Meaning

It is commonplace to observe that language is a poor tool for conveying meaning, and often an unnecessary one. (That observation makes a nice jumping off point for a rant about the "plain meaning" crowd of legal scholars and judges, but I'll spare you that particular form of self-indulgence, in favor of the form of it you're here to read). Nothing brings that lesson home like a trip abroad, to a place where one speaks only a smidgen, at best, of the local language.

Today in court, for example, the judge's questioning of us took no more than 5 minutes each. We had been prepared by our agency for much more extensive questioning. We had been warned, in particular, to expect questioning about my medical history (notwithstanding letters from my internist and specialists that nothing in it would be an obstacle to my being a good parent), and about our religion. We had also been told that the total time for the hearing would be perhaps an hour and a quarter or more, rather than the 45 minutes the hearing actually took.

How then to account for the easy process? I asked our translator (who often translates in this judge's courtroom) this very question. She thought it was because the judge trusted us right from the beginning of the hearing. This, of course, only begs the question. Let me, at the risk of what little reputation for modesty I might have, suggest an answer.

First, I used what little Russian I know to introduce myself to the judge in her language. The information I conveyed in two brief sentences was minimal and pro forma; I could as easily have spoken entirely in English (as I did for the rest of the hearing), and had the translator do her job. The small trouble I took to learn those two sentences of Russian, though, conveyed much more meaning than the paltry bits of hard information in the sentences: that we cared enough about our daughter's transition to learn some of the language she's heard all her life, and that we had enough respect for the court to make the effort . Second, when the judge asked how Phoebe responded to us during our previous visit, I answered truthfully enough that reacted very positively, and that we had fun together. But I was also ready with several photos from our first visit that spoke volumes on the question (including the photo posted below). I offered these to the judge for the official court file on our case, and both she and the government's attorney (there to represent Phoebe as guardian ad litem) smiled broadly. From that point, the hearing was essentially over (the judge was also required to hear from the director of the orphanage, the government attorney, and the responsible official of the Ministry of Education, each of whom who gave her approval).

To continue the theme of language as a poor cousin to meaning, let me speak as well about our agency's representatives here in Tyumen. The city is so busy that there was not a hotel room to be found on Wednesday night, our first night in Tyumen. So Sofia and Vlad took us into their own home, and gave us their bed for the night. Sofia speaks very little English, Vlad more, though still not a lot. And Alesa and I speak only a minuscule amount of Russian between us. The lack of a common language, while naturally something of an obstacle, did not prevent our communicating. To be sure, we could not have had meaningful conversations about the meaning of life, the evil that is Bush, or the ups and downs of the stock market. But we did break bread together, and learn a bit about each other's lives. Would more of a common linguistic ground have been nice? sure, but hardly necessary. we will carry warm memories of Sofia and Vlad with us always, and count ourselves fortunate that the night before we formally adopted Phoebe, there was no room at the inn.