Take these examples to illustrate my point.

First, Lee Kuan Yew’s death in 2015.

When the former minister mentor passed, Singaporeans of all ages mourned. Even those of us who didn’t grow up during the time he “turned a fishing village into a first world country” penned heartfelt eulogies online to express our sadness (God knows I was one of them).

It was as though death was the great equaliser; a collective amnesia washed over a significant portion of the population. It didn’t matter that Lee Kuan Yew had ruled with an authoritarian iron fist, persecuting his political opponents and detractors to the point that his legacy includes our oft-cited culture of fear.

Neither did it seem to matter that his firm belief in meritocracy, imported from the British, would eventually go on to influence the majority of our policies. Today, we see how these policies have shaped the inequality in this country, an issue that has taken centre stage in the national conversation.

Predictably, those who sought to critically analyse his legacy after he passed on were lambasted for being opportunistic; people only wanted to either celebrate or mourn the man. All that mattered was a blind, uncompromising gratitude.

Second, and on a lighthearted note, the comments section of Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong’s Facebook posts.

The man could be kneeling beside a statue, shaking the hand of an elderly person, or wearing a pink shirt and smiling for the camera. Regardless, commenters will find a reason to praise his brilliant governance of our city state.

They are thankful/grateful/blessed that their lives in Singapore are easier/better than those in other countries. Like a broken record, they consistently proclaim, “Singapore is the safest country in the world”, “thank you for your leadership”, and “God bless you Sir”. It’s almost a miracle that no one has called Singapore’s safety our most effective form of brainwashing.

Recall his family’s Oxley Road drama last year. PM Lee undeniably won the majority of the people’s support, because he is the Prime Minister, the leader of Singapore and a person of power and authority. In comparison, his siblings are, well, nobody.

Third, Chen Show Mao.

When the Member of Parliament first appeared in the political landscape as the Workers’ Party’s weapon in the General Elections 2011, you couldn’t go a day without seeing another 5,000 articles fetishise his charisma and eloquence. After all, he was a Harvard, Oxford and Stanford graduate, and a then-practising lawyer to boot.

We had merely heard his perspectives on issues; no one had yet seen what he could do. Yet we were suckers for the PR machine that marketed the authority of a new political leader.

Finally, the recent breakfast between Tan Cheng Bock and Lee Hsien Yang.

The two-man breakfast club represented hope for Singaporeans who want to see new leadership in the government, with some even saying they might lead Singapore to “do a Malaysia”.

Tan Cheng Bock is a former member of the PAP, while Lee Hsien Yang is the Prime Minister’s own brother. Arguably, as far as opposition political alliances go, the optics were pretty damn good. Because of their status and authority, a simple scene in a hawker centre was instantly elevated to represent a potential political upheaval.