Is Singapore toxic work culture just office politics?

You’ll hear this at some point if you build a team in Singapore: “Why can’t people just focus on doing their jobs instead of playing politics?”

It often comes from someone who considers themselves a meritocrat—someone who believes that good work should be enough to succeed. On the surface, the frustration seems simple. But dig deeper, and what it’s actually revealing is a system without clarity. Because in high-functioning teams, people don’t need to play politics. They know where to go, who owns what, how conflict is escalated, and how decisions are made. Politics fill the vacuum when those things are missing.

In early-stage startups, especially in Southeast Asia, this vacuum is more common than most founders think. Teams are small, so formality feels unnecessary. Founders tell themselves they’re being “flat,” “lean,” or “trusting.” But under that surface of niceness is a dangerous assumption: that clarity is optional as long as everyone is good at their job.

Here’s the hard truth. Toxic work culture doesn’t start with bad people. It starts with unstructured ambiguity. And the longer it goes unaddressed, the more invisible politics become the only way people know how to protect themselves.

Let’s walk through why this happens, how to spot it early, and how to build a system that’s resilient—not just harmonious.

In most Singapore teams, the cultural ideal sounds something like this: “We’re all professionals. We’re one team. No politics.”

Founders proudly declare it at onboarding sessions. They set expectations for candor and kindness. They promise open feedback channels. In the early months, this ideal feels real. Everyone’s new, working hard, and eager to prove themselves. No one wants to be the source of drama. And because of that, teams misread peace for clarity.

What’s really happening is that nothing has broken yet. But the moment stakes rise—when someone gets promoted, when feedback lands badly, when one team’s delivery delays another’s—tensions start to surface. And if no one knows how to surface them safely, those tensions will re-route into silence, subtext, or side conversations. That’s when the political behavior begins.

And here’s the kicker: it often looks like maturity.

In Singapore, quiet professionalism is deeply valued. Deference is coded as respect. Discomfort is hidden in performance. So when a team starts to deteriorate, it doesn’t explode. It erodes. People stay polite. They nod in meetings. They cc you less. They start to opt out emotionally, long before they leave.

At this point, founders often blame individuals. They talk about “low ownership” or “lack of alignment.” But if three people feel misaligned in different ways, that’s not a people issue. That’s a structural failure.

In my work with startup teams across Southeast Asia and the Gulf, I’ve seen this play out in three consistent ways. First, teams confuse function with role. Just because someone is doing marketing doesn’t mean they own the brand. Just because someone runs payroll doesn’t mean they own HR strategy. Without mapped accountability, people operate in half-owned domains. That’s where overreach, blame, and deflection thrive.

Second, founders confuse trust with system silence. They assume that because no one is complaining, things are fine. But in early teams, silence often means people have already given up on escalation. They’ve tried raising things and seen no action. They’ve learned to work around issues, not through them. That’s not trust. That’s risk aversion.

Third, they mistake loyalty for alignment. A loyal teammate will cover gaps, pick up slack, and go the extra mile. But if they’re unclear about ownership boundaries, that same loyalty can turn into burnout, resentment, and role confusion. That’s when people start questioning fairness, playing politics to protect their position, or quietly withdrawing from core decisions.

At this stage, the system is still running. But it’s fragile. Velocity drops. Trust decays. And culture starts to drift into survival mode.

So what does a resilient culture actually need?

The answer isn’t better people. It’s clearer systems. Cultures that work don’t rely on good intentions. They rely on well-understood expectations, consistent decision logic, and enforceable escalation paths. These aren’t HR functions. They are operating system decisions.

Start with ownership. In every core function—product, growth, finance, hiring—ask two questions: Who is responsible for delivery? And who believes they are? If the answers diverge, you have a clarity problem.

Next, examine how decisions are made. Who inputs? Who decides? Who has veto power? Most early-stage teams don’t document this because it feels too formal. But the absence of structure leads to shadow hierarchies. People learn who really holds influence through observation and gossip. That’s where politics start.

Then, look at how conflict is escalated. If someone misses a deadline, what’s the expected next step? Who steps in if peer feedback doesn’t work? Is there a place to raise interpersonal concerns without being labeled as difficult? If the only escalation path is through the founder, then you haven’t built a scalable system—you’ve built dependency.

Finally, model feedback, not just request it. Many founders say they want transparency. But when faced with critique, they become defensive or dismissive. That teaches the team that feedback is a test of loyalty, not a tool for clarity. And so, people learn to say less. They avoid confrontation. And slowly, issues become chronic instead of correctable.

One founder I worked with recently told me, “I don’t think our team is political, but I do feel like people are being careful around me.” What he was sensing wasn’t dishonesty. It was systemic ambiguity. The team didn’t know how to disagree safely, so they defaulted to consensus signaling. That’s not alignment. That’s fear of being misread.

So how do you know if politics have already taken root?

Here’s a diagnostic question I give founders: “If someone on your team notices a decision that feels unfair, what is the first action they’re expected to take?” If the answer is unclear—or worse, if it depends on who it is—then you’re not running an open system. You’re running an intuitive one. And intuitive systems break when teams grow or when pressure mounts.

Another question: “What is the safest way to disagree with you right now?” If no one can answer it in under ten seconds, your culture isn’t safe. It’s polite. And polite cultures collapse under real tension.

This isn’t about creating bureaucracy. It’s about reducing emotional overhead. When expectations are clear, people don’t need to guess. They don’t need to play games. They don’t need to waste energy managing perception. That’s what real clarity creates: focus without fear.

Let’s talk about tradeoffs. In Singapore, harmony is often culturally preferred over confrontation. But harmony without clarity leads to avoidance, and avoidance leads to fragility. On the other hand, clarity requires friction. It demands feedback. It surfaces conflict. That can feel disruptive—but it’s actually what keeps systems healthy.

When founders choose harmony over clarity, they buy short-term peace at the cost of long-term trust. Because without the ability to surface dissent, teams don’t know if their loyalty is being rewarded or exploited. And that’s when quiet quitting begins—not just in deliverables, but in ownership mindset.

In the Gulf, I’ve seen similar dynamics play out, though the framing is different. Deference is baked into hierarchies. But even there, early-stage teams that codify clear reporting lines and accountability loops outperform those that rely on relationship management. The insight is the same: politics fill the space where design is absent.

Culture is not what you say at all-hands. It’s what your people do when no one is watching. It’s how decisions get made when the founder is offline. It’s how feedback lands when it’s inconvenient. That’s what defines culture. And that’s why it has to be built—not just believed.

So to every founder who says, “We don’t do politics here,” I offer this reframing: Politics are not a personality flaw. They are a design consequence. If you haven’t built a system that makes disagreement productive, then you’ve built one where silence and workarounds are the norm. And that will always look like politics from the outside.

Here’s the invitation. Instead of trying to avoid toxicity, design for transparency. Instead of hoping people speak up, show them where to speak, how, and what will happen after. Replace vibes with processes. Replace values with mechanisms. Replace founder centrality with team clarity.

Because the goal isn’t to have a culture where no one plays politics. It’s to build a system where no one needs to.

Clarity isn’t a luxury. It’s what makes your team scale without you being in every room. And in early teams, that’s not a nice-to-have. That’s the difference between sustainable momentum—and quiet collapse.

Culture doesn’t become toxic overnight. It erodes in the absence of design. And if you want to change the culture, you have to change the system. Not the slogans. Not the off-sites. The system.