Hayyan, a 25-year-old who primarily works for Grab, would rather not use his true name. Even in a city-state renowned for law and order, gig workers still feel uncomfortable talking openly about the platforms they rely on, as evidenced by the final detail. He said, “The delivery rider wants immediate cash,” to a reporter earlier this year. “That is kind of the whole point of doing this kind of gig work in general.”
It’s a straightforward observation, but it gets right to the core of a problem Singapore is currently facing. With the passage of the Platform Workers Act in January 2025, the nation became the first in Southeast Asia to formally regulate gig work. The right to worker representation through officially recognized associations, mandatory contributions to the Central Provident Fund (CPF), and injury compensation all appear to be significant advancements on paper. These were pre-existing protections for a workforce of over 70,000 ride-hailing drivers and delivery riders.
However, given how this has actually transpired, the situation is more nuanced than the law implies.
40-year-old Carmen Ortega, a driver for multiple platforms, is now putting in more hours than she did prior to the law’s implementation. Her CPF account receives a portion of her monthly income, which she believes will be important in the future. “I feel like it’s saving for myself as I grow old,” she replied. However, the immediate result has been a lower weekly salary. That disparity is significant for someone whose main source of income is gig work.
The law put platforms like Grab and Gojek under pressure that they had openly declared they were prepared for. Both businesses described themselves as “supportive” of the advisory committee’s recommendations back in late 2022. Grab even advocated for the regulations to be applied uniformly throughout the sector, claiming that a level playing field was preferable to being subject to a standard that rivals could avoid. That placement made sense. The distribution of the real cost burden since the law went into effect is less obvious.
Platforms are not required to reveal how their algorithms determine compensation in Singapore or Malaysia, which passed its own Gig Workers Act in September 2025. In Singapore, platforms and worker associations affiliated with the National Trade Union Congress negotiate details such as bonus structures and penalty systems. That arrangement—worker advocacy operating through an organization with strong connections to the government and, indirectly, the platforms themselves—is a little awkward.
It’s important to remember that gig workers were never intended to be considered employees under the law. That distinction is important. In order to prevent platforms from taking on full employment responsibilities while still providing a social safety net, Singapore and Malaysia purposefully maintained the independent contractor model. The EU adopted a different strategy, creating a framework that assumes employment in the presence of specific control conditions. It’s still unclear if the Southeast Asian model endures over time or if it just postpones the more difficult issues.
A wider range of people are covered by Malaysia’s version, such as independent journalists, translators, and artists. Additionally, it avoids union-style negotiations by directing disputes through a special tribunal. When the law is put to the test for the first time, that structural difference could be crucial.
There is a feeling that Singapore’s legislation was enacted at the ideal political time—visible enough to have an impact, but cautious enough to avoid upsetting the platforms that now constitute a crucial aspect of city life. It is still very much up for debate whether it actually improves the lives of workers like Hayyan and Kan, a 49-year-old delivery rider who worries that higher costs will just result in fewer orders and lower earnings. The safeguards are genuine. The frustration is also present.
