S. Rajaratnam: Recounting the life and work of one of Singapore’s core founding fathers
The Straits Times, 13 Jul 2024
Old Guard member S. Rajaratnam played a pivotal role in Singapore’s history, and his contributions are covered in the second volume of a biography by former journalist and ex-MP Irene Ng out in July 2024.
These edited extracts from S. Rajaratnam, The Authorised Biography, Volume Two: The Lion’s Roar, published by ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute, touch on the 1964 racial riots, the Separation in 1965, and the crafting of the national pledge, as well as his visit to China in 1975, the first by a Singapore leader since independence.
How S. Rajaratnam handled Singapore’s 1964 race riots in the face of ‘arsonists playing firemen’
As he listened to the frantic voice on the phone, S. Rajaratnam realised that his greatest fear had come to pass. As one of the chief architects of Singapore’s independence, he had experienced some tough situations – but this was the worst tragedy to befall his country in his five years in politics.
It was July 21, 1964, barely a year after Singapore merged with Malaya and two Borneo states, Sabah and Sarawak, to form Malaysia in September 1963.
The voice on the phone that late afternoon was that of his close colleague Othman Wok, the social affairs minister. Othman had looked up to Raja, as the culture minister was usually known, since their journalism days in the 1950s. Raja had led the Singapore Union of Journalists as its president with Othman as his deputy.
After Raja, together with Lee Kuan Yew and others, formed the People’s Action Party (PAP) in 1954, Othman had joined the new left-wing party. What bound them was a common vision: to build a non-communal society based on justice and equality.
Now, on this hot, horrible day in July 1964, Othman bore news of a racial clash that threatened to tear apart the very fabric of society. “Some Malays are causing problems,” he reported. “Beating up Chinese bystanders. Things are getting out of control.”
Othman, the only Malay minister in the Singapore Cabinet, was leading a PAP contingent as part of a 20,000-strong procession to mark Prophet Muhammad’s birthday that day.
Over the phone, he told Raja the scenes he had just witnessed: Malay youths punching a Chinese policeman struggling to control the rowdy procession as it headed towards the Malay settlement of Geylang, then breaking off from the march to attack Chinese passers-by at random. Sensing danger, he and several others had slipped into the People’s Association headquarters in Kallang. This was where he had rung Raja.
The day being a public holiday, Raja was catching up on his reading in his book-lined home, a bungalow in Chancery Lane. At 49, he was the oldest among the nine-man Cabinet, and often appeared unflappable in any crisis. “He was very cool,” Othman recalled, “one who never got excited about anything.”
Raja might project an air of equanimity, but internally his thoughts were racing. He knew only too well how quickly racial and religious passions could boil over and lead to mass riots.
In a series of phone calls, he quickly conferred with prime minister Lee Kuan Yew and others on the dangerous situation. This was the first serious racial clash they had to deal with since taking charge of self-governing Singapore in 1959.
Gripped by urgency, he jumped into his sun-baked second-hand black Hillman and drove to his office at City Hall. As soon as he arrived and sat behind his desk, he began working the phone.
As story after story came in of Malay groups attacking Chinese people, overturning their cars, scooters and hawker carts, and setting their homes and businesses on fire, his alarm ratcheted up another notch.
The topmost priority of the PAP leaders was to contain the violence. To their frustration, however, they found their hands tied. Under the merger agreement between Singapore and Malaya, internal security did not come under Singapore’s control but under the federal government in Kuala Lumpur.
As reports of casualties poured in, the Singapore leaders urged KL to impose a curfew. Malaysian prime minister Tunku Abdul Rahman was away in America, leaving his deputy, Tun Abdul Razak, in charge. The curfew was finally called at 9.30pm. But still the streets seethed with savagery.
Disturbingly, reports began filtering in that the KL-controlled security forces, who were mainly Malay, were siding with Malays against Chinese. In turn, Chinese secret society gangs, having lost confidence in the police, led revenge attacks against Malays. The spiral of violence seemed unstoppable.
As the government’s communications czar, Raja knew that the public needed assurance. The government must be seen to be in control, even if it might not be. The former newspaperman had long understood the power of words. In such a tinderbox atmosphere, just one wrong word, one insensitive phrase, could set off another cycle of violence.
