At the end of
my studies at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver , I left Canada for what I thought was a one-year work
stint in Japan . That was about thirty-five years ago.
As mentioned in blog entry 11,
in
1978 I passed a job
interview with Mitsui Engineering and Shipbuilding (MES) by stuffing my face with sushi in Los Angeles and soon found
myself in Tamano, a small
company town on Japan ’s Inland Sea . Being the only foreigner on staff at the
shipyard, I was forever being asked to
help with a range of tasks most of which I was not really qualified for, such
as proofreading (think rewriting) technical specifications and reports.
I still
remember my first MES report, a
mish-mash of engineering jargon about rust and pitting on a gear tooth face. The initial page took me six
hours to rewrite – and there were twenty-one pages to go!
But I eventually became comfortable with the
idiosyncrasies of English written
by Japanese and the pages of technical
mumbo jumbo gradually became decipherable.
As for the town
of Tamano , it was small and even with my horrible
sense of direction I could soon
find my way around. The simplest of daily activities often proved an exotic learning experience and I felt constantly stimulated.
At work, I developed a
routine of consultations with engineers about their documents sandwiched
between my classes and put in
long days doing what I hoped was a good job. I made every effort to be
a model MES employee.
At weekends, I dove into company life spending time with
colleagues and students going on picnics in the surrounding hills, visiting hot springs , or picking mandarin oranges on nearby islands. Although big cities like Tokyo or Osaka had their attractions, to my way of
thinking I had made the right choice by heading off the beaten track to
experience the “real” Japan in Tamano. I was very pleased with my
new life.
Then one
horrible day in my second
month harsh reality reared its ugly head. I was sitting at my desk in the Personnel Section surrounded by
about fifty other co-workers. We had just finished lunch and, as I was slipping
my chopsticks back into their storage case, the doors burst open and a very angry foreigner
glared around the room then
headed straight for me. He slammed his fist on my desk and, in a thick British accent shouted, “What the hell
are you teaching these people!?” I was mortified.
It seems the man represented an insurance firm and had just spent several hours with one of the engineers
from my classes negotiating a contract to be
used for a ship built in the Tamano yards. My student had nodded his agreement
to each of the terms suggested by the British agent who then entered “final” versions on his electric typewriter (desktop
computers didn’t exist yet). After several hours of proceeding in this manner,
the agent thought that he had completed the contract and submitted it to my
student’s section chief – who hit the roof and refused to sign the document!
It seems that
my student had agreed to each contract term while not understanding what the British agent was saying. He had nodded, desperately hoping to grasp the essence of what was being talked about
later in the discussion. He hadn’t and the end result was a
contract that Mitsui considered unacceptable. My student was trapped between an irate insurance agent and a furious boss, and I was suffering the collateral damage at my desk. How had things gone so horribly wrong?
To be honest, I
myself was having trouble with the British agent’s northern accent. There was no
way that my student could have understood this man’s speech without clarifying
and yet my student had taken no
action. He had the level of language necessary to ask for repetitions or
definitions but was paralyzed to do so.
As the agent ranted at my desk, I had an epiphany. What my students needed as much as language was
behavioral training. With a clear model based on efficient behavior they might
develop the confidence to tackle their communication problems head on rather
than bluffing, pretending to understand when they didn’t. In Canada , I had some vague ideas about what my students
needed to do in order to understand and be understood, but now I had a specific communication breakdown to
analyze. In doing so, I came up with a concrete behavioral model with stages and language, which I called “Control”.
The “Control” model is made up of the following three stages:
First, learners must
recognize when they do not understand and STOP the other speaker. All they need to do is ask “Excuse me?” or “Pardon?”
in a polite, firm manner. But this may be easier said than done. Interrupting may
feel rude; however, bluffing when you do not understand can be much more offensive as my MES student discovered.
Second, learners need to identify why they do not UNDERSTAND and take remedial action.
For example, if the other person is talking too fast, “More slowly, please.” should address
the problem. Maybe there is
one word that doesn’t make sense. Fortunately for English learners, key words are usually stressed and asking “What
does that mean?” will elicit
an explanation, as well as provide a sense of the learners’ comprehension level for the other person. As for challenging accents like that of
the insurance agent, learners can ask “How do you spell that?” Words might be
recognized if they are written down, particularly technical terms. My MES students knew the jargon for their field; they just hadn’t heard these words pronounced by someone from Manchester or Mobile .
Finally, when they think they
grasp the meaning, learners should
confirm their understanding, or CHECK, by asking “You mean...?” or “Are you saying...?”
followed by a definition in their
own words – or gestures if
language is limited.
Over time I became convinced that the “Control” model was what my MES students
truly needed to survive in the workplace. The only problem was that no
textbooks I knew of emphasized this so I had to develop my own activities
and materials to teach the “Control” model. Several years later I conducted research with Japanese students at Essex University in the UK to determine
whether such behavioral training influenced their ability to communicate. I will describe this research in my
next blog posting. Suffice to say my studies showed that you could change behavior and help
learners communicate more effectively.
I have also taken “Control”
online and built components
of the model into my language learning website, www.sulantra.com. I know from personal
experience that this training model works. Whenever I begin to study a new
language, from the outset I learn the key language necessary for “Control”.
Even at a basic level, I can maneuver in a conversation.
I have had
students who read dictionaries and memorize grammar tables in their free time. But if they cannot comfortably apply this language in the real world,
if they allow themselves to be intimidated by the target language when they try to communicate, where is the
value? My MES student was humiliated in
the workplace by his lack of confidence and inability to clarify. Training with
the “Control” model helps protect learners from being “bludgeoned” verbally as
they strive to use a new language.
Power to the learner!
No comments:
Post a Comment