Caught by police in a KTV room? Got a problem no one else can fix? Call ACS!

LAST week, I wanted to be an ACS boy. I wanted to be a proud member of the Anglo-Chinese private members club so I could visit a massage parlour, entertain a young woman, fist-pump the air and shout, “The best is yet to be!”

As a crime novelist, I commend all aspects of plot and character until the ending. All the pawns were in place. Fourteen men, 48 women, an Orchard Road KTV lounge and police waiting for the go-signal after a four-day, anti-crime operation. And then, they should’ve burst through the door to find 14 men in nothing but their old school ties and screaming, “The best is yet to be!”

That was the payoff, not the feeble fluff muttered at the crime scene. “We are not gangsters,” one of the men questioned by the police reportedly said to them, “We are ACS boys."

Nah, that one needed a rewrite. It’s the sort of line a hack gives to a rich stereotype who says things like “a school is defined by its character, not its geography… Wait, what? Tengah? Are you s******* me?”

If the scene was satirical, the man should’ve said, “Hey, my dad went to this KTV lounge. And my grandfather went to this KTV lounge. And my great-grandfather was one of the original pioneers of this KTV lounge. So hand over my pants.”

If the scene was a rom-com, one of the arrested women would’ve said, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of an ACS boy, asking him to buy me a landed property in Bukit Timah.”

If the scene was an indie, existential drama, one of the arresting officers would’ve said, “It’s OK, young man, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t speak Mandarin either.”

And if anyone in the bloody room had been blessed with an ounce of street smarts, they’d have just said they were from Raffles Institution.

Obsession about school alma mater

Honestly, if the old cliché still stands and RI boys run the country and ACS boys own the country, then I wouldn’t trust the arrested lot with a travelling pasar malam. Was that really the best they could do under the circumstances? No quick thinking. No wit to rival Wilde. Nothing but another dribbling variation on “my grandfather’s road”, lacking in originality, but dripping in privilege and entitlement. What does it even mean anyway?

Had I been the officer on duty, I’d have indulged the culprit and kept the conversation going.

“You’re not a gangster, but you’re ACS,” I’d say. “What do you mean, sir? ACS folks only visit this Orchard KTV lounge for its vast selection of English-only songs?”

“No, officer, I’m just saying, you know. ACS. I’m ACS.”

“Is that like a syndrome or something? Do you carry a card that says, 'I’m ACS, please treat me with kindness?' ”

“No, lah. I’m ACS. You know. ACS!”

“Why are you winking at me, sir? Is that what ACS means? You wink at men in uniform?”

OK, I’ll stop now because they’ll come after me, won’t they? In their eagerness to show how such behaviour is unbecoming of an ACS gentleman, past or present, the ACS folks are currently making videos, posting on social media and taking photos of affluent middle-aged men mocking their “gangster” status, just to show how funny it all is, how unbothered they all are, how they are not part of an old boys club and how they are not still posting about their old alma mater … and look, they’re still posting about their old alma mater just to show how unbothered they are about their old alma mater.

It’s marvellous. For anyone who didn’t attend an elite school, the fraternal tribalism is rather endearing (and yes, I’m slightly envious, too. As someone who attended an East London school with too many drug dealers and not enough academics, there isn’t an eagerness to form alumni associations and reminisce about the good old days. Because there were no good old days, a shocking revelation only to those who were fortunate enough to attend elite schools.)

For anyone who attended an all-girls school, there’s probably a rueful shrug at the puerile nature of it all. And for anyone who attended Raffles Institution, there'll be no trips to massage parlours for the foreseeable future.

Socio-economic immunity in land of Crazy Rich Asians

As for myself, and any other child of the 1980s, I can no longer think of Anglo-Chinese School without thinking of the A-Team. For anyone who doesn’t remember the American all-action TV series, it was about a bunch of guys who found themselves in danger every episode. But no matter how terrible the circumstances, they always seemed to get away with it. The A-Team was a bit like that, too.

But at the start of every episode, there was the classic voiceover that set up their backstory. I can’t remember every word, but it went something like, “Today, they are still wanted by the government and big business for huge salaries and survive as citizens of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them....maybe you can hire ... the ACS.”

Don’t mock it. Try it. I’m pulling out my ACS alumni card like a fake ID in the future, whatever the circumstances.

“I’m not carrying durians onto the MRT," I'd insist. "I’m ACS!”

“I’m not driving into Malaysia with an empty petrol tank! I’m ACS!”

“I’m not stopping the rest of Asean from hosting Taylor Swift gigs! I’m ACS!”

From this point on, I am ACS. And so is my wife and daughter.

It’s like having an American Express card. Never leave a massage parlour without it.

Because we know what that guy was doing. His instinct was to brand himself as one of the chosen ones. He’s a product of a nation’s insufferable obsession with branding its own people like cattle. Normal student. Express student. Heartlander. Cosmopolitan. Elite school. Neighbourhood school (a term I still struggle with. The connotations behind the term are an insult to me and every wonderful student and staff member who has kindly invited me into their assembly halls and classrooms across the country.)

But the ACS alumnus and KTV visitor instinctively assumed there was a stored value in playing the privilege card, hoping for some sort of a socio-economic immunity in the land of Crazy Rich Asians. It didn’t work, thankfully. And in that moment, Singapore’s inherent elitism was caught with its pants down.

Neil Humphreys is an award-winning football writer and a best-selling author, who has covered the English Premier League since 2000 and has written 28 books.

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