At one point, a keyboard warrior claimed that he had successfully applied for a permit from the police to hold a protest at Hong Lim Park, the only venue in the country where registered protests were sanctioned. Close to six hundred registered to attend. On the day itself, however, fewer than forty people turned up. When no one stepped forward to lead the protest, the attendees realised it might have been a prank. That being the Sunday after Christmas, they peacefully dispersed and merged into the shopping crowd lured to the malls by the many post-Christmas sales.

Soon after the telecast of her interview, Jessica received a text message from Omala requesting her to come down to Migrant Workers Count Too for a meeting. The response from the public had caught them by surprise and they urgently needed to come up with a plan to mitigate the damage to their cause.

“I am sorry things turned out the way they did,” Omala apologised upfront, looking Jessica in the eye with all the sincerity she could muster. “I know how terrible you must feel to be thrust into the spotlight for the wrong reason, but I am asking you to be brave. We need you to make another statement.”

“I already made it clear that I did not wish to talk about it,” Jessica insisted. She did not want to have to explain the bruise marks.

“I know you did,” Omala said. “But those bruise marks on your wrist are the only thing everyone sees now. Unless we guide the public to see past that and to focus on the real issue—the demonisation of the migrant worker community—we will find ourselves looking at a lost cause. And you are the only one who can save it.”

Jessica leant back on her chair and studied the other three in the room. Omala sat upright, both hands perched on the armrests, like a panther ready to pounce. This woman was determined to get things moving her way. Kuan Eng sank deep into the sofa, his head slightly cocked, tapping a forefinger rhythmically on his lips, observing the exchange and contemplating options. Krison rested his chin on his cupped hands and avoided eye contact with her but she could read the angst in his furrowed brows. This man was feeling guilty for dragging her into the current predicament.

All three assumed she was unwilling to discuss the sexual assault she endured.

The truth was that she was frantically figuring out how she could satisfy the entire nation’s curiosity, without revealing what had actually happened and without telling a lie.

“I have said this before, and I will say it again,” Omala spoke. “In life, challenges often jump at you when you least expect them. It is the brave who will grab the opportunity and make history. People will listen if you speak. This is your opportunity to educate a misguided public. This is your chance to help fight xenophobia.”