There’s an old joke that goes like this:  seven Chinese walk into a room, and ten political parties come out.  Everyone says that Chinese are terrible managers, and an ordinary Chinese office will have more political drama than Romance of the Three Kingdoms and the Clinton household combined.  Western managers know that Chinese have issues co-operating, and have spent tens of millions of dollars in corporate training to attempt to rectify this issue.  But unlike the problem of process, co-operation is much harder to instil in Chinese because of a fundamental failing in China’s high schools.   

Consider the life of an American high school student.  He may play on a sports team, participate in student council, volunteer, date, and work part-time at McDonald’s.  School can be a popularity contest, a jungle, a prison or just a nuisance, depending on your social designation.  Teachers and parents, meanwhile, have resigned themselves to their minimal influence over these stubborn and rebellious teenagers, and will just seek to prevent pregnancies and drug abuse.  The teenage years are an endless drama:  fights with parents over curfew, acne, not making the football team or cheerleading squad, break-ups, depression, anorexia, Waiting for Godot anxiety, the prom.

Now consider the life of a Chinese teenager.  He’ll study at his boarding school, and study when he’s locked at home on the weekends.  His parents’ apartment and a classroom that looks like a prison cell are the boundaries of his experience and imagination.  Chinese parents see their only child as a vessel for their aspirations and retirement plan; teachers see their students as test scores and possible financial rewards.  The meaning and purpose of life are clear and simple:  study hard, get a high score on the national examination, and become a mid-level bureaucrat. 

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