3 November 2000 (5 Kheshvan 5761)
Although I strongly believe that every linguist who majors in a modern language should have native-like proficiency in it, I am often bothered by the wide-spread confusion among the general public between practical knowledge of a language or languages and linguistics. Although practical knowledge of a language or languages being studied is a prerequisite, linguistics is concerned first and foremost with the study of the structure and the social and psychological mechanism of language in general or specific languages.
As a linguist engaged mainly in modern Hebrew I am asked from time to time to interpret, and less often to translate, between Hebrew and Japanese as there are few people who can do that in Kansai area encompassing Kobe, Osaka and Kyoto. Since I was a child, I have been interested in languages, and there was even a time when I dreamed of becoming an interpreter as I did not know then that there is such a thing as linguistics. But as I accumulate experiences in interpretation and translation, I have come to feel that they are the last things I want to do even though they involve languages. All the beautiful words echoed by professional interpreters and translators, sometimes apologetically, in praise of their occupations do not convince me at all. With due respect to them, I have to say that interpretation (and to a lesser extent, translation) is simply too stressful and humiliating to endure. Every time my economic situation compels me to accept a request to interpret, I wish after the job that this would be the last time to work as an interpreter.
First of all, the job of interpretation is too stressful both physically and mentally, and both types of stress reinforce each other intensifying the overall amount of stress even further. To be an interpreter means to be a human machine that transforms someone else's spoken words in a way intelligible to his or her listeners not sharing the same language with him or her or not competent enough in it. So the job may be essentially an intellectual activity, but not at the same creative level as that of original speakers. It is true that I may create new forms, but I am not creating new contents. Nevertheless it requires me enough concentration as to be forced to sacrifice all my physical and mental needs including such basic ones as eating and drinking.
Secondly, it is too humiliating to work as an interpreter. The more interesting the topic for interpretation is, the more frustrated I feel deprived of the chance to express my own opinions and emotions. The more demanding the task is, the more keenly I am forced to feel that what I am required to be is a human machine devoid of opinions and emotions. And the higher the so-called social status of people I interpret for is, the more arrogance and disrespect they show to me both verbally and nonverbally, treating me as a replaceable human machine. The worst type of people in this respect are diplomats. They treat others who are not diplomats themselves or have no political or economic power with total arrogance and disrespect, but on the other hand they boldly lick the ass of those from whom they think they can benefit in advancing their own career as diplomats.
The humiliation and the physical and mental stress I absorb during interpretation do not disappear with the end of the job, but their effect remains just as it takes time for the effect of a nuclear bomb to disappear completely. It generally takes me twice as much time for the rehabilitation of my body and soul as the amount of time spent for interpretation. All in all, I feel that to take upon myself the job of interpretation is one of the most efficient ways to shorten my life.
10 November 2000 (12 Kheshvan 5761)
This week I received yet another negative answer to the application I had submitted for a certain position at a certain university in Kansai area. Although I did not have an exaggerated expectation, I admit that I was rather disappointed simply because I have to worry again about my income in the next academic year. This is the fifth failure in my pursuit for a permanent position at some university or research institute in Japan after coming back from Israel seven years ago. Although I generally do not compare myself with others and try to compete only with myself, it is depressing to find myself still with no permanent position and constant worries about daily bread at the age of 37, while almost all of my ex-colleagues, including much younger ones, with whom I studied general linguistics in Japan before pursuing my doctoral studies in Hebrew linguistics in Israel already have tenure.
One of my biggest problems in Japan in this respect is that there is no department of Hebrew or any other field of Jewish studies in any university here, whether national or private. Therefore I am always forced to compete with other applicants in neighboring fields, such as general linguistics, which are not exactly my major, and even in these fields the number of positions is quite limited. Naturally, this leads me to the question how those who major in more minor languages than I have found positions.
One possible answer to this may lie in the fact that I always apply with no powerful insider connections, in addition to my possible lack of qualification as a researcher. Not only the rumors I have heard from others but also my own previous failures have taught me that the selection process is not always done purely on academic ground. For example, the last time I applied for some position, one of the requirements was to have a PhD degree, but the person who was selected turned out to have no PhD.
After returning to Japan after five years of stay in Israel, I have a very fundamental problem in communicating with people in Japan, even including university professors. As my linguistic behavior is based on the principle that what you do not say is what you do not think, it really drives me crazy that most of them do not clearly express verbally what they really mean, especially face to face. Those who practice this way of communication may find it "sophisticated", but I consider it unhealthy and hypocritical, so I have simply stopped racking my brains to guess what they really mean beyond what is expressed in words. This is what makes me pass often as one of them in Israel and makes me rather unpopular and sometimes even disgusting for certain people in Japan. However great they may be as researchers, I simply cannot respect or feel close to university professors of this sort, who seem to constitute the majority in Japan, as human beings, in order to ask them to be my guardians in finding a permanent position somewhere.
I have thought many times of moving to Israel for good as I manage there both linguistically and socioculturally much better than in Japan, but at the same time I am aware of my grave limitations as a non-native speaker of Hebrew who has to compete with talented native speakers in order to find a position in my major in Israel. Although I was offered a position to teach Japanese at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, I was and am not ready to make the compromise of making the teaching of Japanese my profession. I do not know how long my patience will last with no permanent position, but I really hope that sometime in the near future the day will come when I will be able to make my humble contribution through the teaching and research of Hebrew as there are few people who major in it here. Japan has much to learn from the culture which has nurtured Hebrew.
17 November 2000 (19 Kheshvan 5761)
As a person who is strongly influenced by East European Jewish humor, which I think is surpassed by none in its intellectual sophistication and cynicism, I cannot help peppering my speech with cynical humor. Therefore, I find it rather difficult to communicate with people, whether students or colleagues, who do not have enough sense of humor. One of the greatest intellectual pleasures of shmoozing with someone is to receive an immediate response from him or her to any verbal manifestation of my cynical humor, often with better cynical humor, and this is something I cannot expect even from the best books. A close Jewish friend of mine, who himself is a living example of East European Jewish sense of humor, seems to be right when he pointed out to me recently that I cannot make any non-cynical statement.
Of all the expressions of emotions, laughter seems to be the most typical of human beings as I have never seen or heard of a cat, a dog or even a monkey that laughs cynically, and humor, which induces laughter, is equally typical of human beings. It is not simply a jest by a prankster but a highly intellectual activity, especially when it manifests itself verbally. Humor is intellectually sophisticated when it smashes the stereotypes and prejudices, and presents a totally unexpected viewpoint. Therefore, sophisticated sense of humor requires keeping your brain flexible all the time and trying to look at everything that seems self-evident from as many angles as possible. Probably it is no coincidence that many of the greatest scholars I had the privilege to know personally in Jerusalem had very sophisticated sense of humor. My ex-supervisor, the late Prof. Shelomo Morag of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem is a good example; I am just sorry that I cannot experience his humor any more.
Is humor universal? I think that as laugher is universally human, so is humor, at least at a fundamental level. What makes it look non-universal must be the result of the influences which specific cultures exert upon it differently. As I said above, humor requires nonconventional ways of thinking. It is also well-known that it has the function of "sterilizing" the poison contained in words. Due to these two characters of humor, the culture of critical skepticism and linguistic confrontation is a prerequisite for humor to develop in a given society. In order to avoid misunderstanding, I would like to make it clear that I am not claiming that the presence of sense of humor is superior to the lack of sense of humor or vice versa but that it is rather a matter of personal taste. But according to my personal experiences, once you have got used to speech peppered with tasty humor, it is extremely difficult to do without it just as someone who has accustomed him or herself to the use of select spices cannot manage without them.
This is exactly what makes my linguistic life in Japan rather boring, where the culture of critical skepticism and linguistic confrontation, hence sense of humor as well, remains rather underdeveloped in general. Humor concerns not only the mentality of people but also the pragmatics of their language though the two are closely related to each other. Certain utterances can be correct grammatically but not necessarily so pragmatically. There seems to be a scale of linguistic "friendliness" to humor with, for example, Japanese at the bottom and Hebrew at the top. Cynical utterances, which characterize my speech, simply do not sound natural in Japanese pragmatically even though they are correct grammatically, while in Hebrew I receive immediate verbal responses. This may also explain why I feel like a fish in the water in Hebrew.
24 November 2000 (26 Kheshvan 5761)
The late Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, my favorite singer-cum-rabbi, said in one of his concerts that the (religious) Jews drink to remember, while other nations drink to forget. How true this is of so many people in Japan! Of course, quite a few people drink here to forget their problems and worries as in every other country. But if my observation is correct, more people in Japan seem to drink to forget the linguistic and social barriers that hamper free communication. If the whole culture is constructed in such a way that you have to drink to communicate freely with your colleagues, bosses or teachers, I must say that it is very unhealthy and immature. I have noticed that there are even those who feel offended to see someone who does not drink in their company simply because they see it as a sign of his or her refusal to communicate with them.
What kind of linguistic and social barriers are they to hamper free communication? Japanese, at least as spoken in the urban areas, is a highly context-dependent language. There are no forms which are truly neutral socially. Depending on your conversation partner and the social context in which you are, you have to change not only the vocabulary but also the grammatical forms of your language. In other words, you cannot open your mouth to a total stranger without knowing his or her social status relative to yours. Although I admit that there are those who consider it sophisticated, how undemocratic such a language is! It seems to have spread from the cultural centers of Japan to the peripherals like every other linguistic innovation. Therefore, very remote places such as the area where I was born and raised in the north of Japan have not been contaminated with this innovation and left more or less intact though the development of nationwide mass media and educational system has been exerting a strong influence upon the language use of those who inhabit these places.
Generally speaking, people in Japan try to avoid any linguistic confrontation because it is often considered offensive to criticize someone openly, even in a constructive manner, hence they know that many of them have not developed enough immunity to criticism as is expected from every intellectually mature adult. As a result, they avoid any stimulating issue which may arouse differences of opinions and arguments. It is even considered selfish to express one's own opinions clearly. People are busy trying to say what can sound pleasing to the ears of others and not what they really mean. It may be no wonder that the weather is one of the most favorite topics in Japan, as no one can argue about it unless you are a meteorologist.
These customs must have started initially to facilitate communication, and not to hamper it. But in a society where the preservation of the status quo is the ultimate value, it is difficult to change the fossilized customs even when they stop serving the people and they are forced to follow them, feeling unconsciously that they are too rigid. But no normal human being, unless he or she has become a human robot, seems to be unable to live in such tension all the time, deceiving him or herself with hypocritical words. And the solution they have found to behave as if these barriers did not exist is to drink. Strangely enough, once you get drunk (or pretend to be drunk), you are permitted to do or say whatever you like, of course as long as you do not hurt someone physically. Although I understand that this is a natural defense mechanism for many people to set themselves free from the barriers, I wish that they would not need to have recourse to drinking solely for the purpose of communicating freely with others.