Roundabouts, Portugese , and the hegemony of difference

Happy Fourth of July Americans! Today, for us, we celebrate the start of something new. A new concept, borne of many old ones. But, as all notes are old, they can be composed to be a new symphony. What our country has grown to be, and is growing to be is unique, as mosaics are unique from the pieces they are built from. Not all bad, not all good, just unique.

Here in Portugal, life is different.  No less unique, just different. The catalyst for my focus on the differences are the roundabouts and language.

Interestingly, roundabouts are few and far between in America. Some of you may never have had the pleasure, or nightmare, of experiences one. They symbolize a different approach to civic reality. Life, and roads, are not laid out into neat squares and grids. Roundabouts bring together seemingly random paths and spin-cycle them into direction. For those not used to it, it can be frustrating. The culture here seems to operate on a roundabout way of life. It is important to see different as something other than bad, otherwise you'll have a frustrating life, no doubt. Things here don't follow my expectations for praxis, it seems everything is a roundabout. Issues are dealt with in a roundabout way, issues appear in a roundabout way. As I find myself constantly tripping on the cobblestone streets and sidewalks, so also with the way of life here.

I must remember though, I am in a new land. Time and sensitivity are my allies, pride and arrogance my enemies.

The language is my other catalyst. Portuguese is a difficult language, locally admitted too. It is a complex tongue, and as a local friend expressed, unchanged (unadulterated?) for thousands if years (unlike, as he would say, other Latin languages). This language represents, or reflects their culture. Power distance is still a factor in their language their culture. Today I was told that if you want to name your child a "non-normal" name (or one that contains a Y, K, or TH among others) you would have to get special permission (if you were a Portuguese citizen and not sharing citizenship from somewhere else). This would be unthinkable, rebellion worthy rather, in the states. What is wrapped up here though, is a history of communal reality living. Although one accuse a state of reigns too tight, there is also an aspect of the collective. I find myself cringing at the thought of being told that I would need special permission to name my child what I would like, but again, I am a guest in someone else's home.  The language is beautiful, and looks almost nothing like it is spelled. It is defiant to me epigraphically, defying my expectations for pronunciations. But is a song to speak.

As we learn to speak this ancient language, we are comforted by a wonderful teacher (who happens to be friends with one of my gymnastics heroes from the states). They say that English is a common language to most countries, but what is not considered is the strain and attitude that may accompany it. English language and Western culture may hold a hegemony on the world, but it holds nothing to the hegemony of difference. To really make connections, you have to step away from the power that you may hold (or think that you do). To sacrifice is to make a difference, not to conquer.  What is easy may not be what is right, or helpful. We all face differences inter-personally, inter-culturally, that's life.

But I am encouraged. People seem to appear as gifts when life, and language, get's strained. I know we are being taken care of. I have hope  when it seems to be pulled away. I know these gifts are not from my hands, and I am thankful, and convicted to be humble, sacrificial.

“While you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully in your heart.” 

― St. Francis of Assisi