Singapore is so good at English.
The island nation has one of the best levels of the global language in Asia — an example for other countries in the Indo-Pacific that wish to embrace the international idiom and all the benefits that come with it.
And yet, Singapore is losing its Mandarin.
English was never supposed to become the only language in Singapore (and it is not). But Mandarin, also a part of its heritage (and a significant asset for its citizens), is losing ground.
It doesn’t have to be like this. And it’s entirely due to a paradox: for all Singapore has done right with English learning, it has done wrong with Mandarin learning.
For many young learners today, Mandarin feels more like a test to endure than a language to embrace. Tuition after school, rote memorization, and exam stress have become part of a familiar routine for many students.
But Mandarin Chinese is one of the most widely spoken languages in the world, and a cornerstone of Singapore’s identity. For decades, it has served as both a bridge to cultural identity and a key to economic opportunity.
So why does it feel like a chore to so many?
Singapore’s bilingual education policy was built on strong foundations. In 1979, the government launched the Speak Mandarin Campaign to unify the Chinese community, which had been divided across dialects such as Hokkien, Teochew, and Cantonese. Mandarin was intended to be the shared language for communication, identity, and national cohesion.
At the same time, China’s economic opening made Mandarin an asset in diplomacy and business. These strategic imperatives were reflected in policy: for Chinese students, Mandarin was made a compulsory subject within the national curriculum.
But over the years, the emphasis on academic performance began to overshadow the original cultural and communicative goals. Language learning became closely tied to streaming, grades, and national examinations.
Talk to students, and you will hear them complain about this.
Secondary school students do not hate the language, but they are afraid. They complain they miss too many words. Worse: they’ll get scolded for failing. Mandarin becomes more associated with pressure than purpose. Instead of fostering curiosity or belonging, it becomes another high-stakes hurdle.
Inside the Classroom: A Growing Distance
This gap between intent and experience is reflected in language use at home.
As of 2020, nearly 48.3 percent of Chinese Singaporeans reported English as their primary household language, up from 32.6 percent in 2010. English has become the dominant language.
For many students, Mandarin is no longer the language of daily conversation. It appears mainly in the classroom and exam hall. Switching to Mandarin class can feel like speaking in someone else’s voice. It has become natural for a teenager to feel uncomfortable conversing in Mandarin.
And talking to elders feels increasingly awkward. English fills the gaps; a smile masks the silence.
Despite efforts by teachers to enliven the subject, stress persists. According to a study by the National Institute of Education, around 70 percent of students attend private tuition for Chinese. For many families, tuition is necessary to keep up. For others, especially those from lower-income backgrounds, it adds strain and inequality.
“What the students really need is to speak without fear.”
The Ministry of Education has introduced several reforms.
The current curriculum offers different learning tracks: Foundation, Standard, and Higher Chinese, so students can learn at their own pace. Initiatives like Mother Tongue Language Fortnight promote cultural engagement through drama, calligraphy, and storytelling.
Technology also plays a growing role. Platforms like the Student Learning Space offer voice recording tools and interactive lessons that support learners who may not have Mandarin exposure at home. Used creatively, these can help build comfort and fluency in a low-pressure setting.
Still, there is more to be done. While the reforms are welcome, deeper changes in teaching methods and assessment systems will be needed to help students engage with Mandarin as a living language.
Between Identity and Aspiration
Mandarin is often positioned as both a heritage language and a strategic tool for the future. But many students struggle to see either benefit. English dominates in science, technology, and social life; Singaporean students continue to prioritize English as the key to academic and professional success.
Parents who grew up in a Mandarin-speaking household also lose momentum: when reading to their children, they often must translate to English. After a while, it gets exhausting and futile.
Teachers feel this tension too. One experienced educator explained, “We have great stories in the syllabus. But there’s no time to explore them deeply because we are focused on preparing for the paper. What the students really need is to speak without fear.”
This emotional gap risks making Mandarin feel like a foreign language when it could be part of an identity.
A New Definition of Success
For Mandarin to thrive, the system must redefine what success looks like. Test scores alone do not reflect fluency, nor do they capture the joy or value of learning a language. True success should include confidence in conversation, appreciation of culture, and the ability to use Mandarin meaningfully in daily life.
This means creating more space for student expression. It means allowing mistakes as part of learning and building real-world fluency. It also means showing students that Mandarin can belong to them, not just their parents, textbooks, or national campaigns.
Language needs space for fun, exploration, and imperfection. When students are allowed to use Mandarin in expressive and personal ways, they begin to build genuine comfort and connection.
Mandarin still holds deep significance for Singapore. It ties generations together, carries cultural memory, and offers real opportunities. But it cannot flourish through obligation alone.
To make Mandarin matter again, the system must move beyond performance and into purpose. Students need to feel that this language is not just a subject to endure, but a story they are allowed to shape. Only then can Mandarin grow not just in classrooms, but in lives.
