“Who is this Lee Kuan Yew of the People’s Action Party?” Pansy had asked George as the name was mentioned again and again in the press.
“Young lawyer trained at Cambridge University,” George said. “Very admirable I am told. Since his return from England, he’s been helping the workers fight for better working conditions and pay.”
“Is he very atas?”
“He has a right to be,” said George. “But he has championed the causes of low-paid workers, acting as their lawyer. He is getting on well with labourers, bus and post-office workers and so I guess he’s not putting on any airs.”
The kampong folks were surprised when the group of young men turned up in their attap-thatched village all dressed in white—white short-sleeved shirts and white long trousers. It was a circuitous walk through fields and kampong paths from Upper Changi Road through Koh Sek Lim Road to their hidden village.
“Aiyoh!” Mak Siti said. “Our village so muddy, they come all in white one.”
“They are expressing that the PAP strives to be pure and not corrupt,” Pak Abdul explained to Mak Siti and the others. “Tuan Lee believes that a corrupt government is the fastest route to the downfall of the government.”
The open-air wooden stage was already constructed and prepared for the rally.
Maniam and his family garlanded the young men with garlands of bright yellow marigold. The young men were cheerful and smiling, Chinese, Malays, Indians and Eurasians amongst them. This was one of Lee Kuan Yew’s stances that endeared him to the population. No one race should have a higher status than the others. All races are to be treated equally despite the fact that Singapore has a high percentage of Chinese. He stressed a system of meritocracy so that anyone who progressed should do so because of his merits, not because of the race he belonged to, who he knew, and what level of society he was from. The villagers of Kampong Tepi Laut watched with bated breath as one of the men amongst the group stood out with singular energy. His height lent him a regal elegance. He had a broad forehead, penetrating eyes and when he smiled, it was as if he was taking in each and every one of those present. He was impressive.
“That’s Lee Kuan Yew,” George whispered in Pansy’s ears as they stood in front of the stage, Anthony strapped in a sarong next to Pansy’s chest.
Pansy liked the way the man looked, his easy confidence, his warmth. The young lawyer strode on stage and his magnetic personality brought an immediate hush. It was quite astonishing how much stage presence he had. This was no ordinary man.
“Well, it will be my chance to hear what the Queen’s English sounds like from an Asian mouth,” Pansy whispered back, as she had heard Sister Catherine speaking British English before in a British accent.
As there was no electricity in the village, Lee Kuan Yew used a handheld megaphone to make himself heard.
“Tuan, Tuan dan Puan Puan,” he opened his speech with a note of thanks for the turnout. “Selamat pagi! Saya ucapkan banyak terima kasih.”
“Wah!” all the villagers went, impressed. “Wah! The man who studied in England is speaking in Malay!”
“Perfect Malay,” Pak Abdul said. “No fake British accent either.”
After his speech in Malay, Lee Kuan Yew spoke in Hokkien. Heads nodded approvingly. This was a man of the people, kind and concerned and also intelligent, not just some rich brat who did not know the sufferings of ordinary people. This was the kind of man to represent the ordinary folk. That was the moment Lee Kuan Yew swung the votes.
“We will give you electricity, running water, food, jobs, better living conditions and more schools,” he said later in well-spoken English but without any British drawl. “You help me form a government and I will fulfil all my promises!”
The village folks were mesmerised. He had given them hope of a brighter future. Someone once said, that “without hope, life is like a winged bird that cannot fly”. Lee Kuan Yew showed the people that they can fly. When he raised his fisted arm and shouted out the word for independence in Malay, his colleagues on stage and everyone watching, including George and Pansy, shot their fists into the air and shouted, “Merdeka! Merdeka! Merdeka!”
“Anthony,” Pansy says into her mobile. “Can you come and take me to Hong Lim to pay respects to Mr Lee? I’ve bought some bunga rampay to pay him a floral tribute.”
Anthony is surprised by his mother’s request but does not anything on the phone.
“Are you planning to leave that at the memorial? Isn’t it expensive?” he asks his mother as she settles back in the front seat of his Mercedes and he notices that she’s in one of her more lucid moments, carrying a pretty Peranakan dish with the fragrant bunga rampay in it.
“Yes, why not?” Pansy says.
Anthony doesn’t want to argue. He has learnt that the best way to deal with his mother’s meteoritic changing moods is to acquiesce.
He remarks, “I thought you and dad didn’t like him…”
“Just because we didn’t like some of his policies doesn’t mean we didn’t like him. It’s similar to our attitude towards our own child. We may not like everything our child does but we love him all the same,” Pansy says. “Mr Lee was a remarkable man and leader. He could have been more flexible on some issues and more prepared to listen to opposing views. Still, like he himself admitted, he didn’t
