Time is a measure of equality and respect

DO you hate waiting around? Well, that makes two of us.

Waiting, sadly, is one of life’s unavoidable inconveniences. Traffic jams happen. Flights are delayed. Queues form.

But there is another kind of waiting altogether – the kind that is not imposed by circumstance, but by people.

In Malaysia, we have become remarkably accustomed to waiting for a personage.

As a journalist covering events regularly, one pattern has become impossible to ignore.

Members of the media are routinely asked to arrive an hour, sometimes two, before a programme is scheduled to begin.

But it is not just the press.

Ordinary guests are often expected to arrive well in advance too, so they are already seated and ready to applaud as dignitaries make their entrance.

There have been times when chairs aren’t provided, so we remain on our feet until the important guest-of-honour arrives.

I still remember an event where dozens of schoolchildren waited outdoors, for nearly an hour, simply so they could wave enthusiastically as dignitaries drove up.

Their teacher later told me the school had been informed it was an educational programme.

Instead, the children became little more than a “welcoming committee”.

Perhaps they did receive an education on that day after all.

They learned that the comfort of ordinary people can be suspended for the convenience of those deemed more important than them.

That is the real concern.

This is not merely about poor time management.

It is about how the sense of importance expresses itself.

In healthy organisations, authority is demonstrated through competence, preparation and leadership.

In hierarchical cultures, it is sometimes demonstrated by making everyone else wait.

The delay itself becomes part of the ceremony.

Every unnecessary minute of the wait sends the same unspoken message: my time is valuable; yours is simply available.

The costs, though, go beyond discourtesy.

Large events often require roads to be closed, enforcement personnel deployed, temporary infrastructure built and countless hours of manpower committed.

Businesses may lose customers and workers waste productive time.

Time, in such a culture, ceases to be an equal possession.

It becomes another privilege attached to rank or fame.

Some argue that modern technology makes waiting less burdensome. Bring a laptop. Reply to emails. Clear your inbox.

But anyone who has spent hours at a crowded event knows otherwise.

Constant announcements, conversations and movement make work nearly impossible.

Some argue that organisers deliberately ask everyone to arrive early because some people habitually arrive late.

But this merely penalises those who respect other people’s time while rewarding those who do not.

Eventually, advertised starting times lose credibility.

A programme listed for 9am will quietly tell everyone that nothing meaningful will happen until 10am.

The most common defence is perhaps the weakest: “That’s just how things have always been done.”

But history should not be a defence for inefficiency.

Many outdated practices disappeared precisely because societies recognised they no longer reflected the values they once upheld.

I was reminded of this during my time studying in the United Kingdom.

One winter afternoon, several coursemates and I arrived about 15 minutes late for a lecture.

As soon as we entered, our lecturer and head of department Dr Pitt stopped teaching and asked us to stand at the front of the lecture theatre.

“Apologise,” he said.

“Apologise to your classmates, whose lesson you have disrupted.”

What followed was a blistering lecture about respect and professionalism.

Dr Pitt spoke of accountability and the obligation not to waste other people’s time, as my classmates and I − both local and international students − stood there mortified.

Years later, I remember almost nothing from that day’s academic lesson but every word of that reprimand.

Perhaps Malaysia’s problem is not really one of punctuality but one of equality.

Because every time we expect hundreds of ordinary people to wait unnecessarily for someone in authority, or any personage, we quietly reinforce the idea that some people’s time is inherently more valuable than everyone else’s.

Yet time is the one resource distributed perfectly equally.

Every Malaysian receives the same 24 hours each day.

A society that truly respects its people should respect those hours equally too.