Unofficial Account of the Conference
Produced 05•03•02

Upon entering a ‘live’ conference environment one simultaneously enters into the unknown. Literally 'anything can happen' and no two live situations can be the same for each ‘live environment’ is as individual as those who are in attendance. Even though I was aware of this nothing could have prepared me for the situations that I encountered, both on the journey to and upon my arrival at the Berlin Conference. I was apprehensive prior to departure... stepping into an unknown in many ways and I decided that my best approach would be to go with whatever flow was carrying me and to be genuine in my endeavors.

The Journey There
My flight was delayed for a few hours from Leeds/Bradford airport due to high and gusty winds. As a result, when I got to Schipol airport for my connection flight to Berlin, it has gone, although it too had been delayed due to the bad weather conditions in Amsterdam. In fact, the takeoff from Leeds/Bradford had been filmed by Yorkshire television as conditions were so appalling that our (peukingly) difficult departure was considered of interest to viewers. Flights were cancelled following our departure from Leeds, and again when I got to Schipol. All flights to Berlin had thereafter been cancelled due to heavy snowfall. But we weren't told this outright. I went through the procedure of transferring onto three consecutive flights and as each was cancelled I got shoved to the bottom of the next list. People were complaining all over the place, but then I thought, 'hang on a minute you stupid woman, you’ve always wanted to explore Amsterdam. Its a bugger about missing a day of the conference, but there’s no flights going there today, so book a seat onto a flight in the morning and get yourself into the City tonight'. I negotiated a deal with the transfer desk (who were glad to dump the problem) and decided that I’d get my head down on the airport floor when I got back. The airlines don’t pay for accommodation unless a plane is cancelled due to technical reasons you see. I knew all the comfy seats would be gone when I got back but it was a price worth paying. Fortunately Central Station is under Schipol airport so I was off. I headed straight for a cafe and then did a little shopping and when I got back to Schipol I cuddled the tiles. Woke up with an aching arse at about 3.30am and went off to find some chairs on which I could rest my bones. My flight went at 6am the next morning, although it was still snowing in Berlin. Another hairy takeoff/landing later and I was there. I’d undergone the indignity of a full body frisk at every bloody airport there and back. Was it my bag of empty tablet packs, my place of birth (Baghdad) on the passport, or my belly-bar setting off the metal alarm? Perhaps I just look dodgy. Anyway, in the end I just went forward and put out my arms and legs to be frisked. Also I'd been trying to phone Berlin to keep them informed for much of the night, but as I can't speak German and they could speak bollock-all English I got mad and gave up in the end. I contacted my daughter and asked her to email them for me. The email didn't get to the British delegate until after my arrival but that was okay in the end. My Turkish born taxi driver (from the airport to the hotel) gave me a commentary relating to our travel through Berlin. He said that the East of Berlin was 80% 'bad' and 20% 'good', with the West being visa versa. He said that my hotel was in the East.

Upon My Arrival
The landscape was desolate, bland and depressing in the icy cold and snow. No individual residencies to be seen, simply huge concrete impersonal blocks of flats. There was a problem at the hotel too. The plumbing had bust and I’d been relocated to a posh hotel round the corner called the 'Quality Hotel'. Lovely job. When I got to my room I discovered I was sharing. 'Surely a mistake?' I thought as I searched for clues about the identity of my room mate. I relaxed when I saw her book by her bed 'Black Culture and the Working Classes'. 'Wonderful' I thought as I got my book out about the British Working Class and the Media. I then realised that she, (Nkomo from South Africa as it turned out), must be at the conference. I got cleaned up and went to the Conference hall. I was grabbed by a British delegate (Stefan) who was relieved to see me because he’d have had to stand in for me if I hadn’t shown (he explained). He introduced me to the other British delegates (a superb crew) and cautioned me to be careful when drinking with the Rumanians because they’d brewed their own booze and it was lethal, but that I’d be pretty much okay supping with the Lithuanians. I was excited by now but scared about offering my contribution at the conference that night. However, my focus was upon the ‘others’ there, and to gather as much input about the issues as was possible.

The Conference
The main conference room was vast. I’ve never been in such a big venue. Down one side of the hall was a row of about eight 'translation booths' each occupied by a single translator. All of the delegates wore an earpiece with which we could locate the translation that we wanted to listen to. I had been asked to prepare a 15 minute paper and understood that I was to participate in the night-time workshop session. I was actually primarily interested in gathering other peoples stories for research purposes and set about taking notes and recording sessions. At lunch a delegate told me that the workshop session the night before (when I’d been stuck at Schipol) had been quite rowdy and disorganised, with dissenting voices arguing in all languages for a chance to speak. He warned me that it might be difficult and may mean that I contributed off the 'top of my head'. Still determined to go along with whatever happened and carrying the wisdom of my friend Terry Dennett with me 'always be prepared for the worst' I smiled and said 'whatever'. I was to be seated on a panel of five people but the problem was that there were so many speakers at the conference and their words had to be translated perhaps six to ten times. And so the main speakers in the hall had had their texts cut from 15 mins. to 7 mins. and those of us in the workshops had ours cut to 5 mins. Dan Kaplan (a comrade on the panel, from UCLA) was quite pissed off at this. How could he get in all his points? I was a bit concerned as I edited my text down (just in case) but determined to be chilled about it all the same. However, in the back of my head was a nagging voice saying 'but you do have to contribute at some point Sue or else the AHRB will want their travel allowance back. You can’t lie about giving a contribution and Alison [my Ph. D. supervisor] will have to verify your visit. Just make sure you join in and you’ll sort of fulfill the requirements. 'Oh God no!' I thought as I remembered posing for a photograph with my empty tablet packets before I set off. 'There are expectations of me'.

A Contribution Gets Made
'My session' was scheduled to run between 8pm - 10pm. By now the speakers time was rumoured to be further reduced to 3 mins. (due to translations). 'Oh well, shit or bust, here we go!' To the fore of this smaller designated conference room was a long table covered with a white cloth. Seated at the centre was a Mexican man (The Chair) and next to him sat a Professor from Burundi. Helmut, a research student from Germany was at one end, I was next to the man from Burundi and next to me was Professor Dan from UCLA. The room was packed full of people, but not sat in a single group. The ‘audience’ was arranged in small groups according to the ‘language of communication’ and each group had a translator in the centre whispering the translations. 'God! how would my colloquialisms translate?' People seemed to be arguing all around me and I couldn’t understand a bloody word being said. I became aware that the man from Burundi was directing the arguments. He was giving out really dominant, arrogant vibes. His face was incredible - like a snotty-nosed mask, stubborn and insistent as he kept repeating 'non! non!' Wonderful, amazing, Donna the American translator came over. She was trying to explain to me that the man from Burundi felt it would be appropriate if he and the other two important people (the Mexican Chair & Dan) spoke for ten mins. each and that Helmut and me (being students) should chip into the conversations following. I just wanted peace so I said okay but was getting worried that I wouldn’t be able to participate in this difficult environment. Anyway a further argument developed that lasted 15 - 20 minutes about how the audience might get a chance to speak. I was getting bored with this and pissed off with the man from Burundi and was glad when they finally seemed to sort it out. Then a piece of paper was passed around which people were signing. I assumed that this was yet another petition coming and as it didn’t come my way I resolved to look at it later. I later discovered that the man from Burundi had decided to send this paper round asking people to sign it if they wanted 2 mins. in which to speak. Of course, because I hadn't signed I wasn’t on this list of speakers. Should I have assumed that because I had been invited to speak that I had a right to speak and to be informed of any changes? The irony was that I was focusing so much upon the other people there that I was missing an opportunity to contribute and possibly to have my travel funding authorised. After that journey too! Anyway, I resolved to worry about this later and to focus upon recording speakers. But I couldn’t do that sat next to the man from Burundi. He had stressed me out with his bullying approach and I had to get away from him. I also found the segregation of audience and panel unsettling. And so (ignoring Professor Dan’s protests) I decided to seat myself as a link between audience and panel and I got up and took my chair with me, placing it and siting in between the two. I’d sussed by now that I’d missed my chance to sign the list and so got on with note taking. The (weak in relation to the man from Burundi) Mexican Chair spoke for 10/15 mins, so did the Professor from Burundi as did Dan and then the talks moved into the audience. The list of speakers was long... it got to 10pm, 10.30pm, 11pm, 11.15pm and then Donna the translator whispered to me 'I wish you’d speak Sue'. What had eaten at me most was the dominance of the man from Burundi and how bloody rude he’d been. If I didn’t speak up now I’d regret it forever that I’d let him carry on like that and I leapt out of my seat. 'Excuse me, excuse me everybody'. People were looking at me now. Shit. Voices were chattering in all tongues. 'Excuse me' had to be translated many times over. The man from Burundi was taking control. Donna interpreted, 'he says that your name isn’t on the list so you can’t speak'. Now I got mad. 'I didn’t understand the list, and I was invited to the panel' I protested. The objections got more varied and louder. Things were disintegrating into chaos. Oh no! Then an idea came to me. Sometimes actions are needed where language won’t reach and I went and picked up the bag of empty tablet packets I had bought with me. I opened it up to reveal its contents and then started to shake the bag and chuck the contents out all over the room. Some people tried to suppress giggles and other people just stared, gob-smacked. Meanwhile the man from Burundi was stunned. Steam was coming out of his ears. He was no longer in control and I just wanted to laugh at him. People started to complain again so I walked up and down the front of the room, kicking the tablet packets around and staring-out the man from Burundi. The room went quiet. The translators were ready and I offered my contribution. I talked off the top of my head about the lack of solidarity among colleagues in Britain and of how others wouldv'e killed to get my job and desk space. I just contributed a little story. Although I was sad that I had felt the need to be an activist amongst activists and therefore in a way diverting attention from our shared concerns and issues to a confrontation with a dominant man from Burundi, some things just happen. For the 2 - 3 mins that I was able to contribute, I feel immensely grateful. Interested listeners are a gift indeed. People came to help me pick up the empty tablet packs after... Tariq from Palestine who had been imprisoned for being a member of the Students’ Union, Juliette a Ph.D student from France who was feeling the impact of staff cuts and overwork at the University in which she studied and who wanted to make practical connections with me with regards to these issues and a German woman who kissed and thanked me for doing what I did. I later spent the evening supping with other delegates. Charlie, who had been employed as a £75,000 pa banker in London, told me his story. It was very similar to mine (a story of abuse through overwork) and had lead to a similar outcome, in that we had both retired from our jobs through ill health. Charlie is now an activist who earns a small income from working as a freelance translator. On Sunday I returned to my gathering and recording of the conference speakers before flying ‘home’.

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