All posts by npirani

Shima Khan: Advocating for other cultures in the classroom

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For Wellesley High School (WHS) English teacher Shima Khan, teaching English is about more than just assigning essays and quizzing students on vocabulary. It’s about helping students understand the power of the human experience and exposing them to narratives of those who come from other backgrounds.

Originally from Hyderabad, India, Khan explains that she hadn’t always intended to become an English teacher. “Within the immigrant community, there’s this idea that you go into a field that gives you immediate returns. My parents were encouraging me to go into the sciences,” she says. However, after her freshman year of college at University of California – Irvine, Khan decided she couldn’t stand the “vapid lectures” of her physics classes. To her, the sciences were so constrictive because there was always only one right answer. “There was too little conversation and critical thinking happening for my taste,” she says bluntly, “and I changed my major from physics to English.”

After getting her teaching degree, Khan worked in an inner-city school in Houston, Texas, teaching students who were primarily from diverse, low-income backgrounds. She found this experience highly rewarding because she felt that the students valued her care and appreciated her reliable presence in their lives. When she came to WHS in 2012, Khan discovered it was a stark contrast from the school district she worked at in Houston. WHS was composed of an affluent, predominantly white student body and a mostly-white faculty as well.

Khan’s first year was difficult, to say the least. “Everyone here is white and privileged. They have the resources they need to get what they want. I didn’t feel that there was a need for me as a teacher,” she recalls. However, she soon learned that the students at WHS did need her; just in a way that was different from what she’d experienced in Houston.

During Khan’s first year at WHS, she realized there was a void in the units taught in English classes. Most courses didn’t incorporate multicultural literature and very few authors of color were included on course syllabi. These voices played an important role in the social fabric of the American experience, and Khan felt the students needed to be exposed to them. “Reading The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri is just as important as reading The Great Gatsby,” she says. “That is also an American experience.” To address this gap in representation, Khan co-created the senior English course “Diverse American Voices,” co-taught by a white teacher and a teacher of color. Their course documents the experiences of minorities living in America and features books ranging from Eddie Huang’s Fresh Off the Boat: A Memoir to Alice Walker’s The Color Purple.

Khan also created the elective course “World Literature,” which promotes other cultures through literature and features classics from Egypt and India to indigenous populations in North America. Each year, Khan changes the curriculum to reflect the cultural identities of students who are taking the class. “Whoever is taking the course, I want to make sure that their identity is represented. To hear your peers talk about your identity with you is very powerful,” she says.

Khan appreciates that teaching English, as opposed to another subject, has offered her the space to advocate for other cultures and accommodate the whole student. “Humanities classes give you the space to think differently [from STEM courses]. It also gives me, as a teacher, the space to appreciate what students are bringing into the classroom,” she says. “If you take [my] classes, I hope it instills a love for appreciating other cultures without appropriating them.”

Khan doesn’t just advocate for other cultures through literature; she also recognizes the need to increase teacher diversity, a matter that is particularly relevant given WHS’s lack of diverse students and faculty. Khan was recently quoted in the school’s newspaper, where she explained that the gap in cultural representation among teachers is just as much a loss for white students as it is for those of color. “Being in the presence of someone who looks different helps [white students] realize that the world is not a reflection of who they are,” she stated. “There are different people and you have to know not just how to tolerate them but to make meaningful connections with them; to celebrate their individuality.”

When foreign language instruction is cultural appropriation

Op-Ed

I remember the first Spanish class I took in middle school. The teachers gave us a handout outlining the benefits of learning a foreign language. Enhancing memory, preventing cognitive decline, and improving job prospects were all listed on the sheet. Determined to learn something useful, I felt eager to learn Spanish, my first acquired language that wasn’t native, after Urdu and English. In reality, I was enticed to learn a new language primarily for the sake of advancing my own prospects. I’m sure I wasn’t alone. When this happens, it isn’t the learner who is to blame. Certain approaches to foreign language instruction are in fact based on principles of cultural appropriation.

Cultural appropriation is the adoption of another culture’s elements, practices, or customs in the absence of an understanding of the context behind them and with the intent of benefiting an interest that is often unconnected with the culture. We’ve seen cultural appropriation before. Take Beyoncé and Coldplay’s music video “Hymn for the Weekend,” a clip that depicts India as an exotic land and features Beyoncé appropriating traditional Indian dance moves while dressed in Indian-style garments. Produced more for revenue than for spreading cultural awareness, the video takes advantage of another culture and uses it to attract more video views. It also demonstrates a lack of understanding of Indian culture by trading on stereotypes in the form of levitating holy men and people dancing in the streets.

Though acquiring a new language is advertised as the key to connecting with people from other cultures, cultural appropriation occupies this domain too, and its claims are just as seductive. That middle school handout reappeared again when I was taking Spanish in eleventh grade and yet again in twelfth grade. These constant invitations to learn a language for solipsistic benefits, a passport to personal advancement, prompt the question, are we really teaching students how to understand and appreciate other cultures? Or are we encouraging them to take advantage of another culture and language in order to flaunt multilingualism on a résumé?

Emphasis on learning a language solely to enhance one’s prospects isn’t the only way cultural appropriation can affect teaching approaches. Any pedagogy that devalues the relationship between culture and language in the service of some other goal is evidence of cultural appropriation as well. In early March, April Rose, a state delegate in Maryland, proposed a bill authorizing county boards of education to allow computer programming to fulfill students’ foreign language graduation requirements. Rose told the Carroll County Times that allowing computer programming to satisfy foreign language requirements would “provide more access to … classes that really provide true workforce skills.” While coding does involve gaining fluency in programming vocabulary and syntax, it doesn’t replace learning about another human culture. Languages are not just for communicating; they are also for understanding. Stripping students of exposure to another form of human connection gives the impression that it’s not necessary to learn how to exchange ideas with people from other cultures. Furthermore, while learning to code may prepare students for getting a job after they complete their education, there’s no guarantee that they will thrive in that workplace if they do not know how to establish relationships with people from other cultures.

Does this mean that all foreign language instruction programs are guilty of cultural appropriation? Not necessarily. Programs that teach learners to appreciate the cultures associated with a language are not examples of cultural appropriation; on the contrary, they incorporate forms of cultural education in order to teach language. It isn’t enough to simply learn the vocabulary and grammar rules of a language; it’s also essential to learn cultural context. Take the “you” pronoun in Urdu, a language commonly spoken in Pakistan, as well as parts of India, Bangladesh, and the Middle East. In Urdu, there are three forms of “you” — one extremely informal form reserved for animals or those who are “inferior”, another relatively informal form used to address children or close members of a family, and a very formal form that signifies respect. A speaker ignorant of the cultural context denoting when to use each form could easily misuse it and offend someone.

Promoting cultural education goes quite naturally with teaching a language. Teaching students about the countries a language is spoken in, incorporating literature and film into instruction, and offering travel experiences are all ways that foreign language programs can help learners appreciate and acknowledge the culture of the language they are trying to learn. This value and respect for other cultures is what will enable them to more easily connect with others, understand and accept cultural differences and become global citizens.

“Ida”: A Masterpiece of Unspoken Expression

Movie Review: "Ida"

Eerie, haunting, and beautifully constructed, the film “Ida” (2014) is set against the backdrop of Poland’s post-war, battle-scarred landscape. Directed by Polish-born filmmaker Paweł Pawlikowski, the movie traces the physical and emotional journeys of a novice nun, Anna (Agata Trzebuchowska) and her Communist aunt, Wanda Gruz (Agata Kulesza), as they attempt to find the buried bodies of Anna’s parents. Their quest takes them from Łódź, where Wanda lives, to Szydłów and Lublin. Yet, the somewhat simple narrative comprises more than just the details of a road trip. It reflects a journey of self-discovery and growth, of transformation and maturation.

Anna is just about to take her vows to become a nun when the Mother Superior tells her she must visit her only remaining family member, Wanda. Anna travels to visit her aunt, who reveals that Anna comes from a family of Jews and her real name is Ida. Ida says she would like to visit her parents’ graves, and the two set forth. They journey to the house where Ida’s family used to live, now occupied by a Pole named Feliks Skiba. With much reluctance, Feliks shows them the graves if they agree to give up claims on the house. Ida and Wanda discover later that this man killed Ida’s parents and Wanda’s young son.

For Ida, the film is a coming-of-age story. But what distinguishes this movie from other coming-of-age films is not plot or dialogue; it’s the expressive power of the unspoken. In the movie, the unsaid is just as compelling and revealing as the fleeting dialogues exchanged between characters. The film’s visual elements and the characters’ intentional silences speak volumes. Ida exploits the particular power of cinema to create a narrative.

Nowhere in the film does Pawlikowski directly offer historical context or explanatory details of the film’s time or place. The cinematography fills this contextual void by evoking the emotions needed to comprehend the scene, rather than the historical details. By conjuring feelings of desolation and gloom, the black-and-white film style not only reflects the bleak and oppressive backdrop of the unfolding story; but it also prepares viewers for the poignant narrative that is to come.

Only moments into the film, Anna’s personality is revealed. Reserved and rigid, the novice nun sits with her eyes downcast in front of the Mother Superior. When Anna eventually arrives at her aunt’s doorstep, she is greeted by a woman who sports a bathrobe, is smoking a cigarette, and has a male caller in her apartment. The woman appears to be the exact opposite of Anna. With minimal dialogue, Pawlikowski allows the viewers to conclude that compared to her brazen aunt, Anna is an image of purity, innocence, and naivety.

Just minutes after she sets foot in Wanda’s apartment, Anna hears her aunt’s shocking words: “You’re a Jew. They never told you? Your real name is Ida Lebenstein.” Without being told directly, the viewers learn that the movie takes place in the aftermath of the Holocaust. The young girl reacts wordlessly to this news, staring stricken but unflinchingly at her aunt and not uttering a single reply. And so begins their relationship, a tumultuous journey of affection and irritation, of give and take, and of love.

Their evolution is reflected most strongly through facial expressions and exchanged glances. As Ida sits in the train station, waiting to depart for the convent after meeting her aunt, the camera focuses first on the taciturn novice and then on her unabashed aunt watching from the distance through a window. Wanda gazes at Ida, and her expression is one of softness, care, and affection. Without any supporting dialogue, it is clear that she has begun to feel a connection with her niece, perhaps prompted by how much the young girl resembles Róża, Ida’s mother and Wanda’s sister.

As the narrative progresses, it is evident that Wanda isn’t the only one who draws closer to her newly discovered relative. Ida too demonstrates unspoken compassion toward her aunt, who is nearly a mother figure to her. This time, the affection is not revealed through facial expressions, but rather through gestures. After meeting the hospitalized older man who presumably killed Ida’s parents, Wanda remains stone-faced and still. The camera reveals not a shot of her face, but of her torso, as Ida slips her arm around her aunt and gives her a gentle but supportive squeeze. The silent gesture reveals the blossoming attachment between the two.

The strengthening aunt-niece relationship is what ultimately enables Wanda to serve as a catalyst for Ida’s maturation. Watching her aunt smoke, drink, dance, play music, and flirt with men, Ida is introduced to a version of adulthood that contrasts starkly with her experience in the convent. Toward the end of the film, Ida chooses to explore the meaning of adulthood and exercise her own autonomy by doing what she’s watched her aunt do. Ida slips on heels and a sleeveless black dress. She smokes a cigarette and drinks alcohol. She sleeps with the hitchhiking saxophonist, Lis, whom she and Wanda met on their way to Szydłów. Her initial reserve and restraint are slowly overshadowed by a flaming boldness that has no doubt been inspired by her aunt, resulting in the former novice exploring her identity. Perhaps she is also influenced by her aunt’s words at the start of the film: if you don’t partake in sinful acts, how is becoming a nun a sacrifice?

Wanda’s character is associated with music in addition to smoking and drinking. She plays music in her car, dances in the hotel, and listens to the record player in her home. The final scene concludes with piano music, memorializing Wanda and her effect on her niece’s growth, while also serving as a reminder of the Anna that Ida used to be.

Watch Whose Streets You’re Walking On

Letter to the Editor

To the editor:

Re: Paris on Foot: 36 Miles, 6 Days and One Blistered Toe by David McAninch.

I see your writer feels special for dismissing the elite sites of central Paris in order to advocate for the underappreciated Parisian suburbs. I’m here to inform him that writing a travel article does not align him with the marginalized immigrant communities of his destination.

McAninch takes the trouble to meet with activists who advocate for the Parisian suburbs. He gets their advice on where to go and falls in love with their suggestions. He seems to think this makes him one of them. It doesn’t. Drooling over the ravishing architecture does not in fact address the needs of the poor communities in certain areas of la banlieue, which are composed mostly of immigrants often maligned by the news media as criminals. By leaving these issues unaddressed—issues that are at the heart of why tourists do not visit the periphery in the first place—he minimizes their weight and disguises deep prejudice as mere ignorance. In doing so, he hides the social unrest and tension between the elite of Paris and the marginalized suburbanites. And hiding that only allows it to fester.

In a word, he’s unintentionally supporting the exact people those activists are fighting against. He doesn’t put what they preach into practice or make any advancement for the communities. He merely treats la banlieue superficially: slumming so he can enjoy their wine and call himself their hero, but not doing anything heroic.

I think a main problem is his audience. The activists he mentions write in French, and they seem to attract a French audience—which may very well influence the suburban-central Paris relations. But McAninch is writing for the relatively elite audience of the New York Times. To these elites, who mostly do not live in France, the suburbs will become a bucket list destination that will make them feel more cultured or woke for finding the “real” Paris. Brushing up these educated egos will not bring the justice that’s needed.

I recognize your effort, Mr. McAninch. I’m just worried you’re hurting more people than you’re helping.

Unity and Diversity in “Stories: Our American Journey”

Feature Report

A crowd of Ismaili Muslims lines up outside the brightly-lit Manhattan Center on West 34th Street. A brisk city wind ruffles their blazers, dupattas (scarves), and colorful tunics as they wait for the doors to open to a theatrical production created and performed by their religious community. The crowd is clad in attire ranging from American business casual to Central and South Asian ethnic wear, a reflection of the congregation’s cultural diversity. This wide-ranging dress hints at the essence of the show they are about to experience, which describes Ismailis’ diverse journeys to the United States and the formation of their American Ismaili identities.

The global Ismaili community numbers approximately 20 million and populates over 25 countries from Canada to Kenya. Though members come from different cultural backgrounds, they are united by shared religious beliefs and values, as well as by their allegiance to an Imam, their spiritual leader.

While Ismailis currently reside in most states in America, this was not the case six decades ago. The first Ismailis to immigrate to the United States arrived in the 1960s, coming from countries such as Syria, India, and Uganda. Most arrived as students and ended up settling, enticed by opportunities to advance their education and careers. They paved the way for subsequent waves of migration from their homelands, resulting in the establishment of Ismaili congregations across the United States.

The narratives of these immigrants and their families are what bring Ismaili Muslims to Manhattan’s West 34th Street to see the production “Stories: Our American Journey.” This show brings to life the experiences of American Ismaili Muslims through song, dance, skits, and documentary-style videos. It memorializes their efforts to assimilate into American society as they seek to retain their native cultural roots and uphold the tenets of their faith. The stories presented in the show are based on real-life experiences, collected through video submissions from over 1,100 individuals.

Some of these stories chronicle the physical journey of arriving in America, landing in an unfamiliar country with one suitcase, a handful of cash, and the telephone number of a prospective host written on a slip of paper. Others reflect the cultural clash immigrants encountered after arriving in a country more liberal than their homelands. One community member describes coming out as gay to conservative elders in the congregation and tells of their disapproval. Still other stories illustrate the experiences of first-generation American youth growing up with immigrant parents and struggling to find their place in society.

Interlaced with these solemn accounts are stories of positivity and hope, revealing how community members seek strength from their faith. A mother describes her anguish when she first found out her son was born deaf and mute. She explains in a video clip that it took her months to accept her son’s condition, before she finally decided that she was entrusted with this child because “God felt she could offer him the love and support to help him grow.”

Though the stories feature individuals from different cultural backgrounds and experiences, many of them express common sentiments. From a number of performances emerge themes of migration, nostalgia, and hardship. Other stories evoke fear, apprehension, and uncertainty.

It is not just the skits that highlight unity within the congregation. One song and dance focuses on the phrase “Ya Ali Madad,” a greeting exchanged between Ismailis all over the world. The dancers dress in multicultural attire while the song features soundscapes from various musical traditions, the culmination of which embraces the unifying nature of “Ya Ali Madad.”

Through various forms of artistic expression, the “Stories” production highlights differences in the experiences of the American Ismaili congregation, while also tying them to one community and one faith, reflecting a culture of unity within diversity.

The Way to a Grandmother’s Heart

Blog Post

“Don’t mind Grandma,” my cousin Christine said to me. “She doesn’t mean half of what she says.”

“I don’t speak Cantonese, so I won’t know either way,” I said. Christine laughed. So did her father, but the joke didn’t do much to soothe my nerves as we pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot.

“Just eat the food,” Christine said as we walked towards the entrance. “Things will settle down once you do.”

The restaurant was emptier than I expected at this time of day, and added to my feeling of isolation. Usually I was with my Cantonese-speaking mother at these gatherings; right now she was across the country in California, nowhere near this Chinese restaurant in Boston. I mustered my courage as I followed Christine to a table in the corner of the room. Seated around it were Christine’s aunts and uncles, and her grandmother. They greeted us loudly in Cantonese, and Christine and her father greeted them in return. I hung back. I hadn’t met anyone before, but when it came to the Chinese side of my family, there was no point in asking how we were related: they were my aunties and uncles, too.

One of the women noticed my silence as we took our seats. “You don’t speak?” she asked in heavily accented English.

Christine jumped in. “She speaks French.” The one who had spoken gave me a long, measuring look. Christine whispered, “That’s my grandmother.”

My mother had told me stories of my own great-grandmother, who kept a watchful eye on the family and whose word was law. It was the only frame of reference I had, but as I watched Christine’s grandmother scrutinize me impassively, it was the only thing I could think about. I lowered my head and stared at my empty plate. No food yet, so I couldn’t follow Christine’s advice.

The meal was a traditional Chinese dinner, and as the waiters brought out the dishes, Christine pointed out what was what. One was a whole duck, lightly seasoned and poached; I could still see where the feathers had been pulled out. Another was roast pork—char siu, Christine whispered—and still another was a plate of fried rice. Soon there was too much for the seven of us, but my aunties and uncles were undaunted and, speaking rapid Cantonese, began filling everyone’s plates.

Just eat the food, Christine had said. I picked up my chopsticks.

“Your hair is short,” Christine’s grandmother said abruptly. “You won’t find a husband that way. You should grow it out.”

“Grandma,” Christine said reproachfully. Her father put one of his hands against his face.

“She’s so pale,” her grandmother said loudly, and then she turned to me and said, “You go to an all-girls’ school? You will never meet men that way.”

“Grandma,” Christine said again. Her grandmother just clicked her tongue, gave me a cutting look, turned to another auntie and began speaking in Cantonese again. “Sorry,” Christine whispered.

I laughed it off, but her grandmother’s disapproval felt like a heavy weight on my shoulders; it dawned on me that I was lucky that no one had asked if I needed a fork. With that in mind, I picked up a piece of duck. At the very least, I had an excuse not to talk if my mouth was full.

“You like?” Christine’s grandmother said suddenly, and instantly the conversation stopped and all eyes were on me. It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be waiting to hear my verdict on the food, but nodding was apparently the correct answer, because she gave a sharp nod in return and said, “good,” then turned to one of her daughters. “Give her more.”

I looked at Christine. She gave me a smile (I could almost hear her saying I told you so), and tucked into a sliver of pork. The rest of the family was doing the same, chatting gaily as they served each other rice, poured tea, and offered napkins, and all at once I felt my nerves settle.

I recalled meeting Christine, actually my second cousin once removed, just two years ago. We’d been introduced over dimsum, a traditional Chinese brunch, and we had bonded instantly over bao and egg tarts. Although the circumstances were different, this dinner echoed that delicious brunch: while these were uncles and aunties I had never met, they were still my family, and now I understood why I was at this restaurant. There was no better occasion to meet them than over food that reminded them of home.

“It’s delicious,” I said to Christine’s grandmother over the din, and she smiled.