Rice Media

The case of 19-year-old Cyrus Dzulqarnain Al-Shahriar, who was issued a Restriction Order under Singapore’s Internal Security Act (ISA), illustrates how radicalisation is evolving in the digital age. According to Singapore’s Internal Security Department (ISD), Cyrus was influenced by a mix of pro-Hamas narratives, anti-Western views, anti-LGBTQ sentiments, violent incel ideas, and Islamist accelerationist content.

In the era of fast-food extremism, radicalisation is often driven less by specific singular ideologies. Many young people are not actively searching for extremist beliefs. Instead, radicalisation often begins with personal vulnerabilities like loneliness and the need to feel seen.

One particular question from my close friends scares me. “What are you doing today? Wanna hang?” I almost feel anxious. The discomfort stems, I think, from checking my schedule, weighing the case for having or not having plans, having to turn down a nice gesture, or proceeding to agree. When people bring up ‘hang out’ these days, there’s a sense of regimentalness to it. Where can we go? What can we do?

Earlier this week, over 100 migrant workers from KPA Engineering and SK Industries turned up at the Ministry of Manpower (MOM) Services Centre in Bendemeer. They were out of options after the wages they were owed went unpaid for months. Even the external caterers who fed them at Tuas View Dormitory stopped coming because they, too, hadn’t received payment. By the next morning, the number of affected workers had climbed to over 400.

Back in April, I was shuffling through a grass patch beside the Marina Coastal Expressway, heading towards a fishing spot where mackerel had been caught recently. I was working my jig—a lure mimicking baitfish—for hours in the sweltering heat with nothing to show for my efforts. I was losing focus, half-conceding that I might leave empty-handed. On one mindless cast, however, something bumped my jig. I yanked my rod upwards instinctively but felt nothing.

Some of my childhood memories from commuting across Singapore have nothing to do with getting from one place to another. I remember the old fabric upholstery on bus seats, for example. They were far more comfortable than the hard plastic ones we have today—but they had an incredible ability to trap dust. Every now and then, someone would smack the seat before sitting down. A small puff of dirt and long-trapped odours would blast upwards.

It was in 2022 that Cady* stumbled upon a leaked Google Form response from her favourite teacher that contained a backhanded comment about her. It read, “Cady is a bright student in class, but has a tendency to pick and choose her commitments.” The teacher had been referring to Cady’s Co-Curricular Activities (CCAs). Feeling overwhelmed by her academic load, she opted out of representing the school’s dance troupe in the National Day Parade.

“Mummy has breast cancer…” It felt like a weight dropped on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. “Daddy and I didn’t want to tell you and your brother while you were doing your internship. We really didn’t want to worry you, but now that it’s over, we thought you should know.” The words landed softly—almost too softly—as if gentleness could make them hurt less. I went completely quiet. I remember my mother’s voice tightening, holding herself together for her kids.

It’s a strange feeling when someone decides who you are before you’ve uttered a single word. This happened to me in an elevator. I had been minding my own business when two Singaporean aunties walked in, so I held the lift door open for them. They gave me a glance and said thanks, pausing for a second before continuing their conversation in Mandarin. I don’t recall exactly what they said. Except that it was something along the lines of: “She doesn’t look local”.