Tan Dawn Wei
Senior Correspondent
Whenever anyone on a China visit asks me what memories I brought home, I would recall the blinding dazzle of Blade Runner-esque skylines, the mouth-watering food, and the mind-boggling scale of its population.
But perhaps the image that left the deepest impression was how clean many of its cities are. Clean, as in spotless.
Shanghai, for example, which is eight times the size of Singapore, is kept spick and span – thanks to an army of uniformed cleaners who can be seen sweeping the streets at all hours of the day.
What is also noticeable is that it is quite hard to find a public bin in cities like Shanghai or Hangzhou. The first time I had to dispose of a tissue packet, I had to go on a hunt. I walked, and walked, before I spotted a bin.
The message is clear: Don’t create waste, don’t expect others to take care of your trash, and take pride in your environment and neighbourhood.
Back in Singapore, it hit me as I strolled through my own neighbourhood, which has been touted as a conserved enclave and was once in the running for a Unesco World Heritage Site listing.
It has been three years since we used the “Circuit Breaker” term to describe the strict movement controls in the country to stop the spread of Covid-19.
Back then, when everyone was ordered to stay home, Singaporeans discovered and pounded neighbourhood parks, playgrounds, and other communal spaces like they never did before.
It probably didn’t help that many more Singaporeans had adopted fur kids, and when dog runs were closed, these animals made their mark on public areas, grass patches, and under the grounds of ever-present banyan trees.
Now, it’s almost as if being able to spot an elusive McDonald’s Happy Meal toy in the grass is a national sport. Why else would residents so nonchalantly discard bottles, masks, and even soiled diapers at the foot of recycling bins or in the car park, instead of walking a few steps to throw them into a rubbish bin?
Maybe it’s because we think someone else will clear up after us.
It’s not that Singaporeans prioritize recycling or properly disposing of their waste. This sense of entitlement lies at the heart of the country’s cleanliness woes.
The assumption underlying the “Clean and Green” image of Singapore, according to some experts, is that the community will do nothing unless forced to.
Ms Lee Hui Xian, Town Council estate planning manager, called it the “Spoil Market” syndrome.
Sure, we live in Asia’s most expensive city. Some 5.9 million people out of a global population of 8.1 billion call Singapore home. But we’re still the same untidy lot living on this tiny island.
Our rubbish output has been rising too – climbing by almost 25 per cent from 5.2 million in 2008 to an expected 6.7 million in 2028, if not reined in.
Singapore is not short on rules or enforcement. There is no shortage of public bins.
What it lacks is a populace with a shared sense of duty for public spaces.
Whether scrounging through a green space for housing estate residents or climbing over a barricade at a local park, more Singaporeans are leaving more rubbish behind.
At the core: too many people still expect someone else to clean up after them and that it’s someone’s job to keep Singapore spotless.
Some experts, like sociologist Tan Ern Ser, say that civic-mindedness in Singapore might even be going backward, as younger Singaporeans may not think so much about the commons anymore and that a property-centric culture, which confers exclusivity and comfort to the haves, is not helpful.
When residents once banded together to plant trees to shade pavements and grass verges, today’s estate management companies are just expected to contract out weeding and grass cutting to the lowest bidder.
A survey by the National Environment Agency and the Chua Chu Kang Town Council in 2022 showed that while Singaporeans value cleanliness and see risks to public health, few individuals go out of their way to keep places clean.
CIVIC DEFICIT
This country has built its global brand on order, discipline, and cleanliness, riding high on decades of the “Clean and Green” wave.
If my friends from China were to come to Singapore for a visit today, I’d be embarrassed to show them around my heritage neighbourhood and tell them this conserved historical enclave was once in the running for a Unesco World Heritage Site listing.
It would be much more meaningful if we took pride in our public spaces and felt embarrassed by dirty litter in our backyard, rather than rely on others to clean up after us.
The problem, say experts, is that Singaporeans have come to take public cleanliness for granted, because there are so many rules and there will always be someone to do the cleaning up.
A civic culture can’t be built on rules alone. And why is the Japanese or Icelandic tourist so uncomfortable with littering, yet the Singaporean seems unfazed? Because it’s a social norm in Japan and Iceland, and there is social pressure not to dump rubbish on the ground.
Singaporeans are too reliant on the army of foreign cleaners, and some even think that cleaning up after themselves devalues their status as professionals or white-collar workers.
Unless that mindset changes, the “Clean and Green” brand may lose its shine quickly.
tan dawn wei@sph.com.sg
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