Making the familar strange - pedagogy in a distant land
The effect of teaching through interpreters remains a fascinating phenomenon. The process obviously affects the overall pace and speed of deliver and facilitation. Most interaction between the participants and us as workshop leaders feels like a kind of slow-motion pedagogy. My speech slows and I often struggle to express myself clearly in words that may be easily translated. Sometimes I check with the interpreters in mid-sentence to insure that they know the meaning of a word I want to use or have a word for it in Vietnamese. Other times, I scratch what I am saying, as if rewinding a tape recorder and starting over. Occasionally, however, a comment I or one of the participants makes sets of a set of rapid exchanges among the participants themselves. This happened on Monday, when I was talking about the Delphi technique and computing averages from the ratings of respondents. Our interpreter didn't know what an average was and thus began a flurry of exhanges between the participants and him, and among themselves. Kris and I mostly stood back and watched in amazement, wondering what that was about and fascinated with the process.
In moments such as these, I feel as if I am teaching at a distance with little knowledge of what my distance students at are saying or doing. I am reminded of the professional development teleconferences we used to do by teleconference when I was employed by School Evaluation Services at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Through a secret informant, we learned that a group in one district had gathered for the conference, turned off their microphone and were enjoying an after school party. The distance caused by difference in language between the workshop participants and me as one of their facilitators often feels similar, a strange, somewhat alienating feeling. Then, something occurs to quickly bridge that existential gulf and we again all seem partners in a common world and project.
The slowness of the process, however, allows me to “reflect-in-action,” creating a paradoxical situation where more of the participants here, who speak little or no English, may be able to make more sense of what I am saying than if I were delivering the same information to a class at MSU. As I wait for the interpreter, I often think of what else should or could be said to make the point clear, or an example that would effectively illustrate the content.
I find I am making use here of many more examples in my “teaching,” a technique I am sure many of my MSU students would want me to bring back home with me, and I am often reaching back into my distant past professional life for examples. On Monday, I used my experience in the 1980s with using a Delphi technique in planning a state-wide curriculum for the State of Wisconsin in alcohol awareness and traffic safety. I used this project to illustrate a method of large group data collection in a needs assessment process. Until that moment, I had all but forgotten that project.
At times, however, I find myself wrapped up in the ideas I am trying to explain and I forget where I am and who my participants are. I rattle on for several moments before I realize that what I am saying is being understood by almost no one. Then I stop and wait for the translators to reiterate in Vietnamese what I had so excitedly conveyed in English. It’s a little like watching the delayed reaction you see in live interviews on CNN between, say, someone in Atlanta and Bejing.
I also find myself being less expressive emotionally in my delivery but paradoxically using more hand gestures and motion, as if moving my hands will help drive home the meaning in English and not require translation. Sometimes when I am speaking I see my hands moving out in the air, as if they are independent of my mind and body, doing their own thing in this orchestrated dance of international collaboration. I wonder, “Where is that coming from?” As I await translation of my comments, my body often feels awkward. Do I stand in one place or move about? What should I do with my hands while the interpreter seeks to render meaningful what must seem gibberish to most? Will resting my hand on the chair help and provide me emotional support? Odd sorts of thoughts, sensations, and feelings that become an intimate part of one’s pedagogy in a foreign land.
In moments such as these, I feel as if I am teaching at a distance with little knowledge of what my distance students at are saying or doing. I am reminded of the professional development teleconferences we used to do by teleconference when I was employed by School Evaluation Services at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Through a secret informant, we learned that a group in one district had gathered for the conference, turned off their microphone and were enjoying an after school party. The distance caused by difference in language between the workshop participants and me as one of their facilitators often feels similar, a strange, somewhat alienating feeling. Then, something occurs to quickly bridge that existential gulf and we again all seem partners in a common world and project.
The slowness of the process, however, allows me to “reflect-in-action,” creating a paradoxical situation where more of the participants here, who speak little or no English, may be able to make more sense of what I am saying than if I were delivering the same information to a class at MSU. As I wait for the interpreter, I often think of what else should or could be said to make the point clear, or an example that would effectively illustrate the content.
I find I am making use here of many more examples in my “teaching,” a technique I am sure many of my MSU students would want me to bring back home with me, and I am often reaching back into my distant past professional life for examples. On Monday, I used my experience in the 1980s with using a Delphi technique in planning a state-wide curriculum for the State of Wisconsin in alcohol awareness and traffic safety. I used this project to illustrate a method of large group data collection in a needs assessment process. Until that moment, I had all but forgotten that project.
At times, however, I find myself wrapped up in the ideas I am trying to explain and I forget where I am and who my participants are. I rattle on for several moments before I realize that what I am saying is being understood by almost no one. Then I stop and wait for the translators to reiterate in Vietnamese what I had so excitedly conveyed in English. It’s a little like watching the delayed reaction you see in live interviews on CNN between, say, someone in Atlanta and Bejing.
I also find myself being less expressive emotionally in my delivery but paradoxically using more hand gestures and motion, as if moving my hands will help drive home the meaning in English and not require translation. Sometimes when I am speaking I see my hands moving out in the air, as if they are independent of my mind and body, doing their own thing in this orchestrated dance of international collaboration. I wonder, “Where is that coming from?” As I await translation of my comments, my body often feels awkward. Do I stand in one place or move about? What should I do with my hands while the interpreter seeks to render meaningful what must seem gibberish to most? Will resting my hand on the chair help and provide me emotional support? Odd sorts of thoughts, sensations, and feelings that become an intimate part of one’s pedagogy in a foreign land.
posted by John at 1:41 PM
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