Apostate's Courageous Honesty

I give you The Intrepid Apostate:

I bought a $9.75 lunch today and paid for it with a $20 bill. The cashier handed me $20 and change and turned away. I could have pocketed it, but I thought about it for a second and decided to call her attention to her mistake. I’m usually not inclined to do something like that — be honest, I mean. I’m honest enough that I won’t deliberately steal, but not so honest that if I underpay at the grocery store because of a clerk’s mistake, that I will go back — usually, I’ll just gleefully accept my little break from the gods and walk away. Chalk it up to growing up poor, or perhaps growing up Paki.

But what little qualms have begun to take shape in me about these little honesties have been built up because of living in the United States.

Where I come from, honesty is prized but not respected or expected. Parents will teach their kids — in strict theory — that ‘honesty is the best policy.’ My parents did. But in practice, they rewarded and seemed prouder of the more devious child (me) and called my honest and truthful brother a simpleton. I could and can tell lies (the ability is diminishing with honest living and an honest husband) and my brother was handicapped by the inability to be two-faced. Handicapped, because in Pakistan and Saudi Arabia, it’s hard to get along with people, achieve your goals, focus on your best interest, if you aren’t able to manipulate people (for that’s the only way they’ll ever do anything for you, including anything that is your due and/or their duty) and if you aren’t able to misrepresent yourself to be whatever they want you to be, you’re more or less fucked. Since individualism is not admired or encouraged, you are always expected to mold yourself to the preferences of whoever has immediate power over you at any given time.
I was manipulative, deceptive, clever, sly and completely untrustworthy. And surprise — I was also universally liked. The older I got, the less trouble I took to hide my true thoughts and self, and the less popular I became. Honesty and forthrightness are not rewarded. Here, they’re taken for granted, so much so that if you aren’t, people wonder why.
An interesting aspect of this lack of honesty in Pakistan is the cultural taboo of looking an elder (or anyone in authority) in the eye. This is demanded as a sign of respect. Women who look unrelated men in the eye are brazen hussies. Children with a forthright gaze are disrespectful and likely disobedient, given half a chance. It is damnably difficult to defy this taboo, even for someone like me, because the gaze tends to be so powerful. What I can say to Paki men and Paki elders through my straightforward gaze is worse than any number of insults I could think up, and even I don’t want to be that hostile for no reason. This did result in me becoming a little shifty eyed, but living here has forced me to overcome this internalized taboo.
It is common in Pakistan for people to refer to the honesty of Americans as exemplary. Even with Bush & Co. being in power, the honesty of the people is still recognized. American honesty has made it into the folklore of a foreign, largely illiterate nation. I find this a little astounding.
I ascribe American honesty almost entirely to its individualism — if you aren’t in a communal set-up, there is very little need to mislead people. Honesty is about 80% percent habit and only 15% principle (5% ease and accident). Once in the habit of telling lies, it’s hard to stop (likewise stealing). Once in the habit of being honest, it’s too much work to be otherwise. And with everyone encouraged to be independent and go their own way, there is little need to pander to anyone — hence the habit of honesty.

The American Puritan met the Enlightenment Libertarian, and we got American honesty. No amount of pooh-poohing dewy-eyed patriotism can really give the lie to this national characteristic. Too bad we haven’t been able to preserve it in our leaders.

Edited to add: My new-found honesty made my husband laugh out loud. One of our most bitter fights early in our marriage was over a similar incident: We had a six-pack of paper towels (worth less than $10) on the lower rack of our grocery cart.

We went through the check-out and no one but me noticed the paper towels. Of course, I kept mum and spoke up only when we were on our way to the car. My husband’s always over-active conscience was afire and he couldn’t rest or respect himself or sleep at night or face God on judgment day if he didn’t do The Right Thing.

So he left me fuming in the parking lot (I fume when I don’t get my way) to go stand in line and pay for the paper towels. Can you tell he still hasn’t lived it down?

And I will be honest — as soon as I returned that $20, I regretted it. But the budding honest American in me helped me rationalize away my honesty so I wouldn’t feel too much of a mug.