On the morning of 13 October, this bunch of guests also visited Marina Bay and photographed a skyline that was barely there. The 24-hour PSI in the west read 172, and the air had been unhealthy somewhere on the island for more than a week.
The PSI first crossed into the unhealthy range on 4 September, the first time in almost three years, and peaked at 192 in central Singapore on 9 October. The smoke comes from fires in Sumatra and Kalimantan, and the Met Service expects no relief until the monsoon arrives in late October or early November. Kuala Lumpur, Johor and Melaka in Malaysia have closed schools, and on 9 October, Singapore and Kuala Lumpur were ranked the two most polluted cities in the world.
Most coverage throws numbers around without saying what they measure. The PSI, or Pollutant Standards Index, is Singapore’s headline figure. It’s a 24-hour averaging of six pollutants, where 101–200 counts as unhealthy and 201–300 as very unhealthy. Because it averages an entire day, it moves slowly. PM2.5 is the faster gauge: the hourly level of particles small enough to reach deep into the lungs, reported in bands from “normal” to “high.” International apps such as IQAir use a different scale again. That’s how, on 9 October, one rated Singapore’s air “very unhealthy” at 205 while NEA’s PSI never passed 192. Same air, different ruler.
Earlier this year, we wrote that Singapore imports its sand, buys its water, and has even assembled its own jungle. When we lack something, we source it. The haze is the reverse: the one import nobody ordered.
In 2014, Singapore did what it does best and wrote a law. The Transboundary Haze Pollution Act lets the state fine any company, local or foreign, whose fires send smoke across the island, up to S$100,000 a day. Twelve years on, no one has been charged. Smoke has no registered office, and it certainly doesn’t stop at immigration.
The fires mostly clear land for plantations, whose palm oil and paper end up on shelves across the region, ours included. Some of this haze is our own appetite, coming back to haunt us.
If you’re here now, our National Environment Agency (NEA) advises healthy people to cut back on long or strenuous outdoor activity, and children, older travellers and anyone with heart or lung conditions to avoid it. Check its forecast each evening before planning the next day.
On the ground, the haze shows up in ways a PSI chart doesn’t. Our walking tours used to run three or four times a week; lately it’s closer to once. Every cancelled walk is a shift a guide doesn’t work, and for colleagues who make their living on these streets, that adds up quickly. It’s the second blow this year, after the cancellations we wrote about in September. Our private and corporate tours used to bend only for natural disasters. We’ve decided the haze counts. Cancel at least 48 hours before your tour and we’ll refund 80%, keeping 20% to cover costs we’ve already committed. If you’re weighing a trip, talk to us. We’d rather you come when you can breathe easy.
When the rains come, the skyline will return as if nothing happened. Our collective memories may be short, yet I hope the enacted law extends its length to reach those responsible and keep them long behind bars.
