FIELD NOTES

April 2025
by Maria Gheorghiu

I often find myself thinking about my time in Singapore.

Singapore, city of development, of influence, of emergence.

Aching to assert itself on the global scene, it clings to its colonial past as a source of liberation, of inspiration. When I visited the Fort Canning Heritage Gallery, tucked away in an organically manicured urban forest, I was struck by the words of the Prime Minister, proudly displayed on the wall:

“We will never be done building.”

A master plan that treats its heritage like a source of inspiration and pride, praised internationally for its sustainability, its housing strategy, its urban innovation. A master plan that remains a tool for control, for the projection of superiority.

If you look at the city from above, if you place yourself in a position where you can see it in all its magnitude, the newly planned developments in all their monumentality, yet so high up that they become tiny figures for a scaled-down model—if you look at the city from above, its patterns of division become so much more apparent.

In all those skyscrapers, in all that new density, I can’t help but wonder,

Do Singaporean locals feel a sense
of loss amidst all this urban redevelopment?

That which tore down the buildings
and social spaces they grew up with?

Do they share the State’s
sentiment of pride?

In the National Museum of Singapore, the history of the city unfolds before my eyes. Singaporean modernity built from Western and Chinese influences; a Malaysian past reduced to entertainment. A colonial state exhibition proudly proclaiming that

“As the British Empire flourished, so did Singapore.”

I still remember gazing through the bus window as I traveled from one side of the city to the other, watching the architecture and landscape change as I got closer to the centre. I feel that nostalgic pinch in my chest as it all comes back—the warm, humid breeze in the air; the buzz of the crowds on the street; the glimpses of colourful colonial houses, hidden between some of the tallest buildings I’ve ever seen.

My critical geography training taught me to see through Singapore. As I studied the urban field, reading through the lines of the city, I often found myself in the middle of tourist attractions. And as I took notes in my field journal, I would sometimes look up at the crowd around me and feel like a tourist myself. And deep down, in the part of my mind that my critical lens attempted to suppress, I could not help but gape at the space around me. I was impressed.

It’s hard to not be impressed by Singapore. After all, it did emerge as a global model for urbanism.

To its North, Malaysia longs for Singapore’s growth.

New housing developments emerge from the ground, seemingly wherever land can be bought in proximity to attractive locations. Residential condo towers on the Southern coast advertise to Singaporeans, using attractive images of the Singaporean skyline, Merlion and all. Most of the advertisement and infographics written in Chinese. Promotional signs welcoming new residents with open arms:

“Welcome to Malaysia”

But despite all efforts, success is difficult. Projects without sufficient capital never get finished. High-rise buildings without sufficient demand lay empty. Commercial mega-constructions developed in areas already too expanded to meet local demand remain abandoned, eerily decorated with the remaining traces of attempted business ventures. A miscalculated investment.

Where there isn’t construction, there soon will be. Piles of sand, a constant churning of sand, in the efforts to reclaim land for development. I remember walking on one of those dunes with my field study group, wondering,

How many people will ever walk on this reclaimed land?

Someone in my group then found an animal jawbone.

Land destroyed for construction. Indigenous villages allowed to exist by the State on the sole condition that they become cultural heritage sites, open to visitors. Indigenous villagers witnessing the quantities of shrimp they fish decrease significantly in their lifetimes; Indigenous fishermen accidentally finding themselves in Singaporean waters—those with better crabs.

All this development, for what?

I think about Forest City often. A city built from scratch in a special economic zone across the river from Singapore. Skyscrapers and sidewalks alike covered in lavish plants, à la Singapore. Advertisements promoting a life of luxury, of resilience to climate change; promises of future development, of investment potential. More land being reclaimed.

In reality, Forest City is overgrown, neglected. The plants took over the city, and, along with some Malaysian duty-free liquor store employees and a handful of residents, were the only signs of life when I visited.

Not to worry. Things must not be as they seem. According to a promotional video on site, this is

“A prime model for future cities.”

While on the road, I would sometimes catch glimpses of buildings in the horizon, appearing to emerge out of palm tree plantations, somewhere far away. Plain, identical buildings that vaguely created the image of a city skyline.

New developments along the coastline, with their bases of dredged sand, destroying coastal ecosystems. Their beaches, selling points in such locations, all unswimmable. Abandoned developments stand like ghosts on the shore, but investors keep digging, keep building, keep advertising.

All in aspiration of emergence.

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