Tan Jing Quee

Tan Jing Quee, one of the greats of Singapore, died of cancer on the 14th of June 2011. He was a victim of Harry Lee’s venom and was locked up for many years by the cowardice of a man who fears free debate. Despite his years of suffering he impressed with his unbounded cheerfulness. We have lost a good man, a writer and a poet.

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On his detention.

——

What was it like ‘inside’?

A difficult question

Could you, would you really listen

Without sneer, to the end



How should I begin?

Should I start from the traumas of the raid

How liberty was so capriciously enchained

Without a warrant, without warning

On the dark hours

When even dogs slept undisturbed.



You were hauled into a world ran amok:

The mug shots, ‘turn out your pockets’

the thumb and fingers impressions

(Whatever for, I commit no crime!).

No one bothered,

The guard shoved you on,

Along the corridor of despair;

That first heavy thud of the iron door

Sealing you incommunicado from the world –

The wind, sun, moon, and the stars

And all that was human and dear



Should I recall the dark cell

At Central Police Station[1]

A purgatory of perpetual night

The stone slab for the bed

Sullied, soiled mattress, no sheets

The pillow of tears and stains, no cover

Blood smeared walls, cries of past agonies

The rude, cruel hourly rip-rap of the shutters

“To check your health”,

So it was explained.



Should I narrate

The daily bath at the tap

The squat pan, dank and putrid

Meant to dehumanize, humiliate



Should we be thankful

For the daily ditch water

Which passed for tea

The stony crumbs for bread

The rice so callously tossed with dust

Should we be grateful

For the censored books and news,

To decontaminate our minds;

Should we be grateful too

For the unbearable heat

The lonely insomnia of the day and night,

Migraine and diarrhoeic fever

And panadol as panacea?



How could I ever forget those Neanderthals

Who roamed Whitley Holding Centre, [2]

Under cover of darkness,

Poured buckets of ice water

Over my stripped, shivering nakedness,

Slugged my struggling, painful agony

Circling , sneering, snarling

Over my freezing nudity,

More animals than men:

What induced this

Vengeful venom, violent score

To settle, not for a private grievance

But a public, democratic dissidence;

From whence sprang this barbarity?

What made men turn into beasts

In the dark, away from prying eyes,

Protected by a code of dishonour and lies

To ensure they survive and rise.



For sure, there were gentler souls

Who tried to be decent, no more:

The smiling guard who lightened the hours

With a chance remark, a joke

The barber who brought his scissors, cigarettes and news

The interrogator who handed a bible

Told him the elegant prose

Contrasted strangely with my current state,

How distant those beautiful thoughts were

From the violence to our liberty.



What then is the truth ?

A generation trapped in lies

Who rushed to defend, to justify

Never to listen, see or speak out.

Only when we open our hearts

Confront this barbarism

Can we truly exorcise our fears,

Finally emerge as a free people,

A liberated society.