No such thing as an English Gentleman, they are drug lord

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An honorable member of the Coffee Shop Has Just Posted the Following:

华侨人 Overseas Chinese in Singapore were targeted by the colonial Master evil Brit to consume opium to enrich their British Empire.

https://www.google.com.au/search?q=i...w=1200&bih=541

As the Brit would like you to know they develop Singapore from fishing village to a trading port in the early 1900s. You would think the English Gentlemen would part some of their hard earned industrial revolution economy monies from England to build their colonial building in Singapore for you, build Raffle Place town, British style bungalows to house their own Brit, live a quality life style Tanglin clubs and golf courses?

They built modern Brit style Singapore monopolize opium trades in SEA at the expense of 华侨人 Overseas Chinese as consumer opium addict.
Well, don't expect your colonial master Brit to be the nice English gentlemen to built Singapore for you?

Overseas Chinese in Singapore, your forefathers, was targeted by the Brit to consume opium and the drug money was used to built Singapore. No such thing as free lunch from the angmoh Brit.

See one angmoh Brit in Singapore go fuck them of their evil doing in Singapore.



In January, 1917, we found ourselves at Singapore, a British dependency, situated at the end of the Malay Peninsula, and one of the greatest seaports of the Orient. We were stopping at the Hotel de l' Europe, a large and first class hotel. The first morning at breakfast, the waiter stood beside us, waiting for our order. He was a handsome young Malay, dressed in white linen clothes, and wearing a green jade bracelet on one wrist. We gave him our order and he did not move off. He continued to stand quietly beside our chairs, as in a trance. We repeated the order-one tea, one coffee, two papayas. He continued to stand still beside us, stupidly. Finally he went away. We waited for a long time and nothing happened. At last, after a long wait, he returned and set before us a teapot filled with hot water. Nothing else. We repeated again-tea, coffee, papayas. We said it two or three times. Then he went away and came back with some tea. We repeated again, coffee and fruit. Eventually he brought us some coffee. Finally, after many endeavors, we got the fruit. It all took a long time. We then began to realize that something was the matter with him. He could understand English well enough to know what orders we were giving him, but he seemed to forget as soon as he left our sight. We then realized that he was probably drugged. It was the same thing every day. In the morning he was stupid and dull, and could not remember what we told him. By evening his brain was clearer, and at dinner he could remember well enough. The effects of whatever he had been taking had apparently worn off during the day.

We learned that the opium trade was freely indulged in, at Singapore, fostered by the Government. Singapore is a large city of about 300,000 inhabitants, a great number of which are Chinese. It has wide, beautiful streets, fine government buildings, magnificent quays and docks-a splendid European city at the outposts of the Orient. We found that a large part of its revenue is derived from the opium traffic-from the sale of opium, and from license fees derived from shops where opium may be purchased, or from divans where it may be smoked. The customers are mainly Chinese.

I wanted to visit these Government-licensed opium shops and opium dens. A friend lent me two servants, as guides. We three got into rickshaws and went down to the Chinese quarter, where there are several hundred of these places, all doing a flourishing business. It was early in the afternoon, but even then, trade was brisk. The divans were rooms with wide wooden benches running round the sides, on which benches, in pairs, sharing a lamp between them, lay the smokers. They purchased their opium on entering, and then lay down to smoke it. The packages are little, triangular packets, each containing enough for about six smokes. Each packet bears a label, red letters on a white ground, "Monopoly opium."

In one den there was an old man-but you can't tell whether a drug addict is old or not, he looked as they all do, gray and emaciated-but as he caught my eye, he laid down the needle on which he was about to cook his pill, and glanced away. I stood before him, waiting for him to continue the process, but he did not move.

"Why doesn't he go on?" I asked my guide. "He is ashamed to have you see him," came the reply.

"But why should he be ashamed?" I asked, "The British Government is not ashamed to sell to him, to encourage him to drug himself, to ruin himself. Why should he be ashamed?"

http://www.druglibrary.org/schaffer/history/om/om4.htm


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