My daughters learn ballet. I take them to ballet class most Saturday mornings. While I’m waiting for class to finish, I sit around in a large hall drinking Nescafe along with dozens of other parents.
I see the same set of parents at ballet class every week. I obviously have something in common with the other parents, we live in the same neighbourhood and have children the same age. Yet, none of the English parents ever acknowledge me with a head nod or a smile. The people who do acknowlege and greet me are the other expats - American, French, Iraqi, Chinese, and of course other Indians.
Yet, the same English can also be very warm and connected.
For instance, yesterday my family went on a day hike in the
Peak District. We had a wonderful time, walking through densely wooded dales and over grassy hills, spotting farm animals in the pastures and fossils in the limestone rockfaces. We passed many other groups of hikers through the day – other families, groups of middle-aged ladies, people walking dogs, courting couples, white-bearded gentlemen walking solo – they made our day even better by pausing to acknowledge us, and smile and greet us. They were all English.
So, are the English aloof and stand-offish, or are they warm and friendly?
I posed this question to an English friend of mine, a career politician married to a French-Canadian. His take was that context makes all the difference.
Ballet class in an affluent suburb is actually an anxious, competitive context. Subliminally or otherwise, parents are worrying about how well they are providing for their children, relatively speaking. They are sniffing out the other parents for minute differences in wealth, status and social class. Expats frustrate this process because foreigners are especially hard to sniff out and place on a social map. The fine radar which works so well among the English doesn’t work with foreigners; so foreigners remain distant and ambiguous. Status anxiety and ambiguity don’t make people feel friendly or inclusive.
By contrast, hiking is not competitive. Hiking the Peak District is no great physical achievement. Hikers check their status anxieties in at the gate as they enter a national park, and walk to celebrate the fabulous landscape. In a way, hikers share a secular religion: we have come together to worship glorious nature, a god far greater than any of us. The sense of believing in the same god, and of our personal insignificance before the greatness of that god... yes, that could make people feel warm and inclusive.
Makes sense. Plus, something a game theorist might call the risk of
repeated interactions. A hiker greeting me in the peaks is fairly sure we are never going to see each other again. A parent who engages me in small talk at ballet might wind up having to chit chat with me every weekend, which would be terrible punishment for having committed a random act of kindness.
Here is how Kate Fox, an English anthropologist who wrote a very useful book called
Watching the English, describes this risk:
It is common, and considered entirely normal, for English commuters to make their morning and evening train journeys with the same group of people for many years without ever exchanging a word. A young woman, who I would describe as lively and gregarious, explained, “once you start greeting people like that – nodding, I mean – unless you’re very careful you might end up starting to say ‘good morning’ or something, and then you could end up actually having to talk to them.” The problem with speaking with another commuter was that if you did it once, you might be expected to do it again - and again, and again: having acknowledged the person’s existence, you could not go back to pretending that they did not exist, and you could end up having to exchange polite words with them every day. That’s right. It doesn’t bear thinking about.
