On the campus of the state university where I teach in America, the failure of officials to maintain facilities in a timely way had costly consequences. The administrators were neither incompetent nor stupid, but they faced multiple pressures: to hire new faculty to reduce average class size; to develop new programs to address the changing needs of the state in which the school is located; and to replace aging laboratory equipment. All of this takes money. When state revenues fell in the late 1980s, no one insisted loudly that existing facilities be kept up, and the administration found it easiest to slash the maintenance budget.

　　The backlog of maintenance problems -- called "deferred maintenance" -- led to unsafe conditions in classrooms, offices and laboratories. For example, because of the poor ventilation in the psychology department's rat lab, department personnel started to get frequent headaches. To prevent buildings from being closed for health or safety reasons, the university had to seek a special legislative appropriation for repair work, and the costs of repair were often twice what they would have been had problems been addressed when they arose, or had proper maintenance kept them from arising in the first place. Now these problems are dealt with as part of routine maintenance, and the life of our campus buildings has been extended by many years.

　　I was reminded of this during my five-month stay in China, when I was a guest lecturer at seven universities in the central, western, and southern regions. Common sights at university guest houses were: peeling paint, tiles and molding; toilets flowing nonstop; cracked plaster; torn carpets; and broken or jammed windows. My cordial hosts always treated me like a king, but the campus housing left much to be desired. For instance, the toilet in one suite flooded the bathroom floor after each use. When I remarked to a service worker that perhaps the toilet should be fixed or replaced, she said that was why the staff had placed mats on the floor.

　　In classrooms, I observed: broken chairs, lighting fixtures about to explode, lack of signage for emergency exits, and lack of access for any students who might be handicapped. The lecture hall at one university had seats for 100 students and an air conditioner. But the unit was at the front of the classroom, so cool air never reached the rear. As it happened, on the evening when I lectured, the system malfunctioned and the 130 people in the hall sweated for two hours at 37 degrees. When I mentioned to a dean that the system might be redesigned to improve air flow, he said he was pressuring the authorities to construct a whole new classroom building, and that would take care of all the existing maintenance problems.

　　China has no shortage of janitors and custodians.Whether visiting universities, research institutes or government offices, I found an abundance of friendly and helpful service personnel everywhere. I would guess that the average public institution in China employs two to three times more personnel than comparable institutions in Europe and North America. Chinese service workers keep buildings reasonably clear of dust and garbage, but they seem to sweep longer-term maintenance problems under the rug. This is not their fault; it is their supervisors who establish the priorities.

　　Having taught political economy courses for many years, I understand how difficult it is for people to make sacrifices now in order to make things easier or better in the future. Typically, people make such choices quickly only when they face a crisis -- a war or an ecological disaster. Maintenance problems occur sporadically and build up gradually. By the time they reach crisis proportions, it often is too late to remedy them. I have a suggestion to make, gently, to my Chinese hosts: reassign a part of the large service workforce to address maintenance problems -- now! The immediate costs will be small, the future benefits great.(听英文51169,作者简介511692)

　　作者：Prof. Jerry McBeath(美)