Safety Second

 

By: Jonathan Seidel

Satirical safety symbols: no rules on Vietnam streets on a motorcycle 

A motorcycle in Ho Chi Min City is scary for a tourist. Finally some safety guidelines. Yet there aren't really any. The symbols are but nice aesthetics on a bustling street. Rules are irrelevant and security is a personal risk.

Vietnam struggles with traffic safety simplicity. No matter if in the old town of Hanoi, open streets of Hoi An or urban Ho Chi Min city. Motorcycles racing down the pavement. Streets are crowded with motorists swerving from side to side. Not waiting for pedestrians no really care for them. The motorists always have the right of way. The motorist speeds down street. If there is room to maneuver he does. The liberty of the motorist is in his activity. He is riding and therefore every crevasse can be exploited. Anywhere he can fit he goes. More daring in his risky behavior. Sliding right around cars to get by. 

While the motorist has more leeway, his autonomy doesn’t match with the legal heteronomy. He is driving on public roads forcing him to follow the rules of the road. The road is consigned by the governmental apparatus. Legislating the safest way for motorists to securely travel from place to place. He may not wear a helmet in his driveway but once he makes it to the highway he can be charged by authorities. Privacy and personal rule only goes so far as his property. Once he is on the open road, his rules no longer apply. He must adhere to the rules of the consensus legislation. Disobeying them for personal gain is a selfish and dangerous action. The rules are put in place for collective safety. Deriding is a danger to everyone involved.

What if the rules are not in place? What if they are no signs? What if there is no instruction? Streets, open roads leading to narrow alleyways. No signals nor identifiers. Just turn when you feel like it. Honk as much as you want. It is a little theatrical in its assault on conventional driving. There is a system, there is order. Such linearity is absent. It is absolved in the face of some Wild West charade. An action flick with each motorist as the protagonist desiring to circumvent traffic. It is the way of the culture. Adapting to the lack of signals upends any visual literature of comprehension. Any clues for interpreting the hallowed simplicity of just
Go go go.

A local is skilled. Maneuvering efficiently around cars. Yet the tourist is spellbound. Do I cross now? Can I make it in time? Standing on the corner like an idiot as motorcycles swing by. Finally, a local takes the leap. Stepping softly into the street trotting along. Unfazed by the incoming traffic. Motorists are speeding and with ninja reflexes, he stops short permitting a motorist to pass as he continues with another passing behind him. It is a game of avoid the incoming objects. Looming fast to his vulnerable body. He walks normally across the street but to the foreigner it is a dance. Deciding at the pivotal moment to jump off the ledge into the uncertain sea of traffic. Majestically twirling to reach safety on the other side. Short bursts of increased stamina which the local makes look easy in his tap dancing synergy. 

Walking is a guessing game. Avoiding traffic skipping across the street in haste. Yet on the back of a motorcycle holding for dear life frightens the core. This is their way. There is no concern lest you fall off. The unsecured is a matter of insecurity. Holding on for dear life. A motorcycle itself lacks protection. It is one thing for a car to bump but another to actively confront incoming cars. Motorists all over the world use the shoulder. Daring drivers willing to do so to get an edge but their options are limited. A barrier divides. Yet such is not the case. With no barrier or lack thereof, the motorist sprints from side to side. Absent stoplights he quickly shifts from lane to lane for a clean right turn. The motorist on the speed track is confident in his abilities to realize his craft.

The road is an endless loop. Each looking for an opening to exploit. Where is the free path forward. It is a game of snake. Finding the holes to run through. A running back inserting himself between blockers. Methodically sleeking past the two cars ahead. Motorists vie for the spot. It is a race without a winner. Each aspiring for their destination. The rules are to advance with caution. No external variables to alter the fluidity of traffic. The apparent synergy is programmed by consistency. Habituation confers a harmonious regulation. The signs are negligible. They shout caution not stop. They refer to yield momentarily before racing across the intersection. 

It isn’t arrogance or pride that befalls symbolic dismissal. The signs are welded by the institutional apparatus. It classifies the road but meagerly. The drivers are their own hazards. They watch out for themselves. As predominantly motorists the slim vehicle can easily be shaken. It requires attention and investment. Some tutelage to avoid others. Symbols are important for drivers too busy elsewhere. Yet the motorist can swerve rather quickly applying more torque and drag. An ability a car can neither complete nor accomplish. The presence of traffic fails to accommodate the signaling as the maneuvering avoids the vulnerable passing along. 

It isn’t a matter of instability or unconcern but confidence. No law enforcement is enforcing. It is the custom of the land. Inscribed on a shirt sold at a souvenir shop. The shock of the foreigner is the incivility yet this uncivilized notion is baked into the local hard drive. The flow of traffic doesn’t require the longevity and complexity of safety signs. Rather the motorist compels himself to care for his own safety and those around him.