Teaching University Students in Spanish

A professor friend at the University of Guanajuato has asked me to substitute for him while he is out of town. He teaches a course called "Contemporary Themes in Organizational Development." Last fall, I subbed for him twice, and this past Saturday was my third time. The subject he asked me to address was "Coaching Executives." I developed a six-page handout, mostly culling from material I already had from trainings I give in the States, and added some new information, and translated it all into Spanish. I had fun developing it.

The class was a joy--much easier and more fun, than last fall's. Having some experience now, I wasn't as nervous; it was a much smaller group (15 rather than last fall's 26); and the topic was particlarly rich. We focused a lot on how to give corrective feedback, a challenge I believe that all humans wrestle with, in and out of the workplace, and whether they're from Moldova or Mauritania or Mexico. How to tell someone in an effective way, without getting them annoyed and defensive, that they need to change their behavior? If, in a managerial role, you scold and criticize them--which, from what the participants have told me, is common and accepted in many Mexican workplaces--will you get the changes you seek?

We were deep into this topic when I got stuck. My Spanish, or lack of, got in the way. I had invited comments; a couple of people were sharing issues from their workplaces. Normally (meaning in English) I would listen, then offer my perspective on how to handle a challenging situation. With the first person, I was able to comment, but with the second participant, although I somewhat understood the scenario he described, I didn't feel that confident. I asked him to say it again--but once again didn't feel sure.

So then I was silent, but not an easy relaxed silence. I felt awkward. Oh dear.

It was only one moment out of three hours, so it didn't color my overall happiness with how the class turned out. Still, I wondered, how to help myself and future participants when this comes up again? I asked my Spanish teacher, C, yesterday. I explained to her how in the beginning of the class I had told the group I might need to ask them to slow down or not to use "modismos" (idioms and slang). C didn't think I should make either of these requests. "They won't remember to slow down," she said, "and they may not know which words are slang and which aren't."

I know what she means. If you ask most English speakers to analyze their language, they won't know how to. If you say, "Please don't use idioms," they'll look blankly at you, because they won't know which words are idioms and which aren't. Those of us who are language lovers can spend hours of mental time thinking about word choice and the structure of language. It's one of my own mind's favorite travel destinations. I'd rather look up at a rainy sky and daydream about language than lie on a beach in Hawaii. But most people I know speak without thinking how they speak.

C suggested I ask one of these questions:

"Could you clarify?"
"Would you repeat that in different words?"
"Would you synthesize what you just said?"

I'll have a chance to try out her ideas next week, when our theme will be on successfully working cross-culturally. Many multinational corporations are located in this part of Mexico, so it's a relevant topic. I'll test C's ideas and report back.

What America Can Learn from Mexico

Last weekend was a "puente"--a word literally meaning "bridge," and informally referring to a long weekend. Barry and I decided to go out of town and explore some of nearby Mexico. We took the bus to Peña de Bernal, a small town about 3 hours away with the third-largest monolith in the world, which we of course climbed on Saturday afternoon, along with the rest of Mexico, it seemed. Bernal was a very small town, but still had the predictably ornate and preserved colonial church, a colorful plaza, and many festively painted buildings. On Sunday, we took a 45-minute bus ride to nearby Tequisquiapan (Tequis for short), a larger town of about 25,000 with narrow streets festooned with lush, plum-colored bougainvillea and small, sunny squares. "San Miguel without the gringos," I joked to Barry. We did see one gringo--finally--the last day we were there. Tequis is a getaway destination for Mexico City and Querétaro residents. It was once the home of many thermal spas, now gone "thanks" to industry, according to our Lonely Planet guidebook. And on Monday, en route back tok Guanajuato, we stopped in Querétaro, a large city and capital of that state.

All three towns are lovely. In each one, there are expansive downtown areas devoted to pedestrians, spacious brick or stone plazas with flowering shrubs and trees, inviting benches used by everyday folks to sit and watch life, watering fountains, and people of all ages enjoying the public space from early morning to late at night... a seemingly effortless and natural mix of people, landscape and public space. The atmosphere is safe, relaxed, friendly, easygoing. Mexico knows how to do it! Mexico seems to naturally do what urban planners in the U.S. devote costly studies to figure out, but even after thousands of dollars are spent, rarely get right. In Eureka, California, where I live when in the States, the benches in our small central square were removed by the City Council because homeless people sat on them, and now the plaza has a cold, friendless look, and is empty most of the time. The boardwalk along the bay is used mostly by street people.

I rarely see panhandlers or street people in Mexico.

"American planners and government officials should tap Mexican expertise on urban planning," I said to Barry. But of course, American officials would never do that.

Another thing we noticed in all three towns was all the families. Despite the outside world's pressures, the Mexican family is a strong and cohesive unit. I don't mean they don't have their share of problems...we hear the horror stories of infidelity, alcoholism, and abuse. But even so, Mexican families hang out together in a way that I often don't see in the U.S. I find it very inspiring and touching.