Culture of Guilt, Culture of Shame

I was discussing Arab behavior with a Palestinian colleague, and asked him about reports of rich Saudi Arabs going to places like London and spending huge sums of money on gambling, alcohol and, shall we say, women of a certain persuasion. Since they would never dream of doing these forbidden things at home, I said, “Isn’t this the worst possible hypocrisy?”

“No, no, no,” he said. “You don’t understand. You Americans are a culture of guilt. We Arabs are a culture of shame. When I told him I still didn’t understand, he said to think on it for a few days, and to let him know then if I’d figured it out. I’m pleased to say I almost got it right, but he added a few bits I missed.

So, here’s your assignment: Take a few days to guess what Jamal was talking about. On January 5, 2007, I’ll tell you what he said in my next post. I’ll also tell you why I think half the troubles we have in the world today could be solved if our clueless leaders understood the deep significance of “a culture of guilt vs. a culture of shame.”

The Camel – Weapon of Destructive Mass

In a recent military convoy briefing in Iraq, Colonel Peterson advised, “On the open highway we will try to maintain 60 mph. In urban areas we will slow to 10-20 mph. But, watch out for camels in the road!" (Road to Baghdad) He didn’t explain why, so I shall proceed to do so now.

A dromedary camel (a one-humper) weighs over 1500 pounds. They stand six feet tall at the shoulder and their skinny little legs are about three feet long. That places the center of gravity of the three/quarter ton animal at about 4-1/2 feet off the ground.

Drivers of many vehicles travel with their head at about this level, where a collision would undoubtedly leave it, embedded in fresh camel meat.

Personal note: One blistering hot day in Kuwait, I crested a rise in the road (at considerably more than Colonel Peterson’s 60 mph), and saw a camel dead ahead. With no chance to stop or even slow, I threaded my car between camel and ditch with inches to spare. I ended up a quivering mass of jelly. The camel threw me a dismissive, “hmmph.” and strolled on.