I spent an hour or so with a student from Vietnam this week. I could tell from her accented English she was likely to be Vietnamese, but she was quick – keen even – to let me know. In fact, she began our tutorial by explaining that she was attending this writing tutorial because English was not her first language and she was Vietnamese.
Her pronunciation sent me back almost twenty years. It doesn’t seem possible that I was there, living and working in Ho Chi Minh City, as long ago as that. I can picture myself there, feel that part of me was there, but that part has become such a small part of who I am today.
She sat in what looked like a small and slightly dark student flat that had the basics and little more. She described her worries about studying in English, particularly about having to write essays and assignments. We talked together about some of these challenges before turning to the specific assignment she was about to begin. I tried to help her unpack the task and think through how to approach the reading and writing. I also gave some advice – general principles of academic writing – and suggested a couple of courses she might wish to apply for. I tried my best to reassure her that all would be well. I offered comfort. But deep in my chest, I felt something like despair. And pity. I felt almost paternal. She had travelled all these miles to be here in Edinburgh and found herself in an unfamiliar environment, surrounded by an unfamiliar language. And within weeks of arriving in this place, she was being asked to write an essay on some aspect of politics – securitisation, I think – from, if I remember correctly, the Copenhagen perspective. She didn’t know where to start or what any of the key terms meant.
Asking postgraduate students to write about such topics is not necessarily wrong. But what will this student make of it? Will she find the chance to read widely and think deeply about the subject, forming a genuine understanding and perhaps even a view of its worth? Or will it become a hurried exercise in piecing together fragments to meet a deadline?
I wonder why the university believes it appropriate to recruit students still finding their feet in English, then ask them to analyse complex theories in a language not yet their own. Does it really believe this is education – or merely the performance of it?
(Edgar Degas: Ballet (L'Étoile))
