Chinese Driving Style.

I, Me, Mine
By R. SCOTT MACINTOSH

(Originally published by www.bjreview.com.cn )

Every driver in Beijing wants to be Mario Andretti. It’s the unyielding driving style that seems to derive from the idea that some prize might wait at the end of the trip from A to B besides a destination or a cab fare. Given the gut wrenching turns, the maneuvering in and out of traffic lanes, around cars and buses, the splintering of groups of pedestrians, and the near misses measured by centimeters, it would seem that Beijing’s streets are the training ground for drivers destined for the new Shanghai raceway.

Beijing’s streets are complete anarchy, as anyone who’s visited the city knows. Each and every driver seems to feel that they alone have the privilege of the road. The blaring horns are an incessant reminder of that notion. And it’s not limited to Beijing either. China possesses about 1.9 percent of the world’s cars, but its drivers get into 15 percent of the world’s traffic accidents. More than 100,000 people died from auto-related fatalities in 2003, according to government statistics.

For many visitors and foreign residents alike, even the simple task of crossing the street can be a frightening and completely infuriating experience. Pedestrians, defenseless in the path of a speeding ton of black steel, are forced to give the right-of-way to drivers, or risk being flattened. Drivers use a dehumanizing ten-yard stare to get away with it. It is a willful refusal to make eye contact or recognize pedestrians for what they are-vulnerable human beings. To certain drivers, pedestrians are no more than inconvenient objects or obstacles.

Sadly, the “me first” attitude is not relegated to cars. It seems pervasive through the entire public space, encompassing bikes and rickshaws to those who push onto subways or into the front of a line. And it consistently tops Westerners’ biggest complaints about China. Forget about visiting Beijing’s tourist attractions during high season, especially the more cramped places like Prince Gong’s mansion. The mansion was a surreal setting during a recent visit with my parents. Dozens of Chinese tour groups were corralled and herded through the narrow walkways of the residence, stampeding from one point to the other with little regard for what was in the way. People leaped onto rocks to get out of the path of the raging mobs. My mother was shoved through a doorway and nearly fell into the middle of an acrobatic performance. The feet juggling umbrella trick went along unfazed, though the acrobat did seem surprised to see my mother, as much as my mother was to see her.

In my experience of living in Beijing I have come to know the Chinese as wonderful people: friendly, accommodating, and incredibly sweet. So why don’t people behave that way in public? In the public sphere the paradox couldn’t be more drastic.

Lately, it seems, more attention has been given to writers and scholars who’ve addressed China’s lack of public mores. Liang Qichao’s influential essay from the early 20th century, titled “On Public Morality,” notes that traditional Chinese values, based on Confucian principles, are focused primarily on private and family matters, and therefore lack a code for public etiquette. Writer Lin Yutang described Chinese society as a game of mahjong, or poker, where everyone is out for themselves. “In a society where legal protection is not given to personal rights, indifference is always safe and has an attractive side that is difficult for Westerners to appreciate,” he wrote. Another writer, Lu Xun, felt the indifference in Chinese society amounted to a lack of empathy for others, as illustrated by the voyeuristic tendency to rubberneck.

Chinese indifference can be difficult for Westerners. I watched recently, with a dozen or so others, as a woman and a child took a spill from a bike into the middle of the road. I wondered if I should break from the group to help her. I realized that if we were in Europe, or Latin America, or the United States, or somewhere else, some chivalrous chap might have dashed out to her aid. I’ve never felt comfortable with being the one who is first to prove their heroics, especially if the situation is minor. I feel embarrassed. And it seems like I’m embarrassing the other persons as well. So I stood with the others and watched as the woman struggled to pick up the bike and laughed uncomfortably. The kid was wide-eyed and trembling like a Chihuahua. The light turned green and the group walked past her. It felt strange to think that one does right by doing nothing at all and for a moment I felt caught in the crossfire of cultural ethics. Should I have helped her even though she did not expect help? Was it my place to set some kind of example? Would it have helped at all or caused her a further loss of face? Would I have been injecting the values of the West into a situation where it was not welcome? Is it best to adopt the social norms of the place you’re living or act in a way that is more becoming of the society you’re from? What would you have done? [End]