What does Singapore lose when the wrecking ball swings?

Tey Yong How remembers running along the shores of eastern Singapore as a child, the sea breeze mingling with the smell of sizzling seafood. Birthday dinners here meant three or four tables pushed together, with cousins chasing each other between the chairs as the adults pulled apart succulent chilli crab. “My childhood memories will linger there,” the 47-year-old said on a recent Wednesday evening of the seafood restaurants at East Coast Park. “Whatever may become of it in the future.” Singapore’s National Parks Board has asked tenants of the East Coast Park seafood centre, which has operated since the 1980s, to vacate their premises before October, as part of plans to “rejuvenate the facility and surrounding areas”. What exactly will replace it has not been disclosed. Plans would be “shared when ready”, the parks board said in a statement. “It’s a pity to see things come to this for such an iconic venue,” said James Pang, 45, who visited the Jumbo restaurant at East Coast Park last month with his wife and children. “The East Coast experience is important … It’s coastal, and nothing like our typical indoor shopping mall experience.” Jumbo, now a listed company with outlets in six countries, will leave the park in September and has been reviewing numerous approaches from landlords since the news broke, it said in a statement to This Week in Asia. The East Coast outlet was its first and held “special meaning” as a milestone in the company’s growth, it said. But nostalgia for chilli crab by the sea is not the only emotion the seafood centre’s impending closure has evoked. For many Singaporeans, it has become the latest reminder of how redevelopment can displace the informal gathering places where personal memories, local culture and community life converge. ‘Third spaces’ As Singapore grapples with a growing and rapidly ageing population, redevelopment is a constant feature of life in the land-scarce city state. Low-rise buildings and old school campuses are cleared to make way for high-rise residential projects, while farm plots and dirt tracks are transformed into business parks. Yet while such redevelopment is necessary, it is also naturally associated with a sense of loss – of belonging, culture and the “third spaces” where people gather outside the home or workplace. In 2023, Singapore’s horse racing community was dismayed when plans were announced to close the country’s sole racecourse and redevelop the site for public housing. The Ministry of National Development said the decision was made in light of “the demand for more land for housing and the declining spectatorship for local horse racing”. The 120-hectare (300-acre) site is set to be returned to the government next year. “We associate these places with good memories and vibes, so when they get threatened by redevelopment, people experience a sense of dread,” said urban sociologist George Wong, an assistant professor at Singapore Management University. Even if “it’s not entirely lost, the place will never be the same again”, he said. Woo Jun Jie, a senior lecturer at the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy, said people often imbued recreational and community-oriented spaces with strong memories. But he said such spaces also tended to be low-rise and did not make the most efficient use of the available land. The government is paying more attention to the fact that conserving culture isn’t just about the built environment George Wong, urban sociologist Woo said the government had made efforts to conserve some gathering spaces, pointing to the former Nan Chiau High School site in central Singapore, now home to lifestyle hub New Bahru. “I think the government is paying more attention to the fact that conserving culture isn’t just about the built environment,” said Wong, the sociologist. “The public is pushing them towards the idea of an intangible culture, like how certain brands and locations and the intersection of them could mean something to specific communities.” Tan Shin Bin, an assistant professor at the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy, said redevelopment could bring genuine benefits with refreshed infrastructure and renewal. But it also risked inflicting “substantial and irreversible harm” on communities for whom a particular place was not merely convenient but constitutive of who they are. “If there is such a risk,” she said. “It would be necessary either to halt the project or at least put in place generous mitigating measures.” Borrowed time One such place is 195 Pearl’s Hill Terrace, a three-storey former police barracks that has emerged in recent years as one of the city state’s most distinctive creative spaces. The ground-floor courtyard is occupied by a small bar. Murals climb the surrounding walls. Along the corridors, splash-painted mannequins lean against doorframes beside half-opened tins of paint. Inside, art galleries share space with tattoo studios and handicraft workshops, their tenants borrowing supplies from each other. “It might seem messy or dilapidated,” said Nicholas Oh, a partner at art studio Antinormal and a tenant of 195 Pearl’s Hill Terrace. “But we like the unmannedness and freedom it represents. The place has built up a reputation for being dedicated to the arts. People know what to expect when they come here, and I don’t think there’s anywhere else like it.” There may soon be nowhere like it at all. The lease for 195 Pearl’s Hill Terrace – extended once already, from 2025, following appeals from tenants – is now set to expire in 2028, when the site is scheduled for residential redevelopment. Oh has made no firm plans for what happens afterwards. “We’re living on hope,” he said. Olivia Fones, director of arts studio Arterly Obsessed, is similarly at a loss about what to do next. “The rent isn’t absurd here, like how other places can be,” she said. “And it’s great to have all these arts businesses in one space because you can just pop by to borrow supplies.” A short drive south, another community waits for word of its fate. Gillman Barracks – a leafy compound of low, white colonial-era buildings that once housed British Army regiments and now shelters a dozen international art galleries alongside cafes and bars – has been under a cloud since 2024, when Singapore announced it was weighing introducing a mix of private and public housing to the site. Environmental and heritage studies, which began that year, are still ongoing. Singapore’s Urban Redevelopment Authority told This Week in Asia that the site was being considered for housing to allow Singaporeans to live near the city centre and close to their families, adding that the decision would only be made after evaluating environmental and heritage considerations, the needs of current and future generations and trade-offs across competing land uses. We simply don’t know where else to go Audrey Yeo, art gallery founder “Gillman and our gallery grew up together,” said Audrey Yeo, founder of art gallery Yeo Workshop. “It means more to us than simply rental space … It stands for experimentation, risk-taking, collaboration and ambition. We love it here.” Yeo, who has been welcoming artists, enthusiasts and visitors through her gallery doors at Gillman for more than 12 years, was uncertain about what the closure might mean for the future of visual arts in Singapore. “Contemporary art ecosystems require time, stability and continuity to develop,” she said. “These things cannot always be built quickly.” Asked about contingency plans should redevelopment require them to leave, Yeo had no answer: “We simply don’t know where else to go.” What Yeo articulated was not opposition to development per se, but a call for the city state to make more room for the intangible aspects of collective memory: the gallery that gave a young artist her first show, the seafood restaurant where a family has marked its milestones for 30 years, the courtyard where strangers became friends. “Many of us hope for continuity,” she said. “That the relationships, communities, knowledge and cultural value built over many years are recognised as infrastructure too.” Back on the East Coast, as Wednesday evening deepened into night, the crab shells piled up, the beer ran low and the sea continued its patient work against the shore. Tey said he planned to visit the waterfront restaurants at East Coast Park one last time – as he had as a child, as he had done on uncountable evenings since. A photographer by trade, he understands better than most what it means to try to hold a moment before it passes. “Things come and go,” he said with a sigh. “Things come and go.”

What does Singapore lose when the wrecking ball swings?

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}Relentless reinvention, long inevitable in the land-scare city state, puts pressure on beloved ‘third spaces’

Relentless reinvention, long inevitable in the land-scare city state, puts pressure on beloved ‘third spaces’