When Listening Gets Tough: Colonial Publics and the Straits Society

Hey there! Let’s dive into something super interesting that popped up from some recent research. We’re talking about this cool concept called “receptive publics” and, well, how things get seriously complicated when you throw colonialism into the mix. Specifically, we’re going to peek into the story of the Straits Philosophical Society in old-school Singapore.

So, picture this: in a perfect world, when folks from different walks of life, especially those experiencing oppression and those who don’t, want to understand each other, they’d have these great spaces – “receptive publics.” The idea is that the folks with more power would really *listen* and learn from the experiences of the marginalised. Sounds simple, right? Like a nice, democratic ideal.

But here’s the rub, and it’s a big one, especially in places shaped by heavy-duty stuff like colonialism. The research I’m looking at suggests that sometimes, these attempts at creating receptive publics don’t just *fail*; they can actually make things *worse* for the oppressed groups they’re supposed to help. It’s like trying to fix a leaky boat with a sieve – you might just end up with more water inside!

The core problem? When there’s deep, structural oppression already baking the cake, the very goals of receptive publics – like making it easier to speak up, sharing the load of explaining tough stuff, and reducing bad feelings between groups – might not only be impossible but could actually crank up the heat on those social costs, the uneven work of explaining, and the antagonism. Turns out, trying to be receptive in an oppressive system can be a real pickle.

Understanding the Public Sphere and Its Many Rooms

To get a handle on receptive publics, we first need to chat a bit about the “public sphere.” Think of it as the big, messy town square where people gather to chew over important stuff, challenge authority, and basically do the whole “public reason” thing. Jürgen Habermas made this idea famous, focusing on places like 17th-century coffee houses where people supposedly met on equal footing.

But, as brilliant folks like Nancy Fraser pointed out, Habermas’s picture was a bit rosy. It didn’t really account for how oppression – like sexism or classism – totally shaped and often *excluded* marginalised groups from these “equal” spaces. Fraser argued we should see not just *one* public sphere, but many, and that marginalised groups create their *own* spaces, called “subaltern counterpublics,” to discuss their issues and push back against the mainstream.

Then Catherine Squires added more layers, showing that these counterpublics aren’t all the same. Some are like enclaves, hiding their ideas for survival (think groups organising secretly under Jim Crow laws). Others are satellites, choosing separation to maintain their identity (like the Nation of Islam, sometimes dipping into wider debates).

So, the key takeaway here is:

• Forget the single “town square”; think a whole network of different public spaces.
• These spaces aren’t just defined by *who* is there, but by *what they do* – their function.

This plural, function-focused view is crucial for understanding where receptive publics fit in… and why they might struggle.

Enter the Receptive Public: A Space for Listening?

Now, receptive publics come into this picture as a specific *type* of public space. Habgood-Coote and pals introduced the idea, partly to make sense of modern friction, sometimes labelled “cancel culture.” They noticed that as groups who used to be enclaves (like #MeToo or Black Lives Matter) started pushing their counterhegemonic ideas into more dominant public spaces, things got tense. Dominant groups felt high social costs for saying the “wrong” thing, while marginalised groups faced stuff like epistemic injustice and exploitation – basically, their knowledge and experiences weren’t being properly heard or valued.

Receptive publics are proposed as a solution. They’re meant to be mixed spaces where members of oppressed groups can share their experiences, and sympathetic members of dominant groups can learn. The goal is to smooth over those rough edges:

• Unequal epistemic labour: Stop making the oppressed do all the work of explaining, managing emotions, and navigating difficult conversations.
• High social costs: Reduce the fear of saying something wrong, encouraging genuine learning.
• Antagonistic communication: Foster a willingness to listen and interpret without assuming hostility.

Ideally, folks in the dominant group would lean into the discomfort, do the work, and listen actively.

These receptive publics are seen as having two main jobs:

• Developmental function: Helping dominant members understand oppression and get better at listening.
• Amplificatory function: Helping dominant members share and back up these counterhegemonic ideas within their own dominant circles.

But, and it’s a big “but,” these spaces can fail. A “Type 1 Failure” is when the group isn’t genuinely oppressed or the space doesn’t produce counterhegemonic ideas. A “Type 2 Failure” is when the group *is* genuine, but the dominant members just don’t learn.

Colonial Contexts: Where the Foundations Are Shaky

Here’s where the historical angle, especially colonialism, throws a massive spanner in the works. The research argues that in colonial settings, the public spaces aren’t just a bit flawed; they’re *built* on oppression. Think about those famous coffee houses Habermas loved – they weren’t just neutral chat spaces. They were often tied directly to the slave trade and colonial exploitation, consuming goods like sugar and coffee produced by enslaved labour. They were spaces where white, bourgeois elites networked and reinforced their status.

So, in these colonial publics, exclusion and oppression aren’t accidental slip-ups; they’re part of the *structure*. As Fraser later put it, the “subjection of those whom capital expropriates is a hidden condition of possibility for the freedom of those whom it exploits.” Colonial publics, even on the periphery of the empire, were often causally and constitutively built on expropriation – land grabs, forced labour, ecological destruction.

The Straits Philosophical Society in colonial Singapore is presented as one such case. It *looked* like it might be a receptive public, aiming to bring together different “nationalities” and minds. But, as we’ll see, its very foundation and operation were deeply entangled with the colonial system it existed within.

The Straits Philosophical Society: A Case Study in Frustration

Singapore became a British colony in 1819. The British wanted it to be a free port, but also set up plantations, leading to a huge influx of Chinese migrant labourers, who soon became the majority. Most were poor, uneducated, and didn’t speak English. The British administrators and merchants were clueless about governing this population, especially after China had banned teaching Chinese to foreigners.

They ended up relying on a small group of Straits Chinese (Peranakan) migrants, the babas, who already had some capital and learned English for trade. These folks became intermediaries, seeing themselves as bridges between the British and the wider Chinese population. Newspapers flourished, integrating Singapore into the broader British imperial public sphere, but for a long time, they didn’t really represent the concerns of the Chinese majority.

Enter the Straits Philosophical Society, founded in 1893. Its stated goal was noble: “critical discussion of questions in Philosophy, History, Theology, Literature, Science, and Art,” drawing on the “relative powers of the minds of the various nationalities.” The first president even specifically mentioned wanting to understand the Chinese population’s observational skills and how they developed. On the surface, it sounds like a perfect candidate for a receptive public, aiming to bridge cultural and epistemic gaps.

However, the context tells a different story. The Society’s wealth was tied to the colonial administration, which itself profited massively from the opium trade, underpinned by the “coolie” trade (another form of forced labour). Membership wasn’t exactly open to everyone: you needed to be a graduate of a recognised university, a fellow of a learned society, or deemed “of distinguished merit.” There were entrance fees ($5), annual fees ($25, rising from $15), and fines – at a time when the average wage for the predominantly poor population was tiny ($93–111 annually). This meant membership was restricted to a specific, privileged socio-economic class, largely colonial elites. The discussions often reflected this, touching on things like why liberal principles shouldn’t apply to “oriental dependencies” or even negative eugenics.

Despite this, two core members *were* Chinese: Tan Teck Soon and Lim Boon Keng. Both were internationally respected for their knowledge of Chinese philosophy and culture and were active in the Straits Chinese counterpublic, running magazines like the Straits Chinese Magazine to promote mutual understanding. They tried to bring counterhegemonic ideas – perspectives challenging colonial norms – into the Society.

Challenges and Frustrations in the Colonial Space

Here’s where the rubber meets the road for the idea of a receptive public in this setting. Tan and Lim *did* try to express counterhegemonic ideas to their colonial interlocutors. But they often had to temper their tone, speaking like “English gentlemen.” Even so, their efforts were often met with defensiveness or a simple lack of understanding.

Tan, for instance, tried to highlight the issues faced by disadvantaged Straits Chinese, like sex workers and labourers. His essay on Chinese local trade, now seen by historians as valuable, was dismissed by one critic as unworthy of the Society’s time! Tan himself criticised the colonial members’ “feeble and spasmodic attempts” to understand the local people, noting their avoidance of discussing Chinese philosophy or culture unless prompted by him or Lim.

Lim faced similar issues. After his essay on religion in China, he noted that the discussion completely missed the points he was interested in, instead wandering into topics about the religious beliefs of the babas or the supposed incapacities of Chinese students. When he suggested a “tendency to over-legislation” in the colony, a critic flatly rejected it, arguing they needed *more* legislation and *less* consideration for individual rights. Tan’s critique of discriminatory practices in the Imperial Maritime Custom Service was met with outrage and disbelief that he didn’t appreciate the Empire’s civilising mission. One critic even ended a discussion with a dehumanising comparison between Chinese people and dogs.

So, the reception of counterhegemonic ideas wasn’t smooth; it was constantly frustrated by the colonial interlocutors’ need to defend their position and the colonial system itself. The barriers that receptive publics are supposed to fix – unequal epistemic labour, social costs, antagonism – weren’t ameliorated here. In fact, they seemed to be inherent features, even *increased* by the attempt to discuss these things across the colonial divide.

The Core Dilemma: Defang or Destroy?

This brings us to the central argument: maybe trying to *fix* the barriers to understanding in a system built on oppression is the wrong goal. The researchers propose a dilemma for receptive publics in colonial contexts, particularly for the privileged members (let’s call them Pr) trying to listen to the marginalised members (Mr).

The developmental function aims to educate Pr about oppression. But counterhegemonic ideas often target the very power and privilege of Pr. This creates an existential threat. According to Albert Memmi, the “Coloniser who Refuses” faces a choice:

• (Da) Treat colonialism like any other situation: Apply their usual values and analytical methods. This risks *defanging* the counterhegemonic ideas, interpreting them in a way that doesn’t threaten their position (a Type 2 Failure). Ideas get assimilated into the dominant framework, losing their radical edge. Think of how Black thinkers are sometimes read to make them “safe for white consumption,” or how Chinese philosophers were quickly mapped onto Aristotle or Plato in the Straits Society discussions. This “epistemic convergence” happens when fundamental dominant ideals (like a universal “European humanity”) remain unchallenged.
• (Db) See colonialism as unique and abandon their usual values: Correctly understand the ideas and their incompatibility with their position as colonisers. This means facing the high social costs – not just “backlash for misstepping,” but an existential threat to their fundamental identity and ideals. T.S. Eliot famously wrote about the psychological difficulty of trying to understand Indian philosophy, feeling he’d have to “forgetting how to think and feel as an American or a European,” which he didn’t want to do. While we don’t know if the Straits colonisers felt this, Lim Boon Keng made a similar point about Chinese people being “denationalised” by Christianisation.

Either way, the attempt to develop understanding faces serious hurdles. If they go with (Da), the receptive public becomes a “false” one because the dominant members systematically fail to learn the *challenging* parts. If they go with (Db), they face “meaning vertigo” – a deeply unsettling anxiety about their social identity.

The Amplification Problem and Splintering

Even if, somehow, the developmental hurdle is cleared and some privileged members (Pr) genuinely understand, they face a similar dilemma when trying to amplify these ideas to other privileged folks (PpPr) who aren’t already in the receptive public.

• (Aa) Likening colonialism to other familiar oppressions: They might try to explain it using analogies that PpPr understand (like comparing it to sexism). But this again risks *appropriating* or *defanging* the ideas, making them palatable but stripping them of their unique, radical challenge to the colonial system itself (a Type 1 Failure). Lamont and Tan’s novel Bright Celestials, which tried to show Chinese perspectives, was received in London more as a cultural curiosity than a serious critique. The backlash against importing Chinese labourers to South Africa focused on “Yellow Peril” or “Chinese slavery” (seen as a humanitarian issue), not necessarily the systemic critique Tan and Lim might offer.
• (Ab) Acknowledging the incommensurability: If Pr and PpPr find their values fundamentally incompatible, Pr might fail to gain solidarity, and the dominant group (Pp) could splinter into Pr (who get it) and PpPr (who don’t). This exacerbates antagonism.

This splintering isn’t just theoretical. We see hints of it with members of the Straits Philosophical Society. Archibald Lamont, Tan’s collaborator, returned to Scotland, reportedly finding the colony’s increasing racial hierarchy incompatible with his more liberal views. Tan himself became more reclusive and antagonistic towards the colonial administration in his later public appearances, like his sharp testimony on the opium trade. Lim Boon Keng eventually left Singapore for Republican China, seen by the colonial governor as a “radical” move, partly due to his frustration with the “colour-bar” and attempts to suppress Chinese language education.

Significantly, Lim’s departure in 1921 coincided with the dissolution of the Straits Philosophical Society itself. Whether it’s the dramatic “violent overthrow” imagined by Marx or the quieter “whimper” of a society dissolving, the research suggests that receptive publics in these contexts can actually *catalyse a breakdown* in the existing public sphere network.

Beyond Just Listening: A Dialectical Step?

So, what’s the takeaway? The original idea of receptive publics aimed to improve listening and understanding. But the case of the Straits Philosophical Society suggests that in deeply oppressive, colonial settings, simply trying to “ameliorate” barriers might be the wrong approach. The goals of figures like Frantz Fanon, who talked about counter-violence against colonial violence and the material dissolution of colonial publics, seem more aligned with the reality.

This doesn’t mean receptive publics are useless. The research suggests they might serve not as a final solution for communication, but as a “possible dialectical step” towards something new. Fanon described how the colonised intellectual might get disillusioned with engaging in colonial publics but then find purpose in material resistance, which helps them see the need to abandon the colonial public and build a counterpublic free from its constraints.

The history of Singapore bears this out. While conciliatory efforts by people like Lim didn’t achieve immediate constitutional change, the “atmosphere of vocal public opinion” fostered by the Straits Chinese counterpublic (which included figures like Tan and Lim) helped develop the political self-confidence of later leaders who achieved decolonisation. Even the Straits Chinese Magazine, despite its complexities, influenced later, more aggressive forms of Chinese nationalism.

The two big lessons here:

• If receptive publics play a role in colonial struggle, it’s not just as a chat room, but potentially as a catalyst for dissolving the oppressive public sphere and moving towards new ways of life.
• If privileged folks *are* to be part of this transformation alongside the oppressed, it’s not just a possibility that they develop “novel and non-oppressive conceptualisations of their privileged identities,” but an absolute *necessity*.

Whether this means we need to re-evaluate core democratic values like liberty, equality, and fraternity in these contexts is a whole other can of worms. But what’s crystal clear is that when we think about understanding across divides, we *must* pay serious attention to the material conditions and power structures shaping those conversations. The story of the Straits Philosophical Society is a powerful reminder that sometimes, the biggest barrier to listening isn’t just unwillingness, but the very ground you’re standing on.

Source: Springer