Democracy and Discipline

Singapore Diary 1: Politics is less theatre, more architecture, shaping behaviour quietly. Governance, at its best, is not loud; it is lived.

By Suresh Nautiyal Greenananda

An Air India flight brought me to Singapore on 4 February, 2026, after more than seven years. My last visit in June 2018 had left me impressed by the all-round efficiency on display. This time, I arrive with more curiosity and astonishment.

Since my last visit, digital governance has deepened. Cashless systems, surveillance infrastructure, and smart-city management are seamlessly embedded in daily life. The State appears omnipresent, yet, apparently, largely trusted. Efficiency seems to have become a source of legitimacy.

Introduction first. Singapore is a small island city-state in Southeast Asia, covering about 720 square kilometres at the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula. Strategically located at the junction of the Straits of Malacca and the South China Sea, its geography shaped its destiny as a ‘free’ global port and trading hub.

Today it is home to around six million people —permanent residents, and foreign workers. Its population density ranks among the world’s highest. The four official languages here — English, Mandarin, Tamil, and Malay —reflect a multicultural society carefully balanced by law and policy.

At the heart of its political system, lies a calibrated balance between democracy and discipline. Constitutionally a parliamentary republic with free elections and multiple parties, the People’s Action Party (PAP) has been dominating politics since the concept of self-government in 1959 and full Independence in 1965. The country became self-governing in 1959, briefly joined Malaysia in 1963, and separated to become fully independent on 9 August, 1965.

Lee Kuan Yew, co-founder of the PAP and its first prime minister, is widely regarded as the founding father of modern Singapore, shaping its early political and economic institutions. Governance evolved as a meritocratic, technocratic system emphasising long-term planning, disciplined social order, and rapid economic growth.

With no significant natural resources, Singapore has built its economy on trade, finance, logistics, high-value manufacturing, and services, leveraging its port and global connectivity. Financial services and advanced manufacturing remain central pillars, and its GDP per capita consistently ranks among the highest in the world.

What strikes an outside observer — especially one from India — is the near absence of political noise. Governance is technocratic, managerial, almost corporate. Ministers are among the highest paid globally, a policy defended as protection against corruption and a way to attract top talent. The visible outcomes include very low corruption, an efficient bureaucracy, and policy continuity across decades.

Although a Westminster-style parliamentary democracy, Singapore is often described by scholars as partly free or a dominant-party state. The PAP’s structural advantages — disciplined candidate selection, media management, and regulatory frameworks — ensure continuity and minimise adversarial politics. Elections are held regularly; opposition parties exist and win seats. Yet, politics revolves around stability rather than volatility.

Supporters argue that this model delivers consistent growth, world-class infrastructure, like all forms of amenities in the housing complexes, and shaded-walks in the streets, and social cohesion. Critics point to limitations of pluralism and civil liberties. So, it is not surprising to see menial tasks being executed mostly by the hardworking Tamil and Malay citizens.

Still, institutional mechanisms reinforce harmony. Group Representation Constituencies ensure minority representation in Parliament. Public housing policies enforce ethnic integration. Civil liberties operate within calibrated limits. Media is regulated, public assemblies require permits, public behaviour is closely governed, and defamation laws are strict.

Yet, society does not feel suffocated. Criticism is measured; opposition, not insurrectionary; debate, rarely chaotic. Citizens appear to accept a social contract: economic security and public order in exchange for restrained political turbulence.

For someone accustomed to democratic improvisation — where governance negotiates with terrain, emotion, caste, religion, polarisations and community — Singapore feels different. Spontaneity yields to structure. Disorder is pre-empted. Long-term planning is cultural, not merely administrative.

Questions linger, however. Can such a system nurture dissent? Does predictability dampen political creativity? Or, does it free citizens to pursue economic and personal goals without anxiety?

I cannot offer answers to the above questions.

Nationalism here is understated. Pride manifests through infrastructure like the supply of good quality potable water (one does not need a water purifier at home), cleanliness, punctual transport, and public trust.

The State projects competence rather than rhetoric. Leadership transitions are smooth; policy direction coherent. The island operates with a long horizon — decades rather than election cycles.

Politics is less theatre, more architecture, shaping behaviour quietly. Governance, at its best, is not loud; it is lived.

Both Singapore and India claim democracy, yet their experiences diverge.

India breathes loudly — arguing at tea stalls, shouting on panels, negotiating in Parliament, protesting, celebrating, condemning. Democracy there is chaotic, exhausting, sometimes irresponsible, yet vibrantly alive.

However, serious questions marks haunt Indian democracy in the contemporary era.

Singapore speaks in measured tones. Debate exists within boundaries; elections occur without the feverish volatility of a civilisation-sized contest. Governance resembles engineering — precise, anticipatory, long-horizon.

In India, politics is a monsoon — unpredictable.

In Singapore, politics is irrigation — channelled, regulated, purposeful.

India risks excess: mindless noise can erode coherence; polarisations can weaken social trust. Institutions get subverted by the dominant narrative. There is little accountability.

Singapore risks compression: excessive order can narrow imagination; managerial certainty can soften the instinct for creativity.

Walking Singapore’s immaculate streets, watching trains arrive to the minute and housing estates reflecting meticulous planning, I sense a system that anticipates chaos. India pulsates with the belief that chaos itself is part of democracy. Neither is accidental; both are choices.

Singapore fears disorder; India loves its freedom, hates suppression, a new pattern there. Singapore protects harmony through structure; India protects freedom through multiplicity and pluralism – though critics believe that in the ‘new India’ this freedom is clearly in danger.

More than seven years after my last visit, I feel Singapore has mastered evolution, while India continues along its relentless, restless path. Yet, both, in their distinct ways, remain on-going modern experiments of democracy and civilisation.

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Suresh Nautiyal is a seasoned journalist and environmentalist based in Pauri, Uttarakhand, and Delhi. He is Contributing Editor, independentink.in

This travel diary is the first of an on-going series on life and times in Singapore.