Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio. Photo: Christian Times Republican debates are reliably passionate, and candidates can be counted on to dispense heated words with one another. And sometimes, those heated words aren’t particularly mature – if you need any convincing of this, just look at Trump’s defense of his, um, hands at the last debate. But for language nerds like us, one moment that stood out in the Republican shenanigans happened a couple of weeks ago, and oddly enough, in Spanish.
The drama began about mid—way through a weekend debate, the 10th of the party's seemingly endless procession of debates that, thankfully, seem to be narrowing down. After a good hour or so of bickering, Republican senator Ted Cruz decided to, well, continue bickering – though this time about a favorite issue of his that nonetheless had yet to come up in this particular debate: immigration. Cruz accused his rival Marco Rubio, a fellow second generation Cuban-American (though Cruz would perhaps best be described as Cuban-Canadian-American) of being just a bit too lenient on immigrants. He pointed out that Rubio had gone on Telemundo a few weeks earlier and gave an interview in which he called for amnesty for illegal immigrants in the United States. And to top it off, Rubio gave the interview not in English but in the very un-American language of (gasp!) Spanish. Rubio, despite his penchant for canned responses which earned him the nickname “Marco Roboto”, had a quick response for Cruz: “I don't know how [Cruz] knows what I said on Univision because he doesn't speak Spanish.” Cruz upped the ante, opting to actually respond in Spanish: “I’ll answer you in Spanish right now if you want!” It was perhaps one of the strangest moments of a particularly shouty night for the GOP field. And it also pokes holes in one of my pet theories: that a greater knowledge of languages leads to greater tolerance. After all, the GOP field is actually pretty strong in the language skills department. Both Rubio and Cruz speak Spanish – at least well enough to insult each other en Español. And Jeb Bush, still hanging in the race, speaks fluent Spanish thanks to his Mexican wife. Meanwhile, none of the remaining Democratic candidates speak any other language. Still, it’s hard to imagine that the sizeable Latino population of the US is genuinely convinced by the surface-level nods to their culture. Cruz, Rubio, and Bush may all speak Spanish, but they won’t win over Latinos if they have the wrong message. No matter what language it’s in. Orwell's "Politics and the English Language" Works For Pretty Much Every Other Language Too1/29/2016
George Orwell. Photo via signature-reads.com "If you've been following us on the blog here at Pantera Language Studio, you've probably noticed we're political junkies. Don't ask us why - politics can be a disappointing and often maddening process that no one seems to like. But perhaps our fascination with politics can be tied to our love of languages. After all, politicians everywhere in the world, whether in the east, west, left, or right, are all masters of using their own native languages (and sometimes others as well) to shape public opinion to suit their ends. No one understood this better than George Orwell, widely regarded as one of the greatest political thinkers of the 20th century, who died exactly 56 years ago last week. Political speech is a recurring theme of his, which he depicts with chilling precision in his dystopian novel, 1984. But his most direct attempt at tackling just what can be so frustrating about the way politicians speak can be found in his celebrated essay, "Politics and the English Language". Though the essay is long, it manages to cover a lot of ground - its technical nature has gained it recognition by both political scholars and style guide enthusiasts alike. Orwell begins by examining five sentences at random, picking apart unnecessary elements of these sentences. He gives advice to writers and speakers, some of which is specific to the English language (i.e. don't use too many Greek or Latin-based words as they often come off as needlessly complicated), and other advice that might apply to speakers of other languages as well. So far, nothing very political. But about midway through, Orwell launches into the political domain, coming out swinging with a bold statement: "In our time it is broadly true that political writing is bad writing." Orwell criticizes the general vagueness he perceives in political writing, but above all, the intentional vagueness in describing atrocities and negative events. He points to the British occupation in India, where he offers this searing critique: "Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism, question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness. Defenseless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification. Millions of peasants are robbed of their farms and sent trudging along the roads with no more than they can carry: this is called transfer of population or rectification of frontiers. People are imprisoned for years without trial, or shot in the back of the neck or sent to die of scurvy in Arctic lumber camps: this is called elimination of unreliable elements. Such phraseology is needed if one wants to name things without calling up mental pictures of them. Consider for instance some comfortable English professor defending Russian totalitarianism. He cannot say outright, "I believe in killing off your opponents when you can get good results by doing so." Probably, therefore, he will say something like this: Interestingly, he recognizes that his observations may apply to other languages as well. "I should expect to find - this is a guess which I have not sufficient knowledge to verify - that the German, Russian and Italian languages have all deteriorated in the last ten or fifteen years, as a result of dictatorship," he notes. Finally, he closes with six main rules to abide by, for anyone willing to try to make political writing a bit more bearable: "(i) Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print. Now that the horrors of Orwell's era - British colonialism, World War II, and the Cold War - have largely passed, today's politicians mercifully have a few less evil deeds to sweep under the rug. Nevertheless, the political turns of phrase Orwell decries in his essay are still alive and well, and not just in English. Take the recent escape and capture of brutal drug kingpin Joaquin "El Chapo" Guzman in Mexico. In the Mexican newspaper La Jornada, columnist Gustavo Esteva skillfully deconstructs the language used by Mexican politicians, who already have a reputation for misspeaking (for an English machine translation of the article, click here). Esteva writes: "It's true that the way the government is destroying our language only serves to discredit it further. The recent example of 'El Chapo' is a perfect example of this process. Social networks and political cartoonists were quick to mock the rhetorical excesses of authorities. 'It has been recognized that many still have doubts, and this helps,' says the Archbishop of Oaxaca, 'since this means there has been a loss of credibility. There is much talk of 'slip ups' to refer to events that in truth are incompetent work, rip-offs, and trickery by authorities. A highly respected Government official took it upon himself to say: 'There is no criminal outside the reach of the government of Mexico'... when everyone in the country knows that criminals like Ulises Ruiz or the Acteal killers roam the streets freely, and that 97 percent of crimes go unpunished. And in this era of complete government incompetence, he added 'The governability of this country is guaranteed.' Habitually discrete ambassadors, who listen to these and other ridiculous statements, break out in applause, sing the national anthem, cheer on the Mexican authorities and swear that this will completely change the outlook for the government and the country. Sic. That's what they say. The capture of a criminal, which was supposedly the outcome of 'an intense and careful process of intelligence and criminal investigation' - even though it actually appears to have happened thanks to whistle-blowing by an unnamed woman - has changed the outlook for the entire country!" Looking at this text, there's surprisingly little that gets lost in translation. English speaking readers might not know much about the Archbishop of Oaxaca or the Acteal killers, but if they've been paying attention to politics anywhere, they're sure to recognize the exorbitant claims and grandstanding by the country's politicians.
But though Orwell's perceptive essay may apply in many languages, maybe even all languages, Politics in the English language is still living up to the principles he laid out back in the 1940s. Next week, voting begins in the Iowa caucuses in the US presidential election, and there has been no shortage of spin, showmanship, and promises made by the candidates that will in all likelihood turn out to be false. This is bad news for people in the country, or any other country whose politicians routinely deceive for their own gain, who are expecting their politicians to deliver. But at least it gives plenty of good material for a new generation of political writers, writing in English or any other language, to pick over. Let's hope they keep Orwell's observations in mind.
Comedian John Oliver roasts Mexican president Enrique Peña Nieto's use of the phrase "Ya chole". Photo: screen grab
As we've pointed out, popular TV newscaster/comedian John Oliver is fond of poking fun of goofy political stories, not just from his native Britain, or his adopted home country of the US, but around the world. And recently, he set his sights on the president of Mexico, Enrique Peña Nieto.
Oliver took issue with a video released by Peña Nieto's handlers, responding to criticisms of the government's controversial reforms. The video shows two working class Mexicans talking, and when one complains about the reforms, the other shuts him down: "That's enough of your complaints". The video may have seemed like a good idea for the Mexican government when they uploaded it to the internet, but it quickly became a lightning rod for criticisms. Though it has been removed from official government pages, it has been reloaded to the youtube page of well-known Mexican journalist Carmen Aristegui. John Oliver proceeded to rip the video. "We get used to politicians telling us: 'We've heard your voice,'" Oliver said. "But they don't usually follow it with: 'And it's annoying, so shut up.'" He also cataloged some of the responses by average Mexicans, including a GIF image saying "That's enough of your [poop emoji] Enrique Peña Nieto." The GIF later animates what appears to be an explosion emanating from the poop emoji. "When a government tells its people to stop complaining, they should know that shit is eventually going to blow up in your face," Oliver remarked.
But the video was noteworthy for the specific Spanish phrase it used. Instead of the more neutral "ya basta", the video uses the phrase "ya chole" (which later went on to become a popular hashtag on Twitter). This is actually a uniquely Mexican slang term, used particularly in and around Mexico City. In all likelihood, Peña Nieto's video included it to try to identify with average people - a move that backfired.
There's actually a fair amount to be said about the phrase "ya chole". First of all, from a linguistic standpoint, it's kind of an outlier. Whereas the more commonly used "ya basta" is based on the verb "bastar", which literally means "to be enough" or "to suffice", "chole" is not actually based on any verb at all. A Spanish-language entry on Word Reference suggests that it is actually derived from the nickname from the Spanish women's name "Soledad". In fact, there are a good deal of Mexican slang words that begin with the "ch" sound, including "Chilango", a term for residents of Mexico City. These have formed the basis for a song by the well known Mexican band Cafe Tacuba, "Ya Chole Chango Chilango". All in all, an important lesson in Mexican slang, which being featured by a well known comedian has perhaps helped to make a bit less boring. Let's hope Peña Nieto has also learned a lesson about trying to be folksy with slang words: it doesn't work. The five candidates for the Democratic Primary at the October debate in Nevada. Photo: CNN After two Republican primary debates, and significant difficulty in accommodating the massive Republican field - which ended up with the creation of a separate debate for unpopular candidates rather embarrassingly named the "kid's table" - it was finally time for the Democrats to have their own debate. And thanks to the fact that the debate was broadcast on CNN, we took the liberty of watching it (or at least part of it) on CNN's Spanish language affiliate. What we found out was truly astounding. Okay, not really. But here goes anyway.
1. "Debate" in Spanish is "debate". And "CNN" in Spanish is "CNÑ" Though many native English speakers balk at the idea of learning Spanish, learning to understand debates is surprisingly easy. And by that I mean that learning to understand the word "debate" in Spanish is surprisingly easy - it's spelled exactly the same in Spanish, though pronounced differently: "day-bah-tay". But for some reason, CNN has branded itself in Spanish as "CNÑ". What does that stand for, Cable News Ñetwork"? What is a ñetwork anyway? With the ñ, it would be pronounced "nyetwork" which makes it sound oddly Russian. 2. Bernie Sanders sounds weird dubbed with a Castilian accent For much of the debate, Bernie Sanders was shown as making his speech dubbed with a voice speaking in a Castilian (i.e. Spanish from Spain) accent. For me, it was a kind of weird cognitive dissonance - almost as if one of the candidates for US president had started speaking in a British accent. I joked on Twitter that Bernie en español was urging listeners that "nethethitamos mas regulathiones" (we need more regulations). And when asked about Wall Street, I was half expecting the Spanish dub to blurt out "joder, tío!" - which for US English speakers would be the equivalent of hearing "bloody rubbish, mate!" 3. Interpreting a debate is reallllly hard Sure, the candidates were all under pressure to do their best in the debate. But the Spanish interpreters had an equally difficult job of trying to capture distinctly English-language phraseology and slang in a way Spanish speakers could get. And often, it just wasn't possible, even for the seasoned team of interpreters CNN (or should I say, CNÑ) put together. At one point, it sounded to me like one of them was gasping for breath. 4. Spanish speakers outside the US are shocked that American women don't get maternal leave Later in the debate, Hillary scored a few points by mentioning the fact that, at the federal level, the US is sorely lacking in paid maternity leave for women. This is a fact that's staggering, especially when you look at how maternity leave is handled in Spanish-speaking countries around the world, most of which have more robust maternal leave laws than the US. 5. Latinos haven't made up their minds about the Democratic candidates yet CNÑ's post-debate coverage featured a number of interviews with Spanish-speaking Americans, pretty much all of them Latinos. And the overwhelming consensus among them was that they hadn't made their minds up yet. Though the Democratic party is generally seen as being friendlier to Latinos, Republicans have the advantage in that some of their candidates are actually Latino. However, it remains to be seen whether this actually means they will be better for the general Latino population - Ted Cruz, for instance, is know for his bombastic anti-Mexican statements (and also for trying to ingratiate himself to Republican voters by cooking bacon with a machine gun). 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. |
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