Driving Lessons, Part 2: Social Responsibility Meets Rush Hour

Last time, I wrote about how reckless Cambodian drivers can be, and what it takes to survive that recklessness.  Now, I’d like to consider a realization I had once I had become accustomed to Cambodian driving.  At first blush, Cambodian driving is madness.  After all, what could be more dangerous than sitting on a motorbike, with nothing between you and the concrete but a helmet and a cotton shirt, weaving in and out of lanes alongside a dozen other motorbikes all doing the same thing and a half dozen SUVs pushing along with no regard for any of you.In the midst of this trial of my self-preservation instincts, I began to wonder how it is that Cambodian highways aren’t strewn with the bodies of morning commuters.  Then I realized just how remarkable that was.  After all, if even two or three people on a single morning simultaneously behaved on a busy American interstate in the way that virtually all Cambodian drivers behave every day, there would be an unprecedented number of wrecks and traffic casualties.  Imagine if the majority of Americans one morning just decided to stop wearing helmets, talked on cell phones while riding motorcycles, drove in between and across several lanes, crossed over the median for convenience, and generally disregarded all traffic laws.  Yet that’s exactly what happens in Cambodia every day, and the number of traffic accidents, if higher than in the United States, is nowhere near what it would be if Americans were driving like Cambodians.
Now, part of the reason for that is that Americans are accustomed to people driving in a predominantly orderly fashion, respecting our functional system of traffic laws. Americans are able to get where they’re going faster, and often more efficiently, than Cambodians.  But American driving habits are not entirely superior.  Part of what allows the American system to function is a sense of entitlement that also gives rise to road rage, and makes accidents which would be minor in Cambodia fatal in America.  The dependability of American traffic laws removes social responsibility.  Instead of each driver being responsible for the safety of other drivers, each driver is entitled to his own rights, and others who infringe on those rights do so at their own risk.  Theodore Roosevelt’s rugged individual, behind the wheel of a Ford, believes in the rules that his democratically elected officials have handed down to ensure traffic safety, and believes that he is entitled to expect other drivers to abide by those rules.  The lines on the road are definitive statements about what part of the road belongs to him, and where others ought to confine themselves.  He chooses whatever car he likes, whether a ridiculously large truck within the city limits of Nashville or a not-all-it’s-cracked-up-to-be Prius in the suburbs of Boulder, confining himself only by the rules of the government that say his show of force can only be so large, his four-wheeled environmentalism statement only so bizarre.  This American individual goes driving down the road, and becomes infuriated when others drive in the left lane, his imagined "passing lane," or when he gets pulled over for going five miles over the speed limit because cops are really only supposed to stop you when you're doing ten over and everyone knows that.  These are the rules that he individually decided are correct, under the influence ofhis friends and neighbors and an understanding, which may not be accurate at all, of what the rulebooks say.  Yet, in all of this, his deference is not truly to the rules: the rules only lay out the boundary lines of his rights.  His preference for vehicle, his speed, his method of driving are tailored to his individual tastes, and confined not by the needs and best interests of those around him, but only by what he feels himself entitled to within the bounds of what the law requires of him.  Everyone going faster than him is a maniac, everyone going slower must be eighty years old or else a racial minority, and either way they had better stay out of his lane.
In contrast, Cambodian driving habits, while seemingly reckless, work fairly well.  I think the key to this is the Cambodian notion of social responsibility.  In a place where deferring to one’s neighbors and caring for the community are among the crowning social virtues, it is perfectly fine to walk out onto a busy six lane highway, as I have become accustomed to do.  There is no problem with driving on the opposite side of the road for a while so that you can make your left turn more easily.  These things are true because no one is going to run you down for being in their lane, heedless to the fact that you are a human life worth protecting.  To the contrary, recognizing that you are a neighbor and a fellow member of the community, drivers will do what they must to accommodate you, even when you are in the wrong lane or even on the wrong side of the road.   Here, drivers accept as axiomatic the idea that they should be able to trust the other people around them to be aware of what they are doing, anticipate their moves, and act with due care and respect.  It turns out the seemingly chaotic patterns of Cambodian traffic aren’t the result of a total lack of order, but rather the sign of a different kind of order, based on different beliefs.  If a Cambodian motorbike driver drives over a double yellow after signaling that intent, the illegality of the action is irrelevant.  He has communicated to his society, depending on their deference and respect, and anything he does after that point is perfectly valid.  Here, driving isn't about a system of government enforcing rules made for optimal efficiency of each individual, it's about society enforcing its own order, established through long personal tradition.  Certainly, the risks and dangers seem much higher, but then, driving here is also more interesting, and the accidents which do occasionally happen are mitigated by the way in which people anticipate such accidents while looking out for their fellow drivers. The whole system is more organic, more dynamic.  Recently, I heard our field office director call it, "Flowing, like water--it's actually kind of beautiful." To get the best feel for this, you can just walk out onto a major highway.  You stare into the oncoming motorbikes and SUVs as you make your way across, and you watch the wall of oncoming machines part and move around you, making room to accommodate your actions.  It may be risky, and American traffic may be more efficient, but when was the last time you looked at an American interstate and thought of it as beautiful?