I woke up on a beach in Haifa, Israel to the mildest lifeguard rebuke I’d ever heard. The guard was talking to my friends, who were taking underwater iPhone selfies with a Lifeproof case. The quiet lapping of the Mediterranean was punctuated with their gasping laughter as they emerged from the water to see the picture they had just taken.
So immersed in the selfies, they barely heard the soft-spoken lifeguard calling out to them, “Excuse me… group in the water? Please swim away from the rocks.” He tried again, a little more forcefully. “Group from the, uhm, United Kingdom? Please swim to the right.” When they did not respond, he tried again. “Netherlands?” and with even more hesitancy, “Canada?”
By this time, the group had caught on, my friends smiling and shaking their heads at the wrong guesses. Finally, to no avail, he tried the country he had not dared to utter previously: “America?” Suddenly they burst into cheers, pumping their fists and slapping the water. There was a short-lived “U-S-A” chant that rose up among some of my guy friends, fading as they dove to the right and away from the rocks. Games of chicken and more underwater selfies ensued.
But they didn’t catch the disdainful looks of other beachgoers that the lifeguard's hesitancy to guess their American nationality most likely came from a desire to avoid offending them by ascribing to them American stereotypes. It is a common consensus across the globe that American tourists are loud, obnoxious and inconsiderate. Their response to his final guess was simply an affirmation of preconceived biases for those observing the scene.
This was one of the first times I could see, from a local’s perspective, just how loud my American friends and I are compared to tourists of other nationalities. It was revelatory for me because, most of the time, I am in the center of the yelling.
My speech is typically impetuous and effusive. I get brazenly aggressive when I feel someone is trying to stifle my opinion, and I rave with adoration over both perfectly ripe Granny Smith apples and Nick Kristof’s new book.
I fume, venerate, exalt, esteem, praise, rant and pontificate unapologetically — all while shimmying, waving, fist-pumping, eye-rolling and hair-tossing. Drenched in exaggeration, my monologues require the full use of all available appendages. I could be the poster girl for the “loud, unreserved American” stereotype. Ever proud of my headstrong abrasiveness, I have found it revolutionary to learn the power of restraint abroad.
From Rwanda to Israel, I have come to understand that being heard in other cultures does not entail speaking emphatically. For a while I rejected this, refusing to submit to patriarchal cultural norms I observed abroad which require meekness from women. Yet I now realize that gregariousness in the face of such paradigms is counterproductive to fostering positive intercultural relations. To be heard and respected, I have learned to communicate nonverbally and, in cross-cultural conversations, speak only when necessary. As a result, my words and gestures in daily conversation have gained greater significance.
My Arabic teacher this semester started our first class by explaining how to respond to our Arab neighbors in East Jerusalem without speaking. Most gestures are intuitive, though some are new to me. Raised eyebrows, clucked lips and narrowed eyes are a hard response of “no.” A smile always means “yes” or “welcome” and is not simply a gesture of friendliness. There is a whole language of silence utilized across genders here, and slowly but surely I am becoming fluent.
Last week, two sheikhs from Al’Aqsa Mosque came to recite the prayer call and portions of the Qur’an for my study abroad program. Wanting to thank them before they left, I ran up to my professor and exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, Ayman, that was unbelievable. Seriously. Transcendent! Thank you for inviting them. I say ‘thank you’ with ‘shukran’ right?! That would be appropriate for me to say?”
He gave me a look that, in American non-verbal cues, would have translated into an exaggerated eye-roll--mostly at my pretentious use of the word “transcendent”. I realized that expressing my deepest thanks would require no syllables. So I swallowed my hyperboles and somberly approached the men with clasped hands. I bowed twice and when I rose they did not smile but instead found a way to powerfully appreciate my gratitude with their eyes and a curt nod.
Too often, we confuse semantic and conversational restraint with social weakness. Proclaiming our right to free speech, we speak our minds without measuring the weight of our words. Here in Israel, looks, gestures and words are all calculated. Each syllable carries weight and meaning. Being in Jerusalem makes me wonder if I smile too much, laugh too easily and compliment too effusively. This raises the larger question of whether my overemphasized non-verbal cues and my overstated opinions have cheapened my words and limited the weight of my statements.
I believe Americans are perceived as loud because we have failed to delineate restraint from submission, cheapening our daily communication in the process. When excited, we feel the need to up the ante — and the octaves — to make a point.
I am slowly learning I do not need all appendages to express myself. Sometimes, a nod is all it takes.
Lauren’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at l.jackson@cavalierdaily.com.
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