In the United States, I rarely use my horn while driving.
Unless I can foresee something fatal or if I really need to communicate something to someone, I never use my horn.
When it is used, it’s often considered rude and rarely receives a positive reaction.
In China, if you don’t use it, you will without a doubt become a statistic in the yearly traffic incident analyzation.
The Chinese walk around with horse blinders on. You rarely see a Chinese person’s eyes walking down the
street as they’re always pointed downward. They must have the weakest necks of any society considering they never turn their head in any direction before moving in a forward motion.
I observe people daily walking across streets and out into busy intersections with their head down and eyes practically closed.
I don’t give any insight as to what rationalization they have for this behavior, but I can only assume the responsibility is put upon the person driving, and that it is up to them to move around the oblivious pedestrian.
Honking is absolutely necessary. I have learned that if no one is honking at you, it must mean that no one’s there, speeding toward you. Therefore, at any point in time, you may step out onto the road or cross the intersection without looking, because no one is honking at you.
Then, you have the Chinese that are so deafened by the constant honking,
that it no longer means anything to them. I am often driving 40-50km/hour on my scooter, laying on my little horn trying to ‘notify’ them of my impending arrival, and they don’t even blink. Then, upon seeing me 2 feet from blasting through them, they look me straight in the eye as if I’m s t r o l l i n g down the street walking my dog.
When an accident does happen, no one yells, no one gets angry, everyone just looks around waiting for someone to tell them what to do. No one is blamed. No one shows any emotion. No one makes eye contact.
They just continue on their way.
In November I was riding my bike to university. It takes me exactly 12 minutes to leave my apartment, take my bicycle down in the elevator, pedal to campus, and arrive on the 5th floor for my Chinese class each morning.
This particular morning it was really cold and rainy, so I had a heavy coat on with my hood up, looking down at the road trying to keep the rain out of my eyes.
At one point, I was looking down for a few seconds too long and then looked up to find myself mere seconds from colliding with a three-wheeled car driving on the wrong side of the road in the wrong direction. Not only was he doing a million things wrong, he was driving so fast that I didn’t have enough time to react.
At the last second we both reacted. In the same direction.
We collided. I fell. My bike was pinned under his car.
He jumped out. He didn’t ask me if I was okay, to help me up, or to examine my bleeding fingers, but to quickly move my bike from under his car and to drive on as if nothing had happened.
There was a man in the back of his car at that time who jumped out, saw me, saw the driver speed off, and in a panic, walked away.
I stood up, hands on my knees, trying to figure out what had just happened, to then look up and find a mangled bicycle and blood-gushing fingers. I walked my bike home and started crying about five minutes after the collision, more from shock than from pain.
My fingers were badly cut, but I didn’t think I needed stitches. I bandaged them up and went to class.
My fingers were throbbing so badly by the time I reached class twenty minutes late that I walked into the classroom with my bandaged hand held above my heart. As soon as my teacher released the class for the first break she ordered me to open my bandages and then sent me directly to the hospital.
I’ve experienced Chinese hospitals once before and really didn’t want to go back, but finally surrendered and went to get five stitches.
The moral of this story has nothing to do with my injury. My fingers have now healed and I only have two small scars left as evidence.
The driver sped away because had the police been involved or had he tried to help me, he would have quickly been deemed responsible and would most likely been forced to pay me a lot of money.
This was immediately the question I was posed by each individual Chinese
person.
They didn’t ask me if I was okay, how long I had to keep the stitches in, or whether I needed any help.
They were more concerned with whether or not the police came and how much money he
had given me. What? He didn’t give me any money. He left. He picked up my bike and sped off. I didn’t even see his face.
It happened too fast.
In China, surrounding people don’t offer a helping hand when someone is in need.
Instead, they stay back, watch, gossip, and walk away hoping no one saw them near the accident. This happens because if an accident occurs, when the police arrive, they quickly blame the closest person standing to the injured.
It doesn’t matter if they were involved in the accident or if they even saw it.
Someone must take the blame, and a case is never to be left open. Police arrive, point fingers, order fines to be paid, and it’s another good day’s work.
This backward system is not only accepted, but encouraged in this country.
I’m not angry at the man that refused to help me, I’m disappointed by the system.
Culture comes from years and years of history and tradition, but change is not always a negative thing. Create a sense of community in your country and teach your citizens to help someone in need whether you cause their pain or
not. I believed this to be a basic human instinct, but apparently I’m more naïve than I ever realized.
Undiscovered Sunsets 