The Language Barrier

Some background information first: I am a foreigner in Finland.

It happens so, from time to time, that when people from my home country are considering a PhD abroad, particularly in Finland, and they somehow know me (directly or through mutual friends), we get into conversations about the pros and cons, the good and bad stuff, the easy and tough parts.

One of the FAQs include the language question.

In my two years here, I have not yet come up with a good short answer. Is there a language barrier in Finland? No, but yes there is. Or more like, yes, but apparently not.

I find this to be one of the weird things about my whole experience, and I never imagined that the “language barrier” would play out quite like this.

Back when I was on the other side, and I was gathering information on different aspects of adjustment, and asking people and disentangling information from the internet webs, I was told that English is fine! Almost everybody speaks English and there are no problems. They are, of course, right.

Ask me and I will tell you that of course you can survive and move about fine with just knowing English. Heck, I have myself done it for almost two years now. But I will also tell you that despite this, there is, in fact, a language barrier in Finland. And because of this, the existing language barrier is never acknowledged. I will also tell you to not take this too seriously and this is probably kind of fine-print information (not to mention, everyone has different experiences and what might feel like an ocean to me could be just a drop in the bucket for other people).

Now, I have come to realize that my methods of adjustments rely heavily on the language. In a new place, it helps to know your boundaries and how much you can dive in appropriately. And, being potentially awkward questions to ask directly, how does one get this kind of information otherwise? By observing one’s environment and noticing the interactions between already-established people in the “culture” (read: by overhearing conversations).

That ways you know if you should just keep it work-related, or if you could joke around a little bit and share light-hearted, other-workly information. And as you put together your own big picture, you see where you can and cannot fit in, in what aspects will you be limited yourself, and if you can establish a state of equilibrium with your environment.

In case there’s a “language barrier”, you are cut-off from this very important source of information. And in case of Finland, where, as the internet says, people don’t talk, or don’t like to talk, or whatever it is actually that they have with the act of talking, this effect is magnified.

So when they are talking among themselves, what is it really that they are talking about? Just work, probably? Or that’s how you start off, more or less.

Now, in my two years of observing and speculating and trying to put together the pieces of my yet-incomplete puzzle, I have reached the conclusion that the Finns do talk, at least, but they are probably not always talking about work. Though still not sure how much. Also not sure if they have a gossip culture and office politics. Also not sure how much is appropriate and how much isn’t. To some extent, I can tell which people in my environment are more friendly and which are not as friendly with each other, but I cannot say how much friendly those people are with each other.

So, yes, there’s a language barrier in Finland that nobody is ready to acknowledge because, of course, everybody speaks English, and what needs to be communicated is being communicated. Survival prospects of internationals are actually pretty nice, even if they are not up for learning the language.

Another way that this language barrier is amplified is when you are sitting in a group and the already-established people just kind of forget you are there and start conversing in their local language. The feelings of exclusion can be tremendous and these can be the main moments where you truly experience a “culture shock”. Still, I assume this is relative to what culture you are coming from and what your host culture is. I expect that in more social and inclusive host cultures, this might not hit a new person so hard (if they feel included in other aspects in their environment).

(Older posts on culture shock: here and here).

There’s only one way I have found around this, so far: Learning the language, irrespective of if you are good with communicating in English only, and even if you are not planning to speak in your new language. Having now taken two Swedish courses, I can tell at least when they are talking in Swedish vs. Finnish. Also, recently I realized that while I can still not understand what the already-established people say while talking among themselves, I can finally get the gist of what is being talked about.

Most importantly, if you are in a gathering and they forget you and start talking among themselves, it at least becomes interesting to try and understand what they are talking about, or you can just imagine it as your usual Swedish listening practice.

Stupid Questions

They say that there are no stupid questions.

And yet, in classrooms, presentations, and seminars, it’s very typical for to-be questioners to start with “maybe it is a very stupid question, but…”.

Often, once the question is out there to be judged for its “stupidity”, you find out that it was not a stupid question at all. That could be because there really are no stupid questions (or are there? We have probably not phrased every possible question in every language to make this assumption, so let’s just say that most questions are not stupid).

And yet, even though there are probably no stupid questions, we still like to call some questions stupid (or would have others and ourselves believe that). Working in science, where it can be very important to have the correct terminology, I sometimes wonder if it is really the right thing to do.

In my short career as a scientist, I have also come to believe that it’s rare when a question is stupid (probably only the ones that flit through my head). The thing is, we have been judging the quality of questions on wrong parameters. When you are all these scientists, where everyone is quite competent at what they do themselves, and not-so-good at what the others do, and no two people are working on the exact same thing at the same time – it becomes tricky.  While some questions can be quite basic for some people, they can be a whole novel perspective from another’s point of view.

So, in reality, there are no stupid questions; only rookie questions, basic ones, newbie’s perspectives, outsider’s outlooks. These are all far, far from stupid.

All “stupid” questions just need to be relabelled.

P.S. The author has nothing personal against the word “stupid”. All views expressed in the post are completely neutral and unbiased.

Problem: Solutions

Lately in science, I have been trying to dissolve a  couple of salts in some “solvent” – I have now tried some options, but nothing has really worked so far.

So today, after around 3 weeks of trying to dissolve that salt, I sat down to compile the results of all my mixtures of salts-and-solvents – they could definitely not be called “solutions”.

And that was exactly what was wrong with these, not only scientifically and technically, but also on a literary level: What do I call them when I am writing my report to send to my supervisor?

We, scientists, are supposed to be very specific in terms of technical terms. So I could call them “solutions”, because I was ultimately aiming to make a solution but just was not getting there. But then, they weren’t really solutions, so how could I call them that? If I did, what kind of a scientist would that make me? Would I even be able to sleep at night?

It was a relief I could use the word “suspension” appropriately enough for some of them. That was really so considerate of that particular salt-solvent combination to give me the freedom to use another word.

For all other… Mixtures? Salt-solvent systems?… What do I call them? Or do I just craftily go on writing about them, carefully avoiding sentence structures where I would need to use the you-know-what word?

It’s crazy what people expect of a PhD student: they have to be a scientist in the lab, a writer when writing reports and papers and dissertations, and  an excellent communicator when they are supposed to present their work (and the best sales person if they choose to go into entrepreneurship).

And being a writer at that particular moment of time, how many times could I allow myself to use the word “mixture” over and over again? Or using the same sentence structure for every next line?

I do not know how I managed all that today. I just hope I can sleep at night.

Storry Telling – Part I

When you are a scientist, there’ll be countless times when you’ll be required to “communicate your work”. It’s necessary, it’s woven into the current system, and it makes sure people don’t have to reinvent the wheel (or at least that’s the point).

But sciieeeence… is too technical for good communication. And when it gets too specific (as in a PhD research), then it appears very far off from being relevant to general life. This means that often when science IS being communicated, it may not be reaching the ears it should be reaching.

Now that doesn’t matter in a lot of cases, because, after all, it is science and not a novel that we want to sell a 100 million copies of. It’s for other scientists, more specifically for those who are related to your own field of work… And even in there, people who really read your writings will be people who are almost exactly working on the same thing as you (how many people in the world does that mean, especially for a junior scientist? 10? Maaaay be 20, if they find your article)… And even they will not be reading it word to word, but mostly just skimming it, and extracting those precious couple of sentences that they’d find most relevant for their own work (and that you, by the way, spent months working to get).

So yeah, it is okay if it is boring and technical, because it is not meant to torture a whole lot of people (just the ones who might really need to read it).

Now this may seem sloppy on behalf of a scientist (although most of us are making a sincere effort to put forth that gibberish-to-your-ears in the most understandable way possible). And then, of course, we need to interact with people from other disciplines of science, and no matter how big of a scientist you are, it still helps that people from other fields can break their stuff down to bare basics for you to understand.

So good communication is still the king.

One of the key ways of communicating effectively is to tell it as a story (and this fad has been going on for a while now). And the thing, which I have always had a hard time understanding, is: how do you tell a scientific work as a story?

Story telling has so many elements, and so many styles: so which one is most suitable for the communication of a scientific work?

Okay, so you can give a good introduction. Start off by introducing the theme and “characters” of your story. If you give your audience (or readers) a really good introduction to ground them in understanding, it becomes easier (on both sides) as you progress.

Another aspect of this can be to tell your story with the story of your work. So you tried something, and it didn’t work (or, surprise!, this time it did work), and that’s how you jumped on this new idea that you’ll be telling people about (but hang on! you shall not overdo it, because, after all, thou shalt talk about science more).

Because story telling involves a lot of elements that can directly affect the integrity of your science. Like exaggerations. Or sometimes unnecessary and frilly details. It often also requires knowledge of the complete picture (which you never have in science until may be after you have gone through everything).

 

In science communication, I find this quite interesting as a scientist myself: What limits can you test and how far can you push the boundaries of science communication by applying principles of story telling?

(And how sorry should you be if you fail at it).