Everywhere in Beijing there are uniformed men. Standing to attention on little boxes outside my office building, dozing in booths at the gates of apartment blocks and napping at desks in the lobbies, guarding the entries to large private companies, watching over bicycle parking lots next to department stores, directing traffic under umbrellas, wandering among the crowds at subway stations, beckoning drivers into car parks on busy streets, patrolling parking lots at shopping centers, fiddling with their mobile phones at museum entries, waving flags and blowing whistles at pedestrian crossings, doing I don’t know what exactly with ropes at bus stops... Then, of course, there are uniformed men in places where you would expect to see them in most countries--at major government institutions, in the embassy district, at international airports and at busy bank branches.
I had never seen so many men in uniform before, and I have to admit to feeling a little intimidated by all this show of force at first. Then I started to look a little closer. Most of these guys are very young--teenagers I would say, and most of them have little or no real power. I read an interview with a bike park guard who said he is powerless to stop anyone from stealing bikes under his watch, as he doesn’t actually have any authority to detain thieves.
Uniforms usually signify power and importance--that’s why some women love them, right? But in China, uniforms don’t seem to mean much at all. All they show is that whoever has hired the people inside them can afford to do so. I suspect most of these boys in blue are really just for show. Smartly uniformed young men marching in formation with walkie talkies on their belts add “face” to companies--even if the men are really only teenage boys recruited from the countryside.
All the young men in military-style uniforms outside big company offices could easily be replaced by a swipe card machine to let staff in, and as for the thousands of others lolling about in public places--what are they actually for? Are Beijing’s drivers really so incompetent that they need someone in white gloves telling them which way to turn their steering wheels as they back into parks?
The guys stationed in the lobby of my apartment building and their colleagues at the street entrance do nothing whatever except annoy and delay deliverymen by making it hard for them to access apartments. If they are supposed to provide security for residents, I would prefer the apartment complex managers laid them all off and spent their wages on utilizing some of the permanently switched off lights outside the buildings and down the entrance side street. Not only would this illuminate prowling would-be offenders, but I would also not have to worry about crashing into hapless midnight dog walkers or invisible potholes as I cycle home in total darkness.
Right now, a mini-squadron of eight boys in navy blue outfits is being put through its paces below my apartment. “Yi, er, san! Yi, er, san!” Poor kids, it’s over 30 degrees Centigrade today and they must be sweltering as they jog along in their heavy long-sleeved blue outfits and ridiculous pilot-style peaked hats.
There can’t be much job satisfaction in knowing that what you spend the majority of your waking hours doing is essentially pointless. I know I would go crazy if it were my job to battle endless waves of unruly cyclists and impatient pedestrians armed with only a flag and a whistle, in both blistering heat and biting cold. Or worse still, standing on a box for hours on end saluting everyone who approaches, inspecting their staff ID passes and waving them into the building with a robotic gesture.
Recently, as I left work late one night, there was a mentally disturbed man shouting and gesticulating at the entry guard outside my office. The youth stood motionless on his sentry box, white-gloved hands pinned rigidly to his sides, glaring at him in silence. I wondered how long this would go on for and how often the guard had to endure such incidents. I couldn’t understand the enraged man--was he riling at my company or simply abusing the guard because he was an easy target?
Whatever the reason, it made me realize that the guard’s job was not always as easy as I had thought. As he stood to attention, he was doubtless wishing his assailant would calm down and leave, while mentally preparing to take action if the situation escalated. Quite a heavy load for a teenager paid only a few hundred yuan a month.
As the taxi whisked me home, I gazed out on the deserted streets. All the uniformed men were gone, save a few lonely guards posted at Tiananmen Square. I wondered how many thousands of uniforms were hanging on hooks in homes and dormitories around the city. And it occurred to me that although many of these people’s jobs may seem pointless, they are still jobs. In a developing country with a massive undereducated population, hiring people to do work of little value is more than an image booster; it’s also a social service.
The writer is a New Zealand journalist living in Beijing | 
