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My wife, son, daughter-in-law and I saw this powerful movie this weekend. I don't claim to be a movie critic, so won't overly pontificate on the merits and flaws of the movie. I will say that there are a number of extraordinary performances, and I won't be surprised to see Viola Davis's name on the list of Oscar nominees for 2012.
The story itself, based on the best-selling book by Kathryn Stockett, is one I find hard to shake. (I won't recount it here for the sake of those who haven't seen the movie yet.) My wife was born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi, and seeing the movie through her eyes made it that much more poignant. My reaction of anger and shame reveals a particular sensitivity to the subject of race relations in American culture -- but we're mistaken if we think this is a strictly American phenomenon. More on that in my next post.
As we whites look at our parents' generation's treatment of blacks, there is a mixture of emotional responses. My Texan grandfather, a barber, refused to cut the hair of blacks or Mexicans. Not all whites were as openly hostile to African Americans; in my wife's Jackson, having black "help" was accepted as a normal part of southern culture. The attitudes of the white employers varied from blatant prejudice and condescension to a much more subtle form of racism. Many black nannies, as portrayed by Viola Davis, were so close to the children they cared for that they were like family. Though it is true that we tread on dangerous ground when we talk in stereotypical terms about that era (the notion of building a separate bathroom for the help, for example, was completely foreign to my wife), we can clearly talk about cultural trends that shift with each generation.
Not all whites were as hypocritical as the movie makes them out to be. Many were sincere, God-fearing families who believed they were doing the blacks a favor by providing them employment.
"They were doing the best they knew how," we like to say.
While that may be true, it makes me shudder.
It makes me shudder because I can't help wondering what our children will be talking about when they say the same thing about us. I have often wondered about the collective blind spots in our cultures: why did it take so long for us to realize the evils of slavery? Why have women generally had to wait so long for equal rights? Why has democracy still not taken hold in many nations of the world?
But the most sobering question to me is this: what blind spots in this generation will our descendants identify? Of course we are aware that our current world leaves much to be desired and hoped for. But a blind spot is just that -- what is it that is completely escaping our attention?
After many hours of sitting in my own classroom, so to speak, learning about merchant accounts and all the elements of the back side of the tapestry, the e-book is finally out of the oven.
If I were seeking help and encouragement about a particular subject I was preparing to study, I wouldn't look for a large volume on how to go about it; I would want something concise -- so that's what I've done here.
Part motivation, part practical how-to's, How to Learn a Foreign Language: 7 Tips for Making the Daunting Doable is designed to be a shot in the arm for those who are either considering undertaking a foreign language, or those who have already begun but could use a little fresh perspective.
That word perspective is a huge word in my life. One of the themes of the e-book is the importance of taking the necessary step of lifting ourselves above our cultural assumptions in order to take a fresh look -- in this case, at the language we're tackling -- but it's a principal that applies in all areas of life.
Perspective comes only when we are willing to loosen our clutch on what we perceive as real and important.
Check out the book for yourself, or forward the information to someone you know who could use a shot in the arm and a little perspective.
We're almost there -- we just need to make some tweaks to the website where my new e-book will be available. While I'm learning about online shopping carts and merchant accounts, we're getting great feedback and constructive criticism from my test group. Many have said it has made them want to go out and do something crazy like learn a foreign language.
If so, mission accomplished.
Dear loyal or occasional reader,
One year ago today, Becky and I were sitting at a long, food-laden table in the back yard of good friends in a quaint village outside Strasbourg, France. We topped off an already wonderful evening by standing in the midst of a festive crowd in the center of Strasbourg, oohing and ahing like kids at the fireworks above the medieval towers of the old city.
Today in France is what Americans call Bastille Day. The name Bastille is nowhere in the French name for the holiday; they simply call it la Fête nationale, or, even more commonly, le quatorze juillet -- just as we commonly say July 4 instead of Independence Day.
If you've been following me for very long, you know I'm an avowed francophile. What you may not know is that I was born on the 14th of July. It would seem my life was destined to be intertwined with that of our French friends, of whom I have many. This year, I'm celebrating at home with my family and good friends, taking part in local celebrations of Bastille Day hosted by the few but proud francophiles in my city of Nashville.
You haven't heard from me in a while because I've been busy putting the finishing touches on an e-book on how to go about learning a foreign language. I'll send updates soon, but in the meantime, feel free to sign up here if you're specifically interested in foreign languages -- and spread the word!
Finally, you've been reading for some time in this blog my musings on cultural and international issues, my passion and mission being to awaken cultural curiosity among English speakers. From now on, however, I intend to muse on other topics of interest as well; this will likely include more opinions, which you may or not agree with. Maybe it's my age (and we do tend to be more philosophical as we muse on our birthday, dont' we) -- but it's becoming less important to me to avoid stirring the waters a little. My philosophy is that we treat each other with the same respect we hope to be given, and I trust you'll stay on board with me.
In the meantime, Bonne Fête du 14 juillet!
My wife and I have owned a timeshare in Orlando for a number of years. We bought it while our sons were still at home and were really into the idea of vacationing one mile from Disneyworld. This is the first year we have found ourselves using the week all by ourselves -- just the two of us. Since we have never been to Universal Orlando, we decided to go (under the pretext of checking it out for our new grandson -- yeah, right).
Our timeshare is just every other year, and I was in Europe the last time it came around, so my wife loaded up two of our sons and some of their friends and had a grand time. So it has been at least four years since I experienced the genuinely American phenomenon called the theme park. Some raw reflections:
First, I was taken back to my years of living in Europe when I would land at an American airport after months or even years away and be immediately struck by the number of obese people. America, the land of extremes. A multi-billion dollar fitness industry alongside the highest obesity rate in the world. I'm sorry, but this makes me ashamed.
Second, you've probably heard me say before that one of America's strengths is creativity and innovation. Disney and Universal are creativity on steroids, a celebration of storytelling and imagination. As I stroll through Universal's Seuss Landing or the new Harry Potter section, for example, it's impossible (for me) not to appreciate the wealth of imagination that was in operation not only when the original stories were conceived, but also in the translation of those stories to tangible "things" that can be touched and crawled on and ridden in.
What is contained in my ticket is a mixed bag, symbolic of the paradoxical day and culture in which we live. On one hand, my entrance price pays for the creators' innovations. I was thinking how much fun it must be to be an architect for Disney or Universal. Or an orchestrator. Or an engineer. The multi-faceted skills that go into just one of those rides is staggering. It also pays for summer employment for hundreds of high school and college kids. On the other hand, the ticket also represents obscene profit margins on food and drink, not to mention the not-so-subtle message, delivered long before you arrived at the park, that your kids HAVE to have that toy or keepsake in order to "keep the memory alive." These parks have a way of bringing out the worst in us consumers -- or teaching us a measure of restraint if we let them.
Since, at least for the time being, I don't have to choose between a make-believe theme park world and the preferred adventure of experiencing the real world we live in (stay tuned for more European adventures this summer), I'll most likely cave when my grandson asks me, with those big blue eyes, if we can go see Mickey.
This past Sunday's arrest in New York of IMF Director Dominique Strauss-Kahn has sent shock waves throughout France -- but not for the reasons most Americans would expect. Strauss-Kahn, repeatedly voted France's most popular politician, was considered the most serious contender to oust current French president Nicolas Sarkozy, a conservative, in next year's elections.
So the shock that many Frenchmen felt at the news was not that such a high-profile politician was involved in a sex scandal; it was either shock and dismay on the part of Socialists that their man would no longer be in the running to defeat the increasingly unpopular Sarkozy, or shock on a broader scale that the career of any French politician would implode because of a sex scandal and not a financial one.
Here is where the contrast between American and French mores can be seen at its sharpest: Newt Gingrich's candidacy is being called into question by some because of the fact that he has been divorced twice and had, shall we say, messy relationships with women. In France, on the other hand, it is practically a tradition that presidents and other leading politicians carry on extra-marital affairs, or at least be allowed the prerogative of open admiration of the opposite sex, unencumbered by a critical public eye. The fact is, the French are adamant about the right to privacy, and almost as adamant about the fact that it's simply not our business what goes on in the presidential bedroom (or other bedrooms of his choosing). By contrast, money and its poisonous tentacles are much more frequently the subject of scandal and demise chez les Français. What makes the Strauss-Kahn affair so salient is that a) this time it's criminal, b) it happened on American soil, where such a scandal is, well, all the more scandalous, and c) the French feel humiliated in the eyes of the world.
Before you say it serves them right, my dear American reader, you might ask yourself whether we are susceptible to similar incongruities. No culture is immune.
