The market for teaching English as a second/foreign language is well-established today. English is an international language. It’s the “official” language of world’s most powerful country which has massive influence on mainstream media and culture, and in every corner of our world that influence is relatively evident. Much of what flows incessantly into our screens on-line is written in English. English is a requirement for the most prestigious universities in the world. It’s the common language of traveling and tourism. Innumerable scholarly works in myriad fields are written in English. It’s the language of Shakespeare, a university in and of himself as Edward Said once said.
I moved to the U.S in 2004 with limited English. I had been studying English on and off since 12. It wasn’t until I turned 16 when I became really determined to learn English, precisely when my family was summoned by the American embassy in Ankara, Turkey, a year after which we immigrated to San Diego. Even then, my motivation to study English had more to do with Ali Agah, my teacher, than moving to the U.S. Upon settling in America, I had to re-think my academic plans. I loved literature. Having grown up in Shiraz, one couldn’t resist falling in love with poetry. Lyricism was embedded in the city’s landscape: its purple mountains, roses, narrow water canals running through its gardens, its tall and slender variety of cypress, its lackadaisical atmosphere, its heavenly Mays have all nurtured many poets over the years. Poetry has been and continues to be the most common medium of expression of all Iranian tribes, Kurds, Turkmen, Afghans, Tajiks, Persians, Bakhtiaris, etc. I was no exception either.
Literature required a high level of language proficiency. I studied hard. I devoted my life to the learning of English. I read everything. I read bias-less-ly, from the Classics to the Romantics, from medieval works to Post-Modern works. I wrote day and night. Literature was not a major for me, a college degree with a fixed economic value. It’s my vision, how I interpret the world as a text, how I make love, how I say hello, how I express anger. It’s how I see a “tree,” how I shop at the market, how I pass by a stranger. It’s my day and its daily-ness. In 2009, I finished my elementary studies in literature. I decided to settle down for two years, read a few books, translate a few poems, and gain experience as a teacher. In May 2010, I obtained my TESOL degree (Teacher of English to Speakers of Other Languages). I began searching for jobs soon after. And it was then that I encountered the following criteria in many job postings: Native-Speakers Only!
That was not a requirement I could meet. It was neither a degree that I could obtain, nor an experience that I could gain. It was what it was: English is not my mother tongue. And it will never be. It was then that I was introduced to the concept of “native-ness,” and its entitlements pertaining to native speakers. I did secure a position as an English teacher, but the debate continues on my mind. On paper, my application is dismissed by many hiring directors because I am not a native-speaker. But we all know that the intent of such requirements overlook one’s capability to speak English, one’s familiarity with its nuances, one’s level of articulation and fluency, one’s ability to explain and elucidate its grammar. One can be a native speaker and be able to perform none of the above. The concept of “native-ness,” in my eyes, is intertwined with the concept of “authenticity” and its market value. Who’s the “authentic”—read more marketable—face of English? Who has the most “proper” and “authentic” accent? My roommate Rafael, who’s from New York, but is of Dominican and Puerto Rican descent? Or Claudia, my Canadian colleague who’s of Moroccan descent? Or is it my friend Carolyn, a British citizen born in Northern Ireland? I believe the more appropriate question ought to be: Should English have a “native” face? In an age where cultures engage in an artistic, literary, etc dialogue by the virtue of a “click,” some speak of “authenticity” as if they can reach for it in their pockets. An ethnically or geographically monopolized concept of authenticity is a museum object, the remnant of an archaic culture. It has no place in the contemporary culture. A teacher should NEVER be hired or judged based on his/her passport.
Good or bad, often “native-speakers” of Arabic, Persian, Urdu, Hindi, Turkish and Pashto have been burdened with the task of teaching their mother tongue due to the lack of wo/men-power. The presence of a sharp, critical perspective in the teaching of less commonly taught languages compared to Spanish, French, German and English can perhaps be pardoned. But English has inherited many lovers whose roots have been nurtured in foreign soils, whose many accents only enrich its syllables, whose diverse perspectives open more avenues to the understanding of its arts & literature. English has no excuses not to equally embrace all its children. I had been long debating whether or not I should tell my advanced students about my birthplace. Where I grew up is a big part of me, relevant to my classroom. I found that the burden of holding this piece of information from them only grew heavier as we got to know one another. I had my reservations and fears. But it no longer mattered for I, too, am a face of the English language. So last Friday I joyously pointed to the city of roses and poets on the world map: That is where I was born. It is who I am.
“Human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil. My children have had other birthplaces, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth,” Nathaniel Hawthorn, The Scarlet Letter.
Aria
Los Reyes
