Description
Make Way
This story comes to you from the Golden Gate Bridge—not the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco–but a similar bridge, much smaller, over the Li River in Guilin, China. Years ago, I went there for work and found myself on an afternoon with extra time. I decided to take a walk.
Guilin is a beautiful city in southern China of about 4.7 million people. It is world renowned for its scenery. In all my travels I have never seen mountains like these.
As I walked slowly along a cobbled pathway through a well-manicured park, I took in everything my senses could capture. From the reactions of the passer-bys I could tell I was a little bit of an oddity—red-haired white guys in jeans and cowboy boots in a sea of black hair.
Then I came to the intersection. For a moment I contemplated crossing the street, but a glance convinced me that would be a life-threatening endeavor. I started to turn back and was suddenly struck by what I saw. I turned back, leaned up against the street sign, propped up my boot, and stood there watching.
Thousands of people passed by me in the time I was there. They were coming from all four corners. There were no traffic lights, no pedestrian signals, no dividers, and few signs, and yet the traffic flowed like merging rivers. I am a professional driver and I stood dumbfounded. How did these people do that and keep from killing each other?
Every conceivable type of vehicle passed before me. There were huge trucks and tiny cars. There were large double-decker buses full of people, and little three-wheeled motorcycles carrying everything. I saw the most expensive luxury sports cars and the most worthless, decrepit-looking conveyances imaginable. Some of them were so mutant looking I can’t even tell you what they were.
The scooters were the most intriguing. They carried every class of people, and not just one person either. I saw very old men and young elegantly dressed women. One scooter went by me with a girl and her large collie dog. Children rode on the back or stood in the front, often playing with toys or balloons as if they had no care in the world.
The traffic pattern was unlike anything in America, simply because there was no pattern. Everyone went everywhere in whatever direction they pleased. A turn signal was not a request, it was a declaration of determined intent. I saw numerous instances where I thought someone was going to be hurt, but it never happened. I can still see Grandpa toddling obliviously into the flow of traffic with a tiny child in a stroller and wondering if they would survive.
At one point it all snarled into a tangle so tight I didn’t think it could come apart. And yet, there was not one crunched fender. Moreover, despite the ubiquitous honking of horns, there was not one instance of road rage.
People in America don’t drive like this. They can’t drive like this. It is culturally impossible for Americans to travel like this. Why?
I stood there until I figured it out. In spite of the seeming disorder there was a pattern that emerged. Scooters, bikes, and pedestrians flowed among the cars like sand in a jar of rocks. All were equal—not even the police were given a right of way. Everyone moved carefully–slowly, looking out for each other. When someone rudely cut them off, they just made way for them. When a horn was sounded, it was not a provocation but a declaration. ‘I’m here—watch out for me.’ Everyone looked out for everyone and all made it home at the end of the day.
And that is the grand secret for all humanity. As Confucius himself said, “What you do not wish for yourself, do not do to others”.
And by the way, you may be wondering, did I cross that busy street to see if they would make way for me? I did—twice.
