Writing Homework Help

I’m working on a english question and need support to help me learn.

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1. Give an example of how Deborah Fallows used body language to get through a tough situation. Why do you think this worked? (Answer in one full paragraph)
2. (Not based on the text) If an international student were coming to America, what specific suggestion would you give them, as far as body language, in order to help them get by? (Answer in one full paragraph) [If you are from another country, how is body language different in the US than in your country?]
3. In your opinion, what was the strangest Chinese rule/law that Deborah Fallows came across? Why is it strange? (Answer in one full paragraph)
4. Describe an Instance where Deborah Fallows encountered a rule/law that was only selectively enforced. Why was it selectively enforced? (Answer in one full paragraph)
5. Name two rules/laws that are only selectively enforced in the US. Why are they selectively enforced? (Answer in one full paragraph) [If you are from another country, what rules/laws are selectively enforced at home?]

[Excerpt from “Dreaming in Chinese: Mandarin Lessons In Life, Love, And Language” by Deborah
Fallows]

One blazing hot day in Shanghai, I was walking down a long street in search of an address that in
the end I never did find. I paused for water and to rest for a minute on a low brick wall of a
shopping mall plaza. Immediately, a guard came running over and cried hysterically, “Bie` zuo!”,
“Don’t sit there!” I jumped up, startled. It was another run–in with another rule. At the time, I still
lacked the vocabulary to question why. So I picked myself up and shuffled dutifully along, hoping
for luck at the next mall.

During our three years in China, I tried constantly to figure out the Chinese system of rules and
regulations. There are so many rules of so many sorts, some transparent and others puzzling, some
with good reason, others with no reason at all: no photos, no shoes, no entry, no swimming, no
spitting. In Beijing, stand in line on the 11th of every month; in Shanghai don’t wear pajamas
outside (as Shanghai residents are wont to do!); no horn honking in school zones during the college
entrance exam period. The rules are only randomly enforced, and the Chinese seem to have an inner
compass about which rules to take seriously and which to ignore.

Cars pay no heed to green Walk signals for pedestrians, just as pedestrians head blithely into the
streets against red Don’t Walk signals. Crowds ignore bus attendants who scream at them through
their bullhorns to stand back from the curbs. People argue with traffic attendants and even
policemen who blast their whistles, trying in vain to stay buckled up until the plane arrives at the
gate, but most passengers jump up to rummage through the overhead bins as soon as the wheels
touch the runway. People smoke in front of No Smoking signs, spit in front of No Spitting signs,
and sit on the grass in front of Keep Off The Grass Signs.

I watched my own behavior gradually change during our time in China. Here are a few examples: I
noticed that the gate guard at my neighborhood public–housing compound would let me pass if I
made no eye contact and aimed straight ahead for the laundry shop, but he would turn me back if I
hesitated and looked as if I were asking for his OK. In a hurry another day, I bypassed the subway
security, my bag in hand. No one paid attention, and from then on I gave up sending my things
through any x–ray machines. Later, when my fully loaded transportation card didn’t work, I
shrugged my shoulders and sneaked under the turnstile. The subway attendants looked casually
away. A bus conductor gave me a bye when I was a few cents short for the change box. I felt I was
learning to shave the edges.

One day during the Beijing Olympic Games, I was inching through the long lines and the maze of
security stops with a chocolate bar in my backpack. Destination: tennis matches. The people in
front of me had all manner of chips, drinks and candy abruptly confiscated. I was determined to
save my chocolate bar, especially since the pickings for refreshments in the Olympic grounds were
notoriously slim. I had been hoarding my chocolate bar for just this occasion. I figured if I was
lucky, the guard might not recognize the characteristic triangle Toblerone shape. But the savvy
guard spotted it and said “Tang!” “Candy!” “Bu shi tang,” It’s not candy, ” I insisted. “Zhe shi
yao,” ” It’s medicine.” “Xuyao wo de yao!” “I need my medicine!” I cried, taking a small bite. He
paused with a look that suggested I would be more trouble than I was worth, and waved me
through.

Why did I collaborate in petty flaunting of the rules, a national behavior to which I had now become
an accomplice? I wondered. Why does anyone (and everyone!) shave the rules in China?

The most convincing explanation I heard from my Chinese friends and China hands is that it is
impossible to regard the rules in a way we consider “normal.” There are two ways to read the facts:
the arsenal of rules is so vast and so vague that no one can even reasonably keep track and obey
them. Or, the arsenal of rules serves as a ready reserve in case the authorities might find it
convenient to apply them. One of my young friends put it colloquially; there are so many rules that
no one takes them seriously; they’ll get you somehow if they want to. And, he added with a
devilish tone, we break rules if we think we can, just for the heck of it.

To get my own gauge of which rules were flexible and when I might get away with breaking them, I
began to study Chinese body language. There is the obvious body language we all recognize: the
French are a bit haughty; Italians stand very close; Americans are always hugging; the Japanese
cover their mouths and bow a lot.

There is a lot of Chinese body language one can learn by context: don’t hug; don’t point; beckon
with your fingers pointing down; girls hold hands with girls, and boys hold hands with boys; bow
slightly (a derivative of kowtowing) when signaling respect; raise your folded hands up to your
chest and give a few shakes to mean “good fortune”; when an audience applauds you, applaud back.

In Chinese, where much is spoken in a deliberately vague or indirect way, body language helps fill
in the gaps. The Chinese are uncomfortable with an outright “no” in conversation, for example, and
beat around the bush instead.

A posture, a look, a hesitation, or any one of a variety of subtle moves adds much to shades of
meaning. This subtle kind of body language is not something that can be taught; you use your eyes
and ears together to interpret a mismatch between what you’re hearing and what you’re seeing, or to
catch a soft, “I don’t really mean it” undertone. Finally, you just get a feeling, and you know it
when you see it.

I was walking along a roaring Beijing highway, heading for the pedestrian overpass to cross to the
market in search of dinner. As I was about to take the first step up the concrete steps to the
overpass, a skinny young solder from the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), in his oversized pea–
green uniform and broad, tightly–cinched belt, stepped right in front of me. He gathered himself
into a ramrod–stiff pose and stern visage, as if to add a few authoritative years to his very tender–
looking face. He planed himself in midway across the first step and barked “No!” in fine English.
His move was so sudden that I nearly tripped over him.

Pedestrians were walking back and forth over the overpass up the steps, across the top, descending
toward us, all indifferent to whatever rule he was trying to impose on me. Everything appeared
normal. I asked, “Weishenme?” “Why?”

The solder shook his head a little and stood firm. I waved my arm upward, and wiggled two fingers
as though they were walking. He shook his head again. I pointed to the people coming down the
steps behind him. He waved me on in the direction of the next overpass, which was a good quarter
mile down the road, meaning an extra half–mile backtrack to the market

By this point, a small crowd of other pedestrians who also wanted to cross the overpass had built
behind me. It never takes long to build a crowd in China. One woman began scolding the soldier,
as a mother might scold her son. (There is surprisingly little deference toward people in uniform in
China.) Others joined in the complaining. The young soldier, visibly weakening in resolve,
shuffled from one foot to the other. Then he moved slightly to one side and waved us through.

“Weishenme?” “Why?” I asked the woman behind me this time, the self–appointed ringleader of our
impatient group. She just looked at me with an expression that might have said, “Why do you even
ask?” She shrugged and said in slightly accented English, “No reason.”

I saw more body language another day, when my husband and I headed for the Cultural Palace of
the Monitories to see an exhibit about the history and future of Tibet. We guessed it would be an
interesting propaganda experience. There was a long line for entry, and an unusual squadron of
security guards at the ticket booth. Tibet is always a sensitive topic, and they were probably anxious
about potential protests.

The guards asked for our passports. This was disappointing, because we never carried them. The
law says foreigners should carry passports, but the risk of loss or theft never seems worth the risk of
violating this seemingly unenforced rule. Not once in more than two years in China had we been
randomly asked for passports. My husband managed to produce his American driver’s license, but I
had nothing with a photo. I tried my Visa card. No good. My subway card. They laughed.

But then I saw the guard shuffle gently, and I sensed wiggle room. It would be easier on both of us
if he could find a way to let me pass without a fuss. I pulled out a magnetic key card, and mumbled
a few things about it being to my apartment in Beijing. “Wo Beijing jia de!” “My Beijing house!”
Everyone I dealt with on the streets of Beijing seemed to like it when I could produce some
evidence that I actually lived there – a card, an address, my mobile phone, a little jabber in
Mandarin. And jia which means both “family” and “home,” is a wonderful word with cultural
strength. Preposterously, my key card was a good enough substitute for my passport, and he let us
through.

These are examples of petty transgressions, of course.There is also the serious issue of laws,
enforcement and consequences at play in China. A back–breaking number of rules course through
people’s personal lives and define how they live: the one–child policy, enforced most everywhere
except in certain rural areas and otherwise sanctioned with steep fines; the hometown registration
system (hukuo) hitched to social welfare benefits like medical care and education. When city
planners or real estate tycoons decide that it’s time to raze a block or neighborhood to make room
for something new, people who have made their lives in those places are shooed away, with a
minimum of notice, choice or compensation. If you have guests in your home for more than a few
nights, you must register their names with the police. In schools located south of the Yangtze
River, no indoor heating is allowed, since they are theoretically in a “warm” part of China. This
area notably includes Shanghai, with its climate roughly like that of Washington, DC, or London.

There are “in trouble if you don’t and in trouble if you do” rules. Before the Beijing Olympic
Games, China’s officials announced proudly to the world that they would accommodate peaceful
protestors in “authorized protest zones” specially set up during the Games. This would demonstrate China’s confident openness while on the international stage. But not only were all permissions to protest denied, some of the few brave souls who actually applied for permits were arrested.

There are the cases where following the rules would have borne good consequences. For many
years, Beijing banned wildly popular private firework displays during the Chinese New Year
holidays, because of the danger from explosions and possibly fires. In 2006, the ban was mostly
eased, with some restrictions and some permissions required. Having witnessed a scary midnight
celebration in 2008, our first year in Beijing, I for one would strongly endorse reinstating that
unpopular ban. On that occasion, people were shooting industrial–size fireworks on the streets
without regard for bystanders; burning embers rained down on sidewalks; trees caught fire. During
New Year celebrations a year later, things got worse. Gala fireworks were set off next to the
flameout CCTV tower building in central Beijing (stories on permissions varied). The just–
completed 40–story Mandarin Oriental luxury hotel next door caught fire and burned to a crisp. The
rule of thumb that has evolved around laws in China, “Ask not for permission, but for forgiveness,”
certainly came up short in this instance.

During or time in China, I was well aware that we were frequently breaking rules – internationally
or accidentally – both legal rules and cultural rules; rules we were aware of and probably rules we
never knew existed. Breaking rules in China was an interesting contrast to breaking rules in Japan,
where we had also lived for a few years, many years ago. In Japan, I felt as though the Japanese
were lying in wait for us, confident that they would catch a misstep. (Which they did! Again, there
were so many rules, and the learning curve was steep.) In China, I felt as though we were in
collusion with the people, the laobaixing, in face of some larger authority.

Although spoken Chinese was too nuanced for me to manage in the subtle world of rules and rule
breaking, I have discovered that the body language of Chinese – the shrugs, the looks, the shuffling–
go a long way indeed as cues to understanding the parameters of a situation. Learning to read those
cues became as important to me for our life in China as all the learning of the grammar and vocabulary of spoken Chinese.