… and I’m a cultural relativist.
I am. I believe culture and history and tradition matter and that there’s a lot of cultures out there and no culture has a monopoly on the truth because that is not what it’s about or that terrible concept - how things really ought to be.
Different cultures add to the gaiety of nations.
What I am not is a moral relativist. I was once a guest of a Jewish family in Florida. They kept kosher so when I did some washing-up the lady of the house told me of the two sets of plates. I was fine with that. The only thing I found disturbing was the sink’s waste-disposal unit. They are not that common in the UK and it made me think of a sarlacc monster. In the kitchen! Cool!
Fine really. They do things differently and as far as I could tell the big difference was I could have a cheeseburger and they couldn’t. Not exactly something to raise Cain over is it? But if they hadn’t been Jews but had in fact been Satanists and after dinner had invited me as guest of honour to light the wicker man for them then I would have run out screaming and dialled 911 and asked for Florida State Troopers and if they could stretch to it a company of Marines, a couple of Apache gunships and perhaps fire support from an Iowa class battleship if possible.
Cultural differences are wonderful (I hope here I’m not sounding like an HSBC advert). They are fun and the reason we go on holiday but cultural differences are not differences in fundamental morality. That’s a different issue. Oh, I know there’s a rather shady interzone between them but I am talking here about the principles rather than the details. I know that cultural differences can cause the odd faux-pas such asking where the “toilets” are in the US when you ought to say “restroom” or “bathroom” (never quite worked that one out - coupla pints and a nice soak - grab your coat we’re going out and don’t forget the Radox and the rubber ducky!) but with a modicum of good humour on both sides it can be fun for all concerned and if like me you are a naturally curious character you might even learn something. From time spent in central Europe for example I’ve learned that I prefer ham and cheese and fruit and stuff for breakfast to what either French or English hotels tend to offer.
Because culture is amusement and fun and food and folk-dancing* and festivals. Being a cultural relativist means not bitching like Catherine Tate about funny foreign food (even if this was indeed in Dewsbury). It’s going into a Chinese restaurant and eating Chinese (usually in the UK Cantonese) food but regarding foot-binding as horrific**. It’s about not regarding the Japanese as savages for eating raw fish but not excusing their Imperial Army for the Burma railroad. It’s admiring Islamic calligraphy without accepting the “sword verses” of the Qu’ran as part and parcel of it.
The Great(ly misconceived) War on Terror is not a “clash of civilizations” or of cultures but of moralities. We have a problem with the ragheads not because they wear tea-towels on their bonces (a matter for commedians and not Lt Generals) but because they dress their (note the possessive) women in tents and want us to do the same. This is not a war on falafel*** but against despicable cunts who fly 767s into skyscrapers.
It is in short being able to distinguish culture from morality and this is something many don’t get.
“Cultural Relativism” - I’m taking it back. Just as I took “liberal”. I am doing this because culture is the icing and not the cake. Because culture has no truth value yet morality does. A few years ago a young Iraqi woman was killed by her family for the crime of fratenizing with a British soldier who manned a check-point near where she lived. They met daily and exchanged a few words. Nothing more than what I get up to with the newsagent and he’s a bloke****. but that was enough for her to be killed horribly.
Her death was not down to cultural issues but moral ones. And not not murdering your own daughter over nothing ranks pretty high in Nick’s big list of does and dont’s.
*I might draw a line at that one because I’m with Arnold Bax on Morris dancing and incest.
**Fortunately no more due to the Commies. Stopped clocks and all.
***And the causes of falafel.
****He does though torture me. I go in for a pack of fags and leave with the new Doctor Who mag as well because my wife is a fully paid-up member of the Whovians. And Sayeed knows that. The sod!
Agree with every word except for one thing, and one thing only.
It depends on WHO is in the wicker man..
I just did some in-depth cultural research for you, Nick - in the Irish bar I frequent (in Philadelphia) I asked a waitress about “the toilets”, even though I most certainly know where the facilities are. I got a radiant smile and was directed correctly. I think you are safe as far as evacuation strategy is concerned when imbibing on the other side of the Puddle.
Do you think I’d be safe if I asked about “the restroom” in Cheshire?
Plamus,
Just out of vague interest am I alone in finding Philly Airport the most confusing place in the entire world?
As to your question. You would receive bemused looks but in most places you’d be OK. I can think of one Cheshire pub where this would not be the case but that is a puncher’s paradise where someone kicked the gents bog door off it’s hinges. And that is someone I don’t want to ever meet because it was clearly the Incredible Hulk for that door was deeply fucked. He’d probably been made angry because the Stella tasted suspiciously of Carling which is the very micturation of one of Satan’s lesser demons.
You’re not alone, Nick - PHL is a fuckup of galactic magnitude, meaning it is okay as long as you get off on the right train station (http://www.phl.org/flashterminalmap.html) and are cool with finding baggage claim on the other side of the train tracks.
On the other hand, I must admit to finding Heathrow much less pleasant an experience, if not quite as confusing. The trek from plane to terminal would have merited a viable rent-a-bike business, and it’s the only airport I have been to where they did not merely check my shoes with a detector, but actually looked into each shoe - and I am a Causasian, cleanly shaven male, who had been through there 3 weeks prior, and has no Hassan or Mohammed in the name. I do not really mind, but am curious what exactly they expected to find there - inside the shoes, that is.
For all their faults, I give the French props for De Gaulle airport - although on the other hand, that’s the only place I have seen where they took Mastercard, but not Visa.