A patriot is a person who loves, supports, and defends his or her country and its interests with devotion. He aligns his actions with the interest of the country. In life's priorities, it is country, family and then self. (To many others, it is religion first, and that has led to devastating conflicts all over the world. But this is for a different discussion). What is a man without a country? He has no rights, no protection, no future. He joins the 15 million stateless people around the world.The epitome of duty to country first is the Chinese general Yue Fei. In the 12th century BC of the Song Dynasty, the country had to fend off northern invaders. Yue Fei was torn between nursing his sickly mother and answering the call to enlist in the Song army. The mother tattooed on the son's back with the famous 4 Chinese characters that ordered him to "serve the country with the utmost loyalty". He went on to become a celebrated general, venerated to this day.
I am a Medeka generation national serviceman and I consider myself a patriot. This is my story.
Immediately after the Higher School Certificate exams I was called up to serve part-time in the Police that required 2 nights training every week. Upon completion of the 4 months basic course, I was then posted to the Riot Squad where I had to undergo different basic training. Three months later I was in Singapore Armed Forces full-time. All-in-all a gruelling 9 months of continuous basic training in different uniforms. I earned my commission in the army and served 3 years full-time. My first cycle of reservist training was with the People's Defence Force and then followed another cycle in the Civil Defence Force. Officers generally serve several days more than the regular troopers and get recalled earlier. The average days spent for each in-camp training I had was probably 25-30 days. The reason why there were more days was because my reserve units were in training phases, unlike operational units that are recalled for short exercises. On top of that, because I held triple appointments in the Civil Defence stint, I had to do additional vocational training that my fellow officers did'nt have to.
In Singapore national service history, it must be a Guinese record of sorts - 5 different institutions and most number of days served. As a patriot, I hold no grudges for this and put it down to my drawing the shortest straw.
Early days and chest-thumping:
It is difficult to motivate 18 year old young men to do stuff they are drafted or forced to do. Many were those that did the minimum required of them. That is the reason why regimental discipline needs to be instilled. As for me, I took to training seriously, as did some others. It was'nt just because we recognised the serious nature of military training, but it boils down to personal challenges. So I tried to outshine my boots, outrun the other guys, do more push-ups, outshoot everyone, etc. Standing at a mere 5'4", I was one of the few who could climb over the 8-foot wall at the obstacle course in full-combat gear. I could climb the 30-foot ropes without using leg-grips. After 3 months in Guillemard Camp with no home leave, I won the best recruit award. I believe I was robbed of the best shot in the Company award due to a last minute fabrication so that a colonel's son could receive an award in the passing out parade ceremony as daddy-o watched from the VIP stand. In every live firing session, I came in within the top 3 best shots, mostly the top. I managed to score 'flower' twice at the 50 metre range. In a 3-round grouping shot, a 'flower' is when 3 bullets landed on almost the same spot, punching a single hole like a Venn diagram, or flower. Much like Robin Hood with 3 arrows on the bulls-eye. So yes, that was how good I was, and I believe I was robbed of the award. In officer cadet training, when given the red sash for the formal attire, I took it home and using my mon's leg-pedalled sewing machine, I interfaced it with a plastic stiffener. So I had the most smart looking sash anyone has ever seen. That was how serious I was. The reader might associate me with PGO (police general order) an SAF lingo for someone who is a sticker to rules. Nothing could be more incorrect. I respect rules and understand it's utility in the order of things, but I'd throw the rule book away when the situation demands. I have stood up to superiors in defence of injustice to weaker fellow trainees. It was this defiant streak in me which I recognised and knew very early that a career in the army is ruled out for me.
The yoke is neither easy nor the burden light:
Our army has seen no battlefield action and we do not call on our servicemen to make the kind of sacrifices other nations do of their military forces personnel. Nevertheless, our people's army do require sacrifices of its citizens in many ways, small and big. The accidental deaths in training are tragic but events that we need to realistically accept. A zero casualty tolerance training doctrine is simply impossible.
Many young men complain of years lost in national service that put them at a disadvantage to others. Well in the Merdeka years, loose policies allowed many to escape full-time service. In my cohort, I was the only one that ended up in the army. None of my friends were there. By the time of my ROD, some of my friends had reached executive or managerial levels in civilian careers - a consequence of the fast pace of the expanding economy. Today there is less to complain as all school chums see each other in camps. So young men now gripe about sexual inequality. The girls hold the advantage. Shallow-mindedness is confounding.
The weapons were not made for left-handers like me. I suffered minor pain and inconveniences for this. The standard infantry arm was the AR-15 and this eject expended empty cartridges on the right. Being a leftie, the burning hot cartridges tend to hit and bounce off my right arm, occasionally ending up in my vest and burning my tummy. Now and then, one gets trapped between my chin and helmet chin strap to kiss burn my cheeks. It won't kill anyone, but it was no fun. This reminds me of my funny predicament. I was a leftie but I could'nt close my right eye, so it was impossible to physically handle the riffle. How was I to aim with the left eye. By all account, I should be rejected by the army, but really, who understands this sort of problem? Well, improvise I did. Initially I used a handkerchief to cover the right eye when it was my turn to shoot. Eventually, I made a sort of patch, ala Moshe Dayan, the Isreali Defence Minister. It is a wonder I turned out to be a good shot at all. I'm sure after 50 years, some of those fellow NS men will still remember that funny one-eyed recruit at the riffle range. A miracle happened one day when I forgot to bring my eye patch and realised suddenly that I could then close my right eye. It's still not perfect as I had to squint the left eye, thus it was not easy to take aim properly.
I ROD with some impaired hearing. During the Merdeka years, the life firing ranges were all manual which required 'butt' parties. There was no gay fun going in. A 'butt' is a drop in the land at the end of the range where targets are positioned. The 'butt' party stays at the butt, out of the line of fire. After the firing party has completed the last shot, 'butt' party guys lower the target they are assigned to, count the score, patch up the holes, and re-position the target for the next firing party. 'Butt' party duties expose the men to sonic booms of the bullets as they whizzle overhead. We hear the cracks of the sonic booms. Due to over-exposure, I now I live with a hearing problem - the high frequency of the bullets whizzling past I can no longer hear. One would think that's an inconsequential lost. The paradox for a sufferer is, the frequency that cannot be heard on the outside, is eternally inside the inner ear. That high frequency whizzling sound is forever embeded in my ears, every second of my waking moments. Sleep is hard to come by. In the early years, it drove me crazy. To camouflage this noise in my head, I need to be occupied and have a noisy environment. Silence is not golden for me.
Risks and dangers in the menu:
I have had my share of near fatal misses in my national service days.
A grenade throwing training that nearly went wrong when a trainee froze with an unpinned live grenade in his hand. I had to coax him slowly and calmly go through the steps. I saw the cold sweat on this face and the shiver in his hands, and in that instant, remembered a similar incident a few years back which took the live of the conducting officer. Fortunately, it turned out well, but it could have gone badly for us both.
Once on a night assault exercise, a bangalore torpedo meant to breach the enemy's barbed wire fence mis-fired. I never understood what was the actual problem, but it was potentially dangerous as a torpedo can cause devastating damage to troops.
In a 'day assault on a hill' demo for visiting foreign dignitaries, an 81mm mortar smoke bomb landed 20 metres from our position. We heard the shattering sound of the incoming and a thud as it landed. Fortunately, a calm commander and troop discipline avoided what could have been a tragedy. We all calmly ducked for cover. It may only be a smoke bomb, but proximity kills.
Training and operational recalls are different. A training recall, soldiers report back for some exercises. An operational recall, soldiers report back all geared up for immediate deployment whether its just training or God forbid, the real thing. One recall we were deployed immediately with a given scenario of enemy forces having been parachuted somewhere on our shores. (I am reminded of 9 August 1991 National Day, when Indonesian-Malaysian joint military exercise had paratroopers landing in Johore. The timing and the locality of the exercise sent us a clear signal, which many Singaporeans today are still too dumb to understand as they object to our big defence budget.) In that recall, we moved out of camp within a few hours. When we reached our build-up point, we 'debussed' (jumped off the 3-ton transporters) and took cover in a drain besides the vehicle. Shortly, the order was given and we moved out on foot. A few minutes after we broke cover and moved out, the stationary 3 tonner toppled on its side into the drain which we had just vacated. It was raining and the ground was soggy. It's shuddering what might have been.
In live firing exercises, an assault on a hill with support fire from another position is common. At infantry platoon level, which is where I operated, support fire is usually 60mm mortar and machine guns which are fully automatic mounted firearms capable of very rapid fire of higher calibre bullets. The live mortars will fire off first to neutralise enemy positions as much as possible. Then we infantry guys will move up in waves. As we advance up the hill, the machine gunners from another position fire to pin down the enemies. Machine gunners have an arc of fire, and basically they were firing above our line. As we advance up, so too their line of fire.
Pass the bombs please:
There was one time we, not explosive experts, were 'volunteered' to collect World War II relic bombs in some swamps somewhere in Jurong. It was a big cache spread over a wide area. The bombs were in various sizes, buried in the swampy mud. Most of them had tiny holes drilled in. We had no idea what kind of bombs they were, what the holes in the bombs meant, whose cache it was, why were they there. We were simply free labour to go knee deep into the swamps, dig them up with shovels, and hand carry them back to solid ground. Nobody explained anything to us. It was simply assumed to be safe. In human chains, we hand-passed the bombs up the line. As we moved the bombs, smokey fumes emitted through the drilled holes. I have never seen a human chain passing merchandise so fast. Nobody wants to be caught holding the bomb that goes off.
We had no idea what were the risks at the time. Fortunately, the rising tide saved our day. The order to abort was given and we had to get out of the swamp fast. I had no idea that a rising tide could cover a swamp that quickly. Getting stranded and knee-deep in the swamp mud could have immobilised and drown any fit person. Looking back now I'm dumbfounded. A thunderflash found in a HDB garbage chute and the whole building is cordoned off. And there we were, with hundreds of big bombs which we hug in our arms as we struggled in the swamps. Everything in the rule book on handling relic bombs must have been broken that day. Now I ask of you, dear reader, to go get some volunteers and haul in hundreds of relic rusty bombs with smoke belching from them, never mind the swamps, and I tell you it is safe, Just imagine it.
The day I was shot:
Jungle warfare training in Mandai was my favourite. I love the ourdoors and the coolness and away from rigid camp routines. In one exercise, 3 platoons of a company pitted against one another. The helmets were colour-coded for different tribes. Each platoon were dug in defence positions unknown to each other. The order was to seek out the other platoons and assault their positions. Each platoon sent out recce (reconnaisance) parties to search for the 'enemy'. My team spotted an enemy recce party of 3 and we decided to apprehend them physically. The reason is if they stumbled on our defence position which was close-by, our platoon had to abandon the hill and relocate somewhere elese. That meant a lot of work digging new defensive fortications. Enemies or not, we were fellow trainees familiar with each other, at least by sight. So we decided to drop guard and play pals to get close. 7 against 3 was a good odds we could wrestle them to the ground. We broke cover, waved and said 'Hi' with riffles shoulder slung to say guys let's not be so serious. As we got nearer I noted one of the enemy was a fella who was a known 'gabra-king' - a linggo for someone who is easily panic-stricken and will act chaotic in his confusion. When we were close up, someone shouted 'leah ah' and we tried to wrestle them to the ground. Surprisingly, the gabra one reacted fast. Like a true soldier, he opened fire. The muzzle of his AR-15 was a foot from my tummy. I felt a hot sizzling sensation. Although we all understood it was just blanks and not live bullets, everyone was momentarily stunned. When we ascertained I was fine, we decided to stop the game. The enemies departed promising not to report our position to their commander.
Back at base camp I stripped to check and found concentric dots on my tummy region, red with tiny blood droplets. That was the damage caused by a blast of a blank round which could be fatal at 1 foot range. I was spared severe damage by the tick army vest. Those who think here's a cry baby should ask American actors Jon-Erik Hexum or Brandon Lee, both fatally shot with blanks in movie shoot accidents. Or they should try it some time, get a buddy to fire at the tummy. Blanks notwithstanding, I got shot in service of the country.
Rotting in a camp of technicians:
My last full-time appointment was spent as a Manpower Officer in a now defunct camp called the Static Radio Relay Unit. For the shirkers, it was paradise found. I could spend days out of uniform and relax half the time in bed, the other half in the officer's mess. Many in Mindef probably were'nt even aware of our existence. In my time, the camp has never received one single visitor from outside. It was a unit of ex-British civilian employees, microwave telecommunication technicians, who were seconded into the SAF. The commanding officer was a technical officer given the rank of captain. He stuck to his technical job, which was maintaining several microwave stations all over the island. Those were pre-satelite days and microwave telecommunication technology was in its death throes. Basically the military side of the business was up to me. My only duty was the payroll. We used the old Kalamazoo system, and monthly cash payroll that required organising a security detail and going to the HSBC branch at Serangoon Circus to pick up the cash. Other than that, I was redundant.
Instead of getting a cigar and go across the road to the pool the British Army bequeathed us, I got to work, doing things that nobody instructed me to. All normal camp routines were set up - morning roll calls, parades, room inspections, guard duties, area cleaning, flag raising and lowering (could'nt believe all these were not there when I arrived). Went round the island for surprise inspection of the off-site microwave stations. Got Mindef Welfare Dept to fund the setting up of Officer mess and Recreation room, Arranged some live firing training for the non-combatant service personnel so that they remember they were soldiers. We had no armoury nor ammunition so it took some convincing with Mindef to get organised. The camp was tucked away in tree-covered and tall lallang field. Mosquitoes were a major problem. A letter to the Health Ministry to come fumigate the surroundings received a response that Singapore has been declared a Malaria-free country. There was no Standard Operating Procedures nor Order of Battle protocols, so I wrote to Brigade HQ and was re-directed to someone in Mindef. I assume it rattled some brass higher up and eventually I was told since I raised the matter, why don't I author it. It's as ridiculous as asking some clerks in the Legal Dept to draft the Constitution. I did what I should have done in the first place, I went back to bed.
Broken bones, slipped disc and the extra mile :
In my days, I had great opportunities to 'twang' or avoid duties. Malingeering never was on my mind and I never reported in sick in 3 years full-time service. Whereas some will try to avoid being drafted on slightest medical conditions, I joined the army with 7 broken bones in my body, a result of a scout activity accident 3 years prior. Two bones near the wrist and 2 near the ankle were simple fractures, 3 rib bones were hairline cracks. Rhuematic pains came when it rains during outdoor training, especially in Mandai forest. I took all these in-stride and never complained. Never once did I make an issue of it. After the first cycle of reservist training with the People's Defence Force, I suffered a serious slipped disc. It is crippling and the pain is excruciating. That puts an end to most sufferers' active life. Lucky for me, I was able to get back in shape and a relatively active lifestyle. But relapses are common for slipped disc sufferers and over the years, and I have had many. The Civil Defence called me up and I could have walked away with the slipped disc excuse. The interview with the Civil Defence recruitment officer went like this :-
Me : I have completed my reservist cycle with the PDF. Why do you call me up?
Recruiter : Confidentially Lt Low, we have a quality issue, plus most of our officers are from the Police. We need help from army combat trained personnel to strengthen the force.
Me : I see. I was not good enough to get a promotion, still a lieutenant all these years, but I'm good enough to help CD.
Recruiter : I will assign you as the Construction Commander.
Me : What is that? What's the role?
Recruiter : The Construction unit is the one to conduct search and rescue operations.
Me : Oh. You mean the guys with all those equipment that will go dig collapsed buildings?
Recruiter : Yes.
Me : Sorry. With my slipped disc condition, I can no longer do that.
Recruiter : Don't worry. As commander, you don't need to do that personally.
Me : Sorry, I am not a hands-on-hip commander. I'm a leader who goes into the trenches with the men.
Recruiter : OK then I'll assign you to 2IC/Manpower/Logistics Officer. This is non-physical.
Me : Pray tell me, in a real life situation, how can I be at 3 places at the same time?
Recruiter : At the moment it's only training lah.
Me : I have received the official letter of discharge from Mindef that says my legal obligations to serve have been extinguished. Are you re-enlisting me? If you are, where is the re-enlistment order, if there is such a thing? If you are appointing me, where is the terms and condition? As I am legally discharged and so no longer a national serviceman, can you tell me what are the implications should there ever arise any judicial proceedings or insurance claims?
It was not his place to answer the last questions and I don't think he ever brought up to his superiors. He was no Shanmugan or Alvin Tong to go gobbledygook on me and provide a convenient verbal revision of the enlistment act. So I took up an appointment with a slipped disc condition, under circumstances that did'nt seem right under the enlistment act, with ZERO $$ SALARY. Colour me stupid or what, but I saw it as a calling and so I answered. Not exactly Yue Fei, but nevertheless a patriotic act.
Those who dishonours, knows not honour:
There must be equity in enlistment, no ifs, no buts, no excuses. The Merdeka gen was a time when policy was fluid. Goh Kheng Swee's son never served. He who was deeply involved with the Pan-El share scam but came out unscathed. Tony Tan's son received special treatment and so too LKY's first born. We know all about the white horses, there were many in the Medeka gen times and LHL, he was the biggest of them all. Once quoted in an interview, LHL said he was surprised military training was easy. The modesty was compelling, considering he had a privileged passage, never stayed-in a single night, attended service officer cadet training Bravo Company, SAFTI, arriving in a Mercedes while his cadet mates had performed the morning chores and at morning parade ground, had 2 courses (section leader and officer cadet) tailor-fit to time his university enrollment. And what is it I read here, an attempt at revisionism to make LHL an artillery officer? What a dishonour to those who went to arty school, one of the most demanding vocation in the army. There was another breed called 'supernumaries'. They were sportsmen brought in to represent SAF in the various games. They receive no military training, lots of recreation, and special meals to keep them in top shape. Such impunities dishonour the rest of us who served well.
When the Officers Club at Dover Road was initiated, as a 2nd lieutenant, I received an invitation to join. When they opened for business, membership was reserved for captains and above. They wanted exclusivity. There was an NCO club, there was a captains-and-above officers club. The lieutenants were outcasts. That was the greatest affront to the lieutenants corps, the backbone to most fighting forces in the world. Did you know the average life expectancy of a lieutenant in the US Army in the Vietnam War was 2 months? Adding insult to injury, I served 3 years in the SAF but they refused me membership in the Reservist Association because my last unit served was in the Civil Defence.
Goh Keng Swee - 'We have created a monster':
Sometime 1971, the institution was correcting a mistake which I saw as an 18 year old recruit, and which I wrote about in the first magazine for national servicemen, the name of which I do not recall. For the maiden issue, they had a contest for contributions. My article was one of the winners and I received a few precious dollars for it. The subject was my observations in my first few days in the Army. They printed all the nice things I had written, but redacted my negative comments, hanging me out to dry in the eyes of my fellow camp-mates. One negative I wrote about was where will non-combat servicemen go when they enter reservists. There is no need for 10,000 payclerks or storekeepers. Fast forward 2 years, in a manpower officer forum, an SAF legal officer giving us a talk, touched on this very issue. He said the Minister of Defence, Goh Keng Swee, in a meeting on the topic, blurted out "My God, we have created a monster!". Those were his very words.
The solutions they implemented were two fold. Non-combat servicemen were to be channeled to the People's Defence Force where they undergo combat training on reservist time. For non-combat officers, they switch roles with combat trained officers.
By the Law of Attraction, the structural change to address the very problem I had noted as a recruit came back to hit me. I was trained as a combat infantry officer and proudly received my commission from President Sheares at the Istana. As a dedicated, freshly graduated young officer, I looked forward to a combat role somewhere. Instead, I ended up a service officer role in a God foresaken Static Radio Relay Unit which nobody has heard off, even to this day. In reservist, I got posted to the PDF to train service personnel. I felt cheated, yeah dishonoured. My training had been in vain and I wilted away a year of my life in the SRRU. A gungho fit as hell combat trained guy, most importantly, willing and capable to contribute to nation building, got dumped in garbage whilst some effiminate fellow graduates got posted to infantry battalions. They dishonoured me with a lack of manpower resource allocation policy based on some qualifying metrics. In short, they had no time for me. But oh, they had lots of time to plan the exact timing for the career path of whitehorses like the sons of Tony Tan and LKY, to ensure they get into foreign universities.
Demeaned for a role I never asked for:
Whilst rotting away at SRRU, I had a moment of higher ideals. I felt I could contribute more to the organisation having seen weaknesses close up. The idea of signing up in the army was seeded, but there was a need to beef up credentials. So I applied for a SAF scholarship or bursary to go university. The Public Service Commission called and I presented myself for an interview with 4 important looking personalities. They spent 30 minutes grilling me on an appointment I said was not my forte nor my interest. In a nutshell, PSC policy was probably aligned with the restructuring going on in the SAF and it was obvious they were not supportive of furthering the advancement of a service officer. The word 'leadership' kept floating up in the discussion. They totally ignored my path of advancement in the army -- infantry recruit, infantry section leaders training, section leader in a battalian, infantry officers course. That was what they wanted, but they chose to belittle me of the meagre routines of my role in SRRU. I was dishonoured badly and concluded it was a bad idea in the first place to sign up full time.
Meritocracy means having a degree:
When I was department head in a bank, I once engaged a temporary driver as the regular driver for our CEO was on vacation. He was a fine-looking young Indian (Singaporean lah) who spoke and carried himself very well. I felt he was no ordinary driver so I had some chit chats with him out of curiosity. It turned out he had ROD a 2nd Lieutenant, went to university in London, currently into his final year, came back for holidays before returning to London. And surprise, he told me he was promoted captain whilst studying in London, never having done a single day of reservist training. Well, I have gone through the whole works and remained a lieutenant to this day. Man to man, I could hold myself up to any other commander. But a man with no degree is nothing in the eyes of our government, and Sim Wong Hoo can testify to that for his failure to get Creative Technology listed in Singapore.
Meritocracy means you must have a degree, your capability is not being measured. There is no denying the importance of an education, but there is denial by those with helicopter views that some jobs are better handled by action men. I have seen well educated officers lost command in reservist training and control was restored when less educated action type officers stepped in. I have seen officers huddled in discussion on what to do in a situation when a bangalore torpedo misfired and in steeped an 'uneducated' captain who just went up the hill, defused the broken device, hung it around his neck, came downhill and said 'carry on'. A few years back I was thousands of miles away in a foreign country when I read of the riot in Little India. I read of the scholar police superintendent-in-charge who held up action pending analysis of info, a delayed action that put lives and property in danger. I told fellow Singaporeans there was no need for an official inquiry. What happened was command froze on the ground at the critical moment, as indeed the inquiry later concluded. It required an alpha-male Malay sargent to single-handedly charge into the crowd to protect properties. In the 1983 cable car incident, the vessel Eniwetok's derrick pulled the cables and caused 2 cable cars to plunge into the seas, killing 7 riders. Another 4 cable cars were left dangling on the stretched cable, at the mercy of a very strong wind. The rescue operation was headed by a young Colonel Lee Hsien Loong. It took 3-4 hours deliberation before a rescue by helicopters was carried out, an outcome that everyone watching knew immediately would be the only solution at the time. In my time with the reservists, I had men telling me "Sir, if there is war, I will not go into battle with the Commander Officer' - in reference to a scholar non-combat trained CO we had at the time.
The SAF was built on the back of many hardened men, not scholars. At a time when the saying was 'good sons don't join the army', dedicated people built up the new armed forces from the ground. Men like Lt. Col. Jaswant Singh Gill, Major Brij S. Soin, Major Ishwar Lall Singh, Lt. Col. Daljeet Singh and Lt. Col. Mahinder Singh Gill, WO Shamsudin, WO Tiger Hong, some of whom saw action in Konfrontasi. After the armed forces have been built, the soft scholars took over on fat salaries.
No country for a patriot:
At a time when the nation wants to honour the Merdeka generation, I receive the latest show of dishonour. The ICA has twice denied my application for a long term visit pass for my foreign born wife. So she comes on a social visit pass and then applies for an extended visit of another 2 months. This is repeated every 3 months, extracting additional expenses at tough times. The ICA is uncontactable by phone and faceless, and do not provide reasons for their decisions. The reason, though, is very clear. It is always about the money as far as Singapore Inc is concerned. This is a government that has and cares about a bottom line, more than honouring a patriot. I don't have assets to show, so the government sees a contingent liability of a foreign spouse in Singapore in the unfortunate event of my demise.
For lack of assets, a patriot is dishonoured and denied the right enshrined under the Constitution of Singapore chap 123 (2) to gain citizenship for his spouse. The Constitution allows a foreign spouse citizenship if he/she has stayed continuously for 2 years in the country. But if the ICA does not grant a long term visit pass, the condition cannot be satisfied. Clearly, subsidiary legislation is in conflict with the Constitution. There is no legal avenue for the small guys because Singapore courts will not engage in proportionality analysis and there is no chance I can afford a lawyer from Allen Gledhill. An eminent MP's intervention was futile. A plea to the PMO went unanswered.
The painful cut is, nobody is looking for subsidies, nor citizenship, but simply a renewable permit to stay so we can rebuild our lives. It's hard to comprehend why then are there so many PR holders everywhere I look, and I am not referring to high flyers, but the modest cashiers I see in many places. I know that, because I spoke to them. So now on each re-entry, my wife suffers the indignity of getting hauled out of the immigration line and marched off like a criminal suspect in full view of fellow travelers, to an interrogation. For those 30-60 minutes, she narrated being treated as suspects trying to enter the country for illicit business. Meanwhile, hordes of foreign workers pass through the turnstiles every minute 24/7. Is it a little too much to ask the authorities to spare some consideration for the little guys?
Don't need $ million salary to have a moral compass :
We are dishonoured by our leaders whose meritocracy policy festered an elitist view through a self-serving prism that sees mediocrity in those unable to make S$500,000 a year. In a heartbeat, I will choose to serve my country all over again. Patriots do not march to the sound of the cash register. My pay clerk, if he is reading this, will remember this incident well. We once picked up a big envelope in HSBC with S$20,000 in it, a fortune in those days. On discreet enquiry we realised someone from 4SIR had dropped it. We turned up at the camp and had the Manpower Officer check the pay load he had collected a few hours earlier. I just killed him with a few seconds of horror at his discovery of the shortfall and quickly reunited him with the envelope we found. It was a world of coincidence, for the officer turned out to be a classmate who had joined the army as a regular. My point in the story -- we never needed a $ million salary to stay un-corrupted. The moral compass is inherent in patriots.
Yue Fei is inspiring and motivating. Alas, palace intrigue resulted in his persecution by the very Southern Song Emperor that he had served. On the verge of certain victory and recapture of the Northern Song capital, Yue Fei was ordered back home where he was charged on a fabricated crime of treason and executed. Sad.
Note: The incidences narrated happened over a span of years. The 'we' refers to the groups and units I was with at the relevant times.