Top image: Nicholas Chang / RICE file photo
General Election season is upon us once more, and Singapore heads to the polls on May 3. Condolences to anyone who thought they were getting a long weekend—nation-building has other plans.
Already, the air is thickening with slogans. Hawker centre tables are filling with party brochures. Current and aspiring politicians are smiling wider, speaking louder. The headlines ping with promises. Renewal. Resilience. Reassurance.
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But at RICE, we’re stepping off the campaign trail to look where the cameras aren’t.
Because on the ground, the story feels different. It’s weary. It’s wary. It starts with a feeling that doesn’t fit neatly into a speech: we’re doing our best, but it doesn’t always feel like enough.
It’s not a sob story; it’s just reality. I think of Suresh Vanaz, who’s struggling as a sole caregiver for his brother with cerebral palsy. I think of Ricky Tay, who burnt out as a hawker and lost his fingers in the process. I think of our worn-out relationship with GST. I think about the grind to find meaning in our work. I think of how the grass always looks so much greener elsewhere.
The temperature on the ground doesn’t call for more noise. It calls for clarity.
So what does this mean for our GE2025 coverage at RICE?
First of all—and this sounds like a given for any respectable publication—we want to be as impartial and balanced as possible in our coverage of political parties. We want to make it clear that RICE isn’t endorsing any side or candidate, even if they do appear as subjects in our content.
To that end, we won’t be breathlessly chasing political zingers or decoding every speech. We are not in the business of scrutinising every minuscule movement made in the political arena.
Because beyond the rally stages and roving candidates lie quieter, more enduring stories. We’re taking a step back to ask: How does it feel to live in it right now? And more importantly, what kind of Singapore are we really building together?
COVID, war, inflation, all of it feels like chaos. But what it leaves behind isn’t just economic. It’s emotional. Existential. This isn’t just vibes. It’s the whiplash of a world that hasn’t stopped warping.
Hard to blame anyone for feeling like we’re all strapped into a slow-motion car crash. Wars broke out. Supply chains snapped. Prices spiked. The economy staggered. Through it all, Singapore stayed the course: disciplined, efficient, always a friend to all.
Then came Trump’s Liberation Day tariffs—loud, reckless, and aimed at a world already on edge. Our stock market tumbled, and suddenly, what felt like background bedlam became a front-row threat. Futures feel less certain.
You can sense it at the dinner table, where family members and relatives grumble about groceries that used to cost half as much. In the mid-career PMET who’s been ‘restructured’ twice in five years. In the TikTok explainers dissecting political moves. In the fresh grad who sends out 100 résumés and hears nothing but static.
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They’re not protesting. They’re not rioting. They’re just … tired. And they’re starting to wonder if things could be better.
This is the mood RICE is tuning in to.
We’d like to go beyond what the politicians say they’ll do. We want to know what people are already doing to survive, to adapt, to cope in a world where the official narrative of ‘resilience’ no longer hits the same.
That’s why in our GE2025 coverage, you won’t find just profiles of politicians or post-mortems of party rallies. You want rumblings, rumours, and point-form summaries? Plenty of places will give you that—some even send ‘em straight to your phone’s lock screen.
Here, you’ll find dispatches from everyday life—smoking corners, offices, housing estates, DMs, and dinner tables. You’ll hear from both the content and the quietly disillusioned. People who don’t shout, but whose lives tell the real story of the changes Singaporeans want to see.
Because what’s at stake in GE2025 isn’t just which party wins the most seats in Parliament. It’s the future we’re slowly, collectively scripting. A future shaped not just by policies and promises but by whether people still believe in the story Singapore tells about itself.
So we want to ask harder questions. Who is that story serving now? Who’s left behind? And what does it mean to thrive—not just survive—in the chapter after Polling Day?
Our GE2025 coverage will be human. It could even be messy. Because that’s the point.
RICE will never tell you who to vote for. But we are here to shine a light on the lives and choices of those who make up this country—not just the loudest voices on the rally stages or in Parliament.
We’ll be talking to the people whose voices are rarely heard. The ones working double shifts. The ones who left cushy jobs because they couldn’t stomach it anymore. We’ll also be talking to candidates and experts, asking them the questions that matter to everyday Singaporeans—meaningful questions about the future we’re all building, together.
Because the real conversation isn’t just about promises on the campaign trail; it’s about understanding what’s at stake for all of us. And making sure everyone has a seat at the table.
This is our small bet: that the real action isn’t in the arena, but just outside it. On the ground, where trust is being eroded or rebuilt every single day. Where people still care deeply, even if they no longer take things at face value.
And maybe that’s where the next chapter begins—not with a roar, but with a reckoning of what truly matters. One that still makes space to laugh while we question and care. Because if we’re not having a little fun while giving a damn, then really, what’s the point?
Maybe the real story of GE2025 isn’t about power.
Maybe it’s about belief. And whether it can be reimagined not in juicy slogans or soundbites, but in the quiet, deliberate decisions people make daily: to stay, to build, to care, even when it’s hard.
We’re not here to romanticise the struggle. We’re here to ask what comes after Polling Day—and who gets to write it.
Because elections come and go. The real work lies in the choices we keep making every day, long after the votes are counted.
