Western Society – Culture or Cult

The memories of a humbling dinner with a Filipino family, curious about the customs and traditions of Australian society, linger in my mind. Their inquiries about our traditional clothing, dances, and stories left me at a loss. I am not an Aboriginal Australian, so I had limited ancient traditions to draw on. With a heavy heart, I shared light-hearted anecdotes of beach trips, barbecues, and pub gatherings, typical activities for white Australians. But when they asked about traditional dances, my mind scrambled to think of nightclubs where people move to loud music, and I even referenced Irish dance influences that have been inherited in Australia. 

As we laughed and talked, I couldn’t help but realise the superficiality of my responses. My recounting was lacklustre compared to the vivid stories shared by the family. They passionately spoke about the array of Filipino traditions and celebrations that were deeply ingrained in their daily lives. It struck me that apart from Aboriginal customs and beliefs, white Australian culture is still evolving – influenced by a multitude of different factors. This presents an extraordinary opportunity for Australia, one of the most culturally diverse countries in the world, to shape its distinct customs and traditions while building upon existing ones.

This experience prompted me to deeply contemplate the nature of Western customs. They seem to be influenced more by economic and social motives rather than being rooted in traditions, as seen in other parts of the world. Ironically, I was fascinated by the sight of numerous individuals around the table reaching for their phones and engaging with people not present in the room. Despite the diversity in our cultural backgrounds and experiences, there seemed to be a sinister thread connecting us all – the pervasive reach of globalisation and its ability to create homogeneity among diverse cultural groups. It was a thought-provoking irony that lingered in my mind long after the discussion had ended.

Shaping my worldview

Residing for almost a decade amidst the pristine beaches and untamed volcanic landscapes of two South Pacific islands has been a defining chapter of my life. Venturing through the lively streets of Southeast Asia and immersing myself in the vibrant tapestry of India for a year added depth and richness to my experiences. Living on two remote island territories nestled in the Indian Ocean for six years exposed me to diverse cultures and fascinating individuals. However, my journey originated in South Africa, where I confronted deep cultural divides, anger, and confusion during my formative years. These varied encounters have intricately shaped my worldview. 

Presently, Australia is my home—a land brimming with multiculturalism and prosperity yet facing challenges in reconciling widening disparities in economic and political ideologies.

Although I haven’t been back to my adopted home country in ten years (aside from brief visits), it is time for me to return. And yet, a sense of anxiety and trepidation lingers as I prepare for this journey. After living among diverse cultures with roots steeped in old rituals and traditions, I can’t help but wonder: what does returning to a Western culture offer? Is it truly a culture or simply a system designed to keep us constantly moving, productive, and consumed?

Lessons from a Colourful Life

My life has been a tapestry of diverse experiences that have profoundly shaped my perspective on what really matters. While I am sometimes constrained by Western societal norms, I find myself continually reflecting on and questioning the values that hold the most significance in life.

Temples and Monks

My mind wanders back to Thailand, a land filled with temples and monks in saffron robes uttering blessings as tendrils of smoke from burning candles mingled with the fragrant scent of lotus flowers. It was a collective observance of life’s beginnings, a ceremony uniting generations past and present. As dusk falls, I stand along the banks of the Chao Phraya River, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and incense. The soft hum of chatter surrounds me as hundreds of people gather, their faces aglow with anticipation.

The moon rises, bright and high, casting a silver sheen over the water. One by one, delicate krathongs—tiny floating vessels crafted from banana leaves and adorned with marigolds, orchids, and flickering candles—are released into the gentle current. They drift gracefully, carrying whispered prayers and hopes. I watch as the river comes alive, a dance of light on the rippling surface, each krathong a tiny universe of faith and renewal. Fireworks burst overhead, their brilliant colours mirrored by the flickering flames on the water below.

The lanterns rise gracefully, resembling glowing balls of light floating up into the dark sky. I am overcome with a sense of tranquillity and wonder. The world appears to be suspended in time, at the boundary between water and sky, as a stunning display of lights and hues takes centre stage.

The Ring of Fire

The Pacific was a different realm, no less captivating. For ten years, I lived among islands emerging from cerulean waters like emerald jewels, encircled by seas both serene and tempestuous. Majestic volcanoes stood sentinel over the land, cloaked in ethereal mist. Tremors shook the ground beneath our feet, a reminder of nature’s immense power.

It was here that I witnessed funerals—entire villages congregating, singing songs, and saying their farewells. The deceased lay in peaceful slumber, their body presented for all to see. Mourners gathered around, their hushed whispers and soft footsteps mingling with the cheerful chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves. The air was thick with grief and nostalgia, yet also suffused with the beauty of nature surrounding this final resting place. Each detail was carefully crafted, from the delicate lace covering the casket to the flowers adorning every corner of the room. It was a bittersweet scene, where sorrow and peace intertwined like the branches of a tree. Even those without direct ties to the departed joined in, bearing gifts of food and tales, solidifying bonds within the community through shared sorrow and celebration of a life lived.

In contrast, I witnessed custom dances at the foot of Mount Yasur on Tanna Island, where villagers danced under the soft glow of the volcanic sun. Their feet pounded against the earth as smoke from cooking fires merged with volcanic plumes, spiralling into the heavens. These traditions are not mere rituals but living entities that bind people together, instilling a sense of belonging that transcends any individual lifespan.

African Roots

Growing up in South Africa, I was immersed in a diverse and multifaceted culture rich with history and tradition. The country was a melting pot of communities, including Xhosa, Zulu, Sotho, Afrikaner, Coloured, and Indian. As a member of the white African English community, I participated in Afrikaner celebrations filled with lively music and delicious treats. Living in rural South Africa, I had the privilege of witnessing the rich traditional customs and weddings of the Xhosa people. Their dancing and singing are mesmerizing and soulful, reflecting a deep connection to their ancestors. Thunder, for them, is not merely a natural phenomenon; it carries spiritual significance as a means of communication with their ancestors, reminding them that their actions must align with the values and customs passed down through generations.

I also learned about the sacred initiation rite of ulwaluko, which is more than just a physical transition into manhood. It is a deeply spiritual journey where young boys are guided away from their families to secluded lodges. Here, they undergo circumcision and are taught principles of strength, discipline, and responsibility. This period is transformative, shaping their understanding of identity and honour. However, the practice faces challenges today due to health concerns and debates over its relevance in modern society, revealing the complexities of maintaining tradition in a changing world.

Additionally, I observed the strong belief in animal superstitions within their culture. For example, encountering an owl near one’s home can be seen as a warning of potential misfortune. Such occurrences often prompt individuals to consult a sangoma, a traditional healer, for guidance on appeasing the spirits. These beliefs and practices are deeply ingrained, serving as a constant reminder of the spiritual and ancestral connections that guide and protect the community.

Economic Progress and Fading Traditions

These ceremonies and gatherings were not just ordinary events; they are sacred rituals that united communities and gave meaning to life. Yet, there are painful reminders of the divisions that have plagued my home country throughout its complicated history—signs of what happens when cultures are divided against each other.

In South Africa, I also observed modern Western influences seeping into the fabric of society. Malls rose where open spaces once stood, and global brands replaced local markets. Traditions faced the pressure of economic progress, and the old ways began to fade. A new division emerged, shaped by social class rather than cultural identity alone. I learned early how easily cultures can unravel under the weight of development and globalization. It planted a question in my mind: what is gained, and what is lost?

Ancient Culture Downunder

During my time in Australia, I travelled to the Kimberley region in the northwest. Here, I witnessed the remaining pride and deep connection that Aboriginal communities have to their land. I delved into their ancient customs and vibrant culture, but I also saw the devastating effects of colonization on their way of life and sense of identity. It made me question what we have sacrificed in the name of progress. At the same time, I observed a rise in social divisions, dissatisfaction with life, and mental health problems, often attributed to the increasing use of social media and technology within the country.

The Cult of Productivity: Returning to Unease

As I look toward returning to the West, I cannot shake the feeling of unease. In Western society, identity is often tied to work, and life revolves around productivity. The economic imperative is alive and well. From a young age, we are taught that success is measured in hours worked, in outputs and achievements. We move through our days like clockwork—waking, working, and filling evenings with the blue glow of screens, hunting for quick hits of validation. Marx’s notion of alienation resonates: in a system that values economic output above all, we become efficient yet often empty cogs in a machine.

While in India, I observed artisans in Jaipur working with their hands, weaving the stories of their ancestors into fabric. Their looms, creaking and ancient, held each thread as a memory of past generations. Their work wasn’t just survival; it was heritage, a way to keep alive a culture that might otherwise disappear. It made me wonder how, in Western societies, work has become a detached function, stripped of meaning, and disconnected from the roots of identity.

The Resilience of Tradition

Life in Southeast and South Asia is not without its challenges and hardships. The streets are often filled with the hustle and bustle of daily life, with people rushing to and fro. However, amidst all the chaos, there is a certain spirit that binds these communities, especially during times of disaster. It is a resilience and strength that I cannot help but envy, as it allows them to overcome even the most difficult situations. 

While I do not wish to exchange my comfortable existence for their hardships, I am in awe of their ability to band together and support one another. It is a sense of community that I believe many other parts of the world could learn from.

The Glue of Society

During my time in the Philippines and Vanuatu, I witnessed the devastating effects of cyclones that transformed the calm sky into a raging storm and the peaceful sea into a ferocious force. Homes were destroyed, and entire communities were left in ruins. But amidst the destruction, there was also an overwhelming sense of unity. Families and neighbors pooled their resources, offering shelter, food, and support. 

My memory takes me back to Vanuatu, a place where two destructive and powerful cyclones ravaged the land within a mere two days. In the aftermath, the resilient community banded together in unity, using their long-standing traditions and bonds to clear away debris and rebuild makeshift structures. These age-old connections had kept their communities strong for generations, allowing them to persevere through even the most devastating of events. The sound of hammers pounding against wood echoed through the village as neighbours worked side by side, sweat dripping down their determined faces. Despite the destruction surrounding them, there was a sense of hope that radiated from their actions – a reminder that no storm could break their unbreakable spirit. It was not just about waiting for outside aid; it was about relying on each other during times of hardship.

Durkheim’s idea of rituals as the glue of society rings true here. In these communities, even in the hardest times, traditions offer more than comfort; they provide structure and belonging, a way to find meaning amidst chaos.

Something is Missing

I am grateful for the progress and innovations in technology, medicine, and science that have been achieved in our Western society. As someone who has benefited from them, I would never want to give up these advancements. However, as I prepare to return to my home country after many years away, I can’t help but have a lingering feeling of anxiety. I worry about growing old in an individualistic Western society where self-worth is measured by economic utility. Where someone forgetting to indicate in traffic is a minor offence that can inflame violence or an iniquitous fine that does not discriminate on a capacity-to-pay basis.

The expense of progress

There is also the anticipation of growing old —I do not want to spend my days watching the birds flutter down for a sip from the birdbath while waiting for the phone to ring or for someone to come knocking at the door. I do not want to be another old person whose only contact with the community is an aged care worker who visits once a week. It’s not the dying bit that scares me; it’s more the process of living as an older person in an individualist society that has eroded human connections.

Although Western society has seen great advancements in medicine, technology, and human rights, this progress often comes at a cost—the loss of traditional values and communal connections. In contrast, societies that hold onto tradition find purpose beyond material wealth and have a stronger sense of community. For example, the harvest festival in southern India celebrates unity with the land and each other, contrasting with a Western world focused on consumption over connection.

Although rituals exist in the West, they often revolve around consumption—Black Friday, Valentine’s Day. These rituals aren’t designed to connect us; they’re designed to keep us spending. They offer brief excitement but no lasting bond, no sense of shared history or purpose. They lack the depth of practices that pull people together and anchor them to something larger.

Anticipating the Return: Seeking Connection

As I prepare to re-enter Western society, I ask myself: How do I find meaning in a culture that orbits around work and consumption? How do I build belonging when economic demands take up so much space?

My travels have shown me that culture is not solely inherited; it can also be built. During my time in Southeast Asia, I was invited by locals to witness their temple ceremonies. The scent of incense and the murmurs of prayers drew me in, and even as an outsider, I felt a sense of connection. It wasn’t because of shared heritage but rather a shared presence. This experience taught me that culture can be consciously chosen and crafted with intention.

Reclaiming What’s Lost: Building New Rituals

In a society that prioritises productivity over connection, it can be challenging to find ways to reclaim what’s been missing. However, I have crafted a plan to bring back the elements that are being neglected:

Creating Personal Rituals

Instead of relying on inherited rituals, I have decided to intentionally create my own moments of significance. These could include weekly dinners spent with close friends, quality time with my adult children and beloved granddaughter, morning strolls along the serene coastline, introspective and meaningful creative work, jam sessions with fellow musicians, and daily exercise. Perhaps even incorporating daily meditations into my routine.

Engaging with Community

During my travels in Southeast Asia and the Pacific, I was deeply moved by the strong sense of community and its profound impact. In order to foster similar bonds within my own community, I will dedicate my time to local initiatives, learn new skills, and actively participate in cultural events that celebrate diversity. Sometimes, simply being present is enough to make a difference.

Embracing Arts and Traditions

As a personal goal, I am committed to immersing myself in various forms of art and traditional stories that shape our collective identity. By reconnecting with our rich cultural heritage that may often be overlooked amidst the everyday routine, we can strengthen and enrich our society. Art and stories possess the ability to breathe life into our existence and give it greater meaning and depth.

Will I be lured back into the cult?

I’ve seen people live with richness and meaning the Pacific and Southeast Asia. They don’t have the material wealth or technology of the West, but they have something else—something we’ve lost. But I’ve also seen the West’s potential. With its focus on freedom and human rights, it has the tools to integrate these strengths.

If I learn to encourage and detach value from productivity, engage with activities and communities that are not centred on consumption, and create meaningful rituals, then Western society could become more than a system —it could become a culture worth living with. The question is whether I and others returning like me are willing to make the changes needed to strengthen the connections that make a wholesome society.

As much as I try to resist, the inescapable pull to return home tugs at my heartstrings. A flood of conflicting emotions overwhelms me – a yearning for the cozy embrace of familiarity and the security of loved ones, but also a gnawing fear and doubt about what awaits me there. Will I be able to hold on to the hard-earned lessons and experiences that have moulded me into who I am? Or will the societal expectations and merciless economy drag me back into a life that no longer satisfies my soul?