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forkedtongues2010-06-18 08:12 pm
jazzypom) wrote in forkedtongues2010-06-18 08:12 pm
On Nation Language, Gibberish and Why Both Aren't The Same.
Disclaimer: This meta focuses on my thoughts of situations presented as someone who is an heir to (in the metaphorical sense, not the literal sense) of the post colonial legacy left behind by those of independence and various works (intellectual and otherwise) from the mid 1960s onward. Despite the sources quoted, this is pretty much my own reading of events, and I am aware that this is but a sliver of which is out there. I'm also only speaking of what I've known and studied (West Indian and segments of African history from 16th century to the mid 1990s), and I haven't wrestled with these issues in a long time. Damn you, again, fandom.
Fandom. Oh, fandom. I've been reading the the latest fail with regards to a story where suffering of POC is an exotic backdrop for the suffering of the handsome, white leads. Other people who are more eloquent and patient than myself have spelt out why such tropes are problematic, and I thank them. I will also like to expand on an oft overlooked subject when it comes to tropes, racism and fandom on a whole: the concept of nation language and gibberish, and how it is oft overlooked in the wider scheme of things, but just as important.
Normally, when people speak about problematic tropes re: developing or underdeveloped societies, the key terms that come to mind are economic and social.
These issues are easy enough to explain and sum up: for developing countries the mainstay of their Gross Domestic Product (GDP) is primary (when the mineral is mined, but not processed) or the focus on only cultivating one crop for export ( monoculture). For instance, in the West Indies, the islands were mainly used to grow sugar and rum for the 'mother countries' and for centuries, and it funded the practice of 'The Triangular Trade': sugar, tobacco and cotton rum to the mother countries, textiles and rum to Africa, slaves from Africa to the Indies. As a result, the islands were only encouraged to grow crops for trade for their 'mother' countries, and even after the wave of independence in the 1960s, the notion of the mono crop still continues today. As a result of the economic activities grown up around the primary and monoculture industries, you do find that these countries tend to be poorer than those who benefit from tertiary services and diverse crops for export.
Sad to say, but at least the West Indies were marginally better off in the 16-19th century compared to what the Europeans did to Africa in the late 19th to the early 20th century, when Europe turned its sights on the continent, not only for the exploitation of its peoples, but for its minerals as well. Africa, unlike the West Indies, wasn't an area to settle in (and as a result have some sort of governmental and civil structure), but to get as much out of the continent as they could.
At this time, the focus on Africa wasn't just limited to the French, English, Spanish and Dutch, there were other European countries, chagrined at missing out on the riches of the West Indies, looked to Africa to get their wealth this time around. The most extreme example of this was King Leopold of Belgium, who took over Congo and raided the land (tearing down the forests for rubber plantations) as well as wiping out twenty percent of the indigenous population. In How Europe Underdeveloped Africa" Walter Rodney argues that its Europe systematic disabling of their colonies in Africa crippled their progress, because whereas in the West Indies the British, French, Spanish and Dutch left a system of governing (for instance, the civil service culture in the British West Indies is very much of the mother country even a generation after independence), when Portugal left Mozambique in the mid 20th C, they even removed the light bulbs from their offices.
For the countries that stayed under their European rulers, until they got their independence in the 1960s this was the best that they got. For those countries like Haiti, who had the temerity to revolt, in 1804, they paid and paid and paid. To wit, these were Haiti's fortunes after they were the second country in the New World to get their independence:
- Imperialism As Disaster
Not to mention, after Haiti got its independence, the United States refused to recognise the country for the next sixty years, for fear that their own slaves might be inspired by the revolt too. Fast forward to the 20th century, when Haiti suffered under its kleptomaniac rulers, propped up by the US, and held to ransom by the International Monetary Fund, which undermined the country's changes of feeding itself, by demanding that it cut tariffs on heavily subsidised US imported products (and put their own farmers and factories out of work) setting the country on to the path where it is now. The earthquake was just another vicious knock against the country to be honest, because Haiti has been through so much.
Of course, these economic issues don't just happen in a vacuum. There are knock on effects to social issues as well. Frantz Fanon speaks of social issues in terms of the psychopathology of the colony, as detailed in The Wretched of the Earth. He looks at the notion of decolonisation and how citizens of the former colony can be affected by living under such conditions. According to Fanon, colonisation is complete, and devastating. The first thing it does is to simplify the lives of those who are conquered, because the process is so completely destructive. Their nationhood is stripped, their identity belittled and mocked, and new laws instituted in the new language so as to make life difficult (especially with the majority of its citizens being illiterate in this new language). This new society is policed by violence, and enslavement.
This is what the citizens learn, and in some cases, live with for centuries. The only way the nation can break free from the bonds of colonialism is to push back and revolt, and in order to do so, the leaders of the revolution have to look at the lumpenproletariat - the people who were criminals, and vagrants, who could be channelled to focus their anger and aggression at the oppressor, because they were not dependent on the powers that be at all.
The only failing of Fanon is that he doesn't really have an answer as to what happens to the lumpenproletariat when the revolution is successful, which is vexing. As in, the lumpenproletariat has learnt violence and has used it, but their energy isn't really 'spent', but waiting for another vocation, and only the touch of a dynamic and an effective leader can turn it into something productive, but a lot of leaders don't, due to various reasons, either personal or social. After centuries of living like this... of being institutionalised it can be argued that some societies, once free, are unable to function for a generation or so, and have to be rehabilitated. Fanon says that the society getting land is a touchstone for their new lives, but doesn't elaborate as to what other options there might be, apart from ripping out imperialism by its roots, but then, that might be the point.
In addition to the economics and societies of colonised places, Fanon recognises the importance of language and how it shapes the individuals in the face of oppression. Under colonisation, the first thing that happens is that the language of the aggressor is the one to master, and the nation language is summed up, and dismissed as being subpar to the language forced on the people. For one, the new order calls for this language; if you want to get ahead, you have to study it, master it, will it, at the risk of maligning your own language. This is done officially, in terms of only having the laws in the enforced language of the land, as well as unofficially, by making the nation language something to be ashamed of, as well as to ridiculed. To be shamed into putting the nation language aside to embrace the language of the other is an intention and commitment: "To speak a language is to take on a world, a culture." Fanon says, and the implicit notion that to put away a language is to bury a world and culture, which is what colonalisation and learning the culturally accepted language demands you to do. In Australia, they did one better, by taking the indigenous children away from their communities, and the first thing to go (after the bonds, and culture) was the chance of learning their nation language (L1).
Which brings me back to the SPN writer, and when I read an excerpt from the fic with the notion of dismissing Haiti's nation language as gibberish, it hit me hard, because of the reasons detailed above. For most colonised areas, you didn't learn English, or Spanish or French because it pleased you, but to survive and get ahead, especially if you weren't white. Language, as detailed in the essay so far, comes with its own history, be it of economics, or society. In the SPN fic, one of the characters learns French, and it is presented as a choice, and the right choice, whereas in the colonies, it's not an option, but a forcible legacy of their history.
For instance, as someone who grew up in a former British colony, English was the language needed to get ahead. If you wanted to travel to England, and Europe, it was implied that you'd learn French and Spanish too. In contrast, our patios was considered a 'broken' language, not fit for leaving the house, much less going abroad, and my parents discouraged us from speaking it. To the point of, if my mother asked me a question and I answered in the L1 , she'd give me a long, blank look and go, "Excuse me?" or flat out ignore the answer until I spoke to her in Standard English.
It was the same in the schools I went to. If you spoke the nation language as your first language (L1), instead of English, people would sneer. Despite the fact that when you turned on the radio, there were talk shows with people calling in, speaking the nation language. Or songs on the radio, but you couldn't speak it and be taken seriously. If you wanted to tell a story, it was one thing to do in that language, for jokes - but nothing serious. To make things worse, there is still no standard phonemic chart for the language, so how it's written doesn't jive with how it's pronounced. If a language isn't written, it can be argued that it isn't preserved, and it cannot be honoured. In the latter years (before I left that part of the world for this side of the pond, anyway) the push back was on having the L1 being recognised as its own language - in terms of reading and studying poems in the school curriculum, and shaping the attitude that the two languages weren't mutually exclusive - but it wasn't like that when I was growing up.
As a result of my parents and the society I moved in (middle class), I can't speak my nation language - according to certain of my fellow nation language speakers, I sound 'funny' and foreign, you see. My accent is okay enough in that I've been told that I sound Canadian, or American, and that was a compliment from my little island, because I didn't sound Jamaican. I didn't (and still don't) carry the aural identification of my heritage with me, and it is still seen a good thing.
Oh, there were times we could use our nation language though - if we wanted to tell a funny story, or recite a quaint poem:
Touris, white man, wipin his face,
Met me in Golden Grove market place.
He looked at m'ol' clothes brown wid stain ,
An' soaked right through wid de Portlan rain,
He cas his eye, turn up his nose,
He says, 'You're a beggar man, I suppose?'
He says, 'Boy, get some occupation,
Be of some value to your nation.'
I said, 'By God and dis big right han
You mus recognize a banana man.
- excerpt from the poem "The Song of the Banana Man" by Evan Jones.
But nothing more. Despite the breadth of ideas that the nation language can express, its fluidity and complexity in capturing the experience of the various peoples of the diaspora, it is looked down, and dismissed. The lie with learning the language of the colony is the fact that they tell you that if you speak it and master it enough, you can be English/Spanish/French/ whatever. They tell you that it's not race, oh no, it's mastering the language, it's the feeling of being English/Spanish/French/whatever. So, growing up, you don't let your children speak the nation language, because you know, there is a 'tell' when you do that, because they can master the language and manoeuvre you see - up to a point.
Mastery of the language is not a passport to being considered a true European, nor the fact that I do take tea, and supper and know the difference between the two, because my colour stops me, alas. And yet, I don't feel comfortable enough speaking my nation language, because of all the social indicators it had when I was growing up, and I was representing my class at all times, and there was no room for that. As it is now, I can understand my L1, but feel very self conscious when I'm speaking it, and pretty much stick to my L2 (English) instead.
In addition to the legacy of the nation languages, you find that they have their own structure, too. Now, I cannot speak of Haitian creole and French, but I do know my L1 and L2, and how the languages might be different, but the words are similiar and with a bit of effort, it can be learned, even if it's just for getting by. A nation language can not be considered gibberish, just because you don't understand. For instance, my L1 is a mix of English, Spanish, Taino and a whole lot of West African influences, which is different from my L2, which is English known for its European influences and as such, the two languages operate differently.
For instance, in formal, standardised English we tend to use the verb in various conjugations to show tense. Let's use the word 'play' - as in, we played, we are playing, we will play tomorrow. If you notice, the predicate (the rest of the sentence) doesn't change much - but the verb does, because it does the basic work of the sentence, showing you the tense (time). However, In the creole, the word doesn't change (the infinitive - play) but the rest of the sentence does. Wi ah go play, wi play yesi' deh, wi ah play now, wi ah go play tomorrow. So, yeah, the languages are different, but you can't say that the nation language isn't a language, because it isn't English, and you can't dismiss it as jibberish either, which was the attitude of the writer with the fic.
Long story short, dismiss a nation language as gibberish is extremely problematic, because it represents so much. It has a structure, a complexity, a history. There are stories and songs in the nation language, a wealth of culture in the words. Most nation languages are those which have a lot of oppression thrown their way, and yet they still thrive, because they have a purpose for what they do. The least one can do is recognise its worth, and to dismiss it as jibberish is just another vexing attitude of privilege. Just because you can't understand a certain cultural thing, doesn't mean that it isn't valid.
ETA:: I recommend Frantz Fannon's two books on this subject: Black Skins, White Masks and The Wretched of The Earth. The concept of Negritude by Aimé Césaire is worth a look. In addition, Walter Rodney's How Europe Underdeveloped Africa is a decent read.
Thank you again, for reading.
Thank you so much for inviting me here to post my meta. I am glad that it is of value
Fandom. Oh, fandom. I've been reading the the latest fail with regards to a story where suffering of POC is an exotic backdrop for the suffering of the handsome, white leads. Other people who are more eloquent and patient than myself have spelt out why such tropes are problematic, and I thank them. I will also like to expand on an oft overlooked subject when it comes to tropes, racism and fandom on a whole: the concept of nation language and gibberish, and how it is oft overlooked in the wider scheme of things, but just as important.
Normally, when people speak about problematic tropes re: developing or underdeveloped societies, the key terms that come to mind are economic and social.
These issues are easy enough to explain and sum up: for developing countries the mainstay of their Gross Domestic Product (GDP) is primary (when the mineral is mined, but not processed) or the focus on only cultivating one crop for export ( monoculture). For instance, in the West Indies, the islands were mainly used to grow sugar and rum for the 'mother countries' and for centuries, and it funded the practice of 'The Triangular Trade': sugar, tobacco and cotton rum to the mother countries, textiles and rum to Africa, slaves from Africa to the Indies. As a result, the islands were only encouraged to grow crops for trade for their 'mother' countries, and even after the wave of independence in the 1960s, the notion of the mono crop still continues today. As a result of the economic activities grown up around the primary and monoculture industries, you do find that these countries tend to be poorer than those who benefit from tertiary services and diverse crops for export.
Sad to say, but at least the West Indies were marginally better off in the 16-19th century compared to what the Europeans did to Africa in the late 19th to the early 20th century, when Europe turned its sights on the continent, not only for the exploitation of its peoples, but for its minerals as well. Africa, unlike the West Indies, wasn't an area to settle in (and as a result have some sort of governmental and civil structure), but to get as much out of the continent as they could.
At this time, the focus on Africa wasn't just limited to the French, English, Spanish and Dutch, there were other European countries, chagrined at missing out on the riches of the West Indies, looked to Africa to get their wealth this time around. The most extreme example of this was King Leopold of Belgium, who took over Congo and raided the land (tearing down the forests for rubber plantations) as well as wiping out twenty percent of the indigenous population. In How Europe Underdeveloped Africa" Walter Rodney argues that its Europe systematic disabling of their colonies in Africa crippled their progress, because whereas in the West Indies the British, French, Spanish and Dutch left a system of governing (for instance, the civil service culture in the British West Indies is very much of the mother country even a generation after independence), when Portugal left Mozambique in the mid 20th C, they even removed the light bulbs from their offices.
For the countries that stayed under their European rulers, until they got their independence in the 1960s this was the best that they got. For those countries like Haiti, who had the temerity to revolt, in 1804, they paid and paid and paid. To wit, these were Haiti's fortunes after they were the second country in the New World to get their independence:
Quickly after defeating France, however, they were straddled with debt. Their former colonial masters demanded 130 million francs (later lowered to 90 million) in indemnity for the Haitian war of liberation. The newly consolidated Haitian government had no such funds and resorted to borrowing the first 30 million from the Bank of France at exorbitant interest rates. It would not be until after World War II that Haiti fully repaid debt accrued from its war of independence.
- Imperialism As Disaster
Not to mention, after Haiti got its independence, the United States refused to recognise the country for the next sixty years, for fear that their own slaves might be inspired by the revolt too. Fast forward to the 20th century, when Haiti suffered under its kleptomaniac rulers, propped up by the US, and held to ransom by the International Monetary Fund, which undermined the country's changes of feeding itself, by demanding that it cut tariffs on heavily subsidised US imported products (and put their own farmers and factories out of work) setting the country on to the path where it is now. The earthquake was just another vicious knock against the country to be honest, because Haiti has been through so much.
Of course, these economic issues don't just happen in a vacuum. There are knock on effects to social issues as well. Frantz Fanon speaks of social issues in terms of the psychopathology of the colony, as detailed in The Wretched of the Earth. He looks at the notion of decolonisation and how citizens of the former colony can be affected by living under such conditions. According to Fanon, colonisation is complete, and devastating. The first thing it does is to simplify the lives of those who are conquered, because the process is so completely destructive. Their nationhood is stripped, their identity belittled and mocked, and new laws instituted in the new language so as to make life difficult (especially with the majority of its citizens being illiterate in this new language). This new society is policed by violence, and enslavement.
This is what the citizens learn, and in some cases, live with for centuries. The only way the nation can break free from the bonds of colonialism is to push back and revolt, and in order to do so, the leaders of the revolution have to look at the lumpenproletariat - the people who were criminals, and vagrants, who could be channelled to focus their anger and aggression at the oppressor, because they were not dependent on the powers that be at all.
"And it is clear that in the colonial countries the peasants alone are revolutionary, for they have nothing to lose and everything to gain. The starving peasant, outside the class system is the first among the exploited to discover that only violence pays. For him there is no compromise, no possible coming to terms; colonization and decolonization a simply a question of relative strength."
— Frantz Fanon (The Wretched of the Earth)
The only failing of Fanon is that he doesn't really have an answer as to what happens to the lumpenproletariat when the revolution is successful, which is vexing. As in, the lumpenproletariat has learnt violence and has used it, but their energy isn't really 'spent', but waiting for another vocation, and only the touch of a dynamic and an effective leader can turn it into something productive, but a lot of leaders don't, due to various reasons, either personal or social. After centuries of living like this... of being institutionalised it can be argued that some societies, once free, are unable to function for a generation or so, and have to be rehabilitated. Fanon says that the society getting land is a touchstone for their new lives, but doesn't elaborate as to what other options there might be, apart from ripping out imperialism by its roots, but then, that might be the point.
In addition to the economics and societies of colonised places, Fanon recognises the importance of language and how it shapes the individuals in the face of oppression. Under colonisation, the first thing that happens is that the language of the aggressor is the one to master, and the nation language is summed up, and dismissed as being subpar to the language forced on the people. For one, the new order calls for this language; if you want to get ahead, you have to study it, master it, will it, at the risk of maligning your own language. This is done officially, in terms of only having the laws in the enforced language of the land, as well as unofficially, by making the nation language something to be ashamed of, as well as to ridiculed. To be shamed into putting the nation language aside to embrace the language of the other is an intention and commitment: "To speak a language is to take on a world, a culture." Fanon says, and the implicit notion that to put away a language is to bury a world and culture, which is what colonalisation and learning the culturally accepted language demands you to do. In Australia, they did one better, by taking the indigenous children away from their communities, and the first thing to go (after the bonds, and culture) was the chance of learning their nation language (L1).
Which brings me back to the SPN writer, and when I read an excerpt from the fic with the notion of dismissing Haiti's nation language as gibberish, it hit me hard, because of the reasons detailed above. For most colonised areas, you didn't learn English, or Spanish or French because it pleased you, but to survive and get ahead, especially if you weren't white. Language, as detailed in the essay so far, comes with its own history, be it of economics, or society. In the SPN fic, one of the characters learns French, and it is presented as a choice, and the right choice, whereas in the colonies, it's not an option, but a forcible legacy of their history.
For instance, as someone who grew up in a former British colony, English was the language needed to get ahead. If you wanted to travel to England, and Europe, it was implied that you'd learn French and Spanish too. In contrast, our patios was considered a 'broken' language, not fit for leaving the house, much less going abroad, and my parents discouraged us from speaking it. To the point of, if my mother asked me a question and I answered in the L1 , she'd give me a long, blank look and go, "Excuse me?" or flat out ignore the answer until I spoke to her in Standard English.
It was the same in the schools I went to. If you spoke the nation language as your first language (L1), instead of English, people would sneer. Despite the fact that when you turned on the radio, there were talk shows with people calling in, speaking the nation language. Or songs on the radio, but you couldn't speak it and be taken seriously. If you wanted to tell a story, it was one thing to do in that language, for jokes - but nothing serious. To make things worse, there is still no standard phonemic chart for the language, so how it's written doesn't jive with how it's pronounced. If a language isn't written, it can be argued that it isn't preserved, and it cannot be honoured. In the latter years (before I left that part of the world for this side of the pond, anyway) the push back was on having the L1 being recognised as its own language - in terms of reading and studying poems in the school curriculum, and shaping the attitude that the two languages weren't mutually exclusive - but it wasn't like that when I was growing up.
As a result of my parents and the society I moved in (middle class), I can't speak my nation language - according to certain of my fellow nation language speakers, I sound 'funny' and foreign, you see. My accent is okay enough in that I've been told that I sound Canadian, or American, and that was a compliment from my little island, because I didn't sound Jamaican. I didn't (and still don't) carry the aural identification of my heritage with me, and it is still seen a good thing.
Oh, there were times we could use our nation language though - if we wanted to tell a funny story, or recite a quaint poem:
Touris, white man, wipin his face,
Met me in Golden Grove market place.
He looked at m'ol' clothes brown wid stain ,
An' soaked right through wid de Portlan rain,
He cas his eye, turn up his nose,
He says, 'You're a beggar man, I suppose?'
He says, 'Boy, get some occupation,
Be of some value to your nation.'
I said, 'By God and dis big right han
You mus recognize a banana man.
- excerpt from the poem "The Song of the Banana Man" by Evan Jones.
But nothing more. Despite the breadth of ideas that the nation language can express, its fluidity and complexity in capturing the experience of the various peoples of the diaspora, it is looked down, and dismissed. The lie with learning the language of the colony is the fact that they tell you that if you speak it and master it enough, you can be English/Spanish/French/ whatever. They tell you that it's not race, oh no, it's mastering the language, it's the feeling of being English/Spanish/French/whatever. So, growing up, you don't let your children speak the nation language, because you know, there is a 'tell' when you do that, because they can master the language and manoeuvre you see - up to a point.
Mastery of the language is not a passport to being considered a true European, nor the fact that I do take tea, and supper and know the difference between the two, because my colour stops me, alas. And yet, I don't feel comfortable enough speaking my nation language, because of all the social indicators it had when I was growing up, and I was representing my class at all times, and there was no room for that. As it is now, I can understand my L1, but feel very self conscious when I'm speaking it, and pretty much stick to my L2 (English) instead.
In addition to the legacy of the nation languages, you find that they have their own structure, too. Now, I cannot speak of Haitian creole and French, but I do know my L1 and L2, and how the languages might be different, but the words are similiar and with a bit of effort, it can be learned, even if it's just for getting by. A nation language can not be considered gibberish, just because you don't understand. For instance, my L1 is a mix of English, Spanish, Taino and a whole lot of West African influences, which is different from my L2, which is English known for its European influences and as such, the two languages operate differently.
For instance, in formal, standardised English we tend to use the verb in various conjugations to show tense. Let's use the word 'play' - as in, we played, we are playing, we will play tomorrow. If you notice, the predicate (the rest of the sentence) doesn't change much - but the verb does, because it does the basic work of the sentence, showing you the tense (time). However, In the creole, the word doesn't change (the infinitive - play) but the rest of the sentence does. Wi ah go play, wi play yesi' deh, wi ah play now, wi ah go play tomorrow. So, yeah, the languages are different, but you can't say that the nation language isn't a language, because it isn't English, and you can't dismiss it as jibberish either, which was the attitude of the writer with the fic.
Long story short, dismiss a nation language as gibberish is extremely problematic, because it represents so much. It has a structure, a complexity, a history. There are stories and songs in the nation language, a wealth of culture in the words. Most nation languages are those which have a lot of oppression thrown their way, and yet they still thrive, because they have a purpose for what they do. The least one can do is recognise its worth, and to dismiss it as jibberish is just another vexing attitude of privilege. Just because you can't understand a certain cultural thing, doesn't mean that it isn't valid.
ETA:: I recommend Frantz Fannon's two books on this subject: Black Skins, White Masks and The Wretched of The Earth. The concept of Negritude by Aimé Césaire is worth a look. In addition, Walter Rodney's How Europe Underdeveloped Africa is a decent read.
Thank you again, for reading.
Thank you so much for inviting me here to post my meta. I am glad that it is of value
Re: Hnn, yes
What is particularly painful is that, as you pointed out, language is used as a tool for social oppression, as an excuse for racism, and a means to negate identity. That needs to be talked about--by people who experience it, by people who witness it--precisely because they encourage us not to, in your words, put our business out there on the street as victims and to agree to overlook it as bystanders.
Do you mind if I direct non-dreamwidth, non-fandom people to your post? Is there something else I can do to boost the signal?
No, I don' t mind.
Thanks again for accepting the post in the spirit that it's meant. I've had a few people miss the point of it entirely (in PMs).
Cheers again.