English is not just a language; it carries with it social, historical, cultural and even financial possibilities. Here English is seen as a portal to a job, then a better job and a better life, perhaps even a life that mimics those of the malae that teach it. There’s nothing and everything wrong with that.
We are not simply teaching a language, we are entwining western ideologies, life style and aspirations into lessons on present perfect, past continuous, present simple. But it is anything but perfect – or simple.
One of my classes is studying to undertake the IELTS, the International English Language Testing System. It is an international recognised standard and migrants must achieve a certain standard to migrate to an English-speaking country. If we’re talking about migrating somewhere, living there, understanding the local customs and opportunities, then wrapping some culture into English lessons seem not only logical but entirely necessary and responsible.
However, what of those who are not migrating? What of those who simply wish to be able to speak the language, to converse with business people worldwide in a common language or to explain procedures and requirements to English-speaking guests in their mother country?
The challenge of IELTS and all that it takes for granted hit home the day my students were reading an article on the Mekong River. It was the article per se which made me pause to consider the relevance, but the questions which followed, or more specifically: Where would you find an article like this?
Okay, you’re probably thinking, how hard can that question be? Isn’t it simple? You’d find it in the travel section of a newspaper or an in-flight magazine or in a travel magazine or perhaps even a healthy living magazine. There are so many options – to us.
To the Timorese these are not options. They don’t have magazines. There are no newsagencies. You can buy a newspaper from the guys that stand outside Hotel Timor, papers tucked under their arms, waving them at passersby in the hope that some will make a purchase. I haven’t seen a library. I haven’t seen Timorese lying on beaches reading books the way malae might.
So what this test is asking is not just, “How good is your English language knowledge?” it is also demanding test-takers understand western lifestyle and customs. How do you easily do that when that lifestyle is so utterly foreign? And is it fair of examiners to require it?
For those of us inculcated in western civilisation, those of us who take the 24/7 news cycle for granted, who flick on a computer and read the news on-line each morning with our coffee, or switch on the radio while we drive to work or have the news home-delivered, the idea of a slither of this globe that doesn’t know what we know – and what’s more, doesn’t necessarily care to know – might well be unthinkable.
And yet, that slither of this globe exists here, and I’m sure elsewhere. One of our teachers tells the story of a class in which she was talking about the death of Osama bin Laden. She mentioned his name and the students stared blankly. So she added, “9/11?” The mist did not lift. “The twin towers? America?” I imagine the students clutching at the only word they would have grasped, America. But they hadn’t heard of 9/11. Can you imagine that? Not having seen that footage ad nauseum? Not having to change channel as it’s trotted out again and again and again and again? Not even knowing that it happened?
Who are these people that know so little about world events? You might well ask and perhaps I would counter with a few questions of my own:
What was the Santa-Cruz massacre? When did it happen? How many people were killed? Why did it happen? Who captured the incident on film? Who got the film safely out of Timor-Leste? Why couldn’t the camera crew who shot it take the film into Darwin?
What do you mean you’ve never heard of the Santa-Cruz massacre? How could you not? It was one of many defining moments in Timorese history. The bravery of the malae who stood with the Timorese, who shot the film, who got it past obstructive Australian officials and into the world media has not been forgotten. Not here. Sure in metropolitan Melbourne it’s not something most people know about; it happened somewhere else to other people. People whose points of reference are different to ours.
Which brings me full circle back to the point: In teaching English as a language is it necessary to test students’ knowledge about the culture and the history of English-speaking countries? Is it vital that students of English adopt our points of reference when they are often so utterly foreign to them?
One textbook asked students to decide what different companies did and when they were established. I have lived my whole life in English-speaking countries, I have multiple degrees and certificates proclaiming I’m at least mildly intelligent, I’ve watched the sitcoms, analysed the ads and I couldn’t answer the questions. Why do we expect that others not exposed to our overwhelming self-importance might even be that interested? Ah yes, because English is their portal.
Through English they see a better life. What they don’t see, and may not realise until it is too late, is that despite our requirement that they begin to embody the culture, the lifestyle, the aspirations that are apparently symbiotic with our language, is an assault on their culture, their lifestyle, their aspirations. Surely you can learn a language without relinquishing your rightful heritage. And surely we of western decent, we who are more educated, more affluent, more ‘civilised’ could find teaching methods and topics that celebrate and explore local history and culture, rather than papering over it with our less-than-objective newsprint.
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