Thought Bubbles by Ruthie

This slightly tongue in cheek title is paving the way for this blog which is about my experience as a Brit who speaks several tongues, and the pervasive problems I perceive in a land unfriendly to polyglots.

 A polyglot is “a person who knows and is able to use several languages“, according to Google, and by default, not by pretentious self-satisfaction,  it is a word I could use to describe myself. Given I am among a global norm (over half the world’s population speak more than one language), why would the words ‘pretentious’ and ‘self-satisfaction’ come to mind when describing myself as a polyglot? Well, because I’m British! On this island, I am an outlier and frequently reminded of such. Should calling  myself  a polyglot make you uncomfortable in a no-polyglots-please-we’re-British fashion, please feel free to think of me as a language nerd. Far less cool, far less ‘pretentious’ and equally true.

I am a polyglot because I know and am able to use English (my mother tongue), Spanish, German and Welsh. At points in my life, Spanish and German have been the only vehicles for my communication and whilst my Welsh is at an intermediate level, I can hold a basic conversation and am still actively learning it. My knowledge of languages is something I’m proud of and is an important feature in my life – I have spent years dedicated to learning them, my love of them has led me to live abroad, I have friendships which are based off communicating in one of my second languages and my view of the world is different because of them. Yet, as a Brit, I am often mildly embarrassed about saying I speak 3 languages other than English because it’s a bit of an oddity. Sometimes I’m met with a reaction of amazement (which, as a generally humble person, is quite awkward) and other times I’m met with a reaction of confusion or bewilderment (which, as a generally stubborn person, puts me in a defensive mode). And it’s practically  socially unacceptable on this isle to admit to common polyglot problems like ‘I can remember that word in another language, but not English’, read a book in another language in monoglot companionship or drop in the pronunciation of a word in a foreign language when speaking English. If you do, the connotations can be of pretentiousness, showing off or being an outright upper-class prat. 

And herein lies the issue; being a polyglot and a prat are not mutually exclusive, and language knowledge should categorically not be aligned to the class-system. Whatever the reasons or roots of the perceived connotations, I have often felt the need to justify my choice for not only learning languages, but the choices of the languages I’ve learnt.

I chose to do Spanish and German for both GCSE and A-level and was in a minority for choosing a foreign language and in a smaller minority for choosing two. To put this into perspective, my Sixth Form college had around 1000 students per  year and the number of students studying two foreign languages could have fit in one classroom. I estimate that there were no more than 25. And my college wasn’t unusual- across English schools, foreign languages have increasingly low uptake and provisions. Throughout those 4 years of education, I often got asked why I chose 2 languages and if I found it confusing. I was, and am, an advocate for dispelling myths such as ‘you can’t learn more than one second language’ and for retaliating against remarks like ‘why bother, everyone speaks English’. I have become an advocate for learning new  languages, telling tales of how they open up new worlds – worlds where there are words for things that don’t exist in English like ‘Vorgestern’ (German) or ‘Echddoe’ (Welsh) meaning the day before yesterday. Worlds where, as the only tourist on a bus in Colombia, you can chat to locals and get insider tips. Worlds where you can read unique poetry, watch niche films, understand signposts, leaflets and menus. Worlds that help you escape the monotony of talking and thinking in English. Worlds that the majority of pupils across British schools could learn to love.

In my opinion, every language opens up a new world and is special to know. But justifying learning languages is only half of the story as a British polyglot – justifying what languages you learn is the other. If I received a pound for every time I heard ‘but why German?!’, I would have collected enough for a jolly little German holiday. If I had received a pound every time I heard ‘why bother with Welsh?!’, I would also have had a jolly Welsh holiday. But, collections for a Spanish holiday wouldn’t have been so fruitful as Spanish is not often questioned with suspicion and is treated as a ‘cool’ language to know. It’s as if knowing a ‘cool language’ is celebrated and desirable, and a not so cool language is not. But what makes a cool language? Perhaps what’s popular on Netflix, or perhaps the deep-rooted, one-sided English centric view of the world we are taught in school and see in the media. Germany is that country from history lessons (you know the world war ones), whilst Spain is that exotic land you go to on holiday. Wales is somewhere you go on holiday too and their funny sounding language is the butt of jokes. Encouraging Brits to learn foreign languages would mean going beyond vocab and grammar. It would mean challenging ‘Global Britain’ to be an outward looking nation that appreciates diversity in all its forms, including linguistically.

So, what’s going wrong in Great Britain for second languages to be second-class subjects, treated with judgment and suspicion? I worry that the small-island, colonial mentality that ‘everyone speaks English’ and that the world should revolve around England is influencing choices. In 2016, the UK had the lowest number of adults across Europe who reported knowing one or more foreign language and I can’t see how that would have improved in the last few years now we are out of the EU and funding for language and exchange programs has been cut. And I worry that in some schools, languages are taught in unimaginative, uncreative ways just for the purpose of an exam and not for real life. Speaking a foreign language when you’re abroad stimulates all the senses and is surrounded by context, yet when boiled down to the classroom and an exam, phrases are sometimes taught entirely out of context. I sat through GCSE Spanish lessons rote learning phrases in different tenses and completing worksheets without properly understanding the mechanics of the language. I didn’t know how to construct half the sentences myself, or why they were what they were. Curiosity wasn’t the aim of the teaching, an A* was. But then I had an inspiring A-level teacher who played us songs from South America, got us watching films, drilled into us the mechanics of the language and importantly, seemed to want us to get good marks in the subject and to enjoy and appreciate the language. If we’re going to have a nation of polyglots, teachers need to plot exciting, eye-opening and fun lessons that teach the basics of the language and inspire students to learn a language not learn an exam textbook.

We also need to be surrounded by a can-do, confidence-boosting environment. A  common thing you hear among Brits is ‘I’m just naturally bad at languages’. But I blame our education system and culture. I don’t believe there is something inherently different in our brains that prevents polyglotism. I’m sure the 90% of adults in many European countries who know at least one foreign language are not all ‘naturally good at languages’. Whilst I was living in Germany, I had a group of international friends and everyone was a polyglot except for some fellow Brits. Most spoke their native tongue – which ranged from Arabic, Russian, Hindi to Romanian- as well as English, some German and often, another language thrown in too. In fact, I remember a few people commenting that they didn’t even consider English a second language as they ‘had to learn it’ and one person saying “yeah, but English is English“. For many, the second language count started after their mother tongue and English. 

So, within this environment, talking about how many languages you spoke, and which ones, was commonplace. When I mentioned which languages I spoke, it was usually met with a nod, “that’s unusual for a Brit”, “that’s cool” or “me too” – although Welsh often generated some questions from a place of intrigue and an appreciation for minority languages. The approach to languages was different, the connotations of being a polyglot were different and the atmosphere this created was different. And being ‘naturally good at languages’ wasn’t on the radar, it wasn’t something referred to. Knowing other languages was just a fact of life and something that allowed us to bridge nationalities and develop friendships.

It is a real shame that on this island called Great Britain, it feels like being a polyglot is not encouraged or celebrated. Languages other than English are judged and the people who speak them are judged more. This is only my personal experience and views – there’s a whole other topic to explore of how people face outright racism and nationalism when speaking other languages publicly. The not unheard of phrase ‘We’re in England, speak English’ is extremely problematic, void of any acknowledgment for colonial histories and imperial presents, and outright ironic when you think about English tourists abroad conversing in…English. But for people to learn languages, there has to be some sort of motivation or need and a welcoming atmosphere and culture. Britain needs to foster a sense of being global, embrace linguistic diversity and tackle some deep-rooted prejudices and privileges in order to motivate people to learn languages. And the way we’re taught has to be improved. This country is ‘bad at languages’, not the individuals in it. And ‘no polyglots please, we’re British’, can be a notion we all choose to ignore.