Amidst the frenzied flurry of waving flags for Singapore’s National Day (Augut 9), one can’t help but notice a single flag that waves markedly slower than the rest. It possesses its own stubborn rhythm; it defies the crowd’s faster pace.
And one can’t help noticing something about the old man holding the miniature flag – still moving in its slow, hypnotic manner – an old man that looks as out of place as the flag he is holding, out of momentum, out of his time.
The old man is none other than Minister Mentor, Lee Kuan Yew.
Before I continue, I want to reassure readers that I am not about to start attacking MM Lee for waving his flag at a speed slower than the rest (the right to determine the speed of flag-waving is assuredly enshrined in the UN Declaration of Human Rights), or make hints that he is out of touch (he never is out of the loop), suffering physical or mental degeneration (lest I be sued for libel), or that he should make way for younger leaders who have the energy to wave the flag in a more energetic (and liberal) manner.
This article is about something more.
On the big screen, a video of Dr Goh Keng Swee is showing. As MM Lee watches the tribute to his fallen comrade, his eyes well as profound emotion etches itself on his face, and he seems to retreat into an ensconced past, while his flag movement slows to a crawl.
My own flag is slowly vacillating. In between the snatches of Singapore’s history on the gigantic plasma stadium screen and the patriotic songs of old juxtaposed against the mind-numbing rap-vandalized-variation of Count on Me Singapore, I feel a curious sensation:
Nostalgia, made all the more acute in the face of unrelenting modernization.
Could he be feeling what I am feeling too?
Familiar anchors of the past – be they friends, landmarks, customs, traditions, songs, melodies – destroyed, disappeared or dead, makes one full of wistful longing. Far from reliving nostalgia by sparing one from cues to remember the past, the lack of such anchors exacerbates a natural longing for the past that cannot be denied. Now, bereft of the comfort of the old and thrown against the backdrop of this amorphous shifting world, the aching deepens.
It is a feeling familiar to many who live in the land where the tower crane is the national bird.
I look at the spectacle before me. Now, a phalanx of NCC members are inexplicably in red Masked Rider-esque costumes tossing their rifles about. I recall a time not too long ago when performers did not bear such a striking resemblance to Martians. The commentators say it is symbolic of the vibrancy of youth. I am not buying that.
A familiar song starts. I am about to relish it as it stirs some deep-seated patriotism within me. Then the song changes. Then again. And again. It’s a medley of old songs. The past is truncated and shortened. Something has to give, to make way for the new. Time in the programming schedule does not just create itself. Compressions and compromises have to be made. The old has to go – Didn’t the old places vanish too when we ran out of space?
Then something assaults my ears. A mangled twisted sound. And I realize what it is. A modification of an old song – or should I say in the most derisive manner – an “improvement”. It is a natural expectation after knowing the nation’s mantras: Re-invention is necessary for Singapore to survive; We must never cease to modernize, to do so will be complacency; Old dogs must learn new tricks. The past can be improved; the past cannot be the present too; the past must be brought to pace with the future.
I stand there in the paroxysm of sound, looking at the skyline. Glitz and lights abound. Towering skyscrapers. A torpedo on three pillars barely there a year before.
The fireworks started. My flag stalled.
