Ceci n'est pas une endive - Tag - culture

Empathy, Culture and the Words You Use

notafish — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 17:02:00 +0200

Je suis une empathique. De base, de tout coeur et jusqu'au bout de mes orteils. Pourtant, j'ai beaucoup de mal avec certaines personnes, notamment issues de la culture nord-américaine, qui abusent de mots teintés d'empathie et leur font perdre leur force. Je me suis trouvée dans plusieurs situations de communication où l'utilisation d'un discours empathique m'a fait me poser la question de savoir si la personne qui l'émettait n'était pas en train d'essayer de m'endormir à coup de positif et bons sentiments, une situation où l'utilisation de mots qui ont leur origine dans les sentiments n'étaient pas "ressentis" mais "pensés".

In the many scales that exist about characterizing one's personality, be it Myers Briggs or Process Com, i inevitably fall under the "empathic" or "feeling" type. I guess no matter how many of these tests I'd take, this will always be the main streak in my character. I feel first, thought and reason come second. I value too, but that's for another blogpost. It is both the bane of my existence, and a strength I've learned to use in communication with others.

I've lived in the United States for two years. And there is one thing that I really haven't managed to this day to understand, or rather, to come to terms with, it's what I would characterize as superficial empathy. I observed North Americans quite a bit, and in my observations, I often came across people who use and overuse a tone, or words, which want themselves to be empathic, but which simply don't touch me. The use, or rather overuse, of "I love", "I like", "you are great" and other positive sounding wording just does not sound right to my empathic ears.

I think there are two different occasions in which this bothers me.

First, with people I don't know. I came with the idea of this blogpost while reading a blog where the blogger answered most comments (which I think is good) by praising the person who commented, their thoughts and thanking them. The thanking I find great, I think we never thank enough. The praising however, after the first three comments, struck me as a fake calculated tactic to make people "feel good". Except just reading those answers made me feel uncomfortable. Too much love spoils the love, I would say. To some extent, reading these comments in a row made me feel as if the author was putting everyone on the same level. If I'm being great, somehow, in my mind's eye, it must be because I am to some extent "better" than others. Maybe I have the wrong scale here, but I want to feel special. Not part of a chain-letter type answer to my commentary which puts me on a par with everyone else. Praising is good too, don't get me wrong. I also find we don't praise enough. But I guess I have a limit. It's a bit like eating caviar everyday. After a while, you don't realize that it's a special thing anymore. North Americans, I find, do that a lot (again, this is a generalization and not all North Americans, but it is a trend I have noticed there and in no other country I have visited or lived in). And frankly there comes a time I don't believe this appreciation any more. To me, it end up being a fake varnish of appreciation, which might work for a while, but ends up losing all kind of reality. Mind you, I suppose if you read just the one comment addressed to you, you'd probably feel good. But reading all of them in a row made me pause. If I wrote a comment there, and the author praised it, I would not really feel as if their words were sincere. I sincerely believe this is a very cultural thing, maybe because the French are rather stingy with praise, I don't know.

Second, with people I know. I guess here the clash comes between what I have come to know of the person, and what their words are trying to say. Example: a colleague I worked with, whom I know for a fact has absolutely no empathy whatsoever in everyday life, or in their job, but who acts in public as if they were the most empathic people in the world, appealing in their external communication to understanding, loving each other and other empathic whatnots. I guess that's even worse than the first. Again, I've only experienced this with North Americans (or could-be North Americans), and in English. I find it extremely disturbing (and here I mean it in a very physical way) to read someone's words with the knowledge that they can't possibily be "feeling" any of those words. They might "think" those words, but they don't "feel" them. And "thinking" words of love and empathy just does not cut it. Empathy comes with the heart, not with the brain. It can't be a surface thing, like a heart milk on a coffee. For the overly feeling person I am, it ends up looking like a scary propaganda tactic designed to blind people as to what the real deal is all about. It's a bit like sugar coating the bitter cake to make it taste better. Again, it's fake. And often, unfortunately, makes me miss the point of their words and try and find the catch. Which definitely isn't a good way of taking in an attempt at communicating, I guess.

I wonder if I'm the only one reading those people and feeling the same way. So I ask you, have you come across people whose words of love and empathy you could just not relate to? Do you feel/think it might have to do with culture and/or language?

Lara604, Latte Heart 2 , March 24, 2009, on Flickr, CC-BY-SA 2.0

Die quadratische Quiche

notafish — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 12:20:00 +0100

Une nouvelle série sur la vie en Allemagne, les allemands et la langue allemande. En allemand. Première partie : la quiche :)

Also, dieses Blogpost sollte:

meine Schulden bei den Ironblogger Berlin irgendwie ein Bißchen runter halten
der Start einer neuen Serie von Blogposts auf Deutsch sein. Ja, auf Deutsch. Ich bin mir nicht ein Mal sicher, dass es überhaupt deutschsprachige Leute die dieses Blog lesen gibt, aber wir werden es Mal versuchen. Vielleicht, wenn ich es wirklich schaffe, werde ich sogar ein eigenes Blog für die quadratische Quiche Serie eröffnen, aber da ich schon zwei Wochen im Ironblogger Berlin Contest bin, und kein Blogpost geschrieben habe, könnte man das ernshaft bezweifeln.

Na gut. Warum die Quadratische Quiche? Eine Sache, die das irgendwo-anders-leben echt schwierig macht, ist das Kochen. Wie so? Kochen, bzw. essen ist (zu mindest für eine Französin, die essen und kochen mag) ein grosser Teil einer Kultur. Und die französische Kultur ist sowieso mit Essen eng verbunden. Also, für jemanden, wie ich, der kochen mag, ist die Möglichkeit "wie zu Hause" zu kochen eine echt wichtige Sache. Meine erste Erfahrung mit dem im Ausland kochen war in den USA. Ehrlich gesagt, das war... die Hölle. Ich wollte eine Zitrone Tarte machen (ha! Deutsch hat das französiches Wort gestolen!). Für die braucht man Butter. Ganz normale Butter. Wie in... Butter ohne Salz. Damals (1989) unsalziges Butter war in New Mexico nicht zu finden. Anyway. Zurück zur Quiche.

Da ich eher eine lazy Köchin bin, habe ich von meiner Mutter mir die leichtesten Rezepte gemerkt. Die Rezepte, die man unter 30 Minuten in guten Essen umwandeln kann. Darunter ist ein super gutes und super einfaches Quiche Rezept. Wie in "Quiche Lorraine"^[1]. Eine Quiche ist in 15 Minuten gemacht, in ungefähr 30 Minuten gebacken, füttert eine Familie von vier locker, und ist einfach lecker. A winner für die lazy Köchin. Ich muss dazu geben, dass ich den Teig nicht selbst mache, weil Blätterteig viel zu kompliziert ist, aber unsere Zeiten sind so, dass man kann in jedem Supermarkt fertigen Blätterteig kaufen kann.

Aber... in Deutschland, Blätterteig wird für alles, ausser eine Quiche benutzt. Ich vermute das häufigste Gericht, was man in Deutschland mit Blätterteig macht, ist Apfelstrudel, oder so was ähnliches. Und daher ist der Teig, den man im Supermarkt findet, quadratisch. Eigentlich eher rechteckig, aber das ist ein Detail. Und eine Quiche, wenn sie Quiche heissen will, muss (wie in muss, nicht sollte) rund sein. Rund. Wie die Sonne, der volle Mond oder einen Fußball. Nicht quadratisch. Nicht rechteckig. No way. Ich habe lange gesucht. Rewe, damals Tengelmann, Aldi usw. Kein runder Teig. Pech gehabt. Aber OK, ich bin Französin, habe mich entschieden, nach Deutschland auszuwandern, ich muss damit leben können. Aber eine quadratisch Quiche? Das ist echt schwer. Besonders weil ich eigentlich nur eine runde Form für die Quiche habe. Gut, ich bin einfallsreich ^[2] und kann mich anpassen an die kommische Kochenart der Deutschen. Ich kaufe trotzdem den quadratischen Teig. Und mache ihn rund. Schere und hop. So ist die Quiche eine echte Quiche, und damit meine Integrität als französiche Köchin behaltet. Und dazu gewinnt man auch ein paar Ecken um kleinen Käse Croissants zu machen.

Ich würde trotzdem ganz gerne wissen, warum der Blätterteig in Deutschland rechteckig ist. Macht ihr keine Quiche? Oder habe ich nur die falsche Supermärkte in meiner Nähe? Na gut, ihr könnt das Rezept von der Quiche meiner Mutter bei Lyzzy finden. Ich werde nur dazu sagen, dass der Käse in der Quiche darf kein Gouda sein (ich weiss, Gouda war nur eine Maßgabe für den richtigen Käse) :P. Bei Rewe findet man einen echt guten Meule d'Or geriebenen Emmental für den Zweck, macht die Quiche noch französischer.

Notes

[1] Wir werden gleich bitte die ganze Debatte: "Lothringen ist aber kaum Frankreich, und fasst schon Deutschland" gleich hier halten, die Quiche ist französich, Wikipedia hat's gesagt :P

[2] Das Wort habe ich aus Leo, hoffe es passt. "Voll gute Ideen" oder so.

What Is Your Single Story?

notafish — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 13:32:00 +0100

A few weeks ago, I watched a fantastic talk by Chimamanda Adichie about "The Danger of A Single Story". The talk is a year old, but the message is ageless. It made me think about what my stories of "single stories" are. I have a few, actually, here is one that particularly struck me.

When I left for the US in 1987, I was hosted in an American family for a night. My English at the time was rather bad, not to say inexistant, and I struggled trying to understand what was going on around me. The family had taken me and another girl, K., to host us for the night, while waiting for the schoolbus to come and get us in Albuquerque. It was a family of 4, with two daughters, one our age (I was 15, K. was 16 or 17 at the time and I think the daughter was 16). K. was from Bulgaria. I was, obviously, from France. The 16-year old daughter was somehow studying Eastern Europe (or had a strong interest in it) and was thrilled at the idea of having a Bulgarian (remember, this is 1987) in her house. She didn't seem to give a damn about France, which was great, because she kept on asking K. questions about her country, and left me alone. Given that we both had been travelling around 18 hours, and my English being what it was, I could only feel for K. who was being bombarded with questions about Eastern Europe. Anyway. In the course of the conversation, the girl turned to me and asked me "Is there electricity in France". I had to rub my eyes (red from lack of sleep) and make sure I had understood the question before I could answer a feeble... "yes". No words to argue, the question was so out of line from someone who had been debating the whys and whens and hows of Eastern Europe, that I was just left completely dumbstruck by the enormity of it. Off we went to sleep. The day after, the daughter took us to a Safeway (one of those big American supermarkets). I still remember K.'s wide open eyes who was, it seems, rather amazed at the display of so much "stuff" in one place. The American girl turned to me with a smug smile and asked "Do you have that in France?". I mastered the best English I could and answered "Bigger ones".

This girl had a single story. She was studying Eastern Europe and for her, Europe was that. The rest of Europe may have been a Middle-Age kind of place, without electricity or supermarkets. She didn't know. I wasn't at all knowledgeable on Eastern Europe (but kind of had an idea), and was amazed at the hundreds of questions she asked K. because I couldn't have asked such questions. But those she asked me were just... weird, she had no perspective.

It is interesting so many years after to be able to frame what was one of my first culture shocks ever. I can only urge you to watch the video. It's fun, and it's so true. And I'm curious, what is Your single story?

How Intercultural Is Social Media?

notafish — Sun, 19 Sep 2010 15:17:00 +0200

Les médias sociaux, contrairement à ce que j'ai lu dans un billet de blog, permettent à mon avis de transcender les cultures, notamment nationales. Parce que les gens peuvent échanger sur des sujets précis, basés sur leurs intérêts communs, ils trouvent un point d'entrée qui permet une conversation autrement impossible et ce, quel que soit leur bagage culturel.

Via Twitter, I stumbled across this blogpost, talking about Social Media and Intercultural Communication. Interesting, I thought, as I believe "culture" is an essential component of Social Media to start with. I was left with a sense of non-achieved to some extent, as I think this blogpost does not really reflect how cultural boundaries are pushed away thanks to online communication.

For one, I am missing hard facts. The blogpost starts with a bunch of statements that don't seem to be backed by any kind of research. I'd love to see numbers, or proofs. Only one example is given later in the post about how the same people follow the same people. And frankly, it does not really convince me in drawing conclusions that:

When it comes to communicating with others online, most of us tend to stick to people within our own cultural group. For those of us in Western societies, it’s easier to communicate and connect with others who experience the same culture and language.

Mind you, I don't really have hard facts either, just my experience.

Let's start with language. It makes sense that the use of one language over another does limit the scope of online communication. I mean, I follow people who tweet in Chinese and well, although it happens to me to click on their links, I just don't understand what they are talking about. This said, I am amazed at the number of allegedly-non-English-speakers who react to my Facebook statuses. Most of them French, and from whom I would never have expected that they even read my statuses in English. In that regard, I find that the use of one language is not as limiting as I thought it would be. Then comes culture. And there, I just can't agree that social media is all about the same-same. Social Media is a way to broadly share thoughts, ideas and information. And I think that this sharing occurs, to a certain extent, regardless of culture. For the sake of clarity, we'll assume that culture here is taken in its broadest sense, ie. something like 'Western culture", shaped mainly by loose national borders and linguistic boundaries.

My followers, and the people i follow on identi.ca and Twitter, for example, can roughly be put into two categories. The first one would be my friends (in the real life sense of the term, not in the Facebook sense of the term), who follow me or whom I follow just because I am me and they are them. They don't really care what I share, as long as it comes from me, and I don't really care what they share, as long as it comes from them. We have a predisposition to being interested in the same things. The second category are the people I don't know, but who share the same interests as me. May it be all-things-wikipedia, or parenting, or the love of words, or geeky things such as Linux and KDE. These can be anyone. They could be indians, or Chinese, French or Americans, Kenyans or South Americans. We speak the same language(s) or we don't, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we have at least one thing, one interest, in common. Our national cultures are different, our social cultures (social backgrounds) are different, we may vote right, left, or center, love cheese or hate it. As a matter of fact, we could meet in real life and find nothing to talk about at all, nothing that binds us except that one interest, and even then, find each other boring, uninteresting or even plain annoying. In that regard, I believe social media actually brings people together who can be culturally extremely far away from each other.

Of course one could argue that these "interests" are a culture in and of themselves, but that's the reason I restricted the definition of culture above, because that's how I understood it was defined in the blogpost I quoted. What I find is that social media, because it brings some kind of focus, actually allows people with very different cultural sensitivities to find a connection, and allows for conversations between people which would, without this one entry point, not take place at all.

Of Language and Thought: Gender Awareness

notafish — Sat, 18 Sep 2010 10:08:00 +0200

Partant d'un article du New York Times sur la question essentielle de savoir si la langue que nous parlons décide de nos pensées, quelques considérations sur la langue en général et en particulier l'utilisation de différents genres pour les mêmes choses, notamment en français et allemand.

In an article titled "Does Your Language Shape How You Think?", Guy Deutscher tackles how our mother tongue may or may not shape our thoughts. The state of research as he presents it shows how language affect our relation to the world. Deutscher speaks about gender, space, color and even reality and how those are affected by the language we speak. The article is highly interesting, you should read it. As I have already written about in other posts on this blog, the subject is one that I am constantly thinking about.

In my experience, the most mysterious thing about how language affects the way we think still resides in the use of gender. Deutscher gives extensive examples of how languages differ in how they affect a gender to things. I speak at least three languages which have a completely different approach to gender.

French has two genders for things: masculine and feminine. German has three: masculine, feminine and neutral. English has one: neutral. How do you reconcile all of this in the way you look a the world? As far as I am concerned, learning English wasn't too much of a problem. Neutral does not exist in French, so having to say "it" for everything didn't really bother me. I kept thinking the differences in gender while speaking the "it". The moon is feminine, the sun is masculine, both ofthem can be referred as "it", and basta. But German introduced a whole new way of looking at things. What happens is that many words are of the opposite gender. The sun is a she and the moon a he, which is extremely confusing. And then comes neutral, which in the end, does not really make sense to me. I could understand it in English because it is used across the spectrum, but in German, the neutral seems to be totally random. I mean, a "young girl" (Mädchen) is neutral, go figure.

My way of dealing with this is interesting. There are words for which I don't care. A table is feminine in French, masculine in German, but frankly, that does not keep me awake at night. However, there are some other words I really have trouble with. Sun and moon are of those. But things like the world (feminine in German, masculine in French), or even worse, a letter (feminine in French, masculine in German) I just can't grasp. Or rather, I can't imagine them having another gender than the French one (mother tongue). I realize that with time that I simply put gender aside in German when it clashes too much with my conceptual world in French. This means that when I talk about a letter (der Brief) in German, I do use the masculine, but in my head, it's still a "she".

What I find fascinating today is looking at my daughter growing up learning both French and German at the same time. Her use of gender for things is still a bit off, but I suppose her grasp of the feminity or masculinity of things will be radically different from mine or that of her father, since she'll have learned both at the same time and without one or the other taking prevalence (or will they?). I am curious whether for her, gender for things, in the end, will have the same meaning. Will it be a she-moon? a he-sun? Both or neither? I can't wait for her to be old enough to actually answer this question.

Tell Me How You Eat I Will Tell You Who You Are

notafish — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 14:51:00 +0200

J'ai toujours trouvé intéressant d'observer comment les gens se tiennent à table dans les différents pays. Lorsqu'on se trouve à table dans un pays dont on ne connaît pas les manières, il est toujours difficile de savoir si ce qui relève du savoir-vivre chez soi ne sera pas interprété comme une action hautement impolie ailleurs. Mais peut-être est-ce seulement mon éducation française qui joue...

I just read an extremely interesting blogpost on a parallel drawn between how Americans and Japanese dine and what this means in the workplace. The whole table manners thing has been an interest of mine for a while now. Having lived in several countries, you realize how much of a difference there can be just in the way you eat. It all starts with how the meal is structured. When does the salad come, at the beginning of the meal? Or at the end? Is it served in a big bowl or rather in individual bowls? What about the cheese? Is it served in an individual plate? On a big plate in the center of the table? Not at all?

You then need to pay attention to the table manners proper. Do you put your bread on the table? Or on the plate? Is there salt on the table? If not, am I allowed to ask for it? Or is it considered impolite to do so (the idea being that asking for salt would actually demean the culinary abilities of your host). Hands on the table, or on your lap? Do you wait to be served? Or do you serve yourself? Do you eat with your fork or with your fingers? When you're finished, do you cross your fork and knife or do you put them parallel to each other? Hardly existential questions, you'll tell me, but questions nonetheless, which answers might make you the best or the worst educated of people.

What I find most interesting in this is that something that might be perfectly polite in a country, will be considered completely rude in another, which makes for difficult and sometimes painful times. I've always hated it, when in a country of which I don't master the table manners, to have the host tell me "go ahead", because I never know what first step I should be taking and I am always scared of doing the wrong thing. Maybe it's just because I'm French and the French do care about these things...

Job Hunting: How Culturally Unconventional Can You Be?

notafish — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 12:51:00 +0200

La façon de répondre à une annonce pour un travail, si elle comporte dans plusieurs pays des composantes équivalentes (la lettre de motivation, le CV), comporte aussi des éléments spécifiques à la culture et au pays. Pourtant, je me dis que si je devais répondre à une annonce en Allemagne, je serai bien en peine de faire une candidature "dans les règles". Je crois, du coup, que je tenterai de répondre en étant calire sur le fait que mon parcours international m'empêche d'être conventionnelle dans ma candidature...

I've always wondered if I could find a job in Germany. Not so much because of my competence or lack thereof, but rather about whether I could, or couldn't, conform to the German way of answering a job ad.

Answering a job ad, in the countries where I've looked at it (mainly US, Germany and France) has a rather similar structure. Cover letter and CV are the core components. Basically, these are a letter stating why you're the best person for the job and a list of the positions you've occupied in the past X years.

However, there are rather important cultural differences to the way you do it. Not to mention that the recrudescence of social networks and other online tools needs to be thrown into the bargain, as it has somewhat changed the way of doing things.

The last time I applied for a job in a somewhat conventional way was probably about 6 years ago, in France. Which probably is a completely outdated way of doing it. I had the name of someone to send my application to, sent a cover letter, my CV and went on to an interview. Pretty simple and straightforward.

Here in Germany, I've watched with interest as my man was looking for a job, and how he was going about it. The "conventional" way of doing it in Germany is, apart from the CV and cover letter, to join to your application what the Germans call "Zeugnisse". The way I understood them, "Zeugnisse" are recommendations, of sorts. but not exactly. They are letters from the people you worked for, which reformulate the position you've occupied and tell how good you were in it. The further back you can go, the better. Which, for someone with a varied career, might amount to a lot of paper.

In the US, as I understand it, recommendations can be from virtually anyone. Your bosses of course, your colleagues, but also your friends (the more titles they can boast of the better) and why not, your family. Something that I believe is completely inconcievable in Germany. You probably would never ask a friend to write a Zeugnis for you.

In France, recommendations are (were?) definitely not the norm. While the "anglo-saxon" application has certainly taken on in the past few years, the diplomas you can align and the great names you can drop within your CV offer a much better chance of being noticed than having your Harvard-friend write a recommendation for you.

So the question is, how would I apply to a job here in Germany? I could of course go and read a whole load of online resources ^[1]about how to Zeugnisse should be written, or how to write your cover letter, and even how to organize your CV. But I'm thinking it would be conforming to something I am not, having worked in different countries, different fields and many different companies, for so many different customers. I'm thinking that in this ever changing and challenging global work market, being yourself, even if that means being culturally unconventional, is probably a better way to go about it. I probably couldn't produce many Zeugnisse (who knows what my boss from 10 years ago in France has become in 10 years?), but I can detail what I did and when, and even better, I can actually reflect on what I have done and what it has brought me for my job today. I would even say that being French, while I am sure that I am the right person for the job, I am not sure that the documents I provide are those that are expected, but that I am open to providing more information if needed. In short, I would try and be myself, rather than try and fit in a predefined frame.

I guess I have faith in recruiters, if they're looking for someone to do a job, they're not looking for anyone that can do that job and can lay it out on paper, but rather for someone who can reflect and think on what their experience is bringing to the table.

And frankly, in a world where a (the best) job can be had ^[2] with such applications, I do think there is potential for unconventional.

What's your experience with international applications?

Notes

[1] Those resources were chosen with a quick google search, I can't say anything about whether they're good or bad

[2] More info on The Best Job in The World in this BBC article

Wikimedia Fundraiser: Donating Close to Home

notafish — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 17:44:00 +0100

Ever since I have been working within Wikimedia, I have tried to understand what the best way to conduct a fundraising was. I mean, what are the tools and definitions people need in order to give and feel safe that they have given in a way that is close to them? For the first time this year, there is some testing being done on what works and what doesn't, which you can follow on the Wikimedia blog.

However, as far as I'm aware, these tests are only done on the English version of Wikipedia, and on the English version of the banners. I am pretty sure not every country/culture reacts to the same messages and it would probably be worth conducting the same kind of tests per language. Anyway.

I am French, I live in Germany and worked for an American organisation with local chapters across the world, which has given me some insight on the impact that Wikimedia as an international reaching organisation could have in different countries and cultures.

The Wikimedia organisations are spreading around the world through the establishment of locally-based "chapters". To this date, Wikimedia counts 21 official chapters, and about a dozen in the making. These chapters are local organisations, legally based in their countries, set up by convinced Wikimedians and people who believe in the cause of spreading free knowledge, and which operate on a local level to promote and support the Wikimedia projects. All of them are non-profit, some of them offer tax-deductibility in their country, all of them are dedicated to furthering the Wikimedia cause. And all of them are closer to the donor than the one in the next country.

To start with, I have observed that donors seem to be more comfortable giving to an organisation they understand. By understand, I mean an organisation that makes sense within their cultural scheme. As a French person, I would say that an "Association loi de 1901", which is the most common non-profit status in France, is something I understand. When you tell me "this is an association loi 1901", I know what you are talking about. This is, I suppose the case with a 501 c3 in the US, or an e.V. (eingetragener Verein) in Germany. Of course this is only about structure, there are many other cultural factors that play a role. It is always easier to check out an organisation which bylaws for example, or goals, or annual report is written in a language one understands.

The activities the chapters support and take part in are also closer to the donor. All of these activities (community animation, Wikipedia Academies, technical support for the projects, conferences and debates, workshops for editors, partnerships with free knowledge organisations etc.) happen within the donator cultural scheme, and the donor can go back to the local website and check out what has been done with their money.

And since we come to the subject of money, the logisitical ways put in place to allow to give money also seem very important to allow the donor to feel comfortable. If you don't think it through, it may seem like a given thing, and our world of Wikimedia projects contributors, with a high proportion of online-savvy people, will probably say "get Paypal" and be done with it.

The thing is, Paypal is only one solution out of many to get donations from one place to the other. And the online payment thing is not something that all cultures or countries particularly find easy, or even trust. I believe the French are not so keen on online payments, at least not with Paypal, and the Germans are not exactly credit card fans to start with. So another interesting thing is that the Wikimedia organisations offer means of supporting Wikimedia which are easier to put into practice for local donors. For example, the Germans can use the "Latschrift" technique, the French and Americans can send cheques, the Dutch can send to a Dutch bank account, the Italians can use Paypal, etc. In short, people can actually find the way to give that is most familiar to them.

The idea being that in the end, on very different scales, with different means and in different places of the world, donations made to any Wikimedia organisation end up being used for the same goal, that of empowering people by giving them access to free knowledge.

So, what's your preferred way of giving? Follow the links below to give close to you (only listed are the chapters with a donation page):

Australia: Wikimedia Australia
Deutschland: Wikimedia Deutschland e.V.
France: Wikimédia France
Italia: Wikimedia Italia
ישראל: Wikimedia ישראל
Magyarország: Wikimédia Magyarország
Nederland: Wikimedia Nederland
Österreich: Wikimedia Österreich
Poland: Wikimedia Polska
Suisse, Schweiz, Svizzera: Wikimedia CH en français, auf Deutsch, in italiano
Sverige: Wikimedia Sverige
US : Wikimedia Foundation

Trick Question: Where Do You Come From?

notafish — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 12:54:00 +0200

I arrived yesterday afternoon in sunny Lisbon, Portugal for the Shift Conference where I am giving a talk. Lisbon, for what I have seen so far (the modern part), is a very beautiful city and I'm already loving it. As I arrived, I joined up with a few Shiftians and we started introducing ourselves. After the name bit, we very naturally came to What do you do? and Where do you come from?. I always find the Where do you come from? to be a rather tricky question, because in today's small world, people hardly know where they are from. Or rather, it all depends on how you ask the question.

When asked where I come from, I usually ask Where from as in, where was I yesterday? or Where am I from as in where do I live? or Where am I from as in what is the nationality my passport displays?. I guess you could even add to that Where am I from as in where my cultural roots are?.

Sure enough, there were a few of us with many different answers to those different questions. There was a born-Hungarian living in Italy working mainly in the US, a born Dutch living in Copenhagen, otherwise known as a European Dutchman and a Dane living in Copenhagen at the moment, having lived in Ireland, Florida and the UK. I was born in France, where my cultural roots are. Southern France to be precise. I come from Germany as in I was in Germany yesterday. That about sums it up.

And where do you come from?

Culture Comfort Zone

notafish — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 18:29:00 +0200

I've just read this post at interculturaltalk.org and it reminded me of something that has bothered me for the longest time.

For as long as I can remember, I've always felt some kind of guilt pang to see someone in the street and that the first thing I notice is their skin color, the shape of their eyes, or anything that would hint at their cultural background. I guess that calls for a discomfort zone rather than a comfort zone. The thing is, every time I've felt guilty, I've wanted to slap myself for feeling guilty, because I think that the feeling guilty is the worst part of it.

Noticing a difference is not the problem. The problem is all the heavy stuff that's tied to that difference and not being able to look at that difference without all the heavy stuff sinking in. I wish I was raised in a world where I never had to hear about Apartheid, Slavery, Immigration, Religious Oppression, Unemployment, Holocaust et al..

I remember the 6-year old daughter of my English teacher being brought up in an environment with 200 people from 80 different countries, telling her mother that this guy dropped by to talk and trying to describe him. She described his clothes, his height, his voice, and never thought one second to say he was black. I guess the comfort zone depends on where and how you're brought up.

My Very First Culture Shock

notafish — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 12:17:00 +0200

I remember one of my first culture shocks very vividly. I probably had others before, but this one was the start of a long series, and most importantly the first I actually recalled over time.

I arrived in the US for a 2-year stay at the age of 15.So here I am, on evening in Albuquerque, New Mexico, landing in a strange country, invited to stay for the night with a "native" family.

I'll pass with the first shock of seeing 4 cars in the driveway and go directly to the greeting part. The family was a family of 4 people, parents and 2 teenagers. One of them a girl around my age. At the time, I used to kiss-on-the-cheek anyone my age, as is the custom in France. The "bise" as we call it, is a very normal greeting custom. Upon arrival, I shake the parents' hands, gathering my best English (probably close to 0) to say hello, and I go to kiss the girl on the cheek. She looks at me horrified and pushes me back before I get to her cheek. It was probably the first time anyone showed their disgust so strongly towards me. Or at least what I interepreted as disgust then, I didn't know better.

I don't think I thought about it much, until the day after, when we said good-bye. I had made the mistake once, I was not going to do it twice, so I kind of stood there, expectant, waiting for something to happen. And that's where the whole family, parents and teenagers included, started to hug me. And that's where I pushed them away, not exactly understanding that they would not allow a kiss on the cheek the day before, and suddenly would take me in their arms as if we'd known each other for ever the day after.

Since then, I learned the power of a hug and have been using it profusely, even in France, where it played a few tricks on me, I must admit. Starting a few months later, when I came back for Christmas that same year andI went to hug my sister. Whe pushed me back with disgust and kissed me on the cheek...

Greetings are, I find, one of the most difficult cultural interactions. In theory, I guess they should be a very simple thing, one human greeting another. In practice, the variations are so wide that they can hinder future interaction by not following the proper standards and procedures. Something to be aware of, always, so as to work on the first impression.

Distance to Power, Somewhere in the Middle

notafish — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 16:05:00 +0200

One of the book that sits on my night stand in the pile "to read" is a book by Geert Hofstede, called Cultures and Organizations, Intercultural Coorperation and its Importance for Survival. Hofstede is one of the most invoked gurus of intercultural communication, and although I yet have to read the book, I have already been in contact with his theory, one pillar of which is the subject of this post.

Hofstede measures differences in cultures using 4 different scales. Power Distance, Individualism, Masculinity and Uncertainty Avoidance. I had never until recently paid much atttention to those in my own backyard (it is always easier to point out these things in others) but the organisation of the Wikimania conference did bring me face to face with the very real differences in Power Distance in my work environment.

I work for an American-based organisation. Although it is not "per se" exclusively American, it draws most of its work structures from the American way of management, a structure where the distance to power is rather small. The wiki-culture which underlies some of the work behaviours in the organisation is also a very flat kind of structure, where people, regardless of their place in society, their educational background or their age are considered at the same level. As such, Wikimania (the International Wikimedia Conference) leaves a lot for volunteers of all horizons to organize, whether it is the program of the conference or various other aspects, such as promotional material or speakers invitations.

This year, Wikimania took place in Alexandria, Egypt, in partnership with the Library of Alexandria. And working with Egypt brought about a challenge that I did not expect, that of dealing with a very different structure of Power Distance. As mentionned, Wikimedia (the organisation) is a rather flat structure, it is easy for staff to talk to their bosses and vice-versa, and rapidity and rationality of communication often prevails over following tortuous (or even straight) hierarchical paths. The Egyptian culture, on the other hand, has a very big distance to power. Which means that people at the top of the hierarchy issue very clear directives, while people at the bottom of the hierarchical scale will not act without approval from "above". The French Power Distance index is somewhere in the middle, more distant than the US, but flatter than the Egyptian ^[1] .

This made for an extremely interesting constellation in exchanges between the wiki-based (and/or American) team, the local Egyptian team and myself. As a French, I was often torn between the understanding I had of the Egyptian need to refer to authority before making any kind of decision, while at the same time having to deal with the fact that Egyptians had trouble understanding why some people were empowered to make decisions without a title that would confer them this authority, or without any other mandate than the one they had given themselves. I realized how strongly my culture played a role in interacting with all parties.

After having analyzed both sides' expectations, it was rather easy for me to act with each side as they expected, but I found it extremely difficult to be the person in the middle, and to convey the culture differences which should have been respected. With Egyptians, it was very unnatural for me to try and flatten the relationships as would be expected in the culture of the organisation of Wikimania. With wiki-based and/or Americans, it was very unnatural for me to try and convey the existence of power distance necessary to understand relationships with the Egyptian locals.

Of course, this is a generalization of what happened in the organisation of this conference, as it is extremely difficult to put people in one or the other category, but it showed me how entrenched some of my cultural traits are, and how difficult it is, if you find yourself halfway between two diametrically opposed cultures, to try and bridge the gap, no matter how well you understand both cultures.

Notes

[1] See the different indexes on this table, where Arab countries have a Power Distance Index of 80, France of 68 and the US of 40

When it comes to roots

notafish — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 15:04:00 +0200

The last few weeks have been hectic, as I was working on the 4th annual Wikimedia conference, Wikimania. It happened this year in Egypt, in Alexandria. And it took all of my time for the past two months.

So although I gave a glimpse of my Egyptian travels, I never got to write about the most important thing that happened to me in Egypt. Maybe because that thing is a thing of the heart rather than the mind, and it takes a long time to process, or better, it's harder to put into words. Now here I am, sitting back at home, looking back at the past few weeks.

Alexandria, as I explained, stretches along the Mediterranean, white city against blue skies, full of life and bustling with noises. It is a city with a heart and the Egyptians are simply amazing people. In the time I spent there, I was overwhelmed with a warmth I have seldom felt anywhere while being a "tourist" or rather, a "foreigner".

To try and put things in perspective, I have to go back on another case of being a foreigner. About ten years ago, while as was living in green Austria, I left for a few days to go to Italy. Arriving in Italy, I suddenly felt as aif a wieght had been lifted from my mind and heart, it was the first time of my life that I felt so strongly about my Southern roots. I attributed it to the latiness of Italy in contrast with the Germanic-ness of Austria.

There are few countries where I have really felt at home. France of course, Italy is definitely next on the list. Germany today is home, but it does not feel like home (maybe I should write about this some day). And to my greatest surprise, Egypt was one of those "feels like home" countries. Of course the language and some parts of the culture are foreign to me. But the heart feels right. Maybe because of shared Mediterranean roots. Most of the Egyptians I have met, those who took care of me and showed me their country, shared their culture, whether by walking in the streets or sitting for breakfast in a local restaurant are simply incredible people.

When it comes to experiencing the Arab world, I have been to Marrocco and Tunisia, albeit very shortly in Tunisia, and although both countries are still very much impregnated with French, and communication is somewhat easier, I did not experience the same well-being as I did in Egypt.

I am a bit stuck with words to describe it. Maybe it is the constant smiles, direct from the heart, maybe it is just some strange recognition of common qualities that are inherited with the sun. Maybe it is simply a fluke, some unexpected but real turn of chance that allows for understanding and agreement. Shared insights, shared values, which place the human experience before everything else.

It was hot, I hate hot. It was warm, I loved that warmth. I know that amongst the craziness of organizing a conference, I have made friends, friends who have impressed me with their honesty, their dedication and their truth. Friendships I will cherish across borders, seas and times.

A Dance With Death

notafish — Tue, 20 May 2008 12:18:00 +0200

I spent three days in Alexandria, Egypt two weeks ago. It was my first time in Egypt. And since my quick stop in Naples a few years ago, the first time I thought my life was really in danger by *just* crossing the street. As a matter of fact, no tourist or unpracticed individual should ever try to be a full-fledged pedestrian in Egypt, or a driver, for that matter. Unless you're suicidal, or like Russian roulette. The first contact I had with the driving habits happened at 3 am, when I landed in Borg-El-Arab, the far-away airport for Alexandria. A taxi was waiting for me, which is always a great relief when arriving in an unknown country at odd hours. The driver was very nice, and listened to French music (from old French crooners to Emilie Jolie, the Halliday version). And he drove without lights. I mean, it was 3 in the morning, and it was night. And the road was not exactly a very new highway, but rather a bumpy road full of strange holes, not mentionning the in-the-middle-of-the-road boulders or unknown lying objects. After a few kilometers, I asked him. "Why are you driving without lights?" To which he answered this very obvious thing: "Well, there are lights on the road." And sure enough, the highway we were driving on was all lit up, all the way from borg-El-Arab to Alexandria. But still, it was 3 o'clock in the morning, and no-one had lights. And I couldn't see them well. And those trucks we passed (with no lights) were looking very sleepy, hovering from one side of the road to the other without warning. But that was just a night trip, and you only really understand the extent of skills needed to drive in Alexandria in broad daylight. Which happened the day after, when the friends I was meeting there came to get me.

Alexandria is a very long city stretching along the Mediterranean. Its biggest street is a 3 to 7 lane (each direction) boulevard along the sea. It is the main artery in the city, which allows you to go from the citadel and presidential palace on the one end to the Montazah gardens on the other. Along the 20 km or so of this street, there are no red lights (although I must say that the meaning of street lights in Egypt is a theoretical concept). And no zebra crossing. None. Maybe one or two pedestrian bridges? Anyway. In order to go anywhere in Alexandria, you *need* to take this street. And if you don't yourself have a car, you need to take the bus, or the micro-buses (hop-on taxis that cruise the street). And, to do so, at one point, you *must* cross the street. And risk your life. As indeed, in Egypt, crossing the street, as well as driving, is an art. Something of a dance with death. I would have given my shirt to be able to film the traffic from above, and watch the impromptu choreography of it. Man and machine, forever avoiding each other. It is really an amazing sight, something of an endless ballet. Cars smoothly fitting themselves in one small opening in the traffic, or firmly pushing their way into a lane, bumpers flirting with other bumpers, carosserie flirting with people's feet or behinds. Since then I learned that Egypt had one of the highest mortality rates caused by traffic... Deadly choreography indeed.

Addressing an International Audience

notafish — Mon, 19 May 2008 11:52:00 +0200

Last Friday, I attended the Going Solo conference in Lausanne, a one-day conference for freelancers. I was very impressed with the quality of the speakers and of course, I tried and observed the cultural bias/questions/issues that came up. Here is a little rundown of the things I noticed.

I consider myself a pretty good measure of the level of English. As a non-native English speaker having learned English in the US, but in an international setting, I tend to understand many accents and idiomatic expressions. However, when I don't understand, I have found that there is a good chance that other non-native speakers won't understand either. The audience was a very international audience, among which many French speakers. I would say that overall the English in the talks was of a very acceptable level for us foreigners, easy and clear, with maybe just a few lines that you can't pick up. That's for the language. But the interesting part is not so much the level of the language itself, but rather the illustrations used by the speakers, their metaphors and their examples.

The first talk of the day was given by Laura Fitton, and I found it a very inspiring talk ^[1]. Up to the conclusion, which was supported a slide reading "Surrender Dorothy". Laura used it to illustrate the fact that we should "give up control". However, if slides are a visual support to a presentation, this one failed to talk to some of us. "Surrender Dorothy" comes from The Wizard of Oz, a movie probably all Americans have seen (along with It's a Wonderful Life, I suppose). A movie too few non-Americans or non-English speakers have grown up with for them to understand the image. I asked Laura what the reference was. Which she explained. Thanks.

Later in the questions session, Laura gave another culturally bound example, explaining how she got her father to care about blogs by getting him to read his favorite baseball player's blog. She quickly realized that the example did not carry the weight she had intended at first, as the audience, very mainly European, was trying to get a clue as to who the Redsox were (I personally get confused with American Football and Baseball teams!) and had to walk us through her example again, with explaining who the Redsox were, who the basebal player was, much more than she would have had to do with an American audience. The interesting part being that where in the heat of the presentation Laura did not pick up on people not getting the Wizard of Oz connection, she picked up very quickly on the baseball stuff. Attentive to her audience indeed, I appreciated that.

What I find confirmed by these examples is that as soon as we address an international audience, we probaby should test (as far as it is possible, of course) our illustrations for anything people might simply overlook, or worse, plainly not understand. As soon as we're using references that are strongly tainted culturally, to reinforce a point we're trying to make, it becomes much harder to be sure that they are universal enough for the audience to pick up on them. Laura illustrated that issue with the example of the talk she gave in India, and discovering before her talk that she had to refocus her presentation because her audience in reality was very different from what it was on paper. Too often we forget that things that are very obvious to us might not come across borders and oceans.

Notes

[1] read the excellent notes taken by Suw Charman-Anderson

Holy state! the Church got me (again)

notafish — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 15:32:00 +0100

Well, here is the sequel to my very interesting story about the German Church getting a hold of me.

Actually, I probably need to rectify something. It is not so much the Church that got me, but the German State. So let me explain the next steps.

When I saw that the Finanzamt (Tax office) was ready to take away this "Church tax" on top of my normal taxes, I appealed. And said that I ws never told, as I registered at the townhall when I arrived in Germany, that checking that little box would make me a catholic in the eyes of... the State. I called the Finanzamt, talked with the person in charge of my file for a while, she was pretty comprehensive and said Well, why don't you write this down and send it to me, we'll see what the next step is. Which I did. That was back in November sometime. I finally got an answer a few days ago, which went something like:

According to § 5 Alinea 1 sentence 1 of the Church tax law, the obligation to pay church taxes starts on the first day of month following the date at which you have registered your residence. ... Since you have registered on the 15th of JUly 2005 and did not register your lack of confession (keine Konfessionslosigkeit), Church taxes are due as of the 1st of August 2005.

As the Germans say: Pech gehabt! (Too bad...). There is one thing that totally strikes me here, it is that they don't say "since you have registered that you were a catholic", no no, they say "since you have not registered that you were without confession". I find the phrasing (a double negation) at best uncomprehensible, at least quite ambguous. But it goes back to what I said in my earlier post, which is that basically, I failed to prove my innocence, so I'm guilty.

Well, receiveing this letter, which basically discarded the explanation I had given (ie. "I am French, in France we don't do this, when I registered, I was not made aware of the consequences of my checking that box etc.), I tried to see what I could do. Answer from my accountant: Two options. Either you can make the Town's administration change the check box by convincing them that you weren't aware of the consequences, or you have to take the necessary steps to get out of the Church..

Well, I tried the first option. And heard in so many words from the woman who registered me at the time (2 and a half years ago) that she had explained to me everything at thetime about the consequences of checking that little box. Guess what, she already had told the Finanzamt about the fact that she *always* explains to foreigners very exactly what that little box means. Huh? If that were the case, I don't see how much differently I could have understood the thing two years ago and today, and if I had been aware of the implications, I am not sure I would make all this fuss about it today. But you see, it's her word (German, civil servant) , against mine (French, freelancer, broken German). Tell you what, I've lost to start with.

So my only option was to get out of the church. This famous Church I never got in in the first place. Epic story if there ever was one.

In Hessen, you need to go to the Amtsgericht (municipal court) to "leave the Church" (or opt out, escape, resign, contract out...). When you get to the office "Kirchen Austritt", you need to provide an up to date registration form (the famous one I had checked wrongly), which means that basically, the one that you have checked in the first place is not valid anymore (go figure!). Once you have that, you are carefully read what you are doing 'in case you're not sure of what you are doing). You then have to pay 25,00 €, get a few signatures on the paper and you are finally out of the church, effective on that day.

So, 2 years and 6 months after not having entered the German Roman Catholic Church, I am finally out of it. And I must say that I am also angry at the German culture like I have never been before. I feel betrayed, used, disregarded in my culture and beliefs. I think it is the first time in my life that I am so bitter at one of those ever present administrative glitches, because the German State has coerced me into supporting a Church that I not only do not support, but have clearly not supported in more than 10 years.

One lesson learned, I will never again go to a German administration without a German speaker, or at least a dictionary, and I will make sure that I understand everything, or simply refuse to sign.

Another lesson learned, no matter what your feelings about how close to your culture another culture can be, make sure you are not missing a vital piece of information like " The Germans, when it comes to matters of religion, are 100 years behind the French".

A few remarks out of the blue:

It seems I am not the only one who finds those practices (mixing Church and State) unbelievable: other foreigners, believers or not believers, catholic or not have had the same reaction as mine
There are Germans that don't like the fact that the German State is so tied to the German Church (See the Save Yourselves The Church website)
If I had wanted to get married religiously before I actually "got out of the Church", the Church would have asked for a certificate of baptism from me not older than 6 months. Can someone explain to me how come it's enough to check a box in a State office to become a full-fledged (paying) member of the Church, but not enough to benefit from the Church's services? What is valid in one place should be valid everywhere. But no, when money is involved, the Church is not so demanding as when faith is involved.
In my first tax receipt, in 2005, since I had not earned any money and did not have to pay any taxes, the fact that I was "Kirchensteuerpflichtig" (ie. that I had to pay Church taxes) was not even mentionned on my tax return form.
Several conversations with Germans of different affiliations (believers, non-believers, politicians, non-politicians) have shown me that this tie between Church and State is much more than just a legal bound, it is a very strong social pressure. But I'll talk about this in another post, another day, when I am less angry.

The Toilet in the Bathroom

notafish — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 10:50:00 +0100

We've just moved appartments. Apart from the fact that we now have double the surface, there is one very important thing to me, French woman, in this new appartment, and that is the toilet.

In Germany, toilets (except in restaurants) are in the bathroom. Ouch, with the common use of bathroon as a word for toilet in American English, I realize this is rather confusing. So let us agree on a definition here:

Toilet in this post is going to be the seat you sit on to do your thing,

while bathroom is going to be the room that contains, among others, a shower or a bathtub and a sink where you brush your teeth at night.

This agreed upon, let's go back to our toilets. So. In Germany, every single bathroom I have seen has a toilet. The reverse is not true, in the sense that there are houses (and restaurants), where there is also (keyword here being "also") a toilet in... well, a toilet room, by itself.

So we moved, and in this new appartment of ours, there is a "guest toilet" (Gästeklo), that is a toilet in a room by itself. And for me, French, this is great. I must say that I simply hate toilets in the bathroom. To me, the toilet is the seat of foul odors, whereas the bathroom is the place for soap and eau de toilette, i.e. it smells good. So having someone shit (pardon my French) in my bathroom is something I utterly dislike. My parents' home have two toilets, and two bathrooms, all of which are separated (so four rooms total, 16 walls). I don't like someone shitting in my bathroom, no more than I like someone looking at my destroyed toothbrush, or browsing through my towels, or even disliking my eau de toilette. In short, shitting and cleaning oneself are to me two different activities, as different as cooking and sleeping, which usually don't happen in the same room (except in small Parisian studios, but that's another story).

So while we were reviewing the different rooms of our new appartment, I told my German man that we could for example get rid of the toilet in the bathroom to gain space and us that to put a wardrobe, or a shelf, in any case something useful.

His look froze me on the spot.

- You mean get rid of the toilet in the bathroom?
- Yes, that's exactly what I mean.
- Can't do.
- What do you mean, can't do?
- It just can't happen. A bathroom without a toilet is not a bathroom, at least, not here in Germany.

And how can you answer this? You can't. Implacable cultural reality. There's no bathroom in Germany without a toilet. So I'll have to live with it.

Shifting Standards and the Center of The World

notafish — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 10:56:00 +0100

I have been working on an international survey in the past few days, which is being answered by 11 teams of 11 different countries. And one thing really struck me in the way answers were given to certain questions.

It was not so much the actual content of the answer which I found striking, but rather the way this answer was given, which made me think about what standards were "universal". I live in a country that is not the country I was born in or, more important, raised in, which means there are parts of the popular culture that I don't know about. This goes from political figures to humorists or famous TV presenters. There are also things that I have learned to recognize since I have been here, such as which newspapers are the most influent. I take the example of the newspaper because it is the one example that struck me in the answers given.

There was one question about the press, and how the team felt they were doing with it. Whether they had a good relationship with the press in thir country and also whether they had been working with them, through partnerships and such. One group answered and gave the name of a magazine with which they were talking on a regular basis and developping partnerships with. And they were kind enough to add, after the name of the magazine (something like "Zabadaba" to me), that it was the equivalent of Time or Newsweek in the US. Which of course was very helpful, because frankly, Zabadaba was completely unknown to me.

It then struck me that I would probably have not done that, had I had to fill the survey, and would have casually strewn my answers with Le Monde (the French newspaper), or "Frankfurter Allgemeiner Zeitung" (the German daily) without having thought further. After all, those are known enough to the people around me for them to know what I am talking about, aren't they?

I must say that La Repubblica, or der Spiegel, or even the Daily Mirror, or Newsweek are names of news organs I can associate with their country of origin very easily and I can even say whether they are weekly Magazine or daily newspapers. But that's me. I've read those, lived or visited the country where they are known. However, I am not sure how many people would actually have an idea of what exactly those papers represent in their countries if I didn't have the idea to actually compare them to wider known titles.

This struck me as an interesting way to look at the world, and see where the standards are. The interesting move here, was that the standard taken was that of the US, as if it was the one that would be mostly understood. More interesting is that if I know what Time and Newsweek are, I have no idea what their impact in the US are. ie. I know them through their international editions, and for all I know, those might be completely marginal in the US. But the comparison did help me get a sense of what Zabadaba might be. It also convinced me that there are people who are very aware that what is a well known entity in their country might be completely unknown elsewhere, and don't feel that they're living at the center of the world.

Holy shit! The Church got me.

notafish — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 10:25:00 +0100

Or where cultural differences have legal roots.

This afternoon, my accountant calls me to tell me that the tax office has finally finished reviewing my tax declaration. And then she asks me this very personal (at least in my books) question: "Are you a catholic?". Now. The reality is, I've been raised in the catholic religion by my parents, went through the whole baptism, communion etc. I had my religious and mystic moments, but they went. As a matter of fact, although I still claim that my "beliefs" (for lack of a more accurate word) are shaped by the catholic religion, I lost faith about 10 years ago. It was abrupt, it was hurtful, also liberating and good. In short, I have not been a *good* catholic in 10 years. I have occasionally gone to church, I still believe in some kind of entity somewhere out there. An agnostic of sorts. But if people asked me: "Do you feel that you belong to the catholic Church today", I would say no. In fact, I tell you, no, I don't. But if people asked me what religion I am, I would probably answer that my beliefs are shaped by catholicism, or even that I am a catholic. Some kind of a cultural background. Problem is, what is really behind this question "What is your religion?"

Well, when I arrived in Germany, I had to register at the local administration. And they asked me what religion I was. I answered catholic. Big mistake, huge. To me, this was in the middle of tens of other questions such as how old are you, where were you born etc. In short, some kind of census information which would be used for statitstics. Nothing more, nothing less. Well no. In Germany, when you say you're a catholic, it has nothing to do with your beliefs, it has to do with your membership. The real question should be "What church are you a member of?". Because once you say you are a catholic, that's it, you're listed as one, receive papers from the local church, the this-and-that journal of the catholic church, in short, you're a member. And, last but not least, the State (yes, the laïc state), actually adds 8% taxes on your income tax at the end of the year, which will be distributed to the catholic church.

Mind you, I learned about that last year, when I did my tax declaration, and my tax adviser already asked me the question and listed the caveats associated with being a catholic in this country. To which of course I answered, I am "without confession", because well, it is the truth. So one year went by. I had no taxes to pay, so nobody really paid attention. This year it seems, there was money to take, so the tax office added those 8% to my total. And I don't want to pay them. Mind you, at this stage, it's not so much about the money, there isn't much to pay. It's about the principle. You see, I come from a country where the separation of State and Church occurred in 1905. And when we mean separation, we really mean separation, it is entrenched in our culture. The Church is on its own. And as a matter of fact, the French Catholic church appeals to its followers to help, through the "denier du culte" and other means to get money. In short, there is no tie between the State and the Church. and certainly no financial tie.

Now, the most interesting thing is, my accountant was trying to convince me that "this is the law". ie. that if I've said once that I am a catholic, I need to get a paper which proves that I am not. In short, you're guilty before you can be innocent. *I* am the one who has to prove that I am member of a church I never entered in the first place (at least in Germany), in order to leave that church. And I was trying to explain to her how shocking this forced membership is to me, and that if anyone had to prove anything, it should be the German State or the German Church which would have to prove that I am, indeed, a catholic and an active member of the Catholic church. I must say that to my French mind, the mere idea that by crossing inadvertently a checkbox one day makes me a life long member of the Catholic church is at best a big mistake, at worst an act of coercition. The joke being, that in Germany, to get "out" of the Church, you need to pay and make a whole lot of administrative steps which finally end up in the deliverance of a piece of paper which confirms that you're out. I am not even sure that exists in France, and even if it does, there is no way I am going to "get out of the Church" that formally, because in my culture, it's a personal choice, as I believe any religion should be, not a legal or tax-bound choice.

The next steps promise to be interesting, since at this stage, I am not sure what I have to do to "get out of it". Stay tuned.

About "Ceci n'est pas une endive"

notafish — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 07:53:00 +0100

This blog has been turning in my head for quite a long time, actually ever since I gave a presentation at Wikimania last year in Taipei, about cultural differences.

The name is a funky one, but has a real history.

First, why an endive? Well, even though I did not really participate in it, the deadliest edit war I recall witnessing in the French Wikipedia was about the article endive. And the whole problem about this article was a cultural problem. In Belgium, and endive is called a chicon, not an endive (yeah, notanendive). So the whole question was whether this artcile should be called Endive, or Chicon. I will pass on the many qualificatifs used during that edit war, on the number of editors participating, on the people hurt in their cultural sensitivity etc. It was, as I said deadly. In the end, when one looks at the article, You might notice that no-one really won. Well, the article *is* indeed called "Endive", but throughout the text, and even if your French is non-existent, you will see that the word "Chicon" appears more often than the actual word "Endive". Which means that in a very wiki way, the authors of the article actually came to kind of a consensus concerning this article. (One might also notice that the page "Chicon" redirects to the page "Endive".) The apparent "French from France" supremacy - which one can see in the title of the article - is undermined by the Belgian cultural squad. (please, note the irony in the previous sentence).

I remember watching this from afar at the time, and thinking that there was, in the end, no real solution to the problem. The software is built in such a way that there must be a winner (a title to the page) and that this was a war lost in advance. Short of starting a Belgium-French Wikipedia, which probably would make little sense (as little as starting a whole France-French Wikipedia), there is little one can do not to show the one or the other "supremacy".

This endive/chicon example was one of the pillars of my presentation at Wikimania, because it illustrates one of my favorite themes, the trickiness of cultural differences in our every day life.

Second, why a French title for what intends to be an all-English blog? Well, as a tribute to the Belgians, which I am probably frustrating by using the word "endive" rather than the word "Chicon" in the title, I have chosen to paraphrase and pay hommage to one of their greatest painters, Magritte. You may know this painting:

Well known as a representation of Magritte pertainance to the surrealism movement. I thought that the allusion to a Belgian painter who stated the obvious would actually be an interesting way of introducing those ever underlying cultural trends which actually govern our lives and that we just don't know about.

Magritte's painting is in French, so I thought that would be a good tribute to my mother tongue. I however decided to use English as the main language of this blog. Not an easy decision, actually, but the one that makes most sense to me at this stage. I thought I'd use my own lingua franca to share my experience. It might occur that I will write in French when the post requires it, but I will try and make a point of providing English summaries to all my posts, as well as French summaries to all my English posts.

To finish, this blog intends to be a semi-serious blog about multiculturalism, living in another country, experiencing weird cultural shocks. It will probably be tainted by thoughts about non-profits, Wikimedia projects and other things taht have little to do with culture at all, but I promise to try and keep it on track.