- Joined
- Aug 6, 2008
- Messages
- 6,684
- Points
- 113
Delivered at the late Joshua Benjamin Jeyaretnam's funeral at Saint
Andrew's Cathedral on 4 October 2008
'JBJ Dies, Shockwaves, Dow Plunges'. So read Wednesday's headlines in
the Straits Times. For once, they were spot on.
Dad was born on 5 January 1926, in Chenkanai, Jaffna, where his parents
were on home leave from Muar, Malaya. His personal name given to him
was Benjamin, and today for the first time I'll call him Ben.
His mother doted on him, his father was a sterner, more remote figure,
but ingrained in the young boy an unyielding honesty. Even a single cent
mistakenly given in change had to be returned to the shopkeeper,
whether the error was discovered there and then or sometime later.
Ben began school at the convent, the only boy among the girls. I have
sometimes wondered if this had anything to do with his life-long charm
- a debonair air that he carried to the end.
Later he studied at Muar English School, and last year when I drove him
to visit his old home in Muar we stopped by at the school, where the
principal was delighted to see the return of such an old old boy. Ben
recounted how once he had to stand on his desk four days in a row - he
could not remember what precisely it was for, but I imagine it was not
for some petty indiscipline but for a stubborn adherence to a point of view
that his teacher did not share.
In 1941, the family moved to Johor Bahru, shortly before the Japanese
Invasion. As the Japanese Army swarmed down the peninsula, the family
left town. One day, with the Japanese in control, two British soldiers
turned up at their doorstep. Water and a little food was all they could offer
them, much to Ben's regret.
Durin! g the oc cupation, Ben worked as a translator for the Transport
Department. One day, following a theft, he was called in for
questioning by the Kempeitai, who were investigating.
While he was not a suspect,the experience felt very different from the ceremony,
procedure and safeguards of the pre-war colonial administration.
Someone had told hismother he was being interviewed,
and that evening he found her wailing and forlorn,
looking out for his return some distance from their home.
What brought him to the study of law, at University College London,
after the War, was his religious conviction, and in particular the
implication that he drew from that conviction. The highest duty in life, he
believed, is to love God, and in practical terms to serve Him.. That
meant to serve one's fellow man - help the poor, sick and aged, give a
voice to those who are unable to speak for themselves. Giving a voice to the silent
brought him into law, and later led him into politics.
In London, Ben's life changed in two important ways. As a student at
the international hostel, Connaught Hall, he met and became friends with
people from all over the Empire, young men and women whose hearts and
minds were on independence and the building of new nations. He and his
best friend, Philip Woodfield, my godfather, attended political meetings
and joined in campaigns together. They also shared a love of
literature, that endured in Ben even when reading had become something of a
physical strain.
The second thing occurred only in his second year, for then a certain
girl from Bournemouth entered UCL. But Margaret had to continue in England
to complete her solicitors' articles. Her own mother was also in ill-health.
She was reluctant to leave her mother and venture to a distant city.
She said no. Ben came home disconsolate.
He joined the legal service. In 1955 he returned to England with one
single aim in mind. One day walking along the Bournemouth cliffs, he
and Margaret encountered a graffito - "TRUST IN GOD AND GO". This was the
sign ! she nee ded, and she left for Singapore in 1956, with a job waiting
for her at the same firm in which I am now a partner.
A few months later, on 23 February 1957, they were married.
Kenneth was born two years later, and after the premature birth of a
boy who died within days, I joined my brother in 1964.
Ben became Registrar of the Supreme Court and then First District Judge.
His thoughts however were turning toward a more active role in society
-
in 1962 in a speech at a YMCA luncheon, he said 'It is not enough to go to
church on Sundays, to sing about 'Onward Christian Soldiers', about
fighting the evils of the world, if nothing is done by Christians when
they emerge from church.'
He left legal service and entered private practice, where he soon made
his name as a tenacious and determined criminal defence lawyer. For him
there was no such thing as a hopeless case, if he believed the accused's
protestations of innocence.
I will give an example of this later, but his next step was to enter
politics, and thus began his difficult struggle. Everyone knows where
they were when they heard that he took Anson, but not many recall the hard
battles before, when he lost often narrowly and after facing down
savage attacks on his patriotism.
These years were made harder still by Margaret's long illness and death
from cancer in 1980. Yet his faith in God never wavered, nor did his
belief in himself and his mission. Shortly before her death, Margaret
told me that her one regret was that she had not said yes sooner.
I was with him at the counting centre at Anson. A fresh recruit into
the army. I was at the back of the crowd. He called out 'Where is my son?'
and I found myself lifted bodily over the heads of his supporters and on to
the stage to be with him. He expressed his humility at being the
people's! ch oice, and then spoke of it as his saddest moment in that Margaret was
not with him. Her memory stayed with him, keeping him going though his
darkest moments.
That very night he sent a telegram to Kenneth, away in England. Ben was
a server in this great cathedral, and the next Sunday though it was not
his turn he asked to carry the cross. He was not saying that God had
given him victory, rather he was saying that all he did in his life was
meant by him to be in service of the Lord.
And so he entered Parliament. For that you can read Hansard. But for
him it was law and advocacy in a new guise. Speaking for those who might
not otherwise be heard. Arguing always for fairness, and due process and
equity. Parliament and the courts meant so much to him. And the worst
times of his life were when he was deprived of these, through disqualification.
Notwithstanding this he was the epitome of grace. Even though others
failed to accept the true implications of the Privy Council's
restoration of him as an advocate and solicitor, and so he was not pardoned nor
reinstated to his seat in Parliament, he bore it all stoically, fully
confident that right was on his side.
But the Privy Council's decision at least restored him to practice. And
I come now to my example. Three persons had confessed to a murder at a
coffee shop. Their confessions were ruled to be voluntary. They could
be convicted and sentenced to death on the basis of these confessions. But
he kept going and sure enough he turned up a lead of another culprit and
pressed for fingerprint evidence held by the prosecution to be checked
for a match against this person. The prosecution did so, and withdrew the
case. It was a huge vindication of the role of defence counsel.
His bankruptcy following devastating libel! suits d eprived him once
again of parliamentary and legal life. Thankfully, we were able to help to
bring him out of it, and he had a terrific final year back in the saddle,
forming a new party and appearing in court again.
Forgive me if my account has been coloured by what he once described as
'my unswerving loyalty', and let me conclude with this. Away from his
political battles, where he had to fight hard and strong, he was gentle
but committed when helping individuals around him. Throughout his life,
the way Ben helped people earned him the friendship and love of many.
He lived among the people, preferring the bus to a taxi even in his last
days. Perhaps he felt embarrassed that so often taxi drivers refused to
take a fare from him.
He always helped his sons, and his daughters-in-law, and his
grandchildren, his parents, siblings, nieces and nephews and countless
others. He would read books to his grandchildren, and even-handedly
judge competitions at birthday parties. He was a dear uncle too to many other
young people.
Severe when he did not smile, his face was transformed by that 100 watt
grin, as famous as his mutton chop sideburns, that every one of his
grandchildren when babies loved to pull.. The closer to him you were,
the more his smile lit up your life.
A great man, a lion, so many have said, but a nice man, a kind man too.
In the end, his life carried a simple meaning for all of us: no matter
who we are, we can do something, we must do something, to make the
world a better
place.
Andrew's Cathedral on 4 October 2008
'JBJ Dies, Shockwaves, Dow Plunges'. So read Wednesday's headlines in
the Straits Times. For once, they were spot on.
Dad was born on 5 January 1926, in Chenkanai, Jaffna, where his parents
were on home leave from Muar, Malaya. His personal name given to him
was Benjamin, and today for the first time I'll call him Ben.
His mother doted on him, his father was a sterner, more remote figure,
but ingrained in the young boy an unyielding honesty. Even a single cent
mistakenly given in change had to be returned to the shopkeeper,
whether the error was discovered there and then or sometime later.
Ben began school at the convent, the only boy among the girls. I have
sometimes wondered if this had anything to do with his life-long charm
- a debonair air that he carried to the end.
Later he studied at Muar English School, and last year when I drove him
to visit his old home in Muar we stopped by at the school, where the
principal was delighted to see the return of such an old old boy. Ben
recounted how once he had to stand on his desk four days in a row - he
could not remember what precisely it was for, but I imagine it was not
for some petty indiscipline but for a stubborn adherence to a point of view
that his teacher did not share.
In 1941, the family moved to Johor Bahru, shortly before the Japanese
Invasion. As the Japanese Army swarmed down the peninsula, the family
left town. One day, with the Japanese in control, two British soldiers
turned up at their doorstep. Water and a little food was all they could offer
them, much to Ben's regret.
Durin! g the oc cupation, Ben worked as a translator for the Transport
Department. One day, following a theft, he was called in for
questioning by the Kempeitai, who were investigating.
While he was not a suspect,the experience felt very different from the ceremony,
procedure and safeguards of the pre-war colonial administration.
Someone had told hismother he was being interviewed,
and that evening he found her wailing and forlorn,
looking out for his return some distance from their home.
What brought him to the study of law, at University College London,
after the War, was his religious conviction, and in particular the
implication that he drew from that conviction. The highest duty in life, he
believed, is to love God, and in practical terms to serve Him.. That
meant to serve one's fellow man - help the poor, sick and aged, give a
voice to those who are unable to speak for themselves. Giving a voice to the silent
brought him into law, and later led him into politics.
In London, Ben's life changed in two important ways. As a student at
the international hostel, Connaught Hall, he met and became friends with
people from all over the Empire, young men and women whose hearts and
minds were on independence and the building of new nations. He and his
best friend, Philip Woodfield, my godfather, attended political meetings
and joined in campaigns together. They also shared a love of
literature, that endured in Ben even when reading had become something of a
physical strain.
The second thing occurred only in his second year, for then a certain
girl from Bournemouth entered UCL. But Margaret had to continue in England
to complete her solicitors' articles. Her own mother was also in ill-health.
She was reluctant to leave her mother and venture to a distant city.
She said no. Ben came home disconsolate.
He joined the legal service. In 1955 he returned to England with one
single aim in mind. One day walking along the Bournemouth cliffs, he
and Margaret encountered a graffito - "TRUST IN GOD AND GO". This was the
sign ! she nee ded, and she left for Singapore in 1956, with a job waiting
for her at the same firm in which I am now a partner.
A few months later, on 23 February 1957, they were married.
Kenneth was born two years later, and after the premature birth of a
boy who died within days, I joined my brother in 1964.
Ben became Registrar of the Supreme Court and then First District Judge.
His thoughts however were turning toward a more active role in society
-
in 1962 in a speech at a YMCA luncheon, he said 'It is not enough to go to
church on Sundays, to sing about 'Onward Christian Soldiers', about
fighting the evils of the world, if nothing is done by Christians when
they emerge from church.'
He left legal service and entered private practice, where he soon made
his name as a tenacious and determined criminal defence lawyer. For him
there was no such thing as a hopeless case, if he believed the accused's
protestations of innocence.
I will give an example of this later, but his next step was to enter
politics, and thus began his difficult struggle. Everyone knows where
they were when they heard that he took Anson, but not many recall the hard
battles before, when he lost often narrowly and after facing down
savage attacks on his patriotism.
These years were made harder still by Margaret's long illness and death
from cancer in 1980. Yet his faith in God never wavered, nor did his
belief in himself and his mission. Shortly before her death, Margaret
told me that her one regret was that she had not said yes sooner.
I was with him at the counting centre at Anson. A fresh recruit into
the army. I was at the back of the crowd. He called out 'Where is my son?'
and I found myself lifted bodily over the heads of his supporters and on to
the stage to be with him. He expressed his humility at being the
people's! ch oice, and then spoke of it as his saddest moment in that Margaret was
not with him. Her memory stayed with him, keeping him going though his
darkest moments.
That very night he sent a telegram to Kenneth, away in England. Ben was
a server in this great cathedral, and the next Sunday though it was not
his turn he asked to carry the cross. He was not saying that God had
given him victory, rather he was saying that all he did in his life was
meant by him to be in service of the Lord.
And so he entered Parliament. For that you can read Hansard. But for
him it was law and advocacy in a new guise. Speaking for those who might
not otherwise be heard. Arguing always for fairness, and due process and
equity. Parliament and the courts meant so much to him. And the worst
times of his life were when he was deprived of these, through disqualification.
Notwithstanding this he was the epitome of grace. Even though others
failed to accept the true implications of the Privy Council's
restoration of him as an advocate and solicitor, and so he was not pardoned nor
reinstated to his seat in Parliament, he bore it all stoically, fully
confident that right was on his side.
But the Privy Council's decision at least restored him to practice. And
I come now to my example. Three persons had confessed to a murder at a
coffee shop. Their confessions were ruled to be voluntary. They could
be convicted and sentenced to death on the basis of these confessions. But
he kept going and sure enough he turned up a lead of another culprit and
pressed for fingerprint evidence held by the prosecution to be checked
for a match against this person. The prosecution did so, and withdrew the
case. It was a huge vindication of the role of defence counsel.
His bankruptcy following devastating libel! suits d eprived him once
again of parliamentary and legal life. Thankfully, we were able to help to
bring him out of it, and he had a terrific final year back in the saddle,
forming a new party and appearing in court again.
Forgive me if my account has been coloured by what he once described as
'my unswerving loyalty', and let me conclude with this. Away from his
political battles, where he had to fight hard and strong, he was gentle
but committed when helping individuals around him. Throughout his life,
the way Ben helped people earned him the friendship and love of many.
He lived among the people, preferring the bus to a taxi even in his last
days. Perhaps he felt embarrassed that so often taxi drivers refused to
take a fare from him.
He always helped his sons, and his daughters-in-law, and his
grandchildren, his parents, siblings, nieces and nephews and countless
others. He would read books to his grandchildren, and even-handedly
judge competitions at birthday parties. He was a dear uncle too to many other
young people.
Severe when he did not smile, his face was transformed by that 100 watt
grin, as famous as his mutton chop sideburns, that every one of his
grandchildren when babies loved to pull.. The closer to him you were,
the more his smile lit up your life.
A great man, a lion, so many have said, but a nice man, a kind man too.
In the end, his life carried a simple meaning for all of us: no matter
who we are, we can do something, we must do something, to make the
world a better
place.
