Monoculture

Really how many do you know?  Is my standard response when a student informs me that they “hate Chinese people.”  Predictably enough the answer is always “well I don’t actually know any but....”  Sadly all too often in my day to day adventures here I’ve come into contact with attitudes that I had long since consigned to my past when growing up in 70s and 80s Britain.  As well as not liking a full quarter of the world’s population I have been informed (in all seriousness) that Indian food is extremely unhealthy and not fit for consumption (it doesn’t seem to bother a billion Indians but there you go) and a few times I’ve had to explain just why the term nigger is offensive.  When L informed her work mates that she was having Indian food cooked for her one evening she was warned that she would be served dog (if you do insist on using tired racial stereotypes the Chinese serve dog, us Indians run corner shops OK?)  For the most part the comments I have come across are due more to ignorance than anything nastier but it has jolted me a little out of my everything is cool mindset and back to challenging such views.  These attitudes are not a total surprise many an Italian still shudders at the memory of Berlusconi describing Obama as tanned (pretty ironic Silvio considering your permanent orange state.)  Not that a pome can be feel too superior about Italy’s leader we do have the Duke of Edinburgh with his own take on inter cultural understanding.  But I was left speechless by a sign on a souvenir cart in Venice which read “These pictures are toxic to Chinese people.”  Now putting aside the fact the items on sale were probably made in China and that the bankrupt Italian economy will probably be owned by China very soon the sheer irrational hatred in the sign does make one think about the culture here and while I abhor the sentiment I'm sad that someone feels so much anger and distrust not just for an ethnicity but perhaps for a world that is changing too rapidly to comprehend.

For most of the last century Italy was a country of émigrés and it is only really recently that the wave has reversed.  It has taken many years for places such as the UK and Australia to embrace multiculturalism and it’s not a completely won battle, Australia has yet to find a way to heal the damage caused to its Aboriginal populations and I don’t believe any country has a humane policy towards asylum seekers.  It seems to me that Italy is only now beginning explore how different communities will exist as a whole.   While immigrants are mainly from former Italian colonies in Africa and more recently Eastern Europe there is a small Chinese presence and an even smaller sub continental one.  From what I’ve seen the separate cultures generally keep themselves to themselves.  When I visit the Chinese grocers I am the only non Chinese face and likewise the African and Sri Lankan.    Most likely the next generation will have very different attitudes and experiences of other cultures; they’ll have to as the movement of peoples is a fact of our globalised world.    

Surprisingly the harshest and most casual racism (not sure I can call it that maybe prejudice is a better term) has been reserved for Southern Italians.  It is not uncommon to hear the things akin to “what do you expect they’re southern.”  When I first got here people (and even friends) would say “You know they’re Southern” no I don’t know what does that have anything to do with it?  I suspect that what it has is the notion of other people getting things they don’t deserve and taking away from those that do.

   

Growing up in the UK and living in Australia for the last 10 years I am used to living amongst different nationalities and ethnicities so it has been a bit of a shock to the system to find myself living in a monoculture.  While I had reconciled (or so I thought) myself to the notion that I wouldn’t be able to get a steaming bowl of Pho in my new abode (and yes it is unexpectedly painful) I didn’t really think about the other effects of monoculturalism.  As well as the host of ethnic food (which I know my Italian friends are sick of hearing about and I understand that it’s Italy and I won’t be able to pick up wonton wrappers at the supermarket) I’m missing hearing a myriad of languages.  I loved sitting on a Melbourne tram hearing people talk, Cantonese, Arabic, Sudanese, Vietnamese and wondering what these strange sounds mean and I miss exploring the different ethnic suburbs. These whimsies are mitigated by the joy of living in a picturesque medieval town, having Venice just a short train ride away and yes all the yummy Italian food.  It takes a long time and a lot of challenging of entrenched ideas and fears to get to the point where different cultures can coexist and even evolve together to create a new culture – can anyone honestly imagine Britain today without curry? – and each country writes its own story in this regard at the moment I think it’s too early to predict what will happen here, tough economic times don’t help the situation.  I hope that Italy takes the path of acceptance and celebration.

Farewell Orsetta

Last week with more than a little regret I said my farewell to my job.  After just a few months I’ve found myself moving to another school here in Treviso.  This first job was a wonderful entry into the teaching life allowing me to ease into a new industry and provided a welcome atmosphere while I got myself through the initial shock of finding myself living in Treviso – never be let it said that I think through things before I do them!  Even after just five months I’m almost nostalgic for the good times.  Yes days were long and at times infuriating (any students reading this I would like you to know it is most annoying to spend your unpaid leisure time inventing and writing a new and interesting lesson, making teaching materials only to have you not show up to the lesson .  I shan’t name names – we all know who you are) but looking back it was an invigorating experience.  While you could never say teaching is a physically demanding job never the less each day I would come home exhausted.  When you are in a class there is not a moment of wondering attention you need to be thinking of the next activity, anticipating what problems students could have, listening for pronunciation and grammatical errors, thinking of ways to explain the language and deciding what things to correct there and then and what to tackle later.  There’s not a moment to even think about what you are going to have for lunch, dinner or mid afternoon snack! 

My real regret is leaving the wonderful people I’ve been lucky enough to work with.  Over the years I have had a really eclectic working history a brief list of which includes: bar hand, puppeteer, stage manager, bookstore manager, Christmas decoration coordinator and I’ve even managed a brief time in the corporate world variously working for major banks and international accounting firms – don’t ask me how but they paid really well.  I’ve generally been lucky with my work places and have always found myself working with nice people and my school was no exception in fact it’s been one of the best.  With any new work place it takes a while to find your feet and build the friendships but it was only a few weeks before I was affectionately called orsetta – which I’m told means bear cub.  While it’s nice (and even necessary) to work in a friendly place to be in an environment with like minded people has been a breath of fresh air.  My fellow teachers have with me a shared love of words, language and teaching as well as an equally screwy sense of humour.    I will miss my days there – the quick trips for a sneaky prosecco between lessons, the what if humans had a blow hole conversations and being called orsetta.

So this week I’ll be starting my new job with another school.  This will be another trial by fire with me now having to write my own lessons and teach larger classes as well as getting students ready for exams.  If my new colleges are half as nice as my last I shall count myself lucky indeed.