My Hong Kong bubble of self-assuredness was popped last Wednesday. At a bus stop in North Point, I stood in the choking diesel fumes trying to work out what had gone wrong. For the first time that I was aware of, I had been ignored not by one driver, but two. For a visually impaired passenger like me - who lives by a white cane and Blind Union cards that have the bus route number clearly printed on them - this jolt turned perceptions on their head. The journey had started typically: a sighted fellow traveller told me the bus behind the one he was getting was the one I needed. My bus arrived, but before I could board, the doors closed and it left - leaving me with my card still raised for all to see. Accidents happen frequently in the world of blind travel; they shouldn't at bus stops. The kindness of passing people shouldn't be counted on. The Transport Department, in its publication A Guide To Public Transport For People With Disabilities, assures us that Citibus and New World First Bus drivers 'have received comprehensive training on quality customer service, mastering the skills in serving the need of the disabled'. In a dozen years of blind travel, I have found this to be only partly true. One bus having gone by, I decided to experiment. An elderly woman told me another bus was arriving. She tried to help me on, but I told her in my pidgin Cantonese that I was fine. I was standing in front of the open doors, yet the driver said nothing; again, the bus left without me. Finally, I relented and got help. My complaint is not unheard of. I could get the Equal Opportunities Commission to investigate, but I wonder if I'd be justified under the circumstances; a single blind foreigner with limited Cantonese conducting unscientific research. Anyway, I have a plausible theory: while it is not clear why the drivers passed me by, they may have been afraid, or unable to, speak English. That scenario is common in Hong Kong in offices, shops and restaurants, so it is highly possible among bus drivers. English is taught at school but teaching, learning and linguistic capacity are separate issues. Limited opportunities to practise, a perception that English is not important and a lack of confidence are all at play. The consequences in a city that likes to see itself as international - a term that implies the language of global commerce, English, is in wide use - are a loss of business and, in offices, tension and even animosity. If my hunch is correct, it also means some physically impaired people miss buses. I am no linguist. My life revolves around English. Nonetheless, even though I have never made an effort to learn Cantonese, I comprehend about 60 per cent of what I hear and generally can communicate what I want and where I am going. The bus drivers didn't know that I would have no difficulty communicating with them. They may have thought I was a tourist. Maybe new to the job, they might have seen me waiting and gone into a panic. To try to speak to me in English would have revealed to a busload of passengers their linguistic shortcomings. To avoid embarrassment, they chose to lose a fare. Missed business is also the case with the majority of Hong Kong's restaurants. Because they don't offer English-language menus, they are missing out on customers. The ones that try often get it spectacularly wrong: A colleague told me of one in Sham Shui Po that has the most bizarre menu item he has encountered anywhere - 'Parched Iraqi surface'. The assumption is that it is a botched Google translation of dessert. The government is well aware of the problem. Despite this, funding for its Workplace English Campaign was stopped last year. But with English standards falling, authorities would do well to put resources towards a fresh programme. They could start by helping restaurants with their bilingual menus. The embarrassing errors on company websites could also be fixed. In return, I promise from now on to make a concerted effort to learn Cantonese. This may not help in my getting buses, but I will at least be able to curse more confidently in Cantonese if the one I have been waiting for again passes by. Peter Kammerer is a senior writer at the Post
