Skip to main content

Let the other person speak

In the reading "Performance Studies: Interventions and Radical Research", Dwight Conquerwood cited Raymond Williams who talks about class-based arrogance of scriptocentrism, pointing to the error and delusion of highly-educated people who are so driven in on their reading (sic) that they fail to notice that there are other forms of skilled, intelligent, creative activity, such as theatre and active politics. This error resembles that of the narrow reformer who supposes that farm labourers and village craftsmen were once uneducated, merely because they could not read. He argued that the contempt for performance and practical activity, which is always latent in the highly-literate, is a mark of the observer's limits, not those of the activities themselves.

I was at once moved and excited reading this as this has always been a lingering thread in my mind. Over the last two decades, I have had many encounters, deep and extended, with farmers, labourers and villagers - or rural folk. To be honest, I had substituted "simple" with "rural" in the sentence that came immediately before this one as I became suddenly conscious about the use of the term "simple". Would it reflect derogatorily on myself? Would it reveal a horrible classist haughtiness in me that I at times suspected but would quickly shake away every time this thought entered my mind?

But I shall be perfectly honest in this post and revert to the use of the term "simple folk" to mean people from rural parts and who are defined by having little or no exposure to city life and who would generally have limited or no education.

Here I shall relate a particular friendship I developed with a Chinese farmer not too long ago, whose young adult son was involved in a bad accident that left him permanently brain-damaged. When I saw the son, his mental age was around four or five, and he could not recognise his parents or sister. In one meeting with me, the father, a peasant, said matter-of-factly: "He is damaged. He needs his mother for everything."

As I probed deeper into the story for my journalistic work, I came to know the father better. He was around 50 and had had elementary education. In his determination to seek redress for his son, he abandoned his farm, spent the family's entire savings. He sought the help of countless government departments and hospitals. To make a convincing argument, he studied all of China's labour protection laws as well as insurance provisions for work-related accidents. In one meeting we had, he produced a well-thumbed copy of China's compendium of labour laws. I remember taking the copy from him and marvelling at how a peasant, with only elementary education, could have so much grit and temerity to have gone through what he did, and to have achieved so much for his son.

Within the framework of the CCA, one would probably label this to be agency, the farmer's extraordinary agentic capacity. But what exactly do we find inside? Could this be what de Certeau calls "the elocutionary experience of a fugitive communication"? Conquergood goes on to describe this as a situation where "subordinate people do not have the privilege of explicitness, the luxury of transparency, the presumptive norm of clear and direct communication, free and open debate on a level playing field that the privileged classes take for granted."

I disagree with that description, I believe it to be a generalisation. In my dealings with people, my method has always been to put myself out of the picture and be an observer. I have always endeavoured to be an observer or a facilitator to help draw out the person's spontaneous expression of himself or herself. In other words, my method is to be a friend, an accepting ally who makes no judgements or assumptions. I let the person tell his or her story.

In fact, what I have observed is that rural folk are unusually forthcoming. In them I have witnessed extraordinary explicitness, transparency and clarity in communication. They are always able to say exactly what they mean in far fewer words than any city folk I have known. Why I am struck by this is because their economy with words is unique. It is a feature that has struck me time and time again, and when it happens, I always make a mental note. Their communication is clear, direct and they have always sparred with me as an intellectual equal even as we discuss topics that anyone would deem as sophisticated, for example, complex points in the law, circuitous judicial provisions and judgements, or whatever the subject happened to be at the time. Oftentimes, they would be enmeshed in a difficult situation which they need to find their way out of and to do this requires not only physical agency such as going from place to place, but working out problems, pointing out inconsistencies and laying out arguments that require mental dexterity.

Here I will relate another incident where I met a factory worker who was trying to launch a legal challenge against her factory who refused to give her what was due to her in accordance to labour laws in China. She told of how she went from place to place to find a lawyer who would be willing to help her. What she needed was for somebody to help her document, or textualise, her case - ie. to write down the facts of her case and appeal. As she explained, she told me how she could very well tell her story to the courts and that all she needed was somebody to put it in the language of the courts, or legalese. She eventually found a person who helped her and she won her appeal.

So in spite of the widely varying cultures between us – due to factors such as place and circumstances of origin, life encounters and experiences – I believe there must be some underlying, unifying, natural commonality which makes us understand the other immediately, allowing even the limited words we both share to cut across cultures. Of course, I am not arrogant to think that all that transpires is crystal clear all the time. All so often, something is lost in the exchange, but with patience and diligent checks that a researcher should always make, these blanks would be filled. In fact, such a situation can occur in any conversation with just about anybody.

If I were to put my finger on this “natural commonality”, I will choose to think it is our humanity. Our empathy, humanness, and the desire to reach out and to understand. It is the emptying of oneself in the process of the wanting to understand the other.


To revert now back to theory, I will think that this is what goes on in the co-construction process that CCA stresses. This is the part where a CCA researcher opens up spaces for subalterns to vent their voices and raise their issues. Here, assumptions such as subalterns not having the knowledge, the language, the communicative facility to help themselves are just plain false, and to continue to hold such a view is rather laughable. How then do you open up these spaces? To me, it is a willingness to be silent for once and to listen, to let the other person speak.

Popular posts from this blog

The Haka, the Hurt, and the Work We Owe

  The Haka, the Hurt, and the Work We Owe An Indian in Aotearoa reflects on resistance, complicity, and the solidarities we have yet to build Mohan Jyoti Dutta I watched the haka. I watched it several times, in fact. Each time, I tried to sit with what I was feeling before reaching for what I was supposed to think. Let me be honest about who I am in this conversation, because that matters. I am an upper caste, upwardly mobile Indian man. I am a professor at a university in Aotearoa. I carry the accumulated privileges of Brahminical socialisation, of English-medium education, of institutional access that was never designed for the communities I now write about and alongside. I say this not as confession but as orientation — because where you stand shapes what you see, and I have learned, through years of working with communities at the margins, that the refusal to name your own location is itself a colonial habit. The haka directed at Parmjeet Parmar did not offend me. It ...

Whiteness, NCA, and Distinguished Scholars

In a post made in response to the changes to how my discipline operates made by the Executive Committee of the largest organization of the discipline, the National Communication Association (NCA), one of the editors of a disciplinary journal Rhetoric and Public Affairs (RPA), Professor Martin J. Medhurst, a Distinguished Scholar of the discipline, calls out what he sees as the threat of identity (see below for his full piece published in the journal that he has edited for 20+ years, with 2019 SJR score of 0.27). In what he notes is a threat to the "scholarly merit" of the discipline, Professor Medhurst sets up a caricature of what he calls "identity." In his rhetorical construction of the struggles the NCA has faced over the years to find Distinguished Scholars of colour, he shares with us the facts. So let's look at the facts presented by this rhetor. It turns out, as a member of the Distinguished Scholar community of the NCA, Mr. Medhurst has problems with w...

The Substack and the Slur: How a Manufactured Crisis Toppled a Wahine Māori Political Editor

  The Substack and the Slur: How a Manufactured Crisis Toppled a Wahine Māori Political Editor On the architecture of the Aotearoa culture-war machine, and the danger it poses to a democracy heading into 2026 There is a particular cadence to the afternoon on which the career of a senior Māori journalist  at TVNZ is finished. It is unhurried. It begins with a tweet — in this case, a single image of a typed statement, posted by Maiki Sherman, the now-former political editor of TVNZ, on the afternoon of Friday, 8 May 2026, announcing that she had parted ways with the broadcaster. The post was terse, dignified, and final. As RNZ later reported , Sherman wrote that the scrutiny of the previous week had placed enormous pressure on her and rendered her role "untenable." The first wahine Māori to lead a major broadcaster's political team was gone. The story that finished her had not, ten days earlier, existed in any newspaper, on any wire, on any website you would consider mai...