Filip Noubel

Welcome to Chaï Latte & Salt

Hello,

Filip Noubel is the managing editor of the freedom of expression outlet Global Voices  (globalvoices.org). He is a co-founder and co-editor at Cathay Publishers. Filip also contributes to an award-winning literary magazine Asymptote.  

Enjoy this amazing conversation with Filip and share.

Yours,

Janyl Jusupjan

Become Chaï Latte & Salt Patron on Patreon

The edited transcript of Filip Noubel interview

Janyl: Filip, on your twitter account I saw the name Nasredin Hoja, whom we call Aldar Kөsөө in Kyrgyz. Who is he, or who are you?

Filip: (laughter) Nasredin Hoja is my favorite hero, which is why I stole his name. He is a Sufi who travels in the vast area of Central Asia, anywhere between the Uygur region to the Middle East to Morocco. He looks away from mainstream society. He has a lot of humor, and what he says can be understood on different levels. Above everything else, he is a Nomad; we don’t know where he is from. This role model is very appealing to me. I think I recognize myself in this character. That is why I stole his name.

Janyl: However, despite you being a nomad, Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, is your city. How did that happen and what does it mean for you?

Filip: Yes, Tashkent is one of the most important places in my childhood, even though I was not born there, and my parents are not from there. My mom is from a country that no longer exists – Czechoslovakia. My dad is French. They were sent by the French government in the 1970s during the Brezhnev period to teach foreign languages in Uzbekistan. My dad was teaching French. My mom was teaching Czech but also doing work in French translation. We came to Tashkent in the late 1970s to live as foreigners.

Usually I get asked whether my parents were diplomats. They were not. They were teachers, and Tashkent was just the capital of Soviet Uzbekistan. We were protected by having foreign passports, but we were not living as diplomats because there were no diplomats in Tashkent at that time. So, I had an interesting childhood in the sense that it was very close to what other Soviet people experienced, like queuing in a shop, taking public transport, and going to the bazaar to buy food. In this regard, I feel very blessed because that was quite unique to have a childhood that was extremely Soviet in that place at that time. And as a kid, it was a nice place to be! After all, you don’t care so much about politics. Still, every summer we would go back to either Czechoslovakia or to France, and as a small kid, as a teenager, you start comparing things. Even though you don’t have a sense of political rights, or all those big concepts, you do see huge differences between those three places: the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia (which was the heart of the Socialist block but very different from the Soviet model) and then France. This is also why, to go back to your question about Nasredin Hoja, I felt that without knowing the term ‘nomad’, my life every year would take me to 3 very different places. It makes you think quite a lot, even as a child.

Janyl: Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union were not far from each other, but France was behind the Iron Curtain. How did your parents meet?

Filip: They met in Czechoslovakia, at a youth camp. My father was therehey were building an airport. My mother was studying Italian and French; that is why she was also working as a translator at the camp. So they actually met in Czechoslovakia, which you could argue, was exactly midway between France and Uzbekistan.

Czechoslovakia was definitely part of the Socialist block, but still, it was politically, economically, and culturally much different than the Soviet Union. If the shops were pretty empty in the Soviet Union, they were half empty in Czechoslovakia and full in France. That’s the thing which you notice as a kid. Also, Czechoslovakia has a very European sort of culture, whereas Uzbekistan is Central Asian. That’s a big difference besides the political aspect.

Janyl: What do you remember from Tashkent?

Filip: Many things. This is the place where I grew up, and I think that I built a lot of my emotions, my interests, and also my references. I was going to a Russian-speaking school. Russian was promoted over Uzbek or other languages. Again, as a kid, you don’t really understand the power relations and the politics of this, but we had a few hours of Uzbek in the school. Even as a kid I could feel that it was not regarded as an important subject.

In the Soviet Union there were 15 Republics, and for some strange reason, it was decided in Moscow which foreign language would be the priority language to be studied in each of them. They decided that in Uzbekistan, people would predominantly study French as a foreign language. This meant that a lot of schools and universities across Uzbekistan had French language departments. French always was regarded quite well by Russian and then Soviet elites.

Part of my father’s job was to visit some of the universities and schools across the country, and I was really privileged to be able to travel with him sometimes. Of course, when we went to the countryside either because of my father’s work or for a vacation, skiing in winter or picnics in spring, I remember very well that I understood that this was a completely different culture from Tashkent. People spoke another language; someone had to translate from Russian. Even though I was a kid, I could realize all those differences even within the same country.

I have a lot of memories because I was lucky to experience urban, Russian-speaking Tashkent, but also the countryside: the mountains, the Fergana Valley. My parents took my sister and me to the Silk Road cites of Bukhara, Samarkand, and Khiva. It is so different from the architecture and the culture of Czechoslovakia or France that it embeds the image in your brain very deeply. I think one of the main reasons why my favorite color is blue is definitely linked to my childhood in Uzbekistan. It’s not just a sky blue, but it is also the blue of the architecture, of the mosques and madrassas, typical Central Asian architecture that uses a lot of blue colors.

Janyl: Have you seen the Aral Sea?

Filip: Yes, when it was still around (laughter), of course… We went to the cotton fields and the pomegranate trees, all around. Uzbekistan is a country that has, besides the mountains, the sea, the desert, the Fergana Valley, which is very green, so it gives you a lot of visuals that you keep your entire life.

Janyl: Like France has everything, even an ocean.

Filip: Exactly. My father is from the south of France, so we also went to the mountains there. For me, it was normal to be in a country where you have mountains.

Janyl: I met your parents in Prague. It was on the 14th of July (the national Bastille Day of France). Your father was playing the harmonica.

Filip: Yes, he does that, it’s one of his hobbies.

Janyl: Did your parents struggle with what kind of cultural identity to give to you? Did they struggle between themselves and did they struggle with the Soviet influence? How was it?

Filip: Well, I guess we should ask them, right? I can only say what I think happened. What is important to remember is that this was before the Internet. To go back to the point of “every year I would be living in three different places”, I remember that people in France were very curious to hear my parents sharing their stories and anecdotes about life in the Soviet Union. The late 1970s was still during the Cold War. There was no Perestroika yet, so people had very black and white images of the Soviet Union. Those people who were more on the left side would imagine the Soviet Union being maybe a Paradise, at least for social labor rights. I’m exaggerating of course, but most people would either have no image or a very negative and very scary one, thinking of the Soviet Union as an entire Gulag, like a terrible place to live.

For me, it was interesting to listen to those conversations and questions. At the time of Brezhnev, the political pressure was not so bad as it had been before in the 1950-60s (which were the things that I didn’t know), but I don’t have dark memories, I guess. Kids were treated like the queens and kings of society. We went to school. I went to a music school as well. We would go to cultural events that were free or affordable. Even though there were a Soviet system and a (weak) economy, we could always go to the market to supplement our food with fruits. It was a very joyful childhood. I was surprised that people in France and even in Czechoslovakia would ask my parents very negative questions about how terrible life must be there. That was very puzzling to me; I did not understand why people who had never lived there would have those images.

In terms of identity, my parents are language teachers, so they are quite open. We spoke different languages: one on the street, one or two at home. We learned other languages and we were never told to feel this or that way, or versus something else. I think my childhood in Tashkent in that sense was exemplary and useful. In my class in the Russian-speaking school there were kids of probably 20 different nationalities in the Soviet sense, of different ethnic backgrounds: Germans, Jewish, Tatars, Koreans, Uzbeks of course, or mixed, any combination, which is typical for the whole of Central Asia.

The question that for me was always puzzling was when people started asking me later in life, “Do you feel more Czech or French?” This is a question that I never asked myself. I don’t wake up in the morning and sort of check do I feel more this or that today (laughter). For me, that’s like a bad joke. I notice that for some people it is very important to have a fixed identity. Or people deciding, “Well, if your father is French that means you are French.” Why? I grew up in Tashkent even though I was not born there and my parents are not from there, but this is the place of my childhood and the place that I will be going back to my entire life.

Janyl: And now you are back, aren’t you?

Filip: We are doing this under the period of COVID-19 (the coronavirus pandemic time). As we speak now, I was supposed to fly to Tashkent to teach journalism there, among other things. But the borders are closed in the Czech Republic. I cannot get out of this country and it is similar in Uzbekistan and Central Asia. It is not a good time to travel for obvious reasons. At the beginning of my career, I was based in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, for 5 years. I would travel to Uzbekistan, I would write about the country and do research. In the past two years, I’ve been going back to Tashkent every year for a period of anything between two weeks to a month. I’m hoping that after this COVID 19 thing is over, I’ll be able to go back and stay longer.

Janyl: I remember, we met for the first time when you were stationed in Bishkek 20 years ago, when you were a correspondent for the first English language newspaper there. Are you homesick for Tashkent? For example, I don’t know when to be homesick for which place. Sometimes it’s difficult.

Filip: (laughter). I think that I have many places. Usually, it’s a city because I grew up mostly in cities that I relate to very deeply, at emotional and visual levels. Tashkent is probably one of the top cities in my life because it’s a part of my childhood. I guess I can say I miss Tashkent, but it’s not the only city that I miss. When people ask, “What do you feel like? Are you more this and that? Where are you from?”, that terrible question, (laughter) I never know how to answer. I’m from different places, I associate with different places, but I am also critical of those places. That’s also something that I’ve learned. Again, to push to the point of Nasredin Hoja, no matter which places, cultures, and languages I grew up with, for me it’s really important not to idealize a culture, but claim part of the culture that is worth claiming and combining it with other elements of other cultures. That’s what I’ve been doing unconsciously and then consciously all my life.

Janyl: Yes, one of those identities might be connected with tea. For me, for example, in France, when I ask for tea they say, “Oh, are you sick?” They are not much tea lovers (laughter). Tashkent is a city of green tea, as it is very hot, and you also identify yourself as a ‘tea-taster’. What is your usual choice as a tea-taster?

Filip: You are absolutely right, because when I grew up in Tashkent there was no internet, no Coca-Cola or things like that, so I never actually grew up with a lot of Western cultural habits. As you very rightfully said, in Tashkent and other places in Central Asia, the most common drink still today is tea, whether it’s green tea or black, or tea with milk, with salt, there are all kinds of variations. To the point, today the only thing that I drink is tea. I do not drink alcohol and I do not drink coffee. I do not drink beer and wine, which people find shocking given the fact that my father is French and my mother is Czech.

Janyl: Even no beer?! You cannot be Czech without drinking beer!

Filip: Absolutely no, I am hopeless. On top of that, I also lived 10 years in China which is the birthplace of tea. I drink green tea, usually jasmine tea, but I also drink Puer tea, which is a form of fermented tea in China. Every day I drink probably over two liters of tea, and the whole year, whether it’s winter or summer, I don’t drink cold tea with very few exceptions. It’s hot tea I am drinking while talking to you (laughter).

Janyl: So, you’ve spent 10 years in China and you studied Chinese. You speak quite a collection of languages. Now I am trying to study French which is very difficult for me, as in my brain French started taking the place of German, which is leftover from my time living in Bavaria! How does it work for you when you learn a new language?

Filip: I get that question a lot. I think I was very lucky because I grew up in different places. After Uzbekistan my parents moved to Greece, and this was another language environment. The first time I started “learning a language” was German. By this I mean going to classes and not living in a place where that language is spoken. At that time, I already spoke Russian, Czech, French, English and Greek. All those five languages that I had never studied as such. I learned them from my parents and my grandparents, from the street or while watching TV.

My father is also an English teacher. He took me to Ireland when I was six years old where I did a half year of schooling. So English is a language that I first picked up from playing with other kids. I think that that’s why, when by the age of 10-11 you speak (of course at different levels) 5-6 languages, it structures your brain in a way that you do not mix any. It’s a personal hobby.

I know a lot of people like me, who grew up in different places, whose parents are from different places, so beyond the 5-6 languages that I mentioned, I started learning other ones. That’s when I discovered that you can also actually learn the language in a traditional way. You have to go through grammar and vocabulary, and you don’t necessarily hear the language on the street. The first one was German, and then Chinese, then a little bit of Japanese when I went to Japan to study. All linguists say that the earlier you learn a language, the easiest it is. I think it’s very different than when an adult sits down and says: “Okay, now I’m going to learn French”. That’s a completely different process in your brain.

Janyl: I also noticed that even small children, when they speak different languages, they have more ability to express themselves because they know that the other person may not understand all that they say. A child has to be a diplomat (laughter), to have a clever way to explain themselves, with gestures if needed, so they learn different kinds of skills.

Filip: Definitely. I think that a translator is by nature a diplomat. I think it’ s almost two faces of the same coin. Translation is not just a technical skill. Also, as a kid, whether you realize it or not, things are said or perceived differently. We talk to people differently based on age, gender, and family relations. That is all part of a language. I mean it’s the DNA of the language, it’s the culture around the language, and they influence each other all the time. It can be even the speed, the tone, how you speak. All those settled things that make the language. I think bilingual, trilingual children are by necessity much more observing and in general more diplomatic.

Janyl: You know, when you are learning a language you neglect other things like reading good literature. But this is not the case for you. You call yourself a booktivist. I would like to ask what is that? Americans read six books a year per capita, while Czechs read 16 books. How many books do you read and what kind of books?

Filip: I’ll start with booktivist. It’s “book” and “activist”, I combine those two words. I mean, it’s been used by other people, but this is really how I identify myself, it’s another identity – books. I see books as almost like real beings, as friends. For me, a book is a way to improve my language skills, because I’m also a translator.

Something I like to do to improve my language learning is to read the same book in two languages: in the language that I’m learning or improving and one of the languages that I read fluently in, it could be French, it could be Czech, Russian, English. For me, there is no contradiction between investing time in learning a language versus reading it. Through reading, I improve my language. People ask me, “Why are you still learning other languages?” I have a tremendous respect and love for literature, for fiction mostly, novels and short stories, and now more for poetry. For me, it’s fascinating when I can read those texts in the original.

In Europe after the Scandinavians, the Czechs are the most reading nation which makes me very happy because I want to support Czech bookstores and publishers. I think it’s true when you enter a bookstore in the Czech Republic, probably 30% of the books you see on the shelves are translations from other languages. There are real reasons for that. Who speaks Czech outside of the Czech Republic? No one. Slovaks understand it. Maximum you have a market of 15 million people, which is not big in terms of languages. It’s natural that if your language is not spoken outside of your country, you translate more. That’s one reason. The second reason is because I also studied initially the theory of translation when I was a student in Prague in 1991. The Czech language almost disappeared in the 19th century, and it’s a smaller language, despite that there is a very strong tradition in Czech culture of super high-quality literary translation.

Then there is a political reason that is shared with people all over the former Socialist block and China. A lot of writers and intellectuals were prosecuted or censored in the Soviet Union, in Bulgaria, in Czechoslovakia, in Poland. Literary translation was the only way to get a job, have money, and maybe write sort of samizdat or underground, so you could still be close to literature. Because the government sponsored that, it would give you a job, the book would be published, and you would have access to the authors. So, all of those factors explain that literary translation was very highly regarded and developed. In general, the quality was quite amazing. That’s not just Czech, but the entire Socialist block; there are many examples in the Soviet Union as well.

Janyl: Not the languages in Central Asia, unfortunately?

Filip: Yes, that’s true. I guess that is why I call myself a booktivist. I read a lot. I read about 120 books per year because I do count. I also try to balance what I read. I set quotas for myself to make sure that I read in the 5 languages that I use every day: French, English, Russian, Czech, and Chinese. I try to add some reading in Spanish, I am trying to improve my Turkish and Polish as well. For me, books and reading are an essential part of my life.

Janyl: A booktivist is an activist promoting reading. You talk about this topic often in your writing: the importance of translation. For example, the translation of Uzbek texts into English. How can we improve the situation? Very few people know Kyrgyz literature, Uzbek literature, Turkmen literature. There is a void in the world of literature.

Filip: It was because of ignoring cultural and literary heritage. There was a Soviet colonial attitude that Central Asia “was less developed” and the elites of those countries should look up to Soviet-Russian culture. That’s true for the Russian colonial period before communism, but also the Soviet period. Central Asia became part of the Periphery. If you were from the Periphery, then the prevailing logic was that you should learn from the Center, because the Center was more advanced and more prestigious. That, unfortunately, was reflected in the attitude towards literature as you know very well.

A lot of the writers from the Periphery were invited to the Gorky Institute of Literature in Moscow. Usually they were not forced but highly encouraged to switch to Russian or to be at least bilingual. You can write in your small, exotic language, but if you want to make it big, if you want to be read by others in the Soviet Union, in the Soviet block or the world, of course, you should write in Russian. That message was extremely strong, and I can imagine that as a young writer, whoever you were, Tatar or Kyrgyz, or Uzbek, or Turkmen, it was probably a huge question: “Should I switch to Russian? Should I try to keep writing in both languages? Should I just keep on writing in my language?” The pressure must have been huge.

When the Central Asian countries became independent and, to a certain degree, free politically and culturally, at least in the early 1990s, there was no awareness, no knowledge, no translators, and no means of distribution for their literature in the world. And as we know in the 1990s, who cared about literature? People had to survive, feed themselves. Culture, even in Russia, was the last thing you cared about because it was total chaos. There were also some wars, conflicts, so it was not the time for literature to flourish in terms of market and industry. People, of course, could not write. They had the freedom to write, but they didn’t have the freedom to make books and sell them and get people reading. The Internet was not so developed by then. I think that these are objective historical reasons why, for the longest period, Central Asian literature, in general, was completely ignored even by their closest neighbors.

Then, if you enlarge this and you talk about the English-speaking world, or French, or German, or even Turkish, there was even less awareness, fewer contacts and, as you say, it was a void. “Those countries probably have no literature!” (laughter) and I’m sure that most people thought that way. Chyngyz Aytmatov, maybe, is one exception, because he was widely translated into non-Russian languages. The economic aspect, for the longest period, looked bleak. Why I am so hopeful today is that there is “the discovery” of Central Asian literature which was there all the time (laughter). So, it’s not a discovery, it’s just that suddenly people are less ignorant about authors from the region.

What makes me happy is that in the English, French and German speaking world, we have now the right people in the right place, in the sense that we have Central Asian authors who also write in more than one language and have lived abroad, maybe in the West. They can become ambassadors for the literature and culture of their country. Some of them have been able to work with translators who have been able to work with publishers, because, of course, that’s the key thing.

I am more focused on Uzbek literature, whether it was written in Uzbek or Russian. Before, we had no publications or translations, but since 2019, suddenly we have translations of literature from Uzbekistan. What is also good is that people are translating modern classics like from the late 19th century or early 20th century, as well as living authors, male and female.

I see the same with Kazakhstan, I don’t see so much, to be honest, with Kyrgyzstan. Turkmenistan is always much more difficult. With Tajik literature, because there are strong cultural ties with Iran, and Tajik is close to Farsi, then maybe they are in a better position. We shouldn’t forget to mention Uygur literature, which is equally rich and old, ancient and diverse as Uzbek for example. Because of political reasons, because of some of the changes that are happening there, the interests of China and its periphery, people are more aware of their plight and interested to read more from them. I see more book reviews; I see more writers from Central Asia being invited to festivals. The road will be very long, but at least we’ve made the first steps. I think it’s great, and I hope that also through your podcasts you will be able to help to disseminate and promote Central Asian literature, including Kyrgyz literature.

Janyl: Yes, thank you. Global Voices, where you are a managing editor, has an Uzbek language department. Uzbekistan has a big potential because of its size and economy. As a result, there is more interest for Uzbek literature. On the other hand, Kyrgyzstan is a small nation. Also, Kyrgyz and Kazakh literature, due to their being an oral culture originally, might make them less accessible to the modern reader. Maybe that’s also restricting their exposure possibilities for the outside world to understand.

Filip: When I was working in Bishkek, I was asked to review a French translation of the Manas Epic, which is the longest poem in recorded history. Its written language translation is comparable to that of the Greek tragedies. Even when modern Greeks read the ancient Greek tragedies, they need a dictionary and a lot of explanation because there is a gap of 2000-3000 years in the language and the culture.

Also, literature from Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan is written not just in Kyrgyz and Kazakh, but also in other languages including Russian. There are a lot of contemporary writers creating in both languages: Kyrgyz, Kazakh or Russian, or others.

I think it is more an effort of promoting the literature, and this should be done by all the possible actors. The government should play a role. For example, in Kazakhstan, there is a program being developed, not unlike in most countries in Eastern Europe, where a translator or publisher might apply and get a grant. The economic aspect of it is very important, especially in literature that has been ignored, because the publishers in the West (but I think in general everywhere) don’t want to take risks. If somebody says to you, “I want to promote a Kyrgyz author, he is amazing, definitely should be translated and published”, and if you are a publisher with no particular interest or knowledge about Central Asia, I am sure you will dismiss the idea. But if they come and say “On top of that we could get a grant, so you don’t have to worry about the translation; this is covered and maybe even part of the publishing and the promotion or the distribution”, then most publishers will start listening to you.

I have tons of examples of that and not just for Central Asian literature but for other languages as well. I think it’s part of the work for all of us: government, non-government, public, private whether they are journalists, translators, publishers, writers, literary journalists, or just activists supporting the culture. The more we do things like podcasts, readings, festivals, promotion, and translation, the better it is; it’s a collective effort. Then, the literature will be again “discovered”, even though it was always there. We see examples. I agree that for Kyrgyzstan it’s probably more challenging, because it’s a smaller language and a smaller country. In addition, sometimes it becomes a problem when you have a very prominent author like Aytmatov because people think “Oh, Kyrgyzstan was covered, we are done” (laughter). He is the only one you should read. That happens to a lot of lesser-known cultures; it becomes a problem because people always rely on one author who dominates. Usually, it’s a man. A dead man, usually. If you want to promote other people, it becomes again difficult. But, as I said, if you use all those tools and means, I think it’s doable.

Janyl: In Global Voices I read what you’ve written about the translation of Uzbek literature. You know, in my podcast we talk about people managing their life (laughter). We steal the secrets of minds, so to say! You are a managing editor of Global Voices, and also you actively write. I counted that you write approximately 4 articles (laughter) per month.

Filip: Oh, okay, I didn’t know that (laughter). Thank you for that data.

Janyl: That means it’s one article per week. Approximately.

Filip: That sounds correct, yes.

Janyl: How do you manage to stay deep enough, relevant enough, with that pace of writing?

Filip: It’s a question that is always valid, which I’ve asked myself and discussed with colleagues and friends. I feel we are very lucky to be born in this time where mankind is so well connected. We can travel, at least before COVID. We also have the Internet. Before you had to live somewhere to understand many things. You had to be privileged to do that. On the other hand, it raises a big question about the balance because you can burn out and become a workaholic. Or, you can also dive so deep in the knowledge that you become, I think, an expert in just one area.

I think we need to balance that with something else, by keeping a wider range of interests, combining different things: creative, less creative, more active, more passive. All kinds of different modes. For me, I write, I also translate, I edit, I manage, I travel, I interview. It’s part of the beauty of daily life that we are so lucky that we can combine. I would be bored if I couldn’t write. I would feel frustrated, that’s for sure. If you want to be a good editor, you need to write, because you need to be constantly reminded of the process of writing. I cannot separate those things; I guess that’s what I want to say. It’s part of the same thing, and I don’t feel like I have to make the choice, “Oh, now I have to write, so I will read less.” That’s not how I see it. I read so that I can also enjoy better the writer and that my writing can improve. Because I write, I appreciate more good writing when I read it. For me, it’s combining all those things. It’s important, and it’s not always easy to keep that balance. I think that now when we are in a very specific period, where most of us have to stay indoors, I’m lucky I am surrounded by probably 3000 books in my home. I would like to read them all. I also need to do yoga and still to work, go out when I can and do shopping and cooking. The key thing is the balance.

Janyl: In fact, it was not a criticism to say: “one article per week”, because I used to write two articles per day. I have a friend in Prague who has the luxury of writing one article in a month.

Filip: (laughter) Depends on the line theme and what is in the article (laughter). The format.

Janyl: And the priority of your editor and the funding, which seems only dwindling. In your articles, I understand you raise not only cultural questions, but quite strong political issues too. How did you manage writing on Taiwanese issues, or say, the same-sex problems in China? It does not pose a danger for you?

Filip: No, I am lucky to have French and Czech passports, so I am a European citizen. I worked in China for 10 years before the arrival of Xi Jinping and during his rule. Before he came to power, we had much more free space to write about human rights, freedom of expression, discrimination, and all those issues. Because I lived in different countries, I speak different languages, I can access material, people, information. I have networks, so I consider it my duty, but it is also my passion, to share. The internet, social media are not necessarily perfect and they are not neutral, but it depends on how we use them. You can use social media for hate speech, and you can use it for awareness and education and, you know, promoting Central Asian authors. It all depends on what you do with the tools that you have.

I have lived on both sides of the Iron Curtain. I am very sensitive to issues of freedom, freedom of expression, identity. I believe that democracy is still not the perfect system, but the best we have, and it’s threatened every day by very different things. It’s not just a government, it’s also business, it’s also our laziness, our comfort. Why trouble yourself with difficult topics, stories? You could just read a good book, (laughter) and be at home. I’ve seen conflicts, I’ve seen different political systems, I’ve seen people living in total lack of freedom, but also censorship and not being able to access or publish or read books. For me, it’s a duty to talk about all these issues and to try to protect the rights which we have to protect, to not become lazy or think that once we have freedom and democracy it’s going to stay forever. It’s not true. We need to protect them, promote them, educate others, explain again and again why it’s fragile, why it’s important.

Janyl: I think to these skills we should add the ability to be a chameleon (laughter). In a good sense, because I remember in one country, I thought that we could be straightforward. A foreign film crew was filming. I thought we could be ourselves, laid back and not bother with a floor sweeper or a local policeman. We expected that people would understand us. But no. They don’t understand us. You have to come back to your own, previous you, like Soviet one and talk in that language. This project almost failed. I blame myself that I should have been more flexible. (laughter)

Filip: I think being adaptable is a quality we have to use to our best ability, to be flexible and use our experiences from living and working in different spaces, speaking different languages. But it’s a matter of cultural translation, not just linguistic translation as well. I always want to say that does not mean you give up on your values. Sometimes people think, “Okay, well, if in this culture it’s not acceptable to talk about LGBT issues or freedom of expression, or equality of women, maybe you shouldn’t bring it up.” I disagree completely. There is probably a different way to talk about those issues. It doesn’t have to be so open, or you can use another context. Culture is great, but there are also a lot of bad things in each culture. For me, if we focus on democracy and human rights, that’s what allows you to filter the good things and also to be very aware that bad things are happening in absolutely every culture. There is no exception! Every culture has a tendency to discriminate, to impose, to not see or hear certain kinds of people. I think that that is where I want to be, and that’s what I am trying to do in my work.

Janyl: We need that people listen to us. You are a politically active person, you need an audience. In this sense, I have a question, a practical one. The audience is very often digital, it is a social network.

Filip: Yes, of course.

Janyl: In which language should you concentrate, because it can be several languages, but then you stretch and you may not be able to have an audience? What is your strategy?

Filip: (laughter) I mostly use 5 languages daily for personal, social, work, and family reasons. I was in Taiwan until March 8. I was there as an interpreter with a Czech friend, an author. We were talking about the transition from Communism to Capitalism in Czechoslovakia and the Czech Republic, and we were speaking to non-digital audiences. I was speaking in Chinese, and my friend was speaking in Czech. Then there was a film screening and posts on social media.

To give another example, next Thursday I will be teaching online in Prague to students at the New York University campus. It will be in English, and there will be students from China, the US and other countries. It’s a combination of online, in person, completely mixed platforms. I will use mostly English and Chinese. I guess those are the ones that I will use the most.

In my previous job, before Global Voices, I was working in former Soviet countries, so I was doing similar work in Russian. Czech is a smaller language, so I feel that for me it’s more useful to report on the Czech Republic in other languages. There is a huge interest in Taiwan, also in the English speaking world, about what is happening in the Czech Republic or Czech culture.

I don’t have a strategy or choice; it depends on the situation, the audience, the language of the day. I think that the main thing is to have certain values that you want to promote. For me what is more fun is not to speak, but actually to get questions, because I believe in engagement. I always try to speak for a short period of time and then immediately switch to Q&A, because I want to understand why people are curious, why they came to the event, what they have in their mind and how we can engage, how I can learn from them? That’s the most interesting part for me.

Janyl: For an independent author, I think also an important part is the ability to stay off social media and to work in an isolated situation. You mentioned that you always work from home.
So, today is a very complicated time because of the coronavirus quarantine. How would you advise people to cope with being at home in isolation, either with family all the time or alone?

Filip: Everyone has this question on their minds. People often ask me, “Are you an introvert or an extravert?” I always reply that it depends on the time of the day. I’ve studied Buddhism. I taught meditation for 10 years when I was in Beijing, and I would invite the community to my house to meditate. I’ve read quite a lot of books, but mostly I have a lot of long conversations in groups or individually with people. Honestly, I don’t think that there is such a thing as someone being completely introvert or extravert. I think that I am mostly introverted, but I can sometimes be extremely extraverted. I suspect that it’s the case for most people. That’s a good thing because it means that we have both skills and both means. Of course, by nature, you may be more an introvert or most of the time. For such a person, it is not so difficult to be at home. Of course, it depends on how many people are around, how big the apartment or the house is, is there sunlight, all kinds of elements that are very important. For myself, I try to keep a balance. I do yoga, I do some exercises, and go out, but we have to wear a mask. My advice is to find a sort of discipline during the day and alternate the moments of work and relaxing.

The last thing I think is really important, which we are doing right now; we speak with a voice. To me the danger is that social media gives you the impression that you are connected, and yes, you are connected, but you still need more physical contact. Yes, nowadays, you can’t touch people, hug people, invite them for dinner, tea, or whatever. So, let’s do the next closest thing, which is exactly what we are doing right now: we are talking, we are using our voices, we are also using video, which is great because we have eye contact. I see your face, you see my face, we can see emotions, we can read body language. We are the closest to real… as if we were in the same room. I started doing this with friends on a schedule, which is the next thing I want to do after this call – to talk to them. We realize how much we miss this and how important it is. Even though we are friends, we are former colleagues, we call and talk to each other on Facebook and text every day. Writing or sending images is one form of communication, it’s great. But we realize what we want is just to talk to each other and see each other, so do that. If you have a good Internet connection, there are so many platforms. I encourage people to spend the time, just to see each other and talk to each other.

Janyl: Thank you very much! Where can people find you if they want to read what you write or translate?

Filip: Thank you! First of all, this is a great conversation. It’s also a great project that you are doing and a great platform. I want to promote it and give you my support. I think this is great. I am a huge fan of podcasts. I probably listen to one or two every day.

I am on Facebook under my name, and I am on Twitter @nasredinhoja. I am always happy to chat with people. You can also read my articles on GlobalVoices.org in different languages, probably up to 10 different languages.

I also do some translations, mostly into French. If you speak French you can just Google my name and find French translations of Uzbek, Chinese, Tibetan, Russian, and Tatar literature.

Janyl: Thank you very much, I look forward to seeing you in person and to hug you!

Filip: Same here, and to have some tea together. Good luck with your project!

Edited by Phoebe Аndres