We Are All Refugees



Photo by Flickr user Takver provided for use under a Creative Commons Licence



I've heard of David Sedaris but have never ready any of his work; however, from reading various references in news magazines as well as a feature post on the popular blog Stuff White People Like, I've gotten the idea that he's supposedly witty, in a smarmy kind of way, and commands a very devoted fan base, kinda like Dave Berry, or Scott McCrea. With my head full of presuppositions and expectations waiting to be met, I put my kids to bed, put myself to bed, and dove into Sedaris's essay Me Talk Pretty One Day.

I must admit that when I saw this title on the class syllabus I was amused by how unrefined it sounded; I could just imagine a poor dullard doing his best to convey his hearts desire to wax eloquent and yet barely managing to stammer out “Me...talk...pretty one day”, as if what was lost in linguistic sophistication could be made up through sheer vocal conviction.  But who hasn't sounded like my proverbial dullard, particularly when trying to speak a foreign language? This is the theme of Sedaris's essay, which details his experience of attending a French language school in Paris, and the unconventional method of instruction his teacher employed to foster an increasing understanding of the French language.

In the essay Sedaris reveals that, while he assumed that the many different nationalities of students represented in his class were much more advanced then he in French, his teacher became the great equalizer, berating and insulting each pitiful (as she saw it) attempt at French speaking by her students, regardless of nationality. I truly enjoyed the manner in which Sedaris correlated his experience as a French student to that of a refugee, one who is a stranger in a strange land, devoid of true comfort and linguistic identity; this concept was masterfully illustrated towards the end of the essay when he stated that the following snippet of conversation was one often heard in refugee camps: “Sometimes me cry alone at night.”. Never mind the response to his statement, I started laughing as soon as I read that part; every presupposition I've held of what it means to be a refugee was immediately attributed, if you will, to Sedaris as well, with excellent comedic effect. Does it not open up the essay in a new light to view Sedaris as a type of refugee? I think it does, which provides a much needed tension within the story; the refugee, the tyrannical teacher, his loss of hope, and then the triumph of redemption when it dawns on him that he can actually understand the streams of insults coming from his teacher.

The moral of Sedaris's essay is to listen and not be so hasty to speak, take time to listen and absorb what is being spoken to you, regardless of its content. As Sedaris points out, this will not necessarily mean that one will immediately become fluent in whichever foreign language one is studying, but rather that this one small step is an important one towards that goal. If one cannot understand the language, what good would it be to simply learn to phonics without an understanding of how it all fits together? How Sedaris accomplishes his point is both funny and clever, and allows the reader to self identify through shared experiences of attempting a different language, be it a foreign language, vernacular specific to a particular trade, or just the latest slang. In my perspective, we are all refugees.