Sarah Smith Blog 3: Linguistic Power and Role of Nation

As a linguistics major, I’ve spent a lot of time in the last three years studying the role of language as both a divisive and unifying force.  Language connects people: we have Standard American English, British English, Spanglish, African American English, English pidgins and creoles, and many more variations that are considered distinct forms of English, unifying people around the world.  But language can also be very divisive.  Anderson discusses the “fatality of human linguistic diversity” (43), describing the impossibility of all humankind uniting under a single and universally understood language.  In addition to geographic and biological barriers—dialectal differences as well as people groups with yet undeveloped capacity for acquisition of non-native sounds—Anderson’s “languages-of-power” structure is a historical linguistic reality. Tom McArthur wrote an article in 2005 called “Chinese, English, Spanish—and the Rest” which details seven levels of language:

Level 1: English (global language)

Level 2: Chinese, Spanish, Hindu-Urdu (spoken by hundreds of millions)

Level 3: Arabic, French, German, Japanese, Malay (widely used, prestige languages)

Level 4: Significant Nationally and/or Regionally

Level 5: Locally and Socially Strong

Level 6: Small and (Perhaps) Managing

Level 7: Extremely Small and Endangered

The highest levels represent languages of heavy use and global power.  Powerful languages are associated with powerful nations and cultures, and why would they want to renounce that power for the sake of unification?  English is alone at Level 1, and even as the number of English speakers around the world grows, so too do the number of English dialects.  Over time dialects become distinctly separating languages, so that there exist many so-called English variation speakers who cannot understand one another. Yes, I speak English—but it is one type in a mix of many others. 

Perhaps because of my interest in linguistic realities, language is a major factor in my conception of nation.  Like I said above, I do speak English.  And it’s true that I tend to think of my English as the English.  Why?  Because language is tied to nation.  The Unites States is a (if not the) world superpower.  Just like languages like Sanskrit, Greek, Latin and French throughout history, English has become a prestige language.  It indicates success, culture, education and freedom—because the nations it is representative of are generally successful, cultured, educated and free.  It is a language of power, made so not because of syntactic or semantic superiorities but because of national associations.

I mentioned in my last post the work I did with a refugee resettlement organization.  I taught a number of English classes to refugees from Myanmar (Burma), Bhutan, Iraq, Iran and elsewhere.  It was something of a no-brainer that my students sought English-proficiency: they were, after all, refugees seeking to make new lives for themselves in a nation dominated by English. But it was fascinating to watch a language-nation hierarchy develop over time in the ESL classroom.  At the top of this abstract hierarchy was a refugee from a French-speaking nation, who found English more similar to his native tongue than did the other refugees. The Iraqi and Iranian students were next, confident in the status of Arabic and Farsi as well-known and widespread languages.  Several ESL teachers were familiar with or fluent in Arabic and/or Farsi, and many of these students knew some English coming into the program.  Their confidence and self-assurance was evident, envied by their less-educated and less-affluent classmates.  Next were the Burmese students, some educated, some comfortable with Malay (another widespread language), some with English experience—but generally poor and representing a long-oppressed people group.  They lacked the confidence of the Middle Eastern students after years of living in poverty and fear while waiting in Malaysia to receive refugee status.  The Bhutanese refugees, though, were generally less educated, spoke their little-known language, and many entered the program entirely illiterate.  For some, their language status was a useful tool.  For others, it was a limitation, held back in the confidence by their felt inferiority to the languages with greater status.  The students were very aware of each other, and students’ language and their ability to wield language became an indirect marker of cultured-ness and status, representative of their nations of origin, and divisive. 

Language does not merely contribute to how we conceptualize or imagine our own nation; it also shapes our image of other nations. It allows us to put ourselves within the framework of the world’s nations and the world’s languages, finding out place in relation to others.  I am reminded of the clip of Roots that we watched, and Kunta Kinte’s insistence on using his African name rather than the English one he’s been given.  The theoretically “powerful” language (English) is being pressed upon him, but he desperately clings to his African name. His name, its language, ties him to his community. Some languages may be more prestigious or have more speakers, but to make language prevalence representative of communities being inferior or superior to others is to undervalue rich heritage.