Not Lost in Translation, but in Silence

• Before blaming our poor English skills, blame our own silence for failing to speak our truth to our fellow compatriots.
• The wisdom of stripping away our ranks and sitting face-to-face, learned from the Indigenous "Talking Stick" and the Latin American "Tertulia."
• Enough with performative events; we must open up a "public square" where fierce debate and active listening breathe and thrive.

It has been over a quarter of a century since I came to Canada, yet I still frequently hear many fellow Koreans lament, "It's hard because my English isn't good enough." This is strong evidence that unless one is exceptionally skilled, it is hard to break free from the intimidation caused by the language of a foreign land. However, encountering the stories of countless immigrants has led me to one truth. What truly isolates us is not the broken English lingering on the tips of our tongues, but the 'closed minds' we have bolted shut deep within our hearts.

We often blame the "Language Barrier" and hesitate to interact with other communities. But let us ask ourselves objectively: Are we truly communicating even among ourselves, where we share the same Korean language? Even within households where fluent Korean is spoken, are the hearts of parents and children truly connected? Is there a river-like flow of conversation between the Korean Association and international students, or between old-timers and new immigrants, who all speak the same language? Unfortunately, the answer is closer to "no." We keep our mouths shut not because our languages differ, but because we refuse to acknowledge our differences or hate to expose our vulnerabilities. To overcome this massive wall of disconnect, today I want to draw attention to the communication methods of other ethnic groups in Canada. From them, we must learn "how to open the doors to our hearts"—something we have either lost or perhaps never had to begin with.

First, let us look at the "Sharing Circle" of Canada's First Nations. When conflicts arise or important decisions need to be made, they gather and sit in a circle. There is no head seat, no bottom seat. Only the person holding the "Talking Stick" has the right to speak, and everyone else must listen to the very end, no matter what is said or how slow and clumsy the speech may be. Even a chief must remain silent without the stick. This simple yet powerful rule prevents the eloquent from monopolizing the conversation and draws out the heartfelt truth from those who are less articulate. They do not strive to construct grammatically perfect sentences; they focus on bringing out their raw, sincere feelings. In that space, linguistic fluency becomes secondary.

The "Tertulia" culture, a social gathering of Latin American immigrants, also offers profound implications. Immigrants from countries like Mexico and Colombia meet regularly to discuss art, politics, and current events. Here, age, gender, and social status are irrelevant. A construction worker earnestly shares his philosophy with a doctor, and a college student explains the latest trends to a retiree. They do not mock each other's accents; rather, they enjoy those differences. A strong sense of unity—the feeling that "we are one"—flows through their lively, boisterous conversations. Even if their English is a bit clumsy or mixed with Spanish, they communicate perfectly through eye contact, gestures, and an "open mind."

In contrast, what are our gatherings like? To borrow the words of one old-timer, "The community events I’ve observed over the past 30 years have mostly been a one-way street." The president and VIPs sit on a high platform, while the audience sits below, listening to tedious congratulatory speeches. The microphone is the exclusive property of those in power, and questions or debates are dismissed as "disrespectful behavior" or "disruptions to the event." Under these circumstances, there is no place for the younger generation, new immigrants, or those on the margins. This is not a matter of language. It is a matter of attitude and structure.

Now, we must change. We should invest at least half the time we spend studying English into "studying our hearts" and "practicing active listening." As a concrete action plan, I strongly propose regularizing "Town Hall Meetings." The town hall meetings I speak of are not performative, superficial gatherings. True to the original form from which North American democracy sprang, they must be arenas of fierce debate where people meet after stripping away their ranks and titles.

First, we must dismantle the formalities. Let's eliminate the division between the stage and the audience floor and sit in a circle. First-generation elders, 1.5-generation professionals, second-generation college students, and newly arrived working holiday youths must sit at an equal distance and look each other in the eye. The moderator should not be an authoritarian figure, but a neutral, flexible individual who can fairly mediate between all sides. There is a saying that with a great moderator, even dogs and cats can have a conversation. It means the role is that crucial.

Second, we must open up the topics without making anything off-limits. "Why is the community failing to embrace the youth?", "What is the impact of the older generation's real estate investments on immigrant society?", "How should we address the unfair treatment experienced by international students?"—we must put these "inconvenient truths" on the table, issues we have kept quiet about but all felt. We must not fear conflict. Healthy conflict and debate are akin to lancing a boil. We must endure that pain for new flesh to grow.

Third, we must establish rules for listening. Like the Indigenous Talking Stick, no one should be allowed to interrupt when a speaker is talking. The moment an elder cuts someone off with, "You don't know because you're young," that town hall is a failure. We need the patience to listen to the very end, even if the Korean is clumsy or mixed with English. Language is merely a tool; what matters is the message within.

Fourth, these gatherings must be documented. Many believe in the power of records. The diverse voices from these town hall meetings—those raw records—will later become the most vivid historical materials of Korean Canadian immigrant history. History is not made solely of the triumphant tales of the successful. When the sighs of those who failed, the cries of the marginalized, and the community's efforts to resolve them are recorded, our descendants will remember us as the "generation that strived to communicate."

Look at mainstream Canadian society. Politicians constantly hold town hall meetings, even outside of election seasons, refining their policies while being grilled and scolded by citizens. That is the power of democracy, and it is the glue that binds diversity together. It is time for our Korean community to do the same. Instead of patronizing gatherings where people just show off by paying for a meal, we need to create spaces where bitter criticism is humbly accepted. What our children have shown us as they grow up in Canada is that making friends does not require perfect English. Because they opened their hearts and reached out first, their friends understood and waited patiently through their clumsy English. Language is merely a shadow of the mind. If the heart is bright, the language shines; if the heart is dark, even the most fluent language is nothing but empty noise.

The wall of "gatekeeping," the wall of "hierarchy," and the wall of "generations." All these walls are ultimately bricks of the mind that we have built up ourselves. Now, let us pull out those bricks one by one and build bridges that connect us to one another. Is it frustrating that you can't enter mainstream society because of poor English? If so, let's first break through the communication barriers among ourselves. Water that is blocked on the inside cannot possibly flow to the outside. Today, if someone gathers the courage to suggest, "Let's strip away all our titles and just talk," the earnest first-generation immigrants would gladly be the first to rush over and take a seat. And they would willingly become the "speakers of communication" that carry those voices forward. A wall of the mind higher than the language barrier—now, it is our turn to tear that wall down.