Since his disappearance, the Lao government has said he was abducted, but denied that any security agency took him. This has been received with wide scepticism, and the Lao government continues to come under pressure at international forums.

Mr Sombath had only just retired as head of the Participatory Development Training Centre, Laos’ most prominent home-grown civil society organisation. He was a well-known figure in the international development community, and a mentor for countless young Laos.

In Vientiane itself, a curtain of silence has descended over his disappearance more than 100 days ago. His wife, Singaporean Ng Shui Meng, is physically and emotionally exhausted but still not contemplating leaving Laos, the couple’s home for over 30 years – any time soon.

“Sometimes I feel this has to be a dream, a nightmare. I stay because there is still some hope,” she says.

The 100-day anniversary, on March 15, of Mr Sombath’s disappearance roughly coincided with the ninth anniversary of the disappearance of Thai lawyer Somchai Neelepaijit in Bangkok on March 12, 2004. He has also not been found and, as in the case of Mr Sombath, there is no proof he is still alive.

“Disappearing” people create a miasma of fear which goes well beyond the immediate family, friends and colleagues of the missing. Enforced disappearance in this region is “a common practice and an ongoing problem”, says Mr Sunai Phasuk, Thailand researcher of the independent, New York-based Human Rights Watch.

“I know what Shui Meng is going through,” Mr Somchai’s wife Angkhana Neelapaijit told The Straits Times. “It’s an emotional up and down. One day you hear from someone that your husband is alive. The next day you hear that his body has been found.”
But in Vientiane, even the rumours have slowed to a stop.

Ms Angkhana has campaigned tirelessly and globally against enforced disappearances. Her husband’s disappearance was the first such case to be heard in a court of law in Thailand. Yet the culprits – almost certainly police officers – have yet to be identified and punished.

And there is no sign of Mr Somchai, who, at the time of his forcible bundling into a car on a Bangkok street more than eight years ago, was assisting Muslims allegedly tortured by security forces in conflict-torn southern Thailand.

“The biggest problem with enforced disappearances is there is no body, so you cannot charge suspects with murder,” says Ms Angkhana.

In an open letter to Prime Minister Yingluck Shinawatra last month, Ms Angkhana praised Thailand’s accession to the United Nations International Convention for the Protection of All Persons from Enforced Disappearance last year, and the awarding of 7.5 million baht (S$322,000) to Mr Somchai’s family, and 500,000 baht each to as many as 30 families of those who had disappeared. Southern Thailand has been torn since 2004 by a separatist insurgency.

But Ms Angkhana also wrote: “Monetary remedies are not enough to erase the trauma and wounds in the hearts of survivors. It is equally important to uphold justice and ensure that human rights violations do not recur.”

She has been able to do this – and garner wide support for doing so – in relatively open and democratic Thailand.

In one-party Laos, however, the Lao People’s Revolutionary Party maintains a tight grip. And the disappearance of Mr Sombath has cast a chill.

“Repression in Laos is quite subtle,” says an analyst in Vientiane who asked not to be identified. “Part of this is cultural. Lao people have never contested the legitimacy of the one-party state so there is no need for naked repression.”

Mr Sombath was always careful, say those who knew him. He wanted to do something for the people, but knew the limits and never publicly challenged the state.

The Asia-Europe People’s Forum in Vientiane last October may have been a trigger. Mr Sombath helped coordinate the event along with Ms Anne-Sophie Gindroz, head of the Swiss development agency Helvetas. He worked closely with Lao government officials in drawing up the agenda. Yet the “almost child-like” enthusiasm of Lao civil society for the event might have come as a surprise. Up to 500 had been expected at the forum but more than 800 signed up.

Security agents sat in the back row at every panel discussion and jumped up to defend the Lao government at the slightest hint of criticism. At least one villager who complained about government policy was openly intimidated. Even Lao foreign ministry officials present appeared embarrassed, say delegates who were there.

Later, a letter written by Ms Sophie Gindroz, in which she was scathingly critical of the Lao government, got her visa cancelled and she was given 48 hours to leave the country. Within a week, Mr Sombath went missing.

The incident was recorded on a CCTV camera. Mr Sombath’s relatives visited the police station the same night and recorded the film on a mobile phone when it was shown to them by a couple of helpful policemen, who are now no longer there.

Now many of Ms Ng’s Lao friends appear afraid to be seen with her. And there are also signs of a quiet smear campaign against Mr Sombath, according to one source in Laos who asked not to be named. In some ruling party meetings, it has been mentioned that Mr Sombath was involved in some sort of nefarious practices and business conflicts, he said.

Ms Ng and Ms Angkhana met for the first time last week in Bangkok. Their husbands are from the same generation. Mr Sombath is 61.

Asked about Mr Somchai, Ms Angkhana paused and then said: “He would be 63. If he is still alive.”

nirmal@sph.com.sg

But Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe has hit upon the idea of using TOEFL to raise the standard of English of his fellow countrymen.

Starting in 2015, he wants young Japanese who aspire to become part of the country’s elite national bureaucracy to obtain a good pass in the TOEFL, in the conviction that Japan needs more civil servants who can communicate in English.

Currently, applicants are only tested in English reading comprehension. The TOEFL exam tests listening comprehension as well.

In what could possibly be a far-reaching move, Mr Abe also wants all Japanese students to sit for the TOEFL exam before they apply for a Japanese university and also before they are allowed to graduate.

The idea of requiring students to submit TOEFL scores in order to enter university in Japan has been touted by experts before.

But requiring students to also submit TOEFL scores in order to graduate is quite a novelty.

Naturally, students will have to do reasonably well in the test.

Universities will be expected to independently set their own minimum TOEFL standards for admission and graduation.

But a plan drawn up by Mr Abe’s ruling Liberal Democratic Party suggests that for the 30 universities or so that will be designated as world-class research facilities, their students may have to score at least 70 per cent to graduate.

Since the maximum score for the Internet-based TOEFL test is 120, students hoping to graduate will need to get at least 84 points.

How does this compare internationally?

According to the global results for the 2011 test released by Educational Testing Service (ETS), TOEFL’s administrators, Japan scored an average of only 69 out of 120, to place among the bottom three countries out of 33 Asian countries.

Only Cambodia and Laos ranked lower.

Japan was well below Singapore (99), which not surprisingly topped the whole of Asia.

But to Japan’s chagrin, it was also far behind its three closest neighbours - South Korea (82), North Korea (78) and China (77).

It has, however, been pointed out that comparing scores between nations is not very meaningful.

In some countries, only people who have a reasonable command of English take the test as part of their university applications.

In Japan, it is said that many people sit for the test even though they are not fully prepared, thus ending up with poor scores that drag down the national average.

Mr Abe’s TOEFL strategy is part of a set of educational reforms for which he is prepared to put aside some 1 trillion yen.

But he has not said how much of it will go towards his TOEFL initiative.

The Internet-based version of the test costs US$225 in Japan or about 21,000 yen.

It will be a big burden on students if they have to pay for the test themselves, especially as many are likely to sit for it more than once in the hope of improving their scores.

Although students - and their parents - will be grateful if the government subsidises the cost of the test, critics say that Mr Abe should be spending more money on training English teachers, resources and learning materials instead.

The government is no doubt well aware that raising the level of English education in Japan requires more than just improving test scores.

There is no guarantee that a high TOEFL score equals fluency in English.

The big problem, as has long been pointed out, is that most Japanese teachers who have to teach English in schools are themselves unable to speak the language effortlessly.

But so far, the Abe administration has not said anything about whether and how it will overhaul the present English language curriculum and teaching methods in schools.

Currently, most Japanese go through at least eight years of English classes before they graduate from university.

But few are proficient at speaking the language since classes generally focus on grammar and comprehension rather than on communication skills.

Determined to improve their speaking ability, many Japanese enroll in the ubiquitous English conversation schools that dot the country.

But as many people have found out to their dismay, informal chit-chatting sessions with an instructor does not help much if they do not put in much effort to practice after classes.

Well aware that English proficiency is the key to their success abroad, some companies in recent years have taken to making English the official language at work.

Casual clothing chain Uniqlo, which is expanding overseas aggressively, has made English the language of meetings at headquarters when foreign, non-Japanese speaking employees are involved.

Internet shopping mall operator Rakuten has gone even further, making English the official in-house language even among Japanese employees.

Many companies these days use a test called TOEIC (Test of English for International Communication), which is also run by ETS, when hiring employees, or for promotion and placement purposes.

Mr Abe’s faith in TOEFL, which is said to be more difficult than TOEIC, may encourage companies to switch to TOEFL instead.

wengkin@sph.com.sg

Here, says the older one on my left, giving a bottle of mineral water to the one on my right.

“Rot naam,” the elder mutters, before stretching out her palms above my lap, in anticipation of the traditional Thai water blessing.

Her colleague obliges, pouring water onto those cupped palms, silently watching it overflow onto my thighs.

I smile weakly as the water forms icy rivulets down my twitching calves. No one on the train bats an eyelid.

It is, after all, the first day of Songkran, when this ritual is performed to honour elders and seek blessings for the new year ahead.

Traditionalists used perfumed water on hands dangled above an ornate dish. Here, on this train, there is no scented water in sight, much less a dish. My lap will have to do.

Wet thighs are the least of my worries today as the sunny streets of Bangkok have been turned into wet gauntlets by watergun- and pail- and hose-toting locals, or what’s left of them.

Like any other metropolis in the world, Bangkok hosts millions of migrants from surrounding provinces seeking better schools or jobs. Come Songkran, they pack off home, leaving its usually bustling sidewalks bereft and its clogged streets serene.

This is also a time when the frenetic whistleblowing from carpark security guards grounds to a halt, when homesick parliamentarians postpone hearing Bills, and when newspapers dishing out stories of death and destruction are reduced to running stories about dogs lost and found.

The tourists pour in to fill this vacuum. The Songkran festival (known also by other names in the Mekong region) is touted as the world’s biggest waterfight, where the random dousing of passersby gets steadily wilder as revellers get more inebriated.

The friendly tuk-tuk driver will deliberately slow his vehicle close to the sidewalk, so the children waiting there can empty a bucket over your head. Wade into the crowd and you will be greeted by outstretched arms ready to smear your face with powder.

Young, pretty and female passersby get it worst (or best, depending on how you see it). Men are more likely to douse these attractive strangers or smear their cheeks, all in the name of a New Year blessing.

Resistance is futile. In any case, being entirely drenched at one go makes you a less enticing target for the next water squad down the lane – unless, of course, you are young, pretty and female.

There’s a darker side to the celebration. It is known for its body count. Last year, more than 300 people died and about 3,300 were injured during Songkran road accidents. This year, 218 people have died from Thursday to Sunday alone, with the main causes being drink driving and speeding.

The Thai authorities, in response, have tried to restrict the sale of alcohol in designated areas. For the first time this year, the police also warned revellers against splashing water from vehicles, to the protests of youngsters used to riding on the back of pick-up trucks with tanks of water to douse anybody in sight.

Few people pay heed to the warnings as the afternoon wears on in the backpacker district by Khao San Road, and the rising volume of dance music is matched by the growing numbers of empty Beer Chang bottles littering its sidewalks.

It’s a different world altogether just five minutes away in Wat Bowonniwet Vihara, a temple where Thailand’s revered king Bhumibol Adulyadej and his ancestors were ordained as monks.

This is a quieter, less hyped side of Songkran: Young and old Buddhists take turns to light candles as they seek blessings for a smooth year ahead. After that, some sit in quiet contemplation in its cavernous prayer hall, waterguns discreetly tucked away.

It is dusk as the temple volunteers gently shoo away revellers hoping to use the temple’s toilets.

Thank you for coming, they say, closing the gate behind the last few visitors.

The temple is done for the day. Outside, the party is only just beginning.

tanhy@sph.com.sg

Mr Frederick Willem de Klerk – better known as F.W. de Klerk – was South Africa’s President when he released anti-apartheid leader and the world’s most famous prisoner, Mr Nelson Mandela, in 1990.

Three years later, he and the famously gentle and soft-spoken Mr Mandela were jointly awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for their role in dismantling their country’s racial segregation policy.

Mr Frederick Willem de Klerk – better known as F.W. de Klerk – was South Africa’s President when he released anti-apartheid leader and the world’s most famous prisoner, Mr Nelson Mandela, in 1990. -- ST PHOTO: KUA CHEE SIONG

The track record of Mr de Klerk, now 77, is testimony to the former president’s tendency to ride against the tide.

He freed Mr Mandela, who had spent 27 years in jail.

He lifted the ban on Mr Mandela’s African National Congress (ANC), then a fractious armed rebel group which enjoyed immense public support.

And he called elections in the black-majority country in 1994 knowing full well that his own white supremacist conservative National Party did not stand a chance against the ANC, which eventually won the election and is the ruling party to this day.

South Africa needed to change to save itself from isolation on the world stage, Mr de Klerk once said in explaining his decisions.

On Monday (Mar 25), he told a packed auditorium at the Singapore Management University (SMU) that the mark of a leader is, among other things, his ability to know when to step down and hand over the baton to others.

He listed others, including a willingness to take calculated risks, getting the timing right and perseverance.

His speech was part of the Leadership in Asia Lecture Series by SMU.

Former President of South Africa, Mr F.W. de Klerk giving his public lecture at the Mochtar Riady Auditorium at the SMU Adminstration Building. -- ST PHOTO: KUA CHEE SIONG

Mr Mikhail Gorbachev of the former Soviet Union, China’s late leader Deng Xiaoping and former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher got honorary mentions as 20th century leaders who, through their policies, brought meaningful changes to the society and a significant difference to the quality of life of hundreds of millions of people.

He called Singapore’s former prime minister Lee Kuan Yew “an artist painting on the largest canvas that society can provide”.

“Without his leadership, Singapore might have been just another city in Malaysia. But… Mr Lee made the right decisions for his country, he chose the right values and the right principles to ensure development of a successful society,” he said.

As for Mr Mandela, Mr de Klerk described him as “a principled man and a great communicator”.

The two men were responsible for navigating through the minefield to end decades of apartheid in South Africa and steering the country in the right direction.

But it is well known they also do not see eye-to-eye on many issues.

Mr Mandela once called Mr de Klerk “a man of integrity” only to retract his remark later.

Mr de Klerk also reserved his most candid observations for his friend-cum-foe.

Mr Mandela “was by no means a saint”, he told the SMU audience in a frank assessment of his 94-year-old compatriot, who was a tough and relentless negotiator during South Africa’s transition to democracy.

But he was also gracious enough to rise above political passions to come to a reasonable compromises whenever required, Mr de Klerk added.

Mr Mandela, who was President from 1994 to 1999, is currently being treated for a lung infection in a hospital in Pretoria.

During the interview with The Straits Times that followed his speech, Mr de Klerk was asked who among the present crop of politicians show potential.

“Frankly, I do not see any one leader (at present) straddling the world stage,” he told this reporter.

He refrained from criticising his country’s current leadership, which has often stumbled over itself in policy matters, as the country shows disappointing growth figures and falling education and living standards.

“I prefer to play the ball and not the man,” he said.

“I don’t want to analyse specific individuals and list their weak and strong points.”

Nevertheless, he described President Jacob Zuma as a nice and friendly guy.

He also said he hoped a new action plan – on achieving higher growth and improving the quality of education, among others – that is now under consideration by the Zuma government will see the light of day.

“If it is implemented and resources are made available, then it will assure that South Africa reaches its full potential,” he said.

Former President of South Africa, Mr F.W. de Klerk being handed a stalk of flower by student , Jean Chiew, 19, as a belated birthday gift during the question-answer session at the Mochtar Riady Auditorium at the SMU Adminstration Building. -- ST PHOTO: KUA CHEE SIONG

rupsk@sph.com.sg

She stopped to chat and buy old-fashioned talcum powder that was also sold by Mr Naina whose family has been running that newsstand for over 50 years.

Ms Loke, 54, is a familiar sight in this part of town, as she’s frequently haunting its streets to document its hidden little stories.

She is part of a group which calls itself Rakan KL or Friends of KL, led by prominent artist Victor Chin who is also a founding member of the Malaysian Heritage Board.

This small group of about 10 Malaysians is fighting a battle to save the old buildings of Kuala Lumpur that are under threat of demolition or careless development.

Their weapon? History.

Since the middle of last year, they have been churning up public interest in these old buildings by unearthing the little stories that give people a visceral connection to the past - stories such as Malaysia’s first prime minister Tunku Abdul Rahman standing on top of the Chin Woo athletic association building to look for a suitable site to build a stadium for Malaya’s independence. Or the story about how the stadium was built in a year.

Their main focus is the hill on which stands Stadium Merdeka where Malaya’s independence was declared in 1957. The stadium itself is not under threat of demolition but many Malaysians are horrified at the plans to build a 100-storey tower nearby.

“This is all the history that we have left – the history of the founding of our nation,” said Ms Loke. “There’s nothing left of the history of the founding of our city. We need to save this for the future generations.”

She said they were not against development but it should be reasonable development. She also stressed that this campaign is not about Chinatown or the history of the Chinese community.

“It’s about the history of the founding of our nation, and Chinatown was part of the scenario at that time. But it’s not all about Chinatown,” she said.

If History is their weapon, their strategy is walking tours for the public. They have charted six routes covering different areas with different stories, but all with Merdeka Stadium as the focal point.

Rakan KL also held a successful two-day festival last year with walks, talks and shows.

Barely eight months since they started, public interest has been growing. More people are turning up for the history walks that are publicised only via social media. And many are young Malaysians in their 20s, contrary to the perception that the young are not interested in the old.

History is the new cool, it would seem.

Ferrying ready-to-eat meals and blankets to volcano-hit zones. Check.

Rebuilding collapsed schools and bridges in post-earthquake reconstruction. Check.

These are the hardcore disaster response works regularly done by Singapore humanitarian organisation Mercy Relief (MR) since it was launched 10 years ago, with donations from the Singaporean public and the private sector.

But today, the group has expanded its focus and you might want to consider calling it Doomsday Preppers Lite.

In South Sumatra province, Governor Alex Noerdin praised Mercy Relief in a public speech this week for its work in training caregivers of and families with disabled children.

And in the same week, the Indonesian province held a public event to celebrate an MR-initiated course for local teachers to bring basic English to rural students.

Huh?

What do the Special Needs Training programme and the English For Everyone projects have to do with Mercy Relief?

After all, its officials and volunteers are often seen in media images distributing relief goods from atop trucks in disaster-wrecked countries. Isn't that its main role?

And indeed, it has been involved in humanitarian efforts in more than 20 countries, including headline-grabbing events such as the 2004 Aceh tsunami, the 2008 cyclone Nargis in Myanmar, and the 2011 earthquake and tsunami in Japan.

The latest projects in South Sumatra, in fact, underline how the organisation has steadily expanded its focus in recent years from just reacting to disasters, to a deeper involvement with vulnerable rural communities to build up their capacity and preparedness.

In official-speak, this is MR’s Sustainable Development Programme, or SDP.

“It is important that we build the capacity and preparedness of impoverished communities at disaster-prone locations. Poverty breeds vulnerability,” said Mr Hassan Ahmad, Mercy Relief’s chief executive, who was in Palembang with its workers.

Its move to strengthen rural communities and mitigate disaster risks can be gleaned from its average annual budgets in the last few years, where 30 per cent of its S$5 million to S$6 million annual budgets, have been allocated for longer-term development projects, whilst 50 per cent is for disaster relief, and the remainder for its overheads.

Compare these figures with its first five years where 90 per cent of the group’s annual budgets were set aside for delivering emergency relief to disaster zones.

The SDP included converting ship containers into evacuation shelters in typhoon-prone central Vietnam; enhancing medical facilities in flood-prone Cambodia, and initiating the English For Everyone courses in Laos.

No, Mercy Relief is not abandoning its disaster-relief efforts.

Mr Hassan said that getting close to foreign state officials, municipal authorities, NGOs and the communities in the rural areas helps increase preparedness and response for future disasters.

“Such longer-term works build goodwill, trust and confidence with local communities and governments in disaster-prone areas. This will help us respond faster when there is a disaster in the area,” he said.

In South Sumatra, for instance, the programme to impart techniques to help disabled children in South Sumatra, has been well received, with Governor Alex saying on Tuesday that the provincial government will bring in more funds to support the extension of the Mercy Relief project.

For Mr Hassan, the trust of the government of South Sumatra, which is located to the south of Singapore across the Malacca Strait, would give Mercy Relief the platform to prepare for what he calls “The Next Big One” threatening Sumatra. Others might call it the Doomsday scenario.

Some explanation: In the United States, there are groups which actively prepare for what they call Doomsday scenarios - such as the complete breakdown of society or a global meltdown in the financial system.

They “prepped” themselves by building underground bunkers and stocking up on dry food. These people are called the Doomsday Preppers. There is even a TV reality show on this group.

For Mr Hassan, who has been involved in several major earthquakes in many parts of Sumatra island, The Next Big One is the prediction by experts over the years that a huge earthquake could hit the western part of Sumatra in the near future.

Earthquakes have hit provinces such as North Sumatra, West Sumatra and Bengkulu which are neighbouring or nearby provinces of South Sumatra, with Palembang as its capital.

With South Sumatra itself free from earthquakes, Mercy Relief is working with the government to use the province as a possible launching pad for disaster relief should The Next Big One arrive.

To paraphrase the great Wilde, “To lose one iPhone may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose two looks like carelessness.”

I am guilty as charged.

If the first iPhone was lost through pure carelessness - it slipped out of my jacket pocket into the back of a cab here last August - I had mitigating circumstances for the second. Misfortune most likely struck, in the form of an invisible hand that reached into my jacket pocket with nary a rustle in the wind.

Well, if there were any, it would have been drowned out in any case in the hustle and bustle inside apparel store Uniqlo in Beijing’s Sanlitun, where I was shopping last month before Misfortune pounced.

I blame it on the cold. I had gone into Uniqlo to buy heat tech thermal wear to fortify myself for the coldest winter in 27 years.

I spent about 15 minutes inside, judging from the receipts I had from the Mango store I visited earlier and that from Uniqlo. By the time I finished paying at Uniqlo and reached for my iPhone to check what messages await me, I realised it was not there.

I felt a familiar heaviness in my stomach. Not again, I thought. I had just lost an iPhone barely a few months ago.
When I went to the cashier to report loss, I was surprised that they asked immediately if I wanted to go and check the closed circuit TV tapes. Later when I pushed back a door in the Employees Only area on the third floor of the store, I realised why: another woman who lost her iPhone was already inside scrutinising the footage for sightings of a suspicious man who had gone near her.

In my case, I was too enthralled with racks of discounted clothing at the store to notice anyone lurking around me. My phone could have just slipped out of my winter jacket pocket again, one with no zip. Whatever happened, it is usually finder’s keeper here, and true enough, my phone was already switched off when I called myself a few minutes later.

A kind young woman working in the surveillance room admitted though that thefts happened often in the store, especially during the festive season. She couldn’t tell me the numbers but I gathered that cops turn up almost daily during this period.

Later a policeman came and took our details. He chided the workers at the store for not doing more to spot suspicious characters. Almost immediately after his reprimand, a message urging shoppers to look after their belongings was played on the public address system.

At least I still had my wallet.

On my way home in a cab, I listened to a radio programme about crime during the year-end period. During winter, people wore so many layers that it was hard for them to feel a thing when their wallets or phones were taken, said the host.

I certainly didn’t. At least not at the exact moment when my iPhone was filched.

But I sure felt something when I discovered the loss: pain and regret and annoyance with myself.

Now the question is, shall I get iPhone No. 3 and tempt Fortune (or test my careless self) again? Have I become smart enough to use a smart phone safely?

To lose one iPhone is misfortune. To lose two is carelessness. To lose a third is?

Just don’t let me get to iPhone No 4 or iPhone No 5.

hoaili@sph.com.sg

It's not that I'm a serious runner, but I needed to jog off fears that I was becoming - horrors - fat.

And so I would tighten my shoe laces, stretch my calves and pound the pavement as pram- pushing nannies and senior citizens looked on bemusedly.

I usually ran for about 40 minutes around my neighbourhood, past hardware shops, florists, restaurants selling buns, lamb skewers and the occasional sex shop.

Soon, I was out of breath but put it down to my lack of fitness.

But looking at the deadly air that has descended on Beijing in recent days, I ask myself why I used to exercise so recklessly.

Yesterday, I went to a park where I used to run to take photos for this story. I was there for 30 minutes - enough time to give me a headache and a scratchy throat.

Now I wonder what my badly exposed lungs would say to me if they could speak. Or maybe they won't speak to me. They would be too angry with me for exposing them to danger.

My lungs have every right to be upset. I used to also cycle 2km to work, wearing a helmet most times but never a face mask.

I didn't realise the irony until I covered the release of a study by Greenpeace East Asia and Peking University last month. The study found that air pollution was deadlier than road accidents!

The study zoomed in on PM2.5 pollution, referring to tiny particulates with a diameter of less than 2.5 micrometres, which are easily absorbed into the body.

Over the weekend, the capital's PM2.5 reading went off the charts, as the official measure goes up to only 500. The air smelt like something was burning when I went out on Saturday night.

The American Embassy's air monitor, however, showed density readings of more than 700 on Saturday, prompting many residents to declare that they were shutting their windows and battening down the hatches.

This is a grim matter, though some prefer to look on the bright side. A literature student who was visiting remarked that all the fog and mist made the lakes in the city's Houhai area look dreamy and poetic.

Others prefer to turn the smog particles into grist for humour.

The greatest distance on Earth is to stand on Tiananmen Square and not see Chairman Mao, wrote a netizen on the country's popular Sina microblog. A huge photo of the late Mao Zedong usually watches over the square, from its resting position at the entrance to the Forbidden City.

A dark Beijing tale most of us sojourners here would have heard of is the one about the non-smoker who lived here for too long and went home to find that her lungs had turned black.

To be fair, things have actually improved a little, not just according to official sources but also Beijing residents who say the air was a lot grimier before many polluting factories were moved because of the 2008 Olympics.

The capital's air has become cleaner for 14 years running, with the density of the bigger PM10 particles falling, the municipal environmental protection bureau said last month. "We can only improve air quality by making sure that pollution reduction outpaces increases in pollutants," said bureau spokesman Fang Li.

Now, that's tricky.

The worse the air gets, the more likely people like me will hop into a car or taxi instead of cycle or walk.

It doesn't help that Beijing's bus and subway networks are just not convenient enough.

I have stopped my outdoor runs. Instead, I am getting maximum mileage from a gym membership that allows me to swim as well as run.

I do miss the street scenes. But at the same time, I now can also breathe a whole lot easier, knowing that I'm not killing my lungs.

I was around 13 or 14 years old at the time, but I still remember the phrase printed on it in bold white type.

It said: Zero tolerance.

As I read on, I found a list debunking the common myths about rape. Clear arguments were used to dismantle common misconceptions about sexual violence, such as victims sometimes "ask for it" and that men who are aroused "cannot help themselves".

More than 15 years on, the powerful message contained in that leaflet by a Scottish anti-violence charity has remained with me.

And it is now more relevant than ever following last month's horrifying gang rape and murder of an Indian student on a bus in Delhi and the report by British police last Friday that detailed the decades of abuse perpetrated by the late BBC TV presenter Jimmy Savile.

In both cases, victims have been blamed and excuses made for the behaviour of the perpetrators. A popular spiritual guru said the 23-year-old Indian rape victim, who was so badly assaulted with a iron rod that she died from horrific internal injuries, could have saved herself if she had begged for mercy and called her attackers "brothers".

In Britain, Savile used his position as a well loved television personality to silence hundreds of victims. One woman told British media that when she complained about the abuse as a schoolgirl she was told “Oh,that’s just Jimmy, that’s his way.”

I was born in Bangladesh but have lived in England, Scotland, Canada and now Singapore. It is clear that rape is a problem in every society and decent people everywhere want it to end. Yet this will require more then simply tougher laws to deal with sex offenders.

Hard-hitting public awareness campaigns, like the one that made such an impression on me, are also needed to help change mindsets.

They can do this by challenging and dismantling a number of powerful myths that help to prop up a "rape culture" which shames victims into silence and even excuses the attacker's actions.

"Women who are sexually assaulted 'ask for it', in the way they dress or act." This particularly toxic myth surfaces time and again. In reality, women from all walks of life fall victim to sexual abuse. The horrific newspaper reports are there for all to see.

In 2011, a serial rapist in Britain was convicted of raping several elderly women over a 17 year period, including a “housebound and immobile” 81-year-old.

Female demonstrators wearing the hijab have been sexually assaulted during protests in Egypt's Tahrir square, according to testimonies in Forbes magazine.

There is no "ideal" way that women can behave to make themselves "immune" to sexual violence. Instead, society needs to banish a mentality where the knee-jerk reaction to sex crimes is to blame the victim. The onus should be put on men not to rape.

This sentiment has been echoed loudly by the Indian women protesting in the wake of the Delhi gang-rape. Many of them clutched placards saying "Don't tell me how to dress, tell your sons not to rape".

“There is no other crime in which so much effort is expended to make the victim appear responsible,” says the Rape Crisis England and Wales website. “Imagine the character or financial background of a robbery victim being questioned in court.”

Of course, I believe men, women and children should be informed of simple precautions that could reduce their vulnerability to attack. For example, Scottish police have run advertising campaigns to warn Christmas party-goers against accepting rides from unlicensed cabs.

But this does not mean that if an attack does occur, the victim should shoulder any kind of blame. As in any other crime, the fault lies solely with the criminal.

Another common misconception is that rape is “a crime of passion” and the consequence of uncontrollable lust. It suggests that once men are aroused they can't help themselves.

Not only does this myth demean men by portraying them as mindless creatures, it ignores several studies that show the majority of rapes are premeditated.

Evidence from rapists themselves suggests that most of them are planned, Chief Crown Prosecutor for London Alison Saunders said in a speech last year. Rape is about power not sexual gratification. It is often about asserting control over the victim. The men accused of the Delhi attack had planned to find a victim to rape and kill, according to a police report seen by the Reuters news agency.

Savile deliberately sought out vulnerable young people in children's homes, hospitals or at the BBC studios. These were not spur of the moment attacks but cold, carefully-planned crimes.

Equally as damaging is the widely-held assumption that unless a woman fights back or is injured during an attack, it could not have been rape. In reality, many victims are paralysed by fear and know they could be killed if they don't cooperate with their attackers, said Ms Saunders.

Perhaps the most staggering fact about rape is that in most attacks - 83 per cent, according to a 2007 British study - the assailant is someone the victim knows. This blows apart the myth that rapists tend to be strangers lurking in dark alleyways.

Although these sorts of attacks do occur, the reality is that the majority of sex abusers fall into the category of relative, ex-partner, colleague, teacher or acquaintance.

The fact that a lot of sexual violence occurs "behind closed doors" makes it even harder for victims to come forward. This is why better policing is only part of the solution. If we want to make women and girls safer, wide-scale public education about the reality of rape is also needed. Only then can we cultivate an environment of zero tolerance towards this most misunderstood of crimes.

If so, one beauty clinic chain in the greater Tokyo area has just the right “fukubukuro” (lucky bag) for you.

For the price of about 20 million yen (S$279,616) upfront, the lucky bag offered by the Shonan Beauty Clinic promises the lucky buyer a lifetime of unlimited cosmetic surgery services at any of its 22 branches nationwide, including of course the all-important aftercare.

Buying lucky bags in the New Year is an entrenched Japanese tradition, along with eating “osechi” (mostly cold and sweet New Year delicacies) and “hatsumode” (making the first visit to the temple or shrine in the new year to pray for good luck).

Shopping for lucky bags used to mean making a leisurely trip to one’s favourite store, picking out a bag from among many, and going home to find out what’s in it.

All that was assured the buyer was that the total value of the goods inside the bag would be worth more than the price paid.

These days, many stores advertise the contents of their lucky bags well in advance – a surefire way of not only drawing shoppers to their stores, but also tempting shoppers to grab as many lucky bags as they can afford.

The Matsuya department store in Tokyo’s glitzy Ginza shopping district prepared 70 lucky bags, each containing 100,000 yen worth of fashionwear for a price of just 10,000 yen.

The bags were snapped up in less than a minute.

For inveterate lucky bag shoppers, two hands are often not enough to bring home the spoils.

It is not uncommon in recent years to see determined shoppers lugging suitcases big enough for a weeklong trip abroad as they go from store to store, buying up lucky bags.

New Year shoppers pick up "lucky bags" containing items worth three times as much as their price tag to celebrate the New Year business at a department store in Tokyo on Jan 2, 2013. Lucky bags are sold to celebrate the New Year business, Japan's biggest holiday of the year. -- PHOTO: AFP

For the stores, the timing of their lucky bag sales is crucial because of the stiff competition.

In the past, Jan 1 was considered sacred, reserved for eating “osechi” – often at one’s parental home - and exchanging New Year greetings and stories with relatives that one has not seen in the past year.

These days, more and more stores are kicking off their New Year sales on Jan 1 in order to gain a head start over their rivals.

The Seibu group decided to open all its stores on Jan 1 this year.

Despite the unusually frigid weather, some 20,000 shoppers queued up outside the Seibu department store in Tokyo’s Ikebukuro district before opening time on Jan 1.

Anticipating a big rush, the store had prepared some 15,000 lucky bags.

Seibu’s strategy worked.

Several department stores that opened their doors only from Jan 2 reported a drop in sales compared to previous years.

Major stores see lucky bags as a great public relations opportunity, hence their untiring efforts each year to put out headline-grabbing lucky bags whose contents are revealed in advance to great fanfare.

Seibu’s flagship store at Ikebukuro in Tokyo offered a 20 million yen lucky bag that includes a platinum tiara studded with sapphires, a necklace featuring big pearls, a diamond ring and a dainty hand mirror – the latter presumably for checking at all times that the tiara is firmly lodged on one’s head.

The Hankyu men’s store in Tokyo’s Yurakucho district had a lucky bag priced at 22 million yen that includes an Audi sports car and tour tickets for two persons to watch the 24-hour Le Mans car race in France.

Some stores have been selling lucky bags every year that promise not only a brand new apartment but free furniture as well.

The imagination’s the limit.

This year, Mitsukoshi’s Ginza store offers an unusual lucky bag for the city dweller that secretly yearns for a life in the countryside.

Whoever buys the 600,000 yen lucky bag will become the owner of a 3,000 square metre plot of rice field in Minami-Uonuma, Niigata prefecture, the premier rice-growing area in Japan.

He or she will also receive 1,190 kg of rice and the opportunity to take part in rice-planting and harvesting and of course mixing with the local farmers.

And if that were not enough, the bag also comes with tickets to the nearby onsen to recharge oneself after a hard day in the fields.

These days, social media is often used to full advantage to promote lucky bags as well.

In the final days of December, Apple fans were told that Apple stores would put out a limited number of lucky bags – but only on Jan 2.

And in the good old tradition of lucky bags, Apple declined to reveal what goodies to be found in them.

Braving freezing temperatures, hundreds of Apple fans queued up overnight outside Apple stores in the capital, determined to lay their hands on the lucky bags.

Reports said the 33,000 yen bags included some real bargains, from iPods to iPads, and even MacBook Airs for the lucky few.

Now that’s what buying lucky bags should be all about.

wengkin@sph.com.sg