I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

The whole poem is here.

The second thing this post reminds me of is my own just-so postcard that Shanti sent me from Geneva when I was studying in Lahore. The quote, from Jules Renard, reads:

Ecrire, c’est une façon de parler sans être interrompu.

But what’s most interesting and, I think, most relevant to Australia is the section titled What’s Race Got To Do With It? The third presentation, called “The Elephant in the Room” seemed the most directly applicable to what I’ve seen in Australia. I should point out that I don’t know all that much about the social and racial history of Australia and what I do know comes from references made in articles and conversations about current issues (such as the Apology to Indigenous Australians made by the Prime Minister earlier this year, the portrayal – or lack thereof – of Indigenous Australians in the media and art, and Australia’s rather intersting immigration policies through history). I have however been living here for just over two years now and while I honestly find it a wonderfully welcoming place, I have also found it to be one where racism is incredibly deeply ingrained. Not in the classic American sense of being discriminated against on the basis of your skin color (though it’s been known to happen) but in the constant classification of people into categories and sub-categories. People born and bred in Australia are still referred to by their parents’ race or, if they are of European ancestry, by their forebears’ country of origin. Nobody, it seems, is just Australian. Given the intermittent noise in the media about ‘Australian values’ and identity, that’s just bizarre.

The racism is so casual you almost don’t notice it. For instance, upon meeting my husband, several people have remarked that he wasn’t what they expected. They were expecting a Pakistani – and therefore presumably Muslim – male but he ‘doesn’t look like one.’ As if that wasn’t galling enough, some have remarked on how lovely that is and how lucky I am.

Another example is language. I have lost count of how many times I’ve received compliments on my command of English or been asked outright where I learnt it because it’s really rather good. I don’t think any of the people who have complimented me have meant any harm by it and have no idea that they were being insufferably patronizing. I have decided however that, rather than get annoyed, the simplest thing to do is to compliment theirs in return. You know, one native speaker to another.

My personal favorite is people who must assert a cultural difference no matter what. Everyone being spoken of belongs to some neat little category that immediately explains everything about them. What a convenient way to view the world.

Given the history of racism, these are minor irritations. But they indicate nonetheless how deeply ingrained the assumptions based on race actually are, even though most people would be hard put to explain why some people are categorized according to race while others are defined by their ethnicity, nationality, or religion and would be surprised to learn how often they conflate these categories themselves.

What is particularly interesting to me in this is the use of language to effect this coup. Change language and you change perception indeed.

Well, Jeff, quackery is a pejorative term. Some time ago we recognized that words raise emotions and mental pictures. We recognized the cognitive dissonance raised by them, so we tried to eliminate quackery. We recognized the cognitive dissonance raised when one discusses acupuncture, chiropractic, homeopathy, and healing at a distance as if they were quackery when we made claims. For a century, most people just could not allow for the possibility that these things really work.

So over time we recognized that we had to do something about our language. That would be the first step in enabling the thought revolution that is upon us, and changing the paradigm in medicine and science. We simply changed the adjectives, and gave alternate names to the methods, added a few phrases to eliminate negative reactions, and shifted the negative terms to descriptions of the Medical Establishment (and, note the caps in that one.)

And along with that, we took advantage of a shift in perception, to be sure that the public would adopt a non-judgmental attitude. Of course, we had to wait decades for that attitude to mature to the point that they would be willing to give our claims a hearing, whereas just thirty years ago they would have dismissed the claims out of hand.Not only did we get that non-judgmental mind-set, but with it, a strong negative reaction to a description that contained an opinion or one that used any kind of loaded language to describe an underdog – no matter how true or justified that language happened to be. Fortunately for us, a wave of change spread across the intelligentsia, especially in the universities and the literary community, reinforced by the press.

Thoughts inevitably turn to Orwell, but also to Deborah Tannen, Francis Wheen, Barbara Ehrenreich and many others who’ve been trying, each with the tools at their disposal, to point out that what we’re doing is tantamount to, as my brother put it, ’shooting ourselves in the foot while being chased by a steamroller.’

But for what it’s worth, my guess is this: we regret not speaking Gaelic, and we resent the presumption that we should.

The comments are also worth a read.

Ayoun was investigating second-language learning of grammatical gender in French — a major difficulty for learners from non-gender languages like English. She had constructed a couple of tasks: grammaticality judgments of sentences where there was a gender agreement mismatch, and a gender-assignment task, where subjects were given a noun and had to choose among “masculine”, “feminine”, “both”, or “I don’t know”.

In both tasks, to her great surprise, she found a great deal of disagreement among her native-speaker controls! In these tasks, there is always a normatively ‘correct’ answer — French dictionaries and textbooks all agree on what the genders of nouns are, and how gender agreement in sentences should turn out — in the same way they agree on how to form relative clauses, and how to form passives, and where to put clitic pronouns, and so on. Native speakers would be expected to perform close to ceiling on this grammatical task, as on others. But, surprisingly, they don’t.

What is interesting is that the greatest variation existed among the youngest participants.

On most grammatical tasks, for all intents and purposes, teenagers’ native-language abilities are identical to adults’ abilities. But when she broke down the gender-assignment task results by age, she found that teenagers showed considerably more variation than the adults. On the 50 feminine nouns, for example, the 14 adults all agreed on 21 of them, while the 42 teenagers agreed on only one: cible, ‘target’. Of the 93 masculine nouns, the adults agreed on 51 of them, while all adults and teenagers agreed on only 17 (of 93!!)

Apparently, no systematic study of native French speakers’ assignment of grammatical gender has been done for about 30 years, so we don’t know when or how this inconsistency developed. It’s interesting though, because it makes me wonder whether it has anything to do with the increasing amount of ‘noise’ being overlaid on language. Teachers and all manner of pedants have been bewailing the deterioration of language quite possibly since we started using language in the first place. What I find odd though is not just the change in the way people use language, but the fact that they don’t really seem to ‘have the idiom’, as it were. I hope that’s not just me turning into a stuffy old lecturer before my time and ranting about ‘kids these days’ – I’m particular about usage, certainly, but I try not to smother living language.

As the post points out, the experiment was not set up to provide answers to questions regarding the variation between native language speakers so we’ll have to wait for another study before we can do more than wonder out loud. But in the mean time, I shall happily speculate to my heart’s content.

The discussion ranges over other interesting topics, including Gaby’s project regarding the concept of time in language, which sounds fascinating.

SciAm promised a transcript of the interview a week from the post, but nothing’s been posted yet. I’ll link to it as soon as it’s up.

Antoine Cassar writes in five different languages, but rather than write one poem in one language, he has attempted to “braid” all five together into single poems, called Muzajik or Mosaics. The results are intriguing. The first and third link will take you to some of his poems, and while you’re there I’d recommend listening to the posted recordings. I’ve found, in my brief encounter with them, that the different languages gel well with each other and form very interesting poetry. He’s woven the sounds of the different languages together wonderfully in the poems I’ve heard so far (Go listen).

In the Chimera piece(first link), Cassar says:

“…the mosaics are more than a mere linguistic challenge. Having lived in five different European countries and languages, I find it difficult to decide which tongue I feel more at home with. Although I still write monolingual poetry occasionally (particularly in Maltese), I believe that selecting one, or even two, would mean sacrificing others, and to a certain extent, I feel that making a choice would also imply a political decision. Why the fixation with one as opposed to many?”

I think that’s what immediately appealed to me. Being multilingual, one tends to code-switch – or at least want to code-switch – quite a bit, and it is sometimes frustrating to have to limit oneself to just one language when another would fit a particular situation so much better. Given that there are probably more bilinguals and multilinguals in the world than monolinguals, it is worth asking why the majority has to limit itself for the sake of the minority. (And the over-generalized answer, probably, is that the minority is more powerful or influential – neither of which is to be construed as pejorative.)

There are more things to address here, not the least of which is Cassar’s project to include languages he does not speak into the mosaics, but as the project is, as far as I can tell, still gathering steam, I expect there will be more opportunities to do so. In the mean time, I’m just going to go enjoy what there is.

There were delays, of course – it’s taken almost a month and a half to process everything. You’d think, with an unconditional offer and two full scholarships, there’d be no reason for any holdups, wouldn’t you? I thought so too. I have seldom been so horribly wrong.

See Australia requires international students to have health insurance while they’re in the country. In itself, this is not a problem. It becomes a problem, however, when you want to switch insurance companies. They don’t like each other and while they’re happy to have you, you need to be punished for ever going over to the competition in the first place. Once they work you over good and proper and make you swear a blood oath to never ever leave the fold again on pain of torture by red tape, you are finally redeemed and accepted into the fold.

You can imagine, then, what the company you’re leaving does to you. Honestly, if my parents had divorced when I was 12 and I’d been forced to choose between them, it could not have been worse.

The incompetence of the people who are supposed to ‘handle’ us international students  was the next hurdle. Yes you need health cover for three years. No you don’t. Yes you do. No you don’t. Unfortunately, it was ‘yes you do’ when I went to accept my offer and I was sent packing straight to the insurance company with offerings of money and vows of eternal fidelity. They were in a benevolent mood – and hey, who isn’t when you give them money – and back I went to finally, finally accept my offer. And then, naturally, I find out that the department of immigration only requires you to have cover for the first 12 months of your degree, after which it is your responsibility to keep it updated.

That stupidity aside though, it’s done and I’m ready to start. I’m quite excited and nervous, but I have about four years to get over that.  I’ve started exploring German on my own, though I’ll sign up for proper classes once I sort out where to go. I’m also sorting through what resources I’ve found at the library and looking for stuff online, though the amount of material searches turn up is a little frightening. Ah well, as I said, four years to go through it all.

I realized something else that’s ‘official’, or at least will be by the time I finish: in 2012, I will have lived in Melbourne for just under six years – that’s longer than I’ve ever lived anywhere before.  Who’d'a thunk?

Dr Jean Anderson teaches at Victoria University of Wellington in New Zealand and “fell into” translation. She translates into French and her lecture was primarily about issues of cultural difference when translating literature from the Pacific island nations – a group of which she contends New Zealand is a part. Her particular problem had to do with translating work that, while written, comes from a highly developed oral tradition into French, which has fairly rigid conventions. Repetition, she said, was one example. Where a Mao’hi writer could repeat words, ‘good’ French writing demands that a particular word not be repeated until several paragraphs after its first appearance. Such conventions, be they in whatever language, throw up interesting quandaries for translators and quite often one has to make a decision based on what will ultimately be most acceptable to readers.

That raises the question of domesticating a text: risking the elimination of the original voice of the text by absorbing it too deeply into the target language (and culture).  And that in turn raises the question of why a translation shouldn’t ‘look’ like a translation. Why shouldn’t it look foreign if that’s what it is? All of which constitutes a fairly long-standing debate in the field of translation.

 I don’t know if translation studies is where I want to go necessarily; it represents to me a fairly black-and-white approach to language that I don’t think I’m entirely comfortable with. I prefer a more nebulous approach to language and that may well have to do with having grown up speaking three languages. I never had to ‘learn’ any of them formally although I’ve had lessons in all three at one time or another. Actually, when you think about it, it’s odd that this should come as a ’surprise’ to translators because I’m hardly alone. The majority of the world’s population does grow up multilingual – there’s usually a national language as well as a regional language or dialect at the very least, as well as English and any other languages that may be relevant. It’s people in English-speaking countries who have to make an active effort to learn a new language, and those who do constitute a fairly small minority of language learners. And yet our theories of language acquisition center on the latter approach to language learning. …I have to go read me some more Venuti, I think.