Subscribe
E-Paper
 |
| In densely packed cities, we tend to avoid eye contact and, in doing so, we change the way we are perceived by others. A momentary glance and the faintest smile can transform not only our image, but someone else's day. From Unsplash |
By Amanda Price
When my brother and I were young, we bought a pair of Mus musculus domesticus, otherwise known as pet mice.
Our endearing and furry little rodent friends were given a very large mouse house in which to play and make more little mice.
To our excitement, they did both. In fact, they continued to do both, until we had to partition off the wee furry "bairns" from their big furry kin.
Each afternoon we returned home from school and checked on our pets.
On one such afternoon, we were confronted by a scene that could only be described as "Nightmare on Mice Street."
Before our eyes were the dismembered remains of the most recent litter of baby mice. Our horror was amplified as we realized that the babies had been eaten by their mother.
What had driven the mother to eat her own children? Why had she not been able to happily share her space with her own offspring? What sort of detachment drove her to commit such an atrocity?
Calling the pet shop owner (Google had not yet been invented), we were told that mother mice, kept in an artificial environment, were more highly sensitive to stress than mice in the wild.
The owner, perhaps out of kindness, told us that the mother had more likely allowed her babies to starve and then disposed of them.
I later learned that this advice had scientific merit. Mice do not hate their babies. But mice required space in which to explore, hide, build nests, store food and separate and socialize with other mice.
When kept in even large confined spaces, where people walked back and forth, these instincts were inhibited and consequently mice were much more likely to display abnormal, stress-induced behavior.
In short, what we had witnessed was not mice culture.
Of course, people are not mice, but social behavior in animals can provide clues to help us understand social behavior in humans.
The question that consequently arose from this childhood trauma was what part of our behavior is determined by our fundamental character and what part is our response to our environment, particularly if that environment feels crowded or confined?
I think we must all have, at one time, been in a densely packed crowd, an interminably stationary queue or an overly loaded elevator and felt the creeping surge of suffocation rising within us.
It may happen in a traffic jam, where one feels pinned in and unable to move, or at a party where there seems insufficient air to meet the needs of all the lungs in the room.
If the suffocating feeling continues, a sense of panic often follows. It is unnerving at the best, frightening at the worst.
But what if one lives in a high-density environment, where crowds, traffic jams and lack of space are part of everyday living? Can such an environment affect our mental well-being, emotional health and even cause us to act contrary to our character or nature?
Part of that answer must consider "adaptation." Human beings are superbly skilled at adapting to their environments, as well as adapting their environment to suit themselves.
We can develop reflexes and responses to minimize stress, as well as instincts to avoid it. The empirical evidence for this can be observed when an individual from a sparsely populated area is cast into a densely populated area.
They are often overwhelmed until they too adapt, if that is even possible for them, to their new environment.
But adaption cannot be the whole answer.
We can adapt ourselves to cope internally with crowded environments, but how do we cope with those that make up the crowd?
This is a critical question and one that can determine the perceived culture of an entire city.
Typically, in a densely crowded city, people make less eye contact with each other. This is often why "fresh off the plane" Australian tourists are often so easy to identify.
Unaware that their friendliness comes across as forwardness, they have little sense of "eye etiquette" and assume that Koreans will all be happy "to have a chat."
Conversely, city-bred Koreans are, by and large, not generally inclined to smile at passersby, or even look them in the eye (except some elderly folk who may stare).
 |
| Living with crowds is a reality that affects us in many ways, but it does not have to define us. We can choose to see a crowd, or we can choose to see a gathering of people who need to be acknowledged. From Unsplash |
If they accidently bump into someone, they do not readily apologize, nor do they tend to rush to the aid of someone who may have tripped on the footpath. Holding doors open, helping mothers onto buses and picking up someone else's litter are not things that are commonplace on the streets of Seoul.
Many explain this behavior as typical of the Korean character, but I would disagree. In fact, I believe this type of behavior to be at odds with the essential Korean character.
What those from abroad see as aloofness and detachment, I believe is, to a much greater degree, the result of living in an environment that is continually crowded.
My reasoning comes from my experience with the hundreds of Koreans that I have met and worked with outside Korea. I have observed, with great fascination, the rapid change that occurs within the lives of individual Koreans when they are removed from their swarming surrounds. What occurs is a process akin to finding one's equilibrium.
I am not suggesting that every Korean citizen that travels abroad is the epitome of warmth and sociability (any more than any other nationality would be). But what is observable is that many Korean travelers seem to relax in environments with more space and a slower pace.
To go a step further, there is a character change. Not a forced change, nor one that involves adaptation, but a change that seems natural and autonomous.
It is for these reasons that I refuse to accept comments that claim that Koreans are characteristically and historically aloof, detached and predominantly focused on their own self-interests.
Our character sticks to us like glue and is not so easily cast off. Neither does history agree with these assertions. If such things were inbred Korean traits, they would not so easily dissolve simply by changing environments.
If the distance that Koreans put between themselves and non-Koreans is not a natural part of their character, but, to an extent, the result of an over-crowded environment, then what can be done?
Not all of us live in places where space is so readily available and nature is at our doorstep. Crowds and the hectic pace of life are sometimes unavoidable realities. What is not determined, however, is the way in which we choose to allow our environment to affect us.
As mentioned earlier, people are not mice. Our environments may affect us, but they do not need to define us.
One way that we can learn how to shed the negative impacts of living in a crowd is to acknowledge the people that make up that crowd. This does not require that we cross any cultural barriers. Grinning and baring teeth may suit Americans, but it does not suit many other cultures.
What we must do is find the positive ways in which we can acknowledge others around us. A slight nod (traditional), touching one's hat (old school), raising a hand (modern) or allowing the corners of our mouth to curve upwards in the faintest fashion are all ways we can turn a crowd into a large gathering of fellow human beings.
Living in a crowded environment is not about surviving or even acceptance, it is about acknowledging those that make up the crowd. When interaction increases, then the true qualities of a people are revealed and perceptions are corrected. That is the magical power of human interaction; the smallest gestures can transform the way we perceive an entire nation.
Let us all try to look beyond the crowd and find the culture that truthfully represents this nation.
Amanda Price is the former Director of Hillcrest College's International Student Department. She is the founder of Griffith University History Readers and now writes full time. She can be reached at amanda-price@bigpond.com.
