Living and Breathing Meritocracy: An Autoethnography of a Privileged Singaporean

Rebecca SE Tan

13 December 2022

Introduction

Meritocracy has become part of Singapore’s pride and cultural identity (Hong & Lugg, 2016; Teo, 2019): the notion that individuals are chosen based on their ability, rather than “irrelevant” factors such as ethnicity, gender, sexuality, age, or socioeconomic status (Tan, 2008). While seemingly idealistic, the way meritocracy plays out in practice, at least in the Singapore education system today, may not be as “fair” as we would like to believe. Through reflecting on my personal (privileged) experiences and analysing the process of habitus formation, I argue that our shared reproduction of this particular form of meritocracy in Singapore may not produce the ideal goals of education.

Purpose of Education

The discourse on meritocracy in Singapore seems to point towards a certain purpose of education – improving “productivity in a knowledge-based economy”, based on Singapore’s neoliberal capitalist model (Loh & Hu, 2014). This technocratic approach is informed by its social, political, economic, and cultural context (Gopinathan, 2011) – with limited resources and land constraints (Gopinathan, 2007), Singapore’s government emphasises that we only have “human resources to rely on for its progress and prosperity” (Lim, 2013; Tan, 2016). As such, meritocracy was an attractive strategy to build a skilled workforce and produce capable civil and political leaders for economic efficiency (Tan, 2008).

Towards this end, Singapore has been incredibly successful: meritocracy serves as an efficient system of resource allocation and “finding the right persons for the job” (Cavanagh, 2002). Despite our incredibly small size (more than 5 times smaller than Kent), Singapore has established itself as an educational powerhouse and a world-class economy (Dimmock & Tan, 2015; Deng & Gopinathan, 2016). Students top PISA tests in subjects such as mathematics, science and reading, as well as the Collaborative Problem-solving portion, which assesses the ability to work in teams and solve problems (OECD, 2015). Further, meritocracy is widely seen as the reason for Singapore’s early economic success, transforming a “backwater fishing village”[1] into a country with the fourth highest GDP per capita in the world (Bellows, 2009; Quah, 2018; Tan & Dimmock, 2015; Worldometer, 2017).

[1] While this is a pertinent narrative in Singapore, historical research suggests that this is a myth: Singapore had already been a vibrant economic hub (Barr, 2019).

Indeed, there is no denying that economic gain is important. Research has shown that poverty makes people unhappy and feel less in control, hence restricting one’s ability to flourish (Brighouse, 2008). Yet, economic prosperity alone is insufficient - past a certain reasonable amount of financial security, other significant factors such as relationships, freedoms and values are important for us to live a flourishing life – factors that can be informed by education (Brighouse, 2008).

In line with this, I concur with Freire that the purpose of education cannot simply be an efficient mechanism to churn out labourers for the capitalist system, but for all to be able to “participate in the collective construction of knowledge” and be “subjects” rather than “objects” of the system (O’Cadiz & Torres, 1994). As of now, our current state of meritocracy is insufficiently equipped for such an objective, due to its overt focus on outcomes and an ineffectiveness in ensuring equity (Cavanagh, 2002). These cracks in the meritocratic ideal will be elucidated by reflecting on my personal experiences in a system that encourages a certain class and race habitus formation.

Prior Assumptions

“Hard work beats talent if talent fails to work hard.” This is a familiar chime to me; I’ve even seen it on a banner in my school. But what if “talent”[2] works hard? The implications of meritocracy – that you will be successful insofar as you put in the effort – presuppose an equal starting point (Chiong & Dimmock, 2020). Indeed, the media often saturates us with this notion – parading the few who have risen above their circumstances while casting a long shadow over the multitude who doesn’t (Tan, 2008).

[2] Referring not to inborn capabilities but rather possessing a predisposition to a certain class and race habitus.

Growing up, I fervently believed in this utopian view of meritocracy. “Hard work = reward” made sense in my head! Through much effort, I was rewarded with scholarship awards, competition opportunities, and vast choices for selecting the subjects and schools I wanted. Stellar educational attainment was a point of pride, not just because it demonstrated a certain level of aptitude and determination, but also because it reinforced the idea that I deserved everything I attained.

The flipside of this argument, however, implies that those who have not attained the same educational achievements must surely not have tried as hard.[3] This is the easier “truth” to believe in – because acknowledging that the rules of the game are far more favourable for me than it is for others reveals the ugly truth of not just society, but ourselves. Ironically, by trying to ‘isolate’ merit and apply the same reward system to people of fundamentally unequal backgrounds, we risk reproducing the existing disparities (Tan, 2008). What then, are some of the insidious privileges I have overlooked in the past? For this essay, I focus not so much on structural inequalities, but rather on the habitus of the disadvantaged – how society, stereotypes and norms have shaped the thoughts and behaviour of certain classes and races with regard to education (Bourdieu, 1984). Note that this is vastly different from classism or racism, which presents itself in outright, intentional ways. Instead, privilege is “an invisible package of unearned assets which I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was "meant" to remain oblivious” (McIntosh, 2003).

[3] Such a perception could greatly reduce public susceptibility to support helping the poor, as they are deemed to be either incapable or undeserving (Arrow et al., 2000).

Class Privilege on Habitus

Why does the poor fare lower in educational attainment?[4] Could it be that their parents are simply making poorer decisions? Research suggests otherwise - people of working-class backgrounds may simply not have the same access to the advantages of cultural capital (Brown, 1973; Lankshear, 1987). In Teo You Yenn’s influential book, “This Is What Inequality Looks Like”, she illustrates how low-income parents in Singapore are just as involved and concerned about their children’s education (Teo, 2018). Yet, they may lack the means or social capital as they juggle multiple jobs or are not sufficiently equipped with the educational background to help their children with their schoolwork (IPS, 2011; Tan & Dimmock, 2015). Indeed, the competitive path to success in Singapore begins before primary school – with children from English-speaking families (the language of instruction used in Singapore education) unsurprisingly performing better in reading and writing (Ong & Cheung, 2016). Especially with the recent shift towards the responsibilisation[5] of parents, such as an expectation on parents to supervise their children’s homework, these disparities have become increasingly apparent (Chiong & Dimmock, 2020; Khong & Ng, 2005).

[4] This trend is not unique to Singapore (Lupton, 2004). [5] Responsibilisation refers to a government tactic to instil a certain sense of ‘moral agency’ and disposition to take onus of one’s actions (Shamir, 2008).

Further, the significance of class inequality is exacerbated by the extensive streaming and high-stakes examination approach of Singapore’s meritocratic system (Chiong & Dimmock, 2020). Leading up to the first national examination, the Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE), I used to “submit” one assessment paper a day to my mum, who would meticulously mark and go through them with me. I hadn’t realised then, just how much of a privilege it was that my mum could stop working and spend time raising her children, or that her university degree better equipped her to support our education. Indeed, wealthier families have a greater ability to provide better preschool education, more extensive reading materials, familial support, a conducive home environment (for self-study) and perhaps most prominently, expensive private tuition. Tuition, a stunning S$1.4 billion industry, is ubiquitous in Singapore (Wong, 2021) – and has been shown to significantly improve performance as early as the first and second grade (Lim, 2013)![6] Capitalising on a blind charge for meritocracy, tuition presents itself as a way for students to reach their potential – so long as you can afford it. Yet, these advantages are not available to all.[7]

[6] This great reliance on private tuition mirrors that of Hong Kong, where tutorial centres have a turnover of billions (Harris et al., 2014). [7] This disparity exists despite governmental attempts to provide avenues of financial help for education-related needs and highly subsidised tuition through welfare organisations (Chiong & Dimmock, 2020).

The support I received boosted my efforts to enter the “express” stream of a decent Secondary School.[8] This streaming matters immensely – at the ripe young age of (about) twelve, your streaming outcome influences the curricula you learn and predisposes you to certain pathways in education and life (Anderson, 2015). In such a case then, the question is whether the Singapore system truly rewards the high achieving, or merely the early achieving – those who start ahead are in turn favoured by the system, widening the inequality gap (Tan & Dimmock, 2015).

[8] Research in other countries have shown that students in lower “streams” were more likely to have their fathers in lower-paying professions (Ball, 1981).

Beyond these tangible benefits, and perhaps more importantly, students are fed subliminal messages about their ‘ability’. Our national curriculum celebrates meritocracy, claiming equal opportunities for all, regardless of class or social background. I even remember seeing the quote “Singapore does not owe anyone a living” on my school wall, highlighting the onus on individual effort and attainment. This “meritocratic responsibilisation” is similarly internalised by parents – trusting in the state's competency and the quality of Singapore education, most parents also hold that their children are themselves the most crucial actors and responsible for their own success (Chiong & Dimmock, 2020). This parental buy-in of the meritocratic mechanism manifests itself in how my friends’ parents would compare them to anecdotal successes of other friends or cousins, in an attempt to push them to work harder, further perpetuating the idea of inadequacy in a presumably fair and equal world (Chiong & Dimmock, 2020).

With such narratives burned into their minds, students begin to believe that existing inequality does not actually factor into one’s success or failure, but rather whether they are cut out for studying, or if they are trying hard enough (Johannis et al., 2022). This is where habitus kicks in – where students begin to self-exclude or internalise certain perceptions of themselves (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1977). Indeed, Teo You Yenn posits the idea of a self-fulfilling prophecy, where students who had not done well believe that they are not good at their studies and eventually put in less effort and obtain lower educational attainments, leading to a vicious cycle of resignation (Teo, 2018).

On the other hand, those who do excel may have a much more supportive environment and are also more likely to be amongst those with similar experiences and backgrounds (Koh, 2014). For example, the rich may buy property near good Primary schools to increase their child’s chances to get in, which can also trickle into Secondary school due to the ‘affiliation’ mechanism (Gee, 2012). Anecdotally, while most of my friends in primary school (a neighbourhood school) lived in public housing, most of my secondary school friends (in an affiliated school) seemed to live in condominiums or bungalows. Some had chauffeurs, multiple cars, or even multiple houses! Though my own class privilege meant that I had not felt out of place then, I wonder now if others did – research on elite American universities found that working-class students felt like cultural outsiders, feared academic inadequacy, and may even engage in retreatism from self-consciousness (Granfield, 1991).

Streaming continues from here - my next national examination – GCE O Levels – placed me into one of the top Junior Colleges (JCs). My experience reflects bigger trends in Singapore, where a much greater percentage of class-privileged students make it into elite institutions. Statistics show that 60% of students at my school have parents who are both university graduates (with other “brand” name schools sharing similar student profiles), compared to 7-13% in less prestigious schools (Lim, 2013). Further, 71% of elite school students come from English-speaking homes, compared to 34% in non-elite schools. Even amongst English-speaking homes, those from elite schools have a markedly higher average monthly household income, at S$7100 compared to S$3560 (Lim, 2013).

Finally, the GCE A levels national examination determined my current stage of education at university. Requiring near straight As and an interview, it is curious to note that many of my course-mates came from elite JCs, including Hwa Chong Institution, Raffles Institution and Anglo-Chinese (Independent), while having none from the polytechnic or ITE stream.[9] While my experience is merely anecdotal, I can’t help but wonder about the significance of habitus in filtering who goes where.

[9] These streams are the alternatives to Junior Colleges that typically (but not always) requires a lower education score for GCE O levels. Refer to Appendix A for a breakdown of education paths in Singapore.

As seen, the blanket principle of non-discrimination has ignored the impact of class privilege on the preparedness level of students (Lim, 2017; Tan, 2008), and is in fact worsening class divisions (Tan & Tan, 2016).[10] Yet, the societal belief in the equality of meritocracy, and the seeming inevitability (and hence acceptance) of elitism creates a vicious cycle forming the habitus of self-blame in less privileged students (Koh, 2014). Such a trend is even more worrying as more and more Singaporeans place their self-worth in their academic performance (Johannis et al., 2022).

[10] This phenomenon is reflected in other meritocratic systems, such as the Gaokao in China and the decreased social mobility in the US (Hayes, 2012; Howlett, 2021).

Race Privilege on Habitus

The Chinese race has consistently performed better in Singapore education, particularly in relation to their Malay counterparts (Senin & Ng, 2012). This differentiation begins at primary school and is maintained throughout, with Malay students having poorer pass rates than any other ethnicity (Barr & Skrbiš, 2009). Further, the Chinese are overrepresented (86% of total enrolment) in local universities, despite only making up 77% of the population (Lim, 2013). In fact, from the period of 1966 to 2005, 93.6% of President Scholars, Singapore’s most prestigious scholarship, were Chinese (Barr & Skrbiš, 2009).

If so, are the other races simply not working hard enough? Not at all – it is important to understand that such data is correlational, rather than causal. I argue that the experiences, stereotypes, and norms imposed on non-Chinese have affected their educational outcomes.

For one, scholars have asserted that Singapore education is ‘racialised’, starting as early as state-supported kindergarten which subtly eulogises Chinese norms and values while estranging the Malay population (Barr & Low, 2005). Further, the images and texts in compulsory primary school curriculum may also evoke “high levels of racial consciousness” and display a “pro-Chinese bias” that may deprive other ethnicities of inspirational role models and unwittingly teach them to aim lower (Barr, 2006, pp.15).[11]

[11] For example, the prevalence of Chinese-sounding surnames, the differing jobs for people with different ethnicities, the description of colour for different ethnicities, etcetera.

This lack of successful exemplars also manifests in the political sphere. Finance Minister Heng Swee Kiat, who had been expected to succeed as Prime Minister, insisted that Singapore was not yet ready for a non-Chinese Prime Minister (Wong, 2019). This statement came despite the popularity and undoubted capabilities of minorities such as Deputy Prime Minister Tharman Shanmugaratnam but are deemed unsuitable at least in part due to their ethnicity (Zainal & Abdullah, 2019). What is the impact of such a statement on the aspirations of non-Chinese students?

Further, and perhaps paradoxically, the use of affirmative politics in Singapore, while well-intentioned, also undermines the credibility of non-Chinese leaders. One example is the 2017 Presidential Election, which was reserved for candidates from the Malay community as there had not been a Malay president for the last five continuous terms (Yong, 2016). With only one candidate that fits this criterion, President Halimah Yacob had a walkover election. While she was probably popular enough to win either way, her credibility was threatened since she did not openly contest with Dr Tan Cheng Bock, a moderately popular option (Zainal & Abdullah, 2019). Hence, affirmative politics may undermine the legitimacy of non-Chinese leaders – as it implies that they could only succeed with such measures in place – effectively removing a source of positive inspiration for non-Chinese students.

Other manifestations of stereotypes would be in my personal experience of language use. Singapore slang, Singlish, is mostly English while borrowing certain terms from other languages such as Chinese and Malay. While the typical stereotype of Chinese students was to be very “gungho” (derived from Chinese, referring to being overly enthusiastic or hardworking), I would hear of Malays “lepak-ing” (derived from Malay, referring to relaxing or loitering around). Further, it was only in recent years that I realised I had sometimes unconsciously racially identified my friends when I spoke of them, uncomfortable evidence of my own racial consciousness.

Importantly, such physiognomy-based conceptualisation of race has colonial roots[12]. The book ‘The Myth of the Lazy Native’ explored how colonials depicted the indigenous Malay population as lazy barbarians because they refused to work in the mines and plantations (Alatas, 1977). As such, more economic and administration opportunities were given to the Chinese and Indian immigrants who found work in Singapore. Perhaps due to historical institutionalism, this characterisation and consciousness of different races has perpetuated in society, where some teachers may still dismiss Malays as lazy or unable to work hard (Lai, 2019). Anecdotally, I’ve heard it said that some Malay parents do not want their children to play football with other Malay students, so as not to be associated with a “bad influence”. Such deterministic attitudes can also be seen across the border in Malaysia, which was also colonised. Former Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad famously critiqued Malays for being lazy, and that he was ashamed that they were lagging behind the forward-thinking Chinese community (Today, 2014). Again, such views imply some inherent biological or cultural reasons for which one race is better than the other, surprisingly internalised by some in a Malay-dominated country.

[12] The belief that physical features correspond to psychological characteristics.

As with class, this constant discouraging narrative can also create a self-fulfilling prophecy. Indeed, former Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew even went so far as to say that Malays would never close the gaps in educational attainment because other races would improve as Malays did (Han & Lee, 2011). Given the meritocratic rhetoric that equal opportunities are available to all, the cultural deficit thesis is legitimised: that the non-Chinese are simply not successful by their own fault of being lackadaisical (Zubaidah, 2001). This privatisation of blame on non-Chinese individuals, despite the constant discouragement they may feel, also disguises Chinese privilege as the rational, unavoidable, and natural outcome of meritocracy (Barr, 1999; Johannis et al., 2022). Even those who do rise to the top may continue to face such discouragement. In the news article “Can we all just get along?” (Liam, 2008), the article explores how a Malay student from a neighbourhood secondary school feels out of place and is ostracised when he enters an elite JC. As seen, even those who have “proved their mantle” are still suppressed by social norms (Koh, 2014). Racial privilege in the face of meritocratic ideals, as it has in other countries, hence reinforces the status quo in Singapore (Howlett, 2021; Markovits, 2020; Zainal & Abdullah, 2019).

Intersectionality

Race and class privilege intersect in formulating different habitus and (hence) outcomes of students – a disproportionate number of prestigious scholarships and elite school makeup consists of upper-middle-class Chinese students (Lim, 2013).

Perhaps, the Special Assistance Plan (SAP) is an exaggerated microcosm of Singapore, where race and class compound for these elite school students (Barr & Skrbiš, 2009). SAP schools were originally designed to promote Chinese ethos, language, and culture (Ostwald et al., 2015), but have since become more economically significant to promote bilingualism for business dealings with China (Johannis et al., 2022). The exclusivity of these schools for mainly Mandarin speakers creates a greater racial homogeneity in the schools (Ostwald et al., 2015), compared to other ethnic provisions such as the elective programmes for other languages in secondary schools (Zainal & Abdullah, 2019). In these predominantly Chinese elite environments, SAP schools provide many resources and programmes that make it easier for students to obtain scholarships for the government (Zainal & Abdullah, 2019).[13] Consequently, it is no wonder that such education has influenced our political demographic. Looking at the makeup of Fourth Generation People’s Action Party (PAP) leaders, of the 15 educated in Singapore, 6 of which came from SAP schools, a stunningly high proportion (Zainal & Abdullah, 2019).

[13] One example is the “Political Leaders Attachment Programme” in Hwa Chong Institution, which attaches students to politician mentors (Zainal & Abdullah, 2019).

Indeed, generations of political leaders tend to be Chinese males from upper-class families who think and feel in the same ways, possibly reproducing the system (Ho, 2015; Johannis et al., 2022). Yet, the insistence that the system is “fair” convinces those of a lower class or non-Chinese race that they only have themselves to blame.

Looking Back, Going Forward

As elucidated by this essay, class and race privilege in education exists in the creation of habitus. Yet, these disparities are paradoxically accepted by society, due to the paramount importance of economic growth in neoliberal logic (Johannis et al., 2022). Singaporeans are warned that if these unequal rewards did not exist, people would be less driven to work hard for the economy, making the collective poorer off (Lim, 2013).

After all, neoliberalism did work well right after independence – built on statistical ticking boxes (Lupton, 2013), we were essentialised into ‘calculable persons’ (Johannis et al., 2022), whose individualities were ‘no longer ineffable, unique and beyond knowledge, but can be known, mapped, calibrated, evaluated, quantified, predicted and managed’ (Rose, 2010, p. 93). This system leveraged our human resources and allowed us to grow economically, while (then) providing a sufficient level of social mobility (Johannis et al., 2022). Today, though, implicit privilege and hegemony can lead to problematic habitus formation. “Winners” continue winning, while “losers” – believing that efficiency and competition are in everyone’s interests and that individuals are responsible for their own fate – continue losing (Klitgaard, 1986). As such, our meritocratic education system, while ostensibly promoting perceived equality of opportunity, has actually legitimised inequality (Au, 2015; Clycq et al., 2013; Jin & Ball, 2019), while suppressing and segregating those deemed to have failed under its narrow rubric (Anderson, 2015; Lim & Tan, 2018).

Moving forward, what we need is not more effectiveness and efficiency, but rather an analysis of what our education is effective and efficient for (Biesta, 2019). Our education should be increasingly centred upon developing ‘humanized’ learners (NCCA, n.d.), judged based on what would provide Singaporeans with a more purposeful and meaningful life (Damon, 2009).

To their credit, the government has reformed some educational policies in a bid to move towards a more student-centric, values-driven phase, such as by removing some mid-year examinations and streaming in secondary schools (Ong, 2020). Yet, these reforms may be insufficient as it does not reshape the priorities of society (Johannis et al., 2022). High-stakes examination and an overt focus on academic qualification are still rife in Singapore culture and are very much strapped to ideas of economic development (Goh & Gopinathan, 2008).

Further, beyond changes in macro policy and curricula, we need to target the habitus formation of students. For example, school leaders and teachers could be better empowered to support social and cultural differences, while students could be supported to realise their own privileges and biases. This process has already started, with evidence of teachers in schools contesting and negotiating tensions on behalf of their marginalised students (Lim & Tan, 2018). Even as structural inequality is removed, we need to break down insidious cultural frontiers that may still exist (Lambrev et al., 2020).[14]

[14] Even after structural reforms in Bulgaria, research has shown displays of cultural frontiers where teachers may still pathologize Roma children with an inherent academic inability (Lambrev et al., 2020).

These changes aren’t merely for the underprivileged, but beneficial for the country as a whole. Gearing towards a different purpose of education also has additional benefits such as tackling our prominent mental health crisis, expanding the metrics of success, and preparing us better for the 21st-century economy. Indeed, our overcompetitive culture in education has been cited for the lack of compassion of some teachers, (relatively) high suicide rates before turning 20 and the cause of much mental illness and depression (Johannis et al., 2022). I know of the pressure full well – the elite JC I was in was known to be the school with the highest suicide rates, with my classmate becoming part of that statistic in 2019. Indeed, Singapore’s meritocracy today no longer even serves the “winners” well – the simplistic version that it implies of a good life has stigmatised us with a narrow metric of success, forcing us into boxes we do not want to fit in (Johannis et al., 2022; Markovits, 2020). For the “winners”, the “losers” and the country as a whole – let us become conscious of our daily breath of meritocracy and be prepared to clear it of its haze.

Appendix: Breakdown of education paths in Singapore (OECD, 2010)

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