"Suicide": the latest cover of Germany's Der Spiegel. The Volkswagen scandal has turned into a crisis of epic proportions. It started with what appeared to be an error: diesel VWs driven under road conditions were emitting drastically higher levels of pollutants than they did in emissions tests. As investigators began to dig deeper, they found that the root cause was a secret piece of software within the cars, designed specifically to engage pollution protection only under test conditions. Once the VWs left the test, the computer switched back to the regular, more polluting mode. This was likely done in a bid to give the cars better performance during test drives, to sell more of them while still giving buyers the warm fuzzy feeling that they were helping the environment.
It's hard to underestimate the impact this is having. Now, several countries have opened investigations into VW's wrongdoing. The Los Angeles Times reports that VW sales are plummeting -and the dealers, who in this case had nothing to do with the scandal, are taking much of the heat. And the reputation of all diesel cars, which do have legitimate environmental benefits, is nonetheless suffering. But the effect has been particularly harsh in VW's home country: Germany. VW, which is the largest car manufacturer in the world by volume, is also a strong source of national pride for Germans. So much so that when the scandal broke, Germany's head of state Angela Merkel (referred to by some with the nickname mutti: "mom") went on TV to reassure the German people, and incidentally, to deflect any accusations that might be pointed her way. The Washington Post opined that many Germans saw the scandal as "a national disgrace" and an affront to Germans' "pride in their precision and obedience to the rules". As if to hammer this point home, one of Germany's best known magazines, Der Spiegel, has just released a cover for its latest magazine with a two word headline: Der Selbstmord. It's not a particularly pretty sounding word, and its translation is even more dire: "the suicide". The cover features a parade of pallbearers in black formal wear, carting off a new VW Beetle as if it were a coffin. The Beetle is decked out with German flags; perhaps these gentlemen are carrying the noble, law abiding spirit many Germans see in themselves to its grave as well. In a strange way, it's a title captures the German national psyche in a way that American papers can come close to, but not quite capture. Here are a group of renegade engineers who subvert Germany's written and unwritten laws for their own gain. For observers in America and most of the rest of the world, this is a "scandal", a "national disgrace". But for Germans, it's worse. It's a destruction of their very identity, a "suicide". But to grasp how deep this criticism really cuts, it needs to be though of using the literal translation of the words "selbst" and "mord" in German: "self murder". At the end of the day, it's a dark lesson in what happens to a society when its prominent actors fail to live up to the goals it has set for itself. In Germany's case, perhaps these goals have been too high. It's honorable that Germans, in a very general sense, want to be the most law abiding people in the world. But in order to function, we have to recognize that even the most law abiding among us - namely, Germans - are still humans. Sometimes, humans mess up, or even do nasty things like program cars to surreptitiously pollute more. But we can't let any deviation from the law shut us down or keep us from functioning. We need to be able to live with imperfection, or at least seek the best way to deal with it. To find the perfect way to be imperfect. But perhaps this Der Spiegel cover proves that Germany is doing just that. It shows that the most devastating critique of this very German scandal could only have been made in one language: German. I've been an occasional reader of This Is Africa, a news site with stories covering everything from Cairo to Cape Town, for a number of months. But, after clicking on one of their stories, I was surprised to find that a good chunk of the links on their sidebar are in French. Of course, this isn't too much of a surprise. After English, French is the most prevalent European language on the continent. Other European languages, left over from the troubled history of colonialism on the continent, have left their mark, such as Portuguese, Italian, and Dutch (there's also Afrikaans, a language with strong ties to Dutch spoken mainly in South Africa). In the northern part of the continent, Arabic is prevalent - another colonial language, though not a European one. And let's not forget about the rich linguistic diversity of Africa's home grown languages. A Wikipedia article asserts that there are anywhere from 1,250 to 2,100 languages spoken on the continent. Though some of those are the European ones listed above, most aren't. The site lists a number of other languages, such as Somali, Berber, Amharic, Oromo, Swahili, Hausa, Igbo, Fulani and Yoruba, as all having over 10 million speakers in Africa. Given this wide array of languages spoken, it's no surprise that a website aspiring to cover the entire continent would need to use more than one. But this presents a dilemma: what about the readers that don't speak French? Multilingual websites are a challenge, especially for news websites which are constantly updated. Many major news sites opt to center on a single language, with specific stories translated, especially if they are related to certain geographical regions in particular. For instance, a New York Times Magazine story about internet trolls in Russia was translated into Russian, even though most of the site's content is not. In the case of This is Africa perhaps posting articles in parallel languages isn't such a bad idea. And who knows? Maybe it will help some of its readers to brush up on their French skills. Bernie Sanders (left) and Jeremy Corbyn (right). Image via SouthSidePride Followers of politics on both sides of the Atlantic have been taken by the rise of two political figures, who are said to have much in common. In the US, former Burlington mayor and current US senator Bernie Sanders is mounting a serious challenge to Hillary Clinton in the Democratic party primary. And in the UK, Jeremy Corbyn took the Labour party by surprise after winning that party's nomination earlier this month.
There are certainly plenty of connections between the pair, as they have both rallied the populist left of their respective countries. Though they are certainly big differences between them as well; an article in the New Yorker quipped that "Corbyn makes Bernie Sanders look like [Republican senator] Ted Cruz." But, for translators like me, one connecting factor stands out in particular: supporters of both groups are or have at one time been given the suffix of "...istas". For Sanders supporters, that would be "Sanderistas", and for Corbyn's base, "Corbynistas". For Sanders, the roots of this phrase go back to his time as mayor of Burlington, Vermont, when he took it upon himself to weigh in on the country's brewing Iran-Contra affair in the early 80s. The term "Sandinista", named for 1930s Nicaraguan revolutionary Augusto César Sandino and made relevant at the time by a government in Nicaragua that embraced his ideology and was opposed by the Reagan administration, was on the tip of everyone's tongue. Sanders wrote letters both to Reagan and to the people of Nicaragua, criticizing the US federal government's actions in the country; this and other factors led to his tightly knit group of supporters being cleverly dubbed "Sanderistas". Corbyn's rise as an "ista" has been relatively recent. A largely irrelevant figure in UK politics, he was brought into the race for Labour party leader after the party's defeat in the general elections in May. By August, when it was clear that Corbyn had a real chance of being elected, right leaning publications like the Daily Mail began to refer to his followers derisively by using the term "Corbynista". While the term "Sanderista" seems to have faded (Sanders' fans haven't lost any enthusiasm, but the preferred term now for his fan base seems to be the "Bernieverse"), the recently minted "Corbynista" only seems to have gained in popularity since Corbyn's selection. But in both cases, the choice of "...ista" to describe their respective following clearly appears to have been a put down, an invocation of the Spanish language not out of respect but to instill fear and paint these politicians' supporters as backward, uncivilized. These tactics are an unfortunate reality of the below-the-belt nature of politics in both countries. And though in an English language context, "...ista" seems to be applied only to major candidades who are significantly to the left of the political mainstream, in Spanish it is applied to politicians of all ideologies, and is seen as rather mundane. Pretty much every politician gets his or her own "...istas", from presidents to small town mayors. And since many people from Spanish speaking countries have multiple last names, this can result in some rather awkward new words. For instance, supporters of Mexico's president Enrique Peña Nieto ("Peña Nieto" being a two word last name) are referred to as "Peñanietistas". But oddly enough, the effect of the rise of the Sandinistas in Nicaragua on the English lexicon wasn't limited to the politics. According to the Dictionary.com blog, it was at that same time that the term "fashionista" came into usage in the US, for people who showed an almost fanatical, Sandinista-esque level of commitment to new fashion trends. Meanwhile, as the English fashion lexicon became tinged with influence from Spanish, some Spanish speaking countries began to use the English word "fashion". In shopping malls where I live, it's not uncommon to see groups of women point to dresses and burst out: "Esto es muy fashion!" Sadly, the rise of "...ista" as a put down reveals our lingering intolerance for foreign languages. But the adaptability of terms like "fashionista" shows that there's still hope that some don't see them as a threat, but as an opportunity. Pope Francis greets a crowd at the Vatican. Photo: Wikimedia It's the tour that's said to make or break Pope Francis's papacy. Last weekend, the Pope touched down in Cuba, a country whose half century long standoff with the US he famously helped to bring to an end. Today, he heads to the United States. But for many, one of the most remarkable aspects of his trip to the states doesn't have to do with any of his religious edicts or bold stances on international politics. It's the fact that he's daring to speak to people in English.
Yesterday, the Huffington Post reported that, before his arrival in the US, the Pope made a video directed to his admirers in Philadelphia. "I look forward to greeting the pilgrims and the people of Philadelphia when I come for the World Meeting of Families,” the Pope said. “I will be there because you will be there! See you in Philadelphia!” It was an unremarkable statement, except for one thing: it was in English. The Pope has been notoriously shy about speaking English. He is, of course, a native Spanish speaker. And his training in the Catholic Church, coupled with his Italian lineage and the similarities between the Spanish of Argentina and Italian, have made him feel right at home speaking Italian. He has a working knowledge of other European languages as well, expressing a particular fondness for German. But English has always proved elusive. This is something of a rarity among popes. Francis's two predecessors were legendary in their multilingual prowess. The National Catholic Register reports that Francis's predecessor, Pope Benedict XVI, was fluent in seven languages. And Pope John Paul II was reported to speak a whopping 12 languages. This may be due to the former popes' European upbringing, where multilingual skills are particularly important and play a larger part in the culture than most other regions of the world. Pope Francis, on the other hand, is sheepish about his English proficiency. "What has always caused the most problems for me has been English, especially the phonetics," he admits to the Register, ascribing this issue to the fact that he is "tone deaf." Ironically, English has been most necessary for the Pope not on his travels to the Americas, but during his visit to South Korea. There, he issued a few unscripted remarks to a group of children in English. This may have been less intimidating for the Pope since the children were not native speakers; non-native speech tends to be easier to understand for others who are not native to a given language. For his current trip to the United States, on the other hand, the Pope plans to spend little time speaking in English. While only four of his speeches in the country are to be given in English, 14 of them - including his speech to the UN, considered to be his most important during the trip - will be in Spanish. It's hard to say what the effect of this will be on the American public. In the primary race, the Republican field has been marked by a nativist streak, most notably Donald Trump's call for the construction of a massive border wall between the US and Mexico. Other well-known Republican figures, like Sarah Palin, have demanded that all immigrants in the country "speak American." The Pope's heavy use of Spanish may raise the ire of those on this side of the political spectrum, who already expressed frustration about his Laudato Si, in which he urged for greater action on climate change. On the other hand, The Atlantic's Priscilla Alvarez thinks that using Spanish may be a way to shore up slipping Catholic faith among Latinos in the US. With any luck, this will be a chance for the Pope to take his English speaking skills to the next level. But it's not just an opportunity for the Pope to learn English - it's also an opportunity to raise Americans' enthusiasm about learning Spanish as well. Francis has shifted the debate on so many issues, perhaps it's time for him to use his influence to help lift the stigma surrounding foreign languages for so many Americans. Last weekend was Catalonia's national holiday, and the fiercely independent Catalans wasted no time in taking the streets and demanding their independence from Spain. And in a few weeks, they might actually get it. England's The Prospect reports that on September 27, the region's parliamentary elections are "what amounts to a de facto referendum on independence, a second best to the Scotland-style plebiscite they were denied by Madrid last year."
In the meantime, the region's leader and perhaps the most outspoken advocate for Catalonian independence, Artur Mas (who some in Madrid refer to as "Arturo" just to annoy him), has seized on the forward momentum. He has harsh words for more Madrid-centric political figures, whether they be conservative PM Mariano Rajoy or even the charismatic leader of the country's leftist Podemos coalition, Pablo Iglesias. According to Spain's El Confidencial, Mas bashed a recent speech by Iglesias as an attempt at the "division of the Catalonian society". But what is it that makes Catalonia different from the rest of Spain (which includes, to be fair, a number of other regions vying for independence)? The answer often comes down to what gets referred to as a distinct culture that is incompatible with the rest of Spain. And perception owes in large part to the region's distinctive language: Catalan. As many of the world's culturally aware already know, Catalan is not Spanish, despite its similarities. But unlike another language that is not Spanish despite its similarities - Portuguese - Catalan's differences from Spanish don't branch off in an entirely different direction but instead lean toward words already found in another language spoken near Catalonia: French. When I visited Barcelona a number of years ago, I was aware of the fact that there, people speak Catalan, not Spanish. But I was expecting the differences to be minor, and not to have anything to do with any other language. When I got off the train, the first thing I saw was a sign directing me to the "sortida". I quickly inferred that this meant the exit, but what surprised me was how perfect a split of the difference the word was between the Spanish "salida" and French "sortie". So, which of the two languages is Catalan closer to? Some passionately argue that Catalan is in fact closer to French. In a language forum, one commenter from France who moved to Barcelona remarked that listening to people speak there was very similar to his own language. Another thread points out that the sentence "I want to eat eight apples" is remarkably similar between French ("je veux manger huit pommes") and Catalan ("vull menjar vuit pomes "). The Spanish version ("quiero comer ocho manzanas") is completely different. On the other hand, there are still plenty of vocabulary similarities between Catalan and Spanish. Take for instance the word for onion. It's "cebolla" in Spanish, "ceba" in Catalan, and "oignon" in French. Or a much more important one: beer. That's "cerveza" in Spanish, "cervesa" in Catalan, and "biere" in French. Perhaps one way of thinking of Catalan is not the halfway point between French and Spanish, but rather by a saying that a Catalan translator who identifies herself as Anna relates on her blog: "The worst of Spanish put together with the worst of French". But regardless of the linguistic hair-splitting that can go on endlessly between Catalan, Spanish, and French, one thing is certain. The existence of Catalan as a distinct language is a driving force in the region's push for independence. And it may prove decisive. An interesting comparison can be drawn with Scotland's push for independence. In Scotland, a region where people are much more likely to use English than Catalonians are to use Spanish, the independence vote failed. But now, Mas appears poised to win his vote later this month. It's a testament to just how inseparable the languages we speak are from our cultures, our friendships, and the very core of who we are as people.
We can't get enough of the ridiculously viral (and deservedly so) Youtube series "Google Translate Sings...". The series is run by the fantastic young singer Malinda Kathleen Reese. Here's the idea: start with the lyrics of a well known song, run them through Google Translate, ending back at English. Then, Malinda picks them up and sings them to the instrumental of the song. You'd be surprised the crazy stuff you come up with.
Here's the best known of them, "Let It Go", from Frozen. Instead of "let it go", the translated version is "Give up". Um, maybe it loses something in translation? But it also gains something: humor. |
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