Creativity in the Context of Chinese Legal Work

I just had a fascinating conversation with one of my students, an attorney at a leading intellectual property law firm. We read “Fright Bulb: How to Crush Your Last Shard of Creativity,” the editor’s letter from the December 2009 issue of Psychology Today. [The article doesn't appear to be online. I teach him and his colleagues advanced, industry-specific, one-on-one English lessons.]

This note from editor Kaja Perina (yes, that’s her picture, from Psychology Today) begins:

For some people, there is no greater buzzkill than the chirpy imperative, “Be creative!” These words are especially irksome when accompanied by the clicking of a stopwatch or the knowledge that the speaker himself cannot solve the problem in question. The idea of creativity on demand can intimidate — or at least irritate — an otherwise innovative brain.

My student found this paragraph tricky for several reasons. He first noticed the unfamiliar colloquiallisms in the first few lines: “buzzkill,” “chirpy,” “irksome.” Once we tackled this vocabulary, the underlying sentiment surprised him more.

He kept saying, “I’m not creative.” In his work, it is rare for anyone to make “Be creative” a chirpy imperative. Legal work depends on both established procedures and clients’ expectations, and it would be quite odd for a manager to insist on explicitly creative output.

Also, he mentioned that a Chinese manager would lose face if he admitted that he “himself cannot solve the problem in question.” In the rare circumstance that he would communicate such a thing, he would do so in a roundabout way that would both maintain his dignity and imply the desire for assistance.

The article continues with a sarcastic list of “sure-fire tips to extinguish the creative spark.” This intrigued me, because 4 out of the 5 items on the list sound like ideal procedures for an employee in a large Chinese law firm.

The list reads:

Know exactly what you’re doing before you get started.

Be careful not to offend.

Get permission.

Run it by everyone first.

Criticize yourself at every step.

The first four sound a bit like everyday expectations for an underling in China, and only the fifth sounds like a direct refutation of the strict rules that limit creativity. It would not be prudent for a manager in China to give his employees this list with a big “X” through it, in order to encourage creative thinking.

My student and I found more common ground in the next paragraph, which describes…

everyday creativity, explored in this issue and embodied by most everyone. … it is possible to make an impact without agita, if you focus not on “producing” but instead on the things you already enjoy doing.

I looked up the word “agita,” and it means abdominal or mental discomfort. This definition comforted us, and helped him bring the idea of everyday creativity into his professional life. Here’s a paraphrased version of what he said:

Creativity should be construed in a broad way, like looking at your daily work in a new way. I can look at a case from a new angle. I can motivate my young employees to approach work as advancing their own careers instead of just satisfying the boss’ demands. By looking at things in new ways we can support our clients and differentiate ourselves from the competition.

I think that editor Kaja Perina’s last line describes this turn in our conversation quite well.

A balance of passion and patience will light that bulb eventually. Unless it’s already on and you just don’t know it.

It seems to me that his creative spark has been on for years, and he’d never seen it in that light.

How do you think about creativity in your work? What do you think about Kaja Perina’s strategies for stifling creativity? How do you think creativity fits into international legal work? What do you see as the biggest difference between approaches to creativity in different countries?