Preface: Wang Yue, nicknamed “Yueyue” by Chinese media, is a two-year old girl from southern China. She made international headlines after being hit by two different vehicles last week as she was playing near a busy market in the city of Foshan. Her mother was hanging clothes nearby. Neither driver stopped nor demonstrated any responsibility. Of the 18 passersby, no one offered any assistance. Only one woman, an elderly scrap scavenger, came to Yueyue's aid and removed her from the road. The event set off a firestorm of microblog posts throughout the country, due in no small part to its harrowing images that were recorded by a camera on the street corner. The video and national collective anger have been at the forefront of Chinese internet posts all week. Sadly, Yueyue died today from the injuries she sustained.
Several weeks ago, I issued a challenge to my students to, “do the right thing.” It was prompted by an experience I had while waiting for the teacher bus that takes faculty and staff to and from our school's second campus across town. Recently, international students have also begun to use the bus. No one – including me – said anything the first week. I felt especially guilty since I am also a foreigner, and it's easier for me to recognize those who live in my dorm. Basically, I knew good and well that they weren't teachers.
By the second week, the number of foreign students had multiplied, and those waiting for the bus attempted to get on before the teachers. That kind of blinding disrespect forced me to open my mouth on behalf of all my colleagues. I quickly blocked the bus door with my arms and yelled to the crowd behind me, “TEACHERS FIRST!” Everyone stiffened in surprise – including me. Either by shock or shame (or both), the students who had seemed so eager for a seat suddenly stood still and allowed the visibly more mature people to step aboard.
One of the international students whom I had blocked is a young man has been a student here for a few years. Though we're far from being friends, we have enough familiarity with one another to usually exchange a simple conversation. That day, after we arrived at second campus, he looked at me and said with a smile and a light chuckle, “If you ever do that again, I'll kick your ass.” His words shocked me. Not only did he say it to a teacher, he said it to a female teacher. In the opinion of some of my colleagues, that's enough to get him expelled from this institution.
To add insult to injury, once I arrived at second campus, I joined the swelling groups of students huddled around the elevators on the first floor. In my own defense, I should point out that my classroom that day was on the eighth floor. I consider anything below the fifth floor to be stairs-only. To students who use the elevator to get to the third or fourth floor, I want to say, “Excuse me, are your legs broken?!” As the elevator doors opened, any male students standing around me quickly made their way inside with not one glance back at the teacher and female students who were there, first.
This salt on the open wound of my bus experience burned in me like a righteous anger, but I decided to make a teachable use of it. I spoke to each of my classes that week about doing the right thing, and I challenged them to look for opportunities – no matter how small – to show humility and respect within a world that is racing at inhumane speed toward individual satisfaction. Maybe it's nothing more than standing back and saying, “Ladies, first.” Maybe it's offering a seat on the bus to an elderly gentleman. Maybe it's taking the stairs to the sixth floor so that a teacher can occupy your place on the elevator.
The objective is that doing the right thing in small everyday practices will help to steel us – Chinese and foreign, alike - for doing the right thing in cases where it's a matter of life and death.
No one would agree with me more than Yueyue.
