Languages are not always barriers

“How many languages do you speak?” It’s a question I get often. Typically, I would just say “a few”. It’s odd, because, somewhere along the line we’ve developed an expectation that “languages” are concrete and countable things. But if you already know a few languages, you’ll probably agree with me that the reality is not quite so straightforward.

When we know a language, we are able:

• to listen and understand
• to read and understand
• to speak
• to write

However, because some languages have similarities in origins due to geographical proximity or share a common historical root, there’s a high chance that many of us know several languages partially, with varying degrees of fluency. If, like me, you’ve have had some classical music training, you’d also have a highly specialised Italian vocabulary consisting of mostly expressive adjectives!

Learning another language other than the one(s) you already know has often been perceived as excruciatingly difficult. It’s not surprising then, that thinking about conducting research in a multilingual context is several hops down the chain of difficulty, and carries with it this unfathomable depth of fear. The dread of dealing with another language hits us even before we think about the pragmatics of conducting research in places where we’re not necessarily familiar with.

In our research toolset, we usually have the option of remote interviews, or conducting research in situ. If we are looking to speak to people who live in a different place to us, we already know we will always be able to gather more nuanced knowledge if we visit in person. If your interviewee is in their own native context, they are more likely to be able to recall things that are not dictated by your frame of view. In other words, there’s a higher chance that you’ll both pick up on things you might have otherwise not thought about — let alone talk about. You’re also likely observe things that you wouldn’t have even crossed your mind.

There’s no question that international field research would be more valuable; it’s just often difficult to quantify the value from the outset, and the thought of dealing with languages other than our own often pushes us further into our timidity.

In his book “Hidden in Plain Sight”, Jan Chipchase recommends working with local researchers who speak the language when you’re in the field. This can carry with it a certain amount of administrative overhead: extra costs, having more people involved (which may make interviews intimidating), and you’ll also need the right person who understands the nuances you are trying to uncover through research.

However, in some particular cases, it’s possible to think of this differently. The goal, after all, is to gain knowledge and unearth new information — language is a means, but it need not be a barrier. What seems like imperfect communication can be bridged if you and your interviewee are open to conversing in a mix of languages. In fact, I’d argue that it can also help you gain better clarity.

During past interviews, I’ve found it possible to bridge a perceived communication gap by mixing languages as I converse with someone whose native tongue is not English. (After all, my own mother tongue is not English.) If it’s a language I understand but not speak fluently, we can agree that they explain or reply in their language, while I respond and ask in English, supplanted by words I know but can’t correctly place in a full sentence in their language.

In an interview with two Swiss-French women who were running a non-profit to support local farmers, we fell into a pattern of communication: I asked them questions in English, they replied first in French to one another, then to some extent, try to respond to me in English. I then re-state their answers to them in English and they confirm if I’ve got it right or wrong. It struck me later on that what was usually perceived as imperfect communication actually worked in my favour — I was much more confident of my own perception of what they said because we had to take the time to clarify we understood each other. I still managed to get a good picture of their situation in the short space of an hour.

If I were to be honest, this linguistic compromise probably won’t always work in every instance; it has likely worked for me because the people I’ve met believed I can help them with their issues. That said, I have found this interaction where both the researcher and the interviewee have to make the effort sets a unique, authentic tone. It forces both parties to consider our questions and answers more carefully, and it encourages us to reflect between pauses in language. Contrary to generating misunderstandings, we don’t take anything for granted, nor make any grand assumptions, so we end up saying things we really mean to say.

The next time you find yourself in a situation where the language differences threaten to derail a research project, it might be worth it to take a moment to think about how to approach multilingual communication a little differently.