Domenica looked out of the window. They were on the outskirts of the town now and passing a small section of paddy field that abutted onto a warehouse of some sort. A group of children stood at the edge of the paddy field, throwing stones into the water. At the far end, a large white egret rose slowly into the air, circled, and headed off on some business of its own.
She answered Edward Hong’s question. “I suppose it is better.
It’s never easy to discover one’s been taken in.”
Edward Hong nodded. “Then there was my father,” he said.
“He was destined for the law, too, but really couldn’t knuckle down to his studies, and so he joined a cousin of his who had a business in Singapore. I was actually born in Singapore, you know, and spent my childhood there. We had a rather nice house just off Orchard Road, which wasn’t so built up in those days.
My father chose that in order to be close to the Tanglin Club, where he always went for a whisky after work. They had an arrangement whereby you could leave your own bottle of whisky in the club and be served from that if you wished.
“I felt a bit trapped in Singapore. I did not mind the government there, of course – it wasn’t that. In fact, I rather liked Lee Kuan Yew. He used to come for dinner at the house from time to time and he would talk about things they were proposing to ban. Chewing gum, for example. You did know that chewing gum is illegal in Singapore?
“I must say that I happen to think that that is the most remarkably enlightened bit of legislation. I can’t bear to see people 114
chewing gum – they look so vacant, so bovine. I’m sorry, but when I see somebody chewing gum, I can’t help but think that they look like a cow. It’s such a moronic activity!”
Domenica thought of Edinburgh, and the chewing gum that had disfigured its pavements. In some parts of the city, the pavements had become covered in gum, which was difficult and expensive to remove. There was something to be said for a chewing-gum ban, she thought.
“You can say what you like about Singapore,” went on Edward Hong, “but it’s safe. They don’t tolerate crime, and as a result they have very little.
Drug users, you see, are put into an institution at Changi and kept there for six months. They teach them a trade and they wean them off drugs.”
Domenica looked doubtful. “And does it work?”
Edward Hong shrugged. “They claim a reasonable success rate, but . . .” He paused and looked at Domenica. “But tell me, what do you do for your drug addicts back in Scotland?”
Domenica thought. She was uncertain what was done, but she thought it was very little. Could we say, we leave them to get on with it, or would that imply a lack of concern? Or was the problem simply too big to be dealt with any more, with twelve-year-olds and the like starting drinking, with the connivance of adults? Where did one start?
“I can see that it’s difficult,” said Edward Hong sympathetically. “I understand. You have so much freedom, don’t you, and then you find that freedom leads to complications. Would one rather live in London or Singapore, do you think?”
Domenica was about to laugh, as if the answer were so obvious, but she hesitated.
“Yes,” said Edward Hong, shaking a finger. “You see, it’s not quite as simple as one might imagine. In London, unless you’re very fortunate, or rich, you have to worry a great deal about being mugged, or worse. You have to contend with crowded trains, and a lot of frustration. You have to struggle for everything. In Singapore, everything is tremendously clean. A woman
can walk about anywhere in the city, anywhere, without fear of being molested or attacked. Children can play outside, on their own, wherever they like, in perfect safety. And there are no threatening beggars on the streets.”
“But if there are no beggars on the streets,” said Domenica.
“Where are they?”
Edward Hong looked puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“There are no beggars on the streets because nobody is allowed to beg. People can go about their business unmolested – it’s as simple as that.”
“So the beggars are gainfully employed?” asked Domenica.
“They aren’t just moved on?”
“Of course,” said Edward Hong. “Besides, there’s nowhere to move them on to. If you moved anybody on from Singapore they’d fall into the sea. So nobody is moved on.”
“How interesting,” said Domenica.
Both Edward Hong and Domenica were surprised to find out that the young man who was to act as her guide spoke passable English. This surprise, though, was accompanied by a great deal of relief. If Ling, as he was called, spoke English then the prospect of having to communicate in some form of pidgin, or to rely on gestures and body language, receded, and this meant that Domenica’s fieldwork became all the easier. Of course, there was something to be said for studies in which no verbal communication took place between anthropologist and subject – such studies were free of the filtering effect of language and could therefore be more insightful than those in which language was used. There had been several well-known studies which had been completely compromised by the anthropologist’s having accepted explanations given to him by the hardly disinterested subject. In a polygamous society, a man might lie, for example, as to the number of wives he had, a larger number being associated with greater wealth. Or he might exaggerate his position in the village hierarchy, thereby confusing the anthropologist’s understanding of authority within the community. Such dangers disappeared completely if mutual incomprehension was the order of the day.
