communication regeneration

Communication is an outlet, an outlet to get ideas across for informational purposes, self reflection purposes, and artistic purposes, and when verbal communication is limited, when language is a barrier, something is lost. I am lost, and I turn to writing. I write emails and blogs… and causally keep a personal journal. However, Cubans do not have access to the internet. Access is only available for those who work with computers as professionals. Even college professors have limited access to the internet. The National Botanical Garden, right outside of Havana, acts as a biological research center as well as a destination for school children, and the researchers at the center have not one computer that is connected to the internet. Home phones are rare, so communication is restricted to calls during the working day if the people have positions using office phones. Cubans are not personally connected. I imagine to a certain extent they share a feeling of isolation. They must. After the romantic ideas of easy fluency in the Spanish language wore off, my inability to communicate with people has been a source of great frustration the past few weeks. Every single interaction with another living human being is a struggle, and for that reason some days are a simple string of frustrating miscommunications and insatiable desires to love on the people around me, to simply talk to them. It is isolating.

Some things transcend language barriers. For example, my room has a door that leads to a three story shaft open to the roof of the building. My bathroom has a window opening to this shaft, as do all the rooms stacked on top of mine. During the high traffic bathroom hours of the day, usually the mornings and evenings, a sound can be heard coming from the shaft, a distinct and otherwise grotesque sound, the sound of a man hawking up a loogie. For a length of time, no shorter than two weeks, I could count on this man to need to spit a couple times a day. This is understood in all languages.

Good food. The sounds made when a person enjoys good food is pleasing to the cook, no matter the language that comes from the person’s mouth when it is not full of food. We ate at an amazing paladar this week. A paladar is a privately owned restaurant that people manage inside their homes. Often times the assistant chef, home owner, and restaurant owner also acts as the waiter; it’s a real cultural experience. We have frequented a classy paladar, one with dozens of menu options, traditional music playing softly in the background, and art papering the walls. We have also enjoyed a paladar overlooking the coast, never mind the average food because the view is fabulous. However, the paladar we enjoyed on Monday was unexpectedly wonderful, humbly wonderful. Pushed back from the sidewalk, the restaurant was designated by an old neon sign with a painted backboard for the daylight hours and tubes to illuminate the nighttime hours when the power is actually working, and it demanded that we walk through an ally of sorts to enter the dining room. A clothes line acted as an arrow to the small door, and we could not help but notice the open faced washing machine bubbling and swirling a load of clothes. Having hand washed our clothes for the past five weeks, our eyes lit up. Inside, the unguarded fans with the aid of the low ceilings pushed a symphony of wonderful smells around the room. Our little jelly cups held some water remaining from their last washing, so the waitress took one and dumped its contents in the corner of the room, problem solved. Traditional Cuban food was served family style while multiple regulars greeted the hostess/waitress and took their regular seats. When the waitress asked about the food, my “mmmMMMMmmmmmm” pleased her and was better understood than the “muy bien,” I afterwards articulated in my not-so-Cuban accent.

After an exhausting three hour Spanish class Tuesday morning, I sought the refuge of my bed and the collected essays of George Orwell. I happened to be reading a very relevant essay of his, “Politics and the English Language”. George spoke to my soul… and more rationally to my frequent frustration with political and sociological writings, their poor translations, and indirectly to my frustrations with foreign language. Orwell writes that in recent decades language stylistically has grown away from concrete meanings and has deteriorated into vague meanings and slovenliness. People often use fanciful and foreign language, even made-up and meaningless words, to hide their true ideas. Subjects are no longer discussed, but instead talked around. Use of deteriorating language lends the speaker to use words dishonestly. Political terms are tossed around carelessly without attention to their true meaning. Orwell writes specifically about democracy and its contemporary usage. Democracy no longer has an objective meaning but instead “private definitions.” Orwell names multiple other terms thrown around without objective meaning, words like, socialism, totalitarianism, equality, justice, and freedom, words relevant to the US/Cuban conflict that dominates the struggling economy of Cuba and acts as a small mosquito bite on the back of US politicians. Socialism is thought to be enemy to democracy when in truth the two concepts describe different systems, the economic and political respectively. Language is creating conflict.

Clear definitions of political terms agreed upon by all parties demand that speakers expose their true thematic intentions with correct use of language; however, people are reluctant to give up the power of vague speech. “Political language… is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidarity to pure wind.” Orwell suggests we need to return to the original images of what it is we intend to communicate and use language fitting the images, not empty phrases that dictate the meaning (or meaninglessness) of international conversation. Citizens of the United States speak endlessly on their hatred for the government established under Fidel Castro’s watch and governance, but often the language is meaningless and hides misunderstanding and untruths. Lack of clear language leaves people and entire nations in isolation drowning in pools of vague meanings and losing childlike games of charades, fumbling, frustrated that what they want to communicate is not getting across. Orwell states it best, “If one gets rid of these habits one can think more clearly, and to think clearly is a necessary first step towards political regeneration.”

Barriers in communication are entirely frustrating. However, unlike international political unrest, my Spanish is improving everyday.