I dropped a juice glass in my kitchen one morning. This was sad for me on a couple of levels.
1. The Paris Musées glasses aren’t sold at World Market anymore. I treated myself to a set after my mother died. The heavy glass goblets are molded with the Napoleonic bee, which also happens to be my name (“Deborah” means “little bee” in Hebrew, I’ve been told).
2. I was in my nightgown, and in bare feet, while drinking my orange juice.
After cleaning up, I realized I had embedded a tiny lump of glass in a toe. Even a Yoga Master could not bend enough to reach it.
3. The bill came from my local podiatrist. $500. She had to take a scalpel to my toe, but I didn’t require any numbing drugs. I have a high pain threshold. I did need a bandage for the bleeding, and her office insisted on a follow-up visit to check for infection. This second visit was also billed to me.
I probably could have gone to an emergency room, but I think my bill would have been much higher. In any case, I required some professional help.
Flash forward to a client inquiry about a week ago.
I was asked to provide a quotation for an English translation of a prospectus. A French company seeking American investors needed their executive summary translated into English.
Because it was a high volume assignment (it would take approximately ten working days)… because it was a direct client (not through an agency, which would pay me one-third or optimistically one-half of what they bill…), because this contact was found through my modest networking efforts (I am not a natural born saleswoman…), I quoted a reasonable rate. One that would split the difference between what an agency would pay and what an agency would charge.
The response from this potential client astonished me.
“Could you throw in translation of my PowerPoint presentation for that price?”
Should I have asked my podiatrist to “throw in” the follow-up visit?
What my podiatrist billed for thirty minutes of her time might take me as much as two full working days to earn on this particular translation assignment. The doctor will be paid in part by my insurance. On the other hand, I have no guarantee that this new client would pay me for my efforts.
He is seeking an English translation so that he can reach potential American investors. I do not choose to be his first.
I don’t pretend to practice at the same level as a physician, nor do I think I should earn a doctor’s wages. Nevertheless, a translator’s knowledge of language is a life-long learning endeavor, particularly given the technical complexity of certain assignments. Translators don’t get the respect they deserve.
There are technical and commercial writers who are hired to work a text from English into English, to make it presentable for publication. The translator goes above and beyond that skill to widen the audience to new cultures and linguistic groups.
Well, as it turns out, I acquired other business during the month that filled my time, and shored up my self-respect as well. They also paid better and I had great reviews all around.
Both my toe and my self-esteem are doing better.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Friday, December 16, 2011
The Dying of the Bees
The greatest happiness of my translation work is the successful communication between two parties who have important information to share.
Here in the U.S., I had the pleasure to assist Dr. Lawrence DuBose - known locally as the Bee Man or Dr. Du Bees - in communicating with a French beekeeper whom I had met by chance in the south of France this past September. Dr. DuBose had long been seeking confirmation of the beekeeping situation in France, in support of his theories on threats to bees around the world. Honey bees perform essential, life sustaining work on the planet. Napolean chose the bee as the industrious symbol of his empire.
With Dr. Du Bose' permission, I have attached the paper he recently completed and which he hopes to circulate at an upcoming convention in Las Vegas. I hope you will find his message as deeply compelling as I have.
BEEKEEPING AND PESTICIDES - IS THE END NEAR?
By Dr. Lawrence DuBose, Ph.D. Retired
November 2011
Beekeepers must become aggressive in finding positive answers why their bees continue to be killed. Another research grant, with more input by beekeepers, is needed to identify what is killing our honey bees. The random list of possibilities presented by university studies funded by chemical companies is not acceptable.
Since 1979, 1 have been associated with beekeeping continuously. In my youth, I had my first hive at age 13; overall I have been associated with beekeeping for more than 40 years. Excluding winter losses, all ten of my hives were lost at two locations in Southern Illinois when either a pesticide or a herbicide was used near the bee hives. Two neighbors also lost their colonies at the same time.
At Kline Creek Farm in DuPage County, Illinois I have had bees die five times in the last three years during the months of September and October. I realize that bees may die for multiple reasons but during these months it was certainly not diet nor travel stress.
RECOMMENDATIONS FOR BEEKEEPER ACTION:
1. The American Beekeeping Federation must be prompt in responding to misleading articles, reports, and studies.
2. The ABF must demand unbiased studies of the possible impact of pesticides on birth defects. Some believe ADHD, autism, asthma, and other children's ailments have increased with the use of pesticides which are sprayed on our food as it is growing.
3. The ABF must push for a study of gardening chemicals and their possible relationship to Parkinson's Disease.
4. The incident of cancer by golf course managers is greater than those not so employed, according to the book A Spring without Bees. ABF should request further investigation on this matter.
5. Beekeeping programs should facilitate communications and recording of information about beekeepers who have suffered large colony losses.
6. U.S. beekeepers should follow the lead of France and the United Kingdom by sending petitions to our representatives in Washington, D.C. We must become more vocal.
7. Pesticides are blamed for killing small pets. Is that not a clue that our children playing on the same treated grass are at risk? Soccer parents in New England successfully banned certain pesticides from use on their children's playing fields. The same concerns should be echoed in Illinois, Texas, California, and other states. Emphasis should be placed upon adhering to guidelines such as those of Midwest Ecological Landscaping Association.
PREVENTING CANCER, AUTISM AND ASTHMA BY RESTRICTING THE USE OF CERTAIN PESTICIDES IS WORTH THE INCONVENIENCE WHEN THERE ARE OTHER OPTIONS.
A person reviewing early beekeeping literature - Langstroth’s Hive and the Honey Bee
by Lorenzo Lorraine Langstroth (1810-1895), and Fifty Years Among the Bees by Dr. C. C. Miller (1830-1920) - will find no mention of pesticides killing bees. In the 1930s, there were two professional beekeepers in my hometown of Falfurrias, Texas. I once helped Mr. Richardson take off supers of honey and was involved in extracting honey in Mr. Bowen's honey house. Neither beekeeper lost bees to pesticides in the 1930s.
One of my uncles had started keeping bees before 1920 and had 40 hives in 1930. After he sprayed his cotton crop in 1934, he had boxes with dead bees. I had taken two of my bee hives to another uncle's farm in hopes of getting some clover honey. He sprayed a crop with an insecticide, and I had two boxes of dead bees. A third uncle kept bees in the small town of Pharr, Texas in the Rio Grande Valley. His bees were in an urban area where pesticides were not used and his bees survived.
Keeping bees in the 1930s was quite simple. I never fed nor medicated my bees. The brood foundation was never changed. Re-queening was taken care of by the bees. In 1950, the remaining four hives were still producing honey. At that time, the main problems for the beekeeper were the foulbrood disease and wax moths that would generally kill weak hives.
Concerns about pesticides killing bees were developing in the 1930s. The April 1935 issue of National Geographic Magazine pointed out that with the tractor replacing the horse, forests being cut down and wetlands being drained, more land was being farmed. These factors would result in more insects; consequently more insecticides were being used, and these new chemicals made no distinction between harmful and beneficial insects.
With the United States preparing for World War II, war materials took priority over agricultural chemicals. With fewer pesticides and more demand for honey because of a sugar shortage, the number of bee hives in the U.S. reached almost six million in 1946 - an all-time high. After WWII ended, more agricultural pesticides were produced and the bee colony population began to decline.
In the USDA Handbook 335 - first issued in 1967 - this statement was made: "One of the major problems faced by beekeepers in the United States and other major countries with highly developed agriculture is the poisoning of bees by pesticides."
The American Bee Journal of December 1976 told of 2,500 colonies being lost near Lewiston, Idaho because of pesticides. Then in May 1977, the same magazine told of 5,000 colonies being lost in Kerr County, California from aerial spraying of crops. The killing of bees from pesticides was considered normal at that time and routinely accepted and reported. We did not have university researchers telling us pesticides were not killing bees.
During the period 1967 to 1978, there was a honey bee subsidy program where a beekeeper could receive $20 for colonies killed by approved pesticides. Now, we spend billions of dollars to subsidize corn, wheat and many other crops but not on colonies being killed.
With many concerns about the new chemicals in the marketplace, the Environmental
Protection Agency (EPA) was formed in 1970, and the law was amended in 1972. The primary purpose of the EPA was to regulate pesticides and other chemicals "...to insure that these products do not pose adverse effects on humans and the environment." According to "Pesticides" from Wikipedia, "Complex and costly studies must be conducted to indicate whether the material is safe for use and effective against the intended pest."
In 1988, the Bayer Chemical Company patented new pesticides with a nicotine base.
These new pesticides were advertised as affecting the nervous system of a termite, thus making it unable to find its way home. The honey bee is an insect, and there are those who say it is also having a problem finding its way home.
Imidacloprid (IMD) is now the most widely used of the new neonicotinoid pesticides and has many negative properties, such as:
• Killing small birds and fish and causing eggshell thinning and lower egg production
• Causing health problems with laboratory test animals
• Polluting streams and the groundwater
• Killing many thousands of bee colonies
EUROPEAN EXPERIENCES WITH PESTICIDES
France was the first country to experience problems with the pesticide IMD. In the 1990s, the French beekeepers observed bees dying shortly after the sunflowers bloomed. One year, the sunflowers bloomed two weeks later than usual; the bees also died two weeks later. Some of the Frenchmen were intuitive enough to believe that there was a relationship between the dying of the bees and the use of IMD. Tests performed using very small amounts of IMD confirmed their suspicions. Bayer performed tests using large amounts of the pesticide and claimed the French were wrong. The French claimed the bees were repelled by the larger dosages of the pesticide and stayed away from the blossoms. This may be something like a non-drinker refusing whiskey on the rocks but enjoying a smooth cocktail. The French did ban the pesticide and were followed by Slovenia, Italy, and Germany. The Cooperative in the United Kingdom, which manages 96 square miles of farmland, banned all eight of the neonicotinoids.
Some researchers in the United States have pointed out that the French bees "... did not come back..." after IMD had been banned. There may be several reasons for this alleged possibility. First, the stocks of IMD in France were permitted to be used. Then, Fipronil, another neonicotinoid, was permitted to be used before it was banned. IMD was found to be more persistent in the soil than had been claimed by Bayer. An even bigger concern was the fact that the pesticide had the ability to break down in the environment, combine with another chemical, and produce a product many times more toxic than the original pesticide.
Beekeepers in Paris, where pesticides are prohibited, have been producing more than 100 pounds of honey per hive. Henry Clement, President of the National Union of French Beekeeping, suggested that the higher honey production could be that beekeepers were avoiding sunflower fields where large numbers of colonies had been lost in previous years.
Concerns pertaining to the new pesticides continued in Europe. An article in Buzz About
Bees, dated January 24, 2011, announced a victory against authorization of the Syngenta pesticide - Cruise - which is a neonicotinoid thiamethoxam. In the UK, Martin Caton proposed an Early Day motion to suspend neonicotinoids, pending more exhaustive tests and the development of international methodologies for assessing long term effects of systemic pesticides on invertebrate populations.
The Urban Farm and Beehives posted the article "A Million Strong Swarm to Save the
Bees" on April 19, 2011. More than one million people, including 200,000 in France, signed an explosive petition to ban pesticides that are mass-killing bees the world over. The campaign continues!
The above references are certainly current with the dates of 2011. What was done in the United States during this period? One may be inclined to say "nothing", but that is not really true. There were many articles explaining why bees were dying - some maybe plausible, others not really. But was any conscientious research done to relate pesticides to the dying of bees? What was happening in Europe was basically either ignored or misrepresented.
NEONICOTINOIDS COME TO THE UNITED STATES
According to Michael Schacker in A Spring without Bees, Imidacloprid was first used in the United States in 1997 on crops in seven states. Before the year 2006 ended, this pesticide had been used in 24 states. European experiences were ignored by the EPA, and IMD was given "temporary emergency authorization". No complex and costly testing was done.
Lobbying — $50 million — by chemical companies one year and deregulation of the chemical industry during the recent Bush administration may help explain how some of these events happened. Now, the chemical companies help decide how they are to be regulated. Once a product is given "temporary emergency authorization", removal becomes very difficult.
U.S. beekeepers began to experience losses after the new pesticides started to be used on an increasingly larger scale. Not only was their use increasing, but their toxicity also was increasing. The treatment for some genetically engineered seeds was increased from 0.25 mg/seed to 1.25 mg/seed. These seeds became available in 2004-2005. Starting about 2004, some of the commercial beekeepers began losing large percentages of their colonies. Examples would be John Miller from Blackfoot, Idaho who lost 40 percent of his 14,000 hives and David Hackenberg from Pennsylvania who lost 2,000 out of 2,900 colonies. There were many others.
UNITED STATES RESEARCH PAPERS DO NOT BLAME PESTICIDES
Shortly after David Hackenberg reported his large losses, research papers began to appear and there were talks before Congress and the USDA, usually by university researchers. First to be blamed were cell phones - ignoring the fact that bees seemed to do well in cities where there were many cell phones and no pesticides - and Israeli Acute Paralysis Virus (IAPV) until it was discovered the virus was in the United States before Australia was accused of importing it.
Travel stress continues to be mentioned as a possible cause of Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD). The shipment of bees in small wire cages has been going on for more than one hundred years; it was an efficient way of moving small packages using the Postal Service until employees became abusive in the way they handled the shipments. Packages of bees are still shipped in wire cages by trucks every spring. Today, moving a colony in a Langstroth-type hive with a food supply, their mothers and sisters should be less stressful than being shipped in a wire cage. Of course, there can always be unusual weather — a blizzard or heat wave — and bees may be stressed. Usually, travel stress is presented in such a way that the reader expects the bee to do a lot of traveling. Actually, most bees will make one leg of the trip from Florida to California and then back to Florida or to North Dakota, Washington, or some other place. As David Mendes, past president of the ABF, once said, "I never had a problem transporting healthy bees."
No one questions that parasitic mites (tracheal and varroa) have killed and will continue to do so, but the mite problem was with us long before CCD was ever reported.
Some claim the disease nosema ceranae has caused CCD. A French scientist, working for the National Institute for Agronomic research in Avignon, concluded that Imidacloprid significantly weakens bees and stated, "Thus the interaction between imidacloprid and, nosema are not only responsible for an increase in the mortality rate, but also for weakening the colony." The September 2011 issue of the American Bee Journal carried an article where the researcher reversed the French conclusions and claimed nosema ceranae weakens the bee's resistance to pesticides. Apparently, this researcher was not aware of the honey bee subsidy program.
Poor nutrition also has been cited as the cause of CCD. Two different explanations have been given. One is that bees being prepared for a trip to California were fed high fructose corn syrup (HFCS) as their only food. After reaching the almond orchards, hives suddenly collapsed. However, there were hives that had never been fed HFCS, and some of these also collapsed. In order for this hypothesis to have validity, one must know the condition of the hives when feeding started. Some articles suggest that there was no other food available in the hives. Is it responsible beekeeping to remove all honey from hives before winter begins? Also, whether or not these colonies had been exposed to pesticides should be known.
Suppliers of high fructose corn syrup claimed their product was not causing problems.
One supplier explained to me, in a phone call, "We have been feeding HFCS to beekeepers for 25 years and we are not aware of problems."
Another hypothesis was published in Scientific American about two years ago. The writer blamed poor nutrition and, subsequently CCD, on mega-farming. With the sixteen row planters and cultivators, along with huge harvesting machines, that appeared on the farm scene about 40 years ago, fence rows were removed. The diversity in plants was thus eliminated. The writer seemed to have ignored the fact that, in most areas, the honey bee will travel about two miles from the hive. The area available for foraging will be major parts of 16 sections of land which may have 17 to 18 miles of roads with ditches on both sides of most roads. In these strips of land beside the road would not a person expect to find the diversity of plants missing from fence rows? One should ask, "Why did it take more than 40 years for this to happen?" Pheasants, which had been plentiful enough in Central Illinois for a hunting season, disappeared in only a few years. CCD is more likely due to pesticides than it is to mega-farming practices.
Recently, Dr. Jeff Pettis of the USDA stated that it now appears that the cause of CCD can be narrowed to diet and pathogens. Then why not conduct research in non-farm areas and see if one or more of the above can be eliminated? The 4300 registered organic beekeepers must keep bees three miles from farm land and claim no problems -except one questionable case.
AN EXAMPLE OF THE EPA AT WORK
Near the end of 2010, there were many headlines stating, "EPA Document Shows It
Knowingly Allowed Pesticide that Kills Bees". The document, which was leaked to a Colorado beekeeper, tells us that warnings about the use of clothianidin were ignored. The main risk of clothianidin, which is used to treat corn, is to non-target insects, especially the honey bee. Clothianidin is a neonicotinoid insecticide that is toxic on both a contact and oral basis. EPA staff were ignored.
THE UPHILL BATTLE OF BEEKEEPERS
Beekeeping is not a job for a lazy man. Work must be done on schedule, and the commercial beekeeper cannot wait for better weather, even if it means working all night in the rain. Seasonal, qualified help can be a problem. After the almond pollination season, John Miller trucks his bees to North Dakota and uses summer help from South Africa. Some "old" beekeepers retire; others have reduced their number of colonies; and others have quit as a result of expensive losses. Some children do not wish to take over their father's business. It is expensive to start a commercial bee business. Rich uncles usually have other uses for their money. Banks consider beekeeping a risky business. Those with the necessary money may find it more entertaining to watch the ponies run or spend time in Las Vegas.
WHAT IS BEING DONE BY THE BEEKEEPING INDUSTRY
Each year, the American Beekeeping Federation sponsors a Honey Queen and a Honey Princess contest. These two young ladies do a tremendous job for one year with countless appearances where they speak to thousands of people, telling them about the importance of the honey bee.
A few of the more dedicated, professional beekeepers have met with USDA personnel and some members of Congress and have even made trips to Europe. There are times when one wonders if they have been talking to deaf ears in the United States.
There are films available that tell much about the current problems of the honey bee. Films such as Nicotine Bees, Vanishing of the Bees, Queen of the Sun, COLONY- The Endangered World of Bees, and The Last Beekeeper are available. These films have been seen by only a small percentage of the beekeepers and almost none of the general public. They tell stories that everyone should be aware of. The World According to Monsanto and how they were able to get certain products approved should receive more publicity.
The film Vanishing of the Bees, produced by George Southworthy and Maryam Heifien (both English), certainly ends with a sobering statement: "When the last tree has died, the last stream poisoned, the last fish caught, then we will realize money cannot buy everything."
MY HYPOTHESIS AS TO WHY BEES MAY BE DYING
My hypothesis is there can be a parallel between the excessive use of tobacco and the increased use of pesticides. Some readers may be old enough to recall when the tobacco industry began an aggressive campaign in the mid 1930's to encourage women to smoke. I still remember the attractive large bill board showing grandma sitting in her rocking chair, and while reaching for a cigarette, saying, "I think I'll try one." Women did begin smoking in large numbers.
Only a few years passed before doctors began to see an increase in lung cancer, throat cancer, and other health problems they related to the use of tobacco - both directly and as "second hand smoke."
We must thank Congress for acting about 40 years ago and we can now enjoy smoke-free environments while enjoying public transportation (airplanes, trains, buses) dining in restaurants, attending meetings and theaters, and just working in an office. The October, 2011 issue of National Geographic discusses a reduction in cancer rates and makes this sobering statement:
"About a third of U.S. cancer deaths are still related to tobacco." And we still have researchers who do not blame pesticides with nicotine for killing bees?
On or about September 26, 2011, hundreds of bee colonies were wiped out in Brevard
County, Florida after an area was sprayed by helicopters for mosquitoes. The mass dying took place immediately following the spraying. Of course, the officials responsible for the spraying denied their chemicals had killed the bees. Haven't we heard this story before? "We don't know what killed the bees, but it wasn't the pesticides!"
A FRENCH BEEKEEPER IS HEARD FROM
After four unsuccessful attempts over three years, with the help of a French-English
Translator & Interpreter, I was finally able to receive a latter from a French beekeeper. On
December 5, 2011 Dominique Meglioli did write to me.
Dominique introduced himself as not only the founding Director of the magazine Volez! dedicated to aerial sports, but an amateur beekeeper with about 20 years’ experience. While discussing the mite, disease, and the Asian hornet problems, I believe the important conclusions one can draw from this letter are:
1) Colony losses in urban areas, where there is little or no use of pesticides, are about five percent.
2) Colony losses in rural areas where chemicals are used are about 30 percent.
3) A pesticide, relatively harmless by itself, produces deadly results in connection with Nosema Cernae.
4) In lobbying against the ministry in charge of regulating pesticide uses, the industrial and large farm groups are much more powerful than the beekeepers.
SOME FINAL THOUGHTS
There are those who contend the CCD problem is no longer with us. However, bees are still dying and the same people claim the neonicotinoid pesticides are not a problem. Yet, they tell us to replace the brood foundation every two or three years and to re-queen more often. The problem has not disappeared, but there may be fewer cases as the beekeepers are more careful where their bees are kept.
Our principal concern should be what chemicals may do to people, especially young children, pets, beneficial insects, the environment, streams, and fragile ground water systems. Unfortunately, these concerns may be of secondary consideration when EPA compares the benefits of producing a few more bushels of corn or soy beans (both highly subsidized) to the killing of honey bees and other beneficial insects. ALREADY SOME HAVE DISAPPEARED!
SO, WE GOTTA MAKE NOISE
Beekeeping and Pesticides by Lawrence A. DuBose, Ph.D. November 2011
Here in the U.S., I had the pleasure to assist Dr. Lawrence DuBose - known locally as the Bee Man or Dr. Du Bees - in communicating with a French beekeeper whom I had met by chance in the south of France this past September. Dr. DuBose had long been seeking confirmation of the beekeeping situation in France, in support of his theories on threats to bees around the world. Honey bees perform essential, life sustaining work on the planet. Napolean chose the bee as the industrious symbol of his empire.
With Dr. Du Bose' permission, I have attached the paper he recently completed and which he hopes to circulate at an upcoming convention in Las Vegas. I hope you will find his message as deeply compelling as I have.
BEEKEEPING AND PESTICIDES - IS THE END NEAR?
By Dr. Lawrence DuBose, Ph.D. Retired
November 2011
Beekeepers must become aggressive in finding positive answers why their bees continue to be killed. Another research grant, with more input by beekeepers, is needed to identify what is killing our honey bees. The random list of possibilities presented by university studies funded by chemical companies is not acceptable.
Since 1979, 1 have been associated with beekeeping continuously. In my youth, I had my first hive at age 13; overall I have been associated with beekeeping for more than 40 years. Excluding winter losses, all ten of my hives were lost at two locations in Southern Illinois when either a pesticide or a herbicide was used near the bee hives. Two neighbors also lost their colonies at the same time.
At Kline Creek Farm in DuPage County, Illinois I have had bees die five times in the last three years during the months of September and October. I realize that bees may die for multiple reasons but during these months it was certainly not diet nor travel stress.
RECOMMENDATIONS FOR BEEKEEPER ACTION:
1. The American Beekeeping Federation must be prompt in responding to misleading articles, reports, and studies.
2. The ABF must demand unbiased studies of the possible impact of pesticides on birth defects. Some believe ADHD, autism, asthma, and other children's ailments have increased with the use of pesticides which are sprayed on our food as it is growing.
3. The ABF must push for a study of gardening chemicals and their possible relationship to Parkinson's Disease.
4. The incident of cancer by golf course managers is greater than those not so employed, according to the book A Spring without Bees. ABF should request further investigation on this matter.
5. Beekeeping programs should facilitate communications and recording of information about beekeepers who have suffered large colony losses.
6. U.S. beekeepers should follow the lead of France and the United Kingdom by sending petitions to our representatives in Washington, D.C. We must become more vocal.
7. Pesticides are blamed for killing small pets. Is that not a clue that our children playing on the same treated grass are at risk? Soccer parents in New England successfully banned certain pesticides from use on their children's playing fields. The same concerns should be echoed in Illinois, Texas, California, and other states. Emphasis should be placed upon adhering to guidelines such as those of Midwest Ecological Landscaping Association.
PREVENTING CANCER, AUTISM AND ASTHMA BY RESTRICTING THE USE OF CERTAIN PESTICIDES IS WORTH THE INCONVENIENCE WHEN THERE ARE OTHER OPTIONS.
A person reviewing early beekeeping literature - Langstroth’s Hive and the Honey Bee
by Lorenzo Lorraine Langstroth (1810-1895), and Fifty Years Among the Bees by Dr. C. C. Miller (1830-1920) - will find no mention of pesticides killing bees. In the 1930s, there were two professional beekeepers in my hometown of Falfurrias, Texas. I once helped Mr. Richardson take off supers of honey and was involved in extracting honey in Mr. Bowen's honey house. Neither beekeeper lost bees to pesticides in the 1930s.
One of my uncles had started keeping bees before 1920 and had 40 hives in 1930. After he sprayed his cotton crop in 1934, he had boxes with dead bees. I had taken two of my bee hives to another uncle's farm in hopes of getting some clover honey. He sprayed a crop with an insecticide, and I had two boxes of dead bees. A third uncle kept bees in the small town of Pharr, Texas in the Rio Grande Valley. His bees were in an urban area where pesticides were not used and his bees survived.
Keeping bees in the 1930s was quite simple. I never fed nor medicated my bees. The brood foundation was never changed. Re-queening was taken care of by the bees. In 1950, the remaining four hives were still producing honey. At that time, the main problems for the beekeeper were the foulbrood disease and wax moths that would generally kill weak hives.
Concerns about pesticides killing bees were developing in the 1930s. The April 1935 issue of National Geographic Magazine pointed out that with the tractor replacing the horse, forests being cut down and wetlands being drained, more land was being farmed. These factors would result in more insects; consequently more insecticides were being used, and these new chemicals made no distinction between harmful and beneficial insects.
With the United States preparing for World War II, war materials took priority over agricultural chemicals. With fewer pesticides and more demand for honey because of a sugar shortage, the number of bee hives in the U.S. reached almost six million in 1946 - an all-time high. After WWII ended, more agricultural pesticides were produced and the bee colony population began to decline.
In the USDA Handbook 335 - first issued in 1967 - this statement was made: "One of the major problems faced by beekeepers in the United States and other major countries with highly developed agriculture is the poisoning of bees by pesticides."
The American Bee Journal of December 1976 told of 2,500 colonies being lost near Lewiston, Idaho because of pesticides. Then in May 1977, the same magazine told of 5,000 colonies being lost in Kerr County, California from aerial spraying of crops. The killing of bees from pesticides was considered normal at that time and routinely accepted and reported. We did not have university researchers telling us pesticides were not killing bees.
During the period 1967 to 1978, there was a honey bee subsidy program where a beekeeper could receive $20 for colonies killed by approved pesticides. Now, we spend billions of dollars to subsidize corn, wheat and many other crops but not on colonies being killed.
With many concerns about the new chemicals in the marketplace, the Environmental
Protection Agency (EPA) was formed in 1970, and the law was amended in 1972. The primary purpose of the EPA was to regulate pesticides and other chemicals "...to insure that these products do not pose adverse effects on humans and the environment." According to "Pesticides" from Wikipedia, "Complex and costly studies must be conducted to indicate whether the material is safe for use and effective against the intended pest."
In 1988, the Bayer Chemical Company patented new pesticides with a nicotine base.
These new pesticides were advertised as affecting the nervous system of a termite, thus making it unable to find its way home. The honey bee is an insect, and there are those who say it is also having a problem finding its way home.
Imidacloprid (IMD) is now the most widely used of the new neonicotinoid pesticides and has many negative properties, such as:
• Killing small birds and fish and causing eggshell thinning and lower egg production
• Causing health problems with laboratory test animals
• Polluting streams and the groundwater
• Killing many thousands of bee colonies
EUROPEAN EXPERIENCES WITH PESTICIDES
France was the first country to experience problems with the pesticide IMD. In the 1990s, the French beekeepers observed bees dying shortly after the sunflowers bloomed. One year, the sunflowers bloomed two weeks later than usual; the bees also died two weeks later. Some of the Frenchmen were intuitive enough to believe that there was a relationship between the dying of the bees and the use of IMD. Tests performed using very small amounts of IMD confirmed their suspicions. Bayer performed tests using large amounts of the pesticide and claimed the French were wrong. The French claimed the bees were repelled by the larger dosages of the pesticide and stayed away from the blossoms. This may be something like a non-drinker refusing whiskey on the rocks but enjoying a smooth cocktail. The French did ban the pesticide and were followed by Slovenia, Italy, and Germany. The Cooperative in the United Kingdom, which manages 96 square miles of farmland, banned all eight of the neonicotinoids.
Some researchers in the United States have pointed out that the French bees "... did not come back..." after IMD had been banned. There may be several reasons for this alleged possibility. First, the stocks of IMD in France were permitted to be used. Then, Fipronil, another neonicotinoid, was permitted to be used before it was banned. IMD was found to be more persistent in the soil than had been claimed by Bayer. An even bigger concern was the fact that the pesticide had the ability to break down in the environment, combine with another chemical, and produce a product many times more toxic than the original pesticide.
Beekeepers in Paris, where pesticides are prohibited, have been producing more than 100 pounds of honey per hive. Henry Clement, President of the National Union of French Beekeeping, suggested that the higher honey production could be that beekeepers were avoiding sunflower fields where large numbers of colonies had been lost in previous years.
Concerns pertaining to the new pesticides continued in Europe. An article in Buzz About
Bees, dated January 24, 2011, announced a victory against authorization of the Syngenta pesticide - Cruise - which is a neonicotinoid thiamethoxam. In the UK, Martin Caton proposed an Early Day motion to suspend neonicotinoids, pending more exhaustive tests and the development of international methodologies for assessing long term effects of systemic pesticides on invertebrate populations.
The Urban Farm and Beehives posted the article "A Million Strong Swarm to Save the
Bees" on April 19, 2011. More than one million people, including 200,000 in France, signed an explosive petition to ban pesticides that are mass-killing bees the world over. The campaign continues!
The above references are certainly current with the dates of 2011. What was done in the United States during this period? One may be inclined to say "nothing", but that is not really true. There were many articles explaining why bees were dying - some maybe plausible, others not really. But was any conscientious research done to relate pesticides to the dying of bees? What was happening in Europe was basically either ignored or misrepresented.
NEONICOTINOIDS COME TO THE UNITED STATES
According to Michael Schacker in A Spring without Bees, Imidacloprid was first used in the United States in 1997 on crops in seven states. Before the year 2006 ended, this pesticide had been used in 24 states. European experiences were ignored by the EPA, and IMD was given "temporary emergency authorization". No complex and costly testing was done.
Lobbying — $50 million — by chemical companies one year and deregulation of the chemical industry during the recent Bush administration may help explain how some of these events happened. Now, the chemical companies help decide how they are to be regulated. Once a product is given "temporary emergency authorization", removal becomes very difficult.
U.S. beekeepers began to experience losses after the new pesticides started to be used on an increasingly larger scale. Not only was their use increasing, but their toxicity also was increasing. The treatment for some genetically engineered seeds was increased from 0.25 mg/seed to 1.25 mg/seed. These seeds became available in 2004-2005. Starting about 2004, some of the commercial beekeepers began losing large percentages of their colonies. Examples would be John Miller from Blackfoot, Idaho who lost 40 percent of his 14,000 hives and David Hackenberg from Pennsylvania who lost 2,000 out of 2,900 colonies. There were many others.
UNITED STATES RESEARCH PAPERS DO NOT BLAME PESTICIDES
Shortly after David Hackenberg reported his large losses, research papers began to appear and there were talks before Congress and the USDA, usually by university researchers. First to be blamed were cell phones - ignoring the fact that bees seemed to do well in cities where there were many cell phones and no pesticides - and Israeli Acute Paralysis Virus (IAPV) until it was discovered the virus was in the United States before Australia was accused of importing it.
Travel stress continues to be mentioned as a possible cause of Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD). The shipment of bees in small wire cages has been going on for more than one hundred years; it was an efficient way of moving small packages using the Postal Service until employees became abusive in the way they handled the shipments. Packages of bees are still shipped in wire cages by trucks every spring. Today, moving a colony in a Langstroth-type hive with a food supply, their mothers and sisters should be less stressful than being shipped in a wire cage. Of course, there can always be unusual weather — a blizzard or heat wave — and bees may be stressed. Usually, travel stress is presented in such a way that the reader expects the bee to do a lot of traveling. Actually, most bees will make one leg of the trip from Florida to California and then back to Florida or to North Dakota, Washington, or some other place. As David Mendes, past president of the ABF, once said, "I never had a problem transporting healthy bees."
No one questions that parasitic mites (tracheal and varroa) have killed and will continue to do so, but the mite problem was with us long before CCD was ever reported.
Some claim the disease nosema ceranae has caused CCD. A French scientist, working for the National Institute for Agronomic research in Avignon, concluded that Imidacloprid significantly weakens bees and stated, "Thus the interaction between imidacloprid and, nosema are not only responsible for an increase in the mortality rate, but also for weakening the colony." The September 2011 issue of the American Bee Journal carried an article where the researcher reversed the French conclusions and claimed nosema ceranae weakens the bee's resistance to pesticides. Apparently, this researcher was not aware of the honey bee subsidy program.
Poor nutrition also has been cited as the cause of CCD. Two different explanations have been given. One is that bees being prepared for a trip to California were fed high fructose corn syrup (HFCS) as their only food. After reaching the almond orchards, hives suddenly collapsed. However, there were hives that had never been fed HFCS, and some of these also collapsed. In order for this hypothesis to have validity, one must know the condition of the hives when feeding started. Some articles suggest that there was no other food available in the hives. Is it responsible beekeeping to remove all honey from hives before winter begins? Also, whether or not these colonies had been exposed to pesticides should be known.
Suppliers of high fructose corn syrup claimed their product was not causing problems.
One supplier explained to me, in a phone call, "We have been feeding HFCS to beekeepers for 25 years and we are not aware of problems."
Another hypothesis was published in Scientific American about two years ago. The writer blamed poor nutrition and, subsequently CCD, on mega-farming. With the sixteen row planters and cultivators, along with huge harvesting machines, that appeared on the farm scene about 40 years ago, fence rows were removed. The diversity in plants was thus eliminated. The writer seemed to have ignored the fact that, in most areas, the honey bee will travel about two miles from the hive. The area available for foraging will be major parts of 16 sections of land which may have 17 to 18 miles of roads with ditches on both sides of most roads. In these strips of land beside the road would not a person expect to find the diversity of plants missing from fence rows? One should ask, "Why did it take more than 40 years for this to happen?" Pheasants, which had been plentiful enough in Central Illinois for a hunting season, disappeared in only a few years. CCD is more likely due to pesticides than it is to mega-farming practices.
Recently, Dr. Jeff Pettis of the USDA stated that it now appears that the cause of CCD can be narrowed to diet and pathogens. Then why not conduct research in non-farm areas and see if one or more of the above can be eliminated? The 4300 registered organic beekeepers must keep bees three miles from farm land and claim no problems -except one questionable case.
AN EXAMPLE OF THE EPA AT WORK
Near the end of 2010, there were many headlines stating, "EPA Document Shows It
Knowingly Allowed Pesticide that Kills Bees". The document, which was leaked to a Colorado beekeeper, tells us that warnings about the use of clothianidin were ignored. The main risk of clothianidin, which is used to treat corn, is to non-target insects, especially the honey bee. Clothianidin is a neonicotinoid insecticide that is toxic on both a contact and oral basis. EPA staff were ignored.
THE UPHILL BATTLE OF BEEKEEPERS
Beekeeping is not a job for a lazy man. Work must be done on schedule, and the commercial beekeeper cannot wait for better weather, even if it means working all night in the rain. Seasonal, qualified help can be a problem. After the almond pollination season, John Miller trucks his bees to North Dakota and uses summer help from South Africa. Some "old" beekeepers retire; others have reduced their number of colonies; and others have quit as a result of expensive losses. Some children do not wish to take over their father's business. It is expensive to start a commercial bee business. Rich uncles usually have other uses for their money. Banks consider beekeeping a risky business. Those with the necessary money may find it more entertaining to watch the ponies run or spend time in Las Vegas.
WHAT IS BEING DONE BY THE BEEKEEPING INDUSTRY
Each year, the American Beekeeping Federation sponsors a Honey Queen and a Honey Princess contest. These two young ladies do a tremendous job for one year with countless appearances where they speak to thousands of people, telling them about the importance of the honey bee.
A few of the more dedicated, professional beekeepers have met with USDA personnel and some members of Congress and have even made trips to Europe. There are times when one wonders if they have been talking to deaf ears in the United States.
There are films available that tell much about the current problems of the honey bee. Films such as Nicotine Bees, Vanishing of the Bees, Queen of the Sun, COLONY- The Endangered World of Bees, and The Last Beekeeper are available. These films have been seen by only a small percentage of the beekeepers and almost none of the general public. They tell stories that everyone should be aware of. The World According to Monsanto and how they were able to get certain products approved should receive more publicity.
The film Vanishing of the Bees, produced by George Southworthy and Maryam Heifien (both English), certainly ends with a sobering statement: "When the last tree has died, the last stream poisoned, the last fish caught, then we will realize money cannot buy everything."
MY HYPOTHESIS AS TO WHY BEES MAY BE DYING
My hypothesis is there can be a parallel between the excessive use of tobacco and the increased use of pesticides. Some readers may be old enough to recall when the tobacco industry began an aggressive campaign in the mid 1930's to encourage women to smoke. I still remember the attractive large bill board showing grandma sitting in her rocking chair, and while reaching for a cigarette, saying, "I think I'll try one." Women did begin smoking in large numbers.
Only a few years passed before doctors began to see an increase in lung cancer, throat cancer, and other health problems they related to the use of tobacco - both directly and as "second hand smoke."
We must thank Congress for acting about 40 years ago and we can now enjoy smoke-free environments while enjoying public transportation (airplanes, trains, buses) dining in restaurants, attending meetings and theaters, and just working in an office. The October, 2011 issue of National Geographic discusses a reduction in cancer rates and makes this sobering statement:
"About a third of U.S. cancer deaths are still related to tobacco." And we still have researchers who do not blame pesticides with nicotine for killing bees?
On or about September 26, 2011, hundreds of bee colonies were wiped out in Brevard
County, Florida after an area was sprayed by helicopters for mosquitoes. The mass dying took place immediately following the spraying. Of course, the officials responsible for the spraying denied their chemicals had killed the bees. Haven't we heard this story before? "We don't know what killed the bees, but it wasn't the pesticides!"
A FRENCH BEEKEEPER IS HEARD FROM
After four unsuccessful attempts over three years, with the help of a French-English
Translator & Interpreter, I was finally able to receive a latter from a French beekeeper. On
December 5, 2011 Dominique Meglioli did write to me.
Dominique introduced himself as not only the founding Director of the magazine Volez! dedicated to aerial sports, but an amateur beekeeper with about 20 years’ experience. While discussing the mite, disease, and the Asian hornet problems, I believe the important conclusions one can draw from this letter are:
1) Colony losses in urban areas, where there is little or no use of pesticides, are about five percent.
2) Colony losses in rural areas where chemicals are used are about 30 percent.
3) A pesticide, relatively harmless by itself, produces deadly results in connection with Nosema Cernae.
4) In lobbying against the ministry in charge of regulating pesticide uses, the industrial and large farm groups are much more powerful than the beekeepers.
SOME FINAL THOUGHTS
There are those who contend the CCD problem is no longer with us. However, bees are still dying and the same people claim the neonicotinoid pesticides are not a problem. Yet, they tell us to replace the brood foundation every two or three years and to re-queen more often. The problem has not disappeared, but there may be fewer cases as the beekeepers are more careful where their bees are kept.
Our principal concern should be what chemicals may do to people, especially young children, pets, beneficial insects, the environment, streams, and fragile ground water systems. Unfortunately, these concerns may be of secondary consideration when EPA compares the benefits of producing a few more bushels of corn or soy beans (both highly subsidized) to the killing of honey bees and other beneficial insects. ALREADY SOME HAVE DISAPPEARED!
SO, WE GOTTA MAKE NOISE
Beekeeping and Pesticides by Lawrence A. DuBose, Ph.D. November 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Le Subjonctif
I am sitting in a stretch limo on a rain pelted highway, the only American among the passengers. Everyone is quietly consulting their electronic umbilical cords to home or the office while the raindrops and rubber tires produce an isolating hum. Three times a year, I look forward to a certain Email from France, communicating hotel and air reservations, and the invitation to join the little band of Frenchmen on their Midwestern excursion from one subsidiary to another, as dictated by some articles of incorporation and the need to look in on investments. Two of my French employers do not speak English, and so I am called to perform what I love best – the schizophrenic metamorphosis of biculturalism. I get to be French and American in alternate doses. American comes naturally; French comes from an act of the heart.
My employer is a French entrepreneurial legend. At a very spry seventy-five years of age, he wears his Lacoste and needs his cigarette at regular intervals. A French client once lamented to me, out on the sidewalk at Michigan and Wacker, where he had gone to grab his dose of nicotine: “Society imposed these damn things on us and now society is taking them away...!”
I am accustomed to working with French businessmen of a “certain” age. Non-English speaking – the only line they remember from English lessons is the classic “My tailor is rich”. They follow a fixed set of manners: the handshake, the use of Monsieur and Madame instead of a first name, a certain wariness. The French are observant. They have radar. As a linguist, I’m fascinated with reflections of the parent culture in its language. It is impossible to speak a foreign language well without knowing something of how the brain and heart of the foreign speaker work. Correctly conjugating the verbs will only get you so far. Phrasing and intonation help to make someone “fluent” just as they turn someone who sings in the shower into a “vocalist”. The French language is more musical than English, whose consonants overpower the vowels. French, on the other hand, sings with pure vowels, undiluted by diphthongs. Getting the vowels wrong marks an American every bit as much as wearing a Stars and Stripes lapel pin.
In addition to the lyrical beauty of spoken French, I love its special attention to the subjunctive tense. The subjunctive feels natural to me, since doubt and emotion are ever present in a profession where you toggle back and forth between two idioms and two cultures. The act of leaving one’s native language and assuming the language of another country is an emotional uncertainty, a step into an exotic world, which flips some electric switches in the brain, firing up synapses. Interpreters are fountains of adrenaline. The trick is to be someone you are not. The second language is the costume and the stage and the voyage of the mind we perform in order to convince the listener that we belong to that other culture.
When I have taught French, I found it very difficult to work with American students who didn’t learn parts of speech in “grammar school”. “Grammar” went away when the place became “elementary” school. Both the name of the institution and its objective seem somehow diminished. I went to “grammar school” as a child, a world of diagramming sentences and knowing the difference between “you and I” and “you and me”. I wince when I hear television news broadcasters misusing object and subject pronouns and I have long ago given up the battle of the dangling preposition.
My approach to teaching French grammar to a generation raised on Whole Language is to venture away from the strict mechanics of language, and the scaffold structures I learned as a child, with sentence diagrams stretching the length of the chalk board. Instead, I go for the thought processes behind French grammar. If you want to speak French, you have to play at being French. The actor in you must get into the character.
I lectured once on the Cartesian quality of the French language. I was shocked to find college French students who didn’t recognize the name of René Descartes, the Father of Modern Philosophy. I feel his cogito ergo sum in the subtleties of the French language. I think, therefore I am. The Frenchman’s awareness of himself permeates his speech, so structured as to give the impression that he is observing himself while speaking. For example, a conversation in French will not go two minutes without use of a pronominal – or reflexive – verb. Their use is like looking in a mirror. Je me lève. I get (myself) up. Je me demande. I wonder (I ask myself). Je m’amuse. I’m having a good time (I amuse myself). Even at the moment of death, the Frenchman’s thoughts reflect objectively on his dying body. Je me meurs.
At the same time, the French use of the subjunctive places the French speaker at a cautious distance from what he sees around him, ever critically observant. The subjunctive is the mood of uncertainty and emotion, with its discreet backing away from the unknown, its recognition of an emotional impact, its attenuation following a wish, a command, and even distancing the speaker from a superlative, because you never know if something really is la meilleure chose qu’on puisse dire. The subjunctive curls back up and around the French speaker, after “whomever”, “whatever” or “wherever”, like a shield protecting him from a possible misconception. No one really knows the future or the outcome or what will follow, and the French language swims in the softer sibilance of those doubts. Qu’il fasse, qu’il plaise, qu’il puisse, qu’il soit….
While I’m changing from one language to the other in my work, I’m striving to plant the seed of doubt in the mind of my listener as to my origin. Singing my vowels and reflexing my verbs, I live for the moment when I am asked: “Are you French?”
Ah, I wish that I were (subjunctive tense).
My employer is a French entrepreneurial legend. At a very spry seventy-five years of age, he wears his Lacoste and needs his cigarette at regular intervals. A French client once lamented to me, out on the sidewalk at Michigan and Wacker, where he had gone to grab his dose of nicotine: “Society imposed these damn things on us and now society is taking them away...!”
I am accustomed to working with French businessmen of a “certain” age. Non-English speaking – the only line they remember from English lessons is the classic “My tailor is rich”. They follow a fixed set of manners: the handshake, the use of Monsieur and Madame instead of a first name, a certain wariness. The French are observant. They have radar. As a linguist, I’m fascinated with reflections of the parent culture in its language. It is impossible to speak a foreign language well without knowing something of how the brain and heart of the foreign speaker work. Correctly conjugating the verbs will only get you so far. Phrasing and intonation help to make someone “fluent” just as they turn someone who sings in the shower into a “vocalist”. The French language is more musical than English, whose consonants overpower the vowels. French, on the other hand, sings with pure vowels, undiluted by diphthongs. Getting the vowels wrong marks an American every bit as much as wearing a Stars and Stripes lapel pin.
In addition to the lyrical beauty of spoken French, I love its special attention to the subjunctive tense. The subjunctive feels natural to me, since doubt and emotion are ever present in a profession where you toggle back and forth between two idioms and two cultures. The act of leaving one’s native language and assuming the language of another country is an emotional uncertainty, a step into an exotic world, which flips some electric switches in the brain, firing up synapses. Interpreters are fountains of adrenaline. The trick is to be someone you are not. The second language is the costume and the stage and the voyage of the mind we perform in order to convince the listener that we belong to that other culture.
When I have taught French, I found it very difficult to work with American students who didn’t learn parts of speech in “grammar school”. “Grammar” went away when the place became “elementary” school. Both the name of the institution and its objective seem somehow diminished. I went to “grammar school” as a child, a world of diagramming sentences and knowing the difference between “you and I” and “you and me”. I wince when I hear television news broadcasters misusing object and subject pronouns and I have long ago given up the battle of the dangling preposition.
My approach to teaching French grammar to a generation raised on Whole Language is to venture away from the strict mechanics of language, and the scaffold structures I learned as a child, with sentence diagrams stretching the length of the chalk board. Instead, I go for the thought processes behind French grammar. If you want to speak French, you have to play at being French. The actor in you must get into the character.
I lectured once on the Cartesian quality of the French language. I was shocked to find college French students who didn’t recognize the name of René Descartes, the Father of Modern Philosophy. I feel his cogito ergo sum in the subtleties of the French language. I think, therefore I am. The Frenchman’s awareness of himself permeates his speech, so structured as to give the impression that he is observing himself while speaking. For example, a conversation in French will not go two minutes without use of a pronominal – or reflexive – verb. Their use is like looking in a mirror. Je me lève. I get (myself) up. Je me demande. I wonder (I ask myself). Je m’amuse. I’m having a good time (I amuse myself). Even at the moment of death, the Frenchman’s thoughts reflect objectively on his dying body. Je me meurs.
At the same time, the French use of the subjunctive places the French speaker at a cautious distance from what he sees around him, ever critically observant. The subjunctive is the mood of uncertainty and emotion, with its discreet backing away from the unknown, its recognition of an emotional impact, its attenuation following a wish, a command, and even distancing the speaker from a superlative, because you never know if something really is la meilleure chose qu’on puisse dire. The subjunctive curls back up and around the French speaker, after “whomever”, “whatever” or “wherever”, like a shield protecting him from a possible misconception. No one really knows the future or the outcome or what will follow, and the French language swims in the softer sibilance of those doubts. Qu’il fasse, qu’il plaise, qu’il puisse, qu’il soit….
While I’m changing from one language to the other in my work, I’m striving to plant the seed of doubt in the mind of my listener as to my origin. Singing my vowels and reflexing my verbs, I live for the moment when I am asked: “Are you French?”
Ah, I wish that I were (subjunctive tense).
Monday, November 8, 2010
Pardon my French...
Hardball’s Chris Matthews on MSNBC and the French have something in common. Besides left-leaning politics, they share a dialogue style that is unacceptable in American conversation.
Listening to the shrill crescendo of Eleanor Clift and Monica Crowley launching “Excuse Me’s” across their political divide on the McLaughlin Group, I long for John McLaughlin’s programmed dominance of the conversation which allows him to quiet everyone so that one person can be heard. His intervention always reminds me, through my long association with the French and my eager participation in the French sport of “Conversation”, that Americans, unless they are fighting about politics in the media, expect to be heard ONE AT A TIME.
In Raymonde Carroll’s classic “Cultural Misunderstandings, The French-American Experience”*, I learned early on about the French conversational style that I had unconsciously adopted in my years among the French.
“Americans often expressed surprise in my presence at the fact that French people, ‘who claim to be very big on manners,’ are themselves so ‘rude’: ‘they interrupt you all the time in conversation,’ ‘they finish your sentences for you, ‘ they ask you questions and never listen to the answer,’ and so on.”
Spontaneity and “fueling” of a conversation are key to understanding and participating in any discussion with the French. Interruptions are not so much considered “rude” as evidence of emotional engagement, of being hooked on the speaker’s message, to the point that an immediate reaction is complimentary and proof of active involvement in the conversation.
The previously cited work by Ms. Carroll was originally published in French under the title “Evidences Invisibles”, a wonderful paradoxical title that perfectly describes so many subtle nuances of cultural differences. Her work was the standard among French teachers and students more than twenty years ago, long before Peter Mayles and Polly Platt brought their foreigners’ views of the French into popular literature. Aside from her analysis of the Frenchman’s relationship with the telephone, which has been turned completely upside down with the advent of the “portable” or cell phone, Ms. Carroll’s observations remain pertinent to this day.
While most Americans visit France for the scenery, and perhaps the cuisine, a trip to France for me, not surprisingly, is a linguistic adventure. Although I never miss the opportunity to visit an unknown church, castle or museum, the real highlight for me is dinner conversation long into the night, around a table where plates can be cleared away, but the stemware lingers as long as our verbal exchanges continue, warm and raucous. I teach Gallicismes in my French classes, because they are the Passwords for an American to dive in to the conversation and be accepted. French conversation is a sport, in its own way, with challenges and jousts, a kind of seduction to which one must alternately succumb or wield. The subjects of politics, religion, and sex are all fair game. But, unlike Americans, the French do not discuss money. Not how much they make or have, or how much they have spent. Money, as a topic of conversation in France, is as “dirty” and untouchable as sexuality is in the United States.
I have an old video of an evening spent with my French family, all of us squashed into a tiny apartment in the Hauts-de-Seine and gaily talking together long into the night about food, about culture, about family vacations, telling jokes. The host that evening had just acquired a new video camera and was trying out all its features while the conversation rolled on. When I’m homesick for France, I pop the tape into my old VCR. Some people look at photo albums… My vacation memories need a sound track.
The verbal sparring, the play on words, the chorus of voices rising and falling together on my tape, all remind me that the art of conversation is practiced entirely differently in France. How often do Americans just sit together and talk? Without the background noise of the television ?
Living among Americans, with my French soul, I have to make a conscious effort to keep from interrupting someone with whom I am engaged in conversation. I wait anxiously for the end of a sentence. And even then, I often find that I did not respect the essential interval before launching my rejoinder. Sometimes waiting for the other person to take a breath does not suffice. I have to wait for other clues that the person’s train of thought has pulled into a station and has opened its doors for the new passengers of my thoughts to climb aboard.
So, in the sincere hope that this explantion will allow me to be culturally understood for my linguistic rudeness, I ask my American friends, colleagues and family to forgive me for past conversational transgressions.
… dis seulement une parole et je serai guérie… Amen.
*Raymonde Carroll, Cultural Misunderstandings, The French-American Experience, Translated by Carol Volk, University of Chicago Press, 1988; page 23.
Listening to the shrill crescendo of Eleanor Clift and Monica Crowley launching “Excuse Me’s” across their political divide on the McLaughlin Group, I long for John McLaughlin’s programmed dominance of the conversation which allows him to quiet everyone so that one person can be heard. His intervention always reminds me, through my long association with the French and my eager participation in the French sport of “Conversation”, that Americans, unless they are fighting about politics in the media, expect to be heard ONE AT A TIME.
In Raymonde Carroll’s classic “Cultural Misunderstandings, The French-American Experience”*, I learned early on about the French conversational style that I had unconsciously adopted in my years among the French.
“Americans often expressed surprise in my presence at the fact that French people, ‘who claim to be very big on manners,’ are themselves so ‘rude’: ‘they interrupt you all the time in conversation,’ ‘they finish your sentences for you, ‘ they ask you questions and never listen to the answer,’ and so on.”
Spontaneity and “fueling” of a conversation are key to understanding and participating in any discussion with the French. Interruptions are not so much considered “rude” as evidence of emotional engagement, of being hooked on the speaker’s message, to the point that an immediate reaction is complimentary and proof of active involvement in the conversation.
The previously cited work by Ms. Carroll was originally published in French under the title “Evidences Invisibles”, a wonderful paradoxical title that perfectly describes so many subtle nuances of cultural differences. Her work was the standard among French teachers and students more than twenty years ago, long before Peter Mayles and Polly Platt brought their foreigners’ views of the French into popular literature. Aside from her analysis of the Frenchman’s relationship with the telephone, which has been turned completely upside down with the advent of the “portable” or cell phone, Ms. Carroll’s observations remain pertinent to this day.
While most Americans visit France for the scenery, and perhaps the cuisine, a trip to France for me, not surprisingly, is a linguistic adventure. Although I never miss the opportunity to visit an unknown church, castle or museum, the real highlight for me is dinner conversation long into the night, around a table where plates can be cleared away, but the stemware lingers as long as our verbal exchanges continue, warm and raucous. I teach Gallicismes in my French classes, because they are the Passwords for an American to dive in to the conversation and be accepted. French conversation is a sport, in its own way, with challenges and jousts, a kind of seduction to which one must alternately succumb or wield. The subjects of politics, religion, and sex are all fair game. But, unlike Americans, the French do not discuss money. Not how much they make or have, or how much they have spent. Money, as a topic of conversation in France, is as “dirty” and untouchable as sexuality is in the United States.
I have an old video of an evening spent with my French family, all of us squashed into a tiny apartment in the Hauts-de-Seine and gaily talking together long into the night about food, about culture, about family vacations, telling jokes. The host that evening had just acquired a new video camera and was trying out all its features while the conversation rolled on. When I’m homesick for France, I pop the tape into my old VCR. Some people look at photo albums… My vacation memories need a sound track.
The verbal sparring, the play on words, the chorus of voices rising and falling together on my tape, all remind me that the art of conversation is practiced entirely differently in France. How often do Americans just sit together and talk? Without the background noise of the television ?
Living among Americans, with my French soul, I have to make a conscious effort to keep from interrupting someone with whom I am engaged in conversation. I wait anxiously for the end of a sentence. And even then, I often find that I did not respect the essential interval before launching my rejoinder. Sometimes waiting for the other person to take a breath does not suffice. I have to wait for other clues that the person’s train of thought has pulled into a station and has opened its doors for the new passengers of my thoughts to climb aboard.
So, in the sincere hope that this explantion will allow me to be culturally understood for my linguistic rudeness, I ask my American friends, colleagues and family to forgive me for past conversational transgressions.
… dis seulement une parole et je serai guérie… Amen.
*Raymonde Carroll, Cultural Misunderstandings, The French-American Experience, Translated by Carol Volk, University of Chicago Press, 1988; page 23.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The Asylum Interview
There are few linguistic assignments that are as emotionally charged as interpreting in the asylum office of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service. During the dozens of asylum interviews I have interpreted, I felt myself each time a witness to life-altering events, transported from the modern luxuries of Chicago to places in Africa where political affiliations can be death sentences, and ancestry determines fate.
The Chicago asylum office just recently moved to new digs. The waiting area is more spacious but more sterile. Gone are the pink painted walls, the plastic potted palm and the box of toys in the corner to keep the kids entertained. The security measures are more sophisticated as well, with an airport-style conveyor belt for scanning bags and a walk-through body scanner. They are manned by the same security guard who, previously stationed in the hallway outside the old offices, would pass the hand-held detector under our raised arms and down into ladies’ handbags.
First, the asylum applicant must show the mailed invitation form, then have fingerprints recorded and a picture taken at a reception desk. Right from the get-go, I see my client’s anxiety level rising. Many of my applicants must have endured a similar processing with imprisonment, and this administrative formality seems to trigger an innate fear of Government, even when it is not their own.
Next, when our number is called – anonymously, like at the Customer Service desk at Wal-Mart - we are escorted into the office where the “non adversarial” interview is to take place. Our identification papers (the applicant’s passport, my Illinois driver’s license) are taken for photocopying. We are asked to stand and swear an oath as to the truthfulness of our statements and the accuracy of my translation.
The asylum applicant and I sit side by side before the large desk of the interviewing officer. The desks are all the same: cherry wood – as if George Washington’s cherry tree is to be commemorated in all administrative furnishings. The polished desktop is nearly bare, except for the applicant’s file, a computer screen and keyboard. The interviewing offices seem intentionally denuded of any personal touch, as if by Official Memo: no photos, no knick-knacks. There is an intentional anonymity to the whole scenario, despite the intensely personal event about to take place. Some asylum officers even forego the computer and take all their notes in longhand, which seems to add to the tense drama of the moment.
The applicant is told that the interview will remain completely confidential and that no information can be communicated back to the home country. This declaration is universally met with some emotion: either a sigh of relief or a look of suspicion.
The applicant’s past and fears are examined here, in detail. Some interviews last more than three hours. One applicant I assisted was done in fifteen minutes, having neglected to file for asylum within the twelve month deadline following her arrival in the U.S. Working as a French-English interpreter, my asylum applicants are all African. For a while, my business card was making regular rounds in Ohio, of all places, among refugees from Niger. I eventually assisted enough interviewees to recognize differences between Hausa, Zarma and Tuareg tribal members. I was surprised the day I saw the name “Touareg” in gleaming metal on the rear end of a new Volkswagen crossover. Did the suburban Mom at the wheel, with her tribe of children strapped into the car seats in the back, realize that her vehicle bears the name of a once-wandering matriarchal people whose lives are forever changed by drought, violence and mining in the desert?
Few asylum applicants have the means to engage an attorney. Just filling out Form I-589 (Application for Asylum and for Withholding of Removal) is a challenge that many applicants often take on with the shaky help of a local countryman, perhaps someone they met in their neighborhood, possessing uncertain mastery of English. The first part of the asylum interview is devoted to reviewing the responses on the I-589. Like a school teacher, the officer breaks out a red pen and begins correcting the responses on the form. I have told my client before the interview that this is normal, that no one gets it right on the first attempt, and any changes made do not impact the decision of the office. I don’t think, however, that I always convince them.
All interviews almost always begin with confusion about even the most basic question of “what is your name?” Only in the States do we give our first name when asked that question. The rest of the world responds with a surname, and then offers a given name as a second option. I have never heard an officer ask directly “What is your family name?” which would resolve the problem.
Although I never meet my asylum client until as little as a half-hour before the interview, I try to provide some simple coaching in that time.
I emphasize strongly to the applicant to “ONLY answer the question you are asked!” The interviewer has a sequence of events to explore and verify and it is unproductive to unwittingly wander off of the subject. Despite my counseling, the applicant invariably will take off on a tangent that subsequently inspires a whole new line of questioning. This is often the result of heavy emotion and/or lack of education. I try to make it simple by using this example:
“If the officer asks you: do you own a dog? You can answer: yes. If you answer: yes, I have a poodle – you are still OK. But if you answer : yes, I own a dog and a cat and I have a giraffe in my back yard and the neighbors complain that he eats all the leaves off of their lilac bushes… Then you have opened up a whole new set of issues that you are going to have to explain.”
So many times during interviews, I have had the urge to fake a cough or a sneeze that sounds like “geerrraffffe” to bring the applicant back to respecting the line of questioning of the officer.
Another huge problem is the correct recollection of dates. Applicants frequently get all sorts of important dates wrong: the date of their wedding, the date of hospitalization for torture injuries, the dates of their arrival in the U.S., the dates of the birth of their children, the dates they enrolled in school… all seemingly critical to proving the credibility of their case. And yet, I think the human mind intentionally obscures memories under duress. I never seem to remember the date my divorce was finalized. Furthermore, many cultures don’t live fixated to a clock and a calendar with the intensity we do. I get the impression that not knowing the date of your marriage somehow trivializes the union. But in many places in Africa, the date is debatable because marriage is often celebrated by custom first and by civil ceremony later.
I have worked with asylum seekers who had been taken from their homes in the night, beaten and tortured for political opposition to the government in power. I have heard of gang rapes and horrendous prison conditions. I interpreted for a soldier who would not follow orders to participate in a genocide operation. He was tortured by being hung by his feet in his cell. I have translated the tearful trembling voices of women escaping female excision at the hands of their own family members. And universally, religion seems to be a reason to maim and to kill, to seize property and liberty. If I did nothing but asylum cases, I would surely develop a bitter, pessimistic view of the human race. Mankind remains medievally stupid in a scientific, technological age.
Enough asylum applicants opt to employ “my brother’s friend Hassan” as an interpreter so that, for the past couple of years, the asylum office has needed to remedy the situation by dialing up an on-line language service to listen to the interpretation being performed, as a check for accuracy. I’m extremely proud to say that I have not been corrected to date, and have even been congratulated by one asylum officer, who must have had to break up more than one linguistic battle between interpreters. It is additionally stressful to be professionally monitored in the rendering of the translation of a victim’s torture and persecution. Such a situation is not for the linguistically faint of heart or vocabulary.
I have met many fascinating, brave, heartbreaking and inspiring personalities during my work on asylum cases. I was present when one young woman was given the news that she had been granted asylum. She ran a dozen laps of the reception area, non-stop, her arms over her head. I took her to breakfast after that, to celebrate over French toast, and to possibly keep her from fainting.
My North African soldier who went AWOL during the genocide mission was quite memorable as well. Small in stature with elegant, handsome features, he looked as if he should be in a movie charging across the desert on an Arabian horse, brandishing a sword. He chatted blithely with me in the waiting room, clearly happy to be speaking French with someone. After fifteen minutes of our exchange, a corpulent black woman who had been sitting across from us, easily twice his size, stuffed into bright pink sweats and men’s athletic shoes, suddenly pryed herself loose from her chair, spewing profanities, swinging her weighty handbag in a deadly arc near our heads as she strode towards the exit. To my surprise, the little soldier chased after her, pleading “Chérie, come back…!” I had no idea she was his Significant Other. We had not been introducted. A more unlikely physical pair could not be imagined. Apparently I had, in speaking a foreign language, made her jealous!
I have had clients for whom I was fairly sure the outcome would be denial of asylum. Their stories sounded concocted, or they brought piles of press clippings to emphasize how bad conditions are back home. I always tell them that this interview is about their own personal situation, that the U.S. cannot take in whole populations because they are not represented, or persecuted. The applicant has to make his own case. I tell them that a critical question will be “if your mother and sister and brother are still living back in your country, without fear, why can you not go back?”
Many times, as a freelancer, I hear the comment, from family and friends, that maybe a real job will come along for me some day, with the corporate desk, hours and benefits. I don’t do asylum interviews because they are lucrative. However, I do have a teak elephant on my desk, an ever-present reminder from a grateful new American citizen. I have also been “unofficially” declared Togolese by a group in Chicago for whom I did some pro bono work. I have had my hand kissed by an attorney and have received blessings on “my children and my children’s children”, and even the odd, offhand proposal of marriage in the elevator. Mostly, asylum work makes me grateful for what I have and reminds me why it’s important to be bilingual.
I do love my job.
The Chicago asylum office just recently moved to new digs. The waiting area is more spacious but more sterile. Gone are the pink painted walls, the plastic potted palm and the box of toys in the corner to keep the kids entertained. The security measures are more sophisticated as well, with an airport-style conveyor belt for scanning bags and a walk-through body scanner. They are manned by the same security guard who, previously stationed in the hallway outside the old offices, would pass the hand-held detector under our raised arms and down into ladies’ handbags.
First, the asylum applicant must show the mailed invitation form, then have fingerprints recorded and a picture taken at a reception desk. Right from the get-go, I see my client’s anxiety level rising. Many of my applicants must have endured a similar processing with imprisonment, and this administrative formality seems to trigger an innate fear of Government, even when it is not their own.
Next, when our number is called – anonymously, like at the Customer Service desk at Wal-Mart - we are escorted into the office where the “non adversarial” interview is to take place. Our identification papers (the applicant’s passport, my Illinois driver’s license) are taken for photocopying. We are asked to stand and swear an oath as to the truthfulness of our statements and the accuracy of my translation.
The asylum applicant and I sit side by side before the large desk of the interviewing officer. The desks are all the same: cherry wood – as if George Washington’s cherry tree is to be commemorated in all administrative furnishings. The polished desktop is nearly bare, except for the applicant’s file, a computer screen and keyboard. The interviewing offices seem intentionally denuded of any personal touch, as if by Official Memo: no photos, no knick-knacks. There is an intentional anonymity to the whole scenario, despite the intensely personal event about to take place. Some asylum officers even forego the computer and take all their notes in longhand, which seems to add to the tense drama of the moment.
The applicant is told that the interview will remain completely confidential and that no information can be communicated back to the home country. This declaration is universally met with some emotion: either a sigh of relief or a look of suspicion.
The applicant’s past and fears are examined here, in detail. Some interviews last more than three hours. One applicant I assisted was done in fifteen minutes, having neglected to file for asylum within the twelve month deadline following her arrival in the U.S. Working as a French-English interpreter, my asylum applicants are all African. For a while, my business card was making regular rounds in Ohio, of all places, among refugees from Niger. I eventually assisted enough interviewees to recognize differences between Hausa, Zarma and Tuareg tribal members. I was surprised the day I saw the name “Touareg” in gleaming metal on the rear end of a new Volkswagen crossover. Did the suburban Mom at the wheel, with her tribe of children strapped into the car seats in the back, realize that her vehicle bears the name of a once-wandering matriarchal people whose lives are forever changed by drought, violence and mining in the desert?
Few asylum applicants have the means to engage an attorney. Just filling out Form I-589 (Application for Asylum and for Withholding of Removal) is a challenge that many applicants often take on with the shaky help of a local countryman, perhaps someone they met in their neighborhood, possessing uncertain mastery of English. The first part of the asylum interview is devoted to reviewing the responses on the I-589. Like a school teacher, the officer breaks out a red pen and begins correcting the responses on the form. I have told my client before the interview that this is normal, that no one gets it right on the first attempt, and any changes made do not impact the decision of the office. I don’t think, however, that I always convince them.
All interviews almost always begin with confusion about even the most basic question of “what is your name?” Only in the States do we give our first name when asked that question. The rest of the world responds with a surname, and then offers a given name as a second option. I have never heard an officer ask directly “What is your family name?” which would resolve the problem.
Although I never meet my asylum client until as little as a half-hour before the interview, I try to provide some simple coaching in that time.
I emphasize strongly to the applicant to “ONLY answer the question you are asked!” The interviewer has a sequence of events to explore and verify and it is unproductive to unwittingly wander off of the subject. Despite my counseling, the applicant invariably will take off on a tangent that subsequently inspires a whole new line of questioning. This is often the result of heavy emotion and/or lack of education. I try to make it simple by using this example:
“If the officer asks you: do you own a dog? You can answer: yes. If you answer: yes, I have a poodle – you are still OK. But if you answer : yes, I own a dog and a cat and I have a giraffe in my back yard and the neighbors complain that he eats all the leaves off of their lilac bushes… Then you have opened up a whole new set of issues that you are going to have to explain.”
So many times during interviews, I have had the urge to fake a cough or a sneeze that sounds like “geerrraffffe” to bring the applicant back to respecting the line of questioning of the officer.
Another huge problem is the correct recollection of dates. Applicants frequently get all sorts of important dates wrong: the date of their wedding, the date of hospitalization for torture injuries, the dates of their arrival in the U.S., the dates of the birth of their children, the dates they enrolled in school… all seemingly critical to proving the credibility of their case. And yet, I think the human mind intentionally obscures memories under duress. I never seem to remember the date my divorce was finalized. Furthermore, many cultures don’t live fixated to a clock and a calendar with the intensity we do. I get the impression that not knowing the date of your marriage somehow trivializes the union. But in many places in Africa, the date is debatable because marriage is often celebrated by custom first and by civil ceremony later.
I have worked with asylum seekers who had been taken from their homes in the night, beaten and tortured for political opposition to the government in power. I have heard of gang rapes and horrendous prison conditions. I interpreted for a soldier who would not follow orders to participate in a genocide operation. He was tortured by being hung by his feet in his cell. I have translated the tearful trembling voices of women escaping female excision at the hands of their own family members. And universally, religion seems to be a reason to maim and to kill, to seize property and liberty. If I did nothing but asylum cases, I would surely develop a bitter, pessimistic view of the human race. Mankind remains medievally stupid in a scientific, technological age.
Enough asylum applicants opt to employ “my brother’s friend Hassan” as an interpreter so that, for the past couple of years, the asylum office has needed to remedy the situation by dialing up an on-line language service to listen to the interpretation being performed, as a check for accuracy. I’m extremely proud to say that I have not been corrected to date, and have even been congratulated by one asylum officer, who must have had to break up more than one linguistic battle between interpreters. It is additionally stressful to be professionally monitored in the rendering of the translation of a victim’s torture and persecution. Such a situation is not for the linguistically faint of heart or vocabulary.
I have met many fascinating, brave, heartbreaking and inspiring personalities during my work on asylum cases. I was present when one young woman was given the news that she had been granted asylum. She ran a dozen laps of the reception area, non-stop, her arms over her head. I took her to breakfast after that, to celebrate over French toast, and to possibly keep her from fainting.
My North African soldier who went AWOL during the genocide mission was quite memorable as well. Small in stature with elegant, handsome features, he looked as if he should be in a movie charging across the desert on an Arabian horse, brandishing a sword. He chatted blithely with me in the waiting room, clearly happy to be speaking French with someone. After fifteen minutes of our exchange, a corpulent black woman who had been sitting across from us, easily twice his size, stuffed into bright pink sweats and men’s athletic shoes, suddenly pryed herself loose from her chair, spewing profanities, swinging her weighty handbag in a deadly arc near our heads as she strode towards the exit. To my surprise, the little soldier chased after her, pleading “Chérie, come back…!” I had no idea she was his Significant Other. We had not been introducted. A more unlikely physical pair could not be imagined. Apparently I had, in speaking a foreign language, made her jealous!
I have had clients for whom I was fairly sure the outcome would be denial of asylum. Their stories sounded concocted, or they brought piles of press clippings to emphasize how bad conditions are back home. I always tell them that this interview is about their own personal situation, that the U.S. cannot take in whole populations because they are not represented, or persecuted. The applicant has to make his own case. I tell them that a critical question will be “if your mother and sister and brother are still living back in your country, without fear, why can you not go back?”
Many times, as a freelancer, I hear the comment, from family and friends, that maybe a real job will come along for me some day, with the corporate desk, hours and benefits. I don’t do asylum interviews because they are lucrative. However, I do have a teak elephant on my desk, an ever-present reminder from a grateful new American citizen. I have also been “unofficially” declared Togolese by a group in Chicago for whom I did some pro bono work. I have had my hand kissed by an attorney and have received blessings on “my children and my children’s children”, and even the odd, offhand proposal of marriage in the elevator. Mostly, asylum work makes me grateful for what I have and reminds me why it’s important to be bilingual.
I do love my job.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Holy Moses! It's International Translator's Day!
With my apologies to any Biblical scholars out there, I’d like to take a moment to pay tribute to St. Jerome, the Patron Saint of translators, on this, his Feast Day.
(I believe the “feast” here means that it’s his holiday… not necessarily an occasion to break out the pots and pans and cook something special… What does one eat to celebrate the Patron Saint of translators? We were not put on this earth to “eat our words…”)
As I understand it, Jerome was a rich kid from Rome, with records showing that he was baptized there in 365 A.D. Contrary to the tradition of when I was baptized as an unwitting babe in arms, Jerome must have been older when he was splashed with the holy water, because less than ten years later, in 373, he had a major falling out with his wealthy parents and took off to live as a hermit in the desert in Syria. Somewhere along the line, he learned Hebrew and became ordained as a priest.
After hanging out in the desert for almost ten years, Jerome apparently had enough of sand and isolation and came back home to Rome where Pope Damascus took him on as his personal secretary and asked him for the simple task of producing the Official Latin Translation of the Bible.
Jerome seems to have been, for a priest, somewhat of a non-conformist, because he didn’t hang around the Pope too long, and took off for Palestine. Unlike Interpreters, who are typically a gregarious lot, Translators tend to be a bit introverted. I could easily imagine St. Jerome in current times, hunched over a keyboard in his pajamas late into the day, not answering the phone, hunting for the perfect word…
Jerome seems to have had a violent nature, being uncompromising and inflexible. There’s a great story about how he befriended a lion in the desert, removing a thorn from the lion’s paw. The happy cat followed Jerome around like a puppy thereafter. Nevertheless, when the monastery’s donkey went missing (actually donkey-napped by a wandering bunch of Bedouins), Jerome accused his leonine friend of making lunch out of the poor beast of burden. When the donkey turned up later, the lion apparently died of grief for having fallen from the good graces of his master. So much for saintly compassion…
Anyway, the quality that makes the Saints so attractive is their very human nature and how they overcome it. St. Jerome spent the last thirty years of his life in a monastery wrestling with translating Hebrew into Latin. His translation got major recognition by the Council of Trent in the mid 1500’s. How cool to be outlived by a translation!
But for me, the real appeal of St. Jerome is again that marvelously human flaw. St. Jerome, our Patron Saint, gave us one of the best translation errors in history.
Take a look at Michelangelo’s statue of Moses. The man has horns! Thanks to St. Jerome.
This image comes from a mistranslation by St. Jerome of the Hebrew word “qaran” in Exodus. As translators know full well, one word can have several, often conflicting, meanings. “Qaran” is derived from a noun meaning “horn”. Our buddy Jerome took the basic meaning of the word and neglected its derived meaning of “to emit rays”. Moses’ head was supposed to be shining.
As a result of Jerome’s translation, there are images all over Europe, in stained glass church windows and drawings, of a goat-like Moses.
So today, we translators celebrate a great man, St. Jerome, who devoted his life to translating the major text of his time. He was canonized for his work. His motto was “Non verbum e verbo, sed sensum exprimere de sensum” which means “to express not word by word, but meaning by meaning.”
As we translators live with the gentle clicking of our keyboards in the quiet isolation of our offices, let’s pay homage to our Patron Saint who was not perfect in his work, but who gave it everything he had.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Let them eat cake...
All stretch limos have a passenger bay like a cheap scaled-down version of a Hugh Hefner Sixties’ apartment, with strips of changing colored lights in the ceiling, sculpted undulating black leather seating and a wet bar shrine of chrome and fake mahogany. Outside the smoked glass windows, cornfields extended over the flat Midwestern horizon like an evenly mowed suburban lawn, guarded by huge stork-like wind turbines whose skinny blades turned lazily facing west where we were headed.
I was travelling with my French clients from one board meeting to the next. They had dressed “décontracté” for the road trip, meaning “minus the tie”. The jackets and dress shirts had not gone away in favor of the American staple of jeans. Still recovering from the previous night’s steakhouse dinner, everyone was quietly digesting corn-fed beef and their private thoughts.
When René put down his Wall Street Journal, I asked him how he was adapting to life in the States. He is now stationed in Chicago.
Through my work, I meet many French citizens who have permanently moved to the Midwest, and I am forever seeking comparative opinions on life on both sides of the Atlantic. The responses I receive always remind me of the story of the Blind Men and the Elephant. The description of the beast is dependent upon the piece of trunk, tail, ear or hide in the speaker’s grasp. Ask a company director and economics will be the focus.
“Ah, you see, Déborah, in France we have an enormous middle class that we support.”
The use of the first person plural “we” caught my immediate attention. I know he didn’t mean “me.” We’re not looking at the elephant’s toe nails here. From this man’s vantage point, we are sitting squarely upon the elephant’s back, high above the rest.
Americans drool enviously over the six weeks of State mandated vacation in France, 13th month of salary and 35-hour work week. Most of my French interlocutors, however, are management who work many more hours than 35 per week, and who know what costs a single hiring brings to their business, with nearly impossible recourse to separation once the employment contract is signed.
I concurred that salaries are typically much lower in France, but health and retirement issues are covered by social benefits and don’t require major financial planning as in the States.
“Yes, but life is much more expensive in France as well. Everything is so much more expensive.”
Our conversation attracted the attention of the French CFO, who had just finished a call on his cell phone.
“C’est vrai… it’s true. To live “correctement” in France, mettons, you need to earn 20,000 Euros per month.”
Not sure if I had misheard the figure in the hum of the engine and the tires on the road, I repeated it. “Twenty thousand Euros?”
“Well, let’s say fifteen to twenty thousand.”
At the current exchange rate, that’s $250,000 per year.
I would translate “correctement” as “decently, reasonably well.” One needs$250,000 a year to live reasonably well in France.
My client once again modified his position. “I mean, that is the salary you need not to have any worries.”
I felt even more excluded from the “we” that is not the middle class.
We pulled into a roadside stop to allow the French their required smokes and I wandered off alone a bit to feel the gentle June breezes on my face and playing with the hem of my skirt. The view from the back of the elephant had made me dizzy.
I had never heard such an attack on the middle class before. The “house, two cars and a chick in a pot” American Dream. Isn’t the middle class the buffer between rich and poor? Doesn’t a well populated middle class ensure the balance that keeps revolution at bay and the guillotine in the closet?
We piled back into the limo and rolled on to Chicago, past the tiny peeling painted wooden houses of Gary, Indiana and towards the mirrored towers glistening in the sun on the banks of Lake Michigan.
I was travelling with my French clients from one board meeting to the next. They had dressed “décontracté” for the road trip, meaning “minus the tie”. The jackets and dress shirts had not gone away in favor of the American staple of jeans. Still recovering from the previous night’s steakhouse dinner, everyone was quietly digesting corn-fed beef and their private thoughts.
When René put down his Wall Street Journal, I asked him how he was adapting to life in the States. He is now stationed in Chicago.
Through my work, I meet many French citizens who have permanently moved to the Midwest, and I am forever seeking comparative opinions on life on both sides of the Atlantic. The responses I receive always remind me of the story of the Blind Men and the Elephant. The description of the beast is dependent upon the piece of trunk, tail, ear or hide in the speaker’s grasp. Ask a company director and economics will be the focus.
“Ah, you see, Déborah, in France we have an enormous middle class that we support.”
The use of the first person plural “we” caught my immediate attention. I know he didn’t mean “me.” We’re not looking at the elephant’s toe nails here. From this man’s vantage point, we are sitting squarely upon the elephant’s back, high above the rest.
Americans drool enviously over the six weeks of State mandated vacation in France, 13th month of salary and 35-hour work week. Most of my French interlocutors, however, are management who work many more hours than 35 per week, and who know what costs a single hiring brings to their business, with nearly impossible recourse to separation once the employment contract is signed.
I concurred that salaries are typically much lower in France, but health and retirement issues are covered by social benefits and don’t require major financial planning as in the States.
“Yes, but life is much more expensive in France as well. Everything is so much more expensive.”
Our conversation attracted the attention of the French CFO, who had just finished a call on his cell phone.
“C’est vrai… it’s true. To live “correctement” in France, mettons, you need to earn 20,000 Euros per month.”
Not sure if I had misheard the figure in the hum of the engine and the tires on the road, I repeated it. “Twenty thousand Euros?”
“Well, let’s say fifteen to twenty thousand.”
At the current exchange rate, that’s $250,000 per year.
I would translate “correctement” as “decently, reasonably well.” One needs$250,000 a year to live reasonably well in France.
My client once again modified his position. “I mean, that is the salary you need not to have any worries.”
I felt even more excluded from the “we” that is not the middle class.
We pulled into a roadside stop to allow the French their required smokes and I wandered off alone a bit to feel the gentle June breezes on my face and playing with the hem of my skirt. The view from the back of the elephant had made me dizzy.
I had never heard such an attack on the middle class before. The “house, two cars and a chick in a pot” American Dream. Isn’t the middle class the buffer between rich and poor? Doesn’t a well populated middle class ensure the balance that keeps revolution at bay and the guillotine in the closet?
We piled back into the limo and rolled on to Chicago, past the tiny peeling painted wooden houses of Gary, Indiana and towards the mirrored towers glistening in the sun on the banks of Lake Michigan.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
