Mimicry and Empathy in Language Usage

Marco Tulio, my Honduran friend who taught
me much about Spanish language and culture.

I have long been a fan of the study and use of language, whether it be one’s native language or studying a foreign language. It should come as no surprise then, that I have become a fan of NPR’s program “A Way with Words.” 

In their November 11, 2023 episode, co-hosts Martha Barnette and Grant Barret spoke with a young nurse whose friends told her that her accent had changed since she started working in a hospital. She was totally unconscious of this. The hosts commented that this was a common phenomenon in which people change their manner of speech in order to show their empathy towards other people. 

I identify with this in my own experience with English, my mother tongue, Spanish, Standard German and Swiss German. It involves mimicry. I identify four areas of mimicry that I have used, sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously: 1) audience, 2) rate of speech, 3) vocabulary (including idioms and expressions) and 4) intonation. By mimicking others who surround us, we show our empathy toward them.

Before the advent of texting, making telephone calls with friends was more common as a way to keep in touch. My wife told me she could identify with whom I was speaking within minutes of my phone call. My speech patterns, vocabulary and intonation changed according to the person with whom I was talking. I was identifying with my audience and using specialized vocabulary and intonation that I had in common with them. In many cases I used a particular accent. I was cementing the relationship with a friend and showing them empathy. These conversations were all in my native tongue. 

While learning other languages, mimicry is crucial to be able to speak intelligibly with others. I learned Spanish first in the classroom and was influenced by the accent of my non-native teacher’s accent. Then I spent two months in a language school in Costa Rica, taking on the local accent variations. Next I lived in Honduras for two years and picked up not only a slightly different accent, but many special expressions. When I would use them with other native people from other parts of the Spanish-speaking world, they either identified me as having learned Spanish in Honduras or looked at me in total confusion. Finally, I studied and lived in Mexico for an equivalent of four years. Now other Spanish-speaking people identified some of my intonation as peculiarly Mexican. 

With each step in learning Spanish, I mimicked the particular vocabulary and intonation of the place where I was living. I would argue that this made me more emphatic and fit better into the particular place where I lived. It didn’t hurt that I am a natural-born mimic. Anyone, however, can get closer to the language they are studying if they listen intently and try to mimic the sounds. This leads to more empathy with those who surround you. I have been told by someone who studied this phenomenon, that people who retain a strong, nearly unintelligible accent when living in another language field, often feel above the people with whom they are relating. This would be the opposite of empathy. 

In one instance, when living in an English-speaking island off the north coast of Honduras, I used my mimicking ability to duplicate the pronunciation and intonations of the local English dialect. They were offended, thinking that I was making fun of them. So I had to back off and use my normal patterns of speech, although I did include the new vocabulary. I was only trying to empathize with them, but in this case, it backfired. 

Another matter of interest is the speed with which I would speak my foreign language. I often unconsciously mimicked the speed of the speaker with whom I was involved in a conversation. When I became aware of this, I had to consciously slow down to a more normal speed for myself because at an increased speed the potential for making mistakes greatly rose. I don’t usually do this with my native language.

For people in the helping professions, like the nurse I mentioned above, empathy is essential in making breakthroughs in relationships and understanding. However, one  needs to be careful not to completely lose one’s own individual identity in relating to the other. This sometimes called “going native.” A healthy balance is necessary. One also needs to back off if the person or people seem offended. 

Intercultural communication is a valuable asset in today’s diverse society, no matter whether speaking in one’s native tongue or in another language. Empathy goes a long way for intercultural understanding, and even more in regular conversation with our own kind. 

Faulty Language Selection: A Problem for Polyglots and How to Mitigate It

I was listening the program A Way with Words on NPR in the car on the way to a reunion in Pennsylvania. This show researches anything related to words, expressions and phenomena related to language. I was especially interested in a caller who talked about her learning a second and third language. 

Trying to communicate with my
Swiss brother-in-law

She described a situation in which she tried learning Russian, but words from her first foreign language, German, kept popping into her head. She wondered if it was due to Russian being similar to German, but the creators of the show, Martha Barnette and Grant Barrett, said she was more likely experiencing “faulty language selection.” Apparently this happens frequently to polyglots learning more than one foreign language. 

I remember having a bit of this problem when I was learning German after having learned Spanish. However, my Spanish had been so well cemented in my brain that it didn’t occur too frequently. As I grow older, I have discovered that even when speaking English I sometimes remember the Spanish or German word before the English word I am hoping to use. 

What really caught my attention, was the remedy that they suggested to counter this problem. They said that when speaking each language, try to physically embody the mannerisms of the place where the language is spoken. To try to place yourself in the context of where the language is spoken. 

I totally identify with this. I’ve had people tell me I seem like a different person when I speak, Spanish, German or English. I am a natural mimic, whether in sound or mannerisms, so I’ve picked up on how people move in each culture. For example, the Swiss have a peculiar shrug of the shoulders when they express doubt about something. Spanish speakers have hand motions for all sorts of things: How to tell a waiter that you are ready for the check, how to ask someone to come over, it’s time to eat, or “what’s up?” In fact, I’ve seen whole conversations take place without the use of words. I taught many of these mannerisms in my Spanish classes over the years. 

Speaking recently with a
Honduran friend.

Not everyone is a natural mimic. Over the years of teaching Spanish, I’ve learned that people with a musical ear tend to be able to mimic sounds better; actors are more able to mimic mannerisms. Whatever your skill is, it is of utmost importance to be a keen observer; not only with your eyes, but also with your ears. 

What a privilege and a joy it has been for me to live in various places and learn various languages. Not only have I expanded my world view and brain power, I’ve been able to empathize with people coming to my own backyard trying to learn English as a second language.

What Do I Know About Fear?

Workshop at Anolaima

When my good friends Felipe Preciado and Diana Cruz invited me to Colombia to give workshops on The Spacious Heart: Room for Spiritual Awakening, a book I had co-authored with my sister Sharon, I was skeptical. I wondered how a book written for a North American audience could have any relevance in a Latin American context. They were confident that the themes were indeed universal, and not just for one culture.

While I was skeptical about the themes relating, I was not skeptical about going to Colombia, one of the few Spanish-speaking countries I hadn’t yet visited. So plans were put into place and we left for Colombia on August 19 with workshops planned for two different localities. 

Our book deals with 11 areas in our society where we are “driven by culture” rather than being “drawn by God.” Of the 11 topics they chose four for me to present in 3 one-hour sessions: driven by legalism, driven by being in control, driven by anger, and driven by fear. 

By far the most pertinent topic was the one on fear. Colombia has lived with civil war for over a century. I was told of story after story of living in fear of both sides of the conflict. Just across the valley where I gave one of my workshops, guerrillas hid, often sneaking into the village either to pillage or to ask for supplies. If government officials caught them offering food, it was aiding and abetting the enemy. They were caught between a rock and a hard place.

Woman displaying picture of her 
disappeared son. 

A peace accord between the most notorious guerrilla group FARC and the government was reached in 2016. Unfortunately, there remain many unresolved issues. Estimates of over 200,000 disappeared during the decades-long conflict. Hundreds of thousands of individuals and families were displaced with many going into exile. I personally talked to a pastor who had several contingency plans to leave Colombia. He had been threatened because of his involvement with peace and justice work. He wanted to stay in Colombia, but had to keep his ear to the ground and be ready to flee at a moment’s notice. 

With these realities, what do I know about fear? Despite living abroad for several years in some areas where there was potential conflict, as well as living under several dictatorships, my life has been rather calm and secure. My fears, as well as those of my contemporaries here in the USA are relatively minor compared to my friends in Colombia.

Group discussion Anolaima

During the question and commentary time after one of my workshops, a man from
the back of the room stood up and said that the session on fear touched him deeply. He had been a guerrilla, and lived in constant fear that someone would seek revenge on him. He carried a gun with him wherever he went, including to my workshop in a Mennonite church. He was touched by the message of love: “perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4: 18). He vowed from then on to not let fear drive him, to trust in Jesus’ perfect love, and give up his gun. There was barely a dry eye in the audience when he sat down.

What do I know about fear? Maybe just enough to let God’s message of love reach those who need it no matter what the circumstance, culture or language. 

Our friends Felipe and Diana, organizers of our trip and workshops,
seeing us off at the airport.

Listening, Hearing and Understanding

I confidently strode up to the counter of United Airlines to present my passport and boarding pass for our return flight to the United States from Colombia. “English or Spanish?” asked the sweet young attendant dressed in the deep-blue uniforms of United’s staff. “It’s all the same to me,” I answered, proud to be able to use my Spanish. 

Felipe and Diana, our hosts, tour managers, and friends 

With a broad smile, she claimed that she thought I looked like some famous Colombian actor, whose name I didn’t catch. We continued the process of checking in when suddenly she asked me something that I didn’t understand and asked her to repeat it. I still didn’t understand. She switched to English. How embarrassing, even humiliating, for a 32+ year-pro at teaching Spanish! Truth be told I didn’t understand any better after she repeated it in English. Somehow we got checked in.

This sort of event happened to me over and over again as I went through our nearly two-week itinerary in Bolivia. If the person stood directly in front of me, and I could follow their lips, I understood perfectly. If in a noisy restaurant eating with friends, I could hear and respond to the ones in front of me, but those to the right and at a distance, were mostly mumbles. I often had to pretend that I understood. 

I’ve known for several years that I have been loosing my hearing, but had been too proud to admit it. Esther, my spouse and traveling companion, had made subtitle hints over the years, but several sisters were quite blunt in their assessment of my hearing acuity. I kept putting off looking in to the possibility of hearing aids.

With friends of ours in Colombia (see picture), we had planned for several years for us to come to Colombia to present workshops there on the book I wrote with my sister: “The Spacious Heart: Room for Spiritual Awakening.” I began to wonder, with impaired hearing, how I would be able to respond to questions from the audience in large meeting rooms or churches. So I went to audiologist. The tests he gave me proved beyond a doubt that I had lost significant hearing ability, especially in my right ear. 

I was fitted with some very up-to-date hearing aids, and groaned as the price was rung up on my credit card. Unfortunately, they would not be available until one week after I had returned from Colombia. So off we go, with me only hearing half of the conversation. In spite of a wonderful time, I wonder what all I missed?

The last time we spent significant time in a Spanish-speaking country was in 2015, over eight years ago with a group of EMU students. I had no incidents like I describe above where my ability in Spanish was put into question. 

I have always contended that listening is more important than speaking when learning another language. Now I have to add hearing to listening. Our listening is our focus on the other person in the conversation, our hearing interprets our listening into understanding what the other person said. If our hearing apparatus is impaired, our understanding not only is incomplete, but might even be totally wrong.

After listening, hearing and understanding, we begin to speak. But even our speaking is impaired by our inability to hear well. Whereas my speaking Spanish had always been smooth and fairly unaccented, I discovered that at times I slurred words, couldn’t roll my “r”s smoothly, and spoke in choppy sentences. In my head I could sense what was wrong, but the words came out of my mouth before I could correct them. 

I can only make this claim because of the experience I had using a model of the fitted hearing aids I had purchased. As I spoke, I could hear so much more clearly the sounds that I was making. It was like singing tenor, hearing perfectly well in your head the pitch you are to hit, but failing to make it because of impaired vocal chords. I am confident that when I get my hearing aids, I will not only be able to hear other people better, but will be able to speak more fluently with fewer word slurs. 

I will probably be disappointed since I did not factor in age with my thoughts. My knee replacements were a miracle of science, but they didn’t give me knees of a 30 year old. Esther tells me that I still wobble when I walk.

Malinda in Mexico Review

It is always heartening to receive positive feedback from readers on my writing. This book, which has received numerous rave reviews on Goodreads, several from reading specialists, has not sold well. One faithful reader of mine states below: "I would put this book on every Elementary School Library’s shelf if I had my way about it." This is precisely what I had hoped would happen with it.

Here are the rest of his comments:

Your book was interesting, and I think would be very much so to a young reader. I am not able to offer it to Victoria (his granddaughter) to read yet, because she is at a church retreat in Colorado until the middle of the first week of July. I thought the illustrations were cute. The book brought back memories of my past childhood and with time spent with Victoria. Memories of the marketplace, piñatas at birthday parties, visiting relatives in the country with my mom and dad, and more current trips to the park with Victoria. Through Malinda, you hit on key elements in the life and culture of the people in Mexico. Cultural diversity was shown with Malinda’s family through language practices. A great introduction to the culture of Mexico through the eyes of an impressionable Malinda. I would put this book on every Elementary School Library’s shelf if I had my way about it. Thanks, Charles

Thank YOU, Charles

Links to the book:

Goodreads

Masthof Press paperback

Amazon hardcover 

Feedback from Chinese Book Club Attendee

A Chinese woman who attended Sharon and my book club discussion provided us with the following feedback. One hundred Chinese speakers from all over the world attended the discussion.

+     +     +

Don and Sharon, I want to express my gratitude to you both for sharing your lives and bearing witness to the content you wrote. Your lecture has given me a clearer understanding of the intention of your writing, including the spiritual low point of Don, and Sharon's experience of cancer and illness. I was deeply moved by your unwavering trust in God, your closeness to God, and your pursuit of God during those difficult times.

The way you both complemented each other during your sharing was truly inspiring. It was evident that God used your unique talents and perspectives to serve others, despite your differences. Your willingness to share so energetically, even at such a late hour, touched me deeply. Thank you both!

*     *     *

In addition, many attendees expressed their appreciation in the group chat that is part of Zoom.

You may be interested in my original blog post where I explained the uniqueness of the meeting The Chinese Surprise.

The English version of the book can be purchased here: The Spacious Heart: Room for Spiritual Awakening 

The Chinese Surprise

Our book cover in Chinese

Several months ago, out of the blue, my sister Sharon Clymer Landis and co-author of our book The Spacious Heart: Room for Spiritual Awakening, received an email from Simon Ye. He wanted to know if she would be interested in doing a seminar with a Chinese Christian Book Club about her (our) book. 

Sharon immediately forwarded the email to me and asked: "Is this legit?" Little did we know how legitimate it was.

Today Sharon and I participated in a zoom session with four Chinese people in order to plan for our upcoming seminar on March 31. We discovered that the event was sponsored by a seminary and publishing house in China, which was promoting the reading of Christian literature for Chinese Christians who previously had little access to such reading material. As the meeting went on, we both became increasingly astonished about what we were experiencing. 

The president of the organization showed a short video of their ministry. Their seminary included several different certificates in theology as well as full Master of Divinity degree programs. 

The reading program involves choosing a book, then training discussion leaders with the chosen book to disseminate the material across a wide geographical area where Chinese is spoken. Our zoom seminar is to be with around 11 of the discussion leaders. Those discussion leaders will gather others to join in reading and discussing our book. The numbers of readers could reach hundreds, and then multiply from there. 

Original book cover
in English 

To our surprise and delight, our book had already been translated into Chinese and published here: (https://www.cclm.com.tw/book/08252). Then the organization who is sponsoring our seminar published it as an ebook here: (https://ebook.endao.co/book-641#). It was chosen because of their sense that a more contemplative spirituality was necessary for their Chinese Christian churches. How our book, which was written with a Western, North American audience, would translate into an Asian/Chinese culture is highly fascinating to me. The conversation with them reaffirmed my belief that a longing for God and a deeper relationship with one's spirituality is universal even despite cultural trappings.

One of the participants in the planning zoom session is to be our interpreter. She spoke with emotion about her growing up in an atheistic family and society. After becoming a Christian, she sensed a need for a deeper connection with her soul. The emphasis in the Chinese Christian churches she attended was mostly evangelical and narrow in its view of spirituality. She was highly moved by our writing, feeling that it gave her some new insights into spirituality while being delighted that it was written from a Christian perspective. 

The fact that we are both Mennonite at first bothered them, not knowing what that all meant. However, as they read our book, they saw how we quoted and learned from a large variety of faith backgrounds. That eased their concern about us being too sectarian. I am overwhelmed by this opportunity. 

As Bach wrote at the end of all his church compositions: Solo Deo gloria.

* * *

Our next adventure is to get our book published in Spanish. I have both a potential translator and publisher. Stay tuned . . .

That Train Ride to Mexico City

Saddleback Mountain, Monterrey, Mexico

I have been to Latin America numerous times, adding up to nearly eight years. All but one of those stints were related to service assignments with the Mennonite Church, or leading educational trips for Hesston College and Eastern Mennonite University. 

The only time I went for the pure experience of it, was when Dwight Roth, Bob Hostetter and I spent two weeks one summer traveling from Hesston, Kansas to Mexico City over land. Dwight and Bob were colleagues of mine at Hesston College. Dwight's specialty was sociology, Bob's was theater and peace studies, mine was Spanish language culture. Neither of them had been to Mexico and I had been there at least seven times; three times studying in a master's program in Puebla, and four times leading cross-cultural groups to the area. I was the expert--or so they thought!

We began our 1,500 mile journey by car from Hesston. Our first stop was in Alice, Texas, where a sister and family lived. We were packed in my VW super beetle with no air conditioning. Our trip to the border with Mexico couldn't have been more boring. It was flat, hot and dry. We tried to entertain each other by singing along with the songs on the radio, but our taste in music was different. Dwight and I were more eclectic than Bob, loving anything from country and rock to classical, but Bob was strictly classical. When we entered Texas, about the only stations we could find on the radio played country music. Ernest Tubb came on singing "Waltz Across Texas." That became Dwight's and my theme song. It irked Bob beyond measure. You know how long Texas is, so we gave it a lot of air time.

After spending the night at my sister Jeanette's house, we headed to the border with Mexico at Laredo. The cheapest way, but not the fastest, was to go by train, the Aztec Eagle. It departs at 6:00 pm from Nuevo Laredo (when you cross the border into Mexico, the name changes from Laredo to Nuevo Laredo) and travels overnight to Mexico City, arriving at 8:00 pm the next day--a 26 hour trip. The train makes intermediate stops all along the way, dropping off and picking up mail and passengers. Because of the night-time trip, we suspected that some elicit things were also picked up and dropped off. 

The Aztec Eagle train engine

Our first class train fare included sleepers for the night. For some reason, our tickets only included two bunkers, so I spent the night wandering around second class and trying to find a place to sleep. So much for my expertise. The train also included a dining car where we ate our evening meal.

The terrain changed drastically from the boredom of the plains in the USA. Mountains rose majestically behind Monterrey, our first stop after boarding in Nuevo Laredo. As we continued on, night fell and as we meandered through the mountains. It began to drizzle. 

We decided to grab something to eat in the dining car. We were sitting at a table. Dwight and Bob couldn't believe how inexpensive the menu was. We ordered steak and all the accompanying goodies. While we were discussing how cheap and delicious the meal was, we pulled into a train station in a remote village. Our eating was interrupted by a tapping on our window. Outside, in the mist, stood a man, probably hungry, with an extremely angry look on his face, tapping our window with his stick. In spite of many similar experiences in Latin America, this left an indelible memory with me; even more so with my compatriots.

When we arrived in Mexico City, my traveling companions stared in awe at all the new sites, smells and sounds. Whatever image they had of Mexico was erased and re-imaged at every corner we turned. 

The first morning we went out for breakfast, we were again amazed at the low cost of the meals. I had chosen particular restaurants that were between the high class ones and the ones catering to the working class. Even so, prices were cheap. At our table was a basket of Mexican sweet breads and rolls, and we kept eating them as the meal went on. When we were presented the bill, we were shocked by how much we were charged. The sweet breads in the basket were not free like the tortilla chips at any given Mexican restaurant. We paid for each individual one that we ate. This is true all over Mexico. So much for my expertise, once again. 

We got from place to place in Mexico City by the metro. It is a cheap and efficient way to navigate the hustle and bustle of the largest city in the world. The metro system was designed by the same architect as the one in Paris and Washington, D.C., and is very well maintained. Each station is very well marked by images so that no one needs to be able to read in order to know where they are. My companions were very adept at learning the system. On one occasion, however, we stopped at a station and one of them thought it was our station, while it was one stop prior to where wanted to get off. He was quite confident about his ability to navigate the system that casually meandered on to the platform. He turned around to see where we were and realized that we were still on the train. I never in my life saw anyone bolt so fast to get back on the train with us. He could have set the world record in broad jump. I can identify his panic, being in the largest city of the world and not knowing a lick of Spanish. It was a harrowing experience for him.

Another cultural shock for my two friends was walking down the street and seeing shops that sold caskets with show windows right on the street like a clothing store. To be so glaringly confronted with death was startling. Mexicans are far more comfortable with death than we in the USA. In fact, they celebrate their dead relatives on All Saints Day with special ceremonies called The Day of the Dead. 

Of course, we visited all the most famous museums and tourist traps, but we found a special place where we returned frequently during our stay. It was at the intersection of various metro lines and was called the "Glorieta." It literally means traffic circle, and there are many such traffic circles in Mexico City. However, at this one, instead of a monument to some long-gone hero, there was an open shopping center. It had boutiques, cafés and live entertainment. Every evening there was one café that featured Latin American folk music from all over the region. This music alone brought us back time and again to be immersed in the culture.

In addition, the glorieta  was filled with people coming and going and made a great place to people watch. There were people from all over the world as well as many locals going to and from work. This explains the attraction to this place from three lonely bachelors. My two travel companions were quite jealous of my ability to strike up conversations in Spanish with people interested in conversation, but there were others who wanted to practice their English on us. 

We returned to the USA the same way we came; by train. On the train we met a group of US Americans in the dining car with a wide variety of interesting stories and backgrounds. We passed away the long hours conversing. When they discovered that we were Mennonites and taught at a Mennonite College, they really had questions. One man confessed that he had grown up Southern Baptist but had abandoned his faith. We started to sing old gospel songs that we commonly knew. We also began to sing songs that we all had learned in elementary school. It was a great way to fill up the boredom of darkness in the backwoods of Mexico.

After we crossed the border back into Texas, we had to stop to fill up for gas. The place we stopped at was in the middle of the boonies, and everything about the place freaked me out. We had come from one of the largest, most cosmopolitan city in the world, surrounded by incredible experiences and cross-cultural learnings, hearing and speaking various languages, steeped in the high culture of art and music, discussing literature with each other, only to end up with honky-tonk music blaring on the radio and cowboys chewing and spitting tobacco while guzzling beer and profusely peppering their speech with obscenities. Welcome home, Don! To say I was in culture shock was to put it mildly, and Dwight and Bob tease me to this day about the rude homecoming I had had. 

The only time in my myriad trips to Latin America that I did for pure pleasure turned out for all of us to be a wonderful and memorable experience. 

PS: I write this dedicated to Dwight Roth, one of my traveling companions on this trip, with whom I spent hours reminiscing about this trip and conversing on the fragilities all of us experience as we age.