Newspapers: Freedom from the press

BY Cherian George
See also: A ban is not a ban unless restricted

Presented at the Conference on The Limits of Control: Media and Technology in China, Hong Kong and Singapore, Graduate School of Journalism, North Gate Hall, University of California, Berkeley, on April 2-3, 1998. .

THE last time I saw Mr Francis Seow in the flesh was 10 years ago. He was on a stage addressing an open-air election rally. The audience of ordinary Singaporeans numbered about 10,000, some of whom were beside themselves with excitement, most of them were just curious. They were treated to a one-of-a-kind performance. Never since independence had an opposition politician attacked the high-and-mighty PAP in such a smooth and condescending manner. Never in the memory of most of those gathered had a candidate worn a suit.

I was then a political science undergraduate at Cambridge doing my final year dissertation on government-press relations in Singapore. The 1988 election and its coverage by the media offered an invaluable case study. One of its most striking features was that although Mr Seow's contest was the talk of the town, the entire news media treated it as if it was just another of the dozens of parliamentary seats at stake. As part of my research, I asked the editor-in-chief of the Straits Times whether this under-coverage, verging on a media blackout, was deliberate. He said yes. What was more interesting, however was his insistence that this was not at the ruling party's direction, but was decided independently by the newspapers, in keeping with its openly-stated editorial stand of endorsing the PAP as the best choice for Singapore in that election.

This is perhaps what most distinguishes the past 10 years in the history of the Singapore press from the preceding decades, when, as so clearly chronicled in Mr Seow's new book, the victims of Mr Lee Kuan Yew's harsh treatment of the press actually tried to put up a vigorous resistance. In contrast, the press today tacitly accepts its own suppression. There are no blank editorials in protest at the lack of press freedom; there are no prolonged public exchanges when the government accuses a newspaper of being irresponsible.

This is partly due to the effectiveness with which the PAP has brought the press to heel. The first level of control, which is the oldest and most common internationally, is made up of various national security laws, such as the Internal Security Act, the Sedition Act and the Official Secrets Act. These provide for detention without trial and other discretionary powers. But the last time a Singapore journalist was locked up in this manner was about 20 years ago. The PAP has probably realised from its experience in the 1970s that the use of these sledgehammer powers, though undoubtedly effective, is politically costly. The problem with punishing newspapers and journalists after the fact is that they tend to complain noisily, and even if they are silenced, the public notices.

The government's second level of control addresses precisely this point. The Newspaper and Printing Presses Act of 1974 takes control behind the scenes, precluding the need for messy public battles with the press. This piece of legislation requires newspaper companies to be publicly listed, and their shares to be divided into ordinary and management shares. Under the Act, Government decides who gets management shares. This ensures that the Government has a say in the composition of the board of directors of newspaper companies, and through them, in the appointment of group editors and newspaper chief editors. It can thus ensure that the journalists who rise to the top-most editorial positions -- those who will serve as the main gatekeepers of the press -- are pro-establishment and conservative. This legislation is the main explanation for why the Singapore press is not just cowed, but often slavish.

There is, however, a third level of power in the PAP'S relationship with the press. This is a level routinely ignored by commentators, including Mr Seow in his new book. PAP power is hegemonic power, in the Gramscian sense: it is a perfect blend of coercion and consent. If the first two levels represent control through coercion, then this third level is the consensual side of the hegemony coin. Call it self-censorship, call it internationalisation, prostitution, enlightened self-interest, or, as some of my editors do, call it intellectually-honest journalism. Whatever you call it, the inescapable truth is that Singapore's newspapers are, at least in part, willing partners, of the state.

Libertarian wishful thinking would have us believe that an unfree press system would crumble under the weight of its own contradictions, and that Singapore would be swept by the same revolutionary democratic tide as so many other countries in the world. The fact that this has not happened in Singapore, and shows no sign of happening, is due in no small part to the fact that the victims of the illiberal press policy -- the press and the public -- actually accept this state of affairs.

It is too convenient to blame it entirely on coercion-induced fear. Singapore may be one of the more authoritarian countries in Asia, but it is not one of the more brutal, with arbitrary arrests or physical violence. Nor is it a totalitarian regime in the strictest sense. In states that are more brutal and more totalitarian, people have been brave enough to rise up against the regimes. So why not in Singapore? Could it be for some cultural reason particular to Singapore? It's difficult to sustain that argument, because the urge to resist tyranny is surely something that is culturally neutral.

In the end it is difficult to avoid the conclusion, as much as one may want to, that Singapore's political and press culture is sustained not just by coercion, but also by consent.

Once one is prepared to acknowledge this hegemonic nature of PAP power, and only then, do the pieces fall into place.

Then, one appreciates that the PAP did not stop at silencing its critics; it went on to win the political argument. It did not just deliver on its threats; it also delivered on its promises. It achieved high economic growth with social equity, such that today, some 90 percent of Singaporean families own their own homes. Its economic management has been so sound that today, it consistently runs budget surpluses even though tax rates are so low that 70 percent of workers pay no income tax at all. Its system remains one of the cleanest and most transparent in the world, according to foreign auditors such as the World Competitiveness Report.

Even the on-going Asian economic crisis has in fact strengthened the PAP's reputation for good governance. It is clear that in the four countries suffering the most -- Thailand, South Korea, Malaysia and Indonesia -- the lack of transparency in decision-making by the public sector, the banks and businesses, was a contributing factor, resulting in fatally inefficient allocation of resources. Singapore's economy has slowed down because of its links to these affected economies in the region, but its own so-called "fundamentals" remain strong, and so far seem to require no massive overhaul. The truth is, while Singapore's politicians were loudly proclaiming the merits of Asian-style democracy, they were operating the most Western system in Asia, where administrative decisions are made with a degree of economic-rationality and meritocracy that is almost clinical, and with little room for cronyism or connections.

Therefore, unlike most other authoritarian regimes, the PAP did not suppress the press in order to cover up corruption or hide its mistakes. It did so out of a sincere belief that the press as an institution had a narrow and short-term view of the public interest, and that it could obstruct good government.

Singapore's press model thus reverses the equation of your First Amendment. Here, the press, seen as the pure expression of democracy, is protected from the government, which, despite having been elected democratically, is assumed automatically by your political culture to have undemocratic tendencies. In the Singapore model, the elected government is the expression of democracy, and it is protected from the press, which is unelected and therefore undemocratic. Here, it is all about freedom of the press; in Singapore, it is about the government's freedom from the press.

This is of course heresy to liberal ears, but it is nevertheless a heresy that deserves serious study.

What does freedom from the press mean in practice? First what does it not mean? It does not mean the eradication of print journalism. It does not mean, contrary to what Mr Seow writes in his book, the "total and absolute" control of journalism. The press remains an independent institution, whose mission remains journalism not propaganda.

But the "freedom from the press" model does mean that newspapers must operate within much narrower perimeters than their counterparts in most parts of the world. It must accept its subordinate role in society. In practice, this means: The tone of stories must be respectful towards the country's leaders. They can be critical, but they cannot ridicule or lampoon, or erode public respect for elected positions.

When an issue cannot be resolved, journalists must not use their access to the media to continue plugging their contrary point of view. If the issue is an important one, the government must be given the last say in the short term. In the longer term, the government will have to answer to the people at the polls.

Certain government policies that are considered fundamental should not be contradicted by opinion columnists in the press; the proper place to contest these fundamental issues is in an election before the electorate.

These and other restrictions, which are not written anywhere but have been learnt from experience, are, as you can imagine, somewhat onerous on Singapore journalists. Indeed, a newspaper cannot even campaign too overtly for greater press freedom, because it would then be accused of using its position to contest a policy that was already tacitly endorsed by the people in successive general elections.

But it is not all bleak. Within the context of a state dominated by a single party, Singapore's newspapers do play a key role in the gradual liberalisation of politics. Yes, the press is an establishment institution, but then so are all key institutions in Singapore, including the universities and the trade unions. In this corporatist context, pluralisation is a slow process, but whatever pluralisation there is, is due in no small measure to the newspapers' dogged practice of journalism.

Singapore newspapers take their public role seriously, and have used whatever space they have to question government and keep readers engaged in public issues. The clearest proof that the press has not succumbed completely to the pressures upon it is the fact that no other organisations or institution in Singapore is so regularly chastised by government leaders -- not even the opposition, which lies dormant in between elections. On most issues, it is the local press, not the foreign media, and not the opposition in Parliament, that presents alternative views to the public.

Some may find it hard to muster up the slightest optimism about the press in Singapore. But I have more faith -- not in the Straits Times, but in the power of journalism. Journalism does not have to be in the form of the strident opinion column to have an effect. Basic journalism reporting has an inherently liberalising tendency. The simple act of including different voices in a story is an affirmation that there is no simple monolithic truth, and that ordinary people, not just decision-makers, matter. For most of the stories we write, we are able to include those different voices, unimpeded.

This in fact may be the most significant effect of the press. It may not sound like very much, but in Singapore, we are thankful for small mercies.