Illiteracy

When I was a kid – middle school, I think – I remember watching a short film in my English class about an illiterate adult in the U.S. I suppose the intention was to instill in us the importance of being able to read, but – as I was already quite literate at that point – most of the message was lost on me.

However, I do remember one scene from the film quite well. The subject of the film (let’s call him "Henry" for now – I don’t know what his name really was) tells about how he was able to (mostly) get around his disability when taking public transportation by counting stops, or checking outside landmarks to know how close he was (because, of course, he couldn’t read any of the signs that would tell him where he was).* One particular time, though, he fell asleep.

I can remember the images on the screen, and the sadness and fear in Henry’s throat as he describes waking up on the BART** train, completely confused and terrified. It was late at night, he didn’t recognize any of the landmarks. He didn’t know how far he had gone. He had never been past his stop before (because of the difficulty of finding his way back), so he wouldn’t be able to figure out when his stop was coming (after he got off the train and headed back in the direction he came from) until after he passed it.

Obviously, he was able to sort it out. It wasn’t life or death. But, for some reason, I felt so viscerally his panic and shame when he missed his stop. He didn’t want to ask other people because he was embarrassed. He was confused and panicked. And that really stuck with me.

So it’s only appropriate that now – almost 20 years later – I’ve finally had a taste of what adult illiteracy really feels like. Because, of course, I’m illiterate here.

Completely. I see people reading a book on the subway, and all I can do is peer at the "strange symbols" and wonder what the book is about. If I can’t see the cover, I have to try to imagine if it’s a novel, or maybe a textbook, or something else. I go to a local restaurant (one without pictures) and order, and then they ask me to specify, pointing at one array of characters I can’t read versus another – so I randomly choose one, having no idea. At the bank, trying to send money via Western Union to a friend in Tanzania, I just stared at form after form, all in Chinese, trying to figure out how I could fill it out and actually have my friend receive the money . . .

If I’m late to an appointment of some sort (work, or class, or whatever), I’ll pass a bus stop, knowing that one of those buses will probably go right by wherever I’m headed, but I can’t read the schedule or list of stops, and so I have to just speed-walk on by, arriving late to my spot.

My first time at the major train station, I felt a twinge of panic – line after line leading up to windows with different characters above them – which line do I go to? Am I going to just pick one, wait the half-hour it takes to get to the window only to find out that I’m in the completely wrong line? At that point, my Chinese was so poor that asking wouldn’t have accomplished much – and I was embarrassed.

Embarrassed to have to ask. Embarrassed that I’m living in this country, have immediate family from this land, and still so completely unable to break the code that is Chinese writing and function on that basic level.

I’m illiterate. A concept that is laden with shame back in the States.

But, luckily, there’s a lot of English in Shanghai. The subway has a robot-voice. My Mandarin is getting better, so I can ask for directions and actually understand the response. I’m trying to learn to read and write.

But I’m still mostly illiterate. I feel like a child when I look at signs now – picking out the handful of characters I know, trying to figure out anything about what the sign says. Learning to recognize characters for locations I go to a lot (all based on pattern-recognition, as opposed to a real sense of "reading"). I can write my name, but I even screw that up, sometimes.

And so I find myself imagining the life of "Henry" back in the U.S. Where there is no "back-door literacy" (like how Shanghai caters quite a bit to English-speakers). Where he didn’t have the privilege I have (as a "Western" traveler, my money being worth more here). Where his illiteracy has to be a secret, a shame, that keeps him from being able to ask for the help he needs.

And that’s the problem with different forms of oppression in the States – how we use shame and stigma to make them even that much harder to overcome. Through socialization and the media, we convince folks in poverty that they should be embarrassed about it, decreasing their self-esteem enough to make it less likely that they even ask for the help to try and dig out. Victims of abuse (all forms) often are too ashamed to admit it. Somebody with an education so poor it left them illiterate . . .

All issues that – by and large – are not really the fault of the people experiencing them.*** And yet, they are the ones that end up feeling shame for their situations. Not those in power who create these systems. Not the people with money or privilege that choose not to do anything. All those truly responsible? Feeling proud of the "success" they’ve "made for themselves," while belittling all those who didn’t work hard enough, or who weren’t strong enough to be in similar situations.

And so I find myself really admiring those who attend adult literacy classes. Who fight through that shame and find the time (usually at night, after a long day of work) to try to learn to read (so much harder in adulthood). Having to figure out a new set of transportation routes, asking around for help (because they can’t just read an ad). Making up for the mistakes of an education system that lets that come to pass. People who fight through all that? The real heroes and "success-stories" of this country. So often ignored (or even belittled).

But never again by me.

And I hope that I can muster just a fraction of their courage and dedication while continuing to learn to read and write (and speak) here – especially when my motivation is lacking. Because there is no system keeping me from being successful – no real hurdles to overcome. So, in my particular case, if I don’t learn to read Chinese – it’s all my own fault.

You’ve got to appreciate the privilege of having only your own motivation-level to hold you back, don’t you? If only the rest of the world was so simple.

* This was back in the day before buses and subways started having robot-voices to say out loud what stop you were at.

** The SF Bay Area subway system.

*** Yeah, yeah – always exceptions, and everybody is accountable and has responsibilities, but come on . . .

**** The picture looks really neat, eh? It’s pretty much the equivalent of a child’s sloppy hand-writing of the A-B-Cs.