When Language Hurts Scientists And Their Employers

Sajal Das started out well. A bright boy from Calcutta, he finished his undergraduate degree in India, earned a Ph.D. studying high-temperature polymers at North Carolina State University, and soon found a good R&D job at Morristown, N.J. -based Allied-Signal Corp. But then he stalled. While his United States-born colleagues went scampering up the corporate-scientific ladder, Das has stayed put, although, in his opinion, his science is every bit as good as anyone’s. The trouble, from what he has been able to gather, is his English: Although Das is easy to understand in conversation—he has been speaking English since he was a young boy—he has been told that his written reports sound awkward and contain grammatical mistakes. Das is one of a growing number of foreign-born scientists and engineers who are recruited by U.S. companies—only to slam into the language barrier of corporate English. It bruises them, and as their numbers rise, the collisions could bruise the companies that hire them, as well. Recognizing this potential liability, a number of forward-looking organizations around the country are setting up formal tutoring programs to teach foreign-born scientists and engineers the basics of business English—a trend that observers believe will, and must, flourish. And, judging from the accelerating influx of foreign scientists, the trend is emerging none too soon According to National Science Foundation numbers, in 1972 for. eign-born scientists made up 1091 of the U.S. technical and scientific work force; by 1982, the percentage had risen to 17%. Although the NSF has not yet released comparable figures beyond 1982, there are indications that the percentage of foreign-born scientists in the U.S. work force is continuing to soar. One indication: The congressional Office of Technology Assessment claims that over half of the Ph.D.’s awarded in engineering last year went to foreign-born students— and more than half of these foreign-born Ph.D.’s will be staying in the U.S. to work. The impact of the language barrier on foreign-born corporate scientists is reflected in anecdotes remarkably similar in theme to the saga of Sajal Das, whose productivity, self-image, and career are being hampered by the need for improved English-writing skills. In some cases, the real pressure is intensified by the scientist’s sense of cultural isolation from his or her colleagues and the additional burden and distraction that comes with having to succeed in language skills as well as the day-to-day obligations of the professional scientist. Jerzy Krasinaki, a laser expert from Poland, is a good example. Working in the U.S. as a visiting professor of physics at the University of Rochester at the time of the 1980 Solidarity uprisings in Poand, Krasinski decided to stay in this country and, like Das, found a job with Allied-Signal. He soon felt overwhelmed by the fast, free-flowing, often-interrupted conversations of his colleagues. He remembers discussions at conferences or just chats in company hallways when he would know an answer to the question under discussion but could not bring himself to speak up. He survived this breaking-in period by taking some comfort in his science: During his first week on the job, he came up with an idea for a new type of microscope, which subsequently was patented. Since those early days, Krasinski has gradually developed confidence in both written and spoken English, but he fears corporate R&D is getting tougher for foreign-born scientists. “More businessmen are running things; fewer scientists,” he says. He’s afraid the “businessmen” won’t be as able to see through nonstandard English or awkward reports to evaluate the science on its own merits. This view concurs with that of foreign-born engineer at Allied The engineer, who requested ano nymity, told The Scientist that he “quietly” pays a ghostwriter to turn his technical notes into reports. Meanwhile, a foreign scien tist at Bell Labs, also requesting anonymity, says he is trying to cope with a supervisor who thinks he lacks initiative because he rarely speaks up in meetings—an easy criticism, he points out, for a U.S.. born boss who’s never had to keep up with rapid-fire dialog in a foreign language. Do these scientists have good reason to worry about their careers, or are they perhape overly sensitive to the cultural gap? John Simms, a training specialist who works with foreign-born personnel at AT&T Bell Laboratories in Murray Hill, N.J., takes their problems very seriously. “These people are at a promotional disadvantage,” he says. And the company who hires one of these scientists is also at a disadvantage, Simms adds, if members of its research teams aren’t comnunicating smoothly and comfortably. "The days of the scientist alone in a garret are pretty much over,” says Simms. “Almost all of the breakthroughs we’ve made [at Bell Labs] have been collaborative.” Furthermore, he points out, the need for fluency in English goes beyond its urgency in routine exchanges among colleagues. “If we’re applying for a patent based on a researcher’s notes,” Simms points out, “the notes had better be clear.” Beyond that, he says, the effective use of English is also a matter of corporate image at conferences and in the publication of scientific papers. Says Simms: “We care how well we’re understood.” What is a “disadvantaged” employer of foreign-born scientists to do? Get rid of its problem, says Shams, but not through dismissal. To Bell Labs, the talents of these scientists are too valuable to be neglected—and that’s why the company agreed to back Simms in a pioneering program to improve their English. He began in 1980 to arrange free English classes during working hours for Bell Labs’ immigrant scientists and engineers. Now the program offers four levels of English and boasts over a thousand alumni, including several executives. Although no one has tallied the number of companies with similar programs, the idea seems to be picking up steam. English classes in one form or another—usually either classroom or private tutoring sessions—are conducted at, or at least subsidized by, pharmaceutical firms such as Ciba-Geigy, Warner-Lambert, and Hoffmann-La Roche, and computer/communications outfits such as Northern Telecom and Hewlett-Packard Co. Not everyone, of course, has jumped on the bandwagon. When apprised of the burgeoning trend in English-for-the-foreign-born classes, a spokesman for Apple Computers said. “That sounds like a new idea.” But overall, “it’s a growing field,” says Selma Myers, a Solana Beach, Calif., freelance English tutor and intercultural sensitivity trainer who has worked with General Dynamics and Hewlett-Packard. To be successful, observers agree, these programs must be designed with care and promoted with tact. Simms says, “It’s easy to set up a course in switching and transmission,” while the task of establishing a language program is “more delicate.” At Bell Labs, he recalls, Simms had to present the idea carefully to everyone in the right tone so that the students wouldn’t feel they were being singled out as “inferior” and their colleagues wouldn’t resent what might be regarded as “special treatment” of the foreign-born. Susan Hoffman, manager of human resources at Allied, agrees with Simms that the student’s pride must be taken into consideration. She points out that discussing basic language lessons with highly educated researchers “can be a very sensitive area.” One of the keys to a good program is selecting teachers who have not only the appropriate pedagogical skills but are also able to deal gracefully with students who are intellectually advanced—perhaps even “brilliant”—but deficient in their grasp of written or spoken English. In a classroom filled with such students, says Sinims, “there will be an undercurrent of challenging the teacher: ‘I have my Ph.D.— and what do you have?’ “Therefore, Simms selects teachers with the proper blend of academic credentials and diplomatic skills, and makes sure to give them time to get comfortable with technical English before confronting any students. Among other preparatory devices, Simms takes instructors to lunch at Bell Labs, introduces them around, and coaxes employees to talk about their work, using the language of the research lab. “It can be terrifying to have a class of scientists who may be the next Nobel laureates when you don’t know an ohm from a watt.” Sums was originally pressured by his supervisors to arrange classes so that students speaking the same native language fell together, but he held out for a mix. “Now I’m glad I did,” he says. “Mixed groups provide a stimulus for involvement.” Speakers of different languages have different aural sensitivities, so a multinational group of students tends to have lively sessions correcting and explaining pronunciation to each other. Using a slightly different approach, Allied offers only individual instruction; its approach also differs from Bell Labs’ regarding “homework.” While Allied strongly suggests that its foreign-born employees speak English at home, even if their spouses prefer to speak the native tongue, Bell Labs considers this a strictly private decision and thus out of bounds in terms of the corporate teaching effort. “We would never discourage the use of the native language at home,” he says. Of course, the programs won’t help much if the instructors think that their responsibilities are confined to the teaching of English grammar and vocabulary, according to Janet Bodner of English Language Services, an independent language-coaching service. Bodner makes a point of monitoring her students’ nonverbal as well as verbal communications skills. For example, years of feeling uncertain about the language can leave its mark on a student, so she watches out for those who—even after their tutoring has begun—tend to mumble on the phone or avoid colleagues’ eyes when giving presentations. Ironically, a foreign-born scientist’s success in a language program, hard-won as it is, can foster a new sense of frustration, as in the case of Shri Bali, who grew up in India and, for the past 10 years, has worked at Bell Labs. Bali, a technical supervisor in the switching systems section, has taken many English classes and continues to work on his fluency. However, as his English skills have improved, his native language facility has deteriorated to the point where he finds it awkward to write in Hindi. And when his family returned to India last year, his five-year-old daughter could not communicate with her Indian grandmother, a sad echo of the language-barrier problem that plagues the immigrant scientist. Phil Garber is a freelance writer in Budd Lake, N.J.

When Language Hurts Scientists And Their Employers

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