Berkley Center

European countries are small. That was one of the first things that hit me when I started more extensive travels around Europe, wondering how they so successfully implemented many of their community-based government programs. But next I realized something perhaps even more important: these countries, for the most part, were cultures before they were political entities. Meaning, for example, that an Estonian person would exist even if Estonia never did; the nation is a political manifestation of this community.

This may seem like an obvious difference, but its repercussions are much more far-reaching than it seems on the surface. The sense that one is a Scot or a Norwegian or an Englander is directly in a person's heritage; all Scots are descended from the same people who have historically lived in the exact same part of the world and have unique traditions. In America, this sort of community is non-existent, our culture built around the foundation provided by the governors. What it means to be “American” is far more vague – and/or complex –than what it means to be a member of a European community/nation.

One of the most interesting things about these European communities is how closely they are tied to religion—even if that religion doesn't play as big of a role as it did formerly. There is a very strict notion of a “proper” way to act; few “subgroups” really seem to exist, merely those who defect from the norm (a lot of the time considered troublemakers) and those who do not. Tied in with this is a sense of shame unknown to me as an American; I can wear tight pants in my rural conservative hometown and feel entirely comfortable. – Somewhere there is a community that that fashion fits in with, even if it's not there. If I were a Scot, however, I imagine that I would feel weird about this disconnect (luckily, tight pants are popular here in Glasgow); that's not how I'm supposed to act.

Many cultures in Europe have a very direct tie to certain religions, especially those in Eastern and Central Europe. Thus, what constitutes “shame” (which I am using to mean literally “a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety”, courtesy of Merriam-Webster) varies from nation to nation. In a place like Poland, it may be a problem to simply not observe Lenten traditions (a problem that more than a few American Catholics wouldn't have); in Turkey, it may be a problem to drink alcohol (although not to the extent of many Middle Eastern countries, as demonstrated by the fact that alcohol is legally sold in Turkey); in Ireland it might mean wearing orange, the color of northern Ireland and its Protestant sympathies. I attribute these observations to the notion of a community that is united and that features a religion that, at some point, influenced its culture.

Even if the government is secular much like ours in the United States, the impact of the religion on a given community can be palpably felt. It gets more troublesome when a community's religion is split (see the Ireland example above). In the case of Ireland, the country did in fact split, but other communities continue to operate through the strife. Scotland is particularly divided—especially Glasgow, whose two biggest football teams align with the Catholic and Protestant split in the nation. As much as I love the European sense of community, given that the rivalry can at times become violent, it does make me glad that America was based upon the peaceful cohabitation of people of all religions and cultures.