TAken from another website, but this article shows how some foreign talent does make it a point to settle down in SG!
Ang Moh in Ang Mo Kio
The following article was published in the Straits Times on 18 Dec 2010.
Ang Moh in Ang Mo Kio
Today is International Migrants Day. The Straits Times interviews Briton- turned-Singaporean Michael Gray on why he came, stayed and contributed.
By Susan Long, Enterprise Editor
Straits Times, Saturday Special Report (model migrants), Dec 18, 2010
Photo caption: British-born Michael Gray, who became a Singaporean 18 years ago, near the Centre for Promoting Alternatives to Violence office in Ang Mo Kio Avenue 3. The retired accountant has been active in grassroots and charity work since the 1980s, and he was recently awarded the Public Service Star (Bar) for his many contributions to Singapore. -- ST PHOTO: TERENCE TAN
LONG before the likes of Standard Chartered regional chief executive Ray Ferguson became Singapore citizens, there was Mr Michael Gray.
The former Briton, who became a citizen in 1992, is a model Singaporean migrant.
Shortly after arriving in 1978 as an auditor, he plunged deep into volunteer work, devoting up to a third of his time to making life in Singapore better.
He has served on countless committees and in various capacities, from trustee of the Society for the Physically Disabled to president of the Centre for Promoting Alternatives to Violence. He is one of the longest-serving board members of both the Public Transport Council and the National Council of Social Service.
Passionate about Formula One and sailing, he was secretary of the Meeting for the Singapore Grand Prix for the past two years, in charge of the administration of all track activities minute by minute.
This year, he was awarded the Public Service Star (Bar) by the Government for his many contributions to Singapore.
The 65-year-old calls himself 'the reverse of a banana' - white on the outside and yellow on the inside. To learn more about the region, he even put himself through a master's degree in South-east Asian Studies at the National University of Singapore five years ago.
And after 32 years here, he remains enamoured of the Singapore system and vehemently deflects oft-heard criticisms levelled against it.
'Culturally and politically, whatever you say about the Singapore Government, the country is a tremendous achievement. Politically, it's as close to perfect as you can get. People are always criticising, but tell them to live on the other side, where the grass seems greener. Some of these countries, the grass is definitely brown and you don't realise it till you get your feet burnt.'
As for constant allegations that Singapore is boring, he retorts: 'Culturally, there's so much going on, you never have time to go and see it all. How often do you want to drive into the countryside anyway if you live in England?'
And he thinks claims of political repression in Singapore are overstated.
'There are some areas that are 'out of bounds'. I have raised many political issues through the years. While they were not always accepted by the Government, there was no repression,' he says.
The eldest child of a tanner father and a librarian-turned-archaeologist mother, Mr Gray was born in Leeds in 1945, just after World War II. Those were times of austerity and food rationing in England. 'Even for sweets, we could buy them only if we had a coupon from our ration book. We had no TV. Water came from a well in the garden. No central heating,' he says.
He was never good at books, left school before his O levels, and 'ran away to sea' at 16. He worked as an apprentice on cargo ships and an officer on 'Love Boat' P&O Passenger Division cruise liners, travelling the world for nine years.
By 28, having seen it all, he hunkered down to maritime studies as a mature student at Plymouth University. There, he met six Neptune Orient Lines (NOL) scholars from Singapore, who invited him to a Chinese New Year party. It was at this party that he met his Malaysian wife-to-be, Linda, who was studying at Plymouth College of Art.
He quips: 'I always told former NOL CEO Lua Cheng Eng that NOL was responsible for my marriage if anything goes wrong.'
They tied the knot soon after he graduated in 1973 and struggled to buy a house in London. He decided a more fitting career for a married man was accounting, which he got interested in as treasurer of the university's students union.
He started out as an articled clerk at Coopers & Lybrand in London. Nights and weekends were spent cramming for chartered accountancy examinations for three years - till he finally qualified in 1975. Every pass was hard-won, with a young marriage and baby in tow, he remembers, and also because he was 'not at all a natural student'.
After accompanying his wife to visit her family in Malaysia, he made several attempts to work in Singapore. He finally succeeded in June 1978 when a position for senior audit manager opened up at Coopers & Lybrand, now known as PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC).
'At that time, Singapore had only one condominium,' he remembers. 'Holland Road was a two-lane road, there were no traffic jams. Most of the buildings down Orchard Road were only two storeys high.'
He first got involved with the Chartered Institute of Transport, a Britain- based professional body for the transport and logistics industries. He ended up getting it reconstituted as a Singapore section, rather than a Britain-controlled branch, after reorganising it as chairman in 1983.
Then he read in the newspapers that the Community Chest, just starting up in 1983, needed help with its budget, and signed up. He ended up organising training for its volunteers and was soon after co-opted to the Singapore Council of Social Service board.
During one afternoon meeting, then- chairman Ee Peng Liang asked him to take charge of coordinating services for the disabled.
He remembers blurting out in protest: 'But I've never seen a disabled person.'
The late Mr Ee replied: 'You've got three weeks to learn about it.'
So he spent the next few years working out a national blueprint plan for disability services and came up with initiatives such as Bizlink, an employment matching service for the disabled, and Sun-Dac, which put disabled day activity centres in HDB void decks.
Since he was already in knee-deep, he decided to wade in all the way - into the heart of Singapore's grassroots. Former Member of Parliament S. Vasoo, the founder and adviser of the Ang Mo Kio Family Service Centres (FSC), implored him then: 'We just need a treasurer, not much work to do.'
That was the 'typical pitch' to rope him into voluntary positions.
By now quite savvy, he countered: 'Why should I go to Ang Mo Kio?'
Dr Vasoo replied: 'You're an ang moh.'
And so he went to Ang Mo Kio. That was in 1990. His role quickly escalated to vice-chairman of Ang Mo Kio FSC, then chairman, over the next 18 years.
'The first meeting, I had no clue. I just sat around, picked it up bit by bit,' he says. Over the years, he delved in deeper and deeper, learning all about Singapore's dysfunctional families, its elderly who lived alone, and marital violence that was played out over generations.
He forged firm friendships with the ah peks and ah sohs at the Ulu Pandan Citizens Consultative Committee, of which he has been a member since 2002. They call him the 'Ulu Pandan secret weapon', he lets on proudly. 'With a white man going onstage saying kum sia (thank you) during the Seventh Month dinners, they can collect more donations,' he explains.
Spending most of his evenings at grassroots meetings and functions gave the now-retired PwC partner a privileged perspective on how the other half lives.
'Business people and professionals who drive from their bungalow to their office in their Mercedes-Benz always tell me there are no poor people in Singapore. Or they think that the Government takes care of it. But no matter how well you organise society, you're always going to have these people,' he says.
Serving on the ground also gave him 'a more balanced outlook'.
'Accountancy can be dull; it was good to have something else to beef up my life. If you purely focus on work, you're more likely to get fed up than if you have an outside interest,' he says.
By age 46, he had become so invested in almost every aspect of life here that he decided to relinquish his British citizenship and throw in his lot with Singapore.
'Singapore had become my home. I was never going to go back to Europe. I like the system here, the stability, security and the opportunity. There are far more opportunities here and a much wider field to create something of your own.
'I'll do something only if I can make it better. I'm not happy being in maintenance organisation. If I can make a difference, I'll do it,' he says, summing up the philosophy he lives by.
He was the first - and remains the only - person in his family to be naturalised. His wife, an art teacher, is still a Malaysian. Their daughters, who live here, are British. Georgina, a copywriter, is married to a Singaporean pilot, and Angela works in public relations.
'It's up to them to decide when to convert,' he says. But personally, he says, becoming a Singaporean was 'one of the best and easiest decisions' he ever made.
But what peeves him is that while he found 'the acceptance level of a white man at the grassroots was very high', it was less so among many English-educated Singaporeans he encountered, who harboured stereotypes of non-performing foreign talent and remained suspicious of his intentions.
'Long after I became a Singaporean, people would ask me if I was going home for Christmas. I'd say, 'Yes I'm going home - to my home here.' There's still a perception problem which is very hard to get over. You can't get as far in Singapore because of that,' he bemoans.
That has been a source of frustration to him, he lets on, because he feels he has given his all to this country - and then some.
'I've broken through a lot of the barriers. But it's on average more difficult for a Caucasian to be seen as a Singaporean, no matter how Singaporean you are,' he says with genuine sadness.
What would help him stick out less, he thinks, is to have more foreigners like himself sink roots here and contribute. As a result, the chairman of the Feedback Unit on Foreign Talent from 1998 to 2001 has made it his mandate to convince more 'others' like him to naturalise.
'Too many people sit on the fence and if you plan to stay here long term, what do you have to lose? People have many excuses, such as ties to their home countries, but it doesn't mean those ties stop when you become a citizen here. If you already stay here permanently, why worry about your passport from Europe or the US?'
But he rejects outright the dual-citizenship compromise, that has often been mooted, as too destabilising. 'We're too small a country. You know, the average Singaporean is so kiasu, he will take up another citizenship if he could, and we could have a lot of dual citizens disappearing overnight,' he says.
At the close of the interview, turning wistful, he lets on that his fondest wish is to see a former foreigner make it to Parliament one day, hopefully in his lifetime, to give a voice to 'others' like him.
Ang Moh in Ang Mo Kio
The following article was published in the Straits Times on 18 Dec 2010.
Ang Moh in Ang Mo Kio
Today is International Migrants Day. The Straits Times interviews Briton- turned-Singaporean Michael Gray on why he came, stayed and contributed.
By Susan Long, Enterprise Editor
Straits Times, Saturday Special Report (model migrants), Dec 18, 2010
Photo caption: British-born Michael Gray, who became a Singaporean 18 years ago, near the Centre for Promoting Alternatives to Violence office in Ang Mo Kio Avenue 3. The retired accountant has been active in grassroots and charity work since the 1980s, and he was recently awarded the Public Service Star (Bar) for his many contributions to Singapore. -- ST PHOTO: TERENCE TAN
LONG before the likes of Standard Chartered regional chief executive Ray Ferguson became Singapore citizens, there was Mr Michael Gray.
The former Briton, who became a citizen in 1992, is a model Singaporean migrant.
Shortly after arriving in 1978 as an auditor, he plunged deep into volunteer work, devoting up to a third of his time to making life in Singapore better.
He has served on countless committees and in various capacities, from trustee of the Society for the Physically Disabled to president of the Centre for Promoting Alternatives to Violence. He is one of the longest-serving board members of both the Public Transport Council and the National Council of Social Service.
Passionate about Formula One and sailing, he was secretary of the Meeting for the Singapore Grand Prix for the past two years, in charge of the administration of all track activities minute by minute.
This year, he was awarded the Public Service Star (Bar) by the Government for his many contributions to Singapore.
The 65-year-old calls himself 'the reverse of a banana' - white on the outside and yellow on the inside. To learn more about the region, he even put himself through a master's degree in South-east Asian Studies at the National University of Singapore five years ago.
And after 32 years here, he remains enamoured of the Singapore system and vehemently deflects oft-heard criticisms levelled against it.
'Culturally and politically, whatever you say about the Singapore Government, the country is a tremendous achievement. Politically, it's as close to perfect as you can get. People are always criticising, but tell them to live on the other side, where the grass seems greener. Some of these countries, the grass is definitely brown and you don't realise it till you get your feet burnt.'
As for constant allegations that Singapore is boring, he retorts: 'Culturally, there's so much going on, you never have time to go and see it all. How often do you want to drive into the countryside anyway if you live in England?'
And he thinks claims of political repression in Singapore are overstated.
'There are some areas that are 'out of bounds'. I have raised many political issues through the years. While they were not always accepted by the Government, there was no repression,' he says.
The eldest child of a tanner father and a librarian-turned-archaeologist mother, Mr Gray was born in Leeds in 1945, just after World War II. Those were times of austerity and food rationing in England. 'Even for sweets, we could buy them only if we had a coupon from our ration book. We had no TV. Water came from a well in the garden. No central heating,' he says.
He was never good at books, left school before his O levels, and 'ran away to sea' at 16. He worked as an apprentice on cargo ships and an officer on 'Love Boat' P&O Passenger Division cruise liners, travelling the world for nine years.
By 28, having seen it all, he hunkered down to maritime studies as a mature student at Plymouth University. There, he met six Neptune Orient Lines (NOL) scholars from Singapore, who invited him to a Chinese New Year party. It was at this party that he met his Malaysian wife-to-be, Linda, who was studying at Plymouth College of Art.
He quips: 'I always told former NOL CEO Lua Cheng Eng that NOL was responsible for my marriage if anything goes wrong.'
They tied the knot soon after he graduated in 1973 and struggled to buy a house in London. He decided a more fitting career for a married man was accounting, which he got interested in as treasurer of the university's students union.
He started out as an articled clerk at Coopers & Lybrand in London. Nights and weekends were spent cramming for chartered accountancy examinations for three years - till he finally qualified in 1975. Every pass was hard-won, with a young marriage and baby in tow, he remembers, and also because he was 'not at all a natural student'.
After accompanying his wife to visit her family in Malaysia, he made several attempts to work in Singapore. He finally succeeded in June 1978 when a position for senior audit manager opened up at Coopers & Lybrand, now known as PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC).
'At that time, Singapore had only one condominium,' he remembers. 'Holland Road was a two-lane road, there were no traffic jams. Most of the buildings down Orchard Road were only two storeys high.'
He first got involved with the Chartered Institute of Transport, a Britain- based professional body for the transport and logistics industries. He ended up getting it reconstituted as a Singapore section, rather than a Britain-controlled branch, after reorganising it as chairman in 1983.
Then he read in the newspapers that the Community Chest, just starting up in 1983, needed help with its budget, and signed up. He ended up organising training for its volunteers and was soon after co-opted to the Singapore Council of Social Service board.
During one afternoon meeting, then- chairman Ee Peng Liang asked him to take charge of coordinating services for the disabled.
He remembers blurting out in protest: 'But I've never seen a disabled person.'
The late Mr Ee replied: 'You've got three weeks to learn about it.'
So he spent the next few years working out a national blueprint plan for disability services and came up with initiatives such as Bizlink, an employment matching service for the disabled, and Sun-Dac, which put disabled day activity centres in HDB void decks.
Since he was already in knee-deep, he decided to wade in all the way - into the heart of Singapore's grassroots. Former Member of Parliament S. Vasoo, the founder and adviser of the Ang Mo Kio Family Service Centres (FSC), implored him then: 'We just need a treasurer, not much work to do.'
That was the 'typical pitch' to rope him into voluntary positions.
By now quite savvy, he countered: 'Why should I go to Ang Mo Kio?'
Dr Vasoo replied: 'You're an ang moh.'
And so he went to Ang Mo Kio. That was in 1990. His role quickly escalated to vice-chairman of Ang Mo Kio FSC, then chairman, over the next 18 years.
'The first meeting, I had no clue. I just sat around, picked it up bit by bit,' he says. Over the years, he delved in deeper and deeper, learning all about Singapore's dysfunctional families, its elderly who lived alone, and marital violence that was played out over generations.
He forged firm friendships with the ah peks and ah sohs at the Ulu Pandan Citizens Consultative Committee, of which he has been a member since 2002. They call him the 'Ulu Pandan secret weapon', he lets on proudly. 'With a white man going onstage saying kum sia (thank you) during the Seventh Month dinners, they can collect more donations,' he explains.
Spending most of his evenings at grassroots meetings and functions gave the now-retired PwC partner a privileged perspective on how the other half lives.
'Business people and professionals who drive from their bungalow to their office in their Mercedes-Benz always tell me there are no poor people in Singapore. Or they think that the Government takes care of it. But no matter how well you organise society, you're always going to have these people,' he says.
Serving on the ground also gave him 'a more balanced outlook'.
'Accountancy can be dull; it was good to have something else to beef up my life. If you purely focus on work, you're more likely to get fed up than if you have an outside interest,' he says.
By age 46, he had become so invested in almost every aspect of life here that he decided to relinquish his British citizenship and throw in his lot with Singapore.
'Singapore had become my home. I was never going to go back to Europe. I like the system here, the stability, security and the opportunity. There are far more opportunities here and a much wider field to create something of your own.
'I'll do something only if I can make it better. I'm not happy being in maintenance organisation. If I can make a difference, I'll do it,' he says, summing up the philosophy he lives by.
He was the first - and remains the only - person in his family to be naturalised. His wife, an art teacher, is still a Malaysian. Their daughters, who live here, are British. Georgina, a copywriter, is married to a Singaporean pilot, and Angela works in public relations.
'It's up to them to decide when to convert,' he says. But personally, he says, becoming a Singaporean was 'one of the best and easiest decisions' he ever made.
But what peeves him is that while he found 'the acceptance level of a white man at the grassroots was very high', it was less so among many English-educated Singaporeans he encountered, who harboured stereotypes of non-performing foreign talent and remained suspicious of his intentions.
'Long after I became a Singaporean, people would ask me if I was going home for Christmas. I'd say, 'Yes I'm going home - to my home here.' There's still a perception problem which is very hard to get over. You can't get as far in Singapore because of that,' he bemoans.
That has been a source of frustration to him, he lets on, because he feels he has given his all to this country - and then some.
'I've broken through a lot of the barriers. But it's on average more difficult for a Caucasian to be seen as a Singaporean, no matter how Singaporean you are,' he says with genuine sadness.
What would help him stick out less, he thinks, is to have more foreigners like himself sink roots here and contribute. As a result, the chairman of the Feedback Unit on Foreign Talent from 1998 to 2001 has made it his mandate to convince more 'others' like him to naturalise.
'Too many people sit on the fence and if you plan to stay here long term, what do you have to lose? People have many excuses, such as ties to their home countries, but it doesn't mean those ties stop when you become a citizen here. If you already stay here permanently, why worry about your passport from Europe or the US?'
But he rejects outright the dual-citizenship compromise, that has often been mooted, as too destabilising. 'We're too small a country. You know, the average Singaporean is so kiasu, he will take up another citizenship if he could, and we could have a lot of dual citizens disappearing overnight,' he says.
At the close of the interview, turning wistful, he lets on that his fondest wish is to see a former foreigner make it to Parliament one day, hopefully in his lifetime, to give a voice to 'others' like him.
