The Riot Act

by Sebastian Sim

  “Before that, do you mind shifting over here where the lighting is better please?” The reporter from Wake Up Singapore motioned Jessica to step across to another spot, effectively leaving Siow Har out of the frame.

  “Actually, it’s really silly to stand so far from the standee when it is clearly visible in the background,” the reporter from The Online Citizen added. “Let’s just shift over to the same spot we were at earlier.”

  Jessica found herself ushered back to the Daiso entrance and positioned next to Chong Jin’s standee. There was a collective request for her to repeat Siow Har’s story and to end it with the beautiful analogy she came up with. Jessica secretly sighed. She suspected Siow Har would not get any coverage after all.

  “There is a question many of our readers and viewers are asking,” the reporter from The Online Citizen added. “Why are you rooting for the migrant workers when you were obviously a victim of the Little India riot? You have earlier professed that you do not wish to talk about it. We heard you, but the public feels short-changed. They are ready and willing to empathise with you but you are turning them down and standing on the side of the migrant workers instead. Can you tell us why?”

  Jessica took in a deep breath. There was no escaping this.

  “I know what your viewers want to hear me say. They want to hear me share my grief, my hurt, my rage. They want to be able to dip their toes into my pain so that they too can indulge in a dance of agony and indignation. You know what? Tell them this. They have the wrong girl—I am not a victim.”

  As she spoke, Jessica worked up a whirlpool of fervour. She lifted up her arm and brandished her wrist in front of the recording devices. “All they want to focus on and talk about are these bruises on my wrist. I am going to say this only once, so please listen carefully. These bruises are not me. They are what happened to me once but I am over it. I have forgiven whoever did this to me and moved on. So, anyone who chooses to dwell on this topic and these bruises is not being compassionate. They are intentionally dragging me down in the hope that they can indulge in the spectacle of my trauma. Guess what—I am not playing their game.”

  As Jessica ranted, her voice became progressively louder. Omala and her team of volunteers stopped engaging the shoppers and congregated around her like beach revellers drawn to a campfire. There was a palpable element of intensity and concentration to the videographers as they captured on film what they knew would be great footage.

  “You ask me why I root for the migrant workers. I do so out of shame. I am ashamed that there are Singaporeans who employ them but deny them fair treatment. I am ashamed that they are fed packs of rice with vegetables that taste sour because the food was prepared and delivered at six o’clock in the morning and they only get to eat in the evening. I am ashamed that they sleep in badly ventilated dormitories a dozen to a room and that their clothes will always smell damp because there is no space to properly air-dry them. I am ashamed that they are owed salary and labelled as troublemakers if they ask to be paid on time. I am rooting for them because they deserve to be treated fairly as husbands and fathers working their asses off to provide a better life for their family back home. And I am ashamed that I have to stand in public shouting at the top of my lungs before anyone will pay attention to their plight!”

  Jessica could hear the indignation in her own voice rise in a crescendo as the words piled on one another. A bitter aftertaste stung her tongue when she highlighted the packet food that was spoilt. She lost her breath when she denounced the badly ventilated dormitories. Angry tears burned her eyes as she imagined the village children going hungry because their fathers had not been paid their salaries. By the time she came to the end of her tirade, her voice broke and she had to cover her mouth to stifle her sobs.

  All three videographers bit their tongues to hide their glee. To capture on film a subject in an emotional outburst was akin to winning 4D.

  Within 24 hours after The Online Citizen had published its piece, Jessica’s clip hit the magical number of ten thousand views. Both The Real Singapore and Wake Up Singapore enjoyed a smaller viewership, but Jessica’s clip became their most viewed nonetheless. Everyone at Migrant Workers Count Too was ecstatic. No one chose to dwell on the fact that Siow Har’s face did not appear in the clip, nor her name in the written article.

  Omala decided to ride the wave of publicity. She wrote in to the seven major operators running dormitories for migrant workers to make a request. Her volunteers would schedule a visit to distribute bicycle lights, and the process would be filmed as footage for an upcoming documentary on Operation Release Them from the Dark. All seven operators turned her down. Omala had to call them one by one and threaten to expose their rejection to the media before four of the seven caved in.

  Over the next two weeks, Omala arranged for Jessica and a team of volunteers to spearhead the distribution efforts. There were mixed reactions from the migrant workers. Some were genuinely happy to receive the gifts. Others looked grouchy and resentful. The team was initially puzzled by the unexpected resentment until Krison spoke to one of the migrant workers and found out that they had been made to scrub and clean their dormitories until two o’clock in the morning preceding the visit from the team. When Krison reported the matter to Omala, she frowned in disgust but asked that the team not disclose what they knew. The dormitory operators’ action was exploitative and distasteful but the information should be buried in order not to jeopardise Operation Release Them from the Dark.

  Upon their release, the video clips were so well received that several eminent bloggers wrote in to request collaborations. All of them wanted to interview Jessica and do a write-up on the operation. Omala encouraged Jessica to accept the challenge. “Take on the attention coming your way and convert it into positive energy. Your efforts will power up the $2 bicycle lights and allow them to shine deep into every heart.”

  Jessica felt a swelling in her chest. She was finally in a position to make a difference.

  Where have you been, Jess? I haven’t seen you in more than a week!

  Andreae’s text message made Jessica feel guilty. Not only had she been skipping lectures to work on Operation Release Them from the Dark, she had been neglecting her close friend.

  So sorry, dear. Have been crazy busy!

  I know! You are all over social media. But there’s something important I need to discuss with you. Free tomorrow night?

  Sure. What is it about?

  Meet me 9pm Coffee Club Holland Village. You’ll find out.

  The following night, Jessica turned up to find Andreae seated at a table with seating for three. “Do we have company?”

  “Yes, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “Who?”

  “A big fan of yours,” Andreae replied as she texted furiously into her mobile phone. “I asked her to hang out at the gallery down the street until I text her. Now she can come.”

  “But why am I meeting her?” Jessica asked, puzzled.

  “You know I run two websites selling merchandise online right? I’ve started a third one and you’re part of it.”

  Jessica was familiar with Andreae’s online shops. One sold baby products and the other fashion knickknacks she imported from Thailand. She was initially dismissive when Andreae had started the ventures with great enthusiasm back in junior college but they appeared to have thrived over the past few years.

  “You have not answered my question.”

  Andreae shushed her, pointing her mobile phone at the entrance and preparing to film. Jessica too fixed her gaze on the glass door, her heart thudding with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. She could not even begin to guess what Andreae was up to.

  A moment later, the glass door swung open and a woman who looked to be in her twenties stepped in. There was a streak of meekness in the way she held on to one wrist with the other palm, in the slouching of her shoulders and in her hesitant shamble. Both her hair and her sense of dressing were dull, as though she were trying to
be invisible in a crowd. When she came to their table, she glanced up at Jessica, flushed, and said in a thin voice, “You are such an inspiration. I am so honoured to meet you.”

  Jessica looked across at Andreae with a questioning frown, but the latter gestured at Jessica to interact with the newcomer. Her own role was merely to capture the exchange on film.

  “Please take a seat,” Jessica offered, and stretched her arm to summon the waiter. “Do you know what you want?”

  “Water is fine.”

  When the waiter arrived, the young woman kept her head bowed and remained silent. It took Jessica a retrospective second to realise that she expected Jessica to place the order for her.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Ho Yoke Peng,” the woman replied. Her head remained bowed.

  “Well, Yoke Peng, I have a confession to make. My friend here did not prepare me so I have not the slightest idea why we are meeting. Perhaps you would like to enlighten me?”

  Yoke Peng looked meekly up at Jessica. This time, there was a steely glint in her eyes.

  “I want to be like you.”

  Jessica looked stunned. “What do you mean?”

  Yoke Peng moved her hands from her lap onto the tabletop and removed the palm that was covering her left wrist. Andreae leant forward with her mobile phone for a close-up shot. On the inside of her wrist was a beautifully-tattooed “J” in a shade of green and blue that resembled the colour of a fresh bruise.

  “This is the ‘J Bruise’,” Ho Yoke Peng explained. “It marks my coming out as a rape survivor. With this, I am telling the whole world that I am over it. I am moving on.”

  Jessica gasped with horror. She stared at the meek young woman and imagined the avalanche of attention coming her way once Andreae made public the clip. “Are you sure about this?”

  Ho Yoke Peng gave a determined nod. “I have been in hiding for too long. I joined a Rape Survivor support group but all they did was reinforce the misery. When I saw your clip, I knew I had finally found my role model. Not only did you rise up, resurrected, from the ordeal, you turned your pain into your strength and inspired the community to do good. You are a true inspiration, Jessica Tan.”

  Jessica began to panic when she noticed Andreae angling the mobile phone at her. Of all people, how could she, who knew where the bruise on her wrist came from and who knew she was not a rape victim, pin her to the wall and force her to lie on video? Jessica was furious but for now, she felt she had no choice but to say what was expected of her.

  “I am sorry it happened to you, Yoke Peng. And I am so glad you rose above it. You will need courage and tenacity to face what lies ahead when… How are you going to share this clip?”

  “I am going to upload it onto my Facebook. I want my family and friends to see it, especially Mervin Yeo.” At this point, Ho Yoke Peng turned and looked straight into the mobile phone. There was a fierce glint of pride in her eyes as she continued, “Yes, you, Mervin. I thought you looked so cute in your bow tie. And I thought you were so kind to ask me out for a date after the book club meetings. I never imagined that you would take advantage of me. You left me miserable and doubting myself for years, wondering if I had misled you and brought this upon myself. But today, I want you to look at this tattoo on my wrist. This ‘J Bruise’ tattoo means I am over it. I am moving on. You and what you did have no more power over me.”

  Andreae tapped the screen to halt the recording and gushed, “That was a magnificent sharing, Yoke Peng!”

  “I took your advice.” Yoke Peng reverted to her meek persona and blushed. “I practised in front of the mirror and imagined I was Jessica. I channelled her courage.”

  “Great! Now I need you to move over and sit beside Jessica. I want both of you in the same frame for the last segment.”

  “What last segment?” Jessica was nervous. She did not like the way things were going.

  “You don’t have to speak. Yoke Peng will do the talking,” Andreae instructed. “Towards the end, when you see Yoke Peng lift up her right hand to point, you lift up your left hand and point too.”

  “Point where?”

  “Your left nipple.”

  “What?!”

  Andreae gesticulated at Jessica to wipe the incredulous look from her face and tapped the screen to initiate recording. Yoke Peng launched into a rehearsed speech. She spoke passionately about the tough journey a rape victim had to undergo to transform herself into a rape survivor. The victim would need all the affirmation and support she could get from society. In view of that, she and Jessica have decided to team up for a fund-raising effort. Over the next six months, they intended to raise $30,000 by selling white “J Bruise” T-shirts. For every T-shirt sold, fifty per cent of the revenue will be donated to the AWARE arm that offered rape counselling services. The public could purchase these white “J Bruise” T-shirts by clicking on a link. At this point, Yoke Peng lifted her right hand to point at her right nipple. Jessica followed suit and pointed at her own left nipple, although she would rather be pointing a pistol at Andreae.

  Jessica waited until Yoke Peng had left their company before she finally exploded. “Andreae Ngian! I give you ten minutes to explain this before I throw this glass of lemon fizzy at your face!”

  “Chill, Jess! Let me show you something.”

  Andreae fired up her laptop and navigated to a website titled “J Bruise”. The home page featured a photo of Jessica posing beside a standee of Chong Jin and a write-up of how she had transformed herself from a victim in the Little India riot to a social activist who inspired an entire nation. It stated that Jessica intended to kick-start the J Bruise Movement to encourage victimised women to rise above their trauma and to move on in life. The very first initiative was to raise $30,000 for charity via the sale of white “J Bruise” T-shirts.

  As much as Jessica remained infuriated, she could not deny the fascination that she felt. The design of the “J Bruise” website was sleek and polished, and the photo featuring her and Chong Jin’s standee was so glossy they could well pass off as popular Korean TV stars. If the J Bruise Movement took off, she would be revered as an influencer of her times.

  “Looks great, doesn’t it? Took me close to a week to come up with this,” Andreae gloated. “Now let me induct you into the J Bruise shopping experience!”

  Jessica gasped. There must have been more than twenty types of merchandise on offer. There were J Bruise T-shirts, bandannas and wristbands in seven colours, and paraphernalia such as key chains and stationery items with the J Bruise logo inscribed. Even Jessica felt the inner shopper in her yearn to click and move some items to the shopping cart.

  “I can see that you have put in tremendous effort, Andreae, and I am touched. But...this is wrong. You, for one, know that I am not a rape victim.”

  “I never said you were,” Andreae raised a brow, a twinkle in her eyes. “Where in the write-up did I state that?”

  Jessica tapped her way back to the home page and did a quick check. Andreae was right. There were no lies.

  “You are famous now, Jess. You have got to monetise your fame. The two of us will split the profits fifty–fifty. I think it is fair, given that I went through all the trouble to contact the vendors, order the custom-made merchandise and set up the website. What do you say?”

  Jessica bit her lip. She had to grudgingly admit that the entrepreneur in Andreae surprised her. The air-headedness had been replaced by a sharp business sense. What Andreae proposed made sense. She really shouldn’t feel guilty about making some money after all she had been through.

  “Okay. At least we are donating half of the proceeds from the sales of the merchandise to a charity,” Jessica conceded. “I can live with that.”

  “No. Only from the white ‘J Bruise’ T-shirts.”

  Chapter 9

  Sharon had never felt so humiliated.

  For an entire hour during the parliamentary session, she was bombarded by two speakers from the opposition party. Rashid R
ahman claimed that she was the most insensitive politician he had ever had the dishonour to work with, while Jowene Tay accused her of being insufferably arrogant and elitist.

  The ordeal was especially unbearable because she was not able to defend herself. Not because she was incapable of it, but because Elvis had told her not to.

  That was the plan. He needed her to be publicly disgraced.

  Both of them had been caught off-guard by recent developments in the aftermath of the Little India riot. Sentiments on the ground had shifted unexpectedly and leant towards sympathy for the migrant workers. Their strongest ally, the NGO called Migrant Workers Count Too, had gained ground in its efforts to connect with the public and effectively changed the perception of the community. And it was able to do so because it landed the perfect mascot—the girl who transformed herself from being a victim of the riot to a crusader for the migrant workers.

  Jessica Tan Jia Lin was the chess piece that upset the game.

  When Sharon visited her in the hospital the day after the riot, Jessica had claimed that she was not sexually assaulted in the ambulance. Sharon had taken her word for it and carelessly dismissed her as an insufficient victim to rally around. That was a miscalculation. As it turned out, the girl was a force to be reckoned with. And now it was too late; Migrant Workers Count Too had laid its claim on her.

  The liberals lauded Jessica as the embodiment of courage, magnanimity and grace that all Singaporeans should aspire to emulate. The conservatives could not rightfully denounce her so they chose to remain silent. A handful of incorrigible, racist xenophobes among the keyboard warriors made the mistake of attacking her for deserting her own people and crossing over to what they derisively termed “the dark side”. These few were immediately besieged and expunged. There was a general consensus online that Jessica was untouchable.

  In contrast, the post-riot implementations rolled out by Sharon as the MP of Jalan Besar constituency were not well-received. She had vocally supported the police’s issuance of a total ban of alcohol sales in Little India. The initial resentment was felt only by shopkeepers like Nayagam Ranjan, who saw their weekly revenue and profits plummet. But over time, the residents of Little India began to share the resentment of inconvenience as they had to travel out of Little India to purchase their liquor. At one point, a regular customer came to Nayagam’s provision shop and persuaded the man to sell him liquor. The regular customer had brought along his own tote bag and promised to hide his purchase inside. Nayagam could not resist the temptation of clearing some of his stock of beer that was taking up space in his storage room.