Paul French caught up with author Ralph Jennings to get his advice on a few especially puzzling aspects of Chinese work life
Ralph Jennings lived for seven years in Beijing and more than that in Taipei. He’s worked as a news editor with the state-owned China Daily, an advice columnist for the 21st Century weekly in Beijing and as a reporter for numerous international media outlets, including Reuters. He also taught writing courses in Beijing at the Communication University of China for several years. These jobs exposed Jennings to thousands of news interviewees, media colleagues, students and their friends. Then came the random people who shared seats on overnight train rides in China, approached the author in Beijing’s sprawling parks and, in one case, threw a glass bottle at him. They ranged from teenagers to retirees. All that is condensed into his helpful new book, 50 Pieces of Advice on China (Earnshaw Books). Jennings now covers the Chinese economy for the South China Morning Post in Hong Kong.
Why don’t hands get raised at meetings?
The person to whom the hand belongs might get shot down. Leaders of meetings tend to rank high. A question might offend those leaders by implying that the meeting didn’t cover all points in adequate detail. We’re talking about company staff meetings and professional conferences where senior people go on stage. Leaders prefer to lead without any hint of a challenge, part of an old social order that many Chinese people intuitively understand. And what if the point of someone’s question was covered at the meeting? Asking would admit to not absorbing details of the event, effectively reflecting badly on the person’s brain capacity rather than marking the person as a careful double-checker of information. To avoid offending a leader or embarrassing oneself, those with questions may just ask one another. Shortly after many an event, chatter levels rise quickly in the audiences as trusted colleagues or cohorts ask one another what the speakers meant. Common questions include: What do we do next? Do our jobs change? What’s the background of this new person joining our team?
Why are co-worker relations so tricky in China?
Employers too often give vague job descriptions. Everyone in an office might have the title “associate”, for example. Without clearer ideas about who exactly does what, co-workers invest a lot of time psyching out the bosses for clues – and for dibs on the easiest (off by 5.30 pm) and most rewarding (work travel) duties. Company heads prefer vague job descriptions to keep a high level of authority. More defined roles, especially if backed up by employee handbooks that are full of detailed rules, limit leaders’ flexibility in business. Clearer definitions offer employees clarity on their exact rights and obligations, which is good for them but possibly inconvenient for senior leaders who are rule-bound to respect those boundaries. As a result, co-workers vie for the best roles by getting onto the good sides of supervisors. That process can take many forms, including favours unrelated to work, but it usually means grasping quickly what bosses really want day to day and giving them exactly that, especially in a crisis situation.
Why do employees work overtime even when the work is done?
This practice reflects a psychology of accumulation: more is better. The same psychology explains the crush to study 10-plus hours a day and find ways to make money even when super-rich already. Not too many decades ago, China was unstable across multiple metrics, and people weren’t sure how long they could keep resources or find more. An employee who stays at work for two extra hours, even if just to fiddle around on their PC, has the look/feel of giving the company two more hours of time that should theoretically translate to positive income. Office heads who believe in accumulation psychology feel comforted by the extra hours and remember who’s working longest, often without measuring tangible outcomes of the time spent. Friendlier bosses buy dinners for their long-hour employees. With this kind of oversight, plus the free meals, it’s hard to walk off at 5.30 pm after an eight-hour shift even if work is done (and done well) and the labour laws say it’s OK to leave. To leave on time would offend the boss and cast the departed employee as one who doesn’t care about the company.
Why is it acceptable to copy without permission?
Copying is traditionally seen as an expression of respect for someone’s work. That means students can block copy passages from other scholars without attributing every one of them. It means going ahead and playing a famous song at a public event without seeking permission from the song’s creator. Over roughly the past 25 years, China has faced pressure from copyright-conscious foreign governments to adopt a Western-style system of intellectual property rights protections. Along came a suite of laws and courts. But copying persists. Commercial copying, say of a book or software package, saves a pile of resources compared to creating one’s own work – an obvious advantage in China’s cutthroat competition among businesses. A national spirit of beating other countries, especially in technology, can also drive copying without permission.
In a country where trains nearly always run on time, why is “chabuduo” (almost) so often considered good enough?
A lack of specificity anchors dealmaking, public relations and workplace relations, among other relationship chains, so the parties involved can keep a valuable degree of flexibility. Flexibility later protects the human relationships involved. If something goes wrong, both parties can say no details were final, then walk back and redo things without getting into a dispute over specifics. Deals may start with commitments to action rather than lists of actual actions to be taken. Government offices tell the mass media that projects cost “about 100 billion yuan” instead of disclosing an exact figure. Bosses give approximate orders to workplace subordinates. Humans, in all cases, hope to hold onto the margin between approximate and exact so they can keep harmony while making changes, such as raising a project cost to 150 billion yuan. Deals cover specifics after two parties build trust. A reporter with good government relations can get the exact project figure on request. A supervisor will give a detailed work request once sure there’s no need to change it or worry that employees will use it irresponsibly, such as by telling competitors.
Why is the customer not always so right in China?
Customers are small individuals, and sellers are usually companies with considerable resources. That difference creates a power divide between the two sides, and Chinese society, from the way in the past, assigns status based on accumulation. Lots of proprietors do try to help distressed customers, on principle as well as to keep people coming back. But during larger disputes, a store, restaurant or utility provider won’t hesitate to say no. They can bring out legal-looking paperwork that a customer might not have. They can ignore online complaints. And they can blame a distraught customer for product defects. The status-conscious society at large assumes that the larger company will win based on its inherent clout, even if a customer actually has a case. It’s debatable how effective government-run customer complaint hotlines and websites are in resolving disputes. That uncertainty reduces any fear of reprisal on the company’s side if it goes against a customer’s wishes. Best practice for customers: ask friends to recommend sellers before doing business.
