More Singapore English words in Oxford English Dictionary

The BBC just covered this story: Singapore terms join Oxford English Dictionary, which is basically about how Singapore English words like wah and shiok get to join their linguistic compatriots lah and kiasu in the OED, the world's "definitive record of the English language".

There's even a little quiz at the bottom of article for those of you who want to flaunt your Singlish.

However, I was drawn to the opening line of the article, which I think continues to perpetuate the myth of how words end up in the OED (and many dictionaries in general):

Several Singaporean and Hong Kong English terms, including "wah", "shiok" and "yum cha", are now officially recognised as acceptable English.

By saying that these new words are "now officially recognised as acceptable English", the BBC article continues to perpetuate the myth that the job of the OED is to be the judge of what is acceptable or not acceptable English, and that it serves as the standard which English (or at least British English) speakers can fall back on to check if a word exists, and to see if they or other people are using it in the "correct" way. And while there are many languages that have organizations that regulate their use, English is not one of them.

A quick look at the OED FAQ site, where they answer the question "How does a word qualify for inclusion in the OED?" provides us with the following statement:

The OED requires several independent examples of the word being used, and also evidence that the word has been in use for a reasonable amount of time. The exact time-span and number of examples may vary: for instance, one word may be included on the evidence of only a few examples, spread out over a long period of time, while another may gather momentum very quickly, resulting in a wide range of evidence in a shorter space of time. We also look for the word to reach a level of general currency where it is unselfconsciously used with the expectation of being understood: that is, we look for examples of uses of a word that are not immediately followed by an explanation of its meaning for the benefit of the reader. We have a large range of words under constant review, and as items are assessed for inclusion in the dictionary, words which have not yet accumulated enough evidence are kept on file, so that we can refer back to them if further evidence comes to light. (bold emphasis added)

Vague as the statement is, the criteria for entry are more or less about the frequency of use of a word and its intelligibility. Nowhere do we see the term "acceptable" - although the notion of "general currency" implies that there has to be some kind of social agreement to use a word in a particular way.  The BBC's use of the word "acceptable", in conjunction with "officially recognised", also makes it very difficult to ignore the connotations of social prestige, formality and flaunting one's class and education - all of which have little to do with how a word gets into the OED.

Rather, the OED is a descriptive dictionary that serves as a repository of the words (past and present) that are or used to be in circulation within the different pockets of the English speaking world, much like the Coxford Singlish dictionary (pictured below) is a repository for all kinds of Singlish terms used at the time of publication (and earlier) in Singapore. Of course, the OED is also historical in that it maintains a list of obsolete words, as well as obsolete meanings of words.

The Coxford Singlish Dictionary (edited by Colin Goh and Y. Y. Woo) 

Of course, just as people may assume prisoners are guilty simply because they are in prison, once a word enters the OED, it may eventually gain the kind of acceptability or prestige that people assumed it needed to get in there in the first place.


(Addendum: as much as this post was about the descriptive nature of the OED, and how it isn't intended to be used as a prescriptive tool, I cannot ignore the power that is often ascribed to dictionaries. For speakers of non-prestigious minority languages and language varieties, the very existence of a dictionary in their language or variety is a mark of status: the dictionary not only validates the words they speak, it validates their entire language as something worthy of speaking and studying.)

On Not Having a Mother Tongue

At the moment, I'm TA-ing for a course called Language and Power here at the University of Oregon, and I've been recounting the following story to my students.

It happened more than 10 years ago after I'd just moved from Singapore to Melbourne. I was at my university orientation, where I met a number of people, including a guy from Sweden. We got to talking, and he eventually asked me what languages I spoke. I told him that I spoke English and some Chinese (Mandarin), but that my Chinese wasn't very good.

The very next thing he said to me was, "Oh, so you don't speak any language well!"

Before I could recover from the shock of what he'd just said, he quickly proceeded to 'correct' my English. I remember we were talking about purchasing textbooks for our courses at a particular bookshop. I said something like: "You can get them cheap over there." He told me that it should be: "You can get them cheaply over there." because you need an adverb with the verb 'get'. At that point, I said something like, "No, I'm using it as an adjective to describe the thing I'm getting." But it was clear that I had little say in what was 'right' or what was 'wrong'.

Now this was before I'd started any formal study in linguistics, but I had had 'English grammar' lessons in school in Singapore, with explanations given for many 'grammatical rules'. Of course, people like me were a pain for our English teachers because they'd give us a particular phrase or sentence, and ask us why it was 'correct' or 'grammatical'.

We'd just say, "Because it sounds right."

And that's the thing about your 'mother tongue' - you don't need to be formally taught the rules of the language in school. Through enough exposure as a child, you just know what 'sounds' right and what doesn't. That knowledge is what linguists usually think of as 'grammar' - it's not the rules that you are explicitly taught in a classroom (unless the language is not your native language), it's knowing how to say things that don't sound odd to either you or the people from the community you grew up with.

To be repeatedly confronted and told that my mother tongue - the language I used at home and in daily life, and the language I knew best (let's not even go into what Singapore calls one's 'mother tongue') was 'incorrect' or defective has had a few effects on me. On the downside, I find it difficult to claim 'ownership' or 'expertise' in English. Even now I am quick to get defensive about my own linguistic knowledge, sometimes justifiably so, but sometimes I perhaps get a little too defensive. On the upside, I've often felt motivated me to learn more languages (to varying degrees of fluency). Most importantly, this insecurity has made me delve deeper into the field of linguistics.

Jacques Derrida, in his book Monolingualism of the Other, wrote, "I have but one language - yet that language is not mine." While his words can be interpreted on many different levels (his central thesis was that we are all alienated from our 'mother tongue'), I can think of no better quote to apply to the linguistic situation I find myself in. I also imagine that this is something many people in the modern world whose 'languages' or 'dialects' are looked down upon and vilified can relate to.

(Yes, I ended that last sentence with a preposition. And yes, it's perfectly grammatical to do so in English.)

The persistence of Singapore English and Mandarin

In my previous post, I looked at what the government had hoped to accomplish through its language policies, as summarised here in this quote from Lee Kuan Yew:

"Our ideal was that the Chinese would be able to speak English and Mandarin, Malays would be able to speak Malay and English, and Indians would be able to speak Tamil and English. Alas, the situation did not develop as we had hoped."

In this post, I consider the seeming perpetual need for English and Mandarin campaigns in Singapore. After all, English was meant to be the language of wider communication, and the 'mother tongues' were to be the language of each respective race. But even after decades of policy that has institutionalised and privileged languages like English and Mandarin (and involved the vilification of Chinese dialects), why do we still need the Speak Good English Movement (SGEM) and the Speak Mandarin Campaign (SMC)?

[Note that despite falling use across all three 'mother tongues' in households, the decline of Malay and Tamil has never warranted similar campaigns for these languages.]

Singlish and Singdarin

The villains in this story are typically Singlish and Singdarin (sadly not an Elvish language). The local variety of English Singlish (colloquial Singaporean English) is often viewed as 'broken English', as opposed to correct 'Standard English' and has been described by the government as a 'handicap' which prevents one from accessing better job and educational opportunities (Wee 2010). Similarly, a local variety of Singapore Mandarin also called Singdarin, viewed as 'broken Chinese' has also emerged. This has become another cause of concern, especially if 'Mandarin' speakers from Singapore find it difficult to understand and to make themselves understood by Mandarin speakers in China and Taiwan.

The continuing existence of these varieties seems to be why we perpetually need to have such language campaigns. But why do these 'substandard' varieties still persist? After all, they're not exactly prestige forms and even speakers of Singlish sometimes describe it as sounding 'uneducated' and 'immature'. Some speakers, who are able to codeswitch between the colloquial variety and the variety closer to what is understood as 'standard English', cringe at the use of Singlish by other Singaporeans, especially in the presence of non-Singaporeans.

One common answer I get to this question is that in most schools, English teachers and Chinese (Mandarin) teachers themselves cannot speak 'good English' and 'good Mandarin'. Therefore, the students learn 'bad English' or 'bad Mandarin' and continue the cycle when they leave school. The media has also been blamed in the past - hence the banning of Singlish on TV shows like Phua Chu Kang back in 1999.

This is still a rather simplistic answer to the question. Language is used in numerous domains outside the classroom and the media. The use of Singlish and Singdarin in schools (and previously in the media) is not enough reason to explain their persistance. The prescribed solution is equally simplistic. Modelling 'proper English' and 'proper Mandarin' for speakers to follow in schools and in the media, does not immediately, or eventually, result in the faithful reproduction of these models of 'good English' and 'good Mandarin'.

Instead, we need to re-examine the associations made between language and identity, and move beyond the official racial categories and the 'mother tongues' that have been assigned to them. We need to start considering what goes on in day-to-day interactions among speakers of Singlish and Singdarin.

Language in the moment

When talking about language and identity, much attention is paid to the correlation between what language you speak and your identity (defined in racial terms here). In contrast, little attention is paid to how speakers actually use the languages they know, and in what context they use these languages.

I am reminded of John Gumperz, a famous sociolinguist who passed away week ago, and his work on conversation analysis and interactional sociolinguistics. [You can read the story of how he helped identify a source of intercultural miscommunication at Heathrow Airport in the 1970s in the article.] He was interested, amongst other things, in how people make conversation. This sounds simple enough, but to maintain a conversation, speakers have to process a huge amount of verbal information (e.g. choice of words and topics) and non-verbal information (e.g. intonation, gesture, clothing & appearance) within a particular context (e.g. at the workplace between an employer and an employee). The actual processing is mostly unconsciously done, but being able to read these cues has consequences for how we speak, what we can talk about, and what attitudes we think we can share regarding these topics.

Most people are aware that the way we speak to our boss is usually different from the way we speak to our friends (and even if our boss was our friend, there may be differences when we are speaking in the workplace and when we are outside). However, what they may not realise is that they are always doing this, even when speaking with friends, or when buying food at a hawker centre.

Taking a simplified example, I've noticed that my Singapore English-speaking friends and I will avoid using sentence-final particles like lah when speaking with non-Singaporean English speakers. However, these particles may appear again when speaking in the presence of Singaporean English speakers. On one level you might say, "It's because others don't understand 'lah'." But it's more than just that. In a sense, what we're doing is monitoring our own speech to ensure that we are recognised as competent English speakers in the first situation, since lah is associated with 'broken English'. In the latter, we're subtly asserting our identity as a Singaporean and that we share some cultural knowledge that others may not be aware of.


Why u so liddat ah?

Some people might ask: But why do we do this? Shouldn't we be free to say whatever we want and however we want to, especially when we are in less formal situations?

A few days ago, I went to Toast Box in Clementi for lunch. I ordered nasi lemak. The person at the counter told me that they'd run out of ikan bilis. I took an extra second to look at the menu to see if there was anything else that could satisfy me more than an ikan bilis-less nasi lemak. In those few seconds (milliseconds even), the person at the counter interpreted my hesitation as confusion, and proceeded to explain to me what ikan bilis was: "the small fish".

For me, something had gone wrong in this communicative exchange, minor as it was. Having grown up in Singapore, of course I knew that ikan bilis refers to the crispy anchovies (which really should accompany any decent nasi lemak)! However, some element of the interaction, whether it was my appearance or my accent or my choice of language (although, all I said was, 'One nasi lemak'), signalled to her that I may not have been Singaporean. Consequently, rather than interpreting my hesitation as 'considering my choices', she thought it was because I didn't understand what 'ikan bilis' meant. From her perspective, she was just trying to be helpful, but from my perspective, it was actually a little annoying that she didn't recognise that I was Singaporean, and that she had to explain to me something that I understood as basic local knowledge.

This is one reason why we might modify our language behaviour and more generally, present ourselves in a certain way (which I clearly failed to do in the above situation) - we are trying to make it known to the people we are talking to that we have shared knowledge and experience. At the same time, we are also using cues from other people in the conversation to work out if we do share any of this cultural knowledge and experience. Ultimately, this has consequences for what we talk about and how we talk about these topics (e.g. what attitudes we can share) within that particular conversation.


Damn atas, he

As much as language is used to mark membership of a group, it can also be used as a basis for exclusion. Taken to its extreme, people can use language to isolate and ostracise others who do not belong to the community - at the national level, we have the infamous diction test from the White Australia policy era, but all societies have had their own shibboleths to mark who belongs in a group, and who doesn't. It does seem that at least a small degree of exclusion is necessary to maintain an individual and a group's sense of identity (through a process of 'Othering' others.)

It is not just a case of people with higher status excluding people who are perceived to be of lower status. The opposite can happen too. For example, if an Australian went to the UK and came back speaking with any sort of British accent, they would probably be ostracised and called a 'twat'. Similarly, if a Singaporean started speaking with a foreign accent in most informal situations here, people would say they 'talk like ang moh'. There are a myriad of reasons for the adoption of the other accent, especially if the person grew up in that country. When the other language variety carries more status or power, people back in the home country may read the linguistic cues as a projection of dominance by the returning person - 'They think they're better than us!' In some cases, they would be right, but even in others, social exclusion is still inflicted on the 'offending' person where no offence was intended.

I've also encountered this myself - once I was criticised by a friend and a waiter for sounding atas, a term used to describe something or someone as being 'high class' (from Malay, meaning 'above'), but with a slightly pejorative sense. All I was doing was speaking what I considered to be 'standard' Singapore English, as opposed to the more colloquial form of Singlish. In a sense, I was being 'punished' for not conforming to the expected social norms of that situation.

But as frustrating and painful as it is for individuals to be marginalised like this, we also need to remember that the very groups responsibility for this marginalisation -usually speakers of the basilectal / most colloquial varieties of Singlish and Singdarin who are generally unable to codeswitch to more standard varieties- are also among the most marginalised within Singapore society (typically an English-speaking elite and middle class). It is easy for a speaker of a dominant language variety to ignore the sociolinguistic realities of other people in society and think, "I speak [language / language variety], why can't they too?" or to assume that people of lower status will always want to emulate the speech of people with higher status. That speakers of non-standard varieties of English and Mandarin continue to use and enforce the use of these varieties, can be seen as the result of their own social exclusion from the rest of society. The solution therefore cannot be for the government to simply tell people to accept the standard form and to stop speaking the way they currently do.

Furthermore, I suggest that Singdarin actually serves an important function of helping to distinguish Chinese Singaporeans from more recent migrants from the Peoples' Republic of China, given the very different histories of the two countries. For instance, Mao and the PLA mean very little to people here, and there's still a great deal more trust among people here since we never went through the Cultural Revolution. The current Speak Mandarin Campaign slogan "Mandarin - It Gets Better With Use" seems almost absurd when we consider the contexts where Singdarin is currently used and why it is used. However, I acknowledge that more research is needed in this area before any conclusive arguments can be made.


Switching back and forth

If we recall, use of these varieties form the basis for social identification through their use in everyday interaction, which would be lost if people were made to speak like people from China, or to emulate 'proper' English speaking habits derived from British English. (In fact the problematic nature of what is 'standard Singapore English' and 'Standard Mandarin' will have to be discussed in another post.) The effect of forcing most Singaporeans to use standard Singapore English or standard Mandarin, which are associated with more formal situations, in all day-to-day interactions would be akin to making the participants at a birthday party sound like they were at a business meeting full of strangers. What would work better is if speakers were able to switch between the colloquial and the standard.

I should state that I'm not actively advocating the use or development of Singlish or Singdarin. What I am advocating is that we acknowledge their existence and the important role they play in personal and social identification in this country, which will explain their continued existence despite the government's efforts. At the moment, there is little motivation for Singdarin speakers who only live in Singapore to give up Singdarin and only speak 'standard' Mandarin, especially if it means that they will end up being identified as Mainlanders themselves. There is also little motivation for individual Singlish speakers to completely abandon Singlish in favour of standard Singapore English in their day-to-day interactions with other Singlish speakers, since they would risk being labelled atas or worse, like they talk like ang moh.

Ideally, these speakers would be able to codeswitch between Singlish and standard English, or Singdarin and standard Mandarin, depending on the situation. The problem here is that many speakers can't switch between the two varieties (not that they need to in many day-to-day situations) and it is unrealistic to eliminate the colloquial varieties, since others will pop up to fulfill the sociolinguistic functions mentioned above. Consequently, we will end up in an never-ending cycle of campaigns encouraging 'better' language use.

The current language policy favours a one-variety-or-nothing rule (for both English and Mandarin) and ignores any of the sociolinguistic functions of these language varieties. My own feeling is that rising xenophobia in this country can be partly attributed to the fact that a good portion of the population is constantly told both by the government (and by new arrivals) that they are not good enough, that their language skills are not good enough, and that they should learn to be and speak more like foreigners - and to essentially, give up their old identities. And yes, at the moment, many people have language skills that are not good enough if they want to work in areas like the banking sector, but how do we get to a point where most speakers of these varieties and their children are able to effectively switch between varieties for use in different situations?

I hope that from what I've discussed, it has become to some readers that a good first step is to acknowledge the need and the value of these local varieties in providing social cohesion, instead of trying to eliminate them completely. They do not need to become enshrined as official languages, but the people behind language policy and language teachers need to know they have more value than people realise. For instance, at the classroom level, teachers could be trained to help students codeswitch between the two varieties. In this way, students can maintain a sense of identity (and self esteem), while picking up the language skills that the government so desperately wants its citizens to have to participate in its workforce.

Finally, although I've been speaking about Singlish and Singdarin as being distinct varieties from their respective standards, it might actually be more useful to think of them as being on a continuum. Even speakers of the 'standard' varieties will find themselves on different parts of the continuum in their interactions with other Singaporeans. I would argue that for many of these speakers, it is their ability to place themselves on this continuum depending on the situation that actually forms the basis of identity for them, much more so than any official 'mother tongue' they are supposed to speak.

Of course, if the government and the educated public still find these language varieties so vile and broken, maybe we should try and bring back Chinese dialects and encourage speakers to codeswitch between them and standard Mandarin.

The trouble with Chinese language policies in Singapore

Recently, I joined the Facebook group "Heritage languages of Singapore", and was immediately directed to an online petition by a group called 'Creatives For Causes' to reintroduce Chinese dialects on local TV and radio programs in Singapore. Judging by the number of signatures (only 238 at the time of writing), it seems that either it's been poorly publicised, or people just don't agree with the need for these dialects.

[Note: I will be using the term 'dialect' in this post, even though linguists would consider Hokkien and Cantonese to be separate languages from Mandarin. In my experience, the term 'dialect' seems to be preferred in everyday speech because to most people, these languages exist mainly as spoken vernaculars and are not used in written texts.]

This call comes after over 30 years of aggressive Mandarin promotion by the Singapore government, which had earlier designated Mandarin as the 'official' Chinese language to be used as a means of uniting the various Chinese groups in Singapore. The reason why dialects have been banned, and continue to be banned stems from the belief that their use is detrimental to the learning of Mandarin. The people behind the petition argue that this belief is wrong, given linguistic research that shows that young people can in fact grow up multilingual. On a slightly different note, they argue that we need dialects to prevent the elderly Chinese population who may not speak or understand much Mandarin from becoming isolated, as younger generations of Singapore shift towards English and Mandarin.

I fully support the petition, and I urge others to support it as well. But my reasons go beyond what has been mentioned on the petition site. In particular, I would like to talk about the reasons why Mandarin was introduced as the official Chinese language, and then raise some of the issues with Lee Kuan Yew's reasons for stamping out the use of dialects. Some of these are mentioned in an interview published in the Sunday Times, 11 December 2011. You can find a copy of the article below.

"Out with dialects, in with Mandarin" Sunday Times (11/12/11)

Why Mandarin to begin with?

In 1959, "the Hokkien group was the largest, forming just over 40 per cent of the total ethnic Chinese population. The Teochew group was next with nearly 23 per cent, the Cantonese third with 18 per cent, and the Hainanese and Hakka groups followed with about 7 per cent each. Mandarin was spoken only by a few educated people, such as schoolteachers, journalists, writers and artists, who had come to Singapore to teach or work."

Although not explicitly stated in this article, the usual narrative is that Mandarin was chosen to unite the various dialect groups, as well as form a link with ancient Chinese culture and values (Wee, 2009). The fact that it was the national language of China would have also contributed to its choice. In more recent times, the reason for promoting Mandarin has become more about gaining access to business, educational and cultural opportunities in China (Teo 2005).

Looking at a speech by Lee in 1984, we can examine the notion he held that Mandarin is the sole linguistic conduit for the transmission of traditional Chinese values:

"It [Mandarin] reminds us that we are part of an ancient civilization with an unbroken history of over 5000 years. This is a deep and strong psychic force, one that gives confidence to a people to face up to and overcome great changes and challenges. To be able to speak Mandarin and read the Chinese script, is reassuring. To look at Chinese characters, to see them as mysterious hieroglyphics, is to be emotionally disadvantaged. A little effort and the magic of the characters will reveal itself. . .. Parents want . . . their children to retain traditional Chinese values in filial piety, loyalty, benevolence, and love. Through Mandarin, their children can emotionally identify themselves as part of an ancient civilization whose continuity was because it was founded on a tried and tested value system." (Lee, 1984, p. 3) (cited in Teo, 2005)

These statements are problematic, because they are based on the flawed notions that:
(a) Mandarin, as it is spoken today, has been the language of Chinese civilisation for over 5000 years; and
(b) that it is intrinsically linked with the Chinese writing system, to the exclusion of all other Chinese dialects.

Firstly, Middle Chinese (spoken around the Sui and Tang dynasties) did not sound like Mandarin. (And Ancient Chinese would have sounded even less like modern spoken Mandarin since it didn't even have tones.) We know this about Middle Chinese because of sources like the 切韵 / 切韻 Qieyun, a rime dictionary from the Sui Dynasty that described the contemporary pronunciation of Chinese characters by using a system that divided the first sound of a syllable (the initial) from the rest of it (the rime). It also provided rime tables, which grouped pronunciations of Chinese characters together by tone, initial and rime. Most of these groupings would not make sense if we relied on the modern Mandarin pronunciations of these characters. (Note that the name Qieyun itself is written in pinyin and only reflects the current Mandarin pronunciation, not the pronunciation at the time it was written.)

Secondly, it is a mistake to think that dialects like Hokkien and Teochew cannot be written using Chinese characters, and that the only way to access Chinese writing is through Mandarin. In 1883, a Presbyterian missionary named Adele Fielde published a Teochew-English dictionary, based on the dialect spoken in the city of Swatow. In that same year, another missionary, John Macgowan, published a Hokkien-English dictionary, based on the Amoy dialect. In both dictionaries, Chinese characters are used to write Teochew and Hokkien.

Click here for options to download Fielde's (1883) A pronouncing and defining dictionary of the Swatow dialect, arranged according to syllables and tones.
Click here for options to download Macgowan's (1883) English and Chinese dictionary of the Amoy dialect.

Language and Racialisation - the problem of the Singapore Mother Tongue

"Our ideal was that the Chinese would be able to speak English and Mandarin, Malays would be able to speak Malay and English, and Indians would be able to speak Tamil and English. Alas, the situation did not develop as we had hoped."

Underpinning this statement is the belief that Chinese people should have had little trouble learning Mandarin, on account of their Chinese-ness. This is supported by the use of the term 'mother tongue' in the Singapore context, to refer to the language associated with one's race (or designated race) - unlike most other countries in world, 'mother tongue' and 'first language' do not mean the same thing here.

Taking myself as an example, Mandarin was designated as my mother tongue. I have a Chinese surname and thus my race is 'Chinese'  in all official documents here. This ignores the linguistic realities of my home, where both my parents do not speak Mandarin (nor does my maternal grandmother). In fact, my parents are much more fluent in Malay, a language I was not allowed to study as a mother tongue (despite my Peranakan / Straits-born Chinese heritage which was not recognised by the government). Similarly, my forced inclusion into this world of 'Chinese-ness' mirrors the forced exclusion of ethnic Malays and Indians were until very recently were not given the choice to study Mandarin in school.

Certainly, there are some similarities in grammatical structure and pronunciation across Chinese dialects, which would enable say, a native Hokkien speaker to pick up Mandarin faster than a native Malay speaker, but it does not mean that the Hokkien speaker will pick up Mandarin automatically, as a child being born into a Mandarin-speaking environment will. In fact, for many dialect speakers it would have been almost like having to learn two foreign languages in school, since many of them would have almost no exposure to either English or Mandarin outside school. Their real mother tongue (the way the term is used around the world, and by UNESCO) would be their home dialect, not Mandarin.

Removing the familiar and bringing in the unfamiliar

Lee seems to have made a similar realisation, following the 1979 Goh Keng Swee Report, and his controversial conclusion is one that he holds until today.

"If our students were learning English and Mandarin in school, and also learning dialects at home, they were in reality learning three different tongues. Given that their exposure to dialects at home was longer than their exposure to English or Mandarin, it was not surprising that their command of dialects was stronger than their command of the latter two."

In view of this situation, Lee and Goh's solution was to eradicate the language that these students had had the most exposure to. This involved the ban on the use of dialects in local media. These dialects were viewed as an extra learning burden for speakers, who also had to learn English and Mandarin (Wee, 2009). Unlike the prestige languages English and Mandarin, dialects were seen to have little functional benefit.

Over the past few decades, a lot of work has demonstrated that with well-implemented bilingual programme, students with a good foundation in their home language / mother tongue (not the Singapore sense of the term) can actually progress further in a dominant national or foreign language than students who enter a program taught entirely in that dominant national or foreign language. For more information, you can look at the UNESCO site for Mother Tongue Multilingual Education which includes materials that advocate the promotion of the mother tongue. [EDIT: The main purpose of many of these programs is to bridge the gap between the home language and the national language, not to have students come out of school only fluent in their home language, which alone does not give access to jobs and further education.]

The rationale for this is: children first learn about the world around them through the language used at home. By the time they start going to school, they already know a lot about the physical and cultural world around them. A good primary education program uses what they already know and promotes cognitive development by building up from simple concepts to more complex ones - it guides the child into the unfamiliar by using the familiar. Naturally, such a program uses a language that the child already has some knowledge of, and requires curriculum planning, teaching material development and teacher training.

In a similar analogy to one raised by Lee, I sometimes ask my monolingual English friends in Australia to imagine what it would be like if they only had exposure to English at home, but went to school and discovered everything was taught in Russian - not only would they have to learn the Russian language, but they would also have to learn mathematical (and basic scientific) concepts in Russian at the same time. Some children may do well because their families can afford to give them more exposure to Russian, but these are children who do well in spite of the system. This is similar to the situation faced by many indigenous people around the world, who are forced to go to school where a national language that they may not have access to outside the classroom is used. In many cases, plunged in a completely alien language environment, they either learn to memorise what they need to in class, which they promptly forget when they leave school, or they simply drop out of school - scenarios not unlike what Lee encountered in Singapore in the 1970s.

Like in so many places in the world, spoken vernaculars in Singapore were (and are) seen as the 'burden' as opposed to prestige languages like English or Mandarin, despite the fact that the use of dialects could have been instrumental in easing the burden of learning English and Mandarin. The government may have also needed to compromise on the original expectations that all Chinese people become fluent in both English and Mandarin. Instead, what we have now is a significant section of the population that are viewed as speaking both English and Mandarin poorly.

But rather than lament policies that cannot be turned back, [EDIT: and I think it's too late to overhaul the education system], we should look at things that can be changed. In light of what's been discussed, it's time to realise that dialects are not the main cause for the poor standard of Mandarin here. There is very little reason why dialects should not return to TV and radio, apart from maybe some difficulty in finding energetic young hosts who are fluent in their respective dialect. It has been done in Taiwan, where in the last 10 years, a Hakka channel and even an indigenous channel have appeared on local cable television.

Back to the older generation

This brings me back to the main purpose of this post. I am not criticising the government's policies for the sake of it - I simply wish to point out flaws in the reasoning behind the language policies, because I believe that people are suffering because of them, and that a change to the policy will result in less suffering.

The petition site talks about why we should support this case for the sake of the elderly. However, apart from just providing entertainment and intellectual stimulation, the elderly have a right to information. If we really are a maturing democracy, how can we have citizens who do not have access to information about how their lives are run - citizens who have spent most, if not their entire lives here (and many of whom are actually older than the country itself)? Surely they have a right to know about things like the White Paper, or be kept up to date when the next big outbreak like SARS strikes. 

The sad irony is that the very language viewed as a means for cultural transmission is now the reason for the growing linguistic and cultural gap between many older and younger Chinese Singaporeans. Bringing back dialects would be a small but important step in rehabilitating this relationship.

References

Teo, Peter. (2005). "Mandarising Singapore: A critical analysis of slogans in Singapore’s ‘Speak Mandarin’ campaign." Critical Discourse Studies 2(2). pp. 121–142.

Wee, Lionel. (2010). "‘Burdens’ and ‘handicaps’ in Singapore’s language policy: on the limits of language management." Lang Policy 9:97–114.

[Here's a related post I write back in 2010 when I started this blog: Diverse Languages, One Identity
My next post The persistence of Singapore English and Mandarin also discusses other language issues in Singapore.]

Expressing the agent in Chinese

I've been meaning to post this for a while now, since I saw this advertisement at my uncle's clinic here in Singapore. It's an ad for some type of hair loss treatment.

In English, the ad reads: "Male pattern hair loss can be treated".

In contrast, the Chinese (Mandarin) ad reads: 医生可以治疗你的脱发问题。yīshēng kěyǐ zhìliáo nǐ de tuōfà wèntí which can be roughly translated as 'The doctor can treat your hair loss problem.'

For now, let's just ignore the fact that English version obligatorily requires some sort of article with doctor and that doctor must be specified as being singular or plural, while the Chinese one does not. (Given the ad's location in a clinic where it was in full view of waiting patients, I interpreted it as referring to the doctor working in the clinic that day, whom the waiting patient was going to see.) Also ignore the fact that the English one specifies this as a male problem, while the Chinese one assumes that the reader is male.

What's important to note is that the Mandarin version actually specifies the agent, the person who will be undertaking the action, 医生 yīshēng 'doctor'. On the other hand, the English version uses a passive construction where the agent no longer needs to be mentioned, though it could be if we wanted to, by simply adding the phrase by the doctor. By using the passive voice in English, one can omit the agent / doer of the action and still construct a grammatical sentence. This is one common use of the passive voice in English, and a fairly important one, so please ignore 'blanket rules' that state to 'avoid the passive voice' at all costs - it does have its uses!

With the current buzz on language and its potential effects on thought and behaviour, and given that only the Mandarin one expressly mentions an agent, the 'doctor', I would be tempted to ask this question: If the treatment fails, would a Mandarin speaker who has read the advertisement in Mandarin be more likely to blame the doctor than an English speaker who has read it in English?

The obvious hypothesis would be that a Mandarin speaker would be more likely to assign blame to the doctor if the treatment fails than an English speaker would. Why? Because in the Chinese version, 医生 'doctor' is explicitly mentioned.

Now, if this hypothesis were proven correct, could one then conclude that it was due to some fundamental difference in the way that Mandarin and English are structured or view the world?

I would definitely say, no.

The problem is, the English version could easily have read: A doctor can treat your hair loss problem, using the active voice which means that the agent has to be mentioned / one must mention the agent. Mandarin also has a way of marking the equivalent of the passive using 被 bèi (see here for more info), although writing 脱发问题,可以治疗 would be acceptable, and would be closer to 'Hair loss problem can be treated', with 脱发问题 'hair loss problem' placed at the front as a topic.

You might then say that it is more common in Mandarin Chinese to mention the agent here - a Google search for 脱发问题可以被治疗 'hair can be treated' (using 被 bèi)  doesn't come up with identical results, while most results mention some sort of force / process, e.g. 头发移植 'hair transplants', 锌 'zinc' and 中草药 'Chinese herbal medicine' that might cure hair loss problems.

The problem is, there are numerous reasons why 医生 'doctor' was mentioned explicitly in the Chinese version, and not the English one. One reason might be a cultural expectation among Mandarin speakers (or in the case of Singapore, older Hokkien and Teochew speakers who also know Mandarin) that it is up to the doctor to help them. Older Chinese speakers, who are less likely to know English, are more likely from a generation that held doctors in the highest esteem and would not question their actions. By mentioning 医生 'doctor', the copywriter / translator of the advertisement in Chinese could simply be tapping into the revered status accorded doctors, since this would likely promote sales. Another reason might be that the copywriter simply felt the need to be more explicit in directing Chinese speaking patients to the doctor for help.

Clearly, it would be impossible to simply compare two versions of a sentence in two different languages and start making hypotheses about the effects of language on thought and behaviour. However, I thought it would be a nice way to illustrate some of the problems faced by researchers in this field, especially if we start considering a feature (like an agent) that could be omitted in a language, but are often not. Is such a tendency the result of the structure of a language affecting thought, or is it thought and cultural expectations that result in this particular use of language / stylistic choice?

In order to exclude the possibility of the latter, we go to Roman Jakobson's quote “Languages differ essentially in what they must convey and not in what they may convey”. It would therefore be more fruitful to look at features of English that must be mentioned, like the use of either an indefinite or definitie article with singular nouns in English or the marking of all countable nouns as either singular or plural - all features that Chinese does not oblige its speakers to mention.

[On a related note, here's a link to Lena Boroditsky's article in the Wall Street Journal on her work with English, Japanese and Spanish speakers and the perception of blame (23/07/2010): Lost in Translation
Here's a Language Log post that critically examines this study (26/07/2010): Boroditsky on Whorfian navigation and blame]

Happy Deepavali / Diwali

To all Hindus, Happy Deepavali / இனிய தீபாவளி நல்வாழ்த்துக்கள் (iniya deepavali nalvazhthukkal). It's a public holiday here in Singapore. Unlike last year when I was really getting into the spirit of the Nepali counterpart Tihar (see here), this year there won't be any such cultural immersion for me. However, I did drop by Little India here in Singapore yesterday looking for sweets, which was a big mistake, given the last minute rush for sweets and other items for pooja / puja.

The majority of Singaporean Indians are Tamil, and the Tamil language is one of the official languages of Singapore, though sadly, it's usually the forgotten child out of the four - the only Tamil I ever paid attention to while growing up in Singapore was vannakkam, which I'd often hear at the end of the Tamil news. Also, there was never any motivation for me to learn Tamil, given that we spoke English at home, I had to learn Mandarin in school and Malay would've been my next choice since my parents speak Malay.

In any case, it's not surprising that you find signs like this one in Tamil (which reads iniya deepavali nalvazhthukkal):

But nowadays, it's also not uncommon to see signs in Hindi as well, like this one which reads: शुभ दिवाली (shubh diwālī).

A note about the etymology of the Hindi diwālī (the use of the macron indicates a long vowel): many websites I've seen say that the Hindi is a 'contraction' of the Sanskrit दीपावली dīpāvalī, a compound of दीपा dīpā 'lamp' and avalī अवली 'row'. I'm certain linguists have already worked out the exact sound changes - I just haven't spent the time doing the research, but I thought I'd have a go at explaining why it's called diwālī in Hindi, but deepavali in Tamil.

First of all, Tamil தீபாவளி deepavali  (or more precisely, tīpāvaļi since Tamil does not make a meaningful contrast between the sounds d and t) has clearly preserved the number of syllables of the original word. I'm assuming here that Tamil, probably Middle Tamil, borrowed the term from Sanskrit.

In contrast, if we assume that Hindi  दिवाली diwālī is ultimately from Sanskrit दीपावली dīpāvalī, the easiest way to explain the change would be to say that the Hindi form has undergone 'lenition', a common sound change whereby consonants 'weakened' in some way, particularly when they are surrounded by two vowels. We see such lenition in most varieties of English, e.g. the t in words like water and city are rarely pronounced like the t in words like term and tea: instead of a strongly aspirated stop [t^h], speakers often just produce a very quick tap of the tongue.

One common sound change pathway is: [p] > [b] > [v] > [ʋ] (a sound similar to [w]) > nothing. If you practise making these sounds, you'll notice that all of them involve using the lips, or at least part of the lips. Speakers of Singlish (or if you listen to the video in my previous post) will notice that the word never is often pronounced neh, with no [v] sound in the middle of the word. This is an example of such lenition.

It is therefore not difficult to see how the original [v] sound in a word like dīpāvalī could be completed deleted, while the [p] sound could lenite to [b] and then to [ʋ] (written as 'w' in transliterations of Hindi).

Simi, the Singaporean version of Siri

More Siri stuff. But since I'm in Singapore, I thought I'd blog about a clip from the mrbrown show that's been making the rounds among Singaporeans (and fans of Singlish). By the way, simi is Hokkien for 'what?' The uploader of this particular video on Youtube was also kind enough to provide a transcript of the dialogue:

I found the clip hilarious and thought I should make some comments on the language used, for the sake of my non-Singaporean linguist friends. I'm certainly no expert on Singlish (having done any personal research on the subject), but I will say that Simi's speech corresponds to a 'basilect' form of Singaporean English, which is what most people would call 'Singlish', as spoken by an ah beng 'an unsophicated Chinese boy, usually Hokkien' (as defined by TalkingCock.com).

You can find the ubiquitous sentence-final particles, including the (in)famous lah, but also other particles like ar, leh, one, what and the question particle meh. The Wikipedia article on Singlish provides a neat summary of the various particles found in Singlish, though I think they need to provide a bit more contextual evidence especially since the use of most particles is governed by context and pragmatics.

I myself should pay more attention to the use of particles in Singlish (and more standard varieties of English for that matter), as they often help me analyse particles used in languages I study. In addition to the particular context that the particle occurs in, there's usually an emotional connection with its use that's difficult to define. Speakers will often say things like a sentence / utterance 'sounds better' with a particular particle, or that the presence of a particle makes the speaker sound either more or less 'angry' or 'surprised' or 'timid' etc.

Some other grammatical features characteristic of Singlish: copular verbs (e.g. 'to be' and its forms 'is', 'are', 'am') are typically dropped before adjectives, e.g. Migrate better lah!; The CTE jam from Ang Mo Kio to Orchard Road (my intuitions tell me that jam here isn't being used as a verb). Plurality isn't usually marked on nouns with a suffix but with a quantifier like so many, e.g. got so many Bangla and PRC come and take your job and make your MRT so crowded.

You also find a few 'typically Singlish' words / expressions used, like tahan 'to endure' (from Malay) and atas 'snobbish' (lit. 'upstairs') (from Malay), as well as sibei jialat (from Hokkien) - sibei 'very' and jialat 'f*cked' (okay not quite, it literally means 'to eat strength' in Hokkien - maybe kinda like Mandarin 吃苦 'to bear hardship', lit. 'to eat bitterness').

One expression I wasn't familiar with was: why you fly my aeroplane? I had to look up the TalkingCock.com entry to learn that it means 'why are you standing me up?'. To fly aeroplane also corresponds to the Hokkien pang puay kee? but the origin of this phrase is indeterminate.

(The transcriber wasn't able to / didn't want to make out the name of the restaurant at 3:13 in the video. It's actually called the 'Ku De Ta Restaurant', located at on the roof of the new Marina Bay Sands hotel - or 'Coup d'état Restaurant', another not-so-subtle hint of subversion by the awesome mrbrown show.) 

'Push' or 'press'?

The other night I went to the Crystal Jade restaurant at Holland Village (Singapore). As I got to the top of the stairs I saw a sign on the glass door saying 'PUSH' with a mini handprint next to it. I was just about to push the door, when it started to slide to the side. This confused me greatly and I mentioned it to my friends once I walked in and found their table. One response was, "Aiyah, it means 'push the button to open the door.'"

The glass door at the entrance was one of those semi-automatic sliding doors that only open when you touch the sensor (I can't remember there really was a button) on them, so that they don't keep opening and closing every time someone walks by. It just so happened that someone had touched the sensor for me from inside when they saw me walking towards the door.

Now it's perfectly alright to say 'push the button', but the problem with seeing a sign that says 'PUSH' on a door, is that one would immediately assume from the context that it means pushing the entire door. I suppose what I was expecting to see was 'PRESS' or 'PRESS TO OPEN' or 'TOUCH TO OPEN'.

For me it was another one of those examples that I want to offer to linguists who largely ignore the contexts in which language is used. But my first thought was that the restaurant ought to change the sign before someone breaks the door trying to get in by pushing on it.

The language holding Malays, Tamils and Chinese together

On the Johnson blog at the Economist, there was a post a few days ago titled, "The language holding Malays, Tamils and Chinese together", on the choice to adopt Standard English (and the author also mentions Mandarin) as the working language of the country.

While I think the article itself doesn't consider the sociolinguistic reality, focusing mainly on the language policy the government had adopted - yes, Standard English has been adopted but if I were to speak 'Standard English' in most situations in Singapore, I'd be considered somewhat of a snob. You know, really tao and all.

What I find ironic is that the people who push for Standard English to be spoken (some of whom have taken to defacing public signs that use 'bad English' - I'll need to find the link to this at some point), as opposed to 'Singlish' are often people whose English I would consider to be substandard. Just look at the first comment on this blog post:

I have no doubt Singaporean has good grasp or command of English, but
its Singlish or Malish (Malaysian) does give a goose bump when speaking loudly in public.

Singlish is a typical pidgin language or bad creolization of many "pasar(market)" loan words from typically Hokkien or Malay. I hope
Singaporean should pick up LKY style of spoken English but not those
of Goh Chok Tong's English.


Discounting the possibility of unintentional typos, the way this person writes reflects a variety of English that I wouldn't consider to be anywhere near 'LKY's style of spoken English'. To expect other 'Singaporean' to pick up LKY style of spoken English is just plain hypocrisy.

And of course, it's simply absurd to suggest that people follow a particular PM / SM / MM's style of speaking. It's usually politicians and royalty who end up adjusting their speech to match that of their supporters / followers, not the other way round.

I friend you, you unfriend me

Over lunch yesterday, a few Singaporean friends and I were celebrating the fact that 'friend' is now a commonly used verb. Prior to the advent of Facebook, 'friend' as verb - pronounced closer to 'fren' - had been relegated to the realm of Singlish kid speak. For example:

Kid 1: I fren u, u fren me.

Kid 2: (I) Dun fren u.
('dun' sounds like 'doe' with vowel nasalisation - derived from 'don't')

Or something like that - it's been a while since I was in kindergarten.

It conveys a sense of liking someone, something to the effect of 'I want to be friends with you, do you want to be friends with me?'. But adults may still jokingly say to one another, 'I dun/donch fren you' if the other person offends them mildly.

I then asked people if they preferred the verb 'unfriend' or 'defriend' (neither of which is in Singlish kid speak). The unanimous response at the table was 'unfriend', even though after some consideration, people realised that 'un-' generally negates adjectives while 'de-' negates verbs. One reason suggested for why 'unfriend' sounded better was the existence of the word 'unfriendly'.

Having done a bit of googling, I found this article: The Un-believable Un-Verb from September 21, 2009, which explains that there is an 'un-' prefix added to verbs (marking the reversal of an action, e.g. 'unfasten', 'unmask' - and also 'undo') which has a different etymology to the 'un-' prefix added to adjectives. 'Unfriending' someone on Facebook therefore makes more sense since you are undoing the action of 'friending' them.

But I wonder if there are still people who would prefer 'defriend'?

Diverse Languages, One Identity

A few days ago I was wandering my favourite section at my favourite bookshop in Singapore - the languages section at Books Kinokuniya at Takashimaya. I came across a small booklet titled Diverse Languages, One Identity, "a joint initiative between the National Institute of Education (NIE) and the National Library Board.

As you can see, the booklet covers basic conversations in the four official languages of Singapore: English, Mandarin Chinese, Malay and Tamil. The blurb on the back adds, "This booklet aims to create an awareness of the spoken mother tongue among students and teachers and serves as a good platform to build understanding and respect among the various races in Singapore."

Usually I'd be quick to dismiss any attempts by a national board to encourage a more 'cohesive' society (think 'Racial Harmony Day'), but given the focus on language, I thought I'd give it a second glance. The NIE news says the launch date for the booklet was back in April 2010, but judging from the stacks of copies on the shelf, I doubt it's been a bestseller.

For one thing, the price of $10.70 for a modest 64-page booklet (with pages smaller than your standard A5 size) seemed a little exorbitant. The only reason I can offer for the rather hefty price is the mini CD that comes with the package, given that no mention of said CD is found on the cover of the book. The distributors would have done better to have the words 'FREE CD INCLUDED' on the packaging.

Now, the fact that there is a CD included puts this booklet, in my mind, above any random Lonely Planet phrasebook marketed to travellers (who are often absolute beginners in a language). Sadly, though not surprisingly, this little booklet still suffers from a large number of shortcomings.

The introduction states that the booklet "is designed to develop basic inter-personal aural and oral skills in the three official mother tongues of Singapore with the objective of promoting inter-ethnic linguistic awareness and cross-cultural understanding." The book is divided topically (or rather by speech acts): Greetings, Making Introductions, Ordering Food, Making Apologies, Congratulating etc. English and Malay are written using their standard orthographies, while Chinese is transcribed using the romanised hanyu pinyin system (no characters are given), and Tamil with 'simplified and Romanised IPA notations" for reasons given in the introduction of the booklet. Each chapter contains a list of "useful phrases" (often just commonly used vocabulary) given in each language as well as a few "scenarios" consisting of 2-3 people speaking a total of 2-4 lines of dialogue. All phrases and scenarios have been recorded on the accompanying mini CD.

From a language learner's perspective, many of the phrases are not terribly helpful. Many of the initial dialogues are artificial and the English is clearly set at the wrong register (one I think of as 'formal post-colonial'), e.g. 'Hello, how's everything lately?', "I'm fine, it has been a while since we last met." There are more complex sentences, e.g. "I really did not expect to win it", but their translations are difficult to analyse morphologically (or word by word) without any prior knowledge of those languages, and it is unlikely any beginner would dare to use these sentences in real life with nothing else to continue a conversation in. Some of the recordings are also too fast for the untrained ear to pick up, especially with no explanation of the sounds represented by the various transcription systems used in the booklet.

Taking a step back and looking at the larger aims of the book, these are predicated on the rather outmoded concept of 'mother tongue' in Singapore, based not on one's 'first language' nor on what is spoken at home, but on one's race. (Ironically enough, it's one's family name, taken from the father, that is taken into consideration.) These are the three official languages taught as 'mother tongues' in school, with English as the 'first language'. Therefore, if you're Chinese (or just have a Chinese family name) you learn Mandarin in school as your 'mother tongue', if you're Malay you learn Malay and if you're Indian you learn Tamil. Never mind that your home language might not be any one of these three languages - even if you're Chinese it might be Hokkien or Cantonese that you speak at home. Furthermore, ethnic Malays and Indians who wish to learn Mandarin in school cannot take it as a 'mother tongue', though there are limited opportunities to study it.

It is therefore counter-intuitive to have an initiative designed to get people to understand each other's 'mother tongues', when the whole system is set up to divide people based on language categories that have been largely constructed. While I can see reasons in trying to preserve / construct / reconstruct distinct cultural identities through language, it makes little sense to then have to resort to initiatives like Diverse Languages to bridge them again.

This brings me to my next point. We already have a common language in Singapore, and it's Singlish. Whenever I see inter-ethnic groups of Singaporeans together, they're speaking Singlish. If you want to create a single 'Singaporean' identity that separates the 'locals' from all the 'expats' (and the rest of the world), we already have one with its own linguistic basis, and it doesn't even need to be taught in schools, or in booklets for that matter.