Let 'Em Eat Cake

Revision 04 Nov 2008
Let 'Em Eat Cake was a broadway musical of the early 1930's. It was a sequal to the highly successful musical Of Thee I Sing, the only musical till date that has won a pulitzer prize. Let 'em eat cake meant to be a political spoof of the theatrics of American electioneering. But as it turned out, amid the horrors of the great depression and the march of the facist movement in Germany, it became, on hindsight, a satire on the tumultuous times of its day. However, it did not enjoy great review and was considered a "box office flop". Critics and audiences thought the show was downbeat. Of Thee I Sing dealt with the successful rise of a man to the presidency on a political plateform of "love", whereas Let 'Em Eat Cake, showed the same character, slowly being defeated.

I have not attended any musicals so far in my life. I know of friends whom have caught numerous popular ones such as les miserables, phantom of the opera, cats, etc. Maybe if the esplanade decides to bring Of Thee I Sing, or better still, Let 'Em Eat Cake, to Singapore, i certainly would not want to miss it! Barring the tickets are not too prohibitively priced.

As there was an opportunity cost involved, i sorely missed the recent concert by the Royal Philharmonic who came to town, led by Leonard Slatkin. And so for the pass few mornings i have been playing Pomp and Circumstance, an equally worthy classic recording by the Boston Pops with Arthur Fiedler on my CD player. With a little fertile imagination, transported me to the night at the esplanade for five minutes and forty-eight seconds, one can afford a cheap thrill.

I first came to know about Let 'em eat cake through a CD collection of George Gershwin's Broadway musical, played by the Buffalo Phalharmonic under the baton of Michael Tilson Thomas. A Gershwin fan since thirteen and still very much in love with his songs even now.

George (1898-1937), "Mr Music" had an elder brother, Ira (1896-1983), "Mr Word". The Gershwin dynamic duo ply their craft first in musicals then moved to California as Hollywood beckened. Born on September 1898 in Brooklyn, New York of Jewish parentage having migrated from Russia. To me, Gershwin (we usually meant George, though i have a certain affinity to Ira's wonderful stroke of a lyricist) epitomised the "coming of age" of what come to be known now as the American "soft power". Maybe it is too exaggerating and simplistic to say that it was George Gershwin, who gave America a voice. (Everytime i played Gershwin on the CD, my 6 year old son would say its "Tom & Jerry music", testament to Gershwin's and, i must say, his fellow compatriots influence on later-day American composers) He crossed effortlessly from "pop" to "serious" composition. True to himself, he helped defined the American idiom, culminating in a century of cultural confluences in the "new world", from Dvorak to Charles Ives to Jerome Kern. His exposure in the early years to Jewish "hymnals". He absorbed the folksy rhythmic voices of the Afro-American spiritual. Juxtasposing in a couldron that was on the verge of pouring forth of a uniquely American flavour, Gershwin's originality transformed an artistic elite establishment that was euro centric to one that is at ease with itself. Let 'Em Eat Cake was thought to be the finest musical score by the composer, as well as by his friends, that he had produce.

The American stock market crashed in 29 October 1929, and the depression did not end till the onset of the second world war somewhere in the beginning of 1939. By 1932, some 25% to 30% of Americans were unemployed. And i wonder during those time there were still people going to the theatres! The tickets must be very affordable (maybe musicals then were comparable to our modern day cinemas) and people were willing to pay. Opportunity Cost. For the wife and i would think twice even now to go catch a show at the cinema and we are both gainfully employed. Maybe they were better off than us even then.

It took WWII to "restore the economy". To me, economics is a funny subject. I took one semester plus of economics 101 and resigned myself to going back to do the hard sciences. I feel it is more reassuring to predict the path of an electron (albeit with a measure of uncertainty, at least electrons are not swayed by emotions) than predicting human behaviour. Maybe we live in a funny world, we need to kill people in order to do right for the economy.

Not to belittle Economics, even God commanded us to be "good steward" (Mathew 25:14-30). And in Genesis 42:1-36, we see Joseph (he was into commodities) managing the "financial affairs" of the Egyptian court.

We did not buy any High 5 Notes or Highnoon Notes, nor did we go into minibonds, (by we, i mean the wife and i. Can't do much with my income alone anyway.) simply because the closest banking facility we come into contact with nowadays are the ATM machines. So there is no opportunity to form any relationship with the "relationship managers".

I feel sad for the many retirees whom sunk (sorry, no pun intended) their life savings into an instrument torted as a better alternative to fix deposit. I can imagine a conscientious "good steward" whom has worked hard all his productive life going to the bank and wanting to open a fix-D account to park his life savings, but was persuaded otherwise. An average Joe who is not well verse with financial terms like equities, derivative, futures, commodities, leveraging, etc. (i pick these words from the newspaper, being equally clueless) The sensible thing to do was to open a fix-D account than keeping under the pillow, as recommanded in Mathew 25:14-30. And lo and behold. Now, as if losing their life savings is not enough, they think that they are going to hell as some members of the public would want to put the blame on "these investors" for being greedy.

Finance and banking people are under a lot of heat these days. Actually they are also like us, wake up in the morning, brush teeth, eat breakfast, go to work, come home... I believe the majority sets out in life to do good. But along the way, we do our best to cope with the realities that is thrown at us. Working class slog it out day to day, the management see to it that the working class slog it out day to day in the name of productivity, the owners of capital induce the management to see to it that the working class slog it out day to day by singing the praises of the "ethos of hard work" as a virtue, a sophistry of modern capitalism. Global market forces the owners of capital (are governments considered as owners of capital?) to engage in mortal combat for precious commodities. Labour is a virtue. To make a mockery of "hard work" negates the contribution of the sweat, tears and even blood of the people whom gave the skyscapers, man essential services, sweep our roads, protect us and among others. When do you know you are hard at work and your labour is not being fleeced by the owners of capital?

The emphasis has been on promoting entrepreneurship. Reports highlighting achievements of enterprising individuals and this is rightly so in an open economy like ours. I just hope in the fervor of promoting the spirit of self-reliance through entrepreneurship, we do not forget the many individuals whom definition of “success” need not necessarily trod the path of self-enterprise. Surely there is a place under the sun for us whom have not subscribed to this campaign to not feel ashamed. Can our definition of self-reliance be expressed through our labour in the work force?

True, you can’t have your cake and eat it.

By all means, if you have the fervent to strike out on your own. We celebrate friends whom have found their “calling” in the market place. But I urge us not to throw the blanket of “Self-reliance through entrepreneurship” the only way to glory.

In danger of being misconstrued as droning in self-pity, it is my hope that more will come forward in defense of the common worker, for equitable pay and working condition.

Thus i was heartened to read that the ministry of finance "is proposing an amendment to the constitution to allow the government to tap on a greater proportion of investment returns on our reserves to meet Singapore's future needs". In my limited understanding of economics, i hope i am not imagining stuff. I hope this means workers like the custom officer manning the checkpoint whom can barely open his eyes but still continue working can have more colleagues to join him, such that he can rest and enjoy some quality time with his family, reporting back to work refreshed, and among other measures, to create a better Singapore through Finance.

Granted, our lot have vastly improved say, compared with the labourers in Egypt 3,000 years ago or the subjects of a conquered land by the Roman empire.

"Slaves, submit yourselves to your masters with all respect, not only to those who are good and considerate, but also to those who are harsh." (1 Peter 2:18)

"Bondservants, be obedient to those who are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in sincerity of heart, as to Christ; not with eyeservice, as men-pleasers, but as bondservants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart, with goodwill doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men, knowing that whatever good anyone does, he will receive the same from the Lord, whether he is a slave or free. And you, masters, do the same things to them, giving up threatening, knowing that your own Master also is in heaven, and there is no partiality with Him" (Ephesians 6:5-9)

And so the next morning we wake up, brush teeth, eat breakfast, go to work, come home...

26 October 2008

Note: Historians found no evidence that Marie Antoinette (1755-1793), uttered the words "Let them Eat Cake", during her reign as the queen of France leading up to the french revolution. This quotation was first written by a french philosopher, Jean-Jacques Rousseau. He wrote it in 1766 when Marie Antoinette was only 10 and was still living in her native Austria, not yet married to king Louis XVI (1767-1770). Rousseau claimed that "a great princess" told the peasants to eat cake when told they had no more bread! This frivolous phrase was invented by Rousseau to illustrate the divide between the royalty and the poor. And this is how the phrase has been use ever since.

Kung Kung

Revision 04 Nov 2008
My Kung Kung pass away on the 14 July 2007, minutes before 1400 hours at Tan Tock Seng Hospital. He chose to go on a hotter than usual, humid saturday afternoon. When my mom arrived, she did not get to say a last goodbye to her dad. Save for a distant relative, an octogenarian like Kung Kung, whom "caught his last breath". Much like an hiccup, as she related to my mom later.

Kung Kung was born in the year of the monkey. I don't remember his birth date because birthdays do not warrant much attention in the family unlike the chinese new year, the mid autumn festival and such. Not that we don't celebrate birthdays at all, i remember the 21th birthday bash for my aunt as well as once, there was a combined celebration of sorts for my grandma and me (when i was still in primary school) as our birth "days" were only a few days apart. On his identification card, i was told it was stated 1919, however at the columbarium, the learned care-taker took the liberty to amend his birth year to 1920, permanently inscribed on the piece of real estate, his new home, and that was, the correct year of the monkey, he informed. My uncles were nonchalent to this seemingly trivia alteration, preferring to leave such matters to the experts.

Kung Kung was a hakka, his birth place was in the province of Canton(Kuang Tung), Tai Pu (pronounce in kek), China. I have not tried to look up Tai Pu on the map. My mom told me that Kung Kung's father used to run a make-shift comic books rental stall along the corridor of some pre-war houses in Foch road, Singapore.Unfortunately, i did not inherit any comic books of that era from Kung Kung, it would be interesting to see what they look like and you can imagine their monetary value now! Apart from this i do not know much of Kung Kung's growing up years.

He was a teacher teaching chinese in some chinese medium school when the Japanese invaded. He then switched to teaching Japanese. Sometimes i wonder where and how did he manage to pick up the Japanese language, to be proficient enough let alone teach. I never get to ask him. In 1941, my mom was born.

Kung Kung was one of the founding members of the Singapore Siow clan association. During the last night of the wake, the "whole gang" turn up, well, quite a sizable number going by ordinary folks standard, to pay their last respect to Kung Kung.

Apart from the teaching job he held in his youth, he was destine to be an "entreprenuer" till the day he retired. He tried his hands on farming. Mom related to me that they used to stay around Bartley Road area. It was a hard life. Grandma would help Kung Kung with the poultry feeds and the usual back breaking work associated with old fashion farming. Grandma would bewail recalling memories of their "kumpong" days.

Then he partnered and operated a family clinic in a shop house along Lavender Street with the late Dr Bun. Zhong Qing Drug House. Dr Bun (Bin Tze Sen in kek) according to mom, used to be a military doctor from China. I imagine he hailed from Zhong Qing. They were quite popular. Mom said that Dr Bun was very good especially with treating "children's cough". He would waive the charges for the trishaw riders whom went to seek treatment. I think it was possible then as the shop rental was vastly different from now. Having said that, one cannot feel untouched by Dr Bun's kindness, his genuine concern and practical help rendered to the needy for which there were quite a number then. I learnt that mom used to work there as a clinic assistant and she almost enrolled in nursing school if not for Kung Kung's objection. Maybe mom would have retired as a senior staff nurse now if she can endure the toil of a nursing career. I was told that Kung Kung had to give up the partnership when the government introduced a regulation that do not permit any individuals except certified medical doctors from running GP "business".

Kung Kung turned to making medicine, manufacturing, packaging, marketing and delivering them to his clients - the chinese medicine shop. It helps when the majority of the proprietors were also hakka. Again, it was my grandma, the one-woman manufacturing machine, brewing and then packing the paste into red and blue plastic containers all done at home. The blue disc-shape container measuring about 5cm in diameter and roughly 1.5cm thick would contain the specially formulated remedy for "general itchiness", like mosquito bites, rashes, etc. while the paste that went into the red container would be good remedy for fungal infection... i don't know where he got the formula. This was my earliest recollection of my grandparents in the 1970's. The minty aroma of the boiling paste would permeate the kitchen. It involves a process of stirring until the right texture is reached. By this time they have moved to St. Michaels Road, occupying one of the unit in the top floor of a four storey walk-up apartment. Now the CTE (Central Express Way) runs through the site where the apartment formerly stood.

I spent quite a fair bit of my childhood at St. Michaels Road. Rather then seeing us idling around, my cousin and i were robbed in as helpers with the "manufacturing" process. I endured the monotonous motion of turning the flat cut-out paper box into shape for packing the plastic containers. Besides watching TV, gazing out onto the road from the balcony, i'll roam the three bedrooms of my Kung Kung, uncles and an aunt, ramaging through their stuff, you can imagine how bored i was.

Kung Kung was also the committee chairman for the apartment of 20 odd units. People always looked up to him or rather he always volunteered and avail himself for such role. I remembered once in other people's funeral, he was the person whom read out the names of the kin of the decease, as part of the ritual. He was comfortable with chinese classical text and was able to pronounce the chinese characters in hakka.

As you can guess, Kung Kung must be an avid reader. His bed room was stacked with books, so much so that grandma resigned herself to sleep on the mattress in the living room floor. This is only a part of the reason, the other reasons, i guess, was a mild contempt, more so from grandma, after putting up with his idiosyncracies for so long, and also Kung Kung was a drinker. Beer mostly. He would come home quite drunk but also this was the best time to engage him in current affairs or things cerebral as alcohol has a positive effect on his intellect. He would wax lyrical, with his hearty laughter (from this you know he's drunk) and bantering in his clear loud voice.

There was this incident which mom related. Once, Kung Kung came home drunk, he climbed out of the bedroom window and sat on the ledge! In his drunken stupor, perching precariously, piloting an imaginary battle ship firing away and going into battle. It took my uncles awhile to saved him from impending fatal accident. I didn't think much of this "incident" when i first heard of it as i was young then, not until recently when i recalled and having gone through some experiences in life, i began to ask myself what was Kung Kung's feelings and how did he see himself then? Was there some disappointment in his life that manifested in a display of despair, the bravado of "piloting" a battle ship would perhaps gave him some solace?

He never once raise his hands or blow his tops at us broods, me and my cousins, there were three of us then during our sojourn at St. Michaels Road. An avid photographer since young, thanks to his hobby, we have a sizable collection of photographs of scenaries of old Singapore and pictures of relatives in their younger glory. Kung Kung liked to travel, grandma and him would go travelling together, most often to China. During the 80's, he plough a good portion of his savings into building a house and buying stuff for the relatives back in China. It was a typical thing to do then for Sinagporeans whom has roots "back home". Such things, if one is not careful, can become a bottomless pit as demonstrated by Kung Kung's relatives relentless needs and wants for which he tried his best to fulfill. Of course this irks granny no end! Grandma would come back from the trip to China fuming and have no good word about his relatives!

My grandma, a hakka herself, having born in Medan, Indonesia. She was betrothed to Kung Kung, an arrangment between their respective families way back in Tai Pu, China. Grandma is not one to mince her word when infuriated. Otherwise, she's your typical granny, sometimes cutting across as a strict disciplinarian, but mostly showering her concern by offering us food. And a splendid cook. She has a habit of nagging at Kung Kung, sometimes i think Kung Kung purposely went deaf such that he can be free from these exasperating episodes.

A loving couple till the end. When grandma was recuperating in a nursing home from a stroke, Kung Kung would do his best to visit her every day. The journey entailed taking and transferring buses of approximately an hour per trip. Himself not exactly in the best of shape, having gone almost deaf in both ears and was warded before for a minor stroke, which was hastening his dementia, these journeys began to take a toll on him. I think he felt sad on days when he just could not muster the strength to make the trip. He would stay by her side, she would be sitted looking forlorn as if in deep contemplation, both not saying a word, a picture of devotion marred only by her Nasal-Gastric tube. Kung Kung collapsed, hunched over her bed. This would be his last trip to the nursing home.

It was the same old auntie whom visited my Kung Kung at TTSH on that saturday afteroon who called at my parents home (Grandpa's wake was held at a multi-function hall nearby). She enquired about grandma and i told her she doesn't know yet, it's too sudden and nobody knew how to break the news to her and as the days wore on it seemed she will only get to know days after the funeral. It took the conviction of a frail old women to embolden me into action. For we held the same sentiment that granny should be told of Kung Kung's passing. I took up the courage, went to my uncles and brief them on what i was about to do and immediately went to pick up granny at the nursing home. Mom came along. "Ma, ah pa song tien tong leh..." (Pa has gone to heaven in kek) She repeated "song tien tong ah..?" It took a moment for granny to decipher those words... She got to see Kung Kung. For what is love? They have been married a whole life time. The good intention was not to grieve her such that we do not exacerbate her condition then. But my heart tells me the love, companionship and devotion they held for each other far surpassed the material present or what may potentially happen, if so, so be it.

I admire my Kung Kung. His energy, his daring, extroverted disposition, his patience and forebearance, his sense of reality... Though he did not attain fame nor fortune in his life time, i want to tell him that he has led a successful life. His endeavour and labour of a petite bourgeoisie, raising a family of five children and providing them with more than a decent home. Despite his learning, he neglected to find religion. Not an atheist in the strictest sense of the word, it just did not bother him much. The regret is mine for not sharing the gospel.

I decided to visit my grandma on a Sunday morning. And so i made my way first to my parents' home. Found a ripe mango in the fridge, cut it and cart it with me in a tupperware to see my chiea chiea. She was just finishing up her last few spoonfuls of porridge. I wipe the drool from her and wheeled her into her bed. She looked up at me from her wheelchair, starring. I introduced myself. Feeling guilt conscious for not making an effort to visit her more often. She repeated my name, nodded... The nurse advised that i not feed her the mangoes, i cut even smaller pieces and gave her when they were not looking. She enjoyed the mango. "hoe sit, hoe sit" (delicious in kek) and gave me the thumbs up with her toothless grin. During the time i was with her, she kept repeating "Tolong, tolong". Tolong is the malay word for "have mercy", "please help" or "i beg you". It seemed she has acquired a new vocab at the nursing home. Feeding her the bit size juicy mango which she so delightfully savoured, her eyes were smiling into mine as she received the toothpick portion. For a fleeting moment, it seemed she was lucid, the grandma i knew. I felt awkward at once not to let her see my eyes which were on the verge of expressing my emotions. And then she gave me that almost silly grin which brought me back to reality. Sometimes it makes one wonder. Perhaps, maybe they know, but only just to comfort us...?

When i left the nursing home, the noon day sun was doing its job as usual in this part of the earth. As i looked up away from the beating light, i caught a glimpse of the blue sky and those white clouds. This time, there was a gentle breeze, which gave a brief respite.

18 October 2008.