The Twilight of a Founding Father

In September 2010, an 87-year-old Lee Kuan Yew sat down with a New York Times journalist for an unusually introspective conversation. Beyond recounting his struggles to transform resource-scarce Singapore into a thriving nation, he spoke candidly about aging and illness. Peripheral neuropathy had damaged his leg function, requiring thrice-daily treadmill sessions to maintain mobility.

More heartbreaking was the condition of his wife, Kwa Geok Choo, who had been bedridden since a stroke two years prior, unable to speak or move. “Every night, I talk to her. She stays awake for me,” Lee revealed, describing how he read her favorite poetry—works by Jane Austen, Rudyard Kipling, and Shakespeare—and shared daily updates. A spreadsheet documented his reading list, including Christian marriage vows that moved him deeply: “In sickness and in health…till death do us part.”

One month later, Kwa passed away. Singaporeans watched their founding leader deliver a tearful eulogy: “For 63 years, we shared joys and sorrows. Without her, I would have been a different man with a different life.” The image of this bereaved widower contrasted sharply with his usual public persona—described by novelist Catherine Lim as “authoritarian, pragmatic, and rarely sentimental.” Only twice had he displayed such vulnerability: first during Singapore’s traumatic 1965 separation from Malaysia, and now, in mourning his lifelong companion.

The Making of a Nation-Builder

### Colonial Roots and Wartime Crucible
Born in 1923 to a Peranakan Chinese family, young Harry Lee Kuan Yew grew up amidst British colonial privilege. His grandfather, a self-made shipping steward turned merchant, embodied Anglophile values—donning three-piece suits and recounting tales of British discipline aboard ships. This instilled in Lee an early admiration for efficiency and order.

Japan’s 1942 invasion shattered colonial illusions. During the Sook Ching massacres, Lee narrowly escaped execution by Japanese forces at a screening checkpoint—an experience that exposed the fragility of power. “My grandfather couldn’t comprehend how these ‘untidy little men’ defeated the British,” Lee later wrote. The occupation’s brutality, including witnessing mass executions at Tanah Merah beach, forged his conviction that only self-rule could prevent such vulnerability.

### The Path to Independence
After studying law at Cambridge, Lee returned to Singapore in 1950, determined to dismantle colonial structures. His strategic brilliance emerged during the 1952 Postal Workers’ Strike, where as legal advisor, he secured favorable terms for laborers—winning grassroots support that propelled his political ascent.

In 1954, he co-founded the People’s Action Party (PAP), skillfully balancing alliances with communist factions to overthrow British rule while reassuring colonial authorities of his moderate leanings. The 1959 landslide victory—where PAP won 43 of 51 legislative seats—made 35-year-old Lee the world’s youngest prime minister. Campaigning in Singapore’s multilingual society required masterful cultural navigation: accepting Chinese embroidered banners, Malay gold-threaded headdresses, and Indian jasmine garlands that often piled high enough to obscure his face.

The Architect of Modern Singapore

### Language: The Ultimate Pragmatist
Perhaps no policy revealed Lee’s utilitarian philosophy more than his bilingual education mandate. Despite personal efforts to master Mandarin after feeling culturally adrift in Britain, he mandated English as Singapore’s working language—a decision that sparked decades of resistance from Chinese dialect speakers.

“Emotionally, I sympathized with Chinese schools’ discipline and values,” he admitted, recalling how English-educated peers seemed “aloof and selfish” compared to their Chinese-school counterparts. Yet economic survival demanded neutrality in this multiracial society. By 1987, all schools (except select Chinese institutions) taught English as the first language—a policy that fueled Singapore’s global competitiveness while gradually eroding dialects.

### Governance: The Singaporean Exception
Lee’s governance model blended democracy with authoritarian efficiency. He curtailed press freedom through innovative mechanisms like 1977’s Newspaper and Printing Presses Act, which limited individual shareholdings to 3% and placed editorial control under bank-managed “management shares.” When Western publications like the Asian Wall Street Journal criticized policies, Lee’s government restricted their circulation rather than imposing outright bans—a calibrated approach that maintained Singapore’s business-friendly image while silencing dissent.

His anti-corruption stance proved equally uncompromising. The 1986 suicide of National Development Minister Teh Cheang Wan—who took his life amid bribery investigations—became a grim lesson. Despite appeals from Teh’s family, Lee insisted on full public disclosure, reinforcing Singapore’s reputation for clean governance.

Cultural Engineering and Global Legacy

### Social Campaigns: From Spitting to Serfdom
Lee’s infamous social engineering campaigns—over 200 public initiatives between the 1960s-80s—targeted behaviors from littering to procreation. The “Stop at Two” population policy (1960s-80s) gave way to graduate mother incentives, while anti-spitting laws and mandatory toilet-flushing reflected his belief that “disciplined societies outperform chaotic ones.”

When American teenager Michael Fay received caning for vandalism in 1994, Lee defended corporal punishment’s deterrent effect despite international outcry: “Six strokes will make him think twice when he can’t sit properly for a week.”

### The Patriarch’s Final Advice
Even in retirement, Lee couldn’t resist paternalistic guidance. At a 2011 university forum, he interrupted a female PhD candidate’s question about immigration to interrogate her marital status: “Don’t waste time. Babies are more important than degrees.” The moment encapsulated his lifelong approach—a blend of Confucian paternalism and utilitarian social planning.

Enduring Questions and Contemporary Relevance

As Singapore navigates post-LKY challenges—from income inequality to political liberalization—Lee’s legacy remains hotly debated. His developmental authoritarianism delivered unprecedented prosperity but left limited space for dissent. The “Singapore Model” continues inspiring developing nations, even as its founder’s final years revealed the human cost of relentless pragmatism.

Lee’s last book, One Man’s View of the World (2013), included uncharacteristic musings on mortality: “I’ve thought about how I’ll die—a sudden stop or long deterioration? I prefer the quick way.” When his own leaf finally fell in March 2015, Singapore lost not just a leader, but the architect of its very identity—a man who shaped a nation as profoundly as he mourned the wife who shaped him.