Opinion | The West Misunderstands Freedom. Just Ask Singapore.
Chew on this: Freedom is an illusion. Or don’t, because in Singapore, chewing gum is illegal and punishable with a fine of up to $2,000 SGD—or $2,145 CAD. And before you spit it out and curse in irritation, remember—swearing in public can land you in jail. I’d recommend memorizing the clean versions of your favorite songs, too.
To Western eyes, Singapore is the glossy poster child of the democratic dream, realized: crime is virtually nonexistent, public transit arrives with next to clockwork precision, skyscrapers glisten as if polished each dawn, and schools churn out world-class thinkers—with the National University of Singapore (NUS) ranked eighth in the world—and futuristic architecture coexists seamlessly with rich heritage within a singular cityscape, all wrapped within the flavor of unparalleled opportunity. In 1965, the year Singapore declared itself a sovereign state, the average Singaporean earned barely one-fifth as much as the average American. Six decades later, that script has flipped: today, the average Singaporean makes nearly 30 per cent more, as measured by GDP per person. From a swampy colonial outpost to a global powerhouse, Singapore’s high-speed ascent has been nothing short of breathtaking—an economy now outpacing the very nations that once towered above it. As put by the US Secretary of State, Singapore has “transformed into one of the region’s greatest economic success stories and a pillar for peace and security in the region.” It’s enough to make any American think, if only Washington could run like Singapore.
On paper, such fantasy is tantalizing. But here’s the paradox: Singapore’s freedom is not the freedom North Americans tend to imagine—it is of an entirely different, and deeply illiberal, breed. That order Singapore is known for? It’s engineered—not organic, nor the product of some messy notion of democratic consensus. Singaporean stability is less the triumph of liberal democracy than the outcome of a meticulous architecture of obedience—woven in every law, building, and step.
Since 1959, Singapore’s political system has been defined by the near-total dominance of the ruling People’s Action Party (PAP). Indeed, the electoral and legal framework constructed by the PAP permits political pluralism, with multiple parties and regular elections—but in practice, constrains the growth of credible opposition parties and limits civil freedoms to assembly and expression. As per Freedom House, Singapore scores a 1 out of 4 in “the head of government elected through free and fair elections.” Fundamentally, the government does not see elections as a choice between the PAP and the opposition, but between loyalty and insubordination: The PAP delivered wealth, safety, and prosperity; in return, Singaporeans owe their undying compliance.
Nowhere is this social contract more evident than in Singapore’s laws, architecture, and norms—each deliberately engineered to choreograph compliance into daily life. The legal code is notoriously unforgiving, criminalizing what most countries shrug off as rather pedestrian—this includes, but is not limited to: chewing gum, eating or drinking on public transit, jaywalking, spitting, inappropriate masculine behavior, use of foul language, inappropriate displays of affection, possession of e-cigarettes, connecting to someone else’s wifi, and playing musical instruments in public. Authorities tighten the grip further by censoring dissent to supplement the dominance of the PAP, silencing criticism of the government by controlling online content. Unauthorized demonstrations, even those of one person, are illegal. Approved protests require police permits and are confined to a single designated space, the Speaker’s Corner at Hong Lim Park. And despite the global shift away from capital punishment, Singapore today still enforces the death penalty—by hanging.
The built environment reinforces this order in tandem. Public and shared spaces are scarce—and by design. At NUS, students whisper that the hills on campus were deliberately built to prevent mass gatherings. Across the city, the details are unmistakable: benches fitted with divisive handles, metal arms to discourage lying down, and unnatural barriers blocking walkways. Hostile architecture is ubiquitous, deterring human congregation across the nation. When public assembly is designed out, life unfolds largely in the private sphere—as in the case of Singapore.
Social norms too train compliance. The Singaporean ritual of “choping,” in which people reserve seating by leaving behind a token object—often a packet of tissues or, on occasion, a credit card—is mindlessly followed and deeply respected. No one dares move it, and no one questions its tacit authority. The national devotion to queuing—whether for the latest viral food craze, the bus, or a service of any sort—reflects more than politeness and consideration; it is a shared choreography of patience and order. As you walk the streets of Singapore, lines are neatly formed on every street corner and in every pocket of the city. Such habits train citizens to internalize discipline and predictability in everyday life without tangible surveillance, embedding compliance into the social fabric long before the state needs to enforce it.
But Singaporeans, by and large, accept this. Many have come to see freedom not as the absence of restriction—but as the presence of stability, safety, and prosperity. Freedom is the ability to walk home at midnight, alone, without fear. Freedom is trust in government officials—without the constant worry of corruption. Freedom is the ability to trade freely and develop businesses. To afford proper housing and food. To access quality healthcare—and not just quality, but the world’s most efficient. Singaporeans are free in ways Americans are not, and constrained in ways Americans cannot understand.
Contrast this with American freedom: the freedom, in theory, to be whoever, do whatever, say whatever. To be the rebel, the goody-two-shoes, the athlete, the artist—the United States is a place where diversity and individualism are celebrated, even canonized. It is expressive, chaotic—even intoxicating. But it is also precarious.
And the contrast is striking: According to a recent poll, 80 per cent of Singaporeans believe their country is headed in the right direction—compared to only 38 per cent of Americans and 42 per cent of Canadians. It begs the uncomfortable question: how are we the people really doing?
This is not an endorsement of authoritarianism, nor is it a condemnation of democracy. I encourage us to rethink the dogma that liberal democracy is the only viable model for a prosperous society. Governance is multidimensional: freedom, prosperity, and stability do not always coexist easily, and nations may achieve one by compromising another. What looks like freedom in one country is disorder in another.
So chew on this: Maybe American “freedom” isn’t greater after all—only different. Our current idea of freedom is often little more than the freedom to struggle within an expressive yet perilous system—juggling rent, healthcare, and debt—while Singaporeans trade certain liberties for the guarantee of stability, safety, and material security. And in an age of unmistakable precarity, one brand feels increasingly fragile—and not promised tomorrow. So, which is the truer freedom? The West may not like the answer, but it’s time we start asking the question.
Edited by Stellar Zhang
Featured Image: Singapore at night, facing Marina Bay Sands. “Marina Bay Sands” by soulfulpizza is licensed under Pexels.
