Rev. Diane Rollert
Unitarian Church of Montreal, 13 March 2022
In my old neighbourhood, close to the Atwater Market, there was this big sign attached to the traffic light that said Priorité de virage au clignotement du feu vert. In English we’d probably translate it as “Left turn on flashing green.” But when I was just learning to speak French those words were a mystery to me.
A word-for-word lookup in my French-English dictionary revealed “Priority of turning to the blinking of the green fire.” Somehow that got spun in my head into “Protected by the winking green fire.” That’s what came to mind when I thought about playing with words today. Every time I see that sign, I still joke to myself that I am protected by the winking green fire.
It can be dangerous to take things too literally, especially in translation, but there’s also something wonderfully playful that can result. Take for example a sign found on an elevator in Romania that had been translated into English for visiting tourists: “The lift is being fixed for the next days. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable.” There is danger, and then there is also truth.
In my household, we play a lot of games with language. We like to jumble together English, French, Italian and sometimes Spanish. We joke around with literal translations. For example, “Give me a break” becomes Dammi una rottura in Italian, which makes absolutely no sense, but we still laugh.
There’s a lot of word play that’s simply part of life here in Montreal. We move around from English to French, and we naturally adapt expressions from one language to the other until they just become part of our vocabulary. Where else in the world would you say in English “close the light” to mean “turn off the light”? Where else would you say in French plugger le plug dans le prise to mean branchez la fiche dans la prise?
We share a wealth of jokes that only make sense if you are bilingual. Like a joke that Eleuthera shared with me the other day. This is an online version I found:
C'est une Tomate et une Patate qui vont déjeuner dans un restaurant tenu par M. Oignon. La Tomate demande des rôties alors que la Patate commande un oeuf et du bacon. L'Oignon revient quelques minutes plus tard, mais se mélange et sert les toasts à la Patate et l'oeuf à la Tomate.
La tomate dit: T'as mes toast !
La patate dit: Pas tes toast !
et l’Oignon dit: Oignon, j'me suis trompé !
Translation:
A Tomato and a Potato go to lunch in a restaurant run by Mr. Onion. The Tomato asks for toast while the Potato orders an egg and bacon. The Onion returns a few minutes later, but mixes it up and serves the toast to the Potato and the egg to the Tomato.
Tomato says: T’as mes toast ! (pronounced “tomatoes”) You have my toast.
Potato says: Pas tes toast ! (pronounced “potatoes”) Not your toast.
Mr. Oignon says: Oignon ! (pronounced nearly the same as “oh non,” meaning “oh no” ) I’ve made a mistake.
I marvel at my grandchildren’s ability to speak both French and English. My five-year old grandson is incredibly fluid in both languages. He instantly knows who to speak to in English or French. It’s fascinating to watch my two-and-half-year-old granddaughter as she sifts through both languages, using the word in whichever language seems most useful at the moment. Last summer she kept saying “iba ! iba !”as she grabbed onto us and pulled. It took us all a while to realize she was saying “on y va.”
There are plenty of people here who, like my grandchildren, have grown up speaking French and English, and often a third language. Of course, multiple languages have been a natural part of your life since you were born, you don’t always appreciate what a challenge it can be to acquire a new language later in life.
When David and I first met with an immigration lawyer more than fifteen years ago, we were told we’d have little chance of becoming permanent residents in Quebec. He said that we’d have to learn French, and he’d never seen any clients of our advanced age succeed in learning French well enough to pass Quebec’s immigration interview. It was if he had dropped a gauntlet and challenged me to a duel. At the age of forty-nine, I was determined to prove that an old lady like me could learn to speak French.
I thought it would be easy. After all, I spoke other Romance languages. How hard could this be? I remember the shock of trying to figure out all those vowel sounds spelled so many different ways, and the frustration of trying to distinguish between “ou” and “u.” Est-ce que j’etais deçue, dessous, ou dessus ? Then there was (and still is) the terror of getting the gender of a word wrong. La ou le ? Ouf, mon dieu.
I remember those many months of listening to the radio while hardly understanding anything. I remember being baffled by airport announcements. Then, suddenly, my brain made sense out of everything, and those announcements seemed unbelievably slow. Le . . . vol . . . Air Canada . . . express . . . est maintenant . . . prêt . . . pour l’em- . . . -bar- . . . -quement.
But learning was painful. Pause too long when ordering at a restaurant — not because you can’t speak but because you can’t decide if you want potatoes or rice — and the server has already switched to English. I quickly figured out that if I wanted to learn French well, I’d need to spend time in immersion, which meant travelling to the Gaspésie each summer.
Combien de fois a-t-on switché à l’autre langue dès que on a entendu l’accent de l’autre personne ? I confess I have caught myself a few times making “the switch” — both with people speaking English and with people speaking French. It becomes an unconscious habit around here. But there’s nothing more frustrating or shaming than making your best effort with your newly acquired language only to have the other person switch to your native tongue. What did I say wrong? you ask yourself.
C’est l’autre côté de la médaille là. We have enough fluidity that we switch without realizing or appreciating the other person’s efforts.
I have always loved being able to communicate with people. I used to have a knack for picking up languages quickly — at least quickly enough to carry on a conversation, though grammar has never been my strength. When I came here the stakes got higher and I got more self-conscious. In this hyper-bilingual environment we expect perfection. We have little patience for the beginner.
How many times have I heard a native French speaker apologize for their English? How many times have I heard someone who speaks French as a second, third or fourth language apologize for their French? And yet what each person says is completely comprehensible. We are too hard on ourselves. We do something marvelous together as a society and, instead of celebrating, we feel as though we are failures.
My favourite language to speak is Italian, not only because it is just so wonderfully musical. I learned to speak Italian through love — not because of romance, but because of my husband’s loving family. They didn’t speak English and they wanted to know me. They were patient and encouraging. They applauded my every effort, so that learning to speak Italian was a constant joy. Brava!
In the best and healthiest of circumstances, this is how children learn. Rewarded with excitement and praise as they speak their first words and sentences, children are inspired to keep talking. When we are told that our words are not good enough, that’s when we start silencing ourselves.
Rules, laws and expectations can rob us of our love of language. I do understand the worries of language protection here, of French-speaking Quebec in a sea of English. I think of the many Indigenous languages around the world that are dying every day. What we need is more language diversity, not less. Global economic realities are making this difficult. Ironically, English has become the “lingua franca.”
Travel in Europe and you hear a Swede, Italian and German speaking to each other in stilted English. Our cousins in Italy work in English with their Chinese counterparts. They say that they speak the English of engineering. It doesn’t serve very well when trying to build friendships, but it’s English nonetheless.
Quelle langue parlez-vous chez vous ? What language do you speak at home? This is often how the government measures the health of French in Quebec. But from my perspective, what matters is the language we use in our daily lives. Many linguistic experts argue that there is no real emergency here when you consider how much French is used in schools and in the workplace.
I believe that French should be protected and strengthened, but I don’t agree with legal methods that take away basic rights. I worry about the damaging effect of taking away the multilingualism we have as a society. If international commerce, technology, engineering and academic exchange are happening in English, our workforce gets left behind. And don’t be fooled: Families with wealth send their children abroad to learn English in order to ensure their economic opportunities. Language control increases the disparities between rich and poor.
French is such a beautiful, expressive language. French as it’s spoken here in Quebec has an incredible richness that draws from the land, Indigenous influences and the settler history of this place. Attaches ta tuque avec d’la broche. Lâches pas la patate.
I don’t want to go too heavily into current politics here, but I will say that I am concerned about Bill 96. Many people aren’t aware of the provisions that are hidden deep within this proposed law. For example, the last version of the bill I saw gave commissioners the right to seize computers and smartphones without a warrant if there is a complaint about a company’s alleged failure to use French.
Refugees and immigrants will be expected to learn French within six months and will have no right to translation in other languages once those six months pass. Having helped refugees settle in Quebec, I can attest that six months is not enough time to learn a new language well enough to be able to advocate for yourself or for your children, especially if you have lived through trauma.
Health care services in other languages will no longer be made available except to “historic anglophones,” and no one seems to understand exactly what that means. These are changes that will have a direct effect on many who are already at the margins of Quebec society.
If it were up to me, I’d invest in the celebration of French. I’d encourage lots of word play rather than language regulations. I’d invest in the preservation of Indigenous languages. The multiplicity of language is a miraculous gift, something to be appreciated in all its beauty and complexity. I say more language, not less.
Et je répète: La multiplicité du langage est un don miraculeux, quelque chose qui doit être apprécié dans toute sa beauté et sa complexité. Je réclame plus de langues, pas moins.
Priorité de virage au clignotement du feu vert. Come join me by the winking green fire. My heart is in need of its protection.