LANGUAGE ATTRITION AND LOSS OF IDENTITY: AZERI-FARSI CODE-

SWITCHING IN TABRIZ, IRAN

Thomas Hawes & Seyed Hadi Mirvahedi

Thomas Hawes
Department für Anglistik und Amerikanistik
Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München
Schellingstrasse 3 (RG)
80799 München
Germany

Email: thomas.hawes@anglistik.uni-muenchen.de
Tel: +49 (0)89 2180 2802
Fax: +49 (0) 89 / 2180 - 992070

Thomas Hawes: Biostatement

Dr Thomas Hawes is currently teaching at the University of Munich, Germany. He has
directed MA Programmes in Applied Linguistics and TESOL and lectured in
Psycholinguistics, Sociolinguistics, Lexis, Research Design and Classroom Observation
alongside undergraduate courses in Language and Literature, Pragmatics and Ideology &
Society. His research areas include applied linguistics, discourse analysis (especially of the
media), language and literature, and functional grammar (particularly thematisation).

Seyed Hadi Mirvahedi

School of Linguistics and Applied Language Studies
Victoria University of Wellington
KP 22, Kelburn Parade
Wellington
New Zealand

E-mail: Seyedhadi.Mirvahedi@vuw.ac.nz
Telephone: +22 672 68 34

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 LANGUAGE ATTRITION AND LOSS OF IDENTITY: AZERI-FARSI CODE-
SWITCHING IN TABRIZ, IRAN

Abstract

L1 language attrition, or loss of competence in one’s mother tongue, appears to be gathering

pace in Tabriz, capital of the Iranian province of East Azerbaijan. Despite provision in
Iranian law in support of minority languages, which includes an Azeri television channel, a
preliminary pilot study found that the basic Azeri vocabulary of school pupils under 15 was
demonstrably weaker than that of people aged 15 and above. Following on from the pilot
study, the present paper examines a possible link between the process of language attrition
and Azeris’ increasingly common code-switching to Farsi, employing Farsi structures within
Azeri sentences. Code-switching in Tabriz may be an attempt to be fair towards the various
language communities or perhaps to show ‘loyalty’ to the central government. It is
particularly interesting as performed by high profile individuals, in that it does not necessarily
highlight one’s own individual identity (e.g. Myers-Scotton, 2006), nor suggest a
convergence reaction to a change in audience (e.g. Bell, 2010). Rather, it seems to assert
one’s membership of mainstream society and that, by implication, the identity of one’s
audience ought to mirror this. Our study examines two interviews with high status individuals
prior to a visit to Tabriz by the Iranian President in November 2009. It looks for patterns in
their code-switching and possible clues as to why this might perhaps be hastening Azeri
attrition.

Key words: language attrition; symbolic code switching; minority identity

Running title: Azeri-Farsi code-switching

Word count: 5,338

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INTRODUCTION
‘There are different vantage points from which diversity may be viewed. One person’s
obstacle may be someone else’s source of identity’ (Hymes, 1996: 33). It is almost inevitable
in any multi-ethnic state that there should be a struggle between the forces of national
standardisation and the desire of local communities to preserve their own distinctive culture.
This applies most acutely to the domain of language because differences among language
varieties are particularly noticeable and difficult to hide. The case of Azeri (Azerbaijani
Turkic) within Iran is no exception. It simultaneously enjoys a high profile for a minority
language, having more speakers in Iran than any other language except Farsi, the national
language, but could, for the same reason, be considered an obstacle to national unity. Indeed,
evidence below from the Iranian media suggests that Tehran may possibly view it as an
obstacle.

Azeris account for almost a quarter of the Iranian population (CIA World Fact Book,
2010) and comprise the largest ethnic group after Farsis (Persians). Tabriz, the capital of East
Azerbaijan, the north-westernmost region of Iran, is renowned as the City of Firsts, having
adopted a plethora of modern developments earlier than the rest of the country. Its local state
television channel, Sahand TV, broadcasts internationally in both Azeri and Persian which,
from a nationalist perspective, is potentially problematic. Given that the Iranian population is
estimated to have risen from only 10 million people a century ago to between 67 million
(CIA estimate, 2010) and 74 million (UN, 2009) today, the political dilemma is how to
maintain ideological unity in the face of a complex and fast changing demographic.

The challenge to national unity posed by this young population, and the attendant
linguistic and cultural issues, indirectly endangers Azeri because it provides a ready-made
justification for standardisation measures. Officially, under Article 15 of the Iranian
Constitution, ‘…the use of local and ethnic language in the press and for the mass media and
the teaching of their literature shall be allowed, beside the Persian language’. However, the
crucial provision regarding the teaching of regional languages is ignored and Azeri is not
formally taught in the state system. In fact, Farsi films have in the past denigrated an Azeri
identity by portraying monolingual Azeris as people of low status, while cartoons have even
depicted them as donkeys and cockroaches. After one particular cockroach picture appeared
in Iran, a leading national newspaper, in 2006, Tabrizis took to the streets in protest.
Although the cartoonist subsequently insisted that he had not intended to insult Azeris,
controversy simmers beneath the surface of Iranian life. The clear if implicit message in the
exclusively government-controlled national media is that to be a valued Iranian citizen one
must be either bilingual or else a monolingual Farsi speaker.

The most significant result of what could be interpreted as an unofficial campaign to

discourage the use of Azeri today is that Farsi is increasingly dominant, especially amongst
the wealthier and more powerful sections of society. Partly because Azeri is not taught at
school and partly because young people may perceive Farsi speakers as having higher status
than speakers of other languages, full linguistic competence in Azeri is slowly disappearing,
despite the fact that it remains the default domestic language of East Azerbaijan. We first
recognised that Azeri children were having difficulty with even basic words in their own
language when we noticed that, after having received their school reports and discussing their
grades in Azeri, these children sometimes asked to be told the equivalent grade in Farsi.

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Pilot study
Against this background we conducted a pilot study into the current state of competence in
Azeri. A simple language test was administered to a total of 400 subjects: 100 females under
the age of 15 (G1), 100 females over 15 (G2), 100 males under 15 (G3), and 100 males over
15 (G4) - 15 being commonly taken as the watershed between childhood and adulthood. The
test asked for the Azeri equivalent of 50 Farsi words relating to the subjects’ immediate
environment, such as colours, numbers, parts of the body and well-known animals. Results
revealed, firstly, that adult males could correctly answer 95% of the questions. While this
appears prima facie to be a good score, it indicates that mature speakers did not know a few
very common words in their L1, which is surprising. Adult females could answer 85% of the
questions, boys 76% and girls, the last group, only 65%. Since the literacy rate among
females in Iran (70% in 2004, ILO:2010) is known to be lower than that for males (84%), the
G1/G3 and the G2/G4 discrepancies are relatively unsurprising. However, the knowledge gap
between children and adults (G1/G2 and G3/G4) was found to be 25%, suggesting a serious
slowdown in the intergenerational transmission of Azeri.

‘A maximally powerful communicator is perceived to belong to a highly valued group, to

be competent or effective, and to be active and strong. A maximally powerless communicator
is perceived to belong to a devalued group, to be incompetent or ineffective, and to be passive
and weak’ Ng & Bradac (1993: 16). This paper attempts to show how one type of
communicative event - the television interview with persons of high social standing, who are
likely to be regarded as positive social role models - may be contributing to Azeri attrition.
These persons tend increasingly to engage in code-switching, which in consequence is
arguably perceived as normal elite language behaviour in East Azerbaijan and therefore as
worthy of emulation by ordinary people. This paper will consider this specific type of code-
switching and discuss whether it reveals anything about Azeri attrition and whether there
might be a correlation between the two phenomena.

CODE-SWITCHING
Motivation
‘Language provides the basis of community, but also the grounds for division’ (Montgomery,
1998: 250-251). L
anguage is more than a means of communication. It can be a bridge or a barrier, depending
on the speaker’s purpose. The choice of a standard language for the state has long-term
political implications. Similarly, the language variety chosen on the spur of the moment by
individual speakers can create friendship or enmity. Code-switching is the use of two or more
languages by individuals in the same speech event and it is particularly common in an ‘us and
them’ situation, such as might potentially hold sway between different ethnic groups.
Speakers frequently switch to foster solidarity with others from their own social group or to
distance themselves from outgroups, sometimes even from mainstream society. In the most
extreme case, sustained code-switching can take the form of an antilanguage, by which
minority language speakers express a negative attitude towards the dominant language and
assert an alternative identity for themselves (Halliday, 1978). It will be our contention,
however, that the code-switching we examine is at the opposite extreme to antilanguage in a
continuum of language contact phenomena.

A number of more ordinary uses for code-switching have been documented. They
include, for instance, appealing to the literate; negotiating with greater authority; capturing

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attention; communicating more precisely; identifying with a particular group; expressing a
concept which is easier to express in a particular language; and expressing group solidarity
(Gumperz, 1982: 144). More recent research by Myers-Scotton concurs with these uses but
states that the overriding reason for code-switching in her data is ‘the symbolic value of
speaking that language’ (2006: 143). All linguistic choices, she explains, are indexical signs
(2006: 145), pointing to values, as well as serving the practical purposes of the particular
speech event they are engaged in at that moment. All such choices are made ‘against the
backdrop of the different values that different languages have in the linguistic marketplace
and the unconscious recognition that different linguistic practices are marks of social
identity.’ (2006: 129). What speakers indicate, more specifically, by code switching,
according to Myers-Scotton, is one of the following - that:

1. they wish at least to inform or remind the hearer of the multiple identities associated
with their various linguistic choices;
2. if they drop one choice for another, other than for purely practical purposes of mutual
comprehension, they are indicating a preference for a specific identity;
3. if they continue to switch back and forth between codes, they probably do not have a
strong preference and are trying to be ‘fair’ to the different identities or leaving the
choice of which code to use to the other speaker (Myers-Scotton, 1993: 109).

Another well-known view of code-switching is that switches occur as a result of changes

in one’s audience, referred to in Bell (1984) as audience design, i.e. the speaker converges in
the direction of her/his new audience. Bell’s (2010) updated referee design is particularly
relevant to the situation in Tabriz. It posits switching as a function of speakers’ ‘underlying
association with… an often-absent reference group… Referees are third persons not usually
present at an interaction but possessing such salience for a speaker that they influence style
even in their absence… It can even involve simultaneous identification with two groups at
once’ (Bell, 2010: 37). We will argue that code-switching by prominent institutional
representatives in Tabriz identifies with the Farsi-controlled government in Tehran, as
referee, but that – more than simply making a statement about the speakers’ identity – it
actually attempts to impose an identity on the audience.

In summary, code-switching is likely to be about signalling identity in some form.

Because identity is a complex and shifting phenomenon, the precise signal conveyed can vary
greatly. It can assert one’s superiority over another person or one’s solidarity with them. It
may as easily proclaim friendship as antagonism. The crux of the matter is that identity is
closely linked to the thoughts one is able to express and that, following the Sapir-Whorf
hypothesis, language and thought are inextricably connected. As a result, the very use of
language simultaneously implies both a self-asserting identity and also self-alienation, in so
far as one is addressing the non-self. Because almost all cultures tend to think in dichotomies,
such as black and white, right and wrong, defining oneself as that which is not Other (Lacan,
1977), necessarily makes one dependent upon the Other, without whom, in a sense, one has
no identity, and sets up a polarity that is at least potentially antagonistic - in this case between
Farsis and Azeris.

Structural aspects
As for code-switching in its more structural aspects, Myers-Scotton explains, it

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 ‘has a principled basis. It is not haphazard – speakers don’t just mix words from two
languages together freely. This finding goes against the popular view of many people,
even many speakers who engage in codeswitching themselves. That is, many people think
of codeswitching as “broken or bad language” just because it includes two languages’
(Myers-Scotton, 2006: 249).

Different basic types of code-switching include inter-sentential switching (between the

sentences), intra-sentential switching (within the same sentence) and intra-clause switching
(within the same clause) (ibid: 239). In theory the two languages employed could each
control different aspects of grammatical structure. Noun phrases might, for instance, meet the
well-formedness conditions of one language, while verb phrases might do so in the other
language. In fact, in classic codeswitching, the grammatical structure of one language
prevails and provides ‘the source of the morphosyntactic frame for the [whole] clause’ (ibid:
241). The language providing the framework may be referred to as the matrix or frame
language, while the one from which chunks are inserted into this framework is known as the
embedded, or guest language (ibid: 235).

By far the most frequently adopted embedded element in code-switching is the noun
(Myers-Scotton, 2006: 226), partly because of the noun’s ‘fixedness’ (ibid: 228), but also
because ‘nouns are relatively transferable in their semantic sense across languages… In
contrast, verbs do not transfer cross-linguistically so easily. The reason seems to be that verbs
are syntactically more complex than nouns’ (ibid: 229). One might go further and propose
that, as nouns represent the entities at issue, the more frequently they are used, the more they
tend to present reality as static. If the nouns are predominantly in one language this might
suggest that the protagonists’ world-view is dominated by the culture associated with that
language and therefore unchallengeable.

Azeri-Farsi code-switching
The caricaturing of Azeris in Iran’s media as beggars and even cockroaches suggests that the
regime in Teheran might be indulging in ‘othering’, or cultivating disapproval of a potentially
separatist Azeri identity. Thus it is possibly out of fear of being placed in the role of this
Other that certain Azeris code-switch to Farsi to claim this additional identity for themselves
and not to be aligned in the eyes of their interlocutors with the ‘beggars’ and ‘cockroaches’.
Myers-Scotton (1993: 133-134) provides examples from Kenya of switching to the more
‘powerful’ variety (in this case, English) by a bus conductor, in one instance to assert
superior status and, in another, to show annoyance. Her examples appear to be not far
removed from the social motivation for code-switching to Farsi in Tabriz.

However, this is not the only possible way a speech community has of dealing with a
social situation in which its language is disadvantaged. Di Pietro (1977) refers to code-
switching practices found amongst Italian immigrants in the USA. While they could be said
to acknowledge the dominant position of English by selecting it as the frame for telling jokes,
they switch to Italian for the punch line to signal their fundamental group allegiance. This
may also be a means of indirectly claiming superiority for Italian – not in terms of its greater
numbers of speakers or of its being the standard language, but of its being more expressive.
Another solution can be found in ‘switching’ by children of Turkish origin in Germany.
Research by Özdil (2010), records the creation of a third language variety, namely an
idiosyncratic mixture of Turkish and German, known only to the individuals concerned.

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 Finally, a very different tactic is employed by some minority Tamil speakers in Malaysia
vis-à-vis the standard language, Bahasa Malaysia. Muthusamy (2009: 14), studying the
speech of Tamil-speaking undergraduate students in a Malaysian university, concludes that
the ‘emergence of intra-ethnic pressure on all members of the Tamil community forces them
to use Tamil in all possible domains’. He notes that this is not confined to situations where
Bahasa Malaysia predominates and that ‘even in a setting where English plays the dominant
role, the strategy adopted by the Tamil speakers is to insert Tamil language elements
whenever possible’ (idem).

From a more general perspective, language variation, something practised by every

speaker, whether consciously or otherwise, can be for purposes of accommodation (reducing
the differences with one’s interlocutors to make communication flow more easily), or it can
be to highlight divergence (increasing the differences to make it more difficult for - or even
exclude - the listener). We would argue that neither of these is the primary motive here,
where all speakers are Azeris. Language variation may also be either audience-oriented (i.e.
centring on one’s interlocutor), or self/identity-oriented (i.e. about image and the presentation
of self). Code-switching in Tabriz appears to be primarily the latter.

This raises the question of why Azeris do not appear to find it necessary to defend their
language in a similar way. Presumably, they do not (yet) feel under threat to anything like the
same extent that Tamils – who make up only some 5% of the population – do in Malaysia.
After all, Azeri culture and language remain dominant in East Azerbaijan. Another possible
explanation is mentioned in Halliday (1978): ‘An important defensive aspect… A social
group under pressure, aware that its own linguistic norms are disvalued by other groups, will
often elaborate complex forms of verbal play in which its own speech is uniquely highly
valued’ (Halliday, 1978: 160). We should not forget that certain groups, especially the better
off social classes, may value and be very proud of their ability to code-switch between Azeri
and Farsi, seeing it as a sign of their being both fashionable and able language users.

More ominously, Kulick & Stroud (2010) outline a situation that may be analogous to
that in Tabriz. Their investigation into code-switching in Gapun, Papua New Guinea, finds
that Tok Pisin, the standard language, is causing certain villages to abandon their local
vernacular, Taiap, and that, in tandem with this trend, ‘one of the most striking characteristics
of language use in Gapun is the villagers’ predilection for code-switching…’ (Kulick &
Stroud 2010: 202). They claim that: ‘…there is clearly a link between the present
predominance of the code-switching discourse mode and the fact that Taiap is losing ground
to Tok Pisin… it is hard not to conclude that code-switching in Gapun is a vehicle for the
ongoing demise of the village vernacular’ (ibid: 213).

DATA AND METHODOLOGY

Our data comprise two short snippets from the 11pm Azeri news slot on Sahand TV, recorded
on 15th and 16th November 2009, each lasting approximately 90 seconds. The first is an
interview with the Governor of East Azerbaijan; the second with the Dean of Tabriz
University. The context for both is the same, namely the imminent visit to Tabriz of the
Iranian President. Our procedure was to:

1. transcribe these interviews in the most basic way possible, more or less word-for-
word, omitting all paralinguistic details, because we were interested not in the
speakers’ individual mannerisms but purely and simply in whether, when and in what
proportion they code-switched;

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 2. analyse the running text as if it were in sentences, i.e. impose an artificial ‘written’
format upon the spoken words;
3. highlight, one ‘sentence’ at a time, which parts were in Azeri and which in Farsi;
4. count code-switching chunks, words and characters in these Azeri/Farsi sections;
5. look at grammatical structure in the respective language chunks to see whether there
was any obvious patterning; and if so
6. consider how this patterning differed from one interviewee to the other and what, if
any, conclusions could be drawn;
7. attempt to match our findings to plausible theories of social and rhetorical motivation.

RESULTS
Text 1
The Governor of East Azerbaijan is briefly introduced by a TV announcer. We do not include
this in the analysis but it is reproduced for completeness. The Governor then produces a
monologue lasting about 90 seconds, in the course of which he code-switches from Azeri to
Farsi no less than 11 times - once every eight seconds. Text 1 is reproduced as Appendix 1,
with the Azeri sections shown in blue and the Farsi sections in red. The composition of the
Governor’s 11 chunks of Azeri and of Farsi is shown in Tables 1(a) and 1(b) below.

Table 1(a): Azeri

Chunks: 11
Words: 72 (= 6.5 per chunk)
Characters: 382 (= 5.3 per word; 34.7 per chunk)

Table 1(b): Farsi

Chunks: 11
Words: 85 (= 7.7 per chunk)
Characters: 402 (= 4.7 per word; 36.5 per chunk)

It is revealing that seven instances, around two thirds of the total, have the same
grammatical pattern, i.e. NOMINAL + OF + NOMINAL (see red sections 1, 2, 5, 8, 9, 10
and 11 in Appendix 1), as in The trip of the President, or the authorities of Tabriz. This is a
heavy, formal-sounding structure, which suggests worthiness or seriousness. Its use might be
interpreted in a sympathetic manner as respectful or, alternatively, less sympathetically as
cumbersome. It seems particularly heavy when loaded with cultural symbols such as Holy
Shrine of Imam Reza there or the conference of Tabriz the First Shia Capital. In the final
Farsi chunk of the text, the pattern is doubled (as national certificate of Tabriz, the First
Capital of Shia…) to NOMINAL + OF + NOMINAL + NOMINAL + OF + NOMINAL, an
even weightier structure.

There are four further switches to Farsi in this text. Two use the pattern ADJECTIVE +
NOMINAL (3, 4) as in kind response to Azerbaijanis’ kindness, while the remaining two

8
have the pattern GERUND + NOMINAL (6, 7), eg and also having meetings with the
Isargaran [i.e. those who fought in the Iran-Iraq war of 1982-88] and meetings with
intellectuals (doubling again). Every chunk of Farsi employed, therefore, essentially consists
of a nominal group or phrase, and is typically quite sizeable.

Text 2
In another monologue, again of 90 seconds, the University Dean code-switches 10 times, or
once every nine seconds. Text 2 is reproduced as Appendix 2, with the same colour coding,
and the composition of the Dean’s 10 chunks of Azeri and of Farsi is shown in Tables 2(a)
and 2(b) below.

Table 2(a): Azeri

Chunks: 10
Words: 53 (= 5.3 per chunk)
Characters: 310 (= 5.8 per word; 31 per chunk)

Table 2(b): Farsi

Chunks: 10
Words: 95 (= 9.5 per chunk)
Characters: 418 (= 4.4 per word; 41.8 per chunk)

In this text, five instances, half of the total, have the same grammatical pattern that is
predominant in Text 1, i.e. NOMINAL + OF + NOMINAL (see red sections 1, 2, 3, 5, and 7
in Appendix 2), though one (7) starts with an adjective. In one instance, switch number 3, the
pattern is doubled, as NOMINAL + OF + NOMINAL + OF + NOMINAL (lack of a centre
of national and international conferences). As for the other patterns found in Text 1, there are
two occurrences in Text 2 of ADJECTIVE + NOMINAL (4, 9). In both cases, (important
requests and important countries), the adjective is important, again adding weightiness.
There is one instance of GERUND + NOMINAL (issuing permits and allocating the
necessary budget for establishing), in Farsi chunk 6, and one of ADVERB + GERUND +
NOMINAL (seriously pursuing this goal) in Farsi chunk 8. This means there are at least four
epithets employed to invoke weightiness: important (twice), seriously and necessary. Finally,
there is one chunk that looks rather different because it includes a verb group: VERB +
NOMINAL (10). However, as the verb in question is need, not an action, (need to establish a
regional library), this is almost the same as saying that a library is necessary or important,
hence once again, suggesting weightiness.

While no generalisation is possible on the basis of two short texts, it is noticeable that in
each case the chunks of Farsi are slightly longer than those of Azeri – there are more words
and more characters of Farsi than of Azeri. In Text 2, the difference is greater than in Text 1,
the former employing fully 33% more Farsi than Azeri characters. We might speculate that
the Governor, a politician, is more keenly aware of the potential effect upon an Azeri

9
audience of speaking predominantly in Farsi rather than Azeri and, consequently, more
careful to maintain a balance between the two. In any case, Farsi is generally the vehicle for
nominals, while the great majority of the verbs are in Azeri. In each of the two texts, the
Azeri chunks include 12 verbs (not counting one gerund) whereas the Farsi chunks each have
just a single verb (not counting two gerunds in the first text and three in the second).

DISCUSSION
It should be noted at the outset that Azeri-Farsi code-switching in Tabriz evinces none of the
characteristics of an antilanguage. These code-switchers show no desire to obscure what they
are saying by developing their own separate code. This code-switching is, in other words,
more akin to core-borrowing (incorporating elements of the higher-status language into the
discourse), rather than reverse-core borrowing (adopting elements of the lower-status
language). The greatest difference vis-à-vis an antilanguage is that the latter is a shift away
from the standard language variety, while this code-switching in Tabriz appears to be the
opposite - embracing Farsi and all that it symbolises. Of course, this does not rule out the
possibility that it could be used to exclude others. Given that Tabrizis are ever more
competent in Farsi and correspondingly less so in Azeri, it might be expected that younger
speakers would at times feel tempted to switch as a tactic to prevent their parents from
following their more private conversations. Nevertheless, the data seem to support the idea
that Azeri-Farsi code-switching signals allegiance to the standard language and mainstream
society. Both the Governor and the Dean, in switching, are asserting their mixed – or dual –
identity, as members of the Azeri community and, at the same time, of a larger Farsi Iran.

Broadly speaking, the interviewees embed Farsi noun phrases within Azeri clauses. This
is interesting in two ways. Firstly it appears to support Myers-Scotton’s claim regarding the
attraction of a more powerful culture: ‘the sheer magnetism of the dominant culture of the
donor language seems to motivate speakers to borrow core elements’ (2006: 216). She cites
as an example Chichewa speakers in Malawi, using isolated English words such as madam
(for ‘wife’) to sound impressive, even though they may know little English (Simango, 2000
cited in Myers-Scotton, 2006: 217). Arguably, the fact that the borrowings from Farsi tend to
be concepts from the domain of culture (for example, Holy Shrine of Imam Reza, meetings
with intellectuals, the conference of “Tabriz the First Shia Capital” and the historical
aspects in Text 1) might leave an impression in the Azeri audience that their own culture is
beholden to a Farsi identity. This would tally with the claim, mentioned above, that if
speakers drop one linguistic choice for another, other than simply for mutual comprehension,
they are indicating a preference for a specific identity. This appears to be a Farsi-Iranian
identity.

Secondly, the recourse to nominal structures is interesting in terms of nominalization,

which dresses a process up as a noun and can be revealing of a text’s underlying ideology (eg
Halliday, 1985 chapter 10). In Text 1, there are anything up to six instances in only eleven
Farsi chunks. Examples include The trip of the President (instead of The President will
travel…) and kind response (instead of The President has responded kindly). This provides at
least a measure of preliminary evidence that something other than chance or naturally
occurring forms of communication are at play.

Most applicable of all is Myers-Scotton’s claim that if the interlocutors continue to switch
back and forth between codes, they are trying to be ‘fair’ to the different identities (Myers-
Scotton, 1993: 109). From the roughly equal time accorded to each language, there appears to
be an agenda of promoting ‘equality’. Whether this reflects a general principle or is valid

10
only within the Azeri-dominated provinces (implying that Farsi has equal status with Azeri in
Tabriz but not that Azeri has any status in Tehran) is unclear. Structurally, with a couple of
minor exceptions, only noun phrases from Farsi are used in our code-switching data. This
concurs with but also departs from Myers-Scotton’s observations. The code-switching is
orthodox, being the integration of nouns from Farsi, the high status language, into Azeri, the
frame language. The interviewees presumably consider they are primarily speaking Azeri, not
Farsi. Yet the Farsi noun phrases are so significant in size that the impression is one of a
chunk of one language followed by a chunk of the other, rather than of embedding.

Moreover, the code-switching employed by these two individuals is neither random nor
arbitrary. One might have expected them to keep to one language for an extended stretch of
discourse and afterwards another stretch in the other language. Instead, despite the frequency
with which they code-switch, they do so in a controlled and systematic manner. Two things
are striking: firstly, in both interviews roughly equal time is given to each of the two
languages; secondly, (without forgetting that we are working from a translation and that
people do not speak in written punctuation), not one sentence of our transcription is left
wholly in Azeri or Farsi. Rather, every single sentence is split to give each language a share
of it. This is done so consistently as to suggest that the wording was painstakingly prepared
beforehand and that great care has been taken to keep both speech communities happy and to
avoid any accusation of bias. The very measured weighting of the code-switching leads us to
suspect that this specific language behaviour has been adopted unofficially as a policy by the
Iranian authorities.

If, as it appears, increasingly large chunks of Farsi are being used within Azeri, the code-
switching in Tabriz is possibly moving in the direction of composite codeswitching, where
the language used as a whole will eventually no longer be perceptible as Farsi chunks within
an Azeri framework, but simply as a mixture of the two languages. Eventually it might even
take on the appearance of shrinking chunks of Azeri within a Farsi framework. One
assumption that is fairly safe as regards this particular code-switching event is that, because
the Governor is talking about the President, he uses as many words and structures in Farsi
(the President’s own language) as possible to indicate his loyalty to the central government.
On the other hand, the Governor cannot simply speak Farsi and ignore Azeri, because he is
talking on the Azeri TV channel and needs to evoke solidarity with the people of the region.
The role relations of relative power can be assumed especially to affect the way a person of
lower status speaks, as in a classroom where, if the teacher uses a particular language, the
students will tend to subconsciously orient towards and use that language too.

CONCLUSION
‘Language is the primary instrument of power (in human affairs) at both the local and global
levels’ Ng & Bradac (1993: 191). Without disagreeing with this statement, we wish to
suggest that viewing given languages in a context of power struggle may not be the most
productive framework and that linguistic nationalism, specifically, may not be the best way
forward. Azeri speakers appear to be essentially employing Farsi noun phrases in their code
switching. Arguably, noun phrases are the grammatical structures with the greatest potential
for creating impressive-sounding chunks of language. Such discourse is likely to be slow-
moving and is not calculated to sound dynamic. However, it impresses by its ‘worthiness’
like a royal procession or a slow march at a military funeral.

‘Group dominance is transferred to, and encoded in, the prevailing (standard) language
variety. Over time, the biased language is no longer marked - it becomes routinized’ (Ng &

11
Bradac, 1993: 9). This means that, whereas older Azeri speakers may find the code-switching
to Farsi that is becoming fashionable today odd, younger speakers – and with time all
speakers – may find it normal or not even notice it consciously. Perhaps the subsequent step
in the on-going Azeri attrition will then be a gradual reduction of the proportion of Azeri
words to Farsi, with the latter increasingly taking over the framing of the clause as a whole. It
appears that code-switching by prominent individuals in Tabriz is, in fact, an implicit attempt
to impose a dual Farsi-Azeri identity on the people of that city, or at least to present them
with a model to follow of what Tehran considers they should be. In this sense, code-
switching by representatives of the regime in Tabriz could be one of the government’s ways
of ‘educating’ Azeris away from an exclusively Azeri identity towards a dual identity,
perhaps as a half-way house, and finally to a monolingual Farsi culture.

Whether this policy will have the desired effect is another question. Concluding on past
ideological struggles around language in the Philippines, Tupas (2009) states: ‘…language
does not seem to figure as a fundamental problem that needs to be addressed… fixation on
language in language policy debates is not a natural given. In fact it has to be re-examined…
another effective way to look at language policy is to suspend any talk about language…
What is needed is… an ethnography of social development’ (Tupas, 2009: 23-24). This
means that in the end the core motivating factors in language change may have little directly
to do with language itself and may instead be the basic sociological issues of health, wealth,
education and resources. These are likely to play a key role in Azeri-Farsi code-switching and
in how this phenomenon develops in future.

REFERENCES
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Bell, Allan. 2010. Back in Style: Reworking audience design. In M. Meyerhoff and E.
Schleef (eds.) The Routledge Sociolinguistics Reader. Abingdon: Routledge. 32-52.
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https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/ir.html
Di Pietro, Robert. 1977. Codeswitching as a Verbal Strategy Among Bilinguals. In F.
Eckman (ed.) Current Themes in Linguistics: Bilingualism, Experimental Linguistics and
Language Typologies. Washington, DC: Hemisphere.
Gumperz, John. 1982. Conversational Codeswitching. In Discourse Strategies.
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Halliday, Michael. 1978. Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of
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Halliday, Michael. 1985. An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Arnold.
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Hymes, Dell. 1996. Ethnography, Linguistics, Narrative, Inequality – Towards an
Understanding of Voice. London: Taylor and Francis.
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http://www.ilo.org/public/english/region/asro/bangkok/skills-ap/skills/iran_literacy.htm
Kulick, Don & Christopher Stroud. 2010. Code-Switching in Gapun: Social and linguistic
aspects of language use in a language shifting community. In M. Meyerhoff and E.
Schleef (eds.) The Routledge Sociolinguistics Reader. Abingdon: Routledge. 201-215.
Lacan, Jacques. 1977. Ecrits. Paris: Seuil.
Lim, Lisa. 2009. Beyond fear and loathing in SG: The real mother tongues and language
policies in multilingual Singapore. Multilingual Globalizing Asia: Implications for Policy
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Montgomery, Martin. 1998. An Introduction to Language and Society. London: Routledge.
Muthusamy, Paramasivam. 2009. Communicative functions and reasons for code switching:
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Myers-Scotton, Carol. 1993. Social Motivations for Codeswitching: Evidence from Africa.
Oxford: Clarendon.
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Özdil, E. 2010. Code-Switching im zweitsprachlichen Handeln. Münster: Waxmann
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http://www.un.org/esa/population/publications/wpp2008/wpp2008_text_tables.pdf.

APPENDIX 1: INTERVIEW WITH THE GOVERNOR OF EAST AZERBAIJAN

Key
A = TV announcer
G = Governor of East Azerbaijan, Mr Beighi
Blue lettering = Azeri
Red lettering = Farsi

‫ نچه گون بوردا اوالجاخالر و نه برنامه لری نظرد آلمیسیز اوالر اوچون؟‬:‫گزارشگر‬
)2(‫رقی‬ŠŠ‫ان ش‬ŠŠ‫تان آذربایج‬ŠŠ‫ صبح طرفی وارد اس‬.‫) چهار شنبه گونی ایتیفاق توشجاخ‬1(‫ سفر آقای رییس جمهور‬:‫استاندار‬
‫ه‬ŠŠ‫ احترام و منزلتی ک‬.)3(‫ در واقع بو سفر بیر پاسخ محبت آمیز دی صفا و صمیمیت مردم آذربایجان شرقیه‬.‫اوالجاخالر‬
‫تان‬ŠŠ‫) اس‬4(‫ور‬ŠŠ‫ای رییس جمه‬ŠŠ‫فر آق‬ŠŠ‫وره اولین س‬ŠŠ‫ا گ‬ŠŠ‫مردم آذربایجان شرقینین وارالریدی آقای رییس جمهورون یانیندا اون‬
.‫ر‬ŠŠ‫رق ال‬ŠŠ‫وی تکلیفی ف‬ŠŠ‫ هر چند اولین سفر استان خراسان رضویدی ولی خراسان رض‬.‫آذربایجان شرقیه ایتیفاق توشوری‬
‫ف‬ŠŠ‫فرده مختل‬Š‫و س‬ŠŠ‫ ب‬.‫ر‬ŠŠ‫اوت ال‬ŠŠ‫رایط تف‬ŠŠ‫) ش‬5()‫ا (ع‬Š‫ام رض‬ŠŠ‫ریف ام‬Š‫بیز استان رضوینی استان نانیمیریخ به خاطر مرجع ش‬
‫ورون‬Š‫ای رییس جمه‬Š‫ه آق‬Š‫ردمی ک‬Š‫ات م‬Š‫ مالق‬،)6(‫رقی‬Š‫ان ش‬Š‫ردم آذربایج‬ŠŠ‫ه م‬ŠŠ‫ا قاطب‬Š‫ات ب‬Š‫ مالق‬-‫برناملر پیش بینی اولوبدی‬
‫) که آقای رییس‬8(‫ مالقات با نخبه گان و جمع مدیران آذربایجان شرقی‬،)7(‫ و همچنین مالقات با ایثارگران‬-‫وارالریدی‬
‫ده‬ŠŠ‫و همایش‬ŠŠ‫دی و ب‬ŠŠ‫اریخی همایش‬ŠŠ‫) کی بیر ت‬9(‫جمهور شیرکت بیوراجاخالر و همچنین همایش تبریز اولین پایتخت شیعی‬
‫یعی‬ŠŠ‫ایتخت ش‬ŠŠ‫) تبیین اوالجاخدی و دییلجاخدی و سند ملی مربوط به تبریز اولین پ‬10(‫زوایای تاریخی جایگاه شهر تبریز‬
.‫) یتیشجاخ‬11(‫به امضای آقای رییس جمهور‬

A: When is the President going to arrive and what are his plans?

G: (1) The trip of the President will start on Monday. He’ll enter (2) the province of East
Azerbaijan in the morning. In fact, this trip is a (3) kind response to Azerbaijanis’ kindness.
Since the president respects Azerbaijanis a lot, (4) the first provincial trip of the President is
taking place in Tabriz. Although he made his first trip to Mashad, Mashad has a different
story because of the (5) Holy Shrine of Imam Reza there. For this trip, different plans have
been announced. (6) Having meetings with people whom the President usually meets with,

13
(7) and also having meetings with the Isargaran [i.e. those who fought in the Iran-Iraq war of
1982-88] and meetings with intellectuals, and the President will attend a session with (8) the
authorities of Tabriz [i.e. the City Council], and also (9) the conference of ‘Tabriz the First
Shia Capital’, which is a historical conference in which (10) the historical aspects of the
position of Tabriz will be discussed and the (11) national certificate of [i.e. designating]
Tabriz, the First Capital of Shia will be signed by the President.

APPENDIX 2: INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAN OF TABRIZ UNIVERSITY

Key
The Dean of Tabriz University, Dr Alavi - the only speaker - is listing the requests he will
make to the Iranian President
Blue lettering = Azeri
Red lettering = Farsi

‫لرده‬ŠŠ‫ام ارس‬ŠŠ‫ا اینکی تم‬ŠŠ‫ ب‬.‫) یوخدی‬1(‫بیری بودیکی بیزیم شهریمیزده متاسفانه بیر مرکز همایشهای ملی و بین المللی‬
‫های‬ŠŠ‫ز همایش‬ŠŠ‫) بو شهر همیشه پیش قدم اولوبالر اما نبود بیدانا مرک‬2(‫شهر تبریز و مردم فرهنگی و فرهنگ دوست‬
‫اراحتی‬ŠŠ‫ه ن‬ŠŠ‫یر رنج خالص‬ŠŠ‫ار ب‬ŠŠ‫نی دچ‬Š‫ز فرهنگی‬ŠŠ‫هریده کال مراک‬ŠŠ‫طح ش‬ŠŠ‫نی و س‬Š‫ز علمی‬ŠŠ‫) بو مراک‬3(‫ملی و بین المللی‬
‫ارات الزم‬ŠŠ‫وز و اعتب‬ŠŠ‫فرده دادن مج‬ŠŠ‫و س‬ŠŠ‫)ودان ب‬5(‫) یمیز ریاست محترم جمهور‬4(‫ بیزیم بیر خواسته ی مهم‬Š.‫الییبدی‬
)7(‫ب‬ŠŠ‫ای مناس‬ŠŠ‫یز واردی محله‬ŠŠ‫افی یریم‬ŠŠ‫ البته بیزیم به اندازه ک‬.‫) بلنچیلیه بیر مرکزهمایشلر دی‬6(‫برای دایر کردن‬
‫ اکیمینجی‬.‫االخ‬Š‫وال س‬Š‫) نی ی‬8(‫های ملی و بین المللی‬Š‫ز همایش‬Š‫و مرک‬ŠŠ‫یریخ کی ب‬ŠŠ‫دی پیگ‬Š‫ورت ج‬Š‫شهریده و بیز به ص‬
‫ور‬ŠŠ‫ا کش‬ŠŠ‫ه دان‬ŠŠ‫یز نچ‬ŠŠ‫ه اینکی ب‬ŠŠ‫خواسته کی بیزیم واریمیزدی و کال تمام دانشگاه الرا مربوط دی بو دی کی با توجه ب‬
‫یزیم‬ŠŠ‫ت مناسب اوال ب‬ŠŠ‫یر فرص‬ŠŠ‫دی ب‬ŠŠ‫ اوال م هم ممکن‬Š‫د‬Š‫مهمینن همساییخ و بو همسایگی هم ممکن دی بیز اوچون تحدی‬
.‫) واریمیزدی‬10(‫) بیر کتابخانه ی منطقه ای‬9(‫نیاز به دایر نمودن‬

One of them is that unfortunately in our city there’s no (1) centre of national and international
conferences [sic]. Although the (2) city of Tabriz and its cultivated people have pioneered in
all aspects, the (3) lack of a centre of national and international conferences causes a lot of
trouble in the city. One of our (4) important requests to the respected (5) President of Iran on
this trip would be (6) issuing permits and allocating the necessary budget for establishing
such a centre. Of course we have enough space, in the (7) suitable areas of the city, and we
are (8) seriously pursuing this goal so we can establish such a centre. Our second request,
which relates to all the universities in the province, is because we have a neighbouring border
with some (9) important countries - and this being neighbours can be either a threat or a good
opportunity - we (10) need to establish a regional library.

14