It was Singapore’s 61st birthday on Sunday, and like the good
patriotic Singaporean that everyone turns into at this time of the year, I
thought I’d try and bash out my thoughts and feelings about being a
Singaporean.
OK, I’m from what they call “Gen-X,” and as a newly made middle-aged
person, I get the perspective of having seen some interesting transactions. Unlike
my parents, I was born in a Singapore that was never a crown colony or one of
the Malaysian states. As such, I don’t have any particular emotional attachment
to being “Singaporean.” My mum, in particular gets very passionate about being “Singaporeans
of Chinese descent,” whereas I am more willing to claim being “Chinese born in
Singapore.” A part of it could be because I grew up in the UK and telling people
“Chinese” was easier than Singaporeans (Can’t miss China on the map, but you
can miss Singapore.”)
However, being a Singapore citizen of Chinese descent had certain perks.
As at the time of writing, Singapore has the most powerful passport in the
world. We can travel to more countries anywhere visa-free than anyone else. A
case of Western countries assume you’ll go home because you have a decent job
and Asian countries still treating you as Asian enough not to want to shake you
down by making you get a visa on arrival:
More importantly, I came from a country that speaks English and so
fitting into the UK wasn’t exactly a challenge.
So, in a way, being a Singaporean growing up in the UK wasn’t exactly a
challenge. Sure, I looked a little different but other than the obvious, I was
actually part and parcel of the scenery. As such, my relationship with the
Western world isn’t the same as a guy whose dad ran the local take away or if I
had come from the mainland where English came as something imposed by the
school and the demands of international business rather than as something natural.
The other part about being a Singaporean growing up in the UK was the
fact that my vision of Asia wasn’t what was taught in schools. Your text books
tell you that certain parts of the world are “poor” by design but when you go
home, you find that you have certain technologies that don’t exist in the
Western world – the clearest example being everyone had moved to laser disk in
Singapore when most of the West was still on VHS.
Even from the perspective of someone worried about the day when I can’t
work anymore, Singapore is strangely comfortable in so many ways. I eat out
quite often, which simply wouldn’t be the case in the west. I have access to a
gym that only costs me S$2.50 per entry. I walk along the beach most nights and
as a dad to a teenage girl, not worrying about her hanging out late was priceless.
I think Singapore’s food scene expresses Singapore at its best. I used
to work in a French-Italian restaurant eating great pasta and then going out
with my chef to have oyster omelette or roti prata or satay.
Yet, having said that, Singapore is by no means perfect. Its tough being
a freelance entrepreneur here. Whenever you think you’ve made a move ahead, the
powers that be inevitably will chose a foreign multinational over you. As such,
I have greatest pride in my freelance days because it wasn’t just being a guppy
against a shark but a situation where the ocean literally conspired with the
sharks.
Yet, for all that, my two biggest worries remain the fate of old people
and dark-skinned migrant workers. Go to any coffee shop and you’ll notice that
its these two demographics doing the back breaking work that actually makes
Singapore the clean and green paradise that it is.
The fate of old people in particular is interestingly worrying. You see
the old and frail doing back breaking work in the hawker centre while the young
and fit stand over them. I mentioned that in a Linkedin post recently and funnily
enough, you get allot of comments about – “oh, they’re doing it because they’re
bored,” or the government’s favourite – “exercise.”
Yet, at the same time as you see more of the frail doing back breaking
work, corporate ageism becomes a normal thing. Anyone in their late forties
with an office job, hangs onto it for dear life because, quite frankly, that’s
probably the last job they’re ever going to get.
Sure, we measure up very well against most places. However, we do need
to ask ourselves if these foundations are solid. How long can we use imported labour
to mask things when a segment of our workforce is discarded easily? How long
can we rely on poor neighbours to do heavy lifting as these countries become “must
have” markets for the international investment community? We’ve done well but
we need to go back and check the system and correct things whilst we still have
the chance.














