Singapore's Dirty Little Sense of Entitlement

Singaporeans treat public cleanliness as someone else's job. If civic pride won't come willingly, then only tough love can break the habit.

- Tan Dawn Wei

Whenever someone in China asks me where I am from and hears "Singapore," the immediate reaction is almost always one or a combination of these three: "it's very clean"; "it's very rich"; or Singaporeans "hen you suzhi (are very refined, well-mannered or civic-minded)".

Of these three responses, I can comfortably agree with the only one that is grounded in fact—we are, indeed, pretty flush. Up until I returned home in April this year, after nearly seven years in Beijing, I was also inclined to concur that for the most part, our public hygiene standards aren't too shabby either for a global city.

That was until I moved back to my old walk-up apartment in Tiong Bahru and was shocked to see how the leafy neighbourhood that I love so much had become something of a dump.

The blue bins that the town council had made so accessible throughout the estate to encourage recycling suffer from the most disgraceful abuse imaginable: Disposable lunch boxes tied up in red plastic bags stuffed into the receptacle; soiled coffee cups perched on top of the bins; cardboard boxes with styrofoam and bubble wrap that once swaddled furniture or a home appliance tossed carelessly on the ground, left for someone else to dismantle and dispose of.

No wonder my neighbours tell me the rat infestation problem has gotten worse, and why wouldn't it, when these open-slot blue bins are basically buffets for rodents with no closing hours?

Among the more absurd sights I encountered in Chay Yan Street: a hulking massage chair abandoned next to a blue bin, its kneading days clearly over. Perhaps the owner figured that by "recycling" it, he could shave off some bad karma; better than consigning it straight to landfill purgatory.