cross-cultural conflict – Marilyn R. Gardner

“This is My Fate” – A Lesson in Cultural Humility

Published on July 5, 2017 by Marilyn1 Comment

As soon as the angry words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. I was speaking to Rehmet, the woman who helped me care for my kids and my home.

She was a Punjabi woman, uneducated, illiterate, with a smile that stretched across a beautiful, weathered face and a personality as big as her smile.

We were living in Islamabad, Pakistan and Rehmet had come into my life by way of her husband who had done some handiwork for us around the house. She had five children and lived in a slum on the outskirts of the city. She was tireless in her energy and her talking. At one point I despaired to my mom that I couldn’t understand her. “She speaks so quickly!” I wailed. “My Urdu can’t keep up”. My mom began to laugh – “Don’t worry” she said. “She’s actually speaking Punjabi”.

(photo credit)

We had slowly developed a relationship that went far beyond employee/employer. I considered her my friend. We would sit down with tea, communicating with my limited Urdu and her fluent Punjabi. We would mate socks together, cook, scrub vegetables, and rearrange furniture. She loved my kids, and I thought I loved her.

But there we were. A Pakistani woman and an American woman side by side, me letting my tongue loose. She had ruined some clothes by bleaching them and I was angry. After all, I self-righteously reasoned, if this had happened at a laundry facility in the United States I would voice disapproval over the mistake and demand my money back.

But, I was not in the United States.

Looking back on the event, I cringe in embarrassment. I don’t even remember what the clothes looked like – but I will never forget the sadness and resignation on Rehmet’s face. She looked as though she had been kissed by a Judas, betrayed by one she thought she knew.

I began to apologize. My speech, so articulate while angry, suddenly lost any semblance of cohesion. I was fumbling over my words, over my grammar, most of all over my ugly heart.

She looked at me with tired, brown eyes, her gaze steady and unyielding. Then without pause, she shrugged and said, “It doesn’t matter. This is my fate.”

I went cold. I would rather have heard anything but this. I would rather she yelled, screamed, got sarcastic, quit the job… anything would have been better.

I, the person who talked long and wrote hard about wanting to empower people, had taken advantage of what I knew to be a cultural value – a servant is subservient to the employer. In a culture where she was a minority as a woman and as a Christian she would never have other opportunities, this was her fate. Even if she wanted to walk out on the job, she couldn’t have. Rehmet did not have choices and I had used that against her. I had taken advantage of education, relative wealth, and influence in my ridiculous reaction to a simple mistake.

And I had done this, subconsciously knowing that it would pack a mighty punch. That is what made it so painfully wrong. My white-skinned entitlement and privilege made me cringe. Who was I? Why had I reacted this way

It was important to confess – to Rehmet, but also to God. For I had acted in a way that hurt another, had wounded knowing she had no recourse.

Rehmet and I were able to repair the relationship, largely because of her generosity of spirit and sheer joy in life. In her bucket of life experience, this was small change and she would not remain low for long. But the story has stayed with me, for it reminds me of how important it is to have cultural humility.

For cultural humility demands a process of self-evaluation and critique; a constant check of attempting to understand the view of another before we react and recognizing our own tendency toward cultural superiority. Cultural humility gives up a role as expert, instead seeing ourselves as students of our host culture.

It’s a hard subject that demands honesty but what do you do when you have caused offense? When you have wounded in a place where you are a guest? When you have exhibited cultural superiority instead of cultural humility?

Note: This article was first published in A Life Overseas

A Life Overseas – Offending and Mending

Published on April 16, 2015 by Marilyn1 Comment

Readers, would you join me today at A Life Overseas? I’ve retooled an old piece!

view-of-the-city-700x469

Of all the difficult things we do in cross-cultural moves, finding places to live is near the top. We want to create space and place – we want to create home. And often our expectations are a planet away from our reality.

At one point while living in Cairo, we were hunting for a flat (apartment) on the island of Zamalek. After a day of searching in the heat and walking endlessly down dusty streets and alley ways, we were tired and had seen some of the ugliest apartments imaginable.

My husband and I were getting increasingly frustrated, feeling the cross-cultural disconnect of trying to communicate what we were looking for in a flat to what we were being shown. Precisely at this point we walked up 8 flights of stairs and, on a scale of ugly to uglier to ugliest we were shown the ugliest flat we had seen. Ever. Anywhere. When the man showing us this particular flat asked us if we liked it, my husband looked at him and said clearly “No. This flat is the ugliest flat we have ever seen.” With a toilet seat cover made of a deck of cards, a kitchen that resembled a tiny sauna, and mirrors all over the gaudy red bedroom, it was hideous.

In that moment, by the look on the man’s face, we realized he had insulted the landlord, mistaking him for the bowab, a man who guards the front door and asks for baksheesh (a tip) once a month. “You don’t like my flat?” He said in a loud and puzzled voice. We had the grace to pause and look at each other, suddenly realizing that we had committed a no-no in apartment hunting in Cairo – insulting the landlord. But we were tired and defeated, so my husband said emphatically “No – we don’t like your flat. At all. We would never live here. It’s ugly,” and off we went. Once back on the street we took one look at each other, and in the exhaustion of the day, burst into laughter. It was completely inappropriate given we had just insulted our host, but we couldn’t stop. The incident was only one of many times when we realized we had a lot to learn about living cross-culturally.

Read the rest here at A Life Overseas!

‘Flush-Free Niacin’ for Cultural Blunders

Published on January 25, 2013 by Marilyn5 Comments

I flushed and laughed nervously with Robynn through this post – It’s perfect for those who have experienced the slow flush that goes from head to toe when we realize we’ve made a cultural blunder.

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Lowell takes Niacin to manage his triglycerides. (although we recently heard a report on NPR that disavowed the effects of this overused medication)…still he takes Niacin. On the bottle it reads, “Niacin Flush free. Inositol hexanicotinate. 500 mg. Dietary supplement.” It’s the ‘flush free’ that intrigues me. I’ve often thought that I’d like to take something like that to help me not flush or blush when I’m faced with cultural blunders. Even now 5 ½ years into this culture I still make mistakes.

I still feel that interior flush creeping out onto my face.

A year ago I had such a moment (I find myself blushing at the memory). We had some friends who were back from Indonesia. Their first three years in Indonesia had not gone as they had expected. There were so many disappointments. The culture shock they experienced was deep and poignant. Leaving the stillness of the Kansas Kanza prairie for the chaos and crowds of the urban tropics must have been intense. Micah and Sara invited us to come have tea. Perhaps we could help them debrief and process some of the shock of it all, some of the trauma.

As we were leaving our house I had this horrible panic set in. We had nothing to bring with us. I should have baked something. I should have picked up some flowers or some sweets. In a moment of desperation I suggested we could stop at a small grocery store around the corner from our house. They had fresh stoneground bread on Tuesdays. We could pick up some bread. You can never go wrong with bread. Although we were running late we still swung by the grocer. Lowell ran in and purchased a lovely loaf of fresh bread, jumped back in the car and we were on our way.

After some quiet in the car as we settled into our drive across town and out into the country where Micah and Sara were staying, Lowell asked a question, “Why did you feel the need to bring something?”

Even as he said it I knew immediately I was confused. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had had a cultural-out-of-country experience. I was perplexed and I was embarrassed. I began to blush and flush. I flustered and blustered. “One of the countries we’ve lived in you’re supposed to bring something sweet the first time you visit.”

Lowell looked at me tenderly, he shook his head, “I don’t think that’s here.” I was mortified. “But you can never go wrong with bread” he said gently.

We arrived at our young friend’s house with our loaf of culturally awkward bread.

And the awkward bread dominoes all started to fall. Micah saw the bread and immediately wondered if we thought they had invited us for a meal and we were to bring the bread.

“Did? You? Eat?” he stammered nervously, his eyes looking around the kitchen to see what they could possibly rustle up. The wheels in Sara’s head also began to whirl. You could see it on her face. She even crossed over to the fridge and opened the door, hoping I’m sure, for some inspiration.

Lowell, seeing Micah’s fear and Sara’s anxiety, immediately jumped in to reassure them, “Oh no, we just brought you some bread for you to enjoy later.”

I wish there was a Niacin-type medicine I could take for these type of blunders, a medicine that would erase the awkward blush on my face, the uncertainty in my heart. It would need to be time-released. Something I could take in the morning but it would last all day.

I never know when I’m going to trip myself up. I’m always taken off guard when the cultures I’ve experienced tangle up inside!

But until such a miracle drug is created for the culturally confused, I guess, you can never go wrong with bread!

What about you? Where have your cultural blunders made you wish for a flush-free drug?

So.Many.Stories – At the Principal’s Office

Published on May 11, 2012May 11, 2012 by Marilyn8 Comments

Today I am delighted to have Dorit Sasson takes us into a story of cross-cultural conflict and confrontation. I met Dorit through the So.Many.Stories project and you will see her bio at the end of the post.

The bare white principal’s office is now a place of confrontation. The fact that I am a newly arrived English elementary teacher at a development town in Israel hasn’t sensitized loud-mouthed teacher to collaborate with me. When I finally told Tziona, our mentor, the real deal of our collaboration, I knew that I would have to work even harder to make my silent “teacher” voice heard. The voice I perhaps didn’t know existed.

The aggressive principal speaks. (I can still hear Lina’s voice) “Yael,” Lina says. “Dorit’s a new teacher. If you’re both teaching the same classes, I don’t understand why you are both working separately. So, ma koreh, what’s going on?” Lina asks. I have to wonder what looks tighter: Lina’s intent expression or her bun.

Yael, the other teacher who prefers to teach English “her way,” doesn’t say anything. Tziona sustains our eye contact long enough just to reassure what she has said to me before, Yehiyeh besder, “it will be okay.” But we both know it will be a long way. She leans forward, crosses her legs a bit and says, “We need to find a way to work things out together. You both can’t continue working in isolation. It makes no sense.”

Yael looks at me. I nod.

Okay, it’s time to make my silence heard.

There’s more that Lina and loud-mouthed teacher need to know. Much more.

For example, what about the time when I introduced myself to her classes and all I got was a Mona-Lisa smile …from one student?

Or when I tried to “socialize” with loud-mouthed teacher and all I heard was the noise of crunching carrots.

There is no cultural-linguistic shield to protect me now. (it’s a confrontation – how do you rely on your Israeli smarts)

I try to discern the “loud-mouthed” teacher’s eyes from her thick rimmed glasses but the light refracts what appears to be a stare. I know she’s thinking “go home you American. I take no prisoners. I’m better than you and you’re not going to change the way I work.”

Since the beginning of school, I’ve honored the Israeli teaching motto of “don’t smile before Chanukah,” and so perhaps I’ve received Lina’s goodwill. But now I have to find the right Hebrew voice. To articulate Hebrew assertively. To undo my silence. But between Lina’s tight-fisted bun and zippered mouth and Tziona’s fidgety look, I’m hoping I won’t need to talk.

Loud mouth teacher is the first to speak. She’s of course the one with “kfiyoot” – the seniority. She moves her hands in and out as if to open an oven. “Tziona,” she says raising her voice. “It’s close to impossible. We teach at different hours in different places.”

Loud-mouthed teacher now points to me. “She teaches small groups. I teach the large classes.”

“Yael, you don’t have to work together on everything. There’s no point if you have the same book and grades and you’re both working in isolation.” Tziona says. Lina nods affirmatively.

Loud-mouthed teacher looks at me. The words don’t come.

“How about if Dorit pulled out some of the lower-performing students from your group and worked with them?” Tziona suggests.

“Ze lo ya’avod, it won’t work,” loud-mouthed teacher says.

“Why?”

“Because …they are at different levels.”

What does that have to do with anything?

I say something that I hope will turn the discourse around. Even though I am still figuring out which word to say, I speak anyhow.
“I think the students I teach are at a lower performing level. They cause problems.” I am both nervous and relieved that I’ve got now everyone’s attention.

“Exactly. That’s why I don’t think it’s good to take my students out.” Loud mouthed teacher says. Her words rise like huge hot air balloons in this small office.

“Aval achav hadivarim nirgeo, but now I feel things have settled down.” I say in a calm Hebrew voice.

“Ze lo yishaney kloom, it still won’t make a difference,” loud-mouthed teacher says. “It’s too difficult of a situation.” She still won’t look at me so I look to Tziona for support.

“And if Dorit takes the hours she has with the non-readers and works individually with one or two students?” Tziona suggests.

“Still won’t work.”

“”Yael, you’ve got to be flexible here.” Tziona now speaks more emphatically. “This is a very difficult situation.”

“Yael, I don’t understand you. We’re talking about the students here.” The aggressive principal says something I didn’t expect to hear. “Give it a chance.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a try, but I still don’t think it will be successful.” Yael says.

All I hear is the “ani” for “I.”

Tziona looks at me, “How do you feel about that, Dorit?”

“That’s fine. I have worksheets prepared for their level and everything.”

Tziona nods in approval. “That’s a good start.”

“But it’s a difficult group. A harder group.” Yael says.

“Is there anything you want to say Dorit?” Lina asks.

“No.”

We talk it out – in their language.

Not mine.
We don’t really find a solution in their language.
Not mine.

When we leave Lina’s office, I whisper to Tziona, “That wasn’t easy. With Yael, I mean.”

Tziona says, “I know. She’s difficult.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not going to be easy.”

I go home and write about the lesson and the day in my language. This is what I wrote:

“Today, I taught another lesson to fourth graders who are learning another language that just happens to be my mother tongue.
Only I’m not so sure if this cultural classroom is mine or theirs.
I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Dorit Sasson is the author of Giving Voice to the Voiceless and a speaker. She uses the power of story to help others create their life and business in story. Download your free MP3, Story Manifesto: A Guide To Stepping into the Authentic Voice and Vision of Your Story, at www.GivingAVoicetotheVoicelessBook.com. When you do, you’ll receive a complimentary subscription to the “Giving Voice to the Voiceless” ezine, including a transformational tip of the week.

Offending and Mending

Published on March 22, 2012 by Marilyn15 Comments

At one point while living in Cairo we were hunting for a flat on the island of Zamalek. After a day of searching, walking endlessly down dusty streets and alley ways, we were tired and had seen some of the ugliest apartments imaginable.

We had just walked up 8 flights of stairs and, on a scale of ugly to uglier to ugliest – this was the ugliest flat we had seen. My husband and I were getting increasingly more frustrated, feeling the cross-cultural disconnect of trying to communicate what we were looking for in a flat, so when the man showing us this particular flat asked us if we liked it, my husband looked at him and said clearly“No. This flat is the ugliest flat I have ever seen” (With a toilet seat cover made of a deck of cards and a kitchen that resembled a tiny sauna, it was) Quickly we realized he had insulted the landlord, mistaking him for the bowab, a man who guards the front door and asks for baksheesh (a tip) once a month. “You don’t like my flat?” He said in a loud and puzzled voice. We had the grace to pause and look at each other, suddenly realizing that he had committed a no-no in apartment hunting in Cairo – insulting the landlord. But we were tired and defeated, so my husband said emphatically “No – we don’t like your flat. At all.” and off we went. Once back on the street we took one look at each other and burst into laughter. It was completely inappropriate given we had just insulted our host but we couldn’t stop. The incident was only one of many times where we realized we had a lot to learn about living cross-culturally.

The reality of living cross culturally is that there are times when, despite our best intentions, we offend. Sometimes its pure ignorance, other times it’s because we are tired, and still other times we are in a cultural conflict and don’t even care that we are offending. If we have never offended, then I would suggest that we have not crossed over those important relationship boundaries and are spending too much time with those who are exactly like us, rather than boldly engaging those who are different.

These moments can be great for a couple of reasons. One is that we learn from them; they are our most teachable moments in cross-cultural living and communication. The other is that once we heal from the discomfort and sometimes painful residual effects, they are great moments of humor.

In a recent workshop I used the phrase “Offending and Mending”. I made it up on the spot and I like it. It recognizes the reality: We will offend. But the phrase goes further, also recognizing the importance of knowing the culturally appropriate way to mend the offense in order to move forward in relationship.

Mending is often as simple as being willing to admit I am wrong and taking extra care and effort with the relationship in the future. Other times it’s as complicated as paying a visit and sitting in discomfort until the atmosphere thaws and we suddenly feel like all is made right.

I believe cross cultural adjustment is analogous to language learning. There are supposedly two types of language learners; those that immediately begin practicing with the little they know, despite making mistakes, and those that wait until they have the perfect sentence structure and then go and try it out. Supposedly the first group learns far quicker. I would say the same is true in cross-cultural communication. There are those that go out and build relationships without knowing everything, making mistakes and learning in the process; and those that study until they think they have it all correct, determined to make no mistakes. I would argue that there is no way they can get it 100% right all the time and that they lose a lot in relationship building in the process.

What do you think? What are your stories of offending and mending? This is a great topic to learn from each other so please share your stories!