The blogosphere is all atwitter with the debate on the Economist website, the proposition being:
This house believes that the language we speaks shapes how we think.
http://www.economist.com/debate/overview/190
My friends in linguistics will not find any of this new, but I did made a small comment on the site, mostly because people were arguing that it was culture, not language that shaped thought, which I agree with (I'm sure the situation is far more complex than I care to think about), but didn't feel was actually relevant to the points being raised by the proposer.
I'm certainly not a hard-core Whorfian believer in linguistic determinism - that the language I speak somehow limits my experience of the world - but I do believe in linguistic relativism in its 'weaker form'. There's something about the grammatical structures and lexical items in our native language/s that we retrieve so habitually and 'naturally' that we don't even realise it until we start to learn another language as adults.
Nick Evans writes in his book Dying words: endangered languages and what they have to say, "Languages differ not so much in what you can say as in what you must say" (paraphrasing Roman Jakobson). In learning a new language, one often encounters distinctions that one wouldn't otherwise have to consider in their own language, like having to specify each time whether I'm going to get from point A to B on foot or by transport in Russian, or specifiying whether I farted on purpose or by accident in Sherpa (see here). Native speakers of these languages don't realise they're making these decisions because they're so automated, but for someone else trying to learn these languages, I don't think there's any doubt that they require a slightly different way of thinking about events in the world.
Anyway, whatever! Have a look at the live debate at the Economist site and see what others are saying!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Going in all directions
One thing I had noticed when I was working on my MA thesis was that along with the verb wu 'to go' (though I think it might actually just be u), Sumi also had two other verbs: wo and hu.
The verb wo is generally used with the noun aki 'house', as in aki lo wo 'to go home' (lo is a locative or allative marker), suggesting that the verb also conveys the meaning of motion towards one's home / point of origin. The verb hu is usually used with the noun alu 'field', as in alu lo hu 'to go to the field', suggesting that the verb also conveys the meaning of motion away from one's home / point of origin. The verb wu therefore simply means 'to go' with no direction specified. Let's also not forget the verb ighi 'to come', which specifies direction towards the speaker / hearer / some common reference point, but at the time I was more interested in the wo and hu distinction at the time, which I think I've worked out.
In addition to these, I'd also found two other verbs, ipe which one speaker had told me meant 'to go out' or and ilo 'to go in' (iloghi also appears, containing the same ghi found in ighi 'to come' - something to work on). Again, I wasn't that surprised that the language made these distinctions. After all, English distinguishes between 'to enter' and 'to exit'.
Just recently on this trip, I'd been alerted to two more verbs: iqi 'to go down' and iqho 'to go up'. These can also mean 'to go South' and 'to go North' respectively. This is just like how people in Melbourne might 'go up' to Sydney for the weekend or people from Sydney will 'come down' to Melbourne. In French, on peut descendre sur la Côte d'Azur ou monter à Paris, ('One can go down to the Cote d'Azure or go up to Paris.'), assuming I'm coming from somewhere like Lyon. The image in people's minds I assume is that of a standard geographical map with North pointing up.
Similarly, a speaker in the town of Zunheboto might say:
(1) Satakha lo iqini.
(I) will go to Satakha.' (Satakha is south of Zunheboto)
(2) Suruhuto lo iqhoni.
'(I) will go to Suruhuto.' (Suruhuto is north of Zunheboto)
However, and this is the curious thing, if a speaker was going to Nito Mount (where I was and will be staying) from the centre of Zunheboto town, they would say:
(3) Nito Mount lo iloni.
'(I) will go to Nito Mount.'
And if a speaker in Nito Mount was going to the Zunheboto town centre, they would say:
(4) Zünheboto lo ipeni.
'(I'm) going to Zunheboto.'
At first I thought it was strange that one would say literally that they were 'going out' of town, where in English one would say 'I'm going into town.' Someone then pointed out that the important thing was that one was travelling west to Nito Mount and east to Zunheboto (which I'm slightly dubious about). Similarly, people would use the verb ilo to say they were going to Dimapur or Delhi, which all lie west of Zunheboto.
What it looks like then, is that the four verbs: ilo 'to go in', ipe 'to go out', iqho 'to go up' and iqho 'to go down', can also mean 'to go west', 'to go east', 'to go north' and 'to go south'.
As I've noted 'going up' and 'going down' are often associated with 'going north' and 'going south', but are there other languages where 'going in' and 'going out' correspond to 'going east' and 'going west'? And I don't just mean phrases like 'going into the East' or 'going out west', but instances where people will say the equivalent of 'I'm going in to (PLACE)' when that place is east of the speaker.
The verb wo is generally used with the noun aki 'house', as in aki lo wo 'to go home' (lo is a locative or allative marker), suggesting that the verb also conveys the meaning of motion towards one's home / point of origin. The verb hu is usually used with the noun alu 'field', as in alu lo hu 'to go to the field', suggesting that the verb also conveys the meaning of motion away from one's home / point of origin. The verb wu therefore simply means 'to go' with no direction specified. Let's also not forget the verb ighi 'to come', which specifies direction towards the speaker / hearer / some common reference point, but at the time I was more interested in the wo and hu distinction at the time, which I think I've worked out.
In addition to these, I'd also found two other verbs, ipe which one speaker had told me meant 'to go out' or and ilo 'to go in' (iloghi also appears, containing the same ghi found in ighi 'to come' - something to work on). Again, I wasn't that surprised that the language made these distinctions. After all, English distinguishes between 'to enter' and 'to exit'.
Just recently on this trip, I'd been alerted to two more verbs: iqi 'to go down' and iqho 'to go up'. These can also mean 'to go South' and 'to go North' respectively. This is just like how people in Melbourne might 'go up' to Sydney for the weekend or people from Sydney will 'come down' to Melbourne. In French, on peut descendre sur la Côte d'Azur ou monter à Paris, ('One can go down to the Cote d'Azure or go up to Paris.'), assuming I'm coming from somewhere like Lyon. The image in people's minds I assume is that of a standard geographical map with North pointing up.
Similarly, a speaker in the town of Zunheboto might say:
(1) Satakha lo iqini.
(I) will go to Satakha.' (Satakha is south of Zunheboto)
(2) Suruhuto lo iqhoni.
'(I) will go to Suruhuto.' (Suruhuto is north of Zunheboto)
However, and this is the curious thing, if a speaker was going to Nito Mount (where I was and will be staying) from the centre of Zunheboto town, they would say:
(3) Nito Mount lo iloni.
'(I) will go to Nito Mount.'
And if a speaker in Nito Mount was going to the Zunheboto town centre, they would say:
(4) Zünheboto lo ipeni.
'(I'm) going to Zunheboto.'
At first I thought it was strange that one would say literally that they were 'going out' of town, where in English one would say 'I'm going into town.' Someone then pointed out that the important thing was that one was travelling west to Nito Mount and east to Zunheboto (which I'm slightly dubious about). Similarly, people would use the verb ilo to say they were going to Dimapur or Delhi, which all lie west of Zunheboto.
What it looks like then, is that the four verbs: ilo 'to go in', ipe 'to go out', iqho 'to go up' and iqho 'to go down', can also mean 'to go west', 'to go east', 'to go north' and 'to go south'.
As I've noted 'going up' and 'going down' are often associated with 'going north' and 'going south', but are there other languages where 'going in' and 'going out' correspond to 'going east' and 'going west'? And I don't just mean phrases like 'going into the East' or 'going out west', but instances where people will say the equivalent of 'I'm going in to (PLACE)' when that place is east of the speaker.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Indian Folklore Congress 2010
On Thursday (9 Dec) I was invited by a friend to attend with her the inaugural programme (basically the inauguration ceremony) of the 34th Indian Folklore Congress at ATI (Administrative Training Institute) Kohima. I thought it would be a good idea, given that the chief guest (guest of honour), Khekiye Sema, is Sumi himself, and back in Zunheboto we had originally planned to come down to Kohima to meet with him and discuss the oral literature project.
After the sweet little traditional song presentation by some Angami kids (see above), Professor Jawaharlal Handoo, the President of Indian Folklore Congress, gave the keynote speech. I wasn't terribly impressed with the speech because he simply read off a 5-6 page document that only some members of the audience were given. Still, I suppose it's the fashion for some professors to do that here (and having spent a year at a French university has given me more patience for such things). In the talk he mentioned issues to do with folklore and the construction of ethnic identity (I prefer the term 'negotiation'), which was all quite expected.
When the time came for the chief guest, retired government official Khekiye Sema, to speak, he was much more candid and natural. He started off by congratulating everyone who'd come from outside the state, suggesting that everyone should be given a medal of courage for 'daring' to come to this part of the world (to the few Indians who've heard of Nagaland, the place conjures up images of bloodthirsty headhunters, a violent insurgency, or just frightening food). He spoke about the loss of traditional oral literature and its transmission mechanisms, particularly with the loss of the traditional morung system after the arrival of Christianity. Also in more recent times, Nagaland University has not been giving much attention to the study of such traditional folklore.
Sure, there was the usual lament that with modernity and Christianity, the younger generation no longer knew the old traditions, but bear in mind that all this happened within the span of a generation or two (almost like Singapore's rapid urbanisation). At the moment, there is a cultural cringe among the younger generation who are quickly embracing Korean culture, after having done the same with American culture. (I'm sure it's a familiar story in other parts of the globe.)
He also spoke of the connection between Nagas and nature, and recounted his own experience with an old man from Aghünato village who was a were-tiger - I'd heard about such stories from friends in Zunheboto. Unlike the werewolves in the European tradition, people who are were-tigers don't physically transform into tigers, but their souls simply become tiger spirits (according to some people, these people actually have tiger spirits). In any case, there seems to be some bond between the human spirit and that of the animal, allowing that person to find out things happening in the jungle even if their body is physically at home. I like to think it's a kind of 'astral projection' of the soul.
After the talks were over, I decided to go up and speak with Mr Khekiye himself. I mentioned the World Oral Literature Project to him, and he suggested I speak with another Sumi man in Dimapur who'd done quite a bit of cultural documentation with the help of Mr Khekiye.
My heart sank a little bit when he gave the name of the person. I'd just received a copy of this person's 'Sumi grammar' and it wasn't particularly great. It wasn't even a grammar, more a vocabulary list, with a number of short traditional stories, presumably from the documentation project. But most of these were very badly translated from Sumi into English. Still, I'm off to Dimapur in a few days and hopefully I'll get a chance to meet this person and see what documentation he has already done.
After the sweet little traditional song presentation by some Angami kids (see above), Professor Jawaharlal Handoo, the President of Indian Folklore Congress, gave the keynote speech. I wasn't terribly impressed with the speech because he simply read off a 5-6 page document that only some members of the audience were given. Still, I suppose it's the fashion for some professors to do that here (and having spent a year at a French university has given me more patience for such things). In the talk he mentioned issues to do with folklore and the construction of ethnic identity (I prefer the term 'negotiation'), which was all quite expected.
When the time came for the chief guest, retired government official Khekiye Sema, to speak, he was much more candid and natural. He started off by congratulating everyone who'd come from outside the state, suggesting that everyone should be given a medal of courage for 'daring' to come to this part of the world (to the few Indians who've heard of Nagaland, the place conjures up images of bloodthirsty headhunters, a violent insurgency, or just frightening food). He spoke about the loss of traditional oral literature and its transmission mechanisms, particularly with the loss of the traditional morung system after the arrival of Christianity. Also in more recent times, Nagaland University has not been giving much attention to the study of such traditional folklore.
Sure, there was the usual lament that with modernity and Christianity, the younger generation no longer knew the old traditions, but bear in mind that all this happened within the span of a generation or two (almost like Singapore's rapid urbanisation). At the moment, there is a cultural cringe among the younger generation who are quickly embracing Korean culture, after having done the same with American culture. (I'm sure it's a familiar story in other parts of the globe.)
He also spoke of the connection between Nagas and nature, and recounted his own experience with an old man from Aghünato village who was a were-tiger - I'd heard about such stories from friends in Zunheboto. Unlike the werewolves in the European tradition, people who are were-tigers don't physically transform into tigers, but their souls simply become tiger spirits (according to some people, these people actually have tiger spirits). In any case, there seems to be some bond between the human spirit and that of the animal, allowing that person to find out things happening in the jungle even if their body is physically at home. I like to think it's a kind of 'astral projection' of the soul.
After the talks were over, I decided to go up and speak with Mr Khekiye himself. I mentioned the World Oral Literature Project to him, and he suggested I speak with another Sumi man in Dimapur who'd done quite a bit of cultural documentation with the help of Mr Khekiye.
My heart sank a little bit when he gave the name of the person. I'd just received a copy of this person's 'Sumi grammar' and it wasn't particularly great. It wasn't even a grammar, more a vocabulary list, with a number of short traditional stories, presumably from the documentation project. But most of these were very badly translated from Sumi into English. Still, I'm off to Dimapur in a few days and hopefully I'll get a chance to meet this person and see what documentation he has already done.
Calques
I just purchased a book on linguistics: Linguistics: an introduction by Radford et al. (2009 edition) for my friend Ab.'s reference. It's not in my opinion the best textbook (or introduction for the total beginner), but it was the best of the lot I could find here in Kohima.
In the book, one of the authors writes,
"Sometimes when new concepts are introduced from other societies, the speakers of a particular language may use their own native linguistic resources to coin a new word. These are known as calques.".
The examples given include Irish Gaelic sciath fearthanna 'umbrella' (lit. 'rain shield') and Maori wai mangu 'ink' (lit. 'water black'). Under this definition, Chinese 电脑 'computer' would also be considered a calque because it comprises two morphemes meaning 'electric' and 'brain'.
The problem here is, I always thought a calque referred to the borrowing of a compound word or phrase from another language by translating each individual component of that compound or phrase. Therefore, examples like English flea market from French marché aux puces, French gratte-ciel from English skyscraper or Russian детский сад from German Kindergarten would qualify as calques. (Note that the English word kindergarten isn't considered a calque since it's been borrowed 'wholesale' from German.)
By this definition, the examples cited in Linguistics: an introduction would therefore qualify simply as neologisms, created by compounding morphemes already in the language. Since they are not literal translations of terms from another language, I would be hard-pressed to call them 'calques' - last time I checked I don't call my computer an 'electric brain' or 'electro-brain'.
The Wikipedia page seems to confirm my own definition (with the same French examples I've given above - I'm sure they're the ones commonly used in other linguistics textbooks), but maybe I'm missing something here?
In the book, one of the authors writes,
"Sometimes when new concepts are introduced from other societies, the speakers of a particular language may use their own native linguistic resources to coin a new word. These are known as calques.".
The examples given include Irish Gaelic sciath fearthanna 'umbrella' (lit. 'rain shield') and Maori wai mangu 'ink' (lit. 'water black'). Under this definition, Chinese 电脑 'computer' would also be considered a calque because it comprises two morphemes meaning 'electric' and 'brain'.
The problem here is, I always thought a calque referred to the borrowing of a compound word or phrase from another language by translating each individual component of that compound or phrase. Therefore, examples like English flea market from French marché aux puces, French gratte-ciel from English skyscraper or Russian детский сад from German Kindergarten would qualify as calques. (Note that the English word kindergarten isn't considered a calque since it's been borrowed 'wholesale' from German.)
By this definition, the examples cited in Linguistics: an introduction would therefore qualify simply as neologisms, created by compounding morphemes already in the language. Since they are not literal translations of terms from another language, I would be hard-pressed to call them 'calques' - last time I checked I don't call my computer an 'electric brain' or 'electro-brain'.
The Wikipedia page seems to confirm my own definition (with the same French examples I've given above - I'm sure they're the ones commonly used in other linguistics textbooks), but maybe I'm missing something here?
Friday, December 10, 2010
Playing with fire
Christmas is definitely coming soon to Nagaland. Not only are people starting to put up their Christmas lights and stars, but last week before I left Zunheboto, I got to watch the boys living at Ab.'s have a 'little' bonfire.
These boys really aren't scared of fire. Afterwards, I even saw them doing cartwheels in the still glowing cinders.
These boys really aren't scared of fire. Afterwards, I even saw them doing cartwheels in the still glowing cinders.
Kohima sunset
This was the view from my friend's balcony here in Kohima. I had walked out to get my laundry, but ended up running back to my room to grab my camera.
It's been unseasonably wet here these past few weeks. When I was in Zunheboto it rained quite a bit two weeks ago. And here in Kohima in rained non-stop for close to 15 hours yesterday and the day before. I had assumed that the monsoon would've ended a while ago. At least the mist and clouds made for a very pretty sunset.
It's been unseasonably wet here these past few weeks. When I was in Zunheboto it rained quite a bit two weeks ago. And here in Kohima in rained non-stop for close to 15 hours yesterday and the day before. I had assumed that the monsoon would've ended a while ago. At least the mist and clouds made for a very pretty sunset.
How to post a wood plate in 12 easy steps
Note: the wood plate (asükhu in Sümi) I'm referring to is a traditional Naga plate with its own stand carved from a single piece of wood (such as teak).
Step 1
Ask at the India Post counter at Kisama during the Hornbill Festival if they have a parcel box large enough for the plate. Receive confirmation that such a box exists and can be sent internationally.
Step 2
Go and purchase a plate at one of the festival stalls (1,200 Rs).
Step 3
Return to the India Post counter to discover that none of the boxes there are large enough. Tell them you will go back to the main post office in Kohima to send the parcel. They tell you that there will be boxes there.
Step 4
Take the plate to the India Post Office in Kohima.
Step 5
Discover that there are no boxes large enough, but the bookshop across the street can help with packaging.
Step 6
Go to the bookshop with the plate and ask them if they have a box (or 'carton' as people usually call them here).
Step 7
Watch as they try to squeeze the plate into a cardboard box that is clearly too small for the plate, then line the inside of the box with styrofoam before trying to squeeze the plate in again, even though the box is already buldging. The box is then tied up and taken away to be wrapped in cloth and stitched up.
Step 8
Wait one hour at the bookshop for the parcel to come back, then watch as they apply red sealing wax all over the parcel. (Optional step: purchase a copy of People magazine to pass the time.)
Step 9
Pay for the packagaing service (250 Rs).
Step 10
Bring the parcel back to the post office and write the addressee's details all over the parcel, along with contact details and 'FRAGILE' and 'HANDLE WITH CARE'.
Step 11
Pay the fee for registered mail (1,000 Rs).
Step 12
PRAY that it gets to the intended destination in one piece!
The package without addressee details etc.
(Mum, if you're reading this, please take a photo of it if / when it arrives before opening it - although I suspect that it might already have been torn open by then.)
Step 1
Ask at the India Post counter at Kisama during the Hornbill Festival if they have a parcel box large enough for the plate. Receive confirmation that such a box exists and can be sent internationally.
Step 2
Go and purchase a plate at one of the festival stalls (1,200 Rs).
Step 3
Return to the India Post counter to discover that none of the boxes there are large enough. Tell them you will go back to the main post office in Kohima to send the parcel. They tell you that there will be boxes there.
Step 4
Take the plate to the India Post Office in Kohima.
Step 5
Discover that there are no boxes large enough, but the bookshop across the street can help with packaging.
Step 6
Go to the bookshop with the plate and ask them if they have a box (or 'carton' as people usually call them here).
Step 7
Watch as they try to squeeze the plate into a cardboard box that is clearly too small for the plate, then line the inside of the box with styrofoam before trying to squeeze the plate in again, even though the box is already buldging. The box is then tied up and taken away to be wrapped in cloth and stitched up.
Step 8
Wait one hour at the bookshop for the parcel to come back, then watch as they apply red sealing wax all over the parcel. (Optional step: purchase a copy of People magazine to pass the time.)
Step 9
Pay for the packagaing service (250 Rs).
Step 10
Bring the parcel back to the post office and write the addressee's details all over the parcel, along with contact details and 'FRAGILE' and 'HANDLE WITH CARE'.
Step 11
Pay the fee for registered mail (1,000 Rs).
Step 12
PRAY that it gets to the intended destination in one piece!
The package without addressee details etc.
(Mum, if you're reading this, please take a photo of it if / when it arrives before opening it - although I suspect that it might already have been torn open by then.)
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