Who has silenced the workers of Borsetshire?

The debate about the United Kingdom’s departure from the European Union is, belatedly, underway, according to France’s former Ambassador to the Court of St James, HE Sylvie Bermann. In theory, this should be prompting a wide-ranging discussion around what it means to be in the UK in this period of intensified globalization, including questions of migration, freedom of movement, and economics.

At the start of the summer, the journal Language, Society and Policy was launched at the British Academy, with the Baroness Coussins – a long-standing advocate of modern languages in the life of the UK – calling for greater prominence for multilingualism in British life. In particular, she called for a recognition of the value of multilingualism, and an acknowledgement of it as an everyday, lived reality for British citizens. At the journal launch, the scope for the representation of multilingualism in British cultural life was highlighted.

As someone who doesn’t watch soaps, I can’t comment on the visibility and audibility of multilingualism on British television, but now is the moment for me to reveal myself as a close follower of The Archers, BBC Radio 4’s drama set in a fictional farming community in the county of Borsetshire. The issue at stake is not the ethnic diversity of the characters – a question that has been raised with regards to EastEnders. Here, the debate turns on the extent to which listeners to The Archers (and other cultural products that punctuate people’s viewing and listening habits) are exposed to languages other than English.

The Archers – “contemporary drama in a rural setting”

The Archers has engaged with Brexit and the consequences of the ending of subsidies – implausibly, enlightened Adam Macy (who has long advocated a more creative approach to farming) was a Eurosceptic, whilst equally implausibly, conservative and cautious David Archer was a Remainer. More pressing for Adam and all at Home Farm is the free movement of labour, since the soft-fruit enterprise is almost entirely dependent on east European workers.

And here’s the worry about the workers from Bulgaria, Romania, and Poland: they never get to speak in their first language. Clearly, in a multilingual community in the countryside outside Birmingham, the working language amongst the pickers of different nationalities is going to be English. However, no matter how closely I listened, not a single exchange took place in Polish, Romanian, or Czech. It’s true that Lexi – the Bulgarian picker given a short but not insignificant role – took us through the challenges of learning English and mastering idioms that characters suddenly started to use in her presence, as if seeking to remind her that The People have voted to leave this kind of multilingual funny business. However, there were plenty of opportunities – at the annual barbecue for the pickers that the Brits pack out to signal to the workers who is boss, or at the village fête where things turned ugly and those dreadful incomers from the housing estate were given the space to air their racist views – for the non-British characters to say a few words in Lithuanian or Slovakian.

I appreciate that there is a technical challenge here – radio can’t do subtitles – but I’m not suggesting that entire plot-lines are conveyed in any language other than English. And I fully acknowledge that a dusting of Polish or Bulgarian might disorient the listeners – but in part, that’s the point. I often ask why these things matter, and in this case, there is a need to take opportunities (even just greetings between Latvians arriving at The Bull for a post-work swift half) to present multilingualism back to the British public. Wherever we’re going in post-Brexit Britain, it’s not back to a mythical monolingual past, and the soaps – including The Archers – have both the chance and the duty to present the realities of multilingualism to their audiences, even if that means a moment or two of not knowing exactly what Konstantin or Pawel are saying.


The sociolinguistics of Brexit: passport covers and colours

There is enormous potential to discuss the sociolinguistics of Brexit, from the campaign and its slogans, to the language attitudes uttered by voters, and even to the claims made about language policies ‘imposed’ by Brussels. Much of this I have found far too depressing to consider, and I’ll declare my interest at the very outset, namely that I did not want the UK to leave the EU, I voted to remain, and I still hope that there’s a chance that the country won’t actually quit. However, the recent discussions about the possibility of Brexit to change the British passport have prompted me to consider this unexpected consequence of the EU referendum outcome.

Burgundy/pink passport cover vs. the ‘true blue’

August is occasionally referred to as the silly season in journalism, and the start of the month heralded two initiatives relating to the design and nature of a British passport. Let’s consider first the campaign by the newspaper The Sun to have British passports ‘returned’ to their ‘true blue’ colour. The Sun called on the UK government to reintroduce blue passport covers, ditching the ‘EU-approved burgundy passport’. From the outset of these discussions, a thread of anti-French sentiment can be detected – although less explicit in this campaign than the second one. The so-called EU-approved burgundy passport is dark red, in a colour identified with the wine of the French region of Burgundy. Not all EU countries have the exact same colour of burgundy for their passports, and Croatian passports are black, but the passports of EU candidate countries such as Albania, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, and Turkey are already burgundy, almost as if the colour of one’s passport demonstrates enthusiasm to be a member of the EU. Non-EU states Norway and Switzerland have red (rather than burgundy) passport covers, and Iceland has blue.

Some noise has been generated by the blue-passport campaign, with The Sun selecting some supportive statements to back their campaign. Conservative MP Andrew Rosindell is reported to have told the newspaper that ‘having the pink European passports has been a humiliation’. Regardless of whether individuals might identify the deep red as pink, the intention to hint at effeminacy (and thereby the emasculation of the virulent British passport and, by extension, people) is not difficult to discern. Conservative MEP Daniel Hannan is also reported to have supported The Sun’s campaign that a blue passport country ‘would be a visible sign that we are an individual country’, suggesting that burgundy, or the pan-EU choice of burgundy, limits the extent to which the UK can be seen as individual. Given that most of the world’s passports are blue, from Afghanistan to Yemen, and including Australia, Brazil, Canada, India, Iraq, the USA, and the world’s newest country South Sudan, it would seem that yellow might be a more ‘individual’ choice. Clearly, though, colour is important to identity; Kieran Braim, 26, of Croydon told The Sun that blue passport covers would ‘help bring the nation together as well as show the world that we’re patriotic’. At 26, Mr Braim is too young to have had a blue British passport, given that they were not issued after 1988, but his perspective points to myth-making on the basis of the symbols of shared identity. Although he never crossed an international border using a blue passport, Mr Braim engages with the idea of a ‘lost’ marker of British – rather than European – identity.

The other campaign is the one that seeks to use the mechanisms of direct democracy, namely the UK Government and Parliament’s Petitions website, to remove ‘French words’ from the cover of the passports. Initiated by Richard Bernden, this petition – which would require 10,000 to prompt a response from the UK government – makes no mention of burgundy/pink/blue covers but instead targets two mottos on the cover of UK passports. On social media, @RadarNvrSleeps grappled with the etymology of the petition to demonstrate the extent to which the English language has borrowed extensively from French and Norman. Passport 2 The Huffington Post did its own research and highlighted not only the French origin of the word ‘passport’ but also the usage of the two offending terms, namely ‘Dieu et mon droit’ (the motto of the British monarchy), and ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense’ (used by the Order of the Garter, which is Britain’s highest order of chivalry). Much of the noise on Twitter centred on the extent to which the English language has absorbed French (and other) words into common usage, with the implicit challenge to the petition’s creator to communicate using words that were not of French origin. In one sense, this rather misses the point, since the petition sought to remove what its creator deemed to be French words on the passport cover, as if the EU had imposed these upon a submissive British government. In fact, the two mottos long predate the European Union, and are British expressions par excellence given their identification with the British monarchy and the honours system.

In other words, the real significance of the two French-language expressions has been lost and their meaning ignored or overlooked. To those seeking to take back control of the UK (whatever on earth that means), the idea that something ‘in French’ should stain a British passport is just the kind of reason why so many people voted to leave the EU. Over 400 people have signed this petition which is argued on the basis – as stated in the wording of the petition – that an EU language (such as French) has no place on a UK passport. This is not, therefore, about removing words of French (or, more accurately Middle French, Gallo-Romance, Late Latin…) origin from usage – although that is a quick way to deride the petition’s creator and signatories. More profoundly, there is a perspective that wishes to remove perceived ‘EU languages’ from British daily life. It’s easy to ridicule this position; Costa will need to rename its panini, Sainsbury’s will have to return to calling baguettes ‘French sticks’, and we can only imagine what Pizza Express will have to do about its business name, let alone what it serves. More seriously, this seems to amplify a strand of insularity within Britain, which plays on attitudes to languages other than English and, to my mind, diminishes the UK. So I take comfor from the fact that only 419 people wish to remove the French-language mottos from the British passport. Honi soit qui mal y pense – indeed!