The Singapore Story: Memoirs of Lee Kuan Yew (71 page)

While I was busy gathering popular support, there were troubling developments in the region. On 20 January 1963, the Indonesian foreign minister, Dr Subandrio, declared that Confrontation (
Konfrontasi
) against Malaysia was necessary because Malaya had let itself become a tool of colonialism and imperialism. A few days later, President Macapagal of the Philippines also denounced Malaysia as a new colonial power, and ten days after that, Subandrio told foreign correspondents that if Malaya’s hostility to Indonesia spread to the Borneo territories, there could be incidents, including physical conflict. The next day, President John Kennedy publicly expressed his wholehearted support for Malaysia as
“the best hope of security in that area”, but Sukarno only intensified his aggressive rhetoric. On 1 May, he turned his full attention to the Borneo territories, insisting that they should be given independence first and again condemning Malaysia as colonialism in a new form.

The Tunku responded to these attacks by recalling his ambassador from Jakarta. Malaya then announced an immediate build-up of its army, navy and air force. On 3 May, the British Commander-in-Chief Far East followed this up by saying that he had enough men, ships and planes to meet any emergency in Borneo. The situation was becoming increasingly ominous.

On 31 May, the Japanese prime minister invited the Tunku and President Sukarno to meet in Tokyo. This summit ended with a reaffirmation of faith in the Treaty of Friendship of the two countries signed in 1959, pledging them to settle differences in a spirit of goodwill and neighbourliness. The Tunku was relieved. But Sukarno must have sensed that the Tunku was afraid of him. I myself noted the fear in the Tunku’s body language and in his voice when he described this encounter to Razak, Ismail, Keng Swee and me shortly after his return from Tokyo.

The Tokyo summit led to a meeting of foreign ministers in Manila at which Razak conceded that the wishes of the people of the future Malaysia should be consulted again. But after the Tunku signed the Malaysia Agreement in July, Sukarno denounced it and accused him of betraying this Manila Accord. Macapagal contrived to get the two together for another meeting in Manila, and the result was that, on 6 August, the Tunku agreed to amend the date for the founding of Malaysia in order to give time for a UN-conducted survey mission to confirm whether the people of Borneo wanted merger.

The British found themselves obliged to agree that Indonesia, the Philippines and Britain should nominate observers to oversee the work of this mission, but Sandys was furious. He pressed the Tunku for a firm date for Malaysia, determined to stop further backsliding. Hundreds of
Malay youths from Brunei and pro-communist Chinese from Sarawak had already crossed the border for military training on the Indonesian side, and he did not want Indonesian “observers” roaming all over the Borneo territories when Jakarta was embarked on a policy of confrontation and subversion.

The meeting between them was very tense. Sandys reported on 27 August:

“He (the Tunku) was in a very nervy state and finished by saying, ‘I have reached the end of my tether and I do not want to discuss anything further with anybody.’ … He realises that Malaysia is a very small fish compared with Indonesia and he is worried about the prospect of living alongside a powerful and aggressive neighbour who has designs on his territory.”

But Sandys was a dogged man and he got the Tunku to agree to announce that whatever happened he would inaugurate Malaysia on 16 September (double eight equals sixteen, another lucky number of his).

The Tunku was never comfortable with his Indonesian neighbours. Sukarno was an orator, the Tunku was not. Sukarno was a dominating personality, the Tunku was quiet and charming. Sukarno represented 100 million Indonesians, the Tunku only four million Malays and fewer than four million Chinese, Indians and others. The Malays generally acknowledge Javanese culture to be superior. But I had never seen the Tunku so fearful. Sukarno must have sensed this and was exploiting his fears to the maximum. It did not augur well.

Sandys had no confidence that the Tunku would stand up to the Indonesian foreign minister. To his relief, it was Razak who met Dr Subandrio in Singapore, not to discuss Malaysia but merely to inform him of the new date.

32. Singapore Declares Independence

As the date for merger drew closer, the Chinese Chamber of Commerce pressed me to get the Japanese to settle their “blood debt”. Its leaders wanted it resolved before foreign affairs passed into the hands of a central government that was predominantly Malay, one that would feel less strongly about the atrocities that had been committed almost entirely against Chinese. The government in Tokyo, too, was aware of this and had been dragging its feet.

The chamber also wanted land in which to rebury the bones and to erect a memorial to the victims. I allotted a 4.5 hectare piece of land opposite Raffles Institution for the memorial, but asked the British to pursue the question of the blood debt with the Japanese, since they were in charge of foreign affairs. When I was in Tokyo in April 1962, Prime Minister Hayato Ikeda had agreed to do no more than “seriously consider appropriate steps to make amends and console the spirits of the dead”. There were no specifics.

I was not anxious to work up this issue, but the problem was not going to go away. The Chinese Chamber of Commerce had decided to bring the matter to a head, and as I was planning to hold elections just before Malaysia Day, I had to press its demands, whatever the consequences in terms of Japanese investment. On 5 August, the chamber asked for $50 million in compensation, to be devoted to health and education projects. The Japanese responded with an offer of a radiotherapy centre for the treatment of cancer, experimental equipment for educational institutions, and scholarships for Singapore students in Japan, costing $5–10 million.

As president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce, Ko Teck Kin proposed that a mass rally be held at the Padang in front of City Hall on Sunday, 25 August, “to report on the insincerity of the Japanese government in settling Singapore’s demand for compensation”. He knew that the PAP government would be unhappy as long as it was purely a Chinese issue, so he persuaded the chambers of commerce of the Malay, Indian, Eurasian and Ceylonese communities to join in the mass rally. I agreed to speak. A few days beforehand, Chin Chye settled with Ko the resolutions to be adopted. One of them was that if there was no satisfactory settlement, the people would carry out a non-cooperation campaign against the Japanese, and the Singapore government should not issue any new entry permits to Japanese nationals.

The Barisan and the communists saw this as another opportunity to show their strength and humiliate me in front of “the masses”. The Padang could easily accommodate the 100,000 people the chamber expected, and it was impossible to prevent communist groups from infiltrating the crowds to cause mischief. After meeting officers from Special Branch and the police, I decided to take the risk. They would ensure that if the communists fomented disorder or violence it would be swiftly suppressed. We would deploy 6,000 police and troops – men from the two Singapore regiments – near the Padang and out of sight, but certain to be seen by Barisan scouts. We also decided to install powerful spotlights ready to turn on any section of the crowd that started trouble, especially those in the front row who could most effectively disrupt the meeting. When these spotlights focused on them, photographers and TV cameramen would dash up to take close-up pictures so that the police could later identify the ringleaders.

By that evening, spotlights had been installed on the roof of City Hall and at nearby vantage points. At first the crowd of more than 100,000 was orderly, many gazing at the banners depicting different Japanese torture scenes strung up between palm trees and between the pillars of
the building. The Barisan and communist troublemakers were out in front and at the sides of the stage so that any commotion would be amplified by the loudspeakers. When I got to the microphone there was a round of booing and hissing, and as I began to speak the jeer leaders began chanting slogans to drown me out. I kept my patience and appealed for a chance to speak without interruption. But the uproar continued, and after speaking for a few minutes to make sure that the unreasonable behaviour of the rowdies would be obvious to everyone, I signalled to a plain-clothes police officer.

Suddenly, the spotlights came on and focused on the noisiest sections of the crowd, and the photographers and cameramen rushed forward to film them. The effect was instantaneous and salutary. They had not masked their faces with handkerchiefs this time. They knew that officers would pore over photographic enlargements to identify them, and there would be retribution if they persisted. The jeers and chanting stopped. The occasion turned out to be a demonstration of my resourcefulness and resolve to meet their threats when they played it rough, and enhanced my standing as a leader prepared to go to the end of the road in any fight. The thousands on the Padang and others watching television later could see that I was not rattled, that I had no armed bodyguards surrounding me, and that I was prepared to face danger. I made my points quietly in Hokkien – my command of the dialect had become an asset that protected me from Barisan charges that I was betraying the people. People sensed the strength of my convictions.

After this successful rally, I discussed the danger of any further postponement of Malaysia with my colleagues. We did not want the Barisan to recover their spirits at the prospect of merger being aborted. They might decide on direct action in the hope that Sukarno would intervene and scare the Tunku off completely. We therefore decided that on 31 August we would hold our merger rally as originally planned, and announce our immediate independence.

The day before, I wrote to Duncan Sandys to point out that, contrary to what Kuala Lumpur claimed, Singapore had not in fact agreed to a postponement of merger to 16 September. I reminded him that when the Legislative Assembly adopted the Malaysia Agreement at the beginning of the month, it included points conceded by the Tunku in London, some of them contained in an exchange of letters between Razak and me, others written on the back of an envelope, which the Tunku himself had signed. These provisions had still not been ratified or implemented, and I would accept the new date for Malaysia only after they were. In the meantime, I intended to declare Singapore independent within Malaysia on 31 August. I asked him to delegate powers to us in relation to foreign affairs, so that before that date the government could settle with the Japanese the gesture of atonement to be made for atrocities committed during the occupation.

I added that the light-hearted manner in which solemn agreements in writing had been set aside by the Malayans under one pretext or another was most disturbing. They could not be abandoned unilaterally. If I did not receive a categorical assurance from him that Singapore would not be forced into Malaysia unless the outstanding items were settled by Monday, 2 September, I intended to resign and seek a new mandate from the people. They would then become crucial issues in an election and it would be difficult to conceal the fact that Singapore had not agreed to join Malaysia on 16 September.

Sandys did not reply.

On 31 August 1963, at a ceremonial rally at the City Hall steps, I unilaterally declared Singapore independent. The British had tried to dissuade me. Sandys, who was supposed to have turned up if the merger was on schedule, did not. He was on the
Mutiara
, a Malayan naval vessel cruising off the coast of Malaya, waiting for 16 September. Razak also absented himself. But Sarawak had already declared
de facto
independence and North Borneo had proclaimed the establishment of the state
of Sabah. I said to the assembled crowd that just as these territories had assumed self-government in advance of merger, confiding federal powers in the interim to their respective governors, so in Singapore all federal powers over defence and external affairs would be reposed until 16 September in our Yang di-Pertuan Negara, who would hold them in trust for the central government. The Tunku and his colleagues believed I had instigated the defiance of the North Borneo states in the face of his express wishes, because the week before, I had met the leaders of the Sabah and Sarawak Alliance in Jesselton. Indeed I had urged them to do something dramatic on 31 August to prevent any further postponement.

Selkirk came for dinner that night as planned but voiced no protest. I did not make a song and dance about it, but I was not going to allow the momentum for Malaysia to falter, especially since I had decided to announce general elections three days later, with nomination day on 12 September. By declaring Singapore independent and holding the federal powers in trust, I put pressure on the Tunku to keep to the date of 16 September. The Tunku did not take kindly to this, and on 2 September, the Malaysian government made strong representations, not to Singapore but to the British. I retorted the next day, “If anybody has to complain it will be the British and Singapore. After all, we run this place.” I added that one of the sad things about Malaya was its naive approach in believing that power was handed over on a silver platter with red ribbons by British royalty in uniform. This was insubordinate language, which the Tunku did not approve of, but it was most necessary for me as a Singapore leader not to allow myself to be seen as someone who would only do what pleased the Tunku. He replied by saying that I had hurt the feelings of the people of Malaya.