The View from Helsinki

Pekka, a young blond lad--they're all blond--raised his hand. "Professor Wendel," he anxiously asked, "when are you going to tell us about California?"

It was a surprise. Here I was at the University of Helsinki in 1988 dutifully fulfilling my fourteen-week lecture assignment on American colonial history, but all these young Finns knew I was from California, and that's what they wanted to hear about. Well, I had one more lecture, and I somehow contrived what must indeed have been a historiographical breakthrough: the integration of the history of California through the twentieth century into the colonial period.

Pekka's question, in fact, raised the complicated matter of the mission of the college teacher in a foreign country. It goes without saying that I was there to teach my discipline. But on the other hand, the students really seem to want to hear about America today. They want to learn about it, and they probably signed up for my class as much for those reasons as for the subject matter.

The itinerant college teacher, then, must be ready to talk about the present state of the United States. The students are enraptured with American pop culture--music, the movies, sports--and American politics and politicians. Some disciplines, chemistry for example, may not exactly be suitable for clever interpolations on Pete Rose, but subjects such as history and English- with a little imagination on the part of the teacher--are open to metaphors and examples drawn from contemporary American folkways. (The chemist during office hours might entertain questions about Jesse Jackson and the status of blacks in America, another fascinating topic to foreign students.)

But the teacher in a foreign land is not only an academic resource. Such a teacher is a human resource, a kind of artifact who represents the American environment. The students and the people whom you meet outside the classroom find foreign teachers to be anthropological wonders from whom they can learn an exotic culture about which they are very curious.

All this is implicit in Pekka Komulaihen's question. And it is explicit in the constant requests I received to speak on contemporary America--or even to speak on future America, which I audaciously did before a group of television and radio executives who had requested a lecture on "America in the Nineties." Future history indeed!

The American professor in a foreign land must be prepared formally as well as informally to address questions about the United States, its present mostly, but also its past and future. In my case, I not only lectured on the "1990s," but also on "The Constitution Today," "America's Traditional Values in Contemporary Perspective," "The Presidential Elections, " "The Teaching of American Studies in America: Concepts and Methods, " and "American Perceptions of Finland as Influenced by the Music of Jean Sibelius," which took the matter up to the present day.

My list, by the way, illustrates the use one can make of one's professional as well as recreational interests in lectures in a foreign country. Just as I am interested in music, I knew some American teachers of an athletic bent who took time out to instruct interested Finns in the mysteries of American football or baseball. (Finnish baseball is as arcane a matter as British cricket; the catcher throws the ball straight up in the air and the batter . . . well, after that I really never discovered what they were doing!) And as for Sibelius, yes, the Finns know their Sibelius, but the reputation and influence of his music in America was not so familiar a matter. They found this interesting--or I think they did; the Finns are a polite people.

In fact, the more of a generalist an American teacher is, the better off one will be. Yes, it is audacious to speak formally on so many different aspects of American life, but the teacher knows more than the students know about it, and they will appreciate all the information they can get.

And so it went. My Fulbright year in Finland was just another example of the well-known if seldom practiced axiom that overseas travel is one of the undoubted "perks" of college teaching. The Fulbright is, of course, a major means to lands afar. Just go through the Fulbright program's annual announcement; I was amazed at the cornucopia of opportunities.

And there are teacher exchange programs, Peace Corps programs, and numerous others conveniently listed in the Institute of International Education's Teaching Abroad, now in its fourth edition (1988). With a little research, and much patience in filling out applications, one will find a niche.

That's one way to go. Another way is the more traditional American approach: whom do you know? Now it so happens that two friends of mine, Professor Robert Bannister of Swarthmore College and Professor Alan Winkler of the University of Ohio at Miami, had held the Bicentennial Chair of American Studies at the University of Helsinki, a Fulbright appointment. My application was undoubtedly helped by letters of recommendation from these previous chair holders.

Having been accepted for the coming academic year, what should you do to prepare? First, study the language. My wife and I did far too little of this. Finnish is, of course, one of the more difficult languages for an English speaking person to learn. It is not an Indo-European language; rather, it is Finno-Ugrian, a language family shared by Hungarians, Estonians, and the Samoyed people of Siberia. I did learn the days of the week and the names of the months, and I could count to one thousand. And I could say thank you (kiitos)--that sort of thing. But we should have done far more.

We could, indeed, with equal effect and greater efficiency have learned Swedish, every Finn's second language. And since English is every Finn's third language, we did all right, but the point remains: some knowledge of your host country's language is an essential if you are to get the most out of your overseas experience.

Study your country's history. This is as important as familiarity with your country's language. History is orientation; it has fabulous explanatory power. Geography is also important and intriguing in the case of Finland, which lies athwart the Arctic Circle. But as a temporary denizen of a new land, it is probably more important to know where you are culturally and politically, and only history can give you the answers.

Take your computer--and everything and anything else that will help make life livable in your new environment. The business about differences in electric current is but a bugaboo. With classes and all the talks you will be asked to give, your word processor will be a lifesaver. I could not have survived without mine, although through timidity I almost left it at home. You should also take along your most useful books, references as well as seminal works in your field. You and your students will make use of them. And finally take along slides and/or other audiovisual aids; if you are used to having these aids in America, you will feel bereft without them in your new environment. Packing and mailing all these things may seem troublesome and expensive, but they are worth the effort. Besides, it may be that your host institution will pay for the round trip shipment of materials that you will use in connection with your pedagogical and other duties. It bears looking into.

Check on your country's visa and other requirements. And do it in plenty of time--six months before departure. We found Fulbright administrators to be unhelpful on such matters. No one, furthermore, told us that our Finnish visa had to be renewed after our first three months in that country. This information fortunately came through the grapevine, not through any official communique from the Fulbright people. Similarly, you must check on the tax consequences of your Fulbright year. Neither Fulbright nor any other sponsoring institution wants, in this litigious age, to take on the responsibility of tax advising. Your salary may, for example, be nontaxable if your stay is something more than eleven months, but you will not get this information from Fulbright.

Also, you should check on medical insurance. Most overseas programs offer--for a steep fee--medical benefits, but they are not usually very good at advertising this fact. And it may also be that your present coverage can be extended to do the trick. Be aware, also, that you can be dangerously uninsured during the hiatus between the temporary suspension of your usual insurance and the beginning of your overseas coverage.

At last, having done your best to avoid the pitfalls on the way to paradise, you are off. Your arrival at your destination is liable to be red carpet. (Were you on the greeting end, you would not do less, would you?) But the time shortly arrives when you are on your own, and no one has told you about the idiosyncratic practices of the place where you are to teach.

In Europe, people are far more casual about schedules than we are. When the course begins and when the course ends is more or less up to Herr Professor. And professors in Finland are far more remote, disembodied figures than they are in America. They really have nothing to do with the day-to-day operation of their departments; that is up to the all-powerful amanuensis. And as is often the case with our department secretaries, their amanuenses run the show--and then some.

It is too easy for an American professor to slip into the European-professor mold. To do so is a mistake. Part of bringing American culture to the foreign campus is bringing the openness of the American professor to his or her students. In this case, when in Finland, do not do as the Finns do. My fondest memories of my Finnish year are of the many students whom I got to know and with whom I still correspond. At least two of these are coming to America to continue the studies that we worked on in seminar. That probably would not have happened had I adopted the Olympian stance of my European counterparts.

My teaching experience was broad: I had two lecture classes (one of which I repeated at the University of Tampere) and two seminars--all, of course, in English. As a result, what sage advice might I proffer? First, be constantly aware that you are speaking a "foreign" language. Speak more slowly than usual; think as you speak. Are you using a "big" word? If so, state it again parenthetically and use simpler language. This need for translation is not unlike, I am afraid, teaching today's crop of American college freshmen.

Then, be not nonplussed at the lack of questions. Students, particularly in lecture classes, do not ask questions of their Olympian teachers. The time to get questions is after class or during office hours. And in lecture classes, Finnish students do not expect "outside reading." You are the source. Therefore, the onus is even heavier on you to be careful and clear in your delivery.

It is also important to provide your students with an outline of what you expect to cover and at the beginning of the lecture to go over that outline with them. This will immensely diminish whatever tensions may exist with regard to comprehension of spoken English, an ability that varies tremendously among individual students.

Included with your outline ought to be proper names, place names, idiomatic terms, dates--all specific items to which you will be referring in that day's lecture. If, as you go along, you find yourself including material not on the student outlines, use the chalkboard. Be sure to print: English cursive writing is difficult for foreigners to comprehend.

It is wise, also, to overlap your lectures; begin by reviewing the previous outline and showing how its material connects with the new material. Here is an example from my University of Helsinki course in American colonial history; the following are the notes for the opening lecture:

The Emergence of the American Nation Part One

I. Introduction to the course.

II. The colonial period and the foundations of modern America

III. Sources for early American history

IV. Class business: study books, et cetera.

(The "study books" to which the outline refers contain the students' complete and detailed university academic record. Each course the student takes consists of a number of "study weeks" toward graduation based on the requirements of the course. The books list all of a student's completed courses with the study-week credit and the grade for each with the instructor's signature.)

It is probably clear from these notes that I had carried my awareness of the universal curiosity about contemporary America into the course. The opening lecture was rigged to show the relevance of the colonial period to the present day. I wanted the students to see that America's political structure, to a large extent her social problems, her economic philosophy, and attitude toward the outside world all find their roots in the early period.

As for Part III, "sources," I think it is important for students, Finnish or otherwise, to be aware of the kinds of material upon which subsequent lectures will rest. Historical methodology ought not to be the exclusive preserve of the seminar or colloquium.

Motivation for the students, then, was a prime goal of this first lecture. Subsequent lectures had other major goals, but throughout I tried to keep in mind the special audience I was addressing. New Sweden, for example, might better have been designated New Finland in that the majority of those early colonists probably came from what today is Finland. Besides, I happened to be in Finland during the 350th anniversary year of that settlement; 1988 was designated "The Year of Friendship" between the United States and Finland. New Sweden, needless to say, therefore received more lecture time than is usual in my colonial class.

The question perhaps arises, did I cover all the planned material in one lecture? I must confess: no, I did not. But fearful of this, I designed the next lecture as a leisurely going over of a few major (and readable) Puritan writings. These included among others the most famous paragraph from John Winthrop's "A Model of Christian Charity" ("We shall be as a city upon a hill .. ."), Roger Williams's wonderful lecture on religious toleration in his "Letter to the Town of Providence," juicy portions of Michael Wigglesworth's "Day of Doom," the "Mayflower Compact, " and a bit of The New-England Primer, with its chilling admonition to youngsters:

But not wishing to conclude on that note, I added Roger Williams's moving epitaph to a letter in which he suggests a "receipt" for the resolution of a boundary dispute between Connecticut and Rhode Island:

My receipt will not please you all. If it should so please God to frown upon us that you should not like it, I can but humbly mourn, and say with the prophet, that which must perish must perish. And as to myself, in endeavoring after your temporal and spiritual peace, I humbly desire to say, if I perish, I perish. It is but a shadow vanished, a bubble broke, a dream finished. Eternity will pay for all.

I try to time these words for maximum impact so that they come at the exact end of the class.

The students were provided copies of all these materials. For the many teachers fearful of using Puritan writings, I can only say that these selections, which I have long used, worked as well with my Finnish students as they do at home. These writings are perhaps even more fitting in the somber, brooding, chill, Lutheran northlands than they are in sunny California, where surely we are all going to live forever.

As for the seminars (yes, I agreed to take two of these: for the European professor, an intolerable overload), a chief difficulty is finding research sources. But the students were infinitely helpful. There are sources available, but it means using interlibrary loan internationally. For example, some of my students even went to Sweden--to Uppsula--for some of their material. With the source problem more or less solved, I found my seminars to be the most rewarding aspect of my year overseas. In small groups, you get to know your students, to work with them, and to encourage them.

Along with sincere good will, however, one part of teaching requires tact and restraint: correcting the students' English essays. The students take understandable pride in their linguistic dexterity. And I spoke little or nothing of their language. So I tried to come at them simply with only modest proposals. Unlike the Vietnamese, for example, the Finns, for one, see no humor in their own mistakes. It is difficult for them to laugh at themselves (see their history!).

This essay began with Pekka Komulaihen's question about California, and young Komulaihen can bring us full circle. Foreigners want to know about the United States, and we can comply, as in my case, by all but turning California into the fourteenth colony. But even without explicit lecture material, I at last realized that we do "tell" the people with whom we come into contact about America, tell them through our attitudes, conversation, and even body language. Of course, what message you wish to convey is up to you, but it is incumbent upon you to know that you are conveying one.

The mission of the college teacher overseas, then, is not only to be well prepared in the material to be taught but to be constantly aware that, farfetched as it may seem, the teacher is a symbol. Whatever doubts you may or may not harbor about the politics and culture of the United States, you are-- your mission is to be--like it or not, an American ambassador.