Today I got an email from the president of Pearson Longman for the Asia Pacific region. He explained that he was in Tokyo, looking at ways to get food and supplies to the eight Pearson Longman staff and their families based in Sendai -- people who by all accounts are doing it extremely tough. He also mentioned that, although I am obviously based in Australia now, if there was anything he could do to help me reach out to people close to me in Japan, then he wanted to know how he could help.
I thought this was a thoughtful and touching gesture. This was an individualised email as well -- not some blanket message to a Pearson contacts list -- and I'm sure Mr. Cameron has been very busy personally reaching out to a huge number of people in this fashion.
But the email also got me thinking. As a writer.
Books are truly amazing things in all sorts of ways. One of them is the way they transcend time and space, connecting a person with a pen (or keyboard) and some experience and ideas with people in places that are far away.
With education-based publications, it's special in other ways as well. Coursebooks (for better or worse, and I hope readers will appreciate that this isn't the time or place to start a debate about such issues) represent transmission of learning content, learning methodology and techniques, and ideas on ways to effectively teach and learn.
Writing coursebooks isn't a matter of just getting something down and making it a marketable profit-facilitating product. Anyone who takes ELT writing seriously (and I know a good many people who do) knows that there is a huge investment involved on the part of the writer, of time, dedication, consideration, and effort. Emotion, even.
This is why, when you suddenly hear from a teacher or learner on the other side of the world who happens to be using your books, you feel instantly connected to them. You are already sharing something together, and it goes well beyond letters and images on printed paper.
It's also a good part of the reason why most ELT writers agree to tour regions of the globe and meet users of their books basically without pay. Sure, there's usually a marketing angle to it for more sales, but I think I could confidently speak for many writers when I say that most of it comes down to a genuine desire to personally build on that very initial connection that takes place when one writes something and someone else reads and uses it. I hear a lot of teachers say it is wonderful to meet the writer of their materials 'in the flesh.' I can't begin to tell you how much more wonderful it is from the other direction, to meet and get to know people who have been generous and open-minded enough to take your teaching ideas and materials seriously.
My coursebook series, Boost!, represents a considerable chunk of my own life, thoughts and feelings. It sells very well in Japan, thanks no doubt in part to the excellent advice and feedback from Mayumi Tabuchi, who was one of the series editors.
Thanks also, no doubt, to people like the eight Pearson Longman staff based in Sendai struggling through what must be absolutely mind-boggling devastation.
Now here's the difficult part to cope with.
There's a very high possibility that there are at least a few copies of Boost! scattered through tsunami-ravaged wreckage and mud in the tsunami-affected regions of Japan. Some are possibly falling apart far out to sea.
Some of them quite possibly belonged to learners and teachers who are struggling to survive and start putting their lives back together. Some of them quite possibly belonged to learners and teachers who will never read another book again, or look upon loved ones, or enjoy a breath of fresh air.
I feel that.
Not the way so many other people feel loss based on their connections with people in places like Sendai. Of course, it would be stupid and crass to attempt any sort of comparison.
But I feel a connection, however thread-like, and it saddens me deeply. Saddens me even more when I try to contemplate what it must be like for the people whose connections are of the flesh, blood and emotional sort.
To the people in Sendai I've 'met', through my simple modest efforts on coursebook paper, my thoughts are with you.
This whole issue also got me to thinking of how educational publishers can do something for the affected people and areas in Japan.
Beyond the immediate needs and priorities, eventually the people in these areas are going to need to try and get on with their lives and look to their futures. For many of them, English education is going to (continue to) be a part of that.
For a time at least, they are going to be without certain necessities. Like classrooms, desks and whiteboards.
And course materials.
That's where publishers can help in the not-too-distant future, I feel.
Why not look at a place like Sendai and see how many of which titles were sold there at about this time last year. Replace those titles in similar quanitities for free.
I can guarantee you that the authors of those titles will not be worried about missed royalties... In fact, every ELT writer I know would be ecstatic to hear their work was being distributed in this fashion for this cause.
Help those people, in this small but not insignificant way, get on with their lives and their future prospects.
Just a thought.
=D
