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Vieira WritingRemittancesMigrationDriven 2016
Vieira WritingRemittancesMigrationDriven 2016
Vieira WritingRemittancesMigrationDriven 2016
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extend access to Research in the Teaching of English
Kate Vieira
University of Wisconsin, Madison
Literacy scholars have long studied migrant literacies in host countries, but have largely overlooked
how emigration shapes literacy learning in migrants' homelands. Yet homelands are crucial sites
of literacy research, as left-behind family members of migrants learn new literacy practices to
communicate with loved ones laboring or studying abroad. This article examines this overlooked
phenomenon by reporting on an ongoing qualitative study of migrants' family members and
return migrants in a midsized town in Brazil. Further developing a sociomaterial framework
for transnational literacy, it demonstrates that emigration promotes literacy learning among
homeland residents via the circulation of "writing remittances"—the hardware, software, and
knowledge about communication media that migrants often remit home. As objects of emotional
and economic value, writing remittances demand literacy learning as one condition of their
exchange. Because such learning, like money, is fungible, homeland residents often circulate and
reinvest it locally, with varying returns. Writing remittances mediate both intimate interpersonal
communication and the larger context of global economic inequity in which migrant families are
implicated, making such remittances rich sites ofprint and digital literacy practice across borders.
"Ai, que saudades!" (How I miss him!), Eliana1 says of her brother, who has lived
in the United States for 12 years. We are sitting in her spotless living room in the
midsized Brazilian town of Jaü, which I have visited at regular intervals since
2001. It is 2011, and for the first time I am there not only to visit family, but also
to conduct research. I sip the cold soda Eliana has offered me and proceed: How
do you overcome these saudades, this intense missing? Do you talk on the phone?
Write letters or emails? Use video chat? How, I want to know, do people remain
close when they are far? With an embarrassed laugh, Eliana gestures to the laptop
her brother sent her from the United States. It sits in a neat cabinet, topped with a
doily, awaiting her children's help to turn it on. Eliana does not know how to use
it. "I am becoming illiterate," she tells me. "But I want to learn." Eliana's brother's
transnational migration, symbolized by the presence and communicative potential
of the remitted laptop, demands what is for Eliana a new kind of literacy learning.
As such, this middle-class homemaker, who has never left Brazil, has found her
422 Research in the Teaching of English Volume 50, Number 4, May 2016
self at the forefront of pressing technological and global changes that are shaping
literacy today.
As of 2015, 244 million people live outside the country of their birth, repre
senting a steady growth in international migration over recent decades (United
Nations Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division, 2015). Yet many more
remain in their homelands. Much research has addressed the literacies of the former
group, migrants living abroad. Such research has shown how migrants negotiate
literacy within schools (Purcell-Gates, 2013; Sarroub, 2004; Valdés, 2001), outside of
schools (Duffy, 2007b; Kalmar, 2001; Orellana, 2009), and in digital spaces (Berry,
Hawisher, & Seife, 2012; Burrell & Anderson, 2008; Lam & Rosario-Ramos, 2009).
While scholars continue to grapple with the complexities of migrant literacy in host
countries, we have, with some notable exceptions (Guerra, 1998; Meyers 2014),
largely ignored the other side of the relationship between literacy and migration:
the way migration shapes literacy in the homelands migrants leave behind. Yet, as
many ethnographers and sociologists of transnational migration have argued (e.g.,
Dreby, 2010; Levitt, 2001), homelands are crucial sites of transnational research—
research that often emphasizes familial separation across national boundaries
(Parrenas, 2005). What are the implications of extended familial separation for
literacy, as family members learn (or don't learn) new literacy practices to sustain
intimate relationships across distance?
To offer one answer to this question, this article reports on a small-scale
qualitative study of migration-driven literacy learning among return migrants and
migrants' family members in one community. Using literacy history interviews,
I ask how homeland residents across social classes have experienced migration
driven literacy learning in lives that have seen radical shifts in transnational
communication technologies, from pre-Internet letter writing to a post-Internet
array of choices. I find that communication via print and digital media has been
entangled in global economic networks, as migrants send home what I have come
to call "writing remittances"—hardware (laptops and webcams), software (Skype,
MSN chat, ICQ), communication (letters, emails, video chats), and literacy knowl
edge—which homeland residents often take up, revalue, and invest. The concept
of "writing remittances" illustrates the relationship among economic inequality,
literacy's materiality, and the maintenance of intimacy across borders.
To theorize this relationship, and to argue for its relevance beyond the specific
site of this study, I further develop a sociomaterial framework for transnational
literacy (Vieira, 2016). The sociomaterial perspective forwarded here brings to
gether two fundamental aspects of literacy—its imbrication in economic trends
and its materiality—to examine how they interanimate each other in interpersonal
interactions across borders.
abroad (Margolis, 2013), many of Jaü's residents do not migrate. Judging from
the rate of automobile ownership ( 1 for every 2 residents), Jaü is riding the larger
national trend of middle-class growth (Institute Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatistica,
2013), making migration relatively rare—though economic inequalities still act
on those who do choose to migrate.
What highlights migration-driven literacy practices in Jaû is not that everyone
leaves, but that most tend to stay. Felipe, for example, whose brother migrated to
the United States, grew up in Jaü, where both his parents were born. He married
his high school sweetheart, then moved into a house across the street from her
parents, who had built the house there for that purpose. (His wife's brother lives
next door in an identical house with his family.) Felipe often visits his father at
lunchtime, and weekend activities often include extended family gatherings, where
his brother is missed. Residents think of Jaü, a town securely ensconced in Brazil's
interior heartland, as quiet, friendly, and safe—a collective belief that makes the
absence of one community member noteworthy.
For those who do go abroad, social class largely correlates with types of emigra
tion. For example, some wealthy residents send their children to study abroad in
the United States or Canada; some middle-class residents attempt to graduate from
universities abroad, because they are seen as less expensive, less competitive, and
potentially of higher quality than some Brazilian institutions; and lower-middle
class residents often migrate to work, traveling to Japan, Europe, or the United
States to further their and their families' financial well-being. Even in this largely
middle-class town with only moderate outmigration, migration is wrapped up in
the social inequality that has long stratified Brazilian society.
As readers will see, in this class-stratified community of tight-knit families,
when one family member migrates, homeland residents' use of print and digital
communication technologies intensifies in ways mediated by writing remittances.
Recent research on literacy's materiality has shown that how literacy matters
in everyday lives often inheres in the very matter of literacy. For example, out-of
school studies have demonstrated how material incarnations of writing—from
scrapbooking (Pähl, 2014) to instant messaging (Haas & Takayoshi, 2011 ) to word
processing (Haas, 1996) to mid-twentieth-century typing (Reddy,2015)—are "en
tangled" (Reddy, 2015) in sites of everyday literate production. That is, the limita
tions and affordances of particular writing interfaces (such as glue, a computer
screen, or a typewriter in the examples listed above) shape how, what, and often to
what ends people write. Such objects form part of what Prior and Hengst (2010)
call "semiotic remediation," as materials present at the site of one literacy event
take new forms and are repurposed in others, layering meaning-making over time
and space. Education research has built on these descriptive studies of literacy's
materiality to show how expanding semiotic possibilities beyond print (e.g., Kress,
2004; Rowsell, 2013) can lead to learning gains in content areas (Jewitt, 2007),
literacy (Grenfell et al., 2012, Chapter 7), and composing (Shipka, 2011), while
also potentially fostering a sense of critical consciousness (Vasudevan, 2010) and
belonging (Lam & Rosario-Ramos, 2009; Vasudevan, 2014). Literacy's materiality,
attention to which is perhaps heightened at the cusp of a supposedly paperless age
(Micchiche, 2014; Vieira, 2016), informs scenes of contemporary writing, forming
a crucial, if only fairly recently noted, part of learning.
The meaning-making affordances of particular literacy technologies do not
function in isolation; they often act in concert with larger systems of political
control. Lorimer-Leonard (2015), for example, has connected the materiality of
the personal letter to transnational bureaucratic structures; Prendergast and Licko
(2009) have demonstrated how paper use in institutions of higher education hinges
on funding structures; and I (Vieira, 2016) have previously linked immigrants'
literacy practices with immigration papers to the state structures that regulate their
use. Likewise, work on the materiality of semiotic systems—from the Cherokee
syllabary (Cushman, 2011) to khipu (Mignolo, 1995) to the alphabet (Sebba, 2007)
to Mesoamerican codex books (Baca, 2008)—has shown how the intricacies of such
systems respond to the political circumstances, such as colonization, that inform
their invention and use. As the theoretical work of Brandt and Clinton (2002) has
postulated, literacy's materiality allows it to act across time, space, objects, and
people, giving it the meaning-making potential that makes it uniquely sensitive
to larger social and political currents.
The social current that perhaps most powerfully acts on literacy in migrants'
homelands is the experience of global economic inequality that often fuels hopes
for migration. Across such diverse sites as postcommunist Slovakia (Prendergast,
2008), the Mexico/U.S. border (Hernandez-Zamora, 2010), the contested borders
of Central Africa (Blommaert, 2008), and the Philippines (Lagman, 2015), the eco
nomic consequences of colonization and neoliberalism have often driven migration
at the same time as they have curtailed migrants' abilities to reap the benefits of
their literacy training. These same forces have made financial remittances crucially
important to literacy education in impoverished homelands (Abrego, 2014; Mey
ers, 2014). Across unequally positioned national economies, the value of migrants'
literacy often varies with the comparative worth of migrant labor. That is, how
literacy matters in transnational lives has often depended on the larger economic
waves that promote migration in the first place.
How, then, might the economic realities that shape literacy practices in trans
national contexts inhere in the materials necessary for their use? That is, how
might scholars unite insights from economic analyses with those from materialist
analyses in order to better understand contemporary transnational literacy prac
tices? Brandt's (1998) concept of sponsorship provides one answer, showing how
capitalist production imperatives can result in the unequal distribution of literacy
technologies, with those who are better positioned accessing the technologies that
help pave the way for better-remunerated careers. This concept, however, does not
fully account for the stories people shared with me during my research, in which
people saw both literacy technologies and the macrosocial economic forces shaping
their use as constitutive of some of their most intimate literate social interactions.
As Brandt's model emphasizes, the economic and material aspects of literacy did
act on participants' life prospects, but these aspects of literacy also seeped into
their relational and emotional lives via the literacy-infused practice of crossborder
communication. A sociomaterial perspective on literacy, then, proposes a deeper
investigation of interpersonal literate meaning-making than sponsorship allows; it
helps track how people experience literacy's materiality and its economic purchase
in otherwise intimate sites of literate communication.
This connection between the materiality of literacy, its macrosocial economic
context, and social interaction is perhaps nowhere more apparent than in trans
national families—who are often separated due to labor migration and depend on
literacy's material affordances to remain connected. A sociomaterial perspective
on literacy helps account for how, when people are far, they often use—and learn
to use—literacy to remain close.
Data Collection
Consistent with this historical definition of literacy, I conducted literacy history
interviews (LHIs) to answer the above research questions. To be clear, this article
does not report on observable semiotic meaning-making practices, as do many eth
nographic or phenomenological studies of literacy technologies. Rather, I examine
here how literacy, as a historical trend, courses through peoples' life experiences. A
unique research tool, the LHI elicits memories of how people have used reading
and writing over their life spans. As such, LHIs provide insight into what Brandt
(2015) has called the "macro-force of literacy" that appears in stories of individual
literacy experiences. LHIs do rely on imperfect memories, leading Prior (2014),
for example, to suggest that they address not the "party" of literacy, but recollec
tions "after the party," and thus should be conducted in conjunction with on-the
ground observation to develop a fuller picture. While such multiple methods of
data collection are no doubt valuable, individuals' historical testimonies of literacy
hold value in and of themselves. As Duffy (2007a) points out, the subjectivity of
this method is its strength, not its weakness, as it reveals how people understand
their uses of literacy. If literacy is a sociocultural practice, as New Literacy Studies
scholars have demonstrated since the 1980s, then these subjective experiences of
literacy deserve sustained attention, particularly, as Duffy (2007a) again argues,
when those telling the stories are marginalized subjects, such as migrants or refugees,
whose words may not be documented in archives. LHIs are also uniquely suited
for studies of transnational literacy, as they allow access to a (subjective) picture
of literacy before and after migration. For the purposes of this article, then, LHIs
reveal one aspect of literacy's history, as reported by people who are using it at a
moment of technological and global change.
To this end, I conducted 19 literacy history interviews with 16 individuals
who either had family members who had lived abroad, or had returned from liv
ing abroad themselves—including labor migrants, those who traveled for higher
education, and high school study abroad participants—from a variety of social
classes (see Table 1 below). I did not seek out key or focal participants, as might
have been appropriate in other forms of qualitative work, but instead gathered life
histories that were consistently nuanced and detailed across participants. Because
it is not readily apparent who in Jaü is a return migrant and who has family abroad
(i.e., there are no local community organizations or networks of these groups), I
recruited participants through a snowball sample, starting with a family member
and extending to a local English language school, the proprietor of which knew
many family members of migrants and return migrants. Participants' ages ranged
from 18 to 65 and educational levels from second grade to a master's degree. Immi
gration destinations included: Paraguay, Japan, the United States, France, Canada,
and Germany. I did not ask directly about income, and instead ascertained how
participants experienced their social class through their discussions of education
and explanations of their or their family member's migration, and by observing
living and communication environments in homes.4 Conducted by the author
in Brazilian Portuguese, these interviews: ( 1 ) addressed how family members
had communicated across national borders across their life spans; (2) elicited
memories about how they learned to write via particular technologies (including
letters and computers); and (3) asked for descriptions of how they used writing
and associated technologies in their work and personal lives, and what benefits
they had experienced from such uses (see Appendix A). Interviews lasted between
30 minutes and 2 hours, and I interviewed three participants a second time, six
months later, to ask follow-up questions. Additionally, I took notes on informal talk
about transnational communication, reflecting the intertextual nature of interviews
(Koven, 2014), which often spill over into other communicative events. While my
position as a foreigner made me an outsider to the community, my regular visits
to and communication with local residents for over a decade and the transnational
nature of my own family provided a basis of identification. In many cases, I found
common ground with participants by discussing my then-3-year-old daughter,
who accompanied me to Brazil on the research trip to visit her grandfather, tios
(uncles and aunts), and cousins, whom she had previously only "seen" across a
computer screen in video chats.
Data Analysis
To analyze both interviews and field notes, I used a constructivist approach to
grounded theory (Charmaz, 2006) that takes into account researchers' active roles
in interpreting data. This approach allowed a rigorous examination of the data at
the same time as it acknowledged the active nature of my interpretation in light of
my long-standing community relationships. Analysis included four rounds of cod
ing. First, I coded for motivations (psychological need, missing a family member),
types (letters, email, video chat, telephone), and frequency (daily, weekly, monthly)
of transnational communication. I noted that all participants reported that migra
tion led to an uptick in the frequency of their use of literacy technologies, due to
what Brazilians call saudade—missing or nostalgia. In a second round of coding,
Table 1. Continued
I identified how saudades were resolved (or not) in relation to how participants
spoke of valuing particular media (whether they promoted closeness, seemed to
require labor, made the participant feel alienated, etc.).
Third, to account for how the technological and economic aspects of literacy
coalesced, I coded for how those differently positioned with regard to social class
came to own or use particular communication technologies. Migrants who emi
grated to work often sent the technology back home as a gift to their family mem
bers. Moreover, the labor or effort involved in buying the technology, learning to
use it, and using it helped establish an intimate connection via that medium. The
very valuation of labor, the reason economic migrants left their homelands in the
first place, underwrote communication across distance. This correlation existed
consistently among the 9 participants connected to labor migration, but not among
the wealthier families who sent their children to study abroad in high school.5
To describe the relationship among saudades, materiality of communication,
and labor, I turned to migration studies' theories about remittances and my own
remittance experiences. Such theories address the educational impact of financial
remittances that are invested in infrastructure and tuition for families back home
(e.g. deHaas, 2007; Nobles, 2011), as well as social remittances (e.g., Levitt, 1998;
Levitt, 2001; Levitt & Lamba-Nieves, 2011), such as cultural practices, that circulate
between host country and homeland. Using a "constant comparative" method of
theory building (Glazer, 1965), I posited that literacy, as a sociomaterial resource
tied to wider economic realities, could work similarly across transnational networks.
Having previously traveled to Brazil with laptops for family members to sustain
our transnational communication, I had also participated in just such a circuit. I
coded this remittance circuit as writing remittances.6
Much like economic remittances, writing remittances appeared to function as
circuits involving what economic sociologist Zelizer (2006) has called "interchange,
intercourse, and mutual shaping" (p. 32). Such a description jibed with what par
ticipants told me, of receiving literacy-based remittances that then demanded an
exchange of labor—in their case, the labor of using the remittance or learning to
use it to emotionally support migrants abroad. In other words, writing remittances
not only flowed from global north to global south, but also formed a bidirectional
transactional circuit. To track the implications of such remittances for homeland
residents, in a final fourth round of coding, I examined ( 1 ) how the remittances
functioned pre- and post-Internet access, and (2) how participants invested (or
did not invest) such remittances both locally and transnationally.
In sum, this analysis revealed that participants experienced writing remittances
as mediating both intimate interpersonal communication and the larger context
of global economic inequity in which they were implicated, making such remit
tances rich sites of print and digital literacy experiences across borders and lives.
hope that this detailed narrative, set alongside a comparison across participants,
allows readers an understanding of for whom, how, and under what conditions
writing remittances can operate, revealing both the explanatory power and the
limitations of this concept.
Hugo: "It Was Worth More Than Any Card I'd Ever Gotten"
Hugo made the decision to move to France in the 1990s for higher education,
putting him in a social class category between the upper middle class, who often
sent high school students to study abroad, and the lower middle class, who often
migrated to work. He decided on France because his sister, a labor migrant, was
already living there.
Not a prolific writer before migration, Hugo nonetheless described an uptick
in literacy use when he arrived in France. "When you are there, you get very emo
tional. Far from everything, far from your father, far from your mother." He first
relied on phone cards to make international calls, but recalled hearing the "tic tic
tic" as they emptied of credit in the middle of conversations. Both resourceful and
lonely, he responded to his dissatisfaction with the telephone by writing 10 to 12
letters a day to his friends and receiving 10 to 12 letters a day in return. "When I
was there," he said, "I liked to write." He wrote of the chocolates and yogurts he
ate ("Their yogurt was so good!") and French cultural practices ("You can't just
bring an extra friend to their parties!").
For Hugo, this increase in written communication highlighted writing's ma
teriality—letters' physical heft, the work required to pen them, and the intimate
meanings that their materiality conveyed. For example, he described keeping all the
letters he received from friends and returning home to Brazil "with an enormous
suitcase of letters." The work of writing and of carrying so much paper seemed to
unite literacy's materiality with the labor of its production and circulation.
This association resonated in another account he shared with me, of a moving
letter he received from his grandfather:
Hugo: There was a card from my grandfather that he sent. He didn't know
how to write correctly. And... it's that... when I received this card, I cried
so much.
Kate: Really?
Hugo: Nossa! [Emphatic yes, literally "Our Lady!"] And he wrote on a dirty
paper, you know?
Kate: Yeah.
Hugo: It was on such a totally dirty paper. He wrote with that kind of trembling
handwriting, and nossa [wow]. His letter was the most beautiful that I've
ever received. It had like three lines, you know? But it was worth more than
any card I've gotten.
The materiality of trembling hands and dirty paper, suggestive of the rich, red
farmland of Brazil's interior, emphasized for Hugo the work of writing. Hugo's
grandfather was working his otherwise limited literacy skills to send word via post
in an effort to communicate with his grandson. In turn, his grandfather's cogni
tive and physical labor of literate production heightened the letter's emotional
resonance. In fact, Hugo remembered the evidence of work etched onto the letter's
surface—the dirty paper, the handwriting—more than its content, which I had to
prompt him to describe. Such letter writing appeared to operate according to an
economic logic. Not only were phone calls expensive, leading to increased writing,
but the effort writing demanded served to deepen its emotional value—value made
material in "dirty paper" and in an "enormous suitcase of letters."
This history with migration-driven print literacy inflected how Hugo spoke
of and valued migration-driven digital literacy. Hugo, at home in Brazil at the
time of our interview, communicated with his sister, still living in France, via
video chat. Similar to the way he described his grandfather's letter, he spoke of his
communication with her in relation to labor. He pointed out to me that they did
not communicate via letter, because: "My sister, she likes to talk. She can talk for
an hour and a half. Can you imagine if I had to read all that?" For Hugo, reading,
like writing, required a kind of work that his sister's voluminous communication
did not merit. His tone in relation to his sister and grandfather differed perhaps in
part due to age and gender, but his connection of labor to print was consistent in
these exchanges. Words on paper appeared to him rare, precious, whereas digital
talk seemed cheap. An economic logic undergirded these shifts in his experiences
with migration-driven print and digital literacy; by this logic, particular literacies
were worth more than others, in relation to cost and work.
The economic value of migration-driven literacy was more than a metaphor
or an emotional state for Hugo. He also invested his migration-driven literacy
knowledge, gleaned across his transnational experiences, for social and financial
gain. During Hugo's stay in France, he became familiar with the Minitel shopping
system, which he described as laying the groundwork for his ease with Internet
mediated technology. When he returned to Brazil, he became one of the first in his
neighborhood to buy a computer. Shortly thereafter, his sister, who had remained
in France, remitted him a laptop and the first webcam he had seen, leading him to
adopt video chat. He reported that neighbors and friends soon visited, asking him
for technological advice and logging on. He circulated his technology knowledge
locally, teaching, as he put it, "all [his] friends and family.... I don't like to keep
all the knowledge to myself." He described his house as a local center of commu
nication technology, resonating with descriptions of the early post office, whose
outward-directed networks could foster intensely social local interactions.
Hugo invested this migration-driven literacy knowledge not only locally, for
social status, but also internationally. An American woman studying abroad in Jaü
learned that he knew how to access an Internet-connected phone line, and would
come "hang" on the phone in his office, speaking with family and friends stateside
for "hours." To his irritation, she broke the phone three times. Still, he took pride
in his ability to circulate writing remittances internationally: "I said, 'Whoa, you
live there [the United States] and I'm the one giving you technology lessons?'
Writing Remittances
To best capture this migration-driven, sociomaterial relationship with literacy, this
section develops the concept of writing remittances. Writing remittances are the
migration-driven literacy practices, technologies, and products—such as laptops,
webcams, letters, texts, and knowledge about such tools and practices—that mi
grants often send or bring home and that often promote increased use of literacy
and/or literacy learning. Writing remittances are sociomaterial practices and artifacts
in that they carry both financial and interpersonal capital, which is exchanged in
the giving of the technology or knowledge, the learning of it, and the investing of
it. In this sense, writing remittances function as part of what economic sociologist
Vivian Zelizer (2006) calls a "circuit." For Zelizer (2006), remittance circuits "convey
powerful shared meanings" (p. 32), through which "participants are constantly
negotiating, contesting, and reshaping their relationship to each other" (p. 33).
Like the financial remittance circuits that Zelizer studies, writing remittances are
both financially transactional and intimately relational. In fact, this interaction of
the social and the material fuels remittance circuits. Writing remittances, because
they involve exchanging the media and knowledge about media that undergird
the continued inclusion of migrants in homeland social life, may even be seen as
a special, privileged kind of remittance. Enmeshed in economic and emotional
exchange, writing remittances mediate migration-driven communication practices
across borders marked by global inequality, offering some, such as Hugo, a leg up
in social and professional realms.
To analyze this concept as fully as possible, this discussion examines how writ
ing remittances work differently across participants, how they function pre-Internet
versus post-Internet, and how they act as objects of local investment.
Pre-Internet: Letters
Letters loom in accounts of transnational literacy. In late nineteenth- and early
twentieth-century Europe, for example, soldiers on the front and migrants learned
to write letters to ensure cultural continuity and basic psychological stability in
traumatic circumstances, contributing to the rise of mass literacy among the
peasantry (Lyons, 2013).7 Stateside, immigrants to the United States in the early
days of the transnational postal system taught left-behind family members to ad
dress envelopes (Gerber, 2006).8 Personal letters move across borders and/or with
people (Guerra, 1998), reveal cultural traits (Thomas & Znaniecki, 1927/1996),
connect writers to larger bureaucracies (Lorimer-Leonard, 2015), and otherwise
act as the material enclosure of what some immigrants describe as "souls" (Vieira,
2016). Letters, in other words, travel when people cannot, often promoting literacy
use and learning.
For those participants who migrated or whose family members migrated before
use of the Internet became prevalent in the early 2000s, the material affordances
of textual communication were crucial for upholding family relationships and
"killing" saudades. As one mother put it, "You think you can stay far away from
your family and not feel one saudade? You will! In one way or another, you will!"
Distance gave rise to saudades, and participants accessed what technology was
within their means to resolve them. For most, phone calls were too expensive to
rely on as a primary means of communication, though some exceptions did exist.
One upper-middle-class participant described buying a Nextel radio-connected
telephone from a client of her husband's, with which she could make phone calls
to her son studying abroad in Canada at no cost each morning to wake him up.
And another middle-class participant described weekly phone calls to her brother,
an expensive—though emotionally essential—ritual that allowed her to imagine
he was back in Jau, close by, where they used to regularly speak on the phone. For
most, however, international phone calls before the availability of the Internet were
prohibitively expensive. Like Hugo, many relied on the postal system to supplement
the phone. This cost-driven negotiation of communication hardware emphasizes
both literacy's materiality and its relation to money in the lives of homeland
residents and return migrants, in ways that, as readers will see, shape how these
individuals interact with digital technologies for transnational communication.
Like Hugo, many return migrants described depending on this communication
while they were abroad, comparing transnational communication to sustenance.
In his 40s, Gilberto ran a successful Italian restaurant in Jau, where I interviewed
him for this study. lust before the busy evening shift, he sat smoking in his chef's
apron and spoke to me of his experiences abroad. He lived in Italy from 1992
to 1994, returned to Brazil for two years (where he described himself as being
"without money and without possibilities"), and then left again for the United
States, where he lived in New York for six months, frying chicken in a fast-food
restaurant, and then in Florida for four years, where he worked in Italian restau
rants and sold cigars. In the United States, he communicated occasionally with
his family by phone, despite the crushing expense. While the phone allowed for
nearly synchronous interaction, Gilberto longed for the letters that he complained
were few and far between. "When you are alone," he told me, "you hope for letters
much more, understand?" "Morria de saudades," he said. "I was dying of missing
them." His invocation of death in relation to saudade is an idiom in Portuguese,
but it nonetheless speaks to the physical necessity of communication.
Those who remained home also appreciated that transnational communica
tion could be a matter of migrants' survival. In his 30s, Felipe taught engineering
courses at a private technical institute. His brother migrated to Europe in 1999,
returned briefly in 2000, and then left for the United States in 2002. After hearing
from his brother in a letter that he didn't have enough to eat, Felipe and his family
started sending a letter every 10 days.
There were material reasons to send the letter: "We put money in an enve
lope, such that the money wouldn't be seen, because it could get 'lost' [i.e., stolen]
along the way." And there were psychological reasons. Felipe was concerned that,
in his words, his brother would "go out of his mind, because no one understood
his language." From the perspective of those who stayed home, the letters acted as
material and psychological support, the only kind they could muster, as Felipe's
family attempted to care for his brother from a distance, through a textually me
diated proxy.
When one family member's literacy was insufficient for solo letter writing, the
labor of such textual care was shared among family members. Consider Maria, who
had a second-grade education and described her literacy in this way: "I know how
to read and write, but not to 'write,' you know?" Her son had worked as a soccer
coach in Japan since 1997, having migrated due to a lack of work opportunities in
Brazil. He eventually married a Japanese woman and had a child, Maria's distant
grandson. During our interview in Maria's cozy living room, her granddaughter
(her daughter's daughter, who lived locally) napped in an adjoining room. She
woke mid-interview with a cough and a cry, offering a warm bodily example of
the difference between local and transnational family. Local family members could
be held. The transnational family, on the other hand, was represented by Japanese
remittance objects in the room—a painting, a clock, a laptop, and an album of
Maria's son's life in Japan that displayed photos, cards, and the inky baby foot
prints of her newborn grandson. To overcome saudades pre-Internet, given her
self-reported limited literacy, Maria engaged in labor-intensive collaborative letter
writing in order to communicate with her son. She described dictating personal
letters to her literate husband, who would transcribe her words, resulting in an
uptick in Maria's literacy use—whether or not she could "write."
As families attempted to include absent loved ones in daily life, and as those
abroad worked to maintain what Gerber (2006) has theorized as a stable narrative
identity across borders, they communicated through print in ways that offered
sustenance, familiarity, and regular participation. Because the telephone was ex
pensive for most, they described relying on letters, whose cost of circulation was
underwritten by the government-funded transnational literacy institution of the
postal system. Such reliance emphasized literacy's materiality. Letters' technical
affordances meant they could be carried (Hugo), kept (Gilberto), supplemented
with cash (Felipe), and returned to in moments of longing (Maria).
In addition to these technical attributes, letters also operated socioeconomi
cally. That is, the work they were perceived to require underlay their value as a
medium of intimate communication: For Hugo, his grandfather's card was of worth
partly because his grandfather struggled to write it. For Gilberto, the fact that his
family only rarely made the effort to write a letter left him feeling unmoored, alone,
and resentful. For Maria, the labor of writing was so difficult and yet so necessary
that it had to be shared. And Felipe concretized the relationship between literacy's
materiality and its economic purchase by enclosing money along with words in his
brother's own language. Letters, as bidirectional writing remittances, circulated in
a financially and emotionally stratified transnational realm.
ships, none of the wealthier, study-abroad families received hardware (see Table
1), though nearly all described receiving technological knowledge and support.
In response to their family members' migration, participants reported learning to
"mess" with computers and generally increasing their use of email, chat, and Skype,
in the words of one participant, like "never before." So while migration did appear
to drive some literacy learning for members of wealthier classes, their experiences
were not as apparently enmeshed in global economic inequality as were those of
labor migrants' family members.
This difference does not mean that economic forces were absent from the
migration-driven literacy practices of the wealthy. Rather, the social class privilege
of not having to rely on remittances rendered economic inequality—so apparent
in the lives of labor migrants—invisible in the lives of the more comfortable. Many
could and did simply buy laptops themselves. Some also had the means to visit
their study-abroad family members in the United States or Canada, alleviating
some of the saudades that writing remittances worked to resolve. Unlike labor
migrants, who were attempting to earn more money to make their Brazilian lives
better, study-abroad participants knew they could return to materially comfortable
environments in Brazil. For example, one return study-abroad student described
the difficulty of doing without her domestic maid (who washed, ironed, and cooked
for her in Brazil) during her year abroad. Her goal was not to help support her
family, but to have an educational life experience. Earning money to buy a laptop
to send home was out of the question. Put simply, economic privilege minimized
the necessity of remitting literacy hardware. For the wealthy, this kind of remit
tance circuit was not as heavily trafficked.
In sum, if migration drove increased digital literacy use and learning across
classes post-Internet, economic inequality shaped the terms of such learning and
how participants valued particular kinds of literacies in relation to each other, for
the purposes of maintaining transnational relationships.
knew early on the he would need to have, in his words, "um outro caminhoan
other path. Neither well-off nor poor, he saved money to buy a computer in order
to stay ahead of the technology curve.
While a combination of his own ambitions and socioeconomic conditions
fostered his digital access, his brother's migration to Europe and then the United
States augmented his technological know-how, which he then leveraged for gain. In
the late '90s, his brother introduced him to ICQ chat; then, in the early 2000s, his
brother remitted him a laptop. His dial-up Internet connection was expensive, so
he chatted only with his brother, and generally only for urgent matters. At that time,
Felipe enrolled in an English language school, in part to more fully understand the
cultural context in which his brother was enmeshed in the United States. Though
he continued to speak to his brother in Portuguese, he wanted to read greeting
cards sent from the United States and understand song lyrics his brother shared
with him. More pressing, English was also productive for him professionally, as the
scientific reports he read for his engineering degree were published in English. At
the English school in Jaü, he noticed that the secretary was having trouble using
ICQ, a new technology at the time. He helped her with ICQ, and she helped him
with English. As he put it, "It was a way of us helping each other." ICQ, as a writing
remittance, helped open wider a door that he had already cracked. He reported that
his growing familiarity with English, in turn, facilitated his engineering-oriented
computer research, an activity that he reported engaging in daily throughout his
later years as a college student and, at the time of the interview, as a teacher re
sponsible for staying up-to-date with innovations in his field. The remitted laptop
now sat on his desk, webcam perched atop, used for both work-related research
and transnational communication with his brother and niece.
In a local professional context, in which understanding English and conducting
Internet-based research were increasingly important skills, Felipe took up writing
remittances as part of a larger field of literacy resources to shape his future. As it was
for Hugo, for Felipe investing writing remittances advantaged him in competitive
professional realms that, more and more, demanded digital fluency.
To be clear, I am not suggesting that technology from supposedly more devel
oped destination countries "saved" Hugo, Felipe, or others from poverty or stalled
mobility. For Hugo, readers will recall, while technological knowledge flowed from
global north to global south (from France to Brazil, via his own experiences and
his sister's remittances), it also flowed from global south to global north (from
Brazil to the United States, via his help desk call center), likely attendant with
more complex circuits of exchange than a literacy history interview could capture.
And for Felipe, writing remittances were part of the larger wave of technological
and scientific advances experienced by many professional Brazilians, and that he
actively pursued as part of his project of social class mobility. Writing remittances,
as one literacy resource in a larger field of sometimes abundant and sometimes
scarce local literacy resources, acted on homeland residents' local professional
lives, but they did not autonomously transform them. Still, writing remittances
could provide an important leg up to homeland residents in their professional
trajectories. Writing remittances could supplement the time, money, and energy
participants had already invested in their literacy educations, offering an outside
advantage that allowed them to reap some of the benefits of the educated, often
technologically savvy Brazilian middle and upper-middle classes.
Like other kinds of investments, however, writing remittances perhaps most
benefited those in favorable social positions. It was no accident that Hugo and
Felipe, both young middle-class men, were able to profitably invest them. For
some women, remittances worked differently. Several women pointed out that the
writing remittance of video chat highlighted their inability to speak with younger
relatives born abroad, further eating away at their literacy-infused status as com
petent ( female) members of their extended families. They could see the youngsters
via video chat, but did not share a language. Eliana, for example, could not speak
with her U.S.-born niece, except in broken Spanish. And a young college student,
Maya, spoke of not understanding her cousin, who was born in the United States
and had little facility with Portuguese. If these women believed their role was to
be linchpins of familial communication—both spoke of being "unable" to leave
their parents and families—then being incapable of communicating with younger
relatives could undermine their familial positions, regardless of the wider cultural
capital that having family abroad could help them accrue.10
In this sense, writing remittances could reinforce beliefs about the supposed
inferiority of education and technology in the global south, eroding the status of
local literacy resources. Maya, for one, felt that education and technology were
more "advanced" in the United States, but because she never wanted to leave her
family, she resigned herself to what she considered worse education and job pros
pects in Brazil. And Eliana saw herself as becoming illiterate and wanted to take a
"course," not only so she could communicate independently with her brother, but
also so she could exchange recipes and jokes with her friends via email without
relying on her children as intermediaries. These women felt left behind, not only
by their family members, but also by global technological, linguistic, and economic
currents. Writing remittances from abroad interacted with local professional and
social pressures to learn new and sometimes foreign literacies, bringing into relief
what they perceived as their own literacy shortcomings.
In the stories people shared with me, writing remittances coincided with pres
sures to accumulate new literacy skills. When invested well, by people in favorable
social positions, writing remittances provided advantages in local and international
economies. At the same time, their very presence in the lives and living rooms of
those in less favorable social positions could work to devalue existing literacy skills.
Writing remittances could highlight how far behind one had fallen, how fixed one
was, in the midst of the rapid global movement of other people and their literacies.
tances: the communication hardware, software, and practices that they sent across
borders. As objects of emotional and economic lineage and use, these writing re
mittances demanded literacy learning as one condition of their exchange. Because
such learning, like money, is fungible, it was often reinvested locally, with varying
returns. In the experiences of return migrants and homeland family members,
the process of migration linked three components of literacy—its connection to
larger economic trends, its materiality, and its use as a medium of interpersonal
intimacy—promoting literacy learning and use. As such, literacy acted socioma
terially in these transnational lives.
The concept of writing remittances accounts for the experiences of migration
driven literacy learning among these 16 participants in one homeland community.
This scope is small, and further work remains in four key areas: First, this study
highlighted the experiences of parents and siblings, but how might writing remit
tances function for children, who may have little memory of "paper" transnational
communication on which to draw? It is perhaps significant that the youngest in
this study, Maya (age 20), was the only participant whose migrant relative was a
generation older, and also the only person not to have reported learning a new
communication practice from this migration. Second, this study examined a
largely middle-class community with only moderate emigration and with mostly
male migrants, but how might writing remittances circulate in impoverished
communities ravaged by brain drain, in which both women and men migrate?
Third, as research on the role of emotion in literacy learning grows, how might
the relationship between familial intimacy and literacy's materiality that this study
documented extend or be challenged by work in other emotionally charged sites of
literate practice? And finally, this study examined writing remittances at a moment
of rapid technological innovation. As Internet-mediated communication technolo
gies become more commonplace, how might their economic value change? And
what of the technologies that have become more widespread in Brazil since data
collection in 2011, such as smart phones and apps that facilitate chatting across
borders and require less of an investment than computers?
There are three central implications of this study that I propose can guide
further investigations:
First, this study further develops a sociomaterial perspective on literacy. That
is, it shows how economic interests and interpersonal connections are often aligned
for people in literate acts, and moreover, how such alignments are embedded in
the material technologies that facilitate the production of such acts. Literacy ap
pears here as a phenomenon whose ability to foster intimacy rests on its status as a
material object of exchange dependent on global markets. The experiences of this
study's participants emphasize the interconnected nature of literacy's materiality,
its economic promise, and its emotional purchase. Such connections are intensi
fied in the contexts of families separated by labor migration, and thus sensitized
to the emotional difficulties of distance, to the interpersonal cost of financial gain
abroad. Perhaps it is precisely the ways that writing remittances reach into the
interpersonal, the economic, and the material that make them particularly rich
sites of literacy learning. There are deeply affective and instrumental reasons to
learn to log in or to write a letter. And there are costs of not doing so.
Second, this study offers an example of the migration-driven way in which
print literacy and digital communication are being revalued—by ordinary read
ers, writers, and digital technology users—in relation to each other. Many par
ticipants told me that they never wrote or received letters. But such statements do
not mean that participants do not value print literacy. As digital communication
means proliferate, and as more Brazilians have access to them, many continue to
cherish, or perhaps newly appreciate, print texts. Likewise, digital technologies of
communication, such as video chat, are also being revalued in relation to print
literacy, depending on the labor required to learn to use certain interfaces or buy
expensive hardware, such as laptop computers. Print and digital means of com
munication may not exist relationally forever, but they did for these participants,
whose transnational experiences coincided with a moment of rapid technological
change. All could recall a pre-computer age and all saw new computer technologies
through their pasts and presents with paper.
Finally, this article has examined the understudied phenomenon of homeland
literacies. Even in middle-class, middle-of-the-road areas in the middle of Brazil,
transnational emigration has touched local lives and literacies. We have seen that
writing travels even when people stay put, with implications for homeland residents'
abilities to leverage literacy for professional and social gain. A homeland-based
study thus allows researchers an opportunity to integrate local and global theories
of literacy in ways that do not overly determine writing's autonomy or insist on
an exclusively local context. Instead, homeland studies can reveal how, why, and
at what cost and what benefit writing travels, as everyday readers and writers and
video chatters reach across the otherwise mute expanse of physical distance to
sustain relationships with others.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author wishes to thank the U.S. Department of Education/University of Illinois Latin A
and Caribbean Studies Program for funding data collection, the University of Wiscon
son graduate school research competition for funding data analysis, and the Spencer Fo
for funding revisions. For feedback that greatly improved this article, the author is grat
colleagues at the summer seminar in transnational literacies at the University of Massa
Amherst; to Ellen Cushman, Rebecca Lorimer Leonard, and Catherine Prendergast; to the E
Department junior faculty lunch group at the University of Wisconsin-Madison; and
anonymous reviewers.
Appendix A
Interview Protocol
Tell me about how you learned to write and read. Who was there, what materials were
present, how did you feel about it, what provoked it?
Tell me about your writing in school.
Tell me about your writing in your workplace.
Tell me about your writing in your place of worship.
Tell me about your writing at home.
Tell me about any personal writing you may do.
Tell me about how you learned to use a computer. Who was there, what materials were
present, how did you feel about it, what provoked it?
Tell me about any plans you may have to migrate.
Tell me how you/your family member decided to migrate.
Tell me about your communication with your family abroad (frequency, via what media,
what motivates the communication).
Tell me about how you have learned to communicate with them. Tell me what it is like
to communicate via the different media you have described.
Tell me what you send and/or receive from distant family by post and by Internet. Tell
me what about these objects is valuable to you.
If you use the computer for communication with family, to what other uses do you put
it? Have you taught anyone anything with this technology?
Tell me how you think your migration/your family member's migration has affected
your life.
NOTES
8. Besnier (1991) also suggests that letter writing on the Tuvalu Islands was motivated by labor
migration—even though literacy had been brought there by Samoan missionaries for the very
different purpose of missionary work. He calls this a "'spontaneous' transfer of consumption
oriented literacy skills in religious contexts to letter writing," an activity documented elsewhere
(Besnier, 1991, p. 572).
9. Age may have been a factor in her decision not to learn: the other participant who did not learn
to use a laptop that had been remitted by his son from the United States, loäo, was also over 60
and retired. Assessing the impact of age on the circulation of writing remittances would require
further study.
10. Martes (2011) shows that for many Brazilians, it is seen as chic to have lived abroad.
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