Rohini Singh
For this piece, I was asked to write about a topic that excites me outside the classroom and which I think students should pay attention to. This question reveals a common perception, namely, that a professor’s life is split between what happens inside the classroom and outside. The reality for me (and, I suspect, my students) is that the things which excite — and trouble — us outside the classroom have a way of working themselves into the classroom. So, for this piece, I will discuss something I am always thinking and talking about, no matter where I am: Singapore.
I grew up in Singapore and am a Singaporean citizen. In class and outside, I talk constantly about Singapore — partly because I teach and research the political rhetoric of South/East Asia, and partly because, like many immigrants, I find talking about my home comforting because it makes me feel a little like I am at home, when really my home is several continents away. My husband and daughter are U.S. citizens and I am not; I hope I never need to give up my Singapore passport because doing so will feel like the final severance from a home I see rarely.
I love Singapore — I love the life I had there as a child and I swell with pride when I see headlines praising its people and government. Singapore’s government has created the most efficient way in the world to detect and contain the COVID-19 virus (the coronavirus). Singaporean graphic artist Sonny Liew won international acclaim for a whip-smart graphic novel allegorizing Singapore’s his- tory. Singapore’s street vendors win Michelin star awards.
Yet, my country also frustrates me. The government’s efficiency at combatting epidemics is enabled by a system capable of great surveillance into the lives and movement of its people. When such control saves lives, I am filled with gratitude. However, when the same control seems to extend to curbing speech, I become troubled. When Liew’s prize-winning novel on Singapore was first published, the National Arts Council withdrew its grant funding for the novel, averring that, “the retelling of Singapore’s history in the work potentially undermines the authority or legitimacy of the government,” an authority, we are to assume, that ought never be undermined. This is not, in my view, Sin- gapore at its best. Singapore is filled with hardworking administrators, successful entrepreneurs and ardent government supporters; it is also home to activists, artists, immigrant workers and people who disagree with government policies. All these people are Singaporeans. All of them are patriots.
And here’s the thing: I talk about Singapore all the time because I believe it is possible, even necessary, to both love your country and be critical of its government. I confess I find it strange to read the news in the United States today and watch as critics of an administration are shown the door while those who show their support by railing against all who differ, are honored. Patriotism is not a shiny medal; it is a pledge to love and cri- tique. Indeed, patriotism is an act of love through critique. I love my nation, I am critical of its government and I would not have it any other way.