The Ultra-Modern City State and its ‘Medieval’ Punishments: Singapore’s institutionalised corporal punishment.

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‘Medieval’ is a bit of a prejudiced word, but it does capture the anachronistic oddness of corporal punishment – beat ‘em till they’re sorry! – next to Singapore’s enthusiasm for technology and education and all good, modern things. Smart city, green city, top-ranking in scholastic performance: Singapore has a reputation of having its act firmly together in matters of material progress. So, among all this glossy science and steel, what’s with the violence of the judicial cane?

Like certain other of its more controversial laws (rest in disgrace Section 377A), Singapore’s use of caning as criminal punishment is a holdover from British colonial rule. Sixty years after independence, it remains a fixture endorsed by local politicians: from first PM Lee Kuan Yew’s introduction of “three of the best” for vandalism in 1966, to opposition MP Sylvia Lim’s argument for “just deserts” in 2004, to recent President Halimah Yacob’s call for review of the upper age limit (currently 50) for sex offenders in 2022. Support is of course not universal, but most residents seem simply to accept it as a slightly distant fact of life.

International opinions tend to be more critical. Plenty of foreign governments have spoken out through the years (though never to any avail) on behalf of their citizens who have committed caning offenses in Singapore’s jurisdiction. High-profile cases include that of British national Yuen Ye Ming, convicted of drug trafficking in Singapore in 2019, whose sentence of twenty-four strokes (the highest legal limit) in addition to twenty years was condemned in a statement from the British High Commission in Singapore. Mentions in UK Parliament and various news articles aside, Yuen’s case was resolved much like those of previous foreign convicts: no give, and a Ministry of Home Affairs affirmation of “sovereign right”. 

There is an Old Testament swiftness to it: breach for breach, eye for eye, physical pain for moral transgression. What’s done cannot be undone, so we seek retribution instead: the crime is heinous, the damage lasting, wouldn’t you like to see the criminal suffer? Then again, is pure retribution a noble justification for punishment? Besides, what sort of correspondence is there for nonviolent crimes like vandalism?

The UN Office on Drugs and Crime singles out five main justifications of criminal punishment: retribution, deterrence, incapacitation, rehabilitation, and reparation. These last three are clearly not the point of corporal punishment. A caned convict does not lose the capacity to reoffend; they do not ascend to moral enlightenment on the trestle; the only thing they might possibly restore to their victims is a potential sense of vengeful satisfaction. Apart from the aforementioned retribution, this leaves only deterrence for our justification.

And justify it does – or, well, partially. Singapore ranks globally second in order and security on the Rule of Law Index (World Justice Project 2025), with residents' high perceptions of safety attributed to a trust in the deterrence effect of strict laws and enforcement. Front doors are left open in the day; people walk the streets freely at night. This article began with a juxtaposition of modernity and violence, but those might not be such distant ideas. Singapore has always spun on an axle of tight control, from the ruthless efficiency of the early days of independence to the stratified rat-race that is its current educational system. The machinery runs smooth, but areas such as these remain and continue to call for resolution.