Cult of English? Neocolonialism? Phrasebooks?

The lightbulb in my bathroom is out. I'm sitting with my back against the radiator in my room, stressing out over how one says, Lightbulb" in Spanish, and how one asks about changing it, and how one buys a lightbulb here and where. So complicated! And yet, the realization dawns on me...I know how to ask about it. I know where to buy one. And anyway I have a dictionary and as soon as I summon the will to move across my room, I will know the word. 

My Spanish is improving sneakily, without me even realizing it is happening. Reading and understanding are still easier than writing and speaking, but I spend a significant portion of each day concentrating on reading Spanish and attempting to spell words correctly when I translate something for my students (My speling en Español eez aboot lyke thes, end it maykes my stoodents laff). 

One of my daily attempts at constant practice of Spanish is to read the newspapers that hang in the windows of many of the stores on Baquedano street, the main drag in Puerto Natales' centro. The news in this region usually consists of a monor protest here, a school test result there, and many, many car accidents. I have made myself the promise that I will always wear my seatbelt if it is humanly possible. 

As I was reading the news in the window today, a green opinion piece caught my eye. It was written by a local sociologist in tight, academic Castellano. He was angry. He was skeptical. He was writing about English in Chilean schools. 

About a week ago, the Ministry of Education released the results of a standardized test for English in Chilean Schools...the SIMCE. As far as I've been told, students take the test to assess their English abilities at the end of 8th and 12th grade. All students in these grades in Chile are required to take the test, because English classes are required in all schools nationwide as part of an effort to make Chile into a bilingual country (like Germany, Holland, Sweden, or Singapore) in 15-20 years. 

Out of the students who took the test last year, only 11% passed. Passed. Not with flying colors. Passed. In Puerto Natales, the numbers are a little worse. Out of 214 students who took the test, only 12 passed. None from my school, mind you. 

The sociologist castigated the MINEDUC and the Chilean government for promoting English so vigorously in schools. He warned that Chile should not become a country with a Cult of English, as he (maybe correctly...never been so I don't know) assured his readers that Korea, Thailand, and Singapore have. He ripped into the MINEDUC for promoting English and not Asiatic languages like Mandarin because those are of emerging economies. Strangely, he argued that students in Puerto Natales would not see the point of speaking English because so many tourists come here with phrasebook in hand, which spells out Spanish "even to the point of how to ask for a kilo of bread."

He accused the whole initiative of promoting Neocolonialism. 

Reading this after my classes, I felt extremely conflicted. On the one hand, I understand where he is coming from. He doesn't want students to lose themselves in the use of English instead of the use of their mother tongue or those of their ancestors. He doesn't want the promotion of English to take the place of other important languages and other important emerging economies. He doesn't want Anglophone culture to replace Chileno culture. 

I felt like a big, fat, Gringa stomping around in my boots and squashing Chilean culture under my Anglophone feet, indoctrinating my innocent students to believe they were somehow inferior if they couldn't speak English.

As someone who holds a B.A. In Anthropology, I would like to think that I am sensitive to cultural phenomena and especially Neocolonialism and Neoimperialism. My professors drilled into our brains over and over that a balance between cultural relativism ("Eh, it's just their culture to commit infanticide...who am I to judge?") and Neocolonialism ("DO...YOU...SPEAK...ENGLISH? Why is everything is Chile so disorganized, things are so much better in the States. Yu need to change to be like us..."). 

My purpose here is to expose my students to what a native speaker of English sounds like, as much as possible. Just to have them be able to communicate basically at some point in their lives...probably not now, but maybe in a few years they will remember how to introduce themselves. Basta. 

More than that, I disagree with the Natalino sociologist. For better or for worse English is an intercontinental lingua franca used in diplomacy, economics, education, tourism, and much more. More than 150 countries have a significant number of English speakers. And yes, the emerging economies of the world such as the BRIC countries (Brazil, Russia, India, and China) all have their own languages, but in each of them English is often used for business or government or other things. English is just one of many languages and dialects in some countries and even if it originally came from the influence of the British Empire or expansionism on the part of culture from the United States, the language is perhaps more varied than any other because of the differences between countries, accents, individuals, and cultures. 

I don't believe that speaking English and retaining one's culture are necessarily mutually exclusive. I see culture and language working together as an additive process, not one where the new must replace the old. When I learn new languages, my mind expands and I find new ways of thinking about situations, often in ways that are untranslatale from one to the other. I hold more possibilites to communicate, to share, and to think. Like any language, English may replace another to the detriment of the original (i.e. Ireland) or be more additive (i.e. Hindi, which incorporates many English words into daily speech). 

Despite that, I reailze that the possibility for English to be a form of cultural capital (a la Pierre Bourdieu) is real and for the and also that those who speak it in some countries might form a culture of elitism. It is also possible to have an English Cult, and that kind of mentality is not helpful to anyone. 

Am I just a cog in the English Cult Machine here in Chile? Maybe. 

But more likely there are other issues than student disinterest or nonusefulness of English in the world that are getting in the way. 

In chile there appear to be many more systemic problems than just English initiatives in the education system. Lack of materials, lack or resources, lack of teachers...it is not too uncommon that some students make it through 13 years of school and are barely able to read and do basic math. Many more drop out early. Barely any go to college. At last I understand why people in town keep asking me if I know how to read. 

Can Chile become bilingual in 15-20 years? Maybe. And maybe I am playing some small part in the play. But I know that I can only do my best, try to learn as much as possible, and act as a cultural ambassador and not a cultural conqueror. 

Awareness is the first step.

Edit: Today's newspaper showed the results of the standardized test that teachers take as well. Only 52% were able to obtain a passing grades, across all subjects and levels. Indeed, the problems with the education system in Chile are systemic and not just limited to English classes.

A related side note: I am now helping the local high school music teacher with lessons on history of music in the United States. If you want an example of Cultural Imperialism...there you go.

A Real Rodeo in Italifrencastellingles

 The taxis came and we were on our way. As usual, I tried to put my seatbelt on and found ere was nowhere to connect it. Little prayer to St. Michael for protection as we flew across the campo just outside of town. 

The rodeo was already underway. I felt like we had walked back in time to when the only thing that happened all year was a rodeo and out of the sometimes-Gringo-infested (sorry, all you other Gringos in Natales for tourism...I just get sick of us sometimes, too) centro to the real Patagonia. No one who is not from here would even know that the rodeo was happening. 

Everyone wore the traditional dress of gauchos, with bloomer-like pants, bainos (Patagonian knitted caps), large wool scarves, and decorative embroidery. It felt very different from the rodeos I've been to at the National Western Stock Show...more...real. 

In the pen, the men who were riding the bucking broncos were constantly in movement. Setting up the next ride. Gathering the horses from the last one. Running back and foreth to get their cells phones and drink a little beer in the saddle. 

The competitors sometimes got thrown before their turn even began. They were very resilient and got right back up onto the horse, who usually had a scarf over its eyes to calm it and another rider pushing it into position. And then they were off! Running and bucking, throwing dirt onto the peoople watching. We were separated fromm e hooves of the horses by a flimsy barbed wire fence that seemed to barely resist the Patagonian wind...much less the weight of a full-grown horse. 

After about an hour, I realized that the music a man was playing with a guitar and singing (the same verses over and over and over and over and...) was singing the commentary! Someone would fall and he would sing, "Que lastima, compañero..." or someone would do well and he would vamp the guitar riff while another man demanded un fuerte applauso for the champion. It was a song that told a long and winding story, and he wove what was happening on the field into the song as well. 

I was the tallest, blondest person around...as usual. 

At one point we were waiting for the finals to begin and MaryCler, our "hermana" was showing us how to dance one of the national dances of Argentina. Many Argentinans had come to the rodeo because Natales is the biggest city for several hours, and they were dancing. 

We watched from afar and copied, and out of the blue two of the women ran over and began dancing with us! They were in traditional dress, with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths sideways, dancing with the two Gringas and making everyone laugh. It was so much fun. The most fun ever. 

Eventually the wind became too much to take, and we caved in to hire taxis back to town. As we flew along (seatbelt on this time! Victory!) I realized that the singing commentary of the rodeo was on the taxi radio. Our new friends from Santiago (friends of our host family who came down for the week) invited Dominique and I to dinner out at a parilla in town. We ate amazing grilled meats in mass quantities and tried a Calafate Sour (Calafate is the name of both a berry and a city in Argentina. This was brandy made with the berry mixed with sweet and sour mix). 

We talked so much and about so many different things (family, marriage, children, politics, behavior, etc etc etc) in castellano that my brain got extremely tired and confused between the languages I speak. At some point, the brain stops caring whether one is speaking one language or another and it all just becomes language mush. I couldn't speak English when I tried to switch back to it to translate something on our walk home. Italifrencastellingles came out of my mouth. Nobody could understand me, not even myself.

Life in Puerto Natales is pretty sweet. And the song of the commentary at the rodeo will probably continue its circular tracing in my dreams.