When two cultures meet, a willingness to make accommodations can help prevent unintended harm. Take driving, for example.
Shortly after I arrived in New Delhi in 1978, I was led into a crowded office where I was asked two questions about road signs, one of which I got right. I was then presented with a license to drive in India. That afternoon, when the American Embassy School’s business manager handed me the keys to an old white Ford Bronco, he advised me to keep to the left hand side of the road.
That was it.
My first foray into Delhi’s swirl of pedestrians, bicycles, motorcycles, scooters, rickshaws, hand carts, bullock carts, cars, buses, dogs, and cows wouldn’t have been so daunting if it weren’t for the Tata trucks.
Overloaded and underpowered, they belched black diesel smoke as they careened up and down crowned and crowded roads that were often only a lane and a half wide. Many of these trucks were piloted by Sikhs, readily identified by their beards and distinctive turbans.
It was clear to me that if I were to rely on my American driving habits things would not end well. I was used to trucks that: (1) obeyed the speed limit, (2) slowed down when being passed, (3) gave ample room to other drivers when passing, (4) avoided lengthy stays in the fast lane, and (5) used turn signals early and often, especially when changing lanes. The truckers of my youth acted as the stewards of the highway, striving to ensure the safety of all.
I had to make some accommodations.
I quickly figured out the rules in Delhi: (1) The bigger vehicle has the right of way. More precisely, (2) Wherever the bigger vehicle chooses to go, it has the right to go there. Therefore, (3) Get out of its way. Further, (4) Assume that it will exercise this right whenever it wishes to, with no forewarning. Thus, (5) Stay as far away from the bigger vehicles as you can, especially the trucks.
In practice, these rules worked surprisingly well. Unlike thick manuals filled with detailed explanations of various painted lines and colored lights, with intricate instructions telling who should yield to whom in various hypothetical situations, everyone intuitively grasped these simple rules, even villagers who couldn’t read or write. You just had to know your place in the pecking order and watch out for the kings of the traffic jungle.
Yes, there were collisions, but, for the most part, those who followed the rules got to where they were going in one piece.
I drove in India for two years. By making these accommodations, I never had an accident. I hit no one and no one hit me. Not even a bump.
India’s culture is incredibly rich, complex, and wonderful. Compared to it, others often seem crude, drab, or sterile. I have to say though, I didn’t care much for its traffic.
Forty years later, on the way home from Oregon, I took Highway 99 between Modesto and Bakersfield, a stretch of road I hadn’t been on since a family trip to Disneyland in 1958. To my surprise, in less than an hour, I was cut off three different times by three different semis.
The third time, a 40-ton semi I was passing swerved into my lane. As there was no shoulder in the median, I had to slam on the brakes to avoid being crushed against the concrete barrier. That I wasn’t rammed by the car behind me was a small miracle.
To my surprise, all three semis were being driven by Sikhs. It belatedly dawned on me that they were probably fellow graduates of the unofficial Delhi Driving School, and were driving as they had been taught: The Delhi Way. In other words, it was not their job to look out for me in my car, it was my job to watch out for them in their trucks.
After the third encounter, I passed a billboard advertising trucking insurance. Although most of it was in Punjabi, I got the message. Here endeth the lesson. (“The Untouchables,” directed by Brian DePalma, 1987.)
This past August, Harjinder Singh was driving a semi on the Florida Turnpike and made an illegal u-turn. Tragically, the driver and two passengers in the minivan that broadsided the semi were killed. Mr. Singh, a Sikh, was residing in the country without proper legal documentation and failed an English proficiency exam.
The question of how he got a commercial driver’s license has been the cause of much finger pointing. The story went viral, resulting in a surge of pointless nativism.
Sorting all this out calls for two hands.
On the one hand, there are now about 750,000 Sikhs in the United States. Those I have known have all been honest, hard-working, and law-abiding. The few statistics available suggest that this is generally true; that is, very few Sikhs are unemployed, unsheltered, addicted, or incarcerated.
In fact, according to one report, in 2019 there were fewer than a dozen in California prisons. Many Americans whose families have been here for generations could learn a lot from Sikhs.
More to the point, of the approximately 150,000 Sikh truck drivers in the US, about 30,000 live in California. By one estimate, Sikhs comprise 40% of the truckers on the West Coast. Most are probably fine drivers.
On the other hand, it is sad but true that there is a lot of unsafe driving going on and that at least some of it has been imported. To suggest otherwise would be disingenuous. To ignore the problem would be irresponsible.
The following suggestions address this problem without resorting to targeting anyone based on race, religion, or national origin. Here goes:
Any person who wishes to have a commercial driver’s license in this country should have to prove that they are: (1) eligible to live and work here legally, (2) medically fit to drive, (3) sufficiently proficient in English to understand all traffic signs and regulations, and (4) able to pass a comprehensive driving test behind the wheel of a semi.
In addition, all traffic laws for trucks should be strictly enforced with hefty fines and the suspension or revocation of licenses as warranted, especially for serious safety violations.
Start with Highway 99.
When two cultures meet, a willingness to make accommodations can help prevent unintended harm. If adopted, the above suggestions would not only encourage truckers unfamiliar with American traffic norms to make such accommodations, they would also encourage those with homegrown bad driving habits to clean up their acts. It would be a twofer.
Until these suggestions are adopted, here’s one more:
Stay as far away from trucks as you can.
Scott Chambers is a cartoonist, author and songwriter in Encinitas.
