The illusion of easy choices in Singapore’s land-use debate

Singapore’s latest land-use debate over proposed public housing developments in Maju Forest and Gillman Barracks, alongside plans to reclaim land for a new “western island”, is not new in substance.

In fact, such jousting is almost inevitable in a compact city state where friction between development and preservation is a permanent state of affairs. Whether over the reclamation of Jurong Island in the 1990s, the graves at Bukit Brown in the early 2010s, or more recently Dover Forest and Tengah, the tensions have run along familiar lines.

At present, there is little argument that the modus vivendi here favours pragmatic development and mitigating the impact of such projects on the environment. With green cover at close to half the island, the city remains one of the world’s greenest.

Naturally, environmentalists have their gripes, many of them justified. Among their complaints: that consultation remains inadequate, ecological data is opaque, and government concessions often seem to materialise only after intense public pressure.

Still, it is generally acknowledged that the Republic’s baseline in biodiversity protection surpasses that of many major urban centres. Conversely, the ultra-growth types demanding unbridled development know their maximalist impulses will not be indulged. Simply put, there is no room for absolutism.

The handling of public feedback over the development of Maju Forest and Gillman Barracks reflects this middle ground. Following the public outcry, the Government said it would retain more greenery at both sites than initially proposed, explicitly accepting that this would mean fewer homes.

As for the proposed western island, which Prime Minister Lawrence Wong spoke of in his National Day Rally speech on Aug 23, early indications suggest that the Government will earnestly study the area’s ecological value before proceeding. This includes taking into account, for example, the 8,000-year-old coral reefs around Pulau Semakau and Pulau Hantu over which environmentalists have sounded the alarm.

So far, so familiar. But what is genuinely novel, and worth watching closely, is the shifting form of this conservation-versus-development conversation and the expectations behind it. It is getting shriller and edging ever closer to maximalism.

More citizens arguing and participating in good faith over how this island is used is certainly a good thing. But some of what is now being said is alarming enough to warrant a hard look at whether this is a healthy trajectory – not just on the environment, but across civic discourse more generally.

Sharper rhetoric

One area worth examining is the rhetoric being used. Here, the social media presence of the environmental lobby today pulses with a new verve compared with even a decade ago.

Groups such as SG Climate Rally, LepakInSG and Singapore Youth Voices for Biodiversity, led by young people immersed in media since birth, are skilled at making a case that travels well and lands hard. They are not interchangeable, and their politics and methods vary considerably.

But at the sharper end of the ecosystem, their rhetoric borrows heavily from the identitarian “woke” politics propelling the US’ insurgent far left. There is an adaptation of a particular political vocabulary that casts environmental issues – and, by extension, land-use decisions – as stark moral binaries of right and wrong. This framing inherently implies that anyone sceptical of their campaign is not merely disagreeing on policy, but is morally compromised.

There is also a generous spray of heuristics – easy but imperfect rules of thumb that offer superficial shortcuts through complex questions. Then there is a potent injection of class grievance. The underlying accusation is that the Government has already picked a side, and that side is the wealthy: Land seems to run short only when choosing between public housing and a forest, never when it comes to the sprawling grounds of a colonial bungalow.

Take, for example, SG Climate Rally, which organised the Maju For The People rally at Hong Lim Park on Aug 16. One of its promotional posts declared: “The ultra-wealthy in Singapore enjoy giant bungalows, while the working class and nature are being pitted against each other.”

In its campaign paper released ahead of the rally, the group argued that to the Government, “a forest has no value” while clearing it for housing unlocks millions of dollars of gross domestic product.

How does a moderate, an average citizen sympathetic to the broader preservationist position, respond here? The temptation may be to give such caricatures a pass on the grounds that they generate political momentum and pressure the Government to do more to protect our natural heritage.

But that is arguably the less astute response. Sympathy for a cause should make one more willing, not less, to call out its weakest arguments. Allowing hyperbole and lazy reasoning to go unchallenged may energise those already converted, but it also leaves the broader case vulnerable to easy dismissal.

For the pragmatic Singaporean, then, the better course is to speak up – while still acknowledging the commendable legwork most of these groups put into on-the-ground research and public mobilisation. For the activists themselves, if they are sincere about achieving lasting impact, relying on polemics merely serves to intellectually coddle their own base. It is highly unlikely to win over wider public support or, for that matter, persuade policymakers.

Trade-off denialism

Beyond the question of tone lies a deeper issue of intellectual accountability. A mature debate requires each side to present its case forthrightly while grappling head-on with the associated trade-offs. The antithesis of this is argument by sleight of hand – minimising constraints or outright denying that they exist.

In the ongoing discourse, one of the most problematic aspects – to this columnist, at least – is the outright trade-off denialism creeping into parts of the environment lobby.

Over the last few weeks, as enthusiasts posted with fervour on social media, one frequently encountered the assertion that the very idea of trade-offs, and their invocation by government officials, was merely a “narrative” – a rhetorical strategy to dodge accountability.

Surely, that is a meek form of argument. A better, more effective counter would be to take the Government’s position head-on: acknowledging that yes, by saving more secondary forests such as Maju Forest, there will physically be less space for Singaporeans’ homes, and then arguing why that sacrifice is nonetheless worth it.

Here again, heuristics such as demanding that Housing Board flats be built on golf courses or good class bungalow estates as an alternative do not cut it. These parcels are often geographically isolated and unfeasible for immediate high-density development. You cannot simply drop public housing into a vacuum without the requisite connectivity, transport nodes and adjacent work-live-play amenities.

These counterpoints have been raised repeatedly, yet they are met with little genuine engagement.

Equally pervasive is another line of attack against the official position that more land is needed for public housing: precisely for whom are these flats? Is Singapore’s population not dwindling on account of its ultra-low fertility rate?

The factual counterpoint, of course, is that it is not – the population continues to grow. What this line of argument tends to gloss over is the politically sensitive reality that immigration and the intake of new citizens remain part of how Singapore offsets the effects of low birth rates and an ageing population.

More crucially, the nature of household formation is changing rapidly. Demand for homes is rising as singles and young couples increasingly seek to live independently at an earlier age.

As plans for the western island crystallise, we can expect a similar brand of intellectually convenient framing to surface alongside the genuine ecological concerns. To be taken seriously, campaigners must face the true test of whether they can abandon denialism and argue the merits of preservation directly against the tangible costs.

Cuts both ways

Needless to say, the demand for intellectual accountability applies equally to the state. The Government can hardly be accused of ignoring trade-offs, but it could perhaps be more full-throated in articulating its core arguments. On conservation and the environment, officials sometimes appear to pull their punches, perhaps so as not to seem overbearing or unamenable to consultation. But forthrightness need not be incompatible with openness to feedback.

The state must also address persistent gripes about the environmental impact assessment process. Activists frequently argue that consultation mechanisms are too opaque or technical, inadvertently excluding those without specialised expertise.

It is entirely in the Government’s interest to ensure that these processes are thorough, wide-ranging and genuinely inclusive. Where the current framework is deficient, it should be rectified.

Equally, officials involved in public consultation need to manage expectations about the limits of the process. Consultation cannot be an endless exercise without clear bounds. Ultimately, the Singapore system is not one in which every stage of land-use planning is put to a plebiscite.

More broadly, the requirement for intellectual accountability extends beyond this particular environmental skirmish to all realms of policy debate. It rests on an inescapable reality of policymaking: A common landing zone on contentious issues will frequently remain elusive. In the real world, sensible, well-intentioned people can reason soundly and still arrive at vastly different conclusions.

That, after all, is the point of an electoral democracy. The mandate of a government is not to engineer universal consensus, but to consult in earnest, weigh competing claims and finally make the hard choices required to steward the nation for today’s – and tomorrow’s – Singaporeans.