If you work with clients in health or human services, you will at some point work with an interpreter. Have you thought about the awkward position they occupy? Language is only part of the problem. They must be “white” enough to understand and navigate the bureaucratic culture, while being black/brown/yellow/red enough to understand the client’s worldview and concerns and to be able to gain the trust of the communities they serve.
When I worked with refugees, I often served as a “cultural” interpreter, bridging the cultural differences between the parties. Why is that important? Let me give you a few examples.
Teacher: I want to talk to you about your daughter. Everyone likes her, she is very popular.
Me (my thoughts): Not the best way to say that, her parents already fear she is becoming too “American.” They already worry her popularity is ruining her marriage prospects.
Teacher: And she speaks up in class, she always asks questions!
Me: Her parents will think she is disrespectful, talking back to the teacher like that.
Teacher: She tells me that you want her to go to work but she should go to college, she says she wants to become a nurse!
Me: Her parents are thinking, “If she really were an adult, she would realize she has adult responsibilities. We need money right now, to send to family still in the camps and to help other relatives escape. What a selfish child, to only think of herself!”
Teacher: I think that went well!
Me: That went badly, they are probably going to pull her out of school tomorrow.
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Social Worker: Isn’t it strange that she doesn’t know who the father of her child is?
Me (my thoughts): I’ve a strong suspicion that she is not the neighbor’s unmarried cousin, but actually his second wife. Polygamy is not unheard of, but they know it is not allowed here, so this is the story they’ve all been sticking to since the refugee camps.
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Student Intern: Thanks for introducing me to this community leader. What a nice guy!
Me (my thoughts): Don’t let the fact that he’s friendly and working as a dishwasher fool you. He was a Captain in the Army and the ex-military maintained discipline and order in the camps and continue to do so here. Noting happens in this community without his approval.
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I recount these stories because they illustrate the kinds of challenges linguistic and cultural interpreters face every day. How much background information is needed? How much should be revealed? Whose side are you on? If you are interpreting over the phone, you probably don’t know either party. So whatever happens, the transaction ends when the call ends. But if you live in one community and work in another, your reputation and credibility with both parties is always on the line.
Suppose you meet someone at a party, and after a few drinks, they reveal a secret. Next week, you are asked to interpret at a hearing where they say something very different. In a small, tight community, this kind of conflict happens more often than you might think. What are you obligated to do? Native Americans refer to this as “having your feet in two canoes.”
For my part, I’m not sure I ever remember a time that I didn’t have “my feet in two canoes.” My father worked for the U.S. Navy, and we were often stationed in Japan. Being entirely of Japanese ancestry, all the Americans looked at me and assumed I was Japanese. All the Japanese looked at my posture, eye contact, and mannerisms and knew without my saying a word that I was an American. Back in the U.S., there were far fewer Japanese to point out my “Americaness.” There were however, plenty of Americans to assume I was Japanese.
Of course in the case of my working with refugees, the Asian communities I worked with were not my own. However, the Cambodian caseworker I supervised lived in the same apartment complex as several other Cambodian refugee families. His wife socialized with his client’s wives. His kids played with their kids. Because of that, I made a decision that any adverse findings or any actions that might negatively affect a client’s welfare status came from me, with him merely interpreting what I said. After all, they didn’t know where I lived, and couldn’t take it out on my family. I felt it was far more useful to our agency that they trust him, rather than wonder whose side he was on. I wonder what stories he might tell me now about my misconceptions?
Finally, the issue of Identity politics plays out differently in each community. Some cultures feel very threatened by and deeply resent bicultural people. There are disparaging terms for those who are “one color on the outside, but “white” on the inside.” For some, being called an “Oreo” or an “Apple” because you work for the dominant culture can be very insulting and hurtful. In my own experience, being referred to as a “Banana” was merely pathetic. I was being called a nerd by a group already known for nerds. “He can’t talk Japanese, or even walk Japanese. What a Banana!” However for others, it is no laughing matter.
I think of the interpreters that work for us in Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as the ones who work for us here in America. They perform an invaluable function, enabling communication between groups. Being an “Oreo”, “Apple”, “Coconut” or “Banana” can make you the ideal cross-cultural facilitator. But it doesn’t get you a lot of respect.
Note: I helped resettle Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian and Hmong refugees back in the 1980’s. The initial acculturation matters I dealt with decades ago are not necessarily the challenges they face today. For that reason, I deliberately left out ethnic identifiers in the stories to prevent people from thinking, “Oh, so that must be what Vietnamese-Americans are worried about now” and to focus more on the generic problem of how far off the mark so many of our cultural assumptions can be. Personally, I found refugees to be among the most resilient people I have met. Who else could experience so much trauma and still push forward? If you found this blog interesting, links to the first two parts of this blog are shown below:
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