Cultural Insensitivity, Sensitivity, and Hypersensitivity

In my months here I have spent time thinking about culture. I realize “culture” is a broad topic and should not be thought of as an easily understood or defined idea, so please don’t think I am making any brilliant claims of grandeur or assertions that my thoughts are well developed. My thoughts rabbit trail, and I find them hard to capture and put down on paper.

Some days it is glaringly obvious that the culture I was raised in is not the culture I currently live in. Other days I am lulled and see only the similarities. Is it wrong to focus on differences and look only for what is not the same? Maybe not, maybe it is just limiting. Is it best to focus only on what is similar and disregard the differences? Probably not, but perhaps it is less abrasive.

I find myself on a pendulum, swinging from cultural hypersensitivity to rebellious thoughts of complete insensitivity. Cultural sensitivity mandates that Rebekah and I wear skirts; skirts that cover our knees when sitting and reinforced with a half slip. It shapes our conversations as we respond to a variety of greetings with awareness to the age of the person we are speaking to. It requires we appreciate and taste a variety of unpalatable foods/drinks offered to us. It challenges us to carefully consider the words we use when speaking: trousers, not pants, joking, not silly; we are girls, not ladies or young women (because to be a woman and to not be married means you are a prostitute). Are we always culturally sensitive? No. Do we make mistakes? Yes. Do we try our hardest? Yes.

Cultural hypersensitivity is being afraid to wear trousers to sleep in, making sure there is always a skirt or piece of fabric by the door in case someone knocks. It is being afraid to speak up for myself for fear of offending someone (who may in fact be doing the wrong thing on a moral level). I see hypersensitivity in visiting mission teams; a team member who is allergic to eggs doesn’t speak up for fear of offending and goes without eating breakfast for 10 days.

Cultural insensitivity is wearing trousers when we have to trek up and down mountains carrying backpacks loaded with the food we want to eat while in the village. It is easier to hike in pants, but insensitive. It is not taking the time to assume the proper respectful posture and tone of voice when an elderly person stops me to greet. Regardless of where I need to be or what I am carrying I must stop and greet. Cultural insensitivity is deciding that today, I don’t want to be put on display merely because I am “color white” and not taking the position of “prestige” offered to me. It is deciding that just because they always do something one way, it is ok if I do it differently.

But is it insensitive to do things differently or not play according to the expectations of others? I like French fries with the skin on… or here it is called chips. However, if I make chips without peeling the potatoes it is almost abusive. No I am not being facetious. If I go to church, I don’t want to take the seat of the bishop on stage so they can make me “feel welcome”; I want to sit in a pew like a regular person and enjoy the service without being on stage for display. Why would a person refuse a position of honor? Gasp, shock, chagrin.

So the inner struggle remains. The balancing act between being culturally sensitive, not compromising on moral or ethical issues, and not becoming enveloped in fear of making a mistake is still being refined.