Them and Us

          There was no corkscrew at the opening event I attended last week, so I took it upon myself to procure one from a shop nearby. Knowing they stock everything a household needs (and loads of junk food that it really doesn’t), I went straight to the kitchen department, but I searched in vain! I asked the young man at the till who, though he had heard of corkscrews, wasn’t sure what they were and asked me to describe their purpose and appearance. As it turned out, he was not only young but Muslim as well, so the expectation that he should know anything about the (ridiculously outdated) method of sealing wine bottles was presumptuous on my part.

          Of course, with this anecdote, I attempt to illustrate how easy it is to assume everyone else shares your experiences and lifestyle. Just as easy, in fact, as it is to do the opposite and conclude, even on fleeting observation, that other tribes, with their funny ways, obviously have it all wrong. From here, it’s an easy step towards demonisation and one so thoughtlessly taken that I fear it is endemic to human behaviour.

          I had to watch my own step this week during a planned visit to Totnes, a town which, by reputation, is a hub of new-age thinking, sustainability, creativity and alternative lifestyles. When news reaches us of odd behaviour there, we say, “Yeah, well, it’s Totnes, isn’t it?” Even though I actually approve of the values that have come to define the place, I had to remind myself not to look at everyone as if they were weird: but for the accidents of fate, I might have ended up living there myself. As it is, I live in the less funky city of Plymouth, where I scatter hopefully the seeds of inclusivity. Polarisation is not the way forward for civilised nations. (There are warning signs from the USA, where recent data shows that many intellectuals are currently migrating from red to blue states.)

          As it happens, I had a dream this week about a life-changing move. My partner and I, during a party at our house, had a brief conversation that concluded in our deciding to walk out, there and then, informing no one, taking nothing with us and intending never to return. That was the exhilarating part of the story: the remainder, in which the consequences of our action unravelled, was misery personified. Antithetically, we would do no such thing and, since we are fortunate enough to have a degree of choice, decided to live where it suits us best (within the parameters of our circumstances). Even so, we should be on guard against adopting local prejudices, real or imagined. Rivalry such as Devon vs. Cornwall, say, or Yorkshire vs. Lancashire may provide a rich (if clichéd) seam of ice-breaking banter, but only for as long as there is a tolerably fair distribution of power and resources between the contestants. When scarcity and injustice come calling, there will arise populist leaders to pick out our resentments and degrade them to the status of hatred.

          But we’re not there yet, especially in relation to Plymouth vs. Totnes, where we spent a pleasant evening. The occasion was a lantern parade, an annual event, held on a seemingly random Tuesday in December (well, this is Totnes) and my Other Half was involved as part of the drumming ensemble recruited to drive things along. The lanterns were all very pretty, thanks to the renowned creativity of the locals (and the ubiquitous availability of cheap LEDs), and the drummers were… enthusiastic. Predictably, I tired of it all before long and found alternative diversion in the many charity shops along the high street, where I found what I had been searching for since last winter: a good pair of woollen trousers, in the right colour, style and size! Whenever I wear them, I shall feel a new sort of affinity with the good folks of Totnes.