June 2009 Archives

I hope Koen was being prophetic and not just descriptive. It is strange, btw, to be me!

There's no time, now, to properly process the odd collection of blogable bits that I wish to re-compose, suffice a listing with minimal commentary.

Sunday: I missed the concert but caught up with everyone immediately afterwards. "You have nice friends," said one about another. Yes. Lucky me! ;-) Eventually we arrived at Den Draak, only Annmarie was missing (and Vee & Vivaldi) or the symmetry would have been perfect. I had no idea where we were going - having left all responsibility for decision-making to others. They could not have known that this last outing arrived to the same location as the first one last fall.

Monday: I will not miss the Belgian bureaucracy! I'd been told I did not need an appointment to de-scribe my registration as a resident, but the woman at the desk tried to tell me to return at 9 am tomorrow morning. "I can't," I said, "I'll be on a plane to the US." "Then come at 1:30," she said. Hello? I had to ask for a manager three times before someone intervened and confirmed that they could, in fact, take care of this right now.

Retrieving the historical translation from French to English was much smoother. :-) The Little Shop of Translations is the best! "Optimism," the manager informed me, "is misinformed pessimism." Not only do they provide high quality translations into and out of all European languages, but they never failed to call out my Americanness in our casual conversations. (I'm gonna miss you!)

Then there was Marsi: "You're older but I'm bigger." She promises to threaten me over Skype. We'll see. We waved each other goodbye for half-a-block, and then Topi and I followed suit....

Antwerp ~ thanks for a tremendous year!

"Horses startle themselves on purpose."
"They must have a short memory!"
"I slap myself sometimes."

There were more Americans than Dutch at the barbeque, but Juriaan insisted he's not into all things American, he just happens to know some of us. I had to meet him twice because I'd forgotten about the first time. "Girlfriend, that was only half-an-hour ago! You came in, huddled over in the corner looking all scared, so I thought I'd come over and say hello." Vaguely, slowly, the neurons of short-term recall reconstructed the memory . . . he had that foreign-sounding name, right? and no wonder, then, that he looked familiar... he hates political crap but has quite solid political views: "I have my own party."

I had three encounters with characteristic Dutch brusqueness yesterday. It crossed my mind that the Dutch attitude is a bit like Black American cool, especially as evidenced in rap, an aggressive kind of presence. I think I could get used to it pretty quickly, it doesn't seem too far removed from American Deaf directness, although perhaps a bit more physically embodied. The moments (enhanced by special intercultural commentary provided by my co-sojourners in Dutchland) helped me gain perspective on a difficult encounter during fieldwork last year.

After re-discovering the fact that all shops close at six pm (expletives deleted) and watching small jets of water spurt out of recessed spigots to clean the roads, I was informed that there are two things the Dutch have not figured out:

1. short words


2. bicycle theft

We were looking for some straat, reminiscing about Michael Jackson. (Did you know he had a patent that helped him defy gravity in Smooth Criminal?) We finally arrived to "one of the finest locations in Amsterdam," Renee & Paul's rooftop patio. Angie, in un-MJ-like form, explained how she managed to go for a bicycle ride without causing an accident but still acquired tread marks on her clothing. The accident-prone side of her character is not displayed in the portrait Renee painted, although mine was demonstrated when I forgot that I was drinking water from a glass instead of a bottle, missed my mouth and poured water down the front of my shirt and all over the floor (with "Loser" playing in the background). Steven described the local protocol for beer distribution and replacement, and Dustin gave several anecdotes illustrating "there's something wrong with Brussels." "The EU thing?" Juriaan inquired. "That too," Dustin said, but most of his stories involved police corruption. "The Belgian police are notorious for corruption," Juriaan agreed.

I was feeling a bit out of place. Angie and her husband had just flown over from Colorado for the weekend. In a private jet, I wondered? Later, I realized maybe they grabbed seats on a commercial flight as an employment perk from her airline industry job. Several tunes from the Rolling Stones roared out of the bedroom, enlivening the quite comfortable social atmosphere. In climate terms, the evening was absolutely perfect. The temperature was warm (not at all hot), the sky a soft blue with puffy white cumulus clouds scattered about. Was it someone's birthday? Juriaan was arguing to only mark the decades: 40, 50, 60 . . . Michelle and I talked about time compression - when you have so many experiences in such a short time that it takes awhile to unpack and sort them out... and I (in the cultural/critical part of my brain, thought) of course, if everyone just keeps partying then the time for reflection can be postponed indefinitely....

"Wait a minute, what does it mean, ally?"
"It means friend; I'm on your side."
"Or a dark alley, depending on your interpretation."
"You could be the author of many people's misfortunes!"
"Missed fortunes? Mixed fortunes?"
"I'll have to read to see if I made the cut!"

Everyone (who speaks with me and gives permission) makes the cut. :-)

I've been to so many parties - not just over the last year, but also back in the day of my late twenties and early thirties. I wasn't fully conscious yet. "Get up, stand up, don't give up the fight!" Conversation moved on to gender-based dress codes (girls = glamour, boys = whatever). My new look? Terrifying. "Let's get together and be all right." "What did you do with your mullet?" Smuggled it into the European Parliament on the head of a UMass teddy bear!

Internet-based communication was also a topic: you can't get away anymore - Facebook, MySpace, two email addresses . . . there's no place to hide. Blogs!? In my delusional state, I kept giggling to myself, imagining new acquaintances reading this and wondering where did she come from? Who let her in?! I do not know Sign Nepali but Lava and me go way back to the time when bowling saved my life. I felt like dancing last night but was feeling self-conscious: beyond the desire to enjoy each other's company (which I share!), I also couldn't help but wonder: are you safe, do you care, do you want to be part of something bigger? Or are you trapped in the cynicism that so many smart people feel about the way we (through government and big business) continue to hurtle towards planetary damage? I know tone is hard to read in this print-only medium, so I can only ask that you be generous in interpreting my intentions. I want to be invited back, to belong in the circle of friends, and . . . we really do have a crisis to address and resolve.

Lava: "I've seen what you've been posting on Facebook. It's really gotten to you, hasn't it?"
Steph: "Yep, I see that expression, those rolling eyes - she's gone over the edge!"
Lava: "You can do more! It's all in your head!"
Steph: "I've had enough!"
Lava: "Ah Steph, when are you going to learn?"

Hmmmm. Maybe when you join me? ;-)

Come on, it's really time to Stop It!
(Take out the "really.")

The miracle of the Fulbright grant fieldwork period comes to a close. I shared a last lunch & coffee with friends in the Parliament's canteen, after spending the last two days securing support from Members for the next action research step. Then I dashed across town to the Flemish Parliament to meet Deaf member Helga Stevens and a couple of her signed language interpreters. We had a great talk. :-)

The transition from the twenty-three spoken language interpreting environment of the European Parliament to the trilingual spoken/signed language environment of the Flemish Parliament has the potential to presage things to come. It seems unlikely that coming projects will be as complicated (on the surface) as the complex intercultural communication system being practiced by Members of the European Parliament. But whatever is to come will inevitably intertwine....

I've been feeling 'the ending' for days. Weeks actually, since the last session of the Sixth Term in Strasbourg, before the elections. All results are not confirmed yet, so I'm still unsure how many of the Members who spoke with me were re-elected. At least twenty, it seems.

Meanwhile, The Beginning continues to unfold. To be fair, it is only "a" beginning, not the one and only, but a beginning that rides on other starts in progress and will proceed in - or out - of phase.

Koen summed up the entire evening in a single phrase.

The Summer Solstice Celebration started suitably slow, the pace of preparations expanding to proper proportion within these longest days of summer. Although I had moved the start time up a bit (hoping to make the trip from Brussels more feasible), no one noticed. :-) The first guest arrived an hour "late," and Steven filtered in last, only four hours after the scheduled start (an hour earlier than last time!)

I had been anxious for days whether we'd even break out of the single digits (so many of my friends had other plans), but the first few hours at the Elcker-Ik Centrum passed peacefully while I busied myself with the veggie pasta, listening to the CD from Winter Solstice: a bridge from the dawn of winter to the peak of spring. In a measured fashion, guests began to arrive and the noise of chatter incrementally rose until the music was barely detectable beneath the buzz. The party really started with the arrival of Mahtab (Princess of the Grin) and Maryam & Maryam with their infamous Iranian rice and a delightful range of supplements. Combined with everyone else's contributions, the feasting commenced: did we ever eat! (and eat!)

The only hint of any kind of separation occurred over the meal: the Iranians at one table, the lesbians at another....I sat with two (straight) Belgian guys. (Make of it what you will, wink!) Right after we had all settled in I got up to take a phone call, when I returned from the hall the tables had been circled! At whose initiation I have no idea, but I read it as proof that what brings us all together is a widely-shared impulse to belong with each other, no matter the differences.

Topi (lost in her own neighborhood? Hello?!), Eva, and Natalie arrived just as most of us were finishing the meal. (Thank heavens for Armando, the local tele-navigationer.) The need for introductions facilitated the transition to the entertainment portion of the evening's festivities.

Robyn's rendition (in Fula) of a West African story illustrated two proverbs:

The forest recognizes no one; and no man can know another man, but a man can know his own heart.

The telling foreshadowed the range of talent and content yet to come, the language's sounds a rich vocal mix of speech and song, with gesture playing a significant part. Armando followed with a tribute to Jacques Brel, getting us all to join in singing the chorus of the popular translation into English:




Aaron (can you tell he's a diplomat?!) improvised a speech on the theme suggested by Natalie, "God is love." Caroline read two short poems in Portuguese, the first about the sea. The bubbles she blew after the second poem delighted everyone, especially Mahtab, who blew them for the rest of the evening. :-) I don't know if Anneleen had decided in advance what she would play on the clarinet, but its deep notes rumbled like ocean tide.

Gudron mimed chasing - and capturing - a fly. Or at least that's what I saw! Then Maryam offered a Persian song, concerning a broken heart on the floor about which one must tread carefully. As safe and insulated as we felt in our togetherness, global life nibbled at the edges of our comraderie. Earlier in the evening Amin had received a phone call from his mother, who had just been exposed to tear gas in Tehran.

"Interesting music," Koen teased me about my performance choices, "very sentimental." Well, come on! It was an 'until I see you again' kind of party! I interpreted The Wind (Cat Stevens), Hammer and a Nail (Indigo Girls), and Don't Stop Thinking about Tomorrow (Fleetwood Mac) into ASL.

After the show, mingling and more mingling for a comfortably long time. Most found room for one or two of the five dessert cakes. People were inclined to talk and talk, rather than dance (we did squeeze in a few numbers eventually). My Affinity with Stone book went around. What a joy to read the new (and re-read the old) this morning; I'll carry your words with me always.

Yep, I'm one of those.

It occurs to me, now, that the significance of Y2K wasn't that so many of us were wrong, but that so many of us learned about emergency preparedness and crisis management. I, for instance, learned about the essential interdependence of individual, civic, and military/governmental systems for responding to crisis. I agree with Tom Barnett: "Systematically examining a worst-case possibility should not be an exercise in fear, but one of discovery and learning." His assertion is in the context of US military brainstorming concerning worst case crisis scenarios, globally.

The challenge is that deliberately and consciously choosing the stance of discovery in the face of fear requires labor - mental, emotional, cooperative and collective. Charles Cameron says "a Y2K lessons learned might be a very valuable project, and even more that we could benefit from some sort of grand map of global interdependencies." I'm suggesting there is evidence that as more people become aware of these interdependencies (thank you economic crisis?), they/we are also becoming increasingly sensitive (as in affected by and reactive to) the implications.

A major theme of the past year for me (living temporarily in Belgium) has been sustainability. I was hosted by a self-described "green terrorist" for part of my stay, as a result I increased personal capacity for lowering my own ecological footprint. As an American with over four decades of lived experience consuming energy with nary a thought, just becoming aware of things I've taken for granted - such as how much generated power I use, and how heedlessly - has been the first hurdle.

After awareness comes action - which is another entire dimension of learning. I do mean learning, too - because engagement (i.e., doing something, especially anything different than what one usually does) is a change process. Some actions may result in little or no individual effect but aggregate into large social or institutional effects - an example-in-progress is now being debated about twittering and Iran. Staying honest despite the short-term rush of deception is being valorized:

Human beings are well capable of suspension of disbelief, which amounts to trusting one another to create a collaborate narrative that highlights the most authentic aspects of how we see ourselves and one another, to explore, to push the boundaries of what it means to co-create the mixed-media, mixed-reality world in which we live.

The question is whether we can find ways of telling the story of saving the planet that exemplifies and emboldens us to overcome the inevitable waves of individual and social panic. Here's Cameron again, building on Don Beck:

"because the idea of "seeing the contours of our social systems" -- if you like, glimpsing for a moment the intricate weave whose complex properties we call "the world" -- remains ... a vivid quest...

Beck works with vMemes, value memes that contribute to models of transformational change. Generating memes about individual efforts to reduce energy consumption is an idea proposed by friends - and I am amazed at the lists some people can recount (over stewed rabbit, no less!) I am also wondering about generating memes to USE YOUR JOB to leverage change in business practices - most acutely at investor, management, and policy levels.

Watching the unfolding of social protest in Iran, and still recovering from the large dose of fear I've just had to (try to) absorb about climate change, I'm wondering if 'we' - populations in the western world - are giving valence (in a group relation's sense) to the protesters in Iran. Put another way, are 'they' acting out not only against the apparent fraud of Ahmadinijad's re-election, but are they emboldened by the growing sense of urgency among educated people that humanity itself is in a period of crisis?

The US did not rise up in protest against the re-election of George W. Bush, even though there were also concerns. Maybe we (Americans) felt (in 2004) that there was still enough time, that we'd get by, get through... are we now hoping to vicariously savor a success by Iranians in a way that we were incapable of even attempting then? And if this movement succeeds, then what?

A political scientist I know says:

it is reasonable to be skeptical about the policy differences between the two candidates on issues that matter. But, having fair elections is important in its own right, and it seems like this could open the door to more political freedom, which can influence a variety of other outcomes...

Jen is right, of course. Fair elections are important in their own right - but we (the electorate) are not willing to fight for them in all times and all places. Why now? Why there? Why with such force? (Note: I am not questioning the actions themselves, I'm inquiring into the motivations.)

What "other outcomes" might be opened up? Or, another way to phrase the crucial question: what deep needs are pushing this expansion of language-based communication? The momentum built up over the last centuries is encapsulated in an instant in this one minute video on the evolution of life by Claire L. Evans. Exerting enough force to alter the current vector is going to take an outcry from humanity several times the size of the protests in Iran.

We (all of us) must comprehend "the vector's essential properties are just its magnitude and its direction." And - we can't give up! Over breakfast this morning, dismay and the sense of helplessness:

The first question directed to last night's speaker at Frank's International Soiree had to do with survival, the second with definition. Suddenly we were immersed in the midst of a dialogic surge with all the characteristics of the storming stage in group development. I immediately began to wonder if we could turn this to a sustained dialogue? Or would it fade into another instance when a bunch of individuals take up characteristic group member roles and enact the usual clash of competitive discourse...

Yes, I linked "discourse" to "path dependence" on purpose.

I make the connection between talk and institutions because this is one of the ways that the relationship between language and social reality becomes visible.

The storming phase of group development is when a group engages the questions of power and control: e.g.,

• what does the group want to do (if anything)?


• Will I like its leaders?


• Is my opinion going to matter?

I was astonished - and delighted! - that such dynamics emerged in this setting. Frank throws this monthly event bringing together diverse people with big dreams to give us a chance to meet and network with each other. This occurs generally through one-to-one conversations in small groups over a kind of rotating dinner: we switch tables throughout the meal in order to meet as many people as possible. I've only attended one previous Soiree, so I do not know if last night's event was atypical. It felt special and, in my experience, relatively rare.

I'm not exactly happy to admit that I didn't listen well to the scheduled speaker; my mind was somewhere else (I don't even remember) - my attention was drifting. He was speaking about a sustainability initiative - such a vogue topic about which so little is actually being accomplished. The first question was from the journalist who had covered Palestine, who wanted to know about the pragmatics of funding. Another issue getting so much airtime (in these days of "the financial crisis") without constructive effect on the economic insfrastructure. Then the philosopher fired off a sharp challenge about whether the concept of sustainability, in the speaker's usage, was limited to the environment or could include things like language and culture... tension rose in the room - how was the speaker going to respond? Deftly :-)

Perhaps the fact that he was unruffled (at least he did not display if he was rattled inside) gave the group confidence to take the plunge? Suddenly we were arguing about what could be included in the concept of sustainability (e.g., economics) and what should be excluded (the Irish language was given as an example). The role of consumption and consumers came up including some anger and frustration at never being asked, in the role of consumer, what one might be willing to do. Instead, the fraud investigator whispered to me: "We are just told that if you are a good enough person then you will just pay the extra..."

Meanwhile, someone else was asserting, urgently, that "we're too nice! We need to cause more panic!"

Ah yes, panic. I thought of colleagues in my graduate program who are interested in social panics. (Interesting that the wikipedia link on this is an orphan.)

My mind flitted about, seeking context. Were we picking up some vibe from protesters of Ahmadinijad's questionable re-election in Iran? Is fear of the consequences of global warming reaching critical mass - and similar outbursts like this are beginning to happen in groups across the globe? Not only do scientists' concerns continue to increase as policy makers miss crucial deadlines for changing policies and big business delays implementing serious structural reforms, I had just read a proposal for geoengineering to temporarily lower the earth's temperature in order to buy us time.

One woman explained that if we continue to use resources at the rate of the United States, we need four earths. Even, she continued, if we adapt to the lower-consumption rates in Europe, we still need two or three. "We only have one."

And we're gutting it. The argument made by in the new film by Yann Arthus-Bertrand is that we have only ten years in which to act decisively to avoid crossing into climactic conditions for which there is no precedent in nine billion years of life on earth. The last ten minutes of the 90 minute film make the case for hope - there are projects underway and success stories we can build on: but we can delay no longer. Somehow, we have to confront our fears, deal with each other's defense mechanisms, and challenge our rationalizations. We must work through the storm.

Ok, maybe it isn't quite as exciting as the Large Hadron Collider, but I stood in the very office where Heisenberg worked. I tried to absorb any lingering quantum waves that might collapse as particles (in the form of a brilliant idea) in my mind. I did actually have a new thought about the dissertation today, a title for the chapter on language ideologies: Language as a club. I can't remember, now, whether I had the idea on the way going there or on the way back... but with relativity perhaps it doesn't actually make a difference?! I'm also thinking about rearranging the sequence of chapters . . .

The reason I was at the MPI at all was mundane - I had to submit my final report on the grant. "Who still uses Internet Explorer?" Dada asked. Hmmph. I agree! The IIE must have a contract with Microsoft that precludes using other platforms, such as Firefox or even Safari. So I was fortunate that the Institute has a small computer room with terminals for visitors, otherwise I'd be up to a very un-fun scramble to meet tomorrow's deadline.

I picked up the Excellence Cluster Newsletter (Issue 2 May 2009) and read the Public Outreach Coordinator's statement on the successful launch of "Herschel" and "Planck" from a European spaceport French Guiana. Herschel's job, according to POC Barbara Wankert, is 'to explore the mechanisms of star formation;" and Planck aims to generate "a better understanding of the energy fluctuations...that formed the template for today's distribution of galaxies."

Meanwhile, I am returning to The Man Who Knew Too Much, a book I started last November and had to set aside. Until now!

"Do you know where I live?"

I had remembered on the plane. When Koushik got his postdoc at the Max Planck Institute I was so proud to know him! Then he moved here - ok, I'm still delighted to rub shoulders with him (cool cosmologist and all-around great guy that he is!) but it turns out MPI bought a few of the apartments in the housing complex built for the 1972 Munich Olympics. I wondered if it would feel creepy to be on the site where several Israeli athletes were killed by commandos of a Palestinian terror organization, Black September.

All the apartments were sold after the games to private citizens or companies. The balconies are overflowing with plants, the complex seems abuzz with life. Dada and Jhunu's apartment is cute and comfy. I think I've become a bit numb to the present-ness of the history of violence in Europe - having felt it intensely in many places over the past eight months.

What does strike me as one of those strange coincidences that populate my life is how immersed I am in co-writing a chapter for a book coming out of the Dialogue Under Occupation conferences that I've been attending since 2006. The chapter is an endeavor to act into Bakhtian dialogic space and turn discourse to dialogue. In some ways it is a response to the challenge of a Palestinian professor during the opening of the second DUO conference at Al Quds University in East Jerusalem: "Go ahead and see what you can do."

I made eye contact with the Princess of Sweden! (Bright green jacket, big grin? That was me!)


It was a few days ago; I'm slow blogging...we had just stopped by the Stockholm Town Square. I commented on how small it is compared with those in Brussels and Antwerp, and more plain - the buildings are functional, clean, not ostentatious. Augustus thought we had enough time to walk around to see the Palace Courtyard, so we headed that way...there was police tape across the road but the Police Officer wasn't stopping people from crossing under it, so we did. Huh - what had we stumbled upon? There was a contingent of soldiers - the Royal Guard? - dressed in bright blue with helmets adorned with . . . blonde horsehair? Oh for a camera!

So we dallied. It took a while for the whole show to get organized, and we did already have plans, but the novelty of having stumbled upon preparations for the start of the royal parade for Sweden's National Day was too much to pass up. This peak moment competed with many others during this two-day respite from the otherwise persistent whirlwind of activity composing my last month in Europe.

I snuck out of the conference a bit early to run around the city with some Italians. As I told them, I haven't met that many but all the ones I know are special. ;-) Then I rendezvoused with a previously unmet friend of a friend....

After getting plenty of sleep (ahhhhh), we rode into Old Town, walked the groovy yellow-and-stainless-steel pedestrian tunnel, then hopped tram #7 to Djurgarden. He was just explaining to me about this really old tram they still use, all made of wood, when we turned the corner and there it was! Vagn No. 113, with 24 sittplatse. We watched everyone grin as they boarded, nearly half also took pictures. Folks had their cameras because of the holiday - and there were flags around (contrary to a critique offered by a Swede a few days earlier that Swedes won't wave flags in order not to disturb anyone) - but not in overwhelming numbers. The tram traveled at half-speed, which fitted our pace.

The park is quite lovely, we walked around, stopped for carrot cake and tea, peeked in the Astrid Lundgren Museum - and were totally disturbed by a woman who literally freaked out when her husband told her (calmly) that he couldn't find their daughter. She started calling, then yelling, then screeching... it was truly uncomfortable. We were both unsettled for awhile after that. (They found the little girl in no more than two minutes.) I could understand the mom's fear but not how fast she escalated; that seemed potentially traumatizing for her daughter - it was such a contrast to the pervasive mood of calm pleasure. :-/ Even the kids at the carnival were peaceful in their expressions of exuberance!

We did our best to shake it off, hopping the ferry back to Old Town where we stumbled onto preparations for the Royal Parade. We mused about the lives of soldiers - so much time standing around! and I thought they might look bored but I bet everyone of them was thinking about what happened during Holland's Queen's Day a few weeks ago. Augustas - peering over the crowd - kept me posted on developments as we waited: "There's some action inside."

"They're doing a circle."

Folks asked what was going on. As if we knew! Some arcane ritual in which the horse-drawn carriages must be circled seven times to ward off bad fortune?

"They've stopped walking now, maybe there is some other action."

"They're still going in circles."

Eventually - after we'd watched the navy-blue uniformed troops join the bright blue uniformed squad, and the horse patrols had arrived, and everyone had duly established positions and perimeters - finally right on the dot of 18:30 the procession began. "It's the Queen!" The King was not smiling. "Do you think we should wave?" After all that anticipation? You bet!

Then we had to sprint across town to snarf dinner before dashing to catch Peterson Toscano's Transfigurations. From one spectacle to another! I especially enjoyed the Q&A afterwards, because Peterson explained the background of each character and how he had come to recognize the non-normative gender qualities of these historical figures in scripture.

Dinner (what was that exquisite Indian dish?) was calm, scented with flowers popular during someone's relatively recent (!) childhood in Lithuania. All in all, a lovely day full of surprises - and it was merely prelude!

The next day, after Augustas voted in the European Elections, we went to the nature reserve at Akeshov's slott, where I had a peak experience walking the trails in search of De Geer's Moraines. (I need a geologist to disambiguate the type of moraine: visually it didn't seem so impressive - assuming we actually laid eyeballs on one of the actual formations!) At any rate, the combination of birdsong and frog croaks, fresh mountain tree-smells, and warm sun struck me with visceral force; I felt the power of embodiment, of being a mere tourist on this earth.

The grounds of Drottingham were next, where I purchased souvenirs and told my fantabulous tour guide,

"I want to ask the Royal Guard some questions."
"No! That's so American!"
:-)

"Can you talk with us?"
"Yes."
"What do you think about, standing there for such a long time?"
"I have to."
"Do you daydream, think about your life?"
"Nothing, really."
"How long is the shift?"
"Two hours."
"Long enough to get bored, but not so long as to go crazy."
"It's not so bad." (grinning)

I agree. Not bad at all!

I think that's what he said.

My memory is sketchy on the exact word, but the principle had something to do with a kind of misrepresentation. I think! It looks cruel written down but in the complexity of the moment I did not feel it unkindly, rather as a caution. We were talking about blogging.... why do I do it? How do I do it? ("Do you ever lie?" he asked.) No. I try to write honestly about whatever was/is the most important thing at the time. Or, more precisely - I write about what seems to me most important relative to the desired/intended audience at a given time. So I write now (Friday morning, a few hours before presenting) to the people attending this conference on Bakhtin. In my mind, also, are the people who attended the conference last week in Antwerp. I hope they are reading but I realize they probably aren't - everyone is already massively committed to many important efforts and besides, the blog format seems "extra" anyway (doesn't it?) - definitely less significant than a journal article or book.



A day later (Saturday morning)

"Does it take over your life?" He's discovered a "horrid fascination" for blogging (not necessarily for bloggers?!) This morning, yes, I am compelled. There is a force of language in me that wants expression. I could ignore it: I have in the past. Nothing happened - no cataclysms or miracles, just another mundane unfolding of a regular day. Usually when I blog it is the same - nothing momentous occurs, no responses forthcome, the day unfolds more-or-less like any other day. Yet I am satisfied that in some small, unfinalizable way I have played my bit part in the human saga.

I made connections with people I want to continue and deepen. Take Lakshmi, for instance:

Usually I'm the one approaching others with that very American overture! What a dinner conversation we had out on some small island in the middle of Only A Few Knew Where, punctuated by the occasional speaker who deigned to drift upstairs to bless us with a lesson in (highly gendered, ahem) Swedish drinking etiquette or a Swedish poem set to song. (Not bad Johan, not bad!)

I'd chased down Daphna because she knows Wilfred Bion - and who the heck knows him?! Lo-and-behold, one of her dear friends is Miriam - who I just met last week at a conference in Antwerp! (Centripetal force, anyone?) Lee Wah secured the most scenic view for the evening repast, and quickly convinced me that I need to take lessons from Che Husna Azhari, who is an expert in the art of telling without saying.

My notes from dinner include:

• concept of rhythm = closure; loophole = opening


• when to invoke history, when not to because it becomes a burden


• necessity of periodic closures or no invention (?) - "periodic" because opens up again


• polyphony


• aesthetic mode of attack


• dialogizing


• crazy theory


• Rabelais' body and Manausomeone's ghost


• the only response is schizophrenia


• the first suicide bombers were Sri Lankans


• Mahabharata, how people ______ the past_____


• the constitution of voices (plural) doesn't automatically = dialogue


• Tagore's friendship with Gandhi and their public disagreements

If I had been able to write quickly enough I would have composed a story of these elements alone in an attempt at representing the wonderfully chaotic yet intensely unified stream of our conversation. Already, however, the dinner fades into the experience of the conference as a whole, interweaving in memory with myriad other interactions and stimuli.

After dinner, Lescek introduced me to a lovely toast, "to the health of heartful ladies" and Sissel bought me a jagermeister. (Here's to you, Nick!) Jan, Margit, and Gunhild taught me that Norwegian is a tonal language (like Chinese!) and pronounced my paternal grandmother's last name, Tarang. Hopefully I practiced the downward accent and upward lilt enough times to be able to reproduce it for my family! Apparently I also spoke with Steffan about a "social psychological something." On the way to the bus, Magnus duly informed me, "It's a little cold." And someone negotiated permission to bring along his wine glass!

And then it was the last day.

Hopefully I will be able to put my hands on a copy of the paper on collective memory (and the other dozen papers I have reasonable certainty bear, in one way or another, either soon or somewhen, significance to my own endeavors). I need to give credit for a discussion facilitated by Eugenio about the different definitions of dialogue, which inspired me to state the meanings in my mind when I use the terms dialogic and to dialogue. (More accurately, by listening to the debate the meanings that I have been living cohered into a language I could trust to convey the intersubjective sense I hope to stimulate and experience.)

I am eager to read Professor Zinchenko's paper and was thrilled by his visual representations of the chronotope. I found the last session a nicely-symmetric bookend to Michael's opening address, one of those centripetal effects of language that cannot be planned - only embraced wholeheartedly when they unfold.

I had to invent the presentation proposal many months ago . . . I've highlighted the phrases in bold that speak most directly to the shaping of the actual presentation.

This presentation conjectures an extension of Bakhtin's exposition of language via the novel to cultural practices of simultaneous interpretation. Interpreters deal in real time with features of language and characteristics of authorship apparent in novelization - such as heteroglossia, polyphony, alterity, interpenetration of different languages, and double voicing - all intersecting in conglomerations of meaning/meaningfulness. The task of the interpreter is to minimize authorial interference with the mix of discourses in speaker's utterances in order to include, as fully as possible, the original interlocutor's voice within their own utterance. While endeavoring to re-present another person's use of (centripetalizing and centrifugalizing) language, interpreters deliberately try to root in an authorial position without force.

Meanwhile, general discourses in popular culture and by participants in simultaneous interpretation about interpreting indicate that most people think about language in non-dialogic terms: as homogenous, unifying formal structures with fixed meanings, i.e., with monolingual logic. Interpreters' intimate familiarity, however, with the presence and use of different languages in actual interactions yields experiential knowledge that monolingual logic cannot accommodate. Nonetheless, discourses among professional interpreters display features Bakhtin describes as characteristic of the epic. This paper investigates a triangulation among images of language presented by Bakhtin and those in interpreter and interlocutor discourses about interpreting. While creative use of language brings us novels, novels show us the incredible spectrum of what language can do.

The motivation for this intellectual exercise is to explore whether the epistemological capacity indicated by novelness can be used to better conceive how to use language to generate interventions in the centripetalizing and centrifugalizing discourses of our era.

This is not only an academic endeavor for the purpose of theory, although the theoretical foundation must be strong. Nor is comprehending the peculiar situatedness of the interpreter a task only for interpreters; this is a collaborative endeavor requiring the active participation of interlocutors as well. If all language is dialogical (i.e., polyphonic with multiple meanings), and all language is also discursive (representative of and subject to discourses, e.g. Foucault, Fairclough, Blommaert), then interlocutors and interpreters must recognize their (our) mutual participation in generating meaningfulness. For instance, which choices of language use reinforce established dialectical formations (such as, for instance, the perpetuation of discrimination), and which choices unsettle them? Is the speaker's goal in making utterances to contribute to reification, or does the utterer seek to resolve that (or some other) problem, unaware that their use of language guarantees failure because of what it invokes?

The presenter is currently engaged in dissertation fieldwork into discourses about simultaneous interpretation at the European Parliament. An experienced American Sign Language/English interpreter, she wants to develop and test the intellectual limits of borrowing from Bakhtin's theoretical framework to elucidate the practical problems of generating simultaneous interpretations in various linguistic combinations among twenty-three languages at the same time. Concurrently, she is trying to act into the system of interpretation at the European Parliament through an action learning/action research methodology that presumes the presence of dialogical capacity even in the presence of a strictly formalized institutional regime. The strategic goal is to cultivate a bed of curiosity about the potentials of simultaneous interpretation. Ideally, spinoff from the project might contribute to public debates concerning language (particularly policies and practices), and specifically in simultaneous interpretation as both end and means for creating and maintaining deep infrastructures that reinforce the capacity of democratic institutions to manage the tensionalities of difference in increasingly equitable ways.

A critical discourse analysis of talk generated in conversation with individual Members of the European Parliament (MEP) is currently being constructed. This analysis will be put into conversation with a similar analysis conducted four years ago in interviews with individual interpreters for the European Parliament. The juxtapositions of viewpoints (opinion, critique, complaint, praise, etc) will compose a more-or-less wholistic image of the conceptual and functional status of language in the workings of the European Parliament. Early findings suggest some intriguing areas of alignment between professional interpreters and the MEPs as users of simultaneous interpretation. These perspectives from participants situated in different roles within a coherent practice of cultural communication indicate some shared identifications.

The conceptualization of participating over time in a shared, cultural communication event can be used to highlight residues of monolingualistic logic in a society overtly seeking to increase multilinguality. Mapping discourses about simultaneous interpretation may illuminate the workings of centripetal and centrifugal forces in a particular case, a bounded 'location' involving a specific set of 'users.' The results may tell us something interesting about language in society today, and point (I hope) to exciting possibilities for developing conscious and conscientious uses of language in ways that further language policy development and education in accord with democratic political goals. Can we, novelistically, speak the societies in which we want to live into institutional reality?

What forces blow me back to these shores I cannot say. Nearly five years ago the first conception of what has become my dissertation project was born - right here in the halls of the Aula Magna at Stockholm University! - during an international conference on community interpreting, Critical Link 4. Whoever could have imagined such a return, in which I will practice how to novelize an action research adventure?

• Leili and I talked of surfing;
• Michael said, "the technical term is heteroglossia";
• and Lisa (all the way from Geneva!) says its just me on helium.

Beatrice, meanwhile, said she could talk freely around me because I'm not an academic! (Maybe she sees something behind me that is beyond the boundaries of my perception?!)

Ragnar clued me in (spontaneously!) to a guy, George Miller, who wrote a paper famous in psychology, The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two, about the capacity of working memory. Cognitive science was strongly influenced by informatics, Ragnar explained, and came about largely as a reaction to behaviorism. We commiserated together (just a wee bit) on the development of theories of language and mind based on pure calculation - all mystery removed. Johan then informed me that Ragnar is one of those rare guys who walks his talk, publishing a foundational piece of original research in Norwegian (not English): Language, Thought, and Communication.

Trond carried on about Zizek, (The Matrix), and I met a faculty member and bunch of students from a Communication Disorders program somewhere in Arkansas. The most salient detail to remain in memory was their stiletto contest!

Today I'll re-arrange the slides for tomorrow's talk...

"That's a cheap shot!" The ethical and fine Prince of Significant Findings, was not completely flattered that I followed his choice of beer. He continued, "Follow my paradigm!" Oy, I thought to myself, wincing just a bit even though I knew full well that he was teasing, we're in it now. Not long before I had told Brooke that I'm anti-cognition. She almost blinked. Almost. ;-) I was not scoring points for subtlety! Then there was Claudia (?), who laughed at me so hard she had tears in her eyes. At least I am able to be a source of amusement (although perhaps only to the sleep-deprived?)

I do respect history, but sometimes "my" history (the history I know combined with my own biography) overwhelms the awareness that other people's history (what they know and have lived) may be premised upon other foundations. This skews the processing in my prefrontal cortex. (That's the part that makes us really different from animals - its where we can forecast the ways things may play out in the future, i.e., "an experience simulator.") Yet, it is always so, yes? You see parts of me that I cannot perceive, and somehow we manage to stumble on regardless.

Unfortunately I had to miss the first two sessions of the second day of the Aptitude for Interpreting conference, so this blogpost is incomplete. My apologies to everyone, although if there was very much math involved then I know at least a few people who entertained themselves by doing basic addition. Do the percentages add up? Yep, you're right; I also did not stay for the hardcore methodological session. I understand (sortof) the compulsion to measure, but I am leery of a world in which we don't question the invention of the language used to quantify it. (Someone has said that you can only deconstruct that which you love: see "footnote" below.)

I like Franz' one-man operation to devise an aptitude test on the 'what if' assumption that one of these days the European Union is going to ask for one. And, in general, I agree that there is merit in trying to reduce curricular chaos, but (then again) only so much. Everything in nature operates within zones of uncertainty; why are interpreter trainer/researchers so intent upon its elimination? Yes, I know - there is the market and jobs and demands of the global economy, but what is the valued added of simultaneous interpretation? Can we name it in any kind of compelling way? It seems to me that the contested definition of the role of an interpreter during the performance of interpretation mirrors the contested value of interpretation for society writ large.

Dirk, who was such a good sport in providing a live demonstration of Franz's test for us, also tossed out a challenge. What if someone provides a grammatically correct but contextually wrong solution that closes the sentence? (The test is a spoken narrative, read at a moderate pace, in which periodic sentences are incomplete. A pause ensues in which the test-taker has 5-7 seconds to generate as many possible endings as fits the grammar and content.) Franz agreed that the unexpected is a limitation; then got us all to laugh: "You would not believe what people will come up with, or how wrong they can be!" Dirk also asked how nonsense responses would be scored, and Franz (winning humor points again) replied, "Our subjects were very cooperative. I don't know how to deal with people like you."

Basically, "if you say something to complete the sentence then that's an achievement."

Let me draw out and rephrase a possible meaning in order to make it strange: one of the things that interpreters do is change the oral or gestural utterances of human speakers into the (spoken or signed) form of literary text, i.e., "complete the sentence." Hmmmm. Why are we using written codes for language as a basis for measuring interpretational quality of spontaneous social interaction? I am not suggesting there is a ready alternative (which can only come about through a coordinated, collaborative effort), but is anyone else curious about the ramifications of celebrating the achievement of imposing form?

Another question I have is about the belief that, as someone stated during the Q&A, "a conference interpreter is one who can produce both simultaneous and consecutive interpretation." Why? They are different skills; why must any given interpreter be held to a performance standard in both? Or, asked another way, if we are going to require that dual ability, why are we not equally requiring skill in the interpersonal ("whispering"-type) situations common to community interpreting as well as those apparently necessary in conference interpreting?

All of these divisions are arbitrary: one can explain the historical developments that seem to have caused them, but simply because they happened is no guarantee of social integrity. Chris and Jemina's exchange about interpreters being "all things to all people" suggests that we haven't adequately negotiated the boundaries about what it is we can, should, and/or are capable of doing. (Claudia's upcoming book on self-protection may be informative in this regard; she was surprised by the finding that interpreters consistently use distancing techniques with interlocutors even when the conditions don't obviously indicate the need.)

Generally, as we plunge along the p path to aptitude, is there room for critique of the end product?

Here's what I'm trying to get at:


Much of the discourse during this first conference on Aptitude in Interpreting turns on value assumptions that, for instance, fast processing and the ability to complete thoughts logically based upon prior exposure to content are premier skills of the quality interpreter. First, it should be noted that closure has been described uncomplimentarily by interlocutors as "fill in the blank" interpreting, i.e., as what interpreters do when they don't have a clue what the interlocutor just said. Second, the premises of familiarity and logic deny the possibility of creative dialogue: they keep the interpreter's gaze upon the past rather than toward the future. When we practice closure, what we're generally doing is providing the most common sentiment in relation to the topic or viewpoint or context. In other words, we're perpetuating an already-established discourse - a completed conception of knowledge or way of orienting - rather than enabling the co-creation of anything new.

Another comment Dirk shared with me is that the way the test is designed, emphasizing completing sentences whose end is missing, works best with languages like German and Dutch - where the most meaningful action comes at the end. In other languages, such as English, where the action can occur anywhere, he mused that the test may not work as well. Franz gave a satisfying answer as to why gaps in the middle are not feasible, but Dirk's observation reminds me that one of the puzzles I would like help with are differences of duration in uttering complete expressions in various languages. I heard an anecdote that it consistently takes longer to express the same thought in Dutch as in English. Does anyone know that reference? And is there similar information on any other languages or language combinations?

This may or may not be able to be cross-correlated with the time it takes people of different nationalities to clear security at US airports. Carmen shared a dame blanche with me and I'll be happy to share dessert with her in the future but only if she continues to give the answers allowing immigration officials to prove that they asked the silly questions.

Prescribing closure as one of the basic interpreter performance skills has a range of effects. These effects are experienced and complimented by interlocutors. The cooperation of interpreters and interlocutors in authorizing closure contributes to the images and expectations of what interpretation can accomplish as a medium of intercultural communication.

Maybe this is the best we can do? But I am not convinced....

:-o




Footnote:

"In giving an account of his use of the word deconstruction Derrida gives the following explanation: "The undoing, decomposing, and desedimenting of structures, in a certain sense more historical than the structuralist movement it called into question, was not a negative operation. Rather than destroying it was also necessary to understand how an 'ensemble' was constituted and to reconstruct it to this end." So deconstruction names something rather more powerful than simply undoing."