Call this ACTION LEARNING!: February 2009 Archives

Luiza could not believe her ears. "We're on the grounds of Fontainebleau!"

"What now" is a question I borrow from curricular design, social justice style. First cover the what, then the so what, and finally now what. What is the subject matter? Why should we care about it? How are we going to use this knowledge?

I was ready for three days in France, away from the halls of the European Parliament and the concentration of stimulation. "Scientists," Luiza quoted the director of her thesis, "throw away the most interesting stuff!" I needed the change in place for perspective, knowing that whatever I encounter has the potential to enhance or distract my focus from the essential elements and determinative dynamics of the system of simultaneous interpretation in such a concentrated center of global influence. "What do you think of France?" she asks me. I cannot give a discrete answer: I am treading water, immersed in a sea of history, currents of contemporary discourse, and Jeanette Winterson's The Stone Gods. The evidence, I think, displays a need to worship and the desire for control.

This is not unique to France, of course - it is the story of Europe, perhaps of homo sapiens.

Upon return to Luiza's mod flat, I retreated from the day-trip's high-speed (time)travel to recharge my introvert self. I soaked up the smell of melting then baking chocolate, absorbed the sounds of Dvorak's cello concerto and Yann Tiersen's juxtaposition of strings and piano (Sur le fil), wondered at the juxtaposition of Flemish musical history with Romania's inability to develop (so-called) high culture ("we were too busy being invaded"), and read:

'Is it to be believed . . . that an island abundant in all things necessary has been leveled to this wasteland through the making of a Stone God and then by his destruction?' (2007, p. 133)

Who builds in stone wants to be remembered; no other monument lasts so long or so well. Yet people (governments, organizations, groups of all kinds) also try to fix social reality - relationships, communication itself - as if hardening the rules will determine outcomes, enabling the assertion of final control by banishing all possible space for anarchy.

We hash over linguistics while we eat: attempting to digest the cognitivists, distributionalists, generativists, structuralists, psycholinguists, and sociolinguists all at one go. We sleep. (No one reports dreaming.)

The Islamic Arts Department of the Louvre is closed, so I opt for Near Eastern Antiquities. I learn about the land "between rivers" (Mesopotamia), known to us through the "archeological fortune" of remains from Girsu/Telloh and Mari and (particularly) the reign of Gudea, who poses in all statues with hands piously held across his heart. In one statue, Gudea holds a "gushing vase" from whence stream fish, invoking Geshtinanna, "the goddess of the reviving water."

I note references to Ishtar and Inanna, figurines of women, and circles. I am fascinated by the "oscillation tendency" of the city of Susa to be both "the eastern extension of Mesopotamia" and "the western expression of Iranian mountain civilization." I am as repulsed by the ancient rite of hierogamy as Luiza was by the relatively recent public birthing of royalty. The art of engraving stones, by the way, is called glyptic.

Then, we tiptoed through the Tuileries, sauntered the length of the Avenue de Champs-Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe, past Place de la Concorde, La Madeleine, Napoleon's burial site at the Dome des Invalides, and Grand Palais. We failed to find socks but did stop for sweets at Paul, before heading to The Lab.

We passed the Pantheon (smart dead people buried here) on the way to dinner (which was absolutely scrumptious), and afterwards the fountain at Place Saint Michel and Notre Dame. Charlemagne looks like the WitchKing of Angmar; there were many times these past few days when I felt as if the statues atop eaves looked down on us mere mortals with bloody demand. How does it come to be that a quote by Napolean accompanies Barack Obama on the cover of Vanity Fair? Riding the Thalys back midday, I read:

"the regrettable acts of war . . . to the broken and the dead, the wounded and maimed, to the exploded and shrapnel-shattered, to minds gone dark, to eyes that have seen agony no tears can wash away, it hardly matters that the dead language of war repeats itself through time. The bodies that can say nothing have the last word" (p. 233-234).

I wondered where we were, as the train hurtled at top speed across a plain toward France's border with Belgium. What "regrettable acts of war" had occurred here, and what can be done to ensure that such "regret" becomes a thing of the past rather than a recurring motif of human history? I know the notion is counterintuitive, but interpreters - professionally trained, 'conference' and 'community,' of any and every language combination - are poised at a liminal opening to societal self-organization that structures difference and equality within the most basic component structure: that of language-based interaction between human beings.

Continuing to gaze out the train window I see the first fresh hints of spring; the trees tinged bright green appear aglow. Earlier, Jose had noticed that the conductor addressed passengers in the language of their destination. The only way to avoid war will be to intertwine economies and social relations so densely that no class interest can benefit from disruption. To keep the system vibrant, differánce must be celebrated in core institutional processes.

"Are you blogging?!"

Patricia busted me right in the middle of Nederlands 1.2; I was taking notes on the confusion, even in the official language course, between languages. We are not being taught the local Flemish dialect, although Flemish versions sometimes appear in the midst of the officially-sanctioned Dutch. A French word had appeared on a worksheet instead of the Dutch term and the teacher drew our attention to it: this has happened before - not too often, but occasionally. I imagine that this is exactly how the languages are mixed in everyday use outside of the classroom.

Five of us from Cursus Nederlands 1.1 survived to 1.2 in the same classroom, same schedule, with the same stellar teacher. Six if Amin gets his act together and registers! Mahmoud got a job, Bouchra and Tolu have left us for higher levels - following Marse who is so far beyond us now we are lucky to get glimpses of her in the school cafeteria. :-) I am still celebrating the small miracle of passing the level one test!

My struggle with learning Dutch ("very hard for Americans," says virtually everyone) is somewhat similar to the experience of being on the outside of a conversation in a language I don't know, as occurred several times last week in Strasbourg. Usually the other language was French - and I am reminded of the strategic decision last summer to start learning French, and then the practical choice of choosing Dutch because my residence in Antwerp enabled me less-expensive access to high quality intensive lessons. Not that I've been able to take full advantage of the lessons - I may be lucky to consistently attend 1/3 sessions per week this term. During pessimistic moods, I wonder if I was wrong to have prioritized the lessons over tramping the halls of Parliament last fall.

The social (and socializing) function of being with my fellow students in the cursus Nederlands, however, is vital for my sanity. Some of it is pure silliness, such as learning that Topi wears insulated socks (!), and some is wonder at the diversity of human experiences represented by our particular biographies. Marinella, for instance, saw the world as a youngster doing competitive sportshooting before moving from Bulgaria to South Africa for 19 years prior to her arrival here in Belgium.

I also admire the curriculum, and the ways Anne delivers it. Level 1.2 zeros in on two crucial skills: listening and grammar. I was annoyed and grudgingly impressed by the audiotrack we listened to (for answers to fill-in-the-blank questions on a handout) for including a low-level music background track. It was totally distracting - which forces you to concentrate while mimicking life in the real world, where there is always background noise of one form or another. As for the grammar, well, Topi was elegant as usual: "Dat is speciaal." Patricia agreed, "Moelijk!" The entire array of language-learning services is impressive. Amin was very excited about all the resources he had learned about from Atlas, a social service organization whose mandate is to facilitate the acculturation of immigrants into Belgian society. (He enjoyed his appointment with Natalie, especially her enthusiasm.)

In terms of the research project that brings me to Belgium, having one foot in the community of everyday people and the other in the elite reaches of European governance helps me maintain a holistic perspective on the research objectives. How do attitudes and experiences with simultaneous interpretation serve as a lens for comprehending the role of language in Europe today? Is it possible to locate and describe how present-day policies and practices may play out over time? I believe it is possible to make some predictions, because the information about how current policies are affecting current practices are readily available - if we choose to recognize them.

Or are perceptually attuned to recognize them - which is the first matter of concern. Not only am I experiencing the limitations of my own mind to take in and process new information, but I am also observing non-verbal and discursive evidence of other people's inability to either perceive or process new information. For instance, as I talk with Members (of the European Parliament), I am struck by how few of them have ever considered the system of simultaneous interpretation beyond echoing the usual litany of complaints and de rigueur compliments. It is not that they are un-thoughtful, far from it! Their responses when I question the practical realism of the expectations that inspire complaining are quite insightful. But some of the ideas I pose are outside their areas of knowledge - most of them simply admit this (a candor I find appealing and hopeful), some smaller percentage gamely go on along a path I find minor or tangential to my primary point (but nearly always in sync with a concern the Member had previously expressed), and a very few carry on in a way that leads me to suspect they are unaware that another way of thinking is possible.

I do not believe this is a matter of intelligence, at least not in most cases. I think it is a function of (lack of) exposure to different discourses. There seems to be only way to talk about simultaneous interpreting in the European Parliament; other ways of talking elicit responses ranging from curiosity to dismissal, from intrigue to risk - as if talking about interpreting is, in-and-of-itself, a threat.

Anyway, as other friends and I discussed last night, I have neither a magic blue diamond nor a genie to wish worries of "bad karma" away, only the goodwill of friends and those who do sense some value in the knowledge I seek to construct, even if my manner is clumsy as hell.

Fill in the blank:

"What are you doing ___________(here)?"


in Belgium

at the European Parliament

in Europe

on the planet

It always sounds a bit pompous to respond factually, "doing research for my dissertation," or, alternatively, "trying to contribute to a more peaceable world." One needs regular doses of humor to balance out the serious nature of both motivations.

Fortunately I have friends who regularly remind me of the wide range of sensible and insensible interpretations people can draw from particular actions, both recognizing and teasing me simultaneously. For instance, just Friday I received a joke about self-referential interpretation, and was informed that my sudden bursts of energy are like air being released from a balloon. Not bad, I thought, imagining the rapid diffusion of air into the atmosphere as the spread of 'good stuff'. But no, she was referring to the propulsive effect on the balloon itself careening unpredictably in the manner of a ricochet on unseen updrafts, low-hanging fruit, unexpected corners and sudden potholes! (For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction?)

(ahem)

In social situations, I sometimes exaggerate the fact that people usually impose their own meanings on communicative behavior. If I want to join a conversation that is underway (or return to one from which I zoned out temporarily), I'll listen briefly for a few key words and then make something up, as if I know exactly what they're talking about but which I'm sure is rather far from what they actually mean. People who know me well will realize that I'm poking fun, whereas the responses of new acquaintances varies: some catch the joke, most clarify with an explanation, and a few give me a look suggesting they think I am off my rocker. (Always a possibility!)

I've heard it attributed to Freud that we tend to assume that other people understand what we say because we understand ourselves; a nice bit of projection that I often observe. Sometimes I even catch myself - the clue for me is when I have an emotional response that clearly does not match the circumstance, such as being asked for clarification, or when I interpret that the response indicates non-comprehension (wasn't I just perfectly clear?!) or otherwise going in a direction which I did not anticipate (Huh? How does that follow?!). That little emotional buzz is a cue to pay more attention to the meaning-making process. Most of the time I have no problem with being asked for clarification, and most of the time I am not discombobulated by a response that falls outside of expectation (or desire). These interlocutory phenomena keep life interesting and demonstrate the substance of what I study: that communication itself is a fluid process, with meanings in perpetual motion because of real differences between individuals and our respective orientations to the moment(s) of interaction.

The range of factors composing a person's "orientation" to a given communicative action or event is probably finite, but they can never be completely categorized - there are so many influences interacting with consciousness, habit, and perception. For instance: