Saying that national generalisations have fallen out of fashion is an understatement. Stereotypes have become less common and less tolerated. But not all is unblemished improvement, and something of value has been lost. National generalisations – often misnamed racial – now veer close to thought crimes. A pity – national generalisations are a basic tool for making sense of the world, and for understanding how people’s backgrounds shape their values, character and culture. Abusus non tollit usum – that something can be misused does not mean it should not be used.
As a man with a very limited range of anecdotes and conversational gambits, I frequently repeat myself. Handily, I work as a hospital doctor, supported by an ever-shifting cast of juniors and students. They rotate every four weeks or so; my stories and reflections only every three.
Asking them if I am allowed to make national generalisations is a habit. Partly, simple man that I am, it keeps me entertained, and helps reveal our characters to each other. Partly it establishes an atmosphere where even the most junior members of the team, the students, feel free to disagree with me publicly. A key advantage of hospital medics working in teams is that they can spot each other’s errors, or hone each other’s thinking – but that only works if people are willing to risk speaking up. If my juniors are more able to prevent my mistakes then it is not only the patients who benefit. And not much makes youngsters speak more freely than being riled by outrageous generalisations.
When I bring up national generalisations, some of my team shift awkwardly; others peer at me with a degree of interest, perfectly willing to enjoy the prospect of their boss verbally disembowelling himself. Without fail it is the medical students who tell me outright that such generalisations are not allowed.
‘Every single Sri Lankan doctor I have ever met,’ I usually say – intakes of breath, stony expressions, mounting tension – ‘has been excellent.’ My gambits are predictable, and I am not exaggerating when I say that only the limited nature of my intelligence allows me to keep enjoying them all the same. Faces that were braced relax. The room exhales. Students grin, relieved. The juniors, though, often nod in agreement. Many have also noticed that something about education in Sri Lanka – something about Sri Lankan culture – makes their medical emigrants consistently superb.
Nigerian doctors, I often continue, show a much broader spread of quality. Some are lazy, some downright incompetent, many brilliant. Horror returns to my audience until I conclude that, in this regard, I find Nigerian doctors indistinguishable from British – not only in their spread of quality but also in their professional style. Thereafter the subject shifts, but I think there is some truth to my impression that the juniors feel more free to speak, whether to give me their view of the world or to point out when I am walking confidently towards the wrong patient.
Generalisations are the essence of medicine, which is always about playing the odds. Whether making a diagnosis or deciding on a treatment, decisions about individuals are made by extrapolating from generalities. An interesting business it can be too, but much of the pleasure of being a hospital doctor comes from the chat of the team. They are normally a bright and varied bunch. I want them to query my diagnoses and decisions, as well as to tell me their views of the world. I find their thoughts interesting and their observations helpful.
Generalisations are the essence of medicine, which is always about playing the odds
Culture is a difficult thing to describe – but so is much of what matters most in life. Orwell’s famous attempt to describe English character is a masterclass in national generalisation. Trying to discern the nature of a group of people is the opposite of stereotyping – or at least tries to be. One’s generalisations will always be imprecise and wrong, but not to generalise – to treat generalisations as verboten – is either an effort to avoid thinking or a delusion that thinking is avoidable. The modern truism says we should celebrate our differences, and so we should. But cultures are not clones, and to celebrate everything is to properly admire nothing. Appreciation cannot be indiscriminate.
Nationality has long been a target for humour. Racist jokes abound, which should obviously be avoided, but so do jokes seeming to catch some of the truth of a culture. Often those are the jokes nationalities tell about themselves. ‘I do not know whether there are many other instances of a people making fun to such a degree of its own character,’ Freud said, of the Jews. ‘Oedipus, schmoedipus,’ goes one example; ‘so long as he loves his mother.’ Nine words cannot encompass a culture, but they can evoke its flavour. ‘That’s interesting, let’s come back to that,’ is a British phrase that does a little of the same for ours, assuming you understand that it says one thing and means another.
All generalisations are risky; adding nationality raises the stakes. But the fact national generalisations have gone out of fashion does not mean we have stopped making them – only that we keep them quiet, perhaps even to ourselves. The willingness to speak imperfectly, but in good faith, is better, and when we open our mouths we give others the chance to correct us where we have erred and improve us where we have been foolish.
‘Iron sharpeneth iron,’ runs the proverb; ‘so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.’ Something to it. They had a taste for a risky generalisation, those kings of Judah. No coincidence their words are memorable.
Comments