I have stayed well out of the gender debate. As a throwback to more conventional times, I feel less than qualified to offer an opinion on such things as what defines a man or a woman, which pronoun to use, and where I stand on the JK Rowling controversy. Getting involved, I know, would be to encounter the kind of social media storm that makes Babet feel like a gentle breeze. There are others braver than me, amongst whom I count my fellow columnists.
Except, as someone once said, there comes a time — and this is it — when staying silent is no longer an option. I refer of course to Scottish country dancing, and the inexplicable decision by its governing body to upend the rules that shape it. For centuries there has been one guiding principle upon which the entire tradition of this national art form rests, and it is this: gentlemen to the left, ladies to the right.
Those of us who attended Miss Menzies’ dance classes in Invergordon were taught this from the start. When lining up for the Duke of Perth or the Reel of the 51st Division, there was one convention that could never be altered: boys lined up on the left, girls on the right. You might go on to learn how to do the pas de basque, or how best to “birl” your partner without throwing her — or indeed them — to the floor, but if you did not start from that correct juxtaposition then chaos would reign. It was hard enough for us to grapple with the teapot in the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, or the figure of eight in the foursome reel, but without that sure foundation of sexual discrimination all would be lost.
Now, it seems, the Royal Scottish Country Dance Society, which lays down the rules, has decided it must change them to reflect the modern issue of gender identity and consent. Participants will be encouraged to “explore dancing on both sides” and will be told not to make assumptions about whether the person standing opposite is a man or a woman. This, says the new guide, is to make the Highland ball, or the local ceilidh, a “safe, comfortable and inclusive place to dance for all”.
It is enough to make you reel. The idea that having to determine which side of the gender divide your prospective partner stands is patently absurd, when the real issue is how to remember the exact sequence of moves that make up the Inverness Country Dance, or whether to cast off once, twice, or indeed not at all, in Hamilton House. Anyone who has taken part in a country dance knows that keeping order amongst those who are unfamiliar with the routine is part of the challenge (and part of the fun) and that chaos looms when someone invertedly lands up on the wrong side of the set. Add in the extra ingredient of sexual identity and even Miss Menzies, I fancy, would find herself floored.
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The society goes further. It suggests that dancers must ensure “consent” between prospective partners, lest those approached are disinclined to join in. “If you don’t want to dance with someone, you can say ‘no, thank you’ and you don’t need to explain. If you ask someone to dance and they say no, respect the decision. No one is obliged to dance with you,” says the new etiquette guide.
What planet are they on? My distant memories of such events are scarred by the number of times I approached the partner of my dreams in the vain hope she might be prepared to join in a Dashing White Sergeant, only to be brusquely rebuffed, on the grounds she had promised the dance to someone called Roger. The idea that I might have persisted against her will, or that modern woman is too fragile to say ‘no’ to a dance request, is not only absurd but is an insult to feminism.
Here, surely, is the argument against caving in to sensitivities that are more a matter of perception than reality. By seeking not to offend one side of the trans debate, you run the risk of causing chaos amongst the rest. You may also expose yourself to ridicule. In this case the body responsible for imposing order on a peculiarly Scottish institution is actually constructing rules that will guarantee the opposite – and since mayhem is rarely far away in any country dance, the new guidance will simply ensure it is guaranteed.
Gender identity is a moral maze into which politicians as well as legislators stumble at their peril. Watch Sir Keir Starmer evading a straight answer to the question on what defines a man or a woman, Rishi Sunak trying to do the same, and even the normally adept Nicola Sturgeon explaining how the government intends to deal with men convicted of rape who claim to identify as women, and you begin to understand the complexity of an issue that offers no easy exit route.
The politics of gender identity has been enough to land the SNP-Green coalition with one of its most intractable policy issues, and a confrontation with Westminster that has yet to be resolved. Why a douce and hitherto inoffensive dance society should feel impelled to wade into the controversy is hard to understand. I suggest they revert to dealing with the existing ground rules, such as the difference between a slip step, a pas de basque, the Strathspey travelling step and the Highland schottische setting step, or which direction to face when finding yourself baffled by the Eightsome Reel — that should keep them out of trouble for the time being.
