Red Chairs and Lessons

A Brief Epilogue

Bibliographic Data

ID21288124
AuthorsJudith F Kroll (0000-0002-7951-0702, corresponding author)
Year2024
Volume137
Issue2
Pages225-229
Publication date2024-07-01
Open AccessNo
TypeARTICLE
VenueThe American Journal of Psychology (JOURNAL)
Journal identifiersISSN: 0002-9556 • E-ISSN: 1939-8298
PublisherUniversity of Illinois Press (PUBLISHER • US)
DOI10.5406/19398298.137.2.13
OpenAlexW4404396805
LanguageEN
References cited19

I begin with a confession. I stole the red chair. Not at first, but later. I moved into my office in the Moore Building at Penn State in 1994, and there in the hallway was an amazing red chair. It was worn and marked to be moved to salvage, but it was also very cool and looked comfortable. Like Goldilocks, I tried it out and moved it into my office, thinking that with a little red duct tape it would be just right. And taking something marked for salvage wasn't exactly stealing. It was only reducing the workload for those who would be clearing the hallway of furniture marked for removal. Little did I know how important a role it would play in the years to come.In 2016, when David and I moved to California, I decided that the red chair was mine. It had nurtured too many generations of students for me to think it belonged to anyone else. So when the movers came to take our personal belongings from our offices, I decided that the red chair was coming with me. Whether that makes me a thief may be a matter of opinion. It had an additional 22 years of wear and had been the site of intense discussion, great joy, and many tears. It had to come with me. So I became a thief of sorts. The object is now what it is, an old chair with tattered and peeling red duct tape.Why care about a chair? I want to use my comments in this space to express my deep appreciation to all who conceived of and contributed to this issue, many of whom sat in that chair at one time or another. I will allow myself a few words to explain from my own perspective what I have been able to take with me from the experiences that have been recounted and from the science we have produced together. In a sense, those experiences are an act of theft. We are hired into faculty positions to teach, conduct research, and contribute service. The direction of giving and taking is clear in the contract. But the truth is that if we are lucky, in the end we are the recipients of something much more. What we gain may not be theft per se, but it is a sense of coming away with something more than what we started with and about which we may not have felt ownership from the beginning. And now in 2024, so many years later, I am still learning new things by reading what everyone has written and even some things that take me by surprise! In what follows, I am going to try to say a tiny bit about what I've learned, understanding that no brief comments will be sufficient. In keeping with the tone of the Festschrift papers, my comments may be more personal than is usually the case in an academic journal.Reading each of these articles has given me an opportunity to reflect on what we've learned about bilingual minds and brains, what we've learned about each other and ourselves, and what it means to sustain communities of scholarship and friendship. Although I have not retired, the occasion of a Festschrift is a moment of looking back, something that might be beneficial to do more frequently but for which few us find time in our busy lives. It seems impossible that in looking back there might be anything new that we hadn't seen already. But there always is.On the science of bilingualism, reading these contributions has brought home a nagging reminder that I have been not only a thief but also a fugitive, having run from the revised hierarchical model (RHM) once its impact was evident. There is immense gratification when your work has been recognized and perhaps especially so when you are still relatively young. But there is also a grip on your identity that can be hard to shake. You have experiences in which others act as if you were the model itself and that whatever you happened to publish in 1994 will follow you to the grave. Science is about sticking your neck out, testing new ideas, and making discoveries. But it is also about modesty and understanding that each new proposal is only in the service of the next set of developments.In “You Can't Play 20 Questions With Nature And Win,” Allen Newell (1973) described the state of cognitive psychology in the 1970s, with research posed around binary oppositions, a flurry of tests of those oppositions, and findings that are rarely easily accommodated by either side of the opposing views, leading to dead ends and lack of interest. When the RHM was published in 1994, there was a great deal that we didn't know, particularly about the parallel activation of a bilingual's two languages. For some, the failure to assume nonselective access to both languages was a sufficient basis on which to reject the RHM categorically (Brysbaert & Duyck, 2010). For others, the RHM provided an opportunity to ask how attentional mechanisms might function as part the model to better understand how bilinguals achieve control of the two languages (Green, 1998; and see Kroll, Bobb, & Wodniecka, 2010).At a certain point, my own reaction was to want to run from the RHM and hide from the discussion. Why? In the research described by Schwartz and Sunderman (this issue), we had begun to challenge and extend the RHM ourselves (and see Dufour & Kroll, 1995). But humans, even scientist humans, have some strange views about loyalty. If you propose something, do you then need to stand by it as it was proposed and defend it regardless of what you've learned in the interim and regardless of how your own thinking has moved on? That doesn't seem like good science. It was perhaps an overreaction on my part, but I had begun to acquire training in using electrophysiology so we could begin to address the neural basis of bilingual language processing, we had made some initial discoveries about the parallel activation of the two languages in reading and speaking (e.g., Hoshino & Kroll, 2008; Kroll et al. 2006; Schwartz & Kroll, 2006; Sunderman & Kroll, 2006), and it seemed time to move on from the specifics of the RHM to a broader and more complex account. At the same time, only a few years earlier, Giuli Dussias had joined the Penn State faculty, and we had been discussing the connections between our research programs, writing together, and beginning to co-mentor doctoral students. Her research program on grammatical processing in two languages and on code switching required that we think more broadly about models and mechanisms.In a sense, all research is about noticing the clues that emerge that tell us that we aren't thinking about the problem in quite the right way. Language nonselectivity became critical in characterizing the dynamics of the bilingual language system (e.g., Dijkstra, 2005; Marian & Spivey, 2003), but a set of other findings suggested that there was more to it and that some features of the RHM might capture them. One was that the bilingual's languages are continually changing and developing (e.g., Bice & Zirnstein, this issue; Finger & Weissheimer, this issue; Rossi & Gullifer, this issue; Sunderman & Kroll, 2006; Talamas, Kroll, & Dufour, 1999), not only as second language (L2) learners gain proficiency but throughout life as the two languages are used actively. The RHM was fundamentally a developmental model, proposing that the connections from word forms to meaning change as the L2 is acquired and used (and see Bialystok, this issue). The other feature of the RHM was that the first or dominant language (L1) plays a crucial role in modulating that developmental sequence, with reliance on the L1 at the start as a mediator to open the system to the rich meaning that late L2 learners already have in place for the L1. In 2024, I would argue that the plasticity associated with the L1 is perhaps the most significant legacy of the RHM as those ideas have developed into models of language regulation (e.g., Bice & Zirnstein, this issue) that enable us to understand a range of phenomena, including the control that enables language and code switching and that may vary across contexts of language use (e.g., Beatty-Martínez et al., this issue). Recent studies suggest that the L1, even when it is the first acquired language, is not stable or privileged. We and others have written about how this research requires a revision of traditional views of the native language and what it means to be a native speaker (e.g., Kroll & Finger, 2023). So I am no longer hiding from the model. It was a launchpad for other things to come and one for which the impact has extended beyond the local details (e.g., Bialystok, this issue).Another observation is that the clues to where we are now were actually in view for quite a long time. Giuli Dussias's research had shown that grammatical processing in the L1 comes to be influenced by the L2 (Dussias & Sagarra, 2007). There is now overwhelming evidence that cross-language interactions are bidirectional (e.g., Bice & Zirnstein, this issue). Over 20 years ago, we reported a curious finding. Kroll, Michael, Tokowicz, and Dufour (2002) found that native English speakers learning Spanish or French as an L2 were slower to name words in English, their L1, relative to native English speakers who were already proficient in those languages. Why were they slower? This was puzzling because they were all native speakers. We ruled out some alternatives, but it looked as if it was something about the effects of L2 learning or exposure on the L1. Linck, Kroll, and Sunderman (2009), examining the role of language immersion, found that the L1 appeared to be inhibited when learners were living in the L2 context. When immersed abroad, native speakers of English had difficulty retrieving words in English. The broad range of emerging findings suggested that this wasn't only about learners at early stages of acquiring another language, nor was it restricted to the lexicon. Adding cognitive neuroscience methods, as we did in 2007, sharpened the picture (e.g., Rossi & Gullifer, this issue; Zhang, Diaz, Guo, & Kroll, 2021), and we came to see that particularly for new learning and for comprehension, these regulatory patterns were sometimes more apparent in brain activity than in behavior alone.Moving the lab to California in 2016 not only involved moving a special red chair but enabled access to the majority bilinguals in the United States who are heritage speakers of a home language other than English. The richness and variation of heritage experience have provided a special lens to the bilingual experience that affects the ways language and cognition come together in contexts that are linguistically and culturally diverse (e.g., Kroll, in press). The networks that shape the linguistic tango to which Beatty-Martínez et al. (this issue) refer are in sharp relief in southern California, where many languages can be overheard and where speakers themselves are switching between them. We learned that even for monolingual speakers, hearing others doing a linguistic tango in the environment around them, even when the languages are unknown, may enhance new language learning (Bice & Kroll, 2019).There is much more that can be said about the science but I turn now to the people doing the science. Giuli and David (Dussias & Rosenbaum, this issue) have described the development of the Center for Language Science at Penn State and the associated growth of an international network for research on bilingualism. In their account, they have given me far more credit than I deserve. This was a team effort from the start and one that benefited from our location. Why would anyone come to State College, Pennsylvania, to do research on bilingualism, where so few people are bilingual? It wasn't a natural fit. Ironically, the geographic location of Penn State, right in the middle of the state, may have been an advantage. Being the only game in town brings people together and also highlights the need to reach out to others in locations where bilingualism is more prevalent. So we gathered together and also reached out. The Center for Language Science emerged in 2006 in a process that we often described as organic, taking our location into account as we pursued our passion for research on bilingualism. We had experience reaching out because all of us working on bilingualism had lived in or traveled to many other locations to do our work, and many of our colleagues and their students had come to visit us from the Netherlands, Spain, Poland, Italy, China, and elsewhere. Students are often the catalysts for collaboration, and these visits produced many enduring collaborations that remain active (Bajo & Wodniecka, this issue).A missing piece of the story is that we worked together on many proposals to fund the training and the research we were doing; many of our initial efforts failed. But in the process, we learned a great deal about each other and the types of contributions we each might make to developing this cross-disciplinary network. As Giuli and David have written, the award of the National Science Foundation Partnerships in International Research and Education (PIRE) grant, first in 2010 and then in 2015, recognized this effort. Our international network was a natural part of who we were, not something forced for the purpose of chasing grant dollars. Since 2010, many students and early career scholars have had these short-term research abroad experiences supported by the PIRE program. For some, the encounter with new colleagues and cultures and the opportunity to focus on research intensively has been truly transformative in shaping their career trajectories.Shortly after receiving the first PIRE grant in 2010, we faced a new set of challenges that were imposed by the renovation of the Moore Building on the Penn State campus. The Center for Language Science had to move into temporary space in the basement of the science building. There were no real walls, only thin metal dividers that created office spaces and lab rooms that were like human filing cabinets. The rooms had 3 feet of grating that separated the “walls” from the ceiling. The effect was to create a noisy din. How would we get research done in this space? After much negotiating we were able to purchase 10 sound-attenuated chambers, all squeezed into one large room. There were many problems to resolve, but in the end it worked. In what we came to call “the dungeon” we were able to be productive, to provide access to lab space to those who might not otherwise have easy access, and to squeeze the grad student offices into a set of bullpen spaces together. It sounds awful, but the 3 years we spent in the dungeon were a gift in disguise. There were no secrets because everyone could hear everyone else, in the close quarters occupied by the grad students, there was an excited exchange of research ideas and social interaction, and we hosted a stream of international visitors. We even survived an earthquake during that period, a rare event in Pennsylvania.There was much to be learned from these experiences. I don't know that the benefits of the dungeon would have outweighed the costs had it gone on much longer than it did, or whether the outcome would have been as successful if the first efforts at writing training grants together had succeeded or if we had been located in a more diverse urban center that was a natural hub for bilingualism. We'll never know. But what was possible in those years together at Penn State was the development of a unique cross-disciplinary community that included many friendships and collaborations that have stood the test of time. What is evident in the articles contributed to this issue is that many of these collaborations have not only endured but have been transformed in the next career stages that have taken this group of researchers to physically new locations and to intellectually new places in their work. I take no credit for any of the successes but hope that in some small way I was able to contribute to creating an open environment that allowed others to take risks in their work and in their friendships and to learn to be generous to a fault. Generosity sometimes requires a huge investment, but it is often the smallest gestures that are the most consequential, involving just a tiny bit more of our time to be available to others.I was a college student in the late 1960s and a graduate student in the 1970s. It was a time of feminist awakening but not a time when women were particularly present or supported. I had the privilege of having some amazing female mentors, including Joan Gay Snograss at New York University when I was an undergraduate and Molly Potter at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology much later, when I was finishing my PhD and beginning postdoctoral research. One article in this issue tells the story of the creation of Women in Cognitive Science (WiCS). Randi Martin and Suparna Rajaram describe our collaborative efforts to create a visible presence for women cognitive scientists. Like others in this issue, they have given me far too much credit for this shared collaborative effort. WiCS (now WiCS* to acknowledge gender diversity and under new leadership) succeeded because it recognized that women at all career stages need to talk about the issues that are rarely discussed in public. Validation does not always ensure representation or visibility. This was a collaboration that began with a hallway conversation and morphed into an organization that is still with us more than two decades later. There are some things in life and work that are not optional. Talking about what is real is one of them.To all who contributed to this Festschrift, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am a better person for all we have done together, and the science is so much more exciting by virtue of your contributions. The communities we have built together will invite others who are just beginning these adventures. For Giuli and David, I don't have words that are adequate. Giuli is the most incredible colleague and friend. She is brilliant and brave. She invents ways to accomplish what needs to be done, she supports others who might not otherwise have support, and she shares all she knows so that everyone thrives. And when adversity strikes, she is the first to stand up and move all us forward because that is the only choice. And David, my partner in life and a distinguished scientist in own right never about or about only about what things has the to be in ways that are something that has given our two you those who have sat in the red chair and those who It is in California, and all are

Categorization, perception, and language · History · Neurobiology of Language and Bilingualism · Reading and Literacy Development