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By William R. Dodson
There were ten of them and one of me. The air was thick
with smoke and chatter and furtive movements that kept my senses keen.
I did my best to defend myself against the onslaught, but they eventually
proved too much for me: too many of them, too experienced in the traditional
ways, and just too tough. I'd never be able to subdue them, let alone
capture them and bend them to my Western ways.
The Chinese government officials talked amongst themselves incessantly;
they lit up acrid, stinky cigarettes while I gasped for air in the humid
hall and they changed seats all the time, which disoriented me.
But the deadliest duel came during the lunch, when I had to ingest 14
different local delicacies piled high on wide plates. The local beer,
too, became a competition: "gan bei!" became their war cry—dry
glass!—at which the host and his prey were obligated to empty their
full glasses of beer. Of course, there were nearly a dozen of us at the
table with the boss’s boss and the boss’s boss’s boss coming in and out
of the private dining room meting out apologies for their late arrivals
and more gan bei’s than one could tip a glass at: one for the host; one
for the host’s lieutenant; one for our driver of the most recent leg of
the Survey of China’s Special Economic Zones. The driver? It’s important
to show respect to all who have gone to the trouble of hosting you. Hiccup!
By meal’s end I was punch drunk—or perhaps just drunk—and swayed
on my feet, unsteady, like a boxer who had gone one too many rounds in
the ring. Only one more Special Economic Zone that day to survey, I intoned.
Consciousness would be difficult to maintain.
During a recent in-country survey of over 20 Special Economic Zones in
China, I encountered two kinds of government official: the Old School
and the New School. The Old School was populated very much by the brawler,
the drinker, the smoker, the fast-talker who was emphatic in everything
he said. And it was all "he’s," incidentally. Of the almost
150 government officials I met, there were no women in the Old School.
Average age seemed to be 45 to 50 years old.
The New School government official is a smooth operator. Charming, gracious,
well-educated about the industries their Zone encourages and manages.
They're younger, too—or, at least, younger at heart: average age
seems to be about 30 to 35 years old. The New School official is increasingly
well-traveled. I asked the Director of one Zone what her favorite country
to visit in Europe was. "Germany," she replied without hesitation.
"I admire their work ethic and their seriousness in business. But
for relaxation, I prefer Italy. They really know how to enjoy life!"
Of course, she said this in fluent, albeit accented, English, another
hallmark of the New School government official.
Another aspect of the New School that impressed me deeply and helped preserve
my health is the New School’s tendency toward greater moderation in eating
and drinking. I asked another woman Department Director if she had to
eat many large dinners with potential customers of the Zones.
"No," she answered emphatically, "I don't want to get fat!"
Her marketing team—all women—laughed and acknowledged the sentiment.
In fact, at that particular meal, I was the one who ate the most and drank
the most—fine local dishes, fish and vegetables from the local lake—washed
down with a dry Chinese red wine that would stand up against any reasonably
priced French Merlot. In general, the officials of the New School drink
far less than those of the Old School, and look forward to the day when
long, exhausting meals at lunch and dinner away from family become a thing
of the past.
The New School is sharp, too. They read up and study the nature and history
of potential customers. The staff of one Zone had been so well-versed
in my client’s industry that they had offered the identity of the client
before I was ready to disclose it. That’s in comparison to the officials
of the Old School, who would invariably ask me at the outset of the meeting,
"Please tell me why you are here." I wanted to shout at them,
"Didn't you read the introduction letter we sent you; or hear anything
about the flurry of e-mails and phone calls your staff managed in order
to make this appointment happen? Dope," I wanted to say under my
breath. Instead, I just grunted in the Chinese Way, to admit my shortcomings
in requesting time with the official without properly preparing him—always
a him. Or did I mention that before about the Old School?
The Old School promises a lot, too, I noticed: extra plots of land for
customers ("Buy 1 square kilometer, get another for free!");
speedy approvals by government agencies; kickbacks. Instead, the New School
introduced me to companies already established in the Zone, foreign enterprises
with foreign managers and savvy Chinese executives. It was they who explained
to me the upside and downside of doing business in the Zone. The New School
has a confidence the Old School can only imagine.
But then again, the officials of the New School would not have existed
were it not for the brawlers and the takers and the talkers, the leaders
and the followers and the relationship-builders of the Old School. So
I lift my glass of local Chinese beer to the standard-bearers of the Old
School and the graduates of the New School … Gan Bei! Bottoms Up!
I salute you all!
Author Bio: William R. Dodson is Managing Director of
Silk Road Communications, L.L.C., a market research and business development
consultancy that positions companies for success in China and Greater
Asia. He is the contributing editor on international business to American
Management Association’s (AMA) MWorld Journal of Management. His
Website is www.silkrc.com
He can be reached at wdodson@silkrc.com
or +1 (847)630-1271.
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