Opinion

Commentary, Op-Eds, School Life, Student Issues 1 March 201410 May 2019

Eclipse of an Orientation Cycle: Survival of the Fittest (OGs)

Reading Time: 4 minutes

By Lee Wei Hern (14S03T) and Benedict Koh (14S06N)

Before the Year 5s open a new chapter in their lives and embark on two years of JC life, they go through a traditional rite of passage- the four-day long Orientation programme. It’s an experience every Rafflesian can relate to as we are allocated into an Orientation Group (OG), and make our first JC friends through ice-breakers and OG dinners. After those four days, however, school life starts to kick in proper – a (largely) dreary routine of lectures, tutorials, CCAs, and revision which never seems to end. The mundane tasks of our everyday life can be so time-consuming that some of us end up unable to spend time with our OGs. Hence, for many unfortunate OGs, the ‘OGlings’ stop hanging out, and in some cases, cease any contact whatsoever; such a situation is commonly referred to as the “death of an OG”. Yet miraculously, some OGs still manage to remain alive and active. So, why is it that some OGs are longer-lasting than others?

According to our survey conducted on Year 6 students in October, we were surprised to find that only 7 in 20 respondents considered their OG to still be alive. What was even more shocking was finding that more than 40% of the respondents NEVER met up with their OG after Orientation.

Strangely enough, when asked to rate the importance of Orientation in JC life, on a scale of 1 to 10 (with 1 being the least important and 10 being the most important), half of the responses registered a reading of 7 and above. Since many Rafflesians hence view Orientation as such an important aspect of their JC lives, why then do OGs still die? We tried probing further by asking our respondents whether they felt it was important to maintain contact with their OGs AFTER Orientation and their supporting reasons.

Upon inspection, we realized many of our respondents felt that maintaining contact with their OGs after Orientation was important as it helped to boost house spirit (since OGs are formed within houses). Moreover, on a more personal level, they felt that the OG provided them with an additional backbone of support, especially for students who had not yet fully assimilated into the rhythm of JC life and were facing extra difficulties coping. The OG hence became one group of friends one could rely on for support.

“ OG-mates are no longer called OG-mates, but friends. Lasting friendships are formed during Orientation, which also provided some of the best memories in one’s JC life.” – (Bryan Tan, 14SO6H)

While many felt that it was important for students to maintain contact with their OGs after Orientation, it seemed that keeping OGs bonded became an increasingly difficult task, as time constraints from academics, CCAs, enrichment programmes and the like prevented the OG from meeting up often. A typical JC student’s hectic life sees him/her focus on so many personal commitments that it is unsurprising how staying bonded to his/her OG has not been a main priority for many. On a deeper level, many also felt that Orientation was too short for the OG mates to get to know each other well enough to forge strong bonds with each and every member – hence perhaps leading to the fragmentation and formation of cliques within the OG.

“Classmates bonding together were of greater importance, the OG staying together was an added bonus, not a necessity.” (Rachel Quek, 14SO3T)

Since the Y5s are randomly sorted into their OGs, it is a wonder why certain OGs somehow manage to survive, whereas others die off almost immediately after Orientation. We asked our respondents about the reasons behind the survival of their OGs, or the reasons why it all just didn’t work out.

The main reasons why respondents felt their OGs remained long-lasting was due to enthusiastic people who were willing and able to put in effort to organize regular outings. Despite their numerous time constraints, they did their best to rally their OG-mates to meet up, making use of various social media platforms such as WhatsApp and Facebook. In fact, some OGs were more bonded as the routine of meeting up at a specific table in the canteen every morning (for example) had become a norm.

On the other hand, we discovered a trend among our many respondents whose OGs went their separate ways – that OGs usually ‘die’ around Term 2 of that year. In addition, many respondents agreed that the key reason behind this ‘death’ was due to the presence of other friends from their classes, or from their CCAs. As one would spend (almost) his/her entire JC life with his/her class, it is unsurprising that one would form stronger bonds with his/her classmates than OG-mates. Another factor to be considered is that OGs will be made out of people with different subject combinations. Having different streams and timetables undoubtedly makes it harder for the OG to find a time when most (if not all) members are available to meet up.

For the batch of 2014, it has been one year since Aurora. It has been one year since we first nervously met our OGs in the MPH on our first official day of JC life, one year since we made our first new friends in JC, one year since we forged many memories – memories of fiercely playing war games in defence of our houses, or recalling the moves of our batch dance (and awkwardly trying to execute them).

These memories will be irreplaceable for most of us, even if some of us have moved on from our OGs. At the end of the day, though, while the survival of OGs after Orientation is indeed important, we must remember that in every RJ student’s schedule, there will be many more commitments that he/she is likely to prioritize over his/her OGs. While the survival of your OG should not be taken for granted and is definitely not a given, it’s certainly not impossible. Keeping your OG alive is something that might be beneficial to you, should your OG weather the storms of JC life.

Commentary, Nationally Speaking, Op-Eds 25 February 201410 May 2019

The Importance of Equality in Practice

Reading Time: 6 minutes

By Lee Chin Wee and Jeremy Khoo (14A01B)

Additional reporting by Bryan Chua (14A01A)

“The human being is an unequal creature. That is a fact. And we start off with the proposition — all the great religions, all the great movements, all the great political ideologies say — let us make the human being as equal as possible. In fact, he is not equal — never will be.”

– Lee Kuan Yew

One wonders what our founding father thinks about the recently declared cuts to independent school funding. In private, he probably believes we are headed down the slippery slope of socialism. For someone who believed in policies like setting up dating agencies solely for university graduates, cutting back funding for top schools must be anathema. After all, it goes against the grain of the brand of economics that has defined Singapore’s success story — the best talent makes the best use of scarce resources.Today, however, as inequality soars, pressure continues to mount on the government to distribute resources more evenly. Perhaps we need to think about what is fair, not just what is efficient — we need to reexamine the meritocratic principles that we have grown to reflexively accept.

Therefore, the recent funding cuts cannot be viewed in isolation. They must be seen as part of a larger trend towards a more equitable spread of resources. Recent policy changes, like the introduction of a progressive wage structure for cleaners and the increased welfare benefits granted to the pioneer generation, have signalled a gradual shift away from the free market principles that the government used to espouse. To paraphrase an enamoured Foreign Policy correspondent, “At a time when big government is a four-letter word, Singapore continues to earn high praise for being run like a company. Its economic strategy reads like a business plan.” That was in 2011. Three years on, the government seems to have realized that the desk-bound everyman working for Singapore Inc. deserves a raise.

“The second major plank of the Budget has to do with our work to achieve a fair and equitable society.

We are driving important initiatives to help our lower-income families aspire for themselves, and enable every Singaporean to contribute to a better society.”

– Finance Minister Tharman Shanmugaratnam delivering the 2014 Budget Speech

In the same way that we are beginning to re-allocate economic capital to help the most financially disempowered, why not re-allocate educational capital to help students who are systemically denied the opportunity to maximize their potential? To fund better facilities and provide a diversity of educational opportunities to more students, it is only right to equalize the financial playing field for schools. We’ve been conditioned to believe that because Singapore is a meritocracy, the privileges we enjoy as Rafflesians are our just rewards. In order to understand why this does not tell the full story, we need to understand the distinction between equality in principle and equality in practice.

In principle, our education system is fair and equal. Every twelve-year old sits the same set of PSLE papers under the same conditions. Regardless of who his parents are or how much money they earn, he can still make it if he’s got what it takes. This is the meritocratic narrative offered by the government.

In practice, when John takes the PSLE, he has twelve years of accumulated privileges behind him. At the tender age of four, he was enrolled into a good preschool, giving him a head start in the educational rat race. At home, he was able to satisfy his inquisitive mind by delving into one of the many encyclopedias that his parents invested in. John’s parents signed him up for advanced chess classes to hone his thinking skills and drama classes to boost his self-confidence. By the age of nine, John was streamed into the ‘gifted’ programme and placed into an accelerated class. He was taught by some of the best primary school teachers, and was exposed to course material that thirteen or fourteen year olds were expected to handle. Unlike a vast majority of his peers sitting for the PSLE, John has benefitted from a uniquely privileged upbringing. Maybe anybody can make it, but John is far likelier to make it than many others.

If meritocracy is to mean anything in practice, the playing field has to be levelled so everyone gets a fair chance to compete. It’s only then that a meritocratic system is actually rewarding the best rather than those who’ve lucked out in the birth lottery. Yes, many, if not all, of us have worked hard to excel academically, but so have our peers in less prestigious schools. It’s indisputable that, for most of us, our being in RI has at least something to do with the circumstances of our birth. Not everything, to be sure, but enough to give us a host of structural advantages when it comes to academic success.

Thus, in order to make sure everyone is given an equal chance to succeed at every stage of their lives, government funding has to be distributed more equitably. Fact is, more funding directly equates to a better educational experience. And for schools which may not have strong alumni support or do not currently enjoy IP/GEP grants from the government, the pinch of tight budgets are felt most acutely. While we can afford to fund leadership institutes and subsidize overseas learning journeys, less privileged schools are forced to close down CCAs and trim enrichment programmes. We enjoy a remarkable range of privileges — think about the Gap Semester, the exchange programmes, the leadership camps, and the dozens of club and societies in RI. Perhaps taking away a few of these programmes and redistributing the money to ‘neighbourhood’ schools is the right thing to do. The more money a school has at its disposal, the less direct educational benefit can be reaped through additional spending. For instance, opening up yet another leadership programme might well give a few Rafflesian leaders a little more insight into the art of leadership, but the money could have gone to a government school instead, allowing them to enjoy some of the things we already have — like a dedicated leadership department.

The problem, though, is that the recent cuts to school funding don’t do enough, even though it is a step in the right direction toward a more equitable educational system. To quote a letter from the MOE, “[Out of the independent schools] three schools will see an increase in funding of about 5 per cent this year compared to last year, three schools will get between 1 per cent and 3 per cent more, and four schools will experience a reduction of no more than 3 per cent.” (emphasis added) In other words, although there is now a more equitable distribution of funds amongst the IP schools, this change doesn’t affect government schools, which are probably the schools that would make the best use of a budget increase.

On a related note, one wonders why independent schools have also been asked to limit any fundraising efforts for new facilities. On the face of it, it might look like a useful measure to narrow inequality within the education system, but the upshot of this policy actually seems to be that independent schools have less resources to work with without a commensurate increase in resources for government schools. By restricting an independent school’s ability to raise funds, the system is made more equitable, but only because there are now less resources on the whole. In short, this measure hurts independent schools without helping government schools, and seems to focus more on trying to make everything appear more equal. In fact, by forcing schools that want to upgrade their facilities to clear an even higher bar in order to justify the expenditure, we limit upward mobility significantly. If every school is to be a good school, we need to concentrate our efforts on making these ‘non-standard’ facilities and advantages a standard part of every student’s education, which will benefit one and all.

We do have one caveat: it’s important to acknowledge that there are some good reasons to allocate more resources to independent schools. While independent schools do receive grants for all IP and GEP students, they don’t just go towards funding new facilities. Within RI, for instance, the school budget provides for initiatives like the Humanities Programme and the Monday morning enrichment programmes (such as ISLE), which serve the important purpose of nurturing talent within niche areas. In these cases, it does seem as though some resources should be devoted toward helping talented students develop their potential. Shouldn’t education both serve as the great social leveller and help students achieve greater success? That’s why the government has spent taxpayer monies building up the Singapore Sports School, to help our most promising athletes develop in the best possible training environment. That’s why we’ve continually invested in niche schools like the School of the Arts, to equip aspiring musicians and actors with the specialized skills to help them succeed in the future, or even shine on the international stage. Only a minority of Singaporeans will get to use these facilities, but everyone’s taxpayer dollars are funding these programmes. Why? Because these programs serve other important national goals — encouraging interest in the Humanities, turning young sportsmen and women into world-class athletes and so forth. Whether you want to push the boundaries of modern economics or play football for the Lions, shouldn’t the education system also help you to realize these aspirations?

In principle, it is easy to say that we want an equitable distribution of resources. It is not much harder to elaborate the idea of equity — a comprehensive attempt to level the playing field so that everyone gets a fair shot at success in a meritocratic system. It is far harder to find answers in practice, when we have to balance the goal of equity against other worthwhile goals that require state funding as well. But the difficulty of finding the perfect answer does not stop us from trying to solve problems that we know exist. In the end, as the economist John Maynard Keynes might say, it’s better to be roughly right than precisely wrong.

Commentary, Op-Eds, Student Issues 25 February 201410 May 2019

The Practical Side of the Budget Cuts: Why We Should Be Concerned

Reading Time: 4 minutes

By Austin Zheng (14A01B)

In recent weeks, MOE has announced significant budget cuts for several independent schools and a slew of restrictions on expenditures, prompting parliamentary questions and public debate. Concerned citizens have criticised the cutbacks in air-con use, the restrictions on building new facilities, and the limitations on alumni donations, noting that they hurt independent schools without benefitting government-funded ones. Others have lambasted the perceived opulence of the top schools. But the most pressing issues aren’t philosophical ones. These budget cuts will have a massive practical impact on the affected schools, which include RI.

What, from a three percent reduction, at worst? But we should not be complacent. Consider that an overwhelming portion of the school budget has to go towards non-negotiable expenditures, such as staff wages, utility fees, and maintenance costs. If we assume, optimistically, that discretionary spending is about one-third of the total budget, a three percent reduction would mean a 10% cut to items like funding for CCAs or enrichment programmes. Suddenly, the picture seems a lot bleaker. In addition, MOE’s figures are calculated to account for ‘total resourcing’ – which means that the real cuts to government expenditure on independent schools like RI are much deeper, possibly along the scale of over a million dollars a year. This is a crucial distinction, because the 1823 Fund is mainly used for bursaries and community service projects, not CCAs or enrichment activities, so a reduction in government funding cannot be entirely mitigated by alumni donations. In other words, an apparently innocuous three percent budget cut could have serious implications for the very programmes that are closest to our hearts. We have every reason to be concerned.

Some Rafflesians, however, remain dismissive. Surely it is unfair to pass judgement about the budget cuts when we don’t even know their effects? But it will simply be too late to respond when we do. Principal Mr Chan Poh Meng has stated that the budget cuts are ‘an opportunity for us to relook everything’. With such a grand commitment, the school administration will presumably and understandably be reluctant to relook everything again after it has rebalanced its budget. The appropriate moment to provide student feedback, then, would be when the administration is in the process of reevaluating its priorities – that is, now.

CCA funding tops the list of student concerns. That’s unsurprising, given that budget cuts in this area will affect literally every student in the school, with potential effects ranging from fewer overseas trips to less coaching. Smaller CCAs in particular could be crippled by budget reductions. The current chairman of HISSOC, Darren Teoh, reflected that HISSOC cannot run with a smaller budget, and that the CCA already has to source for external funding to sustain itself. Thus, if the school absolutely must reduce CCA funding, it should review the budgets of larger CCAs and examine if there are any excesses, instead of unwittingly threatening less established CCAs with extinction.

Similarly, the school could reconsider potential cuts to funding for enrichment activities. This refers both to enrichment programmes like RP3 or ISLE, and activities such as class camps or overseas cultural trips. Such activities, after all, provide students with an invaluable opportunity to broaden their horizons beyond the confinements of the classroom. Jian Hui from 14S03F hence opined that enrichment activities should not be scaled down, as students would then lose the opportunity to expand their learning. Jin Jie from 14S07B furthermore pointed out that students from lower-income households could be disproportionally affected if the budget cuts extend to financial aid for such programmes and overseas trips. While RI may ultimately have no choice but to largely restrict overseas programmes to Asia, it would be unfortunate if students lose the opportunity to gain global exposure.

Conversely, despite the disproportionate focus on air-con cutbacks in the mainstream media, students seem confident in their ability to withstand the heat. Adriel Ang from 15S03D moreover supports reductions in air-con use, observing that the air-con had been left on for long periods of time after lessons at the Year 1-4 campus. This flippant wastage suggests, worryingly, that some Rafflesians have taken the school’s facilities for granted. On the other hand, one should pause before doing away with air-conditioning entirely, since the classrooms are not designed with ventilation in mind. A notable example is the curious presence of large metal sheets outside the windows of certain classrooms, which block any wisps of wind.

Nevertheless, it is clearly unreasonable to expect everything to go on as before with a shrinking budget. It would be highly desirable however, if the school left funding for CCAs and enrichment activities untouched, and focused on feel-good events that have little tangible benefit for students. Jian Hui cites Take 5 as a prime example. Yes, it may be immensely fun, but does the school really need to spend thousands of dollars on monorail tickets? To go even further, does it really need to book an entire beach? Darren also feels that education should always be prioritised over school tradition or celebrations. It would be quite ironic, for instance, if the school commemorated the handover of CCA leadership with flowers and fanfare while students wonder if their CCAs would survive till the next Prometheum Day.

In the end, no matter what direction the school takes, the greatest mistake we can make is to be apathetic. Even as we are challenged to respond to wider questions of equity in society, we should not forget that we also have to respond to practical questions in our own backyard as a school community.

Commentary, Nationally Speaking, Op-Eds 10 February 201412 May 2019

The Five Dollar Question

Reading Time: 7 minutes

By Gao Wenxin (14A03A)

What can you get for SGD$5?

Last December, I had been dared by my dear friend Chin Wee to take on the $5 Challenge. Challenge accepted, I thought, Barney Stinson-style. The premise of this activity seemed simple enough: go about your daily life with only $5 a day, including food and transport. It was a novelty initiative started by the website Singaporeans Against Poverty, to encourage people to experience the daily budget of some 387,000 Singaporeans with a household income of less than $1,500. Chin Wee had argued that since I was doing an internship in the CBD at that time, I was practically the perfect living model of a working adult. Perfect, if only it wasn’t also one of the most expensive places to work on this island.

Perhaps I should preface this by saying that my family had actually lived in similar circumstances when I was younger. Here I borrow the words of Alice Munro, when her character Edie had started work in a wealthy house: “I thought it was still a lot easier, living the way we lived at home, to picture something like this, the painted flamingos and the warmth and the soft mat, than it was anybody knowing only things like this to picture how it was the other way.” My family’s situation has improved vastly since then, but I know a number of my schoolmates who probably cannot imagine poverty and think it a far-flung third-world concept. But even if you do not find homeless beggars starving on the streets, many Singaporeans face relative poverty, when their income falls below what is needed to pay for living necessities. Poverty is not a distant concept at all.

So while everyone was stocking up on chocolate santas, I was bracing myself for this period of self-enforced austerity. And I braced myself again. And again. I could not take the plunge because it just seemed too difficult. My round-trip commute from Toa Payoh to Clarke Quay will have cost $2.42 already, if I was a paying adult. The Starbucks peppermint mocha ($7.20) I had yesterday would have busted an entire day’s budget all by itself, and the cheapest thing I could find in the CBD food market was fishball noodles ($3.30). The first thing I realised before even starting the challenge was that small daily costs add up to become expensive, and it takes someone with pinched pockets to feel the sting.

Given the odds, I figured that if I was in it to win it, I might as well take one for the team. I managed to work out a plan to take advantage of the free MRT rides in the mornings before 7.45am, and also save 10 cents in the evening by taking the MRT from City Hall (1km walk from my workplace) instead of Clarke Quay (650m). That left me with $3.89 to spend on my three meals, and I set out to the supermarket, hopeful that I will solve my personal bread-and-butter issues.

But it was depressing. Especially because the Spirit of Christmas was beckoning me with its goodies and unaffordable price-tags.

Turns out, there was little I could buy with $3.89 except maybe, bread and butter. For those of us who take Economics, you can definitely see Engel’s Law (i.e. when income decreases, the proportion of income spent on food rises) at work here in real life. Food is expensive for the low-income. Making a decision at the shopping aisle no longer involves grabbing whatever strikes your fancy, but a complicated game of mental sums. Do I buy the $2.20 loaf of average Gardenia bread, or the awful $1.70 house brand loaf with twice the amount of slices? Should I spend $0.65 on a cheap cereal bar which will fill me for breakfast, or an apple to compensate for a balanced meal but will leave me hungry? What about butter? Could I do without it? Isn’t margarine, like, the same thing?

With a limited shopping budget, taste and nutrition often gets thrown out of the window. It’s hard to think about the food pyramid when you are wondering whether you should spend the $1.70 on a celery stick, or a loaf that will give your whole family the energy to start the day. This is because supermarkets often sell items like bread below costs of production to draw customers to the store, in order to persuade them to buy mid-to-high range products with a higher profit margin. The poorer lose out because they will be falling for discounts on poor quality or unhealthy processed food, since there is almost never an offer on the celery stick. [1]

So, here’s the hard truth: $5 in Singapore really isn’t worth much. I left the supermarket with only four purchases to last me for the day: bread ($1.70 for 18 slices), canned soup ($1.50, but I will only need half a can for dinner, so $0.75), tom yam cup noodles ($0.80), and an apple ($0.65). The tally was $3.90, and unfortunately I have still exceeded the remaining budget by 1 cent. Unbelievable. Disastrous as it is, I decided that I will simply make it up as I go along, and went to bed.

“Wake up, Wenxin! Aren’t you supposed to be poor today, or something?” said a voice as I rolled back to sleep. No, wait. I looked at the clock. 7.07am. I was supposed to be washed, dressed, and out of the City Hall gantry in 38 minutes. No way. I dashed out of my house and on my way, but time ticked by. At 7.44am the train was just pulling into Dhoby Ghaut. A terrible idea begin forming in my head. I made a last ditch effort to salvage the situation and sprinted out of the station.

The good news was that I made the 7.45am cut. The bad news was that I was also 1.4km away from my workplace, with no money to take other forms of transport, and separated by the Fort Canning Hill.

I did not have a data plan to check my location, or any sort of plan really, and it must have been so strange to see a girl in a dress sweating it out on the steps of Fort Canning while parading a giant loaf of bread. I also got desperately lost. In fact, I made it past three museums and the treasury building before finding my way past this former graveyard, but fortunately got to the office unscathed after the longest 30 minutes of my life.

Putting away my things at the cubicle, I went to heat up my breakfast, which was essentially just 2 pieces of plain bread and free workplace coffee. Nothing to get excited about, really. It unfortunately didn’t take 2 slices for me to get sick of the sour and yeasty taste, so I stopped eating, but this decision cost me. I was hungry for the rest of the morning, unable to get out of an important meeting.

After 4 hours with a queasy stomach, however, I am ashamed to admit that I failed the challenge many times over the course of the day as my resolve wavered. We had served refreshments to some guests at the meeting, and as an intern I obviously felt it my duty to clear the leftover Swissbake pastries (into my stomach). After which we had our lunch (small restaurant, nothing remotely under $5) paid for by our colleagues because it was our last day of work, and I could not possibly refuse. I did somehow wrestle my conscience into walking to City Hall for my trip back home, but when I returned I found the dinner table set for my place because my grandfather had predicted that I would fail. I had lost the challenge, and disgracefully so.

Feeling that it was too soon for me to give up just yet, I decided to set aside the next day to repeat the feat. And I actually passably succeeded, by spending less than the allotted amount. The only questionable move I made was to avoid a rehearsal in school to save on transport (shh), but in real life unexpected costs are sometimes unavoidable. No amount of planning can prepare for uncertain illness or injury, a sudden appointment at an inconvenient location, or your classmates deciding to go for a spontaneous meal that you cannot really afford.

And here exists the real five-dollar question I should be asking: What have I learned? Beyond the challenge’s gamification of suffering underlies a message that poverty is cruel and humiliating, and that food poverty is particularly inhumane and a real public health issue. As a developed country with one of the highest rates of income inequality, we could do much better as a country to help the needy.

Harper Lee once said that “you never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” If there is a lesson to be learned from this challenge, perhaps you should try it for yourself. But then again, the fact that we can choose to partake in this challenge and give up whenever we wish reveals the privilege that we enjoy. Have I truly experienced poverty? No. It was a sanitised version of reality, an experiment with controlled variables. Sure, I may have gained some superficial understanding by stepping into their shoes for a day. For the 387,000 Singaporeans facing this daily reality however, there is no stepping out.

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[1] http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/oct/01/dont-worry-david-cameron-price-bread