This article is an observation on how people’s interpretation of words may form preconceptions and at the same time how the configuration of a language may cause people to establish preconceptions. To do this, I need to tackle some sensitive subjects which I hope readers will understand is necessary to make my point.
Here goes…
Let’s do something unusual – let’s agree on something before we start: we don’t have enough words to describe and understand everyone’s view of the world we live in, and this is causing tensions between people from different classes, mindsets, political standpoints, and beliefs. This goes not just for English, but for many different languages, and unfortunately, the only remedy is to let time take its course without interference from authorities, religious leaders or politicians.
What do I mean? Well, let us take the notion that left-wingers and
right-wingers see and interpret things in different ways, as do religious people
and non-religious people, drivers and cyclists or pedestrians, house owners and
tenants, teenagers and adults, vegans and meat-eaters, urban and rural
inhabitants, cat owners and dog owners, the list goes on. We all see the world differently,
and we all react to circumstances through a variety of ways.
A German football fan’s opinion of the World Cup in 2014 will be totally
different to a Brazilian’s. The Spanish view of Queen Elizabeth I is that of an
evil foreign monster, but in England she is revered as one of the greatest
monarchs. The golden, glorious American picture of World War 2 is in dramatic
contrast to that of the Poles. And the invaders of government buildings in
Washington in 2021 or Baghdad in 2003 can be seen as freedom fighters or
desperate revolutionaries, depending where you draw your line.
Some of us look down in contempt at our opposites, some feel pity for
them, some really cannot find any part in themselves that would ever allow them
to share even a public WiFi signal, let alone a conversation. But something in
us has to change, or we are going to end up fighting each other over ideological
matters, rather than seeking to find common ground. We all have to share this
place, so let’s just try and be kind, and let’s start with tempering our
language.
Terminology and nomenclature have become a front line in the battle of
ideas that has overtaken our civilisation and forced us to choose sides. If you’re
not with them, you’re against them, so to say. For example, take the endless
debate over non-heterosexual marriage. Language has played a big part in aiding
one cause over another. In the mostly gender-free or gender-light northern European
language areas, people of the same sex tying the knot is as common as the lupins
that grow along the side of nearly every country road to the north of Flensburg.
But in a country like Poland, advocating non-heterosexual marriage is in many
places the equivalent of hoisting the hammer and sickle at a Republican Party
convention.
I do not want in any way to say straight that this is because Polish
people are inherently homophobic; I want to take a deeper look at how language could
affect one’s outlook on life, and that requires giving the Sapir-Whorf
hypothesis some airtime. Edward Sapir was an émigré from Germany to the US in
the late 19th century, and went on to become a leading linguist of
the first half of the 20th century. One might say he was the
precursor to Noam Chomsky. He and his student, Benjamin Whorf, put forward the
idea that our perceptions, attitudes and mindset may have been formed by the
language we speak.
In other words, could every individual language have words that formulate
our understanding, or is it the opposite? Is it ultimately the world around us
that gives life to the words we want to use? I personally think it’s both, and
it depends on the situation.
It is said that Inuits have many words for types of snow, because they
live surrounded by it, and can therefore differentiate between different kinds.
There is a grain of truth to it, although there is more than one Inuit language.
It’s more to do with the various word combinations that give them their wide
range of descriptions of snow, but once one looks at the root words, there are
no more variations than in English. They do differentiate a lot more than
speakers of Tagalog, Afars or Hausa. Why would a Nigerian have the need for
more than one word for something they maybe only see on TV or Internet, and
prior to then would only have heard of from passing travellers? The same would
apply to Inuits’ need for words to describe the flora and fauna, weather
phenomena or clothes relevant to sub-Saharan Western Africa.
In both cases, it does not mean that one language is superior to
another. It just means the speakers of those languages are using words that
affect them, their surroundings, the traditions they grew up with, and the
handing down of knowledge from parent to offspring. Give a Brit an umbrella
and he or she will take it out when it’s looking like it will rain. Give it to
a Qatari and he or she may use it to shield from the sun.
So let us return to the original question: why would speakers of one
language (in this case Polish) be on balance more conservative than those of
another (e.g. Danish or Norwegian) in the area of marriage? In Polish there are,
among some others, two main ways to say you are married: “żonaty” or “zamężna”.
The word “żona” is a wife, and “mężczyzna” is a husband. And in this way, żonaty
can only be used to describe a man with a wife (so-to-say “bewifed”) and zamężna
only a woman with a husband (so-to-say “bemanned”).
This is a very binary, totally heterosexual characteristic attached to the words used to describe one’s marital status, so it takes quite a leap of the imagination for many to conceive of non-heterosexual wedlock (effectively reversing the gender of the adjectives to żonata and zamężny). There is the alternative “poślubiony” / “poślubiona”, also meaning married*, and the verbal “brać ślub”**, but this feels fabricated to many people. This is the form that Polish uses to describe non-heterosexual marriages (but not exclusively).
(* po- means after, and ślub
is wedding, so in plain language to be in a post-wedding status, i.e. married.
** brać means to take,
and combined with ślub means something like “to take a vow”.)
This goes some way to
helping us understand that maybe language does make us form preconceptions and
ideas, however unintentional that is. This doesn’t mean I am an apologist for
their opinions; I am simply seeking out how some may use this as a reason to
reject the notion of non-heterosexual marriage. There is a big debate in Poland
on the subject of modifying the language to remove stereotypical elements like these, and
to allow progressive ideas to enter the mainstream. This process has, though,
been taken over by too many opinions, and of course the voices of reason are
never the loudest.
On a similar note, we should take a look at the Danish/Norwegian word
for marriage: bryllup. Herein lies the quandary of all quandaries. Bryllup probably
originated in idea as “bridal parade”, but could also be interpreted as “bride’s
jump”, literally from her own family to her husband’s family. In any case,
there’s not much in there for the bridegrooms; so how does a language like
Danish or Norwegian skirt this difficulty? They have several words for the
wedding too – vielse being the
main one. Vielse is a solidly neutral word used a lot for this purpose by the
non-heterosexual community, as for some, bryllup may have certain religious
connotations.
It seems to be because Danish and
Norwegian have distanced themselves a great deal from the original meaning.
They are not seen as defining anything particular within a limited scope of understanding, such as a male-female linkage.
The Danish word for “married” is “gift”, more or less meaning “given (to
somebody)”, whereas English uses “taken (by somebody)”. Polish has still very
much attached itself to the żonaty/zamężna
ideal, and it may take a generation or two for poślubiony/poślubiona to reach
the mainstream outside of official administration.
But English also has its
own difficulties with gender in language: let us take the familiar greeting “ladies
and gentlemen”, that we may hear before some information is announced, for
example on a plane or in a theatre. We might also hear “ladies and gentlemen,
boys and girls”. But by saying this, thinking we are being courteous, we may
have unintentionally excluded several people listening who don’t identify as
any of the above. Here is where we need to start being careful, because on the
other side, we have to recognise that the male-female axis is still the
dominant trend, and will probably be so for a long time to come. It would also
be wrong to eliminate these words too.
And here is where Polish
can help rectify the situation and confirm that it is not a sexist language after
all (something I may have not on purpose implied earlier): “szanowni państwo”
is how Poles making announcements choose to get the attention of an audience,
and it literally means “honourable company”. Although I don’t think we could get
away with translating that literally into English, as even though it sounds endearing,
it also has an archaic feel, we could find something similar both tasteful and
inclusive that would please all. At the moment, the recommended greeting in
London Underground is “hello everybody”, and to me that sounds a little too
forward, but I guess if it works, keep it. It is important to be a proactive part
of the solution, not a reactive part of the problem.
Let us talk about that
other very contentious subject: family, nation and nationality. In a language
like English, the word “nation” is very broad, encompassing not just the people
but also the land, and for some this may even apply to a region or the people
therein. For many it includes add-ons like speaking the same language or
following the same traditions. In the strictest sense, the people are all from the
same ethnic line, and they are arranged inside a particular defined peripheral
boundary. The word springs of course from the idea of the place you were born
in or the line you were born to (e.g. natio, natus, nasci). But that is not
really so much the case these days. At least, not in English.
No English speaker really
makes the full semantic connection between birthplace, lineage, ethnic line, or
common language any more, except those who have been fully immersed in the purist
Kool-Aid, or those with views to the right of Nigel Farage. This allows English
more flexibility when it comes to mentioning people with different backgrounds
or who were born elsewhere or who have exotic names as being of the same nation.
But we should not gloat:
there is of course a lot of covert racism around. Someone who asks a non-white
person or someone with an exotic name (like mine) where they’re “from” aren’t asking
about the street name or part of town – they want to know where your exotic
name or colour comes from. I am often asked where I’m from, and when I say London,
I get some sideways glances and the inevitable riposte: “well your name doesn’t
sound English” (not even British, but English). So I reply with a short history
of my family, even though it should be unnecessary, as these days, anyone could
be from anywhere.
Saying that, the vast
majority of English speakers would say it’s not the colour, name or religion that
makes you a compatriot; it’s the attitude and maybe your accent. And I think it’s
the fact that words like “nationality”, “nation” and “compatriot” are so distanced
from their original meanings, making it much easier to accept a broader range
of people under that umbrella. Of course, history also helps, but this is one element
of what is undoubtedly a much broader story.
“Family” is another word
that has taken on a broader signification. The pure meaning of “family” is as
we know the people who make up your bloodline – your children and their
children, your parents and siblings, their parents and siblings, ad nauseam. But
it can also apply to other things, such as “a family of nations”, as the
Commonwealth likes to call itself, or a range of furniture, such as IKEA’s
Ektorp family.
Then let us compare this
to Slavic languages, where there is a much stronger bond between the people,
the language, the land and the family:
Unlike the English terms “family”
and “nation”, the Slavic root word -rod- has a very entangled meaning. It
applies to all Slavic languages, but let us use Czech for this purpose:
“Rod” means stock,
lineage or bloodline.
“Rod” also means gender
in Czech grammar.
“Narodit se” means to be
born.
“Rodina” means family,
but in some Slavic languages like Russian, it means “people” or “nation”.
“Národ” means nation.
“Národní” means national.
Going further back in
history, this word is a distant relation of the English word “root”. This gives
you some idea of how ingrained this is in the very deepest emotions, instincts
and character of many Slavic people. It is not possible to separate the idea of your
birth from the land; the land is your family; from the peaks of the loftiest
mountains to the floor of the deepest lakes, from the centre of the busiest cities
to the thickest part of the most remote forests, from the chilly shores of the
Baltic via the sun-kissed islands of Istria to the windswept beaches of the Black
Sea, you are an integral and necessary part of the territory. For this very
reason, it is for many inconceivable to even entertain the idea that someone with
the surnames Robertson, Chang, Van de Vaart, Villeneuve, Akinfenwa, Singh, or
Rossi could ever be truly considered a compatriot. Those with German/Austrian/Hungarian
surnames are generally given special status, as the regions share a lot of
common cross-over history, but the rest may find it harder to integrate or be
integrated.
I believe that this is
one of the reasons (note: one of the reasons, not THE reason) why it is very
difficult for some Slavic people to accept the incorporation of those from other
cultures into theirs.
This does not mean those
from countries with greater numbers of immigration are morally better or more
altruistic than those in Slavic countries. If anything, Slavic people are the
most hospitable people you can ever wish to meet. They are also very attached
to their culture, very proud of it, but if one is frank, very protective of it.
Lastly, if one wants to
understand a culture, look no further than the language and what it provides to
the speakers. Edward Sapir and his Sapir-Whorf hypothesis have hit a very valid
point, but it is not the only answer; one size does not fit all. Words
manipulate people’s perceptions just as much as people manipulate their meanings.
I have tried to be as objective
as possible in this article, but certain elements are hard not to see as more
positive or more negative than others. In other words, please don’t shoot the
messenger; objectivity is the bedrock of factual information and no amount of
trying to paint things in another light can change reality.
It is not without pretext
that many Slavic countries have found it difficult to commit to sanctioning or even
tolerating non-heterosexual marriage, helping to assimilate refugees, settling
the Roma community, even adopting orphaned children from outside the area. It
is of course not an exclusively Slavic problem – Hungary and its government
have been the motors in the drive for cultural purity, but countries like
France and the UK, with centuries of colonialism behind them, are facing their
own issues with race, immigration and assimilation from entirely the other
direction.
Our languages give us the
tools to describe things as we see them, but they may also force us purely by
accident to only understand things through the context of the way we phrase
them, as we have seen. Nobody has the monopoly on correctness, and everyone has
the right to be listened to and respected.
The verb “to marry” means
not only in wedlock, but also to match up two disconnected pieces of evidence
in a mystery, two songs in a medley, a car with a trailer, a computer with an
external drive, or anything that can be coupled to something else. In the end,
it combines the idea of “to fit”, “to suit”, and “to join”. And for that
reason, it really shouldn’t matter to anyone else except those involved who
fits, suits, is joined to and married to whom. We can all learn from other
languages how to find ways to take the sting out of meanings.
So my final point is one
that I often touch on: if we want to live side-by-side, whether we are advocates
or critics of non-heterosexual marriage, immigration, religion or anything
else, we need to accept that all generations are different and the younger ones
set the tone for the future so we should not build obstacles just to keep
things as we know them. We should also respect each other’s standpoints and
sensitivities as long as they are not discriminatory or disparaging. We cannot
keep slinging names at each other and expect the other to acquiesce gracefully;
we need to find our own inner peace, and that means accepting that we are not
in control of others’ destinies, hopes, fears, sexualities and beliefs. This is
of course not the only thing that needs to be done, but it is a step in the
right direction.
