On Culture, connection, and the stories we build together

Recently I had a painter and decorator working in my living room. As is often the case for me (I am, by my own admission, a certified yapper), we chatted throughout most of the job. Unfortunately, the conversation drifted into some very right-wing (and in my opinion severly misinformed) views about migration. It wasn’t an easy exchange, and it stayed with me long after he left.

One phrase in particular kept echoing in my head: “Multiculturalism has failed – it’s a myth.”

That idea feels completely incompatible with my own lived experience over the past twenty years.

If anything, my engagement with people from all over the world has done the opposite of what that claim suggests. Learning from others’ cultures – being invited into their traditions, celebrations, food, music, faith practices, and everyday ways of living – has deeply reawakened my interest in my own cultural roots.

I grew up in rural Germany, to parents who had moved there from Hamburg and Berlin. For a long time, I felt quite disconnected from any form of “German culture”, partly because so many local traditions had faded or been flattened by capitalism, and partly because of the very real and uncomfortable legacy of German supremacy, which has tainted so many cultural expressions – songs, stories, rituals, traditions – that might otherwise have been held with pride.

What has moved me most is seeing how people who have been displaced carry their cultures with them. I admire the care and creativity with which people hold onto traditions, languages, and practices, while also adapting to new places and new forms. In my experience, so often people that arrive as New Scots become real advocates and allies for the existing local cultural expressions. Just one example: two of the individual people that we welcomed immediately joined a Ceilidh Collective as volunteers, learning the dances eagerly and tangibly supporting the running of Ceilidhs in Edinburgh.

Culture, I’ve learned, is not something fixed or fragile – it’s something living, resilient, and shared.

At the Edinburgh Refugee Sponsorship Circle, I see this every day. And I also see something else happening alongside it: we are slowly building our own wee culture as a community.

We celebrate Eid and Christmas together. We mark arrival anniversaries. We share summer barbecues. Over time, we’ve created shared memories, shared rituals, and a shared history. None of this erases anyone’s background – it enriches all of ours.

For me, this is what multiculturalism really looks like: not a risk, a myth, not a failure, but a collective, evolving practice of care, curiosity, and belonging. And I’m deeply grateful to be part of it.