Coming Out of Eastern Cultural Repression
Experiencing the shift from conservative collectivism to liberal individualism.
I’m now walking through the streets of Thessaloniki in Greece, my first time spending more than a day or so in Europe. Having just left the Middle-East, my eyes are constantly glancing at old people around me as I wear shorts that are thigh-length; I am extremely sensitive to eyes of judgement and disgust. Where I’ve just come from, these shorts prompted a good friend working near my home to tell me, “hey brother, I don’t mind what you wear, you look good, but others might not like it and you do not want their negative opinion here”. To my relief and surprise, no one here cares what I wear. An old lady and her shirtless husband look at me from their balcony, so I smile and put my hand on my heart, and they respond smiling. They weren’t looking at me because of what I wore; they were just curious.
Whilst I’ve had the privilege to be brought up in Australia, I’ve spent a significant amount of time in conservative Middle-Eastern countries. Recently I have lived in one of the most conservative areas of Istanbul. In parts of Turkey, and certainly anywhere else in the Middle-East (except perhaps Lebanon and Israel), shorts that are above knee-length will attract negative attention. If you’re a woman, don’t even think about it.
In some ways I appreciate this collectivist conservatism. As long as I wear long pants and any decent shirt, I’ll be warmly welcomed. People will assume I’m like anyone else. Around my home, I say hello to multiple people everyday when I walk down the street, because we actually care about who each other is. As social relations grow, the network of people who want to support me increases; if someone wanted to rob me, I have people to back me up. The man I bought my furniture from is a trustworthy friend because I’ve dealt with him a lot, recommended others to him, and always say hello to him. Living over twenty years in the same part of Melbourne in Australia has never given the amount of community warmth that I have felt in just a few weeks here in Istanbul. One day in Oman or Iran brings it to a whole new level.
Although, with love and care for others in the community, there is also fear in this part of the world too. What happens if I see my ultra conservative neighbour sees when I walk with my female Russian friend who wears hardly any clothes? Or sees me wearing small shorts after being at the beach? Or god forbid sees a rainbow anywhere near me? She might rain down more threats of gathering all the neighbours signatures to kick me out, or call the police (this actually happened once when I was chatting with friends on my balcony until 3am, which I do admit was too late). I realised quickly in Istanbul, once I was actually living in an area where my survival was dependant on my social reputation, that I needed to lie low in all ways that did not conform to the general conservative environment of my area.
The scene changes. I am not in Turkey, nor am I walking the streets of Greece. I’m on the beach.
There’s plenty of families here, with kids playing everywhere. There’s also a lesbian couple kissing in the water, and a straight couple doing the same. The fear that opening the society up to a LGBT-friendly or expression-free ideology would result in more cases of men masturbating on the beach or couples having sex on the beach (as occurred very public ally a couple of weeks ago in Istanbul) is very far from reality — unless you decide to go to a nude beach perhaps. That said, when walking around the corner or the beach where there was barely any people, there were some topless women; but as would be expected, they were out of plain sight. Everything has its place here, and people know how and where to behave, even if from an Eastern perspective it’s frighteningly liberal. Just because people are not repressed through political and religious conservatism, does not mean they will behave like animals.
I decided to jump in the water. And my mind kept saying, “it’s okay”. The visa miscalculation that made me leave Turkey is now past. The clothes in my backpack are ok to wear. Can I believe it? For the rest of my time here, social pressure will never decide the clothes I desire to wear. It’s okay, because I don’t fear judgement from nosy neighbours I might see walking down the street. It’s okay because if I walk around with a female friend who isn’t modest, or with a male friend who looks very gay, people won’t care. It’s okay because I don’t have to silence certain religious or political opinions I have — people won’t ostracise me for it. There’s many other foreigners here, so it’s okay if I feel shy to this culture. The point is, whatever ‘it’ is, doesn’t matter.
Equally, if a woman walks past me wearing short shorts and a crop top, it does not say anything about her sexual experience; wearing a short skirt with high heels does not equal prostitute. I can smile at a woman without her thinking I’m another repressed man who can’t control his urges. Still, I don’t stand here ogling every woman I pass. But I also do not look down constantly either.
I am now alone on a beach, a few hundred meters from the crowd. No doubt that eventually I will feel lonely. I won’t have my neighbour knocking at my door with food or a simple smile every couple of days, nor see the men visiting the mosque outside my window multiple times per day. I won’t hear ten children at any one time playing in the street, and I won’t be embraced by the staff at my favourite restaurant. But at least — and I cannot believe I am writing this — I will have some of my individual freedom back. I can wear my short shorts. I can walk with whatever type of person without fear of judgement. I can share my opinions without censoring myself. I can even tell people if I dated someone recently, without fear that deep inside, that person I am talking to is a religious zealot that will try to convert me.
Maybe, just maybe, I will find home somewhere in the middle.
