Culture, Etiquette, and the Chongqing-KL AirAsia Saga

The recent viral saga on the April 22 AirAsia flight from Chongqing to Kuala Lumpur has been weighing on my mind, especially as I mentally prepare for the cultural nuances of my upcoming visit to my husband’s ancestral village in China. It brought back a vivid memory of a recent encounter at Don Mueang International Airport with a man I presumed was from Mainland China, based on his accent.

I was at a charging station, having a quick hot dog bun for breakfast while my phone was plugged into my travel adapter. A man sat two seats away, visibly frustrated that his phone wouldn’t charge from the built-in USB port. Seeing my adapter had a spare port, he didn’t ask for permission; he simply informed me he was going to use it. I let him. When I was ready to leave, I unplugged his phone and returned it to him. As I began packing my things, I reached for my empty hot dog bun box, only to find he had claimed it. He was using it as a “stand” to prop up his phone so the cable wouldn’t stretch. When I asked for it back to discard my rubbish, he simply told me he’d throw it away for me later.

Initially, I was annoyed, but I walked away viewing it through a different lens. What we see as a lack of etiquette, he likely saw as pure survival and practicality. To him, there was a spare port and a piece of “rubbish” that was perfectly functional for his immediate needs. In his world, you fight for what you need; in mine, we prioritize social harmony.

This brings me back to the AirAsia incident. As a Malaysian, I felt a certain level of shame watching the “group bullying” that ensued. The passenger was clearly agitated—her friends were stuck at immigration, a stressful situation for anyone. While she was loud, she wasn’t technically wrong about the phone usage; as she argued, the plane hadn’t taken off yet.

Crucially, the trigger seemed to be the passenger next to her who started filming. Why is this breach of personal rights not the focal point of the saga? There was no reason to film her, and yet that invasion of privacy is what escalated the entire event.

However, her expectation that an international crew speak Mandarin was her downfall; expecting a specific language where English is the standard is a reach. Yet, in discussing this with my husband, we noted that the Thai service industry has already pivoted—many staff are now fluent in Mandarin to cater to the massive China tourism market. In today’s world, Mandarin has become so vital that it is almost a professional loss to lack those skills in the service sector.

The handling of the situation on board felt like a textbook failure in crisis management. Instead of diffusing the tension, the environment was allowed to escalate as passengers blatantly filmed the entire incident. Since the initial crew member was not proficient in Mandarin, and the passenger had made it clear she couldn’t speak English, the crew should have found a bilingual colleague pronto—or even sought a bridge through a helpful passenger—to close the communication gap immediately. Not a second longer.

Instead, once the passenger was finally escorted off the plane, some of the crew were seen smiling—a gesture that, in the wake of such a tense moment, can easily be perceived as mocking or dismissive. This, combined with other passengers filming and even clapping as she was led away, only fueled the fire. It turned what was clearly a stressful emotional breakdown into a “viral execution,” where the focus shifted from solving a problem to shaming a person.

The internet is making these encounters worse. While many have praised the Malaysian passengers and crew for being “calm and chill,” I find myself asking: Why are we even being praised? Is it truly “calm” to film someone in distress or to clap at their removal? Can any of us say for sure that we would remain perfectly composed if our friends were being held up at Immigration and the plane was about to take off without them? What the internet labeled as “calm” felt, in this case, more like a cold and collective lack of empathy.

These videos aren’t just “content”; they are violations of rights that can escalate into nationalistic boycotts. It has happened to Thailand and Japan, and the economy always takes a hit. As my husband noted, loud behavior isn’t exclusive to one nationality—we see people of all backgrounds speaking loudly or using speakerphones on the trains here in Bangkok every day. Instead of helping, passengers treated this as entertainment; as she rightly said in her livestream, not even one Malaysian stepped forward to help.

Ultimately, tourism is an income Malaysia cannot live without. Putting our country in a “bad name” through viral shaming invites a backlash we cannot afford. We need to prepare ourselves for the fact that every culture is different. Sometimes, a little empathy and a de-escalation mindset go much further than a viral video.