Why Ben Lim’s case will always disturb.

It is not nearly enough to just dispense justice. That is the mechanics. The cold and metallic procedural aspect relating to the administration of the judicial process.

Far more important is the jurisprudential and moral aspect of justice viz-a-viz justice NEEDS to be seen to be done in the eyes of the public…..that is the humanistic and moral aspect that gives justice it’s legitimacy and raison d’être – by this the response has to be timely, reasonable and considerate to the public’s right to know.

But in this case, everyone keeps repeating the same thing like a robot voice machine..it’s under investigation…it’s under investigation….meanwhile no meaningful information comes out….it’s like a black hole.

And when there is no information naturally the blankety blank will grow and grow till it’s as big as the Grand Canyon – then these same brainiacs who were responsible for creating this informational vacuum……blame people in the internet for speculating and spreading rumors.

Meanwhile all the ‘leaders’ they go around as if it’s business as usual…..another black hole there as well…more Grand Canyons there are sprouting out like mushrooms.

The same goes for the pariah press (it’s not me who said they are pariahs…it’s the position in the international press ranking that confirms this as a fact, so if you are not happy please go and take it up with them, as to why they are sitting next to Daily Perpetual Pong Pyang Happy Post)…completely nothing….another super duper black hole.

Now that I have given you my opinion of how I see it all – you decide for yourself whether justice is SEEN to be done….how considerate was the response to those who experienced anxiety and grieve concerning this tragedy?…..and how was the pace of the response? Was it in synch with the need to know and palliate fears of the general public.

You decide..

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‘This is not the mystery of where in the world is MH370. Or where is the lost city of Atlantis. It is not!

If it is…I can well understand why information is not forth coming in a timely manner or why there is a need for more time to collate and corroborate information or why when questions are asked, there is no reply. But to me, there is no Da Vinci code here.

I could well be wrong of course, but I am a farmer and I have taken a vow to only call a spade a spade and nothing else – so to me that is how I see it – what is the delay?

So I don’t understand why so many of the questions which IMHO are reasonable and perfectly valid remain unanswered till this day.

Why does it appear there is no sense of urgency to conclude this matter to palliate the fears of so many parents who have children and do not want to see it happen to their own kids in schools and to provide relief and closure for those who are still grieving the tragic lost of this child?

Why? What are you trying to prove…that things will cool down with time? You’re kidding me right?

This is not right…after all to me, the investigation of master Ben it seems was conducted with such supersonic urgency that it was mentioned (true or false I am yet to confirm) that the boy had time for only one cold bun…is it true, he was no even given time to makan?….so if time of such an essence in that investigation, why does it appear time is negotiable and even elastic in this case ? – there is something very wrong with the picture here from a natural justice perspective. Why is one investigation moving at the speed of light and the other at the a motorized wheelchair speed?

Police are reviewing their procedure? Schools are going to do the same?

That is NOT the issue! No one is interested in that aspect.

What clothes were they wearing when they picked up master Ben? On what basis of natural justice was the decision made to cancel Ben’s school trip even BEFORE the investigation had been concluded? Who is responsible for this decision making process?

Those are the question I want to know. I have a right to know as a father!

If people are asking you what is the time and you tell them to encourage geraniums to flower, you need a bit of salt and water them at least three times a day – most people will rightly conclude you don’t know how to respond intelligently to a simple question.

And what is the casualty of a failure to respond with wisdom to the pressing public need to know….people will lose trust in the police force.

I hope this will NEVER happen in Singapore. Because I have worked in many basket case countries and I have seen first hand – what can and will happen when citizens no longer trust and lose faith in their leaders along with the law enforcement agencies to such a degree of finality…it’s beyond all rehabilitation…..it’s very sad….when one cannot believe in the system any longer.

There are many things that I have seen and done in those screwed up countries that I never want to ever talk about or even remember*…never….all I can say is if you have something good…then make sure it stays that way, if you cannot make it better then don’t make it worse and please consider returning back to running your private law practice or apply for a managerial position to run a food court in the Ukraine. But where possible try to take it to the next level of the gold standard by polishing it to a mirror sheen…the people who work in the police force have every right to deserve to feel a sense of pride and dignity of labor when they wear uniform …the people who rely on the police to serve and protect also deserve to believe in that gold standard of high professionalism. let no dirt ever come near to good things…if you cannot do this…just go lah!

* Somewhere along the endless serpentine laterite road between Davao city and Zamboanga in the Mindanao – during the evenings when men would sit along the long bench under the wan and hiss of cordite lamps to get high on Barangay hooch fermented from coconut and yam. On the last call when everyone is high as a kite and the only satellite TV in the village is switch off – and men have run out of topics to keep the conversation rolling on…someone may ask, ‘do you all remember Padil?’ And all the men would smile knowingly and fall so very silent….the legend of Padil like all legends in the timeless labyrinth of the shanty towns of Barangays comprised of one part truth and usually two parts make belief…he’s real name wasn’t really Padil. They all just called him that, as he looked so much like that much beloved bad boy action hero actor Robin Padilla. Others believed he might have been a third generation mestizo as he often mangled his Tagalog with Spanish sobriquets terms – a habit common to the landowning gentry of the Ayala’s, Osmenas and Arjuno’s. Others believed he had once worked for the CIA as a spy responsible for reporting on the secret construction of the largest military airstrip in the Mindanao in General Santos funded by bluefin a USAID front – then of course, all knew of the story when Padil had spotted an abandoned vine riven villa once build by a Spaniard Chopra merchant somewhere along the Cotabato mountain route to the West on Saragani on a hill – they said, he had stood there and looked at that ruined for so long like a man reminded of happier times in his past life in Africa and so Padil decided to stay and grow bananas right there.

The landowning gentry especially the ladies of the Wednesday club in the Marina Bay regarded Padil with a mix of fascination and endearment whenever he visited metro Manila – they were equally enamored by his impeccable manners along with his rumored illicit association with Gringo Honasan and the ease at which he was able to walk freely in and out of Abu Sayaff territory untouched…like an angel dancing on clouds of death..they all whispered to amongst themselves as they look on – but to the old men, the European Spanish power brokers who prided themselves with their purity of will in the same manner they kept their lineage entirely Spanish since Magellan landed on the shores of Cebu…the one’s who bank rolled noisy senators and pulled all the strings in Malacanang unseen by all, who were always content to play bridge and sip extremadura in the Rizal room sectioned off from the rest of the erudite crowd below – despite their collective suspicion for Padil. They found him useful and continued to give him land concessions…as Padil despite his youth and cavalier attitude, whenever he didn’t drink to much seemed to posses an uncanny ability to appreciate their reality of how power and politics could only be perpetuated by maintaining the tenuous relationship of mutual coexistence between the Christians and the Muslims thru the lost art of La Convivencia…..if anything good would ever come out from that God forsaken place where there was no semblance of law and order…that black heathen splotch…the old men all referred too as el terra diablo.

In the Barangay’s that dotted the edges of Padil’s banana estate – the kids knew his legs and pricks of his hairline moustache. He wore only mirror polished ankle high boots with flared ridding jodhpurs. As for the men, they looked on curiously with fascination at his habit of sporting a shouldered holstered revolver. As it was general knowledge, Padil the nocturnal marauder in a lawless land where only the law of the gun rule supreme – was renowned for his disdain of firearms and much preferred that other elegant weapon of antiquity, the Moros feared which they referred to as the whispering death – the bow. On one occasion, legend has it Padil single handedly picked off ten brigands on a moonless night who ambushed a bus of nuns. Or was it twenty or maybe thirty depending on how many bottles of San Miguel had been uncapped during the recount of the story. For effect Padil left cards on each man he killed. They all said, he once saw it being done in a movie and so like the movie star that he was…he did the same for la effect ..as for the ladies – they giggled all the time behind closed shutters while their mothers looked on pensively bitting their prayer beads, as it was widely rumored – only a man who is in league with the devil himself was not afraid of the Moros and that Padil could steal a woman’s soul with just one fleeting look. For most of the time, when the sun dipped below the ochre colored barren mountains. Padil installed himself on a rocking chair and nursed a Montecristo till nine and retired before ten. On the first Monday of every month, he wore a pristine creme suit complete with black and white spectator shoes and a creme Montecristi and visited the only bordello in Davao city which also doubled as the Sanfirono club for the rest of the week – Padil sat all by himself usually in the verandah overlooking the square as he played solitaire all by himself sipping neat whisky thru the night….he never ever seemed interested in what was on offer, except maybe to look up from time to time with a curious mix of having being so near yet so far from experiencing the prophetic whenever the madam of the parlor brought in a new girl only to return to his game of cards like a man searching fervently for something once lost….as if the only thing he ever wanted out of the evening laid somewhere in that other far and distant mythical realm that could only be discovered in the infinite randomness of the universe of cards – where chance and serendipity danced and all that Padil could do was to search….search….and search for her, for Padil the man who would usually sit all by himself from evening till the break of dawn, it seemed the only woman he was ever interested in was to find his mythical queen of hearts in a game called solitaire…but it always ended the same….Padil could never find her…..’