The Power Of No
One of the earliest lessons I learned about Germany was that unlike the British, Germans have no problem saying “no”. Typical of so many of my cultural realisations, I didn’t discover this from painstaking observation, or listening carefully to what was being said around me. Instead, I slammed myself unknowingly into the wall of German directness, and like all great moments of intercultural learning, it also had a delightful aspect of fist-chewing embarrassment to go with it.
I’d only been in Germany a few days when my wife’s friends invited us both for drinks. Being British, and recently out of university, I was essentially a feral animal. As my wife’s friends politely, and slowly drank their cocktails, I did what I’d been doing through four years of studying, and obliterated any and all alcohol put in front of me. Surprisingly, the group were not disgusted at this front seat to the British experience, rather they seemed impressed, enough at least to invite me to watch ice hockey with them later in the week. Despite the fog of beer and tequila, I asked some basic questions, and quickly surmised that I had absolutely no interest in sitting in a freezer for hours, watching a sport I only knew from catching late night clips on TV.
I knew I would have to say no, but I’m also British, so I did what every British person has done for centuries: I tried to let them down as easily as possible. Since British communication often revolves around building and maintaining relationships, “no” is far too direct a statement, and is only utilised as a last resort. If the British want to refuse politely, they’ll say something like “That sounds fun, I’ll get back to you” or “I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know”, “Perhaps” is a common one, as is “I might join you later”. A slightly more direct option might be “I’m not sure I can”, “I’ll have to check those dates”, or “Maybe, we’ll have to see”. Even when we’re at our most direct and confrontational, you’re unlikely to hear a “no”, instead we have a long list of idioms and colloquialisms to fall back on. “Jog on”, “Nope”, “You’re having a laugh”, or a simple “Naaaa” can be rolled out to fully express the negative.
The problem with all of these is that although the British know exactly what they mean, most other nationalities don’t actually hear “no”. What they hear is “maybe”, especially when the British actually say “maybe”, which for the record, can also mean “no”. When I was invited to the ice hockey by my wife’s friends, I politely declined, saying something like “I dunno, I’m not sure but I’ll let you know”. As we left the pub, and said goodbye to everyone, I repeated the “I’ll let you know” as if to fully confirm that I wouldn’t be watching any ice based sporting events in the future. I was confident that they had got the message, and celebrated a successful night by eating a kebab and then falling asleep on the bedroom floor.
Two days later, as I was making dinner, I received a text from a number I didn’t know. It was a simple and direct message: “Where R U?”. Not knowing the number, but knowing the regional code, I could see it was from someone in Germany, but as I’d only been in the country a matter of days, I had no idea who the hell it was. I asked my wife , and she confirmed it was one of her friends. She called, and after a conversation, she hung up the phone and gave me a look that suggested nothing positive was about to happen. “They’re waiting for you at the Stadion, they have your ticket”. I was baffled, how had they not understood my refusal? Knowing what I had to do, I put my shoes on and headed to watch the Augsburg Panthers.
As I half ran, half walked to meet the group, I had questions, the first and most obvious being “Are panthers really any good at ice skating, after all, they’re usually found in jungles?”, the second was “What had they actually heard me say?”. Over the next few hours, I would get a crash course in exactly why British English is almost useless for communication in Germany. Sure it sounds nice and polite, but politeness is pointless if no one knows you’re being polite. I barely followed the game in front of me, instead I peppered the group with questions, and by the time it was over, one of the cornerstones of German communication had been firmly planted in my head.
As I understood it, “no”, or rather “Nein”, was not something I had to avoid at all costs. In fact, being typically British, using indirectness to mask my true feelings or intentions, was doing far more harm than good. At best I might look indecisive, at worst it might be considered wholly dishonest. Over the next weeks and months, I tried the saying “no” in those instances where I would instinctively equivocate. Not only was I able to avoid doing many things I really didn’t want to do, but I didn’t seem to offend anyone. People still spoke to me, and still seemed genuinely pleased to see me. I felt liberated, no longer did I need to have rambling, face saving conversations before declining something, I could just say “no”.
This was a massive shift in thinking for me, but what I didn’t know at the time was once you learn to say “no”, to communicate in a more direct manner, you really have to work hard to not make that the first and only communication strategy, especially when I returned to the UK. This may sound hyperbolic, but being comfortable with directness is like having a superpower in Britain. Refusing invitations, complaining, arguments, all the things that may have made me anxious before, no longer have that effect. However, as I celebrated my new set of skills, I forgot one key point: being direct in Britain is all well and good, sometimes it’s even fun, but you don’t half look like an arsehole to other people. I was drunk on the power of “no”, and it was noticeable to everyone I knew.
Between the nearly forgotten ice hockey game and that first trip back to the UK, I developed a far better understanding of both my new home of Germany, and my former home of the UK. I learned that directness has a lot of power, but so has the British approach to indirect communication. I also discovered that exposure to a new culture can change a person very quickly, and not always for the positive. Most importantly, I understood why being a migrant can be such a boon: bringing together different aspects of both my native and adoptive cultures can create something bigger than its constituent parts. There’s a time for directness, but usually it’s not the first approach. I now follow a new rule of communication: start British, and should the need arise, move progressively closer to German directness. It doesn't work all the time, nothing ever does, but whether I’m in Germany or Britain, it tends to get results. Give it a go, embrace the power of “no”, but perhaps don’t make it your opener.
Proofreader: @ScandiTina
Image Credit
Foto von cottonbro studio
Foto von Daniel Herron auf Unsplash
Foto von Jon Tyson auf Unsplash
