Professional Documents
Culture Documents
edited by
ANDREW SIMPSON
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Contents
Pa r t I S o u t h A s i a 31
2 Bangladesh 33
Hanne-Ruth Thompson
3 India 55
R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
4 Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas 84
Rhoderick Chalmers
5 Pakistan 100
Christopher Shackle
6 Sri Lanka 116
K. N. O. Dharmadasa
Pa r t I I E a s t A s i a 139
7 China 141
Ping Chen
8 Hong Kong 168
Andrew Simpson
9 Japan 186
Nanette Gottlieb
10 North and South Korea 200
Ross King
11 Taiwan 235
Andrew Simpson
vi Contents
Pa r t I I I S o u t h e a s t A s i a 261
12 Burma/Myanmar 263
Justin Watkins
13 Cambodia 288
Steve Heder
14 Indonesia 312
Andrew Simpson
15 Malaysia and Brunei 337
Asmah Haji Omar
16 The Philippines 360
Andrew Gonzalez, FSC
17 Singapore 374
Andrew Simpson
18 Thailand and Laos 391
Andrew Simpson and Noi Thammasathien
19 Vietnam 415
Lê Minh-Hă`ng and Stephen O’Harrow
References 443
Index 461
List of Maps
South Asia 32
Bangladesh 34
India 59
Nepal and the Eastern Himalaya 85
Pakistan 101
Sri Lanka 117
East Asia 140
China 142
Hong Kong 169
Japan 187
North and South Korea 201
Taiwan 236
Southeast Asia 262
Burma/Myanmar 264
Cambodia 289
Indonesia 313
Malaysia 338
The Philippines 361
Singapore 375
Thailand and Laos 392
Vietnam 416
R. Amritavalli is professor and member of the Schools of English Language Education and
Language Sciences at the Central Institute of English and Foreign Languages (CIEFL), Hyderabad.
Her research interests include syntax (in particular the synchronic and diachronic aspects of
Kannada, a Dravidian language), and language acquisition in natural and instructed settings. She
has contributed to a volume on language education in multilingual contexts published by
UNESCO (New Delhi), and her articles exploring the implications of current linguistic theoriza-
tion for language learning and teaching have appeared in the Journal of Pragmatics and ELT Journal.
This is a theme that is also developed in her book Language as a Dynamic Text (1999).
Rhoderick Chalmers received a Ph.D. from the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS),
London, in 2002, for his thesis entitled ‘We Nepalis: language, literature and the formation of a
Nepali public sphere in India, 1914–1940’. He currently works as a researcher for the International
Crisis Group, with a primary interest in Nepal’s contemporary politics.
Ping Chen is Reader in Chinese and Linguistics in the School of Languages and Comparative
Cultural Studies at the University of Queensland, Australia. His research interests include
functional syntax, semantics, pragmatics, sociolinguistics, and historical linguistics. He is the
author of Studies in Modern Linguistics (1991, Chongqing Press), Modern Chinese: History and
Sociolinguistics (1999, Cambridge University Press), Language Planning and Language Policy: East
Asian Perspectives (2001, Curzon Press, with Nanette Gottlieb), and many articles in linguistics
journals such as Language in Society, International Journal of the Sociology of Language, Studies in
Language, Lingua, Linguistics, Journal of Pragmatics, and Zhongguo Yuwen [Chinese Language].
K.N.O. Dharmadasa retired in 2004 as Professor of Sinhala and Dean of the Faculty of Arts in
the University of Peradeniya, Sri Lanka. He is presently the Editor-in-Chief of the Sinhala
Encyclopaedia. His major area of interest is language and nationalism.
Andrew Gonzalez, FSC completed his Ph.D. in linguistics from the University of California,
Berkeley in 1970. Since that time and right up until his passing away in 2006 he engaged himself
vigorously both in the Weld of linguistics and the development of higher education in the
Philippines. Publishing widely in the area of sociolinguistics and language education, Andrew
Gonzales also took on many roles of leadership, becoming President of the De La Salle
University, Manila in 1979, working for the creation of the Philippine Center for Social Sciences,
completed and inaugurated in 1983, and serving on various government committees relating to
education and culture since 1986. In recognition of his outstanding learning, energy, and
administrative ability, he was made an OYcier de l’Ordre des Palmes Academiques by the Govern-
ment of the Republic of France in 1986.
Nanette Gottlieb is Professor of Japanese Studies at the University of Queensland. She has
written and edited seven books, among them Linguistic Stereotyping and Minorities in Japan (2006,
RoutledgeCurzon), Language and Society in Japan (2005, Cambridge University Press), Kanji
Politics: Language Policy and Japanese Script (1995, Kegan Paul International), Language Planning
Notes on Contributors ix
and Language Policy: East Asian Perspectives (2001, Curzon, with Ping Chen) and Japanese
Cybercultures (2003, Routledge, with Mark McLelland). She has also published articles on aspects
of language in Japanese society in a wide range of academic journals.
Steve Heder is a Lecturer in politics in the Faculty of Law and Social Sciences of the School of
Oriental and African Studies, University of London. He has been involved in Southeast Asia
since the late 1960s, working there as a journalist, intelligence analyst, human rights activist,
UN peacekeeper, historian, and, most recently, UN genocide researcher. His research languages
are Khmer, Thai, Lao, Chinese, and French.
K. A. Jayaseelan was formerly professor and chair of the School of Language Sciences at the
Central Institute of English and Foreign Languages (CIEFL), Hyderabad, and is still associated
with that institution after retirement. His chief research interests are in the area of syntax. He has
published several articles dealing with theoretical issues and the syntax of Dravidian languages
(especially Malayalam); a collection of his early papers was published as Parametric Studies in
Malayalam Syntax (1999). He is currently a member of the editorial boards of Linguistic Analysis and
Syntax.
Ross King teaches Korean language and linguistics in the Department of Asian Studies at the
University of British Columbia in Vancouver, Canada. His research focuses on Korean historical
grammar and philology, Korean dialectology (especially the language of the ethnic Korean
minority in the former USSR), and most recently on issues of language, politics, and ideology
in modern Korea.
LŒ Minh-Ha‘'ng obtained her Wrst degree in language pedagogy from Hanoi Language Teachers
College (1979), her certiWcate in TESL from Canberra University (1988), and her M.A. in
American Studies from the University of Hawaii (1993), where she is currently a doctoral
candidate and lecturer in the Vietnamese Language & Literature programme.
Stephen O’Harrow took his M.A. in Chinese and Vietnamese from SOAS (1965) and his
doctorate in Oriental Philology from the Sorbonne (1972). Since 1968, he has been teaching
Vietnamese language and literature at the University of Hawaii, where he was Director of the
Center for Southeast Asian Studies from 1997 until 2003. He was a founder and President of
GUAVA (1994–2003), the United States national professional association in his Weld, and has
headed the Vietnamese programme at Hawaii since 1987.
Asmah Haji Omar, who obtained a Ph.D. from the School of Oriental and African Studies
(1969) in General Linguistics, held the professorial chair of Malay Linguistics at the University
of Malaya, Kuala Lumpur, until she retired in 2000. From then on, she went to set up the
Institute of Malay Civilisation, at the Universiti Penddidikan Sultan Idris, Tanjung Malim,
Perak, and was the Wrst holder of the prestigious Za’ba Chair of Malay Civilisation. She has
been a member of the Language Council of Brunei Darussalam-Indonesia-Malaysia since its
inception in 1972 and a key Wgure in the language standardization programmes of the three
countries. As Academic Assistant to the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Malaya 1969–1972,
she was in charge of the programme of the implementation of the national language policy at
the university, which until then was using English as medium in all its activities. She has
published extensively on language policy and planning, and language development, mostly
based on her Wrst-hand knowledge of the processes taking place in Malaysia.
x Notes on Contributors
1.1 Introduction
Studies of nationalism and the emergence and maintenance of nations regularly
concur that language, and in particular the existence of broadly shared language, is
very often a primary and critical component in the successful moulding of a popula-
tion as a nation. As a symbolic marker and index of individual and group identity,
language has the potential to function as an important boundary device, separating
distinct sub-populations oV from neighbouring others with diVerent, possibly unin-
telligible language habits, and binding the former together with shared feelings of
identity and group self-interest. Spread amongst a signiWcantly wide population of
speakers via the use of various mass media, a common language can assist in the
construction of a geographically widespread, imagined community of speakers and
the building of nation-like polities, providing linguistic links are also reinforced
with other shared cultural properties. The promotion of a standardized, common
language throughout a territory and its inhabitants also has the ability to even out
socio-economic inequities present in a society and encourage the uniWcation of a
population through the provision of equal (or at least improved) opportunities for
advancement and future prosperity. Following on from Barbour and Carmichael’s
(2000) revealing, multi-authored study of Language and Nationalism in Europe, the
present, similarly structured volume takes as its focus the theme of language as a
force in the construction and maintenance of nations within Asia, and endeavours
to probe and chart the linguistic tensions at play in the development of states in the
Asian region.
In terms of the physical scope and geographical coverage of the volume, the full
western and northern extents of Asia have not been included in the book’s contents
and attention is instead Wrmly centred on the heavily populous spread of countries
from Pakistan in South Asia through to Japan and Korea in Northeast Asia. Western
Asia, more commonly referred to as the Middle East, is often approached as a special
2 A. Simpson
exhibit the other features ascribed above to nations, such as having an ethnically
homogeneous population with a common culture, language, and history. This sec-
ond, less restrictive use of the term nation occurs in the title of the organization ‘the
United Nations’, is common in everyday journalistic and other non-technical writing,
and has resulted in a reWnement of the use of the term nation in various discussions of
nationalism. Nations in the Wrst, narrower sense are sometimes referred to as ‘ethnic
nations’, whereas simple independent states have been called ‘oYcial nations’ or
‘territorial nations’ (Kellas 1998, Guibernau 1996). An ethnic nation may also have
the status of being an oYcial nation, if it has won territorial independence, but there
may be many oYcial nations which are not classed as ethnic nations due to being
ethnically mixed. The reference point for the present volume, in its targeted interest in
‘national’ identity, is the situation of loyalties and identity in and towards the oYcial
nations of Asia, such as they exist today, and the focus of attention is on how language
is and has been relevant for the cultivation of nationalistic feelings of belonging to
such states, either in a positive, enabling way, or negatively, inhibiting the growth of an
encompassing national identity.
In comparison with the paced emergence of many nations within Europe, the
creation of modern nations in Asia has often been accelerated and followed two rather
diVerent paths of development. In one set of cases, involving Japan, China, Siam
(Thailand), and Korea (prior to its occupation by Japan), nationalism and the rapid
attempted development of modern states was a reaction to perceived threats from
outside, and speciWcally the advancement of Western colonial powers into Asia. In
such instances, states that already existed and were dominated by a single, major
ethnic group judged that modernization was the key to strengthen and protect their
territories against the intrusion of foreign hostile Others, and that nationalism oVered
itself as a useful means to help achieve this modernization. Internal reorganization
and reform of the state and its administrative infrastructure commonly followed with
a centralization of authority and the simultaneous promotion of national culture and
language, in a process directly taking its lead from the nationalist development of
states within Europe. In a great many other parts of Asia, however, modern, inde-
pendent states were formed from frequently composite populations not as a preventa-
tive measure to ward oV outside threats but instead as the result of the colonial process,
and the withdrawal of an occupying power which had itself determined the borders of
the state and the make-up of its population, in various cases resulting in an extensive
mixture of ethno-linguistic groups within a single state (e.g. Indonesia and the Philip-
pines). Rather than attempting to radically adjust and reconstruct the territorial
divisions set up by colonial occupation, those who campaigned for self-determination
and independence from foreign rule for the most part accepted the shape of the states
they came to possess on departure of the preceding colonial rulers, and often inherited
states which were already structured by modern bureaucracies and a centralized
administration. Nationalist movements in such cases therefore resulted in the fairly
rapid conversion of ethnically shared spaces into modern oYcial nations, rather than
4 A. Simpson
stemming from the more gradual transformation of genuinely ethnic nations into
independent states.
As a consequence of the way that many states in Asia came into existence through
this latter route to nationhood, concerted projects of nation-building were frequently
only initiated following independence. Prior to achieving independent statehood, the
principal energies of indigenous nationalists had been directed towards the goals of
achieving democracy, increased governmental representation, and eventual independ-
ence rather than nation-building itself. Having Wnally won independence, and taken
charge of modern, bureaucratically organized states, the pressing need for attempts to
build together the new citizens of these states into integrated nations became
extremely obvious and a primary focus of leaders concerned about the potential
fragmentation of ethnically mixed territories. Such nation-building projects are in
many cases very much still ongoing processes, and the characterization ‘states in
search of nations’ has often been oVered as appropriate for certain of the newly
independent countries in Asia which have not emerged from a Wrm prior grounding as
ethnic nations. The task of trying to stimulate a sense of cohesion among newly
‘national’ populations and encourage feelings of belonging and loyalty towards a
co-inhabited territory has subsequently required much attention to the development
of national identity in emerging states and the encouragement of a consciousness
among citizens of collectively forming a single population with various common
‘national’ properties and a single shared future to invest in. The theme of national
identity, its possible deWnition, creation, growth, and protection has, accordingly,
assumed a major importance in dialogue and strategic planning carried out at
governmental level in many states within Asia during the course of the twentieth
century and continues to hold an important place in political and intellectual discus-
sion both in potentially fragile multi-ethnic states and in countries with a single
dominant ethnic group, where traditional ideas of national identity may now be
changing under the threat of new forces of globalization.
In the attempted construction and maintenance of national identities, language has
regularly been assumed to have a highly signiWcant role to play, and while the
knowledge and use of a common language throughout a particular territory may
serve to unite its population in a shared national identity, the occurrence of multiple
languages in formal and informal domains within a single state has often been
perceived as standing in the way of unity and the development of a desired national
consciousness. Consequently, following language-related aspects of nationalist ideol-
ogy shaped in the West, the view came to be adopted by many in positions of power in
Asia following, or anticipating, independence, or seeking modernization to avoid
external threats, that the success of their emerging nations would be well served by
the promotion of national language and a single oYcial lingua franca that could be
used throughout the state, in all domains of life. The phenomenon of the selection
and sponsoring of national languages and the eVects of such policies on other
languages spoken within a single state has therefore had a widespread prominence
Introduction 5
in Asia much as in the West and remains a topic of considerable importance in many
states with ethno-linguistically mixed populations. The chapters of this volume set out
to describe the diVerent interactions of language and national and other competing
forms of identity that have occurred in Asia, from Pakistan to Japan, as the result of
the formation of Asia into modern nations. The chapters consider the extent to which
language may or may not be involved in bonding (or separating) people within nation-
states in Asia, both in the past and in the present, and what the relevant ethno-
linguistic, political, and historical conditions are in each state that may allow for and
constrain such relations. In the remainder of the present chapter, an overview of the
speciWc kinds of issues facing language development in Asia and its relation to national
identity is now set out, along with a preview of the variety of approaches that have
been adopted and the kinds of reactions and eVects these have provoked, ranging
from violent conXict and secession in certain instances, through passive indiVerence
and disinterest to considerable nationalistic ‘success’ in others.
there are various instances in Asia where large populations of a single ethnic group are
split by an international border and separated in two distinct polities. This is the case
with millions of Bengalis, now distributed in large numbers both in Bangladesh and
the Indian state of West Bengal; with Lao people, present both in Laos and in
Thailand, with the majority of speakers actually in the latter country; and with Tamils,
signiWcantly present in Sri Lanka, but maintaining links to a much larger Tamil
population in the south of India. An especially striking case of a split population in
Asia is that of the Korean ethnic nation, now divided in two politically divergent states.
Hence even with largely homogeneous populations such as those in Bangladesh and
on the Korean peninsula there are important issues relating to the scope and
boundaries of the nation which have eVects on the successful development of
populations as modern nations.
1
In addition to the languages of the Eighth Schedule, which have been referred to as the national
languages of India since Nehru initiated such a practice, two languages are designated as oYcial languages
of the country – Hindi and English – for use in national-level administration.
8 A. Simpson
a national language in fact included many language varieties that locally went by other
names, such as Rajasthani, Maithili, Braj, and Awadhi, but diVerences between these
varieties and standard Hindi were classed as being merely dialectal variation rather
than indicative of independent language status. As noted by Amritavalli and Jayaseelan
in chapter 3, these ‘varieties’ of Hindi are however actually as diVerent from standard
Hindi as the separate languages Urdu or Punjabi are, raising important questions
about the language–dialect division and how this may sometimes be manipulated for
political reasons. Where people are informed by those in authority that their language
variety is in fact simply a dialect of some other language, and this subsequently comes
to be believed due to trust in those with higher levels of education and knowledge, the
result can be the creation of super-linguistic identities which can then be invoked for
broader identity-building purposes.
In contrast to the clumping together of diVerent varieties of language under a
single language label ‘Hindi’, the distinction of Hindi and Urdu as two diVerent
languages is well known as an example of one language form being assigned two
diVerent labels as the result of non-linguistic polarization in the populations speaking
these varieties, in the case of Hindi–Urdu this polarization being along religious lines.
Though Hindi and Urdu are indeed mutually intelligible (though making use of
diVerent scripts and having certain vocabulary diVerences), Hindi is claimed as the
language of Hindus and Urdu as the language spoken by Muslims. In this case it is
critically religious identity which is signalled by the diVerent names assigned by
speakers to essentially the same language. It is also for primarily reasons of religious
identity that Urdu was selected as the national language of Pakistan, following the
separation of this area from India and the creation of a predominantly Muslim state.
Though comparatively few of the inhabitants of the area of Pakistan could actually
speak Urdu when Pakistan was established as a state in 1947, Urdu was selected over
other languages present in Pakistan which were spoken by many more millions (e.g.
Sindhi, Punjabi) in order to project a speciWc Islamic national identity, Urdu being
associated with Muslims in South Asia, and also being spoken by many of the
inXuential Mohajir immigrants who arrived in Pakistan in 1947 (chapter 5).
Within Southeast Asia, various multi-ethnic states have been faced with clear
challenges when attempting to institute a single national language, and arrived at
solutions with diVering degrees of success. In the Philippines, the absence of any
indigenous language with a nationwide strong majority of speakers meant that the
selection of the language of any of the larger ethnic groups as national language was
almost bound to trigger a negative reaction from others, and this indeed occurred.
When the language of the most numerous ethnic group, Tagalog, was determined
as the primary base of the new national language, this initiated decades of
complaints that such a choice conferred unfair socio-economic advantages on native
speakers of Tagalog while disadvantaging other groups. The symbolic renaming of
Tagalog as Pilipino and later Filipino in its role as national language did nothing to
convince the population that Pilipino/Filipino was anything other than Tagalog
Introduction 9
hours of the Sri Lanka Freedom Party obtaining power directly helped the latter win a
massive victory at the polls. The post-election implementation of Sinhala as the
country’s single national/oYcial language subsequently had a disastrous eVect on
Sinhalese–Tamil relations, and created a deteriorating domestic situation of animosity
and conXict that eventually escalated into civil war and still has reached no lasting,
peaceful solution (chapter 6).
and lead to calls for a rejection of foreign borrowings and a puriWcation of the
language. A large scale programme removing many thousands of (mostly) Chinese
and Japanese loanwords and coinages occurred in North Korea in the 1950s and 1960s
during the construction of its nativized Cultured Language, and was also accompan-
ied by a rejection of Chinese characters as part of the written representation of
Korean, despite the fact that Chinese characters had been used to represent Korean
since the language was Wrst ever written down well over a thousand years ago (chapter
10). Similarly in Sri Lanka in the 1940s, the Sinhalese nationalist Hela movement
argued that even age-old Sanskrit words should be stripped from Sinhala, along with
any other more recent borrowings, to return the language to its original pure,
untainted state, as the noble vehicle of Sinhalese culture, Sinhala being held (by the
Hela movement) to be a superior and unique language descended from no other
known tongue (chapter 6).
A second broad issue in the standardization of a national language is that such a
process of modernization, allowing all citizens of a state spoken and written access to
a national language, may meet with unanticipated resistance when this results in the
attempted modiWcation of traditional forms of a language. In the early twentieth
century when Japanese was being shaped as a national language there were sugges-
tions that the shape of Chinese characters in its writing system should be altered, so as
to make these less diYcult for people to acquire. However, such proposals were
Wercely resisted by members of the upper classes proWcient in Chinese characters, who
argued that to tamper with the accepted, long-standing way of writing Japanese would
be to weaken Japanese tradition, and with it the national spirit, and it was only after
the Second World War that the simpliWcation of characters could Wnally be eVected
(chapter 9).
A third issue raised by language standardization which also relates to writing
systems is the question of whether a language that has not undergone any standard-
ization, and which possibly may resist full standardization for certain reasons, can in
fact function as a sustained, successful symbol of identity for large populations of
speakers in the modern world. This issue raises itself in particular with regard to the
viability of varieties of Chinese such as Minnanhua/Hokkien (also referred to as
‘Taiwanese’) and Cantonese as linguistic codes of identity potentially equal to other
genuinely national languages. Although Hong Kong is not a sovereign territory and
Taiwan has a complex political status, being claimed by the People’s Republic of China
as part of China but neither accepting this claim nor alternatively declaring independ-
ence, both territories have established quite individual identities due to the special
circumstances of their development, being formally separated from mainland China
during most of the twentieth century. In Taiwan during the second half of the
twentieth century, the Minnanhua dialect of Chinese spoken on the island by the
majority of its inhabitants came to be associated with nationalism and calls for a
declaration of independence from China, and in Hong Kong Cantonese similarly
emerged as a strong symbol of the identity of the colony’s modern and successful
12 A. Simpson
population, which oriented itself both towards Asia and the West, and showed much
independence in its approach to business, trade, and contemporary culture (chapter
8). With both ‘Taiwanese’ and Cantonese, and all non-Mandarin forms of Chinese,
however, a serious problem faces their potential use and expansion as the symbolic,
representative, and oYcial language of a major population. To date there is no
satisfactory, widely accepted way of writing either language variety, and despite
signiWcant eVorts to develop both Romanized and character-based written forms for
Taiwanese and Cantonese, regular written ‘Chinese’ in both Hong Kong and Taiwan
essentially remains a representation of Mandarin Chinese. DiYculties of standardiza-
tion in the area of writing may therefore seem to impose an important inherent
restriction on the way that certain languages are able to develop a potentially higher-
level oYcial status and represent the identity of a population of speakers in both
formal and informal domains.
Finally, with regard to standardization issues, we can note here the speciWc issue of
a situation where processes of standardization have led a single language in two
diVerent directions. Following the division of Korea into two oYcial parts in 1948,
controlled by regimes with signiWcantly diVerent political orientations, Korean under-
went two separate processes of standardization, resulting in the formation of Cul-
tured Language in the North, based heavily on the dialect of Pyongyang and
incorporating many northern dialect words as replacements for Sino-Korean expres-
sions, and a Southern standard based on the dialect of Seoul, maintaining a very
substantial number of Sino-Korean words. Although there is still a certain amount of
disagreement as to how far North Korean and South Korean have already undergone
divergence, the existence of two independent standardized forms of the language
clearly raises the question of whether a formally diverging language can be felt to
encode a single national identity, and how long the impression of connectedness
between speakers in North and South can be maintained if separate standardization
seriously aVects mutual intelligibility.
the public at large. In North Korea and North Vietnam, such initiatives are considered
to have been extremely successful, and intensive programmes of instruction resulted
in dramatic increases in literacy among lower socio-economic sections of the popu-
lation, as far as can be ascertained. Elsewhere, in Ceylon (Sri Lanka) at the beginning
of the twentieth century and for several decades prior to independence, the introduc-
tion of superior printing technology allowed for a rapid growth in the number of
publications in the majority indigenous language, Sinhala, and caused a signiWcant
improvement in the previously low prestige of the language, establishing its position
as a future cornerstone of Sinhalese nationalism. In Siam (Thailand) in the 1930s,
radio broadcasting in particular was used with great eVect to send a nationalist
message in Standard Thai throughout the country and reinforce the idea among its
citizens of belonging to a uniWed, forward-looking Thai people. In all such instances,
the nationwide propagation of a single language form through various types of media
functions to anchor and Wx a standardized, shared language, and may simultaneously
be used to associate this language with the ideas of nationalism. Where the aspects of
modernization, domestic infrastructure, and organization which facilitate such
nationwide programmes are absent or underdeveloped in a country, the spread of
(national) language as a means of building up a strong national identity have not been
so eVective, as for example in the case of Laos and Cambodia.
The vigorous promotion of a national language may in certain instances be
accompanied by the suppression of other languages and forceful attempts to assimi-
late diverse ethnic groups to the targeted national identity. During the development of
modern Japanese as a national language, use of the Ainu and Okinawan languages was
suppressed within Japan and use of Japanese required in their place (in a complete
change of policy for the Ainu, who in the eighteenth century had actually been
forbidden to speak Japanese – chapter 9), and in the overseas expansion of the Japanese
empire in Korea and Taiwan, the attempted assimilation of local populations as
Japanese nationals resulted in Japanese being the only language permitted in schools,
banks, and government oYces. The governments of various other multi-ethnic states
have also made attempts to assimilate mixed populations to a single, dominant
identity, in many cases that of the majority ethnic group, as for example in Nepal
during the Panchayat regime (1960–90) where those in power emphasized that there
should be ‘one country, one dress, one language’, and tried to enforce a uniform
national culture and language on a very mixed population (chapter 4). Where the use
of a promoted national language is spread through widespread introduction into the
educational system, this may frequently lead to the mandatory discontinuation of
other languages as mediums of instruction in public schools, as has occurred in
Thailand and Bhutan, and private schools oVering tuition in specialized languages
may additionally be subject to closure, a prominent example of this being the gradual
closing down of Chinese schools in Thailand and Indonesia during the course of the
twentieth century. Ironically, though, the deliberate suppression of languages in such
a way may increase the ‘bounce-back’ strength prohibited languages enjoy when their
14 A. Simpson
Quite generally, the pragmatic value of English in Asia has both remained high in
many states that were earlier occupied by British (or American) colonial forces, and
has also been growing at a high rate in other Asian countries due to the global
growth of English as a lingua franca. A pattern that is striking in its repetition in
many ex-British colonies and also the former US-occupied Philippines is the continued
post-independence maintenance of English as a language available for oYcial and
formal functions (including use in education) or alternatively its reintroduction in an
oYcial-like capacity some decades after the achievement of independence. For ex-
ample, in both Pakistan and Malaysia, it was indicated at independence that English
would continue to be allowed for use in oYcial domains for a certain time, and then
be fully replaced by Urdu and Malay respectively, but the complete sidelining of
English has not in fact occurred, and it still remains available as an alternative to the
national language in formal situations in both states (and is much used in this way in
Pakistan). In 1993 Malaysia also took the step of reintroducing English as medium of
education in universities after several decades of Malay dominating this domain. In
India in 1967 and the Philippines in 1987, English was reintroduced as a full oYcial
language of the state after a period of experimentation with the promotion of a single
national language (Hindi and Pilipino/Filipino). In the Philippines, Filipino is still
presented as the single national language of the country, with English being distin-
guished as an oYcial language (Filipino is also given oYcial language status), yet the
nuances of a technical distinction between national and oYcial language may some-
times not be very obvious in everyday life and English retains much of the strong and
inXuential presence it had in formal domains in pre-independence times.
In a number of instances where the use of English has been reintroduced or
increased over the last few decades, it can be noted that this has been in response to
calls from the public or due to consumer demand and has not been a government-led
imposition from the top. In India it was a hostile public reaction in various parts of the
country to the attempted spread of Hindi as the single oYcial language which caused
English to be reinstalled as a co-oYcial language of the state, and in the area of
education, it has most commonly been pragmatically driven public demand that has
Wred the strong regrowth of English. For example, though the post-independence
government of Singapore made education available in the four oYcial languages of
the territory, Tamil, Malay, and Chinese-medium schools were eventually converted
into English-medium schools due to an almost complete lack of enrolment of students
in the former (chapter 17). As reported in chapter 3, currently in India the demand for
private schooling in English is no longer the preserve of the urban middle class as in
earlier times, but has now become a phenomenon spread through less prosperous
rural areas of the country too, and a similar consumer-led spread of a demand for the
learning of English can be identiWed in many other countries in Asia, not only those
with a history of English as a colonial language, but also other states with diVerent
linguistic backgrounds which are now looking forward to increased integration in
international markets, such as Vietnam and Thailand.
16 A. Simpson
This upward development of English in Asia raises the question of how the learning
of English impacts on the linguistic identity of speakers and whether the increased
use of English may perhaps pose a challenge to the success of a national language in
binding a population together. At one extreme of a spectrum of rather diVerent
situations, Nanette Gottlieb observes in chapter 9 that the learning of English in
Japan generally appears to have minimal eVect on the maintenance of a distinctively
Japanese view of the world and does not introduce signiWcantly diVerent ways of
thinking. English is simply learned as a linguistic system in the same way that other
computational skills might be acquired. At another extreme, however, one Wnds that
there are elite groups in many countries who may function almost fully in English and
are perceived as being considerably detached from other members of their ethnic
groups and may not be not proWcient in the national language of their country. The
existence of such an English-educated semi-estranged elite is noted in the chapters on
Sri Lanka, Pakistan, India, and Singapore (with regard to the English-educated
Chinese), and periodically extends to include even the leaders of a nation, as, for
example, in chapter 5 where Christopher Shackle notes that most leaders of Pakistan
have had to have their speeches translated into the national language Urdu, and are
otherwise more comfortable communicating in English. In between these two
extremes, English may intrude and modify an existing ethnic or national identity in
diVerent ways. Studies in Hong Kong of native speakers of Cantonese with an
advanced competence in English have shown that there is a considerable reluctance
to speak English in groups of Chinese where there is no non-Chinese/Cantonese
person present, as this is felt to conXict with a more basic, shared Hong Kong
Cantonese identity (Pennington and Yue 1994). Though knowledge and use of English
may therefore bring an additional component of Western culture, in such cases it is
still far from reaching any kind of dominance of a more fundamental ethnic identity,
and this situation is most probably characteristic of the majority population in many
countries in Asia where English is widely known.
positive attitude towards the traditional system of Chinese characters was held by those
in control of power in Japan during the interwar years, and this succeeded in blocking
any suggestions of possible modernization of the writing system. In China, however, as
described by Ping Chen in chapter 7, an extremely negative attitude towards the use of
characters as a writing system was maintained by signiWcant numbers of the country’s
intellectual elite and those in charge of engineering language planning and policy, and
there were frequent, vociferous calls for the complete abandonment of characters and
their replacement with some form of Romanized spelling. One particularly colourful
and damning characterization of China’s traditional writing system noted by Chen and
illustrative of some of the force of negative feelings present at the time was voiced by
the General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party, Qu Qiubai, who protested
critically and with high emotion in 1931 that: ‘Chinese characters are like the Wlthiest,
most abominable, most wicked, medieval night soil cesspit’ (chapter 7, section 7.3.2).
As Chen observes, in the minds of many nationalists in China in the 1920s and 1930s,
the pragmatic imperative of making available a form of writing that could be widely
acquired by common people signiWcantly outranked the potential value of characters as
symbols of a pan-Chinese national identity and so led to calls for a new alphabetic
writing system to replace the use of characters.
At the other end of the scale from language nationalism and positive feelings of
linguistic superiority, the spread of standardized national languages across the popu-
lation of a state regularly causes speakers of non-standardized languages to increas-
ingly perceive their own mother tongues in negative ways, leading in many instances
to patterns of language shift and language loss. Such a downward development is
particularly common amongst smaller minority groups, and is accelerated by popu-
lation movements which dilute the density of a minority in a certain area, when
pressure on land for settlement brings speakers of larger languages into regions
originally occupied by minorities. From the point of view of establishing a single
national identity within a state, the continued existence of ethnic minority groups
may be seen as representing pockets of non-uniformity in a targeted homogeneous
nation. Nevertheless, in a number of countries in Asia such as Indonesia, China, India,
and Vietnam, there have been periodic attempts to recognize minority ethnic groups
and provide certain legal, linguistic, or other assistance supporting the maintenance of
their languages, primarily with reference to the use of language in education. In India,
for example, the constitution declares that all minorities are entitled to ‘establish and
administer educational institutions of their choice’ (chapter 3, section 3.4.2), and
similar overt expressions of protective concern have been made in various other
countries. The degree to which such government decrees then translate into real
on-the-ground help is however a very open question, and it is often diYcult to obtain
clear information about the actual ethno-linguistic state of minorities with regard to
the maintenance of their languages. With the general expansion of national popula-
tions across Asia and increased contact with majority groups, however, the signs are
that smaller minority groups in economically challenged situations are increasingly
Introduction 19
switching to the use of larger languages and not managing to maintain their original
ethno-linguistic identities as in earlier times.
put signiWcant eVort into the promotion of Standard Thai as the country’s national
language, and has succeeded in generating largely positive attitudes towards the
language. Indonesia with its considerably varied ethno-linguistic population and
mostly tolerant outlook on linguistic diversity has managed to win a broadly parallel
level of acceptance for Bahasa Indonesia through a rather more staggered and less
overtly nationalistic route, allowing and even encouraging the continued mainten-
ance of other languages alongside the national language, while promoting the
nationwide usefulness and prestige of the latter. A third example of a country in
Southeast Asia which has engineered a clearly eVective national language policy,
though of a quite diVerent type, is the small modern state of Singapore. Having
decided to pursue a pluralist approach to national/oYcial language so as not to over-
favour any particular section of its mixed population, the government of Singapore
has engaged itself vigorously in the provision of equal linguistic opportunities for
four major languages and those who might choose to speak these languages since
achieving full independence in 1965, a Wne balancing act and high risk enterprise,
requiring constant attention and continual readjustments, but ultimately being very
successful thus far.
Turning to South Asia, India and Bangladesh are the two countries which can most
easily be characterized in positive terms with regard to the way that language and state-
directed language policy have aVected the building and maintenance of a nation,
though in quite diVerent ways. In the continent-like state of India, with its large
number of languages and ethno-religious groups, a major achievement of the govern-
ment has been to adopt policies that manage to reduce the potential for language-
related conXict to occur, and having retreated from an early problematic attempt to
spread Hindi as the sole nationwide oYcial language of the country, there has been
signiWcant emphasis on allowing regional languages to function as oYcial languages
within territories reorganized as optimally homogeneous ‘linguistic states’ (chapter 3).
Such a primarily defensive policy recognizing the strong multi-ethnic nature of the
country has helped minimize the likelihood for fragmentation of the nation to stem
from language problems, and has therefore contributed in a signiWcant way to the
maintenance of India as a single, national unit. Contrasting with this broadly multi-
lingual situation of containment in India, Bangladesh can be said to be the sole example
of a state in South Asia where a single language enjoys a widely popular status as
national language among a large population (without this having also caused major
internal problems, as in the case of Sinhala in Sri Lanka). The important role that
Bangla (Bengali) has as a symbol of the nation and the aVection in which the language is
held by much of the population is a result of both the high degree of ethnic homo-
geneity in Bangladesh and the prestige associated with Bangla due to the central role it
played in the separation of Bangladesh from (West) Pakistan and the struggle for an
independent Bangla-speaking state (chapter 2). Combined with the fact that Bangla has
a long and well-respected literary history, Bangladesh is a good example of a country in
which there is a close natural correspondence between nation, national language, and
Introduction 21
state, the only major complicating factor in such a picture being the existence of a very
sizeable Bangla-speaking population in neighbouring India, similar to the existence in
Europe of large German-speaking populations in countries adjacent to Germany.
Such a clear and fairly aggressive dismissal of the possibility of Bangla receiving oYcial
recognition as an important language component of the new nation led to consider-
able agitation in East Pakistan and disillusionment with the union with West Pakistan.
When several protestors were killed by police during a demonstration calling for
Bangla to be accepted as an oYcial/national language of Pakistan, this agitation
heightened further and became widespread, engendering a language movement
which subsequently grew into a more general liberation movement calling for
independence from West Pakistan. Fuelled by other perceptions of unfair treatment
of East Pakistan by those holding power in West Pakistan, Bengali nationalists Wnally
declared East Pakistan to be independent as the People’s Republic of Bangladesh, and
achieved formal separation from West Pakistan in 1971 following a bitter nine-month
civil war.
In both Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, language issues have consequently been at the
very centre of serious civil unrest and have signiWcantly evolved into wider movements
of dissatisfaction and resistance. Furthermore, once the lack of attention to initial
language-related problems has led on to broader secessionist-type movements, the
momentum of the latter is diYcult to halt with simple changes in language policy. In
Sri Lanka and also Pakistan, there was actually a procrastinated recognition of Tamil
and Bangla, respectively, as oYcial languages of the state (Tamil in 1978, Bangla in
1954/56). However, such apparent rectiWcation of the initial linguistic cause of
discontent came too late in both instances to repair the damage done to ethnic
relations and avoid the further widening of major fault-lines within the nation.
More recently in the 1990s, a consideration of Nepal reveals the instructive example
of a state where a language policy which had outwardly long been presented as
successful in helping build a united nation retrospectively shows very clear signs of
having been quite unsuccessful. From 1960 to 1990, the authoritarian Panchayat
regime forcefully imposed ‘Nepali’ as national language on the very mixed population
of Nepal as part of a drive to mould a uniform national culture from the large number
of ethno-linguistic groups present within its borders. Projecting the image of a
country strongly united in a shared national idea with language at the centre,
characterized by the common slogan ‘one language, one country’, it seemed to
many both inside and outside Nepal that the nationalist programme of measures
imposed by the regime had won the broad acceptance of the people. When the
Panchayat regime fell from power in 1990, however, a strikingly widespread and
strong rejection of the government’s monolingual nationalism became apparent in a
major upsurge of new ethnic organizations and claims for minority language rights,
with the result that the description of Nepal in the new constitution of 1990 was
obliged to explicitly recognize the country as being multi-ethnic and multilingual and
retreat from the previous oYcial image of being a population fully uniWed by the
willing adoption of a single ‘Nepali’ language and culture. Three decades of attempts
to coerce a national culture centred on a single national language therefore ultimately
failed to win the signiWcant allegiance it openly claimed to enjoy.
Introduction 23
serious divisions and violent conXict in a nation. Two examples of such a situation are
Laos and the Philippines, which share a broadly similar proWle in relation to the
development of national language. In both multi-ethnic countries the selection of the
language of the most numerous ethnic group as the national language has Wrst of all
generated negative (or simply disinterested uninterested) feelings towards the
language amongst other groups, which themselves make up a very sizeable propor-
tion of the total population. The failure of the government to then vigorously spread
the selected national language throughout the country, combined with the general
lack of shared national identity brought about by other symbolic means has in both
cases led to a rather apathetic attitude towards Lao and Filipino as national languages
among signiWcant portions of the populations of Laos and the Philippines, and in the
latter country this has been confounded further by the widespread presence of English
as a competitor language of prestige. The potential for language to serve as an
integrative tool in the building of a national identity has consequently not been
taken advantage of to any eVective degree in these countries and in fact has generally
been an impediment to the creation of a united national consciousness.
and in chapter 2, language problems arising between Islamic West and East Pakistan
resulted in an independence movement being born in East Pakistan, which eventually
brought about the secession of the latter as Bangladesh. In such a case, the common
religious identity of West and East Pakistan proved insuYcient to hold the nation
together, and in East Pakistan language became the prime, championed symbol of
Bengali nationalism. A second instance of the uniting force of language in relation to
religion that can be noted is the clear change in emphasis on deWning symbols of
identity among the Sinhalese in Sri Lanka. Whereas (Buddhist) religion had been the
major symbol of Sinhalese ethnic identity promoted in the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries, Sinhala language took on this role during the mid-twentieth
century and signiWcantly united Buddhist and Christian Sinhalese as a group in
competition with the Tamils of Sri Lanka.
The existence of sub-national regional identities linked to language may also be a
force that can hinder the use of national language to stimulate and develop national
identity. Although it is sometimes observed that it may be possible for individuals to
maintain multiple, non-conXicting identities which can be evoked at diVerent times,
hence that the existence of a regional identity need not exclude the growth and
adoption of a higher-level national identity, it is also clear that the degree of regular
reinforcement of regional and national identities may be unequal and so may allow for
an imbalance in the relative strength of associated loyalties. Where a regional (or
other form of ethnic or religious) identity is more regularly strengthened than feelings
of belonging to a national unit, this may signiWcantly result in regional loyalties being
valued higher than those to the nation in situations where the two may in fact
conXict, and potentially also cause national identity to be only rather weakly held
and present in other situations where there is no direct conXict of interests with
regional identity.
A consideration of the range of states in Asia from Pakistan to Japan reveals diVerent
degrees of overt governmental concern relating to the existence of language-linked
regional identities, and while the occurrence of regional language and identity
may have been deliberately downplayed at the oYcial level in certain countries in
the past (Thailand, for example, chapter 18), many of the more populous states in
Asia have in fact encouraged and facilitated the maintenance of regional languages. In
India the internal reorganization of much of its territory into ‘linguistic states’ (chapter
3) has been a deliberate attempt to consolidate populations of speakers of regional
languages and concentrate these in administrative units, helping promote the strength
of languages such as Gujarati, Tamil, and Bengali. In China, the widely accepted
notion of ‘pluralistic integrity’ (duoyuan yiti, chapter 7) maintains that China is a nation
composed of two levels, the national and the sub-national level of ethnic group, each
having its own identity legitimately supported by knowledge and use of a particular
language. The maintenance of a language other than Chinese as a symbol of an
individual’s sub-national identity is therefore not seen to conXict with that person’s
loyalty to the nation and his/her national identity, which should be supported via a
26 A. Simpson
culture in various places in Asia. In Thailand, for example, there is regular public
discussion of the concern that adherence to traditional Thai ways and national culture
is being weakened by the growing attention that is given to imported, modern forms
of entertainment and the globalized lifestyles portrayed in cinema and television,
particularly among the rising young generation in towns and cities. Elsewhere, in
Singapore, the government has repeatedly expressed worries that the learning of
English, which it sees as necessary for technological advancement of the country
and its competition in world markets, brings with it potentially dangerous aspects of
Western liberal thinking which may be harmful to the continuation of multicultural
harmony in Singapore, and has encouraged Singaporeans to be vigilant in the
maintenance of traditional Asian cultural values as a safeguard against decay. Semi-
defensive reactions to globalization may be detected as emanating naturally from
within populations too, as well as being present in high-level academic and govern-
ment discussion; for example, chapter 18 observes the beginnings of an interesting,
spontaneous regrowth of interest in local language and culture in parts of Thailand,
which is both aided by a new emphasis on ‘local wisdom’ and stimulated by negative
reactions to Western inXuences following the Asian Wnancial crisis of 1997. It will be
interesting to note how pressures of globalization and the defensive reactions this
occasions will continue to interact and compete over the next decades, inXuencing
and directing the nature of Asian national identities. Earlier, in the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries, the strong revival of Sinhalese language, culture, and
religion which ultimately led to Sinhalese nationalism can be noted to have been a
direct reaction to the prior loss of traditional culture and lifestyles caused by the
arrival of the British and their economic transformation of Sri Lankan society (chapter
6). When the initial attractions of change instigated by outside forces lose their
anticipated beneWts, this can quite naturally cause a resurgence in tradition and a
reaYrmation of the local and familiar. A strengthening of national identities in Asia
based on local language and culture might therefore also not be an unlikely by-
product of increased globalization in certain instances.
A second issue relates to the linguistic consequences of pursuing high levels of bi-/
multilingual competence in education. With the simultaneous promotion of both a
national language and English as mediums of instruction in schools and universities in
states such as Singapore, India, and the Philippines, a heavy learning burden is being
imposed on rising generations, and early expectations that bilingual education should
lead to students attaining a high level of proWciency in two widely useful languages are
often not being met, the results instead being characterized as producing a low level of
academic attainment in either one or both languages used in the classroom. To
consider the example of the situation in the Philippines, as a result of the introduction
of bilingual education in 1974, schools have been constrained to teach certain subjects
through Filipino and others through English, both of which are likely to be diVerent
from students’ mother tongues in non-Tagalog-speaking areas, hence in the larger
part of the nation. This results in second language learning becoming a major and
28 A. Simpson
critically important task for students, essential for a proper understanding of the range
of subjects learned in school from an early age onwards. In various cases, it is reported
that standards of English (in particular) are considerably below what had been initially
anticipated and there is a widespread perception that the system of bilingual education
is to blame for this. Similar reports of poorer than expected standards of language
attainment in education have also been made in situations where one of two lan-
guages used as a medium of instruction is actually a mother tongue of those present
in the classroom, as in Singapore and Hong Kong, and have drawn much attention
from concerned government members and public alike (chapters 17 and 8). Such
patterns of apparent underachievement relative to expectation are challenges to the
belief that the attainment of high levels of bilingual competence is possible for broad
populations of speakers, and have led to calls for a change in approach to bilingual
education. The existence and prevalence of English-based code-mixing in forms such
as ‘Singlish’ and ‘Taglish’ in Singapore, the Philippines, and other states has addition-
ally been heavily criticized in certain quarters as an indication that standards of
English are in decline or have not been properly attained by many progressing
through the educational system. This subsequently leads to the diYcult question,
not yet widely resolved, of deciding which language might be sacriWced from the
classroom and downgraded from the status of medium of instruction to simple
subject in order to simplify students’ learning task – English or perhaps the national
language of a state? Economy-related pragmatic reasons may in many instances make
individuals reluctant to give up the pursuit of a hoped-for competence in English
which can oVer access to better opportunities of employment, and so in future may
add considerable pressure on the continued presence of other national languages as
mediums of instruction in education. As the use of national languages in schools and
universities has been a primary mechanism employed by governments for the spread
of a common, binding language among multi-ethnic populations, the further rise of
English and the diYculties now becoming apparent in achieving high levels of
bilingual competence may therefore at some point conspire to undermine the
continued high-level transmission of various Asian national languages.
The third and Wnal recent issue to be mentioned here concerns certain changes in
patterns of media broadcasting that have been noticed as beginning to occur in
various parts of Asia, and the way this may aVect exposure and attitudes particularly
to non-national languages. In the early years of radio and television broadcasting in
most countries of the world, it has been common that the comparatively small
number of radio and television channels that have been made available have been
state-run and sometimes also censored and directed by government bodies. In recent
years, with the development of non-government-owned commercial television and
radio, and a signiWcant expansion in the number of channels of entertainment
available to viewers and listeners, control of the content and style of programming
has frequently moved away from governments and come to be directed instead by
commercial forces and the marketing of products to viewers/listeners as potential
Introduction 29
constraining language and its role in the building and maintenance of nations in Asia,
and how diVerent sociolinguistic, historical, political, and ethnic conWgurations have
resulted in a clear spectrum of variation in language-related national identity in the
Asian region. Beginning with multi-ethnic South Asia and the challenges faced in
shaping post-colonial national identity, continuing on to East Asia with its diVerent
traditions, population types, and experience of the twentieth century, and Wnally
considering Southeast Asia with its great ethno-linguistic complexity and cultural
variation, there is much to relate and a great wealth of information bearing on the
issue of language and national consciousness. Though obvious practical restrictions
on the size of such a volume have meant that authors have needed to be selective in
the topics presented and discussed, it is hoped that the chapters together with their
bibliographical references will stimulate readers to delve further into this fascinating
area of study and that the attempt at providing a synthesis of information on language
as a force in nation-building in Asia within a single volume will prove to be a useful
resource for all those hoping to broaden their knowledge of the socio-political eVects
of language in Asia, past and present.
PART I
South Asia
South Asia
2
Bangladesh
Hanne-Ruth Thompson
2.1 Introduction
The link between language and national identity and the signiWcance of linguistic
realities in the emergence of a new state could hardly be more poignant than in the
case of Bangladesh, which attained independence in 1971. In asking the question ‘What
actually makes us the people we are?’, we naturally think of our beliefs, our languages,
and the places we call home, but are all of these of equal signiWcance, and what happens
when they are in conXict with one another? The story of Bangladesh is embedded in a
network of ever-changing tensions, shifting threads, and an overlap of religious allegi-
ances, geographical and economic factors, and language. The portrayal of how this
country fought for the right to stand on its own feet, the emotions of people Wnally able
to reclaim a song or a poem as part of their own heritage, the accounts of short-
sightedness, stupidity, and brutal force on the part of governments, and the indomitable
spirit of a small country with great people power make for a fascinating and at times
troubling example of the human search for identity and belonging. And at the very
centre of the struggle for independence and identity in Bangladesh following the
partitioning of India has very clearly been language and a determined refusal to accept
the imposition of a foreign language as a new symbol of national identity in place of a
familiar and well-loved local mother tongue, showing just how critically important
language issues can be in the deWnition of new nation-states.
In its physical make-up, Bangladesh is essentially a country of rivers, situated around
the conXux of the Padma (Ganges), Jamuna, and Meghna rivers which Xow down from
the Himalayas and into the Bay of Bengal. With an area of 56,000 square miles (slightly
larger than Greece) and a population of 144 million people (Wfteen times the population
of Greece) it is currently the most densely populated country in the world, and, unusually
for Asia, has a remarkably homogeneous population, 98 per cent being ethnically Bengali
(85 per cent Muslim, 15 per cent Hindu). Bangladesh is also one of the poorest countries
in the world, with much of the population being rural and active in subsistence farming,
and having to contend with regular occurrences of severe Xooding during the summer
monsoon period, when violent storms and torrential rain often result in as much as a
third of the country being submerged under water.
34 H-R. Thompson
This chapter focuses on language and identity issues which have visited the chal-
lenged territory of Bangladesh primarily over the last sixty years, since it Wrst became a
part of Pakistan in 1947 (East Pakistan), and then fought with West Pakistan over
language and other dominance issues to become an independent nation in 1971. In
order to contextualize both the post-Partition discord with West Pakistan and modern
day issues of language in Bangladesh, section 2.2 provides general background infor-
mation on the language Bangla/Bengali, and its development and importance in the
region of South Asia. This is followed by a consideration of the twentieth-century
separation of Hindu and Muslim Bengali identities and the growth of the latter in the
area of Bangladesh. Section 2.3 then describes the important language-related struggle
for independence with West Pakistan and how present day Bangladesh arose as a new
nation. Finally, section 2.4 reXects on language and identity issues in contemporary
Bangladesh, returning to the relation of Bangla speakers in Bangladesh to those in
neighbouring West Bengal in India (a further 80 million in number), as well as the issue
of non-Bengali minorities in Bangladesh and their relationship to the state.1
Bangladesh
1
The author would like to express her gratitude to Dr Ghulam Murshid for his invaluable suggestions
and help in the preparation of this chapter.
Bangladesh 35
Politically, the arrival of the British in Bengal in the seventeenth century resulted in
the area retaining and increasing its importance within India, as the British established
themselves Wrst in Kolkata in West Bengal and then expanded their sphere of inXuence
and power throughout the whole of the subcontinent during the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries. With Kolkata as the capital of the British Indian Raj, and Bengal
as a major centre of commerce in India, the Bangla-speaking northeast of India thus
entered the twentieth century in a salient position in South Asia, along with a regional
language associated with high prestige and a long and increasingly prominent literary
tradition.
2
(1947) quoted from a Bangla journal called Nationality, Culture and Literature.
3
Quoted from: <http://sacw.insaf.net/i_aii/salma.html>.
38 H-R. Thompson
Certainly not all of the countryside millions of East Bengali farmers, millers, carpen-
ters, butchers, and weavers experienced this identity crisis to the same extent. They
had been both Muslims and Bengalis for centuries and did not see a conXict in being
both. However, at the other end of society, the Muslim aristocracy and potential
leaders of the Muslim population were feeling adrift and in need of conWrmation of
their identity. At the end of the nineteenth century this group had lost most of its
power with the British introduction of a new land settlement policy and were at an
economic disadvantage not only in comparison to Bengali Hindus, but also to non-
Bengali Muslims. With the spread of calls for unity among Indian Muslims, they were
now encouraged to take a closer look at their relations with fellow Bangla-speakers of
both Hindu and Muslim creeds on the one hand and their Urdu-speaking Islamic
brothers on the other in order to Wnd a place for themselves. In this search for a
deWnition of who they might be and what role they should play in an emerging
independent South Asia, the Muslim elite of East Bengal increasingly found that it was
the Islamic component of their identity and their links to other Indian Muslims which
held the clearer oVer of an improved and secure post-colonial future, raising questions
and doubts about the value of the Bengali side of their heritage. To many it seemed
that they were being gradually pushed into having to choose between their faith on
the one hand and their cultural allegiances on the other.
On the broader, pan-Indian political stage, the long, slow, and mainly non-violent
struggle to free India from British rule had been initiated by Mahatma Gandhi
when he returned to India from South Africa in 1915 and was strongly supported
without hesitation by both Hindu and Muslim populations. The latter, however,
subsequently became worried about prospects of a Hindu-dominated free India,
and conXict between Hindu and Muslim sides came to be increasingly common.
In spite of attempts at peacemaking made by Gandhi, a clear perception emerged
among Muslims that many Hindus in the freedom movement were intent on
marginalizing the future participation of Muslims in a post-independence India,
and that some alternate guarantee of Muslim rights was therefore necessary. This
led to suggestions from the Muslim League that Indian Muslims should in fact
be granted a separate state to live in following independence, where they could
develop an Islamic society free from potential Hindu domination. Although funda-
mentalist Muslims argued that the linking of religion and politics was against the
spirit of the Muslim faith, the movement for an independent Islamic state gained
much popularity among Indian Muslims concerned about their future, and in 1940,
Muhammad Ali Jinnah, leader of the Muslim League, publicly endorsed the ‘Pakistan
Resolution’ that called for the creation of an independent Islamic state in regions
of India where Muslims were a majority. In practical terms this identiWed parts of
the northwest and northeast of India as areas that might become linked in a new
state for Muslims, and set up the expectation that East Bengal with its large
Muslim population might some day Wnd itself independent of the rest of Bengal
and India.
Bangladesh 39
In the growing anticipation that such an event might well be realized, members
of the Bengali Muslim intelligentsia began to foresee a need to deWne a Bengali
linguistic identity for Muslims which would signiWcantly set them oV from Hindu
speakers of Bangla. Various Muslim writers claimed that in a future independent
state of Pakistan comprising East Bengal and parts of northwest India the character
of the Bangla language should be very diVerent from Hindu Bangla, and almost a
separate language. It was argued that as Irish English literature is diVerent from
mainstream English literature, so the Bangla language and literature of the future
eastern part of Pakistan should have its own distinctive characteristics. Before
Pakistan was itself established, members of the Bengali Muslim writing elite
therefore promoted a new national ‘East Pakistani Renaissance Society’ and set
up a journal entitled the ‘East Pakistan Literature News’. The aim of this group of
writers was to give the Bangla language an appropriately Muslim shape by intro-
ducing Arabic and Farsi words, deleting all traces of Hindu vocabulary and suggest-
ing that Bangla should be written in Arabic script. Up until that point in time,
schools run by Mullahs had not taught in Bangla, as it was seen to be contaminated
by Hindu ideas and terminology. However, with the prospect of an independent
Muslim state and with the undeniable reality that more than half the population of
this state would be Bangla-speaking, the idea of remodelling the language to Wt an
Islamic vision seemed feasible and important to some. Muslim religious leaders felt
that for the identity of the new nation, it was essential to establish the supremacy of
religion over language and to show that sharing the same religion was a consider-
ably stronger bond than speaking the same language. Consequently, the redirection
of Bangla towards a more IslamiWed form in East Bengal was supported as a highly
useful way of distancing Bengali Muslims from the millions of Hindu speakers of
Bangla, and orienting them more towards the envisaged new homeland for all
Indian Muslims.
In June 1947, the establishment of this Muslim state was Wnally oYcially ap-
proved, and Britain declared that it would grant full dominion status to two
independent successor states – India and Pakistan. SigniWcantly, the single political
entity of Pakistan was set to consist of two geographically distant parts, the
contiguous Muslim-majority districts of western British India and the Muslim part
of Bengal, creating a new Muslim nation separated by more than 1,000 miles of
Indian territory. Despite the obvious questions over how such a two-part state
would succeed in both administrative and economic ways, and the traumas follow-
ing partition with massive movements of Hindu/Muslim populations relocating in
diVerent directions, the creation of the state of Pakistan was generally accompanied
by a feeling of great triumph and euphoria. After years of intercommunal conXict
and Wghting between Hindus and Muslims in British India, a separation from Hindu
India and the long-awaited reality of a Muslim homeland seemed like the ideal
solution to all previous problems.
40 H-R. Thompson
4
Government of Pakistan, Constitutional Assembly of Pakistan Proceedings, Second Session, 25
February (Karachi 1948) pp 15–16.
Bangladesh 41
Perhaps not too surprisingly, this proposition was rejected, as Bangla was hardly
known among the inhabitants of West Pakistan. The new leadership of the country,
many of whom were Urdu-speaking immigrants from other parts of India, insisted
that Urdu should be the national language of Pakistan, supplemented by English (for
practical reasons), due to the historic association of Urdu with Muslims in India and
the fact that Pakistan had speciWcally been established as a state for South Asian
Muslims. A second, much moderated request was then made for Bangla to be made a
co-oYcial language alongside Urdu and English, in view of the considerable linguistic
uniformity of the eastern part of Pakistan and the overwhelming use of Bangla there.
This much more reasonable proposal was also staunchly opposed by Liaqat Ali Khan,
the Prime Minister of Pakistan and other non-Bengali members in the Assembly.
Khan’s stance was unequivocal:
Pakistan has been created because of the demand of 100 million Muslims in this
subcontinent and the language of a hundred million Muslims is Urdu. Pakistan is a
Muslim state and it must have as its lingua franca the language of the Muslim nations.5
The Bengali response to this was equally emotive. Even though the vast majority of
Bengali Muslims had strongly welcomed the idea of a Muslim state, disillusionment
now quickly set in with Khan’s dictatorial response.
In considering what was at stake in the political wrangling over Pakistan’s oYcial
language(s), it will be helpful to clarify what pragmatic advantages could be expected
to be associated with a ‘state language’, and how this might have aVected those in East
Pakistan. This area had for many centuries been a province in which Bangla had been
used in all domains of life, and in 1948 all oral communication, school education,
provincial government matters and any province-internal matters were dealt with in
the language. For Bangla to be made a state language would have meant that
representatives from East Pakistan would have been able to speak in Bangla in the
national Constituent Assembly, all oYcial documents would have been written in
Bangla as well as Urdu and English, and government-issued items such as coins,
stamps, money orders, and passports would have been available in Bangla, consider-
ably assisting all aspects of administrative life for the large population of East Pakistan.
With the introduction of Urdu and English as the sole oYcial languages of Pakistan,
people in the province experienced signiWcant diYculties understanding and coping
with government documentation, and those interested in positions in the civil service
had to be able to apply for these jobs in Urdu, putting monolingual Bengalis at a
distinct disadvantage.
By the end of February 1948, the controversy had spilled over onto the streets, and
the East Pakistan Student League, founded in the Wrst week of January by Sheikh
Mujibur Rahman, came to be in the forefront of the agitation. On 11 March, in a
5
Government of Pakistan, Constitutional Assembly of Pakistan Proceedings, Second Session, 25
February (Karachi 1948), pp 15–16.
42 H-R. Thompson
In a public meeting in the East Pakistan provincial capital Dhaka in January 1951,
the Pakistani Prime Minister Nazimuddin once again repeated unashamedly to a
Bengali audience that Urdu alone would be the state language of Pakistan, causing a
renewal of protests from the students of Dhaka University, who accused the Prime
Minister and the Provincial Ministers of being stooges of West Pakistan. Shortly
following this, in a secret meeting called by the Awami League, the new nationalist
party of East Pakistan formed in 1949, it was agreed that pursuit of the important
language issue could no longer be left to the university students alone, and in order to
mobilize full political and student support, it was decided that the leadership of the
Language Movement should be taken over by the Awami League itself.
On 3 February 1952, the Awami League’s Committee of Action organized a
meeting in Dhaka to publicly protest against the move ‘to dominate the majority
province of East Bengal linguistically and culturally’, and during the course of the
meeting it was decided to call for a general strike on 21 February, the day that the East
Pakistan Assembly was due to meet for an important budgetary session. On 20
February, one day before the proposed strike, the government reacted by issuing a
ban on all non-governmental meetings so as to try to ensure a trouble-free day for its
discussion of the budget. However, this attempt by the government to control the
situation came much too late and on 21 February thousands of people gathered at
Dhaka University in preparation for a protest outside the Provincial Assembly where
the budgetary session was under way. In order to disperse the mass of protestors, the
police were then sent to the scene, and resorted to violence to break up the
demonstration. In the chaotic melee that ensued, Wve people, four of them students
of Dhaka University, were tragically shot dead. Quite surprisingly this disastrous
happening did not cause the government to break oV its budget meeting, which
simply carried on through the day as if nothing of serious consequence had occurred.
However, news of the protestors’ deaths in Dhaka spread like wildWre around the rest
of the country and life everywhere quickly came to a standstill. As the situation rapidly
deteriorated, the government realized the severity of the situation and called in the
military to attempt to bring things under control.
The police shooting of the Dhaka protestors was the Wrst time in Bengali history
that people had actually lost their lives in the cause of a language, and the impact of
the killing was tremendous. The Wve victims were immediately declared national
heroes who had died the death of martyrs, and feelings of anger ran high throughout
all of East Pakistan. Government attempts to suppress further agitation with a heavy
public police presence only incited people more, and even many years after these
events the outrage that was felt over them lingers on. The following is an extract from
an article by Mohammad Omar Farooq, written in 2003, entitled Setting the Record
Straight, and shows the high emotion felt about the deaths in 1952:
There probably is no other group of people or nation that has had to struggle this way and
even give life for its right to their mother tongue. This is a distinguished honour of our
44 H-R. Thompson
nation, something that has been earned by the sacriWce and blood of many valiant people.
It is part of our history and heritage that is too precious to allow distortion by anyone. If
some Muslims do not know or recognize the contributions during the earliest period of
the movement by people like Dhirendra Nath Dutta, or if under their inXuence they try
to ignore, erase or distort the contributions of anyone other than Muslims, it would be
callous and unacceptable. Similarly, if anyone wants to distort the history of the Language
Movement by ignoring or denying the pioneering contributions of those Bengali Muslims
who were among the Wrst and foremost to stand up against the unjust decision of
Pakistani rulers regarding Bangla, it would be equally callous and unacceptable.7
Only a few days after the deaths occurred, students of the Medical College erected
overnight a Shahid Minar (‘Tower of Witness’) in the place where one of the students
was shot to commemorate those who had died. This monument later became a
national symbol for Bengali independence and 21 February is still celebrated every
year as National Language Day/Language Martyr’s Day. Rather signiWcantly,
21 February has also more widely been declared International Mother Language
Day by UNESCO, in recognition of the sacriWce of life for language that was made
by the Bengali activists in 1952. Within Pakistan itself, it is important to point out that
the Language Movement of the late 1940s and early 1950s was absolutely critical for
the future of East Pakistan in sowing the seeds of a secular Bengali nationalism which
subsequently led on to a successful Wght for independence for the province in the early
1970s. RaWqul Islam sums up the contribution of the Language Movement to the
future struggle for an independent Bangladesh with a Bengali sense of the dramatic:
The Language Movement added a new dimension to politics in Pakistan. It left a deep
impression on the minds of the younger generation of Bengalis and imbued them with the
spirit of Bengali nationalism. The passion of Bengali nationalism which was aroused by
the Language Movement will kindle in the hearts of the Bengalis forever. Perhaps very
few people realised then that with the bloodshed in 1952, the new-born state of Pakistan
had in fact started to bleed to death.8
Shahid Minar, apart from honouring the dead, has to this day the special role of
uniting people of diVerent religions as Bengalis. When in February 2005, more than
half a century after these events, verses from the Qur’an were recited over a loud-
speaker system by the monument, an article in the Daily Star newspaper quoted an
Awami League spokesman as saying:
It was totally against the spirit of Ekushey [21 February]. The Shahid Minar is a place of
national spirit. There are other places to practise religious activities, but that was the
Shahid Minar. We would like to say that it is a place of all religious faiths. No religious
activities should be conducted at this place.9
7
Quoted from <http://www.globalwebpost.com/farooqm/main.htm> (accessed July 2005).
8
Quoted from <http://www.virtualbangladesh.com/history/overview.html> (accessed June 2005).
9
Quoted from <http://thedailystar.net/2005/02/22/d50222011210.htm> (accessed July 2005).
Bangladesh 45
The signiWcance of 1952 and the eVect it had on uniting Bengalis as a people
in opposition to the distant Pakistani leadership in Islamabad was therefore pivotal
and a milestone in the development of Bangladesh as a nation and independent
country, creating the all-important initial sparks and impetus behind a new Bengali
nationalism.
More positively, due to the Language Movement and the dramatic events of 21
February 1952, ordinary Bengalis in the 1950s had begun to develop an intense
consciousness of their language, and this surfaced deWantly in a wave of pro-Bangla
euphoria. There were new homages to Rabindranath, poetry events, articles, and
books advocating the Bengali heritage. Newborn children were given Bangla names
instead of standard (non-Bangla) Islamic names, as had previously been the practice.
Road and shop signs came to be proudly written in Bangla, again in place of the
46 H-R. Thompson
previous practice of using fairly standardized Islamic names, people began signing
their names in Bangla script instead of with Romanized approximations (as had been
the common, earlier practice), and fashions and social customs all became visibly
much more Bengali. The East Bengalis were, though not in Ayub Khan’s sense, very
rapidly adjusting to the ‘newborn freedom’ they felt was rightfully theirs, and basking
in a celebration of their language and ethnicity in a clear reaction against pressures
towards pan-Pakistani linguistic conformity and the exertion of authority from West
Pakistan.
Just over a decade on from this, Bengali nationalism had grown considerably, and
its representative party the Awami League contested the Wrst All-Pakistan General
Election in December 1970, under the leadership of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. Very
impressively, the Awami League won all but two of the East Pakistani seats, giving it
the greatest overall number of seats of any party in the country’s National Assembly.
The democratic consequence of this landslide victory should have been to invite the
Awami League to form the Central Pakistan government and transfer power from the
army to civilian rule. However, the military rulers of Pakistan decided to blatantly
disregard the voting choices of the people and, instead of honouring the outcome of
the election, handed East Pakistan over to the military. Following widespread civil
disobedience in East Pakistan in protest against the military’s actions, and brutal
military repression of those considered responsible for the protests, the Bengali
nationalists under Sheikh Mujibur Rahman then boldly declared East Pakistan an
independent state, the People’s Republic of Bangladesh. Though Rahman was taken
into custody and military intervention by West Pakistani forces resulted in a nine-
month-long civil war being fought in East Pakistan, critical military support from
India for the Bengali nationalist movement Wnally led to the capitulation of the
Pakistani army, and on 16 December, the People’s Republic of Bangladesh was
recognized as an independent state.
The constitution of the new country, adopted on 4 November 1972, has the
following pledge:
. . . that the high ideals of nationalism, socialism, democracy and secularism, which
inspired our heroic people to dedicate themselves to, and our brave martyrs to sacriWce
their lives in, the national liberation struggle, shall be the fundamental principles of the
Constitution.
It later continues:
The unity and solidarity of the Bengali nation, which deriving its identity from its
language and culture, attained a sovereign and independent Bangladesh through a united
and determined struggle in the war of independence, shall be the basis of Bengali
nationalism.10
10
Government of Bangladesh, The Constitution of the People’s Republic of Bangladesh, 1972 (Dhaka, 1975),
pp 1–4.
Bangladesh 47
After the hard lessons learnt during the Pakistan years and the devastating experiences
of the war, the new country of Bangladesh was thus decidedly a secular state, and one
which explicitly acknowledged (and still currently acknowledges) language as one of
the prime determinants of its national identity. What had begun as a Language
Movement in the late 1940s and early 1950s, propelled by the Pakistani leadership’s
unwillingness to recognise Bangla as a national language, therefore led on to a
widespread Bengali nationalism, which Wnally achieved full independence for East
Bengal/Pakistan, showing very clearly how instrumental language and identity issues
can be in the initiation of struggles towards political self-determination.
emotionally attached to their language, and it is very striking to outsiders how even
ordinary, moderately educated people regularly show a deep interest in language
matters and particularly the versatility of their own language, Bangla. This may well
be due, in part, to the value accrued to Bangla during the struggle for independence
when it occurred as a critical focal symbol at the centre of the nationalist movement
but certainly also goes back further to a genuine love for the language resulting from a
long and highly celebrated literary history, re-energized in the nineteenth- and
twentieth-century renaissance and taken to new heights in the inspired works of
writers such as Tagore.
Bangladesh in the twenty-Wrst century is, like most other countries in the world,
also a place where languages other than the national tongue are both spoken and
learned. The remainder of this section now brieXy considers how other minority
languages Wt into the general picture of Bangladesh, what the status of English is in
the country, and also how language issues continue to connect Bangladesh with West
Bengal in India.
which English has a presence in the country and may be compared with the national
language:
1 Very few Bengalis, even after years of school education, learn to speak English
Xuently, unless they spend considerable time abroad.
2 Outside of Dhaka it is almost impossible for a non-Bangla-speaking foreigner to
communicate. Outside of Dhaka all signposts are in Bangla, except on the few
major roads that exist.
3 Primary school education in Bangladesh is predominantly rote learning. Chil-
dren learn to recite English poetry without understanding a word of it.
4 Being able to speak English is a highly rated ability. People have a rosy and rather
unrealistic picture of life in the UK and the USA.
5 Almost all Bengalis think that Bangla is the most beautiful language in the world.
These impressions give us a variegated picture which shows that English is a highly
prized but still decidedly foreign element in Bangladeshi life. Bangla as a language is
perfectly capable of incorporating English words, even quite a lot of English words,
into its vocabulary without losing or changing its identity.
The non-Bengali communities of Bangladesh can be divided into two main groups, based
on their geographical habitats: the Plains groups and the Hill groups. The Plains groups
live along the borders of the north-west, north, and north-east portions of the country.
For instance, non-Bengali communities such as the Koch, Munda, Oraon, Paharia,
Rajbongshi and Saontal have traditionally lived in parts of Bogra, Dinajpur, Kushtia,
Pabna, Rajshahi and Rangpur districts in the north. The greater Sylhet District in the
north is the traditional home of the Khasi, Manipuri, Pathor and Tipra communi-
ties. . . . The non-Bengali Hill people live in the southeastern part of the country known
50 H-R. Thompson
as the Chittagong Hill Tracts. The Chakmas, Marmas and Tripuras are valley-dwelling
people, while the Banjogees, Chak, Khamis, Lushai, Mro, Riang and Tanchangya live on
the ridges of the Hills. (Mohsin 2003: 85)
This list of mesmerizing names alone indicates that non-Bengalis in Bangladesh are
not one minority group, but a number of quite diVerent communities. According to
not very reliable statistics, quoted in Mohsin’s article, there are twenty-nine separate
tribal groups, and all of them taken together constitute just over 1 per cent of the total
population, a very small percentage split up into tiny fractions. This does not include
the people of Sylhet, whose dialect is suYciently diVerent from standard Bangla to
cause various communication problems and who increasingly see themselves as
having a separate identity. This is an issue which can perhaps be left to Wnd its own
solution. Sylhetis are a self-assured, vociferous group of people who also have a strong
presence outside of Bangladesh. Almost 90 per cent of Bangladeshis in the UK are
from Sylhet. Their families in Bangladesh naturally develop a perspective which is
outward-looking and the issue of Sylheti independence is being debated as much
outside as inside Bangladesh.
However, the small, non-Bengali, tribal communities in Bangladesh pose a diVerent
problem. Mohsin, after much criticism of oppressive government policies, makes the
following suggestions in her article:
Non-Bengalis should be given the opportunity to pursue an education in their mother
tongue through, at a minimum, the primary level. The government should make
adequate funds available for both printing books in non-Bengali languages and providing
training to non-Bengali teachers. The country’s academic curriculum ought to be decen-
tralised and democratized. [ . . . ] The curriculum must reXect the diVerent cultures,
histories and experiences that make up Bangladesh’s diverse minority communities.
(Mohsin 2003: 102)
Elsewhere in her article she calls for dedicated radio and television channels which
would broadcast in other languages. All of these are highly praiseworthy ideas and
suggestions but their implementation is not easy, and would require much co-
operation and help from within the tribal groups themselves, along with extensive
research of the minority languages before grammars, dictionaries, and eVective
teaching materials could be produced and then put into use. Whether the government
would in principle be open to and also Wnancially support the initiation of such
developmental programmes for minority languages is another question. In recent
years there has occurred a certain amount of friction and also conXict between tribal
groups and the government in land disputes in the Chittagong Hill Tracts, as noted in
Mohsin (2003). Despite such conXict, however, it seems unlikely that the government
would actively discourage or fail to support initiatives such as mother tongue teaching
in primary schools if these were begun in earnest by local communities. If such
arrangements currently do not exist, it is more likely to be a lack of resources or of
suitable teachers than any governmental attempt to suppress languages other than
Bangladesh 51
Bangla in the country. There are still many villages all over Bangladesh without access
to electricity, and much of the rural population is engaged in an everyday struggle for
suYcient food, clean water, and adequate sanitation. With such pressing, basic
diYculties, it is perhaps not surprising that minority language education has not
(yet) been prioritized by the Bangladeshi government.
prized possession to be claimed by both sides. Though born in West Bengal, Tagore
spent quite some time living in what is now Bangladesh and this leads to the rather
absurd question (considering that he died in 1941 before the establishment of Ban-
gladesh) of whether Tagore was really a Bangladeshi rather than a West Bengali poet.
In the area of religion, Tagore came from an aristocratic Brahmo family and his own
religious convictions were far from simplistically Hindu. With such a mixed back-
ground, West Bengalis end up claiming him as a Hindu and Indian poet, while
Bangladeshis argue that he was a secular Bengali poet from Bangladesh.
On a more mundane level, it can be noted that many wealthy Bangladeshis travel to
Kolkata for hospital treatment or send their children to Indian boarding schools. They
consider Kolkata a somewhat upmarket Dhaka and visit it for the latest fashions, Wlms
and also alcohol, which is not available in Bangladesh. Universities stock up on books
from Indian booksellers, and Kolkata journals are widely and critically read in
Bangladesh. However, intellectual and academic exchanges are rare and cautious,
hampered by prejudices on both sides. Much though outsiders might feel that it
would be natural for West Bengal and Bangladesh to have a closer formal linking and
even constitute a single Bengali territory as in earlier times, they are likely to continue
to remain separate territorial entities with clearly diVerent characteristics.
2.5 Conclusions
Having considered a range of language-related concerns aVecting the population of
eastern Bengal past and present, we can now brieXy summarize what is particularly
salient with regard to the issues of language and national identity in the territory of
Bangladesh. Quite generally, questions of identity arise when our natural habitat in
the widest sense of the word is somehow altered, threatened, or denied, and whenever
individuals or groups of people are faced with having to make life-changing choices,
this automatically raises questions of self-deWnition. If identity is understood as
awareness of self in spatial proximity and contrast to others, then the process of
demarcation of a whole group of people can have far-reaching consequences. A Wrst,
important observation concerning (what is now) Bangladesh is that its people sig-
niWcantly underwent this process twice during the twentieth century in cataclysmic
ways, and in both instances language was an important ingredient in the identity
change of the nation.
In the Wrst redeWnition of the identity of those living in East Bengal, there was an
important realignment from an original shared language constituency with fellow
Bangla speakers in Bengal to a new, primarily religious grouping with geographically
distant co-adherents of Islam in Pakistan, who spoke a variety of diVerent languages.
In this instance, the imperative of joining other co-religionists clearly appeared to be
stronger than retaining membership of a single linguistic grouping, and the national
identity of the East Bengalis seemed to prioritize religion over language. Not long
after the dramatic repositioning of the East Bengalis under the pan-Islamic umbrella
Bangladesh 53
Finally, it can be stressed that Bangladeshis are a people openly and genuinely proud
of their country and seem to be happy to be in the state they are in, identiWed as
Bangladeshis, a new nation unto itself. In the last few years, particularly with the
advent of the internet, the sense of pride in being Bangladeshi (not Bengali) can be
widely observed. Websites on the Bangladesh independence struggle with suitably
solemn music and images are at the extreme end of this, but there are other
endeavours such as a website dedicated to Bangladeshi novels which expressly sets
these novels apart from Indian novels in Bangla. A sense of struggle for equality and
feeling of distinctive, national pride comes across in phrases such as ‘very much
appreciated nationwide and even in West Bengal’ or ‘she has been producing regularly
to enrich Bangladeshi literature’ and so on.11 And there are other public mechanisms
aimed at projecting positive cultural images of the nation both to Bangladeshis
themselves and to the outside world, such as the prestigious Bangla Academy in
Dhaka, which exists with the clear purpose of promoting Bangladeshi literary,
linguistic, and cultural eVorts. Interestingly, we can see here the scales tipping towards
the political again. Now that the language has held its undisputed position for more
than thirty years of independence, it is being used once again as a means towards
promoting political status.
11
Quoted from <http://www.bangladeshinovels.com>.
3
India
R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
3.1 Introduction
India raises the important question of whether a mosaic of languages and shared
cultures can be melded into a nation. If language is a dominant symbol of identity, the
concept of nationhood presupposes the existence of a national language, and distinct
linguistic groups represent sub-nationalisms which may be a threat to the cohesion of
a nation. In India, such a way of thinking about the relation of language to nationhood
received considerable attention at the height of its political struggle for independence
from British rule; an eVort was made during that period to identify and promote
a national language, and for a period of about Wfteen years subsequent to independ-
ence, the question of a national language occupied much of the space of public
debate in India, reaching a crescendo in the 1960s. The resolution of that crisis in
favour of the indeWnite continuation of a ‘foreign’ language, English, as an ‘associate
oYcial language’ in the country indicated that the idea of India as a nation is not
primarily associated with any one language, or even primarily with ‘Indian’ languages.
The notion of identity is a multilayered, frequently purposive, construct in which
language plays one part. Being a popular, social construct, language identity is
moreover guided by popular perceptions about language. These perceptions may in
turn be inXuenced by visible but linguistically insigniWcant aspects of language such as
the existence of a script, or the choice of a script for a language, by the favoured
historical sources of a language group’s vocabulary and literary style, their literary
models and conWguration of literary history, as well as the immediate social advan-
tages that accrue to the users of a language. As will be discussed during the course of
this chapter, all of these factors have played important roles in the development of
social, group identity in the subcontinent of India, particularly over the last one
hundred years.
Language identity is particularly problematic because in its primary, oral occur-
rence, language is commonly a continuum of dialects that connects neighbouring
individuals, locales, and generations in a chain of intelligibility, and the division of a
language continuum into discrete languages may often not conform to any obvious
56 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
natural criteria, any more than political boundaries may. Ordinary people, further-
more, seem to have a deep intuitive realization of the essential arbitrariness of
language labels. This explains their readiness to allow language to be appropriated
by other major components of identity formation such as religion, or class. In such a
process, the ‘same’ language (marked by mutual intelligibility, and the absence of
syntactic diVerences) may be given diVerent labels depending on who speaks it, and,
conversely, linguistically interesting diVerences may be dubbed mere diVerences in
speech ‘styles’, leading to the clumping together of such varieties under a single
language label to serve a larger ethnic identity. In India, the Hindi–Urdu divide,
considered in section 3.3.1, is an example of the Wrst kind of socio-political separation
of a single variety of speech into two oYcial languages, and the conXation of the
languages of diVerent speech communities in the north of India under a single Hindi
‘umbrella’ is a clear occurrence of the second kind of manipulation of languages,
described in section 3.4.2. The labelling of languages in such cases therefore turns out
to be determined by non-linguistic factors but has important consequences for the
way that group membership is ultimately perceived and politically made use of.
Folk theories about language also play their part in the perception of linguistic
identities. An older view of language, still manifest in concerns for linguistic purity held
in certain quarters, allowed for various languages to be subsumed under the single
rubric of a ‘parent’ language, to which allegiance was still owed. The living diversity
among languages related in this way was regarded as imperfections and deviations from
the parent language. An example of such a view in the past in India was the common
perception of the medieval prakrits, the popularly spoken dialects from which the
modern Indo-Aryan languages later emerged, as ‘deviant’ forms of Sanskrit. They
tended for a long time not to be recognized as separate languages. Under such a view,
there is simply a hierarchy of diVerent speech styles, rather than a range of genuinely
diVerent languages (Krishna 1991:23). In contemporary India, the persistence of such
folk theories and attitudes facilitates the conXation of many divergent and mutually
unintelligible languages under the title of a single language. These issues and others
relating to the complex problem of language division and ethnic and national identity
will now be considered in more detail. Following an introduction to the linguistic
diversity found in India in section 3.1.1, sections 3.2–3.4 examine various aspects of
oYcial language policy and the establishment of linguistic states in India. Section 3.5
then presents an overview of signiWcant language movements which have occurred
during the last Wfty years, and section 3.6 considers the issue of language in education.
Finally, section 3.7 reXects on the changing face of multilingualism in India.
The largest group of languages spoken in India today are the Indo-Aryan lan-
guages. This subgroup of Indo-European resulted from the early southward migra-
tion of ‘Aryan’ tribes into the territory of India, around 1500 bc. The language of the
original Aryans was proto-Sanskrit, and over time gave rise to many of the languages
currently spoken in the north and central parts of India, including Assamese, Bangla
(Bengali), Gujarati, Hindi-Urdu, Kashmiri, Konkani, Marathi, Oriya, Punjabi, and
Sindhi. Even before the arrival of the Aryans, however, there was already a popula-
tion of speakers of a diVerent language type present on the subcontinent, now
identiWed as ‘Dravidian’. Who the Dravidians really were is still a matter of conjec-
ture. Among many claims, one is that the Dravidians entered India from the north-
west of the country two millennia before the Aryans arrived, that is, about 3500 bc.
It has been claimed that they were ‘Palaeo-Mediterranean migrants’ (Basham 1979: 2),
and that in their racial composition, ‘the Mediterranean Caucasoid component
predominates’ (Sjoberg 1990: 48). There have also been various claims, some more
fanciful than others, about the genetic relationship of Dravidian languages with
languages outside India (see Krishnamurti 2003: § 1.8 for a review). What seems
to be certain is that at the time of the arrival of the Aryans, the Dravidians were the
inhabitants of many parts of India, including the northwest. The pressure of the
Aryans subsequently pushed and eventually conWned the Dravidians mostly to
southern India, but left behind pockets of land in which Dravidians and their
languages survived, such as Brahui in present-day Pakistan, and Kurux in the
Himalayan foothills. Today, the Dravidian languages comprise the second largest
language family in India, and include Kannada, Malayalam, Tamil, and Telugu as the
major languages of the group.
Besides Indo-Aryan and Dravidian, there are languages in India now classiWed as
Tibeto-Burman, such as Meithei (Manipuri), Lushai (Mizo), and the Naga languages
of the tribal belt of the northeast of India, as well as Austro-Asiatic languages, for
example the Munda languages of the forest and hill tribes of central and eastern India.
The latter (Austro-Asiatic) group of languages, though currently small in comparison
to the present size of Indo-Aryan and Dravidian languages, may well have been the
type of language spoken by the very earliest inhabitants of India, according to various
anthropologists.
Languages from four large language families are consequently represented in India.
As for the actual number of languages that are spoken in India today, Wgures vary here
according to the criteria chosen. The Eighth Schedule of the Constitution of India, to
which we come back presently, originally mentioned fourteen languages (it now
mentions twenty-two), considered the ‘major’ languages of India; according to the
1991 census, their speakers account for 96.29 per cent of the population. These
languages, which are also often called ‘regional’ languages (a term now seen as
problematic; the census uses the neutral term ‘scheduled languages’) were: Assamese,
Bangla (Bengali), Gujarati, Hindi, Kashmiri, Marathi, Oriya, Punjabi, Sanskrit, Urdu
(all Indo-Aryan); Kannada, Malayalam, Tamil, and Telugu (all Dravidian). To this list
58 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
Indeed, the 1961 census recorded 1,652 ‘mother tongues’ in India. However,
more than a quarter of these had only four or Wve speakers each. Around 200
mother tongues had populations of 10,000 speakers or more, and this has subse-
quently become a criterion for recording a language in the census. The 1991 census
of India records 114 such languages, out of an estimated total of 400 (Vijayanunni
1999).
Most popular attention, and a sizeable section of scholarly debate, is restricted to
the ‘major’ languages, which in coverage is practically almost synonymous with the
set of ‘literary’ languages. An interesting parallel that has recently begun to be made
in this regard is between India and Europe. Both King (1994) and Malhotra (1998)
point out that India is approximately the size of western Europe and has a number of
oYcially recognized languages that is similar to the number of major languages
spoken within the area of western Europe:
To those only casually acquainted with her, modern India must seem a veritable jungle of
languages, and authoritative sources reinforce this impression. The massive Linguistic
Survey of India listed 179 languages, the 1921 census of India showed 188, and the
distinguished Indian linguist, S. K. Chatterjee rounded the Wgure oV to 180. If one looks
more closely, however, these apparently overwhelming numbers shrink to manageable
proportions. . . . The four major languages of the Dravidian language family. . . along with
the eight major languages of the Indo-European family. . . accounted for 93% of the 1981
population of India. From this perspective India’s linguistic diversity seems not particu-
larly remarkable for a continent-sized nation; Europe west of Russia, roughly comparable
in size and population, includes more than twenty diVerent nations using more than
twenty major languages. (King 1994: 4–5)
India 59
India
1
Masica (1976) further develops the idea of India as a linguistic area. See Krishnamurti (2003: 38–42) for
an overview of areal studies.
60 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
much fewer in number than the Dravidians they subdued, this causing the larger
syntactic impact of Dravidian on Indo-Aryan. Object before verb word order, the
occurrence of dative experiencer subjects, and conjunctive participles are just a few of
the traits commonly cited as Dravidian inXuences on Indo-Aryan (cf. Krishnamurti
2003: 38–42).
liberty for states to select their own oYcial languages has been the deliberate re-
formation of ‘linguistic states’ in certain instances in India, and attempts by central
government, in a number of cases prompted by agitation from language movements,
to realign state boundaries with already occurring geographical language blocs. This is
discussed in more detail in section 3.4.
In addition to its decrees and directives on language at the national and state level,
the Constitution also contains an appendix list of (originally) fourteen languages
known as the Eighth Schedule. Such a fairly simple appendix might hardly appear
signiWcant enough to merit the attention it has since received in the form of three
constitutional amendments and widespread criticism. However, given that it contains
the only explicit mention of ‘the other languages of India’ in the Constitution, the
Eighth Schedule now embodies the sole constitutional acknowledgement of certain
linguistic groups as Indian, and a recognition of major Indian languages other than
Hindi. Rather than being seen as a positive acknowledgement of the multilingual
nature of India, the Constitution and the Eighth Schedule have instead been lam-
basted for politicizing the language issue by creating a hierarchy of languages, with
Hindi at the top, the ‘scheduled languages’ below Hindi, and the hundred-odd
languages recorded in the census (along with still others, left out of the count because
they have fewer than ten thousand speakers each) at the very bottom. The inclusion of
languages in the schedule has in some instances been seen as arbitrary, and the
exclusion of languages from it as discriminatory.2 Certainly inclusion in the Eighth
Schedule appears to be a favourite, regular demand of linguistic pressure-groups, and
the list of languages in the Schedule has grown since its original formulation. For
example, Sindhi was included in the list of scheduled languages by a constitutional
amendment in 1967, twenty years after Independence, and the inclusion of Konkani,
Nepali (Gurkhali), and Manipuri occurred in 1993.3 In 2003, in the Wfty-fourth year of
the Republic of India, Bodo, Dogri, Maithili, and Santhali were added to the list. Yet in
spite of the clear attraction that the Schedule seems to have for those language groups
not part of it, it is actually not so clear that inclusion in the Eighth Schedule confers
real advantages to a language, or that exclusion entails disadvantage (Krishnamurti
1995: 16; Koul 1995: 111). The Eighth Schedule therefore remains an area of contro-
versy and is likely to continue to remain so for some years to come.
2
See the papers in Gupta et al. (1995).
3
Sindhi in India is ‘an urban language without a geographic base’ (Krishna 1991: 213). After Partition, Hindu
Sindhis migrated from Sind in Pakistan to towns in the Indian states of Gujarat, Maharashtra, Rajasthan, and
62 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
future, post-independence character of the country and how this might best be shaped
by guidance from the political leadership. In order to appreciate the broad signiWcance
of the decision to promote Hindi as the intended successor to English and as a
potential national language, it is really necessary to understand the pre-twentieth-
century development of the language and its close relation to two other language
forms which have added much complexity to the linguistic situation, both past and
present – Urdu and Hindustani.
Hindi, Urdu, and Hindustani are the labels commonly given to three varieties of
language that are largely mutually intelligible, but which in the political arena are now
associated with diVerent religious, social, and political identities and have certain
typical distinguishing characteristics. To put it very simply, Hindi is written with the
Devanagari script (sometimes also called the Nagari script), consistently develops its
vocabulary from Sanskrit sources, and is associated with the Hindu population of
India. Urdu is written with a Persianized form of Arabic script, makes substantial use
of Perso-Arabic words, and is associated with the Muslim population of India (and
Pakistan – see Shackle, this volume, chapter 5). We must note that the situation on
the ground is much more complex, with Hindi as well as Urdu speakers often literate
in either script, depending on their educational background. In their formal spoken
and written forms, Hindi and Urdu share a common grammar and much basic
vocabulary. When Hindi and Urdu are spoken informally by most of the population,
the diVerences present and clearly discernible in formal language tend to disappear to
a very signiWcant extent, and the two varieties become both mutually intelligible and
often diYcult to tell apart. This frequently used, colloquial form of Hindi and Urdu
used in everyday conversation by the majority of speakers has in the past regularly
been referred to with the term ‘Hindustani’. It is also the form of language standardly
used in Bollywood Wlms, which are widely enjoyed by speakers of both Hindi and
Urdu.
Considered from a historical point of view, the Hindustani-Hindi-Urdu complex
developed out of a common broadly-spoken lingua franca that came to be used
through much of north and central India from the late twelfth and early thirteenth
centuries during the dynasties of Muslim rulers that pre-dated the Mughal rule.
During this time, Persian was in force as the oYcial language of administration and
writing but was supplemented by a mixture of the speech of the Delhi area (‘Khari
Boli’, which had Sanskrit as its ultimate ancestor) together with many Persian
loanwords as a very general means of oral communication among diVerent parts of
the Muslim-controlled territories. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, this
form of speech was patronized by the rulers of various southern kingdoms and
resulted in the growth of an early literature in a language known as Dakhini or
Madhya Pradesh. The recognition of their language seems to have been important for the cultural identity of a
dispersed population; similarly, a ‘sense of insecurity’ among Indian Nepalis is said to have necessitated
constitutional recognition of their language (Munshi 1995: 108).
India 63
During the years of the struggle for independence, the proponents of Hindi
maintained an uneasy truce with the idea of Hindustani, which for them became
increasingly identiWed with the Persianized Urdu the opposition Muslim League
worked to propagate. However, when the creation of Pakistan became a certainty
in mid-1947, resulting in a new separate homeland for Muslims, they no longer saw a
need for a policy of accommodation, and the proponents of Hindi written in
Devanagari script subsequently prevailed over those of Hindustani, which in fact
had never really secured a widespread, staunchly enthusiastic base of support (Shackle
and Snell 1990).4
The adoption of Hindi rather than Hindustani as the oYcial language hardened the
language divide between Hindi and Urdu (later mentioned as two separate languages
in the Eighth Schedule), and paved the way for a Sanskritized Hindi as the oYcial
language. This Hindi contrasts, as mentioned above, with colloquial Hindi, the
dialogue of Wlms produced in Bombay, and with the spoken language of political
address in India and Pakistan, which even today is fully intelligible on both sides of the
border. The entrenched use of diVerent scripts for Hindi and Urdu also sadly impairs
the understanding of written materials among speakers of essentially the same
language, and a contemporary writer in Urdu (for example) who is fully understood
if he reads out his work, may have to be read in English translation by those who lack
knowledge of the Urdu script.
4
Note here the explicit identiWcation of a script form with the language (mandated use of the
Devanagari script is mentioned in the Constitution). So strong was the insistence on Devanagari script
that fervent advocates of Hindi had to be dissuaded from insisting on Hindi symbols even for numerals by
the argument that Arabic numerals were ultimately of Indian origin. In relation to the importance of script
and written forms, it can also be noted that a major reason why Hindustani failed to seem generally viable
as a replacement for English is that there was never any realistic solution to the question of which single
script form should be selected for its use as an oYcial language, Devanagari or Perso-Arabic.
5
Cf. Krishna (1991: 51), the references in Singh (1995: 43), and Brass (1974: 14V.). SchiVman (1996)
attributes all the ills of India’s language policy to the adoption of a Soviet model.
6
The erstwhile kingdom of Hyderabad was larger than England and Wales put together, and Kashmir
Wve times as big as Switzerland (Pandey 1969: 2).
India 65
We must break through the provincial crust if we are to reach the core of all-India
nationalism. Is India one country and one nation or many countries and many nations?
(Gandhi 1965: 54)
The Gandhian idea of a national language was not a merely symbolic gesture such as
the later inclusion of Sanskrit in the Eighth Schedule.7 His concern was for a language
(or several languages) of education and administration that had its base in the people.
The Gandhian view (later to be articulated as the ‘three-language formula’ and
discussed in section 3.6.2) actually envisaged a hierarchical multilingualism for
India. However, Gandhi’s fear that in the absence of an overarching ‘Indian’ language
the Indian state would not be able to hold together seems to have been mistaken in
two critical ways. As independent India developed, the new nation did not in fact
generate the necessary nationalistic fervour for the shaping of a pan-Indian form of
Hindi as a truly national language. Nor has linguistic plurality in India proved to be
the primary cause of secessionist demands in the country. Indeed, it has been
argued that the recognition of plurality and the status accorded to the major Indian
languages by the formation of linguistic states has helped to strengthen the nation
considerably (Chandra et al 1999: 102). This re-constitution of territory within
India’s borders along linguistic lines will now be discussed in section 3.4, while the
issue of Hindi as a national replacement language for English is returned to some-
what later in section 3.5.
7
Although almost 50,000 people claim Sanskrit as mother tongue in the 1991 census, its inclusion in
the Constitution was for historical and cultural reasons.
8
Twelve languages formed the basis for the formation of ‘linguistic states’: eight such states were
formed in 1956 (Assam, Andhra Pradesh, West Bengal, Karnataka, Kashmir, Kerala, Orissa and Tamil-
nadu), two in 1960 (Gujarat and Maharashtra), and two in 1966 (Punjab and Haryana). Not all states could
be formed on a linguistic basis alone, however, e.g. the states of the northeast, where concerns of ethnicity
were primarily important in forming state boundaries.
66 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
a minority language in that state, and now Dogri as well). Some union territories and
northeastern states have exercised their option of retaining English as their oYcial
language.
In pre-independence times, the four British provinces of Bengal, Bombay, the
Central Provinces, and Madras9 had each encompassed speakers of more than one
language. Thus Madras had a majority of Telugu and Tamil speakers, and Bombay
included Gujarati and Marathi speakers. Gandhi supported the reorganization of
states on a linguistic basis, although he was not as insistent on this point as he was
on a national language. Both Gandhi and Nehru were clear that Indian languages
should be the media of instruction in education, and the language of administration
and law at the regional level. A decade before independence, Nehru wrote:
Our great provincial languages are no dialects or vernaculars as the ignorant sometimes
call them. They are ancient languages with a rich inheritance, each spoken by many
millions of persons . . . Our system of education and public work must therefore be based
on the provincial languages.10
By 1947, Gandhi saw the development of regional languages as essential for, and,
given the controversy about Hindi or Hindustani and the Nagari or Perso-Arabic
script, prior to the evolution of a national language (Gandhi 1965: 115).
However, after independence, Nehru was ‘reluctant to alter the provincial bound-
aries left behind by the British, because he realized what a Pandora’s Box that would
open’ (Tully and Masani 1988: 20). There were bound to be – and there indeed were –
disputes about which districts more appropriately belonged to which state on grounds
of language, as language boundaries naturally coalesce at their edges in bilingual and
multilingual populations. Although the government consequently chose not to pri-
oritize the issue, the cause did gain much popular momentum, with the demand for a
separate Andhra state for Telugu-speaking people being the Wrst and a very typical
example.
In October 1952, Potti Sriramulu, a Gandhian, went on a fast for the separation of
Telugu-speaking areas from the province of Madras. Although this planned separation
had been accepted in principle by both Telugu and Tamil speakers, the problem was
that neither side had been willing to give up their claim to the city of Madras. Potti
Sriramulu’s death, after Wfty-eight days of fasting, resulted in the occurrence of
widespread riots which forced the centre’s hand, and in October of the following
year India’s Wrst linguistic state, Andhra Pradesh, was formed. A Tamil-speaking state,
later called Tamilnadu, was simultaneously created. Subsequent to this, a States
Reorganization Commission was set up, and following its recommendations two
9
Of the seven provinces of British India, these four remained in Indian territory. The Punjab was
partitioned, and the North-Western Provinces and the North-West Frontier Province went to Pakistan.
10
Quoted in Kumaramangalam (1965: 14). Khubchandani (1995: 31) notes that in the colonial era, the
Indian languages were called ‘vernaculars’, the word language being reserved for English and the classical
languages Arabic, Persian, and Sanskrit. See also Anantamurty (2000: 46).
India 67
years later, the States Reorganization Act was passed by Parliament in November
1956, providing for fourteen states and six centrally administered territories.
The Telugu-speaking part of the territory of the Nizam of Hyderabad, known as
Telengana, was transferred to Andhra Pradesh,11 a Malayalam-speaking state of
Kerala was created by merging the Malabar districts of the Madras Presidency with
Travancore-Cochin, and Kannada-speaking areas of the states of Bombay, Hyderabad,
Coorg, and Madras were added to Mysore (later known as Karnataka).
The States Reorganization Commission, however, opposed the splitting of Bombay
and Punjab. We will discuss the Punjab separately in section 3.5.2. Concerning
Bombay, there was an initial attempt to preserve this as a bilingual Marathi-Gujarati
state, and the States Reorganization Commission added further Marathi- and Gujarati-
speaking areas that were parts of neighbouring states as extensions to it. However,
a demand for bifurcation of the state came from groups of Marathi speakers. Such
a proposal being immediately opposed by the Gujarati businessmen of Bombay,
the attempt was then made to retain Bombay city as a separate, centrally administered
territory, but this proved to be unacceptable to the Maharashtrians. Finally it was
agreed, in 1960, to bifurcate the state of Bombay into two states, Maharashtra and
Gujarat, with the city of Bombay included in Maharashtra, and Ahmedabad made the
capital of Gujarat. Cases such as Bombay therefore illustrate just how much delicate
balancing of diVerent populations has sometimes been necessary to arrive at an
acceptable reorganization of the nation’s states following independence.
11
However, years after this uniWcation was eVected, a demand was made on at least two occasions by
certain groups for the separation of Telengana from the relatively more prosperous Andhra region of the
state; see Chandra et al. (1999: 303–7). There are also demands from parts of Maharashtra and Karnataka
for separate statehood, arising from a perception of neglect. India currently has twenty-eight states and
seven union territories.
68 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
12
The 1991 census groups forty-eight mother tongues under Hindi. The proportion of Hindi speakers
recorded in the overall national population varies signiWcantly between censuses according to the way that
mother tongues are grouped relative to Hindi. The 1961 census indicated that Hindi speakers made up 30.4
per cent of the population, whereas in 1981 the Wgure was put at 39.9 per cent (Khubchandani 1995: 35).
13
An alternative, less ‘accusatory’ view of the processes of language standardization and assimilation
which have incorporated other varieties of language into the rubric of Hindi is to assume that these are
simply the inevitable results of increased communication and education in the north of India.
14
See Brass (1974) for an account of the Maithili language movement.
India 69
15
Caldwell was the Wrst to use the term ‘Dravidian’ to refer to the languages of the south; and his
monumental work A Comparative Grammar of the Dravidian or South-Indian Family of Languages (1856) laid
the foundation of the linguistic study of these languages.
70 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
south of India as not belonging to the same family as the Sanskrit-derived languages of
the north. At around the same time (in 1880) came the accidental discovery of a cache
of ancient Tamil manuscripts by U. Ve. Caminataiyer, which brought to light a pre-
Aryan Tamil culture and literature that dated from at least the Wrst millennium bc.
The combined eVect of these developments – which showed Tamil in a very Xattering
light as ‘separate’ or unique, and ancient – was the initiation of a strong language
movement among Tamils. Part of this, the ‘pure Tamil’ movement, asked people to
eschew Sanskrit words which had crept into the language,16 and extreme forms of
pride in their language were generated among Tamil speakers, with concerted
attempts to glorify ‘Tamilttaay’ (Mother Tamil) (see SchiVman 1996, Ramaswamy
1999). The ground was thus prepared for a violent opposition to any ‘north Indian’,
Sanskrit-based language which was seen as extending its cultural hegemony in the
Tamil area.
Meanwhile, the Congress party under the leadership of Gandhi was committed to
the promotion of Hindi (or Hindustani) as the national language. In 1937, under a
brief experiment on the part of the British Raj with provincial-level self-government,
the Congress formed a government in the province of Madras in the south. The
following year, C. Rajagopalachari, a veteran Congress leader and then the chief
minister, ordered the compulsory study of Hindi in the schools of the Presidency. This
led to state-wide protests, and by late 1939, nearly 1,200 agitators were in prison. The
government was consequently forced to withdraw the order in February 1940.
In the interim before independence, the Dravidian movement gathered pace. E. V.
Ramasami Naicker founded the Dravidar Kazhagam (DK) in 1944. A splinter group
headed by a disciple of Naicker, C. N. Annadurai, was later to form the Dravida
Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) in 1949. The professed agenda of these parties was the
formation of a separate Dravidian nation (‘Dravida Nadu,’ i.e. Dravida Country),
which would comprise all the Dravidian-language-speaking areas of southern India.
The non-Tamils among the Dravidian-language-speakers were however rather luke-
warm towards this idea.
In 1947, when the country became independent, and the Congress formed govern-
ments in the states and at the centre, the state promotion of Hindi started once again.
In 1955, the OYcial Language Commission made its generally positive recommenda-
tions concerning the implementation of Hindi in oYcial business, despite the fact that
the two members of the Commission from West Bengal and Tamilnadu wrote clearly
dissenting notes.17 Following the Commission’s recommendations, several steps were
16
The most prominent leader of the ‘pure Tamil’ movement, Maraimalai Adigal, derived his Tamil
name from a translation of his original Sanskrit-based name ‘Swami Vedachalam’ into pure Tamil words.
Many other people also started transliterating their Sanskrit-based names in accordance with Tamil
phonology and orthography, hence (for example) the Tamil name ‘Caminataier’ was originally ‘Swami-
natha Iyer’.
17
Note that one of these, Prof. Suniti Kumar Chatterjee had actually been in charge of the Bengal
chapter of the organization sponsored by the Congress party for the propagation of Hindi before
independence, the ‘Hindi Prachar Sabha’.
India 71
then taken by the government for the progressive use of Hindi in government, such as
the compulsory training of all central government staV in Hindi, and the setting up of
a Central Hindi Directorate. This created strong apprehensions in the South; in 1958,
C. Rajagopalachari18 stated that ‘Hindi is as much foreign to the non-Hindi speaking
people as English is to the protagonists of Hindi.’ At the same time, the supporters of
Hindi launched a movement for the immediate replacement of English by Hindi, and
resorted to agitational methods such as the defacement of all English signboards.
Nehru tried to contain the situation. In a statement in the Parliament in August
1959, he gave an assurance to the south: ‘I would have English as an alternative
language as long as people require it, and I would leave the decision . . . to the non-
Hindi-knowing people.’ Nehru’s assurance was then given legal validity (or so it was
thought) by the passing of an OYcial Languages Act in 1963, which stated that English
‘may. . . continue to be used in addition to Hindi’ even after 1965. However, the
apprehensions of the south were unfortunately not fully allayed by the somewhat
ambiguous language of this assurance. Because of this, after Nehru’s death in 1964,
and as the date for the planned change over to Hindi drew nearer (26 January 1965),
the southern states and Madras state in particular were rocked by violent agitations.
The government’s attempts to suppress the agitation made matters worse: several
young men, including four students, burnt themselves to death as an extreme form of
protest, and more than sixty people lost their lives as a result of police shooting. There
was also wide-spread damage to government property.
The Congress Wnally decided to accede to the main demands of the agitators. In
1967, after some delays caused by factors such as an Indo-Pakistan war, the then prime
minister Indira Gandhi succeeded in passing an amendment of the 1963 OYcial
Languages Act, which made English an Associate OYcial Language and guaranteed
that it would continue as such, until such time as the non-Hindi states asked for its
removal. Through this development, ‘a virtual indeWnite policy of bilingualism was
adopted’ (Chandra et al. 1999: 96).
This ended the anti-Hindi agitation. But in the meanwhile, the agitation had greatly
strengthened the Dravidian parties. The Dravidian movement broadened its political
base in the early sixties, and in doing so, shifted its focus from a pro-Tamil (and anti-
Brahmin) stance to one which was anti-Hindi and pro-English. In the words of
Ramaswamy (1999: 6), the anti-Hindi agitation was therefore able to:
(knit) together diverse, even incompatible, social and political interests . . . Their common
cause against Hindi had thrown together religious revivalists . . . with avowed atheists;
men who supported the Indian cause . . . with those who wanted to secede from India;
university professors . . . with uneducated street poets, populist pamphleteers, and college
students.
18
The former chief minister of Madras who had ordered the introduction of Hindi in schools of the
state. He had also been (before independence) the President of the ‘Hindi Prachar Sabha’.
72 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
In the state elections of 1967, the Congress party was routed at the polls, and the
DMK rode to electoral victory. One direct consequence of such a victory for the
Dravidian movement was that in January 1968, the new government completely
removed Hindi from the school curriculum of the state of Tamilnadu. It can be
added that in Tamilnadu, the Congress Party has never returned to power since, and
Hindi is still not taught in state schools.
where popular and political support could be mobilized on religious grounds, namely
in the two cases of Urdu and Punjabi, spoken by Muslims and Sikhs respectively, and
language varieties like Maithili (and, we may add, Rajasthani) which are spoken by
Hindu populations. These have not been able to achieve recognition as distinct
languages on linguistic grounds alone. The earliest census operations of 1881 and
1891 played an unwitting part in such a manipulation of linguistic identities. The
census oYcers were confronted in the Punjab, as in the rest of north India, with a
variety of dialects that shaded oV imperceptibly into one another, and by respondents
who themselves had no clear conception of what to call their language. In their ‘desire
for uniformity and precision in an area of variability and uncertainty’ (Brass 1974:
292), the census oYcers intervened to deWne, group and classify the returns,19
opening up the possibility for other ‘organised eVorts to inXuence the results’.
These eVorts were initially directed at urging Muslims to declare Urdu and Hindus
Hindi as their mother tongue, and are reXected from the 1911 census onwards as
correlations between the declared mother tongues and religions. This strategy cut
into the strength of not only the ‘neutral’ language Hindustani, but Punjabi as well,
for Muslim and Hindu speakers of Punjabi began to ‘disown’ their language in favour
of declaring Urdu or Hindi as the mother tongue. A process was thus set in motion
that identiWed the Punjabi language principally with the Sikh community.
This identiWcation emerges very clearly in Brass’s comparison of the later census
Wgures for the years 1921 and 1961. In 1921, only about a quarter of the Hindu
population of the Punjab declared themselves to be Hindi speakers, the others
claiming Punjabi, Hindustani, or some other mother tongue. By 1961, however,
almost ninety per cent of the Hindu population of the Punjab were claiming to be
Hindi speakers. In the intervening years, the language/religion conXict had intensiWed
to the extent that in 1941, the census authorities deemed the language Wgures too
unreliable to merit tabulation at all, and in 1951, the issue was avoided by grouping
together the languages of the Punjab under the single rubric ‘Hindi, Urdu, Punjabi,
and Pahadi’. Finally, in the 1961 census, oYcials were instructed to simply record the
mother tongue as the respondent named it, without any attempt at veriWcation. Thus
the 1961 Wgures accurately reXect not the linguistic facts but preferred language
loyalties.
The identiWcation of the Punjabi language with the Sikh community was at this
time also consciously being promoted by the Sikh leadership by designating the
Gurumukhi script, in which the Sikh scriptures are written, as the Punjabi script.
Since the language had earlier been written in any one of three scripts, the Nagari, the
Persian-Arabic, or the Gurumukhi, with Hindu Punjabi speakers favouring the
19
A similar idealization occurred in the case of religion. Though many asked about their religion
replied that they were ‘Hindu-Sikhs’ or ‘Sikh-Hindus’, which reXected the reality that the Sikh community
and religion were an integral part of Hinduism up until the 1900s, such a self-categorization was
disallowed by the census oYcers, and respondents were asked to specify whether they were Hindu or
Sikh.
74 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
Nagari, this identiWcation of the language with a script reinforced the narrowing of its
domain, and made its proWle as a distinct language spoken by a particular group
potentially much clearer.
The combination of a more direct match between the Sikh population and Punjabi
due to the methodology of the census reporting in 1961, and the closer association of
a distinct, dedicated Punjabi script accepted by most of those who reported them-
selves as Punjabi speakers boosted the credibility of the Sikh leadership’s second
attempt to secure a new Punjabi-speaking state, and this was then approved and
Wnally eVected in 1966.
The formation of the state of Punjab did not, however, resolve the fundamental
problem of the Sikh leadership’s preoccupation with a religious state in which they
would have political power. The political party of the Sikhs, the Akali Dal, was unable
to win elections in the new state of Punjab, and in the 1980s it acquiesced in the
growing extremism of the Khalistan movement, a separatist, terrorist outgrowth
whose activities resulted in the deaths of nearly 12,000 people (more than 60 per
cent of whom were themselves Sikhs) before Wnally being contained from mid-1991
onwards by the strong stance of the Narasimha Rao government.
In ancient India, a child in southern India, after a brief instruction in the mother
tongue aimed at basic literacy, would have gone on to study Sanskrit, both the
language and its literature. Since Sanskrit was written and read in the script of
the regional language, initial literacy instruction in the mother tongue very natural-
ly led on to the learning of the real ‘language of culture’ (i.e. Sanskrit). This pattern
continued on in the south of India until British times. In medieval times in
northern India, in places under Muslim rule, both Muslim and Hindu children
received instruction in Arabic and Persian, and a Hindu child often learned three
languages – Sanskrit, the mother tongue, and Persian-Arabic (Chaudhari 2001).
These patterns changed with the coming of the British; the new education they
introduced had English as the medium of instruction and also as the main subject
of study.20
Even before Queen Victoria became Empress of India in 1857, English had entered
the educational system in India with a Minute on Education tabled by Macaulay
20
See the papers in Daswani (2001) for more detailed discussions of language in education in India.
India 75
The option of education in the ‘Indian vernacular languages’ appears not to have been
seriously considered, although it was mooted in Bombay.
Macaulay, who famously stated in the same Minute that ‘[a] single shelf of a good
European library is worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia’, was in full
agreement with the reformists among the ‘natives’. Also, more practically, he argued
that education in English would create a much-needed reservoir of oYcials for the
Empire:
We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and
the millions whom we govern; a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English
in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect. (Macaulay 1979 [1935])
Consequently, English schools were established by the government of the East India
Company, and later, by the government of the British queen. Needless to say, English
was the language of university education when in 1857 the Wrst three universities of
Bombay, Madras, and Calcutta were established.
The Gandhian view of what should happen in free India, as regards language in social
interaction – and hence, in education – envisaged a hierarchical multilingualism: using
21
English schools had begun to be established by missionaries from at least the 1760s (Agnihotri and
Khanna 1995).
76 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
the regional languages (referred to by Gandhi as the provincial languages), Hindi, and
English, respectively for regional, national, and international purposes.
It was the Gandhian view that was articulated as the ‘three-language formula’,
proposed in 1957 by the Central Advisory Board of Education as an aid to national
integration, and adopted in 1961 by a conference of state Chief Ministers. The intent
of the formula was that every child should learn its mother tongue, and in addition
English and Hindi. A child whose mother tongue was Hindi should learn (as its third
language) a major Indian language other than Hindi – preferably, a south Indian
language – and a child whose mother tongue was not the regional language – i.e. a
child belonging to one of the linguistic minorities in a state – was expected to learn
the regional language as well as its mother tongue, Hindi, and English (hence four
languages). The National Policy Resolution in 1968 indicated that mother tongue
instruction would occur during primary education, and the three-language formula at
the secondary stage (Khullar 1995: 113).
Noble and ambitious as the intentions of the three-language formula are, there have
been noticeable shortcomings in the implementation of the policy. Under India’s
federal constitution, education is within the purview of the state government. We
have seen that the state of Tamilnadu, after the Dravidian parties came to power,
refused to teach Hindi in the state-funded schools; Tamilnadu in eVect has a ‘two-
language formula’. The Hindi states have also defeated the spirit of the three-language
formula by teaching Sanskrit or Urdu as the third language, instead of a contemporary
south Indian language.
The greatest shortcoming in the implementation of the three-language formula,
though, has been in regard to the treatment of linguistic minorities. As we saw in
section 3.4.2, the Constitution contains a number of safeguards for the protection of
the linguistic minorities. In pursuance of these safeguards, policy decisions have been
taken which require that instruction through the mother tongue should be provided
by the state if there are not fewer than forty pupils speaking a particular language
within a school, or ten such pupils in a single class (Khullar 1995: 117). However, this is
not always done, and there has been a common tendency instead to ‘impose’ the
major regional language (which is the state language) on the linguistic minorities.
This is especially true if the language in question is one of the ‘tribal’ languages of
India (spoken by groups oYcially recognized as ‘Scheduled Tribes’ and consisting
mostly in peoples descended from the original inhabitants of India), which often have
very few speakers.22 In some cases the tribals themselves seem to prefer instruction
in the major regional language of the area. In Khubchandani (1994) it is noted
that the tendency to maintain their language identity is limited to tribal populations
that are not surrounded by dominant regional languages (as in the northeast), and
22
However, there are also tribal languages that number their speakers in millions: e.g. Bhili (5.5
million), Santali (5.2 million), Gondi (2.1 million), Kurukh or Oraon (1.4 million), and Bodo (1.2 million),
according to the 1991 census.
India 77
Krishnamurti (1995: 17) observes that ‘The attitudes of tribal elites in many states are
against education in the mother tongue.’23
A 1985 Ministry of Education document acknowledges the reality that ‘Central
Government is unable to ensure the faithful implementation of the three-language
formula’ (Ramamurti 1990: 81), and Agnihotri and Khanna (1994: 68) tell us that the
formula has in fact ‘been mocked at in all parts of the country’. The essential problem,
it appears to us, is that the formula has a worthy agenda of national integration but
pays little attention to usefulness. Time and time again, it has been noticed that
students tend to prefer languages which promote their employment potential and
mobility, and on both these points, the language that scores is deWnitely English.
The regional languages have been at a disadvantage in these respects vis-à-vis both
English and Hindi (Kumaramangalam 1965). Critically, the Constitution did not
mandate the replacement of English by an Indian language at the regional level within
a given time, in the way that it did for Hindi at the centre, and Hindi made better
progress in education than the other Indian languages because it promised access to
central government jobs. Regional languages, by way of contrast, are of no use in this
respect, and of doubtful use for getting jobs with state governments as well. The result
of this has been the growth of English in the non-Hindi-speaking parts of the country,
as an alternative to Hindi as the oYcial or link language, and a comparative disinterest
in the formal, classroom study of the regional/state languages.
In connection with the above, it can be recalled that in the days of the anti-Hindi
movement in the south of India, a move of the central government that created
tension in the south was the decision to make Hindi an alternative medium in public
service examinations. This was seen as giving an unfair advantage to Hindi speakers,
who could sit the examinations in their mother tongue (see Chandra et al. 1999: 94).
Here and in other similar instances it can be noticed again and again how important
access to employment in the central government services was perceived to be during
the Wrst decades after independence and how language policies which aVected such
access had the potential to cause serious discontent and lead to social unrest.
Concerns of this type may now seem quaint to the youth of today who look to
private enterprise and globalized markets for their livelihood. However, in post-
independence India, struggling to maintain neutrality in a world divided by the
Cold War, the central government was the largest and most prestigious employer of
the educated class and hence of tremendous importance for the expanding middle
classes.
‘market value’ of English has in fact remained stable, and even increased, after
independence.
In the urban centres of India, there is a great rush for private schools providing
‘English-medium’ education (with all teaching being done through English) right
from the primary stage, especially among Wrst-generation learners.24 English has long
been perceived to be the language of a select elite, used in domains of power and
prestige, and the language of schooling is now the visible symbol of the divide
between education for the ‘masses’ and education for the ‘classes’, with English-
medium instruction accruing considerable high prestige.25
The advantages of receiving English-medium schooling become immediately
apparent in higher education, in colleges and universities, where English predomin-
ates. OYcial policy now regards English as essential for access to technical and
scientiWc information and knowledge, and necessary for the nation for its modern-
ization and economic development. Earlier, between 1964 and 1966, the Education
Commission had actually called for a change over to the use of regional languages as
the languages of instruction in university education, with this being implemented
over a ten-year time frame. However, the Ministry’s document ‘Programme of
Action’ (1992: 178–9) acknowledges both that ‘university teachers having received
education through English Wnd it diYcult to teach through the Indian languages’,
and that ‘Indian language-medium courses are generally not popular amongst
the students because of lack of professional comparability and poor employment
potential.’
As we shall note in the next subsection, the rate of growth of English bilingual-
ism – i.e. of the number of people who are bilingual in English and their mother
tongue – is outstripping other types of bilingualism. There has also been an attempt
to deWne a new attitude towards English in the changed circumstances of the
globalizing world. Thus N. S. Prabhu, an eminent language-teaching theorist, writes:
‘We need to look on the English language not just as a legacy of our colonial past,
nor just as a national need for economic survival in the present-day world, but as
the medium of a knowledge-paradigm which has reached out to all of us.’ (Prabhu
1994: 56–7)
24
The PROBE report (Public Report on Basic Education in India) suggests that the demand is more
widespread: ‘Private schooling is often thought to be conWned to urban areas, but this is not the case. In
many of the PROBE villages, private schools are a Xourishing business . . . English-medium instruction is a
big selling point of private schools. Among the 41 private schools surveyed, 17 were ‘English-medium’
schools . . . ’ (pp. 102, 104). The PROBE survey covered 234 villages in the states of Bihar, Madhya Pradesh,
Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, and Himachal Pradesh; the Wrst four are among the poorest in India, and
considered the Hindi heartland.
25
With the surge in English-medium education, however, not all private schools are of the same
quality, and there are signiWcant diVerences in the quality of instruction and infrastructure, see George
(1982), Panikkar (1998), Bellarmine (1999).
India 79
26
But see also Khubchandani (1994), who discusses the limitations as well as the importance of census
data.
80 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
3.8 Conclusions
India now seems to have settled down to a stabilized pattern of long-term oYcial
bilingualism, with the central government functioning in Hindi and English, and the
state governments using the majority language of the state and English. From a
situation at independence when a one (oYcial) language, Hindi-only policy was
pursued by the government, India has developed into a nation which is represented
by many languages. Nehru’s assurance that all scheduled languages were national
languages27 was the beginning of an accommodative, multilingual policy. The Eighth
Schedule, which originally listed only languages of the Indo-Aryan and Dravidian
families with a literary history and large speaker bases, now accommodates a lan-
guage of the Tibeto-Burman family, as well as two tribal languages. If we now brieXy
look back at India in the post-independence period and today, several aspects of the
interplay of language and identity can be usefully highlighted as important and
interesting for comparison with other countries.
27
See Kumaramangalam (1965: 54) and Mallikarjun (1995: 61).
India 81
When India Wrst attained independence in 1947, it was faced with the task of how to
govern and integrate an ethnically and linguistically very mixed population (currently
the second largest population in any country in the world, following China) in a new,
democratic state free of the controls of colonial rule. SigniWcantly, although India had
existed as a nation in the cultural imagination of its people, it had not been a single
political entity before 1947. Inspired by the example of other populations building
nationhood, the country’s leadership saw the spread of a shared, oYcial language as
one plausible way to attempt to connect up the population, and so set about the
promotion of Hindi as a new link language for the nation. However, very quickly such
a strategy showed itself to be both unpopular and potentially dangerous, with
particularly strong resistance to the perceived imposition of a northern Hindi identity
coming from the Dravidian South of the country. The government therefore modiWed
its national language policy to allow for the use of English as an identity-neutral
oYcial language in government aVairs alongside Hindi. Though such a move might
be seen as the abandonment of the goal of establishing a new over-arching linguistic
identity for India built on an Indian language, more positively it can be recognized as
the realistic assessment that a single-language solution was, and arguably still is, not
appropriate for India, given the ethno-linguistic diversity of the country and the well-
established existence of many diVerent, large language groups.
It should be pointed out that in fact the makers of the Indian constitution had
already made some space for linguistic plurality at a diVerent level, when it allowed
each state the possibility of selecting its own oYcial language for administration and
education rather than attempting to impose Hindi or English throughout the country.
The government therefore facilitated the maintenance and growth of diVerent re-
gional linguistic identities within the new nation through its allowance of a range of
state languages, and even assisted further in such a process with the linguistic
reorganization of states into more coherent linguistic entities between 1956 and
1966. Finally, so as to promote some kind of trans-regional, national identity and
integration without suppressing local identities, the decision was taken to adopt the
three-language formula in education and encourage the learning of two other, major
non-local languages in addition to the dominant state language. Though the initially
anticipated goals of the three-language formula have not always been fully realized
(e.g. those in the north have often not come to learn a language from the south), the
spirit of the three-language formula continues to signal a government-supported
openness to multilingualism and healthy acceptance of the linguistic diversity of the
country.
Quite generally, then, it can be said that India presents a largely positive lesson in
the management of language-related identity issues in the context of a massive, multi-
ethnic population and a wide range of religious and social variation. Though it has not
been possible to forge any strong national identity based on a single language alone,
by and large the country has been able to escape from major, extended language-
related problems due to a willingness to adapt and recognize the considerable
82 R. Amritavalli and K. A. Jayaseelan
variation that exists in its population, and much tolerance is shown towards language
groups of all sizes. Pluralism and the measured balancing of diverse interests in
linguistic matters have therefore helped India grow as one country over the past
half-century, and are likely to continue to be necessary for its future development as it
confronts new challenges of modernization in the twenty-Wrst century, as a nation of
many languages.
Thinking about this future, we now close the chapter with a short spotlight on
certain ongoing trends in Hindi, English, and the major regional Indian languages,
which may well turn out to be relevant for the development of language in India over
the coming decade. Considering Hindi Wrst, on the ground, Hindi bilingualism is now
clearly growing, even in the south, though at a slower pace than English bilingualism.
This current growth of the language appears to be largely due to the popularity of
Hindi Wlm and television, and the Hindi that is becoming popular is not the Sanskri-
tized Hindi of the government, but the language spoken in the streets of various
Hindi-speaking regions.28 In advertisements and talk shows on the TV, there is
pervasive code-switching between Hindi and English, and the Hindi on advertisement
hoardings is often written in Roman script, even in Delhi. This may well suggest a
future, greater spread of Hindi around the country in a way that was not achievable by
explicit government policy following independence. Meanwhile, the pressures of
globalization have given a strong impetus to English, even in the so-called Hindi
heartland, opposition to English is receding. Yet a persistent concern in the shaping of
the nation is the possible alienation of members of the English-educated elite from the
Indian languages and their speakers. Whereas in colonial India, English was used self-
consciously as a second language by leaders and intellectuals who considered their
own languages their main communicational instrument, it is now feared that the
‘post-independence national elites . . . have become distant from the regional lan-
guages and cultures, with English having become virtually their Wrst language’
(Sheth 1995: 200), raising the possibility of a socio-political schism between a ‘national
elite’ and ‘regional elites’ being reinforced by a language divide. Last of all, it can be
noted that a general trend to some extent observable since independence but becom-
ing clearly more visible now is the increasing prominence of the major regional
languages of India in certain domains of everyday life.29 Domestically, as private TV
channels come to occupy more of the media space, this has provided a new impetus to
the use of the regional languages, and audiences are now regularly wooed with
programmes made in or dubbed into these languages.30 Internationally, the major
28
See Ghosh (2001) for a brief discussion of how the language of the Hindi Wlm mirrors the variety and
range of spoken Hindi.
29
As yet, not extending far into the domains of higher education and public administration.
30
Concerning cinema, the south Indian languages – especially Tamil, Telugu, and Malayalam – also
have Xourishing Wlm industries, and their stars have their own signiWcant fan following. Two such stars –
M. G. Ramachandran (MGR) of Tamil Wlms, and N. T. Ramarao (NTR) of Telugu Wlms – turned their
popularity into political capital, set up their own parties, and actually became chief ministers of their
states.
India 83
regional Indian languages are asserting a wider presence by the facilitation of con-
nections among speakers of the Indian diaspora. In addition to the large Indian
diaspora formed during the post-independence era in the UK and USA, more recently
there has been signiWcant settlement in the Persian Gulf, and earlier during the
colonial era, populations of Gujarati speakers were created in South Africa, Hindi
speakers in Fiji and Mauritius, and Tamil speakers in Indonesia and Singapore. With
the ease and sophistication of modern communication, the sharing of language and
media products among these communities is resulting in a higher visibility and
perceived prestige value of the languages, and a strengthening of language loyalty
and associated identity. With all this activity, the next decade in India is likely to see an
interesting competition for linguistic space occurring among the above linguistic
forces if they all continue to grow in vitality as at present – not only global,
international English, and a more popular, expanding, colloquial Hindi, but also the
major regional languages, potentially rising as the preferred codes of a more conWdent
and increasingly aZuent population of middle class consumers, as India’s economy
continues to develop strongly.
4
Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas
Rhoderick Chalmers
4.1 Introduction
Questions of language and national identity have coloured the history of Nepal and the
eastern Himalayan region for decades. But since the 1980s they have emerged
at the forefront of political movements – sometimes violent – which have underscored
the ethnic, religious, and social fault lines of the area. The relationship between
language and identity is complex even at the level of smaller ethnic groups; when
combined with the questions of nation and nationalism it has proved fraught with
danger. In the mid-1980s Darjeeling’s separatist Gorkhaland movement played on
language as the unifying strand of Indian Nepali society while insisting on a clear
separation from the state of Nepal. Nepali Wnally gained recognition as a national
language of India in 1992, the culmination of almost a century of campaigning. By this
time Nepal’s own ‘people’s movement’ had brought an end to the monarchist
Panchayat regime, opening a Pandora’s box of ethnic and linguistic claims. The
collapse of the central autocratic system brought with it a loss of faith in the simple
‘one language, one country’ nationalism that had been promoted for decades. Ethnic
grievances and spurned calls for linguistic rights have since been seized on by Maoist
insurgents as further aids to recruitment in an intensifying war. In Bhutan, mean-
while, the 1980s saw the Dzongkha language deployed as one element of a rigid state
nationalism. By the start of the 1990s the teaching of Nepali had been banned and
much of Bhutan’s Nepali-speaking population displaced to refugee camps.
This chapter provides an overview of issues of language and national identity in
these regions. Following a brief introduction to the languages of the area it examines
the history of language and politics in Nepal, Darjeeling, Sikkim, and Bhutan
and the various ways in which language has become entwined with national identities.
At the outset it is important to note that we should hesitate before using terms such as
‘nation’ and ‘national’ unthinkingly. These are neither universals nor do they neces-
sarily have exact equivalents in languages other than English. In Nepali, for example,
a sense of shared identity would be ascribed to a jati, a term which can stretch from
a single ethnic group to the entire human race, encompassing regional or national
Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas 85
identities in between. Nor do nation-states have a long pedigree in the region as a form
of polity. ‘National’ groups are neither homogeneous nor do they tend to be contained
neatly within the boundaries of a single state. Indeed, this is a region of multiple
identities: within Nepal there are Hindu Nepalis, Buddhist Nepalis, plains Nepalis,
Nepalis of any number of distinct ethnic groups; beyond the boundaries of Nepal
itself we Wnd Sikkimese Nepalis, Indian Nepalis, Assamese Nepalis, Bhutanese Nepalis,
and so on. This chapter aims to unravel some of these complexities and highlight the
key issues and current trends that underlie the increasingly sensitive debates around
language and identity that are taking place throughout the region. Most space is
devoted to discussion of Nepal, whose population is many times greater than that of
Darjeeling, Sikkim and Bhutan combined.
C H I N A
(TIBET)
SIKKIM
war with the British East India Company in 1814–16 that states were contained
within strict boundaries. Before its military clash with the British, the small state of
Gorkha had in the space of a few decades politically united a swathe of territory
along the Himalayas from the river Sutlej in the west to the Tista in the east.
The 1816 settlement saw Nepal’s territory reduced and its borders demarcated. It
was contained within the Mahakali to the Mechi rivers, a stretch of some 885 km,
and it occupies much the same territory today. Geographically the country can be
divided into three bands: the high mountains that form its northern frontier, the
central hills, and the southern plains (Tarai) that stretch along its open border with
India.
Immediately to the east lie Sikkim and Darjeeling. Sikkim, a small state bordering
Tibet which British India treated as a protectorate, acceded to the Indian Union in
1975. Darjeeling and its immediate area had been gifted to the British by Sikkim in
1835; this area was extended in 1865 by the incorporation of Bhutanese territory
annexed by the British after a punitive campaign. Despite separatist struggles, Darjee-
ling remains a district of the Indian state of West Bengal. Bhutan lies to the east of
Darjeeling and Sikkim and remains a sovereign state, albeit highly dependent on India
and obliged by treaty to manage its foreign aVairs in collaboration with New Delhi.
Although much smaller in area, Bhutan’s geography is similar to that of Nepal, also
encompassing high mountains, hills and some low-lying plains on the border with
India. Despite limited recent moves towards democratization Bhutan remains a
hereditary monarchy, the current king Jigme Singye Wangchuck being the fourth
member of a dynasty established in 1907.
Nepal is not only the largest of the areas under discussion but by far the most
populous. According to the 2001 census its population had reached some 24 million
and population growth remains high. Indian census Wgures of the same year indicate
that Sikkim’s population had only just crossed the half-million mark while Darjeeling
district as a whole counted some 1.6 million inhabitants. The enumeration of Bhutan’s
citizens is not so simple. The topic itself is politically sensitive and in the absence of
recent census statistics best estimates indicate a total of between 600,000 and 1 million
(see section 4.7). The population of all of these areas is very diverse and this is reXected
in the remarkably high linguistic diversity outlined in the following section. The
people of the Himalayan region encompass Hindus and Buddhists, animists and
Muslims, highland pastoralists and lowland agriculturalists. Despite one signiWcant
division between speakers of Indo-Aryan languages (generally caste Hindus) and
Tibeto-Burman languages (generally distinct upland ethnic groups with shamanist
or Buddhist traditions), the relationship between the diVerent caste, ethnic, linguistic,
and national groups of the Himalaya is far too complex to admit simple categoriza-
tion. Historical patterns of language and religious shift have been compounded by
migration and intermarriage to produce a much more mixed population than census
statistics imply.
Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas 87
1
For good surveys of language in Nepal and the Himalayas, see the following: van Driem (2001), Hutt
(1988), Kansakar and Turin (2003).
88 R. Chalmers
The spread of the Nepali language – in limited functions as an oYcial language but
more signiWcantly as a lingua franca – has been a continuing trend since at least the
eighteenth century, and from before the uniWcation of Nepal. External factors such as
the large-scale recruitment of ethnically diverse Nepalis into the British Indian Army
provided added impetus to the adoption of a shared language. By the late nineteenth
century a vibrant Nepali publishing industry had been established in Banaras and as
the twentieth century progressed formal education within India and Nepal greatly
increased the use of the language. Under the autocratic Panchayat regime (1960–90)
the promotion of the Nepali language became an integral part of the uniform national
culture which the state sought to impose on its subjects, epitomized by the slogan
‘one country, one dress, one language’.
Yet Nepal was characterized by nationism rather than nationalism: it was the state
that was in search of a nation rather than vice versa. As several recent historians have
noted, the conquests of King Prithvinarayan Shah of Gorkha in the late eighteenth
century uniWed the country politically but not socially or culturally. This is not to say
that Nepalis did not share identities wider than the purely local: ties of religion,
region, or ethnic community were all present to diVering extents across the geo-
graphical territory of the country. But even the early rulers of the united kingdom did
not think in ‘national’ terms and their diverse subjects probably did not enjoy any
broad sense of cultural community that could be labelled as incipient national
sentiment.2
In retrospect, then, the eruption of ethnic politics and linguistic movements follow-
ing the introduction of multi-party democracy to Nepal in 1990 is hardly surprising.
In the process of reassessing the foundations of the state, language has come to occupy
a central, if often symbolic, position. The struggle for minority linguistic rights has
become emblematic of a wider intellectual and political eVort to redeWne Nepal as a
culturally pluralistic state. For the ethnic associations which mushroomed in the
immediate aftermath of the democracy movement recognition of linguistic diversity
has become a totemic issue. Although many members of Nepal’s ethnic groups have
adopted Nepali as their primary language, demands for mother tongue teaching and
the use of minority languages in oYcial contexts have formed a central plank of ethnic
politics.
Ironically, it was only beyond Nepal’s borders that a proto-nationalist consciousness
developed around the shared use of Nepali. Waves of emigrants had populated
Darjeeling (in British India), established themselves as the majority group in the
protectorate of Sikkim, settled in large numbers in the south of Bhutan and built up
sizeable communities in the western Himalayas, northeast India, and urban centres
such as Banaras and Calcutta. These communities – especially the hundreds of
thousands of Nepalis who made Darjeeling their home – were ethnically mixed and
initially included many non-Nepali speakers. Yet the Nepali language rapidly eclipsed
2
For a history of nationalism in Nepal, see Onta (1996), and also Burghart (1984).
Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas 89
other mother tongues and formed the base of a composite culture Xexible enough to
include people of divergent linguistic, religious, and ethnic origins yet resilient enough
to retain its own distinctiveness. Nepalis in India struggled for decades to have their
adopted language recognized at regional and national levels. In Bhutan, on the other
hand, language issues have contributed to a bitter divide over national identity as state
eVorts to impose an oYcial culture of Dzongkha language and national dress have led
to the marginalization and stigmatization of many communities, especially Bhutanese
Nepalis.
concerns about language or culture. Their language was used as the de facto means of
communication and administration but was accorded no special symbolic value.
In 1846 there was a dramatic shift of power as the dynamic young oYcer Jang
Bahadur seized the prime ministership and instituted a century of rule by his family.
The Shah monarchy was relegated to a titular role while real power lay with
the hereditary Rana prime ministers. Jang Bahadur redeWned the concept of the
state with his introduction of an overarching legal code (the Muluki Ain, 1854).
Here the Hinduization of Nepal was formalized with the ranking of all ethnic
groups – whatever their actual religious practices – within a unitary Hindu caste
hierarchy. Yet the Nepali language was still accorded no particular position and its
usage was based on custom rather than any oYcial status as a national language.
Administrative structures throughout the Rana period were minimal and the primary
aims of the Rana rulers were extractive: they were far more interested in personally
appropriating all economic surplus than in imposing any particular linguistic and
cultural vision of national identity.
In fact, when support for the Nepali language Wrst started to be linked to a wider
social consciousness it was viewed as a threat by the Ranas. The pioneering Nepali
language activists of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were inspired
by emerging nationalist sentiment in India. Their view of language development
was modernizing, linked to education and publishing, and as such a challenge to
the ossiWed Rana regime which sought to ensure that its population remained
illiterate and ignorant. While most Nepali language activities took place outside
Nepal (see section 4.6) their eVect was eventually impossible to ignore in Kathmandu.
The government agreed to the establishment of a language council in 1914 and started
to publish a limited number of textbooks. But the language was still described as
‘Gorkha’ and the progressive eVorts led by an emerging, formally educated middle
class continued to meet with stiV state resistance. In 1930 the Gorkha Language
Publishing Committee Wnally changed its name to Nepali, marking a small step
towards a more formal linkage between language and state.
Indian independence in 1947 presaged the end of the British-backed Rana regime
and it Wnally surrendered full power in 1951. A new democratic era was promised and
initial signs were that linguistic pluralism might prevail. Radio Nepal was founded in
1951 and from the outset it broadcast news in Newar (the Tibeto-Burman language of
the Kathmandu area) and Hindi (the national language of India and lingua franca of
the Tarai) as well as Nepali. But the promised elections were delayed time and time
again and a more centralist vision of the state took root. In 1956 the National
Education Planning Commission recommended the nationwide imposition of Nepali
medium instruction in an attempt to displace other languages, and the 1959 Consti-
tution enshrined Nepali as the sole oYcial language.3 Hints at democratic pluralism
survived – in the parliament elected in 1959 the Nepali Congress government
3
Article 70 reads ‘The national language of Nepal shall be Nepali in the Devanagari script.’
Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas 91
supported the use of Hindi alongside Nepali – but the democratic experiment as a
whole was to be short-lived. In December 1960 King Mahendra dissolved parliament,
arrested political leaders, and instituted three decades of royal rule. During this period
a state-sanctioned oYcial nationalism took shape and was forcefully propagated
through all means at the state’s disposal, in particular the expanding school system,
state radio, and print media. This brought clear economic incentives for adopting
Nepali – for example, access to government employment – and added a coercive edge
to the existing patterns of Nepali lingua franca usage. Census statistics show a
consistent fall in the speakers of other languages as the shift to Nepali gained pace.
4
In some cases there had been deliberate repression, notably of Newar in the early twentieth century.
Again this was linked to wider political fears: the growth of reformist Theravada Buddhism among
Newars was seen as a potentially serious threat to the Rana regime. Publishing in Newar was banned until
1946.
5
One of B. P. Koirala’s most diYcult tasks as home minister in the Wrst post-Rana government was to
reassert control of the east of the country where the Congress Mukti Sena commander Bal Bahadur
Chemjong had led a rebel movement which declared an independent state (Koirala 2001: 143–4).
6
This included the Gurung Kalyan Sangha, Tharu Kalyankari Sabha, Kirat League, and Dalit Sangha.
92 R. Chalmers
schools from 1957. This language policy became embroiled in widespread controversy.
In January 1957 the Pallo Kirat Limbuwan Representative Group of east Nepal
submitted a petition to the government including demands for Limbu radio broadcasts
and a proposal for a school in which Limbu would be taught alongside Nepali.
By September of that year a Nepali Promotion Congress had been formed to counter
pro-Hindi activism and violent street clashes were reported.7 The Tarai Congress’s
‘Save Hindi’ campaign received support from the leaders of mainstream parties
including the Nepali Congress, Communist Party of Nepal, United Democratic
Party, and Praja Parishad. Meanwhile in the capital the Patan District Committee of
the Nepal National Students’ Federation was demanding that Newar be used in local
schools.
The government found itself on the back foot, surprised by the intensity of feeling
against a monolingual nationalism. In January 1958 a new government directive
reversed the requirement for the immediate introduction of Nepali in all primary
schools. In the general elections of February 1959 the Tarai Congress failed to garner
support, with every one of its candidates losing their deposit in the Wrst-past-the-post
system. Once King Mahendra had seized full power he introduced a series of
measures to reverse the small gains made by language activists in the 1950s. In 1961
a new National Education Commission recommended that Nepali be the medium
of instruction for all grades, a measure promptly enforced by the 1962 Education
Act. In this year the new national constitution, establishing the Panchayat system of
government, reaYrmed Nepali’s status as sole state language and required that
applicants for citizenship by naturalization be able to write and speak Nepali. Further
measures followed. The 1964 Nepal Company Act required all companies to keep
records in either Nepali or English and the following year the government decreed
that all signboards in the country must be in Nepali. Radio Nepal’s ten-minute news
broadcasts in Newar and Hindi were also terminated, prompting some protests from
Newar organizations.
The success of the Panchayat’s repressive measures convinced many that its
ideology had won full acceptance and that ethnic, regional, or linguistic movements
would not rise again. But the Panchayat system itself was not secure. Although
political parties were banned they continued to organize underground and rally
opposition to the regime. By the end of the 1970s, student protests forced the
government to announce a referendum on the system of government. At this
juncture the Nepal Bhasa Mankah Khalah, a signiWcant Newar language organization
that is still active, was founded. Language had not disappeared from the political
agenda and nor had the Panchayat vision of uniform national identity won the day.
While the government scraped a victory in the referendum, the 1980s witnessed
7
On 19 November 1957 Save Hindi Committee and Nepali Pracharini Sabha demonstrations clashed in
Biratnagar leaving at least 25 injured. For a description of key events in the Hindi campaign see Gaige
(1975).
Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas 93
a steady rise in organization along ethnic lines with the birth of associations such as
the Forum for the Rights of All Nationalities and the Oppressed People’s Upliftment
Forum. On the eve of the return of democracy the Nepal Bhasa Mankah Khalah held
its convention in Kathmandu (28–29 July 1989). It approved a ten-point resolution
demanding, inter alia, equal constitutional status for minority languages, rights to
mother tongue education, and representation of all languages in the media. The
stage was set for an upsurge of ethnic and language issues at the heart of national
political debate.8
8
See Sonntag (1995).
94 R. Chalmers
The principal demands of language activists can be grouped into six main categor-
ies: (i) at a symbolic level, recognition of the equality of all languages; (ii) mother
tongue teaching in schools and other state educational support for language study and
research; (iii) some usage of languages other than Nepali in government, either at
local levels or as alternative national languages; (iv) employment opportunities in
government not to be dependent on Nepali language competence; (v) radio broad-
casts and other media development in minority languages; (vi) more accurate census
reporting and professional surveys of language usage.
The 1991–4 Congress government realised that calls for linguistic rights could not
be ignored entirely. With the start of the UN’s Decade of Indigenous People approach-
ing in 1993, ethnic politics was challenging traditional views of the state. January 1993
saw the introduction of Maithili language broadcasts on Radio Nepal and in May a
National Languages Policy Recommendation Commission was set up, with a broad
mandate to investigate the role of Nepal’s many languages and recommend ways in
which the government could support their development. In 1994, as the Commission
published its report, a further nine languages were added to Radio Nepal broadcasts.
But members of the Commission were already worried that the government was not
genuinely interested in their work: they had received only a minimal budget and
administrative support and in the event the vast majority of their recommendations
were simply ignored. A few concrete steps did include the establishment of a
Department of Linguistics in the national university but topics such as mother tongue
teaching were only paid lip service. Meanwhile both major political parties were also
swayed by a high-caste Hindu conservative backlash. In 1993 the Congress govern-
ment made Sanskrit a compulsory subject in secondary schools; in 1995 its successor,
a communist minority administration, introduced Sanskrit news broadcasts.
In most regards, the divisions between the two opposing sides on this issue have only
deepened in the following years. The Supreme Court ruling focused all ethnic activists
on language as a primary cause to campaign for and led to the formation of a Joint
Language Rights Action Committee. In March 2000 NEFEN brought together seventy-
Wve organizations in a National Conference on Linguistic Rights which adopted a
declaration whose major demands remain, unsurprisingly, unmet. Slow progress on
some technical fronts – for example, there has been more work on documenting
minority languages and producing mother-tongue teaching textbooks – cannot obscure
the fact that the wider debate over national identity is yet to reach a conclusion. In
practice, language activists appreciate that many of their demands are primarily sym-
bolic: Nepali cannot be replaced as a national language and it is indeed the main
medium for most ethnic discourse. The widespread adoption of Nepali has enabled a
uniWed national political life and, ironically, helped create the conditions that enable
challenges to its supremacy to be aired eVectively. But attitudes to language, and in
particular to linguistic pluralism, reXect core beliefs about the nation itself.
Multiparty democracy has been suspended since October 2002 and an intensifying
Maoist insurgency threatens the state. But even as questions of national identity
assume ever more signiWcance the chances of them being constructively debated
recede. For a brief period of three decades Nepal’s Panchayat presented the image
of a country united by a strong, shared nationalist sentiment symbolized by the sole
national language. The democracy movement has ushered in what could be termed a
post-nationalist era where certainties have given way to unresolved wrangling over
the true nature of Nepal as a state and, still potentially, as a nation.9
Darjeeling’s population exploded with the birth of the tea industry. This labour-
intensive business drew in tens of thousands of labourers, most of them from
Nepal. By the time of the Wrst census in 1872 the district had 94,712 inhabitants and
this Wgure went on to triple over the next Wve decades. The social, ethnic, and caste
composition of the majority Nepal-origin population diVered signiWcantly from that
of Nepal as a whole. Ancestral Nepali-speakers – primarily the high and low caste
Hindus of the hills – formed only one Wfth of the Nepali population as a whole.
Furthermore, the economic dominance of the higher castes was not replicated in the
migrant community and increasing educational opportunities from the late nine-
teenth century onwards gave countless members of minority ethnic groups a chance
to leapfrog their way into the ranks of a nascent middle class. It was primarily this
middle class that, as in many other language movements, drove eVorts to gain status
for Nepali.
The adoption of Nepali as a lingua franca among Nepalis of diverse origins was a
natural process given added momentum by the migrants’ sense of being a very small
minority in a very large country. The feelings of solidarity generated by shared
vulnerability were enhanced by the relatively Xat caste and class structure of the
early settlers’ communities. Most were unskilled economic migrants and most were
not traditionally Hindu, more willing to intermarry between groups and less rigid at
observing the caste diVerences enforced by law within Nepal. Still, there were vast
cultural diVerences between the Nepal-origin groups: some were predominantly
Buddhist, some shamanist, some had traditions of polygamy, some of polyandry. In
short, there was no way that the Nepali community as a whole could conform to a
unitary ethnic identity. But the role of the Nepali language, as the one tangible
cultural feature that all came to share, rapidly became a crucial symbol of the Nepalis’
distinct identity. Language rights were sought for their own sake and then became
a rallying point for wider political demands as Nepali-speakers developed a sophisti-
cated sense of a supra-ethnic, but sub-national, identity.
Campaigns for Nepali language recognition in India date from the start of the
twentieth century. By 1911 Nepali had been approved as a second language for
matriculation in the United Provinces by the University of Allahabad. In 1918 Calcutta
University granted it status as a vernacular for composition in matriculation, inter-
mediate, and BA examinations. Coupled with the targeting of higher education
institutions were eVorts to introduce Nepali as a medium of school education and
to develop the textbooks necessary for this. Gradually these eVorts saw success, and in
1935 Nepali was approved for teaching and examination in all primary schools in
Darjeeling district with a majority of Nepali students. In 1949 it became the medium
of instruction up to middle and high school level in the predominantly Nepali-
speaking areas of Darjeeling.
Beyond regional recognition, however, campaigners had long dreamed of winning
national status. But a major obstacle to this was the perception, voiced publicly by
Indian prime minister Morarji Desai in 1977, that Nepali was a foreign language and
Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas 97
belonged solely to the state of Nepal. The fashioning of a distinct Indian Nepali
identity was thus not only an internal necessity but became an important element of
Indian Nepalis’ public image. Links between Nepalis in India and their ancestral
homeland had, despite geographical proximity, weakened signiWcantly soon after
the Wrst waves of migration. By the twentieth century most migration to Darjeeling
and Sikkim had come to a halt and their populations developed their own cultural and
social structures. But opinions were sharply divided on how best to pursue the quest
for recognition.
Darjeeling’s violent Gorkhaland movement for a separate state peaked between
1986 and 1988. The main grievances of the rebels were economic and administrative
but language played an important mobilizing role. Decades of eVort to secure oYcial/
national language status for Nepali within India had been continually rebuVed and the
Gorkhaland leaders were determined that no one in Delhi should doubt the patriot-
ism of Indian Nepalis. To eVect a clear symbolic separation between the neighbouring
states, India and Nepal, the ‘Nepali’ language in Nepal was, like its speakers, dubbed
‘Gorkha’. For this there was indeed historical precedent but the urgent motivation
was entirely contemporary – a means of demonstrating that India’s Nepalis had
separated all links with their country of origin and had no aYnity with its national
identity. The Gorkhaland movement ended in compromise, with the formation of a
Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council of limited powers and still within the state of West
Bengal. Meanwhile Darjeeling’s new rulers were set to clash with the rest of the
Indian Nepali community, whose campaign for national recognition of Nepali was
gaining a decisive momentum. The Chief Minister and member of parliament for
neighbouring Sikkim spearheaded the Wnal push, and in August 1992 Nepali was
added to the Eighth Schedule of the Indian Constitution as one of eighteen oYcial
national languages (see also Amritavalli and Jayaseelan, this volume, chapter 3).
The dominance of the Nepali language in Darjeeling and Sikkim has not precluded
the retention of other identities. Indeed, Sikkim has led the way in seeking to preserve
and promote minority languages. In 1977 it declared its three oYcial state languages
to be Nepali, Bhutia, and Lepcha and to these were added Limbu (in 1981) and then
Newar, Rai, Gurung, Magar, Sherpa, and Tamang (in 1995). The teaching of Limbu
and Lepcha in Sikkimese schools has probably played an important role in their
revitalization, but the addition of the six further languages in 1995 was for pure
symbolic value. In Sikkim, as in Darjeeling, almost no Nepali-speakers retain any
knowledge of their ancestral mother tongues beyond a few words, often kinship
terms, which are used to supplement standard Nepali vocabulary. The major impetus
for asserting ethnic identity in India has been the system of state reservations which
entitles certain ‘backward’ groups to quotas in government jobs and other beneWts
such as educational scholarships. The scramble among Nepal-origin ethnic groups to
claim such status has led to a certain resurgence in ethnic identity and politics but has
threatened neither the position of Nepali nor the foundations of Indian Nepali
identity.
98 R. Chalmers
10
See Hutt (2003) for extensive discussion of the Xight of refugees from Bhutan and its connections to
nation-building.
Nepal and the Eastern Himalayas 99
4.8 Conclusion
The diVerent conWgurations of language and national identity in the adjacent areas
covered by this chapter illustrate the signiWcance of political and economic factors as
much as linguistic trends. They also represent diVering approaches by the various states.
Nepal’s decades of oYcial nationalism have left a mixed legacy, with its strong mono-
cultural emphasis unable to stamp out linguistic diversity and now prompting a strong
backlash by minority groups. The Indian Himalayas, on the other hand, were not subject
to such a straightforward government language policy. As a result, the language-identity
conWgurations in Darjeeling and Sikkim reXect more closely their communities’ own
attempts to forge linguistic identities that protected aspects of their culture but also
ensured economic survival and educational opportunities. In Bhutan the state has recently
attempted to follow a line similar to Nepal’s earlier state nationalism but allied to an even
more strictly exclusive view of the nation and criteria for membership within it.
Our consideration of language issues here raises a fundamental question about
communities in the Himalayas: are national identities in this region truly viable or
plausible? In the case of Nepal and Bhutan the answer may be positive but the
relationship with language is far from central. For Nepal, many now argue that
national identity will be strengthened the more it is allowed to be Xexible and not
tied to a single linguistic or cultural model. In Bhutan, Dzongkha lacks the advantages
that Nepali had in terms of its long-standing use as a lingua franca, and whatever the
level of support the state provides for Dzongkha, its continued status as a minority
language within Bhutan and the monopoly of English as educational medium suggest
that it can only play a tangential, symbolic role in a national identity for the country.
In Darjeeling and Sikkim the question is one of of local, regional, and state identities
within a much larger federal country, India. Darjeeling’s separatists never sought
complete secession from India and Sikkim’s people are largely resigned to the fact that
their former status as an independent Himalayan kingdom is now a historical
curiosity. Here language has only ever formed one element of local identities which
have to struggle for their continued recognition in competition with some of the
world’s largest languages, such as Hindi and Bengali. Ironically, however, it is here that
the strongest linguistic solidarity has been built around shared use of Nepali.
The patterns of language use and identiWcation outlined in this chapter are subject
to constant, and increasingly rapid, shift. The ever expanding role of English, espe-
cially as an educational medium and the perceived language of status and economic
opportunity, will colour future developments. In this it will be aided to some extent by
the further spread of electronic media and other technological developments. But
activists working to revitalize endangered languages have also realised that these tools
can be turned to their advantage. Identities in this region have never been singular and
they are likely to remain complex in future. Even as trends of language shift hint at the
formation of larger, more unitary, national communities, linguistic diversity acts as a
rallying point for supporters of political and cultural pluralism.
5
Pakistan
Christopher Shackle
5.1 Introduction
The Islamic Republic of Pakistan is a virtually unique case of a multilingual Asian
country whose frontiers were explicitly deWned by the religious identity of the
majority of its inhabitants. The partition of the British Indian empire in 1947 into
the separate countries of India and Pakistan was the result of a successful separatist
campaign to achieve an independent homeland for the Muslims of South Asia. Since
the Muslim majority areas of South Asia were not geographically contiguous, Pakistan
was initially created as a country of two separate halves (West and East Pakistan) on
either side of a hostile India. A mass exchange of populations between Pakistan and
India along religious lines further conWrmed the Muslim identity of Pakistan while
simultaneously changing previous patterns of linguistic identity. Following two in-
conclusive wars with India fought over the disputed territory of Kashmir in 1947–48
and 1965, Pakistan was itself divided in 1971, when a third war resulted in the former
East Pakistan becoming the independent country of Bangladesh. The focus of this
chapter is on present-day Pakistan, the former West Pakistan.
Pakistan
frontier runs close to the historic city of Lahore, up into the foothills and mountains
where the cease-Wre line which crosses the contested territory of Kashmir has yet to be
ratiWed. The western frontiers run through the historic borderlands separating the
subcontinent from the mountains and plateaus of western Asia. Below the Hindu
Kush range lie the barren hills of the North-West Frontier, pierced by the Khyber and
other strategic passes which lead down into the plains from Afghanistan. In the
southwestern corner lies the vast but largely barren territory of Balochistan, which
borders on both Afghanistan and Iran.
It is, however, the west–east axis which has dominated the history of the region.
Pakistan is situated in an historic borderland region, the Wrst area to be conquered and
settled by the successive movements of peoples and imperial invasions which have
shaped the development of the cultures and societies of northern India. It had already
been permeated by Indo-European speakers by the time of the Wrst recorded conquest
of the region, conducted by the Achaemenid emperor Darius in the sixth century bc.
The subsequent invasion by Alexander the Great in 322 bc replaced Persian with
Greek rule, and saw Buddhism become the major religion of the area, until its
replacement by Islam.
The Wrst incursion of the new religion came with the Arab conquest of Sindh from
the south in ad 711. But the major Muslim conquests were launched by the armies of
the Sultans from Afghanistan. A Muslim kingdom with Lahore as its capital Xourished
from soon after ad 1000. This led to the conquest of Delhi in 1195, and thence to the
establishment for some seven centuries of Muslim rule over most of the subcontinent,
which was progressively to result in the peaceful conversion of the majority of the
local inhabitants in what is now Pakistan. It was again from Afghanistan that the Wrst
Mughal emperor Babur launched his successful conquest in 1526. Situated strategic-
ally on the Grand Trunk Road which traverses the Punjab between the Mughal
capitals of Kabul and Agra, Lahore was always one of the major cities of the empire
until Mughal authority collapsed in the face of further invasions by Muslim warlords
from Afghanistan in the eighteenth century.
Unlike all these previous conquerors, the British expanded their rule in India from
the east, starting with their conquest of Bengal in 1757. The modern territories of
Pakistan, situated in the northwest of the subcontinent, were accordingly the last to
be incorporated in the British Indian empire. In the south, Sindh was conquered by an
army from Bombay in 1843. This was rapidly followed by the Wnal conquest of Punjab
after two wars with the Sikh kingdom which had replaced the Mughals. A period
of further consolidation in the later nineteenth century led to the Wnal demarcation of
the western frontiers with Iran and Afghanistan. The perceived threat of invasion by
Russia gave the Punjab great strategic importance in British eyes. Army headquarters
were sited in the garrison town of Rawalpindi on the Grand Trunk Road in north-
western Punjab, which became one of the principal recruiting grounds of Indian
troops. During British rule, the agricultural economies of both Punjab and Sindh were
greatly expanded by investment in massive irrigation canal schemes opening up huge
Pakistan 103
areas to the cultivation of wheat, cotton, and other crops, and Karachi was consider-
ably developed as a port for their export.
In spite of these great changes, the main centres both of British imperial authority
and of the nationalist challenges to that authority were situated in the distant cities of
Calcutta or Bombay and in northern India. While it was there that the demand for
a Muslim homeland was strongest, the achievement of Pakistan as an independent
state for South Asian Muslims had particularly violent local consequences. The
partition of India in 1947 creating Pakistan split the area of Punjab, where an almost
total ethnic cleansing expelled the local Hindu and Sikh populations and regrouped
the Muslims of the undivided province in the western districts assigned to Pakistan. A
similar process followed with the large-scale departure of the non-Muslim population
of Sindh, and its replacement by a large inXux of Muslim refugees from the Urdu-
speaking areas of India.
2
Urdu is a Persian word of Turkish origin (cf. English ‘horde’) meaning ‘army’.
104 C. Shackle
Persian, especially as a language of poetry, in the courts which arose after the collapse
of the Mughal empire.
In the 1830s the British replaced Persian with English as the formal standard
language of India. For lower levels of administration and education, however, British
oYcials in northern India had decided that Urdu was the most appropriate medium,
and this policy was extended to the Punjab after its conquest. As a result of the
considerable expansion of education and the diVusion of the print media encouraged
by the colonial state, both English and, on a far wider scale, Urdu gained currency as
standard languages throughout the region. Only Sindh was divergent from this
pattern, since its separate conquest and subsequent separate administration resulted
in Sindhi, rather than Urdu, being developed as the local administrative language.
changes in its distribution mean that only very broad Wgures can be arrived at for
numbers of speakers of languages in the various provinces of Pakistan, whose total
population in the 1998 census was 130.5 million, a Wgure greatly increased from 84.2
million in 1981 and 42.9 million in 1961.4
On some counts, over Wfty languages are spoken locally in Pakistan. This Wgure
includes many spoken by small numbers of speakers in the Northern Areas. Often of
great linguistic interest, either for their independent development, or as language
isolates like Burushaski which is spoken in the very far north, these languages have
been the subject of both specialist studies and excellent general surveys (Fussman
1972; O’Leary 1992). Proportionately much less attention has been paid to the major
languages which cover the bulk of the country, especially since descriptive linguistics
has been a largely neglected discipline in Pakistan (Rahman 1999: 5–34), making it
impossible to draw accurate linguistic boundaries. The map in this chapter therefore
indicates the general location of the eight languages recognized in the 1981 census
in relation to the provinces and other areas of Pakistan. All but one of these are Indo-
European languages, belonging either to the Iranian family (Windfuhr 2004) whose
most prominent member is Persian, or to the Indo-Aryan family which extends
eastward across the whole of northern India to Bangladesh. The frontier between
Iranian and Indo-Aryan runs west of the Indus.
In the North-West Frontier Province (NWFP), with a total population of 20.6
million, the major language is Pashto, spoken by the Pashtuns.5 United by the Werce
code of hospitality and revenge called pashtunwali, the Pashtuns are one of the
most powerfully deWned tribal societies in the modern world, and they are also the
dominant presence across the frontier in the adjacent regions of Afghanistan, whose
prolonged civil wars have driven many to emigrate to Pakistan. The main represen-
tative of the eastern branch of Iranian, Pashto is very diVerent from Persian and has
a low level of mutual intelligibility with the Indo-Aryan languages.
To the southwest, Balochistan is by far the biggest but also the emptiest of the four
provinces, with a population of only 6.5 million. The Baloch tribes, whose language
Balochi is quite closely related to Persian, give it its name but Balochi is only a minority
language here. The centre of the province is home to Brahui, a strangely isolated
member of the Dravidian language family otherwise largely located in peninsular
India, which is nowadays mostly spoken bilingually with Balochi (Elfenbein 1998). In
4
All 1998 Wgures here are from the oYcial Statistical Pocket Book of Pakistan 2002. A mechanical
application of the 1981 percentages calculated on the basis of spoken household languages to the
population total for 1998 would give the following numbers of speakers per language in descending
order: Punjabi (63m.), Pashto (17m.), Sindhi (15m.), Siraiki (13m.), Urdu (10m.), Balochi (4m.), Hindko
(3m.), Brahui (1m.), and others (3m.).
5
One letter of the Pashto alphabet is pronounced in the northern dialects as kh where the southern
dialects have sh, so the English spellings ‘Pakhto’ and ‘Pakhtun’ are equally current, along with the usual
phonetic variants (see note 1), e.g. ‘Pushtu’, ‘Pushtun’, ‘Pakhtoon’, etc. ‘Pathan’ is the outsiders’ label used
in most Indo-Aryan languages to describe the people.
106 C. Shackle
the northern districts, the dominant language is Pashto, while the southeastern areas
are largely Indo-Aryan speaking.
Within the Indo-Aryan family (Masica 1991; Cardona and Jain 2003), Sindhi has
preserved many individual features, especially in contrast to languages of the central
Indo-Aryan group like Urdu. Already challenged earlier in the twentieth century, the
historical isolation of Sindh was Wnally and completely overturned when the creation
of Pakistan in 1947 led to the immigration of Urdu-speaking Muslims from the cities
and towns of India. Known as Mohajirs (from Urdu muhajir ‘refugee’), these immi-
grants established a major presence in the cities of Sindh, especially in Karachi,
then the national capital, which grew enormously in size. With a total population
of 30 million in 1998, Sindh is consequently the province with the sharpest linguistic
divisions. Although Sindhi remains the principal language of the rural areas, it has
since the early years of Pakistan been the language of only a small proportion of the
population of the multi-ethnic metropolis of Karachi, of whose 9.3 million inhabitants
a majority are Urdu-speaking Mohajirs. This helps to account for the very signiWcant
position Urdu has as an urban language in Pakistan.6
Over sixty per cent of the Pakistani population is located in Punjab, which had a
1998 population of 72.6 million plus another 800,000 in the federal capital, Islamabad.
Containing Lahore with 5 million inhabitants and most of the country’s other largest
cities, this province dominates Pakistan. Because the majority of refugees who arrived
here in 1947 had come from the eastern districts of the Punjab assigned to India, there
was much less disruption to the previous linguistic homogeneity than occurred in
Sindh. Within this large region, however, there has always been quite signiWcant
linguistic diVerentiation, which partly undercuts the simple deWnition of Punjabi as
the spoken language of the whole province (Shackle 2003). What might be called
‘Punjabi proper’ is spoken in the prosperous central districts around Lahore, and
across the border in India. Of all the forms of Indo-Aryan languages spoken in
Pakistan, Punjabi as spoken in these areas is linguistically the closest to Urdu.
The dialects of the western districts are more divergent.7 Those spoken in the
southwest districts of Punjab, historically much less fertile and socially controlled by
large landowners, are somewhat closer to Sindhi, and are nowadays often considered
as constituting a separate language which has received the name Siraiki.8 This is also
spoken in the adjacent districts of Sindh, Balochistan, and NWFP. Sharing some
features with Siraiki and others with central Punjabi are the dialects of the less fertile
uplands in the northwest. These too have a variety of local names, including Hindko
6
The 7.6 per cent of households reported as Urdu mother-tongue in the 1981 census accounted for
24.4 per cent of urban households, but only 1.3 per cent of rural households.
7
For their description in the Linguistic Survey of India, Grierson invented the separate language label
‘Lahnda’, the Punjabi word for ‘west’. Their collective internal classiWcation in relation to Punjabi proper
within Indo-Aryan remains somewhat awkward (Masica 1991: 446–63).
8
Once again, this is variously spelt, as e.g. ‘Saraiki’, ‘Seraiki’, or ‘Siraeki’.
Pakistan 107
which is mostly spoken in the adjacent areas of NWFP, and Mirpuri which is spoken in
Azad Kashmir, technically a non-sovereign state attached to Pakistan.
combined in the work of the greatest Lahore-based Urdu writer, the poet-philosopher
Muhammad Iqbal (1879–1938), who came to be regarded as the spiritual father
of Pakistan. Lahore thus became established as a centre of Urdu publishing and of
Urdu literary culture of the same importance as the historic cities of northern India,
which were home to the Urdu-speaking Muslim elite and middle class who so
strongly supported the establishment of Pakistan as a Muslim homeland, and who
emigrated in such large numbers to Karachi after its creation. This identiWcation of
Urdu with the cause of Islam has been a powerful constant factor in subsequent
developments.
The following years saw an increasing hardening of positions. The potential threat
perceived to lie in the numerical majority and the linguistic and cultural cohesion of
the East was Wrst addressed by the amalgamation of the provinces of the West in the
One Unit scheme in 1955, which lasted until 1970. The failures of the country’s Wrst
generation of politicians then led to the Wrst period of military rule under Ayub Khan
(1958–69), inhibiting further discussion of the imposed dual language formula which
notionally gave equal status to Urdu as the language of the West and Bengali as the
language of the East, while in practice favouring the former.
When elections were Wnally held under Ayub Khan’s successor in 1970, the over-
whelming support in the East for its popular leader Mujibur Rahman was thwarted by
the opposition of the army, who feared the break-up of the country. When this
provoked a popular uprising, Pakistani military repression provoked Indian interven-
tion and led in 1971 to the creation of Bangladesh as an independent Muslim state
with Bengali as its national language ( Jones 2002: 146–86, Thompson, this volume,
chapter 2).
Although the civilian regime of ZulWkar Ali Bhutto (1971–7) was initially more
open to a less unitary language policy, it too quickly came to follow a similar
centralist line. Article 251 of the Constitution of 1973 fudged the language issue
by proclaiming:
(1) The National Language of Pakistan is Urdu, and arrangements shall be made for
its being used for oYcial and other purposes within Wfteen years from the commen-
cing day.
(2) Subject to clause (1) the English language may be used for oYcial purposes until
arrangements are made for its replacement by Urdu.
issues of language and ethnicity in Pakistan is selectively focused on Sindh and Punjab,
which are situated at diVerent points along this evolutionary spectrum.9
9
For conveniently assembled descriptions of all the language movements see Rahman (1996: 103–227).
Typologically, the relatively lesser emphasis on language issues in the western provinces, with their highly
deWned tribal ethnicities, deserves fuller treatment than can be attempted here.
Pakistan 113
the Sindhis, Punjabis, Baloches, and Pashtuns. These nationalities were all deWned by
their provinces, so this entailed the demand for the Karachi region to become a
separate province to be dominated by the Urdu-speakers. While the strong resistance
of the centre to this demand resulted in Altaf Hussain’s own marginalization, the
legacy of his movement has been to leave Sindh contested by two strongly deWned and
strongly opposed ethnicities principally deWned by language, who are each liable to be
played oV against one another by a centre whose natural policy is often to divide and
rule.
Pakistanis by its use of the Gurmukhi script and incorporation of Sanskritic vocabu-
lary.
The eVorts of the Lahore-centred language movement have also been thwarted by
the emergence of a signiWcant rival in the form of the Siraiki language movement
(Shackle 1977), which is based in the southwestern districts of Punjab and is actively
opposed to the enthusiasts for Punjabi. First gaining a signiWcant proWle in the Bhutto
period, the Siraiki movement relies for a signiWcant part of its support on an appeal to
the widespread sense of relative neglect and under-investment in this very large area,
as compared with the prosperity of the densely populated Lahore region. Achieving
its Wrst great success in spreading a consciousness of a common language amongst
speakers of previously diVerently named local dialects,11 the Siraiki movement is thus
a classic illustration of the association between most modern language movements
and a sense of oppression.
The Siraiki activists have pursued the usual strategies in enhancing an awareness of
the language and its cultural heritage, symbolized by the dialectally rich SuW poetry of
the great local saint-poet Khwaja Ghulam Farid (1845–1901). Linguistically, in seeking
a maximum diVerentiation from Punjabi, much has been made of diVerent construc-
tions of overlapping literary pasts and linguistic classiWcations. Particular emphasis has
been laid on the phonetic distinctions from Punjabi which Siraiki shares with Sindhi,
notably the implosive consonants which are its most prominent shibboleth. Great
importance is attached to the use of the distinctive diacritics which have been evolved
for writing these, since the graphic expression of linguistic identities which is aVorded
by the multiple scripts in use in India must rely in Pakistan on the dots added to the
letters of the Perso-Arabic script which is used for all languages in the country.
Although Siraiki is spoken in adjacent regions of all the other provinces, the
campaign for its recognition has been focused within Punjab, including the demand
for the division of this disproportionately populous province.12 One product of its
opposition to the Punjabi movement’s claims has been a natural alliance with sup-
porters of the continued role of Urdu. This has been manifested over such issues as the
possible replacement of Urdu by the mother tongue as the formal medium of primary
education in the province, which immediately sets proponents of Punjabi and of Siraiki
against one another. Once again, therefore, although the nature of their division
is qualitatively diVerent in Punjab from that prevailing in Sindh between Sindhis
and Mohajirs, the rivalry between locally opposed linguistic ethnicities is suYcient
to allow the central government to encourage a continuance of the status quo.
11
Also widely spoken bilingually with Sindhi in northern Sindh, ‘Siraiki’ is a Sindhi-derived term
meaning ‘northern speech’, hence its confusing earlier use as the name of the northern dialect of Sindhi,
now usually termed Siroli.
12
A third unit of such a division would embrace the northwestern districts where the dialects are
related to the Hindko spoken in NWFP (Shackle 1983). While this dialect group includes the Mirpuri
spoken in Azad Kashmir, political solidarity there signiWcantly overrides linguistic deWnitions in under-
pinning the strong sense of a distinctive Kashmiri identity, cf. N. Ali et al., ‘The 1990s: A Time to Separate
British Punjabi and British Kashmiri Identity’, in Singh and Talbot (1996: 229–56).
Pakistan 115
5.5 Conclusions
As the foregoing summary account should have suggested, while there are numerous
typological similarities with India, both the distinctive initial deWnition of Pakistan
as an Islamic state and its subsequent independent development have entailed the
emergence of many instructive and interesting diVerences from its larger and better-
known neighbour. The intrinsically more complex situation of Urdu in Pakistan, as
compared with the superWcially similar role of its old rival Hindi in India, is perhaps
the most obvious of these. In a broader comparative context, Pakistan is perhaps
especially interesting as an example of a multilingual Asian country whose failure to
evolve strongly representative institutions seems likely to entail a particularly lengthy
process of working out the linguistic implications of a whole variety of conXicting
deWnitions of national identity and local ethnicity.
6
Sri Lanka
K. N. O. Dharmadasa
6.1 Introduction
Sri Lanka (formerly Ceylon) is an island approximately the size of Ireland which Wfty
years ago was thought to be well-suited to become a successful, integrated political
entity developing its own national and cultural identity. The reality which confronts
us today is quite the contrary. A secessionist movement has obtained virtual control of
some areas of the island, the political situation is unstable, and the economy, which
was one of the most stable and upward looking Wfty years ago, is in the doldrums,
with a sizeable part of the annual budgetary allocation being devoted to security
concerns. Instead of national integration as a political entity, there is serious polariza-
tion along ethnic, religious, and political party lines. An examination of the roots of
the present day problems in the island reveal that language, functioning as a marker of
identity and ethnic group interest, has played a major catalytic role in the generation
of barriers to national unity and the peaceful development of post-independence
Sri Lanka. This chapter sets out to describe just how the turbulence present in
much of twentieth-century Sri Lanka can be traced back to issues of language
selection at the national level and the apparent privileging of a single language in a
multilingual situation.
Two speciWc South Asian languages and the interests of their speakers have been
pitted against each other in much of the language-related conXict over the last Wfty
years. A sizeable 74 per cent majority of the 20 million population speaks Sinhala, an
Indo-Aryan language with origins in the north of India, and has a strong, historical,
and emotional attachment to Sri Lanka. A further 25 per cent of the island are
speakers of Tamil, a Dravidian language from southern India with a similar long
presence on Sri Lanka, and ethno-linguistic links to a much larger (48 million)
population of Tamil speakers twenty miles north across the Palk Straits in the Indian
state of Tamilnadu. A third, non-local language which has played an important
complicating role in linguistic confrontation and struggle in the twentieth century
is English, introduced during British colonial rule, and critically dominant as a means
to economic advancement up to and also beyond the attainment of independence
Sri Lanka 117
in 1948. In 1956, the institution of the majority language Sinhala as the single oYcial
language of Sri Lanka, following populist agitation and election-related pressure on
Sinhalese politicians no longer constrained by the moderating inXuence of British
models, led to the immediate, severe deterioration of Tamil–Sinhalese relations.
With the addition of further linguistic measures perceived as disadvantaging the
Tamil community over the following years, the breakdown in erstwhile cordial
intercommunal relations led to calls for Tamil independence and an escalation of
the new Tamil–Sinhalese confrontation Wrst into sporadic, often deadly violence, and
then eventually into civil war.
Quite generally, the recent Wtful history of Sri Lanka can be seen as a powerful
illustration of the potentially far-reaching, destructive eVects of language nationalism
within multilingual communities. It also clearly highlights the challenges faced by
new multi-ethnic states during decolonization, independence, and the introduction of
democracy and voting rights to a population previously unable to express (much)
direct inXuence on governmental policy. Thirdly, a study of language and identity
relations in Sri Lanka reveals that the striking modern strength of language as a
symbol of ethnic group membership in fact had its origins in an earlier loss of
traditional lifestyle and identity resulting from nineteenth-century commercial devel-
opment of the island by colonial forces promoting English and Western cultural
Sri Lanka
118 K. N. O. Dharmadasa
from the Wfth/sixth centuries ad. Eventually, repeated Tamil invasions into the
northern areas of Sri Lanka caused much of the Sinhalese population to relocate
further south and to the southwest, and led to the thirteenth-century establishment of
the Tamil kingdom of JaVna in the north of Sri Lanka, an event facilitated by the
decline of the Sinhala kingdom in the northern plains which had reached the zenith
of its power in the twelfth century. While the Tamil JaVna kingdom generally
recognized the overlordship of the Sinhalese kingdoms in the south, there were
also periods of conXict with the latter, creating and reaYrming among the Sinhalese
a long-term traditional view of the Tamils/south Indians as potential enemies
and threats to Sinhalese life. The weakened Sinhala kingdom shifted locations several
times, Wnally settling in Kotte in the Wfteenth century. The successful Tamil
occupation of the northern and eastern parts of Sri Lanka in the fourteenth century
and the subsequent movement of many of the Sinhalese into the south and
west therefore gave rise to a broad division of the island into two contiguous
geographical zones mostly dominated by concentrations of either Sinhalese or
Tamil populations, and a clustering of Tamils in the north and east and Sinhalese in
the larger southern and western areas which has largely been maintained through into
the twentieth century.
Prior to the arrivals of the Wrst Europeans – the Portuguese – in the sixteenth
century, life on the island of Sri Lanka subsequently settled into a pattern in which a
signiWcant majority of Buddhist Sinhalese remained in control of the fertile southern
areas of the island and co-existed mostly in competitive peace with a sizeable minority
of speakers of Tamil spread along the coastal areas of the north and east. This latter
Tamil population, it should be added, was actually further polarized in a signiWcant
way along religious grounds, dividing into distinctive Hindu and Muslim subgroups,
with the Muslims being commonly known as the ‘Moors’ and often acting as (and
considered to be) an ethnic group quite independent of the larger Hindu Tamil
community. Into this potentially fragile world of diVerent ethno-linguistic groups
then came the Europeans, Wrst in the form of the Portugese and Dutch in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and later more intrusively the British.
an improvement of living conditions to the ‘natives’ of Sri Lanka who they governed.
The Wrst British governor proclaimed it was opportune to create a class of people
‘connected with England by education’, and the Anglican missionaries who had
arrived on the island willingly engaged in this education process. Some locals were
Wrst given a preliminary English education in Sri Lanka and then sent to England for
higher education and to be trained as clergymen, subsequently returning as priests in
charge of the religious and educational activities of the provinces and establishing a
complete control of the new educational system by the Christian clergy. The govern-
ment for its part was in fact quite happy to leave all education to the missionaries in
the earlier stages of its rule of Sri Lanka, as it lacked the administrative capacity to set
up an education system itself.
In delivering its teaching, the missionaries thought that the best way to convert
people was to preach in the local vernaculars, Sinhala and Tamil. However, a need was
also felt to disseminate English, both as a medium of education and as the bearer of
Western civilization, and also to respond to the needs of the colonial government who
required signiWcant numbers of administrators competent in English. Consequently
most of the initial missionary schools provided bilingual instruction in English and
one of the vernaculars, with a few English-medium-only schools being opened just for
the wealthier inhabitants of the island. All of these schools had as a primary objective
the creation of a class of natives who were not only proWcient in English but also well
familiarized with Western culture, in the hopes that this would create a strong bond of
union with England. Those who had access to the new missionary-led education were
encouraged both to learn English and also to emulate the lifestyle of the English,
leading to a clear surge in westernization among the higher, educated classes from the
early nineteenth century onwards. Considered from the point of view of the local
higher classes, English education, with or without conversion to Christianity, seemed
to be the surest path to ensure upward mobility, better employment, and high social
prestige in the new socio-economic environment of colonial Sri Lanka.
A major result of this emphasis on English and Western culture was the successful
creation of a new generation of low country aristocracy who had little or no concern
for local culture or local languages. In its preoccupation with Western forms of
civilization, the upper classes on Sri Lanka came to neglect the study of its own,
indigenous culture, and showed strongly negative attitudes towards use of the verna-
culars, knowledge of the latter being viewed simply as a ‘necessary evil’ for commu-
nication with those not competent in English. Generally, then, a major change in social
attitude and linguistic orientation was brought about in the educated classes on
Sri Lanka by the introduction of English-focused education in the nineteenth century,
and the continual presence and importance of an English-educated elite in Sri Lanka
has since frequently aVected the island’s socio-political development in critical ways
right up to and even after twentieth-century independence.
Concerning the broader masses of the population of Sri Lanka, both Sinhalese and
Tamil, these were also deeply aVected by the changed conditions of life which followed
Sri Lanka 121
the arrival of the British. The early nineteenth century saw a drastic transformation of
Sri Lanka’s economic and social structure when the interior of Sri Lanka was opened
up in a rush to create new coVee plantations. This sudden growth in economic
opportunities and the redistribution of sections of the population which accompanied
it had important eVects on the structure of traditional Sri Lankan society, provoking a
decline of traditional lifestyles, authority networks, and social order. It also resulted in a
clear growth in crime, intemperance, and lawlessness, and led to widespread feelings of
anomie, alienation, and lack of a solid identity. An old, familiar order was in the process
of disintegrating, but a clear new order had not yet fully crystallized, and this caused a
deep anxiety amongst those who were comfortable with inherited tradition and its old,
well-established roles and relationships. A crucial aspect of these transformations was
the deleterious eVect on Buddhism, a central component of traditional Sinhalese life.
The primary source of patronage supporting Buddhism as well as traditional literature
and the arts was removed with the end of the Sinhalese kingship, and then further
aggravated by the curtailment of the power and wealth of the Kandyan aristocracy
after a local rebellion in 1818. Buddhist institutions were therefore suddenly left
without their main source of Wnancial support, threatening their continued prominent
existence within Sinhalese society.
As modernization took eVect in nineteenth-century Sri Lanka, there was conse-
quently a new, acute need for a sense of belonging, and a base of identity. The reaction
at the level of the masses was often millenialistic – among many simply a passive hope
for the triumphant return of the old order of kings and traditional, protective
aristocracy. Among the more sophisticated, however, there was a more active and
aggressive reaction to the ongoing disruption of traditional life in Sri Lanka, and a
strong counter-oVensive against Christian expansionism was launched in the latter
part of the nineteenth century by Buddhist monks who championed themselves as the
bearers of authentic Sinhalese identity.
Directly threatened by the removal of the historical means of their support,
Buddhist monks or ‘bhikkus’ were faced with the need to struggle to survive in the
nineteenth century, and this engendered a new spirit of militancy in the rising
generation of bhikkus in marked contrast to the traditional image of the bhikku as
an ascetic recluse. Focused primarily on combating the spreading inXuence of Chris-
tianity but also the intrusion of Western civilization in general, the bhikkus became
mobilizational leaders, organizing societies, printing and distributing pamphlets,
touring and speaking around Sri Lanka, and confronting the missionaries in public
debates drawing audiences of thousands of local people. Such activism succeeded in
generating an unprecedented mass enthusiasm, Wrst and foremost about Buddhism,
but then later about various other aspects of indigenous culture, so that the latter half
of the nineteenth century witnessed a widespread religious and cultural revival. This
in turn resulted in and was further facilitated by fresh Wnancial support from newly
emerging groups of urban Sinhalese entrepreneurs, many of whom originally came
from small rural villages and a traditional way of life with Buddhism. When they
122 K. N. O. Dharmadasa
moved to the urban centres, Buddhism was retained as this emerging group’s badge of
identity as well as its adopted cause for social activism. Such new, highly motivated
patrons of Buddhism set about the building of new temples in towns, the construction
of Buddhist monastic colleges as centres of education and cultural activity, and the
restoration of Buddhist ruins and historical sites, the latter activity importantly
serving to emphasize the glorious past of Buddhism on Sri Lanka in contrast to the
apparent present decline of indigenous culture (Dharmadasa 1992).
The impressive success of the nineteenth-century religious revival was most cer-
tainly due to the tireless eVorts of various leading bhikkus, combined with the Wnancial
backing of a rising class of Sinhalese business-owners. It was also aided in a very
important way by the availability of new channels of mass contact as forms of social
mobilization, and the revivalist activists of nineteenth-century Sri Lanka were able to
utilize several new forms of mass media which had been introduced by the Europeans.
Hence newspapers and periodicals, novels and the theatre, media originally introduced
by the missionaries to spread Christianity and Western civilization, were all turned into
highly eVective instruments of Sinhala-Buddhist propaganda, spreading an awareness
of the community’s illustrious past and present plight to a broad audience of the
masses, and whipping up concern for many aspects of the communal identity. A
simultaneous, revived interest in the classical literature of Sinhala, Pali, and Sanskrit,
which further served to highlight the achievements of the past, also beneWted greatly
from the newly established printing presses making widely available classical works
which had previously only been available in manuscript form.
With all of the above activity focusing the masses’ attention on aspects of indigen-
ous civilization and religion, the Buddhist revival was also notable for incorporating a
nationalist component which emphasized the distinctive identity of the Sinhalese not
only relative to the British, but also to the Tamil community. Such a political side to
Sinhalese Buddhism was in fact not so fully new and reXected a long tradition of
Buddhist involvement in the recording and presentation of the history of the Sinhalese
race. In centres of learning attached to Buddhist temples, bhikkus had since early
times been the primary producers of most literature and the main disseminators of
literacy and knowledge. As the historians of the Sinhalese, they also shaped the
standard view of history and promoted the political ideology of a unity between the
Sinhalese ethnic group, Buddhism, and the island of Sri Lanka. In the chronicles it was
recorded that, following the decline of Buddhism in most of India, Sri Lanka had a
vital role to play in the preservation of Buddhism and defence of the Buddhist faith, in the
way of a holy destiny selecting the Sinhalese for a higher purpose (and in connection
with this, it was further believed that the Buddha had himself made three visits to
Sri Lanka). This naturally led to the twin concepts of ‘Sinhaladvipa’, that Sri Lanka is
the island of the Sinhalese, and ‘Dhammadvipa’, that Sri Lanka is the island of
Buddhist faith. The conjunction of these ideas, that the Sinhalese were destined to be
protectors of Buddhism on Sri Lanka was subsequently fostered over the centuries in
the historical chronicles maintained by the bhikkus, which documented the continual
Sri Lanka 123
pressure from Tamil–Hindu groups in southern India that threatened the existence of the
Sinhalese on Sri Lanka. Harassment by the Tamils and other enemy races thus became
an essential part of the Sinhalese–Buddhist view of history. In the nineteenth century,
Sinhalese–Buddhist propaganda concentrated heavily on the glory of the national past
and how the Sinhalese had successfully defended Buddhism from attacks by Hindu
Tamils over the ages. The rekindling of memories of glories of the past therefore
reminded people of a ‘retrospective hostility’ to the Tamils, who in popular minds
were portrayed as the aggressive destroyers of ancient seats of Sinhalese–Buddhist
civilization.
Concerning other targets of criticism, there were naturally many invectives against
Western culture in the Buddhist propaganda, with certain speciWc targets being the
British promotion of alcohol and the opening of liquor stores on Sri Lanka (to increase
government revenue), the attempted spread of Christianity, and the habit of meat-
eating (looked down upon by Buddhists). Finally, the Sinhalese–Buddhist revival of
the nineteenth century also levelled criticism at the Moors, who controlled most
of the retail trade in small towns and had large businesses in the cities, crystallizing a
new antagonism that had not existed prior to this time.
As a result of the energetic activity of the Buddhist revivalists in the late nineteenth
century, and propelled by the support from the newly emergent Sinhalese entrepre-
neurs, Buddhism came to be more of an overtly explicit marker of Sinhalese national
identity than it had been in the centuries prior to the arrival of the British, and the
‘back-to-tradition’ drive led by the Buddhist monks struck a sympathetic chord with
many of the masses living in the changing times of the early colonial period. In the
twentieth century, however, the focus of self-assertion amongst the dissatisWed and
aspiring non-elite classes of Sri Lanka was set to shift away from religion as the
primary encoding of ethnic identity and moved instead more squarely towards lan-
guage as a symbol of group cohesion and political activism. Buddhism had certainly
galvanized the Sinhalese into action and created a new pride in Sinhalese history and
civilization. The changing nature of confrontation with the British as democracy and
independence gradually loomed on the horizon then shifted people’s assessment of
what seemed to be practically important for their lives and so necessary to campaign
for, and eventually brought issues of language to centre stage.
Before we consider these developments, however, it deserves mention that there
was an attempt at highlighting and presenting language as a central symbol of
(Sinhalese) national identity even in the nineteenth century, in the work of James
d’Alwis (1823–78), a member of the English-educated Sinhalese Christian elite.
D’Alwis was employed as a translator in the law courts but quickly discovered, to
his dismay, that the heavy English bias of his education had seriously aVected his
proWciency in Sinhala and he found that he was actually unable to translate satisfac-
torily into his ‘mother tongue’. Following this eye-opening and troubling experience,
d’Alwis devoted himself for years to the description of Sinhala, exalting it as a
language of great antiquity, the vehicle of a long-standing culture, and signiWcantly
124 K. N. O. Dharmadasa
certain minimum of property, would qualify people to have voting rights. This
resulted in a big increase in the electorate, jumping from 3,000 in 1917 to 190,000
in 1924, and set the stage for a transformation from elite to mass politics. Prior to this,
the Sri Lankan elites had concentrated on courteous political bargaining with the
British; now there was a need for paying equal or more attention to nursing the
local electorate, especially as it was foreseen by the British that even more responsi-
bility would shortly be handed over to the Sri Lankans. The local political leadership
therefore had to focus clearly on establishing its ‘legitimacy’ with voters in Sri Lanka,
and to achieve this had to learn to use the vernacular, especially with the urban
working class, which was now emerging as a major political force.
A further by-product of the increase in political representation introduced in the 1920s
was that this resulted in a downgrading of the emphasis on Buddhism as a key symbol of
identity distinguishing the Sinhalese from others. In the new climate of hope for
increased political rights and eventual independence from the British, there seemed to
be a need for all the Sinhalese to pull together, Buddhist and Christian, and the Sinhalese
journals deliberately downplayed the separating function of Buddhism, instead empha-
sizing that they were working for national unity and campaigning against caste and
religious divisionism. Such a change in direction was furthermore keenly supported by
much of the Sinhalese political leadership, who were English-educated and very often
products of Christian missionary education, resulting in a sizeable section of this elite
being Christian.
Concerning the course of intercommunal relations in the new era of increasing
political representation, these began in a positive way with Sinhalese and Tamil
politicians working together and forming the Ceylon National Congress in 1919.
The English education which many of the elite politicians had received had the
positive side of increasing horizons beyond those of simple ethnic group, and this
led to a common stated goal of creating a Ceylonese society uniting all races on the
island. Strong and consistent aYrmations were therefore made of a Ceylonese
identity, partly also because politicians from all sides realized how important it was
in the eyes of the British to rise above communalism.
A major problem and stumbling block soon arose, however, for Sinhalese–Tamil
political co-operation. Governing the early election of Sinhalese and Tamils was a
British-introduced principle of communal representation which had the function of
safeguarding the minority Tamils and guaranteeing them a public voice in politics.
Many of the new politicians who aspired to get rid of communalism now argued
that the electoral principle of communal representation should be discarded, but the
Tamil politicians saw that this would automatically make them a political minority
and so decided to quit Congress in 1922 and form a separate, Tamil-only political
organization. In this way, the prospect of close co-operation between Sinhalese and
Tamils was seriously challenged and the Sinhalese saw the Tamil breakaway from
the mainstream nationalist movement with mistrust. A time-worn intercommunal
hostility consequently developed into a contemporary political rivalry.
Sri Lanka 127
Increasing the potential for Sinhalese isolation and worry in the 1920s was also a
perceived threat of the demographic destabilization of Sri Lanka due to British
importation of large numbers of Tamil workers from southern India. During the
years of economic depression in the 1920s, local Sinhalese who went on strike for
higher wages were regularly replaced by cheaper, more compliant labour from south
India, leading to paranoid worries of Sri Lanka being overrun by non-Sinhalese, a
menace regularly played up by nationalist Sinhalese politicians.
Against this background of newly focused communal politics, the vernacular
language came to be a sine qua non in reaching and mobilizing the masses. Although
Congress continued to work in English, the new Sinhalese Mahajana Sabha move-
ment, launched by elite politicians to reach as much of the population who spoke the
vernacular as possible, created a breakthrough and the vernacular came to be accepted
in formal public discussion of purely political issues. This inspired its functional
expansion, and the cause of the vernacular came to be promoted by vernacular-
educated intelligentsia, often in the form of open chagrin about the English language
behaviour of the national elite in the workplace and at home. The elite were reminded
that an individual’s language behaviour could be taken to be a truer reXection of his/
her ethnic allegiance than cultural heritage as determined by birth. It was then urged
by some that (Sinhalese) voters should elect only those who remained competent in
Sinhala while they had been English-educated. The vernacular literati furthermore
realized that if they could change the special value attached to English into a new
positive, higher value for the vernacular, they could increase their own status and
economic position greatly and reverse the disadvantages they suVered from by not
knowing English.
The next signiWcant development to occur was the 1931 granting of a universal
franchise to the people of Sri Lanka, resulting in most of the country’s internal
government being transferred into Sri Lankan hands, and setting the scene for mass
political activity. The political leadership was immediately spurred to campaign for
popular issues, including attempts to expand and elaborate vernacular language
functions relative to English. Thus we Wnd in the legislature with an elected majority
the (attempted) simultaneous promotion of both Sinhala and Tamil and calls for civil
servants to have a high standard of Sinhalese or Tamil, for magistrates and lawyers
to be competent in Sinhala and Tamil, and for both vernaculars to be allowed
for proceedings in the legislature. However, as time went on, factions within the
Sinhalese community began to push for a higher status for Sinhala alone, leading to an
unsuccessful Wrst attempt to install Sinhala as the single oYcial language of Sri Lanka
in 1943. This action represented a clear parting of the ways of the Tamils and the
Sinhalese as far as language group interests were concerned, and was triggered by a
number of socio-economic factors.
First of all, the Sinhalese perceived themselves to be clearly behind the Tamils in
various important areas of the economy. Though the Sinhalese owned plantations,
the Tamils were ahead in import–export business and also, proportionately for their
128 K. N. O. Dharmadasa
number, in the civil service and select professions such as law, medicine, and engin-
eering. It was felt that the Tamils were able to make better headway than the
Sinhalese in the professions because they were ahead of the Sinhalese in English
literacy, opportunities for the learning of English being generally better in the Tamil
areas of the north, due to the existence of a larger number of missionary schools in
this part of Sri Lanka.
In addition to language-related economic reasons causing the Sinhalese to focus on
the promotion of Sinhala alone as a means to improve their situation, there were also
sociological factors which led to a heightened emphasis on Sinhala in political
agitation. In a generally positive way, there was an increased pride in things Sinhalese
in the twentieth century, including the language Sinhala. Whereas up to the nine-
teenth century the Sinhalese were a majority which had low ascribed status, by the
late nineteenth century, with the unearthing of the community’s cultural heritage, the
Sinhalese had symbols that could inspire a heightened status both inwards and
outwards to others. Contrasting with this positive attitude towards the value of past
Sinhalese civilization, however, was the painful awareness that English was commonly
regarded as the prestige language of culture, learning, and science in twentieth-
century Sri Lanka, hence that the former greatness of Sinhala was being outshone
by the domination of a foreign language. This led many to believe that there was a
need for a change, and the replacement of English by Sinhala as the single major
language of Sri Lanka in all domains.
These perceptions of group vitality and weakness were keenly felt by many of the
Sinhalese when the opportunity for mass political participation emerged in the 1930s
and the means for group preservation formally became available through legislative
and administrative processes. Although the British still kept control over Wnance and
law at this time, virtual control over the larger area of internal government passed
to Sri Lankan hands, oVering great possibilities for change, it seemed. The 1930s
and 1940s also saw pressure for change coming from various emerging Sinhalese
organizations which attempted to mobilize public opinion and urged politicians to
introduce new measures protecting and promoting the interests of the Sinhalese
community and favouring the use of Sinhala. Two organizations in particular
attracted considerable attention, the Sinhala Maha Sabha/SMS (the Great Association
of the Sinhalese), and the Hela (pure Sinhala) movement.
The SMS was formed by S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike (1899–1959), a Sinhalese aristocrat
who had graduated from Oxford, and resembled other ethnicity-based and mobility-
conscious movements in colonial societies such as the Self-Respect Movement in south
India and the Getting Up Movement in Igboland. It incorporated the Sinhaladvipa
concept of Sinhalese–Buddhist ownership of Sri Lanka, and also promoted the idea
of an ‘Arya-Sinhala’ identity, an aYrmation of the pride of the Sinhalese to be related
to other Aryan nations in the north of India whose attributed prestige had been
considerably elevated by late nineteenth-century European anthropological writings.
In the new atmosphere of opportunity, as voting rights were acquired by the masses,
Sri Lanka 129
the SMS catered to an obvious need of the day for the Sinhalese community, and was
the Wrst island-wide association giving political expression to speciWcally Sinhalese
ethnic interests.
In contrast to the SMS’s view and presentation of Sinhalese identity as multi-
faceted, the Hela movement was more narrowly characterized by a highly focused
and advanced ideological commitment to the language of the Sinhalese, and was
emphatic in placing language squarely at the emotional and intellectual centre of
ethnic identity. Formed by Munidasa Cumaratunga (1887–1944), a highly educated
scholar with an impressive knowledge of Sinhala, Pali, Sanskrit, and English, the Hela
movement denied the Arya-Sinhala identity with its Indic orientation, in order to
assert and claim an exclusively indigenous ‘Hela’ identity for the Sinhalese, derived
from no other ethnic group and born in Sri Lanka itself – hence with a Fichtean Urvolk
status. The Hela movement therefore sought a fundamental detachment from all
outside traditions and assumptions of Indic origin, and called for the restoration of
the claimed ethnic uniqueness and cultural greatness of the Sinhalese, which they
believed existed in a remote past and from which a decline had occurred only in the
recent past.
The keystone of the Helese identity was the pure Sinhala (Hela) language. In place
of the ‘land, nation, and religion’ ethno-religious trinity held up in the earlier Buddhist
cultural revival, Cumaratunga made assertions of ‘language, nation, and land’, with
language appearing foremost and displacing religion as the most prominent nation-
alist characteristic. For Cumaratunga, Sinhala in its purest, oldest Hela form was the
most important symbol of the separate and exclusive national identity of the Sinhalese
people, and one which deserved the greatest attention of the Sinhalese. In order to
promote such a pure form of the language devoid of foreign borrowings, an extensive
revitalization of Hela was attempted with the production of new literature in Hela,
textbooks for use in schools, grammatical descriptions of the language, and re-edited
versions of classical Hela texts, all aiming at the reintroduction of an enriched form of
Hela into Sinhalese life.
As the result of much dedicated eVort and organization, Cumaratunga managed
to win over a considerable section of the intelligentsia to his views, including the
Sinhalese schoolteachers, a group which had low socio-economic status and an
interest in language matters. The Hela ideology aimed at uplifting the self-esteem
of these and other non-elite intellectuals and was successful to a very clear degree in
achieving this goal. By downplaying Buddhism as a necessary important component
of Sinhalese ethnic identity and promoting language in its place, Cumaratunga was
also able to draw Sinhalese Christians into the Hela-organized group assertive activity.
The Hela movement thus reintegrated the one major section of the Sinhalese
community which had been left out by the Arya Sinhala identity.
Although it never really attained the status of a truly mass movement, in part
because some of the unconventional stances of the group were irksome to the
traditionalists, the Hela movement was a major landmark in the rise of Sinhalese
130 K. N. O. Dharmadasa
ethnic group were signiWcantly perceived to be directly dependent on the survival and
healthy state of their language Sinhala, and fears about the future of the language
translated into worries about how to sustain the broader ethnic identity of the
Sinhalese. Such real, deep-seated worries of the Sinhalese as a small community living
in the shadow of a mighty neighbour would continue to plague the Sinhalese through-
out the twentieth century and have repeatedly added an extra dimension of potential
diYculty to Tamil–Sinhalese relations. In the 1940s, they were furthermore increased
by declarations from certain Tamil politicians that the Tamils on Sri Lanka had a deep
allegiance to India and even an aspiration for the island to be incorporated into India.
Despite such concerns and despite the temptation to try to improve economic
conditions for the Sinhalese by installing Sinhala as the sole oYcial language of Sri
Lanka, the State Council (in which Sinhalese politicians were the majority) voted to
accept a Tamil proposal to amend the oYcial language resolution and add the word
Tamil in every position that Sinhala occurred, hence changing the resolution into a
proposal to replace English with both Sinhala and Tamil as co-oYcial languages of Sri
Lanka. A major reason why there was no dogged Sinhalese insistence on Sinhala
alone as oYcial language in 1943, and why there was no serious resistance to the
inclusion of Tamil as co-oYcial language in the resolution was that local politicians,
and particularly majority Sinhalese politicians, had to be extremely careful to avoid
all appearances of biased, communal activity in the eyes of the British during the
pre-independence period. It was realized that if complete independence was to be
obtained from the British (and this was expected to occur, given the continued,
gradual transfer of power from the British to local government organizations), then
it was absolutely vital that political leaders on Sri Lanka appear to be liberal,
democratic, and working towards the improvement of ethnic relations rather than
introducing measures that might increase tension and division among the people who
they represented. This eVective reining-in of any major open move towards ethnic
politics among elected local leaders caused by the continued presence of the British
prior to the granting of independence was an extremely important aspect of politics in
the 1930s and 1940s, and did much to counteract pressure from outside government
for more radical political measures (Dharmadasa 1992). In addition to this, it should
also be added that among the State Council and local leadership of Sri Lanka in
1943 there were both Sinhalese and Tamil politicians who genuinely hoped for the
emergence of a single, composite ‘Ceylonese’ national identity on the island and who
therefore did not oppose the co-promotion of both Sinhala and Tamil as joint
component parts of such an identity. The underlying potential for the 1943 oYcial
language resolution to result in serious inter-ethnic confrontation was therefore
fortunately not realized. With the British hand-over of power in 1948, however, and
the occurrence of new general elections in 1956, the forces of ethnic consciousness
and group assertion were primed and set to resurface in a powerful wave of language
nationalism which would have long-term consequences for the peace and stability of
Sri Lanka throughout the remainder of the twentieth century.
132 K. N. O. Dharmadasa
all religions on the island were to have the usual rights envisaged in democratic
societies, the singling out of Buddhism as the foremost state religion further enforced
the image the Tamils had of a Sinhalese majority dominating the oYcial identity of the
state with its language and (now) religion. The constitution also further entrenched
the position of Sinhala as the one oYcial language of Sri Lanka with sections
indicating that only laws drafted and written in Sinhala (and not translations into
Tamil) were fully legally binding, and signiWcantly removed a safeguard written in the
Wrst constitution which was designed to prevent Parliament from enacting discrimin-
atory legislation against minorities. A symbolic harking back to the days of the
Sinhalese kings was furthermore evident in the change of the country’s name from
its colonial appellation ‘Ceylon’ to the title ‘Sri Lanka’ (Auspicious Lanka).
Added to the acute employment diYculties now aZicting parts of the Tamil
population and the growing feelings of being disconnected with the state, the
government measures of the early 1970s triggered a closing of Tamil ranks, and for
the Wrst time all Tamil political parties agreed to take a united stand for the
preservation of Tamil interests, forming the Tamil United Front in 1972. Four years
later this developed further into the initiation of a real secessionist movement on
Sri Lanka with the founding of the Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF). A
resolution passed in 1976 at the founding convention of the TULF declared that:
The resolution emphasized the disadvantages arising for the Tamils from the creation
of Sinhala as the only oYcial language, and how this denied the Tamils equality of
opportunity in the spheres of employment, education, and economic life in general.
The 1970s also simultaneously saw aggrieved groups of Tamil youths forming
themselves into groups of armed militants and engaging in attacks on government
property and personnel. This marked an important transition of Tamil disaVection
and indicated its potential to escalate dangerously further. Realizing that something
had to be done to address the growing list of Tamil grievances or risk a deterioration
of the situation, in 1978 a new constitution was adopted which recognized Tamil as a
‘national language’ along with Sinhala (though Sinhala still remained the sole oYcial
language) for use in administration in areas where Tamils were a local majority, and
also developed certain powers to local authorities. When this system of devolution
was put into practice in 1981, it seemed to function well in the Tamil areas and
helped to defuse the build-up of troubled, separatist sentiment among the Tamils.
Unfortunately however, a catastrophe fully negating this potential progress occurred
in 1983, when the ambush and killing of thirteen Sinhala soldiers in the Tamil north
136 K. N. O. Dharmadasa
triggered widespread and deadly anti-Tamil riots. While ethnic riots had also occurred
in earlier years, those in 1983 were more widespread and qualitatively quite diVerent.
Mobs led by certain groups close to the ruling UNP led a systematic attack on
Tamil targets in Sinhala areas, and although the larger mass of the Sinhala people
did not condone the violence, this created a situation in which not the state as such
but the state and Sinhala people were seen as enemies of the Tamils. During the riots
many Tamils living in Sinhala neighbourhoods in Colombo and other Sinhala areas
lost their property and their lives, and others Xed the country to seek refuge in
neighbouring India. Reprisal attacks then followed on, carried out by Tamil militants,
with shocking massacres of Sinhalese villagers, Buddhist monks and worshippers, and
other civilian targets, and in a short period of time inter-ethnic relations on Sri Lanka
spiralled wildly out of control.
In an attempt to curb the secessionist forces that were quickly gathering momen-
tum, the government then introduced a constitutional requirement that all members
of parliament swear their allegiance to a united Sri Lanka. The Tamil political
leadership, however, refused to undertake this, and forfeited their seats in parliament,
leaving the Tamil community without parliamentary representation and causing a
new leadership vacuum. This vacuum subsequently came to be Wlled by the most
powerful and ruthless of the guerrilla groups Wghting government forces in the north
and east of Sri Lanka, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE/Tamil Tigers), and
ushered in two full decades of violent confrontation and civil war, punctuated by
intermittent cease-Wres and talks trying to put an end to the conXict. From a situation
where the focus of attention was mainly on language-related problems resulting from
the government’s promotion of Sinhala as the single oYcial language of the state, the
deterioration of Tamil–Sinhalese relations led to a changed and dangerous new
climate in which the acquisition of territory and an independent Tamil homeland
was the key demand made by leaders of the Tamils, and violent means came to be
regularly adopted to pursue the goal of autonomy.
Today, a lasting peace has still not been reached, and though there is a strong desire
among war-weary Tamil and Sinhalese civilians for an end to the violence begun in
the 1980s, the forces set in motion by the events and decisions of the immediate post-
independence period and the Sinhala-only debacle are proving diYcult to control.
During attempts to calm Tamil calls for full separatism, in 1987 the government
formally recognized Tamil as a national oYcial language of Sri Lanka on a par with
Sinhala (with English also oYcially reintroduced as a ‘link’ language), but such a
purely linguistic move did little to change the new territorial goals of the LTTE
leadership, and the battle for independence continued. Currently it would seem
that some kind of federated partitioning of Sri Lanka may ultimately occur, with
the Tamil-majority north, and possibly the east (where there is also a large Muslim
Tamil population who do not identify ethnically with the Hindu Tamils) forming
a Tamil-governed area within Sri Lanka. However, there are many complicating
details still to be addressed and mutual suspicions abound, not least the fear among
Sri Lanka 137
Sinhalese that the LTTE will return to its goal of establishing an independent Tamil
state once a federation has been put in place. The future is consequently still quite
uncertain, and the unity of the country as a viable multi-ethnic polity remains fragile
and menaced by worries of division.
majority in a multi-ethnic state may not simply cause feelings of disaVection, but has
the clear potential to explode into a much broader conXict which can negate all liberal
attempts to foster a multi-ethnic national identity and may even precipitate the
physical break-up of a country. In 1948 Sri Lanka was widely considered to be a
model democracy with a very promising future. Now, Wfty years after the critical
decision to establish a single oYcial state language, and the ensuing, incremental
escalation of ethnic confrontation with its entrenchment of extremist attitudes in
certain quarters, Sri Lanka is bemoaning the fact that it has ‘suVered almost every
element of tragedy that can befall a small country’ (K. M. De Silva 2000: 12), and it is
proving hugely diYcult to return the country to its potential of earlier years.
PART II
East Asia
East Asia
7
China
Ping Chen
7.1 Introduction
The People’s Republic of China (PRC) currently contains the world’s largest single-
country population, with over 1.3 billion Chinese citizens distributed over an area
approximately three times the size of western Europe. As a modern nation-state,
China is comparatively young, having emerged during a twentieth century Wlled with
tremendous internal turmoil and social change. As a civilization populated and
maintained by a single dominant ethnic group sharing a common culture, however,
China has a vast history with a writing system dating back at least as far as 1700 bc.
This chapter examines issues relating to language and the establishment and support
of national identity in modern, post-imperial China, and how language use is pres-
ently directed in contemporary China. In doing so, the chapter will make important
reference to a distinction between ‘ideological’ versus ‘utilitarian’ views of language in
relation to the development of modern nation-states, and to the value of languages as
markers of the national, regional, and ethnic identity of their speakers.
A signiWcant ideological/utilitarian distinction can be argued to underlie the design
and implementation of diVering types of language planning and language policy in
diVerent countries, and also provides a key to a sound understanding of varying
attitudes toward issues such as multilingualism, language standardization, language
maintenance, and attrition. The ideological view is best represented in the philo-
sophy developed by German scholars such as J. G. Herder (1744–1803), J. G. Fichte
(1762–1814), and W. Humboldt (1767–1835), who saw language as a deWning character-
istic, or essence/Geist, of a nation. Language, according to this view, naturally serves as a
unifying force for nationalist movements attempting to secure statehood, and then
continues to function as a highly important symbol of the identity of nation-states
once established (and can also serve as an identifying symbol of groups of speakers of
other, sub-state sizes). The utilitarian view, on the other hand, sees language as nothing
more than a practical tool, whose value is determined mainly in terms of its eYciency,
perceived or real, in facilitating oral and written communication for its speakers in
their educational, political, social, and economic activities. A native language or dialect,
142 P. Chen
China
from this perspective, may or should undergo substantial reform, or even be abandoned
in favour of another language or dialect, if and when this is deemed to serve the
communicative needs of the people more eVectively.
With such a diVerence in approach to language in mind, the chapter will examine
perceptions of Chinese during the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century
periods of strong nationalist support for the modernization of China as an independ-
ent, progressive nation-state. It will be shown that during this time, the ideological
view of language was weak and sometimes simply absent from the mainstream
intellectual and political discourse, and that perceptions of the ‘national’ language
on the part of the elite of Chinese society were in fact very negative, in a way that is
both striking and quite uncommon among nationalist movements. The chapter will
then discuss the bi-dialectalism in China which has arisen as a result of the promotion
of a standard form of Chinese in the country, and notes that certain major dialects
now seem to be in clear decline in terms of populations of speakers and domains of
use. Accompanying this is the attrition of regional identity which has local dialect as
its most diVerentiating marker. Finally, the chapter discusses the status of non-Chinese
minority languages and the evolving patterns of bilingualism which exist among the
communities associated with these languages.
China 143
Mandarin 660
Beijing Mandarin Beijing
Northeastern Mandarin Heilongjiang, Jilin, Liaoning
Jiao-Liao Mandarin Shandong, Liaoning
Ji-Lu Mandarin Hebei, Shandong
Central Plains Mandarin Henan, Shaanxi, Shandong
Lan-Yin Mandarin Gansu, Ningxia
Southwestern Mandarin Sichuan, Yunan, Guizhou
Jiang-Huai Mandarin Jiangsu, Anhui, Hubei
Jin 45 Shanxi
Wu 70 Shanghai, Southern Jiangsu, Zhejiang
Hui 32 Southern Anhui
Xiang 25 Hunan
Gan 40 Jiangxi
Kejia (Hakka) 40 Guangdong, Fujian, Jiangxi
Yue (Cantonese) 62 Guangdong, Guangxi, Hong Kong
Min 60 Fujian, Guangdong, Hainan, Taiwan
dialects can furthermore be broken down into numerous sub-dialects which them-
selves may be mutually unintelligible, and so it is actually more accurate to refer to
the nine major dialects as ‘dialect groups’. Due to the fact that speech from (and even
within) the various regional dialect groups cannot be mutually understood, it has also
sometimes been suggested (e.g. BloomWeld 1961; P. Chen 1999: 204–5) that Mandarin,
Jin, Wu, Min, etc. could be classiWed as separate Chinese languages rather than just
dialects. However, whether linguistically correct or not, such a separation into distinct
languages does not accord with speakers’ perceptions of the varieties they have as
mother tongues, and within China the term fangyan ‘dialect’ is always used to refer to
varieties such as Cantonese and Hakka, and never replaced with the term yuyan
‘language’. There is, therefore, a widespread belief that the various forms of regional
speech present in China are varieties of a single language, Chinese.1 This perception is
further buttressed by the important fact that speakers of all regional varieties of
Chinese are connected in the use of a single, standardized written form of Chinese,
and by a long commonly-shared literary history.2
Exactly when and how the regional varieties of Chinese took their earliest shape
and evolved throughout history is still not very well known. In spite of many unsettled
issues in the history of Chinese, however, most researchers agree that the existence of
an original standard form of Chinese can be traced back to well over two thousand
years ago. In the era of Confucius (551–479 bc) this was known as yayan ‘elegant
language’, and served as the base of written Chinese and also (it is believed) as a
standard spoken form for those with (mostly oYcial) dealings across dialect bound-
aries. SigniWcantly later on, from the beginning of the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644), the
shared standard was called guanhua ‘mandarin’ or ‘speech of oYcials’, a term which
remained in popular use until the end of the nineteenth century when it was replaced
by the new nationalist-related term guoyu ‘national language’.3 The geographical base
of the de facto administrative standard form of Chinese also switched several times in
history. In the Sui (581–618) and the Tang (618–907) Dynasty, it was based on the local
dialect of present-day Xi’an. In the Northern Song Dynasty (960–1127) the base
1
Just as, for example, speakers of ‘English’ from Aberdeen in Scotland and Louisiana would feel that
they are speaking the same underlying language, even though they might not be able to understand each
other’s speech.
2
The relation of the regional dialects of Chinese to Old Written Chinese is therefore not unlike the
relation of regional forms of spoken Arabic to written Arabic. Though speakers of Levantine and Gulf
Arabic may not be able to understand each other when they speak their regional dialects, they are linked by
a common written form which is understood by all. The diVerence between modern written Arabic and
Modern Standard Written Chinese is that, while the former is considerably diVerent from any colloquial
spoken Arabic in common use, such as Egyptian Arabic, the latter is basically the written form of putonghua.
3
The term guoyu was actually used before modern times to refer to the native language of the ruling
class, which may not have been Chinese, as in the case of the early emperors of the Qing Dynasty
(1616–1911), who spoke Manchu. Guoyu in the modern sense of national language was borrowed from
Japanese, which combined two Chinese characters (meaning ‘country’ and ‘language’) to refer to the new
concept of national language borrowed from the Europeans during the Meiji Period (1868–1912). From
the late nineteenth century up until the mid-1950s, guoyu was used to refer to a newly codiWed standard
form of Chinese as the national language of China.
China 145
switched to present-day Kaifeng and Luoyang, and then to Nanjing in the Ming and
early Qing Dynasty. It was not until the mid-nineteenth century that Beijing Mandarin
subsequently replaced the Nanjing dialect as the base of this shared, oYcial lingua
franca.
The second half of the nineteenth century also marked the arousal of nationalism in
China, and the beginning of a process of the modernization of China as a nation-state,
to a large extent as a reaction to the successive invasion and military defeats of China
by Western powers since the First Opium War (1840–1842), causing a gradual,
worrying erosion of its sovereignty. The speciWc concept of a national language was
introduced into Chinese discourse from Japan in the late nineteenth century, follow-
ing Japan’s own rapid modernization. Before this period, the concept of standard
language in China was mainly applicable to written Chinese, specifying, among other
things, the proper graphic shape of Chinese characters and their pronunciation.
Concerning the latter, in traditional dictionaries this was indicated in terms of the
phonological categories that Chinese logographic characters belonged to in earlier
periods of historical development, rather than their actual pronunciation in any
contemporary vernacular. The dictionaries were of principal use for writers who
needed to select words with appropriate sounds for rhyming purposes in poem
composition, and facilitated the continued production of high literature in a classical
writing style known as wenyanwen. In addition to works written in wenyanwen, there
was also the occasional use of a written form close to genuine, contemporary speech
mainly in Northern Mandarin, known as baihuawen or ‘vernacular literary literature’.
However, prior to the twentieth century, use of baihuawen was much more restricted
and less common than the formal standard.
The National Language Movement which became increasingly active during the
early twentieth century set out to oYcially establish and promote a standard language
across the whole of China, and to replace the written standard based on Old Chinese
with one that was closer to the contemporary vernacular. Together with the creation
of a phonetic representation of Chinese as an ancillary aid for the learning of
character-based written Chinese, the development of a new standard form of written
and spoken Chinese constitute an important part of the modernization of China as a
nation-state in the twentieth century. In attempting to reach an accepted codiWcation
of the national language, it was hotly debated for more than a decade through into the
1920s whether standard Chinese should be based predominantly on the Beijing dialect
of Mandarin Chinese, or alternatively incorporate phonological features from other
dialects, such as the Nanjing dialect. The former approach eventually prevailed, and
1932 saw the publication of Guoyin Changyong Zihui ‘A glossary of frequently used
characters in national pronunciation’, which set the phonetic values of words in the
new standard spoken Chinese as predominantly those of Beijing Mandarin. Somewhat
later on, in the early 1950s, the Chinese appellation of this standard was changed from
guoyu ‘national language’ to putonghua ‘common language’, being oYcially deWned by
the government as follows (Guowuyuan 1995 [1956]: 765):
146 P. Chen
Putonghua is the standard form of Modern Chinese with the Beijing phonological system
as its norm of pronunciation, and Northern dialects as its base dialect, and looking to
exemplary modern works in baihua ‘vernacular literary language’ for its grammatical
norms.
4
Although there was the oYcial adoption of lexical items from various dialects in the initial creation of
putonghua, in the current production of vernacular written language writers from non-Mandarin dialect
areas tend to avoid the use of expressions which are still peculiar to their own dialects, so as to ensure a
wide, national readership. Since the mid-1950s, the avoidance of dialectalisms in writing has indeed been
held to be an important aspect of the standardization of the language, in tandem with the promotion of
putonghua as a spoken standard across the country, and can even be noted as a common practice earlier in
the twentieth century when baihuawen came to replace wenyanwen as the base of modern standard written
Chinese. In contemporary Chinese Wction, it is usually very diYcult to tell the dialectal background of
writers, unless they make a conscious eVort to display their regional and dialectal identities in their
writing, which is rarely the case.
5
Hence courses in putonghua oVered in schools and universities in the West are regularly referred to as
teaching Mandarin or Mandarin Chinese.
China 147
Tibet 96%
Xinjiang 62%
Qinghai 42%
Guangxi 39%
Guizhou 35%
Yunnan 33%
Ningxia 33%
Inner Mongolia 19%
Sino-Tibetan
Tibeto-Burman (Tibetan, Yi, Bai, Hani, Tujia) Tibet, Yunnan, Sichuan
Kam-Tai (Zhuang, Dong, Boyei, Dai) Guangxi, Yunnan, Guizhou
Miao-Yao (Miao, Mian, Bunu) Hunan, Guangxi, Guizhou, Sichuan
Altaic
Turkic (Uygur, Kazak, Kirgiz) Xinjiang
Mongolian (Mongolian, Dongxiang, Daur) Inner Mongolia, Xinjiang, Gansu
Manchu-Tungus (Xibe, Ewenki) Xinjiang, Heilongjiang
Austro-Asiatic (Va, Blang, Deang) Yunnan
Austronesian (Gaoshans) Taiwan
Indo-European (Tajik, Russian) Xinjiang, Inner Mongolia
Status undecided (Korean, Jing) Jilin, Heilongjiang, Liaoning, Guangxi
7
More precisely, there are less than 100 Manchu people who still speak Manchu, out of a population of
10 million.
China 149
symbol of national identity. In fact one could even say that the nationalist sentiment
for national independence and social progress in China was as strong as the
sentiment against its language, particularly the written language used in printed
materials. Far from enjoying a sacrosanct aura, the Chinese language was blamed
as one of the fundamental causes of the backwardness of the country. It was
targeted as an object for drastic reform, and some argued it should actually be
abandoned in favour of another language if attempts at reform turned out to be
unsuccessful.
In the mainstream intellectual and political discourse for more than a century
following the Opium Wars, the worrisome plight of China was attributed mainly to a
lack of proper education among the majority of the population, which in turn was
attributed to the perceived low eYciency of the language, in particular the written
language and its complicated character-based script. The acquisition of literacy in
Chinese, it was argued, was a very time-consuming burden that not many people
could undertake. Lu Zhuangzhang, the Wrst native Chinese who designed a phonetic
writing system for his Southern Min dialect, summarized a common view in the
preface to his book published in 1892:
Chinese characters are probably the most diYcult script to learn in the world . . . I believe
that the strength and prosperity of our country depends upon the physical sciences, which
can grow and Xourish only if all people – men and women, young and old – are eager to
learn and be knowledgeable. If people are to be eager to learn, then the script needs to be
phoneticized in such a way that, after they have acquired the alphabet and rules of
spelling, they will know how to read without further instruction. Speech and writing
also need to use the same language, so that what is said by the mouth will be understood
by the mind. (Lu Zhuangzhang 1892: 2–3)
In terms of its call for an alignment of spoken and written forms of Chinese and a
simpliWcation of the script (possibly by a shift to a diVerent, alphabetic representation
of Chinese), Lu expressed a very general feeling among those anxious for reform (for
further discussion, see P. Chen 1999: 165). Subsequently, the establishment and
promotion of a new spoken standard, the reform of the written language, and the
simpliWcation of the traditional writing system occurred as the three major compon-
ents in the modernization of Chinese during the nationalist movement’s drive towards
an independent, modern state of China.
In one sense, then, a very classic pattern of linguistic nationalism may have
appeared to be at work in China’s new ‘awakening’ from the late nineteenth century
onwards. Hobsbawm (2000: 160) remarks that the common path of linguistic nation-
alism sees a dialect develop into ‘a new all-purpose standard ‘‘national’’ literary
language, which will then become oYcial’. However, what makes the case with
Chinese drastically diVerent from the situation with most European languages during
their associated nationalist movements is the perception that the Chinese and Euro-
pean language reformers had with regard to their respective languages.
China 151
In stark contrast to Rivarol’s eulogy of his native language, French, the following are
comments and proposals in relation to Chinese that were made in the early part of the
twentieth century by some of the most prominent intellectual and political Wgures in
China of the time:
If we don’t want China to perish, and if we want it to be a civilized nation in the twentieth
century, the best thing to do would be to abandon Confucianism and Daoism, and the
simplest way toward this end would be to abandon written Chinese, in which the Confucian
doctrines and Daoist fallacies were recorded. After written Chinese is abandoned, . . . we
should adopt Esperanto, an artiWcial language that is concise in grammar, uniform in
pronunciation, and elegant in its word roots. (Qian Xuantong 1935 [1918]: 144)
In the period of transition (before the Chinese language is abandoned), we need to Wrst
abolish the Chinese script. The Chinese language may be maintained for the time being,
but should be written in Roman script. (Chen Duxiu 1935 [1918]: 146)
I completely agree with Mr. Chen Duxiu on his proposal to abolish the Chinese script
while maintaining the Chinese language for the present. I believe China should have a
phonetic writing system in the future. (Hu Shi 1935 [1918]: 146)
There are many impediments to the dissemination of knowledge among the Chinese.
Two of them have been disastrous. The Wrst is having living human beings use the
language of the dead; the second is the continued maintenance in modern life of a script
that is both primitive and clumsy. . . The origin of the Chinese script is extremely
uncivilised, and its graphic shape very bizarre. It is extraordinarily diYcult to learn, and
uneconomical to use. Indeed, it is the clumsy, coarse script of monsters and demons, and
the most inconvenient tool in the world. (Fu Sinian 1935 [1919]: 147)
The Chinese script is certainly an eVective tool of obscurantist policy. . . and the tuber-
culosis of the labouring masses. If we don’t get rid of these insidious germs, we will end up
dead ourselves. (Lu Xun 1934: 160)
Chinese characters are like the Wlthiest, most abominable, most wicked, medieval night
soil cesspit. (Qu Qiubai 1953 [1931]: 690)
Considerable space has been used here to present these views in order to highlight two
points (cf. Gao 2003 for more of similar views). First, all of the above writers were
clearly Wlled with very strong negative feelings towards written Chinese, and in
152 P. Chen
particular the use of traditional Chinese characters. With some of them, the negative
feelings extended to the Chinese language per se. Second, these very negative percep-
tions of the Chinese language, in particular of wenyanwen and the script, were not
the idiosyncratic ravings of a few eccentric professors. All of these writers belonged
to, and indeed constituted, the intellectual elite of Chinese society in the Wrst half of the
twentieth century, wielding tremendous inXuence upon their contemporaries and
following generations. Hu Shi (1891–1962), Chen Duxiu (1879–1942), and Fu Sinian
(1896–1950) were leaders in the May 4th New Culture Movement in 1919, which
marked the beginning of Modern China. Hu Shi and Fu Sinian were also both
presidents of the prestigious Peking University. Lu Xun (1881–1936) was generally
recognized as the most prominent writer and thinker of his time. Chen Duxiu was
the founding General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party from 1921, and Qu
Qiubai (1899–1935) held the same position in 1927. More importantly, language plan-
ning and language policy in the successive governments were mainly in the charge of
these people and their like-minded colleagues. Qian Xuantong (1887–1939) was the
designer of the Wrst scheme of simpliWcation of the Chinese script, which was promul-
gated by the Nationalist government in 1936. The founding chair of the Wrst oYcial
language-planning institution of the People’s Republic of China, the Association of the
Reform of Chinese Script, was Wu Yuzhang (1878–1966), a close ally of Qu Qiubai on
language reform, and Wu and Qu, together with certain Soviet linguists, were the
engineers of the design of an inXuential phonetic writing system for Chinese, Ladinxua
Sin Wenz ‘Latinized New Script’, the precursor to Hanyu Pinyin ‘Chinese Phonetic
Writing’ (which has been the oYcial phonographic scheme of Chinese in the PRC
since the mid-1950s, and is extensively used elsewhere in the world for the representa-
tion of Chinese in various functions). It is largely thanks to the successful eVorts and
failures of these individuals in initiatives in language planning that the Chinese language,
in respect of the spoken and written standard and its writing system, is what it is now.
All of these prominent Wgures in twentieth-century China held sincere and strong
nationalist sentiments, and in their respective ways played important and highly
commendable roles in the nationalist movement working for modernization of the
country. On the other hand, as demonstrated in the above quotations, they held
minimal respect for the Chinese language, and the Herderian ideological view of
language as the treasured essence of a nation and its people was completely absent
among them. To the extent that they did take a keen interest in language, and
participated actively in the reform of the Chinese language, they were putting into
practice a fully utilitarian view of language that had no place for the ideological value
of Chinese in the national identity. Indeed, perhaps at no other point in modern
history has the intellectual and political elite of a major emerging nation seemed to
hold its mother tongue in such apparent abhorrence, and used such strong depreci-
atory language in condemnation of the language. There were, to be sure, certain
dissenting voices defending the Chinese language, but these were generally weak and
few and far between, at least in the Wrst half of the twentieth century, and the views
China 153
presented above prevailed in the mainstream discourse on language in China from the
late nineteenth century well into the Wrst half of the twentieth century, and to some
extent, have even persisted to the present time.
How should we now explain this rather unique situation in which highly negative
perceptions of the Chinese language, and particularly of written Chinese and the
Chinese script, dominated mainstream thinking and discussion in modern China?
Broadly, it can be suggested that there were three principal factors contributing to
such a situation, the Wrst of these having to do with the historical development of China
and how this may have been diVerent from the development of nations elsewhere.
With regards to Europe, it is well documented that language played an important
ideological and political role in the formation of its nation-states, and particularly in
Central and Eastern Europe, serving to arouse the self-awareness of speakers as
groups distinct from neighbouring peoples speaking other languages. As observed
by B. Anderson (1983: 66), the Herderian concept of the nation being linked to
language as a private property ‘had wide inXuence in 19th century Europe and,
more narrowly, on subsequent theorizing about the nature of nationalism’. ‘National
print-languages’, Anderson also remarks (1983: 71), ‘were of central ideological and
political importance’ in the formation of nationalism in Europe between 1820 and
1920. Linguistic nationalism, embodied in the publication of important works in a
vernacular, standardization of the vernacular, and its promotion to the state of being a
language Wt for all formal and oYcial functions, was an integral part of nation-state
building. Language and nationalist movements in Europe were felt to be very closely
linked in many cases, so that (for example) the birth of Hungarian nationalism was
considered to be an event which occurred in 1772 with the publication of certain
works of literature in the Hungarian language.
Unlike the European nation-states, however, China as a civilization, and as a nation
in a pre-modern sense, had been a historical given for millennia. Before the advent of
modern times it had been a country with a central government, and had used a
common written language since the imperial Qin Dynasty (221–206 bc). The series of
events occurring since the mid-nineteenth century certainly developed a sense of crisis
over the survival of the nation in the face of foreign invasion, but the existence of the
Chinese as a nation, in the traditional and the modern sense, was taken for granted.
Consequently there was no real need for language to serve as a symbol of identity or
a bonding force in the national awareness of the Chinese people.
Secondly there was a political factor. Although prior to the twentieth century China
was ruled for three hundred years by foreign Manchu emperors in the Qing Dynasty,
language was seldom a politicized issue during this time and not part of the tension
that existed between the ruling Manchu and their mostly Han subjects. This was for
the simple reason that the foreign rulers abandoned their own language and adopted
Chinese. During the conquest of China proper by Manchu troops, Han Chinese men
were sometimes executed for refusing to wear their hair in braids of the same special
style as the Manchu, but were never pressurized to learn Manchurian, and continued
154 P. Chen
8
In certain quarters it was claimed that the syntactic reforms of written Chinese also brought the
written language closer to that of various European languages such as English. Wang Li, an eminent
Chinese linguist, observed in 1954 that, as a result of much development of Chinese in its grammatical
structure, articles in newspapers and magazines could be translated into English and other similar
European languages almost in a word-for-word manner without substantial alteration of the structure
(Wang 1980 [1954]: 31; P. Chen 1999: 86). Objections were occasionally raised to this perceived ‘Euro-
peanization’ of Chinese, but did not have much eVect on changes occurring in Chinese, which continue to
occur in the present.
9
The simpliWcation of Chinese characters in mainland China resulted in a system of writing that has
become visually distinct in many of its common characters from that used in other Chinese communities,
such as Taiwan, Hong Kong, and overseas Chinese communities in southeast Asia, North America, and
Europe, where traditional characters continue to occur (though these are used to write in a modern style
that is close to spoken Chinese, as in mainland China).
156 P. Chen
The vocabulary of standard spoken and written Chinese was also considerably
expanded during the period of reform and modernization, so that a shared, standard
form of the language would be available for use in speech and in writing in all domains
of life, including those relating to science, education, government, and modern admin-
istration. The particular way that nations undertake this kind of expansion of standard
languages is often interesting to observe and may frequently be informative about
attitudes towards language as a national symbol. ‘Philological nationalism’ and the
insistence on the linguistic purity of a national language’s vocabulary can be noted to
have occurred in many instances where new nations are being constructed, or estab-
lished nations are being defended against foreign cultural inXuences. In the area of
vocabulary and the importation of loanwords, nationalist views considering language an
important symbol of the identity of a nation may apply pressure for the translation of
loanwords into equivalent morphemes and words in the national language rather than
the direct adoption of foreign words and their pronunciation (see, for example, the
protectionist policies against franglais adopted by the French Academy, or Hobsbawm
2000 on German). Resistance to the general introduction of foreign loanwords has
been rather weak in Chinese. The period before and after the Sino-Japanese War
in 1894–5 saw an inXux of loanwords from Japanese into Chinese on an unprecedented
scale, and the process of borrowing words from other languages, particularly European
languages, accelerated strongly after that. However, it has frequently been observed
that there is a strong preference to translate foreign words into Chinese,10 rather
than just adapt foreign pronunciations to the phonology of Chinese. In Wang (1980
[1954]) it is suggested that this kind of semantic translation, rather than phonetic
transliteration, reveals the national self-esteem of the Chinese-speaking people and a
protective instinct towards the national language. If so, this would seem to be an
instance where ideological issues do aVect language policy with regard to Chinese,
and attribute an important nationalist symbolic power to the language. Such a conclu-
sion is actually not justiWed, though, and there are good reasons to believe that the
preference for the semantic translation of loanwords into Chinese has more to do with
the nature of the Chinese writing system than with national self-esteem. In the over-
whelming majority of Chinese words, each logophoric character is also an independent
morpheme, resulting in a common one-character-one-meaning correspondence in the
language. Speakers of Chinese are so used to this correspondence that a string of
characters used to represent the pronunciation of a foreign word with no regard for
the inherent meanings of the characters used to capture this pronunciation does not Wt
well with their reading habits, and hence is widely dispreferred (see P. Chen 1999 for
further discussion).
In tandem with the reform and development of written Chinese, the promotion of
putonghua in mainland China came into full swing in 1955. With the exception of the
10
An exception to this is the case of loanwords from Japanese which are already written in Chinese
characters and hence very easy to make use of without the need for further translation.
China 157
chaotic decade of the Cultural Revolution (1966–76), it has continually been a major
task of language-planning institutions of the central government, and a series of
executive directives and regulations have been issued by government institutions at
various levels that relate speciWcally to its promotion. Over time, putonghua has
steadily expanded in domains of use, and increasingly speciWc standards have been
set on the proWciency levels of those who are required to speak putonghua in their
work. A directive by the Ministry of Education in 1989 stipulates that, except in ethnic
minority areas, putonghua is to be used as the medium of instruction in classrooms
from kindergartens through primary schools to lower middle schools across the
country. It was further announced by the Ministry of Education in 2003 that all
teachers, television and radio broadcasters, actors and actresses, public servants, and
normal school graduates must pass a test in putonghua proWciency to meet their job
qualiWcations. Attempting to enforce such a directive, it was reported in Shanghai that
public servants who fail to meet a certain proWciency level of putonghua will further-
more lose their jobs.
Generally speaking, the promotion of putonghua as a national language has been
very successful. Within the all important area of education, an overwhelming major-
ity of urban schools in the regional dialect areas have adopted putonghua in all of their
school activities. For example, in the province of Guangdong, where Cantonese
is the dominant local dialect, putonghua is generally used in more than 83 per cent
of primary schools in the capital city of the province, Guangzhou. The percentage of
schools which commonly use putonghua for all purposes is even higher in the areas of
certain other dialects such as the Min and Wu dialects. In rural areas, however, the
situation is somewhat diVerent, and particularly so in poor rural areas, where
qualiWed teachers are more diYcult to Wnd and retain. In rural areas of Guangdong,
for example, it is reported that putonghua is used in only 50 per cent of primary
schools. Given the widespread use of putonghua in teaching, as the medium of
instruction and in other activities in school, a person’s competence in putonghua
correlates quite closely with the length and quality of education that she or he has
received. Those who have received nine years of schooling or more can normally be
expected to understand and speak putonghua reasonably well. The increasingly wide-
spread outreach of television and radio broadcasting by national stations based in
Beijing, which almost exclusively use putonghua, has also greatly facilitated the
popularization of standard spoken Chinese across the country. As discussed in
P. Chen (1999), as much as 90 per cent of the Chinese-speaking population has now
acquired comprehension proWciency in putonghua, and more than half of the popula-
tion can speak it with varying degrees of Xuency.
As a result of the spread of putonghua, a situation of diglossia now obtains in
regional dialect areas in China where members of the population are proWcient in
both putonghua and a local dialect of Chinese. In such areas, putonghua occurs as the
High/H language, normally used in education, mass media, government, public
service, and for all formal purposes. It is generally perceived as the linguistic code
158 P. Chen
of prestige and upward social mobility, representing good education, high culture,
intelligence, and all the other trappings of elitism. Among university professors,
government oYcials, and company managers, it has been observed that use of putong-
hua has come to be the norm, even if such people can also Xuently speak a local dialect.
Local dialects, by way of contrast, function as the Low/L-domain languages, and are
mainly used among family members and friends, and in informal environments. While
dialects, as markers of regional identity, are normally associated with folksiness, famil-
iarity, and friendliness, they may also sometimes be taken as markers of vulgarity, at
least in some parts of the country like Shanghai, according to the observations of certain
sociolinguists.
In policy as well as in practice, bi-dialectalism in putonghua and a local dialect has
been a goal of language planning in China since the mid-1950s. Whereas much eVort
has gone into the promotion of putonghua, generally speaking no harsh measures have
been taken against the use of regional dialects.11 Except in radio and television
broadcasting and Wlm making where the use of dialects is strictly regulated and
restricted to certain types of programmes, for a long period of time it has been
practically up to individuals whether they use putonghua or local dialect in their
everyday activities. Consequently, it is not uncommon to Wnd people, particularly
those beyond middle age, using local dialects on occasions where putonghua is normally
expected, such as in formal oYcial or business functions. Language selection here is
more or less open to personal choice, much in the same way that individuals exhibit
diVerent preferences in food and clothing.
As perhaps might be expected, the increasingly popular use of putonghua has also
been accompanied by attrition of other dialects in terms of population of speakers and
domains of use, particularly among the younger generation. The pace and the extent
of attrition varies with regard to the diVerent regional dialects. Of the three major
southern dialects, Yue, Wu, and Min, Yue (Cantonese) is relatively stable, but the latter
two have shown signs of decline over the past decade. Generally speaking, the
attrition of regional dialects is most evident in two kinds of physical environment.
The Wrst is large cities which have sizeable migrant populations. The second is areas
with a wide spread of diVerent local dialects. The conurbation of Shanghai is a good
example of the former, while the latter is best illustrated by Min-speaking areas such
as Fujian province in the southeast part of China.
Considering the situation in Shanghai Wrst, the dominant local dialect of the city is
a Wu dialect which has been a high-prestige dialect in the wider Wu-speaking areas
over the past century. In spite of its higher sociolinguistic status in comparison with
other Wu dialects, the Shanghai dialect has shrunk considerably in its population of
speakers and domains of use. For example, it has been reported that dozens of verbs
which are peculiar to the Shanghai dialect and do not exist in putonghua are now no
11
This contrasts with the situation in Taiwan and its promotion of guoyu from 1945 through to the late
1980s (see P. Chen 2001a and Simpson, this volume, chapter 11).
China 159
longer used by native Shanghai university students, and the use of Shanghainese
among younger generations has been conWned to the description of activities involved
in daily life, such as eating, work, and participation in family life. For topics of a more
serious nature, putonghua is used. In addition to this, people of the younger gener-
ation, particularly those who were born in or after the 1990s of parents with good
education, tend to adopt putonghua, rather than the Shanghai dialect, as their Wrst
language, using it at home as well as in school. Similar dialect attrition is also evident
in other Wu-speaking areas. It is reported that in Jinhua, a Wu dialect city in Zhejiang
province, all children from 6 to 14 years old are able to speak putonghua, whereas only
23 per cent of them speak the local Jinhua dialect Xuently, and a signiWcant 52 per cent
cannot speak the local dialect at all.
A related situation of attrition has been observed among the young in Min dialect-
speaking areas. Putonghua is now reportedly the only language used by many children
in kindergartens and primary schools and at a higher level of education, it is found
that a large number of local university students are no longer able to speak the Min
dialect with any Xuency, and do not understand idioms and colloquial expressions in
local dialect.
The occurrence of dialect attrition in the country did not attract attention until
quite recently. During the past few years, the Wrst voices of concern over the decline,
and possible eventual death of certain of the dialects have begun to be heard, and it has
been suggested that measures should be taken to halt this decline. SpeciWcally, it has
been proposed that more airtime should be given to television and radio programmes
in local dialects, and that school children should have some hours of their weekly
schooling taught in the local dialect instead of putonghua. However, in the main it
is a very small number of linguists who have shown concern over the weakening
of dialects in the face of an increasingly dominant putonghua. Ordinary people in the
dialect areas display little interest in such issues, and do not seem to care about the
decline of dialects. In fact, as pointed out recently by a journalist in Shanghai, students
and parents now appear to be much more enthusiastic about enhancing their
proWciency in English than maintaining the local dialect.
In Edwards (1985: 71) it is observed quite generally that ‘bilingualism is often only
a temporary phenomenon, [later] replaced with dominant-language monolingual-
ism’. Nevertheless, it can also be noted that two languages or two dialects can in fact
co-exist for a long period of time if their maintenance is backed by political (and
sometimes also Wnancial) support from the government of a country, and where there
exist important domains of use for each language or dialect, and special values
attached to each. Turning to consider China’s oYcial government policy and position
on the regional dialects and their relation to putonghua, in 1955 the People’s Daily, the
oYcial mouthpiece of the central government in Beijing, editorialized that:
Putonghua serves the whole population and dialects serve the needs of people in their own
regions. Promoting putonghua does not mean that dialects would be abolished. It is only
160 P. Chen
intended to gradually narrow the scope of uses of the dialects, which is in conformity with
objective laws of social progress. Dialects should, and will co-exist with putonghua for a
considerably long period of time. (People’s Daily Editorial, 26 October 1955)
At the same time, two prominent scholars in the national language-planning institu-
tion, Luo Changpei and Lü Shuxiang, maintained that:
The national common language, in the course of its development, will absorb nutrients
from other dialects. The national common language will take from dialects all the
elements which are full of vitality and essential to its development, leaving out those
which have synonymous expressions in the national language. Dialects will have less and
less to contribute to the national common language, and they will gradually dwindle and
eventually die out as a result of the eVect of the national common language. However, this
will be a very long process. The formation of the national common language is not
conditional on the extinction of the dialects. The former simply precedes the latter.
(Luo and Lü 1955: 88).
Obviously, while dialects are allowed to co-exist with putonghua, there has been little
eVort, if any at all, on the part of language-planning institutions to actively support or
promote regional dialects. As just one example of such lack of support, it can be noted
that all applications in the 1990s from non-Beijing Mandarin areas for permission to
launch TV and radio broadcasting services and newspapers in local dialects were
rejected by the central authorities.
On the other hand, folk arts unique to regions of the country, such as local operas,
story telling, comic dialogues, etc. are performed in local dialect, and this is still an
area of language use where local dialects hold on strongly. However, it is unlikely that
folk art forms, in and of themselves, contribute signiWcantly to the maintenance of the
local dialects, as they have long lost their appeal to people of younger generations in
the competition against other forms of entertainment such as cinema, sports, and
television.
The only important remaining factor that may stimulate long-term maintenance of
local dialects in the face of the much more powerful putonghua is the unique, high
value that speakers may attach to their local dialect, their ‘language loyalty’. In this
regard, the regional dialects appear to diVer to certain degrees. For example, Tsou and
You (2003: 260) suggest that Cantonese commands a higher degree of loyalty than the
Wu or the Min dialects do. In most areas which do not feature high loyalty to local
dialects, it is essentially on the basis of pragmatic considerations that individuals
decide which language to make use of. In this respect, putonghua is usually considered
to be of much higher instrumental utility than the regional dialects. Even among
Cantonese speakers, pragmatic motivations often override language loyalty, and Pan
(2000) observes a clear increasing trend over the past decade among native salespeople
in Guangzhou to switch to putonghua in order to attract customers and facilitate
business transactions. Generally speaking, putonghua and the regional dialects in
present-day China are each associated with distinct levels of socio-economic status.
China 161
Urban, well-educated, young people in regional areas are more likely than other
members of the population to be proWcient in putonghua, and are more likely to use
this in their work and everyday life. On the other hand, rural, poorly educated, and
elderly people are more likely to be mono-dialectal, or poor speakers of putonghua. If
young people Wnd little appeal in a local dialect in the face of another much stronger
language, that dialect will certainly be in jeopardy. It seems that an increasing number
of people of the younger generation in China have decided that the high prestige of
putonghua and its usefulness as the base of standard written Chinese outweigh any
positive feelings of attachment to a regional identity embodied by the local dialect.
With some speakers, such a regional identity is in fact not something to be valued in
the Wrst place. The decline of various major Chinese dialects is consequently already a
reality, and the death of many of the dialects in the not too distant future is something
which would seem to be distinctly likely.
reform so that ethnic minority children could receive primary and secondary educa-
tion in their own language. This policy was, however, disrupted during the period
of 1958–77, when a more heavily assimilative approach toward the minority languages
prevailed. It was advocated at this time that it would be more useful for ethnic
minorities to learn Chinese than their minority languages, and Chinese should
consequently be adopted as the medium of instruction in schools in the minority
regions. With the end of the Cultural Revolution in the mid-1970s, and a redirection
of government thinking, since 1977 the central government has once again basically
switched back to its pre-1957 accommodative approach towards the minority lan-
guages. More recently, issues relating to the use of languages in ethnic minority areas
have been highlighted in certain laws, policy statements, and executive regulations
issued by the central government (M. Zhou 2003). The 1999 Constitution of the PRC
reaYrms the freedom of ethnic groups on language issues in a range of articles
partially quoted below. It should be noted that in the common English translation of
these and other related oYcial documents, the word ‘nationality’ often occurs
where ‘ethnic group/minority’ might be expected to occur. This relates directly to
the idea of ‘pluralistic integrity’ referred to above, and the view that the Chinese
nation may be comprised of a set of many (lower level) nationalities. It also results, in
part, from the fact that in Chinese there is no speciWc word for ‘nation’ that is distinct
from ‘ethnic group’, and the word minzu is used to refer to groupings of both types.
Because of this, the translation of minzu as ‘nationality’ when actually referring to
sub-national ethnic groups is both common and not seen to conXict with the notion
of China as a higher order nation/minzu encompassing various ‘ethnic’ minzu/
nationalities.12
Article 4: . . . The people of all nationalities (ethnic groups) have the freedom to use and
develop their own spoken and written languages, and to preserve or reform their own
ways and customs.
Article 121: In performing their functions, the organs of self-government of the national
autonomous areas, in accordance with the autonomy regulations of the respective areas,
employ the spoken and written language or languages in common use in the locality.
Article 134: Citizens of all nationalities have the right to use the spoken or written
languages of their own nationalities in court proceedings. The people’s courts and
people’s procurators should provide translation for any party to the court proceedings
who is not familiar with the spoken and written languages in common use in the locality.
12
This ambiguity (or wider coverage) of the Chinese word minzu is, to some extent, similar to the
situation with the English word nation about a century ago. The word nation originated in Latin and was
borrowed into English from French. The present concept of ‘nation’, used in its political sense, is a
relatively recent phenomenon in English. As observed in Hobsbawm (2000: 18) ‘the New English Dictionary
pointed out in 1908 that the old meaning of the word envisaged mainly the ethnic unit, but recent usage
rather stressed the notion of political unity and independence.’ The concept of minzu in Chinese diVers
from that of nation in English in that it is hard to tell which of the two senses of minzu is more common in
modern Chinese, ‘nation’ or ‘ethnic group’.
China 163
More concrete measures have been initiated in several other laws and executive
regulations that followed the 1999 constitution, such as the PRC Law on the National
Common Language and Script, and the Law on Regional Autonomy for Minority
Ethnic Groups in the PRC, both passed at the national level in 2001. Autonomous
regions, prefectures, and counties have also passed local laws and regulations speciW-
cally relating to the use of languages and scripts along the same lines as the consti-
tution and other state laws, and these now facilitate the implementation of the oYcial
policy on language use in ethnic minority communities.
At the same time, it has to be noted that it has always been oYcial policy to
promote putonghua nationwide, and ethnic minority communities are not exempted
from this. Competence in Chinese in addition to local minority languages has been
actively encouraged among minority people, and so has competence in minority
languages on the part of the Han working in minority areas. Bilingualism in a
minority language and Chinese is in fact a major goal of language planning in
minority areas. According to the relevant regulations, eVorts should be made to
ensure as much as possible that both minority languages and Chinese are used in
education, government, mass media, and other major socio-economic activities in
ethnic minority communities, and minority languages can be considered as the
principal languages in areas with a predominantly ethnic minority population. Schools
consisting mainly of minority students should use textbooks in minority languages
and adopt minority languages in the classroom, and Chinese should be taught starting
from the upper years of primary school or from lower middle school.
If we now consider how general linguistic pressures have aVected the speech
patterns of China’s ethnic minorities, these can be classed as falling into three
major groups with regard to the bilingualism of their speakers in both a minority
language and Chinese, mainly depending on whether the groups have had a long
history of close contact with Chinese, and whether they have an established literary
history (Dob 1992, Y. Zhou 1992).
The Wrst group is composed of ethnic minorities such as the Tibetans, the Uygurs,
and the Kazaks. These peoples each have an established literary tradition in their own
ethnic language, and have a spoken form which is generally accepted as a standard
language and extensively used in their own community for various socio-economic,
educational, and administrative purposes. The languages of these minorities have
furthermore all served as important markers of the ethnic identity of the groups
which speak them. Historically they have generally not had much close contact with
the Han Chinese in their everyday life. As a result of these factors, the number of
bilingual speakers of a minority language and Chinese in these communities is
relatively low.
Ethnic minorities in the second group include the Mongolians, the Zhuang, the Yi,
and the Miao. Many of these minorities have lived in mixed communities with Han
Chinese. Some, such as the Mongolians, may have a long literary tradition in their
own language, but many of the other minorities in this group do not. The use of
164 P. Chen
traditional Zhuang and Yi writing, for example, was considerably limited, and com-
monly conWned to informal purposes such as the recording of folk literature and book
keeping, etc. For high-level, formal purposes, the Zhuang and the Yi mostly used
Chinese. In these minority groups, the proportion of bilingual speakers is now quite
high. More than half of the Miao and the Yi, for instance, speak Chinese in addition to
their ethnic language (Li 1987), and about 22 per cent of the Miao people and 14 per
cent of the Mongolian have actually switched to Chinese altogether, fully losing their
competence in Miao/Mongolian.
In the third group there are relatively small ethnic minorities like the Qiang, Bai,
Dongxiang, Mulam, and Maonan. These either do not have their own writing system,
or have no established literary tradition. They have been in regular, close contact with
the Han, and most of them are bilingual in their ethnic language and Chinese, with a
high percentage of them having adopted Chinese or some other larger minority
language as their Wrst language. A considerable number of China’s ethnic minorities
belong to this third, more assimilated group.
Quite generally, it can be noted that in almost all the ethnic minority communities
in the country, the number of bilingual speakers of a minority language and Chinese
has been growing rapidly over the past decades, and in some regions there is a
growing shift from minority languages towards Chinese among the people of the
younger generation.
Further illustration of the degree of variation that exists in bilingualism in ethnic
minority communities can be given from a brief comparison of three sizeable
minority areas in diVerent parts of the PRC. First of all, in the far north of China,
in Inner Mongolia, it is found that Mongolian and Chinese are used side by side as two
equal languages on more than 95 per cent of occasions in government, public service,
and businesses, and 90 per cent of printed materials are produced in both languages.
In education, students are free to choose between Mongolian-language, Chinese-
language, and bilingual schools, and an increasingly high proportion of the Mongo-
lians in the region can now speak and read Chinese as well as Mongolian.
In the northwest of China, the vast area of Xinjiang (three times the size of France)
is characterized by much higher linguistic diversity. Generally speaking, Chinese is the
common language used in public, except in certain cities where a single ethnic
minority may be numerically dominant. Putonghua is the working language of the
government in the capital city of the province, as well as in other major cities and
towns. It is also the norm in schools at all levels and in public service, and is
commonly used as a lingua franca by people of diVerent ethnic minority groups.
Most of the ethnic minority people living in major cities and towns speak putonghua,
with proWciency levels varying greatly according to their age and educational back-
ground. Some of the minority people in townships and villages speak their own ethnic
language only, particularly the elderly and those with little education.
In comparison with the strong inroads of Chinese into Inner Mongolia and
Xinjiang, the mountainous area of Tibet in the southwest of China is a region
China 165
where the locally dominant ethnic language (Tibetan) has been holding on particu-
larly strongly in the face of the spread of putonghua. Tibetan is the major language of
administration, law, and public service in Tibet, and while Chinese is also used in such
domains, it is second to Tibetan in importance. Tibetan is furthermore the medium of
instruction in primary and secondary schools for local children, with Chinese being
taught from the upper grades of primary schools. Currently more than 80 per cent of
the Tibetans speak only Tibetan, resulting in Tibet having a much smaller bilingual
population than Inner Mongolia, Xinjiang, and other minority areas.
Where bilingualism exists in ethnic minority communities, this is commonly seen
as an important bridge between communities, allowing in particular for connections
between monolingual minority language speakers and monolingual Chinese speakers.
Because of this function, it has the support of the central and local government, and,
generally speaking, is embraced with enthusiasm by minority language speakers as
well, especially those who are in close contact with the Han and eager to participate in
the economic, social, and political life of the majority Han society. With many
minority languages, particularly those in the Wrst (Tibetan/Uygur/Kazak) group
discussed above, bilingualism, once in place, is expected to be a long and stable
process. With certain other minority languages, such as those in the third group,
bilingualism seems to be more of a transitional process that is relatively short and
unstable. Overall, it is currently estimated that about half of the minority languages
are in decline in terms of population of speakers and domains of use, mostly in favour
of Chinese and in a few cases in favour of another, stronger minority language. Quite a
few minority languages are also now on the verge of extinction; for example, Hezhe
presently has only about a dozen remaining speakers, all of whom are more than 60
years old. Two other languages which are clearly endangered are She and Tujia. In the
1980s it was reported that just 1,000 of the She, which had a population of 368,000, still
spoke the She language, and the rest spoke Chinese or another minority language,
and similarly that only 6 per cent of the Tujia spoke their ethnic language and the rest
Chinese (Fu and Wang 1987). The number of minority language speakers in these two
communities is likely to have shrunk further over the past two decades, so it seems
fairly clear that the She, the Tujia, and the Hezhe are following the Manchu and the
Hui in abandoning their own languages.13 Although no reliable nationwide investi-
gation into the issue has been conducted so far, it is a safe assumption that in many
minority communities, particularly those in the third group discussed above with
close contacts to the Han Chinese, language shift toward Chinese is in steady
progress, and may lead to the signiWcant endangerment of many of China’s minority
languages.
As in the case with regional dialects of Chinese, economic and pragmatic motives
have been the most potent forces directing language use in ethnic minority areas.
13
Another similar case is that of the Jino, who have recently abandoned bilingual education in Jino and
Chinese, and decided to adopt Chinese as the exclusive medium of instruction in schools.
166 P. Chen
With the expansion of putonghua into all parts of China, Chinese now is a very strong
language in many minority areas, and for ethnic minority people, competence in oral
and written Chinese is very helpful to upward mobility and economic progress,
opening up many opportunities which are not available to those who speak their
ethnic languages only. Consequently, even in areas where there may be a close
connection between minority language and ethnic identity, such as in Xinjiang with
its Uygur and other Turkic Muslim groups, it is reported that ethnic minorities are
very eager to send their children to Chinese-language kindergartens or Chinese-
language schools. Since there are more applicants for admission than the schools
can accommodate, ethnic minority business people are now using private funds to set
up Chinese-language kindergartens and schools to meet the increasing demand, and
some ethnic minority primary schools, at the request of parents and students, are even
oVering Chinese as a subject from the Wrst grade, instead of from the third grade as
stipulated by the government.
7.6 Conclusions
Examining the recent history of China and the relation of language to national
identity, this chapter began by emphasizing that language has in fact seldom played
a positive ideological role in fostering the consciousness of the national identity in
China and in mustering loyalty to the nation. In stark contrast with the situation
in various European nations, in mainstream intellectual and political discourse in
China from the late nineteenth century onward there has been relatively little
nationalist passion in China for the Chinese language as a possible symbol of national
identity. On the contrary, the perceptions of Chinese on the part of the elite of
Chinese society were in general very negative during the important period of
nation-building in the early half of the twentieth century, and rather than being
viewed as a sacrosanct symbol representing the essence of the Chinese nation, the
Chinese language was instead seen as an instrumental utility, and perceived to be a
very ineYcient one.
More or less the same utilitarian view has been taken toward regional dialects of
Chinese in relation to the new standard form putonghua. While an overwhelming
majority of the population in dialect areas speak and comprehend putonghua in
addition to their dialects, there has been a clear shift toward putonghua in certain
major dialect areas such as the Wu and Min, particularly among the people of the
younger generation in urban areas. In these areas, bi-dialectalism now seems to be
turning to monolingualism. Local dialects of Chinese are without question the most
important markers of regional identity in China, but factors other than utilitarian ones
seem to be unable to halt the decline of the dialects in these areas. While the
promotion of putonghua by language-planning institutions since the 1950s has deW-
nitely played an important role in the decline of certain regional dialects, the most
China 167
important factors causing changing patterns of language use and maintenance are
pragmatic and economic.
The situation with ethnic minority languages is similar to that with regional
dialects of Chinese in that they too have come into contact with a much stronger
language. An important diVerence between the two cases is that while bi-dialectalism
(i.e. competence in putonghua and a regional dialect of Chinese) is just tolerated, to
some extent, by language-planning institutions, considerable eVorts have been
exerted by government at all levels to eVect and support bilingualism in the ethnic
minority areas. Partially as a result of government encouragement of the maintenance
of minority languages, it appears that bilingualism in some ethnic minority areas may
remain quite stable – at least more stable than bi-dialectalism in some of the Chinese
dialect areas. Meanwhile, it has to be re-emphasized that there has also been a shift
towards Chinese in other ethnic minority communities; the process has been com-
plete with some minorities, and is still in progress with certain others.
Whereas the ethnic identity of non-Han minorities is perhaps likely to survive the
loss of their ethnic languages (at least for a certain time), as in the case of the Manchu
and the Hui, one can be less optimistic about the continuity of regional Chinese
identities if the local dialects are abandoned. The situation with regional dialects of
Chinese and, to some extent, ethnic minority languages in China can be summarized
in the words of Edwards (1985: 163): ‘Economic success and communicative eYciency
militate against the viability of ‘‘small’’ languages in contact with powerful ones.
These are factors of great weight, accompanying social processes like urbanisation,
modernisation and social access which are very diYcult to combat (even if this were
generally desired, which it is not).’ What can be added here is that where a utilitarian
rather than an ideological view of language prevails, as is the case in modern China,
the maintenance of such smaller languages and dialects is set to be even more diYcult.
8
Hong Kong
Andrew Simpson
8.1 Introduction
Modern-day Hong Kong is a territory of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) which
has undergone a quite extraordinary development in its recent history, from being a
small Wshing port in the early nineteenth century to becoming one of the most high
proWle, cosmopolitan, and economically successful cities in Asia during the last forty
years. Having functioned as a British colony from 1842 until 1997, Hong Kong is now
(once again) an integral part of ‘mainland China’, where it currently enjoys the status
of ‘Special Administrative Region’ (SAR) and the opportunity to continue with its pre-
hand-over economic and social systems for a Wfty-year period following 1997, the
Chinese government in Beijing having pledged not to interfere in the internal aVairs of
the territory during this time. Because Hong Kong is therefore now a component part
of the PRC, an examination of language and national identity issues in Hong Kong
could have been included as a section within this volume’s chapter 7 on mainland
China. However, due to the special complexity of Hong Kong’s past and present
circumstances, there are good reasons for deciding to devote an independent chapter
to the study of Hong Kong here. First of all, what is commonly characterized as the
basic identity of Hong Kong and its inhabitants was formed during a period when
Hong Kong was largely isolated from mainland China due to twentieth-century
political developments in China and Hong Kong’s status as a British colony. Secondly,
Hong Kong currently functions with a socio-economic system which is signiWcantly
diVerent from that of the rest of China, as part of the Chinese government’s promise
of ‘One Country, Two Systems’; constraints on life in Hong Kong are therefore
markedly diVerent from those further north in the rest of the PRC. Thirdly, the
level of post-industrial economic development present in Hong Kong is greater than
that in most areas of mainland China, as is the degree with which Hong Kong
maintains regular international connections with other countries in the rest of Asia
and the West. All of these factors, and the existence of a long-lasting colonial presence
in Hong Kong have had important eVects on the formation of identity in the territory
and have presented challenges and inXuences which are diVerent from those
Hong Kong 169
experienced by people who have grown up elsewhere in the PRC, justifying their
independent consideration.
The result of such forces, prior to 1997, was the creation of a semi-isolated, strong,
Cantonese-dominant identity interacting with a British Other in the form of the ruling
colonial government. Now this Western-inXuenced, modern, south Chinese identity
is faced with the need to adapt to incorporation in a much larger and comparatively
less modernized Chinese state with its power centre located in the distant north of
the country, and dominated by Mandarin Chinese. How Hong Kong and its popula-
tion have reacted to these changing pressures and developed an identity which
is by necessity non-political yet at the same time highly distinctive and particular to
the territory is considerably interesting and demonstrates an internal language and
identity dynamic that is not repeated in parallel form elsewhere in the region. The
current chapter’s examination of Hong Kong begins by charting the initial develop-
ment of the Hong Kong identity in the 1970s as a by-product of economic progress
and a stabilizing immigrant population. It then reXects on how this identity evolved
further in the 1980s and 1990s in the shadow of the scheduled return of Hong Kong to
China in 1997, and Wnally turns to consider what has actually occurred since the
important reincorporation of Hong Kong into China proper and the change of
external ruling force from Britain to the PRC government in Beijing.
Hong Kong
170 A. Simpson
1960s and then becoming particularly vibrant and strong in the 1970s. The emergence
of a clear, local Hong Kong identity is commonly attributed to two major socio-
economic factors. The Wrst of these is the increased prosperity experienced by a
sizeable part of the population due to the dramatic growth in the Hong Kong
economy in the 1960s and 1970s. The second is the signiWcant stabilization of the
population during the same period. Prior to the 1950s, there was continual Xuctuation
in the composition of Hong Kong’s population, and much of the labour force was
made up of immigrant workers who stayed only temporarily in Hong Kong, and who
considered their real homes to be their towns of birth/origin in mainland China. With
the constant arrival and departure of workers from many diVerent parts of China,
there was consequently no permanence and cohesion to the population, and no
natural opportunity for the innovation of a shared, local Hong Kong identity. In
1949, political change within China led to this situation being altered in a major way,
and a barrier was set up by mainland China disallowing the free, regular movement of
people between Hong Kong and the mainland. As a result of this, it was no longer
possible for workers in Hong Kong to regularly return to their ancestral homes in
China, and contact between the inhabitants of Hong Kong and their relatives in China
became much more diYcult. Consequently, while there continued to be inXows of
immigrants into Hong Kong escaping (illicitly) from China due to political and
economic hardship experienced there, from the 1960s onwards, there were increas-
ingly few from Hong Kong who decided to try to return to their home towns in
China, and Hong Kong came to have a much more settled core population of
residents who identiWed Hong Kong as their long-term, new home (Lau 1997).
Over time, the percentage of the adult population which was actually born in Hong
Kong rather than in mainland China also signiWcantly increased, and many of the
generation who came to maturity in the 1970s had no memories of life within China
and little sense of belonging to any ancestral home in the mainland ( Johnson 2000).
The speciWc Hong Kong culture and identity which did emerge once the popula-
tion was more settled and economically advantaged was strongly inXuenced by a
number of contingent forces constraining and leading the development of identity in
Hong Kong in a very particular direction. First of all, the colonial polity of Hong Kong
was largely a new society made up of immigrants from diVerent parts of China with
no long shared history to provide a natural foundation for a common Hong Kong
identity. Secondly, the inhabitants of Hong Kong were aware of the fact that there
were no real prospects of political independence for the territory, neither in the
immediate present nor in the long-term future, and Hong Kong was destined to be
continually dependent on some other power, either Great Britain or (incorporated
into) mainland China. Aspirations of achieving independent nationhood were there-
fore not present among the population of Hong Kong (at any time), and so did not
facilitate the creation of a common, binding identity in the way that is often
experienced in newly emerging nation-communities. In addition to this, and largely
because there was no serious anticipation of independence, there were no political
172 A. Simpson
leaders in Hong Kong deliberately attempting to mold or invent an identity for the
territory, and the identity which did arise in Hong Kong emerged more spontaneously
than in other polities where there has been conscious, directed identity construction
‘from above’ by aspiring nationalist politicians and community leaders.
A fourth important force in the development of a speciWc Hong Kong identity was
Hong Kong’s considerable isolation from mainland China following 1949, through
until the mid-1980s. The discontinuation of contact with China not only had an eVect
on individuals’ personal links with their home towns and relatives in the mainland, on
a more abstract level it also cut the population of Hong Kong oV from the continual
reinforcement of traditional Chinese thought and culture which came with regular
contact with China. Such a weakening of the hold of traditional Chinese culture on
the Chinese population of Hong Kong then allowed for rather diVerent modes of
thinking to inWltrate and play a role in daily life within the territory. Added to this
separation of Hong Kong from the dominance of Chinese tradition and China of the
past came strongly negative attitudes towards modern revolutionary China and life in
China during the 1960s and 1970s. Not only did the chaos of the Cultural Revolution
alienate any identiWcation with China during this time, the striking diVerences in
standard of living in Hong Kong and China also engendered attitudes of superiority
and disdain for mainland China among many of the new generation in Hong Kong
(Lau 1997). Rather than looking to China for inspiration and inXuence during the
early period of identity formation in Hong Kong, much attention was instead given to
the West and aspects of Western culture, with this naturally aided by the growing
international connections Hong Kong was establishing as it integrated itself into the
widening global economy.
What emerged from the interaction of all of these factors was a new culture and
identity which were strongly divergent from those present in mainland China, manifest-
ing four highly salient characteristics. The new Hong Kong identity was Wrst of all one
which laid central emphasis on the value of economic success eVected within the
capitalist system of Hong Kong, and Wnancial advancement and the enjoyment of
wealth became widely acceptable primary goals of life, functioning as substitutes, in
many observers’ eyes, for the lack of access to any real political power under British
colonial rule. Though this new (and often public) indulgence in materialism might have
suVered criticism in a more traditional, Confucian Chinese environment, with success
being judged more in terms of cultural and scholarly achievements, the increasing
distance from Chinese tradition felt in post-1949 Hong Kong allowed for the new
consumerist way of life to Xourish in a largely unbridled way.
The distinctive culture which emerged in the 1970s in Hong Kong was secondly
very modern in nature, and manifested itself most visibly in forms of entertainment
such as pop music, cinema, and television, as well as fashion. Hong Kong successfully
produced and sold Wlms and popular music to a range of other Asian countries, and
within Hong Kong itself there was a strong preference for local entertainment
products even over international imports. This development of modern pop(ular)
Hong Kong 173
culture took advantage of recent advances in technology and had a high degree of
appeal to the rising, youthful generation in Hong Kong, projecting an image of Hong
Kong as an exciting place to live, with a vibrant expanding new culture. To some
extent it also represented a rejection of traditional Chinese culture, and marked a
radical departure from developments relating to social identity in mainland China
during this time, where the Cultural Revolution had come to dominate life.
Thirdly, culture and the identity which it supported in prospering Hong Kong
during the 1970s was signiWcant in the way that it incorporated Western inXuences
and produced a new hybrid mix of modern Chinese and Western culture. Hong Kong
and its people consequently came to be associated with an innovative Asian identity
which was more cosmopolitan and global in nature than that of other countries in
the region.
Finally, it can be noted that Hong Kong housed an increasingly industrial and urban
society and this also had consequences for the way that identity developed in the
territory, resulting in a disdain of the rural as backward and unsophisticated. As the
majority of mainland China continued to retain a traditional, rural lifestyle, this
increased the growing feeling in Hong Kong that it was more advanced and develop-
mentally superior to the rest of China.
In summary then, a Hong Kong culture and identity quite distinct from that of
mainland China was established during the 1960s and 1970s with the following prop-
erties. It was modern, Western-inXuenced, materialist, and predominantly urban, and
emerged spontaneously among a newly-stabilized, immigrant population experiencing
increased prosperity, a lack of access to political power, and an erosion of tradition
following isolation from China. Although not all of the inhabitants of Hong Kong
participated equally in this developing identity, and more recent immigrants and those
who were older in age or living in rural parts of the territory tended to hold onto more
traditional views (Hung 1998), the new identity was increasingly characteristic of a
majority of the population, and particularly strong among those who were younger,
born in Hong Kong, in better paid employment and with greater education. From this
time on, therefore, there was a clear sense of being ‘Hongkongese’ for large numbers of
those living in Hong Kong, and a majority of people actively identiWed themselves as
Hongkongese rather than Chinese in investigations into identity carried out from this
time (Lau and Kuan 1995).
in the territory from various parts of China, including speakers of a variety of diVerent
types of Chinese, such as Hakka, Shanghainese, Hokkien, and Chaozhou. Although
such forms of speech are in fact mutually unintelligible, their grammatical systems
and basic vocabularies are closely related, and there is a strong belief in the existence
of a single, all-inclusive Chinese ‘language’, with (sub-) varieties such as Hokkien and
Cantonese being regional variants (see, for example, P. Chen 1999). Because of Hong
Kong’s geographical location on the periphery of the province of Canton, large
numbers of those settling in Hong Kong from the mainland came from Canton
province and were speakers of Cantonese. Cantonese therefore rather naturally
developed as a lingua franca amongst speakers of diVerent regional Chinese dialects
living in Hong Kong, and proWciency in Cantonese became widespread among the
Chinese population, which accounted for as much as 98 per cent of the total
population of Hong Kong during most of the twentieth century. In the area of public
education, Cantonese was also adopted as the language of instruction in almost all
primary schools, and whatever other regional dialects of Chinese children may have
spoken at home with their parents, they were obliged to acquire their basic (public)
schooling through Cantonese. As Cantonese accordingly became more and more
known and furthermore associated with positive values due to its use in the inter-
nationally successful popular music and Wlms produced in Hong Kong, this resulted in
increasing assimilation of speakers of other varieties of Chinese, and although other
dialects continued to be spoken at home and in dialect-support groups to some extent
(Kuah and Wong 2001), they never posed a challenge to the rapid spread of Canton-
ese, and were not associated with the growing sense of Hong Kong identity in the way
that Cantonese signiWcantly was. It can also be noted that although Cantonese was
spoken widely in neighbouring Canton province, the promotion of a fully national
socialist culture by the government of China during the 1960s and 1970s resulted in a
stiXing of Chinese regional cultures and identities and therefore blocked the develop-
ment of a strong Cantonese culture centred in the mainland ( Johnson 2000). This
consequently allowed Hong Kong to take the lead in creating its own form of
Cantonese-based culture largely free of inXuences from the mainland, and to pioneer
a new Cantonese-led culture which was highly innovative and distinct.
Besides Cantonese, the other major language in the broader Hong Kong picture
during this period of identity formation was English. When the British took posses-
sion of Hong Kong in the nineteenth century, English was declared to be the single
oYcial language of the territory, and was used primarily in government administra-
tion, law, and international relations in Hong Kong throughout the twentieth century.
In the 1950s, with the introduction of mass, public education, there was much
increased access to the learning of English and growing numbers of the younger
generation began to receive their secondary education schooling in English as a
medium of instruction. Due to Hong Kong’s expanding role as an internationally
important Wnancial and trading centre with links to the global economy, there was
a growing demand for white collar workers able to speak English as well as Chinese,
Hong Kong 175
and the use of English spread further into commerce and the services industry. During
much of its twentieth-century period of high growth, Cantonese and English there-
fore existed side by side in a diglossic-like relation (Pennington and Yue 1994), with
Cantonese fulWlling the primary L-domain functions of aVective communication
amongst a vast majority of the population, and English being used by an expanding
elite in H-level functions and increasingly being acquired in schools.
Though the knowledge and use of English consequently grew in prospering Hong
Kong, this increase in familiarity with the language signiWcantly did not give rise to
any sense of obvious identiWcation with the British, and English was learned almost
exclusively for utilitarian reasons, providing better access to high-paid employment.
Investigations of the linguistic habits and preferences of Hong Kong Chinese during
this period testify to feelings of unease and embarrassment being experienced when-
ever English was used in informal situations with other speakers of Chinese, and it
was considered ‘un-Chinese’ and pretentious to attempt to use English where Can-
tonese could be successfully used for communicating with others. Towards the end of
the 1970s, the occurrence of Cantonese in more formal domains originally reserved
for English also started to occur, and some government oYcials began to use
Cantonese in their interactions with the public in Hong Kong. This was primarily
due to an increase in the technical status of Cantonese eVected in 1974, when the
lobbying of local Chinese language activists resulted in the British colonial govern-
ment declaring ‘Chinese’ to be an oYcial language of Hong Kong, with a status equal
to English. Although the government did little in practice to promote this new
recognition of Chinese, individuals in administrative posts often found it useful to
employ Cantonese in situations where English was impractical or diYcult to make use
of. Cantonese thus started to make some initial headway into more formal-level
territory, paving the way for further expansion in such domains towards the end of
the century. This growth in more formal linguistic situations was, however, also
hampered by a major inherent diYculty facing Cantonese, which continued to hold
back its progress in subsequent decades: Cantonese has never been standardized and
so there is no agreement on what should be the ‘correct’ forms of usage, and no well-
respected written form of the language. Though there are various ways of represent-
ing Cantonese in written form, these are widely regarded in a very negative way and
standard Modern Written Chinese is instead used as the common written form for
Chinese in Hong Kong, as indeed elsewhere in the Chinese world (Modern Written
Chinese being closer to the speech of northern varieties of Chinese and being
accepted by most speakers of other regional varieties of Chinese as the only educated
way that Chinese should be represented in written form). The obvious diYculties
anticipated in promoting a predominantly spoken language such as Cantonese as an
oYcial, territorial language were clearly reXected in the government’s wording of its
new ruling on oYcial languages in 1974 which ambiguously identiWed ‘Chinese’ as the
co-oYcial language of Hong Kong rather than Cantonese. This ambiguity usefully
allowed for the interpretation of ‘Chinese’ as Cantonese in spoken form and Modern
176 A. Simpson
Written Chinese in written form, and so shied away from encouraging the provocative
use of non-prestigious written Cantonese in H-level domains.
The language situation in 1960s/1970s prospering Hong Kong can therefore be
summarized as follows. Cantonese maintained a highly dominant position among the
population as a spoken form of language, uniting the Chinese community and driving
the development of the new Hong Kong culture and identity. Other varieties of
Chinese were still present in Hong Kong, but were rapidly losing out to Cantonese
in public domains, with wide-scale adoption of Cantonese especially amongst the
younger generation. English, originally imported by the British colonial management,
continued to hold a prestigious position in H-level domains and began to spread from
use just within government administration and the law into the areas of education and
international business. Cantonese was also coming on to the scene in some H-domain
functions but was not being promoted or extensively adopted as a regular oYcial
language due to a lack of standardization and accepted written form. Finally, Manda-
rin Chinese, which was to have a greater potential importance in later years, was
relatively insigniWcant in Hong Kong during the 1960s and 1970s. All of this important
period was instead predominantly characterized by the rise of Cantonese as a unifying
force building up a conWdent, successful population with its own new identity,
international recognition, and a booming economy producing signiWcant, rising
standards of living.
would control foreign and defence aVairs, but promised not to intervene in the social,
economic, and legal systems developed in Hong Kong prior to 1997. Such pledges, as
part of the Basic Law for Hong Kong agreed to by Britain and the PRC and captured
by the slogan ‘One Country, Two Systems’ did much to relieve concern about post-
1997 life in Hong Kong and reduced the growing exodus of emigrants out of the
territory. However, Wve years later the crushing of the pro-democracy movement in
China in the Tiananmen Square incident with the deaths of large numbers of
demonstrators sent shock waves throughout Hong Kong and rekindled the worst of
worries about the territory’s future, causing serious doubts among many as to
whether the PRC would really abide by the negotiated ‘One Country, Two Systems’
agreement come 1997. Once again the emigration of tens of thousands of Hong Kong
residents to Canada, Australia, and the United States was triggered, taking wealth and
vital personnel away from the troubled territory on an annual basis.
The Tiananmen Square incident also marked a high point in the formation of a
common Hong Kong identity, triggering a massive protest of over a million of the
population worried about their joint future. This bonding together in the face of a
perceived external threat solidiWed links among the population and highlighted for all
the fact that though Hong Kong had been under foreign colonial rule, it had
nevertheless developed its own semi-autonomous identity and life style, in part due
to the laissez-faire governing style adopted by the British, and this, it now seemed, was
in danger of being lost on return to an unpredictable and powerful China. The
imminence of Hong Kong’s return to the PRC and the Tiananmen Square incident
therefore focused people’s minds on what had been achieved in common during the
time of British rule, and heightened an awareness of belonging to an established state
of aVairs and identity which was generally enjoyed in a positive and familiar way, and
which the new mainland Chinese Other from the north would soon be in a position to
threaten and dismantle.
ReXections on the identity of the population of Hong Kong in the period running
up to 1997 have also revealed two further ‘complications’ in the way it is formed and
understood. The Wrst twist to considerations of identity in Hong Kong is that people
in Hong Kong regularly conceive of their relation to mainland China in two rather
diVerent ways, with diVering results. An overwhelming majority of the Chinese
inhabitants of Hong Kong identiWes itself as being proud of the cultural history and
achievements of China in previous centuries, and so there is a positive link with
inhabitants of the mainland who also share in this Chinese cultural identity based on
achievements of the past. This contrasts, however, with a feeling of non-identiWcation
with the China of the twentieth century, and signiWcant numbers of Hongkongese
who are proud of their (distant) past cultural heritage and who therefore may identify
themselves as Chinese in this sense, rejecting a modern Chinese identiWcation deWned
in terms of the present socio-political system and recent history of mainland China.
Although diVerences between past cultural and present political identities surface
within many communities and nations in the world, in Hong Kong the eVects of this
178 A. Simpson
language, English from the 1990s onwards being predominantly taken to reXect
modernity, cosmopolitanism, and connections with the global economy (Pennington
and Yue 1994).
A second linguistic innovation which occurred in Hong Kong during this period
was the signiWcant rise of a mixed code of Cantonese and English. This began within
the school system, with ‘English-medium’ schools coming to use more and more
Cantonese in the classroom to aid the further explanation of subjects oYcially taught
through English. In certain classes, such as those of the social sciences and humanities,
new topics would Wrst be introduced in English and then expanded on at length in
Cantonese, in order to make sure that students fully understood the content of the
subject matter being taught. In other more heavily theoretical and challenging classes,
such as mathematics and science, the majority of teaching was often carried out using
a full Cantonese language base mixed with technical terms and other specialized
vocabulary inserted from English. Such a mixed code of Cantonese (grammar and
basic vocabulary) plus English (supplementary specialized vocabulary) has proved to
be a highly eVective teaching aid and has been increasingly used where students’
English is not proWcient enough to cope with input given solely in English. From this
initial use in education, the mixed code has however now spread further as a
fashionable new style of speech among the educated younger generations in
Hong Kong and is often used for purely aVective reasons in the home, with friends,
and in the work place, even when pure Cantonese could be employed without a risk
to understanding. Such a use of mixed code is said to result in speakers sounding
‘educated’, ‘modern’, ‘western’, and ‘knowledgeable’ (Pennington 1998) and may be
deliberately employed when speakers do not want to sound too traditionally
Chinese, yet also wish to avoid the perceived artiWciality of speaking to Chinese
friends in English alone (Li 1996). As a new form of speech initiated by the educated
young, mixed code Cantonese-English is distinctively Hongkongese and serves
as a new marker of identity which is rapidly spreading in a number of domains,
encoding a further linguistic development of the West-meets-East modern identity of
Hong Kong.
At the same time that mixed code Cantonese-English was rising in popularity
among younger people in Hong Kong, the dominant position of Cantonese in
unmixed form established during the 1960s and 1970s continued strongly through
the 1980s and 1990s, and expanded further in three particular domains. First of all, the
use of spoken Cantonese in government debates and public address became increas-
ingly more common and eventually overtook the use of English in these arenas.
Secondly, Cantonese entered the domain of law, and in the mid-1990s became the
language most commonly used in court (P. Chen 2001b). Thirdly, there was a sig-
niWcant increase in the production and consumption of written Cantonese during the
1980s and 1990s (Snow 1993). This occurred in the form of popular Wction written in
colloquial Cantonese, as well as newspapers, magazines, and advertising, and con-
tained much vernacular usage particular to Hong Kong, thus representing (and
180 A. Simpson
and other areas of the southeast of China. Perhaps more serious for the success of the
government’s ‘biliterate trilingualism’ policy than any negative feelings possibly
associated with Mandarin is however the question of how students will be able to
cope with the intellectual burden of acquiring yet another language when the existing
system of bilingual education is already not working very well. Compounded with a
lack of trained Mandarin teachers, and the rigours of an overcrowded curriculum, the
Wrst steps towards adding an advanced level of proWciency in Mandarin into students’
repertory have been slow, and it remains to be seen how such an ambitious policy can
be successful in the long run.
ReXecting generally on the development of language in Hong Kong during the
period preceding the return of Hong Kong to China, a number of broad points can be
made. First of all, despite considerable worry about the future and absorption of
Hong Kong into mainland China, the buoyancy and vitality of Cantonese did not
show any signs of weakening in the 1980s and 1990s and continued to function as a
strongly dominant symbol of Hong Kong’s identity, spreading further into domains it
had not been widely used in before. Secondly, a new Cantonese-English mixed code
developed in the territory, showing further signs of an independent innovative identity
in Hong Kong with its roots in Cantonese. Thirdly, English remained the prestige
language of international business, but no longer dominated government and legal
proceedings as exclusively as in the past, with Cantonese becoming more important
here. Finally, Mandarin began to occur oYcially on the scene, with government plans
that the language would be learned widely within schools, and ideally to a high level.
Without the help of formal education, however, and due to increased commercial
interactions with Mandarin speakers from China, Singapore, and Taiwan, a signiWcant
number of the population had in fact already acquired a working ability in Mandarin,
and as many as 25 per cent claimed to be able to speak at least passable Mandarin in
1996 (compared to an overall 89 per cent proWciency in Cantonese, and a 35 per cent
self-reported knowledge of English: Chao 2002). Though not yet nurtured properly
within the educational system, Mandarin had actually crept quite naturally into Hong
Kong via the route of business relations and established a footing for further potential
growth following 1997. In the Wnal section of the chapter we now consider what
developments have occurred since the fateful year of 1997 and the transfer of Hong
Kong’s sovereignty from Britain back to mainland China.
and there might be shocks awaiting Hong Kong once the territory was formally
handed over to the PRC. In the event, when 1997 arrived, people were quite surprised
to Wnd that very little actually did appear to change with the switch to mainland
Chinese rule, and daily life in Hong Kong continued largely unimpeded much as
before. The PRC’s promised non-intervention in the internal aVairs of Hong Kong has
furthermore generally been maintained since 1997 and the government in Beijing
is commonly credited with having shown much self-restraint in dealing with various
delicate aspects of life such as annual Hong Kong demonstrations marking the
Tiananmen Square incident.
Serious challenges to Hong Kong’s established patterns of life came from quite
unexpected other sources, however. Immediately following hand-over in 1997 Hong
Kong was badly aVected by the pan-Asian Wnancial crisis, tumbling real estate prices,
and spiralling unemployment. Other crises included a serious epidemic of Asian viral
chicken Xu, and a disastrous opening of the new showpiece Chek Lap Kok airport. All
of these situations were seen to be badly handled by the new government of Hong
Kong and led to a general crisis of conWdence and identity. Although on hand-over the
new head of government, Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa, had outlined visions of
Hong Kong as a further-expanding, global city on a par with New York, Paris, and
London, leading China into the twenty-Wrst century, very quickly it seemed that the
new administration was incompetent and unable to cope with a range of problems
immediately aZicting Hong Kong. Importantly, as Hong Kong’s identity was also in
signiWcant measure built on its economic success, the downturn in the economy and
obvious vulnerability to external threats experienced in the period following hand-
over posed a direct challenge to the foundations on which the Hong Kong identity
had been established and was maintained. All of a sudden, after decades of tremen-
dous growth and success, Hong Kong was shocked by the prospect of failing in the
area which had most accrued it international recognition and admiration, its ability to
maintain one of the highest levels of economic development in Asia.
Though the Asian Wnancial crisis and the chicken Xu epidemic were survived by
Hong Kong, there are other, new fears now lurking in the background in Hong Kong.
In recent years, Hong Kong has developed an increasing amount of trade and
commercial interaction with mainland China as a substitute for decreased trade
with other international partners, and this has resulted in closer social and cultural
contacts with the rest of the PRC (Chan Ming 2002). Due to this heightened
dependence on the mainland, there is a worry amongst many in Hong Kong that it
may over time come to lose its cherished international character and identity, and
become considered to be just another large conurbation within the PRC. On top of
this, there is considerable concern about increasing competition from Shanghai,
which is rapidly developing as mainland China’s most important economic centre,
with the potential to eclipse Hong Kong in international commercial importance, if
Hong Kong proves unable to maintain its cutting edge.
Hong Kong 183
To some extent, Hong Kong may now seem to be at a crossroads in its develop-
ment where important decisions about the future orientation and identity of the
territory have to be made. Either Hong Kong can continue with further integration
into the PRC in terms of increased trade and investment with the mainland, as has
been happening in recent years, or it can strike out in a diVerent direction and attempt
to win back more of its earlier international character and trading connections, and
distinguish itself more clearly from other cities in China by closer links to the West
and other countries in Asia. Whichever route comes to be the primary focus of Hong
Kong’s development in the next few decades, there will be consequences for its social
orientation and identity. A continued, increased dependence on trade with the rest of
China is likely to result in greater emphasis on the general Chinese roots of people’s
identity in Hong Kong, whereas a reconsolidation of links with the West has the
potential to nurture and further develop the more modern, cosmopolitan, Cantonese-
based identity of Hong Kong established in the 1960s and 1970s.
In terms of language, it is probable that the economic focus of Hong Kong’s
development, either more towards the rest of China or more towards international
trading and Wnance, will determine the relative status of English and Mandarin with
regard to each other, as rival languages of wider, economic communication. English
has been a useful language to acquire for career advancement in twentieth-century
Hong Kong and will continue to have importance and prestige as a global language in
the twenty-Wrst century. However, Mandarin is also set to become a language with far-
reaching use and increased prestige, due to the growing visibility of the PRC in world
aVairs and its vastly expanding economy. Whichever of these two languages ultim-
ately comes to be more prominent for utilitarian reasons, facilitating interaction with
the outside world, neither expresses (nor can be anticipated to express) the distinct,
vibrant identity of people in Hong Kong, and this still remains very much the
stronghold of Cantonese. Since the transfer of sovereignty in 1997, there has been
no attempt by the Chinese government in Beijing either to restrict the use of
Cantonese or to impose the use of Mandarin in any domain, and Cantonese continues
to be heavily dominant in everyday life in Hong Kong. If Beijing continues with such a
hands-oV policy with regard to language in Hong Kong, as far as can be guessed and
surmised from opinion polls, this will naturally allow for what people in Hong Kong
seem to want both for their present and for the future: Cantonese as the primary
oYcial language permitted for use in government, (parts of ) education, and most of
everyday life, and English and Mandarin as additional languages available for ancillary,
optional use in certain H-level interactive domains and commerce carried out at all
levels. Finally, it can be noted that the earlier dominance of English in H-level domains
allowed Cantonese to thrive very freely in areas where the identity of local people was
developing, because the population of Hong Kong was never tempted to adopt British
culture as part of its identity. Supposing, however, that Mandarin were to dislodge the
position of English as primary non-local H-level language and bring with it more
manifestations of modern Mandarin Chinese culture (Wlms, popular music) as an
184 A. Simpson
under the continual and changing political dominance of an external ruling Other.
How Hong Kong and the status of its current Cantonese-based identity adapt to the
imposing, growing power of mainland China in the decades to come, and the
predicted spread of China’s economic and cultural inXuence in the PaciWc region
will be interesting to follow and is clearly expected on the programme as the next
major phase in Hong Kong’s further, innovative development.
9
Japan
Nanette Gottlieb
9.1 Introduction
The major language of Japan is Japanese, spoken by most of the 127.5 million people
living in the Japanese archipelago stretching from Okinawa in the south to Hokkaido
in the north. Dialectal variations exist, but the standard form of the language, based
since 1916 on the dialect of an area of Tokyo, is that taught in schools and used in all
areas of Japan. Estimates of how many people worldwide speak the language vary:
many sources (e.g. Crystal 1987) limit the number to the population of Japan itself,
ignoring the possible heritage speakers living in other parts of the world such as
Hawaii, the west coast of North America, and Brazil, while others speculate that when
all the overseas and other learners of Japanese since the late 1970s are taken into
account another ten million may be added to that number (Katō 2000: 3).
Within Japan itself, several other languages are spoken. They include Ainu, Korean,
Chinese, Okinawan, English, and the languages of communities of migrant workers
from places such as Brazil, the Philippines, and the Middle East. The linguistic
landscape of Japan is by no means as Xat and monotone as the prevailing popular
view both within Japan and outside it would have it. Japan, like every other society, is
multilingual, though the contours of that multilingualism have until recently been
ignored and in some cases suppressed in the interests of nationalism.
It is important for any discussion of the ties between language and nationalism in
Japan to focus brieXy here on the nature of written Japanese. Ironically, given that
orthography was used as one of the premier icons of nationalism in the nineteenth
and twentieth centuries, the Japanese writing system owes its origins to China. As no
indigenous writing system had yet been developed in Japan, characters were imported
from China along with Buddhism as part of a massive wave of cultural borrowing in
the sixth century. Such were the signiWcant diVerences between the two languages,
however, that characters could at Wrst be used only to write Chinese as a foreign
language. Over time, phonetic scripts were developed from the characters which
enabled the written representation of Japanese pronunciation for the words which the
characters represented, and of elements of Japanese grammar such as tense inXections
Japan 187
and postpositions which did not occur in Chinese (see Twine 1991 and Seeley 1991).
Two diVerent phonetic scripts had been developed by the tenth century: the cursive,
Xowing hiragana, each symbol an adaptation of an entire character (e.g. , the
phonetic representation of the sound ‘i’ derived from the character ), and the
angular katakana, each symbol being one constituent element of a character (e.g. ,
the phonetic representation of the same sound ‘i’ derived from the left-hand side of
the character ).
Despite this invention of phonetic syllabaries, the prestige and inXuence of charac-
ters were such that they remained the script of choice for men of power and
scholarship, that is, the only ones able to write during that early period. Hiragana
were used by literate upper-class women. When Chinese was written out in Japanese
word order or with glosses to show Japanese word order and inXections, katakana was
the script used for the notations. It was not until the twentieth century that today’s
mixture of hiragana and kanji came into common use in newspapers and later legal
documents, with katakana reserved for loanwords from Western languages and for
purposes of emphasis. Other elements commonly found in texts of various kinds
today are the Arabic numerals and Roman letters, although these are not oYcial
Japanese scripts. The Japanese writing system is regarded as one of the most complex
in the world. Nevertheless, literacy rates in Japan today, although unlikely to be the
Japan
188 N. Gottlieb
99 per cent commonly cited given the fact that a certain percentage of any population
will have conditions that aVect the ability to read and/or write, are very high, as
evidenced by the size of the publishing and printing industries and the high circulation
counts of daily newspapers.
throughout Japan by those who travelled during this period was based on the speech
of Edo (see Twine 1991).
Actually deciding on what the standard language in the new Japan should be took
longer than one might have expected, given the intensity of the nation-building project
on so many levels, although it may perhaps be explained by the very multiplicity of
those levels. The creation of modern political and social institutions and the establish-
ment of an infrastructure capable of supporting rapid industrialization took precedence
over linguistic matters until the last decade of the nineteenth century. This is not to say
that language matters were not discussed during this period; they were, with voices
from intellectuals in various sectors calling inter alia for the replacement of the archaic
written styles then in use with a modern written style based on the spoken language
and/or modiWcation (or replacement) of the writing system to free up time spent
in schools on learning to read and write so that it could be diverted to education in
other urgently needed areas. Old habits and mindsets proved hard to change, however,
and no oYcial steps were taken to promote desired language outcomes until after an
upsurge of nationalism following Japan’s victory over China in the 1894–5 Sino-
Japanese War.
During this time, inXuential articles and lectures by Ueda Kazutoshi (1867–1937), a
Tokyo Imperial University academic who was greatly inXuenced by several years spent
studying linguistics in Germany, compared the national language to the country’s life
blood and exhorted the government to ensure that it was treated with the degree of
respect the language of a modern state deserved (e.g. Ueda 1894). In Ueda’s view, this
involved improving the language through standardization and modernization, con-
trary to the views of purists who saw any form of artiWcially induced language change
as an unwarranted attack on standards and tradition. Ueda and the group of students
he trained in the methods of Western linguistics were instrumental in lobbying for the
establishment in 1902 of the Wrst oYcial body charged with working on language
issues, the National Language Research Council. As a result of the work of this body,
the dialect of the Yamanote area of Tokyo was announced as the standard language
in 1916.
There followed an intensive period of dissemination of the standard, in both written
and spoken form through the education system and in spoken form through the
national broadcaster, NHK ( Japan Broadcasting Corporation) (see Twine 1991 and
Carroll 2001). It was important for the purposes of the state that all citizens were
proWcient in the standard, the language of public life through which full participation
in society as a citizen of Japan rather than as a resident of a regional area was made
possible. Dialect use was therefore rigidly suppressed in schools, to the extent that
children caught using their local dialect were made to wear the hōgenfuda (dialect
placard), a wooden placard on which was written ‘I used a prohibited dialect’, until
they could Wnd another child doing the same thing and pass it on. Linguistic ties with
local regions were thus severely discouraged, at least at oYcial level, and the connec-
tion with the nation-state emphasized as oYcial education policy. As Hobsbawm
190 N. Gottlieb
reminds us, however, ‘the controversial element is the written language, or the
language spoken for public purposes. The language(s) spoken within the private sphere
of communication raise no serious problems even when it or they coexist with public
languages, since each occupies its own space’ (Hobsbawm 2000: 113). In Japan’s case,
in the early days of the implementation of the standard, both students and teachers
went home to private spaces of family and friends within which they spoke their
regional dialects. In schools and other areas of public life, however, use of anything
but the standard was strongly discouraged.
They were now oYcially Japanese, and this made the island of Hokkaido indisputably
part of Japan’s territory.
The southern border was secured by applying similar measures in Okinawa,
although the policy of assimilation was not at Wrst as rigorously applied as in the
case of the Ainu (Morris-Suzuki 1998: 26). The dialect placard became a particular
feature of Okinawan schools, where education was to be conducted in the standard
form of Japanese. Factors in promoting the use of the standard language in Okinawa
ranged from a desire to Wnd employment on the mainland, the need for a lingua
franca among speakers of diVerent Okinawan dialects, and the fact that Japanese
became the language of instruction in schools (Osumi 2000: 71–2). Just as with the
northern border, the suppression of the local language in favour of the imposed
standard was a key factor in assuring desired political outcomes.
during that period, although functional (and often more than merely functional)
literacy was widespread among commoners, only the upper class had the time and
opportunity to devote to mastering the many thousands of characters and the Chinese
classics and other documents in which they were used. Instrumentalist attempts to
simplify the written language, in particular the script, in order to refashion it into a
vehicle which the newly educated citizens of the modernizing state could more easily
master were not just a formal recognition but a manifest embodiment of the fact that
the former upper classes from which the intellectuals came were no longer sole
guardians of inherited tradition as embodied in the language. Little wonder, then, that
such reforms were opposed for so long: far from seeing such rationalization as
improving the language, conservatives considered it a weakening of sanctiWed trad-
ition which in turn could only weaken the ‘national spirit’ and, by extension, the
future prospects of the nation.
In line with this view, language came to form a powerful tool in nationalist
ideology, being viewed as encapsulating a mystical essence of ‘Japaneseness’. The
focus of this philosophy, known as kotodama (literally, ‘the spirit of the Japanese
language’), was the written language, and in particular the script. Never mind that
characters had been originally imported from China and that the phonetic hiragana
and katakana scripts had been developed in their diVerent ways from those characters,
as we saw above: by the nineteenth and twentieth centuries characters had long been
such an integral part of written Japanese that they were seen as far more than just a
means of writing. Bound up as they were with hegemonic tradition, and on that
account sanctiWed, they functioned as the embodiment of elite values and notions of
national cultural heritage, regardless of their foreign origins. Within this prevailing
political and intellectual climate, therefore, proposals to simplify complex character
shapes or to limit the number in general use were regarded as an outright attack on
the deWning symbol of Japanese cultural traditions. The complexity of Japanese
thought being such that only the existing script could properly express it, it was
argued, tradition, and not convenience, was the order of the day. Those who thought
that characters should actually be abolished altogether in many cases suVered right-
wing persecution. To support Romanization was seen as a sign of communist
tendencies, and in June 1939, a number of Waseda University students who did so
were rounded up and arrested by the secret police on the charge of harbouring anti-
nationalist sympathies (Kitta 1989: 53). Later, during the war, of course, to support
Romanization was to support the script of the enemy.
Language thus played a prominent role in the ideological construction of the Japan
for which the war was being fought, possibly second only to the Emperor as the
symbol of ultranationalist values. In the name of tradition, and in particular of the
indeWnable mystique accorded to the written language as the repository and expres-
sion of that tradition, reforms to the writing system were discouraged, disrupted, and
postponed until the end of the war brought an end to ultranationalist control of
language policy (see Gottlieb 1995).
Japan 193
certain core national characteristics which served the economy well. At the same
time, however, this view of Japanese fostered a belief that Japan diVered from the rest
of the world in linguistic terms, in what Miller (1982: 209) suggests constitutes a kind
of reverse Orientalism. While acknowledging that Said’s inXuential book Orientalism
(1978) does not deal explicitly with Japan, Miller nevertheless hypothesizes that the
exceptionalist nature of the sociolinguistic myth in Japanese society might be charac-
terized as the Japanese, in a sense, claiming for themselves an Otherness, a radical
diVerentness, before other cultures can do it to them:
By insisting that the Japanese language is unique . . . Japanese sociolinguistic culture has
taken a major step toward its own Orientalization. It is then in a position to employ this
same attitude of the Other – the attitude that is at the heart of all Orientalism – as a
convenient way for coming to terms with the West – not only with the West itself,
conceptualized as a conglomeration of cultural, social, and political entities, but also with
the West as a sociolinguistic phenomenon. (Miller 1982: 209–10)
Mouer and Sugimoto (1983: 277) explicate the uses to which the Nihonjinron
ideology of cultural uniqueness, which subsumes the language, was used to good
eVect as a negotiating tactic in international business:
If the Japanese are seen by foreigners as being inscrutable and if Japanese decision making
is seen as a unique process which foreigners cannot understand, on the one hand, and if
the doctrine of ‘cultural relativism’ is then used to defend one’s own way of doing things,
on the other, a tremendous barrier is placed in the way of the foreigner’s understanding of
and involvement in the activities of his or her Japanese counterparts. A mystique is
created in which Japan is hidden in mist.
The beliefs surrounding the language described above provide a good example of how
Japan was ‘hidden in mist’ for most of the post-war period by the ideology of cultural
nationalism, promoted by government and by large volumes of academic and popular
writing both to foster in the Japanese people a secure sense of their own cultural
identity and to discourage speculation on aspects of Japanese society which did not
contribute to the national myth. During those same years, however, in direct contra-
diction to the myth that Japanese was too hard for foreigners to learn, the Japan
Foundation, under the auspices of the Ministry of Foreign AVairs, was pouring large
sums of money into promoting the study of Japanese overseas in order to achieve
cultural recognition concomitantly with economic power. The fact that large num-
bers of non-Japanese today can speak Japanese is testimony to their eVorts, and to the
fact that learning Japanese poses no greater diYculty than does learning any other
second language when the will is there.
several decades following the Second World War and which has only recently begun
to show cracks. As we saw above, Japan has a long history of suppressing or ignoring
other languages spoken within its borders, purposely subjugating the evidence and
needs of diversity to the monolithic project of a nation-state intent on presenting a
unitary facade of homogeneity to the world. Recognition of the fact that other
languages are spoken in Japan has been slow in coming. The inXux of foreign workers
into Japan in the 1990s raised concomitant language issues in both adult society and
schools which are beginning to lead to a gradual reconsideration of the status quo.
Political and social changes within Japan itself have also contributed to a new
awareness of linguistic diversity.
standard Japanese (Osumi 2000: 92). This revival, however, is self-motivated; there is
no government body such as FRPAC providing facilities and funds.
The Korean minority in Japan, whose presence is intimately related to Korea’s
experience as a colony of Japan (1910–45: see King, this volume, chapter 10), numbered
over 625,000 in 2002, making them the third largest minority group after the Burakumin1
and the Okinawans. Until recently, however, there has been little positive government
recognition of the Korean language within Japan. Community-group schools have
provided language education for students of Korean descent, but the primary language
of these students is Japanese. Until April 2004 those children who completed their
education in these schools (as opposed to attending Japanese schools, which the majority
of Korean children do) were not eligible to sit for the national university entrance
examinations, as the schools were classed as ‘miscellaneous schools’. As in the case of
Okinawa, popular culture in the form of the 2002 World Cup, modern novels, and
Korean music groups, has increased interest in Korean culture and perhaps contributed
to a greater recognition that the Korean language is spoken in Japan, but this may merely
reXect a view of the language as ‘exotic’ and ‘cool’ rather than something intrinsic to
Japan (see Maher 2002).
Other languages spoken by ethnic minority communities in Japan include Chinese,
where those children who do not go to Japanese schools attend a small number of
bilingual community schools (see Maher 1995), and to an increasing extent Portu-
guese, owing to the large numbers of immigrants from Brazil who have come to Japan
to work (see Hirataka, Koishi, and Kato 2000). In recent years the number of schools
(mainly private, but some government) teaching Chinese (Mandarin) and Korean has
been increasing as a result of a 1987 recommendation that the number of elective
subjects be increased ( Japan Forum 1998). Owing to the persistence of the monolin-
gual-state ideology, Japan has no national language policy on the teaching of lan-
guages other than Japanese, whether community languages or languages likely to be
of use in strategic and cultural linkages with other countries. High school enrolments
in foreign languages are very small ( Japan Forum, 1998).
1
A group of Japanese socially ostracized for their ancestors’ involvement in pre-modern times in
occupations linked to notions of death and impurity, e.g. abattoir workers, graveyard attendants, leather
workers. Estimated to number today around 3 million, the Burakumin are a distinct minority group
within Japanese society but are not an ethnic minority, being themselves Japanese and speaking Japanese
as their native language.
Japan 197
Dutch, which had been the foreign language studied during the two and a half
centuries of closed borders. In 1947, during the Allied Occupation, English was
introduced to middle schools as an elective subject. Foreign language education did
not become a required subject for middle and high school students until 2002,
although some schools had made the study of English compulsory earlier. In practice,
however, generations of students had studied English for six years – three at middle
school, during the period of compulsory education, and three at high school – because
many university degrees included a foreign language requirement and the central
university entrance tests thus emphasized foreign language (in practice, mostly
English) testing (Kitao et al. 1994). In 1997, English conversation was introduced
into elementary schools as an elective activity during the Period of Integrated Study
activities; by 2002, this option had been taken up by around half of all public
elementary schools (MEXT 2003). Also in 2002 the Ministry of Education, Culture,
Sports, Science and Technology (MEXT) announced the formulation of a strategic
plan for producing ‘Japanese with English Abilities’, which has laid out a Wve-year
(2003–2008) action plan involving such strategies as designating 100 high schools as
Super English Language High Schools, conducting classroom research on innovative
teaching methods and encouraging both teacher and student study-abroad periods in
English-speaking countries.
A very mild suggestion was made in the report by a commission set up by then
Prime Minister Obuchi to consider Japan’s goals for the twenty-Wrst century that
consideration might be given at some stage in the distant future to designating
English as the second oYcial language of Japan. The report stressed that: ‘First,
though, every eVort should be made to equip the population with a working
knowledge of English. This is not simply a matter of foreign-language education. It
should be regarded as a strategic imperative’ (Prime Minister’s Commission 2000).
The idea of English as an oYcial language excited mostly negative comment in the
press for a few months thereafter, but the issue soon dropped from public notice. The
emphasis on the strategic importance of learning English, however, did not, as we
have seen from the MEXT activities described above.
Hashimoto (2000: 49), analysing Japanese government policy documents on the
teaching of English, argues that while ‘TEFL is located at the core of promotion of
internationalisation . . . the promotion of internationalisation is in reality only a diVerent
form of promotion of Japaneseness’. Far from embracing English as an aspect of
globalization, she contends, Japan is actually resisting it in its educational policies,
accepting its pragmatically useful parts without allowing the underlying values of
individual empowerment embedded in English-language cultures to take hold and
threaten the traditional view of what makes a good Japanese citizen. In terms of
linguistic abilities, we might extrapolate, this boils down to a Japanese who speaks
English in a limited way, without ever embracing the diVerent world views which
can be opened up by the study of other languages: in theory a person with bilingual
abilities but in practice constrained by teaching approaches to forgo true immersion
198 N. Gottlieb
in the worldviews those abilities open up. In other words, this amounts to a reinforce-
ment of the Nihonjinron principle of one-nation, one-language, despite the surface
rhetoric of internationalization and globalization. Good Japanese citizens are not
bilingual.
of heritage languages), ‘to most subjects, the term bilingual refers to a speaker
of Japanese and English, but not to speakers of other languages’ (Yamamoto 2000:
39–40).
The new social conWgurations which underlie recognition of language diversity are
already in place, adding to the pre-existing but until recently ignored older conWgura-
tions. The issue of the lack of education for minority students in their mother tongues
has been raised internationally: a 1998 position paper written for the United Nations
Working Group on Indigenous Populations stressed the importance of reviving the
Okinawan languages through perhaps teaching them as an elective in schools, and in
2001 the United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination
(UNCERD) recommended that Japan ‘undertake appropriate measures to eliminate
discriminatory treatment of minorities . . . and to ensure access to education in
minority languages in public Japanese schools’ (UNCERD 2001: 16).
It may be that increased international exposure, as so often in the past in Japan, will
lead to policy-level changes, but that is likely to take some considerable time.
Ideological change is slow in coming, particularly in the one-nation, one-language
polities, involving as it does the reinvention of the national self-image from a
nationalist to a post-nationalist paradigm. It would seem, however, that Japan – like
many other advanced industrial nations – is now Wrmly set upon this path, in real
terms if not yet in terms of oYcial policy.
10
North and South Korea
Ross King
10.1 Introduction
Until the separate states of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (henceforth,
North Korea or DPRK) and the Republic of Korea (henceforth, South Korea or ROK)
were declared in 1948, Korea for hundreds of years was a rare case of a near-perfect Wt
between nation and language: it has for centuries been characterized by an extremely
high degree of homogeneity, both linguistically and ethnically. Now, the Korean
nation and its territory is divided into two distinct nation-states, each with quite
diVerent political and economic systems and conditions in operation, and character-
ized by very diVerent conditions and experiences of everyday life. Since the end of the
Second World War, the North, with a current, estimated population of 22 million,
has largely isolated itself from the outside world and spawned a resolutely independ-
ent form of communist development that has yielded minimal economic success in
recent years. The South, by way of contrast, has undergone signiWcant modernization
and growth in its open economy, established extensive contacts with other countries
in Asia and the West, and with a population of 48 million now enjoys much
prosperity as one of Asia’s major economic forces. In both North and South Korea,
there is a strong attachment to the idea of a single Korean nation, and language is an
extremely important symbol of national identity, but since the division of Korea into
two separate states there have been growing signs of increasing divergence in the
national language as the result of diVerent forces of development in the North and
the South. In the North, under the dominant leadership of Kim Il Sung and later Kim
Jong-il, language has been explicitly recognized as an important ideological tool for
nation-building, leading to a deliberate, large-scale redirection of the national lan-
guage towards a ‘purer’, native form of Korean, and several decades of heavy, state-
led language planning. In the South, there has been less forceful and widespread
government intervention in language matters, but a steady, and to some alarming,
rise in the incorporation of foreign loanwords has continued to occur, taking the
South Korean lexicon further away from that used in the North after its re-nativization
of Korean. With such increasing divergence in the ‘national’ language and the nation
North and South Korea 201
split in two distinct political units, Korea and its special sociolinguistic conWguration
raises the important question of whether (or perhaps how long) a nation identiWed
signiWcantly in terms of a shared language can remain distinguished and identiWed as a
single nation when its language is undergoing change into increasingly distinct sub-
varieties associated with diVerent populations. This chapter examines the separated
development of the Korean language over the last sixty years in the two Koreas, and
how the diVerent patterns of linguistic growth now pose a challenge to the maintenance
of a single Korean national identity and any eventual reuniWcation of the nation. The
chapter also considers how the orthographic representation of Korean has regularly
been an important and contested feature of the language both in earlier times and
during more recent periods of nationalism and post-war independence and growth, and
how the unique, native script of Korean and other aspects of the language are striking in
the way that they arouse strong emotions and attitudes among many of their speakers,
resulting in the clear occurrence of language nationalism. Setting out the background to
this primary focus on the second half of the twentieth century, in sections 10.2 and 10.3
we begin with a brief overview of language in pre-modern Korea and during Japanese
colonial occupation from 1910 to 1945.
1
The Romanization systems used to render Korean in this chapter are Yale (in italics, and also for
author names) and McCune– Reischauer (elsewhere). Some proper nouns like Kim Il Sung, Kim Jong-il,
etc., are rendered idiosyncratically as they appear in popular publications.
2
The divided Koreas today also maintain this exceptionally high linguistic and ethnic homogeneity,
and neither North nor South Korea has any signiWcant linguistic or ethnic minorities.
3
In fact, many South Koreans are still taught in school that their language belongs to the ‘Ural-Altaic’
language family, but international scholarly opinion since the 1950s has been in agreement that ‘Uralic’
and ‘Altaic’ should be treated as separate groupings, and one rarely hears the term ‘Ural-Altaic’ outside of
South Korea anymore.
North and South Korea 203
with Literary Sinitic to create texts that looked like Literary Sinitic (due to being fully
composed of Chinese characters), but had Korean word order and were read in
Korean. Finally, there existed a system of auxiliary annotations known as kwukyel
written in the margins of texts in Literary Sinitic as a kind of reading-aid-cum-
translation device. If the Korean reader followed the auxiliary markings, the original
Literary Sinitic text came out ‘translated’ into Korean word order with appropriate
Korean morphology in place. The complex skills of reading and writing pure Literary
Sinitic, itwu, and kwukyel were, however, mastered by only an elite few, and further-
more were conWned to speciWc, limited spheres of usage, hence not in widespread
usage among the Korean population. Because of the vast structural diVerences
between Chinese and Korean, itwu and kwukyel ‘borrowed character’ orthographies
were also clumsy and ineYcient means for recording vernacular Korean.
The Koryŏ dynasty was replaced by the Chosŏn dynasty in 1392, and this dynasty
lasted more than half a millennium, until 1910 when Korea became a Japanese colony.
It was during the early years of the Chosŏn dynasty that Korea’s sage king, Sejong,
with the assistance of some of the best minds in the kingdom, invented the Korean
indigenous alphabet hwunmin cengum, promulgated in 1446, and henceforth often
referred to as (native) Korean script.4 With the advent of this brilliantly designed
vernacular script, it now became possible to write eVectively in Korean. However, this
did not in fact result in Literary Sinitic being ousted from its privileged position as the
only oYcial and ‘serious’ means of written communication. Nor was a democratic
revolution in literacy practices the primary motivation behind King Sejong’s promul-
gation of the script. Indeed, due to the staunchly Sinocentric and Neo-Confucian
ideology of the new Chosŏn dynasty, the promulgation of the new Korean script met
with stubborn resistance from many of the Neo-Confucian literati at the Chosŏn
court, and to this day, Ch’oe Malli, one of the court oYcials at the time, is viliWed in
both Koreas for his memorials protesting against the new script and bemoaning
Chosŏn Korea’s sinking to the level of other ‘barbarians’ with scripts of their own,
such as the Mongols, the Tanguts, etc. Any departure from the Sinocentric, Neo-
Confucian worldview, and any threat to the monopoly that the Chinese-educated
literati had on written language, was anathema to Ch’oe and most oYcials like him.
So what were the primary motivations behind the invention of the new script?
Though King Sejong himself indicated that the script was intended to help ordinary
people be able to read and write and would be a more natural representation of
Korean than Chinese characters, in practice, and from other sources, it seems clear
that the new script was meant more, among other things, to (a) help those reading
Chinese texts by alleviating the diYculty of understanding Chinese characters, and (b)
replace the itwu writing system in legal documents and government oYces. Because
4
This script form was later adapted (in the twentieth century) to a new spelling convention and
became known as hankul (section 10.3). As it is technically inaccurate to refer to the script invented by
King Sejong as hankul (though this is sometimes done), the term ‘(native) Korean script’ is used to refer
to King Sejong’s alphabet prior to its twentieth-century conversion into hankul.
204 R. King
of this, for the next half millennium, one of the primary eVective functions of the new
Korean script was indeed the creation of bilingual annotations or cribs of works in
Literary Sinitic – typically Confucian and Buddhist classics. In this sense, then, the
new script largely supplanted the functions of kwukyel orthography. However, it failed
to dislodge itwu, which continued to be used in much the same way for low-level
administrative purposes right until the end of the Chosŏn dynasty. The new Korean
script also did not (and was not designed to) displace Literary Sinitic from its vaunted
position as the one and only ‘true writing’ form. Mun or ‘writing, literature’ in Chosŏn
Korea was, by default, Chinese, and the educated male elite ignored (and typically
despised) the new vernacular script. Consequently, Literary Sinitic persisted as the
written language of government and high literature, and the deeply ingrained,
Sinocentric view of writing was reXected in the widespread terms that came to be
used to refer to the two rival writing systems: cinse or ‘true script’ for Chinese writing,
and enmun or ‘vulgar/vernacular script’ for writing with Korean script.
For the next Wve hundred years, this enmun continued to be used for annotations of
Literary Sinitic texts, in bilingual publications of the Interpreter’s Bureau for manuals
of Japanese, Manchu, Mongolian, and spoken Chinese, and for vernacular Korean
literary production (though being dwarfed by the quantity of literary production in
Literary Sinitic). Its ease of use made it especially attractive to Buddhists, who found
in the Korean script a useful tool for evangelization and the propagation of Buddhist
doctrine, and to women, who were typically denied opportunities for education in
Literary Sinitic. Educated male literati might use native Korean script in letter
exchanges with their womenfolk and children, but simultaneously denigrated it as
amkhul or ‘women’s script’, another derogatory term applied to the vernacular script
throughout the course of the Chosŏn dynasty.
Long known as the ‘Hermit Kingdom’ because of its largely isolationist and
reclusive foreign policy, Chosŏn Korea was not opened up to Japan and the West
until the 1870s and 1880s; all this while, Korean linguistic life was characterized by the
complex diglossia and digraphia described above: the educated elite used Literary
Sinitic for all their oYcial, written needs, and all Koreans used Korean as their spoken
language. Korean script was held in low esteem, had no oYcial status, and moreover,
was never once the object of coordinated language policy at the state or any other
level until the very end of the dynasty. Nor were vernacular Korean language and
script ever subjects of formal education, all of which focused on the mastery of
Literary Sinitic, and in any case was conWned to a tiny elite.
It was during the ‘enlightenment period’ spanning from the 1890s until 1910, a
dizzying period of nationalist awakening characterized by intense international rivalry
over Korea and multiple competing external inXuences and internal developments,
that Korean script Wrst became the object of oYcial policy attentions and a bona Wde
school subject in the new schools that began to develop. In 1894, one of the statutes
promulgated as part of the Kab’o Reforms elevated the status of native Korean script
signiWcantly, reclassifying it as the ‘national script’ (kwukmun), and stating that legal
North and South Korea 205
5
See Schmid (2002) for an excellent discussion of the ‘de-centering of China’ in this period.
206 R. King
Hence generally, while the earliest attempts to enshrine Korean script as the only
legitimate ‘national script’ and orthography at this time must be seen as largely
ineVectual, it is nonetheless true that the native script began to emerge as a potent
symbol of a modern, authentic, and indigenous Korean identity in the late 1890s and
1900s. As modern schools began to be created in Korea during this period, often with
the backing of Western missionaries or Japanese supporters, Korean language and
script became part of the curriculum. Shim-Fabre (1986: 61–2) notes that: ‘The laws
concerning primary education (19 July 1895), secondary education (April 4 1899) and
the Seoul normal school (April 16 1899) put the Korean language front and center,
and considered it an indispensable instrument for introducing Western civilization
and promoting Western education.’
After the statute of 1894 elevating Korean script to the status of national script, an
act which carried more symbolic meaning than anything else, the Wrst concrete
attempt by the Chosŏn government to place matters of language planning and policy
on an oYcial, institutional basis was the creation in 1907 of the National Script
Research Centre, formed two years after Japan had made Korea its new protectorate.
The body of scholars that constituted this centre included Chu Si-gyŏng, Korea’s Wrst
grammarian, who had been deeply involved in the early promotion of Korean script,
and in 1909 the group made a number of speciWc recommendations, all related to
issues of script and orthography. However, the heavily pro-Japanese Minister of
Education of the time showed no inclination to act on any of the recommendations,
and before any further attempts at language planning and reform could be made,
Korea lost its sovereignty in 1910.
6
Professor Ki-moon Lee (personal communication).
7
Note that the character han in hankul is diVerent from the character han meaning ‘China’ which
occurs in words such as hanmun ‘Chinese writing’.
208 R. King
late 1890s.8 The 1933 UniWed Orthography was modiWed in 1936, 1937, 1940, and
1946.
In 1936, the Korean Language Society then published its ClassiWed Compendium of
Standard Korean, which, among other things, reaYrmed the deWnition of ‘standard
Korean’ that had appeared in the 1933 UniWed Orthography as follows: ‘In general, as
standard language we take the Seoul speech used by contemporary middle-class
society.’ Korean Language Society members continued to work doggedly into the
1940s on their Great Dictionary of the Korean Language until more than thirty of
the society were arrested in 1942 by the Japanese colonial authorities; many were
imprisoned, and two members perished in jail. In general, the Korean language came
under increasing pressure from the mid-1930s. According to Popov (1958: 189), only
25 per cent of Korean children of school age were able to attend elementary school in
1933, and Korean language was not a priority in the curriculum. The use of Korean
was later prohibited in public in 1938 as part of a more generalized ‘Japanese
everyday-use policy’ that included recognition and rewards for Korean homes that
were exemplary in using Japanese – the kokugo jōyō no ie ‘homes where the national
language ( Japanese) is used regularly’ (Shim-Fabre 1986: 68) – and 1938 also marked
the demotion of Korean to the status of an optional subject in schools. Following this
in 1940, Korea’s two major Korean-language dailies, the ‘Chosŏn ilbo’ and ‘Tong’a
ilbo’, were closed by the Japanese colonial authorities.
The Korean Language Society did not resume its activities again until after
liberation from Japanese colonial rule in 1945, when it changed its name to the
Hankul Society. Perhaps the most important points to remember about the nearly
thirty-six years of Japanese colonial rule can be summarized as follows: (1) despite
limited freedoms granted after 1919 and allowed until the renewed and intensifying
constriction of liberties beginning in the late 1930s, the Korean language had no
oYcial status in its own land; (2) Koreans had few opportunities for formal education
in their native tongue; (3) knowledge of and education in Japanese language was
promoted aggressively by the colonial authorities and pursued as aggressively by
many Koreans (especially among the elite), with the result that by 1945 a signiWcant
proportion of the population (especially among intellectuals) could be considered
bilingual in Japanese to a certain extent; (4) despite the tireless eVorts of the members
of the Korean Language Society, their UniWed Hankul Orthography and attempt to
deWne ‘standard Korean’ were never oYcial policy under the Japanese, and it is not
clear to what extent their ideas and policy recommendations permeated Korean
society in the late 1930s and 1940s (R. King 1996, 1998); and Wnally, (5) in general,
Japanese policies during the colonial period can be characterized as having as
their main goal the extirpation of Korean culture and language and concomitant
8
Hence, for example, a word such as kes ‘thing’ whose Wnal consonant sound might be realized as
either /s/, /n/, or /t/ in diVerent environments (depending on the initial sound of the following word/
morpheme), came to be represented in the same way in all environments in the new hankul, but would
have been represented in diVerent ways in traditional spelling.
North and South Korea 209
assimilation of Koreans to Japanese language and culture, a fact that leaves much
bitterness and hatred towards Japan to this day in both North and South Korea.
Just how far apart the North and South are can be gleaned from something as
simple as the signiWcant diVerence in Korean words used for ‘Korea’ and ‘Korean
language’ in the ROK and the DPRK. The South uses hankwuk for ‘Korea’, literally
‘Country of the Han’, using a word han which harks back to the ‘Three Hans’,
kingdoms in the southern part of ancient Korea, and tayhan minkwuk (‘Great Han
people’s country’) for its oYcial, full name, Republic of Korea. The North uses quite
diVerent terms, however: cosen for Korea (harking back to the mythical kingdom of
ancient Chosŏn/cosen, claimed to have lasted from 2333 to 108 bc across a huge
swathe of territory in what is now northwestern Korea and Manchuria) and cosen
mincwucwuuy konghwakwuk, literally ‘Chosŏn democratic republic’ for its oYcial, full
name, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. As for the language, the South uses
hankwuk-e or hankwuk-mal, literally ‘Han country language/speech’ to refer to ‘Kor-
ean’, while the North uses cosen-e or cosen-mal, ‘Chosŏn language/speech’. So averse is
North Korea to the morpheme ‘han’ that the word ‘hankul’ has never caught on there
for the Korean script – instead, North Korea uses cosen-kul ‘Chosŏn script’ or just
wuli-kul ‘our script’.
To summarize, then, all these factors – Korea’s late opening to the world, its harsh
colonial experience under the Japanese, and its national division since 1948 – have had
profound inXuences on Korean language and identity, as we shall see below and in
section 10.5. In terms of speciWc issues relating to language and writing facing Korea
immediately after liberation from Japanese rule in 1945, the most pressing concerns
were: (a) attending to widespread illiteracy in both the north and south of Korea, (b)
the continuing question of the orthographic representation of Korean (and particu-
larly the issue of use of Chinese characters), (c) the need to establish language-
planning institutions to co-ordinate the ‘recovery’ of the Korean language and its
‘cleansing’ of Japanese inXuences, and (d) the elaboration, codiWcation and legitim-
ization of a standardized national language. In the remainder of this section, we
outline the main trends in these areas after 1945.
and the authorities waged an energetic anti-literacy campaign during the winter
months of 1947/8 when peasants (the bulk of the populace) were not busy farming,
so that: ‘During these months, thanks to the selXess work of the entire Korean
population, 951,320 people learned to read and write.’ (Popov 1958: 195). Two similar
winter campaigns followed, and Chin-Wu Kim (1978a: 166) notes a North Korean
editorial claiming that illiteracy had in fact ‘totally disappeared’ by the end of 1948
already, and comments: ‘If true, this is a remarkable achievement and contrasts with
the situation in South Korea, where, as of the winter of 1954, there were 3,105,000
illiterates.’ Kumatani (1990: 91) echoes this sentiment, noting that South Korea still
had 8.3 per cent illiteracy as late as 1958.
Numerous observers of North Korean language policy (e.g. Skorbatiuk 1975 and
Fabre 1994) have characterized the early years of DPRK policy as ‘democratizing’ –
that is, as intending to make written language as accessible as possible to the populace
at large. This was accomplished in part by banning the use of Chinese characters from
public life and writing exclusively in the vernacular script, and by late 1949 Chinese
characters were for the most part gone from newspapers and magazines in the North.
It is also widely assumed outside of North Korea that the ban on Chinese characters in
the North extended to a renunciation of their teaching in schools, but Chinese
character education was in fact revived in 1953, and North Korean school children
have been consistently trained in a total of some 1,800 characters for the purposes of
reading texts with Chinese characters produced either prior to 1949 or contempor-
aneously in South Korea (Hatholi 1991).
In terms of language-planning institutions responsible for discussing and suggesting
language policy in the DPRK, the Wrst of these was the Research Society for Korean
Language and Literature, set up shortly after the end of World War II, incorporated
into the new Kim Il Sung University, and then placed directly under the Ministry of
Education in 1948. Somewhat later on, in the mid-1960s, language policy was co-
ordinated by the National Language Assessment Committee, attached directly to the
cabinet, and working with a range of other government committees. The most
signiWcant shaping and direction of language policy in the DPRK, however, came
from the direct involvement of North Korea’s dominant post-war leader Kim Il Sung
in matters of language and in pronouncements on the proper relation of language to
212 R. King
the development of a socialist society. Of critical importance here were two ‘conver-
sations with linguists’ which took place in a meeting between Kim Il Sung and an
assembly of North Korea’s senior linguists, subsequently published in 1964 and 1966.
These extended statements on language by Kim Il Sung radically redeWned the
ideological orientations and future directions of North Korean language policy, and
as Fabre (1998: 311) notes, were ‘a sort of act of birth of the new language in North
Korea and the consummation of its linguistic divorce with the South’. Besides the
guidelines for future policy that they set down, the two documents are also important
for the insights they aVord into general questions of language and national identity in
North Korea. Indeed, the DPRK’s two most prominent linguistics journals – the more
academic ‘Korean Language and Literature’ (Chosŏn Ŏmun) and the more populist
‘Practice in the Cultured Language’ (Munhwaŏ Haksŭp) – both feature frequent
citations from various classic points in these ‘conversations’, prefaced by the obliga-
tory phrase, ‘The Great Leader, Comrade Kim Il Sung, has instructed as follows: . . . ’
For example, one such passage from the 1964 conversation ‘Issues Concerning the
Development of the Korean Language’ reads:
Our language is rich in expression and can express both complicated thoughts and subtle
emotions: it can move people and bring them both to tears and laughter. Because our
language is capable of expressing clearly the rules of etiquette, it is also useful in people’s
communist moral upbringing. (cited from R. King 1996: 127)
One important theme brought up (again) in the 1964 conversation is the issue of
Chinese characters, where we Wnd clearly articulated the notion (also characteristic of
South Korea, and diVerent from attitudes in Japan) that Chinese characters are ‘not
ours’:
Must we continue to use Chinese characters or not? There is no need to use Chinese
characters . . . Because they are the writing of another nation, we should use Chinese char-
acters only up to a certain point . . . We absolutely must conceive of the Chinese characters
problem in connection with the problem of uniWcation of our nation . . . [T]oday, as long as
South Koreans continue to mix Chinese characters with our script, we cannot completely
abandon Chinese characters. If we abandon Chinese characters completely now, we end up
unable to read newspapers and magazines produced in South Korea. Thus, for a certain
period of time, we must learn Chinese characters and use them. Of course, this does not
mean we are proposing to use Chinese characters in newspapers. We must use our own
script in all of our publications. (cited from Hatholi 1991: 270)
As noted by both Chin-Wu Kim (1978a: 168) and Kumatani (1990: 89), the 1964
dialogue accorded a special role to the dictionary. Kim Il Sung laments that the six-
volume Dictionary of the Korean Language looks more like a traditional Chinese
character dictionary for Koreans than it does a genuinely Korean dictionary, and sets
forth recommendations for a more prescriptive role for dictionaries, and for the
cleansing of the language of foreign elements (especially the vast number of words
of Chinese origin, the ‘Sino-Korean’ words). Kumatani (1990: 98) writes of DPRK
North and South Korea 213
The term then proposed as a label for the new standard language to be nurtured and
developed in North Korea was munhwae ‘Cultured Language/Cultured Speech’. Accord-
ing to Sohn (1991: 99, citing the 1973 Cosen munhwae sacen dictionary), this new Cultured
Speech was deWned as ‘the richly developed national language that is formed centering
around the revolutionary capital [i.e., P’yŏngyang in North Korea] under the leadership
of the proletarian party that holds sovereignty during the socialism-constructing period,
and that all people hold as a standard, because it has been reWned revolutionarily and
polished culturally to Wt the proletariat’s goals and lifestyle.’
The 1966 conversation also returns to the question of Chinese characters and
Chinese-character education:
Even as we strive to use Chinese character words as little as possible, we must give our
students the Chinese characters they need and also teach them how to write them. Insofar
as there are quite a number of Chinese characters in South Korean publications and
documents from the old days, if we want people to be able to read these, we have to teach
them Chinese characters to a certain extent. (cited in Hatholi 1991: 270)
The long-term result of these two ‘conversations with linguists’ has been to set the
course of DPRK language policy along certain Wxed lines: abolition of Chinese
214 R. King
characters from public life, and an emphasis on indigenousness and purity in lan-
guage, along with a sense that the DPRK is somehow the last bastion of national
purity in Korea. Concomitantly with Kim Il Sung’s highly personalized intervention in
language policy in this way, we also Wnd what Kumatani (1990: 105) has termed the
‘standardization of Kim Il Sung’s idiolect’. Such a personality cult had evolved in
connection with the prominent North Korean leader (similar to that with Mao
Zedong in China) that Kim Il Sung’s speech was seen as a standard to be revered
and oYcially modelled; new words proposed by the leader were therefore automat-
ically listed as elements of Cultured Speech in the evolving dictionaries and in the
spread of the new standard, and any pronouncements on the meanings of newly
coined words by Kim Il Sung were taken to be fully deWnitive. The ‘supremacy’ of the
leader was also ‘expressed in the printing of his name, which should be printed in
Gothic letters and cannot be broken in the middle and carried over to the next line’
(Kumatani 1990: 106). The 1966 conversation furthermore signiWcantly coincided with
the advent of Kim Il Sung’s ideas of chuch’e philosophy, North Korea’s peculiar brand
of socialist autonomy and self-reliance in all national matters, and yuil sasang, the idea
of the uniqueness of the Korean race and culture, both of which became activated and
highly important after 1967 (Kumatani 1990: 90).
One major consequence of Kim Il Sung’s conversations of 1964 and 1966 and their
recommendations on Chinese characters and Sino-Korean vocabulary was the inten-
siWcation of an ongoing campaign to purify the language of foreign words, of which
Sino-Korean borrowings and coinages were by far the most pervasive, making up
approximately 60 to 75 per cent of the Korean lexicon according to various estimates.
This involved the promotion of native Korean dialect words in many instances as
replacements for foreign-origin words and phrases, and also the large-scale coining of
new words from pure Korean sources where appropriate existing native Korean words
could not be found. The results of such extensive ‘vocabulary management’ (Kuma-
tani 1990: 96) or ‘lexical adjustment/tweakage’ and neologizing subsequently shocked
many South Korean observers when they Wrst became aware of it in the 1970s, as
some of the North Korean lexicon had been altered and could not be immediately
understood by those in the South. Other observers outside South Korea were less
emotional in their assessments of North Korean lexical management. Shim-Fabre
(1986: 84), for example, notes that ‘Despite the dirigiste and normative character of
this movement in favor of the Cultural Language, public opinion was by and large
consulted by the media,’ and her judgement is corroborated to a certain extent by the
Russian linguist Skorbatiuk (1975), an eyewitness to the beginnings of the intensiWed
nativization movement in North Korea. According to Skorbatiuk (1975: 146–8), the
establishment of a state-wide radio service in the North was fully in place by 1966,
leading to the distribution of lists of proposed neologisms or ‘adjusted words’ by radio
and television throughout the North. This was further supported by the distribution
of the populist language-planning journal, ‘Munhwaŏ Haksŭp’, from 1968 onwards as
another platform for propagating neologisms. At the time of his writing (1975),
North and South Korea 215
Skorbatiuk claimed that nearly 400 ‘new word’ lists had been published (with 10–15
words per list), and that ‘Munhwaŏ Haksŭp’ had published 728 ‘adjusted’ words
(Skorbatiuk was in P’yŏngyang from 1965 to 1969). He describes the reactions of the
general public at the time as follows:
. . . at Wrst there was a sense of awkwardness amongst the populace, who experienced
diYculties in understanding what was read – especially on radio broadcasts. This can be
explained by the fact that in the Wrst stages, the Linguistic Commission released into
circulation perhaps too large a quantity of adjusted vocabulary for everyday use. However,
a few months later, the situation normalized: the population began to listen with
interest to radio broadcasts dedicated to problems of lexical adjustment. In numerous
public places many proposed neologisms for lexical units of Chinese provenance were
discussed in animated fashion. Now the work has taken on a systematic and constant
character.
By 1991, the DPRK had coined as many as 50,000 new lexical items, in a highly
signiWcant reorientation of core Korean vocabulary away from foreign sources and
towards a puriWed ‘true’ national language built on native Korean words. Given the
rapid progress of the Korean language in South Korea in an entirely opposite direction
and the adoption of increasingly more English loanwords (estimated in Sohn 1991: 99
to have reached 10,000 in number by 1991) despite certain government attempts at
control of the lexicon, this has opened up a major gap between language in the North
and that in the South, as will be discussed later on in section 10.5.
hankul-only usage that was passed on 30 September 1948, but was amended the next
day under pressure from conservative, pro-Chinese-character elements to include the
rider, ‘For the time being, however, Chinese characters may be used together with
hankul.’ This subsequently led into a protracted and inconsistent back-and-forth in
South Korean policy concerning Chinese characters throughout the 1950s, 1960s, and
1970s. In 1951 the Ministry of Education published an oYcial list of 1,260 characters
for common use/recognition, of which 1,000 were to be learned in elementary
school. Six years later, in 1957, the Council of Ministers decided to ban the use of
characters, however, and police were reportedly even given orders to remove any
signs written in ‘foreign scripts’, not just those in Chinese characters (Fabre 1994: 245).
Then in 1963 it was decided to go back to ‘mixed script’ in school manuals, and in
1964, the Minister of Education published a new list of 1,300 Chinese characters for
everyday use. A further change in policy away from Chinese characters occurred in
1968–9 when a Committee for the Exclusive Usage of Hankul was created by the
President of South Korea and the Minister of National Defence announced that the
army would use only hankul in its written materials. Invoking national independence,
the government also banned Chinese characters from all school manuals in 1969, only
to turn around again in 1972 and publish a new list of 1,800 ‘basic Chinese characters’
for secondary school education, oYcially reintroduced into South Korean school
textbooks in 1974.
In addition to this to-and-fro policy cycle in relation to issues of script and Korean
orthography, various government committees since the declaration of the ROK in
1948 have declared campaigns to ‘purify’ the national language of foreign (mostly
Japanese) elements, in a way that recalls the programmes of lexical adjustment in
North Korea but which, by comparison, turned out to be much less eVective and
extensive. Thus, in April 1976 the president of South Korea gave instructions to his
ministers of Education, Information, Health, and Social AVairs on the need to cease
using foreign loanwords; two months later, in June, in a meeting with his council of
ministers, this ‘movement’ was extended to all sectors, and in July a National
Language PuriWcation Council was created. The following year, the Minister of
Education published a list of 630 foreign loans to be replaced with pure Korean
words, and in November 1978 authorities obliged merchants to remove signs written
with ‘foreign letters’ for a period of time. The ‘campaign’ continued three years later
in 1981 when the Minister of General AVairs edited a manual for the puriWcation of
administrative vocabulary with a list of 1,035 loanwords from Japanese and English to
be replaced/discontinued from use (Shim-Fabre 1986: 75). These oYcial ‘puriWcation’
campaigns initiated in the 1970s and early 1980s have now largely subsided, at least
from the government purview, but the notion of ‘puriWcation’ (swunhwa) retains its
currency in many quarters of South Korean society, and Korean broadcasters like KBS
and EBS maintain programmes aimed at lexical puriWcation and inculcation/propa-
gation of ‘correct’ Korean. However, in the more democratized political climate since
the free elections of 1987, ‘puriWcation’ has also been negatively identiWed with fascist
North and South Korea 217
10
See Schroepfer (2001) for more discussion.
11
South Korean grammarians like to claim that Seoul speech has been the ‘standard’ Korean language
for centuries, but this confuses the notions of ‘prestige dialect’ and ‘standard language’.
218 R. King
inevitable result of this has been a signiWcant and growing divergence between North
Korean and South Korean language practice. This divergence most deWnitely runs
wider and deeper than the linguistic diVerences which developed in the German
language when Germany was separated into two independent states in 1945 (diVer-
ences which, though linguistically insigniWcant, nonetheless generated hundreds of
research publications on both sides of the Berlin Wall).12 North–South Korean
linguistic divergence is most obvious in (i) the lexicon (from the weeding out of
Sino-Korean and other foreign loans in North Korea, plus concomitant lexical adjust-
ment, vs. massive foreign (mostly English) loanword introduction in South Korea) and
(ii) orthography, partly because of diVerences in hankul spelling practices in North and
South, but especially with respect to Chinese characters (the full absence of Chinese
characters from North Korean publications, vs. the continued presence of characters
in many South Korean newspapers and journals). But there are diVerences and
divergence in other areas, too, and these diVerences are especially salient to Koreans
themselves. For example, South Koreans perceive North Korean speech as vulgar and
aggressive, while North Koreans perceive South Korean speech as infected, eVete, and
eVeminate. We shortly return to the important issue of divergence and its conse-
quences below, in section 10.5.3.13
12
An important linguistic diVerence between the situation in Korea and that in Germany is that when
the latter was separated in 1945, the German language had already undergone a long process of
standardization stretching well back into the nineteenth century, whereas Korean eVorts at standardiza-
tion were really only initiated in the late 1930s under conditions of Japanese colonial oppression.
Consequently, major, unconstrained attempts at the standardization of Korean have only occurred
following the separation of the country, and this has allowed for the wider degree of divergence in Korean
when compared with that of German during the period of East–West separation of Germany (see King
1998 for further discussion).
13
One area where Kim Il Sung was adamant that divergence should not occur was in the reform of
Korean script in the DPRK in any way that might make it potentially opaque to Koreans in the ROK. In
the 1964 conversation, it was emphasized that: ‘If North and South Koreans come to write diVerent
characters, they will not understand each other when they write letters, . . . We communists absolutely
cannot permit such an orthographic reform that would divide our own people.’ In a further, strong and
clear aYrmation of the belief in a single nation of Korean people linked by a shared language, and some
time to be reunited in a single polity, Kim Il Sung added that: ‘Our people are one nation; therefore we
need not reform the writing until the entire country is united.’
North and South Korea 219
Kim Jong-il (the son of Kim Il Sung, who succeeded the latter as leader of North Korea
following Kim Il Sung’s death in 1994) has also made statements on the high respect
that Koreans should have for their language:
Our ancestors created their own language already long ago. Whether in its purity or
homogeneity, it is diYcult to Wnd a language like Korean elsewhere in the world. (MH
2002 Vol. 2: 209)
And articles on the generally superior nature of Korean are frequent in their occur-
rence in the DPRK literature, for example Kim Cengtek ‘On the superiority of our
national language’ (MH 2002 Vol. 3: 210), Pak Sungkwuk ‘Our Korean language is a
superior language with the strongest originality and stoicism’ (MH 2002 Vol. 2: 209),
and Kim Yengil ‘Delicate and innovative linguistic formations that revive and use our
superior Korean’ (MH 1987 Vol. 4), among many others.
thought of Fichte and Herder. With the exception of some well-known attempts at
orthographic reform and their relationship to national identity, writing and script rarely
surface in discussions of linguistic nationalism in these contexts. However, it is not
diYcult to identify in Asian contexts cases where writing systems and scripts assume an
importance equal to or even greater than the languages they convey, for example
Suleiman (2003: 33) on Arabic and Abrahamian (1998: 15–16) on Armenian in the West
of Asia, and Musa (1989: 108) on Bengali in South Asia. East Asia is of course the other
repository of strong script-related linguistic nationalism. In this region, as Coulmas (1999:
399) has shown, ‘ . . . popular notions of language strongly depend on writing to the
extent that writing is often confused with language’. This common confusion between
or outright conXation of language and script is especially pronounced in Korea, and
even more so in South Korea, where for many people, including even academic writers
on language, hankul has in a sense come to be synonymous with the Korean language.
Korean ‘script nationalism’ manifests itself above all in an almost cult-like respect
and even worship-like reverence for both the invention of Korean script (the hwunmin
cengum) and for King Sejong, the Chosŏn dynasty monarch who invented and
promulgated it. With respect to the genre of popular South Korean works on
language mentioned above, such books invariably include one or more sections on
the script and its outstanding qualities. More than anything else, Korean script
nationalism manifests itself in repeated assertions and celebrations of the ‘superiority’
(wuswuseng) of hankul, where the Sino-Korean word wuswuseng is variously translated
as ‘predominance, superiority, excellence’.14 In modern Korea, there seems little
doubt that in the collective Korean linguistic imagination, the Korean script is
superior to all others, and indeed, from a strictly linguistic, writing systems design
perspective, the native Korean script does indeed deserve praise as one of Korea’s
Wnest intellectual and cultural achievements.15
A simple illustration of this widespread sentiment can be found in the recent book
‘The ConXict between Language Nationalism and Language Toadyism’ by Professor
Yi Minhong (2002). Surveying the development of linguistic nationalism and writing
systems in the Sinitic sphere, he concludes that: ‘Hwunmin cengum, our national
writing system, was devised latest of all, but is the greatest and most perfect writing
system’ (p. 20). In fact, Professor Yi’s book takes the traditional Fichtian/Herdian
notion of ‘language ¼ nation’ one step further, arguing, in eVect, that ‘script ¼
nation’, and claims that ‘ . . . when people have no national writing system with which
to write down their national language, the language faces a crisis’ (pp. 12–14). The
general, national reverence for hankul is also highly evident in the fact that every year,
14
Indeed, a quick Google search in hankul for this word invariably produces more co-occurrences with
the words hankul and hwunmin cengum than with any other – save perhaps kimchee, another modern
symbol of Korean identity.
15
It is also important to remember that the current pride in hankul is a relatively recent phenomenon,
beginning in the late nineteenth century, and that for most of the 500 years since its invention, the elites in
Korea generally viewed hankul in a negative way (see section 10.2).
222 R. King
on 9 October, the ROK celebrates the Korean indigenous script with a national
holiday called Hankul Day, in commemoration of the day in the twenty-eighth year
of the reign of King Sejong (1446) when the hwunmin cengum was oYcially promul-
gated. Thus, Korea is probably unique in the world today in having a national holiday
in honour of its alphabet, a day when Koreans are called upon to reXect on their
national language and script. This annual event calls forth numerous essays and
paeans in the national newspapers and journals, and also occasions the production
on a regular basis of hour-long documentary Wlms by the leading ROK television
networks. The written pieces typically review the greatness of King Sejong and his
invention, and in recent years lament the fact that, while still a national holiday of
sorts, Hankul Day is no longer a day oV from work.
Koreans’ conWdence in the superiority of their script has even led, in recent years, to
a growing movement to ‘export’ or ‘globalize’ hankul, by developing it into a new
form of phonetic notation which might be used internationally as a means to write
down other languages in other states. Thus, a Korean phonetic alphabet for wide
international use and the ‘globalization of hankul’ has in fact been promoted in a
considerable range of serious linguistic works.
Like South Korea, North Korea also evinces a strong script nationalism. The North
Korean variant is not as pronounced as the South Korean, and is much less lionizing in
its treatment of King Sejong (true adulation being reserved for Kim Il Sung). It does
nevertheless observe a holiday in honour of the alphabet, on 15 January, this being the
day when King Sejong is thought to have completed his work on the creation of the
new writing system. The clear pride in the native script in North Korea is revealed in
the following quotations from Kim Il Sung:
Our people had already been using itwu script since the Three Kingdoms era, and the
creation in 1444 of the most developed writing system called hwunmin cengum contributed
greatly to cultural development. (MH 1984 Vol. 1)16
With our script, not only can one write down the sounds of our language freely and easily,
one can also record all manner of sounds in nature and practically all the sounds of other
nation’s languages almost perfectly. (MH 1984 Vol. 4)
The oYcial North Korean view on the Korean script can also be seen from the titles of
the following articles which have appeared in recent times: ‘Hwunmin cengum – pride
of our people’ (MH 2002 Vol. 2: 209), ‘Our superior national script – hwunmin cengum’
(MH 1984 Vol. 1), ‘Hwunmin cengum is the most scientiWc writing system, based on an
original writing system theory’ (CE 1994 Vol. 1: 93), and ‘Hwunmin cengum is the most
superior national indigenous script’ (MH 1994 Vol. 7). However, whereas the South
Korean discourse of ‘superiority’ is highly focused on the script – hankul – in North
Korea the same discourse of superiority is applied across the board to Korean
16
Note that while the creation of the Korean writing system is commonly believed to have been
completed in 1444, it was not oYcially promulgated until 1446.
North and South Korea 223
language and writing alike (as will shortly be illustrated in 10.5.1.3 below); indeed, it
has even been incorporated into oYcial DPRK linguistic theorizing.
10.5.1.3 Pride in Specific Aspects of Korean In South Korea, many popular
books on Korean language revel in the lexical riches and delights of Korean vocabulary –
meaning, more often than not, words that are allegedly ‘pure Korean’ in their
etymology (as opposed to loanwords or Sino-Korean elements). In North Korea, we
Wnd the interesting phenomenon of highly focused praise for particular aspects of
Korean linguistic structure, and the didactic journals Munhwae Haksup (MH) and
Cosen Emun (CE) have carried articles claiming to demonstrate the superiority of
various features of the language, especially during the past Wve years. For example,
‘The superiority of Korean pronouns in comparison with those of foreign languages’
(MH 2001 Vol. 3: 206), ‘The superiority of Korean suYxes’ (CE 2000 Vol. 3/4), and
‘Korean, the most superior language in speech levels’ (CE 2003 Vol. 2: 213). No less a
Wgure than Kim Jong-il has singled out speciWc features of Korean worthy of particular
praise: ‘particles in Korean are rich and diverse and have developed in Wne detail’ (MH
2001 Vol. 3: 206). Kim Jong-il also notes the special pragmatic suitability of Korean for
political education purposes:
Because our language can express etiquette and politeness exactly, it is also extremely
useful in educating for communist morality. (MH 2002 Vol. 2: 209)
Concerning the relation of language to the nation, the North Korean literature is
replete with positive links between Korean language and the Korean nation, indica-
tions as to why Koreans should be proud of their language, and warnings to remain
vigilant about potentially harmful foreign inXuences on the language and nation. One
particularly common trend found in North Korean materials is the constant impulse
to cite aphorisms and quips on such (as well as other) linguistic matters by Kim Il Sung
and Kim Jong-il. Although there is an initial temptation to dismiss such quotations as
nothing more than propaganda, there are in fact a great many interesting parallels
that emerge between the populist-oriented, highly puristic and resolutely nationalist
and patriotic statements of North Korea’s leaders and the pronouncements of many of
the nationalist authors producing popular literature on language in South Korea. In
what follows, a number of the public statements on language issued by Kim Il Sung
and Kim Jong-il reveal the perception that the Korean language is tightly bound up
with Korean identity and the Korean nation. Kim Il Sung, for example, is quoted in the
journal MH as having made the following pronouncements on the connection
between language and nation:
Language is one of the most important common features deWning a nation. No matter
whether people share the same blood and live on the same territory, if their languages are
diVerent, they cannot be said to be one people. (MH 1984 Vol. 2)
The fact that our nation has its own indigenous language and writing is our great pride
and strength. (MH 2002 Vol. 2: 209)
Among other things, statements like these also indicate a desire to see people in the
North and South as one Korean people. Kim Il Sung furthermore explicitly indicates
that the ‘national characteristics’ of Korean are to be valued and protected:
We communists must revive the national characteristics of our language and develop
them further. (MH 1984 Vol. 2: 4)
In linguistics, too, we must establish self-reliance (chuch’e), develop our language system-
atically, and bring people to feel pride and dignity when they use it. (MH 1989 Vol. 4)
And it is signiWcantly proclaimed that knowledge of Korean (as well as the history of
the Koreans) is a necessary condition for being part of the Korean nation, below
referring to ‘Koreans’ residing in Japan:
If Koreans in Japan do not know our language and writing and do not know our nation’s
history, we cannot call such people Koreans. Wherever they live, Koreans absolutely must
know Korean language and writing and know Korean history. (MH 1985 Vol. 2)
If Koreans in Japan do not know Korean, they may become assimilated to the Japanese
race. (MH 1987 Vol. 1)
The theme of seeking out and developing the ‘national characteristics’ of Korean is
seen in many recent DPRK works of linguistics, perhaps inspired by Kim Il Sung’s
North and South Korea 225
pronouncement quoted above. In many cases, this manifests itself in shorter pieces in
MH emphasizing indigenous, pure Korean. Typical examples are ‘Salvaging national
characteristics in word combinations’ (MH 1985 Vol. 2), ‘Through positively accepting
and using nativized words, let us further revive the national characteristics of our
language’ (MH 1990 Vol. 4), ‘Great guidance in reviving and using indigenous Korean’
(MH 2002 Vol. 2: 209), and ‘Blocking the ideologico-cultural invasion of imperialism
in our language life is the fundamental problem in insisting on self-reliance and
national identity in language’ (2002 Vol. 2: 209). Elsewhere, more mainstream
DPRK linguistic research also shows the same trend, especially in recent years, for
example Sin Kyeysung’s (1982) ‘National characteristics of Korean word order’, and
Sim Yongcwu ‘On the national characteristics of lexical meaning’ (CE 2001 Vol. 3: 23).
Finally, a general emphasis on attaining and maintaining a truly national language
with national characteristics is further stressed by Kang Myenseng: ‘The fundamental
question in constructing a national language worthy of the dignity of a strong and
prosperous nation is positively encouraging and correctly reviving that which is
national’ (CE 2003 Vol. 2: 13).
10.5.2 Worries about the State of the Language, Past and Present
10.5.2.1 The Purity of Korean, Past and Present One problem that continues
to surface in both North and South Korean discussions on language is that of the unity
(and hence ‘purity’ in the sense of non-dilutedness) of the Korean language in
antiquity. The question of whether the languages of the three ancient Korean
kingdoms of Silla (57 bc–ad 935), Koguryŏ (37 bc–668 ad) and Paekje (18 bc–ad 660)
were mutually intelligible or not has long vexed Korean historical linguistics, and
some South Korean (and non-Korean) scholars continue to entertain the possibility
that these languages were not necessarily the same. Given the lack of decisive, hard
evidence, it is diYcult to be sure whether there was a single Korean language in
ancient times. However, the mere suggestion that there might have been diVerent
languages present on the Korean peninsula in the ancient period is anathema to
ardent Korean nationalists, who insist on a Korean history signiWcantly connected
together by a common language, and who therefore, to a considerable extent, see the
Korean nation as being deWned by its sharing of a common language right back to the
dawn of the ‘Korean race’. The possibility aired by ‘irresponsible’ linguists that
diVerent, mutually unintelligible languages might in fact have been spoken during
the Three Kingdoms period poses a direct threat to ideas of Korean ethnic unity, and
consequently provokes outrage among dedicated Korean nationalists in both the
North and South.
The pronounced abhorrence induced in North Koreans by the notion of ethnic or
linguistic diversity in ancient Korea can be seen in a number of articles written to
counter South Korean research suggesting that the languages of the Three Kingdoms
might not have been identical. Such, for example, was one of the aims of senior North
226 R. King
Korean historical linguist Lyu Lyel (1994) with his article on ‘Names of capitals and
states of our ancient race demonstrating the homogeneity of our nation’. The Great
Leader Kim Il Sung himself was also concerned to ‘smash the false claims of bourgeois
linguistic scholars concerning the origins of Korean, and reveal in depth the unity and
indigeneity of our language’ (cited in CE 1994 Vol. 3: 95). Choy Cenghwu presses the
attack further with his (particularly long-titled) piece: ‘The Korean people is a wise
nation that has guarded and developed the homogeneity of its language since ancient
times: criticism of the ‘‘theory’’ of the pro-Japanese imperialist scholars who distort
the homogeneity and unity of the Korean language’ (MH 2001 Vol. 2: 205), and cites
Kim Jong-il as stating:
They say that among the bourgeois linguistic scholars in South Korea and Japan there are
those who espouse the view of a ‘dual origins theory’ for the Korean language. The claim
is that the Koguryŏ line of the northern language and the Silla line of the south had
diVerent origins . . . but this is a forced claim without basis in scientiWc reasoning.
Kim Jong-il also further conWrms this anathema of mixed and impure blood lines and
linguistic pedigrees in his emphatic declaration that:
The Korean race is no mixed-blood group of people from various origins. Our nation has
its origins since ancient times on Korean soil, and is a homogeneous people that has
always had one blood line and used one language.
The issue of racial purity, linked to linguistic purity and descent from a unique
linguistic source, is therefore felt to be of paramount importance in North Korea
and a non-negotiable area of intellectual discussion.
As for attitudes towards the present-day purity of the Korean language, in section
10.4.3 it was noted that there have been various ‘national language puriWcation’
movements orchestrated by the government since 1948, in which native Korean
substitutes for foreign loanwords were identiWed or coined as neologisms. Many of
the proposed changes that have emerged from this ongoing eVort actually have their
origins in suggestions mooted in popular works on the language, and the process is
still ongoing in present-day South Korea, though no longer driven by government
organizations in the way it was earlier in the 1970s and 1980s.17
Turning to North Korea, as described in section 10.4.2, lexical adjustment – the
replacement of undesirable Sino-Korean and other non-indigenous lexical material
with neologisms composed wholly or at least in part of ‘pure’ Korean word-formation
elements – has been a dominant component of North Korean language planning ever
since the 1960s. With the considerable nativization of the North Korean lexicon
achieved during the 1960s–1980s, there currently appears to be less of an ongoing
17
Both North and South Korea also evince a vibrant discourse advocating the revival and recovery of
pure Korean names. However, it must be said that despite all the activism and advocacy, one rarely
encounters people or places in either North or South Korea with pure Korean (as opposed to Sino-Korean)
names.
North and South Korea 227
Korean cultural market to Japanese popular culture exports seems to have rekindled
this particular Xame. An extreme paranoia is felt in this regard by those, such as Li
Uyto of the Korean Language Society, who believe that the most dangerous Japanese
expressions in Korean are those hiding incognito in the depths of the language: those
that are in the disguise of Chinese characters (i.e. Japanese loanwords/phrases coined
with Chinese characters, which may consequently look like simple Sino-Korean
expressions), referred to as the ‘Japanese language dregs (or Trojan horse) inside
Korean’ (Li Uyto 1993/1994: 127–39).
The continued use of Chinese characters in South Korea is furthermore still felt
quite widely by language nationalists to be perpetuating impurity in Korean. Nam
Yengsin (1998: 45–58) represents this view and criticizes the ‘traditional worship of
Chinese’ among Korean intellectuals and their perceived aversion to the indigenous
script, hankul. Yi Otek (1992/1996: 19), in a similar vein, advocates the need to ‘Free
ourselves from Chinese-character words’, and characterizes Sino-Korean diction as
‘destroying our language’.
In South Korea, dictionaries are also a frequent target of criticism for what is seen as
the senseless copying of words and expressions from Japanese and Chinese dictionaries
without any regard as to whether these ‘Sino-Korean’ expressions might ever actually
be in use in Korea. The author Ceng Cayto (1989: 223) writes of ‘our tainted
dictionary’, and suggests that Korean dictionaries may commonly contain only 20
per cent Korean words: ‘This is not a dictionary of our national language, but of foreign
loanwords. No matter what, at least half [of the dictionary’s entries] should be Korean.’
Connected with criticisms of the impurity and decay of Korean are calls for
puriWcation and ‘revival’ of the language. The revival metaphor is particularly wide-
spread in South Korean publications and of course carries with it the implication that
Korean is somehow less than alive, or that bits of it are in need of resuscitation. Pak
Namil (1996), for example, is an entire book on ‘Old Korean that we should revive and
use again’. But the theme of revival of the language is also mentioned often in North
Korean materials. The following are quotations relating to language revival from Kim
Jong-il:
We must revive, actively use, and know the beautiful and reWned Cultured Language of
our age. (MH 1987 Vol. 2)
Only if our people revive and use the standardized language that we all understand in
common and strive not to use uncultured language such as dialects can we guarantee
cultured-ness in language life. (MH 2001 Vol. 1)
We must raise the level of culture in language life. Only when we speak and write in a
cultured way will people’s characters improve and will we be able to establish a noble,
moral demeanour. (MH 2001 Vol. 2)
Skimming away the scum of older eras remaining in the language and constructing a new
linguistic culture is a type of revolution. (MH 2002 Vol. 1: 208)
In line with North Korea’s chuch’e philosophy of self-reliance, Kim Jong-il has also
strongly urged North Koreans to become ‘self-reliant’ in their language:
Because language life is intimately connected with social life, and exerts great inXuence on
social life, establishing self-reliance in language life emerges as one of the important
demands for successful carrying out of the project of establishing self-reliance in the
revolution and in all areas. (MH 2001 Vol. 1)
and North Korean, using words such as sathwuli ‘brogue/regional accent’ and pangen
‘dialect’ for other regional forms of Korean. As a consequence of this, it is suggested
(p. 42) that ‘Perhaps the young informants have come to see North Korean speech not
as a sub-variety of their language, but as a parallel variety, diVerent but equal’, and that
the North–South political border is playing a signiWcant role in the perception of
distinct language varieties.
All told, the attitudes toward North Korean language and language policy and
North–South linguistic divergence found in South Korean popular publications range
from aversion, alienation, derision, betrayal, hostility, and anger (e.g. with respect to
the ‘combative and rough’ sound of North Korean broadcasting because it has ‘so
many tense sounds’, as claimed in Co Tongo 2003: 75) to a kind of morbid fascination
and even scarcely concealed envious approval of the ability of those in the North to
‘stick to their indigenous linguistic guns’ (as, for example, when Yi Minhong (2002:
205) writes that ‘the sense of alienation that we sometimes feel in North Korean
language arises from the fact that they have either dug up and revived or created
Korean’). And the evaluations of the extent of divergence and its signiWcance as a
present and future problem also vary, from outright alarmism to a laissez-faire
embrace of diversity. Thus, Ko Congsek (1999: 29–31) Wnds the sense of crisis
expressed by some North Korean language watchers exaggerated, and writes: ‘ . . . ‘‘di-
vergence’’ is nothing other than ‘‘enrichment’’ [and is] . . . a matter of a certain
amount of unfamiliarity, but not inability to understand’. Although a less worried
attitude towards divergence therefore seems to be held by certain public intellectuals
like Ko Congsek, the most common and widespread reaction to divergence appears to
be one of worry, concern, and alienation from the North and its speakers. Divergence
in language, therefore, is playing a potentially signiWcant role in dividing an erstwhile
very homogeneous nation.
Quite generally, then, South Koreans appear to blame North Korea for divergence
in the language, ascribing it to the introduction of the ‘Cultured Language’, new
dialect words promoted to the status of standard, the elimination of Sino-Korean
words, ‘lexical adjustment’, and so on. However, for their part, the North Koreans
assert that South Korea has allowed so many foreign loanwords to come into the
language that this has sown the seeds of massive divergence from real, ‘pure’ Korean;
both sides, then, lay the blame for divergence at each other’s respective doors. The
following is a quotation from Kim Il Sung on the subject:
Our language, repository of our national pride, and precious national resource of our
people, is experiencing a severe crisis in South Chosŏn. Due to the national language
extermination policy of the American imperialists, the Korean language in South Chosŏn
is gradually disappearing, and gradually turning into a bastardized language. (MH 1988
Vol. 3)
In fact, North Korean sources lay the blame not only at the feet of South Koreans (for
their feeble retention of national traits), but also at the feet of the American military
232 R. King
and government, who are alleged to have waged a persistent campaign to exterminate
the Korean language in the South. This is the gist of Kim Punghwan’s (1986) article,
‘The reactionary nature of American imperialism’s policy to wipe out the national
language’ (MH 1986 Vol. 4: 60), in which he cites Kim Il Sung as follows:
Actually, in the language used in South Chosŏn, if you get rid of the Chinese character
words, Japanese, and English, all that is left in Korean is particles like ul and lul [object
case-markers]. Language is an important symbol of a nation, but the language they use in
South Chosŏn is so Westernized, Japanized, and Wlled with Chinese character words, that
it no longer seems like Korean, and is gradually losing its national characteristics.
In North Korean propaganda, it has been regularly suggested that the government of
the USA is intent on keeping North and South Korea divided and on continuing to
‘occupy’ the South. To this end, it is argued that Korean is being deliberately Xooded
with English loanwords to destroy it as an important, pure symbol of national
identity.18 Writing in a tone and direction similar to that of Kim Punghwan, Choy
Wencip, another linguist from the North, viliWes language use in South Korea and
attributes at least partial blame for this to American intervention, with a paper
entitled: ‘Our language is facing a dire crisis in South Chosŏn due to the American
imperialists’ policy of national language eradication’ (MH 1985 Vol. 2). In this article,
South Korean newspapers are described as being riddled with foreign words and slang,
and South Korean streets as crowded with signs in foreign languages. Many other
pieces of a similar nature have appeared over the years in North Korean journals, all
speculating that there is a plot afoot to convert the Korean language into gibberish in
the South as a way to undermine national unity and the possibility of future (re-)
uniWcation with the North.
18
It is also suggested that the ‘divisive’ belief held among certain South Koreans that Korean was not a
united language during the Three Kingdoms period and may also have had ‘foreign’ Altaic origins is due to
the malevolent inXuence and ideas of Western (and most speciWcally American) linguists.
North and South Korea 233
Secondly, it is a clear and important fact that the relation of language to national
identity in the Korean peninsula is made particularly complex by the post-war division
of Korea into two parts. North and South Korea exhibit the phenomenon of a single
nation that has been divided after a long united history, having been linked for at least
a thousand years by a common, shared language and culture. Now, however, in place
of a uniWed Korean nation-state, at the turn of the twenty-Wrst century there are two
outwardly quite diVerent states, each with highly distinct socio-political systems and
trajectories of post-war development, and although language continues to maintain a
great symbolic importance as an embodiment of Korean national identity, critically
the ‘shared’ Korean language has already undergone divergence in the two Koreas.
How this creeping splintering of Korean may consequently aVect the common goal
of future reuniWcation is causing worry in many quarters and the occurrence of
increased ‘divergence Angst’, though the way this manifests itself in North and South
is rather diVerent and determined by the views that North and South have of each
other with relation to language and the blame they see as belonging to the other side
for the occurrence of divergence. Quite generally, the tone with which ‘language
watchers’ study each other on either side of the 38th parallel can be characterized as
one of mutual morbid fascination: the South gazes at highly centralized and dirigiste
North Korean language planning (especially lexical adjustment and innovation), as if
watching helplessly as a dear relative drifts away in the current, while the North looks
on disdainfully at South Korean linguistic ‘bastardization’, as if unable to prevent a
close friend from falling prey to heroin addiction. Whether this divergence may
become so great that the ability of the language to function as a unifying symbol of
national identity is really lost among Koreans separated in the North and South is not
yet clear, but the diVerent routes of the language over the past decades have certainly
already complicated and weakened the image of a shared Korean identity, and will
most likely cause signiWcant linguistic problems for reuniWcation, if this can ever be
brought about.
Finally, if one reXects on the causes of continuing shows of language nationalism in
the Koreas, at a time when independence from foreign domination has long been
achieved, it is possible to see this as a potential reaction to the perception of diVerent,
modern pressures on the sovereignty and status of nations issuing from increased
forces of globalization. Where both North and South Korea continue to highlight the
superiority and special nature of various aspects of the Korean language, it is actually
tempting to read into these emphatic assertions a deep-seated anxiety about the
future viability of Korean in a world arena which is ever more dominated by English
and where a modern global culture is threatening to replace local tradition and
identity. In the case of South Korea, a major source of the latter perceived ‘cultural
crisis’ is surely the ROK’s dizzyingly frenetic pace of compressed modernization,
industrialization, and incorporation into the global economy, along with all its socio-
cultural side eVects. In North Korea, one has to tease hints of linguistic unease
from between the lines of chuch’e-inspired philological bravado, but it lurks there
234 R. King
11.1 Introduction
Issues of language and national identity have been of considerable importance for
those living on the island of Taiwan for much of the twentieth century, and continue
to be the subject of great public debate in contemporary Taiwan as the population
tries to establish what kind of nation it thinks it should belong to. Having initially
been incorporated into China as part of the Qing empire during the seventeenth
century, Taiwan became an oYcial part of the Japanese empire in 1895 when ceded to
Japan following the Sino-Japanese war of 1894–5. For much of the Wfty years after this,
there were concerted eVorts to assimilate the population of Taiwan to a Japanese
national identity, with the manipulation of language playing a key role in the attempts
at assimilation. In 1945, the forced departure of the Japanese led to Taiwan coming to
be occupied by a second, twentieth-century long-term ruling force from outside the
island, the Chinese nationalist army of the Kuo Min Tang (KMT), which adopted
Taiwan as its main base of operations and stronghold after being defeated by
communist forces on the Chinese mainland. Continued claims by the KMT to be
the oYcial government of all China resulted in policies on Taiwan which promoted an
idealized Chinese national identity and simultaneously enforced the suppression of
local Taiwanese language and culture. More recently still, since the lifting of restric-
tions on language and political opposition in the mid-1980s, there has been a dramatic
growth in the championing of a local, potentially national, Taiwanese identity, and the
celebration of languages spoken on the island prior to the arrival of the mainlander
nationalist government. Taiwan has thus experienced a complex twentieth century
from the point of view of language and national identity, with various, quite diVerent
national identities being promoted on the island, and language continuously being
manipulated for political reasons. The present situation of Taiwan also remains highly
complex, with the sovereignty and future of the territory still very much under
dispute. While the government of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) claims that
Taiwan is an integral part of the PRC subject to the authority of the government in
Beijing, this is not accepted by political leaders on the island, and Taiwan continues to
236 A. Simpson
maintain its own government and military forces, eVectively functioning like an
independent state, though without having made any formal declaration of independ-
ence. Within Taiwan, the debate concerning whether to pursue reuniWcation with
mainland China or independent nationhood divides the population in an important
way and corresponds to diVerent conceptions of national identity for Taiwan and its
people, one stressing a common Chinese identity and the other highlighting a
distinctive Taiwanese culture and linguistic background. In this chapter we set out
to show how the present unsettled situation and the two opposing Chinese and
Taiwanese nationalisms have arisen on the island, charting the development of
national identity among the people of Taiwan from its beginnings during the Japanese
colonial period, through the confrontational post-war KMT era into the 1990s and
the emergence of democracy. In each period it will be seen that policies of both
the repression and promotion of languages have been of central importance in
attempts to shape the loyalty and identity of the population, and that languages and
language choice have come to be invested with remarkable symbolic power on
Taiwan, polarizing, dividing, and at other times unifying the population as explicit
and deliberate signals of ethnic and political allegiance.
Taiwan
Taiwan 237
and make them feel more like Japanese citizens, despite the unequal treatment in
higher-level career advancement. These attempts at assimilation became particularly
strong in the 1930s and were focused on aVecting both the cultural habits of
people and the languages they spoke. People were encouraged to adopt Japanese
culture, take Japanese names, and follow Shinto religious practices instead of those of
Taoism and other local religions. Concerning language, Japanese was vigorously
promoted over Hakka, Southern Min, and the various aborigine languages spoken
on Taiwan, and the use of Japanese was strictly enforced in certain areas of the public
domain such as in banks and all government oYces. Within the media, Chinese
was gradually replaced by Japanese in newspapers and was eventually oYcially
banned from newspapers in 1937, as well as from radio broadcasting. The growing
education system was also a heavy target for the assimilation programme. Public
schools were all obliged to teach with Japanese as the medium of instruction and to
focus strongly on the actual teaching of the language. Private schools were for some
time tolerated and were permitted to teach Chinese language and culture, but later on
were closed down, and all education came to be transmitted through the Japanese
language and ceased to include any coverage of Chinese culture and history, in the
hopes of erasing links to a possible Chinese identity (P. Chen 2001a). Students found
speaking in languages other than Japanese in school were furthermore subject to
punishment by teachers. Finally, even the domestic arena was seen to be a domain
where the use of Japanese could be usefully promoted for purposes of assimilation,
and incentives were oVered for families to adopt Japanese as the language of the home
(Roy 2003).
The concrete linguistic results of the Japanese language policy were that a majority
of the population on Taiwan did indeed learn and become highly proWcient in
Japanese, especially in the urban centres and in the last ten years of the colonial
period, as more and more of the rising younger generations completed their school-
ing fully in Japanese. The exclusive use of Japanese in education and public
domains also had a dramatic negative eVect on people’s ability to speak other
languages such as Hakka, Southern Min, etc., and there was such infrequent oppor-
tunity to make use of languages other than Japanese in the more formal domains of
life, that people forgot (or never learned) how to use Hakka and Southern Min to
discuss H-level issues relating to politics, education, and other intellectual matters.
Instead these languages were largely conWned to the home and became restricted to
very informal conversation; if the need arose to switch to the discussion of more
formal topics, Japanese then invariably had to be employed. Importantly, though, the
forced learning and spread of Japanese did not eliminate other languages on
Taiwan, and people continued to learn Hakka, Southern Min, and the aborigine
languages as their Wrst language in the home before entering the school system. The
younger generations therefore mostly became bilinguals, with a restricted formal
competence in their mother tongue but daily use of these mother tongues in
domestic, aVective domains. The enforcement of Japanese as the sole medium of
240 A. Simpson
education from the late 1930s onwards additionally had a highly damaging eVect on
the younger generations’ opportunity to acquire a knowledge of written Chinese. Not
being able to learn how to read and write Chinese meant that rising generations were
cut oV from literary access to Chinese culture and the reinforcement of Chinese
identity that would normally come from such a source. In general, then, the Japanese
language policy of the late colonial period was a partial linguistic success (for the
Japanese ruling elite): it created a widespread proWciency in Japanese and fully
replaced other previously spoken languages with Japanese in all formal domains,
yet nevertheless failed to eliminate Chinese and aborigine languages from the im-
portant domain of the home, and was not able to convert Taiwan into a fully
monolingual Japanese society.
In terms of how successful the Japanese assimilation programme was overall,
generally there is little to suggest that it did in fact create any positive identiWcation
with Japan or the Japanese. While there may have been a certain respect for the way
that the Japanese developed the infrastructure of the island, the discrimination which
local people saw at work in the distribution of upper-level employment was too strong
for it to allow for any real feelings of shared identity with the Japanese. Instead, the
assimilation measures actually caused a quite diVerent, and unanticipated result – the
emergence of a sense of bonding and common identity amongst the various non-
Japanese groups on Taiwan. Isolated from the Chinese mainland and dominated by a
foreign colonial power, the local inhabitants of the island began to feel naturally
connected to each other and increasingly connected to Taiwan as well, as a permanent
homeland now quite separate from China. This growth of a new sense of identity
with the island and fellow residents was principally the result of the perception of
being bound up in a common fate together, but may have also been assisted by the
increased prosperity experienced on the island, allowing people the space in their lives
to think more about their political relations with others and less about simple survival
needs. Added to this there was also a conscious attempt among many intellectuals to
develop local cultural forms as props to establish and embed a new non-Japanese
island identity (Hsiau 2000), and it is even suggested that the spread and availability of
Japanese as a new inter-group common language on Taiwan may also have encour-
aged contact, social exchanges, and connections between the diVerent local ethnic
groups living on the island (Huang 2000). The signiWcant end result of this process of
being thrown together under a diYcult, foreign, imperial rule was that for the Wrst
time in the history of the island, there was a clear sense among the population that
they formed a collectivity with common interests linked to a speciWc territory.
Although this was by no means a conscious nationalism, in the sense of realistically
imagining Taiwan as an independent state, it was certainly the beginnings of a
common identity which would develop further, when given the chance, and later
give rise to a much stronger quest for a national identity in the latter part of the
twentieth century.
Taiwan 241
the case of the Taiwanese elite who were suspected of close collaboration with the
Japanese. In the eyes of the mainlanders there was therefore a need for the Taiwanese
to be re-educated and re-Sinicized before they could be accepted as equal Chinese
citizens. It was also felt that the Taiwanese owed a great deal to the eVorts and
suVering of the mainland Chinese in Wghting against the Japanese for many years prior
to 1945, and there was consequently an obvious justiWcation for the appropriation of
resources on Taiwan for the continued civil war on the mainland.
Two years after the instillation of the KMT/ROC government on Taiwan, the
increasing frustrations of the Taiwanese came to a head and boiled over when govern-
ment investigators shot dead a member of an angry crowd which had gathered to
protest against the inspectors’ rough treatment of a woman selling cigarettes. The 28
February Incident triggered a general uprising against the mainlander presence on
Taiwan and led to two weeks of destruction of mainlanders’ property and assaults on
mainlanders themselves. When ROC troop reinforcements subsequently arrived from
China to quash the rebellion, they engaged in a widespread, random killing of Taiwan-
ese in many parts of the island, resulting in the death of possibly thousands of
Taiwanese, and creating a critical memory of animosity and distrust towards the
mainlanders which would continue to haunt the island throughout the coming decades.
A further two years later, in 1949, the KMT-led war against the communists on the
mainland had gone so badly that all KMT forces and personnel had to be evacuated
from the mainland and withdrawn to Taiwan. This resulted in a massive inXux of 2.5
million new mainlander immigrants into Taiwan, dramatically increasing the popu-
lation to over 8 million and creating a huge new population to feed and provide
housing for, which served to further increase the tensions existing between Taiwanese
and mainlanders (Hughes 1997). Taiwan then became the main base of operations for
the KMT and its continued claim to be the government of all of China. Within Taiwan
itself, the KMT declared a rule of martial law on the grounds that its ROC forces were
still at war with the communists. This move eVectively imposed the KMT as a
government which could not be challenged by any other political force on Taiwan,
and was intended to be a temporary measure, with the KMT planning to regroup and
then lead a return to the mainland to overthrow the CCP. However, as the intended
invasion of the mainland had to be continually postponed, the state of martial law and
one-party rule was maintained by the KMT for a signiWcant period of time, resulting
in the complete political dominance of Taiwan by the KMT for almost four decades
following their arrival.
Linguistically, the Chinese nationalist programme of the KMT translated itself into
a number of strict measures and campaigns relating to language which aimed at re-
Sinicizing the Taiwanese and making them Wt to be considered citizens of the
Republic of China. A Wrst step taken was the complete banning of the use of Japanese
in public places and on the radio, together with a general seizure of written materials
in Japanese and the forced discontinuation of Japanese in newspapers. The KMT was
intent on purging the Taiwanese of any Japanese inXuences they had picked up, and
Taiwan 243
this naturally extended to include use of the Japanese language, which had further-
more been openly used as a symbol of anti-KMT rebellion by certain young Taiwanese
during the 28 February uprising. The result of this elimination of Japanese from public
life was that for some considerable time, before they were able to acquire Mandarin
Chinese, the Taiwanese were left unable to discuss formal matters in public and had
no access at all to any written materials they could understand.
A second major programme initiated by the KMT was the energetic pro-
motion of Mandarin Chinese. Referred to as guoyu in Chinese – literally ‘national
language’ – Mandarin Chinese was a form of speech based on a northern variety of
Chinese and had been spread by the KMT while still on the mainland as a lingua
franca intended to allow for communication among speakers of the diVerent dialect
groups. Prior to the arrival of the mainlanders, Mandarin was largely unknown to the
Taiwanese, but was made into an essential requirement for obtaining employment in
government oYces. This resulted in the Taiwanese not being able to realistically
compete for work in the civil service for quite some time, so that mainlanders
occupied all senior government positions and monopolized the bureaucracy. Such
linguistic discrimination in favour of Mandarin Chinese (and the mainlanders proW-
cient in it) was justiWed as a national policy. Mandarin was presented as the national
language of all China, and as Taiwan was argued to be part of China once again, it
should necessarily be subject to the national language policy and the required
imposition of the lingua franca Mandarin in all public domains. As noted in Kubler
(1988), the institution of Mandarin Chinese as the oYcial language of the island of
Taiwan was full of political signiWcance. Had the KMT been trying to identify the
most eVective means of (non-Japanese) inter-group communication available for
Taiwan, this would have naturally led to the selection of Southern Min as the oYcial
language of Taiwan, as it was clearly spoken by the majority of inhabitants (and the
minority mainlanders would then have had to learn and use Southern Min in place of
Mandarin). But politically, promotion of Southern Min could have been interpreted as
signalling that KMT-controlled Taiwan was not likely to be reunited with the rest of
China, where the national language policy had been to promote Mandarin. By
extension this would also have signalled a recognition from the KMT that they saw
themselves simply governing the island of Taiwan both in the present and in the
future, and not later returning to the mainland as the government of all China.
However, the legitimization of martial law and one-party rule by the KMT on Taiwan
critically rested on the claim of the KMT to be the government of all of China, where
it would one day return and assume power. Consequently, Mandarin rather than any
more local, provincial language had to be promoted by the KMT as the oYcial
language on Taiwan as part of the larger Republic of China. Furthermore, not only
was the promotion of Mandarin fully in line with the KMT’s general position on its
status as rightful controllers of power on Taiwan, it also assured a simple, highly
important advantage to the mainlanders in their dominance of the civil service
and state-owned corporations, due to the Mandarin language requirement made
244 A. Simpson
mainland and all of China. It pointed to the ongoing denigration of Chinese tradition
by the communists on the mainland and set about championing itself as the saviour
of China’s glorious cultural heritage. To this end, a ‘Chinese Cultural Renaissance
Movement’ (Wong 2001) was initiated and the media and education focused on
promoting knowledge and appreciation of Chinese national culture. In the schools,
students were subsequently taught exclusively about mainland Chinese history, geog-
raphy, philosophy, and literature and nothing about Taiwan and its own history and
local culture, and KMT-supported educationalists and the media continually empha-
sized that everything of essential importance in cultural and historic terms was
located on the mainland and that Taiwan itself had no culture and no independent
history (Wachman 1994). For thirty years, the Taiwanese were therefore taught to
feel negatively about local Taiwanese manifestations of culture and to identify instead
with an idealized Chinese national culture which there was a responsibility to
safeguard and restore to the mainland. During this time, the KMT nationalist
programme also continued to provide legitimization for sustained KMT one-party
rule and maintain the mainlanders’ monopoly on power in Taiwan.
This stranglehold on power, in which no political opposition was permitted, was
assisted by the pervasive use of a much-feared state security service, which monitored
the activities of intellectuals and potential dissidents and frequently used intimidation
and imprisonment to curb the organization of any anti-KMT political groups. Because
most of those arrested for political oVences were Taiwanese, this increased the
feelings of alienation many Taiwanese held towards the mainlander-dominated
KMT, and led to the heightened perception of a Taiwanese–mainlander divide in
which Taiwanese of diVerent ethnic backgrounds were bound together as victims of
mainlander oppression (Wachman 1994).
Alongside the heavy promotion of Chinese national culture, the period up until the
mid-1980s also saw the continuation of the KMT’s attempts to spread Mandarin
Chinese and decrease the use of other languages on Taiwan. The National Language
Movement was in fact very successful in ensuring the growth of proWciency in
Mandarin through much of the population, and rising generations schooled in Man-
darin came to have native speaker abilities in the language. There was also continued
discouragement of the use of Southern Min, Hakka, and the aborigine languages, and
speaking languages other than Mandarin was characterized as being unpatriotic as well
as backward and an indication of low intellectual and socio-economic status (Hsiau
2000). When television was introduced on the island in 1962, the state moved to
regulate the amount of programming broadcast in Southern Min and in 1972 reduced
this to a maximum of one hour per day, to the considerable annoyance of Taiwanese
who had begun to enjoy receiving programmes in what for most was still the informal
language of home life. Though Southern Min and other non-Mandarin forms of speech
were therefore not eliminated from Taiwan, their speakers felt much frustration in not
being able to make free, unfettered use of these languages and in being constantly
urged to speak Mandarin ‘for the good of the nationalist cause’.
246 A. Simpson
In Taiwan’s political relations with the outside world, the post-war period through
until the 1970s was a time of ups and also signiWcant downs. Initially supported by the
USA as a result of communist-led mainland China’s involvement in the Korean War
on the side of North Korea, Taiwan received useful Wnancial aid and public arena
support through much of the 1950s and 1960s. In the 1970s, however, there was an
important political rapprochement in relations between the USA and the PRC which
resulted in the USA withdrawing its support for Taiwan’s ROC seat in the United
Nations and instead recognizing the PRC. This led to a range of other nations doing
the same, and Taiwan soon found itself increasingly isolated in the political world, no
longer being recognised as the legitimate representation of ‘China’ by most of the
Western world and without any oYcial seat in the United Nations after an ignomini-
ous and embarrassing ejection in 1970. Although domestically on Taiwan the Chinese
nationalist movement remained vigorous and powerful, to the outside world it came
to be seen as an anachronism and an outdated, misplaced fantasy, as the Chinese
nation was increasingly being recognized as having its permanent government located
in Beijing.
in things Taiwanese and a focus on identity links among the non-mainlander popu-
lation on Taiwan, something which might not have happened had there not been such
a concerted push towards a Chinese national identity. As the domineering KMT was
furthermore perceived as being largely populated with and supported by mainlanders
living on Taiwan, heavy antipathy towards the KMT also translated into a marked
social distancing of many Taiwanese from the mainlander population, and feelings of
distrust towards the latter.
Faced with a continued rise in often militant calls for wider political participation
and greater individual freedom from an opposition with widespread support during
the 1980s, Chiang Ching-kuo, the then president of Taiwan and leader of the KMT
decided not to attempt to further repress the growing opposition movement with
the use of the public security apparatus, and instead implemented a number of highly
signiWcant reforms. In 1987, a full thirty-eight years after it had been initially imposed,
martial law was Wnally lifted from Taiwan. In the same year, the KMT government
proclaimed that it would allow the formation of other political parties on Taiwan, and
that there would be future island-wide elections which all political parties could
contest. These did indeed occur, with important elections for a new National
Assembly taking place in 1991, and openly-contested presidential elections in 1996.
The lifting of a ban on political parties other than the KMT then led to the oYcial
recognition of the Taiwanese opposition and their Democratic Progressive Party
(DPP), which would continue to spar vigorously with the KMT in elections and
political debates over the next two decades and eventually assume power in 2000. In
1987, the government also lifted its long-term ban on business and travel contact with
the Chinese mainland, with the result that many Taiwanese began to do business and
invest in the mainland, and individuals were permitted to travel and visit relatives and
ancestral homes located there. Finally, in 1987 restrictions on language use started to
be lifted as well. The punishment and Wning of students for speaking languages other
than Mandarin in schools was discontinued, and the use of local languages in the
public domain came to be oYcially tolerated and was no longer forbidden. Within
broadcasting, regular television news programmes were soon added in Southern Min
and Hakka, and censorship of the media and general restrictions on the amount of
time allowed for programmes in local languages on television and the radio were also
done away with.
This introduction of democracy and increased freedom of expression was keenly
exploited by both the DPP and the general Taiwanese public. In the area of language,
people Wnally found themselves able to use their mother tongues in all areas of life,
something which had not been possible since the introduction of extensive linguistic
repression during the Japanese colonial times, and from 1987 onwards local languages
came to be unoYcially promoted and revived via a signiWcant increase in their
use in television, radio, popular music, cinema, and local theatre productions. Well-
respected, prominent individuals also helped elevate the perceived status of particu-
larly Southern Min by using it in public addresses, and in many universities there were
248 A. Simpson
clear that more and more people did indeed identify themselves primarily as Taiwan-
ese (Liao 2000b), and hence that the notion of a distinct Taiwanese identity had come
to be both psychologically real and widely assumed. It is also important to note that
the nature of the central properties which supported this identity – a shared, imagined
history dating back many centuries, local Taiwanese culture and languages – tended to
exclude the mainlander population from easily and naturally participating in this
Taiwanese identity. Those who had arrived in Taiwan after 1945 (a) could not claim to
have memories (or family members with memories) of the Japanese occupation, (b)
largely followed the Chinese nationalist culture which had been promoted by the
KMT, and (c) often did not speak any of the languages which were viewed as local
languages of Taiwan. They therefore considered themselves, by and large, not part of
the new Taiwanese identity and in surveys and in public continued to indicate their
identity as Chinese.
The considerable public momentum that was created by the encouragement and
genuine growth of a Taiwanese identity was channelled by the DPP towards two
particular goals. First of all, the DPP opposition hoped to dislodge the KMT from
power on Taiwan and made the question of identity central to all their attempts to
win votes and representation in government (Hughes 1997). Secondly, the DPP began
to make calls for formal independence for Taiwan and used the rise of Taiwanese
identity as a platform to demand nationhood for the island and an abandonment of
plans to try to engineer future uniWcation of Taiwan with mainland China. From the
late 1980s onwards, there was consequently a genuinely Taiwanese nationalist move-
ment on Taiwan which explicitly argued that Taiwan should be an independent state.
Though the beginnings of nationalism and a national identity on Taiwan can be traced
back to the bonding eVect triggered by oppression during the Japanese period and the
diYculties experienced under post-war KMT rule and its imposition of Chinese
nationalism, it was only in the late 1980s and 1990s that the growing sense of islander
community was exploited to the full to develop a realistic imagination and projection
of Taiwan as an independent nation. Once aired and promoted as a political plan for
the future, the issue of independence vs. reuniWcation came to dominate public
debate and remained tightly bound up with the question of Taiwanese identity and
whether or not and how it might be genuinely distinct from Chinese identity.
Seriously challenged by the DPP’s deliberate cultivation of feelings of Taiwanese
identity amongst the population and its use to help its political ambitions, the KMT
reacted by cloaking itself too in a Taiwanese image, recruiting over 70 per cent of its
membership and candidates from the non-mainlander section of the population. This
included the new president Lee Teng-hui who took over from Chiang Ching-kuo as
leader of the KMT and president of Taiwan, and who was a Hakka born in Taiwan. In
political campaigns, the KMT candidates also copied the DPP in using local languages
to address the public, and even mainlander candidates with a poor knowledge of
Southern Min made eVorts to include a few words or sentences in the language mixed
in with their Mandarin speeches. At the crucial, much anticipated island-wide
250 A. Simpson
elections in 1991, the KMT also muted its previous emphasis on reuniWcation with
China and instead highlighted issues relating to success in the economy, while the
DPP continued to focus heavily on its goal of independence for Taiwan. The results of
the election, a signiWcant victory for the KMT, showed that the DPP had in fact
overplayed the independence card and that fear of provoking the PRC into military
action against Taiwan if it had a leadership attempting to declare independence led
voters to elect a new conservative KMT government instead. Although Taiwanese
identity had aspirations to be national and independent, the practical dangers of trying
to break away from mainland China (which saw Taiwan as a renegade part of its
territory) with a formal declaration of independence were seen to be too great to vote
in the DPP, and a majority of those on Taiwan were left in the curious limbo state of
feeling like a nation with a national identity without however being able to institu-
tionalize this politically and receive international recognition as a nation.
A Wnal important aspect of the development of Taiwanese ‘national’ identity in the
1980s and early 1990s which needs to be understood and appreciated is the high degree
to which it was both driven and dominated by the Southern Min linguistic group.
Southern Min speakers were in a great majority within the DPP, which formed the
core of the nationalist opposition movement, and Southern Min quite naturally came
to be used as the major language of party meetings, demonstrations, and political
rallies (Hsiau 2000). Given the fact that Southern Min speakers comprised 73 per cent
of the total population on Taiwan (Huang 1993), this is perhaps not surprising, as the
use of a local language (‘local’ in the sense of having been spoken on Taiwan for several
centuries) was extremely important as a symbol of anti-KMT, anti-Chinese nationalist
sentiment, the KMT and Chinese nationalism being symbolically represented by the
‘foreign’ language Mandarin, much more recently imported from the mainland.
Without any real consultation with other linguistic groups, however, Southern Min
was also soon promoted and perceived as a (potential) national language by its speakers
within the opposition, and for many became a necessary expression of Taiwanese
nationalism. This unoYcial elevation of Southern Min to the status of national
language in the minds of the growing opposition was helped by the fact that Southern
Min had actually been referred to informally as ‘Taiwanese’ since the Japanese period
(taiwanwe in Southern Min, and later on taiwanhua in Mandarin), and so really was the
representative local language of Taiwan – ‘Taiwanese’ – for a large amount of the
population (especially since its use was permitted in all H-level domains after 1987 and
it came to be viewed as a real ‘language’ and not just a reduced dialect).
In general daily life, the new enthusiasm for a Taiwanese as opposed to a Chinese
national identity (whether this also involved aspirations for formal independence or
simply the continuation of Taiwan’s existence separate from the mainland) resulted in
a widespread, vigorous pushing of the use of Southern Min by many as a symbol of
this identity, and the use of Mandarin was often openly branded and criticized as un-
Taiwanese, especially in the south of Taiwan, where the great majority of the
population were speakers of Southern Min. In some instances, verbal abuse directed
Taiwan 251
at people who spoke Mandarin rather than Southern Min even escalated further into
physical violence, and taxi drivers in particular were known to aggressively demand
that their fares speak Southern Min as an expression of Taiwanese national identity.
Such insistence on the use of Southern Min, perhaps the result of pent-up anger
following decades of linguistic oppression, was often directed not only at people who
had a proWciency in Southern Min but did not make use of it, but also at mainlanders
who could only speak Mandarin, and even, reportedly, at Hakka speakers and
members of the aborigine population. The Hakka community (12 per cent of the
population of Taiwan – Huang 1993) quite justiWably felt unfairly treated by the
assumption that they should speak Southern Min in order to be seen as pro-Taiwan-
ese, as Hakka should also qualify as a local Taiwanese language in the same way that
Southern Min does (and the aborigine languages pre-date both Southern Min and
Hakka by many centuries as languages of Taiwan). Strong protests against the
appropriation and use of the term ‘Taiwanese’ as an exclusive label for Southern
Min have consequently been made by Hakka and aborigine communities alike.
However, it is actually still very common to hear Southern Min being referred to as
Taiwanese, and many scholarly works on Taiwan also use the term ‘Taiwanese’ when
politically it would be more neutral to refer to the language as Southern Min (other
neutral terms for the same language found frequently in the literature are: Hokkien,
Fujianese, Hoklo and Minnanhua, the latter being the Mandarin translation
of Southern Min). The more direct results of pressure on Hakka people to speak
Southern Min from the late 1980s have been that many older members of the
community have felt alienated from the Southern Min-led Taiwanese nationalist
movement and have therefore sided with the KMT and the group of mainlanders
on Taiwan rather than with the DPP. Younger Hakkas, by way of contrast, have
tended to assimilate more and have learned Southern Min, and this has caused a
signiWcant loss of Hakka language amongst the younger generation, and a general
reluctance to speak Hakka in public (Liao 2000a, 2000b).
Consequently, it can be said that the revitalization of Southern Min from a severely
repressed state in earlier decades not only resulted in the strengthening of a very
important public, outward symbol of ‘national’ identity in the 1980s/1990s, it also
brought with it certain problems for those Taiwanese islanders (Hakka and abori-
gines) who were not speakers of the language. Section 11.5 now considers how
Taiwan has moved from the early, frenetic Taiwanese nationalism of the late 1980s
and early 1990s forward into the present, and how it is continuing to confront the
diYcult issues of language, national identity, and the relation of Taiwan to China.
and its language and culture, there came a second more general phase of adjustment
and adaptation in the growth of Taiwanese nationalism and a new, measured focus on
an explicitly multicultural Taiwanese national identity. This redirection of the emer-
ging nationalist programme away from an over-dominance of Southern Min lan-
guage and culture and towards the promotion of a much more self-consciously
pluralistic national identity began in the mid-1990s and has been pursued by the
pro-independence DPP until present. It was also accompanied and assisted by an
important switch in political power on Taiwan, with the DPP displacing the KMT
as the government of Taiwan in general elections held in 2000, the DPP’s candidate
Chen Shui-bian being elected president both in 2000 and again later in 2004. In
practical terms, the new emphasis on a multicultural, multi-ethnic Taiwanese identity
which included the Hakka, the aborigines, and the mainlanders as well as the
Southern Min, resulted in an increased presentation of Taiwanese-speciWc culture
and history in its broadest, most inclusive sense within education, the state-run media,
and in cinema, as well as the regular discussion of multiculturalism within political
debate about government policy. In education in particular, following the decision to
make the school curriculum less China-centric, new textbooks were introduced to
help students learn about and understand the geography, history, and multi-ethnic
society of Taiwan in a novel and open-minded way, and at university level, courses on
Taiwanese literature, religion, and society began to attract signiWcant numbers of
students. There was also new discussion of the role of the ‘plains aborigines’ in the
development of the modern population of Taiwan, and a highlighting of the inter-
marriage which took place between early Han Chinese settlers from the mainland and
aborigines who lived in lowland areas of Taiwan, resulting in an almost full absorp-
tion of the latter amongst the settlers. This fresh public emphasis on the earlier mixing
of Chinese with aborigines was eVectively used to stress the potentially multi-ethnic
origins of twentieth-century Taiwanese people and to deny the assumption that
Sinitic Taiwanese people were necessarily purely Han Chinese in origin (Hsiau 2000).
For many of the KMT and their supporters, who were still Chinese nationalists, the
DPP presentation of a distinct, local Taiwanese culture stemming from the mixing of
diVerent peoples on Taiwan appeared to be little more than a fantasy, however,
speciWcally designed to provide support for the invention of a Taiwanese national
identity. Such die-hard Chinese nationalists suggested that what was presented as
‘Taiwanese culture’ was for the most part simply a regional variation of very general
Chinese culture, similar to that of Fujian province on the mainland, and that it did not
in fact distinguish the population on Taiwan from Chinese people on the mainland in
any really signiWcant way, contra the suggestions of the Taiwanese nationalists (Wach-
man 1994). Despite such potential criticisms, and even granting that the imagination
of a distinct Taiwanese national culture and identity may have been deliberately
provoked and encouraged by the DPP for political reasons, the degree to which it
has stimulated public discussion and thinking about national identity on Taiwan is
now very real indeed, and has resulted in the quest for national identity in fact
Taiwan 253
becoming ‘the single issue that looms largest in Taiwanese consciousness’ (Huang
2000: 139), likened to a national sport.
It is also argued at length in Friedman (2004) that the establishment of a national
identity on Taiwan is a critically important survival need for those who hope that
Taiwan will continue to enjoy some form of existence independent of the PRC. As
Taiwan develops an increasing economic dependence on trade with mainland China,
this poses a threat to the unoYcial autonomy of Taiwan from the PRC and its ability
to act independently of the PRC. The simultaneous development of a strong and
distinct Taiwanese identity is therefore argued to be essential under such circumstan-
ces for Taiwan to maintain the hopes of a sustained independence as China becomes
ever stronger, and Friedman (2004: 23) accordingly stresses that the DPP ‘cannot back
away from promoting a separable Taiwan identity – it is a life and death issue for
Taiwan, not merely a game of identity politics for short term political advantage’.
To this it can be added that for those who seemed sceptical of the authenticity of a
fully multicultural Taiwanese identity, a second, rather diVerent conceptualization of
political and ethno-cultural identity was aired by various politicians with the same
essential goal of intellectually justifying independence from the PRC. It has been
suggested on many occasions that quite generally there should be no automatic
equation of ethnic identity with political unit and that individuals from the same
ethno-cultural background might sometimes elect to belong to diVerent political
entities. Hence in the case of Taiwan, it should be possible for people to acknowledge
the possession of a Chinese cultural identity and origin without this entailing that they
should also automatically belong to a single Chinese polity governing all peoples of
Chinese origins. What has instead been proposed by various leading Wgures to be
more important than common ethno-linguistic background for the establishment and
maintenance of a nation as a political unit is a strong sense of community and shared
destiny amongst a population. Such a route to nationhood is clearly available to the
population of Taiwan, and theoretically allows for the acknowledgement of a Tai-
wanese political identity alongside a separate Chinese (or other) cultural identity. The
existence and success of multicultural societies is directly endorsed by such an
approach which divorces cultural aYnities from political allegiance, and the DPP
president Chen Shui-bian has repeatedly stressed that a single country may host an
array of diVerent peoples and cultures which are committed to the same political
community.
Considering now the consequences of the development of nationalist thinking in
recent years, and assessing the present state of languages in Taiwan, a number of
signiWcant trends and generalizations relating to language policy and development
policy can be observed. As in most of the post-war era, the linguistic landscape in
present-day Taiwan is largely taken up by four main languages/language groups:
Southern Min, Hakka, the aborigine languages, and Mandarin, with a Wfth language,
English, just starting to make an important intrusion into education and civil service
entrance requirements.
254 A. Simpson
Beginning with the aborigine group of languages, there are currently ten diVerent
Austronesian languages spoken on Taiwan, with a total of approximately 400,000
speakers. Language shift among the aborigine peoples is however endemic, as young
people use more and more Southern Min and Mandarin when at work, and there is
continuing cultural assimilation and intermarriage with the non-aborigine majority
population. As part of the government’s stated commitment to multiculturalism,
there have been attempts to halt the loss of the aborigine languages, which are now all
endangered, with funding provided for the initiation of bilingual education pro-
grammes and the support of aboriginal culture, but so far the success rate in teaching
young people aborigine languages has been low. In addition to a chronic shortage of
good-quality teaching materials and competent teachers, there is also an ingrained
lack of motivation to learn and speak the aborigine languages amongst the aborigine
peoples themselves, and negative attitudes are often held towards the aboriginal
languages, especially among the young. Such diYculties are further compounded
by other more general social problems aVecting the aborigine communities, in
particular low socio-economic status and poor education, and high rates of alcoholism
and unemployment. The outlook for the future of the Wrst languages of Taiwan is
therefore currently rather bleak, and although there is a high awareness of the
problem and a willingness to attend to it, it is possible that the continual shift to
Southern Min and Mandarin will not be easily halted and may lead to certain of the
aborigine languages dying out over the next Wfty years.
Turning now to Hakka, this language, like the aborigine languages, has been under
pressure from both Mandarin and Southern Min for many years, though with a
current 11 per cent of the population and 2,500,000 speakers it is signiWcantly more
vibrant and sustainable than the aborigine languages. Nevertheless, there are frequent
complaints from the Hakka community that young Hakkas are learning Mandarin
and Southern Min and cannot communicate well with grandparents who may know
only Hakka and Japanese. Following the initial Southern Min domination of Taiwan-
ese nationalism and the switch to a more tolerant, multicultural view of Taiwanese
identity, the Hakkas have been able to beneWt from the introduction of Hakka
language and culture classes into the school curriculum as an option in elementary
schools. This was actually part of a language initiative introduced by the KMT
government in 1993 in an attempt to partially compensate for its previous repres-
sive treatment of local languages in schools, and was later continued under DPP
rule, allowing students to select the learning of non-Mandarin mother tongue lan-
guages in addition to Mandarin. However, despite the good intentions of the new
mother tongue educational programmes, not enough time is set aside for any
eVective learning of Hakka and the other mother tongue languages – generally just
one hour per week – and there is also a serious shortage of qualiWed instructors for the
teaching of non-Mandarin languages. In addition to this, there is also no strong
support from the public for either the full or partial substitution of non-Mandarin
languages for Mandarin as languages of instruction in the classroom. Finally, increased
Taiwan 255
pressure on the linguistic attentions of the rising, younger generations is being applied
by the growing presence of English in the school curriculum. Although English is not
much used in everyday life in Taiwan, its learning is being emphasized in schools, and
signiWcantly more so than the mother tongue languages, with the result that more
hours are spent learning English per week than any non-Mandarin mother tongue.
The government has furthermore recently introduced a proWciency requirement in
English for new civil servants, increasing the pressure on the acquisition of English
over the mother tongues. In such a general situation, Hakka is continuing to survive
on Taiwan and is not endangered, but is clearly still losing out to Mandarin, Southern
Min, and now in certain domains even to English.
The two major, contending languages on Taiwan at present continue to be
Southern Min and Mandarin, and much of the population (perhaps even over 80
per cent) is now proWcient in both varieties of Chinese, using both varieties on a daily
basis in diVerent domains. Considering Southern Min Wrst: having been the mother
tongue of the majority of Taiwanese residents and suppressed for many decades by
both the Japanese and the KMT, Southern Min bounced back into public life with
great vitality in the 1980s and 1990s, and rapidly became a major symbol of Taiwanese
nationalism during this period. Currently the language is still very widely spoken and
is particularly dominant in the south of Taiwan, in business, rural areas, and among
the older, established middle class and the lower class. An ability to speak Southern
Min may even be necessary to secure good jobs in certain areas of employment. One
semi-inherent restriction on the further growth of Southern Min in various H-level
domains where it might otherwise challenge Mandarin, however, is the fact that to
date there is still no standardized and commonly accepted way to write Southern Min.
Though much of Southern Min can be represented with standard Chinese characters,
approximately 30 per cent of the language cannot, and there has so far been no broad
agreement on how best to bridge this gap and devise an eVective and satisfactory
written form, though many possible systems have been experimented with, including
fully Romanized alphabetic representation and character-based syllabaries. Until a
solution is found and accepted, the usefulness of Southern Min will always be
restricted to oral communication and it will not be able to serve as a major language
of education or oYcial/national representation. In addition to this, there have also
been concerns that younger people are actually not learning Southern Min in the
home today as well as in the past, especially in new middle class families outside of the
south of Taiwan, where it is perceived that Xuency in Mandarin may help advance
children in their future life more than a knowledge of Southern Min.
ProWciency in Mandarin Chinese is now very widespread in Taiwan, and as much as
95 per cent of the population are estimated to be able to speak and understand it,
though to diVerent degrees (P. Chen 2001a). Mandarin is the principal language of
education, functioning as the unique medium of instruction from kindergarten
onwards, and is the only language on Taiwan to be regularly written in widely
distributed publications. Mandarin is also used on virtually all formal, public
256 A. Simpson
in the face of a common, new, external foe, and the use of languages on Taiwan has
become ‘more communicatively oriented and less emotionally triggered’ (Tse 2000:
160). There has also been a growing, open identiWcation with Taiwan. Wong (2001)
notes that in 1993 only 17 per cent of the population declared themselves to be
Taiwanese, whereas in 2000 this had increased to 45 per cent, with a further 40 per
cent identifying themselves as both Taiwanese and Chinese. Those identifying them-
selves as (only) Chinese during the same period, by way of contrast, dropped heavily
in number from 49 per cent to 14 per cent. A new linguistic symbol of these changes
was the introduction in the mid-1990s of the term ‘New Taiwanese’ as an all-inclusive
way to refer to the unity of mainlanders and non-mainlanders who felt a common
Taiwanese identity. Subsequent investigations into how such a Taiwanese identity was
perceived and might be deWned revealed that language choice and competence was no
longer a strong indication of a Taiwanese identity. Considerably more important than
the ability to speak Southern Min (i.e. the language which many refer to as ‘Taiwan-
ese’) was an individual’s self-identiWcation as being/feeling Taiwanese and being born
in Taiwan (Tse 2000). Language is therefore currently understood not to be a
deWnitive characteristic of the new Taiwanese identity, in strong contrast to the period
immediately following 1987, when the use of Southern Min was seen to be vitally
important amongst new Taiwanese nationalists, and now even politicians from the
DPP are seen to use Mandarin rather than Southern Min much more frequently and
without hesitation in public address (apart from the times of elections, when political
campaigning still includes much non-Mandarin speech to attract voters from diVerent
backgrounds).
and language use have been constantly identiWed and manipulated as key resources
and a critical means to instil, mould, and control a national identity in the people of
Taiwan, and this has resulted in considerable eVort being expended in the promotion
of Japanese and Mandarin Chinese as national languages, and to a lesser extent the
later presentation of Southern Min as a potentially national language of the Taiwan-
ese. What is equally important to observe, however, is that the forceful promotion of
national languages on Taiwan has in each instance not achieved the desired result of
assimilation to the targeted national identity, and has instead provoked a negative
reaction and a united opposition to such an identity. This occurred both during the
Japanese period and also when the KMT attempted to force a Chinese national
identity on the inhabitants of Taiwan after 1945, and ironically created and strength-
ened feelings of belonging to an oppressed community amongst people on Taiwan,
where previously no real sense of community or shared destiny had been present.
Pressure from outsiders to adopt an essentially foreign national identity therefore had
the clear eVect of crystallizing and forming a local Taiwanese identity, which would
later be deliberately exploited and developed by Taiwanese nationalist politicians and
intellectuals to give rise to a budding new national identity on Taiwan. To a sign-
iWcantly lesser extent, the promotion of a Taiwanese national identity which was
initially centred very heavily on Southern Min also had the eVect of alienating people
who were not speakers of this language (e.g. the Hakka), driving them away to the
opposition camp, to side with the KMT.
In summing up, the general failure of the attempted linguistic engineering of
national identity by both the Japanese and the KMT on Taiwan can arguably be
attributed to two factors. First of all, the encouragement to adopt a new national
identity introduced by outsiders was not accompanied by the oVer of full access to the
privileges enjoyed by the ruling outsiders (including unrestricted career advance-
ment), and hence was not seen as a fully genuine invitation to adopt the new national
identity. Secondly, the mother tongues of people on Taiwan were not fully replaced by
the introduction of Wrst Japanese and then Mandarin, and the Taiwanese were
permitted to maintain Southern Min, Hakka, and the aborigine languages as lan-
guages of the home and informal conversation. This allowed for the language-based
maintenance of local Taiwanese identities and a defence against the promotion of
Japanese and Chinese national identities. Had mother tongue languages been fully
eliminated from Taiwan either during the Japanese period or under the KMT, the
success of Japanese and Chinese nationalist assimilation programmes might possibly
have been quite diVerent.
Currently, Taiwan still remains in its peculiar stateless condition, being claimed by
the PRC as part of China, but having its own government, armed forces, passport and
international immigration controls and politically not recognizing the authority of
Beijing over Taiwan – yet also not willing to run the risk of declaring independence
from the PRC, which might trigger military action from China. In this limbo-like
situation, the issue of Taiwanese national identity remains a very hotly debated public
Taiwan 259
issue, bound up as it is with the issue of whether to attempt to break with China and
pursue Taiwanese independence and declare the island a new sovereign nation-state,
or whether eventual uniWcation with China should be planned for, this implying the
emphasis of a more Chinese future national identity. How Taiwan’s international
status will ultimately be resolved is diYcult to predict, but until the political fate of the
island is Wnally settled one way or the other, the issue of national identity is likely to
remain an absolutely key area of discussion among politicians, intellectuals, and the
common people of Taiwan, and though the issue of language is now less critically tied
up with Taiwanese nationalism than a decade ago, the underlying division of Taiwan
into ethnic groups still largely associated with diVerent languages retains the hidden
potential for worrisome, renewed diYculties in the process of any future nation-
building, and will continue to throw up challenges for those aspiring to administer the
island.
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PART III
Southeast Asia
Southeast Asia
Southeast Asia
12
Burma/Myanmar
Justin Watkins
12.1 Introduction
Like much of Southeast Asia, the territory of the state formerly known as Burma, now
oYcially renamed Myanmar, is an area of considerable ethnic and linguistic diversity.
At least seventy languages are spoken in the country (Bradley 1994, Gordon 2005), and
these are associated with a similar number of ethnicities and identities. Within the
range of such variety, a broad and important distinction can be made between the
largely monolingual, ethnically Burman central area and the multilingual, ethnically
diverse border areas. Since independence from British colonial power in 1948, the
rulers of Burma/Myanmar – a military government since 1962 – have been concerned
with maintaining control over the entire country, and government forces have
periodically engaged in armed conXict with up to twenty insurgent groups comprising
the larger of the minority ethnicities around the country’s border areas. The lan-
guages of the larger groups, in particular Karen, Mon, Shan, and Kachin, have at times
been used as a means of dissimilating from the ethnic Burman/Bamar majority, in
some cases by organizations seeking political separation. For the government, the
Burmese language functions as an important element of its general eVort to consoli-
date control over the country and has accordingly been promoted and spread
throughout the nation with considerable eVort.
This chapter sets out to give a sense of the complexity of the sociolinguistic
situation in Burma/Myanmar and two major struggles and tensions which have
characterized the country through the twentieth century and which still have an
important relevance for the present. The Wrst of these is the nationalist drive of many
decades to establish, maintain, and develop an independent state free of colonial and
other foreign inXuences, coalescing an essentially Burman national identity at the
centre and heart of the country. The second major tension concerns the relation of the
dominant, majority Burman/Bamar ethnic group to the kaleidoscope of minority
groups which make up as much as one third of the total population of the country,
living mostly outside of the central lowlands, and how these groups are integrated in
the growth of a single Myanmar nation.
264 J. Watkins
Burma/Myanmar
Approaching such general themes, the chapter is structured as follows. Section 12.2
begins by providing a brief overview of the range of languages that are spoken in the
country and where these are predominantly located. Section 12.3 then describes the
sociolinguistic development of Burma/Myanmar from pre-colonial times through to
independence and the increasing nationalism of the post-independence era, with its
recent ‘Myanmarization’ of the national identity. Section 12.4 focuses on the country’s
ethnic minorities and presents a sample of case studies illustrating a range of non-
Burman/Bamar identities and their relationships with language use. Finally, section
12.5 revisits the sociolinguistic situation in present-day Burma/Myanmar and outlines
a change in attitude towards the presence of English in the country, as well as oVering
an assessment of the strength of acceptance of the country’s projected national
identity.1
simply ‘Myanmar’, the oYcial name of the country since 1989, is made because the
latter name has not become fully widespread, and the term ‘Burma’ is still often heard
in English reference to the country. The fact that the country is known by two names
is indeed something which regularly attracts much interest. Changes of name are
quite commonplace in Burma/Myanmar, with many people using a variety of names
during their lifetime, reXecting diVerent identities and relations to others in society.
Changes of name for the country have similarly been common phenomena in the
recent history of Burma/Myanmar. Since independence, the country has oYcially
been known as the Union of Burma (1948–74), the Socialist Republic of the Union of
Burma (1974–88), the Union of Burma (1988–89), and the Union of Myanmar (1989 to
present). Scholarly works in English completed after 1989 are found to diVer in their
use of reference term for the country, with both Burma and Myanmar being fre-
quently attested and justiWcations for the choice being given. For example Okell and
Allott (2001: vii) write:
In the Burmese/Myanmar language, the name of the people, the country and the
language has two forms: [b@ma] and [mj@ma mjãma]. The name ‘Burma’, which in
one version or another has been internationally current since the 15th century, is derived
from the former. In 1989 the government announced that they wished to change the
name to ‘Myanmar’, to reXect the latter form instead of the former. The world has been
slow to implement this change, with the result that both versions of the name are now
current in diVerent contexts.
In the spirit of inclusivity and linguistic objectivity, the present chapter will use the
paired form ‘Burma/Myanmar’ to refer to the country, except in historical contexts,
where the term ‘Burma’ may be used alone. The political signiWcance of the re-
naming of the country and the continued use of the form ‘Burma’ are considered in
section 12.3.
Once lexicalized in English from the original form [b@ma], the word ‘Burma’
historically gave rise to two morpho-phonologically well-formed English adjectives
‘Burmese’ and ‘Burman’. By the end of the colonial era the deWnitions of these two
adjectives had become reasonably stable, with ‘Burmese’ denoting the major
language spoken in the country and all its indigenous inhabitants, and ‘Burman’
speciWcally denoting the ethnic majority nationality (native speakers of Burmese),
though in practice the former term has also often been used to refer to both the
language and the ethnic majority in contexts where no Wner distinction has seemed to
be necessary.2 The narrower term ‘Burman’ was oYcially replaced by a new term
2
One purely linguistic reason why the term ‘Myanmar’ has not been successful in its adoption in
English is that there is no obvious adjectival form of the word that speakers can use to refer to the
language, the people, and other properties of the country ‘Myanmar’. Hence morphologically diVerent,
adjectival forms of the word ‘Myanmar’ paralleling the clearly adjectival ‘Burmese’ (or ‘Burman’) have not
been oYcially coined and promoted, leaving native speakers of English uncomfortable in referring to the
language as simply ‘Myanmar’ and the people as ‘Myanmars’. The common reaction in such instances
where adjectival forms would naturally seem to be required is simply to revert to the older and more
familiar term ‘Burmese’.
266 J. Watkins
‘Bamar’, and so in this chapter the paired term ‘Burman/Bamar’ is used to show that
these two terms are equivalent. Other pairings of older and post-1989 oYcial terms
imply a similar equivalence.
In general, the Burmese-speaking Burman/Bamar majority live in the fertile
central plains, occupying about half the area of the country and constituting two
thirds of its population, recently calculated as some 54 million (World Gazetteer
2006), while other languages and their speakers are found in the more mountainous
areas nearer the borders in all directions. Burmese is the oYcial and national
language. It is the sole language of all oYcial business and administration of the
military government, all broadcast media and state education.3 The Burmese spoken
throughout the large, populous central part of Burma/Myanmar exhibits little in the
way of regional variation, and local diVerences do not hinder mutual intelligibility.
Away from the centre, a number of distinct ‘dialect’ forms of Burmese such as
‘Arakanese/Rakhine’, ‘Tavoyan/Dawei’, and ‘Intha’ are found. These are suYciently
diVerent from the standard, oYcial language that they have been argued to be
separate languages (Okell 1995). Written and spoken forms of Burmese have also
diverged to a considerable degree: the two forms of the language use diVerent
grammatical morphemes and structures, and exhibit certain lexical diVerences.
Turning to languages other than Burmese, the task of determining precisely how
many languages are spoken in Burma/Myanmar, and by how many people, is not
straightforward and is confounded by three major factors. First of all, there is a
general dearth of accurate and up-to-date demographic data describing the ethnic
composition of the population of Burma/Myanmar and the languages diVerent
groups speak. No formal linguistic survey of the entire country has ever been
completed, and many of the data which have been published are patchy and unreli-
able. Secondly, languages and dialects, and the groups of people who speak them, are
often referred to by multiple names, which may be a mixture of ethnonyms and/or
language names, both autonymic and exonymic. Conversely, in some cases we Wnd
that one name may be used to refer to multiple languages or ethnic groups. Lastly, the
perennial problem of how to deWne distinct languages as opposed to dialects of the
same language, or how to deWne ethnic nationalities and their identities, is a highly
complex one in the context of Burma/Myanmar. Bearing such diYculties in mind, the
following picture of groupings and populations can be presented as a reasonable
estimation of broad linguistic divisions in the country.
Tibeto-Burman languages are widely spoken in Burma/Myanmar. In addition
to Burmese, the largest by far of all Tibeto-Burman languages, languages of
the Loloish branch of Tibeto-Burman, spoken mainly in Kachin and Shan States
and in the Sagaing and Mandalay Divisions of Upper (central) Burma/Myanmar,
3
Other languages may be used as the medium of instruction in some circumstances, for example
English and Chinese in urban private schools or ethnic languages in locally organized educational
institutions, to the extent that these are permitted by the government.
Burma/Myanmar 267
include Lisu (125,000 speakers), Lahu (125,000 speakers), and Akha (200,000
speakers).4 The western side of Burma/Myanmar is home to the languages of the
diverse Kuki-Chin branch of Tibeto-Burman, and in northern Arakan/Rakhine State
and in Chin State (again to the west of the country) some two dozen Chin languages
are spoken, typically with thousands or tens of thousands of speakers at most. Tibeto-
Burman languages are also found in the areas of eastern Burma/Myanmar bordering
Thailand, with about twenty languages of the Karen/Kayin branch of Tibeto-Burman
spoken by 3 to 4 million people.
Secondly, languages of the Tai-Kadai language family – the family to which Thai
and Lao belong – have been long present in the territory of Burma/Myanmar. Tai-
Kadai languages are spoken by about one tenth of the country’s population, predom-
inantly in Shan State, in the northeast of the country, but also found north, south, and
west in some areas of Kachin and Kayah States and Mandalay Division. Shan speakers
account for approximately 6 per cent of the country’s population and over 3 million
speakers.
Mon-Khmer is the third language family in Burma/Myanmar to which numerically
signiWcant, indigenous/long-present languages belong. Mon-Khmer languages ac-
count for about 7 per cent of the population. The major Mon-Khmer language spoken
in the country is Mon itself, which is spoken by some 800,000 people in the Mon State
in southeastern Burma/Myanmar. Other Mon-Khmer languages are spoken by scat-
tered communities in Shan State and in northern central Burma, including Wa with
600,000–700,000 speakers and about half that number again speaking other related
languages such as Palaung.
In addition to the ethno-linguistic diversity accounted for by the above three
language families which have long been settled in the territory of Burma/Myanmar,
several other languages not indigenous to the country can be recognized as relevant to
the interaction of language and identity, though in diVerent ways. As a result of
Burma’s colonization by the British, some South Asian languages not indigenous to
the country – principally Hindi/Urdu, Bengali, and Tamil – are spoken, mainly in
urban centres. The speakers of these languages are the descendants of people brought
to Burma as part of the colonial administration established by the British in the
nineteenth century. In Arakan/Rakhine State, a particular variety of the Chittagonian
dialect of Bengali is also spoken by the Muslim Rohingya population there, number-
ing in the hundreds of thousands. Thirdly, Chinese is now spoken both natively in the
country by an inXuential minority of the population, especially prominent in private
education, and used as a major lingua franca in areas near the Chinese border, such as
the Kokang area.
Finally, two further extraneous languages deserve mention as continuing to have
a clear importance in modern-day Burma/Myanmar: Pali and English. The former,
4
Figures given here and in following paragraphs are best estimates and cannot be oYcially conWrmed.
268 J. Watkins
wearing Mon-style clothing. Lieberman maintains that language has been one of the
major prerequisites for the successful adoption of a particular ethnic identity in
Burma. Ethnic identity in pre-colonial Burma can therefore usefully be viewed as a
role which could be chosen and learned, with competence in the appropriate lan-
guage, and sporting of the appropriate clothing, hairstyle, and tattoos forming major
components of the role. Lieberman (1978) also suggests that the possibility of role
choices – and hence adaptability – in fact promoted ethnic homogeneity at a time
when many people had a need to maintain good relations with two major centres of
inXuence during pre-colonial times – the Mon at Pegu and the Burmans at Ava, both
signiWcant kingdoms. Right up until the mid-eighteenth century, in fact, the correl-
ation between ethnic identity and political loyalty remained quite imperfect, because
groups which shared the same language and culture were fragmented by diVerent
regional ties.
The diverse, mixed ancestry of modern Burmese society is similarly highlighted by
Myint-U (2001: 27), who notes that in the eighteenth century ‘[while] most in the
Irrawaddy valley spoke Burmese as their mother tongue, many others were descend-
ants of Pyu, Thet or Kadu, gradually adopted Burmese and assimilated into the
majority society’. Likewise, the ruling class of Arakan in the west also adopted
Burmese in place of their native language Arakanese. In further expansions of the
Burmese-language area of dominance, a Sanskrit-educated elite from neighbouring
states such as Assam and Manipur was imported to the court at Ava, and later captive
traders were added to the mix, including Armenians, Jews, Chinese, Persians, Ben-
galis, Tamils, and others from further aWeld:
In 1758 for example, a French warship was seized towards the end of the civil war. Its crew
were marched north, enlisted into the king’s army as hereditary gunners and given land
near the capital. There they joined the descendants of earlier European mercenaries,
Dutch, Spanish and Portuguese. . . . A few small Roman Catholic villages remain to this
day, and their inhabitants are aware of their European ancestry. But in every other way
they are virtually indistinguishable from their neighbours . . . very few are aware of the
great mix of backgrounds which went into creating the modern Burmese. (Myint-U
2001: 27)
The land over which the kings of the court at Ava ruled was referred to consistently
with the term ‘Myanmar’ (as the Myanma naing-ngan ‘state of Myanma’) only from the
mid-nineteenth century. A century earlier, King Alaungpaya had referred to himself as
king of Tampradipa and Thunaparanta, of Ramannadesa and of Kamboza – old and
imprecise names for parts of the Irrawaddy valley – or as ‘Lord of the White Elephant’
and ‘Ruler of All Umbrella-Bearing Chiefs’ (Myint-U 2001: 27).
The picture which emerges in pre-colonial times is therefore of an expanding and
inXuential Burmese-speaking heartland at the centre of modern Burma/Myanmar,
formed from diverse ethno-linguistic groups with just the beginnings of an eventual,
more clearly deWned collective Burman identity.
270 J. Watkins
separatism, which would later translate into the occurrence of multiple, prolonged
insurgencies in independent Burma.
who belong neither with the Europeans nor the local Burmese. In 1937, when Burma
was separated from British India and ruled as a separate colony, Anglo-Burmans were
oYcially recognized as a distinct ethnic group, and were often privileged, assuming
dominant positions in society and in the economy. Those Anglo-Burmese who remained
in Burma after independence from Britain in 1948 and the establishment of military rule
in 1962 were subsequently forced to assimilate, to speak Burmese, use Burmese names,
and often convert to Buddhism, or suVer discrimination without their former privileged
status. A Burmese national identity was eVectively forced on this group and its non-
Burmese heritage largely suppressed.
General Ne Win continued to lead the BSPP until 1988, by which time the condition
of the economy had deteriorated further. Ne Win’s resignation and the appointment
of General Sein Lwin as replacement BSPP chairman provoked large numbers of
people from all sectors of society to take to the streets in protest. Large-scale
demonstrations were then brutally suppressed by the army, and a military junta,
known as the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) took direct control
of the country. In late 1997 SLORC reconstituted itself with the new name State Peace
and Development Council (SPDC), explaining at the time that the task of restoring law
and order had largely been achieved, and that what was subsequently required was to
strive for peace and development. SLORC/SPDC intensiWed the drive to establish a
Burmese/Myanmar national identity using propaganda in the form of slogans on
public display and in all published and broadcast media. Callahan (2003: 167) describes
a campaign launched in 1989 which ‘touted the creation of a sacred and ancient history
of a singular national race called the ‘‘Myanmar’’’ and recounts that the 1990s saw ‘an
unprecedented obsession with the propagation of cultural homogeneity and purity’.
As part of this campaign for national unity and the creation of an over-arching,
indigenous, and pure national identity, the decision was taken to change both the
oYcial English name of the country ‘Burma’ and the English name of the language
‘Burmese’ to the single term ‘Myanmar’. Following the establishment of a ‘Commis-
sion of Inquiry into the True Naming of Myanmar’ by the government to examine
and remove any British imperialist inXuences from place names in the country, in June
1989 the ‘Adaption of Expressions Law’ was proclaimed, and decreed that: ‘The
expression ‘‘Union of Burma’’ and the expression ‘‘Burma’’, ‘‘Burman’’ or ‘‘Burmese’’
contained in existing laws enacted in the English language shall be substituted by the
expression ‘‘Union of Myanmar’’ and ‘‘Myanmar’’ respectively.’
The Adaptation of Expressions Law ruled similarly on other place names within
Burma/Myanmar as follows:
If it is necessary to amend in the English language the name of any state, division,
townships zone, township, town, ward, village tract or village, or the name of any river,
stream, forest, mountain, or island, which is presently written and used in the English
language, so as to conform to the Myanmar pronunciation, the government may, by
notiWcation, amend the same.
Burma/Myanmar 275
Among the many changes made, some change the English spelling of a name to
reXect Burmese pronunciation, hence the earlier forms ‘Rangoon’, ‘Moulmein’, and
‘Sandoway’ were converted into ‘Yangon’, ‘Mawlamyine’, and ‘Thandwe’. Other
changes were introduced to remove overt colonial references, hence the town of
‘Amherst’ was renamed ‘Kyaikkami’, and the streets of ‘Windermere’ and ‘Fraser’
became known as ‘Thanlwin’ and ‘Anawratha’, respectively. Further examples are
shown in Table 12.1.5
Such naming changes are clear examples of the military government’s sensitivity to
language use and its political implications and shed light both on the government’s
management of its image in the eyes of the rest of the world, where in some contexts
the choice of ‘Myanmar’ or ‘Burma’ replicates political debate inside and outside the
country and identiWcation with either government or opposition, and on the govern-
ment’s eVorts to promote a single national ‘Myanmar’ identity in Burma/Myanmar.
Through the explicit imposition of a new naming practice and the eradication of
British place names and place names in languages other than Burmese, the military
government was asserting its authority, as the country’s rulers, to determine key
aspects of the identity of the country projected to the world outside Burma/Myanmar
Table 12.1 English toponyms in Burma/Myanmar changed under the 1989 Adaptation of
Expressions Law
Old Name New Name Old Name New Name
5
For further discussion and details see the PCGN (2003).
276 J. Watkins
through English language terms, removing the possibility that this identity be shaped
by external forces. The name changes and their political signiWcance were therefore
highly symbolic, both of the general rejection of foreign inXuences, and of the military
government’s assertion of the right to impose direction on the national identity.
‘Myanmarization’, or Gustaaf Houtman’s (1999) original coining ‘MyanmaWcation’,
is the process by which the SLORC/SPDC asserts and communicates its control over
the nation’s political identity.6
Concerning this latter aspect of the 1989 name-changing procedure, the govern-
ment’s decrees resulted in much political discussion, and, as in other areas of Burmese
politics, some of the most vigorous debate here has taken place on two fronts. The
Wrst centres on diVerences between the military government and its political oppon-
ents, as represented by the government’s insistence on the use of the new place names
(in particular ‘Myanmar’) and the reluctance of its opponents, such as pro-democracy
politicians and activists, to adopt them. The second centres on diVerences between
the ethnic Burman/Bamar majority and the various non-Burman/Bamar ethnic
nationalities, and involves an extension of the renaming programme which has
removed oYcial status from place names in indigenous languages other than Burmese
and installed Burmese-language names in their place.
Simpson and Thammasathien (this volume, chapter 18) refer to the series of State
Conventions issued by the Phibun government which changed the name of Burma/
Myanmar’s eastern neighbour from Siam to Thailand in 1939. It can be noted that
there are signiWcant parallels between this and the 1989 name change from Burma to
Myanmar, in particular the motivation to inXuence the country’s image in the
perception of the outside world through the coining of a new name for international
reference to the country – essentially a rebranding exercise aimed at reclaiming
control over the national identity displayed to the outside world. The change from
Burma to Myanmar has proved to be as politically divisive as it is possible for a name-
change to be, though this is not altogether surprising in a context where political
neutrality is a rare luxury indeed. By aiming the 1989 Adaptation of Expressions Law
speciWcally at English-language usage concerning Burma, SLORC eVectively required
the world to drop the words ‘Burma’ and ‘Burmese’ in favour of ‘Myanmar’, or else be
seen as anti-government, while opponents of the government, and in particular
groups aligned with the pro-democracy movement which suVered terribly both in
1988 and in the following elections and their aftermath, tended to brand all those who
used ‘Myanmar’, for whatever reason, as pro-government and anti-democracy. Pres-
ently, the choice of country name continues to be highly politicized and divisive,
6
The promotion of Burmese Theravada Buddhism as a quasi-state religion is another element of this
eVort, and is linguistically supported by the widespread public featuring of writings in Pali, the classical
language of the Buddhist scriptures. The use of Pali as a vehicle of government-sponsored Myanmariza-
tion is most clearly evident in the occurrence of Buddhist aphorisms in Pali alongside their Burmese
translations as government propaganda slogans in the state newspapers, in much the same way that sets of
political, economic, and social objectives appear in every publication.
Burma/Myanmar 277
though the hybrid label ‘Burma/Myanmar’ chosen for use in this chapter oVers at
least the possibility of an inclusive compromise.
Concerning the eVects of the Adaptation of Expressions Law on non-Burman/Bamar
sections of the population, originally the names of places in Burma/Myanmar written
in English had for the most part reXected written Burmese forms, while some instead
reXected the pronunciation of names in other languages without reference to Burmese
at all, such as the Arakanese capital ‘Sandoway’ or the Tai Khün ‘Keng Tung’ (in
Southern Shan State). During the British colonial period, survey personnel working in
non-Burmese areas recorded toponyms simply as they heard them, in whatever local
language they might have been, and these subsequently became established as the
oYcial ‘English’ names used by the colonial administration. Now, since the application
of the Adaptation of Expressions Law to all place names in the country, oYcial English-
language toponymic spellings have been changed to represent only Burmese-language
pronunciation, even in the many instances where the original name of a place comes
from one of the minority languages rather than Burmese. ‘Sandoway’ and ‘Keng Tung’
have been renamed ‘Thandwe’ and ‘Kyaing Toung’, reXecting a Burmese pronunci-
ation. While the primary motivation given by the government for making changes to
English-language place names has been to remove traces of colonial inXuence still
present and perceived in these names, the extension of the renaming initiative to place
names deriving from minority languages may be interpreted as part of the govern-
ment’s general attempts to bring the minority-inhabited border regions under greater
central control, regulated by a uniform national identity and language wherever
possible. In section 12.4 the chapter now focuses on the situation of the ethnic
nationalities, the issue of internal coherence among such populations, and how their
diVerent backgrounds do not seem to connect them naturally with a heavily Burman/
Bamar-centred ‘Myanmar’ national identity.
emphasize ethnic divisions further by engaging in research that would show the
country’s great mixture of languages. The oYcial list of ‘national races’ is rather
crude, categorizing groups simply according to the state where they reside, with no
regard for the ethnic identities or linguistic relationships holding between diVerent
groups, and the many complex divisions and subdivisions which exist within larger
groups.
The government categorization of minority nationalities furthermore does not
admit the possibility of multiple identities existing among members of non-Burman
ethnic groups. The speakers of many smaller languages typically lead multilingual
lives, and while it is rare for monolingually-raised ethnic Burman/Bamar people to
learn languages other than English, most people whose Wrst language is a language
other than Burmese speak Burmese to some degree, and frequently other languages
besides. A simple straw poll taken by the author in the Shan State in the late 1990s
revealed that a quarter of a group of about twenty-Wve speakers of the Mon-Khmer
language Wa spoke Wve or more languages in their everyday lives, and this is fairly
representative of the complex linguistic relations maintained by many non-Burmese.
Frequently one of the languages acquired by multilingual members of minority
nationalities will be one of the various lingua francas spoken regionally in the country.
Hence in addition to a likely knowledge of Burmese, depending on the degree of
contact with Burmese-speakers and/or time spent in Burmese-language state educa-
tion, members of smaller language communities might also learn to speak a regional
lingua franca such as Arakanese in Arakan/Rakhine State and southern Chin State, or
Shan, Lahu, or Chinese in various parts of Shan State, where all of these three may be
used between speakers of other languages. In many areas the existence of a lingua
franca allows a common ethnic and linguistic identity to pertain across a set of diverse
and often mutually unintelligible dialects and languages, as for example in the Kachin
hills, where Jinghpaw serves as a lingua franca linking speakers of related but mutually
unintelligible languages or dialects.
A signiWcant factor in the identity of many minority nationalities living in the seven
border states is the fact that many of the languages spoken in areas near Burma/
Myanmar’s borders with neighbouring countries are spoken on both sides of the
border by speech communities that may have a common sense of identity despite the
political divisions imposed by the border. Examples of such communities are the Wa
whose speakers also live in neighbouring China, the Karen/Kayin and Karenni/Kayah
who are additionally found in Thailand, and the Naga in the west whose speakers are
split between Burma/Myanmar and northeastern India.
As it is clearly not possible to oVer a description of all Burma/Myanmar’s many
minority nationalities and their relation to group and national identity, what follows is
a set of three brief case studies of non-Burman/Bamar identities, presented to give an
impression of the diversity in the country and various issues that arise among the
minority nationalities. The Mon, Karen/Kayin, and Karenni/Kayah groups are good
examples of larger ethnic nationalities in Burma/Myanmar, each being the dominant
280 J. Watkins
group in the State named after it, while Wa is a relatively smaller ethno-linguistic
group found in various parts of Shan State. All of these groups speak languages which
are found near and across Burma/Myanmar’s borders with other countries, and so
raise the issue of how cross-border populations may be internally coherent but
accomodate more than one national identity. We begin with the Wa, a group
perceived by many in Burma/Myanmar as distant and remote from the Burmese/
Myanmar nation.
12.4.2 Wa
The Wa are a linguistically diverse ethnic nationality of about a million people who
live mostly between the Mekong and Salween/Thanlwin rivers in the northern part of
Shan State and over the border in the southwestern Chinese province of Yunnan. In
recent years, the Wa have received a generally negative press, routinely and broadly
associated with the production of opium and methamphetamines. As a rule, Wa
identity is poorly understood in the rest of Burma/Myanmar, where it is popularly
held by many that the Wa are basically a kind of Chinese. It is also commonly believed
that they are a backward people with an infamous history of head-hunting, warfare,
and opium production. As Chouvy (2003) notes, however, in reality the Wa remain
one of the least-known peoples of Asia.
Both politically and ethnically, Wa identity is a complex matter. Magnus Fiskesjö
(2000) suggests that the outside world’s understanding of the Wa, and thus of Wa
identity, has tended to be critically framed in the perspective of the external observer
mentally centred outside the territory of the Wa, with the result that the Wa are seen
as living on the periphery (of Burma/Myanmar), on the edge, on the boundaries. In
contrast, writes Fiskesjö, if one is a member of the Wa community looking outwards
from the Wa centre, a quite diVerent perspective oVers itself and helps shape Wa
identity – one encounters Wrst the galaxy of Shan Buddhist principalities found along
the China-Burma frontier, and second, the Chinese and Burmese states, located at a
still farther distance.
The Wa and the Chinese have a close relationship. The United Wa State Army
(UWSA), which has led the Wa from the de facto Wa capital Pang Hsang (Pang Hkam)
since the collapse of the Communist Party of Burma in 1989, is largely Chinese-
speaking, and the key Wgures in it are an ethnic mix of Wa and Chinese. The UWSA
was one of the twenty or so armed groups in Burma/Myanmar which signed a cease-
Wre with the central military government during the 1990s. However, the cease-Wre
granted to the Wa Special Regions in the Shan State a degree of autonomy not oVered
in other such cease-Wres. The Wa authorities now eVectively operate as an independent
government with little reference to Rangoon/Yangon to run its internal aVairs,
including Wa language policy. Among other oYcial organizations there is a self-styled
UWSA education committee which includes in its responsibilities issues relating to Wa
language, such as decisions on the continued standardization of written Wa on the
Burma/Myanmar 281
Burmese side of the border with China. Education, when it is available to Wa speakers
in Burma/Myanmar, is however predominantly in Chinese or in Burmese, other than
at the grass-roots level, and only a small minority of Wa speakers are literate in Wa,
typically as a consequence of Christian practice, approximately 10 to 15 per cent of Wa
being Christian. The orthography most commonly used to write Wa in Burma/
Myanmar is derived from one designed for a 1930s missionary translation of the
New Testament. A very small number of Wa in China are also literate in an alternate
orthography developed in China as part of oYcial Chinese government minority-
nationality language policy and intended for use in bilingual education in schools in
Wa-speaking areas. In practice, at the time of writing no schools are using Wa in
Yunnan, but the Chinese-developed orthography retains its oYcial status and is used
for some Wa-language publications – mainly translations from Chinese – at the Yunnan
Minorities Publishing House in Kunming. To a certain extent, the two diVerent
orthographies delimit two overlapping sub-identities within the uniWed Wa whole.
Linguistically, it needs to be added that Wa is actually a fragmented cluster of
perhaps forty closely related languages and dialects, many of them not mutually
intelligible, spoken in an area where Lahu, Shan, and Chinese are the major lingua
francas. Two closely related dialects of Wa, those of Yaong Rung and Yaong Soi, have
emerged as standard forms which are widely understood, underpinning a sense of
linguistic unity among the Wa. As an illustration of the frequent complexity of
language and its interaction with identity among minorities such as the Wa, one
Wa speaker interviewed by the author in 2004 and typical of many to be met in the
Shan State identiWed himself entirely as Wa and routinely used a Wa name (though
also possessing several others). However, this speaker had only learnt Wa in his early
adolescence, having spent his childhood bilingual in Lahu and Shan because those
were the languages of the village he was sent to for schooling at a very young age. By
the age of Wfteen he was equally comfortable speaking in Wa, Chinese, and Burmese,
and later in life added Thai and some English to his repertoire. The testimony of such
multilingual individuals to having a strong and primary identiWcation with a smaller-
sized ethnic group despite a good knowledge of more widely spoken and prestigious
languages, including the oYcial language of Burma/Myanmar, indicates the high
degree of identiWcation with a particular minority ethno-linguistic group that is often
observed among the ethnic nationalities in Burma/Myanmar.
Bangkok. Spoken Mon exists in a range of dialects in both countries, although all are
mutually intelligible.
An important observation concerning the Mon and Mon language is that the
number of people who speak Mon is small compared to the large number of people
who may identify themselves as ethnically Mon but who do not speak the language. In
this respect they may be compared with the now predominantly Mandarin-speaking
Hui nationality in China (see Chen, this volume, chapter 7). Although there is a
general lack of fully reliable demographic data, Bauer (1990) attempts an analysis of
the information available and concludes that there are probably one million Mon
speakers in total (out of several million ethnically Mon people), though this Wgure
incorporates various degrees of bilingualism. Most of the Mon-speaking population is
also bilingual in Burmese or Thai. A large majority of the Mon resides in Burma and
the minority that lives in Thailand has become culturally and ethnically assimilated to
a considerable extent through extensive intermarriage, though being of Mon descent
still seems to carry a degree of prestige. Historically, the Mon used to be the dominant
ethnic group in a large area that now straddles the border between Burma/Myanmar
and Thailand.
After the Mon kingdoms had fallen to Burmese rule in the mid-eighteenth century,
Mon language and literature became conWned to Buddhist monasteries. Under British
colonial rule Mon was once again taught in vernacular schools under British admin-
istration. Teaching in Mon continued after independence, but was stopped following
military rule in 1962. South (2003) recounts how in 1964 the new system of education
introduced by the BSPP made no allowance for ethnic minority language instruction,
which was eVectively banned from the state education system: ethnic minority
citizens could only participate in the aVairs of state at the cost of suppressing their
ethnic identity. On the other hand, the Mon Education Committee of the New Mon
State Party (NMSP) actively promotes Mon language education in some 150 Mon
National Schools as part of a vehemently nationalistic education policy. The contra-
diction between the central government’s and NMSP’s policies has caused problems.
At times, the Mon National Schools have been closed down, or operate with no
permission to run a Mon-language curriculum. Quite generally then, Mon is an
example of a language which has contracted over time under pressure of assimilation
from the national language Burmese, but where there are clear and consistent
attempts by (Mon) nationalist leaders to rebuild knowledge of the language, in spite
of apparent government hindrances to such reconstruction. It is also relevant to note
that the continued maintenance of a Mon ethnic identity may seem viable for a
signiWcant proportion of the Mon group without any necessary proWciency in or daily
use of the Mon language.7
7
In this regard, the Mon community may resemble ethnic groups and nations in other parts of the
world where the continued existence of a partial body of speakers or alternatively simply the memory of a
language having existed at one time in a community appears to be suYcient to satisfy the linguistic aspect
of the maintenance of a separate ethnic identity (see, for example, Barbour’s (2000) discussion of the Irish).
Burma/Myanmar 283
thrive are Karenni, Burmese, and English owing to a combination of the oYcial
approval given to Karenni and English by the KNPP and the active use of all three
languages in a range of public settings. A bleak future is predicted within the KNPP-
controlled camps for other minor Karenic languages such as Bre, Manaw, and Kayaw
which are regularly sidelined in the drive to promote Karenni.
At a ‘higher’ hierarchical level, Womack (2005) notes that an early, general, pan-
Karen ethnic consciousness is attributed in English-language histories of Burma/
Myanmar to the introduction of Karen literacy by Protestant missionaries in the
nineteenth century. The institutions which arose from this spread of literacy are
recorded as spawning a perception of connectedness among Karen communities
which in turn gave rise to the Karen nationalist movement and its twentieth-century
struggle for independence. In contrast to this literacy-triggered awareness of an
over-arching Karen identity, Womack shows that Burmese-language research has
emphasized the diversity which exists within Karen writing, with nearly a dozen
scripts being used for a range of Karenic languages. This line of research concludes
that disparate Karen social identities – sometimes mutually antagonistic – can be
discerned along the lines of speciWc literate networks, in contrast with notions of
pan-Karen nationalism and unity. There are consequently diVerent perceptions of the
relation of unity or divisiveness that may link or separate the various peoples of
the Karen ‘nationality’. Linguistically, the Karenic languages are for the most part
not mutually intelligible, and distances in comprehensibility among the Karen group
of languages can reasonably be compared to diVerences separating the Romance
family of languages in Europe. SigniWcantly, no Karenic lingua franca has emerged
that can be used throughout the wider Karen area, creating an obstacle to any
language-assisted furtherance of nationalism. An ironic result of this is that the
Karen National Union (KNU), the force which has been Wghting the Burmese army
for half a century, uses Burmese for its formal meetings rather than any of the
Karen languages, as only Burmese can be uniformly understood by all those
attending political meetings. The Karen are consequently a complex group within
which no single Karen language serves as a unifying base for the expansion of pan-
Karen nationalism. Such observations emphasize two Wnal points concerning lan-
guage and the development of national identity in Burma/Myanmar. First of all, if
Karen nationalists Wghting for independence from the central government are
themselves Xuent in Burmese, then it seems clear that the spread and learning of
Burmese has not triggered the acceptance of a Burman/Bamar-centred national
identity and a willingness to be part of a state with such an identity. Secondly, the
use, alongside Karenic languages, of Burmese as a shared means of communication
among the Karen nationalists after many decades of allied struggle shows that
nationalist organizations may function eVectively using a range of languages –
including a ‘foreign’ language, even when the ‘foreign’ language is that of a political
and military opponent.
Burma/Myanmar 285
8
English is also now the medium of instruction in postgraduate courses at universities, but in some
cases this is having a negative educational eVect. Teachers with insuYcient English are forced to condense
their teaching into awkward and unspontaneous English text to be read aloud, while students, who are
obliged to ask questions in English, are tongue-tied and have no means of getting help if they fail to
understand the subject material or the language in which it is being delivered.
286 J. Watkins
9
This is not to say that there is no education in languages other than Burmese. Various regional ethnic
nationality organizations have established systems for providing education in their own languages,
operating in addition to Burmese-language state education. In remote areas where no state education is
available, grass-roots education at the village level may also be conducted in local languages, sometimes in
connection with religious instruction.
Burma/Myanmar 287
Generally, in the absence of wide-ranging research data from sources such as Weld
studies or language surveys carried out among the minority nationalities, it is diYcult
to be sure about attitudes held among minority peoples towards integration with the
Burman centre of the country and a Myanmar national identity. However, if one
attempts to judge from outward displays of behaviour, the regular occurrence of
insurgencies in the border states during the last Wfty years might naturally lead to the
conclusion that for a salient and inXuential part of the nationality populations there is
perhaps no strong identiWcation with a Myanmar nation and a desire instead for
independence. This would in turn seem to indicate that the promotion of national
identity, in which the spread of Burmese language has Wgured in a central role, has not
been successful in establishing a broad, fully collective will to belong to the nation
throughout the country. Nevertheless, for those nationality groups which have
negotiated cease-Wres with the government, it may be that increased independence
within the state of Burma/Myanmar may now result in a more stable relation as part
of the country and the beginnings of a connection to a rather diVerent federal identity
more similar to that in neighbouring India. Looking to the future, and how things
might ideally develop in a positive way, Burma/Myanmar may Wnd that a peaceful and
successful way forward to integrate both its border populations and its central
Burman majority, maintaining long-term unity in the country, is to explore more
ways in which the fears of cultural absorption and domination reported to be present
among many of the nationalities can be allayed through an expanded federal system,
whilst at the same working to make integration with the nation and its Burman centre
more attractive for the nationalities through signiWcant development of the economy
and wider prosperity spread throughout all the nation. Perhaps with an increased
recognition of the validity and value of diVerent ethnic identities, a broad national
identity may come to be added to the set of identities held by many individuals in the
country without the need being felt for this to overwrite and replace pre-existing
patterns of culture and language.
13
Cambodia
Steve Heder
13.1 Introduction
Since the early twentieth century, the Khmer language has been at the centre of a series
of only partly successful attempts by Cambodian politicians to rework and re-present
ethnic identities in Cambodian society into one with a unitary national core. Their
lack of success reXects that of Khmer nationalist movements themselves, a failure all
the more striking given the overwhelming linguistic hegemony of Khmer for a
millennium in what is now Cambodia. The current Hun Sen-led political regime
lacks a credible nationalist pedigree, and Cambodia now seems to be passing – some
would say disappearing – into an era of Asianization within globalization, having
never passed through a period of viable nationalist rule. Instead, after a series of
at best weak and at worst catastrophically self-destructive regimes since the nine-
teenth century – late classical, colonial, royalist, republican, communist, and liberal
democratic – Cambodia still lacks an eVective modern state and a self-sustaining
national identity.
This chapter begins in section 13.2 with an outline of pre-colonial Cambodian
history, looking at language and identity from prehistoric times, through the
renowned Angkor period to subsequent polities and the establishment of a French
Protectorate in 1863. In section 13.3, it considers French–Cambodian interaction
in the elaboration of the idea of a Cambodian nation and discusses the role of
language and Khmerization in Cambodian nationalism and political contestation up
until the end of the French domination in Cambodia in 1953. Sections 13.4–7 – covering
1953 to 1991 – document the at Wrst Wtful and then accelerating advance of lingu-
istic Khmerization in often fraught political contexts, including war, revolution,
genocide, and renewed foreign domination: in independent Cambodia under Prince
Sihanouk, then during the ill-fated Khmer Republic, on through the catastrophic years
of Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge, and thereafter under Vietnamese occupation in
the 1980s. Finally, section 13.8 looks at issues of Khmer language use, national
identity, foreign involvement, and multi-ethnic revivalism in contemporary Cambodia
Cambodia 289
Cambodia
since the United Nations peace-keeping intervention of 1992–3, bringing the account up
to 2006.1
1
I would like to thank the following, among others, for their many comments, corrections, criticisms,
and suggestions regarding various earlier drafts of this chapter: Michel Rethy Antelme, Chan Sambath,
David P. Chandler, Mike Davis, Penny Edwards, Ian Harris, Khing Hoc Dy, Helene Lavoix, Henri Locard,
Laura McGrew, John Marston, Laura Summers, and Touch Bora. All have contributed to important
improvements in the text, although not always in the ways their remarks intended, and the matters
discussed here will, I hope, be the subject of much further research and debate.
290 S. Heder
southward out of what is now south China into what is now Southeast Asia some
4,000 years ago. Those who spoke Old Khmer eventually established scattered,
competing chieftainships around the Dang Rek escarpment which forms the modern
border between Thailand and Cambodia and in the Mekong river delta and coastal
areas that straddle both sides of what is now the frontier between southern Vietnam
and Cambodia. The warring lowland chiefs Xourished through interaction with
maritime trade that produced multi-religious, culturally syncretic societies, but
when these polities declined as sea-borne commerce moved elsewhere, the cockpit
of Khmer political contestation shifted up the Mekong and Tonle Sap Rivers to
the plains north of the Tonle Sap Lake and below the Dang Rek, culminating in the
seventh to eighth centuries with more state-like political creations that inscribed
Khmer on stone. These were the precursors of the principalities that built the
monumentally awe-inspiring Angkor Wat and other temple complexes between the
ninth and thirteenth centuries. The temples were the cosmic-symbolic centres
of classical ‘empires’ that at times stretched to the shores of the South China
Sea and the Malay Peninsula. Their stitching together of widely separated centres of
population – some primarily Khmer, others not – signiWed a quantum leap in political
organization. However, it was not until the twentieth century that, in interaction with
European political concepts, the temples were interpreted by Khmer as emblematic
of a single and particular national culture associated with the Khmer language
(Edwards 1999).
The word ‘Kampuchea’ was evidently Wrst applied to these Angkorian polities
(Mabbett and Chandler 1995), in which Old Khmer was the main vernacular language
of elites and of many ordinary people alike, but in which other languages were
spoken, constituting a cosmopolitan Cambodian civilization, in which a variety of
cultural idioms were internalized.2 Thus, Angkorian civilization was heavily
inXuenced by South Asian Brahmanist and varied Buddhist ideals, models, concepts,
and vocabulary, and Chinese inXuences are also apparent. All of these were mixed and
elaborated in fantastically creative ways that made the Angkorian polities re-creations
of universal cosmic powers on earth (Wolters 1999).
Like most other such pre-modern empires, their inherent socio-economic and
socio-political contradictions meant they experienced repeated episodes of political
disintegration, as rivals challenged every established hierarchy, attempting to re-
localize power and re-legitimate it as a new centre of the universe. Such claims to
universality were, however, generally tolerant of diversity, culturally eclectic, and
2
Note that some conventions contrast the word Khmer as a reference to the language and an ethno-
linguistic group speaking it with the term Kampuchea and its Western-language derivatives such as
Cambodia and Cambodge which have been used to designate a series of multi-ethnic polities existing from
the sixth or seventh century through to the present. By such conventions, Kampucheans/Cambodians
would include all these polities’ ethnically diverse entourages, followers, subjects, and citizens. However,
these correspondences have been far from perfect and appear to have lost their applicability in the late
twentieth to early twenty-Wrst-century context.
Cambodia 291
script and with many borrowings from Arabic, Malay, and Khmer. Living near or in
the hills were a multiplicity of Lao and other ethnic groups whose links to the realm
were intermittent and primarily economic. Some of the uplanders’ languages were in
the Mon-Khmer family, others related to Malay and Polynesian.
Although many Chinese were socially segregated into dialect groups, incorporation
into the Khmer elite and Khmer society was relatively easy. Formally, any Chinese
born in the kingdom was considered Kampuchean if he or she adopted Khmer
customs and dress. In practice, many did become part of Khmer society and its
elite, though maintaining a Chinese cultural distinctiveness, as no necessary connec-
tion was made between cultural and political loyalties. At this time, ruling over a
multicultural realm was still seen as indicative of royal greatness, and because of this
the palace did not hesitate to appoint Chinese, Sino-Khmer, and Cham as provincial
oYcials (Edwards and Chan 1995).
Despite political turmoil, court and Buddhist literature (in Khmer and Pali)
was diverse. Literary Khmer was a sophisticated mix of Sanskrit, Pali, and the high
language reserved for royal and aristocratic discourse. After years of contact, Khmer
had adopted much Thai vocabulary and even – it seems – syntax, especially at
the court, but also in popular speech (HuVman 1973). This provided the linguistic
groundwork for a nineteenth-century vogue for imitating Thai that contributed to
a new wave of creative experimentation in literary style ( Jacob 1996), paralleling
a similar process on the religious front where the introduction of Siamese courtly
and religious culture encouraged a renaissance in the practice of Theravada Bud-
dhism. This was also a period of rising Chinese literary inXuence on Cambodian
texts via bilingual Sino-Khmer writers (Nepote and Khing 1987).
Still, Khmer was the lingua franca of political administration and the language of
religious communication between Buddhist monks and the laity. The many young
peasant men who became monks often learned to read and write at least some
Khmer. However, as in the past, most written records were not for commonplace
consumption: they were holy objects. Moreover, texts were recorded on perishable
materials. This and the unsettled situation meant few survived from earlier centuries.
Thus, for most Khmer-speakers, spoken literature – folktales, songs, riddles, and proverbs –
remained much more important than written texts.
at Phnom Penh, a system which the French gradually subverted to the disadvantage of
the traditional elite and developed further with a neo-traditional bilingual elite created
from collaborative royals, aristocrats, nobles, interpreters, and hangers on (Tully 2002).
The French recognized that a key part of their protectorate project was to transform the
Siamese-educated, multilingual Kampuchean monarch from a petty kinglet whose royal
ideology required him to be an exemplar of universal cosmic-religious ideals into
‘the living incarnation, the august and supreme personiWcation’ of Cambodian ‘nation-
ality’ (Aymonier 1900–1904: 56). However, the French also treated the Royaume du
Cambodge as a backwater in a colonial construct that combined it with Vietnam (divided
north to south into Tonkin, Annam, and Cochinchina) and Laos under the overarching
administrative structure of Indochina, investing much less in the development
of Cambodia than Vietnam. It was thus relatively untouched by the capitalist transform-
ations and bureaucratic state-building that more quickly and solidly forged incipiently
anti-colonial nation-states in Vietnam and elsewhere in Southeast Asia, even where the
raw material was more multi-ethnic and economically less advanced (Dixon 1991).
Meanwhile, the Angkorian temples were portrayed in colonial historiography
as evidence that, since the fourteenth century, the Khmer and Cambodia had
suVered some extraordinary catastrophe that proved they were either doomed to
disappearance or needed rescuing and restoration to avoid extinction. A few French
believed their colonialism should Wnish oV the failed Cambodian state and incorporate
it into the direct French colony of Cochinchina in southern Vietnam. For many others,
French colonialism was seen to be the potential saviour (Edwards 1999).
With both visions in the background, the French imported and employed
many Vietnamese to work in the civil service in Cambodia. Accompanied by an inXux
of Vietnamese artisans, traders, and casual labourers, their numbers rose to perhaps
200,000 in the mid-1930s. Some of these Vietnamese began to see France’s
Indochina project as compatible with Vietnamese domination of Cambodia, raising
the prospect of a relaunching of Dai Nam’s annexation project. Meanwhile, Vietnamese
vocabulary began to seep into Khmer, joining numerous Chinese terms in common
usage. However, while Khmer–Chinese intermarriage continued, such liaisons remained
rare between Khmer and Vietnamese. Indeed, while the level of anti-Chinese animosity,
popular and elite, was lower than perhaps anywhere else in Southeast Asia, anti-Viet-
namese feeling seems to have undergone intensiWcation.
Within the boundaries of Cambodia as frozen by French colonialism during the
Wrst half-century of its Protectorate, Khmer was spoken quite uniformly. Although
local accents existed, the diVerences were not so great as to generate any recognizable
regionalism. Beyond Cambodia’s borders, among Khmer who had been living under
non-Khmer rule, diVerences were larger. Speakers of what came to be known as
‘Khmer Kandal’ (Khmer in the middle, within Cambodia itself ) might have diYculty
understanding some of the speech of ‘Khmer Kraom’ (‘lowland’ or ‘downriver’
Khmer) living in Vietnamese Cochinchina, and more problems conversing with
294 S. Heder
system at all levels, including setting up Cambodia’s Wrst universities. The Sihanouk
regime claimed its various educational eVorts managed to raise functional Khmer
literacy from 40 per cent in the early 1960s to 60 per cent at the end of the decade.
However, such an expansion also lowered the quality of French-language instruction
and thus the French Xuency of secondary and tertiary school leavers, who further-
more often faced unemployment in a stagnating economy.
This was accompanied by a new, but still quite limited expansion in newspaper
circulation. As of the mid-1960s, Khmer newspapers had 27,000 subscribers, Chinese
newspapers 25,200, Vietnamese 6,000 subscribers, and French also 6,000. OYcial
government-produced political magazines in French had much larger print runs
(more than 30,000) than those in Khmer (8,000). ReXecting the continued importance
of oral Khmer culture, radio raced ahead of print media as the main form of Khmer-
language state communication, and Cambodia had perhaps the highest number of
radios per capita in Southeast Asia at the time.
Meanwhile, covert organizing by Communists and republicans continued in the
towns and countryside. The Communists and republicans recruited among dissa-
tisWed graduates for whom language was increasingly an issue. The latter’s relatively
poor education in French meant they thought politically much more in Khmer than
the ruling elites, and their educational and socio-political progress was often blocked
by failure to pass secondary school examinations set in French. Amidst a broad vogue
for modernity manifest in a desire to take forms established elsewhere and reproduce
them locally, with national but modern characteristics (Ly and Muan 2001), these
young intellectuals struggled against Sihanoukism’s constraints to master what they
believed was progressive knowledge and began, literally, to translate this into Khmer,
while also calling for the further Khmerization of education. In Phnom Penh, political
debate bubbled up in a nascent civil society. Underground Khmer language publica-
tions circulated, articulating grievances against the Sihanouk regime from various
political perspectives (Heder 2004). At the same time, novel-writing in Khmer
began to take oV again, and some works of Wction contained trenchant criticisms
of problems in Cambodian society, while displaying an obsession with modernity,
a fascination with past glories, morbid worries about contemporary obstacles to
progress, and a propensity to display cosmopolitan sophistication through demon-
stration of familiarity with Western literature and philosophy (Stewart and May 2004).
Former Democrat nationalists working from abroad also began reviving the move-
ment for expanding and improving Khmer vocabulary without over-reliance on Pali
and Sanskrit. Works of martyrs of this movement reappeared as part of an upsurge
of opposition to Sihanouk.
Following the occurrence of Communist-supported anti-government rural rebel-
lions and student demonstrations in Phnom Penh in 1967, Sihanouk allied with his
armed forces chief, Lon Nol, to bloodily suppress all left-leaning political activity.
While vigorously attacking the left, however, Sihanouk made common cause with
demands for the Khmerization of secondary education, and this began in 1967 under
300 S. Heder
for its triumph during the last quarter of the twentieth century. For the second time
(since the communist Issaraks’ Nokor Khmaer), Cambodia was replaced by Khmer in
the polity’s name, it being declared a ‘Khmer Republic’ in October 1970, and Lon Nol
began the elaboration of a Xorid political philosophy of ‘neo-Khmerism’, reclaiming the
mantle of earlier colonial-era nationalist Khmerism. Neo-Khmerism called for ‘the
spread of traditional culture and absorption of the various philosophies of the world’s
civilisations’ to promote prosperity for the people via ‘a special accelerated economic
program’ to bring Cambodia rapidly to a high state of development, thus restoring it
to Angkorian glory (Lon 1974). In the meantime, Lon Nol’s army units massacred
thousands of Vietnamese civilians and ‘repatriated’ 200,000–250,000 to South Vietnam,
halving the Vietnamese population of Cambodia. This move came with state propa-
ganda that all ethnic groups in Cambodia, except Vietnamese and Chinese, belonged to a
single ‘great Khmer race’, while Republican policy further restricted Chinese schooling
and damned Chinese for ruining Khmer morals and sabotaging the national economy.
Popular republican nationalism was apparent within an outpouring of Khmer
literature and non-Wction, the latter including anti-Vietnamese, anti-French, and
anti-Sihanouk histories and general treatises on philosophy, religion, law, linguistics,
literature, and social science. One current combined opposition to Vietnamese
domination with promotion of liberal democracy in place of Sihanouk’s retrograde
autocracy, in order to move politically to catch up with or surpass Thailand and
Vietnam. This current turned against Lon Nol when it became obvious that virulent
ethno-nationalism could not sustain a regime that did not deliver on other fronts.
As tirades against the Vietnamese were replaced by angry criticisms of the corruption,
authoritarianism, political violence, and incompetence of the Khmer Republic, Lon
Nol imposed censorship.
Meanwhile, in the countryside, the Khmer Rouge insurgency led by Pol Pot’s
Communist Party of Kampuchea (CPK) imposed increasing control over villagers
and posed an ever-greater challenge to the republican government. As conditions
deteriorated and CPK forces took the upper hand, the Khmer Republic collapsed in
1975 and was replaced by the state of Democratic Kampuchea (DK), ushering in four
violent years of murderous domination.
DK was also the also the Wrst regime since colonialism not to formally extol Khmer-
ism, proclaiming instead that all its people were Kampucheans, the aim being
transformation of the entire population into proletarianized, atheistic worker-peas-
ants with no ethnic diVerences (Heder 2005).
Notoriously, DK’s spectacular acceleration of previous trends toward linguistic
Khmerization was connected to a nationalist political project involving massive
murder, including genocide and other crimes against humanity. This project was
driven by Pol Pot’s ambition to restore Cambodian glory and its ‘national soul’ (Pol
1976: 13–14) by building a cosmically perfect example of universal communism,
combining the most radical aspects of the Soviet, Chinese, and Vietnamese revolu-
tions in order to surpass all of them by a ‘Phenomenally Great Leap Forward’ in
economic development. Everyone became an Other of this imagined perfect Marxist
Kampuchea: US imperialism, French colonialism, Soviet revisionism, Vietnamese
expansionism, and Chinese Communist interference internationally, national minor-
ities and the recalcitrant Khmer majority itself domestically. Estimates suggest that
during the less than four years of Communist rule, between one and three million
Cambodians out of a population of 7–7.5 million died by execution and from famines
and illnesses resulting from conditions created by the regime. One estimate suggests
the dead included one in seven of the country’s rural Khmer, a quarter of urban
Khmer, half of ethnic Chinese, more than a third of Islamic Cham, and 15 per cent of
upland minorities, while Vietnamese who had evaded the CPK’s not-to-be-refused
oVer of deportation after April 1975 were almost totally wiped out in an overtly
genocidal campaign of targeted killings that began in 1977.
During the self-destructive years of DK, Communist Party-speak created a new
high political Khmer, with translated Marxist-Leninist-Stalinist-Maoist terminology
comprehensible only to cadre initiates, if in fact them. At the same time, a middle-
level of Khmer Rouge organizational and mobilizational vocabulary and of favoured
Khmer colloquialisms also came into use and was much easier to master and widely
internalized in ordinary conversation among cadre and people. This language was
mainly spread to the people orally (by cadres who had been speaking it since before
1975) through slogans and songs, to a lesser extent by DK radio, and also by the
written word (Locard 2004). The CPK did print internal Party magazines but access to
these was restricted to Party members, whose ranks were increasingly devastated by
murderous purges. Similarly, although the CPK additionally published a monthly
magazine and a fortnightly newspaper for the non-communist masses, the print runs
were extremely small, and hardly anyone outside the Party ever saw them.
The same fate befell a tiny handful of textbooks published by the Ministry of
Propaganda. Having abolished the previous education system, the CPK planned to
reintroduce a primary education programme from 1977 and to gradually re-establish
secondary education starting that same year, to be followed by the reinstitution of a
three-year tertiary education system later. However, neither the secondary schools
nor the university ever appeared, and CPK intentions to set up primary schools were
Cambodia 303
carried out only in a very few model co-operatives and special schools for leading
cadres’ children. Combined with widespread arbitrary executions of Party and non-
Party ‘intellectuals’ suspected of opposing the CPK’s catastrophically radical policies,
the result was a devastating drop in the number of literate people.
More generally, CPK rule during the DK period caused a total fracturing of the
already weak and divided Cambodian nation. It not only turned Khmer against
Vietnamese, Chinese, Cham, and other minorities and turned lower class (peasant)
Khmer against upper class (urban) Khmer, it also provoked an extraordinary process
of regional ethno-genesis rooted in the seven zones into which the CPK arbitrarily
divided the country. For the most part, these were not congruent with any recogniz-
ably historical, geographic, socio-economic, linguistic, cultural, or ethnic regions.
However, they were pitted against each other politically, competing to make a
‘success’ of the revolution and curry favour with Pol Pot, such that the cadre and
people of zones began to take on proto-ethnic identities, characterized by tiny
diVerences in their Khmer accents and in the way they wore their ‘revolutionary’
clothing. By 1978, the cadres of two zones, the Southwest and the West, were being
used to purge and kill cadres and people of the others, before they were themselves
subjected to systematic arrest and execution late in the year. The victims in other
zones often identiWed their tormenters as ‘Southwesterners’ and ‘Westerners’, recog-
nizing them by the guttural way rural folk from these areas spoke Khmer.
Khmer curriculum, although foreign textbooks and teachers were used in tertiary and
technical faculties. A serious problem, however, was quality. With many teachers
having been killed or having died under CPK rule, many others having left the
country when the Vietnamese took over, and a signiWcant number of those who
survived and stayed having taken up other government jobs, the lack of competent
teachers available created a major obstacle to achieving progress. This was exacer-
bated by poor political morale, as the PRK curriculum was often not to teachers’
liking (Vickery 1986). Quite generally, such a situation in education was symptomatic
of the broader problem experienced by the PRK that they and the Vietnamese could
not actively promote ‘Khmer culture’ (in teaching materials and elsewhere) without
precipitating anti-Vietnamese Khmer nationalism; yet, if they failed to promote it,
they made themselves vulnerable to nationalist allegations that they might actually be
smothering Khmer-ness, which had the potential to further excite a nationalist
reaction.
As a result of these diYculties facing the regrowth of education, there continued to
exist fairly widespread illiteracy, despite PRK claims to have achieved 100 per cent
literacy in 1990, and informal channels of communication, overwhelmingly oral,
remained crucially important. Compared to most of the rest of Asia, certainly, there
was – as ever before – little habit of reading in the population at large, due to a lack of
printed materials of popular interest.
Nevertheless, the broad move to linguistic Khmerization was an irreversible fact,
and one whose triumph was furthered by PRK policies vis-à-vis minorities. Unlike the
Khmer Issarak, the PRK presented itself as Kampuchean, not Khmer, and the PRK
constitutionally recognized the equality of all nationalities and their right to maintain
their languages, literature, and cultures. In practice, there was little or no political
discrimination against upland people and Cham. However, like the Sihanouk regime,
the PRK expected and encouraged them to learn and speak Khmer and – in a broader
sense – to be ‘Khmer’, so their gradual Khmerization continued (Vickery 1986). The
PRK policy toward Chinese who had survived Pol Pot’s DK regime, by contrast, was
the most hostile of any previous regime except that of DK itself. This followed the
Vietnamese Communist attitude of the time. It was justiWed by reference to Beijing’s
support for insurgencies Wghting the PRK within Cambodia and to the supposedly
upper class and therefore exploitative historical class characteristics of local Chinese.
Chinese language instruction continued underground, although Xuency in Chinese,
spoken and written, continued to drop and Chinese strategies to avoid discrimination
led to further intermarriage and assimilation.
Meanwhile, with oYcial Vietnamese encouragement, but over the objections of
some senior PRK cadres, perhaps 100,000–250,000 Vietnamese civilians took up
residence in Cambodia and came to enjoy protection and favouritism from Vietnam-
ese political and military personnel in the PRK (Gottesman 2002). The presence of
these Vietnamese returnees and new arrivals had little eVect on the overall cultural
situation in the PRK (aside from the spread of Vietnamese terms in urban Khmer
Cambodia 305
slang), but gross exaggerations about the size of the Vietnamese presence served to
justify nationalist attacks against the PRK government by insurgent forces, including
Pol Pot remnant communists, resurgent royalists and former republicans, who jointly
insisted in their three diVerent political dialects of Khmer that only liberal democracy
and an end to Vietnamese domination would make it possible for there to be real
progress in Cambodia.
Khmer spoken by elite and masses alike now includes much communist terminology
and even a few republicanisms. The resulting Khmer transcends twentieth-century
political dialects.
It is in this fused Khmer that the CPP dominates the media. After a period following
the UN’s implementation of the Paris Agreements when all political sides freely
published newspapers critical of others, opposition print media have now again
become politically tame and operate under constant threat. In the present climate
where serious political criticism risks repression, freedom of the press has often been a
licence for a bribery-driven gutter journalism, and there is no serious, independent
Khmer-language news periodical. This leaves the Weld open for the pro-CPP tabloid
Reaksamei Kampuchea, which has print runs of almost 20,000 daily.
Printed materials indeed still touch a very limited readership, being much surpassed
by radio and now television. By 2003, television reached 52 per cent of all Cambodians,
radio 38 per cent and newspapers only 9 per cent. As ever, this promotes oral over
written culture, albeit in new ways. In one sense, the main successor to the previous
oral literary tradition is in the lyrics of the booming music market, overwhelmingly
sung in Khmer, although contemporary music is an eclectic mix of traditional melodies
and inXuences from Asia and the West. Well aware of such shifts, the CPP has exercised
tighter control over radio and television than the marginal newspaper sector, and has
its own stable of pop stars. Television channels are entirely or predominantly pro-CPP,
as are radio stations with the greatest range, although a few smaller, privately-owned
or NGO-operated stations air programming critical of the government.
Meanwhile, with heavy foreign funding and involvement, the government has
extended the Sangkum and PRK policies of expanding free basic education in
Khmer, with signiWcant but as yet very incomplete success. Despite recent increases,
per capita public spending on education is well below what is needed to ensure basic
education for all or reach adults who never learned to read or have forgotten
how. Only 36 per cent of the population over 15 years is functionally literate. Of the
remainder, 37 per cent are totally illiterate and 27 per cent are semi-literate. A claimed
70 per cent literacy rate thus masks much lower rates among older Cambodians,
females, poor rural people, upland minorities, and people living in areas where
armed conXict ended relatively recently. Cambodia remains behind – often greatly
behind – almost all the rest of Asia in terms of school-going, literacy, and teaching
professionalism. Figures from 2003 indicate that 80 to 90 per cent of children began
primary school, but at best 20 per cent made it into secondary school and only 8 or 9
per cent Wnished this level. Nevertheless, enrolment is increasing, and government
policy aims at doubling the number of those continuing on to the secondary level by
2008, having all children in primary school by 2015, and reducing adult illiteracy by 50
per cent by the same year. The achievement of these goals may however be diYcult.
Khmer is the medium of state instruction at the primary and secondary levels,
making textbook production the largest sector of Khmer-language publishing, albeit
one very much bankrolled and inXuenced by international personnel, and many
Cambodia 307
textbooks are being translated from foreign works or modelled upon them. Reintro-
duction of English and French as required subjects in the state system – desired by
parents – is foreseen by the government. In the meantime, language schools teaching
English, Chinese, Japanese, French, Thai, and Korean have sprung up everywhere.
A few are subsidized by foreign governments, but most are run by private Cambodian
entrepreneurs. There is also a growing number of private ‘international’ schools
teaching entirely or predominantly in English, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, or French,
catering to foreign youngsters and the children of the Cambodian elite, whose parents
are anxious to send them for further education abroad.
Despite a formal commitment to Khmerization at the tertiary level, use of foreign
languages and reliance on international involvement is even more prevalent at the
educational summit. Foreign governments, UN agencies, and international NGOs
play key roles in curriculum design and even teaching, and many university-level texts
are in English or French. There are now the same number of public secular and
Buddhist universities as in the Sangkum period, plus two public higher education
institutions oVering postgraduate degrees. However, since the government author-
ized private and public–private universities, higher education has been driven largely
by the needs of a market created and dominated by international capital, with highly
mixed results in terms of educational quality. By 2005, thirty-one private universities
had appeared, and the number of higher education students had shot up to 48,729, the
overwhelming majority in private study. There are even more numerous private
‘institutes’, ‘centres’, and ‘colleges’, particularly for business, technical, and computer
courses. However, Cambodian degrees generally do not qualify their holders for
postgraduate study abroad, either in Asia or elsewhere, even though public higher
education requires facility in English or French. Private universities are even more
foreign-language oriented. They have many foreign faculty members and run at least
some and sometimes most courses in English. This is certain to have a signiWcant
impact on the future of higher education, because government plans to have 90,000
students at this level by 2008 foresee that 52,000 will be in private institutions. The
habit of reliance on English for intellectual and professional discourse is likely to be
further enhanced because many training programmes for Cambodians working in
the huge NGO sector are largely or entirely in English.
This is very much related to the limited world of print. Given the paucity of serious
journalism in Khmer, especially on sensitive domestic topics, those in search of
reasonably reliable, unbiased information instead read the English and French press,
while those interested in economic developments rely to a signiWcant extent on the
Chinese publications. These sources are also sought after for international news,
together with BBC and Radio France International, which transmit via FM in English
and French, and television channels from all over the world, available via satellite.
The situation is somewhat diVerent as regards lighter reading, as there is a growing
number of glossy magazines in Khmer with articles on pop stars, cars, and computers
catering to popular urban youth culture and the beginnings of a middle class. They
308 S. Heder
have bigger circulations than newspapers. A new generation of novelists and poets
has also emerged, many publishing their works via newspaper serialization, as well as
in popular magazines and book form. However, the most popular Khmer novels by
far are those written in the colonial and Sangkum periods, in part because of political
limits on what can be published. As for non-Wction and particularly sophisticated
academic writing, such intellectually serious Khmer publishing is in some ways
at a lower ebb than in the early 1960s and early 1970s, and the general lack of
Khmer language publications continues to have severe negative eVects on the Xow
of intellectual knowledge in all Welds, including Cambodian history, politics, and
culture, as most books on these subjects are written by foreign scholars in English
or French and published abroad.
As for translations of foreign texts, with a few recent exceptions, the quality
of translation is poor. The standard of Khmer taught in Cambodia’s schools is now
so low as to be inadequate to equip Cambodians to write Khmer well, much less
translate into it Xuently. Moreover, along with re-feudalization in honour of ‘Sam-
dech’ Hun Sen et al. has come a new avalanche of neologisms translating English
terms, largely coined following historical practice of relying heavily on Pali–Sanskrit
roots and manufactured helter-skelter as Cambodians working for diVerent govern-
ment, UN, NGO, and intergovernmental agencies come up with their own ad hoc
solutions to vexing translation problems. On top of this, the hegemony of English is
such that Khmer syntax is being mangled to conform to English usage. The net eVect
is not only that some translations are practically unintelligible. A new and widening
gap is opening up between the few urban and elite Cambodians who can fathom the
new Khmer and ordinary Cambodians who cannot. This deters them from making
the eVort to read and write books in Khmer and inclines them to read English and
other foreign languages instead (Antelme 2004/5). Under these circumstances, it is
not surprising that the best-selling books in Cambodia are materials for learning and
using English. And despite the shoddiness of translation work, translation of English
books on business and technical subjects is the most active private book production
activity in Cambodia.
It is also not surprising that some Cambodian nationalist intellectuals – surviving
and new – see Cambodia as in cultural crisis, suVering from two great ruptures with
its traditional heritage, that of the post-Angkorian decline and that following 1970
(Ebihara et al. 1994). The fact is, in contemporary Cambodia, the word ‘traditional’ is
often used to refer to practices of the Sihanouk period, with some allusions to those of
earlier periods, above all Angkor. In reality, substantive connections to the pre-1950
period are tenuous, due to a lack of written materials and living memories, and even
thinner to the pre-colonial period.
There is evidence of a dying out of the rich, earthy Khmer vocabulary of country
folk for dealing with their environment (Antelme 2001). The fonts of digitalized Khmer,
popularized via freeware accessed by the computer literate, simplify its orthography in
ways that cut it oV further from its literary past (Antelme 2004/5). In such contemporary
Cambodia 309
works as are being written, there is little reference to the period from 1970 until the end
of the century, almost as if it did not happen. Similarly, with regard to Buddhism,
although there has been a vibrant revival, there has also arguably been an irreparable
institutional and ethical break with colonial and post-colonial religion (Hansen 2003:
109). Some maintain that whereas through the 1960s, a sense of living in a moral
community existed in the minds of many Cambodians, the country is now aZicted by
ethical paralysis, leaving historical virtue a residual phenomenon. It is under assault by
the lures of mindless consumerism, get-rich-quick schemes, rampant corruption, the
drug trade, and the sex industry, all of which corrode a government that is thus
uninterested in seriously supporting Buddhism as a corrective ethical compass. They
note that the traditional Franco-Khmer culture of the colonial period is fast vanishing,
and see a trend according to which anything that is seen as old but not deemed to reXect
the magniWcence of Angkor is considered inferior to the modern (Chy and Prak 2004).
Although culture in the form of Angkor is a huge money-maker for the international and
semi-governmental tourist industries, broader and deeper cultural preservation is starved
for funds (Beng 2003/4). The most pessimistic argue that much of what now passes for
Cambodian culture has ‘no roots, no substance, no spirit’, because an obsession with
money is squelching possibilities for a revival of the creative hybridity of the 1950s and
1960s (Chheng 2001: 112–13).
Nationalist feelings of loss are exacerbated by the return of Chinese-ness and
Vietnamese to the Cambodian scene. Since the 1990s, a massive regeneration of
Chinese cultural identity has been taking place across the country, with the re-
emergence of national, local, and dialect-based Chinese associations, schools, temples,
circulation of Chinese materials from China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Southeast Asia,
and local publication of Chinese newspapers, newsletters, and magazines. This has been
stimulated by an enormous inXux of Chinese capital and the key role played by Beijing as
a backer and bankroller of the Hun Sen regime and is being enhanced by the arrival in
Cambodia of large numbers of Chinese newcomers from China and Taiwan. Surviving
local Chinese and Sino-Khmer have been re-Sinicizing themselves and their children on
an extraordinarily large scale, though this supplements and does not obliterate the
retention of a signiWcant degree of Khmerization resulting from Khmer Republic,
CPK, and People’s Republic policies. The resurgent Chinese-ness therefore has a great
degree of ethno-linguistic hybridity. Cultural interpenetration facilitates love-match and
arranged marriages, especially among the children of the CPP elite and rising Chinese
business and commercial families. Along with all this has also come a resurgence of anti-
Chinese stereotyping, especially among poor Khmer who see the Chinese as part of a
rapacious, aggressive, exploitative, and oppressive juggernaut of power and money.
The contemporary Vietnamese community includes former residents of Cambodia
(and their oVspring) who returned from Vietnam at some point after 1979, many of
whom consider Cambodia their ancestral home and who speak Khmer, plus large
numbers of people with no previous connection to Cambodia, many of whom speak
little Khmer and Xow into Cambodia with CPP collusion. Their presence may be
310 S. Heder
Khmer studies, encourage critical reconsideration of ethnic stereotypes, and tend to call
for making Cambodia not into a Khmeria but a Kampuchea, that is, a culturally plural
society in which non-Khmer are neither assimilated nor transformed into artiWcially
maintained ethno-linguistic museum pieces. In some ways, this seems like a return to
pre-colonial and thus pre-national practices and imaginings of community and in that
sense may be more deeply traditional than twentieth-century eVorts at constructing and
imposing an exclusivist and monolithic Khmer nation. Advocates of persevering in such
eVorts may be Wghting a losing battle, or they may eventually beneWt from a nationalist
backlash arising out of the most recent contradictions inherent in foreign involvement in
remaking Cambodia, including the ways in which it both promotes and marginalizes the
use of Khmer.
14
Indonesia
Andrew Simpson
14.1 Introduction
Indonesia is a developing nation with a massive population of over 200 million people
distributed across a wide, east-west archipelago of many thousands of islands. Having
been formed as a territorial unit only under Dutch colonial rule in fairly recent times,
and being made up of hundreds of diVerent ethnic groups speaking well over 200
distinct languages, Indonesia faced the enormous challenge of building a stable and
coherent nation when it won its independence from the Dutch shortly after the
conclusion of the Second World War. A signiWcant component of twentieth-century
attempts to create an over-arching Indonesian national identity has been the devel-
opment and promotion of a unifying national language which would simultaneously
bind the population together and serve as an eVective tool for use in all oYcial
domains and education, though not necessarily displace the use of other mother
tongues in more informal areas of communication. The results of many decades of
eVort to achieve these goals are commonly acknowledged as having been highly
successful, and have led to the knowledge and acceptance of ‘Indonesian’ as the
national language becoming progressively more widespread in the country, creating
new generations of speakers who employ the language regularly in all formal domains
of life and as a means of inter-ethnic communication, while making use of a second,
regional or minority language for other, informal occurrences of speech. This chapter
considers how the national language Indonesian/Bahasa Indonesia came into
being and has been developed as a shared, modern, sophisticated vehicle of commu-
nication and potential symbol of emerging Indonesian identity, increasingly function-
ing as an important link among the population through the range of challenges and
threats to the stability and unity of the state occurring since independence in 1949. In
order to understand how the national language grew from an earlier pidgin-like
lingua franca and mother tongue of a comparatively small ethnic group, and was
accorded new, national importance and precedence over other prominent languages
such as Javanese and Dutch, the chapter goes back to the origins of Indonesian
in earlier periods and charts how a predecessor form of the language came to acquire
Indonesia 313
the attributes that would later single it out as the nationalists’ uniWed choice for
use as national and oYcial language of Indonesia. Section 14.2 begins with an
overview of the development of the largely divided territory of Indonesia in earlier
times and the rise and fall of regional kingdoms prior to the arrival of the Dutch.
Section 14.3 then describes the gradual uniWcation of modern Indonesia as the
Netherlands East Indies during colonial times, and how language use evolved under
Dutch occupation. Section 14.4 focuses more closely on the early twentieth-century
period of nationalist activity and the issue of selection of a national language for a
future, independent Indonesia. How Indonesia subsequently achieved and managed
independence and set about the process of nation-building is the topic of sections
14.5–7. Finally, section 14.8 considers Indonesia in the present and attempts to assess
how eVective language policy has been both in the establishment of Indonesian
identity and the maintenance of the structure of the country as a uniWed, new,
multi-ethnic nation.
Indonesia
314 A. Simpson
modern-day Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines. From the east, the Wrst arrivals
were Melanesian people. Later on, from around 2000 BC there were large-scale
migrations of Austronesian people moving from southern China via Taiwan down
through the Philippines and into the area of Indonesia and Malaysia, occupying all of
this territory and displacing or absorbing the early Melanesian groups in many of the
places originally settled by the latter. In the current era, it is only the large eastern
island of Papua within Indonesia that still has a clear Melanesian population, and all
Indonesia’s major islands to the west of Papua have for a long time been principally
inhabited and dominated by Austronesian people. The pattern of settlement across the
many islands of the Indonesian archipelago has additionally been uneven, due to
variation in the availability of resources and the suitability of land for agriculture.
The central island of Java, for example, has particularly fertile soil partly due to the
presence of volcanic activity on the island, and though it is smaller in size than certain
other islands in Indonesia (e.g. Sumatra, Borneo), it currently accommodates over
60 per cent of the country’s population, densely packed together. Other islands with
less easily accessible resources and interiors, such as Borneo, have been occupied much
less intensely and may exhibit a much higher degree of ethno-linguistic diversity due
to the separation and sometimes isolation of diVerent ethnic groups. Though
Java houses more than half of the country’s population, it only accounts for 3 per
cent of Indonesia’s languages, and the islands of Papua and Maluku with only 2 per cent
of the national population hold 54 per cent of its total languages (Emmerson 2005: 23).
The languages spoken by the majority Austronesian peoples of Indonesia are mem-
bers of the Malayo-Polynesian branch of Austronesian which also includes languages
such as Tagalog, Hawaiian, and Malagasy. The Austronesian settlers themselves in
Indonesia and Malaysia are sometimes referred to with the broad ethnic term ‘Malay’,
and the area they inhabit (including the Philippines) as the Malay archipelago. This use
of the term Malay is potentially confusing, as ‘Malay’ also has a more restricted use
picking out a particular ethnic group which for much of its history has occupied eastern
parts of the island of Sumatra and the southern part of today’s Malaysia, speaking the
language commonly known as Malay. In order to avoid the occurrence of misunder-
standing, this chapter will only make use of the word ‘Malay’ in its more restricted
designation, referring to the speciWc ethnic group of Malays in eastern Sumatra and its
environs and the language which arose from this group, which in modiWed form would
eventually become the national language of both Indonesia and Malaysia.1
Having settled in coastal and inland areas of the Indonesian islands, by the seventh
century ad various groups of Austronesians had organized themselves in larger
social and economic structures and began to develop both maritime trading states
and kingdoms based on the control of resources in the interiors of the more
penetrable islands such as Java. The most signiWcant of the former, coastal states
1
For interesting discussion of the diVerent reference values of the term ‘Malay’, see Asmah Haji Omar
(2005).
Indonesia 315
of Malacca on the Malaysian peninsula), and the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
saw the thriving production of literature inXuenced by Islam in a high variety of Malay
referred to as Classical Malay, the language of the court and regional correspondence
and diplomacy (Moeliono 1986: 51).
Meanwhile, further east in the archipelago, incursions from Europeans seeking
direct access to the spice trade became progressively more serious and would eventu-
ally lead to a transformation of life and adaptation of traditional power structures.
from 40,000 in 1882 to 150,000 in 1900 and then to 265,000 in 1907 (Cribb and Brown
1995: 103–8). Such an increase nevertheless still left the Indies much behind other
Asian colonies in its provision of education for the masses, and only a very small
proportion of indigenous families succeeded in securing places at schools for their
children (Moeliono 1986: 37). In terms of medium of education, there were regular
disagreements among the Dutch at the turn of the century as to whether Dutch,
Malay, or other local languages should be used in the schooling of indigenous
students. Some, including the director of the Department of Education from
1900 to 1905 J. H. Abendanon wanted to spread Western education in Dutch
among the indigenous inhabitants of the Indies as a means to establish a larger
educated elite that would be culturally more oriented towards Europe and more
compliant and loyal to Dutch rule (it was hoped), taking over much of the routine
work of the civil service and reducing the numbers of Dutch necessary for the
administration of the colony (Ricklefs 2001). Others, including the governor general
of the time, thought that local languages should be the vehicle of an increase in basic
education. Ultimately neither approach was extensively developed due to a critical
lack of funds and the presence of a huge indigenous population. However, in 1891
Abendanon was able to open up entrance to Dutch-medium lower schools to selected
children of lower-income families, and thus expand the range of the indigenous youth
that would receive its schooling in Dutch and the resulting possibility to continue on
to secondary and tertiary education, where knowledge of Dutch was necessary.
Previously only the children of the indigenous traditional aristocracy had been
able to aVord the high costs of such education, but now the higher-level Dutch-
medium schools received a certain (still quite restricted) number of promising
students from other socio-economic backgrounds (Ricklefs 2001: 200). In order to
prevent any potential over-crowding of the European schools with their attraction of
the teaching of instrumentally useful Dutch, Dutch was also introduced Wrst as a
subject and then, from 1914, as a medium of education in other non-European
primary schools. University-level institutions of tertiary education were additionally
established in the Indies allowing for an increased number of indigenous students to
continue with their education, in Dutch, after the secondary level. For the great
majority of the young population, however, there was no chance of education, and
even well into the twentieth century in 1930 only 8 per cent of those of school-going
age actually attended some form of schooling (Dardjowidjojo 1998: 46). For a sign-
iWcant proportion of those who did gain access to education, this was furthermore
provided via either Malay or a local language, and knowledge of Dutch continued to
remain considerably restricted among the population at large.
Outside the domain of education, the Wnal decades of the nineteenth century
saw the beginnings of a new growth in popular Malay language literature (Oetomo
1984: 286). Much of this was written in a colloquial form of the language, ‘Low
Malay’, rather than the High Malay that had previously been used for the creation
of religious and other classical Malay literature, and was aimed at a broad new
Indonesia 319
readership spread throughout the archipelago. For the Wrst time, Malay was also
written with Roman characters, though in rather inconsistent ways, and used
to produce contemporary stories as well as translations of classical Chinese texts,
made available in aVordable forms to all sections of society, with the result that
literature and reading no longer remained the preserve of just an aristocratic elite
(Robson 2001: 28).
As the Netherlands Indies reached the twentieth century, the ingredients for
important future changes were beginning to be assembled. First of all, though
the educational lot of the majority of the indigenous population had not been
advanced to a signiWcant degree, for a fortunate few from regular, non-aristocratic
walks of life there was now a new opportunity to gain access to higher education
through the learning of Dutch and to attend tertiary institutions of education
conferring university-level qualiWcations either within the Indies itself or, for some,
in Europe in the various cities of the Netherlands. This process formed a new, young,
indigenous elite exposed to Western liberal ideas and ways of thinking, with
high expectations of winning equality of treatment and suitable compensation for
its high level of educational achievement. When such expectations were subsequently
not satisWed and the new generation of graduates found that they were often held back
in their careers and not allowed to accede to higher level positions, reserved as before
by the Dutch for themselves, heavy frustration and resentment set in, leading to the
organization of political resistance to the Dutch and the advent of a nationalist
movement. Second, amongst the wide variety of languages and ethnic groups
present in the archipelago and rather artiWcially assembled as a single administrative
entity by the Dutch, a single language which had already functioned as a lingua franca
along coastal areas for many centuries was becoming understood and regularly
used by an increasing proportion of the population through its use as a common
medium of education in small expansions of lower-level education and growth in
the publishing of popular literature. This language, Malay, and the new nationalists-to-
be would soon come together in an obvious partnership as opposition to Dutch
rule became more conWdent and vocal in the twentieth century.
the communist party Wrst organized strikes and then open revolt on Java in 1926 and in
Sumatra in 1927 (Cribb and Brown 1995: 122). The Dutch moved quickly to contain the
disturbances and suppressed the communist party with the arrest of 13,000 of its
members, signalling clearly that disruptive, anti-government incitement of the masses
would not be tolerated by the Dutch.
As the beginnings of a much splintered and unco-ordinated nationalism experi-
enced its ups and downs during the Wrst quarter of the twentieth century, the presence
of the Malay language in the Indies archipelago was becoming more robust, with
further signiWcant progress being made particularly in the domain of the written
word. In 1901 a new well-designed Romanized spelling system for Malay was pro-
posed by a Dutchman, Charles van Ophuijsen, as part of a broader grammatical
description of the language. This was subsequently made use of in the production of
new Malay literature sponsored by the colonial government through its Commissie
voor de Inlandsche School- en Volkslectuur (‘Commission for the Literature of Native
Schools and Popular Literature’), established in 1908. The Commission was set up in
order to direct the creation and publication of writings in Malay (and also certain
other regional languages) to ideologically acceptable, non-subversive topics, as a
means to provide alternative Malay reading material to the many new anti-colonial
Malay publications circulating in the territory. In 1917 the Commission was renamed
the Balai Pustaka (‘Literature OYce’) and kept up a steady and important output of
Malay translations of Western novels by authors such as Mark Twain, Jules Verne, and
Rudyard Kipling (Abas 1987: 117), the publication of well-known stories and classical
works of literature from the Indies archipelago itself, and, perhaps most signiWcantly,
new works in Malay focused on contemporary themes and problems of daily life in an
evolving new society. It is widely recognized that the genesis and successful spread of
the modern Indonesian novel was most probably due to the sponsorship of the Balai
Pustaka and its establishment of libraries where the public could access new reading
materials in Romanized Malay (Ricklefs 2001: 233). Malay language newspapers also
experienced a major pattern of growth in the Wrst quarter of the twentieth century,
with a rise from the production of just over thirty diVerent papers at the turn of the
century to about 200 by 1925 (Cribb and Brown 1995). Finally, various of the new
political organizations and pressure groups that came into being during this time
(amongst which Budi Utomo and Sarekat Islam) adopted Malay as their working and
oYcial languages, increasing the status and occurrence of Malay in the domain of
activist discourse.
Just as it may have seemed that these organizations were however pulling them-
selves rather disastrously in diVerent directions and failing to generate a united
nationalist movement that could win concessions from the Dutch and also make
progress towards the conceptualization of a new post-colonial nation, a dynamic
young new leader emerged on the scene, and within a fairly short period of time
managed to unite the various nationalist groups in a pan-ethnic coalition focused
directly on achieving independence. Later to become the Wrst president of the
322 A. Simpson
First: We the sons and daughters of Indonesia acknowledge that we have one birthplace,
the Land of Indonesia. (Tanah Air Indonesia)
Second: We the sons and daughters of Indonesia acknowledge that we belong to one
people, the People of Indonesia (Bangsa Indonesia)
Third: We the sons and daughters of Indonesia uphold the language of unity, the
Language of Indonesia (i.e. Indonesian) (Bahasa Indonesia)
(Pledge of the Youth, translated by Cumming 1991: 13)
The central assertion of the pledge ‘One nation, one people, one language’ was set to
become widely invoked, ‘almost like a mantra’ (Emmerson 2005: 17), and established
the Indonesian language as one of the signature properties of the nation and a
language that all Indonesians should learn and give their support to as members of
the nation. Importantly, the commitment to Indonesian as a unifying national lan-
guage did not bring with it any suggestion that other indigenous languages be
displaced from common use among their associated ethnic groups and somehow
fully replaced by Indonesian. Rather, the nationalists saw the acquisition and use of
Indonesian as a targeted expansion and enrichment of many individuals’ existing
linguistic repertoires added on to their knowledge of Javanese, Balinese, Buginese,
etc., and that Indonesian would be a language that would allow the many ethnic
groups in Indonesia to communicate more eVectively with each other and grow
together as a single people, sharing and evolving a new national identity.
The decision by the nationalist movement to select Malay rather than any
other language for promotion and development as the (potential) future national
language of Indonesia was motivated by a number of very sound reasons which have
been well described and discussed in the literature. First of all, as has been noted in
earlier sections, Malay was widely known in much of the archipelago, though in
diVerent ways and formats. It was the Wrst language of a proportionately small but
nevertheless still sizeable ethnic group living in Sumatra (and also north of Sumatra in
British Malaya). It was more extensively distributed along coastal areas as a simpliWed
lingua franca due to hundreds of years of trading activities and the dissemination of
Islam. Finally, the language had been introduced in schools as the medium of
education in many parts of the territory of Indonesia, used in government adminis-
tration, and more recently reinforced in its global presence in Indonesia through a
signiWcant rise in publications in the language. Thanks to this widespread knowledge
of Malay, however basic in certain instances, it had the clear potential to be used fairly
immediately and eVectively for the spread of nationalist propaganda and the building
up of a united population. A second major advantage enjoyed by Malay as a potential
national language of Indonesia was that the proportionately small size of the Malay
ethnic group in Sumatra – when compared with the rest of the population of the
Indies/Indonesia – meant that adoption of Malay as the national language would not
appear to confer unfair native language advantages on any major, numerically dom-
inant ethnic group in the archipelago. In this regard, Malay appeared to be a far better
and fairer choice for promotion as a common language representative of all the
324 A. Simpson
Indonesian people than another possible candidate that was also an indigenous
language – Javanese. Javanese was the mother tongue of approximately 45 per cent
of the total population and hence very well known by almost half of all Indonesians,
located in the very central core of the territory. It also enjoyed much prestige from the
existence of a long tradition of literature. However, the selection of Javanese as the
‘language of Indonesia’ would most probably have been disastrous for the future of
the nation, according a hugely unfair linguistic advantage to a particular ethnic group
(which was furthermore already dominant in certain other ways), and would have
generated feelings among other groups of being encouraged to assimilate to a
Javanese rather than a new, all-Indonesian identity. There were also practical linguistic
reasons why the selection of Javanese as the language of Indonesia would have been
unwise. Javanese is a language which makes use of a complex system of deference and
honoriWc marking which is diYcult for outsiders to master well (hence the Dutch
abandoned their eVorts to learn the language in the nineteenth century, as noted in
section 14.3), thus decreasing its suitability for use as the second language of other
groups. In strong contrast to this, a third pair of reasons why Malay appeared very
suitable for development as the Indonesian nation’s common language was that it
was: (a) felt to be an easy language to learn, and (b) a language that does not encode
social hierarchical relations in any marked or complex way, or emphasize other
specialized aspects of culture that might not be compatible with a wide population
composed of diVerent ethnic groups. Because of the latter properties, Malay seemed
particularly attractive to the nationalists, who were inspired by ideas of democracy,
equality, and modernity (Brown 2003: 107). Due to the perceived neutrality of the
language, it was also felt that people could make use of the language as they wished
and even shape its future character (B. Anderson 1990: 140). Finally, it should be noted
that although many of the educated nationalists knew and used Dutch in conversation
with each other, Dutch was never considered a potential choice for development
as the representative, common language of the Indonesian nation, for the simple
reasons that it was not an indigenous language (hence would not be broadly symbolic
of languages of the indigenous inhabitants of the archipelago, unlike Malay,
an Austronesian language, which could perform this function), it was negatively
associated with the colonial rulers of Indonesia, and was known by only a very small
percentage of the total population. As an Indo-European language it was also not
as easy to learn for speakers of Austronesian languages as another Austronesian
language, such as Malay. Unlike various other countries in Asia such as India, Malaysia,
and the Philippines, in Indonesia the colonial language therefore was never
considered to be a serious contender for widespread post-independence use.
If one now asks which of the various incarnations of Malay in use within the
archipelago was to become the national language and be oYcially credited as its
source, the answer is in fact still not fully clear. The nationalists themselves are
commonly described as speaking a form of Low Malay in the 1920s (Cumming
1991: 15), which was also the language of many new novels and other publications,
Indonesia 325
though not those of the inXuential Balai Pustaka, which were in High Malay,
elsewhere the language of Islam. Other forms of Malay noted to exist were the service
Malay used in government administration, school Malay spread in education, and
‘working Malay’, increasingly used as a lingua franca in towns and ports with mixed
populations (Errington 1998). Often it is suggested that the roots of modern
Indonesian lie in Riau Malay, the language of the Malay ethnic group in eastern
Sumatra. However, (current) Riau Malay and modern standard Indonesian exhibit
various clear diVerences, and there is no complete correspondence between the two
forms of language. Most probably, Bahasa Indonesia evolved (and was sometimes
deliberately moulded, more so in later years) from a variety of forms, developing
into a hybrid, dynamic mixture of the range of diVerent varieties of Malay
present in Indonesia (Robson 2001: 32). This process of evolution was set to take
many more decades, however, before any clearly identiWable standard would be
arrived at, as the people of Indonesia experienced a challenging sequence of upheavals,
foreign occupation, war, independence, and domestic insurrection threatening the
integrity of the nation.
In the late 1920s, though, the Indonesian nationalist movement was at its height,
with an energized leadership and an optimistic following all focused on the creation
of a new national entity. The consensus of opinion had been reached that the
new nation should be built as a composite of all the diVerent ethno-linguistic
groups present in the territory assembled by the Dutch as the Netherlands Indies,
that Indonesian national identity should not be based on any notion of existing
ethnicity but rather shared cohabitation of the land of Indonesia, and that it should
have the Indonesian language at its core as an important link and symbol of unity
among the population.
Just a few years after this buoyant expression of conWdence in an independent
future, however, the nationalist movement unexpectedly suVered a major collapse
and quickly went into a dramatic decline. The major initial trigger for this was the
arrest and imprisonment of Sukarno in 1929, which robbed the movement of its most
charismatic leader and major source of direction. Following this, in 1931–2 worldwide
Wnancial depression hit Indonesia creating widespread misery and despair, and was
accompanied by a signiWcant increase in Dutch authoritarian control over political
activities to prevent the nationalists from making use of public discontent to mobilize
the masses (Ricklefs 2001: 236–7). After release from his Wrst, shorter period of
detention, Sukarno was again arrested in 1933 and imprisoned until the 1940s, as
were many other nationalist leaders, causing the nationalist movement to largely
implode amid deep, general discouragement, heightened by the observation of a clear
change in Dutch attitude towards the indigenous people – replacing the earlier
liberalism of the turn of the century was a new racial determinism and a dismissal
of the ‘inlanders’ as being so essentially diVerent from Europeans that no amount of
education and modernization would be able to bridge the gap between the native
population and their colonial rulers (Ricklefs 2001: 230).
326 A. Simpson
What remained of the nationalist movement after its crash in the early 1930s,
tolerated by the Dutch, was a number of moderate ‘co-operative’ nationalists who
were permitted to join the sessions of the Volksraad (People’s Council), oVer
their input to discussions of governmental policies and public expenditure and
occasionally present petitions requesting change (Drakely 2005: 66–8). Most of the
latter, including a petition for the recognition and use of the term ‘Indonesian’ in place
of ‘inlander’ to refer to indigenous people, were not granted (Brown 2003: 137), and
even the most optimistic among the nationalists had doubts that they would be able
to eVect any signiWcant change, let alone achieve independence. The Dutch seemed
to be intent on remaining in the Indies, and in full control of their sizeable colony, for
all of the foreseeable future.
Meanwhile, Malay/Indonesian continued to spread throughout the territory.
Newspaper production increased to the level of 400 diVerent papers in the late
1930s (Ricklefs 2001: 231), and literature produced in the language carried on adding
character and shape to an emerging, shared identity of those who jointly suVered
the frustrations of Dutch colonial rule throughout the islands of the Indies. In 1933 a
new and important literary journal came into production – the Pujangga Baru (New
Poet) – and the Balai Pustaka maintained its important output of high quality new
novels written in Malay/Indonesian (Abas 1987: 38–9).
What was needed for the budding idea of an Indonesian nation to really take a
hold of the population, however, was independence and the chance to develop ties
among the diVerent indigenous peoples living in the archipelago without the con-
straints imposed by the presence of the Dutch. In the mid-1930s the possibility that
the Dutch would somehow disappear from the Indies seemed to be highly unlikely
and to many almost unimaginable. The invasion of the Indies and rapid removal of
the Dutch by the Japanese army in 1942 therefore came as a considerable shock to
both the Dutch and the indigenous population, and opened the way for major
changes in the territory.
Japanese expansion in Southeast Asia. Initial positive attitudes to the arrival of the
Japanese therefore quickly changed to feelings of oppression and abuse instigated
by the Japanese push to extract the mineral and agricultural wealth of Indonesia
for the support of its military and naval campaign in the PaciWc and mainland Asia.
Concerning language policy, the Japanese made the signiWcant move of completely
banning the use of Dutch, both in public domains and also in private (Brown
2003: 141). The long-term aim of the Japanese was that Indonesians would learn
and use Japanese, and they accordingly introduced the teaching of Japanese in
schools and colleges of higher education (Moeliono 1986: 37), alongside a programme
of ‘cultural Japanization’ to attempt to inculcate positive attitudes and loyalty
towards Japanese rule (Cribb and Brown 1995: 15). However, it was also clear to the
Japanese that adequate mastery of the Japanese language for use in administration and
other formal domains would take several years to acquire, and having removed Dutch
from its occurrence and use in the civil service (especially in written communica-
tions), in higher education and in many previously Dutch-medium schools, there
was a pressing need for some other language to now substitute for Dutch in all these
areas of Indies life. The natural and fully global choice made by the Japanese was
Malay (which they continuously declined to call Indonesian until 1945 and the end of
their occupation of the Indies).2 Malay/Indonesian therefore came to be required
overnight in a wide range of domains where it had not previously been used, causing
an immediate and very signiWcant need for new Malay words to express technical,
administrative, and educational concepts where these did not already exist, and for
the rapid writing (or translation) of new textbooks in Malay for use in higher
education. Abas (1987: 42) comments that this sudden mandatory switch to Malay/
Indonesian came as a considerable shock to those directly aVected in education and
the civil service, and had more of a revolutionary, immediate eVect on people’s
language use than the later declaration of Indonesian as the national/oYcial language
of Indonesia in 1945. Abas (1987: 43) also notes that the resulting spread of Malay, used
by the Japanese in interactions with local people throughout the archipelago and
increasingly by Indonesians themselves in formal areas of life, caused a clear strength-
ening of shared Indonesian identity: ‘As the war continued, and the number of
Indonesians speaking Indonesian rose, a feeling of mutual solidarity took deeper
and stronger roots. Indonesian became a symbol of Indonesian unity in the real
sense of the word.’
The four years of Japanese control of the Indies was therefore linguistically a
frenetic period in which government and educational organizations scrabbled to
cope with the need to carry out all of their tasks and communication in Malay,
and the language underwent a rapid but not uniformly guided expansion of its
2
Kuipers (1998: 136) notes that textbooks designed by missionaries for the teaching of local languages
in schools were destroyed by the Japanese, who told people that the use of local languages in education
was part of a deliberate divide-and-rule strategy of the Dutch. Malay was then enforced everywhere as the
medium of education.
328 A. Simpson
vocabulary, coined wherever necessary on a daily basis with some attempt at co-
ordination from a central commission on language, but ultimately involving much
independent linguistic invention which would have to be brought into line in later
years, when the expansion of Indonesian continued. The shared experience of
hardships under the Japanese from 1942 to 1945 also gave those in the Indies an
increasing feeling of being connected to each other and belonging to a single
repressed people, reinforcing inter-ethnic connections that had been initiated by
Dutch formation of the Indies as a single entity. Coupled with the conWdence
gained from having seen how quickly the Dutch had been defeated by the Japanese
military, and four years of successful indigenous management of all levels of the
administration of the Indies, this would give the Indonesians the boldness of spirit
to declare independence in 1945 as the Japanese surrendered to the Allies, and to
Wght for this independence further when the Dutch returned to claim back owner-
ship of their pre-war colony.
as a means to strengthen unity among the people of Indonesia, and the concept
of ‘revolution’ was now added in as an important aspect of nationalist propaganda –
revolution here referring to the co-operation that had resulted in Indonesia being ‘the
Wrst Asian nation to proclaim its independence, and the Wrst to successfully defend that
independence in the face of armed resistance by the former colonial power’ (Brown
2003: 169). Indonesians became intensely proud of the fact that they had achieved their
independence through armed struggle against a Western power, and emphasis on the
need for sustained revolution and all-Indonesian co-operation against both external
and internal forces opposed to the continued unity of the country was regularly
invoked by Sukarno as a way to stimulate the integrity of the nation, and also distract
attention from the poor state of the economy. As part of Sukarno’s vigorous new
deWance of forces perceived to be hostile to Indonesia, Western New Guinea (renamed
Irian Jaya in 1962) was retrieved from the control of the Dutch, who had managed to
retain the territory in 1949, and ‘confrontation’ was initiated against Malaysia, disput-
ing the automatic inclusion of the territories of Sarawak and Sabah on Borneo in the
formation of the independent new state in 1962, and leading to low-level military
action in Borneo.
Concerning the development of language in the immediate post-independence
years, in 1945 Indonesian had been declared the language of the new state and
came to be used extensively in formal public activities and all political and adminis-
trative communications addressed to the nation as a whole. Dutch did not reappear in
these or other formal domains after its dismissal by the Japanese in 1942, and Indonesia
consequently had a diVerent experience of post-independence linguistic development
from other countries in Asia where former colonial languages were retained after
independence for potential use in government and administration, this absence of
an oYcial European language in Indonesia arguably simplifying the development of
the national language in various respects (Abas 1987: 141).
In this there was indeed still much work to be done by language committees set up by
the government, with a continued need for both the development of technical vocabu-
lary in Indonesian, and agreement on which of many competing terms, often from
diVerent regions of the country, should be used for items of more everyday life in
the standard language. In 1949 a long-prepared grammatical description of Indonesian
was Wnally published by the linguist S. T. Alisjahbana, modelled on the contemporary
speech of twenty prominent, respected speakers, and remained the most inXuential
grammar of the language for a further twenty years (Abas 1987: 112).
In the area of education, Indonesian was widely used at both primary and second-
ary levels, though use of a regional language as medium of instruction was also
permitted for the Wrst three years in primary schools in areas with uniform ethnic
populations. This practical concession to early schooling through the mother tongue
was fully in line with general policy towards the continued use and support of
regional languages established in the constitution of 1945, which records that all the
330 A. Simpson
indigenous languages of Indonesia have a right to existence and development and are
considered assets of the nation (Dardjowidjojo 1998: 44).
No similar guarantees of protection and positive valuation were given to the non-
indigenous minority language Chinese, however, spoken by a sizeable population
distributed throughout the archipelago. In 1957, as worries about regional rebellions
triggered the nationwide introduction of martial law, the loyalty of Indonesia’s
Chinese population also came under question and resulted in sharper controls on
Chinese schools including a new requirement that teaching staV be proWcient in
Indonesian and that Indonesian and Indonesian geography and history be taught in
all Chinese-medium schools (Oetomo 1984: 388). As a consequence of the new
regulations, the nationwide enrolment of 425,000 students in Chinese schools in
1957 quickly dropped to 150,000 and further still in 1958 as more regional unrest
occurred (Suryadinata 2005: 137). In 1958 it was furthermore announced that news-
papers could only publish in either Roman or Arabic script, causing the closure of
all Chinese newspapers until 1963, when the restriction was lifted by the government.
Before long, heavy government control over Chinese language activities would
again be imposed as a reaction to political events in Indonesia. However, this time it
would come as part of a major upheaval aVecting all of the nation’s population and
leading to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Indonesians throughout the
country.
Indonesia, and ethnic Chinese within the country were encouraged to assimilate and
declare their loyalty to the Indonesian nation. Chinese-medium schools were univer-
sally shut down by the government along with all Chinese-language newspapers, with
the exception of the government-controlled Yindunixiya Ribao (Indonesian Daily
News) (Suryadinata 2005: 36). New regulations additionally outlawed the use of
Chinese in both written and spoken form in the economy, book-keeping, and tele-
communications, Chinese language being linked to communist threats to national
security (Oetomo 1984: 392–5). Finally, restrictions on the occurrence of written
Chinese during New Order Indonesia were further increased in 1978 with the whole-
sale banning of the import of publications in Chinese.
Three decades of authoritarian rule under Suharto ultimately came to an abrupt
end in the late 1990s, occasioned by the Asian Wnancial crisis which hit Indonesia
particularly hard in 1997. As the currency plummeted from 2,000 rupiah to the dollar
to 10,000 to the dollar and prices of everyday commodities rocketed, severe austerity
measures had to be agreed with the IMF in order to attempt to restore order to the
economy. Increasingly a major part of the blame for the widely experienced hardships
was placed on Suharto and his regime, which had long been known to be highly corrupt.
While the enrichment of those close to Suharto had been overlooked by most during
the country’s sustained economic growth, the middle and lower classes were now
suVering badly and learned that the corruption of the Suharto regime was a principal
reason why foreign investment came to be so quickly withdrawn from the country,
causing the collapse of the economy. Following widespread public demonstrations and
the outbreak of civil unrest, Suharto resigned as president in 1998, bringing the New
Order to a close and opening the way for a new era of democracy and public discus-
sion for the Wrst time free from censorship and heavy government control.
has successfully hung together throughout its nearly sixty years of independent
existence and is perhaps more striking as a multi-ethnic country for the comparative
absence of more signiWcant and disastrous ethnic disturbances within its borders.3
Much credit for the instrumental nurturing and reinforcement of feelings of
belonging to an Indonesian nation must go to the binding presence of the national
language in many important domains of everyday life in Indonesia. Bahasa Indonesia
is now the language of business, government administration, education at all levels,
political debate, most of Indonesia’s television, cinema, and newspapers, and is also
widely used for inter-ethnic communication. Notwithstanding its widespread know-
ledge and use in modern Indonesia, for the vast majority of the population Indonesian
is nevertheless still acquired as a second language in school, and some other regional
language is commonly learned before Indonesian and regularly used in the home,
with family, friends, and members of the local community. Only in eastern Sumatra
and in certain large cities does Indonesian occur as the mother tongue and household
language of speakers, the combined numbers of these native speakers making
up approximately just 10 per cent of the population (Ethnologue 2006).4 Indonesian
has consequently not displaced the regional languages of diVerent ethnic groups from
their use in informal domains, and there has never been any attempt to impose
the national language on speakers in their private life and everyday informal com-
munication. Indonesian has instead been promoted as an addition to individuals’
linguistic repertoires to enhance their access to education, government, broader
employment and business opportunities, and the general modernization of the
country as this has expanded in the hands of the Indonesians themselves. Such a
deliberate hands-oV approach, not attempting to interfere with the use of local
languages in traditional and more informal areas of interaction, is commonly seen
as one of the principal reasons why there has been such successful widespread
acceptance and adoption of Indonesian as the national language (Bertrand 2003;
Emmerson 2005). Indonesian and regional languages are not in any confrontation
with each other and do not compete for use in the same areas of life, but exist in a
generally stable complementarity of distribution. The broad archipelago-wide spread
of the national language during the last six decades has, because of this pattern of
complementary distribution, not triggered any major negative reactions from the
indigenous population – no linguistic riots or cries of oppression through the impos-
ition of language.5 Emmerson (2005: 28) remarks that: ‘Fortunately for Indonesian
3
This chapter does not include coverage of the separation of East Timor from Indonesia in 2002,
following a vote on independence which took place in 1999. For useful discussion of the role of language
as a symbol of resistance and the violence which accompanied the departure of East Timor from
Indonesia, see Bertrand (2003).
4
<http://www.ethnologue.com/show_country.asp?name¼Indonesia>.
5
As noted in previous sections, the Chinese community in Indonesia has suVered the repression of its
language in the areas of education, the media, and commerce, with the forced use of Indonesian in these
areas by default. At the present time, however, there is a renewed presence of Chinese language in
Indonesia, with Chinese publications, television, radio, and language schools appearing and being
tolerated again (Drakely 2005: 168).
334 A. Simpson
unity, over the rest of the century the national language was publicized but not
privatized, and thus remained distinctively national.’ In Indonesia today, the regional
languages therefore remain very much alive and have positive associations for their
speakers, being the languages of intimacy, local culture, and regional pride.6 They
may also inXuence the form of Indonesian produced in diVerent areas, and standard
Indonesian as codiWed and taught in schools is often adapted and blended with
properties of local languages when used in everyday speech.
Bahasa Indonesia has been able to reach its present position as the primary
language of national-level and formal activities so eVectively not only because this
ascendance has not harmed the use of the regional languages but also because
Indonesian faced no threat from the continued presence of a colonial language
following independence. As noted in sections 14.5 and 14.6, Dutch was banned
from use by the Japanese in 1942 and did not come back into use during the four
years of conXict with the Dutch from 1945 to 1949. When full, internationally
recognized independence was achieved in 1949, Dutch remained absent, and attempts
to construct an Indonesian nation began without the shadow of a colonial language
maintained as an oYcial language, potentially tempting people away from use of
the national language in formal domains. The sudden, forced discontinuation of
the use of Dutch in 1942 was furthermore managed without catastrophe as know-
ledge of Dutch was not as widely spread in Indonesia as the occurrence of English or
French in various other Asian colonies. The ‘useful’ absence of Dutch from 1942
onwards therefore obliged Indonesian to grow into an oYcial–national language
which could be used in all domains of national life and was accepted by all as the
only obvious candidate for such a role. Currently, Indonesia is still a country without
the signiWcant presence of any Western language, and neither Dutch nor English nor
French is well known among the general population or the more educated elite. This
continued absence of a sophisticated competitor to the national language is clearly
beneWcial for the position and prestige of Indonesian as the language through which
modernity is accessed and development achieved, though it has also been noted that
the lack of a suYcient knowledge of English among those in higher education
impedes their understanding and use of new materials published in English on science
and technology (Dardjowidjojo 1998: 45).
Fully established and dominant as the language in which all formal communica-
tions are eVected in the country, Indonesian has also become positively valued as the
primary shared component of the country’s emerging national identity. Heryanto
(1995: 40) notes that Indonesian is the most clearly deWned and regularly experienced
aspect of Indonesian national culture, adding that: ‘The Indonesian elite repeatedly
6
Although Indonesian is often used as a vehicle of inter-ethnic communication, when knowledge of a
single regional language is shared between speakers of diVerent ethnic groups, it has been observed that
the regional language rather than Indonesian may be preferred for use in informal contexts, expressing
greater potential warmth and closeness than the national language, which is still more clearly connected
with formal domains of life (Goebel 2002).
Indonesia 335
take pride in saying that their nation is unique and superior to other formerly
colonised, multi-ethnic, and multilingual communities in respect of the attainment
and consensual acceptance of a non-European language as a national language.’ As a
symbol of distinctly Indonesian national identity, Bahasa Indonesia is also signiWcantly
felt to be diVerent from neighbouring Bahasa Malaysia/Malaysian and Singaporean
Malay (Moeliono 1986: 67). Though Indonesian and Malaysian are mutually intelli-
gible, and diVer largely only in the occurrence of more Dutch and Javanese loanwords
in the former as opposed to more English loans in the latter, along with certain
diVerences in pronunciation, the perception among Indonesians that Indonesian is
a diVerent language from Malaysian and hence nationally distinctive is certainly
important for its symbolic role in supporting a national identity, in a way that is
similar to perceptions held among Urdu and Hindi speakers in Pakistan and India of
their respective varieties as diVerent languages. The fact that Bahasa Malaysia was
established and developed as a national language later than Indonesian may have
helped in the creation of this perception in Indonesia, with Indonesian even felt to
have exerted certain inXuence over the development of Bahasa Malaysia (for example,
in the area of the building of new styles of modern literature).
In general then, and particularly when viewed against the multi-ethnic, multi-
lingual background present in Indonesia, Bahasa Indonesia has done exceedingly
well in establishing itself as an ethnically neutral, fully modernized, indigenous new
national language which is felt to be distinctive and well able to function in all
domains of life without the need for a European language in an oYcial supporting
role. Given that this national development of Indonesian has come about with-
out inciting conXict or serious contention and that the language has helped in a
considerable way in the kindling of feelings of an all-Indonesian identity without
stiXing the enjoyment of regional linguistic culture, Indonesian can most probably
be said to have fulWlled all the goals that might have realistically been imagined for it
back in the 1920s, though the challenging goal of nation-building as a whole in
Indonesia is still very much a process with a lot remaining to achieve.
What of the future? Concerning the evolving shape of Indonesian itself, there are
two clear pressures on the language at the current time, inXuencing its development
mostly in the area of vocabulary – Javanese and the Jakarta dialect (of Malay/
Indonesian). The capital of Indonesia is considerably prominent in the way that
modern culture from Jakarta becomes a model for many elsewhere in the archipelago,
seen in television and cinema, and then adopted by young people in particular in
other cities and regions of Indonesia. Where aspects of the Jakartan dialect occur
frequently repeated in the speech of television and Wlm stars, these may become part
of common, more widely spoken Indonesian and direct its development in the same
way that the increased borrowing of Javanese words into the speech of various
important public Wgures might seem to some to threaten its neutral character.
There are censures and checks on this spontaneous incorporation of new words
into Indonesian, however, as when President Megawati Sukarnoputri was publicly
336 A. Simpson
15.1 Introduction
The two Muslim nations of Malaysia and Brunei have many similarities in their
demographic, linguistic, and socio-cultural traits and have undergone processes of
change and development in the course of their history of civilization which appear to
be related to or a reXection of one another. With this background, they appeared to
have a similar ethos in their Wght for nationalism and independence from British rule,
and thence in their eVort towards building a modern nation-state.
Malaysia consists of two geographical territories, separated from each other by 400
miles of South China Sea: one is Peninsular Malaysia and the islands to its east and
west, and the other comprises Sabah and Sarawak situated on Borneo Island, and the
islands along their coasts. The total land area is 329,749 square kilometres, or 127,316
square miles. The population of 25 million consists of 62 per cent indigenous people,
24 per cent Chinese, 7 per cent Indian, and the remaining are those who are non-
citizens from the neighbouring countries as well as from other parts of the world. Of
the indigenous people 58 per cent are Malays, and the rest belong to more than Wfty
ethno-linguistic groups which are closely related to the Malays in terms of language
and primordial culture. In the indigenous group, according to the national census,
are also those of Portuguese descent who have been in Malaysia, speciWcally Melaka,
since 1511, as well as the Thais, known as Siamese, who live in the northern states of
Perlis, Kedah, and Kelantan, bordering Thailand. The Chinese belong to a number of
dialect groups with Hokkien, Khek, and Cantonese being in the majority, while the
others are Teochew, Hokchiu, Hainanese, and Kwongsai, and a few smaller groups. As
for the Indians, they include not only the northern and the southern Indians but also
the Pakistanis, the Bangladeshis, and the Sri Lankans, showing a higher level of
heterogeneity compared to the Chinese, with the Tamil-speaking being the major
group.
Brunei is not only a close neighbour of Malaysia but is nestled within the expanse of
land wherein lies the Malaysian state of Sarawak. It consists of a land area of 5,765
square kilometres, and has a population of about a quarter million people, about
338 A. H. Omar
Malaysia
70 per cent of whom are Malays. There are indigenous communities, some of which
are also found in the neighbouring Sabah and Sarawak, and they form about 6 per cent
of the total population of the country. The Chinese comprise 15 per cent of the
population, and the rest consist of foreign settlers like the Indians and the Europeans.
culture. While the Malays had their own indigenous writing systems, these were at
best rudimentary and were mainly the tools of shamans; it was the Indians who
introduced a ‘proper’ system of codes to write their language, the Pallava script from
South India. However, knowledge and acquisition of the script was conWned to a
handful of people close to the rulers who were the ‘gurus’ to the rulers, while the
rulers may have regularly been illiterate, as were all their other subjects.
Literacy came to the Malays, regardless of the social class they belonged to, with the
coming of Islam and the conversion of the Malays to Islam in the fourteenth century.
To be Muslims they had to read the Qur’an in the Arabic script, although they did not
understand the meaning of the text. Recognizing the matching of symbols and sounds
in Arabic led them to adopting and adapting the Arabic writing system for their
language. This was the beginning of the great Malay literary tradition, which can be
seen in the production of a large number of literary romances and the recording of
the oral traditions of the pre-Islamic era in Arabic script (which for the purpose of
indigenization has been termed the ‘Jawi’ script). Literacy through Islam also made it
possible for the Malays to codify their laws and statutes in the governing of the land,
which to all intents and purposes from that time was based on the laws of Islam.
Literacy became a right for every Muslim Malay and was not conWned to the small
elite which held the reins of power in the land. The way it spread was in the form of
informal teaching of religion in the homes of chieftains, mosques, and village religious
schools which were known as pondok. These schools were privately funded by
villagers through the payment of tithes and small donations, and teachers were paid
from the tithes. The pondok schools were the earliest institution to provide formal
education to the Malays, and they continued to function as an educational institution
well into the second half of the twentieth century when their place was taken over by
government schools which included religious studies and Arabic in their curriculum.
By the time the Wrst Europeans (the Portuguese, followed by the Dutch and the
British) visited the Malay Archipelago in the sixteenth century, the Malay empires
were already well-established polities with their own systems of government. The
Malay language, while being the lingua franca in the ports in the archipelago, was also
the language of diplomacy in the region, and was the language used by the European
powers in their communication with rulers in the region. Letters between the royal
Malay courts and the courts of St. James, Paris, and Portugal were written in Malay
and at this time Malay epistolary became developed into a Wne art, not only in the
style of writing a text but also in calligraphy and the art form which was a necessary
characteristic of the scroll or the leaXet that was sent (Gallop 1994).
stayed longer than the Portuguese, and perhaps on the basis of their political and
commercial pragmatism established schools using Malay as medium of instruction as
well as schools using only English. This development not only introduced English as a
language through which the Malays and all other groups could attain literacy and
a formal education, it also brought the use of the Roman script as an addition to Jawi
in the writing of Malay.
The Wrst Malay school of a secular nature was established by the colonial govern-
ment as a branch of the English-medium school, Penang Free School, in 1816, in
Penang, the place where the British Wrst set foot on Malay soil. Other Malay schools
that followed were mostly built in the rural areas to suit the location of the greater
population of the Malays. These schools were meant to teach the ‘three Rs’ (Reading,
Writing, and ’Rithmetic), basic agricultural skill, basketry, and weaving to the children
of the peasants so that they could become better farmers, Wshermen, and craftsmen
than their fathers. Education for Malay girls, besides the core syllabus of the ‘three Rs’
was focused on giving them skills in needlework, nursing, cookery, and domestic
economy. With the purposes mentioned above, education in the Malay schools never
proceeded beyond Standard VI of primary school. Similar schools were set up in
Singapore and in Borneo in Brunei, Sabah, and Sarawak, where the British also had
commercial interests.
Even at the primary level teachers needed to be trained and the colonial govern-
ment started teacher training programmes in 1878, but it was only in 1922 that a male
teachers’ training college was established, the Sultan Idris Training College (SITC) in
Tanjong Malim, Perak, where boys who had undergone six-year primary education
were sent to be trained as teachers for the Malay schools. Boys with a similar career
orientation were also brought in from Singapore and the Borneo territories to be
trained at the college. A parallel college for women, the Malay Women Teachers’
Training College, was set up in 1935, in tandem with the increase in the population of
girls attending Malay schools.
The curriculum of the SITC was little more than that of a secondary school.
However, what the trainees developed into were not just people who were literate
in their own language but people who became more aware of the socio-political
situation of their country, and saw a potential threat to the Malay ‘sons of the soil’
from the inXux of immigrants from China and India, allowed and supported by British
rulers. The college became an important nursery in the cultivation of a Malay ethnic
identity which glued together the Malays of the Peninsula, Singapore, Brunei, Sabah,
and Sarawak. Among those who fought for the Malayan (1957), and then Malaysian
(1963), independence were graduates of the SITC. Regardless of which British colony
they came from, the college gave them an opportunity to see the Malays in a broader
perspective, beyond the borders of their individual states, and stretching as far as
Indonesia. The idea of uniting the whole, widespread Malay people was already being
nurtured, with the relevant identity factors being a package consisting of ethnicity
(Malay descent), religion (Islam), and language (the Malay language).
Malaysia and Brunei 341
care of by the government and even pondok schools were given (small) subsidies for
their existence, indicating that the government of the day felt a clear commitment to
the indigenous Malay population.
The Indians in Malaya were also given their own schools by the colonial govern-
ment, and these schools were built where the majority of the Indians were, namely on
the rubber estates. The medium of instruction was Tamil, and the objective was to
give Indian children the ‘three Rs’ skills as in the Malay vernacular schools. All funding
for the establishment and the maintenance of these schools became the responsibility
of the colonial government. As explained in the colonial papers of the time, the
government felt it was their obligation to the Indian community to provide an
education for their children because these people were brought in by the Calcutta-
headquartered British East India Company to work on the rubber estates (Omar 1976).
No similar obligation was felt towards the Chinese, as this group had arrived of its
own accord, attracted by the wealth that was awaiting them in the form of thick layers
of tin ores that ran throughout Central Malaya. Accordingly, not even subsidies were
granted by the government to the Chinese schools, it being rationalized by the
government that the Chinese community could itself easily get Wnancial help from
its own wealthy Chinese merchants and guilds. The Chinese community therefore
went on to build schools in places where there were large groups of Chinese, notably in
the tin-mining areas and in major towns. Having the freedom to form their own
curriculum, the language chosen as medium of instruction was commonly Mandarin
Chinese, though this was actually not the mother tongue of any of the Chinese groups.
The Chinese schools provided an education beyond the primary level up to middle and
high school (similar to the level of lower and upper secondary school today), and had
a clear orientation towards China. Those students who passed out of a Chinese high
school could directly enter universities in Taiwan and Hong Kong. Later on, when
Singapore set up its own Chinese university, the Nanyang University, in 1956, this
added a further channel for Malaysian Chinese to pursue a tertiary education.
By way of contrast, there was no opportunity whatsoever for Malays and Indians
who had attended vernacular schools to enter into secondary education, let alone
tertiary education anywhere, not even in Indonesia or India itself. Malay and Indian
children could hope to continue their education to higher levels only if they entered
English-medium schools.
(six years) and secondary (Wve years) levels, and all these schools provided teaching in
science and arts subjects. At the end of the Wfth year of their secondary schooling,
students had to sit for a standard set of examinations designed and assessed by the
Cambridge body known as the Cambridge Local Examinations Syndicate. A good
pass in the Senior Cambridge Examinations (as it was known) would allow students to
enter a two-year pre-university programme, at the end of which they had to sit for the
Higher Cambridge Examinations which would take them to tertiary education in the
United Kingdom and other Commonwealth countries.
Tertiary education in Malaya and Singapore only saw its beginning in 1948 with
the establishment of the King Edward VII College of Medicine and Dentistry in
Singapore, a university college of the University of London. It was only in 1952 that
this college, together with other faculties added to it, became a full university, known
as the University of Malaya. The university provided another place, and this one closer
to home, for students who had had the privilege of attending the English schools to
pursue a higher education. In 1956 a second branch of this university was built in
Kuala Lumpur, and in 1962 the two branches separated, the one in Kuala Lumpur
remaining as the University of Malaya while that in Singapore became known as the
National University of Singapore.
As the English school was not to be identiWed with any racial group, it was supposed
to be a common mixing ground for all the races present in Malaya. However, the idea
of a free mingling of all races in the English schools was not to be achieved, as
enrolment in such schools was in the majority (85 per cent) Chinese. The main reasons
for this were the location of the schools and the costly subscriptions they entailed. The
town areas where the schools were built were not convenient for ordinary Malay
peasants to send their children to, and this was also the plight of the poor Indian rubber
estate workers. Furthermore, these schools were not free of charge as were the Malay
and the vernacular Indian schools. As a result, only children of the very few wealthy
Malays and Indians were ultimately able to set foot in these schools.
In an eVort to increase the number of Malay children in the English schools, bright
Malay children were subsequently taken from Malay schools at the end of Primary IV
to enter a programme known as the Special Malay Class in the English schools. This
was a two-year programme in which the students were immersed in a curriculum
which was totally run in English. At the end of the two years they were promoted to
Form I of the secondary school where for the Wrst time in their life they saw
themselves sitting with children of other racial groups.
The obligation that the British felt towards the ‘sons of the soil’ (i.e. the indigenous
Malays) motivated the British to establish a boarding school in 1925 based on Eton in
England and intended for the sons of the Sultans, the Malay aristocrats and chieftains.
This was the Malay College Kuala Kangsar (MCKK) which produced some of the
earliest English-educated Malay elite, who were then channelled to universities in the
United Kingdom, including Oxford and Cambridge. In 1948, a parallel school was
built for the girls in Kuala Lumpur, known as the Malay Girls’ College.
344 A. H. Omar
It should be added that all these educational ‘innovations’ in the life of the Malays
were localized in the Malay Peninsula, but served those who were in Singapore and
the British territories in Borneo including Brunei. Just as common people in Brunei
were given the opportunity to join the SITC in Tanjong Malim, so members of the
Brunei royalty were given places in the MCKK and in the other well-placed English
schools. This made it possible for the British colonial government to set up a single
core syllabus for all the territories, with direction from Kuala Lumpur. The same was
also true for the training of oYce administrators, with a common system set up by the
central government in Kuala Lumpur.
away from under their eyes. The earliest stimulus in the Malays’ awareness of
themselves as a political, not just a racial group came when Soekarno (later President
Soekarno of Indonesia) and his colleagues succeeded in bringing members of the
nationalist movements of the Indonesian islands to take the pledge known as Sumpah
Pemuda (Youths’ Pledge) on 28 October 1928, in Jakarta. It was a three-pronged pledge
which in essence was an assertion from those who made it that they belonged to one
people – the Indonesian people (bangsa Indonesia), with one motherland – Indonesia
(tanah air Indonesia), and that they spoke one language of unity (bahasa persatuan) –
bahasa Indonesia (the Indonesian language). Although the Malays before this were
never fanatical about their language, the Indonesian Sumpah Pemuda gave them an
idea of the role that language could play in forging them as a strongly coherent group
as well as in giving an identity to a new Malaya, where all the races could be united
through a single language. The Malays were also intrigued by Indonesia’s selection of
bazaar Malay as their language of unity, because this Indonesian variety of Malay was
essentially a pidginized one (see Simpson, this volume, chapter 14). The great Malay
linguist, Zainal Abidin bin Ahmad, better known by his pen-name Za’ba, who had
been writing since the early part of the twentieth century had continually warned the
Malays not to adopt the ‘market Malay’ of the Indonesians, but to stick to their
tradition of using reWned Malay.
A common targeted identity factor for the Malays was therefore found, and this was
that Malays should habitually speak the Malay language. This property of habitually
speaking Malay (applicable also for those who did not necessarily have Malay as their
mother tongue or primary language), coupled with professing the religion of Islam
and leading a Malay way of life (which people Wnd diYcult to deWne) became the
necessary ingredients in the deWnition of the Malay (people) in the formulation of the
Federation of Malaya Constitution in 1956, just before independence on 31 August
1957 (Omar 1979, 2003, 2004a). When Malaysia was formed in 1963, this deWnition
was maintained, and has been so maintained ever since. This means that to be a Malay
and to be protected by the constitution in terms of preserving Malay rights (such as in
land ownership, qualifying for scholarships for further studies, etc.), one has to
manifest all the three identity factors enshrined in the constitution. By this deWnition,
the term Malay in modern-day Malaya/Malaysia is more of a cultural rather than an
ethnic concept. Malay as a category now is an open group which admits anyone from
any other group (Chinese, Indian, European, etc.) as long as he or she displays all
three critical identity factors. The other indigenous groups of Malaysia such as those
in Sabah and Sarawak are not automatically considered as Malays, unless they are seen
as having the three key properties referred to in the deWnition of the Malay in the
country’s constitution.1
1
However, all the indigenous groups of Malaysia including the aborigines and the Malays are
automatically grouped together in a larger category known as bumiputera (sons and daughters of the
land) which also includes inhabitants of Malaysia of early Portuguese and Siamese descent.
346 A. H. Omar
The Malaysian deWnition of the Malay is not shared by Brunei, where all the
indigenous groups present in the state are deWned as belonging to the Malay race.
The majority of these are indeed Muslim Malays like those in Malaysia, and these are
deWned as Muslim Malays to diVerentiate them from non-Muslim indigenous peoples.
All Brunei’s public policies are guided by its philosophy of governance known as
Melayu-Islam-Beraja (abbreviated as MIB), literally Malay-Islam-Monarchy, meaning
that it is an Islamic Malay monarchy. What is meant by Malay in MIB is a Malay
person who speaks the Malay language, professes Islam, and leads a Malay way of life,
hence a deWnition identical with that of the Malay in the Malaysian constitution. In
Singapore, the Malays are deWned according to ethnicity and language, without any
reference to religion.
as the one and only national language was that they would be automatically
disadvantaged in certain important domains of communication, knowledge of
Malay among non-Malays being widely restricted to a basic competence in pidgi-
n(ized) Malay at the time of independence. For the Malays, however, the designation
of a language as the national language of Malaysia was seen as a highly important,
symbolic act, expressing the sovereignty of the newly independent nation, and there
was no question of having any other language imported from outside their native
world to be placed on a par with the language of their choice, let alone usurp its
position. If that happened, Malaya in their eyes would no longer retain its position as a
Malay nation. Potentially putting English side by side with Malay on an equal national
language footing was also unacceptable for the simple reason that it was a colonial
language with negative associations in addition to having a foreign origin. An
exoglossic choice for national language was therefore out of the question for the
Malay population.2
Malay also appeared to be the natural choice for national language for various
reasons other than being the mother tongue of the Malays. First of all, the language
projected a sense of history from within the land itself and was not a language
transported from outside. Secondly and connected to the Wrst factor was that Malay
had had a long tradition of being the language of the successful empires that had ruled
insular Southeast Asia, and a wealth of Wne literature.
As negotiations continued, unending squabbles between Malaya’s racial groups
ended up delaying the granting of independence by the British government, until
UMNO, the Malay political party which had spearheaded the Wght for independence,
oVered a solution in what is now commonly known as ‘the Bargain’, an agreement
which related to the granting of citizenship to non-Malays in the country. It was noted
that for the Wrst Wfty years of the twentieth century approximately a million new
immigrants had entered the country, but less than 10 per cent of the total immigrant
population were actually citizens in the years leading up to independence. To qualify
as a citizen, an immigrant settler had to furnish proof of his residence in the country,
provide proof of his good conduct, and pass a simple Malay language test. While most
of the non-Malays could get through the Wrst two provisions, they found the language
test a real obstacle, hence a great majority had to content themselves with remaining
as non-citizens. The Bargain outlined by UMNO was that of the principle of jus soli,
citizenship by birth. According to this principle, all non-Malays born in Malaya on or
after the date of independence would automatically become Malayan citizens. This
was an oVer made by the Malay leadership to non-Malays on condition that the latter
accept Malay as the national language and recognize the special rights and privileges
of the Malays as natives of the land. The oVer and its acceptance in turn facilitated
the writing of the National Language Act, Article 152, in the Constitution of the
2
As was, also, the possibility of designating the pidginized variety of Malay as the national language,
despite the fact that this was understood all over the country. Only non-pidginized Malay was seen as
being qualiWed to fulWl the symbolic role of serving as the country’s national language.
348 A. H. Omar
Federation of Malaya. When the Borneo British territories, Sabah and Sarawak,
became part of Malaysia in 1963, the National Language Act was amended accord-
ingly to include them.
Independence and the oVer of citizenship by birth for recognition of the central
place of the Malay language in Malaya reXected a critical way of thinking in the minds
of the Malays: that language was their soul and the soul of the nation as contained in
their slogan Bahasa Jiwa Bangsa (language is the soul of the nation). This slogan has
since become the motto of the Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka (Institute of National
Language), established in 1956, a year before independence, to implement all policies
concerning the development, use, and usage of the national language. The import-
ance of the national language as a symbol of the sovereignty of the nation is echoed in
many other slogans to the same eVect. It has become part of the belief system of the
Malays that they have to uphold the language come what may, because in it rests their
whole ethos and standing as a race and as a nation. It is believed that if language
progresses, so will the people.
The stance of the Brunei Malays with regard to the Malay language has always been
similar to that of their counterparts in Malaysia. However, they did not Wnd them-
selves in the position of needing to negotiate with a signiWcant non-Malay population
when making their choice of national language at independence in 1985, and there has
never been a principle akin to that of jus soli in Brunei.
years following independence, after which it was planned that English would be
phased out as an oYcial language, leaving Malay as the only national and oYcial
language. This provision relating to English was maintained when the constitution
was further revised with the formation of Malaysia in 1963.
In Malaysia, as in various other countries, a clear distinction is made between the
roles of a national and an oYcial language. A national language is seen as one that
gives identity to the country as a sovereign nation and is the language of the national
anthem, while an oYcial language is one that is designated for use in oYcial
situations, such as oYcial ceremonies of the government, in debates in Parliament
and the Senate as well as in the state legislative assemblies, and is used as the language
of administration in government departments and statutory bodies. The ‘grace
period’ for the use of English as an oYcial language ended in Peninsular Malaysia
in 1967. However, a dispensation was made for the continued use of English in the law
courts in the interest of justice. This arose from the fact that the judges and the
lawyers were trained in the United Kingdom and were more capable of conducting
trials in English than in Malay, and had to use interpreters when clients could not
understand English. It was only in 1982, twenty-Wve years after independence, that the
Lower Courts started to hold their trials in Malay. The High Courts took a slower
pace, and English still seems to be the preferred language of trials in these courts.
The use of English as an oYcial language alongside Malay for ten years after
independence was also incorporated in the constitution when the states of Sabah
and Sarawak on the island of Borneo joined Malaya in the Federation of Malaysia.
Sabah was able to conform to the provision of the constitution such that from
September 1973, the situation as far as oYcial language use was concerned was in
line with that of Peninsular Malaysia. Sarawak through its Legislative Council man-
aged to postpone the implementation of the oYcial language policy using Malay in all
oYcial situations until 1985, that is, twenty-two years after independence within
Malaysia.
Considering the situation in the law courts and the drafting of Malaysian laws and
regulations, English has never really been phased out as an oYcial language. Although
towards the end of 1990s, more and more laws and regulations began to be drafted in
Malay, there has always been the requirement that all important government docu-
ments have to have an English language version as well. And this special position of
English is more accentuated in private businesses, especially in the Wnancial sector, as
well as in the professions such as engineering, medicine, dentistry, etc. (Omar 1992,
1995, 1996; Said and Ng 1997).
At the same time, the other languages of Malaysia have continued to function
within their own speciWc communities. For example, Chinese merchants and shop-
keepers continue to use Chinese in carrying out their business, and Tamil-speaking
Indians do likewise with Tamil.
Earlier, during the colonial period, all government circulars to the people and all
the notice boards used to be written in four languages, using four diVerent scripts:
350 A. H. Omar
English with its Roman script, Malay with its Jawi script, and Chinese and Tamil with
their own separate scripts. When Malay became the national and oYcial language, the
script chosen for it was the Roman script, and this has been incorporated in the
constitution. SacriWcing the Jawi script which has been part of the Malay identity
since the fourteenth century was seen as a step towards accommodating non-Malays
in the country, so that they would Wnd the language easier to learn and accept it as the
national language of the whole country. The Jawi script with its special calligraphy
now remains as a cultural trait speciWc only to the Malays, and is not used as a
medium for public writing of the national language when directed at all citizens of the
nation.
Despite the fact that Malay is now the only oYcial language of the country, English,
Mandarin, and Tamil are freely permitted for use on signboards in commercial centres
and in advertisements, though there is a rule which states that prominence in terms of
size of the script made use of should be given to the national language. All the four
languages furthermore have their own newspapers, and the government channels in
Radio and Television Malaysia provide programming in all four languages.
other subjects, especially in the sciences, they still had to grapple with English which
they learned as a subject while in school.
In the period following independence, the forging of a national identity through
the attempted strengthening of the use of the national language in education still
seemed far from being achieved, however. The Malay-medium stream was almost
wholly populated by just Malays, and the populations of the English schools and of the
other national-type schools remained as they were in the days before independence. It
was obvious that the national education policy was doing very little to bring the races
together, and acceptance of the national language was seen only in getting a pass in
the diVerent levels of proWciency required for promotion to certain ranks in the
government service.
15.3.5 Racial Riots, the Sedition Act, and Renaming the National Language
While the Malay population in the 1960s seemed to believe in and be striving towards
the creation of a national identity facilitated by a common national language, such a
commitment was not obviously shared by the non-Malays. In debates over national
policies whether among politicians or academics, the special rights and privileges of
the Malays as well as the use of the national language were regularly brought up as
topics of discussion and complaint, and these two themes were perennially major
bones of contention among non-Malays. On the other hand, the Malays themselves
appeared very despondent over their socio-economic inferiority when compared to
the non-Malays, especially the Chinese. Mistrust towards one another led to conXicts
in the market places and in May 1969 this gave rise to the most serious ever racial
conXict in the country’s history, beginning on 13 May, and lasting for over a week. The
communal violence which is now referred to as the May 13 Incident led to the
suspension of Parliament and for twenty-one months Malaysia was ruled by a
committee known as the National Operations Council (NOC) chaired by the Deputy
Prime Minister, Tun Abdul Razak Hussain.
It was during the rule of the NOC that the important New Economic Policy was
formulated with a two-pronged objective: to eradicate poverty and to restructure
society in the country. The Sedition Act was also amended in a signiWcant way to
make it illegal to criticize constitutional clauses relating to Malay special rights, the
national language, the Sultanate, and the citizenship rights of the non-Malay com-
munities (T. A. Rahman 1984: 8). It was additionally during the administration of the
NOC that the nomenclature of the national language was changed to bahasa Malaysia
(language of Malaysia) from bahasa Melayu (language of the Malays). The idea behind
such a change was to give the language a more ‘national Xavour’, as it had been
argued by dissenters that the national language was really just the language of the
Malays, not of the Malaysians in general. In connection with this name change, there
was the local precedent of Indonesia which had taken (a form of ) Malay and renamed
it bahasa Indonesia (language of Indonesia), thereby apparently winning greater
352 A. H. Omar
schools, and there was a continuity for them at the tertiary level. Secondly, the English
schools were not formally identiWed with any particular ethno-linguistic community
(though a great majority of their students were in fact Chinese), so the issue of
disadvantaging any speciWc ethnic group by their discontinuance did not really arise.
The other two groups of national-type schools, the Chinese and the Tamil, were
left undisturbed in their use of Chinese/Tamil in the teaching of their school subjects,
though the curriculum of each has to conform to that prescribed by the Ministry of
Education. In this way, the ethnic rights of the Chinese and the Tamils were seen to be
safeguarded, and there was no hindrance to these groups perpetuating their ethnic
identity through educational means.
The national language also received much important government support for its
development as a language of academia. A rigorous corpus planning programme was
mounted in 1972 with the setting up of the Language Council of Malaysia and
Indonesia (Majlis Bahasa Indonesia-Malaysia or MBIM for short, Omar 2004b), because
from the policy makers’ point of view the development of the Malay language to
suit its role as a language of the sciences in the years to come had to be in tandem with
the growth and development of bahasa Indonesia. Prior to the setting up of the
Council, there had been very little exchange of scholarly materials between Malaysia
and Indonesia, mainly due to the language barrier that existed at this level. The
Malaysian academicians had been using English, while the Indonesians used bahasa
Indonesia. And when the Malaysians had come round to writing in Malay, the terms
they used were based on English sources while those used by the Indonesians were
based on Dutch and on new coinages which had a heavy inXuence from Sanskrit.
The MBIM subsequently worked to bridge the information and the conceptual-
cognitive gap between Malaysian and Indonesian academicians and professionals.
Their Wrst achievement was in the standardization of the spelling systems in use in
the two countries, as each country had previously followed the tradition of spelling
taught by their diVerent colonial occupiers. Since 1972 there has now been a common
system for the writing of the shared national languages of Indonesia and Malaysia.3
With a revised system of spelling in place, the Council moved on to working on
guidelines for the coining and borrowing of technical terms, the compiling of
dictionaries of technical terms, and other related projects. Time-tested traditions
and also the need to preserve national identity have always been important factors
in discussions between Malaysia and Indonesia on the standardization of technical
vocabulary. However, this was to a certain extent assisted in the early days of détente
between Malaysia and Indonesia by the latter’s willingness to use English sources for
technical terms, rather than Dutch ones.
3
Though it was not possible to achieve complete uniformity as each side wished to preserve certain
aspects of its own history of traditions and identity. However, diVerences in the spelling of bahasa Malaysia
and bahasa Indonesia were reduced to so few that this no longer hinders close linguistic co-operation
between the two countries.
354 A. H. Omar
In 1985, after having obtained independence from British rule, Brunei Darussalam
joined the Language Council, which motivated its renaming as Majlis Bahasa
Brunei Darussalam-Indonesia-Malaysia (MABBIM), that is, Language Council of Brunei
Darussalam, Indonesia, and Malaysia. With its use of Malay as a language of govern-
ance alongside English, and its similar approach to language use in education,
Brunei’s presence in MABBIM did not add a new stance in the planning of technical
terms and related issues, and in many aspects of corpus planning Brunei is able to
identify itself closely with Malaysia. The coming together of the three Malay nations
in developing their common language has therefore been an important landmark in
the social history of the Malay language.
At the same time that the national language policy was being successfully imple-
mented in the schools and universities and students of all ethnic backgrounds were
becoming more proWcient in Malay, a linguistic deWcit also appeared in the form of a
decline in proWciency in the English language. A majority of Malaysian university
graduates were found to be unable to express themselves in English, and the private
sector, especially the multinational Wrms, became reluctant to employ them. A
popular remark on the subject was that a whole generation of Malaysians had lost
the English language. However, this is actually a misrepresentation of the situation.
The generation that could speak English well before English was ‘lost’ due to the
national language policy consisted for the greater part of non-Malays. The generation
that has experienced, as it were, a loss of (or failure to acquire) the English language
consists of all Malaysia’s ethnic groups.
At the beginning, the attempted ‘recovery’ of the English language was a procedure
that was not in any way detrimental to the interests of the national language as a
medium of instruction. English language teachers and teacher trainers were brought
in from the United Kingdom to help recover proWciency in English among the
Malaysian population, and English language campaigns were held, reminiscent
of the national language campaigns in the early days of independence. In 1990,
Dr. Mahathir Mohamad, who had been Prime Minister since 1982, announced to
the people his public philosophy for Malaysia in a paper entitled The Way Forward,
originally a speech given to the Malaysian Business Council, and then to academics.
The speech contained his vision for a prosperous and united Malaysia. According to
his vision, Malaysia would become a fully industrialized nation by the year 2020
(Mahathir’s ‘Vision 2020’). Malaysia should not remain a consumer of the world’s
technology and great discovery, but should also be a contributor to the scientiWc and
technological civilization of the future. In his belief that for the Malaysians to be
good scientists they should be Xuent in English, in December 1993 Dr. Mahathir
announced the Malaysian Cabinet’s decision to allow universities to teach mathemat-
ics and science as well as science-based courses in English.4 This caused a mixed
reaction among Malaysia’s academics: although the professors were well able to
deliver their lectures in English, there were doubts in the ability of the students in
general to understand lectures given in English. The policy was nevertheless imple-
mented. However, because progress did not reach the level that had been expected
and hoped for, at the close of 2002 Dr. Mahathir announced a major change in the
language policy in schools, declaring that with the opening of the school year 2003, all
schools in Malaysia, national and national-type, primary and secondary, would teach
all their science and mathematics subjects through the medium of English. In making
such a dramatic switch there was no step-by-step or year-by-year changeover schedule
as was the case when the English schools were converted into Malay-medium national
4
Mahathir’s stand on the importance of English for Malaysia was actually Wrst made known before he
became a minister in the government, and has been consistent ever since (Mahathir 1994).
356 A. H. Omar
schools. Nor was there any warning given to teachers, parents, textbook writers, and
publishers on the change that was suddenly to come. Teachers instead experienced
hands-on on-the-job training in teaching these subjects in English and retired teachers
Xuent in English were brought back to teach in the schools. Textbooks were written as
the teaching proceeded.
As the result of such a policy, there is now no longer any single-language-medium
school in Malaysia. All the national schools are bilingual, and all the national-type
schools are trilingual. At the time of the initial change, there were protests from all
sides. The most vehement came from the Chinese, especially the Chinese Teachers’
Association. Their protests were based on the belief that Chinese culture was being
eroded and this was set to be heightened further by the new language policy
in education. At Wrst the Chinese stand was supported by one of the political
parties, the Gerakan, which is a component in the National Front, the big umbrella
party that comprises almost every ethnic group in Malaysia, and which has ruled
Malaysia since independence. The argument put forward was that to the Chinese
mathematics is understood better in the Chinese language with their tradition of
using the abacus. However, the protestations came to no avail.5 To the Indians, the
policy was greeted as a positive development for the national-type Tamil schools
which were and still are undergoing a decline in number of students as a majority
of Indians prefer to go to the national schools.
The Malays registered their unhappiness over the policy as it went against what
they had fought for from the time of preparing the country for independence through
subsequent eVorts to develop the language as a universal medium of instruction in the
national education system. However, the protests were localized; they were centred in
the precincts of the Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, the guardian of the Malay language.
The populace at large seemed to accept the assurances given by the government that
the policy was for the good of everybody, especially the Malays. If in the past the
Malay slogan was Hidup Bahasa, Hidup Bangsa (If the language thrives, so will the
nation), Dr. Mahathir’s solution was Hidup Bangsa, Hidup Bahasa (If the nation thrives,
so will its language). The latter continually stressed that the Malaysian nation and the
Malay race would only survive if they equipped themselves with modern knowledge
and this could only realistically be achieved through attaining a higher level of
proWciency in English.6 Furthermore, the survival of the Malays as a signiWcant
5
With regard to the idea of whether Chinese culture has undergone erosion over the years in Malaysia,
it can be noted that many urban Chinese and particularly those living in Kuala Lumpur have now adopted
English as their Wrst language, with this having natural eVects on the maintenance of traditional Chinese
culture.
6
With the use of English as a medium of instruction in the universities, Malaysia has also been able to
attract students from all over the world to study in its universities, and branches of foreign universities
have been set up in Malaysia to cater to students from the Asian region. Among these are branches of
the University of Nottingham (United Kingdom), Monash University (Australia), and Curtin University
(Australia).
Malaysia and Brunei 357
Brunei achieved her full independence from Britain on 1 January 1984, and a new
education policy was instituted at the beginning of 1985, in the form of the Education
System of Negara Brunei Darussalam, which has been in implementation to this day.
The policy provides for a single system of education in which Malay and English are
languages of instruction for all schools. The provision of this system is that in the Wrst
three years of primary education, instruction in all the subjects is given in Malay,
except for the English language class. From Primary IV right through to the A-Level,
subjects are taught in English and Malay with the following allocation: English
language and all the academic subjects comprising mathematics, science, history,
geography, economics, principles of accounts, and any technical subjects are taught
in English; Malay as a medium of instruction is used in teaching the Malay language,
Malay literature, Islamic knowledge, civics, arts and handicraft, and physical educa-
tion. This allocation of language use is also reXected in the university, Universiti
Brunei Darussalam, the only university in the country. Degrees in Malay and Islamic
Studies can be taken wholly in Malay, but for all other programmes the language of
instruction and examination is English ( Jones 1992, Ozog 1992).
When Brunei instituted its bilingual policy in education in 1985 this was not well
received by hard-core nationalists who had wanted Malay to be the main medium of
education. However, the government emphasized that Brunei as a small country
could not aVord to isolate itself from the rest of the world through not encouraging
a knowledge of English among its citizens. The use of English in Brunei is therefore
conceived of as primarily instrumental in nature, and is not felt to deprive Bruneians
of the emotion and love that they feel for their country. It is widely accepted that the
importance of Malay should never be seen to be compromised by the encroachment
of other languages, as encapsulated in the country’s public philosophy of Melayu Islam
Beraja (Malay–Islam–Monarchy), the three pillars of the Brunei nation.
Historically, Brunei has had the advantage of watching and studying the policies of
its neighbours, especially Malaysia, in the choice of language in the education of its
people. Although in the early days Brunei shared a common ethos with Malaysia, it
was fortunate in being able to identify the steps that Malaysia had taken that might
not beneWt the Brunei people. This led Brunei into embarking on a full-swing
bilingual policy right from the beginning of its independence. Another ‘pitfall’ that
Brunei has been able to avoid concerns avoiding the loss of the traditional Jawi script
for Malay. In Brunei this has been retained as one of the two oYcial scripts for writing
the national language, the other one being the Roman script.
15.4 Conclusion
Concern for identity exists at all levels of the society, and this concern often surfaces
when a particular group feels its existence threatened by others. In the Malaysian
situation, national identity had its origins within the Malay ethnic group when the
Malays belonging to separate little kingdoms on the Malay peninsula began to think
Malaysia and Brunei 359
1
This recollection comes from former Institute of National Language Assistant Director Fe Aldave
Yap.
The Philippines 361
national language, and a lack of pride in forming a nation, resulting in attention being
more frequently called to negative attributes of the country than to its accomplish-
ments. Hence, since we have won precious few battles in our history, we tend
to commemorate our defeats rather than our victories: the Fall of Bataan, the Fall
of Corregidor, and the Cry of Balintawak (ending in an aborted revolution). The
people’s clear ambivalence towards their national language is manifest in the con-
tinuation of the dominant use of English in their educational system, the low
readership of the print medium in Filipino, the emphasis on English in the public
domain, and the slow, unenthusiastic spread and adoption of the national language.
Quite broadly, then, the Philippines is a country where the promotion of a common,
‘national’ language has (thus far) not been particularly successful as a means to mould
and strengthen a national identity linking up the population in a clearly positive way,
and in this contrasts with the stronger unifying force of national language in other
Southeast Asian countries such as Indonesia and Thailand. How this situation has
developed in the Philippines, and how the very mixed population of the country
presently relates to diVerent forms of language will now be examined in more detail,
beginning with a consideration of historical factors underlying the present sociolin-
guistic situation.
The Philippines
362 A. Gonzalez
3
Note that the Philippines were originally named after King Philip II of Spain, las Islas Felipinas.
364 A. Gonzalez
in 1897 and the Malolos Constitution in 1898, and instead the existing, inherited
linguistic situation was simply allowed to continue, using Spanish for formal matters,
and keeping local languages for informal communication. It was not until the 1930s
that the question of selecting and promoting an indigenous language as a national
language of the Philippines was seriously considered and then put into action. In the
meantime, however, another foreign power had begun to exert its inXuence over the
development of the Philippines, and the Treaty of Paris ending the rebellion and war
against the Spanish in 1898 awarded control over the Philippines to the United States,
which had played a signiWcant military role in the defeat of the Spanish forces. Despite
subsequent, prolonged armed resistance to American rule, the Philippines thereafter
remained a colony under U.S. occupation until 1946, when full independence was
eventually gained following the end of the Second World War.
In the mid-1930s, however, independence at some point in the future seemed to be
likely, and in 1935 the oYcial status of the Philippines was changed to that of a self-
governing U.S. Commonwealth. In preparation for ultimate independence and more
immediately the switch to Commonwealth status, the fundamental law of the land
mandated a future legislature to begin the search for a national language based on one
of the indigenous existing languages. This formal direction to select and promote just
one of the many languages of the Philippines as the country’s national language did
not in fact reXect the thinking of most of those in the National Assembly at the time,
who instead had the desire for a common national language to be built out of a range
of Philippino languages. However, the wishes of other members of the Assembly were
overruled by the strong will of Manuel Quezon, the president of the new government,
who ordered the stylists who drew up the Wrst draft of the new constitution to
make the national language based on one language alone. Following such an instruc-
tion, the National Language Institute, established by the Commonwealth Congress in
1936, selected Tagalog to be the basis of the national language in 1937, and in 1939
Tagalog was oYcially proclaimed the national language of the Philippines by Quezon,
much to the disappointment of the Bisayans in the central part of the Philippines and
especially the Cebuanos. Though Tagalog had more speakers than other languages in
the Philippines, approximately 12 million, it was not so far ahead of Cebuano, which
had 10 million speakers, and there were also other languages with signiWcant popu-
lations, such as Ilocano, with 5 million speakers. The choice of Tagalog as the
exclusive base for the national language therefore seemed to confer an unfair advan-
tage on those in the north of the country, and simultaneously disadvantage speakers of
other languages in the Philippines, whose future proWciency in the national language
looked set to signiWcantly lag behind that of native Tagalog speakers. In a weak
attempt to make the selected language more acceptable it was then called Wikang
Pambansa, ‘the national language’, in 1940 when it was Wrst taught in colleges and high
schools, and in 1959, again as a public relations move, the Secretary of Education Jose
Romero renamed it Pilipino, yet such moves failed to dispel the common view of the
national language as being simply Tagalog masquerading under a diVerent name.
The Philippines 365
Considerably later on, in the 1971 Constitutional Convention which Wnally drafted the
1973 Constitution, the issue of the composition and base of the national language was
taken up again, this time with more pluralist intentions. The new constitution set out
a demand and goal for the establishment by a future language academy of a new
common national language to be based not just on a single, regional language, but on
all the major languages of the Philippines. Such a language, when created, was to be
known as ‘Filipino’ and should replace Tagalog-based Pilipino. In the 1980s, Filipino
was still very much a work in progress, but in the atmosphere of heightened
nationalism and ‘people power’ at the beginning of the Aquino regime, following
the momentous toppling of the Marcos regime, the 1986 constitutional commis-
sioners took it for granted that Filipino already existed, and enthusiastically named it
as the ‘new’ national language of the Philippines. By legislation among constitutional
commissioners, what was supposed to be still in the process of formation became
accepted as reality and adopted as the national language of the Philippines.
Due to this ‘premature’ oYcial proclamation of Filipino, however, the new national
language turned out to still be heavily based on Tagalog and in fact not radically
diVerent from its predecessor Pilipino, though incorporating certain lexical items not
used in Tagalog. Filipino has furthermore essentially remained in this basic mould
through until the present day, and continues to be strongly linked to Tagalog, as
spoken in the country’s capital, Manila.4
Nevertheless, as a result of the formal propagation of Tagalog-based Pilipino now
Filipino, twenty years later most in the country have now de facto accepted Filipino as
the national language of the Philippines, and also pragmatically as a lingua franca and
(perhaps) as an oYcial language. The major exception to this is some remaining
opposition on the part of the Cebuanos. The latter continue to point out and argue
that Filipino/Pilipino is not really diVerent from Tagalog and therefore not an impar-
tial language form that can be equally shared and acquired by all of the nation (see
Gonzalez 1991: 111–29). The problem is therefore still one of selection and legitim-
ation of Filipino as a truly national language, and, compounded with the roughshod
nature of its attempted legitimation, this has caused a clear ambivalence and lack of
universal loyalty towards it as a symbol of linguistic unity and national identity. Such a
situation existing back in 1970 triggered Jose Villa Panganiban’s lament that Pilipino
remained a language in search of a nation (paraphrasing the title of Pirandello’s play).
Thirty-Wve years after his passing away, it has to be conceded that Panganiban’s
characterization of the national language still retains much of its original validity.
Such a somewhat pessimistic assessment of the unifying power of the national
language and its lacklustre adoption as an emotive symbol of the state can be framed
4
As noted in the Wikipedia entry for Filipino language <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
Filipino_language>, people in the Philippines may more frequently ask strangers whether they speak
Tagalog rather than Filipino, indicating that the common, national language is essentially seen as Tagalog
rather than any separate linguistic entity, Filipino.
366 A. Gonzalez
In the initial expansion of education during American rule, the Wrst teachers were in
fact American soldiers under a Catholic army chaplain named William McKinnon.
Subsequently, the Organic Act of 1902 was passed by the Second Philippine Commis-
sion under William Howard Taft and established a Department of Public Instruction.
Through the Bureau of Insular AVairs of the Department of War in Washington, DC,
teachers were then recruited from diVerent parts of the United States to come to the
Philippines to staV the new schools. The largest and Wrst group of teachers (600)
arrived via the USS Thomas, and the name ‘Thomasites’ has gone down in Philippine
history as a general name for the American teachers who came to the Philippines to
initially help in the education of Filipino youth.
The Wrst batch of teaching recruits were highly educated, some with MAs and
PhDs, and almost all had at least a bachelor’s degree from one of the leading colleges
and universities in the United States. However, faced with a signiWcant language
barrier, the exhortations of the First and Second Philippine Commissions concerning
use of local language as teaching medium were not implemented, as no single lan-
guage was considered widespread enough and developed enough to serve as the
common language of instruction in schools. This was consequently the beginning of
the exclusive use of English as the medium of instruction in schools. However, the
materials used for teaching were American and intended for native speakers, and the
teachers had no training in second language methodology. In the Wrst years they
furthermore made quite unsuccessful use of the ‘direct method’ of language teaching,
and only later switched to the more traditional grammar-analysis method which went
on to dominate the teaching of English for many years.5 From the beginning,
however, the American teachers attempted to improve the results of instruction by
recruiting the help of their most able students as teachers, especially those who had
qualiWed for the equivalent of Grade 7 (the end of the elementary years, as established
by the Bureau of Public Instruction).
In all, approximately just 2,000 Thomasites arrived to serve the educational system
during the period 1901 to 1920, when the bureaucracy for practical purposes became
fully Filipino except for the top-level administrators.6 For the most part, then, after the
initial years of ad hoc teaching and apprenticeship, day-to-day instruction came to be
carried out by Filipino teachers and middle-level administrators. Based on Sibayan’s
(1999) observations, the beginnings of Philippine English also occurred at this time, as
well as the creation of the Wrst Filipino-made textbooks (from 1919 onwards, with the
Osias readers).
As the years of American colonial rule continued and the gradual granting of
experience in democracy began with the creation of the National Assembly in 1907,
5
See Alberca (1978) for an account of these earlier years, Alberca (1994: 53–74) for a study of the
Thomasites and language teaching, and Gonzalez (2001: 51–62) for a critique of this from the viewpoint of
contemporary language-teaching methodology.
6
The Bureau of Public Instruction in fact had American administrators almost until the beginning of
the Japanese Occupation.
368 A. Gonzalez
and the mass media have now largely turned to Filipino with only the print medium
still predominantly in English (Media Factbook 2000). However, on the other hand, at
the level of basic education, there have been steps backwards rather than forwards. In
Region VII, Cebu and Central Visayas, social studies is now taught in English rather
than Filipino, and the dominance of English is once more reasserting itself in the
system, going back to the period preceding 1974, the declaration of the bilingual
scheme. While there were also initiatives to use Filipino as the medium of instruction
in many subjects at the tertiary level (Bautista and Gonzalez 1988: 111–62) these
initiatives are currently no longer operative and the whole system of tertiary educa-
tion is practically all in English except for Filipino Language courses.
In the meantime, standards of English are also perceived to have ‘deteriorated’, and
the main popular target of blame for this is the bilingual education scheme. Here
it should be added that this perception that bilingual education is failing to produce
competent speakers of English may be widespread among the public, but it is in
fact most probably not warranted, and not supported by empirical data. In a study
carried out on levels of English and Filipino in a range of schools in 1986, it was found
that well-run schools actually performed extremely highly in the teaching of both
languages, while poorly-run schools did not do a good job of either. Hence, the
predominant factors in language-teaching success in the Philippine education system
were found to be socio-economic, with the quality of teaching in more aZuent
schools being higher due to the presence of more competent teachers, and success
in language teaching was consequently not directly linked to the bilingual education
scheme itself.
As changes have continued, there is now mass education in the Philippines. Almost
all children begin schooling, but unfortunately many drop out after only one or two
years, with some more dropping out at the higher grades, and estimates made in
2001/2002 indicate that out of 100 Wrst-grade students who begin school, only about
67 Wnish Grade 6. As a result of the wider availability of public education, the
percentage of the population with some knowledge of English is continuing to
increase. Though oYcial data on numbers of second-language speakers of English
has not been recently collected and made available, a small commissioned survey in
1994 found that 56 per cent of Filipinos claim (by self-report) to be able to speak
English, 74 per cent claim to understand English, 73 per cent claim to read English,
and 50 per cent claim to be able to write English (see Gonzalez 2000: 1–9). Since there
were no measures of English achievement prior to nationwide testing which began in
1973, it is diYcult to say whether or not overall real mastery of the language has
generally been on the increase or the decrease, but the testimony of teachers and
administrators and the poor showing of applicants for employment in tests of English
(especially in writing and speaking) seem to indicate a large percentage of people
whose competence is less than adequate for academic learning. What is furthermore
disconcerting about the situation is that many instructors who teach in English and
others who teach English as a subject seem themselves to have poor reading skills and
370 A. Gonzalez
even poorer writing skills, and hence fail to serve as appropriate role models for the
acquisition of English competence (Gonzalez 1998: 487–525).
In spite of this, however, there is a clamour for more English, and for Wnding means
to teach the subject better, rather than a call to think in terms of a diVerent kind of
language-teaching paradigm, where for the sake of improving and maximizing
content achievement children might be taught in a language they are more familiar
with, rather than having to learn a second language on the Wrst day of school. Such an
alternative approach to language in early education was present in initiatives in 1998–
2001 to use the dominant vernaculars and lingua francas as bridging languages (a
policy which had earlier been undertaken from 1957 to 1974) and to use Filipino for
content instruction in the lower grades, with English being taught as a subject after
initial literacy and then used as a medium of instruction in a bilingual scheme from
Grade 3 or 4 on. Presently, however, emphasis seems to remain on the increased, early
acquisition of English in the educational system, even though this may be diYcult for
students to succeed in.
The general dominance of English (in certain areas of life) has continued over the
post-independence years under manifestly pro-English Chief Executives of the coun-
try beginning with Marcos, followed by Aquino, Ramos, and Estrada, and now under
Macapagal, and the constitution of 1987 recognizes English as one of the two oYcial
languages of the Philippines, alongside Filipino, which also has the symbolically
signiWcant status of national language. The desire for all socio-economic levels to
attain English competence for their children has additionally become even more
dramatic with the encouragement, beginning during the Estrada Administration,
for workers from the Philippines to go abroad, aided in their marketability to a
signiWcant extent by their ability to speak English, to easily communicate with others,
and to receive technical instruction in a language of wider communication. As of 2002,
the resulting annual income passing through government channels from overseas
workers has been oYcially recorded to be as much as US$8 billion, and certainly
amounts to even more when one factors in other informal channels for sending
foreign exchange to relatives and family. This source of foreign currency consequently
ranks as higher than that from any other signiWcant ‘export’ from the Philippines and
has assumed a critical importance for the economy of the country.
Thus, while Filipino is the national language and while Filipinos generally now
accept it as such (except for the die-hard Cebuanos conWned mostly in Cebu Province,
and this partially for political advantage by local Cebuano politicians), the Filipino’s
Wrst priority in language learning for life is English, not Filipino, for Filipino is only
used for political campaigning and as a national-level lingua franca, whereas it is the
local vernacular that the Filipino commonly uses for his everyday familial communi-
cation, for worship, and as a local/regional lingua franca to carry on communication
at an informal level, and English that he switches to for higher-order cognitive
activities, for university studies, for diplomacy, and as a language of wider communi-
cation in any international dealings. It is also English that critically provides him
The Philippines 371
9
See Gonzalez (1989: 359–73) for a putative computation of the (small) percentage of Filipino families
that use English for their family communications.
372 A. Gonzalez
symbols and certain behavioural indicators, the prevailing paradigm seems to be that
there are clear stages in the evolution of the nation-state and its uniWcation and
identity. Initially, diVerent tribes exist as individual cultural communities. Through
living together, aided perhaps by a common habitable space, proximity, commonal-
ities in religion, a common enemy (an occupier or a colonial power or a conqueror),
and a common historical experience, these individual tribes and cultural communities
may act together and generate a spirit of unity against a common enemy. Subse-
quently such groups may merge into a larger unit, through various means constitute
themselves into a state, choosing a basic charter, a structure of government, and, if
aVected by ideas of democracy and contemporary government, electing representa-
tive oYcials. Very much depending on how eVective the latter are, and how far they
can create a feeling of oneness among the people, manage their tribal self-interests,
balance their desires, and above all, manage success for the populace, the state may
develop more and more into a nation, a political entity with a population having a
perception of itself as a common, uniWed people. Symbols may be chosen to
strengthen this unity and create a clearer identity, such as a common language
(which may have to be selected from a range of possible options), a national anthem,
other minor symbols such as a Xag, cuisine, costume, and subsequent studies about
the roots and self-identity of the people (this being the function of a university and a
centre of culture).
What has been shown by experience and accepted in the paradigm is that nation-
states can fail in the sense that the uniWcation of various groups of people is seen as a
purely legal and technical structuring, and does not establish a genuine feeling and
perception of unity. There may be a lack of identiWcation with a distinct identity, and
divisions within the body politic which prevent it from becoming a full nation-state, or
even lead to its collapse and a deterioration into a situation where there is no longer
any real central government and instead a return to a state of mixed tribes and
warlords. The symbols then become inoperative and lose their meaningfulness.
In the interests of maintaining unity, however, compromises can be made which in
eVect depart from the existing model. For example, there can be a federation with
autonomy for each tribe, or there can be a national feeling of identity but a weak
central government (such as some claim for Japan), or an ideal merging of state and
nation (as in France), or a strong central government without genuine nationhood (as
in the artiWcial state of Yugoslavia that Marshal Tito put together). In less than ideal
conditions, the symbols of nationhood and identity may become weaker and less
signiWcant. In the case of Singapore, although the national language is Malay and is
used for symbolic purposes, the operative languages are English and now Mandarin
(instead of the former dialects or separate languages that the Singaporeans spoke,
Hakka, Hokkien, Cantonese – Simpson, this volume, chapter 17). There can also be
compromise and the development of a multilingual state such as Switzerland and its
cantons, or the larger, almost continent-like state of India, where a trilingual policy is
encouraged by the government – Hindi for the nation-state, English as a special
The Philippines 373
language of wider communication, and a variant, regional language for everyday local
communication (Amritavalli and Jayaseelan, this volume, chapter 3). The situation is
quite similar in the Philippines, where in eVect there is a de facto trilingual linguistic
situation: the local vernaculars (regional languages) are used in the home, the
neighbourhood and even the province, Filipino occurs as the national lingua franca,
and English is present as the language of wider communication, the language of
economic mobility and employment, and the language of an elite who have not really
fully merged with the masses in terms of their feelings of identity.
Perhaps one should not fault the Filipino for his lack of monolithic cultural identity
and his regular use of languages identiWed with diVerent cultures. Perhaps one should
accept the reality that, in the same way that anthropologists see languages as
eVectively manifesting many aspects of pidginization, so also all cultures are never
pure, unless isolated for many generations, and cultures are in eVect amalgams of
diVerent subcultures, with some constituting cultures more diVerent than others in
the proximate space. What we have in many world situations are pidgins which
become creolized and cultural mixing which sooner or later acquires an identity of its
own. In this regard, some societies are open and porous to outside inXuences, while
others are much more closed. A good example of the latter is pre-modern Japan, an
example of the former the Philippines.
Philippine cultural life is a visible, thorough mix. Filipinos are themselves a broad
mixture of Malay, Chinese, Spanish, and American, and likewise their culture is a
mixture of the cultures of all of these groups. Linguistically, too, there were earlier
mixed pidgins in the Philippines such as Bago in Northern Luzon and Chabacano in
Spanish settlements and perhaps, in the future, a Filipino English pidgin,10 but right
now the situation is one of multilingualism with a complementarity of functions. The
Filipino has chosen Tagalog-based (Pilipino) Filipino as his targeted linguistic symbol
of unity and national identity for reasons of legal and symbolic convenience, but
across a broad range of domains in everyday life he chooses to be multilingual rather
than monolingual, and hence adopts a mixed linguistic life. Very similar are also his
cuisine, his lifestyle, his art, his music, and his other expressions of nationhood – each
a mixture rather than a pure entity. This pidginization explains the Filipino’s roots.
Does it also explain his lack of success in the management of his politics, his
government, and his economic aVairs? Does it explain his general ability to function
outside but not inside the body politic? If it does not, then the diYculty remains to
Wnd some more reWned and sensitive way to predict his regular individual success but
common social failure, and Wnd roots for this phenomenon in matters other than
culture and language and symbols of nationhood and identity.
10
Code-mixing of English and Filipino is an increasing trend, especially among members of the
younger generations.
17
Singapore
Andrew Simpson
17.1 Introduction
Singapore is a small island state located at the southern tip of the Malay peninsula
which has undergone tremendous economic growth and modernization since 1965,
resulting in a per capita income which is second only to that of Japan within Asia.
During the course of its recent dramatic development, Singapore has also had to face
up to and deal with important challenges to its national coherence which are present
because of two simple facts about the country. First of all, Singapore is a very new
state, with no sense of collective identity among its inhabitants existing prior to the
establishment of full independence in 1965. Secondly, the population of Singapore is
highly mixed, being composed of the descendants of immigrants into Singapore from
(primarily) southern China, India, and Malaya. Confronted with the problem of how to
accommodate such a broad ethnic mix in a single society and also build up a national
identity, the post-independence government of Singapore made the signiWcant decision
to attempt to maintain cultural and linguistic pluralism within Singapore at the same
time as building up an overarching Singaporean identity based on broad, traditional
Asian values, and supported by increased prosperity.
In the government’s development of such a multi-ethnic, independent Singapore, one
particularly critical component of its approach has been a strong, sustained programme
of language management and planning, and a highly-publicized, cornerstone policy of
multilingualism in society and advanced bilingualism in individuals. Such a policy has
had signiWcant and sometimes controversial consequences for the structuring of educa-
tion in Singapore, and has also led to regular attempts by the government to direct and
change the everyday language habits of the population in quite fundamental ways.
Throughout this moulding of the linguistic and national identity of Singapore, the
government has beneWted from having greater Wnancial resources at its disposal than
most other Asian nations, and this has allowed for freer experimentation in the design of
its education system and more materials being made available for the promotion of
extra-educational language programmes. Post-WWII Singapore can therefore generally
be described as the interesting story of how successful an ethnically mixed, economically
Singapore 375
Singapore
developed, modern new state can be in the planned development of multilingualism, the
maintenance of multi-ethnicity, and the (simultaneous) construction of a new national
identity. In what follows, the chapter discusses the problems, tensions, and challenges
which have been thrown up by these goals, beginning with a description of the general
background to the oYcial introduction of multilingualism in 1965 in section 17.2, an
examination of how the policy of multilingualism subsequently unfolded in section 17.3,
and an assessment of the present state of Singapore and the developing relation of
language and national identity in the country in section 17.4.
of making money and then returning to their homelands, and there was little mixing
and cohesion amongst the various ethnic groups, and no development of any long-
term allegiance to the territory of Singapore, right up until the end of World War II,
when the realistic prospect of independence from the British began to loom on the
horizon.
At this point, questions about the future shape of Singapore were considered for the
Wrst time, and the need arose to imagine how Singapore could eVectively function as a
uniWed society with a post-colonial identity of its own. In 1958 when self-government
was achieved, it was very clear that it would not be easy to forge a national identity
for the new state. Not only was there little common, binding history that could be
called on to ground the new state in a positive and useful way, the composition
and complexity of the population was such that there was no single ethnic group
in Singapore whose language and culture could be realistically promoted as represen-
tative of the identity of the emerging new state. The Chinese were in the clear
numerical majority in Singapore, making up approximately 75 per cent of the
population, but the government realized that it would be highly unwise to attempt
to develop an oYcial Chinese identity for Singapore. Not only would this be resisted
by the remaining 25 per cent of the population, it would also have been internationally
unwise to promote a new Chinese state in the middle of the Malay-speaking world
formed by surrounding Malaya and Indonesia. The Malay population, though having
a locally ‘appropriate’ language and culture, were only 17 per cent of the population
of Singapore, and so it did not seem realistic to attempt to develop a uniquely Malay
state in Singapore either. The third signiWcantly large ethnic group in the territory,
those of Indian descent, were less in number than the Malays, and so similarly
unrealistic as a choice for the primary foundation of a new national identity. In such
a situation, the government decided on a policy of multiracialism and the guarantee of
equality and oYcial representation for all the three main ethnic communities in
Singapore – the Chinese, the Malays, and the Indians. It was declared that Chinese,
Malay, and Tamil (as representative of the Indian community) would all be registered
as oYcial languages of the new state, and that English would be added as a fourth
oYcial language for pragmatic reasons, English being the established language of
government and administration and also being commonly used as a language of inter-
group communication, alongside another lingua franca, Bazaar Malay. Furthermore,
because it was widely anticipated that Singapore would be closely linked with Malaya
at some point in the near future, the government declared that Malay would be
recognized as the National Language of Singapore, in addition to being an oYcial
language.
As a result of the government’s support for four oYcial languages in Singapore
rather than just one, schools were able to continue to teach in (Mandarin) Chinese,
Malay, Tamil, and English, but students and the general public were additionally
encouraged to acquire a new/better knowledge of Malay, there being an expectation
that Malay would in time take over from English as the common language of
Singapore 377
administration and government aVairs and indeed also function as a common langu-
age in all Welds of everyday life (de Souza 1980). In 1963 the anticipated linking with
Malaya then became a political reality, and the Federation of Malaysia was formed
from the union of Malaya, Singapore, and the north Borneo states of Sarawak and
Sabah. However, after only two years, Singapore was forced to leave the Federation of
Malaysia, as negative feelings and mistrust which had quickly emerged between the
Malay majority in the Federation and the Chinese threatened to spiral out of control.
The former suspected the Singapore Chinese of conspiring with Chinese in other
parts of the Federation to increase their power and control of the state, while the non-
Malay population in Singapore had become worried by the picture of a heavily Malay-
dominated Malaysia which they felt was being promoted by certain leading Malay
politicians.
The separation of Singapore from Malaysia was seen as a disaster by many in
Singapore, as there was a strong belief that Singapore was simply too small in size to
be able to prosper alone, and therefore needed to be part of a bigger political unit.
There were also worries that Singapore would suVer commercially from anti-Chinese
feelings assumed to be present among the inhabitants of its natural local trading
partners, neighbouring Malaysia and Indonesia. The government therefore realized
that it needed to rapidly rethink its plans both relating to the economy and the
national identity of a Singapore not incorporated into Malaysia, and despite the
problems of initial high unemployment and the loss of revenue from support of
the British military presence in Singapore, the government was very successful in
attracting foreign investment and getting the Singapore economy moving in a positive
direction again.
Concerning the development of a national identity, because there was no long
history associated with Singapore, nor any recent history of a people engaged in a
joint struggle for independence, the natural historical means to construct a shared
identity was not available to the government. As it was also not appropriate to
promote a common identity based on the heritage of any of the major racial groups
in Singapore by itself, the government instead used the vulnerability of Singapore and
the need for survival of the nation in the face of economic challenges as a means of
creating a common, binding identity. The government maintained its previous strong
commitment to Singapore as a multiracial nation-state and then stressed the goals of
economic growth and equal rights and opportunities as uniting Singapore (Kiong and
Pakir 1996). Such themes have continued to be emphasized during Singapore’s
development and have acted as an eVective substitute for the lack of other cultural
and historic symbols that could immediately be used to build up a sense of shared
identity.
In the area of language policy, the government also reconWrmed its commitment
to multilingualism and its earlier decision not to attempt to make one language the
sole promoted, oYcial language of the state. Mandarin Chinese, Malay, Tamil, and
English therefore remained the four joint oYcial languages of Singapore, and were
378 A. Simpson
student attended, with students nominating Malay as their Wrst language going to one
of the more specialized Malay-medium schools (which now also had to provide
teaching in the other three languages), and students selecting Chinese as L1 going
to a more heavily focused Chinese-medium school (where they would get classes in
their designated L2 as well).
Within the new bilingual education system, Mandarin Chinese, Malay, and Tamil
were also commonly referred to as the ‘mother tongue’ languages of students, and it
was anticipated that students would select their stronger ‘mother tongue’ as L1 and
then a second oYcial language as L2. However, Mandarin, Malay, and Tamil were
actually not real mother tongues for the vast majority of students (89 per cent,
according to Kuo 1980), in the sense of being languages acquired with native-speaker
skill from an early age, and children in Singapore mostly grew up speaking other,
related languages in the home. For example, amongst the Chinese community,
Mandarin was a native language for only 0.1 per cent of Chinese-speaking people
at the time of independence (Kuo 1980), whereas other mutually unintelligible
varieties of Chinese were the real mother tongues of people in Singapore, particularly
Hokkien (30 per cent), Teochew (17 per cent), Cantonese (15 per cent). Similarly
among the Indian community, although Tamil-speakers were in a signiWcant majority,
there were also speakers of Punjabi, Bengali, Malayalam, Telugu, Hindi, and Gujarati.
The ‘Malay’ group furthermore included speakers of other Austronesian languages
such as Buginese, Javanese, Banjarese, and Baweanese. The establishment of four
oYcial languages for Singapore therefore partially concealed a much greater under-
lying linguistic variation, and relates to a general simpliWcation in the way that
divisions between races were (and still are) conceptualized by the government in
Singapore. All citizens of Singapore are oYcially categorized as belonging to one of
four racial types: Chinese, Malay, Indian, or ‘Other’, with this information being
formally included on the identiWcation cards which need to be carried by individuals,
and being used for a whole range of statistical and administrative purposes relating to
the oYcial insurance of equality amongst the diVerent races of Singapore. Though
such categorization of related subgroups into larger ethnic categories tends to ignore
and smooth over possibly signiWcant diVerences between members of the four racial
types, it is also clear that it has practical advantages for the monitoring of equal
opportunities among the population and provides a more powerful representative
voice for each major racial group than if these groups had remained fragmented. In
the area of language-learning and education, however, the rather deceptive use of the
term ‘mother tongue’ for languages which are often not the mother tongues of
ethnically Chinese and Indian students tends to cover up the size of the language-
learning task facing students in bilingual education in Singapore. For the clear
majority of students during the Wrst decade of the bilingual education programme,
there was a need not only to acquire the designated second language when starting
school, but also to acquire the actual ‘mother tongue’ as another largely unfamiliar
language.
380 A. Simpson
terms of language learning, and that action was therefore needed to improve and
facilitate bilingualism both at school and elsewhere in daily life in Singapore. One of
the key factors which the government investigation identiWed as hindering the
achievement of successful bilingualism amongst students was the use of a home
language which was not one of the two languages being learned in school. Such a
problem was noted as being particularly chronic amongst the Chinese population,
where dialects other than Mandarin were commonly used at home. Because of this, as
many as 85 per cent of students from Chinese families were eVectively having to learn
two new languages at school, and this heavy learning burden was argued to be
signiWcantly hindering the intended progress of students in bilingualism.
Attempting to address the problems highlighted by the Goh Report and the
discontent of many of the Chinese community, the government announced an
important new initiative and two changes to the organization of bilingual education.
The Wrst of these was the Speak Mandarin Campaign, a programme which encour-
aged (and in some domains required) members of the Chinese population to switch
from using dialects such as Hokkien, Cantonese, Teochew to using only Mandarin
Chinese. The reasons given for this strong promotion of Mandarin were various in
number. First of all, the Prime Minister suggested that continued extensive use of the
various dialects in Singapore was keeping the Chinese community fragmented and
that use of a single form of Chinese would pull the community together and
strengthen it, adding the warning that if Mandarin was not taken up and adopted
English might ironically come to be the inter-group language of the Chinese. Sec-
ondly, concerning education, it was argued that the continued use of dialects in the
home was holding children back in their studies and that there were even surveys to
show that children who spoke Mandarin at home did better in their studies than
children who spoke dialects with their family. Finally, it was suggested that Mandarin
Chinese increased an individual’s access to Chinese literature and culture, and would
also have growing value for business as mainland China became more open to trade
with countries in the outside world.
Concerning the actual implementation of the Speak Mandarin Campaign, because
Mandarin was an important variety of Chinese in both mainland China and Taiwan, it
was in fact already quite widely understood in Singapore. In order to help Chinese
Singaporeans improve (or initiate) their ability in Mandarin and come to speak it more
in everyday life, the government provided free of charge a variety of classes (including
phone-in and radio sessions), books, tapes, and various other materials, and also
decreed that those in certain public-area professions such as taxi-drivers, bus conduct-
ors, and hawkers would have to pass exams in Mandarin Chinese. Civil servants and
those employed by the government (e.g. in hospitals) were furthermore instructed to
use Mandarin with all (Chinese) members of the public, except those over the age of
60 (Gopinathan 1980). Each year during the campaign the government set out to
target new domains for the spread of Mandarin and replacement of the dialects,
starting with pressure on parents to use only Mandarin with their children in the
Singapore 383
home, and then later pushing for increased use of Mandarin in the workplace, in cafes,
restaurants, and markets. Over time, television and radio programmes in Chinese
dialects were also reduced and Wnally fully replaced by programming in Mandarin.
Most recently, the government has set its sights on the English-educated section of the
Chinese community, attempting to increase the amount of Mandarin spoken by this
particular group.
In addition to simply consolidating the Mandarin linguistic ability of the Chinese in
Singapore, the Speak Mandarin Campaign also importantly reassured the Chinese
that the government was concerned with maintaining and strengthening their col-
lective cultural identity and wanted to promote Chinese language and Chinese
heritage rather than simply abandon it to the continual advance of English. The
campaign (which still continues) therefore partly allayed the worries of the Chinese
which had been growing in the 1970s.
The second important step taken by the government in direct response to the Goh
Report was the introduction of streaming in schools. Confronted with the failure of
many students to reach the original targeted levels of competence in two languages,
the government conceded that it was perhaps unrealistic to expect that all students
would be able to become fully bilingual in the intended way. It was therefore decided
to adjust and set the goals of language attainment for students according to the way
they performed in early language classes and exams. Those showing a good ability to
cope with instruction in two languages would continue to learn via two mediums of
instruction, whereas those experiencing diYculties with their chosen languages would
be taught with either a reduced amount of the L2 or alternatively only via a single
language (English). The streaming of students into diVerent schools and modes of
learning therefore regulated the amount of language they studied and attempted to
make them ‘as bilingual as they could be’ (Bokhorst-Heng 1998), and students were no
longer expected to reach the same challengingly high levels of bilingualism.
The third technical measure which the government took in the years following the
Goh Report was the conversion of all schools in Singapore to English-medium
education. Although this might have seemed like an unfair promotion of English
over Chinese, Tamil, and Malay, it was in fact simply a measure which formally
recognized the reality of the situation which had evolved in Singapore. In 1983 it was
noticed that less than 1 per cent of children had enrolled in a Chinese-medium
primary school and that no children had enrolled for Tamil- and Malay-medium
schooling. Parents of all racial groups had consequently been sending their children to
English-medium schools (both at primary and secondary level) in such large numbers
that it was no longer realistic to operate the non-English-medium schools, and these
were therefore simply converted into new English-medium schools. Symbolically,
though, this seemed to many members of the Chinese community to signal the end
of Chinese education in Singapore (taken along with the closure of Nanyang Univer-
sity), despite the fact that Chinese was widely available as the L2 in the English-
medium schools, and there were signiWcant protests to the government by many who
384 A. Simpson
therefore changed from being the erstwhile language of a privileged, wealthy group to
become a broadly shared language spoken with enthusiasm by much of the younger
generation, and is seen to be so essential to employment opportunities and other
aspects of daily life that its across-the-board usefulness may well pose a future threat
to the maintenance of other languages in Singapore.
Considering the fate of Malay over the past forty years, it is interesting to note
that there has been little change or decline in the use of Malay since independence
and the Malay community continues to maintain its language very well, with 95 per
cent of households reporting that Malay was used as the dominant language of the
home in 1990. Although English has been acquired by the rising generations, this
does not seem to have signiWcantly aVected the continued regular use of Malay,
and the language is commonly perceived both as an important symbol of Malay
identity and as critical for the transmission of traditional Malay culture (Kamsiah and
Ayyub 1998).
By way of contrast, the Indian community has been struggling with a number of
diYculties in the maintenance of Tamil as its representative, unifying racial language,
and although Tamil continues to be accorded equal rights in education, the media,
and government administration, the amount of Tamil spoken in Singapore is seriously
decreasing. It can be observed that there are two fundamental problems associated
with the support of Tamil as a major racial language in Singapore. The Wrst of these is
that there are actually two distinct forms of Tamil, a high literary form which is taught
in schools and used in all media broadcasting in Singapore, and a low colloquial form
which is the language form people actually use at home and in normal conversation.
The colloquial form is however perceived in a very negative way and associated with
low-paid manual labourers (Saravanan 1998). Consequently, people may actively avoid
the use of this form of Tamil in public, so as not to be perceived as from the lower
classes, and if they have not mastered the diYcult, high literary form of Tamil, this
results in a common switch to the use of English (or sometimes to Malay). Generally,
then, Tamil children are being taught a complex form of Tamil (the literary form)
which they are unable to master because it is not being reinforced in the home in
practical everyday-life situations, and the colloquial form which is used in these
situations is so negatively valued that it is not accepted as being appropriate for
wider use and is largely absent from television and radio broadcasts in Tamil. In
addition to this, it is widely perceived that Tamil has no practical use for obtaining
employment and so there is not much pragmatic motivation to learn the language.
The second basic problem aVecting Tamil as the representative language of the
Indian community is that only 60 per cent of the Indian community are actually
ethnically Tamil and the remaining 40 per cent come from a range of diVerent ethno-
linguistic groups which may speak north Indian Indo-Aryan languages such as
Punjabi, Hindi, and Bengali. These are quite unrelated to Tamil, which is a south
Indian Dravidian language, and much more diVerent from Tamil than the Chinese
‘dialects’ are from Mandarin. Consequently Tamil is both diYcult to learn for much of
386 A. Simpson
the Indian community, and not really felt to bind the community together in a
genuinely representative way. In the 1990s, protests from non-Tamil Indian groups
have led to the government actually allowing for Hindi, Urdu, Gujarati, Punjabi, and
Bengali to be studied as mother tongues and to satisfy the mother tongue language
requirements necessary in education. The Indian community in Singapore is therefore
not really bound by the use of a common language, there is increasing language shift
into both English and Malay (as the result of intermarriage), and there are those
among the community who see the government’s division of the population into four
distinct racial categories as actually being disadvantageous for the Indian community,
and not having the beneWts which it creates for the other major ethnic groups.
In addition to the non-trivial impact that the growth of English has had on the
learning and use of other languages in Singapore, there are two further issues relating
to English and national identity which require mention here. The Wrst of these is
essentially very simple, but also highly important for the future development of
Singapore and its targeted identity. The government has in recent years repeatedly
emphasized that as Singaporeans’ knowledge of English increases, so does their
exposure to liberal Western ideas, and this potentially brings in to Singapore Western
values and attitudes which may not be beneWcial for the kind of society that the
government thinks should be developed in Singapore, (in the government’s eyes)
incorporating excessive individualism and unwillingness to make personal sacriWce for
the good of the community, as well as potential decadence. The government has
therefore strongly urged the population to guard its traditional, common Asian
values, which are described in the national ideology as including the idea of nation
before community, society above self, and family as the basic unit of society. The
learning of English is presented as a pragmatic necessity for the technological and
economic development of Singapore, but the upkeep of the mother tongues is also
argued to be of supreme importance for the way the latter provide access to and assist
the maintenance of traditional Asian culture and values, which in turn serve as critical
foundations against the destabilizing eVects of rapid modernization (Gopinathan
1998). The government is therefore strongly committed to the preservation of the
three diVerent, oYcial Asian languages for the sake of ongoing and future social
stability. Such a commitment, however, highlights the fundamental dilemma facing
the development of national identity in Singapore. On the one hand the upkeep of the
diVerent Malay, Chinese, and Indian languages and cultures is deemed necessary to
ward oV the encroachment of undesired Western values (and maintain oYcial
equality among the diVerent racial groups), yet on the other hand the establishment
of an all-encompassing national identity is hampered by the diversity expressed by the
mother tongues and their associated diVerent cultures. The development of national
identity in Singapore therefore has to contend with the two opposing forces of
apparently necessary diversity paired against the desire for overarching unity, this
requiring a highly delicate, continually adjusted balancing act on behalf of the
government, and a slow, step-by-step easing towards a possible unifying identity
Singapore 387
CSE has now been spoken in Singapore for approximately thirty years, and much of
the population has developed an ability to switch between CSE and SSE depending on
the speech situation. The use of CSE/Singlish did not attract the criticism of the
government until the 1990s, however, when it came to be used in several very popular
television shows. This turned Singlish into an issue of much public debate, with
diVerent opinions being aired over whether use of CSE should be encouraged by its
presentation in the media. Ultimately it was the government which oYcially decided
the issue, banning Singlish from television and radio and categorizing it as ‘ungram-
matical English spoken by those with a poor command of the language’.
What is ironic in the oYcial discouragement of Singlish is that CSE was gradually
but surely becoming a useful informal symbol of a race-neutral, general Singaporean
identity, hence just the kind of distinctive, universal language form that the govern-
ment has been in need of to unite the four racial groups in Singapore in an unbiased
way. Singlish also has a signiWcant number of grammatical features common to Malay
and Chinese, such as tense omission, ellipsis of subjects and objects, and sentential
mood particles, which make it feel considerably more like a Southeast Asian language
and so potentially easier to accept as a symbol of local identity than, for example,
Standard English. SpeciWcally because of the presence of these local grammatical
388 A. Simpson
a diVerent racial group is therefore not being taken advantage of, and students are
instead learning the neutral, ‘international’ language, English. However, by other
means, Singaporeans are coming to learn about the culture and traditions of the
diVerent ethnic groups which make up the population, in schools via the use of new
general textbooks which describe Chinese, Malay, and Indian culture, and in daily life
via the media and promotion of the three major cultures during public festivities.
What can therefore be concluded about the Singaporean policy of multilingualism
is that although it does not directly bring about integration and the growth of a single
national identity, it nevertheless is responsible, in signiWcant part, for creating the
stability which does allow for a collective identity to evolve which is actually not
centred on a single traditional language or culture. The signs of such an emergent
national identity in Singapore are in fact quite positive, and recent surveys of public
opinion indicate that there is a high degree of identiWcation with Singapore as a nation
and a homeland which people both have an allegiance to and a strong desire to
continue to live in. There appears to be a strong sense of the need to work together for
the good of the country and continued prosperity, and a common pride in the way
that Singapore has both survived in the face of initial adversity and become a highly
successful modernized nation.
As part of the government’s general policies of equal treatment for the three major
racial groups in Singapore, the support of multilingualism is, however, also recognized
as potentially impeding the development of a single national identity, as any attention
drawn to the diversity of the population in the country can distract from the goal of
forging unity. As multilingualism is seen to be absolutely necessary for the mainten-
ance of harmony in Singapore, what is therefore required from the government is
constant, careful attention to the balancing of multingualism, progress in the econ-
omy, and the needs and fears of diVerent sections of the population. One further
example of how delicate this balancing act often is concerns the government’s deep
desire for students to obtain a high level of bilingual proWciency. In the 1980s the initial
hope that all students would become bilingual had to be scaled down in the light of
the Goh Report and streaming resulted in certain less able students attaining a
signiWcantly reduced level of bilingualism. At the higher end of education, elevated
standards of bilingualism were still demanded, however, and entrance into university
in Singapore required students to pass advanced-level exams in their mother tongue as
well as English. Such a requirement has proved to be unpopular with many in the
population whose children experience diYculties in learning language but are other-
wise academically suited for university study, and signiWcant numbers of gifted
students have chosen to study in overseas universities in order to avoid the mother
tongue language entry requirement. As this situation has become more chronic, and
competition to attract good students has grown, the government has (in 2004) made
moves to relax the L2 university entry requirements and indicated that certain grades
lower than pass-level would also be acceptable, believing such a change to be in the
interests of the general population. This however immediately provoked a strong
390 A. Simpson
reaction from sections of the Chinese community who expressed alarm that it might
allow for standards of Chinese to fall to very low levels. The government had to
quickly assure the Chinese that this would not be the case and it would seek to
compensate by adding new courses on Chinese history, economy, and society into the
school curriculum to increase coverage of things Chinese and would make new eVorts
to protect the learning of Chinese and the other mother tongues. It can therefore be
seen that each step taken in language policy in Singapore has potentially important
associated consequences and the issue of language in Singapore is continually highly
charged with emotion and concern.
As for what the future may hold for Singapore, this is clearly diYcult to predict;
however, three issues in particular can be signalled as having a likely signiWcance for
the development of Singapore in the twenty-Wrst century. The Wrst of these is the
economy. In the absence of obvious historical or cultural symbols of unity at
independence, the government has used economic survival and progress as goals to
unite and bind the nation, and the spectacular achievements made in the economy
over the last few decades have come to function as an important part of Singaporean
national identity. Consequently, continued stability and coherence as a nation may
depend on the ability of the government to sustain high economic growth as a symbol
binding the nation together. A second important question for the future is the degree
to which rising generations will continue to accept the paternalistic, heavy involve-
ment of the government in everyday life, which has been so characteristic of the last
forty years. Until now, this has been relatively well tolerated by the population as
many feel it has assisted Singapore in its ongoing development. However, those who
have no memory of the hardships of life before independence and the struggle for
modernization may be less willing than previous generations to accept the continu-
ation of restrictions on the press and personal and public freedom imposed by the
government, and this could lead to new divisive confrontation between state and
population. Finally, the economic rise of China predicted for the next Wfty years is
bound to have increasing eVects on Singapore and cause new interactions between
English and Chinese as potentially dominant regional languages, possibly reducing the
importance of English and making Chinese a more marketable commodity, with clear
consequences for policies on bilingualism and education. How all these and other
tensions in multiracial, multilingual modern Singapore play out in the century to
come will certainly be interesting to follow.
18
Thailand and Laos
Andrew Simpson and Noi Thammasathien
18.1 Introduction
This chapter examines language and national identity issues in Thailand and also
Laos. These two neighbouring states are grouped together here for the reason that
both contain heavily dominant ‘Tai’ populations and have a long history of interaction
with each other. The term ‘Tai’ itself refers to a particular group of languages which
form a language family distinct from other major language families of east and
southeast Asia such as the surrounding Sino-Tibetan, Austro-Asiatic and Austronesian
groups. Speakers of the Tai group of languages originated in southeast China but
migrated far and wide during the seventh to thirteenth centuries, reaching Assam in
the west, northern Vietnam in the south, and modern-day Thailand and Laos in the
southwest, where the greatest concentration of Tai speakers is still to be found, with
57 million in Thailand (90 per cent of the population), and 4 million in Laos (66 per
cent of the population). The term ‘Thai’ (pronounced with an aspiration on the initial
consonant which is absent from the pronunciation of ‘Tai’) is normally used to refer
just to the inhabitants of Thailand, both as formal citizens of the country and as
members of a single ethnic group identiWed by a largely shared language and culture.
It is also frequently used to refer to the standardized variety of speech which has been
strongly promoted within Thailand – Standard Thai. The term ‘Lao’ performs a
similar function within the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos, being used to
refer to citizens of the country and also to the particular sub-variety of Tai language
and culture which is found throughout signiWcant parts of the country. As will later be
seen, both the terms ‘Thai’ and ‘Lao’ have been of considerable importance in
attempts to mould national identities within the two countries.
As the chapter will note, modern Thailand stands out in southeast Asia as a country
which seems to be remarkably homogeneous from a linguistic and ethnic point of
view, yet the obvious dominance of Thai language and culture in the country actually
overlays a complex patchwork of some sixty other languages which are regularly used
by the inhabitants of Thailand, generally without the occurrence of major language/
ethnic group-related disturbances. Such apparent ‘unity amongst diversity’ which
392 A. Simpson and N. Thammasathien
distinguishes Thailand from various other countries in the region has been commen-
ted on in many works (Keyes 1989, Smalley 1994, Reynolds 1991b) and is the clear
result of a hundred years of state-controlled language-planning initiatives in conjunc-
tion with sustained and highly successful eVorts at nation-building. Thailand is also
remarkable for being one of the few Asian countries not to have experienced the
traumas of colonization by a Western power. By way of contrast, Thailand’s neigh-
bour to the northeast, Laos, was indeed subjected to Western colonization, and
formally came into being as the result of unnatural borders being created by treaties
between the colonizing power, France, and other countries in the region. One
particularly signiWcant eVect of such treaties was to strand almost 80 per cent of the
total ethnic Lao population within the borders of the northeast of Thailand, a
situation which remains to this day and which adds to the complexity of national
identity issues in both Thailand and Laos. Due to severe diYculties in internal
communication in Laos caused by mountainous terrain, as well as the presence of
substantial numbers of non-Tai ethno-linguistic groups in the country and the chaos
of a protracted post-colonial civil war, the development of national identity in Laos
has faced quite diVerent challenges to those in Thailand, and the success of establish-
ing a language-related unifying national identity is considerably less apparent than in
Laos’ larger neighbour to the southwest. Both countries, however, raise interesting
and diVerent questions about the use of language in the process of nation-building and
the degree to which linguistic pluralism may or may not be possible within linguis-
tically diverse populations.
The structure of the chapter is as follows. Because an understanding of the present
linguistic situation in Thailand and Laos requires an appreciation of how these polities
initially evolved and were then deliberately formed as nation-states, section 18.2 begins
with a consideration of the development of the early Tai kingdoms into modern
nations, with a particular focus on the period of intense nationalism which occurred
in Thailand in the Wrst half of the twentieth century. Section 18.3 then concentrates on
the current situation of language–state relations in Thailand and the relation of Standard
Thai to the many other languages spoken in the country, as well as noting certain
changes which are beginning to manifest themselves. Finally section 18.4 returns to
Laos and focuses both on its recent colonial and post-colonial past, and the way that the
country has attempted to unify its many diVerent linguistic groups as a single nation.
cosmopolitan make-up than Lan Na and Lan Xang, and incorporated many people of
Mon, Khmer, and Chinese descent as well as the dominant Tai. The blending of these
peoples within a highly structured society inXuenced by Khmer and Indic principles of
government led to a distinctive and ambitious Tai kingdom which neighbouring
powers began to refer to as ‘Siam’, introducing a name for the kingdoms of this
central plains area that would continue to be used (primarily by outsiders) until 1939.
Elsewhere, to the northeast of Ayudhya, the kingdom of Lan Xang also experienced
considerable development and a golden age in the seventeenth century, encompassing
most of the area of modern Laos and more. In the eighteenth century, however, Lan
Xang disastrously split up into three rival kingdoms, Luang Prabang in the north,
Vientiane in the centre, and Champassak in the south, and remained troubled by
Wghting and competition between the three kingdoms right up until colonization of
large amounts of Lao territory by the French in the twentieth century. For much of
the last three centuries, the areas inhabited by Lao–Tai people have therefore suVered
from being disunited and have also been subject to periodic and regular subordination
by more powerful neighbours and invaders.
In its turn, Ayudhya also fell and was completely destroyed by the Burmese in 1767.
Out of the ashes of Ayudhya, however, quickly grew a new Siamese kingdom which
remarkably brought under its control more territory than had been governed by
Ayudhya, including Lan Na to the north, the Lao kingdoms of Luang Prabang,
Vientiane, and Champassak, Cambodia to the east, and various Malay states in the
south. With a new capital city founded in Bangkok and an aggressive policy of
expansion, the territory under Siam’s control subsequently came to take on more
of the administrative form of an empire rather than a kingdom, with the relation of
subordinate territories to the centre of power changing as the distance from Bangkok
increased. Those areas furthest away from Bangkok were less integrated in the
Siamese world and functioned simply as vassal states submitting annual tribute to
Bangkok. Other regions closer in and more closely bound to Siam also submitted
manpower for defence and construction works but were nevertheless still directly
ruled over on a day-to-day basis by local powerful elites. The important picture that
emerges then in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries is of a powerful
Siam governing an extremely diverse population, in which local rulers play an
important part in the hierarchical structure of the empire, and there is no uniform
sense of culture or identity/belonging within the widespread territories of the empire.
into Siam and the incidence of assimilation became less and less. As the economic
power of the Chinese rose dramatically (to the point of controlling 80 per cent of
commerce within Siam), the non-integration of this sizeable foreign group, which had
grown to over 10 per cent of the population, came to be seen as a considerable
potential threat to the new unity of Siam, and so became a regular target of nationalist
speeches made by Vajiravudh.
Elsewhere Vajiravudh began the implementation of a drive towards a new, hom-
ogenized national identity with the introduction of schooling in a standardized form
of Thai based on the elite-spoken dialect in Bangkok. Literacy was taught through this
Standard Thai and signiWcantly it came to be used in place of other local scripts and
dialects. Vajiravudh was also keenly aware that the method of presentation of the
nationalist idée was critical for its wide success and depended on the careful manipu-
lation of language adapted for widespread consumption. He therefore ensured that
the language of his speeches and his plays was simple and easy to understand, so that
they allowed for eVective, large-scale dissemination to a broad nationwide audience.
The nationalist programme initiated by Vajiravudh was continued with increased
vigour by others in the 1930s. In 1932, aspirations for greater democracy amongst the
growing Western-educated elite led to the overthrow of the absolute monarchy and
the conversion of the country into a constitutional monarchy in which the king had
much reduced powers. In the decade that followed this, two individuals played a
particularly important role in the further development of nationalism and national
identity in Siam: Phibun Songkhram, a military oYcer who became prime minister in
1938, and Luang Wichit Wathakan, a writer and academic. The latter became the
Director General of the Fine Arts Department and used this institution to produce
and disseminate a mass of nationalist propaganda building up the myth of a single
Thai people with a long, uniWed history. This took the form of stirring historical plays,
songs, and musical dramas which were widely broadcast on the radio and performed
throughout the country by a new national acting and dance troupe established by
the Fine Arts Department. The dramatic increase of published materials available in the
1930s also assisted greatly in the spread of Wichit’s nationalist propaganda, as did the
growth and availability of compulsory education, which was critically transmitted by
the use of Standard Thai alone. School children throughout the land consequently
received the same curriculum of ‘national’ history and culture in the same ‘national’
language, and furthermore had to adopt that language in order to proceed through
the educational system. Through the 1930s the public, young and old, were therefore
constantly exposed to the idea of a Thai national identity in a far more extensive way
than in Vajiravudh’s reign, and the government-endorsed promotion of a unifying
national culture successfully embedded the idea of a single Siamese/Thai nation
among signiWcant numbers of people in the country.
From 1939 on, the government led by Phibun then issued a series of State
Conventions (Barmé 1993: 144–60, Wyatt 1984: 252–6) which both announced oYcial
new ‘national’ policies and also urged various changes in behaviour by the public in
Thailand and Laos 397
relation to common national objects and the national image. In the Wrst State
Convention announced by Phibun on National Day 1939, it was declared that the
name of the country was oYcially being changed from Siam to Thailand (in Thai from
prathet Sayam to prathet Thai). The word ‘Thai’ had long been in use to refer to the Tai
people living in Siam, but ‘Siam’ had been conventionalized as the name of the country
in treaties and other dealings with foreign countries. The motivations ascribed to the
change in oYcial name were that Wrst of all it emphasized that the Tai, and not the
economically dominant Chinese, were the real owners of the country, and secondly it
highlighted the common Tai linking between the inhabitants of Siam and the ethnic-
ally Tai peoples in neighbouring countries, in particular French-occupied Laos. Ever
since the ‘annexation’ by France of Lao territories previously controlled by Siam, there
had been a desire to seize back these ‘lost provinces’, and with the accelerated rise of
nationalism in the late 1930s, Wichit, Phibun, and others began to imagine a new pan-
Tai empire led by Thailand, uniting Tai peoples in Laos, Burma, and possibly even
further aWeld. It was also publicly noted that the word ‘Thai’ had the additional
meaning ‘free/independent’ and that this well matched the fact that Siam/Thailand
was the only non-colonized/independent country in eastern Asia apart from Japan.
Following on from the change of the name of the country from Siam to Thailand,
the government proclaimed in a second State Convention that all the inhabitants
of Thailand would now be referred to as Thai (people), however they may have
previously called/identiWed themselves. Long-standing ethnic identity labels were
therefore replaced by ‘a new, oYcially sanctioned historical-cultural identity’
(Barmé 1993: 151), and it was even ordered by Wichit that ethnic terms such as
‘Lao’ and ‘Shan’ should be replaced in current and traditional popular songs by the
word ‘Thai’. The fourth State Convention also discouraged the use of any regional or
ethnic/religious modiWer of the word ‘Thai’, so that terms such as ‘southern Thais’,
‘northeastern Thais’, and ‘Islamic Thais’ should not be used, and instead all inhabit-
ants of the country should be simply referred to as ‘Thais’ in a fully uniform way.
In 1940 the government then proclaimed a State Convention on Language, and
announced that: ‘All Thais must consider their Wrst duty as good citizens is to study the
Thai language, so that at least they must be able to read and write. . . . Thais are not to
give undue consideration to their particular place of residence or their birth-place or to
the diVerence in accent of the language as indicative of separation. Everyone must
consider that he is born Thai, he naturally possesses Thai blood and talks Thai
irrespective of birth-place or pronunciation.’ (Quoted in Barmé 1993: 155.) This
particularly targeted groups which spoke non-Tai languages, such as the Chinese and
the Malay-speakers in the south. It also essentially instructed speakers of Lao and other
Tai-varieties that they had a civic duty to learn Standard Thai and that they should
consider themselves to be bound to the nation by their knowledge of and ability in Thai.
In their push for a new national unity, what many of the Conventions eVectively did
was to promote the culture and language of the most powerful ethnic group in
Thailand, the Thais living in the central area of the country, and there was a clear
398 A. Simpson and N. Thammasathien
18.2.3 From World War II to the Present: Defending the National Identity
Following the end of World War II and a brief period of occupation by Japanese forces,
the Thai government continued on with its programme of promotion of the ‘national’
identity through the advancement of central Thai language and culture. Phibun
initiated a fresh campaign against the Chinese, with new restrictions on Chinese
participation in the economy, further reduction of the possibility of use of Chinese
within education, and a near halt on immigration from China. In the south of
Thailand, the army and the air force were called in to put down resistance from
Muslim Malay speakers to the imposition of the State Conventions on language and
behaviour, and education in Malay came to be forbidden. Later on, in the 1960s and
1970s the country experienced further internal unrest in a period of insurgency which
was centred in the northeast of the country and associated with communists and
foreign support from Indochina. All throughout this time, the notion of a uniWed
national culture was strongly transmitted by the government through education and
the media, and ‘traditional’ values and institutions were championed as being of great
necessary importance for the country and its people. Though internal resistance to
the state homogenization of language and culture did occur in parts (e.g. in the far
south and for a time in the northeast), generally there was passive acceptance of the
state’s promotion of a national Thai image and identity, and also much enthusiasm for
Thailand and Laos 399
it in certain areas, especially when the monarch was reintroduced and vigorously
promoted as a major symbol of national unity from the 1960s onwards. Critical in the
post-WWII (further) state engineering of a national Thai identity and its acceptance
by the population was the fact that Thailand underwent an economic boom from the
mid-1960s until the 1990s and stood out as the modernizing success story of southeast
Asia, fuelled by much US aid and military presence during the Vietnam war years. The
inhabitants of Thailand therefore came to experience a certain collective pride in the
progress of their country when compared with that of their neighbours, and this was
continually bolstered by the observation that Thailand had maintained its independ-
ence when all those around it had succumbed to Western colonization. The idea of
belonging to a single, successful nation was therefore easier to instil amongst the still
varied population as Thailand indeed seemed to be a nation which was prospering like
other ‘real nations’ elsewhere in the world.
Considered as a whole, the history of Thailand can be seen as the incremental
consolidation of a modern nation through a series of fairly discrete, segmentable
stages. Out of an initial period in which the area of modern Thailand and Laos was
occupied by numerous small, disconnected muang there emerged a number of
diVerent Tai kingdoms with a more clearly deWned, broader area of domination.
Amongst these, the kingdom of Ayudhya developed a particular sophistication in its
internal structure when adopting organizational principles from neighbouring Angkor
and the Khmers, and handed these on to the Thonburi/early Bangkok kings who
subsequently expanded the kingdom into an empire Wlled with many, diVerent
peoples. Governed directly by local rulers, there was little collective feeling amongst
such peoples or loyalty to the centre. Pressure from the West, however, forced a
reduction of territory in the empire and an eVective redeWnition of the internal
structure of the core of Siam as a modernizing state with strong centralized control
and elimination of the power of local rulers, but still no coherence as a nation with a
common identity. This identity as a nation has now been carefully forged and
constructed over the last hundred years by elite-driven policies focusing on the
advancement of central Thai language and culture, and a downplaying of regional
and other ethno-religious diVerences present in the country. The current results of
this process of the promotion of a dominant language and national identity and the
present status of Standard Thai and the many other languages which continue to be
heard in the country are now considered in section 18.3, postponing an examination
of the rather diVerent development of the linguistic situation in Laos to section 18.4.
have resulted in Standard Thai coming to hold an extremely prominent and dominant
position within Thailand. Standard Thai is a form of Central Thai based on the variety
of Thai spoken earlier by the elite of the court, and now by the educated middle and
upper classes in Bangkok. It incorporates many words of Pali and Sanskrit origin
(which are still used as source languages for the creation of new terminology), was
standardized in grammar books in the nineteenth century, and spread dramatically
from the 1930s onwards, when public education became much more widespread and
available.
Currently, Standard Thai is widely understood, primarily due to its dominance in
various areas of life. In the domain of education, it is oYcially decreed that all public
schooling has to be provided via the medium of Standard Thai, throughout the
country. Standard Thai also dominates the media, with the vast majority of television
and radio programmes being broadcast in Standard Thai, reinforcing its national
presence. It is also the oYcial language of government business, public speaking, and
functions as the language of economic advancement and social prestige (Diller 1991).
Finally, it is associated with a written form which has a long history and literature and
which is extremely visible throughout Thailand, having fully displaced other regional
forms of writing used until the mid-twentieth century. Because of its dominant
presence and continual promotion through the media and education, Standard Thai
is also perceived as an important national symbol, and alongside Theravada Buddhism
and the King is suggested to be one of the strongest symbols of national identity
present in the country, even for speakers who rarely use it in everyday life (Smalley
1994: 14).
of the regional languages to Standard Thai is furthermore suYcient for texts written
in Standard Thai to be read aloud with the distinctive phonology of the regional
languages. Due to the general prominence of Standard Thai, more and more words
are being borrowed from Standard Thai into the other languages, especially by the
young, who are more competent in Standard Thai, and also when new technical
vocabulary has Wrst been coined in Standard Thai.
Amongst the four regional languages, a special word needs to be said about
Northeastern Thai/Isan. Historically, the northeast part of Thailand, which is
known as Isan, was Wrst part of the successful Lao kingdom of Lan Xang, and then
part of the smaller Lao kingdom of Luang Prabang. It was only one hundred years ago
that Isan actually became an oYcial part of Siam as the result of treaties signed with
the French which incorporated this ethnically Lao area into Siam. For the majority of
its history, therefore, Isan has been a Lao area more closely connected with the
population in modern Laos than with the Thais/Siamese. Although Thai and Lao
language and culture have much in common, the people of Isan are nevertheless
closer in their sub-variety of Tai language and culture with the inhabitants of modern
Laos, and the language which the people of Isan speak is indeed referred to as either
Isan or Lao, with the Thai government often dispreferring the latter term as it stresses
the potential link between the people of Isan and the modern state of Laos. This
ethnic and linguistic aYnity of the people of Isan with the Laos across the border
raises questions about loyalties and national identity which we will return to in
section 18.4.2. It should also be noted that the number of Isan/Lao speakers in
northeast Thailand is substantial and as much as a third of the total Thai population.
The balance of Lao speakers in Thailand and Laos is also quite uneven and perhaps
the opposite to what one might expect, with only 20 per cent of the total number of
Lao speakers living in Laos, and the remaining 80 per cent all being resident in Isan
(an indication of the arbitrariness of the borders of Laos established by the French
with the Siamese government).
The second group of ‘late arrivals’ into Thailand are speakers of a broad range of
Sino-Tibetan and Hmong-Mien languages (amongst which Karen, Akha, Lahu, Yao,
and Hmong) who migrated into north and northwest Thailand from the middle of
the nineteenth century. Because these people generally live at higher altitudes than
the Thai lowlanders, they have come to be referred to as the Hill Peoples/Tribes.
Traditionally, they tend to live by swidden farming which results in a migratory
pattern of life and the necessary search for new farming land every few years. Many
of them now also engage in the cultivation of opium as a cash-crop.
Because of the growth of the population in the upland areas and the reduction in
the amount of land available for swidden-style agriculture, these peoples have recently
had increasing contact with the lowland Thais and a number of them are coming to
acquire a secondary competence in either Standard or Northern Thai. Though
comparatively small in total number (650,000), the hill people are considerably visible
in Thailand, due in part to use of the ethnic diversity of the hill peoples in the
promotion of international tourism in Thailand, and also due to regular television
news footage of the king touring the area of the hill people. The king has been
concerned with alleviation of the poverty of the hill people and Wnding ways to
improve their income without the cultivation of opium. Generally, it is felt that the hill
peoples have not integrated themselves with the majority Thai culture, and there are
frequent negative attitudes towards the hill peoples as outsiders who are destroying
the forests of Thailand in order to produce opium.
there was increased intermarriage of Chinese men with Thai women, this producing
oVspring who grew up hearing and learning more Thai than Chinese. In order to
maintain their prominence in business, many Chinese also adopted Thai names and
Thai manners. Now, nearly seventy years since the economic and educational meas-
ures to encourage integration were put in place, the Chinese in Thailand have evolved
into a much more blurred community referred to as Sino-Thai, with 15–20 per cent of
the total Thai population being estimated to have signiWcant Chinese heritage. The
Sino-Thai are for the most part people who have a memory of being partly Chinese,
but whose daily life may involve Thai language and culture signiWcantly more than
Chinese, and there has been a signiWcant and clear loss in the ability of younger
generations to speak Chinese (Morita 2004). In comparative terms, the ‘Chinese’ in
Thailand are commonly described as showing the highest degree of assimilation that a
Chinese community has undergone anywhere in southeast Asia.
Thai instructors, and the face of education in the Malay-speaking south changed
considerably, with the younger generation coming to be taught in Thai and exposed
to the national Thai culture on a much more regular daily basis than before.
However, despite the institutionalization of the Thai language in the Malay areas,
there has been only mixed success in the government’s hoped-for integration of the
Malay-speaking population, this occurring largely in the western provinces of Nar-
athiwat, Yala, and Sathun. In the eastern province of Pattani, there is still a widespread
feeling of not properly belonging to the Thai nation and its dominant culture, and
there is also resentment at the attempts of the government to control the use of Malay
in schools, Malay language being perceived by the inhabitants of the area as an
important component of their identity, alongside Islam and a Malay ethnic social
structuring diVerent from that of Thai society. Since the 1960s there has also been
periodic terrorist activity in the south, carried out by groups demanding independ-
ence for the Malay provinces. Though this has not attracted much in the way of broad
support from the population and has been sporadic in nature, in 2004 there was a
worrisome increase in the violence, and currently, the situation is quite volatile again.
Although there had been signs that more of the younger generation were beginning to
develop less negative attitudes towards Thai language and culture than in the past,
presently there is still a considerable feeling amongst much of the Malay-speaking
population that they are generally not treated as equal partners in the Thai nation and
its ongoing development, and are discriminated against on the basis of their language,
culture, and religion. Such perceptions are exacerbated by the poverty and under-
development of the region, and an increased Islamic revival on both sides of the
border of Thailand and Malaysia has also served to heighten the feeling of diVerence
between the Muslim Malay speakers and the predominantly Buddhist Thais further
north. The situation in the borderlands of the far south of Thailand therefore
continues to pose a challenge to the promotion and portrayal of a uniWed Thai
identity based on language, religion, and culture.
this does not seem to have happened in Thailand. The interesting question is therefore
why this might be.
The answers which can be given here are many and various and it is commonly
assumed that a conspiracy of factors has resulted in the current, generally unchal-
lenged position of Standard Thai. First, there has been no attempt to fully suppress
other languages in Thailand, and though Thailand is not a linguistically pluralistic
society in the way that Switzerland, Belgium, and Singapore are, it has always allowed
for the free use of Thailand’s ‘other’ languages in daily life. Second, a signiWcant 90 per
cent of the population actually speak a Tai language as their Wrst and home language,
and speakers of regional forms of Thai feel that their languages are clearly related to
Standard Thai. The latter is therefore not some foreign imposition or the language of
an obviously diVerent ethnic group. Third, the nationalist programme of promotion
of a national identity has in many ways been successful and instilled a clear sense of
national pride and belonging among the population of Thailand, and Standard Thai is
one (important) manifestation of this national identity. Fourth, the complications
introduced by the presence of a Western colonial language have not aVected Thailand,
and this has made it easier to promote a local variety of language as a national
standardized form. Fifth, for the ethnically non-Tai 10 per cent of the population,
there are clear pragmatic incentives for accepting the national dominance of Thai
language and culture, and Smalley (1994) reports that most minorities living along
Thailand’s borders see their future as economically brighter within Thailand than
within a neighbouring or independent new state (hence, Thailand’s Khmer popula-
tion show no signs of wishing to be absorbed into neighbouring Cambodia, and the
Shans in the north of the country have not joined those in Myanmar in their calls for
an independent Shan state). Finally, it is also sometimes suggested (Premsrirat 2001)
that people in Thailand accept the dominance of Standard Thai because hierarchical
relations of dominance are generally common within Thai society and control a range
of aspects of life in the country.
It can furthermore be noted that the general absence of language-related problems
in Thailand and the acceptance of some kind of national identity requires one to
understand that ‘national identity’ in Thailand may be adopted in two rather broad
ways. The Wrst can be characterized as self-identiWcation as Thai, through having the
prototypical properties ascribed to members of the Thai nation – speaking a form of
Thai, being Buddhist, conforming to Thai culture, and respecting the monarchy, etc.
This form of national identity permits a potentially strong and deep loyalty to the
nation, and is the kind of feeling deliberately fostered by the nationalist programme.
A second form of national identity, however, which is a weaker and potentially
more temporary form of allegiance is the identiWcation of Thailand as one’s appro-
priate homeland, and the feeling that Thailand is the place where one belongs, where
one can best be happy and prosper. The Wrst form of national identity is more easily
open to and adopted by those who are ethnically Tai in the country, and is bolstered
by feelings of pride that Thailand has been more successful than its immediate
406 A. Simpson and N. Thammasathien
confusion which ensued led to considerable soul searching in Thailand and a back-
to-Thai/Asian-basics attitude incorporating the idea that Thailand would best be
served by not depending on outsiders and the West. There was much discussion of
achieving sustained development, of reviving traditional knowledge, and the country
saw a wide revival of much earlier culture and practices. Thailand therefore redis-
covered much of the cultural diversity which had been ignored for many years.
The new freedom allowed by the constitution of 1997 consequently arrived at a very
opportune time, allowing people to indulge their desires in promoting, learning, and
using traditional language and culture, which was signiWcantly permitted to be
regional rather than just oYcial national language and culture. Chinese language
and culture were also seen as representing valuable Asian values which were
potential alternatives to Western culture, and there have appeared numerous recent
writings by Sino-Thais which exhibit a new-found pride in Chinese ancestry and
connections.
In addition to the above, various other perceived beneWts of the new revival of local
language and culture have stimulated its regrowth and visibility. Jory (2000) notes that
local politicians are beginning to make use of the expression of a regional identity to
win regional votes, that regional language and culture is being increasingly used in
advertising and seen to be an eVective marketing tool (because there are consumers
newly proud of their regional heritage), and that those involved in the tourist trade are
promoting regional diVerences in culture in order to attract both international and
(more and more) domestic tourists. Finally, it can be suggested that Thailand is
consciously following a global trend present amongst economically developed coun-
tries to protect and encourage indigenous minorities as sources of national cultural
richness, and that members of the government feel that Thailand will accrue a certain
esteem at the international level by participating in such egalitarian, liberal policies,
which are regularly associated with advanced economies.
Generally the fact that the government is prepared to let local languages grow
within the educational system and elsewhere is both a healthy and positive sign, and
also a clear indication of the conWdence that the government has in the basic strength
of the national identity. After years of careful promotion and reinforcement the latter
is now really very solidly grounded within Thailand (even if certain of the younger
generation do adopt Western fads and fashions), and expected to survive even when
placed alongside other revived local forms of language and culture. It should also be
noted that the current growth of interest in regional symbols of identity is not
perceived as a direct threat to national identity, as there are no obvious attempts
being made to replace the latter with new regional identities, and current changes are
rather moves to enrich the basic Thai national identity with additional local resources.
Certainly for the moment, national and regional identity are operating on diVerent
levels of hierarchical structure and are not in direct competition with each other. The
way this new relationship further unfolds and develops in the future will be interest-
ing to observe.
Thailand and Laos 409
scattered population of Laos. One of the important, formal steps taken at this point
was the introduction of the three-way classiWcation of the population of Laos into
Lowland Lao, Midland Lao, and Upland Lao. The rationale for this kind of categor-
ization was that the use of geographical terms to label and encode diVerent groups
avoided the use of potentially more divisive labels based on fundamental diVerences of
language and culture (for example, a three-way grouping of Lao vs. Mon-Khmer vs.
Sino-Tibetan, or an even Wner-grained categorization according to the names of
individual languages). Such labelling was therefore an attempt to downplay the
diVerences of the population by grouping them simply according to which part of
the geographical landscape they inhabited. The use of the preWx ‘Lao’ in Lao Lum,
Lao Theung, and Lao Soung also endeavoured to indicate that there was a single ‘Lao’
cultural-identity component present with all of the three groups and hence a shared
national identity. Such labelling has, however, not been taken kindly to by various of
the Midland and Upland Lao because it obliges them to use the ethnic term ‘Lao’ in
self-reference and groups such as the upland Hmong do not feel ethnically Lao (Evans
1999b). There is consequently a feeling of resentment amongst many that the labelling
is being used to bolster the centrality of the Lowland Lao who have always been, and
still are, the local dominant majority, and who think of themselves as simply Lao, and
that it is the identity and culture of the Lowland Lao that is unfairly being used to
characterize the country of Laos. Furthermore, the use of geographical terms to
suggest three neat divisions in the population does not really disguise the existence of
great diversity within the Midland and Upland Lao categories, and there is far from
being a shared identity even within each ‘geographical’ group.
More recently, since 1995, there has been a new move away from the description of
the people of Laos as falling into three discrete groups, and instead a public declar-
ation and even emphasis of the fact that there are as many as forty-seven ethnic groups
within Laos. One eVect of this recognition of ethnic diversity by the government
noted by Evans (1999b) is, interestingly, that it serves to further highlight the
importance of the Lowland Lao, as this single group stands out as very large when
compared to the size of the other ethnic groups, and much more prominent size-wise
than in the previous three-way classiWcation. Whether or not this is deliberate
manipulation of ethno-linguistic categorization in order to promote the centrality of
one, dominant group is not clear. However, the continued identiWcation of the name
of the country with the most populous and dominant ethnic group certainly seems to
focus attention away from the existence of the Mon-Khmer and Sino-Tibetan groups,
and suggest that national identity should be seen in ethnic Lao terms.
Generally, though, despite persistent government eVorts since 1975 to develop a
nationwide sense of shared Lao identity, the results of this are rather weak and there
has only been limited success in the stimulation of a national identity. Continually
thwarting attempts at nation-building in Laos are a number of diYcult obstacles
which relate both to the physical and the human composition of the country as well as
its location and linguistic make-up.
412 A. Simpson and N. Thammasathien
and other neighbouring powers. The result of these treaties is that many ethnic
groups have been split by the borders into two adjacent countries and that Laos
also includes a very large number of ethnically diVerent people, making for an
extremely heterogeneous population. Laos is therefore sometimes suggested to be a
‘Wction of a nation’, invented but not thought through properly by the French colonial
government. A serious consequence of the very mixed nature of the population of
Laos is that there is an important lack of available symbols that can be used to
promote a national identity. There is no longer any king of Laos, no uniform religion
(only 50 to 60 per cent Buddhist, with the remainder being animist – Savada 1995), no
standard national language, and wider cultural variation amongst ethnic groups than
in Thailand.
Related to the above is the ‘complication’ of neighbouring Isan in Thailand, and the
fact that 80 per cent of the Lao ethnic group is actually located in Thailand rather than
Laos due to the unnatural border created by the treaties between Thailand and
France. Although the label ‘Lao’ for inhabitants of the northeast of Thailand was
oYcially suppressed for a while and replaced by ‘Isan’, the Lao of Laos and those in
Isan are really one ethnic group with a single basic language form (with various
mutually intelligible dialects). The only really distinctive diVerences in language
between the two Lao groups are that those in Laos have their own, special form of
writing, and that the Lao spoken in post-1975 Laos has been simpliWed by the removal
of deferential language encoding diVerences in social hierarchy. Otherwise, the Lao of
Laos and the Lao of Isan are still very close in culture and language, and there are
regular cross-border trading contacts between the two groups. Perhaps somewhat
surprisingly though, there is actually no drive from either Lao group to integrate itself
with the other and form a united Lao state. The Isan Lao are much more oriented
towards Bangkok and Thailand than Laos, and the Lao in Laos do not show any
indication of wanting to be part of Thailand. Consequently, the split cross-border
existence of the Lao is actually not a primary area of concern for those who might
hope to further the construction of a Lao national identity within Laos. Having noted
this, the separation of the Lao into two countries nevertheless does make it harder for
the government in Vientiane to construct a national identity which will successfully
distinguish its citizens clearly from the citizens of other neighbouring states.
A Wnal factor which is now interfering with the construction of a national identity
in Laos is the inXuence of nearby Thailand and the penetration of Thai language into
Laos. As television is becoming more widely received around the country, it is Thai
language channels (received from across the border) that are frequently being watched
rather than domestic Lao programmes. This is due to the simple fact that the
production quality of the Thai channels is superior to that of the Lao programmes
and the content is also seen to be more varied and engaging. Because of the linguistic
closeness of Thai and Lao, and the frequent exposure to Thai television and radio,
signiWcant numbers of Lao people can therefore now understand Standard Thai. The
possibility for the Lao government to use television as a means to spread a national
414 A. Simpson and N. Thammasathien
form of Lao language and identity and compensate for the lack of communication
through the countryside is consequently being lost to the more attractive nature of
Thai television programming. Thai publications are also being increasingly read by
those with education and made use of (for example, to gain access to new technology)
when Lao equivalents are not available. There is consequently a signiWcant and
increasing input of Thai language into Laos and new concern as to how this may
inXuence the status of Lao over time. Concerning the previous role of French in Laos,
this did not have much signiWcant lasting inXuence on the country, perhaps because it
was never widely taught outside the few small urban centres that are present in the
country. However, as Thai can now be received into households with radios and
television sets throughout Laos on a regular, daily basis and is also much closer to the
native language of a large percentage of the population, it poses more of a potential
threat to the future development of Lao, and is an issue that may become increasingly
important in years to come.
In summary, then, the notion of a unifying national identity is only rather weak in
Laos, when compared with Thailand, despite attempts to use ethnic Lao culture as the
focal point for a broader, national identity. The limited success of eVorts to instil a
national sense of belonging is due to the range of obstacles discussed above, and Laos
very much remains a country in which local identity is dominant, relating to village
and nearby ethnic group, and there is little regular consciousness of a larger united
Lao world. Considering the possible future development of Laos, currently there is no
expectation that the traditional, rural character of the country will change radically
for some time to come. Though there is economic and intellectual/cultural develop-
ment in the capital Vientiane, this is not representative of the nation as a whole, and it
is likely that the country of Laos and the formation of its national identity will
continue to undergo development and change at a signiWcantly slower rate than its
more prosperous and dynamic neighbours Thailand, China, and Vietnam.
19
Vietnam
Lê Minh-Hă`ng and Stephen O’Harrow
19.1 Introduction
Vietnam is a country which has lived through extended periods of foreign inXuence
and occupation, signiWcant internal conXict and upheaval, and yet emerged from this
into the late twentieth century with a distinct and vigorous national identity, and a
remarkable sense of independence. At the centre of this identity, forming one of its
critical, distinguishing components, is language, a broadly-shared national language
(Vietnamese) that is now fully widespread in all domains of formal and informal life.
This study of language and national identity in Vietnam is divided into six major
sections. Section 19.2 provides basic information on the country of Vietnam and the
languages spoken within its borders. Section 19.3 then considers language in Vietnam
from an early historical perspective and how the majority ‘Kinh’ ethnic group and the
Vietnamese language came into existence and spread throughout the territory of
modern-day Vietnam following a long period of Chinese dominance of what even-
tually became the northern and central parts of the modern country. Section 19.4
subsequently focuses on the important competition which occurred between diVer-
ent written forms of language in Vietnam during the time of French colonial rule,
and how the eventual triumph of a form of Romanized vernacular Vietnamese
known as quoc ngu over previous systems based on Chinese characters reXected the
development of nationalism in Vietnam and struggles within the country both
against the French and older Confucianist traditions and the institutions and elites
which maintained these as mechanisms of power. In section 19.5 the chapter turns to
consider the energetic development of Vietnamese in post-WWII and independent
Vietnam, and its expansion into a language that could be used in all areas of life,
while section 19.6 reXects on language policy in Vietnam towards the country’s
ethnic minority groups. The chapter is then closed in section 19.7 with a brief
overview of the status of Vietnamese and its contribution to national identity in
the present day.
416 Lê Minh-Hă`ng and S. O’Harrow
Vietnam
name,1 and the major language with which Vietnamese has the clearest historical
links is Khmer, the national language of Cambodia.
Besides the ethnic Vietnamese majority (referred to in modern times as the ‘Kinh’ or
‘capital’ people), there are some Wfty-three recognized national groups in the country,
many of them uplanders, each speaking their own language, the most numerous being
various Tai groups (about four million), Cambodians and other Mon-Khmer groups
(over 1.3 million), the Jarai, Cham, and other Austronesian groups (around 800,000), and
the primarily urban Chinese (approximately one and a quarter million).
Vietnam itself stretches for 1,800 km along the coast of the South China Sea from the
southern border of China, around the point of Ca Mau, to the Cambodian border on the
Gulf of Thailand. Most Vietnamese live either in one or the other of the two principal
plains, adjacent to the Red River in the north or to the Mekong in the south, and between
the two on the relatively narrow strip of land between the Truong Son Mountains and
the South China Sea. To the west, beyond the mountains, lie Laos and then Thailand.
The Vietnamese are traditionally a lowland rural people, but expanding urban
areas, such as Ha Noi (the capital, pop. 3 million plus) in the north, Hai Phong, the
principal northern port (well over 2 million), Da Nang (1 million) in the centre, and
Ho Chi Minh City (‘Saigon’, about 5 million) in the south, are rapidly shifting the
demographic balance, currently estimated at 21 per cent urban and 79 per cent rural.
While Vietnam has always represented a cultural and linguistic continuum, the
diYculty of maintaining the political unity of any geographically extended country in
pre-modern times is evident and Vietnam was no exception. From the sixteenth
century to the late eighteenth, three often warring seigneurial families, the Mac
followed by the Trinh and the Nguyen, eVectively divided the country into northern
and southern regions, a fact which may have contributed to future dialect variation. In
more recent times, the French colonialists divided Vietnam into three administrative
units: northern Tonkin [Tongking], central Annam, and southern Cochinchine
[Cochinchina]. And from 1954 until 1975, a brief period from the point of view of
Vietnam’s long history, the country was politically divided into the Democratic
Republic of Vietnam, with its capital in Hanoi, and the Republic of Vietnam, adminis-
tered from Saigon, oYcial reuniWcation of the country only taking eVect as of 1976.
It is often said that there are three principal dialect areas in Vietnam, the north, the
centre, and the south. While this partition is somewhat too schematic, it does convey the
emic viewpoint, noting that while all three are almost totally mutually intelligible, the
writing system most closely represents the northern dialect (the semi-oYcial radio
standard), and that the central dialect is most often said to be diYcult to follow by
uninitiated northerners and southerners. In contrast, because of recent political history,
the southern dialect predominates in the diaspora, although northern is still often heard
in certain public settings overseas, such as broadcasting and popular music. The northern
1
Rather than a distinctly separate people, the Muong may in fact have been previously seen as simply
the most distant (or countriWed) part of a broad ‘Vietnamese-speaking’ continuum until modern times
(See O’Harrow 1986, and Taylor 2001).
418 Lê Minh-Hă`ng and S. O’Harrow
dialect is additionally the one almost exclusively used in teaching Vietnamese to foreign-
ers, whether in Vietnam or abroad. Despite the existence of certain dialectal variation,
however, the single most important feature of modern Vietnamese with regard to
questions of national identity remains its broad mutual intelligibility across all regions,
generations, and social classes, both at home and abroad.
that the standard histories, especially those of the centre and south of today’s Vietnam,
risk owing their major debt to long-accepted, albeit imperfect, written sources. In the
standard histories for the region, the inhabitants are chieXy represented based on
somewhat nebulous descriptions in Classical Chinese sources and, in the south, from
slightly later epigraphy, in Indian scripts that transcribe either Sanskrit or, occasionally,
local languages. It may be a simpliWcation but, one hopes, not too much of a distortion,
to say it now appears that in the Wrst millennium ad, three major polities arose on what is
now in large part Vietnamese territory, the Viet (or ‘Lac-Viet’) in the North, the Cham in
the centre, and the Khmer in the south.
From a linguistic perspective: the Viet are thought to have been speakers of one or
more Austro-Asiatic languages, as were the Khmer, while the second group (or at least
the elite), especially judging from today’s Chams, were most likely Austronesian
speakers. Nonetheless, it makes more sense, in view of the Xuidity of ethnic identities
over time, to speak of polities in this distant past, rather than ethnicities, both because
polities are somewhat more recognizable in the available evidence and because many
major modern ethnicities, such as Vietnamese (‘Kinh’), Cham, and Khmer, appear to
us to have most likely arisen from amalgamations that grew inside early polities.
During the approximately ten centuries of Chinese rule over the region that forms
today’s northern Vietnam, it appears that the oYcial language of administration and
the only means of written communication was Chinese (‘wen yan’), and there came
into existence a particular local form of that written language that we call ‘Sino-
Vietnamese ’ (referred to in vernacular Vietnamese as chu nho (‘scholars’ writing’ or
chu han ‘Han Chinese writing’), one that came to diVer from metropolitan wen yan
primarily in pronunciation.2 But perhaps more signiWcant was the role played by
Chinese during this early period in the formation of what was to become the
Vietnamese language itself.
How the Vietnamese language as we know it today was originally forged is not yet
entirely clear, but our knowledge of the historical context allows us to make a
reasonable conjecture. Settlers from Han Dynasty China began to arrive in the Red
River delta in considerable numbers towards the beginning of the Common Era.
Judging from both the historical and archaeological records, it would appear that the
poorer, more numerous groups of immigrants came originally in military formation,
largely composed of males seeking tillable land. There were, in addition, representa-
tives of larger wealthy families, such as those Xeeing the chaos of the Han interreg-
num (Wang Mang’s Xin dynasty of ad 9 to 22). These two groups contributed towards
the founding of a lowland mixed society, one in which originally landless ‘Chinese’
males took local wives (thus sparking a major uprising in ad 41), while the Han elite
founded latifundia, the labour for which would logically have been drawn from the
newly evolving Sino-Vietnamese peasantry.
2
For the purposes of this chapter, we will use the terms Sino-Vietnamese, chu nho, and chu han
interchangeably.
420 Lê Minh-Hă`ng and S. O’Harrow
In this environment of mixed ethnic development there seems to have existed the
ideal matrix for the evolution of some kind of contact language, drawing upon both
Sinitic sources and a miscellany of whatever Austro-Asiatic, Thai, Austronesian, or
other tongues were common among the local population. In hindsight, it appears
that, of the latter, one or more Austro-Asiatic languages provided the most important,
or at least the most lasting contributions. While there has been signiWcant borrowing
of a large number of core Chinese lexical items into Vietnamese, Vietnamese main-
tains the only complete Austro-Asiatic number set extant in major language of the
Austro-Asiatic group, despite the fact that Chinese loans overwhelmed indigenous
counting systems in many other Southeast Asian languages (e.g. in Khmer and Thai).
If this surmise is correct, creolization took place at some point in history, probably
earlier rather than later, since it is fairly clear that by the beginning of the second
millennium ad, a spectrum of vernaculars one could sensibly label ‘Vietnamese’ was
being spoken broadly across the lowland territory of the country.
Direct Chinese overlordship of the Vietnamese area is traditionally periodized from
Han Wu Di’s invasion of 111 bc until the collapse of Tang and Ngo Quyen’s defeat of
the forces of the Southern Han in ad 939. Throughout this period there are recorded
episodic assertions of independence, beginning as early as the Trung Sisters’ revolt in
about ad 41 and the ad 248 uprising of Trieu Au. The Tang (618–907) instituted
administrative reforms in the area, which it dubbed the Protectorate of An Nam (or
the ‘PaciWed South’), and after the earliest indigenous movements, there appears to
have formed a Sino-Vietnamese elite,3 an amalgamated social class embodying some
consciousness of the desirability of their own political separateness from Imperial
China. Emanating from this small but growing Sino-Vietnamese elite, we may be able
see the very earliest signs of what was to become the organized consciousness of the
later, highly Sinicized but separately located, proto-national entity that was eventually
to become Vietnam as we know it, leading to the short-lived periods of declared
independence under Ly Bi in the mid-sixth century and Phung Hung in the eighth.
In the several centuries that followed the founding, in the northern half of what
became modern Vietnam, of a national entity independent of Chinese rule (oYcially
dated to ad 939), the Vietnamese monarchy slowly extended its rule southward.
Vietnam Wnally arrived at an approximation of its modern borders in the eighteenth
century. This process involved establishing Vietnamese hegemony over a mixture of
ethnic groups speaking a variety of Austronesian and Austro-Asiatic tongues. A few,
such as the Chams and Khmers, were by this time possessed of literate institutions,
but most were without a written tradition of their own. The pattern of settlement in
these more newly acquired regions was such that, while they also began to outnum-
ber other peoples, the principal strength of the Vietnamese lay in their tight social
organization and control of state power. This permitted the Vietnamese to tolerate
3
As evidence of the depth of local Confucian education, it is said that two prime ministers of the Tang
dynasty originated from An Nam during this period.
Vietnam 421
levels of power and education, the Vietnamese still seemed to accept themselves as
sharers in a predominantly Sinitic world order and that assertions of national identity
did not require radical separation from Confucian traditions with their origins in
China.
In 1802 the Nguyen Dynasty was established, bringing with it increased Confucia-
nization of the country, now oYcially named ‘Viet Nam’. The linguistic paradox of the
nineteenth century as it initially unfolded was that, on the one hand, the court
proscribed the use of chu nom and, on the other, vernacular language romances
(often translations from Chinese) circulated widely, even amongst those at court.
The question of which form might in the end prevail, chu nho or chu nom, was,
however, soon to become moot, as a third, Romanized writing system, known as quoc
ngu and encoding everyday vernacular Vietnamese, was about to challenge both chu
nho and chu nom, and, in the hands of the French, would ultimately prove the undoing
of both the classical and vernacular ideographs. The basis of quoc ngu, a systematized
Romanization of spoken Vietnamese, had actually been developed in the seventeenth
century and was largely the work of Jesuit missionaries such as Alexandre de Rhodes
and a subsequent tradition of missionary lexicography. However, despite the much
greater simplicity of the alphabetic writing, the ease of learning and communicating it
oVered, its use seems to have remained restricted to the Catholic community in
Vietnam for the two centuries that followed its invention. This was all set to change
when France realized the potential that Vietnam had as a strategic entry point for
establishing new trade routes into China.
welcomed the French! But there was little wonder in this; previously the Catholics
(who had existed as a community in Vietnam since the early 1600s) had been system-
atically persecuted by their own countrymen.
In order to respond to pressing requirements for clerks and lower level fonction-
naires, from an early date the French decided to launch the formal training of
interpreters, using the quoc ngu transcription as the primary written medium. The
French deliberately turned away from the traditional bureaucracy and its Sino-
Vietnamese formation as the plan to undermine Sinitic inXuence went hand in
hand with cutting the mass of the population oV from the intransigence of the scholar
class and the institutions they represented.4
In 1864, Admiral de la Grandière, the French administrator of Cochinchina,
decreed that primary schools, teaching in Romanized Vietnamese, be established in
the principal centers of indigenous population in Cochinchina and, in the Wnal quarter
of the nineteenth century, the French slowly began to manage the training and staYng
of a functional bureaucracy. Inculcating ideas of ‘progress’ and ‘humanity’ (seen by
the French as contrary to Confucian concepts) via quoc ngu subsequently became the
focus of a sustained eVort at publication in the Vietnamese vernacular.
The path towards a clear colonial language policy was neither straight nor at all
times smooth, however. OYcial French eVorts to spread quoc ngu and education in
quoc ngu were often not supported by Frenchmen themselves resident in Indochina,
especially the colons and the military, who feared that any eVort to raise ‘Annamite’
literacy rates through quoc ngu could only lead to increased presumptuousness on the
part of the native population and, thus, to a weakening of French authority over them.
In addition to concerns that the spread of quoc ngu might ultimately give a dangerous
weapon to anti-French Vietnamese patriots, there were also arguments relating to two
quite diVerent approaches to the governing of Vietnam: ‘association’ versus ‘assimi-
lation’. Quite simply stated, this debate pitted the associationists, who favoured
allowing and even encouraging traditional Vietnamese knowledge and social struc-
tures (under strict French control and tutelage, to be sure), including chu nho and chu
nom, against the assimilationists who believed in directly ‘reforming’ the Vietnamese,
their society, and, not incidentally, their barbaric language along Gallic lines, with
some favouring the ultimate replacement of Vietnamese with French.
As French rule progressed, publication in quoc ngu was nevertheless promoted by
oYcial language policy, largely in order to achieve the objective of undercutting the
intellectual hold that the Sinicized mandarinal class exercised over the general
populace.
Meanwhile, opposition to French rule was continually being expressed in writing,
sometimes at considerable peril to the writers themselves. While a few early leaders,
4
The history of the replacement of Sino-Vietnamese by vernacular Vietnamese written in quoc ngu as
the quasi-exclusive means of written communication in Vietnam has been extensively investigated both in
Vietnam and abroad. The seminal work on this in the West is DeFrancis’s Nationalism and Language Policy
in Vietnam (1977).
Vietnam 425
especially those with peasant followings expressed themselves in chu nom writings
designed to be read aloud to largely illiterate audiences, the most interesting aspect of
nationalist resistance writing in the latter half of the nineteenth century is that the
language in which much of it was created and read was chu nho or, in eVect, Chinese.
It is a clear measure of the hold of classical learning on Vietnamese society in general
that the most adamant supporters of Vietnamese independence during the Wrst half-
century of French rule regularly still saw chu nom vernacular writing as vulgar, and
Sino-Vietnamese writing as the principal linguistic icon of national identity.
In Southern Vietnam (Cochinchina), by way of contrast, less traditional and
simultaneously more cosmopolitan than the North, writing in quoc ngu developed
slowly without the kind of opposition it faced in the North, if only because those who
might have opposed it had either left or were politically emasculated. Consequently,
the daily content of what passed the French censors and appeared in print was
remarkably free of nationalist tinge.
By the beginning of the twentieth century, many in the Vietnamese intelligentsia,
both North and South, had begun to realize (as opposed to accept) the inevitability
of having to cope with the French for the foreseeable future. Much as an abhorrence
of foreign inXuence pervaded all national circles, it is reasonable to say that a
majority sought what they thought was a safer, more productive form of resist-
ance, long-term coping strategies that, nonetheless, would in time prepare for
independence.
It can be said that the real sea change in Vietnamese attitudes on a nationwide basis, in
particular attitudes towards the Romanized vernacular, is most fully symbolized
by the establishment of the Tonkin Free School (Dong Kinh Nghia Thuc) in March
of 1907. Founded with private Vietnamese funding in Hanoi, the Tonkin Free School
was intended as a school for Vietnamese students from elementary through pre-univer-
sity levels, teaching some 500 pupils subjects such as science and hygiene, as well as
the more traditional subjects of history, language (including quoc ngu, Sino-Vietnamese,
and French), and literature. Of salient importance here, however, was the school’s
strong advocacy and practice of using the Romanized vernacular in as many areas as
possible, including the publishing and distribution of modernizing tracts.
The school’s quoc ngu mantra subsequently spread with considerable speed as its
students fanned out in society. Already by January 1908, the French authorities
appeared to have had enough. Alarmed at the prospect of private Vietnamese
organizations freely educating their fellow countrymen, especially potential young
activists, the colonial government shut down the Tonkin Free School and repression
in general became the order of the day.
However, the French knew that, in the long term, the intellectual tinder in the
colony was drying out faster than they could wet it down, and things threatened to
ignite some day soon. To prevent combustion, they realized that a two-pronged
approach was needed. While cracking down on overt opposition, the authorities
also needed to provide at least a credible semblance of educational opportunity, one
426 Lê Minh-Hă`ng and S. O’Harrow
whose content they could vet for nefarious inXuences. With the arrival of Governor-
General Albert Sarraut (1911–14), a new liberalization took place, and Vietnamese
were permitted access to secondary education. Returning for a second term (1917–19),
Sarraut followed this move with the reopening of the University of Indochina.
Meanwhile, although the secular prestige of chu nho carried on for many years even
among those who could not read it, the oYcial onslaught against Sino-Vietnamese
slowly gathered momentum. In 1906, the French established the Council for Improve-
ment of Education, promoting quoc ngu as a secondary school subject. Then in 1908, a
new Ministry of Education was created by the Imperial Court, an agency which was
also supposed to promote quoc ngu. The coup de grace was a series of imperial decrees
promulgated between 1915 (aVecting Tonkin) and 1919 (aVecting Annam) which
Wnally abolished the triennial Sino-Vietnamese examinations (long gone in Cochin-
china) which had been in use for nearly a thousand years in the recruitment of
Confucian government oYcials.
In another move to improve Franco-Vietnamese relations, in 1917, a highly
educated polyglot named Pham Quynh was persuaded to act as editor of a new
trilingual (French, Vietnamese, and Chinese) monthly, the Southern Wind Review
(Nam Phong Tap Chi). This journal was subsequently designated the oYcial organ of
the infelicitously named Association for Open-minded Moral Progress (Hoi Khai
Tri Tien Duc or AFIMA). AFIMA, just like the Southern Wind Review itself, was
supposed to serve as an organization of high-minded intellectuals seeking ways
to collaborate with France towards the common goal of forming an educated but
co-operative Vietnamese elite.
The principal object of the Southern Wind Review, from the colonial authorities’
standpoint, was to overcome a manifest lack of mutual comprehension between
‘Annamite’ and Frenchman, and to counter the malevolent inXuences the indigenous
elite was thought to be imbibing from abroad, especially from China and, via
China, from France’s arch-enemy, Germany. To eVect this end, it was proposed to
advance the image of French civilization and the substance of French modernity
through the favourable presentation, in all relevant languages, of French culture, most
particularly French literate culture.
Though in retrospect it may be tempting to perceive Pham Quynh simply as a
lackey in the service of French imperial hegemony, it is clear that Pham Quynh
actually had a mind of his own and enormous talents to put at its service. As a result,
his short-term inXuence on the course of linguistic nationalism was considerable
among the urban elite, primarily but not exclusively in the north and centre, and
despite the ultimately ill-fated collaborationist content of much of his writings, his
work was critical in establishing the principle that the vernacular Vietnamese lan-
guage in Romanized orthography was capable of expressing highly complex concepts
and that it was the only feasible long-term instrument of communication for
the future of the Vietnamese people, no matter what their ultimate political fate
might be.
Vietnam 427
While the career of Pham Quynh is still the subject of great debate, there is little
doubt that Pham Quynh’s linking of language with the long tradition of national pride
in the creation of literary works struck a widely resonant chord. It is doubtful that any
single phenomenon in the Wrst half of the twentieth century served as a more
powerful legitimation of the quoc ngu vernacular than the ability of Vietnamese
authors to create a corpus of literature appropriate to the times in which they were
living, and this they did with great success, the output of both quoc ngu poetry and
prose rising very rapidly from the end of World War I.
Both individual writers and schools of writers appeared, slowly at Wrst in the 1920s
and then burgeoning in the 1930s, with works sometimes being produced in mono-
graphs, but more frequently appearing initially in serial format in newspapers and
small magazines. Short Wction vastly outnumbered long Wction and was created in a
number of common sub-genres, including works with romantic, realist, naturalist,
and revolutionary themes. All, signiWcantly, now wrote in some approximation of the
vernacular and all wrote in quoc ngu. Likewise, poetry was Xourishing. And again all
writers of poetry wrote in vernacular Vietnamese Romanized in quoc ngu script. The
corpus was both large and growing, and varied suYciently to constitute a genuinely
national literature written in the national language and produced in what had now
come to be regarded as the national writing system.
This forward movement in the use of Vietnamese in literary publication was
accompanied by certain progress (though at a much slower rate) in the arena of
national education. Governor-General Albert Sarraut, with his educational reforms
of 1917 aimed at reducing the perceived anti-French inXuence of the Confucian
teaching corps, introduced the école franco-indigène, the long run goal of which was
to dismantle the traditional chu nho schools which were found in regional population
centres. Initially, it was projected that French would be the medium of instruction.
However, by 1924 it became clear that this goal was essentially unattainable, if only
because there were not enough teachers to implement the decree. In addition,
textbooks for all levels had to be imported from France and Tunisia, but these proved
to be highly unsuitable, both culturally and linguistically. It was therefore decided that
in the Wrst three classes of primary schooling, Vietnamese (in quoc ngu) would have to
be the language of instruction and appropriate textbooks would be translated into
Vietnamese. French would serve from middle school onward.
In attempting to summarize the French period in relation to language and nation-
alism in Vietnam, it is important to stress that the major language-identity-related
conXict in Vietnam during this period concerned the choice and use of script rather
than spoken language. Minor skirmishes relating to French and Sino-Vietnamese
aside, there was never any serious question of which spoken form of language should
be the national language in Vietnam – Vietnamese was already dominant through-
out the country. Concerning the conXict over script, the process in which quoc ngu
was established as the deWnitive writing form of the nation is a linguistic reXection of
428 Lê Minh-Hă`ng and S. O’Harrow
the important power struggles that were present in Vietnam as it became a modern
nation. The principal steps in this process can now be summarized as follows:
(1) In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries there existed a situation in
which there were brieXy four diVerent available writing systems in Vietnam,
chu nho, chu nom, quoc ngu, and Romanized French.
(2) The French colonial administration attempted to make the territory of Viet-
nam and its population easier to subjugate, more governable, through various
attempts at manipulation of prestige language used in Vietnam. Thus we Wnd,
Wrst, the (limited) promotion of French and, secondly, the promotion of
Romanized writing for Vietnamese. The latter represented an attempt to shift
the educated classes and potential leaders of the Vietnamese people away from
their Chinese-inspired (or Chinese-reactive) identity (one already present in the
country) and towards a new colonial identity loyal to France.
(3) At Wrst, chu nho and chu nom were symbolically associated with resistance to the
French and use of quoc ngu was associated with collaboration. However, later
on the use of quoc ngu came to be seen as acceptable as nationalists began to
perceive the need for modernization, and the greater ease with which a
Romanized script would allow for this. Vietnamese nationalists may have Wrst
learned about concepts of democracy, socialism, romantic nationalism, and so
forth through the medium of Chinese, but they saw that their further propa-
gation would actually be better served through quoc ngu.
(4) The acceptability of quoc ngu was then further heightened by its use to translate
works of literature from Chinese and chu nom, as well as through its use to
create new literature, proving to people that quoc ngu did have the potential to
encode complex ideas and could be used for prestigious functions such as the
creation of literature.
(5) By the end of the period of colonial rule, the conXict of the scripts had most
deWnitely been won by quoc ngu, so that issues of selection of the national
language and its written representation were eVectively well decided prior to
the actual independence of Vietnam.
Such a process is a good illustration of the interaction and conXict which some-
times occurs between the symbolic and pragmatic values of language. Quoc ngu
began life with an essentially negative symbolic value for the (non-Catholic) Vietnam-
ese, being Wrmly associated with the French and collaboration. However, over time,
it came to be recognized that the Romanized transcription of the vernacular had
a strongly positive pragmatic value: it could be used for the spread of nationalist
ideas and the modernization of Vietnam much more eVectively than the
cumbersome, inconsistent character-based chu nom system of transcription could.
The pragmatic value of quoc ngu then led to its adoption by nationalists, leading to
a gradual shift in its symbolic value. From the earlier negative, pro-French value
Vietnam 429
this reassertion of the unity of the nation and the use of the terms Vietnam, tieng Viet,
and nguoi Viet in large part just reXected what was already common private practice
among many Vietnamese at the time, but the government’s formal proclamation
permitted use of these terms in public discourse from that day on, and even during the
interlude of French eVorts to reassert control over Indochina (1945–54), the terms
‘Annamites/Annamese’ were seldom permitted to resurface.
The second notable change was the announced intention of the new government
of the ‘Empire of Vietnam’ to institute educational reforms. It was decided that
vernacular Vietnamese would be the universal medium of instruction and that
examinations should be held in Vietnamese written in quoc ngu.
Things changed radically once again with the end of the war and the peculiarly
chaotic situation that arose in Vietnam in the summer of 1945. The Allies had
agreed at Yalta in 1945 to split Vietnam in two at the 16th Parallel. The disarming
and repatriation of the undefeated Japanese army of occupation was assigned in the
North to Chinese forces of the Kuo Min Tang/KMT, and in the South to British units
from Mountbatten’s Southeast Asia Command. On or about 19 August 1945, in the
power vacuum created by the imminent surrender of Japan and the temporary
absence of any other credible force (the Allies had yet to land and the French were
still under Japanese lock and key), local Vietnamese forces known as the Viet Minh
rose up largely unopposed by the Japanese army in what later came to be known as
the ‘August Revolution’. The Viet Minh was an organization under crypto-communist
control that had been active in the hinterlands of Vietnam since 1941, Wghting for
Vietnamese independence. It was Wercely anti-French and had also fought the Japan-
ese with logistical support from the Allies, and in 1945 aspired to form a new post-
war government truly independent of both France and Japan.
The Viet Minh demanded and received the abdication of Emperor Bao Dai and
the dissolving of his Japanese-sponsored government. On 2 September 1945, before
a crowd of thousands of his fellow countrymen assembled in Ba Dinh square in
Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh, long-time revolutionary, committed communist, and leader of
the Viet Minh, declared full independence from France and the establishment of the
Democratic Republic of Vietnam.
The following month, with British blessing, French troops under General Leclerc
subsequently arrived back in the South ‘to restore order’ and clashed with the Viet
Minh, whose units were forced to withdraw to the hinterland once more. The North
of Vietnam also saw the return of French troops, in February 1946, after KMT forces
present there withdrew and went home in return for French concessions within
China.
Full-scale war broke out in 1946. The Viet Minh called for evacuation of the
cities and, for the next eight years, fought one of the bloodiest conXicts in modern
Southeast Asian history, a conXict which culminated in the spring of 1954 with the
massive French defeat at Dien Bien Phu. The Geneva Accords concluded later that year
put a Wnal end to the French colonial period in Indochina and resulted in the de
Vietnam 431
facto division of Vietnam at the 17th Parallel into independent entities, the northern
Democratic Republic of Vietnam (allied with the Soviet Union and China) and the
southern Republic of Vietnam (RVN, allied with the West, principally the United
States), a division that would last until eventual reuniWcation of the country in 1975–6.
widely applied, it put paid to the notion that only French was suitable for higher
education. In the process of facilitating such broad reform of the educational system
in terms of the language of its delivery, educators everywhere had to commence
writing, publishing, and distributing new school texts in Vietnamese on a large variety
of subjects, and, given the nature of the times and the active war of resistance to the
French, simply taking the old French textbooks and translating them into Vietnamese
clearly would not do; a fully new set of teaching materials for all subjects was required
for primary, secondary, and higher levels of education, supported by the creation
of a modern educational lexicon in Vietnamese. Though a monumental task, the
massive reform of education in the DRV was very eVectively driven by a practical
impetus of the strongest sort: the need for simple survival.
Elsewhere, modernization (aimed at national development) and puriWcation (aimed
at national pride and unity) were the watchwords of a series of language reform
campaigns launched in the DRV over a period of approximately thirty-Wve years
from the late 1950s to the late 1980s after uniWcation of North and South. These
goals were not necessarily easy to achieve and occasionally contradicted each other,
but the basic result was a double-barrelled campaign on the one hand to erect a set of
economic, political, and learned scientiWc lexicons that would allow Vietnam access to
the wider world of ‘progress’, and on the other to ‘maintain the purity and clarity of
the Vietnamese language’, sullied neither by excessive foreign loans nor by indulgence
in the Xourishes and locutory arcana heretofore so dear to both the French and the
Vietnamese educational mandarinates.
DRV eVorts to establish a modern lexicon for the Vietnamese language that would
permit teaching, research, and broad communication in Vietnamese relating to
the wide range of subjects needed for the modernization and industrialization of
Vietnamese society, can be said to have been highly successful in the long run, in
virtually all domains. By way of contrast, the same claims to resounding success are
somewhat less easily attached to the results of manifold campaigns in the DRV to
preserve the ‘purity’ of the Vietnamese language.
Modernization of the lexicon in the DRV is said to have been initiated during the
period of anti-French resistance prior to 1954, but came to fruition Wrst of all during
the periods of peace from 1955 until 1964, and Wnally after national reuniWcation in
1975. To achieve modernization, it was imperative to establish a broad level of
education that emphasized being able to cope with science and technology using
the national vernacular language, Vietnamese, represented in the Romanized writing
system quoc ngu.
In specifying such a goal, the Communist leadership of the DRV also insisted on
three basic features of work on the Vietnamese language: its results should be
‘national’, ‘popular’, and ‘scientiWc’. While the third element goes without saying
(and chieXy implies being systematic, while avoiding homophones and polyvalent
deWnitions), the Wrst two deserve some explanation: ‘national’ here can be understood
to mean making fullest use of lexical elements already present in Vietnamese and
Vietnam 433
6
As with the word for ‘sword’, for example, where the perceived-to-be-Vietnamese vernacular word
(g32m) is actually a considerably earlier form of the word popularly considered to be Sino-Vietnamese
(kiê´m).
7
For example, vernacular Vietnamese already possessed a word for ‘airport’ (sân bay), so it was
possible to avoid borrowing the Chinese loan equivalent (phi tr3qng).
8
A useful exposé of the major issues in the creation of such vocabularies can be found in Lê Thanh
Khôi (1978: 190–205).
434 Lê Minh-Hă`ng and S. O’Harrow
the 1970s, if not somewhat earlier in the North, a Vietnamese student typically went
from pre-school crèche through university entirely in Vietnamese, with the exception
of courses speciWcally designed to teach foreign languages.
Accompanying the expansion of the Vietnamese lexicon in areas of science,
technology, and other areas of modern life, Vietnam from the mid-1960s also
witnessed a major campaign to ‘maintain the purity and clarity of the Vietnamese
language’ in DRV society. The launching of this state-endorsed movement as a whole
seems to have been formally signalled in a speech given by then Prime Minister
Pham Van Dong on 7 February 1966. As with the oYcial drive to create scientiWc
vocabularies in Vietnamese, the emphasis was to render the language of instruction,
civic communications, and written publication both ‘popular’ and ‘national’. SpeciW-
cally the goals were to rid the public vernacular of obscurantism, jargon, and pedantry,
and drive out the unjustiWable use of ‘foreign words’. There is little doubt that
the proposed reforms, at a time of patriotic passion in the midst of a terrible war,
had wide appeal, not only in practical terms, but also in that they touched a deep
emotional chord amongst a community whose nationalist fervour had risen to
unprecedented heights. Interestingly, in taking aim at both pedantry and ‘foreign’
vocabulary, the net eVect of this collective eVort was largely to target and eliminate
major swathes of overtly Sinitic items. While centrally inspired campaigns of this
kind can often achieve some visible near-term results, as indeed occurred brieXy in the
DRV, important questions of simple utility (and, in the case of Vietnamese, the basic
nature of much of its lexical construction) will frequently win out in the long run.
Thus, once the North and South were reunited and as Vietnam opened itself and its
society to the wider world, the forces of utility and commerce began to interact more
and more with the desire to keep civic discourse clear and simple, resulting in a
noticeable new inXux of lexical items drawn from foreign sources, ones directly
connected by their innate usefulness to the tools of modernity, technology, travel,
and international exchange.9
9
For example, the long-existing (Chinese-derived) word in Vietnamese for ‘visa’ (thi thu’c), still
preferred in oYcial usage, now seems to have become replaced in common parlance with ˙the (French-
˙
or English-derived) term ‘visa’.
Vietnam 435
would appear to apply at least as much to the case of Vietnam in the late twentieth
century as it has anywhere else in modern history.
Some things are known, however. The Vietnamese language, as it appeared in
print in South Vietnam, was almost totally unregulated and a great deal of experi-
mentation took place in terms of quoc ngu spellings, vocabulary introduction, and the
transliteration of foreign terms, with no clear cumulative direction emerging at any
point. On the classroom scene, there were at least two South Vietnams and
social diVerentiation led to two distinct educational streams, one for the elite, geared
towards admission to French universities, and the other, public schools for the
urban populations and a fair number of rural centres, dependent on the RVN Ministry
of Education.
At the university level, eVorts were made to encourage as much instruction in
Vietnamese as feasible but, especially in the sciences and technical subjects, in
medicine and pharmacology, both a resistance on the part of instructors who
were themselves products of the elitist French system and of the families of
students anxious to send their progeny abroad, plus a dearth of Vietnamese-language
instructional materials, meant that, in practice, instruction in Vietnamese was
mixed with instruction in French (and, to a much lesser extent, English) and not
infrequently Vietnamese took a back seat. The whole system lacked any real sense of
cohesion and functioned in an essentially disconnected way.
As time progressed through the 1960s and on into the 1970s, life in the South
was to become increasingly chaotic and uncertain as guerrilla incursions from the
North gradually escalated into full-blown civil warfare between North and South,
fought largely on territory in the South. In 1975, after many years of conXict that
is well documented in the literature, the government of South Vietnam surrendered
to the North and Vietnam was once again reassembled as a single polity, paving the
way for a new period of development of the country, particularly over the last decade
and a half of the twentieth century, following new policies of economic liberalization.
Before turning to the current stabilization of the nation and the situation of the
Vietnamese language today, we will Wrst turn to brieXy consider the place of
Vietnam’s minority groups and their languages in respect to the Kinh majority
and oYcial, government language policy. In the Wnal section of the chapter, we
then return to review the strong position that Vietnamese currently maintains in
the country, as the fundamental heritage of struggles and gains made cumulatively
during much of the twentieth century.
10
FULRO was an acronym for Front UniWé de Lutte des Races Opprimées (UniWed Front of Oppressed
Races).
Vietnam 439
minimum levels needed of cultural and linguistic knowledge, will most likely continue
and even be encouraged, but eventually, apart from their entertainment value,
they will only serve to mask (and therefore enable) the much larger and more sign-
iWcant trend towards integration into the Vietnamese-speaking Kinh-majority nation
of Vietnam.
of writing. Simultaneously with the adoption of quoc ngu and colloquial Vietnamese
for formal purposes came a resistance to the adoption of French in formal domains,
not highlighted in this chapter, but nevertheless important in comparative terms,
given the retention of colonial languages such as English in formal domains in other
countries following independence or shortly thereafter (e.g. Pakistan, India, Malay-
sia). The Wnal steps ensuring the eVective embedding of Vietnamese as both a
successful oYcial language and respected linguistic embodiment of national identity
was the post-WWII development of the language for use in all formal domains of life,
involving massive lexical expansion in the areas of education, technology, law, and
many other aspects of modern life. Attempts at puriWcation of the language, though
perhaps less long-lasting in their success, nevertheless also highlighted and brought to
the attention of the public the issue and value of possessing a distinctive language, and
in this sense also contributed towards the elevation of the perceived status of
Vietnamese.
If one now speculates on the future based on past and currently observable trends
relating to language and identity in Vietnam, internally one can foresee a further
expansion of the knowledge and use of Vietnamese among those sections of
the population for whom Vietnamese is not a mother tongue and currently still not
well known, that is, Vietnam’s national minorities. If the country continues to see a
growth in its population causing a higher demand for land and other essential
resources, it is not unlikely that the historic tendency for the ethnically Vietnamese
to move into and integrate other ethnic groups will continue in the future, resulting
in closer connections between the current minorities and increased language shift
to Vietnamese rather than the development of a genuinely multilingual state
with languages other than Vietnamese being incorporated into oYcial areas of life
in the country.
Externally, now that Vietnamese is indeed very well established among the
population at all levels of interaction and there has been a general opening up of
the country to foreign investment, liberalization of the economy, détente, greater
participation in regional international aVairs, and an interest in making connections
and establishing links with other parts of the world both in Asia and beyond, there
has been a refocusing of interest in foreign languages. Within this Weld of study,
signiWcant changes have been occurring over the last Wfteen years. Earlier student
interest in learning Russian and East European languages due to former links with
the Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc countries has plummeted in recent years. French,
once the premier foreign language, having fallen into near oblivion for some years,
has at Wrst slowly and then more rapidly made a comeback, especially with the
availability of scholarships to France and other French-speaking countries. Interest
in Chinese for commercial purposes has reappeared, added to interest in Japanese and
Korean, for similar reasons. However, head and shoulders above all other foreign
languages, interest in learning English, at Wrst the English of Great Britain and the
Commonwealth (particularly Australia) and, since 1995, that of North America, has
Vietnam 441
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Index
Humboldt, W. 141 Kim Il Sung 17, 200, 211–2, 214, 224, 226, 231
hwunmin cengum 203 Kim Jong-il 17, 200, 220, 223–4, 226
Kinh 415–6
Ilocano 364 Kolkata (Calcutta) 35, 36, 51
ilustrados, the 363 Konkani 58, 61, 67
immigrant(s) 106, 169–71, 173, 237, 242, Korea 3, 5, 6, 11, 12, 17, 19, 200–34
374–5 Korean 11, 12, 17, 19, 29, 147, 186, 196,
India 6, 7, 15, 16, 18, 20, 22, 23, 25, 29, 55–83, 200–34, 307
100, 103, 113 kotodama 19, 192
Indo-Aryan 35, 56, 57, 59, 86–7, 105–6, Krong Kampucheatheupatai 291–3
116, 118 Kuki-Chin 267
Indochina 293, 424, 430 Kuo Min Tang/KMT 9, 14, 235, 241–51, 254,
Indo-European 57, 102, 105, 148 256, 258
Indonesia 3, 5, 6, 9, 13, 18, 19, 26, 312–36,
348, 377 Lahu 267, 281
Indonesian/Bahasa Indonesia 9, 14, 20, 312, Lan Na 393
322–36, 345 Lan Xang 393, 401, 409
International Mother Language Day 44 Lao 24, 392, 401
Iranian 105 Lao Lum 409
Islam 24, 36, 37, 38, 102, 103, 107–11, 115, Lao Soung 410
315, 338, 345 Lao Theung 409
itwu script 202 Laos 5, 6, 13, 24, 29, 409–14
lexical adjustment 214, 226, 231
Japan 3, 5, 6, 16, 17, 19, 186–99 Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE/
Japanese 11, 13, 19, 156, 186–99, 206, 208, Tamil Tigers) 136
213, 216, 227, 239–40, 242, 258, 307, 327 lingua franca 4, 6, 9, 15, 19, 41, 62, 64, 67, 88,
Javanese 9, 312, 316, 324 96, 103, 256, 279, 312, 315, 365, 370, 412
Jawi script 315, 350, 358 linguistic pluralism 374
Jinghpaw 279 Lisu 267
Jinnah, Mohammad Ali (M.A.) 38, 108–9 literacy 12, 104, 124, 150, 187, 210, 215, 284,
294, 299, 303, 306, 315, 331, 396, 431
Kachin 263, 273 loanwords 10, 49, 124, 156, 200, 213, 215–17,
Kammuang 400, 406 227–8, 232, 268, 335, 433
Kampuchea 290, 304
Kannada 57, 65, 67 Madras 66–7
Karen/Kayin 263, 272–3, 283–4 Maithili 58, 61, 68, 93
Karenni/Kayah 283–4 Malay (language) 7, 9, 15, 24, 314–15, 317,
Karnataka 65 321, 323–4, 327, 337–59, 376, 379–80,
Kashmir 100, 102 383, 385, 398, 403–4
Kashmiri 57 Bazaar Malay 345, 376–7
katakana 187–92 Old Malay 315
Khan, Liaqat Ali 41 Low Malay 318, 324,
Khan, Ayub 45, 109 High Malay 318, 325
Khari Boli 62 Classical Malay 316
Khmer see Cambodian working Malay 325
464 Index