World-Class Manners -- Don't Leave Home Without Them

Hey, Mr. Protocol:

Last month my husband and I traveled to Thailand on business and found our hosts friendly and accommodating. However, the smiles vanished when we began to lavish compliments on our clients' adorable babies. Suddenly we felt ashamed and confused, as though we'd been dealing with our local cable company. Where did we go wrong?

Smitten With Babes In Thailand

Yo, Babes In Thailand:

Must Mr. Protocol come leaping to the rescue like a hartebeest every time this happens? You apparently are unaware of a belief in parts of the world that heaping praise on youngsters only serves to draw the attention of evil spirits, not unlike what happens to electrical appliances once the warranties expire. Please, charming readers, let us not forget that Mr. Protocol is a very busy person who is still trying to get his Showtime re-installed and has little time for the sorts of problems that could be avoided with adequate preparation.

For instance: Mr. Protocol witnessed an exchange in January between Wistar Kay, a protocol gal of sorts, and Madeline Beery, president of AIDS Impact, who was prepping for a medical trade fair in Osaka, Japan. AIDS Impact produces educational materials for health-care professionals.

"You say you have a contact there," says Ms. Kay, of Seattle's American Cultural Exchange. She scribbles notes on a pad of paper. "How long have you known this person?"

"The last time I saw him was '78," Ms. Beery answers. She is bursting with energy, armed with laser-printed handouts and a multipage resume. "But we send lengthy Christmas cards. And we wrote a book together."

Ms. Kay puts down her pen. She gestures, her hands acting out opposite sides of a balance scale. She wants to know how much of the relationship is business as opposed to friendship.

"We were the first non-Japanese family to stay in their home," Ms. Beery says. "And we had a baby with us."

"What you have here is a real friend," Ms. Kay says. (Considering a baby was involved, Mr. Protocol is inclined to agree.) "It's going to be important not to ask for too much, and to ask indirectly so the person has an out, so they're not put on the spot. The Japanese have a word for it: giri. It's kind of a mental bank account of favors."

This is cross-cultural training, and companies like Nike, Microsoft and Boeing include forms of it in programs designed to prepare employees for work abroad or to deal with foreigners here. Smaller businesses like AIDS Impact find their way to cross-cultural consultants - Mr. Protocol prefers the less haughty term "protocol pushers" - through entities like the Pacific Northwest Export Assistance Project, which the Washington state Legislature created to help those businesses enter foreign markets.

When the Port of Seattle absolutely had to have etiquette, it tracked down protocol pusher Randi Freidig. She conducted two sessions on global protocol in February.

"I'm constantly getting questions," she says. "(People) say: `I thought, here we are in Seattle; when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Why should I have to know these things?' And my basic line is, which way is the money flowing?"

Mr. Protocol would like to remind you that we Americans have a word for this, and that word is: duh. What on earth have we been thinking? Consider that Washington exports more than $25 billion in products and services, among them aircraft, data-processing equipment, frozen fish, soybeans and Pearl Jam. Consider the waking giant known as the European Economic Community, the potentially fertile Russian market and our need to remain well-liked by our Pacific Rim neighbors. Consider that in Japan, the most literate country in the world, schoolchildren start learning English in junior high.

Now consider that U.S. businesses who assign employees internationally have to reel them in prematurely between 20 percent and 50 percent of the time because they or their families weren't adequately prepared to deal with culture shock. Often companies figure they've hired intelligent people who can figure out such things for themselves.

Granted, charming readers, we all need time alone, but the days of isolationism are over. While many of you, and you know who you are, have amused yourselves with "America No. 1" banners and an English-only attitude, a shrinking world remains routinely multilingual and has gone to greater lengths to understand the ways of its international clientele.

This is the touchy-feely stuff of human existence. A cinematic work on the subject would star Shirley MacLaine, Pat Morita and Danny Aiello. Mr. Protocol must suppose this is a major reason that much of business, with its eye on the quantifiable, is slow to embrace it. What exactly is it they teach in business school these days? Cross-cultural training and information are increasingly available, and yet Mr. Protocol's mailbox continues to buckle under a deluge of inquiries that represent, ex post unfortunate facto, a simple lack of cultural understanding. Frankly, the whole situation is rendering him ill.

Hey, Mr. Protocol:

My business partner and I just returned from a trip to South Korea, where we hope to open an espresso-cart business. We've anticipated most cultural differences, even recognizing that although our contacts there never answer letters, they will greet us at the airport without fail. On our last visit, however, we got caught up in debate when asked what we considered to be our most embarrassing national export. My partner says it's fast-food restaurants; I say it's Michael Jackson. What do you think?

Buddy in Seoul

Yo, Buddy:

Mr. Protocol refuses to plunge to such depths (although, if he did, he'd lean toward the latter). However, your attention to the ways of your hosts points out a change in U.S. attitudes that Mr. Protocol cannot ignore.

As you know, there was a time when the United States could afford to swagger (though swaggering is rarely condoned by Mr. Protocol). When we spoke, others listened, and we figured that if people wanted what we had bad enough, they'd overlook our insensitivities. Our language was the language of the business world. And though it still might be, the general realization that our superiority can no longer be taken for granted is changing the way we think.

Mr. Protocol is impressed.

He now invites you, Puget pilgrims, to stand up and give yourselves a nice pat on the back. Your region was chosen by Fortune magazine in November as the country's top-rated spot for global business. You're showing a certain comfort in having the neighbors over by welcoming Japanese majority ownership of the Mariners. Washington has been trading with the global barrio ever since clipper ships trundled logs to Asia in the late 19th century; its awareness continued with the institution of the Washington State International Trade Fair after World War II. And its geographic position grants it an edge typically enjoyed by the player who owns Park Place and Boardwalk on the Monopoly board.

Mr. Protocol says sit down. And please, don't get up again until you've planted a few houses and hotels on those properties. Janis Parsley of the International Trade Institute notes that while other U.S. cities might envy the standing of the Northwest, to gloat over how we compare nationally exhibits the same small thinking that got us into trouble in the first place. The real questions are: How do we compare globally? And how will we capitalize on our advantages?

U.S. businesses haven't exactly fallen all over themselves trying to prepare employees culturally for international dealings. Ironically, although more than 75 percent of the world's markets lie outside U.S. borders, protocol pushers have had better luck finding foreigners interested in learning the ways of Americans than the other way around. Some Japanese companies decree that Japanese cannot be spoken in their international divisions. Mr. Protocol, on the other hand, knew of an American banker who was sent to China for two years, came back and was never consulted as a resource for doing business there. Too late now - he's dead.

Recently, Mr. Protocol was pained to hear about a U.S. automaker's need to pull a German newspaper ad because the location of the car in the picture would have incurred the wrath of the environmentally sensitive Germans; he was moved to tears several years ago when Chevrolet failed to anticipate the difficulty in marketing a car called Nova in Mexico ("No va" in Spanish means "it doesn't go"). He has heard far too many tales of executives who have their business cards translated into Japanese and think they'll work in South Korea; of others who unintentionally make passes at their foreign clients' wives or bring inappropriate flowers to dinner.

Mr. Protocol senses a dismay, a desire on the part of the suddenly uncharmed reader to barehandedly strangle the messenger or bash the new kid in the world class, and would like to reassure you: The Ugly American is looking better. Much distance remains, is all. Experience is teaching us some basics about our foreign counterparts - that while our style is to pounce on deals like underfed canines, others prefer to first build relationships; that "saving face" is as cherished a concept in many Asian countries as, say, "going for it" is in the United States; that the differences in the importance we place on time, status and age can ruin deals, if not drive us insane.

In the 1970s, before many of you were born again, the state Department of Economic Development and Trade played the role of cultural guru. When groups like the Japan-American Society and China Relations Council began conducting seminars in the 1980s, that role diminished. Now protocol pushers are appealing to executives by linking their wares with a corporate need - the competitive edge - and saying, essentially, that in a global economy, good manners equal good business.

"We feel like we're on a horizon here, and the day is coming," says Wistar Kay of the American Cultural Exchange.

Ms. Kay was born and raised in Japan and has represented the Westin and Four Seasons hotels there. In her January training session with Ms. Beery of AIDS Impact, she went on to mention the traits and customs Ms. Beery might encounter: The Japanese, unlike Americans, will not say if a request is inconvenient; instead, they try to honor it. People don't mingle at conferences if they have not been introduced. Laughter is a way of expressing awkwardness. Hesitation over an offer can mean a polite no.

In Japan, the business card is a person's face. When someone gives you one, take it with both hands and stare at it a moment; this is the equivalent of an American handshake. Don't write on it.

Ms. Beery takes all this in with enthusiasm. She knows that the Japanese are finally officially admitting that AIDS could, quite possibly, be a problem (the indirect approach), and that could bode well for her product. But when Ms. Kay tells her that women are expected to be reserved and humble, she knows she is in trouble. She also knows what to expect. Which, my meandering minions, is the point.

Hey, Mr. Protocol:

By now, last year's incident in which President Bush, continuing a tradition of headline-making diplomacy, fell off his chair and hurled during Japanese Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa's dinner, is old news. In a country where saving face is of paramount concern, Bush was immediately assisted, a determination of good health made and the episode unmentioned until the president was safely out of the country, at which time a new verb - bushusuru ("to do a Bush") - was coined to describe it. My question is, what is the proper American way to handle such a situation?

Wondering in Wenatchee

Yo, Wondering:

Mr. Protocol cannot help but surmise that there is not much going on in Wenatchee, but to answer your question: If, say, President Clinton suddenly tossed his cookies during a dinner affair in Washington, D.C., the most appropriate scenario would have Socks quietly escorted from the room and Secret Service agents scouring the premises for illegally hired immigrant nannies. A review of the tape would later show that an NBC News team had fitted the president's chair with dummy incendiary devices.

Mr. Protocol was pleased to make the acquaintance not long ago of a young woman determined not to blunder in such an extravagant manner. Tina Wager of Seattle is 26 years old. Her New York-born fiance, Randy Wyszynski, is 29 and has spent the past two months in Taiwan. They plan to marry in traditional fashion in May.

Both work for Nike Inc., which has done business internationally for most of its 20-year history, beginning with the Pacific Rim, then Europe and South America and, most recently, Australia. Nike has about 175 expatriate employees throughout 14 foreign countries. A company task force is working on ways to provide cultural information about those countries to employees at the Nike campus in Beaverton, Ore., but when it comes down to actually transplanting someone, Nike calls in a protocol pusher.

Ms. Wager, a garrulous four-year employee given to phrases such as "it was pretty funny" and "what the heck," exudes a peppy youthfulness that belies her age. Perhaps it's the shoes. She fits in perfectly, however, in a place that could be fairly categorized as The Happiest Place In Oregon, where smiles are rampant and the mindset is sufficiently global to realize that thrusting employees into a foreign land like puppies into the cold night does not constitute a wise use of resources.

When she was a college student, she spent a year in Salzburg, Austria, with no cultural preparation. It was akin to immersion in cold Evian. She learned much - including that the next time around, she'd rather be ready.

"When you're a student, it doesn't matter," Wager says. "You're just going over there to have fun, hey, whatever. You're only 20, and it's different. But we're going on a work thing, and work is the priority. I'd like to know what I'm getting into before I commit myself for three years."

Dori McFadin, who manages Nike's expatriate department, felt it was her responsibility to prepare employees assigned internationally to keep them happy and productive campers. She'd heard, from people like authors Lennie Copeland and Lewis Griggs in their book "Going International," about the number of relocations that end prematurely. She knew that miserable spouses and families, unpossessing of the insulation provided by a corporate structure, were the most common reason. The cost of repatriation can run as high as $200,000.

"Trailing spouses," as they are horrifically known in industry lingo, often leave careers behind. Perhaps a family that once enjoyed weekend skiing now finds itself stationed in the Persian Gulf. Unable to speak a new language, tasks as simple as going to the store or paying the bills or having Showtime installed become monumental. Mr. Protocol can only imagine the possibilities.

So Ms. McFadin and consultant Julie Resnick devised an eight-hour training session for international employees and their spouses, to be conducted just before departure. Mr. Wyszynski, who will help manage a Nike footwear factory in Taichung, and Ms. Wager were subjected to this in late January. Like many spouses, because it is her soon-to-be husband who is being transferred, Ms. Wager is leaving her position with Nike, with no guarantee of a position when she returns. She hopes to find work teaching English.

In their session with Ms. Resnick they were asked to assess their beliefs, values and goals. The idea was that they must understand themselves before they can adapt to another culture. They were given information on Taiwan - politics, religion, history, money, etc. - in fat three-ring binders and instructed in the cultural differences that might affect their dealings in business and daily life.

Ms. Wager learned the value placed on patience, and now, she says, she can understand why some people drive the way they do. And when Resnick mentioned the respect given one's elders, it revived a memory: "I remember in San Francisco once, we were waiting for the elevator, and this little old white-haired Chinese woman pushed in front of me. I was like, what the heck? And her daughter's right behind her, pushing her, and I'm like, Excuse me. . . . But I was rude to them. I wasn't letting an older person go in front of me."

Finally, they discussed the importance of language and the painful process of adjustment - a honeymoon phase followed by possible depression and, finally, a renewed confidence that can be shattered once one returns to what is no longer a familiar America.

"Culture shock is a byproduct of any overseas experience," Ms. Resnick says. She suggests that employees be chosen in a more holistic way, and Mr. Protocol does not mind defining this one: Maybe Mr. Rich Ladderclimb and Ms. Precious Promotable are next in line and have the business skills, but if they aren't flexible and willing to play by different rules for awhile, they might as well stay at home.

Finally, for the young couple, there were practical matters: He had to sell his car, find a suitable tenant for his house, get shots, do last-minute shopping. He will return to Portland for the couple's wedding; both will then make the big move to Taiwan. Ms. Wager is already "bummin' out" in anticipation of leaving the coffee culture to which she's grown accustomed. K&F, Starbucks and The Coffee People are her local favorites.

"But," she says in the most wistful way, "K&F does ship."

Hey, Mr. Protocol:

My firm just informed me that I will be sent to Paris to help represent the company's marketing efforts there. I took French in high school but have since lost that certain je ne sais quoi which made me an A student for two years. I have heard horror stories about how unforgiving Parisians can be to those whose language skills are not superior and am quite panicked by the assignment, for which my company is providing little instruction. What can I do to prepare?

I'll Always Have Paris

Yo, Paris:

Go to your local coffee establishment. Wait in line, and when you get to the counter, stare quizzically at the posted offerings and say: "I think I'll have one of those latty things. A medium. Also a croissant." (For maximum effect, pronounce the `r' in "croissant.") Study the expression on the face of the clerk. Your social status is being expertly calculated. You may be met by a blank stare that says: "I will not respond until your request is repeated in the proper manner. Furthermore, I can only hope that the others in line rough you up like the dog that you are." As you are chased out the door, be sure to say: "Hey, barista, make that a double-tall non-fat decaf with a shot of vanilla."

You are now ready to do Paris.

Ah, but perhaps Mr. Protocol doth too harshly judge. Paris is probably nicer than a bad Seattle cafe experience. Actually, most places are. Sometimes it depends on whose standards you use. In Saudi Arabia once, says former cross-cultural consultant Neal Perrine, a man on a business trip walked into an office, quite prepared, appropriately dressed, and went up to a manager's desk to ask where a meeting was being held. Suddenly dimly aware that something was awry, he was hustled out of the building, onto a plane and out of the country.

"What happened to him," says Mr. Perrine, "is that he was standing on a prayer rug - he thought it was just some throw rug, and so he was squirming around on top of this manager's prayer rug - and they didn't take kindly to that. He was gone."

Ken Keach, president of Seattle's Export Assistance Center, which helps companies with export financing, spent part of a banking career in Japan. He fondly recalls the regular scene of a Kobe bar - two old men who'd lived there since World War II, hanging around watching the expatriates come in and making bets on how long they'd last in their new environment.

The odds, appropriately enough, are with Tina Wager after going through cross-cultural training. "We're going to be having constant battles, trying to do the right thing," she says.

"That's the other thing. They're not real big over there on public displays of affection. And Randy and I always hold hands, we always kiss in public, so I don't know what we're going to do. I'll probably forget. If I haven't seen him in three months, what the heck, I don't care who sees. I'm going to give him a hug."

Mr. Protocol understands the Bambi-in-the-headlights terror over what appear to be cultural minefields. One freezes, unable to take the simplest action for fear of offense, retribution or deportation. Should the moving item on the dinner plate at your host's home be eaten, complained about, complimented or ignored? Is presenting a client's spouse with a gift a bad idea? Does it depend on the gift? On the color? Is that the national anthem that's playing, or are people just ignoring you? What does one do if asked to explain and demonstrate "that way that Michael Jackson does, when he grabs?" One can get quite worked up over such matters.

One need not convert so much as understand the differences that distinguish us from each other. We are defined by our histories, our religions, our victories and defeats, by how much importance we place on the family, the group or on ourselves. The American way is direct. It asks that things occur at the scheduled time and is frightened of empty space in conversation. It encourages self-promotion, respects wealth and favors the role of the individual. To those who remember enough high-school history to place this in proper context, this might make some sense.

What cross-cultural training teaches often just scratches the surface of worlds that can be ingrained only through immersion. But it does help, my suffering sycophants, particularly with trade imbalances, the European Economic Community and a North American Free Trade Agreement looming nearby, to change the way we approach our foreign associates, who are getting closer and closer all the time.

Hey, Mr. Protocol:

As the country's chief executive, I recently asked House Speaker Tom Foley to deliver a letter from me to Japanese Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa in Tokyo. In the letter I encouraged the prime minister to come to Washington, D.C., to discuss his country's $107 billion trade surplus with us last year since we consider Japan an important ally and trading partner. Hillary and I plan to have the prime minister over for dinner, and so my question is: Would this be a proper time to break in our new sterling silver set of silverware?

Ready To Sacrifice If Necessary

Yo, Ready To Sacrifice:

Sometimes, you just have to throw caution to the winds. Mr. Protocol says go for it. Inhale. And just hope that by the end of the evening, no one will be coining any new verbs.

Marc Ramirez is a Pacific staff writer. Fred Birchman is a Seattle Times news artist.

----------------------------------------- IN THE KNOW COMMON QUESTIONS FROM TRAVELERS WHO AREN'T ----------------------------------------- 1. A man with a sizable piece of artillery has just hijacked your flight out of Paris. He demands that the plane head for New York City. He catches your glance with a feral gleam in his eye, points the gun at you and screams in a French accent, "What are you look at?" Your best bet is to say: a) "Excuse me, but are those Bugle Boy pants you're wearing?" b) "I'm sorry, I don't understand you. Would you please repeat your question in proper English?" c) "Hey, barista, make that a double tall nonfat decaf with a shot of vanilla." d) Nothing, but when you get to New York, make sure to ask for bonus miles credit on your frequent-flier plan.

Correct answer: D. In February, frequent-flier miles were awarded to a passenger on a Lufthansa flight hijacked to New York out of Frankfurt.

2. Global Nomads have just taken over the conference room. They are: a) a German rock band with a lead singer who looks just like Maggie on "Northern Exposure"; b) people otherwise labeled "military brats" or "missionary brats," whose parents' roving occupations necessitated their upbringing in several countries; c) small, horn-beaked insects with a taste for fine leather; d) a Port Angeles exterminating service.

Correct answer: B. Many cross-cultural consultants grew up as Global Nomads, sometimes known as "Third Culture Kids," and use their experiences as a basis for their instruction. For example, Bobbie Schaetti of Ballard moved 12 times by the age of 22 and now focuses on family-preparation workshops for people assigned overseas.

3. You're a member of a U.S. firm with a construction bid under consideration by the government of Thailand. A delegation is sent to your city; they call from the hotel to say they were not picked up from the airport. You apologize but set up an appointment for the next day, and wait. And wait. Hours pass and still they do not arrive. Finally there is a call from the delegation saying they are canceling the meeting. This is because: a) there's a really good Ally Sheedy movie on cable; b) they were not picked up from the hotel and now choose to take their business elsewhere; c) every time they go out, they get pestered for change and now they're out of taxi money; d) they don't appreciate your high-pressure tactics.

Correct answer: B. Cross-cultural consultant Randi Freidig uses this story in her workshops to show how not understanding the expectations of another culture can lose a company business. In the case of the Thai delegation, the company "didn't realize that as hosts, they should have taken care of their every need."

4. Following the advice of your cross-cultural consultant, you have presented your Japanese hosts with a well-wrapped gift upon arrival in Tokyo. They accept it graciously but do not open it because: a) you have not only improperly included a ribbon, but in fact have tied it using the impossible Rubik's Conundrum Knot; b) they are saving it for their birthdays; c) it is customary to open gifts later, in private; d) judging from the size of the box, you have presented them with the dreaded Chia Pet.

Correct answer: C. The gesture of giving a gift carries more importance than the actual gift itself in Japanese culture. Opening a gift later in private allows the person who gave the gift to save face by avoiding the awkward interaction that could result if the gift is somehow inappropriate.

5. You and a male colleague are attending a business meeting in the office of a British client. For the past 15 minutes your client has been casting strange glances in your colleague's direction. The most likely reason is: a) your colleague is wearing a striped tie; b) for no apparent reason he has been making small mewing sounds and periodically licking his hand; c) love is in the air, and far be it from you to get in the way; d) communicating telepathically, they have been re-enacting the cafe scene from "When Harry Met Sally."

Correct answer: A. In England, striped ties usually denote military or school affiliations.

6. A few years ago, U.S. attorneys for Japan's Kikkoman Corp. agreed to an out-of-court settlement with 72-year-old Japanese businessman Jozo Sugihara, whose case against the soy-sauce giant was based on the contention that: a) the Kikkoman plant was built too close to his home, and holy bejeebers, you should smell the thing; b) every time he deals with those guys from the U.S. side, they keep bringing up World War II; c) he claimed they owed him millions of dollars even though they'd never signed a thing; d) the free T-shirt he got with his last order was missing an arm hole.

Correct answer: C. Sugihara had played a role in establishing Kikkoman in the United States and claimed that a 1957 verbal joint-venture agreement entitled him to part of the soy-sauce empire's profits. Verbal agreements are weighted much more heavily in Japan than in America, and the jury had appeared willing to acknowledge that cultural difference.