Twelve months into Asia's economic crisis, the island state of Singapore is beginning to feel its full, most painful effects. It has been a sharp reversal in fortunes for the region which began in mid-1997, just as our South East Asia correspondent, Simon Ingram, was beginning an assignment in Singapore.

Simon Ingram

I'd only been in Singapore a few days when the first of the letters arrived, a nondescript brown envelope stuffed with scrawled hand-written pages of what can only be described as a sort of poetic rant.

The writer gave his name, though I'd better not reveal it here, and a sort of address: Singapore, my foothold in hell it read. Beneath was a text which alternated between the savagely ironic and the downright obscene, complaining -- in essence -- about the absence of homosexual rights in his home country.

It was not the sort of missive I'd expected to land on my desk in squeaky-clean Singapore. But the letters have kept on coming ever since, a bizarre, furious tirade against the Singapore system.

At first, I was tempted to dismiss their author as a crank, the sort of Mr Angry who might latch onto a foreign correspondent anywhere. But as time's gone on, I've come to take a more appreciative view of his literary endeavours.

In a land where the law prohibits dancing at pop concerts, where the authorities organise courtesy campaigns, and where buskers need an official licence, it was strangely reassuring that such anarchic outbursts could happen at all.

There are, of course, other individuals prepared to undertake the sometimes risky endeavour of challenging a government which makes no secret of its dislike for criticism.

People like Ben Jeyaretnam, for example, the leader of the tiny opposition Workers' Party. It was Mr Jeyaretnam who, in the aftermath of President Suharto's resignation last month, had the nerve to issue a statement, expressing the hope that now the people of Indonesia had claimed their freedom, it might soon be time for the people of Singapore to do the same.

I first met this elderly but indomitable politician beneath the dome of Singapore's Supreme Court, where he was facing the latest libel suit brought against him by the prime minister and several cabinet colleagues.

Mr Jeyaretnam had a secret weapon up his sleeve in the shape of the formidable British QC, George Carman. The highlight of the hearings was Mr Carman's ruthless cross-examination of the prime minister, Mr Goh Chok Tong, and the reaction to it from the crowd packing the public benches. The barely-suppressed titters of mirth that could be heard while Mr Goh endured a humiliation rare for any sitting prime minister suggested that while Singaporeans seem to respect, or even fear their government, they don't have much affection for it.

There's other evidence for this; take, for instance, the latest wheeze being used to keep down traffic congestion in the island by means of an automated roadpricing scheme. It's involved installing a little grey electronic box on the dashboard of every car, lorry and motor-cycle. The boxes hold a cash-card, from which money's deducted every time the vehicle goes under the special gantries set up on main roads.

High tec surveillance Singapore style

The local press raves about this innovative technique to cut down the traffic jams. But privately, some ordinary Singaporeans seem convinced the scheme is -- in reality -- part of a sinister government plot to keep tabs on everyone's movements. This is a land, you might surmise, with a healthy -- not to say excessive -- suspicion of officialdom.

Glib judgements are easy of course, and I wouldn't be the first foreign correspondent to be accused of misjudging Singapore, and of disparaging the progress the country's achieved in the thirty-odd years since its independence.

But I don't think I can be accused of gloating, although I may well be -- if I point out that tiny Singapore currently faces an unusually difficult set of political and economic circumstances, which are largely beyond its control.

The on-going upheavals in nearby Indonesia, the recurrent tensions in relations with the other neighbour, Malaysia, coincide with a downturn in the domestic economy that could well turn into a recession. Property prices are falling, redundancies are being announced at a growing rate, and shopkeepers are demanding rent cuts to save themselves from going out of business. The worried expressions on the faces of many Singaporeans are not without reason, and the same ministers who pride themselves on their record of sound government are being put to the severest test.

It may be apocryphal, but a senior official here is once said to have remarked in all earnestness that Singaporeans needed to work a lot harder at having fun. The comment was in reference to a government initiative of the day, aimed at encouraging people to work a little less and enjoy themselves more spontaneously - the same publicity drive which produced the little Smile for Singapore badge that one of my predecessors left stuck on the BBC fridge.

That was in the days when everything was booming, and Singapore's ambitions knew no bounds. It wasn't so long ago that the prime minister was musing on the importance of building a more gracious society, appreciative of art and fine music. How times change.