On “Hats Off”

What is the point of having students take their hats off when they come into the school building?

As far as I can tell, there is no educational benefit to be gained from removing your hat. It’s not like the hat is keeping the knowledge out.

Upon introspection, I came up with two related answers:
– Manners/etiquette/respect/politeness
– Tradition

Google seems to have similar answers. Note that I say that these are “related” answers because the first one is really dependent on the second, in that the reason that it is now considered polite to remove your hat is that it has traditionally been considered polite to remove your hat.

Some manners have what you might call practical purposes – some are related to health and hygiene, and many are related to coordinating group behaviors that would otherwise be chaotic (things like turn-taking, establishing the right of way, etc.) In cases of group coordination, manners are often arbitrary, but that does not diminish their importance. For example, it does not matter which side of the road you drive on – some countries choose the left side, others the right – but it is vitally important that everyone in a particular locale follow the same convention. Now you may not consider driving habits to be a subset of “manners”, but I would argue that they are close enough for comparison – and consider the parallel (but perhaps less vital) case of determining which glass is yours when seated at a round table on a formal occasion. Do you reach for the glass on your left or your right? Even one person who doesn’t know or observe the (arbitrary) rule could cause someone else to be left without a glass. Of course this situation is fairly simple to resolve and therefore the rule is not considered particularly important.

On the other hand, some manners do not seem to have any practical purposes at all, whether vital or trivial. For example, verbal politeness rules do not seem to have a practical purpose. Georgian and English have different verbal politeness rules (different words and different situations in which they apply) and Georgians often consider me to be strangely polite because I am forever trying to apply English politeness rules in the Georgian language, which is not an exact match. Socially, this can make some things a bit awkward, but it doesn’t seem to have any practical effects. For example, if I’m overly polite or indirect in asking a shopkeeper for some bread, I still get the bread even if it comes with a perplexed look. In contrast, Georgians’ different turn-taking etiquette has often caused me to have practical difficulties in making basic purchases or other transactions.

Hats are not a part of social organization or coordination scheme – they do not help us to resolve ambiguous situations in which everyone must make the same arbitrary decision. They do not facilitate the orderly conduct of commerce. In this regard, taking your hat off is more like an act of verbal politeness. At some point in the obscure, distant past, there may have been a practical reason to take off a hat indoors, or at least some relevant social significance beyond “because that’s what I was taught”. However, as my introspection and googling reveal, those reasons are essentially lost to us today. And so today the effective reason for taking your hat off in a building is “because it is polite”. And the question I asked earlier becomes “what is the point of politeness?” or perhaps “what is the point of requiring students to be polite?”

Now I’ve argued that politeness rules do not serve a practical purpose, but that doesn’t mean that politeness *itself* doesn’t serve a practical purpose. The forms that politeness can take are different from culture to culture, but the phenomenon of politeness (and its opposite, rudeness) would appear to be universal. So what does politeness actually do?

Well, it’s essentially a form of social signalling. By being polite, you are showing the people around you that you are prosocial – that you are willing to follow social norms, and to regulate your own behavior for the benefit of others. By engaging in politeness, you are proclaiming that you will also follow the more practical rules of etiquette and manners. This, in turn, allows others to feel comfortable interacting with you in hopes that you will make good on the implied promise to be an upstanding member of society.

I think that teenagers can relate to the concept of hats as signalling. By wearing a hat in school – a harmless but noticeable display of rule-breaking – you are clearly signalling. You are signalling that the school authority cannot control or regulate your self-expression (or to borrow a very outdated turn of phrase, that you are “too cool for school”). You are signalling that you are laid-back, and relaxed, and that strict rules of formality don’t concern you that much – and by doing so you are making some of your peers feel comfortable and relaxed around you as well. In some sense wearing a hat could be considered pro-social – that is, if the student in question wishes to firmly delineate students as a *separate* social group from teachers.

But you are also signalling to the adults in the building that you are anti-social, at least where they are concerned. You are telling us that you are not willing to regulate your own behavior for the benefit of the group. You are warning us to watch out for you because you do not follow the rules, and we generally take that warning seriously. Most teachers probably associate students who wear hats indoors with students who break other rules, who are often in trouble, and who do not perform well academically. When we see you with a hat inside we lower our expectations of you, which can be a self-fulfilling prophecy and actually end up hurting your education. And although we may consciously try not to discriminate against you, the social wiring which tells us to prefer members of the group to outsiders – a result of millions of years of evolution – basically ensures that we will fail. If you dress up like a problem student, we will see you as a problem student, and treat you as a problem student. Unconscious bias is hugely powerful. (And by the way, a benefit of school uniforms is that it helps to remove opportunities for that bias to manifest itself.)

And so to come back around to the question – what is the point of making students take off their hats – I think we can be very cynical and say that we have a rule against hats because we know that troublemakers will break the rule and then we will have a very obvious and easy way to identify them. Or, we can be more generous and say that the rule facilitates prosocial signalling among students and teachers, in order to improve educational outcomes by taking advantage of natural human tendencies to cooperate with members of the tribe in good standing and regard them more highly than outsiders or outcasts. So I have to revise my earlier, naive hypothesis: if we regard school education as a primarily social activity, there actually *is* educational benefit to be gained from removing your hat.

Weird.

Posted in Education | Leave a comment

This is why we can’t have nice things

Perhaps you’ve already heard the news that’s prompted me to come out of retirement and get back on my high horse: a group of Georgian chauvinists decided to bust up a film screening at a vegan cafe, because these days just being a complete asshole apparently passes for a political statement.

Reportedly this group came in with sausages strung around their neck and wielding skewers of meat. Kiwi cafe is also a non-smoking restaurant, but not for this sausage party! They lit up, and when staff complained they became aggressive and physically violent, thus reinvigorating the term “meathead” for a new generation.

Then, the cops came and decided to investigate and detain the victims, because of their “alternative” appearance, because in Georgia having a mohawk is cause for suspicion but wearing a meat necklace is just another Sunday night on the town. I’ve remarked before that many Georgian men seem to smell like smoked sausages for some reason, but I never knew it was because they sometimes wear it as jewellery.

Jokes aside, this is a pretty disturbing attack. I mean, okay, I personally don’t really care about veganism per se – no hostility there, it’s just not my issue. But I do very much care about living in a society in which some very basic rights are respected. This country has seen attacks on freedom of religion, freedom of assembly, and freedom of speech. Now we’re seeing an attack on the freedom to choose what kind of food to eat? The freedom to operate a non-smoking cafe and the freedom of patrons to choose to dine in such a cafe? I don’t think the Soviets even told people what to eat.

Now imagine if this group had attacked a Georgian restaurant during Orthodox fasting season and started throwing meat into people’s vegetarian meals. The people would have risen as one in defense of someone’s right to eat lobio for Jesus, and the attackers would have been mauled by the crowd. Police would have investigated zealously.

But of course the two situations are not remotely comparable. In Georgia the only freedom that is respected is the freedom to be like everybody else.

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RFE/RL has an analysis of the attack in the context of current and historical trends in Georgia. It’s good, I recommend reading it, even if it is a tad glib about the severity of the attack itself.

The obvious takeaway from this analysis is that this can be seen as an anti-Western, anti-liberal attack and even grouped with anti-LGBT attacks in Georgia in that the attackers seemed at least partially motivated by the idea that being vegan is gay (I invite the reader to insert their own sausage joke here).

The less obvious takeaway is that the apparent rise in nationalist and ultra-nationalist rhetoric in Georgia, post-Saakashvili, is perhaps a regression to the mean from the relative liberalism of the Saakashvili regime. The RFE/RL piece suggests that this nationalist vein in Georgian culture played a role in the loss of Abkhazia and South Ossetia.

What I don’t quite have a handle on is how strong and widespread this nationalism actually is. Most of the Georgians I interact with are more Western-leaning and cosmopolitan – but that is clearly a self-selected group. I would guess that the average Georgian doesn’t have much of a stake in the issue of veganism as a threat to the Georgian identity, and hasn’t deeply thought about the contradictions between the liberal democratic EU regime and the obligations of defending tradition and conformity. What I don’t know is how many Georgians are prone to be riled up, given the right circumstances, into nationalist violence, or into a pivot towards Russia.

Another question is whether this is an isolated incident or whether it will embolden other Georgians to take similar actions against nontraditional groups. Sometimes things like this are growing pains – an adjustment period of mutual fear and distrust that occurs when any new idea is introduced. Other times they’re a shot fired across the bow – a precursor to more frequent and dangerous attacks. If the Georgian government is concerned about the latter possibility, they’re certainly not showing it.

I wish I had more insight to offer here, but I don’t. I don’t think anyone knows – the situation is unpredictable and unstable. I was always broadly pro-Misha and so I have to take care not to exaggerate my criticisms of Georgian Dream or make dire predictions of doom because my guy lost an election. It’s hard to tell whether this is confirmation bias, but I’m left thinking that this wouldn’t have happened during Misha’s time, when rather than a vegan bar in that neighborhood there were actual gay bars which largely went unmolested. And I’m dead certain Misha’s police would have taken the matter seriously.

But on the other hand, there wasn’t a vegan cafe to attack in Misha’s time. It’s undeniable that Georgia is still making Westward progress under GD and that some of the anti-GD rhetoric has been overblown. There are also more non-smoking restaurants than ever. And of course that has to do with demand – people who run vegan cafes and American burger joints and whatnot understand that they are cooking for people who actually want to taste their food – that there is a sizeable market share for people who want a smoke-free dining experience. But GD has not done anything to impede this progress, so that’s something.

I guess I’m very concerned about the possibility of things on the anti-Western front getting worse before they get better, but I remain cautiously optimistic. Even if nationalists start winning elections, Georgians have tasted Dunkin Donuts and they’re not going to give them up. Globalization has worked its magic and an undeniable transformation has taken place in Tbilisi over the last six years (even though we still don’t have a damn Starbucks).

My other worry is that the most pro-Western Georgians will simply leave – especially if there is visa liberalization with the EU – and let the country go to the dogs. If you know you could feel safe in a vegan cafe in any European capital – I’d bet even in Moscow – why would you stick around here and wait for the brownshirts to come for you when they decide that your favorite digs don’t jibe with Georgian tradition?

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Finally, I’ll just note that it’s hard for me as an American to even understand the mindset here. The freedoms enshrined in the Bill of Rights are part of the fabric of American society. We’re attached to them sometimes to the point of irrationality. Some countries have a national religion – we have the Bill of Rights. And the right to choose your own diet is clearly reserved to the states and the people. Take our most unhealthy foods and drinks and the only debate permitted in the public sphere is whether or not the state can restrict the amount we are allowed to buy at once. I have trouble imagining it even occurring to an American to try to force someone to eat meat if they didn’t want to. I think I speak for most meat-eating Americans when I say “fine, don’t eat meat – more for me!”

Georgians clearly have a very different understanding of rights and freedoms – an understanding which strikes me as somewhat ad hoc, given that there’s no document or philosophy they can point to other than a vague understanding of what is “normal”.

I think that veganism poses a very clear problem for that mindset: veganism is clearly not “normal” by almost any definition of the word, and yet it is also clearly a personal choice which threatens no one. I get that if everyone became gay, making children would be a much more complicated affair, and so nationalists who want to advance the bloodline at least have a twisted rationale for their hatred. But if everyone became vegan? Oh no! We’d have to convert all our pastures to wheat fields! That could take days!

But of course, in any society, there is a group of people who believe that when something challenges your mindset, your best bet is to attack it. It’s just unfortunate that Georgian society doesn’t have any reasonable check on those sorts of people.

Posted in Civics, Politics | 6 Comments

You really have no idea, do you?

One of my colleagues asked what the worst thing about living in Georgia was.  Now, I’ve learned my lesson about being negative and I rarely offer Georgians unsolicited criticism of their country in normal social interactions (contrary to what you might expect from reading this blog).  But I strive to be honest and she seemed to actually want to know what I thought, and I had just been talking about some of the many reasons I like living here, so I decided to venture a response.

One of the first things to come to mind was the streets and sidewalks.  Walking in Tbilisi varies from inconvenient to hazardous in most residential neighborhoods – I’ve sprained my ankle once or twice because of uneven pavement in the dark; a friend of mine busted up her knee because of an unmarked open hole in the sidewalk related to some construction; and that’s more on the inconvenient side given that many of us are forced to walk with our children in the street with cars because Georgian drivers have no qualms about parking on the sidewalks – and that’s when there are sidewalks.  Georgia has a lot of pedestrians die in road accidents.

So I tried to politely express this thought without rambling too much – I said something to the effect of “the streets – you know, walking around, the potholes and uneven pavement and cars parking on the sidewalk.”  As I recall I didn’t get to finish the thought, because my colleague interrupted me to ask for my honest opinion.  “No, come on, be serious,” she said.  “That is not the *worst* thing about living in Georgia.”

Well, actually, it’s up there.  I guess it depends partially on how you weigh problems – for instance, I think of the homophobia here as a huge problem, but it doesn’t personally affect me on a day-to-day basis.  On the other hand, I have to trek through mud and gravel and across uneven streets and risk my life dodging traffic practically every day of my life here, and it has resulted in injury to myself and my friends.  She was asking what the worst thing about *living* here was, and in my day-to-day life, that’s a contender.

The other contender is the smoking.  And I know that people smoke all over, but at least in New York the public is well into the process of chasing smokers out of the shared public spaces that ought to be smoke-free: restaurants, bathrooms, elevators, and other enclosed spaces; and also parks and recreational areas where families bring their children to play in a safe environment.  New York has whole smoke-free apartment buildings.  Many other cities and countries are similar – some even ban adults from smoking in cars with children, which I think ought to be the law everywhere.  Someday perhaps it will be.

Anyhow, today I was on my way to take out the garbage, which had accumulated to an almost embarrassing quantity, and I planned to take the elevator rather than walk it down the eight flights of stairs, but when the elevator came to my floor there was a very large dude in it, smoking a cigarette.  I looked up at his face, then down at his cigarette, and then I dropped my garbage on the landing and went back into my apartment to wait for the air to clear.

Now obviously from his perspective this is, at the very least, extremely odd behavior.  He’ll probably chalk it up to my being a foreigner.  He probably has *no idea* that by smoking in the elevator he was inconveniencing me, and he certainly has no idea how many times I’ve had to wait for an elevator to air out before getting on, especially when my kids are with me.  He has no idea how many buses and marshutkas I’ve had to get off because the driver lit up a cigarette, in violation of Georgian law.  He has no idea about the time I had to leave Vake park because after trying three playgrounds I finally found a smoke-free one for my son to play on and not five minutes after he started playing an old man came and started smoking on it, and wouldn’t put out the cigarette when I asked him, and it escalated into a shouting match, and the police came.

He has no idea that I spent several minutes waiting for that elevator to air out, cursing him and his family and wishing I could see him punished and basically projecting all the accumulated stress and anger from dealing with inconsiderate smokers for five years onto his filthy tobacco-stained head.  And I don’t think he’d even be able to comprehend such sentiments even if I could somehow communicate them to him.

I think these things are connected – the smoking, the streets in disrepair, the litter, the driving, the walking.  I think that in some sense it’s the tragedy of the commons being played out across every aspect of Georgian public life.  Georgians are very warm, helpful, social people – in face-to-face interactions.  And yet, they act as if they are *completely blind* to the effects that their actions have on others if those effects are even the slightest bit attenuated or cumulative.  They seem completely unaware that social obligations might extend to people who you aren’t in direct contact with at the moment.

The two worst aspects of my daily life in Georgia – poorly maintained public walkways, and cigarette smoking in enclosed and/or family spaces – don’t even seem to be recognized as problems by Georgians.  There’s no sense that these are things that can be addressed.  There’s no sense that Georgians’ lives would be better if they could make a small set of important and quite feasible changes to their environment.  There’s no awareness, no social consciousness beyond one’s immediate circles of friends and family.

And of course, by bringing it up, I’m casting myself as the enemy, the perennially complaining foreigner who should just go back to where he came from if he doesn’t like it here.  That’s the flip side of having zero awareness of your own shortcomings – when someone points them out you tend to respond with bewilderment or aggression.On the other hand, I think the younger people are a little better about this – for example, there’s a Georgian organization dedicated to improving Georgia’s walkways and shaming drivers who park on sidewalks, and there are some burgeoning environmental groups.  So far, from what I’ve seen, they haven’t really made a dent in any of these problems, but at least some people are starting to be aware of them.

Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Myths about the Georgian Alphabet

Agenda.ge appears to be a mildly nationalistic, pro-regime English-language news site in Georgia. They often write feel-good pieces promoting Georgia to English readers, and there’s really nothing wrong with that, and so even though the faint whiff of propaganda rises off every Agenda.ge article I read, I have had no actual cause for complaint with their news coverage up until now.

This week, they published an article which espouses a few myths about the Georgian alphabet. The first of these is the 14 alphabets myth, which goes something like this: “Georgians are among 14 lucky nations in the world who can be proud of their unique writing system.”

TLG said this too – that there exist exactly 14 alphabets in the world which are currently used to write currently existing languages. As far as I can tell, there is no reasonable counting method under which this claim is true. I would like to know where it came from, but oddly enough no one ever cites a source.

Omniglot.com lists 16 alphabets as “currently in use”, and this is under the most restrictive possible understandings of the terms “alphabet” and “currently in use”. It excludes alphabets like Coptic and Old Church Slavonic which are currently in use but only in a limited context, for example for religious writings and ceremonies. It also excludes alphabets that do not mark vowels with their own letters (instead they use diacritics, or nothing – called abugidas and abjads, respectively) such as Hebrew and Arabic. It also counts all the different Latin alphabets as one alphabet, even though, for example, the English, German, Spanish, French, Polish, Slovenian, and Turkish alphabets (among many, many others) all use the “Latin” alphabet but all with their own distinctive variations, including differing pronunciations, diacritics, and added characters.

So okay, if you don’t count the Hebrew alephbet as an alphabet and you don’t count Old Church Slavonic as “currently in use” and you don’t count the Spanish alphabet as different from the English one, then you can get down to a number that is at least close to 14. If you understand “alphabet” and “currently in use” as a member of the general public ordinarily would, the claim that there are only 14 alphabets currently in use in the world is inarguably both false and misleading – it’s not even close to accurately conveying reality to a reader.

Georgians were apparently taught this 14 alphabet thing during Soviet times and never thought to actually check to verify this claim, so it gets repeated and repeated in nonserious contexts, like on a pro-Georgia-puff-piece-mill like Agenda.ge or in a hastily implemented and underfunded language exchange program like TLG. I occasionally ask Georgians I meet if they’ve heard of the 14 alphabet thing and most of them have. I wonder what it would take to dislodge this meme from the Georgian collective mind.

The next alphabet myth is that Georgian “is the only alphabet in the world that is pronounced exactly the same way it is written.” This is not even close to true for a number of reasons. It contains a few grains of truth – just enough to be annoying to someone who actually cares about getting language facts right – but not enough to withstand even a moment’s thought.

Consider Georgia’s four neighboring countries: Azerbaijan, Turkey, Armenia, and Russia. Consider what you know about their alphabets. Turkish pronunciation is 100% predictable based on the Turkish alphabet leaving basically no room for error, and it is also particularly straightforward (for instance, there aren’t letters that change pronunciation depending on their place in a word). Correct me if I’m wrong. Azerbaijani is a bit more problematic because of its “k”, which has some range of pronunciation, but as we will see Georgian also has at least one consonant with a range of pronunciation. Armenian has letters pronounced differently in its different dialects but I believe consistently within dialects. And finally, Russian, which has some entirely predictable variation in pronunciation of some letters based on their place in words and sentences – meaning that spelling absolutely determines pronunciation in Russian, just perhaps not entirely straightforwardly. Contrast that to Georgian, in which variations from spelling-sound correspondence rules are often unpredictable and idiosyncratic. (Again, I am not an expert in any of these languages, so it is possible I myself have consumed some bad information – you can consider my claims about Georgian somewhat authoritative but my claims about the neighboring languages are based only on a superficial understanding and some basic research).

In short, not only is Georgian not pronounced exactly the same way as it is written – it is actually worse at this than literally any of its neighbors. Many Georgians at least know Russian, if not Armenian or Turkish, and so it is hard to imagine how Georgians can make this claim with a straight face. It’s like a Radio Yerevan joke: “Is Georgian the only alphabet in the world that is pronounced exactly as it is written?” “In principle yes, but there are many alphabets in the world that are pronounced as they are written, and Georgian is not one of them.”

I suppose you’ll want examples.

Let’s start with ბავშვი – bavshvi. This word has a range of pronunciations (like many Georgian words) but the most common seem to be “bow-shwee” (rhymes with “cow-shwee”) and “bow-shwi” (rhymes with “show-shwee”). (Incidentally, it is interesting that the word “bow” in English has two pronunciations corresponding to the two alternate pronunciations of this Georgian word.) I think the “show” pronunciation is more typical of West Georgia, but I’m no expert.

The reason I bring up this example is that the letter “ვ” is supposed to be pronounced like English “v” and the letter “ა” is supposed to be “ah” (or like the o in not). So in IPA the word would be [bavʃvi] if the Georgian alphabet were phonetic, but it is in fact [baʊʃwi] in its most common realization. In five years I have never heard a Georgian pronounce this word as it is spelled, and it is an extremely common word (especially in schools – I basically hear it every day).

I cannot think of another context in Georgian in which the “ავ” is shortened to an “aʊ” sound, and it is a very common cluster (it is one of several standard verb-forming suffixes, for example). There do appear to be other examples of the “ვ” disappearing itself while turning the preceding vowel into a different sound entirely – like “კიდევ”, which should be “kidev” (key-dev), but is often pronounced “kido” (key-dough). I also theorize that the slang “baro” for hello is actually a reduction of Armenian “barev” (also meaning hello) following the same phonetic pattern, but this is unconfirmed and I can’t think of any other Georgian words ending in “-ევ” to test the theory.

In addition to that, the letter “ვ” in Georgian is problematic in a whole host of other situations. It normally varies between /v/ and /w/, and I have not been able to find a way to predict this. When I compare notes with other students of Georgian their observations are different from mine – for instance, I’ve never heard “Vake” pronounced with a /w/ but several friends say they have. Or maybe I just didn’t notice. Variations appear to differ both by word and by speaker. Sometimes, like with “bavshvi”, it seems to always be a /w/. Other times it seems to always be a /v/. This would be a good area for a research paper, because my personal experience has not led me to be able to determine what, if any, rules or patterns are at work here.

Moving on, we have the word “marshutka.” This is a loan word from Russian. Georgians decided to drop the second “r” out of the original word – “marshrutka” – in spoken language. I have met one or two Georgians who pronounce this second r, but the vast majority do not. However, the spelling of the word varies much more freely – on Google the one-r version gets 109,000 hits while the two-r version gets 22,500 (or 35,500 depending on which “t” you use). I have met many Georgians who spell the word “marshrutka” but pronounce it “marshutka”, which would not be possible if Georgian were spoken exactly as it is spelled.

The vowels are actually much more complicated than the consonants. The “ე” (e) and “ო” (o) vowels are the most unstable and are often strongly colored by their surrounding letters. The “ო” changes before an “რ” (r) in much the same way it does in English (contrast “so” and “sore”). The “ე” goes from what we would call a “long e” (c.f. “way”) to a “short e” (c.f. “wet”) based on whether it has a vowel or consonant after it – and perhaps also changes with the voicing of the consonant as well. This also has some variation from speaker to speaker. For examples, compare the “ე” in “თეკლა” (“Tekla” – [tɛkla]) with the “ე” in “მეორე” (“meore” – [meɪɔreɪ]), or the “ო” in “ბატონო” (“batono” – [batono]) with the “ო” in “ორი” (“ori” – [ɔri]).

Also, there are diphthongs that traditional Georgian language pedagogy says don’t exist. These are most noticeable when an “ი” (“i”, pronounced “ee”) follows another vowel. The famous Georgian alphabet primer is called “აი ია” (ai ia, but pronounced more like “I, ee-ah”) and of those two vowel combinations, the latter is very clearly segmented into two syllables while the first is very clearly merged into a diphthong. “აი” doesn’t always form a diphthong – sometimes the syllables remain distinct, but it depends on the word and the situation. A word like “დაიბანე” (“da-ibane”, or “go wash yourself”) seems more likely to maintain separate syllables – perhaps because the “da” and the “i” are distinct morphemes (that is, units of meaning: the “da” is a fixed verb prefix used to mark what you might think of as tense, and the “i” indicates that it is an animate object being washed). Another example is the name “მაია”, or “Maia” – this is essentially always pronounced with two syllables, similar to the Slavic name “Maja” or its English respelling Maya. I think Georgians would agree that it would be extremely weird to hear this name pronounced with three distinct syllables, but I could be wrong.

Contrary to the example verb above, some verbs do seem to form diphthongs even across morphemes. Consider “მოიცა” (“moitsa” – meaning “wait”). In high-prestige Georgian, this word contains the diphthong /ɔɪ/ (the “oy” in “boy”). Occasionally this is cut short at one syllable but it is often lengthened at the end so it sounds like the diphthong plus the long i – I would render it [ɔɪi] or /ɔɪ:/. Imagine Flavor Flav saying “Yeah boy” – the “oy” in his “boy” is the “ოი” in “მოიცა”.

In some West Georgian dialects, “moitsa” is changed to “meitsa” (pronounced like “May-tsa”. In practice this means that Georgians are spelling a word “moitsa” but saying “meitsa”, except when they dare to actually spell the word in dialect (indeed, you can google “მეიცა” and see almost ten thousand of these brave souls). But furthermore, they aren’t saying “meh-eetsa”, they’re saying “may-tsa” – two syllables where Georgian spelling rules dictate there should be three. This also happens with a number of “ეი” combinations.

To summarize the diphthong issue, there does not appear to be a single consistent paradigm under which some vowel pairs become diphthongized and there is also considerable regional variation, and so if we want to know how native Georgian speakers produce any give vowel pair ending in “ი” we have to admit that we cannot find out through an examination of the spelling of the word. This fact alone – although minor – probably puts Georgian behind all four of its neighbors when it comes to the ability to predict pronunciation based on spelling. Add in the problems with “ვ” both alone and after a vowel and you have an alphabet which unambiguously does not unambiguously describe the pronunciation of the language.

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In conclusion, this Agenda.ge article reproduces two very common misconceptions that Georgians have about the Georgian alphabet. These misconceptions probably stem from two problems. One, lack of contact with the outside world – if Georgians studied their language in the context of other global languages they might have a more accurate idea of what actually makes their language unique rather than focusing on superficial and ultimately incorrect aspects of their alphabet. Two, nationalism – these language myths are nothing if not self-serving, and they are repeated ad nauseam to feed the paper tiger that is Georgians’ national pride.

I would like to see these myths eradicated. They are part of what makes it difficult for foreigners to learn Georgian – the dogmatic approach most Georgians take to their own language is incredibly frustrating when an outside observer can immediately and clearly see that the native-speaking teacher is constantly breaking the rules he or she is claiming to follow. Repeating these canards also reflects badly on Georgians, and I would like to see Georgians put their best face forward when dealing with the world. Also, I just dislike anything that smacks of nationalism, since nationalism is unseemly at best and genocidal at worst.

Unfortunately, I don’t have much of a say in the matter. Georgian journalists and philologists tend to be too insular and stubborn to listen when bloggers point out their mistakes.

Posted in Uncategorized | 13 Comments

the heart of amusement world

Indeed, I have already obtained some measure of amusement from the new East Point shopping center.  It’s an innovative kind of bad Georgian English – almost Palinesque in its placement of imagery over grammar, evocative of a poorly translated Chinese menu read by Shalva Natelashvili (youtube).

Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh (although I’m not exactly sure to whom), but go and read it.  Or if you’re reading this in some dystopian future where the East Point website has been competently edited, have a gander at this screenshot:

East Point English

I kept rereading that second sentence looking for a predicate until I realized there wasn’t one.  Georgian English is usually big on comma splices, but I’ve never noticed a sentence fragment before – certainly not one this big.

It’s sad, because this is actually decent writing.  The copywriter has made some bold choices – like capitalizing “Shop, Dine, and Have Fun” – which suggest more than a passing familiarity with idiomatic English, slogans, and ad copy.  Since Georgian doesn’t have capital letters, this is an unusual area of focus in Georgian English style.

If I were proofreading this it would be easy: swap around some articles and hyphens, perhaps fix some of the fragments and splices (this fragment might even be okay if it started with “An open-concept” – fragments certainly aren’t unheard of in ad copy), and maybe fix a few word choice problems further down the page.  Aside from figuring out how to rephrase “heart of amusement world”, I would barely be earning my fee if I were proofreading this.

And yet, I’m not proofreading this – and neither is any other native speaker of English – because apparently someone decided that the exclusively English-language landing page of their 85,000 square meter real estate and business development project did not need to actually be written in proper English.

It can’t be about money.  If you can afford a web designer to build you a Bootstrap page you can afford the eight bucks it would cost to pay an English major to proofread four paragraphs.

No, this is clearly a case of neglect, but the question is, whose, and for what reason?  Someone was responsible for producing English text for this website, and that person either thought that this was correct English or thought that having your English be correct didn’t matter.

How does this happen?  My current theory is that someone was hired to be an interpreter or customer service representative, or something, and got this task foisted on them through no fault of their own.  This person would have had to say either “I cannot write English at the native level” – something you wouldn’t want to admit if you’ve taken a job based on a claim to know English – or just go ahead and do their best.  Presumably this person did not think of consulting a native speaker themselves.  Perhaps this person even thought that he or she *could* write English at the native level.  In any case, I think we should have sympathy for this person.  The job market is tough in Georgia and the education system categorically fails to teach proper English, so what is a person to do if they want to feed their family and all they have is a degree in tourism or marketing and a B2 command of English?

So let’s not blame individuals.  Systemically, the institutions in this country generally fail to realize their employees’ inadequacy as English translators, copywriters, and proofreaders.

English teachers in Georgia are often asked to translate materials into English as (unpaid but mandatory) side work at their schools.  A teacher who is qualified to teach students at the A1 or A2 or B1 level (beginner through intermediate, say) is not necessarily qualified to translate academic or professional texts – a C-level task.  No one in Georgian schools speaks C-level English unless they’ve lived abroad or had some kind of extraordinary circumstance (like the ten-year-old girl I once taught who watched hours of English television a day and could speak flawlessly in not one but a variety of American accents), and even they might not be able to produce professional written texts.

Teaching skills are different from writing skills, and the basic communication taught in high school EFL is insufficient for either teaching or professional writing.  None of this is a dig on Georgian education.  I wouldn’t hire an American to write or proofread professional copy in a foreign language if they had only encountered that language in school.  If they hadn’t lived among native speakers of that language for at least a year I just wouldn’t trust them to have a native’s ear for the language, no matter what their diploma said.  And even then, I’d still prefer a native speaker for the job.

So really, what needs to happen is that firms (corporations and government agencies) have to decide, at the highest levels, to take accountability for the quality of English texts they produce, and hire qualified and competent proofreaders accordingly.  Until that becomes standard practice, the production of professional Georgian English will remain a laughingstock and an embarrassment.

And yes, I know Georgia has worse problems.  Still, if my business was trying to lure rich Tbilisians out to the airport highway to shop at stores most of which already exist all over the rest of the city, I’d make damned sure I spent eight of my marketing dollars to get the website copy proofed by a native speaker.

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Kakheti Wine Tour

Kakheti is Georgia’s most famous wine region, and as such, it has an extensive variety of wine-related tourist destinations. On Thursday I took my family on a tour of three.

1. The Alexandre Chavchavadze House Museum in Tsinandali

http://www.tsinandali.com/index_en.html

For 20 lari, you can have a tour of the museum in English, Russian, or Georgian, and a tasting of five locally-produced wines. Our tasting included five wines from Kakhuri, a Telavi-based company: Rkatsiteli, Mtsvane, Saperavi, Mukuzani, and Kindzmarauli. The wines were all quite good, and the range provides a good introduction to some of the more popular Georgian grapes. Bottles are available for sale from Kakhuri and several other companies in Kakheti.

The museum has extensive garden grounds, where you can stroll around and see a variety of greenery, including a large bamboo thicket. The weather is cooler than Tbilisi and we felt comfortable outside even though it was one of the hottest days of the summer. The Chavchavadze House was a tiny bit disappointing, partially because the tour guide rushed through the tour a bit, but it was definitely an interesting look at how the nobility lived in the 19th century. Still, the highlights were definitely the wine and the garden.

Non-drinkers can do the house tour for 5 lari or just have park access for 2 lari.

2. Wine House Gurjaani

http://winehousegurjaani.ge/

Let me tell you, this place was fantastic. For only ten lari, we had a tasting menu that included Rkatsiteli, Saperavi, Chacha, bread, cheese, fresh fruits, adjika, churchkhela, and a bonus of some very delicious Georgian brandy aged 27 years. You can buy bottles of the wines and spirits (20 lari for wine, 50 for the brandy), as well as fresh local churchkhela, gozinaki, adjika, and honey. There are also options for a full tour (which includes demonstrations of making bread, wine, and churchkhela) and a full meal, and the house doubles as a guesthouse with five rooms.

The wines and food were fantastic, and the hospitality was excellent. The people were friendly and welcoming. I give Wine House Gurjaani my highest recommendation.

3. Pheasant’s Tears

http://www.pheasantstears.com/

Pheasant’s Tears gets a lot of local and international press, and justifiably so. We opted for the 25 lari “Pheasant’s Journey” – a tasting of seven wines plus chacha, along with delicious local bread and cheese. Our hosted introduced the grapes and the winemaking process and doled out generous pours of Chinuri, Rkatsiteli, Mtsvane, Tavkveri Rose, Tavkveri, Saperavi, and Shavkapito. I preferred the whites to the reds, but all were enjoyable and the tasting as a whole did a good job of showcasing the great variety and potential in Georgian dry wines.

After the tasting we decided to stay for dinner, which was very good. There is no fixed menu because dishes are available based on seasonal local produce. We ate khatchapuri, slow-cooked pork, fried potatoes, eggplant with tomato sauce, tomato-cucumber salad, bread, and sour-plum sauce. Wine bottles at Pheasant’s Tears are notably more expensive than other local wines – in the 35 to 60 lari range – but we couldn’t resist buying a few anyway.

Pheasant’s Tears also offers tours of Sighnaghi and some local attractions, tours of their vineyard, and horseback riding. The staff is friendly and multilingual. I highly recommend visiting.

*****

Given another day, I’d like to visit the Alaverdi Monastery and the Kvareli Wine Tunnel. I’ve already visited the Ikalto Academy’s vineyards several times, picked and mashed grapes, and tried wine in various stages of the creation process – so if you’re in Georgia around the harvest time I’d recommend doing that. Kakheti is rich in wine culture.

Of course Kakheti offers much more than wine. The route we took (Tbilisi – Tsinandali – Gurjaani – Sighnaghi – Tbilisi) gave us a taste of the scenery, most notably the view from Sighnaghi. We passed dozens of sites – churches, monasteries, fortresses and museums – that offer unique views of nature, landscape, and historic art and architecture. We didn’t even stop in Telavi, let alone detour off the main roads. You could spend a week touring Kakheti and not see it all.

Please share your own experiences and recommendations in the comments section!

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Wait Your Turn

I am going to offer the rare piece of blunt, prescriptive advice: I think Georgians should learn to wait their turn.

Normally I shy away from direct criticism of Georgian culture, at least on this blog, and opt for describing and trying to understand the culture. I know people don’t want to be told how to live their lives. In this case, however, it’s such a small and innocuous thing that bears such an impact on everyday life. I think it is safe to say that everyone in this country would be happier, healthier, and smarter if they would just learn to wait their turn.

Waiting your turn is taught in the US and in many European countries from a very early age. It is a sign of respect for the people around you and the process or system that you are participating in. It is also a practical matter – in cases where not everyone can go at once, someone has to go first and someone else has to wait. You can’t all go at once.

Georgians have an ad hoc system for determining turn order. It has to do with social and cultural factors, such as age, gender, status/apparent status, and possibly other nuances that I am missing. It is also very closely related to who is willing and able to push themselves forward through the crowd to get to the point of service, or who is willing and able to yell the loudest. In America we are more likely to opt for a “first come, first served” system, because we fancy ourselves an egalitarian country and lining up in the order you came in is clearly more fair (by our standards) whereas making personal judgments about people before deciding who to prioritize is clearly unreliable, prone to abuse, and intrusive in a way that many people would find offensive.

Once I was crossing from Turkey into Georgia at the border station in Sarpi. There were small queues of Turks waiting their turn for passport control. They were surrounded by writhing masses of Georgians pushing each other and the Turks in order to jockey for position. I hope no one will call me insensitive if I just say that the contrast did not favor the Georgians.

Now it’s true that I am personally frustrated because I have just had yet another shopping experience in which the Georgian salesperson very deliberately and obviously skipped over me to serve someone else because reasons. (This was at Smart on Chavchavadze – do me and yourselves a favor and don’t shop there!) However, this has been an issue that I have noticed over and over again and that my foreign friends have also noticed and commented on. Georgians cut in line, shout out their orders ahead of people who were there before them, and otherwise behave in ways most Westerners consider very rude – and the salespeople reward this behavior by serving the rude people ahead of the polite people.

Go ahead, make excuses for them. I’ll wait.

*****

I’m going to make a huge theoretical leap and claim that the idea of fairness is somehow embedded in human nature. Not the specific definition of fairness, but just the idea that some things are just and fair, and other things are not, and that generally speaking we’d prefer things to be fair, especially if we’re on the receiving end of the unfairness. I think kids naturally feel it’s unfair that they can’t do all the things adults can do, for example, and I think this idea naturally causes them displeasure, regardless of culture. I could be wrong.

But I bring this up because I think that Georgians do feel that it is unfair that the loudest, pushiest people always get to go first. I think that many Georgians do get annoyed when someone cuts them in line. I think that part of the reason why that Gallup survey indicated that Georgians do not feel like they are treated with respect on a day-to-day basis is that they are constantly disrespecting each other in this and many other related and non-related ways that essentially amount to a lack of regard or consideration for the feelings and situations of the other people around.

Shopping at the store is actually perhaps the most harmless example of this lack of regard for turn-taking and other forms of consideration. Consider a highway. The insanity of Georgian driving habits – which scare nearly every visitor to this country – is mostly a result of a lack of regard for rules and an unwillingness to negotiate turn-taking (and right of way) in a fair and systematic way. This causes accidents, road rage, violence, and death. I need to get “you don’t actually need to be in front of that other car so badly that it’s worth risking your life” translated into Georgian for the next time I take a trip on the national highway.

Or how about education? Without citing any specific examples, I’ll just invite you to think about what a classroom is like when students do not wait their turn – i.e., wait to be called on – before shouting out a question or an answer or a comment. In public schools classes can have 40 kids. Students internalize the reward system as follows: “When I call out an answer, the teacher rewards me, moreso if I am the loudest. When I call out a question, the teacher answers me, and if she doesn’t the first time, she definitely will the second.” Sure, this someday becomes “When I cut in line, I leave the store first” – but that’s not really the problem. The problem is the missed opportunity for education, because the classroom is a shouted conversation between the teacher and the one or two loudest boys.

When I teach kids who come from that environment, they are unmanageable. It’s like they understand the concept of waiting their turn, just not how it applies to them personally. They are offended by the idea that a teacher might answer student questions in the order they were asked rather than in order of who asked the loudest or the most times. In many cases, they will not allow anyone else to learn until their own question has been fully addressed, and if there are two of them, there is simply no feasible resolution. That is one of the reasons why public school students very often get the bulk of their education from private lessons (not just the rich ones – teachers in the villages also give private lessons, often to their own students), and, as a result, most Georgians just never learn how to learn in a classroom environment. I pity them if they go to college outside Georgia.

*****

It’s not a matter of patience. Most Georgians I know are as patient as a stone, highly flexible, and tolerant of setbacks and delays – at least, those that are inevitable or perceived as such. (That outlook, by the way, is one of my favorite things about Georgia.) Instead, it’s a matter of applying that patience to a specific set of circumstances.

It’s about choosing to wait your turn – about choosing to put the health of the system ahead of your own momentary personal inclinations. It’s about delayed gratification. It’s about being able to wait when you don’t have to as gracefully as you wait when you do have to. That skill is so super-important in life that I think its lack is one of the main deficiencies in the so-called “Georgian mentality” that Georgians are always blaming their problems on. And sure, you can say that this lack is a result of poverty, Sovietism, instability, or whatever – but let’s not dodge responsibility for solving the problem. Georgians should just learn to wait their turn. Start now. Practice. PSH is great because they make you take a number, and some of the bank branches are doing that now too. Bravo to them for setting an example. This is low-hanging fruit, but it’s basic and important. Get on it, Georgians.

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