It has been almost fifteen years since I moved to London from Istanbul. Like every immigrant or ‘alien’ or nomad or exile, I have left a part of my heart behind. That is what migrations and relocations do to us, says the fig tree in The Island of Missing Trees: when you leave your home for unknown shores, you don't simply carry on as before; a part of you dies inside so that another part can start all over again.
Breath by breath, book by book, London became my harbour, my home, and Istanbul became a wisp of a dream. Today I tend to think that Istanbul is my melancholy, London is my sanctuary.
Turkish is my native tongue, English is my adopted land.
Storyland is my homeland.
I still dream in two languages, after all this time. It is fascinating that the mind knows no national or geographical frontiers, you can perfectly start a dream in one language and finish it in another.
‘What were some of the aspects of British culture that you found the hardest to get used to?’ readers ask me every now and then.
Let’s make a little list, between us, hoping it might be of help to those who are coming to our island for the first time.
The weather. This wasn’t a big problem for me. Actually, unlike most of my friends from around the Mediterranean, I have never been on good terms with the summer season, failing to keep up with the fierce energy of the sun. As the song goes, “I am always happy when it rains.”
Holding lengthy and enthusiastic conversations about the weather: OK, this was more difficult. I am seriously in awe of people who can chat animatedly about the tiniest shifts in meteorological conditions. How do they do that?
Drinking tea with milk: This took a while to get used to but I am getting there.
Driving on the left side of the road: No trouble at all, since I have never learned how to drive in the first place.
Separate hot and cold taps & the quirkiness of Victorian plumbing system: Deeply puzzling.
Vinegar on chips: This, too, is simply bewildering.
Queuing peacefully, patiently, proudly: Probably one of the hardest things to get used to. I mean, I am Turkish, and the truth is we are not very good at queueing. It is not in my DNA.
Saying ‘sorry’ multiple times a day: This one was pretty easy to embrace. I quite like it when people can and do apologise easily. A wonderful cultural trait!
In truth, the British habit that caught me off balance and mystified me for a long time has been none of the aforementioned. It is something completely different:
The subtle art of self-deprecation.
At the expense of generalising I will say that Americans love to share their hopes and triumphs and talents and dreams. If someone is successful at something, that is generally regarded as a good thing for everyone since “a rising tide lifts all boats”, which means that you and I can be successful someday, too. As encouraging and welcoming, and even profoundly inspiring as this cultural characteristic can be for people from diverse backgrounds, the problem is “the American dream” is, in reality, more “style” than “substance”, more “theory” than '“practise.” But that’s for another essay, another day.
In Turkey, in the meantime, things are more difficult and “tangled” because of our cultural upbringing and lack of resources, transparency and support mechanisms. In a system that does not appreciate or encourage creativity, we grow up playing mental musical chairs, as if someone else’s “success” means there is one less chair left for the rest of us, which creates a lot of resentment and bitterness where there should be none. I wholeheartedly believe that we can dismantle this limitation by building better bonds of sisterhood and solidarity. We must overcome this energy that pulls us all down, especially we women need to empower each other.
Whereas the British way is neither this nor that. It is something completely different. Here in the UK we practise self-deprecation. This goes neatly hand in hand with the art of understatement, constant downplaying of one’s talents and a lovely, dry humour, all of which I personally value. Nevertheless, in this essay I will claim that highlighting your own flaws and failures in public is a British trait that looks awfully charming at first glance but is actually, much more complicated.
Now I recognise that the ability to openly talk about one’s weaknesses has true benefits for the individual and the society in the sense that it can tame the ego, and that is, no doubt, a very good thing. However, when it is overdone and when it is conditioned, underneath the pristine surface there are two issues.
Firstly, there is the danger of conflating glib phrases of clever and well-practised self-mockery with genuine humility. They are not the same thing.
Secondly, I think we women need to be extra careful here because we are not very good at ‘blowing our own trumpet’ anyway. Since childhood we are taught to diminish our voices, prioritise the needs of others and let go of our own dreams.
So I want to ask: does the practise of preconditioned self-deprecation have the same consequences for everyone or is it a bit more nuanced than that?
My point is, an upper-class man of a certain age and with a highly privileged education and upbringing making jokes seemingly at his own expense could sound like a nice social pleasantry, but, for instance, for an LGBTQ+ woman of colour, or a young man from a working class background, or a refugee who has lost everything and must rebuild their life... being expected to downplay their own attributes is something else altogether. The latter, I would say, need empowerment and encouragement, not automatic self-effacement. Would you agree?
Culture is a serene, snow laden river, more liquid than solid— even when it looks absolutely still and unmoving, it keeps changing, meandering, gaining speed and shaping us all along the way. It is good to take a step back sometimes and question even our most naive daily rituals.
“for an LGBTQ+ woman of colour, or a young man from a working class background, or a refugee who has lost everything and must rebuild their life... being expected to downplay their own attributes is something else altogether. The latter, I would say, need empowerment and encouragement, not automatic self-effacement. Would you agree?”
Couldn’t agree more - thank you for highlighting this - will share for those to whom it will make a difference.
I’ve taken my Life in the UK test this week (also almost 15 years in London) and I realised it was quite useless in proving my cultural adaptation to the UK and its ways. I would have found more relevant and useful any of the points Elif mentions here (from the weird plumbing to crisps flavours to the nuances of self-deprecation and how it might be a double-edged sword) or even questions about all six seasons of The Crown than what the test material is actually about. Let’s be honest: one can perfectly function in the UK without knowing about the Glorious Revolution, that a jury in Scotland has 15 members, or that you need to be 16 to buy a lottery ticket. But where one shows true integration is in getting all agitated at suggestions of who the next Bond will be.