On Friday, I was leading a discussion with a small group of sixth formers (16-year-olds) about social problems, and making a difference in the world. Suddenly, one of the students, who had been super-engaged and participatory throughout the discussion, turned to me and said, "I feel like it sounds so awful when I talk. Like beschissenes German English." It was a problem that I know well.
If I had to define one overarching principle according to which I live my life, the goal of almost everything I do, it would be to appear competent. If I can appear in control, dominant, impressive--and thereby have all eyes turn on me in appreciation of my supreme competence--even better, but at a base level, I need to not stand out, to look like I know what I'm doing and am a normal part of the everyday existence of whatever social world I find myself in.
Yes, I've had my share of triumphs here in that respect. I play a game with myself where I count how long it takes the people I'm speaking with to realize that I'm not from the deutschsprachigem Raum, and I'm typically able to last several minutes before getting the sidelong glance and the "Wo kommst du denn her?" (Whereupon they often immediately switch into Hochdeutsch. Why, Österreich, why? Ich bin tatsächlich wegen deinem Dialekt hier.)
But then there are the days where I feel so unfließend, where I hear my own speech and cringe. Where I want to curl up in bed and put a blanket over my head, where it's easier to continue with the illusion that I speak German well because I'm not actually talking to anyone. I rarely forget words, or when I do I'm able to describe around them without losing my train of thought, but I screw up really basic grammatical points, or pronounce things like my 16-year-old self, who wasn't sure whether "ich" was said like "ick" or "ish." (This wasn't corrected until the Goethe Institut, where I learned that it's weder noch, sondern "wie eine Katze.")
Ultimately, though, I've come to accept my accent, my Unfließendheit, my grammatical mistakes as part of who I am. I'm an American, not an Austrian. That's true both at the deepest levels of my belief system (As a good liberal, I'm a Keynesian, of course, but hearing Hayek wax poetic on freedom never fails to bring tears to my eyes) and at the surface level of my language usage. I love Austria, and I'm incredibly grateful to be able to make my home here, but I've accepted the fact that I will always carry remnants of the place where I come from in my speech. I don't need to sound completely like an Austrian to be a part of this society, and although I do enjoy it when people think I'm Austrian (Unauffälligkeit again), I'm also happy to converse with people who are fully aware of my linguistic shortcomings but speak German with me anyway.
Which is what I told my student -- that he's Austrian, not American (or from that other country), and that he doesn't need to sound like an American to speak English and make himself understood by everyone. It was a moment of true connection, a moment that wouldn't have been possible were I an Austrian teacher, who, having perfected English herself, would have probably just said, "Oh, well, it'll get better."
And it's times like these that make me feel like my work here has a purpose, that I'm not just hanging out in Österreich on the(ir) government's dime. As another example, one of the teachers I work with recently told me that she's having a huge personality conflict with one of her students, and he's completely stopped speaking to her, or in class at all. With me, though, he's active and engaged, contributing to our discussions and even helping other students when they're struggling for words. My presence made a difference -- and this for a kid who really needs to pass English this year, as he's been held back twice already. (Sitzenbleiben is an entirely different topic, and one I have thoughts on that I'll share at a different time.)
Similarly, when my students hear me speak German and laugh at my accent, I'm showing them that it's okay to sound silly, to stumble over words, to make mistakes in a foreign language. (Although, really, guys? I'm trying to help you out here, by translating something into your language. A little gratitude would be appreciated.)
In my first few months here, I had been tempted to think of my time in Austria as an Auszeit, a break or a gap year before I begin the real work of my life. But I'm slowly realizing that my time here at the Bundesgymnasium does actually fit into the trajectory of my life. I care about my students because I know that this -- an education, the Matura -- really is their only chance to avoid becoming a Putzfrau like their immigrant parents, as the leader of the youth center where I volunteer formulated it. And that's valuable. What I do, the work I do with my students, has value. Even when they laugh at me, blankly stare at me, claim they don't speak English, refuse to participate, whatever. Because, while there are of course bad lessons and bad days, I hold onto the good ones as a reminder that I can be effective at this, and when both I and my students are at their best, true moments of intercultural and interlingual connection can take place.
No comments:
Post a Comment