How many ways to tell the story of Singapore?

It’s August again, and it’s National Day Parade time, where the obligatory reference to Raffles, the Japanese Occupation, and Separation are made. In the later years of the NDP, Sang Nila Utama started making an appearance – possibly because Malay costumes are more colourful and stage-worthy than an English frockcoat, and because when a country has very little roots, it’s only smart to lay claim to as many as you can. The result? A slightly schizophrenic story of a predominantly Chinese nation-state which begins with honouring a Malay founder.

However, the NDP theme this year is about the “City of Possibilities”. Although ‘possibilities’ here refer to opportunities, the term does sound like an invitation for a more inclusive society where differences are accepted.

With that in mind, the possibilities in the Singapore story are springing up everywhere this year. From Dim Sum Dollies to Gentarasa, to the National Museum’s My Story initiative, there’s a new wind blowing across the Singapore arts scene, and it carries the sandalwood scent of nostalgia.

If you ever wanted to see how different groups view Singapore history, now is the time. It’s being played out in theatres and in musicals. It’s being debated on the streets, as another national monument passes onto the shadow realm of memory. It’s the subject of Parliament and politics – as the old guard pass on, as a last opposition member tries to clear his name, as people demand the truth about their lives, their country, and their past.

Dim Sum Dollies: The History of Singapore was a runaway hit, amongst the public and eminent historians like Dr. Hong Lysa. A point she made went largely unremarked by the extensive Straits Times coverage of the production: It was a female history of Singapore, written and performed by women (including a cross-dressing Hossan Leong).

And what a difference it made! Sang Nila Utama is now a mama’s boy, strong-armed and emotionally blackmailed into success by his queen mother, a makcik matriarch who is the stuff of heartland stories. Even non-Malays will recognise the beloved nightmare and nurturer, who showers love and affection, and wields threats of a broken heart with finesse.[i]

The sharp-bargaining Peranakan nonyas know a good deal when they see one, and as far as they’re concerned, that’s what the pirates are for. The pirates, bane of the East India Company, are for once recognised for their role in bringing tariff-free goods that fuelled trade.

Early SPGs (Sarong Party Girl) yearned for a white man to lift them from their village life after the signing of the famous 1819 agreement between Raffles and Tengku Hussein. 1819 is usually explained in a legalistic spirit; for it was a historical moment with political implications and sensitivities. But through the frivolous, harmless and easily-dismissed SPGs, a deeper story could be told about aspirations of a small village, which became more aware of the advantages of British naval power, when it came to building a city.

Samsui women replace the traditional Founding Fathers with Founding Mothers. Their poignant song stands out, bringing in a quiet note amidst the fun and laughter. There is a sense here of a story that was too important to be dismissed or parodied, that could have only come from the feelings and loyalties of the writers. It’s not too hard to imagine that there was more of a connection between them and a samsui women’s sweat, than a single anguished tear in 1965.

And because of that, the role of the samsui women is given an unusual prominence in the Dollies’ version of history. Textbooks give them sidebars, but for the Dollies, their blood in the bricks that built Singapore warrants a chapter.

The contributions of a group that almost always goes unnoticed got their due today – namely, the missionary nuns. Every convent girl will remember the fierce, dedicated, and formidable women of God who were determined to educate young women and save them from sin. They flew in the face of societal belief that education was wasted on girls, and created a generation of independent Singaporean women. These “Oirish nuns from Oireland” were honoured by the Dollies, in a hilarious yet powerful tribute to the likes of Sophia Blackmore and Co., who set up the Methodist Girls’ school.

By telling it from a woman’s perspective, the Dollies in effect told a more personal history of Singapore, which took place in people’s homes and hearts. Women, traditionally never in the positions of political or economic power, were in to tell other Singapore stories.

There was another event that took place a month earlier, which didn’t quite received the same amount of attention on the national level – partly because it was produced in the national language, Malay. Gentarasa is a Malay music-and-dance extravaganza held annually, sponsored by the People’s Association. The theme this year was “A drop of history”, or the story of the Malay Singaporeans. It was essentially a Malay version of Singapore history, with emphasis given to events that had greater impact on the collective memories of the community.

And again, what a difference a changed perspective makes. Sang Nila Utama here is not the history-textbook prince on a hunting expedition gone stormy. Instead, the song tells of his reluctance to commit the unthinkable – leaving home and family to venture into the wider world. The modern Malay dilemma is depicted here – to spread wings and take flight in the winds of globalisation versus a culture that emphasises family above all, adding pathos to the founding story.

The Japanese attack of 1942, frequently told through the story of the attack itself, takes on a human dimension. Adnan Saidi, the Malay hero of Bukit Chandu, is given prominence here. His story told as a true bumiputra, a son of the soil, whose blood soaked the ground as he died for his country. Not for Genterasa a generic story that ends with Percival’s despondent moustache and the Tiger of Malaya’s triumphant snarl – a far more personal account is utilised. Here, Adnan represents every Singaporean on the ground, and his story is theirs as well.

And of course, the Prophet Muhammad birthday riots of 1964. Described in a single line as “a procession to honour the Prophet’s birthday” in most textbooks, this is the first time the procession is given a face. The white-clad, quiet, peacelovin’, tudung-clad marchers on the stage had no resemblance to the cheerful, sarong’ed crowd of reality. However, they are depicted, and the story is on them, rather than the curfew and subsequent police actions. And through this, another question was raised – what was the reaction and feelings of the crowd, for whom a peaceful procession spun so rapidly into terror?

The endless slingshots and squabbles of Malaysia-Singapore relations are told in – what else? A football match, the iconic Malay sport. Two teams on one playing field, and a game that should have gone on forever, with plenty of goal scoring on both sides. But of course, the game does end – and Singapore exits the field, with Malaysia left holding the ball, wondering what happens now.

Gentarasa’s version of history does not contradict the main Singapore Story – after all, it covers the same “key” events. However, in a simple change of perspective, fresh life is breathed into the story, creating an even stronger sense of humanity.

Two versions of the Singapore Story told in different ways, because of the people writing them. None of them were any less valid that the dominant narrative. I had no difficulty following the respective stories, and given the reaction of both audiences, neither did they. Although it is true that knowing the main historical narrative allowed this understanding to happen, it is equally true that many of these “different” story segments could have been easily complemented the so-called “real” Singapore Story, without any loss to the narrative, opening the way for many possible permutations.

Many more versions are being told this year. Stella Kon has a musical about early Chinese pioneer Lim Boon Keng, while Ng Yi-sheng had one about pioneer artist Georgette Chen. “Changi University alumni” and political detainee Michael Fernandez has teamed up with younger historians to write the story of the tumultuous 50s-60s, but through the student activists’ eyes.

What more will such particularist perspectives reveal about the story that we only think we know so well? In this city of possibilities, what other stories are possible, given the diversity of our lives?

The author is the deputy editor of What’s Up, a current affairs newspaper for students. She graduated from NUS with a masters’ degree in history, and a bachelor’s degree in architecture (arts). She writes about race and religion, because she is Chinese/Malay/Indian/Other, and therefore can say anything she wants. Sarah is also a founding member of Citizen Historian.