Fielding the Three Big Questions
There is a certain attraction to traditions, especially when visiting foreign lands, which draws tourists and others into a spiral of mixed feelings. On the one hand, it is good to see that the old ways are being respected and upheld. On the other the question of why people cannot simply let go, especially when it comes to traditions filled with outdated pomp and circumstance, costing the taxpayer a fortune without bringing them any benefits. Just as not everything which is new is good and worth pursuing, so it is with the old; there comes a time when traditions need to be consigned to the history books, taught in classes, and perhaps re-enacted once a year by a few fanatics. As a Scot, I am caught between these two opinions: I revel in the traditions of my own heritage, and follow some of them in my daily life; I frown and question traditions which others find unquestionable and normal, simply because they have always been so – although that is the definition of a tradition, in effect.
It is the conflict that I see in others which makes me wonder what is going on in their minds; how they justify their actions; whether they have settled down in a comfortable chair at some stage and made a list of what is acceptable, to them, and what not. The reason for this is that I am a foreigner in this country – and in most countries throughout the world – but an acceptable foreigner. I can walk past the bigots manning a right-wing political information stand near a shopping centre and see admiring glances, while the person walking next to me – perhaps someone from Pakistan, Iraq or Afghanistan – also traditionally dressed, is despised. My kilt is acceptable, as a foreign tradition, and lauded, whereas the Perahan Tunban, the Abaya and other forms of traditional – or religious – dress such as the Hijab are not.
The argument that the hijab is a form of oppression against women can be debated elsewhere, what interests me more is the clear hypocrisy, the conflict of contradictions in accepting one as a tradition, and not the other. The idea of assimilation, of integration, is a high moral standard fed to the public by politicians, and distorted to the extent that anyone who does not conform exactly to the standards and styles of dress of the Western country in which they now live is not integrated. Educational standards, language ability, a good circle of friends and a stable working environment mean nothing, when someone of a foreign appearance wears a head scarf – similar to the head scarves worn by ordinary housewives of the Seventies and earlier, by Queen Elizabeth II well beyond those decades, and by many Christian women. Why is my kilt acceptable as traditional dress, while the Perahan Tunban is not?
Come to think of it: why is every new fashion among youngsters today frowned upon by elders who wore their own new fashions as youngsters?
As a Scot travelling about the world I am often approached and spoken to, receive compliments from strangers, am asked to pose for photographs, and am subjected to the Three Big Questions:
- Are you from Scotland?
- Do you play the bagpipes?
- Is it true that Scotsmen don’t wear…
That last, of course, can be altered to a specific question of whether I, personally, wear undergarments or not. This, as with the looks from people on the street admiringly at myself, not as much at others in their traditional garb, has become a part of my daily life. And do not be surprised by the first question; for some the breadth of their personal knowledge is somewhat limited by experience and opportunity. I have also been asked whether I come from Bavaria.
