By Jane Sonnenschein · September 11, 2026

Today, Chris and I got into an argument over one small card.

Every Friday, Alicia goes to martial arts class. There is a machine at the front desk where students scan their cards when they arrive, basically to check in. I usually keep the card with me because I am normally the one who takes her there.

Today was a little different. I had something to take care of outside and couldn’t get back in time, so Alicia had to take public transport to class on her own.

Chris called me and asked, “Where’s the card?”

“With me,” I said.

His answer came almost immediately.

“Then she can’t go today.”

I honestly couldn’t understand that.

The machine is not a security gate. Not having the card doesn’t mean the door won’t open or that the child physically cannot enter the school. The machine simply sits at the front desk, and everyone scans their own card.

I have arrived a few minutes late before and found that the machine had already been put away. I didn’t scan in on those occasions either, and nobody ever contacted me about it.

So in my mind, the situation was very simple.

The card happened to be with her mother today. Fine. She could still go. If anyone asked, she could explain. If they really needed to record her attendance, perhaps a staff member could enter it manually, or we could sort it out next time.

The child herself was already there. Surely one missing check-in card did not automatically mean, “You cannot attend class today.”

But Chris and Alicia both reacted the same way:

No card means no class.

The longer I listened, the more unbelievable it seemed. I honestly felt as if I were talking to two blocks of stone.

I said, “Nobody is even standing there checking. What is really going to happen if she doesn’t scan the card once?”

Chris immediately reminded me that the school had sent an email a long time ago clearly stating that students were supposed to scan their cards every time.

That made me even angrier.

I was talking about the situation in front of us today.

He was talking about an email from a year ago.

I was asking, “How do we solve the problem we have right now?”

He was saying, “There is a rule, so the rule should be followed.”

Eventually I got so worked up that I simply hung up.

Later, after I had calmed down a little, I called back to ask whether they had gone after all.

To be honest, I already knew with absolute certainty that, given their state of mind at the time, they probably had not.

Chris hung up on me.

I called again.

He told me that he was angry too.

And suddenly, that little martial arts card was no longer just a card.

He said he had spent nine years trying to teach our child discipline—self-control, respect for rules, and the idea that actions have consequences—and that I had repeatedly undermined what he was trying to teach her.

From his point of view, the reason Alicia often does not listen to me now is that I am too quick to make exceptions for her. I do not let her fully experience the consequences of her actions.

The more he tries to establish rules, he says, the more I loosen them from the other side. So he ends up having to become stricter.

We have had this kind of argument before.

Crossing the road, for example.

There is a very wide road near our home. The most proper way to cross it is to walk a little farther down to the designated crossing point, where there is also a traffic island in the middle.

But it is a residential area, and most of the time there are not many cars. If I stand there, look carefully in both directions, and see that the road is clear, I sometimes cross directly instead of walking dozens of metres farther to the traffic island.

Chris has always been very unhappy about that.

For him, the issue is not whether there happens to be a car that day.

The issue is that our child is watching.

If her mother decides that it is fine to cross because there are no cars today, then one day Alicia may also think, “I checked. I don’t see any cars. So I can cross too.”

Of course I understand that, from the point of view of child safety and setting an example, his concern is not unreasonable. I have never thought that ignoring traffic rules is something worth encouraging.

But the real difference between us is this:

I tend to look at the situation first.

He tends to look at the rule first.

And today, that little card magnified the difference once again.

Some People Ask, “What Does the Rule Say?” Others Ask, “What Are We Actually Trying to Solve?”

It reminded me of some warehouse jobs I did many years ago when I was still a student.

A few days ago, a business owner I know was telling me about something similar.

His warehouse uses cardboard boxes in different sizes for packing orders. The products vary in size and shape, so workers have to look at what is in front of them and roughly judge which box would fit best.

He told me that, over time, they had become reluctant to stock several box sizes that were very close to one another.

The reason was simple: once there were too many similar options, some of the German workers had difficulty deciding which one to use.

He emphasized this several times. He was not talking about one particular employee. This was something he felt he had observed after employing quite a few German workers over the years.

When Chinese workers saw the products on the table and several boxes beside them, most would simply pick the one that looked about right.

Some of the German workers, however, would take the boxes one by one, put the products into each of them, and only then decide.

For me, this kind of judgment is almost automatic.

If there are a few perfume bottles and product boxes on the table and three shipping boxes beside them, I can usually look at their length, width, and height and immediately get a rough sense of which box will fit without being too tight or leaving a huge amount of empty space.

I do not really calculate it.

I do not need to try every box.

I just look and make a reasonable estimate.

Of course, that does not mean we can jump to the conclusion that “Germans have poor spatial judgment.” People naturally differ in their sense of space, and some people simply prefer to confirm something before acting.

But what the business owner did next was interesting.

If too many choices were slowing people down, he decided simply to reduce the number of box sizes.

One clearly large box.

One clearly small box.

Then workers no longer had to make the same judgment every single time, and the process actually became faster.

That small example made me think that what we call “flexibility” or “rigidity” is not always just about personality. It may also have something to do with how much judgment a society is used to leaving to the individual.

In the Chinese living and working environments I know, many of us grow up absorbing an unwritten rule:

First, look at the situation.

If the tool is not quite right, find a way to use it.

If the rules do not cover this exact situation, make a judgment yourself.

If two boxes are almost the same size and one looks as if it will work, use it.

If the card was forgotten but the child is already there, ask whether she can still go in.

The advantage of this approach is obvious.

It is fast, and it handles exceptions well.

But the downside is equally obvious: it relies heavily on individual judgment.

When the person involved is experienced and thinks quickly, problems can be solved very easily. But when someone has little experience, everyone may end up doing things differently, and eventually the standard itself becomes vague.

The German approach often works in the opposite direction.

Standardize as much as possible.

Reduce the number of situations in which individuals need to make decisions on the spot.

If situation A happens, do this.

If situation B happens, do that.

Ideally, make it clear from the beginning.

The advantage is that a system can operate reliably without depending on one particularly clever or experienced person.

But there is also a downside.

When reality suddenly presents situation C—something that was never written into the instructions—some people genuinely seem to freeze.

And those are exactly the moments that frustrate me most.

Because the first thought in my head is always:

“What’s the problem? Just adjust.”

But I Later Realized That “Following the Rules” Is Far More Complicated Than It Looks

As we kept talking about this today, something else came to mind.

People used to say things like this all the time:

Germans have good manners. They queue. They do not cut in line. They understand rules.

Chinese people push, compete, and do not respect order.

I used to accept that explanation too.

But after living in Germany for many years, I no longer think it is that simple.

During university holidays, I often worked as an extra at U.S. military bases.

Because they were military bases, buses would be arranged to pick people up from several German cities. Everyone would arrive carrying bags and luggage.

And when the good seats were limited and everyone wanted to get onto the bus first, I saw Germans trying to secure places too. I saw people move forward and squeeze in.

Of course culture shapes our habits.

But people are still people.

When something is scarce and getting there first gives you an advantage, even people who normally care a great deal about rules are not always quite so relaxed.

That is why I have increasingly come to believe that some of the public behaviours in China that were once dismissed as simply “uncivilized” cannot be explained by saying people had poor manners.

Take queuing.

Many years ago, when I went back to China and visited a hospital, I found the experience extremely uncomfortable.

In Germany, you normally wait outside the doctor’s room. When your name is called, you go in and close the door behind you. That space belongs to the doctor and the patient.

But in some Chinese hospitals I visited back then, I would see a doctor sitting inside with several people crowded around.

Everyone seemed afraid that if they did not move forward, they would have no idea when their turn would ever come.

Banks and other service counters could be similar.

When you queue in Germany, you can leave a little space between yourself and the person currently being served because everyone understands that you are next.

But in a place without a clear numbering system, if you stand too far away, someone else may assume you are not actually queuing and simply step in front of you.

After enough experiences like that, people learn:

I need to protect my place.

It is not necessarily because everyone loves cutting in line.

It is because once you realize that “standing there politely” may mean watching other people repeatedly move ahead of you, following the rule itself begins to carry a cost.

Today, many banks, government service counters, and major hospitals in China use numbered tickets and electronic calling systems.

And something interesting happens.

You take a number and sit down.

When the screen reaches number 53, number 53 is next.

Nobody can steal your place simply by standing closer to the counter.

A problem that once depended on everyone being “disciplined enough to queue properly” can be solved by a very simple system.

That made me realize something.

A genuinely good rule should not just keep telling people:

“You should behave properly.”

“You should be self-disciplined.”

“Even if other people break the rules, you must keep following them.”

It should be designed, as much as possible, so that:

People who follow the rules do not lose out because of it.

When a system protects everyone’s place, people naturally have less reason to compete for it.

In a Society Built on Personal Ties, Having Few Boundaries Was Once a Way of Surviving

Thinking about this further made me realize how quickly China itself has changed.

When we were children, especially in older neighbourhoods and rural areas, people’s lives were deeply intertwined.

Extended relatives, neighbours, and friends all knew what was happening in one another’s families.

Whose child had made it into university.

Who had married what kind of person.

Which family was earning good money.

Which couple was having problems.

By today’s standards, much of this can feel like a complete lack of personal boundaries.

But why were people so closely connected back then?

Because those relationships were also practical resources.

If a family in a village was building a house, relatives and friends came to help.

When someone got married, people gave money or gifts. When something happened in your family, I came to help; when something happened in mine, you came in return.

When a family faced real trouble, the first place they turned was not necessarily a bank, an insurance company, or a professional service.

It was relatives and friends.

In other words, what Chinese people traditionally call renqing¹ was often a kind of informal social safety net.

The benefit was that people were deeply connected.

The cost was also that people were deeply connected.

If you accepted help from that network, it became very difficult to keep the same network completely out of your private life.

That is one reason why “what other people think” could become so important.

Today, after decades of rapid urbanization, many young Chinese people live in high-rise apartment buildings. They may close their door and live next to someone for years without even knowing the neighbour’s name.

If you need a loan, there is a bank.

If you need a service, there are professionals.

If you need to deal with an administrative matter, there are service counters and systems.

As people become less practically dependent on traditional kinship networks, it is natural that they begin to ask:

“If I no longer need you to be this involved in my life, why should you still have so much say in it?”

And that is why we now see more discussion in China about duanqin², personal boundaries, and reducing contact with relatives who bring little but pressure.

It is not necessarily that young people suddenly became cold or uncaring.

The social conditions that once supported those older relationships are changing.

The Hardest Part of an Immigrant Society May Not Be Language, but the Invisible Rules

That brought my thoughts back to Germany.

Germany today is a highly diverse immigrant society.

One apartment building may be home to German, Chinese, Turkish, Syrian, Ukrainian, and many other families from very different cultural backgrounds.

What each person brings with them is not only a different language.

They also bring a different internal manual for what counts as “normal life.”

In some cultures, a group of people sitting downstairs and talking at ten o’clock on a summer evening is simply normal community life.

But in a German residential area, another person may be thinking:

“It is already quiet hours. Why should I have to hear people talking from my bedroom?”

Some people come from countries where household waste was never separated at all. Then they move to Germany and are suddenly expected to understand where paper, packaging, food waste, and residual waste all belong.

Even a child from an immigrant family who was born and raised in Germany and speaks German just as fluently as any other German child may not automatically inherit every household habit that a local German family has developed over decades.

All of this tells me something.

Integration has never been only about speaking German.

It also means learning an enormous set of cultural grammar.

Who gets on and off the bus first?

How late can you make noise at night?

How close do you stand when you queue?

Where does each kind of rubbish go?

Where are you supposed to cross the road?

When a rule does not cover an unusual situation, should you make your own judgment—or ask first?

If three people in one family can argue this much over a martial arts card, then strangers from very different cultural backgrounds living together in the same society are obviously not going to have an easier time.

I Am Not Against Rules

By the time I reached this point, I realized that I am not actually someone who dislikes rules.

Quite the opposite.

The more I think about it, the more I believe that a modern society of strangers needs rules very badly.

When people no longer depend on personal ties, familiar faces, and private relationships in the way they once did, the reason we can still live together is that we trust certain basic rules.

The person waiting in line trusts that someone else will not steal their place.

The person trying to sleep trusts that the neighbour will keep the noise down.

A driver trusts that a pedestrian will not suddenly step into the road.

A pedestrian trusts that a driver will stop when the rules say they should.

Rules allow strangers to cooperate.

What I do not agree with is a different kind of logic:

Whenever something goes wrong, the answer is always that people need to be more disciplined.

If large numbers of people keep making the same mistake in the same place, perhaps instead of simply educating them again and again, we should also ask:

Is this rule too difficult to follow?

Could the system itself be designed better?

If hospital queues are chaotic, introduce an electronic number system.

If too many similar box sizes slow down a warehouse, reduce the number of sizes.

If new immigrants do not understand waste sorting, make the instructions clearer and easier to follow.

A good system should not require everyone to become a person who never makes mistakes and exercises perfect self-control at every moment.

It should make it easy for an ordinary person to make the better choice without constantly relying on willpower.

And so, when I look back at my argument with Chris today, I still do not completely agree with his approach.

I agree that children should learn to respect rules.

I agree that actions should have consequences.

But I also want Alicia to understand something else:

Following rules and using your own judgment are not opposites.

Later, I realized that the truly difficult part may never have been choosing between “being flexible” and “following rules.”

The difficult part is knowing where the boundary lies.

If someone always interprets “flexibility” as “I can always make an exception for myself,” it can easily become disrespect for rules.

But if no rule is ever allowed to be reconsidered in light of a real situation, people may gradually lose the ability to deal with exceptions at all.

The hardest thing to learn is the sense of proportion in between:

When should you insist?

When should you ask?

When is it reasonable to request an exception?

And when the other person clearly says no, when should you know to stop?

Rules should usually be followed.

But real life will always produce exceptions.

What matters is not secretly finding a way around the rule.

What matters is knowing how to explain the situation, how to ask, and how to look for a reasonable solution when the rule does not fully cover what is happening in front of you.

That is also something I want my child to learn.

Not:

“No one is watching, so anything goes.”

But also not:

“The rule is written down, so no matter what happens, there is only one possible thing to do.”

I want her to understand why rules exist while still keeping the ability to judge real situations for herself.

Maybe that is what Chris and I were actually arguing about today.

On the surface, it was only a martial arts card we had forgotten to bring.

But underneath it were decades of experience that had shaped both of us, as well as two very different ways of thinking about order, exceptions, and personal judgment.

Sometimes what we call cultural difference is not anything grand.

It is simply two people standing in front of the same small problem.

One person asks:

“What does the rule say?”

The other asks:

“What are we actually trying to solve?”

And perhaps the hardest part is not proving that one of those questions is always right.

It is finding a way for both of them to exist at the same time.

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Notes

1. Rénqíng (人情)
Renqing is a deeply rooted concept in Chinese social life. It refers not simply to “favour” or “human feeling,” but to the network of reciprocal obligations, help, gifts, relationships, and social expectations that develops between relatives, friends, neighbours, colleagues, and other people within one’s social circle. Traditionally, someone who helps you in an important moment may create an obligation that is expected to be returned later, perhaps through help, gifts, introductions, attendance at family events, or other forms of support. In communities where formal social services, financial systems, and professional support were less developed, renqing could function as an important informal safety net. At the same time, the same network could create strong pressure to maintain relationships and allow other people considerable access to one’s private life.

2. Duànqīn (断亲)
Duanqin literally means “cutting off kinship ties.” In recent Chinese discussions, especially among younger generations, the term is often used more loosely to describe deliberately reducing or ending contact with extended relatives when those relationships feel distant, intrusive, burdensome, or maintained only out of traditional obligation. It does not necessarily mean formally breaking with one’s entire family. The term reflects a wider generational discussion about personal boundaries, privacy, changing family structures, urbanization, and whether traditional expectations of extended-family closeness still fit modern life.

This essay is also available in other languages:

Chinese version: 规则是用来让事情运转的，还是用来证明我们守规矩？

German version: Sind Regeln dazu da, damit Dinge funktionieren – oder damit wir beweisen, dass wir uns an Regeln halten?