Language oppression

March 26th, 2012

In a conversation about Mountain Language earlier this month, a friend said that he thought that this play was a representation of what happens in our society — everywhere, all the time, not just in dark corners or secluded mountainsides where the indigenous people are. Maybe not in such an extreme fashion, but haven’t I had this happen to me? Hasn’t my brother or my mom? I found that a little hard to empathize with. My mom, maybe. But I don’t really recall that I was being oppressed in any way for my language. (Though I do have to take into account that mine was probably a particularly lucky case. I’m guessing most children suffer more than I did when their language and the school’s language are different.)

Okay, I guess whatever language is always forced on you in any society, but that sort of passive compulsion and the oppression shown in the play are very different, and I’m not sure that I agree to such a broad interpretation. Certainly my language hasn’t been beaten out of me; no one tried to. On the contrary, I think I’ve been privileged: I remember gossiping liberally with my mom about people walking right past us at the mall, confident in the guaranteed security of our obscure language.

Well, having said all that, language, since my arrival here, has been an interesting experience. Aside from the predictable issue of my subpar Korean speech (update: Today, the people in the 6th grade class I observed remarked that my Korean is fine after 10 years in the U.S., despite the sick-voice from a cold) another problem has been kinda occupying my everyday life: the fear of using English.

English is revered here. It is kind of a subject of worship, and a lot of students would kill to be able to have a conversation with an American like I do. Indeed, a lot of children are killed (metaphorically) to do that.

But it is also a very judgmental society — or so I judge it to be. It’s probably a silly worry, but I’m afraid to talk in English on the phone out in public because I think that people might judge me and think I’m trying to prove myself or something. Also, some people acquire an aversion to English as a side effect of that English worship — kind of an allergic reaction. I wouldn’t want to ruin anybody’s day or fuel any parent’s inhumane vexing of their child with my “perfect” English.

Again, this is a very silly worry. But undoubtedly it has been dominating a part of my mind this last week and a half, and it partially motivated me to find a relatively quiet and private corner to make a phone call in English when I’m outside my house. I thought it was interesting to observe that in the U.S., the supposed oppressor in the Mountain Language analogy, I felt free to speak Korean whenever and wherever I needed, it is only now in the society of Koreans, whom you’d think to be the oppressed, that I feel some sort of pressure in choosing which language I speak.

The last few days

March 18th, 2012

I am in Korea. I arrived 3 days ago. It is now Sunday night. It has been an embarrassing, fun, and tiring weekend. Aside from my “day job” at Sungmisan School on Friday morning and afternoon, I’ve been attending the “Occupy Finance Capitalism” Basic Income Conference in Seoul. I was responsible for interpreting for the speaker from the U.S. I was worried that I wouldn’t do such a good job, and I was right. My English is better than most people here, but my Korean is not. I am not used to thinking in Korean so much. My vocabulary and my pronunciation need a lot of work. It must have been frustrating for people to listen to me. I sensed that people were sympathizing me, too.

It did help a lot to look at the speech beforehand and have time to do a rudimentary translation of the piece before the presentation. I think I’m better at written communication than oral communication. But then again, I’m also not. That’s what I’ve been working on this last winter term. It seemed as though I was having an easier time talking things out than writing. But when I’m interpreting, I’m not allowed to “talk things out.” I can’t think; I must present. Maybe it’s just that I present better through writing, but think better through talking.

So, that’s what I’ve been doing so far in my trip to Korea. It was also like 2-3 hours of transportation every day, and that’s tiring. My room looks as though my bags threw up in it, and I haven’t had time to clean it up yet. I haven’t had time to do leftover homework from last term. By the time I get back home, it’s just about bedtime. But I’ve been having lots of fun, too. It was awesome to be there and be with these people, listening to their discussions and learning great ideas.

All week this week I go to work. My first week is going to be an observation week, observing a different grade level each day and working towards figuring out what I would like to do for the semester. Hopefully I’ll have time in the evenings and next weekend to share some more details about my time here so far and do homework!!!

toki pona

March 17th, 2012

Body is bodhi tree
sijelo li kasi Poti
(body is bodhi tree)

Heart is like clear mirror stand
insa pilin li sama ilo pi ala anpa tawa lipu pi lukin sama
(inner feeling part is like no-fall tool for same looking sheet)

Strive to clean it constantly
o tenpo ali la weka e jaki lon ni
(always remove dirt on it)

Do not let the dust motes land
o ken ala ni: ijo jaki lili li anpa tawa ona
(don’t let the following happen: little dirty things fall to it)

Bodhi really has no tree
Poti li jo kin e kasi ala
(bodhi really has no tree)

Nor is clear mirror the stand
kin la lipu pi lukin sama li ala ilo pi anpa ala
(nor is the same looking sheet the no-fall tool)

Nothing’s there initially
tenpo pi nanpa wan la ala li lon
(at Time 1 nothing was there)

So where can the dust motes land?
la ijo jaki lili ken anpa lon seme?
(so the little dirty things can fall where?)

Notes

li comes between subject and predicate
e comes between verb and direct object
tawa for, to
lon on, at
la comes between sentential adverb and main clause; works as ‘then’ in an if/then statement
o introduces command
ni this, that; definite object pronoun
ken can, enable
kin indeed, too; intensifier
seme question word

Line 1
Poti: The guy who did the translation of these poems by Shenxiu and Huineng seemed to think it’s important that bodhi stays bodhi and that translators don’t translate it further, so I tokiponized the word. In toki pona, words that are not in the vocabulary and introduced through tokiponization are capitalized, whether common or proper.

Line 2
insa pilin: feeling inner part, heart. Feeling here does not necessarily mean emotion, but a thing the mind does. Sometimes, if you think something, the word pilin is used.
lipu pi lukin sama: same-looking sheet. There’s no word for mirror in toki pona.
ijo pi anpa ala: no-fall tool. There’s no word for stand in toki pona.

Line 3
There’s no word for clean in toki pona, so I wrote it out as “to remove dirt (weka e jaki).” This may be problematic, since the next line says to not let dirt fall on it, in which case there would be no dirt to remove. But that is true even without toki pona. Maybe this says something about the contradiction of the original poem.
I’m not sure whether o is supposed to come before or after the sentential adverb.

Line 4
ni is a nifty little tool in toki pona that allows you to break up complex sentences that are hard to write in toki pona. You may think that the sentence in that line is not so complex, but it is essentially two sentences put together, as seen in the toki pona version.
ijo jaki lili little dirty things. jaki can work as both noun and adjective–dirt and dirty. But dust or dust motes is more “particular.”

Line 7
tenpo pi nanpa wan Time No. 1.  There is no word for begin or start in toki pona. This is actually the convention for saying ordinal numbers, whenever Time 1 was.

Line 8
I began the line with the word la. I’m not sure that this is allowed conventionally. I thought it would sort of be one sentence with the line above it. It’s a poem, and much of toki pona depends on context anyway. But there is also the problem that there is another la before it, making it two la’s in one sentence.
In toki pona, the questions don’t begin with a question. Instead, the question word seme substitutes the part of the sentence that is unknown, and you use a question mark.

College, home, and loss

March 13th, 2012

These days I think a lot about how bizarre a phenomenon college is: In the period of late August to mid-September, millions of kids are uprooted from their homes, left to wander and fend for themselves. I think about this when I look at the people at my school–people who, up until a couple years ago, have been staying put for most of their lives–scamper around to find and make a home in a strange place, only to leave after at most a few years. And what for?

There’s something both heartbreaking and inspiring about it, somehow: How people manage to make beautiful and welcoming homes with cherishable memories, and how it’s all so temporary. How it’s all going to pass.

I’m making a lot of generalizations here, of course. But I think it is true for a lot of college students, and it’s so weird to picture it in my mind. Maybe the question “What for?” is where the uniqueness of each situation can be taken into account.

I, for one, can’t do that. Colin and I got to talking about home when we were talking about my last blog post, and I said that people have different degrees of need for home: Some don’t really care about having a sense of home; to others, it’s vital. I think I belong in the latter. And in that aspect, college life has been frustrating for me.

I’ve never had time to make a home in college, and I hate it. My room always ends up being messy even though I don’t want it to be. I need time to sort things out and find a place for everything, but I can’t with the other, more “urgent” responsibilities distracting me. Sometimes I try. I’ll have a handful of days in the term when my room is neat enough to be navigable. I’ll put up a selection of decorations I’ve accumulated from art class and such. But pretty soon they all have to go–the mess, the decorations, everything. Despite my attempts to ready everything for the next “home,” boxes get more and more uncategorized towards the end of the packing, and they are all lumped into one big pile until I’m given a new place. The vanity saddens me greatly.

It saddens me more to think about this as analogous to my whole life. I think I’ve always been looking for a home, never having enough time to take good care of the place that I’m at at the moment. I guess going to college is a part of the journey to find a home.

Is time really my problem? Am I not just lazy? Perhaps. I’d love to have more time so I can find out for sure.

Another thing that sucks about having to move around is losing things. When this happens, I get mad at the school for not giving me a permanent home. Last year, I had to move out of my house and into another house for about 10 days in winter break. I guess logistically it makes sense. But on top of having to lugging things back and forth that’s stressful in and of itself, I lost my Reporter’s Notebook from high school, with notes from high school and my first term at COA. I think it was buried somewhere in the snow. I suspect that by now it’s long been composted in the landfill somewhere. Then, on the flight either to or from LA, I dropped my Pilot VBall and didn’t have time to look under every row to find it before leaving the plane. They’ve changed the design of the pen since then, and it’s butt-ugly.

This time around, I lost my SD card. It was plugged into my computer and messing with the booting process, so I took it out and put it in my pocket. I’ve lost it somehow in the packing pandemonium. It had pictures from my trip to Boston, Chewonki, and the Coop Co-op. It bums me out so much, and I get mad at myself for not having enough foresight and the world for being this way. It just sucks, sucks, sucks.

When will I stop having to move around so much?

Going “back”

March 9th, 2012

I’ve talked to several people about my upcoming trip to Korea now, and a couple have responded with something like

Oh, so how long since you’ve last gone back?

That “back” leaves me with a strange feeling. Looking at it literally, it doesn’t seem very significant, but… What’s that supposed to mean? is a pretty accurate way to express how I feel about it.

It feels weird because I don’t live there, and I’m not going to live there. The only scenarios where I could think of myself as “going back” would be

  • if I still considered myself to live there;
  • if I was moving there permanently;
  • if I was visiting temporarily, left something there unintentionally, and made another trip within a short period of time to retrieve that thing.

I’m not doing any of those things. By now, the geographical Korea is plenty removed from my life that I don’t feel like it’s “going back” at all. I mean, I am going to live there for four months, but it’s still very much a temporary thing in my mind, and I have a specific agenda other than to go back to my roots. It feels very much like going to a foreign country (though obviously not the same), and I’m very much focused on gaining new experience, learning new things, and meeting new people, not about reconnecting with my past.

I generally feel negatively about this terminology. I feel like the idea of “my home” is being imposed on me by others, based on the way I look. Yeah, I guess that’s why I feel offended by it (if indeed I am offended–I’m not sure) because the person is basing their judgments about me on how I look, without really getting to know who I really am. It also tells me that to some people, I  must still seem very foreign and exotic.

Still, if I were them, I don’t think I’d be so sure about saying “back.”

Mountain Language

March 2nd, 2012
  • I will never know what it’s like to be subjected to such an oppression. Just how much would one have to be oppressed to be unable to speak even when allowed to? It’s pretty unfathomable. But there’s also something about just designating speech as something to allow or not allow that does something…. It kills something in humanity. It killed something in the mother.
  • Another thing that hits me hard is that Sara Johnson was an “intellectual.” She wasn’t the stereotypical “mountain person” that the “oppressor” could easily disregard and exclude. There’s an awareness that it’s not so easy as you’d like it to be to tell whether she’s “one of us” or not.
  • I think the addition of the second act was ingenious. I would have liked the use of the different langauges to be consistent (since we’re going to understand everything if the switch is complete, anyway!). To me, the shock was when hearing the mother speak in the second act. I think if the languages were consistent, that effect would have been stronger. Am I being totally ignorant or insensitive here? Would Harold Pinter want to strangle me if he read this?
    “The language that we’re not supposed to understand” wouldn’t even have to be one language.
  • I feel insignificant, in both senses of the word: one of powerlessness and the other of worthlessness. Powerlessness, I think, is a pretty universal feeling. However, I feel alone in terms of worthlessness. And guilty. “What am I doing?” is a thought I didn’t share with everyone else at the debrief. I don’t remember when it first popped up; I think it was either right after we were ushered outside or when the debrief began. “Here are all these people doing this great thing. I go to the same school with the same people. How come they can do this and not me? What am I doing?” That, in combination with the powerlessness, can be pretty discouraging. I start to doubt myself and feel like I don’t deserve the comfort of my bed, the safety and convenience of the place that I live in, the food that I eat, the financial aid that allows for all that…
    I’m not sure where this feeling originates. Maybe school. Maybe my genes. I know it’s a bad habit to compare myself to others, and I do too much of it (especially considering how ineffective it is). And it’s disrespectful to those who put the play together. But I can’t help it.
  • Shortly after entering the basement, I fell behind. There was no light around anymore, and I fell on some concrete blocks. Now I have a bruise on either shin. Makes for a nice effect, I guess.

Non-verbal thinking vs. aphasia

March 1st, 2012

The question occurred to me right after my meeting with Colin yesterday: If someone can’t remember a word, is that a non-verbal thought in place of that word? My guess—maybe it’s too easy to be a guess—is no. If someone can’t remember a word, it’s like they have a fill-in-the-blank question that they can’t answer. The blank is a word all right; it’s just missing.
On the other hand, non-verbal thought is something that just can’t be a fill-in-the-blank question. It can’t be a sentence, or a word. I think that a baby thinks non-verbally. It comes to learn language, and its thoughts as a baby are not translatable into language.
Some people who grew up being non-verbal, if they learned language when they were no longer babies, don’t remember how they thought back then. We don’t remember how we thought as babies, either. Is that just a memory issue? What is the relationship between language and memory? (I should find out if those people remember what happened during their non-verbal times even if they don’t remember how they thought.)