Recently a woman wrote a column in a Dutch national daily newspaper about tattoos and for a brief moment I thought I was back in Egypt. In an ill-structured tirade, she explained how tattoo-sporting humans are all rude, low-class and generally and utterly vile. Even the, in the last paragraph, haphazardly introduced fellow citizen of foreign descent could not hide the fact that her whole diatribe was a hop-skip-and-jump from stupidity, via small-mindedness to prejudice.
Of course the lady has every right to think tattoos are ugly. But her reasoning that every permanent-inked image represents a firmly upheld middle finger to society and that each random tween sporting a tribal tattoo nurses dreams of anarchy is ridiculous. I nearly wished she wás right though. At least then this discussion would be about something better than the pathetic pettiness of a silly woman in a newspaper.
In Egypt, according to some interpretations of the Muslim faith, tattoos are against the rules. Among the Christian minority of the population however tattoos are much more common; almost everyone has a small Coptic cross around the right wrist. During the ever-increasing sectarian violence of the past few years these crosses have, at times, been the false excuse for physical violence and even murder.
I once spoke to the national paralympic team shortly after they returned from the Games. I was humbled and impressed with the tenacity, modesty and kindness of the athletes. To achieve what they had done in the face of so many obstacles, in a country where there is no money for anything, was admirable. Patiently and with good humor they exerted themselves to understand my broken Arabic and we were all very relieved when a kind Egyptian lady offered to translate.
Suddenly I noticed one of the athletes nudging his buddy. He nodded in the direction of the friendly translator and pointed with his index finger to his wrist. A discreet, small cross was just visible at the edge of her demure, long-sleeved shirt. And suddenly the atmosphere was a little less cordial. While up to that moment nobody had cared about the very visible tattoo on my arm.
Being an outsider for the majority of their lives had not inspired tolerance. Neither had access to good education and living in a society where there is room for everyone, as the ridiculous column proved.
Unfounded prejudices always lurk sneakily in shady corners; ready to jump out the moment we loosen our vigilance. Anyone with a little sense immediately suppresses these despicable tendencies. Unless you want attention and write for a newspaper apparently.
Cheap and very black-and-white.
