In the beginning, it was the Word

giuliakollmann

by giuliakollmann

Story

Civilization depends on words. Our uniquely human experience rests on our ability to express ourselves and to understand what is conveyed to us. The lack of mastery of language is almost a way to kill the self, depriving it of its subtlety.

Upon arriving in Germany, I was fluent in four other languages and sure I would master German quickly. Here is an experience that undermines the most well-fed ego: being a proud, polyglot immigrant in a country with a language one ends up finding difficult to learn.

I became an emotional slave to my German proficiency. How well or poorly I speak each day largely determines my mood. Working in an international company years later, I feel guilt every time I choose to speak English. To decide on a language is a choice between clarity and strength or investing in a validation that may never come.

Strength and power are strongly tied to the perception of one as either a native-speaking German or an expat who doesn’t care. Foreigners, especially non-Europeans, are almost always assumed to be unskilled workers, but rarely if they ignore the language: it is frequent that those who directly speak English are seen as the ones with nice international jobs.

“Do you work in gastronomy or retail?” I was once asked by an acquaintance, no additional option given. “I am a management consultant” was not the response expected from a Brazilian immigrant, or maybe the idea of one having deep expertise beyond a flawed German was too far-fetched. The scene has repeated itself several times, whether at my gyneachologist’s practice or the local finance office.

A friend came from Iran as a teenage refugee thirty years ago. The initial panic of going through the hormonal fluctuations of age in a new country and language slowly gave way to the pride of mastery at a native level. As a young adult, he went to college in a crazy Berlin a few years before reunification. His English has a German cadence. Still, to this very day, his surname trumps his clear Rhine-Westphalia accent and prompts the question: “do you prefer English?”

I thus stopped assuming that people with “international” names would prefer English, starting conversations in German. Some colleagues felt validated by the initiative. In most cases, however, they asked me to switch to English. Closer peers who still don’t master the language told me they feel pressured when addressed in German, as if it were a reminder that they had failed to integrate.

The German language angst permeates the experience of being the other in Germany. It creeps up in anticipation of a medical emergency. It’s part of the endless self-affirmation of those who have no other homeland, but have their belonging denied by the microaggressions of those who assume them to be foreigners. It joins the tortuous path to learning, through awkward silences in response to the famous Berliner rudeness. And not only for immigrants but also for those who are perceived as such, it is an ever-elusive promise of integration.

© giuliakollmann 2023-01-19

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