News this week included: Singaporean property analysts worry that war in the Middle East might lead to higher home loan interest rates; ST article on Asian sailors on oil tankers, now stranded or missing in the Persian Gulf; parents raise S$2.4m in 10 days to fund gene therapy for baby with spinal muscular atrophy (and here’s a 2023 Jom profile of an adult with it); a 47-year-old Indonesian citizen, born in Singapore, convicted of failing to report for NS; two CNA explainers on Asia’s energy transition and its environmental and social impacts, relating to nickel mining in Indonesia and copper mining in the Philippines; ST explainer on the work ahead for Singapore’s new space agency; investigations by CNA and ST into the rise of beauty and massage shops in the heartland; the government blocked screenings between February and May of “Al Awda”, a documentary by director Jason Soo about the eponymous boat carrying activists towards Gaza; and tributes to the late Eddie Kuo, including one from academic Cherian George.

Below are the issues we explore in depth.

Politics: The chill—enemies within

After Lawrence Wong’s stunning success in his first general election (GE) as prime minister last year, analysts wondered whether his mandate would inspire socio-political liberalisation by the PAP, in the belief that its position is unassailable—or a persistence with autocratic methods, perhaps feeling vindicated by their outcomes. “The temptation of power is a great one,” said academic Ian Chong in an AcademiaSG webinar the next morning. “...there’ll be a lot of temptation to come down in ways that are hard on civil society and also on the opposition parties.” 

Events of the past month lend credence to Chong’s fears, and suggest that the party’s arch conservatives remain as powerful as ever. The controversial Protection from Online Falsehoods and Manipulation Act (POFMA, or Singapore’s fake news law), so conspicuous by its absence during GE2025, has reared its head several times recently. Last month, Jay Ish'haq Rajoo, a popular TikTokker, received the first criminal charge under POFMA since it became law in 2019, for allegedly communicating false statements of fact. (Alongside separate charges of defamation and promoting feelings of ill will between different racial groups.)

And this week The Online Citizen (TOC) received a POFMA correction direction in response to an article about the reappointment of Lucien Wong as attorney-general. It was technically issued to Terry Xu, editor, and Miao Yi Infotech, a Taiwan-based firm that publishes TOC. (Terry moved to Taiwan in 2022, a year after IMDA suspended TOC’s licence.) Citing TOC’s alleged “persistent falsehoods”, the government, for the first time in POFMA’s history, directed an outlet (TOC) to publish a correction notice in a specified newspaper (The Straits Times), which is provided for under section 11(3)(b) of the act. TOC called it “the most escalated use of POFMA since it came into force”, saying, “We comply with the direction because the law requires it. We do not comply because we accept the government's characterisation of our reporting.” Whatever the legalities and merits of the government’s case, one might bemoan the financial injustice: a strapped indie media outlet forced to buy ad space in a taxpayer-funded behemoth. (TOC is crowdfunding.)

Yesterday, the government issued yet another POFMA correction direction to Xu and Miao Yi Infotech for a TOC article on Singaporeans allegedly serving in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). It said it’s the 25th given to Xu and affiliated publications, including Heidoh, an AI-driven news platform. “The public is encouraged to be discerning when engaging with information published on TOC’s and Heidoh’s platforms,” said the Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA). Indeed. The discerning reader should assess both the government’s argument, and that of the accused.

Some further reading: in “POFMA fail: the end of our journey”, Jom analysed our alleged falsehoods in 2023, and the potentially harmful effects of POFMA on journalism here.

Politics: The chill—enemies without

The most worrying recent incident concerns the apparent weaponisation of immigration. Fadiah Nadwa Fikri, a Malaysian human rights lawyer, this week said on X that she’d just been denied entry to Singapore. In 2020, Fadiah left legal practice to pursue her PhD at NUS. Last September, she defended her thesis, “Subverting The British Racialising Project: The Construction Of Malayness Under The 1947 People's Constitutional Proposals For Malaya”, and in January NUS conferred her a doctoral degree. During her time there, she received two graduate teaching awards and shared her work at academic institutions both in South-east Asia and outside.

Fadiah wanted to visit Singapore for four reasons: to deliver a guest lecture on her PhD thesis, at the invitation of her former supervisor, to his students; to catsit for a friend who had to travel for two weeks; to collect her books; and to collect her degree certificate. What should have been a routine crossing of a century-old causeway turned into a nightmare at Woodlands. Fadiah was handed a slip of white paper that had four options for refusal of entry. Option 4 was checked: “being ineligible for the issue of a pass under current immigration policies.” Ominous in its banality, no other reason was proferred. “As a scholar whose work examines the intellectual history of decolonisation/anti-imperialism, I found the ordeal extremely distressing and outrageous,” she said.

To be clear, as long as the territorial nation-state exists, governments must have the right to exercise border control. But that’s open to abuse. Autocracies like China, Iran and Russia have long denied entry to activists, journalists and others, often without official reason or means of recourse. In recent years, democracies like India (under Modi) and the US (under Trump) have also seemingly weaponised immigration against both residents and visa holders, but at least in those countries explanations and recourse are presumably more forthcoming, spurred by feistier civil societies and more transparent criminal justice systems. 

Singapore has in the past revoked the permanent resident statuses of individuals, such as Malaysian Ryan Goh Yew Hock, the Singapore Airlines pilot singled out as the ringleader in a labour union dispute in 2004; and artist and academic Lucy Davis in 2013, for reasons unknown, but presumably because of her activism. (Davis later couldn’t even secure an Employment Pass renewal.) Visitors are also routinely denied entry. On occasion, MHA offers reasons, such as in the case of Nathan Law, Hong Kong political activist, and Abdul Somad Batubara, an Indonesian Muslim preacher. Whatever one's thoughts about those denials, at least there was some explanation. 

Initially, not so with Fadiah. Thus people were left to speculate. Was it her work for Lawyers for Liberty that might have irked MHA? Was it her pro-Palestine sympathies? Was it her pointed views on her own country, Malaysia? Even Calvin Cheng, former NMP and PAP fanboy who’s crossed swords with Palestinian activists, replied on X that “...I don’t see any compelling reason for you to be banned...” And just this morning, MHA responded to CNA’s queries, alleging that Fadiah had encouraged some youths in Singapore to adopt “her brand of radical advocacy” and that “she encouraged them to go beyond protests, to mobilise students and different communities in Singapore, and to undertake disruptive and violent actions to support specific causes.” No actual evidence of her radicalism or words were published by CNA. Jom has just reached out to Fadiah for comment.

Society: Tax season

Earlier this month, you may have heard a guttural groan echoing around town as tax filing notifications from the Inland Revenue Authority of Singapore (IRAS) pinged millions of phones. Donations, deductions, interest payments, reliefs, CPF, SRS: for a few weeks every year, the national lexicon grudgingly expands, making bean counters of us all. Still, at least we can count our own beans; basic numeracy and literacy are all most of us need. So complex are some nations’ tax systems that fully functional adults who’ve earned advanced degrees, work demanding jobs, raise young families, and are generally considered “well-adjusted”—a drab moniker for the sheer cognitive wattage adulthood demands—dissolve into gibbering confusion when the taxman knocks.

On average, it takes a US salaryman nine hours to prepare and file their returns, with the number even direr for businesses. Considered together, the nation’s individual and corporate tax burden tallied an estimated 7.9bn hours in 2024—the rough equivalent of every Singapore citizen and permanent resident doing nothing but taxes for an entire working year. It cost the American economy around US$413bn (S$530bn). Further, every American firm and individual spent hundreds of dollars on compliance alone, adding another US$133bn (S$170.7bn). Total cost: US$546bn (S$700.8bn), not far off Singapore’s GDP. The grotesquely bulbous tax code with shape-shifting regulations supports a gargantuan US tax preparation industry; its software segment alone is estimated to be US$6.9bn (S$8.9bn). Something is going back into the economy after all.

Meanwhile, the Gordian Knot that is the Indian tax code has yet to find its unraveller. So numerous are its loops and splices, and so intricately wound, that studying it, and tugging at it for even the slightest give has become something of a national pastime. It too has birthed an entire industry of accountants, consultants, and lawyers, many of whom firmly believe that the code is more honoured in the breach than the observance. Philosophers abound, seemingly competing to capture as pithily and widely as possible the entire experience of “doing” taxes. “It’s an art, not a science,” say some; “the Indian tax system is like a road-roller, and your job is to not be trampled beneath,” pontificate others. In a bid to move from the tangled old system to a simpler new one, the country is now running two concurrent regimes, each with distinct income slabs, exemptions, and rebates. To figure out which one is more beneficial, taxpayers can either turn to their advisors, or spend many joyful hours on forums, websites (including our very own DBS), and YouTube. 

Certainly, some of the complexity stems from sheer scale. But a lot of it is the product of outdated, unnecessary, irksome bloat. Thankfully, IRAS prioritises speed and simplicity, such that the time can be better spent with family, friends, work, the sofa or the dentist— literally anything else. Yet, while much of the process here is “outsourced” via auto-inclusion schemes, pre-filled deductions, and tax estimates, our thinking should not be. As we breeze through filing this season, it’s worth pausing to consider how taxation might be used to reduce inequality. Taxes on net wealth, capital gains, and inheritance—none of which Singapore has, and all of which are the subject of robust debates—should remain an ongoing part of the national conversation in a “We First” society.

Society: Fear and loathing in Singapore

It feels almost prescient that, just a month ago, a reader wrote to The Guardian calling for wider adoption of the aphorism, “pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will”. The point, the writer suggested, was to acknowledge “the dire situation we face”, without surrendering the hope that “resistance will overcome evil.” Though often attributed to the Italian Marxist philosopher Antonio Gramsci, the phrase in fact draws on the French writer and humanist Romain Rolland, who championed what he called “heroic optimism”. Rolland believed that even amid deep suffering, one could still find moral strength and faith in humanity’s potential. That appeal to something deeper than analysis—perhaps conviction, even courage—feels especially urgent in today’s climate of fear and isolationism. For many, the future no longer looks bright.

The 2026 Edelman Trust Barometer captures that mood starkly. In Singapore, just 31 percent of respondents believe the next generation would be better off, down 11 points from the year before. Among the 28 countries surveyed, only China and India—both down 13 points—recorded steeper declines in optimism, though majorities there remained less pessimistic overall. Compounding this, 74 percent of the 1,200 respondents in Singapore said they were hesitant or unwilling to trust people they saw as different—whether in values, cultural or social background, preferred sources of information, or views on addressing societal issues. The report suggested that this turn towards insularity is being fuelled by apprehension over misinformation, geopolitical tensions, cost-of-living pressures, and a growing resentment that the system is stacked against them. 

Economic anxiety in the city-state has also reached an all-time high since 2019. Some 71 percent of workers worry that trade policies and tariffs will affect their employer, (up 14 points) while a similar number fear losing their jobs in a recession. Concern about foreign actors sowing division has surged too, with 66 percent saying they worry that “other countries purposefully contaminate our media with falsehoods”—an 18-point increase since 2021. That puts Singapore just behind Malaysia, Indonesia, and Thailand in the region.

Globally, insularity is highest in developed societies, cutting across age, gender, and income, pointing to a broader shift from a “we” to a “me” mentality: trust in shared institutions, including government and major news organisations is weakening, while trust in neighbours, family, friends, and co-workers is on the rise. Half the countries surveyed reported distrust in government, such as France, Japan and the US. Singapore stands out. Here, 76 percent said they trusted the government to do what is right, placing it just outside the top three, Saudi Arabia, China, and UAE, all authoritarian states. A large majority of respondents expect the government, employers, media, NGOs and businesses to bridge divides. In practice, this might mean governments avoiding rhetoric that blames or vilifies particular groups; NGOs building programmes that mediate across local communities; and the media de-escalating tensions by giving fair hearings to differing views on major issues. But a yawning gap between expectation and performance remains, the widest being for the media—77 percent feel that the institution is obligated to build trust, compared to 46 percent who think it’s actually doing so.

It’s not hard to see why people are turning inwards, seeking security in what feels familiar as the world lurches from one crisis to the next: climate breakdown, environmental degradation, unending wars, inflation, economic instability, “cutthroat competition”, AI disruption, and record-low fertility rates that may in turn drive higher immigration. But fear and insularity don’t shield for long. Rather, they corrode trust and deepen divisions. In the age of friction and fracture, solidarity and resisting closed-mindedness may be the only things that keep us optimistic.

Arts: Found in translation

You sometimes feel it as you read it, the flesh of another language sitting beneath the skin of the page. The abrasions of translation never quite disappear, but it’s in those spaces in-between where the magic happens. When a story reincarnates into another language, the bodies it can take are endless. Here are some of these newer transformations into English. A string of elderly patients throws themselves out of their Incheon hospital window—and a vampire might be responsible. Two “committed bachelorettes” decide they’ll live together in a platonic domestic partnership in a sunlit home in Seoul. A burnt-out career woman opens a cozy bookstore in a quaint corner of the shiny capital city. These South Korean tales have one thing in common: they were all translated by young Singaporeans, themselves new arrivals in that place between words and worlds. 

One of them is 30-year-old Gene Png, whose translations of South Korean feminist texts have been scaling the bestseller charts. Her love of the language began at 18 as a fan of the K-pop global phenomenon BTS, then saw her winning the grand prize in poetry at the Modern Korean Literature Translation Awards in 2022. Png has a penchant for “sassy matriarchs” and “bad-ass female protagonists”, she told The Straits Times, but she hasn’t felt much affection for male peers: “I rarely read books by male authors in South Korea because there’s something I disagree with in their writing, whether it’s their portrayal of female characters or their toxic portrayal of love.” Her latest bit of handiwork was a joint memoir by Hana Kim and Hwang Sunwoo, friends in their 40s eschewing the conventional life path against the backdrop of their country’s “4B” feminist movement, which sets aside marriage, motherhood, dating and sex (with men). The New York Times relished its “friendly, confiding tone” and The Guardian was thawed by its “warm, chatty essays”. Then there’s Shanna Tan, whose translation of Hwang Bo-Reum’s Welcome To The Hyunam-dong Bookshop can be found on a few shelves in what might be its closest Singaporean counterpart, the Casual Poet Library. The “accidental translator”—who’s also in her 30s, and whose journey also began with K-pop when she translated a tweet by a star—has since inked deals with legacy publishers Penguin Random House UK and Bloomsbury. She also translates from Japanese and Chinese, including the work of Singaporean writer Wong Koi Tet. 

It’s this Chinese-to-English strain of literary translation that’s arguably given us our most prominent contemporary translator, the New York-based Jeremy Tiang, whose hand can be found everywhere from the International Booker Prize longlist to the fiction pages of The New Yorker. He’s the go-to translator for a number of Chinese literary luminaries, including Zou Jingzhi and Shuang Xuetao, but also trusted by local writers like the late Yeng Pway Ngon. And you’ll be able to see Tiang flex his literary muscles in a different genre when his award-winning play, “Salesman 之死”, has its homecoming at the Singapore International Festival of Arts this May. It’s a play about—surprise, surprise—the knotty act of translation itself, and follows Arthur Miller’s decision to direct his play “Death of a Salesman” in Beijing in 1983, with an all-Chinese cast, despite not speaking a word of the language. What ensues is an adventure that moves between the span of a sentence and the frictions of the world stage. Singaporeans have long occupied the role of cultural intermediary, whether as the shahbandars or harbourmasters of the Johor straits, smoothing relationships between locals and foreigners—or as translators, smoothing our transition between one linguistic home and the next.

Abhishek Mehrotra, Corrie Tan, Sudhir Vadaketh, and Tsen-Waye Tay wrote this week’s issue.

Letters in response to any blurb can be sent to sudhir@jom.media. All will be considered for publication on our “Letters to the editor” page.

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