Reflections on Being a Stranger in a Foreign Land
Reflections on Being a Stranger in a Foreign Land
By Todd L. Sandel, Ph.D.
In 1944 the scholar, Alfred Schütz, known for his writings
in sociology and phenomenology, published an essay, “The stranger: An essay in
social psychology.” He claimed that while most people operate according to the
“cultural pattern” of a standardized scheme, with common sense “recipes” for
how to act and how to interpret others’ actions, the stranger experiences the
world differently. Such a person has moved from the familiar to the unfamiliar,
and thus experiences a “crisis”: the stranger “has to place in question nearly
everything that seems to be unquestionable to the members of the approached
group” (p. 502). What is seen by “in-group” members as an objective,
standardized way of navigating the world, to the stranger is experienced as a
“subjective chance” that depends more on “personal circumstances and faculties”
than an objective, impersonal system open to all.
It is not difficult to see how Schütz’s essay was motivated
and informed by his personal experience. A Jew and native of Austria,
facing the threat of Hitler’s rise in Germany, in 1939 Schütz moved to the
United States and joined the faculty of The New School. When he wrote “The
stranger” he had lived in the U. S. three years, and was experiencing life as a
stranger. (The manuscript was completed the end of 1942, see Grathoff, 1989.) In an America where anti-Semitism was
widespread, and impacted both public policy and private actions, he too was affected.
He followed news of the war in Europe, seeing that the outcome was uncertain
and unknowable, and that the chance of him returning to Austria, the country
where he had lived most of his life, was lessening. He was the stranger in
America—an exile and refugee—seeing the cultural patterning of life there from
the perspective of the questioning outsider. And he must have felt the
“doubtful loyalty of the stranger” both due to the prejudice of the inside
group, and his own unwillingness to blindly and unquestioningly adopt the
cultural pattern of the host.
Schütz’s concept of the stranger provides a lens for
understanding my own experience in Macao (Special Administrative Region of
China), both personally and professionally. His work points to an understanding
of the stranger as both a person: who crosses from one context to another, and
a perspective: someone who does not understand the unwritten and unquestioned
rules and patterns of the in-group, and must learn and adapt. This piece is my
attempt to describe the opportunities, challenges, and rewards associated with
serving as a Communication scholar and professor overseas, outside the United
States. In Schütz’s essay I find resonances—both personally and professionally—in
what he wrote many decades ago.
As a stranger I perceive that the cultural patterning of
life that other in-group members may unquestioningly accept is something that I
find novel at best, problematic at worst. I could give many examples to
illustrate, most quotidian. For instance, when greeting people in the morning,
most people (who are Chinese or “Asian” looking), see my face and don’t say
anything. They are not sure if I could understand what they say, just as I am
not sure if I should acknowledge their presence, by saying “good morning” in
English, Mandarin, or Cantonese. Many times we just ignore each other.
Less quotidian examples involve encounters with Macao’s
complex bureaucracy. One challenge that I faced soon after arriving was to
receive permission for my spouse to join me. Macao requires proof of a spousal
relationship not only via a wedding certificate, but also official
documentation that a spousal relationship still exists. (Macao’s land area is
very small, and while it is open to millions of tourist visitors, it strictly
limits the number who can live and work within its borders.) Since my spouse
and I were married in Taiwan and not the U.S., we had to make a trip to Taiwan,
visit a government office with a record of our marriage more than 20 years ago,
and ask the clerk to produce a document stating that we were still married, and
that our names, listed in Chinese on the wedding certificate, were the same as
the English names on our U.S. passports. With the document in hand we returned
to Macao, uncertain if this would work. Our anxious experience—albeit far more
benign—echoed the “passology of exile” that Schütz and others faced when trying
to secure visas to remain in the U.S. in the 1930s and 40s.
Another example comes from my role as chair of the
University of Macau’s Ethics Panel (this university’s IRB). As a place
administered by the Portuguese for over 400 years, and only since 1999
administered by China, Macao has developed laws and bureaucratic procedures
based upon both systems. When I was working with colleagues to write a template
for an Informed Consent Document, it was pointed out by a colleague from the
Faculty of Law that the language I used to describe a minor as “a person under
the age of 18” was incorrect. Following Portuguese law, Macao considers persons
age 14 to 17 to be “consenting minors.” Therefore, such persons are legally
able to grant consent. However, other nearby administrative regions where many
scholars conduct research (e.g., China, Taiwan, Hong Kong), do not have this
category of consenting minor. How could we write a document that simply states what
is the age of consent? I have yet to find a simple solution.
Just as Schütz said the stranger’s loyalties may be seen as
suspect, so too do I sometimes experience this in my position. While there are
other “foreign” scholars who play important administrative roles at this
university, such as department head or associate dean, there is an unstated preference
for appointing Chinese scholars to leadership positions. Despite my efforts to
adapt and learn local cultural ways, I can never be accepted as a full-fledged
member of the in-group. I am a foreigner here—albeit a privileged and well paid
one. It is necessary at times to exercise self-censorship, and not discuss or
explore certain “political” topics, cognizant of the fact that during the
height of the “Occupy Central” protests in Hong Kong, one colleague who
encouraged students to observe closely, lost his position. Thus, when asked to
comment or vote on a proposal that has come down from “upper management,” I do
not protest too loudly. I have adopted the attitude, as expressed to me by a
colleague who is also a stranger to Macau: “This is not my country.”
Yet despite these and other challenges, I do not regret my
decision to leave the U.S. As a young university (established in 1981), located
in a dynamic and growing economy, this institution is expanding, innovating,
and attracting scholars from across the globe. For example, in the Department
of Communication, with 22 full-time academic instructors, my colleagues hold
passports and/or identities from many nations and regions: China, Taiwan, Hong
Kong, Macao, Portugal, New Zealand, Australia, UK, and US. Their terminal degrees
were obtained from universities across the globe: US, UK, China, Canada,
Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong, and Macao. My department is not unique, as
the University of Macau receives the highest score for the internationalization
of its faculty from global ranking services. I am not the only stranger here.
The diversity in the department and across the university
means that a hybrid system has emerged. On one hand, we follow elements of the
British system of higher education, as the university is led by a Rector and
academic units are divided into faculties (colleges in the U.S.). On the other,
most of the leadership of this university received their degrees and
established careers in the U.S. This hybrid structure can be seen in how some
programs (spelled “programmes”) are structured. For example, Ph.D. students
must take and complete courses their first year of study, following an American
pattern. But following the British system, Ph.D. students are admitted not to a
department or program, but admitted by and assigned to a supervisor. From day
one a Ph.D. student works with an individual professor, and it is difficult for
a student to change this relationship. Furthermore, professors who work with
doctoral students bring to bear different styles of supervision, as some employ
a more “hands on” approach with students, while others let students work on
their own, and see them infrequently. Therefore, the cultural patterning of the
University of Macau system may be called “American” by those familiar with a
British system, and “British” by those more familiar with an American one.
When considering the practices of universities across this
region, we can see that other institutions have recruited faculty members internationally.
Based upon my own incomplete survey of nearby institutions, I have found many
have recruited scholars from the U.S. and other countries outside Greater
China. (Greater China refers to China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Macao.) Hong Kong
Baptist University’s Departments of Communication and Journalism have four such
scholars; the Chinese University of Hong Kong’s School of Journalism has three;
and the two best known programs in Singapore, National University Singapore and
Nanyang Technological University, have 10 and 21 such scholars respectively. It
should be pointed out, however, that while there are U.S. and other
“non-native” scholars working at institutions across East Asia (e.g., China,
Taiwan, Japan, Malaysia, and Korea) they are proportionally fewer in number.
This is most likely due to issues of language and remuneration. That is, at
these other institutions the language of instruction in communication programs
is generally not in English, and the compensation is not as high. Thus, foreign
scholars are more likely to be found at institutions where English is the language
of instruction, and the salary is better.
While working in a department where colleagues come from across
the globe is a draw, a more important concern, however, is the resources
available for scholarly work. Unfortunately, across the U.S. many state
governments are underfunding higher education, and adversely impacting the
quality and quantity of resources available for scholars. The situation at my
institution, and at many other institutions across Asia, however, is different.
I may apply for internal grants to cover the expense of attending conferences, and
travel for research. The latter is important to me as I am a scholar who
believes that communication is situated in a context, necessitating field trips
to gather and interpret data. I am also at an institution with a well-funded
library that purchases subscriptions to the databases that I need. (It should
be noted that unlike China, internet access in Macao is not censored.) The library has an extensive and expanding
collection of books and work in communication, and purchases almost every new
title that I recommend. Hence, I have found that when looking for recent books
in communication and related subjects, the University of Macau library has more
volumes than my former institution, the University of Oklahoma. And it must be
noted that the internet has made a tremendous difference in terms of access to
journals and other scholarly information.
Another area of concern for the scholar abroad is the
quality of teaching and interaction with students. As can be expected, my
experience here at the University of Macau is qualitatively different. English
is the language of instruction for all the courses I teach. However, as most
students were educated either in Macao or China, for many English is their
second (or third) language. Thus, I may modify my teaching style and speak more
slowly; sometimes when lecturing—usually to a year one class—I may break the
unwritten rule of “English only” in the classroom and explain concepts by
speaking alternately in English and Chinese. I also tend to assign less
reading, and spend more time helping students edit and improve their writing. These
are all challenges.
Yet there are benefits to teaching in this environment. One
is to assign students to read my work, which comes primarily from Chinese
contexts, and hear and read their responses. Students will often point me in
new directions, showing what and where to conduct future research. I also find
it interesting that when I assign readings from “standard” American
textbooks—used selectively—I must explain and discuss cultural biases evident
in such work. The cultural frame of reference is shifted when teaching in Macao,
and I find it interesting to present and critically examine work that is
published by U.S. scholars who do not realize their own cultural biases. Thus, I find the teaching experience creates
what Bakhtin might call a “surplus of vision,” meaning that I can see and
understand more when using scholarship produced in the U.S., than I would if I were
presenting these same materials to students in the U.S.
A related personal benefit for teaching in this context is
the opportunity to work with graduate students, at both the MA and Ph.D. level,
who develop interesting and innovative research topics. Over the past five
years I have supervised and completed 11 MA theses, and am currently supervising
four Ph.D. students. Each has developed an interesting research project. For
example, one MA thesis was a study of the romantic relationships between Westerners
and Chinese living in Macao, another studied the impact of social media on the
experiences of Mainland students in Macao, a third studied the acculturation
and identity of Macao’s “new immigrants,” a fourth studied how young people
mixed Cantonese and Standard Chinese in messages posted on WeChat, a fifth was
an in-depth ethnographic study of Chinese immigrants to Sevilla, Spain, and a
sixth studied the concept of the “Leftover Women” of China. Each student offers
the possibility to study a topic few outside this context know even exists.
In sum, just as is true of any position, there are
advantages and disadvantages to working here. But as I write this recent events
in the U.S. have brought me even closer to understanding Alfred Schütz’s
perspective when he wrote his essay in 1942. Just as from afar—a place of
relative safety—he watched his land of birth torn asunder by the horrors of
war, I sadly watch from afar—a place of relative safety—my land of birth
disrupted by the rancor and policies of the Trump Presidency. The twentieth
century was the “American century” when many prominent and budding scholars, from
Europe, the Middle East, Africa, and Asia, left their homes to take up
positions and establish careers in institutions across the U.S. Now, at what
may be the end of the American century, will we see a reversal? Will there be a wave of scholars who leave the U.S. for
opportunities elsewhere? No one can know for certain; each decision to remain
or leave is fundamentally personal. Yet I imagine that more American scholars
will reassess their situation, and embark on a career as a stranger abroad, following
a path Schütz described many years ago.
References
Grathoff, R. (Ed.). (1989). Philosophers in exile:
The correspondence of Alfred Schutz and Aron Gurwitsch. (J. C. Evans,
Trans.) Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.
Schuetz, A. (1944). The stranger: An essay in social
psychology. American Journal of Sociology, 49(6), 499-507. Retrieved
from www.jstor.org/stable/2771547
Todd Lyle Sandel is Associate Professor of Communication at
the University of Macau. He is Editor-in-Chief of the Journal of International and Intercultural Communication, associate
editor of The International Encyclopedia
of Language and Social Interaction, and author of Brides on Sale: Taiwanese Cross Border Marriages in a Globalizing Asia,
for which he received the 2016 Outstanding Book Award from the
International & Intercultural Division of the National Communication
Association. His research has appeared in Language
in Society, Research on Language & Social Interaction, Journal of
Intercultural Communication Research, Journal of Contemporary China, China
Media Research, and elsewhere.
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