Monday, August 07, 2006
LOST IN TRANSLATION
Filipino Librarian has a very interesting post about the remarks delivered by Manuel L. Quezon at San Juan de Letran Alumni Annual Banquet in Intramuros, Manila, on November 7, 1937.In it, Quezon urged the Filipinos to establish a common national language based on one of the native dialects. He claimed that a country without a unified language is deprived of a national soul. And without a national soul there can be no genuine national pride.
He also expressed his embarrassment and frustrations for his inability to communicate directly with the Philippine people: “Did you ever hear of anything more humiliating, more horrible than that? I am all right when I go to the Tagalog provinces, because I can speak to the people there in the vernacular, in Tagalog. But if I go to Ilocos Sur, I am already a stranger in my own country, I, the President of the Philippines! I, a stranger in my own country! How can I tell the people what I think and feel when in order to do so I need an interpreter who, in the majority of cases, says what he wants to say and not what I have said? That happens, because sometimes the interpreter, either because he has not understood me or because he cannot think of words in the vernacular expressing what I have said, says whatever occurs to him. How often have I not said to some one interpreting for me into Visayan or Bicol: You are not saying what I have said?”
This took place about 69 years ago and now that we’re in the new millennium, I assumed that Tagalog is presently the defacto medium of communication amongst our entire populace; that is, until I met a Visayan friend for lunch last week. He brought along his nephew who recently graduated from college. Much to my surprise, this young man hardly spoke any Tagalog. My friend told me that our national language is rarely spoken at his home town and this young man has to first brush up on his Tagalog before applying for a job in Manila.
As for my family history, my mother is from Bicol who as a youngster spoke the local dialect, Spanish and English. When she was sent to Manila to study at St. Rita’s College and later met and married my father from Zambales, she had to converse with him and his family in English until she became fluent in Tagalog.
My father was fluent in Ilocano, Tagalog and English; however, he had that very pronounced Ilocano accent in his speech. He also learned some Zambal from his father who had close ties with the Magsaysays. When Ramon became president, my grandfather was given the job to represent the interests of the Aetas and Negritoes who were once driven to the hinterlands when the settlers begin to inhabit the region. It was also my grandfather’s job to encourage these aborigines to co-mingle and actively participate in the local culture. Zambal was the main language used in their communication.
My mother eventually became proficient with her Tagalog while my father continued to speak with his Ilocano accent. As for the children who were mostly born and raised in Manila, Tagalog was the medium of choice, but the periodicals and books that my father and older siblings favored and brought home were all in English. Spanish was also learned by us in school, but it was mostly my mother who spoke it with some aunts and friends. There were also times, though rarely, that when exasperated by our rumbustiousness she would berate us in Spanish.
Incidentally, while preparing this entry, I was surprised to have discovered something about President Quezon I never knew before — that one of his remarkable humanitarian acts, was having facilitated the entry into the Philippines of Jewish refugees fleeing the Nazis at a time when they could not legally enter the United States in large numbers. They were resettled in Mindanao through a project also promoted by him. This may explain why my New York Jewish friends’ parents always welcomed me with open arms whenever I stayed for lunch or dinner.
As for President Magsaysay, what no one knew about was that he used to come often unannounced to our house in Santa Cruz, Manila (I was a mere infant to remember any of it myself) in an ordinary looking sedan with only one person with him — his boyhood friend and bodyguard, Cacho. Cacho’s job description included having to first taste every meal the president was served at public functions.
Ramon and my father became close friends when my father supplied his guerilla forces with some of their much needed munitions during the Japanese occupation. However, my father shied away from engaging in any business dealings with the government when Ramon was elected president so as to avoid any talks of cronyism. And since my mother was very close to the president’s wife, Luz, one can only imagine how many kids in the neighborhood boasted having the president as their godfather, even though by proxy only.
President Magsaysay died on March 17, 1957, in an air crash while en route to Manila from Cebu; whereas, President Quezon suffered from tuberculosis and died in Saranac Lake, New York on August 1, 1944.
Labels: Growing up memoirs, Philippine history, Ramon Magsaysay
posted by Señor Enrique at 9:20 AM
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