1		1	memorial, Joshua Benjamin Jeyaretnam

I attended Mr Joshua Benjamin Jeyaretnam's memorial on the night of Janurary the fifth, and am posting my reflections of this only now since my personal astrologer advised me that posting only after the solar eclipse will be a prudent move. And this is of course a consideration that has nothing to do with the fact that I have been busy rooting for our commonwealth contestants for the past few days.

Usually when such events have passed the time window for reporting, I let them slide. However, this time I decided not to since I do not wish to let a certain newspaper get the last and false word on the event. Reading The Straits Times account of the memorial, I realised that the event was portrayed as though the occasion was a mere platform for James Gomez to declare his resignation from the Workers Party while Mr Joshua Jeyaretnam himself was barely mentioned...

... what an egregrious trivalising of the titanic, an ignoble insult to the noble, an irrelevant and irreverent sleight of hand...

Well done Straits Times, I am seething in anger now as I write this. What I remember of the night is not James Gomez's resignation. To do so will be to miss the point, though the two Straits Times mumo-jumbo-pseudo-journalists covering the event clearly disagree.

What I remember of that clear dark night is this:

Of speakers gingerly climbing up that small hill.. Of that mound of earth dumped on a field that has been christened "Speakers Corner"... Of the lack of rostrums, speakers, pomp and ceremony... Of voices that trailed and fought against the wind... Of the crowd that huddled and pressed together to hear those strained voices... Of wind-blown scripts that wrapped themselves about the hands of those whom spoke... Of the remarkable fact that someone spoke in the first place... and that others came to listen...

... I too remember a curious atmosphere which plagued that night. Its quality, however curious, was unmistakable. No one in that crowd could have missed the palpable sensation of oppression in the air. The lack of facilities and amenities was one thing, but the sound of oppression was another. It might be strange to say that one could hear oppression, yet on that night, I heard it.

Oppression sounded like the cheap disco music beat which the aunties around were exercising to... Oppression sounded like the punctuating cries of disinterested football players nearby... Oppression sounded like the apathy of Singaporeans afoot.

Yet, no one in the crowd could have missed out something else either. Of the solidarity of those disenchanted... Of the torchlight volunteered by a listener that illuminated the scripts... Of the fact that there was a crowd in the first place...

I am sure that Mr Joshua Jeyaretnam will have been proud of the fact that there are those whom remember him, and remember the mandate which he has left. I will like to say that I denied the Straits Times the last word on the significance of the memorial, but I will not like to be able to say that I have had the last word.

Rather, I hope that there is no last word on the memorial, and on the state of politics in Singapore... For I am sure he wanted the last word to be in the clear and resounding speeches of many brave people to come...