marking the Self

Marking the Self
After many years of an apparently happy marriage a friend of mine was suddenly on her own. Once she had taken a number of deep breaths she set about living her life as a single woman. One of the things she did post-divorce was to get a tattoo. I was tempted for about three seconds to join her in getting one but two things deterred me: pain and cost. There is also the fact that, in general, I do not like tattoos. There is something about them that does not appeal to me. Neither do ear plugs, nose rings, eyebrow rings, tongue studs and the list goes on. Call me old fashioned, staid, ignorant I really do not care. It is highly unlikely that you will find me sitting on a table allowing someone to puncture my skin with an ink drill filled with permanent pigment. Today's "I love that design" becomes tomorrow's "Oh my god what the hell was I thinking!"

Both my children have tattoos. I shall not repeat any rants I may have spilled into their ears on the subject but I will say that I am not inspired to follow in their footsteps. I understand that in many societies being tattooed is a part of life rituals. They have meaning within the group. Identity is linked to them. Which I suppose is the common factor between the tattoos of the Maoris and those of the girl behind the coffee counter in Boston. Of course the difference is that she went to a tattoo parlour and selected her tattoo from a book. A fairy holding a marijuana leaf with a quotation taken off a coffee mug on sale at the store may not be on the list of traditional tattoos that Maoris use but it does shout out 'Look at me. I can endure pain, have no allergies to ink, and was most probably drunk when I allowed someone to do this to me.' The subtext might be: 'In thirty years the fairy will be a troll, the leaf will be legal and I will look more ridiculous than I do now.'

As you can tell I have a very low tolerance for tattooing. I grew up in a household where tattooing was tantamount to announcing your desire to join the navy or run away to the circus. If any of us had gone through with the plan and got the tattoo my parents would have bought us a ticket to the nearest seaport or circus while they changed the locks on the front door. You could have a ridiculous hair style, you could wear the world's highest platform shoes, take up juggling as a possible career choice but getting a tattoo - well that was a reflection on them and for them announced to the world that they had failed as parents. At this juncture let me say that I do not feel I have failed as a parent because my offspring have got themselves tattooed. My point of view is that they are old enough to make their own decisions and after all they do own their own skin.

Which brings me to ownership and identity. In our society we assume that we are all individuals and, in general, given respect as such. We may belong to different groups and move between them but we see ourselves as individuals more than as members of a single corporate group. In modern society membership of a group that supersedes the individuality of a person is generally regarded as detrimental. The word cult conjures up the demise of the individual who is subsumed by the group which is controlled, in a negative sense, by those who wish to command complete obedience to the leaders.

It is easy to assume that the idea of the self has been in existence as long as modern humans We make the assumption that the self, as we understand it, has been in existence since modern man emerged. There is evidence that suggests that is not the case. Some archaeologists and anthropologists think that the group membership, of the tribe, the clan, the household, the nucleus kin group was the primary identity before the idea of the individual arose. Certainly a hunter might have received acclaim for his skills. There could well have been stories told about the actions of individuals and I have no doubt that early modern humans poked fun at the idiosyncrasies of each other. Communal living does make these more evident, as any college student will tell you. Yet the household, the family, the clan would have been the basis for the identity of the individual. We still use surnames which reveal something about our families. In a world where we do not know recognise each other, because of sheer numbers, we still require some form of identity that goes beyond that of a single name.

It would be nice to think that we are all so unique that we are memorable to the point where a single name would be enough. Picasso, Einstein, Raphael, Madonna, Cher - the list exists but I, and most probably you, are not on it. No one would utter my name and expect instant recognition except among a very few people. We tend to not notice that we are known by our associations as much as we are known for our individuality. I am identified by being a wife to someone, a mother, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, a friend of ... When I introduce myself to strangers and they ask who I am I do not expect to just repeat my name as if that in itself is sufficient. People need to have some form of reference for each other. We use symbols to give other clues about ourselves. The way we dress, the hairstyles we chose, the language we use, the books we read all reveal things about ourselves that we generally consider to reflect our individuality but in fact show our membership of groups.

We all have the ability to shock those who think they know us well. No one but ourselves knows what we truly think and feel. We all have to make instant assumptions about each other as we pass in the street, stand in queues, ask for assistance and perform the myriad acts of each and every day. Society functions to a large degree because our assumptions are correct. If the person in the white coat with a stethoscope around their neck turns out to be the janitor then the world seems a little less safe. Our assumptions are not perfect. We may think the woman with the broken down shoes and scruffy dress is financially unstable but it may transpire that she is wealthy. A conservatively dressed, well spoken woman may in fact be something other than the image she depicts. It is only through the act of getting to know someone that we begin to move beyond the superficiality of attire, speech, religious affiliation.

Our modern world has spent decades telling us that we are individuals. We have more choices in our lives than any other preceding era. Yet some how we are returning to the collective in ways that alarm me. We twitter, and tweet, we facebook, and yes blog, we phone and text we connect ... Or do we? I have heard less of what my friends think and feel about serious matters in their lives than ever before. The two lines on facebook tell me that they are out eating, shopping, cycling etc but they do not tell me much more than that. Conversations seem to take more and more effort. On any given day telephone conversations are interrupted because someone else is calling. Instead of the busy signal indicating that we are on a call we are no expected to push flash and take the other call as well as the one we were on. Phones interrupt us, computers distract us, dvrs allow us to watch that which was better missed and conversations that allow us to explore new topics and thoughts - well they are boring because they require undivided attention. I have discovered that what I think and say can be interrupted because ... well the phone rang, the game is on, my e-mail alarm went off. If I chose to disconnect from all these things I am regarded as cranky, sullen and difficult. It is rather like being wired to a massive machine that dictates to me instead of freeing me.

Perhaps we should take a quiet moment to read THE MACHINE STOPS by E.M. Forster written in 1909. I don't want to kill the machines, or their creators nor their users but I would like us to be able to see each other, and hear each other again, without having to emblazon ourselves in tattoos to simply feel that we might have a voice that is audible. I would like to sit down and have a conversation that is meaningful without fear that the phone will ring, the dvr will start recording, a reminder will sound on the computer. On second thoughts perhaps those tattooed people have done something bold and brave after all. They have designed their outer appearance with a degree of permanence that is becoming more and more difficult to attain in this fast paced, electronically manipulated world.

Does any one want to donate to my “Get tattooed” fund? I think a nice butterfly in the small of my back or a poppy on my shoulder or a msasa tree on my hip or a (sorry I had to break off just then as there was an urgent update from Microsoft about some updated software …) ..