Mirror, Mirror: Self-Efficacy and Acceptance from Language Fluency
Fear of failure can often lead to fear of trying anything at all. This idea is expressed dramatically in both my own literacy narrative and "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by David Sedaris. In my untitled narrative poem, I re-live a moment when my skill in the Chinese language was tested. Paralyzed by the fear of looking foolish or saying the wrong thing, I froze, unable to articulate even the smallest sentence. Within the walls of my high school classroom I was incredibly confident, often leading class discussions and volunteering to read the textbook dialogues out loud. However, when faced with the reality of conversing in a language, my confidence failed. Sedaris recounts a similar, yet inverted, experience. His confidence stemmed from the outside world, and was broken in the classroom. After spending weeks of being belittled and berated by his French teacher, Sedaris notes that "fear and discomfort crept beyond the borders of the classroom (171)". In the introduction to his book on translingualism, Canagarajah notes that it is a commonly held assumption that communication must "employ a common language with shared norms." Norms that, according to Canagarajah, "typically come from the native speaker's use of the language (1)." Essentially, we believe that in order to communicate, we should be speaking like the natives do. Clearly, this assumption is absurd as Canagarajah goes on to explain, but both Sedaris and myself very clearly feel the pressure to "Talk Pretty" to the point that we refuse to speak unless it is perfect. Canagarajah feels that due to our inherent "receptive multilingualism (5)" or ability to understand many languages at the same time even without fluency, complete command of a language like a native speaker is unnecessary. Sedaris and I clearly have had different experiences than Canagarajah had in Sri Lanka. While our communication skills may have been passable enough to get us through, both of us had experience with the patronizing tones of native speakers, as well as differing experiences with attempting to learn the language itself. Our inability to speak left us stripped of identity, until Sedaris offers hope in the moment he realizes that he can understand his teacher's insults. His confidence grows with his sudden ability to communicate again. Perhaps there is a deeper psychological connection between our fear of speaking and our need to be understood. Sedaris describes the dorms as a kind of "refugee camp", so terrified to speak and so stripped of identity that they feel like prisoners within the language. Clearly, effective communication is an essential part of interpersonal relationships. This notion flips much of Canagarajah's idealism on its head, suggesting that instead of an accepting linguistic utopia, we are in fact still living in a world where one's skill in a language is closely tied to their social standing.
Canagarajah spends quite a bit of energy disputing what he calls the "monolingual orientation (1)" or view that communication must be in one language and that language must be used in the manner of native speakers. He argues that there has always been mixing and meshing between languages and that in modern times, immigration and interaction between groups has accelerated this process. He uses an example of Rajani, a girl of Tamil heritage living in East London who can understand her elders when they speak in Tamil, but who can only speak English herself. During the conversation, Rajani found it necessary to defend herself and remind her parents that while she was interested in some cultural aspects of her heritage, Tamil language was not useful. Canagarajah uses this conversation to explain how someone can have a conversation speaking one language while the others speak another language. He calls this kind of speaking a "polyglot dialog" where one's receptive multilingualism allows them to hold a conversation in different languages. Canagarajah focuses on Rajani's lack of Tamil, but he doesn't really touch on her command of English. Rajani is demonstrating an important facet of Sedaris and my experience. While translingualism may be growing and useful, fitting into a society means speaking like the natives do. Modern media pokes fun at the immigrant, the foreigner, encouraging fear and mistrust to keep up the 6 pm ratings. Stand-up comics can hinge an entire set on mocking the accents of those people not born here. It is for this reason that Rajani feels the need to deny certain Tamil cultural aspects, like Temple, in order to paint herself as a more modern British citizen (5). She is desperate to not be seen as Sri Lankan in a place where the British rule the social society. In Sedaris's experience, he describes his first interaction with the teacher where she reacts as if his mistakes were "capital crimes in the country of France (170)." This reaction, while exaggerated in his cruel teacher, is not uncommon when attempting to speak a language to a native speaker. Most likely, simple mistakes are not capital crimes, but they do create a social divide between the native speaker and the "foreigner", allowing prejudices to breed just below the surface.
While Sedaris and I both ended up in the same place, with a fear of speaking our respective new languages, our starting points were very different. All my life, languages have come easily. I began learning Spanish at the age of five in the mornings before normal Kindergarten. In high school, I was informed that Mandarin was my only choice for a foreign language credit. Eagerly I jumped in, learning quickly, practically devouring the text books. In the summer after my second year, I decided to travel to China with The Confucius Institute Summer camp for American students. It was on this trip that my competency in Chinese was tested. My poem recounts the exact moment that I realized I was too scared to speak. The woman was asking me questions, trying to convince me to buy this pair of shoes, but I couldn't understand her. I wanted so badly to communicate, but she had no English and my Chinese was failing me. Flustered, I panicked and rushed out of the store. Since then, I choke up when I have to speak to native Chinese speakers. Sedaris offers a very positive lesson in learning language. Despite the negative reactions and cruel teaching style of his French professor, he somehow managed to use his embarrassment and fear as an impetus for trying harder and learning more. The dormitories became like a refugee camp, where their "pathetic French" was enough. One student even comforts another saying, "Much work and someday you talk pretty. People start love you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay (172)." This is not the thought process of a student living in a world where everyone is translingual. In this world, "pathetic" French is enough to make one feel without identity, even unworthy of love. Eventually Sedaris becomes able to understand, even though his speaking is still awkward and broken. He notes that while "understanding doesn't meant that you can suddenly speak the language... it's rewards are intoxicating and deceptive (173)." He offers the timid language student a glimpse of hope for the moment that they can finally understand the language: Confidence followed quickly in the footsteps of understanding. Perhaps now that he can communicate with her, she will hate him less. Perhaps now that he understands French, he is worthy of being treated like a human by French-speakers. We see this also from Rajani in Canagarajah's piece, there is much to be gained from functional understanding of a language. If you can understand what is being said, polyglot communication is finally within reach. Effective understanding of language offers the first step towards building interpersonal relationships not hindered by the seemingly insurmountable barrier between languages.
So what is it about language that instills this deep fear of performing? While Sedaris was verbally beaten down by a teacher within the classroom, there seems little reason for his terror of speaking French to anyone in the whole city other than his other petrified classmates. He seems to speak passable French to the natives for a long time before starting his class, without any kind of censure or mockery. Does this fear stem from a fear of being embarrassed again? It seems illogical that simply not understanding a shopkeeper would create a paralyzing fear in a student at the top of her class, and yet it happened in my own experience. Clearly, our perception of our own self-worth must somehow be tied to our ability to effectively communicate. We perceive that if we cannot immediately spout words with the fluency of someone born into the culture that we are unworthy of acceptance into the society. Perhaps our inability to interact properly inhibits our ability to form lasting relationships. It is impossible to truly get to know another person when the language barrier causes speaking to be such a struggle. However, this barrier may be a mental one and not a true social divide. When Canagarajah describes his monolingual orientation, he states that "deviations from standard written English... will go against many assumptions readers hold dear about writing in specific and communication in general (1)." These assumptions that we "hold dear" allow us to separate the "natives" from the "foreigners". At their core, these assumptions separate the people like us from the "outsiders". No wonder Sedaris and I felt a pathological need for perfection in fluency. If we ourselves separate people into categories based on skill in a language, no wonder we fear that we will immediately be labeled outsiders. Communication and self-expression are so closely tied to identity that it is nearly impossible to separate them.
While Canagarajah does put forth an optimistic view of the interactions between various languages in the modern world, he seems to deliberately ignore the divisions that this translingualism can create. The literacy narratives of both Sedaris and myself illustrate just how deep the divide can become. The world may be moving toward Canagarajah's translingual paradise, but it is nowhere near it yet. He speaks of a world where the lyrics of rap artist MIA "builds solidarity among the diverse migrant communities MIA comes into contact with in her diaspora life (3)." But this solidarity only reinforces the separation between the migrant population and the native English of London. The world is stuck halfway between a place where many languages are understood and spoken simultaneously and a place where one's social standing is so closely tied to one's ability to speak like a native that it is often best to not speak at all. We perceive that we will be judged and disliked if we are not perfect and fluent in the dominant language of a country, yet Canagarajah reminds us that we all speak varying forms of each language, so there is no "true" language with which we can compare ourselves. Perhaps it is best not to dwell on the perceived social divide and instead strive towards the linguistic utopia that Canagarajah sees just beyond the horizon.
Works Cited:
Canagarajah, Suresh. Translingual Practice. London: Routledge, 2013. Print.
Nagel, Madeline. "Project One." Left at the Dancing Skeleton. n.p, 2013. Web. 29 Sep 2013.
Sedaris, David. Me Talk Pretty One Day. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2000. Print.
Canagarajah spends quite a bit of energy disputing what he calls the "monolingual orientation (1)" or view that communication must be in one language and that language must be used in the manner of native speakers. He argues that there has always been mixing and meshing between languages and that in modern times, immigration and interaction between groups has accelerated this process. He uses an example of Rajani, a girl of Tamil heritage living in East London who can understand her elders when they speak in Tamil, but who can only speak English herself. During the conversation, Rajani found it necessary to defend herself and remind her parents that while she was interested in some cultural aspects of her heritage, Tamil language was not useful. Canagarajah uses this conversation to explain how someone can have a conversation speaking one language while the others speak another language. He calls this kind of speaking a "polyglot dialog" where one's receptive multilingualism allows them to hold a conversation in different languages. Canagarajah focuses on Rajani's lack of Tamil, but he doesn't really touch on her command of English. Rajani is demonstrating an important facet of Sedaris and my experience. While translingualism may be growing and useful, fitting into a society means speaking like the natives do. Modern media pokes fun at the immigrant, the foreigner, encouraging fear and mistrust to keep up the 6 pm ratings. Stand-up comics can hinge an entire set on mocking the accents of those people not born here. It is for this reason that Rajani feels the need to deny certain Tamil cultural aspects, like Temple, in order to paint herself as a more modern British citizen (5). She is desperate to not be seen as Sri Lankan in a place where the British rule the social society. In Sedaris's experience, he describes his first interaction with the teacher where she reacts as if his mistakes were "capital crimes in the country of France (170)." This reaction, while exaggerated in his cruel teacher, is not uncommon when attempting to speak a language to a native speaker. Most likely, simple mistakes are not capital crimes, but they do create a social divide between the native speaker and the "foreigner", allowing prejudices to breed just below the surface.
While Sedaris and I both ended up in the same place, with a fear of speaking our respective new languages, our starting points were very different. All my life, languages have come easily. I began learning Spanish at the age of five in the mornings before normal Kindergarten. In high school, I was informed that Mandarin was my only choice for a foreign language credit. Eagerly I jumped in, learning quickly, practically devouring the text books. In the summer after my second year, I decided to travel to China with The Confucius Institute Summer camp for American students. It was on this trip that my competency in Chinese was tested. My poem recounts the exact moment that I realized I was too scared to speak. The woman was asking me questions, trying to convince me to buy this pair of shoes, but I couldn't understand her. I wanted so badly to communicate, but she had no English and my Chinese was failing me. Flustered, I panicked and rushed out of the store. Since then, I choke up when I have to speak to native Chinese speakers. Sedaris offers a very positive lesson in learning language. Despite the negative reactions and cruel teaching style of his French professor, he somehow managed to use his embarrassment and fear as an impetus for trying harder and learning more. The dormitories became like a refugee camp, where their "pathetic French" was enough. One student even comforts another saying, "Much work and someday you talk pretty. People start love you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay (172)." This is not the thought process of a student living in a world where everyone is translingual. In this world, "pathetic" French is enough to make one feel without identity, even unworthy of love. Eventually Sedaris becomes able to understand, even though his speaking is still awkward and broken. He notes that while "understanding doesn't meant that you can suddenly speak the language... it's rewards are intoxicating and deceptive (173)." He offers the timid language student a glimpse of hope for the moment that they can finally understand the language: Confidence followed quickly in the footsteps of understanding. Perhaps now that he can communicate with her, she will hate him less. Perhaps now that he understands French, he is worthy of being treated like a human by French-speakers. We see this also from Rajani in Canagarajah's piece, there is much to be gained from functional understanding of a language. If you can understand what is being said, polyglot communication is finally within reach. Effective understanding of language offers the first step towards building interpersonal relationships not hindered by the seemingly insurmountable barrier between languages.
So what is it about language that instills this deep fear of performing? While Sedaris was verbally beaten down by a teacher within the classroom, there seems little reason for his terror of speaking French to anyone in the whole city other than his other petrified classmates. He seems to speak passable French to the natives for a long time before starting his class, without any kind of censure or mockery. Does this fear stem from a fear of being embarrassed again? It seems illogical that simply not understanding a shopkeeper would create a paralyzing fear in a student at the top of her class, and yet it happened in my own experience. Clearly, our perception of our own self-worth must somehow be tied to our ability to effectively communicate. We perceive that if we cannot immediately spout words with the fluency of someone born into the culture that we are unworthy of acceptance into the society. Perhaps our inability to interact properly inhibits our ability to form lasting relationships. It is impossible to truly get to know another person when the language barrier causes speaking to be such a struggle. However, this barrier may be a mental one and not a true social divide. When Canagarajah describes his monolingual orientation, he states that "deviations from standard written English... will go against many assumptions readers hold dear about writing in specific and communication in general (1)." These assumptions that we "hold dear" allow us to separate the "natives" from the "foreigners". At their core, these assumptions separate the people like us from the "outsiders". No wonder Sedaris and I felt a pathological need for perfection in fluency. If we ourselves separate people into categories based on skill in a language, no wonder we fear that we will immediately be labeled outsiders. Communication and self-expression are so closely tied to identity that it is nearly impossible to separate them.
While Canagarajah does put forth an optimistic view of the interactions between various languages in the modern world, he seems to deliberately ignore the divisions that this translingualism can create. The literacy narratives of both Sedaris and myself illustrate just how deep the divide can become. The world may be moving toward Canagarajah's translingual paradise, but it is nowhere near it yet. He speaks of a world where the lyrics of rap artist MIA "builds solidarity among the diverse migrant communities MIA comes into contact with in her diaspora life (3)." But this solidarity only reinforces the separation between the migrant population and the native English of London. The world is stuck halfway between a place where many languages are understood and spoken simultaneously and a place where one's social standing is so closely tied to one's ability to speak like a native that it is often best to not speak at all. We perceive that we will be judged and disliked if we are not perfect and fluent in the dominant language of a country, yet Canagarajah reminds us that we all speak varying forms of each language, so there is no "true" language with which we can compare ourselves. Perhaps it is best not to dwell on the perceived social divide and instead strive towards the linguistic utopia that Canagarajah sees just beyond the horizon.
Works Cited:
Canagarajah, Suresh. Translingual Practice. London: Routledge, 2013. Print.
Nagel, Madeline. "Project One." Left at the Dancing Skeleton. n.p, 2013. Web. 29 Sep 2013.
Sedaris, David. Me Talk Pretty One Day. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2000. Print.