Singaporeans complain about Singapore all the time.
We complain about the cost of living. We complain about transport, housing, policies and practically anything the Government does.
We have 1,001 grievances against the PAP Government. We even have a nickname for them: Pay and Pay.
At the slightest provocation, we scold them without a second thought.
But something happened many years ago that made me question this behaviour—and myself.
When an outsider joined in
I had a Filipino colleague who frequently made fun of Singapore and its Government.
At first, I kept quiet.
After all, he was criticising the PAP. I did that too. In fact, many of his complaints were similar to mine.
So why should his comments bother me?
But after listening to him for several days, something inside me began to stir. Eventually, I could not tolerate it any longer.
I burst out:
“If it’s that bad here, why don’t you go back and work in your own country?”
Today, such a remark could easily be considered xenophobic. Was I being xenophobic?
Was it his accent? Was it because he was a foreigner?
Honestly, I still don’t know.
At that moment, I genuinely thought: if someone complains so much about a country—and it isn’t even his native country—wouldn’t the logical choice be to return to whichever country he considers better?
Or had I unintentionally exposed the answer?
Perhaps Singapore was the better country.
If that was true, shouldn’t he stop complaining and appreciate what he had here?
But then another question arrived.
Why didn’t I stop complaining too?
We can criticise our own—but can you?
Perhaps what I felt was a sense of ownership.
It is a little like having a brother who can sometimes be your greatest enemy. You can fight with him, scold him and complain about him endlessly.
But when an outsider picks a fight with him, you immediately stand beside your brother.
It doesn’t matter that you were quarrelling with him five minutes earlier. He is still your brother.
Singapore is mine.
Its Government is mine to criticise. Its problems are mine to complain about. But when an outsider mocked those same things, I suddenly felt that I had to defend them.
Was that fair?
I later realised that I probably would have laughed if a Singaporean colleague had made exactly the same jokes in exactly the same tone.
The problem was not necessarily what my Filipino colleague said. It was also who was saying it.
Yet his intention might not even have been malicious. He may simply have been trying to be funny. Perhaps it was the repeated mocking tone that made his comments feel disrespectful rather than constructive.
That distinction matters.
If he had calmly offered the same observations as suggestions for improving Singapore, I don’t think I would have reacted in the same way.
The feeling of coming home
There is another familiar contradiction among Singaporeans.
We are always eager to leave Singapore for a holiday. We talk about needing to “escape” the country, as though remaining here for another week would be unbearable.
But after the holiday, something changes when we land at Changi Airport.
We feel happy to be back.
There is an immediate sense of relief: Ah, I’m home.
The fact that Changi Airport is a world-class airport certainly helps. But it goes beyond the airport.
We are returning to safety at almost every hour of the day. We are returning to peace, order and a certain serenity that we may not notice while living inside it.
We complain because we are surrounded by these benefits every day. Familiarity makes them invisible.
Sometimes, we need to leave Singapore briefly before we can see what we have.
Criticism—or feedback?
Perhaps “criticism” is not even the best word.
I prefer to call it feedback.
If something is bad, a good public will provide feedback. A good leader will listen and work to make it better.
If something is already good, a good public should still provide feedback about how it can become even better. A good leader will listen and improve it further.
Being grateful does not mean becoming silent.
Singapore’s safety, stability and efficiency should not prevent us from identifying its problems. In the same way, identifying its problems should not stop us from appreciating everything that works.
Feedback is not necessarily an attack. It can be a form of participation.
The more difficult question is what separates helpful feedback from empty complaining.
Perhaps it lies in our intention.
Are we trying to improve something, or merely mocking it? Are we willing to listen as well as speak? Are we offering an honest observation, or simply enjoying the act of tearing something down?
The tone matters. The purpose matters. And yes, our sense of belonging probably affects how the words are received.
A lesson for him—and for me
That encounter with my colleague became a lesson not only for him, but for me.
I had told him that if another country was better, he should go there.
But the world is open to me too. I could also try to move elsewhere if I truly believed another country was better.
Yet Singapore remains my home.
That does not mean it is perfect. It means its successes matter to me, its failures affect me, and its future concerns me.
Perhaps that is why Singaporeans complain about Singapore but defend it when someone else criticises it.
Our complaints do not always come from hatred.
Sometimes, they come from familiarity. Sometimes, from frustration. Sometimes, from unreasonable expectations.
But sometimes, they come from ownership and love.
We complain because Singapore is ours.
And when an outsider attacks it, that same sense of ownership makes us stand up and say:
Yes, Singapore has its problems—but it is still home.
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