The US and other Western countries import so many goods from China. In reacting so quickly and so negatively to my smoke-filled environment, I didn’t take the time to think about whether my fellow Internet cafe inhabitants should be free to choose how to spend their surplus income, making choices as people elsewhere have been doing for ages. At present, many Chinese are reveling in having more choices — choices about whether to smoke or not, choices among restaurants, choices which custom writing site to choose, choices about vacation destinations, choices among cell phone plans, and choices about entertainment — that many people in Western countries take for granted.
It took more time to realize that my perspective on second-hand smoke had been shaped by my experience as a US citizen in the second half of the 20th century. In the end, the person next to me in the Internet cafe is free to smoke and even exhale his smoke into my face if he so chooses. Whether I decide to stay seated or to leave, the burden is on me, as visitor and guest, to adjust to his smoke- filled environment.
In the previous example, I rushed to negative judgments about Chinese citizens primarily as a result of my subjective and parochial worldview; other times, however, we rush to negative judgments simply because the cultural difference at hand isn’t what it appears to be at first glance. These mishaps are simply cultural misunderstandings.
As an example of this phenomenon, consider an incident during a trip to Accra, Ghana, to visit students studying at Cape Coast University. Over the course of a two-week visit, Dave, a former colleague, and I became friends with Marshall, the Cape Coast University employee who had been assigned to us as our driver. The more I got to know Marshall, the more I liked him. He had held a series of interesting jobs in a few different countries, he had a large and loving family, and he was excited about the goings on at his local church.
I could tell by the way he talked about his family that he was a caring father. These positive impressions were all called into question when, while negotiating narrow streets in a dense, residential part of Accra in our van, an 18-month old child ran out into the street right in front of us. Marshall slammed the breaks, stuck his head out the window, and yelled at the knee-high girl in a local dialect. I was stunned. I thought I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t cruelly lash out at a young child. The three of us sat in silence for a few minutes until Dave, sitting in the passenger seat, asked, “What did you say to that girl back there?” Marshall briefly paused, and then said, “I didn’t say anything to the girl. I yelled at her mother telling her ‘Children are precious gifts from God and you should keep a closer eye on yours!”’
