四海为家

A recent article in the Economist argues that the spread of English as a global language (together with feminism and the rise of new technologies for communication) has led to a drastic decrease in the use of polite forms of address, which have instead been replaced by much more concise and uniform ways of addressing those around us, ways that are friendly and egalitarian but weaken our ability to express respect or intimacy through our use of language. To me, this seems like a classic case of language adapting to new social structures, rather than language influencing social structures (if the spread of English plays a role in decreased formality, I would guess that it’s because English speakers generally come from cultures that for a variety of reasons are relatively non-hierarchical, and globalization spreads that outlook, rather than because English as a language is sparse in words to express different levels of formality). But differences in politeness norms are interesting to think about nonetheless.

According to the author, when English and foreign codes of politeness come into conflict, the English codes, which tend towards greater informality, usually win out when the language spoken is English:

Businesses from countries where formality is still strong have to adjust to that. “When we go on a road show to meet investors in New York and London, we are on first name terms while we speak English. But as soon as we are speaking German again, it is Dr Schmidt and Herr Braun,” says the public relations chief for one of Germany’s best-known firms.

Makes sense — it seems like for the most part, people don’t find it too difficult to vous or usted when appropriate in French or Spanish, and switching down a level of formality should be even easier (although I almost always forget to use 您 when I’m talking to my teachers). Sometimes, according to the article, the cultural difference in how to address business contacts or new acquaintances can cause friction:

In countries such as Japan and China, the use of first names is restricted to the very closest family members—spouses and parents. Foreigners hoping to cement their relationship with Japanese or Chinese counterparts by shifting to first-name terms are often unaware of the consternation—akin to public nose-blowing—they are causing.

One of the most interesting parts of studying a new language and learning about a new culture is trying to figure out how to be polite in that new language — difficult when you haven’t even mastered basic forms of expression yet, let alone figured out differences in what to say and when to say it. I had a birthday party on Friday night, and since it seemed like a classic example of an occasion where cultural expectations differ, I was a little worried that I’d do something wrong and fail to be polite. As a foreigner in China, you tend to get a lot of leeway when it comes to etiquette, and the most simple etiquette rules are pretty easy to figure out (don’t stick your chopsticks into your rice bowl so that they stand up and look like incense sticks; take your shoes off when you enter someone’s home; if you run into someone on the street, ask them if they’ve eaten yet). And all of the guests knew that it was a Western-style party, so they probably didn’t mind that some things were different. But I obviously still wanted them to feel as comfortable as possible. So I dutifully made sure that there were slippers for all the guests (I scavenged through the apartment and miraculously manage to scrape together 18 pairs that had been tucked away in different nooks and crannies); I put presents to the side to be opened later rather than opening them immediately in front of the guests, in order to avoid appearing greedy; I made lots and lots of food and tried to stuff them as full as possible.

I’m not sure how many etiquette mistakes I made, but my guests in turn were all exceptionally polite, and didn’t let on if they thought that anything was out of place. Almost everyone arrived punctually a few minutes after 8 pm, except for a few stragglers who got lost and found my apartment at most 10 minutes later. They told me the desserts were delicious, even though I’m pretty sure some of it was too sweet for their tastes (it seems like most Chinese people aren’t huge fans of sweet things, especially not eaten on their own). And almost everyone left en masse at 10.30 pm, 30 minutes before those at the party who were students needed to get back into their dorms before the doors were locked for the night.

But obviously what left the deepest impression wasn’t just my friends’ politeness, it was their kindness. I was showered with birthday presents, each incredibly thoughtfully chosen, each one reflecting some aspect of Chinese culture that they wanted me to learn more about or take with me home to share with my friends and family. When the time comes (a few months from now) to leave Wuhan behind, it’s going to difficult to leave.