Mawdlin)
Nought
Oocyte
Ptolemy
Quiche
Route
Sea / Syzygy
Tea
Untie
Virgil
Wavertree (pronounced Wawtry)
Xhosa
You
Zymurgy
* indicates alternatives, i.e. I can't decide which would be more confounding.
07 April 2006
Real Love
While having my break in the guardhouse rest room during Sunday guard duty, I struck up a conversation with the duty driver, a chubby chap I'd seen around before but never really got to know very well. As we talked I ended up asking him about whether he planned to clock up enough mileage to convert his military driving license to a civilian one, and he said yes he would, because it is very expensive to take lessons and take the driving test outside. He began to talk about how it'd help him find a job, and he talked about the jobs he had before he joined the army. Then I asked him about whether he had any siblings and he said yes, he has two sisters, both younger than him, and he'd worked to put them through school, while the older of the two was now working to help pay for the youngest's education, since he's in the army. His parents aren't together, so the heaviest burden falls on him, as the eldest child. He mused for a while, and half resignedly, half jokingly said he'd probably never get married, because it's too costly and difficult to save up for married life on top of his other duties. He then said, well that's the lot of the oldest child, isn't it? Give up what you want for the younger siblings.
Then it struck me how much he had given up for them, and what a great deal it is to leave school and start working from a young age knowing full well that it's probably unlikely that you'd ever go back to school again, so many doors being closed to you as a result. It's a great deal to have to interrupt your work to enlist in the army and receive lower pay and on top of that spend even less time with family who need you, a much greater deal than the limpid grouses of those of us who've university places or jobs waiting for us outside when we finally finish our term of national service. Our own problems often seem much smaller when compared to those of others. I wonder, too, how much I'd be willing to give up for my own sister, even as I tell her that I love her. Love isn't just a warm fuzzy feeling.
Then it struck me how much he had given up for them, and what a great deal it is to leave school and start working from a young age knowing full well that it's probably unlikely that you'd ever go back to school again, so many doors being closed to you as a result. It's a great deal to have to interrupt your work to enlist in the army and receive lower pay and on top of that spend even less time with family who need you, a much greater deal than the limpid grouses of those of us who've university places or jobs waiting for us outside when we finally finish our term of national service. Our own problems often seem much smaller when compared to those of others. I wonder, too, how much I'd be willing to give up for my own sister, even as I tell her that I love her. Love isn't just a warm fuzzy feeling.
04 April 2006
Getting Around
Those of us using computers in SAF camps will have discovered that one can't log in to blogger.com from their computers. While the fields for entering one's user name and password are visible, the login button has somehow been disabled.
There is a way around this little obstacle: when leaving comments in a blog, one has the option of logging in first and then publishing the comment under one's username. Once that is done, simply return to the main Blogger page and one will find oneself at the Dashboard!
There is a way around this little obstacle: when leaving comments in a blog, one has the option of logging in first and then publishing the comment under one's username. Once that is done, simply return to the main Blogger page and one will find oneself at the Dashboard!
01 April 2006
April Fools!
The new month brings new tidings, new decisions and the consequences thereof. I've decided against studying overseas and have applied to NUS to study Law. Hopefully all will go well.
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