Every January or February, this debate shows up right on schedule. Is it Chinese New Year or Lunar New Year? It feels like a small wording choice, but in Singapore and across Southeast Asia, it always turns into something bigger.
That’s because this isn’t really about the moon or calendars. It’s about identity, diaspora, and who gets named.
What “Chinese New Year” means
When most people say Chinese New Year, they’re not talking about astronomy. They’re talking about a specific cultural festival.
They mean reunion dinners, red packets, lion dances, firecrackers, zodiac animals, pineapple tarts, nian gao, mandarin oranges, and the unspoken rule that you do not wash your hair on the first day. They mean stories about Nian the monster, spring couplets pasted on doors, and family obligations that stretch across borders.
In other words, it refers to Chinese civilisation and its diaspora, not simply a calendar system.
For overseas Chinese communities—from Southeast Asia to North America—Chinese New Year has long been one of the most visible public expressions of identity. It’s the one time a year when being Chinese isn’t just something you privately are, but something you collectively perform: in malls, schools, workplaces, and streets.
That’s why the term carries emotional weight. It names a people, not just a date.
What “Lunar New Year” is trying to do
Lunar New Year, on the other hand, is often introduced as the more inclusive option. The idea is that many cultures celebrate a new year around the same time, so using “Chinese” by default feels unfair. That logic makes sense on paper, especially in multicultural societies.
The problem is that “lunar” is a technical term, not a cultural one. There isn’t a single lunar calendar, and not all lunar new years fall on the same date or share the same traditions. Tibetan, Korean, Vietnamese, and Chinese calendars aren’t identical. Grouping everything under “lunar” flattens distinct traditions into a generic astronomical category.
Yet when most people say Lunar New Year, they still picture zodiac animals, red decorations, and Spring Festival imagery, which come specifically from Chinese traditions. So the term ends up being vague in theory and Chinese in practice. It sounds neutral, but it quietly strips away cultural specificity.
Diaspora tension: erased vs over-associated
This is where the tension starts to split. For many Chinese in the diaspora, switching to Lunar New Year feels like being edited out of their own festival. The customs stay, but the name disappears. In communities that already feel overlooked, that loss of naming can feel like erasure, even if that wasn’t the intention.
At the same time, there’s another very real perspective. Vietnamese and Korean communities have long pointed out that their New Years celebrations are not just variations of the Chinese one. They’re rooted in their own histories, languages, and rituals. Even within the Chinese diaspora, some people prefer Lunar New Year because they don’t want cultural traditions automatically linked to modern Chinese politics.
So the debate isn’t one-sided. One group feels erased when “Chinese” is removed. Another feels misrepresented when “Chinese” becomes the default. Both reactions come from lived experience, not online outrage.
Distancing from China
At the same time, there’s a very real counter-reaction—particularly among non-Chinese Asians and even some overseas Chinese.
Not everyone wants their culture automatically associated with China, especially given modern geopolitics. Korean and Vietnamese communities have long argued that their New Year traditions are not offshoots of Chinese culture, but parallel developments shaped by their own histories.
Even within the Chinese diaspora, some people prefer Lunar New Year precisely because it creates distance from the PRC as a political entity. For them, the term feels safer, more neutral, less loaded.
Why the name still matters
This debate keeps resurfacing in Singapore and across Southeast Asia because this region sits right at the heart of overlapping diasporas. Our cultures share calendars, festivals, and influences, but they aren’t interchangeable. The trouble begins when institutions, brands, or workplaces try to apply one clean label to everyone without context.
What’s often missing is nuance. Chinese New Year refers to Chinese culture and diaspora life. Lunar New Year refers to a broader timing shared by multiple traditions. They aren’t enemies, and one doesn’t need to replace the other.
Chinese New Year is about people.
Lunar New Year is about calendars.
The name still matters because names signal who is being seen. For younger generations especially, identity isn’t singular or fixed. It’s layered, hybrid, and negotiated daily. Losing specificity in the name can feel like losing a piece of that clarity.
If this argument returns every year, it’s not because people are overly sensitive. It’s because the festival still means something. And maybe that’s the most honest takeaway of all.
