Languages in the Big Apple

As a new report shows that only 20 percent of French students are
majoring in literature (compared to 50 percent of the previous
generation), Xavier Darcos, the Minister of Education in France is
worried that “France is in danger of becoming a nation of unemployed
sociologists unable to master speech or thought.”

Young people today are studying more “practical” fields such as
sociology and economics in order to secure a well-paid place in
France’s precarious job market.

But Darcos’ plan to revive interest in the French classics is seen by
some as a failure:

Traditionalists believe that the initiative is already doomed
because of the widely held view among the brightest students that
literary studies are a soft option for no-hopers. This trend is an
affront to the rich literary heritage that has produced writers such
as Molière, Voltaire and Victor Hugo, they say. There is also
resentment that intellectual literati are losing their privileged
status in Gallic society that they say is being corrupted by
television, the internet and globalisation.

Sounds pretty grim. But the teachers of France are not surprised -
according to Jean-François Guennoc, a lecturer at Paris University:

“The average is 10 to 12 mistakes but I’ve counted up to 50 in a degree
paper.”

Quelle horreur!

Complete article

William Safire, who writes the New York Times Magazine’s weekly column, On Language, recently provided us with a brief history of the word “schlep” and its incorporation into colloquial and written English.

After being surprised at spotting the word in three different “quality” newspapers (The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and The Washington Post), Safire embarks on a bit of research and finds that while “schlep” is used by all three as both a verb and a noun, Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary only recognizes it was a verb.

He writes:

The recent embrace of schlep by The Times, Post and Journal shows that the dictionary’s incorporation of the word was a wise decision. The verb comes from the German sleppen, adopted with that meaning in the Yiddish schlepn or schlep, meaning “to drag, haul, lug.” “In Yiddish, the verb shlep is standard,” the lexicographer Sol Steinmetz, who spells the verb without the c, informs me, “with the literal meaning of ‘a pull, drag or jerk.’ Our slang meaning — ‘He’s such a shlep!’ — is an English innovation, either a figurative use of the Yiddish word or an adaption of the Yiddish shleper, meaning ‘a bum, tramp, beggar.’ The phrase ‘an ordinary shlep,’ as used in The Times, can be rendered in plain English as ‘an ordinary jerk,’ and the use of the slang phrase in the editorial seems to be an attempt to soften the serious message with a touch of New York humor.”

That Safire has a soft spot for schlep is sort of amusing, considering its Yiddish origin and the authors relation to his own Jewish heritage: born William Safir, he added an “e” and subtracted an ethnicity by adopting the more WASPy “Safire.”

Whether his approval marks a return to his roots or not, good for him for not applying his conservatism to language. Over all, an interesting, informative article. Read it here

If you’re feeling a little jealous of the BBC broadcasters who have their own personal grammar-helper at all times, worry not! There’s always Strunk and White…

The Elements of Style, first written by William Strunk Jr. in 1918 and modernized by Strunk’s former student, E.B. White in 1959, is still the dominant guide to American English. But in 2005, the somewhat dull prescriptive treatment of grammar and usage got a makeover courtesy of Maira Kalman.

Kalman, an artist perhaps best known for her New Yorker covers, contributed paintings and drawings to accompany grammatical adages such as “Somebody else’s umbrella” and “Well, Susan, this is a fine mess you are in.”

The result is a jazzed-up reference guide, bound in cherry-red and so full of pretty pictures, you’ll almost forget that you’re reading about language usage. Most of their advice still holds true despite the fact that the book has only been updated three times, in 1972, 1979, and 1999. The changes instituted in 1999 display a shift in the still-relevant grammatical question of gender pronouns: White’s case for using “he” for nouns embracing both genders was removed. The result, as we know, is a more lax approach to gender specifications; “to each his own” may be correct, but “to each their own” no longer represents grammatical ignorance — instead, it is often used as a statement of all-inclusiveness.

Check out Maira Kalman’s site for pictures of the book and other artwork.

The San Francisco Chronicle recently featured an excerpt from Ilan Stavans’ new book, “Love and Language” (Yale University Press; 261 pages; $25). Stavans, an essayist, critic, and fiction writer, conducted a series of six dialogues with Veronica Albin, a senior lecturer of Spanish and translation at Rice University, to track the evolution of the concept of love.

Here’s a tiny peek:

Verónica Albin: How should the word love be defined?
Ilan Stavans: As a most amorphous human feeling, capable of extremes: attraction and repulsion, exultation and misery, life and death, Eros and Thanatos.
The definition is imperfect, however, perhaps more so than for any other feeling. How does one define hatred? And envy? In fact, think about the way Western civilization conceptualizes feeling, as the condition of being emotionally affected. But at what point aren’t we emotionally affected? And how many feelings are there? Five, like the senses? Seven, like the days of the week, or better yet, like the deadly sins? Try cataloging them and you’ll fall prey to confusion.
VA: Are feelings and emotions the same?
IS: They have become synonymous, yes, although this is something of a cliche. A feeling, the dictionary states, is an emotional state, a disposition. Conversely, an emotion is the part of the consciousness that involves feeling. In any case, I prefer the word emotion.
VA: Why?
IS: Maybe it’s a reaction. In the Mexico of my salad days, the word sentimiento, feeling, had a New Age quality. I remember the expression “estar en contacto con los sentimientos,” to be in touch with one’s feelings.
VA: What is the nature of an emotion?
IS: Emotions aren’t quantifiable; they aren’t even verifiable. Yet they rule our life from beginning to end. They are messy, rowdy and turbulent. While they might be predictable, their patterns depend on circumstance and temperament. We don’t fall in love because we want to, nor do we befriend a person by simply pressing a button. These actions are directed by an internal force. Reason might seek to control them, set limits to them, but emotions are autonomous; they exist beyond reason.
VA: How many distinct emotions are there?
IS: Let me offer an alphabetical, albeit partial, list of these nebulous experiences: angst, anguish, attraction, bereavement, betrayal, compassion, disappointment, ecstasy, elation, envy, exultation, failure, glee, gratefulness, guilt, happiness, hatred, helplessness, inferiority, insecurity, ire, jealousy, keenness, kinkiness, kinship, loss, love, meanness, misery, nostalgia, obligation, obsession, outrage, panic, pride, qualm, queasiness, regret, remorse, repulsion, revulsion, sadness, shame, trust, unhappiness, vulnerability, withdrawal, xenophobia, yearning and zealousness.
VA: What makes love different?
IS: The fact that its contradictions make each of us feel unique.
VA: Contradictions or not, we know when we are in love …

Read the entire article here !

William Safire’s latest On Language article for the Sunday Times magazine takes a look at the meaning of the phrase “suspension of disbelief,” and how its usage has changed over the years. Lately, it’s been in vogue among the political set: Hillary Clinton said it would be required to believe General David Petraeus’ report on the progress of the war, Republican Mitt Romney in turn used it to question the validity of Clinton’s statement, and Senator John McCain used it as a noun, declaring that “It’s a willing suspension of disbelief that Senator Clinton thinks she knows more than General Petraeus.”

What’s all the hoopla about? And who, if anyone, used the phrase correctly? Safire first gives us a little history:

“The phrase ’suspension of disbelief ,’ ” noted the columnist Alan Nathan in The Washington Times, “is a literary term of art referring to one of Aristotle’s principles of theater in which the audience accepts fiction as reality so as to experience a catharsis, or a releasing of tensions to purify the soul.” He went on to characterize the general’s testimony as “more in keeping with Bertolt Brecht’s philosophy of Verfremdungseffekt, or distancing from that suspended belief, in order to maintain a clearheaded appreciation of the drama in focus.”

He then takes us from politics to poetics, pointing out that Coleridge and Wordsworth had plenty to say on the matter as well. Read the entire article here.

After a summer of heated debate, the Khalil Gibran International Academy, New York’s first Arabic public charter school, opened its doors for the first time on September 4th.

Over at City Hall, those opposed to the academy united to protest. Here’s a quote from Irene Alter, one of the objectors:

“The mayor and chancellor owe the citizens and taxpayers an explanation for the necessity of a school like this. And, additionally, [an explanation of] how they plan to monitor it, since it’s well known that many of the texts emanating from countries such as Saudi Arabia are filled with anti-American, anti-Zionist rhetoric.”

Oh, Irene, let me count the ways your logic falters: First of all, “countries such as Saudi Arabia”? The academy, one of 70 dual-language schools in the city, has nothing to do with Saudi Arabia in particular, but rather will provide a secular focus on Arabic language and culture. Secondly, “anti-Zionist” rhetoric? Since when must America’s public schools adhere to a Zionist regime? True, the separation of church and state has suffered some serious blows in the past few years (prayers in schools, anyone?), but to base your opposition to the Khalil Gibran International Academy on the fact that there are texts in the Middle East that aren’t down with Israel is the fast track to making yourself look like a xenophobic fool.

Hopefully, the school will succeed in teaching its 55 enrolled students to use language with a bit more precision.

Quote source here.

How does a country make up for the mass murder and subjugation of the land’s indigenous people?

In America, we scoot them onto reservations and give them booze and gambling licenses. In Australia, they’ve recently decided to include Aboriginal languages in the curricula of schools with large indigenous populations.

The Sydney Morning Herald recently reported that after successfully testing of the idea on Bourke High School, Australian school officials are eager to introduce Aboriginal language programs into many more schools, with hopes that doing do will “improve Aboriginal retention rates and literacy standards” and help “Aboriginal students identify with their culture [to improve] their confidence and sense of identity.”

After the start of British colonization of Australia in 1788, the Aborigines — much like the Native Americans here — suffered greatly at the hands of Old World epidemic diseases: over half the Aboriginal population was killed by Small Pox alone. Add to that the loss of their own land and colonial violence, and by 1900, only ten percent of the population remained. Today, around 35,000 Aboriginal students are enrolled in Australian state schools, 35 percent of whom complete their 12th year of education.

While including Aboriginal studies in Australian schools may seem a token consolation to a wronged people, it actually represents a pretty progressive step in repairing the damages of colonialism. And with conservatives throwing so many hissy fits about foreign languages in American public schools — the Arabic school in Brooklyn, the many Spanish-speaking schools in California — not to mention the continuing problems facing Native American youth (they have the highest suicide rate of any ethnicity), perhaps we could learn something from Australia.

Read the original article here.

There’s been a huge controversy in New York lately over the founding of Khalil Gibran International Academy, an Arabic public charter school.

Initially the brainchild of Principal Debbie Almontaser, KGIA was intended to provide students in grades 6-12 with a multicultural environment for native Arabic speakers as well as children who wanted to learn Arabic. By graduation, students would be fluent in both Arabic and English and have a solid background of Arab culture and history. Critics are calling the plan a city-funded Islamic institution.

On August 10th, the Post reported that out of 44 registered students, only seven were enrolled, six of whom already spoke Arabic. They also reported the multicultural ambtitions of Almontaser had failed, as 75% of the student body identified themselves as “black”. What that means, exactly, is left unclear. Five black people and one quarter-black person?

Critics were all too pleased when Almontaser publicly defended “Intifada NYC” t-shirts, made by a group known as Arab Women Active in the Arts and Media, explaining that “‘intifada’ means ’shaking off’ and the shirts represented women ’shaking off’ oppression. She later condemned the T-shirt message’s connection to Palestinian terrorism.”

The t-shirt controversy eventually forced Almontaser to step down as principal; she has been replaced by Danielle Salzberg, an Orthodox Jewish woman with past ties to the Zionist movement.

The school is scheduled to open in Brooklyn in mid-September — we’ll see what happens.