On October 7, Singapore’s Senior Minister and Minister for Home Affairs, K. Shanmugam, gave a written answer to a parliamentary question that brought a quiet controversy into the open. The question, from Fadli Fawzi of Aljunied GRC, concerned an article published on September 7 by the Israeli newspaper Haaretz. The article claimed that an Israeli security delegation had secretly visited Singapore in May and that the death penalty had been discussed with Singaporean officials, even though capital punishment was not originally on the agenda. Fadli asked three things: why the Government had not issued a POFMA direction against the outlet, whether Singapore had discussed illegal settlements and settler violence in the West Bank with the Israeli officials, and whether Singapore had requested that the meeting be kept secret. Shanmugam was unambiguous: the claims were categorically false. He also noted that while no formal direction had been issued under the Protection from Online Falsehoods and Manipulation Act, or POFMA, the Government was not ruling one out in the future. The exchange was short, but it touched on several sensitive issues: the secrecy of security cooperation, the boundaries of foreign policy, and the standards Singapore applies when deciding whether to correct false information. For anyone following Singapore’s approach to misinformation, the most striking element was not the denial itself, but the careful phrasing around it. Shanmugam did not simply dismiss the article and move on. He explained the Government’s decision-making, acknowledged the sensitivity of such matters, and left room for further action if the situation changed. The message was clear: Singapore takes falsehoods seriously, but it also takes security seriously, and the two priorities do not always point in the same direction. In a country where the Government is sometimes expected to respond to false claims at full force, the decision to hold back on POFMA was almost as interesting as the denial itself. It suggested a degree of confidence that the article had not taken hold in the local media ecosystem, and that a formal correction might have only amplified the story. It also suggested that the Government expected readers to trust its official response without the heavy hand of the law.
Behind the blunt denial lay a more detailed explanation of Singapore’s approach to security diplomacy. Shanmugam said Singapore regularly holds discussions with international counterparts on security and law enforcement matters. These conversations allow agencies to exchange information and intelligence, and they have helped Singapore identify potential threats, intervene early, and keep the country safe. He described these channels as being in Singapore’s national interest, and stressed that they are maintained with many countries, including partners in the Middle East. The meeting with the Israeli delegation, he said, was one such engagement. Crucially, however, its discussions focused on operational and security-related issues and did not extend to broader foreign policy matters. That sentence was significant. It suggested that Israeli officials may have met Singaporean officials, but that the purpose of the meeting was not to debate policy questions such as settlements or settler violence. Those issues belong to the realm of foreign policy, where Singapore expresses its positions through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and other appropriate channels. By drawing this distinction, Shanmugam made clear that security agencies should not be seen as a venue for political commentary. Their job is to protect Singapore, not to issue judgments on the conduct of other governments. This is a philosophical point as much as a procedural one. It explains why the Government was so irritated by the Haaretz article: the story misrepresented a professionally scoped security meeting as something far more political and secretive than it actually was. At the same time, Shanmugam’s answer implicitly acknowledged that the public cannot always distinguish between different types of official meetings. That is why the Government has an obligation to correct the record when a report goes too far. He was also careful not to reveal the identity of the officials involved or the exact location of the meeting. This was consistent with the broader principle he outlined: operational cooperation works best when it is insulated from the noise of public debate.
On the question of POFMA, the absence of a direction deserves careful attention. The law was passed in 2019 as part of Singapore’s effort to protect its public sphere from online lies. It allows ministers to issue correction directions, which require the publisher to carry a notice explaining that the content is false, or in more serious cases, access blocking orders, which require the removal of the content. POFMA is a powerful tool, and the Government has not hesitated to use it when it considers falsehoods harmful to the public interest. Yet in this case, Shanmugam said that at the time the Haaretz article was published, the authorities assessed that issuing a direction would not be in the public interest. This might seem odd. If the allegations were false, why not correct them through POFMA? The minister’s explanation implied that a formal direction could have given the story a life it did not deserve, or elevated a foreign news report into an international diplomatic incident. Instead, the Ministry of Home Affairs responded directly to Haaretz, presumably setting the record straight without the fanfare of a legal order. Shanmugam’s comments also stressed that POFMA decisions are not permanent. If circumstances change—if the article is republished, amplified, or used to justify harmful narratives—the Government can revisit its earlier decision. This approach reflects a broader philosophy: Singapore does not treat misinformation as a problem that always requires a maximum legal response. It weighs the risks, considers the context, and acts when action will genuinely serve the public interest. For critics who believe POFMA should be applied consistently, this case is complicated. It shows that the law is not automatically triggered by every falsehood; it is one option among many in the Government’s communications toolkit. Moreover, POFMA is not the only tool available. The Government can issue clarifications, hold press briefings, or respond in Parliament. In this case, a written parliamentary reply served the same function as a correction: it placed the Government’s response on the official record, where it can be cited and verified.
Shanmugam’s answer also lifted the veil on how often these quiet security exchanges occur and why they are usually kept under wraps. He revealed that since January 2025, the Ministry of Home Affairs has held eleven officials-level bilateral exchanges with foreign counterparts, including several with partners from the Middle East. The content of these exchanges is confidential and generally not publicised because of security concerns, he explained. In fact, on only one occasion was a press release issued, and that was because the foreign counterpart specifically requested it. This practical detail helps explain the context in which the Haaretz article appeared. Security cooperation between governments has always depended on trust, and trust often depends on discretion. If Singapore were to publicise every meeting, name every partner, and reveal the subjects of discussion, some partners would think twice about sharing sensitive information. The result would be a less safe country. But discretion has a downside. When officials do not speak, false reports can emerge and gain traction. The Haaretz story may have traded on precisely this secrecy, using the absence of official confirmation as a licence to speculate. Shanmugam’s response was therefore a corrective, but not an overcorrection. He did not reveal what was discussed, nor did he try to justify the meeting to the public in great detail. He simply stated that the key allegation was false and left it at that. This is the quiet art of security communication: saying enough to stop misinformation from hardening into accepted reality, while preserving enough ambiguity to protect operational relationships. The revelation of the eleven exchanges was itself a rare moment of transparency, a signal that the Government is willing to share some numbers even when it cannot share the substance. One press release in eleven exchanges is a remarkably low figure, and it shows how seldom Singapore chooses to publicise such meetings. The exception, made at a partner’s request, demonstrates that even the usual rule of silence can be waived when the other side sees value in openness.
The most striking part of Shanmugam’s reply, however, was his challenge to Fadli. The minister said that if the Member of Parliament believed MHA should use operational exchanges to raise broader concerns about the conduct or policies of the country concerned, then he should say so clearly. But Shanmugam immediately pressed the point further: would this principle apply only to Israel, or should it apply consistently to every country that engages with MHA? When Singapore holds operational discussions with other Middle Eastern or Asian countries, should it also raise whatever concerns it may have about their conduct? If that is the Member’s position, the Government would like to know how such an approach would serve Singapore’s overall interests. The thrust of the argument was hard to miss. The minister was warning against selective moralising in security matters. If every bilateral engagement became a chance to lecture the other side about its policies, the space for practical cooperation would shrink. Singapore is a small country that depends on a wide network of friends; it cannot afford to limit its security relationships to nations it agrees with on every issue. At the same time, Shanmugam’s words contained an invitation for Fadli to show his consistency. If the MP wanted Singapore to raise settlements and settler violence with Israel, would he also ask Singapore to raise human rights concerns with other partners? Would he accept the diplomatic costs? These are uncomfortable questions, but they are central to any serious debate about foreign policy and security. By raising them, Shanmugam shifted the burden of proof from the Government to the questioner. He made the case that operational exchanges are not the right channel for airing political disagreements, and that trying to use them in that way could damage the very relationships that keep Singapore safe. The broader point is one of fairness. If Singapore were to demand that every security partner meet a political test before cooperation could begin, many of those partnerships would never start. Security threats do not respect political boundaries, and neither can the security relationships needed to combat them.
Taken as a whole, Shanmugam’s response reveals a government that is confident in its security relationships but sensitive to the political currents around them. The Haaretz episode is a reminder that official silence can be interpreted as endorsement, or worse, as a cover-up. Singapore’s instinct is to keep security cooperation private because that is what makes it work. But privacy creates space for narratives that the Government cannot always control. In this case, the falsehood was direct enough and serious enough that an official denial was necessary. Yet the Government stopped short of using POFMA, signaling a preference for proportionality over escalation. The episode also shows how the line between domestic and foreign policy can blur. A question about a security meeting quickly became a question about Israel, settlements, and the West Bank. Shanmugam’s answer reminded Parliament that Singapore’s foreign policy positions are not formulated in the Ministry of Home Affairs. They are expressed through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, at the appropriate time and in the appropriate forum. For citizens, the challenge is to accept that some information cannot be shared without harming national security. For the Government, the challenge is to ensure that legitimate public interest is not dismissed merely because a topic is inconvenient. The balance will never be perfect. But in this case, the Government chose clarity on the central falsehood, silence on operational details, and a pointed defence of its right to cooperate with a diverse range of countries. In many ways, the entire episode was a textbook example of how the Government manages risk. It explained as much as it could, rejected what was false, and refused to be drawn into a debate that could undermine its operational effectiveness. Whether that is enough will depend on how much weight citizens give to transparency versus safety, and how much they are willing to trust the quiet judgments made in the name of national security.