Pressure of the ‘Singapore model’

This begins in school with the well-known ‘Singapore model’, feted in the West for its inclusivity, where the two first years of elementary school are spent learning English (reading and writing), mathematics and one native language of the student’s choice. Science and extracurricular activities are added over the two next years. But at the age of 12, students must validate their studies with the highly selective Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE). Good scores mean good high schools, then good universities – and finally good jobs. Those with average results make do with ‘normal’ courses, either technical or academic. The rest get left behind.

Needless to say, students face significant pressure (‘insane’, says one parent). Some fear their kids will commit suicide – and rightly so. In 2022, the worst year on record, 125 young people (aged 10-29) took their own lives (8). ‘For children who don’t perform well in the PSLE, school is a nightmare,’ a young schoolteacher said in Yong Shu Ling’s documentary Unteachable (9). ‘I am unable to change the calculation mode, but I can reintroduce the desire to learn.’ This extremely selective educational approach saps the curiosity and creativity needed for new technologies as well as for culture (10).

Furthermore, it reproduces ‘class and race’ inequality, an unexpected turn of phrase coming from a hip Malay startup executive in her 30s, hair in a scarf, happy to speak her mind on condition of anonymity. She explained that using perfect English at home does not guarantee good results: one must also arrange tutoring at a private school whose tuition is pegged to its PSLE performance. Her parents, small shop owners who were ‘neither rich nor poor’, made painful sacrifices to ensure her success. Historian Thum Ping Tjin (known as PJ Thum), an activist against inequity, notes that the wealthiest 20% of families spend nearly four times more than the poorest families on their kids’ education (11). And 59.2% of Chinese-descended Singaporeans aged 20-39 hold a college degree, versus only 16.5% of those with Malaysian roots (12).

Officially, there is no discrimination and everyone is treated equally. The city does have some identity-based neighbourhoods – Little India, Chinatown, Kampong Glam (the Muslim district) — but these are more places to gather and shop than self-contained communities. Eighty per cent of Singaporeans own their apartments (it’s technically a 99-year lease), most of which sit in large public housing complexes whose demographics must, by law, reflect those of the general population: 74.3% Chinese, 13.6% Malay, and so on, which means the island has no ghettos. That said, some are more equal than others.

Sensitive to rising anxiety among the middle class – which has thus far enjoyed relative security – and aware that the days of authoritarianism might be numbered, Lawrence Wong, Singapore’s deputy (and likely future) prime minister, launched Forward Singapore, a yearlong public engagement initiative, in June 2022. He doesn’t mince his words: ‘Students, for instance, feel pigeon-holed in a system where stakes are high from very early in their lives, while graduates and workers are anxious about their careers and being priced out of the property market’ (13).

Young people can’t afford to become homeowners like their parents, with whom they often end up living, even after marriage. Wealth may be spreading (half of Singapore’s inhabitants are among the world’s richest 10%) (14), but the deputy prime minister wishes success were ‘less about the pot of gold at the end of the road and more about our sense of purpose and fulfilment along the way’. He warns that ‘if our social compact fails, a large segment of Singaporeans will come to feel estranged from the rest of society, believing the system is not on their side.’