by Eve Stenson
Spring break, that magical time of year when every college student embarks on adventures to strange and exotic locations: Hawaii, London, Cancun . . . Ohio?
Well, not quite every college student; I went home to Cleveland, which is not only at approximately the same latitude, but also – contrary to popular opinion at Fordham – in the same time zone. I’ve had the good fortune to travel out of the country in the past, but this time, my sight-seeing is limited to friends’ photos and TV footage of Operation Iraqi Freedom.
The two are more similar than you might think, too. Though the latter is far less subtle, vacations and wars both embody conflicts of interpretation. And these are more pervasive, more elemental and, as a result, perhaps even more important than conflicts of arms themselves.
Linguistic examples are among the most obvious misinterpretations, as well as the most amusing and most harmless. One aspiring musician, attempting to translate "I am cool" into German, phrased it "Ich bin ‘cool’," which translated as "I am gay." His music video achieved instant popularity for its humor value.
Even politicians have been known to make such errors; when trying to empathize with the people of Berlin, instead of "Ich bin Berliner" ("I am a citizen of Berlin"), then-President John F. Kennedy proclaimed, "Ich bin ein Berliner" (roughly, "I am a jelly doughnut"). The East Germans appreciated the sentiment and cheered anyway.
Malapropisms are far more easily clarified than mistranslated cultural foundations. More often than not, though, we don’t even realize such deeply rooted conflicts exist, because we fail to consult the other interpretation at all.
I wonder, of all the college students venturing from the United States this month – and all the Americans this year – how many gain insight from the countries they tour. I, too, have been guilty of photographing landmarks and people without appreciating what or who they were. I came to realize that this was to my own detriment.
Last summer, I had the incredible opportunity to visit Bali, Indonesia, with my aunt and uncle. There, I saw the epic Ramayana performed, and because I knew the story beforehand, was struck by the meaning of the dance, as well as the grace and splendor of the performers. Knowledge is fundamental to recognizing the good, the value, and the beauty in another culture.
Not to mention the humor, perhaps hardest to translate. The tour guide in Bali was most adept at it, though. When explaining marriages, he said there used to be three ways to go about it, but now are only two: "By request, which is very expensive. Or they can elope, which is much more economical."
"What was the third way?" I asked.
"Kidnapping." Apparently, though, there hasn’t been one of those since the 1950s.
In Dr. Simonaitis’s "Religion in the Modern World" class last semester, we read a passage by Huston Smith, the author of a comparative religion book, who put it, "The final reason for understanding another is intrinsic – to enjoy the wider angle the vision affords." This semester, in "God and the New Physics," Dr. Mancini phrased it more bluntly, when he cautioned us to avoid "cultural chauvinism," lest we mistake the meanings of the texts.
And for good reason: the warning is one that often goes unheeded. Refusing to consider another’s perspective can result in such preposterous developments as "freedom fries" and "freedom toast" being served in the United States Congressional cafeteria.
Yet, nobody is a true pluralist. Even the most open-minded must decide how they will live, and that requires value judgements. The very choice of a location, both physically and philosophically, implies some designation of superiority, if only as a preference.
I wouldn’t want to live in Bali, not after I asked about the newspapers. "They can print whatever they want," our guide explained, "under the supervision of the governor, of course." More than just distasteful, though, I think such a policy is wrong.
Indeed, anyone who claims a moral standard cannot leave everything to a matter of cultural context. Was human sacrifice acceptable because the Aztecs thought it was all right? More recently, how about female genital mutilation? Genocide? Crashing a plane into a skyscraper?
Despite such atrocities, I’d like to think that our species, slowly but surely, is changing for the better with the passing years. Change, however, is often also accompanied by a sense of loss.
My aunt and uncle, who’d visited Bali before, were saddened by how much it has transformed in the intervening decade. The rice paddies and sarongs are giving way to modern buildings and blue jeans. Our guide shook his head sadly, and predicted that in another 10 years, "It won’t be Bali anymore."
I don’t blame the Balinese. As much as I delighted in seeing the sunset over the rice paddies, I wouldn’t want to spend my life working there, either. No matter how quaint I would be, or how many tourists would wish to take my picture.
It’s not uncommon, though, that Americans visiting poorer countries feel the natives are committing some inequity by forsaking tradition. Funny how this mindset compares with the recent one, advocating the forced – or, at the very least, rushed – conversion of Iraq’s population. Can we ever make an objective judgement, independent of our own interests?
Yet, even if we were to try our darndest to be unbiased, how well can a tourist (political, social, or any sort at all) grasp another culture? I can’t imagine being a citizen of Baghdad right now, seeing "Shock and Awe" outside my window, instead of on my TV screen.
In the same way, I wonder if it’s feasible to truly comprehend a foreign perspective without actually living it; even if it isn’t, I nevertheless feel compelled to try. I can only hope that others – whether their viewpoints are similar to mine or a world away – might do the same. Any resolution to conflict that might be possible depends on it.
(published in The Ram, 27 March 2003)