The Riot Act Page 10

  Next, Sharon texted instructions to Masri bin Khairuman, her trusted watchman on social media.

  Masri, I know social media has been ablaze with discussions about the Little India riot over the last two days. Unfortunately, I will not have the time to keep track of or to respond quickly enough to comments. Can you be my online eyes and ears for the next few weeks? Sieve through and consolidate the important ones and forward them to me. I trust your judgement.

  Masri replied with a thumbs-up emoji and promised to keep her constantly updated.

  The next morning, Sasukumar texted to tell her about Nayagam Ranjan, a resident of Little India who ran a provision shop at the junction of Serangoon and Desker roads. Sasukumar had known him for over thirty years. The man was humble and compliant, and thought highly of the incumbent political party. Although Nayagam Ranjan was initially reluctant to be interviewed, Sasukumar convinced him the exposure would be good for his business.

  Sharon arrived the same afternoon with a TV crew. Some of Nayagam Ranjan’s customers were curious and hung around to watch the crew set up their equipment. Nayagam Ranjan himself was visibly nervous as the soundman clipped a microphone onto his collar. The Channel NewsAsia producer reassured him that they could always do a retake if he stumbled over his words so there was no reason to be nervous. Nayagam Ranjan grinned gratefully, even as he felt a cramp in his stomach. He looked over his shoulder at his son, Kaustubh, who had skipped class so he could be present to give his father support and encouragement. Nayagam Ranjan’s wife was shy and opted to stay away for the duration of the filming.

  After the first take, both Sharon and the producer realised they had a problem. Nayagam Ranjan was horribly ineloquent. His deplorable command of the English language and his conspicuous nervousness reduced him to a fumbling, indecipherable interviewee on screen. The producer suggested that they allow Nayagam Ranjan to reply in Tamil and the editing team would add in English captions to the final cut.

  Sharon frowned when she reviewed the second take. Although the man was noticeably more relaxed speaking in his mother tongue, his gestures on screen came into sharp focus simply because she could not understand his words. The first thing she noticed was that Nayagam Ranjan kept doing the Indian head shake, which was a horizontal figure eight swirl of the head that suggested a negative reply. Sharon requested the producer to replay the clip with the sound muted. This time round, the producer too realised they had a different problem. The worried look that the man wore as he bobbled his head made him look as though he was disagreeing with Sharon’s comments.

  Sharon enlisted Sasukumar’s help. This was not a racist slight, but she wondered if Sasukumar could persuade the interviewee to nod vertically instead. Otherwise, his gestures might confuse the non-Tamil-speaking viewers.

  Nayagam Ranjan looked startled by the unusual request, but being the humble and compliant man that he was, he made a valiant attempt to alter this particular mannerism that he had unconsciously used his entire life. Despite his laudable effort, the result was even more disastrous. He appeared as if he had a severe neck cramp, doing awkward, random swirls of his head to ameliorate the pain. The producer did not even have to review the third take to know it could not be used.

  “What about the son?” Sharon pointed at Kaustubh, who was standing behind the counter. “He could be his father’s spokesperson.”

  Kaustubh was exhilarated. He had come in the hope that the videographer might accidentally capture him during filming so that he could boast about it to his schoolmates. To be interviewed on screen was a triple-seven jackpot strike!

  The producer thought the fourth take went well. The young man was bubbly and enthusiastic, and spoke with confidence and clarity. But Sharon shook her head and asked for another take. She pulled Kaustubh aside and explained to him that he should not be constantly beaming. They were discussing the challenges facing the community that surfaced when migrant workers chose to disobey civil law and misbehave. The appropriate look was one of solemn concern and resolution.

  Kaustubh proved himself as cooperative as his father. The fifth take was finally satisfactory to all. The TV crew was ready to wrap up when Sharon requested that they stay put. She lowered her voice and engaged the producer in a hushed discussion. The latter frowned hard and gave her words some thought before agreeing.

  “We are going to do one additional take,” the producer announced as he gathered both father and son back in front of the videographer. “The MP will make two announcements. All you have to do is look at the MP and respond accordingly. No script, no pressure.”

  Sharon pulled back her lips and smiled benevolently as she announced that the Little India Shopkeepers Association had done a great job organising the Deepavali celebrations several weeks ago and that she was confident she could request additional grants the following year. She only asked that the merchants in Little India continue to support the measures she intended to roll out for the constituency. Both Nayagam Ranjan and Kaustubh were mystified by the sudden switch of topic, but being aware that they were still being filmed, they grinned widely and affirmed that they were supportive of their MP.

  Sharon made the producer play back the recording to ascertain that he had captured the zealous nods and affirmation of the two men. This was important, for the pair would not like what she had to announce next.

  “There is going to be a total ban of alcohol sales in Little India.”

  There was a collective gasp of shock from both film crew and the subjects. For several seconds, everyone stared at Sharon with incredulity.

  “That is not possible.” Sasukumar, the grassroots leader, was the first to protest. “The Little India Shopkeepers Association will never agree to that!”

  “Alcohol sales account for a big chunk of our business,” Kaustubh said, feeling the need to speak up for his father. “The ban will cripple us!”

  “We all have to make sacrifices for the community,” Sharon reminded them. She would give instructions for the producer to edit the clip such that the affirmative responses from father and son captured earlier could be transplanted onto the segment where she announced the alcohol ban. It was important to convince the viewers that the merchants of Little India supported such a measure. “The police commissioner and I will be announcing this at a press conference tomorrow morning. I just thought I should give you a heads up.”

  “Can we speak in private, please?” Sasukumar ushered Sharon to one of the aisles, out of sight of the filming crew. “You can’t just drop this on me, Sharon! How am I going to explain this to the members of Little India Shopkeepers Association?”

  “I am sure you will find a way,” Sharon remarked casually. “The merchants of Little India look up to you. You are one of only four grassroots leaders serving in Jalan Besar who has been conferred the Public Service Medal. It is an honour that is rare to come by.”

  Sasukumar had always worn his Public Service Medal with pride, but at this very moment, he could feel the pointed end of the medal nicking his skin and drawing blood.

  “Alcohol is big revenue for the business owners here. They will start their own riot if you force this down their throats.”

  “I know this is bitter medicine, which is why I need you to feed it to your members in a way that they will be willing to swallow it,” Sharon said a little impatiently. Subordinates who questioned her instructions or actions never failed to irritate her. But a grassroots leader like Sasukumar was not a subordinate and Sharon reminded herself she should not take his compliance for granted. “Look, implementing this unfavourable policy is but Phase One. Both you and I will be taking some bullets. Give it a few months. Once the tension is under control, we will move on to Phase Two. I will push to lift the alcohol ban and make it known that you put in a lot of effort to lobby for the ban lift. Not only will the merchants of Little India be grateful for the role you played in reinstating alcohol sales, I will nominate you for the Public Service Star.”

  Sasukumar wet his lips. If
the Public Service Medal was a rare flower in the desert that bloomed once every ten years, the Public Service Star was an even rarer breed that blossomed once every fifty years. Attaining it would mark the pinnacle of his community service journey. He would just have to figure out a way to make the Little India Shopkeepers Association swallow the bitter pill.

  How’s the filming going?

  It was a text message from Yu Chin.

  It’s a wrap. Will you be home for dinner?

  Sharon had had to work through most of her meals since the day of the riot. She looked forward to a quiet dinner at home with her husband. They needed to talk.

  Elvis wants you to join us for dinner at 8pm. He wants to prep you for the press conference tomorrow morning.

  Sharon felt a mix of resignation and excitement. As much as she missed having a quiet dinner at home, she was invigorated by the anticipation of yet another discussion with Elvis. The man had proven himself a master politician. She had so much to learn from him.

  Sharon made it a point to arrive at the Crystal Jade Palace restaurant an hour early. She checked in to the private room Yu Chin had booked, fired up her laptop and studied the list of links Masri had emailed her. The diligent young grassroots leader had gone the extra mile and added his summaries and reviews for Sharon’s reference. She was amused to note that he had devised a double-column five-star grading system to differentiate between those that were popular and had lots of followers, and those that were influential only because of their radical ideas and incisive analyses. One of the blogs scored the maximum of five stars for both columns and it was this link that Sharon immediately clicked on.

  The Tornado was a blog written by a social activist by the name of Omala Subramanium. Her biography stated that she was born in 1965, which meant she was 48. A social sciences graduate from the National University of Singapore, she had worked at a string of NGOs both locally and overseas. Her current position as director of Migrant Workers Count Too epitomised her social media persona—a fearless champion of marginalised groups in society. Her essays were strongly worded, persuasive and critical of the government policies and MNC practices that she deemed insidious and deleterious to the underprivileged.

  The Tornado’s recent articles on the Little India riots were well received by the followers, many of whom stamped their approval via “likes” and gave supportive comments that ranged from logical and sensible statements to illogical and doggedly anti-establishment rants. It was practically a social media riot with words in place of stones and flame bottles targeted at the government.

  Sharon found herself fired up. She opened up her word processor and started drafting an essay of rebuttals. As a debater at the prestigious Yale University, she had proven her mettle and defeated the best minds of her generation in the inter-varsity debates. This bleeding heart of a local graduate was no match for her. Sharon was determined to tear Omala Subramanium apart.

  Elvis and Yu Chin arrived just as Sharon was putting the finishing touches to her article. On the pretext of seeking a second opinion, she asked that Elvis help vet her piece, but in actuality, she was trying to impress him with her writing.

  “How much time did you spend on this?”

  “Half an hour, give or take,” Sharon shrugged, cautiously nonchalant.

  “That would be a half-hour flushed down the toilet.”

  Sharon blushed. “Is my article not good enough?”

  “It’s not your article.” Elvis emitted a barely perceptible sigh. “It’s your intention and your approach that I am questioning. What is it that you are trying to achieve here?”

  “A point-by-point rebuttal of her article, to show her how wrong her arguments are,” Sharon replied, exasperated. She hated that she was not able to keep up with Elvis’ complex stream of thought.

  “Omala Subramanium has been on our radar for years. She is sharp and intelligent, and has a substantial following on her blog. Her followers are die-hard fans, united by their collective distrust of powerful establishments, both governmental and commercial. They are what I call the inconvertibles. If you respond to the blog article, you will end up embroiled in a prolonged saga of online debate that will exhaust your time and energy. And they will remain unconvinced. Do you think this is an effective use of your time?”

  Sharon could not argue with that. “Then how should we tackle an influential dissident like Omala Subramanium? She is pinning the blame for the riot on our failure to protect the migrant workers from systemic abuse by their agents and employers.”

  “When the time comes, we will come down on her, and hard. In her last few articles, you might have noticed that she has been careless with her use of words. Her sloppiness came about because we have intentionally been keeping quiet. Dr Liew Kim Keong has a file on her. If need be, we have enough to either shut down her blog or sue her for defamation against the prime minister.”

  Sharon could not veil her look of astonishment. Dr Liew Kim Keong was the Minister of Information and the Arts. It was an open secret among parliamentarians that Elvis and Dr Liew did not get along. Their animosity had led to the formation of two factions in the Cabinet. Fortunately, the prime minister was able to helm the divided team.

  “I know what’s on your mind,” Elvis chuckled. “Remember—the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Dr Liew and I are happy to collaborate if the matter benefits both of us. Besides, I myself have Omala Subramanium on a very special leash. If I choose to yank the leash, she will choke, in a very horrible manner.”

  Sharon was immediately curious. She also noticed that Yu Chin did not look surprised.

  “Are you going to share the secret or do I have to grill Yu Chin for the details tonight?”

  Elvis laughed and turned to give Yu Chin a friendly cuff on the shoulder. “Go order our food. I will satisfy your wife’s curiosity and save you from the torture tonight.”

  Sharon was once again amazed by the easy camaraderie between Elvis and her husband, like that of college fraternity buddies. As Sharon watched Yu Chin leave the room, a stray thought suddenly wormed its way into her mind. Did Elvis know about Yu Chin’s extramarital affair? If he did, would he cover it up for her husband? Sharon feared that in all likelihood, Elvis would.

  “Back in 2009, Omala got herself into deep shit in Uganda,” Elvis began. “She was then working closely with Human Rights Watch and had flown over in response to a call for help from the Uganda LGBTQ community. Apparently, a young woman was jailed when she went to the police to report that she had been gang raped by a number of men in her village. Subsequent investigation uncovered the horrendous truth that the rape was sanctioned by both the village headman and the victim’s father when they discovered that the young woman was in a lesbian relationship with a friend from a town nearby. It was an attempt to turn her straight.”

  Sharon gasped. She was on the cusp of deploring the barbarity when she remembered what Elvis had said before about speaking only if a purpose was served. So she kept quiet and continued to listen.

  “The Uganda Parliament had just passed the Anti-Homosexuality Act then, which not only introduced the death penalty but reinforced the power to incarcerate individuals who promote LGBTQ rights. Omala, along with activists from various countries, walked right into their trap and ended up behind bars.”

  “And you had to negotiate for her release in your capacity as the Minister for Foreign Affairs,” Sharon conjectured.

  “I made a pact with conditions attached,” Elvis explained. “The Uganda courts agreed to suspend the charges against Omala and arranged for her deportation back to Singapore. On our end, we confiscated her passport for the next ten years. She needs to apply for a special permit from us every time she wants to leave the country. If at any time Omala engages in activities that disrupt internal security, we reserve the right to forfeit the agreement and send her back to Uganda to stand trial.”

  “That is a very tight leash,” Sharon had to admit. It also dawned on her how naïve she must appear to El
vis to have spent time drafting an essay of rebuttals. She was behaving like a college debater eager to showcase her brilliance. She had to start thinking and strategising like a politician.

  Yu Chun rejoined the table and declared that they would be feasting on steamed marble goby with supreme soya sauce and deep-fried cereal prawns, and washing the dishes down with double-boiled chicken soup with sea whelk, Chinese yam and wolfberries. Sharon veiled her distaste; she had an aversion to seafood. But she also understood that they had to capitulate to Elvis’ preferences. No one knew Elvis’ preferences better than Yu Chin.

  Over dinner, Elvis and Sharon discussed their strategy for the upcoming press conference. The police commissioner would quote from the initial investigation reports. He would explain that the riot had started when a bus driver accidentally ran his vehicle over an inebriated migrant worker who earlier had been thrown out of the same vehicle for creating trouble. The group of migrant workers who witnessed the tragedy was goaded into mob violence. The police commissioner would highlight that many among the 122 rioters apprehended admitted to being in a state of intoxication. Sharon would follow that up with the announcement of the complete ban of alcohol sales in the Little India district until further notice. The media would also be informed that Sharon was considering the possibility of fencing off some areas specifically for the migrant workers to gather during their rest days.

  When Elvis first came up with the idea of a total ban on alcohol sales two days ago, Sharon wondered aloud if it might not be perceived by the public as an ill-considered knee-jerk response. Surely the merchants of Little India would put up a fight. Even the keyboard warriors might ride on the bandwagon to ridicule her. But Elvis convinced her that she could not possibly please everyone, so she needed to strategise. When the merchants of Little India protested vehemently, they would come across as greedy businessmen who were unconcerned with the safety of the residents. When the keyboard warriors ridiculed the ban via distasteful memes, they would come across as cyberbullies. Sharon could just as easily leverage on these as rallying points to gain support from the conservative majority. There were different ways to play the game. A talented politician could turn any permutation of cards dealt into a winning hand.