On Singapore

Nothing brings tropical heat into focus like air-conditioning. Forged on a peninsula of British colonialism, Singapore sits, a chrome alligator of efficient, totalitarian harmony. Behind a wall of liquid-crystal, broadcasting an animated version of the ‘Twelve days of Christmas’, cavernous luxury mall-spaces are held in atmospheric equilibrium. At the climax of the song, five golden rings of power bid us seasonal goodwill and ‘Lord of the Rings’ merges with caroling at that unselfconscious juncture between corporate self-promotion and the season of giving. Risen in ivory hues from the swamp, Singapore is the world’s most successful pursuit of technocracy. A vision so singular,  it could only be satisfied by futuristic rainforest domes. These self-same domes, known as the ‘Gardens by the Bay‘ are worthy of any mythic Mughal and leave one perplexed and uneasy before the slack-jaw of democratic freeway construction. Singapore has a hard-earned reputation for best-practice in anything practical and this can-do-attitude was bequeathed first hand to Lee Kwan Yew, as he watched Japanese invaders shatter the myth of British invincibility in a matter of minutes. The resulting carnage from what amounted to a betrayal by the British, served as a lasting lesson in the necessity for self-reliance.

The pale ghost of Singapore’s first patriarch, Sir Stamford Raffles, is given what seems undue deference as he stares back dashingly from every note in the Singaporean currency. Lee himself, not yet immortalised in note form, is modest to a fault but in the way that we all become our parents, remains just as starched and inflexible as a Raj-era dinner jacket – Singapore is famous for its almost comically draconian laws. Upon returning from Malaysia, expat school children have been known to be searched for chewing gum and pirated DVDs. What Raffles left behind in the sweaty hedonism of old Singapore, Lee has bulldozed into amnesia, erecting Singapore’s climate-controlled puritanism as a talisman against the languid spirits of the equatorial jungle.  Lee would have been well aware of and most likely affected by the prevailing myths of Orientalism. Raging against them with the purpose of an abandoned lover, decadent, Western ideas of personal freedom were curtailed for a common purpose. But, as I shovel Hainanese chicken-rice into my face, RnB Christmas jingles serve as an ever-present reminder that efficiency comes at a price. Want to make money? You can do that here. You can do anything here, except this and this. And this. Here is a chaste life of noble productivity. Don’t waste your time with frivolity like art and music. Learn to do something useful, because the only way is forward, and citizen, we are required to do these things together.

Singaporean law has attempted to inoculate against satire and although no one is going to shoot you for it, (bad for business) please put your hand over your mouth, as these things can be contagious. For its elegance, Singapore is not known to be the life of the party, yet it whirs away pleasant and oblivious, during a time when democracies face an almost uniform crises of public confidence in their ability to put the interests of society before those of its campaign donors. Lee, an unashamed elitist who once described Australia as “the white trash of Asia”, maintains that the role of the elite should be in serving the interests of society, rather than plundering it for their own benefit. (See GFC/bailouts/HSBC scandal et al) So, despite his deep love of capitalism, Lee understands that people can not always be left to their own devices. Like it or not, captured in the city is an expanse of topiaried understanding that eclipses those subject to the whims of opinion polls and rag tyrants. Would I trade it? No. Grime validates my self-involved, Western illusions of authenticity – but give me a couple more years of Tony Abbott and I just might.

Unlike many parts of Asia (Malaysia I’m looking at you) the Singaporeans recognised that valuable tourist dollars are bound in the walls of antiquity. They did thus a fairly decent job of preserving a semblance of that which can be filled with shops where people are willing to pay a premium on quaintness. One old building sits proudly amid the trees beneath 70 stories of luxury apartments. On the side of the building is a sign that says, “We buy and sell antiques. Some fools buy, some fools sell”. Against this simple, condensed, stoic, Asian-capitalist-socialism, one can’t help but find the place both humbling and slightly terrifying. Singapore can be called many things, but complacent is not one. Build up, you can fit more people in that way, it’s not all about you. Here are the rules for not wrecking the place. It’s not all about you. We are strict but we’re sure you’ll find us accommodating if you stay between the lines. All are welcome. Make your way, you are not owed. Now build a rainforest in a dome.