Tan Wei
Xiong, 26, attended English-medium schools. But with a strong Chinese
home background, he grew up wanting to be a Chinese teacher. He went to
Fudan University in Shanghai and on to a master’s programme in
education at the University of Hong Kong on a teaching scholarship. He
wants to see language learning made more engaging so that students do
not regard it as another, boring, subject to be mugged.
My childhood ambition was to be a Chinese teacher. It is hard to pinpoint what planted that “calling” in my heart, but a large factor has got to be my traditional Chinese upbringing. As a young boy, I spoke Teochew with my grandparents and Mandarin with my parents. My grasp of the dialect gradually deteriorated with my grandparents’ passing, but I continued using Mandarin as my primary language at home. Culturally, Confucian values were impressed upon me through examples set by my elders. Religious practices of Taoism and Buddhism also formed part of the cultural influence at home. These childhood experiences ingrained in me a “given” sense of Chinese identity, which translated into a strong desire to pass on the language and its associative culture to future generations. Stemming from this was a long-term dream to study in China, which I viewed as a form of “pilgrimage” to the wellspring of my own culture.
However, after I embarked on my undergraduate studies in Chinese language and literature at Fudan University in Shanghai on a Public Service Commission scholarship, I began to realise that the “Chinese-ness” that I have taken for granted warranted reappraisal and re-understanding. From my reflections on the different phenomena and situations that I encountered in the past four years, captured in the tens of thousands of words in my diary, three key revelations emerge.
Firstly, I came to realise that a common language (and even common ancestral roots) does not necessarily entail a similar Chinese identity. I am Singaporean, a third-generation overseas Chinese, and of Chinese descent all at the same time. Though I may emphasise a certain “identity” of my “Chinese-ness” depending on the context in which I am situated, it became increasingly clear to me that the Chinese locals and I have a natural tendency to view each other as the “other” because of our different nationalities. We may share the same cultural roots, but mutual acceptance arises from an acknowledgement of differences, of which “national identity” shaped by our different political systems is paramount. I finally understood that placing hope on a “singular Chinese-ness” is really just a form of cultural idealism (and maybe even fantasy).
Secondly, the dismal state of cultural tradition in China shook my belief that there would truly be a cultural renaissance in what I once saw as a distant “motherland”. That also reduced the possibility that a rediscovery and reinterpretation of traditional culture in China would revive interest in Chinese language learning in Singapore. Through participating in ethnographic projects to understand more about local customs and folk literature, I realised that some of the core elements of Chinese culture, often encapsulated in folk beliefs, customs and practices of overseas Chinese communities, are preserved best in Southeast Asia. The so-called “cultural preservation” in China is essentially politically motivated, with economic consideration overriding all else. To the government, “Chinese Renaissance” is a carnival of symbols (celebrations of forgotten customs and festivals, wearing ancient dress, and so on); to the opportunists, it is a creation of a culture industry. As a Chinese lecturer of mine once joked, in China, real tradition is either in the books (in ancient texts) or underground (in artefacts). Extreme as they are, his words portend a grim unfolding reality – that the gradual loss of our ethnic Chinese traditions is perhaps foreshadowed by the gradual “thinning” of tradition in the land of our cultural roots.
Thirdly, the East-West strife in the academic arena and constant talk of Eurocentricity in the Chinese context alerted me to similar situations in the Singapore context. In recent years, our political leaders have placed greater emphasis on China and the Chinese language. The problem is this: even though on the surface many profess to be “impressed” by those like me who study Chinese in China, the society as a whole still places little importance on the Chinese language. Basically, we find that the English language always proves to be of greater practical value, while the Chinese language has an air of morality arising from Confucian teachings that come bound with language education at school. All this leads to a stereotypical belief that the Chinese language is “not cool”. There appears to be an insurmountable gap between Singaporeans whose first language is English and those whose first language is Chinese. The two groups do not seem able to communicate to each other the ideas and values inherent in the two languages.
The way I see it, the above three points have important bearing on language planning and Chinese language education in Singapore. That there are multiple facets of one’s “Chinese-ness” signals the possibility of different configurations in one’s view of self-identity across social groups and across generations. This should prompt us to constantly rethink the role of Chinese language education in shaping one’s perception of who one is. The fragmentation and disintegration of our cultural tapestry hint at a possible dilemma we face in Singapore: on the one hand, we need to try to preserve and impart as much of what is left of Chinese tradition and culture in our society; on the other hand, we may find it increasingly difficult to maintain such diffusion of culture in family and school without children feeling a sense of detachment between tradition and their way of life. The worst-case scenario would be where Chinese Singaporeans no longer feel anything for their ethnic culture, to the extent of abandoning rites and practices. This could challenge the long-held notion that language is an embodiment of culture, with language learning becoming purely instrumental. Finally, the English-Chinese divide points to the need for us to break out of the self-imposed boundaries of Chinese and Western cultural circles, and rid ourselves of the emotional baggage that hinders meaningful two-way communication. To do so, we may need to question if the logic of “Mother Tongue as the cultural essence, English as the working language” still remains valid.
Our current learners regard their mother tongue as just another (boring) subject to be “learned”, something that is not inherently a part of their being. Language teaching needs to move away from talking “to” students to talking “with” them. Acquisition of language should be accompanied by inquisition of the underlying cultural elements and, eventually, philosophical exploration of humanity and identity. The best scenario would be to have discussions on the same deep questions during both English and Mother Tongue lessons. For students, language learning may then once again be truly engaging, through the comparison of cultures which hopefully paves the way for them to appreciate who they are and where they stand in terms of their thoughts, ideas, values and beliefs.
My childhood ambition was to be a Chinese teacher. It is hard to pinpoint what planted that “calling” in my heart, but a large factor has got to be my traditional Chinese upbringing. As a young boy, I spoke Teochew with my grandparents and Mandarin with my parents. My grasp of the dialect gradually deteriorated with my grandparents’ passing, but I continued using Mandarin as my primary language at home. Culturally, Confucian values were impressed upon me through examples set by my elders. Religious practices of Taoism and Buddhism also formed part of the cultural influence at home. These childhood experiences ingrained in me a “given” sense of Chinese identity, which translated into a strong desire to pass on the language and its associative culture to future generations. Stemming from this was a long-term dream to study in China, which I viewed as a form of “pilgrimage” to the wellspring of my own culture.
However, after I embarked on my undergraduate studies in Chinese language and literature at Fudan University in Shanghai on a Public Service Commission scholarship, I began to realise that the “Chinese-ness” that I have taken for granted warranted reappraisal and re-understanding. From my reflections on the different phenomena and situations that I encountered in the past four years, captured in the tens of thousands of words in my diary, three key revelations emerge.
Firstly, I came to realise that a common language (and even common ancestral roots) does not necessarily entail a similar Chinese identity. I am Singaporean, a third-generation overseas Chinese, and of Chinese descent all at the same time. Though I may emphasise a certain “identity” of my “Chinese-ness” depending on the context in which I am situated, it became increasingly clear to me that the Chinese locals and I have a natural tendency to view each other as the “other” because of our different nationalities. We may share the same cultural roots, but mutual acceptance arises from an acknowledgement of differences, of which “national identity” shaped by our different political systems is paramount. I finally understood that placing hope on a “singular Chinese-ness” is really just a form of cultural idealism (and maybe even fantasy).
Secondly, the dismal state of cultural tradition in China shook my belief that there would truly be a cultural renaissance in what I once saw as a distant “motherland”. That also reduced the possibility that a rediscovery and reinterpretation of traditional culture in China would revive interest in Chinese language learning in Singapore. Through participating in ethnographic projects to understand more about local customs and folk literature, I realised that some of the core elements of Chinese culture, often encapsulated in folk beliefs, customs and practices of overseas Chinese communities, are preserved best in Southeast Asia. The so-called “cultural preservation” in China is essentially politically motivated, with economic consideration overriding all else. To the government, “Chinese Renaissance” is a carnival of symbols (celebrations of forgotten customs and festivals, wearing ancient dress, and so on); to the opportunists, it is a creation of a culture industry. As a Chinese lecturer of mine once joked, in China, real tradition is either in the books (in ancient texts) or underground (in artefacts). Extreme as they are, his words portend a grim unfolding reality – that the gradual loss of our ethnic Chinese traditions is perhaps foreshadowed by the gradual “thinning” of tradition in the land of our cultural roots.
Thirdly, the East-West strife in the academic arena and constant talk of Eurocentricity in the Chinese context alerted me to similar situations in the Singapore context. In recent years, our political leaders have placed greater emphasis on China and the Chinese language. The problem is this: even though on the surface many profess to be “impressed” by those like me who study Chinese in China, the society as a whole still places little importance on the Chinese language. Basically, we find that the English language always proves to be of greater practical value, while the Chinese language has an air of morality arising from Confucian teachings that come bound with language education at school. All this leads to a stereotypical belief that the Chinese language is “not cool”. There appears to be an insurmountable gap between Singaporeans whose first language is English and those whose first language is Chinese. The two groups do not seem able to communicate to each other the ideas and values inherent in the two languages.
The way I see it, the above three points have important bearing on language planning and Chinese language education in Singapore. That there are multiple facets of one’s “Chinese-ness” signals the possibility of different configurations in one’s view of self-identity across social groups and across generations. This should prompt us to constantly rethink the role of Chinese language education in shaping one’s perception of who one is. The fragmentation and disintegration of our cultural tapestry hint at a possible dilemma we face in Singapore: on the one hand, we need to try to preserve and impart as much of what is left of Chinese tradition and culture in our society; on the other hand, we may find it increasingly difficult to maintain such diffusion of culture in family and school without children feeling a sense of detachment between tradition and their way of life. The worst-case scenario would be where Chinese Singaporeans no longer feel anything for their ethnic culture, to the extent of abandoning rites and practices. This could challenge the long-held notion that language is an embodiment of culture, with language learning becoming purely instrumental. Finally, the English-Chinese divide points to the need for us to break out of the self-imposed boundaries of Chinese and Western cultural circles, and rid ourselves of the emotional baggage that hinders meaningful two-way communication. To do so, we may need to question if the logic of “Mother Tongue as the cultural essence, English as the working language” still remains valid.
Our current learners regard their mother tongue as just another (boring) subject to be “learned”, something that is not inherently a part of their being. Language teaching needs to move away from talking “to” students to talking “with” them. Acquisition of language should be accompanied by inquisition of the underlying cultural elements and, eventually, philosophical exploration of humanity and identity. The best scenario would be to have discussions on the same deep questions during both English and Mother Tongue lessons. For students, language learning may then once again be truly engaging, through the comparison of cultures which hopefully paves the way for them to appreciate who they are and where they stand in terms of their thoughts, ideas, values and beliefs.
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