If you’ve ever had the privilege to travel to these countries, you’ll recognise the shock that hit me within minutes of stepping onto the street. The pavements are clean. Graffiti is rare. People move with a kind of unspoken choreography, aware of one another, careful not to intrude. Crossing major roads is controlled by police and wardens and anyone who dares to try and cross when they should not is subjected to a loud whistle and an order to stop and return.
In much of East Asia, the idea that public spaces belong to everyone is a lived expectation. Dropping litter isn’t simply rude, it’s a breach of a shared responsibility. Bins on the street were quite rare as people take their litter home. It’s not fear of punishment that drives this behaviour. It’s the internalised belief that actions ripple outward, affecting the harmony of the group.
This emphasis on harmony has deep roots in Confucian traditions that still shape social life across China, Korea, and Japan. The priority isn’t the individual asserting themselves but the smooth functioning of the collective. That’s why public transport is quiet, why arguments rarely spill into public view, and why children are taught from an early age to consider how their behaviour affects others. Respect for elders and teachers is woven into daily life. A teacher in Seoul or Tokyo occupies a social position that Britain hasn’t afforded its educators for decades. Children grow up with a clear sense of hierarchy and responsibility, not because they are naturally more obedient, but because the culture consistently reinforces the expectation.
Even the enforcement of rules works differently. It’s not that East Asian societies rely on harsh policing. In fact, Japan’s police are often surprisingly gentle in their approach. What matters is consistency. Rules are enforced predictably, and the public expects them to be enforced. There is no sense that minor offences are optional or that consequences depend on the mood of the moment.
Britain, by contrast, leans heavily towards individualism. This isn’t a flaw; it is one of our defining strengths. But it does shape how we behave in public. We tend to treat public spaces as something managed by councils rather than something we collectively own. When bins overflow or graffiti appears, the instinct is to blame the authorities. Responsibility diffuses until it disappears. At the same time, decades of rising inequality, political polarisation, and institutional mistrust have eroded the social glue that held communities together. When trust declines, so does the willingness to cooperate. People become more defensive, more cynical, and less inclined to act for the common good.
Our approach to children reflects this. British parents often feel they must negotiate with their children rather than instruct them. Teachers report similar dynamics in classrooms, where authority must be earned anew each day. Add to this our cultural affection for the rule-breaker — the maverick, the underdog who bends the rules — and it becomes easier to see why minor transgressions, from littering to antisocial behaviour, are not socially stigmatised in the way they are in East Asia.
None of this means Britain is doomed or that East Asia is a utopia. Japan and South Korea face their own challenges: intense academic pressure, long working hours, and social conformity that can feel, and is, very restrictive. In China we couldn’t access any western apps like Facebook, Instagram, or WhatsApp. But there are lessons we can adapt without abandoning our values. We could begin by rebuilding respect for public spaces, not through punitive measures but through a renewed sense of ownership. Local communities that take responsibility for specific streets or green spaces often see behaviour change almost immediately. Schools could integrate community stewardship into the curriculum.
Restoring the status of teachers is another essential step. If we want respectful children, we must respect the adults who teach them. That means clearer authority in classrooms and a cultural shift that treats teaching as a high-status profession rather than a fallback option.
Britain’s approach to minor offences is sporadic, swinging between permissiveness and sudden crackdowns. A steadier, more predictable system would send a clearer message about expectations and rebuild trust in institutions.
East Asian societies do not assume children will simply absorb good manners and cooperative behaviour. They teach these things directly, and there’s no reason we cannot do the same.
Finally, we might reconsider the balance between celebrating individuality and valuing community. We can keep our love of personal freedom while also elevating the idea that contributing to the common good is a mark of character, not conformity.
Dr James Williams is an emeritus reader in science education and communication at Sussex university.
Source link
[Featured]
[Just In]
