I have a healthy respect for wildlife. Well, so long as it stays on the other side of the fence and there are modern toilet facilities and fast-food restaurants nearby. I might watch Earth visions and worry about the plight of endangered animals, but I'm not about to join a bunch of nature lovers on a trek through Singapore's last remaining marshland just to see some egret frolicking in its natural habitat.

Theoretically speaking, then, it shouldn't matter to me that they want to clear the southern section of Sungei Punggol — Singapore's last major river still left in its natural setting — to make way for water front housing under the Punggol 21 plan. Heck, I didn't even know there was a Sungei Punggol, much less the fact that it's lined with mangroves and marshland rich in birdlife and other fauna and flora. So by that token, if the whole place is going to be destroyed and replaced by bricks and mortar and perhaps a lip-smacking good food court, then I should go yippee doo dah and clap my hands in glee.

Or should I? It reminds me of the time when a monkey showed up on our front lawn and sat on top of the palm tree. I would have liked to make friends with it, but it threw a fruit at me and I was appalled at its rudeness. The PPD official who took my hysterical call said it must have come from the forest and was probably a scout sent by its tribe to look for food.

With so many houses in the area, their natural foraging territory had been so dramatically reduced that they had taken to looting from kitchens. But not to worry, he hastened to assure me. They were going to send a team into the forest to trap the monkeys as they were wild and would attack people.

I guess it would have been naive to think that they would just come and give the monkey a severe reprimand. In line with Darwinian theory, when it comes to survival of the species, I, the bigger ape, should win.

To a certain extent, this pretty much illustrates our society's attitude, and notably that of URA architects, towards nature and wildlife. It's all very well to put animals in enclosures and charge an entrance fee — because the animals generate economic activity they are deemed a commercial asset. But not so the monkeys whom we consider pests, but whose ancestors lived here the way before we did. And not so the birds and other wildlife living in Sungei Punggol, which is at present a rent-free, under-utilised, non-income-generating place for eccentric bird-watchers; ie, a waste of space in a productive, economically viable society.

But why does there have to be a dollar value placed on everything? The URA, when asked if the marshes could be spared, had this reply: "If we were to retain the mangrove and marsh, we would have to forgo about 2,100 dwelling units." And that in land-scarce Singapore, it had to take a ba-lanced approach between retaining natural features and providing housing and other developments.

But it is precisely because Singapore is so land-scarce that natural pockets of life should be preserved, especially when so much has already been destroyed. To kill an eco-system that has existed for centuries and replace it with a coastal promenade makes as much sense as believing 2,100 units would make a difference in a project of 86,000 flats.

Any architect worth his salt will tell you that good architecture always takes into account the environment and complements it. It does not eradicate and re-create. Sure, the birds are not going to complain and the loss of Sungei Punggol is not going to change the lives of 99.9 percent of Singaporeans from an economic point of view. But when you destroy nature, you are destroying part of life. And no price tag can make up for that.

Our last remaining marshland is making way for the Punggol 21 plan. But isn't it precisely because Singapore is so land-scarce that natural pockets of land should be preserved?

[The writer is Business Times' Lifestyle Editor]