We all know of a few viral campaigns that have caught our eyes over the years, but none seems to have created quite as much of a stir as Kony 2012.

Ever since the 30 minute documentary was released on the 5th of March there has been heated debate over what it contains, the people that made the film, and Joseph Kony himself. Major newspapers, television news networks, new websites, and bloggers have all voiced their opinion about the now controversial Kony 2012 film, but it was Facebook, and other social media platforms, that brought it all to our attention. If you haven’t seen the film already, it’s time to see what all the fuss is about.

The film set out to showcase a heinous criminal guilty of atrocities that have affected thousands of innocent people, and it does this rather well. It’s well produced, has the support of celebrities and government officials, and gives eye-witness accounts of the devastating effect Joseph Kony and the Lords’ Resistance Army has had on the people of Uganda.

On the other hand, it’s a fund-raiser, and a movie to generate funds for a non-profit organisation, so that they can pursue their cause. It appeals to people’s emotions, and no doubt there has been one viewer who made an overzealous donation and is now looking for a credit card balance transfer.

There is no denying that Joseph Kony must be brought to justice, but he has been committing crimes for over 20 years already, so why has this issue suddenly become so important?

Joseph Kony and the Lord’s Resistance Army

Kony was born in 1961, making him over 50 years old right now.

During his teens he acted as his village witch doctor, and in his mid-twenties he became the leader of a cult during the Ugandan Civil war that raged between 1981 and 1986. Opposed to the country’s new leader and the National Resistance Army (NRA), he gradually formed the United Holy Salvation Army, which later became the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA).

The NRA fought a campaign against the LRA, which reduced their numbers drastically, and attacks on civilians who they claimed to be NRA sympathisers began. Parents were killed and children were kidnapped, to become child soldiers or sex slaves.

While this was going on, the government of neighbouring country Sudan, was supplying military support to the LRA because of Ugandan government support for rebels in Sudan. This ended once the International Criminal Court issued arrest warrants for Kony and five other members of the LRA on October 6th 2005.

Since then there have been efforts by the Ugandan military and U.S. forces to capture Kony, but he still has not been found. The whereabouts of Kony is still unknown, and the LRA have become a dwindling force that is nowhere near as significant as it once was.

The real issue in Kony’s former stronghold of north Uganda is the need for rebuilding and security. The infrastructure is a state of disrepair, and people desperately need decent sanitation, health services, education, and housing. These are the things that are having the biggest effect of people’s lives in Uganda, not the menace of Joseph Kony.

Ten years ago it was a completely different story, and this campaign would have been an enormous help back then, but now it seems a little misguided.

Support and criticism of Invisible Children Inc

Celebrities like Rhianna, Oprah Winfrey, and George Clooney have endorsed the cause, which has led thousands more people to follow suit. The film presents the facts about Kony and the LRA so that even a child understands, and humbly as for your support and donations. The problem is that the situation in Central Africa as a whole is far too complicated for a most adults to understand, let alone a child.

Overall there has been a mixed reception to the Kony 2012 film, not just because of the message it tells, but because of how much the Invisible Children organisation is really doing to help the people of Uganda.

Arthur Larok, the Director of operation in Uganda for charity Action Aid, had this to say about the Invisible Children group. “There is nothing dramatic about them. They are like any other organisation trying to make a difference. At the moment I think the work of Invisible Children is about appealing to people’s emotions. I think that time has passed.”

After such a massive outpour of both support and criticism, a new video was released that shows Ben Keesey, the CEO of Invisible children, defending the organisations campaign and the way they have spent the money donated to them. See what Keesey had to say below.

Even though the motives behind the campaign and how effective it will really be can be questioned, what is undeniable is that as of today, the Kony 2012 documentary has clocked up over 85 million views on Youtube alone, making it one of the most successful viral videos to date.

So the cliché goes, “No pain, no gain”.

It is clear that Budget 2012 has prescribed some bitter medicine for the business community to swallow, placing curbs on excessive foreign labor.

It is also clear that this is a point of no return.

Given the current situation, an unlimited flow of foreign workers will test the limits of space and infrastructure, and even affect the Singaporean character of our society.

Just look at how many parodies there are reflecting Singaporeans’ unhappiness about foreign workers, such as Terry in The Noose.

If foreign labor continues to be easily available, this will reduce business incentives to upgrade, design better jobs and raise productivity.

Singaporeans could be rubbing their hands in glee now, as there will be fewer foreigners snatching their rice bowls.

And I personally applaud the new measures to curb foreign workers, and alleviate the coming pains that companies might face.

But worries abound.

Such measures could actually inflate labor costs in the short run, thereby raising business costs and decreasing competitiveness.

With Singapore’s jobless rate at a 14-year low of 2 per cent last year, small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) may find it tough to raise their productivity in the short term so as to cut their dependence on foreign workers or offset cost rises.

Employers will have to pay significantly more to attract Singaporeans to take up these jobs.

But even if employers want to pay them more, it does not mean that companies will be able to find people who are willing to work in labor-intensive manufacturing industries such as food and beverage.

Who would want to have shift work, extended working hours and rigorous physical activity when they can have a 9-to-5 desk job, with the air-conditioner turned on at full blast?

Policy accused of a Populist Approach

In addition, critics such as Dr Vincent Wijeyshinga have slammed the government for a populist approach.

Yes, the budget addresses concerns from a population that has griped about the growing number of foreign workers.

But in my opinion, the measures proposed were neither populist nor designed to reward an electorate for returning the government to power after a watershed election last year.

In fact, these measures have already been put in place and are simply running their course, such as the new Productivity Innovation Credit (PIC), which provides tax benefits for business investments.

But Singapore has an ageing society, and the pool of readily available labor will shrink with time.

If businesses think that the labor market is tight now, imagine what it will be like in 10 or 20 years’ time.

Change of Company Attitudes

Companies therefore have to change their processes and attitudes now.

They not only have to learn how to increase productivity and make do with fewer workers, but also get used to having older workers among the rank and file.

Hiring more older workers could save costs for businesses. The enhanced Special Employment Credit (SEC), for one, would provide the company with wage subsidies to hire older workers. It will also save on the higher foreign worker levies.

Seen in that light, the stance on foreign workers is really tough love.

So, too, are the measures announced to help SMEs – instead of taking the easy option of handing out goodies, the Finance Minister has put his money into grants and schemes that have a longer-lasting effect.

The rationale behind it?

It is all for the long-term. As the Singapore Chinese Chamber of Commerce puts it: “The outlook is very overcast even if we are not expecting a tsunami to take place.”

The economic growth rate will suffer a little with the labor dependency being reduced gradually.

But this is pain that has to be endured until efficiency gains come through, and a small price to pay if companies are to make quantitative leaps in incomes, productivity and lifestyles.

*Terry is Leticia’s foreign worker ex-boyfriend in The Noose

Many Singaporeans do not associate ourselves with foreign workers, especially factory workers and construction workers. At the sight of them, we think: “They are loud, they stink and they may rape us.”

I would not be surprised if many Singaporeans think that way, or that an even greater number of Singaporeans see them as a necessary evil – people who are willing to do jobs no self-respecting local will do, but crowd our public spaces and overload our transport system.

Now that the Singapore Government has announced in this year’s Budget to reduce reliance on the foreign workforce, I believe locals, especially those in the manufacturing and service sectors, are rubbing their hands in glee.

Complains that there are too many foreign workers in Singapore are not new.

Back in 2009, residents, worried about their property values, submitted a petition against the Serangoon Gardens foreign workers’ dormitory. The Bukit Batok foreign workers’ dormitory is also located away from other residential properties and surrounded by undeveloped land.

Accusations that foreign workers steal jobs and cause overcrowding reached their peak around last year’s General Elections, amid worries that the government’s method of creating jobs for foreigners to boost Singapore’s GDP is unsustainable.

Why the mentality shift for overseas projects?

Such unhappiness lies in stark contrast when we voluntarily live amid poor and ‘dirty’ foreigners. This seismic shift in the Singaporean mentality comes when we do overseas community projects. Going overseas for community service projects is almost always seen as a good thing.

We may, for example, go overseas to build houses for the poor. But the very people whom we help on our overseas community projects may have friends or relatives building our houses in Singapore. The only difference is that we, tired of our too-comfortable lives, choose to go overseas to ‘suffer’; but they, the foreign workers, are forced to come to Singapore because of their poverty.

So there are two very similar groups of poor foreigners – one group in their homeland, the other group in Singapore. But our attitudes towards the two groups vastly differ. We pat ourselves on the back when we do overseas community projects, but distance ourselves from the foreign workers here. This is hypocrisy at its finest.

We help the alien poor because it gives us a sense of satisfaction. It is a social exchange. We pay for the products that foreign workers in Singapore assemble on factory lines. It is a heartless business exchange. But have we forgotten that in both cases, we are dealing with people?

A person with a true heart for people and the overseas community would not have drastically varied responses to the two groups.

Selfishness behind the “altruism”

Perhaps the scenario that I just painted betrays the fact that despite doing community work, we are all self-serving people at heart – we only want what benefits us or makes us feel good.

There is a similar selfish mentality when it comes to doing overseas community projects. It is the ‘cool factor’ that the exoticism of this project brings, that truly attracts us.

If one truly desires to help, there are no shortages of volunteer opportunities in Singapore. Why not help our fellow Singaporean first? Because we are in it for that short holiday that makes us feel morally good.

And to what extent are we willing to help? Spend a lifetime overseas like Mother Teresa? No, we only want a ‘quick fix’. Help to the point where the foreigners’ living standards match our own?

I do not doubt that there are people who do overseas community for altruistic reasons. But the reasons for some are never purely altruistic – there are definitely some selfish reasons.

So let not the person who does community work overseas trumpet his good deeds. And let not the schools, which so often encourage their students to go overseas for community work, beat the drums of pride. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

I am not requesting Singaporeans to take concrete actions to help the lives of the poorer foreign workers in Singapore. But at the very least, remove the scorn from our minds. Stop associating them with dirt and filth.

Whether you are Chinese, Indian or Malay, remember that your forefathers came here as foreign workers too.

Mr Lee: how old are you now?

Ms Sim: I’m 27 this year.

Mr Lee: You are…?

Ms Sim: 27.

Mr Lee: Are you married? [audience laughs] You’re doing a PhD?

Ms Sim: Yes.

Mr Lee: And when will you finish your PhD?

Ms Sim: In another two years. [laughter from audience]

Mr Lee: Are you married?

Ms Sim: [shakes head]

Mr Lee: have you got a boyfriend? [laughter and clapping from audience]

Ms Sim: No. [laughter from audience]

Mr Lee: Childbearing years are until 35. After 35, the dangers of having mongoloid children, Down’s Syndrome, in other words, a dull person, rises. So, my advice is, please don’t waste time. It’s more important and more satisfying than your PhD. Good luck to you, I hope you get your PhD and your boyfriend.

The exchange occurred after Ms Sim asked Mr Lee about Singapore’s social cohesiveness given that a large number of foreign immigrants had been accepted. The latter replied that Singapore needs to accept a sizeable number of immigrants to counter her ageing population and low birth rate, and started to quiz her about her personal life.

Singapore’s newspapers portrayed it as a humorous exchange.

The Straits Times wrote: “Mr Lee then turned the tables on Ms Sim and started gently quizzing her about her personal life, to the surprise and amusement of the audience.”

TODAY described Mr Lee’s comment as a ‘quip’, saying that “…Mr Lee quipped to rapturous applause…”

What the newspapers failed to include, apart from the ‘rapturous applause’ was the raucous laughter of the audience present at the dialogue, both male and female.

At that point in time, as I was surrounded by my fellow university undergraduates laughing and clapping about a highly educated and intelligent woman being interrogated in public about her personal and reproductive life, I felt disillusioned and strangely disconnected from them.

I could not understand why people would find the exchange entertaining, much less express their amusement in such blatant ways. The whole incident left a bad taste in my mouth and made me think about the value of education here in Singapore.

How could such obvious sexist undertones of Mr Lee’s comments slip by, undetected, among the supposedly more educated, independent and intelligent citizens in Singapore?

To make sure I wasn’t being oversensitive, I consulted Assistant Professor Emma Jane, whom agreed that Ms Sim had been treated unfairly.

The 35-year-old, who teaches gender history in NTU, said: “The fact that so many people laughed suggests that there is a lack of awareness to the problem of sexual discrimination.

“The demeaning reduction of a woman to her reproductive status is a classic technique of disempowerment, one that has frequently been used to socialize women into believing that ability to reproduce constitutes her most important function for society.”

Likewise, in a letter to the Straits Times Forum, AWARE president Nicole Tan stated: “Implying that marriage and motherhood are more important than education and work belittles the choices and contributions of women who prefer to be single or childless.”

Unfortunately, race and religious issues are landmines in Singapore while sexism remains an uncharted territory.

Students are conditioned to exercise caution when handling racial and religious issues, but since sexism has never been mentioned explicitly by the government and our moral education textbooks in secondary school, we are almost running blind in the uncharted territory of sexism.

Therefore, I wouldn’t say that the people who laughed at the dialogue are sexist but they are most certainly ignorant and insensitive.

Adding on the pressure to reproduce is our local newspapers’ extensive coverage on our ageing population, which seems to point the finger at women putting off marriage or choosing not to have children.

It does not help that respected figures like Mr Lee are making statements that may seem pragmatic at first glance but actually have the negative effect of perpetuating sexism in Singapore.

To all intelligent and confident Singaporean women out there: Do you think that getting married and having children are more important than your education?

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Singapore goes to the polling stations on Saturday, yet many of my peers are still undecided on which Tan to vote for.

Few of my peers are scrambling to read up on the latest news, leaving most of them woefully inadequate with regards to knowledge about the upcoming election.

From my gut feel, the prevailing mood among youths here is that of disinterest.

What happened to the election fever that caught Singapore’s previously apathetic youths a few months back? The heady feeling that actually made us pick up a newspaper, listen to news and discuss politics? What happened to the pretentious, pseudo-intellectual political discussions that replaced conversations on the Great Singapore Sale?

Sadly, the political storm whipped up by the General Elections (GE) has since died down into an eddy.

One answer may be the perception that the Presidential Election is not worth investing one’s time in. For young people, it lacks the ‘cool factor’ that the GE offered.

During the GE, it was uncool to be apathetic, cool to have a point of view and absolutely necessary to be politically aware. The social media, arguably the arena of the youths, was inundated with comments, status updates, and links to political articles.

Being young is also about being seen at the right places, doing the right things. Young people wanted to be seen at rallies during the GE, directly participating in the political process.

The herd mentality had played a big part in prompting many of Singapore’s young people to jump onto the political bandwagon. As such, it comes as no surprise that when the GE ended, interest in Singapore politics simply evaporated.

To the mind of the fickle young, the value of politics has plummeted.

Of course, the duration for campaigning was probably too short for the electorate to make an informed choice, which might have a net effect of pushing many undecided young voters to judge based on first impressions.

In this case, the labels placed on our presidential hopefuls play a much more important role than their credentials and the contents of their speeches.

Nonetheless, a spillover effect from the GE lingers. For youths, it has always been ‘cool’ to be anti-establishment. Thus, some youths eschew Dr Tony Tan for his close links with the People’s Action Party (PAP), and may be inclined towards the outspoken Mr Tan Jee Say for his more confrontational attitude towards the PAP.

In our one-man, one-vote system, an educated vote is worth as much as an uneducated vote. It does not benefit our society to have young people, inheritors of our nation’s future, simply voting for the sake of voting.

The hypocritical, inconsistent ‘interest’ of our youth in politics make us seem like people who go with the flow, like faceless soldiers marching mindlessly to a vague future.

But voting is a right and a privilege. What we need is a nation of well informed voters. While I am not qualified to vote this year, but you can be sure that when it comes to the next elections I will play the role of a well informed voter.

Only then can we have real confidence for the future.

As Singapore’s Presidential candidates wrap up their election campaign, Ng Kaijie argues that information is the lifeblood of the election process and without it, we only vote at our own expense.

Democracy never monopolized the affection of the Western world. Indeed, some statesmen even treated the system with disdain. Winston Churchill once astutely remarked, “The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.”

It seems that 50 years later, in an ex-colony faced with an impending Presidential Elections, we have not grown any wiser.

The stage has been set. This election would probably be decided by how voters construe the President’s role under the Constitution. However, with only one Presidential Election under the electorate’s belt, can we be trusted to understand the President’s complex undertakings? The gloves are already off in this interpretation free-for-all. Mainstream media has carried editorials warning against liberal readings of the role. Forums (both online and off) have also attempted to define the limits of the President according to arguably biased perspectives.

Tony Tan Keng-Yam, Deputy Chairman and Executive Director, Government of Singapore Investment Corporation (GIC), Singapore, during the session 'Scenarios for the Future of the Global Financial System' at the Annual Meeting 2009 of the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, January 30, 2009. Photo: World Economic Forum

Even the presidential candidates themselves acknowledge that this crucial issue would be a tipping point. Dr. Tony Tan (above), in a thinly veiled poke at his election rivals, commented that “the candidates should be running for the Office that exists, and not the Office the one they wish to have.” Dr. Tan Cheng Bock have also tried to distance himself from what he perceived to be “day-to-day politics.”

Yet, the other two candidates who propose a relatively activist role remain wholly unrepentant. They bank on the principle of a moral authority from the people, which, they argue, affords a certain flexibility in the President’s role. This would compel him to take the necessary action, even if it crosses the (as of yet) undefined line between legal and unlawful exercise of the President’s powers.

The conflict over the Constitution’s interpretation has also drawn political observers into the fray. Professor Eugene Tan, in his frequent guest appearances on Channel Newsasia’s election specials and on The Online Citizen Face-to-Face 2 Presidential Election special, harped on the danger of “overpromising”. He said that the law does not allow for such a liberal exercise of the President’s authority. Such caution is well-advised. When one rides into power with promises that he can’t cash, the disconnect between expectations and reality must necessitate a backlash and a disillusionment with the institution.

Yet, despite such widespread bemoaning regarding the faulty understanding of the President’s role, no one has set the record straight, except the Law Minister K. Shanmugam. His interpretation of the Constitution drew criticism for being overly narrow (see here and here). Perceptions of him being an interested party was also a baggage that was difficult to shed. Moreover, the judiciary rules on these vagaries in the Constitution, so his interpretation is of little practical consequence. While Mr. Shanmugam clarified his remarks later, a chilling effect seems to have descended on the issue. No one is keen to stand out and offer an authoritative view of the Constitution.

Unfortunately, the whole “you-think-I-think” saga acts out on parallel spectrums. Naysayers are all too willing to frame any whiff of activism as inclinations to exercise explicit power, even when such inclinations could be behind-the-scenes exertion of influence. No one is willing to address such hypothetical circumstances, when in fact one believes that the President would engage in private acts of influence very frequently. Even President Nathan has indicated his many interactions with the establishment despite his constraints from the oath of confidentiality.

There is nothing wrong with political posturing from the candidates when they accuse each other of irresponsibility – after all, it’s just politics. But when neutral experts or institutions get caught up in the “me-too!” fray and merely react to such bluster instead of correcting perceptions, how can one expect voters to vote “right”?

All this campaigning has obscured the crux of the issue; that Singapore lacks an independent institution who will willingly step up when the traditional ones are found wanting. While news media lament the cavalier attitudes of certain candidates, they shy away from enlightening their readers or even directing them to Singapore’s statues freely available online to address the possible influence the President can possess. Given their enormous powers at setting the public agenda, it seems puzzling when they would rather sow the seeds of the social panic that they report. This is especially since they are adequately equipped with the expertise and reach to rectify such a problem.

Singapore’s nascent civil society also fails in this regard. It is not surprising given the clear demarcation between the political and civil locally. Yet, civil society is the one best served if it can push towards a clarification of the President’s powers. Given the President’s role for the community, civil society needs to understand the extent of his influence and thus the limits of their organizations in lobbying for certain initiatives.

Cheong Chun Yin's family kneeling before the Istana, Singapore's presidential palace, on 27 April 2011. Cheong was arrested in Singapore in 2008, and charged with trafficking in approximately 2.7kg of heroin from Burma. To the family, a Presidential pardon is one their remaining options left. Photos: Kirsten Han

Even the judiciary is strangely silent on the issue when their views are probably the most authoritative. Perhaps they do not comment on speculation. Without the real transgression taking place, such a thought experiment is merely a meaningless exercise. Moreover, the merits of the case would be to take into account the context of the individual situations. But as a result of this, we only have disorganized experts offering idiosyncratic takes on the provisions for the President. These are like reading tea leaves; interesting to the interested individual, but of no value to larger society.

One can understand why experts are loathe to offer an explicit interpretation of the law and the many possibilities of how the President would or would not contravene it; no one wants to end up with intellectual cream pie on their face. The interpretation of the law is still human and allows for some flexibility.

However, leaving the account wide open serves no favours either. An irresponsible President can drum up unrealistic expectations. On the other hand, the lack of a clear idea about the Presidency forces the electorate to be unnecessarily cautious and to seek out the most conservative figurehead available. What if the President is actually capable of so much more? Without the dimensions of a room, we would probably equip it with the stingiest furniture available, however ill-fitting it might be.

Perhaps not many voters would recognize the political theory behind the mandate. However, they do implicitly acknowledge the weight of their own vote. A vote is sacred. It is a responsibility and above all, it is empowering. The government recognizes this when it asks the electorate to vote rationally and objectively. Populism, to them, is the anti-thesis of rationality. Yet, without complete information, a voter is disenfranchised. He cannot be expected to vote rationally his preferred candidate that fits the terms of the office.

That would in fact destroy the sanctity of the voting process when voters instead rely on heuristics, plumping for any likeable candidate regardless of other conditions. The very real fear is that the by-election effect would follow, turning this into a General Election Part 2. Starving voters of neutral information would ironically herald the rise of the irresponsible voter, the very same kind the elected presidency was supposed to check.

Believe it or not. China, like Singapore, has curry too.

In fact, the ‘curry dispute’ between a Chinese immigrant family and its Singaporean Indian neighbours reminded me of a memorable dish from Xinjiang, China called da pan ji (大盘鸡).

It is a spicy stew of capsicums and potatoes, combining Uyghur spices with chicken as the main ingredient, a Han Chinese culinary influence.

Mr Ali Tash, a Uyghur tour operator who helped me on my solo trip to China’s far-west, brought me to a local Uyghur restaurant after I told him that I have been sustaining on hard boiled eggs and noodles in the Muslim region where mutton and beef are staples.

Besides da pan ji, I could get shou zhua fan (手抓饭) which is similar to Singapore’s Nasi Briyani. Both offered a ‘taste of home’ after my five-month exchange in Beijing without a single spoonful of curry.

Whenever fellow travelers ask me about my thoughts and experiences about Xinjiang, the first thing that comes to my mind is how reminiscent the multicultural province was of Singapore, compared to any other Chinese city.

Many mainland Chinese also liken Singapore to any Chinese city as we have a large percentage of Chinese in our population. But this is a superficial comparison. Looking closer, I can see some differences that make Singapore unique.

Non-Han Chinese ethnic groups in China are classified as ‘ethnic minorities’. The official term used is shaoshu minzu (少数民族) which literally suggests that people belonging to these ethnic groups exist in smaller numbers compared to the dominant Han-Chinese population.

This is in stark contrast to Singapore’s emphasis on its identity as a multicultural nation where the term ‘ethnic minorities’ is never used in any public statement, occasion or in a day-to-day conversation.

While Singapore’s younger generation (especially those born in the 1980s and 1990s) is colour blind, this is not the case in China. Some Han Chinese still view ‘minorities’ such as Tibetans and Uyghurs in a different light, and misconceptions are formed partly due to the large geographical and cultural distance between ethnic groups.

The geographical distribution of minority groups in China is mostly confined to its border provinces, such as that of Yunnan, Inner Mongolia and Xinjiang. Given the vast size of China, these areas are remote to the average urban dweller and are more commonly regarded as tourism hubs, still a more positive reputation than what the ancient Han Chinese used to know them as — ‘the land of the barbarians’.

Minority cultures are being stereotyped to have exotic food, tribal costumes and music, and in some instances, regarded to be less civilised as they come from rural societies. Such skewed perceptions are limited to textbook and classroom knowledge without any concrete interaction between the different ethnic groups, let alone the concept of mutual understanding and social integration.

Some minorities who feel that their livelihood is being threatened by the dominant presence of Han Chinese amongst their midst tend to feel xenophobic toward the Chinese.

The government is now wooing the minorities over, with financially beneficial social policies. Efforts to better engage and integrate the minority races are ongoing, such as the construction of houses in rural areas in accordance to traditional designs and the consolidation of public schools for villages in the same district.

Children as young as seven years old enjoy free education, in addition to food and lodging at boarding schools, and only get to go home on weekends.

On the other hand, the Han Chinese in China seem more likely to have xenophobic sentiments towards the minorities. In fact, I have never come across any individual born and brought up in China who is as colour blind as youths in Singapore. Most of the Chinese see the minorities as the “others”.

I attended a lesson on minority cultures at one of southwest China’s renowned universities. The relatively young teacher gave a simplistic overview and description of each culture, perhaps due to the short span of time for the lesson. However, from the way she spoke about certain regions, I cannot deny that it gives me the impression that there is much more to be done about social awareness in this area.

Undoubtedly the Han Chinese government has to maintain a certain form of dominance when it comes to dealing with multicultural issues in China as majority of the population, the Han Chinese urban dwellers are generally not ready to accept being placed on the same pedestal as the ‘minorities’.

Lured by the incentive for a better life, generations of Han Chinese have adapted to the process of relocating and setting up homes away from their ancestral province, a similar phenomenon exemplified by the global Chinese diaspora. Internally, China uses a ‘soft invasion’ approach on its border provinces since the Han Chinese population never stops growing.

In Xinjiang, Han Chinese dominate the northern areas with holiday spots at ice glaciers, industrial plants in several cities and the commercialization of natural attractions. The Uyghurs mainly originate from the southern enclave of Kashgar and prefer to live in the southern regions such as Aksu, or Kuche and Korla, which are more central, although most institutes of higher learning are located in the capital of Urumqi.

Businessmen and developers from as far as the eastern coastal province of Jiangxi are flocking to areas in Xinjiang such as Tashkorgan, an autonomous Tajik county, as they hope to tap into the vast natural resources of Central Asia.

Here at home, Singapore remains a top destination of choice for Mainland Chinese parents and students since China’s public education system does not directly give its students access to worldwide college entrance admissions.

It is my opinion that Chinese students in Singapore do not show as much xenophobia as their counterparts in China. It could be the Singaporean education and society which they have been immersed in which influenced them to be less colour blind.

Perhaps Singaporeans can give the Chinese immigrants in Singapore some credit for cooking excellent soup dishes such as ban mian and fish soups at our hawker centres.

I love being Singaporean for it has shaped me to be a person who values diversity in relationships and food. The outpour of nationalistic pride over the ‘curry incident’ is heartening.Besides sharing the wide variety of local fare with our foreign friends, Singaporeans are also in good stead to teach anyone about appreciating diversity.

I love my curry, and would definitely not wince at trying the Eurasian Devil’s Curry, or joining my Malay neighbour for a meal of kari ayam.

As for our foreign friends in Singapore, we welcome them to join us too.

The writer is an NTU student who traveled to Xinjiang and Yunnan after spending two semesters in Beijing and Chengdu. She wrote for Gochengdoo.com which is managed by a sambal-loving German.

After more than half a year away from the Yunnan Garden campus, I returned to NTU for a new semester, only to feel like a complete stranger in this familiar land.

I hardly knew anyone—nobody greeted me and my peers were not in school either. Recognisable faces in the form of seniors were gone. In fact, I could easily be mistaken as a freshman who skipped the school’s orientation camp.

Except I’m no freshman. I’m already in my final year and feeling detached from school is actually normal. After several months of internship at another company, I felt some difficulty in reconnecting with the school I belonged to.

Most final year students, if not all, would probably share similar sentiments. But it might not be so bad. Some might be looking forward to graduation, a thrilling trip overseas or a satisfying job opportunity ahead. Some are relieved that the worst days were over, only with the final year project ahead. Others had found love.

The problem is, I’m starting to feel like a stranger in my own country too.

In a recent poll by Channel NewsAsia (above), 81 percent of respondents said they would not fly the national flag to celebrate Singapore’s birthday on August 9.

Mr Toh Chin Chye, one of the two surviving founding fathers of modern Singapore, will be sad to hear this. After all, he chaired the committee to design the national flag back in the 1950s.

But I’m not surprised. Despite anger from many voters at the May 7 General Elections, the biggest problems in Singapore would take time to solve. Reforms in the areas of public housing, transport and the economy could not be done overnight.

Singapore faces a dilemma for its economy was built with heavy reliance on cheap foreign labour. In addition, the country is also struggling with a low birthrate. As we try to replace Singaporeans by bringing in new citizens, we risk replacing Singapore completely.

With its character eroded and its people losing a common sense of destiny, Singaporeans may eventually find that they have nothing to celebrate for on National Day.

Unlike a school, company or factory, a nation cannot afford a come-and-go culture where most people stay for a few years and disappear for greener pastures.

I feel that Singapore is slowly falling victim to that phenomenon, home to a growing financial sector which has brought an influx of globally mobile professionals.

The sudden flood of immigrants have also created large, self-interactive communities centred around a country of origin. Ethnic enclaves which the People’s Action Party had worked so hard to dissolve back in the 1960s could resurface today.

Given the large number of new citizens and the slow-growing local-born population, its unlikely that the proportion of local-borns will return to the levels seen a decade ago. In many ways, the demographic character of this country has been permanently altered.

Telling immigrants to go home would not work either. In fact, its a form of extreme xenophobia harmful to the country.

Unlike London, Paris and other global cities which Singapore aspires to be, there are no rural heartlands for local-born Singaporeans to move into and preserve the country’s character. Huddled in a small city state with soaring property prices and crowded public transport, Singaporeans feel squeezed out and even under siege.

But on the bright side, being small meant integration could be easier in Singapore.

With the shortage of public housing, there are opportunities to integrate new citizens and local-born Singaporeans through the same methods which the PAP broke up ethnic enclaves in the 1960s.

The Housing Development Board could set ratios for foreign-born Singaporeans vs local-born Singaporeans in new blocks of flats, breaking up enclaves formed by recently arrived immigrants.

New immigrants bring new festivals and customs into Singapore’s cultural landscape. Just as different races had visited one another on festivals such as Hari Raya Pausa and Chinese New Year, new immigrants can invite fellow Singaporeans to their own festivals too.

After all, what made Singapore special was not whether its people are born locally or overseas. A good government that cares for citizens as people instead of merely workers for a commercial enterprise will make the country tick.

With people-centric instead of profit-driven leaders, even a country full of foreign-born immigrants will stay and live peacefully together. A sense of common destiny would blur existing cultural differences.

Singapore has successfully integrated a racially-diverse population in the first 46 years of nationhood. They need to work harder as new immigrants come in. At the same time, the government should not forget an older generation of Singaporeans who had built the country with their tears, sweat and blood.

Whether foreign or local-born, I hope Singaporeans will not feel strangers in their own land. As the school term starts, I also look forward to a homecoming party this Wednesday, meeting up with friends and newcomers at NTU.

Happy National Day, Singapore. Stay true to yourself.

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At first, I felt slightly dizzy, a feeling that I knew was part of an earthquake.

It seemed minor at first, until my shelves and dishes began to rattle violently.

Remembering some half-truth I’ve heard about certain bathrooms in newer Japanese buildings as being earthquake-proof, I quickly moved to the toilet and sat down, waiting for the shaking to stop.

I realized the magnitude of this quake much later. As my friends and I began to walk to the gym for our routine exercise, we saw numerous Japanese people crowding around the designated evacuation sites in parks around Takadanobaba.

My friends and I stocked up on canned goods, water and emergency supplies, based on the hypothetical situation that we would be trapped under rubble. I set out my supplies into a backpack, along with my thickest waterproof jacket and clothes laid out on the limited rack and floor space in my toilet.

Jokingly, I told my friends that it was my ‘fallout shelter’. That done, I left my laptop tuned to the NHK World Service and went to bed, knowing that I needed to stay alert and be at least rested in case I needed to run for safety.

The 'fallout' shelter that Tang took shelter in at the height of the earthquake on March 11 afternoon. Photo: Tang Chee Seng

In retrospect, it was the most surreal sleep I have ever had. The program kept repeating a tsunami warning for all the various areas in Japan. Each message would be delivered in at least five different warnings. As I fell asleep, the voices blurred out into a strange hypnotic litany of impending disaster.

Midway through the night, I awoke to images of an entire town burning due to what I assumed was earthquake damage. The whole event was filmed and broadcasted live via a Japanese Self-Defence Forces helicopter. Lying in a warm bed and staring blearily at what was unfolding live on screen, somehow a part of me just disconnected from what I was seeing and experiencing.

Like images of the Boxing Day Tsunami of 2004, how could we associate the horror of what we saw on TV with the comfortable, safe physical conditions we were living in?

Being so relatively close to the disaster-hit areas, I felt that I ought to feel scared and terrified for my life. I ought to be crying in helplessness in my sorrow for the dead, dying and the barely surviving.

But somehow I couldn’t.

Though I was only around 200 kilometres away from what was happening onscreen, it felt as though it was happening to another country. Does that make me a horrible person?

Six days later, I still didn’t know. All I knew at the time (even up to now) was to ensure that I was rested, alert, and prepared for any contingency.

Call it NS training, call it kiasi-ism, but the logical part of my brain had to be in control. If I gave in to uncontrollable grief, fear and extreme paranoia, I would not be able to deal with any situation. I think that for all that has happened, fear truly is the greatest enemy for all of us. Misinformation and rumour are generating fear when fear is the last thing we need to deal with.

Despite the tragic scenes of destruction and chaos north of Tokyo, the central part of Tokyo City itself was relatively unscathed. Walking along the streets of Takadanobaba, the college district I live in, I found the streets quieter and there are long queues in front of supermarkets, pharmacies and convenience stores.

While there are some unspoken tension and differences in the air, life continues on here. Office workers go to work, and shop assistants still greet you whenever you enter a shop.

Chinese people crowd at a check-in counter at Niigata airport in Niigata to get out of Japan Wednesday, March 16, 2011 in fear of further earthquakes as well as deteriorating nuclear power plant incident following Friday's massive earthquake and tsunami. Photo: AP/Kyodo News

Compare all this measured calm with the scene of near-chaos I encountered on Tuesday at the Tokyo Immigration Office—hundreds, if not thousands of foreigners living in Japan sought to obtain a re-entry permit, causing long queues which snaked around a large compound and even within the building.

This permit was highly sought after because it would allow them to leave and return to Japan without negating their visas.

All was reasonably orderly and calm until officials began to return the processed passports in the main atrium. Masses of foreigners urgently pressed up against a small island of officials desperately trying to maintain order and carry out their duties, all the while maintaining their standards of service politeness.

It was not until a Caucasian man began shouting at the crowd in Japanese to quieten down and move back away from the officials, did any semblance of order could be restored.

While waiting with me, a Filipino lady asked me if the impending ‘radioactive cloud’ coming towards Tokyo, as reported by the BBC early on Tuesday, would melt buildings. Smiling, I reassured her that it would not, and that the best thing to do would be to trust the authorities right now, even if their track record was not exactly spotless.

Hearing groundless rumours being spread with impunity among the foreign community in Japan, and seeing the heedless panic of the crowd, I wondered who the insane ones in this crisis were. The people staying or the people leaving?

For further reading, here’s another piece by Cassandra Eng, written 34 hours after the earthquake.

A story about loving via the internet. By Terence Lee and his non-tech significant other.

I KNEW something was wrong with me when my girlfriend prefers to fondle her iPhone rather than my stubbled chin.

In truth, our relationship had lost much of its previous flair: We started off by chatting two to three hours a day on MSN Messenger, especially when I was in lectures – which, by the way, totally explained my pathetic 3.3 GPA in my first semester of school. Phone conversations were an afterthought.

Nowadays, we’ve become too lazy to even talk on a dedicated chat software, preferring instead Gmail’s chat function, which meant I could type an email to my boring university lecturer and talk to my girlfriend at the same time.

Remember those cute little cards filled with cut-out hearts that you would make for your boyfriend as an expression of your unyielding love? We’ve ditched them, preferring instead to send free, animated e-cards to one another because we’re lazy and cheap.

Gone also are the days of calling my girlfriend to plan the time and place for our next date. We share our Google Calendars and sync them to our smartphones just so we can keep tabs on one another – which means she’ll question me endlessly if she finds a blank slot.

We also share a Google Doc where we create a list of places and restaurants we’d like to visit next. Most of them are culled from hungrygowhere.com, a good place to find out about the latest food joints without needing to ask a single person.

So what happens when we want to go somewhere but find ourselves lost? Well, Google Maps takes care of that. You can even key in your destination and Google will take you there, listing out three to four alternatives just for fun. There is no more approaching strangers who might point you in the wrong direction. To be honest, I was happy with this state of affairs for a while.

But here’s the problem: All that spontaneity is lost. We’ve become a two-person tour group, where every date is a planned programme.

We’ve surrendered all elements of surprise to the meticulousness of our clever phones, and gave up on the notion of exploring the urban jungle like a modern Tarzan and Jane, who may just happen to stumble upon an obscure ramen store in Bugis or an old-school comic book store in Chinatown.

I read once about a journalist who outsourced his life to a personal assistant in India: He even got the assistant to apologise to his wife for an offense – via email.

I did one better: By relying on the omnipresent Google, I did not have to pay a single cent. I let slave machines do the thinking, instead of a foreign assistant dividing her time between work and boyfriend.

So this brings us back to my girlfriend’s love affair with her shiny iPhone – which she named Finna, by the way. Finna was always by her side, whereas she would be lucky to get a two-hour audience from me all week. Which was why I faded into irrelevance.

Faced with this crisis, I decided many weeks ago to set in motion a devious plan that would win her back, a plan concocted in Germany by one Klaus Teuber.

Sounds familiar? Maybe not. He’s the inventor of Settlers of Catan, a rather popular board game that has sold 15 million copies worldwide. So I recently bought the game for my girlfriend.

Yes, a board game made of actual cardboard paper and plastic game pieces, not some pixelated crap invented by a geeky software engineer in Silicon Valley. Settlers is a game created in love; Klaus mentioned that his main aim of inventing board games is to amuse his bored wife.

The plan worked like a charm. We played Settlers with my mum and brother when she came to my place. We yelped in amusement whenever someone was penalised or on the verge of victory. What would have been a sleepy Sunday afternoon turned into a time of genuine bonding.

And most importantly, I snatched her from the likes of tech kingpins like Mark Zuckerberg and Eric Schmidt, who obviously prefer that the world interact behind a computer screen, like their anti-social selves.

So friends, here’s a secret to rekindling your pathetic, dying relationships: Play a board game together. You won’t get that from any romance guru.

This story was first published on 8 March on the New Nation, a general interest multimedia online magazine for young adults. Reproduced with permission.

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