When dignity gets priced out of reach

THERE was once I endured an uncomfortable dinner that had nothing to do with bad company. It began with a casual thought about inequality that weighed heavy for the duration of the meal. Some years back, as we laid out the cutlery in preparation for a home-cooked dinner, our host discussed out loud an essay assignment he was working on for school.

It seemed that then in New York, a few property developers had built certain apartments on the condition that a few units in the property must be allocated to less well-to-do occupants. Offering subsidised rent was the condition imposed by the government agency in exchange for land use (and possibly tax breaks).

But the occupants paying subsidised rent were disgruntled over the segregated entrances to their apartment units. It transpired that the property developers had constructed two doors: one in front for most residents to enter the building, and one tucked away for the "other" occupants. My friend's assignment was to debate the conflict that had erupted over the building's design.

My first reaction was to assume that the lower-rent tenants were ungrateful, and I remembered being immediately disdainful that this should even be a topic of debate. Why should a different door for prime real estate create a kerfuffle, I said out loud.

But very soon after, I became increasingly distracted over dinner, dissatisfied and uncomfortable with my initial thoughts on the matter. The food became the appetiser to a mental meal instead. As the last of my rice was spooned into my quiet trap, I blurted out: "The problem is there is now a price to dignity."

That episode came to mind as I read through the book by Teo You Yenn, head of the sociology department at Nanyang Technological University. Professor Teo's series of essays, This is What Inequality Looks Like, stirred conversations recently about how Singapore treats poverty. The essays were constructed after various interviews conducted by Professor Teo with occupants of rental flats here and social workers.

One particular chapter was incisive on the topic of dignity. Professor Teo pointed out that social aid in Singapore rests on the assumption that free riders abound, and that excessive aid will dissuade hard work and erode Singapore's brand of self-reliance.

As a result, social aid is commonly doled out based on a narrow set of needs, and only after aid applicants appear to have exhausted all options. Professor Teo poked holes at these assumptions and noted that such cherished beliefs can exacerbate the lack of dignity that the relatively poor in Singapore put up with. "Dignity is like clean air," she wrote. Yet, the reality of a low-wage worker is that "one is ignored and invisible at best, yelled at and treated with disrespect at worst".

Anecdotes have their limitations. But experiences define lives, and can scarcely be ignored. The chapter reminded of another conversation I had with a young startup founder who grew up living in a rental flat. He recounted how his family had once applied for social aid, but was unable to get around the accusatory questioning as to why his mother didn't get a job to boost the household income.

It looked like an excuse to get an easy pass to social aid, but in reality, his mother had to take care of a sick elderly, which made it impractical for her to return to the workforce with the rigid working arrangements, he pointed out. The weak negotiating power of low-wage workers who also need flexibility in their schedules cannot be discounted as well.

"Their fault"

The startup founder bears no ill will at that chapter of his life, but neither has he forgotten about the assumptions behind his family's circumstances: that they were simply not trying hard enough, and that implicitly, their situation was largely their fault.

Professor Teo's observation that low-wage workers are ignored and disrespected in society, is validated in part by other stories I hear. A retail assistant recounted the time that she was squatting to refill the shelves, and heard a mother telling her son to "work hard or else you'll end up like her".

One was standing, the other was squatting. It's not clear who had the stronger backbone. Why is backbreaking work so unworthy of basic decency, of dignity - like clean air?

Against that, consider an anecdote that a business-class traveller felt slighted his airport queue was not paved with a carpet, and was, in his mind, sullied by the accompaniment of economy-class travellers. It seems to me that the greatest benefit of business travel is the generous legroom. We cross into privilege when we insist on ostensible apartness.

Sometimes, we make aid decisions based solely on whether recipients deserve perks. There was once I gave away some money to a man seeking some cash at a hawker centre. My lunch companion disagreed with the move, saying that it was not clear what the money would go towards. Moments later, the man returned to the hawker centre, opening up a fresh pack of cigarettes. I felt foolish then.

But when I recounted this to a manager of Situation Stockholm, a street newspaper sold by homeless people in Sweden, she offered another perspective. "No, no, it wasn't wrong. He bought the cigarettes, he didn't steal them." Situation Stockholm's mantra of creating "harm reduction" chances for the marginalised in society has stuck with me ever since.

Stories encountered over the years have enriched and refined my views of how we should confront poverty. What has been made starkly clear is that it is a hasty and haughty mistake to presume we have done better by our efforts alone than people who have fallen on hard times.

Singapore can grow conspicuously into segregating wealth. The looming question then, is if the country can still afford to cling to impoverished views of inequality in the years ahead. At the very least, perhaps, we can recognise that dignity shouldn't come with a crude price tag.