Colour or Clarity?
Characteristics of Culturally-Neutral Language

Until recently, intercultural communication training has focussed almost exclusively on improving the English-language abilities of NESB newcomers. This paper draws on the author’s experience in a Japanese company to explore the other side of the coin: the need for "native speakers" to modify their own usage of language in the interests of clarity.

Many aspects of language, especially figurative language, are culture-specific, and true fluency requires more than a mechanical grasp of grammar and vocabulary. Until fluency is attained, the newcomer must mentally translate everything that he or she hears and reads, and figurative language is often "untranslatable".

What adds colour and vitality for English-speaking-background hearers and readers can add confusion and mystery for others. "Native speakers" must therefore adopt new strategies to ensure that their meaning is clear and readily accessible. Much that we are taught at school must be forgotten: we must learn new techniques of oracy and literacy to communicate effectively in the modern workplace.

Most of us, at one time or another, are guilty of a kind of cultural imperialism: we speak or write as we please, and demand that our hearers or readers accommodate our style. Even those of us who "should know better" behave as though it is the other’s responsibility to understand — when in fact it is our own responsibility to be understood.

Over the last few years, there has been increasing recognition that the first responsibility for effective communication lies with the speaker or writer. The Plain English movement, for all its faults, is proof enough of that. But we do not yet fully understand how to be clear, especially when we communicate across cultural borders. The traditional image of the western tourist is a caricature of widespread behaviour patterns: when our hearer does not understand, we reduce our speech rate and increase our volume, but we do not change our words. "Bloody foreigners! Why can’t they speak English like everyone else?"

For the Australian who is served warm beer in a French bistro, the issue is one of annoyance and frustration. For a team of workers whose effectiveness and productivity are compromised, the issue is one of economic and ethical consequences, and may even be one of safety.

To illustrate the practical problems involved, I want to recount some episodes from real life, and I shall also describe a brief (and not very rigorous) research project I carried out just a few weeks ago. I want to shed some light on language variations, both between L1 and L2 speakers of English in Australia and between L1 speakers of English in different dialectal communities. In doing so, I shall particularly consider the role and function of figurative language, and I shall pose some important questions about language teaching and language policy.

It is well established that figurative language is the last stage mastered by L1 speakers. My own children displayed what seems to be a common pattern: they began by interpreting language literally, then introduced informal but increasingly sophisticated word games in which literal and intended meanings were clearly at variance. First uses of figurative language in a non-literal sense were rather self-conscious. Finally, figurative language emerged as an aspect of full mastery of the language.

While I am not aware of any in-depth studies, I imagine that L2 speakers follow a similar sequence. Vocabulary and syntactical flexibility increase, but collocations and idioms appear quite late. Indeed, many L2 speakers who appear to be quite fluent can be misled by the divergence between semantic unity and lexical disunity in idiomatic phrases. What happens is that such phrases are mentally translated word for word, manipulated in the native tongue, then translated back into the second language — sometimes with bizarre results.

Idioms are, of course, language-specific — by definition. But this also means culture-specific, and metaphors (the most complex form of figurative language) are even more so. Inevitably, then, metaphor is mastered only at a very high level of fluency. Yet our education system teaches us to use it for colour and impact. Two questions immediately come to mind:

1. Does figurative language reduce clarity when addressed to NESB hearers or readers? — Here, the answer is a clear Yes.
2. Does figurative language reduce clarity when addressed to ESB hearers or readers? — Here, the answer is a slightly tentative Almost certainly.

Let’s look closely at some metaphors, to see how problems can arise. One of my favourite examples is skating on thin ice. For those of us who grew up where skating on frozen lakes and rivers is common, the metaphor is quite vivid. For those who grew up where the "cultural memory" is reasonably recent, the metaphor is still effective, though the extent to which it conjures up a mental picture is questionable. But what about those who grew up in (say) South-East Asia? No doubt Thai, Bahasa Indonesia, and other regional languages have their own functional equivalents — but we may be sure that neither skating nor ice figure largely in any of them.

Turning to workplace-specific cases, I will begin by suggesting that many technical terms and expressions are metaphoric in origin. Even communication, when applied to computers, is metaphoric; yet, when I describe myself as a communication consultant, I am almost invariably asked: "what — PCs?"

A common technical expression of clearly metaphoric origin is tree structure. The things are common enough: they are found in taxonomies, book outlines, and computer databases. It seems to me that the metaphor is quite complex: first, structure as an abstraction is I think metaphoric, then we have to turn a tree upside down to represent the abstraction in a fairly concrete way. Figure 1 shows some typical examples.

Figure 1: Tree Structures

There was once a complex translation problem involving this expression in a Japanese-language reference manual. The story has entered the folklore of the computer industry, and is widely believed to be apocryphal. However, I have conducted an informal experiment with some Japanese-speaking friends to show that the result was almost inevitable. Figure 2 shows what happened.

Figure 2: A Comedy of Errors

The first step was a direct importation of the English term into its literal Japanese equivalent. The spoken form is unambiguous. But, when we look at the written form, we see an interesting contrast between English and Japanese.

In both languages, a noun phrase (nominal group) has the structure <pre-modifier><head> — so that an adjective is defined by its position — but the form of adjectives differs. In English, we can use a nominal form to perform an adjectival function. In (spoken) Japanese, we generally can’t; but there is no graphological way of distinguishing the nominal form of a lexeme from the adjectival form.

The upshot is that the expression ki kohzoh has entered the Japanese language (at least at the technical level) in the same way that tree structure has entered English. But our translator was behind the times, and insisted on finding an adjectival form for the first character. Once wooden was set in concrete (forgive the mixed metaphor), the head word was not so easy: but, since the text was a computer manual, database was not too hard to find.

Now I have suggested that many technical terms are metaphorical in origin. No doubt our wooden database translator would render genetic shears as something like DNA scissors; and where I as a linguist might call metaphor a communicative device, others might use that term for a telephone.

This is not to suggest that problems with workplace use of metaphor are confined to technical terms: far from it. Indeed, just as my Japanese colleagues had trouble with skating on thin ice, so they found getting bogged down impenetrable — which may indicate merely that Japanese people from professional backgrounds tend to lead rather sheltered lives. It is of course true that workplace communication covers a wide range of topics, not all of them directly relevant to getting the job done; but all are probably indirectly relevant to keeping the communication channels open, and keeping the team spirit alive.

For my next example, I will mention a pair of similar expressions that seem to have "complementary distribution". In England, I grew up to be familiar with the expression can’t see the wood for the trees. When I first came to Australia, I heard a strange variant: can’t see the forest for the trees. Moving around the country, I have formed the idea that there is some regional variation here: the forest form seems common in NSW and Victoria, while the wood form seems prevalent in South Australia.

A few weeks ago, I asked three groups of students at Macquarie University to help me investigate some aspects of this variation — not geographically, but culturally. (I might add that the geographical variation remains to be studied, but that’s for another time.) The students in question were all enrolled in the voluntary Student Writing Skills programs — two groups seeking to improve their detailed expression skills, and the third group working on organisation and structure of written assignments. Although some were enrolled in linguistics units, none could be classed as a "trained linguist". The form of the study was simple: Figure 3 shows the form of the questionnaire I used.

 

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Here are two sentences which are often used in conversation:

(A) He can’t see the wood for the trees.

(B) He can’t see the forest for the trees.

Please fill in one line in the table below.

Figure 3: The Questionnaire

 

Table 1: The Responses

These results are not particularly illuminating, but they are interesting for that very reason: there is general inconsistency about the use of two apparently similar figures of speech. Let’s first consider whether the two do, in fact, "mean the same".

The common interpretation of can’t see the wood for the trees is that the person being discussed is so concerned with detail that he or she misses the "big picture" — the overall scene. From that point of view, given that a wood is a small forest (or a forest is a large wood), clearly there is no significant difference. But is that the end of the story? I believe not.

Certainly the detail / overall scene distinction is the only possible interpretation of the forest version. But wood is polysemous: it also refers to "what trees are made of". Therefore, we can also interpret can’t see the wood for the trees as can’t see the substance for the form: the person being discussed is so concerned with appearance that he or she misses the underlying reality.

I do not claim that those respondents who say that A and B differ in meaning are making the alternative reading. I do claim, though, that the results demonstrate problems with figurative language within the same speech community. The single most common set of responses was Yes, B, Yes, Australia (that is, many Australian L1 speakers believe the two forms are synonymous but would normally use the forest variant); but those were only five out of the total of thirty. (There was also one Yes, B, Yes, South Africa)

This inconsistency in a single speech community is worse when we consider the various forms of English spoken as L1 around the world. As an example, consider the simple courtesy "Pardon me". In Australia, the phrase is used as an apology for a social indiscretion. In England, it is more commonly used as an apology for an interruption or a disagreement. In the US, it is used in a variety of situations: when asking for a statement to be repeated, and when pushing past another person in a crowded place, as well as both of the situations previously mentioned. Of course, intonation plays a part: a rising tone on Pardon me signals a request, usually for repetition, just as is the case with I beg your pardon or the simpler Sorry. Nevertheless, many people find this either confusing or "another annoying Americanism".

Well, whether we like them or not, Americanisms are pervasive things. Journalists are effective vectors of new language patterns: tad for a little has become common, and we now hear it came out of left field from people who have probably never seen a game of baseball in their lives.

I shall return to the matter of Americanisms shortly. First, though, it must be emphasised that metaphors and other forms of figurative language are not the only forms of culture-specific language. Simple differences of vocabulary, and even minor variations in grammar, can be found between any two of the world’s major English dialects. Most Japanese learn to speak American English, though many learn British English, which is generally regarded as more prestigious. Few Japanese learn Australian English. Much the same can be said of most Asian — and European — countries where English is a significant second language. What does this mean for Australian language teaching programs, and for language policy?

The first thing to be said is that we must not throw the baby out with the bath water. Figurative language is important: even if it were possible to eradicate metaphor, that would impoverish the language and our society beyond measure. Clearly, though, we need to become more aware — not only of figurative language, but of all culture-specific aspects of language. This is true whether we are communicating with a recent arrival in a factory in Botany, or with the manager of a bank in Tokyo.

Something does seem to be emerging that we can call International English. Most people would expect this to mean American English; and so, in terms of spelling and much vocabulary, it does. But American English is as fraught with untranslatable metaphors as any other English, and there does appear to be a trend towards avoidance of anything except clear — even dull — denotative expression. This trend is not indicative of a "condescending"’ or even "limiting" attitude towards learners of English as a second language. Rather, it is the trend underlying the emergence of English for Special Purposes (ESP) programs — a recognition that some registers of language are more denotative than others. What should we be doing about International English here in Australia?

To begin with, of course, as a significant vendor of education services in the Asia-Pacific region, we can contribute not only to the development of a standard International English, but also to its propagation. In isolation, however, this will work only in ESL programs. People who have grown up in the Australian school system, imbued with the virtues of colourful language and blissfully innocent of any grammatical principles, cannot be expected to learn a second dialect.

Not, at least, in general. But people do learn (or acquire) a variety of registers, and — as indicated earlier — International English is a register rather than a dialect. We generally choose and use an appropriate register without much difficulty, often with considerable parallelism between spoken and written forms. In the business field both speech and writing are important, whether dealing with "native speakers" or NESB learners of English, but the written form is the normative influence: a spoken form of International English will grow out of the written form.

I think it’s true to say that most of the workplace problems with lack of clarity are at the level of managerial and supervisory communication. When two colleagues are sharing a coffee and a whinge in the canteen, normal interactive processes can sort out most problems in communication. When the works manager sends out a new safety procedure, or the pay office announces some new deduction facilities, the opportunities to work it out interactively are limited at best. When the marketing manager wants to interest an overseas buyer in a new product line, it is written communication that opens the door.

What this means for Australian education systems is that we need to become aware of International English, and teach it as a business technique. Just as some institutions are beginning to teach business writing and technical writing in a rather locally-oriented way, so they can teach business writing and technical writing in an internationally-oriented way. Every language user has at his or her disposal a vast array of tools, which we bring to bear when we judge them to be appropriate. We need to bring some of this knowledge to the surface, to the conscious level, so that we can exercise more detailed and more precise control. With that control will come more effective communication across cultural boundaries, both in the workplace and in the marketplace.

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Last modified: March 24, 2002