by Alex Josey
Dutton showed me round the island a few weeks before he was murdered. He reckoned that 63 of the 440 men then on the island were murderers, though none of them was convicted in court because witnesses were too frightened to come forward. Secret society men were feared. Dutton knew that if these men—Chinese, Malays, Indians, Eurasians—decided to attack him and his staff (never more than 20 strong), they could organise a mass-escape.
“They don’t want to escape,” Dutton told me with confidence. “They volunteered to come here, to get away from prison routine. For the first time in their lives they’ve got a steady job. There are no cells here. Everybody does a full eight hours’ work, gets twice as much grub as they would in jail, and goes to bed healthily tired. They are too busy to scheme. We keep them too occupied in interesting work, and in leisure, for them to have either the time or inclination to plot revolt. They wouldn’t get very far anyhow. This island is 15 miles off Singapore, remember?”
Dutton’s fatal blunder was in overlooking the possibility that the 400 men on Pulau Senang, or at least a militant group of them, did not follow the usual pattern of logic either in thinking, or in response to their own actions. They plotted to destroy Dutton and the settlement, but few of them made any attempt to flee the island. Instead, they stayed to celebrate, sang songs and awaited their inevitable fate.
Dutton landed on the island (227 acres) in June 1960, with 50 prisoners. Each man had food rations and two blankets. They brought a few tools. Pulau Senang then was no more than a tree-and-scrub-covered rock in the China Sea which had a reasonable layer of fertile soil and two or three fresh-water wells. “Let’s see you sweat your way to respectability,” demanded Daniel Dutton. He worked with them as they hacked their way through the undergrowth. Within a short while, Pulau Senang was a busy, orderly island with hard-surfaced roads carrying jeeps and small trucks, drainage, workshops, reservoirs, farms, pig-sties, sports ground, a tiny radio programme. There were showers, a steam laundry, ample electricity and piped water, fresh vegetables and fruits.
To his fellow prison officials, Dutton was recognised as an amazing Robinson Crusoe. Gifted with an ability to make practically anything with his hands, Dutton set out to prove in practical manner, his contention that creative work can be more interesting and satisfying than crime. Give Dutton a few wheels, some scrap metal and a piece of wire and he could make a dynamo, a motorcar, a circular saw, a lathe, or a steam laundry. A born leader (he was commissioned in Greece when he was 18, and dropped into occupied Yugoslavia), Dutton had the knack of inspiring enthusiasm.
Showing me round the island, Dutton was shyly approached by one of the prisoners. The man wore nothing but shorts and sandals. There were secret society tattoo marks on his body. He wanted Dutton to inspect a small engine he had built.
“Are you sure it will work?” demanded Dutton in Chinese. “If not, don’t waste my time.” The prisoner started it up, then anxiously looked into Dutton’s face, waiting for the Laughing Tiger’s gruff word of praise. Approval given, he went off happily to connect the engine with an expansion project. Work on the island had a practical purpose, a meaning. “He’s one of our best workmen,” remarked Dutton. “He never did a day’s work in his life before he came here, except beat up old women. He never realised what he was capable of doing.”
Daniel Dutton believed sincerely that his purpose in life was to make good citizens out of thugs. He was almost a fanatic, but he was not a fool. He knew some could never change, but these he considered sick men. Dutton was not a sentimentalist; yet he had a carefully concealed soft side and was genuinely proud that seven of the warders on the prison island were men he had helped back to society after working 18 months on Pulau Senang. One ‘old lag’ from the island had gone to the University of Singapore to study social science. In effect, he had matriculated on the island.
In less than two years, 255 tough criminals passed through Dutton’s care on Pulau Senang. Of these, no more than 23 had got into trouble again. This low rate of recidivism caused Devan Nair, by then a leading trade unionist believing in democratic socialism, to claim that the ‘social therapy of Pulau Senang makes the island one of the most successful penal experiments anywhere in the world’. Alas, Nair spoke too soon. The settlement was just about three years old when Dutton was murdered and the settlement destroyed.
Yet Nair had grounds for his optimism. For when gangsters in the streets were arrested, taken to jail, and not brought to trial, they knew that their only hope of getting back into normal society was through Pulau Senang. After about a year in jail, they could volunteer for manual work on the island. Most of them expected to be there for six months. Upon arrival, the ‘Laughing Tiger’ saw to it that they were taught the rudiments of a trade: anything from pig-keeping, poultry farming, carpentering, haircutting, bricklaying, book-binding, sign-writing and boot-making to furniture-making and plumbing. Every month, Dutton reviewed their work. If he was satisfied they were making progress, Dutton would recommend their release to the Work Brigade. If he was dissatisfied, he would recommend they be taken back to jail. Dutton was powerful and the men knew this. He was respected and feared.
Organised on semi-military lines, the Work Brigade had been set up by the government to cater for the unemployed, and for men and women seeking rehabilitation. Usually, men from Pulau Senang were put into the Work Brigade for six months and then released into society, but they could be released earlier if they could satisfy the authorities that they had a job to which they could go.
“Creative work in healthy surroundings. That is what reforms men,” asserted Daniel Dutton, pointing to a group of men working on the farmland. Everyone was paid $0.30 a day and given a ration of five cigarettes. They had to save half the money they earned. On their own, they made a collection and asked Dutton to buy them a cinema projector. He did and then arranged for a weekly English-language action film show in the community hall. Not all of them could follow the English dialogue, but to Dutton’s amusement, they all seemed to understand the usual message in these carefully selected films: that, in the end, the bad man always got his come-uppence. Dutton told me that most of the 63 murderers he had on the island when I called in, enjoyed the ‘cops and robbers’ films.
Daniel Dutton was the only European on the island. His deputy then was of Ceylonese origin and his two assistants of Chinese origin. Dutton believed in the minimum of supervision: he believed in encouraging prisoners to work hard, in their own way, at their own pace. Dutton had faith in the experiment. At the same time, he normally slept in his uniform, jungle boots handy by the bed. In spite of his ulcers, he was contented. He got a great deal of satisfaction from his job. He had informers on the island. When they told him the gang leaders were plotting to kill him, he laughed at the informers. Right till the end, he could not believe that the people he was trying so hard to rehabilitate would want to destroy him. In any case, he thought he could cope with the situation. Too late he realised the extraordinary power of secret society leaders.
Gangsters And Secret Societies
There have always been gangsters and secret societies in Singapore: they came with the immigrants from China, where the first secret societies were said to have been formed at 3,000 bce. In 1644, the Manchus overthrew the Ming Dynasty, and behind the fortified walls of the Shaolin Monastery, 108 monks plotted to restore China to the Ming emperors. They failed, having been betrayed by a traitor. Five survivors formed the Triad Society to carry on their work. Over the years, the high principles were blurred and the society degenerated into a protection racket. Eventually, the Triad Society broke up into different gangs, each with its own area of control and sphere of protection. In China, these secret societies had a considerable influence on the ordinary people, almost equalling the importance of the family unit. Secret societies were abolished in China in 1949 when the communists took over, but they continued to exist in Malaya and Singapore where gangsters still claim that their societies are directly descended from the original triad
. One big gang in Singapore is called the 108 gang, in remembrance of the 108 monks of Shaolin.
In Raffles’ days, and for a long time after, secret societies in Singapore helped new arrivals from China. In effect, they were benevolent societies which provided for needy members and ensured that they had a decent burial (of singular importance to persons of Chinese origin). In consequence, one historian felt that secret societies might with fair accuracy, be described as ‘Pirates and Robbers Co-operative Associations’.
Secret societies have always been bitterly hostile to one another, and their rivalries, usually over territory, periodically culminated in bloody street fights. Rival mobs would often suspend operations to allow Europeans to pass through their midst unscathed. Members were forbidden to give any assistance to the police. The penalty was merciless flogging, mutilation and painful death. In 1854, 400 Chinese were killed in 10 days of street fighting among secret society gangsters in Singapore.
In 1881, 11 secret societies were registered in Singapore with a collective membership of 62,376 people. Six years later, in 1887, the British decided they had enough. They decided to suppress them.
The simple argument of the British was that the Government must be the paramount power in the island. So long as secret societies existed, this was not so in the eyes of many Chinese. The effect of the suppression order was to drive secret societies still further underground. Brothels were deregistered in 1895, but secret society gangsters kept up the protection racket, and rival groups—the 108 gang, the Low Kwan gang, the Tai Hok gang, the Hung Khwan Society, and all the others—struggled for monopoly of extortion, as they still do today, from prostitutes, hawkers and small shopkeepers.
During the Japanese occupation of Singapore in World War II, all secret society activities were suspended. The Japanese did not jail gang suspects: they chopped off their heads and exhibited them on poles. Immediately after the Japanese surrender when the more tolerant British returned, triad societies sprang up throughout Malaya and Singapore with such rapidity that their membership soon reached scores of thousands. Sometimes over a thousand people would turn up to watch a single initiation ceremony. The result was that in certain areas in Malaya, and in some districts of Singapore, the civil government was almost powerless to check the growing numbers of murders and extortions, robberies and piracy.
When the People’s Action Party (PAP) in Singapore achieved self-rule in 1959, the newly elected government, headed by Lee Kuan Yew, zealously and determinedly decided to wipe out gangsterism. They had no alternative if they were to become an effective, corruption-free government. Gangsterism was beginning to dominate everyday life. In 1959, there were 21 gangland murders. There were 416 known gangster fights, mostly over territory. The PAP knew they must tackle this problem without delay. At the same time they decided to humanize prison conditions. They did. Today, Singapore claims to have an enlightened and efficient prison system. All prisons are open to inspection by the International Red Cross. But the PAP failed to eliminate the secret societies, though they have managed to restrict their activities almost completely.
On 24 October 1959, the Minister for Home Affairs broadcasted an explanation why the Government, a few days earlier, had offered an amnesty to gangsters. “Why did we offer them a chance to reform and become law-abiding members of society? Because we believe that not all secret society gangsters are bad men. Many, through foolishness, got entangled in the web of crime and did not know how to free themselves.” It was to such people, the Minister said, that the offer was made. All they had to do was to go to the Advocate-General and make a full statement about their past association with secret societies and declare their intention to break away. If the amnesty was ignored they would suffer, for the Government was determined to crush gangsterism. “We will relentlessly pursue every gangster and gang until they are utterly destroyed.” Backed by the people, the Government would move against the gangsters in force ‘to crush those who think that they can defy the organised might and anger of society’. The gangsters were given two weeks to make up their minds.
It was estimated that there were then 10,000 gangsters in Singapore belonging to 120 gangs. Close to 1,000 suspects were in jail. Altogether, 816 gangsters took advantage of the amnesty. As soon as the amnesty ended, the police began rounding up suspects. Among them were the all-girl Ang Hor Tiap (or Red Butterfly Gang). Formed by prostitutes and bargirls, they offered their services for the protection of those in the crime trade, as well as to housewives suffering from unfaithful husbands. For a small fee they would beat up any woman who had enticed away the husband of a client. The gang-girls were identified by a tattooed red butterfly on the upper part of a thigh. Most of the gang were soon arrested. The remnants of the gang surfaced again in 1967, but they were finally smashed with 17 arrests in 1968.
By then, not every secret society had an initiation ceremony. Singapore’s industrialisation and the building of new towns with high-rise flats meant that lonely woods, temples and old houses in which these illegal ceremonies could be organised had become scarce. When the ceremonies were held they followed the usual pattern: terrible oaths were sworn, a finger pricked, blood was mixed with rice wine and drunk from a bowl. Gang clashes continued and traitors were executed.
In 1960, gang fights dropped to 241 and only 11 gangsters were killed. The following year there were fewer collisions, but 18 murders. In 1971, from 700 gang fights in 1959 the number had fallen to less than 70. But the killings were even higher in 1971 than they were when the PAP came to power 12 years before. From these figures, it was fair to conclude that the gangs had become wiser, knowing that the police would actively intervene in gang fights. So they avoided open clashes, but continued to kill one another, a happening that did not cause the police much unhappiness.
In 1972, more than 800 secret society gangsters were under detention. They belonged to gangs such as the Sio Koon Tong, the 08, 24, 36, the Sio Gi Ho, Sio Loh Kuan, or the triads (the societies with initiation ceremonies) such as the Tiong Neng Tok. There were five or six main groups to which lesser gangs were associated. The average age of a gangster was between 15–21 years old; they were mostly school drop-outs. Why did they join gangs? The police did a survey and found that of 87 picked up, one said he joined for excitement, 48 joined through friends, and 23 were forced to join. In 1972, it was estimated that there were perhaps 20,000 gangsters in Singapore, about half of them active. Most of them were either Cantonese or Hokkien.
Two years later, the Home Minister told Parliament that the secret societies were under control, but he admitted that gangs still existed and the Criminal Law (Temporary Provisions) Act, first introduced in 1955, was still needed. He told Parliament that in 10 years, 1,000 suspects had been arrested on an average every year. Five months later, the New Nation reported that secret society members were still responsible for more than half the daily crime in Singapore. The police reckoned that 10,000 gangsters belonged to 161 secret societies, both active and inactive. The most powerful group, the paper said, was the Sri Tong independent group which was ‘controlling all the major bars, brothels and gambling dens’. Next on the list were the Loh Kuan and Sio Loh Kuan groups. Of the 50 murders that year in Singapore, 20 were gangland reprisals.
After 20 years in office, the PAP government was forced to admit that gangsterism still existed, though on a much reduced scale. Gang suspects continued to be jailed without trial,
Probably one reason why gangsters can survive in Singapore is their pragmatic approach to the extortion racket. They seldom make ‘unreasonable’ demands. They are content to extort comparatively low dues for their protection. They work on a low-profit margin, and try to involve as many prostitutes, hawkers, bargirls, small traders, taxi-drivers, as possible. The gangsters’ reasoning is that victims prefer to pay a small fee rather than be bothered about reporting the matter to the police, thus risking either physical injury from the gang, or a day’s loss of earnings by going to the police station. The gangsters re
ly on victims believing that it is safer and cheaper, in the long run, to pay up.
The Experiment
DEVAN NAIR, A FOUNDER-MEMBER of the People’s Action Party, was in jail in 1959 when the PAP were voted into office. One of the conditions Lee Kuan Yew laid down before accepting the invitation of the Head of State to form a government was that Devan Nair and other pro-communist elements must be released. Nair by then was prepared to renounce his communist sympathies and to accept Lee’s democratic socialism. Lee’s conditions were accepted. Nair and the others were set free. At once, Devan Nair persuaded the Prime Minister to set up a Prison Inquiry Commission, “for I had not liked what I had seen of many of the demeaning conditions of imprisonment imposed by the British authorities—not on political detainees (on the whole my fellow detainees and I were treated well), but on convicted prisoners. For example, on the approach of a British prison officer, every convict had to kneel on the floor, with his head down. That aroused my ire, and it still does when I think of it.”
The Commission was appointed in November 1959 and Devan Nair was named chairman. Two of the Commissioners were academicians from the University of Malaya in Singapore: Professor T.H. Elliott and Dr Jean Robertson. The others were Jek Yuen Thong, Osman bin Abdul Gani, Chean Kim Seang, Tay Kay Hai, Sandrasegaram Woodhall and Francis Thomas.
The Commission submitted their report on 1 December 1960. “In terms of the modest aims which are being translated into practice in the new Asian states, and other parts of the world, our prison system will have to be almost wholly re-oriented if it is to make an effective contribution to the solution of the problem of crime and criminals in Singapore.” The Commissioners recommended that the reorganisation of the State’s prison institutions should proceed on the basis of the general principles and considerations set out in their report. The most obvious and fundamental of these considerations ‘is that the true object of the prison system is to achieve the rehabilitation of offenders so that they can return to the community as law-abiding and socially useful persons’.
