Language as a resource with fluctuating values: Arabic speakers in humanitarian and social work

2.1 Communication work at the ICRC

Maria Rosa’s ethnography explored the ICRC, the oldest existing humanitarian agency, founded in French-speaking Geneva, Switzerland in 1863. In 2017, the ICRC employed over 18,000 workers worldwide, and only around 15% constituted mobile staff. “Mobile” staff are assigned to temporary missions in over 80 countries worldwide. The ICRC’s administrative languages are French and English. Other regional languages for operations, apart from Arabic, are Spanish, Portuguese, Chinese and Russian. Yet the ICRC key operations in 2017 were mostly in Arabic-speaking designated regions, including Syria, South Sudan, Iraq, Yemen and Somalia. “Mobile communicators” are in charge of public communication with the media and on the ICRC’s webpage and social media. They are also responsible for operational communication with interlocutors and war victims in the field. This paper centres on mobile Arabic-speaking communicators whose careers are managed from the ICRC headquarters in Geneva.

Maria Rosa collected institutional documents, interviews and focus groups from November 2016 to May 2018. In addition to an interview with the mobile pool manager (who manages the mobile communicators in over 80 delegations worldwide from the ICRC headquarters), she conducted 11 interviews with active Arabic-speaking communicators in MENA delegations (three face-to-face and eight over Skype), as well as with the diversity officer and the former Arabic examiner in Geneva. She also organised three focus groups with communicators in Geneva and Beirut. The first one brought together four Arabic-speaking communicators in MENA to map the main issues (March 2017), while the second one counted on six Arabic-speakers (three of whom participated in the first focus group) to comment on preliminary findings. The third one sought to compare their linguistic affordances and constraints in MENA with three non-Arabic speakers.

2.2 Language work at a counselling centre for refugees

Jonas’ ethnography was in a CC for refugees in Vienna, Austria. This CC is one out of approximately 10 in Vienna alone, run by an NGO also present in all of Austria that has subdivisions depending on its clientele. Its focus is on issues related to housing, as well as offering individual counselling and support. The services are partly funded by the federal government. The staff of this particular CC consists of around ten counsellors with a heterogeneous academic background (e.g. in law, social work and social/political sciences). There are two employed interpreters (one for German–Farsi, the other for German/English–Arabic) and a larger and fluctuating number of volunteer interpreters (for Arabic, Dari, Farsi, Kurdish, Pashto and Somali, with the target languages German or English), some of whom are former clients of the CC. Apart from the interpreters, there are also some members of staff whose Arabic repertoires are used as a resource for work purposes (due to turnover, Arabic-speaking staff have fluctuated between one and three between 2016 and 2018).

Jonas regularly participated in everyday work processes at the CC as a participant observer for over 30 months (April 2016–September 2018). During that time, Jonas volunteered for 12 months, documenting his ethnographic experiences and observations in field notes. He collected institutional documents, conducted a total of 18 interviews with staff members and (volunteer and employed) interpreters, and audio-recorded ten internal work meetings.

4.1 Division of (linguistic) labour: Unequal labour trajectories

“Communication delegates” at the ICRC are required to have C1-level written and spoken English and “professional mastery” of an L2, i.e. Arabic, French or Russian, with any other languages as a “distinct advantage” (from job description of communication delegate, 2018). Note that the ICRC conceptualises languages as bounded systems that can be measured as skills. Given that the number of applications by candidates with suitable Arabic competence was scarce, the ICRC started to advertise for an “Arabic-speaking communications delegate” defined by this specific linguistic skill (Urciuoli 2008) in 2012. In line with the general post description, this post also requires English as an institutional language in MENA delegations. French is an asset for career advancement within the ICRC, being one of the two institutional languages used at the headquarters (see Example 1).

The top-down gatekeeping for this post takes the form of in-house language tests. In our interview, Mohammed^[1], a long-established Arabic language examiner and interpreter, claimed that Arabic tests were different owing to the diglossic situation between MSA and the geographic clusters or “dialects”. “Native speakers” were not exempt from the test as they were for other working languages. Mohammed sought to establish if the candidate could “speak the dialect” and if s/he could read and write in MSA. The test consisted of an oral interview in “dialect” followed by an interview in Fuṣḥa and a written piece. According to the examiner, speaking Fuṣḥa is useful to communicate with non-Arabs such as Pakistanis, Afghans or Malaysians who learned it as L2. Reading MSA is key for sensitive documents such as prison regulations, which national staff cannot access for confidentiality and security reasons. Ultimately, however, the examiner emphasised knowing which regional variety the candidate speaks so that he could evaluate intercomprehension. In his own words, “you immediately see that he is speaking in Syrian or Lebanese dialect, this already gives you an idea that this person must not work in Algeria, because he will not understand anything in Algeria” (interview, 14 February 2018). Therefore, the examiner challenged the institutional monolithic categorisation of “Arabic”: “The ICRC, they say, they speak Arabic, we send them to an Arab country, but which Arabic do they speak? They tell me, Mohammed, you have a very high standard” (interview, 14 February 2018). Given that Mohammed’s attention to varieties of Arabic was generally not factored in for field deployment, many mobile communicators initially experienced difficulties in understanding – or being understood – in the field. Fortunately, they reported to gradually develop intercomprehension strategies.

As we have seen, Arabic is not required of all communicators in the ICRC mobile pool. Arabic speakers form a differentiated group with dedicated recruitment campaigns. These professionals express that they feel they are carrying a “burden” because their ICRC careers are often restricted to the Middle East. One mobile communicator, Sophie, puts it like this: “we call it the ‘Arabic-speaking curse’ is that, you will have, like, to spend most of your ICRC life being in the Middle East? which is like the area where there are the most conflicts now” (interview, 24 April 2017). Unaccompanied missions in conflict areas, known as “hardship posts” among delegates, entail strict security measures such as curfews and sheltered accommodation, as well as a higher personal risk – i.e. more exposure to violence and bodily risks to their lives – due to “security incidents”.

The ICRC informants all agree that they do not have as much geographical mobility across the 80 countries where the ICRC is present compared to other communicators who do not speak Arabic. This points towards an unequal distribution of symbolic resources in their careers. There are fewer contexts in which speakers of other ICRC regional languages such as Spanish or Russian are required. Therefore, they get assigned to other contexts where these languages are not spoken, including MENA where English (and not Arabic) is the working language. Some experienced Arabic-speaking communicators claim the lack of variety in their missions, i.e. outside the region, has restricted their chances to obtain management positions. Also, Arabic is not required for mobile and management positions in the region. According to Ashem, a communicator in the region who does not speak Arabic, “knowing Arabic can just boost your work, it’s not really necessarily about getting a promotion” (Focus group 3, 9 May 2018). For many informants, Arabic is a useful working language in MENA, but does not contribute to career progression in the same way as French, which is an important asset for missions outside the MENA region and for management positions (see Example 1 above).

Despite being repeatedly assigned to “hardship posts” mainly in MENA, Arabic-speaking communicators presently enjoy a higher degree of job security compared to communicators who do not speak Arabic, owing to the many ongoing operations in the region. One of these communicators, Nour, states that “I will always find work (at the ICRC) thanks to my Arabic” after a fixed-term contract and personal breaks between missions, to the astonishment of non-Arabic speakers in the pool who might have problems of re-employment after the end of a mission or a temporary contract (interview, 2 February 2017). In humanitarian organisations, mobility and field experience (as opposed to desk jobs in headquarters) and especially postings in risky contexts are highly valued (Jansson 2016). Therefore, ICRC communicators in MENA have a marketable CV by virtue of their “hardship posts”. This does not mean, however, that Arabic speakers have easier access to promotions, management positions or even posts outside MENA. To paraphrase, the interpretation of the potential economic and symbolic value of Arabic results in an ambivalent situation at the ICRC and on the humanitarian labour market: simultaneously precarious and relatively secure.

4.2 Effective communication in the field: Cultural and pragmatic knowledge

Many ICRC communicators insisted on the idea that speaking a geographical variety of Arabic allows immediate communication with Arabic-speaking interlocutors, bypassing interpreters, and evokes trust and familiarity on the basis of cultural references and pragmatic competence. They regarded non-mediated communication and common ground as advantages for effective communication with the media, authorities, armed groups and civilians in the field. Colloquial language and oral varieties seem to facilitate communication with these interlocutors in the field. This language speculation seemed to pay off.

Mobile communicator Hakim claims that the Arabic language is “an extremely important part of the culture” in the region and that it would facilitate communication in the field since “I used to, just say, as-salāmu ʿalaīkum, everybody who would be angry would suddenly see, this peaceful and happy faces, showing up immediately, just like a switch” (interview, 23 February 2017). Following the greetings, the interlocutors typically asked him where he is from, to which he answered, “I am an Arab” and talked about his home country. In Hakim’s narrative, the Arabic greeting functions as a “shibboleth” that creates a common ground between the interlocutors and the ICRC representative, and facilitates professional communication. Another “shibboleth” creating common ground is the (limited) use of the interlocutors’ geographical variety. For instance, Sophie – another mobile communicator – concurs that “it’s like people immediately connect to you when you are speaking their own language and sometimes even if you try to use their own dialect” for jokes or for ice-breakers (interview, 24 April 2017). Being positioned as a fellow Arab by the interlocutors in the field, by virtue of certain linguistic “shibboleths”, allows these communicators to act more freely.

The informants’ narratives also revolve around the communicative effectiveness of shared cultural references, which collapse notions of language, culture, race and religion. In the second focus group with Arabic-speaking communicators in MENA, Salif claims that “Arabs” are more knowledgeable about the shared cultural references and communicative practices in the region and can analyse what is going on around them more easily than “foreigners” (i.e. non-Arabs, see Section 4.3 for L2 Arabic speakers). In his own words, “the fact that you know Islam makes it easier for you to digest what’s going [on] around you, and to analyse it through this what-what we call Arab-Islamic culture” (Focus group 2, 8 May 2018).

Furthermore, this cultural familiarity also includes pragmatic decisions about how to speak to or contact an interlocutor. In the same focus group, Salif tells a story to illustrate the professional advantages of his knowledge about appropriate ways of speaking. During a field trip in an Arabic-majority country involved in an armed conflict, he was travelling with a “blonde” expatriate delegate when people in masks stopped their car. This narrative is co-constructed with his colleague Aida, and with other colleagues’ non-verbal approval, and explicitly addressed to Maria Rosa, recognised as a non-Arab. In Example 2, Salif reflects on the importance of doing-being an Arab (lines 1–2) in the narrated events, shown in his pragmatic knowledge of speaking “directly” (line 3), contrasted with “English” people’s less direct styles (line 7). Please note that he is unsure about how to name non-Arabs. “English person” doubly refers to English-speaking delegates like his colleague in the storyworld and probably, also, to Maria Rosa, who conducts the focus group in English within the storytelling context. Salif voices his character as someone who speaks directly and assertively to the people who stopped their vehicle in the narrated events. He comes across as both authoritative in the focus group, where he holds the floor with Aida’s backchanneling to tell a story as a knowledgeable research informant, and in the narrated events located in a conflict zone, where he avoided a security incident as an experienced Arabic-speaking delegate.

Example 2. ICRC, focus group 2 (8 May 2018)

Salif aligns with the ICRC delegate persona who can avoid (potential) kidnapping thanks to his embodiment and comportment, which is informed by being “an Arab” (lines 16–18). Through the narrative he imbues his “knowledge of Arabic culture” (line 2) with value in this professional situation. Likewise, the ICRC maintains that expats’ knowledge of “the local language, values and socio-cultural customs and rule” reinforce ICRC acceptance among locals and operational security for staff (Bruegger 2009: 436). By telling stories of successful communication during our focus groups, Salif performs the successful Arabic-speaking professional in ways that show how his social categorisation through language and cultural competence is instrumental to his communications work and safety – his own and that of others – in the region. All in all, there seems to be a discursive shift from social categorisations of speakerhood (based on language speculations in a given interaction) to ethnic identity and shared membership as “Arabs”.

4.3 “Neutrality” and unequal speakers of Arabic

The ICRC adheres to the fundamental principle of “neutrality”, defined as follows: “In order to continue to enjoy the confidence of all, the Movement may not take sides in hostilities or engage at any time in controversies of a political, racial, religious or ideological nature” (statutes of the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement 1986). Arabic-speaking delegates are sometimes perceived as “too close” to interlocutors and thus not neutral enough in the conflicts in which they work. During the first focus group of Arabic-speaking communicators (22 March 2017), Zaara questioned this institutional concept of “neutrality” in MENA because “it’s not really it’s- it’s- it’s not there in the Arab world e:h, because for us, it’s either you w- you have to have an opinion, and your opinion it should be either with me, or against me, then-, then neutrality is even worse for us to explain”. In this focus group, Salif agreed with Zaara. He contrasted his personal identity as an Arabic speaker and as an Arab which informs his (non-neutral) political stance in ongoing conflicts in the region (“In [country] you know who’s right and who’s wrong”) and his role as an ICRC delegate who has to be “neutral” and “impartial” in his work. In accordance with the fundamental principle, he claimed that “[the ICRC] is not treating this, and we’re [ICRC representatives] not doing, dealing with who’s right and who’s wrong and this is all impartiality and neutrality”.

In order to overcome this perception of non-/lesser “neutrality”, the institutional role foregrounds expatriate nationality: mobile communicators cannot be nationals of their country of destination. This outweighs linguistic competence in Arabic, which is the result of different linguistic socialisation paths. Additionally, the host countries impose a ban on certain nationalities by virtue of alliances and conflicts. As an illustration, Egyptian nationals cannot work in Israel, Yemen, Libya, Sudan and Iran, but they are accepted in Syria (mobile pool manager, personal communication). At an institutional level, these considerations relate to the unequal exposure to threats to one’s life owing to a misrecognition of certain (professional) personae owing to nationality.

For those with a recognisable regional accent in Arabic, foreign nationality seemingly mitigates the perception of closeness to the local interlocutors as “Arabs” and enhances the perception of them as “neutral” representatives. This is Alex’s case, a communicator of Lebanese origin. In our informal interview (22 February 2017), he claims that the Arabic-language media does not challenge his professional identity because he is primarily perceived as an ICRC representative despite a recognisable Lebanese accent. Alex claims that his regional accent is not sufficient to identify him as a Lebanese national, given that many delegates (15 out of 42 active mobile communicators in 2016) have dual nationality and can be perceived as heritage speakers of Arabic. For the ICRC, “neutrality” depends more on nationality than language, which Arab mobile staff have to manage and perform in situated encounters.

For those who are recognisable speakers of Arabic as an L2, called arabisant.e.s at the ICRC, it is more important to have an “easy” nationality for working in operational delegations, i.e. passports that allow holders to work in a variety of MENA contexts, than to have full competence in written Modern Standard Arabic (MSA). For example, Adam is an EU national who can communicate in a regional variety but who is not fully literate in Arabic. He claims that being a non-Arab who has learned Arabic actually earns him “a sort of respect, understanding and you have the appreciation that I came to this region and I work here and I speak their language” with the Arabic-speaking media (interview, 8 March 2017). Adam also makes the point that the media treat non-Arabs more gently: “coming from outside of the region, you know, unless you are an American, British or French? (laughs) you’re either always considered as neutral”. “Neutrality” is linked to being heard as a guest in the region, whose linguistic investment is appreciated and translates into a recognition of their professional persona. This contrasts with the potential misrecognition and precariousness of certain Arabic speakers as less “neutral”, like Alex, owing to their MENA nationality and accent.

5.1 Division of labour: The institutionalisation of language work

At the CC, there is little overt regulation of language on an institutional level. As a competence, “Arabic” does not appear to be treated so much as a bounded, homogeneous system and measurable skill, but as a continuum of varieties where intercomprehension is possible to varying degrees. Hence, the value of a variety and its speakers is rationalised with reference to more or less ad hoc notions of intercomprehension. Apart from this, the unequal values of varieties of Arabic, as well as speaker stereotypes, circulate in jokes and stories among staff and volunteer interpreters. Since there are no standardised language requirements for the posts, individual repertoires among employees vary greatly in terms of competence in different varieties, registers and literacy. One Arabic-speaking counsellor in particular, Yasmin, seems to play the role of an ideology broker (Blommaert 1999) in the microcosm of the CC in the sense that, by virtue of her expert status as a “native”, she selects, reproduces, circulates, contests and adheres to discourses on “Arabic”. As one of the longest-serving staff members at the CC and as manager of the pool of volunteer interpreters, her voice is consequential as to the ambivalent values of the linguistic varieties of Arabic. It resonates with more general discourses on the different varieties of Arabic circulating at the CC, which Jonas was able to record: the alleged scarce intelligibility of North African varieties, the pop-cultural importance of Egyptian varieties, the boldness of Iraqi varieties, and the closeness to the “standard” (which may refer to Fuṣḥa and/or MSA) of some (but not all) Levantine varieties. A standard variety is sometimes invoked as a common ground in counselling situations, e.g. when an interpreter says to a client “We’ll speak Hoch-Arabic [German–English “high Arabic”, probably a translation of Fuṣḥa] since you are from Iraq” (the interpreter’s English/German back translation of his own turn – which was directed to the client in a variety of Arabic – for the counsellor and Jonas, field notes, 3 April 2016).

Within the division of labour at the CC, the position of the “Arabic-speaking counsellor” constitutes a differentiated category which circulates among the staff and serves as a point of reference for them in the organisation of work tasks. The position is not, however, institutionalised on a formal level, i.e. there is no position of an “Arabic-speaking counsellor” in the staff hiring scheme. Language competences (of any sort) do not constitute a formal requirement – no tests nor diplomas are mandatory for counselling posts. However, they do appear in job advertisements for counselling posts (Example 3): German is listed as a requirement and other (“foreign”) languages as an asset. These other languages are specified as “Farsi/Dari and/or Arabic” which reflects the two most prominent language categories into which speakers were grouped at the time (2016) as they became clients of the CC.

English does not appear in the job advertisement (Example 3), but in internal communication the head of staff repeatedly categorised it as a fundamental competence for contact with both clients and interpreters. In sum, speaking Arabic as a foreign language is an asset, a cultural capital (Bourdieu 1986) highly valued at the CC, but not a requirement for becoming a counsellor at the CC.

There is no fully institutionalised differentiation between Arabic-speaking and non-Arabic-speaking counsellors. Formally, Arabic-speaking counsellors have the same tasks as the other counsellors: individual counselling with clients (speakers of various languages, including varieties of Arabic), communication with administrative bodies from e.g. the city of Vienna, thematic workshops for larger groups of clients (external and in-house) etc. Nevertheless, a differentiation among the staff based on linguistic competences is present and consequential. More so as its presence destabilises another boundary, which in turn becomes more openly negotiated and affirmed: that between (paid) Arabic-speaking counsellors and (mostly volunteer) interpreters. As Jonas observed, Arabic-speaking counsellors tend to assume and/or be asked to perform ad hoc tasks that they are not originally paid for and which overlap with those of the interpreters, i.e. translation of documents, phone calls to clients, or even interpreting for their colleagues. In the employment structure, the boundaries between the two positions are firmly institutionalised: counsellors are employed full- or part-time; interpreters are in most cases volunteers, except for two, who hold a so-called ‘minimal employment’ (geringfügige Beschäftigung). However, boundaries are blurred in the division of tasks, leading – whether it be at their own initiative or not – to extra work for the Arabic-speaking counsellors. In the documentation of a closed staff meeting (May 2016), this situation was openly labelled “exploitation” as a reminder to abstain from the practice of recruiting Arabic-speaking counsellors for (unpaid) interpreting tasks.

Sami, a counsellor, once said in the presence of Jonas and some of his colleagues that he regarded his knowledge of Arabic partly as a ‘curse’ [Fluch]. His colleagues asked him about the implications of this as they pertain to the distribution of tasks. Sami explained that he felt burdened by the fact that since the number of Arabic-speaking clients had increased, he could no longer work according to his professional function, i.e. work on his own cases, because he was always concerned with everyone else’s cases. His arguments were about setting boundaries and about professional fulfilment, which is subordinated to his role as a mediator. Staff members are aware of and recurrently draw these boundaries between the roles of (Arabic-speaking) counsellors and interpreters. The contingencies of everyday work practices, however, regularly lead to their transgression and, as a consequence, to their re-affirmation. For example, Jonas observed a scene where Yasmin was called to interpret for the reception desk. Afterwards, another colleague rhetorically asked her “you did not really translate now, did you?”, basically sanctioning her willingness to fill in for the missing interpreter. However, a sedimentation of these boundaries does not prevent or even address all of the implications of being a speaker of Arabic within the CC. Arabic-speaking counsellors fill in with their linguistic labour whenever interpreters are absent or scarce, or when the interpreters’ expertise – as the untrained volunteers they are – is deemed insufficient for the task at hand, as is often the case with the translation of documents. The professional position of a counsellor being categorised as speaker of Arabic is hence a precarious one. It is characterised by an unequal distribution of labour, namely extra, language-related tasks with respect to colleagues who do not have specific language resources in “Arabic”. In addition, this exposes these languaged counsellors’ professional position to the symbolic risk of slipping across the fuzzy boundaries to unpaid language work done by volunteers.

5.2 Precariousness and misrecognition: Being addressed as an Arabic speaker

At the CC, Arabic as part of a counsellor’s linguistic repertoire is regarded as a vulnerable point, one that potentially undermines the counsellor’s professionalism. This issue comes up in narrated episodes (e.g. at staff meetings) of Arabic-speaking counsellors’ encounters with their clients. Here, the attribution of an affiliation with “the Arab world” on the basis of their linguistic repertoires was perceived to come with an invitation to transgress defined institutional roles, for instance to offer preferential treatment and extra services. In these narrated episodes, being recognised as a speaker of an Arabic variety often explicitly points to a geographical origin or even religious affiliation which can be used by the other to ground their claims for acts of solidarity. To a certain extent, this is part of these languaged counsellors’ everyday work and they have developed counterstrategies of Abgrenzung (‘setting boundaries’). For example, at times, a routine task such as contacting a presumed real estate broker for a client may turn out to be problematic. The following extract exemplifies an incident where strategies of setting boundaries are institutionally regarded as necessary for the Arabic-speaking counsellor and how this is intimately connected to the positioning of the counsellor with regards to language (see Example 4).

The episode that is told during a staff meeting constitutes – and is presented as – a critical moment for the professional integrity of the institution and its representative Mona. While the event is delicate per se, even independently of the counsellor being languaged as a speaker of Arabic, this aspect becomes central in the way the event is entextualised in the narrative. The man on the phone, who is categorised as a fraudster with victims among the clients of the institution, is attempting to establish cooperation with the CC. The encounter is recounted by Sami, who is Mona’s colleague and, as the deputy head of staff, her superior. As such he ratifies her response to the man on the phone as appropriate. “Arabic” figures here in a scene both of recognition and misrecognition. He narrates how the man identifies “Arabic” (i.e. no specific variety but a bounded, named language) as part of Mona’s linguistic repertoire and tries to achieve a switch of language. The fact that Mona does not comply with this becomes an effective counteract in Sami’s narrative as he subsequently explains how the man connects the overt request to speak a linguistic variety qualifying as “Arabic” with figures of identity (such as being a Muslim, an Arab). Denying linguistic alignment becomes thus a way to maintain a professional distance, with language constructed as the site of performance of a shared ground. Such shared ground is perceived as an entry point for undermining the counsellor’s professional position. Episodes of this type are recurring in Jonas’ observations of Arabic-speaking counsellors’ self-presentation at staff meetings: the counsellors recount how they are recognised as speakers of Arabic. This recognition is met with attempts by their interlocutor to deploy it towards their own ends (at odds with institutional procedures) – attempts that the counsellors manage to contain. This seems to function as a re-affirmative positioning of the counsellor’s professionalism while, of course, reiterating the presupposition that the presence of Arabic in an individual’s linguistic repertoire jeopardises their professional persona. This assumption is a recurring element of the institutional discourse on counsellors who are constructed as Arabic speakers. It systematically exposes the languaged counsellors’ professional personae to a misrecognition risk. Primarily, this leads to precariousness in the symbolic dimension, i.e. concerning the negotiation of professional positions. As such, it has no direct effect in terms of precarity – that is to say, job (in)security and conditions – but only as long as the counsellor may be able to contain the imputed risk. In spite of efforts among colleagues to support them, the onus to do so falls on the languaged counsellors. Jonas witnessed a case where the imputed inability to set boundaries in the ways expected ultimately led to a contract termination. This is a case where the unequal distribution of symbolic risk results in an unequally secured access to resources and thus precarity.

5.3 Effective communication: Being a (good) counsellor

In an interview with Jonas, Yasmin, a counsellor, constructs “Arabic” and a familiarity with “the Arab world” (see above) as an effective resource when communicating with her clients. In her accounts, she takes a professional distance from her role (cf. Goffman 1972: 88–98), decoupling her Arabic-speaking biographical self and even “Arabic” as a named language from the communicative resource in use.

Consider for instance how she organises her communication in Arabic into registers. She explains that she speaks with certain clients – the ones she categorises as “conservative” – in a specific form of Arabic. This register she characterises by naming its emblematic words “Allah” and “Muhammad” as well as idiomatic phrases containing them (e.g. 'in ša' allah). She says she would not use these phrases in her private life – her mother, she says, “would not believe it”. In the interactive context of the interview, she achieves thus a complex (dis)alignment with this “conservative” register (positioning levels 2 and 3, sensu Bamberg 1997). Namely, she connects positionings in at least three narrated interactive scenes where she tells Jonas how she performs the register (1) with clients (alignment), though not (2) with interlocutors in her “private life” or (3) with her mother (disalignment, positioning level 1). In her description, she distinguishes two registers to which contrasting personae are attached, a “conservative” one, which is characterised by religious terms and expressions, and an unmarked one characterised by their absence (and thus probably a “secular” one). While she aligns more intimately with the secular register/persona (positioning level 3) that is characterised by the absence of the emblematic expressions, she attributes a specific (twofold) effectiveness to them. It serves to induce the clients to accept the limited scope of action she has as a counsellor, and it also serves to give them “at least”, she says, some “hope” as they leave “even without a result” from the counselling, describing the – as she terms it – somewhat “magical” effect of these expressions on the psychological state of the clients (interview with Yasmin, Jonas’ translation, 10 October 2016). The two registers allow her to play with distance and closeness: She distances herself from the persona attached to the register she uses at work, a register she uses to achieve common ground with a subset of her clients.

Moreover, she expands the scope of this register beyond linguistic boundaries. In what precedes the following extract of an interview with her (Example 5), Jonas asks her if it makes a difference to conduct counselling in Arabic or in German. She hesitates but finally rejects that idea, as it would rather depend on the individual. As an example, she describes how she engages with young Afghan and Iranian clients through non- and paraverbal gestures – using body language, speaking more gently – saying they understand her because they had a “similar mentality”, although they are not Arabs. She goes on to explain the verbal dimension of achieving “understanding” (Example 5).

Example 5. Interview with Yasmin, staff member at the CC (10 October 2016)

The communicative effectiveness as described by Yasmin is not tied to the comprehensive use of a shared language (as implied by the interviewer’s question), but more to specific word forms and concepts which index a shared ground on which she can positively align with the clients. She introduces these forms – the “Arabic terms” – to her interlocutor Jonas as part of a specific knowledge about her clients’ language practices. In the storyworld, they act as a shibboleth: she describes their effect (“they are happy”, line 08–09). Then, embodying the voice of a client persona (lines 09–10 and 12), she attributes an affective stance to the client persona (line 08–09) that results in positive alignment (line 12–13) with her in the storyworld. On the interactional level, this narrative elaborates the dimension of “understanding” she focuses on in her answer to Jonas’ question about potential differences between counselling in Arabic and German.

This way, the effect of her using the shibboleth in the storyworld (positioning level 1) serves to construct an effectiveness of her approach on the level of the interaction with Jonas in the interview (positioning level 2) which helps to construct a legitimate professional persona (positioning level 3). In the underlying logics of linguistic difference and miscommunication, Yasmin is able to position herself as someone who commands the creation of cultural and linguistic closeness as a resource or skill. While she constructs her knowledge of the register as somehow connected to her own “cultural” knowledge (viz. the argument of the “similar mentality” above), she does not explicitly position herself as really “culturally close”, but leaves this ascription to the reported voice of her Afghan clients (lines 09–10, 12). Thereby she positions herself as a professional who deploys her knowledge (whether constructed as based on her biography or not) to create intimacy as a favourable condition for her work, in order to make her clients “feel more at ease”. Compared to Example 4, being languaged has the same effect but with reverse intentionality: linguistic display, which comes with all sorts of indexical meanings, can serve to construct intimacy. The difference is that in this instance, such recognisability is desirable – even if Yasmin risks being misrecognised to a certain degree as the religious “conservative” person she is claiming not to be. Her professional positioning is thus characterised by a tension between a “private” self and a “professional” performance. The indexical meanings associated with what is constructed as Arabic can thus be reformulated as a resource. This is, however, at the expense of “buying into” reified notions of Arabic speakerhood, which in other instances – as seen in Section 5.2 – jeopardise the counsellors’ professional position, constructing them as more vulnerable.