I’m standing in the inbound immigration line at Ho Chi Minh City’s bustling international airport minding my own business when…
“He’s with me!” A woman’s loud, anxious cry. Then for a moment, silence.
I don’t turn, but she has my full attention. A situation seems to be developing to my far right, which I saw earlier was the wheelchair lane.
“I’m their father.” A male voice this time, equally anxious though not as loud.
“One person.” An accented reply. I’m guessing airport staff.
“We’re together.” The father again, more insistent.
Then the woman, most likely the mother: “I have all our VISAs here!”
I cave in and turn, just in time to see her pull out from her backpack a thick translucent folder. She waves it at the staff, who looks supremely uncomfortable. Discreetly, I take in the scene. There’s a teenage girl in a wheelchair—their daughter, I’m guessing. The mother is standing next to her, then two younger boys, and the father brings up the rear.
“One person,” the staff repeats.
By this point everyone in our line has turned to watch the drama unfold. My partner looks at me quizzically.
“I think only one adult can accompany the girl in the wheelchair. The staff is trying to get the father to go to a different lane.” I bring my partner up to speed, having just figured the situation out myself.
The tense standoff continues as we all stare, transfixed. Neither side appears about to give in, and now the staff looks as anxious as the family of travellers, if not more.
Oh dear.
First and only visit
“Where do we go after this?” asks the father.
“Bag. One person.” Either the staff’s English isn’t quite up to the task, or he’s trying to manifest compliance through repetition—I suspect it’s a combination of both. The situation’s almost comical if not for the visibly distressed family—clearly first-time visitors to Vietnam.
The father seems to mull his predicament over, then finally decides this is one fight he’s not winning. “Honey, I’ll meet you at baggage claim.”
The wife/mother doesn’t look the least bit reassured. “But…”
“Okay.” On the verge of a sweet victory, the staff inexplicably gives in. “You stay.”
The family’s relief is palpable. “Thank you, thank you!” both mother and father exclaim, joyous. They look like they’re about to give the beleaguered staff a hug. Perhaps sensing this, he quickly retreats.
I turn away from the scene smiling, pleased with the outcome. Flying internationally is already stressful in itself. No one needs the added anxiety of being separated from their family with no means of contacting one another in an unfamiliar airport where barely anyone speaks English. What if I get through immigration with my children, but my husband gets turned away? I can almost hear the mother’s internal monologue.
Well done for making an exception, I mentally praise the staff.
“No!”
Huh? This time, I don’t attempt discretion and immediately turn to catch up on the latest development in this apparently never-ending saga.
“No. One.” The family has reached the front of the wheelchair line, and the immigration officer in the box is waving the father away. The other staff is nowhere to be seen.
The couple looks flustered. They’d just been told they could go through together, and now this. They look at each other, unsure what to do.
“One.” The officer in the box stands his ground.
“Shit.” The mother reaches into her thick folder for what I assume is the father’s entry documents. She hands them over. Are her hands shaking?
The father takes his documents. “Wait for me at baggage claim.”
The mother nods and approaches the immigration officer with her three children—all looking defeated. If the family’s first trip to Vietnam ever filled them with excitement at some point, there is no trace left of it now.
I turn back to my partner. “And this is why people don’t come back.”
He returns my knowing look and we both let out an internal sigh.
Mindless compliance
This story is the perfect illustration of the “must follow rule” attitude endemic to this country I’ve called home for three years. Nowhere else in the world have I experienced this level of rule following, often to the point of absurdity.
I won’t let you enter with your family even though you’re first-time visitors and clearly stressed and we want more tourists and there’s no one waiting behind you so you’re not holding up anyone.
You need to do X and then Y and then Z and then X again because that is what the rule book says and I know it doesn’t apply in your case but I don’t understand your situation and I’ll make you jump through all the ridiculous hoops rather than provide a tailored solution as your very expensive accountant.
I cannot give you this made-to-order chicken noodle without chicken even though you’re happy to pay the full price. Chicken noodle *must* have chicken.
I have nothing against rules. I set plenty in my life: my students must hand in their homework on the day specified, my newsletter must have a finished first draft a week before it’s meant to be sent, do not use the laptop on Sundays, speak to my parents every week, and more. I use these rules to simplify my life, so that at every turn I don’t have to stop and think, what to do.
I especially don’t buy into the saying, “rules are made to be broken.” Drivers should not run red lights. Pedestrians should cross at the crossing. Cars should not park in front of an in-use entrance. People should respect queues. I cancel any student who flouts my rules enough times, chain myself to my keyboard until I have my newsletter’s first draft, and never touch my laptop on Sundays or miss my weekly call with my parents.
But there is absolutely a flaming need for judgement when implementing rules, especially when circumstance renders them absurd.
Rules are made to be followed *if and only if* they make sense. Knowing when to, and when not to, follow a rule is therefore an essential life skill.
We want you to have a positive first experience of Vietnam so I’ll let you enter with your family rather than split you up and make your wife and small children wait anxiously for you for an hour as you start over in a different lane.
As your accountant, we understand your situation is unique, here’s a solution that allows you to operate within the law without subjecting you to meaningless hassle.
You want this noodle without chicken and will pay the full price? Great, more chicken for us.
This is why I deeply appreciate the people in my life who know when to follow rules, and when not to. I love my former bank manager who’s willing to accept a couriered document on my new bank manager’s behalf when the latter is in an all-day meeting—none of the “I can’t take your document because I shouldn’t have access to it now even though I’ve seen it all before.” I love my favourite Thai restaurant’s owner who’ll immediately agree to substitute a boiled egg for a fried egg in the combo lunch—he understands an egg is an egg and it costs him nothing, probably saves him money, to have his chef boil it instead of fry it.
My appreciation extends to systems that allow for flexibility in rule following. Thailand has separate immigration lanes for Thai nationals and foreigners, but when I travel with my non-Thai partner, the immigration officers are always happy for him to join me in the Thai lane because everyone knows it makes no sense for me to go through in five minutes if I then have to wait an hour for him to come through.
There is a time and place for everything. Including rules.
What do you think?
This obsession with rule following is a recurring frustration in the life of a Vietnam expat, but there’s nothing I can do to single-handedly undo what appears to be, with rare exceptions, a nationwide trait. I can, however, ask you to think about your approach to rule following:
Do you always follow rules at all costs?
In what situations in your life have you had to bend the rules? Does it make you uncomfortable? Or are you a serial rule breaker? Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this with someone with a healthy regard for rules and see what they say.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val
Photo by Ian Barsby on Unsplash