Beijing Rhythm VS. New York Rhythm
Last month, a friend of mine came to New York from Beijing for the first time and was very impressed by the patience of New Yorkers. I was puzzled, as New Yorkers have a reputation in the United States for being rude and impatient. She should spend a week in the small towns of the American South and Midwest to truly understand what patience and civility mean. There, failing to yield to pedestrians while driving is a serious offense, while New York drivers are notoriously rude and rarely yield to pedestrians. My friend was unconvinced; she pointed to a cashier in a grocery store who was calmly chatting with customers despite a long line of over ten people, saying, "If this were in Beijing, customers would have already started complaining." Looking at those customers, of various skin colors and ages, they all stood there peacefully, showing no signs of anger.
A week later, I returned to China on a business trip and found that my friend was indeed correct. I was late for a connecting flight at the Capital Airport and needed to change to another flight. There were at most 20 people in line, and the queue was moving at a reasonable pace, but the people around me were extremely anxious. The man behind me insisted on standing right next to me, as if that would bring him closer to the counter. Within five minutes, someone in the line shouted, "The service here is terrible; there are so many people but only three counters open." In fact, the entire process took less than 15 minutes, and the counter staff were surprisingly quick. In New York, no one would even grunt. Many things in Beijing move at a faster pace than in New York. This is not surprising—China's overall pace is faster than that of the United States. A British economist living in Shanghai designed a "Chinese Year" chart, calculating that the development of the United States in one year is roughly equivalent to that of China in three months. This time, I truly experienced what the so-called "Chinese Year" means. During my first week in Beijing, the road in front of my apartment building was still under construction, and it turned into a big muddy pit whenever it rained. I always asked taxi drivers to drop me off at the underground parking garage. But one morning in the second week, I found that this 500 to 600-meter-long road had miraculously transformed into a wide asphalt road overnight. Within a couple of days, the rubble left from the demolition across the street also disappeared, replaced by a large green space adorned with many blooming flowers. This rapid pace is naturally related to the upcoming Olympics, but it is not solely due to that. Just think about how many buildings have been constructed and how many roads have been repaired in Beijing over the past decade. I hadn't been to Tianjin in ten years, and this time I spent a weekend there; the city, which I had previously jokingly referred to as a "big county town" due to its disorder and dilapidation, has completely transformed into a neat and beautiful new city.
In China, not only are buildings constructed quickly and roads repaired swiftly, but many things emphasize speed. Everyone wants results as soon as possible, seemingly lacking patience for others. I found myself hitting walls because I was still living at the pace of New York. At the new Terminal 3 of the Capital Airport, because I couldn't walk fast enough, a gentleman behind me pushed me aside (what puzzled me was why, in such a spacious area, he couldn't just step aside and walk in front of me? That would have cost him 0.1 seconds of his time). I pushed a large pile of luggage onto the elevator, but I didn't make it onto the first one. After waiting for ten minutes, the second elevator arrived, and I stood in second place (clearly, no one acknowledged this), but everyone seemed to have something more urgent than I did and pushed me to the back. The third time, I remembered the principle of "survival of the fittest" and did not let those without luggage enter first; instead, I rudely pushed my cart in because I really needed to catch another flight.
But the airport is not the most challenging place to navigate; the elevators in office buildings are. If you watch American TV shows, the rude and inconsiderate characters often deliberately close the elevator doors when they see someone rushing to catch it, leaving them outside. In New York, I rarely encounter the door close button being pressed; usually, someone will hold the door open for others. When I am tired in the morning or in a bad mood, I simply stand a little further from the door, lost in my thoughts, knowing that if someone happens to get left outside, it won't be my fault. In Beijing, the rules are quite the opposite. On my first day there, I received disdainful looks for standing to the side in the elevator without pressing the close button. Although the person didn't say anything, his expression and the forceful pressing of the button clearly conveyed his dissatisfaction.
I quickly discovered that in Beijing, almost everyone's first action upon entering an elevator is to press the close button. The most extreme example was one morning when I held the door open for a young man to enter the elevator, but after he got in (after politely thanking me), one of his hands was glued to the close button, and he started pressing it every time the door opened. I didn't think he was being intentional; it seemed he was subconsciously repeating a habitual action, leaning against the close button, as if nothing was more important to him at that moment than saving a few seconds. People are products of their environment. Before coming to the United States, I would never have thought his behavior was odd. On the contrary, when I first arrived in New York, I was astonished that no one pressed the elevator close button; many people would instead hold the door open for others and would deliberately look back to see if anyone was coming through the door, and if so, they would hold the door to avoid slamming it in someone’s face.
Many people think Americans are careless and lack manners. In fact, American society has many rules and expectations regarding personal behavior. Speaking and acting should respect everyone, regardless of their social or economic status. It is considered very bad to be called rude here. When I first arrived at Columbia University, I was told this. A group of us went to a nearby bar after class one evening. After ordering food, I casually told the server, "We are starving; please hurry up with the food." This is a perfectly normal statement in my home country. But one of my classmates from the South jokingly told me, "That’s too rude of you to say." She explained that being a restaurant server is a very tiring and stressful job, and we should not add extra pressure on them. Now, I only dare to politely ask, 20 minutes after ordering, "Could you please check why our food hasn’t arrived yet?" When the payment line at the grocery store is too long, I will take a gossip magazine and read while waiting in line, sometimes even hoping the line will be longer so I can finish the magazine. Even when I am running to an appointment, I will stop to hold the door for the person behind me.
I firmly believe that every culture has its own rationale for doing things, and there are only differences between cultures, not hierarchies. But this time, I must say that when it comes to queuing and yielding, I prefer the way of American society because I enjoy the feeling of respecting others and being respected in return. This means I don’t have to wake up early to fight for a taxi, no one will look at me expressionlessly while pressing the elevator close button as I rush toward it, I don’t have to deal with people who don’t queue, and I don’t have to listen to a well-dressed middle-aged man shamelessly say, "You put your foot under my shoe." (This is my personal experience.)
The rhythm in Beijing is very fast; the number of buildings constructed in a year may far exceed that of New York in ten years, but the invisible costs paid by individuals in this process are also very high. This society's expectations of people are materialistic, utilitarian, and shortsighted. Every day feels like going into battle, and time and energy are often wasted on unpleasant and trivial matters (such as my experience with the elevator at the Capital Airport). No one yields to anyone; it is a complete survival of the fittest mentality, where sometimes one is the strong and sometimes the weak. But I also see hope. One afternoon during rush hour, the taxi driver who picked me up actually stopped at an intersection and waved for a person on a tricycle to go first. I was both shocked and moved by his gesture. He said, "Actually, if everyone yields a little, we would all have a more pleasant experience." That is the essence of it.
